Summary: Seventy-five year-old Scott contemplates the past, the present and the future.


LETTING GO


There are only three actual Tracys left on the island these days.

Scott, of course, nearing seventy-five, and only just beginning to train his successor: his own son, Patrick .

The Father of International Rescue, who had married Lady Penelope and lived out his last thirty years at Creighton-Ward Manor, had been an insanely happy man because of it. He'd died in his sleep, and Penny had gone ten years later the same way. Parker, they say, died of heartbreak the week after her.

Virgil had returned to Colorado Tech in his early fifties to take on a research position that would allow him to continue to design vehicles for International Rescue and Tracy Corporation, while affording him the opportunity to teach up-and-coming engineers all the amazing things he knew.

He'd met a beautiful woman, but she'd been killed in a monorail wreck two weeks prior to their wedding. He'd never gotten over that, but got some measure of satisfaction from the work he did and the young minds he helped mold.

John had gone on the fourth Zero-X mission, stayed in deep space for over twenty years and returned to head up the Zero-X program for the World Space Agency in partnership with Tracy Aerospace. He'd never married anyone but the beautiful stars in space, and to this day was still in charge of deciding which missions WSA would take on and which needed a lot more thought before they'd even be considered.

Gordon had returned to WASP shortly after Virgil's departure from International Rescue and remained in service for five more years. He'd married a fellow member of WASP and had three kids and more grandkids than Scott could remember, most days.

Alan and Tin-Tin had never fallen out of love but could never manage to make things work. On and off for over forty years they'd been either a couple or bitter enemies. Tin-Tin's move away from IR to Tracy Corporation had followed a spectacular fight that left Alan in ruins only five years into IR's existence. She was living and working Manhattan, where Alan eventually followed. They seemed happy for about a year before they went their separate ways that first time.

Alan had gone back to racing, and then back to Tin-Tin…and then back to racing, and then back to Tin-Tin. On and on, producing no marriage, no children, but a healthy amount of fodder for the tabloids. Still and all, they'd finally come to terms with each other and lived quietly on Moyla now that both of their fathers were gone. No more racing, just Corp business and stuff for International Rescue. And, apparently, no more fighting.

One of Gordon's daughters and Scott's only son were pretty much in charge now, with the new recruits and network of agents the world 'round completing IR's complement.

Scott probably wouldn't let go of the reins for at least a year, though he knew his boy could handle it. He'd married the mother, an Australian woman, but they'd divorced when the boy was only two. She'd raised Patrick on her own near Sydney until he was eighteen, at which point he'd promptly moved to Tracy Island and never looked back.

Scott shook his head. Things hadn't turned out that well for some of them, but others had done okay. Gordon, by far, had done the best, but that didn't surprise any of them considering he was always the most optimistic and laid-back of the bunch.

And Scott had promised Virgil he'd join him in Colorado as soon as he had Patrick trained to his satisfaction. Virgil said he wasn't holding his breath, but his eyes told him how much he'd missed his older brother, and Scott found himself wishing they were thirty and twenty-seven again, when International Rescue was new. When they still had so much life left to live, and there was promise and hope on the horizon.

He supposed he knew the moment he'd agreed to his father's plan for International Rescue, that it meant he'd probably spend his life surrounded by no one but his family. He wondered suddenly if his brothers had assumed the same. If they all had thought they were condemning themselves to some sort of weird solitary existence because of their chosen profession.

All in all, though, it had been a rewarding forty-five years, and no one could argue with that. Between what he'd accomplished with International Rescue and what he'd done through the Corp, Scott had lived a good life. The fact that all five Tracy sons were still alive was nothing short of a miracle given the peril they put themselves in week after week for so long.

It was strange sometimes how Life dealt you certain hands and how you played those hands. If only Virgil's Callie hadn't been killed. If only John had hooked up with that one female astronaut that wouldn't give him the time of day in their twenty years out in deep space. If only Gordon…well, he'd done just fine, Scott smiled to himself. If only Alan and Tin-Tin could've stopped fighting long enough to see how important it was to love.

And, Scott thought as he looked at his son barking orders from Mobile Control through the two-way vid panel, if only he and Rania had been able to work past falling out of love. But sometimes things just were what they were.

Now, maybe he'd have to stop being a control freak and come to terms with letting go of his father's dream once and for all. Maybe he just needed to let Patrick take over, let him assume the responsibility of keeping their identities a secret, making sure there would always be enough money and biting off his nails when his team was in the field.

Scott turned in his chair, noting the same squeak that had been there as long as he could remember, and spoke into the video phone. "Call Virgil," he said, voice gravelly with age.

"Hey, Scott, what's up?" Virgil's voice hadn't changed one bit.

"Up for some company?" Scott asked.

Virgil looked startled, then a smile slowly crept across his face. "Am I ever," he said, and if that sounded like a choked-off sob, Scott pretended not to notice it.

"I'll be there in two days," Scott said. And with one final meet of their eyes, he flipped the channel closed.

The 'birds – new and improved ones by now, of course – were already on their way back from the rescue. Scott pressed a button to get a secure line with his son.

"Dad?"

"Patrick, you and I need to talk when you get back."

"About?"

Scott smiled. "Taking over IR."

Patrick's eyes crinkled as he fought a smile that he couldn't quite hide. "F.A.B.," he replied, and the line was closed.

Scott was making the right decision, he knew. It was finally time to let go.