Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
Whumptober Day 14 "Crush Injuries"
Scott was distracted. Gordon knew why, and theoretically didn't blame him at all – John's update on Alan's sudden rescue mission when he should have been just clearing harmless junk had filtered through his comm as well – but a distracted Scott was a bad thing.
What made Scott such a fantastic commander was his ability to compartmentalise and make snap decisions, a trait he'd always had and honed to a precision art during his Air Force days. When something needed doing, he didn't get distracted. He couldn't afford to – not when lives were depending on him.
On a rescue like this one, when they were already a man down thanks to Virgil's internal bleeding stunt a week earlier, Scott's attention being less than completely focused on their situation was a problem.
In Thunderbird Two, doing what was normally Virgil's job of the heavy lifting as the big Thunderbird sliced and diced open a high rise that was toppling over with about twenty people stuck in the top floors, Gordon couldn't do much about Scott. His brother was in the building, directing the trapped people to safe zones while Gordon cut them a way out and digging out anyone who'd got stuck by falling debris.
This wasn't a two-person job, but Kayo was off chasing a lead on the Hood and Scott had decided it was too dangerous for Alan without Virgil around as back-up. Besides, he and Scott were perfectly competent, and Gordon did have Virgil on comms for tips and tricks regarding the big green bathtub.
If it wasn't for his big brother's advice, this rescue would probably have gone FUBAR some time ago. As it was, they were hanging in there, just about, with a risky but viable plan halfway implemented.
Until Alan's little joyride in space went wrong.
Then their rescue went wrong, too.
Gordon felt a sudden rush of appreciation for John, stuck up in Thunderbird Five and unable to help when things went wrong. Being able to see the disaster in the making, with no way of stopping it, was not a position he normally found himself in. It was not a position he ever wanted to be in again.
Scott had just finished calling Alan for a check in, smother hen out in force. He shouldn't have done it, although Gordon understood the desire to make sure their youngest brother was okay. But Scott really should have just trusted that John was performing the requisite big brother duties and worried about himself instead.
He was in an unstable building, after all.
One wandering mind, not entirely on the task at hand, combined with one loadbearing wall, combined to make disaster.
Thunderbird Two was working with another section, and Gordon could do nothing but yell as the wall gave way.
The crash reverberated through the air, audible even over the Thunderbird's engines. Rescuees screamed, picked up by Scott's open comm. What wasn't picked up by Scott's comm was his brother himself.
"Scott!" Stuck at the helm of Thunderbird Two, Gordon could do nothing but shout at the comm, heart in his mouth. "Scott, do you hear me? Scott!"
The other end of the comm, back on Tracy Island, Virgil was equally panicked, but he could do even less than Gordon – absolutely nothing. Gordon, at least, could keep going with the rescue.
He'd much appreciate it if Scott would answer, though. Over the comm, he could hear voices as nearby rescuees tried to help – whatever help was required. From the sounds of it, Scott was buried under some rubble.
Gordon itched to be there, digging him out himself, but he still had his part of the rescue to do – finding them a way out.
A rescue that should have taken three of them was now down to one. Gordon grit his teeth against the lack of his brother's voice promising he was okay and got back to the job at hand.
The groan that filtered through the comms a minute later, as he finally lasered off the top of the building and began to lift it clear, was very welcome.
"Scott?"
"Urgh," came the acknowledgement. Other voices clamoured in – terrified rescuees – and the next few words clearly weren't aimed at him. "Alan?" however, was definitely not a question for their rescuees.
"John's got that under control," he promised, having no actual contact with Thunderbirds Five or Three and unable to say for certain, but trusting John with his little brother regardless. It wasn't like he had a choice about that, after all. "The roof is clear; I'll be lowering the seats from the module as soon as I've got this dumped. What's your sitrep?"
The fact that Scott didn't immediately answer told him that he was trying to decide how to word "I'm fine" convincingly.
"Are you able to move?" he said, before Scott could try and spin a half-truth on him. "Buried under anything?"
"I can move," Scott told him, although the way his voice wheezed told Gordon another story. Still, there was nothing he could do until he got there, so he pushed Thunderbird Two just a little more until her load was deposited safely on the ground by the high rise and she was hovering over the exposed top.
It was at that point he decided to engage autopilot and get his hands dirty, so to speak. In his defence, he had no faith that Scott was in a condition to be helping anyone else onto the seats, and was fairly certain his brother would actually be one of the ones in need.
He was right.
Jumping off of the lowered seats and chivvying on the shaken but mostly unharmed rescuees in preparation of evacuation, he caught sight of his brother lurking. Scott was leaning against a pile of rubble, uniform streaked red with brick-dust, or what Gordon hoped was just brick-dust, face rather too pale behind his helmet visor. Next to him, some of the rescuees were fussing, and seemed undeterred by Scott's attempts to shoo them off.
Gordon made a beeline for them.
Closer up, it was clear that his brother shouldn't be standing at all, but Gordon knew which battles weren't worth fighting – he wasn't Virgil, and couldn't out-stubborn Scott, especially not with witnesses around.
"I've got him," he assured them, nudging them towards the seats. "You guys get loaded up. Anyone too hurt to get on?"
It transpired that Scott, typically, was the worst injury. Gordon kept a sharp eye on him as he checked everyone was strapped in before sending them up into the belly of Thunderbird Two.
It took two loads to get everyone on board, and then the seats lowered one last time to retrieve the brothers. With no-one to keep the façade up for, Gordon had no intention of letting Scott fake how badly he was hurt.
A medscan amid protests did not give a nice answer.
Cracked ribs, bruised muscles, and struggling lungs. Scott had been well and truly crushed by the debris, and Gordon was highly unimpressed; it could have been avoided if he'd just focused on his own rescue and not on Alan's.
Not that he was going to let rip about it in his younger brother's earshot. Alan would be mortified, even though it wasn't his fault at all.
Outside of Alan's earshot, however, he was free to let his displeasure known.
"You are an idiot," he snapped as he helped his wheezing brother stagger over to the seats and secured him tightly. "Alan didn't need your attention. You did."
He threw himself onto the seat next to his brother and set them to rise, leaving the remains of the building behind. Scott didn't attempt to defend himself, so Gordon hoped that meant he knew he was in the wrong.
There wasn't time to push further, though. Thunderbird Two swallowed them up, and there were several rescuees who needed safely depositing on the ground before he could continue his scolding.
Scott was left where he was as Gordon slipped into the cockpit and directed the Thunderbird to the ground.
"How is he?" Virgil asked, hologram showing worried wide brown eyes. Gordon grimaced.
"Not great. Looks like he's taken some crush damage. I'll swing by Auckland on the way home and see what they think."
"Scott won't like that," Virgil warned, and Gordon rolled his eyes.
"Well he shouldn't have stopped paying attention in a danger zone," he retorted. "Alan's only going to be going on more rescues as he gets older; Scott can't let that throw him off his game or we'll have to bench him."
He and Virgil both knew there was no chance Scott would agree to that.
Thunderbird Two touched down and Gordon left Virgil's hovering hologram over the console as he returned to offload their passengers.
Predictably, Scott had released himself from the straps and was in the process of attempting to stand up when Gordon arrived in the module. He ignored his idiot of a big brother for the moment, instead ushering everyone else out onto tarmac far enough from the danger zone not to be caught in any more falling debris. Only once everyone was safely out and the module door rising again did he return his attention to his brother.
"You're laying down," he told him bluntly, slipping under his shoulder and helping him limp towards a hoverstretcher. "We need to get some ice on that before it swells too much."
"I'm fine, Gordon," came the predictable answer, Scott attempting to dig his heels in, but Gordon had enough strength in his shoulders to force him along anyway.
"Crush damage is not fine, Scott," he corrected. "Now lay down." He gave a – gentle, not near the chest – push and Scott collapsed onto the stretcher. "Perfect. Do me a favour and strip your flight suit."
Scott sighed at him – or at least, made a sound that would've been a sigh if he'd been capable of that sort of sound – but acquiesced. It came with a fond eyeroll, as though Scott was only doing it to pander to his little brother, rather than because he thought he actually needed to, but Gordon would take it if it meant an obedient Scott.
Flight suit stripped to the waist, leaving him in just his navy blue undershirt, he tried to get up again. Gordon put a stop to it with ice, catching his brother mid-rise and lowering him back down to lay flat.
John flickered into view just as he finished packing ice onto Scott's torso, to his brother's visible – if not audible – relief.
"Alan's adventure is over and he's safely headed for home," the ginger reported. "He's absolutely fine."
That was good news, and Gordon's own big brother instincts unknotted inside his gut, but he had other things to say, starting with, "well that's more than I can say for Scott."
"Gor-"
"John, you'll need to pilot One home," Gordon steamrollered, not looking at his eldest brother. "If you could give Auckland hospital a heads' up about a crush injury to the chest, that'd be great."
Turquoise eyes widened. "What happened?"
"Scott was an idiot." Said idiot in question protested loudly at the accusation, and Gordon glowered at him. "He was paying more attention to Alan's situation than his own and ended up with a load-bearing wall on his chest."
"He what?"
Gordon could hear the distinctive engine of Thunderbird One reverberating from outside and assumed John had taken control.
"Got distracted by Alan's fun," he repeated. "He could easily have got out of the way if he was concentrating."
"I-"
Gordon placed a fresh ice pack on Scott's chest, high enough for it to tickle his bare skin at the collar, and whatever Scott was about to say got swallowed by a hiss of surprise.
"Gordon's right – you're an idiot," John told him. "Get moving, Gordon; I'll update Auckland."
"F.A.B."
Before he left his brother's side, he retrieved some restraints and fastened Scott in place, much to his brother's displeasure. The objections were frequent and vocal.
"No moving," he told him sunnily, and ignored the protest that earned him. "I know this isn't Thunderbird One, but Aotearoa is still only a short hop across the water. We'll be there in no time."
Scott's reaction was not one of a mollified man. Gordon patted him on the shoulder condescendingly – yes he was still annoyed at him, and would continue to be so for the immediate future – and headed back to the cockpit.
One unplanned hospital trip coming up. And now IR was two men down.
More importantly, Gordon was now two big brothers down, and that was two too many.
He was also uncomfortably aware that he could have also been a little brother down, if Alan's space adventure had gone slightly differently.
At least John was still in one piece.
I'm playing with something I've had my eye on for a little while - Scott and Gordon's high rise rescue during 1.03 Space Race. Only, because it's me, they had their own problems to be worrying about!
As for why Virgil's out of action, I'm running with Gumnut's explanation in her fic No-one Is Losing Their Dad Today because it suits my needs nicely.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari