I find now that I really want to look at her. I don't think it's just because I'm grateful for her assistance. I mean, she really is a pretty woman. But whether she is attractive or not, I am certain of two things: I must be careful not to confuse gratitude and attraction, and because of Susan's help I might just find out who I am after all. Austin Turner is only another alias. One in a long line of many.

"Look, Christopher!" she'd said, not holding still long enough for me to see what she held after I'd let her into my hotel room. "I just got this from my friend in the FBI!"

Eventually I retrieved the paper from her hand. It was an e-mail from someone named Robert Davis, and contained only three sentences.

"David and Elizabeth Turner were in the MI-6 protection program due to a case they had successfully solved. It is believed those they helped prosecute may have taken them, but they were never heard from after April 20, 2001. The child they adopted was purposely placed with them by an influential British contingent."

Those words play over and over again in my mind as clouds begin to build far beneath us. Robert Davis had attached a photograph of the Turners to his e-mail, and it was in that photograph that I found something to go on. They were standing in front of a mansion. A mansion that I recognized.

Susan stirs and I turn my head to look at her again. She'd wanted to come along. In fact, she'd insisted upon it. "I'm the one who gave you illegal access to adoption records," she'd said. "I'm in this now."

She had a point. Besides, I was too elated to argue. And that's when I made the mistake of initiating physical contact. In other words, I hugged her. It seemed the appropriate thing to do under the circumstances, and would have been uneventful, perhaps, had she not been jumping up and down at the time. That had an...unfortunate...effect on me.

Thankfully she didn't seem to notice, and a few hundred quantum calculations quickly brought me back down to Earth. But now as my mind begins to ask itself why I had that reaction to begin with, the radio crackles to life and I jump as though caught doing something wrong.

"Tracy Island to Tracy Three. Come in, Tracy Three." It's Jeff.

I open my end of the line. "This is Tracy Three."

"Hello, Brains, how's it going?"

"Well, I believe, sir. I should arrive at Lady Penelope's i-in approximately 92 minutes."

"Good. I've called ahead as you asked and-"

At first I don't realize why he's cut himself off mid-sentence, but then I notice his eyes are turned toward my right, and notice further that not only has Susan awakened, she has leaned over and is now in direct line-of-sight with the video screen. I mentally groan. I had neglected to inform Jeff that I was no longer alone in my quest.

"Maybe I should've told Penny to expect two?" he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I think I must be crimson because my face is hotter than melted steel and my head feels like it might explode. "Jeff Tracy," I say, my voice sounding tenuous even to me, "this is Susan Beasley. It's Miss Beasley who has been instrumental in assisting with my search."

"Ah. From the Michigan Vital Records office." I nod. "Pleased to meet you, Miss Beasley."

"Oh, just Susan, please! It's not that I doubted you, Christopher, but...that's really Jeff Tracy!"

I have to resist the urge to roll my eyes. Every Tracy man steals my thunder in every situation and I can't stifle the sigh that escapes my lips. Jeff looks at me, then back at Susan. "Well, what about it, Brains? I'm assuming you won't be dropping Miss Beasley in the Atlantic before you arrive at Penny's."

"You know both Jeff Tracy and Penelope Creighton-Ward," Susan says. Again, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. And then she surprises...and embarrasses...me. "You must be very special to be befriended by people as influential as them."

I'm crimson again, I just know it. I clear my throat and a rather unceremonious squeak comes out as Jeff's face morphs into a large grin. I try again and thankfully am able to get some intelligent words out of my mouth. "Yes, Jeff, please, ah, tell Lady Penelope to expect two i-if it isn't too much i-inconvenience."

"I'm sure it won't be at all, Brains." He nods at Susan. "Miss Beasley." Then he looks back at me and of all the interminable things, he winks at me. "Tracy Island out." And the channel is closed.

I breathe a sigh of relief as Susan speaks. "Sorry, I didn't mean to pry, but that...I mean, everyone knows who he is. I just couldn't believe he was there on your video screen."

"I-It's okay. The Tracys have that effect on people," I say.

Quite nonchalantly, I think, until she says, "You need to step out from under that shadow a bit. You're shell-shocked."

"I'm...what?"

"Why did he keep calling you Brains? What is that, a nickname or something?"

"It's...uh...yes, I-I've been called that since I was nineteen." I turn and blink twice at her. "Shell-shocked?"

"Well, it was pretty obvious by how you reacted to my reactions. Sorry, Christopher."

I just sigh again and shake my head. "Call me Brains," I say. I have to be honest with her. "Although I grew up known as Christopher Braman, I've been Brains for so long it's just...more comfortable."

She nods. "Okay. Brains it is. I assume that's because of your genius."

There she goes with that genius stuff again. "Yes."

It's quiet for a while as we are each lost in our own thoughts. I can't help but quirk a smile as I recall her reaction to Jeff. And I resolve to further investigate what it is exactly that makes women fall at the feet of Tracy men. It fascinates me, and at the same time makes me wonder how it is they're able to find women who want them for more than their looks and billions. I have plenty of money in my own right thanks to my inventions and patents, but of course, no one knows that. But though I'm not necessarily horrific to look at, I'm no Tracy.

And that brings me to yet another thought, and my reaction to it surprises me. Speaking of falling for Tracy men, I think, what about Tin-Tin? And why in the world am I thinking about her all of a sudden? That's when it occurs to me why. That's when I am surprised. I miss her. I've not yet been gone a week from Tracy Island, and I miss her. Well, it's logical that I would. After all, she's been my right arm since she survived the bomb placed on Fireflash and came to live with us on the island. As I think about it now, it was actually pretty comical, Jeff putting the two of us together like that as partners. I was extremely shy, of course. She is a very beautiful woman, after all. And she, it turns out, was shy around me as well. Twenty-three days ago she finally told me why she'd been so shy at first. It was because of my reputation, of what Jeff had told her about me.

"I was afraid I couldn't measure up to your mind," she'd said that day in the lab. I had been shocked by her revelation. I have never found Tin-Tin to be anything but a competent and capable engineer, whose assistance has proven invaluable to me over the years. And then there's all that "tutoring" she's given me where women are concerned. I glance back over at Susan noting that while she's not nearly the porcelain doll my assistant is, she's definitely what I consider beautiful. My face flushes, I can feel the heat.

It burns even hotter, if that's possible, when the next thought hits me. Why now, after 31 years of pursuing this impossible goal of discovering my identity, have I been on such an emotional roller coaster with regards to its success or failure? Why have I been feeling these twinges not only of physical wants and needs, but of emotional ones as well? Why have I been feeling the urge to have a family of my own? Perhaps because Jeff and John seem to be on that road right now, and that's brought it to my own mind? A possible piece of the puzzle, but definitely not the entire picture.

Could it be it's because of her? Could this all be because of Tin-Tin Kyrano's influence on me? And that's why, once again, my thoughts turn to my past. And, in a way, to my future. Because I know unless I find the former, I will not be fulfilled in the latter. I feel Susan's hand on my arm. "What?" I ask.

"Whatever happens, Chr-I mean, Brains," she falters and I turn to look at her. Her eyes are large, milky green and warm, and I find myself once again feeling that odd feeling I had when I first shook her hand. "Whatever happens, Brains, I just want you to know that I...I mean, what I'm trying to tell you is..." She sighs in frustration and her hand slides from my arm. I'm a bit lost here, because I have no idea what it is she's trying to convey. "Even with the information from Bob Davis, we still have no idea how close we'll be able to get to your parents' true identities. You must know that."

I nod. "Of course. But that's why I-I'm calling on Lady Penelope. She's quite...resourceful, and has many contacts in England. If anyone can dig over there, she can."

"I know, and I'm hoping and praying that you do find your answers, I really am. I just don't want to see you get...you know."

I look at her. "Hurt?" She nods. And she's right, I can't refute it. But I also can't guarantee right now that if this second lead doesn't go anywhere I won't feel the same as I did the first time I thought it wasn't going anywhere.

"Brains, you don't need to have all the answers in order to live a full and happy life. Just don't forget that."

My head whips around, but she has turned and is looking out the passenger side of the cockpit window. For the next hour my brain is consumed with that simple...yet utterly profound...statement. I wonder if she knows how it's got my mind in overdrive. Had my life on Tracy Island really been so empty? So unhappy? Of course not! I spend hours upon hours doing exactly what I love to do: thinking, inventing, researching. Trying to solve the world's problems. Trying to save more lives.

By the time we're landing at Foxleyheath, I have determined that, logically speaking, Susan's absolutely right. I find myself grateful for her presence and rationality. For her brand of logic.

I can only hope logic wins the next time I'm disappointed.

"Brains, dear, how are you?" Penny envelops me in a hug, which I return. "It is good to see you."

"I-I'm well, ah, Lady Penelope. A-And you?"

"Wonderful," she replies, kissing my cheek. Then she turns her attention to Susan. "And this must be Miss Beasley." She extends her hand, and for a moment I want to roll my eyes again because Susan's evidently a bit starstruck...or thunderstruck...by meeting someone who's so famous the world over. I'm glad, though, when she quickly recovers and takes the offered hand.

"Lady Penelope, it's an honor. Your home is..." Susan looks around the foyer of Creighton-Ward Mansion. "Amazing," she breathes.

"You are too kind, dear. Lil has prepared a lovely meal if you would care for some supper."

"Oh, yes, I'm hungry," I say. "Susan?"

She nods vigorously. Penny smiles demurely. "Very well. Parker will show you to the table. I shall join you in a moment. Parker?"

"Yes, milady. H'it's good to see you h'again, Mister Brains. H'and it's nice to meet you, Miss Beasley."

"You too, Mr. Parker."

"H'it's just Parker, Miss."

As Parker leads us to the dining room, I know exactly where Penelope is going. She and Jeff both did some digging on Susan and are going to compare notes before we sit down to our meal. I know these people far too well, I realize as Parker pulls a chair out for Susan. "Thank you," she says, and he nods.

It's interesting watching someone be introduced to Lady Penelope's world for the first time. I suppose Susan's awe as she looks around at the opulent room reflects the awe I experienced seven years ago when I first stepped into this incredible place. Looking around as well, it's as though I'm seeing it through her eyes. The plush navy carpeting, the navy walls inlaid with intricate gold patterns. You would think the room would be unbearably dark, but the chandelier above the long table made of Phoenix Tail wood makes the room sparkle.

Parker lights the white candles on the table and I see Susan looking at the long velvet navy table runner, the large bouquet of fresh pink roses of varying shades, the Jasper Pale Blue Wedgewood china. It took me a while to get used to this sort of wealth. After all, Jeff Tracy might be a billionaire, but he's from the American Midwest, and his tastes therefore run far simpler than Lady Penelope's. It's not that she's snobbish in any way. Quite the opposite, in fact. I was surprised to learn how down-to-Earth she really was once I got to know her. It's simply the way she was raised. She's been surrounded by the finest since she was born. And every word, every move, every gesture reflects that.

I will admit to having had what Tin-Tin calls a "crush" on Penny at some point. I find it embarrassing to speak of, but I believe she was the first one ever for me. What you have to understand about me, and indeed about most like me, is that we live inside our own minds. I once explained it to Tin-Tin this way: imagine an explorer seeing a new continent for the first time. There are thousands and thousands of miles of unexplored territory, and even if he lands on the eastern coast of the continent as a child, he would grow old and die before he could possibly have been to every inch of his new world.

My mind is much the same way. It's like standing on the edge of a vast unexplored region. There is so much to see and do inside my own head that there's really very little reason for me to get outside my head. I suppose that's where I've been luckier than most like me, though. Due to the influence of Jeff and his family, I have had little choice but to become much more sociable than I would have in an alternative environment. Having to interact with him and with his sons during the designing of International Rescue's fleet of vehicles, for one.

And then, of course, Tin-Tin has been attempting to teach me how to understand women. I suppose her experiment has shown some success because I find that I do tend to understand her moods. Or, at the very least, recognize them. Now my thoughts are drawn back to her. I've probably seen her both at her very best and, quite possibly, at her very worst over the years we've worked together. There have been times of anger and sorrow, times of elation and breakthroughs. We've shared a lot, I realize, as numerous instances pour into my head.

For example, the time when Jeff insisted we needed a Thunderbird 6. I was half-angry that I wouldn't be flying Skyship One's maiden voyage and half-elated over the chance to create a sixth Thunderbird. After all, One through Five had proven their mettle on hundreds of occasions, and the opportunity to create yet another rescue marvel was more than appealing. I also remember, though, that I wasn't just upset about missing the air ship's maiden voyage. I was, now that I think on it, upset that Tin-Tin was going to be gone for so long.

I remember it so vividly, hanging onto the Tiger Moth for dear life on one wing, all the while looking across the other to watch the emotions play across Tin-Tin's face as we had one close call after another. Thank heavens for Alan's crack shooting to get rid of those who wanted to kill us. The last man very nearly got me. I owe Alan my life for that one. But he says he owes me his life every time a rescue vehicle doesn't burn up, get crushed or otherwise always brings him back alive from a rescue. He says we're even. I'm not quite certain about that, but it appeases him.

After we crash landed in the trees, I remember scrambling off to find that Alan had already disembarked and had gone after Tin-Tin. I therefore found myself helping Lady Penelope out of the cockpit and within minutes, Scott and Virgil had arrived. My face was a bit scratched. It was amusing how Tin-Tin fussed over me for days after, given the superficial nature of my wounds. But what was most surprising of all, and damnably something that had never occurred to me until right this moment, was when we were watching the newly christened Thunderbird 6 take off.

I'll never forget standing there full of pride and anticipation. I knew Jeff would go for it, and I have to admit I enjoy creating a buildup when I'm to reveal new inventions. That's when I felt it. Felt her hand take mine. I was surprised, and turned to look at her inquiringly. "You've done it, Brains," she said softly. "After all this work, you've done it."

Instead of latching on to the fact that she held my hand throughout the entire time the Tiger Moth performed its acrobatics that afternoon, I latched onto the fact that I hadn't really done anything at all. After all, Alan had built the Moth from scratch. He'd been the one to fly it to England, with Tin-Tin aboard, no less. It had been Gordon's idea to use it in our attempts to save those atop Skyship One. And though I had piloted it there, in the end it was Alan who'd seen to our safe, though bumpy, landing.

And so I chewed on that for days. Why would Tin-Tin make a claim that was so obviously untrue? All the things I'd invented had been rejected. I had been feeling more and more like a failure until that point, wondering if my usefulness at International Rescue had come to an end. To this day I don't know why Jeff was so insistent upon needing a new Thunderbird, nor really why he rejected those I designed. And until this day, I have never before wondered at the true nature of Tin-Tin taking my hand that day. To show her support? She knew I'd been upset about the rejections. We had talked on and off throughout her trip on the air ship. I guess I've always thought it was support, yes. But now I'm wondering.

A soft exclamation brings me out of my reverie...you see how my mind is wandering yet again...and I look up to find that Parker has brought our first course. It's Mulligatawny Soup, one of Lil's specialties taught to her by a visiting Indian dignitary's aide. I can tell Susan's never smelled or seen anything like it.

"H'I apologize, but 'er ladyship's been detained. Please do not 'esitate to begin your meal," Parker says genially as he places a bowl of the steaming soup in front of me.

"Thank you," Susan and I say at the same time.

Left alone to let our soup cool a bit before we can eat it, I feel oddly like I should say something. But as my mind continues its maddening debate and attempt to unravel the secrets of the finer social graces, Susan brings the frenzied thought processes to a halt. "So, Brains, what's the first order of business?"

I am prevented from answering by our hostess. "The first order of business, Miss Beasley, will be what I believe Jeff would call a 'road trip' first thing tomorrow morning."

Penelope seems to float into the room. She stops next to me and places a half-sized piece of paper next to my bowl of soup. "For you, dear boy."

I can't sleep. It's not that the bed isn't comfortable, or that it isn't peaceful here. It's the same thing it always is: my head. I finally resign myself to my fate and throw the covers back, rising and picking up the piece of paper off the table. On it is an address. I don't really know what we'll find there tomorrow morning, but it's obviously something important to my investigation. I can come up with at least eighty-three scenarios that have a 98.34 chance of occurring.

And each of those scenarios leads me down a different path. Each has a different set of circumstances, variables and outcomes, and I'm lost in contemplating them until I hear a soft knock at my door.

When I open it, I find Susan wrapped in a white terrycloth bathrobe. "Hi, Brains."

"Hi. Y-You can't sleep, either?"

"No," she shakes her head.

"Well, ah, come in."

But my mind is still preoccupied. Several minutes pass and I have all but forgotten her presence until she clears her throat. "Brains?"

"Mm?"

"What was on that piece of paper Lady Penelope gave you?"

"Oh. An address."

"For what?"

"I don't know."

"You know, if I didn't know better..."

"What?" I ask, turning to find that she's sitting cross-legged on my bed.

"Well, she's so mysterious. I mean...I guess this sounds pretty unrealistic of me, and I haven't spent much time with her, but I'd swear she's like a female version of James Bond. I've never seen anyone skulk about so."

It's all I can do not to laugh out loud. Years of training and experience in espionage, and within two hours a record keeper from Michigan has figured Penny out completely. Jeff Tracy would be proud. That gives me an idea. Susan has proven not only useful and talented in her own right, but seems to be a forthright individual. She has a lot of contacts that could prove helpful to International Rescue. I wonder what kind of agent she'd make. I watch as she stretches herself out on the bed and allow myself a moment to admire her. Mostly for the less cerebral assets that are becoming more than just a little evident.

"Brains?"

"Y-Yes?"

"Do you think this address will yield the results we're looking for?"

I instantly pick up on the words she used to form that sentence. 'We' being chief among them. I smile and approach the bed, discarding the piece of paper on the night stand. "Yes," I reply. "I-If Penny thinks it's important enough to warrant a road trip tomorrow, it has to be."

"But she gave you no indication as to what we're going to find there?"

"No, but that's Penny's way," I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "You're definitely right that she's mysterious."

"Hm," she smiles, rising up on her elbow. "So."

"So?" I turn halfway around to look at her. "So what?"

"I want to understand you."

"What?"

She shakes her head and sits up right next to me. "I want to understand how it is your mind works. The first time I've really seen any indication of what you're really like was a few minutes ago when you looked like you were buried deep inside yourself."

I nod. I'm not quite sure what she's asking me for.

"You see, Brains, I get the idea you're putting on an act...a really good act...but an act, nonetheless."

"An act? Me? Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. But I've seen at least two different people in you these last few days. I'm just not sure which is the real one."

I blink once and consider her words. Am I two different people? Yes, perhaps even more than two. Then again, aren't we all? There's the man who gets lost in inventions, the man who wants to learn about his past, the man who wants his own family and the man who wants to be his own man. To have an identity not so completely intertwined with his head.

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"Well, i-in a way, yes, I suppose."

I look up to find her looking right at me. In all my years with the Tracy family, I have never really felt comfortable talking to them. After all, they're men, and it's difficult enough on a good day to just get through a conversation with them about the Thunderbirds. I do what I must and I do enjoy the occasional "normal" conversation, it's true. But never once have I looked into anyone's eyes and felt compelled to be completely honest about...my mind falters, and it surprises me.

I feel a sort of panic rise within me. My thoughts seem to fall from their ledge and I'm confounded, struggling to grab each of them and put them back in place. What's happening to me? How is it possible that my mind...my mind...could do this to me? It's like a computer program cascading, an operating system failing. It's like...I don't even know what it's like. That's when I realize I'm still staring at Susan. And that's also when I realize I haven't answered her question yet. My final stunning revelation? I don't remember what her question was.

"Brains, are you okay?"

I register that she's touching me. I can hear her voice and understand her words. But I can't make myself respond. My mind is shutting down. I cannot fathom it to be true. It has never happened before. I must find out why...why it's happening. I must investigate. But I...I have to find my parents. I have to...I have...

Susan.

This is my last conscious thought.

The first thing I recognize is thirst. The second is that I feel like I imagine the Tracys do after a night of celebrating one of their birthdays. And the third is that the first two things set alarm bells off in my head. I sit bolt upright...or at least, I try to. I struggle for a moment against the strong hands that hold me down, then hear the hushed voice of Parker followed by the unmistakable voice of Lady Penelope.

"Penny," I breathe, but I can barely get the sound out past my parched throat. Within moments, a straw is placed at my lips and I drink. "What...?"

"Shh, just rest now, Brains."

"You-" I swallow a couple of times. "You must be joking."

I hear her laugh as I slowly open my eyes. "No, my dear young man, I wasn't, but it doesn't surprise me that you don't wish to do as I say."

"Tell me what happened," I manage to get out as she brings the straw to my lips again.

"Parker, do let Dr. Thayer know our patient has come to."

"Yes, milady."

"I lost consciousness. You called a doctor."

Lady Penelope nods. "Dr. Thayer is my personal physician, Brains. I trust him implicitly."

"Which explains why I'm not in a hospital."

"Correct as always," she smiles, smoothing my hair. "It seems you had what we used to call 'an episode.'"

"An..." My eyes widen. "A mental breakdown?" She nods. "That's not possible." And yet, even as I speak the words, I recall my last thought before I lost consciousness, the way I grappled with the thoughts that threatened to leave me. "It's not possible," I repeat, trying to convince myself that my logic is faulty. "Not me," I say, silently begging her to tell me it isn't true. "Penny, it's not...it can't...!"

"Now, Brains, if you don't calm yourself, I'm afraid I shall have no choice but to let the doctor sedate you."

"Sedate? What...what's going on?"

But she doesn't answer the question as the door to the guest bedroom opens. A distinguished-looking man enters. "Brains, this is Dr. Thayer. I believe he can best explain your current situation."

"Mr. Hackenbacker," he says, holding out his hand. I want to groan as I take it. Of all my aliases, she had to give him that one? "It's a great honor to meet you, I'm well aware of your contributions to the medical community."

Ah. That's why she gave him that name. "Thank you."

"Mr. Hackenbacker, it seems from some localized CT scans I've performed that there's nothing physically wrong with your brain. Now, I have a dual degree in both medicine and psychology, and after interviewing your friend Miss Beasley, my diagnosis is that you simply became overwhelmed by the events of the past few days and your mind was unable to cope with emotions that I assume one of your high IQ is not used to handling."

I glance at Penny, who is, as always, being a lady and acting indifferent to what she's hearing. "I had a nervous breakdown?"

"Not really, no. I don't know how much you understand about your own mind, Mr. Hackenbacker, but I have availed myself of several studies done on men and women with an IQ of 150 and above. As yours is considerably higher, there may be some inconsistencies, but I can tell you that of the 56 persons studied, only 3 of them exhibited normal emotional responses to generalized stimuli."

"But I'm always exposed to generalized stimuli, and this has never happened before."

"No, I assumed as much. However, according to Miss Beasley you've been exposed to an extremely high degree of centralized stimuli."

Centralized stimuli. I close my eyes briefly. That would explain it. "I suspected as much myself before I-listen, I-I don't think there's any need for sedation."

"No, but there is a need for you to remain calm. I have therefore left Lady Penelope with quite specific instructions as to what to do should you become too overwhelmed again."

I frown. What kind of instructions could those be? But instead of getting any further information, he tips his hat and Parker enters to escort him from the mansion. Turning to Lady Penelope, I catch her eye and realize she's hiding something.

"What exactly is going on?" I ask.

"It's quite simple. I wanted to make sure you would be all right, and in the meantime, Dr. Thayer was most excited to help us understand what had happened to you."

"That was embarrassing."

"Nonsense. Now, do you feel you can freshen up on your own or shall I send Parker in to assist?"

She's making fun of me, I just know it. Send Parker, indeed. But that cool exterior belies nothing. "I think I'm quite capable," I reply. "As long as you have a shot of aspirin."

"In the bathroom. Do be careful. I shall return in half an hour."

I nod and wait until she leaves the room before I allow myself to fume. Not over any sort of treatment, or lack thereof. But at myself. How could I not have seen that coming? Everything Dr. Thayer said was true, and I know it. I had heard of this happening. It even happened to Einstein and Cragen. But to me? It couldn't have happened to me. And yet it did.

I head into the bathroom and know that for the next thirty minutes I'm going to be berating myself for not being more careful. I spiraled into this when I knew better. From now on I would stick to logic. I would stick to the facts, and to the business of finding out who my parents are. No more getting my hopes up. No more let-downs. No more funny feelings or focusing on friendly government employees or anything at all other than my normal behavioral patterns. I promise myself this as the water heats up.

But as I step into the shower, I think of Susan and then of the prospect of learning my identity and begin to wonder if I can keep my own promise.

I'm sitting on the edge of the bed, having just finished dressing, when there is a soft knock on the door. "Come in," I say. It's Penelope. She enters and seats herself in one of the two French Fruit Wood arm chairs. I know from past inquiries they date back to the early 1800s, as does the rest of the furniture in this particular guest room.

"Come, Brains," she says, gesturing toward the other chair. "Sit with me."

I nod and take the offered seat. "What is it? The look on your face tells me you know something."

"I do. Promise me you will remain calm. I shan't breathe a word unless you can promise me that."

"I...I'll do my best."

She eyes me for a moment before speaking. "Very well. Do you remember the address on the slip of paper I gave you shortly before your incident?"

"Yes."

"After we were certain you were safely in Dr. Thayer's care here, and that you did not require hospitalization, Susan and I went to that address the next morning."

I sit up straight, intrigued. "What did you find?"

"Not a what, dear boy. A who. The address provided to me by a contact in MI-6 was for one Mister Liam Saunders."

I shake my head. I don't know that name.

"Mister Saunders wasn't eager to speak with us at first, but eventually he came around." I grimaced. I could well imagine his cooperation wasn't entirely voluntary. "He had a very interesting story to tell, about a man and a woman who used to be agents of MI-6. Apparently they became involved in a most dangerous case involving a plot to assassinate members of the royal family."

"A man and a woman." My eyes widen. "David and Elizabeth Turner. Just as the e-mail from Susan's friend at the FBI said."

"Indeed," she confirms. "Only their real names were Neville Martin and Mary Thorne. Mister Saunders was their commander in MI-6 at the time, and when Neville and Mary's identities were revealed to the conspirators, Saunders knew he had to get them out of England, and fast."

"So he sent them to the U.S.," I continued the story for her. "They were given new identities as a married couple and settled in Holt, Michigan."

"Saunders either could not or would not confirm where in Michigan they settled but yes, it was in that state."

"Why did they adopt me?" I ask. "And what happened to them? Were they really taken by those they helped prosecute?"

"Saunders feels they met a rather tragic fate. He believes, although he has no proof, that the Bolshevik conspirators traced them to Michigan and either kidnapped or killed them. Or both. That might explain why you were found on a different street than that which you lived. They may have been running from someone. Regular communications Saunders had been receiving from the couple stopped as of April 20, 2001."

"The day before the tornado."

"Yes," she nods. "And he does know that they adopted an infant, and indeed indicated that it was arranged specifically so from our end of things."

I'm trying to remain calm as Penelope insisted. I know I must, to keep my mind from overloading again. But I can feel my body start to shake as I ask my next question. "Arranged? Arranged how?"

"He only knows what Neville, or David Turner, told him. Apparently the adoption was requested by someone very high in the ranks, as Jeff might say. Someone here in this country. They had indeed been a couple prior to gaining new identities and marrying in the States. Mister Turner was, apparently, quite thrilled with the baby."

I lean back in the chair, staring at Lady Penelope, but not really seeing her. My mind is functioning again, a sort of comforting relief to me as it churns, endlessly working this new information. "Susan told me something," I finally say. "She said the only time she ever saw unnamed parents on a birth certificate was when an FBI agent who was deep undercover gave birth and wanted that hidden from the father, the man she had gone undercover to investigate."

"Oh, dear."

"Is it possible..." And suddenly it's all clear to me. "Is it possible that my real mother, or father, or both...were MI-6 agents? Penny, is it possible?"

"What an intriguing idea. But I'm afraid I can't answer that. I believe Mister Saunders told us as much as he knows. Currently, Susan is on one of our secure internal computers trying to locate further hospitalization information on your birth mother utilizing her records systems knowledge."

"We already tried that. What else can she hope to find?"

"I don't know. But she refused to simply sit around, as she put it. She insisted upon doing something, and we felt this was at least a place to start. After all, you are well aware that my computer network has access to a great deal of sensitive information. I was there with her searching as well until you awoke."

I happen to look at the chronometer calendar on the fireplace mantle and I feel my eyes widen in disbelief as I try to process the date I see there. "Have I been unconscious for two days?" I ask, my voice rising in pitch. I look back at Penny. "Penelope, tell me!"

"Yes. You have. The first time you came to, you were incoherent and we feared for your sanity. Dr. Thayer felt it best to keep you from worrying yourself sick and I agreed."

"You kept me sedated."

Her cool gaze seemed to make a cold air settle over me. "We did. And I stand by that decision."

I just shake my head and sink back into the chair again. "I-I'm not angry, Penny, I-I'm just...I'm confused and..."

"I can only imagine how it feels to be this close to finding out who you are, Brains." She continues looking at me and I can see there is something else on her mind. "There is something else as well," her words confirm. "Though I am at a loss as to define it."

I think at that moment my brain stops working again, because I know immediately what that 'something else' is. It takes nearly a full minute for my voice to start working again. "I beg your pardon?"

"Dear Brains. At this point, I want you to concentrate on nothing more than sorting out what's in your mind." She pauses, eyes never leaving mine. "But I want to be certain you acknowledge everything that's there."

I honestly don't know what else to say. Could that be what finally got me? Was it possible that what she said was true? How could I know? Prior to now, I'd had nothing more than a crush, first on Lady Penelope herself, then on Tin-Tin. But now…

"The first time you awoke, Brains, the only person who could even get through to you was Susan."

My eyes hold Penny's. She smiles that soft, genuine smile I so often see directed to one or another of the Tracys in a quiet personal moment.

"It was her name you called out over and over again until at last the sedative made you quiet enough to realize she was right there with you." Penelope looks away. "I daresay you frightened us all rather badly."

I swallow hard. Being out-of-control is not something I'm used to, and not remembering things I'd said or done is simply never something I've experienced.

Looking back now, though, I can see I'd felt it from the first moment Susan and I met. It had taken some interesting physical reactions to Susan to open that particular part of my mind, but my thoughts stuttered on why had it taken a perfect stranger to move me in that direction to begin with.

Maybe part of the problem that caused my very first breakdown in my entire life was that I couldn't categorize the emotion and went into overdrive trying to determine what it was. I know how my mind works, contrary to Dr. Thayer's opinion, and if something stumps me that thoroughly, it does sometimes drive me to near insanity. Overloaded circuitry, John would call it.

But what to do about it? I feel Penny's eyes on me as I rise from the chair and look out the window at the fading light. Earlier promises made to myself notwithstanding, I know that I have to pay attention to one or the other of these life-changing events. We had already seen what happened when I tried to handle both. And besides, there's no indication that Susan actually returns my interest even if I do choose to explore that further. But there was a very good chance that I could find my parents' identities, and that had been my life's ambition.

Maybe if I can do that, my mind can safely turn to the other strange, wonderful, unbelievably frightening thing that's started happening to me.

To Susan.

I turn to where Penny still sits, legs demurely crossed, hands folded neatly in her lap. Her eyes are trained on me, no doubt attempting to determine what I'm going to say next. I wonder if she knows how unsettling this conversation is for me. I wonder if she's really picked up on my issues here, wonder if she's going to start interrogating me. But I don't need to wonder long because the same instincts that make her the best secret agent in the world let me off the hook. "Now I believe if you're up to it, we have some investigating to do."

"What? I thought you'd gone as far as you could on Saunders' information."

"We did. But while you were freshening up, I found another lead based on Susan's search of the hospital's records. I must admit I'm curious as to how far she's gone with it."

I feel myself smiling, repeating something I'd heard Virgil say once on a rescue. "Then let's do it!"

She winks at me and I am reminded as we walk out of the bedroom why I had that crush on her so long ago. She is as smart and savvy as she is beautiful. Out of my league, to be sure, but someone I am remarkably blessed to call a friend.

Now all I have to do is focus on finding my past. I have to force myself to let everything else fall away. I know I can do it. And the hope rises again.

After I've showered, dressed and had a bit of a continental breakfast, Lady Penelope and I walk into a secret room that is accessed through a large floor-to-ceiling portrait in Penny's parlor. Susan is seated at one of the many stations in the room, her back to us. When she turns, her eyes light up and she smiles.

"Brains!" she exclaims, and before I know what's happening, her arms are around me and squeezing me so tightly I can barely breathe. "Oh, Brains, I'm so glad you're okay," she says, looking up at me. "I was worried."

I smile, but my smile disappears when I look into her eyes. The way she's looking at me, the way she has her arms around me...was it...no, it couldn't be. Could she...no. What would I do if she...? I feel it returning, feel my mind shutting down and look to Penelope as my breath starts coming faster. I want to...what do I want? I look back down at Susan, look directly into her eyes. They're more than just light green, I see now that I allow myself to examine them.

There's an odd and fascinating speck of pale pink to the left of her right iris. And yet another above it. The left iris is surrounded by flecks of the same color. I've never before seen any shade of pink in anybody's eyes and as quickly as I felt the panic begin to rise within me I suddenly feel a sense of calm wash over me as my hands rest palm-flat against Susan's back. "I'm okay," I manage to say. "Thank you."

She smiles at me but right now the part of me desperate to find my parents is at war with the part of me who wants nothing more than to continue staring into these new eyes.

Thank God for Penny, who comes and gently steers us back to the research she and Susan have been doing. She successfully gets my mind back on track, but I know that part of me is still processing, still twisting and turning, still chewing over this new and exciting thing I simply don't know what to do with.

But I think I'm drawing on something I didn't even know was within me. Rather than the stammering child I somehow had never seemed to shed, rather than the reclusive inventor of the world's most advanced machinery, I feel someone new inside my skin, someone who actually seems to have a strength I never knew existed.

I have lived the stigma that was placed upon me from a very young age. Lived it for so long I've become what everyone expected me to be as a man so far ahead of my time. An overused phrase, but the one I'm most identified with. Yet another fascinating study for Freudians everywhere, I suppose, as part of me listens to Susan's findings. It's like the child who's labeled as a bad kid in preschool and decides if he's going to get in trouble, he might as well actually do whatever he's being accused of. Or the girl in high school who is labeled as "loose" simply because of how she dresses. She begins to believe she is what they say she is, and so her life spirals out of control as she finds herself in increasingly dark situations.

For all my research, for all my studying, for all my degrees and work and the knowledge base that lies inside my brain cells, I have never recognized that like these case studies I remember from school, I, too, have become someone who isn't really me. I enjoy every minute of what I do on Tracy Island, make no mistake. But Susan was right, in a way I have been acting. Only not just to her, but to everyone. I believe Jeff and his sons see me a certain way and true to their expectations, I act in the manner they expect me to. There's only been one person with whom I've actually felt more comfortable in being me.

They say men mature more slowly than women. In fact, research has shown that to be fact. It has also shown that most normal men don't mature until approximately 28 years of age. That being a national U.S. average, of course. I feel myself smile a little as I realize that I never did that myself. Mature, I mean. How could I have? I was surrounded by people who thought I was a freak. My peers in grade school, in college, during my Masters and Doctorate degrees, all regarded me with both awe and fear, I think. Because nobody understands how I think, why I act the way I do, they tend to stay far away from me, and attach certain labels to justify their actions. There's no malicious intent, and their labels are not negative, but they are there just the same. I'm used to it; it's just the way people deal with me.

Until Tin-Tin, who overcame her shyness to become playful, flirtatious, educational and an extremely good friend. And now, Susan. She hasn't run away, no matter how strange I might have seemed to her at first, no matter how leery she was of me. Here she is in another country, here with me and Penny, still trying to help me. I have known her less than a week, but somehow I feel she's the closest I've come to ever being understood, to ever having anyone care to understand, outside Tin-Tin.

I know it's not possible for Susan or anyone else to ever truly get inside me and figure me out. I can't figure myself out most of the time. And I don't necessarily care to try. But as I process what Susan and Penelope have said thus far, as I return my primary thought processes to the matter at hand, I think perhaps for the first time I might just start to care.

"And so, Brains, you see that this birth record truly is accurate. I have spoken with an obstetric nurse at Blodgett Campus and she recalls your birth in vivid detail."

"She does?" I ask Penelope. "Why, after all these years? How could she remember?"

"Well, it's not you and your actual birth that she remembers so vividly per se," Penny replies. "It's your mother."

"My...mother?"

Penelope nods. "It seems she was a frightened young lady of only sixteen," she says. "She didn't want to give you up, but her father apparently forced her to. And it was either her father or someone connected to her father that arranged for the Turners to adopt you."

"The...the nurse knew about this?"

"Yes," Penelope says. "She remembers it quite clearly. The young lady was British."

"Her name," I hear myself say. "What was her name?"

Susan and Penny exchange glances. "She couldn't remember, Brains," Penny finally answers. "She only remembers that she was British, sixteen years of age and extremely upset about giving you up. And that she was all alone."

My emotions are there again, but this time I can handle them, I realize. I can deal with what I'm being told. "What was a British teenager doing giving birth alone in Michigan?"

"We just don't know, Brains. I've been trying-"

Penelope and I both look at Susan when her voice cuts off. "What is it?" I ask.

"I've been trying to search through the hospital's back records based on some information Lady Penelope gave me. Trying to get a name or address for your mother." She looks up, first at Penny and then at me. "I think I just found something."

We stare at the screen. There's a single name blinking there and I freeze, my eyes unable to believe what they're seeing. There's no way Susan could know, but I do. And as I look at Penny, her face confirms what I know to be true.

"My God," Penelope breathes, her hand clasping mine. "Oh, my God."

"I don't understand why we're searching your attic, Lady Penelope," Susan says as we ascend into the gigantic topmost floor of Creighton-Ward mansion. "And why did you go so pale when you saw that name on the screen?"

Penny leads us to a pile of boxes nearly halfway across the attic and opens the top box. "My mother, Lady Amelia Mather, had a sister," she begins. "Her sister's name was Lady June. Lady June married Lord Donald Best. Lord and Lady Best had only one child."

"Best? As in, Lily Best, the name I found?"

"Precisely," Penelope replies as she pulls an old photo album from the box.

"Lily Best," I say, shaking my head. Penny opens the photo album and turns to a page. She then hands it to me.

"Lily Best," she repeats. "My cousin."

I stare at the photo of an auburn-haired girl. "And..." I falter as tears fill my eyes. "If this is all true, my mother."

Once again I feel the world fall away and as I stare at the photograph I feel the connection to the young lady in it waft over me. I don't suppose I will ever be able to explain it, but it's like the wheels have been turning and turning all my life, never clicking into place until now. The answer is staring at me from many years past. I sink to the floor, my fingers touching the edges of the photograph. The smiling, happy face seeming to speak to me. Soon Penny and Susan are sitting with me, on either side, looking at her with me. Looking at my mother. And that's when Penny tells us the story. Lily's story. My story.

"It's been so long, I'd forgotten," she begins. "My cousin was a year older than I. When Lily was sixteen, she became pregnant. My uncle was absolutely furious. You must understand that when you travel in the social circles that lords and ladies travel in even to this day, there is a certain stigma associated with children born out of wedlock."

"I can identify with stigma," I whisper.

I feel Penny's hand squeeze my leg as she continues. "She refused to abort the child, so my uncle disowned her, banishing her to the States. At Lord Best's insistence, our family made no attempts to contact her, nor was she spoken of whenever our families met. Then suddenly, less than a year later, Lily returned to the Oldway Mansion, inexplicably also returning to her father's good graces. It was only when I happened upon my mother and my Aunt June talking in the parlor that I learned what had happened."

"She'd given birth to the baby in Michigan?" Susan asked.

"Exactly. Of course, at that time I didn't know it was that particular state, only that it was in the United States somewhere. Lily had been intent upon keeping her child, but because of who the father was, her own father forbade it. And so she made a difficult decision. Rather than try to be a single mother in a strange land, and since she was unable to contact the father of the child, she chose to give the baby up for adoption as my uncle insisted."

"But who was my father? And why couldn't she contact him?" I ask. "Surely your uncle couldn't keep her from doing that."

"I don't know who your father is, Brains," Penelope says, squeezing my leg again. "I never did find that out. I do recall asking Mother about it once shortly before she died, but she said it was a secret best kept in the Earth with Lily."

"You mean Lily's no longer alive?"

"That is correct, Susan," Penny responds. I know this part of the story, and so I look back down at the photo. "Three years after her return home, Lily was killed in a terrible car accident. It was believed she was driving under the influence, but if that was true, my uncle used his connections to cover it up."

"What did he do for a living that he had such influence?" Susan asks.

Penelope smiles. "Aside from being a lord, he worked for MI-6," she tells her.

Susan's eyes grow wide. "What? Your uncle was a spy?"

Penelope nods, and I can tell she's struggling with whether or not to say more. But I know she won't, at least, not until she and I are alone. After all, she can't give her own profession away to a woman we barely know, no matter how helpful she's been.

"But someone must know who the father was," Susan says. "Are your uncle or aunt still alive? Or your father, maybe?"

"Sadly, no. I am the only surviving member of my family, I am afraid, as my father, Sir Hugh, was also an only child." Then Penelope gave me a small smile. "Well, at least, I had believed I was the only surviving member of my family until now."

I still can't believe it. All this time to have known Penelope, only to find out that my mother was her cousin. The odds of me winding up involved in a secret organization in which she and I would have contact are astronomical, and yet the facts are not lying to us. Related to a Lady of England. I had never expected to find this.

"It can't stop here," Susan whispers as she looks at me. "I mean, we've found your mother, but that still leaves one question unanswered."

"It does. It leaves the question of who my father is," I reply, and I am surprised by the steady sound of my voice. I feel so calm about it all. Instead of the nerves and butterflies that had plagued me since receiving Susan's e-mail, I feel relieved. Regardless of the strange facts, regardless of the oddity of being related to someone I already know...for the first time ever, the answers feel right. "If my father is still alive, we could confirm this once and for all."

"Yes," Penelope nods. "We could do so with a DNA test. Your father and you, and my DNA."

"Right," I say. "Your DNA and mine will share characteristics if indeed I am your cousin's son."

"All of this hidden within my own family," Penelope sighs. "Oh, what a tangled web we weave."

Susan murmurs, "When first we practice to deceive."

"At least in this case the deception turned out to be in my benefit."

"Yes, but all the years you've lost."

I shrug. "But look at what I've gained, Penny."

"I thought I'd lost all my family when my father died," Penny says with tears in her eyes. And suddenly she's enveloped me in a hug, showing uncharacteristic emotion. "I do so hope it's true, Brains."

"So do I," I say as she backs off and attempts to recompose herself. A living relative...dare I hope that much? Yes, I decide. I do dare hope that much. My second cousin, Lady Penelope. I can't help but grin.

"The DNA with Lady Penelope will confirm your mother was Lily," Susan says. "But without anyone left to ask, how can we find your father?"

I think about that for a moment as I remove the photo from the album, rise to my feet and replace the album in its box. The ladies rise with me. "Penny, you said your uncle wanted me aborted because of who my father was."

"Yes," Penny nods uncertainly. I don't blame her. To know that I was unwanted by my grandfather isn't something I really want to think about right now. "I heard Aunt June say those exact words to my mother."

"If your uncle worked for MI-6, isn't it possible that Lily became involved with someone who also worked for MI-6?"

"Where on Earth did you come up with that connection?" Susan asks, eyebrows raised. I blink at her. "You really think that's possible?"

"I know of one way to find out," Penelope says. "Brains, Susan, you remain here. Parker and I need to take a small trip."

"Where to?" Susan asks as we turn and head for the steps leading down to the mansion's second floor.

"I can't say," Penny admits as she starts down the stairs. "But if there's any chance at all of finding out who your father is, Brains, I must make this journey." She stops at the bottom of the stairs as I step down next to her. She takes my hands and looks into my eyes, and I know she's silently conveying something to me. "And I must do it alone."

The next morning before I'm even out of bed, Penny and Parker have gone. Lil leaves breakfast warming in the oven, and by eight a.m. I'm in the kitchen reading the note she left. She doesn't spell so well, Penny's cook, but she gets her point across.

I've just poured myself a coffee and finished putting cream and a handful of sugar cubes into it when I hear the swinging door open behind me and turn.

For a moment, spoon suspended in the air and dripping coffee all over Lady Penelope's kitchen counter, I think I forget how to breathe. Susan begins to blush furiously but it's not her face I'm focused on at the moment.

She's dressed in nothing overly special, but maybe that's the point. I hear the spoon drop from my fingers, clattering to the counter and then bouncing onto the floor at my feet as Susan moves slowly forward, eyes on the floor.

She must not have packed any nightclothes and borrowed something of Penny's. But she's a good four inches shorter than the Lady and so the flowing pale green silk nightgown and matching robe brush the floor rather than being ankle-length as I suspect they are on Penny.

The color picks up her eyes in a way I've never seen happen in anything but the paintings Virgil does. They seem to pop right out of her head when she looks up at me again, her bobbed hair a little messy in stark contrast to the perfect rest of her look.

"Good morning," she says, holding my gaze as she steps up in front of me.

My mouth opens but I find I can't speak. I feel confusion swirling around inside my head and a sudden dizzy spell makes me lean hard back into the counter as she crouches down to pick up the spoon I dropped.

I'm not sure exactly what's wrong with me. I've seen Tin-Tin in much more beautiful outfits, both nightwear and otherwise. I've seen her in much skimpier outfits too, never mind that bikini she may as well not bother to put o, which even gets second glances from Jeff. And of course I have to admit I've stared. But Tin-Tin likes that, I think. She does it on purpose.

Nothing Susan's wearing is revealing and I'm willing to bet she's not wearing what she's wearing for any reason other than it was lent to her. Yet when she rises back to her full height and moves to my left to place the spoon in the sink and her arm brushes mine I feel a sharp intake of air and find my eyes riveted to hers again.

She smiles a little and says, "What are we going to do while Penny's gone?"

Penny's gone. Yes. She's gone trying to find out who my father is. Maybe there's something more Susan and I can do to facilitate that. Maybe I can just learn more about Lily Best, about who my mother was in her short life. About the grandfather who didn't want me.

Maybe I should call John and let him know the news. Other than Tin-Tin, I'd say he's probably the closest thing I have to a friend.

I swallow hard. "More research?" is all I can get out of my mouth. Susan lays her hand on my arm and I feel it burn my skin, my eyes moving down to the point of contact. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure she must be able to hear it.

But she just moves to the coffee maker and pulls a cup down from the hooks on the bottom of the cabinet. "Sounds like a plan. Maybe we can learn more about Lily Best."

Her mind is running along the same lines as mine. At least, where the investigation is concerned. "Right," I say.

"Need more sugar?" she asks as she stirs some into her own cup.

I shake my head. I can't stop staring at her and realize that above all else that I'm being more than just a little rude. So I look away and clear my throat. "Breakfast?" I ask, desperate for something to get my mind back on track.

"Sure, I'll serve it up," she says after taking a look at Lil's note. "We can talk strategy over our omelets," she continues, taking the glass warming dish out of the oven.

Strategy. Right. I know what my first strategy needs to be: stop staring at, and acting like a completely idiot around, Susan Beasley.

But as I seat myself in front of the plate she's made up for me, and she sits across from me at the kitchen table, I realize that's going to be a lot easier said than done.

What the hell is wrong with me?

It hits me as she begins speaking about internet searches on Lily Best and her father and all I can do is watch her lips move. They stop at some point, slightly parted, and my eyes dart up to hers.

"Have you been listening to a word I've said?" she asks.

Thankfully I can repeat her words verbatim.

That makes her laugh, and suddenly I feel as light as a feather and start laughing with her.

"You are a strange one, Brains," she says, a forkful of omelet going into her mouth. "I like that in a man."

"Good," I hear myself say. "I'm glad."

Oh, my God, have I…? I think I've…

"I'll meet you in that secret room we were in yesterday."

I nod as I rise to rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. As I turn to watch her leave the room, I realize once and for all that it's more than just a possibility…it's a fact.

I've fallen in love.

Something I never thought possible.

And I'm not entirely sure how I feel about that.

*~*~*~*~*

It hasn't been easy keeping my mind on the task at hand all morning, but luckily finding a good amount of information on Lily Best with Susan's help has kept my mind on-track rather than wandering to her even though she's seated not three feet to my right.

I'm in the midst of learning about Lily's unrivaled equestrian abilities at only fourteen years of age when my wrist communicator signals an incoming call. Susan turns and frowns at the strange noise, her eyes growing large and round as I raise the watch to my face. "This is Brains."

"Hello, dear boy, how are you?"

"I-I'm fine, Lady Penelope. Susan and I have been learning more a-about your cousin Lily," I explain.

"Oh! She's there with you, then?"

"Y-Yes," I respond, turning so Penelope can see Susan from my watch.

"How is your investigation coming along, dear?"

"Very well, thanks to you," Susan replies with a wink. Penny smiles, hiding it behind her hand. I frown - what the heck are they talking about?

Women.

"What's the latest o-on your investigation?" I ask.

"Well, I'd run in to a bit of a snag attempting to locate the man I was trying to, but I believe I have a viable lead and will soon be in contact with him. I can't give you his identity, of course. But I can tell you he's an MI-6 agent currently quite deep undercover."

"Won't it be tricky meeting with him, then?" Susan asks, her thoughts mirroring my own.

"Yes, but he owes me one," she says. "I shan't be more than another couple of days."

"O-Okay, Lady Penelope."

"Oh, Brains, I wonder if perhaps you might do me a favor tomorrow evening?"

"I-If I can, Lady Penelope," I agree, turning the watch back to me.

"I was invited to a Royal Gala in London tomorrow evening which I fully intended to attend. But as I'm currently not in a position to do so, I wonder if perhaps I might convince you to attend the soiree on my behalf?"

"Soiree?" I repeat. "Royal Gala?"

"Yes, it would be ever so untoward for me to have accepted and then not send a representative. The Duchess would be most displeased. I think perhaps you might be able to find yourself a companion for the evening, don't you?"

A companion?

Duchess?

Representative?

I look up at Susan, who's smiling broadly at me and nods. I find myself smiling back and thinking I definitely needed to call John and thank him for the dance lessons he's been giving me because I'm about to have my very first legitimate dance partner.

"It would, ah, be an honor, Lady Penelope," I say, looking away from Susan long enough to see the dazzling smile Penny gives me.

And I blush.

That's becoming an uncomfortable habit.

"Oh, Brains, thank you, you've saved me a bit of embarrassment and ever-so-tiresome explanations. I shall send you to my favorite designer not far at all from the estate. He'll have you both appropriately attired in plenty of time for the gala."

"A-All right," I say, wondering what on Earth I've just agreed to. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome, Brains. Enjoy yourselves. Au revoir."

"We're going to a Royal Gala?" Susan nearly squeals, eyes twinkling with excitement, as Penny's face disappears from my watch. "Oh, my God, I need to get in the shower!"

She runs halfway across the kitchen, skids barefooted to a halt, turns and runs back to me and wraps her arms around me. "Thank you, Brains! I've never…I mean, I…!" She stops and looks up at me and I smile. "I'm just a nobody," she says. "I never thought I'd get to attend something with the British royals! You're amazing!"

She reaches up and gives me a fast kiss on my cheek and then is gone.

As my fingertips touch that point I think to myself, a nobody? Susan isn't a nobody! She's…she's…

The penny drops, as so often I've heard Ruth Tracy say, in that moment.

I've been thinking of myself as a nobody my whole life. Nobody because of not knowing my true identity. Nobody has any right to marry, to have a family, to love someone when they're Nobody.

And yet there's Susan, who's always known who she is, thinking she's a Nobody, too.

She's not, is what I want to follow her and say to her. She's not a Nobody. But if I follow that logic, it means I'm not either.

I swallow hard as I make my way back to my own room. My thoughts turn to Lady Penelope. This perceptive second cousin of mine, if all pans out, she's done this on purpose, this whole party thing where Susan and I have to get dressed to the nines and attend on her behalf.

There's a reason she's the best spy in the world, I muse.

There are some secrets Penny has that I suspect will never be known by another living soul, but one family secret is now known, and that is that we are related by blood. Pending the tests, of course, but before she left I took a sample of her blood and a sample of mine and sent it to a nearby lab she recommended. I expect to hear from them within the next day or so as to the results.

Then it's just about finding my father. But even if I can't, I realize that I'm perfectly fine now because at least I know where I came from. From the home of a Lord and a Lady of England. I am British, apparently, depending of course on the heritage of my father. But at the very least, I am one-half blue blood. It continues to confound me, and yet at the same time I feel a peace I have never known in my life.

And the strength I have found on this journey combines with that peace to form a whole new person I never knew existed within me. The next day just after lunch I find myself walking through Penelope's stunning gardens, enjoying the simplicity of the flowers without having to picture their entire structure and chemical composition. My mind is still working approximately fourteen different thought processes, but on some level I find I can enjoy the butterflies, the aromas and the uncharacteristically sunny English day.

A second communication from Penny late last night after we'd finished our fitting with her designer revealed that she and Jeff were satisfied by their thorough background checks on Susan Beasley and were going to offer her a position as an International Rescue agent once all this business with my family history was completed.

I smiled. That meant she was going to be traveling in the same circles as me, especially with me always being the one deployed to outfit new agents' homes with equipment and teach them how to use it.

And I know I didn't miss the wink Penny gave me at the end of that quick call.

Susan was still at the designer's shop to complete the fitting of the dress I wasn't even allowed to see, let alone lend my opinion on. I had to assume it would be beautiful given Penny's impeccable taste, and after two conversations first with John and then with Jeff, I've been alone here at the mansion, allowing myself to think and feel and try to make some decisions about things.

I admit to having shed more than my fair share of tears over the past twenty-four hours. But now I think they have run their course, these tears of happiness. I don't know that I've ever cried tears of happiness before. My happiness has nearly always come from my inventions, and inventions don't make you cry.

I'm starting to feel more comfortable with all this emotion. It's almost like my mind has resigned itself to having to deal with these base human elements, and has made room for them, if not having completely come to terms with them.

I have to smile as I watch a butterfly light atop a blue rose. I have always thought that what I did for Jeff on the island was all there was to life. And I was perfectly content to live that life. But now as I think about things, as I think about who I am and as my thoughts stray unwaveringly to Susan, I know I have found that much more exists beyond the limitations of even my brain. I never thought I would have an identity, much less find what Jeff and Jenny, or John and Ann have found. That's when I hear a sound behind me. I turn and gasp.

"Susan!"

"I'm sorry," she says softly. "Am I intruding?"

"No," I reply, shaking my head. I'm stunned by the pink satin gown she's wearing. There are flecks of green that perfectly match her eyes and her hair is curled and she's…she's just… "Stunning," I breathe.

She walks forward and takes my hands. "Lady Penelope was apparently very specific with her designer over what she wanted me to wear tonight." And with that, she leans up on tip-toe and kisses my cheek. I can feel myself blushing.

"That, ah, sounds like Lady Penelope," I say.

I lead her to a white wooden swing bench not far away. We sit down, and I notice she's made no move to release my hand. I look up at the sky as a flock of birds flies overhead and realize how content I feel right here, right now. A perfect moment, I think.

"Brains?"

"Yes?"

She fiddles with our joined hands, intertwining her fingers with mine. "Do you...I mean, I don't want to pry, but..."

"Go ahead. What is it?" I ask, locking my eyes with hers.

"You seem different somehow since I first met you at the Records Office. It's like something inside you has changed."

I cock my head in wonder. Is it that obvious? And what are the changes she sees? I know I feel more confident. I know I'm more at peace than I was when we first met. But can she see inside my heart?

The overflowing feeling rises up within me and I find my breathing shallow as she speaks. "Whatever the change is," she says, looking down at our clasped hands, "I like it."

I find that I'm no longer scared. No longer worried. I find that I want something, and for the first time in my life, I'm not afraid to make the first move. It's uncharted territory for me, but at this moment here in the garden, with the rose-colored tinge to her cheeks, her hair and eyes shining in the sun, her gown making her seem part of this garden surrounding us rather than a visitor within its beauty…my breath is taken away. I reach out and touch her chin. She raises her eyes to mine again.

I'm not breathing. I'm seeing nothing but her. Is this what it is to fall in love? Is that what I'm feeling? If it isn't, then I can't put name to it. But instead of further wracking my brain for an answer, I lean in and place a soft kiss on her lips. Then I back away, and my heart starts to pound as she stares at me.

Did I do the wrong thing? Have I ruined a perfectly good professional relationship with that kiss? Did I just make a mistake? I have visions of her slapping me, but then I feel her take both my hands again and find myself relieved yet still wondering.

She doesn't let me wonder any longer, because this time it's Susan who scoots closer, leans up a little and kisses me. My body takes over, instincts I didn't know I had telling me what to do. I wrap my arms around her and she wraps her arms around me. All I can feel is her mouth on mine. All I can hear is the blood rushing in my ears. And I think that maybe, just maybe, this is love.

We're startled by the sounds of footsteps, and back away from one another. Her lips are swollen and her face is flushed pink. I have never seen her look more lovely. I look up to see Penelope approaching, hand hiding what I'm sure is a smile. So. We've been caught. Susan ducks her head down against my chest as Penelope stops for a moment and just looks at us, smiling brightly. Then she motions for me to follow her, and her smile fades a bit. It's that look again. She's found something.

"Susan, I have to speak with Penelope."

She nods and backs away, reaching up to wipe some lipstick from the side of my mouth. Her smile makes me want to do nothing but stay right here with her, but I know now that there is something more here, something that promises a lot more than just a simple kiss. "I'll wait here," she says softly.

I lean in and kiss her on the forehead before rising and walking toward Penny. Her face has turned even more serious and I find myself compartmentalizing the incident with Susan in order to focus on whatever is about to happen. "What is it?" I ask. "What did you find?"

"Come with me," is all she says as she takes my hand and leads me back into the mansion. I'm genuinely intrigued now as we walk to the parlor door, which is closed. "Brains, I..." I'm surprised when she leans in and gives me a quick hug. "Go inside," she says, backing away. "Go inside the parlor."

My hand is shaking as I turn the knob. Slowly the door swings open and I enter to find a man standing at one of the large windows. His back is to me, and I clear my throat. When he turns around, and his eyes lock with mine, I am dumbfounded. His eyes. They're...they're my eyes.

He steps forward and stares at me as I stare at him. "Who..." I feel my breath catch in my throat and try to swallow it away. "Who are you?" I finally ask.

"My name is James Flynn," he says with a British accent, holding out his hand. I reach out and take it, unable to tear my eyes from his face. "After much discussion with Lady Penelope, I..." He stops speaking as our hands fall back to our sides. "I believe we have something in common."

I hear the parlor door click softly closed. She'd done it. Penelope had found my father.

My life, I realize, is complete. My journey has ended. And yet, even as I begin talking with James Flynn, I know that thanks to Susan, Penelope, this man who stands before me now and my larger family back on Tracy Island, my life is only just beginning.