barton (awcoffee) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2019-08-07 12:01:00 |
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Clint’s truck wasn’t really important in the scheme of things. In a sense, it wasn’t his either, but still, no one had reported it missing and he’d done an exceptionally good job of getting titles and stuff so that it looked like it was his. Although that also meant that when it got jacked as hell he needed to get it sorted.
It was helpful that he’d met Gaby, grabbing shit for her that time hadn’t really been a trouble for him, Lucky had enjoyed getting out of the apartment and Clint had stopped wallowing about the gunshot for a while. And it meant he knew a mechanic when he inadvertently fucked up his truck and needed to get the damn thing fixed.
And really, it wasn’t like he didn’t know what happened, his truck was not built for any kind of chase ever, like not even Lucky down the street. So dealing with Jacques’ former fucking employees again, in Los Angeles, was a pain in his already bruised ass. So when the front wheels locked one way, and his steering wheel was going the other way, it wasn’t that surprising.
Getting the death trap to the garage took a little over forty minutes like he’d estimated, but that was sort of expected given traffic was a thing and he was fighting the wheel the whole way. Given that he valued Lucky’s life more than his own, Clint had left his far too trusting companion with Simone’s kids upstairs.
“Jesus fuck,” since Gaby said she could fit him in, he wasn’t too surprised that there was already a space to park up, “my arms are killing.” But he did bring coffee -because of course he did- and had one ready to offer Gaby or that he’d drink himself.
---
Gaby was leaning against the main entrance enjoying the sun as Clint’s truck rumbled in. She’d waved him into the waiting space and pushed off the wall to amble over as he climbed out and immediately complained about having sore arms. She was hardly surprised, she could hear the truck rumbling and rattling as it approached and the strain in his upper body had been apparent as he’d pulled the car in. She might need to get Tim to help her, she thought, since there was no way she had the strength to get it into the garage.
“I can imagine,” she said, taking the coffee that didn’t look like it had been drunk from and lifted it in thanks. “I think you can skip arm day.” That was what it was called, right? She had been in America for a few years now and still, sometimes, some of the colloquialisms escaped her. “How long did it take you to get here?”
---
“I tend to skip most gym days.” As much as Clint understood staying relatively fit, he hated gyms and the gym mentality. Lucky was enough of a work out for Clint most of the time and following the shit with the dreams he was contemplating giving the whole archery thing a try out. “I’m far too lazy for them.” Which was honesty at least.
But at this rate he’d be looking into something to deal with the pull of his shoulders and biceps because ow fuck ow.
“Like fifty minutes? An hour? I mean, I could’ve walked here in twenty, that’s the kicker.” The point in driving was that it was faster, and frankly he did not approve of this shit with his truck (sort of his truck). “I was close to abandoning it three times, I am not going to lie.” Which, really, he should do, because it was a piece of shit, but he could not be arsed going out and looking for another piece of shit to drive either.
---
Gaby snorted. “You and me both,” she agreed with a small smile. Gyms were all well and good for people who didn’t have jobs that kept them active, for people who wanted to have the perfect Instagram body and lifestyle. Gaby was far more down to earth than that, and though she did (sort of) take care of herself, it was predominantly for work. Climbing around under cars and carrying heavy equipment was all the exercise she needed.
Sipping her coffee, she tilted her head and indicated that Clint should follow her into the reception. She had a feeling this would be a bigger job than the last one she’d done - a rush job to get it back on the road - and if she’d have it in for a few days at least she could make sure that he was taking care of it properly.
“It would be better for you if you admitted that some things just cannot be saved,” she said, pushing the door open and waiting for him to walk through. “It would be less expensive for you.”
---
Only those who didn’t actually do active things probably went to gyms, not that Clint was overly active, but enough so that he really didn’t need to worry about needing a gym. General life was a little better by far for staying relatively active and healthy without paying a ridiculous amount of money just to use gym equipment.
“What kind of attitude is that?” Following along behind Gaby, even if she really had a point about it all, because it was a fucked up piece of shit, “Just giving up on everything?” It wasn’t like Clint was attached to the truck, or that he’d figured he’d have it long term, it was just a car he ended up with because it was there.
“I’m not the best at doing what’s smartest for me.” Clint tossed a smirk Gaby’s way, shrugging slightly because it was the truth.
---
“It is not giving up on everything,” Gaby threw over her shoulder as she settled against the reception desk. “It is understanding that sometimes, something is not worth saving. Or cannot be saved. Perhaps, in this case, it is not worth saving. To truly fix her up would cost quite a lot in parts alone.” But she would do her best; it was her job and she genuinely quite liked Clint. He was entertaining company, if not a little bit of a rain cloud occasionally.
She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, Clint, you would rather drive something around that should not legally be on the road than think about getting something new? It does not have to be brand new or expensive, you can find plenty of nice second or third-hand trucks that would not be too expensive.”
---
It wasn’t like Clint was attached to the truck, he hadn’t repaired it lovingly, or been handed it down from one family member to the next, or even just scored for the first time in it. He was just that way inclined that selling it, or scrapping it, might be more complex because it likely wouldn’t hold up under too much scrutiny that he hadn’t stolen it.
“Would you believe I just really don’t like car shopping? Like, seriously, car salesmen? The worst. I could tolerate torture before I willingly dealt with a car salesman.” Not too big an exaggeration. Because Clint knew some really oily car dealers, most of them had worked at laundering for Jacques too.
“I risk hives just thinking about it, y’know?” He smirked at Gaby, mostly joking but a little serious. If it was, in all honesty, too big a crap show to fix the truck he would be better letting her cannibalise it for parts if she even could use anything from the junk bucket. Aside from the fact that he might actually need a set of wheels for something or another.
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Gaby snorted. “You don’t have to go to car shopping,” she pointed out, “there are plenty of places you can go that you will not have to deal with car salesmen.” There were plenty of smaller, private sellers.
She nudged him gently as he smirked at her and placed her coffee down on the counter to move around it and pull out the necessary paperwork to start making notes. “You realise I won’t just be looking at the steering column, don’t you.”
Tipping her head, she attached the papers to a clipboard and pulled her pen out from inside her hair. “Why are you so-” she wet her lower lip, looking for the right word, “invested in this truck?”
---
“Yeah, but you’ve got to deal with someone. And then there’s the test drive and background on the car, and all that shit.” And Clint wasn’t exactly great at not doing things impulsively. He was lucky if he actually thought something through for five minutes.
With his luck, he’d buy a car involved in a hit and run, deal with proving he wasn’t in possession of the car then and likely lose the car to the cops as evidence. It was his natural ability to attract the worst possible scenario available. “Do your worst,” which he expected, why just check a steering column when there was likely more wrong that he’d need to come back with it in a couple of days, “but try and remember I have a dog at home to feed.”
Was he invested? Not particularly. Other than the potential of his records not holding up and someone figuring out he’d knocked off the car from a criminal (he’d usually add in mastermind for Jacques, but it wasn’t like the guy was that smart) and just never really bothered to report anything. “Lucky likes it, y’know. Dogs and cars, they’re picky.” Clint didn’t know if that was true or not.
---
Gaby laughed. “You realise that using the dog as a bargaining chip and an excuse to not buy a new car does not, as you say, fly?” Her eyebrow lifted and she scribbled down some early estimates and the initial statement of work on the clipboard before spinning it around and holding it out for Clint to sign.
“You would be much better in a new one, but I will do what I can,” she reassured, impish expression as she continued, “whilst remembering that you have a lovely puppy to feed.”
She leaned against the counter and let out a sigh, mind wandering a little without her permission, which is what led to her offering - somewhat randomly, she would admit, “At least fixing cars makes sense to me. When so much else is confusing.”
---
Clint just grinned cheekily, because he was aware that the Lucky excuse was thin, but still. If it could be brought up to change the topic or stop someone from throwing logic at him, Clint was all for it. Taking a glance at the estimates and things, Clint scribbled his signature on there anyway.
“Well, y’know if you really can’t do anything I’ll sell you whatever parts you can salvage and buy some other hunk of crap.” Because Clint was just that kind of trainwreck, but on the plus side he was being proactive, right?
“Are you referring to Orange County in general, or is this some kind of affront to how I do things, because I prefer the term adorably eccentric.” It could go either way, but there was the possibility that Gaby was talking about Orange County nutsy stuff and dreams rather than anything he was prone to do -it was maybe more likely.
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Gaby laughed. “You are eccentric,” she told him, as if that was in any way reassuring. “But I mean- you know, here in general.” After all, she’d had the strangest dreams since she’d come home, guest-starring people that she had begun to become friends with and since her normal conversation partner had been somewhat distant as of late, she had precious few people to talk to.
She put the paperwork down and held out her hand to take the keys from him, wiggling her fingers. “I will call you when the truck is repaired if I can.”
---
“Here in general is the fucking weridest.” And that was putting it very mildly. “Not a huge fan of the past life thing to be honest.” Or whatever it was the Dreams were. Alternate realities or possibilities, whatever it was.
Clint could just do without it.
Handing over his keys, which were a little dented too, Clint just grinned, “I’m sure you’ll manage to somehow work a miracle, right? Isn’t that what you’re known for?”
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Gaby twirled the key ring around her finger and lifted her shoulder. “As I told you last time, I make no promises.” But they both knew she’d get Clint’s truck back on the road and in a driveable condition.
She couldn’t comment too much on the Dreams; she had a few, and they involved a man she’d met not too long after she had arrived. If the law of coincidences was to be believed, she was quite sure that Illya would be in them soon, too, though she was not sure if it would be a positive addition considering the timing of her Dreams.
“Should take me, perhaps, a couple of days depending on parts.” She smiled, “Thank you for the coffee.”
---
Clint just gave a somewhat sloppy salute at Gaby, pulling himself up. “Yeah, no probs,” it wasn’t a hardship for Clint to stop at any coffee shop at all. “Thanks for squeezing me in an all.” If he could put off the new wheels thing for a couple of months, even if it meant a few more hundred dollars spent on it (even if Clint knew it was probably going to be a bit higher than that) then he’d do it.
No one could claim that Clint’s choices made sense, not even Clint.