Jeff

…

/// I meet her at the train terminal. There are crowds milling all around us, but in that moment I have eyes only for her. I barely notice the small child in tow, hiding close to his mother. She reaches a hand round to the boy. "Scott, honey, this is Daddy."

The boy seems inclined not to want to know. As I hunch down awkwardly he begins to cry. I have no idea what to do. Stop the kid crying. "Now, then, what's this?" I say, hoping I sound stern. "You're a Tracy, son. Tracys don't cry."

He blinks at me in surprise. But it seems to do the trick. This fatherhood thing might be easier than I thought, after all ///

…

A soft knock at the door interrupts my thoughts.

John.

"Hey, son," I say softly. It's been a month since I've seen him. I guess he's just got up; the long hair falling over his shoulders is still damp from showering.

"Hey, Dad. You got a minute?"

"Course I have. Come on in." I get to my feet to greet him and pull him into a quick embrace. It's harder than it used to be. He has a couple of inches on me these days. And he was never the most demonstrative of my boys. I feel a slight and characteristic resistance to the greeting.

"How are things on Five?"

"Good." He nods enthusiastically enough. "I've updated the linguistics bank and the filters are working better now. We're less likely to miss a call."

I know all this already.

He hesitates. "I really wanted a word about something else." He slides onto the corner of my desk and contemplates me thoughtfully. "You finally told him about your plans for Grandma, I gather."

I thought that this conversation would be with Virgil, not John.

I'm well-accustomed to the day-to-day oscillations of my sons' allegiances. They sometimes need to be managed with a deft turn of a fatherly hand. This notwithstanding, there have been two shifts of more seismic proportions in recent years.

Scott and Johnny, as children, were surprisingly close given the five years that separated them. They're alike in some ways, polar opposites in others, which is probably why they clash on occasions. I'm not sure exactly why they drifted apart in the last few years. Scott was certainly upset when John divorced Sam. But I suspect that mostly John just grew tired of treading in his older brother's footsteps.

Virgil, as a child, often seemed quite unmoved by the everyday machinations of the Tracy household. He involved himself neither in John and Scott's pursuit of academic excellence, nor the pranks and foolishness of his youngest brothers. He was often self-absorbed, engaged in his music or tinkering around with some old piece of farm machinery that needed fixing. At school he had his own circle of friends. But something changed when he went off to college. Maybe an older brother in the Air Force counted for something in the street cred stakes, I don't know. Whatever happened, he grew into Scott pretty much the same time Johnny outgrew him.

Then there was Gordon's accident. Scott spent a lot of time encouraging, cajoling, even bullying him back to health. It was inevitable that they would form a closer bond. Gordon, too, was growing up – near death experiences tend to have that effect – and the hitherto seemingly inseparable knot that bound the youngest two began to show some signs of weakening.

Meanwhile John moved in on Alan. I can't say I'm entirely happy about John's influence. He bores easily; it makes for sensation-seeking, and with Johnny, there's usually a woman – or women - in it somewhere. He has an experimental streak, and I suspect that he's not above dragging Alan into some of his wilder peccadilloes.

So I'd expected Virgil, maybe even Gordon, but not John.

"I told him."

"Did you tell him about Lee and Conchalto? He didn't mention them."

I shake my head. "I'm afraid your grandmother's as far as I got. We're going to have to feed him piecemeal. I'll get Virgil on it."

John nods cautiously. "Dad, I understand you feel the need to recruit more people to help out. But I've been thinking about this whole business with Grandma some more. Are you sure we're not rushing things?"

My eyes narrow. "Scott put you up to this, son?"

"Don't be ridiculous. It's been a long time since I let him do something like that," he says, but his tone is mild. He takes off his glasses carefully, cleans them assiduously on his shirt-tail. "Besides, I think he'd be mortified if he knew I was here talking to you. Point is," he continues, "we're on such a knife-edge as it is. Leaving aside the other business for the moment – and the plain fact is he's gonna go ballistic if you get Virj to do your dirty work - do you think it's a great idea to introduce this particular variable into the equation?"

I smile at the notion of my mother as a 'variable', but I know what he means. "You're all used to having her around."

"We were as children. But things are different now. It isn't natural for adult siblings to be on top of each other all the time. But we work well together because we're relatively uninhibited. We don't have to explain ourselves, and we don't have to pretend to be something we're not. With Gran around that's going to change, you know that. It might just put a strain on things that takes us too close to the edge."

"It isn't up for debate, John."

"I'm just asking if you've considered all the options." His tone is careful.

"I'm not putting her in some old folks' home, if that's what you mean. It isn't safe, in any case – she knows too much about what we're doing here. Sharp as she is, she could easily let something slip. So don't ask me if I've considered the options."

He nods in acknowledgment. "I'm sorry – of course you have." He sighs and looks away. "I guess I'm worried about the effect it's going to have on Scott," he admits. "You know how she feels about him."

That throws me.

"He's her grandson, same as the rest of you. She loves him. I do have a fair idea how he feels about her."

He stares at me for a few moments then just shakes his head and puts his glasses back on.

"What are you trying to say, John?" I ask impatiently.

He looks down for a moment then away, out of the window and smiles a small secret smile. The barriers have come back up. "Nothing, Dad. Forget it. I'll be in the lab if you want me."

"Why don't you take a few days off, son? You've been driving yourself pretty hard."

He shrugs. "Promised Hiram I'd help out with a bunch of stuff."

"Well, don't overdo it."

He flips a hand at me as he leaves.

He's a hard one to fathom, sometimes. It took me years to work out why Johnny retained such a strong rural Kansas accent, commuted to varying extents in the other boys by years of living in upstate New York.

Lucy hot-housed both Scott and John (Virgil steadfastly ignored her attempts). John's intellectual abilities are holistic, and truly extraordinary. He excels at whatever he turns his attention to; math, physics, astronomy, languages, and – since computer programming is just another language, and one he speaks fluently - he can run rings around any opponent lurking in the cyber ether when he goes on one of his pirate expeditions. There isn't much he can't get his head around. No-one was surprised when he hit a near perfect SAT score at the age of just fifteen. Scott's abilities are more erratic; a bizarre grasp of mental math that I'd only ever heard of in high-functioning autistics. And, according to the Air Force file, a truly spectacular grasp of air-to-air engagement tactics.

John started school in Kansas. He went straight in at third grade. It was an unconscionable length of time before it dawned on me that throwing a super-bright kid with an East Coast accent and the looks of a Botticelli cherub in with a bunch of rednecks twice his size was maybe not the smart way to go with schooling. He must have been bullied within an inch of his life. His speech patterns changed overnight. Fitting in was never going to be easy, but I guess it set him apart from his classmates just a little less.

Scott, who also transferred in two grades ahead of himself, encountered similar problems, I gather. He went for more direct solutions and probably learned a whole lot more about how to handle himself in an uneven fight than I care to think about. Eventually we resorted to private tutors for John and we dropped Scott back a grade – just another tick on his list of things I suspect he hasn't forgiven me for. It just wasn't the Tracy family's finest hour.

I give up on work and shut down for the morning, head for the kitchen, knowing Kyrano will have set out lunch. Virgil's there, stacking up a plate – for him it's brunch, I guess. I don't know who he inherited his body-clock from; it wasn't me.

"Morning, Dad." He scarcely glances up, and stuffs a bread roll between his teeth because there's no more room on his plate. He grabs a bar-stool and perches his large bulk precariously.

"Afternoon, son."

He takes my meaning and removes the roll from between his teeth. "Late night," he responds with as much dignity as he can muster. "Had to talk Three down."

"Hm. Johnny and Scott both managed to put in an appearance this morning."

"That's not fair."

We've had this conversation before. Why anyone needs seven or eight hours sleep is beyond me, but I've gotten used to the fact that most of my boys do. Doesn't mean I can't tease them about it once in a while.

I chuckle. "You can get in some sleep at the weekend."

He frowns. "Sorry?"

"I've scheduled you some down-time. Go see Lily."

"Iris," he corrects automatically. Then he realizes what I've actually said and brightens perceptibly. "Really?"

"You can have a four day pass," I tell him sourly. "Not an hour longer. That's assuming we don't get a call."

"Thanks, Dad." He risks a grin. "Did you say I'd get some sleep?"

I growl. "Don't you ever think about making an honest woman of her?"

He looks horrified. "We like things just the way they are." He looks at me directly. "Really, Dad. We meet up once in a while and we have fun. No commitments."

"Crap." He doesn't know what he's missing.

"Honestly. I'm not like you. I don't need love and I don't need marriage. I've got everything I need right here except…" he shrugs. "Well, you know."

I'm swallowing coffee, which stops me growling again.

"I just want you to know that living here and having a family are not mutually incompatible."

"'kay," he says dubiously.

He's right. I shouldn't interfere. He's his own man, always has been, and makes his own choices.

He's also my window on my eldest son. So I try to make my next observation sound casual.

"As a matter of fact, I had a not dissimilar conversation with your brother this morning."

"Which one? Scott?" He seems startled.

"He seems unduly touchy at the moment."

He gives me a very old-fashioned look. "If you brought up the subject of women I guess he would be." He catches the look on my face and groans. "Tell me you didn't?"

I know with a sudden and horrible certainty what's coming. "I may have done. I thought things were working out with that aid worker…" I click my fingers. Dash it, I've forgotten her name again.

"Stevie?!" he supplies helpfully.

"Why didn't someone tell me?"

"Dad!" His shoulders drop and his face twists. "You know she turned him down him last week."

"I most certainly did not!" I retort with some indignation. At the back of my mind, however, I'm aware that I sometimes tune out. It's a survival mechanism. If I listened to everything the boys were talking about I'd be an expert in a whole heap of things that are definitely best left to their generation.

He confirms it. "You were in ops with me when I was filling John in."

"I'll apologize later," I mutter.

Virgil grimaces and gives a tiny shake of the head. "I'd just leave it alone if I were you. He's pretty sore."

I shake my head. "I don't understand why he's such a walking disaster area when it comes to relationships."

He chuckles. "You kidding me? John's got a list as long as your arm."

"Pots and kettles there," I observe sourly.

He glances about, as if to satisfy himself that his brothers are nowhere in the vicinity. "You ask me, Johnny knows what he wants these days. Scott doesn't."

I reach for the mayo. "Do you think maybe he's like Gordon?" I prompt, as nonchalantly as I can. I'll admit I'm curious. I've seen him turn heads – both female and male. But then as a child he had those looks that verged on pretty and he's taking his time to grow out of them. Gordon was at ease with his sexuality from a very early age. But something like that would wear harder with Scott. And he would certainly have a hard job squaring that one with his other closet.

But I told them when we started all this, nearly two years ago. No surprises. I'd ignored the groans and sat them all down around the table for a frank sex talk. The one that's probably reserved for children of celebrities and eccentric billionaires, but which became more pressing because of what we were about to embark on. No-one's name in the news, and that meant, above all things, discretion. No A-listers - flashing a look at Scott, who's like me, easily star-struck, and his ex-room-mate at Oxford is turning, by some strange quirk of fate, into a major box office draw. He tends to get invitations to the kinds of parties the paparazzi like to crash (though he gets around it these days by donning a dark suit and sunglasses on the way in; he's discovered that no-one takes any notice of the bodyguard). No hookers (there'd been pained looks all round) and nothing dangerous (with a pointed look at John who'd simply stared back innocently at me - I suspect we have different definitions of dangerous).

"And if any of you gets your kicks out of cross-dressing, now would be a good time to say so."

It had drawn a chuckle, but they had seen the serious side.

"Come on, Dad!" Alan had protested. "What happened to your legendary open-mindedness?" (He seemed not to notice he was setting himself up, but to their credit, none of his brothers took the bait).

"Nothing. It's other people's closed-mindedness that worries me. We can't afford for you to get noticed. If anyone has anything they want to say now would be a good time to say it and we can all be open-minded about it together."

That had brought a snort or two. "And boys," I concluded. "We can't afford the publicity of a paternity suit. If you get a girl pregnant, both you and she had better have been planning it."

I had studiously avoided looking at Scott.

Do as I say, not as I do.

I could feel his response.

Hypocrite

Virgil pauses for thought now. "Bi? Scott?" He wrinkles his nose. "Whatever he might tell people, I don't think so. It just amuses him to keep everyone guessing, I think. But there's something I haven't been able to figure. I think maybe he hasn't either - some day I guess he'll sort himself out and we'll all get some peace."

But we're not in for any peace right now.

The klaxon goes off.

…