Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
Scott hummed a little as he bustled around the kitchen, grabbing various ingredients and lining them up on the counter beside the measuring jug. It wasn't often that he cooked – cooking took time, and time wasn't something he often had much of, between rescues and the seemingly never-ending paperwork – but this time, circumstances had conspired and he'd been able to find the opportunity to make himself comfortable in the kitchen.
Of course, activity in the kitchen from anyone who wasn't Grandma drew brothers like flies to honey. Scott had barely finished measuring out the ingredients before the familiar footsteps of the middle Tracy could be heard behind him.
"How's it going?" Virgil asked, coming to a stop right by his elbow and forcing Scott to contort slightly before said elbow made contact with his brother's chest. He glanced over and saw brown eyes looking straight at him.
"It'll go faster if I'm not interrupted," he pointed out as he tipped the last ingredient into the mixing bowl. It was a lost cause, of course. He'd agreed to make pancakes, and that meant there would be a hoard of little brothers tripping over themselves to get at the batter. In all honesty, the only surprise was that Virgil was first.
Normally it was Alan.
Virgil chuckled, the noise deep in his chest, and Scott took it for agreement. "I'll come back when there's something worth testing," he said, and Scott rolled his eyes.
The sudden hand on his shoulder was unexpected, clamping him in place for a moment mid-reach for the frying pan. "Vir-"
More unexpected was the lips on his cheek, firm but brief. Startled, he fumbled the pan and it crashed onto the stove.
"Virgil, what-"
His brother tapped him on the chest, fingers making an audible tap-tap against the laminated fabric.
Oh.
Pancake making was a messy business. Scott had made them enough times to know that no matter how careful he was, as soon as little brothers inevitably got involved batter would go everywhere and he'd need to get changed. That had prompted a rule – no making pancakes without an apron. Unfortunately, Scott's usual apron of choice had vanished. So had all the others.
He had no idea where this one had come from, but attempts to hunt down the mysteriously disappearing other aprons had been rudely interrupted by Grandma's promise to start making the pancakes herself if he didn't get into the kitchen right now and he hadn't had a choice.
It had been a foolish hope that none of his brothers would notice, let alone ignore it.
Kiss the Chef, the bright pink monstrosity demanded in white cursive coiled across the chest. A vibrant kiss mark in bright red punctuated the end of the phrase, and Scott was well aware that it wasn't actually insinuating a harmless peck on the cheek.
Who had bought the thing – and why they'd bought it – he had no idea, but he suspected his cheeks might be going a similar colour from the way Virgil smirked.
"Just doing what I'm told, big brother."
He retreated back to the stairs, and Scott was left with a feeling of dread as he rescued the pan and returned to mixing the batter. While Virgil could be a cheeky menace when he wanted to be, he had not been the brother Scott had expected to initiate any teasing.
This did not bode well.
"Hey, Scott." Nor did that.
His shoulders slumped in a sigh as the expected troublemaker made his entrance, swanning over to where he was standing and peering into the bowl.
"Is it supposed to look like that?" Gordon asked in a tone Scott knew full well was his I'm going to be an irritating brat for as long as I can get away with it voice.
"Yes," he said, nudging the blond back with an elbow as he splashed some more milk into the batter and kept stirring. He could just throw it in the mixer, but there was something more satisfying about doing it by hand.
Keeping the batter close to his chest – and maybe trying to hide the slogan emblazoned on the apron – while Gordon was nosing around seemed like a sensible precaution to take. Not that he thought Gordon would attempt sabotage when the promise of edible food lingered, but sabotage was far from the only thing Gordon could do with a bowl of batter.
"Hmm." Gordon hummed doubtfully, amber eyes narrowed. Scott eyed him cautiously, knowing better than to believe there was no ulterior motive going on somewhere in his head. "Well, if you say so."
Unfortunately, Scott had to put the bowl down to pick up the milk to add the next splash. The moment it was stable on the counter, Gordon struck.
A hand hooked around Scott's neck, and the next thing he knew, he'd been yanked sideways just enough for Gordon to press his lips in the exact same place Virgil had scant minutes earlier.
Scott swallowed a noise of surprise at the sudden attack and concentrated on not falling on top of his younger brother. "Really?"
"Gotta kiss the chef," Gordon grinned at him, eyes alight with mischief as he released him.
Cricking his neck against the treatment, Scott straightened up again. "Well you've done that, so scat." There were some battles that weren't fighting. "I'll call you when they're ready."
The grin he got in response was vaguely alarming, but to his relief Gordon shimmied his way back out of the kitchen area and headed outside. That relief, however, was short-lived when he realised there was a cluster of little brothers out there.
Virgil was perched on a lounger, talking to Alan, who in his teenagerhood had clearly decided that today was a day to laze around and was flaked dramatically across his own lounger. The addition of Gordon, who flounced his way into the conversation with entirely too many dramatics, just put Scott on guard.
It wasn't like Virgil to start something like this, but sometimes he and Gordon worked together – proving that their teamwork wasn't restricted to when they were in uniform – and the addition of Alan at this point was all but certain.
Sighing and resigned to a visit sooner rather than later from his youngest brother with no doubt the same aim in mind, Scott returned to his pancake batter, which was almost ready to start cooking.
Sure enough, a blond head of hair appeared in his periphery just as he finished the first pancake, which he tipped gently onto the plate and tucked into the oven to keep warm while he started on the next.
"Yes, Alan?" he prompted, deciding he might as well let the youngest get on with it so he could finish the rest of the batch in relative peace – as much as peace was a possibility with four little brothers in the vicinity. He didn't know where John was, but as he was fresh down from Five, probably horizontal somewhere and grumbling about gravity. The ginger would appear when pancakes were ready.
"Can I have a pancake?" Big blue puppy eyes looked up at him, and Scott rolled his eyes.
"When they're done."
"You just finished one," his brother pointed out, a pout forming on his face.
"When they're all done," Scott clarified. Today they were going to eat together, all five of them in one place for the first time in a while. It had the added bonus of his share not being swiped when his back was turned.
The pouting lip began to quiver, and he had to remind himself to stay firm. Alan's puppy dog eyes were lethal weapons, and Scott was all too aware that he was far from immune. On this, however, he refused to budge.
"If you want to help, you can set the table," he said. "Otherwise, get out of the kitchen. I'll call you when they're ready."
Thankfully, Alan seemed to realise he was defeated, even if the visual deflation of his youngest brother had part of Scott screaming to make it better. He forcibly restrained it before it could make him change his mind.
"Fine." It was whined, one last plea for Scott to change his mind, but he turned his head away and poured the next portion of batter into the pan.
He hadn't forgotten about his scheming little brothers or the apron he was wearing, exactly, but Alan's pout might have distracted him just enough that the hand clamping his shoulder and tugging it down far enough for his youngest brother to follow the other two and leave a kiss on his cheek caught him off guard.
"Chef kissed," the blond declared smugly. "I'll set the table." Despite his three youngest brothers being cheeky menaces, Scott sent him a smile as he straightened again.
"Thanks." That was one less chore for him to order a brother or three into doing later. John was, of course, exempt from setting the table so soon after returning from orbit – Scott didn't feel like dodging sherds of broken crockery – but that still left three brothers capable.
The pancake was ready to flip, but he still kept half an eye on Alan heading for the cutlery drawer as he wiggled the pan, making sure it hadn't got stuck. Consequently, he was caught completely off guard by the lips pressing against his other cheek.
He didn't yelp, but the pan might have rattled against the stove a little. A pale hand caught his and steadied the pan before the pancake was lost, and Scott peeled his attention entirely away from Alan to glare at the culprit.
"Really?"
The look he got from John was pure amusement. Of course John would betray him and join in with their younger brothers. Why had Scott expected anything else?
"Don't let it burn," was all the ginger said in return, releasing his hold on Scott's wrist.
"Don't sneak up on me while I'm cooking," he retorted, giving the pan another wiggle to make sure the pancake hadn't stuck before flicking his wrist in a practiced movement.
He'd always been good at flipping pancakes.
If John had a reply to that, it was nonverbal, because the next Scott was aware of him, he was perched at the table, tablet in hand, while Alan set out the plates around him.
From there it was routine, pancake after pancake piling up on the plate. He knew from experience he had to make enough to feed a small army to have any hope of satisfying the bottomless pits he called brothers, and making that many pancakes took time.
Alan had the table set long before Scott was even halfway done, and had at some point retreated back outside to rejoin Virgil and Gordon. That was fine by Scott; if it meant he didn't have to keep fending off puppy dog eyes, Alan could do what he wanted. Even if he was slightly wary of that particular trio.
Still, with any luck, they'd leave him alone until he was done cooking now. Pancakes had a special place in the Tracy family, and surely even his little brothers wouldn't do anything to disrupt that.
Surely?
Scott had underestimated the lure of the ridiculous apron he was wearing.
"Hey, Scott."
Gordon materialised by his elbow, a finger heading for the batter before Scott rapped it warningly.
"You'll get them when they're all done and not before." He didn't like the look of the scheming grin on his younger brother's face. "And the more you mess around near me, the longer they'll take."
The warning fell on deaf ears as arms snaked around him, forcing him to let go of the pan before it clattered off of the stove. "Gordon!"
The kiss his brother planted on his cheek shouldn't have been unexpected. He should have seen it coming, should have realised they weren't going to let the apron go so easily, but wasn't once enough?
Amber eyes flicked past him for a moment, before something that looked like a challenge settled in them and Scott found more kisses being plastered on his cheek.
"Gordon!" he protested, working his way free so he could at least keep going with the pancakes. "Gordon, stop, I'm cooking. Do you want these pancakes or not?"
Virgil was on his other side. He hadn't noticed him get there, but somehow he knew he was there. Scott barely had a moment to put two and two together and realise what they were up to before an arm slid across his shoulders and he was being tugged away from Gordon.
"Virgil-" he tried, keeping half an eye on the pancake in the pan and wiggling it to check if it was ready to flip. It was, and he tried to ignore his annoying little brothers as Virgil proved some sort of competition seemed to have started and pressed more firm kisses to his cheek.
Gordon retaliated.
"Guys," Scott pleaded as he almost missed catching the flip, fumbling the pan in a way he hadn't done since he was a kid. "This is not helping."
Gordon crashed to the ground with a squawk, but was immediately replaced with his younger brother, who had those big blue eyes focused on him again.
"But it says to kiss the chef," Alan pointed out, standing on tiptoe to catch Scott. He sighed loudly.
"And you've done that. Several times, in fact. Back off and let me cook in peace if you want these pancakes any time soon."
"But Virgil and Gordon are winning," Alan pouted. Virgil's arm tightened around Scott's shoulders and resisted all attempts to shrug it off. The puppy dog eyes were back, and he sighed. Well, it was harmless enough, he supposed.
"Virgil," he warned, shrugging his shoulders again. Thankfully, that time his brother relented, and even went as far as dragging their squid of a brother out of the kitchen area with him. "Make it quick," he warned Alan – and if John even considered joining in the competition… Well, Scott hoped he wouldn't because he knew he wasn't actually going to be able to bring himself to say no, no matter how much it was interrupting his cooking.
He crouched down a little so Alan could reach without standing on his tiptoes or tugging him over, and dutifully allowed his youngest brother to pepper kisses on his cheek for a moment. Once Alan was satisfied – and he assumed Alan had beat the other two, but he hadn't been counting – he was shooed away, and Scott finally got to finish cooking in peace.
It didn't take much longer. He turned around, plate in hand, to see all four brothers were waiting with varying levels of patience around the table.
Scott had had some time to think while he finished the pancakes. While it may have devolved into some silly competition between the three youngest, it had no doubt started off as some form of teasing about his unfortunate apron, and as a big brother, he couldn't let that pass without retribution.
Simple was best. Scott carried the plate over to the table and leaned over Virgil as he put it down on the table.
Little brother never saw it coming, too busy keeping an eye on Gordon and the arriving pancakes to notice that Scott was closer than he strictly needed to be.
Pancakes safe on the table, Scott turned his head and trapped Virgil's shoulders beneath his arm so he couldn't retreat from the firm kiss he pressed to his brother's cheek.
Virgil gave a chuckle, but Scott didn't hesitate, reaching out to collar Gordon as the slippery fish tried to duck away from his own payback. Scott wasn't biggest brother for nothing, though, and with a quick couple of steps, both blonds were trapped in his arms, one big kiss being pressed to first Gordon's, and then Alan's cheek. They squirmed, teenage sensibilities apparently too delicate to take such obvious displays of affection even in a family setting.
John eyed him warily as he approached, one eyebrow raised as though asking Scott if he was really going to get him, too? Well, Scott had four little brothers and they'd all got him, and quite frankly he loved them all way too much to let any of them miss out.
In deference to the fact that John had only got him once, and was also fresh out of orbit, he kept it lighter than the ones he'd bestowed upon the youngest three, but no amount of raised eyebrow was going to stop John from receiving one at all.
Satisfied that his brothers had got the message he wasn't going to sit and take any teasing without suitable retaliation, he settled into the empty chair by John and swiped the first pancake from the pile. His brothers took the cue and it wasn't long at all before the usual mealtime noises of five brothers carried through the air.
"None for your grandmother?"
Grandma had appeared behind him without him noticing and he winced at starting without her. His brothers all similarly paused. She was smiling, and Scott noticed a camera sticking out of a hidden pocket in the onesie.
He was still wearing the apron, bright pink with its white Kiss the Chef proclamation, so he leaned back and grinned at her. "You've got to kiss the chef, Grandma."
Alan burst into giggles, Gordon failing to stifle his own laughter next to him. Virgil and John were slightly better, but Scott saw their matching grins out of the corner of his eye as he looked at their grandmother.
"Cheeky boy," she said, but she was grinning, too, and with him sitting down it was no trial for her to lean down slightly and press her own kiss to his by now thoroughly-kissed cheek. He caught her in a one-armed hug and kissed her back. "Where's this rule when I cook, hmm?"
"You don't wear the apron."
"Maybe I should," she mused as she took her place at the head of the table, between him and Alan. "Now, pass down that plate, dear."
He obliged, and smiled as she bit into her first one with an appreciative noise.
"You should cook more often," she told him. "That apron looks good on you."
That remark set his brothers off again, even Virgil and John making amused noises if not the full laughter of their youngest brothers, but Scott just leaned back in the chair to glance down at it. It was garishly pink, and certainly wasn't referring to the various cheek kisses it had sparked, but while his brothers had gone a little overboard… He couldn't say he hadn't enjoyed it a little.
Not that he was going to admit that.
"I look good in anything, Grandma."
Once again, I was inspired by gumnut - this time in a conversation about the boys and food which turned into Scott cooking for his brothers. It spiralled from there, and I hope the final product is as fluffy as it was in my head!
Thanks for reading!
Tsari