AN: Possible trigger for discussion of religion (Catholicism).

Thirteen: 'Till I'm Found

Kayo can't sleep.

She can't remember the last time she'd lain awake hours after everyone else went to bed, but it doesn't make her current reality any easier.

She's tried meditating. She's tried reading. She's turned on some soft music, straightened her duvet, fluffed her pillow, and burrowed deep into her comfortable bed, but still she watches the blue numbers floating above her clock. 0201, read the display. Then: 0202.

She sighed and throws back the covers, turns off the music, and pads across the room on silent feet, feeling her yoga pants swish around her ankles. The tank top is comfortable in the South Pacific night, so she leaves her hoodie at the foot of her bed. She smoothes her hair back into a knot and winds her hair band around it to keep it in place, then opens her door and walks soundlessly down the stairs to the lounge.

The moon glitters on the waves beyond the windows, and she lingers for a moment to watch the hypnotic motion. She's lived on Tracy Island for over five years now, but the ocean view never gets old. It would never be just scenery, she thinks, watching the wind stir the leaves of the garden and play with the fuzzy tops of the palm trees. Light glimmers in the depths of the pool, turning the water the exact color of John's eyes, and she smiles, sending a wordless thought of love and greeting to their much-missed space monitor.

The lounge is the nexus of both the house and the operations of International Rescue, and now it is finally dark and silent, when normally it is full of light and activity. Every so often, she'll pass it on her way out of the house on assignment or from grabbing the rare midnight snack, and gentle snores from one Tracy or other will be rolling over the well-loved furnishings, signaling that someone has fallen asleep and been left to lay peacefully where they'd landed. Once, she's seen Scott lying there, head pillowed on his arms, his book fallen from his hand to lay splayed on the floor, and she stopped to drape a blanket over him. Gordon and Alan are more frequent lounge-crashers, the flickering light of the monitor painting their faces as they lay sprawled, limbs tangled, drooling on each other. With an inward chuckle, she's shut off the monitor and headed back to her room without disturbing them.

She's caught John sitting there once, reading by the small light clipped onto his book, legs drawn up and a steaming mug by his elbow. He'd glanced up, squinting as his eyes adjusted, then waved and turned back to his reading. After a moment's thought, she got her own steaming mug and sank down on the sofa opposite, just to be near him for a while. He looked a silent question at her, then when it was clear she wasn't there for conversation, turned contentedly back to his book. She'd woken up at dawn, cuddled in the blanket that had been over John's knees, their mugs and his book nowhere to be seen.

Tonight, however, the lounge is deserted, and after a stop in the kitchen for a mug of Ovaltine in warm almond milk, Kayo grabs a blanket from the compartment under the steps and curls up where she can see the moon shining on the water. Looking up to her right, she spots the six oil portraits hanging on the wall, recalling her pride and nervousness when Jeff asked her to sit for her own. She's been a part of the Tracy family for years, has practically grown up with Jeff's boys, but the day she'd donned her teal-green version of the boys' blues was a thrill she would recall for a lifetime.

Lost in musings about her early missions as Thunderbird Shadow, Kayo doesn't hear the quiet scuff of bare feet against the teak boards until a large dark shape crosses between her and the moonlit windows. She jumps, nearly spilling her drink in her lap, but then she takes a breath as the blocky shadow coalesces into Virgil's stocky form. He doesn't speak, and she guesses that he doesn't see her sitting in the shadows, so she keeps silent and just enjoys watching him.

Virgil also pauses to look out at the waves for a long moment, laying his fingertips on the glass as if attempting to touch the dancing sparkles of light. Soon, however, he turns from the view and sinks down on the padded bench before the baby grand piano. Kayo's brows meet for an instant, curious as to what has drawn him to the instrument in the middle of the night.

Virgil pulls up the cover on the keyboard and stows it with a whisper of well-oiled hinges. He sits absorbed in thought for a few heartbeats, then lifts his hands and gently presses the keys, coaxing a quiet chord from the perfectly-tuned strings. Kayo watches him in fascination; she's seen him play many times, and has even lent her inexperienced fingers to a few chords as he plays something more complex, but these notes sound tentative, even a little melancholy. Maybe it is the fact that this was the only sound save that of the waves, but Kayo finds herself absolutely spellbound.

It takes a moment, but she realizes that the sprinkling of notes has become a thread of melody, and has gained a tinge of hope and quiet strength. Soon, she hears a sound above the struck notes, and she realizes Virgil is humming along. A few more waves ebbed and flowed, and then he is singing under his breath in a voice that reminds her of dark honey.

Before I spoke a word, You were singing over me

You have been so, so good to me

Before I took a breath, You breathed Your life in me

You have been so, so kind to me…

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God

Oh, it chases me down, fights 'til I'm found, leaves the ninety-nine

I couldn't earn it, and I don't deserve it, still, You give Yourself away

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God, yeah…

Tears spring to Kayo's eyes at the raw emotion in the words. Faith is something not often discussed in the Tracy household, but she can recall meals begun with five heads bowed around the table. She's seen Scott make the Sign of the Cross while heading over to his load-in chute, and she knows for a fact that Gordon still wears the St. Christopher medal that his mother gave to his father before Jeff's mission to Mars. She hasn't thought about it in years, but a solo expedition to the opposite side of the island resulted in her discovery of a marble bench and a pure white statue of the Virgin Mary perched on an outcropping high above the Pacific.

Ruth has mentioned once how Lucille Tracy began the faith formation of her boys, but after his wife's death, Jeff had been much too busy-and, Kayo thinks, too angry-to continue. Kayo recalls a few Christmas Eves and Easter Sundays crowded between Virgil and Gordon in the hard pew at St. Andrew's in Independence, as Ruth valiantly tried to pick up where Lucy had left off, but as the boys grew, those visits stopped as well. Now, hearing these tender words from Virgil seems too private, but Kayo can't move without risking discovery. She stays where she is, her heart aching from missing a woman she's never met.

Virgil's eyes are closed now, his fingers finding the keys unerringly, and Kayo wonders how many times he'd played this song to know it so well. She wonders how many times she's laid not far from this very room, oblivious in sleep as he pours out his heart to a silent house. He raises his voice again, but still so quietly that she can barely hear him above the piano.

When I was Your foe, still Your love fought for me

You have been so, so good to me

When I felt no worth, You paid it all for me

You have been so, so kind to me…

Kayo looks away to the portrait wall again, and notices that the eyes in John's portrait are lit, but the holograph isn't projecting. She smiles, wondering if John has asked a special favor of his younger brother, or if John, too, is insomniac and decided to listen in.

There's no shadow You won't light up

Mountain You won't climb up

Coming after me

There's no wall You won't kick down

Lie You won't tear down

Coming after me

Virgil repeats the chorus a few times, clearly caught up in the music as well as a moment of timeless communion with the God his mother introduced him to as a child. Kayo herself isn't all that steady when it comes to faith, but the thought of being sought after, of being protected, of being pursued by love strikes a deep chord within her, since the man with the music welling up from inside him has done just that with her.

She gives an inward sigh; her adult life hasn't been the most pristine-especially when it comes to the pianist himself. She willingly gave him her innocence, back when she had been too young to understand what it was she was giving away. She's committed several shameless indiscretions with him over the years, but through it all she's discovered that she loves Virgil with everything she has, and will, as far as she can see, love none other until she draws her last breath. He had taken longer to come around to that conclusion, and had been rather careless in his younger days, but now they were tightly bound to one another. Surely his mother would have seen the good in that, she thinks.

In fact, she muses, none of their private lives had been shining examples of purity over the years-except for Alan, and that is mainly because he's too young to follow his brothers into some of their sins. The strain of fulfilling their father's legacy has rubbed them raw at times, nearly setting their comms on fire with dialogue that would have no doubt made their mother blush with shame. Their after-hours pursuits are also suspect at times, between Gordon's partying and Scott's flashpoint temper, but for the most part, the lessons they'd learned at their mother's knee are holding in her absence.

Kayo catches a tiny flicker of light out of the corner of her eye, and a glance toward the wall of portraits tells her that Alan, too, is listening. As she watches, Gordon's painted features light, followed by Scott's, but not a word is said among them.

Virgil's eyes are open now, but his fingers are still pressing lightly, as if he is unaware that the household is awake and listening to his impromptu concert. He is lost somewhere between memory and music, Kayo thinks, and though her throat aches with sobs and her eyes swim with unshed tears, she is glad that dawn is still hours away. Her mug is cold, so she sets it aside and stretches out the length of the couch, pulling the blanket up to her chin. Her eyes are finally growing heavy, so she lets them close as the music continues to wash over her like the waves outside.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wakes her, and she opens her eyes to see Virgil sitting on the couch opposite her, two mugs perched on the table. He is studying her intently in the light of early dawn, elbows on pajama-clad knees, heather gray teeshirt emblazoned with a black iR logo fitted to his muscular chest and shoulders. His hair is rumpled, his jaw is smudged with stubble, but to her, he is the most beautiful sight to wake up to.

"'Morning," she murmurs, stretching cat-like under the warm duvet. "You're up early."

He smiles, but it fades quickly to be replaced by his former expression, somewhere between thoughtfulness and worry. He is fiddling with something in his hands; a small, dark object that he turns over and over in his fingertips, and she sits up on one elbow to examine it more closely.

Without a word, he holds the object out to her, and she sits up fully to take it into her hands. It is a small box covered in black velvet, and she opens it to reveal a ring-a diamond solitaire set into a band of gleaming gold. Her breath catches in her chest, and she raises her eyes to his in question.

"Marry me?" he asks.

"Yes," she replies.

He smiles, and this time it doesn't fade.

An: 'Reckless Love' by Cory Asbury/Bethel Music