Chapter Text
"Gordon…" The man paused, confused, scratching his chin. "But you look so much like Scott."
"Well, I'm not him," Gordon said. "Now, if you would leave me and my colleague free, I would appreciate it."
"Wait. Your name is Gordon? Gordon Gresley? But I… you… you're supposed to be dead!"
"Who said that's me?" Gordon crossed his arms.
"Oh, please," Spencer said, "you look too much like your brother to try that. Anyway, your boyfriend gave you away."
When Spencer saw the uncomfortable look passed between Henry and Gordon, he snorted laughing. "No way!" he exclaimed. "Angel always used to say how little of a man you were, but I never thought it had a reason past ineptitude."
"I find it strange you would discuss that with her."
"Please. You know she hated you from the moment you met."
"I am aware," Gordon said stiffly. "If you insist on staying to insult me, would you at least take a seat? People are starting to stare."
"Fine." Spencer dropped down on the chair next to Gordon. "Happy?"
"Quite delighted, actually."
Spencer frowned at him. "You're different to how I remember."
"So are you." Gordon smirked. "May I say, you have aged dreadfully. I did not recognise you."
"You're no spring chicken yourself." Spencer grinned. "As long as one treats it with grace, there is no harm in ageing."
"And yet, you expect me to be the same. Quite miraculous. Does it speak of your intelligence?"
"I did not mean in the way that age takes its toil. I meant…" He frowned. "You seem more confident, for one. You would never have dared to insult me that way before."
"Unfortunately for me, Angel liked you. Tell me, did you ever bed her?"
"What?" Spencer recoiled. "I had my own wife."
"I am glad my son grew up to be the spit of me," Gordon said, not visibly reacting, "or I would not think his blood mine. I was told she had many men, and she liked you so much, I had made assumptions."
"It's a poor man who can't control his wife."
"Or maybe, like you said, she just hated me." Gordon shrugged. "I produced an heir. I did my part."
"Tell me, does your toy over there only call you master?"
Gordon raised his eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"If you wife was unfaithful, surely it would be harder to stop a man from looking elsewhere. She's told me many a tale of how disappointing of a lover you are."
Henry rose to defend himself and Gordon held his hand out to silence him. "Do not insult him," he spat. "Henry means nothing to you."
"Perhaps not as much of a fling as I thought." Spencer raised his eyebrow. "Imagine if your parents knew what you were." He snorted. "How fast do you think you'd be found in an institution?"
"Do not tell them!" Gordon snapped. "I do not want them to know I am alive."
"I don't understand," Spencer said. "If your wife was as unfaithful as you claim, and you were queer-"
Gordon curled his lip at the slur.
"Then why not just keep up the sham marriage?" Spencer shrugged. "Many men do it."
Gordon shook his head. "You jest, surely? You've known me from a child and you think I would leave over my own desires. I did what I did for my son." He gestured to Henry. "This is quite a recent development."
"Your son is alive?"
"Yes." Gordon looked confused. "Why would I be alive but not my son?"
"Because…" Spencer scowled, "your son is a valid heir for the family business."
"And? My parents think him dead."
"But your son could still claim after your death." Spencer scowled. "I won't let him take my life's work."
"If you even think of harming my son, your death will be slow and painful."
Spencer threw up his hands. "No need for the threats. I'm no killer."
"Thomas will not take your money because he does not know it is there to take. I'd do yourself a favor and forget this conversation even happened."
"Forget this happened!" Spencer laughed. "No way! What would even possess you to fake your own death? Your poor mother, heck, your poor brother! He did take the whole thing hard."
"He wasn't speaking to me at the time." Gordon frowned into his whiskey? "I did not think my death would concern him."
"Concern him, it did. He blamed himself for not inviting you out of London or offering Thomas a house in the country to be evacuated to while you stayed on and worked. I think he was trying to find reason at the bottom of the bottle."
"That's not like my brother."
"He got so angry." Spencer shook his head. "Started drinking. It got so bad that I thought your parents were going to disown him, and then one day, he just stopped." Spencer shrugged. "I was quite disappointed he got it together. Even though I'm set to inherit the family business, on acount of Scott not being interested, he will still inherit the money from his parents." Spencer shook his head. "Disgraceful. If he'd have drank himself to death, that money would be mine.
"Don't insult my brother," Gordon snapped
"You'll find that it's not an insult, and that it's, in fact, the truth." Spencer laughed. "Though from what I hear about the state of his industry, he'll probably drink himself to death after he loses his beloved engine."
"There's no guarantee of that yet," Gordon said, "not for certain."
"I find myself in higher circles than you. I give it, what, another five years and steam and rail will be a thing of the past."
Gordon shrugged. "It is what it is."
"I don't understand what made you do it." Spencer leaned forward, looking at Henry before shaking his head and looking away.
"Did Angel ever miss me?" Gordon said.
"She cried." Spencer shrugged.
"But did she miss me?" Gordon said. "Did she miss her son? Did she lose sleep over it?"
"I…" Spencer shook his head. "No," he said. "Not as I would if such a fate beheld my child."
"I couldn't let her hurt my son," Gordon said firmly. "As a father, you understand that."
"A mother would never."
"Your wife cares," Gordon stressed. "I know she married you for money, but she still cares about her own children. Angel did not care. I had to protect my son."
"I'm sure she cared."
"That night, the night I 'died', the night my house was destroyed, she had left Thomas alone in the house. Had I not have been there, that bomb would have killed him. My son!" Gordon scowled. "She left him to die."
"A mother would never."
"Well, a mother did!" Gordon snapped. He started listing on his fingers. "She took his rations and denied it. She admitted that she'd scream at him for talking, which delayed his speech development. And she repeatedly left him alone in the house to go out while I was working."
"But I knew her. She wasn't like that."
"What were your firstborn's first words?"
"Oh, I don't know." Spencer looked embarrassed for not being immediately sure. "Mother or father, I suppose."
"My son's," Gordon said, "or, at least, the first ones I heard were asking me why I was sad, because I was trying to keep his mother away from both of us until she calmed. You never saw her anger." Gordon's hand trembled until he willed it to stop. "She'd break things, scream, shout, kick, and hit." Gordon took a sip from his whiskey. "Nobody would believe me." He looked up at Spencer. "I see it in your face that you don't believe me, or think me pathetic for not stopping her, but I…" Gordon shrugged, "if I'd have left her, she'd have had the rights to my son. To get him away, it had to be something permanent. I felt I had no choice."
"You always have a choice."
"Says the one with a perfect view of the world? My son was not safe with Angel, and that is the fact of the matter."
"She struck your son?"
Gordon sighed. "I do not know. I would assume so."
"So if you are so certain, she struck you."
Gordon didn't answer, his cheeks colouring red as he took a drink.
Spencer chuckled. "That is pathetic. She was a slight little thing. It would not have been hard to stop her."
Gordon nodded. "But what sort of man beats his wife? Even if it is in self-defence. I did not leave over what she did to me. I could take it."
"Clearly." Spencer rolled his eyes. "Your brother has known for a while. That you've been alive, that is. Ever since his sudden return to sobriety, I'd guess. I knew something was going on when he suddenly stopped trying to drown his sorrows."
"If he was as bad as you claim, how was he permitted to keep his job?"
"Because as much as I would like to say otherwise, nobody in my family is stupid. I wouldn't think he would want to be responsible for hurting anyone else," Spencer said, "or losing his job, for that matter."
Gordon frowned.
"The fortune he will inherit is wasted on your brother," Spencer said. "He will just waste it on spirit and, in turn, meet them early."
"Do you think my brother would actually drink himself to death?" Gordon asked, frowning, "or is it just your judgemental side speaking?"
"Well," Spencer grinned, "it sure seemed like he was going to for a while. I was so disappointed when your parents didn't commit to disowning him."
"It doesn't seem like them not to."
"Well…" Spencer glanced away, "perhaps the idea of losing another son was not acceptable to them at the time, and I have known your own father to bury his demons with drink." He shrugged. "I suppose they cannot punish him for being an apple that fell close to the tree." Spencer glanced at the drink Gordon held in his hand. "Even in drinking to be sociable, you are your father's son, it seems."
"As I am sure that you are yours." Gordon waved his hand. "I do not wish to discuss characters who do not concern me."
"Imagine if I tell your parents Scott lied to them." Spencer grinned. "Maybe they'd want go give me Scott's share of the money instead. After all, I am next of kin."
"It would be split with your siblings if they did."
"There is such a thing as favouritism," Spencer said smugly, "and I have always been effective with business."
"I understand you have little respect for me," Gordon said, "but for my son's sake, do not allow my parents to know that I live."
"He has nothing to gain but money," Spencer said.
"Which would mean you would gain nothing. Please, Spencer."
"I'll think on it," Spencer said, "but not for your sake. I will do what best serves my interests." He stood, turning to return to his own table. He glanced judgementally at Henry. "Think carefully on if your parents will forgive you for your sins."
"Your brother is nicer than your cousin," Henry said as soon as Spencer had left earshot. "I've never seen someone so self-centred."
"Money does things to people," Gordon said. "Bad things."
"The more time I spend with you, the more I see it."
"Is that intended to be an insult?" Gordon asked, raising his eyebrow.
"No," Henry said, "forgive me. I feel I have had too much to drink to be eloquent. What I meant was I'm glad I never had money. I think it comes with too much pressure."
"Pressure?"
"It makes you sharp, careful, cold. Robs you of trusting others, makes you selfish. Men with money, men like Spencer, cannot imagine living without it, and that need poisons their soul."
"Do you think my soul poisoned?"
"No," Henry said, "but money has perhaps made you cold." Henry moved to grab Gordon's hand before thinking better of it. "I hope Spencer minds his own business."
"I have little doubt that he will." Gordon tipped his glass back, finishing the last of it. "He is right. If my parents disown Scott and myself, even if the money is split with his siblings, he stands to gain from the decision. I will have to warn my brother."
He moved to stand and Henry grabbed his wrist. "But not now,":Henry said firmly.
"No," Gordon said, "I wished for another drink. We still need to stay here for another hour or so until the coast is clear."
"Very well." Henry moved to stand. "Stay here. It is my turn to order." He returned not long later with another drink for himself and Gordon. He shook his head when Gordon frowned at his drink. "There's still whiskey mixed with the coke," Henry said. "I don't think it wise for you to be totally drunk."
"Fine." Gordon took a sip from his drink. "If you must insist."
"In the politest way possible, I lack the capability to do anything with you if you are drunk with this thing." Henry gestured to his leg. "My days of supporting drunks as they walk is far over."
"Very well." Gordon took a sip from his glass. "At least I can still taste the whiskey, I suppose."
When they left the bar, it was late, and Henry and Gordon stuck to the crowds, careful not to stand out too much. When they returned back to their rooms, they entered quietly. Henry slept while Gordon kept a weary eye out the window, not totally convinced that they were safe.
In truth, he couldn't sleep, the buzz of the whiskey doing little to quieten his thoughts. He had been foolish with this holiday. Thought himself invulnerable, perhaps. And if he had caused issues for his son by having the misfortune of running into Spencer, well, then he could scream.
At some point during the night, he must have fallen asleep, however, as he awoke the following morning to Henry dragging him out of bed for breakfast.
The thought of food, presently, made Gordon feel sick, and he told Henry as much. Henry shot him a rather disappointed glance before leaving for breakfast himself. He returned with a piece of toast, telling Gordon that he had told the landlady that his companion was not well. She had said that nobody was using the room in the morning, so they could stay until his companion could travel by himself.
Eyeing the bread like it was poison, reluctantly, Gordon took a bite before turning away from it to stare down at the train station. "How long do you think our jobs are safe, Henry?" Gordon asked, frowning. "How long before the world changes and leaves us behind?"
"I don't know." Henry sighed. "Does it matter?"
"To my brother, it does." Gordon held his hand steady. "He loves his engine."
"As do we all." Henry followed Gordon's gaze to the train station. "Look," Henry said, "I think the Fat Controller a fair man, and even if he modernises the whole fleet, I think he would make jobs for all of us. I choose not to worry."
"But what of the main line?"
"I'm sure they would employ your brother on Sodor," Henry said, "if not buy his engine if they could afford it. After all, it is famous in its own right."
"They couldn't afford it," Gordon said. "They only afforded mine because it has a few small technical issues on account of being the first of its kind."
"Stop being so pessimistic." Henry sat down next to Gordon and put his arm around his shoulder. "I know what your cousin said has gotten into your head, but you need to look on the sunny side of things. Do you think your brother foolish?"
"No."
"Well, then," Henry smiled, "Gresleys are a resilient lot, and like you said, it's only a few years until we all get to retire. I'm sure the Flying Scotsman can outlast your brother."
"I sure hope so." Gordon frowned. "I sure hope so."
It was at a point in the afternoon when they left their room, thanking the landlady, and heading up the North Pier for a final drink before heading back home. Gordon watched the sea with a smile while Henry watched Gordon, a sick feeling in his chest that the next few months were going to be challenging.
Gordon was right. If Spencer made the knowledge of Gordon's relationship with him more public than it already was, well, he was sure that it would spell nothing but trouble. He sighed to himself. Like he told Gordon, it was what it was, and there was no point making himself sick with worry about it.
Eventually, it came time to leave, and they headed to the Cenrtal Station to leave Blackpool, ready for the several-hour-long ride back home to Sodor.
When they arrived home, it was late, the house having already retired home for the night. Quietly, Gordon ascended the stairs behind Henry, keeping a watch on him to make sure that Henry did not slip as he climbed. It had not escaped his notice that in the last hour, Henry had started to limp, his prosthetic clearly hurting him even as he had put on a brave face.
Gordon did have to admire him that. The Henry he had first met would have given up at that, but here he was, still fighting, even if it was clear that he was weary.
As soon as they arrived in their room, it did not shock Gordon when Henry made a beeline for their bed and lay down, quickly removing his prosthetic and trying to hide his pained expression.
He grabbed at Gordon's arm as he walked past, pulling him down. "Please," he said softly, "there is time later."
Quickly, Gordon shrugged off his clothes for night clothes and lay next to Henry. Henry gripped him tightly, his flexing grasp giving away the discomfort that he hadn't voiced. However, it didn't take long for his grip to slack as he fell deeply asleep.
Gordon lay with him, trying to will himself to sleep, but it just wouldn't do. He couldn't get what Spencer had said to him out of his mind. Carefully, he pulled himself away from Henry and walked across the room. He sat at his desk and moved to pour himself some of the scotch he kept in his room for sleepless occasions like this before thinking better of it.
Was this the way both him and his brother had been taught to deal with anything that bothered them? Drown their sorrows and allow alcohol to take their emotions away from them? He had a vision of his father looking at both of them coldly, expensive whiskey in his hand, telling them both how hard he had worked to find both of his kids an embarrassment.
Gordon ended the train of thought there before it had chance to go somewhere darker. He glanced back at Henry, and then, sighing quietly, lit the candle he kept on his desk, not wanting to risk waking Henry up with the main light.
Picking up a fountain pen, he began to write a letter to his brother, figuring that if he wrote down what was bothering him on pen and paper, it was far less likely to keep him awake at night.
Dear Scott, Gordon wrote slowly, trying to think of how he wanted to word what he was trying to say. It was playing on his mind that apparently his faked death had affected his brother. He had been under the impression Scott had hated him then, and he figured little should have changed.
I found myself recently greeted with the company of our beloved cousin Spencer, and he mentioned something that has been on my mind since. He is good at that, I suppose. It was always his intention to get under your skin so you can't stop thinking about him, but I owe you an apology if what he said is correct. I just don't know what to think about it.
There is no better way to word this than bluntly, but I wish to know. Did you, in fact, care about me at all before I disappeared in '44? I know that we argued over false information and then you said you wished to never see me again. I have always believed this to be true, but I know that I hold the habit of taking things literally.
It's just that, as angry as you were when you saw I was still alive, I thought it more for the fact that you had been fooled rather than out of care. You told me you never wished to see me again when we last spoke before then, and I thought my death… I thought that you would be happy with the fate that had befallen me. Why tell me you hated me if you did not wish to see me dead?
You should not have thrown your life away for me or found answers in a bottle, as Spencer claimed. I am worth nothing to you. I am sure that we are both disappointments to our family line, but it is clear that our parents loved you more. You are, or would have been, the surviving heir of the family and I, even then, was nothing to them apart from a hope for the future if you remained celibate.
Concern aside, I am sure that Spencer intends to tell our parents that I live, and you may wish to be prepared for that eventuality. I think his plan is to cut you out of their will by making you seem like a liar to them. I personally think that they will not care for my survival, but they may care for my son's, which may prove complicated, especially if they found out that you knew. As I told you then, my care is for my son, and as much as I have no choice, if Spencer decides to drag him into the business world, I hope, for his sake, that it never finds him.
In truth, I feel he has been better without them. If they claim they care now, all I can ask is where were they in '44 when the Little Blitz struck London? If they did not care then, they hold no right to him now.
Do not feel indebted to ruin your life for me, Scott. If Spencer sees it fit to attempt to ruin your life, do not hesitate to throw the blame in my direction. It is the least I can do for you, after all.
I hope this letter finds you well,
Your brother, Gordon Gresley
With a heavy sigh, Gordon signed the letter and placed it on his night stand to send off in the morning. He supposed it would be too much to ask for life to give him a break, but he hoped, just this once, that it would all work out for the best.