Chapter 2

When Gordon was born, Scott was five and three quarters years old, and their Momma was supposed to take them out for ice cream for Valentine's Day. Instead she disappeared, he and his brothers were carted to the farm next door to be watched by stuffy old Mr. Hamilton, and Scott lost track of time until someone showed up to collect them. In the end it was Grandma Tracy who brought them to the hospital after Gordon's birth.

The sleeping child confused him. Virgil, ever Scott's shadow, sat to his right on the hospital's grey couch, and John was being held by their Grandfather. Dad had helped settle the swaddled form into Scott's arms so that he could support the baby's head like he'd been shown, and he was so proud he was grown enough to hold the delicate figure correctly.

"His hair is white?" Virgil had questioned.

"That's right, baby," their Mother had shared from her position in the plain bedframe, her eyes bright and smiling even through the dark circles underneath. "Scotty's hair was blond when he was born too. Maybe Gordon will be just like you, Scott?" Scott had not stayed blond long, and at five and three quarters his hair was a warm brown. Virgil had never known Scott any different.

With their heads tucked together and with the bundle resting heavily in Scott's lap and arms, the two boys spared a smile to each other, though their gazes were entranced by the sleepy breaths of their new brother.

It turned out that Gordon did not follow in Scott's footsteps. His hair stayed blond and even started developing some strands of red when he was out of the sun for too long. Though, it was other things too. While Scott looked up into the clouds, Gordon's head was bowed towards the Earth and Sea. Scott appreciated words to help define who he was - roles like Scout, Brother, Soldier, Protector, CEO, Leader -and he was comfortable in those identities, but Gordon was just too bright for his character to be so limited by the walls of a box.

They shared words, though. Orphans. Veterans. Rescuers.

Survivors.

And that's the one that echoed in Scott's heart - when Gordon was dragged into the Chaos Cruiser and taken right from under their noses during a cliffside retrieval with just his baldric left behind. He'd only just managed to flag the cruiser for tracking, with John already five steps ahead with Kayo dispatched to follow the vehicle in Thunderbird S.

Survive. It coursed through him like a chant in the aftermath.

In truth, Scott knew there was a chance his brother might be dead. He hadn't wanted to think about it, but they all knew what it could mean when the vitals in Gordon's suit screamed out from the feed John had shared with them and then dropped off into silence. Echoing in their ears was the ghost of Gordon's previously racing heartbeat, and the painful throbbing of their own as the sound blinked away.

"Where'd he go?" In Thunderbird Two with Virgil, Alan's expression through the hologram was frightened, but hopeful, as his eyes darted to Scott for answers he couldn't give.

Scott saw Virgil's hand settle on Alan's shoulder, ever the older brother comforting the younger. "We'll find him, Alan." Positive, encouraging. But there was a tightness in the set of his jaw and that wrinkle in his forehead that divulged the fear welling underneath the surface, and if the holograms had color, Scott knew Virgil's pallor would be unnaturally white.

"There could be a number of reasons we lost the feed," John chimed in, hands already dancing over the computers of Thunderbird Five. Information, facts. That was their John. "I'll have EOS run a sweep of our connections just in case. Or maybe his suit was removed. It could be anything really." And yet, still pragmatic.

Granted, John could be right. And lost vitals also could mean their brother was dead. They all knew it.

"He's ok. I just know it." He had to be. And that's all Scott could really offer his brothers when in their eyes he saw the terror of his lost squad companions, expressions he never wanted to see trouble his family.

And still the prayer of survive ached through his soul, jagged as the edge of an uncertain promise.

For all the what ifs he and John had concocted, this one was one neither of them would've thought possible. My brother is the size of a Hasbro figurine.

"Gord -?!" The rest of the name never made it quite past his dry lips.

"Hi, Scott." Scott blinked at him. "So, are you going to stare or are you going to help me out of here?"

"You're… Uh, What ha -" Scott stammered. "Gordon you're so small! How the hell?"

"I don't know, Scott. You tell me," Gordon scowled, clambering over the tools in the kit to reach the edge of the box, where he was greeted with the open air. "The Hood injected me with something," he added, rubbing at his chest where the dart had pierced his flesh, still tender from the assault.

Scott had once played with their father's old G.I. Joe armies, though early in his youth he discovered model planes and the small figures were quickly stored in the attic again for the next Tracy child. Spoiler - they didn't see the light of day again until Alan. Virgil was too occupied with making noise on anything and everything, John was absorbed in his books, and Gordon, though he might have had an interest, had been like a tornado when cooped up inside until he reached his pre-teen years and finally understand the concept of a good binge watch on the television. Alan had a few years of interest, then he too abandoned Captain Grid-Iron for Hot Wheels.

Scott remembered, he used to make up stories with Dad's old G.I. Joes. Not very good ones, but intense ones, stories of heroism and sacrifice – Oh, no! Code Name Gristle's been shot in the leg! However will he survive? Or KABOOM! Quick, evacuate the building! He once had put his toys through the ringer.

The glamour of war had been completely shredded by his actual tour of duty – granted he'd been long past his G.I. Joe days by then. But he felt a bit of acid rise in his throat standing in front of Gordon and thinking of the violence in the way he used to play with the army men. The reality was that his brother was that delicate at his current size, and he was clearly injured judging by the soiled state of his IR suit.

He'd been hurt. Whatever the Hood did, he'd hurt his brother.

"Scott?"

"Sorry, Gordon, just give me a moment to process," Scott said. But even as he spoke, he remembered Gordon had been waiting for his help up out of the kit, and so he lowered his hand to Gordon's feet, leaving his palm outward.

"It wasn't necessarily a swim in the ocean for me either," Gordon griped, stepping onto the offered hand. "Thanks."

Asking what happened felt redundant, but he did so anyway, lifting Gordon to eye-level so he could more clearly investigate the blood on his suit. And was he off balance? His palm tickled where Gordon's left foot put barely any pressure against his skin.

"He had me in a cell for a bit, watched me lock pick my way out the shackles. Thus the-" Gordon gestured to his bare feet to indicate his lost boots. "Then he hit me with an injection and I woke up like this. I assume Havoc recaptured me when I fell off the fireplace. Killed a spider which sucked, and now you're here."

As Gordon spoke, the movement of his hands and the unsteady surface of Scott's palm threw him off balance, and he fell back on his backside and, in a classic Gordon maneuver, tried to make it look intentional. Despite the situation they were in, Scott found himself forcing back a grin. Then Gordon's words sank in.

"Wait, you fell off a fireplace?!"

"I climbed down most of the way first. And it wasn't my fault. The bottle they tried to keep me in fell and shattered."

"Gordon, that's really high. What were youthinkingdoing something like that?"

"I was thinking about escaping. Honestly, Scott, what would you have done?" Gordon had him there; they were Tracys. They didn't give up. "That's what I thought."

"But we were coming," Scott protested.

"Would you really have been looking for 4 ft me in a glass bottle?"

"No, probably not." This time, Gordon spared his brother the yeah, I told you so, and simply hummed in his Scott's palm, wearily passing a hand through his messy hair.

They ran through Gordon's list of injuries, and Scott did not like the sound of millions of tiny pieces of glass hurtling through the air towards his brother's unprotected face, and it didn't escape him that some of those shards could easily have been as large as his brother himself. Nor was it all comforting to know that Gordon actually didn't remember where his hopefully-only-sprained ankle came from.

He had assumptions. Carelessness most likely, not recognizing what would be considered too high for a figure of Gordon's size. Another side of Scott knew the injury could have been intentional. To keep Gordon contained.

For all the good that did. And, yeah, it was dangerous what Gordon had done to find his own means of escape, but hell if Scott wasn't proud of him.

"Hey, Scott?"

"Hm?"

"Are we safe?" Gordon asked, adding with a whisper, "Is Havoc out?"

"I got her with a stun gun, but you're right. We should move. Kayo is here somewhere, and the others will be following shortly."

"What about the rescue? Everyone else is ok?"

"Another successful mission," Scott affirmed. "And yes, all accounted for now. Here, I'll fill you in while we walk."

He raised Gordon up to the level of his shoulder so he could climb onto his right. Scott felt Gordon's uneven gait settle in the space near his neck, and his IR uniform collar pulled away slightly when Gordon grabbed it to steady himself.

The others were going to be livid when they found out about all this.

"And, ah, shit. I need to call John."