Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds, same as anybody else. The song 'Untitled' belongs to Simple Plan. The epitaph is also belonging to a friend of mine. This is my first fic, and I hope you like.
Quick notes: The name of the dead person isn't revealed until the very end, but it's quite obvious after the sixth paragraph if you know the Tracy boys. Umm...think that's it. Hope you like it!
It was the end of their lives as they knew them. It was all over. No, not International Rescue. That would live on, through the remaining members of the Tracy family, and their friends. But their lives were over.
Something...had happened. Something terrible, that none of them were sure they could recover from.
The premature death of one of their own.
I open my eyes I try to see
but I'm blinded by the white light
The depressed silence bared down on the island like a tidal wave, suffocating and stifling. Each person attempted to continue on as usual, but how could it ever be normal again?
The dangers of their profession was well known to each Tracy brother. They did their job, gladly and willingly risking their lives every day. But now that something had happened, something far beyond a cracked rib or a concussion, how could they go on, knowing it could happen again?
Reminders of him lay everywhere throughout the house. The biggest, most painful lay in the lounge. The gleaming piano sparkled in the sunlight, the lid still up from where its player had left it so suddenly three days ago. A painful emblem of the young man so tragically lost, it almost seemed to be waiting for that young man to return to it, to play beautiful music on it once more.
But he never would.
I can't remember how
I can't remember why
I'm lying here tonight
Jeff Tracy's outward appearance gave the expected impression of a patriarch who had raised five boys alone; tired.
That 'typical' patriarch now sat in his office alone, the lights off and the windows shuttered. Never mind that his remaining sons needed him. Never mind anything but his own pain, his own guilt. Never mind.
He had lost his child, just as he had lost his wife so many years ago. Lost, and lost forever. His son, the one who was, arguably, most like Lucy, was dead.
All because of him. Him and his stupid plans to try and save the world. Well, it couldn't be done. It had only lost him one of his children.
All because of him, his wonderful, bright son was dead.
Alone in the dark, Jeff sobbed.
And I can't stand the pain
And I can't make it go away
No, I can't stand the pain
Scott Tracy sat in his dead brother's room, staring unblinkingly at the unfinished painting that sat on the easel. And nor would it ever be finished.
It was a lovely painting, or it could've been, had it been finished. It was a portrait of the Tracy family, painted crisp, clean lines and lovely, happy colors. Only one part of the picture remained unpainted: the dead brother himself.
Figures, Scott scowled. His thoughts flashed through childhood memories that centered around his younger brother as he sat there. Inevitably, his inward time travels brought him to the time of his mother's premature death. It had seemed so wrong then, the death that had wreaked havoc on his family, and it seemed so wrong again, with his brother's demise. He skipped over it, however, unable to handle the pressure of that memory right now.
Scott Tracy, eldest Tracy brother, cool and collected field commander of International Rescue, exceptional pilot of the legendary Thunderbird 1, couldn't handle it.
He stared without blinking.
How could this happen to me
I've made my mistakes
Got no where to run
The night goes on as I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life,
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me
John Tracy, IR's official space monitor, sincerely wished he were back on Thunderbird 5. His nice, quiet space station, where he could be alone wth his grief. They didn't seem to need him down on Earth anyway. His father remained locked in his office, and his brothers wouldn't open up, no matter how much he tried to talk to them.
What they didn't realize was that he needed to talk too. John had lost a brother too.
John stared up at the stars in the nighttime sky, the tears pricking uncomfortably at his crystal blue eyes. He couldn't help but wonder where his brother was now. In some state of nonexistance? In heaven?
Did such a place even exist?
His brother had always believed that they already were in heaven, that Tracy Island was paradise. He had confessed that one lovely night to the other four as they sat around holding one of their brotherly discussions about anything and everything. He had said so with one of his glowing smiles and so much conviction in his voice that John hadn't been able to help but believe it also.
But even paradise could have its troubles.
"What now?" he murmured quietly to the sky. "Is it still paradise to you? Even after your death?"
But there was no answer, just as he had known there wouldn't be.
He didn't see the star that flared brightly to the north.
Everybody's screaming
I try to make a sound
but no one hears me
Gordon Tracy couldn't believe this was happening. And because he couldn't believe it, he refused to sit quietly with his grief and his memories. No, with true rage generally attributed to his hair color, he stormed and yelled and smashed his belongings with an aggressive anger none of them had known him to possess ever before.
He didn't cry as he threw the picture of Thunderbird 4 that his dead brother had painted for him and wore only an expression of hatred and anger mingled with grief as the delicate frame cracked in half.
His copper colored hair flopped as he threw himself onto his bare mattress (having ripped off the bedsheets a long time before), his anger dissapated for the moment. He panted as he stared at the ceiling, and then rolled over to face the photo taken of the family only a few months before. He stared at the smiling face of his brother, and suddenly his rage kicked in again full force.
"I hope you're happy!" he screamed. "Look what you've done! I hope you're happy with what you've done to this family!" His breath hitched in his throat as he suddenly began to sob. "Why would you leave us like this?" he moaned pitieously.
He leapt up and began to throw things once again. "We'll never forgive you for this, you know!" he roared. "You're dead, and you've taken all of us down with you! How could you?"
Gordon was angry, and he let the world know it as he raged far into the night.
It was only a mask for his grief.
I'm slipping off the edge
I'm hanging by a thread
I wanna start this over again
Alan Tracy's sprained wrist throbbed and the egg-sized bump on his head ached. It could've been worse, though.
He could've died, like his brother.
His blue eyes were red-rimmed and swollen, for unlike his brothers, he had cried freely after the death. It was his fault, after all.
Why had he survived, when his brother had not? It wasn't fair! His brother had had so much going for him, when Alan did not. The family could've gotten on without Alan.
It didn't matter who should've died, anymore. Dead was dead.
Or was it? Alan began imagining that maybe, just maybe, it had been a dream. Maybe it had just been a silly dream, and his brother wasn't dead after all!
Soon it was beyond imagining, and Alan had fully convinced himself that there hadn't been a death after all. He even began to hear the piano playing again, the lovely music echoing through the halls to the infirmary where Alan had to stay until they were sure there were no lasting effects of his concussion.
Yes, the piano musicreassured him. Everything was okay. There hadn't been a death.
So I try to hold onto a timewhen nothing mattered
And I can't explain what happened
And I can't erase the things that I've done
No I can't
Two days later, they stood by the empty hole in the ground, preparing to forever bury their brother. It was very much emotional for the four brothers, as they each knew that the dead man would never have wanted to be buried in the cold, dark ground to rot.
"Ashes to ashes, dust to dust," intoned the minister, just like in your typical tragic story. Except that this wasn't for the Tracys.
Scott wanted to throttle him.
John wanted to cry.
Gordon wanted to scream.
Alan wanted to die.
The crushing sadness they felt as their brother's coffin was lowered into the ground threatened to smother them all.
How could this happen to me
I've made my mistakes
Got no where to run
The night goes on as I'm fading away
I'm sick of this life,
I just wanna scream
How could this happen to me
Jeff stood back, a stoic expession on his handsome face. He was taking this very hard, but nobody could tell. That was the point. He was strong, and he would keep his hard mask on for a very long time. His sons were the only ones who could still tell, but what could they do? There was no way to help him.
Tintin, however, was crying freely, a flood of tears cascading down her smooth cheeks. She supported Alan on one side, while her father Kyrano stood on her other side. They felt much grief for the dead man, and much sympathy for the destroyed family. They felt it quite keenly, for they were very much a part of that family.
Brains and Fermat stood together near Jeff, looking very much forlorn in the rain that had started falling. They, too, felt the pain and anguish of this family, for they were also very much a part of it.
"Why did it have to be him?" Gordon muttered angrily, roughly wiping away a tear as the coffin was lowered into that empty hole. "It shouldn't have been him!"
"I wish it had been me," Alan answered softly, leaning further into Tintin.
"No, Alan, don't say that. We can't imagine losing you too!" John begged, already tired of this self-pitying behavior from Alan. "He's dead. Don't you dare leave us too."
"I won't," Alan said. "But I wish I had died instead! Gordon is right, it shouldn't have been him. We need him, so much."
"Yes, we do," John replied softly, wiping at his eyes, "but we all need each other. It would be ruined no matter who died. He didn't deserve it, but neither do you."
"Stop it, all of you," Scott said sharply. "We can't talk about death like this! He wouldn't have wanted us to. He would want us to move on."
"Will you move on, Scotty? Can you?" Gordon asked bitterly. "If you know how to, please, inform the rest of us!"
"Think of him, Gordy. Revel in the memories, but don't let it consume you. He's gone, and he wouldn't want us to wallow in the grief," Scott spoke wisely, and they all knew it. As one, they turned to look at the tombstone placed at the head of the grave before they went home to try and move on.
Virgil Grissom Tracy: A true hero.
From his heart came love,
From his art and his music came beauty.
From his eyes came wisdom,
From the stars finally came his rest.