Chapter 61.
After re-decorating the kitchen in various shades of pepperoni and pineapple, five emergency responders, one Head of Security, one London Agent, one chauffeur, and one pug suddenly realised that it was in fact their dinner that was smeared across the floor and dripping from the ceiling.
Cue one furious Grandma Tracy and a twenty-two-and-a-half-minute lecture. Not that Alan was timing.
Kayo in particular was greatly offended. She'd paid good money for those pizzas, plus Thunderbird Shadow now stank of onions.
After confessing and apologising to their apocalyptic grandmother, the four younger Tracys unanimously agreed to hand responsibility for their food intake over to their eldest brother.
Scott sighed and raked a hand through his immaculately combed hair. Between the clean-up operation in the kitchen, the continuing lack of rescues, and the impending dinner preparation, he could feel himself starting to slip. He'd always prided himself on being the most disciplined of the family when it came to work and personal time, however even the great Scott Carpenter Tracy wasn't immune to life's temptations. He was young, single, handsome, and rich, yet here he was, spending his Friday evening dutifully shovelling food into the mouths of others.
Scott scowled as he watched his brothers fret over a game of snakes and ladders at the kitchen table. He'd be inserting feeding tubes down all of their throats next.
Out on the patio, Kayo smirked like the cocky little upstart everyone knew she was. Something about her reminded Scott of a cuckoo; the way she lived in their house free of charge, ate their food free of charge, parked her Thunderbird in their garage free of charge, and walked all over their assess, again free of charge. She had a loving family of her own and was technically their employee, yet had invaded the Tracy nest and almost evicted all of the Tracy chicks in the process.
Scott felt a cloud of frustration settle over him. He had better things to be doing with his life than forcing food down the throats of four ducklings, a cuckoo, a swan (Penelope), a goose (Parker), and a wizened old heron (Grandma). Just because he was the most professional member of the family, didn't mean his social skills were redundant. Thunderbird One could reach mainland Australia in a matter of minutes, and the urge to party was rising.
He shook his head and the clouds momentarily cleared. He couldn't afford to let his guard down. He was listed as ATD (available to deploy) and had to be ready to leap into action at a moment's notice. Innocent lives were more important than a couple of hours at a bar in Brisbane.
A rush of cool air washed over Scott's face as he opened the fridge and examined its contents. The full shelves did nothing to improve his rapidly decaying mood. On reflection, he realised that irritation tended to be his go-to emotion in most situations. Whether it was Gordon tracking pool water into the house, Alan's loud soda burps, Virgil leaving his paintbrushes in the sink, or John forgetting to switch the bathroom light off, he seemed to stagger through life in a permanent state of vexed-ness.
"Hey, check it out!" Gordon suddenly exclaimed, gesturing wildly at his phone, "Our arrest in Rio made the news."
Alan frowned and rolled the dice, "But that was ages ago. Why on earth would they be reporting it now?"
Gordon's eyes narrowed as he scanned the article in front of him, "My guess is that our old friend Jose spent all of our bail money paying off his mortgage and is now milking our faces for a second paycheque. He's sold our mugshots to the local paper."
Scott groaned in despair, barely noticing when he dumped the bowl of potatoes he was preparing to boil straight into the sink instead of the colander. A bar in Brisbane was out of his reach, but the bottle of wine next to the knife rack certainly wasn't. It was a pricey Cabernet Sauvignon from California that Penelope had gifted them. He was usually more of a white wine drinker, but could feel his preferences waning. Alcohol was alcohol, and a mugshot gone public was a mugshot gone public.
The fruity red liquid warmed his throat as it slid into his stomach. He'd planned to throw together a quick shepherd's pie for dinner, hence the potatoes, but could feel himself leaning more towards pizza as he eyeballed the discarded takeaway boxes sticking out of the bin.
After all, he'd yet to encounter a problem that pizza couldn't solve.
Scott took another swig of wine and cracked his fingers like an experienced pianist. He'd need flour, salt, yeast, and water to make the dough for the base. He knew Grandma had a basil plant growing outside somewhere, plus the pineapple that was sitting in the fruit bowl could be utilised for Gordon's portion.
But first, more wine.
Ten minutes later…
No more wine.
Scott felt himself pout as he tried to remember where Virgil's expensive crates of beer were stashed. He knew his younger brother had treated himself to a batch of Carlsberg's Jacobsen Vintage on his most recent trip to Denmark, yet he'd made the selfish decision to hide it from the rest of the family.
Scott snorted. Tipsy or not, there weren't many places a honkin' great box of beer could hide. If all else failed, he'd ask Colonel Casey to fast-track Celery onto the GDF's canine detection programme. Virgil's beers, John's medication, Gordon's confetti bombs, and the secret hamster under Alan's bed would never be safe again.
After hammering out a couple of creations that vaguely resembled pizza bases, Scott began searching for what toppings he could use to satisfy his brother's varying tastes, yet also provide them with the nutrition they needed.
The sudden rattling of a cereal box snapped Virgil out of the competitive trance he'd been locked in. Glancing up, he was more than a little puzzled to see Scott shaking a box of cornflakes over the pizza bases he'd just prepped. Puzzlement switched to outright concern when the cornflakes were joined by coffee beans.
Ignoring Gordon's whoop of delight as he shot up a ladder, Virgil pushed his chair back, stood up, and advanced on Scott like a deer approaching a dinosaur.
"Hey, bro?" Virgil began, his eyes widening as Scott shamelessly dumped a couple of raw eggs onto the pizzas, "You feeling okay? Do you need a hand?"
Scott paused to consider the offer before shaking his head, "Nah, a hand would completely ruin the flavour. Pass me a couple of tins of tuna, would you? That should give it a protein boost."
Virgil felt the logical side of his brain lie down and give up. Scott was an excellent cook and a pro at pizzas. Such a pro in fact, that John requested them every time he came down from Thunderbird Five. Alan asked for one every year on his birthday, and even Kayo forgot about her no-carbs diet whenever Scott got in touch with his Italian side.
The empty wine bottle next to the fridge provided some clarification over the weird toppings. Part of Virgil wondered if Scott's emotional fragility was a delayed reaction to the stress of having to raise their youngest brother. While he hadn't brought up Alan alone, the pressure of having to grow up almost overnight after their father's disappearance had left some faint but obvious scars. Virgil had done and continued to do all he could to lighten the load, but knew for a fact that his brother would always choose to shoulder the heavier stuff by himself.
So, Virgil tried other methods. Where Scott emulated their father, Virgil acted as his counterpart and emulated their mother. When Scott got mad, Virgil stayed calm. When Scott stayed calm, which was pretty rare, Virgil got mad. When Alan went to Scott, Gordon went to Virgil. It was a complex dance, but their choreography had ultimately resulted in a kind, talented aquanaut and an enthusiastic young astronaut.
"Speedy?" Virgil tried again, hoping that Scott would respond to his favourite nickname, "Maybe you should take a break. Do a couple of laps in the pool or take Celery for a walk. I'll handle dinner."
"D-Don't be a ninny," Scott slurred, his gaze unfocussed, "I'm fine. Look at me. What about me doesn't look fine?"
Virgil bit his lip as Scott began shredding a paper towel over the pizza on his left, "Scott, you're neglecting your emotions again. The others aren't going to starve if it's not you who makes dinner. Go and take some time for yourself. You're not dad, and nobody expects you to be. If your inner party animal wants to take off to the mainland for a few hours, that's fine as well."
Scott gave a weak scowl, "Hello? Could you at least knock before you enter my mind?"
Virgil beamed and confiscated what remained of the paper towel, "I could, but I doubt you'd answer."
Scott gave a snort of agreement before weaving towards the hanger stairwell, swearing loudly when the handrail gave him an electric shock.
Virgil rolled his eyes and set about scraping his brother's culinary calamity into the bin, "Don't stay out too late. I've no interest in disconnecting your fist from some random person's face at dumb o'clock in the morning."
A disbelieving scoff climbed out of Scott's throat as he stuck his head out of the stairwell, "I can look after myself, thank you very much. Besides, I'd call Kayo if I needed backup. She's manlier than all four of you weirdos fused together."
Virgil let Scott's insult fly clean over his head. He knew he was too nice for his own good sometimes, but that was his problem. Besides, there were worse personality traits to have. Like Scott's habit of wearing his heart on his sleeve, for example.
"We're not weird," Virgil replied, keeping his tone pleasant as he rinsed a plate under the sink, "We just fall outside of your exceptionally narrow view of the world."
Scott barked a tipsy laugh, "I'm an acquired taste, Virg. Don't like me? Acquire some taste. Also, may I just say that you have pretty good posture for someone without a backbone?"