Title: Access Denied

Author: Gumnut

24 – 25 Jul 2018

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015

Rating: Teen

Summary: He found a way.

Word count: 5650

Spoilers & warnings: Season 2 in general. Occurs sometime before 2.07 Home on the Range. Also there is some violence in this fic and some bits are kinda creepy. Mild swearing. Virgil!Whump

Author's note: Ever wondered how the events of Home on the Range were made possible? Many thanks to the wonderful welcome I have received in this fandom. Here I am again stretching my writing muscles with a fic a little different again from the previous one. I hope you enjoy a little whump, because even I feel sorry for Virgil in this one. My next fic will have to be fluffy to him to make up for it. Ouch!

Disclaimer: Mine? You've got to be kidding. Money? Don't have any, don't bother. Scenes parroted from the episodes are definitely not mine.

Chapter 1

"Why does it always have to be snow? I hate snow."

"It's only water, Gordon. I thought you loved that stuff."

"Only in degrees above zero."

Thunderbird Two banked to port as Virgil sought out a place to land. Landing on ice was one thing, landing on a glacier, a river of fractured ice, was a completely different kettle of fish. At least the weather was being kind. Blue skies, almost no wind. If it wasn't a rescue, it would make a beautiful painting.

Well, except for the massive scar of black meltwater that led to the downed air freighter in the middle of said glacier. This one was going to be a challenge.

Fortunately, the site was a relatively close one, being halfway down New Zealand's South Island, so International Rescue had managed a fast response. Scott was already here, obviously doing a thorough site assessment, TB1 hovering quite a distance above the wreck.

"Thunderbird Two, welcome to the party. We have a single air freighter. Three lifesigns. No contact since initial distress call. Cockpit is embedded in the glacier, looks like we are going to have to dig them out."

"FAB, Thunderbird One. Locating a suitable landing site. On the ground asap."

"Watch that ice. It's fragile."

"Noted."

Of course, it was fragile, it was ice. Virgil forced himself not to roll his eyes.

Scans revealed a chunk of rock half covered by snow, not far from the site, just big enough to support TB2. As Virgil deployed the VTOL gear, most of that snow was blown off. The clunk of her landing gear hitting rock, reassuring.

Sure, he had landed on ice many times before, but the fractured, rippled surface of the glacier below just screamed melt and die.

"So how are we going to get down there?"

"You're not going down there. You're staying here. I'll take the exo-suit and zipline down. You're on retrieval."

"Fine by me."

Virgil levelled a look at his brother.

"What? I'll keep an eye on you."

Ignoring him, Virgil flipped a switch. "Thunderbird One, zipline it is. Recommend you stay in the air in case we need to stabilise the vehicle."

"FAB, Virgil."

-o-o-o-

Virgil loved his exo-suit. Sure, it could be awkward and clunky sometimes, but it enabled him to do so much. It had helped him save so many people.

And in what way was having your own super-suit not totally cool?

When Brains had first come to him with the idea, he had jumped on it. He could see the possibilities. Of course, the teasing that had initially resulted from four brothers was a lot to be borne, but hey, super-suit!

Totally worth it.

As he rolled his shoulders back into the metal skeleton and slid his arms into the sleeves, he felt himself relax just that little. The equipment hummed and enveloped him, the framework connecting with his boots, re-enforcing his legs, and thoroughly encasing his spine.

He stepped forward, the whine of servos playing in concert with his every move. It always reminded him of the look on Alan's face during testing. For some reason seeing his older brother doing the Robot Dance in a robotic suit had fried his brain.

"Gordon, deploy zipline. Ice pick grapple."

"Copy that." The clunk and whistle of the forward launcher echoed through the ship's frame. A moment later, Gordon joined him in the pod bay and Virgil raised the body of his 'Bird, activating the pod bay door.

There wasn't much in the way of wind, but the air was brisk. The roar of Thunderbird One was a continual, but familiar background noise.

"God, why can't people crash on tropical islands once in a while?" Gordon's breath puffed and clouded around his face. Virgil was quite happy to have his helmet on.

Double checking his supplies, he hooked the bag of equipment to the zipline pulley and sent it spinning down to the crash site.

Gordon checked and double checked his harness, before giving him the thumbs up – zipline is go.

"Thanks, Gordon."

A hook onto a pulley, a staggering run and he was flying across glacier. A few seconds of weightlessness and racing white, and his boots skidded in snow, coming up hard against solid ice. He grunted, gaining back his balance before releasing himself from the line.

Nothing put size into more perspective that being on the ground. He was surrounded by a sea of cracked and jagged ice. The freighter had ploughed into the side of one of the many crevasses, its snout embedding itself in the crevasse wall just below the surface. With a bit of luck and the right equipment, he should be able to break through the crumbled ice above the cockpit and enter through the top of the vehicle.

"Thunderbird One, recommend you secure the backend of the freighter. I don't know how stable she is. Removing weight here may alter the balance." And send her plummeting down that great gaping hole.

"FAB, Virgil. Deploying grapple." There was a whoosh and an almighty thunk as TB1's huge electromagnet made contact. "Grapple secure."

And Virgil started digging.

A combination of shovel, claw and laser work did the job. Fortunately, the cockpit was only a couple of metres below the surface, so it didn't take long, the exo-suit taking most of the punishment.

"I've reached the outer skin. Thunderbird One, can you give me confirmation on my position. I'm not going to hit anything explosive if I cut through here?"

"Negative, Virgil. You are directly above the cockpit. She is lying at an angle, so you'll actually be going in through her upper port sector. All clear."

"FAB." Standing in icy dross, his feet slightly apart, Virgil recalibrated his laser and cut a seventy-five centimetre diameter hole in the fuselage beneath him. "Any further response from the crew?" They had to have heard him.

"Negative."

Damn. That was never a good sign.

Using the pincers on his left arm, Virgil peeled back the metal.

-o-o-o-

Scott stretched in his seat, rolling his shoulders. Skyhook duty was notoriously boring. But Virgil was right. They couldn't risk it.

When John had interrupted their breakfast, Scott hadn't been surprised. Virgil, on the other hand, hadn't had his breakfast interrupted. He'd been dragged out of bed, by Gordon. Scott had no doubt that the aquanaut enjoyed every minute of it.

Scott, in turn, had made sure his bed-head of a brother had taken some coffee and a power bar with him.

And here they were.

Scott yawned.

Maybe he should have had a power bar too. Or extra coffee. Extra coffee sounded nice.

"Thunderbird One, I'm receiving a strange power reading from the freighter. Has Virgil reported in yet?"

"He's cutting the fuselage now. What kind of reading?" Scott sat up straighter in his seat.

"I'm not sure-"

"SHIT! Get-" Virgil's voice cut through everything. And then cut out.

"Virgil!" Nothing. "Virgil?"

"I have him on my scanner, Scott. He is still outside the freighter." John's hologram frowned even more. "He's not moving."

His pulse hit the inside of his skull. "Thunderbird Two, do you have eyes on Virgil?"

"Negative." Gordon's voice was strained. "He's still in that hole."

"Virgil!"

No response.

Scott flung up his restraints. "I'm going down for an eyes on. John, what's with that power reading?"

"I'm still not sure. Working on it."

"Keep me apprised." He grabbed his jet pack, opened the cockpit and jumped.

Darting down, he approached the excavation from a shallow angle, enabling him to peer over the edge without exposing himself.

Virgil lay on his back, halfway up the side of the hole he'd dug. But he wasn't still. His head was thrashing side to side, his torso struggling within the confines of the suit, but the suit appeared non-responsive, both legs held out straight and not moving. A malfunction?

"Virgil?"

His head turned and fixed on Scott. His brother's eyes were wide and his lips were moving. He was shouting, but Scott couldn't hear him. A comms malfunction?

Scott eyed the open hole in the freighter. No-one was making a sound. No one seemed have come out. All the bootprints in the snow and ice clearly belonged to his brother.

But then there was John's strange power reading.

"Virgil?" He let his feet hit the ground and Virgil started shaking his head vigorously. Scott stopped at the edge.

But Virgil suddenly moved, his left side bending backwards at an angle it was never meant to bend. His brother screamed. And this time he heard it in full digital stereo.

Oh, god. Instinct took over and he rushed in.

Only to have his arm grabbed by Virgil's right claw.

-o-o-o-