I really had no intention of writing this. But then a conversation with a little black cat sparked something. So this is, of course, written for BlackCat'sCrossing, thanks hon for all your help! *Hugs you from Oz in cowboy boots! I couldn't resist! xox
Disclaimer: Same as prior chapter. I do not own the Biker Mice from Mars, nor claim to. This is just for fun, and no copyright infringement is intentional.
The second part takes place a few months after the first part.
...
Part Two
Wrenches and screwdrivers lay sorted in size order on the bench. Charley was picky about that. She liked things ordered. He knew that. He couldn't have said what her favourite colour was, or what her favourite food was, but he knew that.
And that she didn't like missing a deadline. He knew that, too.
But she was about to. And it was all Vinnie and his bro's fault.
Charley had spent the last couple of hours trying to find the guys a get out of jail free card. Literally. She'd run all over Chicago trying to find a decent lawyer to bail the guys of jail, or try to, after the new police chief (Limburger's head goon, Grease Pit) had arrested the guys on completely ridiculous charges.
Really, who robs a toy store?
Charley, however, really should have spent the day finishing repairs, because she was paying for it now.
Her customers had been less than impressed and less than understanding. One guy had already called twice wanting to know when his Toyota would be finished, and didn't she understand that he really needed it back?
Yes, she understood perfectly, but what could she do? Her friends had been in a tight spot and needed her– not that she could tell Mr. Toyota that. So she had just taken it on the chin, let him yell at her and tell her that he was never coming back to the Last Chance, nor would any of his friends be coming there in the future. How would she like that?
Vinnie had watched Charley's shoulders sag as she sighed deeply and hung up the phone.
All because of the Vinnie and his bros.
So Vinnie had come back now to try and do what he could. This was his way of trying to make it up to her, because he couldn't quite say 'I'm sorry'.
The workshop was silent. The starry night sky sparkled through the windows at Vinnie, winking like the night sky also thought Vinnie's idea was a superb one; Charley was going to be so happy when she woke the next morning and at least some of the repairs would be done. That should ensure she forgave the Biker Mice. And Vinnie would be back in her good graces. Maybe this time he could reach for her hand. Maybe she wouldn't flinch. Maybe she'd understand what his meaning was, if he couldn't quite find the words. Vinnie grinned looking a little dazed.
So where did he start now? His dark burgundy eyes swept the workshop, lingering on the blinking red light on Charley's answering machine. More customers, no doubt, were wondering why their vehicles were delayed. Likely Mr. Toyota wasn't the only one losing his cool.
He glanced up at the ceiling, his finger circling the 'play' button on the small black machine. Charley was sleeping somewhere above his head. Playing the messages would probably wake her. And he knew he shouldn't pry. He knew that it was wrong, but it would be kinda useful, he reasoned. This way he'd find out which customers were in the biggest rush for their cars back.
Yeah, that was enough of a justification, he figured. Turning the volume dial down to 'low' Vinnie hit the little 'play' button and picked up a wrench, spinning it idly waiting to hear which car would be first.
Charley's 'professional voice' rang through the room asking customers to leave their details.
"Shush," he whispered "You'll wake Charley." He scolded the machine.
A bored voice droned that the little Honda was needed first thing tomorrow morning. Well, that seemed like a good place to start. He popped the Honda's hood and poked around inside. Something in the Honda's engine clunked under his wrench. And something punctured. Pulling his wrench away some sort of fluid leaked from a cracked hose. Definitely a bad start.
He rifled wildly through the toolbox to find a smaller wrench. Tools created a semi-circle around him.
That hose was leaking a lot now. It would have to be replaced. It didn't look like Charley had a part for it. He rummaged through some of the engine parts in front of the Toyota. A piece from the dissected mass of metal in front of small Toyota looked like it would do the job. Now, however, engine parts littered the floor around him. He would have to clean up before Charley saw the mess.
But the Honda seemed to be okay. One down, he thought, only five more to go.
He bent over the Toyota. It needed a new radiator, he remembered Charley mentioning that earlier. Luckily there was one leaning against the side of the Ford in the corner. That would do. Fords were common weren't they? If need be, Charley could surely get another part in for the Ford. Definitely, he decided, it was more important to get the Toyota done, if the owner was in a hurry to have it back.
In the background the message clicked over again. Then the next message started.
"Hi Charley, its Jack." A deep and definitely male voice said. Vinnie paused. There was something different about the way this man spoke. He wasn't one of Charley's clients. Not the way he spoke.
"I'm sorry I missed your call. Just wanted to return your call, and yes, a coffee sounds great." Jack's deep voice paused. "God, it's been so long. Anyway, you obviously know my number." He laughed then, "I'll be the one with the red roses." He laughed again like it was some inside joke. Which it probably was.
Vinnie recoiled slightly, dropping the screwdriver on his foot. 'missed your call'? and 'yes, a coffee sounds great'? Did Charley ask this guy out on a date? He could feel his antenna droop.
Then another thought occurred to him: did 'coffee' mean on Earth what 'coffee' meant on Mars? Vinnie had been asked for to come up for 'coffee' so many times and was yet to actually drink any coffee.
But...
But didn't she like him? Vinnie? The other night she had gripped his hand, not some Jack punk. Hadn't she looked at Vinnie like...?
But there was the truth, now blinking at him from the little red light on the answering machine.
So no, clearly Charley wasn't interested in him. Not if she was suggesting dates to other men.
Congratulations Van Wham, you're an idiot.
Roses? What the hell did Charley want with roses? He would never have thought of Charley as a flowers kinda gal.
Shows you what he knew.
Roses were just stupid, prickly flowers with stupidly deep voices and how the hell did she know this Jack fellow, anyway? Did she think his voice was sexy?
Coffee? Why did she want coffee with stupid-sexy-voiced Jack? He sounded dull, Vinnie decide. Probably dead dull and probably had tiny ears too. But that didn't worry humans so much, did it?
Stupid Jack. And stupid Vinnie for thinking she'd care. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Stupid heart. Stupid heartbreak. He needed a drink.
Quietly he left the workshop and pulled the door shut behind him.
...
"VINNIE!"
Vinnie groaned and half-opened an eye. It was still early, probably close to seven-thirty. He rolled onto his back and yawned. He glared at the radio on his bike willing it shut up.
"Vinnie! Get your furry ass down her in one minute!" He stretched his arms out hearing the muscles pop and shoulders crack. He wondered vaguely what the hell was Charley shouting about now? Couldn't she wait till later to thank him?
"I mean it, Vinnie. I am so not in the mood today."
He sighed. From her tone, he doubted very much whether 'thanks' were on the cards. Women were strange creatures.
Vinnie staggered down to the small kitchen inside the Nubs scoreboard. Throttle and Modo were already up and about. Modo passed a hot mug of coffee into Vinnie's hands and held on until the white fingers latched gratefully around the mug.
"So," Modo began watching Vinnie over his own mug of coffee. "Did Charley get a hold of you?"
"Yeah."
"She, uh, sounded quite insistent." So obviously everyone had heard Charley's radio call.
"Yeah."
"I thought she was meeting someone for lunch?" Throttle asked curiously, but Vinnie suspected that the tan-furred mouse already knew the answer.
"Guess this won't take long then."
"'Mmm." Throttle let it go.
Setting his mug down Vinnie got to his feet. "Guess I had better see what the lady wants."
Modo and Throttle nodded silently. Vinnie could hear their unspoken good luck wishes.
...
At the garage Vinnie let himself in. The workshop looked like a tornado had gone through it. Did he really leave it like that?
"Charley?" he called hesitantly. If she was in the garage he certainly couldn't see her under all the mess.
The door to the garage office slammed. The mechanic stalked towards him red faced and to his horror red eyed.
"What were you doing? Tell me, what were you doing here last night?"
Vinnie took a step back in retreat. "Trying to help you?"
She laughed, the kind of laugh one does when they don't find something very funny at all. "Helping?" she repeated her voice climbing a couple of octaves. "Helping?"
He nodded.
Her face went a darker blotchy red, "You leave this place looking like this, and you think this helps me? I can't find anything! I'm missing a radiator for the Ford, and," she looked like she was about to cry again. "And I really need to find the coolant hose for the Toyota, it's not anywhere!"
Vinnie bit his lip. "It's kinda in the Honda."
Charley let out a strangled noise. "Are you trying to drive me out of business? I've missed so many deadlines helping you guys out, and now I'm going to be even further behind because I'm going to have to spend all of today trying to piece these engines back together like a jigsaw! I don't have time for this!" Her eyes looked kind of wet again. "Next time you feel like helping me, don't! I don't want your help ever again! And for once, just once, could you clean up after yourself? Just once?"
She glanced down, tears leaking from her eyes.
"I've just had the owner of the Honda on the phone. I didn't even get his message. The machine wasn't blinking—and oh God, he was so furious!" she continued glaring angrily at the little black answering machine. "I swear it wasn't blinking." She murmured softly.
Vinnie felt even worse. "I played the messages. That's why I fixed up the Honda first." He couldn't meet her eyes. This was so not how this was supposed to play out.
Charley's eyes blazed red and wet. "You played my messages too? Who the hell do you think you are?"
Vinnie leaned over and hit the play button again. "Here," he sighed wearily. "Listen to them. I was trying to help you. That was all. I wasn't trying to screw anything up, though; it seems I do that anyway."
In the background Jack's voice came on again. "Hi Charley..."
Vinnie pulled himself away from the bench he was leaning against. "I'm going. Have fun with Jack." He growled bitterly.
The garage door slammed behind him.
...
It was past three-thirty that afternoon when Vinnie's bike radio beeped.
He had gone back to the scoreboard in a foul mood and snarled like a caged lion.
Charley had cried. His interference had made Charley cry. What a jerk. No wonder she wanted to date this Jack punk. Bet he doesn't make her cry, he thought furiously.
But he had just been trying to help. That was all.
His bike beeped again.
"Vin, you there?" Charley's voice asked uncertainly. "Can I talk to you?"
He picked himself up off the floor of the scoreboard. Better get this over with; after all he was going to have to face her again sometime or rather.
...
"What will it be, sweetheart?" the lady asked him with a sympathetic smile. She stood at the front of her flower stall. Vinnie supposed she must have seen so many men who have screwed up in some way or rather.
Vinnie half-smiled. "Better be the roses." He pointed at a big bunch.
"Good choice. No woman can resist roses." She patted the back of his hand and moved to wrap his flowers.
"So it would seem." Vinnie muttered under his breath.
...
He let himself in through the kitchen door, the flowers held firmly behind his back.
Charley's head and torso was jammed under the Ford from before.
"I'm still mad at you." She said by way of greeting.
"I know. And I feel bad."
Metal scraped underneath the car. "You should."
Vinnie nodded, bringing his bunch of flowers around the front of him. Then he noticed the second mug on the workbench.
Had Jack been here?
Was Jack still here?
"How was Jack?" Vinnie asked his jaw taut and his voice strained.
"Okay, I guess." Charley murmured. Then she exploded, "He wants to get back together, said we weren't getting any younger and not many men would be interested in a grease monkey like me. He's just so romantic!" She finished scathingly.
Then she laughed. It was muffled under the car. "The idiot even brought me flowers. I've never liked flowers."
"Yeah, complete idiot." Vinnie replied faintly. "Look, um I'm going to get going." He mumbled backing slowly through the garage door back into the kitchen.
The flowers made a light scrunching noise as they landed on the table.
Charley pulled herself from under the car as he left. Her heart sank guiltily as she spotted the mass of red on the table.
Picking up the flowers she opened the card. His writing was awful.
C.
Sorry
V.
And a bad picture of a mouse with a sad face, she assumed.
He lips tilted up. "Idiot." She whispered.
He was trying. And really, really hard.
...
"So am I forgiven for slightly overreacting?" Charley asked. They were walking from Chef Andy's diner back to the garage a few days later.
"Sure." Vinnie smiled. "If I'm forgiven for helping?"
She laughed, her head tilted back and her breath like a puff of dragon smoke. "I think you and I need to clarify our definitions of 'helping', because whatever you were doing, no, you're never to do that again. And you still have to learn to clean up after yourself."
Then she slipped her arm through his and patted his forearm. "But I forgive you, for whatever you were doing." Charley paused, "And thank you for my flowers."
He smiled goofily.
They walked in silence for a moment.
"Want to walk down to the park?" Vinnie asked as they neared the garage. Her arm through his was a completely new sensation, and he was in no hurry to lose it.
"Can I get a coat first?" Charley asked rubbing her arms.
He watched her disappear upstairs as he poked around the workshop. His bike beeped at him from across the floor. While he was waiting he could just check her over. Wouldn't take long.
A few minutes later he stood back. His bike flashed her headlights at him happily.
"No sweat, sweetheart." He told her, spinning the wrench in his hand.
He glanced at the wrench in his fist. Then smiling, he made his way over to the workbench and slotted it back into its correct place.
He was learning.
...
Isn't a man cleaning up after himself is SO much more romantic than flowers?
Happy Valentine's Day!