Thank you again for your patience and for your support!

Scott hated this.

Hated it with a vengeance.

It was only Matt's interference that had stopped Scott from doing something stupid and getting himself arrested. But he couldn't help it; the frustration was building with every irrelevant question that they asked him. He had told them everything already – how many men, what they had been wearing, what they had been armed with, how they had fought… He hadn't realised he had paid that much attention to the attackers when his every sense had been locked on Virgil, but his sub-conscious had stored the details away, preparing him for the questions now coming at him.

He knew he was alienating himself from the cops. He had told them everything he knew, but he wanted answers, wanted to know what they were doing to find his brother. They wouldn't – couldn't – answer him and Scott was frustrated. He never handled frustration well. The cops only saw him as the playboy son of a billionaire: one living a life of luxury on his father's island while they risked their lives day after day going against gangs, thugs and criminals alike. They didn't like him, didn't trust him and Scott knew he would feel the same if their positions were reversed. He wondered how their attitude would change if they knew they were not the only ones risking their lives to save people on a daily basis.

He finally kept his mouth shut, swallowing his pride and anger and calmly recounting all the details again when asked. Again. The cops were not the only ones on the case, though. After speaking with John, Scott knew his brother would be using all the technology at his disposal to try and track Virgil. Neither John nor Gordon would be sitting around doing nothing, and Scott envied them. They could at least do something beneficial to help Virgil. Unlike him.

As Matt hauled one of his officers to the side and had a quiet word about how he had just spoken to Scott, the pilot wished John would hurry up and find something. Any clue, any hint of where Virgil was, would be enough to stop the men questioning him for minute details and actually get out there after his brother.

Scott sighed, sinking back in his seat and running a hand through his hair. He was exhausted. A mixture of fear and anger had woken him from his drug-induced slumber, but he could feel the after-effects. The drugs were still trying to pull him under but he was no use to Virgil if he was asleep. Looking across the room, he saw his father looking harried as he spoke to one of the more superior members of the police force. His body language told his son all Scott needed to know. He wasn't the only one close to snapping.

"How you holding up?"

Scott jumped. Normally, no one was able to sneak up on him. Air Force and International Rescue training coupled with four younger brothers meant he was highly alert to his surroundings. But Matt had managed to not only cross the room, but sit next to him and speak before Scott knew that he was there.

Matt sighed; he knew how rare it was for Scott to be caught off-guard.

"This wasn't your fault, Scott."

"I didn't tell him I was worried about Dad," Scott muttered. "If I had just said something, got him to talk to Dad with me…"

"He still would have left. Scott, none of you boys are good at being cooped up. One of you would have gone. Virgil just happened to be first."

"Dad would have stopped us-"

"Would you have listened?"

"Yes!" Scott stared at Matt. "If Blag's out, I would have kept Virgil safe."

"For how long? The entire following day while your father conducted business meetings? You would have resisted the urge to grab a soda, take a walk, get some fresh air?"

Scott shut his eyes. He knew Matt had a point: eventually, one of them would have left, swearing they would be careful, but leaving the apartment nonetheless. It would have just been a matter of time. The men had been waiting for Virgil; they would have waited a little longer.

Matt put a hand on his shoulder.

"It would have happened, buddy," he said, echoing Scott's thoughts. "Whether it was you, Virgil or your Dad. It would have happened to one of you. There's nothing you could have done to stop it."

"I should have done something!" Scott retorted, shrugging off Matt's hand. He couldn't tell the man how he had frozen, stood there and done nothing while Virgil had been knocked out.

He looked around the room at the cops. The majority had left, heading back to the station with whatever evidence they had managed to gather. But the number remaining told Scott one thing: they were still talking rather than actively searching for Virgil. Tension ran through him and his hand clenched.

"We'll get him back, Scott. Trust me. I know what I'm doing." Matt stood up as he spoke and Scott glanced up at him.

It had been a long time since Scott physically had to look up at Matt. But right now, he felt as lost as he had done back then.

He was supposed to protect his brothers and Virgil had been taken from right under his nose.

He nodded, although the action was forced and jerky. He had trusted Matt to look after and help them before. He could do it again.

With one more reassuring squeeze of his shoulder, Matt moved away, leaving Scott with his troubled thoughts.

He couldn't help thinking about what Virgil might be going through, even now while he sat there. He knew Blag was behind it, even if the police had only made vague connections so far. And he knew what Blag was capable of. Scott took a deep breath. He had saved Virgil from Blag in the past. He could – would – save him now.

He couldn't sit there any longer though. He couldn't listen to the same questions again and again and not lose his temper. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father throw his hands up in exasperation and knew he wasn't alone in his feelings.

Scott stood up, taking a step towards the door. No one looked around. He took another step, then quickened his pace. He reached the door, and still no one glanced at him. There were men in the rest of the building; they weren't worried about who might leave the apartment. The remaining cops were examining the apartment, looking for non-existent clues. His father had his back to the door.

Scott slipped out.

As soon as he rounded the first corner, he stopped. There was a guard standing in front of the elevator – something Scott should have predicted. The guard wasn't just stopping people from approaching though. He was stopping Scott from leaving. Scott swore under his breath and ducked back around the corner, leaning against the wall and running a hand through his hair. He refused to go back to the apartment.

Then Scott saw something that made him grin. He didn't need to use the elevator. He didn't even need to round the corner. Instead, he eased open a small window, gaze locked on the fire escape. Checking no one was watching – and hoping the guard couldn't hear him - Scott swung a leg over the ledge and slipped out, balancing precariously on the narrow ledge.

The wind was strong at this height and Scott momentarily wondered if he had gone mad. Then he edged along before swinging himself onto the fire escape.

The fire escaped clanged loudly as Scott scrambled on and he froze, convinced the entire building would have heard him. But there was no flurry of movement and Scott breathed easy again. He began the long descent to the ground, cursing his father for having the penthouse. He was also aware that if no one detected him, he was going to have to climb back up the same way or answer awkward questions.

Scott missed the last rung and dropped to the ground, landing in a crouch before slowly straightening up and staring around. He knew the cops had been examining the area all morning, searching for evidence they could use to discover the identity of Virgil's attackers. But it was clear now – the men had either returned to the station or were still upstairs, dealing with his father. Scott wondered if they had noticed he wasn't there yet.

He moved forward, blinking in the sunlight. It had to be at least mid-day and Scott had been answering questions since early that morning, ever since he had woken up. He tried to quell the rising frustration. The cops had spent hours on stupid questions when they could have been physically searching for Virgil in that time!

But anger wouldn't help him now and Scott took a deep breath, exhaling slowly and rolling his shoulders. He needed to concentrate. He ducked under the tape the police had used to isolate the scene and stared around. Then he dropped to a crouch and started methodically searching the area.

Scott knew the chances were he wouldn't find anything. The cops had swept the area, forensics examining any evidence they found. But it had been the local police who had done the search; Matt's team hadn't yet arrived. Scott didn't trust them – he didn't trust anyone when it came to his brothers' safety.

He started to look himself. He kept seeing flashes of the fight, a stark reminder Virgil had fought for his life in this exact spot. Scott had promised his mother that he would look after the younger ones. Blag had nearly made him break that promise years ago, when Scott couldn't look after himself, let alone anyone else. Finding something was his only clue to locating Virgil – his only chance at not breaking that promise again.

Scott twisted, his gaze searching the ground intently. The only thing apart from the police tape that indicated the fight had happened was the cop car. The police were still waiting for someone to tow it. But as Scott turned, something glinted from under one of the wheels.

He scurried forward, staring at the bullet shell. Everything else had been collected up, but Scott knew this one had been missed because of its position. Stretching forward, he slowly prised it out from under the wheel, holding it up to the light as he stared at it. The sun glinted off it before Scott closed his fingers around it. The police might have taken the rest in order to try and track them, but Scott wasn't handing this one over. He knew someone who would be able to trace the shell more effectively than the police.

"Hold on, Virg," Scott muttered to himself, "I'm coming.

TBTBTB

Virgil groaned, his eyes flickering. He opened them just enough to acknowledge a dim light before he shut them again.

A few moments later and he was able to repeat the process, keeping them open for a few minutes. On his third attempt, Virgil managed to take note of his surroundings.

They didn't fill him with confidence. Corrugated metal ridges pressed into his spine and Virgil looked around, realising he was in a large, metal crate. Instantly, he thought of shipping containers and froze, his heart thudding hard. But there was no movement and Virgil breathed again, convinced he wasn't being shipped off to an unknown continent.

Attempting to shift position, Virgil cursed when he realised his hands were suspended above him. They were still cuffed, only this time, they were attached to an iron ring embedded in the wall. It looked the sort that animals could be tethered to and Virgil arched his back, trying to see if he could break loose. A few attempts quickly revealed the futility of that action. Frustrated, Virgil banged his head on the wall, remembering a second too late that it was metal. The bang echoed around the crate, followed by him swearing. It would have been comical if he hadn't been trapped.

Twisting the best he could, Virgil tried to see anything that would give him an indication of his surroundings. His gaze didn't get any further than his own arm. Virgil stared at the crook of his elbow, trying to remember when his sleeve had been torn. He didn't remember it happening in the fight and he stared at the dried blood, attempting to piece it together. Eventually, it came to him.

He had been drugged, at least twice.

After forcing him onto the plane, the men had bound Virgil to a chair in such a way that movement wasn't an option, let alone escape. There had been nothing he could do as the man with the Russian accent had pulled out a silver case and opened it. Virgil had tensed, determined to make it hard for them, but hadn't been able to stop the man from sliding a needle into his arm. Considering everything had gone black after that, Virgil could only assume it had been a sedative of sorts.

They were still airborne when he had regained consciousness. Virgil had kept still, the gag preventing him from saying anything even if he had wanted to. He had cautiously looked around as much as he could, watching the group of men on the far side of the plane closely. They were deep in conversation and one glanced over at him. Virgil knew they were talking about him. But he realised too late they had seen him watching them and once again, there had been nothing he could do to stop them from drugging him.

Virgil was convinced hours must have passed since then. They would have had to land and then transport him to wherever he now was. If they were keeping under the radar, it wouldn't have been a process that could have been rushed. It would have alarmed him that he had lost so much time if it wasn't for one comforting thought. The longer he had been missing meant the closer his brothers would be to finding him. Virgil had no doubt that John was already tracking him somehow (this wasn't the first time Virgil regretted taking his watch off!) and Scott was coming up with a plan of action.

If there was something Virgil had learnt over the years, it was not to mess with his big brothers.

But Virgil had no intention of waiting to be rescued.

Virgil twisted the best he could, staring up at the cuffs holding his hands. He sighed. Any hope that they were old and rusty vanished when the gleaming metal reflected in the dim light. But wishful thinking had helped Virgil in the past – he was the pilot of Thunderbird Two, after all – and Virgil hoped that perhaps the iron ring or the links securing the cuffs to the ring would be weak. Placing his feet flat on the floor, he took a deep breath and attempted to stand up.

For a split second, he made it halfway.

But by the next second, reality caught up with him and his balance was thrown as his upper body refused to stretch up. His feet shot from under him and he crashed back down with a gasp. His wrists stung from where the metal had dug into him and it took Virgil a moment to catch his breath. That had hurt!

The pain didn't matter, though. Whether they were saving the world or playing pranks on one another, nothing stopped a Tracy when they had an idea in their head. Virgil fully planned to escape and one failed attempt was not going to stop him from trying.

Virgil reckoned nearly two hours had passed before he was forced to take a reality check and admit that positive thinking might not be enough this time. His body ached from the numerous attempts, his wrists bleeding from where the cuffs had cut in.

It was more than just the physical pain of trying to escape though. The after-effects of having been forcibly sedated more than once were taking their toll and Virgil's head pounded even as his stomach rolled. It was also a reminder that it had been hours since he had last eaten or drunk and he was losing strength, fast.

Once again losing his balance and hitting the floor, Virgil groaned. He knew he had to straighten up, to try again, but it was too much effort right now.

He lent back against the side of the crate, attempting to catch his breath as he forced himself to examine his options. Unless whoever was behind this planned on letting him starve to death (Virgil quickly pushed the thought from his mind with a shudder), they would have to come in at some point. They would have to free his hands if he was going to eat and drink, or if they planned to move him. That would be his chance and Virgil decided to save his strength until then.

Virgil curled his legs into his chest, attempting to get comfortable. There was nothing to occupy his mind other than dark thoughts about what was happening and his body ached from the fight, being bound and his attempts to break free. He was cold and hungry, but he shut his eyes and gave into his body's demands that he got some rest. He didn't fall asleep, but he dozed, allowing his mind to escape his prison even if he couldn't physically.

He had no idea how long he slept for. But as he heard the sound of a door grating open, Virgil jerked back into alertness, groaning as he realised how stiff he was. His arms and neck were particularly bad, but Virgil guessed that his comfort wasn't his captors' priority.

Dusk was falling if the light spilling into the container was any indication. Virgil swallowed nervously, realising he had been missing for almost a day now. This wasn't just some random kidnapping; this had been planned. Anything spontaneous would leave clues and John would have already been able to find him.

Virgil sat up straighter as a figure approached him. He examined the man visually, hoping for an indication of who he was or who he worked for. Virgil didn't recognise him; this man hadn't been on the plane or one of the ones who had attacked him in the street. His bulk coupled with the dull look in his small, mean eyes gave Virgil enough to go on – this man was nothing more than the hired help. Virgil wouldn't get any answers from him.

Virgil watched carefully as the man approached, attempting to keep his expression neutral as he pulled a key from his belt. Virgil remained still as the man unlocked the handcuffs. He let his wrists fall into his lap, massaging them for a second. Then he reacted.

Jumping up, he forced himself to ignore the dizziness and lurched forward. He rammed his shoulder into the man's midriff, sending him stumbling backwards. Dropping back to a crouch, Virgil swept the man's legs out from under him and picked up the handcuffs while the man fell heavily. He wasted no time cuffing the man, grabbing the key and darting out of his reach. He slipped out of the container, then put his shoulder to the door and heaved with all the strength remaining to him. The door shut and Virgil quickly dropped the lock back in place before stepping back, satisfied.

Then he looked around.

Containers were everywhere, confirming his earlier thoughts that he was in a shipping yard. Virgil could only stare, having no idea what direction to move in to get out of the maze. He heard a muffled shout and the sound of fists pounding against the door and knew he had to move; his prisoner was going to bring everyone running if he kept up that racket. Wishing he had knocked him out, Virgil set off at a run.

He didn't think about where he was going, but focused on ensuring the containers were providing him with cover. He knew if anyone was on top of any of the crates, they would be able to find him easily and so Virgil kept moving. It didn't take long before a stitch burnt down one side and his breathing came in short, desperate pants. While he normally had the fitness required in order to be a member of International Rescue, he was still trying to get the sedative out of his system. Virgil knew he couldn't keep this pace up.

He slowed down. There was no sound of pursuit coming from behind him and he needed to conserve his energy if he was going to make it out of this alive. Slowing to a walk, he tried to keep his breathing under control so that it didn't give him away and to keep his steps silent. The feeling of entrapment pressed down on him and he had to force himself to remain calm. He could all too clearly remember Scott's fear of enclosed spaces for a while when they were young and was beginning to understand how his brother felt.

Virgil glanced up at one of the containers, looking for a hint about where he was. White lettering was stencilled onto the side and Virgil stepped back, attempting to get a better look. Eventually, he could read what was printed and his eyes widened in surprise.

Norfolk Southern.

He knew that name. He had seen it before, printed in stark white lettering just like this. He had gone to work with his father more than once as a child and he remembered clearest the days that his dad took him out of the offices. A trip to a transport yard was one such experience; the monorail parts had fascinated the budding engineer, even at such a tender age. Virgil knew where he was.

He was in Kansas.

These men – whoever they were – had brought him home.

The sound of voices made him jump and Virgil stared around, disorientated. He suddenly felt there was a lot more to his abduction than he had originally believed. Taking one last glance at the crate, Virgil turned and fled back into the maze of containers.

The voices dictated which way he went – the opposite way to where the men seemed to be. He could only assume that they had found the man he had left locked up and even now, were searching for him. Virgil knew these men were not to be underestimated; they had taken him in New York, right outside his own apartment. They had got him this far. Virgil knew they were professionals.

Virgil looked over his shoulder as he took a corner at a skid. He instantly crashed into something solid and felt hands grasping for him. He tore free, using his momentum to change direction and speed off again. But he knew the game was up; the men knew where he was now.

He didn't make it more than a couple of steps before something slammed into his shoulder. Virgil ignored the pain, until a sharp current shot through his entire body and he dropped with a cry, trembling as the shocks continued. He could taste blood from where he had bitten his tongue and he couldn't control his shaking hands in order to pull the dart from his shoulder.

Eventually, the taser stopped. Virgil remained where he was, panting in a desperate attempt to control his twitching limbs. He could feel consciousness leaving him and knew that the shocks had pushed him over the edge.

But just before he blacked out, someone came to a stop over him. Virgil was just able to make out their face as he passed out.

It was a face he had never wanted to see again.