Chapter 8: Christmas Ham

"Why do I have to be the eyes?" asked James.

"Because you're the only one with a clear view of the track, ol' bloke!" Charlie told him with a raspy chuckle.

"You had no problem with warning us about the signal some miles back," Edward pointed out. Considering he was doing the bulk of the work—scratch that. all the work—the least James could do was watch the track ahead for obstructions, and warn them, if there should be one. "Keep an eye out for snow drifts. Thomas and I cleared the lines, but the wind might've sent the snow flying back onto the tracks."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm on it," James muttered back. "Though if that were really a concern, they should've given us a plow."

"Easy for you to say," the cheery fireman told him, raising his voice to be heard behind Edward's firebox and gauge wall. "It's not as if you'd feel the extra weight. Right, Edward?"

Somewhere between pain, strain, and boredom, Edward couldn't find it in himself to respond politely. He did, however, notice how his driver continued to speak to both him and James with patience and good humor. Even though they had been involved in the accident yesterday, too, it would seem like both him and the fireman had forgotten all about it. They had received various cuts and bruises, Neither of them seemed the least bit rattled about it. Especially Charlie, who seemed as carefree and easy going as ever. Edward didn't know how he did it.

It wasn't long before Charlie noticed when Edward had gone particularly quiet. It wasn't the usual contented silence that occurred when the engine was working contentedly. It wasn't like Edward at all to leave an unsarcastic question unanswered. He leaned out of the cab door. "Holding up alright, Ed?"

"Huh—oh!" Instantly, the question snapped him out of his trance. If only for a few seconds. "Me? I'm fine."

"Funny you should be asking such a question," Edward's fireman said. After deciding the firebox was good for the moment, he stood up and gave Charlie a good look over. "You've been trying to light that same cigarette for seven miles. Lighter broken?" He brushed up the brim of his cap with the back of his hand. "Or is something on the mind?"

Something's wrong with Charlie? Edward wondered. But his voice was as calm and collected as ever. Was it something that only his face could give away? He envied his fireman for being able to see it.

The driver frowned, snapping his steel lighter shut and stuffing it and the square box back into his pocket. His hands were too cold to hold onto a cigarette anyway, and he forgot his gloves at home. "I keep thinking about that radio report. Whoever wanted to interview Sir Topham was determined to put him on the spot. I can't help but wonder if they've got something over him."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, the subject was meant to ignite strong feelings about these rails being privately operated. But I wonder why it's coming out now."

"Huh." Edward's fireman rested his folded arms and propped up his body on the handle of his shovel, watching the fire attentively. "Makes you wonder why else would Sir Topham want to go through with this whole Christmas Trains gubbins, too, if he wants nuttin' to do with British rails?"

Charlie rubbed his chin. "Wonder if they've got something over on him."

"What, like? Don't suppose he's trying to appease them, do you? Get them off his back?" the fireman leaned in closely. "Lie they're trying to seize control from him? That the fat controller hasn't said anything to avoid a panic?"

"That's what I'm wondering."

"What? A panic?"

"No," Charlie said quietly, as gaze flicked from the track ahead, to his fireman. "That they already have control."

And Edward took this in with a gulp.

Charlie had worked with Edward for nearly as long as he'd been on the island. Next to Matthew, he was a record holder, being the sole driver of the same engine for so long. Such feats of loyalty between crew and engine might be impossible anywhere but the North Western Railway, under Sir Topham Hatt's direction. After all this time, Charlie was as fine a driver as ever. Sharp of mind, and of wit—though he didn't flex the latter as often as Edward thought he could.

Despite this, on a more governed regulated railway, it might've been encouraged for Charlie to start considering his retirement after he passed sixty-five, with overseers promising his benefits for all his years of engineering would ensure it would be a comfortable one. They might even insist it would be healthier for him. Charlie would refuse—Edward was certain. Like many drivers, he was a workaholic, most loyal to the job, only after God and family, among countless things Edward admired about him. And more than a ribbon of that loyalty was for Edward himself. And part of what kept Edward's pistons pounding in the worst of times was the determination to match that loyalty, until his last breath. What would become of them after he was gone someday was out of his control. But as long as he was alive, he was going to serve them.

What such overseers would never understand—that the Fatt controller, also a senior, did—was that the best way to stay mentally keen and physically healthy was to keep working. Skills fade without practice, and piloting a locomotive was no exception. Charlie was as fit as he was thirty years ago, aside from a cough. This was likely due to his not so healthy cigarette habit. Only a few of the driver's smoked, but those that didn't were unbothered by those who did, as driving a steam engine meant plenty of ventilation: the wind carried most of the smell away. Inside Edward's cab, however, it always had the faint smell of tobacco—another thing that would totally not be allowed on a Kingdom-controlled railway—but Edward didn't mind. He'd forgotten it was there, actually.

It could be worse. Charlie once told Edward and his fireman that his father went to the United States when he was University age. That's where he'd picked up the habit of chewing wads of tobacco and then spit it out when all the flavor was used up—a far more disgusting habit that he carried for the rest of his life.

When it came to the subject of private versus public owned railways, Edward was decidedly neutral. He considered himself fortunate to be where he was, and left it at that. Politics were an unpleasant subject of conversation, and he had felt himself growing warm in the face when he and the other Tidmouth Sheds residents were listening to that radio interview with the Fatt Controller. Though it might have been pathetic of him, he had prayed nobody turned to him for his opinion, as one of the oldest engines on Sodor, And thank God, nobody did.

He was quietly aware, however, that on a more government regulated railway, many of the antiquated engines he considered irreplaceable friends might have been forced to retire. Edward himself? Without a shadow of a doubt, would have been replaced years ago. If he wasn't right here, right now, he wouldn't be anywhere.

Although compared to the relationship between Thomas and Matthew, Edward and Charlie were entirely different. Edward never once felt compelled to override his driver's authority, and Charlie never gave him a need to want to do so. The engine was thoughtful and obedient, and the driver was easy going and flexible. And as such, Edward and his crew were as tight as engine and operators could be.

Still, they weren't a hive mind. What was a rather large favor to Edward was just another job for Charlie. Although the greater part of Edward was glad James' complaints bounced right off of his driver, part of him wished they didn't. He was feeling lonely, with his increased annoyance of James. He was almost beginning to wonder if his exhaustion was making the younger engine seem more annoying than usual.

Of course this was everything James hated. Country tracks were largely for freight and goods. Whereas an engine like Thomas could see the positives in whatever scenery was laid out before him. As a matter of fact, changing sites gave the self imposed story keeper engine the opportunity to brush up on his descriptive, storytelling language.

If it were up to James, he'd never work off the main lines. He liked people. He liked engines. He liked talking. And he especially liked to show off, and it wasn't quite the shame to do so to toads in the river beds by the tracks.

Egotistical as he could be, Edward envied James' comfort in the spotlight. No matter how many blunders he'd gotten into over the years, his ego never stayed bruised for long. It seemed unfair that he himself would keep his proverbial hands clean, and yet stay so fearful of what others would think of him.

On cue, a familiar groan brought Edward to the surface. He took the liberty of speaking to the other engine for the humans. "James, I'm sorry, but that really doesn't help anything right now."

"I can't help it! It's so boring out here!" James replied. "I can't tell if I've seen the same tree go by three times already, or I'm just going mad."

At least you're paying attention to the track, Edward thought. James wasn't wrong, though. He wanted to be like the old Edward. He wanted to be optimistic. But Edward felt in the fire of his core that if things continued as they were, one of them would go mad before the evening was over.

A nice game such as I Spy might have taken the edge off. But it was out of the question, since the only identifiable shapes were the vague black silhouettes of wild trees against the navy colored sky. Not to mention Edward's vision was almost entirely obstructed by the shape of James' rear end.

Still, they needed something to do to pass the time. And to keep his wits about him. Edward bit his lip. "I've got an idea," he said at last. "How about a prayer?"

James made a funny face before asking: "Prayer? Why?"

"Well, it is Christmas Eve. In some parts of the world, people attend mass at midnight."

"Hey, that's not a bad idea," Charlie said. He could use the distraction himself. "Besides, it might benefit us to look on the bright side of this situation. Consider our blessings."

"I can think of a dozen of them," James said. "Starting with the fact that Yetis can't swim across large bodies of water."

"Not that we know of," corrected Edward's fireman.'

"Come now, James," Charlie scolded, ever gently. "You wanted something to do."

"Alright, here we go," James sighed. "Lord in heaven, thanks for not recalling my soul when I took that fender with the old signalman's tower."

"That's an, um..." Edward started. "... interesting way of starting. Uh, here let me start." He cleared his throat, and prepared his voice for a tone befitting the respect he felt the prayer deserved. "Our Father, who art in heaven… come on, James, you remember how this one goes, don't you?"

"I do," James groaned. "Who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...

Edward continued, and the two engines began to say the words together. "Thy kingdom come...

"Thy will be done on earth, as it is in heaven.

"Give us this day our daily coal,

"and forgive us our trespasses,

"as we forgive those who trespass against us…"

"Or, you know. Don't," muttered James, thinking of Spencer.

"… and lead us not into temptation…"

"Or brick walls."

Edward sighed in defeat. "Forget it. Let's just… pray in silence."

"Sure thing," James replied neutrally. Making it clear to Edward that he would do no such thing.

Edward felt his face grow hotter. He was embarrassed to have shared this interest with James, knowing he wouldn't even fain respect for it. So why had he tried? What was he thinking?

Then again, it's not like James has any reservations about talking his funnel off about the things he likes.

Or so Edward thought, until tonight.

Charlie leaned out the side of the cab again, taking in Edward's dejected face in the mirror. "New idea:" he said. "Let's talk about… ambitions, shall we?"

"Ambitions?" echoed Edward. In the decades they worked as a team, the word had never bounced between them.

"Sure. We may get on our knees every night and ask the Good Lord for the things we want. But a man knows he had to put in the elbow grease if he really wants to achieve those dreams. I believe all four of us blokes have aspirations. Tell me, boys," he said. "What do you want, in this whole wide world, more than anything?"

"Right now? A pair of wool socks, and a warm set of curves to keep me warm," said the fireman. "But I guess… in the long run… I'd like to retire before I reach sixty. Buy a big boat, the finest pole a man could find, and go fishing. Float on the waters all day, fall asleep in a warm bed in the county at night. And if I've earned the right… I want someone to share the sheets with, in those last years."

"Blimey, man." Charlie hadn't expected to be moved like this. "You have the whole thing planned out."

"Hey. You asked." The fireman shrugged. He was smiling. But he wouldn't look at Charlie. He quickly ran a finger against his eye when he thought no one was looking.

"What about you two? James? Eddie?"

"Uh…" Edward couldn't form the thought. Charlie wasn't just speaking to him and James, but the fireman, too. It was an honor for an engine just to be spoken to like this, grouped in with humans. He thought he knew Charlie well enough that nothing he did could surprise him, but this was incredibly validating. It freed him from the mental prison of thinking of himself as nothing but a weak, old, pack mule.

He was so distracted that it took him a moment to process the surprise of James, deciding to share. "I've… got one."

"You've got an aspiration, James?" Even Charlie sounded impressed. "Well, go on, then! Don't leave us hanging!"

"Alright!" He let out a tense breath. "Well… I do enjoy the island. And my friends… if I can even still call them my friends…"

Edward raised a brow. What did he mean by that?

"But if I could have one thing in the entire world, not including the ability to hang onto my friends… I guess I'd like to travel."

"You?" Edward couldn't hide his surprise if his life depended on it. "Travel?"

"Of course I do! Don't get me wrong. I like Sodor as a home just fine and all. Lovely place, truly. But I want to see the world! I want to meet as many new engines as I can! See the sights!"

"But where to?"

"Paris, of course!"

"Paris?" Edward gasped. "Y-You mean, Paris, France?"

"Yes, Polly Parrot…" James rolled his eyes. "Paris, France."

"But… why?"

"Why? Who wouldn't? I want to be immersed in it all! See the city life! The coats and suits on the people walking down the streets, the boots! And at night, see the city twinkle. And can you imagine how it must look this time of year? Such grandeur would dwarf Knapford at its shiniest!"

"Huh…" Edward chewed on all these thoughts quietly. This was probably some of the most thoughtful conversation he'd gotten from his junior in decades, and he didn't take it for granted. It made sense that James would have a dream of this magnitude, granted they were far fetched. But he'd never thought of James as one to have a heart for travel. He was almost ashamed of himself for not knowing this about him.

No wonder he was so crushed about not getting to pull the Christmas train. The decorations at Knapford, lit up at night, being at the center of attention. The hoopla, the fashion, the romance… It was as close to Paris as Sodor could get!

But James wasn't done yet. "But that's not the main reason I want to go," he explained. "Since I was first built, one of my goals in life is flying by the city on historic Parisian rails, and seeing the Eiffel tower, with my own eyes."

"But why the Eiffel Tower?"

"Well, think about it. It's old-older than we are. It's big, it's handsome, and it's even functional! My driver told me that there is an elevator that will take you to the top! You don't get that with Stonehenge or Niagara falls."

"Better start thinking about losing some weight so you can ride it," joked the fireman.

James didn't elaborate further, but Edward supposed James had a kinship to the iconic building. Like James, the tower was pretty and purposeful, with a top that seemed to scrape the sky—one of few landmarks in the world that was almost as tall as his ego. But in terms of functionality, at least the Eiffel Tower had a lift to the top.

"That's not a bad dream, boy!" Charlie said. "Why, I'll be. James has ambition."

Edward was stone quiet. James… has a dream. The red rocket who lived his life for today actually had plans for tomorrow. How he was going to accomplish them was still a big question mark, but… it was a lovely thing to hear.

While Emily and Thomas began making miles on the main line, Edward and James were getting further away from civilization than ever. And now it was dark.

The only light to help the engines on their journey came from James' headlamp—which despite the state of disrepair to James' front, somehow still worked.

Relatively so, anyway. It was turned on by Edward's fireman before they left Wellsworth, and flickered off and on again every time they encountered a bump. It would have to do until they reached The Works. There wasn't a spare on hand, nor any torches to speak of.

While Edward's headlamp worked fine, its beam was blocked by James' flatbed. And most of Edward's vision was eclipsed behind James' tender—would a big butt joke be so fitting here, if not for the fact that the engines were the same size.

There was one other source of light, albeit not a sight for sore eyes. When the dark clouds parted, they gave way to a great, white sphere in the sky.

A full moon, he thought.

This particular moon was so big, it seemed like it was close enough for earthlings to touch. Children across the island might have been pleased to discover that Father Christmas would have quite a light from which to guide his sail across the skies.

Edward, however, was reluctant to notice it. At just shy of seventy years old, he's seen enough happenings in his lifetime to decide for himself if superstitions were worth the headache. The general decision he'd come to was no, not in the slightest.

However, perhaps his age made him a bit wary of things he wouldn't have been years ago. He felt that uneasiness from earlier rise again, like a tickle against his boiler.

In order to keep composure earlier, he pretended that James was one of the cars. In that sense, his complaints were just another noise that he could tune out. Now, however, was kind of hoping James would start up again with his gripes, to distract him. But James had gone oddly quiet, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Edward decided it wouldn't hurt to poke him. "James? Are you alright?" Had he fallen asleep? He had one job to do! "James? Are you still praying—?"

"Stop, Edward," the red engine said abruptly.

"I'm only trying to help!"

"Not that!" His snappish tone was all too familiar, but his gaze was suddenly fixed with uncharacteristic intensity on the earth before them. "Ease on the breaks. Now."

"We can't stop every time you have a pain!" It was rapidly getting late. And after working this hard, he was determined that they would get to their destination by morning. They were not going to waste time by camping out here on the open tracks.

"I'm not! There's something…" his eyes narrowed, trying to put words to what he was seeing. "Something down the line, right in our path. It's low to the ground, but it's there."

"Surely it's just another snow pile," Charlie suggested. "Hopefully it's small enough for us to push through."

Charlie's voice was notably kinder to James than his own. But Edward could still detect his exhaustion. The man was no spring chicken himself. And Edward felt more determined than ever that he and his fireman should get home as soon as possible, and in their beds, safe and warm. They had already sacrificed their Christmas Eve.

"It's not snow!" James protested. Although from this distance, he had no idea what it was. It was dark, and low to the ground, but after hours of watching the same tracks come and disappear beneath him, he was sure of it. Before the silver bands of the tracks' highlights disappeared into the black of the horizon, there sat a round shape, low to the ground. James cursed himself for being unable to identify it, as well as for his recent mishap. If he just had a little more trust, maybe they'd listen to him.

As they crept closer and closer to the dark figure, James' eyes grew bigger. The panic moved to his voice, now. "No, really! There's something on the track!"

"C'mon, James! There's nothing out here for miles! This is the country!" Edward was too afraid to acknowledge the idea. Yeah yeah, the engine who cried obstruction. The annoyance made him chug even faster. He just wanted to get to their destination and rest. "This is no time for games."

"It's not a game! You gotta stop! There's-"

The lamp light was coming up on the obstruction fast.

Pink skin and low to the ground, James saw it move. It was alive.

Horrors.

"HUMAN ON TRACK!" James blew his whistle as long, and as loud as he could. His scream ripped from his throat with a desperation unlike he'd ever felt before. "STOOOOOOOP!"

The sounds of Edward's brakes screeching coroused with the horrendous, animalistic squeal, cutting through the country quiet. But by then was too late. Something hard and heavy smacked into James' front end.

In the cab, Edward's fireman braced himself. Charlie wheezed, unusually veiny hands gripping Edward's break. He shuttered to let go. His heart skipped a beat. The unspeakable thought already entered his mind. After decades of perfect, eventless service…

The force of the impact knocked James's flatbed to the side of the track. Edward rocked forward, this time on his own power, hovering millimeters over the track, and collapsed with thundering finality.

It took a moment for everyone to remember where they were.

Panting, Edward was the first to speak. "WHAT? Who-what is it? James?"

James's mouth hung open in shock. Now up close, their path's obstruction was as plain as day. In the light of his makeshift lamp, James identified the figure as not a man, but who's country runs had made it a creature he was all too familiar with, nonetheless. "It's a… it's a pig!"

"A what?" Edward gaped ahead, unable to see anything but James' tender. Had he actually lost it?

As soon as he got his bearings, Charlie hopped from the cab. "Pig-let, you mean." He tipped his cap at the creature, sighing in relief. He pulled off his cap and rested it against his heart. "Well, I'll be! This lil' fellow nearly gave us all coronary attacks."

"Nearly?" said James, who sounded impressed at the question, despite not having a physical heart to speak of. He eyed the scraped remains of the yellow, wooden crate, the object that had knocked him off the rails. "If his crate hadn't knocked me off the rails, he'd have been flattened!"

"A pig," Edward repeated in disbelief. If Charlie saw it, then it wasn't an illusion. "B-But where did he come from? What's it doing out here all alone in the cold?"

"Maybe he fell off of someone's live load," suggested Edward's fireman, coming out to look at the scene himself. He bent down on one knee and gave the piglet a thoughtful look over. "Doesn't appear harmed at all. Heh! I'll wager he's just as shaken as we all are!"

"Sure," James said with an eye roll. "I'll believe that."

The piglet looked up at the two men. His squeal accompanied a frantic run from the scene of his box-his only means of shelter-being blown to bits by the impact of the engine. He was clear out of the way when James's flatbed had derailed, but he didn't go far. And he stayed close to the scene of the action. "Bold little thing, he is," Charlie said. He joined the fireman in a kneel in the snow, and turned his hand upwards towards the pig. "Almost more dog than pig. C'mere, son. It's alright. Come out of the snow. That's right."

"Are we… sure it's a boy?" asked Edward thoughtfully.

"Oh, we're sure," the fireman told him, watching as Charlie picked him up in his arms.

"Oh, blimey!" the driver grunted, lifting the baby pig from the ground. "You're not as light as you look!"

"All the more reason to just turn him loose and let him go find his mother," said James. "Heh… I-Isn't it?"

"James, this pig fell off someone's train," Edward reminded him. "His mother probably isn't anywhere around!"

"Neither is anything else." Charlie wrapped the pig in his coat, while the fireman petted the few hairs on the top of his head. "We're far off the main branch, and the next town isn't for miles."

"Wha-s-so that means…" James sputtered. "We-we're stuck out here?"

"Until we can get some help." Charlie stood up with the piglet in his arms. "We'll have to walk into town and radio the sheds. See if they can't get a crane out here to put you back on the tracks."

"But that'll take hours!" James said.

"I'm sorry, boys," the fireman told them, wearing a sympathetic frown. "I'm just glad you two aren't more hurt than you already are."

How could that even be possible? thought James, his body thrown into a state of pure ache by this second derailment. "So, what? You're just gonna leave us here?"

"I'm afraid we don't have a choice."

"We'll be back as soon as possible," said Charlie. He turned to the fireman. "If we just follow the track-EUGH!"

A horrible squeal made the driver stop, only two steps away. At once, the calm and collected pig, who'd practically leaped into his grasp, had begun wrestling to get out. His little hooves dug into Charlie's sleeves and chest. The driver bit back a cuss as he thrust the creature away from his body. "What the-?"

"I don't think he wants to leave," said the fireman. He rubbed his chin. "Peculiar."

Edward could only hear the pig's squeals as he tried to free himself. "I could be wrong, but it sounds as if the piglet wants to stay where he fell off the train," he thought out loud. For whatever reason that is. I wonder what it means.

"I've never heard of anything like it," Charlie said. He kept his patience as always, but his voice was growing somewhat desperate. "Come now-"

But the pig absolutely refused to be moved. He only calmed down when the men's feet stopped moving. After a painful scrape to the arm and more squealing in his ear than he could take, Charlie had no choice but to put the pig down before he accidentally dropped him. As soon as his hands were free, the piglet returned to the part of the track with broken pieces of wood and metal, and promptly sat down.

"Why would he want to be near the engines that nearly ran him over?" asked James. He began to sound less upset and more entertained at the curiosity of it all.

"Well…" Edward, who would normally keep speculative thoughts to himself, dared to speak them out loud. "... They say that Christmas is a time of miracles. Maybe the piglet is some kind of sign."

"Of what? Our doom?"

"No," Edward said. "A sign of change. Farm animals are usually born in springtime. This pig is just a baby. Since when do you see a farm animal born in the winter?"

"Oh, come on…"

"No, he's got a point there, James," the fireman said.

"Obvious bias aside," said Edward's other crewmate, "I think we have no choice but to leave this lil' fella here until we come back with a cage, or a box, or something to hold 'em."

James looked gutted. "You're leaving the pig here, too?!"

"We'll bring back food and water for him. Don't worry you two. A creature his size won't be able to do any harm to you."

"We'll be back before you know it."

"Just hang on, you two!" And free of the weight of the pig, the men sprinted away from the engines as they could. Following the track, and doing their best not to slip on the snow laden ground.

"But… but…!" James was at his breaking point. His lips were bit by the cold, making his shout at them falter into a murmur. "You two aren't… supposed to go together…"

Edward heard the difference. This wasn't like James' usual pouts. His voice shook with an anxiety denoting that in all his years, he really had never been left alone by crew like this before. And he was afraid.

Once again, concern for another made him put all his personal troubles and pet peeves on the back burner. "Hey… hey… James, it's okay. They haven't abandoned us. They're going for help. My driver's done this for me before."

James sniffed. "It's just… what if they don't come back for us?"

"Of course they will! You heard Charlie! And besides, you're not alone out here. I'm right by your side. And I'm not going anywhere without you. I promise."

James watched the pig chew on his hoof. His tears began to recede, and now he just felt deflated. "Uuughh… first my fender gets mangled, we miss the Christmas party, and now we're stuck out here in the cold, keeping ham on ice."

"Full moon out tonight!" called Marty from Emily's cab. "And no clouds."

"All the better for a swift, safe ride in the skies tonight," the presiding Father Christmas said. "Oh ho ho!"

"Ho ho ho, dear," his Mrs. corrected, with gentle sarcasm.

The air was cold, but the wind was mild tonight. "Mr. and Mrs. Claus" were warm between their tightly bundled clothes, the windshields of their sleighs, and the gentle warmth radiating from the boilers of their respective engines behind them.

David leaned over to speak to Emily's driver. "What's say you, Marty? Got any parties to crash this summer?"

"Not me, lad," the senior declared. "I'll be pushing down freshly made maple syrup flapjacks come summer."

Right… Marty's due to retire in May. On top of everything else, this was the last thing Emily needed.

Emily's driver was currently the oldest driver on the North Western Railway, even older than Thomas' driver. He had silver, curly hair on the sides of his head, his cap hiding the bald spot and liver spots on his head. Like Matthew, the job required him to stay fit, so despite having passed an acceptable point of retirement on paper, he had carried himself with amplified energy the last ten years, so that the question may never be asked of him.

Marty's personality was quite different from Matthew's. Whereas the former believed abstinence and a strict lifestyle contributed to longevity, the latter believed patience, caring, and a good sense of humor would help him see as many years on Earth as God would allow him.

Emily had plenty of different drivers in her life, and she could never pick a favorite if she tried. but they all left their mark on her. Including the one who told her the story of the forest green queen. She'd thought about reciting what little she remembered about it to Marty and Kyle, but telling them fragments of it seemed pointless. It was unlikely they'd heard of the story and could fill in the gaps for her. Let alone appreciate how much it meant to her.

That wasn't to say they didn't care—a pang of guilt hit her just at the question. They cared greatly for her, just as any crew who spent a significant amount of time with their engine did, she knew it. Which was going to make Marty's retirement and subsequent farewell all the harder. But all the same, the story, the romance—it was such a girlish interest. And they were men.

All the same, she had just a few months left with Marty. And he and his wife were going to move to Canada to be closer to his oldest son when he finished. Who knows if she'd ever get to see him again? Maybe she could work up the nerve to broach the topic before he left. But not tonight.

The Mr. and Mrs. Claus trains had barely departed Knapford station, but already, an uneasy silence had fallen. Even though the engines' contempt for each other wasn't at its strongest, they still had no interest in speaking. Especially not to each other.

With the people safely in the coaches and the bustling station behind them, the costumed engines soon became increasingly and uncomfortably aware of that silence.

It was unusual for a pair of engines riding side by side to have no jovial conversation with one another. While peaceful moments of quiet between friends existed, this wasn't it.

For Emily, the worst part of their fallout wasn't that Thomas had piled into her humiliation. It was that she felt like he might actually be right. Was she really ruining Christmas for everybody else?

She thought it was bad enough that everybody knew she liked Edward. Now the whole island knows Edward knows too. And she didn't know how to interpret his rejection of the job as anything else but a rejection of her, too.

Ugh. Feelings. Feelings. Feelings. What had happened to her? The bullheaded lass who would throw herself between two of her fellow engines to rescue them both? Where was that Emily? Had love really gone and made her so soft in the wheels?

Bitch.

That curse. That… that had had a long time coming, hadn't it? It was what everyone was thinking of her… wasn't it?

The guilt Thomas was feeling now begged to differ. He knew Emily hadn't made friends with everyone on the island. She was known for thinking highly of herself, her hotheaded need to control and perfect situations, and sometimes ruining things in the process. Even anyone had thought that word of her, none of them had said it out loud. Only Thomas.

He didn't want to think about what happened between him and Emily, but when he switched thoughts back to Mira, it was worse. They longer brought him joy, or filled him with an elation that made him feel like he was hovering above the tracks. Giving him the feeling of flying he envied Harold and Jeremy for. The memories of last spring pounded in his head, each vision pushing him down onto the tracks, like added weight. It was like a bad migraine, and there was no safe place to lay his mind. With every cycle of his wheels, he cursed himself for getting himself in this position to begin with.

It left him with one bitter conclusion. It's true. I am no good with women. He took a quick look at Emily when she crawled a few inches ahead of him. I fall weak to the ones who care nothing for me, and throw away the ones who actually might.

It seemed like the Mrs. Claus train was going to get to the docks sooner, which was against protocol. Not that Thomas would care. And Emily for once wouldn't call him out for falling behind. Thomas was certain she would put a sizable distance between them if she could.

What he didn't know was how difficult pulling this train was going to be. He was not a tender engine, aided with extra strength and power. He was not Gordon, the great, fast express puller. He had gotten used to pulling heavy loads over time out of straight determination, but tonight, he really did feel tiny. A tiny, pathetic tank engine who felt the weight of his actions like cars full of stones.

He did not have the strength to do this tonight, and yet... he was somehow still doing it.

How could I accuse her of making this a miserable Christmas for everyone else? After I guilt tripped her about the smelter's yard, and rubbed my relationship with Mira in her face… He swallowed hard. He was just as sorry now for Emily as he was Edward for having to go through with the rejection.

He'd seen Emily angry, afraid and even undignified. But he'd never, ever seen her cry. The sight awoke a sort of sensitivity for her that he didn't realize he had.

Maybe she really had forgotten our original job together tonight. But I was so annoyed with her, anyway, for talking to me like a dog at Knapford. Why did it hurt my feelings like it did? Thomas couldn't figure it out.

Fortunately for the passengers, and not so much the engines, however, scheduled interference on the line prevented Emily from getting too far ahead. He soon came to a stop at a crossing, allowing Thomas to catch up.

The signal was up, meaning another engine would be passing through at any moment. Who it was, at this hour, on this day, neither had a clue. Though they were both curious, neither would speak. Immobility had made things somehow more tense than ever.

It didn't take long to find out. Thomas couldn't believe the laugh that escaped his mouth. "Henry!"

The last pull of the Flying Kipper, the slow, night freight train, full of fish from the fishing village, to the docks.

As usual, Henry pulled in front. Emily thought the train looked especially long tonight, with car after car trundling slowly passed her and Thomas. Even on a better day for him, it seemed impressive that Henry was pulling such a long train, especially these days. They were all getting older, after all.

And then, Emily knew why: At the very end of the train was Arthur, the supervising engine of the fishing village. He'd come a long way from his first days of Sodor, and he was far less meek than he used to be. As such, he whistled proudly as he saw the engines waiting at the crossing. "Ey, Thomas! Emily!"

"Arthur!" Thomas called back with a smile. "Great to see you! What are you doing?"

"Fishermen caught an extra load of fish today! Henry asked if I'd be the back engine!" Arthur called. As he drew closer, he noticed the way Emily and Thomas were dressed, and tooted his whistle. "Looking good, you two!"

"Wish I could say the same about you!" Thomas teased. "You're covered in fish slime!"

"And proud of it!" Arthur called to him. He was a far cry from the shyer engine he was when he first came to the island, but he still loved working with fish.

And then, instead of tooting his whistle as a goodbye, Arthur took in a deep breath, and howled at the top of his voice. "Aaaaah-ooooooooooooh!"

Arthur's howl echoed into the night.

"Oh, brother." Henry rolled his eyes. Though not as proud as Gordon, even he was too proud to take part in such disgraceful, un-engine like behavior.

But not Thomas. He sucked in his breath, and called right back at him. The great voices of the engines could be heard for miles, breaking up the calm of night. "AAAAAAAAAAAAH-OOOOOOHHH!"

"Oh, my!" said Lady Hatt. Not sure how to contribute, she pulled a handkerchief from her coat pocket and waved it at the other engine as what might be interpreted as a gesture of goodwill and safe travel. Though it was entirely possible she was just hoping the offensive train would pass by quickly.

Emily was stunned. And even more taken aback as Thomas laughed on the come-down from the howl. She'd never heard him laugh so loudly. Like the action was intoxicating.

Naturally, Thomas' fireman could not be left out of the fun. He stuck his head out of the cab and gave his own mighty howl into the still, bitter, winter night.

At his helm of gauges, Matthew shook his head.

She couldn't take the suspense anymore. Once he'd recovered, Emily turned to Thomas. "What… was that?"

For whatever reason, Thomas smiled at her when he replied. "It's just a greeting."

"That's a greeting, is it? Since when?"

"A year ago? Maybe two? Mighty Mac said he thought he saw a wolf up in the mountain—or at least Mighty did. Mac seemed to doubt it. So Mighty started teasing him by howling when they went out at night. The narrow gauge railway does this all the time. I guess the tradition trickled down here. It's fun! You just get this urge to howl at the top of your voice."

"Better watch it," Emily's fireman teased. "Or you'll attract wolves from the mountain."

"I think the wolves will find other things to do than chase down a pair of engines."

"Oh yeah, like play poker around the cave fire?" Matthew asked, sounding incredibly bored with this discussion.

"I don't know. Huddle in a cave." David offered with a wink. "Make little wolves."

Emily flushed hard enough to turn her windburned cheeks from pink to red. Thankfully, no one noticed.

"You don't say." Matthew sighed. "Why am I not surprised you would project your idea of recreational fun as soon as the chance would strike?"

"Well," David sneered, tossing a loose lump of coal from the floor into Thomas' firebox. "What else is the howl for, smart guy?"

A/N (this part of the author's note was written like over a year ago, FYI. I literally can't read anything I wrote more than a week ago and not cringe. Why?): This chapter is where I begin to press a few more headcanons onto the characters. Being a novice when it comes to the absolute iceberg that is the series lore, I'm basing most of these again, off of the TV show. While the books and model series and even the CGI series have inconsistencies between each other, at least for the most part, the characterization is about the same. I'd say the only engine whose personality is distinctly inconsistent is Thomas himself, and like Wiki says, that could be attributed to his rise to star status and having to be a "role model" so to speak.

Revisiting Season 2 for the first time as an adult gave me the impression that Edward might attribute some of the choices he makes to the teachings of Christianity. I realize this is probably an unoriginal observation/headcanon, and while I don't mean to turn Edward into a Ned Flanders type, it does give me a better idea for how to explain his actions. And it also gives me ideas to build more friction between himself and James, as well as create an internal conflict that he suffers with silently. ;.; Jobey has also been a MASSSSIVEEEE help when it comes to understanding Edward and his origins, especially in the book series. So thank you like times a million alright? ;.;

Man, doing research just on the prayer Edward would use takes me back to Catholic school days.

Edit: 2/16/23. Finished by December 2021? Hah. Maybe by 2023. Not what happens when you switch hyperfixations every six months, like what's been happening to me ever since Robot Jones stopped being my one true focus after 10 straight years. Anyway, sorry anybody who has been waiting to see if this gets an update. This chapter was just about done when I ran into writer's block and couldn't fill in the bullet points for what happens here. I picked up 8-10 hours overtime at work every week and have been trying to get back into writing and drawing again, the former having more progress. Helps to look at chapters I almost had finished. I was so hyped to get this bad boy done, too. Well, I'll see you!

Those of you I'm chatting with, you're looong overdue for a reply. I'll get on it asap!

As always, those of you that actually know Thomas or the Railway Series better than I do, I'm literally not offended if you correct me on small details, like the layout of the island, the jobs the engines do, etc. Especially if I'm trying to fill in the gaps from something I started writing a long time ago, I'm gonna forget stuff. Constructive Criticism is also welcome. I've come to accept that its difficult to make this story fit in with any canon, let alone both book and series canon, and in literally any other fandom, I've tried so hard to make my stories fit the established canon unless specific things are outlined as purposefully changed.

So it sort of does exist in its own canon. Like Ashima is non existent, that's a big thing. Since I started writing this whole story before I even found out she existed. Hah.

If I were going to write this story from scratch, I remember thinking I'd probably give Topham's role in this story to his son instead, like Fatt Controller II I think it was. Because in the Railway series, IIRC from this video I watched, FC I apparently passes away sometime in the 1950s or early 1960s. There could've been this drama about his son taking over the railway and struggling to keep it and the engines from being taken away by the mainland railway overseers, thinking he doesn't know what he's doing. And then unheard-of engine crashes that happen in this story under his reign are seen as an added sign of his incompetence and why railways need tighter regulation, and why steamies are dangerous, etc. And there'd be protests and yada yada. Don't know if I'm even skilled enough/knowledgable in that area to write that well. Knowing how wide the fandom pool is, I bet someone already has done something similar.