Chapter 1

The groceries weighed a ton. The thin handles of the plastic bags dug painfully into Scott's hands as he tried to pull his laptop shoulder-bag out of the way enough to drag the keys out of his jeans pocket. The mail that he'd transported in his mouth since the lobby was starting to slip, as were the research folders jammed under his arm as he hurriedly approached his door. His urgency increased when he realised he could here the phone ringing inside his apartment. Just a second, just a second!

He just had his key out when the inevitable happened and the research took a nose-dive. The ring-binder sprang open and deposited several sections of his notes over the floor, and in his growl of frustration the mail followed suit. Just great. Shoving the key into the deadbolt he dove through the door and dropped the bags in just the same amount time that it took the phone to stop ringing. Scott sighed forcefully and surveyed the damage. What a rotten day.

He went out to the hallway and scooped up the paperwork he'd dropped, kicking the door shut on his return. He was supposed to be meeting some friends in Oxford tonight, but he wanted to organise the notes he'd got today into the draft of the report he was writing. The Air Force had given him a great opportunity in this allies relations research gig, and he was always determined that no-one should be in any doubt that he earned his opportunities. He'd already been here six weeks and was way ahead on the material he needed for his comparison of developmental training strategies. With his extra time he wanted to pull in a historical angle and also specifically reference some of the newer craft that the RAF had started to use just in the past few weeks.

He went to the kitchen and started to make some coffee, trying to focus on how well things were going in general, and not on what a stinker today had been. One of those grey and drizzling, coffee-spilling, wrong-thing-saying, notes-dropping days. He was seriously looking forward to forgetting all about it and heading into town with some of his old friends from college. It felt good to be back in England, even if it would only be for a couple more months.

Scott set the machine brewing the coffee and stretched, feeling his rain-soaked sweater pull at him uncomfortably as he did so. He couldn't believe he forgot his coat. He should have known. In England, a clear sky first thing in the morning did not necessarily mean no rain.

A sharp knock hammered his door, and Scott growled in annoyance. The people he knew in England generally lived in town or in London, and therefore usually got in touch on the phone. When someone knocked on his door, it was most commonly Debbie.

Common being the operative word, his internal-Bitch grumbled, and he grinned. She wasn't bad, just horny as hell and unable to take a hint. Sighing, he went to the door and prepared to be there for a good ten minutes explaining that he'd picked up yet another virus that meant he couldn't come and help her eat whatever she'd made too much of this time. Yes, yes, foreigners seem so susceptible to illness these days, maybe we don't get enough nutrition in other countries...

Taking a steeling breath and preparing a polite smile, he pulled the door open. The smile immediately fell of his face in shock.

"Hey Scott."

"Alan?"

Scott couldn't believe it, but it was definitely his sixteen-year-old brother in the hall, looking tired and upset and lost. And damn right he should look lost; he was supposed to be four and a half thousand miles to the right.

Scott was speechless. He exhaled his shock again, eyes unblinkingly staring at Alan from his mop of blonde curls down to his well-worn, high-end sneakers. He felt it unlikely that he'd hallucinate in this much detail.

He shook his head disbelievingly, and then grabbed his brother's shoulder and pulled him forwards into a bear hug. Alan clung to his sweater in a way that spoke volumes to Scott.

"How the hell did you get here?" His younger brother pulled back, tiredly rubbing his face, but Scott kept hold of his shoulder.

"Same way you did," Alan replied tersely, lip looking dangerously close to wobbling. But he set his mouth in a stubborn manner that Scott remembered very well, and he shrugged his hefty backpack back up where it was sliding from his shoulder. "You can't make me go back."

Scott's heart kicked up with alarm, "Oh God. What do you mean?" He steered the sixteen-year-old into his apartment and closed the door behind them. Alan ignored the question, dropping his backpack where he stood, and then wandering into the kitchen like he owned the place.

"Alan," Scott called with more warning in his tone, following him into the kitchen. His heart was still pounding with anxiety, "What's happened? Are you all right?"

"No, of course I'm not all right," Alan answered, sounding tense as he opened and closed cupboards. "Why else would I blow my savings on a plane ticket to another continent with an hour's notice? I don't miss you that much."

He located and retrieved a mug and plonked it down in front of the coffee machine. With a glance at Scott, he seemed to rethink and quickly grabbed another one, placing it alongside the first. And then he sighed. "I ran away from home."

That was just what Scott had been most worried about hearing. He groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"I couldn't stand it any more, Scott!" Alan's voice rose with frustration. "He's ten times worse than he was when you guys were there! He's always working, always busy, he never has any time." Alan kicked the cabinet in front of him, looking angry and miserable. "At least when the rest of you were there it was easier to not notice, but now Gordy's gone just like the rest of you, accepted to WASP early, and all me and Dad do is fight. When he's there to fight with, that is."

"Alan, this is insane! You can't run away from home to another country!" Scott wasn't sure whether to hug the impulsive idiot or punch him. "Since when have things with Dad been this bad? He's going to go ape-shit at this."

"I doubt he's even noticed I've gone," Alan murmured bitterly, wrapping his arms around himself with a shiver. "We could wait and see how long it takes him. We could place bets, it'll be fun. How slow is your goddamn coffee machine?"

"Oh Christ," Scott's head rolled back onto the kitchen door-frame and he dug in his pocket for his cell. No missed calls, had his dad lost his temporary UK cell number? Maybe he was trying not to worry Scott, after all there was nothing that he could do from England. Well, that's how it would seem anyway, but of course they were dealing with Alan's particular brand of Crazy.

The phone had been ringing when Scott got home. He'd missed the call. He dialled his father's number immediately, currently unconcerned that it would cost him a fortune from his cell phone.

"I knew you'd do that," Alan muttered, looking as betrayed as possible. He slunk down to sit on the floor, bulling his knees up in front of him and looking predatory. "I won't go back."

Scott glared at him as he raised the phone to his ear, "What you've done is seven shades of insane, Alan, and Dad will currently be in the middle of a heart-attack." He tried to look reassuring as well as firm. "We can fix this. It'll be okay."

Alan hugged his knees to him and turned his face away. With a sigh Scott wandered back into the living room, being careful to stay between the kitchen and the front door in case Alan had any more thoughts on travel.

The phone connected. "Hello son," his father sounded amiable, if a little distracted, "how's England this evening?"

"Er, fine," Scott hadn't expected small talk. He scuffed his sneakers against the floor awkwardly, unsure how to give this news when Jeff hadn't mentioned it first. He decided he could only be direct. "Dad. Erm, lost any kids lately...?"

"Hmm?" He heard Jeff pull away from the phone, speak to someone else about pulling some particular files, and for a heart-stopping moment he thought Alan's flippancy might have been accurate: had Jeff seriously not noticed that his youngest son had been gone for well over twelve hours?

"Dad, listen to me, it's about Alan –"

"Oh yes? Found him okay, I hope?"

Scott's brain fell out of gear, and he cruised in neutral for a second. "... What?"

"He said he'd e-mailed you with the details so that you'd know when to pick him up. You find him okay?"

Still in neutral. Scott had nothing. "... What?"

"Son, he should have got in within the last two hours," Jeff was definitely focussed on him now, sounding slightly alarmed. "He was getting into Heathrow, and I wouldn't let him get up to Oxford by himself so he said he'd e-mailed you his flight details and that you were fine to pick him up. Do you have him or not?"

Scott could feel the first pieces of comprehension sliding into place. "Oh yeah. I got him, all right."

"Well, all right then," said Jeff, sounding milder again. Scott could picture him at Tracy Corps, returning his attention to his desk covered in paperwork, phone balanced under his ear with ease of long practice. "So what do you two have planned for the next week? Alan wouldn't tell me what you'd discussed, but I figured I could trust you to keep him from doing anything stupid."

"Week?" Scott stalled, brain grinding back to neutral. A week? Alan was staying with him for a week?

"Son, are you okay?" Jeff's full attention was back on the phone. "Alan said you had time to have him under your feet this week, but you really don't sound yourself to me. Sure, he's been looking forward to staying with you, but don't worry, he knows he can go to Chester to stay with Annie and Dave if he needs to."

Scott was almost reluctant to turn back around, but as the enormity of Alan's prank started to hit home he couldn't keep his eyes from creeping back to the direction of the kitchen. Alan was leaning on the door-frame, completely paralysed with laughter, tears streaming down his delighted rosy cheeks. Scott fought the grin of relief and embarrassment, and it wasn't a fight he won.

He wrapped up his call to his father as quickly as he could, and the second Scott hit 'disconnect', Alan was howling, sliding weakly to the floor in a manner partly for comedic effect, and partly because it really was that funny.

Scott pursed his smiling lips, resisting the urge to join in. "You're paying for that call," he advised Alan as he stepped over him into the kitchen, "and I'm afraid your Oscar won't be here until Monday."