Another short one, but the scene felt complete by itself. I have the day (sort of) off, today, as there are some online classes I need to take. Thank you for reading and reviewing. You guys are the best. =) And, Hey, 53's not just prime, but an Einstein Prime and a Sophie Germaine prime. Can't beat that with a stick!

53

In Thunderbird 2, climbing to thirty-five thousand feet, over the wild North Atlantic-

Yeah, Virgil Tracy was tired… exhausted and utterly drained, would have been closer to the mark… but his day wasn't over yet. Not by a long shot. He had to get home first, and break a few things to Gordon. Not Alan, though. Not yet. News like that… well, you had to break that face-to-face.

Emma was coming back soon, to burn up some leave time. She'd messaged and told him so. Virgil clung to that, because the next few days were going to be rough.

Flying for home, he half-listened to the familiar noises of lockdown and decontamination from below. Just Thunderbird 4, going through her usual post-capture shower, repair and diagnostics. Lots of chatter from the cockpit, too, as Gordon explained these goings-on to an awed Chip and Ellie. No body cams, obviously.

Meanwhile, Thunderbird 3 cruised by overhead, performing a gallant 'Hey, guys!' barrel roll. Sky was brightening toward sunrise, but the rocket's running lights were still a flashing necklace of green and white on that vivid red hull; the big, flood-lit '3' spinning in and out of his view as she rotated. Virgil Tracy smiled and shook his head, thinking: show-off.

Could have been worse. At least his Bird would move without an act of Congress. John was the one stuck on a small, tubby city. Try performing aerobatic maneuvers in that heap.

Virgil's fond thoughts were abruptly sliced off when the cabin door hummed open. Next, Gordon tromped in; coming forward to flop heavily into the copilot's seat, yawning and stretching. The muscular, sandy-haired aquanaut looked about as fresh as Virgil felt, and smelled like "hard work".

"Morning, Sunshine," said the pilot, giving Thunderbird 3 a friendly answering wing-dip. "Your passengers…?"

"Back in… the crew cabin, already… fast asleep. Said hi… to Buddy, first," Gordon assured him, punctuating the statement with three lengthy yawns.

"Well, have some coffee, or plug your nose in a power-outlet, Fish-stick. We, um… we need to talk, before reaching Base."

Outside, the stars were beginning to fade as the sky turned watery grey, and Thunderbird 3 zipped around them; darting through the air like a hyper-caffeinated firefly. Okay… maybe he'd shown off a little, too, with a female in the cockpit, but there were limits. Kids.

"You're the boss," Gordon was saying, as he accepted a lidded drink cup from Mini-Max. Hot chocolate, with plenty of whipped cream, marshmallows and life-giving caramel, rather than coffee. "What's up back home?" He'd been too deep in his own troubles (so to speak) to distinguish a problem with family.

Virgil glanced his way, dark eyes grim and upset.

"I'd tell you to sit down, but you already are, so… It's Scott. I know it sounds crazy, Kiddo, but I felt something awhile back… like he was in trouble, needed help, bad… and then it all just cut off. I was worried at the time, but, you know how it is…"

Gordon nodded, setting that already drained plastic cup in its holder. Neither young man noticed when a Max zipped in to whisk it away.

"The mission comes first, always," Gordon supplied promptly. After all, International Rescue existed to save lives. That meant Joe and Jane Citizen, not Scott, John, Virgil, and so on. They wouldn't have accomplished much if they were always haring off to rescue each other. That was the dark side of an otherwise wonderful job. "So… he got hurt? He's in rehab, or something?" the aquanaut probed, beginning to sense the first icy shadow of bad news to come.

Virgil made eye contact… dark to hazel… and then looked away, back to the safe, sane horizon.

"Not exactly," he hedged, after clearing his throat. "Kayo called me up. Said that, uh… that Scott's been, y'know… mind-scraped."

Didn't need to explain what that meant, or who was always responsible. Gordon didn't react for a moment or two. Shocked, maybe, or just plain refusing to hear it. Only noise in that cabin was the rumble and hum of Thunderbird 2, herself. Then, the swimmer shook his blond head.

"No," he said. "You've got it wrong, or Kay made a mistake. We work with the GDF. Colonel Casey and them wouldn't order something like that on one of us. They wouldn't."

He was breathing harder, now; deliberately looking away out the viewscreen, as though Virgil was just making sh*t up to upset him. The pilot didn't press. Simply went back to flying his Big Girl, saying quietly,

"Just thought you needed to know, Gordon. They'll be home before we are. They're closer to Base."

Gordon shook his head once again, unstrapping to rise from the copilot's chair, rushing and suddenly clumsy.

"Where are you going?" asked Virgil, feeling sick to his stomach and heart.

"For a walk," growled his brother, in low, savage tones. Seconds later, he'd abandoned the cockpit, blind with emotion and a terrible need to escape. Virgil let him go.

After that, there was nothing to do but fly home, escorted by a dancing red Bird and her happy, still innocent, flight crew.