After Garrett came and claimed the car, we were able to actually breathe
and not have to think about nothing but parts and interiors and paints and
gaskets and wires and, well, you get the point. The other jobs weren't
life or death either. The owners didn't like waiting, but they expressed
it with a grunt of displeasure, not oh, say, shooting Scott and me dead.
Now that there was time to think about things, I did. And one topic stood
out from the rest.
It's amazing how much good food isn't on the market in LA. I swear, I'd been living with Scott for more time that either of us had ever planned and all we had eaten was some sort of preserved, dehydrated meals the entire time. Once Scott did come home with a couple apples and an actual loaf of bread, but neither lasted long. Well, we'd been doing well with the car business. Even after Barron's twenty-fiver had taken off; we still had a steady flow of requests that came in.
I was learning a lot, but one particular evening I was sick of working on cars and wanted to get out. No, more than out, I wanted to have a good cooked meal. Scott was so busy under the hood of another car that he didn't even notice me leave. I swear, that boy is obsessive compulsive with working on cars. It's all he ever does. I mean, you'd think he'd get tired of it, but no. The guy got up, had a glass of water, and then shuffled into the garage, never to been seen again until his stomach came calling. Men.
Anyway, after I slipped out of the garage I was looking around the shack for anything to eat. More dehydrated food, but that was so not going to satisfy the hankering I had. I wanted something rich and creamy. Walking out of the house I surveyed the junkyard, it looked like after the pulse hit everyone dumped their cars, washers, dryers, refrigerators, and every other large appliance that was of no use in the place. I figured something had to be worth a bit of money or food, so I began searching through the larger appliances and the cars. After a good while of finding nothing but rusty parts I ran across a beat up looking car with its trunk open. Passing it off for a piece of junk I walked behind it to a rather large double door refrigerator. As I passed by the open trunk of the beat up car, I noticed something that had fallen out of a bag. Probably got shaken out in that last small earthquake we had just had. I took a second look and there were two large candlestick-things there that could hold three candles, but they were greenish brown. I picked it up anyways and rubbed my finger against the base and the tarnish rubbed off, revealing shining silver beneath. My eyes widened as I took a closer look. Intricate design covered the handle of the candlesticks. I picked one up and was shocked at how heavy it was. Someone would definitely be interested in one of these puppies.
Two hours later I stood over oven range I had scrounged, boiling some water to put some pasta into. The market had been easier to work than I thought it'd be. After walking through it for a couple minutes I saw a jewelry vendor and asked what I could get for a candlestick. I'd actually only brought one and figured I'd save the other for a rainy day. After the guy looked over the candlestick he told me I could get about fifty bucks for it. Now, I'm not stupid, I don't care what anyone says, I'm not, and I knew I could get more than a lousy fifty bucks for a candle stick that you could knock out a good sized guy with.
Thus began the bartering skills of Kat. Finally I argued enough for noodles, spices, and even a chicken. A live chicken at that. Well, it was a live chicken, until I told the guy I didn't want a live chicken. He took care of that problem quick enough though. So not an hour after I'd been in the market was I walking home with some noodles, a few spices I'd weaseled into the deal, and a dead chicken in a plastic bag.
My only qualms were what I was going to have to do to cook the chicken. After plucking, chopping, separating, and then slicing the chicken I felt I had enough meat to cook. I had to make a quick run to this one place nearby and as I walked back into the shack I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror. Needless to say, it wasn't that pretty looking, but no matter, I tossed the rest of the chicken into the freezer and began to look around for pots and pans. It's truly incredible, some of the stuff people tossed out after the pulse. I found pretty much everything I'd need to make a decent meal after only three piles of junk then headed back for the shack. Scott was still busy in the garage and had no clue what I was up to and I didn't bother to tell him. I figured it'd be sort of a thank you surprise type deal. I even had a plan for the other candleholder so we could have an evening meal with a bit of light.
Scott was certainly surprised too. The food wasn't actually done when he came into the kitchen looking like a dog hot on the trail of his hunt, "What is that smell?" he asked curiously.
I looked up from the sauce I was stirring and smiled, "Dinner."
"Dinner?" he asked dumbly.
I nodded, "Yeah, you know the meal people usually eat in the evening?"
Walking to the oven, Scott looked in the various pots and pans, "What's wrong with the old army food I scrounged?"
"Sparky," I sighed, "Sometimes a girl's gotta have more than old military rations to keep her going. I had a craving so I found a way to cure it."
"A craving? You're not going to start talking about why you're having cravings are you?" Scott asked, backing away and looking at me like I was about to explode.
I shook my head, "Just go grab me the candles out of my bag, okay?" I pointed to the bed, where my bag rested.
"Candles?" Scott asked, "Where did you get those?"
"From the market," I answered, pouring the sauce over my noodles.
"Okay." Scott leaned on a crate, "how did you get candles."
"I traded them for the feather pillow."
"How'd you get a feather pillow?"
"I made it." I answered, a little annoyed.
"How did you make it?"
I looked up at him, "From some old cloth and feathers."
"Feathers?" he asked, "How."
I dropped the wooden spoon I'd been using, "From the chicken, Scott."
"Chicken?" Scott dropped to the crate, "How did...?"
"Do you have those candles yet?" I asked, glancing at my bag, "Not that I'm not loving this game of twenty questions, but I've sort of got a schedule thing going on here."
Shaking his head, Scott stood and walked to my bag, rifling through it a bit. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the stove, now scooping out the chicken on top of the pasta and sauce. I turned to ask Scott to drag a crate outside for our table and froze momentarily. He had lifted out an old book from my bag and was looking through the highlighted pages. I quickly dropped the pan onto the stove and moved to snatch the book out of his hand, "Hey!" I cried, holding the book to my chest, "I said candles, not my dictionary!"
Scott furrowed his brow at me, "Your dictionary?"
"Yes." I declared, my eyes meeting Scott's stare, "My dictionary."
"Should I even ask?" he teased.
Walking back to the stove and placing the book on the counter I shrugged, "I like to read it."
"You're kidding me." He continued, "A dictionary? You do know it's just words, right?"
I glared at him, "Yes, Mister Argumentative, I do know it's just words, most books are you anticlimactic ignoramus."
Scott furrowed his brow at me and reached again for my dictionary. Turning a bit I whacked his hand with my wooden spoon, "Get your own dictionary." I growled, "And bring the candles while you're at it."
Scott could only watch me in shock as I grabbed the book and shoved it down my shirt before I picked up the huge bowl of pasta I'd made and walked outside. "And a crate and chairs so we don't have to eat on the ground," I called over my shoulder.
It took Scott a second, but sooner than later, I suppose, he brought out what I'd asked for and I set the food down, "Now, we feast." I grinned, pulling two forks out of my shirt pocket and handing one to Scott. Before he took it out of my hand I moved it away, "Wait a second," I glanced at the table, then at Scott "Where's the candles?"
Grunting, Scott disappeared into the shack then reappeared, three candles in hand. "Here." He mumbled, handing them to me.
"Thank you." I smiled, placing them in the candleholder and then lighting them. "Candlelight dinner?" Scott raised his eyebrows.
I gave Scott an annoyed look before I shoved the fork into his hand, "Technically yes, but only because this is an evening meal and in order to have light we need light which is currently being provided by a few candles. If you'd rather, we can eat in the dark."
Scott plunged his fork into the dish, "Nah, this is fine." Twirling his fork he scooped out a rather large amount and some how managed to insert it all into his mouth. A few seconds later his fork clanged to the table and he made a sort of strangled noise.
"Are you okay?" I glanced up from my own fork to his face.
He swallowed his food and quickly dunked his fork into the pasta again, "Oh my God," he gasped. "This is amazing, Kat."
Taking a bite, I nodded, "Indeed."
After we had both finished off the pan of pasta Scott leaned on the table, "So you read and you cook. Anything else I should know?"
"Oh no." I shook my head, equally leaning on the table, "The only way I am telling something about me is you have to tell the same thing about you. Otherwise I'll just be babbling on about myself."
"Alright." He agreed, "So what else can you do?"
I shrugged, "I honestly don't know. I've been cooking myself meals since I was eleven, and I'm horridly picky, so I had to actually become good at it in order for me to even eat what I would cook."
"And the dictionary?"
"I guess I just like learning." I answered solemnly.
"So the highlighted words are.what?" Scott teased.
"Some of the men that my mom used to have around used some words I didn't know. One day I found a dictionary and looked up a few of them." I admitted, "I hate not knowing what people are talking about. If I don't know about it I won't just blow smoke up someone's ass with my uninformed self."
Scott's eyebrows shot up, "Wow, an intellectual."
"Fuck you," I shot, defensively.
Scott leaned back, "Easy there, cow girl, "I was just kidding."
"It's the only education I've had, I'm a little touchy."
Scott nodded, "So I noticed."
I shifted uncomfortably in the looming silence, "So, what about you?"
"I know cars and I like cars," Scott answered simply. "Not much more to me than that."
"Oh come on," I pushed, "There's got to be a little bit more. No other hobbies or anything?"
Scott looked out past me a while before shaking his head, "Not really. Cars is pretty much all I know and do. Everything else just gets in the way."
"That has got to be the lamest thing I've ever heard." I teased, winking at him, "We've got to add a bit of variety into your life, Sparky." I pulled the dictionary I had previously put down my shirt, "Here," I joked, handing it to him, "Educate yourself."
Scott grinned and pushed it away, "That's okay. Reading's not really my thing." "Let me guess," I dolled, "You'd rather piece a radiator together than open a book?"
Scott nodded, "See, we're getting to know each other better by the second."
"Sure Sparky," I chuckled, "I've learned so much that I never knew before."
Scott sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, "Well, okay, fine. I'm just another guy. I lead a simple life. I enjoy what I do. What more is there?"
"What about fun?" I challenged, "And what about relaxing?"
"I have fun working on cars and it relaxes me," he retorted.
I shook my head, "You sure are an odd one."
"Thank you," he accepted, smiling, "You're not so bad yourself."
Smirking at him I wagged my eyebrows, "You don't even know the half of it, Sparky."
* * * *
Life dramatically slowed down after we finished with Barron's big job and a month or so passed before we had any relatively big jobs again. A few here and there, and Scott was working on something for himself, but over all we were able to work at a relaxed pace and even get some conversation in. Speaking of conversation, Scott told me I was anal. Well, he actually said I was obsessively and compulsively anal. I punched him in the arm and told him he was a grubby prick. He just laughed at me. But what does that moron know? Just because I sort his tools by color and size and type when I've got nothing to do in the garage.Oh shit. He's right. Damn him. But anyway, Scott's been letting me do even more stuff these days. He lets me use tools and what not now too. Apparently I have a natural knack for this sort of stuff. Granted, I came to that conclusion on my own but that's solely based on everything I know Scott would never admit.
He doesn't like to admit a lot of things, as it turns out. The other day he as working on the Mustang again and I was sitting on my designated stool watching him. I got bored so I started to twirl tools with my fingers or drumming them on my knee while tapping my foot. As I was coming to the drum solo in a pre-pulse song Scott growled, "Kat, chill."
"Huh?" I stopped mid drum.
"Stop being so fidgety, can't you just sit there?" he insisted, his voice straining. I shrugged, "Nope, gotta keep moving with the rhythm." I moved my shoulders back and forth, imitating a dance move.
"Well, cut it out. I swear, I've never met a more anal and fidgety person. Do you know how hard it is for me to concentrate when you're bouncing around?" He grumbled.
I held up my middle finger, "It's none of your shit if I'm *bouncing* around the garage, what do you care? Just let me be and mind your own damn business." Scott's jaw clenched and I sighed and dropped the two screwdrivers I'd been playing with, "Sheesh, if it's that big a deal I'll stop."
He nodded curtly, "Thank you." He went back to working on the engine block and I was left just sitting. I started tapping my foot discretely then went for a flat head to mess with, "Kat, don't do it." Scott warned.
My hand was in midair, reaching for the tool, "What?" I asked, my hand flying back to my lap.
"Stop playing with my tools," he reprimanded.
I scrunched up my face, "Stop having fun, Kat. Sit and do nothing while I play all big and macho. No don't move. Just sit totally still." I mocked him in an imitation deep voice.
"Hey," he responded, "If you're really that bored go straighten up the tools again. You seem to think that's fun."
I shook my head, "I just did that. Give me something 'fun' to do."
He grunted, evoking a frustrated sigh from me.
"Fine." I looked around the garage. It was dirty and grimy with some of the bigger tools and various car parts hanging from the walls. It was cozy, despite it's lack of clean. I glanced over at Scott, "So," I started, "How'd you learn to do all this stuff, again?"
"This stuff?" Scott asked blankly.
I motioned around the room, "You know, this stuff." Scott stopped working and looked up at me, "Tools, cars, fixing things, torturing bored women."
He shrugged nonchalantly, "I told you, just a guy I once knew a long time ago."
"Right." I nodded, "And this guy was.who?" I pressed. I had been hoping that after all this time together he might crack a little bit and talk to me. I had made the man dinner, for crying out loud, what else was usually needed?
"No one important." He went back to the engine block.
"Uh-huh." I pressed, even though I knew he didn't really want to talk about it, "So, what were you doing before you ended up here?"
Scott shrugged in reply, "Stuff."
"Stuff?" I asked.
"Yep, just stuff." He answered.
I growled, "Why are you so.so.secretive?" It's not like I've got a ton of people to tell in an LA junkyard. I mean, what? I'm going to go tell the cars? God forbid." I took a breath, "I thought you were starting to get the hang of the normal conversation concept. I say something, you say something. Questions are asked and then answered by the other person. Is that too difficult of a concept to get into your brain?"
Scott looked up at me again, "I already told you I don't want to talk about it."
"Why not?" I pushed.
Scott turned around and crosses his arms, "If I don't want to talk about it do you really think I'm going to tell you why I don't want to talk about it? Just accept that my own business is my own business, my past is my past, and is none of your business."
I stood, similarly crossing my arms and glared at him, "Fine. Be secretive and quiet and don't tell me a fucking thing. It's not as if I care anyway, I was just making conversation because somebody won't let me do anything"
"So talk about something else." He glowered, "You knew I don't like talking about my past. I thought I made that clear already."
I lowered my arms slowly, "Okay, I can do that." I sat back on my stool and he turned back to the frame of the car, "So.what do you want to talk about? I mean, what's acceptable?"
He sighed loudly, "If you're so keen on talking, why don't you tell me about your past. You seem to like that topic of conversation."
I raised my eyebrows, "You won't tell me even a small tidbit about your past and you expect me to jus open up and tell you all about my past existence?"
"If you'd rather, you can sit in silence and I can go back to working." He offered.
My shoulders fell, "You realize you're a complete ass."
He smirked at me, "Well, you could."
"No!" I stopped him from any more ingenious ideas, "Shut up. I don't want to hear any of your sentiments, uh, other then on where you think I should start."
"The beginning is always an appropriate choice." He leaned under the hood.
"Thank you Captain Obvious." I rolled my eyes. He growled, I ignored him, "I guess," I began, "My bastard father took off the second he found out I was on the way, leaving me with a mother who resented and blamed me for everything. Apparently it was my entire fault that she fucked up and got herself knocked up.
She was pretty abusive as you can imagine. I knew I had to get away and once I even went to the police, but the pulse had just hit and everything was going crazy. The state of Washington was up in smoke. The cops were more worried about the looting and lynching going on than they were about some little girl with bruises." Scott turned around to look at me as I continued, "Social Services tried to help once too, but their records were completely erased so it was useless. I was only seven and way too young to be on the streets.
Anyway, after the pulse we lost our home. The sector police claimed our building and kicked everyone who didn't have the money to pay them off. She dragged me from alleyway to alleyway after that. Ended up getting herself real screwed up too. Drugs, alcohol, men. She always told me that she was just doing what she had to survive. When I was 11 she figured it was time I earned my keep so she started taking me to some men."
Scott's eyes were wide and his tool fell out of his hand, "She did what?"
I nodded slowly, "She did what she thought we had to do. They were usually nice. They'd tell me I was pretty, tell me I was doing a good thing by letting them touch me. And don't think my mom even cared. She was usually too strung out to know someone was there."
"You know that's not." he trailed off.
"Not what? Right? Decent? Moral?" I searched for him.
"All of the above," he confirmed, "Not to mention illegal."
I shrugged, "The cops didn't care either, hell, half the time it was the cops that were touching me. They weren't about to stop it."
"My god." He muttered, "The sick bastards, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I wouldn't have asked."
"Eh, don't beat yourself up about it. I figure it was going to come out eventually, sooner is better. Later is harder." I noticed Scott's face turn a steely gray but shrugged it off and continued. "It didn't last too long. My mom had disappeared when I was 11 but the guys still kept coming and giving me food and places to live, so I stuck around and did what I had to do. I took off when they started wanting me to have sex with them and started getting mean about it. One of the ones that were really nasty about it, said I owed it to him after not kicking me out of this one room flat in a condemned building, he was high up on the cop food chain. Turned out I was pretty wicked with a blade and he ended up with a bunch of stitches in the face. The cops were pissed to say the least and I took off and they ended up chasing me clear across the state to the Oregon border. It was there I hitched a ride into California. It was a nice family. Nice car. I can't believe they even let me in. I was dirty, grubby, and probably smelled like the sewers. I think they were going to give me to social services, but I split on them at a rest stop. No way I was going to let cops get their hands on me again."
"Wow." Scott said, "That's.crazy. How can you be so nonchalant about it?"
"Well what do you want me to do?" I snapped, "You want me to cry about it? To her doped up, crack whore of a brain my mother thought it was the best. I know it wasn't, but what good would it do to hold it against her? She's probably dead now, anyway." I took a breath and shrugged it off, "And besides, now I'm here and safe, right? I mean, as long as the cops are still cops. You show 'em a little something and you're in. Nothing to worry about"
"No." Scott admonished, "No one should have to live with that, I'm sorry."
I shook my head and waved off his comment, "Don't be. It's made me who I am today."
Scott was silent for a moment before he looked at me and smiled slightly, "Oh yeah? And who are you today?"
I stood and jutted a hip out, "One hell of a wild ride, baby." Scott's face reddened a bit and I winked at him, "You really need to lighten up, Sparky."
Scott was quiet for a second, "I can't afford to lighten up, Kat." He admitted.
The smirk left my face, "Why not?"
"I just can't," He murmured, "And didn't I already say I didn't want to talk about it?"
I shrugged "You brought it up, Scott. Besides, everyone's entitled to have fun every now and then."
"Not when you can end up dead because of it." He returned.
"Dead?" My brow furrowed, "Now you're just exaggerating to get me off your back."
I sat back down on my stool and barely heard Scott mutter, "Right." I don't think he meant to actually say anything he had let out, but I made it a point not to ask him about his past again.
It's amazing how much good food isn't on the market in LA. I swear, I'd been living with Scott for more time that either of us had ever planned and all we had eaten was some sort of preserved, dehydrated meals the entire time. Once Scott did come home with a couple apples and an actual loaf of bread, but neither lasted long. Well, we'd been doing well with the car business. Even after Barron's twenty-fiver had taken off; we still had a steady flow of requests that came in.
I was learning a lot, but one particular evening I was sick of working on cars and wanted to get out. No, more than out, I wanted to have a good cooked meal. Scott was so busy under the hood of another car that he didn't even notice me leave. I swear, that boy is obsessive compulsive with working on cars. It's all he ever does. I mean, you'd think he'd get tired of it, but no. The guy got up, had a glass of water, and then shuffled into the garage, never to been seen again until his stomach came calling. Men.
Anyway, after I slipped out of the garage I was looking around the shack for anything to eat. More dehydrated food, but that was so not going to satisfy the hankering I had. I wanted something rich and creamy. Walking out of the house I surveyed the junkyard, it looked like after the pulse hit everyone dumped their cars, washers, dryers, refrigerators, and every other large appliance that was of no use in the place. I figured something had to be worth a bit of money or food, so I began searching through the larger appliances and the cars. After a good while of finding nothing but rusty parts I ran across a beat up looking car with its trunk open. Passing it off for a piece of junk I walked behind it to a rather large double door refrigerator. As I passed by the open trunk of the beat up car, I noticed something that had fallen out of a bag. Probably got shaken out in that last small earthquake we had just had. I took a second look and there were two large candlestick-things there that could hold three candles, but they were greenish brown. I picked it up anyways and rubbed my finger against the base and the tarnish rubbed off, revealing shining silver beneath. My eyes widened as I took a closer look. Intricate design covered the handle of the candlesticks. I picked one up and was shocked at how heavy it was. Someone would definitely be interested in one of these puppies.
Two hours later I stood over oven range I had scrounged, boiling some water to put some pasta into. The market had been easier to work than I thought it'd be. After walking through it for a couple minutes I saw a jewelry vendor and asked what I could get for a candlestick. I'd actually only brought one and figured I'd save the other for a rainy day. After the guy looked over the candlestick he told me I could get about fifty bucks for it. Now, I'm not stupid, I don't care what anyone says, I'm not, and I knew I could get more than a lousy fifty bucks for a candle stick that you could knock out a good sized guy with.
Thus began the bartering skills of Kat. Finally I argued enough for noodles, spices, and even a chicken. A live chicken at that. Well, it was a live chicken, until I told the guy I didn't want a live chicken. He took care of that problem quick enough though. So not an hour after I'd been in the market was I walking home with some noodles, a few spices I'd weaseled into the deal, and a dead chicken in a plastic bag.
My only qualms were what I was going to have to do to cook the chicken. After plucking, chopping, separating, and then slicing the chicken I felt I had enough meat to cook. I had to make a quick run to this one place nearby and as I walked back into the shack I caught a glimpse of myself in a mirror. Needless to say, it wasn't that pretty looking, but no matter, I tossed the rest of the chicken into the freezer and began to look around for pots and pans. It's truly incredible, some of the stuff people tossed out after the pulse. I found pretty much everything I'd need to make a decent meal after only three piles of junk then headed back for the shack. Scott was still busy in the garage and had no clue what I was up to and I didn't bother to tell him. I figured it'd be sort of a thank you surprise type deal. I even had a plan for the other candleholder so we could have an evening meal with a bit of light.
Scott was certainly surprised too. The food wasn't actually done when he came into the kitchen looking like a dog hot on the trail of his hunt, "What is that smell?" he asked curiously.
I looked up from the sauce I was stirring and smiled, "Dinner."
"Dinner?" he asked dumbly.
I nodded, "Yeah, you know the meal people usually eat in the evening?"
Walking to the oven, Scott looked in the various pots and pans, "What's wrong with the old army food I scrounged?"
"Sparky," I sighed, "Sometimes a girl's gotta have more than old military rations to keep her going. I had a craving so I found a way to cure it."
"A craving? You're not going to start talking about why you're having cravings are you?" Scott asked, backing away and looking at me like I was about to explode.
I shook my head, "Just go grab me the candles out of my bag, okay?" I pointed to the bed, where my bag rested.
"Candles?" Scott asked, "Where did you get those?"
"From the market," I answered, pouring the sauce over my noodles.
"Okay." Scott leaned on a crate, "how did you get candles."
"I traded them for the feather pillow."
"How'd you get a feather pillow?"
"I made it." I answered, a little annoyed.
"How did you make it?"
I looked up at him, "From some old cloth and feathers."
"Feathers?" he asked, "How."
I dropped the wooden spoon I'd been using, "From the chicken, Scott."
"Chicken?" Scott dropped to the crate, "How did...?"
"Do you have those candles yet?" I asked, glancing at my bag, "Not that I'm not loving this game of twenty questions, but I've sort of got a schedule thing going on here."
Shaking his head, Scott stood and walked to my bag, rifling through it a bit. I rolled my eyes and turned back to the stove, now scooping out the chicken on top of the pasta and sauce. I turned to ask Scott to drag a crate outside for our table and froze momentarily. He had lifted out an old book from my bag and was looking through the highlighted pages. I quickly dropped the pan onto the stove and moved to snatch the book out of his hand, "Hey!" I cried, holding the book to my chest, "I said candles, not my dictionary!"
Scott furrowed his brow at me, "Your dictionary?"
"Yes." I declared, my eyes meeting Scott's stare, "My dictionary."
"Should I even ask?" he teased.
Walking back to the stove and placing the book on the counter I shrugged, "I like to read it."
"You're kidding me." He continued, "A dictionary? You do know it's just words, right?"
I glared at him, "Yes, Mister Argumentative, I do know it's just words, most books are you anticlimactic ignoramus."
Scott furrowed his brow at me and reached again for my dictionary. Turning a bit I whacked his hand with my wooden spoon, "Get your own dictionary." I growled, "And bring the candles while you're at it."
Scott could only watch me in shock as I grabbed the book and shoved it down my shirt before I picked up the huge bowl of pasta I'd made and walked outside. "And a crate and chairs so we don't have to eat on the ground," I called over my shoulder.
It took Scott a second, but sooner than later, I suppose, he brought out what I'd asked for and I set the food down, "Now, we feast." I grinned, pulling two forks out of my shirt pocket and handing one to Scott. Before he took it out of my hand I moved it away, "Wait a second," I glanced at the table, then at Scott "Where's the candles?"
Grunting, Scott disappeared into the shack then reappeared, three candles in hand. "Here." He mumbled, handing them to me.
"Thank you." I smiled, placing them in the candleholder and then lighting them. "Candlelight dinner?" Scott raised his eyebrows.
I gave Scott an annoyed look before I shoved the fork into his hand, "Technically yes, but only because this is an evening meal and in order to have light we need light which is currently being provided by a few candles. If you'd rather, we can eat in the dark."
Scott plunged his fork into the dish, "Nah, this is fine." Twirling his fork he scooped out a rather large amount and some how managed to insert it all into his mouth. A few seconds later his fork clanged to the table and he made a sort of strangled noise.
"Are you okay?" I glanced up from my own fork to his face.
He swallowed his food and quickly dunked his fork into the pasta again, "Oh my God," he gasped. "This is amazing, Kat."
Taking a bite, I nodded, "Indeed."
After we had both finished off the pan of pasta Scott leaned on the table, "So you read and you cook. Anything else I should know?"
"Oh no." I shook my head, equally leaning on the table, "The only way I am telling something about me is you have to tell the same thing about you. Otherwise I'll just be babbling on about myself."
"Alright." He agreed, "So what else can you do?"
I shrugged, "I honestly don't know. I've been cooking myself meals since I was eleven, and I'm horridly picky, so I had to actually become good at it in order for me to even eat what I would cook."
"And the dictionary?"
"I guess I just like learning." I answered solemnly.
"So the highlighted words are.what?" Scott teased.
"Some of the men that my mom used to have around used some words I didn't know. One day I found a dictionary and looked up a few of them." I admitted, "I hate not knowing what people are talking about. If I don't know about it I won't just blow smoke up someone's ass with my uninformed self."
Scott's eyebrows shot up, "Wow, an intellectual."
"Fuck you," I shot, defensively.
Scott leaned back, "Easy there, cow girl, "I was just kidding."
"It's the only education I've had, I'm a little touchy."
Scott nodded, "So I noticed."
I shifted uncomfortably in the looming silence, "So, what about you?"
"I know cars and I like cars," Scott answered simply. "Not much more to me than that."
"Oh come on," I pushed, "There's got to be a little bit more. No other hobbies or anything?"
Scott looked out past me a while before shaking his head, "Not really. Cars is pretty much all I know and do. Everything else just gets in the way."
"That has got to be the lamest thing I've ever heard." I teased, winking at him, "We've got to add a bit of variety into your life, Sparky." I pulled the dictionary I had previously put down my shirt, "Here," I joked, handing it to him, "Educate yourself."
Scott grinned and pushed it away, "That's okay. Reading's not really my thing." "Let me guess," I dolled, "You'd rather piece a radiator together than open a book?"
Scott nodded, "See, we're getting to know each other better by the second."
"Sure Sparky," I chuckled, "I've learned so much that I never knew before."
Scott sat back and crossed his arms over his chest, "Well, okay, fine. I'm just another guy. I lead a simple life. I enjoy what I do. What more is there?"
"What about fun?" I challenged, "And what about relaxing?"
"I have fun working on cars and it relaxes me," he retorted.
I shook my head, "You sure are an odd one."
"Thank you," he accepted, smiling, "You're not so bad yourself."
Smirking at him I wagged my eyebrows, "You don't even know the half of it, Sparky."
* * * *
Life dramatically slowed down after we finished with Barron's big job and a month or so passed before we had any relatively big jobs again. A few here and there, and Scott was working on something for himself, but over all we were able to work at a relaxed pace and even get some conversation in. Speaking of conversation, Scott told me I was anal. Well, he actually said I was obsessively and compulsively anal. I punched him in the arm and told him he was a grubby prick. He just laughed at me. But what does that moron know? Just because I sort his tools by color and size and type when I've got nothing to do in the garage.Oh shit. He's right. Damn him. But anyway, Scott's been letting me do even more stuff these days. He lets me use tools and what not now too. Apparently I have a natural knack for this sort of stuff. Granted, I came to that conclusion on my own but that's solely based on everything I know Scott would never admit.
He doesn't like to admit a lot of things, as it turns out. The other day he as working on the Mustang again and I was sitting on my designated stool watching him. I got bored so I started to twirl tools with my fingers or drumming them on my knee while tapping my foot. As I was coming to the drum solo in a pre-pulse song Scott growled, "Kat, chill."
"Huh?" I stopped mid drum.
"Stop being so fidgety, can't you just sit there?" he insisted, his voice straining. I shrugged, "Nope, gotta keep moving with the rhythm." I moved my shoulders back and forth, imitating a dance move.
"Well, cut it out. I swear, I've never met a more anal and fidgety person. Do you know how hard it is for me to concentrate when you're bouncing around?" He grumbled.
I held up my middle finger, "It's none of your shit if I'm *bouncing* around the garage, what do you care? Just let me be and mind your own damn business." Scott's jaw clenched and I sighed and dropped the two screwdrivers I'd been playing with, "Sheesh, if it's that big a deal I'll stop."
He nodded curtly, "Thank you." He went back to working on the engine block and I was left just sitting. I started tapping my foot discretely then went for a flat head to mess with, "Kat, don't do it." Scott warned.
My hand was in midair, reaching for the tool, "What?" I asked, my hand flying back to my lap.
"Stop playing with my tools," he reprimanded.
I scrunched up my face, "Stop having fun, Kat. Sit and do nothing while I play all big and macho. No don't move. Just sit totally still." I mocked him in an imitation deep voice.
"Hey," he responded, "If you're really that bored go straighten up the tools again. You seem to think that's fun."
I shook my head, "I just did that. Give me something 'fun' to do."
He grunted, evoking a frustrated sigh from me.
"Fine." I looked around the garage. It was dirty and grimy with some of the bigger tools and various car parts hanging from the walls. It was cozy, despite it's lack of clean. I glanced over at Scott, "So," I started, "How'd you learn to do all this stuff, again?"
"This stuff?" Scott asked blankly.
I motioned around the room, "You know, this stuff." Scott stopped working and looked up at me, "Tools, cars, fixing things, torturing bored women."
He shrugged nonchalantly, "I told you, just a guy I once knew a long time ago."
"Right." I nodded, "And this guy was.who?" I pressed. I had been hoping that after all this time together he might crack a little bit and talk to me. I had made the man dinner, for crying out loud, what else was usually needed?
"No one important." He went back to the engine block.
"Uh-huh." I pressed, even though I knew he didn't really want to talk about it, "So, what were you doing before you ended up here?"
Scott shrugged in reply, "Stuff."
"Stuff?" I asked.
"Yep, just stuff." He answered.
I growled, "Why are you so.so.secretive?" It's not like I've got a ton of people to tell in an LA junkyard. I mean, what? I'm going to go tell the cars? God forbid." I took a breath, "I thought you were starting to get the hang of the normal conversation concept. I say something, you say something. Questions are asked and then answered by the other person. Is that too difficult of a concept to get into your brain?"
Scott looked up at me again, "I already told you I don't want to talk about it."
"Why not?" I pushed.
Scott turned around and crosses his arms, "If I don't want to talk about it do you really think I'm going to tell you why I don't want to talk about it? Just accept that my own business is my own business, my past is my past, and is none of your business."
I stood, similarly crossing my arms and glared at him, "Fine. Be secretive and quiet and don't tell me a fucking thing. It's not as if I care anyway, I was just making conversation because somebody won't let me do anything"
"So talk about something else." He glowered, "You knew I don't like talking about my past. I thought I made that clear already."
I lowered my arms slowly, "Okay, I can do that." I sat back on my stool and he turned back to the frame of the car, "So.what do you want to talk about? I mean, what's acceptable?"
He sighed loudly, "If you're so keen on talking, why don't you tell me about your past. You seem to like that topic of conversation."
I raised my eyebrows, "You won't tell me even a small tidbit about your past and you expect me to jus open up and tell you all about my past existence?"
"If you'd rather, you can sit in silence and I can go back to working." He offered.
My shoulders fell, "You realize you're a complete ass."
He smirked at me, "Well, you could."
"No!" I stopped him from any more ingenious ideas, "Shut up. I don't want to hear any of your sentiments, uh, other then on where you think I should start."
"The beginning is always an appropriate choice." He leaned under the hood.
"Thank you Captain Obvious." I rolled my eyes. He growled, I ignored him, "I guess," I began, "My bastard father took off the second he found out I was on the way, leaving me with a mother who resented and blamed me for everything. Apparently it was my entire fault that she fucked up and got herself knocked up.
She was pretty abusive as you can imagine. I knew I had to get away and once I even went to the police, but the pulse had just hit and everything was going crazy. The state of Washington was up in smoke. The cops were more worried about the looting and lynching going on than they were about some little girl with bruises." Scott turned around to look at me as I continued, "Social Services tried to help once too, but their records were completely erased so it was useless. I was only seven and way too young to be on the streets.
Anyway, after the pulse we lost our home. The sector police claimed our building and kicked everyone who didn't have the money to pay them off. She dragged me from alleyway to alleyway after that. Ended up getting herself real screwed up too. Drugs, alcohol, men. She always told me that she was just doing what she had to survive. When I was 11 she figured it was time I earned my keep so she started taking me to some men."
Scott's eyes were wide and his tool fell out of his hand, "She did what?"
I nodded slowly, "She did what she thought we had to do. They were usually nice. They'd tell me I was pretty, tell me I was doing a good thing by letting them touch me. And don't think my mom even cared. She was usually too strung out to know someone was there."
"You know that's not." he trailed off.
"Not what? Right? Decent? Moral?" I searched for him.
"All of the above," he confirmed, "Not to mention illegal."
I shrugged, "The cops didn't care either, hell, half the time it was the cops that were touching me. They weren't about to stop it."
"My god." He muttered, "The sick bastards, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I wouldn't have asked."
"Eh, don't beat yourself up about it. I figure it was going to come out eventually, sooner is better. Later is harder." I noticed Scott's face turn a steely gray but shrugged it off and continued. "It didn't last too long. My mom had disappeared when I was 11 but the guys still kept coming and giving me food and places to live, so I stuck around and did what I had to do. I took off when they started wanting me to have sex with them and started getting mean about it. One of the ones that were really nasty about it, said I owed it to him after not kicking me out of this one room flat in a condemned building, he was high up on the cop food chain. Turned out I was pretty wicked with a blade and he ended up with a bunch of stitches in the face. The cops were pissed to say the least and I took off and they ended up chasing me clear across the state to the Oregon border. It was there I hitched a ride into California. It was a nice family. Nice car. I can't believe they even let me in. I was dirty, grubby, and probably smelled like the sewers. I think they were going to give me to social services, but I split on them at a rest stop. No way I was going to let cops get their hands on me again."
"Wow." Scott said, "That's.crazy. How can you be so nonchalant about it?"
"Well what do you want me to do?" I snapped, "You want me to cry about it? To her doped up, crack whore of a brain my mother thought it was the best. I know it wasn't, but what good would it do to hold it against her? She's probably dead now, anyway." I took a breath and shrugged it off, "And besides, now I'm here and safe, right? I mean, as long as the cops are still cops. You show 'em a little something and you're in. Nothing to worry about"
"No." Scott admonished, "No one should have to live with that, I'm sorry."
I shook my head and waved off his comment, "Don't be. It's made me who I am today."
Scott was silent for a moment before he looked at me and smiled slightly, "Oh yeah? And who are you today?"
I stood and jutted a hip out, "One hell of a wild ride, baby." Scott's face reddened a bit and I winked at him, "You really need to lighten up, Sparky."
Scott was quiet for a second, "I can't afford to lighten up, Kat." He admitted.
The smirk left my face, "Why not?"
"I just can't," He murmured, "And didn't I already say I didn't want to talk about it?"
I shrugged "You brought it up, Scott. Besides, everyone's entitled to have fun every now and then."
"Not when you can end up dead because of it." He returned.
"Dead?" My brow furrowed, "Now you're just exaggerating to get me off your back."
I sat back down on my stool and barely heard Scott mutter, "Right." I don't think he meant to actually say anything he had let out, but I made it a point not to ask him about his past again.