#qlir

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

QLIR Outline: Seasons 1-3

New installment is coming along nicely! Posting this as a reader reference and as self-discipline.

When a story is posted, I’ll turn the title into a link. The stories may be written/posted quite out of order, so this outline should keep them straight.

Questions/ideas/requests for tidbits always welcome in the inbox. :) I: Quiet Little Island Railway (1922)

The Workshop. Henry is built. And built again. And again... (1919-1922)  The Express Engine. Henry is finally shipped to a railway, and a suspicious Fat Controller pretty much immediately has measuring tape and pocket watch out. Henry’s worried driver takes drastic action to secure Henry’s future. High-Speed Police Chase. The North Western buzzes with gossip when Scotland Yard inspectors start trawling the railway. Their target could certainly use a speedy green escape vehicle about now!... wait... Timetables. Sodor's new express engine keeps his time… mostly… with a little help from a series of drivers. But the latest one, the celebrated Mr. Lammaleye, doesn’t react to Henry’s usual request as expected. From the Sham to the Ham. Thomas fucks with Henry’s first goods train, because of course he does. Look Further, Do Worse. Henry asks Linda, the hardscrabble floater engine who has worked “everywhere,” whether Sodor is really all that great. Apparently, it is. Linda wants to impress the Fat Controller in the final weeks of her trial period, so she really-usefully teaches Thomas the concept of “speed trials,” senior maintenance workers their business, a new first-class coach some respect, and only Then There Was Trouble. Good Engines Don't. Henry and Edward have a snit that leaves the former devastated... and grimly determined to make a success of a special annual train to the mainland, no matter the cost. Mr. Lammaleye would be impressed—if he wasn't so disquieted by evidence of Henry’s all-too-human thinking. Bits. Henry has to wonder what exactly they did to him while they repaired his boiler, because upon his return Thomas is, like… more than halfway tolerable, and Henry celebrates his first Christmas by bringing back a present from Kildane for his station pilot. 

II: Saving the Railway (1923-4)

Clearing a Line #1. Thomas and Edward meet the new, genuine Gresley... and quickly notice that this is the weirdest arrival to Sodor they’ve ever had (which is saying a lot, with Henry, Linda, and both “hams” all making a strong showing in recent memory).  Clearing a Line #2. Edward was happy to try and keep express passenger services running between Henry’s repairs and Gordon’s arrival… but the Fat Controller added a catch, and Edward needed help from Mr. Lammaleye to manage his assignment. Alternately.: All the red flags that Edward ignored before Part I.  The Autumn After. Gordon saves the railway. Sodor booms. Three Four new engines are leased. The Fat Controller, busier than ever, becomes something of an absentee parent. The new crews are an unlikely lot and one of them... carries around a blowtorch? Are we seeing that right? Fun! Fuck Edward gets taken down several pegs a lot, leaving the new engines free to run amok. Gordon teaches them not to mess with him personally, but retreats deeply from railway social life. Henry, left alone, is running scared. Three Loaner Engines. Thomas re-introduces the Brass-Buffered Truck of Discord and very nearly manages to Brer Rabbit the remaining three new engines to turn on each other instead of the “owned” engines. (Almost.) One Eye Open. That winter, Gordon observes… everything. Pity there’s no one sensible around to tell it to. Careless. The loaners choose a new target and cook up their most violent trick yet. The Fat Controller is forced to take notice, Henry tries to take a stand, but ultimately it's Gordon who steps in and establishes new rules of engagement: tank engines are off-limits, you bloody sociopaths, or you’ll answer to ME.  Firelighters. Henry’s new friends can’t help him when he starts to develop a whole new set of steaming problems. Problem Passengers. Gordon is given a special excursion train to a mainland prizefight, and is not very happy about it. Then an altercation within his coaches is blamed on Gordon, because why not.  The Spare Engine/One Perfect Day.(still working out the title and whether this is even one chapter or two) When a new driver is hired, Edward makes his bid. Everyone takes this well. MacNeil, the new driver, seems passive, but quickly gets up a feud with Lammaleye.  Railman’s Holiday. Spoiler alert: The Fat Controller barely even gets a foot on the mainland. Alternately: Topham is But a Simple Mechanical Engineer You Guys. How Can He Even. /sarc  The Conspirators. Gordon makes a remarkably convincing case that he and Edward are best friends, didn’t “little Edward” realize? And, now that Edward's back in steam again and once his head is done exploding, Gordon reckons that it's past time to talk strategy.  The Tunnel. Everyone’s noticing that things are… getting better. Except Henry. Y’all. It’s been almost three years since he arrived, and well over a year with the new loaner engines bringing the Lord of the Flies hellscape. It all started to 'get better' way too late for Henry.

III: Saving Each Other (1924-5)

Closing a Line. The Fat Controller figures out What The Hell to Do About Henry. With the “benefit” of all sorts of “helpful” input from basically every “person” on “Sodor.”  Names and Numbers. After Henry is bricked in the tunnel, none of the loaners are now in any danger of being returned to their homes. This emboldens Samuel, who for the first time ever has a mysterious need for a banking engine. Still, despite their newfound security, Lloyd and Ipswich come clean...ish... and confess their brass-truck-related sins to the Fat Controller out of the genuine remorse and penance of their hearts because MacNeil proves to also be handy with a blowtorch and In No Mood You Guys.  The Wild Nor’wester. Thomas has gone… more than slightly feral over the course of the past eighteen months. Gordon, fed up, teaches Thomas not to be cheeky with him. Thomas proves to Gordon that it might be worth hearing from tank engines. You know. Occasionally.  Neither Here Nor There. Lloyd and Ipswich take stock of their options and decide to ingratiate themselves with A.W. Dry industries so as to become indispensable. It would help, of course, if they weren’t so incurably disposed to drama that soon they can’t help sabotaging each other. On the neighboring railway, Edward’s two eldest brothers, facing the scrapyard and with nothing to lose, use the element of surprise “wtf are you two even doing on this island” to pay out “the red berk” Samuel for scaring the hell out of them with lies the past year.  Reversing Reverse. Gordon is beginning to visualize a rather magnificent plan to knock down a brick wall or two. However, before he can implement the full grandeur of his genius, there is a bothersome annoyance that must first be dealt with: his co-conspirator, while hiding it diligently from the railwaymen, is sinking into depression. Luckily, the Fat Controller is making some decisions about Lloyd and Ipswich.  The Sidings. Human-only shenanigans at the railwaymen’s favorite pub: Gallagher tries to two-time the barmaid sisters, Annabel and Clara; Willis, Atkins, and Sand get competitive; MacNeil grudgingly starts treatment for his war-related shellshock, and thereby has some realizations about Henry that he confides to the most understanding person he can think of Lammaleye over a pint… or four…  The Tunnel Again/Brothers. THIS IS IT YOU GUYS. Do I even need to tell you what happens? Alternately: There is not a single hatchet left unburied on the Island of Sodor! (The three loaners aside...)  One More Winter. The Fat Controller realizes that he might have a slight blue Gresley-sized problem on his hands. Actually, if he paints Henry blue, he might have two of them! Edward gets a new assignment. Thomas finally gets to take his first passenger train. FC hasn’t quite booted Samuel off the island yet, and, while Henry has a lot on his plate as he returns to service… he makes room for a healthy serving of Ooooohhh Let Me Handle This One!

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Fic Preview: Diagnostic (Part 2)

No real spoilers for QLIR ‘season 2’ here... because the engineer does not, in fact, identify the primary cause of Thomas’s memory loss. That will remain a mystery. :) 

(Though kudos to him, for being the first human to realize what’s going on with Thomas, and to address it.) 

Ages ago, I proposed that organizing North Western trains out of Vicarstown from 1915-1925 probably featured lots of “Mensa-level mental puzzles”... and then I kindly skipped giving any lengthy explanation. 

Well, this time I went for it! No holding back! We’re diving in!

Continued from Part 1 (though this might stand alone)

Thomas frowned. He suspected another trick, but he absolutely did not know to whom the engineer was referring. “It hurts so much more, now,” he groaned.   

“I see. Same sort of pain?”   

“Now it’s the splitting kind. You’re making it worse!”   

“I expect I am,” said the engineer. “I’ll leave off, for a bit. And I own I was rather playing games with you, Thomas. But I had better stop that altogether, for even in this state, you’re better at them than I am!”   

“I don’t think it’s all just in his head… so to speak,” the driver spoke up. “There is a physical piece to it, too. I mean, he’s picked up a bad habit of bashing the trucks senseless, and then after a couple of rounds he always complains of the ache. No matter how many times I tell him…”   

“Oh, yes,” agreed the engineer. “That’s not the source, I’m sure, but it certainly doesn’t help. You must go a little easier, Thomas—” 

“Oh, fo—fiddlesticks!” Thomas lost no vehemence despite having to correct his language halfway through. “You all act like I do it for the fun of the thing! It’s my job, to keep them in order. And you've no idea what a rotten, cheeky lot comes through the big station…”   

“Cheeky, of course, being a curse word,” muttered the fireman, though he was grinning, behind his beard. 

The engineer stifled a smile too. “I’m no locomotive, of course, nor even out on the rails… but I’m given to understand there are lots of ways to manage them, before resorting to violence. You should ask Edward for some—” 

Thomas cut him off with a groan.   

“For goodness’ sakes, Thomas…” muttered the driver.    

“Have I said something amiss?” asked the engineer solemnly.   

It was just as well that Thomas missed the twinkle in his eye. “All you lot seem to think that Edward knows everything.”   

The engineer held off the driver from a bit of scolding, again. He looked less intent than before, but still curious. “And what do you think of him?”   

“Oh, I don’t know. He’s hardly the worst of the lot, but that’s not saying much, and it’s awfully obnoxious how much the men like him. I suppose he does know a thing or two, but that’s only to be expected... ancient as he is. Ipswich reckons he’s old enough to have known the Rocket.”   

“What!” The engineer laughed so hard that Thomas was baffled.   

“What, then?”   

“Oh, I don’t know,” said the engineer, catching his breath. “The Rocket, indeed. Dear me, you engines are a funny lot, sometimes. I mend engines from all over the island. Compared to the rest, you’re all a bunch of spring chickens, on your line! And besides, who’s Ipswich to talk? He’s scarcely any younger than Edward, just going off my memory, and hasn’t half the sense to show for it, either.”   

“Excuse me?” Thomas brightened fractionally for the first time. The engineer’s first point was entirely indifferent to him—who cared about the fleets on other, lesser lines?—but… “Ipswich is how old?”   

“Oh, he’s at least twenty, himself. ‘Course, he had a big rebuild some years ago. Needed a big rebuild, for before then he and his lot were—” 

“Right, sir, but, with respect, that’s probably enough feed for the grapevine,” interrupted the driver. “You’ve already gone and stirred up the den of sharks for a month.”   

“He and his lot were what?” demanded Thomas.   

The engineer only smiled. “No, your driver’s right. I’m being quite indiscreet.”   

Thomas was only mildly disappointed. The prospect of harassing Ipswich with this intelligence was still one of the brightest points of his… 

Week? 

Month?   

… How old was he, anyway?   

He couldn’t actually remember anything that had ever made him happier in his life than this ammo about the big engine.   

And he did realize that this was either profoundly pitiful… or most improbable.  

His heart sank. “Mr. Engineer,” he asked sadly, oblivious that he was interrupting a low conference between engineer and driver, “I’m quite losing my wits, aren’t I?”   

“Oh, no, my boy. I don’t think so.”   

“But I didn’t really know anything you asked me about. I was guessing half the time. And now that I’m trying, I… I can’t remember…”   

“Can’t remember what?”   

“Anything.” Thomas wanted to cry.   

“I think,” said the engineer briskly, “that you’ve been rather lonely, and overworked, and unhappy. But that doesn’t mean you’re losing your wits. Engines typically don’t have a wonderful memory—it’s just not needful. Yours seems to be ‘specially suffering just now, to be sure, but there’s nothing to say that will be permanent, either.”   

“But for now I’m practically an imbecile. Quite like all those big louts seem to think.” 

“Oh, they do, do they?”   

“They call me silly and simple all the time. I never took them seriously before—they’re such a rotten lot—but…”   

Thomas closed his eyes, overwhelmed. And this action released several large, slow tears. He bit his lip and tried to contain his boiler, which had started to rattle.   

Unhappy.   

It hurt amazingly, to hear the truth about himself.   

And yet it was a more natural, more wholesome kind of hurt than the duller, dragging kind.   

“Thomas,” said the engineer. His voice seemed, at first, to come from a long way off… struggling to penetrate the engine’s dark misery. “Thomas, let’s say the other railway sends word that they’ve cancelled their connecting train on to Manchester, and Controller wires orders that we’re going to pick it up ourselves. What would you do?”   

“Oh, what do you mean?” the tank engine whined. “You said we were done with games.” 

“Not a game. Maybe I’ll learn something, about how you prepare your trains.”   

“Well,” said Thomas, fussily, “first thing to know is that it depends entirely what time, and what day of the week. If I don’t know that, then I can’t help you.”   

“Oh, let’s say today. Later today, the five-thirty-five. That’s the one my daughter takes, when she’s spent the day visiting here.” 

Thomas groaned extravagantly…. though it was, indeed, a relief to grumble about a workaday thing, rather than think the heavy thoughts he had been thinking. “Ugh. An extra train, sent out on the mainland, during the evening rush? Don’t do that to me!”   

“Why? Would it be quite impossible?”   

“Probably not, but it would be just the most enormous bother. I hope I’m getting some lead time, here!”   

“Talk me through it.”   

“Oh, c’mon...”   

“Thomas,” said his driver.   

“Well, it’s a stupid question,” he argued. “I mean, which engines are getting the train?”   

“Why don’t you tell him,” said the driver.   

Thomas sighed, much put-upon. After about three seconds' thought, he sighed again and said: “There’s no way we can spare two engines, not during the evening rush, so we’re talking about a kitchen-sink special for a single engine. And—bother!—it’s awful likely to be Edward, since lately he’s our usual connector for that train, and it’s often his last job for the day. So first thing is to nab Clarence and Sylvia—we’ll need them. Combined luggage and brakes, and combined ladies’ carriage and facilities—for the women’s society charters one specially, on that train, so we can’t leave that compartment out. If Clarence and Sylvia aren't on wheel, that’s three or four coaches instead of two, and that’s just about sunk everything, for Edward’s the weakest of the lot, and it takes some careful doing, to put together a comprehensive that he can handle on his own. ‘Course, thing with Clarence is, his brake-pipes are non-standard, so that leaves a very limited pool of coaches I can match up with him, anyway. Not so bad as it used to be, though, coz all those compatible with him are in rather low demand, these days, now we've got so many of the newer sort, so there shouldn’t be a blow-up… except for Dorcas. Blast it all, we’ll need Dorcas—or Athena, but Athena’s usually out at Tidmouth, and I’m bound to not be that lucky.” 

“Why Dorcas or Athena?”   

Thomas was oblivious to the engineer’s knowing smile. “Oh, I’ll want to lead off with a first-class coach from the ’23 lot, to smarten up the consist a bit, you know. It wouldn't do, to embarrass ourselves on the mainland. The new ’24 lot would be rather too nice, and put the rest of the train to shame, and anyway I doubt any of them have been modified to be back-compatible with Clarence. So there’s really no choice but Dorcas, but won’t she grumble! The coaches normally don’t, if put on Edward’s locals, but Dorcas is attached to Samuel beyond all reason, and she’ll throw a fit. She may even cause real trouble… and with such a train as this Edward won’t have strength enough to spare for her brand of nonsense… yes, depending on her mood, I might have to give in” (Thomas scowled) “and just send off quite a vintage sort of train. Because the main thing is to make sure it runs. If I can rummage up all my first-choice coaches, then I can get all the services I need on that train with just seven or eight. If. Still, it’s not until we get beyond eleven of those old, light coaches that Edward’ll have real problems, and I reckon I can manage well enough to avoid that. Phew. ‘Course, sometimes they switch out his train, and he’s down the western end of the line at that time. If that happens then it’ll pro’lly have to be Lloyd, and that’s a completely different sort of headache. Ugh! I reckon there’s nothing for it but to throw together an entire rake made of ‘24s. I hate to give him our newest and nicest coaches, but he’s that dreadfully rough—the coaches complain all the time, no matter what, but with Lloyd I can’t help but see it, because he’s literally destroyed brakepipes before, and we only ever give him passenger trains now in the direst emergencies—like this. So he’s got to take the hardiest of the lot, for they’re the toughest for him to push around. He’ll struggle a bit with a full consist of those heavy ‘24s, too, superheated or not, coz there’s no clever way I can reduce the numbers with the new coaches, but I can’t help him out there—he’s bound to reflect badly on us in some way, and at least with those girls he’s unlikely to actually come to a dead stop on the tracks. Biggest problem, though, is that I’ll have to pull those ‘24s off other trains, and have to move right quick, to re-arrange the rest on time, while all the girls and other engines will carp at me the whole while, and not let the thing go for days. Still, they can all go stuff it up their heat-pipes. The only tricky thing is that, if Ipswich comes in late with the Limited—and he does, far too often—I won’t have ‘24s enough for Gordon’s train.”   

“Gordon needs all ‘24s too?”   

“Oh, no. He can be trusted to take ‘23s as well—he’s not an absolute reckless idiot, like Lloyd. It’s just that he goes so fast with the Nor’wester, and the older lot can’t handle those speeds. But we’re usually pretty short on ‘23s in the evenings, because they’ve all gone off to the other end of the line on down trains, and won’t start to trickle back to us ‘till morning. ‘Course, now I think it through, I probably can get enough high-speed coaches pulled together for Gordon, even without Ipswich having the decency to remember what the hell his timetable says, by raiding Samuel’s late train. Yes, it’s quite possible, though it is a shame, for that means Annie will be stuck with Samuel, and she loathes him. ‘Course, if I took account of every coach’s likes and dislikes we’d never get through the day—but she’s really frightened of him, and I’ll feel a right rotter, making her go anyway. No helping it, though, if Ipswich doesn’t come back with Eliza. And then, if Controller sends special word that he wants Samuel to take the mainland train, which is really rather likely, well—why, you’re laughing at me!”   

“Not at you, Thomas,” said the engineer, who in fact had been silently shaking with laughter as he and the crew exchanged looks throughout most of this spiel. “But I am having a nice relieved sort of laugh. There’s nothing wrong with your wits! Are you listening to yourself, laddie?”   

“Seldom does,” said the fireman. He patted Thomas’s buffers fondly.   

“You’re all laughing at me,” muttered Thomas. “But I know my business!”   

“Indeed you do,” said the driver proudly. He was even-keeled and brusque by nature, and Thomas was surprised to see several strong emotions crossing his face. To the engineer: “He quite spoils us, you know. For my part, I just have to check for my all-clears and pull the levers. He thinks these things through better than anyone in the yard. Even the stationmaster has learned not to overrule him, when it comes to coaches.”   

“I don’t know how they survived eight months without you, laddie,” agreed the engineer.   

“Oh, well,” said Thomas, trying and failing to affect modesty, “as I understand they basically didn’t. There was no pilot, and it was mad confusion, with them all fighting over their coaches, and forever running behind their time.”   

“To be fair,” said the driver, tone very dry, “it would have helped, if I had agreed to keep working. There was a spare engine on hand. But I wouldn’t have any part of it. Things were so bad just then. The L.M.S. paid me nicely for some relief work... and I found the change a right relief, myself, and no mistake! The only reason I came back to the North Western at all was because of you, Thomas.”   

“Oh,” scowled Thomas, “but I thought I was such a cheeky, troublesome engine.”   

“Maybe both things can be true at once,” the driver smiled. “And I’ll remind you, sometime, of how far back we go—if you promise to not quite bite my head off.”   

Thomas was quite shocked. “Engines don’t bite! Ew,” he added, unable to help a shudder. Food looked like such a disgusting business.   

“You lot remember how to manually clean a smokebox?” asked the chief engineer.   

The driver made a face, but nodded. “Are we about to start demonstrating our skills, then?”   

“Yes, I think so, if you are up to it.”   

“Gabe and I had rather gotten stuck as non-sentient specialists, back on our old railway. Part of the reason we skipped town!” The driver glanced sidelong at Thomas, with a rather desperate and regretful expression that the engine couldn’t interpret. “And I’ve wanted to have a go at it, before, but Ashbury forbade it.”   

“You’re going to go messing in my smokebox?” asked Thomas, dubious. He had braced himself for, and even rather welcomed the prospect of, some such drastic procedure, but was rather doubtful of it being at the hands of his own familiar crew. He wasn’t sure what ‘non-sentient specialists’ were, and therefore had no reason to trust that they knew what they were doing.   

“Only when it’s hurting, at the end of a day,” said the engineer. “You’ll have to ask them, Thomas—no one will make you against your will. But I do believe you ought to, for from what you say I’m sure you’re having some trouble cleaning it all out, yourself.”   

“Well, all right,” muttered Thomas. He disliked the idea immensely… but then again… “I'll do just anything, if it will help.”   

“It will offer some relief,” said the engineer. “Though it won’t by itself be a complete cure-all, I’m afraid… I’m going to advise your controller to assign you somewhere else, for a change, and no later than this winter, too.”   

“Oh, but that’s ages away.”   

“Yes, but that’s not the cure either, just something else that should take off some pressure. But I want you at Vicarstown for a while more, actually, because I think what’s really going to sort you out is getting a bit more of yourself back. And that’s not going to happen while you’re on holiday.”   

Thomas bit back a protest that he couldn’t possibly stand Vicarstown until January… which was, he knew, when the engineer meant. He’d never be spared until after Christmas, and it seemed cruel to be given such a long thing away to look forward to. Better no hope at all, than that sort!   

But he tried very hard to be reasonable. Useful engines can’t just be sent ‘round hither and yon for their own enjoyment. “A bit of myself back? You mean… you mean like my memories?”   

“Maybe memories, if we’re lucky. But at any rate a bit more a sense of yourself. I think these pains and clogs come because you’re frustrated. Anyone would be, if they felt quite as alone as you do, and with no idea of their own story! I won’t say it will be easy, but you must try to adopt a more open attitude, my boy. You actually have lots of friends about, but with all your seething and stewing you’re rather pushing them away, you know.”   

“What friends?”   

The engineer held off the driver, again, with a smile. “I thought you didn’t like being told about yourself, isn’t that right?”   

“Right,” said Thomas reluctantly, sensing a trap, and resenting it.   

“Well then, you had better discover them for yourself! And, although no one can make you listen against your will, you might want to think about seeking out those of us who do know you. If you ask, perhaps it won’t be so annoying to listen. And I think you’ll find what you learn to be rather interesting, and the knowledge to give you some peace of mind. It’s a lot of pressure, to pretend you're quite all right, when actually—let’s own here, between friends—you’re really feeling a great deal of confusion.”   

Thomas scowled, but the engineer wasn’t wrong. “Well, that’s fine, then. How does one go about asking such a thing? Maybe I am confused, but you don’t know what it’s like down at the station. If I tell them any of this, I’m just up and volunteering to be mocked all the way around the yard.”   

“Then be quite specific, and say you don’t remember when so-and-so came, or what happened last Christmas. It’s not uncommon, for engines, and won’t really surprise anyone, although I admit that such a question coming from a human would sound rather dotty. Then again, perhaps you’ll find it less risky to start asking such things of humans, before trying the other engines. Surely your railwaymen don’t mock you.”   

“No. Just everlastingly scold, scold, scold!”   

“Everlastingly?”   

Thomas sighed. The chief engineer was mild and friendly, but clearly no fool, and the engine saw that he wasn’t getting away with the slightest bit of nonsense. “I suppose I could try.”   

“There’s a good lad. I think you’ll find it starts to cure your smokebox problem something wonderful.”   

The engineer hadn’t considered coaches—who were the most frequent source of this aggravation. But Thomas reckoned he could work it out for himself. He wasn’t, after all his work in getting them to hold their peace, going to do an about-face and invite them all back to telling him his business—but he did think at once of the two Stroudley coaches. Annie and Clarabel. They had been so sad and shocked, when he had only scowled them into silence...  

The engineer’s orders rather gave him permission to indulge his curiosity, so far as those two went. 

The men removed themselves, to confer privately. Thomas eyed them dourly from the shed. He hated knowing they were talking of him, but not in front of him. 

He would have liked it no better, to know that they were mostly talking about things far more interesting than Thomas himself.

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Would Gordon fist fight a higher being than to admit that he is soft for his two oldest friends?

(AWWWWW you love us-)

(oh shut your tree kissing mouth)

I just don’t see Gordon as being that crusty, tbh! 

After toning down the impossibly blinkered classism of his first couple of years... a little bit... I see quite the opposite. I imagine Gordon gets offended at the idea that anyone could question his loyalty and affection for his friends. 

percy: goram, gordon, d’you think you want to stop making henry’s near brush with DEATH all about YOU? 

gordon: whatever do you mean? 

percy: you’ve done nothing but criticize him and cut him down since he got back from the hospital! lay off, now

gordon: i call 'em like i see ‘em! but i’ve been a solid, splendid, and supportive presence in henry’s recovery. 

percy: *boiler rattling dangerously* 

gordon: he needs someone like me, to keep him on the rails. 

percy: *tubes straight-up explode*

gordon: *not batting an eye* hmmmph. no one gives me any credit. 

[mean-scarlet-deceiver]

Fic Preview: Diagnostic (Thomas)

Seem to be getting into a QLIR-universe kick over here... which is long overdue. 

I’m kinda rusty after nearly two weeks off, but have a pained and stroppy Thomas. 

~Over a year after Clearing a Line (Part I)

“Well now, laddie! What seems to be the problem, then?”   

The engineer smiled at Thomas, quite as if they were friends.   

The tank engine didn’t appreciate the good cheer. Nor did he appreciate that his crew, though standing by, did not answer for him. Why not? They knew.   

Assuming they had been listening to him.   

The thought made him colder and sulkier still. Probably they didn’t care, either.   

“I hear from your driver that you’ve had some trouble with your smokebox,” said the engineer, almost the moment Thomas’s fire began to chill, and Thomas was relieved enough of the distraction to respond.   

“’S’right,” he muttered. “Since I was at the Works. I reckon your lot didn’t fit it on again properly. ’T hurts.” 

His driver did open his mouth, at that, but the engineer only gave him an easy warning nod as even he answered. “Well, dear me. That doesn’t sound comfortable at all. I’m going to hop on up, Thomas, and have a close look.”   

Thomas managed to bite back a comment of Well, get on with it, then... barely. 

He didn’t really like having a stranger at such close quarters. But the cleaning and maintenance crews based at Vicarstown never felt the need to talk to him as they went about their business, and Thomas didn’t find that this extra step helped any.   

They normally got through their jobs as quickly as possible, too. Thomas thought the chief engineer was making quite a production of his minute examination, all around the circumference. He scowled from behind the engineer’s limbs with the effort to hold his tongue and his steam.   

“Hmm,” said the engineer at last.   

“Hmm what?”   

“Tho-mas,” warned the driver.   

But Thomas was in no position to calm down. He could tell that the engineer had seen nothing.   

“What kind of pain is it, laddie?”   

Thomas was suspicious. “What do you mean, what kind of pain?”   

“Oh, do you feel it all the time, or only sometimes? Is it more of an ache, or more of a stabbing pain?”   

“Only sometimes,” said Thomas grudgingly. “But I when I feel it, it really hurts.”   

“I’m sure,” the engineer soothed. “You feel it right now?” 

“Not half!”   

“And what kind of hurt is it?”   

Thomas frowned in thought… which didn’t help. “Right now it’s just like a… like I’m being crushed from the funnel down. But it’s all different kinds. Often it’s just an ache, like I’m always pushing against a great weight. But other times, too, it’s like my smokebox is going to split in two…”    

“That is a lot of different kinds of hurt,” the engineer agreed.   

Thomas seethed… as much as his clogged, aching smokebox would let him. “I am not lying!”   

“Volume, Thomas!” snapped his driver.   

“Yes indeed,” said the engineer, matter-of-factly. He was still standing on Thomas’s front. “I’m right here, my boy, and can hear you just fine.”   

“I know you’re thinking it!” the engine cried. “It’s what all the big louts at the station say, that I’m trying to get out of work. Crew number four says the same, I reckon driver does as well. But it’s not make-believe!” 

“I believe you, Thomas,” said the engineer, “and I’m sure Mr. Wymark does too. I’ve never known you for a shirker, and you’ve always been, if anything, honest to a fault.”   

The engineer's voice was warm, but Thomas continued to frown, and his smokebox continued to throb. “Oh, not you, too!”   

“Me too?”   

“I’m sorry,” said Thomas, though gritted teeth. He saw his driver’s expression, and he genuinely had no wish to misbehave. On the other hand, this was intolerable, coming from this man he had never seen before. “But I just can’t stand that!”   

“Stand what?”   

“When people—and some of us on the rails, too—tell me about myself.”   

The driver looked exasperated, but the chief engineer tilted his head.   

“Thomas,” he whispered, “what’s your worst memory, of being in my workshop?”   

The engine was taken aback.   

“You mean when I got my repairs?” he asked blankly… buying time, really. The engineer just nodded and waited. Thomas felt himself growing smaller under the weight. “I… well, there’s… there’s no particular bad memory.” He pinkened. “I didn’t mean to complain, sir.”   

“No,” agreed the engineer. “And I’m glad to hear that nothing went so very badly. What was your favorite part, then?”   

He was just as blank.   

“I… well…” He blinked, glassy. “I don’t want to be rude, Mr. Engineer, but I don’t think there was one… it was pretty dull, being idle.” He was squinting. “But… I did do some work up there too, didn’t I?”   

“Oh yes,” said the engineer easily. “Lots. None of us at the Works nor at Norramby were too keen to send you back home! You were such a great help to us all.”   

Thomas felt rather cold again. He resisted understanding.   

“What about the time before, when you were up our way?” The engineer’s voice was would-be casual. “Do you remember the first time we met?”   

“Why are you asking all these questions,” Thomas muttered. “I didn’t think I had done anything wrong!…”   

“No. But have a little faith, laddie. If you are patient, and keep answering me honestly, I think I may find the problem.”   

“Because you didn’t see anything, did you?”   

“No, I didn’t,” agreed the engineer. “But I have some ideas, now, as to what might be going on.”   

“Nothing’s going on,” said Thomas, with less heat than before.   

“Maybe, maybe not. Why did you first come into my workshop, Thomas?”   

“I don’t know that sort of thing,” Thomas argued. “Controller sends us up when he can spare us. I don’t question it!”   

“When I first came, your railway still had its old controller. What was his name, again?”   

He was looking at Thomas with too much intent. The latter blushed hotly.   

“I don’t know. They’re all just Controller. I’ve never been good with human names—we engines aren’t, you know.”   

“I suppose that’s generally true. What about some of the engines that left here, then. Do you remember any of them?”   

“Of course.”   

“Can you tell me about any? They would have mostly been before my time.”   

Thomas grew redder still. “Oh, I don’t know! All those big engines are the same, anyhow. They just fuss and sneer and boast, and forever try to boss me around. I don’t take much notice who stays and who goes. Good riddance!”   

“Oh, I expect no one could remember them all. But not even one or two?”   

Thomas was starting to get the feeling that his smokebox would cleave open. 

“We had a fellow from Scotland, once,” he said, uncertainly.   

“Hmm.” 

There was such profound, waiting silence from the three humans that Thomas’s usual confidence quailed. “I think.”   

“Oh, yes, I remember Angus,” said the engineer, encouraging. “Who else, please?”   

It took a moment.   

“Big one,” muttered Thomas at last. “Apple-green.”   

The engineer tilted his head again. “Number three?”   

Thomas considered whether this was a trick, and decided that it wasn’t. Not this time. Though he could tell that the engineer intended to test him. “That’s right, sir.”   

“Ah. Yes. Where did he go?”   

“Should I know?” Thomas couldn’t help but let off steam… feeble though it was. “Away, didn’t he? I don’t really care. I hate all tender engines, and can’t pretend otherwise.”   

“If only your station ever had some other tank engines about,” said the engineer, sympathetically.   

But Thomas was ready for him. He’d known this was coming. “Don’t toy with me! I can tell. We have had some.”   

He hoped very much that the engineer didn’t press him for details, for he would have been entirely at a loss—up until this moment, he indeed thought he’d never worked with another tank engine.   

But engineer and crew alike shared a bit of a laugh, despite the increasingly frozen expressions of concern that had been creeping over their faces beforehand.   

“There’s nothing wrong with his reasoning faculties, you must admit,” said the driver.   

“No, indeed.” The engineer smiled, but then this faded into a business-like expression. “What about your first railway, son? You probably remember all about that.”   

Thomas evaluated. His first instinct was to think this another trick—surely he’d never worked another railway!   

He’d never worked anywhere but this stupid, stupid station. 

But he didn’t think the engineer would try the same tactic, not so soon after being called out. “Well, I don’t,” he huffed. “Remember, that is. Only… only that I'm… only that I'm L.B. & S.C.R.!”   

This said with a note of supreme triumph. He scarcely knew where he had gotten that from.   

“That’s right.” The engineer smiled. “And no, I was indeed being a bit disingenuous there, Thomas. You never did see any service on the mainland. A proper Sodor loco, through and through! Shame, though, that you never got to meet anyone who was from your own network…”   

Thomas frowned. He suspected another trick, but he absolutely did not know to whom the engineer was referring. “It hurts so much more, now,” he groaned.   

“I see. Same sort of pain?”   

“Now it’s the splitting kind. You’re making it worse!”   

“I expect I am,” said the engineer. “I’ll leave off, for a bit. And I own I was rather playing games with you, Thomas. But I had better stop that altogether, for even in this state, you’re better at them than I am!”