Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Characters: Virgil, Scott. Rating: T. Warnings: None

Drabble challenge from janetm74: "We can talk through the door". This one is set a little while after chapter 48 'Bear Gamble'.

The knock was quiet. "Virgil?" The call of his name was even quieter. Soft, gentle, and full of pain. It sounded wrong.

He didn't acknowledge it. Maybe if he didn't, his brother would go away and leave him in peace.

"I know you're in there." Scott's voice was resigned. "Please, Virgil." Raw. Raw and vulnerable in the way his eldest brother so rarely let show. It hurt, and the fact that this was all his fault just made it worse.

He stayed silent.

"Let me in?" It was a plea. Desperation coloured Scott's voice but all Virgil could think of was his brother falling limp against him, the feeling of his fragile, breakable neck in the crook of his elbow, and the way his grip kept tightening, tightening, while Scott struggled to get free.

He was sat on the floor of his bedroom, back pressed against the door and his knees drawn up to his chest. Around him was carnage. Sketchbooks littered the carpet, loose pages strewn about between the ones still held by bindings. Crumpled paper. Pencils. Paints.

He'd given up trying to channel what had happened through art. Music had failed, too, and leaving his room had only promised an unavoidable encounter with the brother he'd almost killed.

That brother was still the other side of the door. Virgil felt it move, slightly, as though Scott was attempting to open it. There was a sigh, quiet and sad and encompassing so many emotions he couldn't possibly name them all.

"Okay," big brother said, and Virgil could imagine him standing against the door, one hand splayed out on the surface while his forehead pressed against it. "We can talk through the door, if that's what you want. Just, please, Virgil. Talk to me."

His hands balled into fists, nails biting his palms, but he couldn't say anything. There was nothing to say. He'd nearly - so nearly - killed Scott with his bare hands. Nothing could possibly erase that.

"Virgil." Scott was begging. "Virgil, you saved me. It wasn't your fault. He wanted me dead and you didn't let him kill me. You stopped him, Virgil."

Not soon enough. Not until Scott was slumped against him, overpowered and unable to defend himself. Not until he'd had the breath choked from him by Virgil's own strength. The knowledge that he could do that, let alone that he'd done it, made Virgil feel like he was the one suffocating.

Watching Scott pass out, knowing that he wouldn't stop until there was no more life in his beloved big brother, was the worst thing Virgil had ever experienced.

"You were stronger than him," Scott continued after several long moments of silence. "You didn't let him win then. Don't let him win now." His voice had a tremble in it, and that just made Virgil feel worse, because Scott was always strong, always unshakeable, but now he just seemed so fragile.

Breakable.

Virgil had never been more aware of his raw strength.

"I need you, Virgil." Scott didn't stop talking, too stubborn to realise that Virgil didn't want to hear him, didn't want to hear the way his brother's heart was breaking a little more with every word. "You're my best friend, my brother, and I can't do this without you, so please, talk to me."

He couldn't. Not even when there was a muffled sob from the other side of the door. Not when Scott whispered his name again, a breathy whimper.

Not when Scott gave one last wail of a plea before finally seeming to understand that Virgil wouldn't, couldn't face him, now or ever, and the saddest footfalls Virgil had ever heard dragged down the hallway.

Left alone, with nothing but the carnage of his failed art for company, he buried his head in his arms and cried.

Thanks for reading!
Tsari