He should have stopped two hours ago but he didn't. There's work to be done and Virgil Tracy will never be the one to flake on a job.

His shoulders are burning. His head is pounding. Every muscle in his body aches from the heavy lifting – mechanical Jaws of Life or not, it's still hard work.

But it's not just the physical tiredness. That's not the worst. The worst is that this is an avalanche rescue, and those are the worst of all. Every scream for help is in his mother's voice. Every grateful face he pulls from the white embrace is hers.

But it's not.

Because his mother is dead and there's nothing they can do about it.

As always, though, Virgil pushes through. His brothers didn't give him the nickname 'Machine' for nothing. He's got an endless supply of energy. No matter how much pain he's in, no matter how his muscles burn, Virgil Tracy keeps going.

He'll collapse later, when no one is looking. That's the plan, anyway. This time, it doesn't quite work out that way.

It was about fifteen minutes before Scott called mission complete that Virgil knew he'd pushed it too far. When his arms shook and his back shuddered as he rose, he knew he'd blown it. Gordon was on the way back to Two's cockpit and Virgil hoped and prayed that he would get away with it. Don't show weakness. Don't let him know…

"Hey, Virg –" Gordon cut himself off abruptly and his tone changed. "Virg, are you okay, buddy?"

As his eyes blurred and his body listed to the right, Virgil knew his days were numbered.

"Virgil!"

He was unconscious before he hit the deck plating.

~oOo~

Desperate to claw his way to the surface, Virgil swam through an ocean of disorientation. Where am I? What happened? Was the mission successful? Dammit!

Everything was blurry. Everything was dark, yet there was a pinpoint of light above him. Mustering every last ounce of strength in his bones, Virgil headed for the light.

He jolted awake; immediately there was a set of hands on his arm.

"Whoa, big guy." It was Gordon, all calloused fingers and a mild scent of chlorine. "Everything's cool."

"What happened?" Virgil asked, eyes frantic.

"You blew it," Gordon said, one side of his mouth rising into a smile. "You collapsed in Two's cockpit." He snapped his fingers. "Out like a light, just like that."

Virgil fell back against his pillows and closed his eyes. Oh, great… When he opened them again, all mirth was gone from Gordon's eyes. Instead, they were coated with concern.

"I was worried about you," he said. "I've never seen you like that before."

Guilt slid over Virgil's face like a veil. It might be the first time you've seen it, but it's not the first time it's happened. Not by a long shot.

"Sorry, Gords," he replied. "I guess I didn't realise how tired I was."

Gordon nodded and sat back in the chair he had pulled up to Virgil's bed. He looked down for a moment and started fiddling with the thin leather bands he wore on his wrist.

"Please don't let that happen again," he mumbled. Then he looked up, eyes ablaze with something that wasn't quite anger, and not quite despair. "You need to look after yourself."

Virgil tried to sit up but his arms betrayed him. He let his head flop back on the pillow and stared up and his bedroom ceiling. It wasn't just the physical exertion, this time. He could have coped with that. It was the combination of that and the memories that kept flooding back.

Please! Help me, please! I don't want to die in the snow!

Not in the victim's voice, but in his mother's. Dammit.

"I do know my limits," Virgil said at length.

The lie was bitter on his tongue.

"Clearly, you don't!" Gordon said. "You keep pushing and pushing until you crack. That's dangerous."

In spite of everything, Virgil started to laugh. He planted a hand over his mouth as Gordon's face crumpled with anger.

"I'm sorry," he said through his fingers. "It's not funny. It's just… I remember saying those exact words to you."

Gordon's face remained steadfast in his anger – for a few seconds, at least, before realisation dawned. He relented and cracked a smile.

"That's right, you did," he said, tapping his chin in thought. "Maybe that's where I got it from."

Virgil had indeed said those very words to Gordon, after driving to his little brother's Olympic training pool and dragging him bodily out of the water. The exhausted teen had been powerless against Virgil's strength.

"You would have spent twenty-four hours a day in that pool if you'd been able," Virgil said, letting his hand fall back to his side.

Gordon shrugged.

"Yeah," he said. "But all the training paid off, didn't it?" He puffed a little with pride. "I'm ranked as one of the world's fastest freestyle swimmers, with an Olympic gold to my name."

Exhausted or not, Virgil still managed to school his face into a withering glare.

"That's as well as may be," he said, "but if you'd pushed yourself too hard, too much in training, you might have jeopardised your chances."

Gordon's smile slipped.

"Maybe that's something you need to think about as well."

Virgil looked away as his own words came back at him. Instead of 'chances,' though the word came back as 'mission.'

You might have jeopardised the mission.

"You've got to look after yourself," Gordon said. "This whole outfit wouldn't work without you. We need you at your best, not strung out and barely coping." Virgil tried to speak but Gordon raised a hand to stop him. "I know what you're going to say. It was just this one time. Well, I call BS on that, because I know it's not. You push and push, and we don't notice at the time – and sometimes don't notice at all. But not this time, bro. You've been rumbled."

Protesting was pointless. Instead, Virgil gave a tiny nod.

"Okay, I admit defeat," he said. "I pushed it too far. It wasn't just the physical tiredness, though. It was the fact it was an avalanche. The fact that every voice I heard, I kept imagining the words were coming from Mom."

Gordon swallowed and nodded.

"I know," he said. "Me too. It's always hard."

Virgil allowed a wave of sorrow to wash over him for a moment. Then he winced.

"What did Scott say?"

Gordon let out a low whistle.

"Ooh, he was not happy, not happy at all. Imagine happy, and then imagine the polar opposite of it. That's Scott." Gordon paused for a moment. "But he's not angry. He's scared."

Virgil swallowed. That was worse. So much worse.

"He's the least of your problems, though," Gordon said.

"Oh?" Virgil asked. "What's worse?"

Gordon said nothing and instead waited for the penny to drop. And then it did. Hard.

"John's on the way down, isn't he?"

"Yes?"

"And he's going to kick my butt, isn't he?"

"Absolutely."

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

"One hundred per cent."

"Crap."

"Yup."

After a beat, the two brothers burst into a chorus of laughter, although Virgil regretted it as pain tore through his exhausted body. Gordon reached out to pat his arm.

"I'll mourn for you," he said.

"I'll mourn for myself," Virgil replied. Then he gave Gordon a sidelong glance. "If we leave now, we could escape the Readheaded Wrath."

Gordon raised his hands and shook his head.

"Oh no," he said. "I'm not going to be party to your escape. Aiding and abetting a felony is what that is. I'll end up in more trouble than you!"

They shared another laugh, until another pang of guilt overcame Virgil.

"I'm sorry I worried you," he said.

"Yeah, yeah," Gordon replied, waving him off. "Just don't do it again."

"Yes, sir," Virgil replied. Then his face became deadly serious. "Now, really, you need to help me escape."

Before Gordon could reply, they heard a shout from outside.

"Gordon! Is that bonehead awake yet? I want to give him a piece of my mind!"

They looked at one another for a moment, then at the open window.

"Every man for himself!" Gordon yelled.

He sprinted for the window just as the door was flung open. In spite of everything, in spite of his impending butt-kicking, all Virgil could do was laugh.