Summary. . . . . . . . . A rescue ends tragically, and a brother reminisces.

Disclaimer. . . . . . . . . Not mine, never will be.

A.N. . . . . . . . . . . A one shot created from feelings I'm going through about my Mum, that fit well into the Thunderbird universe. I hope that you enjoy. Peanut x

They told me a diary might help, I don't believe them, but I have to try something.

I know I shouldn't have shouted, that my voice carried the anger that I felt, but the rescue was turning into a disaster and I was allowing the deaths that had already happened to affect me. I tried calling him later, when everything had settled down, tried to apologize for my words, for my actions, but stubbornness runs deep within in the Tracy family, and in this brother in particular it's like an iron wall with no doors, and no way of entering unless he allows it; and my words were having no effect. My anger rose again, yes I'd been wrong, but I was trying to make it right, and I couldn't help the bitter words that fell from my lips. "Listen, I'm not going to waste my time if you're not going to answer me. We'll talk about this later."

I'd carried on with my job, pushed the argument to one side, and helped save as many people as I could, even when the aftershock hit, I thought little of the row we'd had; the tiff forgotten, for now, as the numbers we saved rose, and my feelings changed from despair to hope. So when the call came through it came as a shock, and when my brother's emotion filled voice begged with me to "get down here now" I was at first stunned into stillness. It was only as he spoke again "please get here, you need to be here" that I finally moved, running as fast as I could, ignorant of the shouts that I shouldn't go down there, that it wasn't safe. Something was wrong, something was very wrong, and I had a feeling that I had no time to spare. Every tunnel held obstacles that held me back, that wasted precious minutes, precious seconds, and I found myself wishing that there was just some way of beaming myself there sooner.

I ground to a stop as I finally found them, relief flooding through me as I counted heads and figured they were all safe, only to stop as I realized the hair color's weren't right, someone was missing. I looked closer and for the first time noticed the legs peeking out from beneath the huddle, and as my brother's anguished eyes finally looked into mine, I knew. I wailed as I rushed forward and pushed through the pack, tears streaming down my face as I witnessed for the first time the damage that had been done. I spoke words to him, begged him to wake up, threatened him with pranks I would play if he didn't, then changed tactics and promised trips to his favorite places, but his eyes remained closed, his hand getting colder within my grasp, his breathing controlled by the tube and bag that a man I didn't know kept pumping.

Words were spoken, but my deaf ears failed to hear them, my guilt already beginning to consume me; only when my other sibling's hand touched my shoulder, and a medical scanner placed in my hand, did the fog in my mind disperse and the gravity of the situation hit home. "There's no hope. There's no chance. The damage is too extensive. He wouldn't survive the surgery. His brain is dead." I felt like throwing up as my other two brother's looked at me for answers, looked at me to give the word, there was still so much I needed to say, still so much I needed to rectify; but deep down I knew I would never get that chance, and with a heart that threatened to burst, I reached out, stilled the man's compressions, and waited.

I don't know how I faced our Father and told him one son would not be returning; don't remember the trip back out of the tunnels, my brother's body held tightly within my arms; don't know how I ever flew home afterwards; don't know how I managed to land my bird when my brain didn't even seem to be functioning; don't know how I got through the worst day of my life, when we finally laid him to rest; my guilt now ever present, filling me up with a cold dread that numbed me. Why had I argued with him? Why had I said what I said? Why didn't I try harder to say I was sorry? I despised myself for my words, for my actions; hated the fact that my final words spoken to him were filled with frustration and mild anger, that I never got to say I loved him.

Even now months later as I write this I still feel that way. They say the loss lessens, but for me it's stronger than ever and that guilt still resides inside me. I should never have argued with him, I should have told him I loved him, I should have gotten there sooner, I should have been there before he slipped under, I should have shown him that I was there for him. They tell me he knew I loved him; that he knew I was there for him, but did he? How do they know? They say give it time, it will ease, but I fear it won't; and yet at the same time I fear it will, and I don't know which is worse, because while I still feel so guilty it's easier to not blame him for leaving.

A.N. . . . . . . . . So that was it, I hope that you enjoyed it. I deliberately left the brother's identities out so that you can make up your own minds as to who they are, if you have time, let me know who you think it is. Thank you so much for reading this, catch you soon. Peanut x