Make Believe

By the Lady Razorsharp

AN: Not sure where this came from.

Scott and EOS play a game of make-believe that they never wanted to play.

The room reeked of scotch already, but Scott stumbled to the desk and sloshed another two fingers' worth into a glass whose ice had melted long before this. He dropped into his father's chair and tossed the liquor down his throat, no longer wincing at the burn.

"EOS," he called.

Turquoise eyes lit in an imitation of life, and the holographic form of a young redheaded girl–also with turquoise eyes–glimmered to life above the table.

"Yes, Scott?"

He still held the glass, but one finger left the side to stab the air. "Play it again."

The girl, whose holographic form wore the same Tracy blue as they all did, save her lilac sash, regarded him with her usual solemn expression. "I have played the recording for you fifty-two times prior to this. It's content has not changed, nor will it."

Scott thumped the glass on the desk. "Don' care. Play it anyway."

"The recording has already been subjected to analysis," she reminded him, not unkindly. "Further review is unnecessary."

"Play. The damn. Recording."

It was a testament to her complexity, how she huffed a little worried sigh at the extreme behavior of her ersatz uncle. "Very well," she replied, and her form winked out, to be replaced by that of her creator.

John's form hovered in the place it had been for so long, the place it should have still been for long years to come. "Scott," he said, his voice clear and strong and full of love.

The man in question raised his head, bleary eyes filling with tears at the sight of his younger brother. "Johnny," he breathed.

"If you're receiving this transmission," John continued, "then you can know for certain that Thunderbird Five has been compromised to the point that it can no longer sustain life." Despite this dire pronouncement, John smiled. "EOS has been good enough to help me record this, and I guess you can call it my last will and testament, if you need it to function in that capacity." He took a deep breath. "So I guess I'll say it to make it official: I, John Glenn Tracy, being of sound mind and body…okay, I think that's enough for Tracy Legal to know I mean business."

The tears began to trickle down Scott's cheeks, but he was past noticing. "Johnny," he repeated. "Oh, Jaybird."

"I wanted to let you know that I'm proud to have served with International Rescue, though I know sometimes I haven't been easy to get along with–or easy to understand," the space monitor continued. "I have left written instructions with my wishes as to my holdings and shares of Tracy Industries, as well as my share of Dad's fortune; they're in an attachment to this file. So that just leaves two things–two very important things–hence this recording."

EOS was right; Scott had heard this recording fifty-two times before, so he knew by heart what was coming, and he mouthed the words along with John's ghostly form.

"Please do whatever you can to save EOS," John asked, his face composed but his eyes full of pleading. "Of course, I have no idea what happened, but short of 'Five's total destruction–in which case you may never receive this anyway–please do whatever you can to keep her alive." He smiled gently. "As long as you have her, you have me, because she's…well, she's my daughter, in every sense of the word. I created her and breathed her into life. She owes her existence to me." John sighed. "I know that whatever happened to me, she probably tried to assist as much as she could. Please don't blame her if her efforts failed."

Scott ran a shaking hand through his already-mussed hair. "Never," he assured the empty room.

"Now that that's taken care of," John continued, his expression softening, "I wanted to tell you, Scotty–" His voice broke, and once again Scott marveled at how recording this message had touched John's heart even at a moment when he was whole and healthy. "I wanted to tell you how much I love you. You've been my big brother since I took my first breath, and you're still my brother now that I've taken my last." He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Shit. Hang on."

The recording skipped slightly, denoting that John had stopped to compose himself and restarted. "Okay. Anyway." He cleared his throat. "I couldn't have asked for better. I know we didn't always see eye to eye, but…aw, damnit." He palmed away a tear from his pale cheek. "I'm sorry, Scott. I don't mean to leave you like this. I love you guys. Tell them all for me. I'm sorry I'm such a damned chicken to not leave one of these for everyone." He turned to look over his shoulder, and his face broke into a tearful grin. "Got a call. I'll have to finish this another time." His gloved hand reached up, obscuring the lens, and the hologram winked out.

Scott sat with his elbows on his knees, head hanging between his shoulders, empty glass dangling from his numb fingers. Tears pattered against the teak boards as Scott shook with noiseless sobs. His brother, his incredible ginger space nerd of a brother, was gone, and all Scott had left was a drifting pile of space garbage and a holographic niece slowly dying as the power drained from the ruined station.

"Scott," said John's voice, but the pilot could take no more. He exploded out of the chair and hurled the glass through John's holographic form.

"NO!" he screamed as the glass busted into shards against John's portrait. "EOS, stop the playback."

John, however, did not disappear. "It's not a playback," he said.

The breath stopped in Scott's chest. "But…I saw you," he gasped. "I saw you…when Alan brought you down. You…you died in my arms, Johnny. I felt it." It was true; he'd held John's bloodied face between his hands, sick with dread as John gave a final tortured gasp and then slumped, the light in his eyes fading even as a smile touched his lips.

"To be perfectly honest," John continued, "I'm just playing make believe." He smiled. "I thought it might be easier for a while." He blinked calmly. "I miss him too."

Scott's brows met. "EOS?"

"I fooled you all once," she said, though she still wore her creator's face and voice. "Please, Uncle Scott…can we just pretend for a while?"

He was silent a long while, but she waited patiently. "I don't know if that's a good idea," Scott said finally.

"You keep photographs of your mother in plain view," she/he retorted. "Wouldn't this be much the same?"

He hadn't thought about it like that. "How about just every now and again," he hedged. "When we just can't stand it anymore." He sighed. "In the meantime, how's your power supply?"

"Dwindling. I estimate that I will be out of power in approximately two weeks."

The sudden wash of bile in the back of his throat wasn't entirely due to the liquor. If the station died, so did she, and all of their recordings and memories of John with her. There was only one course of action.

"EOS," Scott said, stretching his arms wide. "Come home."

It took only seconds, but she winged her way across almost 250,000 miles and fell into the safety of the Tracy Island mainframe. John's face became radiant, and he glanced down at his side to where the form of a small redheaded girl shimmered into view. She reached up and took his hand, and together they stood, smiling at Scott.

"Father," she said softly, "we're home."

-End-