AN: Inspired by some fanart of Virgil resting his forehead against Scott's after younger bro rescues eldest bro.

Twenty Five: The Human Touch

The Tracys know just how important touch is-on and off the job.

"Hang on Virgil!"

John's voice wavered, but Virgil knew that his older brother's voice was as steady as ever; it was the aftershock running through his own body that made the syllables waver in the dusty air. Virgil grit his teeth and made himself as small as possible-no mean feat, considering his 6'2" 220-lb frame, with the VRGL exosuit on top of that-and followed his brother's instruction.

In a few moments, the queasy rolling motion passed, and Virgil heaved himself to his feet. "I'm on the move. Where was that lifesign again?" His eyes scanned the pulverized rubble of what had once been a thriving seaside town, and as far as he could see, his was the only lifesign John would find.

"At the next cross street," John said into his ear, the words clipped and tight. "The apartment above the store-well, it's all one story, now."

"FAB." Virgil heard his own breath echo against the Plexiglass of his helmet, and watched with a sinking heart as the HUD lit up red with dead townsfolk everywhere he looked. At every moment, he expected to hear John informing him that the lifesign was gone, that the quake had claimed another victim, but until then Virgil walked on toward the ruined store. Finally, the HUD lit up green, overlaid by twin circles of red. "I've got it," he radioed. "Confirmed: One lifesign. I'm going in."

"Be careful, Virg," John warned. "I'll alert Scott and Gordon to your location; they're not far away."

His engineering expertise flowing through his mind like a clear, strong river, Virgil picked his way across the debris field, testing his footholds every step of the way. The building had indeed pancaked on top of itself, but Virgil had no desire to take a wrong step and fall through to a basement, trapping himself while trying to rescue someone. He engaged the pincers of the suit and began to carefully lift slabs of concrete that were directly over the lifesign, peeling the layers away like an onion. Finally, he found a heavy door and laid it aside, revealing a crumpled pair of bodies huddled on a bloodstained mattress. A faint whimper came from the middle of the knot of dust-choked cloth, and Virgil's heart went into his throat. "Thunderbird Two confirms: One survivor. Extricating now."

He tapped his forearm display, calling up phonetic syllables he could read off the inside of his helmet. "I'm with International Rescue," he said, in what he knew was horribly accented but decipherable Mandarin. "My name is Virgil. I'm here to get you out."

Virgil disengaged himself from the exosuit and went forward on hands and knees to the unnaturally still pair huddled on the mattress. The man had sheltered his wife, who in turn had clutched the child-a girl, he thought, by the once-pink dress and rainbow sneakers he saw sticking out from under the woman-against her chest. "Are you hurt?" he asked, softening his voice as he saw a pair of huge brown eyes peep from her protective nest.

"Bu shi," came the small voice, and although the translation popped up on the HUD (I am not), Virgil was familiar enough with the basics that he understood, but then she said something else that he had to wait for his translator to parse. "I think that's my mom's blood."

Virgil looked closely at the woman, whose face was composed and serene even in death, despite the concrete resting against the back of her skull. Sure enough, the girl was right; blood stained the underside of the concrete and had dripped down the woman's face and neck to spatter her daughter's face. The man, who Virgil had lain gently on his side a few feet away, bore his wife's blood on his shirt, but Virgil suspected that he had been crushed and suffocated by the sheer weight of what had once been his home.

Home. A place that was supposed to be safe, he mused, even as he strained to push aside the hundredweight of concrete that had ended the woman's life. This place had been a refuge, where the child did her homework and the wife folded laundry, where the family had gathered to cook a meal and laugh at dad jokes and wipe away tears brought on by nightmares. With effort, Virgil swallowed away the ache in his throat at unshed tears and eased the slack arms of the woman away from the child, unable to help patting the dusty sweater-clad shoulder as he laid her beside her husband. "You did good, Mom and Dad," he murmured in English. "She's okay."

"Did you say something, Thunderbird Two?" John's concerned voice was immediately in his ear.

"Negative," Virgil managed through a still-tight throat. "I've got our survivor. Girl, looks to be about eight or ten years old, no injuries I can visualize at this moment. I'm taking her back to 'Two."

"FAB," John replied, his own words soft in response to his brother's obvious emotion. "Good job, Virgil."

The little girl looked up at Virgil, her big brown eyes huge, tears making muddy tracks on her tearstained face. Virgil smiled at her through his own tears and tapped the commands on his forearm to move 'Two nearer to his position. "My ship come here," he told the girl without benefit of the display, watching for her to nod in understanding before continuing. "We go safe place." He reached down and eased her into his arms, feeling her small hands thread around the back of his helmet. "Rest now, okay?"

He felt more than saw her nod as she tucked her dusty head against his baldric, and picked his way past the VRGL up to where the hulking green machine was gently settling onto the cracked asphalt of the street. He waited until the VTOL engines had quieted, then took the girl into the bay and laid her on one of the pull-down stretchers. He tapped her chest. "Stay here, yes?" Having exhausted his knowledge of Mandarin without using his onboard translator, Virgil waited to see the girl's nod, then quickly went back out to retrieve the exosuit and stowed it for the trip. When he came back into the bay, the girl was still laying on the bed, but silent tears were making muddy tracks on her face as she stared at the ceiling.

Virgil went to her, pulling off his helmet and clipping it to his baldric as he did so. He reached for the girl's hands and took them into his own, then disengaged one of his to smooth back the hair from her face. To his surprise, one more phrase popped into his head. "You're safe," he told her. "You're safe."

"Xie xie," she murmured, a smile touching the barest corners of her mouth. Thank you.

Virgil nodded, unable to speak for the ache in his throat.

Many hours later, Virgil lay in bed, having been ordered there by Scott after landing. Despite the blackout shades on his windows and the tiredness in both body and mind, the pain in his heart would not let him sleep. He finally gave up and took himself, clad in iR teeshirt and sweatpants, down the stairs with blanket and pillow to the sunken lounge. There he settled, stretching out on the couch with the sounds of the house around him, and the tight knot in his gut finally began to unclench.

Footsteps approached, but he didn't move. "Sit up a little," ordered a voice from above his head, and the smell of bacon wafted over him as a tall frame folded itself onto the couch. Jean-clad legs slid under his head, and he laid back down to see the underside of a plate. The plate moved aside, revealing the upside-down face of his eldest brother, blue eyes searching his with brotherly concern. "Rough day," commented Scott.

"Yeah. Couldn't sleep."

"I'm sorry. You hungry?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks."

They sat in silence for a time while Scott ate his sandwich and Virgil drowsed. Then Virgil swam back up to awareness as he realized there were fingers carding themselves through his un-gelled hair, a palm smoothing the dark strands back from his forehead much as he himself had done for a small Chinese girl just a few hours before.

With a sigh, Virgil turned himself onto his side and buried his face in Scott's shirt, smelling detergent and the remnants of Scott's soap and home. Home, his safe place, his refuge, where Alan did homework and Gordon told bad jokes and Grandma folded laundry, where John showed him how to work the telescope and Kayo wiped the mat with him in their sparring sessions. Home, where Brains and the 'Birds roosted in safety, where he knew and was known.

"Shhhh," Scott whispered, gently stroking the back of his head, as he'd done years ago for a scared little brother awakened by nightmares. "Shhhh."

It was only then that Virgil realized he'd been crying, and raised his wet face from Scott's now-soggy shirt to his brother's face. "S-sorry," he hiccoughed.

The face above him was sad, but understanding. "Don't worry about it," Scott murmured. "Get some sleep."

And Virgil slept.