The world came back with agony that tore through his gut and no amount of blinking cleared the darkness that filled his vision. Scott didn't dare move, his first attempt still screaming at him in bass. It was a few shaky breaths later when a soft pink light pushed away the shadows and let the brunette know exactly why everything hurt. He was on the floor, tucked under Thunderbird 4's empty pilot seat. Gordon?
The light answered his mind's question as said little brother pushed through the door, glow stick in hand and eyes searching until they found the pilot, "Scott, you okay?" Gordon's voice came out strained and echoy as senses continued to return.
Scott gave a subdued moan that was supposed to ease his brother's worry, but managed to draw him closer. The glow stick swept over his body, Gordon inspecting for visible injuries. It was clear a moment later that his search had come back inconclusive, his hand catching the side of Scott's face to draw his attention.
"Status report, Scott," gentle, yet impossible to redirect.
"Here," his hand shook over his left side, unwilling to touch the area until he was certain something hadn't been lodged there. "Feels like - stabbing… hard t' breathe."
The light moved and to his relief, Gordon didn't see any foreign objects. It still didn't help the pain, but it meant he could move. The damage was internal, not that it lessened the dilemma, but a busted rib was treatable. Bleeding out, not so much.
Their thoughts synced with the observations, and Gordon helped him sit up, the ache intensifying enough to elicit a strangled cry that eased with the new position.
"You good?" Concern shook his little brother's words, hands gently pressing into his back for support.
"Yeah," a breath, deliberate and slow, the pain still present but manageable. "Yeah, nothing I can't handle." Rubbing a gloved hand over his face, Scott tried to distract himself from the ache behind his eyes, "What happened?"
"The ballast tanks are full. Lost power and then we hit the bottom," the regret was palpable. "I'm sorry… I should've anticipated this."
His head spun as they stood, both swaying into the door frame as Gordon wrapped an arm around his back. Scott groaned in protest of the self-blame. They were in an unanticipated situation with few resources and time was running out.
They moved into the back once more, the glow casting an eerie shadow over the blonde's face as he helped Scott sit in the rear passenger seat, "Are we able to get power back?"
"Not without a constant flow," Gordon frowned, stepping away to dig through a supply cabinet.
"I think we got all the info we needed from the comms," which had only served to tell them how they'd be dead before the enemy ship arrived.
His brother returned with a folded piece of gauze that he pressed to the side of Scott's head, "Hold this."
Inclined to obey, but too curious for his own good, Scott pulled the cloth away to see the dark smear that had seeped into it. A gentle hand caught his wrist and maneuvered it back to the source. A length of bandage followed, wrapping around his head to secure the gauze and freeing his fingers.
"This should help," Gordon held out a gel pack. "You hit your head pretty hard."
The brunette took the offering and placed it against the presumed goose egg, grateful it hadn't been worse. A breath and it swirled into an orange fog away from him. His brow knit together as the statement left him, "It's getting colder."
"It'll get worse in the next hour without life support," amber eyes swept over him one more time, attention splitting between medical care and their present issue. Satisfied that his brother was taken care of, Gordon stepped back, pacing the short distance of his sub. The gears were turning and Scott wanted nothing more than to help, but his head was having enough difficulty staying upright. Another turn and step and the aquanaut stopped, his boots stuttering over the metal flooring. Fingers came up to pinch the bridge of his nose as if fighting the headache Scott felt himself.
"Gordon?" He tried to inject a level of command into the tone, but the stabbing in his side left it a strained whisper.
"Just thinkin'," came back just as low. A moment passed where neither spoke, neither moved, until Gordon's hand fell and he blinked. Any other time and Scott might've made a joke at his brother's expense. He knew it wasn't at all true, his little brother faster than most at getting himself out of trouble. The aquanaut functioned better when moods were jovial, much to Scott's usual disapproval. Before he could muster up the energy to comment, however, Gordon continued, "We'll need a better way to ration our oxygen."
"Ration?" This was air, not food or water. Scott was suddenly thankful they wouldn't have to worry about that particular problem.
Gordon disappeared through the front hatch without a word, returning a moment later with both of their helmets. "There's nothing we can do about what's left in here," he gestured around the sub and his lips thinned in thought. Scott took his helmet, letting it rest in his lap as he waited. Whatever was flitting through his brother's head wasn't going to ease his worry. As confirmation, Gordon frowned, "You're going to hate this idea."
"Figured as much," crystal blue caught amber, steady despite the growing nausea. "Not like we have a ton of options."
"Right," a smirk ticked the blonde's lips up. "You'll need to put your helmet on."
A brow rose, "Why?" They might not have a plethora of resources, but he wanted the entire plan before he would follow it.
"So I can hook up one of the reserve tanks to it," spoken simply, hand held out to take the gel pack that wouldn't fit under the gear. "Don't worry, we've got two. Anyway, we can control the flow better, make it last longer instead of letting it spread through the cabin and thin out."
Scott hesitated, processing the explanation for any flaws, then handed the pack to his brother. Content that his plan was approved, Gordon darted back to the front for the oxygen tanks. The brunette smiled despite everything. It wasn't often they got to see the aquanaut in his element first hand. Granted, this wasn't typical, but he could trust his brother to keep his cool.
Two canisters were soon deposited on the floor, Gordon fussing with extra tubing that he atrached to the auxiliary port on Scott's helmet. When he was finished, he offered the gear back to the elder brother who carefully slipped it on. A soft hiss and he could smell the familiar scent of sterile air.
"Try not to breathe too deep," Gordon warned, adjusting the tank as he spoke. "I've gotta limit the output. You might feel a little woozy, but you'll stay - awake… longer."
Alive… They were trying to live long enough in hopes of taking on an unknown threat. With the throbbing of his side and head, Scott began to wonder just how they would accomplish such a task. Maybe the element of surprise if the expectation was that they'd be dead before the enemy sub arrived.
Gordon finished setting up his own helmet before taking a seat next to the brunette. It didn't go unnoticed that he didn't put the helmet on, letting it rest on his lap. Scott frowned, "What are you doing?"
The blonde regarded his gear at Scott's gesture, the twitch of his lip a telltale sign that the elder wouldn't approve of the answer, "We still have oxygen in Four. I'll hold out as long as I can on that before I switch over to my helmet… well, actually, you might need to help with that."
"Gordon," the need to protect his brother dulled the aches as his tone spoke volumes. "I should be the one doing that. We need you clear headed, not unconscious from oxygen deprivation."
He didn't sigh - that would use too much oxygen - Gordon closing his eyes in concentration instead, "I know, but I've got the lung capacity for this. I'll be able to stretch it out… at most forty minutes."
A curse sat on Scott's tongue, the reasoning too solid for him to argue. Yes, he ran on a daily basis and could give his brother a run for his money in a breath-holding contest, but he was injured. Even now, holding his breath sent his head spinning and fire up his side. Defeated for the moment, he needed a more detailed plan, "How am I going to know when you're out?"
One of the hands resting on the helmet, reached out, fingers open as an invitation, "Hold my hand, Scotty?" An old memory, a toddler clinging to his big brother as they crossed the street, shook through until Scott felt his shoulders sag. Resigned to a plan that left his brother vulnerable, he let his hand rest against Gordon's palm, their fingers wrapping around in a loose grip.
"Just so you know, you're not allowed to die before me, Fish," it was whispered, likely too difficult to hear through the reinforced glass of his helmet, but Gordon chuckled, short and subdued.
"Not sure that's how life works," a squeeze that could've been a reassuring hug. "On the bright side, you'd have plenty of oxygen to take out the jerks who did this."
Morbid jokes did little to make him feel better, but there was one fact that burned through every part of him. Someone would pay for this.
OoOoOoO
A shiver escaped his control. Only one, but it tore at Gordon's resolve for an instant as his focus waned. His eyes found a point on the wall of his girl, a sticker warning of gas storage, but he knew it as a secret compartment for emergency snacks. If only food was the sole issue.
Scott didn't notice the slip up, too focused with his own shivering. The occasional groan spoke of how much pain the movements were causing, each one only complicating the situation and usurping his concentration.
The desire to check his brother's tank gauge was directed towards responsibilities for after they ran out of air in the cabin. Scott was fine. Plenty more oxygen than himself, but the thought that maybe there was a leak or he'd misjudged the flow were quietly haunting Gordon.
The warning sticker grew hazy for a moment and the aquanaut blinked, let out the breath he'd been holding and drew in the thinning air. Head swimming, he blinked again. The image sharpened, breath held for the seconds in which his body could function off of the meager amount of oxygen. He blinked and repeated the action.
This sucks… Gordon didn't dare speak, instead searching for a new point to focus on. The medical bed - he probably should have laid down - and the dry tube instructions that taunted him. Maybe he could convince Scott to climb into one and be manually launched to the surface. It was buoyant. He'd have oxygen, but little way of contacting anyone for help. Not the best plan and likely one to get shot down since it only worked for one of them. Scott wouldn't go and neither would Gordon.
In this together… Just need the jerks to show up… a fantasy of knocking out a crew of baddies and taking their sub flitted through his mind, making him feel a giddiness that was very likely oxygen deprivation related.
Amber shifted to the ceiling as Gordon's head lulled back, resting on the shoulder restraint. A gentle squeeze to his hand and he sluggishly returned the gesture. Still here.
Focus, unfocus, his eyes couldn't make up their mind, but they stayed on the ceiling compartment that held his deep water exosuit. It would have been useful if he needed to leave Thunderbird 4, but without oxygen - without power - the suit and its O2 recycling unit would only serve to strangle him faster.
Without power…
But he had power. The generator worked except they'd flooded the ballasts. He needed a larger pocket to fill.
The idea shocked a breath out of him, the adrenaline forcing too much in as he inhaled not enough air. That could work, Gordon's mind screamed with hope. He had something plausible, but not enough oxygen to give voice to it.
Another breath and his hold on the chill running through him slipped. The quakes were small, but pulled at his chest making his lungs burn. His head spun and he found himself clinging to the specifics of an idea that threatened to float away with the growing fatigue in his limbs.
And with the surmounting pressure to just close his eyes and drift, Gordon let himself breathe. No restraint. No holding onto every ounce of oxygen until he felt sick. Just in and out. He told himself it was fine. That this was allowed and he wouldn't be wasting their supply.
He had a plan.
It has to work…