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Percy trotted into the living room, his tail flicking anxiously. The chubby saddleback locked eyes with the old couch, a sun-kissed spot below the window, then a small, empty bed. Nothing seemed to be of interest. Unsatisfied, the small engine opened his mouth, letting fresh scent hit his Jacobson's organ. His head bobbed up and down arrythmically as a feast of smells bombarded the peculiar body part. Past records of the whereabouts of other engines and humans were swiftly logged into Percy's tiny brain, the knowledge overwhelming yet undeniably pleasurable.
Suddenly, the satisfactory scent hit, and Percy's eyes went wide. The saddleback quickly went from a lazy trot to a hurried canter, his paws leading him before his brain could even catch up. Deftly the engine reached his destination, a thin door left slightly ajar by a careless human. Sniffing around vigorously, Percy honed in on the desired scent, an emotionally sour smell which made the small engine's fur bristle with unease. The saddleback pawed gingerly into the tiny room, unsure of what exactly waited him inside. As his eyes adjusted to the deep darkness, Percy started to make out a small shape, a shape that was trying to make itself very, very small.
It was the shape of a cowering engine, one that had six small legs, with a short, stumpy funnel, a short, stumpy boiler, and a short, stumpy dome. Percy knew this shape very, VERY well, as it belonged to that of his very good friend: Thomas the Tank Engine. However, Percy noted, something about this shape was uncomfortably off: it was worriedly thin, its fur unkempt, and its eyes uncharacteristically tired. As Percy approached the shape of his friend, it backed further into the room, its rear buffers brushing against the wall. Its breath visibly hastened, and its whiskers started bristling in fear.
Percy was heartbroken.
The saddleback locked eyes with his friend, peering as far back as he physically could. His eyes were clouded with fear, with weeks of grief and bereavement, with the all-encompassing hunger of loss. Immediately the small blue engine broke contact, discomfort eating at his heart. He turned to face the darkness of the wall, not wanting to meet the concern in the green engine's gaze. Percy, whose own heart was filled with worry, timidly pushed forward. He pawed cautiously across the floor, each step more deliberate then the last.
Slowly, slowly, but steadily Percy closed the gap between him and his aching friend. Finally by his side, Percy expected to feel the warmth that comes from their years of companionship, but none was to be found. Instead, he could feel his breath caught in his throat, his body frozen; the green engine was suddenly unsure of how to go about comforting the one friend he's spent time, and time again comforting, and deriving comfort from. He could feel it deep in his stomach, from the way his friend danced so freely with the darkness of the room, that this time was different.
Feeling inadequate, of being too weak to save him from the sweet pull of darkness, Percy did what he felt was the only thing he could do.
Saddling up next to his friend--the blue engine's cab briefly brushing against his own--he sat down, paws tucked under his portly body. Breathing a deep sigh, Percy wrapped his long gray tail around Thomas's behind. The blue tank engine briefly startled, but regained himself once he recognized the touch from his dear friend. Slowly, but surely, Thomas let his muscles relax, his body losing the tenseness he let ruminate within for weeks. Eventually, he let out his own sigh to match his friend's, an expelling of multitudes of pent-up heartache--however so brief.
Feeling shaky in his newfound relief, Thomas weakly lifted his own tail and wrapped it around Percy. Though weeks of unoft eating has left him frail, the blue engine held onto his friend tight with the strength of a thousand or more suns. Then finally, after many days of teething on the warmth of pure darkness, finally, a tear rolled down Thomas's cheek, and onto the carpeted floor. And after that, another. And another, until the tears freely flowed from the exhausted engine's face. At last, if only for a moment, Thomas felt freedom from the pain of his dreadful loss. At last, Thomas felt not the sensation of a pit in his heart where a person once was, but instead, the sensation of a heart full of a life lived well. And with his best friend held tight and a face filled with tears,
Thomas was happy.
....
...
..
.
"Goodness me, here they are!"
Topham exclaimed, flicking on the light switch in his closet. Bright light illuminated the oppressive darkness of the tiny room, bringing into view hoards of stuffy jackets and fancy dress shoes. Looking down at the middle of the room, the stout gentleman found two tiny engines, each cuddling against each other and deeply fast asleep.
"Oh my, I scant believe my eyes!" gasped a woman's voice. "Thomas, finally feeling a bit like himself! And after...how long has it been, sweety?"
"Two weeks this past Tuesday," Topham remarked.
"Two weeks! Oh my, how time has flown."
"For better or for worse."
"For better or for worse, yes..."
Feeling a pang of grief in his own, old heart, Topham watched the two sleeping engines, their bodies moving up and down with each deep breath. For ever so brief a moment, Topham leaned down, intending to pet his blue engine Thomas. However he stopped, finding himself stricken by how peaceful Thomas finally looked after weeks of suffering. Deciding he deserved a moment of privacy with his other engine friend, Topham straightened himself and let the two engines be.
"You know, after all this...this" the fat gentleman said, gesticulating with his hands, "I think Thomas deserves a little peace and quiet with Percy."
The woman placed a hand on Topham's shoulder. "I think it's what Edward would have wanted, honey."
"Yes, of course," Topham smiled, "It's what Edward would have wanted."
And Topham, the gentleman that he is, placed a gentle kiss on his wife's delicate cheek, the two smiling softly as Thomas and Percy slept long into the silent night.