The trio were in Francis' garage, a remarkably clean room that provided a stark contrast to Greased Lightning. Which as the name suggested, was coated in a film of dust and oil.
Gilbert stood looking down into the opened car bonnet, pretending to know what he was staring at. He could identify the engine sure enough, but the pipes and cables were all foreign to him.
Antonio took a look over Gilbert's shoulder, noting that Gilbert hadn't touched a thing. Typical of him really, all talk no action.
"You don't have the skills to get this car running smoothly," Antonio teased, gently pushing past Gilbert and getting a look for himself. Without a word he set his head down and outstretched his hand toward Francis, motioning for a flashlight.
Francis passed the light along, and shared a look of confusion with Gilbert, silently asking if he was aware of Antonio's mechanical abilities.
Gilbert retreated to the driver's seat and put his feet up on the dashboard, content to let Antonio to do all the work. "Fine you can do the technical side of it, but I'm picking the paint. How cool will this baby look with lightning bolt decals ?"
Stumped for the second time in under a minute, Francis sat down beside Gilbert. "Why are you suddenly so positive about our endeavour, if I recall correctly you called this 'a piece of scrap'," Francis leaned over Gilbert, close enough for the him to get a whiff of his Givency cologne. "Or are you attempting to focus your attention away from that pretty little Austrian ?"
Gilbert waved his hands in exasperation. "Hardly, I just want to show up Braginsky that's all. Who the hell does he think he is, mocking us ?"
"One minute it's junk, next it's your baby. You seem to like changing your feelings towards things, don't you Gilbert ? People included."
Gilbert held his tongue - quite a feat for him, because there just wasn't any point to arguing with Francis who had already decided that he was hopelessly in love with Roderich and suffering from a major case of denial. At this point he was certain that he could run off to Canada and marry a Mountie and Francis would still insist that Roderich was his soulmate.
Antonio appeared at the side of the car, his olive skin streaked with engine oil. "Ok Gil, can you start it up ?"
Welcoming any reason to avoid Francis' ramblings about his romance, or more accurately -his lack of it, Gilbert did as was asked of him and turned the key. Instead of the sputters and coughs that usually came from the engine, it now gave off a steady rhythm.
Francis' eyes widened, not expecting Antonio to have solved their engine trouble on the first try, but nevertheless he was grateful, gleefully throwing an arm around him. "This calls for celebratory drinks."
Antonio looked horrified. "It's 2pm on a Sunday."
"I meant milkshakes at Frosty's of course."
Ivan Braginsky drove erratically, narrowly avoiding colliding with pedestrians as he turned the corner at Frosty's diner. He sped past Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert, affixing a smile to his face as he waved to them politely. Gilbert who was usually the one to get riled up about Ivan's antics, paid him no attention. While Francis shook his head and scolded his irresponsible driving, Gilbert's mind was elsewhere, thinking of reconciliation with Roderich. He knew that his complicated relationship with Roderich was most likely broken beyond repair, but it never hurt to try. Maybe there was a not so grand gesture he could attempt, or maybe Roderich would be to the type to fall into his arms with some tender words.
"You haven't been listening to me at all have you ?"
"Hmmm ?"
"So you don't have an opinion on whether or not we should race Ivan ? Goodness Gilbert, you're a changed man since you've met Roderich."
"Roderich, Roderich Roderich." Gilbert fumed, pushing open the door to the diner. "I swear to God, if I hear one more thing about . . . Roderich." Gilbert stopped in his tracks. Speak of the devil. There he was, sitting at the counter picking at a basket of fries and smiling as he spoke with Mathias Køhler.
Why on Earth was he with that meathead ? Roderich was smart, witty, and refined, and Mathias was none of those wonderful things.
Was this jealousy, he thought. No it couldn't be, he could have anyone he wanted, right ?
He led Francis and Antonio to a booth, and sat down with his back to Roderich. Something he immediately regretted. Fighting the urge to turn his head and stare, he read the menu with keen interest.
Luckily his friends didn't think it odd that he would read something he should have memorized after years of faithful patronage, and they went about ordering their drinks.
While they chatted amicably with the waitress, Gilbert took the opportunity to make a quick glance back towards Roderich.
Roderich was out of his chair, strolling towards the jukebox with coins in hand, and Gilbert noted that Mathias was staring after him as he walked.
Explaining that something one of the flyers on the wall caught his eye, he rose from the booth and made his way over to the jukebox where the noticeboard was so conventionally located.
Playing it cool, he feigned interest in the various advertisements. Baby sitter for hire - fascinating. Live music here at Frosty's in two days time - how delightful.
A poster for National Bandstands upcoming filming at Rydell High gym - shit he'd almost forgotten about that. The girls had been buzzing about it all Summer, except now that the school year had begun the excitement had died down. But that would no doubt change as the date grew closer.
Then it hit him that he'd probably need a date for the dance. He briefly considered asking Roderich, but perhaps he should get back into his good graces first. But if his new-found friendship with Mathias was anything to go by, he'd already have his date.
Feeling as though he'd done enough browsing, he casually glanced over Roderich shoulder and pointed at the screen, "Great song."
"Not a great selection though." Roderich never raised his head as he spoke, but the fact that he was speaking at all was a good sign in Gilbert's eyes.
"Listen I uh -" Gilbert ran his sweaty palms along the sides of his jeans. Why did saying sorry make him feel so nervous, so vulnerable. Why couldn't he just be honest with Roderich and himself for a change?
Sensing Roderich's growing impatience, he sped things up. "I suppose I just wanted to say sorry for how I acted."
There was a brief silence from Roderich, who clearly expected reasoning's along with apologies. With a sigh he turned away from the jukebox in order to confront Gilbert. "Sorry is all well and good but it doesn't explain your actions."
"The guys were there, and I didn't want to look like a sappy -"
Roderich held his hands up, signalling for Gilbert to stop. "I've heard enough thank you. Now excuse me but I was in the middle of lunch."
Before Roderich had a chance to return to his table, Gilbert took a step in front of him. "Just answer me this, what the hell do you see in Køhler ? He's just some jock."
"Well he hasn't put his reputation ahead of me. And so what if he's good at throwing a football, at least he has a passion. What are you doing with your life Gilbert ?
While Gilbert was left dumbstruck, Roderich tapped the buttons of the jukebox and walked away as the music played on.
He wished he could say that he joined the team for his own enjoyment, not because he felt he had something to prove to Roderich, but that would be a barefaced lie. However it was a lie he intended on sticking to.
The coach assumed that he was joking when he first approached him the locker room, but who could blame him, after all Gilbert was more inclined to sit on the benches than he was to step onto the field.
But coach Ludwig eventually gave into Gilbert's pleas, remembering that on the rare occasions when he would exert himself in gym class, he had shown great strategic skill on the basketball court.
Unfortunately he wasn't a team player and he didn't have much of an aim, (curse his terrible eyesight) which ruled out plenty of sports
The coach suggested wrestling which would have been a great way to work out his frustrations, but after being pinned down one too many times Gilbert reacted with a punch to his attackers nose.
In the end the coach suggested track, because how could Gilbert mess up running ?
Although he hadn't exactly joined the team with the noblest of intentions, Gilbert actually enjoyed his first foray into athleticism, finding that he was much faster than the majority of the other runners, even with tiny white shorts rubbing him the wrong way.
He could feel his calf muscles burning as he ran, and strangely enough he didn't care, because he loved the competition, and he loved watching the scenery meld into a blur as he picked up speed.
And watching the scenery pass him by is precisely what he was doing when he noticed Roderich in the stands, laughing and joking with Mathias.
A sense of rivalry rising within him, he showed off by leaping over hurdles - and as it turned out, he was good at that too. At least he would have been if he hadn't been continually peering over his shoulder to check that Roderich was looking and that he was suitably impressed.
He took a particularity nasty fall over the third hurdle, and by the time he picked himself up off off the track Roderich was beside him, his head cocked ever so slightly to the side, and Gilbert couldn't be sure if he'd prefer that he laugh at him, rather than give him such a pitying look.
"Are you alright ?" Roderich asked, picking gravel from Gilbert's t-shirt. There was no reply from Gilbert, just a shrug as brushed himself clean.
"After the way you've behaved towards me, the least you could do is answer me when I speak to you." Roderich frowned. Really, must Gilbert act like a petulant little boy ?
"The least I could do ? I said I was sorry."
"Oh now that he's offended he has something to say." Roderich teased, the corners of his mouth upturning.
"Well like I said, I really am sorry." Gilbert went quiet then, his mind busy with ways to offhandedly bring up Mathias in conversation. But it was all down to tone, he decided. If he spoke with a smile he'd seem more like a curious friend than a jealous ex. "So what's with you and Mathias, is he taking you to Frosty's tomorrow ?"
Roderich snorted, actually snorted. "We're just friends." Gilbert didn't see what was so funny, both times he'd seen the pair together they'd seemed pretty close. What else was he supposed to think ?
"Well if you don't have a date then I'll take you."
"Oh will you now ?" The corners of Roderich's eyes crinkled as he did his best to hide his smile.
"Yeah, I'll pick you up at eight."
When Gilbert pulled up with Roderich outside Frosty's in his parents car, he was surprised to find how busy the diner was. He figured that the promise of live music would draw a bit of a crowd, but given that it was a Tuesday he hadn't expected that all his friends would show up too.
Tables and chairs had been set to the side, creating a dance space which half the high school seemed to be occupying, their friends amongst them.
Before they allowed themselves to be noticed, Gilbert took Roderich by the hand and led him to a table and hid their faces behind a wall of menus.
"Just wanted to give us some privacy" Gilbert explained, observing Roderich's rather confused expression. He then beckoned the waitress over, a chipper young woman named Michelle, whose long brown hair tickled when she leaned over him to take his order. Burgers and milkshakes they decided.
"Try it." Gilbert insisted, pushing a fry towards Roderich's mouth.
"Absolutely not, it's disgusting." Roderich replied, doing his level best to hide his amusement.
Gilbert scoffed at that, Roderich really ought to try being more adventurous. "It's not disgusting, fries dipped in a milkshake is a culinary masterpiece."
Suddenly the barrier of menus was pulled apart, and between them appeared Francis. "Well don't you two look cute." Vash strolled up behind Francis, his bottom lip slightly bruised, and Roderich couldn't help but wonder if Elizabeta had finally gotten a chance to finish that conversation. But when Francis snaked an arm around Vash's waist - which was promptly pried away - Roderich felt certain that the truth was far more lewd.
"Could say the same to you." Gilbert sneered as Francis pushed a second table into his own, and as Vash called Natalya, Alfred, Elizabeta, and Antonio over to join them. Great, that's just what he wanted, a group date. Patching things up with Roderich was sure to go smoothly with a dozen eyes looking on. Thankfully Roderich didn't seem to mind the intrusions and instead chatted amicably with Elizabeta.
"Anyone got any change, I'm starving here." Alfred groaned, stretching his open palm towards Natalya.
"Ask Elizabeta, she'll be rolling in it soon enough."
"I only said that I was thinking about it, and it's not that profitable." Elizabeta pinched the bridge of her nose, honestly her decision was hard enough without Natalya bringing it up in conversation. Noting that Roderich was staring at her, she quickly did her best to explain. "I've been thinking about dropping out and enrolling in beauty school. Now he -" she said, glaring at Alfred, "seems to think that I'll foot the bill for everything."
Roderich nodded in understanding, but if he were to be completely honest, he'd have to tell her that he found her plans absolutely ridiculous. But he hardly knew Elizabeta, despite how supportive she'd been, and despite what a great friend she was quickly becoming, they just didn't have enough familiarity to start giving each other advice regarding life changing decisions.
As if suddenly remembering that he was in fact on a date, Roderich turned away from Elizabeta and refocused his attention on Gilbert. "I was wondering if you'd like to come over for tea this Sunday."
The group fell silent, hanging on Gilbert's every utterance of 'um'. Eventually his shock subsided enough for him to formulate a reply. "I don't like tea."
Perhaps to ease the awkwardness of the situation, but most likely to because he found his own thoughts to be more interesting, Alfred began his own line of conversation. "So have you all got dates for the National Bandstand event."
There was a collective shaking of heads from all bar Roderich, who simply mouthed a confused 'what' towards Elizabeta.
"It's a televised dance competition," Elizabeta began, the smile on her face clearly conveying her excitement. "and Rydell High was chosen as one of the filming locations. I'm surprised you haven't heard, it's all anyone could talk about all Summer."
"Well he was otherwise occupied all Summer." Vash teased, winking at Roderich and earning himself a look of derision in return.
With that said, the group returned to casual conversation, chatting about clothing for the dance and the latest music, until the diner began to empty, leaving only Roderich, Gilbert, Elizabeta, Francis, and Vash.
"I must admit, I'm a little worried about this dance." Roderich confessed. "Do you dance completely different steps here in America ?" Roderich knew that he didn't have two left feet, by his own judgement he was a pretty good dancer, but still, nerves weren't always rational.
Vash swung around in his chair, coming face to face with Roderich. "Oh I wouldn't worry about it. Someone such as yourself has probably attended countless grand balls in his lifetime, mastered all the waltzes and tangos. Tell me, am I wrong ?"
Ok that was enough, Gilbert thought as he rose from his seat, bringing his glass down to the table with a bang. He hadn't a clue what was wrong with Vash, but for some reason he was acting more sour than usual. "You ready to leave Roderich ? I'll drive you home."
There was a grateful smile from Roderich as he took Gilbert up on his offer, glad to leave the hostile environment.
Francis gave them a friendly wave as they walked out the door together, happy to see Gilbert finally getting his act together and treating Roderich well. However that happiness was short lived as he soon realized that they had left without paying their bill. Turning on the charms, he batted his eyelashes, "Vash be a dear and help me cover this ?"
Elizabeta reclined in her seat, looking on as Vash centred his gaze on Francis, refusing to blink until he understood that there wasn't a hope in hell that he'd help pay. What was going on with them anyway ? Francis was acting more flirtatious than usual, was that just Francis being Francis or was there something more to it ?
Francis threw his hands in the air in defeat, Vash had made up his mind there would be no getting through to him. "What ever is the matter ? You're especially cankerous this evening."
Vash cast his eyes down to the table and took a breath. "Francis, don't start. I really don't want to hear it."
"Start ? At this point I'd prefer to finish things." Francis murmured. Not that there was anything to finish really, they weren't a couple, at least not in the traditional sense.
Without a word, Vash grabbed Roderich's unfinished milkshake and dumped the contents on Francis' lap, unfortunately an added side effect of his aggression was that he splattered dollops of the strawberry liquid on Elizabeta's skirt.
Feeling a little guilty towards Elizabeta, and only Elizabeta, he passed her some napkins before storming out the diner, Francis following behind.
Elizabeta didn't have the energy to argue with Vash, normally she would have wrung his neck for that behaviour, but today she just wasn't up to it. She could play nice with the others, talk about trivial things like dances, but in reality she felt torn in two. She had a tough decision to make, and it being brought up in conversation didn't help matters. On one hand she really did want to enroll in beauty school, but she knew it was a risk, she could end up hating it or failing.
"Are you alright ?" As if the voice had snapped her out of a trance, Elizabeta looked up to see the waitress hovering over her, handing her a dish towel. "If your worried about the skirt, I'm sure it can be dry cleaned."
"It's not the shirt," Elizabeta sighed, dabbing at her clothing with the towel. "I just have a lot to think about."
The plates and cutlery balanced precariously in the left hand, the waitress gave Elizabeta a pat on the shoulder with the left. "I'll leave you to it then. I'll be in the kitchen if you need me."
The waitress dimmed the lights when she left, leaving Elizabeta in the dark with the company of her own thoughts. She was perfectly content to sit alone for a bit and do nothing but run through various scenarios in her head, but the heaven's had other ideas.
A flash of twinkling orange lights appeared on the ceiling, and if she wasn't mistaken, they were accompanied by harps. The lights grew brighter and Elizabeta had to shield her watering eyes to spare her sight.
The blinding lights died away, and blinking back tears she opened her eyes to see an angel.
Well at least she thought he was an angel. He had the wings, the halo, and he was even dressed in a toga. But the angels in Italian frescos never had shaggy hair or thick eyebrows like the man standing before her.
"Who are you ?" she asked, her voice strong despite the fear she felt. She kept her eyes fixed firmly to him, but her hands were scouring her surroundings, searching for a weapon to defend herself with should it come to that.
"I'm your guardian angel." He replied, smirking at her disbelief as he took his seat in what was Vash's chair. Hands steepled beneath his chin, he leaned towards her. "Now I understand you're considering leaving school."
"That's right." Elizabeta stiffened, how could he have known that ? She considered herself religious, she believed in God, but an angel sitting in front of her ? That was far-fetched. The way she saw it, there were two possibilities. Either that was really an angel, or more likely; she had gone completely insane.
"Oh good. Let's get down to it shall we ?" Ironically the smile on the angel's face seemed devilish. Perhaps on anyone else it would have seemed charming, but when a divine being descends from the heavens before your eyes, one can't help but feel intimidated. "Now please don't think me rude, I do only have your best interests at heart, but frankly I'm surprised to see you quitting. Didn't you come here after '56 for a better life ?"
Elizabeta remained silent, for talking back to angel seemed downright blasphemous. But mostly she bit her tongue because she didn't quite know how to respond to a comment so forthright. Her friends had all stayed quiet on the matter, supporting her no matter her decision. But an angel being so candid ? She wasn't quite sure if she appreciated the honesty or if she found him a tad confrontational.
The orange lights recommenced, and the angel was soon enveloped by them. "Remember, there are only a few months of school left. I trust you'll make the right choice Elizabeta."
Lately the students had begun flitting about in excitement, their anticipation growing as the date of the filming approached, dance steps the only topic on the their lips. Even Elizabeta's thoughts revolved exclusively around the National Bandstand, her plans to for beauty school put on hold until after graduation. Divine intervention Vash had called it, oh how little he knew.
Crewmen were swiftly becoming as common in Rydell High as tests and homework, becoming part of the scenery as they loaded their countless cameras and pieces of equipment into the gym.
Navigating their way around boxes of cables and stacks of film that was in the process of being unloaded from tv trucks, Vash and Natalya came face to face with Francis, the very last person the Swiss man wanted to see.
Without so much as an icy stare, Vash brushed passed him and made his way through the school car park with Natalya following close behind. Maybe with enough indifference towards his existence, Francis would come to see that Vash had no interest in speaking to him ever again.
Francis had to admit, (if only to himself) that he was a tad hurt. Sure Vash was snarky and cold, that he'd always been, but lately he was shorter tempered and ruder, as if constantly on edge. Vash was proving himself to be an enigma, but never matter, codes were usually cracked and broken relationships could be repaired. But in the meantime, Francis had an idea as to who could escort him to the dance.
Wedged together between two parked cars, Natalya and Vash were bemoaning their lack of dates for the biggest event in Rydell High history. Normally they would mind attending a dance alone, their enjoyment was not dependent on their relationship status after all. But a televised dance contest was dependent on having a date, and they couldn't very well strut on their own.
Address book open, Natalya let her finger scroll down the list of names. "You could try calling Ki-"
"Already rang him, he'll be out of town." Vash let his eyes ghost across the carpark, searching for any potential candidates. Occasionally he'd let himself consider a passerby, but he'd always dismiss him as unsuitable. It really shouldn't be this hard, he thought to himself. Hadn't he settled for Francis ?
Just as Natalya began listing off some names, he found himself watching as a black, flame emblazoned car came into view. And as he stared at the driver, he found himself recalling that famous quote, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."
Natalya raised a brow, her expression uncertain, an emotion Vash had never seen her display outwardly before. "Are you sure about this ?"
There were no words necessary for Vash's reply, his leap into Ivan Braginsky's passenger seat was answer enough.
A/N:
Technically Gilbert couldn't have married a Mountie, the first female Mounties didn't graduate until 1975 and Grease is set between 1959-60.
I made a brief mention of Gilbert's eyesight as vision problems are common among albinos.
'56 is in reference to The Hungarian Revolution of 1956, after which around 40,000 Hungarians emigrated to the U.S.A
And I apologize for not mentioning this sooner, but canon family relationships don't apply here.
