A/N: Lookie! New story! Yay!

Right, anyways, welcome! I hope you enjoy the story, really I do, but I have a warning. I'm putting up the first chapter because I need to beg for a beta. None of my other ones are available, and I need a dedacated beta. I mean it. An 'I'm going to use a sledgehammer and bang this baby into shape' beta. So feel free to review and tell me what you think, it's always enjoyable hearing people's opinions. Even if you hate it. (Though if you do hate it, please do me the courtesy of telling me why so I can fix it. No beta and all that.)

So please, if anyone out there is feeling like they need something else to do, call me! E-mail is in my profile.

Until then, enjoy!

Chapter 1

He lay in his hospital bed, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor his only companion. For now.

They would be back soon, he just knew it. They would come and stare at him with those false sympathetic faces, ask the same questions over and over, leave only when the nurse threw them out.

He wondered vaguely why they kept asking those questions. He didn't remember much of his childhood, or his adolescence so far. He didn't see why not knowing where he was when he was eight was such a big thing.

Kevin sighed, turning over slowly. Carefully he adjusted all the wires and tubes attached to him, trying not to disconnect any of them. The last time that had happened…

Smiling slightly, he remembered the nurse's frantic footsteps, her voice calling for help from the corridor, only to find a false alarm when she got to his room. Apparently, it was her first time on duty alone, and she hadn't quite expected to see all her patient's vitals suddenly disappear.

Real footsteps interrupted his train of thought, and there came a knock on his door. Sighing, Kevin just lay there, wishing they would go away. He just wanted to go home.

Scott headed slowly up the steps. This was his hardest duty as oldest brother, one he refused to share with anyone, even Virgil. Despite his younger brother's insistence that he needed to share it. Virgil meant well, but Scott knew that his brother couldn't do this. Hell, he barely could do it, and he'd been doing it since is mother had died eight years earlier.

It just never got any easier.

Reaching the top of the stairs, Scott approached his father's study door. Knocking softly to announce himself, he went right in. His father never answered on this particular anniversary. He knew who it was anyway; the only person to come up on this particular date was Scott. Even Kyrano kept his distance, respecting the boundaries his employer and friend needed.

His father was facing the ocean, watching the horizon, tears slowly dripping down his face unheeded. Scott stood next to him, a silent companion. His father always spoke first.

"I found an old photo today. Of your mother… and John."

Scott waited as his father broke and let out one soft sob. Jefferson Tracy hated being seen as weak, and crying was something that was not often seen in any of the Tracy's, even Grandma. So he simply stood silent until his father found his control once more.

"I had forgotten it. Forgotten! How could I…?"

The elder Tracy finally turned to look at his eldest child, his firstborn son. Jeff Tracy saw a man that he was proud of, that he loved far more than he could ever express. And it reminded him horribly of what he had lost, of what he would most likely never regain. It broke his heart all over again.

Scott saw the love and pain in his father's eyes, saw once more the regret of his last words to the child long lost, and the pride he had in the sons that remained to him. And he too felt it, the overpowering desire to speak just one more time with the brother that was stolen from him. To see his face, hear his voice, hold him one more time.

Slowly, Scott embraced his father, and Jeff clung to his son almost desperately.

"It's not your fault Dad. It never was." The mantra never worked, and Scott wondered distantly if his father would be the man he was today if it ever had.

"I forgot it, Scott. I forgot."

"It's just a picture."

"No it's not. I forgot him too."

Slowly, Scott withdrew, watching the elder Tracy try to convey his emotions.

"If I had gotten there sooner, taken the other road, gone to pick him up first… I could have saved him! Why didn't I save him?" Jeff dazedly wandered to his desk chair, sinking down into its leather embrace, a cold replacement for the one he truly desired.

Moving after his father, Scott noticed for the first time a picture, lying on his father's desk, on top of the papers that were scattered there. It was of a teenager, late in his adolescence, with white-blond hair and vibrant blue eyes. He was familiar, yet strange at the same time, and Scott felt a sinking in the pit of his stomach.

"Dad," he picked up the picture and just stared at it, wishing desperately to see something else, some other face on it, "Dad, please tell me you didn't… That this isn't-"

"It is." Jeff's gaze was steady and certain for the first time since Scott had entered the room.

"Why? Dad, you have to move on, to let this go."

"No. He's alive, I know he is."

"Please, please don't do this. Dad, I'm begging you, let this go. Let him go. He's gone-"

"No!" Roaring, the elder Tracy stood, violently shoving his chair away. "He's alive Scott, and I will find him some day. I won't leave him to wonder where we are, why we abandoned him. Why I abandoned him." Temper cooling, voice dropping to a whisper, Jeff laid his hand on his son's shoulder.

"What we're building here, what it will become, is your mother's legacy."

"It's for John too." Scott stubbornly met his father's eyes.

"John will be here one day. John will be here to help us honor your mother. Make no mistake Scott. I'll find him."

Sighing, Scott backed off. Jefferson Tracy could out-stubborn a mule. And his firstborn knew it.

"May I at least ask where you got the picture? I mean, it isn't actually-" For the first time, a spark of excited hope flared into life within Scott.

"Him?" A sad smile, another regretful look. "No, it isn't him. It's what he might look like today. I needed to know."

Pushing aside his disappointment, Scott studied the discarded picture more closely this time. The blank gaze, the stiff posture, the empty background. He hadn't noticed it the first time, but now that he was really looking it was obvious.

"Did the police do the ageing or was it a private company?"

"The police did it for me. I went to the detective who was in charge. He seemed – sadder – somehow. He remembered me too, looked horribly guilty at first. He shouldn't blame himself. There really wasn't anything to go on."

Biting his tongue, Scott forced down the urge to shake his father. Stubborn as a mule, he was, and incapable of taking his own advice.

"Sounds like someone else I know." Scott's tone was sharp, his gaze pointed.

Failing to rise to the bait, the elder Tracy just moved again, his emotions allowing him no rest. Staring out over the island, Jeff shivered a little. Scott could almost feel the tense energy held within his father, watch the memories play themselves over and over again. No rest for the weary, he thought as he moved towards his father once more. It was always like this, a bizarre game of tag, few words, fewer resolutions. So much pain, so much guilt.

So tired…

Silent companions now, waiting for another catalyst. From a whisper to a scream, and then back again. It was dizzying, exhausting, and Scott desperately wanted it to end. That was what this was all about. An end. Release. Finally allowing reality to set in, to accept the loss and move on.

But that would never happen. It couldn't, because Jeff Tracy didn't know what had happened to his son. His wife, Lucille Tracy, had died, and he had grieved. He had allowed himself that luxury, indulging in days of sorrow. And then he had moved on. Began a memorial in tribute to his dearly loved wife. A memorial that Scott was proud to be a part of. One that would save lives around the world, lives that otherwise would be needlessly lost.

Like hers.

But she was gone, and everyone knew it. There had been a funeral. A wake. Sympathetic looks from classmates and teachers. Closure.

Scott broke the silence. After nine years of waiting, he finally spoke what had been in his heart for so long.

"Dad, please. Please move on. If you can't accept that he's gone for yourself, please accept it for us. Because we can't move on until you do. You're our father, and we love you. If you love us then please, please, let this go. Let him go, and let us all have peace."

Moments passed, a silence heavier than before settling over them like a blanket, smothering every noise, every movement, every breath. Distantly, Scott wondered if his father was too far gone. If he could ever let go. Even to keep what he still had.

It wasn't long before the eldest Tracy child got his answer.

In a puff of defeat, his father sagged. "I can't. I just can't. Please…"

Silently, Scott nodded and left the room, leaving his father, and his hope, behind.

Gingerly, Kevin allowed the nurse to assist him as he sat. He ached all over, especially when he sat, but it was twilight and he had always loved the stars. He wouldn't have to wait long for them to comfort him again. A little physical pain meant nothing, so long as he could see his sparkling guardians.

"I'll just go fetch your dinner, I'll not be more then a few minutes. Okay sweetie?" Hovering, the nurse waited for his answer, hoping, Kevin knew, for more than a sullen nod this time. She left disappointed, and gave the injured teenager some cherished alone time.

He contemplated the stars while she was gone, on all the things they saw, all the secrets they kept. He thought…

"What have I told you about this, huh? Huh? Useless, the both of you! Get, you hear me? I said GET!"

A small cry was torn from Kevin's throat as he flinched away from the invasive hands. He lashed out as they tried to restrain him, a female cry greeting his blow. The hands were gone now, and slowly the fog of sleep cleared from Kevin's mind. As it dissipated, the teenager became aware of the nurse on the floor in front of him, blood running from her nose.

As quickly as he was able, he got up from his chair and moved to her side, assisting her as she stood as best he could.

As an orderly hurried into the room, Kevin became aware of two things: his voice, babbling apologies so quickly as to be almost incoherent and the nurse, looking at him with understanding and forgiveness. The abused teen looked away, closing his mouth and moving back, away from that horrible pity. He hated that far more than anything else in the world.

After all, he didn't have it so bad, did he?

At least I have a home, he thought stubbornly, at least I have a family. They love me. I know they do.

He was being talked at, again. He waited patiently, as always, for the doctor to finish, and allowed himself to be seated back into the chair without argument. He would talk to the stars, like always. The others could take their caring and shove it. He didn't need it. His family loved him. This was all just a misunderstanding.

Doctor Thompson watched as his patient stoically ignored him, retreating back into his own little world. Sighing, he placed the tray by the teen's side and left him to it. There would be no communication tonight, he knew, and there was no point in trying to force it. The boy was pretty far gone, and Thompson wasn't sure if he'd be able to bring him back.

He was met just outside the door by Iris, the young nurse who took care of Kevin Williams. She was kind and caring, and very experienced. Which is why she usually ended up with the trauma induced cases.

At the moment, she was sporting a swollen nose and an apologetic expression.

"It's alright, Iris. It's not your fault." Thompson cut off any apologies before they began, feeling worn and rather hopeless.

"Yes sir. I still feel responsible though."

"You can't blame yourself for the boy's condition. You didn't hurt him."

"I know. I just-"

"Iris, please. Not now. I have another meeting that I really must get to."

"Of course." The nurse's soft reply was missed by the harried doctor as he headed towards his office, and yet another profiling session. Right at that moment, Thompson would have given his right arm for a cup of strong, decent, coffee, but unfortunately, all he had was the gloppy muck the hospital coffee machines dispensed.

And even that was in his office. With the cops.

Bracing himself, the doctor opened the door, readying his excuses and preparing for a fight.