FUGUE

A Thunderbirds story in five parts

By Spense

Note: This is TV Verse. Don't own them, not making money . . . etc.

Fugue:

1: a dreamlike state of altered consciousness that may last for hours or days 2: a musical form consisting of a theme repeated a fifth above or a fourth below its first statement

Music. An imitative polyphonic composition in which a theme or themes are stated successively in all of the voices of the contrapuntal structure.

In music, a fugue is a type of piece written in counterpoint for several independent musical voices. A fugue begins with its subject (a brief musical theme) stated by one of the voices playing alone. A second voice then enters and plays the subject, while the first voice continues on with a contrapuntal accompaniment. Then the remaining voices similarly enter one by one. The remainder of the fugue further develops the material using all of the voices. (From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)

PART FOUR

COMPLETION OF THE EXPOSITION

The crash was unexpected, but then again, that was the way of these things. Nobody actually expects to pile a car into the wall of a racetrack. The really dumb thing about it was that it was a simple malfunction during a morning test run. Alan thought later that the stars must just be out to get him.

His season had been remarkable so far. He hadn't lost any of the edge. The media was toting his phenomenal talent. Alan knew better. It had more to do with hard work, attention to detail and pure dumb luck. And frankly, piloting space rockets. Speeds that cars reached were nothing compared to that. But he couldn't exactly say that to the media.

But still, things happened. A tire blew out just as Alan entered a curve at top speed. Right where an oil slick had been laid down by the previous driver. And that was all she wrote.

The next thing Alan knew, he was lying on the pavement, warmed by a bonfire consisting of his car burning merrily.

The first thing he really focused on was Kenny looking at him, worry in his face. Pat was alternating looking between Alan and the burning car, trying to decide which bothered him more. Alan's eyes traveled towards the light. Catching sight of the fire, he whispered, "Son of a . . . ."

Kenny grinned in relief. "Welcome back hotshot. Way to go!"

Alan's eyes traveled slowly back to Kenny's face, and managed to get out rather dryly, "Glad you approved of the show" before groaning as a hand was placed on his chest.

"Easy," the paramedic was saying.

Alan just grimaced at Kenny who laughed in sympathy before the jostling put his lights out again.

TB TB TB TB TB

Jeff Tracy scrambled out of the door of the lounge and ran down the hall to his suite, yelling for Scott. Scott appeared in the doorway of Jeff's sitting room as a result of the summons, followed in quick succession by Grandma and Virgil, both of whom had been in earshot.

"What!" Scott exclaimed in concern as they crowded into the doorway of the huge walk-in closet as his father was quickly pulling out luggage and tossing clothes into it.

"Prep the jet for me please. I need to leave right away," Jeff replied, packing as he spoke.

"Jeff, what's happened?" Josie asked, concerned.

"I just got a call from Kenny Malone. Alan was in an accident at the track. The car blew a tire and slammed into the wall," he answered tersely.

Josie's hand flew to her mouth in shock.

"Is he all right?" Virgil asked.

"Kenny doesn't know. He was conscious and relatively coherent for a couple of minutes after they got him out of the car, but then he was out again. He's on the way to the hospital now." Jeff paused, seeing them standing there. "Scott, MOVE!" Jeff commanded. "You know as much as I do."

"On my way," Scott didn't waste anymore time.

"I'm with you. I'll let John know so he can monitor the hospital, then I'll be there to help," Virgil said to Scott's moving back. At the wave of his older brother's hand in acknowledgement, he headed in the opposite direction towards the lounge.

"Here, let me help," Josie said, moving to help Jeff.

"Thanks Mother," Jeff said gratefully, as two sets of hands made the work go faster.

TB TB TB TB TB

"Kenny!" Jeff called to the familiar figure as he hurriedly entered the waiting room. "How's Alan?"

"Mr. Tracy!" Kenny handed him the cup of coffee that he'd just poured and moved to get another. He looked up with a smile. "He's going to be fine."

Jeff relaxed as though the current running through him had been switched off. "Thank heavens."

Kenny grinned. "I just found out myself. The doctor just left. Come on, sit down and I'll fill you in."

They settled into the chairs against the wall, and Jeff turned to the mechanic expectantly. Kenny obediently started talking. He'd experienced the powerful personality of Jefferson Tracy before.

"Alan's got a bad concussion. He's been going in and out of consciousness for the last couple of hours, and he's going to have one massive headache for awhile. He's also wrenched his back pretty good. He's badly bruised from the restraint harness, but it saved his life. He's going to be so sore that he'll hardly be able to move for awhile, but over all, he's really lucky."

"I'll say," Jeff breathed. "How long will he have to be in the hospital?"

Kenny shrugged. "It depends on how long it takes for him to really regain consciousness, and stay that way. The Doc said at least 24 hours from that point. Just to keep an eye on him. Then he can go home. Do you want to see him?"

Jeff grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."

TB TB TB TB TB

Alan woke up with a pounding headache. At least this time he knew where he was, he thought ruefully as he looked at the ceiling in the dim room. He'd been pretty fuzzy, if he really had woken up previously and hadn't just been dreaming.

He blinked, and the headache came crashing down. He reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose with a leaden arm, screwing up his nose and closing his eyes in an attempt to ease the hammering. "Shit," he muttered distinctly.

"Well, I'd say that pretty much sums it up," said a quiet voice with a hint of amusement from the side of his bed.

Alan turned his head in puzzlement at the familiar voice, wincing as he did so. Narrowing his eyes into slits against the pain, he said tentatively, "Dad?" as the blurred figure slowly came into focus as his smiling father.

Jeff nodded affirmation, and pitched his voice lower so as not to aggravate Alan's obviously pounding head. "I know I'm not exactly someone high on your list of visitors right now, but I had to make sure you were all right." He took a deep breath. "Regardless of everything that's happened, you're still my son."

"No, no, it's okay," Alan said absently, still not mentally tracking terribly well, moving his head again to look at the foot of his bed, trying to find a comfortable position in the dim room.

Jeff shifted his chair so he was comfortable within Alan's line of sight. "Kenny called me as soon as they carted you off."

"Ummm," Alan replied. "Have you seen my barbequed car yet?" he asked wryly.

"No, I haven't had the pleasure," Jeff grinned.

Alan reflected that this was possibly the first conversation they'd ever had as equals. He wasn't living under his father's roof, he wasn't beholden to him in any way, and he was making it just fine on his own. Jeff wasn't lecturing him, or telling him he'd done something stupid, or that he should be more careful. It was . . . novel, to say the least.

"When did you get here?" Alan asked tiredly.

"About sixteen hours ago. You've been in and out."

"Ummm," Alan muttered again. He was beginning to fade again, and wanted to go to sleep. But a thought did cross his mind. He was an adult, with responsibilities, and he needed to act like it. He had some things he needed to check on before he could fall into sleep again. "Is Kenny dealing with the car?"

"He's on it. He's been by several times as well," Jeff said quietly. "So has your second mechanic, I believe his name is Pat."

"Okay." Alan forced his mind to think. "Can you do me a favor?" At his father's immediate nod, he continued. "Get Kenny on the phone for me, please."

Jeff started to protest until he saw Alan's narrowing eyes. He relented immediately, reaching for the phone with severe misgivings. He was here on sufferance, and he knew it. Things with Alan were tenuous enough, and this was Alan's life. So, against his better judgment he got the chief mechanic on the phone.

"Kenny, it's Jeff Tracy."

Alan closed his eyes to try to ease his throbbing head. He listened to the one sided conversation, doing his best to track what his father was saying.

"Alan's awake. No, no, he's fine, aside from a major headache. He wants to talk to you. Yes, I told him you'd dealt with the car. No, he still wants to talk to you." There was a pause, then a gentle, "Alan?"

"Yeah, I'm awake." He didn't open his eyes, just reached blindly for the phone, hissing as he realized he was so sore that he could hardly hold up his arm. He barely managed to get the receiver up to his ear.

"Kenny?" He winced as his friend's voice reverberated in his ear. "Keep it down Kenny, please!" The volume lowered to acceptable levels.

"Geez Alan, what are you doing? How are you feeling?"

"Monster headache. And tired."

"I bet," Kenny answered sympathetically.

"How's the car?"

"Shish kabob, unfortunately. It'll take a lot of work."

"What was the cause?"

"Blown tire, oil slick. Just a really unfortunate accident."

"Oh man. What about the second car?"

"We're getting it up and going now. Rob's testing it. When you're ready to drive, it'll be ready to go."

"How's the . . ." Alan began before Kenny cut him off.

"Alan, enough. We'll talk later, when you feel better. This is the first time you've been coherent for almost 24 hours, so give it a rest, huh? And do me a favor, give your dad a break."

Alan was surprised. He'd talked to Kenny about the whole sordid mess. Not only over the last several months, but over the last several years! The only thing Kenny didn't know about Alan's life was International Rescue. And that was about it. Although several years older than him, Kenny had been his good friend for a very long time, right up there next to Gordon in the best friend department. To hear Kenny make that comment about his father was especially interesting given that he was firmly in Alan's corner. Aside from TinTin, Kenny had been the only other person he'd talked to regarding his decision to leave his father's 'business'. And then there was the fact that Kenny hadn't really ever forgiven Jeff for Alan's decision to leave racing in the first place. He'd never felt Jeff had given Alan enough credit for his ability.

Kenny continued. "He's been at your side the whole time you've been out, and he's been really, really worried. Just give him a chance, okay?"

"Okay," Alan said thoughtfully.

Kenny took advantage of the break. "I'll come see you this evening. I might even get to talk to you this time, if you're awake that is. You haven't been very good company over the last 24 hours."

Alan gave a startled bark of laughter, regretting it immediately as his head redoubled the pounding.

"Bye Alan," Kenny said decisively, and hung up the phone.

Jeff had been watching the play of expressions on Alan's face with interest. Alan had never had a very good poker face. Scott, the master of the expressionless face, usually creamed him when they played cards. Alan had always just worn his emotions out for all to see. Well, most of them anyway, Jeff thought ruefully, except the most important. He put that thought aside for the moment, the thoughtful expression on Alan's face right now was more intriguing.

Quietly, Jeff took the phone from Alan's limp fingers. Alan didn't even have enough strength to hand it to him. He knew he was fading fast, but there was one more thing. He decided to trust Kenny's judgment. It was usually pretty good.

"Dad?"

"Yes, son?" His father's tone was gentle.

Alan pried his eyes open with a great deal of effort. "Where are you staying?"

Jeff was surprised, to say the least. "I . . . I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. I'll just get a hotel nearby when they kick me out, I suppose."

"Nah, don't do that. You can stay at my place. Let Kenny know. He'll fix you up with a key." And that was all she wrote for Alan. He just couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, and he slid into sleep without even knowing it, missing the unguarded expression of complete surprise on his father's face.

Jeff quietly hung up the phone, and sat back in his chair, his eyes studying his sleeping son thoughtfully. Now that was completely unexpected. Alan had never been one to think of details like that.

Jeff was a very intelligent man. He knew that his sons' upbringing, while as normal as he could possibly make it, was different from that of many other children. For one thing, they were extremely wealthy. And that did change things. They'd never had to struggle, or worry where their next meal would come from. The Tracy name opened doors to schools and careers that others worked all of their lives for even a chance to be considered for. On a smaller scale, just being able to walk into any hotel and get a luxury suite or a table at a five star restaurant was something his sons never even considered extraordinary. Jeff knew differently. The son of a Kansas wheat farmer, he'd known lean times and how hard it was to gain entry to the elite schools, restaurants and careers.

For Alan to even consider asking that question told Jeff that a great many things had changed within his youngest son. That he was taking responsibility for his life and those around him. That he was aware of the small things. Things like paying the power bill or the phone bill. Jeff decided then and there that he would take Alan up on his offer.

TB TB TB TB TB

Jeff let himself into Alan's apartment. He was tired and worn. It had been a very long 36 hours and he was looking forward to talking with his family on the island, and some sleep in a bed, not in a hard hospital chair. The doctor had been pleased with Alan's progress and planned to release him the next day. Kenny had finally just kicked Jeff out. He pointed out that Alan was going to be sleeping hard for awhile and that Jeff should get some sleep while he could.

He was surprised to see the great room of the spacious apartment empty except for boxes. Alan had lived here for quite awhile now, but still hadn't unpacked. Jeff felt a twinge of sadness which grew as he dropped his bags in the front hall and wandered around. He poked his head into one room which was completely empty of even boxes. The master bedroom, although furnished, looked neat, almost as though nobody lived there.

Jeff was surprised at the neatness. Alan had always been messy, more on the chaotic side. But this was completely different. Everything was put away, and nothing out just lying around. There were a couple of books on the nightstand, and a watch. The bureau was strewn with the normal miscellaneous things men always left on the top. Loose change in a dish, that kind of thing. And a large wedding portrait of Alan and TinTin.

Groaning, Jeff turned away. His son was certainly different from him in that respect. Jeff still had trouble having pictures of Lucy around. However, now he genuinely regretted not allowing his sons to have the likeness. That hadn't been fair of him at all.

Jeff meandered out into the main living area again. Boxes were stacked up in the center of the large, beautifully proportioned room. The warm wood of the fireplace mantle glowed as the evening sun hit it, and the moldings of the lovely room cast interesting shadows. What a gorgeous room.

Jeff absently fingered the boxes, allowing himself to feel the sadness of his son's situation yet again. He spotted a pile of books near a wall next to an open box. Dust coated the top of them, shinning in the late afternoon sun. Jeff's heart constricted as he recognized the book on space that John had gotten for Alan on his admission to the NASA. John had been so thrilled, and had enjoyed visiting the remaining living astronauts, chatting with them and getting their autographs. Jeff smiled to himself. Yet another example of money and a name opening doors. He didn't think John had realized how easily he'd gained access to the famous men. But Jeff was one of their elite, and John was the son of one of their own as well as an astronaut in his own right.

That had been a good time. Alan had done very well in NASA. Jeff was so proud of his accomplishments with that organization. It was readily apparent that Alan would have done great things had he stayed with the program. It was as though he'd finally found something he liked. Jeff had never seen him apply himself like he had while he was at NASA. Alan had been cocky, yes, but most astronauts loved the adrenaline rush. Jeff knew he did. IR had started, and Jeff had had all of his sons home with him, sharing his dream, each in their own field of interest.

Jeff turned to move on, and was caught by a metallic glint, deep in the shadows of a partially opened box. Curious, he opened the lid. His heart sank as he recognized all the wrapped birthday presents the family had given to Alan. They were still unopened.

His eyes closed for a moment in pain, Jeff remembered that box well. It had sat, open on his desk while he loaded the wrapped packages he and his mother had put away. Gordon had walked in and asked what he was doing. Jeff had told him.

"Wait a minute, okay?" Gordon said quickly, dashed out of the room.

Jeff and Grandma looked at each other in confusion, then Jeff shrugged and continued to carefully load the box.

Gordon was back in record time, his arms full of packages. "These are from me and a couple are from . . . TinTin." He paused for a moment, swallowing hard. "She asked me to hide them for her because Alan's such a snoop when it came to presents."

"Oh, Gordon," Grandma breathed, startled, covering her mouth with her hands in shock, her eyes filling.

Jeff was silent, stunned.

Gordon continued, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. "Um, she'd wrapped them, but hadn't put any cards on them. I added a couple so Alan would know who they were from and what had happened."

Jeff just stared, thinking hard. "Do you know what they are?"

Gordon looked startled, "No, she didn't tell me." Jeff's reason for asking suddenly crystallized. "I know what you're thinking, Dad. Should we send them?" Gordon's voice turned hard. "Yes! We have to. They are private gifts from TinTin to Alan. We have no right to step in. It's not our decision."

With an understanding look at his son, Jeff answered quietly. "You're right of course, Gordon, but Alan shouldn't be alone when he opens those. We don't know what she was giving him. Gifts for the baby? Maybe . . ."

Gordon was startled again. He hadn't thought of that. Good lord. But then he was resolute. "I see what you mean, Father, but it still isn't our decision. Alan's a lot stronger than you give him credit for. He'll weather this. We can't withhold a piece of their private relationship."

"He's right Jeff," Grandma said quietly.

Jeff gave in against his better judgment. He didn't agree, and he was worried. Gordon hadn't lost a wife. Because Jeff had, he understood better than most. And Alan had also lost a child. Jeff just couldn't fathom how bad that must be. He finally nodded, and stepped back, allowing Gordon to carefully place the packages in the box.

"Leave this open for awhile, Dad. I know the others have things to add."

And they had. One by one, more packages had been added, cards with private messages attached, until the box had been crammed full. Jeff had closed it and sent it off with severe misgivings. And here it was.

Jeff felt such conflicting emotions. A rush of gratitude that Alan hadn't been alone when he'd opened TinTin's gifts. That was going to require support, no matter who it was, or how strong. At the same time, deep sadness that the gifts were still untouched. They were such a tangible sign about how hard Alan was trying to cut himself off.

He forced himself to walk away from the boxes, to keep from straightening the books. He'd always been a man of action, and decisiveness. To just step back and allow his son this kind of space was so difficult for him. He wanted to be here, helping him through this. And physically, Alan deserved a home. Someplace he enjoyed coming back to. Not just a space with boxes piled in it.

Resolution flowed through him. But he was here. Right now. Andfate (and his own willingness to jump into the fire, so to speak) had granted him a second chance. He fully intended to make use of it. Not by telling Alan what to do, how to handle his life or his grief, but by just being there. And by learning who his son really was. What he thought, how he felt, his ideas on things.

Alan had grown up. No questions. Now it was time for Jeff to get to know his adult son. If Alan would allow him that.

TB TB TB TB TB

Three days later, Jeff leaned back against the workbench, and watched with a slight smile as Alan, Pat and another man he didn't know leaned over the car. All three heads were down, but the voices were loud and arguing. Alan seemed to be holding sway. No surprise there!

Alan was recovering nicely, and had shown no signs of throwing his father out. Just before he'd been released from the hospital, Alan had asked his father to stay with him a few days longer. His doctor had told him that he could go home, on the provision that he wouldn't be alone. Alan hadn't wanted to ask Kenny or Pat, as they had homes of their own.

Jeff was touched, pleased that Alan was comfortable enough with him to ask him, and agreed at once. What he hadn't mentioned was that he had no intention of going home right yet and had planned to move to a nearby hotel. No need to tell Alan that. Their relationship was just still too much of a minefield.

So Jeff was sleeping in the empty spare bedroom on a newly purchased bed. He and Alan were circling each other carefully, but the situation wasn't nearly ascharged with tension as Jeff had thought it would be. His son had clearly changed, and Jeff liked the differences. And Jeff himself had changed as well, he was under no illusions there. He'd had a lot to think about and come to terms with following that scene in the hospital so many months ago.

Kenny wandered up to Jeff and joined him, leaning back against the workbench watching the scene.

"Hey, Mr. Tracy."

Jeff smiled back, acknowledging the mechanic.

"What's so funny?" Kenny asked, curious at the elder Tracy's amused expression.

"That." Jeff jutted his jaw towards the powwow going on in front of the car. "Alan's still so stiff and sore, and he's still got a major headache. He's sleeping more than he's not, yet here he is, arguing about the car."

"Kind of like you, huh?" Kenny said with a grin.

Jeff laughed out loud, startled. "I'll have to admit to that, yes. And a lot like his eldest brother."

"Scott?"

"Scott," Jeff confirmed.

"Still stiff huh?" Kenny said thoughtfully, after a moment.

"Yes, but better every day."

"Good."

The two lapsed into silence again, watching the tableau in front of them with amusement. The three men were upright now, clearly intense about something, Alan gesturing into the car for good measure.

"Mr. Tracy," Kenny began hesitantly, "Can I tell you something?"

Jeff looked at the mechanic in surprise. "Of course."

Kenny was silent again for a moment. "I'm not sure how to say this." He paused again. "Don't . . . give up on Alan."

"What on earth do you mean?" Jeff couldn't fathom what he was trying to say.

Kenny looked down and sighed, then checked to make sure Alan was still occupied across the garage. Meeting Jeff's eye once more, he continued. "Alan is doing really well at racing."

Jeff nodded. That was obvious.

"I don't know what's changed from the last time he was racing, but now, somehow, it's not enough. He loves it, oh, sure. But the other guys thrive on the adrenaline high. But for Alan, oh, I don't know, it's like it isn't . . . enough."

"You mean he's self-destructive?" Jeff asked in shock, a horrible fear growing in the pit of his stomach.

Kenny, surprised and horrified at the thought, exclaimed, "No! Nothing like that."

Jeff's relief was palpable.

"No," Kenny said again, more thoughtfully. "It's like racing, isn't, well, satisfying enough anymore. Whether it was working for you, or going through the NASA program, I don't know, but something has changed. Whatever he was doing between the times he's raced was clearly more fulfilling to him."

Jeff reflected that there was probably a real truth in that statement as he considered the magnificent red rocket that was Thunderbird Three. "Interesting," Jeff muttered reflectively. Then, to Kenny, "Why are you telling me this?"

Kenny took a deep breath. "Because I don't think he's going to want to race for the rest of his career. I don't think it's going to be enough for him. I think it's been a really good break for him after TinTin's death, and has given him some breathing space. And frankly, I think he'll always race in some capacity or another, as a hobby, a break from what's really important to him. I expect to always see him on the track, but not full time."

Jeff heard the condemning, unspoken, 'if you'll let him' in the mechanic's tone as Kenny continued. "And if working for you was what was so fulfilling to him, I just don't want you to close that door."

He thought about that statement for awhile, hope rising for the first time. He knew that Kenny had always been somewhat less than enthusiastic about him. Mainly because of the friction between father and son over the racing. But here was Kenny telling him something that was completely contrary to the mechanic's own wishes. Then, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because Alan is much more than just a part of this team to me. He's a very good friend, and has been for a very long time, and I just want the best for him."

Jeff clamped a hand on the mechanic's shoulder and smiled at him in thanks. "Then we both want the same thing. Alan's choices are his own to make. And he can always come back to working for me, if that's what he wants. I'll be delighted, no, thrilled, to have him back." Jeff thought how good that would be. They'd all be whole again, and he wanted that desperately. But he was realistic. But if that could happen, if it might . . . "But it will be different – Alan will have far more control. And yes, I agree with you, whatever he does in the future, I believe as well that he'll always race." Unspoken, but clearly communicated – 'and he'll have my support to do so.'

Kenny gave a relieved laugh – message received. He began to say something more but was distracted by Alan hailing him from the car. "Excuse me, Mr. Tracy."

Jeff waved him off with a smile, and reflected on that amazing conversation. The seed of hope that had been planted began to grow. In the months that Alan had been gone, he'd obviously matured. Or rather, had the chance to show the person he'd become in the last few years, without family pressure stifling him. In all reality, Alan had probably changed long ago, but family perception, and therefore how they treated him, had not.

Jeff thought again about Kenny's comments. He knew exactly what Alan was missing. The rush from racecars was nothing compared to rescuing people and piloting rockets. No, racing wouldn't be enough, long term. Maybe it would have if he had TinTin still at his side, and a growing family. But, not now.

What Kenny had just told him made Jeff realized that there was a chance, small still, but there, that Alan may want to come back. Come home. But that was Alan's choice. All Jeff could do was make sure Alan knew the door was open, if and when.

Alan had been a constant source of amazement to him over the last few days. Even as lousy as he'd been feeling, his son had been on the phone to the various members of his racing team and his sponsors, talking, reassuring, and basically taking care of the people beholden to him. The team was large, and Alan was the face on the front of it, the most public, being the main driver. Therefore, when Alan had an accident, the public speculation was huge, and Alan needed to be able to handle it. Which he was doing. Beautifully.

Gone was the edginess, the chip on his shoulder, the constant need to prove himself. In it's place was a mature young man, capable and responsible. Jeff liked this man very much. What had made up Alan his whole life, the impetuousness, the drive, and the decisiveness, were still there. But they were tempered and refined by a sense of responsibility. Jeff was very, very impressed.

Now, it was time to tell his son that.

TB TB TB TB TB

"Alan, have you ever considered buying some furniture for this place?"

Alan laughed as he helped himself to more Chinese takeout. They'd been late coming back from the track and Alan had just wanted to get home. He felt tons better, but at times it caught up with him pretty quick. Tonight was one of those nights. So here he and Jeff were, sitting at the bar in his kitchen, eating takeout.

"Yes, just hadn't gotten that far."

"Well, you're still on medical leave. How about we go shopping tomorrow?" Jeff commented. "It's always easier with two."

Alan thought about that for a moment. He hadn't really wanted his father involved in picking out his furniture. But the more he thought about it, he decided he'd be able to handle it. He and his father had gotten along pretty well the last couple of days. They hadn't talked about anything controversial, and Jeff had let him steer the course. He could stand up to his father. He was going to buy what he wanted, though. Not what Dad thought was appropriate.

"Sure, sounds great."

TB TB TB TB TB

Furniture shopping was an interesting experience for both men. Not because of the furniture, but because of the undercurrents between the two. Jeff purposefully stayed back until he saw the type of things that Alan was looking at. It was an interesting window into his son's mind and tastes. Then, when he was clear on what Alan was looking for, Jeff began to make suggestions. He was pleased to notice that Alan either accepted or rejected based on what he liked, not on what would please his father.

Once, Jeff pointed out a stained glass lamp with a shade copied from a design by Frank Lloyd Wright, done in gold and brown, with accents in shades of navy blue and dark green. Alan was immediately drawn to it. Then he stopped and looked at his father, quizzically.

"I never would have seen this as something you would pick out, Dad. I thought your tastes ran more towards oriental."

"They do," Jeff said with a smile. "But yours seem to run more to the craftsman era from what I see you looking at. This lamp is a good fit."

Alan laughed. "You're right. I really like it." He looked at the salesperson. "I'll take it."

TB TB TB TB TB

Jeff really had to admire Alan's taste as he looked at the fully furnished apartment a few days later. No, it wasn't Jeff's taste. As Alan had commented, his ran more towards the oriental. No, this was the first time Alan had truly chosen what he wanted. Not made do with castoffs, or agreeing with TinTin's choices. Jeff realized that he'd never seen what Alan really preferred. It was an interesting view.

Alan really did like the craftsman style as well as the mission style. The furniture he'd chosen was a combination of both, and was substantial, but with simple lines, and made with lots of warm wood. The fabrics were simple and masculine, navy leather, and deep plaids in navy, burgundy and hunter green. The rooms were warm and inviting, but utilitarian and comfortable. His choices in artwork would have pleased Virgil as well. Surprisingly, there weren't any racing prints. Interestingly enough, what he had chosen were photographs. Most were very sparse – simple pictures of heavily wooded forests or rugged mountains. The deep colors of green foliage or autumn leaves blended in with the furniture.

"Well, do you want to help me unpack, or do you just want to sit, have a drink, and watch me work?" Alan asked, grinning, as he came out of his bedroom and gestured to the pile of boxes now stacked again the kitchen bar.

"Oh, I'll help unpack. Can't let the injured do all of the work."

"Yeah, but injured or not, I can still outdo the aged," Alan grinned back.

"Ha!" Jeff snorted, taking up the challenge, and the two of them got to work.

Jeff had made sure that the box with the birthday gifts was at the bottom of the pile. He wanted to make sure they had lots of time when they got to that particular box. He had a feeling that situation might get a little volatile at that point. He wanted to make sure the heavy work was done if he was going to get tossed out on his ear. There certainly was that distinct possibility.

The two made quick work of the unpacking. Jeff watched covertly as Alan took his time with some objects, obviously remembering and thinking. They were nearly finished when he heard Alan's slight indrawn breath. And he knew better than to comment when Alan turned his back for a moment, shoulders tense, then turned back and silently placed a stunning glass figure of a race car on the mantle. It wasn't something Jeff recognized. He looked at it a bit closer. The detail was amazing. The cuts in the glass were superb and truly marvelous, and the soft coloring almost like watercolor. It was a replica of Alan's own car from his early racing days. The one that he and Virgil had originally designed. This was no trophy, it was clearly custom work. Obviously commissioned by somebody.

Alan saw his father's gaze. "TinTin had it made. It was her wedding present to me," he said shortly. And it was her tangible promise to me that we would live our life together as we saw fit, he thought.

Jeff's throat closed. TinTin and Kyrano didn't have a lot of money. Oh, Jeff paid Kyrano well, and TinTin as well for her work with IR. But they weren't wealthy like the Tracy family. They had lived in style at the island, but it was Tracy money, not their own. He had known TinTin well enough to know that she had saved her money for a long time in order to be able to afford this kind of custom artwork.

"Oh, Alan," he breathed softly, uncharacteristically at a loss for words. Where was his mother when he needed her. She'd know what to say. That seemed to be a woman's prerogative.

Alan gave his father a shaky smile, and changed the subject. "So what do we have left?"

"Just a couple more boxes." Jeff hesitated. "Maybe . . . now is the time for this one." He motioned to the box of birthday presents, which had been sitting like the metaphorical elephant in the room. Both men knew what was in the box, and they both had been avoiding it.

Alan stared at it like as though a cobra were contained inside, then visibly steeled his resolve. "I guess." But he made no move towards it.

Jeff sadly turned to get the box. Alan was the same in this as he'd always been. Trying to bluster through and prove to his father that he was strong. Jeff knew that. Although this kind of thing would be hard on anybody – strong or not.

He set the box down on the floor in front of couch. Alan still hadn't found a coffee table that he liked, and they'd left that for another day. The floor would do for now. Jeff sat on the couch, leaning back, feigning relaxation. Alan sat on the footstool in front of the couch, and rubbed his hands nervously on his thighs.

"Well, let's see what's here," he said, trying to appear composed.

Jeff just smiled, one arm draped casually over the back of the couch, trying not to crowd his son.

As luck would have it, Alan started with a package from Gordon. Inside was a model replica of Thunderbird One – painted red, with orange dots. Alan burst out laughing, and read the accompanying card. "Thunderbird One can run, but she can't hide. Three and Four can beat her by a mile".

As Alan snickered, Jeff snorted. "I seriously doubt Scott ever saw that model, or it wouldn't be here now."

"No, I doubt he did either. He'd have confiscated it, and pounded Gordon into the side of the real Thunderbird One."

"Or had Gordon scrubbing One until she shone," Jeff said laughing. "But Scott couldn't do anything if you opened it as a birthday gift. Clever, very clever." And he would have expected nothing less than that of his second youngest son.

"Actually, Gordon had once been joking about actually painting One this color scheme in one of his more loopier moments," Alan confided. "He thought it would be in great keeping for an April Fools joke. But it just wasn't nearly subtle enough for him."

"No, not nearly," Jeff agreed. Gordon's pranks didn't tend to be as obvious as that. On a whole, they were far more creative, and a whole lot harder to pin down. Actually, painting TB1 would have been more Alan's speed. He suddenly wondered who's idea the color scheme actually was. Then wondered how deep the inside joke really went. What if . . . they did seem to have an awful lot of extra red and orange paint on hand. Could they have really . . .? With an internal shudder, he decided he really didn't want to know all of the terrible two's deep, most innermost secrets.

That broke the ice, and the worst seemed to be over, as least as far as Alan was concerned. He enjoyed opening the rest of the gifts far more than he'd thought possible. As always, the gifts were generous, and ranged from thoughtful to funny. The cards all expressed how much they missed him, and how much each family member loved him. Alan could actually read them now, and appreciate the sentiments given the amount of time that had passed.

Alan also realized that this was the first time his father had been on hand when he'd opened all of his gifts. Usually the others all celebrated with Alan. Jeff usually brought his gifts to Alan a few days later. Alan would find them in his room, or in his workshop. He'd wished for this kind of attention for years. Now, he hadn't even noticed until this moment.

He grabbed another out of the box, and couldn't help noticing his father tense when he saw which package Alan had selected. Alan looked quizzically at his father, who just motioned for him to continue.

The envelope containing the card was one of those that was blank of any writing. Alan shrugged and broke the seal. When he read Gordon's message containing the identification of the giver, Alan just stared. His mesmerized stare was broken by his father's soft voice.

"Open it, son. She meant for you to have it."

Alan looked at him blankly, his eyes huge, then stared again at the gift. With trembling hands, fighting hard to stay strong, he tore at the paper. Inside the large white jeweler's box was a baby's silver rattle. Engraved on it were the words 'Alan Shepard Tracy Jr'. A note attached, written in TinTin's elegant hand, was 'Happy Birthday, Daddy. It's a boy!'.

Alan did lose it then. He couldn't help it. Dropping the box on his lap, he hid his face in his hands, and felt the tears run unimpeded down his face. They hadn't found out the sex of the baby that Alan had known of. But TinTin obviously had. Her gift to him. And the loss, already unbearable, was even greater. The gulf in Alan just opened up wide, and the knowledge of what he'd lost was overwhelming.

He felt arms around him, and heard his father's deep, comforting voice, although in his maelstrom of grief, he couldn't make out what he was saying, and didn't really care.

The depth of his release was cathartic. As he held his son, Jeff wondered if Alan had ever given into the grief over all of this time, or had just been using his anger to propel him through day to day living.Alanwould be better for this, and Jeff was glad he was here.

TB TB TB TB TB

That night was a turning point for both men. Alan's release left him feeling shaky, but better than he had in months. The floodgates were open, and Alan and Jeff talked for hours. About matters they'd never touched on before in their lives. Alan's feelings about his mother and his childhood and what he'd said in the hospital. Jeff, talking about his soul-searching over the last several months, admitting where he'd been wrong, talking about wanting to start again.

Hard conversations? Yes, most definitely. Both were men who wanted control. One, a stallion reigning supreme, another, young, jockeying for position. But for the first time, they spoke with civility, as adults. Alan was candid without being defensive, and Jeff, treating Alan's opinions and feelings with respect, and the courtesy he'd extend to another adult, not laying down boundaries or educating as he would a child.

It was a start, and both men felt they'd covered a lot of constructive ground. They finally retired to bed at close to three in the morning. Both were exhausted, but very, very satisfied.

TB TB TB TB TB

The day Jeff was planning to leave, he stayed back at the apartment to pack while Alan attended a meeting with the race team. Alan was back driving, and they were planning to go on the road in the next few days and his schedule was getting frantic. Jeff had decided he had his own responsibilities as well and it was time to get home.

Alan and his father had planned to have lunch at the apartment just before Jeff left. One last moment for the two of them. This was fine with Jeff. He had a surprise planned. His timing was perfect. Alan was unlocking the door as Jeff had finish, just sitting down in one of the new chairs in the now beautifully furnished apartment.

"Hey Dad! Sorry I'm late. The meeting went longer than I expected."

"No problem Alan. Why don't you come over here for a moment?"

Alan made his way over towards his father, dropping the bags with lunch on the kitchen bar. "Sure, why?" Then he stopped in surprise and gave a low whistle.

"Do you like it?" Jeff asked, grinning.

Alan just stared, bemused. A coffee table sat in the center of room. It was a stunning piece of furniture. The simple but elegant lines, the different inlaid woods, and the hand carved, beaded wood trim showed off the wood to great advantage. The table all but glowed in the sunlit room. It was exactly what Alan had been looking for, he realized. Something simple, yet a focal point for the room.

Neither Alan nor Jeff were particularly into furniture. Like most men, they tended to use what was available. But the time spent with his son had showed Jeff that his son's taste was very different from his own, and he'd gotten a pretty good sense of it. And one afternoon, while Alan was busy, he'd come across the table, and it had just said 'Alan' to him. And from the look on his son's face, he'd gotten it right.

"It's amazing Dad. The wood is just incredible," Alan said feelingly, his throat closing. He ran his hand across the silken surface. This was certainly not his father's style. That Jeff had understood how much Alan would like it told him how much his father had changed. How much he'd understood over the course of this visit.

"The table is handmade by an Alaskan artist named Davis. The pieces in the gallery were just beautiful. They told me that they can hardly keep them in the store." Jeff smiled. "It just looked like you."

"Thank you," Alan said sincerely. "That just seems so inadequate," he finished, amazed, as he ran his eyes over the lines of the table again.

"Alan, I just wanted you to have something tangible to remember this visit." Jeff waited until his son had straightened and met his gaze. "We've both changed a great deal over this last year. For the better I think. I feel I've gotten to know you over this visit as I never have before. Too bad it took a wrecked car to get us together again."

Alan snickered agreement. He couldn't help it. Stubborn was a word that described both of them quite well.

Jeff smiled as the levity helped lighten the mood. "I . . . appreciate and admire who you have become. The promise you held as a child has been so aptly fulfilled. I'm so very proud of you. Of everything you've accomplished. Of just who you are. I want you to know that." He took a deep breath and continued.

"Over the last several months I've thought many times of how much I'd give to be able to start over with you, and I think I've made a start with this visit. I'm glad you've allowed me that chance."

Jeff gazed at his son as he stood in front of him, separated by the table that was a tangible sign of his feelings. Proud of the young man who stood listening patiently and attentively. Self-confidently. He liked this person. Not just because he was his son. But because of who he'd become. Responsible. Brave. Caring to the people around him. This unknown side of the son he thought he'd known so well, but apparently hadn't.

"You'll be happy to know that I've listened to your brothers with a new ear as well. Making sure that I don't take them for granted the way I apparently did you. I'm not perfect, I never will be. I'll always be driven and probably overbearing." He smiled at Alan's grin. They both knew it was true. It was just who he was.

"But I can learn from my mistakes if I'm given a chance." He paused and gathered himself to continue while Alan stayed silent, giving him time. "What I'm trying to say, and not very well at that, is that whatever you want to do, I'll support you. I'd dearly love to have you home again, piloting Thunderbird Three and working side by side with me on International Rescue, but I have to concede that I may have destroyed any chance of that. But one way or another, should you choose to come home, I want you to feel able to do that and know that things will change – for the better. If your way is a different path, then so be it. I'll never try to discourage you, but will always support you in whatever way needed. But please, PLEASE don't shut me out of your life. I love you too much. You know what it's like to lose a son. Please don't put me through that as well."

Alan blinked at that. He'd never thought about what his leaving might have done to his father. He supposed he should have known how much his father had grieved for him. All of the Tracy sons knew how much their father loved them. But Alan knew his course had been the right one. They had never spent time like this before, nor would they have, in all probability. Time together as equals, and surprisingly, as friends.

He knew he couldn't promise to come back to IR. He had a life now, and one he liked. A life that was important to him. But this time spent with his father, just the two of them, had shown him that Jeff had changed. His father had certainly shown him that he'd heard what Alan had said in the hospital that horrible afternoon. Alan still wasn't completely convinced, but he knew that he did need to meet him halfway.

Finally he said thoughtfully, "I don't know that I can ever come back to IR. There are too many memories there. Both good and bad. And I'll always be the little brother." Pausing regretfully for a moment, he said, "I'm sorry, but I can't come back." He looked down for a moment, then looked again at his father's disappointed face. "But I can promise you this. I won't shut you out. I'll keep in touch."

Jeff smiled gently, letting his disappointment go. "And come home from time to time for a visit?"

Alan laughed knowingly. His father hadn't gotten where he had in life without pushing. A leopard didn't change it spots, but he could deal with it now. "Yes, I'll come home occasionally when I'm ready. But I'm not yet."

"That's fair. Your brothers will be thrilled to talk to you. But do me a favor. Call John. Please! He's really irritated that he's the only one who hasn't talked to you, and Virgil and Scott aren't making it easy on him. He's been rotten to try and live with. Though granted, Scott and Virgil did kind of just muscle their way in. Typical," he growled, much to Alan's amusement. Jeff continued. "I assume you've been talking regularly to Grandma all along."

Alan's face colored in answer. Jeff smiled and moved over to his son's side and gave him a hug. "That's okay. Just don't cut us off. You're going through a hard time in your life. I've had some experience there, and I'm working on letting go myself. Call me if you need me. Call me even if you don't need me, just to say hello."

Alan returned the embrace gratefully. As they separated, he said, "You're on Dad." Not sure why, considering he had a perfect opportunity, Alan didn't mention his genealogy project. Somehow, that was between him and his mom.

"Good," Jeff said gently, in relief. "So, how about we break in your new table by eating lunch on it?" he said, changing the subject to safer ground.

"You're on!" Alan grinned, and let his father grab the lunch sacks while he examined his new piece of furniture.