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“So,” the Flying Scotsman grinned from the station next to Gordon. “Care to explain what's finally put a smile on your face?”
“A smile?” Gordon glanced at him, confused. He wasn't even aware that he had been smiling, but he supposed he had, absentmindedly. But it wasn't like smiling was illegal, was it?
“You've been miserable for months, brother,” Scotsman began, “and now you smile at me.”
“Oh." He paused. That made more sense. To be brutally honest, the past few months had passed in a sort of blur to him, and he couldn't remember if he had told his brother what the problem was or not. He'd answer him like he had. There was no way that he hadn't told his brother how miserable he was after Henry left Tidmouth. “I took some good advice,” Gordon said.
“You? Advice?” The Scotsman laughed. “Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks.” The Scotsman paused for a moment, a grin filling his face. “There was me thinking it had something to do with the new lovely tender engine I meet here sometimes.”
“Rebecca?” Gordon asked. “No.” Rebecca was lovely, but he didn't like her like that. “She's far too young for me.”
“Oh.” He looked rather disappointed. “I thought your melancholy was based on an unrequited crush. Only women make men so miserable.”
“Where did you hear that one from?” Gordon asked. It seemed much more like a quoted line than something that his brother actually believed in.
“One of my drivers. Mind you, I don't think he gets on well with his wife,” the Scotsman drifted. “So if its not the lovely lady, what does have you so happy today?”
“Nothing,” Gordon said. He raised an eyebrow at his brother. “Does there need to be a reason?”
“You said you followed advice,” the Scotsman reminded Gordon. “What was it?”
“Embrace change,” Gordon said cryptically, before pulling away at his driver's request. “I will see you later, brother.”
The Scotsman watched sceptically as his brother passed Henry, cheerfully whistling to him before picking up speed and disappearing off into the horizon.
Henry smiled across at the Scotsman, whistling in greeting as he pulled in the platform opposite. “Hello, Scotsman!” he shouted over, trying to be heard over the hubbub of passengers. Vicarstown Station was always noisy, filled with not only passengers from the busy town but also with the sounds of good engines marching straight through. It was unusual for goods trains to stop here, which was why he was confused that Henry had pulled in at the platform opposite. He watched as one of Henry's crew jumped out of his cab and disappeared towards the public platform.
“Why are you looking at me so critically?” Henry asked, breaking the silence. He sighed. “Don't tell me I'm dirty already.”
“No, just...” The Scotsman paused. “Are you meant to stop here? Goods trains usually run through, don't they?”
“They're supposed to.” Henry rolled his eyes. “But my driver has other ideas. He keeps on making me late by running off at any chance he gets, and then I get in trouble for it.”
“Oh.” He had been right, then. The Scotsman glanced at Henry before looking off to where Gordon had vanished to again. “Do you know what Gordon is so happy about?”
“No?” Henry answered, confused, glancing behind. “I can't say that I do.”
“I swear, it's the first time I've seen him happy in months.” The Scotsman pondered deeply. “And I don't understand why.”
“In months? Really?” Henry asked. “If the circumstances were different, I'd be flattered. I can't believe that he missed me that much.”
“Missed you?”
“I was moved to Vicarstown Sheds,” Henry explained. “They want to use me on the Other Railway. First time I saw him in months was when we both got stuck at the works last week. He didn't seem himself, though.” Henry frowned. “Although I did expect that after I didn't tell him.”
“Tell him what?” Scotsman asked.
“That they were going to move me. They said they were going to move me to Barrow. Barrow,” Henry repeated, disgusted. “I was focused on not making that a reality. At least I'm barely still on Sodor here.” He paused, thinking for a moment. “Gordon's probably happy because he finally got his way.” Henry glanced back up with an eye roll as his driver ran back out of the station. He sighed. “I'll talk to you later, Scotsman. My driver will want to make back his unauthorised break.”
Frowning, Scotsman watched as Henry left the station, still baffled by his brother’s change of mood. The stationmaster whistled for him and he moved forward slowly, waiting to clear the station before picking up speed again. Truth be told, the Flying Scotsman was rather happy to see his brother happy again, but he still couldn't stop his curiosity. Something had put his brother in a good mood, and he would find out what. ‘Got his way’ and ‘good advice’ were not clues enough to dull his curiosity.
-
“So… how did you get your way, little brother?” Scotsman asked the following morning as they both sat at the same station.
“I didn't get my own way. I got a compromise,” he said pointedly. “I don't get my own way anymore.”
“Henry said you did.”
“If I'd have gotten my way, Henry and Edward would be back at Tidmouth,” he said moodily. “What I got was a compromise.”
“So what was it?” Scotsman asked curiously.
“To never see Nia again.” He grinned triumphantly. “And to be moved to Vicarstown.”
Scotsman laughed despite himself. It would be like his brother to get moved just because he didn't like someone. “Who's Nia?” the Scotsman asked. It was certainly someone that he had never seen, so it was unlikely that she frequented the mainland.
“This pretentious tank engine,” he said, “who thinks she knows how to sort everyone's problems. She doesn't.”
“I sense a story.” The Scotsman rolled forwards slightly to listen to his brother better.
“She told me to get over myself, that she was just like me, and that I had friends despite the Fat Controller moving us all across the island so it didn't matter.” He snorted. “She chose to leave, so it's hardly comparable.”
“You just don't like people trying to solve your problems, brother. You're far too proud.” The Scotsman chuckled lightly. “She sounds a lot like you.”
“Like me!” Gordon spluttered. “Nia is nothing like me. She’s-”
“Worthy of your respect, Gordon.” Unnoticed, the Fat Controller had walked up on the other side of the platform. “You could at least try to get on with Nia,” he said to Gordon sternly. He tapped his clipboard. “You know, you two are too alike for your own good.”
“I refuse to be compared to a tank engine,” Gordon said haughtily as Scott chuckled behind him.
“Perhap then, Gordon, you should stop acting like one,” said the Fat Controller as he walked towards Gordon's cab, pausing to talk with Gordon’s crew to go over the day's timetable.
The Flying Scotsman laughed at his brother's appalled expression. “Have you sunk so low as to be compared to tank engines, brother?”
Gordon didn't answer him, not dignifying the idea with a response. A tank engine! A tank engine! He was nothing like a tank engine!
“So…” the Scotsman said, breaking the silence. "What's so important at Vicarstown to make a tank engine push you out of Tidmouth Sheds?”
“She did no such thing,” said Gordon haughtily. “I chose to leave.”
“But what made you leave?”
“Nothing in particular," he said, avoiding his brother's eyes. “I just, you know, fancied a change.”
“You?” Scotsman said, raising his eyebrow. “A change? Don't make me laugh. You're allergic to change.”
A whistle alerted him to Henry running through the station, not stopping but heading over the bridge onto the mainline. He whistled back with his brother before turning to study his brother's face. It was something in his face, the way he looked at Henry with just a slight smile, like just seeing Henry filled him with some form of contentment.. His brother and Henry had always been close, but now, it looked like it had turned into something more, at least for Gordon.
“You have a crush,” Scott said at last.
“I do not!” Gordon responded quickly. “What would give you that idea?”
“Your goo-goo eyes,” Scotsman said sarcastically at his brother. It was so fun to watch him squirm when he had him backed up against the wall. “At a certain green tender engine.” He gestured with his eyes to Henry, who had disappeared over the bridge to the mainland.
“I do not have a crush on Henry!” Gordon snapped angrily.
“Your face says otherwise,” Scott laughed, and indeed, Gordon's face had gained a high light blush as he found a rather interesting patch of track to examine.
His brother closed his eyes for a moment before looking sadly at the tracks. “So what if I did? It wouldn't matter. What would be the point anyway? What could we do, touch buffers?”
“I don't know.” The Scotsman felt guilty for a moment. The intention had been to irritate his brother, not to make him sad about it. Perhaps these feelings were more serious in Gordon's head than he had given him credit for. “I've never thought about it.” He watched his brother look sadly at the tracks and decided quickly that he didn't like the expression on his face. “Does Henry know that you like him?” Scotsman sang, inching closer to Gordon until a firm hand on his breaks made him stop in his tracks.
“No,” Gordon said, “and I don't know what he'd say about it either.”
Scotsman grinned wickedly.
“I don't like it when you do that,” Gordon muttered to himself. “It never means anything good.”
“My little brother has a crush,” he sang smugly to himself before repeating himself louder. “My brother has a crush.”
Gordon watched his brother steam off to the mainline singing about his not so secret crush and he groaned in despair, his cheeks as red as James. There was no way that this wouldn't get around the whole of the island, he was sure. He grumbled to himself. Knowing his luck, it would get around half of the mainland as well and everyone would know about his pathetic crush.
Of course, it didn't take long for his fears to be confirmed. A matter of a week, in fact, before Gordon couldn't go anywhere without hearing that he had a crush on Henry. How Henry hadn't heard yet, Gordon had got no idea, because the news seemed to follow him around the island like a bad smell.
It only took one look at James' smirking face for him to realise the news had travelled that far. “Don't you start,” Gordon groaned. “I've heard enough of it from everyone else.”
“I was only going to ask when the wedding was,” he said, smiling innocently.
“There is no wedding,” Gordon huffed. “What church is big enough for an engine anyway?”
James silenced for a moment, thinking. “You could be getting married at Vicarstown,” he said. “It was why you felt the need to move halfway across the island. For a half decent venue.”
“You moved to be with Edward,” Gordon grumbled. “I can accuse you of much of the same.” He grinned to himself. “Or is it the boxcab that you're more interested in?”
“Philip?” James made a look of disgust, “I do not like Philip. He never shuts up. If you have to pair me with someone from that shed, I suppose it would have to be Edward.”
“Edward has more taste than you,” Gordon said, chuckling to himself. He paused, thinking intently for a moment. “You'd have to do more than flash your paintwork at him.”
“If I were to ask Edward out, I know he'd say yes.” James grinned. “Nobody can resist my paintwork.”
“I'd think twice about that, James,” said Edward pulling up next to him. “To borrow a phrase from the humans, you can, at the least, take me to dinner first.”
James pointedly ignored the laughing humans inside of Edward’s cab. “Very funny, Edward,” he said dryly, “seeing that we can't eat.”
“Exactly.” Edward smiled. “I made my meaning clear. Your odds of success are low.”
Edward’s gaze slid from a stunned James to a rather irritated Gordon. He glanced at James, thinking about the line he had overheard, and then he looked back to Gordon. “Say, are you and Henry together, Gordon? I've heard-”
“I know you've heard,” Gordon bit out quickly, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Everyone has heard.”
“But is it true?” Edward looked up at the bigger blue engine who was, for once, clearly not impressed at being the centre of attention. “I only say it’s just that you've always been close and-”
Gordon cut him off before Edward could continue with his tactless ramble. “We are not together,” he bit out. “My brother thinks he is funny, and that's all there is to it.” And with that, Gordon departed huffily, called off by the stationmaster's whistle. Edward was sure that he could hear him muttering in the distance, cursing out anything that stood in his path.
Edward watched him go, stunned, his mouth opening before his brain to ask James, “Do you think… ?” He didn't finish the sentence, but James knew what he meant.
“Definitely,” James agreed. “No doubt about it. They've always been hopeless with each other.”
Edward closed his eyes and sighed. As with Gordon and any mention of emotion, he was going to quite loudly make it every one else's problem. He dreaded to think what was going to happen when it finally became Henry's.
-
No matter where he travelled for the rest of the day, laughter and teasing followed Gordon and he was rather getting sick and tired of it. So what if he had a crush? It was hardly that funny. So what if he had a crush? It wasn't like he could even do anything about it. They were not human. Love was a human thing.
Irritably, frustratingly, they were not human, and Gordon wished that all of these human things, all these human thoughts, would just go away. It didn't matter how hard he prayed to Lady, the feelings haunted him, and he didn't see the point. What was intention without the ability to act but fruitless? Pointless? Some may even say frustrating.
It seemed that the jibes had even made their way to the Vicarstown shunting yard as Rosie greeted him with a knowing smirk as she pulled in the sheds at the end of the day.
“One word,” he muttered under his breath, “and you will regret it.”
She smiled and closed her eyes. “Your secret is safe with me,” she said, “but he's going to find out. You should probably be the one to tell him first.”
“He'll take that well,” Gordon said sarcastically.
“It's Henry,” she said. “You know how paranoid he gets. He's going to be more annoyed that half the island was laughing about him and he doesn't know what the joke is. He will then take that out on you and you'll never get what you want,” she said smugly.
“And what do I want?” Gordon asked with a raised eyebrow, analysing the little tank engine.
“How would I know?” She rolled her eyes, “I, unlike Henry, am not going to take the effort to understand you. You’re too complicated.”
Henry glanced at Gordon sceptically as he pulled in, sensing that he'd interrupted something. “What's got your funnel in a twist?” he muttered. When neither answered him or met his eyes, he sighed. “Gordon, can you go an hour without arguing with someone?”
Gordon looked at Henry in offence. “I didn't start it,” he snapped.
“I believe you,” Henry said smugly. “Thousands wouldn't.”
“For once, it’s not Gordon,” Rosie piped up as Gordon spluttered his offence. “He's annoyed because I called him complicated.” Rosie turned to Henry. “I don't know how you put up with him.”
“Sometimes, good things take time and effort,” Henry said, yawning from his position between the pair. “He's not so complicated when you get to know him.”
Rosie grinned, rolling forwards slightly from behind Henry. “Tell him,” she mouthed.
Gordon closed his eyes with a huff. He was not going to tell anyone anything. Life was just fine as it was, thank you very much, and he really didn't want to lose Henry if he reacted badly to the information.
–
Of course, the luck was too good to last, and soon Henry found himself experiencing the strangest day of his life. You see, it was no secret that Henry could be paranoid. Insanely paranoid, inf fact, so it hadn't escaped his notice that people were laughing and giggling to themselves as he passed them. What had escaped his notice was what exactly they were laughing about.
Of course, due to this paranoia being a personality quirk of sorts, he often did the best to ignore it, ascribing a non-paranoid explanation to the event. After all, the laughter usually wasn't aimed at him, and it did him little good to get worked up over nothing. This time, however, seemed different. The fact that he'd heard the word ‘Gordon’ with the fits of giggles clearly more than once also suggested that this something might involve him.
He wasn't sure what Gordon had said about him, but it was clearly something hilarious. Gordon had also been acting strongly the past week, suggesting something was up.
Sometimes, now that Henry had found himself moved to Vicarstown, his work took him so far across the mainland that he got stuck there overnight. Of course, when this happened, it never did impress his driver, and as the years passed with his new driver, Henry often wondered what possessed the man to join the profession if he hated it so much. The only solace in it was that his fireman seemed to hate his driver as much as Henry had started to, and sometimes, they'd complain together about him, if Ted was waiting with him for his wife to come back with Gordon.
It seemed that every time Henry found himself in a new shed, he found himself meeting new engines that he had never met before. Sometimes diesel, sometimes electric, and sometimes other steamies. It did always disappoint him that the diesels and electrics treated him like he was such a relic. It was clear on the mainland that the reign of steam had ended long ago.
"There were, of course, some steam engines on the mainland, and Henry often felt bad for them. He couldn't imagine what it felt like to be the odd one out all the time. Although, sometimes, the pity was difficult to find when they fixed him with such looks of disappointment.
“You're not a real Stanier,” the steam engine parked next to him said with a sneer. “What are you?”
Henry sighed, wondering what the point of fighting over makers was when not only was it unlikely that he'd ever see this engine again, but all of their makers were long dead.
"A steam engine,” he muttered darkly, not wanting to spend the evening being insulted for not being ‘pure Stanier’.
“That wasn't what I asked,” the engine repeated. “See, I am a Black Five, and you seem to be some sort of bastardisation of me.”
Henry rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to groan. Some of these heritage engines were so petty, simply focused on what they were and why that was better than anyone else. He supposed it was probably all that they ever heard from the enthusiasts who rode them and he should forgive the old engine, but he hadn't the patience today, worn thin by the paranoia that was haunting him on Sodor. “I'm one of a kind,” he answered with a smug grin. “I'd hate to be the same as you.”
“But what are you?” the other engine asked, not taking the insult. “You're no new replica, so you can't be a one of a kind.”
"The conman special,” Henry answered with a smile. “Heavily discounted, heavily modified.”
“With a Black Five,” the other engine said with disgust. “With the bones of my brothers.”
Henry rolled his eyes. “I was rebuilt long before the end of steam. I assure you all of my parts are mine, but I don't really care what you think,” he snapped, done with the other engine’s attitude. “Lady forgiving, I'll never have to see you again.”
“The mainline is only so long,” the other engine said knowingly. “We shall meet again.”
“Lucky for me, I'm not from the mainline,” Henry said triumphantly. “I'm from Sodor.” Sometimes, when heritage engines rubbed him the wrong way, Henry was beyond glad to be from Sodor, where he could escape them all.
“Sodor?” The other engine looked at him cryptically. “You're the green engine from Sodor.”
“Yes?” Henry questioned, confused beyond all belief. How had someone heard of him halfway across the mainline? It wasn't like he'd had any particularly bad accidents of late. Nothing embarrassing. No reason for this other engine to have heard of him.
And the other engine was laughing at him? Laughing at him! He laughed, and he kept on laughing, not pausing to even explain himself. Now, Henry did not like engines laughing at him with no obvious cause, so he glared at the other engine until he stopped. “So now, pray tell, what is so funny?” Henry snapped, irritated. “I don't find it funny when I don't know what the joke is. Everyone has been like this all week!”
“So you don't know?” the Black Five said, stifling his giggles. “That makes the other engine more pathetic.”
“What other engine?” Henry asked, knowing without hearing who it was going to be. After all, the giggling of the past week had come with the name ‘Gordon’ mentioned all too frequently.
“The Flying Scotsman's brother has a crush on you,” the Black Five giggled. “As if it's a thing that us engines could want. He's been alive so long that he's gone on wanting human things.”
Gordon had a crush on him? That was ridiculous. But then he thought about it. He really thought about it, and realised that it made some sickening kind of sense. “Oh,” he said softly.
“I mean, the Flying Scotsman has been full of it all week. Mind you, all of us decent Staniers think he's touched. It's Gresley madness, that's what it is,” the Black Five said matter-of-factly. “Us Staniers are immune to the folly of want.”
“Gresley madness?” Henry questioned. That was certainly something he had never heard of. “What makes a Gresley mad?”
“Gresley built things love too much,” the Stanier said confidently. “Incapable of keeping their mind on the job. They fall in love with things, particular jobs, people, and now, apparently, other engines.” He leaned towards him and stage whispered to Henry. “They even get attached to their siblings.” He frowned judgementally. “If you don’t run the mainline, you'll never have had the joy of meeting the Gresley A4 conglomerate. There's six of them, and they're a royal pain,” he grumbled to himself. “If you get on the wrong side of one of them, you get on the wrong side of all six.”
“I assure you, Spencer holds no love for other engines,” Henry muttered, knowing he was an A4 in design as well. Henry had never once heard the silver A4 brag about his siblings and doubted he cared much about them one way or another.
“Ah, he gave his to his Duke and Duchess, like a loyal dog,” the Stanier said. “Gresleys are just like that.” He leaned forwards slightly. “If you want my advice, run away. You don't want to get tied up in Gresley madness.”
“You're talking out of your smokebox,” Henry said firmly, wishing that he had the power to just get up and leave whenever he wanted to. He was quite done with this conversation and did not want to hear about the politics of more Spencers on the mainline. “I have real work to do in the morning, not just prancing for enthusiasts. I intend to get some sleep.”
“And yet, you find yourself a victim of the Gresley madness,” the other engine said. “Take my advice and run away before it takes you as well.”
-
Henry was quiet the following morning when his driver and fireman returned from the hotel they were staying at, and remained quiet as he returned to Sodor, dragging trucks back with him from the mainland.
He was lost in thought, deep in thought, wondering just what he should think about the whole thing. He'd got no reason to believe the Black Five, but he did. It just made too much sense, and it was all so very Gordon, and making a joke out of it very Flying Scotsman. It was so much up the Flying Scotsman's alley, in fact, that Henry was now beginning to wonder if it was part of some elaborate inside joke between Gordon and the Flying Scotsman that somehow escaped into the general population.
It was either that or Gordon did have a crush on him, and that thought was ridiculous. Why would Gordon have a crush on him of all engines? He was nothing special, just perfectly ordinary Henry.
Thinking about the whole thing was making him rather grumpy. On one hand, he couldn't wait to go back to his sheds so that he could think about it without having to pay attention to the hundreds of things that an engine running the mainline had to pay attention to, but on the other hand, he really didn't want to see Gordon. He didn't know if he wanted what the Black Five told him to be true or not. He didn't know what to think, and all that he could find himself thinking was that there was one engine to blame for the whole mess.
By the time that he eventually did arrive back into Sodor, he was in a grumpy mood indeed, much to the confusion of his fireman and driver, who saw no reason why he should be upset. The moment, however, that he locked eyes with Gordon, he made his displeasure known loudly and clearly. “You!” Henry shouted at Gordon across platforms. “What have you said?”
“I?” said Gordon, baffled. “I haven't said anything?”
“You and your brother have hatched some scheme,” Henry said firmly, “to make me the butt of your joke.”
“I assure you there is no scheme,” Gordon said, panicked. Henry couldn't have heard from the mainland? Could he?
“Really?” Henry said. “Because if what I heard is true and I had to hear it from halfway across the mainland, I am…” He paused. “Well I don't know what I'm going to do, but I assure you, nothing good.” He carried on with his rant when Gordon didn't answer him. “And I've had to listen to some Black Five rant about Gresley madness for hours and I'm hoping for your sake that it's not true.” He laughed humourlessly. “Because it would be pathetic if I had to hear about it from some random engine rather than you.”
At this point, there were a fair few people on the platform listening into the exchange with bated breath. The Fat Controller typically didn't like it when the engines argued on the platforms as it had lead to a few fun newspaper articles over the years.
At the mention of Gordon's brother, a few people had pulled out phones and begun recording, knowing they could gain clicks based on the Flying Scotsman's names alone.
“About Gresley madness?” Gordon hasn't followed what Henry had wanted him to follow at all, and Henry was not in the mood to play games. “I've got no idea what Gresley madness is.”
“Apparently, you have a crush on me,” Henry said shrilly, “or that's what everyone says, and I'm the butt of the joke across the whole island.”
“Why would that make you the butt of the joke?” Gordon asked.
“Because everyone has been laughing at me all week!” Henry said. “And it took a snooty Stainier to tell me why!”
“I couldn't say they were laughing at you,” said Gordon. “Rather, they were laughing at me and your presence just reminded them about it.”
“But why is it funny?” whined Henry.
“Don't ask me. Ask my brother,” Gordon said sarcastically. “He gets one idea into his head and then the whole island knows, and most of the mainland as well.”
Henry paused for a minute, thinking. He glanced back up at Gordon, who was looking at him with a vaguely terrified expression. Even if the joke wasn't aimed at Henry, there was still the matter to deal with of whether it was true or not. “So do you?” Henry asked.
“Do I what?” Gordon asked, trying desperately to save face.
“Have a crush on me?” Henry watched Gordon intently as he clearly flinched at the accusation. There must have been at least some truth to it for him to react like that. But why? It didn't make any sense.
“Yes,” Gordon muttered quietly. “Sorry.”
Now, at this point even more passersby had turned to listen to the two engines. After all, it was not every day that you heard steam engines profess their love for each other.
“You're sorry,” Henry bit out, irritated. “You're sorry. About what? That you like me?”
“That you found out?” Gordon questioned, not sure what answer to give Henry to placate him.
“I can't believe you,” Henry said. “I can't believe you. You're mad that I found out? The issue is that I found out?”
“Apparently so.”
Henry was not in the mood to play twenty questions with Gordon at that moment. Angry and frustrated, he snapped, “That's why nobody likes you, Gordon. You don't give a toss about anyone else.”
“I do,” Gordon stressed. “I'm sorry. I can't do anything but apologise.”
“They are right,” Henry muttered to himself darkly, “all of you Gresleys are mad.”
It was then, with those words, that the whistle blew, and his driver, Sam, requested for Gordon to leave the platform. He tried to hide his tears, but he couldn't. What if this mess was the breaking point, and Henry no longer wished to be friends with him? What if he had to leave Vicarstown and go back to Tidmouth again? What if the feeling of emptiness came back, but this time, there was no escape?
It was like the tears that he should have cried when he was abandoned by Edward and Henry came out all at once. He knew if Henry cast him off, then everyone would take his side and it would leave Gordon with no one but himself.
Once the tears started, they wouldn't stop, and Gordon desperately tried to speed up, hoping perhaps to outrun the embarrassment, or at least hope that anyone passing them wouldn't see his tears. He was a proud old engine, and he wouldn't be seen crying.
His driver and fireman, meanwhile, were a little lost on what to do. Gordon, proud as he was, dignified as he was, was crying silently, trying not to draw attention to himself, so all they could see was a lowering water level and a demand for speed, and an occasional tremor in his cab.
Arthur looked at Gordon's water gauge, humming to himself. “Do you think we should pull over on a siding?” he asked. “It's not too bad, but I don't like it.”
Sam squinted at it, looking at the water drop off. “It's not too fast, but keep an eye on it. There's only twenty miles between these two stations and we must have covered half of that distance already,” she said. “His frame is jumping slightly. I'm guessing there's a leak in his water system somewhere. We’ll just have to look when we reach the next station.” She looked at Arthur. “And if we have to get another engine in to cover for him, at least it's an easy place for the passengers to wait.”
Both of them, of course, would have realised he was upset if they'd ever driven an engine who had cried before. James’ crew, for example, would look at the same set of symptoms and roll their eyes, telling him, “Really, James, give it an hour and we'll get you all cleaned up, don't worry.” In fact, his crew might have been more concerned about it, had they realised what he was actually doing.
As soon as they pulled in, Arthur jumped out of Gordon's cab, intending to see if any water leaked on his track, and quickly realised that the issue was in fact not mechanical. “Sam?” he called back into the engine, “You might want to come out here a minute.”
She jumped down, taking a few steps out before realising what the issue was. He wasn't being loud about it, but he was still crying, water rolling from his face and onto the ground.
“Guess that explains the water levels,” said Arthur, patting Gordon's boiler. “Never thought I'd see the old boy upset.”
Sam cooed up at her engine, standing on the platform in front of him. “What's wrong, sweetheart?” she asked gently. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” he answered softly, trying to hide the waver in his voice.
“Do you want us to call in another engine for you?” she asked.
“No,” he answered with a small voice.
She jumped off the platform to land carefully on his buffer beam. She sat and rested her head against his. “Nobody will think less of you, darling,” she said. “Everyone gets upset sometimes.”
“I'm fine,” he said, taking a breath, trying to steady himself. “I'm fine,” he repeated with more confidence.
“Henry won't hold it against you, you know,” Sam said. “You can't help how you feel.”
“I know. But I-” His breath hitched as he tried not to cry again. “What if I - What if he?”
“Hush, baby,” she said, rubbing her hand against the side of his boiler. “It'll be alright. And if it's not,” she said, smiling softly, “I'll tell my husband to talk to Henry for you.”
He hummed in acknowledgement, calming his breathing slightly.
“You know what Henry's like,” she said softly. “He's overthought it and thought the worst of it. I'm sure it'll all blow over soon. I doubt he meant what he said”
“I hope so,” Gordon said softly. “I didn't want Henry to know,” he said, sniffling. “It's my brother's fault.”
“There's no point throwing the blame around,” she said gently. “What's done is done.”
“I know,” Gordon said quietly. “I know.”
She pulled both of her knees up and leaned next to the side of his face. “This isn't just about today, is it?” she said softly. She placed her hand to the side of his boiler. “It's all built up after Edward moved, hadn't it? And today has just broken the camel's back.”
Closing his eyes, Gordon hummed in acknowledgement.
“It's okay to cry,” she said, running her head across his paintwork. “We're here early.” She reached into her blazer and pulled out an old pocket watch. “We've still got five before we've got to go. Are you sure you don't want me to call in another engine for you? It'll be no hassle.” She chuckled, mimicking the Fat Controller. “It'll cause no confusion and delay.”
“I'm fine.” He gave her a weak smile. “I'll be fine.”
Sam had been so wrapped up in her engine that she hadn't noticed the commotion that Arthur had been creating on the platform. See, Arthur was a rather short-tempered, old-fashioned man, well into his fifties, and as such, did not like modern technology. He especially did not like it when it was pointed at his engine, recording him crying.
Arthur was a rather old-fashioned man and thought it an insult to his engine's pride that someone would record him crying. As much as he never claimed to understand modern technology, he understood that if it started on someone's phone, it was going to most likely end up on the internet for the world to see.
“Put your phone away,” Arthur snapped at the person on the platform. “He won't like you recording him like that.”
The young man smirked, ignoring Arthur. “It's a free country,” he said. “I can record what I want.”
“Look,” Arthur said, “he’s a proud old engine and he won't want the world to see him upset. Just put your phone away and delete the video, please.”
“Who cares what he wants?” the man sneered. “This'll make me money.”
“Excuse me?” Arthur said. “You should care what he wants. It's common decency.”
“It's just a machine,” the man snapped. “Everyone knows they don't have feelings. They just mimic.”
“Mimic, do they?” Arthur felt his face flush hot. “I'll ask you nicely once more, put your phone away.”
“They don't have feelings,” the man stated confidently, still not putting away his phone, “or else they wouldn't scrap them in the scrapyard, would they?” The man pushed past Arthur, knocking him back, and strode closer towards Gordon. “They're just stupid machines.”
Unfortunately for the man, Arthur despite being quite short, was very strong, and had a very short temper, and at that moment, didn't think about what might cost him his job. Sharply, he grabbed the man by the back of his coat, wrestled the phone out of his hand, and threw it to the floor. He stamped on it hard, smashing the expensive device into little pieces on the ground. “Take videos of my engine now,” he growled into his ear.
He let go of the man and then picked the phone up on the floor before throwing it as far as he could. The man gaped at him in horror. “I suggest,” Arthur snapped, “that you learn some respect for those who do their work thanklessly before you shove cameras in their faces.” He turned. “Learn some damn respect.”
With that, Arthur stormed back into Gordon's cab, fuming. It didn't take many minutes for Sam to join him.
“What did you do?” Sam asked as she glanced at the angry man shouting on the platform, and at Arthur's similarly angry face.
“I taught him some damn respect,” Arthur snapped. “They shouldn't be recording our engines every time they get emotional. It isn't fair. They can't just get up and leave like we can.” Arthur took a deep breath. “I don't like this modern world,” he said, “and our engines are too old to understand it as well. Everything they do has the potential to be on camera. Every conversation.”
“Still,” Sam said, “you can't go smashing up people's property. What do you think Sir Topham is going to say about it?"
“I don't know if you've ever looked, but every conversation Gordon has with his brother is on the internet,” Arthur said. “Nothing can be private for them anymore and it's not fair. Every mistake, everything they do, immortalised on those damn video sites and mobile phones.”
“There's always been cameras, Arthur,” Sam said, pulling Gordon out of the station. “You shouldn't have smashed that man's phone. You could lose your job.”
“I don't care,” Arthur snapped. “They need to stop people recording our engines on the platform. That conversation Henry had with Gordon is going to be on the internet later, just you watch. And things like that ain't fair for the world to see.”
“Why are you so bothered about this?” Sam said. “There's nothing we can do.”
Arthur sighed heavily. “I just feel so bad for them.” He patted the inside of Gordon's cab. “People treat them like they're a novelty, like they're not like us, like they don't deserve respect. Has the past year not proved anything to you?” Arthur asked.
“What should it have proved?” Sam asked.
“That the management don't hold respect for our engines,” Arthur said bluntly, “and that if we want things to change, we have to take it into our own hands.”
Arthur, of course, was correct about Henry and Gordon's argument finding its way to YouTube. The following morning came bright, and with it came the Fat Controller pulling up into the yard of Vicarstown Sheds, a laptop tucked under his arm.
Henry and Gordon had not spoken to each other all night, Henry still quite angry at what he perceived to be Gordon's dishonesty, and Gordon not sure what to do to make it better. Why did he have to do something so stupid as to catch feelings, Gordon thought. Why couldn't he just be normal?
Maybe Henry was right. Maybe he was mad.
All of Gordon’s introspection had led to him not getting much sleep, so he slept through his crew turning up in the morning, slept as they oiled and greased his pistons and side rods, and slept as Arthur lit his fire. It was only at the shout of Sir Topham Hatt that Gordon blinked awake, fatigue still clear in his frame.
“What do you two call this?” The Fat Controller held up a laptop screen to both Henry and Gordon's eyes so that they could clearly see the video and headline. ‘Iconic A1 Sodor Locomotive Spurned by Other Engine’. He turned the laptop to himself. “And it's not the only one. ‘Gresley Madness, More like ‘Crazy in Love'’, ‘Can Steam Engines Love’, and ‘A1 Pacific Crushed by Black Five.’” He slammed the lid closed and put it under his arm. “What on earth were you two thinking?”
“Sorry, sir,” Gordon mumbled.
“It's not my fault,” Henry said. “Blame Gordon.”
“Technically, it's my brother's fault,” Gordon said softly. He looked at Henry before glancing away. “I'm really sorry about what happened.”
Henry made a scoffing noise in the back of his throat and Gordon looked back down at the rails. The Fat Controller sighed. The last thing he needed was a return of mopey Gordon. They’d only just got rid of him, and the Fat Controller didn't want a return of the behaviour.
The Fat Controller sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you all, you need to watch what you say on the platforms. Anything you say has the potential to end up, well, anywhere.”
“Why should I care?” Henry said. “People have short memories.”
“Not if you're being recorded by passengers,” the Fat Controller said. “And it reflects badly on the railway if videos of our engines fighting are being shared on the internet.”
“But people need big cameras for that, right?” Henry asked. “We'd notice, right?”
“Not anymore. Anyone could be recording you at any time.” The Fat Controller reached into his pocket. “This is an older model, but passengers can take high quality videos with these and share them on a sort of visual newspaper.”
“Anyone could be recording us at any time,” Henry said quietly to himself. “Watching us all the time.”
“Yes, Henry,” The Fat Controller said, not noticing Henry's discomfort. “So be more careful what you say. And talking of phones. Arthur!” the Fat Controller yelled at the man as he saw him walk past. “What did you think you were doing at Crovan's Gate yesterday? Smashing up someone's phone like that!”
“Stopping a video of Gordon crying getting added to that collection,” Arthur snapped.
“You? Crying?” Henry asked, shocked. He'd known Gordon a very long time and had only seen him cry once or twice. Gordon kept his eyes on the rails, determined not to answer.
“Public have got no respect these days and you're blaming these two for it.” Arthur continued his rant. “They should be able to say what they want when they want to. They think. They feel. They’re not slaves.”
“I'm not treating them like slaves. I would never.” The Fat Controller took a step back.
“What are they, then?” Arthur said angrily. “They work for free because they have no choice. They have to be grateful that we own them. They live their lives in perpetual terror that one day we'll get bored of them and either sell them away or leave them to rust somewhere.”
“That's a massive oversimplification and you know it,” the Fat Controller said. “You're letting bias get in the way of your professionalism.”
“Do you ever think what it must feel like to be like them?” Arthur said. “And now, because of people's lack of respect, they can't say what they want when they want to. I can't speak for Henry, he’s not my engine, but you can't blame Gordon for this. He can't help what he feels.”
“Still, they need to be professional. If they are not professional, there is no railway, and if there is no railway, there are no engines. Even if it is unfair, their conduct must be professional.”
“If its anyone's fault,” Arthur snapped, “it’s the Flying Scotsman's, but you don't own him to yell at him.”
“I-”
“But even he doesn't deserve punishment for it,” Arthur snapped, cutting the Fat Controller off, “because that's what brothers do. Embarrass each other. It's not Gordon's fault that every conversation he has with his brother, someone is recording it. God knows they can't speak in private no more. The Scotsman is too famous for that, and by God, do I feel bad for that engine. Nothing he ever does is private.”
“What is this about, Arthur?” Sir Topham asked. “Gordon or modern technology?"
“A lack of respect,” Arthur crossed his arms. “And I'd smash that kid's phone again. Don’t you think you'll make me feel guilty about it.”
“Very well,” the Fat Controller said. “Get your things.”
“What?” Arthur said.
“Get your things and leave,” the Fat Controller said. “You're taking the day off without pay until you can learn how you are expected to conduct yourself on this railway.”
“Fine,” Arthur muttered, turning away. “I don't want to work anywhere where they can't respect their damn equipment anyway.”
And with that, Arthur left the sheds. Gordon closed his eyes again, pretending to be asleep. He couldn't go anywhere until they got him a new fireman anyway, and Gordon didn't think what had happened was fair. His fireman had only been trying to stick up for him, and who really cared if a phone got broken? They were replaceable equipment, he was sure.
Sir Topham called down Sam, arranging cover with her before leaving in his car.
“Do you really think there's cameras watching us all the time?” Henry asked anxiously, trying to break the silence. Gordon didn't answer him, lost in thought. Why did he have to do something so stupid as to catch feelings for Henry? Why want something so human?
Henry looked at Gordon's face suspiciously. Deciding that he wasn't truly asleep, he asked, “Why do you even like me?”
“Does it matter?” Gordon muttered with his eyes closed.
“Yes,” Henry said. “Why, out of every engine, would you pick me?”
“Your paint is beautiful in the sunlight,” Gordon said, before he could stop to think about it. “You're the only engine who's ever bothered to know me and not get pushed away by my manner. You've always been there for me, and you make me happy, I guess.” He drifted off. “But it doesn't really matter. I know you don't feel the same. I just want us to still be friends.”
“I don't know how I feel,” Henry said, simply. “I'm still angry.”
“I apologise,” Gordon said, “but I trust you can understand my reasons. But I… You…” He frowned to himself, thinking of no other way to word it. “You make my life worth living, Henry, and I don't want you to hate me over this.”
Henry blushed lightly. “I could never hate you,” he said. “Annoyed, sure but never hate.” He sighed. “Let me think on it, Gordon, and let me calm down. I'll tell you what I think later.”
And Henry did indeed spend most of the day thinking on it, though he did not quite know what to think about it. Gordon, high-strung, proud Gordon, had a crush on him? Liked him? It just didn't make any sense. Henry was confident that there was nothing particularly special or noteworthy about him, and as much as Henry liked his livery, even he could admit that James held far more pride in his, and couldn't understand why it would be noteworthy to Gordon.
Perhaps he could see why, from Gordon's point of view, Henry seemed like the only one who took the time to understand him. But still, that was just what good friends did? Right?
The thoughts plagued him all morning while Henry kept a sceptical eye out for these ‘portable cameras’, concerned to see that almost everyone seemed to be holding them. Since when had cameras become so commonplace? Henry could remember when it took people with skill and massive devices to record anything.
Of course, Henry did remember the small phones from the start of the millennium, with low quality cameras, but how could technology have advanced so quickly to everyone having a camera? Wherever Henry looked, he could see them. Small back rectangles held up to faces, held in hands, people tapping them idly. How had he never noticed before? When did the world become so strange?
When Henry's crew left him on a siding to get lunch, Henry scowled at their retreating backs. Life just wasn't fair. Between the revelation of the portable cameras and the fact that he had to give Gordon some sort of answer as to what he felt, Henry was slightly anxious. It was all that he knew he clearly felt, anxious, especially against those cameras.
Henry's eyes drifted down to where Edward was parked on a siding, clearly deeply asleep. Henry couldn't blame him. Ir was a warm sunny day, the sort where the heat would warm up their plating and relax them. A perfect day for sleeping.
Henry couldn't sleep, worried as he was, so he huffed sharply, letting off steam as he waited for his crew to return.
Edward, however, must have felt the weight of Henry's eyes on him and quickly awakened with a yawn. Edward blinked for a moment, analysing Henry's face, set into a slight anxious friend. “I can sense something is on your mind, Henry. I can hear your thoughts.”
“It's nothing, Edward,” Henry answered, glancing away guiltily, knowing his staring had worked the old engine up. "You don't have to stay awake on my behalf.”
“I cannot imagine my crew have much more of their break left. They’ll only wake me again just as I go to sleep.” He yawned, flexing his frame in a stretch. “So, what's bothering you?”
“Do you know that people have cameras?” Henry said in a stage whisper. “All of them, all the time.”
“People have always had cameras, Henry,” Edward said, rolling his eyes.
“But not like this,” Henry said. “They're these small black boxes, and they take videos in high quality, with sound, and share them to anyone else with one of these devices.”
"They're phones, Henry,” Edward said slowly. “They've been around for the past ten years at least.”
“But as low quality things, right?”
“No,” Edward said. “They've been capable of recording for years. My driver’s daughter always has the latest ones. I don't know how many videos she's taken of me.”
“That doesn't bother you?” Henry asked, confused. “I hate the idea of being on camera all the time.”
“Not particularly,” Edward said. “We've been recorded for years. Have you not heard of CCTV, Henry?”
“Yes. But that doesn't get shared between the humans, though.” Henry rocked on his wheels slightly. “They don't know what we're saying on the CCTV.”
“Okay, Henry,” Edward said, “I'll rephrase. Why, now, are you suddenly bothered about cameras recording you? Why do you suddenly know what phones are?”
“Because I yelled at Gordon and it got uploaded on this tube thing and then the Fat Controller saw it and told us that there were cameras everywhere.”
Edward chuckled despite himself. “So you found out, then? Did he fess up or did the gossip get to you first?”
“The gossip,” Henry muttered. “How do you know about it?”
“The whole island knows about it, Henry,” Edward said. “I believe you are the last to know.”
“Well, that's just typical,” Henry muttered. “Even the mainland knew before I did.”
“So, what did you tell him?” Edward asked.
“That he should have told me first,” Henry said. “And about the other thing… oh, I don't know. I'm just so confused. Love is such a human thing.”
“I'm sure Toby and Henrietta don't think so,” Edward pointed out. “They've been together for years.”
“But what would be the point?” Henry asked miserably. “It's such a human want. What would we even be able to do? Touch buffers?”
“My expertise doesn't lie in that area,” Edward said simply, “but as you mention it, what would you do if you were human? Would you love him then?”
“But we aren't, Edward,” Henry stressed, his speech speeding as he spread into the anxieties that had been bothering him all day. “What would happen if they did decide to move me to the mainland? I think I caused enough problems for him this time by being moved, but if we were together, what would happen then? He'd be even more upset than he was this time, but if I say no, well, that's that, then, and I'd hurt his feelings. Oh, Edward, I just don't know what to do.”
“What do you want to do, Henry?” Edward asked slowly.
“I feel like I'm going to upset him no matter what I say,” Henry muttered, “and I don't want to upset him.”
“Not what does Gordon want you to do, what do you want to do?” Edward reaffirmed.
“I don't know,” Henry said miserably. “Oh, I don't know. I feel like I'm going to regret whatever I say.”
“Why don't you talk to Toby about this?” Edward prompted. “He's far more experienced in the matter of love. I can't say I've ever really thought about it enough to have any good advice.”
“Because I trust you, Edward,” Henry said simply. “It should be a simple choice and it's not, and I need to know if I’m just overthinking it all.”
Closing his eyes, Edward thought. “What do you think about Gordon, Henry?”
“That he's my friend,” Henry said simply, “and I don't want to upset him.”
“Beyond that. I mean, I know what I'd say if he asked me, but I also think he's got a railroad spike stuck in his tender half the time, so I assume you think something more positive than that.” When Henry didn't answer, Edward rephrased. “When you think of Gordon, what do you think about him? Do you think of him positively or negatively?”
“Positively.” Henry closed his eyes as he thought. “I like his brashness, and I admire his confidence. You've never met someone so loyal. And when I'm scared, he can almost make my fears melt away.”
Edward smiled knowingly as Henry continued, both engines unaware that James had rolled up behind them, just out of eyeshot.
“And his paint, Edward. The way it catches the sun sometimes. He’s got such an imposing look. Everything in his design is precise, even his face. His face suits his body. Just the right level of sharpness with the most innocent eyes.”
“So, I notice you're complimenting someone's paintwork that isn't mine, Henry,” James said, grinning. “Did Gordon get lucky?”
“James!” Henry yelled, jumping out of his frame. “How do you… ?” Henry glanced up at him, confused how he got there and how he knew what Gordon had told him.
“Henry, the whole island knows,” James said smugly. “You know that gossip travels like wildfire. Anyway, did big blue work up the courage to ask you out, or do you just like to think about Gordon's eyes?”
“Not exactly,” Henry said. “I found out from this mainland engine and he didn't deny it, but I-” Henry paused. “I haven't made up my mind what I want to do yet.”
“You didn't say yes?” James rolled forward slightly, much to the disapproval of his driver. “Tell me why you'd say no to him.”
“Tell you why I'd say no?” Henry said miserably. “I don't know what to say.”
“Why Gordon isn't good enough,” James said innocently. “You've always seen the good in him when nobody else has. I’m just surprised. I thought you'd be off together like in one of those sappy movies my fireman listens to on his phone sometimes. ‘Oh, Gordon,’” he said dramatically, “‘I've been waiting for those words all of my life. Let’s run away together.’”
“What would be the point, James?” Henry sighed. “I - we - we aren't human, and Gordon has this human idea in his head. There would be no point, James, so I'm not going to. I can't do it to him. It's not fair.”
“Humans.” James paused. “Why must everything be about them? Why should love just be for them?” James said angrily. “Why can't we have it?”
“You listen to too many human stories, James. We can't touch,” Henry said. “That's what people in love do.”
“If love can only be summed up by touch,” said Edward, “then count me glad not to be human. We can love in other ways. Why should love only be about touch?”
“I thought you said you hadn't thought about it, Edward,” James pointed out.
“As you won't let me forget, I'm very old.” Edward smiled to himself knowingly. “To say the thought had never crossed my mind, not at least once, would be a lie, but it's never crossed my mind for long. I've never loved someone more than a friend, but I don't see why we shouldn't.”
“So what does that mean?” Henry asked, prompting his friend to give him an answer for his dilemma.
“As much as I never claim to understand why Gordon does what he does,” Edward began, “he loves you in a different way to the way he loves the rest of us, you can tell, and he has for a long time. Don't do anything just to keep him happy. Just do what makes you happy, Henry. If not being human is holding you back, well, it shouldn't.”
“So, in less mystical words, Henry,” James said as he collected his train, “tell Gordon that you would be honoured to accept his partnership, and that you've felt like this all along, and honestly, it's baffled you why you had to think about it.”
“ James!” Henry said, scandalised.
“Am I right, or am I right?” He whistled to them both as he left the platform, a devious grin splitting his face. “I can't stand a tragedy.”
“Some engines,” Henry said distastefully. “I don't understand what you see in him.”
“And I don't get what you see in Gordon,” Edward jibed back. He flinched slightly as his crew jumped into his cab, too absorbed in his conversation to realise they had returned.
“Sorry, old boy.” His driver patted his cab. “Didn't mean to spoil your gossip.”
“I don't gossip,” Edward said poutily, rolling his eyes. “I was asked for advice.
“No, you just tell it as it is.” His fireman laughed as he built his fire back up ready to start working again.
Henry watched Edward leave as he waited on the siding for his own crew to come back. His fireman came back first, followed about five minutes later by his driver sauntering up at the last minute like usual. Henry resisted rolling his eyes at him. His driver could at least pretend to not hate his job, just a little bit, and not make Henry late all of the time.
By the time Henry returned to the sheds that night, it was late. Rosie was deeply asleep and Gordon looked to be the same way at first glance. Henry pulled up next to him and yawned as his fireman began to clean out his firebox for the night.
With tired eyes, Gordon blinked at him. “I thought about it,” Henry began.
“And what did you think?” Gordon asked, slowly, clearly still tired.
“That love isn't just a thing for humans. It doesn't matter if we can't do what the humans do,” he said softly. “I do love you.”
Gordon smiled back at him. “I'm glad.” And before he could say any more to him, Gordon had drifted back off to sleep. Henry snorted beside himself - could always trust Gordon to have his priorities in order - and then settled down to sleep himself.
Nothing had changed for them, not really. After all, they had loved like this all along, but Henry thought it was rather nice to hear it in words every once in a while.