John couldn't sit. He couldn't stand. He couldn't settle. Flitting about like a trapped moth, he paced the lounge until something small stopped him.
"Daddy, sit down!"
John blinked and looked down. Lyra stood with her arms folded and her left foot tapping. Her lips were pinched with a scowl.
"You're making me dizzy with your walking around!" she continued.
"Aw, sweetheart, I'm sorry," John said, reaching down to kiss the crown of her head. "I'm just so pleased that Grandpa and Uncles Scott and Gordon have come to get us."
Irritation banished, Lyra broke away, running in circles.
"Grandpa! Grandpa! I can't wait to see my Grandpa!"
From the sunken couch, Elijah grunted, but he was smiling.
"Now she's making me dizzy."
John chuckled and padded to him, ruffling his curls. Lyra kept on running.
"Grandpa! Grandpa! Grandpa!" she chanted.
"Yes, honey?"
Everything stopped. Together, John and Elijah and Lyra turned.
Together, they grinned.
"Grandpa!"
"Dad!"
"Mr Tracy!"
Lyra hurtled across the floor, twin braids flying in her wake. She launched herself into her grandfather's arms, burying her face in his chest.
"Grandpa!" she said, her voice high-pitched with emotion. "I missed you so much! Like, even more than I missed anyone else!"
Tears glittered in Jeff's eyes as he pulled his only granddaughter tight.
"I missed you too, sweetie," he said into her hair. "More than you'll know."
"Hey!" a new voice sounded. "What goes on here? You mean you missed him more than you missed me?"
Figures unfurled from behind Jeff, all Tracys, some more related than others. The older Scott crossed his arms and pulled his face into a mock-scowl.
"I thought I was the favourite," he said.
"Uncle Scott!" Lyra cried.
She reached for him, and he scooped her into his arms, spinning her in the air.
"That's my girl!"
John surreptitiously wiped at his eyes, pretending to adjust his glasses. When he could see again, his father was striding towards him, arms outstretched.
"Son," Jeff said, voice thick.
John needed to wipe his eyes again.
"Dad."
The two men embraced, and the room fell away. For a moment that felt never-ending, John clung to his father, pressing his face into the older man's shoulder, knocking his glasses askew.
"God, Dad," he murmured. "It happened again…"
Grunting to clear his throat, Jeff pulled back and took a light hold of John's left ear.
"Son, you are officially banned from leaving my sight ever again," he said.
They shared a laugh and another embrace, before they turned at the sound of a further voice.
"Hey, where's my hug, huh?"
John didn't think his grin could get any wider, but he was wrong. His cheeks burned with pleasure.
"Gordon!" he said.
Jogging across to his younger brother, he joined in the embrace as Gordon pulled Lyra from a begrudging Scott. Gordon chuckled, the sound rich, and planted a lip-smacking kiss on his brother's forehead. His flight suit crinkled between them.
"Would you stop disappearing?" he said. "You're turning into a one-trick-pony!"
"Sorry, Gords," John said, shrugging. "I never mean for any of this stuff to happen."
"I know, bro, I know. I'm just so glad to see you again."
Another set of arms wrapped around them all, and John turned to see Scott beaming at them, squeezing them tight.
"It's good to see you again, fella," he said.
He was still in his uniform, his hat slightly askew.
"You too, Scott."
"Stop scaring me like that," Scott replied. "Maybe it was better when you were stuck up on Five. At least I didn't have to worry about you so much!"
"Don't worry," John said. "I don't think I'll be allowed to leave the island ever again," John said.
The brothers broke apart, and Jeff clapped each on the shoulder.
"My sons," he said.
He passed them, though, and descended to the couch area. Elijah was on his feet, and reached a hand out for a handshake. Instead, Jeff pulled him into a brief hug.
"My future son-in-law," he said.
Eli returned the embrace as best he could with his one good arm.
John couldn't articulate what the scene and the words meant. More than the moon and the stars. More than the heavens themselves. To see his father embrace Elijah that way… It meant more than words could say.
"Thank you, Mr Tracy," Elijah said.
"It's Jeff, boy. My name is Jeff, and you'd better get used to calling me that."
A light pink spread across Eli's fine cheekbones. Lyra extricated herself from the clump of uncles and skipped towards her grandfather.
"Actually," she said, "your name is Grandpa."
That sent a wave of chuckles through the room. Elijah even smiled.
"Sweets, I don't think I can call your grandpa 'Grandpa'," he said. "I might get fired."
"You're darn right," Jeff growled.
He tipped Eli a wink, and the Tracys laughed anew.
Of course, theirs was not the only reunion. The other Scott, Virgil and Gordon appeared from the direction of the hangars, suits hastily discarded and shirts half-buttoned or buttoned wrongly. Virgil struggled with his left boot, but hopped forward, grinning.
"Dad!" he said.
"Is it really you?" Gordon asked, trying in vain to get his shirt on right.
The younger Jeff had Alan under his arm. He reached for the others, and when they came to him, they fell to their knees, a winding knot of happiness and relief, as finally, finally, Jeff Tracy was home.
"My boys," Jeff whispered. "My boys."
~oOo~
The euphoria was palpable. It took two Jeffs and a very persuasive Grandma to usher the various Tracys off to bed. How much sleep was had, however, was debatable.
Eventually, as dawn stretched its pale fingers across the sky, the early risers emerged.
Four men with only two names between them.
The younger Scott greeted the morning with a run, as he always did. Pounding along the bronze sand, his legs could have gone on forever. The grains sang beneath his sneakers. Dad's home! Dad's home! Along the shoreline, the sea whispered in an eternal cadence. He's back... He's back...
Scott's smile stretched longer than the miles of beach. As the heady scent of a tropical morning rose, thick and sweet, he gulped in a huge breath.
Then he let it out.
"Dad's home!"
Birds scattered from the treetops, squawking their discontent. But Scott didn't care.
When he returned to the villa, he found he wasn't he only one awake. He wasn't even the only Scott awake. He found his older compatriot wandering around the kitchen, trailing his fingertips along the countertops, looking simultaneously amazed and overwhelmed. He was older, yet the vulnerability of being out of place brought a strange youth to him.
Blue eyes met blue eyes. One smile greeted another.
Grabbing the towel he had laid out earlier, the younger Scott scrubbed his face, then slung it around his neck.
"Good morning," he said. It was as if he was greeting an ordinary houseguest. "Did you sleep well?"
The words felt clumsy, like an ill-fitting pair of shoes. They would do, but they didn't feel right. What was the correct way to greet someone who wasn't you, and yet…was.
"I must have passed out as soon as my head hit the pillow," the older Scott replied. He looked down, plucking at his borrowed clothing. "I don't know what to do with myself. I feel like Dorothy – or maybe Toto!"
The levity broke the tension, and the Scotts chuckled in unison.
"Well, I bet there's something I can do to make you feel more comfortable," the younger said. "I assume you drink coffee in your universe?"
The other man's brow smoothed. He spread his hands in an easy gesture, and sat at the kitchen table.
"Absolutely," he said. "I probably drink too much of the stuff."
"Same," the younger said. "I guess some things don't change."
"Right."
As Scott opened a cupboard, grasping the smoothness of the coffee jar, a thousand questions rocked through his mind. I wish I could ask them all! he thought. Where were you born? What's your middle name? How did you do in school? How...how do you feel?
As he doled out the coffee grounds, levelling the scoops, he caught the other Scott's eye. He paused. His mouth went dry. He tried to swallow.
Then he sighed.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm not entirely sure why I'm sorry, but I am."
"I understand," the older man said. "Things are...strange."
Nodding, Scott flicked on the kettle. He sat across from his counterpart.
"It took John – your John – quite some time to acclimatise," he said. "From what I've gathered, your world is very different from ours."
Chuckling, the older man leaned back in his chair.
"I don't know much about this place," he said, lacing his hands behind his head, "and I'm not sure I want to know. No offence, but I don't plan on sticking around as long as Johnny has."
"I think he's ready to go home, too," Scott said. "Both he and his fiancé. And that adorable little kid."
At the mention of his niece, the older Scott's eyes lit up.
"She truly is adorable," he said. "A real little star. I've…I've missed her."
The conversation trailed off. The kettle bubbled and flicked off, and soon enough, the smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the kitchen.
Just as Scott plunged the French Press, a third presence entered. He smiled, grateful for the company.
"Hey, John," he said. "Pull up a pew."
The redhead paused at the sight of the older Scott, his green eyes flickering with calculations. After a moment, he slid in at the table beside the younger Scott.
"You don't pull up pews," he said. "I think you're confusing the phrases 'pull up a chair' and 'grab a pew'–"
As he spoke, he reached for one of the porcelain mugs – orange with a yellow stripe – but Scott batted his hand away.
"Nothing breakable for you," he said. Instead, he fetched a plastic beaker. "You know the rules."
Rolling his eyes, John held his hand out for it.
"I really think this is unnecessary," he said.
"And I really think that if I have to order any more mugs, I'll go insane," Scott replied. "I can't even count how many you've smashed."
The older Scott, who had been watching the interchange, eyed John with one raised brow.
"Clumsy?" he asked.
"Yes," Scott replied.
Frowning, John shook his head.
"I prefer the term 'gravity-challenged,'" he replied. At the older Scott's look of confusion, he clarified. "I spend a lot of time in zero-g," he said. "Sometimes on earth, I forget that things don't float when I let go of them."
Scott chuckled as he poured the coffee.
"One of our biggest expenditures when Clumsy McSpace is at home is on crockery."
"Rude," John replied, his expression sour.
Then the three men chuckled, the tension breaking. As they sipped their drinks, a fourth voice joined them.
"And they say blonds have more fun. From where I'm standing, the grey, the brunette, and th redhead camps are having plenty."
Scott nodded in greeting at the older John. He smiled as his counterpart rose to embrace his brother.
"Don't kid yourself, Kid," the older Scott said, clapping the blond John's back. "You're greyer than I am."
"I don't go grey," John said. "I go white."
The younger Scott quirked an eyebrow and plucked up the cup he had denied to his brother. Grinning, he filled it and passed it across the blonde John, much to the redhead's disdain.
"Oh, so that's the way it is," his brother said. "I see where we stand."
The blond tipped his counterpart a wink and shrugged.
"I don't get to hang out in zero-g," he said. "I wish I did. I have to have some kind of recompense – even if it's just the privilege of a ceramic mug."
Redhead John stilled at the levity. His eyes narrowed slightly. Scott only noticed as he knew his brother so well. In the split-second, he waited. His brother's enmity for the older John was obvious.
The moment passed and the redhead's lips quirked.
"To be honest, I'll take my space station over the use of a mug any day." He smile spread. "Any from what you've told me, your station is a real hunk of junk."
"How dare you!" the blond said, pressing a hand to his heart. "I am mortally offended."
The table broke into laughter again. Feeling a strange weight lift from his shoulders, Scott grinned and refilled his mug. The four sat in the brightening morning, shooting the breeze. He sat back and listened to the jostling of Tracys that were not his brothers.
The words earlier may have felt clumsy, but current feelings were easier to comprehend. At first, the awkwardness had been uncomfortable, a prickling like pins and needles. As the time went on, things changed. They morphed like clay, moulded into something new. Something...right.
It's weird, he thought. It's like meeting up with long-lost cousins. It was strange. But now? It feels...right.
Truly, it did.
