Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

"Leave me."

Blue eyes locked with his, bright with pain but determined nonetheless. Gordon expected nothing less from his eldest brother. Still, Scott was asking – demanding – the impossible, and no matter that it was an order from a superior, the part of Gordon that was little brother rather than operative only had one answer to that.

"Not a chance."

"Gordon-"

"I am not leaving you behind," he hissed.

Scott was injured, and it was bad. The guys had got the drop on them, their tumble over a thankfully shallow cliff hadn't ended well for Scott, no thanks to Gordon landing on top of him, thereby cushioning his own fall, and now they were on the run.

Well. Gordon was on the run. Scott was another matter entirely, and there was a sick logic to Scott's demand.

Gordon was uninjured, barring a few scrapes. By himself, he'd have no trouble getting to safety, somewhere where he could turn the situation around and get back to their boat and off the island where they'd decided to take a day's vacation. With his broken leg, and Gordon suspected some busted ribs and a wrist injury on top, Scott couldn't even walk by himself. He was slowing Gordon down, and they both knew it.

"You have to," Scott insisted. "If they catch you-"

"And what about if they catch you?" Gordon cut him off. They didn't know what the guys' goal was, but he was willing to bet it wasn't for a friendly chat over a cup of tea. "Come on."

He'd managed to swim them across an inlet, towing Scott like a helpless rescuee – which he might as well be, at this point – but they needed to get into the treeline, out of sight and somewhere where they could hatch a strategy to get out of there.

Both of them out of there.

No matter what Scott said, leaving him behind to their pursuers' mercy was not an option.

"I," Scott started. His face was chalk white, emphasising just how blue his eyes were, and he was trembling ever so slightly. "I can handle it."

The words were supposed to be reassuring, but they fell flat and empty. They didn't even know what the guys wanted; if this was just some sick hunting game to them, it didn't matter how well Scott could handle captivity – he'd still be dead.

Gordon couldn't hear immediate pursuit; the inlet seemed to have at least temporarily done the trick, although he knew it was only a matter of time before they were back on their trail.

"Scott," he bit out, frustration born of worry sharpening his tongue more than he'd intended. Those bright blue eyes met his, and he could see the fear his big brother was failing to hide. There was love, of course, and determination, but it was the fear that called out to Gordon. He crouched down in front of him, getting down to Scott's current level of struggling to sit upright. "I am not leaving you behind."

"You have to!" The desperation was well-hidden, but Gordon knew his brother.

He grasped his forearms, taking Scott's weight as his brother lurched forward, unable to keep himself upright. The skin was cool and slightly clammy to the touch. Combined with the trembles wracking his body, and Gordon knew what he was dealing with.

"Scott," he repeated, using the grip on his arms to hold him in place, draw him a little closer. "Listen to me." He tightened his hold marginally. "You're going into shock and you're not thinking clearly." Another concern to add to the pile he already had. "Listen to me."

"Gordon-"

"Listen to me," he repeated, leaning forwards and carefully releasing one of Scott's arms so that hand could gently wind around until it was on the nape of his neck. "Scott, do you trust me?"

In some situations, that question would be answered with an eyeroll and a smart remark about prankster squids. In situations like this, it was answered by a reflexive swallow and a word floating out on a breath. "Always."

Gordon drew him in, pressing forehead to forehead and trying to ignore the clammy skin as he looked point blank into Scott's eyes. "I'm getting you out of here," he promised. "I'm getting us out of here," because Scott would never be pacified by promises of his own well-being if it came at the expense of a brother's. That should have been enough, was enough, but there were more words on his tongue and he let them fall. "They won't hurt you again. I won't let them."

Pain made Scott look younger, more like the young man he really was than the middle-aged commander he tried to emulate. If someone had told him he was actually looking into Alan's eyes then, Gordon might even have believed them. Almost. There was still a steel there that Alan didn't quite have. Not yet.

Scott was still struggling to keep command, still trying to present himself as the leader and in control of the situation, but Gordon knew it was, well, maybe not an act, but more for Scott's benefit than his own. And he knew Scott knew he knew that.

Still, there were no more futile protests, and he held him close for a moment longer before pulling back.

"Let's go," he murmured, conscious that they'd stayed in one place for too long. "Come on."

Scott didn't fight him this time, although there was next to no assistance, either. That came as no surprise to Gordon, even if he hated the reminder that Scott wasn't well, was badly injured and going into shock as a result.

There was no way Scott could walk on that leg. Up until their swim across the inlet, he'd been leaning heavily on Gordon's shoulder, hopping along at a painfully slow pace, but they couldn't keep that up if they wanted to stay far enough ahead to get out of there.

He crouched down and pulled Scott forwards, cautiously slinging him over his shoulder. It wouldn't be easy – Scott was tall and heavy, and Gordon knew he didn't have the strength to carry him for too long – but he could keep it up long enough. He hoped.

"Gordon," Scott croaked as he staggered to his feet. Hands balled in the back of his shirt. "Your back-"

"I'm getting us out of here," he repeated, one arm wrapping around his brother's waist where it bent over his shoulder, and the other clinging to his legs tightly, both for additional security and to immobilise the break as best he could. "I'll be fine."

It wasn't a bad day, thank goodness. Gordon had never yet been put in a position where he'd have to choose between potentially re-destroying his back or saving a life, and if there was one piece of luck shining down on them, it was that he didn't have to make that choice today, either.

He staggered forwards, one step and then another, falling into an ungainly rhythm as he pushed on, towards the treeline that promised cover.

Grunts and gasps of pain from behind him betrayed the way Scott's leg was jostled by the movement despite his best efforts. Gordon hoped he'd positioned him so that his ribs weren't worsening, too, but he hadn't had much of a choice on that matter.

Hold on, Scott, he thought, not wasting his breath by vocalising it. He didn't have the breath to spare, and Scott wouldn't appreciate acknowledgement of his agony. All Gordon could do was cling on tightly and forge forwards.

He still couldn't hear pursuit, but that didn't mean there wasn't any. They wouldn't be safe until they were clear of the area, off the coast and hopefully far into the sea.

Gordon knew there was a cove nearby. On a good day, he could swim from there to the neighbouring, larger, island. On a day like today, where the waves weren't quite flat calm and his brother could do nothing more than float along, it was bordering on the impossible.

If there were no boats there to hijack, it would be their only option.

Clearly, Lady Luck had determined that Gordon's back being fit enough to carry Scott the distance, even if his brother was gasping with every staggering step he ran, filled his entire quota for the day. He was beyond grateful to have had that, but the sight of an empty cove when he broke free of the treeline made his heart sink.

"How are you holding up?" he asked Scott, stumbling to a halt on the shoreline and staring out at the expanse of blue-green ocean. In the distance, the flat horizon line was broken by another landmass – the other island, and their only chance of escape.

Not for the first time since they'd been attacked, he cursed the fact that neither of their comms were working. Disabled by some jamming bubble, no doubt.

"Holding," Scott gasped, a word that was more lie than truth in the same way as Gordon's conviction that he could swim the distance with his injured brother in tow. It wasn't true, but it had to be, because they had no choice.

"Okay," Gordon acknowledged, his kneeling more a controlled crash to the ground than anything else. "We're getting out of here, Scott." He lowered his brother to the shingle, laid him on his back and looked at skin so white it might as well be translucent. Scott was getting worse, trembles more noticeable as they passed through his body, and Gordon prayed he could hold on until they got to the next island, where they could shelter and he could treat the onsetting shock.

If they survived the swim.

His chest heaved, shoulders taking advantage of no longer having his brother slung over to rise and take in large lungsful of air.

Blue eyes spotted it, because Scott might be injured and well onto his way into shock but he was still Scott and he'd always notice a younger brother in difficulty.

"Gordon," he rasped, a last-ditch attempt to change his mind. "Go."

"Not without you," Gordon swore. "Come on, Scotty. One last little swim and we'll be out of here."

He didn't give him a chance to protest, wriggling his arms underneath his brother and ignoring the way the shingle scraped at his skin. Scott let out a reluctant groan at the movement, but Gordon couldn't address that right then. Not until they were off the island.

It was a lunge to his feet more than anything else, arms clutched tightly around Scott as his forwards momentum dragged them across the shingle, almost tangling his feet together and face-planting them both back on the ground. Water sloshed around his ankles, the ocean cool. She wasn't inviting, but she wasn't openly hostile either, so Gordon pushed on.

Water around his ankles became water kissing his knees, creeping up his thighs until it encircled his hips. He waded deeper, until it was up to his waist and caressing his forearms. Touching Scott's back.

He made eye contact with Scott as he came to a stop, disbelief and fear warring for prominence over the usual love and faith in those familiar blue eyes, and his brother opened his mouth to croak out his name again. Gordon gave him a tight smile, lowering him until he was floating on the waves. Strands of his hair had escaped the rigorous gelling they'd been subjected to that morning and splayed out like a miniature halo as ripples of water teased them.

"We're getting out of here," he promised again, the words tangling up in his throat and coming out all twisted and hoarse.

Letting the water take his weight was as familiar as breathing. Looping his arm around Scott, he kicked off from the seabed and, eyes on the distant island, began to swim.

It was a long way, Olympic speed training useless to him. He needed the endurance swimming from WASP, kilometres of open water with a casualty in tow. It was reckless, stupid, even.

It was their only chance.

I am, tentatively, calling this a oneshot, but there is definitely scope for a full fic here if my muses line up properly. It turns out they didn't want to go a whole week without Scott&Gordon and whump, so here we go - a little something to keep them happy.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari