Sunlight streamed in the open window, lighting on the ruffled auburn hair of the young man sleeping in the queen-size bed at the room's centre. He rolled over, the sheet twisting around his legs as he shifted in his sleep. Obviously still uncomfortable, he tried to roll over again, but the tangled bedclothes stopped the movement and his eyelids flickered open. He gave an enormous yawn and stretched his arms above his head. Then swore as he bashed his hand into the wall. He groaned and sat up, untangling the sheets with one hand while sucking the finger that he had bent backwards against the wall. Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair, ruffling it up further so it stuck out in unruly spikes all over his head, then glanced over at the alarm clock on his nightstand. Ten to nine.

Grumbling, and still rubbing his injured fingers, Gordon Tracy slowly swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The sheets slid off the bed and onto the floor in a crumpled heap beside his foot. He frowned down at them accusatorily, but couldn't be bothered to pick them back up so ignored them and wandered to his en suite bathroom, rolling his shoulders to relieve the tension that had built up in his muscles as he slept.

Stripping off his shorts and t-shirt, he stood under the shower, the hot water pounding down onto his aching back. He'd slept at an odd angle again, and the old injury was playing up, causing a dull ache between his shoulder blades and a sharp twinge when he lifted his hands to rub shampoo through his hair. He raised his face upwards towards the shower, letting the water run down off his chin and cascade onto his chest. He stood like that for several minutes, before turning so the heat of the water once more soothed the pain in his back until it was bearable.

Regretfully, Gordon stepped out of the shower and grabbed two towels from the towel rack, wrapping one around his waist and dragging the other over his soaking hair, ignoring the pain as he lifted his arm. He'd have to make an appointment with his physio, again. He sighed.

Unlocking the bathroom door and walking back into his bedroom, Gordon went over to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer.

"Dammit, Alan!" The drawer was empty. His younger brother had pulled one of Gordon's own pranks on him, emptying his underwear drawer. Gordon shook his head. What the youngest brother had forgotten though, was that Gordon had a whole drawer full of swim trunks too. Smirking, he picked a pair and pulled them on, followed by a huge, maroon t-shirt, that had once belonged to Virgil and hung loosely off Gordon's smaller frame, clashing terribly with his red hair.

He left his bedroom and made his way to the kitchen, absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck. Alan was sat at the breakfast bar, eating a bowl of Froot Loops and reading a magazine.

"Mornin'" he said around a mouthful of cereal as Gordon reached over to ruffle his hair. "Hey! I just finished styling that!"

Gordon scoffed, "Serves you right for nicking all my underwear, Sprout."

"Ha! Guess you haven't found it yet then?"

"Where is it?"

"Like I'd tell you."

"Tell him what? What's Fish done now?" Scott came in from the patio, the smell of cigarette smoke following him on the breeze.

Gordon turned a frown on him. "Why do you assume I've done anything?"

Scott raised one eyebrow, "Well, have you?"

"No!" Gordon jabbed a finger in Alan's direction, "He has." Scott turned to the youngest brother, his eyebrow still raised. Gordon scowled at both of them and headed to the cereal cupboard. He was fed up with everyone assuming he had done something wrong every time.

"What'd you do, Sprout?"

"Moi?" Alan placed a hand on his chest and looked up at Scott with wide eyes. Gordon let out an almost inaudible growl, which turned into a rather loud snarl when he opened the cupboard door.

"I can not believe you!" He whipped around to face the young blond again. "You've eaten all my cereal, again. God, Alan, why can't you just leave my stuff alone?" And with that he stormed from the kitchen, leaving Alan spluttering incredulously, and marched down to the games room.

He flung himself into the couch, wincing and letting out a tiny groan as the movement jarred his still painful back. Then grabbed the TV remote and flicked idly through the channels, finally settling on an action movie with lots of explosions and almost no dialogue. The main character had just disarmed and knocked out a group of twenty-five men using just his bare hands, when the games room door opened and Scott came in, carrying two mugs and a plate of sandwiches. He passed one of the mugs to Gordon and put the plate on the edge of the pool table, then leant against it facing Gordon, and studied him carefully.

"Are you ok, Gords? Does your back hurt again?" How the hell did Scott do that? He always seemed to know when Gordon's old injury was playing up, without the swimmer ever needing to tell him. Gordon's confusion must have shown on his face because Scott came over to sit beside him, looking into his eyes. "You always get snappy when your back hurts and you just practically bit Alan's head off back there."

Gordon sighed, "Sorry."

"S'ok, Fish, I know you didn't mean it. He told me what he did, the little scamp." Scott put his arm around Gordon, rubbing circles on his back. "And I know he finished your cereal, so – I would like to say I made, but we all know I can't cook to save my life – Kyrano made you some bacon sandwiches." He grinned at his brother.

"Thanks, Scotty." Gordon watched his oldest brother jump up from the couch and fetch the plate from the pool table, before sitting back down and balancing it on his knee.

"Now, tell me, Gordon. Does your back hurt?" Scott's dark blue eyes were focused on Gordon's amber ones and he lifted the redhead's face with two fingers when he tried to look away. "Gords?"

"Between my shoulder blades," Gordon muttered, before taking a huge gulp of the coffee Scott had brought. Scott sighed.

"Have you called your physio?"

"Not yet, I was going to after breakfast."

"Ok, just make sure you do."

"Yes, Doc."

"Ha ha." Scott pulled Gordon into a careful hug, then gently pushed him away, signifying the mother henning was over. Gordon grinned. Then scowled as Scott swiped a sandwich from the plate.

"Hey! I thought they were for me."

"Oh c'mon, you don't need all four! I can have one, surely."

"Fine, but if I waste away, it's on your shoulders. Man, these are good sandwiches, Kyrano has outdone himself." The bacon was crispy and the bread had been fried on one side to give it just enough crunch without being too greasy. Kyrano had even added fried mushrooms and tomatoes. That man truly was a Godsend!

As Gordon ate, Scott got up, wiping his greasy fingers on his jeans, and moved behind the couch. He put his hands on Gordon's shoulders and began gently massaging his thumbs into the aching muscles on Gordon's back. The pain immediately lessened and the redhead let out a huge sigh. If Scott ever wanted to give up flying Thunderbird One, he could easily get a job as a master masseur.

Gordon had just finished his sandwiches and picked up his coffee when the klaxon sounded, causing him to jump and slop hot coffee down the front of his shirt. Scott was already out of the room before Gordon had even put his mug down. Holding the wet fabric of his t-shirt away from his chest, Gordon sprinted after his oldest brother, narrowly avoiding colliding with a pyjama clad Virgil as they both ran into the lounge. John's portrait had already been switched to the live image, the blond talking seriously to their father.

"It's too big an accident for the coast guard to handle. And they're worried that the ferry's sinking faster than they can evacuate people."

"Right, John." Jeff turned from the comm screen, "Boys? Where's Alan?"

"Here, Dad." Alan hurried into the room. His face was expressionless, but Gordon could tell by the look the young blond shot towards him and Scott that he was still annoyed about that morning's argument, and whatever had gone down after Gordon had left the room.

"Ok, we have a situation up in the North Sea. A freight carrier ship collided with a ferry and the ferry is sinking. The coast guard are there but they need help evacuating all the passengers from the ferry."

Scott started towards the wall with the secret access to Thunderbird One's hangar before the words 'Off you go, Scott. John will brief you once airborne' had even left their father's mouth. Jeff shook his head, a hint of a smile playing over his lips, then looked at Virgil.

"Take Pod Four." He turned to the redhead, "You may need to go down in Four, Gordon, we don't know the extent of damage or number of victims yet. Virgil, I want you to keep me updated and John will send coordinates and any additional information you might need once you're on your way."

"Yes, Father."

"FAB."

Virgil headed to the tipping portrait that led to Two, while Gordon made his way to the passenger elevator on the opposite side of the lounge.

"See you down there, bro," he called to Virgil, then saluted his father and grinned.

"Good luck, boys."

The rumble of Thunderbird One taking off shook the Island just as the passenger elevator clicked into place in Two's cockpit. Virgil was already in his seat, flicking switches as the control yoke gently rose towards him. He selected the pod, before getting up and grabbing his uniform. Gordon found his own uniform from his locker and dragged his t-shirt over his head, dropping it on the floor as he pulled his dark grey wetsuit on.

"Hey, no littering in my 'bird," Virgil pointed at the t-shirt as he walked past, already decked out in his bright blues, yellow sash positioned slightly crookedly across his shoulder.

"It's your t-shirt," Gordon pointed out.

"Why the hell are you wearing my clothes, Midget?"

"Oi!" Virgil narrowly avoided the elbow to his ribs. "It was in my closet, so I put it on."

"Clashes with your hair," was all Virgil said before leaving Gordon to finish dressing. Gordon frowned after his brother, then shrugged and stuffed the offending t-shirt into his locker.

He could feel Thunderbird Two lowering itself down over the pod as he walked back to the cockpit. The hangar door opened slowly, Two's windows tinting to adjust for the sudden glare of sunlight that flooded them as the cliffside sank into the ground. The giant behemoth trundled out onto the runway, the fake palm trees falling back either side to allow for Two's wings, then tilted up as the launch platform pointed her nose towards the sky.

"Ready Gords?" Virgil asked.

"Yup. Take her away, maestro."

"Virgil, you are clear for launch," their father's voice said over the comm.

"FAB."

Slowly but surely Thunderbird Two took off and soared into the sky.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our cruising altitude and you may now remove your seatbelts and move around the cabin."

Gordon laughed as he unclipped his safety belt and went to stand behind Virgil's chair, putting a hand on his brother's shoulder.

"Thanks, Virg, but, only gentlemen on the flight today – well, if you can be called a gentleman – no ladies, so stop your sick, sordid fantasies!"

Virgil turned to him with a disgusted look and swatted his hand away. "Jeez, Gordon, what the hell?"

Gordon just shrugged, "I just say 'em as I see 'em, bro."

Virgil rolled his eyes, welcoming the sudden beeping that was John contacting them.

"What is it, John?"

John raised one slender eyebrow as he looked at Virgil's slightly annoyed expression and Gordon's smirk, "You two haven't been arguing again, have you?" he asked.

"Would we?" Gordon pouted.

"Um, yes," John said simply, quirking a smile, then slipped back into professional mode. "Ok, so the accident happened in the south of the North Sea, coordinates 53.104706N, 3.393103E." John paused to allow Virgil to enter the coordinates into Two's flight planner. "A Handymax bulk carrier from Norway, carrying 40,000DWT of fish exporting to the UK, hit a RoPax ferry on its way to Amsterdam. The ferry took severe damage to its hull, the bow and keel mostly-"

Gordon winced; if the keel was damaged the boat had no chance.

"-And now it is sinking, scarily fast." John looked grim as he flicked through the details on his screens.

"How many victims?"

"The freight carrier has a crew of twenty-two, but they had freefall lifeboats and have mostly gotten away unharmed, some of them stayed with the coast guard to help the passengers off the ferry." John paused before meeting Virgil's eye. "Three hundred passengers and a crew of eight."

"Shit," Gordon whispered, as Virgil sucked his breath in through his teeth. This was the biggest rescue the brothers had faced so far.

"Increasing speed," Virgil muttered, staring blankly ahead. Gordon shot him a sidelong look; Thunderbird Two was already flying at maximum speed, racing through the sky towards Europe. Virgil glanced back at John on the comm link screen, "ETA one hour and fifty-three minutes." He frowned. "Fast as I can go."

"FAB, Virg. Thunderbird One's ETA thirty-seven minutes."

Gordon sent John a half-hearted smile, "Thanks Johnny, catcha later."

John nodded. "Thunderbird Five out."

The remainder of the journey was in almost silence, Virgil only looking away from the windscreen when Gordon placed a mug of coffee beside him. Gordon himself, after downing his own coffee, went down to the pod, checking and rechecking Thunderbird Four. He hated the long journeys to rescue sites, the thought of people suffering whilst waiting a rescue which, despite having the fastest craft in existence, would still take so long. The thought that people could be dying while the Thunderbirds flew serenely towards danger. Flying at the best speeds imaginable, but still too slow.

"Mobile Control to Thunderbird Two. How long, Virg?" Scott's voice came over the comm link, which Virgil had switched to a three-way connection so Gordon in the pod could hear as well.

"Eight minutes, Scotty, just give me eight more minutes."

"FAB, Virgil. Gordon?" Scott waited for Gordon's 'yup?' before continuing, "You're going to need to go down in Four. We've managed to get about half of the ferry's passengers off the sinking ship, but there's still so many onboard. Virg, you'll need to lower the rescue platform as close to the deck as you can get it. That'll get most of them, but…" Gordon could imagine Scott running his hands through his hair, his jaw tense as he decided on the best way to help the victims. He heard Scott take a deep breath. "Gordo, we can't locate some of the passengers, the ferry's crew think they might be in the little lounge at the front of the ferry but that's totally submerged now. We can't get to it, the emergency doors have all sealed, but apparently it's airtight, watertight… if there are people in there, they will be alive. But we can't get to them. You can. If you go down in Four."

"FAB." Gordon checked his watch, Virgil's eight minutes were almost up. They must be almost at the danger zone by now. He climbed up to the airlock on top of Thunderbird Four, running a hand over the curve of her outer hull. "Let's go save some innocents, baby."

Thunderbird Two slowed as they approached the danger zone and he heard Virgil swearing under his breath over the comm.

"It looks bad, Gordon. I'm going to have to drop you further away, there's people in the water and I don't want the waves from the pod to hit them."

"FAB, Virgil. Ready when you are."

Gordon pulled the safety straps over his shoulders and secured them firmly around his torso. He had to admit, that was the only thing he really hated about Thunderbird Four; the drop. He knew they didn't have time for Virgil to lower the pod slowly and gently into the water but he despised the falling sensation in the pit of his stomach and then the jarring stop as the pod hit the water. At least the new seat harness thing Brains had created made the fall slightly more comfortable – well, slightly less uncomfortable – for Gordon.

"Ok, Gordon, dropping pod."

Gordon screwed his eyes shut and clutched the arms of his seat tightly until the pod hit the water. He groaned as the sudden stop sent a jolt of pain up his spine. Unclipping the straps, he rolled his shoulders back, then leaned forward and connected the comms to Mobile Control and Thunderbirds Two and Five.

"Right guys, where am I going?" He flicked a couple of switches on Four's control panel and the pod door opened, the ramp sliding out into the water. Gordon looked around, surveying the area, as Scott told him what he would have to do. The danger site was a mess. The huge freight ship was relatively unharmed but was tilting slightly to one side, the waterline perilously close to washing over the deck. There were a few of the ship's lifeboats dotted around the scene, one overturned and sinking. Then Gordon's eyes drifted to the ferry, or what he could see of the ferry. Which wasn't much at all; most of it was submerged, only a third of the deck visible, several people clinging desperately to the railings which were bent and twisted. Three coast guard boats circled the sinking ferry and another much smaller ferry waited a little way away to carry the victims back to land. The water was full of people, frantically trying to swim towards the new ferry or one of the lifeboats. Every face Gordon could see wore the same look of panic, terror and grief. Thunderbird Two was hovering above the scene, the rescue platform swaying in the wind as Virgil lowered it towards the waiting victims still clutching onto the railings.

"The lounge is on the starboard side of the ferry and looking at the heat signatures there's seven people in there," Scott was saying. "You'll have to use the laser cutter to get in, I think."

"FAB."

Thunderbird Four slid down the ramp and smoothly into the water. The view from below the surface was even worse than from above. There was a gaping crack down the side of the ferry, the two sides almost splitting apart where the hull was crushed like it was made from flimsy aluminium rather than strong reinforced steel. Smashed and crumpled cars were falling from the edge of the ferry, even as the ship dipped further beneath the waves.

Gordon swiftly manoeuvred his little submarine to the starboard side of the ship, switching the heat scanner on and glancing at the screen. There were seven definite shapes, five adults and two children from the look of it. As soon as Four was as close to the ferry as possible without her touching the ill-fated ship, Gordon got up from his seat and headed to the airlock. Pulling on a mask and oxygen tank, then picking up an underwater laser cutter and slinging his rescue kitbag onto his back, he waited for the airlock to fill before opening the hatch and swimming out towards the damaged hull. By some miracle, the part of the hull surrounding the lounge was unharmed, offering some protection to the trapped victims inside.

He attached two suction pads to the outer hull, clipping lines from them to his belt to hold him still while he was cutting through the wall.

"Gordon?" Virgil's voice called over the comms.

"Deck cleared?" Gordon asked.

"FAB, you can start cutting."

"FAB."

Hoping he had the right section of wall – John had sent a map of the ferry over and Gordon had studied it quickly before leaving Thunderbird Four – Gordon began to cut through the wall. It was slow, the underwater laser cutters had never worked as well as the regular ones, but eventually Gordon created a hole large enough for himself to squeeze through. Water flooded into the corridor and sloshed around, dragging the boat even further under the waves. He guessed the entire deck was underwater now, but Virgil had taken all the remaining victims up on the rescue platform so the deck should be empty.

Once inside the corridor, he made his way to the door to the lounge, which luckily hadn't been badly damaged and seemed to be keeping the water that filled the corridor out of the lounge itself. Gordon pulled the bag off his back and reached inside, finding and unfolding what looked like a sheet of thin plastic tarpaulin just bigger than the size of a door. He pressed the edges of it firmly around the doorframe and then pushed a little button on the side and stepped back. It stuck fast to the doorframe and inflated outwards into the corridor creating a tiny room between Gordon and the lounge door. He then attached a pump to a small valve at the bottom of the plastic sheet. When he switched the pump on it filled the room with water. Opening a flap, Gordon stepped into the room, before closing the flap and once more switching the pump on. This time it sucked the water out of the tiny room. It was one of Brains' latest inventions; a portable airlock. It really was ingenious.

As soon as the airlock was empty of water, Gordon opened the lounge door.

"Hello, I'm from International-"

"Oh, thank God, you're here!" Six pairs of eyes fixed on him.

"Is everyone alright?" Gordon did a quick visual check. Closest to him was an elderly man, he guessed in his late sixties, sat in an armchair and looking rather shaken but physically unhurt. On the floor sat a woman with two children huddled into her, a small boy and a preteen girl. A man was stood protectively over them, one hand on the woman's shoulder and the other clutched in the girl's. The other side of the small room was a couch, a young man not much older than Gordon was crouched down beside the couch where another young man was laid.

"Bryan's unconscious, when the ship hit us he fell and hit his head on the corner of the side table."

Gordon rushed to the couch, pulling a handheld medical scanner from his bag. He ran the scanner over Bryan, then waited for it to process the results.

"Has he been out since the accident?" he asked the young man hovering worriedly by his elbow.

"No, he said he just felt a bit dizzy and sick but that he would be fine and then he just collapsed. But that was almost half an hour ago and now he won't wake up." The man's voice rose an octave and Gordon turned to look at him. He had gone suddenly very pale and he was trembling, sweat beading on his forehead as his breathing came out in irregular little gasps. Recognising the beginnings of a panic attack Gordon gently grabbed the man by the shoulders, pushing him down onto a chair and smiling reassuringly at him.

"Hey, hey, look at me. Can you see me?" The man gave a tiny nod. "Ok, take a deep breath, that's it, nice and slow." Gordon watched him carefully until his breathing became more regular. "Can you tell me your name?"

"James," he whispered, his breathing evening out slowly.

"Good, James, I want you to drink this water, all of it, ok?" He handed James a bottle of water from his kitbag, then moved back over to Bryan. He read the data on the scanner and determined that the man had a bad concussion. Gordon bit his lip, he had dealt with concussions before but usually the patient was conscious, he had no idea why Bryan had been out for so long. He knelt by his head and listened to his breathing; it sounded fine, deep regular breaths. The scanner hadn't picked up any heart trouble, internal injuries or brain trauma, the only reason Gordon could think for Bryan's state was his body trying to protect him by shutting itself down. He hovered for a moment before deciding there was nothing else he could do for the man so moved over to the woman with the children.

"How are you all?" he asked with a smile for the children, but frowned when he saw the little boy. His skin was pale and his lips tinged slightly blue, his breathing was shallow and his eyes looked glazed. Gordon put a hand to the boy's forehead, it was cold and clammy.

"What's wrong with my baby?" the woman asked in a terrified voice as Gordon took his hand away from the boy's face.

"He's in shock. Lay him down and prop his legs up, that'll get his blood pressure back up." As the woman did as he said, Gordon pulled a thermal blanket from his bag and wrapped it around the small boy.

"Thankyou."

"Are the rest of you-"

"We're alright, thankyou, so much."

Nodding, Gordon got up and went to the elderly man in the armchair. "Sir?"

"I'm fine, laddie." He had a strong Scottish accent and a firm grip as he shook Gordon's hand in thanks.

"Ok, give me one minute, folks." Stepping away from the victims, Gordon flicked a switch on the side of his watch. "Mobile Control and Thunderbird Two? Come in, guys."

"Gordon?"

"How's it going out there?"

"We think we've got everyone, the captain of the ferry is counting the passengers. You?" Scott answered

"Well, I've got the seven people but we won't be able to get back to Thunderbird Four, one's unconscious, the little boy's in shock, one guy almost had a full out panic attack on me. There's no way I can get them to swim out to Four. I don't know how else to… unless we climb up to the deck – is it still above water?"

"Gords. I'm going to try something. It might not work, it's risky, but, bear with me, ok?"

"Virg? What?" Virgil didn't answer. "Scott, what's he doing?"

"He's… what! He's lowering the magnetic clamps, I think he's going to try and lift the ferry out of the water. Whoa, that is risky. Ok, Gords, give us a minute to sort this then I'll get back to you."

Gordon sighed as his brother closed the comms, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

"Excuse me, mister," a small voice said behind him. He turned to see the girl standing uncertainly, shifting from foot to foot, her eyes drifting from the little boy lying on the floor to Bryan on the couch. "They will be ok, won't they? Eddie, and that man?"

"Is Eddie your brother?"

"Yep, he's seven."

"He's going to be fine, he's just a little shocked." Gordon carefully avoided saying anything about Bryan, he still wasn't a hundred percent sure what was wrong, and he didn't fancy explaining concussion to a child.

"What about that man though, he looks worse than Eddie. He's more than just shocked."

"Well, he… because he hit his head-"

"Does he have a concussion?"

Gordon's lips twitched into a smile, this was a bright child. She reminded him a bit of John. "What's your name?"

"Melissa."

"And how old are, Melissa?"

"Eleven and three quarters." Gordon's grin spread, yup, definitely John.

"And how do you know what a concussion is?" Gordon had only known what a concussion was at the age of eleven because Scott had had one.

"I read a lot," was the simple answer.

Gordon was about to reply when his watch buzzed. "Excuse me a sec, Melissa, ok?" She smiled and walked back to her brother's side. "Scott?"

"Ok, Gordon, we're all set up. I'm on the rescue platform, Virgil's going to try and lift the ferry using the grabs enough that I can come in and help you get the passengers out."

"FAB, sounds like a plan."

"FAB. Hold on tight." Gordon clicked his watch off and turned back to the awaiting passengers.

"Ok, folks, listen up." Everyone except Bryan and Eddie turned to look at Gordon. "We're going to try and lift the ferry out of the water so we can get you onto the rescue platform and out of here. You need to hold onto something, and get down low, I don't want anyone falling."

He checked each person was in a safe place, sitting Melissa and Eddie's parents against one wall, keeping the children still, and Ron, the Scottish man, was secure in the armchair. James had left the chair Gordon had sat him in and was kneeling on the floor beside Bryan again, running his fingers up and down the other man's arm, whispering in his ear. Bryan still hadn't moved. Ensuring James was holding onto the couch, Gordon left him beside Bryan; it was calming the young man more than anything Gordon had said to him.

After a few minutes Gordon heard several clangs of metal hitting metal, the magnetic clamps were in place. Now all Virgil had to do was winch them back in and hope they stayed connected to the ferry. Gordon felt the ferry rise slightly. It was working. Virgil's crazy idea was actually working. And then there was a clunking noise, one of the clamps had broken contact with the hull.

There was utter silence in the lounge, no one said a word, no one moved a muscle. They rose up several more feet. And then there was another clunk. Two out of the eight clamps had failed.

A few more feet, they broke the surface of the water, Gordon could hear water pouring out of the ship as it was raised higher and higher.

Clunk.

"Gordon." Scott's voice was urgent. "The clamps won't hold much longer, get everyone to the door."

"FAB," Gordon whispered, and stood up. He stumbled slightly as the ferry swayed with the waves and the wind. "We're nearly above the water level," he told the petrified passengers, trying to stay as calm as possible. "Slowly stand up, and come over to the door here."

One by one the passengers got to their feet, walking slowly over to the door, clutching at anything they could to keep their balance.

"James!" Gordon carefully made his way back to the couch where the dark haired man was still desperately clinging onto Bryan. "Come on."

"No. I won't go without him." James stubbornly clutched the couch, one hand curled in the fabric of Bryan's hoody.

Gordon looked at the expression on James' face, there was no way he could make him move, he had the exact same expression that Virgil always got when he was being stubborn. And when Virgil was determined enough, nothing could change his mind.

"Ok, I'll be right back." He left James' side and headed back to the door, just as there was another clunk. Gordon wrenched the door open, relieved beyond measure that the corridor outside was free of water, and then he saw possibly the most welcoming sight ever, Scott. His oldest brother was striding down the corridor, carrying a multiway oxygen tank with several masks attached.

Gordon helped Melissa through the door and Scott handed her a mask, then Melissa's father, carrying Eddie, then her mother and Ron. When all five were through the door, Scott hurried them out to the rescue platform. Gordon rushed back into the lounge to James and Bryan. Bryan still hadn't woken up and Gordon didn't really like the idea of moving him until they knew what was wrong but they had no choice. Unless, by some miracle, he woke up now. Gordon watched Bryan closely, waiting for his miracle to happen, but it didn't, and a second later Scott was back.

"I'll carry him," he told Gordon quietly, "You bring the other one. Quickly Gordo, there's only four clamps left." Scott bent down and slid his hands beneath Bryan's shoulders and knees, hoisting him easily and carrying him to the door, James hurrying behind.

Clunk.

Scott stepped onto the rescue platform, laying Bryan carefully on the floor where James immediately dropped to his knees.

Clunk.

Gordon hurried up the corridor after Scott and out onto the deck, then he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw three cars on the top deck crushed together from the collision with the freight ship, at first he didn't realise where the movement had been from but then he saw her. There was a woman in the middle car.

Clunk. Clunk.

The ferry gave a jerk and then plummeted. Gordon was thrown into a pillar, his back smacking painfully against the metal, and he slid to the floor. It only took seconds for the water to flood over him. And then flood over the top deck of the ferry. The cars were washed from the deck as the ferry kept on sinking, any pockets of air, that had kept it floating for so long, disappearing. Filling with water and dragging the doomed ferry to the bottom of the ocean. Gordon kicked away from the pillar, his back screaming with agony but adrenaline overriding it. He pulled his mask over his face again, flicking the valve on the oxygen tank. He swam as hard as he could towards where he had last seen the cars.

He saw one car sinking miserably, but a quick check told him it was not the one with the woman in. He looked around frantically, finally spotting a car, crushed from both sides, both doors crippled so much they couldn't be opened. And there was a cloud of blonde hair, floating in a strange serene sort of way, totally contradicting the expression of pure terror on her face. She was scrabbling desperately at the door handles and at the windows, shards of broken glass tearing at her hands.

Gordon kicked harder, forcing himself to swim faster, hating the pain in his back that was making each stoke torture. He would make it, he had to make it. He was feet from the car, but the woman had stopped moving, a billow of red blood swirling away from the cuts on her hands. He urged himself forward, willing his body to move faster through the water.

He reached the car, but there was no way he could wrench the door off. He smashed his elbow into what was remaining of the window, making a gap big enough for him to push through. He pulled the mask from his face, holding it over the woman's, watching her face as she… didn't take a breath.

No.

He pressed his fingers against the woman's neck, searching for any sign of a pulse. He couldn't find one. He moved his fingers across her neck, trying desperately to find the pulse point, pressing hard enough to leave little crescent shaped marks where his fingernails had dug into her skin.

She couldn't be.

The Thunderbirds never failed. They rescued everybody. They didn't let people die.

They didn't let people die.