The young man with his shock of red hair had paced along the airport floor for nearly two hours, pausing every few minutes to glance hopefully back up at the sign above him, before swearing under his breath and returning to his incessant pacing.

His plane was delayed. He couldn't get home. He was bored and tired and annoyed.

He had devoted another few minutes to scowling at nothing in particular, before giving up on pacing, running a hand through his deep red hair, and then he had headed over to the nearby café for a coffee. There had been no free tables, so he'd got talking to a pretty girl and had shared her booth for an hour or two until his plane came in.

He had got on his flight with an air of anticipation, a little nervousness, but a kind of deep-rooted happiness had been tugging on his heart strings at the thought of going home.

Taras ran a hand through his crimson mop and wished with all his soul that he could return to being that blissfully ignorant young man again.

It wasn't fair.

Did this sort of thing happen to all families? It was ridiculous, it was unfair, it was unjust, it was-

That's it, Taras, focus all your energy into anger, then you don't have to think. Then you don't have to accept or dwell on or even acknowledge that…that…

Taras's shoulders heaved but no sobs came. He raised his head and examined the sky; it was beginning to lighten. He'd been up for nearly twenty four hours now, although the time difference made it seem infinitely more. He was exhausted and both emotionally and physically drained, but still he could not sleep. Jetlag, probably.

Raul's accident, seven years ago - almost to the day - had affected him in ways that he could not have imagined. His education was not a problem, and he passed all of his exams with relative ease and top marks. However, at the age of eighteen, when all of his friends were looking into universities and employment, he still felt something lacking.

So he just upped and left. That was it. It was that easy. He picked a plane, booked his tickets, packed his bags and just left. Sure, his family had been confused, at the very least. He told them it was a gap year and disappeared for close to three years.

He travelled the world for six months, plane-hopping and site-seeing, until, to his surprise, he found himself in Russia. Perhaps it was just curiosity about his heritage; most of his childhood family holidays were to Spain, hanging out with the circus and Uncle Raul, but he'd never once visited his father's home.

Or perhaps something else was driving him, something that had been niggling at the back of his mind for a long time. Perhaps it was that one line, the words his dad had said just before he left.

He had been packing his suitcase when his father had walked in, and he'd jumped like a guilty man.

"Going somewhere?" Tala had asked coolly, raising an eyebrow and leaning against the doorframe. Taras had studied his father's face for some kind of expectation, and when finding none, sighed.

"Somewhere is right. Anywhere. I just need to…go…" he gestured hopelessly with his hands. The older man had nodded at that, as if judging it a fair enough response.

"I don't know, dad. How did you…you know…" Taras wrinkled his nose at the cliché but couldn't think of a better way of phrasing it, "How did you…find yourself?"

"Find myself?" Tala had snorted and smirked at that, and Taras had found himself standing up and glaring at him.

"Dad, I'm not in the mood…"

He realised much later, when reliving this particular moment, that he had been the same height as his father that day, almost to the millimetre. If anyone understood what he meant, it would be his dad; mum had said many times that they were just 'wired the same way'.

He remembered the look of reigned in amusement that had passed over his father's face, before he had sat down on the bed next to the suitcase. Taras immediately went to sit beside him, feeling suddenly vulnerable after sharing his innermost thoughts, and leant into the older man's arm.

"This is how we sat in the hospital, all those years back, do you remember?" Taras wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered a little, "Still feels like yesterday."

Taras had felt his father's concerned gaze on him and looked up defiantly. He had seemed to be in the mood for sharing personal revelations that day, and did not want to be mocked for it.

"I first found myself when I was nineteen."

"Nineteen?" Taras had echoed.

"On my way to Russia…I didn't want to go back, but somehow that day everything just…clicked in my head." Tala had frowned a little at this point, "Lost it a couple of times in the years after that, but I always seemed to find it again."

On my way to Russia….everything just clicked…always seemed to find it again…

Taras came back to reality with an aching of the heart and retreated back to his bed to lie down, not bothering about the duvet, just slumping and covering his eyes with one arm. He drifted into a restless sleep and his dreams were his mother's embrace and his father's smile.

Lucia woke him with a soft shake from soft hands and they spent the day trying to avoid each other, because they both knew that sooner or later they'd have to talk. Sooner came that evening, with two glasses of milk and a slice of chocolate cake that was really far too large to just be eaten by one.

He'd jumped a foot when she switched the kitchen light on, then turned around, chocolate all around his mouth and a fork between his lips. He heard her laugh for the first time in three years, and for a few seconds, something was right between them.

"Peckish?" she teased. Taras looked at his feet, embarrassed that he'd been caught raiding his sister's kitchen like a six year old.

"Can't sleep." He muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Lucia's eyes softened with sympathy, "Neither." She said quietly, and the elephant in the room that they were both ignoring grew to the size of a mountain.

She picked up her own fork and dug it into the thick icing of the cake, taking a small chunk away and placing it in her mouth. They both stood and chewed, occasionally breaking out into small talk to chase away the awkwardness.

After about five minutes, Lucia gave up, putting down her fork, offering him a smile that meant absolutely nothing before excusing herself for bed.

"How did it happen?"

Lucia froze in the doorway, before turning slowly; Taras' eyes were fixed on her, and his unwavering gaze unnerved her. She ran a hand through her deep burgundy hair, meeting his gaze, eyes pleading with him not to make her.

"Please, Taras…"

"You told me at the airport that it was a car accident, but you never said anything else because you started crying. Please, Lucia. I have to know."

Lucia stared at him for a few seconds before she sighed and sat down at the small kitchen table, motioning that Taras sit beside her.

"They were going out for the evening…I saw mum earlier in the day…" Lucia's voice trailed off, her eyes glazing over and filling with tears, then she snapped out of her reverie and carried on, "and she said it was a beautiful restaurant, called Illyria or something, right out in the middle of the woods. It's almost impossible to get reservations there, but somehow dad had managed to…"

Lucia was silent for a few seconds.

Taras stared at his sister, "And then?"

"The rest of it we can only guess from what the forensics team found. They must have been travelling fairly fast, not over the speed limit, but not slowly-"

"Mum probably made them late; she always takes too long getting ready." Taras interjected, and they both grinned, before realising his slip and once more the feeling akin to being punched in the stomach or missing the last step returned.

"The road was pretty narrow; from the skid marks left they must have met an oncoming car and swerved to avoid them. There was a massive party going on just around the corner, a music festival or something, there was alcohol flowing pretty freely so the police said…no surprise…"

"No surprise?" Taras croaked.

"That there was an accident." Lucia swallowed heavily, "They said that they're fairly sure mum died on impact. The car hit a tree and the windscreen smashed; her side of the car was almost crushed, a huge shard of glass went through her th-th-" she gulped again and sniffed, "Through her thigh, but she was unconscious before that and because of the blood loss she probably just didn't…she didn't…"

Tears were now running down Lucia's face and she brought her hands up to meet them. Taras sat numbly, unable to move or think or feel. His eyes travelled back to his sister as she scrubbed furiously at her cheeks with the heels of her palms, before sniffing and looking up.

"Taras, please, don't…don't make me…" she whimpered.

"I need to know." Taras whispered hoarsely. It was as if he was there, watching it as his sister's words weaved the scene, and when she stopped, the moment was frozen in time. Somehow, if Lucia stopped now, in the middle, it would be as if his parents would be trapped, semi-conscious and bleeding, forever. And then he would never be able to think of anything else.

Lucia swallowed a sob and continued shakily, "A man lived in a house nearby and came out because he heard something. He saw them in the crushed car and assumed – he nearly went straight back to his house to call the police…then…then dad came to…"

"Dad was still…alive?"

Lucia nodded, tears beginning to fall again. She didn't bother to wipe them away.

"The man said…he heard dad say mum's name and try to…to wake her up…and then he started shouting and swearing and crying…"

"Oh shit, Julia, wake up, wake up, I can't do this without you, wake up baby, please, I need you, Julia wake up, Julia-"

"Hey! Hey, mate, are you alright?"

Tala looked up, hissing in pain as his neck grated. There was a young man peering through the smashed window, looking anxious and confused.

"No I'm not fucking alright! Go ring an ambulance! Now!"

The man looked alarmed and ran off. Tala let out a groan, one hand going to his chest, the source of the pain – broken rib, maybe two, he deduced. He tried to heave himself up, but the movement sent stabs of agony through his stomach. He cried out, before gritting his teeth and waiting for the pain to die down, but it seemed to be intensifying.

"Bugger." He grunted between clenched teeth.

He reached out a hand over to his wife's shoulder again, shaking it as hard as he could, but his strength seemed to be leaking away. Her copper hair, still perfectly coifed, flopped over her eyes as her head slumped forwards, and for the first time he saw the shard of glass that pinned her thigh to the seat and the pool of deep red soaking through her white canvas trousers. He let out a choked sob, spat blood, and coughed violently.

"Julia, Julia wake up baby, wake up, please, please, Julia…Julia…"

Tala hacked and coughed, pulling his hand from his mouth and finding shocking crimson spattered on it. He let out a low groan, screwing his eyes shut and fumbling with his hand to try and find Julia's. His arm was heavy and clumsy, as if it no longer belonged to him, but after a few seconds his bloodstained fingers interlinked with hers.

His eyes hurt too much to open. He didn't feel at peace. He didn't suddenly have any planet-shattering revelations. He didn't want to die. And Julia couldn't die, she just couldn't, she couldn't.

"I won't die if you don't…"

Tala tried to reply but he couldn't find enough breath, and he tried to force his eyes open again but he didn't have enough energy. He squeezed Julia's hand and a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as she squeezed his back.

He dimly registered the sound of footsteps and a man shouting.

"Hey, I've called the ambulance – hey, hey, wake up now, the ambulance is just coming, it'll be five minutes, you've gotta hold on, just hold on a bit longer…"

Lucia succumbed to her sobs, no longer bothering to hold it in, now that she had finished her horrific duty. Taras was still frozen, eyes blinking slowly. Lucia caught the expression on his face and her last scrap of patience dissolved as she reached the end of her emotional tether.

"Dead, Taras!" she screamed at him, "They're dead, and we're never ever going to see them again! They're gone! Forever! Dammit, Taras! What's wrong with you? Why…Why aren't you-"

"Dead." Taras blurted out, "Never going to see them… Oh my- dead. Oh. Dead." Taras' mouth worked on autopilot, spurting out words as he rearranged them in his head.

He looked up from his lap to his sister, "Lucia, they're…they're dead. I'm never going to see them again, never, and I missed…"

"Come here," Lucia commanded, holding out an arm. Taras did as he was told, scooting into her embrace, the warm comfort all that was needed to kick-start the tears. Neither of them were sure how long they sat there for, crying together in the cold kitchen, but by the time they were both capable of speaking again, the sun had almost risen.

"It's pretty cold in here, huh?" Taras mumbled into his sister's shoulder. She gave a croaky kind of laugh, pulling away.

"I know, I'm freezing." Lucia rubbed her cold feet, before tiptoeing across the linoleum to turn up the thermostat. Taras watched her, still feeling numb from grief but it was as if a strange weight had been lifted off his shoulders, a weight he'd never realised was there. She ripped a few tissues from a box on the side before handing it to him.

"So, what have you been up to whilst you've been off travelling? I emailed you plenty of times but you never answered." Lucia asked as casually as she could, turning on the kettle and beginning to prepare them both drinks.

Taras shrugged, scratching the back of his neck, "Stuff. I've done…stuff."

Lucia turned around and rolled her eyes at him, "Let's start with an easy one, shall we? Where exactly have you been?" She folded her arms and leant back against the counter expectantly.

"…Places…?"

"Oh please, Taras, just answer the question!"

"Russia. I've been in Russia. I've got a flat and a good job there." Taras said matter-of-factly. Lucia shot him an odd look over her shoulder as she poured out the kettle.

"Why Russia?"

"Why not?"

She shrugged, bringing over the two coffees, handing Taras his then sipping hers, sitting down.

"Fair enough," she smirked at him over the rim of her mug but the effect was ruined by her red puffy eyes, "Girlfriend?"

Taras choked on his coffee, and then shot her an accusing glare, "What is it with you girls and your interest in guys' personal lives? That was one of the first questions that mum-" he broke off suddenly and examined his fingers. Lucia chewed on her lip, then reached out and squeezed his hand.

"What's her name?" she asked quietly.

"Was would be more accurate; Eva."

Lucia winced and squeezed his hand again, "You broke up?"

"Yeah," Taras sipped from his drink, "S'all water under the bridge now. Wasn't really going anywhere."

There was a small silence where they both drank and watched the sunrise between the blinds of the small kitchen window. Lucia broke it with a heartfelt sigh, turning her gaze on her brother.

"Why did you leave?"

Taras looked down at his hands and shrugged again. "I needed to get away. I wanted to…find myself."

"Find yourself?" Lucia snorted and smirked at him in a way that reminded him uncannily of their father. He quickly looked away. "Isn't that a bit cliché?"

Taras shrugged, playing with his fork idly. "I don't know, I just felt something….lacking. And…" he shifted in his seat, his reasoning suddenly seeming very silly, "…I wanted to go to Russia."

"Russia? Why did you specifically want to go to Russia?" she frowned, "What was wrong with finding yourself right here?"

Taras busied himself with blowing the steam off the top of his coffee, reluctant to answer his sister, feeling a little embarrassed.

"Taras…" Lucia employed their mother's patent look until her brother was shifting awkwardly in his seat, and then he blurted out –

"Dad said that was where he found himself. Russia."

"Russia?" Lucia arched an eyebrow sceptically, "The only think I remember dad talking about finding in Russia is a flat with Uncle Bryan and lots of hangovers…"

"That's what he said! He said he was nineteen and he found himself on the way to Russia."

"On the way to Russia?"

"Yeah." Taras blinked at the sudden look of revelation on Lucia's face.

"He was nineteen…on the way to Russia…Oh Taras. You spent three years in Russia because you thought…? Just because he said…?"

"What is it?" Taras frowned, folding his arms, annoyed that Lucia seemed to be belittling his life decisions.

Lucia pressed her fingers to her temples. "Taras, the fact that he was going to Russia was not the important part. It wasn't in Russia that he found himself. It was on the way."

Taras' frown deepened, "I don't understand what you're getting at…"

"Do you remember… it was something that mum used to say…" She picked up her fork from the side, licked the chocolate icing off it and used it to stir her coffee, before looking thoughtfully at him, "She always said that when it came to her and dad, it was the seconds that counted…"

"I remember," Taras nodded, then smiled weakly, "Didn't dad have to propose to her twice or something?"

"He did," Lucia matched his smile with her own grin, "They were at the airport and a plane went over when he asked her, so she didn't hear."

"Wasn't the whole down on one knee thing a bit of giveaway?"

"No, I think they were in the middle of an argument…"

"How disgustingly romantic." Taras wrinkled his nose, "But what has this got to do with Russia?"

"Mum and dad met for the first time at a tournament. And they met the second time…"

"…Oh." Said Taras. And that was all.

The world was laughing at him. He'd been waiting for this day for over three years, waiting for some kind of amazing revelation, something life changing that would answer every question he'd ever had about his identity and self-worth.

And he'd got that; his father had found himself at nineteen because that was when he'd fallen in love with mum. What sort of message was that? Fall in love and you'll suddenly get where you're going and what you need to do to be you? No, that was rubbish, and he knew it, and he wasn't in love anyway so fat lot of help that was!

He'd waited and searched for so long, and he'd got…that.

It wasn't fair.

It was ridiculous, it was unfair, it was unjust, it was-

Taras cried out in exasperation, scrunched up the tissues in his hand and threw them at the wall, Lucia ducking in alarm.

He watched the light paper fall to the floor, and stared at it for a few moments.

The moments stretched out into eternity as the tissues separated and slowly floated to the ground, and Taras realised he was breathing heavily but the blood rushing in his ears had gone, leaving a kind of...relief.

Okay, so he was disappointed. Like, really disappointed. But after the surge of anger came a curious calm; he'd spent years chasing after his dad's way of dealing with life, and then he'd found out that it was his mum. Fair enough.

Perhaps now, his brain suggested cautiously, as if dipping a toe in the water, we can find our own way of dealing with it? Starting with, perhaps, your sister, who you haven't so much as spoken to in three years…?

Taras looked up to see Lucia watching him, concern written over her features.

"I'm sorry, Lucia."

Her face softened. She touched his shoulder, "Hey, its okay. You...you did what you thought you had to, right?" She grinned, "Not your fault you were so dense you didn't think to ask dad to elaborate, huh? Idiot."

"Yeah, yeah." He shook his head, then rubbed his eyes, standing up, "I'm...I'm going to go back to bed now." He yawned, "Jetlag is catching up with me."

"Alright. Just...Taras?"

Lucia caught his hand. He squeezed it. "Yeah?"

"Promise you won't just run off again?"

He shook his head, "I'm not going back to Russia, Lucia." he smiled, "Maybe I'll try out at the BBA centre here, see if I can't get back into 'blading. Training kids could be fun."

"Mmm, I bet. Lots of bratty competitive six year olds. Loads of fun." she teased, tongue between her teeth.

"And in the morning-"

"It is the morning."

"Later in the morning," he continued, unperturbed, "I am going to make pancakes."

"Pancakes."

"Yes, pancakes. And they will be victory pancakes, because I will not get them stuck to the ceiling this time."

Lucia rolled her eyes at her brother and downed the last of her coffee, "Keep dreaming, Taras."

"I intend to." Taras replied, grinning.

And as he made his way back to his bedroom, his heart clenching at every photograph, every piece of evidence that showed the life of his parents in the house, he caught sight of the sun rising out of the window, as they day dawned on his second day at home.