Disclaimer: I do not own Thunderbirds, I make no profit from this.
VSM - Vital Signs Monitor
"About time you got back." Alan sniffed as Virgil manoeuvred the stretcher through the doorway. "It feels like you've been gone forever."
"Well I'm sorry there wasn't anything here to keep you entertained." Virgil puffed, sliding Scott's stretcher into place and grabbing for the bio-bed's sensors.
His brother's response, though barely even tinged with sarcasm, made him feel guilty and Alan was silent as the cover was pulled off the other stretcher.
"He's still out?" he asked quietly when there was no sign of consciousness from his eldest brother.
Virgil shook his head, clearly concerned.
"He drifts in and out. I don't like it. Ah, now lets see..."
After that he said nothing further, his back to Alan and his one good hand working hard as he strapped Scott into place and attached what looked to be an oxygen mask and saline drip. Alan tried to wait patiently, but he was tired and beginning to feel nauseous.
"So? Is he okay?"
Virgil turned away.
"He's fine. Now I've got to go and help Gordon. I'll put the intercom on so you can call if you need anything. Give us a shout if he wakes up and needs anything."
"Virgil..." Alan began to protest, but the pilot was already gone.
Alan frowned and looked across the aisle at where Scott lay. The angle prevented him from seeing the readout, but Virgil's reaction had been enough - there was something very wrong.
Virgil strode down the hallway, stumbling a little with fatigue but determined to keep moving. Scott's blood oxygen levels were well down. What was causing it he could not be sure, but he did know that the consequences of delayed medical attention could be serious. Very serious. He should not leave him unattended at all, but there was no help for that right now.
Moving into the passenger hold he opened his mouth to demand Gordon moved to the sickbay to watch the invalids, but then closed it again when he saw his brother. Gordon was asleep but his face was drawn with pain and he was hunched over even with the seatbelt in place. Clucking his tongue in exasperation, Virgil grabbed for the nearest medkit and pulled out another shot of simazopan. One and a half shots was normally a little high for a safe dose, but Gordon had a reasonably high tolerance for analgesics after his accident and would cope. Disturbingly, his brother did not rouse as the drug was administered. Putting the kit away again, he turned on his heel and headed back towards the cockpit. It really was all up to him now.
"You'll help me, though." he murmured to his ship. "Right, baby?"
There was no answer but the low level humming of the atomic motor, but he took that for assent. Reaching the cockpit finally, he paused to look out the window at Thunderbird One. She was looking a very sorry sight right now, and he again worried that they were having to leave her unsecured. If only the others had not been injured, he might have dropped the pod and tried to carry her home, but it was just impractical with the way things were.
Sighing, he put his hands on the controls, then hesitated. Grimacing, he pulled open a small storage compartment and withdrew a tab of chewable asprin. It would not do much for the fiery pain emanating from his left arm, but it might just do enough to keep him from blacking out.
At second thought, he decided to take two. Two was his number after all, right? He rubbed at his eyes - he was definitely not thinking straight right now.
Returning his hands to the controls, he went through the minimum of the pre-flight checks then began warming the engines. While that was happening, he had an idea. Pulling off his sash, he used it to bind his left hand tightly to the yoke. That way it would not slip if the pain got too bad to hold on. Finally he charged the thrusters, and with one final prayer for luck, he lifted off into the turbulent air.
"Thunderbird Two to Thunderbird Five."
"Virgil, you look as pale as a sheet."
"Well gee thanks, Johnny." Virgil responded. "That's just what I needed to hear right now."
John scowled at him.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm flying us out of here."
"I can see that. Alan told me you'd broken your arm."
"Yeah. Hurts too."
"Virgil, you should be lying down in the sickbay!"
"Don't be ridiculous." Virgil growled back. "Who would fly us home, then? You?"
John relented a little.
"Gordon's back is that bad?"
"He got twisted up in the wind out there when we were bringing Alan across." Virgil told him. "If it wasn't bad before, it got pretty much unbearable then. He's out cold."
"Alan doesn't know that, does he?"
"No. Gordy's in the passenger hold. Alan thinks he's flying. I don't know what he thinks I'm doing, and to be honest I don't care. He's still losing blood about as fast as we can pump it into him, and Scott's..."
He broke off abruptly, clenching his teeth, and John stared at him.
"Scott's deteriorating?"
He saw Virgil pause, then nod reluctantly.
"Something's not right. Some internal injury, it must be. I don't know where or what. Alan's more critical, but Scotty's so damned quiet..."
John nodded soberly. It was one of the glaring danger signs with rescue victims - a noisy victim was usually relatively stable, even if they were bleeding everywhere, but a quiet one needed help fast.
"Alright, then lets talk about action." he said firmly. "You're wanting to divert?"
Virgil gave a dry laugh that was borderline hysterical.
"Johnny, I don't know what I want. If we divert there's no-one to watch the 'bird, but if we don't I just don't think I can fly all the way home. This turbulence is hell on my arm: I'm turning a straight break into a compound fracture with every bump. I don't think I'm even thinking straight, let alone flying straight. I'm gonna have to set her down soon, John, but I can't figure out where."
"Alright, well just let me handle that for you. In the meantime, can you transmit the VSM data to me?"
"To you?" Virgil checked, his expression blank.
"Yeah. Brains wants it."
"Uh, no I... I don't have them hooked up right for that. I couldn't take the time..."
"Alright, forget it." John told him, looking to his map. "Okay. Have you got the local coord map up on the display?"
"No, it's still set to the last danger zone. It'll take a second to re... ugh!"
John looked up sharply and saw Virgil shifting almost out of shot, clutching at his left arm, his complexion even paler.
"Virgil!"
Virgil gulped, panting.
"'m okay." he mumbled. "I'm okay. I'm okay." He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then repeated. "I'm okay."
"Yeah, you're okay." John lied. "Can you set the map?"
"Give me a minute."
"Whatever you need."
Virgil straightened with an effort, and then made the necessary adjustments on the console.
"Okay. It's up."
"Right. Your landing site is reference AF-3 mark 9. Can you see it?"
"John, that's in the middle of nowhere!"
"Yeah, I know, but it's the middle of nowhere with a runway." John told him.
"I don't need a runway."
"No, but Tintin does. She's in the Excelsior, on her way out to meet you, and she's bringing help."
"Help?"
"Callenson."
Virgil nodded, then jerked in alarm.
"Callenson?"
"Dad's given the go-ahead - he knows everything. He can make an assessment and figure out what needs to be done."
"But..."
"And then either Tintin or Brains can fly Two home." John continued firmly. "Or to the nearest hospital. They can manage that much."
It was an indication of how badly Virgil was injured that he did not even flinch at the idea of the engineers flying his craft.
"What's her ETA?" he asked simply.
"Twenty minutes. You have more ground to cover than her..."
"But we'll be fine." Virgil interrupted, a little colour returning to his face now that someone had taken charge of the situation. "We're out of the centre of the storm, now. We'll make it. John - thanks."
"You're welcome. Do you want me to stay on the line?"
"Can you? I mean, don't you have to call in to base?"
John shook his head.
"Not right now. And I think you could do with the company."
"Yeah. That'd be good."
Tintin had just shut the engines off when there was a roaring sound outside. Callenson jumped, but she and Brains just headed straight for the hatch. Heedless of the rain, she dashed towards where Thunderbird Two was landing two hundred metres away. It came down with a thump making the ground shake a little but she barely noticed that, intent on getting to Alan. Reaching the ship first she entered her personal entry code into the nearest control panel. Immediately the door unsealed and she hurried inside but then realised she needed the doctor. Frustrated, she paused and looked back. Callenson had overtaken Brains now, soon joining her, and she grabbed his hand.
"This way." she said shortly.
She supposed that it would seem like a maze to anyone else, but the corridors were familiar to her and she noted little things - streaks of mud and water on the usually pristine floor, a scrape on the wall where a stretcher had passed by. It seemed to take forever to reach the sickbay, though she knew it was deliberately close to the entrance hatch for convenience on rescues. When she finally got there, she almost fell over the threshold, letting go of Callenson's hand and diving forward to where she saw Alan lying.
"Alan!"
He was waxy pale and his eyes were closed, but now he opened them.
"Tintin? Are we home already? How... whoa! What's the doc doing here?"
"I've been let in on the family secret." Callenson assured him. "Now lets have a look at you."
Tintin unlatched the restraints - the clasps one of Brains' inventions and unfamiliar to the doctor - then tried to stand out of the way. The blankets were pulled back and she whimpered seeing the stain in the bandages. Alan held out his hand to her and pulled her closer.
"How bad is it, doc?" he asked, his hand holding hers tightly.
"Let me know if I hurt you." Callenson avoided answering for now.
Alan's eyes closed.
"Little chance of that. The davopax's still working pretty good."
Callenson looked up sharply.
"You've been given davopax?"
Alan's eyes reopened.
"Yeah. Why? Is that bad?"
"No. No, in fact it's exactly what I would've done."
Tintin relaxed and felt Alan do the same.
"Right. So now we just need to sew me up and get me outta here, right?"
Callenson was looking under the bandages, then set them back in place.
"Yes, that's about right. But I think we'll get you to a hospital for that - davopax or no, it'll be better for you to be under anaesthetic."
"No argument there, doc." Alan nodded, and Tintin gave him a brave smile but he was not looking at her. "But I think you've spent enough time on me. Can you have a look at Scott and figure out why he keeps blacking out on us?"
Tintin looked across the room and bit her lip as she realised she had walked straight past the unconscious pilot. Callenson moved over there now, and Tintin pulled the blankets back up over Alan.
"Just hold still, okay?" she whispered to him.
"I'm okay, honey." he whispered back. "Really."
She sniffed and wiped at her eyes.
"Oh you." she mock-scolded. "Now you've got me weeping."
"Don't cry, Tintin. I'm going to be fine."
She gulped and nodded.
"Yes you are. Now try to get some sleep. I'm going to find out what's going on."
"Good idea. Come back and tell me when you know?"
"F-A-B."
Virgil hissed as Brains gently unwound the sash.
"S-sorry."
"No, it's - oh! - it's okay, it's just - god that hurts - it's just painful." Virgil gasped.
It loosened enough that it stopped supporting Virgil's arm and his hand dropped down onto the armrest. The pilot yelped and drew it in against his chest. His eyes closed, and Brains peered at him worriedly.
"Virgil? Are you alright? Do you think you might, ah, faint? I could..."
"Shh." Virgil interrupted desperately, trying to catch his breath.
Brains waited, and after a moment Virgil's eyes opened again.
"Give me a shot of pseudotropocaine and immobilise it."
"I'd feel more comfortable, ah, Virgil if you would go down to the, ah, sickbay..."
"No. Alan and Scott... they don't need to know. Not yet. Not til we're home, or wherever we're going. The PTC'll be enough for now."
"Virgil, I know you don't want to worry them," John said from the communication screen, "but Alan already knows your arm is broken. You'd be better lying down."
"I'm fine."
"No you're not. And PTC isn't strong enough to stop you passing out with what you've done to your arm. I can see that from here."
"I'm managing on asprin right now." Virgil said through gritted teeth. "I haven't passed out yet."
The two brothers glared at each other for a long moment: John determined and Virgil defiant. John capitulated first, throwing up his hands in frustration.
"For god's sake Virge, you've got to help me out here - I can't read you like Scott does. You have to tell me what's wrong."
Virgil shook his head.
"Nothing. It's nothing. I just don't want to worry them any more than they already are."
Brains still suspected there was something more but all of the Tracy boys were stubborn in their own way, and if Virgil had decided not to answer it would take more than him and John to change his mind.
"L-let me just go and get the PT, ah, C. I'll be back shortly."
He headed out into the corridor, then activated his watch.
"Brains to J-john."
There was a pause before he got a response, probably as John made an excuse to Virgil.
"Go ahead, Brains."
"I think we had better plan a, ah, route, to the nearest medical, ah, facility. And a suitable, um, story."
John nodded soberly.
"I'll work out a flight plan and story for you. Are you going to be able to fly them out of there?"
"I'll have to, ah, John. Unless Gordon can. I'll check on him after I f-finish with Virgil."
"Okay, let me know. Right now I'd better get back on to Virgil and make sure he doesn't try anything stupid while you're away."
"Is he, ah, likely to?"
"I just don't know. There's something bothering him, but... well I guess it'll have to wait. Call me if you need me, Brains. Thunderbird Five out."
Brains nodded to himself. They would all do what they had to do. It was the way it had always been.
Gordon woke to a touch on his arm. Pulling away, he blinked blearily around himself. Brains was standing over him and Gordon stared at him for a moment, then remembered what had happened.
"Brains! God, did Virgil get us home? How long've I been out??"
"Easy, ah, G-gordon." Brains tried to reassure him. "How are you, ah, feeling?"
"Stiff, but the pain's not too bad." Gordon said honestly. "Where's Virgil?"
"In the c-...ah, cockpit."
"How's his arm?"
"Not, ah, not good. He fl-flew out of the, um, storm, but made it much, ah, worse."
"Great. Wait. We're not home?"
"No. Tintin flew out here with me and, ah... Doctor C-callenson."
"Callenson!" Gordon gasped, jerking upright in the seat in his shock.
"He's been told about International Rescue." Tintin said from the doorway. "How are you feeling, Gordon?"
"I'm... I'm okay." Gordon firmed his voice and unbuckled the restraints. "The sleep did me good. What are we doing?"
"Doctor Callenson says we need to get Scott and Alan to a hospital." Tintin reported.
"Virgil should g-go too." Brains nodded.
Rising cautiously, Gordon was relieved to find that his back pain was bearable - the simazopan had been able to work while he had been sleeping.
"And we're out of the storm, right?" he checked as he took a few careful steps.
"Yes." Brains agreed.
"Good." he nodded. "Then I shouldn't have any trouble flying us wherever we've got to go. Gordon to Thunderbird Five. Come in please."
An image flickered up on his watch and he saw John's relieved expression.
"Gordy! You're okay?"
"Yeah, I guess my nap gave the drugs some time to work. What's the plan?"
"Well I'm waiting on a report from Callenson."
"Tintin says he wants Scott and Alan hospitalised asap."
"Alright. Are you fit to fly?"
"Absolutely."
"Right. Get yourself up to the cockpit. Tintin can fly the Excelsior home. I've got a flight plan for you - you're diverting to the nearest hospital where you can drop off Scott, Alan and Virgil, and maybe Doctor Callenson, then you head home. It's going to be hours yet before the weather clears over where One is, so she's as safe as she's going to be for now."
Gordon nodded slowly.
"Alright, but how about a few changes? Brains can fly Excelsior and get home faster to start preparing what he thinks we need to pick up One. We'll dress Callenson up in a uniform and he and Tintin can unload at the hospital. If we put them in the HazMat suits, no-one'll see their faces."
It was a spurious argument - even with the detour, Thunderbird Two would most likely still beat the slower Excelsior jet back to the island. But it would mean Tintin could stay with Alan, and he hoped that John would grasp that as the real logic.
"Yes, you're right." John said slowly. "Alright. Go ahead. Call me when you're taking off and I'll download the flight plan."
"F-A-B, Gordon out."
Jeremiah looked up to see Tintin supporting Virgil, and moved to help her.
"I'm alright." Virgil protested irritably. "Brains strapped it up - I'll manage until we get to the hospital."
He sank down into a chair and tried fasten the belt. Jeremiah helped him, then took his own seat.
"Gordon says we should be there in about twenty minutes." Tintin announced, moving over to Alan. "You and I will dress in the hazmat suits to unload the stretchers."
"Me?" Jeremiah asked, dumbfounded.
"Story goes that Scott, Al and I were testing out a new Tracy Enterprises prototype and crashed." Virgil supplied. "We had to call for help from International Rescue, who came and got us." He paused, frowned down at his lap, then unhooked his safety belt. "This is no good."
"Virgil, please sit down." Tintin implored. "You might fall over if we hit some turbulence."
"It's a miracle we've got him down here in the first place." Alan muttered.
Virgil shook his head.
"Look at us - we're all still in uniform. We can't go to the hospital like this."
There was a pause as they all looked at each other.
"He's right." Alan said finally. "We'll have to get changed. Tintin, can you go and grab the civvies from my locker? And Virgil's?"
"What about Scott?" she asked. "Do we have anything on board that might fit him? Gordon's won't."
"He can wear my clothes." Virgil decided. "There isn't anything else I can think of."
"And what about you, then?" Alan frowned.
"I've only broken my arm." Virgil reminded him, moving over to one of the cabinets against the wall and unlocking it. "It'll hold til I get home, then someone can fly me to the mainland. You and Scott just can't wait."
"How are we going to get out of uniform anyway, though?" Alan asked peevishly. "I mean, he's strapped to a backboard and I'm... oh no. No. No."
Jeremiah turned to see that Virgil was now holding a pair of heavy shears. Tintin blushed and hurried out, mumbling about finding the clothing, and Virgil laughed.
"Oh come on, Al. It's not like she's going to see anything she hasn't seen before."
"I'm going to kill you." Alan grumbled, then looked alarmed as the room jolted causing Virgil to stumble and bang his arm against one of the bunks. "Virge? Are you okay?"
Jeremiah hauled him up and back into the chair.
"I think you should stay there for awhile." he admonished, then realised that Virgil had lost consciousness. "Honestly, from what I've seen today it's a miracle none of you've ever been hurt this badly before!"
"Lots of close shaves over the years, but we've always been lucky." Alan admitted. "Is he okay?"
"He will be. Still, he had the right idea. I don't really want to move either of you about too much, so cutting your clothing off is the only viable option."
Alan sighed.
"Alright then doc. If you insist. Just, ah... could you get it done and me covered up again before Tintin gets back?"
Gordon bit his lip.
"Virgil's gonna kill me for that."
"What did you just do?"
"Dropped the pod. Don't worry, we're over water."
"You dropped the pod onto water? Gordy - you've never even tried a water pickup. How are you going to get it back?"
"I'll worry about that later. Right now..."
"But Two's harder to fly without the pod." John interrupted him. "You've told me that a dozen times. And in this weather..."
"I hit the wrong switch, okay!" Gordon yelled.
There was a short silence, then John cleared his throat.
"Right. You dropped the pod. We'll worry about it later. Can you keep her in the air?"
"Do you have any idea how long it's been since Virge actually let me pilot this thing?" Gordon complained. "I do the sims every month, but it's always the same sim, you know? And Brains keeps upgrading things - how was I supposed to know he'd put the pod release where the forward floodlights used to be?"
"It's okay, Gordy. I won't tell him. Just - can you get them to the hospital?"
"Yes. We're nearly there, that's why I wanted the lights. I'll just stick to the basics."
"Good. That's good. And I'll just see if I can get base to send me the latest schematics..."
Virgil watched as they took Scott out of the room, taking him first this time. He had not asked for details on what was wrong: at this point he felt he was safer not knowing. He wanted to go with Scott, to stay with him until he woke up, but at the same time he could not bear to sit around waiting. He was vaguely certain that if he stayed away until Scott was treated, his brother would be just fine because Scott would never die without saying goodbye, but if he was nearby then Scott might just give up. That was why he had wanted to stay away from the sick bay in the first place - in case Scott awoke for long enough to speak those words. It was stupid: Scott was not a quitter and there was no reason to think this was anything that serious, but knowing how stupid it was did not lift the superstitious fear from his heart.
Sooner than he would have believed, they were back for Alan and he was sitting in the room alone. Alone with the remains of two torn and bloodied uniforms, two crumpled sashes... He shivered. He could not stay here. Rising a little unsteadily, he was surprised to find how shaky he was. The adrenaline was wearing off, he supposed. Step after faltering step, he headed resolutely towards the cockpit lift. As he reached it, he heard the engines cycling up again and knew that Callenson and Tintin must be back aboard. Typing his passcode into the keypad, he got the doors to open and moved inside. The pseudotropocaine was helping, and he just leaned against the wall for support as the lift rose. Moments later, the doors re-opened, and he shuffled out onto the flight deck in time to hear Gordon signing off with the hospital authorities. There was nothing to lean on between him and the co-pilot's seat, but he made it that far and sat down with a thump.
"Virgil, what are you doing up here?" Gordon demanded. "You're supposed to be resting."
"I'll rest up here." Virgil assured him, his eyes closed.
"You're not going to try to take over or spend the whole trip telling me what I'm doing wrong?" Gordon persisted suspiciously.
Virgil sighed.
"Just get me home, Gordy. That's all I want right now. I want to go home."
...to be concluded
