A/N: Yes, this is the final story. I had some trouble writing some parts of it, trying not to sound too sappy or anything (I probably failed, but it is the last one...). I'm sure I won't be able to stay completely away from writing FI fanfic, so I'm likely to post now and then in the future with new tales revolving around reminiscences. Some will be reworkings of episodes (at least till I run out of episodes) and others will be original stories set during Leslie's teen years, which would be concurrent with the TV series' run and fill in dates that no first-run episodes were aired. So yes, there is more FI in the future...it just may take a while, with a couple of other writing projects I have going on. So here we go...
§ § § - December 31, 2009
Roarke's very last annual New Year's Eve bash was well under way, and it seemed as if the whole island had managed to attend. Christian had said that the crowd reminded him of the attendance at his and Leslie's wedding reception. Despite the festive mood, there was a subtle pall hanging over the whole thing, at least in the case of anyone who was a resident of the island. Christian and Leslie, their children, their friends, the children of their friends, the kitchen staff at the main house, and Rogan, Julie, Rory and Lucan were sitting at a row of tables, pushed together to make one large one, on a raised dais, with Roarke in a chair right in the middle. For after all, despite that no one had said anything, it was a farewell to Roarke just as much as to the old year.
Christian had wandered off somewhere with his friends, and the men were talking and laughing, which startled Leslie a bit every time she heard the bursts of amusement roll up from their cluster. The younger children were playing impromptu yard games such as tag with one another; the older ones were sitting at the tables talking quietly. Leslie and her friends sat in their own cluster, sometimes talking, often just watching people in the ever-shifting conglomeration on the greensward.
Finally Camille said it, in her characteristic blunt way. "So Mr. Roarke's got two weeks left, and then he goes off to his new job, huh?"
Leslie stared at her in sheer surprise; nobody had ever put it quite that way, not even Roarke himself, and the idea made her ponder the coming changes in a whole new light. As Lauren said something in response to Camille's observation, Leslie turned inward, thinking it over. Now that she went back over the conversation Roarke had had with her, Christian and Rogan following their meeting with the tribunal months before, she remembered how Roarke had told them that he still had another fifty years left in his lifespan, roughly speaking, and how he certainly wasn't dying—just being forcibly removed to another plane and another occupation. She pushed her empty piña-colada glass back and forth across the table in front of her, considering the fact that despite the change in stewardship, the whole thing was really not as dead-end final as it had felt all this time. The island would still be here; the resort would still be operating, and fantasies would still be granted. She dared think ahead, for the first time, to the days and weeks following Roarke's ascension to the tribunal, and considered that there would be a good seven months left before she, Christian and the children would have to make their permanent move to Lilla Jordsö. That'll tell me once and for all, she realized. The way I see everything after Father leaves and before we move will give me some idea of how well I'll take the relocation, won't it? If this place is too full of reminders of Father for me to stand, I may just end up looking forward to the move after all. I bet Christian would be glad to hear that. She smiled a little, considering the thought. In some odd way, she realized she was looking forward to seeing what the future would hold.
But that didn't mean the goodbyes would be any less painful, and she dreaded them. Roarke had done quite a bit of emotional preparation, especially with the triplets, explaining to them that if they—or more likely their mother—ever had a true and compelling need to confer directly with him, all that needed to be done was to contact the tribunal and he would come with them to try to help. The children interpreted this as Roarke's going away to some remote island somewhere else where he would acquire the power and the knowledge that would allow him to transform into a cloud and float around wherever he liked; it was funny enough that it had provided some lighthearted moments for the adults. Another packet of laughing male voices penetrated the endless chatter of human conversations, and it made Leslie wonder if Christian had told his friends that little story.
Just then she felt a sharp pinch on her arm and yanked aside, knocking over the empty glass. "Ow!" she spouted, spearing Myeko, who sat beside her, with a glare. "What was that for, anyway?"
"To get you back from Never-Never-Land," Myeko said, grinning at her without remorse. "So I hear your committee's all set up and just rarin' to go."
"They're already going," Michiko put in. "We had our first meeting last week, and it looks like we're going to do fine."
"After we sat around figuring out what kind of stuff needed doing and who'd be in charge of what, that is," Camille added with a shrug. It had taken them most of November, even with Roarke's help, to decide what sort of positions the committee should have and who was best suited to fill each one; Camille, who held a degree in accounting, was now the island treasurer and had two assistants to help her, while Michiko—with help from Myeko, whose position at the island newspaper had been reduced to two days a week—was in charge of publicity for the resort as well as collection and distribution of the charter-plane passes, hiring and firing of resort employees, and acquisition of such things as supplies for the bungalows and all the beverages, both alcoholic and not, for the bars and restaurants around the resort. Grady was on the committee as chief of lawmaking and enforcement, with two assistants helping him as well; and there were three more people in charge of seeing that the utilities and civil services were properly managed. All eleven of these people were to send Leslie monthly reports, since she was about to become owner of the entire huge machine; Grady, aware that she had little idea how to wade through it all and have it make sense, had volunteered to collect the reports for her and then translate them into something that made sense before forwarding them on to her, which he would do via e-mail once the Enstads had moved back to Lilla Jordsö. Till then he would do it in person with Christian present, and Leslie had hopes that by then she would have learned how to make head or tail of it all, even in simplified form.
"Someone forgot to tell me," Myeko complained now. "I'm on the damn thing, and you went ahead and had a meeting without me?"
"It was just a preliminary meeting to finalize the assignment of duties and to clarify who does what, and what odds and ends fall under whose aegis," Leslie said, "so you didn't really miss anything. You and Michiko have the easiest part of this job anyway. You just have to keep the resort brochures updated, and make sure the bars and restaurants have stuff for people to drink, and see that all the bungalows have whatever they need—toiletries, linens, fresh flowers, that kind of thing—every week. You also get to decide who works at the resort, and the really tedious job—keeping track of all the charter-plane passes."
Myeko stared at her while the other girls looked at one another, grinning. "What the heck's involved in that?"
"Not that much," drawled Leslie, amused. "Collecting them at the end of each day, making sure there are passes for the gate at the airport in Honolulu and for the ferry terminal, keeping a supply of them for Rogan to send to new guests, having new ones made when old ones wear out. And being sure that the student passes for high-schoolers on Coral Island aren't being used by anybody who isn't actually attending Fantasy Island High."
"Piece of cake," Lauren said, and they giggled when Myeko rolled her eyes.
"Stop complaining," Michiko told her. "You're only my assistant anyway. Maybe just for that, I'll put you in full and sole charge of the passes, and nothing else."
"You do and I'll quit," Myeko said, but she was grinning too. "Okay, all right." She let her gaze stray out over the crowded greensward. "That reminds me of this ancient song lyric from the sixties...'look at all the happy people dancing on the lawn'. What's the bet half of them have no clue why this New Year's party is so huge?"
"It's all the famous people who come here for this bash every year. And incidentally, Grady would tell you that the phrase in question is 'happy creatures', not 'happy people'," said Maureen.
"Grady would tell me?" Myeko said, and they all laughed. "Hey, Leslie's laughing. That has to mean something good. So now that we're back around to you, what were you sitting there daydreaming about a few minutes ago?"
"Something Camille said," Leslie replied. "You phrased it as Father going off to a new job. It was probably completely arbitrary on your part, but nobody else ever thought to put it that way—and it makes perfect sense. Plus, it sure sounds better." Camille laughed.
"What's this 'tribunal' business supposed to be all about, anyway?" Lauren asked. "Is it some kind of extraterrestrial law-enforcement group, or what?"
"Maybe something sort of like that, but nothing to concern us," Leslie said. "It has more to do with the clans Father's part of. It's a long story, but the way we heard it, they're missing a member and they've selected Father to fill the position, whether he wants to or not. They showed up for our discussion last spring in the form of a bunch of clouds. I guess they could probably take on human forms if they wanted to, but one of them complained he has to rest for days after, so they take the path of least resistance. I don't know...they just all seem to think that Father's time has come, and since they have a vacant spot, they find it convenient to insist that he come with them now."
"I have no idea what all that means," said Tabitha with a shake or two of the head, "but I won't argue with it."
"Believe me, I don't get it either," Leslie assured her.
"You move away to Christian's homeland then?" Katsumi asked.
"Not till August," Leslie told her, and she nodded. "And we're going to bring the kids back here every summer, so for at least part of the year, it'll be like we're home again." She took in her friends' faces. "If you don't have Skype yet, I'd suggest getting it. Christian said he'll see to it that whatever computer he gets for our personal use in Lilla Jordsö will have it, so we'll be able to have video chats on our computers every so often."
"We could do a video conference too," Maureen said thoughtfully. "I mean, if some of us find out we can't Skype, for whatever reasons, we can always arrange in advance that we all gather at the home of somebody who does have Skype, and then you can talk to all of us at the same time. That could be something like a once-a-month thing."
The other girls nodded, and for a while their talk drifted on to things like how the kids were doing in school and what kind of plans they had for the coming weekend before school went back into session the following Monday, January 4. Eventually, though, as the midnight hour approached, the younger children began sidling up to their mothers, yawning and trying to crawl into laps. Leslie glanced at Anastasia, sound asleep in her baby carrier on the tabletop, and wondered how her eight-month-old daughter could possibly sleep through all the noise. She herself was beginning to feel slightly overwhelmed, and had a thought that she might want to seek out Christian and suggest they return home with the children immediately after ringing in the new year.
Karina was the first of the triplets to search out Leslie, who hoisted her daughter into her lap and checked her watch, sighing when she saw there was still almost half an hour to go. "Is it the new year yet?" Karina wanted to know.
"No, we still have time. What happened to Tobias and Susanna?" she asked. Karina only shrugged, and Leslie smiled wryly, not really surprised. "How about Tia?"
"She went to find her mommy too. I just want to go to bed. It's all noisy here and there's too many people."
Leslie smiled again and gently squeezed her. "Tell you what, honey, go find Daddy for me and tell him that both you and I want to go home as soon as the new year is here, okay?" Karina nodded, slid off her lap and edged down the table to bother Christian.
"Tired, is she?" Myeko said with a grin. "She strikes me as more delicate than Susanna and definitely more than Tobias." At Leslie's nod of agreement, her expression got curious. "You think she'll make a decent princess, once she and the other kids start those classes in how to behave like a good royal? And are you gonna have to take them too?"
Leslie giggled. "Me taking Royal Comportment classes? Christian's teased me about it a few times, but I don't think it'll actually happen. He says most of the time things aren't as formal as they were even when he was growing up. He did say that if we do find ourselves at one of these ultra-formal functions, though, he'll give me a crash course in whatever key points he thinks I should know. As for Karina..." She glanced after her daughter, who had vanished from sight. "Sounds like what you're asking is if she's like the heroine in that old fairy tale 'The Princess and the Pea'."
"Well, not exactly," said Myeko and laughed. "I think I kind of meant, more sensitive, more of a refined little thing. Tobias is a boy and boys roughhouse as a matter of course, but Susanna seems more like your typical all-American kid, which she isn't."
"It's the environment she's been raised in," said Leslie with a shrug. "Plus, I think she's more extroverted than Karina is. I guess we won't know till we get them over there next fall and see how they adjust. I just hope they'll be all right. We scheduled a family portrait for next week—Christian and me, and all the kids, with Father. It'll be a kind of keepsake to help the triplets remember him, and for Anastasia to refer to when she's older."
"That's a great idea," said Myeko. She seemed to notice something and grinned with some resignation. "Here comes Dawn. I'm surprised she lasted this long. Probably sheer refusal to admit defeat." She and Leslie laughed; Dawn had always hated bedtime.
Just as Dawn came to lean against Myeko, Karina returned, offered the older girl a shy smile, and climbed into Leslie's lap again. "Daddy said okay, 'cause he's tired too."
"I'm not tired," boasted Dawn, now eight and a third-grader. "I'm gonna stay up all night. You get to when it's New Year's Eve."
"No you don't," Myeko contradicted her calmly. "Not even the grownups get to do that, unless they really want to—and no, we don't." She had seen Dawn's expression light up at the thought that her parents might be all-night partiers. "We're too old now."
"I'll never be too old," Dawn said confidently. "When I'm older, I'm gonna stay up all night long, every single night, if I want to. And nobody's gonna stop me."
"Except Mother Nature," commented Leslie, at which Myeko laughed. Her grin was washed away by a yawn. "At this rate, midnight can't get here soon enough."
Myeko peered farther down the dais. "Mr. Roarke's been getting a string of people coming up to him all night long, I've noticed."
"People taking the chance to wish him farewell and say whatever they want to say," said Leslie. "I think right now it's mostly the resort employees and other islanders who don't get to see him very often otherwise. I'm sure he's had a long night too."
Myeko nodded solemnly. "Especially since he's so weak now." For most of December, Roarke had spent the majority of his time seated, either at his desk or in a wheelchair. Leslie had been devoting the better part of her work time to chauffeuring him around and helping him get from one seat to another; if Christian was there he would help. When she had asked Roarke how he meant to get upstairs to his bedroom every night, he had eyed her in silence till she realized exactly how silly that really was, and she still had to smile at herself whenever she remembered that conversation. Roarke still kept his teleporting and telekinetic abilities something of an open secret, refusing to use them in front of his employees, which necessitated Leslie's driving him around.
The crucial hour was approaching, Leslie realized, for her friends' husbands and the older children were beginning to gravitate toward them now. She nudged Karina to her feet, gathered up the baby carrier with Anastasia, and sought out Christian, who after a moment waved to her from beside Roarke. She joined him with the two girls; Tobias had appeared from somewhere and was now perched on Roarke's lap, but Susanna was still absent. "You might have to teleport her here," Leslie kidded low to her father.
Roarke chuckled. "She'll appear soon," he promised. "I must admit, I look forward to returning home for the night. Tomorrow will be very busy." Leslie nodded, understanding what he meant; when word got out that Roarke was "retiring", a great many former guests who'd had their fantasies granted, and their lives enriched, by Roarke, from as far back as during Leslie's first weeks on the island as a young teen, had decided to make a special trip to the island to give him a last thanks for what he had done for them. Both she and Christian would be there with him, along with the children, since Christian's business was closed for the holiday. Leslie had been fielding letters and keeping a list since early November; by now there were a few dozen names on it, and she looked forward to the day.
"The countdown's beginning," Christian noted, and they paused, listening, joining in at the thirty-second mark. At twenty-four seconds, Susanna emerged finally and hovered beside them; she and Karina and Tobias began counting down at the ten-second mark, and their shouts of "Happy New Year!" roused Anastasia, who began to cry.
"Can we go home and go to bed now?" pleaded Karina in a whine.
Christian and Leslie looked at each other and grinned ruefully. "We may as well," said Christian. "There may be those here who have the stamina to keep celebrating till dawn breaks, but I'm not one of them. Can we help you at all, Mr. Roarke?"
Roarke smiled and beckoned at them, murmured to Leslie who grinned and nodded, and gently nudged Tobias off his lap while Leslie and Christian stood in such a way as to block off anyone else's view of Roarke. Then, with Christian holding onto Susanna and Tobias to keep them from grabbing at their grandfather again, Roarke gave them a last smile and a goodnight, and vanished—wheelchair and all.
"Cool!" blurted Tobias, huge-eyed. "I want Grandfather to teach me how to do that!"
"No way," Leslie shot back, eliciting a laugh from her husband. "We have a long day tomorrow; it's time to go home now."