-Ring ring-

"Wha…?"

-Ring ring-

"Who's…? Jimmy?"

-Ring ri-

"Hello?"

Tammy Beckers slowly came awake, her mouth working before her mind had finished clearing the fog of sleep from her mind. She became aware of a voice on the other end of the phone. The phone she had answered and then promptly forgotten.

"Hello?" she said again as she replaced the phone to her ear, more awake now.

"Hello?" came the reply, a deep male voice, unfamiliar. "Is this Tamara Beckers?"

"Maybe," she said cautiously, wary of strange men calling her. "Who is this?"

"I'm sorry to wake you, but it's important. My name is Detective Cowler, from the Los Angeles Police Department. I need to speak to Tamara Beckers right away. I'm following up a new lead in her daughter's case."

"New lead?" Suddenly, Tammy was wide awake, almost jumping with energy, as she heard the magic words. "You've found my baby?"

"So this is Mrs. Beckers?"

"Yes, that's me. What new lead? Have you found her?"

Pausing, Cowler seemed reluctant to continue.

"Possibly." He finally capitulated.

"Where? When? Can I see her?"

"Please Mrs Beckers, we haven't anything concrete as of yet. I was calling to inform you, and ask for a DNA sample."

"DNA sample. Like for identifying reasons."

"DNA can be used to determine maternity, but likely as not it will show up nothing. Please Mrs Beckers-"

"Tammy. Just Tammy. And no Mrs, Jimmy and I are getting divorced. And I'll do anything to help. Do you need me to come right now? I can catch the next flight over."

"Please, Mrs Be- Tammy. Slow down. I know that your child has been missing a long time, and I know that you would have been told the chances of actually finding her alive. So please, for your sake, don't get your hopes up too much. There is a faint possibility, a very, very small possibility, that this girl is your daughter. So we have to look into it.

"But there are no guarantees. Please try to remember that."

"Of course Detective." Tammy tried to do as Cowler had suggested, remembering the slim chances the police had given her twelve years ago, when Michelle had first disappeared. "When shall I come in?"

"You don't have to come all the way to Los Angeles. Houston P.D. can take a sample."

Tammy felt her stomach churn. She wanted so desperately to go…

"I'll get the results back to you as soon as I can. I promise. It will probably take a few days, maybe even a week to get the sample processed. There's no reason for you to be here worrying when you could be with your friends and family."

Closing her eyes, the grieving mother allowed common sense to take over. Detective Cowler knew what he was talking about. She'd trust his judgment.

Besides, without Sarah and Ben, she'd probably never make it through the next few days anyways.

"Tammy?"

The gentle prompt brought Tamara out of her thoughts, and solidified what she had decided on.

"Of course, Detective. I'll be waiting eagerly."

"No doubt. I'll get back to you as soon as I have the results, day or night. How does that sound?"

"Wonderful Detective. Thank you."

"It's only right. And for the record, I hope we have found her."

Making a non-committal reply, fearful of losing control and beating a hasty track towards the City of Angels, Tamara Beckers hung up. Laying down again, despite knowing there would be no more sleep that day, Tammy held a little girl in her arms again one more time.

Her last thoughts before losing herself completely in fantasy were not reassuring, however.

He never told me if she was alive or dead…


Three days had passed since the confrontation. Another six and they would have the second horrible anniversary, and then would come the interminable wait until next year's 'joy'.

Scott could hardly wait.

He poked at his breakfast sullenly, horribly aware of the absence at the head of the table. And the oppressive silence that had shrouded the island since he had voiced his request.

It was as if, with his father's refusal to let go, the rest of the island's inhabitants had given up their own shreds of hope to compensate. He himself had refused to go down into the silos, not wanting to see the beginnings of what he considered to be his brother's legacy. It hurt too much.

On the other hand, he had had to ignore the pangs of grief that rejecting his mother's legacy had caused.

I can't win, Scott thought dejectedly, stirring his scrambled eggs. Doesn't matter which way I pick. I'm hurting one of them.

Aware of the irony, Scott finally gave up his losing battle with breakfast, choosing instead to leave the table and find a more suitable way to release his frustration. Feeling the eyes on his back, Scott stormed away, breaking into a furious, pounding run as soon as he left the confines of the house.

The waves set his rhythm, and to their relentless beat, he fled. It felt good, as if he could just keep running, he wouldn't have to think anymore. Wouldn't have to feel anymore. He didn't want to feel anymore.

Scott didn't know if his father understood that, if he had that comprehension left. He was just so focused. There was nothing outside his bubble of work, International Rescue, and the search.

Except that there was.

Scott increased his pace, legs burning, sweat stinging his eyes, anger swelling. What about the rest of us, huh?

He pushed even harder, the pain climbing until his back and chest throbbed with the furious pulse. He pushed until the thoughts stopped spinning uselessly around his head, until he couldn't feel beyond the physical, until he didn't have the strength left to do more than stumble along.

He was on the south beach, and he could see his own footprints in the sand, leading away from him.

He'd been here before.

If he'd had the energy, and the hydration, he probably would have cried. God, this was just so unfair. Why couldn't it just be over? The brunette glared towards the distant shape of the house.

I will save you, even if you don't want to be saved. For the sake of the rest of us, I will save you.

He slumped to the sand.


Virgil watched his brother leave the table, tension leaving his shoulders as the older man disappeared. Everyone on the island knew the score right now, but that didn't help anything.

The family was imploding, and there didn't seem to be anything anyone could do about it.

Taking another bite of eggs, Virgil turned to the other occupants of the table. Gordon looked uncomfortable, his position somewhat precarious. He didn't really remember his older brother, and had little more memory of his mother. So he, like Alan, was left feeling a little displaced. After all, if Scott got his way, Gordon would be the third brother.

Don't think like that, Virgil scolded himself. It's not like John never existed, after all.

Resolutely turning his thoughts away from such sensitive topics, the second Tracy son looked to Alan. Who was busy pretending that none of this was happening.

Fourteen's such a tough age already. Why this now? Why is he doing this?

Virgil slowly finished his breakfast, despite the fact that it tasted like cardboard. Grandma would give him hell if he didn't eat it all, not with all the work he was putting in on Rescue Two.

And the last thing he needed right now was more trouble.


Alan watched Gordon as he swam his laps. It was kinda peaceful, watching his brother work out, the rhythm a comforting lull. Between that and the warm sun, Alan found himself slowly drifting off, his mind blanking.

That is, until Gordon decided that Alan would have more fun napping in the pool.

The blond yelped as he felt strong arms wrap around his body, and gasped as he felt himself sailing through the air. His mostly asleep body didn't have time to register the flight before it ended, rather spectacularly, in the water.

Gordon watched as his younger brother flailed uselessly in the shallow end of the pool, laughing up a storm as the blond gurgled and splashed.

By the time Alan had gotten his feet underneath himself, Gordon had joined him in the water, the red-head's entrance similar to Alan's. Apart from the whole doing-it-himself thing.

Shooting Gordon a scathing glare, Alan flounced from the pool with as much dignity as the dripping wet, out of breath teen could muster. He heard Gordon chuckling after him, but continued to retreat, completely unwilling to allow his brother the victory here. He needed a plan…


Jeff didn't have the words to describe his emotions right at that moment. Was it the fact that his eldest child was so stubbornly insisting that he move on? Or was it the fact that the rest of his family seemed to have already?

God, he needed a drink.

Jeff stumbled to his lounge, ignoring the sideboard and the liquor thereon. These days, it was just so very hard. He wanted, desperately needed, to know something, anything, about the fate of his son. His conscience just would not allow him rest until he knew. Perhaps it would not allow him rest even then.

One campout. One measly campout…

Oh, God.

The loud guffaws from the direction of the pool had faded to intermittent chuckling. He should probably go out and see what Gordon had done this time. The yelps and splashes earlier spoke clearly of his youngest's misfortune, but Jeff simply couldn't dredge up the energy to care.

He understood the illogic in that train of thought. It glared at him every day that he spent hours closeted in here, poring over information from dozens of private detectives. Information from everywhere, China to Brazil to New Zealand.

Information that took him no closer to his missing son, and further from the sons still left to him.

But he couldn't let go. He just couldn't.

Or is that 'wouldn't'?

Jeff knew he needed that drink now. The little voice in his head only sounded like Scott after many hours of work. Maybe scotch would drown it out.

He heaved himself to his feet, heading for the alcohol before he'd even finished straightening up.

The phone rang.


A/N: Thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter, and a huge thank you to LMChris, my wonderful beta. I hope you guys liked this chapter, and hopefully, it won't be months before the next one is up. Seeya round, everyone, and stay cheeky!