One and a half days. Thirty-six hours. Two thousand, one hundred and sixty minutes. One hundred and twenty nine thousand, six hundred seconds. Maybe he was overreacting.
"You're going to have to pay for my yacht and my cameras."
On the other hand, maybe he wasn't. Scott was ready for a Sudden Unexplained Cargo Bay Door Malfunction, and he was starting to see how John felt after the whole Fischler incident.
"Chill Scott."
"I haven't said anything."
"I can feel the annoyance from here."
"I am not annoyed."
"Sure." Alan grinned in the superior way that could only be achieved by younger siblings. Scott wouldn't rise to it, he wouldn't punch Francois, he would not give in. Alan's look increased in smugness and his resolve cracked.
"He's just…so infuriating."
"Yeah? So is Gordon."
"But this guy makes looking after Gordon seem like a walk in the park. He's so obnoxious."
As if on cue Francois's voice crackled over the comms.
"It's absolutely ridiculous, you don't even have any staff. What are we supposed to do?"
"I don't think they're listening." Madeline said.
"What do you mean? Why wouldn't they be listening to me, it's not as if they have anything better to do."
"I'm not listening."
"Oooo-ooh, burn."
"See! Really, really annoying!"
Alan shook his head. "Honestly Scott you sound like you didn't grow up with five siblings. Just take deep breaths and go to your happy place."
Thirty one hours to go.
"But is it possible?" Alan's eyes were hopeful. All of Scott's attempts to derail the conversation had been ignored.
"T-technically, yes."
"I know what I want for my birthday."
"You are not getting a lightsaber for your birthday."
"Come on Scott."
"No. Before you know it we'll have severed limbs and dead bodies."
"What c-colour would you want?" Brains asked, not noticing (or perhaps just ignoring) Scott's glare.
"Green, like the one I had when we were kids. What happened to it anyway?"
"I think dad hid them."
Any further discussion, or even the suggestion of a hunt for the lightsabers was cut off by more complaining from the cargo hold.
"These ration bars are revolting. If I get food poisoning it will be on you."
Alan groaned and rolled his eyes. "Scott I need a lightsaber now."
"Murder is still illegal, even in space."
Twenty-four hours to go.
Alan was napping and Three was on autopilot. Scott was fairly sure that their passengers were asleep too. He was failing to beat Alan's highest score on Alien Storm, honestly he wasn't even anywhere near Alan's lowest score. He closed the game before his embarrassment was logged for all eternity.
He stared out of the portal and watched the stars go past. He loved stargazing but he could never reach the same levels of awe and tranquillity that it inspired in Alan and John.
"Scott, you should get some sleep."
"I'm fine."
Alan blinked slowly. "You've been awake for more than twenty four hours, you need to sleep."
"I'm not ti-" Scott yawned and decided not to finish the sentence. Alan smirked.
"I can manage for a few hours, believe it or not. I'll wake you up if we run into trouble."
"You sure?"
"Of course. Space is kinda my thing."
Scott reached over and ruffled his hair.
"Okay, but promise you'll wake me up."
"Promise. Now sleep."
Sleep came far quicker than he expected; watching Alan fly was almost hypnotic, and the thrumming of Three's engines almost seemed like a lullaby. He let his guard down, he was safe. Scott drifted off to sleep surrounded by stars.