Disclaimer: Don't Own.

Chapter 2

John leaned against the door, looking at his father, biting back the sigh that was always waiting to drop from his lips nowadays. There was nothing of the old Jeff Tracy there anymore. His determination lost to an unyielding sea of hopelessness. John had watched it happen. Watched his father waste away. And could do nothing to stop it.

"Dad." he said softly, stirring his father from his thoughts.

"Hmm?"

It was the only response he ever got anymore. In the beginning he had at least been granted words.

"Dad, you've been here three days straight. You need to go home. Get some sleep. Eat. Talk to Scott. Anything."

"Hmm."

John swallowed the frustrated scream bubbling up inside him. "Ok dad, I'll see you again tomorrow." he turned away, unable to keep trying. Everyday it was the same. No, it wasn't the same… It wasn't. Everyday his father kept getting more and more distant. John wanted to hold out hope. But it was just another thing he couldn't fix.

Next came Scott. He made his way to the nearest Vid phone, dialling the Island's number and waiting. It was Kyrano who answered.

"Master Tracy," he said, his smile of greeting sad.

John summoned a smile in return. "Hi Kyrano. You couldn't get Scott on the line could you?"

"If you'll give me a moment." Kyrano nodded.

John gave that brief smile again and nodded, waiting. After a long few minutes the image flicked to the study, where Scott was busy writing on a few papers. Finally he looked up. "Hey John." he said.

"Hey." John responded. "Working on anything interesting?" he asked. Because it was easier to lead Scott into a conversation this way. Everything was focused on work for him now.

"No."

"There's been no change." he plunged in, silently begging his brother to ask with who.

Nothing. Scott looked back down at his work.

"Scott--" he tried again.

"Sorry John, I've got another call coming through."

With that John found himself looking at a blank screen. His frustration left him in a hiss of breath as his fingers once again clawed through is hair.

No time to sit here, no time to wallow in self pity, no time to wish his family would pull together. No time to be angry with himself for letting them fall apart. John stood. He still had places to go and things to do. He had his list, he would follow his list.

It was the only thing he could do anymore.

Pick up the pieces.

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