I thought this day might never come!

Over eight years ago I started writing this silly little fic about how easily Alan can wind Scott up. I got all but the final chapter done, and then Real Life side-lined me so completely that I genuinely thought it might be incomplete forever. I'm so relieved that I've finally got it finished! This is a red-letter day!

This may be a no-brainer, but I strongly recommend that anyone picking this up starts at the beginning again. It's not a long read, and it's the only way that this last chapter will make any sense. D'oh, sorry, I know you know how to read fics…!

It's so nice to be hanging out with Scott and Alan again, I've really enjoyed it :) Thank you so so much for joining me.

Chapter 6

The stereo blared. The moon could just be seen shining brightly between the curtains. And Alan's stomach ached from laughing.

He sat on the couch, so tired that he felt reduce to the sum of his parts; an awkward collection of teenage arms and legs and miscellaneous, all now turned to lead by fatigue.

But it was so funny. His exhaustion was funny. His companions were funny. The coffee table was so funny. The inebriated Cam was sitting on the floor in front of him, and had spent a full five minutes attempting to tell a joke that she couldn't quite remember, and she routinely fell about laughing from remembering the punch-line, then from telling a part of it wrong, then from losing her place altogether, then from his hysterics in the face of the whole sorry affair.

"No, wait, wait," she gasped for breath, "did I say there was two of them in the boat? That's important later. There's two, not one, forget I said one."

"I'd like to forget the whole damn thing," Alan coughed on laughter again, sliding sideways on the couch without the strength to both hold himself upright and breathe at the same time. "Cam please, you have to stop. The actual joke can't possibly measure up to the attempt at telling it. You should just quit while you're ahead."

"No no, you're going to love this. Now, where was I…?"

"You were going to go and get me a drink Cam, it's you're round." It seemed that the coffee table made the demand, but Alan had an explanation when lifted his head just enough to see Jez's shoes poking out from the other side of it. He giggled again.

Cam was unfazed. "Fine fine, but when I get back I'm finishing this joke if it kills me. And all of you too."

Alan groaned at his still-spasming stomach muscles and lay back flat on the couch to stretch them. It gave him a perfect view of the other, smaller couch a few feet away, which also faced inwards to the coffee table. Ben and Scott were ensconced on said couch, nursing sodas with heads close together as they spoke back and forth. From Ben's arm slung around Scott's shoulder it looked like it could be a pep-talk, but Alan sincerely hoped it wasn't because his brother's expression would indicate it wasn't going well… He had the look of amused irritation that Alan now came to associate with Ben's presence. But he wasn't fooled: it wasn't so far from the face Scott pulled when his brothers were in the mood to bug him and he was in the mood to take it. There was a lot of affection there.

Alan sighed contentedly as he cushioned his head with his arm and assessed his brother closer. It had been fun to watch Scott get a little silly, to watch his internal perception of his ever-present responsibilities bob beneath a tide of recklessness, just for a little while. And the fact that Scott had been able to cut loose even with his littlest brother in tow was something that Alan took as a compliment. He would never have said it out-loud, but he was glad not to have let Scott down given the trust he'd shown him.

And he was definitely going to name his first daughter Linda, he thought lazily as he let his eyes drift closed... God bless that lovely, scary bouncer lady…

"…and that's why they call me Big Ben," came the triumphant end to the story. Scott tried to fight the laughter that threatened to seize his middle, and failed. He'd been sulking since they got home, his booze-soaked brain unable to get over the injustice of his missed opportunity with Beth. But Ben had refused to let him dwell on it, and in his own less-than-subtle style he had jollied him along until he was distracted enough to forget about it.

Well, mostly forget about it... The buzz of the lust and adrenaline had settled to an irritating itch in the back of his mind. He was looking forward to the morning when sobriety would put paid to it completely. He didn't generally like to drink as much as he had tonight, but between Ben's rounds and Beth's mission with the shots, he'd let himself get caught up more than usual.

But so what? he thought warmly as he sighed with contentment. It hadn't done any harm, and they'd all had a great time. If the hysterics from across the room before were anything to go by, then the good times were still going on. He smiled across at his youngest brother, now dozing gently on the other couch. The make-up was still caked on across his eyes; Scott wasn't even sure how to remove something to resilient.

Drunken Cam stumbled back towards the group with a couple of cold drinks, and the klutz managed to tip a good measure over his snoozing brother, the presence of the couch having apparently pulled her up short. He frowned with deep irritation as Alan jumped, and he looked for somewhere to put down his soda so he could go and sort Cam out. She was such a pain when she got this drunk…

But Alan just shot her a grin and flicked his soggy fingers back at her face, splashing her lightly. Some mutual face-pulling, and she was off again, successfully steering past the edge of the couch and staggering over to pester Jez instead.

Scott smiled gently, sitting back again and watching as Alan's fatigue finally claimed him and his brother's eyes closed heavily. He wondered vaguely when this mellower Alan had come along anyway. Instinct told him that he hadn't seen the last of his favourite hot-head, but it was an interesting – and somewhat reassuring – development.

"This is a good song!" Ben called the exclamation to no-one in particular, toasting the room with his soda.

"That must be tonight's goddamn catchphrase," Scott closed his eyes and rolled his head back on the couch. After tonight he was going to sit in silence for a full month, and he was going to love it.

Ben ignored him as usual, seizing the remote and increasing the stereo volume just a little further. Again. "Who knew that someone with such a severe haircut could have such an acceptable music collection? Fortunate you came to Oxford when you did, clearly I rubbed off on you at the critical moment."

"Ben, you have a way with words that turns my stomach."

"Scott!" It was Cam. "I can't find my shoes!" Oh brother…

Ben laughed happily, "Called it. Didn't I call it? But sadly my clairvoyance is not what it was." His arm was jamming itself around Scott's shoulder again, but the older Tracy brother kept his eyes closed. Maybe if he played dead, Ben would stop talking for once… "Young Mr Tracy's failure to vomit and to score have completely loused up my success rates. Touché, young Mr Tracy. Your decision to spite me by become a grown-up is hurtful. But as you know, Talisker heals all wounds."

Scott heard the tell-tale glug of more whiskey hitting Ben's glass, but it made him smile more than anything. Jerk. He had every intention of proving his friend entirely wrong, and he would start by keeping his eyes closed and his head still and resisting the orbital pull of his still-spinning brain.

Someone inched the volume on the stereo up a little higher again, but a peek over at the other couch told him that Alan didn't stir. He really was out for the count. Cam bumbled around, looking for her shoes that Scott now felt fairly confident were on the sidewalk outside Blackjack's. Ben struck up a conversation with Jez about a TV show they mutually worshipped. Everything was warmth and hum of a good party getting going.

BANG BANG BANG

The sharp raps at the door hit Scott like frigid water. He sprung bolt-upright, causing his head to swim uncomfortably again. His friends fell silent, eying each other, daring each other to be the first to laugh.

BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG

Scott swore as he leapt up from the couch, ignoring his companions' 'ooo's – the international signal for "you're in trouble". What time was it, anyway? How loud had they got? He hadn't been concentrating, he should have controlled it better.

He pulled the door open, and for a second he didn't recognise the woman in the hall. The blonde hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, the towel robe looked like it wasn't intended for prime time. Belatedly he realised it was the absence of her long fake eyelashes that was throwing him off.

"Debbie –"

"I am livid with you, Scott! You know I'm working earlies!" Debbie wasted no time, and as usual her voice carried. Her eyebrows – thin without their usual cosmetic enhancement – were drawn into the most severe frown he'd ever seen on her. In fact - Scott cringed to realise it - the only frown he'd seen on her. This woman only ever had kindness for him. She didn't deserve this disrespect.

"Debbie, you're right, I'm so sorry." Scott felt failure in the face of her justified anger, and went into overdrive. "We got caught up, I didn't realise –"

"It's bloody ridiculous, is what it is," she yelled back at him, "I'm supposed to be out by half five, I'm gonna feel like death at this rate."

Scott glared over his shoulder, "You wanna shut off that noise?", and someone finally reduced the volume of the stereo. Debbie glared at all of them once more for good measure, then made to go. But Scott couldn't entertain leaving it there and followed her into the hall, catching her arm.

"No Debbie, wait, don't go, I am so sorry."

"So you should be." She still had an edge to her voice and a glare in her eye, but she didn't pull away at least.

"You're right, you're so right. I should have had a better handle on these idiots." He stepped a little closer, inviting confidentiality. "Can I tell you a secret? I think they've been drinking."

He saw her try to fight the humour, try to keep glowering at him, and he slid her a contrite, tentative smile to make sure she couldn't pull it off. She shook her head as she regrouped.

"Scott, believe me, I'm not a party-stopper. Any other night of the week, I'm a party-starter."

She might have pulled off the gear-shift from furious to playful if she hadn't pulled absently at her tatty robe at the same time. It was cute, and he grinned charmingly, "Oh, I believe you."

"Yeah, well," Debbie seemed at a loss, looking back down towards her apartment. He suddenly remembered that she must be exhausted, and he felt awful all over again. He was determined to make this up to her.

"Debs, don't go. You have to stay for a nightcap."

"What? No, I can't," she pulled self-consciously on her ponytail. "I need my beauty sleep."

Scott raised an eyebrow, "I don't think so." His appreciative glance was not subtle, and he blamed the alcohol. But also he reasoned that Debbie probably wasn't one for subtlety in general. He smiled again, eyes on hers, trying to tempt her into forgiving him. She glanced towards his apartment, looking torn.

"Come on, Debs, you're the guest of honour. You were our hero tonight. Alan never would have got into the club if it wasn't for you." He believed it, and a wave of gratitude mixed with his guilt. She really had saved the day. He had to win her over. "I need to thank you. Please, come in, have a drink with me."

She lowered her eyes, smiling gently, and he knew he was almost there. His hand was still on her arm and moved his thumb gently against her.

"You were only saying earlier about a pyjama party. Look, you're even in your pyjamas, it's perfect." He threw her his absolutely-special-occasion-most-charming-smile-ever smile. "I'll go put mine on too, if it'll help?"

She snorted and swatted his arm, grinning. Then she held a talon-tipped finger up to him.

"One drink."

"Yesss," he fist-pumped in his enthusiasm, eliciting a laugh from her. Okay, so he was still a little drunk. But it seemed to be keeping her entertained and in a forgiving mood, so what the hell. He guided her into the apartment and closed the door.

"Debbie, these are the idiots I told you about. Idiots, this is Debbie."

"Nice bunny slippers." Ben's opening line was as politic as ever. Scott glared as he steered Debbie into the kitchen to get a drink.

Ben perched on the coffee table, leaning towards Debbie with suspicion.

"What do you mean, never?"

"Never ever. Never needed to," she threw him a wink and snorted a loud laugh.

"Ben, of course Debbie's never used that sleezy dating app," Scott reached forward for his glass again. "She's not slimy, like some people I know."

Since she'd arrived, everything in Scott's body language singled Debbie out for preferential treatment. He'd opened a new bottle of rum cocktail to make her drink. He'd liberated the good cushion from under Jez's snoozing head to make her more comfortable on the couch beside him. And now he was leaning forward, placing himself almost physically between her and whatever Ben might say next.

Ben sighed sympathetically. "I feel for you, Debbie." He jerked a thumb towards Scott, "This one moved in down the corridor and there went the neighbourhood. Same thing happened to me at uni, between you and me. And unfortunately, I'm so delightful that he keeps coming back."

Debbie's laugh was as shrill as ever, but somehow Scott was finding it charming in its familiarity tonight. Their unlikely hero.

"Debbie doesn't need your opinions on this," he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, presenting a unified opposition to Ben. "She has excellent taste in neighbours."

Debbie shrugged, looking delighted, "What can I say? He wears nice jumpers."

"Nice jumpers," Scott concurred, nodding pointedly at Ben.

"Well, there's no accounting for taste," Ben sighed and drained his glass. His phone chimed a notification. "Ah ha, that's our cue. Cam, Jez, taxi's here!"

Getting Cam and Jez conscious and to the door was a laborious affair; they did not want to be awake and Ben had his work cut out for him. Scott would usually have helped, but honestly he was feeling pretty cosy where he was. He snuggled Debbie a little closer as he enjoyed the chaos. Let someone else deal with it for once.

The thought was deliciously selfish, and Scott couldn't help but laugh at Ben as he cajoled his wards into the hall. His final view of the circus leaving town was Ben flipping him the bird through the gap in the closing doorway. Then the comparative silence closed around them and he smiled down and Debbie, raising an eyebrow.

"And then there were two."

"Three, at last count," she laughed and pointed towards the other couch. Scott's eyes followed her gesture over to the still form of his sleeping brother. Sleep, right. Sensible… She had work tomorrow. He should set his brother up a more robust bed. All good stuff, all necessary. He should be sensible.

But Scott found instead that he was appraising his brother's likelihood of waking in the next hour or two. Scott didn't want to be sensible.

"At a glance I'd say he's in orbit," Scott's eyes sparked naughtily as they slid back from Alan to Debbie. "Which means there's only you and me here."

The music was soft from the stereo, but it seemed thick in the air. Thick and succulent, and it thrilled through the living room as he leaned in closer to her. After the lousy turn the evening had taken, he felt sheer, fuzzy contentment as he looked into the pretty face smiling up at him. Contentment and desire…

His brother was crashed out on the couch, dead to the world. The others had left. His fingers gently brushed her cheek and she turned her face to the touch, so sensual and telling… Excitement gripped him and he leaned in to seize her lips, confidently ignoring the voice in the back of his head telling him that this was a terrible, terrible idea…

Alan's eyelids twitched against the steadily brightening sunlight. He moaned slightly against the warm but unwelcome intrusion, to no avail. The blinds hadn't been closed the night before, so the rising sun was coming in to join him. He was far from a naturally early riser, but jetlag and his unfamiliar surroundings wouldn't let him drift off again. He sighed with fatigued irritation: he was officially awake.

He scowled his annoyance at Scott's living room ceiling, but not for long. His mind wandered through the previous evening's events, and soon he found himself grinning with relaxed satisfaction. Yesterday had been a textbook Fantastic Day. His prank on Scott had gone beautifully; he'd run with a crown ten-years older than him; he'd danced like a demon. And mustn't forget, he chided himself with a grin, that extremely satisfying encounter outside the restrooms…

He gave a self-conscious chuckle and raised himself to sitting before he could begin to relive that fantastic kiss. Not smart, on Scott's living room couch. Time enough later.

It didn't take Alan long to access Scott's home IT network and sync his cell phone games with the TV, and within moments he was blasting zombies with an efficiency that belied his fatigue. He sunk lower into his slouch against the cushions and wondered how long he could continue before sleep returned.

But then he heard something that made his dulled senses re-focus. A woman's laugh. Muffled and brief, but definitely there. Alan turned his eyes slowly to the source: Scott's closed bedroom door.

Definitely there. And definitely familiar…

He spun his head back to the TV just in time as the door flung open, and the woman herself strode out with some energy.

"Aw, mornin' gorgeous," she cooed as she passed the couch, attempting to ruffle his hair on her way and succeeding only in pulling on the gelled spikes a little uncomfortably.

"Hey, morning," Alan smiled broadly, wide eyes fixed to the TV. He heard the apartment door open and he stole a glance at her as she left. Ratty robe, hair tousled, and a serious strut in her step. Go Debbie.

Alan clenched his jaw against the threatening hysterics, breathing carefully to keep control. He hadn't heard Scott's bedroom door close again. He stole a glance back and it nearly undid him: Scott's dishevelled form leaned against the doorframe, holding his robe around him with one hand and rubbing his closed eyes with the other. He did not look well. Sure, his bristled face was pale and clammy from the drink, but mostly he was mortification personified.

Alan's eyes returned to the TV, but he had a new game now: how long could he hold in the inevitable? His breathing was already pretty ragged, so probably not long.

After a moment he felt his brother sit gingerly beside him, taking out his own cell and tagging into the game without a word. They played in silence for a few minutes, but it was clear that it couldn't last; Alan was nearly hyperventilating.

"Don't say a word."

Alan was in fits before Scott could even finish the sentence. He slid prone on the couch and howled with laughter, while Scott paused the zombies to rub his face with his hands again. Maybe if he kept rubbing, somehow he could wipe away the last few decisions he'd made.

Alan went on laughing for a while. Frankly Scott thought he was milking it, but he knew when he had no upper hand and he endured the derision with a quiet grimace, eyes closed against the sunlight. It was too bright. Illegally bright.

"Wow," Alan eventually choked out, sitting up with some difficulty as his chuckles continued. "Wow, wow."

"Alan, don't."

"I did not see that coming."

"Neither did I."

"She blindsided you, huh?" Alan's eyebrows climbed in surprised approval, and he reactivated the game. "Impressive. So, please: walk me through how you'll convince her you're not interested now."

Scott gave an embarrassed cough, and winced as a twinge in his chest reminded him of last night's cigarettes. "Actually, that may not be necessary. She was giving me the spiel about 'casual' and 'it's not you it's me' before she left."

The game was once again forgotten as laughter gripped Alan once more. The indignity was too perfect. Between gasps he forced out, "You slept – you slept with your stalker – and it put her off?"

Scott exploded a zombie with chagrin, "What can I say? I only remember half of it. I can't have been bringing my A-game."

Alan howled again, wiped tears from his eyes. "Ouch. Maybe she'll let you try again to save your reputation. Or maybe she can teach you a thing or two."

"Alan, cut it out," Scott frowned as he lowered his cell. "This isn't good. This isn't right." He glanced uncomfortably at his younger brother out of the corner of his eye. "I don't want you –"

But he faltered, not finding the words, and lay back to stare at the ceiling with a sigh. Alan felt a twinge of sympathy as he understood: this could have been much worse, and Scott didn't want his brother emulating any of it.

Alan rose to sitting again, still smiling. "Don't worry, Scott, you don't always need to be a great example for us. Sometimes you can be a terrifying warning."

For a moment Scott didn't respond. But then he rolled his head sideways to look at Alan properly, checking for sincerity in the back-handed statement. Alan met his gaze with an affectionate grin, and Scott returned a wry smile before dropping his eyes with lingering awkwardness.

Alan hoped that Scott's self-chastisement wouldn't be too severe, at least in regard to his little brother's front-row seat to his misstep. Of course, living this down was not an option and the teasing would go on for literally years, but Alan decided to throw him a line:

"Hey," he caught his brother's shoulder with an encouraging hand, "at least you didn't throw up."

Scott brightened as realisation sank in; Ben had been wrong about that, at least.

"Hey, you're right. That's something," Scott's smile was a little stronger this time, and he cocked a bleary eye at Alan. "I'll take it, anyway. Any port in a storm, little brother."

"Another amazing life tip from Scott Tracy," Alan settled back to the zombies. "You should shower, you smell."

Scott also raised his cell phone and joined the fight. "Well, I can fix a little BO. But what are you going to do about your unfortunate face?

Alan was unfazed, "This face was irresistible to some last night."

"Don't make me hurl."

"Ben would love it if you did." Alan dispatched another zombie and Scott winced at the volume of the gunshot.

"Ben's got issues."

Alan threw a grenade into a zombie group and watched the resultant carnage with dispassion. "I'm starving, Scott. Where are these full English breakfasts I've heard so much about?"

Scott rolled his head back on the couch again, letting his character fall to zombie onslaught, "Mmm. Blood pudding. That'll kill me or cure me, it's fifty-fifty."

"I like those odds."

Scott covered his eyes with his arm, "There's a place down the street. We'll go after I drink the coffee that you're going to make for me."

Alan rolled his eyes, pausing the game and standing to comply at least with efficiency, if not with good grace, "Pfft. Some host you are."

"I didn't invite you," Scott countered lightly, arm still protecting his eyes from the sunshine.

"Scott, I don't get you," Alan's voice was suddenly gentle and unsure. Scott frowned, concerned, and looked over to find his brother near the kitchen door.

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Alan half-shrugged, looking away, "I just don't understand why you'd – Why you'd –"

Scott felt a pang, "Why I'd what?"

"Why you'd, you know," Alan raised an eyebrow and gestured to his cell phone, "risk annoying a guy who has video evidence of drunk you were last night."

Scott's eyes narrowed. His relief at being had again was tempered with a justified wariness, "You wouldn't."

Alan didn't answer. But Scott felt that for a sleep-deprived teenager wearing last night's clothes and fading smudged goth make-up, his brother's smile sure looked depressingly confident.

Then he winked, disappearing into the kitchen, "Breakfast is on you, right?"

Scott slid prone onto the couch, welcoming the darkness as the cushions pushed into his face. It was going to be a long week.

THE END