Static.
Hissing, crackling, thundering static.
It filled Meredith's head. A storm of white noise and nothing else. Her vision was blurry, nothing was distinct. She was surrounded by silent blobs of tan and black moving frantically around her. There was a noticeable shift in weight as some of the indistinct shapes climbed on top of her. She was uncomfortably aware of their hammering and welding, but she felt no pain. The little engine was completely numb. All she knew was that somehow she was alive. That somehow she survived. She couldn't remember much, only the paralyzing fear that made it near impossible to even breathe. Her eyes blinked rapidly trying to force some clarity, but while they watered and stung, nothing came into focus. She took a deep, painful breath in and that's when the blobs stopped. They had stopped to stare at her, and she could tell.
Why are they looking at me? Why did they stop?Meredith's mind spun as she tried to comprehend the blurry environment surrounding her. She began to feel frustrated, angry. She couldn't move, she couldn't hear. She started to panic, her breathing quickened and her firebox flamed to life. She could see the workers scurry to put it out as her steam pressure built up. Meredith gathered the witherell to wiggle her body, the wiggle turning to a full blown flail only moments later. Her fight or flight had struck hard and the adrenaline dump sent her spiraling. She suddenly saw Mallard closing in on her. She felt his weight and his heat slamming against her. Her pistons pumped and with one fell swoop she managed to free herself from the gantry, landing perfectly on the tracks below. She still couldn't see but she plowed ahead, workmen had to dive to the ground to avoid being squashed. Dirk was at the back of the yard when he heard the commotion. He flew forward trying to catch her, but it was too late. She had slipped out and back onto the mainline. The little German shunter skidded to a shaky halt, his eyes narrowed in the bright summer sun. Dirk cursed quietly then slipped back into the Steamworks to help clean up the mess left behind by her escape. He wasn't too concerned with following, he knew she was likely to run into an engine that would bring her back. She needed the fresh air.
Meredith powered down the line at speeds she had never known possible for her. She was running. She had no idea where she was going or who she would find, but she didn't want to sit still. All she saw was white, though her hearing was slowly coming to. She was able to hear the sound of her pistons pumping though it was a heavily muffled noise. She could still taste the oil on her tongue —her oil— as Mallard busted her up. Everything had come flooding back all at once. It struck like a heavy wrecking ball, knocking the wind out of her. Then she heard a warning whistle. Loud and long. Flying Scotsman! It was coming right towards her, but she still couldn't see. The little tank engine threw on her brakes, clenching her teeth as tightly as possible. She stopped and only a brief moment of stillness passed before she felt an enormous weight bump her backwards, but only a few feet. She felt her buffer being lifted and she could hear his voice, she heard the worry and the anger all at once. But still nothing was clear.
"Meredith!" Scotsman pleaded. Her eyes stared right over him. He nuzzled himself against her cheek, his throat was tight. "Meredith, my love, please say something."
Meredith could tell he was talking to her by the way she bounced with his body movements. She felt herself growing angrier. She wanted to be able to see and hear him. Her eyes began to water. Why can't I see? She wanted to scream, but her head wouldn't communicate with her mouth. Then she felt his lips against hers. She shut her eyes and let out a shaky sigh. Meredith had no clue how much time had passed since her assault, but she could tell by the way his mouth longingly interlocked with hers that it had been a good minute. That moment she was so happy he was the first engine she stumbled upon. Then the tracks started rattling and the pitched, metal grinding of heavy brakes broke through the barrier in her hearing.
"What is she doing out?" Quicksilver said quickly. He studied the little engine's half-complete state. Her boiler was naked of paint and her front buffers were still missing.
"I'm not sure." Scot said after planting another quick kiss on Meredith's forehead. At least he knew by the way she kissed him back that she was still somewhat aware of her surroundings. "One of us needs to take her back, but I'm already late for Edinburgh, I can't divert."
"I'll take her." Quicksilver said. "If you can hold tight long enough for me to drop these coaches."
Flying Scotsman nodded then returned his attention back to the little engine propped up against him. Her eyes were cloudy, but the fear that filled them was clear in the way they darted around. The large locomotive felt himself growing enraged as he thought of the engine that caused her harm. The son of a bitch fled the rails before Scotsman caught wind of what he had done. As did Ellis. No one knew where they went. No one… except Gordon. Scot's boiler vibrated in a deep growl. He did everything he could to make his brother talk, but the stubborn A3 continued to plead ignorance. Scotsman wanted to kill him, but he knew it would do no good. He decided the best course of action would be to bide his time and wait for Mallard to slip up. Scotsman was pissed off. He was confused. But most of all, he was heartbroken. How could his own brother side with those two? After what they've done to Meredith. After the way they completely undermined him. He wondered if Gordon was even aware of the extent of their atrocities. He likely didn't want to know, however.
"Are you okay?"
Quicksilver rolled up back beside the halted express. Meredith continued to sit still with little reaction. She started only slightly when the A4 rolled up, but nothing else.
"I'm not sure yet." Scotsman said. He gave Meredith another gentle kiss before he carefully placed her back on the tracks. She started to roll backwards and he had to quickly grab her fender with his.
Quicksilver watched the little engine. It's as if she was an infant. Unable to talk, unable to fully react or control herself. He had seen the damage Mallard dealt to her and he wouldn't say so to Scotsman, but her current state far exceeded what he expected to become of her. "Don't worry. She'll be back to her old self soon enough."
"Don't bullshit me, Quicksilver." Flying Scotsman furrowed his brow. "Ian read me the damage reports. She may function mechanically just fine, but mentally and emotionally she will never be the same."
The silver engine sighed as he crossed tracks to cut in front of his cousin. "I'm sorry." Is all he could say as he coupled himself to an anxious Meredith. He gently pulled her onto a siding to allow Scotsman and his express to continue. "Go steady, now." Scotsman whistled in acknowledgement and thundered on with greater speed. He had lost enough time.
Quicksilver carefully led Meredith all the way to Doncaster and back into the repair bay where Dirk and the crew in charge of her mending all waited. She was shaking from going backwards the entire way but Quicksilver talked quietly to her the entire time. She couldn't hear him, but she felt the vibrations of his voice. The Steamworks was still as all the workmen carefully mounted Meredith back onto a newer, sturdier hoist. Dirk sat beside Quicksilver and they watched her be lifted up together. "Thank you for bringing her back."
"Of course… why can't she speak?"
Dirk sighed. "She can. She talks all the time in her sleep. Well— she screams… it's a trauma response I suspect."
"She doesn't react to sound and her eyes—"
"It'll return. Her smokebox was replaced just a few days ago. It'll take some time for all those senses to calibrate. Though… I do fear her eyesight may be permanently damaged. We have someone coming in to try and clear up the film, but it's not guaranteed." Dirk glanced at the big engine beside him. Quicksilver's sharp gaze was locked ahead on the workmen as they climbed her footplates and finished welding her new boiler. He couldn't help the defensive rumble that rattled from his boiler.
"Have you been able to find him?"
"No," Quicksilver's voice was so low it was barely audible.
"What of Flying Scotsman?" Dirk couldn't help but feel jealous of Meredith. She had a posse of powerful engines dedicated to her. How did she do it?
"He's more concerned with Meredith's recovery. Of course he's hellbent on revenge— that's where I come in. I dream of the day I can gut that hapless, low-life fuck."
"He's not handling it himself?"
"Like I said, he's focusing on Meredith for the time being. He knows the last thing she needs is for him to be distracted, digging around for a potentially fatal fight."
Dirk's mouth twitched up in a small smile. "That's very selfless of him. He's never been one to step back like that."
Quicksilver took a deep breath. Meredith had fallen asleep by that point. He watched her boiler convulse with every breath. His steam was sweltering. "Love changes an engine."
It was a hot, humid evening. Emerson was taking a slow drive along Sodor's coastline, the fresh sea air did a lot of good to cool his boiler. He had been occupying his free time with Sonny. The little engine was odd, but he was a good lay. A perfect distraction from all the noise filling Emerson's head. He had heard of an incident involving several engines on the mainland weeks ago, but the engines involved were left anonymous. He worried the incident somehow involved Meredith. That pretty little engine was like a magnet for all the horrid shit. Deep down, however, he knew it was wishful thinking.
Emerson came to a stop at Arlesburgh Harbor. He eased up towards the lighthouse and watched as the sun began to melt into the sea creating rivers of light and fire along the horizon. He greatly missed Meredith. He missed their friendship. He missed the old railway. Even if he had to sit and watch while she and Gordon made sickening goo-goo eyes at each other, it was still better than the unhinged chaos that was playing out before him. He couldn't help but worry that the violence of LNER would find a way to seep onto Sodor. It was the last thing he wanted. There were too many little engines not equipped to protect themselves. He took a deep breath, taking in the cleansing scent of the salty sea. He was at a complete loss on what to do. He thought back to what Flying Scotsman said about 'running his railway'. Emerson knew he needed to figure something out. He couldn't fight the heavy weight on his wheels that something was coming. He continued to sit on that siding, watching the day turn to night, plotting his next move.
"You have to let me see her." Flying Scotsman sat outside the Steamworks at Doncaster in a cloud of irritated steam. The moon was high and his patience was thin. He wanted to see Meredith. He needed to after catching her out and about in such a state of disarray.
"I'm sorry, Scot." Dirk said with an apologetic bow. He did everything he could to avoid the larger engine's burning glare. "She's been through a lot today. You need to let her rest."
"She can rest with me."
"Oh really?"
"Yes really. Now move you!" Scotsman shoved the little shunter aside and stormed towards Meredith. She had been lowered onto the tracks to give her frame a break from supporting her weight on the gantry. She was still awake and she could tell somebody was moving towards her, but still everything remained a colorful blur. "Mer, Mer? Can you hear me?" She nodded. Her hearing had come back fully by that point. "Oh, what a relief." Scot said. He turned himself around at a turntable and joined his partner on a close track. He leaned his body against her carefully, his boiler warmed when he felt her push her own weight back. "Can you speak yet, my love?"
"N— not… well…" Meredith forced those words as best as she could. They were crackly and painful. "I—- I—"
"Hey, hey, easy. Don't want to strain your voice too much." Scot could hear the sadness that creeped behind her broken speech.
"I'm… sorry…"
Flying Scotsman's heart sank. He pressed harder against Meredith. There were tears in her eyes along with heavy guilt. "What happened is not your fault."
"Where—?"
"Gone. The bastard slipped away before I even knew what happened." Scotsman's steam had begun to rise and he noticed Dirk watching him from a safe distance across the yard. "But let's not worry about that, okay? I'm not letting you out of my sight for a second."
Meredith paused. She could feel her throat becoming less dry with each word she spoke, but it didn't help the weight that continued to hold her back. Her emotions were all over the place. She wanted to scream, cry, run away, throw up. She wanted Scotsman to fuck her senseless, but she also wanted him to go away. Instead she kept reticent, sighing in defeat. She took in her partner's warmth against her, sighing again. It was then she wondered if she would ever be able to be intimate again. She craved him, but any time she tried to think about it she saw Mallard and that vile, lecherous stare. He was there when she closed her eyes to sleep. Watching her from whatever corner of the world he was hiding. Her body wanted to retreat inward. How could she escape her own mind? She couldn't. She had to suffer quietly as the details of that night trickled in like blood from a fresh wound. All she could hear were her own screams, muffled by a mouth so full of hate and desire she could hardly breathe. His tongue violated her as much as his sex did. It was more violent than the times before. It was frantic even. She could feel there was a finality to it as he pounded her until she was numb. Then after what she could've believed were years the fucking turned to maiming. He didn't once disconnect from her while he started attempting to crush her. Her rivets popped, her paneling snapped and cracked. At one point he knocked her head. The rest was blackness until she came to at the sound of a voice.
Quicksilver.
How did he know to look for me? Her inner voice pondered. She shook herself. She didn't care how or why. Just that he did, but as the memory of those near final moments replayed over and over, Meredith began to wonder if surviving was something to be grateful for.
Things be gettin' spicy, ladies and gents. I'm honestly a little proud of this chapter. I hope y'all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
Pretty Katydid; I wanted to address something you said about Quicksilver being able to take Scot in a fight. He 100% could. Scotsman knows this too. He doesn't want Quicksilver against him which is why he's so careful about how he handles the issue of Meredith having a bit of a crush on Q. Though now I can't imagine Quicksilver doing a 180 and betraying them. He's dug-in. Dedicated to the little shit-magnet known as Meredith. It's a dynamic I continue to enjoy playing with.
Moving on, I actually finished a book last night for the first time in a while. It fucked with my head. I'm exhausted so I'm keeping it short today. I continue to greatly appreciate the support from y'all!
Much love;
Bumble