Scott dragged his feet up into the lounge, small clouds of dust trailing behind him. He was surprised to find to find the place deserted. The sun was blinding, filling the room with golden heat. He knew Grandma would give him grief for bringing dirt into the room, but he didn't have the energy to do anything about it. He was hoping his father would be at his desk to get a report on the rescue, but the chair was unusually vacant.
He knew that Gordon had returned home long before him. Maybe he had debriefed with their father already.
Scott had returned from his usual post-rescue circuit around the west coast of England. It was the last place where Alan had been and he flew over it as often as he could get away with. At first there was a genuine need for such scanning from the skies. Months on, it had become nothing but an obsession.
He knew it was pointless. He also knew how much it was eating up Virgil. He kept reminding him that Alan was gone. They'd done everything they could to say goodbye. Scott wondered if he would one day be flying over that shore as an old man, looking for signs that had been washed away decades ago. Did they burn Alan? Did they put him in a shallow grave? Or did they simply throw him in the sea?
Like a sleepwalker, he numbly strode to the crystal decanter filled with whiskey. He poured himself a glass and downed the generous measure in two gulps. He grimaced as the burning liquid slid down his throat.
Bad, he thought sadly to himself, Stop that now.
He forcefully placed the glass back in it's place. He was already regretting his actions as the alcohol pooled in his stomach, leeching into his bloodstream. He savoured the wonderful tingling at the back of his neck, the warmth spreading through his stomach... A few weeks ago, he would have generously filled that glass and sneaked off to his room with it.
He decided on a shower instead. He was almost out of the lounge, practically one step from the door, when Gordon's voice shouted behind him.
"There you are! Hop-along needs you downstairs."
Scott turned to see Gordon's smirking face sticking out from behind the door on the opposite side of the room. He reflexively thought 'You really need to stop calling Virgil that'. He knew it would be wasted breath. He was grateful he hadn't followed through with the idea of taking more booze to his room. He didn't want to get caught behaving like that again.
"Can it wait?" he asked tiredly.
"Nope, 'fraid not," said Gordon, "Sorry, Scott, I know you're just in but he wants you to see something. I have a feeling it's something big."
It was always easy for Gordon. All he'd needed was a shower and food and it was like he had been reset.
Scott followed him down into the vast hanger where Thunderbird Two lay sleeping. She needed her rest after getting back in action, finally back to her former glory.
Brains had outdone himself. With a few extra modifications from Virgil, she was in good health. Vast and beautiful as ever. The first day Gordon flew her he didn't even try his luck with any lines such as 'What does this button do again?' or 'I'm veering left!' It probably didn't even cross his mind. The joy that had once been the undercurrent of Gordon's every action had been lost with his only little brother and Scott knew, with certainty, there was no retrieving it. He'd experienced the same thing when John died.
As they approached the east side of the hanger, Scott discovered the reason the island had seemed so quiet. Everyone had been summoned to the hanger. Kyrano and Tin-Tin leaned against the outer wall of Virgil's small office, conversing quietly. Rachael was sitting on one of the stools Brains used, resting her growing bump. Seeing Gordon she was about to stand up but he didn't let her, walking behind her to loop two arms around her front and plant a kiss on her neck.
Brains was at his desk, having an animated conversation with Jeff, leaning over a desk. Grandma was by his side, staring down at what Scott already knew to be a drawing of Virgil's.
He clicked. The day had finally come.
"Oh, it's, uh, so much more than that," said Brains as he spoke to Grandma with almost boyish excitement, "Not only will it handle any terrain or weather condition, it will respond to the wearer by thought. This mitigates any gait problems that are common seen, which of course back pain, muscle imbalances..."
Before Scott could speak to them, Virgil emerged from his office, preceded by little Janna. She ran out of the door as fast as her chunky legs could carry her, holding a silver prosthetic leg high above her head.
Brains looked aghast. "Uh, oh, h-hey Virgil! Maybe she, uh, uh, shouldn't-"
Virgil flapped a lazy hand at him, "Oh, come on, Brains. She's been trying to get her hands on it for weeks... And if she could break it then we really need to review the design."
"That's your top secret project?" said Gordon, as Janna waddled past him still holding the leg aloft like a prize, "Well, I hope it's jet-propelled or I'll be sorely disappointed."
"Everyone here?" asked Virgil, pointedly ignoring him as he scanned the room.
"What about Rob? He wouldn't to miss this," said Grandma.
"It's alright, I'll surprise him in person," said Virgil, "Gordon. Don't you say a word!"
"I wasn't going to!"
"You were thinking something, I could tell, I could feel that rotten smirk from here."
Once Tin-Tin had plucked the leg from her frustrated daughter, Virgil took a seat in front of Brain's desk. He carefully unfastened his standard prosthesis, which looked like nothing more than a metal pole with a shoe attached. He gave his stump a quick clean and dry with cloths from the first aid kit.
As the shiny new leg was attached, there were exchanged glances and smiles as the bionics whirred to life with gently pulsating green lights. It was beautifully made, from the carbon fibre calf to the intricate detail of the silvery foot and toes. Virgil leaned back in the chair, stretching both his legs, flesh and metal, in front of him. Scott noticed the renewed symmetry of his frame. The custom prosthetic had the same dimensions as Virgil's own leg, a welcome difference to the old metal pole with a shoe. Under clothes (or daresay, under a blue uniform) you now wouldn't be able to tell that he had lost a limb at all.
"Oh, this looks fantastic!" Virgil's face lit up with a beaming grin.
"How're those bionics powered, Virg?" asked Gordon, mesmerised.
Virgil tapped and then folded down his left ear, revealing what looked like a pulsating green button attached to his skin, "It's connected to the nerve endings in my leg. I think, they respond."
To prove his point, he looked down at his silver foot. Slowly and deliberately, every toe twitched and moved. "See? It's like having my leg back. Easier than breathing!"
"You two need to share this one," saud Jeff, clearly impressed, "This kind of technology could change a lot of lives."
"Don't speak too soon, he hasn't tried it properly yet," said Gordon.
Suitably spurred on, Virgil lifted himself out if his chair and took a few tentative steps. Brains muttered analytically the whole time, but the tell of success was evident in Virgil's face. Scott felt a warm rush such as he hadn't felt in a long time, seeing him looking so... himself.
The tentative steps were greeted with applause, which abruptly ended when Virgil suddenly took off at a breakneck sprint. He ran all the way down to the end of the hanger, slapped the side of Thunderbird Two with a metal thunk and ran his way back to his jubilant audience. After a final flourish of three continuous cartwheels, Virgil landed right in front of his father.
"So, Dad, when do I start?"
Jeff grinned and embraced him, chuckling.
Scott suddenly felt the sting of tears in his eyes, but was saved by the buzzing of his father's telecomm watch. Jeff clapped Virgil on the shoulder before flipping open his watch.
"Go ahead, Robert."
"There's been a distress call from the coast of Norway. They're struggling with a sea rescue, a couple of people swept away by the water. It sounds like they're still alive but the weather conditions are putting the coastguards at risk," said Robert succinctly.
Scott watched his father and wasn't surprised when he looked right at him, shaking his head.
"You know I can't let you go out again. You need rest."
"It sounds like a quick one. I'll be back in a couple of hours," Scott protested.
"I'll be the one in the water, Father. I can handle the hard work," added Gordon.
"It's not your capability I'm questioning, son. It's the conditions," sighed Jeff, shifting his weight on his feet. He took a lot longer to reach a decision then he would have done a few months ago.
"They could always just assess it in person, Father," said Virgil, "There's no harm in looking."
Every one in the room knew that a Tracy never flew to an emergency just to look.
"OK, go," Jeff said eventually, "Watch yourselves."
As if they didn't know that, already.
Scott had never seen the Norwegian coastline before. It was a spectacular sight - thousands of kilometers of islets and fjords nestled in an inviting blue-green ocean. All the land curled and crinkled like a silk scarf, dark against the lowered afternoon sun. Once upon a time, he would have turned to Gordon and promised him a vacation there as soon as they had leave. Not today. In his tired state, Scott fantasised climbing the many peaks spread before him, where nobody could reach him again. It was in these silent journeys, when he didn't feel like talking, that he questioned whether his thoughts were his own. When your own mind had been invaded and weaponised to try and kill another, it was hard to think of little else.
Despite Brains's thorough scans and in-depth theories, they could never figure out how it had been done. Brains seemed determined for answers, but not just to satisfy his curiosity. Brains also knew how it felt to have lost control of yourself, to have your body betray you from the inside out. He was the only member of International Rescue to have seen the Hood up close, yet all he could recall were glowing yellow eyes that rendered him unconscious. The same technique that effectively paralyzed Tin-Tin, leaving her with the same vague memory.
Scott couldn't claim he had had such an encounter. He had no idea what happened to him that day in London, or who made him open the hatch of Thunderbird Two. Without the video footage, he would never have known it happened. All that seemed out of sorts was a pounding headache, which he had dismissed as stress at the time. Not having any answers was just as frightening as knowing their attackers were still out there. Yet, for Scott, none of this caused as much misery as the constant, subtle look of distrust he now saw in his father's eyes.
Knowing that your father, no matter how much he verbally denied it, thinks that you played a part in attacking your family... It was enough to awaken a little voice whispering in his ear 'It would be easy. Nose down. Crash into the ocean. End it all.'
No more responsibility, no more doubt, no more grief.
Scott would smother such thoughts quickly, ashamed of his selfishness. He just wasn't that kind of man.
A tap on his shoulder. Gordon, already in his dry suit.
"We're getting close. I can see the coastguard's helicopter up ahead. What do we know so far?"
Scott tapped his console and Robert's face appeared. He went over the details once again for Gordon's benefit - a young couple had been walking along the cliffs when they spotted what they initially thought were two bodies in the water, dozens of feet below them. They quickly called the coastguards before the figures disappeared out of sight, the vast waves seeming to swallow them.
Gordon lowered his head a fraction. That tiny motion and Scott knew all hope had just been dashed from him. If they could get him down in the water at all, it was likely all he was going to be doing was recovering bodies.
"It's not looking good," sighed Robert,"The coastguards are advising us to leave, they've not seen anything to indicate there's anybody still alive down there."
"So I got dressed up for nothing?" yawned Gordon, his nonchalance not fooling anybody.
There were a few moments of silence as Robert's screen went black while he conferred with the coastguard. His face returned to the screen, looking haggard.
"Sorry that took so long," he said, "Thunderbird Five's translator hates Norwegians even more than Scots, apparently..."
"What did they say?" asked Scott.
"They kindly advise us not to attempt a rescue," said Robert, annoyed.
"Noted," said Gordon, striding over to the floor hatch that he used for air-sea hoists. He grabbed a sling he used for victims and began strapping it onto his harness.
"You're not expendable," said Scott, "I don't want you going down there if there's nobody to save."
Gordon gave him a cold look. "All or nothing, isn't that your words? It could be kids down there, for all we know. Besides, I've done this a hundred times. If there's anyone down there, I'll see them."
Scott could only nod, "But! Listen! If you see nothing, do not get in that water."
"Yes, sir," said Gordon determinedly as he threw himself backwards through the hatch, toward the churning, frothing waters below.
"I still wonder whether he's extremely brave, or has a death wish," said Robert through the video feed, amused.
Gordon was right. He got down there and found a woman in the water in a few short minutes, a miracle in itself. When she was safely hoisted up into Thunderbird One, Scott tried unsuccessfully to revive her while Gordon returned to the ocean.
It was then that things went horribly wrong. After running their heat signature equipment one last time, an extremely faint sign of life was detected. Having just lifted a lifeless woman out of the water, Gordon made the decision to untether himself from his harness and swim out towards the victim on his own.
Scott could have killed him, if he wasn't busy trying to save someone else.
The woman Gordon had pulled from the water was lying sprawled on the floor, her white tank top and black trousers askew. Her bare feet had toenails that were varnished blood red. A curtain of wet black hair haloed around her head in an inky pool.
She was long dead. There was no heartbeat and her skin was paper white, tinged with gray. She was a slight thing, with Asian features. Beautiful. With a heart jolting thought of Tin-Tin, Scott knelt down on the floor and quickly brushed the woman's soaking black hair from face and attempted mouth to mouth resuscitation. The CPR motions felt completely unnatural and he stopped his attempts after a few minutes.
He shuffled himself backwards on the floor, leaning back against the wall to try and recover. He was on the verge of complete physical exhaustion and it was long beginning to show.
"I'm so sorry," said Scott, meaning it from the bottom of his heart, "Even if I could wake you... I think the brain damage..."
He looked down at the woman sadly. His brothers all thought it was strange when he talked to the victims like this, even in death. All barring John, who once said to him 'It's ok, I get it. You're respecting them.'
Scott didn't add that it was also his way of apologising, because he's the one in charge and every mistake falls to him.
He took a deep breath and informed Robert that they had one casualty. He hauled himself to his feet and arranged towels over one of the med bay beds in Thunderbird One.
Once the bed was padded with towels, Scott gathered the woman into his arms as delicately as he could. She may have been slight, but her soaked body made her as heavy as a tonne of cement. He placed her carefully onto the med bay bed and secured her there with the safety straps. He then tucked a couple of towels over her frame and then finally a blanket. He knew that without her body heat, she wouldn't get any less soaked, but it felt wrong to leave her looking cold. He did cover her face with the blanket to preserve her dignity, all the while talking to her, telling her he would bring her to the hospital and they would sort her out properly.
His radio had started buzzing furiously as he ensured the woman was secure. He answered to Robert, who was looking distraught.
Scott felt his guts plunge, a cold stab of fear in his chest.
I blacked out again, he thought, I know I have. I know I have.
"Scott," cried Robert, "The coastguards have Gordon, he found the second victim."
"What? Why wasn't I told?"
"There was no time," said Robert, "He had drifted so far that they figured it was better for them to pull him out instead of you."
So maybe I didn't black out...
He depressed a button on his console, causing his side window shutters to slam open with a crash of steel. Scott peered out into the dark red light of the lowering sun, seeing the helicopter in the distance, a long rope hoisting a figure out of the water.
A body as limp and lax as a doll.
"Rob," asked Scott, fear coursing through him, "Is that Gordon I'm seeing?"
Scott made it to the hospital before the helicopter and he was absolutely seething. Anger was better than fear. His father had taken the same approach in his reaction and Scott's ears rang with his shouts over the radio.
"They said Gordon's not hurt, Dad. Calm down. I'm moments away from the hospital," Scott said placatingly, his teeth gritted so tight he was worried they would crack, "I'll let you know what's happening when I find him."
He shut the comms down for Tracy Island, then Robert's when he started tutting from Thunderbird Five.
As he exited his craft he caught a trolley being wheeled into the roof entrance of the hospital, surrounded by bustling medical staff. He couldn't see the victim properly through the swarms of people, but he knew from the bare pallid feet on the end of the gurney were not his brother's. A second victim and judging by the urgency of the numerous medical professionals, they were in a bad way. Possibly DOA - dead on arrival.
"Shit..." Scott murmured. It was always hard when somebody died, but Gordon always seemed to take it the hardest.
That thought was confirmed when Gordon stumbled from the helicopter and out on to the helipad. As soon as his feet touched the ground, it looked like his legs would buckle under him. One of the coastguards behind him reached out to help, but Scott got there first, sprinting like a madman.
His brother was looking ill, his burnished copper hair flashing in the twilight as it blew around his face. Scott got an alarming wave of déjà vu. He was transported back to the past. The person he just saw on the stretcher might have been Virgil, bleeding and on the brink of death, six short months ago. He held Gordon's shoulders gently, his anger disappating into overwhelming concern.
"Hey, are you ok?" he asked, catching his breath, "Gordon, look at me. What happened?"
Gordon stared at him for a moment, then down at his hands. On impulse, Scott took them. He was shocked by how icy cold they were in his grasp, scraped and raw. His brother still stood, staring downwards.
"Gordon?" Scott shouted, grabbing his shoulders again, "What is it? Are you hurt?"
Finally, his eyes shifted up to look at him. They were red, the amber irises alight, a tear trickling down a cheek as he blinked.
"Me? No, no... No, I'm not hurt." His voice was strong, but forced.
"OK, good," Scott sighed, looping an arm around his shoulders. He tried moving Gordon in the direction of the hospital entrance, but he seemed rooted to the spot.
"What is it?" Scott asked, "Come on, we need to get you looked at. Dad's having a heart attack because of you."
Gordon shook his head, tried to speak. He looked like he was about to be sick.
"Scott. I just pulled Alan out of the water."