A/N: Special thanks to HashamotoGloria, StuteriRose, and 4RAINYNITE for their help. (Check out their DA accounts!)
I personally don't use the name "Apollo Victoria" to refer to Control's yard. Since I don't know which person thought of it first, I can't give them proper credit for using their joke. I had 9 chapters of a fanfic stolen and posted on Wattpad before I caught the plagiarist, so I usually try to avoid inflicting that grievance on another writer if I can help it (even if said person probably isn't online anymore). As such, I refer to Control's yard as Wilton because it's the name of the street where the AV Theatre is located. If you know what the names Slingsby and Gershwin refer to, you're quite the stexpert! :D
Dinah heaved a sigh and sniffed, dabbing her face again with one of her napkins. She sat on her heels, kneeling upon a strip of track which stretched across a shallow creek. The narrow bridge had no railing, so she could lean over the dark water and watch the stars reflected in the shimmering mirror. This little trestle reminded her of a similar one back on her old line. She would often come here when she felt homesick or desired peace after a long work day - or when she just needed to sob because her world was ending.
Cheers reverberated in the distance where lights glowed from the other side of the hills. Just about everyone else in Wilton Yard must have been at the race track where the second elimination heat was in full swing. Dinah's friends, Buffy the buffet car and Ashley the smoking car, were to take part as partners in the competition tonight. Dinah had planned to cheer them on - but that had been before her heart had been crushed to a fine powder.
You're such an idiot, Dinah, she lamented, wiping her eyes as a fresh wave of tears cascaded down her face. Why had she had done it? Why had she accused Greaseball of cheating in their race? If Control had not called him out on it, had he really broken any rules?
Dinah mentally examined the events of the first heat. It had included the usual bouts of aggressive battling between the racers and their partners. Electra the new electric engine had zapped Weltschaft the German train, causing him to tumble off the track. Turnov the Russian train had been racing with Red Caboose, and he had mysteriously crashed after he had pulled ahead of Greaseball. Electra and Greaseball had been left, and the electric engine had gained the lead. Victory had been assured for both engines (as the race had been for the spot of two finalists, not one), but "second place" was not in Greaseball's vocabulary. When they had been mere feet from the checkered flag, Greaseball had suddenly grabbed Electra's couplings, forcing the younger locomotive to haul him along. Greaseball managed to use his strong arms to pull himself even with Electra, and the two tied in the heat.
Dinah had confronted Greaseball afterward. "You could have made all four of us crash with that stunt! Including Pearl!" she had chided, referring to Electra's partner who was one of Dinah's friends and barely an adult. "And it wasn't fair to Electra to make him pull you along like that!"
Greaseball had not been pleased with her siding with the enemy. "Okay, that does it. I'm giving you air," he had sneered, pushing her off his holdings. "You race with me, you use my rules. You had your chance. You blew it. Now we're through."
Dinah had immediately tried to apologize, but Greaseball had told her to get lost. He had then knocked her away, causing her to fall to her knees.
Within seconds, their mutual friend, Red Caboose, had shown up to congratulate them, having left the race track himself. For a brief moment Dinah had hoped that Red's presence would make Greaseball change his mind. Yet Greaseball had looked straight at the red wagon and shook his head. "She's on her own," he had said and turned away from Dinah, leaving her on that dark track.
Red Caboose had been a dear and tried to cheer her up, but at the time Dinah had not wanted company. Accepting Red's comfort then had felt like admitting Greaseball rejecting her was... permanent.
Dinah hugged herself, squeezing her eyes shut. Greaseball had to come back. Even if he could survive without her, surely the years they've been together had to mean something. Most trains said that lovers from different companies could not have a long-lasting relationship, but everyone on both the Union Pacific and Control's private Wilton, Slingsby & Gershwin Railway praised Greaseball and Dinah as the perfect couple. Countless magazine articles lauded them for finding true love. Teenage coachlings begged Dinah for advice on finding their own hunky engines. Dinah knew Greaseball had the whole roster of Union Pacific ladies to choose from, and some of those ladies were far prettier, especially the first-class gals. However, the dreamboat celebrity had chosen her as both his carriage and his race partner. Nobody could throw away three years of bliss over a silly argument.
Right?
Of course not, she told herself. It'll be fine. It HAS to be fine.
She tried to focus on all the good times they had shared together: the picnics in the mountains when he would lie back with his head on her lap and let her feed him, the moonlight rides along the river, or the time they had gone to Seattle for an interview after last year's racing victory and had spent their free hours enjoying everything the Emerald City had to offer. Greaseball would praise her cooking since it helped him to carb up for races, and he had taught her a few punches to defend herself against any wagons wanting to battle with a carriage with frilly petticoat during a competition.
A sad smile tugged on her lips. Greaseball was good at keeping her safe that way - if he could not swing a punch himself to defend her, he would make sure she could protect herself with either her own fists or her words. Greaseball had his own share of enemies thanks to being the reigning champion: jealous engines tried to take a punch at him, and when the diesel was in work mode, some humans jeered at his avatar as he walked by. Yet Greaseball always knew what to do or say, no matter what life threw at him.
She could remember the first time she ever got to see him up close...
Ordinarily, Dinah would have never stepped into that bakery. Her express train usually flew past Franklin Station, but that day the Honeydew Special had pulled into a siding because the dispatcher had alerted the train to an automobile accident on the tracks half a mile ahead. As there was no way to redirect them to one of the Wilton, Slingsby & Gershwin's alternate tracks without adding an unnecessary amount of hours to their journey, Franklin Station served as their temporary terminal.
The humans of the dining staff and a few car attendants crowded in a corner of Dinah's kitchen.
"The passengers are going to be complaining the whole rest of the way," declared Nina, the brown-haired woman in her thirties. She sat on one of Dinah's counters, swinging her crossed ankles. "That guy who made a scene at breakfast - the one with the goatee - was saying he was going to 'call the right people and get you all fired for this.'" She twitched her fingers to make air quotes and rolled her eyes behind square glasses.
"As if Control would take that seriously," said Dinah - that is, she spoke through the mannequin-like blonde avatar which she used to communicate with humans in work mode. Some lines had trains speak to the crew through TV monitors, but Dinah had been fortunate enough to have originally come from a company that used avatars and allowed their dining cars to be active in their own kitchen. The carriage reached into one of her cupboards and pulled out a box filled with bags of cookies. "Should we go through and offer the passengers water and free snacks while they wait?" she suggested.
"A few will want a stiff drink," remarked Josh, who acted as Dinah's sous chef this trip. "At least Didi is keeping the juice flowing so that the A.C. works," he added, referring to the diesel engine powering their train.
"We might be here awhile from the way the dispatcher talked about the accident," said Nina. She stretched her arms, leaning back against the interior wall - Dinah resisted the impulse to ask her not to leave smudges. "I could do with some coffee from Winchell's Donuts right about now - no offense, Di," she said quickly, turning to the blonde avatar.
The dining car smiled at her. "No, it's nice to have variety." Dinah could make something serviceable with the grounds inside the Honeydew Special's coffee maker, but even she could only do so much ever since Control said the budget could no longer afford the tasty syrups for specialty drinks. (Dinah suspected they could have had the money if Control had not installed that big mechanical bridge in the racing arena, but she would never say it within earshot.)
While the humans began to discuss their favorite kinds of coffee and which donuts tasted better, Dinah half-listened to their chatter as she started filling up pitchers with ice and cool water. Anne, one of the waitresses, crossed the tiny floor to help her.
Dinah did not hide a smile as they worked. On her old line, some of her human coworkers wouldn't have apologized to a machine like Nina had or lend her a hand like Anne. Her assistant chef back home had often tried to undermine her, and not all of the staff had listened to her. However, that was the nice thing about working on Control's railroad: with the sheer popularity of Control's train races in his home yard, humans employees who were hired for his passenger trains had to possess the kind of temperament that was equally genial to passengers, crew members, and avatars.
And the supervisors don't let passengers bully the trains, Dinah thought with a thankful look toward the sky as she placed the first finished pitcher on the prep counter. She could remember the time when Madeira, a bar car from her old yard, had been accused of shortchanging a customer. Her supervisor had given the rude human the extra money without even counting the register. When the evening total came up short, the missing money had been taken out of Madeira's paycheck. Here on the Honeydew Special and Control's other respectable trains on the W.S.G., the crew looked after each other regardless of how much flesh they possessed.
After Anne had left to take two pitchers toward the front of the train where the chair-car avatars could start distributing the refreshments, Josh suddenly tapped his chin. "Hey, my cousin lives here in Franklin," he said, pointing out Dinah's left window toward the visible buildings. "There's a pretty good bakery on the corner of this block. We can radio Didi and the engine crew that we're going on a coffee run while we wait."
They drew plastic straws, and within moments Dinah and Nina detrained onto the bits of ballast and weeds, and they crossed the tracks to the town beyond the station's fence. Nina carried the collection of credit cards and twenty dollar bills from the crew in her purse while Dinah came along to help her haul back the two black coffees, four ice teas, one hot cocoa, two macchiatos, and the three organic green-tea lattes which Josh promised would be worth every cent (plus an extra-light decaf with two sugars for the hard-working Didi, courtesy of Nina).
As they were about to leave the station, Dinah touched Nina's arm, stopping her. "Oooh, look at that Union Pacific engine!" she said, pointing toward a siding behind the Honeydew Special. "They look so distinguished!"
Since Control favored Greaseball and wanted to foster good will, he allowed a select number of Union Pacific trains to use W.S.G. tracks if they filed a request two weeks in advance. The yellow engine Dinah studied now rested in work mode and seemed well maintained. Although they were too far away for Dinah to see their numbers or to get a glance at their avatar through the windows to tell if they were a man or a woman, Dinah could see that their front had a distinct shape, called a bulldog nose.
"Hmm, looks like an E series," commented Nina, who had been a rail enthusiast even before she started working on the W.S.G. She squinted through her square glasses. "They look a little bit like Greaseball from this distance, don't you think?"
"I wish!" laughed Dinah as they started walking again. "I would marry him on the spot if I saw him!" Greaseball was the handsome racer who had been the champion of the world race for the past three years, and he caused many a carriage to sigh whenever he appeared on T.V. Although Dinah lived in Control's yard, she had never had high enough security clearance to get to talk to the racers. The closest she had ever come to meeting the Union Pacific racer was last year when one of his attendants had come by the food booth where she had been volunteering on race night. The assistant train had asked Dinah's supervisor for a bowl of brown rice with vegetables to deliver to Greaseball's track. Dinah had been chosen to deliver the bowl, but she had only reached the edge of his track before his attendant took the rice from her. Dinah swore to this day that she had seen Greaseball lifting dumbbells in the distance.
As the two coworkers ambled down the warm sidewalk, Dinah shielded her eyes against the bright sunlight, but she did not mind the glare as she absorbed the sights of the colorful business buildings and the smells of the decorative flowers that lined the sidewalk. The calm zephyr felt gorgeous against her tactile sensors. She did not get a lot of opportunities to leave her car using her avatar as the mechanical puppet had a limited range: usually if she wanted to go somewhere with her human friends, it meant grabbing a bite to eat at a McDonald's inside a city train depot.
Of course - Dinah laughed a little to herself as she adjusted her uniform shirt against her stiff torso - she usually was the one railroad employee in a group who did not need to consume any substance, but centuries ago trains had been given the ability to eat by over enthusiastic inventors who wanted their creations to be grand testaments to their geniuses.
Dinah glanced at her synthetic body. While in racing mode she might have worn something more casual like a tablecloth dress, her avatar was expected to wear the uniform of the Wilton, Slingsby & Gershwin Railroad. Her blonde curls always had to look professional, and if one of her brown eyes stopped working, she had to make sure the replacements were matching colors (no heterochromia for trains). She also had to take care that her artificial hands did not receive any lasting scuffs and scratches when she worked in the kitchen. From a distance, her avatar resembled a normal human in her twenties, but a closer examination would reveal that she did not quite move the same way as a natural being, and she often fell back to her tick of walking with her palms flat and horizontal. Nina sometimes said she looked like she was about to curtsy when she did that.
At least it's safer to have an avatar on this line than back home, Dinah thought. After all, she knew she could encounter worse than a misplaced curl or a few scratches from peeling potatoes - a whole lot worse.
Finally, they reached the quaint bakery on the corner, and the door chimed as they hurried into the air conditioning. Dinah could not help closing her eyes as the aroma of cinnamon buns and brewing dark-roast coffee greeted her. Nina got in line while Dinah moseyed to the part of the counter that had a handwritten sign which said PICK UP HERE.
However, hardly two seconds after Dinah had stopped to admire the display case's array of cupcakes, cookies, and breakfast quiches, a voice on the other side of the counter said, "Are you planning to buy food for yourself?"
Dinah jumped a little and turned her to see a red-haired woman with trapezoid glasses and a brown apron frowning at her. The coach flashed a quick smile. "Just lookin' at these tasty treats, ma'am," she said cordially, "but I do want to try a cup of that green-tea latte. I've heard great things about it."
The woman snorted and moved away.
Rude, thought Dinah, but she hid her annoyance with a placid grin and went back to studying the selection of sugar cookies with rainbow sprinkles. It was better not to make a fuss.
Soon enough the line thinned, and Nina reached the amiable teenage boy working the cash register. However, the woman in the trapezoid glasses tapped the younger man on the shoulder and motioned him to the back of the store. She seemed to be his supervisor.
Dinah tensed a little.
Nina gave the baker an apologetic smile. "This might take a while," she began, propping her blue purse on the counter to pull out the credit cards. After working in customer service, Dinah knew Nina made an effort to be extra polite to people in restaurants and retail. "First, I need a hot tea for me in a to-go cup and also a decaf, extra light with one sugar. That's for our loco," she added amicably.
The new cashier narrowed her eyes, causing her glasses to rise with her crinkling nose. "Your what?"
"Our locomotive," explained Nina, adjusting her own glasses. "Didi is doing a great job pulling us, so she ought to get a treat."
The other woman's slit eyes flicked to Dinah. "Her?"
"I'm the dining car," said Dinah quietly, moving closer to Nina. She kept her face calm even though her heart began to sink like an elevator.
The baker looked back at Nina. "So, you want to treat a machine for doing what it was programmed to do?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you applaud your toaster when the bread pops up?"
"If my toaster could also sing, dance, and pull me to Seattle in two days, I would," replied Nina with a frown. "Anyway, can we get back to my order? We're kinda on a schedule."
The baker removed her hands from the register. "Tell me which orders are for real people first," she insisted.
Nina blinked at her. "Pardon?"
The red-haired baker gave Nina a look as if the railroad employee had drooled on the counter. "Which orders are going to people who are alive and which ones are for your train dolls," she clarified. "If I'm going to spend the money on ingredients, I want to know that my merchandise is not contributing to more food waste in this country." She straightened her shoulders. "I donate a good chunk of my profits to the homeless shelter in town, and I'm not gonna sell a donut to a machine with a fake stomach when kids will go hungry tonight."
"That's a pretty backwards way of thinking - " Nina started to say, but a touch from a mechanical hand upon her arm made her stop and look at Dinah.
The dining car struggled to keep her sad smile in place. "C'mon, Nina," she said quietly. "We're not gonna change her mind today."
"But, Dinah - "
However, Dinah exerted more force, taking advantage of her mechanical limbs to guide the brunette human toward the door. The store had a few tables by the front window for customers to enjoy coffee, and Dinah tried not to look at the dining patrons who had stopped their chatter to watch them leave. None made a move toward her.
The carriage's throat tightened. She felt lower than earthworm in a coal mine with every step toward the exit, but she tried to conceal it. Working on Control's express train had made her forget just how unwelcoming some civilians could be in railroad towns. It sickened her to think that this kind of bakery could be found just down the street from a W.S.G. station, but the carriage was not about to let this incident escalate into something for the evening news. It was a fool train that looked for trouble with a human, as Granny Waldorf would have said.
"There's coffee back in my kitchen," Dinah continued. "We'll make do with what we got." The sooner they got back to the more welcoming Wilton Yard, the better.
However, Nina looked over her shoulder at the coach, gritting her teeth. "It's the tail end of the twentieth century, Dinah," she whispered. "She shouldn't be allowed to treat you like this."
Dinah just gave a wry shake of her head. "Ain't no law against - "
However, the chimes of the bakery door opening silenced her, and Dinah froze in her steps, hands still on Nina's shoulders. She stared as a tall man with dark hair entered the shop - or rather a train avatar entered, taking a moment to remove his dark sunglasses and tuck them on the collar of his white shirt. Dinah did not dare to believe her own senses - but she could not deny that she knew those calculating gray eyes, that chiseled chin, and that well-greased pompadour.
"Whoa," said Nina, gaping as well.
Greaseball's gray eyes had been scanning the store, but they lowered to glance at the two women. The diesel train gave them a wink before he started for the front counter.
"Not you," said the baker, rounding on him. "As I just got done telling those two, we reserve the right to refuse service to anyone in this store."
Dinah gulped, but Greaseball merely raised an eyebrow. "I just came in here to ask directions, lady," he said, unperturbed. "I have a sandwich car on my train who gives me better smelling coffee for free."
The red-haired human's eyes flashed behind her glasses. "And we wonder why other countries hate us when we're giving food to machines." The baker held her arms akimbo. "All of my leftovers go to the homeless shelter while the railroad feeds trains without even caring whether the humans who give them business can pay their rent this month. It's even worse when you things eat in racing mode," she declared. "I could take a bath in one of your shot glasses."
Dinah watched the diesel intently for his reaction. Greaseball was the most beloved train on the planet - not a nobody carriage like her. Surely, he would be the last machine to get turned out of a shop, but her heart wrenched to see him on the receiving end of anti-train bile.
However, Greaseball smiled - his teeth looked just as perfect as they did in the magazines - and he calmly said, "I can respect that idea." He moved closer to the counter.
The baker momentarily looked uncertain as the train man stood in front of her, and her eyes darted about as if she was looking for the phone to call the police. Greaseball, as serene as morning twilight, tapped the counter with a look of deliberation. "If you ever tuned into the train races, you might recognize me as a loco with money. Tell ya what, Miss Baker. I'm gonna donate twenty percent of this year's salary to Franklin's homeless shelter," he promised. "I'll make sure there are news cameras and everything so that more people can start donating and make sure the forgotten folks are fed."
The baker's eyes widened, but she then adjusted her glasses with a jaded snort. "Once I see it for myself, I'll gladly sell you something."
Greaseball gave a laugh. "Darlin'," he said, still in that calm voice, "if you think you're gonna get a cent of my money now, you gotta get your brain to a mechanic." He jerked his thumb toward the door. "As fun as it might be to make a scene and get those cameras down here to show the world where an anti-rail fanatic works and force you to sell me coffee, I think it'll be sweeter for you to know that you could have had a steady customer who makes more in a month than what your podunk shop will make in a year. But at least the homeless shelter will get more from a train man than from a self-righteous twit, right?"
He stepped away from the counter then, leaving the baker seething, and he sauntered to Dinah and Nina. He gave the carriage a smile. "Let's take our business elsewhere, sweet wheels." He held out his arm, and the dining car breathlessly took it. Greaseball guided her out into the bright sunlight with Nina bringing up the rear.
They walked a few feet before Greaseball dropped his arm and turned to face the two women. "Well, that was something," he commented, running a hand over his gorgeous hair. Dinah was struck by how simultaneously casual and breathtaking he looked. He naturally looked his best when it came to scheduled photo shoots and televised racing events, but now he looked a normal (albeit handsome) guy out for an afternoon walk. He wore a black vest over a white shirt with short sleeves that showed off his tan skin and muscles - the magazines said that Greaseball was a professional bodybuilder in addition to a racer. Yet even in his casual dress, he still took obvious care for his appearance as evidenced by his clean fake fingernails and well-greased hair, as if he was expecting to encounter the paparazzi at any second.
I'm actually standing with Greaseball - somebody pinch me!
"How you doing, sweet wheels?" Greaseball suddenly asked, drawing the dining car back to earth.
Dinah's awe at the diesel's close proximity diminished a little, and her thoughts became clear enough to process what had just happened. "Not the worst I've seen," she admitted, lowering her eyes.
Greaseball nodded as he slipped his shades back on. "Me either, darlin'," he said with empathy and a hint of annoyance. "I was built over ten years after the Second World War, but even as a kid I still saw some fools get mad if I bought myself a bottle of pop at a station. They'd start talkin' about how trains went without food when the country was rationing."
Dinah stared at his hardened face in surprise. She had never read that story in any magazine. All at once an image filled her mind of an anxious baby-faced locoboy skulking out of a drugstore while minatory old humans stalked him for wanting to enjoy a treat. The dining car felt a rush of sympathy for the man in front of her, and a small part of her wanted to hold his hand.
"Well," Nina sniffed, "if that baker cared so much about donating her profits to charity, you'd think she wouldn't chase away paying customers." She looked over her shoulder, glaring at the door of the bakery as if she wished her glasses could act like a magnifying glass on ants. "Imagine how much money she could have given to the poor from all the orders we were going to make just now."
"You said it," agreed Greaseball.
Dinah grimaced. "Back on my old line, one of the farm towns in our Tennessee region had a lot of people who lost their jobs," the coach said, wrapping her arms around herself. "After a while, they started getting mad at the railroads for using avatars for human work, and they didn't take kind to the railroad feeding their trains. Protesters would clog the stations when our train came in." Her fingers instinctively went to a particular spot above her right elbow - if she had been in racing mode, she would have touched one of her glass windows. "One lady threw a brick through me."
Nina looked at her in alarm. "That's horrible!"
Dinah shrugged. "Guess when your babies are hungry, it don't sit right with folks for machines to eat," she reflected. She paused briefly and added, "At least it wasn't a Molotov cocktail."
The brunette frowned. "Don't make excuses for jerks, Dinah," she chided. "Even if somebody has a good reason, there's a right way and a wrong way to go about it."
Greaseball jerked a nod, and the mechanisms inside his avatar made a sudden grinding sound. "It's not like it's our fault that the factories gave us workin' taste buds," he argued, "and the food doesn't just sit in our stomachs. At least avatars can turn the sugars into energy when we need it."
Nina nodded. "Exactly."
Dinah hugged herself tighter.
Greaseball made a scoffing sound as he looked down at Dinah's through his shades, but then his features softened a little. He raised his sunglasses, and his gray eyes had a look of interest in them. "So, 'Dinah,' was it? You're from Tennessee?" he asked. "I thought I heard a twang there."
Dinah made a half-smile, glad for the change of subject. "More like my line went through parts of Tennessee and Kentucky," she explained. "It was just big enough to offer dining-car services. It got bought by a bigger company last year, and Control hired some of us."
A smile stretched across the diesel's tan face, and he leaned in closer. "Man, I love Tennessee, especially Memphis," he told her. "I've been to Graceland fifteen times. Gonna go again next month if it works out."
Dinah laughed. "Graceland is nowhere near the Memphis Central Station that I recall."
"No, but if you got money and get off the freight line at the right spot and hire a semi-truck with a flatbed to drive you in work mode, it's about two miles," he answered, and his eyes danced a little. "I've got just about every album the King ever released."
"Oh, you'd get along fine with my granny!" cried Dinah, clasping her hands together. "She actually was the diner on one of Elvis's train rides."
"Get off the track!"
"Swear on sweet tea!" Dinah insisted, laying a hand over her heart while she made the Wheel Scouts sign with the other. "She got him to autograph the ticket for his meal, and she has it framed alongside the family portraits. Mama tells her that it'll make for a nice nest egg, but Granny says she'll never sell it."
"My kinda coach," grinned Greaseball.
Dinah nodded. "Where other kids learn songs like 'Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star' or 'The Itsy Bitsy Spider' first, Granny Waldorf had me singing 'I Want You, I Need You I Love You' as soon as I could talk."
The diesel train laughed, and the sound made Dinah's spirit lift a little higher. Then he lowered his sunglasses again, and his grin became a satisfied smirk. "Well, I can't just meet a Tennessean Elvis fan livin' this far West and not offer to buy her a drink," he purred. "Gotta be a nice water hole somewhere near the track, sweet wheels." He extended his hand to the carriage. "I'm Greaseball, if I didn't mention it."
Dinah's heart fluttered. "I know!" she all but squealed, not even trying to control the silly smile that lit up her fair face. "I'm a huge fan!"
However, an awkward cough at Dinah's side made the carriage suddenly remember her human coworker existed. "We can't," Nina said, and she gave the dining car an apologetic look as if to say, I don't mean to be a third wheel. "They're probably gonna clear the track soon, and we're just out here on a coffee run."
Dinah had to conceal her disappointment. "Yeah," she conceded. "Duty first."
Greaseball regarded Nina for a moment, but then he shrugged. "Que sera sera." He looped his thumbs into the pockets of his leather pants. "I'll walk with you ladies," he offered. "One of the perks of being the champ each year is that Control lets me use his rails whenever I want. Glad I chose today to take this route," he added, and his eyes trailed over Dinah in a way that made a wonderful warmth flood over her.
Back at the Honeydew Special, the human crew and other avatars wanted to meet Greaseball and shake his hand, and they got to hear about the red-haired baker. Josh declared that he would make sure his cousin and her family would never shop there again. Didi the engine said she would have made a bigger fuss if she had been there. Dinah barely heard any of the conversation: she just kept shivering with delight as Greaseball stepped about her kitchen and dining room - never in her wildest dream did she ever imagine him coming onto her train or sitting on her chairs.
However, just as Dinah regained enough sense to realize she could offer Greaseball something from her menu to eat, the call came in that the wreckage had been removed from the track, and Greaseball had to return to his own train.
"I'll be seeing you," the diesel grinned after he had stepped outside, and he gave Dinah a wink before he sauntered toward his own train, the Pacific Daylight.
As Didi started up her engines and pulled the Honeydew on its way, Dinah reflected that she would tell her grandchildren about the time she almost went on a date with Greaseball.
However, kismet appeared to have something else in mind for her story's ending.
Later that week Greaseball came to visit Wilton Yard; Control practically shrieked through the PA system when the diesel appeared on his security cameras, and the typhoon was ready to throw a celebration for his favorite racer. However, Greaseball asked if Dinah could be excused from any of her evening duties so that he could take her for a ride onto UP territory for that drink he had promised her.
As they rolled off together, Dinah could not imagine ever feeling happier.
Dinah traced the dark water with her exposed finger, finding comfort in the cool surface and using it to anchor her to the pleasant memories that followed. She and Greaseball had started regularly seeing each after that day. Greaseball would often call her his "best girl," although it seemed like an eternity before he would introduce her as his girlfriend. He had even balked when she had suggested they celebrate their first anniversary, but then he had surprised Dinah by whisking her off to a weekend in California to enjoy private dining services from a wine train.
Greaseball could be unpredictable like that. One moment he would tease her with blonde jokes, but then he would praise her brain mechanisms for coming up with a healthy menu for his training regime. If she said something that upset him, he might insinuate that he would start racing with his sandwich car or one of the Union Pacific's several thousand coaches, but the next day he would grab her hand and tell her they only had an hour to train before their dinner reservations.
But what is it now? Dinah wondered. Were they over for good? Or would he come back once he was satisfied that she was miserable without him? Oh, why had she even cared about that Electra! Why had she called Greaseball out on cheating a stranger when she could lose him forever!
Don't make excuses for jerks, Dinah. Nina's words from all those years ago echoed in her mind, but Dinah shook her head, trying to block them out.
"He's not a jerk," she mumbled to herself. "He's just been under stress 'cause of the race." If Greaseball gave her one more chance, she didn't care what he did in the final race! She had been a nobody before she met him, and she was a nobody without him. Greaseball was the only man in the world who made her feel like she mattered in the grand scheme of things.
However, just as a fresh lump rose to her throat, two female voices broke into her thoughts.
"Yoohoo! Dinah!"
"Over here!"
Dinah flinched and turned her head toward land. Her friend, Buffy the buffet car, had a hand the couplers of Spitshine, who was one of the black-clad engines in Greaseball's gang of comrades. Ashley the smoking car brought up the rear of their train, and she fidgeted with one of her cigarettes, even though she wouldn't be able to enjoy it once Spitshine started rolling again.
Dinah hesitated, remaining in her spot for a long moment. Had Greaseball told them yet about their disconnection? However, as she got to her wheels and skated closer, neither of her friends rushed forward to give her a post-breakup group hug or tell her that Greaseball was a fool for losing her. A small ray of relief shone through Dinah's heartache. If Greaseball wasn't telling other vehicles about what had happened, that meant it wasn't really official.
As she returned to dry land, Dinah gave the girls her best grin, using her years of customer service to hide all traces of despair. "Howdy," she sang, and her palms flattened into her curtsy-like tic. "Just had to grab a quiet moment to myself."
Ashley and Buffy both nodded.
"Gotta save your strength for the final," grinned Buffy.
Dinah fluffed at her checkered skirt. "Who won the second heat?" she asked casually.
To her surprise, Spitshine snorted and the two coaches exchanged wearied expressions. "You'll never believe it," Ashley began.
"Second place went to Nintendo with Volta the freezer truck," continued Buffy. "First place was… Poppa with Dustin."
Dinah blinked. "You're joshing me." Poppa racing? And winning? With a large hopper?
Their diesel engine scoffed. "Phft! Old guy got lucky," sneered Spitshine. "Didn't do him good anyway. The steamer broke down at the finish line. Now Rusty's taking him place."
"Oh!" cried Dinah, covering her mouth.
"Poppa's fine now," Buffy assured her even as she shot Spitshine a dirty look. "I saw him pulling Dustin and Red Caboose around earlier, but he ain't gonna be racing for a long while."
"So, the teams then are Greaseball and you," Ashley listed, counting with her fingers. "Electra and Pearl, then Nintendo and Volta, and Rusty with whoever he can get."
"You gonna volunteer, toots?" snickered Spitshine, but the smoking car ignored him.
"We're heading to meet the others by the uphill track's entrance. Greaseball's probably already there," added Buffy, giving Dinah a wink. "C'mon!"
Dinah nodded, making sure her face radiated sunshine. She wanted to ask more about Poppa's race - and why he would race and why with Dustin the big hopper of all cars - but the mention of Greaseball made her heart fly to her throat. She could not just tell the girls what had happened, especially if there was a good chance it was only a temporary problem, so the only course was to join the train. Buffy unhitched to let the dining car between her and Spitshine, and the diesel pulled them toward the better illuminated portion of the yard, which was exclusive to the racers and their teams.
Dinah's heart fluttered as she imagined seeing her locomotive. Had he forgiven yet? Would he welcome her or tell her to get lost again? However, as the staff entrance of the uphill race course loomed appeared on the other side of a trestle, Dinah began to think of the final race and took courage. Greaseball preferred racing with coaches over work wagons or freight trucks, even female ones. He liked using partners built for high speeds, and the only carriages available were Buffy, Ashley, and Pearl, who was already with Electra. Since none of the three would ever hurt Dinah by teaming up with Greaseball, that meant the diner's beloved loco would have to take her back.
A genuine, bright smile finally crossed her once tear-stained face. She really had nothing to worry about. Fate had brought the sweethearts together, and it looked like Fate would keep doing her job.
THE END
The 1st heat - There used to be a video of the race from the 1st US tour where you can see that in the last few seconds of the race, it's just Greaseball and Electra left racing. Greaseball grabs Electra's couplings, forcing a tie. Normally in versions that had "That Was Cheating," Dinah confronts Greaseball about hurting the National that CB/Caboose is racing with (Hashamoto or Turnov depending upon production). However, in the 1st US Tour how Caboose takes out Turnov is done in a way that Dinah wouldn't necessarily think Greaseball would had anything to do with it. So... it would seem in that version, Dinah was complaining about Greaseball cheating Electra. (Well, THAT gives "A Different Tactic" a whole other layer...)
Spitshine - Since only 3 of Greaseball's large gang have names, I decided to give another guy one. Fun activity: when you watch videos of "The Rap", check out who is pulling the coaches. In both London versions, Bobo pulls the girls (makes sense as he's Ashley's partner). In the German version, it's Weltschaft/Ruhrgold (despite being Joule's partner - there's a fanfic there, writers! Get on it!) In the Vegas, it's Nintendo (despite being Volta's partner). In the Broadway, Japan tour, and US tour, it's a gang member.
At least avatars can turn the sugars into energy when we need it. - In Strip #218 of Megatokyo, Ping the robot girl says she can get energy from eating sugars.
The Pacific Daylight - in the old London show, Control says Greaseball pulls a train by that name. (Interesting enough "Daylight" trains were what the Southern Pacific called their trains, not the Union Pacific. However, the SP was eventually bought by the UP, years after StEx's debut.)