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Greaseball knew she was going to lose at one point or another.
She always felt that her winning streak would be broken eventually. Sure, to win you needed to be fast and quick thinking. But, at the end of the day, it's based on luck.
Luck was something that was normally on Greaseball's side. Luck is what got them to the Troubadour yard in the first place. Luck is what carried the diesel engine to their first win. Luck was what got them to that champion title.
Well, until now.
Why luck decided to be generous to Rusty, she’d never know. In Greaseball's eyes, he was too slow, too ambitious and way too determined for an engine that has had its day. He was annoying at best, and a pest at worst. His whistle was the worst part about him. It always echoed through the yard like a haunting ring. The diesel engine would often fantasise about grabbing that stupid whistle and crushing it with her bare hands.
She attempted to clench her fingers, pretending it was wrapped around Rusty's whistle. Greaseball immediately regretted it though, a sharp pain shooting through her whole body like a lightning strike. She immediately loosened her fingers, letting her hand fall to the side.
Greaseball’s memory felt like a haze. She could still feel the blaze of her wheels as she threw herself up the ramp. The image of Rusty crossing the finish line was burnt into her mind. Though, as to why Pearl wasn’t coupled behind her left her brain. She probably chickened out. She was always a pussy, like most coaches.
Speaking of coaches…
The image of a certain pink-haired coach ran through the diesel's mind. Where was she anyway? Usually, Dinah would be breaking every speeding law in the book to get to Greaseball's side if she even heard word of them being injured. She could remember seeing the coach's candy-coloured hair amidst the thousands in the crowd. Dinah was standing with one of the freight trucks in the stands. Which one? Greaseball couldn’t remember, all the freights merged into one for her.
Her mind could vividly picture Dinah’s face every time she whizzed past. The normal soft grin that always adorned her face would fall into a flat line anytime the diesel engine would race past. She didn’t know why Dinah’s face kept doing that. All she did was start racing with Pearl.
In Greaseball's mind, it was a good idea. Dinah would get a rest from racing for a little while, and she would get a brand spanking new coach to race with! You would think that a state-of-the-art coach would be an excellent racer, and have all the new modeling to make them the fastest thing the world has ever seen. That couldn’t be further from the truth.
Pearl was a shit racer. She would always complain that Greaseball was going too fast for the first class coach, and she didn’t understand any of the track lingo. She didn’t even know her lefts and rights, for Starlight's sake!
But Dinah…she was the best coach the diesel engine had ever laid eyes on. It's like she could read Greaseball's mind, and knew exactly what their next move was going to be. If Greaseball even thought about turning, Dinah would follow through in a second. Greaseball would mutter something to themself, and Dinah would immediately pick up on it.
Greaseball's train of thought was cut off by a gentle knock on the room's door. She attempted to sit up from the bed, but a wave of pain shot through her lower back. They hissed, eyes squeezing shut. A shaky breath escaped their lips. Starlight, she hated being in pain. She couldn’t even remember why everything hurt.
“Yeah?” Greaseball muttered. It came out in a low grumble. Her throat felt scratchy, as if someone had grazed a knife over her vocal cords. The sound of a click echoed through the room, followed by the closing of a door. Mary Janes click clacked across the vinyl flooring. Greaseball lifted her gaze up slightly, looking through her jaggedly cut fringe. She could recognise that figure from anywhere.
Dinah stood at the end of the bed. Her arms were folded over her chest. Her lips were still in that same thin line, and she wasn’t wearing her normal makeup. Her cheeks weren’t as blushed as normal, and her teal shimmer that was normally perfectly placed on her eyelids were replaced with a nude baby pink shadow. Her lips were still painted that soft rosy colour.
“Doll?” Greaseball grumbled out. She used all the strength she could muster to sit herself up. Her back rested against the pillows behind her. The diesel engine couldn't even imagine how rough they looked compared to the dining car in front of her.
“Don’t call me that.” Dinah snapped back sharply. Greaseball's face immediately fell blank, her lips forming into a tight line. Greaseball wasn’t taken aback by the coach's tone. It wasn’t the first time she had used it, and it would definitely not be the last. Dinah wasn’t shy of giving Greaseball a piece of her mind. It's what drew the diesel train to her. The dining car wasn’t scared of telling Greaseball off, and the two used to get into screaming matches all the time when they were first paired together.
“Right, got it.” They muttered, folding their arms in their lap. “You been alright?”
“Oh yeah, I’ve been great.” Dinah retorted, her brows furrowing. The sarcasm was laid on so thick it could cut through ice.
“Thats good then.” Greaseball said with a nod.
Dinah rolled her eyes slightly, shifting on her legs. “That was sarcasm, you muppet.”
A tiny “oh’’ escaped Greaseball's darkly painted lips. They’d never been good with social cues or emotions, that was a coach thing. Greaseball had their racing skills, and that's all they needed. As long as they could cross the finish line, then they didn’t need to pay attention to what's going on in their head, let alone anyone else's.
Dinah kept that pissed look on her face, though she shifted from one foot to another, and couldn't quite look Greaseball in the eyes. “That race did you bad.” She pointed out, her manicured fingertip pointing to Greaseballs state.
Greaseball looked down at the hospital gown she was forced to wear by Wrench. It was made of a paper-like material that looked like it would break if you even breathed wrong. “Uh, yeah.” Greaseball grumbled.
“Wrench said that you completely ruined your plating. And burst your turbocharger.” Dinah said casually. So that explained the pain in Greaseball's side. The diesel's gaze fell to her left side, where a nasty gash bruised blue and purple on her tanned skin.
“Yeah.” Greaseball grumbled once more.
There was an awkward moment of silence. The sound of monitors beeping was the only thing that filled the stillness of the room. Greaseball's gaze stayed glued to her side, her brain trying to wrap around how the gash got there. They could only recall seeing Rusty skate down the bowl, a self-satificed smile painted on his lips. If only they could grab that stupid steam engine by the strands of his hair…
“Greaseball!”
“Huh?” Greaseball's head snapped up, her dark eyes meeting the dining cars' light ones.
“Did you even hear a word I just said?” Dinah retorted, arms folded across her chest.
“Yeah, mm hm.” The diesel engine grumbled.
An annoyed sigh left the dining car's lips. She loved Greaseball to death, but she did get on her last nerve sometimes. Dinah sat herself down on a chair next to the hospital bed, folding her hands in her lap. Another sigh left her lips, shakier than the one before.
“I want you to say sorry, Greaseball.” She told them. Maybe Greaseball could barely remember a thing about the last few weeks, but the memories ran rapidly through Dinah's mind. Scenes of Greaseball berating her in front of the whole yard and playfully coupling to Pearl taunted Dinah's head. That image of Greaseball's look of disgust and distaste was burned into her brain.
“For what?” Greaseball replied, dazed. Why should she have to say sorry? She didn’t do anything necessarily wrong. She was giving Dinah a break from racing, for Starlights sake!
“For what?” A scoff escaped Dinah's laugh. “For treating me like I’m the dirt on your wheels. You yelled at me in front of everyone, embarrassed me and then you left me for Pearl.”
The memories smacked Greaseball around the face like a freight train. It was like something in her mind just clicked. Everything came flooding back: The harsh words she'd thrown at Dinah, the way they’d coupled to the first class coach. Her eyes fell down to her lap, guilt rising.
“Dee…I thought I was giving you a break.” The diesel mumbled under their breath.
A soft sigh escaped Dinah's rosy lips. “You didn’t think to ask me if I wanted a break?”
“I wanted it to be a treat for you.” Greaseball shrugged.
Dinah chuckled, though it didn't reach her eyes. “Greaseball, when have I ever wanted a break?”
The diesel engine shrugged once more. Her fingers drummed against her thigh as she listened to Dinah's words. “I didn’t mean to upset you, doll..”
“I know, love.” Dinah nodded gently. Her hand stretched out to grab Greaseball calloused ones. “Sometimes you just do things without actually thinking.”
Greaseball squeezed the dining car's hand. They examined the coach's hand - The perfectly manicured nails painted a soft blue and pink. Dinah's grip was soft on the diesel's hand.
“I’m sorry, babe.” Greaseball muttered quietly. A pin dropping on the floor would’ve been louder than Greaseball's apology. They lifted their girlfriends hand, placing a gentle kiss on the smooth skin of her hand.
Dinah couldn’t stop the smile that spread on her face. No matter how much Greaseball would annoy her, or be utterly rude to her, Dinah's love for the diesel engine could never be diminished.
“Thank you, darling.” Dinah muttered softly, her eyes finding Greaseballs.
“Pearls a shit racer, by the way.”
“Greaseball!’