Murky blackness…
He could breathe again…
An overwhelming fog crushing his senses…
A thought, just a tendril teasing him to consciousness...
Wake up.
He grabbed the notion. It anchored him as he dragged himself back.
He had to wake up.
He had to save Gordon.
But every time he blinked, it felt he lost hours, not minutes.
Slowly – excruciatingly slowly - his cloudy mind cleared. The mask had gone, but his jumbled thoughts couldn't work out if there was a line in his arm. He guessed not – the fact his head was clearing told him that much. But he stayed still, keeping his breathing even, reluctant to draw attention.
He focused on Gordon, trying to convince himself his brother was close by, refusing to acknowledge what his heart knew: they wouldn't have kept him alive if they didn't need him. A crushing weight in his chest made him wrench his thoughts from one sibling to another. Scott would come for him: even now, he'd be approaching, ready to break through the door. He was so convinced that he was half-braced for the sound of a fight.
But there was only silence.
Scott hadn't arrived yet. That was all. But as a second unwelcome reality threatened to make itself known, he turned back to Gordon, dragging himself into a spiral of denial.
He concentrated on his breathing instead, wriggling his fingers and toes, trying to get blood circulating again. The restraints were heavy, but he couldn't feel the pinch of a needle. It gave him hope: he just had to wait for the drug to clear and they'd find it hard to control him.
The cuffs around his wrists were tight - he wouldn't be getting out of them. But, wanting movement back, he kicked out, fighting against the strap across his ankles.
It made no difference. No matter what he tried, the only result was another wave of dizziness so strong he bit his cheek to stop from passing out. His heart pounded and he didn't know if it was the drugs or his own fear. He couldn't free himself, and was too late to save his brother. Sharp pain in both hands made him realise he was digging his nails into his palms.
He breathed deeply, fighting the growing nausea. The darkness was too tempting if he shut his eyes - he had to keep them open. Trying to regain strength, he lay still, but suddenly heard a sound from the far side of the room. He twisted until he could see across the ward, but kept his body lax, reluctant to reveal he was awake.
Two men entered. Virgil couldn't tell if one was Max or not. They approached another bed and Virgil realised, too late, that it was occupied. They didn't speak but unlocked cuffs like Virgil's, pulling a girl up.
Her movements were sluggish and she seemed disorientated. She wore a hospital gown stained with blood, a rough bandage just visible through it. Once up, clarity returned, and she gave an ear-piercing scream, refusing to move. The sound was deafening, but the men ignored it.
"Leave her alone!" Virgil yelled, his voice cracking. He didn't care about pretending – he couldn't lie there and do nothing. He fought against the chains, trying to rise. "Let her go!"
His captors paid him no attention. The girl struggled violently, but they dragged her from the room. Virgil twisted, straining against his own bonds.
"Let her go!"
One man turned, sneering, but they left the ward. The screams cut off as the door slammed behind them and Virgil swore, fighting against the straps. It made no difference, and with a cry of frustration, he fell still, panting. He didn't know how long he'd been there – the drug and bouts of unconsciousness had addled his senses – but he was weakening, and fast.
"You can't do this!"
His plan to not draw attention didn't matter – he had to distract them from the girl. Nobody returned though, and his blood ran cold when he heard a final muffled scream, full of terror and pain.
Virgil knew, deep down, he wouldn't see her again.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, his heart thundering against his ribs. He tried to catch his breath, tried to stop panic from taking over, but couldn't. Gordon was likely dead. The others had no idea where to look for him. He was alone.
No.
He was a member of International Rescue, and a Tracy. They never gave up, no matter the cost. He got his breathing under control, forcing the fear away. He was trapped, tied to a bed and half-drugged.
But he wasn't going without a fight.
TBTBTB
The touch on his shoulder made Scott jump but it was no surprise to see his father standing over him.
"Come," the man said.
Scott obeyed, too hollow to do anything else. He felt drained – emotionally and physically – and his hand throbbed with a vengeance. He was unsteady as he stood, but his dad's grip didn't falter. Scott looked at the floor, unable to meet his eyes. He couldn't face seeing his failure reflected at him; couldn't bear looking at the man knowing he'd broken his promise and Virgil was still out there.
He put one foot in front of the other, only realising they had reached the house when warmth washed into him. He hadn't noticed the temperature in the silos but suddenly couldn't stop shivering. His father kept moving though, and Scott continued to follow, glad the others weren't around.
He paid scant attention until they arrived back in the infirmary. Gordon's eyes were closed but Scott didn't know if he was sleeping, or unconscious. He faltered, stopping as he stared at his little brother.
"He's asleep." His father's voice was calm but he didn't let go. "As you need to be."
Scott shook his head. He couldn't fly but that didn't mean he had time to waste. He had to examine the forest in more detail, look for buildings… But his body betrayed him and he just stood there, staring at Gordon.
Swallowing hard, he pulled himself together.
"There's no time," he said, pleased his voice remained steady. He looked up, forcing himself to meet his father's eyes. "We need to get back out there."
His dad let go of his shoulder, moving to sit by Gordon's side. Scott looked towards the door but his knuckles were bleeding and he instead moved to find a bandage. It only took a moment to locate what he needed.
"I've contacted the authorities," his father said. "The army this time, not the local police. They'll continue the search; they're better equipped for the terrain."
Scott nodded, not paying attention. Nothing his father could say would stop him from going. He opened one drawer, then another.
"What're you looking for?"
"Energy," he said. He ignored his father's movement until a hand pulled him away.
"I'm not letting you drug yourself," the man snapped, his gaze flinty. Scott jerked free.
"You heard Gordon. There's no time."
"Teams are searching, Scott. You go in this state and you'll end up dead. I forbid it."
Scott rolled his eyes. "Why does everyone think I'll be killed?" he muttered, turning away.
His father turned him back. "We know you. I know you, and what you'll do for your brothers. I'll do anything to get Virgil home – anything other than putting you in harm's way."
"Dad-,"
"No."
Scott recognised the tone and he backed up. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said, "but you can't stop me. Not this time."
He stepped towards the door but his father held out a hand.
"Don't test me, son." His voice was quiet. "You're shaking. You can barely stand. Get some rest and fly first thing in the morning. Or I'll ground you."
He knew his father as well as his dad claimed to know him. He would make good on that threat, putting the entire island into lockdown if he had to. Scott looked at the door then at Gordon.
"He needs me," he murmured, accepting how unfocused he felt. His dad's hand curled around the back of his neck, squeezing softly.
"He needs a Field Commander in control of a situation. Not this stubborn ass who disobeys orders."
Scott hated that he had no comeback. He should be on his way: he never should have left the danger zone. But he also knew his father spoke sense. He'd crash One before he found Virgil right now. He looked at the spare bed, then glanced away.
"Just a few hours," his dad pressed, having seen him, "then Gordon might be able to tell us more."
"A couple of hours only," Scott agreed, "but I won't sleep."
"As long as you rest. And I'll tell you if I get any news."
He didn't notice his father encourage him towards the bed until it hit his knees, forcing him to sit. His dad guided him back and Scott sighed, curling one arm under his head and twisting so he could continue watching Gordon.
His father knew him better than that. As soon as his body relaxed, his eyes shut and his breathing evened, exhaustion overcoming him.
Jeff smiled sadly as he pulled a blanket over his eldest. Even asleep, Scott was still tense. He glanced between the boys before touching his watch. Kyrano didn't leave him waiting, entering silently, holding his peace until Jeff looked away from his sons.
"I need you to watch them," he murmured. "I've got calls to make."
"Of course, Mr Tracy." Kyrano pulled around a chair and sat between the two beds.
It was hard leaving Gordon, but Jeff went. He needed the best people out there looking for his son and he was the only one who could make the case strongly enough.
He also wanted to talk to Brains about locking down the Thunderbirds. He'd stay true to his word: Scott could return. But he'd go as a civilian. The army would let him read reports, nothing boy would hate him, especially given his military past, but it would keep him safe.
Jeff made his calls, pressing the urgency of the situation and finally receiving confirmation that the army were moving in. He'd been on to them before the boys had even first flown out, but bureaucracy and red-tape meant it had been a fight to even get this far. He made no mention of International Rescue: he needed the men looking for Virgil Tracy, son of an influential billionaire, not an unnamed rescuer from a secret organisation. He'd handle any fallout after Virgil was safe.
He tried to force himself to think like a businessman. His son needed him. But his hands trembled and there was a sharp pain in his chest that kept stealing his breath. He knew what he asked the boys every time he asked them to fly out, but nature was the danger. Not men with guns…
He breathed sharply; hands clenched. He couldn't lose Virgil; he wouldn't. He'd never experienced fear like it: even after Gordon's accident, at least his son was in front of him. Not knowing where Virgil was, how he was, if he was alive… It took every ounce of Jeff's strength not to fly out himself, knowing he could do more good here, making calls.
But he was a man of action and his son needed him. With a cry of frustration, he shoved his neatly stacked reports off his desk, dragging a hand through his hair. He couldn't stay in his office…
Kyrano didn't seem surprised when Jeff returned, taking another seat. His friend left him to watch over his children but the emotional toll of the day caught up on him and it wasn't long before he succumbed to sleep himself.
-x-
It was dark when Scott woke. The dim emergency lights gave just enough illumination for him to make out not only Gordon's sleeping form but also his father, slumped in the chair. He shifted, checking the time and groaning when he saw it was three in the morning. He wouldn't go back to sleep – nor did he want to.
Slipping out of bed, he winced, stiff from his dip in the icy water. His dad wanted to keep him safe; keep them all safe. He knew that.
But he couldn't lie here, staring at the ceiling, knowing Virgil needed him.
His toes curled as they hit the floor but Scott picked up his boots.
"Sorry, Dad," he whispered, tiptoeing out and only putting his shoes on once the door shut behind him. He didn't see Gordon's eyes open.
The automatic lights followed him, but the rest of the villa was in darkness. Scott took the stairs to the silos, not risking the elevator. But as he stepped out, he realised there was another light on. It wasn't coming from any of the bays for the 'birds, but the hangar for their own jet.
Scott jogged over, curious, but it came as no surprise when he saw John. His brother was sitting on the floor, the radio on his lap.
"Can't sleep?" Scott asked.
John leapt up, startled, until he saw who was there. He fiddled with the radio, repeatedly glancing up then away again before finally speaking.
"I shouldn't have stopped you," he said, talking to Scott's left knee. "If anything happens to him…"
"Hey." Scott put a hand on John's shoulder, giving him a slight shake to make him look up. The small amount of rest had cleared his mind to what had happened out there and he didn't blame his brother. "You did what you thought right. I'd have done the same."
He waited until John met his gaze. "Nothing will happen to Virgil."
John nodded. He looked at the radio again and Scott hid a smile.
"What've you got?"
John was a little too adept at picking up signals – even ones he shouldn't be receiving. He flushed, but Scott stared him down until he gave in.
"You know Dad's been in contact with the military out there?" John waited for Scott's nod before continuing. "They've found tracks leading away from the river. Some sort of vehicle. They're preparing a strike force now."
"When do they go?" Scott surprised himself by how steady his voice was.
"Dawn," John admitted.
"Right." Scott turned but John reached out a hand.
"Where're you going?"
"I need to be on that team," Scott said. There was no doubt in his mind: he had to be there. "If I leave now, I can rendezvous with them before they move out."
"But Dad said-,"
"Dad's needed here," Scott said, "for Gordon and to deal with IR. I'm not – I have to go."
He stepped away, and once again John caught his arm.
"Take the plane."
"One's quicker."
John shook his head. "Security risk once we're there," he pointed out. Scott's eyes narrowed.
"We?"
"I'm coming with you." The stubborn glint in John's eye meant trying to dissuade him would be pointless. But Scott didn't try. He couldn't do this alone and if anyone would find Virgil, it would be John.
"Meet back here in ten minutes," he said. "Grab anything you think we'll need, then everything else as well. We've only got one shot at this."
If their father realised their plan, he'd get Brains to seal the island. John was good, but Brains was on a different level. They couldn't afford to be detained because they'd hesitated.
Leaving the silos, they parted once they got to the house. John hurried towards his bedroom, but Scott slipped into Brains' supply room. The plane meant going as civilians, and IR technology complicated matters. But it was the most accurate equipment they had and Scott wasn't taking chances. He grabbed what he could.
He reached the silos at the same time as John. They loaded their gear without speaking before taking their seats. Scott's hands rested on the controls as he looked at his brother.
"Are you sure?"
There was no turning back, not for him. But he had more experience than John and wouldn't blame his brother for wanting to wait. Not to mention they were going behind their father's back. John met his gaze head-on.
"I want him home."
Scott nodded. There wasn't anything else to say. John returned the gesture and Scott fired the engines, pulling on the throttle even as the hangar doors opened. He started moving faster than normal, needing to be out of the silos before their father reached the command centre.
The landing strip blazed into light and, out of the corner of his eye, Scott saw lights come on in the house. He glanced at John, who grimaced, but then he pushed the plane, lifting her into the air as soon as he had enough speed. The radio crackled as the wheels left the tarmac.
"What the hell are you doing?" The sheer emotion in his father's voice was more than Scott expected. Anger, yes, but also concern, confusion and pain. He'd promised they could go first thing and Scott wasn't giving him the chance to stick to his word. There was something else though, something he couldn't put his finger on, but John reached for the radio.
"We're getting our brother back."
Their dad's sharp intake of breath made John flinch as he gave away it wasn't one son disobeying him but two. Scott kept his gaze on the sky, giving John some privacy – however small.
"You're normally the rational one," their father said. "Think this through, Johnny-,"
"No." John interrupted. "I'm not directing from the side-lines, not this time. Virgil needs us, Dad: we're going. We'll make contact when we've found him."
John cut the line, slamming the radio down and breathing fast. They both knew they'd keep the island in the loop, knowing the stress caused by lack of communication. But John had made his point – firmer than Scott had expected. He glanced at his brother.
"Okay?" he asked casually.
"Let's get Virg."
Scott nodded, checking the controls and plotting a course. He ran the safety checks, deciding better late than never, while John yawned next to him. His few hours had helped but, knowing John, he wouldn't have slept.
"Head into the back," Scott said. "Get some rest."
"I'm fine."
"Wasn't a suggestion."
John grumbled, but unclipped his belt and stood. He hesitated, hand resting on the back of the pilot's seat.
"Wake me if you need me."
"I will," Scott said quietly. "Sleep, while you can."
John didn't answer and when Scott looked around, he'd left. Scott smiled, glad he could help one brother. But as he stretched out his legs, attempting to get comfortable, John startled him.
"Holy hell! Juste ciel! Santo infierno! Que estas pensado?"
As John descended into languages Scott couldn't name, he flipped the plane on autopilot and stood up, concerned.
"John?"
His brother went quiet, then, "you better get back here, Scott."
He left the cockpit, then nearly walked into John. He hadn't made it more than a few steps into the cabin and Scott tried to peer over his brother's shoulder to see what had him swearing.
"What?"
John stepped aside and Scott moved forward. As he did so, he saw…
"Alan!"
He closed in on his youngest brother, reaching for him. But as he did, another figure caught his eye.
"Gordon?!"
Scott stared, wide-eyed, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. But, sure enough, Gordon was sprawled in a chair. He looked exhausted and pale, but he certainly wasn't in the infirmary where Scott had left him.
"You were asleep," he muttered, sinking into a seat. Gordon gave a shallow grin.
"And miss the fun?"
He sounded stronger than before and was conscious, lucid and not screaming – all positive signs in Scott's mind. But only a few hours ago, they'd been racing home after Gordon had almost drowned.
"You could have hypothermia," Scott said, the first thing he thought of.
"So could you." Gordon retorted. Scott cursed whoever had told Gordon he'd gone into the river after him.
"I'm fine. You, however-,"
"Scott." John touched his arm, jerking his head to one side. Scott followed him into the cockpit, casting suspicious looks over his shoulder as he did so. John closed the door behind them.
"We can't take them back."
"We're not friggin' well taking them with us!" Scott hissed.
"If we land back at Base, we're not getting off the island again."
"But," Scott stammered, "Gordon…"
If it was up to him, he wouldn't have any of them here. But he'd accepted he needed John and his brother had a point: their father would never let them leave a second time. Scott now realised why his dad had sounded so bewildered when he had made contact – he hadn't been the only one to slip out of the infirmary.
He dragged his hand over his face, resisting the urge to bang his head against something.
"This is your fault," he said. "He gets it from you."
Without waiting for a response, he opened the door and stepped into the cabin.
"Alan, sort that equipment." As his brother made to protest, Scott glared. "Now."
Alan did as he was told, scuffing his feet and making sure he stayed in earshot.
Scott looked at Gordon, shaking his head.
"You-,"
"I'm coming," Gordon said. "You need me to find him, I'm the only one that's been there. And… I've got more right going after them than you."
It'd always annoyed Scott that Gordon had an answer for everything. But he couldn't argue. Gordon was right: he had the right to go out there. Scott couldn't stop him.
He'd fled the island to save one brother. Now, Scott just hoped he didn't kill the other three in the process.