somebody ought to corrupt you on the dance floor, and take you home
It turned out that a violent crash plus too many emotional conversations plus a severe sleep deficit led to sixteen straight hours of sleep. Slick had woken up in her own bed the next morning, disoriented and heart beating wildly out of her chest. She had been dreaming, but of what she couldn’t recall. She had stumbled out of her room, and down the hall to the living room. Empty. There was a note on the kitchen counter however, and she picked it up, scanning the contents.
Slick-
Everyone is out working on the tracks- I’ve spoken to Control and you are on medical leave until cleared by a repair truck or mechanic. Stay near the shed today- DO NOT reinjure your leg.
We’ll talk later. I love you!
-Momma
Great. She was basically grounded. She groaned, even though no one was here to hear her. It wasn’t like she could go anywhere even if Momma hadn’t told her to stay put, but it was more the principle than anything else. Even so, with how much hot water she had been in the last couple of days, she should definitely heed Momma. So, near the shed she would stay.
Glancing around the kitchen, she noticed the thermos Dinah had given her near the sink, newly washed. Someone must have retrieved it from her pack then, and the thought sent a spark of annoyance through her. She didn’t think of herself as territorial, necessarily, but the idea that someone had gone through her pack-even in a well-meaning manner-without her knowing rubbed her the wrong way.
She slowly crossed over to it. Some tea then. She would need to return this to Dinah at some point- the color scheme screamed Greaseball- but she couldn’t leave the shed and didn’t expect any visitors; she could use it today.
Once the tea was brewed, she grabbed the thermos and rolled out the door, into the yard in front of the shed. The yard was a modest size, and had all types of decorations in it- oil drums for fires were most prominent, and wooden spools for metal cable were used as benches in the space. Colored glass baubles also littered the space, some perched on twisted pieces of metal within the yard, or hanging from the rafters of the shed like colorful wind chimes, catching the light of the sun’s rays. It was a very industrial space, and they were all fond of it. It was a chilly morning, and she gingerly sat down on one of the spools, fingers curling around the thermos as its warmth leached into her. She took a sip, sighing as the warmth filled her. It wasn’t as good as Dinah’s, but it was still pretty nice.
The trainyard was quiet, in the cold and misty morning- most everyone would be out on the tracks by now, the excitement of the races having worn off and back to business as usual. She was alone with her thoughts, her and the wooden spools and the rainbow colors caused by the weak sunshine.
Gradually, she realized there was the sound of wheels upon the ground, drawing nearer and nearer. Someone was coming. She watched as a familiar figure- the source of her current trepidation- came into view.
It was Greaseball, of course it was. Her two-toned hair shone in the sun, and her armor gleamed, clearly having been freshly polished. Save for a bandage along her jaw, it was impossible to tell she had been in a crash just days ago. Stars , she looked good.
“Hiya tanker.”
“Greaseball.” she spoke, her eyes darting around nervously. Their shed was a little off the beaten track, which meant she was here for a specific reason. For her. For whatever that meant.
The diesel laughed. “Relax, I told you already, I’m not mad. I’m not gonna jump ya.”
“Right.” Slick put as much sarcasm into her words as her nerves would allow. “What are you doing here, Greaseball?”
“I’m on medical leave, same as you. And what, can’t an engine visit a friend?”
She snorted. “We are not friends.”
“Nah, I guess not.” The engine drew nearer, sitting down next to the oil truck. “See, friends would tell each other stuff, right? Stuff like the reason why they offered to crash their brother for an engine that wasn't even a friend.”
“If only we were friends, then.”
“We could be.” Slick looked sharply at her. Greaseball stared at her, a smile playing on the diesel's lips. She was enjoying this way too much.
“Why would you want that?” And wasn’t that the question of the hour.
The engine winced, for the first time looking sheepish. “Recent events have reminded me that I could stand to be more…tolerable, to others.” Recent events. Ha. Slick could guess what event that was, and she felt anger bubble up within her.
“I don’t want your pity.” You were screaming, Slick - the words came unbidden.
“Good, ‘cause I’m not giving it.” The words were blunt, something Slick appreciated about Greaseball. She didn’t beat around the bush on delicate matters.
“I don’t want to be friends. You don’t want to be friends with me.” Friends just opened her up to a whole new world of pain. Having to see Greaseball happy all the time, fawning over Dinah, who was perfect- she couldn’t.
“I get to decide that for myself, don’t I?” She grinned wolfishly. “And you definitely wanted something out of approaching me before the race- care to share?”
Slick took a drink out of her- Greaseball’s- thermos to avoid answering, painfully aware of the diesel engine watching her movements. She placed the thermos down between them, careful to mind her injured hand, when suddenly her hand was grasped in another. Her breath hitched. Greaseball was holding her hand.
Greaseballwasholdingherhand .
Greaseball was holding her hand, ever so gently, running her fingers over her healing knuckles. The pads of her fingers were rough and calloused from years of training, but Slick felt no pain from her touch.
“We really did a number on you, didn’t we?” she said quietly.
“I lived.” You were leaking oil, they said your tank had ruptured-
“You got lucky.”
“I did.” What else was there to say? Greaseball sighed at that and nodded.
“Here’s what I think. I think you’re smart. I think you had a plan, one that didn’t stop at you crashing Rusty. One that had something to do with me, and one that you really don’t want me to know about. I think it backfired, and now,” Slick found it hard to concentrate when Greaseball was tracing slow circles on her hand like that, “you’ve lost control of the entire operation.”
Slick swallowed, inwardly cursing. Since when had Greaseball become so observant? She admired her for different reasons- her strength and competitive drive, her confidence that bordered on arrogance and diesel-may-care attitude- so many things Slick herself was not. Before approaching her about Rusty, the diesel had never really given her the time of day, always caught up with training or the happenings of the other engines. They ran in the same circles, but it wasn’t like they talked about anything other than their work.
Greaseball released Slick’s hand and leaned back, clasping her own hands around one knee for balance. Slick didn’t miss the feeling of her hands- she didn’t.
The diesel was simply staring at her now, eyes piercing in a way that made Slick feel as though layers of herself were being stripped back- her outer armor, her under layer, the synthetic skin below- all the way down to her chassis and inner workings. She felt seen, in a way she did not like.
“Dinah said that you looked odd, when she passed on my message in the repair shop.” The engine leaned forward, resting her chin on her knee. “Do I make you nervous, Slick?”
Slick blinked; both at the abrupt change of topic and at the sound of her name. Had Greaseball ever used it before? No, she didn’t think so. It was always “tanker” or “oil truck”, never her name. And asking if she made her nervous? That was probably pretty obvious, just not for the reasons the engine might think.
“I do, don't I?” The engine breathed. Slick felt herself blushing under the scrutiny. She didn’t know exactly what Greaseball saw on her face, but the diesel cocked her head, eyes glittering. “How…interesting.”
Slick did not like this. “Is this a game to you?”
The engine smiled crookedly. “I only play games to win, tanker. What do you think?”
Greaseball suddenly stood, and Slick, in her shock, could only watch as she began to skate away, though not without a few parting words over her shoulder.
“You should talk to Dinah, next time she gets a day off. She made that for you, ya know.”
And with that, Greaseball was gone, leaving Slick in a state of utter bemusement, and half wondering if she had imagined the whole conversation. But Greaseball hadn’t taken the thermos- was that what she was talking about?
Slick took a closer look at the thermos. It was hand painted in yellow and black, and it was due to that- and the fact that Greaseball was, ya know, Dinah’s girlfriend- that she had assumed it was borrowed from the diesel engine. However…
She peered closer. Encircling the base of the thermos, so small and delicate she had missed them before, were tiny yellow triangles, each one painted with a black exclamation mark.