Chapter Text
Good Samaritan
Wrench was used to the good people of San Francisco giving him a wide berth on the street. "I know, I know," he'd quipped to Marcus once. "It's the neck tattoo." Marcus had laughed, but he’d only been half joking - there were weirder folks walking around the city than a masked punk with LEDs for eyes. But coupled with the tattoos (and the fact he was almost always packing heat), he knew he was, at best, mildly intimidating, and at worst downright terrifying. It mostly came down to what neighbourhood you were from. That was okay with him - he had a reputation to uphold after all.
That reputation apparently didn't stop him from helping little old ladies cross the street.
She was stuck right in the middle of Market Street, clutching an impressive silver-topped cane and sporting a red duffel coat that made her look like a candy apple. A dissonant chorus of car horns rang out as drivers expressed their displeasure at having to drive around her. For her part, she faced them down with the kind of confidence you only get from living through several wars. Then a douchebag on a moped nearly clipped her, and within three seconds Wrench legged it across two lanes (adding to the chorus of horns) and reached the grandma’s side. He expected her to take one look at him and shriek with horror, maybe even faint, but her face creased into a smile as she gave him a wink.
"Well, it's not every day a masked stranger comes to an old lady's aid, is it?" she said, looking him up and down. Wrench found himself winking back, his mask translating the expression, which seemed to delight her further.
"Need a hand?" He held out an arm, and she flirtatiously took it.
"Why, thank you. Stupid me, the lights were red just up the street-" she gestured with her cane “-and I thought I could cut across here. I'm not as fast as I used to be!" Sticking his head out, Wrench saw an opening in the traffic and took it, the old lady shuffling along beside him. "You must think I'm a silly old coot."
"Nah, I've seen worse," he said. It was true, in a sense. He and Marcus had caused far worse traffic chaos in the course of a lazy afternoon. They both jumped, startled, as a car sped around the corner and came screeching to a halt. A guy in a suit stuck his head out of the window and leaned on his horn.
"HEY! Get your grandma out of the goddamn road!"
Wrench replied swiftly with a universal hand signal that definitely wasn't in the road code, and to his surprise and eternal delight, so did the old lady. The driver's face was starting to turn purple, but he ducked back inside his car. As soon as Wrench and his new friend had reached the sidewalk, he floored it and sped away down the street.
"Phew!" said the lady, dropping Wrench's arm and fanning herself with the end of her scarf. “Who would have thought that crossing the road would be such an adventure at seventy-three?” She grinned sassily at Wrench and held out a hand. When he took it, it was soft and warm. “I’m Frannie, by the way.”
"Wrench." Frannie peered at the tattoos on his hand.
"Ohh, you like computers?" she exclaimed. “My grandson loves computers. He's a programmer." Her face lit up with pride, and Wrench couldn't help but feel a pang of… envy? Regret? He was sure of one thing; he wished Frannie was his grandma. "I'm about to go and see him, why don't you come along?”
“Uh, that’s real sweet, but- hey!” Wrench’s reply was lost on Frannie, who grabbed his wrist and was already pulling him along, her stride suspiciously faster now she was safely on the sidewalk. Wrench wasn’t sure if this constituted a kidnapping, but he had to admit he kind of wanted to see the grandson's reaction when he turned up.
The meeting spot was a bakery about a block away. They passed at least two crosswalks on the way, but Wrench decided not to point them out. He suspected Frannie refused to use them on principle, and felt his shriveled, blackened heart swell a little with kinship. She’d taken his arm again, earning them more than a few second glances from the other patrons. If anything, she seemed to revel in the attention.
“Order something nice, dear,” she said, nodding at the menu board above the counter. “My treat.”
“Really?” Wrench wasn’t about to turn down free food, even if it came from a strange old lady who liked to pick fights with moving vehicles. The black lump in his chest inflated a little more.
“Of course! You’re too skinny! Just like my grandson.” Frannie tutted and patted the padding around her stomach. “You don’t get to be my age without some extra insulation.”
Wrench was deciding between a cream-filled doughnut and a glitter-sprinkled cupcake the size of his fist when something behind him caught Frannie’s attention. She gasped, theatrically pressing a hand to her bosom.
“There you are! Hello, my love!”
"Hi, Gram Gram,” came the more measured reply. Wrench’s head snapped up. He knew that voice.
"Whoah, Josh? ” He spun around just in time to see his friend freeze mid-step, half inside the shop entrance.
"Wrench? " Josh's eyes went so wide Wrench could see his mask - two glowing O's - reflected in them. He glanced from Wrench, to Frannie, and back again with a kind of slow dawning horror that meant hundreds of scenarios were playing out in his head, each one worse than the last.
"Oh, you two know each other? Oh!" Frannie slapped her forehead. "You probably work at the same company! Do you work with those bitcode thingies too?” Josh was trying to communicate something to Wrench over Frannie’s shoulder with the sheer force of his stare. Wrench wasn’t exactly fluent in Joshinese (who was?) but he had a strong suspicion that Frannie was blissfully ignorant of what her grandson really got up to every day, and that enlightening her was not a wise course of action.
“...Bitcoin?”
“That’s what I said!”
Wrench had forgotten Frannie’s original question, but she was looking at him expectantly. His mask felt suddenly clammy against his skin.
“Yes?” he guessed, and from the satisfied nod Frannie gave him it seemed he’d gotten the right answer. Josh audibly exhaled and slipped into one of the padded booths.
“You two go ahead and catch up,” said Frannie kindly, patting Wrench on the shoulder. “I’ll order.”
“What are you doing here?” Josh hissed across the little table when Wrench slid in opposite him.
“Frannie invited me,” said Wrench, feeling a touch defensive. “I saved her life, dude. You should be thanking me.” Josh was hardly listening. He rubbed his palms nervously on his pants.
“You can’t tell her anything about DedSec,” he said, the look in his eyes turning pleading.
“Doy, I guessed that. First rule of hacker club, much?”
“Here we go, boys!” Frannie squashed herself into the booth beside Josh and slid a tray laden with goodies onto the table. She’d picked out the glittery cupcake for Wrench, he noticed, and his not-so-shriveled heart grew even more.
Luckily for the boys, Frannie dominated the conversation, which meant as long as they nodded in the right places and made appropriate noises of acknowledgement, they didn’t need to risk blowing their cover. That is, until the questions started.
“So what do you do with bitcodes, dear?” said Frannie, buttering her second scone. “Joshy keeps trying to explain it all to me but it never seems to stick.” she slurped her coffee. “I’m a luddite,” she added proudly. Josh winced.
“Uh, actually, I’m more of a… security guy,” Wrench began, trying to think of something he could talk about that wasn’t overtly illegal. Nothing came to mind.
“Ah yes, cyber security.” Frannie nodded sagely. “Very important, these days, what with everything connected to the internet. Did you hear that someone keeps breaking into the traffic lights?” She shook her head. “Serves the city right, I say! What do they expect, connecting everything to the internet?”
“It is kind of an open invitation,” agreed Wrench, who was enjoying himself immensely. Josh kicked him under the table. “Not that I want that!” he amended quickly. “Fighting back against hackers and… ne'er-do-wells… is my job.” (It wasn’t a complete lie, he told himself. He had recently sucker-punched a member of Prime Eight.)
“Of course, you young things probably like having everything connected to your smart phones, don’t you?” said Frannie, hardly listening. “Well, I’d like to see anyone pwn this!” she reached into her handbag and produced an ancient, decidedly un-smart phone. It even had soft buttons. Josh sank back against the padded seat as Frannie grinned, clearly pleased with herself.
“Is that an original Lokia?”
“You’re damn right it is! They don’t make ‘em like this any more!”
“Dude!” Wrench gestured to it with both hands, practically hovering in his seat. “Your Gram Gram has an original Lokia!”
“I know.” Judging by Josh’s expression, he’d had this conversation before. Several times.
“You have the coolest grandma.”
“That’s the third time you’ve said that.”
They were standing outside the bakery so that Wrench could smoke - Frannie had popped to the restroom ‘to powder my nose’, as she put it. This meant Josh got to relax, at least for a few minutes. That is, until a movement at the window of the tattoo parlour next door caught his eye.
“Oh no,” he said, with feeling. Wrench followed his gaze to the window and drew back instinctively. There was someone - a horribly familiar someone - waving at them through the glass.
“Don’t make eye contact,” Wrench told him, as Lenni waved coquettishly and winked in Josh’s direction. They spun around, but it was too late and they both knew it.
“She’s going to blow our cover!” Josh hissed. Wrench grabbed his shoulders.
“Dude, okay, calm down-” Josh shook him off, waving cigarette smoke out of his face.
“-I am calm!” They sprang apart as Frannie emerged from the bakery, oblivious to the drama playing out less than a foot away.
“I’m back!” she announced. “Now, where were we? Oh, is that another friend of yours?” Lenni waggled her fingers - she was bearing down on the three of them like a particularly determined bulldog. Josh opened his mouth to vehemently deny any connection with her, but Frannie was already waving back, clearly eager to meet another of Josh’s ‘friends’. All he could do was shoot a panicked look at Wrench. Wrench shrugged, helpless.
“Heeeey , Sugar Pie!” Lenni’s face stretched into a cheshire cat grin - she was thoroughly enjoying his discomfort. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your granny?”