Chapter Text
“Oh dear,” Edward said and that was all he really could say. What else could he say in this situation anyway? Saying something different wouldn’t change it and acting like a hot-tempered rash young iron would only make things worse, or at least uncomfortable for everyone.
Victor looked apologetic. “I am sorry Edward. Had someone known that we were so short on blue paint by double-checking our inventory properly, we would have placed an order for more from the mainland.”
“I don’t blame you, Victor,” Edward said with a small but tired smile. “Something like this was bound to happen sooner or later, and I just happened to be the engine in the Steam Works when it did.”
Victor’s frown still held and the small gauge engine looked like he was about to say more when a clatter of metal followed by something crashing echoed in the space.
“Sorry boss!” Kevin called out from somewhere behind Edward and Victor muttered something under his breath. It was too low for Edward to guess if he was speaking English or Spanish or if it was appropriate to say in the workplace.
“We will have you fully repaired and then we see about your paint job,” Victor promised before he steamed to see what the young clumsy crane had crashed into this time.
With Victor gone, Edward allowed his smile to slide off as he let out a sigh; if he had been in steam, he would have gently wheeshed. But his fire had been dumped since coming to the Works and his firebox was now cold in the hours since.
The only thing that made this situation somewhat bearable was that his injuries had been minor; a large dent in his front buffer and long scratches down his one side. For a Sodor accident, this was minor compared to what had happened in the past. But an accident was an accident, and all engines that were in an accident were to be taken to the Works to be inspected before they could go back onto the rails. And it had been a long while since Edward had to visit the Works because of an accident.
Some of the Troublesome Trucks had thought it hilarious to push him off the tracks when he had been taking a goods train from the docks. He had been on the outer yard of the dock, one that saw very little foot traffic when the Trucks had pulled their trick. He hadn’t had the time to apply his brakes when he had been pushed with such force that he had derailed and scrapped along a barrier wall.
At least his crew had escaped the accident with only minor scratches of their own and that he had been able to operate and drive under his own power, not every engine could or should. But it had been an unpleasant journey from start to finish; every puff had sent small waves of pain throughout his frame and the long scratches had itched terribly.
Edward glanced to the side, where several of the Steam Work workers were talking with one another along with his crew, who were all speaking in low tones. Their words didn’t carry over the distance well but the way they were pointing at their clipboards made Edward feel a little worried.
He couldn’t read the expressions too well on the workers, but he could see that his Driver looked thoughtful – which wasn’t too surprising as he was a thoughtful fellow – while his Fireman looked annoyed – which was odd, as he too was a thoughtful fellow.
The conversation between the men seemed to die down and his crew walked over, their faces pulled into small frowns.
“Well old boy, we are in a bit of a pickle,” his Driver said in place of a greeting.
“Is it more bad news or is it regarding my paint?” Edward asked, apprehension making his boiler feel a size too tight.
“It's still about your paint but there is more to it,” his Fireman said with a shake of his head. “Not only are they short on blue paint, just having enough for Gordon when he comes in, but the company that makes and delivers the paints for all of Sodor engines is having issues. So even if the Works place an order now, it will still take weeks for the shipment to come in.”
Edward shoved back the old memory that seemed to push itself forward, of a long time ago when he had been left for weeks, months, at a time in a small shed while the other engines went about their days with hardly a word to him.
There must have been something in his expression that tipped off his crew as his Driver added in hurriedly. “You won't be prevented from working, but you will have to go without your signature blue paint.”
Edward looked over to his Fireman who nodded his head so vigorously that his hat almost came off. The sigh that left him was full of relief, more than Edward should have allowed as while he had a good rapport with his crew, they weren’t the original men he had worked with, the ones that had known and witnessed much in those old days.
“I…I see,” Edward said as he sagged on his wheels. But that now begged the question; which paint would he be repainted in? He honestly wasn’t a vain engine, but he had been wearing the North Western blue for so long that it would be odd, and would probably feel odd, to now wear a different color.
“An excellent question Edward,” a proud voice seemed to boom over the area, filling the space with its presence. All men and vehicles snapped to attention as a lone figure in a suit walked forward: Sir Topham Hatt, the Fat Controller.
“Sir,” Edward began but the Fat Controller lifted a hand and he fell silent.
“It's all right Edward, no need to explain. I already know everything, from your mishap at the docks to the current problem here at the Works.” The Fat Controller's face was soft with sympathy. “Once it was noticed that there was an issue here, the manager called me for my input.”
“And perfect timing too,” rasped an unfamiliar voice. A tall thin man, dressed in the Works attire of gray coveralls with a long-sleeved blue shirt and hat, came forward. He was very unfamiliar to Edward but seeing him nod to Victor who had come back from checking in with Kevin, it was obvious he was important.
“So, tell it to me straight Jim, what can we do?” asked the Fat Controller to the man.
‘Jim’, who was possibly the Steam Works manager who had made the call, let out a small sigh and scratched his gray beard. “The repairs needed for Edward are small and he can be out within the week if everything holds. The issue is the paint job.
“Edward has gone with the standard paint and finish for years now, and while we have other paints available, doing so could cause an issue unless we address it here.” Here the manager gave the Fat Controller a look. “Hence why I called you, as Edward is one of our older active engines and you are one of the few most familiar with him, considering your family history.”
That could be said with many of the engines that were here in the beginning, including the narrow gauge, but Edward also couldn’t argue against it. When there had been a change between one Controller to the next, he had been present. While he wasn’t used for private counsel, he did help out the younger engines that came to the island and helped make for an easier transition.
If that meant his relationship with the Fat Controller was a bit different compared to the other engines that he was called for in situations like these, well who was Edward to argue against it?
“What paints do we have in stock?” asked his Driver, who was regarding the manager with a thoughtful but guarded look. “It was from my understanding each color was accounted for with not much left to spare.”
The manager nodded. “Paints don’t have the longest shelf life so we normally order what we need with a little extra but no more than necessary. But there is a solution, that is,” and here the manger turned so his eyes met Edward’s. “If both Edward and the Fat Controller agree.”
Edward blinked in surprise and another worker came over, a paint can swinging from one hand. Placing it down on the ground, he opened the can and all present leaned forward to take a look at the color.
“Red?” his Fireman blurted out. And indeed, the paint inside was red and a very familiar red as well.
“Isn't that James’ red?” His Driver sounded unsure and nervous. Edward could understand why; James guarded his red paint to an almost territorial level, and while he was fine with other engines being red, they just couldn’t be his red.
“Almost,” said the manager with a wag of a finger. “It's a few shades off, which is much more noticeable when it's dry. This is from some months back; the company had made a mistake in the mixing of pigments. James refused to be painted this and we had to place an emergency order so we could get him out of the Works on time.”
Edward remembered that; there had been some rumors flying around that James had gotten into some kind of trouble at the Works, hence his delay going back into service. He also remembered how surly the mogul engine had been for when he had left the Works. That must have been the reason why.
“And since the paint couldn’t be returned, we just left it on the shelf until the opportunity came that we could use it. And as Edward and James are about the same size, we will have enough paint to give Edward a complete paint job.”
“But…” ventured the Fat Controller.
“Having two red engines, even if the red isn’t the same and both have a different temperament, will confuse many as it's an unexpected change. This will lead to issues with who doing what and with what jobs, regardless of where they are. That is why I called you.”
“If Edward is repainted, then he and James cannot be working the same type of jobs. This might even mean they can’t be in the same area,” the Fat Controller said, nodding his head slowly. “That will mean we will have to rotate some engines around and change their schedules. It would be tedious as it would be short notice, especially with some of the longer freight trains, but it is doable.”
The manager nodded. “Edward has his branch line which would take priority unless someone takes it over. If Edward stays, then James will have to be put on goods work for the next few weeks.”
Edward winced but he did his best to not show it. James was a mixed traffic engine and did his job with only some complaining but he would no doubt not be pleased in the slightest if that happened. But Edward didn’t feel comfortable abandoning his branch line, even if it was just temporary, over a paint job.
“If I may Sir,” Edward asked, turning his eyes to the manager. “What happens if I don’t get painted red?”
The manager scratched his beard once more, seeming to think carefully over his words. “We would still do the repairs as normal but we would have to paint in a color that is easily available. That would mean black.”
“Not any black though,” piped up the worker who had brought the paint can over. “It would be BR black.”
Edward grimaced. Even when he had been a young iron, still in the Furness works, he hadn’t been painted black. And it wasn’t that black wasn’t a nice color, it had its uses. But to be painted BR black, of all colors? That was just asking for trouble, especially with the only other engine, a very particular diesel, that was painted in the same color.
His Driver and Fireman eyed each other and then him. It was his Driver who spoke first. “You wouldn’t look good in black Edward, too depressing of a color.”
Edward wouldn’t go that far but BR black did have a duller finish compared to normal black. He still remembered how James looked when he first came to the island before he had gotten his famous paint job. (Before he had gotten into his accident). He had reminded Edward of the unpolished dark stones found in the riverbeds, but it had made his stormy gray eyes glint more like silver.
“Agreed,” nodded his Fireman. “At this point, you might as well be painted green or orange.”
Edward couldn't quite stop his face from pulling a little bit. Those were fine colors, Henry made green look just pleasant and Murdock wore his orange with pride but those colors were just not for him.
“So, Edward?” prompted the manager. “What will it be?”
All eyes turned to him and Edward knew what his answer was going to be, what it should be as it was the most obvious thing to choose. Choosing the more obvious answer would allow him to be a Useful Engine sooner and that was what every engine wanted to be, even one as old as him. But even though it was on his tongue, he hesitated.
And he knew why. There was another viable option and yet Edward was going with the one that could cause the most problems. And he wouldn’t lie, he was curious. Curious about the color of red that brought such life into James after his accident. Curious enough that perhaps he wanted to wear it, to try it for himself. But would his actions be seen as a betrayal?
He only hoped he could get a chance to talk to James once he was out of the Works, after all, he deserved to hear it from Edward himself rather than from passing gossip from the other engines. Taking in a deep breath, Edward gave them his answer; he only hoped that, at the end of the day, it was the right one.