N/A: It's been over three years since I last updated this story, but I've finally been able to find the inspiration to give it the epilogue it deserves. Enjoy :)
Epilogue: Coming Full Circle
They say time heals all wounds. Alan Tracy wasn't sure he believed that, but it definitely made those wounds hurt a little less. Over the months since the New Zealand rescue, he'd managed to let some of the betrayal and anger go, but the broken trust was slower to repair.
It helped that his brothers had come to him, alone or in pairs, and given frank appraisals of their actions in their own unique ways. Gordon's apology had been silly and funny, marked with moments of seriousness and almost painful sincerity. Virgil's had been rich with sympathy and regret. John had just let him talk and then hugged him with a quiet, "We won't let you down again." Scott's had been a blend of concern and awkwardness.
And slowly, the forgiveness had begun.
Tin-Tin had been his rock throughout the whole painful process and he'd come to understand the impossible decision she'd found herself in. How, when it'd come down to it, she'd put him first above all else.
How much she loved him.
Man, that still amazed him sometimes. If there was one positive thing to come out of the whole hellish period, it was the way she looked at him like he was the only person in the room. The way she smiled just for him, her brown eyes dancing. They way she made him feel when her arms slid around his neck and she pressed her lips against his. Whole. Trusted. Loved.
Ironic that maybe he had a madman to thank for that.
Alan flopped back on the sand and stared up at the blue sky. Fluffy white clouds were drifting across like sheep milling around in a field, the bright sun darting in and out between them. The sea was lapping gently against the white sandy shore and behind him in the jungle, the birds were singing a cheerful song.
All in all, another perfect day on Tracy Island.
And a momentous one in London.
His watch beeped loudly, breaking the tranquillity of the moment. Bracing himself on one elbow, Alan accepted the incoming call and watched as his brother's face filled the screen.
"Al? The verdict's in."
John Tracy drummed his fingers on the centre console of Thunderbird 5 in an unusual display of impatience. He'd barely slept overnight, not wanting to miss the announcement, but so far – nothing. The newsreaders continued to speculate and time continued to drag on.
Biting back a sigh, John turned his attention to the other goings-on in the world. A hurricane was approaching the eastern shore of the US, but wind patterns indicated it would likely stay out on the ocean. A volcano in Iceland was showing signs of activity, but the local authorities were on top of the situation and had already evacuated the few families that lived in the area. And a train had derailed in Switzerland, but it was an automated cargo transport with no driver and the only loss was a load of Swiss confectionary.
So far, so quiet. Not that he wanted to tempt fate, but John would almost have welcomed a rescue just to break up the monotony.
One of the lights on the console lit up suddenly, as if summoned by his thoughts. Not a rescue, but a private call coming in from a familiar number.
"Hey Penny. Any news?"
"Nothing yet." Her frustration made her accent even more clipped and polished than usual. "Even for the British justice system, this is excruciatingly slow."
"What's the hold up?"
"The courtroom's locked up tighter than the queen's crown jewels, so I can't say for sure. Probably some pomp and circumstance nonsense. You know we love standing on ceremony over here." Her voice dropped away for a few moments and John heard murmured sounds in the background before she came back. "Parker's confident he can find a way inside. If I have to stand here much longer, I may accept his kind offer. It's bloody freezing!"
John smiled despite himself, picturing the lady and her driver on a cold street in London. A splash of pink among the crowd of reporters clustered on the steps of the Old Bailey, desperate for the verdict and sentencing in the trial of Richard Anthony Wilcox, PhD.
It was almost poetic that a case that had begun with the collapse of a small mine in Wales would finish with a verdict over that very incident. After Wilcox's arrest in New Zealand, the Brits had been quick to claim first right to extradition given the man's nationality and the UK's close ties with his country of arrest. Wilcox had been returned to his home country within a couple of weeks and Scotland Yard and the Crown Prosecution Service began the work of taking him to trial. The charges ranged from terrorism-related offences through to second degree murder over the deaths of some of the miners.
Despite the volume of evidence gathered by both International Rescue and intelligence forces in the affected countries, Wilcox pled not guilty to all charges. His defence team kept their cards close to their chests, but when he entered a plea of not guilty by reason of insanity on the first day of the trial, it hadn't come as a huge surprise. And if John was totally honest with himself, there could be some truth to the claim. It was clear that Richard Wilcox had some kind of psychological issues, although the extent of his ability to make reasoned decisions was going to be up to the jury to decide. John didn't envy them the task.
"John." The sharp note in Lady P's voice drew his attention back to their conversation. "I think something's happening."
There was a flurry of activity on the screens he had tuned to the local news stations, as reporters and cameramen scrambled to attention. It was difficult to make out what was going on – and then Penny's voice returned once more.
"They're about to announce the verdict."
Virgil Tracy pressed the middle C of his piano and listened as the familiar note hung in the air for a few moments before fading away. He pressed it again and then a third time, using the pedal to make it stay with him for longer.
"I'm liking the new tune, Virge," a voice mocked him gently from across the room. "You gonna call it Monotone in C?"
Virgil glanced over his shoulder in time to see Gordon collapse onto the sofa in a heap of arms and legs. The redhead stuck his feet up on the back so that his head was almost on the floor. Beyond his brother, the muted TV still showed a whole lot of nothing on a street in London.
"Can't believe it's still not over," Gordon moaned, twisting like a wriggling puppy until he was somewhat more upright. "How long does it take?"
"As long as it takes," Virgil replied in a measured tone. His fingers ghosted across the keys and formed a familiar chord. G major with a shift down to F major and then to C...
"That's more like it." Gordon braced his chin on his hands and fixed Virgil with a laser-like gaze. "Entertain me, Sam."
"Sam?"
"You know, like in that movie." When Virgil shook his head, Gordon's face scrunched up. "You know, that old one. With that – that piano guy. Sam."
"He's talking about Casablanca," Scott supplied as he strode into the room. Their eldest brother made a beeline for the TV and quickly unmuted it. The reporter was rambling away, doing her best to fill the time until the verdict was finally announced.
"I wanna listen to Virg play," Gordon complained, lunging for the remote.
Scott held it out of his reach. "You can listen to Virgil play anytime. This is important."
"Nothing's happening!" Gordon made another attempt at claiming the remote and managed to wrestle it from Scott's iron grip this time. He triumphantly muted the TV and waggled the remote in front of his older brother's darkening face.
"Stop acting like a spoiled brat," Scott gritted out. "I don't want to miss anything."
Gordon snorted. "Like there's anything to miss. Besides, don't you have a TV in your room? Yeah, pretty sure you have a TV in your room. So why don't you pay that a visit?"
Scott lunged at his brother, hands grasping for the remote as Gordon danced backwards.
"Guys, enough."
Virgil pushed his piano stool back, the wooden legs scraping loudly against the floor. His brothers froze, the remote clenched in both their hands.
"You're both as bad as each other," Virgil told them sternly. "Just chill out and learn some patience, will you? Being pains in my ass will not make this day go any quicker."
They blinked at him. Virgil joined them in the middle of the lounge and held out his hand. They exchanged a look and then slowly, ever so slowly, Gordon and Scott released their death grip and the remote was handed over.
Virgil slipped it into the pocket of his shirt and returned to his piano without another word. He was just trying to decide if he was in the mood for Mozart or Debussy when Gordon started shouting.
"Unmute, unmute!"
Virgil unmuted just in time.
Guilty, of all charges.
As his brothers celebrated, Scott Tracy slipped out of the family room and hurried along the corridor to his bedroom. He dropped into the chair on front of his computer and double-clicked the familiar old icon.
It took a few moments for the call to connect and when it did, a wave of longing swam through him.
"Hey Kate."
"Scott."
She looked tired, he thought. Tired and wrung out. He hated seeing her so low and knowing that he'd played a role in putting that expression on her face.
"Did you hear?"
"Just now." Her voice was flat, toneless. "I was in the courtroom. Guilty on all counts and sentenced to a combined 47 years at her majesty's pleasure."
Of course. Kate had been called to testify by the prosecution. To testify against a man she'd once called a friend.
"I'm sorry."
"Are you? It's what you wanted, isn't it? Richard behind bars, no matter who you hurt in the process."
She sounded so bitter. He wanted to reach out and touch her, tell her everything was going to be okay. But he couldn't. She was too far away and he didn't have that right anymore.
"Kate, he almost killed my brother."
She was quiet for a few moments and then he heard her sigh. "I know. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have said that."
"Kate – "
"Scott, it's okay."
"Is it?" The frustration boiled up inside him and exploded. "Not from my angle. Listen to us; we're talking like we're strangers for God's sake!"
"Maybe we are."
"How can you say that?"
"Two years… did I ever really know you at all, Scott?"
"Of course you did. You know you did."
"No, I don't, and that scares me. The lies –"
"I didn't lie to you about everything –"
"Just the biggest part of your life."
Scott slammed his hand down on the table. "I didn't lie about being in love with you!"
Silence crackled down the phone line. "I know," she said at length. "I know." He could hear the tears in her voice. "Would you have told me? Eventually? About International Rescue?"
"I –" Would he have told her? Really? It would be so easy to say yes, to promise that he'd been planning to speak to his father, that he'd rehearsed the words that would have convinced Jeff Tracy to bring Kate into the fold.
But honestly… he just wasn't sure. What he'd told Gordon was true – he'd been considering the idea. But he'd also been reluctant. His life with Kate, as difficult as it had sometimes been – he'd liked it being separate from his International Rescue persona. It had been his sanctuary. His get-out clause when everything else had gotten too much. Any thoughts he'd had about the future had been fleeting and probably unrealistic. Hell, he'd never even mentioned Kate to his family. Almost as if he'd known this couldn't last.
She read the answer in his silence. "I thought so."
Scott went to speak and then realised he didn't have anything to say. He hadn't felt so powerless since sitting beside his little brother's bed in the hospital, willing him to wake up. But this time there would be no happy ending to the story. He couldn't make this right.
"I never meant for any of this to happen," he said finally, needing to fill the silence.
"I know."
"I'm sorry."
"Me too."
"Do you think… if I'd told you the truth, do you think things would be different?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Scott, we can't go down this road. What ifs and maybes are a quick path to regret."
She'd said that to him early on in their relationship, when he'd been uncertain about the wisdom of a long-distance romance. Even under the circumstances, the words brought a smile to his face. But they also brought home the reality of the conversation and forced him to recognise what he'd been trying to deny.
"Scott, I'm sorry but I have to go now. I have a lecture I need to plan for."
It was an excuse and they both knew it, but Scott let her have her way out. "Yeah, no problem. Listen, Kate?"
"Yes?"
"I – " The words stuck in his throat. "Look after yourself, okay?"
"I will. Bye, Scott."
"Bye."
47 years. It was a hell of a sentence, Gordon Tracy thought. Longer than they'd expected the bastard to get, but never long enough to make up for the deaths and destruction Wilcox had caused. Or the pain he'd put Alan through.
Alan.
Gordon cast a glance around the lounge and while his dad and Tin-Tin had joined them at some point, his youngest brother was conspicuous by his absence. In fact, he hadn't seen Alan all day.
Time to change that.
Scooting around his family, Gordon left them to follow the unfolding situation in London and activated the GPS on his watch. Alan's dot showed that he was down on the beach nearest the villa and thankfully staying in one place. His little brother had taken up running as part of his ongoing recovery process and was getting annoyingly fast.
He was trotting past Scott's room when voices from within caught his attention. Never one to pass up an opportunity to gather useful blackmail material, Gordon slowed his pace and peeked around the open door.
Scott was at his desk, back to the door, and over his shoulder Gordon could make out the familiar face of a woman on-screen. The mass of brown curls tickled a memory and a name came to him – Katherine Oliver. Scott's English girlfriend... and former friend and colleague of Richard Wilcox.
A few snippets of conversation floated over to him and it didn't take Gordon long to work out what was happening and how he definitely, 100% percent, had no place witnessing it. He drew back as the call ended and Scott's head dropped into his hands. His brother's breath caught and while part of Gordon longed to comfort him, a larger part knew Scott wouldn't appreciate it right now. He closed the door instead and leaned back against it, wondering if Richard Wilcox would ever understand how much damage he'd caused.
"Gordon?"
Gordon snapped upright and took a quick step away from Scott's door. His dad eyed him carefully, but seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say. "Have you seen your brother?"
Gordon didn't need to ask which one. "He's on the north beach. Dunno if he knows yet, so I was gonna –"
"I'll go."
It was the kind of statement you didn't argue with so Gordon just nodded and watched as his dad disappeared around the corner. Of all of them, it was probably right that Jeff broke the news. And maybe, just maybe, his dad and his brother would finally be able to talk.
As Jeff Tracy picked his way carefully down the rocky path to the beach, he planned out what he was going to say to his son in his head. It was a trick he'd been doing since he was young; a way of ensuring that he was cool, calm and collected when it came time to speak. And God knows, he needed to be prepared when it came to Alan.
He'd taken the advice Tin-Tin had given him all those months ago to heart, but it hadn't been easy. "Just be honest," she'd said, those dark eyes unflinching. "He needs to see that you know you made a mistake and he needs to be able to trust that it'll never happen again."
Jeff had tried, he really had. But for some reason, the right words just wouldn't come. He and Alan had talked, sure, but not really about anything significant and there was still a distance between them that was no longer there when it came to his brothers. There was still distrust and disappointment.
The path wound down through the jungle before spilling out onto the beach. His youngest child was sitting cross-legged on the sand, gazing out at the water. Jeff was taken straight back to the day all those months ago when he'd come across Alan on this same beach, crutches at his side, lost in his own pain and grief after his terrible head injury. On that day, he'd handed his son the card of Doctor Tomass – which he still believed had been the right move at the time. Today, it was all on Jeff.
Alan heard him approach and looked up, raising his hand to shade his eyes from the sun. If he was disappointed to see his father rather than one of his brothers, he didn't show it.
"Hi, Dad."
Jeff smiled, relieved at the greeting. He lowered himself onto the sand beside his son, biting back a groan when his muscles reminded him he wasn't as young as he used to be.
"We missed you up at the house."
Alan shrugged. "Not like you can't always find me."
"True."
They sat in silence for a time, watching the tide roll in and out. In and out.
"Alan... the verdict's come in," Jeff said at length.
"I know." When Jeff stared at his son in surprise, a faint smile touched Alan's lips. "Johnny gave me a ring," he explained.
John, of course. Jeff's space-bound son had probably known before all of them.
"How do you feel about it?"
"Forty-seven years is a long time." There was no inflection in his son's tone.
Jeff shifted his weight. "It should have been life."
"You think?"
"You don't?" Jeff studied his son. "After everything he did?"
"I think... it's good that he can't hurt anyone else." Alan toyed with a piece of driftwood. "But..."
Jeff waited, wondering where this was going.
"I think he was sick too," Alan concluded.
Jeff's heart swelled. For Alan to recognise that, after everything, showed just how much he'd matured. This wasn't just his son sitting in front of him anymore, he realised. This wasn't his baby that needed protecting from the harsh realities of the world. This was a grown man. Jeff felt a strange pang that was a mixture of regret and pride.
"That doesn't excuse what Wilcox did," he said at last, not willing to be quite as generous as his son.
"No," Alan agreed, "but maybe it explains it. Just a little." He poked his driftwood into the sand and dusted off his sandy hands. "Whatever. At least it's over."
There were still trials to come in South Africa, France, New Zealand and probably more, but Jeff knew what his son meant. And before he let the moment slip away, there was one last thing to be said. Once last wrong to be righted.
"I'm sorry, Alan."
His son grew very still beside him.
"I was wrong. I can say I was trying to protect you, but it also just made it easier to keep you away from everything. To keep seeing you as a child that needed to be looked after. That I could wrap in cotton wool until the danger had passed. And maybe that worked when you were ten, but you're not ten anymore and I refused to recognise that."
"I took away your choices and made your decisions for you. And pulled everyone else into it too. I was so sure I was doing the right thing, but if I could go back... I'd do things differently. If Wilcox had taken you from us –" His throat closed around the words and he swallowed raggedly. "I would – I never would have –"
Alan's arms closed around him and Jeff gathered his son against his chest, chin resting against the soft blond curls. Moisture trickled down his cheek, but he made no attempt to brush it away. Alan's hands fisted the back of his shirt and his son's shoulders trembled as the walls between them finally, irrevocably, came down.
The sun was beginning to set when Tin-Tin Kyrano slipped off her sandals and buried her feet in the warm sand. Alan and his father were sitting side-by-side and Alan was laughing at something Jeff was saying. It was clear that something had changed between them – something good – and the pure happiness on Alan's face when he caught sight of her made her insides dance with joy.
"Mom says it's time for dinner," she called as she drew closer.
Jeff looked down at his watch and grimaced. "I'm surprised she waited this long." He stood up and brushed the loose sand of his trousers. "I'll go and make my apologies."
He strode off towards the jungle as Tin-Tin joined Alan. She slipped her arms around his waist and smiled up at him. "Hi."
"Hi, yourself." He pressed a kiss to the tip of her nose.
"You seem happy."
He swung her around so that she was facing the ocean, his arms coming around her from behind. "You're here, there's a beautiful sunset and... it's finally over."
She kissed his cheek, catching his lips when he angled his head towards her. The kiss was long and slow and sweet.
"Everything's going to be okay," she murmured.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"I like your confidence." He kissed her again and then rested his chin on her shoulder. On the horizon, the reddening sun continued its journey down to meet the sea.
"Alan?"
His arms tightened around her. "Just five more minutes."
She leaned back against his chest and smiled.
"Okay."