Popular Mechanics - Victoria

Author’s Note: This takes place in the three-day break between Missions 1 and 2.

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Any automobile mechanic worth his or her salt can point out a faulty part and charge you X amount of money to get it fixed. An honest one tells you when it’s time to let go of your parents’ Toyota and buy a new car. Because the vehicle is fifteen years old, and no amount of nostalgia are going to suddenly produce the parts that have been out of production for the last decade.

Please make the sensible choice and buy a new car before the old one falls apart while you’re driving on the highway. A used one with only a couple thousand miles is perfect, too. And no, just because I’m Japanese doesn’t mean I’m a miracle worker. Those two terms are not interchangeable, just like the carburetor you’re trying to get me to replace. The extent of my magic is being able to diagnose the problem within at least fifteen minutes of popping the hood.

The entire experience was a fascinating exercise in maintaining a stoic front while working with an overly-emotional customer. It is a true story, and one that I occasionally tell at the odd holiday party and reunions with family and friends.

“He actually tried pulling the race card?” Brady says with his mouth half-full with grits. Ew. “Pardon the vulgarity, but what an asshole. Never had someone pull that kind of move while I was working for IT, and I’ve dealt with more short-tempered folks than I can count.”

Sitting across from me, Adrian adopts a pensive gesture. “That’s because you’re British. If my college classmates are anything to go by, your accents are capable of winning over even the most irate of individuals and charming the pants off of impressionable young women.”

“Not when you work for Tech Support and everyone’s screeching about how they did nothing wrong, how everything is my fault even though I’m X miles away from them. Seriously. I’m the one holding the Computer Science degree, not you. Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

That much I can agree on. You’d be surprised at how many people don’t know how their cars work. It’s a sobering fact that never ceases to irritate my family. We’ve all had our fair shares of self-righteous customers who got all of their knowledge from a passing episode of Car Talks.

But I shrug. It’s not the worst thing I’ve had to deal with.  Perhaps the most colorful insult was how I needed to ‘open my eyes’ and check under the hood a second time. Guess who got banned from coming to Yamane Auto Repair for the rest of their lives. And their offspring. My parents are kind of like that.

“You’ve got better impulse control than I do,” Fitz mutters, chasing down an entire mini-carton of milk with a satisfied ‘PAH!’ and smack of her lips. “I for one would’ve clocked the guy if I was in your position. But I can’t say that I’ve got much experience with your kind of trouble. I’m more used to havin’ suspects pay more attention to these,” She gestures to her chest, only covered by a grey Task Force undershirt, “Than the Miranda Rights I’m tryin’ to read them.”

The sound of Brady, MacKay or both of them choking on their food tugs at the corner of my mouth. Geez. You’d think that the priest was to be the expected one to get flustered, but the hacker was surprisingly prudish. Not all the time, though. He had his moments, and I for one had no desire to repeat what I saw as his COMP wallpaper. Oh dear gods no.

But, I digress. It’s expected of me to feel jealousy or even annoyance at how casual Fitz was about her figure, even if she wasn’t trying to provoke a response out of the guys. There was nothing flirtatious in her gesture. It was just a simple statement of the facts. That’s just the way she happens to be.

Still, her past experiences are not one that I could not relate to. Baggy overalls and automotive uniforms tend to hide what little figure that I have. No use crying over what my parents’ genes have given me. Still, it was impossible to completely squash the tiniest sliver of envy at her…proportions. I’m still a girl at the end of the day.

Adrian rolls his eyes in response to her. That was the expected result from him. Being a medical student, it didn’t surprise me in the slightest that he was immune to Fitz’s casual highlight of her body. “Try not to kill them before the end of the day. We’ve still got another few days of rest before they want to send us out on another mission.”

“Eugh. Don’t remind me,” Brady moans, planting his face into the table. “’m still sore from Delaware. I really wish the office would supply some painkillers that’re stronger than Advil.”

“I did ask about that, and the answer is no. Unless you’re in agonizing, post-operational pain or suffering from a terrible disease, the medical depot isn’t going to dispense the stronger stuff. Even took it up with Alger just because I’m a nice guy. You’ll heal on your own.”

“Damn. I’m getting hazard pay for this last operation or I’m gonna bloody riot.”

“It builds character,” MacKay observed, turning the page of his newspaper. A newspaper, in this day and age of digital media. “And while I’m no medical expert outside of basic first aid, I would think that starting painkiller medication is a double-edged sword.”

Adrian nods. “You’re not wrong about that. Painkiller addiction is a serious thing.”

Brady cast the two of them a withering look. “Says the blokes who suffered minimal injuries while fighting the demon.”
Adrian snorts, continuing to eat as MacKay pauses and sets down his paper. “That is true enough. You, Victoria and Murdock did go through the worst of it. Oh, speaking of which, how are you feeling, Victoria?”

I shrug, picking at another piece of chicken. “Like someone took construction paper and gave me dozens of tiny cuts along my body. Some parts hurt to move more than others, but other than that, I can’t complain. The Advil’s working for me.”
He smiles before returning to the newspaper. “Glad to hear it.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’,” Fitz perks up, eyeing me from her side of the table. “It looked really bad when I came up to check on you. Brady-boy was semi-coherent at least. You were knocked the fuck out the other night.”

I can’t help but giggle at her crass language. There’s something oddly endearing about her bluntness, her sheer inability to give a damn and put a filter on her mouth. At least, to me, and the rest of the newly-christened Carina Squad. But I doubt that Commander Alger had the same opinion.

I shrug, taking another bite out of my waffles before responding. While it was nowhere near homemade food, the food that the Task Force had to offer was a top notch, a far cry from my years in college. “Yeah, I guess I was. But I’ve had worse moments.

“Oh fuckin’ hell,” She moans, “Just when I was done forgettin’. Yeah, we’ve certainly had ‘em.”

The two of us share a knowing look, and flashbacks to the first day we recruited our demons are mirrored in our eyes. What we went through in the Blueridge Mountains is something that would never again be recounted through our own mouths.

“Well, it’s different strokes for different folks,” Brady mutters, “In this case, different doses. Vicky, how many pills are you taking?”

I give him a flat look before responding. “The minimum for our age range,” I answer, grabbing the bottle from my sweatshirt pocket. There’s enough pills in the bottle for it to pass of as nearly full as I shake it at him. “One every four to six hours.”

He grimaces. “I’m up to two. And even then, it hurts to hop on the treadmill just for mandatory training hours.”

“It’s perfectly alright to take four,” Adrian eventually says. The tone of his voice isn’t as much foreboding as much as it is cautious, advisory. “Just as long as you wait out for at least twelve hours before the next time you take them.”

Brady perks up, surprised. “Wait, really?”

He nods. “I’ve had doctors tell me that it’s acceptable. Then again, that’s just for my own prognosis and when I had my wisdom teeth yoinked way back when. Two days of Vicodin before my mom switched me to Advil.”

The Englishman seems to take this quite well, even smiling at the news. “Well if that’s the case, then I’d better get started.”

Adrian finishes his meal, setting aside the utensils as he twists in his seat. Even over the dull roar of the cafeteria, I can hear joints pop and crack. “Just keep in mind that I’m not a doctor yet. So be sure to let the infirmary know,” He says once he finishes stretching, a deadly serious look on his face. “And if your stomach starts to act up, then you definitely need to back the dosage up a bit.”

Brady seems to mull the words over in his mind before nodding. “Aye, I’ll do that. Thanks for the heads up on that, mate. Probably saved me a whole world of discomfort.”

“No problem.”

There’s a moment of silence as the rest of us catch up to Adrian. I’m not nearly as much in a rush as some of the others are. MacKay’s pace has increased significantly. Even at early hours, the Archives are constantly full of people doing research. Agents, analysts, and the guys who worked there maintaining the place.

Fitz is the first one to finish, once again chasing down the last remnants of scrambled eggs and bacon with a satisfied noise. “Alright, Sawbones,” She says, smirking as she cleans up her plates. “You said you wanted to hit the sparring pad, right? One hour, then it’s you and me downstairs ”

He nods, meeting her challenge with a grin of his own. “Of course. Don’t expect me to hold back.”

She laughs at that, a raucous noise that gets the attention of nearby diners. “Yeah, well good fuckin’ luck. You’re ten years too early to even hold a thought of beatin’ me.”

The two of them head off, depositing their trays in the proper receptacle. Within a few seconds the two of them head off to the exit, going back and forth with challenges and goading each other on. They disappear as they round the corner, leaving only the three of us behind.

The silence is eventually interrupted by Brady. “…you know, if it weren’t for the fact that they’re friends, I’d be seriously worried for Adrian’s life.”

I raise a cautious eyebrow. The tone of his voice made it impossible to tell whether or not he was being serious or sarcastic. “Meaning…?”

“I would think,” MacKay says, folding his newspaper together, “That in spite of prior occurrences, our intrepid Squad Leader is perfectly safe with her. And this is not even going into how those occurrences were unfortunate accidents.”

Brady is quick to backpedal. “Oh, no I don’t mean it like that. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, no.  I’m not worried about her putting another bullet in him.”

“Then explain,” I frown.

He raises his hands in a gesture of recalcitrance. “Just a joke, is all. She’s almost as bad as some of the boy’s I’ve been to school with in terms of taking a rough approach to things.”

MacKay raises an eyebrow. “As rambunctious as she may be, she does know her limits as well as the right time to rein it in. I think we’ve seen that clearly enough both on orientation day as well as the final battle with Brenda. She knows when to stop.”

“I was bleeding into a car when the last of that happened,” Brady retorted, before softening a bit. “And she did kind of charge headfirst into the water before Adrian gave the order. But I’ll take your word for it. You’re a bloody preacher, MacKay.”

Much to our surprise, the smile MacKay returns to us is melancholic, almost sad in its appearance. “Thank you. I do appreciate the faith and trust you place in my words. But you shouldn’t be so quick to hold everything I say. I’m still human. I still make mistakes.”

He is the next one to leave, bidding the two of us a polite “see you later” before he walks away from the table. He mirrors Fitz and Adrian’s earlier actions, setting his tray down at the station before heading off into the exit. The only deviance in his behavior is his turn left towards the Archives as opposed to the right that they took.

“Well that was…awkward, to say the last,” Brady mutters, flipping open his COMP. “What do you think is up with that?”

I shrug. “Not our business. If he wants to tell us, then he’ll tell us when he wants to.”

He looks uncertain before he nods. “Well, we’ve all got our skeletons in the closet. So, you wanna meet back here for lunch, then? That’s the plan we’ve got set up for all our meals.”

“Yeah, I’ll be here,” I reply as I gather my things together. “I heard that the afternoon hours offer sushi. If their lunch is as good as their breakfast, then I’m more than happy to sit down again.”

“Glad to hear it. D.C. is great and all as a place for good eats, but the Task Force is pretty good as well.”

With that, the two of us return our trays and head out of the cafeteria. Since the two of us suffered the worst of the injuries in the last operation, we had a little more leeway in what we could do. So, by virtue of our inability to perform extraneous physical activity, we had ourselves some more time to focus on other things.

Primarily, demon bonding. I saw the chocolate in Brady’s backpack the other day, and he didn’t ask me about the Pocky I bought from the ethnic store down the road. It seems that the best way to a demon’s heart was through its stomach. And, thankfully, the cuter ones had a penchant and susceptibility for sweets.