Fix-It Man

[churbooseanon]

Summary: Life was a usual and expected thing for Sarge, until she happened to walk into his garage.

This was originally going to be a piece for Relocation-Verse until I realized Sarge already had a job there that wasn’t related to this at all. But then I already had a cute Sarge/Grey (what would that be?) story finished so whatever. Happy story.

 

Fix-It Man

    “Excuse me, is anyone here?”

    There were a few things in the world that annoyed Sarge more than customers who had the gall to call out like that when his legs were most clearly sticking out from under a vehicle. How many times had he nearly banged his head on the underside of some filthy rich asshole’s car because they didn’t understand the concept of not getting their mechanic hurt. What was so hard to understand about that, though? Did the money go to their heads and shut off the common sense centers of their brains?

    Sarge didn’t voice any of those thoughts, of course. The common sense center of his brain was perfectly functional. and chances were that since Lopez hadn’t opened his mouth to warn him of someone’s approach, they looked made out of money. There was only so many times Lopez could handle stuck up richies taking his preferred usage of his native language poorly before he stopped talking around them altogether. It was bad enough that Sarge got treated like a crazy old man they tolerated, but Lopez literally being treated like he was a servant to fetch them coffee or whatever, pissed them man off to no end. So he let Sarge and his far superior common sense centers rule over the wealthy idiots who probably thought headlight fluid was a thing.

    With a sigh he pushed himself out from under the car and put his hand on the side of it to push himself up into a sitting position. That, of course, was when he saw the woman. She wasn’t like most of the people who came here. He got tired people who seemed about ready to scream over their car being broken down, or people owning expensive German cars that Sarge was licensed to repair. She didn’t seem like either of those. She wasn’t a normal person from the clothes she worse. From what he knew from his nephew’s crazy babbling, the clothing was quite expensive and fashionable, from the warm purple sweater to the white and floaty overshirt that seemed to billow behind her as she walked. Her ‘make-up game’ was something young Franklin called ‘on point’ from the light way it shadowed her eyes but created a smoky purple effect, a subtle decision that was beyond simply beautiful and went straight into alluring. Yet there was a messy, thrown together look to the bun her hair was up in that said she wasn’t putting as much effort into her appearance as she seemed. The mess wasn’t artful, more like someone just quickly tied their hair back to keep it out of their eyes. Lopez often did that with his own curls, and Sarge knew there was no fashion, just practicality. It was something done by someone more focused on their work than their looks, and as much as Sarge hated to admit it, he loved the way she made it look. The way she looked.Her beauty was even enough for him to forgive that sing-song calling out.

    “Yeah?” Sarge asked as he pushed to his feet. “What can I do you for?”

    The woman strolled quietly forward, inspecting a rack of wrenches and other tools. Her focus actually turned entirely onto them and Sarge frowned as he grabbed a rag out of his pocket to clean his hands. It wasn’t until he got to her side that the woman looked up at him at all, and when she did so it was with a smile that could only be called radiant.

    “Oh, silly me, I forgot what I was doing,” she giggled cheerfully. “Did you say something?”

    “Asked if there was something I could do,” Sarge sighed, trying not to roll his eyes.

    “Right!” the woman chuckles. “Come to have you look at my poor car. The thing needs new filters for the cabin and the engine, and the fan belt is looking a little iffy.”

    Sarge had to raise an eyebrow at that. Most people came in with vague comments about sounds they heard or some bullshit story that their friend had X, Y, or Z happen to them and now they needed him to check for that. But the woman seemed aware enough of what was going on. Most of them were even things that could be done at home, so he was even more confused by her.

    “Sounds like you know what you’re about to me,” Sarge noted as he nodded his head outside. “Show me the little miss and I’ll get her up and running.”

    “Him,” the woman corrected. “And I do. Machines are so much fun to play with and fix, but my boss made me swear not to risk myself with repairs. Not anymore. Plus I need my tires balanced and rotated, and I don’t have the equipment for that at home so… here I am?”

    Well, that he understood. Still, the little woman was moving now, bouncing outside to reveal… a Volkswagon Bug. Not one of those sissy looking new ones, but a classic. Sarge was going to have to beat Lopez to the two punches. The thing was that the bug looked insanely new. The purple paint sparkled and gleamed with loving attention that had no doubt been put into caring for the vehicle. It even looked relatively freshly waxed. Hell, even the tires shone.

    “Wow,” Sarge mumbled, appreciating the look of it, “someone takes good care of this old man.”

    “Thanks,” the woman cooed in delight. “Figure if I treat him well, he’ll take care of me.”

    True enough. Sarge tried to explain that to people sometimes and it never really clicked. This woman got it, though. It made him smile. Still, the question remained.

    “Why can’t you fix most of this yourself?” he asked as he moved around the vehicle to give a cursory inspection. “Seems like you’re quite interested in cars.”

    The woman sighed. “So I work pretty seriously with my hands, and my boss is worried I’m going to get too hurt to continue my work. It’s silly but I guess I get his point.”

    “What do you do?” Sarge asked as he moved to pop the rear to look over the engine.

    “Oh, silly me,” the woman laughed, shaking her head before moving to Sarge and offering her hand. “Doctor Emily Grey.”

    Oh, well, that explained the protective about hands thing. Doctors needed them as their main tools, didn’t they? Sarge could respect that and he offered his hand back. Her shake was firm and warm to the point where Sarge was actually impressed.

    “Sarge,” he answered plainly. “This here is my place.”

    “Oh lovely,” she smiled. “Are you responsible for the cute toys that get donated to the children’s ward for Christmas? I heard the kids talking about Santa Sarge once.”

    Oh. Well, he hadn’t known his reputation preceded him that far. He grinned and nodded in agreement.

    “Yeah, that would be me, Doctor. Gotta help the kids. Ain’t good, being in the hospital when you’re little and it’s Christmas. Parents can’t, like, make it better. Cause they gotta worry and you can’t bring all the gifts to them. So I help a little. Just small things to make them smile and make the day better.”

    “You’re a hero,” Emily laughed, shaking her head. Then she was up on her tiptoes kissing his cheek lightly. “There. A gift for a hero. Fix my car quickly and you’ll get another for making my day.”

    She winked, tossing him her keys before walking toward the office, no doubt to sit down. And Sarge was left staring after her for a while. Smiling like a fool.