Work Text:
"So, what do you do for work?"
Janine swallows down a sigh and wishes she'd ordered something stronger than ginger ale. But this is a first date at a restaurant she's never been to, and even with pepper spray on her keychain, she doesn't want to risk not having her wits about her on the two-bus ride home.
The thing is, no matter how she answers the question, she knows the follow-up isn't going to be a conversation worth having.
"I'm an office manager for a small business," she says, pulling up her mental list of expected answers as Greg-maybe-Gary (Jerry?) takes a moment to consider her answer.
"So, you're the secretary? But you can sign off on deliveries?"
Janine briefly entertains pepper spraying Greg/Gary/Jerry (Larry?) right then and there. There's a tourist couple two tables over. It'd be the highlight of their trip to the city. "Well, don't sell me short," she says blandly. "I also pick the snacks for the break room."
*
"Good morning, Janine," Egon says as he walks by her desk the next morning. He's in his coveralls and dusted in a fine layer of dirt. There's something in his left hand. It's smoldering. Janine can smell burnt circuits and melted plastic.
"Good morning, Dr. Spengler," she replies, going back to her typing without looking at his face. It's easier like that after bad dates. Egon's made his complete lack of interest clear, and Janine is fine with that. She still finds him fascinating, but that doesn't mean she has to sit and moon over him.
"Men are only good for money," her mother had told her when she was thirteen. Her father had walked out six weeks prior, and her mother was searching the couch cushions for enough change for two cans of soup to tide them over until their food stamps were approved. "Make your own money, and make men useless in your life unless you want them there, Janine."
"Yes, Ma," Janine had replied, thinking her mother was simply dramatic and tired and hungry. But, as time went on, Janine couldn't help but recognize and respect her mother's viewpoint. She got her first job at fifteen, stocking shelves at the bodega around the corner. Her Spanish wasn't good, but she learned what she needed as she went. She put her money away in her dresser, tucked into a sock that was tucked into her least favorite skirt. At eighteen, she took it out and counted it, then called around to the community colleges while her ma sat next to her at the kitchen table and nodded encouragement.
"Do you offer an associate's degree in business management?" she asked over and over.
"Yes," the people on the other end had said. Several had added, "but you might consider secretarial school."
"I can type and take shorthand just fine," Janine would reply, and each time her mother would smile. She'd gotten herself through secretarial school after Janine's father had left and taught Janine everything she'd learned as a way to keep it all in her head. She'd worked her way up from a secretary in a typing pool to an executive assistant making more than some of her friends' husbands. She'd never re-married. Never dated. Janine never doubted her mother was happy.
"Well, secretarial school teaches other skills."
"I don't want to be a secretary. I want to run an office."
And now, here she was, sitting in a drafty old firehouse with two space heaters under her desk. Dr. Venkman was at his desk behind her swearing at the log book. Dr. Stanz was shouting down at Dr. Spengler about something, and Winston was sitting on the bench by the lockers, polishing his boots.
"Why do you polish your boots?" Janine asks. "They'll get slimed on the next call."
Winston shrugs and glances at Ecto-1. "The car's not broken today. Gotta do something."
"Well, if you get really bored, feel free to tackle my filing."
Winston grins at her, and Janine grins in return. She likes Winston. It's nice to have someone around who doesn't have more degrees than she has pairs of mittens.
*
She goes on a date with a man named Brandon. He wears a light grey, double-breasted suit and a bright red tie. Janine's read plenty of books about how to do business and how to look while doing it. She is certain that tie is Brandon's power tie. He's trying to look important and worth noticing. It does not bode well for his chances at being a good conversationalist.
"Tell me about people you work with," Brandon says, and Janine briefly considers that maybe she's wrong. Maybe Brandon is a good conversationalist. Asking about the people she works with gives her a chance to tell a few stories, to show some bits and pieces of her personality.
"Well, I work with four men," she says. "One of them has a hobby of collecting spores, molds, and fungi."
Brandon's face twists into a grimace. "That sounds like a bad-smelling hobby."
It should be funny, Janine thinks. Brandon doesn't know Egon. He can only respond to what she tells him, and until she'd actually gone into the lab to get a look at Egon's collection, she'd assumed the same. But Egon's spores, molds, and fungi don't smell bad. They don't really smell at all. They're all in little petri dishes, blooming in different patterns. With their round little homes and interesting shapes, Janine sees them as a scientific form of cross stitch. She's never said this out loud to anyone, and she's not going to start with Brad.
"He keeps things neat," she says instead.
*
Brandon tries to insist on seeing her home. Janine insists he does not. Brandon tries to argue. Janine stamps the heel of her shoe (a two-inch, tapered heel) down hard on the instep of his (undoubtedly expensive) leather loafer. Brandon limps away, cursing under his breath. Janine flips him off when he looks back and hails a cab with her other hand. Cabs are a luxury she usually avoids, but it's the easiest way to make certain Brandon doesn't try to follow her home.
*
"Hey, Janine," Ray says when he stops by her desk two days later. He's been out on busts all morning and has three slips of pink carbon paper in his hand, ready to turn them over to her for invoicing. "Are you okay? You've seemed a little off the last couple of days."
Janine opens her mouth to assure him she's fine. But what comes out instead is, "I had a bad date a couple of nights ago and had to stamp on the man's foot for him to get the message."
"Oh," Ray says, and his entire body takes on a sagging defeat that somehow doesn't make Janine feel guilty. It makes her feel seen and understood. "I'm sorry to hear that," Ray adds. "Can I do anything?"
"No. It's fine. I'm just disappointed I didn't get to tase him."
Ray laughs, and Janine feels herself smile. "Just make sure you aim for center mass," Ray says.
Janine shrugs. "It doesn't matter, really. I don't own a taser."
"Really?"
"I've got pepper spray, and I fight dirty," Janine replies, giving him a brief smile. "I do all right."
"Clearly," Ray replies with that bright, warm smile he gives everyone he likes.
Janine feels her own smile grow. She likes Dr. Stanz. He's kind and warm-hearted. It's a shame she has absolutely no interest in dating him. She imagines it would be very nice. He probably gives foot rubs.
*
As Janine is packing up at the end of the day, Egon walks up to her desk and sets down a small, black box. It's made of plastic and has front latches. It's similar to the boxes they use to transport full ghost traps if a ghost has been especially rowdy.
"I'm off in three minutes," she says to Egon. "You want that thing dumped in the containment unit, you do it yourself."
"What?" Egon asks, looking more owlish than usual behind his glasses. "This isn't--Oh, I see," he says, appearing to realize what the box looks like. "No. It's not a trap." He looks at Janine again, and there's a worried furrow between his eyebrows. "Ray mentioned you didn't have a taser, so I thought you'd like one."
Janine looks at the box, then back at Egon. Then back at the box. She opens the latches and lifts the lid. Nestled in carefully cut foam is a black rectangle, tapered in the middle.
"I made it," Egon says. "It provides the same output as any taser of good quality, but it won't require a recharge every time. I tested it all day. It can be used up to five times before recharge, and the recharge should only take about half an hour."
"Wow," Janine says, lifting the taser from the foam. It fits into her palm easily. "You made this for me?"
"Yes," Egon says. "It's important you're safe."
Janine looks at him again. Egon's expression hasn't changed. He looks bland-faced, like he's just recited a shopping list. "Thank you," she says slowly and tucks the taser into her coat pocket.
Egon smiles for the barest moment, then nods sharply and walks away without another word.
Janine sits down to change out of her heels and into her sneakers. A shadow falls over her desk, and she sighs. "I'm already late leaving, Dr. Venkman. You want me for five more minutes, overtime starts now."
"Nah, I'm tired of looking at you," Peter replies.
He's got a shit-eating grin on his face when Janine looks up. She briefly considers taking her new taser for a test drive. "Then I'll leave," she says.
"He likes you," Peter says quietly, glancing over her head in the direction Egon went. "He's really, really, outstandingly, Olympic-level bad at having feelings, but he likes you."
Janine finishes tying her sneakers before she looks up again. "And I care, why?"
Peter looks pained to have to talk about feelings. Janine decides its the best moment of her week. "Maybe you don't care about him like that," Peter replies. He chews on his lip for a moment, glancing around again. "But a man does not spend a whole day in the lab making the world's best taser and refusing to discuss a patent and some serious dough if he doesn't have...regard...for the person he's making it for."
"Regard?" Janine asks. "Who are you? Jane Austen?"
Peter snorts. "Not even close. But Egon? He's a Mr. Darcy head-to-toe. Hell, he even used to sleep in a nightshirt."
Janine considers that as she picks up her purse and keys. She likes Mr. Darcy. He's no heartthrob by regular standards, but he's dependable and kind, even if sometimes he's awkward.
The weight of the taser in Janine's pocket as she walks to the bus starts to feel like something significant. The weight of Egon's regard, perhaps. He likes her enough to make her something to keep her safe. Maybe he's not a lost cause.
*
Janine stands up her date that night. She knows she has no real interest. The morning after, she walks into the firehouse, then takes the stairs to the lab. Egon's on a stool, soldering something and wearing giant goggles that don't make his eyes look any larger than his glasses. "The Natural History Museum has an exhibit about colds, viruses, and vaccines. I know it's not spores, molds, and fungi, but I thought you'd like to go with me."
Egon doesn't look up from his soldering. Janine waits him out. She knows what he's like when he's working. He sometimes needs a few moments to come back to Earth.
"Well, many early vaccines were created from mold, and some colds and viruses have an interesting relationship with fungi and spores. I'd be very interested to go and talk to you about it all."
Janine nods sharply. "Good. It's on Thursday night. Do you have plans Thursday night?"
Egon's smile is shy, but it's unquestionably genuine. "I do now," he says. "What time?"
"We could leave straight from here at five."
"That sounds very nice. Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Janine walks out of the lab and back down the stairs. She sits at her desk and feels a thrill run through her. Men aren't useful for anything but money, her mother had said. Find a career so you don't need one. Janine smiles as she takes out the accounting ledger to double-check Dr. Venkman's numbers. She loves her work. She's good at it. She's smart and loves to learn. She doesn't need Egon Spengler to make her life easier, but maybe she's finally figured out how to get Egon Spengler close enough to make her life what she wants on all sides.