Buried Emotions

Disclaimer - see chapter sixteen. And fairly sure the song "The Minstrel Boy" has long faded into public domain.

I offered cyber cookies for correctly guessing the significant of the colors of the dragons. The answer by the way was that the dragons were the colors of the brothers sashes in the original show. As for burying Alan, I thought of doing something along the lines of the episode "Move and your dead", eh...maybe another time. Yeah, rambling. But I posted early in response to those who got the answer and made my day.

Chapter 17

Tin-Tin worried her thumb nail between her teeth, trying to focus on anything. Was it just yesterday that her mother was helping her try on her wedding dress one last time? All Tin-Tin had been able to think at the time was "I can't wait for Alan to see me in this".

Now she wondered if he ever would.

The younger woman half-heartedly listened to Daria and Kate talking softly nearby.

"Eppsie," Agent Delgado sighed. "This isn't your fault. None of it."

"If I hadn't been so focused on work…"

"I ever tell you about my family?" Daria asked, abruptly changing topics.

Kate paused, thinking. "Um, both our moms are lawyers, your dad was something marketing and your sister is a once-unbearable speed dating queen who now works in fashion?"

Daria grinned. "My mom was a lawyer but while your mom was a federal prosecutor, mine was a corporate lawyer. First female partner in her firm and when she retired, she was the only female senior partner. She used to feel guilty about working so hard never mind that she loved working so hard. Dad was not as driven and he felt guilty about not being as driven, he just wasn't, so I'm still not sure why he was the one who ended up having a triple by-pass. My sister and I are both like mom. We love our work and are very driven. But we love our family as well. And as devoted we are to our jobs we are just as devoted to our families. You're a lot like that Kate."

Seeing that Kate was beginning to listen, she sighed and patted her friend's shoulder. "We'll get Alan back, Kate. I know how much you all love him."

Kate stood up then and hugged Daria. "Bring our baby home, Dorf," she whispered through her tears.

"Go take care of your other babies," Daria smiled. "And I still expect to dance at the kid's wedding."

"No way," Kate snarked. "I've seen you dance – that should be listed as a crime against humanity."

Tin-Tin gave a weak smile. If Kate could start joking again, maybe everything would be ok.

Gordon Tracy sat on the bed his brother had been sleeping in only this morning. He snorted when he realized that Alan's bed was made yet the maid service hadn't been allowed into either of the Tracy suites due to the investigation.

"Something funny?" Scott asked as he came into the room.

"When did the kid become such a neatnick?" Gordon snickered. "He makes his bed. In a hotel, he makes his bed."

"According to the shrink," Scott said absently as he picked up an accordion frame from Alan's dresser, "It's a control issue. Alan needs things organized and in place to leave him feeling as if he is in control."

"You've talked to his psychiatrist?" Gordon asked. "I thought they wouldn't talk about things like that."

"Nah," Scott murmured, smiling slightly at the family picture taken last Christmas. "I just asked Alan. I noticed how his books in his bedroom at home were organized. Divided by category, even sub-category and then alphabetical by author. It's a little freaky but Alan says it helps."

Gordon sighed. "I hate to think of the kid having issues like that. Did we fail him somehow?"

Scott set the frame back down and shrugged. "Since some of his issues started with Mom dying and his memories of that, I don't think so. But we did fail in that he felt left out of the family for so long. International Rescue and Tracy Family seemed to be one and the same and the kid felt lost and adrift because we blocked him from one."

Sighing, Scott turned around. "I just wanted you to know, Kate and I are about to leave with the kids. I …damn. I want to be here, but Jason is so upset…I have two kids who need me."

"What's the first rule of command, Scott?" Gordon smiled sadly. "Trust your men to follow through on your orders. We'll bring our baby bird home, and our field commander needs to take care of the trainees."

Scott gave a weak smile and threw a salute. "Make it so."

"Picard, you ain't," Gordon teased. "But aye-aye, sir."

Alan tried to calm his breathing. He had taken note of the device near his head and realized it was a portable air supply, programmed for twelve hours of oxygen.

"OK," Alan breathed out lightly. "I can handle this. Yeah. I'll be fine. The guys will get me out of here. It's gonna be ok. Supposed to be getting married soon. Will not die here. And I sure as hell am not dying a virgin."

"I would have thought your priority would be getting your nephew to safety," a new voice spoke up.

"Well, of course it was," Alan snapped before he froze. He had been pretty sure that he had been alone a few minutes ago. Alan slowly turned his head to the side and felt his jaw drop. He closed his eyes and counted to thirty before opening them again.

"Hello little brother," Tomo grinned at Alan.

"You're d-dead," Alan stumbled out.

"Yeah," Tomo sighed. "And let me tell you, it's not all that it's cracked up to be."

"You died because of me," Alan whispered, a tear leaking out of his eye.

Tomo shook his head. "I died because it was my time. I stayed because you needed me. That and I really like annoying the hell out of Gordon."

"Gordon?" Alan asked in confusion, wondering if the air supply was working right, making the insanity temporary instead of a complete nervous breakdown.

"Oh yeah. See, Gordon wants to protect you but he has some pretty lousy ways of doing it. So I've been haunting him."

"I thought part of the ceremony we did was to make sure you didn't stay," Alan muttered.

"Well, I've always been a stubborn cuss, as you were fond of saying," Tomo grinned. "Besides," he said as he stretched out beside Alan –something that should have been impossible given the box's dimensions. "I know how much you hate being alone. So until one of your other big brothers can get here, I'll hang around with you."

"I've missed you," Alan murmured as a tear ran down his cheek.

"I know, Otouto," Tomo gently said. "But I've never really left you. And I'll stay here as long as you need me."

Alan drifted off to sleep, comforted by the presence of his friend, even if it was a delusion…

And he missed as the air supply stuttered for a moment before restarting, not designed to be buried underground.

Kyle Westcott looked out over the graveyard as the sun finally set.

"OK," Jackson said from behind his brother. "I'll be calling Tracy now so we can arrange for the ransom to be dropped just before sunrise. Its eight thirty now, sunrise is at six in the morning. That means Alan Tracy will still have over an hour of air when I call from the airport with instructions on where to find him."

"I can do that part," Kyle said coldly.

Mitchell sighed as he put his hands on his younger brother's shoulders. "No, because I want them to find him alive. Kyle," he gently said, with a tenderness that would have amazed most who knew him. "I know you hate him. But you need to let that go once we leave here. The kid is going to know the pain and suffering you went through. And the money we get for him will set us up in a life far away from here. We can start fresh. New identities, and I can make plenty of money with my programs. We'll do good. You can even go to college if you want."

"He's not suffering enough," Kyle hissed.

Jackson Mitchell turned his brother from the window and pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry, Ky. You never should have had to suffer half of what you did. Not with your parents neglect or abuse, not what happened to you in prison. I'm sorry I didn't get you somewhere safe in time."

"They talked about how "brave" Tracy was," Kyle muttered from his brother's shoulder. "How he "shows what an abuse survivor can be", and that it was his statements that helped stop the pedophile. Abuse? Getting felt up? Big deal. Let's see how well the Golden Boy would do if he was held down and…and…"

"Don't," Mitchell murmured, hugging Kyle closer to him. "I'm sorry, Ky. I'm so sorry."

It would be another hour before Mitchell called Jeff Tracy.

The sun had long set but Jeff remained sitting in the chair, watching out the window. The suite was strangely quiet without Scott, Kate or the children. Agent Delgado and Sheriff Landman had both headed to Bailey proper. It seemed his donations to Bailey over the years allowed Jean to have set up a small lab, one that she had designed herself.

"Where did Jeannie head out to?" John asked as he re-entered the room, placing a sandwich and a cup of coffee next to his father.

"I had forgotten that Jeannie did a dual major in college," Jeff smiled sadly.

"Criminal science and criminal justice, wasn't it?" John asked, sitting down when Jeff nodded. "I seem to recall that Amos Tucker allowed her to set up a lab in what used to be the tax office."

"Jeannie can run through a lot of evidence without it going to the state lab," Jeff said. "The lab is run on a grant so it helps a lot of the smaller police forces in the area."

"Generous grant," John smirked.

Jeff shrugged. "What good is money if it doesn't make things better? I may have left Bailey, but our roots run deep here."

John was about to say something when the phone next to Jeff rang.

Jeff looked at his son before he closed his eyes as if in prayer and picked up the phone, pressing the speaker button.

"Hello."

"Hey, Boss Man. Ready to do business?"

"Five million dollars, right?" Jeff calmly asked. "My bank has it ready to go where ever you want it to." An odd thought crossed his mind. "You want it sent somewhere, right? Not in cash?"

"In all my performance reviews, was I ever called an idiot?"

Jeff bit his lip, wanting to say "no, not an idiot. A self-centered ass, but not an idiot."

"You could trace it, or it would look suspicious when we get where we're going."

"And where will that be?" Jeff asked.

"You don't need to know that."

"But I will," Gordon said as he came into the room.

"And I will tell you once we are in the air,"Mitchell said. "I'm sending the routing and account number to your phone. Gordon, you need to be at the airport by five a.m, ready to go. At six o'clock, we'll take off. In the hour in-between, Kyle and I will make ourselves known, and I will send another message to you as to where Alan is. And if you are thinking of trying to stop us, well...I would think of Alan. Poor little Alan. He's alone at the moment. He only has twelve hours of oxygen – and that will run out around six thirty. So I think you should focus on getting to that boy of yours."

The dial tone echoed through the room, with the Tracys staring at each other in shock.

"What the hell did those bastards do with Alan?" John gasped.

It was a sign of how upset Jeff was that he didn't acknowledge John's language.

Daria looked through the microscope at the slide Jean had presented to her.

"And I'm looking at?"

Jean sighed. "Well, I'll tell you one thing you aren't seeing. No manure, no fertilizer, no chemicals beyond things you would find in someone's yard."

"And that's odd because?"

Giving her first genuine grin in hours, Jean looked smug. "This is Bailey. Most of the properties where you could hold someone unnoticed are farm country. None of the above rules out seven-eighths of the community."

"And you know they are still in Bailey because?" Daria asked with a raised eyebrow.

"As soon as Jason was taken," Jean explained, pointing to a map, "I had the Highway Patrol block off the roads out of Bailey. Even if they did find some way, we can tell by the background noises on the call that they were stationary – no road sounds. It was less than twenty minutes between the trade-off and the phone call."

"Not bad," Daria smirked, her raised eyebrow indicating she had already figured out that part at least.

"OK," Jean sighed as she pulled out another piece of evidence. "We know where they don't have Alan. Let's find out where he is."

Daria nodded. She had a promise to keep.

Alan rolled his head, trying to get his thoughts in order. His head was spinning, throwing the flow of his thoughts into chaos.

"Feel dizzy..." he murmured. "Tommy?"

"Right here," Tomo said, gently brushing Alan's hair back from his face. "You need a haircut."

"Sound like Dad," Alan muttered.

"I like your Dad," Tomo shrugged. "Keep awake Alan."

"Too much," Alan whimpered. "It's just too much."

"Sing Alan," Tomo commanded.

"You gotta be kidding."

"Sing," Tomo said even more firmly. "Ummm. An Irish song, that one you did for Mr. Mulrooney's retirement."

Alan smiled, recalling how happy the man, born and raised just outside Dublin before he settled in Boston, had been when Alan had sung the tune the history professor had declared to be "the lullaby his sainted mother had sung him all his days".

The minstrel b-boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you'll find him;
His- his father's sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him;
"Land of Song!" said the warrior bard,
"Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful harp sh-shall praise thee!"

"Good job, Alan," Tomo said as Alan's voice faded. "But keep singing. Alan? ALAN!"

Hiding now...