Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
Other-Virgil was just leaving his room as they turned the corner, a sketchbook in hand.
"Oh, hello there," he said. Scott didn't miss how his eyes flicked to his brother for a moment. "Successful trip?"
Scott shrugged, spreading his arms slightly to show that he wasn't wearing Other-Scott's clothes any more. "Successful enough," he said. "There's more on order, but we managed to find some things to bring back with us now."
Brown eyes, painfully familiar and just like Virgil's, glanced over his outfit. He didn't comment, but it was obvious that like Other-Scott, Other-Virgil found his idea of casual clothes to be different.
Well, at least it meant no-one was going to be muddling them up any time soon.
"That's good to hear," the man said, glancing towards his brother again. Scott glanced across as well, wondering if Other-Scott was sending him any cues. His doppelgänger seemed quite content to stay out of the conversation, although he likewise wasn't leaving them to it and carrying on to the games room without Scott. "Tin-Tin said I should talk to you," Other-Virgil continued. "She said something about appearances?"
His voice raised questioningly at the end and Scott recalled Other-Gordon making a similar suggestion back while the others had been out on the rescue.
"Appearances?" Other-Scott asked. "What does she mean by that?"
Scott sighed, realising that he hadn't mentioned to the others about the different appearances yet, and rubbed his face with one hand.
"My brothers don't look like yours," he explained. "Not as much as we look alike, anyway."
"They don't?" Other-Scott asked. "That's strange."
"Tell me about it," Scott agreed. "Gordon – your Gordon – suggested I talk to you about it," he continued, nodding at Other-Virgil. "I guess Tin-Tin got there first."
"Not 'our' Tin-Tin?" Other-Scott jumped in. "You differentiate the fellas, but not her?"
Scott shrugged. "I don't call mine 'Tin-Tin'," he explained. "We call mine Kayo."
"Kayo?" Other-Virgil asked. "That's a mighty strange name."
"You'd think her a strange woman," Scott replied. "I wouldn't say she's nothing like Tin-Tin, but the similarities are a lot more subtle than between you guys and my brothers."
"Interesting," Other-Scott commented. "You'll have to tell us about her."
Scott chuckled, remembering Tin-Tin's reaction to his attempts at describing his sister. The men were likely to be even more horrified. "At some point." He turned back to Other-Virgil. "So, did you want to do this now?"
"Whenever works for you," Other-Virgil said. "If you're busy with Scott now, we can do it later."
"He was just coming to watch me remind Gordon which one of us is the billiards champion," Other-Scott said. "You're welcome to join us if it won't disturb your concentration."
"I think I can draw with you two in the room." Other-Virgil rolled his eyes. "It wouldn't be the first time, if that's okay with Scott?"
He found himself pinned with both blue and brown eyes and wondered if this was how Gordon and Alan felt when they were on the receiving end of him and Virgil. "Sounds good," he agreed. The idea of staying in the vicinity of Other-Gordon for a while longer, as he found his feet properly with the rest of this universe's Tracy brothers, was a comforting one now that the younger man had fully proven himself on their semi-disaster of a shopping trip. He wondered if Other-Scott suspected that – whether or not he did likely depended on what, exactly, Other-Gordon had told him down in the hangar.
"Come on, then," Other-Scott said, leading the way along the hallways – Scott once again finding himself passing the door to the lounge and hoping Not-Dad wasn't going to appear – and down the stairs. "Laundry room's here," he said, pausing and sliding open a door. "You can just put them in here and Kyrano or Grandma will deal with them."
Scott padded into the room, glancing around at the contraptions that had to be washing machines, although just like everything else, they didn't look much like the technology Scott was used to. What was at least somewhat familiar was the splash of blue in an open wicker basket – while not identical to his own uniform, it was clearly this universe's IR blue. It was also smeared with dirt and clearly waiting to be washed, so he dropped Other-Scott's borrowed clothes on top, fighting the inquisitive desire to get a closer look at the uniform.
Making sure that this universe's International Rescue knew what they were looking for if any of his brothers had somehow also fallen through trumped his own curiosity and he retreated back into the hallway where Other-Scott and Other-Virgil were waiting for him, before they all entered the games room.
"I was beginning to think you weren't coming," Other-Gordon commented as the door slid open. He had his back to them and seemed to be poking around with the balls. "What took you so long?"
"I thought we'd like an audience," Other-Scott shrugged, and Other-Gordon spun around.
"What did you do to prompt all this?" Other-Virgil asked him. "You've not even been on the island for several hours."
"Precisely," Other-Scott said, striding forwards and selecting a cue from the wall, which he inspected carefully. "Gordon, off the island for several hours and more or less unsupervised."
"Not entirely unsupervised," Other-Gordon protested, as Other-Virgil moved further into the room and settled in a chair by the chess set. Taking the cue, Scott followed and sat himself in the other. "If we didn't already have Brains and John's word that he's you from another universe, I'd be suggesting it myself after that trip."
Scott thought that was a bit of an exaggeration, considering how off-centre he'd been the entire time, but he appreciated the words regardless.
"Another me or not, that didn't stop you telling the world you could – and did – beat me at billiards," Other-Scott pointed out. Other-Virgil choked back a laugh that showed just how unlikely that scenario was in reality.
Other-Gordon seemed entirely unrepentant about that, which didn't surprise Scott in the slightest. "We can always make that true now," he said. "Ready to play?"
In answer, Other-Scott headed for the table and scrutinised the balls his brother had been poking at. Scott suspected he was checking for sabotage.
Other-Virgil rested his sketchbook on the table, drawing Scott's attention away from the billiards table and towards the blank paper.
"How about age order?" the brown-haired man suggested. "Should we start with John?"
"Might as well," Scott agreed, staring at the blank page and trying to find the words to explain just how his John differed from Other-John. Without another word, Other-Virgil started to sketch. Scott blinked, not expecting him to begin before he'd started describing his brother, but it didn't take long for him to realise that it was a sketch of Other-John that was forming on the paper, rough and ready to be amended.
Watching him was oddly relaxing – Scott had never been an artist himself, but he had memories of watching both parents and Virgil sketching throughout his life. The sight and sound of graphite over artist's paper was familiar, homey, and Scott propped his head on his palm and tried to focus more on what was being drawn than the emotions it was drawing up.
The background clack of ball hitting ball, and smug brotherly noises as Other-Scott presumably made good on his promise to teach Other-Gordon a lesson, helped him keep his mind in the present. He glanced away from the rough sketch of Other-John to see Other-Scott grinning triumphantly at Other-Gordon as the two brothers set up a new game. One victory for Other-Scott, it seemed.
"I thought it would be easier to start with a base," Other-Virgil said suddenly, snapping Scott's attention back to the now-complete sketch. "Tin-Tin's recounts of your descriptions suggest you're just as bad as our Scott in that regard."
"I have you for anything to do with art!" Other-Scott called over, and Scott grinned ruefully in agreement.
"He's not wrong," he shrugged.
Other-Virgil shook his head, and tapped the paper with a finger. "We'll get to colour later," he said, "but what changes do I need to make to the sketch?" He spun it around until Scott was looking at the sketch the right way up, and he squinted at it.
It was clearly John, but at the same time not. The challenge was picking out what made it different to his brother, exactly.
"What do you mean, colour?" Other-Scott called across.
"I thought you were teaching Gordon a lesson?" Other-Virgil retorted. "Keep getting distracted and he might be the one teaching you a lesson."
Other-Scott chuckled, and then there was another clack as they started playing again.
"John's… younger," Scott settled on. "Slightly less angular, maybe?"
Other-Virgil whisked the paper back around to face him and started changing lines. "How old?"
"Twenty-five," Scott said, watching as the sharpest edges to the sketch were smoothed out slightly. It was a good thing Other-Virgil, just like Virgil, was so artistically adept, because Scott knew his descriptions left a lot to be desired. He really wasn't an artist.
It was a long process, as Scott frowned at lines and Other-Virgil redrew and redrew them again. He knew exactly what his immediate brother looked like, of course, but descriptions had never been his strong point. Thankfully, Other-Virgil was patient and seemed to have expected Scott to be pretty terrible at them.
In the background, the clacking of balls hitting balls continued, complete with commentary and occasional brotherly snipes. Scott wasn't sure how many times they'd played by the time Other-Virgil finished his latest redraw of a line of John's hair, and a lump formed suddenly in his throat.
"That's him," he said around it, trying to swallow it down before any of the other men in the room noticed. "That's John." Still in the grey and white of a sketch, his genius of a brother stared out of the paper at something in the distance, intent and determined. It was a painfully familiar expression, one Scott saw most often on rescues, when his brother was amassing more data even as he talked him through what he already had.
A hand slammed down to cover the sketch and Scott blinked.
"Gee, really, Virg?" Other-Gordon quibbled from where he'd suddenly materialised right next to Scott. Next to him, and peering over Other-Virgil's shoulder, was Other-Scott.
"You fellas can see it once it's coloured," the artist said firmly. "And not one moment before. Go back to your game."
Both brothers grumbled good-naturedly, but did as they were told and retreated back to the billiards table. Other-Virgil pulled his hand back and looked up at him.
"I don't have my colours here, so what do you say about doing all the sketches now, and then we'll go to my room to sort out colours later?" he suggested.
Once again caught by the sketch of his brother, fiercely determined and no doubt wearing that exact face right now, wherever he was, Scott just nodded numbly.
It was gently tugged out of sight as Other-Virgil turned to a fresh page in his sketchbook and started drawing again. This time, Scott was anticipating the appearance of Other-Virgil in graphite so it wasn't a surprise when he formed out of lines of graphite on paper. The artist was clearly used to self-portraiture as the sketch was just as flawless as Other-John's had been; it was almost a shame that he'd have to completely alter the hairstyle this time – Other-John's wasn't all too dissimilar to John's, but the two Virgils appeared to have markedly different ideas on hairstyle.
Even before the sketch was presented to him, Scott reached across and tapped the brow. "Same scar," he said, noticing that Other-Virgil hadn't bothered to add that in, presumably because he hadn't expected something like a scar to carry across universes. It was a fair assumption, especially as Other-Gordon had already made an observation about how his own scars differed from Other-Scott's, but in this particular case a wrong one. Scott wondered if, like the hydrofoil, the cause was also the same.
Other-Virgil's eyebrows raised, showing off his scar particularly well, but he dutifully added it in.
"Also younger?" he asked, and Scott eyed the paper critically. The sketch was spun around so he could see it better, and he nodded his thanks.
"Twenty-three," he confirmed. "But don't soften the cheekbones much." Other-Virgil made a noise of comprehension and took the paper back to begin the long process of amending it to Scott's awkward specifications. "And you might as well scrap the hair entirely," he added. Other-Virgil paused and gave him an incredulous look.
"There's no similarity there at all?" he asked. Scott shrugged and peered again.
"Maybe the hairline," he allowed. "But completely different hairstyle."
He got a contemplative noise for that, but Other-Virgil dutifully erased most of the hair, leaving just enough to keep the head shape obvious, before following Scott's instructions to amend the face shape until he was happy it was his Virgil, and not Other-Virgil looking out of the paper.
"However does he keep his hair like that?" Other-Virgil commented when they finally reached the hairstyle, the sweeping peak taking shape on the paper after several amendments as Scott tried to get it just right.
"By stealing my hair gel," he replied dryly, "and short circuiting the entire island's power with his hairdryer." Gordon was not the only one who remembered that incident well, even if Scott usually refrained from mentioning it – it wasn't like he needed to, what with the squid bringing it up at every opportunity. One day Virgil was going to make minced squid out of their brother, and it was probably going to have something to do with that incident. Probably.
Other-Scott chuckled, proving that he was still eavesdropping even as he continued to thrash Other-Gordon at billiards. The younger man sounded like he was getting quite tired of being defeated, although he hadn't yet begged off entirely. Then again, Scott suspected Other-Scott wasn't the only one using the game as a pretence in order to listen in.
Other-Virgil ignored them as he once again redid a line in Virgil's hair, and Scott did likewise, although in his case it was mostly because Other-Virgil had once again taken his breath away with a likeness of one of his brothers. Unlike John, Virgil was looking straight at him, greyscale eyes still warm and the slightest bit concerned, mirrored in the set of his jaws. It was another painfully familiar expression that Scott had found himself on the receiving end of many times.
"That's him," he said after a moment, once his lungs remembered what to do. Other-Virgil hummed and flicked the page over before the other two could make it over.
"Aww," Other-Gordon protested when he realised. "Not even one peek, Virg?"
"Once they're coloured," his brother said firmly, "and not one moment before."
"But it's his version of me next, right?" Other-Gordon whined. "You gotta let me see that one, Virg!"
"Once they're coloured," Other-Virgil repeated. "If it's too much of a trial for you, I'm sure you can leave. Aren't you tired of losing yet?"
Other-Scott laughed again from where he seemed to be setting up another game. "He still thinks he can beat me if we play enough times."
"I will beat you," Other-Gordon vowed, heading over to the table again. "My turn to start."
Other-Virgil rolled his eyes once the ginger had his back to them. "Say, how about we skip Gordon and come back to him later?" he suggested, a gleam in his eyes that was all-too familiar.
"Virg!" came the complaint from the brother in question, and despite himself, Scott found himself grinning just a little, even if the familiarity of the banter ached.
"We can do Alan next," he agreed, although something heavy and unpleasant settled in his stomach as he realised he wouldn't be able to dodge just how young his Alan was for much longer.
Despite the words, it was still Other-Gordon that appeared from Other-Virgil's pencil, and the artist grinned at him conspiratorially. Scott returned it, although he was fairly sure it was weaker than it would normally be. Other-Virgil didn't comment, or even raise a concerned eyebrow, however, so he assumed he'd got away with it.
"Younger again?" Other-Virgil asked, and Scott nodded. "Squarer jaw, but don't soften the face," he said. "He's all angles." Sharp cheekbones, sharp jaw, sharp wit. There was a lot of sharpness with Gordon, although like all of them he was soft where it counted. Squinting at the sketch as Other-Virgil made the amendments, Scott realised that while their eye colour was identical, one of the biggest differences to their faces was in fact the eye shape.
As with everything else, describing that was difficult, and Other-Virgil had to erase the same lines over and over again as between them, they tried to get it right. Then, of course, it was the hair, and it was quickly apparent that Gordon – and Alan, when they got there – had a hairstyle that Other-Virgil struggled to even conceptualise in his head. In this universe, it seemed that bangs always flopped down, not out.
"More hair gel?" the man asked, resigned, as he erased the lines of Gordon's bangs for the umpteenth time.
"More hair gel," Scott confirmed. "The other one is similar, by the way."
"I will get this," Other-Virgil said, low and determined. The stubbornness was just as familiar as everything else about his mannerisms. So far, Scott was getting the impression that while he might be a little quieter than Virgil, Other-Virgil was otherwise almost the same in temperament.
"His Alan giving you trouble?" Other-Gordon called across. Other-Virgil ignored him as, with a set jaw, he once again amended his lines.
"Almost," Scott encouraged. "That's close."
"I'm not settling for 'close'," Other-Virgil told him firmly. "What's still wrong?"
Scott surveyed the art critically, before pointing at a line. "Here," he said. "Maybe loosen it up a little?"
Other-Virgil erased it and drew it again, and Scott found a familiar, fond smile creep onto his face. "That's him."
Like Virgil, Gordon was looking straight out of the paper at them, full of mirth and a little cheeky, like he'd just set a prank and was waiting for someone to fall into it. Unlike John and Virgil, who had both ended up drawn wearing expressions they'd wear on a mission, Gordon was all home comfort.
Scott decided not to think to hard about what their resulting expressions implied about his mental state.
Other-Virgil eyed it triumphantly for a moment, clearly basking in his success of finally nailing the unfamiliar hairstyle, before turning the page and starting to sketch out Other-Alan.
"Last one," he said. "He has a similar hairstyle to your Gordon, you say?"
"What?" Other-Gordon demanded from over by the table. There hadn't been any clacking of balls for some time, Scott realised, and he glanced over to see both brothers were leaning against the table, watching the pair of them from a distance. "You mean that was your Gordon you just finished?"
Other-Virgil grinned at him. "I'm doing his Alan now," he said, and Other-Gordon whined dramatically. Other-Scott shifted his weight against the table slightly and rolled his eyes fondly.
"You should have known Virg would do that," he said. "And aren't you the one that keeps saying Scott's just like me?"
Other-Gordon grumbled.
"I didn't expect that to mean he'd be able to fall in so seamlessly with one of Virgil's schemes," he huffed.
"Sorry," Scott shrugged, entirely unrepentant. Other-Gordon had spent enough time analysing him that catching him out felt a lot like a victory. From the way amber eyes narrowed, the younger man was well aware of that.
"So," Other-Virgil said, offering him a rough sketch of Other-Alan. "How much younger do I need to go?"
Scott swallowed. "Fifteen," he said, and was entirely unsurprised when he saw Other-Scott jerk out of the corner of his eye. "And you might want to make him a little more… smiley." Other-Virgil had drawn a neutral expression, which was at least less antagonistic than Scott had actually seen Other-Alan wearing so far, but for his Alan it just felt wrong.
"Younger and happier," Other-Virgil repeated, taking the eraser to the sketch and all but redoing the entire outline. "And with a Gordon-like hairstyle."
What came out of his pencil the second time looked a lot closer, more like a base that Scott could make minor adjustments to than the initial sketch had done.
"He's fifteen?" Other-Scott asked, and Scott braced himself for the upcoming explosion. "He's not a part of International Rescue yet, I assume."
Scott didn't answer him, watching Other-Virgil tidy up the sketch before pointing out a line that needed amending.
"He's not part of International Rescue?" Other-Scott repeated after a few moments, disbelief colouring his voice. "At fifteen? He oughtn't even have all the licenses by fifteen, surely?"
Scott sighed, and pointed out another line that needed changing. "Alan's been a fully fledged member of IR for a year," he admitted. "He's got all the licenses he needs."
"He's what?" Other-Scott demanded. Other-Virgil's pencil stopped, and Scott found himself scrutinised by three pairs of eyes. "But- how does a fourteen year old get an astronaut's license? You're not telling me he's Thunderbird Three's primary pilot in your universe?"
"Youngest astronaut in history," Scott said, letting the pride he always felt whenever he remembered that fact bleed into his voice and carefully keeping the accompanying panic back. "John was primary pilot for a while, but he's always been happiest in Thunderbird Five, and Thunderbird Five really needed a monitor. Alan proved himself on the sims and we needed a pilot for Thunderbird Three."
"You couldn't do it?" Other-Scott asked.
Scott chuckled humourlessly, remembering the hollow guilt that had welled up inside whenever he'd even considered going to space without any of his brothers. That didn't bear mentioning, however, and there was another, stricter, reason why it hadn't been possible. "I'm Alan's legal guardian. I couldn't leave him to go off into space for days or weeks on rescues." Or an unknown amount of time in another universe, but he hadn't had a choice on that front.
"So your solution was to send him off into space?" Other-Virgil asked dubiously, inadvertently cutting off what Scott suspected was about to be a too-accurate remark from Other-Gordon. Scott shrugged.
"If he's in orbit, it's only a day and he's in range of Thunderbird Five," he said. "If he's leaving orbit, someone – usually me – goes with him."
"Gee," Other-Gordon whistled, apparently deciding to keep whatever observation he'd made to himself after all. "Our Alan's young enough to send out there. I can't imagine him piloting Thunderbird Three as a teenager."
"He's a natural," Scott said, glancing down at the half-finished sketch, currently sitting somewhere between Alan and Other-Alan in appearance. "If he couldn't do it, I wouldn't let him, no matter how old he was."
"I don't doubt that," Other-Gordon said, emphatically enough that his brothers looked at him in surprise. Other-Gordon didn't acknowledge them, however, and Scott found himself under another heavy yet understanding look. No doubt the other man was remembering their conversation in the car about limits. "I said it before: I bet you're just as much of a smother hen as this fella is." He jabbed a thumb in Other-Scott's direction and got a lacklustre hey! of protest. "I'm sure you do a swell job of looking after him."
A hand landed on his shoulder and he jumped a little. It was Other-Virgil, who was looking at him in some concern. "Do you want to take five?" the man asked, gesturing at the half-finished sketch. Scott shook his head.
"I'm good," he said, peering at the paper again. Other-Gordon made an aborted noise that could well have been resigned disapproval. "His bangs go the other way."
"You fellas have mighty different hairstyles," Other-Virgil muttered, but dutifully began erasing the lines before pausing to shoo away his inquisitive brothers. "Are you done teaching Gordon a lesson already, Scott?"
"Not at all," the older man said. "Come on, Gordon, if you still think you can win."
"One day," the ginger mumbled rebelliously, before moving back to the table to set up another game. Both his brothers laughed, and Scott found himself joining in.
Alan proved almost as difficult as Gordon to get right, with Other-Virgil again finding the hair the most complicated to get right, but a couple more games behind them later, Scott's youngest brother was beaming out of the paper at him, wide-eyed in adoration and looking even younger than he was. It wasn't the best expression for supporting his case that Alan was perfectly capable of handling a rocket and the responsibilities that came along with that, but it was quintessentially Alan in its essence nonetheless.
"That's him," he confirmed, and Other-Virgil surveyed the sketch for several moments in silence before his brothers once again tried their luck at seeing a completed sketch.
"I told you fellas," Other-Virgil said firmly, closing the sketchbook against their curious glances. "Not until they're coloured."
"Whatever you fellas are up to will have to wait." Scott's eyes snapped to the doorway, where Other-Alan was standing, arms crossed and looking just as displeased as he had in every encounter he'd had with the young man so far. "Kyrano's finished making dinner, so it's time to wash up."
"Right you are, then," Other-Virgil said. "I'll get these stowed in my room and we can finish after dinner?" He offered the suggestion as a question to Scott, who saw no reason to disagree and nodded.
"Sounds good to me," he said.
"What are you fellas doing, anyway?" Other-Alan asked suspiciously.
"It seems that we don't look like his brothers, even though he might as well be Scott's twin," Other-Gordon explained, putting his cue in the wall holder. Other-Scott did the same, before stashing the balls away as well. "Virgil's drawing them for us so we know what we're looking for just in case they fell through somewhere."
"Didn't John say they'd come through here if anywhere?" Other-Alan pointed out, still standing in the doorway and watching as his brothers tidied up. Scott found his way to his feet and waited for them to finish.
"Yes, but this is an unprecedented event, Alan," Other-Virgil replied, walking over to him. Scott followed. "John's still got Thunderbird Five looking out for them in case he's wrong, and we'll all be looking out as well. It stands to reason we should know exactly who we're looking for."
"Well, I suppose," the blond said. Other-Virgil patted him on the shoulder a couple of times.
"Well, I'm off to put this in my room," he said. "I'll be down for dinner in one minute." Then he left, leaving Scott standing with Other-Alan by the doorway, waiting for Other-Scott and Other-Gordon to finish packing up their game.
"So, what are you going to be doing until Brains and John find a way to get you home?" Other-Alan asked him. "Are you just going to laze about the villa?"
Scott raised an eyebrow at him. "Not if I have any say in the matter," he said bluntly. "I'm not a fan of lazing around."
Other-Gordon choked back a laugh at that, and Scott narrowed his eyes at him.
"Use your head, Al," the ginger interjected. "We've got some of the best planes in the world here; you think the fella's going to be content keeping his feet on the ground? He took a fancy to your Tiger Moth down in the hangars 'til I told him Scott's not allowed to touch it."
"I haven't seen a Tiger Moth in years," Scott defended himself.
"Yeah, well, you're not touching her either," Other-Alan told him firmly. "No Scotts are getting their hands on that baby."
"We hear you, Alan," Other-Scott said. "Now, come along, fellas. I, for one, don't plan on being late to one of Kyrano's feasts." He pushed past them and headed into the hallway. His brothers and Scott followed, ducking into a small washroom to clean their hands before trailing through the kitchen to where the dining table was set up.
Look what's back again! I've got another three chapters written now, so that's approximately three weeks' worth of content coming along (provided I remember to post!) Sorry for the delay on this one, TOS!Scott and TOS!Virgil decided to be rather tricksy, but I finally got them wrangled!
Thanks for reading!
Tsari