A/N: Twelve whole months of webchats, accidental cleavage flashings and virtual walks along the beach? Is that what our favourite couple have been reduced to? Not for long, folks! Not if I have anything to do with it! But first, let's take a look at our boys doing what they do best. No. Not that. We've already seen plenty of all that nonsense. I mean, y'know - rescuing people. Hold onto your sashes, chaps!
Thanks to Darkflame's Pyre for helping me through a touch of Writer's Block over this.
NB: Warnings for a bit of graphic drama/tragedy during the rescue.
Chapter Ten - The Loophole
A fire had broken out on a farm in Kent. One of the apprentice farmhands had decided to take his cigarette-break early and unwittingly lit up far too close to the canisters of chemical fertilser. A tiny fragment of hot ash somehow managed to be blown into the fertiliser. Without any warning, a fireball ripped through the serene landscape and everything was now a complete picture of panic, chaos, disorder and nightmarish desolation.
The fire spread quickly, and unfortunately due to the strong blustery gales that March usually brings to England, the village surrounding the farmland was also affected. House after house was quickly enveloped by the blaze, in an horrific, incandescent domino effect. The acrid smell of the blaze alone, together with the burning flesh of livestock that had been too close or too slow to facilitate their own escape - not to mention the uniquely pungent odour of the fertilizer itself - overwhelmed the area. The smell was palpable, it could be tasted, it could be felt. The sticky, greasy residue left on everything made the whole village seem dirty, even the parts unaffected by the fire.
The local fire brigade were already stretched to capacity with the burning farmland - but when the village became engulfed in the flames too, there was only one possible option left to the residents. They had to call International Rescue. Alan had advised that the Firefly would be needed and that, as it was a chemical fire, a low-expansion alcohol-resistant chemical foam was to be used in a blanket covering of the area from Thunderbird Two to fight the fire before the manual rescue was implemented. It was to be a massive undertaking and, as ever, there wasn't room in the rescue schedule for anyone to waste a moment.
Scott was, of course, first on the scene, and managed to set up Mobile Control in a nearby stone barn. He quickly assessed the situation and made sure that Gordon, John and Virgil were prepared for the absolute worst. The human inhabitants and workers at the farm, together with most of the animals had been rescued already and so the streets in the village closest to the farm were now the main cause of concern. Rescue operations were already underway and Scott wasted no time in organising the rescue procedure for everyone involved. The crew manager of the local fire brigade was, at first, very reluctant to allow Scott to take over what he deemed was his operation.
"I don't see why you think you need to take control of my men as well. You have your own team coming over. We fight fires every day - you glory boys turn up for the big events and think you can take over everything! Well it isn't happening!" he ranted.
Scott was in no mood to argue with anyone, especially having seen the carnage from an aerial perspective just minutes earlier. His blue eyes hardened and blazed with anger, although his facial expression didn't alter.
"Sir, International Rescue were called out because your men couldn't cope with the scale of the problem," Scott reminded him, firmly. "Now, you may not have the equipment to deal with a fire of this scale, but we do. The moment you asked for our help, you relinquished your powers of control over the situation. We all have a job to do if we want any of these people to make it through the day in one piece. I've seen what the situation is, and you definitely do not have the time to stand around and argue with me." It would have taken a much braver man than the crew manager to even attempt to continue dialogue with Scott at that moment, so he relented into a slightly sulky silence before turning and nodding his aquiescence to his unit, and advised them that International Rescue had now taken command - from that moment, all their orders were to be strictly adhered to.
Rescue helicopters had arrived at the scene moments before Thunderbird 2 finally came into Scott's peripheral vision. He looked up and sighed with relief.
"What the hell took you guys so long?" he barked into his communicator.
"John was reapplying his guyliner," Gordon piped up. John rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically.
"It's tinted moisturiser," he corrected him. Virgil giggled at their banter and decided to interrupt before Scott took either of them seriously.
"Don't listen to 'em, Scott," he reassured his elder brother, as he knew Scott would have very little, if any, sense of humour left at that moment. "No delays, our ETA is on schedule. Releasing foam jets in thirty seconds," he added.
"Yeah, well, hurry it up, will ya? There's a lot of people out here that we need to get to safety," Scott answered, grimly. Virgil nodded.
"Yeah. I see that," he agreed.
The chemical foam almost completely eradicated the blaze, and after three liberal applications to the area, Thunderbird Two finally landed in the field opposite the local pub, The Cobbler's Arms. Virgil, John and Gordon all assisted with the physical rescue of the inhabitants, literally pulling people out of rubble and handing them over to the waiting ambulance services and emergency helicopters as necessary. Seeing people with charred, blistered skin, grown men screaming like children with the searing pain was difficult for all the Tracy brothers to deal with. It was a near impossible ask to be able to switch off completely from those situations, and there was always the question of whether it would be more helpful to the rescue if the boys kept such a keen control of their emotions that they could almost switch them off completely during a rescue. The associated adrenaline and empathy for the human plight was necessary, of course - but occasionally, things would happen that would threaten to overwhelm them completely.
Out of the corner of his eye, among the rubble of a house that had been razed to the ground, Gordon saw a small hand poking out.
"Oh, no," he mumbled, groaning inwardly.
"What?" Virgil asked, turning to him.
Gordon shook his head and continued toward the hand. He moved a few bricks away and started pulling gently at it. Faster and faster, he moved more debris away until he saw a face. A small girl, not much older than four or five, still in her pyjamas. Her head had been crushed by the main structural beam from the roof as it caved in. Her bright blue eyes, almost the same shade of blue as Scott's, were still open, yet now glazed over in death. Her now-grubby pink pyjamas covered in Disney princesses were torn and Gordon suddenly felt sick to the pit of his stomach as he looked at her small, broken frame.
"Shit," he whispered. He took a moment to compose himself and took two or three deep breaths before calling over a paramedic. "Hey, buddy. Uhm... I'm really sorry," he began, bending down and scooping the girl up in his arms before passing her to him. The paramedic looked down at her, then back up at Gordon.
"Doesn't get easier finding ones like these, does it?" he asked, kindly. Gordon shook his head and tried to offer a smile in return but couldn't. He turned away and tried to calm himself down.
"Concentrate on the living. They still need you. Come on. Ass in gear. Don't do this. Not now. You don't have time. C'mon. Focus," he growled to himself. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath and straightened his back stubbornly. There was still work to do. None of them could afford to think of themselves at that moment.
Four long and laborious hours later, the rescue was, to all intents and purposes, over. There was minimal clear-up left in place and all rescuees had been taken to nearby hospitals. Scott had made sure that the area was safe and clear before beginning to dismantle the Mobile Control unit.
"You may as well go, Scott. We can take it from here," Virgil told him. Scott nodded his agreement and turned his attention back to Mobile Control. The crew manager of the local fire department came over to him and grabbed his arm.
"Listen, mate. I know I was out of order, but... you did great out there. We couldn't have done it without you. The people you saved - well. I guess that's what it's all about. So, thanks," he told him, holding his hand out to him. Scott shook his outstretched hand firmly.
"Thanks for all your help. We can't do it alone," he acknowledged. He looked down at the dismantled unit and then looked back up at the crew manager. "Speaking of which, you think you could give me a hand with this?" he asked. The crew manager nodded and signalled for two men to come and help them.
Soon, Scott was on his way home and Virgil had radioed in to tell Jeff the news.
"Mission completed. Scott's now returning to Base. John, Gordon and I will be about another thirty minutes," he advised.
At that moment, another explosion was heard. The beer barrels underneath the pub across from Thunderbird Two had overheated and exploded. The large, heavy, solid-oak door burst out from its frame and hurtled directly through the windshield of 'Two. The impact caused the control panel to burst into flames.
"Shit!" Virgil yelped, pushing his younger brothers out of the way before covering his head with his hands to shield himself from any rogue shards of glass from the windshield that may have flown in his direction.
The fire department quickly got the blaze at the pub under control. Fortunately, the pub wasn't open at the time and there were no fatalities. The same, however, couldn't be said for Thunderbird Two. After they'd cleared away the glass debris from the control panel and put out the electrical fire, Virgil sat in the cockpit and buried his head in his hands.
"'Go home, Scott. It'll be fine, Scott. We'll see you back at Base'. You goddam frickin' idiot!" he scolded himself.
"What's the problem?" John asked, raising his eyebrow at the mess in front of him.
"She's screwed, that's the problem with her," Virgil responded, bitterly.
"Can't we move her at all?" Gordon asked. Virgil shook his head.
"She's grounded," he answered. He sighed, pulled his sleeve back and contacted Base.
"What is it, Virgil?" his father asked.
"There was a secondary explosion. Thunderbird Two has been hit. Control panel... fucked," he explained, helplessly. Jeff raised an eyebrow at him. Virgil turned his wrist communicator to face the control panel of Thunderbird Two and Jeff let out a low whistle.
"That's the word, all right," his father agreed. "Scott's on his way back to Base now. I suggest you sit tight until he can come back and collect Brains for repairs. You're about an hour from Lady Penelope's place, I'm sure she'll let you go back and get cleaned up. You look terrible."
"Thanks, Dad," Virgil replied, sarcastically.
"I'll contact Penny and arrange for you to be picked up nearby. In the meantime, like I say, sit tight. I don't see what else you can do," Jeff told him. Virgil nodded his understanding.
"FAB," he replied, switching off communications. "Great. We're stuck until Parker can come get us, then we're going to Creighton-Ward Mansion," he told the others, even though they'd probably just heard everything.
Gordon sat quietly, still thinking about the little girl from before. If there was one thing he needed at that moment, it was a hug. He felt strange about the idea of throwing his arms around his brothers at that precise moment, after all, they'd been through the same thing and, despite their effeminate natures, weren't nearly as tactile as he was. He had to judge hugs with them a little more carefully than hugs with anyone else in his family. Even Scott always seemed to be ready to dish out and to take hugs from anyone.
In fact, without giving the matter too much thought, he knew that the one person he really wanted a hug from at that exact moment was Rachel. She wouldn't even need to say anything or do anything else. She could just hold him close to her and tell him it'd be okay. He'd even let himself believe her.
"Guys," he began, looking up at them. "Can you two cover for me?" he asked.
"What for?" Virgil asked, suspiciously.
"I don't want to go to Penny's," he explained. "London's only an hour away from here too. I can be in Muswell Hill before you get to Creighton-Ward Mansion."
"Gordon!" John realised. "Dad said no shore leave for a year!"
"This isn't shore leave. We're grounded on a mission. It's totally different. Jesus, John, we've had a really shitty day already and... look... please. Just do me this one favour and I'll do anything for you. I mean it. Anything," he pleaded. "Just... please."
"Anything?" Virgil repeated, interested. Gordon nodded.
"I know that's a dangerous thing to offer, but... c'mon guys. I need to see her," he insisted. Virgil and John looked at each other for a moment.
"All right. We'll think about what you can do in return, but in the meantime you'd better get changed and check that she'll let you stay with her," John agreed. Gordon beamed at them.
"If you two weren't my brothers, I would kiss you both on the mouth!" he declared, happily, before running off to get changed. He grabbed his phone out of his pocket and called Rachel.
"It's six a.m.!" she answered, groggily. "This had better be good."
"I'm sorry. It is. Look, don't ask me any questions, because I can't explain anything, but I'll tell you what's happened. I'm stuck outside London for the next twenty hours or so. I need a bed, I need a hug, I need a meal, and honest to God I can't tell you how badly I need a shower right now. Can I come stay with you?" he asked.
"You're outside London? What are you doing there?" she demanded.
"No questions," he reminded her. She growled in frustration.
"You're a pain," she told him.
"Is that a 'no'?" he asked.
"Don't be daft. Where do I meet you?" she inquired.
"I'll meet you outside the Tube station in an hour. And, again - no questions - but I warn you now, I smell like shit," he added.
"Wow, you make it all sound so very romantic," she answered, sarcastically. "See you then. I might even scrub your back for you, if you're a good boy," she offered. He chuckled softly.
"I'll hold you to that. Later," he finished, hanging up on her. He smiled ruefully at his phone before returning to his brothers.
"What happened?" Virgil asked. Gordon shrugged.
"I said I'd meet her in an hour," he answered. His face suddenly dropped. "This is crap, isn't it?" he asked. Virgil frowned at him in confusion. "This isn't going to work, is it? This is no kind of life for her," he admitted, running his hands through his hair.
"No, you're right. It's no life for any self-respecting woman to sit around waiting for you to come home after a rescue, especially when you roll up smelling like a cesspit," John agreed. "But I thought you two weren't serious?" he asked. Gordon shook his head.
"No, we aren't. But what if we were?" he asked. "I can't tell her anything, she can't ask me anything - and what if I start having nightmares about the rescues when I'm with her?"
"You're overthinking again," John told him, firmly. "You're just going to her place for a shower and a meal. Leave the drama queen stuff to Virgil," he insisted. Virgil's eyes widened in surprise.
"I'm not a drama queen!" he protested. John and Gordon looked at each other and burst out laughing.
"You're right, Johnny," Gordon admitted.
"I always am!" he answered, glibly. "Parker will be here soon, we'll get him to drop you someplace away from here before you call a taxi," he decided. "Hey, you better make sure this whole thing is worth your time, you know. Virge and I are gonna consult Penny and Parker over your use of the word 'anything', you know that, right?" he threatened, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. Gordon nodded.
"I wouldn't expect anything less," he replied, a small but definite lopsided grin finally returning to his face.