Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
Prompt from janetm74: "You were almost dead from pushing it too far!" with Scott and Gordon
Frustration was not an unfamiliar emotion. Gordon had been in more than enough situations where it was an applicable response, many of them including his own beloved yet idiotic brothers (although, if he was feeling fair, he'd acknowledge that they'd say the same about him, too). This, however?
This took the cake.
Normally, if there was a brother unconscious, the correct response was a lot of fretting and worry. Reassuring words, attempts at coaxing them back towards consciousness or even just telling them what they were missing out on.
People generally frowned upon the idea of glaring daggers at an unconscious brother - that normally came once they were coherent enough to acknowledge and appreciate it - but this time, all the panic, all the worry, all the fear had amalgamated into frustration and it was a glare bordering on anger he had levelled at his eldest brother.
It was the third day. Three days since they'd returned from a rescue to find Scott crumpled on the floor of Thunderbird One's hangar. For the longest moment, they'd feared the worst, especially when it became apparent that he'd fallen from the loading gantry while leaving his Thunderbird.
How he hadn't died, they still weren't entirely sure. Security footage scraped up by John showed Scott attempting to halt his fall with his grapple, but at some point the grapple had failed and he'd fallen regardless.
Brains and Virgil were working on installing the same handrails Scott had refused many times. As far as they were concerned - all of them were concerned - Scott had lost the right to say no now.
Scott's stubbornness about the handrail was not, however, the reason Gordon was glowering at his too-white, unconscious face. No, that honour went to the reason Scott fell in the first place.
It wasn't unusual for Scott to push himself past his limits. Gordon knew for a fact that his eldest brother often considered sleep a luxury rather than a necessity, and that he drove himself into the ground more often than should be feasibly possible.
Normally, however, it came to a head in the safety of home, big brother passing out on a sofa or at the desk and being quietly and gently relocated into a bed, where he was forcibly detained until the rest of them - most notably Grandma and Virgil - decided he was fit to return to work.
Back to back callouts on multiple different rescues and not actually seeing Scott for the two days leading up the incident because their brief moments of respite had never intersected, however, and no-one had been there to tell him to stop. No-one had been there to make him stop, and his body had finally had enough just as he stepped out of Thunderbird One for the latest time.
Something needed to be done. Scott could have died. By all the laws of physics, he should have died, and they ironically had his tenacity and ingrained instincts to thank for the fact that he hadn't.
Enough was enough. Gordon wasn't going to take it any longer. As soon as Scott woke-
"What's wrong?"
He blinked, and blue eyes blinked back at him.
Gordon snarled and the startled flinch from a big brother who clearly hadn't been expecting that was uncomfortably satisfying.
"You," he ground out, vaguely aware that Scott had only just regained consciousness and would be somewhat disorientated and confused, not to mention unlikely to be fully coherent. It didn't matter. In some ways, it made it easier. "You, Scott. You and your damned determination to kill yourself."
"Gord-"
"No," Gordon snapped at him. "No, you do not get to talk. You do not get to try and explain yourself. You do not get to make excuses. You do not get to do anything except never, ever, push yourself too far again."
Blue eyes were still blinking slowly, brow starting to furrow as Scott regained enough cognitive ability to start trying to work out what was going on. Gordon knew he should give him a chance; if Scott understood, then Scott might try and do something. But Gordon didn't expect him to understand, let alone try and hold himself back, and the emotions had been building for the past three days with nowhere to go. Until now.
"You almost died," he hissed. "You were almost dead from pushing too far. Are you really that determined to leave us and go running to Mom and Dad again? Does your own life mean nothing to you? Do we mean nothing to you?" His chest heaved, and he could see Scott's lips moving as he tried to summon words, but he carried on. Nothing Scott was trying to say would be anything he wanted to hear. "I thought you'd understand! You don't make a secret of how terrified you were when I crashed! Whenever you think any of us are going to die! So why are you different? Why do you think we don't feel the same goddamn fear? Or do you think it doesn't matter what we feel? Are our feelings an inconvenience to you? A joke?"
"I-"
He could feel tears building in his eyes, the tight and unmistakable pressure of liquid bubbling up ready to breach the dam. Scott's own eyes were wide as he tried to speak.
Gordon didn't want to hear it. Couldn't hear it. Couldn't listen to empty words and platitudes that sounded pretty and reassuring but would twist into ugly lies the very next time Scott disregarded his own life. And there would be a next time.
There was always a next time.
"No," he said again, standing up. He should be glad Scott was awake, should be fussing like any of them did whenever a brother finally rejoined them, and he was, but it was buried by the ugliness of the frustration, the betrayal, the knot of emotions resting heavily right over his sternum and making it hard to breathe. "No, Scott."
He couldn't be there any more. Scott was awake. Someone else could handle him, smother-hen him like he did them until he was all better and they could have the conversation as a family. Again. Gordon's emotions were too wild, too chaotic and hurt, to stay any longer.
He left.
"Gordon!"
Scott's strangled call dragged him to a halt just outside the room and he balled his hands into a fist, teeth grinding against each other.
He knew what was coming.
Thud.
Gordon wanted to scream. He wanted to walk away. He wanted to leave his stupid, selfish, irresponsible brother.
He couldn't.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he spat, slamming the door open and storming back inside. Scott was on the floor, trembling limbs trying to push himself back up to his feet.
"Gordon," his brother repeated as he stalked to his side. Blue eyes were looking at him, and there was a little bit of confusion, a little bit of uncertainty, but the overwhelming emotion in there was worry.
Typical, stupid, Scott. Too freshly woken to understand what was going on, but ever aware enough to understand he had a brother in distress.
A microscopic part of Gordon snarled that he could just stay down there, but no matter how furious he was, there were some things he just couldn't do. His feet connected with the floor with more force than necessary as he came to a stop towering above his brother. Scott didn't cease his attempts to drag himself upright until Gordon stooped down.
"This," he hissed furiously, "is exactly what I was talking about." Mindful of Scott's weakened state - mostly exhaustion, but while the grapple had saved him from being smashed to pieces, it hadn't stopped some nasty bruises and a couple of cracked bones - he grabbed hold of him and hauled him up.
Scott didn't fight him as he was deposited back to sit on the bed, although Gordon was well aware that had nothing to do with his words and everything to do with the fact that he was right next to him. Scott didn't need to chase after him if he was right there.
"You are going to stay in that bed until we say otherwise," he growled. Scott did resist as he forced him to lay back down, but Gordon had frustration and anger fuelling him, and Scott was nowhere near full strength.
He didn't let go of his shoulders even once he had him laid on the bed again, keeping him pinned in place with his body weight as he loomed over him.
"What-"
Gordon still didn't want to hear a word from his brother.
"Stay. In. That. Bed." His hands were trembling, too much emotion to be contained. His voice wasn't steady, either. "You want to know why I'm upset? You want to know why?" He glared straight into blue eyes. "You. You are why. You and your stupid need to work yourself straight into a grave. So what you can do about it is stay in that bed. No escape attempts. No moving unless we say you can. Do you understand, Scott?"
"I-"
"Do. You. Understand?"
Scott's eyes were a little clearer now. A little more awake, a little more comprehending.
Gordon hadn't planned to stay in the room long enough for him to reach that stage, but of course Scott hadn't left him with a choice.
His brother softened. He felt him relax under his hands, just a fraction, and there was something gentler in his eyes. A level of understanding. Far from perfect, but a start.
"Yes."
Gordon relaxed minutely himself. He knew it wouldn't last long. It never did. Scott just couldn't help himself. But for the moment, it was enough.
"I'm getting the others," he said, stepping back and releasing his hold on his brother. "If you even think about moving while I'm gone, I am going to find every single strap, rope and cord on the island and tie you down so firmly you won't be able to even twitch."
It was a promise as much as a threat. He turned to leave.
"Gordon."
Once again his brother's voice stopped him, although he didn't turn back around again.
"I'm sorry."
He sighed. "Words aren't good enough anymore, Scott. Prove it with your actions."
If Scott had a reply, he didn't wait to hear it.
If this feels familiar, it's probably because this used to be in my collection fic Behind The Scenes. I recently reorganised that collection and came to the decision to post anything 1000+ words independently, so some chapters have been removed from that and will be going up as individual works over the coming weeks.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari