It was a cool and quiet morning. The tracks sat idly, wet with summer dew, speckled in early sunlight as it shined through the trees. There was not a breath of wind, nor a cloud in the sky. This morning presented delightful promise of a break in the burning heatwave that relentlessly plagued the island. In the distance the first hint of life on the railway puffed along the line. It was Emerson. He was on his way to Vicarstown to collect his first round of holiday-makers. This time, however, he wasn't to take them to Harwick as normal. Sir Topham Hatt had requested the soft-spoken A3 deliver the passengers to Ulfstead Castle. They were the first of many crowds of tourists he was set to carry. He was excited. He'd only been to the castle a handful of times and was eager to be the estate's express engine for the day.

He rolled to the platform and was warmly greeted by a crowd of tourists. They ooed and awed at the stately locomotive, a few even asked his permission for a picture which he was more than happy to oblige. Emerson had quickly risen to be the favorite of Sir Topham's big engines. He was undeniably attractive like Gordon but without all the dour and hostility typically presented by the older A3. Rebecca was favored as well, but her excitable personality could be a bit much for some.

All of the passengers had boarded and Emerson's guard waved the green flag with a hearty whistle and the engine was quick to depart. He powered down the line with such ease; he hardly noticed the line of massive, heavy coaches in his stead. Gordon passed the young engine with his own express and offered up a quick whistle that Emerson returned promptly. He could tell his blue counterpart was tired by his empty gaze. Poor Emerson felt totally helpless. He wanted to offer Gordon comfort, but he knew that the only thing the big engine truly needed was space and time to heal on his own. He was reclusive like that.

Emerson winded his way up the mountain towards Ulfstead. He relished in the cool breeze of the high altitude as it caressed his face. He could see the gray stony turrets of the castle jutting up in the distance as he drew closer and he built up his pressure and steamed on with excited purpose. The grand iron gates groaned open before him and he began to carefully apply his brakes while approaching the platform. As he came to a stop, Emerson noticed Spencer sitting at the second platform across the way. The glimmery A4 looked bored. He kept sighing while his half-shut eyes darted across the visible landscaping of the castle grounds. It had been a while since Emerson spoke with Spencer. He knew Meredith wasn't his biggest fan and from the few interactions he himself had with the fancy engine Emerson, too, wasn't much of an admirer. Still, he had some time to kill and he was required to wait for the tours to finish. He gave his boiler a shrug and had himself uncoupled from his coaches before puffing over to the lonely engine with delicate ease. "Morning, Spencer."

Spencer started. "Oh! Uh- hello, Emerson. What do you need?"

"Just figured you might like some company. You look like you've been counting the blades of grass on the lawn."

"Well that does sound more appealing than just sitting here wasting steam."

"What? Me being here or counting the grass?" Emerson forced a small laugh and Spencer merely cracked a smile. The two have never conversed in a casual manner so the initial exchange was- to put it simply- awkward.

They sat in weird silence for a moment until Spencer, shockingly, had a thought. "I say, have you seen Meredith? I've not been here long but I heard about all that happened between her and… you know-" He cleared his throat. "Well, I just wanted to check on her- is all."

Emerson's smile dropped. He shifted uncomfortably on his wheels and glanced around. Stephen and Glynn had just arrived at the platform to pick up their passengers but they were too busy acting a fool with each other to notice the two express engines. Emerson returned his gaze back to an extremely puzzled Spencer and sighed. "She uhh… Sir Topham sold her."

"What? Surely not!"

Emerson nodded. "She's been gone a couple weeks at this point. I'm surprised you've not seen her, however."

"How so?"

"She was sold to your railway in London."

"Truly?"

Another nod.

"I've not seen her." Spencer paused and another realization slapped his already stunned visage. "What of Gordon?"

"He's kept level-headed." Emerson was surprised at the private engine's clear concern. It was unexpected. He thought the two hated each other. "But he's clearly heartbroken."

"I see..." Spencer looked ahead at a few scattered rose-bushes. Their deeply romantic shades of red and pink felt stabbing given the conversation. Like they were mocking his cousin's torment. He wanted to rip the stupid things from the ground. Spencer wasn't sure what else to say. He settled himself on his wheels and watched Emerson. It was strange looking at an engine who was so similar to his remaining A3 cousins yet held no true relation to them. He did still feel appreciative of Emerson's pure kindness towards him. It was refreshing having an engine speak to him in a way that didn't feel disingenuous. There was clearly no ulterior motive. He was just a kind soul. Spencer pulled his eyes from Emerson. He was suddenly very tired, but when he heard the maroon Pacific's pistons hiss to life his eyes shot open. "Where are you going?"

"I don't want to bother you any longer." Emerson said quietly. He still had quite a bit of time to sit and wait around, but he noticed Spencer's drowsiness and didn't wish to hold him back from needed sleep.

"You're not bothering me. Stay."

"Okay." Emerson gave a sweet half smile. He remained at the platform with Spencer and the two went on and on about a whole lot of nothing.

In the shunting yard at London, Meredith was once again stuck organizing an endless sea of trucks, cars, and coaches. Despite the pleasant weather she was sweating up a storm as she ran from one side of the yard to another as quick as she could. The diesels that remained to assist were right pricks. Mocking her little funnel and calling her all sorts of pervy names. Of course she was used to the catcalling by then. LNER engines possessed little to no class when it came to flirting and it seemed anytime the little white tank engine passed some big male they always had something nasty they wanted of her. The B17 twins were some of the worst and they were grabby. She had to sick Scotsman on them because they tried to slide in more than once when she wasn't paying much attention. She was disappointed over them. She thought maybe there was a chance they'd be friends given their somewhat encouraging conversation her first day back. She was wrong.

The female engines were worse. They were cruel. They envied Meredith's hold on Flying Scotsman as well as her ability to unwillingly pull every other male that laid eyes on her. She didn't want the attention she received from all the eligible bachelors, but she didn't necessarily mind it either. She was greatly satisfied with Flying Scotsman, but it was entertaining watching the other engines fumble over each other in a vain attempt to impress her. Especially Mallard and Kestrel. Those two were ridiculous. Mallard wasn't a gentle flirt. He was aggressive and not at all subtle. Kestrel, however, was frustratingly suave and there were a couple times the little engine found herself wobbly under the green A4's edacious stare. She was curious how the newest A4 brother would fare compared to Spencer, but she wasn't about to have another instance of creating rifts between brothers. Even the best sex in the world wasn't worth that sort of violent drama.

Meredith's shunting continued into a cloudy evening. She pieced together trains, shunted coaches to their engines, carried off waste, and transported empty cars to other yards. She was so worn out her wheels ached. She nearly collapsed when she arrived back to the yard after her final car delivery to Lincoln. There were a few more trucks to organize for an early morning goods train then she was free. She wasn't sure about going to Scotsman that evening. The little engine was exhausted and wanted to do nothing but sleep.

As Meredith had the last train's brake van lined into place she breathed a heavy sigh. She was done. She started towards the track that led out to the sheds when she saw another engine creeping towards her. It was Mallard. The fading sun had disappeared behind dark clouds and she couldn't make out his expression, but she felt very very uneasy facing him in such low, eerie light. "Evening," she said. The little tank engine tried her best to remain casual. Maybe he was just coming into the yard for fuel.

"Hello, little titter." Mallard stopped on the tracks, blocking Meredith in.

Meredith stopped quickly and glanced up to the blue A4. "Do you need something?"

"You could say that."

The little engine swallowed. "What do you need?"

"You." He started up again, forcing Meredith backwards down the tracks as she tried to keep space between them. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

"Uhh… I really don't think I'm up for any of that. Maybe… another time?" She really didn't want to couple with the crude engine at all. He made her nervous and not the kind that was tingly and exciting. He was intimidating to put it lightly.

Mallard chuckled, which did nothing to ease Meredith's worry. "My dear," he purred. "I wasn't asking." Meredith soon found herself trapped by a set of buffer stops. She saw the rainfall in the distance as it crept its way towards them. The big engine was closing in on her. Her boiler bubbled. She could soon feel his hot breath against her face and before she could protest more Mallard yanked her into a ravenous kiss.

The surprise storm was in full swing across the mainland. It rustled trees and battered houses. Meredith was seen limping into the Steamworks at Doncaster with the rain blowing into the bay from behind her. Mallard's rough, violent sex left her feeling tingly, wobbly, and weird. Though she experienced several moments of intense release she still felt off about the whole experience. It was as if her body betrayed what her mind wanted. She shivered, splattering nearby workers with rainwater as they tried to shut the doors. "Sorry…" she whispered.

"Meredith?" Dirk rolled up from organizing parts in the back. He was happy to see his friend. "What ever are you doing out in this storm?"

"I uhh- I need a little… fixing." Her cheeks ran hot. She really didn't want to speak to Dirk about her rattled undercarriage. She just knew he would judge her.

"Well what do you need?"

Meredith avoided looking at the little German engine but made a quick downward gesture with her eyes. Dirk furrowed his brow. She dragged her eyes towards the ground once more. Then he understood. "Ohh! I see, well- let me show you to a more… private diagnostic area, yes?"

"Thank you." Meredith followed the little black engine as closely as possible as they crossed the massive shop. A few of the big engines in the bay were still awake and they eyed her like she was their next meal. She made sure not to acknowledge their wanton leering and stared ahead at Dirk's coal bunker. He led her to an enclosed repair bay. The little black engine had used a buffer to flick on a nearby switch which turned on the bright fluorescent lights. Meredith blinked several times as she nestled onto the roundtable. She noted the more hospital-like styling of the bay with stark white walls and ceilings as well as an abundance of strange monitors, cables, and tools. There was a hoist just above her but it didn't go very high, just enough to lift an engine a few feet up off the ground. She assumed this ward was intended for more… intimate repairs. Sodor had nothing like this. If anything happened to damage an engine's non-mechanical parts they were merely hidden using plastic sheets and piping. It wasn't the most sterile or dignified environment to say the least.

"If you need anything I'll be- somewhere in the back I presume." Dirk laughed awkwardly as he went to turn around.

"Wait! Umm… thank you- really." Meredith glanced around at the workmen that had strolled in. They wore clean white scrubs instead of the usual oily coveralls along with blue surgical gloves they grabbed from boxes mounted at the doors.

Dirk smiled. "It's really nothing."

"No," Meredith had just been mounted onto the hoist and the workmen were preparing to lift her up. "I mean thank you for not judging me… at least not blatantly."

"Oh-" Dirk's face became hot with steam. He forced a small chuckle. "It's not my place. What you do in your spare time is no concern of mine. Regardless of whether you're playing chess, reading, or… having your undercarriage rearranged by an engine three times your size." The little engine laughed again, but it was genuine. He was never one to crack a joke, but he knew Meredith was embarrassed and he wanted to make her comfortable. It worked. She had started giggling until a worker laid a hand on a particularly sore spot then she winced in clear discomfort. Dirk continued. "Maybe ask whoever it was to go a little easier next time, huh?"

"Yeah… right." Meredith couldn't stop herself from frowning.

"What's the matter?"

"This was more of a one and… never again sort of thing."

Dirk became suspicious. Meredith was more upset than satisfied over the experience that sent her there. He began to study her damage, looking for anything that may give away what engine roughed her up. Her buffers were crumpled and her front axle was in two. There was surprisingly no scuffing or paint left behind from the other engine. He did his best to avoid looking too long at other exposed parts of her, but he allowed himself a quick peek after she had dozed off. She was swollen like she had been forcefully pinned and there was even slight tearing. It was then he realized just who exactly got a hold of the little white tank engine. He clenched his jaw in frustration and went back to work, racking his brain about how he could handle that lecherous blue A4.

Oof. So Mallard happened. I so wanted to describe this but I feel it would've been a bit much for this chapter so I left it cryptic. Heheh.

Pretty Katydid; So yes, poor Meredith the Tramp Engine is the railway's newest eye-candy, but that just paves the way for some delicious protective moments from Scotsman because while the spicy scenes are fun to read, sometimes the sexiest acts aren't even sexual in nature. We love a hot, snarling boy. I know I get some good shivers writing him channeling his inner guard dog.

In comparison Scotsman is a gentleman, truly, my interpretation of him is smart, charismatic, mildly aloof, and very very seductive. And the younger A4s surely make Spencer seem like a bunny. Of the nasty brothers I like Mallard. I love me a genuine bad-boy even if he is selfish in the berth and a bit scummy overall.

Racefangurl; Mer's new nickname is 100% inspired by your 'Meredith The Slut Engine'. Lmao

Anyway, today's post-script is short. Thank you so much for your continued love and support!

Much love;

Bumble