"The Flying Kipper?" Henry stared at the train as he passed by it, looking over the clipboard in his hand. The trucks didn't smell particularly good, but he figured that, if it would bring him the opportunity to pull the Express, it would be worth it. Especially considering how his engine was a white elephant. His hard work, he thought to himself, was about to pay off. Placing the clipboard away, he climbed up onto his engine.
"Henry!" Pausing on the stair, he turned, steam rising from the machine to see Gordon striding up to him. A hand was held in the air, with a silver chain trailing from it. The big man's blue eyes gleamed. "You're going to be late!" Lowering the pocket watch, he placed it back into his coat pocket. "Not a good habit to keep. You aren't ready to pull the Express yet, I deem!"
Henry huffed at that. "I thought you'd never come around to the idea!"
"I haven't," he replied with a shrug, turning on the platform, his long coat's tail swishing with the movement, "but I suppose if you're willing to take a gamble on the Flying Kipper in the middle of winter, then you're either mad, or braver than I thought."
Henry grinned at that. "I'll take it. Well then, best we be off." Clambering up with his fireman, Henry worked the controls, breathing life into his temperamental engine. He leaned slightly outward to see Gordon, who gave him a companionable nod. Henry reach up and took his hat in his hand to wave in a carefree motion. Gordon smiled at that and lifted his hat to hold in the air as a good-bye.
A pity the journey, while promising at first, didn't end in such a fashion. His teeth gritted, Henry yanked hard on the controls, his fireman scrambling about alongside him, and the guard swearing over the radio about the idiot who rigged the signal wrong. The engines wheezed and protested Henry's iron grip. Sweat beaded on his brow, and dripped, the veins popping on his neck. The break van loomed before him as his engine rattled under him. He couldn't lose his train, not now, not when he was so close.
His breaths snarled out of his nose and mouth, drool falling from the corners of it. Something whistled, clanked, and struck Henry's head. He saw stars for a moment and gave a thought to how much that was going to hurt. The next moment, he was leaning heavily over the controls, with blood running down the side of his head.
"Henry, come on!" He blearily looked up to see his fireman, who was jerking at his hands. The radio was silent, the guard had having already jumped out of the brake van. "Henry, if you don't let go of the controls, I will throw you off this engine myself!"
Henry glanced back at the controls, which were continuing to seize and lock. Swallowing back a growl of frustration, he let go. He reached for his head, but the fireman grabbing his hand, yanking it down with a shake of the head, and tugged him out after him. Snow whipped by the two men. The fireman jumped first. With a final glance at his engine, his hand braced on the tender, Henry jumped, as well.
His vision dimmed from the shock of pain as he hit the ground. Inhaling snow by mistake, he lurched along the ground to cough it out. Henry breathed heavily, his lungs and throat feeling as if they were aflame. Propping himself on his elbows, he struggled to rise, slipping once. With a groan, he pushed himself up, toddling a few steps, his hand splayed out toward his green engine, which was sprawled, broken, on its side.
Tears ran down Henry's cheeks at how unfair it all was.
"Daddy, Daddy!" He tugged on his father's pant leg, "I want to see the train! Please, Daddy, oh please!"
His father chuckled, and hoisted Henry up to sit on his shoulders. Henry laughed and clapped his hands as the steam locomotive whooshed by. "Wow! I want to drive one someday!"
He'd fucked that up big time.
"Henry!" Feet pounded after him. He slipped on the snow with a gasp, and collapsed to the ground, staring at the burning wreck before him.
Hands gently prodded him, and someone was, from a distance, it seemed, telling him that it would be all right as his vision faded to black.
XXXXXX
The corridor between the men and women's locker rooms was silent as the Fat Controller, his top hat in his hands, stood before the assembled group of drivers, crewmen and women, and rolling stock attendants. Divided as they were across their functions, ages, and experience, everyone had the semblance of a shocked expression as he stated, "It is with regret that I must inform all of you gathered here that your co-worker, Henry Payne, has been in an accident. He has survived but is badly injured. His engine will be undergoing extensive repairs."
Several pairs of eyes lowered as he continued, "This is a hazardous job that each of you performs on this railway. I emphasize again to each of you the importance of safety and paying attention while on the rails." Thomas felt Annie's hand squeezing his shoulder at that. "For Henry's privacy, I will not be disclosing the location of where he has been hospitalized until he is lucid. However, all trains running to Wellsworth have been cancelled for the time being. I advise those of you who are working tonight to use added caution. For the remainder, I request that each of you are careful are your way home. That is all."
"Do you want to head home together?" James inquired to Gordon as the crowd dispersed, lengthening his strides to catch up to him.
"Not particularly," Gordon replied, his tone off-hand. He didn't bother looking back at James, who scowled at him, "There is no need to attach sentiment to this."
"What about Henry?" James inquired, his tone catching.
Gordon turned sharply at that. "What then, James? We wax sentimental about him? It helps nothing. I would prefer not to indulge."
"Glad to know that you're still the cold bastard you've always been, Gordon," James muttered, stopping.
Gordon paused, and, keeping his back to James, replied, "And you are still the petulant child you have always been. Good night."
James ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek, prepping himself to spit. Thinking better of it, he swallowed back the saliva, and went off in the opposite direction, feeling weighed down by the events of the day. The others had already departed, leaving industrial clangs and the howling wind beyond. Train whistles sounded in the distance.
James placed his back against a ticket booth's exterior wall, and slid down to sit on the ground, emotionally drained from the near loss of his friend. Henry's engine having problems was common knowledge, but he didn't think this would ever happen to him.
A pair of shoes stopped before him, and he raised his head.
Edward held out a hand to him, and James avoided it, standing up to brush himself off. "Thought you'd gone home," he muttered.
"I was on my way," he replied, "Would you care to join me?"
James felt half-compelled to say no but decided otherwise. "All right, let's be off."
Lights flared, shooting through the night fog as the trains ran. The two left the station grounds and made their way to the crowded bus station. Gordon, James noted silently, was already gone.
Thomas and Percy were crowded onto one seat, Percy's fear quieting him. Edward stopped before their seat, and had a quiet conversation with them, while James moved onward. Annie was powdering her nose, while Clarabel, her hands folded, hummed quietly to herself.
James leaned his head against the window as the bus lurched, closing his eyes. At the sound of a gentle sigh, he opened an eye in surprise to see that Edward did keep to his word. For a moment, he considered the prospect of shoving him out of the seat, as he felt as if he was being looked down upon. Edward had shared his aged wisdom with Percy and Thomas, and now he was going to share it with him, as well, to keep up the illusion that he knew everything.
However, what stayed his hand was the exhaustion that showed upon Edward's face. Edward looked tired and sad as James felt, and he realized that the older man had been masking it, previously, for Thomas and Percy. James leaned away from it to stare out the window. "My flat's a bit out of your way," he commented doubtfully.
"That's all right," Edward replied gently.
The bus was very nearly empty by the time James pulled the cord above his head. Reaching over, he shook Edward's shoulder. The man blinked his eyes open and nodded as James rose.
"Good night, you two," Bertie called after them.
"I'll be back," Edward replied, turning to glance back at the driver.
"Just be there in time for the last bus out," Bertie replied, holding up a hand before shutting the door to drive off.
Edward glanced about in surprise as they departed from the bus station. It was a more industrialized area of Sodor close to the docks. The buildings were squatter, and packed closely together, bearing gray tones. Paper rustled across the road.
James shrugged. "Not as graceful surroundings as you had thought?"
Edward sidestepped the barb, knowing that James was trying to goad him into fighting with him. "I assumed nothing," he replied simply.
"I suppose that's a relief, then," he commented with a bitter note in his voice.
Street lamps burned overhead as they moved down the road, their coats odd splotches of color. A few sidelong glances were cast in their direction, and James, much to his own annoyance, had to drop backward to say to Edward, "I'd recommend leaving sooner, rather than later." Edward gave a slight nod at that, and James turned back, swallowing back his disdain at the other man slowing him down. "Another block, and we're there."
A rectangular building loomed before them, James leading Edward through a doorway to reveal that it was hollow within. A courtyard stood with brown grass and a skeletal tree. The apartments were packed together in rows, the doors shut. James ascended a set of stairs on the side, grimacing at the salt and muck on them.
James noticed that Edward was falling behind again, and slowed his strides, placing his hand over the railing. Edward waved him on, and James scowled, tapping his foot, "Would you just hurry up?"
Edward stopped, with several stairs separating them. "I can call it a night, James," he replied evenly, "You are home, after all."
James huffed in frustration, hitting his foot hard against the stair once as he ceased his tapping. Edward ambled up to him, and they continued along, James gnawing at the inside of his cheek in frustration. Wall lights cast over them, with muffled conversations reaching their ears past the doors. An unpleasant-sounding argument, its volume gradually increasing, was among them. James sighed, and mumbled, "Oh great," under his breath.
Something shattered, causing Edward's eyes to widen. He paused. "I think something just broke in there."
James turned back to look at him, and in a sharp tone, replied, "Don't get involved."
Edward stared at him, and James strode over to him, grasping his arm. "Edward," he emphasized, his voice clipped, "Come on, this doesn't concern you."
Edward was about to argue when he heard the urgency in James's tone, and felt the tight grip of his friend's hand. James stood unwaveringly. "Well, I suppose," he replied quietly, his tone not approving.
Satisfied with his answer, James let go, and continued down the row. A bare black bulb stood over a door, and James muttered in annoyance, "Burned out again?"
Glancing up at it, Edward asked, "Are you sure you want to stay the night here?"
"Where else would I stay?" James questioned, "I'll just make sure the door's locked tonight. Once my lease is up next year, I'm going to look into other arrangements."
"That would be wise," Edward replied, brushing past his previous question. Offering a room to James would be too forward, for as much as he was concerned about him.
James sighed as he turned the key in the lock, shouldering the door open. "If the Fat Controller doesn't completely overhaul Henry's engine, he's as good as done, anyway," he said pessimistically.
Edward placed his hands in his coat pockets. "Nothing has been determined, yet. I recall the repairs your engine needed after the truck incident." Pivoting on his heel, James kept close to the threshold. Normally, he would have given a snide remark to him for mentioning the incident, but he decided against it. Edward noticed the apartment door was slowly closing, blocking the man more from his vision with each moment. He felt as if he wanted to catch the door, and pull it back open, but he didn't want to impose. Those sad brown eyes kept staring at him all the while, and he said, "James, you aren't alone."
James gave a heavy sigh. "I don't want you to see me like this."
"I won't judge you," Edward replied gently, holding out a hand, "Henry is your friend, as he is mine. You have every right to feel upset."
James looked down at it and paused. Glancing back up at the older man, he replied, "Edward, please, spare me my pride."
Edward's hand fell. "All right. I'll see you tomorrow." James pulled the door shut. Turning, Edward headed off, absent-mindedly rubbing his gloved hands together with a somber frown on his face.
The door cracked back open, and James stared out after where Edward had taken his leave. He lowered his dark gaze to the ground before closing it again.
Across town, a glass clinked from the ice that was dropped into it. A bottle of scotch tilted on its side, dumping amber liquid into it. Gordon threw back the hard liquor, allowing it to burn his throat. He normally didn't drink this much, but the occasion warranted it. Henry did have the nicest smile, he thought forlornly to himself. He supposed it was the alcohol that made it feel as if his tear ducts were burning.
XXXXXX
When Henry came to in the hospital, he felt as if he was floating above his bed. While the nurses and doctor were kind to him, it disturbed him how he was trapped within his own body. The crash replayed itself over in his mind multiple times, and he was expecting to see a pink slip. However, the only item that did appear from work was a vase of yellow roses. "Courtesy of Sir Topham Hatt," the nurse explained as she placed them in water.
He wasn't sure what to make of it all, and the hospital drugs weren't helping. A nurse held up a mirror to him to show what his head looked like. Henry would have cringed if he could have. The hair on the right side of his head had been sheared off to allow for the wound he had sustained to be more properly tended to. There was a bandage on the right side of his head, currently stained brown. He thought he looked ridiculous.
His dreams were strange, as well. He dreamt mostly of snow and ice, and at times, dreamt that he himself was his engine. He also dreamt of faces, usually those of the other drivers, silently surrounding him before disappearing. On rare occasions, he dreamt that Gordon came to visit him, sitting on the edge of his bed, shutting the curtains, smoothing out the hair on the left side of his head, or arranging the flowers for him.
Opening his eye, Henry muttered, "Gordon, what're you doing here?"
"I'm sorry?" A nurse quietly asked in surprise.
"Nothing," Henry murmured, closing his eyes again.
While in this haze, he thought he heard Clarabel's voice in the distance. Turning his head, he saw her long copper hair, clipped back under her hat's netting as she whispered to his nurse with a bundle in her hands. The hall light was ghostly, with their shadows cast long. He drifted back under as something rustled on his beside tray.
Waking up, he saw that a small bouquet of lilies had been placed in a bottle on the tray. "Who sent them?" He asked drowsily.
The nurse shrugged. "The card just said, 'From a friend.'" He gave mind to the fact that a coach attendant's qualifications included experience in medicine before drifting again.
He was slowly taken off the drugs, and, with assistance, was guided about the room under the doctor's supervision. With a nod, the doctor decided, "You're coming along well, Mr. Payne. I recommend, however, about three more weeks' time. With your operating heavy machinery, we can't afford to take any risks."
"Yes, sir," he replied doubtfully, concerned that he probably wouldn't have a job awaiting him upon his return.
Still, it was nice to see his crew when they visited.
Henry slowly sat up, his fireman supporting him. "Hurts like hell, but I suppose it could feel worse."
His guard nodded as he lit his pipe. "Well, old boy, for as odd is it sounds, it was perhaps for the best that the wreck had occurred. Your engine is being overhauled at Crewe."
"I'm sorry?" Henry asked blankly, looking between both of his crewmen, who smiled.
"That's right," his fireman replied, "the engine is being reformatted into a new type altogether, an LMS Stanier Class 'Black Five,' in fact. We've seen the work on it, thus far." Reaching into his pocket, he presented a photo to Henry, who slowly held it up to examine it.
His hand shook slightly, as he felt overwhelmed by his second chance. "It's beautiful," he commented quietly.
"We'll be happy to ride with you, as soon as you are better," his guard stated fondly.
Handing the picture back to the fireman, Henry replied with a smile, "Thank you. Now, in the meantime, how have you two been? How are the children, Sidney?" His fireman, after pocketing the photo, gladly launched into a story about his daughter's dance recital.
Over the next week, James appeared, dropping himself onto the beside chair, crossing one leg over the other, and presenting Henry with a biscuit tin. "Thought it would be a welcome break from the hospital food."
Thanking him, Henry took one before pushing the tin back toward him. Biting moodily into a Cornish fairing, James grumbled, "I'm sorry that I wasn't able to see you earlier. The Fat Controller didn't want anyone to until you were well enough."
Henry chuckled. "Suddenly I'm proving to be quite popular."
James's face slowly fell. "Hasn't anyone other than us been in to see you?"
Henry contemplated the half-eaten Jammie Dodger in his hand. "No, why?"
"Haven't you family?"
He shrugged and gave the typical answer. "Mum died five years ago. Dad died of a broken heart, so the neighbors said. I don't have any siblings."
James gave a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Henry glanced up at him. "Why should you? Work is work. Home is another thing entirely. I'd rather you see me now, anyway, as opposed to when I was drugged to the gills."
James grinned. "Oh, I've seen you drunk before."
The tin slid as Henry shoved it back to him. "Eat your biscuits, Jimmy."
James broke into a laugh at that, and Henry relaxed, glad to have glossed over the unpleasant subject.
Gordon, by contrast, stood beside the chair, his one hand on the back of it as if posing for a painting. "I'm glad to see you're coming along well."
Henry brushed his hand close to his bandages. "Not very attractive, but at least it's temporary." Lowering his hand, he said, "I suppose it could've been worse. I could've been out of a job."
"It was an accident," he replied, letting go of the chair.
Henry glanced at him sidelong. "Must be nice, having an imperfect copy of your model being erased from existence."
He waved a hand dismissively, scowling. "Don't bring that into this. It's in bad taste."
"Being dishonest is in bad taste," Henry corrected him. Bending his knee, he propped his elbow on it. "Get it into the open now. I don't want it to be between us when I come back to work."
Gordon tilted his head to the side, a black lock of hair falling past his ear as he folded his arms behind his back. "You want honesty, Henry? Fine, then." Clearing his throat, he began to pace back and forth before his friend's hospital bed. "Personally, I'm quite glad that that wreck of a machine you called an engine has been reformatted into something somewhat serviceable. It was a disgrace to my engine, and the legacy of the LNER it bears. Furthermore, it's the product of pilfered blueprints; it's not even a failed invention, but a scoundrel's white elephant." Pausing before Henry, he added, "And what annoyed me the most about it was that you could do better than that. No matter how often that piece of scrap metal failed, you never gave up on it. But then again, you never had a choice, did you? It was the best you could do with what you were offered. And, to be quite honest, that is the maddening part of it. It was a waste of your effort and time." Henry swallowed as Gordon's expression softened. "You have another chance, now, with this better model. Make something of yourself with it, Henry."
Henry gave a nod after a few moments of silence. "Thank you." Gordon excused himself a short time afterward.
Much to Henry's surprise, he was greeted with a banner welcoming him back. Edward gave him a handshake. James slapped him on the back. Thomas popped a cork on a champagne bottle while Percy cheered. Gordon remained silent, away from the rest of the group, his arms folded. Henry, however, noticed the smile upon his face.
It wasn't until the festivities ended that Henry recalled once mentioning to Gordon that he preferred lilies, while watching a girl selling flowers near the platform.
Cameras flashed from the local press as Henry followed the Fat Controller, his crew in tow, to his new engine, and climbed aboard. He couldn't resist pulling the whistle, announcing his new future.
As time passed, he noticed the tension between Gordon and James. They tended to avoid each other and argue over small details. While their arguments tended to gentle or cease whenever Henry was nearby, the looks of disdain they gave each other said more than enough.
Gordon altered his habits in a palpable way, that being he tended to leave with Henry at the end of the day. While Henry didn't entirely mind the company, he found that he preferred the times when he returned home alone. Invalid, he was not.
"I don't feel very well," Henry commented quietly to James one night. Dripping water from his railway canteen into his hands, he splashed the water onto his face.
"What's wrong?" James asked, placing his hand against the back of his shoulder, and looking over him in concern.
Henry watched James's outline waver. "I'm dizzy. I can't seem to find my center of gravity." He put out a hand to the nearest wall, and James helped him to sit down on a bench.
"Stay here," James commanded before turning to run off. Henry put his head in his hands and rubbed his temples. He had pushed himself too hard, as of late, and was paying for it.
At the sound of James's returning voice, he glanced up to see James and Gordon off in the distance, James gesturing toward Henry from time to time as he spoke. Henry wanted to rise, and move over to them, but decided against it, being too tired. Their expressions were clearly unhappy, with each man seeming to want to push a point against the other. However, as he watched, their expressions appeared to relax, with James giving a nod, and backing away. Turning from Gordon, he leapt into the darkness, his boots crunching on the gravel beneath the platform as he landed.
Gordon paused and knelt before him. Henry was surprised at that, but didn't have much time to think on it as Gordon inquired, "Can you walk?"
"I can," he replied quietly.
"All right. I'm taking you home."
The bus ride home and the subsequent walk passed in a flurry of light and voices. Gordon was saying something as Henry walked up the front steps to his house. The key, after a try, clicked into the lock, and Henry leaned forward, feeling overly tired.
Henry's breath drew short, and his eyes rolled back in his head. Charging forward, Gordon caught him before he hit the concrete. He shook his friend, but Henry lay silent in his arms, unconscious. Pushing against the door with his shoulder, Gordon half-carried Henry inside.
Leaning backward, he shut the door with his foot, and quickly glanced about, having little time to take in his surroundings. His eyes landed on a couch, and he made a beeline for it, lying Henry's limp body upon it. Kneeling over him, he gently hit against the sides of Henry's face. "Henry, Henry!" He called repeatedly. Frustration sunk in as Henry continued not to respond. With a glance down, Gordon sighed, deciding that if this didn't work, he would call for an ambulance.
Undoing Henry's coat to allow him room to breathe, and exposing the waistcoat and shirtsleeves beneath, he picked up his wrist in one hand. In the other, he grasped his pocket watch, and timed Henry's pulse against it. He nodded at it as he felt the man beneath him stirring. Gordon allowed Henry's wrist to slip loose from his grip, and slid backwards, He put his pocket watch away as Henry blinked blearily at him.
It was hardly a compromising position, but it was still one that Gordon would rather have not found himself in. Straightening up, he commented, "Good, you're conscious."
Henry rolled his head to the side, catching it in his hand. "Well, that was embarrassing," he muttered.
"Not entirely," Gordon replied, reaching for his gloves, "Perhaps it would have been better for you, had you paced yourself better. Button your coat, you're going to see the physician."
Henry rolled his eyes at him. "Then you would have insulted me for not moving quickly enough. On that note, I am not sick, only tired."
"Hence why I said the physician, not the hospital," he replied evenly, and when the other man continued to sit, "Sometime today would be nice, Henry."
Grumbling, Henry refastened his coat, and followed him back to his apartment's door. "Thank you, I suppose."
"It was something any decent man would have done," Gordon replied dismissively, pulling the door open as a punctuation.
Hey guys, remember when I said I didn't intend to write another Thomas the Tank Engine fanfic? Yeah, about that...
It should go without saying that not everything translates when writing a humanization fanfic. For example, in "Toward the Dusk," I stated that James "tore out" with his engine on his own during the events my interpretation of the episode "Old Iron," and wasn't able to stop it due to the controls locking on him. I suppose it could be interpreted as James attempting a derring-do, thinking that he could ride the rails on a runaway train. Henry's head injury is another translation I attempted, and I tried to break off from the fan tradition of having him share the same surname of his model's creator, Sir William Stanier. The locker rooms and the corridor between them was the closest thing I could think of for the shed and turntable.
This was not meant to become a chapter fic, however the length of it exceeded a one-shot. While this chapter follows the events of "The Flying Kipper" in the timeframe (e.g. characters like Toby, Henrietta, Duck, Douglas, Donald, and Oliver not appearing), the following two chapters will take place later on in the timeline. Annie and Clarabel previously being in the medical field was actually something I ripped from airline attendants, that being how during the 1950's (in the U.S. at least) graduating from the nursing academy was a requirement. I actually didn't squeeze this in to allow Gordon to pull a favor, rather it was to give more agency to Annie and Clarabel. Regardless, I had to drop a few elements from this fic that were making it become too large.