Everything I Own

By Criminally Charmed

Disclaimer - Got a new book I have been waiting for. Sadly, this does not include any of the Thunderbirds or their lovely pilots. Sigh. And I do not own the song "Everything I Own" by Bread. Listen to the song while reading this story. WAHHHH!

Dedicated once more to Little Miss Bump, because chicken soup, while tasty, does not travel well from New England to Old England. Oh, and I have been trying to explain the whole "taxation without representation" "stamp act" "Townsend Acts" to my daughter..She feels better planning on mother England's part and would have been different out come. But then she is only 12.

Sitting at his desk in his home office on Tracy Island, Jeff Tracy raised his eyes from the report in front of him at a soft "beep". Turning slightly in his comfortable chair, Jeff reached over to turn on a monitor. "Hi Brains. How is life among the cosmos?"

The bespectacled scientist smiled slightly and adjusted his glasses. "We h-have only b-been here f-for th-th-th…a half hour. Can't m-make a c-call from th-that."

Chuckling, Jeff began to twirl a pen in his fingers. "Now, Brains. If I know you, there is a list in front of you of upgrades and installs you have been plotting since you came down after you and Fermat spent Christmas Break up on Five."

"Um, w-well, I um…yes."

Jeff tried not to laugh at the discomfited expression that flitted across his employee…no, his friend's face. "Brains, whatever makes you and Fermat happy, that is what counts. You two deserve a bit of fun together. And I know, a week surrounded by technology, tinkering to your heart's content…that's like telling Gordon he never has to leave the pool – or a joke shop."

The two men smiled and Jeff shook his head. "So, John said everything looked quiet. No storm fronts or anything."

Brains nodded. "Y-yes, Mr. Tr-Tracy. We'll c-call you if it ch-changes. B-but it looks l-like you sh-should be able to enjoy s-some p-peace and q-quiet."

"GORDON COOPER TRACY!"

Sighing, the Tracy father rose from behind his desk. He wasn't sure if that had been Virgil or Scott, but if he wanted Gordon to live until John and Alan came back from their vacation together, he had better intervene. "Later, Brains."

Jeff was helped in saving his fourth son from his usually mild-tempered third son, thanks to a quick rescue. Once back, Jeff found tasks for his supposedly adult offspring, and then he decided to take advantage of current circumstances. With Gordon doing inventory in every single storage unit in the villa and the hangers, Virgil trying to re-do the painting he had been working on, Scott tinkering with either Tracy One or Thunderbird One – Jeff wasn't sure – and with John and Alan about to meet up in Los Angeles to spend some time together, Jeff decided to have an early night and get some sleep. But first…

Heading to his room, Jeff sat at the small desk in the lounge area and turned on the vid-phone. Entering John's number, he smiled at the sight of his second son's face filling the screen. Wearing sunglasses against the late afternoon sunshine, the bright blue eyes that the two absent Tracy sons had inherited from their late mother were hidden but her winsome grin shone through.

"Hey, Dad. Everything OK?"

Nodding, Jeff smiled. "It should be. As long as I can keep Gordon alive until you get back."

John chuckled. "I don't wanna ask."

"I'm sorry we missed Thunderbird Three's return. You took off in Tracy Two fast enough. Are you at LAX?"

"Nope," John responded. "The friend of mine that arranged for us to join the researchers in the Mojave for the meteor shower admitted to me that his now ex-assistant – who was trying to get some media attention for another study – told some news hound that Alan and I were meeting up at an airport here in LA, so I am having Penny bring Al to Sunnyvale Airport. It's smaller than LAX and mainly used for commuter flights and small jets. And…hey, my watch is flashing. Alan is sending a signal that FAB-1 is ready to land." Looking around, he nodded. "Yep. OK, I let them know all is clear. Listen Dad, I'll call you once Alan and I get to the camp site."

"You did get the trailer, right? Alan is recovering from a bad cold and…"

"Dad, Alan's cold was a month ago. But yes, I did make sure. It's just a small travel trailer, but Alan will be warm at night, OK? He'll be fine, Papa Bear."

Jeff shook his head. "OK, I may be a tad overprotective. But," he continued, ignoring the eye-roll he knew that was hidden by John's sunglasses, "I am just looking out for you. Or do you want to face Scott's wrath if Alan were to get sick again while under your care?"

The father chuckled when John muttered, "Good point" before he turned from the vid-phone. "Hey, they are landing right now. I gotta go. We'll see you in a few days, Dad, and I will call back when we get to the campsite, OK?"

Moving over to the bed, Jeff kicked off his shoes and lay back, sighing as the peaceful sounds of the tropical isle rolled over him like the waves to the sandy beaches. No rescues, no reports and all his sons were healthy and happy…

How lucky could one man get?

A soft knock on the door woke Jeff from his slumber. Groaning, he briefly considered burying his head under the pillow but before he could give into the childish impulse, the door opened and Virgil stuck his head in.

"Dad? You awake?"

Sighing, Jeff looked up. "I am now Virgil. No one has strangled Gordon, have they?" When Virgil chewed his lip and didn't answer, Jeff woke faster than after a pot of coffee. "Virgil? What is it?"

Jeff quickly climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of jeans. Even as he reached for a polo shirt, he felt sick at the frightened look on his middle son's face.

Swallowing hard, Virgil finally spoke up. "Dad, there is an officer from the California Highway Patrol on the vid-phone in your office. He…He says he needs to talk to you."

A cold pit had settled in Jeff's heart and he hastily buttoned his shirt, not bothering with shoes as he ran down the hall. Please, Lucy…Please let our boys be alright.

Scott Tracy's face was awash with frustration and Gordon Tracy's showed his anxiety but both were trying to pin down the fear that they were feeling since Kyrano had paged them all about the call. No matter how much Gordon whined or Scott demanded, the stalwart member of the California Highway Patrol would only state he needed to talk with Jefferson Tracy. It was with some relief that Jeff flew into the room, Virgil hot on his heels.

"This is Jeff Tracy," the worried father spoke firmly. "May I ask what is going on?"

Living in Southern California, Officer Jesse Landman of the California Highway Patrol was used to meeting celebrities. But this was Jeff Tracy, who went beyond celebrity – the man was a living legend. It took all of his training to remember to be professional. And the bad news he had to deliver helped to calm him considerably.

"Mr. Tracy, I am Officer Landman, CHP. I regret to tell you that your sons, John and Alan Tracy, were involved in a motor vehicle accident a short time ago."

Swallowing down his terror, Jeff asked calmly, "Are they injured?" Are they dead? Oh, please, God, don't let them be dead.

"I am not sure of their exact state sir. But I can tell you they were both transported to Desert Oasis Hospital once they were pulled from the wreck." All the Tracys paled at the image that was invoked by the man's words. "I am transmitting directions to the hospital and the name of the patient liaison representative on duty. Helen will be able to help you get in touch with the doctor or doctors treating your sons."

Jeff turned to his sons. "Scott, get Tracy One ready to take off in five minutes. Virgil, alert Brains that we'll be unavailable for the foreseeable future. Gordon, get the emergency overnight bags from the hall closet and load them on the jet." As each of the boys went to handle their assigned tasks, Jeff closed his eyes and looked back at the officer. "How bad was it?'

Landman sighed. "Mr. Tracy, John was driving and not on the side of the main impact. He was briefly conscious if not coherent when he was pulled from the car. But Alan…it took almost an hour to extract him from the wreckage. The drunk driver t-boned the car on the passenger side. He was alive when they transported him to the hospital but I recommend you hurry."

Resisting the urge to vomit on the spot, Jeff nodded tightly and after making sure the hospital info was available on his portable phone, headed towards the door. He was so distracted, he almost ran over Onaha.

"Oh, Mr. Tracy. I thought you had gone to bed already."

"Onaha," Jeff paled at the sight of his housekeeper – who was also the mother of Alan's girlfriend. He hadn't even thought of Tin-Tin.

Concerned at his disposition, Onaha asked, "Is everything alright?"

Gulping slightly, Jeff took hold of one of Onaha's hands. "There's been a car accident. The boys and I are heading to California. We'll call as soon as we know anything." With that Jeff took his leave, feeling Onaha's frightened gaze on his retreating form, knowing that she knew him well enough that what he hadn't said was far more important than what he had.

Halfway to California, Jeff finally reached Helen Medor, the Patient Liaison for the hospital. He had left the flying to Scott and Gordon, wanting Virgil in back with him in case he could reach any medical personnel. When the woman – who, it turned out, was also a medical assistant – came on the line, Jeff's stress had worn down on his deeply ingrained manners.

"Ms. Medor, I have been trying to get information on the conditions of my sons for almost an hour. We are approaching the California coastline. Please – how are my boys?"

Luckily for Jeff, Helen was well-used to anxious family members. "Well, Mr. Tracy, John is being moved up to a room as we speak. Dr. Chris Desoto, a hospitalist, has been his primary. Per Dr. Desoto, John has a minor concussion, needed a total of seven stitches and is rather badly bruised. But all in all, he was a very lucky young man."

"And Alan?" Virgil questioned from his position next to Jeff.

Taking a deep breath, Helen began to punch in a few codes into her keyboard. "Dr. Joanne Roy is the surgeon who has been supervising Alan's case. It took a while, but they now have him stable enough to head to the OR. We were hoping that John would be sufficiently coherent to sign the authorization for surgery since Alan is a minor, but since he hasn't been, I am sending you an electronic authorization so that they may begin surgery immediately."

Although the words were never said, father and son knew what they meant. Alan's condition was bad. And as much as they wanted to know, they just as desperately didn't want answers. "Ms. Medor, what is the nearest airport to your facility? We are going to by-pass LAX."

Helen nodded, and told Jeff, "I have gotten the OK for you to use strip two behind our facility. It is usually used for medi-vac flights."

Even as Jeff signed the form and Virgil went up to the cockpit to alert Scott as to the change in the flight plan, they both felt terror in their heart. For the hospital to allow them to land there, Alan's condition had to be critical. Please, God…You have the love of my life. Don't take the last gift she gave me away. Please, Lucy…watch over our baby. Call me selfish, but I am not ready to give Alan back to you yet.

Entering the hospital, Jeff was grateful that the media had yet to discover that two Tracy sons had been admitted to the facility. This was all stressful enough. If they had been forced to deal with the fourth estate as well…

"Mr. Tracy? It's nice to meet you in person." Helen Medor walked up to the Tracys and looked them over. She had been dreading this meeting…"Now, John is in room 511. He was sedated…"

"Is that wise?" Virgil interrupted. "After all, he had a head injury."

Discomforted, the MA nodded. "Yes, he does. But he was also aware that Alan had been injured and no one could tell him his brother's condition. John became…distraught."

Virgil nodded. It would have been important to keep John still and quiet as well.

A beeping nose came from a small pager in Helen's smock coat pocket. Pulling it out, she nodded. "Well, Mr. Tracy, Alan's surgeon needs a word with you. Perhaps your sons could wait with John…"

"I'm staying with our father," Scott stated firmly. When his brothers turned to look at their father, Jeff nodded.

"Fine, Scott, you are with me. Virgil, Gordon, go to John. We don't want him waking up in his room alone. Look out for your brother while we check on Alan. Hopefully, we can get them together soon."

Helen looked uncomfortable but she quickly pulled her emotions behind a poker face.

After Jeff watched Gordon and Virgil follow directions to John's room – elevator to the fifth floor and take two right turns, last room in the corridor – Jeff and Scott trailed after the patient liaison as she led the way to the office where the surgeon wanted to meet. Sitting down in reasonably comfortable chairs, the Tracys refused any "refreshments". Their anxiety and frustration had begun to leak through and they knew something was really wrong. Just how badly hurt was Alan.

A woman, somewhere in her early forties, walked into the room. Barely five feet tall, she was slightly chubby with glasses and reddish brown hair. More resembling a school teacher, her scrubs identified her as medical personnel. The jacket with the ID badge she tossed aside to sit behind the desk confirmed that this was Dr. Roy, the surgeon who was working on Alan.

"Mr. Tracy and…is this another Mr. Tracy?" She asked as she removed her glasses to wipe them off.

Scott stood briefly. "Scott Tracy, ma'am. Not to beat around the bush, but how is Alan? Shouldn't he still be in surgery? Or are you just supervising?"

Joanne smiled sadly. "No, I am chief of Emergency Medicine here and I can assure you that the Air Force thought I was a damn good trauma surgeon." Sighing, she moved around to the front of her desk, pulling off her cap and allowing the auburn curls to fall forward. "Alan was very badly injured. The primary impact occurred just to the front of where he was sitting. To make matters worse, the car behind your sons' vehicle hit them from te rear. At that angle, Alan was pushed into the wreckage as well as being hit by the initial impact. He had five broken ribs, cracks along most of his spine, a broken right collarbone, a subdural hematoma, a collapsed lung, one kidney was lost and his spleen was shredded. In addition, his right arm and leg suffered multiple compound fractures."

Furious, Scott stood even as Jeff remained seated. He was sure what the doctor was trying to say and he kept praying he was wrong. "So why the hell are you in here? If you're such a good doctor, go fix my baby brother."

Sighing, Joanne placed a comforting touch on Scott's arm. "When Alan received most of his other injuries, he also fractured his sternum. This in turn, caused pressure to the heart and was one of the reasons it was so hard to stabilize him. It was also what caused him to code shortly after we brought him into the OR."

"So you got him stable again, right? And he will have the surgery?" Scott demanded.

Dr. Roy's eyes dropped to the floor. Jeff knew what was coming. "No, Scott. They didn't, did you, Dr. Roy?"

"Mr. Tracy, I am so sorry for your loss. Let me…"

"NO!" Scott screamed. "This is Allie. This is our baby. He is alright, he just has to be."

Standing up, Jeff drew his firstborn into his arms. "Scooter, please. I need your strength right now. I need my wingman." Looking over at the surgeon, he nodded, "Please, may I see my son. Just… one... last... time?"

Opening the door, Dr. Roy motioned for the Tracys to follow her. Heading into the OR, she moved past the room where she had lost the fight for Alan Tracy's life. "I gave instructions to have him put in this recovery room. I didn't want you to have to see him in the…in the basement."

Jeff had flinched at the unspoken word of "morgue". He had never wanted to associate that word with one of his sons. Moving towards the gurney, Jeff pulled back the sheet from his son's face. Someone had cleaned off his features, but the bruising was still there. As Jeff began to raise the sheet down further, Joanne's hand reached out stilling the act. "No, Mr. Tracy. You don't want to see any additional injuries. Trust me."

Pulling over a chair, Jeff sat by his sickingly still son – his baby boy. "I thought I was going to lose you before, Alan. A year ago today, I should have lost you. But you kept fighting. You lived, Sprout. I like to think it was because I was there. Would it have helped you fight if I had been there? Well, Dr. Roy – would it have?"

Confused as to what happened a year ago, Dr. Roy merely answered what she could. "Mr. Tracy, the skull fracture caused Alan to lose consciousness during the crash. He never regained it and if it helps at all, he was never in any pain. As I said, there was also damage to his spinal column."

Brushing back a stray lock of blonde hair from his son's face, tears slipped over his own as Jeff cupped Alan's beloved face in his hands. "I am relieved Alan was in no pain, doctor but…Oh, god. No parent should have to bury their child. Not their baby. The rescue workers at the avalanche that killed my Lucy told me that Alan's survival that day was nothing short of a miracle. I guess…maybe we had used up our quotient of miracles." Jeff stood, his legs shaky as he struggled to his feet. "I have to tell the boys, but…I don't want to leave Alan alone."

Joann interrupted. "Actually, we have to have the coroner review to confirm COD and then prepare him for transport. I'll send Helen for you in your son John's room. It should only be a few hours at most." Signally to an orderly, the gangly man stepped forward and pushed the gurney out of the room. Turning back to the Tracys, she once more expressed her sympathy. "Again, Mr. Tracy, Scott…I am sorrier than words can say."

Jeff shuffled out of the room, a broken man who had seemed to age ten years or more in ten minutes or less. He doubted he could have made it back to the hallway with the elevator without Scott's arm supporting him. As they waited for the car to open, Jeff could vaguely hear a tune playing through the muzak system. I know this song, he thought. I called it Lucy's sob song because she always cried when she heard it. Said it was all about how we lose the chance to tell people how much we love them and then they are gone. Stepping into the elevator, Jeff leaned against the wall, barely seeing as Scott punched in the button and glared another person into taking a different car. The Tracy father didn't see Scott's concerned glance as the doors shut and Jeff began to softly sing to the old ballad.

Is there someone you know
You're loving them so
But taking them all for granted?
You may lose them one day
Someone takes them away
And they don't hear
The words you long to say

I would give anything I own
Give up my life, my heart, my home
I would give ev'rything I own
Just to have you back again

Just to touch you…once again.

"Do you think he knew how much I loved him, how proud I was of him? Scooter, he knew, didn't he? Allie knew, right?"

Scott hadn't thought his heart could break any further, but the shattering devastation on his father's face and in his voice was more than he could take. Pulling Jeff into his arms, he gave the comfort he was longing for himself. "He knew dad, Alan knew" Oh, please, God…make sure that Alan knew.

_______________________________________________________________

Standing outside of the door, Jeff and Scott heard the soft mummers from within the room. Hearing that one was John's voice, was a burden off the older Tracys. At least that son was alright. Jeff put a shaking hand on the door and began to open it. The three faces that turned to him with hope tore at him, knowing what he had to tell them.

Jeff stumbled into a chair, one that he was afraid he wouldn't have made it into if Scott hadn't still been holding onto his arm.

"Dad?" Gordon whispered, terrified at the sight of their always in control parent so shattered.

"Alan…Alan, um, he, didn't make it. The injuries were too severe." Jeff's shaky voice was barely audible.

"No!" Virgil burst out. "Dad, they made a mistake. They mixed him up with another patient. You hear about stuff like this. We have to go and…"

"Virg." Scott's voice was soft but firm, speaking words Jeff couldn't manage. "We identified him. It was Alan. He never even made it through the surgery. They didn't even really get a chance to start when he crashed. They tried to bring him back, but his injuries were too severe. He's gone…my little boy…" Scott, their always strong, always in control big brother seemed to crumple like a wet piece of paper. Virgil barely caught him before he hit the floor. "Allie, oh, God no, not Allie…"

"It's all my fault." John's words drew Jeff's attention from the Scott. Even the devastated oldest son looked at the only surviving blonde son. "I brought him out there. I was driving. It's…"

"The only one at fault," Jeff said as firmly as he could manage after having just identified the still – a word he had never associated with Alan – body of his youngest son, "is the monster who thought it was a good idea to get drunk out of his gourd and then get behind a wheel of a car. It's his fault. It is his and only his fault that…" Jeff crumpled back into the chair. "My baby boy. He…I had the best surprise for his birthday. I found an old T-Bird. 1959 convertible. Would need tons of work. But if we worked on it whenever he came home, it would be ready by the time he went to college. He…My baby…"

Jeff's surviving sons, even John, tearing out his IV, made it over to their devastated father. Getting down on their knees, they all leaned into him and wept, the loss of the baby of the family shattering them all. Desperately clinging to his surviving children, he whispered passionately, "Please god, make this all be a nightmare. We deserve another chance…"

A soft knock on the door of his bedroom woke Jeff from his troubled sleep. The door cracked open and Virgil stuck his head in. "Dad, some cop from the California Highway Patrol, says there was an accident. He gave contact information for you to call back." Pulling on his shirt and ignoring his jeans and shoes, Jeff sat down at the desk, frantically calling Alan's I-Phone. He had to hear his baby's voice. It tore out Jeff's heart when the phone was picked up by a uniformed CHP officer.

"This is Officer Landman, can I help you?"

"I'm Jeff Tracy. My…my sons. This is my teenage son's phone. Is he…" Jeff couldn't continue.

"Sorry, Mr. Tracy. John and Alan were helping us with accident reconstruction. Hey, Alan…It's your dad."

Alan snatched up the phone, smiling at his father. "Hey, Dad. I know we aren't at the campsite yet, but the Chippendales here say we can scoot soon."

"That's the CHP's or CHiPs, Sprout. No exotic dancers." John leaned over Alan's shoulder. "We're fine, Dad. A near miss may as well be a mile. We turned just seconds before we would have been committed to an intersection. So we were just feet away when two cars collided. The drunk driver has no injuries but he will be facing criminal charged and the occupant of the other car was just minor injuries. He should be OK."

Alan shook his head as he looked over to the accident scene. "Yeah, but if John hadn't turned at the last sec, I would be an achy breaky baby bird. The passenger side of that car was totalled– which would have been our car if not for Super Star Tracy." Fluttering his eyelashes, Alan cooed. "Oh, John Glenn Tracy, you are my dashing hero. Thank you…" Grinning, Alan ducked a smack and ran off to check the work of the paramedics loading the victim from the first car.

"Dad…you aren't gonna believe this. But…" John froze and changed the subject. "Dad, do you believe God is watching out for us, that he gives us signs and if we can understand what we are to do, we can, well, save the day?"

Jeff smiled. "I lost your mother in that avalanche. I should have lost Alan. I could have lost you and Scott. I believe that God has a plan and that he lets us know what we should be doing. Sometimes we don't listen and sometimes we don't want to hear his answer. Maybe this time, we should just say "Thanks". Well?"

"I did," John said softly. "And I could have sworn he said "You're welcome." Looking back up, he asked, "Am I insane Dad?"

"Look at Alan," Jeff asked, "and ask yourself: Did we deserve such a miracle? I hope we can all say yes."

Signing off, Jeff leaned back. Placing his hands over his face, he sighed. Thank you God. Thank you Lucy. Thank you both for my baby.

As he leaned back in the chair, once more sighing in comfort, in knowing his sons – both there and miles away – were safe. As the tropical mist blew tough the door, Jeff stumbled back into his bed. Picking up a picture of Alan and John taken this past summer, Jeff traced the features of Alan's face. As he drifted off to sleep, he thought to himself, "Thank you."

And in that place between sleep and awake, he could have sworn he heard "Your welcome."

SO...who was speaking to Jeff - God or Lucy? It doesn't matter. Jeff was just reminded once more how precious his baby boy is to the entire family. I do not plan on making a series of this but...I did want Jeff's input. I was really surprised so few people guessed the first one was a dream. Too much single person POV. Same thing here and I don't write like that.

Chapter one of new story will be up by Monday. So enjoy your weekend. Hubby and I have hockey tickets for Saturday. Or, as he calls it - Saturday Night at the Fights. So review...I will be back. Laters! - CC