"You admit it then?"

"I'm admitting nothing. Now if you've quite finished, I have some washing to do."

Both brothers parted to let their eldest sibling through.

"And if I were you I'd get yours done before Dad goes to investigate the smells coming from your rooms."

Gordon shrugged and threw himself on the nearest sofa, picking up the latest extreme sports mag and leafing through it. "Nah, Gran'll do it when she gets home."

"Like heck she will. If I know Grandma she's as likely to make you eat your laundry as wash it."

And this thought made the auburn haired aquanaut falter and sit up, his face a mirror of expressions as he worked through the scenarios of their grandparent's wrath. His conclusions left him pale. Casting the magazine nonchalantly aside he unfolded his athletic length and with feigned indifference,  headed for his room.

"Don't use all those machines; I may have one or two things to rinse through." was his grudging concession.

Scott grinned, not in the least fooled, then turned his gaze onto his other sibling.

"That just leaves you."

He could tell by the way the artistic one seemed to grow an inch that this hadn't gone down too well.

"What makes you think I need to do any washing?"

"Could be the fact you haven't taken to lording it around the place in your birthday suit, and unless you have another way of getting out of using clothes; you must have some."

This earned him a grunt.

"So; want to get this over with?"

"There's no way out of this?"

"'Fraid not."

And taking pity on Virgil's glum face he patted his back consolingly, "Ah it won't be so bad; and as soon as we're through we'll go shoot some pool"

Virgil sighed, thrusting his hands in his pocket and following his brother out of the room.

"What about the others?"

If I know John he'll already be in the laundry room and I know for certain Alan's helping Dad do all the meals today; so that lets him out."

Virgil stopped dead in his tracks a horror stricken look on his face. "Tell me you're kidding? Alan?" and he swallowed hard.

Scott laughed; "Ah come on; it won't be like last time."

Virgil shook his head. "I dunno about this. I hope you're right. Boy has Brains had a lucky escape. Wish right now I was on TB5."

"What can possibly go wrong this time? He's got Dad supervising and besides we can always raid the supplies and fill up before lunch; if we get time."

That seemed to reassure him and he nodded  his good humour restored. "Fine; someone said something about laundry; right?"

"I'll wait."

********

Both brothers strode into the basement room that housed three state of the art washers, a dry cleaning machine, and two top of the range huge tumbler driers, their arms laden with an assortment of garments.

From the activity it was clear the clever one of the family had just about finished his chores, while the water lover hadn't even  started. The floor was covered with dirty washing.

"That can't be all yours?" Scott gaped at Gordon.

"Nope.  It's everybody's."

Seeing Scott was none the wiser John stepped forward, "its Dad's and Alan's too. Didn't he tell you we'd be doing theirs as well?"

Scott shook his head.

Seeing only one machine vacant he went to load his things at the same moment as Virgil.

"Take it easy you two, no need to fight over it. Didn't think you were that keen on this job anyway."

"You can do mine if you like, I won't twist your arm." Virgil offered hopefully before dropping his washing onto the pile.

"I'll bet you won't.  Look why don't we get organised."

All three gave him their full attention, eager to off load this, the least favourite of the tasks they'd been given.

"Split the laundry up into piles; that way you should get through it in half the time."

"What; you mean shove everyone's clothes in together?"

"Sure. It won't matter this once. It all comes out clean anyway, so no-one's going to get anybody else's body odour." John cast a lopsided grin at his eldest brother's socks. Scott stiffened slightly but couldn't take offence at the light hearted tone.

He watched as his brother removed the last of his things from the tumbler and fold them into a pristine pile. John was always the neatest of the five.

At least the antiquated notion of ironing had been done away with now that these new machines automatically eradicated all creases.

"Right that's me done. I'll go put my things away…..unless you want me to stay and help you empty this one." He indicated one of the machines that had just finished its cycle.

"I think we can manage, thanks all the same."

"Think nothing of it." And he slapped Scott lightly on the back as he exited.

Scott emptied the machine and divided the bedding from it into the two large tumblers. Then turning his attention to the mixture of clothes on the laundry floor he instructed, "Right you guys, you heard what he said; split these things up into piles. It won't matter for once."

Gordon eyed Scott's clothes dubiously. "I might just put my things in with Dad's."

"Fine; Virge?"

"Err; well; actually I was going to put Alan's in with mine; if it's all the same to you."

Scot shrugged.

But as they viewed the mountain of washing they'd contributed to, all tangled up no-one wanted to rave through the various articles and odours, each willing the other to do the honours.

 Finally Scott stepped forward, "Ah what the heck," and grabbing a handful of anything he shoved it into the nearest machine, the others were in the process of following suit when Gordon held aloft a pair of emerald green jockey shorts with a suggestive innuendo emblazoned across the front.

"Ho; oh; ho; nice ones Virge."

"Don't look at me; they're nothing to do with me."

Gordon's attention flew to Scott who quickly disabused him of that idea.

"Forget it; they're not my style."

"Alan's?"

"Not his either."

"John's."

"Aw come on, he wouldn't be seen dead in those things."

In answer to his baffled frown Scott helped him out.

"Don't you remember? You got Dad those for his birthday."

Gordon had a hard time stopping his jaw falling open. "And he's still speaking to me?"

His siblings exchanged grins, and continued with the job of loading the remaining empty machine and putting in various amounts of powder.

"Ah now why the heck won't this thing work?" Scott muttered through clenched teeth, pushing and prodding the various LCD displays.

"Same here." Virgil said, watching his brother and following suit.

"Here let me try."

Gordon offered pushing every combination of buttons that Scott hadn't and still having no luck.

Scott stood there scratching his head while his brothers looked to him to solve the mystery.

"Maybe it's got manual over-ride." Gordon piped up as if he held all the answers.

Scott eyed him then bending close and examining the various dials he pushed one.

Virgil followed suit and was rewarded by the sounds of gushing water as the machines chugged into life.

 All three stood back admiring their handiwork, mentally congratulating themselves as the machines quietly revolved round fulfilling their side of the bargain.

"May as well go and get a beer." Scott invited for all of them. "Our job's done here."

Virgil and Gordon nodded in agreement. "Yep; we've only to come back in an hour or so to tumble them and that's it."

"That was a good morning's work." Gordon offered, a sentiment heartily agreed by his brothers.

No-one noticed the temperature gauges registering 90c.

********

"What the blazes….!!!!!" Scott's face froze as he pulled the various items of clothing from 'his' machine and cast an appealing glance at the others, "And where the heck did that come from?" he asked holding up a once red sock, only to find they were holding up its twin and wearing the same expressions of disbelief and panic that he was.

"Scott? Help?"

"Don't look at me; I thought you knew what you were doing?"

"Me? Why should I know? I thought these things", Gordon cast his hand helplessly at the gleaming chrome machine that appeared to be grinning at him, "were supposed to do everything automatically."

"How come this has happened then?" Virgil asked.

"Dunno."

 Scott rubbed the back of his neck thoughtfully. "John! He'll know what to do."

"Sure; he told us to put them in together." Virgil intoned.

Scott lifted his wrist and spoke into his watch.  The urgency in his tone conveyed itself  and John came skidding into the laundry room within a minute of his call.

"What's up br…….oh boy." John bit hard on his lip but still couldn't prevent the corners of his mouth turning up. "How'd you manage that?"

"It's your fault. You told us to put them in together." The second youngest Tracy accused.

His astronomy loving brother raised an eye brow, still smiling, he turned to the eldest. "Not quite. If I recall rightly I told you to split them in piles; which meant exactly that."

"Want to clarify?" Virgil asked.

"How long have you been doing your own washing?"

"Never since we got here; either Kyrano does it or occasionally Gran' might."

"And before that?"

Scott and Gordon exchanged sheepish glances. Being in different forces meant nothing. They were still responsible for their own laundry.

"Dry cleaning services have their uses." Scott excused.

"So that  explains it. When I suggested you put them into piles and mix them I figured you knew to separate the whites. And besides; how come you didn't set the programme to auto?"

"Auto?" Scott managed to get out.

John nodded as if it was general knowledge. "Sure; the machines have a failsafe that stops them starting when the wrong fabrics are mixed to prevent this happening. You guys amaze me you pilot the most awesome craft yet you can't handle a simple thing like a washing machine." He grinned, taking any sting out of his words. "And what was it doing on 90c?"

Virgil and Gordon both turned to their eldest brother comprehension dawning. Scott wouldn't quite meet their eye.

"Whose is this stuff anyway?"

"Never mind that; more to the point can we salvage it?" Scott replied, aware all attention was on him and suddenly finding the tangled heap infinitely interesting.

John walked over and began sifting through the various garments. He seemed to have acquired a permanent grin.

"Whose is this?" He tugged from the mangled pile a once one and blue designer shirt that now held the dubious shades of pink, murky lilacy grey and had shrunken a good two sizes smaller.

"Err; that's one of Alan's."

"To be more precise that's his favourite pulling number; cost him a week's wages too." Gordon volunteered.

"My guess is he isn't going to be too pleased when he sees this then."

"That's an understatement." Scott added, knowing his youngest brother's penchant for wearing only the best designer labels.

"We could always incinerate it and plead ignorance." Virgil offered.

"You think he'll fall for that?"

"It's worth a shot. It has to be better than watching his face when he sees what's happened to it." Scott stated.

Having witnessed his youngest brother spit his dummy out on occasion John felt Scott had a point and nodded in agreement.

"Okay, anything else of his we need to 'bury'?"

All four were busy rifling through the debris of garments having made a sizable pile for incinerating when John found not one but three shirts now sporting the familiar dull grey pink in place of the pristine white they once had been. He recognised them instantly as belonging to their parent.

 "Looks to me like you're not going to be Dad's favourite person…..."

"Oh and why's that?" they recognised instantly the deep timbre of their parent's voice. All groaned and closed theirs eyes then turned round wearing identical expressions of guilt.

Jeff Tracy strained his neck to try and see past what they were effectively blocking from him when his eyes lit on the pile of sodden garments on the floor.

"What the heck……my shirts….and what's this?" he held up a sweater that no longer had any particular colour to it and had shrunken to an interesting shape an anorexic orang-utan would have been proud of, then noticed it wasn't alone as more of his clothing surfaced sporting a similar shade of sludge.

"It's not just yours; ours are the same too." came the defensive comment from Gordon.

"Well that's alright then; isn't it."

Then he cast another glance at his shirts, and grimaced.

"But you like pink."

"Are you trying to be funny?"

Gordon shrugged, "No sir." then holding up the pair of jockey shorts he said, "but if you've taken to wearing these then your sense of humours not altogether lost, so a pink shirt shouldn't faze you."

And for only the second time in their lives they were witness to their parent going a fine shade of cerise. "You didn't think I'd wear them eh son? Well I did it for just that reason now if you've all finished having your sport, you can try and salvage this mess later; lunch is getting cold."

For some reason this didn't have the desired effect he was expecting, considering the indecent haste they normally exerted to get to the dinner table.

He watched them drag their heels out of the laundry room then quickly thrust the shorts on the pile of irreparably damaged clothing, making a mental vow to book a front row seat for when Alan discovered what his brothers had done to his wardrobe. This thought made the laughter lines around his eyes increase considerably.