Disclaimer: I don't own any version of the Thunderbirds.

Overwhelmed

There were few times that Scott felt overwhelmed. Lucille Tracy dying was the first time he could remember feeling the crushing hopelessness, the tightness in his chest accompanied with sleepless nights and bone deep exhaustion. He had felt- and if he was honest with himself, still did feel- a sense of responsibility for his siblings, borne from being the eldest child of a large family, and had taken it upon himself to make sure his brothers ate, washed, went to school and vaguely did housework chores whilst their father lost himself to work and grief. It was only a couple of weeks after the funeral that their grandmother had permanently moved in, but that time had felt like an eternity to Scott and even if he still had to help out with the cooking (as much as he could with his early-teen kitchen knowledge). Equilibrium was re-established, the sleepless nights mostly vanished, and Scott started to feel as if he was regaining some semblance of control over his life again.

The next time he had that same sense of overwhelm was during the early days of International Rescue, when the machines and routine of rescue was still brand new to the brothers. Those early days had been filled with mistakes and inefficiencies, whilst the sheer scale and number of disasters ate at Scott's soul. The calls and cries for help seemed to be endless, but unlike when their mother died Jeff Tracy not only picked up on, but responded to, the emotional turmoil of his sons, and rest days became mandatory in the fledgling organisation. As they got more used to the flow of rescues and settled more easily into their roles, establishing their team dynamics, some of the pressure eased, the rescues becoming more fluid and Scott's stress levels decreasing as a result.

This fluidity had shattered when their father went missing. Scott suddenly felt as if he was twelve all over again, being told that his mother hadn't made it following the avalanche. It felt as if his world had been ripped away from him, made all the more acute when he once again felt the weight of responsibility settle on him as eldest, no matter how misplaced that was. It was the same as last time, but also different. When Lucy died, Scott had been young and inexperienced at life, his siblings even more so, and the five had to rely on the routines of childhood drilled into them by their mother- up, dress, breakfast, school, homework, dinner, bed- to see them through. Now, they were older, had seen more and experienced more, relying on each other's strength. The fact that Jeff Tracy was missing, rather than dead (and he had to be missing, Scott would know if his other parent had died), helped the brothers and they were able to channel their focus towards missions and searching for their father. Although there were times when Scott felt an acute pang for his father, heading into Jeff's office and running his fingers over the photographs on the desk. His brothers also went in there, he knew, and Grandma Tracy took it upon herself to keep the office clean rather than letting Brains send Max in to dust and vacuum the shelves and floor. They all went in quietly and individually, without comment, and for Scott it was a good way of grounding himself.

Scott wasn't at that level of overwhelm in his current predicament, but building levels of frustration told him that he wasn't far off. He was currently grounded, having contracted a serious bout of flu following a winter storm rescue, and had decided that since he was forced to stay on Tracy Island, he would make his grandmother's birthday cake rather than accompany her on the shopping trip Virgil had promised.

Scott was beginning to regret his decision.

Mess was all over the kitchen. Flour had managed to settle across most of the surfaces of the kitchen, whilst a thin film of sugar crunched under foot on the floor. Raw egg dripped down the side of the bowl that the cake batter was in where Scott had missed the bowl slightly, and there were small splashes of cake batter everywhere, including in Scott's hair. The mess wasn't even something that was bothering Scott that much. He cared more about the cake, or lack of, that he couldn't seem to get right. Several 'prototypes' sat on cooling racks on one of the other kitchen counters in varying states of hideousness; one was burnt to a crisp, one had sunk in the middle and another resembled a cookie rather than a cake, having not risen at all. It didn't help that the fever Scott had was making it hard to focus on the recipe book in front of him, the words swimming and moving around on the page. His trembling hands also meant that precise measuring had become wild guesses, the shivers that wracked his body causing him to put more ingredients into the mixing bowl- and the surfaces- than intended.

Setting down his wooden mixing spoon, Scott attempted to pour the mixture into the cake pans, batter dripping down the side. Just as Scott picked them up to transfer them to the oven, a wave of dizziness passed over him and he dropped them both. The metal pans clanged against the tiled floor, cake batter going everywhere, and Scott grabbed the counter in order to steady himself with a groan.

"What was- Scott! What are you doing?" came the razor-sharp voice of Grandma Tracy, who had come to investigate the source of the crash that had reverberated throughout the house. "Why aren't you in bed?"

"Was trying to make a cake," Scott muttered, eyes fluttering closed as his grandmother's cool hands pushed back his hair and felt his feverish forehead. It was a testament to just how ill he was that he hadn't made any attempt to style his hair that morning, the back of his hair still matted from his restless night's sleep.

"I can see. Come on, let's get you back to bed." She tugged his arm and he tripped after her, her hand like an iron grip.

"I wanted to make you a cake," he mumbled again, as he stumbled over his feet. Grandma Tracy hummed.

"I know you did sweetheart. Hey you, Gordon!" she called suddenly, spying the younger boy lurking in the corridor, hoping to sneak into the kitchen to grab a snack before anyone could stop him. "Go clear up the kitchen whilst I help your brother. It's my birthday, so no protesting," she added, as Gordon opened his mouth to argue. Gordon closed his mouth again and nodded, slinking into the kitchen and grabbing a rag from the cupboard under the sink.

Scott barely noticed him entering the kitchen, instead letting his grandmother drag him along the corridor without complaint. Part of him felt vaguely guilty at the fact that his grandmother was having to baby him on her birthday rather than relax and celebrate, but this was a fleeting thought that was lost amidst the others that were more focused on keeping him upright. Scott rarely got ill- that was usually left to one of his youngest brothers- but when something did manage to slip past his immune system, it often hit him hard. This bout of flu had been no different. He had woken up two days after the storm rescue, which had found him soaked to the bone in freezing temperatures, with a soaring temperature and the sensation that a hedgehog had taken up residence inside his throat. He'd barely made it into the lounge area before Grandma Tracy had sent him back to bed, and it was less than ten minutes after that that both John and Virgil had made the decision to pull Scott off rotation. Scott had the vague sense that he should be irritated that his brothers had made such a decision for him, but when the dizziness had set in he hadn't really been able to argue with it. Especially when he managed to sleep through the next call out, which was truly impressive. (He would later find out that Gordon, under John's blessing, had actually temporarily 'borrowed' Scott's comms device until Scott was better).

"Alright then," said Grandma Tracy as they entered Scott's bedroom. "Into bed with you," she added, releasing Scott's arm and bending down to pick up his fallen blanket from off the floor. Scott almost fell onto the bed, burrowing his aching head into the cool pillows whilst his grandmother covered him with the blanket she had just picked up. She sat down next to him on the bed, running fingers through his thick hair.

"'M sorry about the cake," Scott mumbled even as his eyes started to close.

"Don't you worry about it," Grandma Tracy replied softly, but Scott forced his eyes open again anyway.

"But I didn't get you a present."

"Tell you what. As soon as you're better, you can fly me to Paris and we can have cake there."

"Deal," Scott agreed, before finally succumbing to sleep.

A/N: Scott is really fun to write, although that may be because I'm also the eldest in a large family. Also I feel kind of bad for sticking him with the flu very first chapter but most of this was written when I was sick last week...

Apologies if it's short, although I'm not known for writing particularly long chapters. This is mostly just going to be a collection of things I've written for Thunderbirds, whether it's a oneshot, drabble series or just slightly fleshed out headcannons. Who knows, maybe one day I'll actually be able to write a fully formed and plotted story, but I've been on this site for a while now and despite attempts it hasn't really happened yet…

Reviews are appreciated :)

Hodge