Chapter Text
"I have a bad feeling about this rescue."
While Gordon fought the urge to laugh at this remark, Virgil sat up and turned around in his chair to give Alan a concerned look. It's not as though this reaction was completely unfounded – Alan was strangely intuitive at times and Gordon himself could recall a couple of occasions where his brother had pulled him back from near death where there had been no apparent warnings – but Gordon can't help but smirk anyway.
"Aw, really? Did you not get enough sleep? Is lil Allie tired?"
He spied Alan flipping him off in the reflection in Two's windshield. A second later came the sharp sound of a smack as Virgil whacked Alan's finger down.
"Hey," the middle Tracy's voice was low with an unspoken warning. "None of that on my ship."
"As if you don't swear as much as the rest of us," Alan muttered, slinking low in his seat. He painted a pretty miserable picture and for a moment Gordon felt sorry for him. It wasn't his kid brother's fault that Gordon was in a bad mood – he'd been flying rescues non-stop since the early hours and sleep deprivation combined with a lack of food always made him grouchy. He made a mental note to apologise later – probably with a plate of waffles with a generous helping of Nutella and strawberries on the side – and filed it to the back of his mind. When he tried to catch Alan's eye in the reflection, his brother deliberately looked away. Something cold and ugly clenched in Gordon's chest and he knitted his fingers together on his lap, shifting in his chair. He never liked starting a rescue with an unresolved argument with one of his brothers; hell, an unresolved argument with anyone he cared about. Despite Virgil's muttered claims otherwise, he hated conflict and did his best to avoid it or to break it up with humour whenever possible.
Scott wandered into the cabin and froze. Gordon winced, wondering if the tension was truly that noticeable. His brother hesitated, one hand flying to his sash instinctively like it always did when he was thinking about something – it was one of Scott's tells – he always fiddled with his shirt when he was thinking, and it translated onto his IR uniform with ease. It also happened to make him terrible at poker.
"What's wrong?" Virgil called over his shoulder. His voice was muffled by the fact he was half-buried amongst the controls, practically waist-deep in start-up protocols. Gordon swiped a couple of the holographs across to his own panel to give his brother a hand before Virgil could notice and get agitated about it, because even after years of flying together he still took Gordon's offering of help as a suggestion that he was being incompetent as a pilot. Gordon had given up trying to persuade him otherwise. Hell, the guy probably had a complex or something. He reached up and flicked a few switches, fingers gliding across the holograms and clearing the panel just in time for Virgil to look across. Gordon shot him an innocent smile. Virgil narrowed his eyes.
"Does this really need all four of us?"
"Kayo's still on duty," Alan commented, still not looking up from his Tablet. He was evidently still sulking, and, to be fair, Gordon couldn't blame him; he would be the first to admit that he'd been a bit harsh on the kid. "And John's got the exosuit."
Scott still hesitated.
"Honestly?" Virgil looked up, start-up checks fully cleared. A single holograph blinked above the control panel, but when Gordon stole a closer look, he could see that it was merely a request from Five for a direct transmission. He tapped at it until John's hologram blinked into life, the blond falling silent at Gordon's gesture towards their brothers.
"This could get messy," Virgil continued, gripping the back of his chair in order to twist and maintain eye contact. "I think we need you there."
Scott nodded. "FAB." His hand hovered over Gordon's shoulder for a moment and Gordon stared straight ahead, pretending not to notice; this was his co-pilot's chair and he was not giving it up without a fight, no matter what the age difference. Scott turned back to the second spare chair next to Alan, fingers tapping a familiar rhythm along his sash from one of the early 2000s albums they grew up listening to in their Dad's car in Kansas. Gordon relaxed upon hearing it without meaning to, fingers gripping tightly onto the sides of his chair at the sudden influx of light from the opening hangar doors. Thunderbird Two rumbled around him, comforting and familiar as she purred her way along the runway. Dust spiralled away, scattering about fake palm trees in mini tornadoes. He traced their path with one finger against the glass before Two climbed to a steeper incline and he found himself forced back in his seat, safety harness digging into his chest painfully.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. Virgil exchanged words quietly with John, their conversation quick-paced, physics-filled and a general cluster of information that Gordon was certain he didn't need to know. Scott's safety-harness clicked behind him and he twisted in his seat, raising a brow at his brother.
Scott froze. "What?"
"You don't need to prep the pod yet," Gordon pointed out. "We're still five minutes out."
"I like to be prepared."
"Control-freak," Gordon muttered under his breath, coughing into his fist and blinking innocently up at Scott when his brother glared at him. Across from them Alan laughed despite himself and hastily covered it up with another souring look towards Gordon. The aquanaut widened his eyes, draping both hands over the back of the chair in a half-praying gesture. Alan shook his head. Gordon bit his lip and blinked slowly at him, crocodile tears welling up with a bit of effort.
"Fuck you," Alan mouthed.
Gordon grinned. "Love you too," he shouted cheerfully, Virgil jolting at the sudden sound.
"Are you two talking again?"
"Obviously." Gordon held out a hand for Alan to fist bump. "We're the Terrible Two." He thrust a thumb over his shoulder in Scott's direction. "Also, are you gonna do something about him?" He could feel the dirty look Scott was shooting him burning into his back.
"Sit back down," Virgil instructed. His voice was filled with the commanding tones synonymous with a rescue, but when Gordon glanced across the corners of his mouth were twitching with a barely concealed smile. Scott sat back down with a huff, batting Alan's feet away from his lap as he did so.
"Are you all clear on the situation?" John didn't bother with a greeting. Charming. Talking of which. Gordon raised an arm, waving his hand wildly in the air and narrowly avoiding smacking Scott in the face. His older brother gave a long-suffering sigh and tugged Gordon's wrist back down to safer heights.
"Yes, Gordon?"
"Wow, it's like school again. Also, I have literally no idea about this rescue."
Behind him, Alan laughed.
"Really?" John sounded as exasperated as he looked.
"Really." Gordon kicked his feet up onto the panel. "You point, I go." He lifted his legs back off the controls following a murderous glare from Virgil – normally this wouldn't bother him in the slightest, but Four was in need of a new paint job and it was his brother's turn to pick up the colours from the mainland – he wasn't about to risk his sub simply for a more comfortable position.
John had his arms crossed. There was an amused flash of lights behind him, proof that EOS, at least, appreciated Gordon's sense of humour. "I've sent the schematics across," John started speaking, Gordon startling back into full awareness. "There's a severe sea storm formed across the South Atlantic. Two ships collided – one a container and the second a small cruise-liner en-route from Miami. The damage is severe, trapping many passengers in the lower compartments, while both ships are taking on water. The collision combined with the currents caught them in a spin, and so far I've been unable to identify the contents of the containers, so it could very well be combustible or toxic."
Something wasn't adding up. Gordon leant forwards, confusion leaking tension into his posture. "How'd they end up crashing into each other? The Mid-Atlantic Radar System runs off satellites; a sea storm shouldn't cause too much interference."
John hesitated. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "According to my scans, there was a pulse of electromagnetic interference at the time. EOS noted it when it happened which is how I was able to pick up on their distress call so quickly."
There was another click from behind Gordon. Scott appeared at his side moments later, reaching out to spin the hologram closer. "Chaos Crew?"
Gordon tensed. Despite their numerous clashes in the past, that name still managed to strike apprehension and a touch of fear into him. Alan seemed to share this feeling as he clenched his fists and fixed his sights out of the window. His sash was creased in a white-knuckle grip, but he didn't say a word.
"I don't think so." John fell silent, attention caught by another situation. He sent the information across to Kayo in Thunderbird Shadow and returned to running a further analysis of the rescue zone. No eerily familiar purple or yellow showed up and he found himself faced with merely a second alert about the state of the cruise ship. It appeared that crew of the container ship had managed to free themselves towards the top deck but now found themselves in danger from the storm; launching their escape pods would result in certain death. The captain was suggesting that they head across to the cruise-ship and attempt to help the trapped passengers; John spent a couple of minutes dissuading them. "There's no sign of the Chaos Crew in the area," he continued, "but it's possible that they did have something to do with the interference remotely." He reached across for a flashing pink symbol. "I'll have Penelope check it out."
"Thanks, John." Scott clapped a hand to Gordon's shoulder. "Come on, let's go set up the pod. Unless you think it's too early?"
The sarcasm was dripping from his voice and Virgil was hard-pressed not to make a retort of his own. He did take great pleasure in dropping Two into a steeper descent than necessary, although he suspected that it was his two younger brothers that suffered the most from that particular manoeuvre. Scott knew what he was doing however, and the message that flashed up across his control column a moment later spoke measures. Virgil tried not to laugh.
It was relatively dark in the Pod, a stark contrast to the bright lights and skies of the cockpit above. Alan rubbed at his eyes, blinking the spots from his vision. He was evidently still on edge, jumpier than usual and hair ruffled from where he'd been running his hands through it. Gordon knocked their shoulders together.
"You alright?"
Alan stole a glance at Scott. Their eldest brother was pretending not to hear their whispered conversation, but his head was tilted slightly to the left to allow him to listen in better. Two jolted around them, the movements stifled by the solid bulk of the aircraft, and Gordon shifted his weight more evenly between his feet in an attempt to stop himself from falling over. It had happened in the past and he was by no means eager to repeat the experience.
"Don't know," Alan finally muttered. He ducked his head, avoiding Gordon's questioning look. "I told you this rescue felt weird and you laughed at me."
Gordon winced. "Okay, my bad. That was kinda harsh." He rapped his knuckles against the helmet swinging by his brother's side. "Hey, look at me, would you?"
Alan lifted his head. His eyes were red-rimmed, but this could just as easily have been from tiredness as it could tears. "Are you going to laugh at me again?"
"What? No." Gordon waited until Scott had left the descending platform and was assembling one of the pods, safely out of earshot. "Okay, I know was a jerk before about it, but if this is genuinely freaking you out then you can stay here. Say you're not feeling well or something. I'll back you up."
"And face the smother-hens?" Alan looked horrified, but the beginnings of a smile were evident on his face, eyes brightening at the familiar banter. "Seriously Gordo, I'm not staying behind. Plus, if something does happen, then how am I supposed to help when I'm all the way up here?"
Gordon shrugged. "Fair enough." He stretched, adjusting his sash and leapt down from the platform, shooting Alan a final salute as he did so. "See you on the flip side."
Scott, on the other side of the pod, shot him a curious look and gestured towards Alan with a shrug and a tap to his wrist console. Gordon fought the urge to roll his eyes, but obliged, tapping a message out and sending it across with a swipe of his fingers, returning his attention to Thunderbird Four. Despite his assurances, Scott's voice could be heard, questioning Alan. The youngest Tracy sounded exasperated, promising that he was fine and that he was fit for the rescue.
"Gordon, you ready for launch?"
Gordon startled at Virgil's voice. His brother raised a brow, disembodied hologram floating above the wrist console with an expression of bemusement. "Give me thirty seconds."
Four glowed about him, warm and welcoming. Her consoles lit up in a blue glow, calm like the ocean on a clear day, readouts springing up with further information about the mission at hand and the couple of scratches the sub had received as damage on the previous rescue. Gordon made a mental note to run a full scan of Four when he returned to the Pod, just to be sure that she was in fit shape for their training in a couple of weeks.
The waters outside were angry and dark, attacking the end of the launch chute with violent waves, white crests of rage cascading down in a torrent. Four shuddered, plunging into the fray without protest. The howling of the wind vanished beneath the surface, but the sheer strength of the currents became evident in an instant as the Thunderbird trembled, tossed about as though she weighed nothing. Gordon tightened his grip on the controls, guiding Four into a deeper descent where the ocean grew darker and, hopefully, calmer.
"Approaching the target now."
Scott's voice sounded somewhat strained. "Attempting to grapple down."
Gordon narrowly avoided being flung against his controls. Four spiralled to the left, perilously skidding over the rim of twisted dark metal, ugly fuel leaking into the water like blood. "Is that a good idea?" He questioned, frowning at his brother's hologram. "Those are some serious gusts up there, you'll get blown to pieces."
Scott was quiet. "If I didn't think it was possible," he spoke after a moment, "do you really think I would be letting Alan try?"
This was a fair point. Gordon raised his hands in surrender, slamming them back onto the controls as Four lurched sideways again. The currents were coursing through the water, colliding with one another in a cruel mirror of the ships above. It took another thirty seconds – an eternity when all time was precious and a single delay could have fatal consequences – but Gordon manage to tap into their paths and plot a new route that would take him on a slow orbit of both ships without becoming dragged into the tornado of debris that the currents had picked up and was now attempting to launch at him.
Above the ocean surface it had been hard to glimpse the destruction of the two ships, with all views obscured by the driving rain and thick clouds, but below the waters the true picture became clearer. The two ships were twisted and torn together in a mangled web of metal and glass, jagged edges bleeding fuel and spilling the innards of the ships into the sea, treasures of families and crews lost to the darkness below in an instant. Gordon cringed at the sight of the destroyed cruise ship – it was obvious which of the crafts had taken the greater impact. Lights flickered on and off like lightning along its hull, paint peeling back along the razor-sharp edges of ruined metal plating.
"I've got a clear view of both ships," he reported back on the open radio. "Pulling these two apart is not going to be an option. We're going to have to remove all the passengers and crew manually."
Alan, something sticky and dark in colour smeared across his helmet that looked suspiciously like blood, appeared above the holograph projector. "What about the containers?" He questioned. "We don't know what's in them."
"Alan's right," Virgil interjected before Gordon could reply. "If they're carrying toxic material and they've received any damage then that could be released into the oceans."
Gordon of all people, with his qualifications in marine biology, knew how devastating the effects of such a leak could be. He activated Four's searchlights and raked them along the hull of the container ship, trying to find a way to scan all of the containers without having to leave the relative safety of the Thunderbird; he knew well enough how dangerous these waters could be.
"I still haven't been able to bring up the ship's logs," John was saying. The tell-tale signs of stress were becoming evident in the slight tightness to his voice and hunched posture of his shoulders as he leant over Five's scanners, a brief respite from the weightlessness of Zero-Gee. "Sorry guys, but it looks like you'll have to track down those containers manually."
There was a groaning from both ships that pierced through the water, rattling the currents and Four in turn. Gordon patted the bulkhead to his left and guided his Thunderbird closer to the container ship's flank. Thunderbird Two's lights drilled through the churning sea as the grapples descended, lifting the entwined crafts as high out of the water as Virgil dared push them.
"That may be easier said than done." Scott ducked a flying piece of beam that swung diagonally across the deck in the wake of another gust. "Getting to the crew is our main priority and right now I don't know how long it'll take."
Gordon resisted the urge to make a sarcastic comment. "I'll go," he announced, sliding his helmet on and plotting a secondary route for Four in case of a change in the currents. "I can see a way in. I'll head up onto the decks, secure any containers that are sliding towards the cruise liner and figure out what's in them."
"Swimming in those currents is…." John trailed off, hesitating. "Not advisable," he concluded.
"Meh." Gordon shrugged and gave him an easy grin. "Sounds fun."
Despite the heater in his suit, the sudden shock of water about him was freezing and had him sucking in a sharp breath. He clung to the underside of Four as tightly as possible, pressing his back to the smooth curve of metal, fixing his sights on the furious ocean between himself and the ships with a pang of nerves. John was speaking in his ear, voice soft and calm as it echoed about the helmet. Gordon knew damn well what his brother was doing and appreciated it.
"Heading across now."
Scott's reply was short and barked. "FAB."
There was a split second in which a piece of twisted metal tore away from the rest of the ship and spiralled towards him, narrowly avoiding slicing his cable in half and sheering along the side of his oxygen tank with an ugly screech. Gordon slammed his hands and feet against the panelling of the cruise liner, gecko gloves locking on with an unheard snicker, breathing heavily. His heartbeat was pounding in his ears and he removed one hand from the metal to pat at the side of his tank, checking for damage.
"Four, that was a near miss." John sounded almost clinical, deep in his International Rescue persona. There was an undertone of concern that only his family picked up on. "Are you alright?"
Gordon closed his eyes and caught his breath. "Just…peachy." He leant back as far as he dared and glimpsed the bright lights of Two shining like a beacon high above. "Let's do this."
The climb was a terrifying ascent of broiling waters and angry metal, the world tilting dangerously far to the left and right several times. The darkness of the ocean collided with the pure sunlight of Two's search beam, flashes of lightning cascading across the sea surface, darting about the Thunderbird's engines in a petrifying game of cat-and-mouse. Gordon fumbled at the rim of the deck, grabbing at a bedraggled safety rope and yanking himself onto the splintered boards with a gasp. Above him Two's engines whined, the aircraft dropping a metre or two as Virgil battled for control. Gordon winced.
"Hey Virg," he called, one hand pressed to his sash radio. "You good?"
Virgil didn't reply for a minute. "Lightning shields are running low," he snapped, voice terse. "One more hit and I'm out."
Across the deck, on the far side and surrounded by twisted webs of rigging, Pod Four stood, door open and supported by the rim of the ship. Alan was crouched on the corrugated metal, uniform glowing a faint red and blue in the storm air. His arms waved as he motioned more petrified passengers onto the safety of the Pod. Scott was nowhere to be seen.
"Scott," Gordon barked into his radio, an unnerving fear settling cold in his chest. "Where are you?"
A burst of radio static replied. "Container ship."
"That's my job."
Scott's figure appeared, silhouetted by the lightning as he hovered above the opposite deck, jetpack spluttering in the sheer force of the gales. "Sorry, Four." He dived back down. "I figured I'd make a head start."
Gordon spat out a curse that had Alan startling, jolting up on the door to the Pod and staring at him incredulously. Gordon waved a hand at him, relaxing at the amused chuckle his brother let out, and bounded across the deck to join Scott. Thunder rumbled, the air thick with tension that he could feel prickling along the seams of his uniform.
"Lightning," Virgil growled across the radio, "is a bitch."
Scott gave a surprised bark of laughter. John seemed to share his amusement as he joined their transmission once more. "Your shields are running low," he warned.
Virgil muttered something uncomplimentary. "Oh really? Thank you for that, John, I definitely hadn't noticed."
"Hey," Gordon interjected. "Stop that. Sarcasm's my thing. Find your own."
Virgil glared at him with all the ferocity of a starved tiger. Gordon tried not to laugh, instead focussing on making the leap between the splintered edges of decking. The boards were wet and slippery with sea-salt and cascading rain, further waves attacking the sides of the ships viciously. He skidded, one hand coursing along the deck as his gloves activated.
Scott paused in his scan of one of the containers. "Nice of you to drop in."
Gordon, sprawled at his feet, in all his adult glory, stuck out his tongue in response.
Scott snorted. "Mature."
"I know, right?" Gordon propped himself up, let another wave crash against the ship, and finally clambered to his feet. The skies above had darkened even further and despite his apparent relaxed demeanour – this was mostly an act for Alan's sake – the increasingly frequent lightning strikes had him worried, especially with the high-pitched whine of Two's engines as the Thunderbird struggled to maintain altitude. "What's next?"
Scott jabbed a hand in the general direction of the fourth container. "I've completed Two and Three but Four, Five and Six are still unknown."
"What about One?"
Scott stared at him. "This is One."
"Right. I knew that."
Later, with all the passengers and crew safely loaded onto the Pod, Alan hesitated in the entrance. "Are you done with the containers?"
Gordon shook his head. "No. Still got one more."
"I'm coming to help."
"Alan, no." Scott's voice was cold with command. "Stay and help Virgil."
"He doesn't need any help!"
The Pod was ascending steadily towards Two. Gordon could glimpse it trembling in the face of the wind, rain spitting acid at the swinging door. If they were going to make it back to Thunderbird Two safely then they needed to close the hatch, but with Alan still at the fore-front, the safety protocols would prevent this from happening.
A flash of lightning sizzled in the water, waves of darkness shattering the universe around him. Gordon flung out a hand to try and grasp hold of something, but everything tilted violently to the left. Jagged pain tore along his leg and he hissed, scrabbling at the deck only to find himself plummeting towards the churning sea below. A hand seized his wrist, seemingly out of nowhere, and the world righted itself in a torrent of stinging spray and thunderous smoke from Two's engines. Gordon crawled further along the deck, Scott still holding him steady, and ducked into the relative shelter provided by the container.
Thunderbird Two had taken her final lightning strike. The pod swung wildly, and Alan leapt free of the clashing door, plunging out of sight into the mess of sea and salt on the far end of the ships. Gordon's breath caught in his throat and he darted forwards without thinking. Scott grabbed him, tugging him back to the shelter, voice low with warning in his ear.
"Gordon, stop, you're going to get yourself killed."
"It's Alan!"
"I know."
Two hung heavily in the air, engines shrieking. The radios were a sea of static and panicked shouts that Gordon wasn't sure weren't from himself. A flash of blue and red appeared at the far end of the ship, a grapple slicing through the air to connect with the nearest mangled wreck of a cabin.
"I can't hold her," Virgil gasped through the radio.
Scott didn't hesitate. "Get the passengers and crew to safety."
"What about you?"
"We'll secure the container and take Four."
Gordon stared at him. Scott shook his head, a silent warning. They both knew that getting all three of them back to Four safely would be near impossible, even with an aquanaut of Gordon's skill.
Virgil evidently didn't like the plan any better than Gordon did. "You'd better survive." It sounded more of a plea than it did a threat, but none of them called him out on it. Thunderbird Two listed slightly, before her VTOLs flared, scorching the churning ocean below until the metal rose and blistered, compensating for the engines. Gordon watched the green aircraft vanish into the clouds and suddenly felt very, very small.
Alan was limping towards them. Gordon would have sprinted to join him, but the pain in his leg was rising from a stinging sensation to a stabbing pain that threatened to leave him light-headed. He didn't dare look down to check.
"You're an idiot," Scott was shouting, all righteous fury mixed with concern and pure overprotectiveness. Alan flinched under the harsh rebukes.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, shoulders hunched. For the first time in a while, Gordon was struck by how young his brother seemed. He struggled to his feet and dragged Alan into a hug.
"You may be an idiot, but you're a brave one."
Alan huffed a laugh into Gordon's shoulder. He clung on tightly, fingers digging into Gordon's back as he trembled. Gordon frowned, holding him close for a moment longer before giving in to his logical, rescuer side. They had a job to do.
Scott was watching. He tore his gaze away, something akin to sadness flitting across his face before it was replaced with the usual mask of rescues. Gordon forced himself not to dwell on it. He could always torture Scott for information later.
"We've got one more container to check."
"Getting back to Four won't be easy," Gordon commented, trying to coax the underlying fear in his voice into something more cheerful. "And we've got no backup."
Alan folded his arms across his chest. "Alright," he announced, fierce determination rigid in his shoulders and expression. "We can do this."
Gordon grinned. "Damn right we can. We're the Tracys."
As it turned out, none of the containers carried toxic waste or flammable goods. Gordon dropped his forehead to the cold metal in front of him, helmet knocking against the container with a sharp bang. He had a split second to react as a single yell of alarm, young in voice suggesting it was Alan, sounded only to be cut short.
Rogue waves. Gordon had come across them before. They were giants, monsters of the ocean and just as deadly. This one rose up and came crashing down in a torrent of cascading, all-powerful water that was inescapable. Gordon found himself flung from the ship and plunged into the dark sea surrounding the ship. The world spiralled around him, a blur of black and blue, warm scarlet drenching his fingertips and leg. Everything spun rapidly, tossing him backwards and forwards. He didn't know which way was up or down. Something collided heavily with his oxygen tank, knocking him sideways. He couldn't see anything. He couldn't call out. He couldn't breathe.
Gordon recognised himself panicking and forced himself to close his eyes, fighting back nausea. First rule of rescue, he reminded himself.
He reverted back to his training on instinct; mostly. For many people the list of priorities would begin with survive but Gordon always prided himself on not being a normal person, so his mind darted immediately to where are Scott and Alan, followed roughly by where's Thunderbird Four, accompanied by a vague questioning of Virgil's current whereabouts. He's sure that survival came in there somewhere, but it definitely didn't hit the top five.
He could name a few of his qualities on one hand and list the ones he liked about himself and the ones that he full-on hated, but the one thing he had always been and probably always would be was a fighter, so he fought through the laces of agony, pushing white-hot pain to the back of his mind and biting the inside of his cheek until he could taste copper and swam back towards the new flickering of light he gathered was lightning.
He burst free of the ocean to a world of chaos. The ships were listing dangerously in the water; the mangled wreck of the cruiser completely submerged and the container partially there. Cresting waves towered above him, sweeping him back under and forcing a crushing pressure down on his chest.
Gordon kicked out. "Scott! Alan!"
The radio squawked, but there was no response. Panic flooded through him, pulse racing and palms sweating under the layers of his gecko gloves. He fell back into instinctive swimming strokes, forcing his way towards the ships and struggling onto the hull of the container. More crimson dripped down his uniform, smeared across his boots and sash and there was a dull pain in his chest.
"John? Thunderbird Five, do you read me?"
There was no response. Gordon clung onto the pillar and scoured the deck for any signs of his missing siblings. Many of the containers had been swept overboard, and the deck had split in two, one half rising up, a jagged cliff threatening to crush the remaining half. There, amongst the drenched wood and metal, was a flash of blue. Gordon squinted, trying to get a better look. In the flash of the lightning he could just about glimpse deep red blurred through the water on his visor.
"Alan!"
A second wave reared up, plummeting down in a torrent of power. Gordon tightened his grip and focussed on breathing through the pain. Rain and wind howled about him, freezing cold and stinging icy tendrils through the shattered heater in his uniform. The sea cleared just enough for him to notice that the red and blue blur wasn't moving, and Gordon leapt across the deck, ignoring his training in favour of sprinting towards his brother.
Alan, surprisingly, seemed unharmed. He'd been knocked unconscious, and Gordon's scan revealed that the teenager may have a slight concussion, but he'd suffered no serious injuries. The blood drenching his gloves was not his own; this brought Gordon a wave of relief followed by an equally large wave of terror as the realisation dawned – if Alan wasn't injured, then Scott was.
"Alan?" He shook his brother's limp form, wincing in sympathy. "Come on, kiddo, I need your help here." He sank back onto his heels, muscles screaming in protest. "Alan. Wake up." Alan didn't move. He was pale under his uniform, pulse racing beneath Gordon's fingertips, a tell-tale sign of shock. Gordon cursed before he caught a glimpse of exactly why his brother had been so desperate to stay by the remaining container.
Scott, it appeared, had not been so lucky. The container had come crashing down, pinning him to the remaining deck, and a sticky covering of scarlet smothered the blue of his uniform. Gordon's wrist console was too badly damaged to run a second scan and gently probing with his hands was not enough to discover the source of the bleeding. His brother was deeply unconscious, and Gordon couldn't help but think that was a good thing given the extent of the unknown injury. The jagged edge of the container had shattered his helmet, fragments of glass scattered across the deck.
As far as Gordon could tell, there was no way he could get him out within the next five minutes. Which, given there was a second container teetering on the edge of the raised deck above them that would come crashing down on them all from only a single wave, was disastrous. He needed Alan awake.
Gordon sat back, slumping to the deck. Alan was sprawled to his right, Scott still unconscious in front of him. His radio was not working, smashed to smithereens, and the storm was only growing in fury. His eyes were burning with angry tears.
"Fuck."
He dug his nails into his palms as best he could through his gloves.
"You're not allowed to die."
Another wave hit the hulk of the boat.
"Either of you."
He choked back panic.
"Come on, Virgil told you to survive."
He couldn't tell if he was imagining things or if there was genuinely more blood streaked across the deck. Red was everywhere: the boards, Scott's uniform, Gordon's hands and legs, Alan's gloves, the container. Normally, Gordon liked red – Alan's sash, Thunderbird Three, strawberries, tropical birds on Tracy Island, but now he was wondering if he would ever be able to look at it and see those pleasant connotations ever again. He plastered a hand to his helmet. The ground swayed beneath him and it wasn't just due to the sea. Was he going to be sick?
A scream of metal against metal caught his attention. He glanced up and froze at the sight of the container swaying on the edge. He needed a plan, and fast.
"Right." His voice was strained, even to his own ears. "Okay. Think, Gordon, come on."
Scott's spare grapples were difficult to tug free of his sash, but there were enough for Gordon to form a harness above them. The somewhat hysterical part of his mind commented that he was like a spider, creating the web of rope, but as he sank back to the ground, legs trembling beneath him, he knew instantly that it wasn't strong enough. A third wave was rising up behind the ship, and with burning jolt in his chest he knew it was going to tip the container over the edge.
The problem as he could see it was that there was only enough time to save one of them. This was a fact, cold and hard as it may be, and he couldn't escape it. It was an unspoken fact between them – the family code of we save each other whatever it takes – somewhere over the years, that if it came down it, Alan was the one to rescue first. Gordon was no stranger to picking who lived and who died – he was ex-WASP and International Rescue called for some hard choices – but this was different – this was his family. How the hell was he supposed to choose between his brothers? The worst part was that he knew what Scott would want; if Scott was conscious right now then he would be shouting himself hoarse begging Gordon to choose Alan. If he went with that, Alan would never forgive him. This was a fact as much as the ships sinking was. Living with Alan hating him was unthinkable, something which burnt in his chest like acid, but it was more than that, because it would tear their family apart and Gordon knew all too well that he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he became the catalyst for that. Cause and effect. God. He ducked another swinging beam and choked on the copper in his mouth. He was running out of time. He damned it all to hell, gathered Alan as close to his chest as possible and draped himself over them both as best he could, sheltering the shattered remains of Scott's helmet with his own.
The wave crashed down with the ferocity and power of a nuclear bomb. Icy water and darkness blanketed the universe in an eerie sense of peace for a split second before the world tilted up-down-left-right, accompanied by a flash of the brightest light Gordon had ever seen. It scorched into the backs of his irises, leaving spots in his vision when he blinked. The ship was groaning, but when he lifted his head amongst the screeches and shrieks of metal-against-metal, he found that the grapples had stayed. Gordon silently cheered and prayed thanks to someone up there who was looking out for him. They were straining to hold the weight of the second container, but they had bought him enough time to think of a new plan. Luckily, improvisation was his speciality.
The jolt of the wave colliding with the ship had shifted the first container. Gordon struggled to tug Scott free, the brief medical training in his mind wincing at the thought of the further damage he was probably adding to certain fractures.
"Where the fuck are you, Virgil?" He shouted at the clashing skies above. He couldn't hear a distinctive whine of engines above the storm and recalled their plan to head out in Four. Without his wrist-console working, he had no way of summoning his sub, or even tracking it.
Everything crashed sideways. Water shattered the air, darkness flooding an inky black all around him. Gordon reached out, seizing a handful of blue fabric without any clue as to who it was. The dim glow of his helmet revealed a red sash, and he clung onto Alan as tightly as possible, not pausing to think about the bruises he was no doubt inflicting on his brother's back as the world churned around them.
"Oh God, no, no, no…" He lashed out, searching the water desperately for any signs of silver. "Scott! No… Shit, Scott, where…" He choked on a panicked sob, white pain scorching through his leg. Alan was a dead-weight in his arms, pinning him down. In order to find Scott, he had to let go of Alan, but if he let go then he risked losing them both. "Dammit."
Lightning struck a chord in the ocean, bright light illuminated the sky. Gordon kicked out and swam for it. A large metal panel was floating on the surface, torn away from the cruise-liner, lined with wooden support beams. The ships had vanished. All that remained was dark waters, broiling waves crashing and rearing up, jagged jaws snapping at his heels. Gordon fumbled with the edges of the makeshift raft, silently praying that his gecko-gloves would hold on just that little bit longer as he struggled to pull Alan onto the wooden struts.
"Just…stay there, okay?" He whispered. Alan lay on his back on the raft, chest rising and falling rhythmically. He looked almost peaceful. If Gordon hadn't known better, then he could almost have guessed that his brother was asleep. He forced himself to dive back into the waters, ignoring the trembling exhaustion in every inch of his body. He knew the risks of pushing himself past his limit, but there was no other choice.
Silver flashed somewhere deep down. Gordon made a beeline for it, fighting against the currents and reaching out so that his muscles shrieked in protest. His fingers felt numb in his gloves, skidding helplessly over Scott's suit until he was able to seize hold of the sash, looping an arm around his brother's waist and another about his shoulders and pulling him closer. It had been less than a minute since they'd been thrown from the ship, but Gordon had no way of telling if Scott had breathed in any of the water until they made it to the raft.
Luck was on his side as the raft was bobbing along not too far away. Gordon struck out for it, clinging onto Scott and gripping the cold metal tightly. He was now faced with a new problem – actually getting Scott onto the raft. He heaved himself higher onto the panel, muscles straining to hold their combined weight, and slid back into the water with a splash.
"Not now," he whispered, scarcely able to keep himself from crying with frustration. "Please, we're so close, just…please…"
A hand landed on his wrist. Gordon blinked and stared up into the pale face looking down at him. Alan's pupils were blown wide and he was pale, freckles stark against his skin, but his jaw was clenched, determination burning in his eyes. He didn't speak, but reached out further, grabbing hold of Scott's sash and helping to drag the pilot fully onto the raft.
Gordon sank back, closing his eyes. He'd done it. They were safe.
"Gordo." Alan pawed at his helmet. Red fingerprints scattered across the visor. Gordon stared at them incomprehensibly. "You've got to get on too. Come on." His voice was tight with pain.
"Can't."
"Bullshit."
Gordon bit down on his lip. Copper filled his mouth again, raw and harsh, but jolting him back into awareness. Alan was staring at him pleadingly.
"Please, Gordy."
Gordon seized the offered hand and forced himself onto the raft. He didn't think he could move a muscle even if he had to now. He was on his back, the metal digging uncomfortably into his spine. Above him, the skies appeared to be lightening, brighter clouds flitting along the edges of dark bulks. Thunder was quiet, pulses of tension through the air less tangible.
"I did it," he whispered. Something hot trickled over his cheeks. He wondered briefly if he was crying. Alan's arm landed across his chest as his brother flopped down across the raft. The sea was rough and shook them from side to side, but they didn't capsize. Too exhausted to do anything else, Gordon let the waves lull him into unconsciousness.