Chapter 1 - Our Little Secret

It was the same scene, the exact. Same. Scene. The timing, the speed, the passenger train he was pulling; Oliver swore there was a sense of déjà vu here; although, there were a few significantly different elements. For one thing, it wasn't daytime, but rather a clear blanket of night had fallen, and there were innocently-blinking fireflies in the grass on both sides of the tracks.

But many yards before Oliver approached the signal that Duck ran through, he subconsciously began to slow down, quite a bit, in fact; he then noticed that the weight of his train had suddenly disappeared, too, worrying and confusing him instantly.

Just then, the sound of another steam engine puffing closer could be heard, making Oliver squint through the darkness to see who it could be. He honestly dreaded he knew exactly who it was, and he hated himself for guessing correctly. Slowly puffing closer to him was none other than Duck himself, wearing that Godforsaken smirk that always flaunted his pride of his Great Western Railway lineage around like fancy silver ribbons.

Despite what happened between them the last time they ran into each other, Oliver was more concerned with gaining a logical explanation.

"Duck? What're you doing here? What am I doing here?" Oliver asked quickly, his eyes darting around frantically.

"There's no need to stress, My Sweet Olive," Duck cooed softly, making Oliver gasp and blush at the nickname; the only time he could remember being called that when he'd had a one night stand with a random female engine way back when. She had called him that in the heat of the moment, and even then, she obviously didn't mean it since she left without saying goodbye soon after. But Oliver knew the meaning behind the nickname, especially with Duck's suggestive tone, so did this mean that…?

"Duck…w-what're you saying?"

The said pannier tank engine chuckled as he inched closer, staring affectionately at Oliver's soul through his eyes, "If you truly care for me—then tell me my real name."

Oliver's lips quivered, "M…Montague…"

Oliver woke with a gasp, his eyes squinting from the harsh light of the rising sun to begin the day; he quickly took in his surroundings, realizing he was in his shed that he shared with Donald and Douglas at Callan Yard.

It was just a dream…thank God, Oliver thanked internally, thankful that his rude awakening didn't disrupt the Scottish Twins' slumber. Luck seemed to swing heavily in Oliver's favor this morning, for Duck would occasionally rest at Callan Yard during downtime, but he wasn't there this time, much to Oliver's relief. He wasn't sure how he would react to seeing the one engine that causes the most discomfort first thing in the morning…but come to think of it, Oliver hadn't really seen Duck at all since their little kissing incident a few days ago.

Not that Oliver was complaining, and he was sure that Duck, too, was more than happy to avoid him and put the past behind them. All he had to keep doing was avoid him and never bring up the subject or accidentally tell anyone else, and the awkwardness between him and Duck would surely die out in a month or two.

But if that were true, why did I do I feel…guilty? Oliver thought in shame, knowing he should at least apologize to Duck for his behavior. Kiss or no, Oliver would consider Duck a very close and old friend, if not his best. He would never do anything to jeopardize their friendship, but he felt like what happened between them had done just that.

"What?" a familiar voice asked, violently yanking Oliver from his thoughts when he looked over to find that Douglas was wide awake. Had he been thinking out loud…again?

"Sorry, Douglas. You know how bad I am at keepin' my thoughts to myself. But, um…" Oliver began, pausing and swallowing nervously, "H-How much did you hear?"

"Just somethin' about apologizin' ta Duck. What'd ya do to him, anyway?" Douglas asked out of curiosity.

Oliver sighed sadly, "It doesn't matter."

With that, auto-tank engine puffed forward to take his mind off his stress by starting work a tad earlier, but that didn't cease his old friend's concern for him.

Douglas and Oliver had gone way back, and the latter said he owed him his life to for rescuing him from being scrapped all those years ago. Douglas told him to make nothing of it, and the two have remained great friends since then. This also meant that one could sense something was troubling the other, and Douglas was certain that this time was no different.

The engines at Tidmouth Sheds were usually woken up earlier than most because of the morning passenger trains that needed to be pulled; James was no exception, as he pulled two passenger coaches to Wellsworth Station.

James was more excited than tired this morning, for he heard he was picking up an important passenger, a new and young photographer named Greg Steffer that worked for the gossip columns of Sodor's newspapers; most columns were dry and tasteless, but with the help of Greg, the press had made a huge improvement with attracting more readers.

After all, who could go wrong with a little harmless rumor or two?

James soon pulled up to the platform, coaches on the ready, and frantically skimmed the station for his important passenger. And eventually, he spotted him with a few fans, chatting up a storm about how he comes across such juicy stories so easily.

"It's all in the timing," Greg chuckled boastfully, a heavy New York accent rolling off of his tongue, and raising his beloved camera to his eye; he looked around the station through the lens until he suddenly landed on a certain red engine, which reminded him of his upcoming story.

"Well, there's my train. Gotta go!"

The fans sighed as Greg disappeared into the crowd of other people that needed to climb into James' coaches, but stopped short of getting on to get a chance of speaking with the engine.

"Hey. You're James the fabulous red engine, right?" Greg began with a smile in hopes of buttering up James to get him to talk.

"Oh, Greg Steffer! I didn't expect to run into you!" James exclaimed in surprise, acting as though he never heard the compliment since he already knows how fabulous he is.

"Well, you are the engine taking me to Vicarstown."

"Touché."

"Anyway, you've got a minute or two ta spare before we get this show on the road, don't ya?"

"I suppose." James smirked and quirked a brow proudly. "Did you want to interview me because I'm so grand?"

"No," Greg replied flatly, taking James by complete surprise considering the kindness he showed him not one minute ago, "Ya see, James, I need yer help. You're around the engines way more than I'd like to be, and it's you engines that are the center of my next story."

"Really?"

"Yup. I want you ta find out what ya can about—relationships." James' eyes widened at that last part, especially when Greg lowered his voice, as if trying to avoid any unwanted attention.

"Relationships?" the red engine parroted.

"Yeah, ya know, the platonic, the romantic, and even the forbidden," Greg chuckled darkly, "If ya see or hear anything that'll be newspaper-worthy, stop by my office in Vicarstown any time ya like."

"Any time?"

"Of course."

James grinned with that, knowing that this new acquaintanceship could be the key to someday getting into the newspaper himself. He would finally gain the respect and popularity de dreamed of.

The sudden call of a whistle pierced the air, pulling James from his thoughts when he knew that it meant it was time for the passengers to board.

"Oh, and one more thing, James," Greg began, pointing a firm finger at the said engine while walking back to the coaches, "This is our little secret."

Ever since the kiss, Duck wasn't fairing much better than Oliver; the feeling of the latter's lips pressed against his was constantly on his mind, in his nightmares, and kindling his stress. So much so, that the other engines soon took notice of how easily inattentive he'd been lately.

And when he was once again too deep in thought to pay attention to his surroundings…

"OW!" Thomas yelped when Duck unknowingly shunted a goods train into him from behind, obviously a bit too hard, "Duck! What was that for?!"

"Oh, Lord! Sorry about that! I'm just a little…absent-minded," Duck informed sheepishly.

"We've noticed," Diesel growled in annoyance while pulling a train of freight trucks.

"Duck's a moron, a genuine quack! Can't keep his mind stayed on track!" the trucks taunted as they passed by.

"How 'bout you just keep your grammar on track, ya little hair-brained halfwits!" Duck shouted back at the trucks, but they continued to cackle, making him sigh in defeat, "Great. Now I'll never hear the end of it from them."

"Why not talk to Oliver? The trucks always listen to him," Thomas suggested.

"W-What?! Wh-Who said anything about seeing Oliver?! I never needed his help!" Duck didn't realize what he said or how aggressive he sounded it was too late, much to Thomas' confusion.

"But he always helps you with your branch l-."

Duck was quick to interrupt the blue engine, "You needn't worry about me! I handle those little whelps on my own, thank you!"

The pannier tank engine then puffed away once the freight train was coupled up to Thomas, leaving the latter behind in an awkward silence to figure out Duck's sudden change in behavior.

"What's wrong with him?" James questioned while approaching Thomas, as he had reluctantly followed Sir Topham Hatt's orders to help out at the shunting yard, wishing he could be pulling more dignified coaches instead.

"I'm not sure. He's really distant and won't let anyone help him, not even Oliver," Thomas replied with worry.

"Not even Oliver, eh?" James asked in surprise, considering how long the two have known and worked with each other, "That is a shocker."

"I know. And if this doesn't stop, my back buffers are gonna fall right off."

James seemed to read too much into that statement, for his eyes popped wide and he looked at Thomas with a grimace, but the said blue engine failed to notice his expression as he puffed away. James figured it was best to just drop it instead of chase after him to get more context.

Nothing juicy here either. How are people going to see a splendid engine such as myself in the newspaper if I can't help its best photographer? James pondered in frustration, having been trying to ask other engines about any relationships they know about. But they either didn't know anything, or what they did know was already widely known; for example, Emily's secret affair, at least she thinks it's still a secret, with the Scottish twins. Emily in the middle, indeed.

There were only a few options left before he would run out of inspiration, and he promised Greg he would find something. So, who hasn't he turned to yet?

Ooh, I think we may have found our antagonist. What distance is he willing to go just to expose a terrible secret?

Until the next chapter, I'm TRikiD, bye-bye!