I do not own the Thunderbirds, and I am making no profit from this story.

Scott winced as his foot came down on something with a loud, prolonged crunch. He glanced downward and grimaced – he'd just killed some poor kid's science project. Lifting his foot, he squinted at the object, trying to figure out what it had once been.

"You squashed my Bird!" Virgil exclaimed indignantly, peering over his shoulder at the mangled, green object on the floor.

"Oh, is that what that's supposed to be?" Scott said. He turned his head a little, and then he could – kind of – see the rounded shape of Thunderbird Two in the flattened papier-mâché figurine. "Well, sorry, Virg. I didn't see it there." He snickered. "I have to say, that's not a problem I usually have with your ship."

Virgil didn't answer. He had moved a few feet away and was bending over to pick something up. Virgil's face lit up with unholy glee as he looked over the weird conglomeration of a paper towel tube, aluminum foil, and bright paint. "Well, well, well," he said. "I may just get a chance for payback."

"Wait," Scott said slowly. "Is that supposed to be…"

Virgil's grin widened. "Yes, indeed. Scott, say hello to Thunderbird One." He pointed to the clumsily lettered "TB-1" on the cardboard tailfins. "She's a real beaut!"

Scott grimaced. "Uh, yeah, sure…"

He and Virgil were picking their way through the hallways of an earthquake-damaged school. They had already evacuated several people, and were making a final loop of the building to make sure they hadn't missed anyone.

"C'mon, we better keep moving," Scott started to say – and then he froze, listening. "Hang on, is that…"

"Aftershock!" John's voice bursting through his comm. system confirmed Scott's suspicions. "Get to safety!"

As the ceiling began to creak and groan above them, Scott snapped, "Quick, in here!" He flung open a door and shoved Virgil inside, leaping in after him.

A tremendous roar sounded as the hall ceiling collapsed; Scott jerked the door shut just in time, plunging the two of them into pitch darkness.

He kept his hand on the doorknob for a long moment, listening to the debris crashing down in the hallway and waiting for the vibrations under his feet to subside.

After a moment, everything quieted down, and Scott breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, let's see how bad it is," he muttered. He turned the knob and pushed – and nothing happened.

"What's wrong?" Virgil asked, his voice wafting from the darkness – and sounding strangely low to the ground.

"It's stuck," Scott said. He tried again, this time putting more of his shoulder into it. Finally, he tried taking a step back and then lunging at the door with all of his weight. All that gained him was a sore shoulder, though. "Nope, the debris must have pinned the door shut. We can't get out." He glanced around, but it was so dark that he couldn't see a thing. "Where are we, anyway? I figured this was a classroom, but surely it would have windows?"

There was a crackling sound as Virgil broke open a glow stick.

Scott blinked as he looked around – they were in a tiny janitor's closet, sharing the small space with a multitude of brooms, mops, dusters, buckets and cleaning supplies. Now that he knew where he was, Scott could identify a smell he'd been noticing – wet mop.

He glanced down at Virgil and immediately had to put a hand over his mouth to hide a smile – his younger brother was sitting wedged half in a large bucket, and he did not look happy. He must have fallen into the bucket when Scott had shoved him into the closet.

"Yes, this is very funny," Virgil said testily. "Give me a hand, will you?"

Scott pulled Virgil upright and brushed him off solicitously, all while fighting back a laugh that was trying its best to escape.

Virgil swatted his hands away and reached down to turn the bucket upside down, then sat on it with a sigh. "Okay, so, now what? How do we get out of here if we can't open the door?"

Scott frowned, his humor evaporating as he thought through various options. "I guess we'll have to call John. Maybe he can look at the layout of the building and see if we can punch through one of these walls or something."

John sounded distracted when they called him, though. "Give me a few minutes," he snapped. "Gordon and Alan need me. I'll try to send them over to help you out at some point, but it could be a little while."

"FAB," Scott said with a sigh. He pulled up his own bucket and dropped down onto it. "Well, then…"

They sat in silence for a couple minutes. They had to keep their elbows close in to their sides, and there was no room for them to stretch their legs out in front of them.

Suddenly Virgil started to laugh.

Scott glanced at him in alarm, wondering if the fumes from the cleaning products were getting to him.

"Sorry," Virgil said after a moment. "This is just so ridiculous! International Rescue needs to be rescued…from a broom closet! Actually, this reminds me of some of the other tight spaces we've been in."

"Hmm, yeah," Scott agreed. "You remember when…"