Chapter 64.

John bit his lip as Scott let loose a strangled sound of mortification.

He had no idea what was taking Virgil so long. His brother was usually swift and efficient during a rescue, especially when his family was involved.

John could still vividly remember the look on Virgil's face when Scott and Alan had dug Gordon free from the rockslide that had crushed Thunderbird Four after the Chaos Crew had abducted Braman. They'd all shared the same fear of potentially having to bury one of their own, but Virgil had taken the whole thing incredibly hard. After watching Gordon undergo two surgeries to repair a badly fractured fibula and humerus, he'd renewed his vow to never let any harm come to any of them.

Apparently, if the current delay was anything to go by, Scott didn't qualify for that vow. The turkey eating contest of fifty-eight was probably to blame.

Across the other side of the hanger, Alan was busying himself with rigging up Thunderbird One's spare cargo net. In the absence of Gordon, Kayo, and Penelope, he'd recruited MAX to help him pull the net taut enough to absorb Scott's weight if he fell victim to gravity.

"Steady, MAX," Alan warned, his voice wobbling when the robot tugged a bit too enthusiastically, "John? Does this look alright?"

John made no acknowledgement that he'd even heard Alan, the entirety of his attention locked firmly onto Scott. He felt his pulse quicken as his brother readjusted his grip on the launch platform and tipped dangerously to the left.

As space monitor, John didn't have the same level of medical experience as his earthbound brothers, however he was still a very capable first-aider. While adrenalin was the very thing keeping Scott from splattering across the hangar floor, it was also a surge hormone that wore off after a relatively short while. The human body wasn't designed to be in fight-or-flight mode for long, and Scott was unfortunately no exception to that rule.

Almost on cue, Scott tipped again, this time to the right. His movements appeared sluggish as he made the necessary adjustments to righten himself.

John however, had seen enough. Any more waiting and his heart would collapse in on itself.

"Hang on Scott, I'm coming!" John yelled, throwing caution to the wind and sprinting up the staircase that led up to Thunderbird One's launch bay. Upon clearing the final step, he paused for all of two seconds before getting down on his hands and knees and crawling out along the jib arm that extended and retracted the platform responsible for ferrying Scott to and from the pilot's chair.

A jib arm that was ridiculously narrow, had no known weight limit, and also no safety rail.

Seriously, what was it with Scott and safety rails. Was he allergic to them?

Sixty-five feet down, Alan gasped and slapped a hand over his mouth, his brain frantically updating his calculations. If Scott and John kicked the bucket, then Gordon would end up as his main caregiver. After factoring in several variables and allowing for sample restrictions, he came to the swift conclusion that his chances of survival if left under Gordon's care would diminish by approximately seventy-seven percent, which was thirty-five percent 'down' from his score with John.

'Nuh-uh.'

The sound of canvas flapping echoed around the hanger as Alan frantically set about securing as much of his makeshift net as he could, while simultaneously making a mental note to locate and dispose of every bucket on Tracy Island. None were getting kicked on his watch.

He only hoped that his net contraption would be strong enough to catch two bodies if John also fell. As the two tallest, him and Scott probably had the combined weight of a baby rhino.

John gulped as he continued to crawl out along the jib towards Scott, his palms sweating when he realised that, for the first time in a while, he didn't have a plan sketched out. His goal was simply to reach Scott and calm him down enough to make sure he didn't topple off the platform. The rest had yet to be coloured in.

Steel clicked as John drew level with Scott and maneuvered himself so that he could wrap an arm around his brother's trunk to anchor him in place. No sooner had his hand made contact, than Scott swiftly vaulted onto his back like a koala, transferring his iron grip from the launch platform to his torso.

John felt himself gasp in pain. Scott was a lot heavier than he looked, and the way he was looping his legs around his stomach was putting uncomfortable pressure on his lungs. Plus, the added weight made it impossible to move. A fiery ache began to spread along his arms and legs as his wrists and knees objected fiercely to their horse-like treatment.

"Scott, 'geroff!" John wheezed, contracting his back into a weak bucking motion in a futile attempt to dislodge his brother, "If you let go, I'll ask EOS to remotely move Thunderbird Three's crane so that we can get down."

"I feel sick," Scott stammered, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his cheek against the back of John's head, "And the room is spinning."

Down below, Alan's mouth fell open in a gape that was both hilarious and contextually accurate.

John winced as his back clicked in protest to Scott adjusting his grip. He was now supporting one hundred percent of his brother's bodyweight, plus his own. How Scott expected him to crawl back along the jib like a fully loaded donkey was anybody's guess.

"Scott, you seriously need to get off," John wheezed, gulping when his brother's shifting almost threw his own balance off, "There's no way I can get us back to the launch bay like this."

Scott tightened his legs around John's stomach in protest.

Icy adrenalin shot through John's veins as his balance threatened to betray him to the dusty folds of Alan's safety net. Scott let out an opera-like shriek of fear and intensified his hold, a suspicious sounding hiccup forcing its way out in the process.

"Don't you dare puke on me," John warned, sweat running down his face in rivulets. He'd been in a lot of undignified situations of late, but crawling along Thunderbird One's launch jib on his hands and knees with Scott clinging to his back like a squirrel took the cake. Scratch that, it took the whole damn bakery.

Still, something about Scott's terror was doing something to John's mind. His fatigue was starting to abate, giving way instead to a burst of strength which, unfortunately, he knew wasn't the result of push-ups.

Impulsively, he cast his mind back to a rescue he'd sent Virgil on several months ago. A young family had been involved in a three-way car crash on one of Ontario's busiest highways. Virgil had managed to successfully evacuate the mother and father, however had encountered difficulty freeing their daughter from the rear passenger seat, which had absorbed most of the impact. After retreating to Thunderbird Two to retrieve his exo-suit, he'd returned to see the father lifting the section of the car that was trapping the toddler enough for his wife to reach in and pluck their daughter free.

The sight had shocked Virgil to his core. The vehicle had been too heavy for him to move without the aid of his exo-suit, yet a rather averagely-sized man had managed to shift it with nothing more than hysterical strength. John had heard accounts of parents rescuing trapped children with brief spells of extreme strength before, but had always dismissed them due to the lack of solid science behind the phenomenon. The unexpected power he suddenly felt dancing through his arm and leg muscles however, made him revisit his previous doubt. Scott was his brother, but he could feel himself responding to his distress like a frantic parent reacting to their panicked child.

Oh, how the tables had turned.

Using every ounce of strength his lithe frame possessed, John began to make slow progress back towards the safety of the launch bay. He ached in places he didn't even know he had, but he was moving, and with Scott firmly onboard.

Alan, meanwhile, was circling beneath the launch platform like a crocodile awaiting it's next meal, "You sure that's a wise idea? You're not exactly Kip Harris!"

"Shut up!" John spat, his turquoise gaze not losing an ounce of potency as it travelled the sixty-five feet down to the ground, "And stay right where you are. I'll need something to break my fall if my arms give out, and your head will do just fine."

Alan made a mental note to locate and vandalise John's treasured collection of telescopes.

Scott made a mental note to never touch alcohol again in his life.