A/N: First of all, thank you so much to everyone who reviewed Chapter 19. I'm so grateful that you all still remember the story and still want to read it after such a huge wait, and I'm even more sorry for not coming back sooner.

Secondly, prepare yourself for some angst and some major "Oh no you DI-INT!" moments.

Chapter Twenty: The Break-Up

As if the weather gods and the gods of Fortune were listening in on Gordon and Virgil's conversation and just wanted to see how much they could make their day more difficult, no sooner had they set foot onto terra firma than the heavens completely opened and a deluge of water poured on them. They felt as though they were taking a hot shower with all their clothes on, only more uncomfortable and without the bathroom radio to sing along to.

"Something tells me you're gonna owe me ten bucks!" Virgil shouted above the noise of the rain. Gordon grinned back at him.

"You can take it from my allowance," he joked.

"Hey, can we please quit bitching and get these people out of here? If the landslide is as bad as it looks, they're not gonna have much air with this rain coming through," Scott interrupted, giving them both The Look.

"Jesus, Scott, we only just got here, give us a break," Gordon grumbled.

"I'll give you a break when we've done our job," his elder brother replied, grimly. Gordon sighed. He wished he had Scott's ability to always go from Zero to Hero in less time than it takes to say 'Calling International Rescue'. Which, he supposed, was still lengthy enough of a phrase to render his transformation non-instantaneous. At that moment Gordon couldn't even remember where he was. The only thing, the solitary thing on his mind was getting back to the Island before Rachel noticed he was missing.

"FAB," Gordon replied, wearily.

The rain continued to pour, heavily and without letup, for what felt like an eternity. The brothers could barely remain upright as the rain continued to saturate the already-sodden earth. Before long they were wading through a quagmire, frustrated by their attempts to even get a reliable foothold in order to help people escape.

It wasn't long before the rain was so persistent and heavy that the boys could barely see what they were doing. The rain was hot and the air was sticky and humid, which made it difficult for them to breathe.

"How the fuck do we do this?!" Gordon yelled to Virgil.

"Language!" Virgil chided him. Gordon rolled his eyes. "We just go as carefully as we can, all right? Let's try and move some of this rubble, see if we can even see anyone," he decided.

The operation to remove the rubble was very delicate and precarious and not helped by the torrent of rain. They could barely grip the pieces of debris of the building without them slipping from their fingers.

"This is ridiculous," Scott grumbled, swearing as a piece of rubble slipped out of his hands and gashed his palm. "Jesus fucking wept!" he growled, breathing in deeply to stop himself from crying out, and getting a mouth and noseful of rain. It was almost how he imagined being water boarded felt like. His eyes and his ears were all full of constant rain. He felt like calling the rescue off. Their sensory equipment couldn't even detect any life under all the rubble. Anyone who may have survived the initial impact must have suffocated or drowned by now. It was hopeless. Scott could barely move one foot in front of the other any more and Gordon had already fallen on his ass three times in the mud. All three were exhausted and drenched and aching and they weren't getting anywhere.

"Guys?" he shouted. "I think we're gonna have to call it. This is too risky."

"C'mon, just five more minutes. Even if we can get to one person, it'll be worth it," Virgil insisted. Scott smiled. Just like Virgil. Whatever the risk, if it carried the slimmest of chances of saving a life, he was for it.

"Five minutes," he relented. "I don't want you two getting hurt," he added. Now Virgil smiled. Just like Scott. Whatever the risk, no matter who was in trouble, he was still their big brother, always ready to save their asses before his own.

"Move this with me," Gordon shouted to Virgil, grabbing one side of what had once been part of a concrete block wall. Virgil nodded and they both slipped, slid and grunted with exertion as they tried to move the block. "Is anyone down there?" Gordon yelled. There was no response. "HELLO!" he shouted. "We're International Rescue. We're gonna get you out of here!" he called.

"Help me!" a faint voice called. Adrenaline kicked in and the boys all scrambled to move as much debris as they could.

"Is anyone else down there?" Scott called.

"Help me!" they replied.

"Hello! We're going to help you. Is there anyone else alive down there?" Scott shouted, loudly enough to be heard but his tone calm and determined.

"No, they're all dead," the voice replied. Scott, Virgil and Gordon all exchanged a look of pain. They hated the days like these.

"We're gonna get you out," Virgil shouted reassuringly. He turned to make eye contact with Scott as he needed to tell him that there was still some debris to be moved, but he twisted his body too far and he slipped in the mud. Debris and rubble collapsed into the hole behind him and they all heard the trapped person's final cry of anguish and then a horrible, sickening silence as they realised that the death toll from the accident was now officially one hundred percent.

In the same moment, Virgil let out a howl of pain as a concrete block fell onto his shin and knocked him face forward onto the wreckage. Scott and Gordon both heard the snapping of bone and their blood ran cold.

"Jesus, Virgil," Scott muttered, using strength he didn't know he had to pull the concrete block away and both he and Gordon, as carefully as possible, carried him back to Thunderbird Two. Virgil had passed out with the pain and fortunately there was a small medical supply in Thunderbird Two that contained bandages, sedatives and painkillers. He came round long enough to be handed a glass of water, two extra-strength sedatives and a painkiller - a combination Scott used during his frequent bouts of insomnia and which he guaranteed would send an elephant to sleep for a few hours - and then promptly slept soundly whilst Scott and Gordon tended to his wounds and splinted his leg as best as they could.

Scott radioed in with a full report of what had happened and the sickbay was made available immediately. All they needed was to go home and concentrate on Virgil. That was all. There were no words of frustration, no comments about their failed mission, no pleas for excuses. All Jeff cared about was all three of his sons coming home safely, and Virgil getting the best care available.

As they flew home, they kept communications open between them. It was mostly silent, although Scott could hear Gordon murmuring and swearing to himself. He often talked things out to himself when his thoughts got too big and too loud to be kept silent inside his brain. Gordon hated flying Thunderbird Two, he did it as infrequently as he could possibly get away with. He just hated flying. Period. If men had meant to fly, they'd have had wings. They were meant to swim, that's why their skin was waterproof. No other explanation would satisfy him.

"How exactly are we gonna explain this away?" Gordon asked, suddenly.

"Explain what away?" Scott asked, jumping slightly at the volume at which the silence had been broken.

"I know Rachel's blonde, but she isn't exactly a dumbass," Gordon pointed out. "How do we explain this to her?"

"We don't need to," Scott answered, firmly.

"You think she won't ask? You think 'Oh my god! What happened to you?!' is an unnatural response when she sees Virgil in that state?" he asked, showing off a frighteningly impressive female English accent. "It's not even like it's something he can sleep off, he's got a busted leg and his face looks like he's gone into battle with a cheese grater and lost!"

"He doesn't look that bad. Let's just get Virgil back home and we'll work something out later. She's going home in a few days, she probably won't even see him," Scott reassured him.

"What if she does? I gotta keep on lying to her? That isn't fair," Gordon pointed out. Scott grunted scornfully.

"Not fair? What are you, twelve?" he asked. Gordon wasn't put off his argument.

"Scott. What if it'd been me?" he inquired, seriously. Scott took a breath. One brother in pain was more than enough for him to contemplate. He didn't need to think about any more.

"It wasn't you," he answered, quietly. Gordon still wasn't put off.

"What if it had been? What if it had been me and what if I'd not come home?" he asked.

"Gordon, don't do this to yourself," Scott answered in a soothing voice. Gordon shook his head, getting more panicky.

"I can't have a wife and a child that I leave behind every time I go on a rescue. Y'know what I thought about the whole time? Rachel. How she'd feel if anything went wrong. How quickly we could get the rescue done so that I could get home before she suspected anything. Because I wasn't concentrating, too busy thinking about her, our brother gets injured and we lose the entire rescue operation in the process. I'm not fit to do this. Not while she's in my life. Not while I'm worrying about two more people. Worrying about the four of you and how Dad would react if anything happened is bad enough while I'm on a rescue. I can't take two more," he insisted.

"Gordon, this isn't about you," Scott began.

"If I'd done my job properly, Virgil wouldn't have gotten hurt. The people would have lived. I can't be trusted," Gordon retorted.

"Don't. This isn't your fault. It was an accident. We can't plan for them. The conditions were impossible to work in. We're just people, we can't fight against weather like that. Our machinery is the best available but it can't defy the basic laws of science. Brains will tell you that. Virgil's lucky he got away with a busted leg," Scott reasoned.

"She's gotta go home. She's gotta go home and not come back. I gotta break up with her," Gordon decided, almost talking to himself.

"I thought you weren't together?" Scott reminded him.

"Fine, then I gotta piss her off enough so she won't want to see me again. I can't let her down gently, she's too nice, she'd forgive me," Gordon explained.

"How the hell are you gonna do that?" Scott asked, frowning.

"Hey, if there's one thing I know, it's how to piss people off," Gordon pointed out. Scott let out a breath of laughter in agreement.

"It's a gift," he acknowledged. The rest of the journey was conducted in absolute silence. Virgil slept through a combination of the sedatives and the shock. Gordon forced himself to get into the right frame of mind to do the one thing he didn't want to do - break Rachel's heart. Scott silently brooded about how he could fix everything and make the ending happy for everyone, and chastised himself for being incapable of doing either of those things.

When they arrived home, eight hours after they had left, Gordon and Scott were so worried about Virgil and so devastated from their inability to rescue those people that they sat in Jeff's private study for a full hour, somehow trying to make sense of what had happened, to stop the cries of pain from ringing in their ears, to justify their own guilt to themselves. The full power and ability of International Rescue had been rendered impotent by the mother of all rainstorms and there had been nothing either of them could do to stop it. These were the days that they just wanted to bury their heads in their hands and weep. But they had to stay strong. They had to keep going. Tomorrow was another day. Possibly another rescue. People still needed them. While they were still needed, they couldn't break. Not yet.

Rachel had had to come back to the Villa for a nap, there was no way around it. Tin-Tin explained that they were expecting a few deliveries that afternoon so if she heard any low flying planes it was probably the mail plane and the food supply plane dropping by. Rachel didn't even have the energy to argue after their five-hour cave expedition and hour-long lunch marathon. She simply nodded and fell into bed where she slept so deeply she didn't even hear the boys returning.

She woke up at midnight to a soft tapping on her door.

"Who is it?" she called, sleepily.

"It's me," Gordon called back.

"You don't need to knock," she answered, turning over and closing her eyes again. She heard the door open but didn't hear him walk over to the bed.

"Rach, I need you to wake up for a minute," he began, seriously. She sat up and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"What's wrong? You were ages!" she told him. He nodded.

"I'm sorry. I actually wasn't away for too long, but uhm..." he broke off, trying to think of a feasible excuse to explain Virgil's accident. "Virgil went for a run around the Island and-"

"Virgil went for a run?!" Rachel repeated, confused. "That doesn't seem like him, he's more of a chilling by the pool with a cocktail guy," she told him. Gordon grinned.

"He has hidden depths. Anyway. He went for a run and slipped when he got to the rocks. He's broken his leg and his face is a bit smashed in," he explained. Rachel gasped in shock.

"Oh my god, is he okay?" she asked, concerned. Gordon nodded.

"He'll be fine, he's just gonna rest up in bed for a couple days and then he'll be on crutches for a few weeks," he explained. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily. Rachel squeezed his arm comfortingly, and frowned slightly as he tensed under her touch. "Don't," he insisted, taking a step away from her. She swallowed, unsure as to why her eyes had suddenly filled with tears and putting it down to hormones.

"Sorry," she muttered. He stared solidly at the floor for ten seconds, the silence both deafening and tangible.

"I'm... uh... I'm gonna sleep in my room again tonight. Give you some space," he told her, his voice throaty with emotion. She nodded.

"Sure, if you like," she replied. "Is... are you... is everything okay?" she asked, so quietly she hoped he wouldn't hear her. He seemed to be about a moment away from losing his temper.

"No," he answered, sharply. "It isn't."

"Is there anything I can do?" she offered, gently. He shook his head.

"No."

"Right," she replied. They stood awkwardly for a few moments, each waiting for the other to say something profound.

"I'm going to bed," he declared.

"Goodnight, then," she answered, not sure what else she could possibly say. He was clearly upset over what had happened to Virgil.

"Yeah."

"Sleep well."

"Sure," he mumbled with an ungainly shrug. He turned away from her and headed to his room and Rachel did nothing to try and change his mind. He looked like hell. He was probably just overtired and upset. Maybe he needed the space too.

She hated the idea that she was making excuses for him. But she was stuck on an island the best part of twelve thousand miles from home and had no way of escape. Two whole weeks with Gordon's family had been a terrible idea. It had been just over one week and she was missing London, she was missing Mark. She hadn't called him to tell him she was pregnant because she wanted to tell him face to face. She wanted to see his facial expression when he found out he was going to be an honorary uncle, and hear his deep, rumbling, hearty laugh when he realised that his best friend would be teetotal for the next few months.

'If only Mark was here now,' she thought. He'd know what to do. He'd at least be someone she could completely relax with. The Tracys were all so kind to her, but the fact remained that they were still strangers. She didn't know how well her own humour translated to them, or how well their humour translated to her, or if they liked her or they were just being polite for Gordon's sake.

Stretching and yawning loudly, Rachel decided that there was little else to do aside from just getting back into bed and attempting to sleep. The next day things might have brightened up. Gordon may have slept well and be in a more amiable mood - or at least she hoped he would. For his sake, Rachel hoped that she would also be in a better mood the following morning. She wasn't ungrateful and she wasn't miserable. She had just reached the point she reached during every holiday she had ever been on - two or three days before she was due to go home, she started longing for her own bed again, her own kitchen, being able to cook in her own kitchen without anyone declaring they would do everything for her, as though being independent was an unpleasant personality trait that she needed to be fussed out of. She missed the noise of London and how anonymous she was there. Her time on Tracy Island made her feel as though she had gone from being a microorganism in a large pond to being the main feature in a fish tank. It was altogether unnerving.

Her phone bleeped just as she got into bed and she smiled when she saw it was a message from Mark. It was as though he had a sixth sense about her.

"I haven't heard from you in over a week. You are either having a great time that's too dirty to tell me about or you are miserable and want to come home. Which is it?"

She smiled ruefully and replied.

"I'm being ruined rotten and fed CONSTANTLY. I've probably put 3st on in 10 days. They're so nice. It's exhausting. I'm a selfish hormonal bitch who just wants to come home. They're lovely, they're just so... overwhelming."

Almost before she had time to put her phone back down, Mark had replied.

"I'm putting money into your account for a flight home. Get your arse back here. I need you. Make an excuse. Tell them my grandmother died."

She smiled and let out a sigh of relief. She would normally have argued with him and refused to let him pay, but she was tired and she felt awkward and she really wanted to go home and hear silence again.

"That'll be the seventh time I've used the grandmother line, how many grandmothers have you got?! See you tomorrow. Thanks."

She switched her phone off and grinned. She didn't know why Mark had been her friend for so long, but she was so grateful that he was. He was like her big brother and her best friend and her guardian angel all rolled into one. 'Everyone should have a Mark', she thought to herself happily as she dozed off into the most comfortable and restful sleep she'd had since she arrived on Tracy Island.

The next morning Rachel got ready and packed as quickly as she could before racing into the living room to deliver her news. She was surprised that everyone seemed genuinely upset that she wasn't going to see out the remainder of the week with them, rather than just being carefully polite about it. They all seemed terribly upset for Mark and his dead grandmother. In reality Mark's maternal grandmother was very much alive and well, living in an over 60s retirement home for ex-pats in Portugal. His paternal grandmother had died just before his parents divorced when he was eight, so she was always the grandmother he used the 'grandmother line' over. After all, his grandmother had died. He just neglected to say it had been thirty-five years ago.

Mrs Tracy casually added an extra two sausages and fried egg to Rachel's already laden breakfast plate and, noting Rachel's confused expression, explained that she would be going on a long journey and now had her great-grandchild to take care of.

"I'll be damned if I'm gonna let any great-grandchild of mine go hungry!" she declared. It had only been ten days and already Rachel knew not to argue with Mrs Tracy, so she just nodded and ate. It was the easiest way.

Tin-Tin had offered to take her to the airport after breakfast but Scott had decided that he should go instead. His excuse was that had been a while since he had been to Hawaii but, unbeknown to anyone else, he had been looking online for something for Tin-Tin to celebrate their first official anniversary and had found an antique jewellery store in Waikiki that sold diamond necklaces and pendants dating as far back as the 1920s. He wouldn't make a big deal of it, of course. Big statements weren't really Scott's style. It wasn't so much that he wanted it to be a surprise, he just didn't want to make a big deal of the fact he'd actually put any time or effort into remembering the day they'd finally decided to stop messing around and make a go of things together.

Tin-Tin hugged Rachel so tightly that Rachel's face turned red. She promised that she'd call when she got home, and Tin-Tin insisted that she'd come over to stay in a few months to help get things in and decorate for the baby's arrival - together with a comment about her not having visited Oxford Street in far too long and her credit card needing a workout. Rachel found herself nodding and agreeing, and even saying she would really look forward to it, despite the fact she hated shopping. She couldn't help but smile at Tin-Tin's genuine enthusiasm and complete warmth. It wasn't an act, she had no angle to work from, she was just an honest, sweet, real person. There were too few of those sort of people in Rachel's life and she determined to keep in touch with Tin-Tin no matter what happened with her and Gordon. She genuinely had no idea what that would be. Gordon hadn't even spoken to her that morning.

"You're leaving?" she heard a voice behind her say. There was no protest in his voice. Rachel turned round to face him.

"I couldn't find you," she explained, both knowing and neither of them mentioning that she actually hadn't tried to look for him. "Mark's grandmother's died. He wanted me to come home," she added, not feeling especially comfortable with lying to him. She didn't think he'd actually care if she'd just been honest and said that being stuck on an island with him and his family was freaking her out and she wanted to go home. He nodded.

"Send him my best," he answered, politely. She blinked once. 'Send him my best'? That was it?

"Do I at least get a hug?" she asked. She didn't know why she felt she needed to ask. He dutifully, and Rachel could see for herself that 'dutifully' was actually the correct adverb to use at that juncture, opened his arms and enveloped her in a brief and strangely polite hug.

"Fly safe," he mumbled.

"Shall I call you when I get home?" she asked, running her fingers through his hair gently. He shrugged and pulled away from her.

"If you like," he answered, disinterested.

"Well I don't have to, it'll save me a job if I don't call you," she pointed out, frowning.

"So don't call me," he retorted.

"...Okay," she finally replied, her frown deepening. She'd seen this attitude before. She didn't like it then and she liked it even less now. "I won't."

"Good."

"Good?"

"Yeah."

She paused, not understanding why he had to make this so difficult.

"You don't want me to call?" she asked, bluntly.

"Makes no difference to me, honey," he replied with a shrug.

"Why are you doing this?" she asked, quietly. He looked at her, his eyes hard and cold.

"Doing what?" he shot back at her. She set her shoulder back and sighed. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Are you pushing me away?"

"Yep."

"Why?" she asked. He could see the tears forming in her eyes but couldn't do anything to stop them. He had to say it.

"Because I can."

'You asshole. Even I hate you right now' he thought to himself, his stomach churning as he fought to finish his act without breaking down and taking her in his arms and kissing her to within an inch of her life and begging for her to stay.

Rachel steeled herself for a moment. "Okay. You do this. You make yourself miserable. I'm going home. Maybe I'll talk to you when you decide to grow the fuck up."

"Maybe when I've done that, I won't want to talk to you," he replied, feeling the bile rise up his throat as he spoke. She gasped in horror.

"Wow, you've really just gone there, haven't you?" she asked, unsure whether to laugh or hit him. "Is this it, then? Is this actually happening?"

"You told me I could bail whenever I wanted. I'm bailing," he told her, looking away from her. She swallowed hard and nodded.

"You're right, I did tell you that. And of course you can bail whenever you like, that's fine. I just didn't think you'd be quite such an arsehole about it," she answered. He shrugged.

"You want me to pretend like I'm sorry to make it easier?" he asked, cringing inside.

"That's a little harsh, isn't it?" she asked. He shrugged but didn't reply. "I'm getting on the plane now, and when I leave you won't see me again. Ever. Which is fine. But you won't see your child. And neither will your family. Are you sure you're fine with that?"

"Who's to say it's mine anyway?" he asked. He could hear her growling and he didn't blame her. He wished she'd just punch him and be done with it. He wished somebody would punch him. He deserved it.

"Do not even begin to start that with me. I told you it's yours. It's yours," she insisted. He let out a snort of derision.

"C'mon, Rach, you come into contact with men all the time in London. Who's to say I'm the only one you've been with since last year?" he asked. She let out a cry of indignation.

"Who's to say you're the only one? I am. I'm telling you. There is nobody else. There was nobody before you for quite some time, and since you there has been nobody else. I don't want anybody else, I don't need anybody else. But I want you to trust me - and if you can't or won't do that, then perhaps this is for the best," she finally reasoned. He nodded.

"Then it's for the best. Because I don't trust you."

"Why? What's ever made you think I can't be trusted?" she asked, not unreasonably.

"You think you're the first girl to come along with a pregnancy story to either me or one of my brothers just to get money out of us?" he demanded.

"I told you I'm not interested in your money. I never have been," she reminded him.

"No? You didn't say no to a weekend in Mayfair though."

"Nobody would say no to a weekend in Mayfair, Gordon. Besides, if you remember, I did say no. You insisted. You wanted to see me. You've pushed and pushed for this, and now you've got what you want, you realise you don't want it. Now you're just pussying out of actually having to be a man for a change so you're trying to turn this all round to being about me," she told him.

"Whatever gets you through the night, sweetheart," he retorted, scornfully.

"Fine. You have it your way. Let's face it, you've had everything else your way through this whole ridiculous debacle, and I am in no doubt you've had everything your own way throughout your very short yet extremely pampered life," she snapped.

"Yeah, that's me, just another spoiled rich kid," he agreed. 'Please God, if you're there, make this stop,' he prayed, silently.

"Y'know what - I'm beginning to think that that's really all there is about you," she finally decided.

"Maybe you're right," he answered.

"I wish I wasn't," she muttered.

"We all wish for shit," he finished, coldly.

Before Rachel even had time to talk herself out of it, or to consider exactly what she was doing, she had punched Gordon in the jaw so forcefully that he fell to the floor and sprawled out, legs akimbo, a small trail of blood trickling from his lower lip.

"I hope you and your right hand have a very happy life together," she snarled, turning away and storming towards the hangar.

Gordon didn't even attempt to get up for a few moments. He lay on the floor with his eyes closed, his entire world slowly collapsing around him, his chin throbbing. He had really screwed up this time. No matter how much he tried to reason that he had done it for the best, he had only succeeded in making Rachel and himself miserable. He dreaded to think what would happen now.

No matter how noble his intent had been, Rachel now justifiably hated him. Not only would he never see her again in an attempt to make things right, his stomach sank even further as he realised that even if he could do that, he would never be able to tell her the truth. He would never be able to tell her 'why'. For God's sake she was having his child. When he thought about it, he knew that the least she deserved was a 'why', and it was the one thing he couldn't give her.

He became aware of a shadow over him, someone was standing over him and he didn't even have the energy to open his eyes.

"I'm an asshole, you'd best just leave me here on the floor so I can crawl back under my rock with the rest of the invertebrates," he moaned.

"Rachel's got a pretty mean right hook," his father replied. Gordon nodded.

"She's a hell of a woman," he agreed. He finally opened his eyes and allowed his father to help him to his feet.

"You want a beer?" Jeff asked.

"Will it help?" Gordon inquired. Jeff pursed his lips and shrugged.

"No," he replied, honestly.

"Good. In that case, I'll have two."