Disclaimer: I don't have any of the rights to the Thunderbirds characters or anything else as such. Just so you know.

Author's Notes: Well, this is the final chapter. Thanks go to everyone who has read the story, and to those who left a review also. Your feedback is invaluable.

Thanks once more to Hobbeth for checking this for me.

I hope this chapter works as I intend it to in ending such an emotional rollercoaster. Read and enjoy!

Eulogy

"You know what I miss most about you? That smile of yours."

He turned to the picture on the desk by the side of the bed, taking in the faces that stared back at him from a time long ago. He shuffled slightly on the bed, where he lay on his back, making himself more comfortable.

He shook his head, smiling faintly at the cheeky grin in the photograph. "That smile was infectious – you could walk into a room and light up everyone's faces. It was an angelic smile – the one you used when one of us was upset about something. The one you used with Grandma whenever you were caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

"Grandma could never stay mad at you – that's why we used to use you as the distraction, while Gordon and I sneaked in the back way and got the goods. Then we'd meet up on the back porch and share them out. That was a classic Tracy tactic. It never failed – well, that was, until we grew up. It's a bit harder to sneak when you're six foot tall.

"I think Grandma learned pretty quickly when you were 'distracting' her though. You'd give her the innocent smile, but she seemed to know when you were the 'bait' and when it was genuine. That's when we switched to using John as the bait, but he always stuttered when he lied, so that didn't last long."

Scott gave a long sigh as memories played out in his head. "Dad always said that you must've inherited that smile from Mom, since she was the only one who could smile as sweetly as you could. Mom…you looked so much like her, it was unbelievable. I think Dad was the only one who could truly appreciate that sentiment, since he remembers her best, and misses her with his heart. Well, you and I remembered much more of her than Johnny, Gordon and Al. I wish they could've gotten to know her better."

Scott looked over to the doorway of his bedroom, crossing his arms behind his head to act as a pillow. He allowed the memories to surface freely. "I can still see you standing at the doorway, that first night you heard me cry. It was just after Mom died, and I was on my bed curled up, trying to fall asleep but couldn't. I didn't hear the door open, or hear you walk in. You must've been what, eight years old or so? You came in, and gave me that smile of yours that told me everything was going be alright.

"I was embarrassed at first. The last thing I wanted was my brother to see me cry. I was the oldest, for God's sake. I always imagined myself to be the 'bold' one, the one whose role was to look out for you. I guess that night I learned how important it was to have someone to turn to, someone to lean on when I needed it. That night, I realised it was you. You didn't look at me with question, or disappointment, or anything. You were just…there, to listen to me, to help me get it all out of my system - just to let me know you understood. Just a simple hug, but it was the one thing I'd needed. Thanks for that."

He turned towards the picture closest to him, smiling a gracious smile at the person he looked to. The picture was simple, but meaningful. It was one of himself and his brother, taken when they were just children. The sturdy arms of an eight-year-old Scott were wrapped around the small shoulders of a five-year-old Virgil. Scott peered over his shoulder, both of them wearing identical grins as they posed for the camera. Virgil's cheeky grin held a number of gaps where he had lost his baby teeth, whilst Scott poked his tongue out slightly. Even at such a young age, even before their mother had died, Scott was protective of his brother, and so very close at heart.

"I remember the day when that picture was taken. Dad had bought a new digital camera that was supposed to take clear pictures, even if your hands were shaky. So what better way to test it out than with two young, boisterous boys? He was glad it worked, and was fairly pleased with the results. I had to hold on to you just so he could take the photo. You wouldn't stand still at all; instead you were eager to run around to release all your excess energy. So I grabbed you from behind and held you in one place." His face was lit with a warming glow. "I think it's the best picture he ever took of both of us.

"Mom was pregnant with Gordon at that time. That's right…she wanted us out of the way for some peace and quiet, so Dad decided to try out the new camera. I can't remember where Johnny was – he must've been inside, on the piano or something.

"Mom loved that piano. You remember – the one with the sticky keys?" He snorted softly to himself at the memory. "Sometimes Gordon used to sit and watch Mom playing, or watch her help you with your studies. Mom went mad that day Gords managed to spill his drink all over the keys – I've never seen a three-year-old run as fast as he did that day. She was furious – more so when she came to play it the next day and found the bottom octave keys were all sticky. She'd press a note, and the key would take ages to lift back up. But you know something? She never had the piano replaced, or the faulty keys fixed. I asked her why not, but all she told me was that the piano was now unique. It had the 'Gordon seal-of-approval' spilled all over it, so it was truly marked as 'ours'. I didn't understand what she meant at the time, but I guess I do now."

Scott closed his eyes as music began to play in his mind. Images of his mother – followed by his brother – performing on the piano appeared to him. He allowed the soothing melody of a beautiful Beethoven sonata fill his soul, relaxing him. "It's funny, but we could always tell what mood you were in by the piece of music you played. If it was an upbeat march then you were in a jovial mood. A sonata or concerto – depending on which key it was – meant you were thinking about something. Minor key meant you were troubled – major key, you'd worked it out.

"A fugue or a study meant you wanted to challenge yourself; you wanted to burn some excess energy, or you were bored. And if it was a Schumann or Chopin piece, we weren't to even dare talk to you and risk disturbing your concentration." A smile lifted onto his features, reaching his eyes. "Remember the theme you composed for us? Our own 'Thunderbirds' theme? Sometimes you'd sneak it in if we ever had visitors and had 'Operation Cover-Up' in place. They wouldn't know what that particular tune meant, but we all knew. Dad would cast a glance in your direction, but you'd shrug it off and he'd smile anyway."

Lifting both his hands from behind his head, he wiped them over his face as he let out a deep sigh. "How did it happen? How did you and I become so close? Dad's asked a few times, but I guess no one can answer that. I mean, you were into the arts, creativity, and engineering. I was into flying and such. What did we ever have in common, I wonder?" A smile played on his lips. "Ah, I don't care how – it's the fact we were so close that matters.

"You know," Scott bit his lower lip in thought. "You were the one person in the whole world who could read me below the surface. Sometimes John can guess what I'm thinking, but you could actually read my thoughts deep below the surface, and I could read yours. It was a nightmare when it came to buying birthday presents; I could never lie to you without keeping a straight face. But when it came to hiding problems, you'd always know. You always knew when I was covering up, bottling something up inside. And I knew I couldn't do anything to hide it, no matter how hard I tried.

"Maybe it was because we were opposites…maybe because you were always the patient one, where I was always edgy, or eager to get going. You thought things through, where I always acted on instinct. I know, you were the next to be born in the family, so I guess it makes some sense that I'd bond with you first but…I don't know, it just seemed the most unusual pairing.

"But you know what, little brother? I wouldn't have had it any other way. God, you saved my sanity more times than I care to imagine. You brought the best out of me, and the worst. It was frightening just how you knew what I was thinking and feeling, and how I knew your thoughts in return. You were a terrible liar when it came to hiding something. It could be a look in your eye, or a twitch in your smile that gave you away.

"I remember when we first started work as International Rescue, when I found you still awake at two in the morning. You were in the kitchen, wide awake with thoughts running through your head. I took one look at your face and I knew you needed to talk." Scott turned his gaze towards a second frame that held a more recent photograph – only this one was of all five brothers together, taken no more than two years previously. "You told me you were scared. You were afraid to face a rescue where there was a strong possibility we would fail; that it was only a matter of time when we would fail some day. The landing of the Fireflash was just the start of it all. I knew what you meant; I was scared that we'd fail, too, but I had to admit I was more terrified of failing you guys, though I'd never openly admit to it.

"I'd thought about it over and over when Dad had asked if we were up to working for a rescue organisation. I wanted to save lives; I wanted to save people from the pain of losing a loved one, of course I did. But I didn't want it to mean putting my brothers' lives on the line, risking going through that pain again.

"Damn it, I knew some day it would happen, I just knew. We all felt the same, but you told me to keep telling myself that it would be worth it. If we watched each others' backs we'd be okay." Scott snorted quietly to himself. "You even said that if anything like that did happen, we'd all learn to 'get over it'; that we'd learn to get over the pain and get on with our lives. I didn't want to test that particular theory out."

He lazily dropped an arm across his eyes, allowing the silence of thought to hang in the air. Releasing a deep sigh, he turned his body and reached an arm over to the more recent of the two photographs that sat on his desk. Carefully lifting the frame over towards the bed, he looked into the warm, soulful eyes that stared back at him. He longingly stroked the face to whom the eyes belonged, almost as if he could still touch him, still feel him close.

"Virg, what would I ever have done without you?" He smiled a warm smile, thinking back to the time when the photograph was taken. Their father had thought it a good idea to have a picture of all five of them together for a change, since the last time they had been together in one place had been just before Scott had decided to join the Air Force. All of them stood in a line, in no particular order as such. Each had placed an arm around the brother stood next to them, linking them.

John stood at the end on the left hand side, his arm around Gordon by his side, sporting a cheeky grin. Next in line was Scott, in the middle with his arm around Gordon and Virgil's shoulders. The youngest, Alan, completed the line-up on the right. Each wore a grin that nearly split their faces in half, as they looked over to where Gordon stood – the centre of attention as always. As their father had held a finger over the button on the camera, poised to take the shot, they had called out 'Cheese!' – to which Gordon had cheekily added: 'Cheese-y puffs!' and had them all nearly splitting their sides. Their excitement levels at being reunited had been high – understandably, since they were a very close family and missed each other's company.

That had made the pain so much harder to bear.

"You certainly knew how to break our hearts, didn't you Virgil?" He spoke to the man in question.

Looking hard at the picture, Scott thought back to a couple of months previous, of what his father had told him, understanding only now just what he had meant by his words.

"When you can look at Virgil's picture and smile with fond memories, then you'll be able to find some peace."

That time had finally come, along with the smile he never thought would return to his chiselled features.

He gently returned the picture to its place on the desk, then shuffled onto his side under the bed sheets. One last look towards the pictures, he smiled, and whispered, "G'night, Virg," to the night air.

He couldn't be certain, but somewhere in the back of his mind registered a quiet voice in reply. He left it to his imagination, conjured up by expectation or a memory of how the reply had always come. But something inside him wanted to believe his brother was watching over him, keeping his promise never to leave his side. He wanted to believe that, in the quiet night air, he had heard the distinctive voice of his brother call back to him.

"Night, Scott."

Fin