Disclaimer: I don't own Thunderbirds.
The subject wasn't broached until they were back in the car, Scott feeling comfortably full as the food settled in his stomach.
"I guess there's nothing I can say to persuade you to finish the trip now?" Other-Gordon sighed.
"I'm not quitting," Scott said firmly. "It's just some sneakers. I'll try them on, find the ones that fit best, and we'll be done."
He half expected Other-Gordon to contradict him and tell him something was different about buying shoes in this universe, but he didn't.
"That's the spirit," he said instead. "I'll keep them talking, like the last shop."
"Thanks." Scott appreciated the thought; if they were distracted with Other-Gordon, then they'd be focusing less on him.
He was looking forwards to being able to wear comfortable shoes. Other-Scott's fit well enough, but after several hours in them he was starting to feel the rub of an unfamiliar style.
"Mr Tracy!" he was greeted as they stepped through the door upon arrival. "Is there a problem with your last purchases?"
"Oh no, not at all," Other-Gordon cut in, inserting himself slightly ahead of Scott and into the flustered-looking man's line of sight. "You'll have to forgive Scott, he's gone and lost his voice, but he really liked them, so we're here to get a couple more pairs," he assured them.
The fluster turned to relief and then delight as the man no doubt realised he was going to be making another expensive sale to round off his day.
"Of course!" he beamed. "If you'd like to follow me." They were chivvied along to a section of the shop lined with various designs of sneakers all along the wall, which Scott immediately started to eye up. The designs were varied, and none of them looked exactly like he was used to, but he could definitely see a few that looked hopeful.
Ignoring both Other-Gordon and the salesman, he walked over to the wall to get a closer look. You're Scott Tracy. He just had to take the initiative instead of hovering awkwardly and waiting for a cue, and then it would be fine.
No-one would suspect he was the wrong Scott Tracy.
Behind him, Other-Gordon was talking a mile a minute, playing the distraction he'd promised, and after the day they'd had it was almost effortless to trust him. The other man had proven time and time again that despite the bizarre nature of the situation, he cared and wanted Scott to be as comfortable as possible.
It wasn't even a case of just trying to preserve his brother's reputation. Just as he was Scott Tracy, Other-Gordon was Gordon Tracy. They might not be each other's brother, but they didn't need to be related to care. The man that had guided him out of two panic attacks and subtly grounded him at the first sign of other ones had done it because he cared about him.
Scott was used to being the rescuer. He was used to being the one picking up strangers, helping them find their feet and offering whatever aid was needed until they were safe. He'd never been so thoroughly on the other side before. It was terrifying, he realised as he picked up a hopeful looking sneaker for a closer inspection. Putting all your trust in someone you knew of but didn't know was much, much harder than he'd ever realised.
What Other-Gordon was doing for him wasn't quite the same – his life wasn't in danger; he didn't need snatching from the jaws of death – but the parallels were there. Scott was lost, and there was no denying that he was scared of what had happened, why it happened, what it would be doing to his brothers right then, and Other-Gordon was offering a life line. Something he could cling to while he found his feet, and caught him when he stumbled.
"Scott?" the man in question asked, appearing beside him. "How are you doing?"
Scott looked at him, the heart-achingly familiarity of his face even though it wasn't the same, and the searching amber eyes that were exactly the same, right down to the concern shining through, and nodded. He'd only known him for a few hours, but Scott trusted him, and that was enough to keep what-ifs and concerns about recognition at bay.
He could do this.
The sneaker in his hand looked like a good start, so he held it up, drawing attention to the selection.
"Would you like to try that pair on, sir?" the salesman asked. Scott nodded confidently, and handed it over so he could bustle over to the store room to retrieve its partner.
Other-Gordon didn't say anything, even after they were left alone, so Scott continued looking around, searching for another design that looked hopeful. He could feel the other man's eyes watching him, but he wasn't asking if he was doing okay, or attempting to provide other reassurances, and Scott wondered if he could tell that he was, as much as he could be, relaxed.
He probably could.
By the time the salesman returned – this one called John, it transpired, but with black hair and brown eyes it was just another man with a common name, and not a painful reminder of his younger brother – he'd found another three to try on.
Four times pacing and then jogging around the room, jumping up and down and feeling a rush from being active, even if it was just rather aggressively putting through sneakers through their paces, and he ended up walking out the shop with all of them. It was easier than picking two when they all felt right.
There was also the nagging feeling that Other-Scott didn't test shoes quite the same way he did, judging by the look on salesman-John's face, and the panic had started to bubble up when he abruptly remembered that Other-Scott had only been there recently. Grabbing all four pairs and nudging Other-Gordon into paying for them so that they could leave – a nudge that, yes, might have comprised of four smaller ones that instantly sharpened amber eyes – had been the easiest way to avoid questions and quell the panic.
Other-Gordon didn't outwardly hurry them out of the shop, but Scott felt the underlying determination as he quipped about getting late and the flight home as an excuse for their departure. The amount of money the quartet of sneakers cost definitely went a long way towards distracting the salesman from anything else.
"Are you okay?" the ginger asked once they were settled back in the car. He didn't mention that Scott had been fine for most of the time, but the unspoken observation hung between them.
Scott took a deep breath and pressed his head back against the headrest, feeling the hat digging in. He was looking forwards to taking it off. "Yeah," he said. "I'm okay."
"Too much cooped up energy?" Other-Gordon asked, clearly determining that he wasn't about to panic and turning the engine on. "You were mighty energetic in there."
"They're nice sneakers," Scott defended, not responding to the secondary observation.
"So it seemed," Other-Gordon shrugged. "Well, unless there's anything else you need, I'd say it's time to head back to the airport."
Scott glanced at the backseat of the car, where a small pile of bags nestled.
"That should be enough," he agreed. "I don't suppose I can persuade you to let me pilot back?"
Other-Gordon did a double-take.
"What happened to 'different technology'?" he asked. "You've not understood anything here. I saw you looking at the car earlier."
Scott shrugged. "Apparently the only thing that is the same are plane controls," he admitted.
Other-Gordon groaned. "You mean you actually were judging my piloting?" he whined.
"I didn't say anything about your piloting," Scott defended. Other-Gordon huffed.
"You didn't need to, but I figured you were just comparing it to what you were used to," he said. "It didn't occur to me that you knew exactly what I should have been doing when."
"So you'll let me pilot back?" Scott tried hopefully.
"Sorry, fella." He couldn't stop his shoulders slumping in disappointment at Other-Gordon's firm answer. "Look, I would rather you piloted, because I'm not daft enough to think you're not better at it than me, but you don't have a pilot's license here, and it's not my call whether you sneak by on Scott's."
The argument made a frustrating amount of sense, and Scott sighed. "Can't we ask him?"
"He'll say no," Other-Gordon said confidently. "Unless you're telling me you'd let someone pilot on your license with only his word he's as good as he says."
The ginger, annoyingly, wasn't wrong. Scott wouldn't.
"We can add it to the things to talk to him about when we get back," Other-Gordon pointed out. "Still, if planes aren't so different, maybe that'll make the training easier."
He had a point. Scott hadn't considered that the Thunderbirds might have the same controls, when the jargon seemed so different. "I saw a few external differences," he said. "Didn't get a good look at the cockpit, and her engine makes a different sound."
"Why aren't I surprised you took all that in?" the ginger asked rhetorically. "Then again, I suppose in a way she's 'yours'," he mused. "Good luck fighting Scott for her."
Scott groaned, well aware that no matter how good a pilot he proved to be, he was never going to wrangle primary pilot of this universe's Thunderbird One.
"I don't think I'll bother," he muttered. "He won't give her over unless he has no other choice."
"Voice of experience?" Other-Gordon asked, amused. Scott raised an eyebrow at him.
"The last time I let Gordon near her he tried to turn her into a submarine. Virgil hates piloting her, Kayo is banned from going near the pilot seat, John prefers being a passenger in Two if he's down from orbit and Alan's too inexperienced," he listed. "No-one pilots my girl except me. No exceptions."
Other-Gordon laughed. "That doesn't surprise me; Scott's the same," he confirmed. "But who's Kayo?"
Scott had forgotten he hadn't mentioned Kayo to anyone except Tin-Tin yet.
"My Tin-Tin," he said. "She's a hell of a pilot, but her 'bird gets damaged even more than Three. Too many stunts."
"Hold up." Other-Gordon even raised a hand to emphasise his words. "Her 'bird? Do you have six or- but Three? No, you said more than Three. Who pilots Three?"
That was entirely too many questions, and Scott dodged most of them.
"Tin-Tin doesn't have her own?" he asked in return. "I know she's an engineer, but so's Virgil."
"Tin-Tin co-pilots Three sometimes, but otherwise she stays on the island," Other-Gordon told him. "Your- Kayo goes out?"
They think we're delicate flowers, Tin-Tin had more-or-less said. Scott hadn't made the connection with participating on rescues.
"I get the feeling Kayo would give you all a heart attack if you ever met her," he said. "There's no stopping that girl when she gets an idea in her head."
He should know. He'd tried. It normally ended in shouting matches and her doing whatever she wanted anyway. Sometimes he wondered if building Thunderbird Shadow for her had been a mistake, but then he remembered how miserable she'd been without her own reliable transport.
Other-Gordon eyed him. "There're more differences than technology and fashion, aren't there?"
"Yeah," Scott confirmed. "I haven't decided if more is the same or different yet. Most of it seems to be small things. Just enough to be off from what I'm used to."
"Like us," Other-Gordon sighed. "Sounds like we were too hasty with this trip," he added. "Even if you needed new underpants."
Scott shrugged. "We were never going to know all the differences." He wouldn't have thought to ask about the minor details, and none of them had even considered that the family business – the actual one – would have a different name.
"I guess that's true," Other-Gordon conceded. "But we should still have given you a little longer than a few hours before taking you off the island. Sorry about that."
He wasn't wrong, but, "what's done is done," he said. "I survived."
"Get yourself straight in the Ladybird when we get to the hangar," Other-Gordon said. "If anyone tries to get in your way, ignore them. I'll get Scott to soothe any ruffled feathers later."
"I can handle it," Scott protested. "Jones, right?"
"You don't have to handle it," Other-Gordon told him firmly. "It's been mighty awful day for you, and the last thing you need is Scott's airfield buddies bothering you. Those fellas know Scott better than anyone else we've seen today."
Scott had almost forgotten that. Other-Gordon was right; returning to the Ladybird was when someone was most likely to notice something wasn't right. The sandwiches from earlier felt uncomfortably weighty in his stomach all of a sudden.
He couldn't afford a panic attack in the hangar; Other-Gordon wouldn't be able to take off, so they wouldn't be able to get away from Other-Scott's so-called 'airfield buddies'.
It would be an absolute disaster.
"Okay," he agreed. "But I'm not leaving you to load her alone."
Other-Gordon rolled his eyes. "Maybe it's different where you're from, but here we have valets for that sort of thing. Appearances and all that – although Dad's got them trained to be extra vigilant if it's me. They won't let me pick up a single bag, just you watch."
Other-Gordon's back hadn't even occurred to him, but if even his family were treating him like glass, Scott supposed it was no surprise there was hired help to stop him straining himself.
"I don't know how you stand it," he admitted.
"Aw, it's not always so bad," Other-Gordon admitted. "Helps with the cover. No-one would expect poor, crippled former Olympian me of still being an active aquanaut, let alone be capable of pulling the stunts those fine young men in International Rescue manage."
That was true, Scott supposed.
"Look," the ginger said. "If it makes you feel better, you can run through her pre-flights while I'm dealing with the chaps on the ground."
Scott startled. "You trust me to do that without supervision?"
"I know you were watching me when we left the island," Other-Gordon shrugged. "I figure if you do come across something unfamiliar, you're not daft enough to let me take off without getting it double-checked it first."
Scott could accept that.
"Besides, no-one'll find that strange around here. It'll look more strange if Scott Tracy isn't doing all the checks himself."
"You could have just said that in the first place," Scott pointed out. Other-Gordon scoffed, but said nothing.
Jones wasn't amongst the men that seemed to be waiting for them when Other-Gordon rolled the car up behind the hangar. Scott supposed his shift was over for the day, and in a way that made it easier to reluctantly leave the car and head straight for the hangar. The T.A. was a beacon, and once the door opened, the red of the Ladybird stood out amongst the many planes housed inside.
"Hey, Scott!" an unfamiliar voice called. He ignored them, remembering what Other-Gordon had said about them all knowing Other-Scott and knowing he couldn't handle trying to interact with any of them without the ginger to act as a buffer without making them suspicious.
Pre-flight checks. Those, he could do.
He slipped into the cockpit, taking the pilot's seat for the moment although Other-Gordon was doubtless going to shove him over when he arrived, and immersed himself in the blessed familiarity of flicking switches and running all the checks that had long since become second nature to him. While the Ladybird was a far cry from Thunderbird One, she wasn't so far from more conventional aircraft that he couldn't work her out.
Engrossed in the task, he barely noticed the ground crew flitting around as their shopping was loaded into the cargo hold under Other-Gordon's supervision, or the questions about him being fired the ginger's way, only to be expertly deflected.
He did notice the jab in his shoulder when Other-Gordon clambered up to join him.
"Finished?" the ginger asked. Scott ran his hands over the controls one last time, before reluctantly pronouncing himself satisfied.
"She's good to fly," he said.
"Then budge over," Other-Gordon retorted. Scott reluctantly shimmied over into the passenger seat. "Everything's fine?"
"Just like our training jet at home," Scott promised. "I taught Alan to fly with controls like this." He glanced over at the ginger settling himself into the pilot's seat. "Gordon, too."
"You're calling the Ladybird a training jet?" Other-Gordon asked. "I'd like to see you tell Tin-Tin that."
Scott chuckled. "Anything's a training jet compared to my usual ride," he pointed out.
Other-Gordon rolled his eyes. "I'd like to see you tell Virgil that."
"His girl's not a jet," Scott retorted. "Not unless that's got a very different definition here."
"I suppose you have a point," Other-Gordon conceded, before reaching for the radio. "Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control. We're ready for take-off, over."
Static crackled for a moment.
"Auckland Air Traffic Control to Tango Alpha Ladybird," the radio responded. "Clear to proceed to runway three-bravo, over."
"Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control. Understood. Proceeding now, over." The hangar door opened and Other-Gordon taxied them out onto the tarmac. Scott occupied himself with looking out at the other planes as they travelled past. Some designs were instantly familiar, while others looked very different to anything he'd seen in his own universe.
Other-Gordon made a few more calls over the radio as they finished taxiing into position, and Scott settled back in the seat comfortably as they waited for permission to take off.
He had to admit he didn't miss all the bureaucracy with Thunderbird One, and John acting as his ATC wherever he was in the world. VTOL launches helped.
After another half a minute or so, the all-clear was given, and the Ladybird rumbled to life, surging forwards and up under Other-Gordon's hands.
"Auckland Air Traffic Control to Tango Alpha Ladybird, your route is clear," the radio crackled again. "Have a safe flight. Over."
"Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control," Other-Gordon replied. "Thank you. Over and out." He fiddled with the radio for a moment. "Ladybird to Tracy Island, come in."
"Tracy Island receiving you, Ladybird," Not-Dad's voice filtered through. "How's it going, Gordon?"
"We've just left Auckland, Father," the ginger said. "Estimated ETA in two hours."
"I'll let your grandmother know," Not-Dad replied. "You boys didn't have any problems?"
"No, sir," Other-Gordon said, to Scott's relief. "No problems."
"Well, I expect to hear about your trip when you get back," the man told them. "I'll see you then. Tracy Island out."
"Thanks," Scott said after the connection ended.
"I'm still telling Scott," Other-Gordon reminded him. "But you can thank me by not judging my piloting the whole way back. Stare at the clouds or something."
Scott chuckled. "I'll do my best," he said. Other-Gordon just groaned.
"I am never piloting you anywhere ever again," he swore. "Cloud watch. Don't you dare look at what I'm doing."
Scott rolled his eyes but obliged.
Like the outward journey, their return one passed in mostly silence, Other-Gordon focusing on piloting and Scott doing his best not to make idle comments whenever he didn't react to changes in the air currents the same way he would.
He liked to think he was successful at it. The aquanaut would no doubt disagree.
"I can still feel you judging me," Other-Gordon grumbled eventually. Scott wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it seemed like they should be nearly there.
Up ahead was a small, rocky island. It looked utterly unfamiliar, but Other-Gordon was straight on course for it.
"Home sweet home," the aquanaut commented when he caught him looking at it. "The same?"
"The only similarity is that it's volcanic," Scott answered. "Ours has twin peaks, to start with." This Tracy Island seemed to have some sort of plateau mountain, rather than the jagged peaks he was used to. It also seemed less like it was making up part of the lip of a caldera.
"That's interesting," Other-Gordon hummed. "Your house is nothing like ours either, is it?"
Considering he'd needed a map to find Other-Scott's room earlier, Scott thought that was rather obvious.
"Not at all," he said. "Even the pool's a different shape. Ours is a regular Olympic-size pool."
"Really?" Other-Gordon asked. "I suppose that makes it easier to retract, though. Easier to pilot through, too?"
"If I ever get the chance to compare, I'll let you know," Scott replied. Other-Gordon laughed.
"I should let them know we're on approach," he said, reaching for the radio again. "Ladybird to Tracy Island."
"Tracy Island receiving you, Ladybird." It was Other-Scott on the line this time. "You're clear to land."
"F.A.B., Scott," Other-Gordon acknowledged.
"How much damage control have you left me with?" Other-Scott continued. "Dad says you said there were no issues?"
"I'll give you the run-down once we're down," the aquanaut told him. "There was paparazzi."
"If I don't like what they publish, you'd better watch your back, Gordon," Other-Scott warned. "I'll meet you two in the hangar. Tracy Island out."
"Well, no sense in putting it off," Other-Gordon commented as the line went dead. "You want to hang around for the debrief?"
Scott shook his head, having no wish to stand around and listen to an account of what he'd already lived through. "Just him," he reminded. "I'll get changed while you do."
"You finally get to change underwear," the ginger commented, and Scott rolled his eyes. "Coming up on the landing now."
Sure enough, there was the runway, protruding out onto a pier and lined with palm trees. Definitely Thunderbird Two's runway, and now that they were approaching it, Scott could see the cragged rockface that no doubt moved somehow to reveal the giant cargo plane. A little way up was a white building, built into the cliff.
He filed that away to ask about later, not wanting to interrupt the aquanaut as he brought them down onto the tarmac with a slight bump, decelerating until they were taxiing towards an open hangar door. It wasn't quite central to the runway, further cementing Scott's conclusion that Thunderbird Two was just behind the cliff face.
To his relief, Other-Scott seemed to be alone, standing next to the blue beauty he'd spotted earlier, as Other-Gordon brought the Ladybird to a stop and started the post-flight checks. Wherever the rest of the family were, it didn't seem like they'd planned a welcoming committee, at least.
"So?" the older man asked once they left the cockpit, already at the cargo hold and looking at the bags. "Dad seems convinced everything went fine, but you didn't tell him about the paparazzi, did you?" He was clearly talking to Other-Gordon, but his eyes flicked to Scott.
Scott shrugged and reached past him for the bags. "Gordon'll give you the run-down," he said. "I'm getting changed."
"Don't forget the underpants!" Other-Gordon chirped at him. He rolled his eyes and walked away, but not fast enough to avoid overhearing the start of the conversation. "I'm sworn to silence to everyone except you, and you're only the exception because he's your clone, so don't even think about telling anyone," the ginger said, quietly but not so quietly Scott couldn't hear while he waited for the elevator to swallow him up. "Which definitely includes Dad, by the way, but-"
The elevator doors clanged shut, cutting off the conversation. Scott jabbed the button labelled second, which was also the highest option, so he assumed that was the bedroom level.
It was, and to Scott's private delight there was no-one in the landing, so he managed to slip past the door to the lounge – out of which piano music seemed to be coming – and into the guest room designated as his without being intercepted.
Once there, he upended the bags over the bed, letting the neatly-wrapped parcels of clothes fall out haphazardly, before picking up clothes to get changed into.
It was a relief to finally get out of the waistcoat, shirt and slacks belonging to his counterpart, and even more of a relief to find himself wearing something that much more closely resembled his idea of casual.
Setting the discarded clothes to one side, he rummaged through the rest of the new clothes and set about hanging them up in the closet. His uniform was where he'd left it, he was pleased to see. No doubt Other-Brains would request it at some point, but Scott intended on supervising his investigations. It was good that it hadn't just been taken while he was out.
A knock on the door startled him just as he was hanging the last pair of jeans.
Who would that be? It could have been anyone on the island – although he suspected Other-Alan might be less inclined to seek him out, and Other-Gordon would probably announce himself, if he didn't walk straight in.
It was honestly weird having anyone knock rather than just walk in. His brothers had long since stopped waiting to be invited in, although Virgil and John did at least announce themselves with a knock most of the time.
"It's me. Can I come in?"
Other-Scott.
Scott supposed he should have expected that one. Did he want to talk to his doppelgänger? Most of the island's residents he could probably predict how the conversation was going to go, but ironically, Other-Scott seemed to be the hardest to read.
He guessed it was because he had no idea how he'd react if things were the other way around, and Other-Scott had ended up in his universe.
His gut told him he probably wouldn't give up trying to have a conversation if he was going out of his way to initiate it.
"Yeah," he called back, closing the closet door. The door opened and Other-Scott walked in, closing it behind him.
"Is that what you wear at home?" he asked, blue eyes scanning the clothes Scott had changed into.
"As close as I could get," Scott shrugged, sitting on the bed next to Other-Scott's discarded clothes and folding them up, mostly for something to do with his hands.
"Dad's not going to approve," Other-Scott warned him. "But if it makes you more comfortable, I don't see the problem." He picked up the hat and discarded sunglasses. "You'll have to stay out of sight whenever we have visitors anyway, so no-one's going to see you."
There was an awkwardness about the other man that Scott thought was uncharacteristic of himself, until he realised it was the same awkwardness he was feeling, because there were no guidelines in any training he'd undergone about how to interact with an alternate universe version of yourself.
"Are you checking up on me?" he asked abruptly. It made sense if he was, after getting Other-Gordon's account of the day, and Scott thought they'd do a lot better if they stopped trying to test the waters.
From the quirk of Other-Scott's lips, it was a shared opinion.
"I heard what happened," he confirmed. "Gordon was adamant you don't want anyone else to know, and I can understand that." He sighed. "This is weird," he said, and Scott gave a wry smile in agreement. "And maybe, considering you're literally another me, I'm not the best person to talk to, but. I'm here. If you have questions, or want sane conversation."
"After a day with Gordon, sane conversation is sorely lacking," Scott quipped, and Other-Scott laughed.
"I owe him a billiards match or ten now," he said. "Remind him he can't actually beat me."
"Little brothers," Scott shrugged. "Give them an inch, they'll take a mile."
"Some things don't change wherever you are," Other-Scott agreed. "Gordon said you recognised the Ladybird's controls?"
"Yeah," Scott confirmed. "We've got a plane like that at home."
"I'll talk with Dad about taking you for a flight," Other-Scott said. "Once we've established how much is familiar, we can figure out anything else."
"That sounds like a good plan," Scott agreed. Other-Scott grinned.
"I wonder which one of us is the better pilot," he said. "I'm looking forward to seeing you fly."
That thought hadn't occurred to Scott. "Best pilot gets primary dibs for Thunderbird One?" he dared.
Other-Scott laughed. "If it's my 'bird on the line, I'm not going to go easy on you," he warned.
"I wouldn't expect you to," Scott replied, and they both laughed.
"Well, I'm going to go teach Gordon a lesson or ten now," Other-Scott said. "You're welcome to join us if you're not sick of his company by now."
Scott chuckled. "I'd like to see that," he said. "He might be better at chess, but if he's anything like mine, billiards is not so much his territory." He stood up, gathering the dirty clothes. "Where's the laundry room? Might as well drop these off."
"I'll show you," Other-Scott said, opening the door again and stepping into the hallway. "It's next to the games room." Scott followed him, letting the door close behind him.
Watch me forget to update again last week, whoops. This is also the final chapter of this 'arc', so we'll be taking another break for a while because uni means I don't have time to keep writing at the moment (and a certain character is being awkward in the next chapter). Still, I hope you've enjoyed this pile of Scott&Other-Gordon, and I'll get back to work on this when I've got the time.
Thanks for reading!
Tsari