Part 2
"We're on the road to recovery with Lisa. She called me again yesterday. She wants to come in and see you. Would you be okay with that?"
"Oh no no no! She can't come here! Nothing's hidden; everything is out in the open! She'd know immediately."
"I see. Where are we?"
"Tracy Island of course."
"We're in a hospital room-"
"With palm trees outside? Don't be silly."
"There aren't any palm trees. No, no wait I see them. Silly of me, they're there, just outside the window. You don't have to show me; please sit back down. Careful… easy…"
…
Happy conversations filled the hall. Memories of shared laughter, milestones, and those delightful moments - perennially chased after perhaps for their mystery alone - that one remembers for no reason at all, were spilling from every mind in the room. For a brief moment grief had been cast aside in favor of recalling a life well lived.
"It's nice isn't it?"
John sighed. "Surely not now Rachel." His eyes followed her as she pulled out the empty chair beside him and sat so that she was facing him.
"Don't worry. I'll be cornering you later. I don't want to reduce you to tears in front of all these people," she said wryly.
He chuckled, moving his cane from between his knees to lightly whack her shins. "As if, my dear."
"No, I just wanted to ask you - you were the last one to have seen him after all - how's Scott?"
He sighed, eyes drifting away from her face to gaze into the mingling crowds. "Deteriorating. The doctors said he's almost into the advanced stage. It's odd. He still remembers some of the older things, but it's all mixed up now. Names are matched to the wrong faces; events are happening at the wrong time… he seems perpetually stuck in the past. But it's as though everything that happened forty years ago has been put in a blender."
Slowly, eyelids dropping with the weariness of sorrow, he shifted his eyes back to his daughter-in-law's. "He's almost gone."
She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Maybe it's time to get the kids in then? One last goodbye."
"God damn it!" Scott yelled, throwing the coffee mug at the wall with enough force to shatter it. John sat at the kitchen table, his own coffee mug secure in his hands.
"They're wrong! I'm tired, that's all! God damned doctors can't get anything right." He continued to pace around the small area between the kitchen counter and the walnut table.
"Scott, why don't you sit down," John quietly suggested, trying not to infuriate his elder brother more. He had a brief moment to pick up his coffee mug before Scott kicked the table leg nearest to him. He set the beverage down again once the table had stopped vibrating.
"How do you know I'm going to remember where the chair is?" Scott hissed. "Actually how do you know I still know who you are? How do you know that I know where I am? If I'm going to forget everything that's ever been important to me, might as well start now!" he laughed hysterically, pulling a chair out and swinging it around to sit on it.
He set his elbows on the table and then dropped his head into his hands. "God, I'm going crazy already."
"Finished being defeatist?"
Scott raised his head from his hands, a hint of a smile quirking his lips. "No, but there's open air right now; feel free to talk me into sense."
"No."
There was a long pause while Scott's gaze, which had previously been meandering around the ceiling, flicked to his own. The eyes he had known since birth traced his face, eyebrows creasing ever so slightly at intermittent points, undoubtedly trying to discern what joke he was playing.
"What do you mean, 'no'?"
"I mean I'm not going to talk you out of it. You need to come terms with this yourself. I'm just an open pair of ears, with a keen sense of when to move my coffee cup."
Scott expelled a tiny breath of air, a small semblance of a laugh. For a while he searched his brother's face. Then, "You aren't kidding."
John shook his head solemnly.
Scott stood quickly, pushing against the table as leverage, giving John only a second's advance warning. The cup was moved, and Scott began pacing again as it was set once more upon the wood surface.
"Well that's just fine and dandy, isn't it. How the hell do you expect me to come to terms with the fact that within a few years everything and everyone I hold dear is just going to disappear? Just like that, it will all be gone and I'll be left floating in my own little world, completely unaware that my nephews and nieces are having kids, my own brothers are dying, and that I actually used to be someone!"
He stopped for a moment, facing the other way. John could see the slow rise and fall of his shoulders as he drew in several deep breaths. Without turning, he continued, "What am I supposed to do Johnny? How am I supposed to live with myself when I can't remember you guys? When I can't remember the pranks Gordon played, the races Alan won, which star Dad named after mom…"
Silence settled over the small kitchen. John said nothing, allowing his older brother the space he needed to regain his composure. Quietly, and with much less strength than he had stood up with, Scott made his way back to the chair and sat down once again. He rested his forearms on the table, and stared at his clasped hands. "I'm already starting to lose my grasp of things," Scott said quietly.
"I woke up this morning, and you know what I realized? I realized I couldn't remember what day Virgil died. It took me a whole five minutes to remember. Who does that? Who forgets when their own brother died? "
"Is that when you broke the bathroom mirror?" John asked. Scott nodded, purposefully avoiding John's gaze and instead keeping his eyes locked on a seemingly very interesting vent underneath the fridge.
"Maybe," he said, sidestepping the question. "I never asked earlier, how's your leg?"
"Fine. And don't change the subject."
The faint shadow of a blush crept across the cheek facing him. "Let's get a few facts straight."
Scott still didn't look up.
"This is in no way your fault. Alzheimer's is a disease; you can't just say you didn't try hard enough and then decide that that's it. It's not how these things work. Second - yes you are starting to experience the symptoms, but you are not gone yet. After all, you remembered. It took time but you remembered. Third, you seem to be under the impression that one day everything will just be gone. Us included. And I can assure you right now, you will have someone at your side helping you remember, every step of the way."
John took a deep breath, waiting for Scott to answer. He had either just made things much better, or a whole lot worse. Finally Scott looked up at him.
"I thought I was supposed to come to terms with this myself?"
At ease, John smiled back. "You are. I'm just supplying you with some of the basic facts you seem to have overlooked."
Scott's eyes searched his once more, and for a moment John felt a pang of sympathy that he hated himself for. The look that lay there was one that allowed him to know more of what Scott was feeling then words alone ever could. It was seeking reassurance, it was fearful, and most of all hopeful. But then Scott asked him a question that caught him off guard.
"If I gave you a picture of someone, someone who you recognized and couldn't put a name to, and then told you it was your brother, what would you do?"
John dropped his eyes but the coffee in his cup held no answers. He thought for a long time before answering in just barely more than a whisper, "I… I'd ask someone who did know. I'd ask you. I'd ask you what his name was, what he was like. I'd ask you when he was born, what he did, who he loved, what his favorite color was. And you'd tell me." His gaze lifted from the black liquid. "You'd tell me, no matter how many times I asked."
Their eyes met, and John was only slightly surprised to see tears lingering at the very rims of the blue eyes that gazed back at him. He stood, limping over to the sink to dump the cold coffee that he'd barely touched down the sink, once again allowing his elder brother the chance to regain his composure. He turned the tap on and rinsed the residue out of the bottom, before placing it upside down on the drying rack. Then, as though suddenly remembering something, he turned and said, "Speaking of nephews and nieces having kids…"
Scott turned to face him, dry eyes dancing with curiosity. John grinned. "Cathy's pregnant."
"Gordon's getting another grandkid then?"
"Nope."
Scott frowned in confusion, and then the light bulb came on. "You mean-"
"Yup. Ethan's got twins on the way!"
Scott laughed. "Why didn't you tell me earlier? That's fantastic!"
John's smile became sad.
"I figured you'd want at least some good news today."
John didn't answer his daughter-in-law for a few minutes. She waited patiently.
"No," he said finally. "Nicole, Lucy, and maybe Grant if you see fit but not the younger ones. I think Scott would want them to remember him as he was. Not as some delusional old man in a senior's home. Ultimately it's up to you and the others but that's my take on it."
She nodded, forehead creased. "I guess I see your point. It's just such a shame."
"A shame preserving a child's memories of their uncle? No, I don't think so."
She nodded, a sad smile gracing her features. "Well, I'll leave you be then. You sure you're alright?"
"Has anything changed since the last time you asked me?"
"Well, has it?"
He laughed. "No. Now shoo. Your husband is in need of assistance. It seems he has made the acquaintance of Aunt Marjorie."
Quickly the younger woman stood, and as she pushed the chair in asked to no one in particular, "Have we even figured out how she's related to us yet?"
"Third cousin twice removed of Richard's wife's sister."
Rachel turned to him, one eyebrow delicately raised in incredulity. John laughed again. "No idea!" he called after her as she hurried away.
…
"How are you doing today?"
"…Anybody home?"
"…Come now, no need to be ignoring me."
"…Wait! At least let me help you get up."
"…Please just… don't walk away. Again."
…
"Uncle John?"
"Yes Morgan?"
"Sorry to bother you, it's just Grandma's talking to Auntie Tin-tin, Dad and Uncle Ethan are talking about something boring, Nicole's trying to control Dylan and Coop, and well Dylan and Coop are being controlled by Nicole and I don't have anyone to talk to," the child said all in one breath.
Patting the seat beside him, he simply replied, "Is that all?"
She flushed slightly, but took the seat. Her feet dangled over the edge, still unable to touch the floor.
"So how may I be of service to you?"
The flush that adorned the child's cheeks grew a shade pinker. "Well, I was wondering… you see we finally talked Grandma into coming back, and Auntie Tin-tin is here, and we saw Auntie Jamie at the hospital last week, and Uncle Scott never married and-"
"I see," John said quietly. A look of terror flashed across his grand-niece's face.
"Well you don't have to if you don't want to! I mean, I shouldn't-"
"It's alright," John soothed. "I don't mind. In fact, it's high time one of your generation learned about what happened. None of your cousins know how your Aunt Maggie died, did you know that?"
The child shook her head in wonder. No doubt proud of the fact that she would be special; she would be the first among her generation to hear this story. Seeing the innocence in his niece's eyes, John briefly reconsidered telling the tale. Twelve, after all, was still incredibly young. But she was right; their family, at least, needed to know what had happened. And he couldn't let his wife be forgotten.
"Well, this is very secret, so you can't tell anyone, alright?"
The girl nodded her head quickly, eager for the story.
"You remember your uncles and I sometimes told you stories about International Rescue?" Another quick nod.
"And you remember whenever you asked why we stopped; everyone would always avoid the question?" This time a frown and a more hesitant nod.
"Well, the reason International Rescue stopped, was because the world stopped needing International Rescue. And your Aunt was the final proof of that. She shouldn't have even been there…"
"Jeff, we don't have time for this!"
"You're not going! The rules are there for a reason, no two parents out at a time!"
"But we need an engineer on the scene!"
"Scott-"
"Only has the basics and you know it. I'm needed out there!"
John's gaze flicked between his wife and father. He was conflicted, confused. She had an extremely valid point: Virgil couldn't come out because of his broken arm, and while Scott did have a basic knowledge it wasn't nearly enough to fix this problem. But at the same time rescues were getting more and more dangerous, and he didn't want her out there if she didn't need to be. He didn't want Adam left alone.
"You're right we don't have time for this. Scott, Gordon, take Thunderbird One out now. Tin-tin, John, go get Two fired up."
Tin-tin turned and hurried off, but John stayed where he was. He heard the swish of an air lock indicating her departure. "I have just as much a say in this as she does," he said, ignoring the furious glare his wife was giving him.
"You two are putting people's lives in danger!"
"Well even more lives are going to be in danger if there isn't a proper engineer on the scene."
"Can't you do it via the com system?" John asked desperately.
"When was the last time you fixed a computer without actually seeing it?" she replied, whirling to face him. Their eyes locked and John felt himself give almost instantly. She was right, and they both knew it.
"Dad,"
"John-"
"She's right."
There was silence in the room. Then, "Go. And for God's sake, both of you come back safe."
"Auntie Maggie sounds really brave."
John smiled. He glanced around the room, content with the fact that no one had yet wandered close enough to hear the tale, before turning back to Morgan.
"She was. Incredibly brave," he replied.
"But what happened?"
He couldn't remember. There was pain, a lot of pain, but he couldn't tell where it was coming from. He couldn't remember what had happened, he couldn't remember where he was, he couldn't…Margaret!
"Where is she?" he gasped, his throat raw. He tried to sit up. Had he been lying down?
"Don't! John, you're hurt!"
He couldn't get his eyes to focus. Was that Maggie talking? No, Maggie didn't have red hair, and her voice wasn't that deep. He remembered shots, screaming, somebody falling…
"Tin-tin… wasn't she hurt too?"
"Busted ribs and a pretty nasty gash on her face… but she's better to pilot then I am."
There had been blood, angry shouting, he been trying to get to someone. Someone had needed him…
"What?"
"Concussion. I'm having …good fun keeping you in focus right now actually."
"Rest. You should rest."
Someone had been holding him back, but they'd let go and he'd heard a shot…
"And never wake up again? No, making sure you don't kill… yourself is doing a good job of making sure I don't pass out. And the mother of all headaches… is lending a helping hand."
His leg had given out. He'd been trying to reach Maggie; something had been wrong with Maggie. He couldn't get to her…
"Maggie. Where's Maggie?"
"Um… not good with questions right now. Concussion."
She'd been hurt! He was trying to get to her, and there were people fighting, and he saw Gordon dive after her, and the person who was holding him was yelling at Gordon to get out of there…
And then everything went black.
"You got hurt too?"
John ignored the slight shaking that was plaguing his hands. No matter how many times…
"Yes, everybody did I think. Your Grandfather had quite a lot deal with when we all got home, and his broken arm didn't help. Brains helped of course, but nobody came back unscathed. Uncle Gordon passed out as soon as we landed. That concussion? Turned out to be a subarachnoid hemorrhage." His niece's eyebrows creased, and her nose crinkled up as she tried to remember whether she should know those words. Realizing her confusion, he supplied, in the simplest terms possible, "Bleeding between the brain and the skull." Membranes weren't of importance at this particular moment.
"Oh," she whispered, eyes growing wide with morbid fascination. "That's not good, is it?"
John huffed, shaking his head. "No," he said raising his eyebrows. "It certainly isn't. It ended up being the reason why he died in the end actually. It haunted him for years after, and following his fall the doctor's couldn't do anything. Your uncle had a talent for acquiring life threatening injuries."
"Is that how Auntie Tin-tin got her scar?"
"It is indeed. She had Uncle Alan downright terrified, though she wasn't hurt too badly. He wouldn't let her out of his sight for weeks after."
"And you got hurt." It was a statement, not a question. A mere prod, reminding him he hadn't finished the story yet.
"Yes. I got shot in the leg. The bones… did things they weren't supposed to. That's why I have to use the cane now. Uncle Scott dislocated his shoulder, and he didn't help it any by piloting One back to the island. In fact he made it a whole lot worse; it messed up the nerves in his arm for a long time afterwards."
"But Uncle John, why? I mean, why did people get shot? Why were there guns?" she asked, her head now cocked to the side, trying to figure out something that they themselves had struggled to understand.
"We asked ourselves the same question."
"I'm shutting down International Rescue."
He felt as though he should be shouting out in outrage; surprise; something. But he couldn't, he was numb.
"Dad,"
"Scott, it's too dangerous. The people we're trying to help- they're turning against us. I won't lose anyone else."
"But why? Why are they turning against us? We haven't done anything," Virgil asked from his place at the end of John's bed.
"The moment people suspect your motives, everything you do becomes tainted," Tin-tin whispered, eyes downcast. She was undoubtedly worried that Alan would be overreacting. They had sent Jamie and Brains up to retrieve him as soon as they had discovered the severity of Gordon's injury would require a hospital visit. Lisa had reluctantly stayed on the island to help Kyrano look after the children.
"Well Gandhi had it right," Scott snapped. "We're being damned by the people we're saving. Every time we set foot on new soil there are cries of outrage, people accusing us of wanting something more. Why should we save them? Why should we save people when they don't want saving?" He was pacing around the small space, the arm that wasn't in a sling slicing through the air with violent intentions. "What is wrong with the god damned human species?"
"That's the thing," John whispered, and he could feel the weight of every set of eyes in the room upon him. "They're human."
His niece's eyes were wide. "Why would they do something like that? You were only trying to help and they hurt you!"
"It's a sad truth. And it was one we couldn't avoid anymore. We couldn't take the risk. It was ironic though," John said, eyes drifting off to focus on the darkening clouds outside one of the twenty-four high-set windows. "International Rescue was set-up in memory of your great-grandfather's wife. It was shut down in memory of mine."
…
"Another day, another visit. I've got Lisa booked in for Wednesday, she's dying to see you."
"John?"
"I- Scott?"
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm- I'm visiting you… I… how are you doing?"
"Wonderful. Simply wonderful."
"I… I mean how…Scott? Scott?"
…
"But people are forgetting International Rescue now. It's gone; in the past."
For a moment he was silent, lost in memories, gazing out the window to the sky pressing in outside.
"But I won't forget. None of us will forget. Because every time a life is saved we can read the news and see that Auntie Maggie was there. And now Uncle Alan too. And everyone else who's already gone. Because saving people is what we do." Her eyes gazed into his and for a moment he felt more at ease than he had in so very many years. But then the connection was broken.
"Dad's finally done! Thanks for everything Uncle John!" she jumped off the chair, gave him a quick peck on the cheek and was off, curls flouncing at the back of her neck.
He sat, stunned. Maybe there was still hope for the human species after all.
…
Burying a sibling wasn't something you could get used to; although one might assume that by now he would be.
There was something different about this burial though, and it wasn't just the sunlight that was piercing holes in the sky's clouded armor. Things didn't seem as…lost, hopeless.
And he knew as he locked eyes with a teenager with bouncing brown curls, tied neatly at the base of her neck, that things that had been long forgotten could finally be remembered. Scott Tracy was finally free to remember and be remembered. And perhaps, he could finally allow himself that luxury too.
As the attendees began to filter out of the cemetery, he hobbled over to the side of the grave. Slowly and carefully he lifted a hand to his chest and fished something small out of the front pocket of his blazer. He ran his thumb over the engraved metal, and for the first time in a very long time, smiled as he looked at it.
"Dad, you ready to go?"
He turned to his son, a long lost glint sparkling in the corner of his eye. Smiling, he briefly turned back to the grave, long enough to extend his hand and drop the item he was holding into the pit. A soft plink was the only indication it had hit the wood of the coffin.
"Yes. Yes I am." And with that, the pair made their way back to a familiar car, and a familiar hall where a man was already fiddling with a faulty, out-dated tablet. Memories and laughs bubbled forth once more, shared over light blue table cloths.
And back in the cemetery a ray of sunlight glinted off the metal of a faded pin.
In memory of: Roger Chaffee, Ed White, and Virgil 'Gus' Grissom. Forty-Three years to the day. "Ad astra per aspera."
also
In memory of my grandfather, Norman. We will always remember you before you forgot.
