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It used to be a bit of a joke, Gordon’s phobia of space. Considering how much time he spends in confined spaces surrounded by unbreathable nothingness, being in Thunderbirds Three or Five shouldn’t be such an issue.
At first, he laughs it off. He says he can’t go, the stars have nothing on the sea. Nobody takes it too seriously. Whenever he might have to accompany anyone off planet, he is suddenly not around, he has something else to do. He does all the training, just in case, of course he is nothing if not thorough and diligent.
Then Alan needs to dock with TB5 and Scott says (around his laryngitis) that it’d be nice for Gordon to finally see the workings up there for himself. Even Virgil’s been a couple of times. Alan’s up and down like a yo-yo. And he’s still too young to take solo missions, really. For safety.
Scott can’t go. Virgil and Kayo are on a rescue. Gordon finds Brains, casually begs him to go instead. Brains can’t, he has to liaise on the rescue, and he narrows his eyes as Gordon gulps quite hard and walks away like someone is pulling his strings.
Alan is excited. He wants to show Gordon how well he can perform in TB3, have him be impressed. Instead Gordon sits next to him on the chairs, fingers gripping the armrest like a vice as it descends through the floor. He is trying to act relaxed, but he’s pale and his laugh is an echo of itself.
By the time they’re suited and booted and ready to go, Gordon is in a cold sweat. He stares at the switches in front of him as Alan runs through his pre-flight checks, growing more and more concerned.
“Are you… all right?” he asks hesitantly. Gordon nods tightly, but anyone can see that he isn’t. Alan checks in with base for clearance, and John gives it.
“John… how urgent is this? I don’t think Gordon’s okay.”
“Nonsense, he’s playing it up to get out of it,” John says, his mind on other things. Alan looks at the way Gordon is the colour of curdled milk and knows it’s his call in the end. He almost calls it off, is about to say it, but then Scott is croaking through the mic asking what’s taking so long, is there a problem? and Alan feels like he should go.
Gordon throws up twice en route. That view, the one that all the others never cease to be amazed by, only makes Gordon more shivery and weak. Alan guides TB3 in alone, somewhat deflated. He’d wanted so much to impress Gordon with his skills.
John looks up, anticipating two brothers entering through the airlock, and only gets one. “Oh honestly, why does he have to be so dramatic, he’s so fixed on Four being the best that he won’t even look in on Five?” He’d wanted Gordon to be impressed too. Alan just looks worried.
“No, I don’t think it’s that. I think he actually is scared. He won’t get out of his seat.”
John leads the way back through, ready to give his brother a scolding for taking the joke too far. Gordon is rigid, his breathing shallow through his nose, unable to stop staring at the unending emptiness of nothing that extends before him. And the weightlessness. It’s not like being underwater. There is always pressure with water, even if you’re floating. It holds you. This- there’s nothing stopping him from floating away and never being able to get back. The blackness is terrifying.
John moves in front of him, breaks his view, and gently redirects his attention. It’s not easy to stay perched over the console. The chair isn’t designed to have anyone be in front of it.
“Look at me. Watch me. Breathe as I breathe. In and out. Count to ten. In- and out. In… and out. Remember your meditation. Count your breaths.”
Gordon’s panicked pupils are wide, but he fixes on John’s face and voice, clinging like a drowning man to the last lifeline. He takes a shaky breath, following instructions. Eventually, John nods to Alan to release Gordon’s restraints, and together they guide him through into Thunderbird Five. John puts him in his bedroom, and turns the glass opaque so he can’t see out. He has recordings of ocean sounds play, and leaves him there.
“Why did nobody realise Gordon has an actual phobia?” John asks, activating the gravity ring. Alan looks sad, guilty.
“Because he’s so fearless. I wanted him to see what I can do,” he says. “I should have called it off before launch.”
“It’s not your fault.” John is trying to work out a way to get Gordon back to Earth with minimal fuss. But first things first, they have to do the work Alan had come up to do in the first place. They work quickly and efficiently from long practice.
“Hey.” Gordon’s voice is still a bit wobbly. Alan looks up, and can’t help a smile.
“You’re feeling better?”
“A little. I just have to not look down.” He’s doing a good job of carefully not looking at the way the planet is wheeling past below his feet.
EOS’s camera focuses on Gordon’s face and moves around him. “Greetings, Thunderbird Four pilot Gordon Tracy. I am EOS. You do not look happy to be here.”
Gordon is wary of the AI still, remembering the way he’d felt when she threatened to murder two of his brothers in one fell swoop. “I can’t help but think about what it’d be like if the airlock just opened and sucked us all out,” he says, trying to be jocular but sounding strained. John shoots him a narrow look, defensive of his code-child.
“Come and see the control room,” Alan says quickly, leading the way.
The control room is the pride of Thunderbird Five, and the best part is that the views are completely holographic. Gordon can pretend he is in a virtual reality game instead of a few inches away from having all the water in his body vaporise and his lungs rupturing.
It is greatly impressive, however. John looks proud of what this room is capable of. He points out where Virgil and Kayo are, returning home. Alan calls in to congratulate them on a successful rescue.
“So they finally got you into space, did they, Gords?” Virgil says with a companionable smile. Gordon wants to be able to crawl through the hologram and be riding shotgun, safe and sound in Thunderbird Two, where he doesn’t have to fear the water on his tongue boiling, or floating forever until his oxygen runs out. He wants Virgil to take him home. Instead he grimaces and nods, and John says casually, “So it turns out Gordon’s astrophobic.”
“Oh crap, sorry bro. I should’ve thought about that.” Virgil looks genuinely regretful.
“What do you mean?” Alan asks. John frowns.
"He had this thing when we were kids-"
“Can you not talk about me like I’m not here?” Gordon says crossly, feeling sick with the zero gravity that John and Alan zip about in like ducks in a pond. The feeling of panic is bubbling up again and he puts his hands over his ears. All he can hear is the blood rushing through them. If he squints his ears, he can pretend it’s the ocean.
Alan can see he is distressed, and looks ruefully at John. “I’m not bringing this party-pooper ever again,” he says, trying to make a joke. John smiles. He can tell their time is up.
“Feel free to visit any time,” he says, guiding them back into the gravity ring. Being able to walk again helps Gordon, until he looks out of the window and has to clench his eyes tightly shut. He knows how thick and reinforced the glass is, but he also knows what the bends feels like, and can imagine how it’d feel to both have that and then suffocate in the freezing emptiness of the universe and have your body float for millions of years like so much space dust because corpses don’t decompose without oxygen.
“Here we go, back to good old Three, we’ll be home in a jiffy,” Alan says, using his ‘helping old people and children on rescues’ voice.
“Remember to breathe,” John says, helpfully. Gordon has enough strength left to flip him off, affectionately.
The trip back is worse, so much worse. They burn through the atmosphere and Gordon feels like his teeth are rattling out of his head. He hates, hates, hates every second of this God-forsaken journey. The landing is the softest that Alan has ever made, not that Gordon knows it. Scott does, though, and he’s waiting even though his throat feels like it’s lined with glass. He watches the chairs resurface in the main room, and sees the way Gordon is pooled in his like his bones are jelly. Alan is torn between laughter and concern. Between them they put Gordon to bed.
“Astrophobia, huh. Can you imagine what Dad would say,” Scott rasps, shaking his head. Virgil shrugs.
“Don’t you remember? Gordon used to have intense nightmares in the early days, whenever Dad went into orbit. After Mom- you know. He hates any film with the word “star” or “space” in the title. I didn’t realise it became an actual phobia.”
Scott would have more to say if he wasn’t sick, but he feels apologetic for making his brother suffer through that; apologetic enough to make sure there are pancakes for breakfast the next morning, heaped with real maple syrup and sliced banana and cinnamon, when Gordon joins them at the table. Alan tops it with whipped cream from a can, and then a slice of kiwifruit cut into a star shape.
Gordon accepts their apology and support wordlessly, and eats the whole thing.
“Hey, Gordo, can we go diving later?” Alan asks. Gordon smiles and throws an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in for a hug, a hug of pride and gratitude.
“Say,” Virgil says, wandering over, “I’ve been considering your issue and some immersion therapy could help. We can begin gently with Wall-E, go through Star Trek, and end with Interstellar. If you’re down for it.”
“You know what, I’m actually all booked up for today,” Gordon says cheerily. “My awesome little brother and I are going diving.”