Chapter Text
This can’t be happening. Ryland Grace- Doctor Ryland Grace- is going to be late to his very important lab job- that for some reason kept him even after the UNESCO disaster- all because my goddamn car is breaking down. Again.
I try to keep it pushing, seeing if maybe the rattling is just something with the road, but wisps of smoke become clouds as my car jitters to a stop, foot finally finding the brake because if she’s already broken now, I can’t afford to break her worse. Literally. This job doesn’t pay much to begin with, let alone to workers they keep on board out of pity and a need for spare hands. It takes so much more effort than it should to pull over on the residential road, thick white smoke billowing out from under the hood of the piece of crap car Colt and I had bought from some shady dealership back in college- but hey, at least it’d been cheap- and jabbing a finger angrily against the button for the hazards. It pushes the joint just wrong, enough to hurt, but I can’t be bothered right now. My forehead smacks against the wheel painfully as I sag forward in defeat, muttering a string of PG and R-rated curses against the vehicle under my breath. I usually try to avoid cussing, but after I just fell from the heights of academia back to the LA streets, it’s not worth it to try too hard. At least I was in a less busy part of the city when my car broke down, I can’t imagine trying to pull over through the traffic on Sepulveda or I-10.
I can’t bring myself to do anything for a few long minutes, eyes closed tight and pressed against the dark leather of the steering wheel to keep them that way. It takes a lot of deep breaths and heavy silence- except for the hiss of whatever is causing that smoke- to calm down enough to do anything. I text Colt first, just a quick message. Not to raise alarm, I don’t want to talk to him while I’m stressed out, just to inform. Not that I don’t love my brother, just that his love language is teasing and I think I’d rather die than snap at him right now while I’m already emotionally volatile and we’re both too stubborn to back down until after everything’s been said and done, as we saw far too often after his accident three years ago.
Ry: Car broke down. Calling a mechanic now, just wanted to let you know in case anything else happens. Love you! delivered 10:11am
I switch to my browser before I can see the message get read or the typing bubble appear. If they do at all, that is. It’s like 3am in Australia, there’s no way he’s still awake unless Jean Claude got to barking or the film he’s on needs him on set, but I doubt they do, at least not this early. Either way, I’m on my own. I search for the cheapest mechanic there is nearby, or at least cheapest that offers a towing service. Chop Shop. The name doesn’t give me hope, but the place looks good in the photos, and seems reasonable enough price-wise. It’s another few deep breaths before my finger finally hits the call button that sets the ball rolling. It’s nearly noon before the tow truck pulls up, picks up me and my old blue Chevy Cobalt, and takes me and my car to this little garage I’ve never heard of.
As we pull up there’s an older man out front, presumably the owner. I thank the driver as I jump out of the cab and make my way over to the man, trying to be polite but reading as more awkward in the end anyway. I glance over as the tow truck lets my car down in front of one of the few open spots in the garage. A man is there, guiding it into the spot. He looks about my age, and holy shhh-ugar. He’s covered in grease stains, a smear of it across his temple, streaks of black grease all up and down his hands and lower arms, staining his white tank top. It’s a boiling summer day, and yet he doesn’t look nearly as sweaty as I feel, stuck in my blue jeans and button up, the fabric keeping a hold of the heat way too well. At least I left my jacket at home today, not for having known it would be uncharacteristically hot for LA in May, just rushing out the door late.
I flush and rip my gaze away abruptly when he makes eye contact, turning back to the older man as I finally reach him, offering my hand to shake.
“Hello, sir! I’m Ryland. I believe we spoke on the phone?” I try my best to introduce myself, forcing my voice not to waver with anxiety as we shake hands. His are leathered and old, worn with age and work, clearly a mechanic even if we hadn’t met at his shop. “You must be Shannon,” I ask, trying to break the ice, to try and get things going with a smooth start so it doesn’t end up like that one time Colt and I took in the same car that’s in the shop now and ended up getting overcharged to hell and back since he kept bickering with the employees about anything and everything.
“That’s me, alright! How are you, young man?” He asks, finally dropping the firm handshake, wiping his wrinkled forehead with the back of his hand in the summer heat. I open my mouth to respond before he moves on, head turning towards my car and limping towards it, leading the way. “Mind telling me what’s going on with the car?” He doesn’t turn his head back to look at me as we walk, and I find myself starting with a few quicker steps before finally slowing to match his pace.
“Well, uh.. I was on my way to work when she started jolting a little, and I thought it was just potholes until the hood started smoking, and that’s all I know.” I pause, trying to think about what else I can tell him to help make this in any way easier. “The smoke was white, if that means anything,” is all I can offer, trying to phrase it as a statement instead of the question it comes out as. By the time I get those words out, we’re in front of the bay where my car is being held. My shoulders slump in disappointment as I see her up on the lift, looking worse than ever. I know then and there that I’m stuck with my bike for the foreseeable future, at least until she’s fixed, but until then I’m gonna have to bike way too far just to get to work and back. It’s gonna be a pain in the butt, and I’m not looking forward to it.
The man from before is gone, at least for now, but his things are here. There's a white jacket thrown over a chair, a golden embroidered scorpion on the back. There’s red shop rags littered around the floor, stained with oil just like the concrete itself, but it doesn’t draw my attention for long, the quick glance around my surroundings brought back to Shannon as he starts talking.
“I’ll have the kid take a look at it, get you an estimate on how long it’ll take to fix. Shouldn’t be too long though, he’s amazing with the cars. Came in here around 5, maybe 6 years ago asking for a job, so I put him to the test to see what he could do. Hired him on the spot at about half the wages I normally pay. I’ve been exploiting him ever since. Don’t tell him.” He jokes, elbowing me just on the wrong side of a little too harshly. I laugh, small and weak but surprisingly genuine, and let him lead me further into the shop, unsure when or where I should stop tailing him.
“Hey kid! Come here for a second, would you?” He calls out, and the man emerges again, face somehow perfectly blank. Not quite in a judgemental or rude way, it just is. “Could you take a look at that Chevy Cobalt in bay 7 for me? Ryland here says it started smoking on the way to work, white from under the hood.” He explains, and the man nods, a quiet “yeah, sure,” leaving lips that seem to barely move as he starts to walk past us. Shannon turns to me again, grinning wide without any hint of the impending doom that usually comes when mechanics or car salesmen smile at you.
“Alright, kid! He’s got an eye on it, so it shouldn’t be long now. If you wanna take a seat wherever, we’ll come find you once we have a time and price estimate.” Shannon tells me, and I manage a nod and that stupid stuntman thumbs up I picked up from Colt as he walks away. I try to find a seat that I don't have to move things away from or off of to sit on. It doesn’t happen, and I feel anxious being too close to the better looking cars, so I stay put in bay 7, trying not to watch the man work. It’s hard not to when that's all there is to watch. Eventually I end up with my arms crossed over my chest, leaning against a blank space on the wall with my sleeves rolled up and top few buttons undone to try and fight the heat that feels like a brick oven in the old garage, a white box fan the only airflow, a saving grace in this heat. My eyes keep roaming the shop, trying not to make the man working on my car feel stared at or judged. It seems he can sense my gaze anyways, and I just about jump out of my skin when he speaks up.
“The engine block is cracked. Leaking coolant caused the smoke. Should take about 3-5 days to weld it back together, maybe more if anything else comes in.” He says, monotonous, but as if it's just the natural state of his voice instead of an intent to be rude or short. “Cost is usually around three to four thousand, but I can get it done for two and a half. Less, depending on how long it takes.” I nod, not quite sure what to say in response to that, quietly resigning myself to biking the 6 miles to work every day and forking over most of my savings. We share a few more minutes of silence as I stare at the clouds moving across the sky, mind blanking as I block out thoughts about my current situation. It’s the middle of the day, but I’m already ready to go home and mope around before I have to bike tomorrow.
“You need a ride home?” The words startle me out of my stupor, eyes blinking rapidly as I readjust my field of focus until my eyes find his.
“Huh?”
“Do you need a ride? Your car’s gonna be out of commission for a few days, I figure that leaves you without a way home tonight.”
The offer surprises me. One, I wasn’t expecting it in general, and two, it's from him, the man who’s barely spoken this whole time. He’s got no idea where I live, how far out of his way it would be, none of it. I stutter a moment, struggling to say as much before the words finally tumble out.
“Oh! No, that's alright, thank you! I wouldn’t want you to go too far out of your way, especially when you’re already helping me out so much by fixing her up, thank you though!”
“How do you know if it’s out of my way?” He asks, eyes meeting mine and head tilting just so, his arms still raised and hands buried in the undercarriage of my car. His voice doesn’t sound like it holds a challenge, just a straightforward question, seeking for some modicum of information that, for some reason, I decide to give him.
“I live over at the Park Plaza Hotel Apartments, I don’t want to make you-”
“That’s where I live.” He cuts off my ramble before I can try to politely decline his offer again, and it stuns me to quiet as he continues, “I can give you a ride after I get off work at six.” The words are matter-of-fact in a way that soothes me. The offer isn’t somehow malicious, it is just genuinely easier.
“I- yeah. Yeah, I can hang out until then.” I smile, offering a nod in both confirmation and thanks, getting a little smile and nod back as he returns to working on my car. I finally check my phone. It’s a little past 2 now. Time flies, especially when you’re waiting an hour and a half to get your car towed and even longer to be properly assessed. I’ve got 4 hours left to kill, and a string of texts waiting from Colt.
Colt: What happened? Everything okay? Delivered 11:56
Colt: Ry? Delivered 12:01
Colt: Ryyyyyyyyyyyyy Delivered 12:14
Colt: Ry if you don’t answer me im assuming your dead and flying out there Delivered 1:27
Colt: I mean not actually but still Delivered 1:28
Colt: Answer me!! Delivered 1:29
I snort a laugh at the amount of texts waiting, quickly typing out a response of my own. The sounds of movement to my left stop for just a second before they resume. I hardly notice they stopped at all until they start again, but it doesn't quite catch my attention fully as I text Colt back.
Ry: Well hello to you too, Colton Read 2:19
Ry: You’re* Read 2:20
Colt: 🙄 Read 2:21
Ry: Everything’s fine now! At a mechanics and they said its just a cracked engine block, they’ll fix it for a discount Read 2:23
Colt: Okay, glad YOU’RE ok, kid. Love you Read 2:25
Ry: LMAO Read 2:26
Ry: Love you too Read 2:28
I put my phone back in my pocket with a laugh, taking a second to orient myself before turning my gaze back to the man working on my car.
“I’m gonna pop out and get lunch really fast. Do you want anything?” My voice stays steadier than it did earlier as I offer, finding my footing back in my confidence now that I’ve cooled down fully from this morning, talked to Colt and confirmed everything will be okay, and have grown used to the monotonous presence of the man with no name.
“Huh?” He sounds just as bewildered as I did earlier, and I can’t help but smile a little wider at that parallel.
“I saw a place down the block that I was gonna go grab lunch from, I wanted to know if you wanted anything. I figured if you’re this busy you probably haven't eaten yet,” I gesture to the cars as I say this, all 7 bays full of cars in different stages of being worked on, “and I wanna make it even for the ride later if that’s okay.” I mimic the tone he used when offering the ride earlier, the coaxing that it wasn’t a big deal and not to overthink it, and catch the smile on his face for a brief second before he turns his gaze back up to the undercarriage of the car, still working on something inside.
“Sure, if it’s not too much of a bother. Which one was it?” Even without him facing me the smile is audible on his voice.
“The sandwich place, I think? The one a block away.”
“Can I get a number 5, please?”
I’m surprised by how quickly he knew what he wanted, but also not that surprised at all. I don’t want to assume wrong, but I have a hunch that we’re in a very similar sort of boat here, so I get it. Plus, he works a block away, there's no way it's not a common enough haunt.
“Yeah, of course! I’ll be right back!”
—
The rest of the day flies by in a blur of short conversations, working out my new morning schedule so I can bike to work on time, and watching the world outside the Chop Shop. It’s surprisingly peaceful, especially as the afternoon starts to cool down, and thank god for that. By the time I awkwardly climb in his silver Chevy Impala the sun is beginning to set, casting the city in a golden glow so gorgeous I understand why they named it the City of Angels. The drive home is quiet, but not awkward, and by the time he’s parked in the parking garage next to our building we’ve got a little conversation going. It lasts as we enter the building, and he ends up walking me to my door by accident as we chat about nothing and everything all at once.
“Oh! This one’s mine,” I perk up when I realize I’ve led us to my first floor apartment, and watch those analytical eyes take in everything in front of them. Kathy and Chelsea are taking up the living room again, my neighbor and neighbor’s neighbor to the right respectively. They’re friendly enough, but far too gossipy for me, always digging into my personal life in ways I can’t seem to get comfortable with no matter how many times it happens.
“Thank you. For the ride and for walking me home, I mean. I really appreciate it.” My cheeks flush a little as I realize what this must look like to Kathy and Chelsea, who’ve stopped talking, and the blush I sport doesn’t help my case at all. Luckily he pipes in before I can make matters any worse for myself.
“Any time. You know, I’m just two floors up. If you ever need anything you’re welcome to swing by.” I nod, accepting the offer before I can overthink and returning the sentiment with a muttered ‘you too’ before he continues. “Do you have a way to get to work? I can give you a ride there and back until your car’s fixed.”
“You’ve already done so much, I wouldn’t want to-”
“If you don't make money, I don't get paid for fixing your car. Think of it that way, if it helps.” The words aren't rude, which is surprising considering the ones that were chosen and the way they were structured should read to be. Instead it feels like the same coaxing from earlier. Not into or out of a decision, but that it’s okay to make one in the first place. I smile as I nod and offer my hand to shake.
“It’s a deal then? I’ll buy you as many sandwiches as you want in return,” I offer it with a teasing tone, but I mean it. We shake hands in the dimly lit hall of the burnt orange apartments, and he tries and fails to bite down his smile before bidding me a goodnight in that soft-spoken voice and turning to disappear into the stairwell. It’s only once the doors close that Kathy and Chelsea pipe up.
“Sooooo, who’s that tall handsome stranger you’ve got?” Kathy’s tone is teasing, clearly tipsy, and I can't help but smile as I open my door.
“Don’t start,” is all I say as I glance over my shoulder before closing my door behind me.
—
It takes him 4 days to fix my car. 4 days of rides to and from work, 8am-5pm, always walking the few blocks to the Chop Shop in that hour between when our shifts end to meet him in the middle, always with a number 5 from the Sandwich Shack down the road in hand. By the time my car is back in order we’ve fallen fondly into our little routine, at least from my point of view.
“Hey! Got your sandwich,” I grin as I toss it gently at his chest, slow enough that he can catch it, already knowing to ask for the place to double wrap it in the paper after watching the grease on his hands stain and threaten to soak through the first time I’d come back with one that day my car first got brought in.
“Good timing,” he quips back, but that now-familiar smile doesn’t come to his face. He keeps talking before I can ask what’s wrong. “Car’s all fixed. Should be good to go once I top up the coolant.” His voice holds an air of happiness at having it fixed, but also something underneath that I can’t quite decipher as easily, not before it’s gone and he’s moved on to washing his hands, sandwich left on the rolling toolbox while he does.
“Oh!” I chirp back, feeling happy it's done but also the sting of loss, the fear of a severed connection now that there’s not something to keep us in contact. I try not to let it worm its way in as I smile at his back. “Thank you so much again, really. For everything.” I know it's a little preemptive, but it feels right to thank him for what must be the tenth time this week. Shannon walks into the garage at that exact moment, seeming to have a sixth sense for when we’re about to leave, and shoots him the same look as always before looking at me.
“Well! All sorted out, kiddo. Payment’s taken care of, everything’s welded back up, you should be good to get out of here once he finishes topping things off!” His hand claps me on the shoulder as he hobbles over. “Now you be sure to come back and visit, yeah? Never seen the kid’s morale this high, ‘cept when he got a stunt on the first take.” That makes something in my chest stir, and my eyes stay on his back as he moves through the shop, Shannon’s eyes seeming to follow my gaze with a knowing smile as he squeezes my shoulder and then walks away.
“I’ll leave you two to get the rest sorted out. Drive safe, both of you! And close up the shop, would you?” And just like that he’s gone, disappeared just as quickly as he came. My eyes focus back on the man who’s been such a lifesaver, taking a few steps sheepishly closer as he closes my hood for good, patting it twice to signify it’s done before leaning his weight on the palms pressed against the metal.
“Hey.. Wanna come over and have drinks some time? Or just hang out or something? You don’t have to, I just.. really appreciate everything you’ve done, y’know?” I don't know how to say that I want to keep spending time with him, that I like his company, so I settle for this much and hope he gets the message. I’m not sure if he does or not as he taps my hood again and stands, tossing my keys at my chest with a slow arc before flashing me a strained smile and walking back to the depths of the garage, presumably to start closing down.
I take that as my sign to leave, cutting my losses and climbing in my car. I start her up, and it’s the smoothest she’s ever run. I linger for a long moment before adjusting the rearview back into place, and catch the fleeting reflection of a wave before he disappears from sight, and I pull out from the garage to head back home.
Alone.