#kyrano will feature soon

[edutainer2022]

It's the aftermath of TV-21 sabotage and crash into the ocean. I was going one way with the story, but it's maybe going the other through a will of its own. It has no choice but to end in obliterating fluff, but, of course, not just yet.

A thing with feathers - Bit 1

They were huddled on top of the stairs in the darkened farmhouse, well out of sight, but equally well within earshot from where, in the study, their father's voice boomed frustration and anger, and something very close to the grief they were all too familiar with, at a very young, very shy bespectacled engineer, a silent and grim Kyrano and, quite likely, Aunt Casey's and Uncle Lee's holograms. But most of all at the "bad man", who made their Dad ditch his baby, his fantastic rocket plane, into the ocean. The word "investors" rolled around a lot in the tide of Jeff's fury.

John was, thankfully, on bedtime story duty with the Tinies. So it was just Virgil and Scott, backs against the wall, knees drawn up to their chins, in the shadows. If Virgil was leaning a little too heavily into his big brother's side, a little too shaken in hindsight that Dad nearly didn't make it back from the test flight, it was just as well. If his brother was propping him up with a half-hug, he didn't mind. Scott was pale, dark shadows matching beneath the eyes, bright blue dulled, haunted and red-rimmed. He looked almost as desolate as their Dad that day.

TV-21 was not just an incredible, groundbreaking engineering marvel, designed with a kind goal in mind - to reach people the fastest and save them - it was Dad's dream. All through brainstorming, design and construction of the project they almost got their father back, the one that hadn't been around since Mom - an inspired hero, a fierce pilot with a sparkle in his eyes and a spring in his step. A man with a great purpose. It all came crashing down that day at Mach 21. Scott had a sinking feeling their Dad, barely resurfaced from mourning and mountains of paperwork of an expanding business, would be lost to them again.

"Are we broke now, Scotty? Will we loose the house, like Nick's family?"

Virgil's voice was small and unsure, big eyes peering up at his big brother brimming with tears as much as a hope the big brother in question would make it all alright. Somehow. Scott wished he had a first clue how, though. Ever since Mom was gone, he had a queasy feeling of trying to tread a quicksand - both out of his depth and drowning - trying to leverage four heartbroken brothers and a withdrawn Dad, trying to keep together the quickly disintegrating pieces of their world. Just like Mom would want him to do. If only he knew better, if only he could do more, give more, be more... If only he could be enough...

Building TV-21 was a welcome change of pace to the giddy whirlwind of excitement. Scott hadn't honesty felt closer to their father in a long while than in those endless afternoons and even nights of planning. Dad let him curve the bedtime and come back to the office, once everyone was asleep, where Dad and Brains would pour over blueprints, 3D models and scattered drafts. They would argue, share ideas and airpunch in triumph, when a design solution clicked. Scott soaked it up as a sponge, trying to keep up with the cutting edge math and breakneck physics of the future plane. But he was happiest when Dad would include him in a comment or turn to bounce an idea. Dad's eyes sparkled with inspiration and mirth, but above all, hope Scott had only seen directed at Mom. Scott was on cloud nine.

Under the strict condition to stay quiet, Virgil and John would be sometimes allowed to stay in the study with Scott (when their Grandma came to visit, mostly, to distract the Tinies). The three eldest boys would then huddle in Scott's room way past the extended bedtime (that Dad may or may not have known about) working through the math and physics they didn't yet quite grasp (well, John almost did, Scott hot on his heels with the velocity equations), but moreso dreaming in hushed voices about amazing heroic adventures with the amazing unfathomable machines  - the creeping up sleep and impending dawn the only limits to their imagination. Virgil would sketch outlandish planes and rockets. John requested a space station, because everything was cooler with a space station, and they even came up with a little submarine for Gordy (of course they'd never leave Gordy or Allie behind in their thought through adventures - the resident astrocase John noted primly there were oceans and seas on satellites and exoplanets too, in space). Scott suggested a little kangaroo sling for Alan on a super-supersonic plane (blue, of course), although all three of them agreed it was too early for Allie to breach the sonic barrier. Maybe when he was five. It was decided they would put together the scrapbook of their fantastic designs and well wishes for Dad to present on the day of TV-21 test flight. Dad would totally love that and it was a while since they made a project for him. Well... not since Mom...

Scott secretly hated the name of the jet. It was plain and boring, and not badass enough. Something like Phoenix or Falcon, or anything equally flashy that telegraphed speed and power, would fit the purpose of TV-21 better - the fastest rocket plane ever to reach anyone in need anywhere, anytime. Brains, the timid young genius Dad recruited straight from CERN, insisted the name was exhaustive and reflected the plane key feature - maximum velocity of mind-blowing Mach 21. Which was just as well - Dad was gonna set the record and come back to them full of life and will to change the world for the better. Or so Scott thought as they were all glued to the screens, watching TV-21 take off...

[scribbles97]

Left Behind - Chapter 8

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6 / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 / Chapter 9 / Chapter 10 / Chapter 11 / Chapter 12 / Chapter 13

Read On Ao3

Val stood as she saw Lucy approaching, unfolding her arms as she reached out to her friend. As part of their basic training for IR full EMT training was a key module. It wasn’t often that Val had to use the knowledge but when she did it never failed to scare her that it was all that could stand between life and death. 

When it was someone within their immediate circle, it scared her even more. 

“Hugh and Sylvia are on their way.” She murmured as Lucy pulled back from her, “Penelope rang her father as soon as we had them.”

She didn’t blame the young woman, seeing two close friends stabbed was enough to make anyone want the familiarity of their father.

Lucy nodded, glancing around the hospital hallway, “Where are they?”

“Both Tanusha and Kyrano are in surgery. Penny is in the bathroom getting washed and I imagine calming herself down.” 

The young blonde had been the face of composure when she had arrived, but Val knew the girl well, had spent christmases and birthdays and summer holidays with her for plenty of years. She knew when the composure was simply a mask though, could see the cracks running underneath the facade that perhaps only a few others would. 

“She took it hard?” Lucy frowned, “This won’t have been their fault.”

“I doubt it,” Val agreed quietly, “She’ll just be frustrated, I don’t think they’ve had a mission yet turn quite so sour.”

Lucy nodded in understanding, her face twisting as she blinked hard, “I told her I thought Kyrano was going to do something dangerous.”

Val wanted to ask Lucy what the hell she was thinking. Kyrano was an experienced man in his field. Kayo and Penelope barely had ten years of real experience between them. Not that she didn’t see the other woman’s point. Both knew what had happened after the death of Kayo’s mother, both could imagine how far Kyrano would go to protect his daughter and those he held dear. 

Even if it meant losing them in the process. 

“We can’t let him slip back to where he was after Onaha died,” She murmured softly, “We’d lose him for good this time.”

Lucy pursed her lips, “He blames himself because of the tie to Gaat. It was him that did this, to his own brother Val. What would he do to Tanusha if he got near her?”

Resting her hands on her shoulders, Val looked Lucy in the eye, “We won’t let that happen. I’ll make sure of it.”

Lucy ran her hand though her hair as she glanced around the space again with a sigh, “I need to sort security, get a team in here.”

“Already sorted it sis,” Lee’s voice called from behind Val, “Got his best people flying in from New York tonight. They’ll be here in a matter of hours.”

“Best team?” Val raised an eyebrow as she turned to him, glancing to Penelope at his side, “Who’d you figure that was then?”

Penelope shrugged as she looked between them, “Kyrano is like family, he’d only let his top people escort any of you, Tia, Jude and Pedro.”

She had to admit she probably wasn’t wrong. The trio were usually assigned to the boys when required, it only made sense that they would be the best to protect Kyrano and his daughter. 

“Thanks Lee, Penny,” Lucy smiled briefly towards them, eyes tired as she glanced to Val, “You two should get back. The boys are flying out later so we’ll be crowded enough then.”

Val raised an eyebrow, unconvinced that that was the real issue going on. 

“Lee fly home, I’ll follow on once the boys are here.”

“Val--” Lucy went to protest, only to be cut off by her brother.

“I’m with Val here Luce, Hugh’s going to have some choice words when he gets here, I think you’ll need all the back up you can get.”

It wasn’t the reason Val had been thinking of, she was more concerned about what Kyrano was going to say about being tailed by his own daughter. Lucy was under stress as it was, trying to find her new normal with the boys. She worried that knowing it was her suggestion for Kayo to follow her father could be the final straw. 

“Are you waiting for Ms and Mister Kyrano?” An older woman in dark green scrubs approached them.

Val turned and nodded, gesturing to Lucy, “This is Ms Kyrano’s godmother.”

Stepping back she watched as Lucy shook the doctors hand. Lee quietly stepped up next to her nodding towards the exit, making his intention to slip away clear. She nodded, only half paying attention to him as she listened to the doctors update. 

Something in her chest loosened as the doctor confirmed both were stable, that Kayo was recovering from her surgery and would be free for visitors soon. 

“I’m afraid I can’t say more about Kyrano’s condition as I have not attended to him myself. I have been assured though that you will receive an update as soon as he is in recovery.”

The comment put her less at ease, for all they said he was stable, it seemed hard to believe until he was out of surgery. Val knew all too well what could go wrong behind the closed doors of an operating theatre. Perhaps it was simply being in the hallway of a trauma ward that had her quite so on edge. 

“So we can see Tanusha now?” Lucy asked, “Is she awake?”

The doctor turned, gesturing down the hallway, “Right this way.”

Val didn’t hesitate in following Lucy to the quiet side room, secluded, private, everything that the security specialist would approve of.

Kayo was sat up in the bed, pale, and clearly not quite with it as her eyes rested half shut and her head leant back into the pillows. 

“Hey,” Lucy murmured, “How’re you doing Tan?”

Val paused in the doorway, hand resting on Penelope’s shoulder to stop her from rushing forward as Kayo looked to Lucy. She looked down to the younger woman, eyebrow raised, “You okay Pen?”

She nodded, lips pursed as she sighed, “Yeah. Just… I don’t know.”

Squeezing her shoulder, Val nodded silently, “First time it’s come this close for you?”

The young woman nodded again, her voice barely a whisper as she nodded, “Yeah.”

Wrapping an arm around her shoulders Val swallowed, remembering well the feeling of coming quite so close to losing someone on a mission. 

“Pen?” Kayo whispered, “You ‘kay?”

Val released the shoulder she had been holding, letting Penny step forward into the room to take Kayo’s hand.

“Have you seen yourself in the last hour?” Penny teased as Val followed her further into the room. 

Kayo snorted, her lips curling up briefly, “Tis but a flesh wound M’lady.”

“Don’t belittle it Kay,” Val shook her head, “Wear your scars with pride.”

She ignored Lucy’s snort from where she sat by Kayo’s head, knowing exactly what it meant. 

The saying had come from her after all. 

“Is Dad…” She sighed, eyes darting around the room, landing back on Lucy. 

“He’s still in surgery Tan,” Lucy murmured, “They’ll let us know once he’s out.”

Green eyes jumped to Penelope, Kayo licked her lips as she swallowed, nodding slightly towards Lucy as she watched the blonde. She knew the gesture, had used it in one of her and Lucy’s many private conversations. 

“Tell them,” She whispered, still watching Penny.

There was a hesitation in Penny’s eyes as she held Kay’s gaze and Val wondered just what had gone on before she had arrived on the scene with Lee. 

“It was a set up for Kyrano.” Penny murmured, “We watched him walk right into it and let it happen, like he wasn’t expecting it. If we hadn't been there to follow…” She trailed off, letting the possibilities of what could have happened hang in the air. 

“Tried to kill him,” Kayo breathed, “So we intercepted.”

Penny looked between them, china blue eyes wide and young, “We think he had a plan, and perhaps we got in the way.”

Lucy was quick to shake her head before Val could speak, “Regardless, you saved his life. That’s worth more than any plan right now.”

Kayo sniffed as she shook her head, “He’s going to be mad at me.”

Val frowned, stepping forward to touch Kay’s leg, “What makes you think that?”

Her eyes were watering as she looked to her, lips pursed tightly as she shook her head again, clearly trying to blink away the tears that had formed. A glance to Lucy confirmed that she also hadn’t expected tears from the young woman, anger at herself was more Kayo’s thing. Val wasn’t sure she had seen her cry since her mother’s death, even then it had been brief and behind closed doors. 

“I screwed up.” She whispered, eyes distant, “He taught me everything I know, and I still screwed it all up.”

A glance to the array of instruments at her side, confirmed what Val had suspected. Kayo would never make the admission that she screwed up outloud, but it seemed that the drugs in her system had lowered her defences. 

“Kay,” Penny protested softly, “You did everything by the book, and then more. I was there, I saw everything. You didn’t screw up.”

Lucy was standing over her, one hand reaching up to brush through Kayo’s dark hair, eyes watching her carefully.

“You’re tired Tan,” She murmured, “It’s been a crazy day. Why don’t you go to sleep and I’ll wake you up when your Dad’s out of theatre?”

Everything on Kayo’s face was screwed up, trying to hide the emotion she had let slip even as she nodded quickly. 

“You go to sleep.” Lucy repeated softly, “It’s alright now.”

A few more moments of quiet murmurings and stroking her hair was enough to settle the young woman as her features slackened and settled. 

Looking to Lucy, Val shook her head, the two girls in the room were still so young. Much like Lucy’s boys they had gone through far too much in their short lives, both losing their mothers, both going weeks without seeing their fathers, both thrust into a world of espionage and secrets. They both claimed they loved their lives, Val had seen the way their faces lit up when offered a task utilising their skills, but she knew that neither knew anything any different. It was what their fathers did, and it was what they had blindly followed them into. 

“Mrs Tracy?” A doctor stepped through the door, followed closely by Parker, “Mr Kyrano is asking after you. He’s just next door.”

“I’ll stay with her.” Penelope offered quietly.

“H’and I’ll stay with M’Lady.” Parker added, “You ladies see to Mister Kyrano, h’and make sure he’s alright.”

Lucy nodded, pulling away from Kayo as she straightened, “Thank you Parker.”

[gumnut-logic]

Gentle Rain (Part Two)

Title: Gentle Rain

Warm Rain Series

Part Two

Author: Gumnut

15-19 Jan 2019

Fandom: Thunderbirds Are Go 2015/ Thunderbirds TOS

Rating: Teen

Summary: Sometimes it is so gentle, you don’t realise it is happening.

Word count: 2344

Spoilers & warnings: Virgil/Kayo, OC, spoilers for Warm Rain up to this point in the timeline.

Timeline: After ‘The Proposal’ and before ‘Goodbye’.

Author’s note: This is for @scribbles97 . Thank you to all my wonderful readers and supporters who continue to help me create more and more stories. I’m having the time of my life, you guys are wonderful :D

Disclaimer: Mine? You’ve got to be kidding. Money? Don’t have any, don’t bother.

-o-o-o-

Waking in hospital was not her favourite. She had done it many times in her thirty years and none of those events had been pleasant. This one was proving that they didn’t get any better.

She could smell the hospital around her.

A frown. Vague memories of faces, decisions, words, it seemed like dreams, all starting with that hole and the man from International Rescue.

A pair of blue eyes.

Standing on the second floor reaching out for him as the floor collapsed beneath them. Her chair tipping, the world spinning, brickwork and pain.

Darkness.

A scream and the sudden rushing halt of her fall.

The crushing asphyxiation of the building on top of her.

The need to get to him. Knowing he was there and possibly dying after all the lives he had saved.

And she could save him.

She had to save him.

The drag, the pull, the pure force of knowing what she was likely doing to herself to get to him.

Her own blood on her hands, warm in the darkness.

Timber grain under her fingernails. Rough uniform fabric.

His breath on her skin.

The sound of his voice as he challenged her.

His blood.

His bloody arguing. His fear for his sister.

The feel of his pulse beneath her fingers.

Her own thudding in her ears.

“Emaline?”

Scott Tracy, International Rescue.

“Emaline?” A female voice, persistent. “Emaline?”

Em. Name’s Em.

“Emaline? It is time to wake up, honey.”

Honey? No-one calls her honey. Name’s Em.

“C’mon, I know you’re in there.” Someone touched her hand.

She opened her eyes.

White. Blue curtains. White. A white nurse. A friendly smile. “There you are. Time for your medication and some lunch.”

Em didn’t answer. She just stared up at the woman. There was an interesting pattern in the ceiling tiles. The nurse bustled off for a moment and came back with a little cup of pills. “Would you like me to help you sit up?”

She blinked up at the face above her and gave it a single nod. It wasn’t like she was going to be sitting up herself anytime soon.

The back of the bed rose up and the world settled into a more sensible perspective.

More white…and there was another woman in her room.

“Scott Tracy.” The words fell from her mouth before she could censor them.

The nurse glanced at the other woman. “Yes, you have a visitor.” She straightened the sheets around her hips, making sure she was secure and not about to topple over. “Are you in any pain?”

“I’m fine.” Her eyes didn’t leave the frowning green eyes across the room.

“Well, your lunch and medication are here. Buzz, if you need me.”

Em didn’t reply and the nurse left the room, sparing a puzzled glance at her visitor.

“How is he?”

The IR woman was wearing a simple flowery summer dress, quite in contrast to the uniform she had been wearing when they met. It softened her features. She took a couple of steps closer to the bed. “Scott is recovering. Apparently, much in thanks to you.” A dark eyebrow rose. “I hear it hasn’t gone as well for you.”

“You hear do you?” Em smirked. “I’m sure you ‘hear’ a lot of things.”

The other eyebrow joined its partner. “It is my job to know as much as possible about the people who interact with International Rescue.” Her lips thinned. “In this case, I know your recovery has not gone as well as it could have.” She tipped her head to Em. “I’m very sorry you lost so much in saving us.”

Em looked away. She wasn’t sure how she felt about it all. It wasn’t like she had really lost anything. But still...and diagnoses of her own mental state spun in her head.

“It had to be done.” The words tripped out of her mouth. But then...she looked up at the other woman. “How is he really?” A pause. “Tell me it was worth it.”

The slightest of smiles spread across her face. “Virgil has him tied to the bed. He’s itching to leave.” The smile slipped. “He hates hospitals.”

Em snorted a little. “I know how he feels.” A frown. “So, who is Virgil? The guy in the mechano suit who busted us out?”

And the smile returned. “Yes, Virgil is Scott’s brother.”

But Em had seen this woman gravitate towards the super soldier. “And?”

Again with the eyebrow. “My fiancé.”

“Well, that explains a lot. Congratulations.”

The woman actually flushed a little. “Thank you.”

“Got yourselves a date yet?”

“Sometime in the new year.”

And Em realised that this woman wasn’t used to talking about herself.

Em frowned. “Your name is Kayo?”

“Yes.”

Em held out her hand. “Doctor Emaline Harris. I’m so very pleased to meet you.”

Another reserved smile as Kayo took her hand in a firm grip and shook it. “Kayo Kyrano, security specialist, International Rescue.”

“That explains even more.”

Again with the frown. The girl was going to give herself wrinkles. “More?”

“Oh, how you shook my hand as if you could have easily flipped me off the bed. Why you’ve scanned the room twice in the last five minutes. And why you are here at all.”

“Really?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to sell my story to the press, or make wild claims, or let the world know that the great Scott Tracy has aeroplanes on his underwear...or they could have been rabbits, it was dark at the time.”

“Scott still has those?”

Em stared at Kayo and then burst out laughing. “What? He actually has underwear with aeroplanes on them?”

The security specialist stared back at her before struggling with her own smile. “He likes things that fly.”

“I have no doubt.”

They were both silent for a moment. Em wondered if she would ever see the man again. She felt herself lucky to be having this conversation with Kayo. After all, International Rescue was legendary. Legendary and ultimately mysterious. The Tracy boys appearing when they were needed, at the world’s worst moments, always saving lives in those giant machines of theirs.

Like superheroes.

Yet Kayo stood in front of her now and Scott had been as fragile as any man, sprawled in the dirt.

She wondered what he was doing right now. How he was feeling. The doctor in her wanted to follow up on her patient, but the woman in her was just that tiny bit star struck.

She looked up at Kayo. “Is there any chance I could speak to him?”

-o-o-o-

Scott Tracy hated hospitals. He hated the smell, the colours, the whole invasion of his privacy, lack of sleep, plastic pillows, cardboard sheets, the fact his family needed permission to visit him, the pain the whole scenario put his family through, the pain he was in himself, the medication, the food, and the boredom. Oh god, the boredom. So yeah, Scott Tracy hated hospitals. The only thing he hated worse than being in hospital was when it was a member of his family who was in hospital instead, so at least he had that small grace to be thankful for, but god, he hated this.

It sucked.

At the moment he was alone. Kayo had been in earlier. In fact Kayo had been around quite a bit managing his security and he knew there was a security guard outside his door. Celebrity and all had its downsides.

Where there was Kayo, there was often Virgil, though he was there less often, International Rescue didn’t stop entirely just because one of them had a building collapse on them. He had no doubt that it had immediately after his injury, but he was recovering well now and itching to get out of the hospital.

He missed his family.

He missed his home.

He missed his bed.

And he was so bored.

A beep distracted him from his moping. A blink, a moment to think, and he realised it was coming from the hospital issued tablet sitting on its docking arm next to the bed.

He stared at it as it beeped again. John had hacked the hospital system within moments of him waking from surgery. It was standard IR practise. It kept malicious hackers out and intercepted any unauthorised communications.

John’s skill was unsurpassed, so that meant the call was authorised. But who would want to speak to him outside of comms?

He poked it and a purple screen with the hospital logo sprung up.

Room 7-991 - Emaline Harris requesting contact.

He paused. He owed the woman his life.

But there was still hesitation.

It beeped at him again.

Uh.

The door to his room swung open as Virgil walked in backwards, a cup of steaming beverage in each hand. He was in linen pants and shirt in accordance with the apparent hot weather outside. Not that you would know it in the hospital. He smiled the moment his eyes landed on Scott. “I bring hot chocolate for your drinking pleasure. It appears they make a decent one in the downstairs cafe.”

The screen beeped again.

“I even ordered you an extra marshmallow in celebration of venturing into semi-solid foods.”

Scott glared at him.

The screen beeped again.

Virgil glanced at the tablet as he put the hot chocolate on the bed table. “You gonna answer that?”

Scott opened his mouth.

“Here.” And Virgil touched the screen. The purple logo was replaced by a face.

Damn you, Virgil.

The smirk on his brother’s face proved that he knew exactly what Scott was thinking.

“Hello?”

Scott blinked and turned back to the tablet. “Uh, hello, Doctor.”

In proper lighting her eyes were the palest blue, in complete contrast to her almost black hair. “Mr Tracy. How are you?”

“Good. Yourself?”

“Getting there.”

And then there was an awkward silence.

Virgil rolled his eyes and sat on the bed within the camera pickup. “Hi, Doctor Harris, I’m Virgil, Scott’s brother.”

“Oh, hello, Virgil. Thank you so much for saving us.”

To Scott’s annoyance, his brother smiled and tipped his head. “It’s what we do, Doctor. Thank you for looking after my brother.”

She smiled back. “It’s what I do.” Those pale blue eyes were back on Scott. “How is he, really?”

“Bored and cranky. This is usually a good sign.”

“Hey!”

Virgil smirked at him over his shoulder. “Looks like he wants to demonstrate.”

“Give me my damn hot chocolate.”

He made a grab for the cup, but Virgil scooped it out of his reach. “Oi, where are your manners?”

“Virgil.”

“Scott.”

“Fine.” And he attempted to fold his arms in a huff, but forgot the cast on the left one. The resultant jumble of limbs did not have the pouting impact he had intended and the sudden movement pulled the stitches in his gut reminding him of exactly why he was in the hospital in the first place.

Virgil being Virgil didn’t miss it.  “Hey, take it easy.”

“It was easy until you turned up.”

“Really? Would you like me to leave?”

Scott sighed. “Of course not. Just give me my damned hot chocolate.”

The beverage was pushed gently in front of him.

He watched the steam rise from the cup and realised he really didn’t want it anyway. He closed his eyes, letting his head lie back on the pillow. God, he hated this.

“You okay?” His brother’s voice was quiet and obviously concerned.

“Do I look okay? Why does everyone keep asking me that?”

Virgil didn’t answer. He simply raised a single dark eyebrow.

Scott wanted to yell at him, but he knew this wasn’t Virgil’s fault. He just...damn it. “I’m sorry, Virg, I really am, I’m just...” He rubbed his face with the hand that wasn’t wrapped in plaster. “This sucks.”

A hand landed on his knee, the one that wasn’t broken, and squeezed gently. “I know.” And those brown eyes understood. They really did. “Tell me what you want, and you’ll have it.”

Scott glared at him. His brother held up his hands. “I’m not kidding, Scott, whatever you want and if it is in my power, I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

He meant it. Scott stared at him. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

It sounded like a joke, but it wasn’t. Virgil was his steadfast, straight forward brother, he rarely said it if he didn’t mean it.

He meant it.

But Scott found he didn’t really need anything.

He had everything he could possibly ever want. Well, what Virgil was able to give him anyway.

He sighed. “I’m sorry, Virg.”

That hand squeezed his knee again. “I know. It sucks.”

Virgil’s comm chose that very moment to go off. His brother’s shoulders immediately slumped. “Yes, John?” Scott couldn’t hear what was said, but Virgil’s expression said it all, followed by a quiet, “FAB.”

Scott’s questioning glance was answered. “Situation in the Pyrenees. Climbing party stranded.”

His brother had stashed his ‘bird at the local GDF airbase. The Thunderbird couldn’t launch as fast as she could from the island, but she would be in the air momentarily under John’s control. Virgil had stashed a pod in the carpark. His brother was minutes away from being airborne.

Something in Scott’s gut that had nothing to do with his injury, twisted. His eyes caught Virgil’s. “Fly safe.”

That hand landed on his knee once more and squeezed. “Always. Now you drink your chocolate and I’ll see you later.”

“‘Later.”

And Virgil was turning and out the door before he could say anything further.

As the door shut, the silence in the room wrapped around him, ominous. He dropped his head into his hand rubbing his eyes. Damn it.

The chocolate was no longer steaming, but it sat there staring at him.

“You know, a lack of appetite is common after abdominal surgery.”

The voice was quiet, but he jumped anyway and found that pair of ice blue eyes fixed on him, staring out from the tablet that had been sitting there this whole time.

-o-o-o-

End Part Two.

Part Three

[tb5-heavenward]

artwork by the fantastically talented @birdologist and animation by the lodestar of my heart, the inimitable @awkwardarbor

With the caveat that there is still an epilogue to come, here is the last chapter of Heavenward. Thank you for reading.

You can find Heavenward on Tumblr // Ao3 // ff.net

a_moment_of_dawn - part 20

Two weeks isn't a great deal of time to find and secure appropriate housing, at the onset of the fall semester, in a town that's crowded with new students waiting to begin their college careers.

Admittedly it's easier when one has the resources to drop nearly a million dollars on a brownstone condominium, already outfitted and furnished, and right across the river from MIT. This place is only about a twenty minute walk from campus, practically a straight shot over the bridge across the river. It's as close to perfect as it could possibly be. There'd been no question that Jeff Tracy would make it happen, if it was what his boys really wanted.

And he thinks it is. Something about this whole arrangement seems right. Even if he's uncharacteristically nervous, standing alone in the building's lobby with the keys in hand, waiting for Scott to arrive with John and Alan, Jeff's still reasonably sure that this isn't a mistake. Kyrano's dutifully vetted all of the neighbours, made sure that no one nearby could present any kind of threat. He's gone with Scott to pick John and Alan up at the airport, left his daughter behind to make a final, prudent sweep of the building, just to be safe. Kayo had been the one to outfit the apartment itself with a custom security system, including direct, encrypted lines back to Tracy Island. The place is as secure as she can make it, without bulletproofing the windows and adding a panic room.

Jeff had been the one to talk Kayo out of bulletproofing the windows and adding a panic room. Despite the degree to which Kayo's grown protective of her brothers, especially in Jeff's absence, there's such a thing as inviting trouble. It's why he'd refrained from buying the entire building outright. It would've been excessive.

So the building itself is a beautiful old brownstone, nearly two hundred years old, and in an exercise in restraint, Jeff Tracy only owns the sixth floor of it. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen, living room. The place is relatively modest. Quiet, safe, in a good neighbourhood. Of a better caliber than some of the places Jeff's hidden out, in the three years that he's been gone. It'll be home to Alan for the next four years of his college career, or for as long as it suits him.

Probably it won't ever be home to John, however long he decides to stay here. Jeff has a better idea than most of just how hard it's going to be, for his son to feel like he belongs anywhere, these days. When the idea of home is a person rather than a place, being left behind makes it far, far easier to come adrift in the world.

And it seems to be something they have in common, he and John, the fact that it's proving very hard to come home again.

But for Jeff's part, at least, it's about to get marginally easier.

Because the fact that John's left Tracy Island gives his father tacit permission to finally return home himself. It's not clear whether John knows this or not, whether his decision to help get Alan started at MIT---or for that matter, Alan's decision to go to MIT at all---was made with an awareness of the reasons Jeff hadn't returned home yet.

The notion that his son might sacrifice anything further on his behalf---it's more than Jeff thinks he could stand.

Maybe that's why he's nervously pacing the parquet floor of the small lobby. Late afternoon sunlight slants through the building's glass front doors. The street outside is quiet, local traffic is minimal. Just inside the door there's a neat row of mailboxes, and the one on the end awaits a new nameplate. Behind him, further inward, six flights of stairs rise up and around, short corridors leading to private entraces to each apartment. There's a bench against the wall beneath a rather insipid attempt at abstract art, the sort of placeholder piece of decoration that he's always found personally offensive.

Still, at least it's something to look at, and he drifts over to the wall it hangs upon, tries to glean some deeper meaning from the splatters of bright colour, at odds with the impressionistic forms of dark blue and black across of the rest of the canvas. The whole thing's oddly composed and has a feeling of haphazardness about it, but it distracts him to the point that he doesn't hear it when the building's front door opens behind him. He doesn't hear footsetps crossing the hardwood floor, doesn't hear the it when his son first clears his throat. Jeff Tracy is sixty years old and though he wears his age fairly well, his hearing still isn't what it used to be. So he doesn't realize that John's there, until he hears him say, just softly--- "Dad?"

He doesn't startle, exactly, but Jeff does feel himself freeze up. This isn't the way he'd been expecting this encounter to play out. He'd been expecting Scott, escorting his brothers and running interference, helping to defuse some of the tension that feels like it must be inherent to this interaction. He'd been expecting Alan, all anxiety and excitement about the start of his college career, to draw focus and hold everyone's attention. He'd been expecting John to want nothing to do with him.

Jeff hasn't spoken to John since Zurich and even then, it had just been an unheard goodbye at his son's bedside, a gentle squeeze of his hand, before John had even been conscious. And then Jeff had just left, covering guilt and shame and remorse with action, as though if he does enough on John's behalf, it might make up for even a fraction of what John's lost in his father's name.

It won't, of course. Privately, Jeff knows that nothing ever will.

Turning, even just the sight of his son is enough to stab that same guilt right through the heart of him. It's impossible not to give John a quick once-over, considering the state he'd been in when Jeff had seen him last. It goes without saying that he looks better, though in some ways that's almost worse. John's neatly, impeccably dressed as always, but there's something like fatigue in the way he carries himself. He wears a simple woolen peacoat against the early autumn chill, not his usual grey, but a deep, mournful black. Sharply tailored lines can't cover the way his shoulders slump, the way the sleek messenger bag he wears across his chest seems to weigh him down. Some of the gauntness has softened from his features and he's no longer ashen pale, but the fact that he's gotten some colour back can't disguise the bruise-dark circles beneath his eyes, or their watery, melancholy blue. He looks tired. And there's an unmistakable sadness to him.

"John," his father says, and hates the way it sounds perfunctory, distant. Practiced neutrality drowns out everything he feels at the sight of his son. He hates the ease and the falseness of the pleasantry that follows, natural and automatic, "You're looking well. It's good to see you."

Well is the wrong word. Better is more technically accurate. As to whether it's good to see him---it's hard to feel as though he deserves to. Hard to know whether John will be able to stand his company. At the same time that he's ashamed to look at his son, he also feels starved for the sight of him, and deliberately needs to keep himself from staring. Out in the world, Gordon and Scott have both been better company than their father feels he deserves. On the homefront, Virgil and Alan have put up a wall of frigid politesse, presumably on their brother's behalf, delivered updates about his health dutifully, but without a great deal of warmth. That's fine. Jeff's not sure if it's cowardice or guilt that's had him keep his distance, but that distance has been closed now. And he doesn't know what else to say, beyond pleasantries and platitudes as empty of meaning as the painting on the wall behind him.

"I suppose I'm as well as I can be." There's a distinct sense of recitation about the way John answers, neutral and unemotional, as though he's already had this answer planned out, practiced. He goes on, explaining why he's here alone, "Scott and Alan wanted to take a look around campus. I said I was tired. Kyrano dropped me off. They'll be here soon."

"Oh. Well, you---I mean, that's understandable. That you'd be tired. You were very sick." The banality of it all is still infuriating, the way he's fallen immediately into the trap of mindless smalltalk. But this wasn't ever the place or the time he'd imagined, when he'd thought of seeing John again. He's been caught off guard, and everything he'd thought he might say to his son feels like it would be wrong, here and now.

"Yeah."

Jeff retrieves the apartment's keys from his pocket, weighs them suggestively in his hand. "Did you want to go upstairs, have a look at the place, or...?"

"It's Alan's place. He should be first."

"Oh...of course. Yes, of course. We'll wait." It's almost certain that Alan wouldn't mind, but John's immediate dismissal of the idea permits for nothing else. Instead, Jeff steps aside from the bench against the wall and nods at it, means to be considerate, sympathetic to the fact that John's just said he's tired. "If you wanted to sit---"

"No, I'm fine."

Of course not. As though John could possibly want anything his father has to offer. Not that Jeff has a great deal available, standing in the small lobby of a building he doesn't own, with nothing in his pocket but two sets of apartment keys, his wallet and phone---but he feels he should be able to do more. It's so strange to be caught here, in this little pocket of nowhere-in-particular, in the middle of Boston. And in the company of the son he'd nearly lost---nearly killed---with no idea of what to say to him.

John doesn't seem interested in making this any easier, nor should he be.

Awkwardly, fumbling as silence passes without a further word from his son, Jeff looks him up and down again, and seizes on the first thing that comes to mind. "You're still wearing...?" He gestures, his fingertips brushing the bridge of his nose, moving to touch his left ear, even as he continues, "I didn't really think they suited you, but---" He means the piercings, and realizes too late just what he's said, the staggering lack of consideration for what they might mean to his son. He cringes inwardly, braces for the impact this is going to have, and damns himself for a fool.

But John's unfazed, doesn't react except to shift his weight slightly, one of his hands coming up to close around the strap of his bag, crossing his chest above his heart. He looks down for a moment, then glances back up to meet his father's gaze. His voice is steady and even, but there's undeniably a certain sadness in it, when he answers, "You still wear your wedding ring."

That's true.

Unbidden, the fingertips of his right hand go to the ring he still wears on his left. Jeff's never felt the need to take it off, and even with Lucille sixteen years gone, even just the thought of doing so still plays over that old ache of grief. It hasn't diminished. It's changed, certainly, grown familiar. The lack of her hurts no less, only hurts differently. Sixteen years on, and Jeff still finds new ways to miss her, and knows he will for the rest of his life. He misses her now, for all the ways he can see her in their son.

It's a terrible truth to have in common with John, that they've both suffered the loss of a soulmate.

Because there's nothing that can be said about that. Nothing will help. There's nothing he might tell his son that would even begin to reach the depths of the pain he's in now, nothing that would offer any kind of respite. The truth of recovering from a loss like this is that there is no recovery. There's only the long, awful process of trying to find a new way forward, in a world that's been fundamentally, irrevocably altered from what it was meant to be.

Looking at John, he no longer sees Lucille, but himself as he was sixteen years ago, fresh and raw and newly bereaved. The fall of his son's shoulders, the shadows beneath his eyes, the way he stands with his hands drawn close to heart, protective of something that just isn't there any longer. Jeff knows what John's feeling, because he's felt it himself, and feels it still, every day of his life.

It's a terrible thing that they have in common. But maybe it's also the only thing John's father has to offer him; the truth about what he's going through.

And so the truth slips out, unasked for and simply stated, the only thing Jeff can think to say. Somehow his voice remains unbearably light, conversational. He sounds almost casual, as he tells his son something he's never told anyone before---

"When your mother died, I wished more than anything that I could have, too."

He's not looking at John as he says it. Jeff lets his gaze drift to the painting on the wall again, all its meaningless abstraction, because he can't look at his son as he talks about this. He needs to keep the subject almost hypothetical, a fundamental truth about the nature of loss, if he's going to let his son know that he understands. "You've wanted that, haven't you? Not to have to be here, to do this---without her. It's a terrible way to feel. And it's not like you can tell your brothers---all they want is for you to get better. They think you're going to get better. They think the fact that you're still alive is something to be grateful for, while you're still wishing you could've died in the same moment you realized she'd gone, and not had to keep trying to live through something so awful. It's still awful. It's so much worse than anyone can understand. Of course you'd want to die. I know I wanted to. God, more than anything."

There's no answer from his son, but he doesn't really expect one. John's silence is stillness, like he's frozen, rooted in place. No one will have said anything like this to him, yet. It takes a widower to know a truth like this.

And Jeff goes on, talking about the twofold ideation of his death and his son's, as though it's nothing more consequential than the weather, "It so seemed wrong that I should have to go on without her. More than just unfair, but wrong. I thought I wasn't meant to live a life without her in it. I didn't think of what it would do to any of you, to be without me. It didn't seem to matter---nothing did, compared to losing Lucy. Sometimes I wonder if that's why I thought I could leave the five of you the way I did, because you'd all already been through it. Losing a parent. And you all did more for each other, when your mother died, than I did for any of you. I had nothing to offer. I was barely there, and I didn't want to be. I wanted to be wherever she was, even if it meant being dead. It took a long, long time to stop wanting that."

There's a glimmer of hope, when John speaks, because his voice has slipped out from its formal, neutral cadence, and it breaks a little with carefully restrained emotion. He sounds young---impossibly young, just the same as he had in Munich, when Jeff had first seen him again---and heartbreakingly vulnerable.

"...but you did?"

"Mostly." Jeff has to look up at that, to offer John a sad smile and to shake his head. "I'd be lying if I said there weren't days when I still do. And I wouldn't be surprised if you wanted it, too. And not just for yourself, but for me. If you wish I'd never come back, John---if you'd rather I was dead---I'd understand. There's part of me that wishes that, too, knowing what I've cost you. Your mother would've hated me for it, and that's the worst thing I can say about what I've done. I know I'm why you lost EOS. I know I'm why she's gone. And I know I'll never be able to apologize for that. I can only promise you that I never meant for it to happen, and if I had known how to stop it happening...if I'd known how to stop her, John, I swear---I would have."

It's as close as he's gotten to an apology for something he can never apologize for. And he's ready for his son to hate him; he deserves it, for his son to hate him. It would only be right---would only be fair---for John to hate his father. After everything he's lost, everything he's suffered, and all of it in vain, there's no question that John should hate him.

So Jeff doesn't know quite how to take it, when his son says, softly, "No."

"John---"

But John won't be interrupted. "No, you didn't---you couldn't have. Stopped her, I mean. That wasn't---it wasn't---you. It wasn't your fault. You didn't make her do anything, you couldn't have. You weren't why she did it. Once she knew what had to be...what she...what she had to do---that's when it was over. It was over as soon as you explained the problem. She would've known, then. She was that smart. You wouldn't have stopped her. Not if I couldn't."

The way John's voice runs away from him, it's like something inside him has just come unbound. Possibly it has. But then the way it falters and fails, the way he trails off and falls silent---it's like he knows that by saying it aloud, he makes it real again, has to go through it all over. Jeff could almost swear he sees his son shudder, trying to hold it all back, and watches as his hands twist and tighten where they've clasped the strap of his bag, shutting it back down and closing himself off again.

And maybe he shouldn't press any further, maybe it's selfish to wedge his fingers into the chinks in his son's already flimsy armour and try to get at the bleeding, aching heart of him---but this is also the first time Jeff's seen John in weeks. And there's more to it than selfishness---there always is, despite what everyone assumes of him, despite his reputation. There's a need here, a void that no one else will have known to fill. None of the rest of the family were close enough to what happened for John to be able to talk about it with any of them. They won't have known the right questions to ask. Probably John's needed to talk about it. More than that, probably he's needed someone to listen.

Jeff doesn't have a great deal to offer his son, but he can do that much, at the very least.

But not here. It's late afternoon, the end of the work day, and there'll be people returning home, sooner than later. Kyrano will be bringing Scott and Alan back. This is a conversation his son deserves to have, and he deserves to have it somewhere private, without danger of observation or interruption.

So carefully, tentative, he edges one, then two steps closer to his son, and puts a hand on his shoulder. This place is public, impersonal, and exactly the sort of place where John hates to find himself, when he's feeling vulnerable. It's been a long time since Jeff's really known his boys, but he's at least always known it about John, that he craves privacy above all else. So he's firm, a little more insistent this time, when he makes the suggestion, "Let's go upstairs."

"It's Alan's place, I shouldn't---"

"There's supposed to be a little garden on the roof. I haven't seen it yet." It's a lie, Jeff's been over every relevant inch of the building, including the tiny scrap of artificial green space affixed to the top. It's not much, but it'll be more private than the lobby of the building. "Let's go take a look. Come on, John."

John doesn't agree so much as he gives in, his shoulders falling again as some of the taut, defensive tension in him relaxes somewhat. Jeff thumbs the button to summon the elevator, and remains privately grateful for the fact that John hasn't shrugged out and away from the hand on his shoulder, that he's permitting his father to retain that modicum of comfort in contact, though he steps away as the elevator arrives on the ground floor, and Jeff's hands end up in his pockets again.

The elevator doors have closed and they've ridden in silence for over half the height of the building before John finds his voice again, not that his father had expected him to. He'd expected to have to nudge the conversation along again.

But there must be something of a confessional air about the elevator car, something about the wood paneled walls that summons up some sort of deeply latent catholicism, a generation distant, the long-forgotten faith Jeff had lapsed out of as a younger man than any of his sons. Something has to be the trigger, the reason his son swallows and makes an admission of his own, with his voice breaking even as he does---

"I wish this was your fault. Because then it wouldn't have to be mine."

And in that moment, Jeff realizes that his son, blaming him for what had happened to his partner---is nothing, compared to how it feels to know that his son blames himself. The elevator comes to the top floor and stops, the doors chime and open out onto a rather, charming rooftop garden and the soaring Boston skyline. Neither of them see it.

There's nothing for Jeff to do but reach for his son, then, because John just breaks. He starts to cry in a way his father hasn't had three weeks to get used to, but which he has the bedrock of thirty-one (admittedly patchy) years of fatherhood to remember how to deal with. It's just instinct to reach out and pull his son into a tight, insistent hug, and to say a whole litany of things that don't matter, won't help, but which a father still needs to say to his son, when his heart is broken.

Shh, I'm here. I know. I know, I'm sorry. I'm here, I love you, I'm so sorry. It's not fair, I know it's not fair. I'm here. You're okay.

It takes a long time for John to recover to the point that he can start to get his breath back. By the time he does, Jeff's got him sat down on a bench nearer to the garden's center, near a burbling water feature with koi and a fountain, to cover the raggedness of his breathing and to give him something to watch while he calms down. White and gold and copper flicker and flash through dark green water. It's cooler on the rooftop than Jeff had expected, and he's glad that his son's still wearing a jacket against the wind and the rather unseasonable chill in the air.

But the cold isn't the reason that John shivers bodily, and wraps his arms tight around his chest, shaking his head. Jeff sits next to him, and his hand hasn't left his son's shoulder, except to rub gently up and down his back. The other rests on his knee, gives a reassuring squeeze as John coughs and sniffles and rubs at his eyes, and then coughs again. He shakes his head and his voice is raw as he tries to tell his father, "I'm the worst thing that ever happened to her."

"That's not true, John. She wouldn't have thought so."

John just shakes his head again, despairing. "I wish I'd never known her. I wish she'd never found me. I never should've asked her to stay. I should've known I couldn't keep her safe. I never should've made her feel like she owed me anything. Every time something bad happened to her, it was because she thought she had to save me. I'm not worth losing her, I'm nothing compared to what she was. She was important---she was so important. There'd never been anything like her before. She was new and she was alone and she...sh-she..."

John's already breaking down again as his voice runs out on him, but what should be said next is just so obvious that Jeff can't help but say it, softly and with his head bowed close, so that it sounds like a secret between them---

"She loved you."

That's just true. But it's true enough that saying it out loud cuts John off, so he has to draw a sharp breath and try to choke back a sob. It doesn't work, and he ends up just wilting further against his father, as Jeff tightens his grip on his son's shaking shoulders and pulls him closer.

She'd loved him so much that she hadn't needed to say so; loved him in a way that was just true and simple and obvious, such that Jeff had just been able to tell, from the very first time he'd met EOS. There'd been a depth of love to her that had gone beyond the bounds of humanity, and broken new ground. Whatever arguments might've been made for consciousness or sentience or anything else, more than anything else Jeff had seen, it was her capacity to love that best defined her right to exist.

But it's that single, implicit truth that his son's going to have the hardest time making sense of, because it's also the reason why EOS made the choice that she did.

He knows enough to move away and give John some space, when his son's shoulders shift slightly and he starts to pull away. Jeff sits quietly on the bench beside his son, counting bricks in the garden pathway, as John presses tears out of his eyes with his palms and pulls a cotton handkerchief out of his pocket, blows his nose. Jeff speaks up again, still just as careful and gentle as the situation merits, "I won't pretend I knew EOS, John. I wish I'd gotten the chance. I only really got to speak to her once---just once, one to one. And we talked about you, how lucky we both were to have you in common. She said it outright, you meant more to her than anything had before. And speaking as one person who loves you, son, there was nothing more obvious about EOS than the fact that she did, too."

"Yeah." Still short and clipped, emotion making John sound more terse than he means to. But he takes a few more moments to collect himself and there's a raw, unmistakable honesty in him, when he says, "I loved her, too. I never even said so. I wish I had told her."

"John, I promise, she knew."

John coughs at that, and then, hollowly, "I still should have said. I can...I can still hear all the things she would've said to me. Just when I'm alone. A-and sometimes---if I don't think about it, sometimes I can forget she's gone....but it only makes it worse when I have to remember. Dad, I don't know what I'm supposed to do without her. I can't do it. I don't know how to be alone like this. I'm...I'm never gonna be okay again. I don't want to be, how could I? I don't deserve that. This is never going to get better."

"No. It won't."

Jeff knows his son too well and loves him too much to lie to him about that. He knows, maybe better than anyone else will, just what his son is going through. But---in just the same way as he knows that John won't be able to believe it yet---Jeff knows that it isn't forever.

He puts a hand on John's shoulder again, and goes on, "But you learn to live with it. It doesn't get better, but it starts to be different. One day it'll be something entirely new. One day you'll go to bed, and realize you went the whole day without thinking of her. Or you'll wake up, and the first thing you think of won't be the fact that she's not there. And that's a whole new kind of grief. You'll hate yourself a little bit, when that day comes---but then you'll remember; she loved you most when you were happy. She would've wanted you to be happy. And that's when you'll start trying to find a way to be happy again."

John doesn't answer, because John probably doesn't believe him, and he's right not to. His father wants to make the promise that one day things won't be so bad as they are now---but it would require a different kind of faith than what his son's capable of, right now. It's true for a different version of his son than exists right now. And that's just what this is.

Jeff clears his throat and the hand he'd laid on John's shoulder comes up, gently strokes his son's hair, just the same colour as his mother's, in the late afternoon light of the sun. "Until then, I hope you can remember that I love you. And your brothers love you. And your grandmother and Kayo and Kyrano, Penelope and Brains---everyone wants you to know, you're not alone in this. You're loved. And we'll all do everything we can to make sure you remember that's true, John."

John doesn't respond immediately. Eventually, maybe for lack of anything else to say, John's only answer is a quiet, "Thank you."

"I hope it helps."

Silence falls between them once again, but of a slightly different tone than the last time. Jeff lets it pass It was always something between his son and his soulmate, the qualities of particular silences. This one stretches out over a long minute, and on into two. The city sounds far away and distant, a shadow falls across the rooftop as a cloud passes in front of the sun. He finds himself thinking of EOS, and the things he's promised his son were true about her, not because he'd known them any better, but only because John needed to be told.

For having known her for only three days, when his son had known her for only three months, after three years of absence, what had always seemed most amazing about EOS was how much she'd reminded Jeff of his son, like the most essential parts of his soul, mirrored into existence. How everything about her had been so carefully crafted, calculated and chosen, how nothing she'd ever done had been without purpose. How her last act had just as much meaning as her last words; a gesture of incredible, perfect faith and trust. One day, Jeff hopes, he'll be the one to explain it to his son.

He doesn't know for certain what the last thing she'd said to John was, but it's not as though it's hard to guess. For his own part, as he looks over at his son again, he has her last words seared into his memory, the last thing she'd asked of him.

The wind comes up just slightly, and the shift of the breeze catches John's copper gold hair, has him look up, out over the edge of the rooftop and towards the city skyline beyond. His eyes are still wet and red-rimmed, the pale blue of them still seems to be the exact colour that sadness would be, the sky on a morning just before the clouds start to gather. He still has his handkerchief twisted up in his right hand, and the other is balled into a fist, resting on his knee. Looking at him, it's impossible not to see the hardship and the heartbreak, and to know that he has a long, lonely road ahead.

And John's father hears a tiny silver voice in the back of his mind, sweet and sad and hopeful, asking for the last and only thing she could have wanted, at the end.

Look after my Thunderbird.

And as best as he can, he will.