Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Characters: Scott, John, Penelope. Rating: K+. Warnings: None

Drabble challenge from such-a-random-rambler: "I think I drank too much." with John.

Scott glowered down at his phone, where his message was stubbornly remaining as sent. Ideally, he wanted a reply, but it had been five minutes and it still wasn't even showing as read.

People were sending him disapproving looks, no doubt seeing a stranger with a backpack lurking outside a door and drawing their own conclusions the longer he remained slouched against the wall. Apparently even in England, people didn't take too kindly to loitering, and Scott would appreciate it if his brother would hurry up and let him in.

Maybe for some people, five minutes was too soon to be getting cranky, let alone worried, and any of his other brothers, in any other situation, Scott wouldn't expect an instantaneous reply, but it was John, at midnight. He should be wired into whatever technology he was playing and receiving messages instantly - especially as Scott should be expected.

The journey had been a long one, jet lag was hammering hard, and he just wanted to greet his brother, catch up for a bit, and then crash out on the couch. It had been too long since he'd last seen him - why John had decided to go to college in England, Scott had no idea.

Seven minutes, and still no answer. No little icon assuring him John had even seen it, even though John had known exactly what flight he was on and had been the one to tell Scott how long the taxi would take from the airport. Scott had fully expected his younger brother to open the door just as the taxi pulled to a halt.

The fact that he was still standing outside, seven minutes later - and midnight in Oxford was not warm - had Scott one part annoyed to three parts worried.

The looks were getting dirtier. He was surprised no-one had confronted him yet, and hoped that didn't mean they'd decided against talking and skipped straight to calling the police.

"C'mon, John," he muttered. "What's taking you so long?"

Looking up from his phone again - nine minutes - he caught sight of a pair staggering their way in his direction. One was ginger, and he straightened, more than a little disbelieving when his younger brother staggered right past him without looking and pawed at the door ineffectually.

"Honestly, John," the girl he was with - petite, blond, and in high heels that made Scott's feet ache just to look at (his younger brothers didn't know about his time in high heels and it was staying that way) - sighed, although the giggle that followed it ruined whatever gravitas she was trying to exude.

There were many things wrong with the sight, from John being not inside, to John looking like he'd been at a nightclub, to John apparently bringing a girl home, but the thoughts all temporarily abandoned his head as John swayed just a little bit more.

"I think I drank too much," his brother commented, in that sort of detached fashion Scott recognised from his own nightclub experiences, and ignoring the girl, he lunged forward just in time to catch John as he crumpled.

This wasn't the greeting he'd been expecting.

Nor was the stiletto kick to his chest, winding him and almost making him drop his brother. It was fortunate his first instinct was always to hold on tighter, otherwise John would probably have just gained a concussion to go with the hell of a hangover he was going to be facing in a few hours.

"What do you think you're doing?" the girl demanded, drawing herself up to her full height - and even in those dagger stilettos, still failing to reach Scott's chin. "Unhand him at once, or I'll call the police."

Scott was tired, grumpy, and had no patience for irritating girls trying to get in with his not interested younger brother. He straightened, hefting John into his arms - he might be tall, but John had never been a challenge to lift on the rare occasion Scott had carried him - and made a show of looking down at the small female.

"And I suppose you were planning on carrying him inside?" he challenged, shifting John's weight until he could slip two fingers into his pocket and extract his door key.

John always kept his key in the same pocket. Scott was glad that hadn't changed.

"And now you're trespassing," she huffed as he fumbled the door open. "No-one invited you in. Leave, before I call the police."

"Actually, I was invited," Scott snapped, stepping through the door. "You, on the other hand, are not welcome. Go home."

He kicked the door shut with his heel, knowing Grandma - and probably John, in the morning - would be furious with him for leaving her outside by herself at midnight, but not finding it in himself to care right then.

The apartment wasn't large, just a kitchen with a sofa and a door that Scott determined had to lead to the bedroom and en suite, which meant he heard the front door open again as he shouldered his way into the bedroom.

"Who are you?" the girl demanded. Scott ignored her as he settled his brother on the bed, planets and stars embellishing the otherwise plain navy comforter. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Scott pulled his brother's sneakers off and set them down on the floor, making a mental note to find where John kept his shoes and put them away properly before his occasionally-clumsy brother tripped over them later.

"Why are you in his apartment?" he asked, kicking off his own shoes and letting his backpack fall onto the floor before pulling himself up onto the bed. John could sleep in his clothes just fine, but that coat and jumper had to come off before he overheated.

"Are you stripping him?" she shrieked. "That's it; I'm calling the police."

…Okay, Scott could see why it might look bad if she didn't know who he was.

"Look, miss," he started.

"Your ladyship," she interrupted.

"Uh, what?"

"It's your ladyship," she said. "Not miss. I am Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward, and I insist you tell me who you are and why you're manhandling my friend."

"John has friends?" John did intellectual peers, but he'd never cared for friends, mostly because he found it tiring when people couldn't keep up with him - or tried to force him into socialising, which Scott was starting to suspect this girl, Lady, whatever, had done tonight. His friends were computers.

"Of course he does, you pervert," she snapped back. "Now answer my questions, and if I don't like the answers, I'm calling the police."

"Perv-" Scott interrupted himself with a sigh. "I take it John didn't bother to tell you I was coming to visit for the week?"

"Your name," she insisted, and he rolled his eyes.

"Scott Tracy. I'm his brother, so if you could stop the ridiculous accusations that would be great, thank you very much."

"You don't look related."

Oh, for-

"You should see the rest of them." John shifted against his chest in a quickly-aborted attempt to sit up. Scott tightened his grip. "Scott, Lady P. You won't get rid of her. Trust me. Lady P., my big brother, Scott. You won't get rid of him. Trust me."

"John-"

"So stop arguing and let me sleep. My head kills. Penny, why did you let me drink so much?"

"I was curious what you'd be like drunk," she answered, completely unapologetic. "You didn't tell me your brother was coming." She paused. "Why didn't you tell me when I came to get you earlier?"

"You'd have accused me of lying to get out of going," John muttered. "Sorry, Scott. Thought I'd be back before you turned up. Wasn't expecting to drink so much…" He trailed off with a yawn, and Scott helped him lie back down.

"It doesn't matter," he said - not strictly true, but as far as reunions went it was already terrible. He had no intentions of worsening it with an argument. "Get some sleep. I'll find you something for the hangover in the morning."

John was asleep again before he'd finished talking, and with a fond smile, Scott slipped off the bed and pulled the covers loosely over him.

Then, he eyed the blonde in front of him. John didn't like socialising, and yet she'd dragged him out regardless - and apparently never took no for an answer.

Scott did not like the implications of that.

"We need to talk," he said, quietly enough not to wake John, but seriously nonetheless. Blue eyes flicked from him to John and then back again.

"Yes," she agreed. "I suppose we do."

I had entirely too much fun with this first meeting between Scott and Penelope. Entirely too much fun. My muses was stuck in the default of "Scott", but I did at least manage to still have John be the one to say the line, so that's something, right?

Thanks for reading!
Tsari