Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.

Sicktember Prompt 17: Ginger Ale and Crackers, with Scott (requested by writerpyre)

WARNING: Nausea

Scott knew he was in for a bad day when he opened his eyes, saw that dawn was still a little way off, and his stomach churned. He didn't get sick often, but the particular sensation of nausea coiling in the belly was unmistakable, and safe in the knowledge that it was entirely too early for anyone else in his family to be awake – even Gordon didn't leave his room before the dawn – Scott curled up around his stomach, arms embracing it tenderly.

He couldn't be sick. He couldn't afford to be sick – International Rescue had only just started back up after- after Dad's crash, and the eyes of not just the GDF but also the world were on them, scrutinising and waiting to pounce. Just one mistake, one life lost that should have been saved, one error in judgement, and he'd prove the sceptics right – prove that he couldn't do this.

For the sake of his brothers, for the sake of Dad and his dream, Scott had to succeed. Had to save everyone (like he hadn't been able to save Dad), had to sweet-talk the GDF into letting their operations continue, had to prove that just because Jeff Tracy was no longer at the helm didn't mean International Rescue shouldn't be allowed to operate any more.

There was a pile of reports that had to be finished from last night's rescue. Some TI was lurking in there as well, Dad's other project and the reason IR could even function. Scott couldn't afford to take a sick day.

If he did, everything would fall apart.

His traitorous body responded with a surge of bile that tickled the back of his throat in a clear threat. Rest, or else.

Scott would have gladly slept until dawn, but the same traitorous body that wanted him to rest also deprived him of sleep, too intent on stuffing his stomach with nausea and aches. Curled up in a ball in a desperate attempt to persuade his body that no, it wasn't sick, Scott watched his bedroom slowly brighten as dawn broke and tried not to panic when the symptoms didn't subside.

Where had this even come from? His immune system was strong, and he was fairly certain he hadn't been exposed to anything on the rescue. Last night's dinner had been take-out, so there was no chance that Grandma had accidentally poisoned him again, either. An upset stomach made no sense.

The first rays of the dawn sun crept through his window, passing over his face and catching his eyes.

Time to get up.

Dragging his unwilling body out of bed was a contest of wills. Mind over matter hauled him into the shower, where he hunched over, fighting the instinct to sit down and curl into a little ball in a desperate ploy to ease the nausea. Sheer stubbornness got him through his morning routine – although he was fairly certain there were more hairs out of place than he'd normally permit – and down into the kitchen, where he met his first true obstacle.

He set the coffee machine going out of habit as he raided the cupboards for breakfast. Nothing fancy or lengthy – a bowl of muesli was both nutritious and filling – but a necessity as he mentally prepared for a morning of paperwork.

The idea of going for his normal morning run crossed his mind as he let the mixture soak. Running off whatever was plaguing his stomach was an appealing prospect; fresh air always worked wonders, and nothing beat decent exercise for keeping the body in shape.

Then the coffee maker chirped its alert that it was finished and the scent of the fresh brew wafted across the kitchen.

Scott was heaving before it even registered, nothing thankfully coming up but a clear final warning that his body would not be tolerating certain triggers. He wasn't daft enough to ignore that and made a quick decision. One hand snatched up the bowl of soaking muesli, the other grabbed a spoon, and he beat a hasty retreat up to Dad's desk, where the work was waiting for him.

The run – and the coffee – could be skipped. The reports could not.

The work was very hard to focus on as his stomach continued to stage an ongoing protest. The cause still wasn't clear, and Scott wished he could just ask it what the problem was – or better yet, tell it to stop being a nuisance and be obeyed – but unfortunately stomachs didn't talk, or obey commands.

In fact, it seemed to get worse the moment the thought crossed his mind, as though it knew he'd considered it and had taken offence. The bowl of cereal sitting innocently on the desk next to the holoprojector, spoon sticking out and reflecting the early morning light, didn't seem particularly inviting.

Not eating wasn't an option, though. His family would worry, and besides, not eating really would make him ill, so with a grimace he grabbed the spoon and scooped up some of the mixture.

His stomach revolted at once, and it was all Scott could do to choke down the mouthful without letting anything come up. Muesli was apparently a no-go. If even one mouthful did that, there was no way he'd get through the entire bowl.

A slender hand encroached on his periphery and he blinked as the bowl was whisked away, looking up at the perpetrator. Hazel eyes gazed back, concern broadcasting as clearly as he'd seen any emotion in them since, well.

Since they'd both lost their fathers.

Tanusha had never been the most open of girls, but as the Kyranos had joined their family she'd slowly let down her defences. That had resulted in mischief – Scott had no qualms about saying his little sister was just as bad as his brothers when she'd wanted to be – and a sly grin becoming her default expression more often than not.

Then the Zero-X had happened, Scott had lost his father, and Kyrano had vanished with barely any warning at all. Tanusha had become Kayo, and the walls had slammed back up. On one level, Scott thought he understood – whatever his intentions, Kyrano had abandoned her, and with no blood family left, she was rather the odd one out. An adopted sister in amongst a hoard of blood brothers.

On another level, it was another thing to weigh on his mind. Scott loved all his siblings fiercely – adopted or blood – and watching Kayo retreat into her shell again had hurt. It had taken more than he had to try and coax her back out again, and it was a blemish on his personal record as a big brother that Grandma had been far more successful than he'd been in that regard. Maybe if he'd been better, tried harder, realised she was hurting too earlier, she wouldn't still be so closed off compared to before.

Moments like this, where the walls lowered a little and he could read the emotions in her eyes, were slowly increasing in frequency, but they were still uncommon. In light of that, Scott couldn't even be mad that she'd stolen his breakfast.

"I was eating that," he protested, although it was half-hearted to his own ears. A raised eyebrow told him that Kayo heard it, too.

"You were about to throw it all back up again," she retorted, crossing her arms. The bowl dangled somewhat precariously from her fingers, the contents threatening to spill along the floor much like his stomach was threatening to do.

"No, I wasn't!"

"You've almost thrown up twice this morning already," she informed him coolly, as though he wasn't aware of that – he was, although he wasn't aware that she'd seen either occasion. "You should be in bed, Scott."

He shook his head immediately, a little desperation oozing into the action unbidden. "No! No, I need to get this done." He met her eyes evenly, and past the concern he could see the resignation. Suddenly promoted to their head of security now Kyrano was gone, he knew she understood. Maybe better than anyone else did. "You know I do, Kayo."

A rebellious stomach couldn't be enough to stop him. It wouldn't impress the GDF or the world.

She sighed, shoulders slumping. "Can't John do it?" It was a half-hearted protest at best. John was busy with finishing off his PhD, and Scott point blank refused to distract him from that with this. It was bad enough that John insisted on still being their communications specialist, although he had put forward a solid argument about the benefits of being on Thunderbird Five for his research.

Scott gave her a tired look that brooked no arguments. "No."

The noise she made was displeased but acknowledging. After all, she understood.

"If you're sick, don't eat this stuff," she continued, "or drink that coffee you were brewing."

Scott's stomach churned at the mere mention of the drink.

"I'll get you something better," she promised. "I know a recipe." There was no wait for a response before she walked away, his bowl of muesli firmly in her grip. Scott stared after her for a moment, trying to remember the last time he'd seen his sister cooking in the kitchen – not since Kyrano had left – before catching sight of the holographic paperwork in his periphery and remembering why he was out of bed despite his stomach's continued attempts to the contrary.

Paperwork had a way of absorbing time, so Scott had no idea how long had passed when a glass was slid onto the desk in front of him. The drink it contained was cloudy, somewhere between yellow and orange in colour.

"Drink that in sips, not all at once," Kayo told him firmly as she deposited a plate of savoury crackers next to it. "And don't eat those all at once, either."

"What is it?" Scott lifted the glass cautiously and took a tentative sniff. The unmistakable scent of ginger assaulted his nostrils, but much to his relief his stomach didn't take that as a trigger to exaggerate its constant temper tantrum.

"Homemade ginger ale," Kayo said, somewhat needlessly. "It's a family recipe that's good for nausea."

Family recipe? It wasn't a Tracy family recipe, which meant… Scott swallowed, and was immediately attacked by the taste of bile. Kyrano had been an amazing chef, and Kayo had often been found with him, learning dishes Scott couldn't even begin to remember the names of – many of which were Malay in origin, or so he'd been told – but that had just left her with an aversion for the kitchen ever since he'd left.

This was the first time he knew of that she'd used it for anything more than grab-and-go since then.

He took a tentative sip, intense hazel eyes watching – no doubt his sister was willing to snatch it away again if he drank what she considered too much in one go. His stomach didn't immediately revolt, which was a pleasant change, and he carefully deposited the glass back on the desk.

"Thanks," he said. "It tastes amazing." It did, and even his stomach seemed to be permitting it to go unchallenged. He reached for a cracker to nibble on and begrudgingly returned his attention to the piles of reports that needed dealing with.

He didn't miss the way Kayo softened slightly, barely-visible tension bleeding away. "You're welcome," she replied, turning on her heel and starting to walk away. "Oh, and Scott?"

"Mm?"

"I know that stuff needs to be done, but take it easy today, okay? If you don't, I'll alert John."

Threat delivered, she vanished, leaving Scott gaping in betrayal. He'd thought she understood!

Still, regardless of her betrayal, the ginger ale still tasted amazing. Scott and his stomach could both agree on that.

"Ginger ale and crackers" is something I'd never really heard of, so I had to look up what it was supposed to be a remedy for. Turns out it's nausea, so... Stress is mean when it wants to be.

I'm dabbling in Sicktember over on tumblr! Only doing prompts that I get a character request for, so feel free to drop by with a request. You can find the list on the sicktember tumblr blog!

Thanks for reading!
Tsari