Summary: Many years ago, Jeff Tracy got his son Gordon through the aftermath of a horrific accident. Now, it's Gordon's turn to hold someone else's hand. Sequel to my story "Memories," has been housed at the Tracy Island Chronicles.

MY TURN

I have no idea which way Dad is going to go on this. I mean, just because we've reached an understanding about my recovery from the hydrofoil accident doesn't necessarily mean he's going to automatically allow me some shore leave. And, if it winds up that Elaine doesn't have anyone to help her, I know that shore leave will be long. Very, very long if it turned out anything like mine.

Part of what makes my gut churn isn't the possibility that Dad won't let me go, but the chance that he will. I mean, here I am, someone who hasn't bothered to contact this woman in...God, how many years? I don't know anything about her anymore. And I expect she'll be glad to see me out of the blue? That she'll even remember me? Holy shit, what if she doesn't even remember me? Or what if I get there and her father is there, a reincarnation of Jeff Tracy willing his daughter to live?

I remember Alec Pitcher vaguely as the Puritan type, only letting Elaine come over during the daylight hours and being picky and stuffy about who she was with, where she was going and what time she'd be back in the evenings. I would've sworn the guy was a preacher the way he acted, but I suppose if I had a daughter now I'd probably act the same way. I'm old enough to know there are men like me and my brothers out there endangering young virgins.

But I digress.

As it is, I stand in front of my father's closed study door with my fist raised but not moving. I close my eyes, take a deep breath and finally knock. "Come in," I hear him call. He looks up to see who the visitor is and I get a smile. Obstacle #1 has been overcome: Jeff Tracy is in a good mood.

"Hi, Dad."

"Hello, Gordon. What can I do for you?"

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

"No, I was actually just doing some filing. What's on your mind? You sure had a lot on it earlier."

I clear my throat and look him directly in the eyes. "Dad, I want to take a leave of absence from International Rescue. I need to go to Kansas City."

My God, did I actually let those words come out of my mouth?

Of course, I have his full and immediate attention. Hands steepled in front of his chin, his eyes lock onto mine. "A leave of absence? May I ask the purpose and duration?"

"The purpose is...an old school friend. A hit-and-run driver put her in the hospital."

Dad frowns. "I'm sorry to hear that. Did they catch the perpetrator?"

I shake my head. "No. The nurse sort of hinted she might not live..." I look away and my voice drops to a whisper. "Her injuries are a lot like mine were, Dad."

He waits until my eyes return to his. And in them I see something that reminds me why I respect him so much: complete and total understanding. He isn't stupid. He's put 2 and 2 together and knows exactly why I'm asking for time off. "How long, Gordon? I need to know for IR, I'll have to have someone covering Thunderbird 4 as well as second seat in Two."

I nod. I'd thought about that. "I don't know how long, Dad. I mean, she may have people there to support her, but she may not. And if she doesn't..." I search his face for the man who'd helped me so long ago. "Dad, if I hadn't had you, I wouldn't be here. Elaine's an old friend. I just need to make sure she has a 'you' to pull her through this."

Dad leans back in his leather desk chair, rocking it slowly to and fro as his eyes seem to look right through me. "Well, now that John and Alan are both Earth-bound 100 of the time, we do have more coverage than we used to."

I nod.

"Alan seconds Scott on One, and John's a fine second to Two. But I'm concerned about Four."

"I have an idea about that, Father. Tin-Tin has been putting a lot of time into Four's simulator ever since she helped me with that huge retrofit we did a month ago. I think if Scott took her out for some practice runs she'd be capable enough with one of the others riding second. After all, she has seconded me a couple of times. She's quite familiar with Four's capabilities."

I hold my breath. Will he let me go? Do I really want him to? I feel like I'm going to hurl until finally he leans forward, elbows on his desk. "I want you to brief me on the situation as soon as you've assessed it," he says seriously. "It's hard for our only aquanaut to be away from Base for an extended period of time, but you're no prisoner here and you have a friend in dire need from what I'm hearing." I let my breath whoosh out of my lungs. "Take your leave and see your friend and we'll take it from there."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir," I say, nodding and standing and getting ready to split before he changes his mind.

"You'll be gone for Christmas, you know," he says quietly before I can escape. I think about it and realize this would have been the first Christmas without somebody on Thunderbird 5. The first Christmas when our entire family would've been together on Earth. My resolve weakens. I inherited my sense of family from my father and grandmother, and to miss this Christmas with all of them twists my gut a little.

But then I think of Elaine and say, "What kind of Christmas is it lying all alone in a hospital bed with a busted up back?"

My father nods. I know he understands, even though he really wants me home for Christmas. Well, maybe I will be, if Elaine has a support network with her. I won't have to stay, then. There's no way to know at this point. I'm halfway out his study door when I hear his voice once again.

"I hope she's okay, son."

I stop and turn to him and smile. "I do too, Father. Thank you."

He nods again and that's it. I go and told Scott I'll be gone indefinitely. As field commander of IR, it's my duty to inform him of something like that. He immediately heads for Father's study. Boy, to be a fly on the wall for thatconversation. I go pack a suitcase and make the rounds of saying good-bye to everyone on the island. Then I juice up Tracy Three and no more than an hour after Dad gave me my leave, I'm airborne. On my way to Kansas. On my way to Elaine.

On my way to complete uncertainty.

About twenty minutes into the flight I suddenly realize they'll never let me in to see her unless they believe I'm her fiancée as I told Alicia over the phone. But how can I get them to believe me? Then the answer comes to me...but I start sweating and my hands get clammy as I realize I'll have to make one stop after landing and before I hit the hospital.

I just hit my internal panic button. It's funny how even the idea of getting engaged will do that to you. Especially to someone you haven't seen since high school. Well, it isn't a real engagement. It's simply a charade I have to keep up in order to get in there and assess Elaine's situation. If she has a good support network, I'll say my hello's, express my concerns and leave. But if she doesn't have anyone, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to help her.

And that means I need to buy a diamond ring. The logic doesn't keep me from sweating, but dammit, desperate times call for desperate measures, and it was only to get me in the door, right? I might not even have to use it; I just need to make sure I have it as a safeguard in case my fiancée act doesn't fly. Who's going to argue with a guy holding a ten thousand dollar ring?

Somehow, though, as I contemplate my plan, it doesn't seem to ease the butterflies in my stomach. God, I don't even know what size her finger is. What if the ring is too small? Too big? Well, guys make ring size mistakes all the time, right? I can just chalk it up to the fact that I picked it out not knowing her finger size and if it doesn't fit, I'll just have it resized. Good story, I'll stick with it.

Okay, every angle covered. Except one. And that's Elaine herself. What if she tells me to go to hell? I can almost hear her voice in my head. "You abandon me for fifteen years and then you're back just like that and expect me to be happy to see you?"

Then again, I know where she is, medically speaking. I know enough about what's wrong with her to know how she's feeling. If she's alone, she's going to need a friendly voice. I guess I can only hope that she finds my voice friendly. Maybe she will be happy to see an old school pal. Maybe she'll find my voice as soothing as I once found Father's to be. Maybe she'll be grateful for the warm, strong hand holding hers as I was when Father held my hand. Maybe what I'm doing really is the right thing to do, however my brain fights with itself about it.

I guess I could what-if myself into a frenzy if I kept all this up. It could go very well, it could go very badly. But I sure don't think it's a coincidence that of all my brothers, I was chosen to go on line to get numbers for Dad, and that everyone knows the best place for what he was looking for was the Kansas City Star, and that the article about Elaine just happened to be there blaring on the first page. I mean, Kyrano always talks about how sometimes things we think are coincidences really aren't, they're things that were meant to happen. A lot of what he says makes sense, but there's also the saying that sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.

How do you know when it's a cigar or a universal design? I don't think there's any way to know, and that's what drives you crazy. You're presented with a situation and you don't know what decision to make and you sit there and wonder if it's a cigar or something more. I suppose that's why I became so...well, it's what Al calls "laid back." After going through the recovery period from my hydrofoil accident, and after not being able to jog until two years after that, and pulling from my father's quiet strength, I realized that I was alive for a reason. Well, that's what Kyrano said at some point. He said, "You were meant to live. You may never know the reason. But it was not your time to leave."

So now I'm piloting Tracy Three at thousands of miles per hour towards Kansas City wondering if this is why I was meant to live. Why I went through all the pain of coming back from that spinal fracture. Was it all so I could help Elaine? Was that the reason Kyrano had spoken of? It's funny, my laid back nature sometimes pisses my brothers off something awful. Although Virgil is kind of like me, but boy, when his temper blows, it puts Vesuvius to shame. I don't have a temper like that. I guess I just don't see the point in getting mad about anything.

Scott's wound tighter than a brand-new drum, John gets moody and Alan's a hothead, there's no other way to put it. Me? I just sort of soak up every minute of every day simply because I now realize how precious every minute is. It sounds corny, but there it is with no bullshit. Flying off the handle over little things takes too much energy, and it takes time away from enjoying the sound of water lapping at the beach or the soft sway of the plants deep underwater as the currents move them, or the brightly colored fish that at first dart away from you, then curiously come to inspect you and your odd SCUBA gear when you're diving.

I mean, of course I can get mad. I'm still human, after all. But only if it's something really worthy of getting angry over. Like if someone hurts one of my family members, or if someone dies at a rescue as the result of another person's negligence. I'll never forget the apartment building where sixteen men, women and children died because the contractor who built it tried to do it cheaper by doing shoddy electrical work. Walking through there, seeing the charred bodies. Deaths that were painful and senseless for those sixteen people.

I really got mad on that rescue. I think my brothers were in shock because they'd never seen me like that. After we returned to Base, I remember heading directly to the gym where I beat the living shit out of our heavy bag. Without boxing gloves on. But after I'd gotten to the point where my knuckles were bruised and bleeding, I realized that there wasn't anything I could've done to prevent those deaths. That building had been built ten years earlier. The contractor probably wasn't even in business anymore. At first, I think I would've shot him on sight, but then Kyrano's logic finally won over and told me that while it was natural to be angry that they died because of someone else's reckless behavior, they died because it was their time.

I have to say that Kyrano has taught me a lot. I really listen to him, probably because Dad does, and a lot of what he says makes sense. I have never once seen that man get mad; never heard him speak above that low tone of voice that's almost a whisper; never seen him behave violently in any way. That's in stark contrast to my jock brothers who are constantly kicking the shit out of something or even sometimes each other. Hell, I'm just as much of a jock as they are, I just have a different perspective on life than they do, and it's because of my experiences. They say you can never understand someone else until you've walked a mile in their shoes. So in the same way I don't understand why Scott seems like a coiled rattler ready to strike at any second all the time, he doesn't understand why I just take everything as it comes and leave it at that.

I guess I can sort of understand why Scott is the way he is. After all, he's the one who had to pretty much raise us after Mom died. Just like that, his childhood was gone and he was caring for four younger brothers. He worries like a parent would, so I suppose I understand that much of it. But unless and until that exact situation happens to me, I won't really understand what he's about on the inside, just like he doesn't really 'get' me.

I think that's why it's so important to me that I go see Elaine. I've been there and done that where her injuries and recovery are concerned. I've walked that mile...or maybe it was twenty miles...and I can offer her help as someone who knows what she's going through. I bet Scott could help someone who found themselves in the same place he found himself at 9 years of age. We might all be the sons of Jeff Tracy, but we're all so different I sometimes wonder how we can handle living together on the same island. Then again, it is a pretty damn big island!

I look down at my instruments and realize I've been doing too much thinking because my head's starting to hurt. I should be hitting Kansas City in about fifteen minutes, so I pick up the radio and request clearance from their tower to land. Clearance is granted, and I ask them for a private hangar and a rented SUV. They hesitate at first, but all I have to do is drop my last name and they're eager to please. Funny what the name Tracy will do for you.

They tell me where to find the private hangar and I begin my descent. The funny thing is that I'm starting to feel nervous, which is not like me at all. Probably that whole engagement ring thing. Well, it's no big deal, anyway. I'll just return the ring to the store after I've seen to it that Elaine's okay, and then all will be well.

I look out the cockpit windows as Tracy Three glides down through the cloud cover. It's sprinkling a little once I get under the clouds, so I turn on my auto-wipers. My landing is smooth, I taxi to the private hangar and tell the guy who's going to take care of my jet thank you. I tip him big so I know he'll do it right, and before I know it, I'm in the driver's seat of an SUV and headed for downtown Kansas City.

I look around as I maneuver the streets. I used to be quite familiar with this city, and as I near it, the memories return and somehow I just know where to go, what exit to take, what street to turn left on, where to park. And I find myself standing in front of Hanson's Jewelers. I feel weird, but I know what I have to do, so I go inside.

There's a nice middle-aged lady behind the rows and rows of jewelry who asks if she can help me. "Yes," I say, my voice unsteady, "I need an engagement ring."

Of course, the sales lady gets all excited and I think I must be beet red. Why do women go so ga-ga over this shit? Drives me crazy. And people wonder why none of us Tracys are married. Jesus H. Once she's quiet long enough for me to get a word in edgewise, I ask to see the biggest rings they have. Hey, I'm a Tracy. If I have a fiancé, she has to have a nice, big rock on her finger.

Erma, that's the sales lady, lays out for me twelve diamond engagement rings of varying settings and styles, and I look at them and the internal panic button is pushed once again. I shove my clammy hands into my pockets and am completely lost. I have no idea what Elaine would like. I have no idea which one of these any woman would like. Erma is beaming and waiting like I'm picking it out for her or something.

One of the rings has the diamond setting in the shape of a heart, with three smaller diamonds on each side of it. Suddenly a memory grabs me and I flash back to seventh grade, when Elaine and I first met. She had passed me a note...God, did we used to do that? Pass notes? I feel like such an idiot. She had passed me a note asking me my name. In it, she said her name was Elaine, and had made the dot over the 'i' in her name a heart instead of a dot. I remember groaning, thinking, oh, Christ, does she have a crush on me or something? Of course, it turned out she didn't, she was just trying to make new friends, she later told me, and she'd written her name that way since second grade. Girls. Didn't understand them then, don't understand the women they've grown into now.

My mind races back to the present and I find myself pointing at the heart-shaped diamond. It just feels right somehow. More squealing from Erma and kissing up from who I guess must be the owner of the store, and I whip out my credit card, get the ring in a red velvet box and get out of that store as fast as my legs can move. That was an experience I have no intention of repeating any time soon. I'm surprised I'm not broken out in hives.

Mission accomplished, I now turn my attention to Elaine. Time to find out how she really is, I think, as I put the SUV in Drive and pull away from the curb. It's only fifteen minutes to the hospital. I park in the parking garage, stuff the ring box into my pocket and walk into the front lobby. I feel like everything is surreal, like I'm watching instead of actually doing these things myself.

But there I am, asking for Elaine Pitcher's room, and the volunteer behind the kiosk gives me the room number and directs me to the elevator. It's waiting on the ground floor and I enter. She's on the third floor, Room 311. The orthopedic ward. Shit, I think, that's where I was always put – the ortho ward. It's creepy, but it's like history's repeating itself, only this time I'm on the other side of the fence.

I step out of the elevator and the signs in front of me tell me 311 is to my left. So I slowly make my way down the hall and look at the numbers on each door. I finally get to the end of the hall, and there it is, Room 311. The door is wide open and the room is dark. I can see there's someone in the bed, but there's no one else around. I knock softly and enter, and am taken aback by the woman in the bed.