Chapter 21.

Kayo felt her blood pressure reach boiling point as Gordon unknowingly necked his fifth margarita and acquired himself yet another Brazilian admirer.

The aquanaut now had a throng of about six women enclosing him, all cooing over his exotic blond hair and chiselled good looks. Granted, quite a few of the women were tipsy themselves, but Kayo couldn't help but notice how they all seemed a bit too eager to make sure Gordon's drink was full at all times.

The aquanaut was easy-going and flamboyant, but he was also an incredibly kind soul and the thought of him being taken advantage of by strangers filled Kayo with fury.

Shadow's pilot sighed as nausea gripped her stomach and a headache began to take hold. There was no way Gordon would be able to pilot Thunderbird Four back home in his current state. At the rate he was going, it was only a matter of time before he ended up flat on his face in an inebriated heap.

Kayo drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. Under normal circumstances, she'd have bulldozed her way back over to Gordon and scared all of his new followers away with some pre-rehearsed threats and her signature glare. Unfortunately, the four margaritas that she herself had downed were wreaking havoc with her head. Moving and talking, let alone stomping and shouting, were utterly out of question until she began to feel better.

Sighing as a cool breeze ruffled her hair, Kayo squinted at her watch. It was already gone ten, and she had zero interest in waiting until the following morning to start the journey home. No, she'd have to call Virgil or John and ask for a lift. No way was she summoning Scott in her current state.

Lifting her wrist to activate her comm, Kayo paused when Gordon suddenly seized the microphone from an unattended karaoke machine and began to screech his lungs out.

A safe distance from the torturous soundwaves emanating from the aquanaut's lungs, Kayo switched her comm off and allowed a small smile to grace her features.

Things were about to get interesting.

-x-

"You know, the second coat really made a difference," Alan observed, regarding his freshly painted nails with obvious pride.

John made a noise of agreement which turned into a hiss of frustration when Alan moved, "Stay still! I haven't finished the base coat on your other hand yet."

Alan pouted in impatience and burrowed back inside the fluffy wonderland that was Kayo's dressing gown.

John pushed his fringe back and sighed, polish brush poised, "It's not quite the same colour as Thunderbird Three, but it'll have to do."

Alan tilted his head and examined a scarlet claw, "Maybe we could come up with our own line of colours? Thunderbird Green, Thunderbird Red, and Thunderbird Yellow."

Turquoise eyes narrowed as their owner took a break from nail art to glance at a magazine article he was in the middle of reading, "What about One and Five?"

"Hmm," Alan went to scratch his head, but quickly stopped when John stabbed a finger at his still glistening nails, "Thunderbird Blue and Thunderbird Orange?"

John snorted and flicked a page, gaping at some of the adverts that were assaulting his eyes, "Seriously? Who pairs ruffles with tweed?"

Over on the sofa, Scott sniggered as he wiped the last of the charcoal mask from his face, "You thinking of a career in fashion, Johnny?"

The redhead scoffed and opened his mouth to reply, however was swiftly distracted by a gossip column.

"Alright, Speedy," Virgil exclaimed as he finished wiping his own face clean, "Looks like we've got the 'Rosewater Toner' next. Keep still."

Scott obeyed and shut his eyes as Virgil tipped a generous amount of the beautiful smelling liquid onto a cotton pad (another treasure that they'd found in Kayo's room), before dragging it across the eldest brother's face.

"It burns!" Scott hissed, his jaw clenching as Virgil smeared what felt disturbingly like perfumed acid all over his cheeks.

"Good, means it's probably working," Virgil replied, fighting the temptation to accidentally-on-purpose get some in his brother's eye.

"Unbelievable!" John muttered as his eyes avidly scanned the page in front of him, "She should take the kids and divorce him. She'd get half the value of the house as part of the settlement, and could demand maintenance payments for the younger daughter as an absolute minimum."

Virgil shook with laughter as he followed up the perfumed acid with a detoxifying clay mask that he began to smear over Scott's rapidly blistering face, "You now thinking about a career in law?"

John ignored Scott's ensuing snort of mirth, his focus shifting to an article promoting eyelash extensions.

"I need my second coat now," Alan announced, waving the fingers of his right hand under John's nose, "Quick, otherwise they'll look uneven."

The redhead swiped at Alan's paw before picking up his magazine and retreating to the other side of the lounge, his eyes not straying from the page he was on.

"I'll have a go," Scott offered, the clay mask making it look as if he'd just fallen face-first into a bin of flour, "Is it just this one that needs the second coat?"

Alan nodded and curled the nails on his other hand back before daintily blowing on them, "Yes please. Just try and keep it as neat as John did."

"Lose ten pounds in a week?" the redhead bleated, his expression bug-eyed, "What kind of diet could possibly facilitate that?"

"There's one in here called 'For Better Naked Tomorrows'," Virgil replied, his own clay mask in place as he examined the cover of another of Kayo's magazines, "A quick peek won't hurt…"

"Oh look, a free sample," John mused, pulling a tiny test vial of perfume away from the page he was currently on, "Alan, fancy a whiff?"

The youngest motioned with his spare hand and John tossed the container over to him. Scott paused his manicure to watch with intrigue as Alan popped the cap and inhaled deeply.

"I'm getting notes of cinnamon, vanilla, and a hint of lavender," the youngest diagnosed, spritzing a little on his wrist, "Rather delicate, yet somewhat musky at the same time. Me likes."

Scott put down the nail polish container and took the vial off Alan, not even bothering to sniff it before squirting some onto the collar of his shirt.

"Nice, kind of homely," the eldest commented, nodding when the smell eventually migrated up to his nose, "Though not one I would choose out of personal choice."

Virgil frowned from over the edge of the magazine he was now engrossed in, "Guys, did you know that you can deep condition your hair using raw avocado and olive oil?"

Scott's eyes narrowed in curiosity as he resumed his work on Alan's nails, "As soon as I'm done here, we'll give it a try."

"F.A.B."

-x-

It was gone midnight by the time Gordon abandoned his karaoke solo in favour of causing other kinds of havoc.

Much to Kayo's amusement, his first 'incident' featured the rather beefy boyfriend of one of his earlier admirers.

Even with his confidence buoyed by alcohol, it took just one look at the hulking mountain of a man who introduced himself only as 'Jose' for the lies to start tumbling out of Gordon's mouth.

"My mum's a cop!" the aquanaut warned when Jose made a jealous lunge for him, any hope of discouraging his new enemy dying on the vine when Jose summoned two of his equally beefy friends to pursue the bolting Tracy.

After taking cover in Thunderbird Four for several minutes, Gordon emerged only to fall prey to Carlos once again, happily picking up what had to be his tenth margarita of the evening.

Five minutes later, he started his own conga line.

Kayo refused to join.

-x-

"What's this?" Alan asked, fishing a small book out of Kayo's dressing gown pocket, "And why is it locked?"

John, who'd given up on his third magazine after reading a particularly disturbing article about menopause, glanced up in intrigue.

"Don't know," he answered, taking the book from Alan and effortlessly disabling the lock, "But I do enjoy a challenge."

Scott, whose face was now covered in wax stripes, glanced up from where he was sticking one to Virgil's forehead, "Looks like a diary or something."

John hummed in agreement, "It's definitely a diary. She has an electronic copy that I- er, EOS, has already hacked. I didn't know she kept a physical version as well."

"What does it say?" Virgil asked, cringing when Scott laid a strip dangerously close to his eye.

John pursed his mouth and quirked a brow as he leafed through the first few pages, "Well, there seem to be a few notes about us."

"No way!" Alan gasped, pivoting around and trying frantically to snatch the book out of John's hands, "Hey! Finders keepers!"

The redhead cleared his throat and began to read, "Alan: cute and harmless. Reminiscent of a hamster, minus the wheel. Voice will hopefully break before his eighteenth birthday."

Alan's face turned the same colour as his new nails.

John carried on, his face contorted in amusement, "Gordon: sweet and lovable. A puppy who may or may not have been housetrained. Needs to stop eating in the bath."

Beneath the layer of wax strips covering his face, Virgil's smile threatened to split his cheeks.

John was silent for a minute while he scanned his own writeup, "John: smart and dumb at the same time. A giraffe stuck in a zoo, height included. Suspicious head of red hair – potentially adopted."

Scott gave a loud snort, "Dad always said we found you on a carrot farm."

John silenced his eldest brother with a glare that could have melted asphalt, "Virgil: the taxi driver. A parent penguin with Alan and Gordon balanced on his feet. Shorter than most people realise."

Alan, who was in the middle of trying to put some rollers in John's hair, paused briefly to stifle an ungentlemanly pant of laughter.

John seemed to be having a hard time keeping his own humour in check, "Scott: smells good even when sweaty. Spits like a llama if you leave the fridge open. Hogs all the hot water."

Alan descended into a near uncontrollable sniggering fit at the prospect of comparing his eldest brother to a member of the camelid family.

Scott, who was no fan of being mocked, snarled and channelled his frustration into ripping one of the wax stripes off Virgil's chin, realising too late that they'd left them on for ten minutes instead of the recommended three.

Two hundred and twenty miles up in orbit, staff on board the International Space Station scratched their heads in confusion as sensor readouts picked up what sounded suspiciously like a high-pitched scream emanating from an island in the South Pacific.