"The Greatest Discovery" Part Four A short story based on the WB Series, "Tarzan" By Felicity Disclaimer: I don't own any of this: the characters, story, series, or part of the idea. I'm not selling, or making any kind of profit off of this story I've written. No infringement is intended. This is solely for my own enjoyment and the enjoyment of others.

Want it?: You can have it.. but I'd appreciate it if you'd email me before you take it anywhere. (tfelicity39@hotmail.com). Kathleen stepped into the atrium, carrying a tray of various food items. She was worried about John; he hadn't been home for a few days before last night, so she wasn't sure if he had eaten or not. John was crouched on the rail of the balcony. Kathleen noted the cold wind whipping through his matted locks, and the state of dress he was in. If she was to get him to court on time, she would have to get busy now. "John, are you going to eat something?" He turned to acknowledge her, and then nodded to the air. "Your winter comes; the air is crisp, but too cold for my clothes." Kathleen lay the tray down beside John on the railing. "Yes, it gets bitterly cold some days, but right now it's just cool. We are going to have to see about getting you to wear some shoes today." John knew that he would have to go the court, if anything was ever going to work out for him here. He took his Aunt Kathleen's advice and showered, washed his hair and everything else (as she so eloquently put it, making him laugh out loud). He donned the green shirt, underwear, dress pants and even the shoes that she had laid out for him, but he refused, flatly, to wear the socks. Kathleen knocked on the door to the bedroom and entered once John acknowledged her knock. "I want to help you get ready, do you mind if I brush your hair?" John smiled, wrinkling the right hand corner of his mouth as he sat down on the bed so that his aunt didn't have to reach to brush. Once she began, he started to talk. "I am afraid of this day Kathleen." She knew he was, but to hear him admit it, scared her just a little as well. "John, we have good counsel and we have Jane and Sam on our side. We shouldn't worry." She stroked his hair, pulling lightly on the few knots that were left. He was only a child; they had both left him, died. He remembered weeping for days, perhaps longer, before the apes found him and took him in. He was not a small child, he was not a baby, but he was an orphan and Cheetah, as Tarzan had lovingly named her, adopted him from the onset. She kept him as safe as she could a six year old child. She taught him how to communicate with her, using gestures and a series of grunts. It was because of her that Tarzan had survived the Congo. Learning to scale the vines had been difficult, he had fallen many times, perhaps had broken bones, he wasn't sure, but he did learn. He learned to scurry like a monkey; his feet became as important as his hands. He learned to find clear, clean water, learned to tell what was good to eat, and what was not. He learned to protect himself from the other animals and he learned how to construct a small home for himself for when the apes were not around to protect him. What they couldn't teach him, was to be a man. Tarzan, the white ape, was a hunter, a wild animal set loose on the streets of New York.

Richard had caged him, perhaps rightfully so. He did not understand this world that he was brought to. There were so many mixed signals coming from everyone, even Jane. At least back home in the jungle, he knew right and wrong and there was no in between. You didn't let anything hurt the ones that you cared about, and they had your back. Here it wasn't so simple. Jane protected the bad people and the good people got into trouble. There was something wrong with this system. He wasn't sure that he wanted to be a part of it.

The sun rose into the clear blue sky, birds flew overhead, animals scurried and raced below. The world was simple on the top of this tree. The top of this tree was home. Home called him...........he was becoming homesick for his aerie in the Republic of Congo. A tear fell from his eye and traced a path past his nose and to his cheek, falling to rest from his chin to the lapel on his green shirt. Kathleen was about to tie John's hair into a ponytail when she turned him around to look at her. She saw the path that the single tear had taken and her heart broke. How could she possibly understand things to him so that he would understand? Life was not as simple her in the concrete jungle, but he could be looked after, no matter what. "John, you need to know that I love you, very much and I mean to see that you are not going to be hurt anymore, by anyone." John didn't acknowledge her words, though she knew he was listening. "Jane loves you too John and she won't let anyone hurt you anymore." To this Kathleen received a response. John pulled away from Kathleen, wiped the tear from his cheek and almost spat the words out, "Jane does not love me, and she just wants to help." Kathleen rested her hand softly on one of John's cheeks. She marveled at his complete innocence. One could only hope that he could retain that gift. It had survived the wilds of Africa; hopefully it could survive the "civilized world." She smiled at her handsome nephew. "Jane does love you John. Perhaps she has never said the words, perhaps she doesn't even know it yet, but for her to have done as much as she has done, and it's not just a job to her John. She has feelings. She's confused about everything, but trust me, Jane loves you." She smoothed her hand over John's cheek and then took his hand into hers. "We must be going; do you have any last minute things to do?" The confused look on John's face told her to elaborate, "I mean like going to the washroom, you know that kind of thing?" He shook his head and followed his aunt. She almost had to drag him down the stairs, as he kept complaining about the horrible shoes he had to wear. "Socks John, they would have helped, trust me." They didn't have time to argue, Kathleen's chauffeur waited for them outside of the limo, checking his watch.