Alex, do you want-"
"No."
Richard Strand sighed heavily, watching Alex struggle with a glass jar, her nose scrunched up in determination.
He'd just wanted to bring her the latest Black Tape and be done with it, but no, Nic had to direct him towards the break room, and so Richard heeded his directions, only to find Alex Reagan attempting to wrestle open a pickle jar she'd discovered in the fridge.
"Alex, I really think-"
"Almost-there," she said through gritted teeth.
She'd been doing this for ten minutes, and she'd said that exact same thing at least twenty times. The case hung limply in his hand as he stared at her, a bit too incredulous to do anything more than to give constantly rebuffed offers of help.
He looked around the break room, observing his surroundings with an air of boredom. The floor was checkered with red and white tiles, the large table and chairs made of some sort of brightly colored plastic that quite clashed with the gray walls. A decrepit water cooler sat miserably against the wall in the back next to a soda machine.
He contemplated leaving and coming back the next day, but his plan was derailed as there was a loud pop and Alex stumbled back, holding the jar lid aloft.
"Yes!" she whooped, hopping in a little victory dance. "I feel so powerful!"
"All you did was open a pickle jar," Strand said dubiously.
"Exactly! The power!"
He continued staring at her blankly as she turned around, pulled out a pickle, and turned back to him.
"So, what can I do for you, Dr. Strand?" she asked, her teeth crunching down on her prize.
Wordlessly, he held up the case.
Instantly, her eyes widened. She quickly finished the pickle, shut the jar, and placed it back into the fridge.
"Alright, let's see what we got!"
She really was a strange woman. It was a good thing he found that oddness so endearing.