#poor Gordon could limp to the hangars

[gumnut-logic]

A reason why Nutty shouldn’t attempt to write when feeling like crap

He let out a sigh his ‘bird’s engines finally wound down to a stop. Her air frame creaked as she settled in her hangar.

Virgil took the moment to let himself relax. It had been a nasty rescue. He had needed back up but none of his brothers had been available with Gordon still recovering and a tourist liner in strife halfway to the moon dragging two brothers and his sister beyond earth’s orbit.

Scott had checked in while Virgil was out in the field, worried that the landslide had been too much for his lone brother.

Virgil had brushed him off.

He had thought he had enough.

Mother Nature had begged to differ.

An aftershock had taken down more of the mountain, stealing those lives he hadn’t been able to reach and hammering it home when part of that mountain took him down with it.

It wasn’t the first time he had taken a tumble like this, though he had to admit ‘tumble’ was far too much of an understatement.

Wrapped in his exo-suit he had some protection as the world spun and pummelled him with rock hard fists.

John was in his ear demanding he respond, but laying half-buried in debris at the bottom of the landslide, it had taken him a moment to get enough energy and coherence to reply.

By that time Scott was in on the shouting party and Virgil squeezed his eyes shut at the cacophony.

But he was fine.

How could he be anything else?

He dug himself out. Stretched bruised muscles and made sure all the important bits worked.

Scott was not impressed.

Neither was John.

But Virgil had a rescue to finish.

Unfortunately, due to the further devastation of the aftershock, ‘rescue’ wasn’t quite the right word anymore.

So it all sucked.

Weary and not a little emotionally drained, he dragged himself through the necessary tasks before relinquishing the site to the local authorities and heading home.

There was grit in his socks.

His head was pounding. He was bruised from head to toe.

And his heart hurt so much.

But life went on. It was just another failure he was going to have to live with.

He sucked in a breath as he moved to push his seat back and had to hunch over as his ribcage decided to stab him.

Ow, shit.

Sitting down to fly his ‘bird home was often not the best thing to do after a strain. Sustained stillness could be equal to sustained strain and now he had to drag his aching body out of that seat.

He gritted his teeth and forced himself to move.

Okay, that hurt. Maybe a trip the infirmary would be a good idea.

He made it as far as stepping off Two’s hatch onto the concrete floor of the hangar.

A flash of white hot pain in his side, nausea, and the world spun away.

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #virgil!whump #whump #with no comfort #because I don’t have the energy to follow through #Scotty is coming #I promise #maybe Gordon #if he can walk #I haven’t decided yet #but Scott seems prominent #lots of screaming across space #is anyone else home? #stuffed if I know #could send them all to conferences on the mainland #poor Gordon could limp to the hangars #or maybe that rescue in space is finished and they are on the way back #Alan gritting his teeth as Scott does a backseat driver #because something is wrong #and he knows it #oooh #could be that telepathic fic thing I’ve been meaning to write for ages #Scott knows something is wrong #and goes a little nuts getting back to the Island #see brain is there #energy is not #sorry