“John.” His fingers find purchase on his wrist communicator and he opens a voice-only line up to his brother. John’s best off not seeing his face right now. “I can hear people, somewhere near me, think you can get me a heat sensor read out, and point me in the right direction?”

“Sure Virg.” John’s voice is comfortingly calm and normal. “Here, I’ve got them. Six readings. A couple of them look small enough to be children, and maybe a teenager. They’re to your west, straight ahead, inside the temple. Careful though, the building looks pretty unstable. Better be quick.”

“FAB John.” Virgil closes the line and reaches out to feel his way blindly towards the building, feeling a little stupid as he does so. His fingertips brush what must be one of the temple walls before him and he follows it along, his digits snagging on crumbling masonry, until he finds a doorframe. Stepping through it his shin strikes something hard and Virgil hisses at it angrily as he stumbles, his palms coming up to steady himself against the concrete? It feels like concrete that was most likely a chunk of the ceiling that has come down. There’s a rustle of something, the sound of rocks shifting, and Virgil is hoping that the ceiling is not about to come down on top of him as he makes out what could be footsteps, shuffling, amongst the sound of falling masonry.

“Hello?” he calls out, into the blackness created by his own eyes. “Is someone there?”

There’s nothing but the sound of silence and shifting rubble and Virgil wonders for a moment if he imagined it. He goes to take another step, his limbs trying tacitly to find a way around the rubble, scrabbling over stone. He catches the crook of his thumb on a piece of splintered wood and hisses, glad of his thick, protective gloves.

Then a something catches on his sleeve, slender fingers wrapping around his wrist and Virgil jumps, a shocked cry tumbling past his lips and his heart thunders in his chest as he jolts away from the person holding his sleeve. He can dimly feel his knees trembling from the sudden shock. He almost topples over backwards. Don’t suddenly sneak up on the blind guy, gods. A voice, very close by, sprouts something in Japanese; the sound quite high but distinctly male. Virgil wonders if this is one of the children - the hand feels quite small. The boy says something again; high and lilting and tinted with fear, and it’s not a phrase Virgil recognises. His Japanese never was very good. The hand comes up again, tugging at his sleeve as if the person wants Virgil to follow him. The fingers are trembling.

Taking a few breaths, Virgil opens the com line to John back up, willing his heart rate to calm down again.

“Virgil?” John’s voice asks sharply as he answers the call, wondering why he’s been called again so soon.

“I’m in the temple;” Two’s Pilot reports, “I’ve got a boy here and no idea what he’s saying.”

Instead of answering Virgil, John rattles off something fluent sounding in Japanese and Virgil can’t help but smile at where his thinks his wrist communicator is. For all he knows he could be looking straight passed it, grinning like a loon, so he stops it quickly, awaiting a response on whatever this person was saying.

“His name is Akito,” John chirps up, making Virgil jump again. Gods, you’d think the number of years he’s put up with three little brothers would have prevented anything from catching him off guard. “His family are up ahead, they were praying at the temple. He wants to lead you to them. I think his mother is injured.” John starts to say something else to Akito in the boy’s native tongue and Virgil gets another sharp tug on his sleeve.

Virgil knows he should probably mention to John that he can’t see a dammed thing, but then John would probably sic Scotty on him, and right now he wants anything but that. Plus these people need his help, handicapped or not. He is getting a little worried that his eyes haven’t cleared up yet though; he hopes he hasn’t done more damage to them than he thinks. His head is killing him.

The hand on his sleeve is leading him through the rubble like a lost sheep and its sheep dog. As a cat person himself, Virgil is not particularly fond of that comparison, but then he stubs his toe and his thoughts go elsewhere; mostly on not swearing in front of children – whether Akito can understand him or not.

More Japanese voices now very close and Virgil can feel a cold breeze, as if a chunk of the ceiling has come down. He finds Akio’s small fingers shifting down to wind themselves around his own, still leading him, and then suddenly the voices are crying out and there’s a hand at his shoulder and the sound of people crying. In pain or relief he’s uncertain. He has no idea if they’re all able bodied, or if they will be able to follow him out of here. He’s not entirely sure he can remember the way out, let alone if it is safe. His head is still pounding and he’s a little too on the dizzy side.

“John,” the line is still open, cracking with static, “can you ask them to follow me?”

“Sure Virg.” And then John is chattering away in yet more Japanese. Virgil has always been impressed by the number of languages his brother knows; while Virgil can speak a few himself, he’s got nothing on John. “You’re going to need to support Kaede as she walks,” his brother follows up in English, “that break sounds pretty nasty. How does it look?”

“I’m... not sure.” Virgil goes for, slowly crouching near where he heard the woman’s voice. The soft bump of her hair against his shoulder lets him know he’s gone a little far. Cautiously he wraps an arm under her shoulder, letting her arm support itself across his own broad back, and he loops his arm around her waist to pull her upright. She moans pitifully at the movement and he feels a flush of guilt. He should probably have tried to make some kind of brace for her broken leg, but he can hear the building rumbling around him and he doesn’t quite trust his own abilities right now. He hopes his eyes clear up soon. He takes a few unsteady steps, finding a rhythm for the both of them to hobble along.

“Virg? Are you ok?” John’s voice crackles over the static of the line - edged slightly with what sounds like confusion.

“Yeah, fine why.” Virgil’s voice is taught. Did one of these people tell him I can’t see? He frets, still not wanting his brother to know. It’s probably pretty obvious to them... He chews at his lip as John takes a moment to answer.

“You’re going to wrong way.” His brother’s voice is curt and unimpressed. Oh.

“Ah, of course I am, sorry.” Virgil staggers slightly, his sharp laugh fake and high, “Was rough there for a while.” He tries to explain. The little boy, Akito is tugging on his hand again, lacing their fingers together, and Virgil allows himself to be spun around and led back the way they came. He’s starting to wonder exactly who is doing the rescuing here.

He tries to follow the fresh flow of air, as the people move around him, following. He gains his bearings back quickly enough though, as he stubs his toe again on what feels like the exact same piece of rubble.

When they break out into the fresh air, there’s one of the Japanese rescue teams waiting for them, and, directed by John’s disembodied voice, they take the six people off his hands. Akito gives his fingers a right squeeze just before he lets go and Virgil grins down at him. His job is done here, John informs him; Scott and Gordon have finished the evacuation in their areas, and the rescue teams can take it from here. Virgil is to get back to Tracy Island ASAP for mission debriefing.

He finds himself climbing into his seat in the cockpit of Thunderbird Two before he can really think about it; his hands coming up automatically to touch over the pre-flight levers. Thunderbird Two hums confidently around him and he smiles. He knows all her controls by touch and he fires the engines up, strapping himself into his seat.

It’s only when he is in the air that he remembers the problem. He still can’t see a thing. Well he had always joked he could fly his girl blindfolded, and flying her blind he was. Virgil grins to himself, this was easy peasy. Like he does it every day or something. He is confident that he knows his way back to the Island and he can remember their flight pattern from their journey there; it’ll be a clear, straight flight over the Hawaiian Islands back to Tracy Island in the South Pacific.

He’s doing great, clean sailing, and he must have almost cleared Hawaii far below him, but then the proximity warning starts to go off.

“Virgil!” And that’s John’s voice, making him jump again. “What the hell are you doing! You’re flying straight at a mountain.” Sudden horror hits Virgil in the chest like a cricket bat to the ribs.

“I’m WHAT?!?” Virgil grips the steering column harder, fear bubbling up in his stomach because apparently he’s flying straight for a mountain that he can’t see. He slams his foot down on the retro thrusters, but he’s not sure how close he is. He feels Two shudder under him and he hopes he’s slowing down. He can’t see anything. He needs help. “Oh God, ok, ok,” he admits “I can’t see right now, John. I hit my head and my eyes aren’t working. At all. Everything is totally black. You’re going to have to guide me out of here.” He garbles over his words and the proximity warning is getting louder. Is he slowing down or not? His foot is definitely on the retros? Isn’t it?

“You can’t what???” John is still trying to process, as he watches the blip of Thunderbird Two get dangerously close to the side of a sheer wall of rock. “See. I’m flying totally blind here.” Virgil snarls, his patience wavering and his knuckles white. He begins to blink, heavily and rapidly, trying to clear his vision. He thinks the black edges off a little more into grey rather than black, but that might just be optimism.

“You’re flying...” to his credit, John seems to get his composure together pretty quickly. Must be his strict NASA training. That or he’s gotten used to the collective idiocy of his four brothers. “Ok, you’re going to need to begin banking left. Now Virgil...” Virgil slams his hands against the controls. “Good. Increase your height, your down at only 1600 feet, I’ll tell you when to stop. That’s it; bank a little further left still.” His voice is tight and tense and Virgil can only keep his hands hard on the steering column. His forehead is still protesting its knock loudly. He’s going to have one hell of a headache for a few days.

“How high am I?” He braves asking.

“2300 feet, climb a little more Virgil.” He does so, pointing Two’s nose skywards. He hopes he’s cleared the mountains. “Swing out a couple more degrees to your left.” John commands, “That’s it, you’re coming out over the ocean now. Keep a straight course and your ETA will be eleven minutes.” The lack of sight is frustrating and Virgil strains, trying to make everything lighter through sheer willpower. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t really work.

“FAB John.” Virgil manages to grind out from between his teeth. Blinking again, he thinks the world before him has perhaps started to get lighter. Perhaps. Not enough to help much. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to land her.” He says anyway, because this is his ‘bird and he’s been landing her for years.

“I’ll do my best to guide you in.” John says, but his voice is tight. “Scott is going to kill you.” He adds and Virgil can only groan because yeah, doesn’t he know it. “Right, you’re at 2100 feet, start decreasing your height. Bank around, still left. Yeah you got it. You really can fly this thing can’t you?” Virgil doesn’t respond to that. He’s not sure if John is being sarcastic or if he’s complimenting him. He’d need to see John’s face to be sure, and right now that’s a problem. “Lower Virgil.” John calls and the second eldest Tracy makes the corrections silently. “That’s 200 feet; you’re coming in to land now. Slow it up. Ok. Fire your landing jets in three, two, one...” Virgil slams his hand against the dial and gets a “That’s it Virgil” for his trouble. Two is shaking familiarly around him and he can feel the upward thrust of the jets, slowing him as he sinks down onto what he can only hope is the runway.

He touches down with an awful crash, which takes him completely by surprise. He’d thought he’d have a few more feet to go before runway contact. Evidently not. He feels his bird grind to an awful halt on the tarmac. His poor baby screaming as she grinds against the ground.

“Virgil? Virgil? Are you ok?” That’s John, still, and Virgil forces out an affirmative through his teeth. He doesn’t move though. “You’re an idiot.” John tells him, and Virgil thinks that he’s probably right. He leans his head back against his headrest and takes several deep breaths.

“We’re taking you to the ER right now.” And that sounds an awful lot like Scott when he’s furious, and there’s a big, warm hand on his upper arm, pulling him out of his seat. “Your eyes are all bloodshot.”

“Hi Scotty.” Virgil grins weakly at him, allowing himself, for not the first time today, to be dragged along. Scott snarls something unintelligible that might have been ‘whatthegoddamhellwereyouthinking’ or might not have been. Virgil’s not really sure.

Against any say Virgil has, he gets flown over to San Francisco and emitted to Accident and Emergency where, after a lot of tests and peering and anxious hovering brothers as his forehead is stitched, Virgil gets told that apparently the blood vessels in his eyes have bled out into the clear, jellylike part of his eyeballs, and that’s what had caused his blindness. He’s told it should clear up over time with minimal problems, and he’s handed a prescription and shooed away with strict instructions not to strain his eyes as they heal.