"... I didn't know what to do or where to go. I was so lost. And then I crashed into Emily, and now, nothing will ever be the same."

"...You keep sticking around. You're still here, despite my uncounted ego. There's no doubt about it. You're bigger than me, Edward."

"We were made for each other, Thomas. I know we were. When you're gone, everything that I do, everywhere that I go, remind me of you. I miss you…"

"Can you feel it? In the air? This tension, this sin? It's enough for this restless, old iron mule just to be with you, James."

Four engines. Two collisions. One Christmas.

This is Crashed.

Prologue: The Forest Green Queen

Forward:

Once there was a lady with regal grace,

With a forest green dress and a beautiful face.

At the nobles court, she sat with queenly poise,

Unmoved as she was bombarded by boys.

Big and small, ugly and cuter,

Please her, they tried, to become her suitor.

She waved each away with her brass bangled wrist,

It was easier than to show them her fist.

No one could seem to woo the young queen,

So she was seen as nothing but spoiled and mean.

But she had reason to be, you see,

In their hearts they had nothing to offer but greed,

They wanted her riches, her power, she knew.

None of them really loved her, true blue.

Had one came, who claim need not her money,

She'd laughed them away, thinking it was funny.

Openly they would coax her from that scoff.

Alas, it did not matter, her heart was closed off,

It was already broken by a man, the first one,

But once he was married, she declared to wed none.

Broken, lay the pieces of her heart behind the door.

No more pain, she told herself. Nevermore.

At last, when the suitors had all left the court,

In hobbled the jester, her comedian and cohort.

Short and stubby, all cheeks and smile,

The least handsome of all, yet had been around the longest while.

Rather by accident, he'd become her friend,

Always there when the day was at end.

In no time, he had her laughing, tears dried,

He had her better, and he had barely tried.

The next day, she surprised her court,

With news unlike anything prior of the sort.

Collecting all eyes, she rose from her chair,

"My decision is made, and I think it is fair.

Today will mark a change in the land,

From the glimmering sea to the rich yellow sand.

Trumpets will blow, cigars will light.

Fireworks will shimmer into the night.

A national holiday, to celebrate my ring.

That fool, you see, will be your new king.

Who, you ask? Look to your right.

To the short, stubby man who stayed up with me all night.

It was a friendship he had shown me from the start.

Thus, it was he who has mended my heart."

Chapter 1: Spilled Secrets and Shoeless Guards

Six months had gone by so quickly for the engines of Sodor. A steamy, hot summer with fireflies had shifted into a cool, crisp autumn. Before they knew it, there came the day when the island inhabitants awoke to a blanket of snow, covering the land. Winter had crept up on them.

The big station, Knapford, was adorned with red, white, and green bulbs, wrapped around the framework of the roof above with green and gold tinsel. At long last, the holidays were here.

Thomas the tank engine simmered thoughtfully at Platform 1. His steam made thicker by the cold, puffing out of his funnel in clouds that disappeared only as they reached the ceiling. Mist escaped from under his wheels in waves that rolled up onto the sunlit platform, and onto the ankles of the passengers. They walked up and down in their fine suits and pretty nylons, some bundled up more tightly than others. While some maintained a leisurely pace, others who were not dressed for the cold were hurrying to get inside their coaches and out of the brisk wind.

A few people waiting to get inside waited closer to the warmth radiating from Thomas' boiler. Thomas didn't mind this. In fact, sometimes this encouraged them to talk to the seasoned engine, and often there was pleasant conversation in it for the both of them. It was an excellent opportunity to exchange stories as well.

Today, a little boy and his parents were leaving Sodor on a holiday. As they reached the platform, his parents stopped at the ticket window, and he paused to take in the sights. He spun around in his mother's grip, and gazed at all the lights hanging above with a toothy grin. The decorations reminded the boy that Christmas was less than a week away, and the prospect of a visit from Father Christmas excited him.

Eventually, his smoky gray eyes came to rest on the little blue tank engine, sitting on the nearest track. His smile dropped, and as curiosity took hold, suddenly, he broke from his mother's hand and began dashing down the platform.

"Bradley, come back here!" his mother cried out. Both she and the father spun around and began running after him, their boots and heels clacking on the hard stone as they ran. The station master saw what was happening, and blew his whistle.

But the little boy didn't stop until he disappeared behind the curtain of steam, lingering above the ground. He couldn't see, and nearly bumped into the engine by the platform with a start. There, just a few feet from him, he gazed at Thomas' face. It was taller than half of his body, but adorned with a warm smile.

Bradley's head tipped to the side. Timid, worried, but too curious to stay away.

"Hello," Thomas said.

"H-hello, the little boy said back to him, staggering back a few steps. "I'm Bradley. Who are you?"

"My name is Thomas," he told him. "Pardon me, but, I think your parents want you," the engine said, his gaze shifting to the adults rushing towards him.

"J-just one question," the boy asked. He looked Thomas in the eyes with clamped hands. "Do you believe in Father Christmas?"

Without a moment of hesitation, Thomas answered. "Of course," he told him, before he cocked an eyebrow. "Why, don't you?"

Amazed, the little boy nodded silently, before he was taken away. His mother smiled at Thomas thankfully before hurrying him to the coaches.

Thomas watched them leave, and then let out a visible breath of relief that the boy hadn't run smack into him, blinded by the steam of the platform. Children always had mixed reactions to seeing engines for the first time, and it was hard to predict what they were going to do. Some shied away, their big faces frightening to them, even so friendly as they were. Others clammered around, getting too close, sometimes close enough to scald their hands on Thomas' boiler. That had happened enough to his driver when he was being cleaned.

At last, the porter opened the coach doors, and Annie and Clarabel were loaded with their relieved passengers.

"Can't believe Christmas is only a little ways away," Annie remarked, gazing up at all the red white and green lights above. She was pleased as they reflected off of her and her sister coach's shiny almond paint. "Where has the time gone?"

"I'm not complaining. I love this time of year," sighed Clarabel happily. "Say, what are you asking Father Christmas for this year, Thomas?"

"Only the same thing I ask him for every year," Thomas told her.

"Oh! Oh, silly me! That's right, you can't tell," Clarabel said, flushed. "Or it won't come true."

"I think you're thinking of a birthday wish, dear," Annie corrected her gently.

"Oh, you're right!" As good natured as she was, Clarabel laughed at her own mistake. "Well, I'd hate to be selfish, but I would really like it if my backside window latch was fixed."

"I believe the sheds workman could fix that if you tell them about it," Thomas told her. "But if not, I'm sure Father Christmas could do that for you."

"Fiddlesticks! Now I don't know what to ask for," she sighed. "And I only have a few days to figure it out!"

Thomas rolled his eyes. The Steam Team has seen many a Christmas come and go, with every year bringing new friends, adventures and possibilities. And Thomas usually always had just one wish for Father Christmas: Preserving the healthiness and happiness of his friends. Despite his ups and downs, he felt like he lived a good life, and all he wanted was for things to stay that way.

However, this year, he made an addendum to his notably short Christmas list.

As if on cue, a trickle of music from somewhere far down the station grazed an emotional wound that still had yet to heal. Every time he heard the radio, whether from a passenger, his crew or elsewhere, it reminded him of Mira. The little brown tank engine with her nasal, American voice who had stolen his heart.

What Thomas wouldn't give just for one more night, in the shed with her, buffer to buffer, watching each other's eye's close as they gave into exhaustion.

He gazed up at the ceiling, his eyes shimmering, reflecting the colorful lights above. If you're up there listening, please. Bring her back. Bring her back… Thomas pleaded. He knew it was a long shot. He knew he was asking for a miracle. But he'd give anything for Mira to live on Sodor.

A minute passed, then two. Then three.

Thomas' driver stepped out of the cab and only then did the engine realize what time it was. "No guard?"

The steadfast driver pushed aside his sleeve and peered down at his watch. "I told him not to chug that coffee every morning."

"Would you lay off?" said the annoyed fireman. "A man's winter chow without a little hot coffee in his system."

"I'd rather him be cold and here and warm and on his way," the driver tossed over his shoulder.

"Ey, Thomas," the fireman said to the engine from inside of his cab. "What do you say we go ahead? But look out for large icicles—and don't be frightened if they happen to look suspiciously like our guard, alright?"

"Very funny," the driver said in a deadpan voice. "When they were handing out firemen, I got the comedian."

After snickering with the fireman, they went back to waiting patiently. Or… impatiently, on the driver's part. Thomas closed his eyes one more time. Please, he begged, to God, or… even Lady. Whoever would hear his plea. Give me the girl of my dreams for Christmas...

Just then, a tinny little whistle from a ways behind snagged his attention. His breath paused, his eyes widening. Stuck facing forward, he waited in anxious anticipation for the owner of the whistle to pull up next to him.

But when they did, what he saw sent his excitement crashing down like a load of bricks. He ought to have recognized the whistle right away—it definitely wasn't Mira's.

But it did belong to a lady engine, who eyed him critically as she let off steam. "Don't look so thrilled to see me," she said sarcastically, her Scottish accent never thicker.

"Oh…" Thomas looked away, embarrassed at himself. Had his disappointment really been so obvious? "Good… morning, Emily. That look wasn't directed at you."

"Obviously," she snapped back at him.

Emily had toted her coaches to the 2nd platform, so that she was in line with him. Unlike Thomas, however, she did not gleam under the Knapford Christmas lights. She hadn't had a bath in ages. Her workload that winter had been so heavy, her driver hadn't found the time. Stone and rubble dust three weeks old clouded her dark green paint. She was still suitable for taking coaches, but just barely.

And to top it off, she was wearing a scowl that made her stand out in the jolly atmosphere like a sore thumb.

In a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, Thomas directed his attention to the clock. "You're right on time again," he declared. "I think you're in line for a record."

"And you're late again, I see," she snapped. "You realize when you take the express overflow that we use the same line, and I have to wait until you stop idling and leave so that I may leave myself."

Thomas was a little taken aback. "It's Clarabel's guard. He's late again. And you know my record is practically perfect!"

"So your crew should inquire if the station master has a backup man. It isn't that hard, Thomas."

"We're giving him just a few more minutes. We've worked together for years." Thomas narrowed his eyes at her. "Where is this coming from?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she told him firmly, looking away.

Thomas could've let this drop here, but he'd been meaning to get to the bottom of this once and for all. "I mean, what did I do to you? You've been cross with me for weeks, and I would like to know why."

She should have known better than to acknowledge the question, but her anger got the better of her. "You ought to know, Mister-Can't-Keep-His-Lips-Shut," she hissed.

Thomas thought for a moment, and then, it hit him. Like a stone rolling down from the cliffs. "Wait," he said, before doing a double take with his eyes, making sure as few people overheard them as possible—and no engines, for that matter. "Is this about the Edward thing?" He whispered. "Emily, that was months ago!"

"Yes, well, I still have a right to be annoyed with you about it, don't you think?"

"Not if I forgave you for telling everybody about my feelings for Mira. I was humiliated!"

"So you thought it was fair that you'd let it slip that I was interested in Edward—someone who, not only still works on these rails, but whom I have to encounter every day? Two wrongs don't make a right."

"Well, grudges flatter no one," Thomas told her. " And it certainly doesn't flatter you to act so high and righteous when we've both acted like children."

"Speak for yourself," she scoffed, and then looked away from him.

Thomas fumed.

His driver leaned right side out of his cab and shouted towards Emily's. "Marty, I told the station master we're running behind. Emily can take her train first, and we'll catch up."

"Loud and clear, old man," Emily's driver nodded. "Ready to go, Em?"

Emily let her angry whistle be her response. Her boiler still burning to the touch, she rocketed from Platform 2 with such a jerk, her crew staggered backwards.

Only when her steam cleared did Thomas feel a little guilty. He didn't realize the implications of publically teasing Emily about Edward would have such long lasting consequences. He never meant for it to make her miserable. Quite the contrary, part of him thought he was helping her out: the sooner Edward found out, the sooner they could begin dating. Couldn't Emily see that?

Regardless, he wouldn't let himself stay upset about it. He'd got the ball rolling like the good friend he was. It was her choice if she decided to act as if Thomas was just starting rumors.

Before he dwelled on it any further, at last, the guard rushed onto the platform. "Terribly sorry," he panted.

"Good lord, man!" Thomas' driver scolded. "Why, you're a sight to behold! Look at you!"

"Huh?" The guard asked. Then he looked down at his feet—one shiny black shoe, and one red, wool sock adorned either foot. "Oh! Bollocks, it must've happened when my foot got caught in that snow pile by the lot! I hadn't noticed."

The driver shook his head. "Just get in the coaches. We'll try to find you a spare or something on the way."

"Is that proper?" The fireman teased. "To let him walk around the coaches, collecting tickets like that?"

"Nothing in the conduct book about shoeless guard's being too improper," the driver said back flatly. "Come on, Thomas, we'll make up for lost time."

But the driver needn't tell him anything. Thomas launched from the platform as soon as his and the coaches' breaks were off. He had built up enough steam from his conversation with Emily to keep him chugging for miles.

"The legendary Island of Sodor: A water locked paradise in the sea. A gleaming diamond in the Isle of Mann, where the beauty of nature knows no bounds, and tradition is sacred. So sacred that its main railway, the North Western, maintains and employs the largest collection of working Steam Locomotives remaining in the world."

"I didn't know we were a collection!" Percy cried in delight. "Wow!"

"Shush!" came the chorus of voices from the other engines. They never got to hear their Island talked about on the radio, and they didn't want to miss a word of it.

"Comments after the broadcast, please, Percy," his driver told him.

Percy gulped. "Sorry," he whispered.

The steam team were gathered at their home at Tidmouth sheds. It had just passed midday, and the sunlight above made the virgin snow around the tracks sparkle like a blanket of tiny crystals. Still, it was chilly and windy, so the engines' backends were tucked inside their warm, respective berths, frontends sticking out of the doors. Their drivers and firemen were scattered inside their cabs keeping their fire's at a comfortably warm flicker, or standing by the fire can in the middle of the track circle, rubbing their hands together to keep dexterity for the next journey.

Thomas' fireman had brought the radio that was being used. He had tuned into a broadcast promotion for a segment on the Island of Sodor, and Thomas gathered as many engines that were available so that they, too, could hear it when it aired.

Currently, the fireman was sitting on an old crate next to Thomas' berth, not too far from the fire can, adjusting the volume when necessary. "This is possible because the railways on this island continue to be privately owned," the voice on the radio went on. "Sir Topham Hatt, age 67, proudly emphasizes the benefits of running a privatized railway. Not only does he believe in the usefulness of steam locomotives, but he intends on keeping them for as long as they continue to operate. This is just one of the many things that makes the Island of Sodor a time capsule in an ever faster changing world."

And just like that, the news segment was over, and a jingle for a soap bar brand began to play, signaling the start of commercial break.

None of the engines spoke up until it was halfway done.

"That's it?" said James. "Well, that was a load of nothing."

"It's nice that they would mention us on the radio," Toby thought out loud. "But what was the point?"

"It didn't sound like a tourism advertisement," Edward noted.

"That's because it wasn't," Gordon sniffed. "Political commentary rubbish. It's disgraceful that they would dare drag Sir Topham Hatt's name into the mix, let alone the rest of us."

"But what does it all mean?" Percy asked.

Thomas thought carefully before responding. "I'm not sure, but it sounds as if the person who's reporting used our railway as an example for why privately owned railways are a good thing."

"Too bad Parliament doesn't agree," Henry noted. "Or all of Great Britain would take advantage. That's what my driver says."

"You mean there'd be more steam engines like us?" asked Percy.

"Maybe," Thomas replied.

The world away from Sodor seemed so distant to Thomas at times. It was hard to picture what life was like off of the island.

And if that man on the radio was to be believed, there was a good reason for that: Sodor was the home for the most still-operating steam engines left in the world, thanks to Sir Topham Hatt's drive to save them from scrap.

But most railway controllers across the world didn't have the nostalgia, the compassion, or the sheer faith that drove Hatt to create a lasting home and legacy for steam engines.

Because of this, by the 1960s, they weren't as common a sight out there anymore, as they were here. A novelty, they were, in places like London, rural Ireland, and even the American Midwest, Mira had told him. Thomas couldn't imagine living somewhere where he was such an outlier. The thought was frankly terrifying. He didn't know how she put up with it.

However, the thought of being by her side made the prospect considerably less scary. One he might actually put himself up to, if it meant getting to be with her again...

"I heard in most places these days," James broke in, "when a steam engine sees any damage at all, their owner just sends them straight to the scrapyard."

Thomas gulped. Yet another reason to consider himself lucky. He still had a faint seam line where his front end and front wheel coupling had been ripped off six months ago, helping to rescue Gordon from the cliff's edge over Brandam Bay. Sir Topham has paid for his repair without a moment of hesitation—Thomas has sacrificed himself to save Gordon, and he'd been rewarded for it.

Still, just thinking about the incident made his scar ache, and his wheels feel wobbly. And though he hadn't said anything to anyone about it yet, sometimes he wondered if his seam line looked more noticeable than it had been before. He didn't want his crew to think he was becoming a worry wart, however, so he kept quiet about it.

Noticing the tense silence that had fallen on the engines, Edward scolded the red engine. "You have a remarkable talent for turning a positive thing into a negative one, James."

"Hey, I'm just telling it like it is," James said back. He then smiled smugly. "Not that we have reason to worry. None of us have been in a major accident in years. Especially yours truly."

"Thank the Lord for that," Edward replied under his breath.

While the radio broadcast had played, Sir Topham Hatt telephoned the yard from his office, instructing the drivers to keep their engines there just a little longer. The staff obeyed the order, never knowing which engine he might send out for a job on a moment's notice.

Before he arrived, the engines were joined by Emily and Duck. Duck arrived first, and took the track on the right of the building, next to where Emily would normally sit. However, she was perfectly fine sitting on the empty track all the way on the left—right next to Edward, and as far away from Thomas as possible.

He refused to look her way. And she did the same.

Duck, however, was as gleeful as ever. "Wow! It's rare to see the whole lot here this time of day. What'd we miss?"

"Some sort of news broadcast on the radio that talked about Sodor," Thomas explained, his tone suggesting it could be serious.

Percy tried to elaborate. "It was trying to say that Sir Topham Hatt's railway being independent was a good thing… I think."

Duck made a funny face. "Independent? From what?"

"I don't… know…" Percy faltered, looking away.

"Nice try, Percy," Gordon told him. "Don't strain yourself."

Percy glared at him. He sometimes missed social cues, but he could recognize when he was being insulted.

"Sir Topham Hatt is coming down from his office with an announcement for us," Toby told them. "You two came just in time."

Gordon let out a big yawn. "I hope he hurries up and tells us what this is all about. I'd like to get in a nap before the run tonight."

At last, the little blue car pulled up to the sheds, and the Fatt Controller stepped out of the driver's side. He came dressed in his regular suit and pants. But on top of that, he had a scarf around his neck, and a fluffy brown trapper hat, protecting his hairless head and ears. He shivered as he approached the resting engines. "Brrrr! That's more of a chill then I was expecting! Ahem. Good afternoon, everyone. Hope we're all keeping warm."

"Your mouth to His ears," a chilly Henry said, turning his eyes to the sky. He then remembered who he was speaking to, and cleared his throat. "Uh… sir."

Sir Topham Hatt chuckled. "Very good, Henry. Now, I was glad when I looked out my window to catch you all in between jobs, because there's been an announcement I've been meaning to make. It concerns a, well, a last minute plan for Christmas activities."

Percy looked worried. "You're not going to cancel our party, are you, sir?"

The rest of the engines looked a little worried as well. The annual Christmas Day party at the sheds was something they looked forward to every single year.

To their relief, the Fatt Controller scrutinized Percy. "And take away something that gives you all so much joy? I'm disappointed in you, Percy. What kind of cruel controller do you take me for?"

Percy stammered. "I-I don't! I think you're a very nice controller!"

Sir Topham Hatt shook his head. "Perhaps I should cut to the chase. As you all know, we have a very large influx of visitors to the island in the late springtime, around Mayday. We are not as busy in the wintertime, because many of the island inhabitants take their holidays away around Christmas, towards warmer parts of the world. In fact, record shows that our tickets take a significant dip starting Christmas Day, and we don't see those numbers start to pick up again until mid March.

"Our very last express run from Knapford to Brandam Bay on Christmas Eve is usually quite busy. But you see, the heads of the railway board have thought of doing something a little different this year—to show our appreciation for the railway traffic. This year, the express run will be carried out by two special trains, carrying Mr. and Mrs. Claus themselves."

The engines were surprised, to say the least. "Neat-o," said Duck.

"We've never had anything like that before," Toby spoke up.

"No indeed," the fat controller confirmed. "It was an idea that the board had suggested for years. It's been adopted by inner city railways back on the mainland already. I was never truly keen on the idea until recently, I admit. But of course, it'll only work if I have two engines who wouldn't mind working so late on Christmas Eve."

The engines began all talking at once, excitement in the air.

"You all deserve the job. And frankly, if I could afford to spare you all, I'd have it be a parade train for you all, in celebration for your hard work this year. But. as the tradition from the mainland dictates, I must have only two. And I have chosen to ask James and Emily for the task," Sir Topham Hatt said, putting his hands behind his back, and stepping on tippy toes. "That is, if the two of you would like the job."

"Would I!" James exclaimed.

"Uh, Sir…" Thomas began. " There's a—"

But a furious Gordon cut him off. "But sir! I'm the express engine! I'm surprised you didn't ask me first!"

Sir Topham Hatt eyed Gordon skeptically. "Would you like to be decorated in ribbons, tinsel and shiny balls, and wear a Santa hat?"

Toby, Henry, and even Edward snickered.

The proudest engine grunted. "I-uh… I… no… not really."

"Precisely why I didn't ask," Sir Topham Hatt replied, cooly, cocking his eyebrow. He knew his engines better than some gave him credit for.

"Well, I don't mind." James said excitedly. "My paint looks good with everything. And I fancy I'd look dashing in a nice, red, velvet hat."

"So sure of that, are we?" asked James' driver, leaning out of the cab door. He'd worked with James for years, and gently attempted to tame his ego, but to no avail. James was James, and at this point, what could a man do but love the engine for what he was?

Though the other engines could definitely try as well. "I can think of only one reason why they'd choose James for the job," said Henry, rolling his eyes.

But the vibrant red engine was never short of comebacks, especially to defend his vanity. "It pays to be this color. I'm fit for so many holidays."

"Yeah, like Christmas and... Christmas," Toby teased.

James shot him a dirty look. "You're just jealous that you didn't get chosen."

But before he could retaliate, Sir Topham Hatt cleared his throat. "That'll be enough. James, in the future, try and act a little more grateful, or I can surely give the jobs I assign you to someone else."

James gulped. "Yes, sir."

"Very well. That's the Father Christmas train settled." He turned to the lone female engine next. "And you, Emily? Will you pull the Mrs. train?"

Emily was stunned. "Certainly, sir," she responded. She felt a pair of eyes staring daggers at her from the side—specifically the eyes of a little blue tank engine—but she ignored him. "Whatever will help to make this a special Christmas."

"I should think it will be," Sir Topham Hatt said with a smile. "I'll certainly enjoy it."

And without further elaborating, the fat controller made his way out of the sheds, in his warm car, and home for afternoon tea.

Percy, always full of questions, looked at Thomas curiously. "What do you think he meant by that?"

It was a valid question. And Thomas wasn't sure himself. "Dunno," he said, finally shifting his gaze from Emily to Percy. "But as long as this doesn't interfere with our Christmas party, I don't really care."

"Amen to that," Edward sighed.

"Do you think we should've told him about the news report?" asked Toby.

"Oh, I'm sure he knows about it," Thomas' fireman said, scooping the radio from the ground under his arms, and hopping into Thomas' cab. "He was interviewed for it, after all."

"Clearly, he has other things to care about," Thomas' steadfast driver added. "And we should, too. Alright, Thomas, tea time is over. Let's go fetch your coaches."

Thomas was ready to leave, but as he pulled up alongside Emily, taking on water at the nearest tower, he couldn't contain himself. "Gee, thanks, Sir!" He said, putting on his best impression of Emily's voice, accent and all. "It's an honor to be asked to pull such a special train, but I already promised a friend of mine I'd help him at the smelter's yard that night. So thanks, no thanks!"

Emily looked his way, boggled. it took a moment to register what he meant, but when it did, her eyes widened. "Oh. Right. Christmas Eve."

She'd forgotten she agreed to help Thomas shut steel at the smelter's yard that night.

Ever since 'Arry and Bert had spooked them there on Halloween years ago, whenever Emily or Thomas got assigned work there in the evening, the other agreed to go with them. Even if they'd grown out of their worry about ghosts, it helped to have a friend there. The company did away with any lingering eeriness about the place, as well as made the time go by faster.

Most of the engines had one place on the island where they worked with a friend the most. And like Thomas and Percy had the docks, Thomas and Emily had the odd smelter's yard job. In fact, they'd worked together there so much that the Fatt Controller usually assigned them both together on the schedule automatically, if he didn't just leave one engine free at the time the other engine had that job. The man must have forgotten this time.

And so had Emily. "I'm sorry, Thomas, it just slipped my mind—"

"Yeah, sure," Thomas cut her off. "Whatever. Have fun with James."

Emily watched him disappear over the horizon as the realization sunk in. He… he thinks I forgot on purpose! Suddenly, she didn't feel sorry for ditching him anymore, even if it was an accident. And remembering their fight earlier at Knapford only made her more certain. If he was going to go ahead and pretend like she'd really sink that low, she'd take any opportunity to stay away from him.

She went onto her next job with a scowl that couldn't be removed, not even with a paint scraper.

Thomas chuffed all the way over to the next water tower for a drink. He was burning through the last of his water at a rapid rate, puffing like a stressed out smoker on their first cigarette of the day. There was so much steam in the air that it even misted his face. All as well, he supposed. Every gust of wind that kissed his warm cheeks was a relief.

He couldn't recall the last time he'd been deliberately shoved off by someone. More than making him angry, it hurt his feelings—though Emily was not allowed to know this.

At last, his tank was being refilled, and he felt himself start to relax. He was almost full when Edward pulled up on the neighboring track. "I'm not doing anything on Christmas Eve, Thomas. Why don't I help you with the smelter's yard work?"

Calmer now, Thomas spoke kindly to the other engine. "Aw, Edward, I can't ask you to do that. You deserve to have the night off. Nobody works harder around here."

"Oh, please," he said, playfully, shoving the compliment off. "I'd be happy to help. I couldn't stand the thought of you working all alone on Christmas Eve."

"But won't your crewmen be at home?"

"Hey, we don't mind picking up the job," called Edward's driver. "Both of our wives are caroling and won't be home until late to celebrate, anyway."

"It'll be fun," Edward chirped. "We'll knock the work out in half the time, you'll see."

At last, Thomas grinned. What a guy. "Alright then, Edward, it's a deal. I'll look forward to it."

With that verbal handshake, Edward hurried off to his next job as fast as he could.

For a moment, Thomas was happy again. But inevitably, the girl who had caused him such stress today found her way back into his mind. I can see why Emily's so fond of you, Edward. The most selfless engine on Sodor was bound to have admirers, now if never before.

And in that moment, Thomas felt a fleeting, ever so slight twinge of jealousy. He didn't have Edward's gift for instinctive abnegation. If he did, he wondered if female engines—female engines like Mira, that is—would pine after him, the way he pined after her.

It didn't help that Edward wasn't a bad looking engine, either.

That said, Thomas realized that working together at the smelter's yard could lead to some male-on-male engine conversation. Though he knew it would be wise to walk away, curiosity got the better of him. He just couldn't close the door.

He wanted to know once and for all if Edward liked Emily back.

After all, just because it looked like he was going to be a single bloke on Christmas didn't mean everybody had to be.

I really didn't plan on writing a sequel to the last story. Yet here we are. And I'm getting at least the first chapter out before Christmas.

So shipping is kind of a controversy in Thomas, as I've come to learn since I wrote the last story. I could understand it from the standpoint of a school that's target audience being preschoolers might make shipping kinda weird, or even the fact that the main characters are engines in general makes shipping them extra weird. But the same character chemistry that got me interested in Thomas in the first place is what makes me feel like the the characters miiight just be able to carry a romantic plot, if done correctly (and I'm sure as well making no claims that I'm gonna make this as least weird as possible.

Going into this I had a very rough outline, but it involved the aftermath of Edward finding out Emily likes him. Eddie's such a pure dude, he'd be mature about it no matter how he actually feels about her back. And even before finding out the engines they were based on were built only one year apart, I saw Emily and thought she had to be an older engine than most of the rest, despite the fact that it seems like it's never been addressed in the show. That said, it's part of Edward's character backstory and not Emily's and I think fudging or forgetting such a detail for the sake of making Edward the only engine on Sodor with this aging problem is perfectly fine.

I wasn't always keen on Thomas and Emily as a ship either, but actually sitting down and watching some later season episodes, I gotta admit, they got a chemistry that makes me wanna put them together. That rivalry could be seen as brotherly and sisterly, or a build up to romantic tension. It depends on how you look at it, really. For the sake of the fic, I'm going with the latter.

However, there's just as much potential for emotional drama between the engines in a more sibling dynamic, even the engines I'd rather see as a couple. Like I said, when it comes to this show, I'm up for pretty much anything/any shipping with some good backing behind it.

Some notes about this chapter:

First off, I did my best with the opening poem, but ehhh. The writer of the thing in-universe would probably make it sound much prettier and like, stylized than I could. Poetry was never my strong suit. But you get the idea, at least.

Next off, if it wasn't obvious, I'm not big on the idea that the engine's crew just become shadows in the background by the CGI series. On top of the fact that it just makes more sense for consistency sake to treat them as engines who *need* to be operated, there's something more compelling about treating the humans as just as complex characters as the engines.

Anyway, I had this headcanon that spending so many years working together, an engine would pick up a thing or two in behavior from their operators. In Thomas' case, he got his joking side from his fireman, and his serious, self-important side from his driver (started doing this in the last story). It kind of pulls from these vibes from the first few seasons that all the stories would still make perfect sense if the engines weren't sentient, due to the way they're written: the personality of the engines is sometimes a blend of both their driver and fireman. Since we only know the engines' personalities and not the men's, take the two most dominating traits about each engine, and split them up for the driver and fireman.

I even broke down and finally decided to give Thomas' crew actual names. I'm gonna be breaking from tradition in the writing in much greater ways than that, so why the hell not? I had this idea for this fatherly conflict I wanted to happen between Matthew the driver and David the fireman anyway.

Speaking about Thomas and Emily's rivalry, I thought Emily may have picked up her self important, know-it-all side from her fireman, and her compassionate and lighthearted nature from her driver. I also had the passing thought that her coaches, if they're sentient, are male, and their quietness as well is a juxtaposition of Annie and Clarabel, who are pretty vocal and opinionated. I have a note about it in a later chapter but it really isn't important to the story other than a headcanon, so I might get rid of it.

Without further ado, time to let it rip!