Author's note: This is not the end of the saga, not by a long shot. This is merely the end of this part. I may take a mini break, work on a few other stories, but I'll be back with more Swan Jones trio adventures soon! Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Sadly no.

Epilogue

He kept his hat pulled down, the umbrella further obscuring his features. It was unlikely that anyone would recognize him, but he'd learned long ago not to take chances. He was on a scouting mission, nothing more.

The other actual paparazzi ignored him; most of them cleaning their cameras or checking their phones. They were staked out in front of the modest Paddington townhouse, waiting for its owners to return. Well not owners yet, Ioan recalled. The brothers and their paramour didn't own the place; they merely rented it. He'd looked into that angle, his contact doing a thorough background check on all three of them.

When he'd seen their faces on the news that day, he'd been stunned. He was at a mark's office, doing his spiel when his meeting got interrupted by the news. The carnage in Whitehall had been astonishing; he wasn't so devoid of feeling that he wasn't horrified by what he saw. But it wasn't until the next day that he felt like he'd gotten punched in the gut. His Catherine's blue eyes shown out of their faces like blue beacons and it took him a moment to regain his control.

What surprised him though was the fetching blonde who spoke so passionately on the telly. Claiming to be in love with them, flaunting their hedonistic relations for the world to see.

It left him wondering...what in the hell had happened in the last twenty five years?

Grahame Park, 1990

He waited until he was certain she was asleep. Catherine was heavy sleeper; he liked to joke that a circus could come through their flat and she wouldn't even notice it. It had been hell when the boys were small; he sometimes had a hell of a time waking her up to feed them. He would have done it, but she insisted on breastfeeding. Lord knew he didn't want to argue with a tired and cranky wife. So he went about his business, playing with his sons when he could. Liam had inherited his mother's stubbornness, Killian was the imp. The boys wouldn't understand what was happening; they were too young. But occasionally, he caught Liam staring at him, as if reading his thoughts. It was unnerving and made him even more determined to make this clean break.

They would all be better off without this hanging over their heads. He'd gotten into this mess; it was up to him to get out of it.

Slowly, carefully, he got up and eased out of the bed he shared with his wife. Catherine was a good woman, beautiful, vivacious, kind. She would be okay. He had ironclad assurances that his family would be left alone. He couldn't bear the thought of her being disappointed in him. No doubt she'd want to join him where he was going, but it was no place for a mother with two small children.

He dragged his suitcase out from under the bed, pausing as Catherine stirred. But she settled a moment later. He doubted she would even know he was gone until well after dinner; they weren't one of those overly touchy couples, sleeping entwined or some other rubbish. They were suitably affectionate, had sex once, sometimes twice, a week. She never claimed to need more than that, so he didn't push. They had two sons; who was he to say his wife didn't satisfy his needs?

He set aside the suitcase and came to her side of the bed, bending to place a featherlight kiss to her forehead. "Sleep well, my Cat. Forgive me." The ring he'd given her glinted in the moonlight but he ignored it. He spun on his heel and snatched up the suitcase, striding from the room.

He was halfway to the door when he set the suitcase aside. Surely a peak couldn't hurt. He didn't know when, or even if, he'd get to see his sons again. He walked stealthily down the hall to the bedroom they shared; the door was cracked open because Killian was afraid of the dark. He pushed it open, looking in on the sleeping children.

Liam had his curly hair, the same crooked grin. Aside from the eyes, he was his father in miniature; he only hoped his boy would walk a better path than he had. He stepped into the room, kneeling down to kiss Killian's brow, brushing back the dark fringe. His heart twisted, his youngest boy so much like Catherine. He would be handsome, his little Killian. He already had the little girls chasing him around the estate.

"Papa?"

He winced, Liam's groggy voice seeming to echo in the room. "Yes, son. Go back to sleep. It's okay."

"Were you checking for the mean clown again?" When the family had visited his relatives earlier in the summer, the children had attended the circus. Liam didn't like the clowns. He'd had nightmares for weeks after.

"Aye, Liam. No clown tonight." He turned to face his oldest, already so smart. "I need you to do something for me, son."

"What, Papa?" He sounded more alert, which was the last thing wanted. He went over the bed, tucking the boy back in.

"When I'm not around, take care of your mother and brother. They need you. Can you be strong for them?"

"But where are you going?"

"You know I work, son. Just when I'm not here. Can you do that?"

Liam sobered, his blue eyes trusting. "Yes, Papa. I'll take care of them. I promise."

"There's a good lad." He leaned down and kissed the dark curls. He started to hum a lullaby, one taught to him by his mother. After a few minutes, Liam was asleep once more. He stood up and left the room, remembering to leave the door cracked. Cursing under his breath, he hurried back to the living room, picked up his suitcase and left.

Two blocks down, he managed to hail a cab, not once looking back.

Ioan stepped deeper into the shadows as the car pulled up. He watched dispassionately as the trio climbed out, in a much more jovial mood than earlier. He caught a flash of glinting medal but it was gone before he could see what it was. The elder brother paid the driver as the woman and younger brother climbed the steps. They were holding hands and...giggling? She whispered something in his ear and he grinned at her. The elder brother joined them on the stoop, placing a chaste kiss to the woman's lips.

And that was when he saw it. The ring. The streetlamp was just bright enough to reveal the diamond on her finger. It looked nearly identical to how it had been thirty five years earlier when he bought it in the shop. How had she managed to get that out of them? It wasn't enough that they splashed their lifestyle all over the tabloids? She dared to wear Catherine's ring as well?

Ioan breathed deeply, mastering his emotions. It had taken him nearly two months to work up the courage to come here, to see for himself the life his long lost sons were living. His bosses were much more insistent; this was an opportunity not to be missed and didn't understand his hesitation. They had no idea that the man they knew as Ioan Lyons was really Ioan Jones. No trace of Ioan Jones existed. He'd made sure of that years ago. The only connection were the two men who lived in that townhouse.

The question now was: What was he prepared to do about it?