Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
Other-Gordon didn't start talking until the engine was running.
"You still okay to keep going?"
"I'm fine." It came out sharper than it was supposed to, and he winced.
"If that's what you say." Other-Gordon sounded dubious, but didn't press the matter, to Scott's relief. "Can't say I blame you. This is crazy enough for me; I can't imagine how bad it is for you."
"Don't tell them." Other-Scott had already caught him on the edge of an outburst once, and they'd all seen him explode in the hangar, but Scott needed to seem at least somewhat in control.
Especially in front of Not-Dad.
Amber eyes analysed him for a moment. "The fellas won't think less of you for it, Scott." The words hung in the air, Scott not bothering to respond despite Other-Gordon giving him the opportunity, and the ginger sighed. "Scott should know, in case something gets out about it. Madeleine's discreet enough, but…"
Scott swallowed, but saw the sense in that.
"Besides, I fully intend on sending him out to collect all the clothes, so he'll find out anyway." There was a grin on Other-Gordon's face that Scott subconsciously labelled trouble. He'd seen it enough on his own Gordon's face to know that Other-Scott was in for a prank or two. "You can't talk in public and it'd look mighty odd for the rest of us to be picking them up."
That definitely made sense.
"So where to next?" he asked, deciding to change the subject rather than let that one linger. Other-Gordon rolled his eyes.
"We might as well get your workman's clothes out of the way," he said. "Luckily for you, I do know somewhere we can get those."
He put his foot down and the car started moving, rolling out of the parking lot and onto the main streets again.
"Say," he continued. "What was with the poke?"
It took Scott a moment to remember what he was referring to, the fiasco of the fitting rooms having almost pushed it from his mind.
"To get your attention," he said. "Don't you guys do that?"
"The fellas do," Other-Gordon admitted. "But not to me." The words were laced with an undercurrent of bitterness, reminding Scott of their discussions about the rescues he was kept off of. "They tap me on the arm." Scott frowned.
"They think you're that fragile?"
The man shrugged. "Father does." There was a heavy pause. "It's strange. It's not as though you don't know about the crash, but you don't treat me any different to the other fellas."
Scott kept his eyes on the road in front of them. "From what I can tell, you're just as fit as my Gordon," he said. "He'd make my life hell if I treated him like he was broken. Well, I did, at first," he admitted. "When he was in hospital, and then through the physio afterwards. I… I was terrified something would go wrong." He'd never told anyone that before, but Other-Gordon… Something told him Other-Gordon needed to hear it. "But he wasn't having any of it." A fond grin crept onto his face uninvited, but he didn't try and force it away. "Gordon's tough, stronger than the rest of us put together, probably. I won't lie, it took me a while, but I trust him to know his limits. If he's having a bad day, if he can't go out, he tells me. Otherwise…" he shrugged. "He can handle it."
Other-Gordon's hands were tight on the wheel.
"I've only known you a few hours," he continued. "So maybe I'm wrong, but you seem just as strong. I figure if something's too much, you'll say."
"Well, I do know my own limits," the ginger agreed. "You know, I'd almost forgotten what a jab in the ribs felt like." Scott glanced across to see his lips pulled into a grin. "Who knows, maybe the fellas could learn a thing or two while you're here."
Scott laughed, unsure if the unspoken message was simply permission or a plea, but hearing it anyway. "Maybe."
Silence lingered between them for a moment, scoring a line under that enlightening conversation. Scott was glad for it – in many respects, most respects, Other-Gordon was still a stranger. Telling him things he'd never even told his own family, even if he was fairly certain Gordon suspected more than he let on, felt decidedly weird. He didn't regret it, though, because even if Other-Gordon was basically a stranger, he was also Gordon.
Trying to wrap his head around that idea was definitely a challenge.
The fact that Scott had got the feeling he'd needed to hear it made him wonder exactly what Other-Gordon's relationship with his family was. Father does, he'd said. No mention of his brothers. Just how much did Not-Dad rule the roost?
"We're nearly there," Other-Gordon said, interrupting his chain of thought. "Custom is going to be tricky without you talking, so give me the run-down now. Blue?"
"Are you guessing that based on the last shop or on what your Scott likes?" Scott asked.
"Both. Am I right?" He was still gathering information. Then again, Scott was, too.
"You're right," he confirmed. "Something easy to move in, too."
Other-Gordon let out a chuckle as he pulled into a parking lot. Scott missed the name of the place. "The fellas are gonna have something to say when they see it," he mused. Scott raised an eyebrow at him; he hadn't forgotten the ginger's own reaction to the idea. "Well, we should be able to get the jeans and hoodie here."
"Sounds good." Scott was already impatient for the trip to be over. It had nothing to do with Other-Gordon – his company was about as good as he could have expected to get – and everything to do with the ill-timed realisation of his situation. He watched Other-Gordon get out of the car, focusing on the lever on how it operated, before mimicking the movement on the lever his side. Other-Gordon looked amused when he finished his walk around the car to see him extracting himself.
"I should have figured you wouldn't need help a second time," he commented. "But remember, you lost a bet and don't want to be here. Try not to look too enthusiastic."
"Decided on the bet, yet?" Scott asked him, and Other-Gordon sent him a look. From the gleam in his eye, he knew exactly what bet had supposedly been lost, and it was not going to be something either he or Other-Scott was happy about. That look was dangerous on Gordon, and it was no doubt equally so on the ginger in front of him. "Going to tell me?"
The grin said no, he wasn't. Scott sighed.
"If we're going to hit the paparazzi, it'll be here," Other-Gordon told him instead. "Remember, head down, mouth shut, let me do all the talking."
Scott nodded, remembering Other-Scott saying something similar back on the island. Gordon can handle the paparazzi.
"And Scott," the aquanaut continued, his voice quieter. Calmer, reminiscent of the fitting rooms at Lemaires'. "If you need to get out, tap me four times." It was Scott's turn to give the younger man a look; after the almost disaster with the shirts, a signal was a good idea, but knowing that Other-Gordon thought they needed to establish one implied that he wasn't hiding his unease as well as he was hoping.
"Four for Four?" At least it was easy to remember, on the chance he would need it. He sincerely hoped not.
"Four for Four," Other-Gordon confirmed, a small grin on his face, before that grin transformed back into the amused cat got the cream of a younger brother who'd got one over on an older brother and was entirely too satisfied about it.
In a way, Scott supposed he had. It didn't make him any happier about it, and the wary looks he was sending the younger man weren't entirely for show as Other-Gordon confidently led the way to the front door of the shop and strode in as though he owned it. Scott was left with no choice but to trail behind him and try to ignore the gawks of what looked like the entire shop.
The stunned silence appeared to have blanketed over everyone, all eyes on the two Tracys making their way to the nearest salesperson, and it was several long seconds before anyone else in the shop moved. Hissed words accompanied the hubbub as life slowly trickled back into the shop. Scott was certain he heard Tracys muttered in an astonished undertone.
This really wasn't their usual shop, it appeared. That was a pain, because as Scott looked around, he could see that the clothes here looked the most like the clothes he liked. Polos and jeans lined the shelves, and Scott immediately flagged multiple that he'd willingly wear.
Not being allowed to talk was suddenly a real pain.
"Mr Tracy and Mr Tracy, what an unexpected pleasure!" The salesman Other-Gordon had beelined for was doing little to cover his surprise, which worked in Scott's favour as the title put him on edge, but Other-Gordon just flashed him a grin.
"Mr Tracy would be our father. Call me Gordon, and this is Scott," he corrected, much to Scott's relief. He'd never got used to being called Mr Tracy.
"As you wish, Gordon, Scott," the man – his name tag said George – adjusted. He still looked a little star struck. "What would bring the illustrious Tracys to our shop?"
Gordon's grin widened, if that was even possible. "This fella thought it'd be smart to bet I couldn't beat the whole family in billiards," he announced, loud enough that the whole shop no doubt heard it. Scott sent him a glare – he was better than Gordon at the game, and he suspected that held true in this universe as well. Other-Gordon wouldn't be so gleeful otherwise. "The loser got a wardrobe makeover of the winner's choice." He shrugged. "I won, so Scott here needs some new clothes, if you could help with that?"
"But of course," George scrambled to say. "What would you be after?"
"Well, Scott's wardrobe is lacking in jeans, for the first." He made it sound natural, not quite alienating the people shopping there while making it perfectly clear that Tracys didn't normally wear them. "And I think one or two of your polos would be just the thing."
Scott started – he'd never said polos. Other-Gordon must have caught him looking at them.
"Gee, no need to look quite so horrified, Scott," the ginger commented. "George here might think you don't want them!" He turned back to the man, who still looked rather out of his depth. "Poor fella lost his voice last night, so he can't make his own comments."
Scott rolled his eyes, and the ginger beamed.
"Luckily for him, I know exactly what he needs!"
"Right, of course," the unfortunate George stammered. "If you'd like to follow me, then… sirs?"
"Lead the way," Other-Gordon invited, and they were led into something that looked a lot like it was normally an office, and not open to the general public. It was a far cry from the lavish customer furnishings of the last place.
"What would you like to look at first?" George clearly had no idea which Tracy he was supposed to be addressing, from the way his eyes kept flicking between them. Scott decided to have a little pity on the man and leaned backwards, effectively removing himself from the conversation. Other-Gordon helped by leaning forwards, drawing more attention to himself.
"I think the jeans would be a good place to start. Could you fetch some examples?" he prompted.
"Of course. What size would you like to try?"
Other-Gordon answered without hesitation, leaving Scott to assume he had his brother's sizes memorised, and George all but fled from the room, leaving the two of them alone. The door closed, and immediately Other-Gordon pressed up next to him.
"Which polos were you looking at?" he asked, quietly.
Scott told him, before raising a quizzical eyebrow. "You're not complaining?"
"Aw, polos aren't so bad. Scott has one or two himself, you know. Besides, I'd say it makes the story more convincing if we get a full outfit or two from here."
He had a point.
The door opened again, and George entered, one arm laden with jeans. Well, they all looked the right size at least. With any luck, they wouldn't need fitting.
Scott could live in hope.
"Do any of these suit?" the sales assistant asked, hanging them up one after the other on a rack against the wall. Scott eyed them all, suspecting that Other-Gordon was more likely to be paying attention to his reactions than the clothes themselves.
None of them were exactly like he was used to, but he supposed that was to be expected, considering the overall differences between the universes – and he was not going to think too hard on that one right now. Instead, they seemed to be geared more towards being form-fitting, not quite 'skinny', but definitely a lot tighter than the ones he wore at home. A couple of styles even seemed to be flared at the hem, a design that hadn't been in fashion since Grandma's time, and looked completely useless for doing any sort of exercise in without tripping over them.
He dismissed those immediately.
"You know, Scott, you've got to pick at least one," Other-Gordon drawled. "A forfeit's a forfeit, you know."
So Other-Gordon was going to let him take the silent lead on this one? That made it easier, if nothing else. Scott stepped forwards, sorting through them one at a time until he found a pair that looked like they wouldn't completely constrict his movement, and took it off of the rail.
"There is a changing room just through that door, if you'd like to try them on," George offered, gesturing at a door set into the far wall. Scott nodded, and started to head for it. Movement from Other-Gordon made him pause, and he glanced at the ginger to see a querying look on his face.
Right. Last time he'd been out of the other man's sight, he'd had a panic attack. Other-Gordon had good reason to be cautious, but Scott didn't feel any warning signs of an impending one this time, so he shot him a reassuring grin before opening the door and walking through.
The door clicked shut behind him, and Scott waited a split second to make sure he didn't suddenly descend into panic – not that he planned on calling Other-Gordon if he did; once was more than enough – before hurrying to get changed. The jeans were infinitely more comfortable than Other-Scott's slacks, but that was to be expected. Scott wasn't particularly fond of slacks.
They also fit pretty much perfectly. No ankles showing, but also not falling to the floor and getting caught underfoot. Other-Gordon also clearly did know his brother's waist size, because it wasn't too tight or falling down. The only problem was that they were a little tighter, particularly around the thighs, than he was used to, but that looked to just be a universal difference he'd just have to get used to.
Or hopefully not, because he wanted to go home sooner rather than later. His family must have discovered his disappearance by now and-
He cut that train of thought right there. There was going to be no more breakdowns in changing rooms, so he busied himself with making one last assessment of the jeans before pushing the door back open.
Other-Gordon was looking straight at the door, George nowhere in sight, and Scott knew he didn't imagine the flash of relief on his face before amber eyes flicked down to the jeans.
"George went to start picking up polos," he explained. "Everything alright?"
That was an obviously double-layered question, and Scott answered both with a single nod.
"Fabulous," Other-Gordon grinned. "You'll need more than one pair, though. Different colours of that one or different styles?"
Open-ended questions needed verbal answers; Scott glanced at the door leading to the rest of the store – still closed – before answering.
"Mostly colours," he said. "If there's another style that fits, I'll take that, but I think this is the closest I'll get. Not perfect, but…" He shrugged.
"Alright," Other-Gordon nodded. "The rack's still there, if you want to take another gander." Well, there was no harm in that, even if Scott was dubious about finding any more practical ones amongst the too-tight and flared-hem designs dominating the selection.
There wasn't. Maybe that was Scott also just wanting this trip to be over with, even if it meant speeding up his next no doubt probing conversation with one of the Other-Tracys, but he didn't like the look of any of the others. He said as much to Other-Gordon, who took on that calculating look that was quickly becoming familiar, and not just because he'd seen it on Gordon too many times to count. Another piece in the puzzle for the ginger. Scott wondered what sort of picture he was putting together.
He also didn't want to know.
"You'll need quite a few of that one, if that's the case," Other-Gordon reminded him. "We can get you more later, if we can convince Scott to pretend he likes the clothes after all, but I'd say you need five or six."
Scott nodded, but hoped they wouldn't need to get more. He knew Other-John had said it could take years – a prediction that had something uncomfortable curling in his gut if he thought about it, because if time moved linearly in both universes then that was years with his family not knowing what had happened to him, just like with Dad but worse, and he couldn't do that to them. He couldn't. They'd hold it together because his little brothers were strong, but it would hurt them. It would hurt them so, so much.
"So, colours." Other-Gordon's voice cut through his thoughts, dragging him back to the room and the jeans and away from the thoughts running rampart through his head. From the look on the other man's face, he'd noticed that his mind had wandered. Scott still wasn't sure if he liked how easily Other-Gordon seemed to be able to read him, but he supposed that was better than another breakdown.
He really had to get a grip.
"We should ask how many shades of blue these chaps can offer," the aquanaut continued as the door opened. "I'd suppose there's quite the variety."
"We do have a variety of colours available," George assured them, now carrying a stack of polos in various shades and colours. Some of them made Scott's eyes water just to look at them. "Have you found anything?"
"I'd say what he's wearing looks jolly good," Other-Gordon said. "What shades of blue can you do on those?"
"Well, we have five shades available," the sales assistant said. "I would have to check how many are in stock in Mr- er, Scott's size."
"He'll have one of each," Other-Gordon said. "If they're not in stock, you can order them in, can't you?"
"Of course! It may take some time for them to arrive, but we can definitely arrange that."
Other-Gordon grinned. Scott swallowed back against threatening thoughts about time. "Fabulous! Now, how about those polos?"
At the full force of a Gordon who knew exactly what he wanted and how he was going to get it – Scott pitied George for that; Other-Gordon was proving to be as much of an occasional bulldozer as Gordon when it suited him and was definitely enjoying the lack of a restraining older brother stopping him – the man had little choice but to lay the offerings out for the pair of them to look at.
Scott instantly dismissed the ones that hurt his eyes to look at. Unlike the jeans, which despite being made of denim and therefore technically still jeans were cut in styles that were nothing like the ones he was used to, the polos looked a lot more familiar. He had no qualms about trimming the selection by the colours of the examples he was being shown, even if that was a shallow reason.
He still didn't want to be there. He wanted to be on the island – preferably his Tracy Island, in his universe, and not stuck here trying to find clothes for his inevitably long stay in a world where strangers wore his family's names, personalities, and even looks.
"This one?" Other-Gordon cut in again, appearing beside him and reaching for a blue one he hadn't pushed aside yet. Scott blinked and realised his hands had stilled on the rack. Sharp amber eyes were watching him carefully, one of the man's arms close enough to his hand that he'd brush it if he moved his fingers the right way.
Scott purposefully didn't touch, keeping an inch or so of air between them in a clear but silent message to Other-Gordon. He was not giving up on the trip. Instead he poked and prodded at the polo in question. It looked worth a try, so he unhooked the hanger from the rack and let the material fall over his arm.
There was a decidedly disapproving air from the man next to him, but Other-Gordon didn't say anything. Scott didn't acknowledge it either, dragging his mind back on task and brushing through the rest of the polos on the rack until he had a sizeable pile folded over his arm.
With no excuse, Other-Gordon couldn't justify following him into the changing room, but it was abundantly obvious that he wanted to. Scott just wanted this to be over with, so when the ginger grinned at him and proclaimed that he wanted to see every single one, he glared at him.
Other-Gordon wasn't perturbed in the slightest, chivvying him towards the door and ignoring George as he stood redundantly by the dismissed polos. "For your favourite brother?" he wheedled, before a grin lit up his face. It didn't reach his eyes, but Scott could tell it was only a show for their audience anyway. "Remember, this is a forfeit, Scott!"
For my own peace of mind, that translated as. Reading the subtext behind the younger man's words was as natural as breathing to Scott, which he put down to the similarities between the two Gordons. He rolled his eyes in an attempt to persuade Other-Gordon that he was fine and not on the edge of another panic attack, before slipping back into the room and shutting the door in his face.
A little rude, and definitely coming off as ungrateful – he wasn't; he knew it came from care and if their positions were reversed he would absolutely be doing the same if he hadn't just overridden all protests and taken them back to the airport already – but Scott really didn't want to be hovered over.
The waistcoat and shirt were shrugged off, hat and sunglasses temporarily removed, before he yanked the first polo on with more aggression than the action really deserved. Scott grit his teeth. He really had to get himself back under control. Other-Gordon had good reason to be worried, and the fact that they were technically strangers was doing nothing to temper it. But then, what did he expect? He was still an operative of International Rescue.
Other-Gordon was also one of the few people in the universe that he was even vaguely comfortable around. Alienating him would do more harm than good.
With a sigh, he tugged the hat and sunglasses back on and opened the door to dutifully show the polo. It fit fine, he supposed. Not too baggy, but not restrictive, either. It was definitely better than any shirts he'd worn so far in the universe.
Unsurprisingly, Other-Gordon was more interested in his face than his clothes, clearly checking him over for signs of another spiral. Scott hoped he didn't look too terrible; whatever the other man saw, he didn't comment on.
"Well that looks pretty fine, wouldn't you say?" he said instead to George, who jumped at being suddenly addressed again and nodded vigorously.
"Very good, sir," he agreed. Scott shrugged a noncommittal agreement, remembering that he wasn't supposed to be enjoying this trip – he wasn't, but not because of the clothes – and retreated back to the changing room to try on the next.
In the end there were eight polos in the original selection, and six of them in the pile Other-Gordon was setting aside with the approved jeans. From the look on George's face, he hadn't been expecting quite so many purchases but also wasn't complaining at all. Scott wondered if sales assistants still got commissions on their sales in this universe.
"That's a fine collection." Other-Gordon looked positively gleeful, but Scott supposed that made some sense. Even if it was all a ruse, as far as the world was going to be concerned, he'd got one over on his eldest brother. In a way, he actually had, even if it had been with Other-Scott's begrudging blessing. "But I'd say there's still something missing, wouldn't you, Scott?"
Scott had started to wonder if Other-Gordon was going to try and force the shopping trip to a premature conclusion by skipping the hoodie, but to his relief it seemed as though that was still on the cards. Burying the relief behind a long history of catering to little brother whims, he just rolled his eyes and let his shoulders slump a little.
Other-Gordon beamed.
"What this needs," he told George with enough glee that Scott almost forgot he'd been dubious about the idea in the first place, "is a hoodie. Wouldn't you agree?" He wasn't looking at Scott, but rather a George who suddenly looked entirely too much like a deer in headlights.
"You- you'd like to view our hoodie collection?" he stammered, clearly believing that he'd misheard. "But…" The look he shot Scott spoke volumes, enforcing Other-Gordon's earlier proclamation that hoodies were workman's clothes and certainly nothing that someone of the Tracy's social standing would be seen dead in.
Other-Gordon's smile turned the slightest bit predatory. Scott suspected that was actually aimed at his poor brother's reputation than anyone in the room, but it didn't stop George blanching.
"He did lose a bet."
"Yes, of course." Scott really hoped they were going to compensate this poor man for the mental stress he was being put through. "Would you like me to fetch some examples?"
"I was thinking something a little more unique for my brother," Other-Gordon corrected, and Scott recalled that Other-Scott had insisted on custom made. Personally, he'd have been happy with something off the shelf if it fit and was comfortable, but as far as compromises went, it could have been a lot worse. "I heard this shop offers custom tailoring?"
"We do, but I will have to consult with my manager about hoodies," George hedged. "If you gentlemen would excuse me…" When neither of them protested, he escaped the room. Scott winced.
"They'll agree," Other-Gordon said confidently. "Money talks in places like this."
"As long as we don't give the employees a heart attack first," Scott muttered. "George seems… stressed."
Other-Gordon sighed. "With any luck, the fella will calm down once his manager's in the picture. I don't like it any more than you do, Scott, but for the sake of appearances easing up on the guy isn't an option."
Cover story. Right.
"How about you?" the aquanaut asked suddenly. "Are you going to be okay for another fitting?"
"I'm fine," Scott assured him. It came out sounding almost believable. Almost. A judging ginger eyebrow rose.
"You're as stubborn as a mule and refuse to admit when you're anything less than A-One," Other-Gordon informed him. Scott got the feeling those were Other-Scott traits he was – admittedly correctly – associating with him. "You trust me to know my limits, so it would be a mighty help if you'd show me the same courtesy."
You do realise we're on the same side? His words from Thunderbird One's hangar ran through Scott's head.
"Talk to me, Scott. You holding up?"
They had known each other barely a handful of hours. Scott was acutely aware that he trusted International Rescue to do what they could to help him, but also that that same trust was not yet cemented between him and the individuals within the organisation. Other-Gordon was the closest he'd got, mostly through exposure but also because the ginger had respected the boundaries once they'd been felt out.
That trust was still a small, fragile thing. Scott could almost see the thread in front of him, barely a hair thick and easily broken. The wrong move would snap it, and then where would he be? Both sides needed that trust to maximise their chances of getting him home.
Not that Scott was going to be blindly handing it out – Other-Alan had shown nothing but distaste for him so far, and Not-Dad brought up too many conflicting thoughts and emotions for trust to be on the cards any time soon – but to Other-Gordon?
"I can handle it," he promised. "Honestly…" he trailed off, trying to find the words and push past his natural inclination to keep the truth buried where it wouldn't worry younger brothers, but that word was enough to get Other-Gordon's back straightening. "Honestly, stopping and having to come back later would be worse." He'd take panic attacks in changing rooms over going back with the shopping half finished and having to explain the failure, especially to Not-Dad.
More than anyone else, he knew that if he showed weakness in front of Not-Dad, something would break.
"Then it's a good thing the fellas don't need us back any time soon," Other-Gordon said matter-of-factly. A hand rested on his shoulder, the touch light but there. "We can take as many breaks as you need until we're done."
Scott felt like he'd just fallen off of a cliff, hoping he had a grapple pack left to catch himself with, only for Other-Gordon to grab his hand and haul him back up. It should be disconcerting that he'd been read so easily, even with the bare bones he'd managed to share, but the overwhelming feeling of relief washed away any lingering unease.
"Thanks," he managed.
"Thank you," Other-Gordon replied, a gentle look on his face.
Meant to update this last night but forgot, whoops. The shopping trip continues, so that means one thing: more Scott&TOS!Gordon. Hope you like this duo because there's a lot of it to come :D
Thanks for reading!
Tsari