Disclaimer: The Thunderbird Universe and all the characters I use in the story were created by Gerry Anderson and are now owned by Granada. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and no money is made with this fanfic.

Thank you, Pen, for your eternal help and suggestions :)

So what's the deal with this? Since I had several ideas for small stories, I thought it would be nice to link them together with common themes instead of posting them on their own. 'Symphony for Growing Hearts' is not a chaptered story, but simply a series of one-shots (some of them longer, some shorter, maybe even some drabbles) that may or may not be connected to each other.

There's a connection between the first five, though, as you can see in the heading. I followed Pen's suggestion and used the five stages of grief as a theme, which are as follows:

Denial and Isolation - Anger - Bargaining - Depression - Acceptance.

I wonder, will you be able to identify them?

Other than that, I don't think much needs to be said, so go on and enjoy reading!

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Symphony for Growing Hearts
by kaeera

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FIRST MOVEMENT: GRIEF

+Graveyard+

"I hate you," he told the tombstone with a stubborn look on his face.

"I hate you, even though I don't really know you. I hate you because you're not here. You're not here and that's why I don't know you." His lip trembled. "I hate you because you make the others sad. I hate you because Dad looks so tired whenever this day comes around."

Alan clenched his small hands into fists. "I hate you because you left like that. Because you're never there on parent's night. Because I have to be here, and act as if I know you, even though I don't. Not much. Just that it's empty. In my heart. Because you're not there."

His voice trailed off in the wind. The others were long gone, leaving him standing alone in front of the white marble. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see them waiting at the gate, Scott on the verge of coming back to get him.

Knowing that he didn't have much time left, Alan turned back to the tombstone. The words he had spoken fluttered back to him and he shifted from one foot to the other, uneasy.

"I didn't really mean it like that," he finally admitted, because she was his Mom after all, and one couldn't hate his Mom, no matter what happened. "It's just...hard, you know?"

It was hard that he had a Mom, but she wasn't there. It was hard that he had to stand here, in the graveyard, and look at a dumb stone that was supposed to remind him of a person that was just a shadow in his mind.

"Alan." The voice sounded reproachful, carrying so many more layers in it than the simple word betrayed.

Alan, why are you being difficult again, Alan, why aren't you coming, Alan, leave it alone, please.

Scott jogged to his side. "Come on. We've got to go."

"Yes." Almost out of instinct, Alan took his brother's hand. The two turned around, backs towards the tombstone, the memory, the past, and the darkness. They had barely walked a few steps when Alan hesitated, looked over his shoulder with a thoughtful frown on his face and waved at the grave. "Bye, Mom."

It could have been his imagination, but he saw Scott's shoulders tense and the grip on his hand became just a little harder.

Fin.