I know I've been a way awhile, but hopefully the length of this will make up for it? I'm currently travelling around Europe, so good internet is hard to come by.

Basically, this is just another piece looking at a big unexplored issue in TAG. It's in a different style to most of my works and jumps around a bit, but I believe you can follow it. Enjoy anyway )or as much as you can a story like this).

Mainly TAG set, but merges some TOS details.

Scott's issue was anger.

John's issue was sadness.

Virgil's issue was denial.

Gordon's issue was guilt.

Alan's issue was fear.

He could begin to let himself think, that just maybe it could have all been okay. Maybe if they'd never known the one they lost.

They all had a rescue which made them shiver.

John's was the one he couldn't assist with, simply listen to. Virgil's was the one he couldn't hear a word of, but saw every action. Gordon's… Gordon's was something he didn't speak of very often and let none of them be privy to. Scott's always seemed partially selfish to him. The ones which got to him and shook his core were the ones in which the failure would lie on his back, worse the ones which challenged him beyond what he knew. Alan's was a minor thing, a landslide rolling in towards Thunderbird One, but then that was due to keeping him on tight leash as to what he could attend; nothing too dangerous, nothing with a certain chance of death. There was a margin for error, but John had proved incredibly apt at filtering out the missions which stood a chance at shielding the youngest from that.

And then one thing had torn it all apart – an empire in the middle of an ocean reduced to ruin like Atlantis… or at least, it seemed so.

Strangely, (given the number of rescues they'd attended) none of them had shared a rescue up until this point, the things which had traumatised them in regards to the strangers always being different.

They all had their own way of dealing with things – to be expected, of course - their own issues, but they'd never thought they would arise – not again. They never thought the… Occurrence would occur, not so soon, not now.

But now there was a common link, and it was stronger than mere misery at failing those you never knew nor ever would. This, was discordant grief.

As soon as they'd landed everything went haywire.

Virgil went straight to the piano and began to play something. Alan looked over his shoulder and left them with, "It's my shift on Five I believe," an idea John had never been keen on trying (it was is beloved bird after all), but their father had likely been right, that someone else needed to know how to man Five under pressure and when necessary.

Scott lit up a (rare, of course, and usually shared with a father) cigarette which he felt like 'accidently' burning himself with, whilst John grabbed at his nearest book, sitting behind it like a shield with not a word read nor page turned for over two hours. The eldest made it through four of the lung-destroying items, fingers moving on autopilot whilst eyes targeted the back of the unmoving book.

Gordon sat by the pool watching Tin-Tin, her efforts failing to convince him to join her until he snapped, "I'm really not in the mood for another swim."

Three painful days past.

Three days of unharmonious avoidance.

Three days for things to worsen unbelievably, yet oh so slowly and all of it unnoticed.

Both Virgil and John caught a minor cold at the start of the following week and Gordon was constantly complaining that he needed sleep.

Alan swapped with John for the practicality of not being two down – not that John seemed disappointed at getting to return to space, rather relieved actually - and Scott took up running with the youngest.

Alan never asked him straight out, "why are you running like the world's about to end?" But Scott could see that he wanted to.

When Gordon finally (finally seeming like an eternity) set foot in the water again he held his breath. He held his breath for so long that Virgil began shouting at him, telling him "this isn't funny Gordon." Alan's eyes widened as Scott pulled him from the water, the blonde's lungs clutching at new air as Scott practically rammed him into the wall like a man possessed.

"What were you thinking?"

There was no answer, there was no time.

Virgil pushed Scott away, Scott ran away, and Alan chose to stay away. Gordon looked at the ripples of blue when he was alone again and chose to walk away.

Ten days.

Just like he could count to ten.

Hold his breath for ten.

Ten long days.

"I was bargaining."

He wondered what John would have made of it whilst having no intention of or inclination to ask.

The elder pair looked around from their discussion on the balcony. Alan stopped whacking at the keys of the piano. Virgil looked thoroughly confused, face illuminated by the sun for all his features were dark, "You were what?"

"Bargaining. When you asked what I was doing. That was it."

"Bargaining for what?"

Alan blinked, looking up over the piano, not really even knowing what he was saying, they were just the words in his head, "What can you bargain your own life for?"

Gordon gave him no answer to that, save a dismissive shrug before lying down on the sofa, eyelids closing. It didn't look like enough to the youngest and it sure didn't feel like enough for the Aquanaut.

Because there had to have been more… there just had to have been more. They. Could. Have. Done.

Whether it was the lack of words or the lack of action, it was like a switch flipped in the so far silent Scott once more, and in seconds he was bounding from the room, almost knocking the furniture down with him as he stormed away.

"What's wrong with him?" The youngest blond enquired, though the answer to the question was obvious really, even if they were trying to bury it deep. He feared if he spoke it, it had to be real.

He supposed Virgil shared something similar with him in that respect, the middle child pursing his lips and re-enacting Gordon's shrug.

"Maybe it's just one of those monthly things."

It should have been humorous.

In the silence, it held no meaning.

It felt somewhat like a hurricane, and that was at long distance. If it was possible to burst an eardrum whilst being so far away… then it may just have happened over the confusing past five minutes.

"It's ridiculous!"

"Is it?"

"Yes!"

He could only shake his head, perfectly lost, "I don't understand."

"No, I can see that!"

"Scott, stop shouting."

"Stop shouting? I'm not shouting!" He merely raised a brow and that seemed to be all the hint for the eldest to put himself back into check, "I'm not shouting."

"Now you're not."

It was a start, as he saw it anyway. He wasn't expecting an apology and he didn't want one. They'd all been party to this, they all had to shoulder the blame, this was just a phase of that process.

One he was happy to follow.

"I'm not sure what my point was." Scott voiced carefully after a moment, as though he was trying to ensure every word met a suitable volume with the upmost care.

No humour made it into his tone, no smirk or lightness, "So how am I meant to know, Scott?"

"John, I don't know." It was mournful the second time, the most mournful he'd heard his only elder brother in a fortnight. "I don't know."

Honestly, he didn't know what this whole conversation had been about, whether it had a point or whether the eldest Tracy – yes, now officially the eldest of the Tracy family – even knew himself. It certainly seemed as though it had all been for the sake of a distraction, for someone else to talk to. Scott after all, had always found it easiest to talk to him about the hard things. He took note of the "to" and not "with", for sometimes those exchanges didn't go both ways.

"Can I suggest working it out?"

Scott's face became an intense frown.

"Is it that simple?"

No, he thought, safe in the quiet and far range of Thunderbird Five, locked in the bubble of loneliness and space filled with his sadness, No it's not.

But he could never give voice to that, because it felt too much like giving up.

It couldn't be real.

That was what he had to keep telling himself. Even after all this time.

Not that much time seemed to have passed, everything feeling like it was on a loop with so many days seeming to become and definitely feel the same. Patterns seemed to have easily developed and been memorised as routine, taking daily effect.

It couldn't be real. He kept telling himself, constantly on repeat.

It was hard when no one else in the damned house seemed interested in helping you, only in shooting you down.

He saw Gordon the least, sometimes mistaking Alan's blond locks for his direct youngers in hope. The times Gordon was anywhere near him, near any of them were to be savoured he knew. Oppositely, he saw the most of Alan, the other blond sometimes masquerading as an aquanaut. Whilst Alan wasn't his upbeat self, there was more of him in him - if that actually made any sense, he supposed on reflection.

It felt like he saw little of Scott as he remembered the eldest. Yes, Scott had always had a fiery streak coursing through him, one Virgil supposed came from having and protecting five younger brothers. He had always been known to sing off the sheet when necessary – or in some people's eyes, when unnecessary – to raise a fist and punch someone for a comment he found grating.

But he'd never seen Scott like this. And he supposed this was only going to continue. That made his heart sink. He didn't want this to continue, not one bit.

He saw far less of John than Gordon, but it didn't quite feel that way. It almost felt like something of John was still here as it should be, that if you looked – properly stared hard – at the stars, you might just be able to see him watching over you.

But it must be lonely up there.

Yet honestly, it felt just as lonely down here.

They weren't really the level of talking brother's they'd been known to be.

He didn't know where he sat in their current dynamics. Although he was the middle child, he never felt like there was anything wrong with that, he'd always fitted. Now, he wasn't so sure. He didn't know where he began or ended, or where his brothers did either. Everything was muddled and jumbled and he had no words to describe that.

The thoughts ticked over in his head just as every second of time ticked past.

He tried to ignore it all.

John was away up in space, safely being John, doing what he did best. That image was fine.

Scott wasn't full of ire, no Scott was just being his usual commanding and protective self.

Gordon wasn't a missing body in the sea, but the practical joker he kept glancing over his shoulder for.

Alan wasn't a bundle of nerves, dancing around his words, skirting around the subject, waiting for impending doom; he was just the usual crazy and hyper Alan.

And he was not in denial. Not one bit. He was doing everything he did on a daily basis – playing the piano and tinkering with machines, avoiding Grandma's cleaning duties with practised and refined skill.

He had to believe that of his brothers, of himself.

He half knew that he'd come to a complete stop if he didn't and they couldn't afford for anything to come to a halt.

Not even time.

He hadn't counted the days for that seemed like a pointless exercise. But he wasn't in denial. No way.

What happened had happened.

Still, what he wouldn't give for the days of them all sat beside the pool like nothing was wrong, relishing in the success and satisfaction of their work.

But to him it was all the same.

When he sat under the sunlight, he could imagine the man with newspaper in hand. He could imagine them all smiling and laughing. When he sat at the piano, he could imagine the man sat at his desk, cataloguing and filing paperwork. He could imagine waiting, choosing a piece and asking the words he waited to say every day.

Words he still said as he sat there now, trying to decide what best to play on this new day.

"What do you think, dad?"

It could never be past tense.

It just couldn't.

And it wouldn't.

Because he wouldn't register it.

I'm definitely not in denial.

Fifteen days passed.

Fifteen days to nearly match the youngest's age.

He ran.

Even when Alan didn't join him, he ran.

He had to, needed to.

He felt like he had energy unbound and yet the running never took it.

Truthfully, it wasn't there. It was all wound up in wire tight coils of anger, unravelling constantly and spilling over even when there was nothing to incite it.

He hated it, but he couldn't halt it. There seemed to be nothing he could do about the words he said or the actions he took, no logical reactions to the words or actions of anyone else. No logical process to anything going through his mind.

If anything even was.

His head felt empty, a container of nothing.

On his way back up to the island, he punched his hand into a palm tree.

It didn't serve to make him feel even a degree better.

Only ten thousand worse.

Every so often, the piano's sound carried down the halls.

But as soon as it started it would stop.

Then as soon as it stopped it would start.

It was grating.

It was heavenly.

It was normality.

None of them could be certain what John would call it.

"Virg, can you stop?" The third child blatantly ignored the first, either that or he really hadn't heard the words.

Gordon's eyes turned sharp.

"Leave him be. I like it." The blond wasn't relaxing in the pool, but you could become fooled into thinking the sofa was his new aquatic space.

Scott's fingers tapped against the arm rest, his feet unmoving, but clearly just as restless.

Gordon was the picturesque opposite.

Virgil hardly looked comfortable when his fingers left the keys, but as long as they were skirting around, playing melodious notes, everything with the black-haired brother was fine.

Outwardly.

He rather liked it, needed it to continue and he voiced that, hoping to instil more amity between the elders, to let the world as it should be for them, be.

"I think it's a touch of normality," he voiced, the sound quieter than he'd ever known himself be, even in lessons.

"But things aren't normal."

And with that remark Scott was off again, his speed mimicking that of Thunderbird One. Gordon seemed to jolt awake, his lips held in a thick, tight line, his expression unreadable now, angry, but… so much more mixed in to say for certain. What he noticed most was Virgil.

Well actually, he noticed nothing about his third brother as such, rather simply to begin with that the sound had stopped, stilled as quickly as Scott had spoken and left.

And then Virgil fled too. Wordlessly, seamlessly.

That left he and Gordon in the silence.

He couldn't deal with the silence.

He could deal with the silence.

In fact, in a strange sort of way he liked it. He could mull over things in his own time, unrushed and unphased by the reactions of anyone else. He could be as sad as he needed to.

He didn't have to feel his brother's watching him over his shoulder, he could stick to his own routines and do perfectly what suited him. If he didn't want to eat or sleep, no one was going to be any the wiser down on Earth.

He was alone. He could likely cry if he wanted. Scrap that, he could do anything he wanted, but there was just nothing which came to mind.

Naught.

Nada.

Not one.

It occurred to him on the twenty-day mark that there was nothing he wanted to do.

Twenty days without one person.

And yet it felt like twenty decades.

The blaring beeping interrupted him, but he answered the call without looking or moving. He knew where everything was without needing his eyes. He was certain he'd been piloting blind ever since it happened anyhow, and he'd yet to slip up once.

Though honestly, he wasn't sure he cared for whatever had to be said.

"John…"

And then one word, one voice, changed all of what had come before.

"Alan."

He was glad when the red head turned to face him. Glad he could see those eyes again. It felt like ages since John had been anywhere near him, physically or not.

"John."

He wasn't sure what else to say; he just didn't want silence.

He was damned sick of SILENCE.

"What is it, Alan?"

He wondered if John could tell something was wrong by the way he looked, by the sound of his voice, or maybe by the repetition of the elder's name. He wasn't sure what could give it away and he didn't mind.

He opened his mouth to spill everything…

"Nothing really."

…but it hardly seemed right.

Maybe he was rushing, maybe he was wrong, maybe things just needed more time.

"Alan." He didn't know how to answer that tone from John, a commanding insistence he rarely heard on his fellow space-loving brother. If he'd been looking, he'd have seen the way John's eyes blinked, stared and stared harder once more. "Why are you calling from Thunderbird Three?"

Oh yes, that was a clear give away, one he hadn't even thought about when he began the call, one he was now surprised the ever-perceptive John hadn't noticed sooner.

"I-"

"Please tell me you're in the hanger bay?"

There was a fear in those words he never wanted to hear from John. It was a fear that almost matched his own that a brother would be taken from him.

In fact, his fear that maybe one – or more of them – already had been.

He wondered if Scott was at all worried or not. After all, there had been a reaction when he bounded off, running at a speed Scott still hadn't mastered even with all the extra morning runs and the benefit of the younger being his training partner.

"Alan, don't go running off!"

It had amused him at least, despite the anger in the words (that seemed to be a constant lacing), that Scott had one, noticed considering how scarce Gordon had been able to make himself and two, seemed afraid that he might do something registering on the Alan Tracy level of crazy scale.

And maybe that had been what he was about to do.

He nodded, hardly remembering what he was wordlessly answering. He couldn't find the words, his throat constricting.

John breathed a deep sigh of relief, deep enough that he wondered how John could find that much air so high up in space.

So high up in space, all it could take would be one meteor-

One accident…

"Alan?" By the time he looked back at the screen, he was aware John had been trying for a while to reach him. He shook his head and tried to put on his best façade.

"Here."

"I can see." John nodded, his eyes soft and… weary? He almost wanted to say weepy. "Why exactly are you 'here'?"

"Well I was going to fly up and see you."

"Why?"

"I thought you might like some company."

He knew that was an idiotic line. Out of them all, John had never appeared to need their company. On the other hand, he'd always been reliant on the four elders. He doubted that was going to change anytime soon either.

"You mean, you thought I might like your company?"

He'd expected John to see through it, however he'd not been certain the elder would. They were all acting strangely lately, outside of their usual selves, but with John it seemed to be business as usual.

"Yeah, something like that."

It was strange to hold eye contact once again.

There'd been little of that in recent days. Still, John used eyes to learn everything and after a minute of focus intent, without straying anywhere else, the elder smiled.

"It's quite quiet up here. I'll come down to you."

It was quiet on the rescue front (luckily), but he caught John's second meaning.

He'd never liked silence.

He inhaled deeply.

He sucked in the air like he hadn't tasted it for years.

His lungs were burning, his throat felt raw.

He allowed the water to hold his weight.

He reached his hands up to wipe at his eyes and push stray blond locks away.

Gone.

He's gone.

We failed.

A thump against the bones holding up his chest.

I'm breathing.

It was always the same.

He took a deep breath, practically feeling his teeth bite into the guilt, shut his eyes and dived, again.

Alan had to say very little indeed, which was likely a good thing as he doubted there was much the blonde could say coherently right about now.

He wasn't certain how fluid his own words would be compared to usual.

He almost hoped Alan was wrong, but then again, side-tracked, he wondered if he should have foreseen this. He'd seen Scott and Virgil grieving for their mother, and likely the then young Gordon was only tempered by the presence of their father.

He knew his own process of grieving and maybe he'd let himself become too wrapped up in himself without Dad around to shake him from it.

He had no prior knowledge – really, that was of use – relating to Alan and no idea how Gordon would cope without someone holding his hand (metaphorically speaking, of course). Nor did he have any idea whether Scott or Virgil would break from the mould or become more malleable to it.

After all, they'd been devastated to lose their Mother, but they'd been young. They'd had a lot longer with their father – yes, a lot longer to remember the good things about him, though at the same time, so many more years to grieve over.

There was traces of a storm pulling in over Chile, so maybe he should have predicted this.

He hadn't.

He couldn't say he was ready for it either.

The melodies were the only thing his brain could keep focussed on. The familiar patterns and notes were well stored in his muscle memory and required little effort from his mind.

That was good.

That meant he could avoid thinking.

That meant he didn't have to think about it.

It was an easy way out, yes. He didn't mind that and he wasn't opposed to it.

He wasn't grieving. Because there was nothing to grieve over.

He'd been the same way when their mother died, if he didn't think about it, didn't remember it, didn't call it truth, then it never had to have occurred.

Everything could remain as it was.

Perfectly fine.

Yes, peace in the South Pacific on their perfect little island that no one knew of, situated beautifully in the middle of nowhere.

Atlantis Reborn, Gordon had always said it…

Their father had always wondered if disconnection would come with a price. All he saw now was a prize.

He closed his eyes and tried to find some point of calm, organisation, resting inside his mind. He fisted his hand until his knuckles were turning white.

This isn't fair.

He tried to regulate his breathing so it didn't sound as though he'd just run a marathon length around the island.

We don't deserve this.

He was beginning to lose the feeling in his hands.

Why us?

The dancing of notes filtered through his ears.

Why take him?

The tune simply unbearable.

Why now?

His nails were digging into the skin of his palms.

Surely, he didn't have to die now.

How bittersweet.

Maybe that was their soundtrack.

He wasn't even sure what he was listening to anymore, but it sounded vaguely like one of Dad's favourites in his head and that was enough. It was one small thing, but the rage had already been building up, piling, and storing like solar energy waiting to be tapped into.

It just tipped him over the edge, his fists unclenching rapidly just before his nails just through skin enough to bleed.

"I swear I will break that instrument if I hear one more note."

Silence quickly fell. Thank goodness Virgil heeded that warning, for they were words he regretted and knew he'd never have stuck to, had the younger wished to push his temper. Maybe he'd just realised it was better not to risk it. Dad had been a shield before, a way for him to vent his anger safely and avoiding hurting his brothers, but now there was no limit it seemed, no stop-cap to shut him down.

There was a sharp intake of breath though, which had followed his words immediately, and one he'd almost missed beneath the final ring of the slipped key.

"I think you'd regret that, Scott."

Calm. Quiet, calm tones that no one in this family – save their mother – could ever hope to match.

He lifted his head and looked around, noticing Virgil's focus was now in the same direction. Likely the middle child hadn't stopped from his warning alone then.

Alan must have been the source of the sound as he clung to a blue covered arm, stood slightly behind the taller as though he was a shield.

"John."

He wasn't even aware their spaceman had planned on coming back to Earth so swiftly.

"Scott."

It was almost a relief to see him there, a tempering to the uncontrollable anger he couldn't shift regardless of what he tried.

He didn't have the words, but it seemed John did after quickly looking around and taking in the room.

"Where's Gordon?"

It was the only answer that mattered now.

The question filled him with dread.

He hadn't seen the blond in days.

He hadn't even thought.

He'd moved to the sea. It was quieter, more peaceful, further from the house.

That house wasn't his, it was theirs, and a piece of that collection was missing.

He dived.

He dived again.

He dived one more.

He dived and dived and dived.

Continuing until every intake of breath was shorter, every stay beneath the waves longer.

The current was calm, the wind still. Perfect floating weather.

His eyes stung from the salt in the water, even if he squeezed them close tightly…

He wondered if he could float out to the wreckage wherever it lay.

There was nothing worth seeing…

He wondered if he could float out to dad.

Nothing at all… because all he felt was guilt.

All this ocean and they couldn't find a thing.

He couldn't find a thing.

Twenty days.

Just twenty days.

How he missed being two.

Everything was frantic.

"G-n."

"Go-n?"

"G-d-n!"

"Wh- -re -o?"

"G- an-er -e!"

"-o-!"

It was all just noise, in one ear and out the other, above and below.

The sea was sparkling.

It didn't comfort him.

He should have known it was unusual and acted sooner.

But he'd been too caught up in his own denial.

He couldn't possibly deny it any longer and that realisation washed over him almost as hard as the waves hit the sand as feet splashed through them.

Once again, he could only watch.

His heart had sunk.

Why didn't he see this?

Why did John have to come back down for him to realise something was missing?

Why did he have to be so trigger happy?

He should have taken a moment to calm himself down, to think things through and at least attempt to find some rational ground like his father had managed to do for him.

It was like being on a sinking ship.

In hindsight you saw all; he should never have left.

They should have taken a break, all of them together.

He should have become a buffer for them, stuff his own feelings.

He never should have let his own sadness overtake, for then he may have seen the warning signs in Scott's strange call a week ago, in Virgil's dismissive exit, in the lack of a certain presence.

He only had one word for it.

The only word his mind still felt was in reach.

There was no "Dad" to help him this time.

He had no idea how he was meant to grieve.

This was settling the score. This was paying back his debt, cancelling out the guilt he felt, the guilt he would only have carried for the rest of his life.

It was fear that wrapped him, tugged painfully at his heart as though to cut off the blood flow.

Alan's eyes widened as Scott pulled him from the water…

He couldn't see his worst fear realised, not now, please not ever. He wouldn't be able to bear it.

Please, no.

The intense fear was back, bubbling and boiling.

He reached out for John's uniformed arm once more. The elder hadn't even bothered to change, diving into the search alongside them, but his body seemed like stone and that feeling itself assured him the auburn-haired child wasn't going to vanish or break beneath his touch.

Another touch of normality beneath his fingers.

As long as he could grasp that it would be okay. Somehow it would just have to be okay.

He faintly wondered whether John was feeling as useless as he was, standing, here, doing. nothing.

Virgil seemed to be having equal trouble breathing, John reaching out to encompass him in the hold too, throwing his arm over the shorter's shoulder, until it was simply the three of the staring down at Scott and a body on the sand.

He couldn't look.

He couldn't accept this either.

He should have seen it coming.

He punched the sand, sending grains flying up into the air.

It wasn't enough.

The anger gripped at his heart, reminding him that this too had to be his fault, ultimately.

The sadness almost felt like rolling depression.

There was no way he could deny what lay clearly before him.

The fear cut off his own airway the longer he looked at his direct elder.

He didn't know much about medical related sciences, his knowledge severely depleted, but it was a split-second decision which powered him forward, gave him some kind of motion as his three brothers watched on.

This couldn't happen.

He wondered whether he'd instantly assumed the worst or whether it was real. Water ran from the aquanaut's lips, but still that didn't seem like enough.

Yes, Gordon could hold his breath for far longer than you'd guess, but still even he couldn't hold it for that long surely.

But he couldn't stop, the anger somehow driving him, the energy rolling from his body now in loops of adrenaline.

He could see his brothers in his peripheral vision if he focused, but he chose not to. The slight shuffle of Alan's shoulder's, hitch in John's breathing and fold in Virgil's limbs weren't as important right now.

This was his mistake. He had to correct it.

John would argue with him later that it couldn't have been prevented, just for the sake to make him feel better, that he knew.

He was almost sure Alan would fall to blame and he had no idea what Virgil would do.

Correction: he had no idea what any one of them would do to lose someone else from their small company so soon.

He put his hands down this time with lightning bolts of pent up feelings, going overzealous, hard enough to break ribs.

…the blonde's lungs clutched at new air as Scott pressed a hand against his chest.

The coughs and splutters sounded horrible, but the smile filled his face widely and intensely.

It seemed like every breath tore at the fourth child's throat, but at least they still had a fourth child.

"Gordon?" John questioned, pulling the blue eyes to him. Virgil's whole body seemed to sag at seeing the clouded orbs take focus and it was lucky John was half-holding him up. Alan had never seen Virgil crumble as quickly as he did then.

Gordon's forehead crinkled, lowering down to meet his brows in an almost perfect straight line. His breathes were still laboured and haggard, but he was making an effort at forcing his lips to shape the words, "You…"

John cut him off swiftly, clearly to avoid him using up all that desperately needed air, air which had still barely replenished his blank features.

"Thought I'd pay a visit."

If he didn't know his closest in age brother so well, he'd never have thought that was a smile trying to pull at his lips.

Gordon shut his eyes, his head turning towards the sun. The bright orb which was soon blocked by a mop of hair.

When he opened his eyes, he was staring dead straight at the eldest.

It had been days ago, but the words brought it all back, though this time they were devoid of anger, worry shaping them and a tranquil franticness seeping in beneath.

"What were you thinking?"

He wondered if he'd be safe to say he hadn't really been thinking at all. It didn't seem to matter though because Scott didn't seem to care anymore as he was quickly swept up from the sand and locked in the grasp of the eldest's arms.

It was safety and it was home. It was his brother back in full, all traces of anger long gone.

Virgil's skeleton seemed to recover its bone structure and suddenly he was on his knees, arms joining Scott's and grabbing onto Gordon's shoulders.

The blonde breathed a chuckle, looking over to Alan and tilting his head at the mad pair. Alan supposed his reaction was hardly what Gordon had expected as he propelled himself closer, chucking his arms haphazardly around Gordon's neck.

"Ok, Al, love you too, but watch the airway."

Regardless of the constriction, Gordon looked at the ripples of blue over the eldest shoulder, hardly alone and definitely not anywhere close to wanting to walk away this time.

And when John's feet lightly padded across the sand, joining them by looping his arms essentially around them all, the circle felt complete.

This was the family he knew and wanted.

He thought it was what they all wanted.

One person may have been missing from the physical contact, but it no longer felt like something was missing in its entirety.

There they were. Sat on a beach beneath the dying sunlight. Alive. Every one of them.

Yes, feeling a turmoil of emotions, yes not sure on which stones to step, definitely yes on all fronts of grief, but no. No to giving up.

It seemed ages before any words were spoken, however desperately they needed to be and then, John began, steady and calm as the evening waves.

Because it was silently known and agreed between the five of them; whether there had been more… been more they could have done or not, they had to focus on now, on what was happening at this exact moment.

They had to move forward, they had to find a way to throw their anger, their sadness, their denial, guilt and fear out of the window and push forward because that had to be what dad would want.

What they should do as a family, and as a part of something bigger than themselves.

"So… where do we start?"

In the silence, it held all the meaning it needed to.

The waves washed their emotions out to sea and left them a clear slate to begin again.