Here's another companion-piece sort of story, this time featuring another favourite character who was first introduced in the JOURNEY BEYOND SODOR special...Hurricane! This character proved to be quite the puzzler for me for a while. I found it hard to reconcile scenes of him initially meanly bashing Thomas about with his later, friendlier overtures and ultimate decision to risk his own self to save the little blue guy from disaster. For sure one of the more complicated personalities the franchise has offered in recent years, I thought, and how better to explore a complicated character than to write fanfic about him. So-here you go! Timewise, this one takes place in-between the Henry story and the one about the German engine, but I'll try to write it so it could also be read as a standalone...

Disclaimer: The following story is intended for non-profit entertainment purposes only and is not meant to infringe upon the rights of any Thomas the Tank Engine/Thomas and Friends copyright holders.

HURRICANE

Part One

On the grounds of a steelworks in the northern UK, a lonely locomotive sat awaiting his fate. His name was Hurricane and he was a tank engine and a singular one at that, as large as many tender engines and with a grand total of ten big driving wheels planted on the rails beneath him. Only a month ago, he'd been working at the nearby plant with four other engines, but then the plant had shut down and begun renovations and the other engines had been taken away. Now, he was the only one left, waiting by himself in a shed sited well away from the buildings he'd once called home, watching as the blowtorches flared and the hammers rang 24/7, reshaping the works into something updated and new that might or might not include him.

A car drove in through the main gates and onto the grass and towards his shed. It was the first time anyone had come near him since the last of the other engines had gone away and he went instantly on alert, fearing the worst. The car stopped next to his track and several people climbed out, one of whom he recognized as the steelworks manager, the others strangers. Hurricane fastened all his attention on the steelworks man and looked at him pleadingly.

"Well, here he is," the manager said to the other two humans. "He was still working only six weeks ago and was fine then, so I imagine he's still in excellent order. I had a man oil him up a couple of times and his water tank's full and we put in all of what was left of the coal, at least three-quarters there, so you should have plenty of fuel to get you where you need to go."

"Sounds ver' good, sir. I'll get 'im started," replied one of the strangers, and they both went into Hurricane's shed and climbed into his cab. The locomotive felt one of the humans open up his firebox, the other started fingering his controls, and his anxiety grew. The steelworks man was the only person who'd remained outside, in front of Hurricane, and he could see that the manager seemed indifferent, just totally blasé about all that was going on, as though he could care less about what was happening to his engine. The man's attitude coupled with his own uncertainty over his fate was more than the poor locomotive could stand. Dismayed and frightened, he broke down and begged the manager for help.

"Please, sir. What's happening? I don't understand."

"What's that?" the man, startled, exclaimed.

"What's going to happen to me?"

The steelworks man regarded the big tank engine for a long moment. "Well, you've been sold, is what's happening," he finally answered.

"Oh…"

The steelworks manager wasn't the only human present who'd heard the fear in Hurricane's voice. One of the people inside his cab poked her head out.

"What's going on out here?" the woman asked. "Are you worried, big fellow? You sound upset."

The sudden offer of concern almost unraveled Hurricane. "I don't know what's happening," he reiterated miserably.

The woman climbed out of his cab. Then, there she was, standing in front of him, looking up at him with a very kind expression on her face, the most kindness he'd been shown by any human in many days. "Well, it's like Mister Finch said. You've been sold, Hurricane," she told him.

"Am—am I going to be s-scrapped?"

"No, not even close. You've been sold to the best new owner imaginable, a gentleman named Sir Topham Hatt, whose family owns and runs the North Western Railway on the Island of Sodor."

"Sodor? Sodor!" The big engine's eyes widened with sudden astonishment. "But that's— Thomas was from Sodor!"

"That's right. And you'll be seeing him soon, I'm sure."

"But I—I— We treated him so badly! He must have told you!"

"He did," said the woman, "and he also told us about how you damaged yourself saving him from a molten ore spill. That's the part Sir Topham Hatt thought was the more honest reflection of your character when he was deciding whether to take a chance on you, so here we are, to fire you up and take you to your new home."

Hurricane stared down at the woman, his dismay and fright obliterated by an avalanche of new emotions he couldn't even begin to dig through. All he could think of to do at that instant was mumble his humble thanks, all the while keeping his eyes downcast, his whole aspect now torn between bewilderment and relief. The woman, whose name was Denise Doyon and who loved all steam locomotives with a passion matched only by that of her fireman-husband, Pierre, watched him with sympathy. He'd obviously been expecting the worst, and to be given a reprieve seemed to be something of a shock for him…it was sad to see. But he was grateful too, no doubt about that, and she already believed Thomas's assertion that he was a kind engine at heart, for he had the softest eyes. No engine she'd ever known who had a soft eye had been a bad one.

What Hurricane didn't know and never would, was that Sir Topham Hatt had made his purchase conditional, the condition being that if the crew he sent to fetch him had any doubts about Hurricane's personality whatsoever, they were to express their reservations to Mister Finch and veto the sale on the spot. Denise was very happy to catch the steelworks manager's eye at that point and give him a very slight, almost imperceptible nod, and so the judgement was made and the deal sealed.

"Let me get that paperwork," Mister Finch said in response, clapping his hands together with satisfaction, and climbed back in his car and drove off. Hurricane, ignorant of what had just transpired, watched him go, looking surprised. Denise watched Hurricane, smiling. She already liked him.

"I'm sorry people haven't been speaking to you about your situation. Is there anything else you want to ask us now? Anything you want to know?" she offered.

The big tank engine regarded her. He still looked surprised and a tad apprehensive as he formulated his next words.

"Do you—would you know anything about Frankie? The diesel who worked with me?"

"Your diesel friend? She's in a shop, undergoing some major maintenance, nothing serious, just routine, I believe. Once the renovations here at your steelworks are done and they're ready to fire everything back up, she'll be sent back along with four brand new diesels to start work again. That's why you and the experimental engines were put up for sale, I'm afraid. No more steam-powered locos. The company that owns this plant wanted to go all diesel and they're willing to put in a proper little fleet this time."

"Oh… So she'll have help…"

"Yes, and a good job and a home for years to come. Good news for Frankie, I'd say."

"Yes. It is…"

The words were positive, yet that face… Impulsively, Denise reached out and stroked his buffer plate. She was pretty sure she knew the cause for his unhappiness. "I'm sorry you didn't get a chance to say goodbye to her," she said quietly.

"Yeah…well…it happens..."

Hurricane's voice trailed off and he went silent to digest all that he'd just learned. So, Frankie was fine and she'd be back at the steelworks once it was open again, with new friends to share the workload. He was glad for her, but wished he'd been able to bid her a proper farewell…he missed her. And Sodor! He was going to Sodor! How lucky was that! The human's little hand was still patting over his buffer plate, in an affectionate, reassuring way, and for the first time he looked down and really saw her. Was she typical of the sort of people he'd be working with once there, people who understood steam engines and who knew how to relate to them? He hoped so. Hurricane had never felt himself to be mistreated, exactly, but there had been times in his past when he'd been regarded as little more than a machine built for hard labour and that had been dispiriting.

He started noticing other things about the nice little human standing in front of him. She was wearing a uniform, for starters, that looked like a railway worker's uniform…how strange… Whoever was still inside his cab had already gotten a roaring big fire going and she was surely too small anyway to be of much use in that department, which meant that she must be…had to be… Hurricane blinked, and blinked again.

"Are you…a driver?" he asked at last.

The woman acted as if she'd been waiting for his question. "Better hope so, for your sake," she quipped. "I am the one who's going to have a hand on your throttle all the way back to Sodor."

"All the… I think I'll like that."

That made her grin. A lot. "A saucy one!" she exclaimed. "Oh, you're going to fit right in, I just know it."

Hurricane wasn't at all sure what she was getting at. He wasn't used to conversing with humans on anything but a pragmatic level.

"Just reporting the facts, ma'am," he tried, still baffled, and this time she absolutely beamed back at him. Without intending to, he'd very much pleased her, Hurricane realized, although he still didn't know exactly why. The nuances of this new human/engine relationship were going to take some getting used to, he thought.

"Pierre! Get out here!" the woman yelled at whoever was still inside his cab. "You've got some competition."

Again, Hurricane drew a blank. Competition? With whom? How? Then the man was there, a big fellow with black hair and eyes and one of those odd bars of extra hair some of the men liked to wear above their mouths…a mustache, Hurricane had heard it called. He looked just as friendly as the woman, although his first words to the engine provoked a bit of a start.

"So, 'urricane, already you like to sweet-talk my wife, eh?"

"I— What?"

The two humans dissolved into fits of laughter, even leaning for support against his buffers. Hurricane looked from one to the other of them, quite flabbergasted, but also a little intrigued and happy. He hadn't felt at all happy for some weeks now and the humans' infectuous good cheer was impossible to resist, even if they appeared to be having some fun at his expense. They quickly made up for it by introducing themselves as soon as they'd calmed down, treating him with the same respect they would have shown another human.

"I've never met a crew who were married," Hurricane replied, warming to the attention, "or a lady engine driver."

"We are a rarity," the lady driver remarked. "But so are you. You're the first tank engine decapod we've ever met. We'd actually read about you, but never expected to ever see you, or drive you…it's quite the thrill for us, you know."

Now it was Hurricane's turn to beam. It might have been awhile since he'd been happy, but to be openly admired and looked upon with real appreciation…that he hadn't known in what seemed like forever. His builders had seemed to admire him once. Then that had faded and he'd been sent off to work at a long string of different jobs, none of which had suited him well. It wasn't until the steelworks had acquired him and had his drive mechanisms redesigned to better handle the close quarters within the plant that he'd found his niche.

His new crew examined his drivers now as they began a preliminary walkabout of Hurricane's exterior. "Dis is articulated now, oui?" Pierre the fireman remarked as he ran a hand over one of the big coupling rods. "You can call a tank engine articulated?"

"Two separate sets of drivers. Don't see why not," Denise called back from the engine's other side. "Hurricane? Have you noticed a difference in your performance since your redesign? This was all done so you could better negotiate curves, wasn't it?"

"Yes!" Hurricane replied, pleased that they'd even thought to ask for his opinion. He was, after all, the one who'd been most affected by the change. "I can handle much tighter turns now as long as I go a little slow. When I was working inside the plant, if Frankie could manage it, then so could I."

"Ah. Good to know," Denise said. "A little agility's always good for dock work."

"An' de quarry. Some tight tracks dere," Pierre added.

Hurricane began getting a little excited. He could feel the humans touching him here and there as they continued their examination, making sure that all appeared connected as it should with no suspicious gaps or leaks, and his boiler had started bubbling nicely. He was almost in full steam and the talk of docks and quarries had fired his imagination. Like all steam engines, Hurricane was happiest when out on the rails, pleasing his humans and making full use of all the power and speed at his disposal. He was of no use to anyone, not even himself, stuck here in this shed, and he suddenly wanted OUT with an urgency which surprised even him. His change of mood readily communicated itself to his new crew. They could feel his surging energy as a faint tremor vibrating right through his entire being, and when Denise got back out in front of him and looked up, she could tell from his expression that all his despondency was gone, replaced by an unrestrained eagerness to be underway. It was a great example of one of the things she loved best about locomotives, just their ability to regain their zest for life in such short order no matter how great their despair or suffering. She'd always thought that humanity could learn a lot from the resiliency of engines.

"Just one last thing to do, Hurricane," she soothed. "Just a bit of paperwork to sign and we'll be out of here."

"Good-oh," he said, in a funny, throaty voice which made her smile.

Mister Finch the steelworks manager finally came back with another plant worker in tow to act as a witness. Hurricane watched as the four humans went through the papers spread out on the hood of the car, with one or the other of them occasionally writing something down, and within a few minutes the deed was done and the engine knew that his life had just changed forever. He was a North Western loco now, from the Island of Sodor. Whether that change would be for the better remained to be seen.

Hurricane was finally allowed to exit his shed after bleeding off a great cloud of steam. The two steelworks men watched, then the manager suddenly looked startled and shot up one arm in a gesture of arrest.

"I almost forgot!" he shouted over the wheeshing steam. "We still have some spare wheels for Hurricane! Do you want them?"

"Spares?" Denise echoed.

"Yes. They won't be compatible with the new diesels. You might as well take them, otherwise we'll just have to melt them down again."

The Doyons looked around their cab. The offer was certainly enticing. "Maybe dey fit de floor?" Pierre suggested. "Can we tie dem?"

"I'll loan you a truck," the manager called. "Come on back to the works. Hurricane knows the way."

The big tank engine complied, using his track to follow the car, rolling smoothly forward under his new driver's guidance. But at the entrance to the steelworks, he felt himself eased to a stop and the little human leaned out of her side window to address him.

"Hurricane? I'm obviously not practised yet in the more delicate maneuvers here," she said. "If I give you free rein, can I trust you to go in and pick up that truck on your own?"

"Of course, ma'am! No problemo."

"Good. Off you go then."

Hurricane surged forward again, feeling very proud. It was extraordinarily rare for a driver to allow their engine to act on their own, unheard of when machine and human were so new to one another. With great care and efficiency, Hurricane entered the steelworks and made his way over to the alcove which served as the engines' occasional repair bay. Mister Finch was already there, supervising a small 4-wheeled crane as it lifted parts into a truck. There already seemed to be a lot more than just wheels inside the truck's body.

"Ah, there you are," the steelworks manager said. "Does your steamworks forge its own parts?"

"Sometimes," Pierre replied.

"Oh, good. Then you may as well have the molds we made for some of Hurricane's parts too—some of them are one of a kind and you won't be able to get them on the open market. And there's a couple of rods and other stuff, and I've got some of his old design and background info here on top of his maintenance records. Your engineers could probably use that."

"Oh gosh! Thank you so much, Mister Finch." Denise leaned out of Hurricane's cab to receive the thick sheaf of papers Finch held up to her, then carefully stowed it inside her kitbag along with the engine's legal papers and logbook. "This is so very generous of you," she added, giving the man her very best smile.

Mister Finch shrugged. "None of it's going to be of any use to us anymore. Oh, and don't worry about returning the truck or the tarps. I'm pretty sure the company's replacing the lot. Some new stock especially designed for diesels or something. Besides, it'll be handy to have Hurricane's spares already stored in one place until your steamworks gets them sorted out."

The Doyons effusively thanked the steelworks manager again and he watched as the last of his former steam engines nimbly reversed himself to couple up to the loaded truck. With the sale made and the locomotive on its way out the door, he could afford to feel magnanimous.

"Tell Sir Topham Hatt that he's getting a monstrous bargain in that engine," he called after them. "I don't think that machine knows the meaning of the words 'shirk' or 'lazy'. He did a lot of good work for us."

"Don't worry, sir, he'll be appreciated," Denise called back. "Thanks again, and good bye." But Mister Finch had already turned away, getting back to the real job of overseeing the plant's renovations. The woman thoughtfully patted the side of Hurricane's interior cab and took up his controls again. "Well done," she told the big engine. "I should be fine from now on."

Hurricane, as docile as he was strong when it came to obeying his human masters, became instantly subservient once more. Denise felt him rein in his enormous tractive power, the energy thrumming through him, all hers now to direct and use as she pleased, and heaved a little internal sigh of relief. He was indeed one of the good ones. Her trust in him had not been misplaced. As soon as they'd cleared the steelworks, she opened him up, and Hurricane scooted forward and rushed through the main gates like the storm he'd been named after. He ran onto the mainlines and turned for his new home without a single backward glance, eager to be gone at last and to put a definitive end to what had been one of the more checkered parts of his recent past.

to be continued...