So this is Angel's story, and I've tried to tell it as well as I can. Some things I've had to guess, others she told me. But I had to tell it – no one else knows anything of her and no one will remember her when I am gone. I can't tell my family, it feels like doing so would break the spell, that if I keep it to myself maybe she will come back to me someday. Then at other times I realise how foolish it is, I know that she won't and maybe telling them will help to lift some of the darkness that has settled around me.

I can still hear her, words carried on her soft voice as she whispers to me for a final time, head next to mine, lips tickling my ear. Her voice is always so calm and professional, but sometimes with a trace of laughter or a hint of exasperation. I hear her in my dreams, haunting me with a ghost of her laugh, or a glimpse of her smile. When I wake, she is gone forever.

So this is the end of the story. Of her story. I could mention how I returned to the cliff as soon as I could, how I searched endlessly for her. I could tell of the men who were sentenced to a lifelong spell in prison, or how her body was never found, but to me that seems irrelevant. Her death is irrelevant, her life was everything that mattered. Her vibrancy, her joy, her pain.

My family noticed my withdrawn state – how could they do otherwise? A part of me had been ripped apart and thrown into the sea, and I could never be as I was before. They attributed it to pain, for some reason they thought that she had tortured me in that room and assumed that this had a profound effect on me. My father suggested counselling, but I declined. I could no more tell a stranger about her than I could my family. Only John knew, John who sometimes sees so much more than the rest of us, when he isn't watching stars of course.

After he spoke to me, I decided that I had to begin again. I wouldn't forget her, I couldn't even if I tried, but I could at least continue my work. After all, it all began with International Rescue. If she hadn't cared about it, she never would have spoken to me that first time, she never would have been close enough to me to risk everything to save me. If I gave it up now, then it all was for nothing. I could not have her life spent for nothing.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I went back to the cottage, once. I knew it was a mistake when I arrived along the small footpath where she had first led me to the door. The whole place reminded me of her with memories in every corner and I found myself just standing in the centre of the main room, unable to process the painful thoughts that I couldn't avoid. I don't know how long I was there, but eventually the neighbour from the village, Jane I think her name was, arrived to feed the chickens. Jane asked me if I knew where she was and I broke down. It was the first time I had cried for her, and all my grief poured out on this woman I barely knew, instead of the loving family that should have supported me. All the anguish, the pain and the hurt roared out in a single afternoon as once the floodgates were open they were impossible to close again. How could she leave me? She had an idea that she would, I know she did. She never had looked forward to our time together, she didn't even think of her life afterwards. It's almost as though she knew there would be no afterwards for her.

Jane grieved with me, and it gave me some comfort knowing that I was not the only one that would notice her passing. To me the world had stopped spinning, and that everyone just continued as though nothing had changed I couldn't understand. Why did they not realise that the shining star that gave my life purpose was gone? But Jane did understand, and that somehow made everything a little more bearable.

Eventually I left the cottage, agreeing with Jane that she would take care of everything, and move the hens down to her place. Leaving that last time felt like I was closing a chapter, like I was abandoning her. I couldn't go without taking something with me, so that she would be with me forever. I found one of her metal claws hidden in a dusty corner, and I threaded it on a leather strap and put it around my neck where it remains to this day. Then I left the small cottage tucked in the moorland valley for the second, and last, time.

As time passed, I slowly recovered. There were still times when it threatened to overwhelm me, like when I was helping Kyrano make lunch and I realised that I would never be able to show her that I finally learnt how to make omelettes. Kyrano just let me cry myself out, he never questions, just knows. He even told Gordon it was the onions that caused the red eyes.

Grief diminishes with time, and though it never heals it becomes more bearable. I had to live my life again, for my family and because I know she would want me to. But I will never be able to love again, not as I loved her. There will never be another Angel.

Scott Tracy

A/N – Well, there we have the end. Decisions Decisions is a loose (and far less tramatic) sequel to this focussed on Tintin. There is also a third story that follows on from both in the works and it will be posted imminently – I recommend reading Decisions Decisions first as it will contain spoilers otherwise (though you shouldn't have to, to understand the plot).

This third story, Unforgotten, will start to be posted within a day or two so please either follow me as an author or keep a watch on the page for its posting.

I hope you've enjoyed this story and maybe even forgiven me for what I've put Scott through.

DISCLAIMER – I have no rights over the Thunderbird characters, but this story is mine.