So, it's great to know so many of you are reading this (and hopefully enjoying it). Anyone mind dropping me a review?

You're probably going to pick up on an emerging pattern for the narrative of this piece with this chapter too. Anyhow, enjoy all.

When the blasted call sign rang, he wished for once they could have ignored it. They were all here, alive and well and kicking, and for once he thought they stood a chance at a quiet evening.

But they were International Rescue, so he shoved that aside, decided he didn't really mind – it was their job after all – and headed out.

Now he would give absolutely anything to be back home, having that quiet evening sat around the piano. Grandma could even bake cookies if she wanted! Anything, anything just had to be better than attending a rescue where there was little you could do. Ok, stopping the other train wasn't little, but staring down at a crash made him freeze. And he never froze, not even in the arctic as he'd reliably learnt.

He kept replaying the piece of the music in his head, the one John had loved, the one he knew their father would have loved, the one he'd grown rather fond of whilst learning it. It was calming him considerably right now.

He couldn't exactly say now what he'd been expecting when they launched, yet what he saw definitely wasn't it. When Scott had asked to know exactly what they were dealing with, he could tell by John's firm and insistent answer that none of them were going to like it, and from that he instantly wished the eldest just hadn't asked.

And then Gordon had to put his foot in it, again. He knew it probably wasn't meant as a joke, but he wasn't in the right place for it when having to rush.

"This isn't a joking matter, Gordon."

"I wasn't."

And ok, it probably didn't serve well to be caught up in tensions already, which he fully suggested was the reasoning behind John telling them exactly what had occurred.

Then when John disclosed his plan, he was sure he could see the better way to do it, but then John was the best to trust. He never steered them wrong, a pattern he continued today. Though with the passenger train saved, there was nothing to stop his focus landing on the horrific scene of the crash itself and it didn't seem to escape anyone else's notice either. Scott and Gordon were silent as they hovered, but he could almost feel the eldest's anger over the radio, sense the eldest blonde's tiredness at just looking at it from beside him.

He didn't have to say anything. Alan summed it up perfectly for all of them,

"Woah… It's… It looks terrible down here."

"I know, Alan." John had echoed. In the wake of it all though, he was trying to do what his elder brother did and try thinking ahead. Landing. They needed to land. John had been on the same page, clearly, even reminding them of the pressing darkness, but all that had highlighted for him was the overgrowing problem he'd begun to spot. There was a big problem with getting down there, it seemed, at least from where he was looking. Would his jets affect the stability of the tipped train?

"Um… I'm not seeing anywhere for us to land." He was holding out hope that maybe he'd missed something. "John?"

"You can't land anywhere near Virgil. The site isn't stable for One and Two is going to need a much larger landing and standing space than you'll get. Hover for a moment, I'll direct you somewhere else."

Oh… What a day this is turning out to be.

All he'd wanted was a quiet evening playing the piano. It seemed as IR that was beyond the realm of possibilities. At least Scott could land though, he could make a start on things and hopefully by the time they joined him, everything on the ground would be in motion. That was all he could hope. In fact, at the rate they were going this early evening, it was probably the best he could hope for.

He waited patiently whilst John guided Scott down before their red-headed brother's focus was on them once again.

"Ok, Virgil head West for a few miles. I'm sending you the details. You'll need to head North West in a bit. I'm trying to find you a suitable landing spot, but I'm not having much luck. I've put you on the path towards the nearest disused runway."

"FAB John." But even as he said it, he knew the elder was leading them quite a way. He just had a feeling.

Typical.

It wasn't a pleasant flight either, not remotely. He was aware he was piloting with way too heavy a grip, far too much tension in his thumbs and everything swirling around inside his head. Dad would criticise, Dad would have been able to pick it up from just a glimpse across at the joints of his hands. So much so that conversation was filtering past him, the voices of his brothers non-existent to the point he almost missed John's latest update.

"Virgil, North West now, you should see it soon." He promptly changed his course before readdressing the burning thought in his mind.

"How soon is soon, John?"

"Five minutes, tops." Five minutes more until he saw it from the air, so ultimately it was going to be a long journey back without the air speeds two could reach. They'd probably only just manage to get there and before the skies darkened.

He sighed, shaking his head as he flew round. This was looking to be impossible, and that was meant to be what they dealt with daily. It all felt so complicated, so hard to work through and even though this was something he did (for a living, for a hobby, had refined and practised from working and training) day in and day out, he found his focus all over the place, his concentration wavering and his flight skills deteriorating beneath him. It was like having some kind of Midas touch, but nothing turned to gold, simply snapped instead.

"Do you think there's any point in us landing?"

Not to mention the impulsive younger's behind him weren't helping any what with their loud and quite frankly unnecessary conversation.

"Of course."

"I know that. But I meant, if we have to go so far away-"

"Yes!"

He didn't want to be hearing all this shouting and angst, not on a good day, certainly not when it was taking every skill he knew to keep Two flying in a straight line. What's wrong with you Virgil? He had to stop letting his consciousness slide into his head, into the deep world of thought or it was going to end up costing them. The last thing any of them needed was for green beauty to join the days crash record.

"But why couldn't we just hover?"

"And do what? Drop the pod on them?"

He almost chuckled – another thing which wasn't helpful. The simple action would have definitely made the eldest blonde believe he was siding with Alan, and they needed their teamwork on the ground intact, not their family squabbling. And Scott thought Alan was the crazy one. Still, an 'argument' of sorts between those to right now would not go in his favour one bit.

"You know we couldn't have stayed at the site, Gordon."

"But this is silly. We're using up precious time!"

"Exactly.' He interrupted the discursive conversation whilst not daring to let up his grip on the wheel, for fear, 'We're losing time with this conversation." He was glad when that seemed to put a close to the matter, when the silence fell again, so he could think and focus and try to work out what they could do. Maybe there was something in Gordon's rash and unthought through plan. Had they stayed, they'd be there now, assisting. That's if there had been anything they could have done. One of them would have had to stay close to Two, they wouldn't have been able to get half the equipment they needed out from a pod hanging in mid-air. On the other hand, this was taking them further and further from the site, but they'd be able to get everything they needed. It was a tricky one, and it angered him too, but in was in moments like these where he just had to tell himself, whatever happened, that surely John did have the best and most informed view. If he said there was no way of them landing nearer, then that had to be that.

"I know. And I know we can't land there. It's just…" As he whipped his head around quickly, Alan seemed to have some clear level of understanding to the feelings of his closest brother in age by the way his face fell. He found that he understood it too. There wasn't a word to explain exactly what this situation was, no description which could do justice, no way of saying it which didn't sound far too fanatical and over descriptive.

He got it all now too. Gordon wasn't challenging John, he was clearly just falling into a sulk at how little they could do, a sulk at whichever streak of impulsiveness, every piece of training, told him to act immediately. He definitely understood that feeling, wordlessly. In fact, in this brief moment of perfect silence (broken only by Two's powerful engines) he thought that feeling was the biggest thing connecting them save their blood.

And in that spiralling silence, it would be his job to bring them all back, wouldn't it? He supposed that was what came of being an older brother – and it was times like these he felt sorry for all the similar rallying speeches Scott must have had to deliver to them over the years, even when he was hurting too. Besides, if he didn't diffuse this situation now, what was to stop it coming back to bite them? He was the eldest here right now, that made the younger pair his responsibility, and thus their team morale.

If he could only steady his own nerves first.

"Come on, we're almost there now, I think. Let's just keep our focus where it needs to be, ok?"

"Ok."

"Yeah."

The answers were meek, but they were answers, so he would take them at their face value.

"Good. We'll get back to the crash before we know it if we stop trying to criticise and argue over everything." That wasn't their job. Their job was to help, to save, to rescue. "We all know what we need to do."

"That's different to actually being able to do it though, isn't it."

Yes, very true.

He didn't tell Alan that explicitly. It was obvious he was right, clear to see that they all agreed.

Gordon was staring out of the window now, perfectly uncharacteristic for the sea farer, but he voiced nothing. There was a look in those brown eyes which just told him the younger wanted some quiet thinking time. Alan was fidgeting, probably unsure whether to say something or not. Whilst that in itself was strange for the youngest, whose impulsivity and immediacy often led to him missing or ignoring things, Virgil supposed it was a trait which came from their work, from having four older brothers, from staring death in the face as much as life. They all just had to face that maybe the kid was beginning to grow up. After all, in this family, it would be impossible to stay a child, to stay your actual age for very long.

He was certain he had the eyes of an eighty years old.

Goodness knows where that put Scott.

Goodness knows where the situation had put Scott.

He wanted to know. He wanted to know how their brunette brother was faring, but he didn't want to call for no reason, to interrupt, to raise the eldest's hopes and have no news. Besides, there would be time for him to find out, a place for everything to reveal itself. That was often the way with life after all: you had to go through the hard fight to get the easy answer.

They definitely had to fight tooth and nail for every day, every life, every matter small or large. It was taxing. As taxing as his flight at the moment, and he loved flying his Thunderbird. Whenever he was in the sky with her he was a slave to her purpose, but right now it felt like he was in the middle of a circus. Considering Gordon had been the only one of them to 'like' circuses – in a very narrow sense of the word – that feeling was completely and perfectly unwelcomed. He'd much rather be a slave.

"Are we there yet?" The eldest blonde asked suddenly, but dully, nothing like the old passionate shouts which haunted his memory of family road trips. For a moment it sounded so foreign to his ears, he'd never have picked the voice out as his brother's in a crowd or if blindfolded.

"It doesn't feel like it." The youngest blonde answered back and there was nothing he had to add to that. Not for a moment, not until he broke through the next low cloud and saw exactly what they wanted.

However, when John said 'disused', he'd clearly meant it. Part of the track were surrounded by broken metal caging, the paint was faded and visible in very few pages and half of the complex which had clearly once stood there had been pulled down. It was far from the ideal runway, but it did look stable and it was both long and wide enough. He supposed the ground was likely safe enough too.

"We're here." He only breathed the words, but he supposed the younger pair had been listening in for them.

Gordon shot alive in seconds. "We're here?"

Alan's head was almost resting on his shoulder as the youngest leaned forward like his body was a snake's. "This is the place?"

"Yes, this is it."

Words didn't describe how overjoyed he was. It seemed Alan and Gordon shared the same revival.

"Well, take us on down, Virge." Where on Earth the aquanaut's occasional impulsive to call him by the new nickname came from he had no idea, but taking them down to the ground, that he had every intension of doing. So, he was planning that descent when the comm finally did beep and he answered it instantly, for whether it was Scott or John, it would be one of his brothers and that was all that mattered.

"Thunderbird Five, to Thunderbird Two. Virgil, I thought you might like an equipment update."

John. Of course it would be. There wasn't any reason to jump, he cursed himself, glad the move of his shoulders hadn't been noticeable save internally. The red-head had likely tracked them and seen they were know close enough to warrant an explanation. In a minute or two, they'd be out of the craft and off to join Scott in the field of action. At least now they wouldn't be left debating what to take once they hit the ground. No, they could hit the ground running, something he imagined was likely more than necessary to meet the demands of this situation.

"I'd love one, John. We're just about to land. I'll send Alan and Gordon to get it all ready."

The pair were already unclipping their seatbelts to his annoyance, but he said naught considering how vital it was they got moving as quickly as possible.

"You're going to want your heavy lifting gear." Yes, the heavy lifting gear he wished his brothers would start calling by their name: 'the Jaws of Life'. It had shocked him actually that Gordon wasn't overly fond of the name either when he announced it and rarely did any of the refer to it as such, least of all John when they were in the middle of a serious mission. It was rare that he didn't use or at least take the gear, definitely if he had a double crew it usually followed them. It hadn't actually occurred to him to take the gear though. He'd been thinking pods, pods and more pods, as little to carry as possible and more transport. He thought that getting there quicker might be a priority, that the less gear they were carrying might enable them to have more hands with which to help with the rescue, with any serious medical emergencies until the ambulance crews could take over, but John could obviously see more, overhear more, or had a descent update from Scott as to the ground view.

It was probably wise to listen to him too.

"FAB, I'll suit up as soon as Two is on the ground."

"Get Gordon and Alan to configure a pod. You're going to want as much cutting and heavy lifting gear as you can get." With that the two were already disappearing, Alan waving as though he'd have time to notice that small detail. Gordon just headed off with a simple,

"On it already, brother."

And fair enough, it was most likely in their favour to take more equipment of that nature. In fairness, with the state of what he'd allowed his eyes to drift over briefly, Scott probably was going to need them to renegotiate everything for him to get out anyone and everyone he may have found by the time they get there. He was about to throw John his answer when the other added, "You'd be best to take multiple first aid kits, as many as you can carry just to be certain. I don't know how willing the ambulance crews are going to be to get inside the train. Currently they're leaving it to the police and fire services, but maybe when there's inside access they'll join."

He had no idea what that implied John had found. Still, in their business, cautious was definitely the best approach. "I get it, no chances. Works for me."

"Right. You might want to pass on an update to Scott. I'm sure he'll appreciate it coming from you."

Oh, he was sure the eldest would. They been far too long by his standards, by Scott's – well, he'd probably expected them to be a while landing, but – the lack of communication would be beginning to point towards something sinister having occurred and the effects of that would be far from positive on his ground work. So it didn't take much to agree with the elder on that, though it would take him a few extras moments than it would Thunderbird Five's operator. No, they couldn't have Scott panicking.

"FAB." He flicked the channels quickly, making one small detour before calling the eldest. "How are you doing back there?"

"Fine. Assembling the pods now." Gordon called back promptly, and he nodded at the knowledge, never once having moved his eyes. That was fine. The pods were being assembled and he'd just cleared all the fencing blocking him from taking Two down.

"Ok, beginning descent."

"FAB!" It was a joint and happier answer from the working pair. You'd never think it, would you? Landing on the ground to go and rescue people in trouble brought out happiness in them, even for a situation like this, the emotional boost, the things it stood for, spurred them on into optimism. Because this was Dad. And so long as they had the Thunderbirds, so long as they could keep doing what they do best, Dad would never really be dead.

Now he did flick the switch to open the comms, at the same time as starting to drop some height.

"Scott?"

The response was quick, which told him two things. Scott wasn't knee deep in rescuing anyone at the moment and he'd desperately been awaiting this call. John likely made a very good choice then.

"Go on, Virge. And please tell me you've found somewhere to land?"

"I think I have." He stated proudly, glad to have the right answer to that question, considering just how desperate Scott had sounded – he would have said pleading, but that word should never be associated with the eldest, even if it was so. "John's managed to help me locate a disused field. We're making our descent now and security has been coordinated."

He thought later he could have left the last part off, but it didn't seem to affect Scott vocally at least. On the other hand, he was sure Thunderbird One's pilot had to be driving himself bonkers by now, dealing with so much alone and he continued to dread having to reveal exactly how far they flown. He didn't want to completely cut any traces of bounce from Scott's steps, especially not this early on in what was going to be a long night.

"Great. I'll see you soon." Why did he dare even think that he might have managed to escape the task? He dreaded having to cut those hopes as the rising sun does the night. He wondered whether Scott could sense that in his silence, his tone dead as he spoke again and maybe it was that which undermined the mood.

"I wouldn't hold out on the soon." Scott remained silent – great – he'd definitely dashed his brother's hopes. The best he could do now was damage control, "We're quite a way away, but there isn't anywhere closer which is safe, large enough or stable. We're going to bring as much equipment as we can as soon as possible."

"Ok." It seemed like a situation recovered to a degree. "I'm going to start on an evac of the passengers."

"Right. Be careful Scott." We'll join you soon. He'd told himself he'd make good on that promise. Scott may be the eldest, he may think he rules over the worrying privilege, but he wasn't the only one capable of doing so. He worried now he knew Scott was out there trying to do everything on his own. He could by all means have the first shout over it, but in no way did he get the crown.

"FAB." He tried to keep his concern internalised. It would only be another thing for the pilot to focus on unnecessarily if it seeped through. He tried to bring the control back into his voice. He needed Alan and Gordon to see all as well, he needed them to keep their energy, because he was definitely losing his. The more he knew… it was never knowing more, it was always knowing less and it was sapping every piece of strength he'd left the island with. Seeing the sight of the crash itself had stolen a lot, piloting Two the extra distance another bite more, and now the journey in the dark was taking gradual slices of what remained.

In the dark, of knowledge and fleeing light.

Even as he blinked, the night was darkening, drawing in close. It was unsettling, not knowing hardly anything and not being able to see to recognise anything. He didn't think he'd ever feared the dark: he did now.

The landing was far from his best, slightly bumpy and maybe even only narrowly missing scraping the paint of Two's undercarriage. He cringed at the thought. At least if Gordon had been flying he could have blamed lesser skills. Any scraps would be entirely his fault and he was so used to them being few and far between (just the way he liked them), not to mention caused by an outside source as opposed to himself.

It was hard to think that he hadn't been flying at one hundred percent, his body seeming to have naturally moved, his brain compensated for any lack in consideration of control whilst he mused on and on about the situation. It was probably only these in-built reflexes which had stopped him from crashing entirely, although he hoped – and wished – that it would never have come to such.

This landing was far from what he would even call one, at least in his book. Even if his in air flight wasn't perfect, he was used to pulling off good, sound and scrape-free landings with ease. He wasn't accustomed to messing up in the slightest. He wasn't Scott, however he still held all the flight skills he deemed necessary. He decided it was probably better if he thought little of it, maybe even if he wiped this whole day from the records later. After all, it could hardly be afforded, for him to dedicate so much time to what was – in the scale of things at least – a rather trivial point.

He took a deep breath, thinking briefly about what Scott had said. Starting on an evac of the passengers… that meant he needed them there, their support, their strength and their skills. Besides, even though he knew the eldest would be capable of coping, he wanted to be there. He wanted to be able and ready to lend a hand to whatever was needed, wherever. It was the way they had always worked, and he supposed he wasn't used to abandoning form. It was the same whenever Scott headed out on a rescue without him. He could only ever sit at home, twiddling his thumbs, wondering whether or not he could have been of any use if he was there.

He took another breath. They were here, safely landed – if not completely intact, though really the paintwork held no matter against the weight of this situation – and all that remained was for them to move. That was the simplistic version, which was sometimes far better than the complex, especially if the meaning was always the same.

He flicked the comms on, lowering the module at the same time. He knew what answer he wanted to hear, but decided not to hold the air in his lungs just in case. It seemed odd, considering he knew his ship as well as he did their home, for Two's main frame to be rising so slowly. Of course, the rational part of his mind knew exactly why that was and felt so.

As such, he chose to ignore it, instead voicing over the static, "Gordon, Alan, how are we doing with the pods?"

"Ready to go." The eldest blonde called back, his tone missing most of its usual humorous inflection, leaving just enough that you wouldn't fall into worry mode over it, however enough to tell you that the mission was taking an early toll.

Still, at least that was an answer he liked the sound of. Things were moving and not a moment too soon. Two finally stopped moving and he lowered the ramp of the pod, intent on not holding back anything else which could easily go ahead. He didn't want anything which was in their power to be slower than it had to be. In cases like this, it was every second counts. If his younger brothers were on top of things, they were aiding him to be able to do the same. All he had to do now was exactly that, so they could hurry up and get to the site in order to pass the same help onto Scott.

"FAB, I'm going to suit up. I'll join you outside."

"FAB," Returned the joint response, before he heard the pair heading out, the pods traction scrapping down the ramp. He headed through to the module himself, letting the mechanic arms fix his gear in place. He tried to relax. Usually, this was easy. He could never predict what he'd see out there, but usually his muscles were at least calm at this time, burning and ready, but not tense. Tense muscles could do nothing for him in this line of work; they'd lead to mistakes. They couldn't afford mistakes.

His two blond brothers were waiting with barely contained patience in the pods, their eyes following his path down the ramp, the mechanical whirring of his gear continuing loudly with each step. It felt somewhat like a lullaby.

"Are we going?"

"Yes, Gordon. Move out." The two blonds turned thier pods quickly and began to steer away, he following their every move, desperately hoping the way back would be easy enough to find. Time was against them, so terribly against them now and there seemed no way to encourage his boots to stamp prints any quicker into the hard, dry ground.

The unyielding run was making him out of breath, prevaricating for a second wasn't an option though. Despite what little breath he had to spare for talking, there was just something he couldn't chance not knowing for certain. Gordon and Alan would definitely beat him there, so they'd need to know this too.

"John..?"

Always listening, that red-head, thankfully! He wasn't sure he'd ever been more thankful for their older brother's skills. He wished he could be half as calm of their Spaceman sounded right now as the words flew back, "What do you need?"

"Are we going in the right direction?"

"Your path looks to keep straight ahead. You'll be able to see a GDF planes hovering above the area." Yes, he could see that, even from a far distance. Why they were still there, he had no clue and he could bet it was annoying Scott terribly. But even as he watched it seemed some of them were moving closer. He smiled. Maybe John had engineered something after all. "When you see Thunderbird One's tail engines, turn to your right, you'll end up beside the tracks. You'll get there. Other than that, stay straight."

"Ok..." He was glad John had such faith in him. Personally, he wasn't sure he'd make it over there at this rate, especially as he was already beginning to feel as though collapsing was possible. They hadn't even travelled that far yet. Still, Alan and Gordon's fleeing pods reminded him just how far ahead they were becoming. The frown on his direct elder brother's face was audible.

"You sound out of breath, and you're moving quickly." The second part he knew John was picking up from his holo-screens, but he supposed the first was easy to hear in his labouring tones. Regardless, the answer was simple.

"Scott needs us."

"I know, Virge." John answered, straight and simple in agreement. Still, the warning was obvious… don't kill yourself getting there. He wanted to ask… He desired to know if an update was going to be pushing it, whether John had the time, whether he had the time to listen in return? Running was just a hard task to keep up when he had no clue as to its purpose. He didn't have a clue what he was heading towards other than Scott, train crash, death – no, Virgil, don't dare think that! Thinking that was just an impossibility. As soon as he let his mind fall into that vision, it would all be over. Even so, it seemed John had read that from him too, even without seeing his face. "He's managed to get the driver out. Last I knew he'd entered the train itself."

"Right." Thank you, was the unspoken text. It seemed things were at least moving on Scott's end, even if they weren't necessarily going well. John hadn't given him a full, detailed progress report, so he supposed that was something Scott had yet to give him. For all the things John could see, he didn't have x-ray vision; for all the things Scott could do, he was terrible at multi-tasking when it came to talking and action simultaneously. The eldest was definitely an act first, talk and update you later man, the complete contrast to John who worked both in perfect, unmatchable harmony. Still, as much as he knew that to be true of his eldest brother, he couldn't help the pulling anchors on his heart - desperately trying to sink it - as he thought that just maybe Scott hadn't updated John because it simply wasn't possible. If anything, it only made him want to hurry up, however short of breath he was. "Let him know, we'll be there soon."

"I will." That was John's part of the promise. He wondered what Alan and Gordon's part was? He wondered just what it would take to fulfil it. "Do you want me to relay the same instructions to Gordon and Alan?"

He had planned on doing that himself, but he was beginning to realise now exactly how impossible that task was. The pair had gained so much distance on him in the moments it had taken him to slow down in order to be able to talk to the red-head without chocking on non-existent air. If he wanted to get there any time soon he had to pick the pace up, and he could only do that if he could breathe, so that made the sensible option to give the task to the taskmaster.

"If you have the time."

"Always for you, Virgil."

"I estimate…" He couldn't do the calculations in his head for once, every inch of stamina he had was being drained (physically and mentally), and that seemed to zap his brain power. "Double what those two will do it in."

"FAB. I'll talk to you when I can."

That, meant when I have something, for he knew John could talk to them all twenty-four seven and still be in complete control of all Thunderbird Five's systems and handle any incoming calls. The second son was a multi-tasking genius who he admired. Right now, it was hard for him to talk and run, something which really shouldn't be a struggle for him. This was what they'd all trained for: endless laps around the island equal to the distances John was throwing at them for how far they might have to go from machine to scene. He was glad they'd done the exercise now, even though he'd been the last to see its intended point beforehand.

"FAB…" It was barely a spoken breath and he wasn't sure if John heard it. He simply put all his focus into the task at hand, noticing how the pods disappeared from his view as they dipped down from the brow of the hill. Leaving him alone to cross the terrain.

He'd never been afraid of the dark.

He was pretty terrified now.

Come on, Virgil! It couldn't be that much further. Surely?

He took a glance back to the large imprints his boots were making, the trial he knew was long, but only minimally visible. Thunderbird Two was little more than a looming spot, barely recognisable for what she was. The dark cloud seemed to be rolling in like a black, impenetrable fog, steam-rolling everything in its path. That, he soon believed, would likely include him. It was times like this he thankful for the large and powerful LED spotlight installed into his gear, for else, he would certainly be lost.

He kept trying to convince himself there wasn't too far left to go, yet he knew there was lengths of land to be crossed, Thunderbird One yet to have even emerged into his view, and he was looking so carefully at every angle – despite speeding past. That was just down-heartening in itself.

Engines droned overhead, suddenly knocking him from his stupor, and he stopped momentarily. Re-orientating himself, he glanced upwards, his eyes meeting the bellies of the GDF's carrier planes. Even their large grey shells were disappearing into the shadowy realm behind them, the front lights beaming through, yet appearing as though they had no body to be connected to. All he could really tell is that they were heading the way he'd come, so they must be planning to land down by Thunderbird Two and the disused runway. He took the chance to take a deep breath before starting off again, his eyes never failing to notice the singular familiar shadow of a GDF plane still hovering, unmoved. That gave him some idea as to where he was headed. That, made him realise he was still quite far away.

Oh damn!

He wasn't even sure he could pick up the pace, not with all this gear carrying. Yes, the Jaws of Life had been made to be deliberately light-weight on him, yet they were also suitable for considerable levels of heavy duty work. That element carried with it the weight, the extra mass which his exhausted bones weren't already carrying. It felt like every step stuck his boot to the gravelled, sandy quality of the empty land.

If some tracks could just appear out of thin air sometime soon, he would more than appreciate it.

Using the plane as his marker, he tried to keep the pace up, but he had to slow at points in order to take in harsher, deeper breaths. It seemed futile. He was more than aware how often that word appeared in his mental conversation.

And that was worse than the physical tax; the demands on his mentality were considerably worse. It was just as if the oxygen had given up on reaching his brain, like every neuron pathway was entering shut down. He just had no control over what ran through his mind as he tried to keep every part of his body alive and focused; no choice to cut it off either in case it killed all strategic and smart thinking he had with it. But the turmoil was impossible to control, it spiralled and took him down with it like a potent gravity well catching unaware prey as they shot through the atmosphere. He was now prey, victim to the wicked delusions and insistence of his own mind. His feet as they hit the ground were initiating his heartbeat, creating a rhythm on top of which everything else built. It seemed his pace was included in that mix, his speed pushing up to limits he never thought he'd cross, to points which would make him sweat before he even lifted a muscle. It was an endless cycle of repeated thoughts, one he tried to cut off each time before it went too far.

Running, dark coming, run faster, crash site- Keep running, darkening skies, run faster, have to get there, hurry, rescue, Scott, train crash, death, dark, see the stars soon, far away, John, cold, humourless, sad, so humourless, Gordon, cope, keep pushing, wreckage, got to keep going, home, no energy, need energy, Alan, pods, so far away, rescue - Impossible. Scrap all that. Virgil, Wreckage, crash, plane, rescue mission, train crash, Virgil, rescue, death, train, impossible, train crash, Virgil, death, death…

"Virgil?"

He stopped, almost frozen from the moment his feet came to their jagged, unexpected halt, his gear likely being the thing which kept him from toppling entirely. It was the voice in his helmet which freed him from the one in his head, his gratitude immeasurable. He took in a gulp of the thinning air, greedily sucking it in as his heart pounded harshly and most unwelcomed against his rib cage; bones which (at this moment) felt nothing like five times stronger than steel.

"J-John?" He was hoping his direct elder would pass that waver off as believable breathlessness.

"Are you alright? I've been calling you for a while." He would have rathered that go unspoken, better yet, have been unnecessary. He'd been so lost in his thoughts he'd missed the elder call him completely and in their line of work that was incredibly dangerous. Even more so with ther relationship; brothers definitely panicked more for each other's safety than mere colleagues. He supposed that was dangerous in itself, but there was no one else he would trust to do this job alongside him. International Rescue could only ever be – and would only ever be – Jeff Tray's sons. His Legacy.

"Yeah." He blinked again, desperate to try and return some hold over his own mind. He needed clarity. He needed… to be Virgil Tracy. "How am I doing?"

Whilst he had John's attention, he might as well ask, and who knew the answer might just stand a chance at brightening his day.

"You're not far away. Another mile or so to go."

Or not.

He sighed. That wasn't really what he'd wanted to hear. It would take him at least another ten minutes to join his brothers, working on that information. Even so, he pushed it to the back of his mind and started to move again, running at a slow and steady pace which he could keep up whilst talking to the communications expert. There was clearly another matter at hand; like the reason for why John had called in the first place, "Ok, what did you need?"

"It's not something I needed as such. I was just checking in." That translated to need, but of course, out of them all John was the last to need or want anything. At least in clear spoken word. Still, it gave him a chance to ask the questions on his mind, despite his lungs burning in protest.

"I'm ok. How's Scott? Gordon and Alan?" He found that once he'd asked, he desperately needed to know in order to continue. Strength came in knowledge sometimes, just the knowledge that someone was ok could be enough and that was all he needed. Enough to give him a burst of energy to keep pushing on with. Because the dark was just proving too hard to beat.

"Gordon and Alan should be arriving any moment now."

Hoo-blinking-ray. Something good occurring, finally. Scott would get some extra aid and that in itself was positive. As long as they weren't stuck alone again. Though of course, he was alone right now. And on rescues, it was a nightmare, just as much as it was their living nightmare to lose a brother. He had to stop all this negative thinking. Just because it was a possibility – let's face it, nearly anything in life was (and what was thought impossible, International Rescue have practically broken the boundaries down) – that they could lose one of their own, didn't mean it would happen if they were left on their own. He knew, Scott was incredibly capable, and that the eldest of them (reckless though he was) would make the right choices. He just hoped they'd be the right for them as well as those they were trying to rescue, because now was not the time for being wholly self-sacrificing. He could only hope Alan and Gordon joining in the mix wouldn't lead into another disaster zone. He could image just how easily those two would become overwhelmed.

"I haven't received any word from Scott in a while. I've tried a few times, but he said to bear with him."

That instantly hit him straight away, cutting through whatever minor glee he'd been beginning to feel. That couldn't be good news though, hearing nothing. Hearing something would at least be better, even if it was just a word to say he was alright. That meant they still had no idea as to what they were dealing with… what state anything down there was in, apart from what John could provide them with. Still, the positive lay in Alan and Gordon's imminent arrival, he supposed. So that was what he had to keep focussing on. Scott had entered radio silence before and been just fine. He had to imagine that as the case.

"How long do you 'bear with him'?" He enquired, regardless, wondering where John's infinite patience came from; because if he was in the elder's place, he knew there would be no way to stop him from calling until someone answered. It would probably make him more of a hindrance than a help – another thing John never was and which suited him to his job – and likely he'd just end up making a mess of everything. Besides, on the rare trips he took to space, he was never sure if he liked gravity. He was much happier down here on Earth, working with gravity to do what he did best, considering of course, he could do little heavy lifting in space.

"I'm going to try and call him again, more insistently, don't worry." He had no doubt John would succeed with that tone emerging. He probably wouldn't have been able to succeed whether he took that tone or not, considering he'd likely have broken Thunderbird Five's equipment. He wasn't certain, but he had a feeling he'd just growled down the line at his red-headed brother. Oops. Maybe it wasn't Scott, Gordon and Alan he should be worrying about. "Are you sure you're ok?"

"FAB. You said it yourself, I'll be there soon." They both knew 'soon' didn't exactly translate to its dictionary meaning, but saying it made him feel slightly reassured. He couldn't tell what John thought of its use, as his older brother remained perfectly silent. He wondered if the younger pair of Tracy brothers had made any more progress, whether they'd found Scott yet? And considering he was going to have to give up talking to John soon in order to pick up his pace (if soon was still on the intention list off course), he conjectured that it might be worth asking just the once more. "What's the update… from Alan and Gordon?"

"When they give the next one to me, I'll give it you." That was the way they always worked, namely because it worked. He had no arguments to that either, even though John had sounded slightly dismayed to not have anything further. He probably should have opened his holo-communications channel in hindsight, just to see John's expressions. He'd always preferred to have face to face updates any day, even though he knew they weren't always logistically possible.

Ultimately, he just wished he could hurry up and get there.

Ideally before I run out of breath, stop being able to use my lung capacity, or burn through the soles of my boots.

Still, none of that was worth verbalising. It would just waste time, and air he needed. It would bring up an irrelevant conversation for John – which he was sure the elder couldn't afford to spare the moments for – and a pointless one for him to undertake. Besides, he could make a perfect series of jokes about it later, just like they always did and forget all about it. He hoped they could have that usual shared success and family outcome. It wasn't really worth thinking about right now though.

Get on with the job at hand, Virgil.

He just needed to pull himself together, and the seeable step to doing that was to move. They usually worked best when they were rushing around like a family of five headless chickens in all reality anyway. The second way to do it, was to let John get back to the magnitude of other things he must be in the middle of or needing to do, to which he would just be taking up necessary resources. He didn't want to, because at the moment the spaceman was his only connection to his brothers, but there was no other option.

"Speak to you soon, John." He hoped the red-head would pick up on the subtle hints of their conversation, of that simple line, and keep tabs on him. He knew he was draining energy far too fast, and he knew the majority of that was caused by emotional trauma he hadn't - and still wasn't - prepared for.

The image he'd seen from Two's window was meagre, restricted, but it was sufficient. It was all he'd seen and it was already far too much. From the simple way the structure had manoeuvred itself, he didn't hold out much hope for the state of the interior, for the people who had been chucked around inside it like popcorn kernels. It was a problem, one he hadn't quite expected, even with John's description. And it made him feel physically sick to recall the way the metal had begun to coil, the wheels rolled afar, the carriages melding at the couplings…

No, no, no… He couldn't afford to be sick now, of all the times.

There seemed very little left to hold on for, except reuniting with his brothers, except trying to make the best out of a bad situation. Even so, it didn't seem enough.

He supposed he wasn't coping well without his brother's close either.

"Of course, Virgil. Let me know if you need me." At least that told him John had missed his subtly, or that he hadn't been very good at utilising it.

He took another breath and tried to run faster once again, tried to think about the structure of sheet music he no longer needed to view in order to play the transcribed tune, anything which wasn't that image. He focused his eyes on the GDF's plane, on searching for any sight of Thunderbird One's pristine paintwork.

He kept going. Because that was all he could do.

It's all I can do.

It was likely all that they could all try and do.

It was a struggle. Not the one he'd expected when they left either. He imagined now they wouldn't make it back until morning, and he hated flying in shifting skies, especially when flying back to home. It made him sleepy if he was honest, yet he'd just become very good at fighting against it. After all, being a pilot was half of his job, not to mention that he had to at least attempt to show up the fly boy of the family at some point. It was getting extremely dark incredibly fast now and he wasn't sure how much longer his spotlight would be of use for him to see a couple feet in front of his face. He felt sure that it shouldn't have become quite this dark in such a short space of time (unless he'd fallen asleep without knowing it, or maybe was running with his eyes closed!) and that worried him. They'd be making this rescue in the dark for certain, and it wasn't an idle choice for these conditions.

He wasn't even going to think about what the weather could do, since knowing their luck, he'd probably be responsible for summoning the storm.

It can't be far now.

It really couldn't because he didn't have the energy to continue on for too much longer. He ran a mile in an average of ten minutes, maybe twelve in this gear, but this felt like it had been a one hundred and twenty hours too long.

He didn't want to, but he had to take a moment to pause and catch his breath anew.

Looking up, he realised that at least the GDF's plane was closer, which meant he had to be in tow. It just couldn't be that much further. Now where was Thunderbird One? Because that would just brighten his day enough to dispel the night. He was even beginning to feel the chill beneath all the layers of his suit and gear.

Come on.

He scoured the area, starting off at a simple walk again, at least until he recovered some power of his own. He knew it was going to consume - extra (yeah, right) - time they didn't have, and probably double his already doubled estimation as to when he'd arrive at the site. He knew it couldn't be afforded, at all, but there was little else he could do. He almost felt as though he could keel over. That, he knew wholeheartedly, wouldn't be a hard task either; He could do that as easily as he could stay asleep through the mornings before they started International Rescue.

His tread was heavy, weighted, and he feared if he stopped completely he would never get moving again. At the same time, he panicked that if he started to run he wouldn't make it there at all. That was worse than making it there late as far as he was concerned, but still, it was a task he felt he knew not how to complete. When they'd landed, he'd been so enthusiastic to be able to get on the ground and start their journey back that he hadn't considered the distance he'd have to go, especially not on foot.

Even though he was certain John would talk endlessly to him if he asked, he didnt want to put that extra pressure onto their older brother when he surely had so much to coordinate already. He knew he just had to keep going, alone, but never alone in truth. He had to keep going, to keep on moving with the little energy he had within himself, by using the wider dynamism he had supplied by his brothers, and the strengths of their relationships even from afar. He knew there was hope in things still somehow turning around for the better, in them being able to go home before the evening fell anew at home: it was all merely so hard to see beneath the darkness, through the black with had settled, the thick blanket of night.

He just needed a sign that something was going to go their way. Just one little thing would do.

That's all he was asking for.

Just. the. one.

He gradually tried to start picking up his pace again.

That would do it for him. He wouldn't ask for anything else today, no more miracles, nothing whatsoever in any capacity. He wouldn't dare. He just had one thing to ask and he'd happily leave it be.

It was all he was asking for.

He broke back into a run, his lifting gear whirring with every speedy movement.

Please, just the one.