TRUE COLOURS

A Thunderbirds fic by Ro-RoWeasley

Disclaimer: As much as I'd love to, I don't own Thunderbirds.

I see your true colors shining through…
…don't be afraid to let them show…
…true colours are beautiful,
like a rainbow.

- From the song True Colors by Cyndi Lauper

The rolling waves of the deep blue lapped softly at the white expanse of sand as the sun peeped above the horizon, casting a golden glow over the cloudless sky. There was a slight breeze in the air but it was warm and comforting as it floated through the South Pacific air and whistled happily through the jungle of palm trees. The temperature was glorious, the ideal day to be spending time with his brothers whether it be fishing, exploring or goofing around in the pool.

But nothing appealed to Gordon Tracy right now, not even swimming. Instead he was more than content to just sit on the southern beach of the tropical island, knees up to his chest, arms stretched out behind him, and think.
Thinking wasn't usually his thing, not the deep emotional type of thinking. But the events of the previous day had kept him awake all night and chased him until he'd ended up here at the crack of dawn, dressed in shorts and a thin t-shirt.

"Thunderbird One to Thunderbird Four, Gordon do you read?"

"Loud and clear Scott."

"Alright, how's it looking? Things look pretty messy from up here. I'm registering heat signatures but I can't pinpoint them."

"There's so much debris I can't steer her through. I'm surfacing now, I'll go out myself and see if there are any survivors," he replied, already taking off his orange sash ready to don his diving gear.

"FAB Gordon, take it easy but be careful. Alan says the other WASP boat is on its way, ETA one and a half hours."

Gordon folded his arms and rested them on his knees, leaning his chin on them as he stared absently out to sea, mind dragged back to the action.

"F-A-B," he replied, as confidently as he could.

He couldn't believe this had happened again. Surely they should have triple checked every single component which made up the ships? Made sure every engineer was at the top of their game? Every crewmember capable of running hourly diagnostic checks? It made Gordon cringe, bringing back memories he'd thought he'd long ago buried out of sight. Four years ago, he himself had been in this situation.

Two World Aquanaut Security Patrol hydrofoils had been involved in a collision after one reported failure of the primary instrumentation. Although the practiced emergency procedure was followed, the faulty craft smashed into another hydrofoil positioned just two miles away. The result had been severe structural damage to both crafts and a raging out of control fire. International Rescue were called out as they would reach the danger zone faster than any other rescue equipment, even the W.A.S.P. relief vessel. Thunderbird Two had put the fire out from the air – the rescue being over open water there was no place for either 'bird to land – and it was the aquanaut's job to pull out survivors. Someone in the wreckage had managed to make the call before the radio had gone dead, Alan had managed to pinpoint the coordinates and now Gordon was going to do his absolute best to get everyone he could out alive.

"Gordon, everything okay?"

His brother's voice startled him out of his daze, and he mentally cursed himself for straying off his task - there was no time for that!

"Sorry Alan," he breathed, wincing at how weak his voice sounded. "I'm on my way."

"Deep breaths, Gords, you're fine. Just push it all to one side and get the job done," Alan's voice came softly. It was so easy to forget sometimes that he was twenty-two thousand miles above his head in the space station.

Gordon's head was whirling, flashbacks merging together in one jumbled mess. One moment he was on-board the hydrofoil and feeling nothing but intense pain and searing heat, the next he was perfectly fine, back at the rescue scene and swimming amongst the wreckage for signs of bodies.

He could hear the roar of flames, the orange heat licking at his skin. Pain radiated from every corner of his body but he couldn't move, couldn't open his eyes…

No. Snap out of it! You're IR Op. Four now, not a W.A.S.P. Lieutenant!

He made his way towards the lesser-damaged vessel, struggling to see through the haze of smoke from the smouldering remains. Spotting a familiar badge, the bright yellow of the insignia leaping out of the dark waters, Gordon swam over. A young man not much older than himself.

Captain Michael Lawson. They'd been stationed together in the Pacific Seabed Research Centre just two weeks after he'd completed training.

Then suddenly, it wasn't Lawson lying there on the charred hull. It was Gordon. He stared horrified at his own battered and broken body. Blood and bruises everywhere, bones bent out of shape.

"Lower the rescue capsule Virgil!" he cried.

Tears sprang in his eyes as he raked his hands through his hair, battling his mind in a desperate attempt to banish the memories once and for all.

Anger welled up. He should have saved them. It was his job to save them.

International Rescue hadn't been there for him back then, he'd had to suffer. But International Rescue were here now, their job was to save lives that couldn't normally be spared. But Gordon had failed.

International Rescue had failed; Gordon had let them down.

"Gords, you did the best you could." A comforting voice invaded his thoughts, snapping him out abruptly. Had he been talking out loud? Wait, what was someone else doing down here on the beach?

He froze, sobs hitching in his throat as he looked up to the speaker.
John regarded him with a soft, sympathetic gaze as he sat himself down, placing a hand on Gordon's back and rubbing it gently.

"It was tough for you yesterday but you still got three men out who will live. You were brave, fish-feet."

But Gordon couldn't look at him. He just shook his head as he returned his gaze to the ocean. Part of him wanted to yell at his brother to go away and leave him alone, part of him wanted to listen to the comfort and release his mind from it's turmoil.

No Gordon Tracy. John should be yelling at you for such an appalling job. You don't deserve any comfort, what you do deserve is this guilt.

But his second eldest brother was still talking. "It was tough for all of us, Gords. You should've heard Scott's voice last night, bawling about how we could have reduced your own injuries if IR had been operational four years ago. Virgil feels the same, and man so does Alan. Scott nearly flew up to Five and brought him home. But I, like dad, said there was nothing we could have done no matter how much we wish differently. Neither for you nor for the men yesterday. It's not your fault Gordon okay? It's those damn engineers for not fulfilling their contracts and making sure every single craft is accident proof."

Gordon managed to find his voice, though it was small and quiet. "I kept getting taken back to my…my accident," he croaked, tears sliding down his cheeks. "Every time I saw a body, it would turn into me and I'd feel the unbearable pain again. I'd feel the heat burning my skin and the smoky air parching my throat, I could barely move as my body was just on fire from the number of broken bones-"

He was on his feet in a flash, pacing and pacing, throwing his arms around as he shouted. "Don't you dare tell me it wasn't my fault John! I can't get the memories out of my head – I was eighteen for heaven's sakes! And yesterday I lived the whole thing over and over again. Do you have any idea how it feels to be semi-conscious, feeling the fire melt your flesh, your very blood boiling as you just lie there unable to do anything? I know how it feels and they would have felt it too! I should've got them all out of there to stop that suffering! You should all be blaming me!"

John's calm and quiet tone didn't falter one bit as he replied. "Gordon, you couldn't have saved any more lives even if you'd got there any quicker. You got those men out because you didn't give up. You knew what you were up against and yet you still kept on going, you used your experience to your advantage Gords and proved you're worthy of your colour. We're all proud of you."

The fight went out of him at that and he deflated, sinking back down onto the sand and breathing deeply, calming himself. His head felt a lot clearer after that outburst.

"Colour?" he asked breathlessly, lying flat on his back and staring at the sky.

"Your sash is orange for a reason, Gords, it's your personality on display. Orange is the colour of fire, like the fire of determination throughout your recovery and the determination you showed in the rescue yesterday, on all rescues. You're a prankster and a natural entertainer, and you offer strength by making others laugh and smile in difficult times. You're always positive and optimistic but you also love adventure and competition – just look at your Olympic medal. Let's face it, our family would be lost without you."

"So what is purple, wisdom?" Gordon half-joked from the floor.

"Lilac," John corrected him. "Is wisdom, fairness, reliability, perceptiveness, beauty-"

The prankster snorted. "Ha, don't flatter yourself, Johnny!"

"Hey," John replied, nudging Gordon's leg. "Lilac can also mean negative aspects like food addictions, how many times have you got at me for scoffing the island's supply of chocolate?"

Laughing heartily at that, Gordon felt the worry and tension evaporate where he lay. John could never get enough of the sweet stuff when he was home, having to live off freeze-dried food while up on Five. Gordon could never do it, he loved Grandma's cooking too much.

"Which unfortunately means Orange has some negatives too. You, Gordon Tracy, are hopeless at keeping your bedroom in order, enjoy risk-taking and mercilessly pranking your older brothers."

Gordon smiled, sitting up and adopting his earlier position, arms stretched out behind him. A companionable silence fell between them for a couple of minutes as the aquanaut thought over John's musings.

Then John stood up and squeezed his shoulder. "Come inside when you're ready, yeah? But don't stay out too long, Grandma would kill me if I let you get sunstroke." He chuckled and clapped him on the back as he started walking away.

"Not if Scott killed you first," Gordon quipped. "Then again Grandma would kill you for letting me miss breakfast."

"Truer words, brother mine. Be back up for breakfast, got it?"

"Got it."

As John's footsteps faded as he made his way back up to the house, Gordon returned his gaze to the sea, a content expression on his face. John hadn't really said much, but it had made all the difference to his mood. He already felt lighter, like an invisible weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he was actually able to smile as the amusing words his brother had said swam around his head.

He'd never really thought about it before, but he knew what John said was true. Their IR colours meant something deeper than simply appearing serious and organised to the world.

John was lilac for his wisdom and perceptiveness. How many times had the blonde freaked Gordon out with his ability to detect his emotions without his needing to voice them aloud? He did it to all of them. He was the most quiet and intellectual of his brothers, and his way of giving advice was always something cryptic, something Gordon had to work out for himself - like now.

Mentally accepting the challenge, his thoughts turned to his oldest brother.

Scott…Blue.

Scott was the Field Commander, the leader of their team. He was calm and collected in the face of danger, and not afraid to be bold and give orders to senior personnel. Gordon trusted him with his life, obeyed him without question, as any hesitation could be the difference between life and death of the people they were rescuing. He was quick thinking, determined and brave. At home he was a mother hen, constantly looking out for them just like he'd done their entire lives.

Virgil…Yellow.

His immediate older brother was creative, an accomplished artist and musician. A bit of a perfectionist in that field too, not giving up on a project until it was completed to his own satisfaction no matter whatever praise and admiration his family gave him. Virgil's brain was quite frankly a mystery to Gordon sometimes, there seemed to be so much crammed in there.
In the field he was compassionate, knowingly putting himself in danger to save human lives with no thought to his own safety. He was a qualified medic (and could be as bad a mother hen as Scott when any of his brothers required treatment!), he was a mechanical engineer, a fantastic pianist and award-winning painter, and then on top of that he was the pilot of the big green bug Thunderbird Two. And he always whooped Gordon's arse at chess…

Gordon beamed. Virgil was intelligent and exceptionally talented.

Lastly there was Alan. White.

Alan was the baby of the family, and definitely no stranger to smothering. It was just part of being an older brother, being able to take care of the youngest. Within IR Alan took turns on Five so John could have some time back on the planet and the island, Alan always had been John's stargazing buddy back in Kansas. He was also a bit of a speed junkie, hitting the status of champion racing car driver at nineteen. But he was also a helpless romantic, caring deeply for Tin-Tin and taking his own turns smothering his older brothers whenever he got the chance! Alan had refused to go back to school until Gordon had been able to walk again in his recovery after his accident.

His brothers were all different, but one thing was for certain, they were all ridiculously stubborn and that Tracy trait was often the cause of spats between the brothers over the years. But, Gordon mused, that was who they were at the end of the day, brothers. The tight-knit band of brothers behind the rescue organisation. They were a team.

A warm feeling of pride surged through the aquanaut. They were the world-renowned International Rescue team, their uniform colours symbolising hope to those in distress. But the coloured sashes also showed that they were human beings delivering a simple service of aid.

Satisfied and feeling up to a swim, Gordon picked himself up off the sand. As he began to make his way back up to the house, he made a promise. A promise to himself that although not everything went according to plan every rescue, he wouldn't dwell on those negatives. Yesterday had been difficult, bringing back long buried memories. But he'd still saved three men, and that was what he needed to take from this. He would carry just like his team, his team of colourful brothers.

Gordon was the Orange of International Rescue, and Orange never went down without a fight.

And International Rescue never gives up, at any cost.