Warnings: Mild language, controversial subject matter and mentions of character death.

Betas: Thanks to Spinkle22 and MissBubbles.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Thunderbirds, or any content related thereof. Only the original characters are my own.

Part 1

Our wretched species is so made that those who walk on the well-trodden path always throw stones at those who are showing a new road. Voltaire

"How's Allie doing?"

"Just fine. Fine as always."

"Good, good. That cough sounded awful bad last time I saw him."

"It did, didn't it."

"Where's Maggie?"

"Haven't seen her for a while now."

"You haven't seen your own wife?"

"Not really, no."

"Well, when you do tell her I want to speak to her."

"I'll tell her."

"…who?"

…

Burying a younger sibling wasn't something you could get used to. For the most part, this point wasn't even relevant to people; few had the required number of younger siblings. But he had three, on top of one older sibling. And thus these last few years had been deeply depressing.

A soft, warm drizzle ensconced the cemetery, briefly flattening the petals of the newly lain flowers, before they sprung up again as gravity pulled the moisture off their tips. Then the words which he had heard for the first time at the tender age of eight, and oh so many times since, were spoken.

"We therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life." The soil hit the glazed wood and cascaded down the ridged sides, leaving only small particles on the surface.

There was a brief moment of silence in which the only sound that could be heard was the nominal quiet that came with light rain.

"Amen," the crowd murmured as a whole; the ensuing quiet was broken only by a muffled sob. Then the crowds began dispersing, starting towards the street and their waiting cars which would be driven to the wake that was being held in the conference room of St. Paul's church. A few passing persons gave him light pats on the back, or a quick squeeze to the shoulder as they went.

Gradually people drifted away until only six were left standing in the dew-stained grass. Slowly, and with his ever-present limp, John made his way over to Alan's wife and children, who were huddled together at the edge of the grave. Tin-tin was rubbing her daughter's back, her brow resting against the crown of the younger woman's head. Hiccups and gasps could still be heard, as her shoulders shook, and her mother continued to murmur words of comfort in her ear. The eldest daughter and the only son were standing beside the pair, a tissue scrunched up in the woman's fist.

"You two alright?" John questioned, coming to a stop beside them.

"Yes," she said softly. "The ceremony that mother conducted yesterday helped a lot."

"It's a different idea, but I think it made today much easier," her brother added.

"Glad to hear it."

"I wish you could have come," Tin-tin said, coming up behind them, a hand still resting on her youngest daughter's arm. "When we held the ceremony for Virgil you were much less distraught on the day of the burial."

"I know, but I just couldn't come earlier. Scott was having complications, and I didn't want to leave him."

She nodded. "I had heard. And I can hardly blame you. But let us talk of such things later. For now, it is our time to remember and celebrate Alan's life, as he would have wanted us to." She gestured towards one of the cars that still waited beyond the gate.

Slowly, the family began to make their way towards the car and the few remaining figures in the cemetery. John hesitated while the rest of the family walked on ahead. He looked down into the grave once more, and vaguely observed the clumps of thrown soil had already transformed into murky water that was dripping down the edges of the wood. Tightening his fingers on his cane, he felt a tear role down his contoured cheek.

"You know, despite the number of times we threatened to bring you to an early grave, all of us always thought you'd be the last to go. None of us were ever prepared to be left standing when you were gone. Now look at us; only the two eldest left."

Silence reigned. For a brief moment his mind fooled him into thinking he would hear a response.

None came.

"Dad?"

"Yes Adam?"

"The car's waiting. Are you ready to go?"

His eyes closed, and faintly, a familiar laugh seemed to echo and bounce around the headstones throughout the cemetery. His hand shaking slightly - though whether from emotion or age it was hard to tell - he turned and looped his arm through his son's.

"Yes. I'm ready," he said, and began to limp towards the waiting car.

…

"Alan hasn't been by."

"Was he supposed to come in?"

"Yes. Called him… a while ago."

"You did?"

"Yes. Some woman named Lauren answered."

"Lauren's his daughter."

"Is she?"

…

The conference room was light and airy. The pale light, still misted by the falling rain outside, shone through twenty-four high set windows. Tables had been set up around the room, supplied by the church, and each was draped in a creamy white cloth. Most of the guests barely even noticed the coloring; the members of the Tracy family were the only ones who recognized the significance. At the far end of the room a screen had been set up, where one of John's nephews was already fiddling with the tablet that had been wired into the rolling cart beside it.

Tin-tin and her children were already lined up in front of one of the tables directly in front of the door. John limped over to them with the help of his son, and stood in place beside Richard, the youngest. Under the fluorescent light, he could see the scar on Tin-tin's cheek clearly, the darker tone of the knitted flesh contrasting with her naturally pale complexion.

"I should go back outside and join the other guests, Dad. Rachel said she'd meet me at the front doors. You good?"

He nodded.

His son turned to the young man beside him and clasped his shoulder.

"You take care of him until I get back in here, okay Richie?"

The younger cracked a barely visible smile. "Of course. And don't call me Richie."

Adam smiled back and gently squeezed his shoulder before turning and yelling to the other man at the end of the room. "Hey, Ethan! We gotta go. You can mess with the slide-show later!"

"Coming!"

Ethan trotted over, but was grabbed by the arm and dragged from the room before he had the chance to complain. John smiled slightly at his son's and nephew's antics. It was like watching moments from his own life, relived through a younger generation.

"They do take after their fathers," he heard Tin-tin say. He didn't turn to look at her. He was engulfed in a memory all of his own.

"What the hell do you mean you have no intention of marrying her?" his father yelled. The flinch that went through all the other occupants of the room was clearly visible. Everyone knew that when Jeff Tracy swore it was a sign that you'd already missed the evacuation notice, and a category five hurricane was knocking on your door. Gordon, the idiot that he was, stood firm against the gale force winds.

"I mean exactly what I said. I have no intention of marrying her," he said through gritted teeth.

"The girl's pregnant!"

"You think I don't know that?"

For a moment, silence perforated the room. Peripherally, John saw Alan's head swiveling from left to right as though he was engrossed in a particularly violent tennis match.

"Don't you dare talk back to me, young man," their father whispered venomously.

"Why the hell not? You won't even hear me out! You won't even-"

"QUIET!" Jeff roared. John could see the rage building up inside of Gordon with every passing moment. He glanced in the direction he had last seen Scott, hoping his brother was about to step in and mediate between the two. However, Scott was still standing by the bookshelf, looking almost as livid as their father.

"How can you possibly give me a good reason for not marrying the woman you got pregnant? You're going to leave her to look after a baby all by herself, while you go on your merry way? I won't tolerate it," Jeff hissed.

Gordon took several deep breaths, at least having the sense to try and keep his temper in check. "I never said I was going to leave her, Father. In fact I have no intention of doing that either. We're both adults. We've agreed that neither of us wants a formal marriage. Jamie is atheist, and is strongly against ceremonial marriages. I don't have a particular attachment to one or the other and therefore, I don't really care. We're both content with a common-law marriage. Maybe later, if it becomes an issue for the child, we'll sign a marriage license. But for now, we're happy with what we've got."

"Your brothers -"

"Don't you get it? I don't care what my brothers did. Oh I'm happy for them, sure; all the best to them! But that's not what I want. I don't care that John and Maggie were legally married. I don't care that Virgil and Lisa had a nice service with a proper wedding march. It mattered to them but it doesn't matter to me! I mean look at Scott! He hasn't even stayed with a girl for more than-"

At that point John took it upon himself to intervene. Practically throwing himself at Gordon before his mouth got him into some serious trouble - although judging from Scott's death glare it was a bit too late for that - he grabbed his arm and started to drag him from the room.

Surprised at being stopped mid-tirade, Gordon didn't offer up any resistance.

"Some valid points you have there. Why don't we give Father a chance to mull them over," John said, by way of an excuse for his actions. He cast a nervous smile at the room's occupants, before disappearing with Gordon into the hall. In that brief moment he took in the various emotions of his brothers and father. Scott looked just short of murderous, Alan looked as if he'd been clocked in the temple by a two-by-four, and Jeff was looking both furious and baffled. All in all it was not a scene he was looking forward to returning to.

He stopped them near the end of the hall, out of earshot of the lounge. He let go of his brother's arm, and swatted the back of his head. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

Gordon's mouth opened in preparation for a furious retort. "But before you bite my head off, I agree with you."

"I'm a… wait. What?"

"I agree with you."

"You do?"

"You don't have to sound so surprised you know."

"But you and Maggie…"

"Like you said; it doesn't matter what I did. It doesn't matter what any of us did. What you do with Jamie is between the two of you, and if this is how you want to live together I don't have a problem with that. Admittedly, only you would have the lack of sense to spring the fact that the love of your life was atheist on Father after you had informed him she was pregnant but-"

"But what about-"

John predicted what Gordon was going to say before he finished his sentence.

"Dad'll come around. Scott will too, eventually. He'd be a hypocrite if he started proclaiming the virtues of licensed marriage when he himself hasn't found a girl he's liked enough to even consider marrying."

He could see Gordon visibly calming down. Hopefully Alan was doing his best to calm the other two, back in the lounge.

"Alan will definitely be with you, if only because he's with you on everything. And Virgil? He's an artist married to a French woman. He couldn't care less about 'the rules'."

That got a weak laugh from Gordon. His anger had now almost completely dissipated. What was left was a nervous, self-conscious man who was on the edge of a breakdown. "But what if Dad doesn't-"

"Then he doesn't. The rest of us will stand by you," John stated firmly.

Gordon nodded, eyes fixed on the floor.

"You good?" John asked, clasping his shoulder. There was a brief pause, and the nod Gordon supplied this time was considerably more confident.

"Time to face the music then," John sighed, casting a mournful look up the stairs, where it was quiet, and without family disagreements.

"I didn't see Virgil in there," Gordon quipped.

John laughed and turned back to him. "Don't make me drag you back there."

"You wouldn't."

And with that Gordon's arm was once again within his grasp, and he set off down the hallway, struggling younger brother in tow.

"So sorry for your loss."

John came back to the present to find himself shaking the hands of friends and family he couldn't even remember the names of. He nodded to the most recent sympathizer, trying to hide his embarrassment. He could see his son a few people down the line, leaning sideways to get a better view past the people in front of him. He looked worried. When they finally reached one another, he pulled his father into a hug.

"Are you alright? You looked a bit… spaced out," he said as he pulled away.

"Fine."

An eyebrow crooked upwards, and no words were needed. Sighing, John resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I don't have dementia. Your uncle's already taken care of that."

His son frowned. "Dad-"

"I'm fine. Keep moving. You're holding up the line."

For a moment it looked as though Adam had every intention of planting his feet until he got an answer, but luckily- for John at least - his wife had come up behind him and was already pushing him down the line.

"Lovely to see you, John. Glad you're holding up well," she said as she breezed past him. "We're going to have a chat later, aren't we?" she added with a sweet smile.

Grimacing, he gave a slight nod. "Yes Rachel."

"Good." And then she was gone – her husband with her.

As more people continued to file past, shaking hands, offering words of condolence, the only thought that continued to run through his mind was:

"Damn Psychologists."

…

"I was talking to Gordon earlier."

"Oh?"

"He's still miserable about his argument with Dad the other day."

"Is he now?"

"Feels awful guilty and the like."

"I'm sure."

"Fine girl though, fine girl."

"Yes."

"Tin-tin, wasn't it?"

…

He propped his cane up against the chair, and then carefully lowered himself into it. Everyone was taking their seats now, and John found his eyes wandering, picking out family members at near and distant tables alike. Ethan was already back beside the screen, and seemed to be on the verge of picking up the tablet and slamming it into the wall. Two of his four children were at a table near the back along with their second oldest cousin, Nicole. John spotted Rachel and Adam in deep conversation with an older man he didn't recognize. His grandchildren hadn't attended due to the fact that his granddaughter was rapidly approaching her final exams, and his grandson was on a rugby tour in southern England.

He took a double take when he recognized a trio of faces at the very farthest table. The man and his daughter were not too unusual; he had seen them some months ago as a matter of fact. No, it was the older woman with the speckled grey hair that was sitting between them who was unusual. Her shoulder's were hunched in, as though she was trying to protect herself from the world, and her eyes were constantly flickering about the room, pausing for a second on a face, before moving on to the next.

Her eyes met his own for only a brief moment before both their gazes were torn to the front of the room by a cry of victory. His nephew had both arms up in the air, eyes fixed on the screen. The rest of the eyes in the room were fixed on him, either in disapproval or amusement. Both of Ethan's sons had their faces hidden in their hands. There was a brief flicker on the screen before it burst into life, color flooding across its two-dimensional surface. Ethan quickly scurried back to his seat beside his children, triumph still glinting in his eyes.

No one paid any more heed to him however, as a slide-show had begun to cycle through on the screen. The hall was heavy with an uncomfortable silence. When his father, Virgil, and Gordon had passed away there had also been slide-shows, and each had started with the expected 'exhausted mother, ecstatic father, uninteresting hospital room' photograph. There was no such picture for Alan's. All were well aware of just why there was no such picture - there had been no mother to hold the child. Yet the first picture of Alan, at already a year old, inspired such an air of awkwardness, John began to wonder if his nephew should even have bothered fixing the screen.

The silence continued to suffocate the room as the pictures moved into elementary school. And then Tin-tin, doing what she did best, smoothed things over by quietly whispering in John's ear, "Your brother still had that science project when I met him. It was one of the first things he showed me."

To the rest of the room the words were ambiguous, unintelligible, mere sighs in the air; yet they served their purpose. Soon, other whispers were carrying across the hall, other memories were being shared, and people began to laugh. By the time they reached the racing years whoops and high-fives were circulating among those who recognized the track or race.

The next picture was of Alan holding John's son, John himself standing behind him, a hand on his shoulder. Beside him Tin-tin laughed.

"I remember him telling me about that afterwards. He was terrified he was going to drop the baby."

John laughed as well. "I think he was just as scared when Caitie was born. You were a bit preoccupied but he almost had a nervous breakdown outside the surgery. I remember Jamie hit him upside the head with her purse and that knocked some sense into him."

"And there's Caitie's first Christmas!"

"You were adorable back then, sis."

"What, I'm not now?"

"Of course you are darling," her husband interrupted before an argument could begin.

"Thank you Jason," Tin-tin said, nodding her head in his direction. "Wasn't that the year Gordon managed to upset Lisa?"

John laughed again. "It was. She was late sending the mince pies that year and he made sure never to get on her bad side again."

The conversation bubbled on around them but Tin-tin and John met each other's glances.

"I trust you've noticed that she's here?"

His eyes flickered over to where the old woman was seated at the back of the room. "Yes."

"Are you going to speak to her later?"

"Yes."

Tin-tin patted his arm gently. "Good. She is a kind woman and I'm sure she did not set out to do what she did. Every soul sets foot on the wrong path at some time or another - what matters is that it finds its way back."

"You always know the right thing to say, don't you?" he smiled at her.

"Hardly," she laughed. "Here, I think, is a prime example!" She pointed at the screen as a picture of her engagement faded in.

…

"Have you seen One lately?"

"One what?"

"Thunderbird One, of course!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you do! Or have you forgotten that you pilot that tin-can up in space."

"Maybe I have."

"How do you forget something as big as that?"

"You did."

…

"Lisa! Please…wait!" John called as he struggled to catch up to the fleeing woman. He hated how much his damned leg slowed him down. To his relief, the woman he was pursuing slowed, and then stopped. She turned to him, eyes awash with fear and sympathy. Slowly, timidly, she walked back towards him, those same eyes searching his the entire way. When she had come to a halt in front of him her eyes stayed fixed on the floor. Her hand shakily stretched out to take his arm and lead him to the nearest bench where, wheezing, he lowered himself down, resting his cane between his knees. She sat beside him, mouth clamped tightly shut.

"It is nice to see you Lisa. I dare say you are in the best shape of us all."

"I do not know. Tin-tin is looking in good form." For a moment John was taken aback. Her accent was heavier than the last time he had seen her; although, admittedly, that had been quite a while ago.

There was a pregnant pause, the sounds of continued happy conversation echoing down the hall towards them. "John I…"

"You don't have to Lisa. No one blames you."

"How can you not? I…I…"

"You did what any distressed mother and wife would do."

Lisa stood up angrily. "I did no such thing! I prevented my own children from attending their grandfather's funeral - which I did not attend either! I barely let them see any family other than myself; they went of their own accord to Gordon's funeral, which I also did not attend and… Mon dieu! J'étais, je suis une telle garce! Comment je n'a - "

"Lisette! You need to calm down. My French isn't as good as it used to be, but I can still understand enough to know that what you just said is completely untrue. Your reaction was completely understandable, everyone forgives you. We forgave you a long time ago."

"Ha. How can anyone forgive when they are dead?" she scoffed, before falling back onto the seat beside him, her head in her hands. "I never said goodbye to them. I had the chance and I didn't take it. I took it away from my children. All because I could not say goodbye to my own husband."

"But if we distribute the construction between the Shenzhen and Macao branches, wouldn't that even out the work?"

"Maybe, but the Macao branch has only recently been enlarged. Half the equipment isn't even there yet."

"What? I thought the Shenzhen branch was being enlarged, not the Macao branch!"

"Well you're wrong."

"How can I be wrong about something as big as this?"

"Maybe the records got mixed up?"

"No way. The records never get mixed up."

"Boys! Quiet for a moment. It's your brother."

Immediately both Scott and John's mouths shut. Their father rolled his eyes and pushed the accept button.

"Hello?"

"Jeff?" Three pairs of eyes glanced between each other upon realizing that the call was audio-only.

"Lisa? Why aren't you on video? Is something wrong with the system?"

"No… I just… I can't…,"

"Lisa, is something wrong?"

"The hospital called, just now, they said…they said-"

"Honey you need to try to calm down. Why did the hospital call?"

"There's been…an accident. Jeff, it's Virgil. He's… Dieu…he's bad."

OOO

Forty minutes later found four of the Tracys skidding into a hospital waiting room. They had delayed the jet just long enough for Gordon to reach them from downtown. Alan, being in Cambridge, had already arrived and was comforting a whimpering Lisa.

She looked a wreck; make-up was smudged down her face, and her eyes were bloodshot and swollen from crying. Wisps of hair which had come loose from her clip were sticking to the tear tracks that stained her cheeks.

John heard the door close behind them as he took in the scene. Both were sitting on the sofa on the far side of the room, Lisa with her head resting on Alan's shoulder, staring into nothing. She appeared to have only recently stopped crying, as her chest was still heaving every three or four breaths. Alan's shirt had been stained dark with her tears. He had an arm around her shoulders and was using his other hand try and sweep the loose hairs back from her face. He himself was looking rather drained.

He spotted them and gave the woman's shoulder a quick squeeze of reassurance before gently extricating himself from her and standing to greet them. He strode over to them and was pulled into an embrace by his father.

"I'm guessing you didn't hear anything on the way down?" he muttered into his father's shoulder.

"Nothing," Jeff replied pulling back and holding his son at arm's length.

"Damn. Before you ask, all we know is that he's in surgery and he came in critical. That and it was a vehicle collision." Alan gestured around at the various armchairs and sofas. "Have a seat. It looks like we may be here a while."

Everyone took a seat except Scott, who had started pacing. "Why was he even out so late? Doesn't he usually leave work at five thirty?"

Lisa sobbed out, "Y-yes. B-b-but he went to the studio this e-evening."

"Still," Scott pondered. "Isn't he back from the studio by nine?"

"He stayed out late!" Lisa yelled, surging to her feet from her place beside Gordon. "We… we had an argument this m-morning. He wanted some space. Dieu, and I let him." She started to cry again and Scott reached over to steady her as she began to sway.

"Hey, it's alright! What happened?" He looked confused. A glance around the room proved that they all were. It was not uncommon for their brother and his wife to get into arguments - their tempers were too evenly matched. But usually Virgil would retreat to his studio for a few hours, and be back in time to see the kids to bed.

"It's not alright! It anything b-but alright! I was scared, p-paranoid. I saw the e-mails, heard the voice message and I lost it. I didn't know what to do, and what with Annette having just separated from her husband I over- r-reacted and-"

"Lisa! You need to calm down; you're babbling. Just tell us what happened."

She threw Scott's hand off of her and paced to the other side of the room before whirling around to face the other occupants, her face working furiously to prevent more tears from flowing.

"What happened? I accused him of having an affair, that's what happened! He was f-furious. It's the o-only t-time I've ever s-seen him that angry. Then he just l-l-left, and what if I d-don't get a chance to apologize, je ne me pardonnerai pas, et les enfants! Ils ne comprendront pas pourquoi son père-"

Her knees gave out and she hit the floor, sobbing in earnest this time. Scott, still standing where she had left him, hesitated before walking over and crouching down beside her. He was clearly torn between emotions. Looks of dismay and anger were passing between the other occupants of the room as well. There was little chance to find out more however, as at that moment a doctor entered, pity clear on his face.

"Mrs. Tracy?"

"No one saw you after the funeral. We were worried. After all it's been-"

"Thirty-two years. Thirty-two years since he died."

"Yes."

"I have been such an idiot."

"No. You've just been struggling with your loss."

"And you did not struggle with yours?"

"That's beside the point; although, I did have family to help me through."

"And I left before even giving them a chance."

"Perhaps."

Once again they fell silent, each lost in a thousand thoughts and memories of their own. John moved his hand to her knee, giving it a quick squeeze of reassurance. Suddenly she stood, and for a moment he feared that their conversation had done little more than push her further away.

"Will you allow this lonely old woman to escort you back to the conference room? I am hoping that this is one rift which is not too large to cross."

Smiling, John stood balancing himself with his cane in one hand, and sliding his other arm through the proffered elbow.

"I'd be very grateful for the assistance. And you must remember, in this family no rift is too large to cross."