Hi all. Sorry for the huge break in updating this, along with my other fics; busy time of year for me at Uni. Thanks for your patience. :) Thanks for the lovely reviews as always, hope this chapter meets your expectations.

A quick note just before you all jump in; in the interest of mixing things up a bit, and getting a different perspective on the 'inclusion' of an extra brother, I've decided to alternate POVs between Virgil and Kent respectively. The order from this chapter onwards will go two chapters for each twin, and then it'll swap again. All current chapters are now labelled with the relevant character, to prevent confusion, as well will be the ones that follow.

And lastly, one small error I made in the first chapter; the earthquake the boys have been sent out to is a 7.5 magnitude, but I somehow missed that typo when I did my pre-post edit. Please take that into account as you continue to read.

Enjoy all.

Disclaimer: If not for Gerry and Sylvia Anderson, I would not be able to play in this wonderful playground, so no; I do not own the Thunderbirds.

Virgil

Even as I get clearance to launch Thunderbird Two from Dad, I'm still fuming at the idiocy of my two-minutes-younger brother. We might very well be twins, and while in a lot of aspects, we're very alike (aside from looks, obviously) it sometimes seems that Kent just lives to drive me mad.

I'm simultaneously amazed at the fact that no-one realised that he wasn't me, I mean, we're almost entirely identical, but for the way we move. I might have done the preliminary classes to the dancing that Kent continued all through our teens, but I don't have any of his grace or elegance that came as a result of that, him having at least ten years' worth more experience on me. They're very blind at times to things that are right in front of their faces.

Doesn't mean I love them any less, of course, but it's still damn-right irritating when they obviously can't be bothered considering it. Probably petty of me to worry about it so much, but it's just a pain when your brother can't seem to want to be himself for once.

Scott though, I think, always realises that Kent's just joking around not long after he discovers the prank's existence, but for whatever reason, in his weird and slightly warped sense of humour, he likes to see just how far my brother manages to get with his little schemes.

I sigh, pushing the annoyance to the back of my mind. Childish grudges have no place on a rescue.

By this point, I've trundled Thunderbird Two out of the cliff-side hangar, and she is slowly moving towards the edge of the runway.

I hear the tell-tale, rapid step-shuffle-thump of Gordon's passage along the floor, despite the rubber mat fastened there to prevent him from slipping, and the sound sends bursts of orange light bouncing off into my peripheral vision like soap bubbles, even as my brother seats himself in the chair, his uniform slightly askew around the armpits where his sleeves get pushed up by the cuffs of his crutches.

Before I'd taught myself to more or less ignore those facets of my gift, I used to get migraines from their intensity, but, now unless I call on the extrasensory ability, I can just pretend that the refraction of sounds isn't even there. It's not really ESP, no matter what Gordon comes out with about it; more a medically-recognised condition that really irritates Kent and me a lot.

Despite the 'tests' that Gordon had to take to know he can move swiftly enough in an emergency, I always double-check to make sure that he is truly settled, in order to ensure that I won't do anything irreparable during take-off.

Unless Kent's up here with me, Gordon is almost always my co-pilot, and I know that even though he probably knows I allow that little bit of extra move-time for him to get up here from getting his jumpsuit on, he just endures it for my sake.

"Guys?" I call into the intercom system, getting a grin from Gordon as he stows his crutches into the locker beneath the control panel, there entirely for that purpose. "You set down there?"

"FAB Virgil, all set here." John's reply is as clear and close as if he's standing right at my shoulder, a rasp in his voice the only reminder of the scarring on his throat from all those years ago. I nod my head absently, even though he can't see me, ignoring the ghost of silver sparks instigated by his voice, pressing the remote command button that signals the blast shield to rise into place.

Three minutes later, and Thunderbird Two is in the air; her nose pointed in a sharp nor 'western turn, away from the island.

Kent and Scott are already shot across Western Australia, according to the radar. They'll be there long before we are, though Thunderbird Two is fairly speedy on her own, especially when compared to commercial aircraft; even a lot of fighter jets like the ones Scott used to test when he was in the 'Force.

Following my internal, step-by-step checklist, I put the call in to them in Thunderbird One. It's Kent that answers, not Scott, and I have to bite my lip to choke down my still-lingering irritation at him. No place. I tell myself sternly.

Afterwards, I'm so intent on flying and trying to reason with myself to ignore my stupid, overactive emotions that I haven't realised that Gordon vanished from the co-pilot's seat until I hear his return.

I go to say something to him (that he'd probably take as me ordering me around, because he'll tire himself out and then will be absolutely useless for flying or anything we need him for), but then the alert for an inter-'bird call beeps loud in my ear and I get distracted.

"Thunderbird Two, 'One. What's your status, Kent?"

"Stalling for the moment, Virgil. We've got a bit of a situation here, according to the data, and we need to have a conference. Can you get John and Al up with you and Gords? Scott's getting Dad and Brains on the horn for me."

I share a confused and concerned look with Gordon, whose ginger eyebrows go up as he shrugs at me. This is an unusual occurrence, but it does have some uncomfortably familiar vibes to it.

"Can do, Kent. What's going on?" I ask, as I gesture to Gordon to get Tracy kids Two and Six up here as soon as possible.

"Just hold on a minute, and set up your live feed for me too, Virge." Great, Kent's going all techy on me. Just what I need, another brother to go all computer-geeky. Sometimes it's like they're speaking another whole language!

"Sure." I say, ignoring my internal musings, and wait for him to initiate the three-way window, tapping the fingers of the hand not on the steering yoke on the arm of the pilot's seat in agitation. I don't like the feel to this…

There's indistinct muttering on the other end of the line, and it sounds to me like Kent is covering up his mouthpiece in order to talk to Scott. There are footsteps coming from beyond the doors, and John enters at a quick trot; the dark green of his jumpsuit piping making him look even paler than usual. Alan tags along behind him, his legs not quite long enough to keep up with John's brisk stride.

"What's going on?" Alan asks, swiping his curly hair out of his eyes, before leaning on the back of Gordon's seat and poking him in the back of the head. "What's with the vid?"

"Not sure yet." Gordon says, swatting his hand away. "Kenty's being all secretive. Wish he'd hurry up… They should be there by now."

"Hold your horses, guys." John says, just as I open my mouth to say the same. "They're obviously trying to sort things out while they're waiting for us. Just learn a bit of patience and we'll find out in a second…"

The words have barely passed his lips before the view-screen above the control panel beeps loudly, before separating into three different sections; Dad's face in the top half, with Brains in the bottom left and Kent and Scott in the right respectively.

Alan goes to blurt out something probably pretty useless, like 'what's going on', or some such, but John claps a hand over the kid's mouth, so the rest of us can get on with the business of working out whatever it is, and then get on our way to doing our job.

Scott is the one to start talking, because although Kent is a bossy-boots loudmouth jerk at times, Scott's the one in the pilot's seat, so he's in charge, no matter what it is that Kent discovered. Dad's face is taut with concern, and Kent's is pale. I know this isn't good, especially as Brains is in on this too. I glance back to my instruments, checking all is well, before honing back into the current situation.

My suspicions are confirmed as my oldest brother, still flying Thunderbird One, tells us that part of the reason the earthquake damage is both so extensive and oddly distributed (as discovered by my twin as he compared the maps to the epicentre origin), is that there are explosive devices set within the wreckage of the Osaka business district. Apparently there are both triggered and un-triggered bombs, and it's only because Kent is somewhat obsessed with ground-based warfare and military weapons that they were even discovered at all.

He reads far too much, Kent, even more than John, and because of Dad's experience in engineering and the fact that he taught Kent most of what he knows from his time in the Air Force, he's always had a fascination with how things operate. Looks like his crazy hobbies do have their uses after all.

It's clear that all four of them are worried about this, and I have to admit that I am too. I also know why Scott and Kent decided to call this conference, even as we're all still winging our way towards Japan, because who knows what might happen if we accept the risks that these unexploded munitions pose to us, as both rescuers and voluntary aid workers?

Alarm bells are ringing in my mind, bringing to mind the sporadic other man-made disasters, such as the burning of the Thompson Tower in New York City and the sabotage of a new commercial aircraft that have been cropping up for the last six months, mostly rescues that we've been called out to assist with as a result. Judging from my father and siblings' reactions, I can tell that I'm far from being the only one to have realised that these events are becoming something way more than just mere coincidence.

Dad seems to have come to the same realisation.

"Boys, I want to ask your opinions on this clearly and properly, because none of you are under any obligation to put yourself into harm's way, not when this clearly is not one of our usual, accidental rescues."

"Dad," I say, "… none of our rescues are accidental; they're all caused by something, whether it's storms, roads collapsing, mudslides or moving tectonic plates. I mean, I do understand where you're coming from, but I'd like to say that I still want to go in... There are people out there that need our help." I look him firmly in the eye.

My father looks at me levelly. "Virgil, I know that you feel strongly about this kind of thing, but this is a purposeful attack of terrorism; the intent to hurt people is there, and some of those are non-triggered explosive devices, they could go off at any moment, and any one of you could be hurt in the crossfire!" His tone is calm, but I can see the worry in his eyes despite the dangerous tasks that the six of us undertake every time we venture out in these 'Birds.

Brains clears his throat. "If-if it helps, boys… F-f-Fermat and I can keep an-an- monitor the power re-rea-levels to allow for timely noti-notifi-warning of imminent combustion. It may give an increa-increased sense of saf-comfort, at least in your father's perspective."

John has now released Alan's mouth, I realise, because he moves towards the screen in order to take part in the conversation properly, leaving Alan glaring grumpily at his back, and Gordon smirking in amusement as he observes the kid's sulking. Alan's not going to get an opinion if he doesn't stop it.

"Could we also transfer the readings to Mobile Control, Brains?" John asks. "Kent will be there, and Scott too, if he decides that he's not needed out in the wreckage, it'll give four sets of eyes on them and allow us to get both ourselves and the victims out with a bit more warning before things go 'boom'.

Despite Brains' assurance, Dad still looks fairly unsure, and I can tell that his feelings on Osaka's need to have our assistance is warring with his responsibilities of both an employer and father. I intend to give him a couple of seconds to chew that information over, but Kent has no such inclination.

He's decided that he's going to argue his case, and I have to admit that I'm rather alarmed as he says that if we come across one of the unexploded bombs, and by any chance there are no authorities available to handle the situation, either he or John can diffuse them, with their technological skills in both software creation and hacking supposedly able to stand them in good stead.

I can't help but see at least a hundred different flaws in this plan, and it's clear that Kent's not fooling Scott or Dad either.

"No." Dad says sharply. "Absolutely not. Our job is to rescue civilians Kent, not go and play hero. And I doubt that John appreciates you voting him into it either. I'm sorry to say that you're the only one who appears to want to go and play with deadly electronic processors. Get it out of your head right now, because it's not going to happen."

He flicks a glance at where I know Scott's screen would be on his comms, and I watch as Scott gives a small dip of his head, communicating his assent on the situation. Wild horses couldn't keep Scott away from needing to do his job. Dad knows that, but I know that with the rest of us, he has the ability to force us into submission with just a look. We're stubborn as mules, every one of us, but we're the younger ones, so really we're a just that little bit more manipulable. Not that if we really want something we aren't prepared to go and get it, but we do respect our father and his concerns for us.

"Boys?" Dad looks at each and every one of us. The other three nod seriously and he sighs in acceptance. "Very well then. Go. Keep me updated with twice-hourly reports, and for heaven's sakes, be careful."

There's a chirp from the console, and the thrice-split screen suddenly melts back into two, leaving Brains and us boys staring at one another through the comms link. I can understand why he's disconnected so abruptly, but at the same time, it's humbling to realise that Dad's more worried that he wants to admit. I can't say I really blame him.

Brains and John arrange to talk via the link to Thunderbird Five back in the crew area about the setting-up of the monitoring, and Alan follows him; presumably to eavesdrop and learn a little bit more about the creation of links and software (he's expressed interest in learning about building computers, for whatever reason), which leaves me and Gordon alone with my twin and Scott.

Kent is still clearly sulking about the fact that Dad was so against his idea, but all I can truthfully think is tough luck. My brother is remarkably spontaneous at times, and he doesn't even realise that he's doing it. That's not to say that he's reckless with his health, but at the same time, he's a bit stupid with rushing in and not taking the time to consider his actions.

He buries his head in the panel in front of him, more or less ignoring the rest of us.

Scott, brow furrowed as he looks carefully at the two of us, grins softly as he sees the sureness of our choice in our faces. "See you at the danger zone fellas. Safe flight."

"Sure." I say, flicking an exasperated look at Kent, who still hasn't looked up. "You too Scooter."

Gordon smirks and flips Scott a salute as an answer, before closing off the link and grinning at me widely. I fight back a grin, knowing the next move is Gordon's in the playful, comfortable routine the two of us have established, having been doing this for so long now. I roll my eyes.

"Are we there yet?"

A/N: Thanks for reading!

- Pyre. Xx