Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
Sicktember Prompt 10: Medicine/Injection, with Scott and Gordon (requested by purfectpurple)
In Gordon's opinion, they were under-equipped for this rescue. That wasn't a usual state of affairs – International Rescue prided itself on having the best rescue equipment in the world – but circumstances had conspired and they were here, on a beach, without so much as Thunderbird Four.
There was a valid reason for their lack of water-based equipment, though. The three of them – him, Virgil and Scott – had originally been handling a rescue far inland in Spain with no water in sight. That one had gone smoothly, but as they'd been packing up John had appeared with news of a collapsed rock arch sending tourists scattering into the water in the Canary Islands. Going home to collect Thunderbird Four would have taken too long, and they did have Module Two, which could bundle together submarine pods if necessary, so the decision had been made to head straight there and work with what they had.
He couldn't say he liked working on a water rescue without the security of his Thunderbird, but with Virgil hovering overhead in a dragonfly pod and stabilising the rest of the arch, things seemed to be relatively under control.
The water was teeming with panicked tourists, some splashing around in the shallows and others struggling further out. With Virgil's duty clear, it left Gordon and Scott to retrieve them all. He wasted no time in taking charge – Commander or not, water rescues were his specialty, not Scott's – and sent his big brother to the shallows while allocating himself to the deeper water.
Screaming and crying was, unfortunately, par for the course when it came to panicked rescuees, so to start with, Gordon didn't think much of it as he gathered together groups of tourists and shepherded them back to shore, where the local authorities were waiting with ambulances. Fully geared up in his water-appropriate uniform, complete with attached helmet and rebreather, he kept making trips between the deep water and the triage centre, vaguely aware of Scott wading through the shallows and hauling up traumatised rescuees of his own.
Then the begging started.
Usually, hysterics were based around you gotta save me, and help, and I'm gonna die! That was normal. Understandable, even. Being begged to just let me die, on the other hand, was rare. Not entirely unheard of, sadly, but rare enough to catch Gordon's attention. Especially when it wasn't a one-off.
Something niggled at him as he deposited one batch of seemingly suicidal rescuees at the triage, increasing in intensity when he caught sight of the first aider's faces. Resignation, as though they'd been expecting it. As though people begging to die happened here.
Gordon's mind screeched to a halt halfway back to the water. Ahead of him, up to his shoulders in water and talking to a young girl who was screaming loud enough to deafen anyone in her vicinity, Scott seemed to have once again neglected his helmet. Fingers left exposed by the fingerless gloves Scott had opted for when gearing up for their original rescue curled around skinny limbs as he coaxed the girl up, and Gordon's heart suddenly took a swan dive straight down to his stomach.
"Say," he said, turning back to the nearest paramedic. "How often do you guys see Irukandji in this region?"
He wanted to be wrong. He really wanted to be wrong. His squid sense told him he wasn't wrong.
The paramedic in question turned to him with tired eyes, the resignation shining through them. "Often enough," he said. "These people? At least half of them have been stung. Maybe more."
"Great," Gordon sighed, shoulders slumping. "Thanks."
Even as he headed back out to get the last few stragglers in the deep end, Scott caught his attention again. The screaming girl was now sat up on his shoulders as he pushed his way through the water towards the shoreline, one hand clutching another woman and hauling her along. A quick visual scan showed that they were the last of his brother's cohort. Good.
"Wait for me on the shore," he ordered as he passed him, hoping his brother heard him over the girl's screaming. There was no time to check the message had got through, though. Not when he had people still in need of rescue – people who were probably being stung by a swarm of violent and near-impossible to spot jellyfish.
Once upon a time, Irukandji had been native only to a specific part of the South Pacific, along the northern coast of Australia. However, during the first half of the century, they'd spread – or new species had been discovered – and now they were a near-enough worldwide threat.
Threat was an apt word, too. The stings were no joke; Irukandji Syndrome was nasty, and if not caught in time, could be fatal. Thankfully, a few years ago there had been a breakthrough on an antivenom for it, which had greatly reduced the number of long-term hospitalisations and mortalities, but from all accounts it was still an awful experience.
In his neoprene, deep-water-rated uniform, Gordon was perfectly safe from the tiny jellyfish. But Scott, on the other hand…
Gordon really hoped the swarm hadn't spread to the shallows.
His final few rescuees were as agitated as the previous lot, confirming that they, too, hadn't escaped, and he towed them back as fast as he dared, half an eye out for Scott.
He spotted him standing right at the water's edge, talking to a hologram of Virgil. There was no sign that he was in pain, but one of the biggest threats with the Irukandji was the potential delayed onset of symptoms. Gordon couldn't relax just yet.
"Virgil's almost done," Scott told him when he approached. "I'll go and report to-"
"John can do that," Gordon interrupted, stopping just out of arms' reach. "We need to get to Thunderbird Two and get out of these uniforms, now." He still couldn't see any signs that Scott had been stung on any of the exposed parts of his body, but he was taking absolutely no chances.
Scott paused, clearly startled at the interruption, and Gordon found himself under scrutiny from concerned eyes that belonged somewhere between Big Brother and Commander.
"What's wrong?" he asked, stepping forwards. Gordon edged back out of reach again, conscious that his uniform could have all sorts of jettisoned stingers caught on the ridges of the neoprene.
"There's a swarm of Irukandji in the water," he said. It was enough to widen blue eyes. "We need to decontam."
Scott, like all of his brothers, was familiar with the dangers presented by the oceans and their inhabitants. Gordon had made sure of it personally; while their knowledge didn't match his, they at least knew enough to know what was bad news. The fact that Irukandji were also a concern off of Tracy Island had cemented his brothers' knowledge on that one.
"F.A.B." Scott was immediately on the comms again, calling up John and Virgil and updating both of them of the change in plans as he headed back to Thunderbird Two and her decontam facilities. Gordon followed, still scrutinising all the exposed skin that he could see.
Decontam was never fun. Gordon hated it, but it was a necessary evil so he suffered through the procedure until his old uniform was stripped away and he was released from the unit to claim and don a fresh one. Scott was similarly spat out of the neighbouring unit, yanking on his own fresh uniform as though it'd run away if he took too long to get dressed and looking for all the world like he was about to hurtle back out of the Thunderbird and rejoin the danger zone.
Gordon caught him by the bicep, bare fingers on neoprene – so skin-tight wetsuits took longer to put on than flightsuits, whatever – and pulled him to a stop. Once again, he found himself under the scrutiny of concerned blue eyes as Scott looked him up and down, clearly wondering why he was being stopped.
"You're not going anywhere until I know you didn't get stung." Outside of the water, it wasn't often that Gordon pulled a commanding tone with Scott, but in this case it felt very, very, necessary.
"Our uniforms would have protected us," Scott dismissed, waving a hand lightly in his direction pacifyingly. His fresh uniform was one with full gloves, and Gordon felt a rush of frustration that none of them had thought to make Scott change into that variation before getting into the water. "I'm fine."
"You were helmetless and wearing fingerless gloves in the water with Irukandji around," Gordon retorted, refusing to release his brother. "I'm not letting go until you're scanned." Scott looked like he had something else to say, so he kept talking. "You know Irukandji stings are barely noticeable and only show symptoms later. With the rescue taking your attention, there's no way you'd have noticed anything."
Scott's mouth shut with a clack, confirming that he was probably about to say I'm fine until Gordon had headed that off with logic. If he was less worried, Gordon would've rolled his eyes. As it was, he tugged Scott along to the medical bay, big brother following with extreme reluctance, judging by the way he was lagging behind at the end of Gordon's arm, and grabbed a scanner all without releasing his grip.
The yellow light washed over Scott, his big brother stood stiffly as though he was about to bolt, and Gordon parsed through the results as they came in.
A scattering of pinpricks flashed up, predominantly across his fingers, but there were a couple of hotspots on the back of his neck, and a curse slipped from between Gordon's teeth.
Scott went pale, bravado lost in the fact of scan results telling him that he had, in fact, been stung multiple times, although Gordon knew that it wasn't just the jellyfish stings that were causing it. The dread passed across Scott's face, his adam's apple bobbing in a subconscious swallow, and Gordon set down the scanner so he could yank down one of the docked hoverstretchers.
"Sit, Scott."
His brother obeyed, sinking down automatically onto the hoverstretcher. Gordon squeezed his arm reassuringly before slowly releasing his grip, ready to grab Scott again if he made a break for it. He didn't, although the temptation was clearly there. Blue eyes flickered between him and the door at an alarming pace, but Scott knew that Irukandji Syndrome was no joke. They'd caught the stings before the symptoms manifested, but it was still a race against time to administer the antivenom before they appeared.
"Uniform," Gordon ordered, heading for the antivenom storage and rummaging through the locker to find the one he needed – one advantage of living in Irukandji territory was that it was an antivenom they made certain they never ran low on. For a long moment there was silence, and he began to fear that Scott was already succumbing, before the sound of the zip carried through the air.
By the time he had the needle prepped and ready, Scott's arm was hanging out of his uniform, all the fine hair standing on end in a way that had nothing to do with the temperature of the Thunderbird. Blue eyes were closed, and his chest rose and fell in a carefully even pattern.
Needles were not Scott's thing.
Gordon made sure not to take too long. With practiced ease, he administered the antivenom, one hand rubbing Scott's shoulder firmly, before withdrawing the needle and quickly tossing it into the relevant recycler.
"It's over," he promised once it was out of sight. "How are you feeling?"
With a shaky breath, Scott opened his eyes and looked over at him. "I'm fine, Gordon," he tried, but his voice had gained a tightness that could only be associated with pain.
"Yeah, right," Gordon sighed. The antivenom would take a few minutes to kick in, and it seemed like they hadn't caught it fast enough to prevent the start of the symptoms. "Lie down and I'll find you some painkillers. You're not going back out there like this."
Scott's compliance was apparently at an end, although Gordon suspected a large motivator for that was not wanting to be subjected to another needle – this one full of morphine – because he started pulling his arm back through his uniform's sleeve even as he tried to find his way to his feet again. He didn't stumble, but Gordon grabbed his shoulders reflexively anyway.
"Scott."
"I'll be fine," his brother insisted. "The antivenom'll kick in soon."
Gordon sighed, but before he could say anything, a deeper voice sounded from behind him.
"You can lie down willingly, or I'll make you," Virgil rumbled. Gordon obligingly moved to one side as his dark-haired brother hurried into the area. "You're going nowhere."
"Virg-"
"The rescue's all wrapped up," Virgil continued. "All that's left to do now is to go home, which you will be doing on that hoverstretcher. John's got One."
As if on cue, the familiar cry of the supersonic engines resonated as Scott's 'bird took to the sky. Scott looked more than a little annoyed. "Virgil-"
"Don't even try," Virgil interrupted, gripping Scott's shoulders and slowly but steadily forcing him to lay flat. "I'm going to hook you up as a precaution and we'll reassess once we're home."
"Virgil…" This time it was almost a plea, or as much of a plea as Scott was capable of while still partially in Commander mode.
"Gordon's going to stay and keep an eye on you," Virgil continued, bustling around with tubes and needles. "I don't want you moving until we've confirmed the antivenom's working." Well-practiced as he was, it didn't take long before the relevant measures were set up. Gordon placed himself by the morphine pump, knowing from experience that Scott wouldn't touch it if he had the final say, no matter how much things hurt. That was also the only needle, and therefore the most likely thing to be torn out if Scott was left unsupervised.
"I got this, Virge," he promised, resting a hand lightly on Scott's shoulder. "You get us home."
Virgil hesitated for a split second, clearly internally warring about leaving him, but Thunderbird Two was his craft, and they all knew who would get the most out of her on the way home.
"Keep me updated," he eventually said, giving Scott's shoulder a light squeeze. Gordon promised, and watched him reluctantly leave before turning his attention back to his eldest brother.
Scott's face had pinched further, a sure sign that the pain was flooding through him in earnest now. Gordon fingered the morphine pump, considering for several moments before letting it drop away again. He'd trigger it if Scott started broadcasting agony, but until that point he would – reluctantly – respect his brother's wishes. He knew all too well what being doped up on painkillers without permission was like.
Beneath his feet, Thunderbird Two roared into life, Virgil's 'bird ready to take them home. Gordon made sure that Scott was secure before finding a seat himself, moments before she peeled away from the ground to follow her sister home.
It would be a long journey for Scott, who was used to travelling at Mach ridiculous – and being the pilot. Less so for Gordon, who was very familiar with Thunderbird Two's slower speeds, but it still wasn't easy seeing his brother's skin turn more and more ashen as the toxin attempted to make itself at home, only to be challenged by the antivenom.
Gordon wrapped his fingers around one of Scott's hands, feeling the callouses on his palm, and squeezed reassuringly, elated for a brief moment when the grip was returned. Home couldn't come soon enough.
PurfectPurple also mentioned Virgil as an obvious choice in their prompt, but I'm a Military Bros girl so I was more than happy to focus on those two and just give Virgil a moment to fret once he realises what's going on... I have to give thanks to janetm74 for being my sounding board on this one!
I'm dabbling in Sicktember over on tumblr! Only doing prompts that I get a character request for, so feel free to drop by with a request. You can find the list on the sicktember tumblr blog!
Thanks for reading!
Tsari