Clint's POV

I will my car into the garage, just barely easing into a parking space before it gives out with a shudder, groan, and a cough. I hop out and slam the door just as Taylor steps out the elevator, flowed closely by Tony.

"I heard car trouble," she announces, "Either that or you have some new strain of swine flu."

I shake my head. "I'm fine. But that," I wave a hand towards my car, "is not."

She glances at her dad before taking a few steps forwards and curling her hand into a fist under her chin, a thoughtful look on her face. "Do you have any appointments with mechanics?"

I raise my eyebrows. "No. Are you offering?"

"Can we?"

"Will you add flamethrowers or something insane like that?"

She gives a small shake of her head. "Not unless you want us to."

"Fine," I sigh, "Go ahead."

She nods sharply. "Don't interrupt unless you're dying…and if that's the case, call Bruce first."

I nod and lean back against the wall to watch them work.

"Jarvis, cue the lift! Lab...2!" Taylor calls, and the car instantly begins to rise through some opened panels on the roof. "Floor above this one, first door on the left." Tony calls over his shoulder as he and his daughter set off for the elevator again.

I decide to take the stairs, eventually finding the designated lab and walking in to see my car about two feet off the ground, Taylor lying on her back on one of those wheely things mechanics use, and Tony near the rear of the car with several holograms floating around him.

"-this needs a type 5 drive shaft. Why does it have a 4?"

"I don't know," Tony replies distractedly. "It also needs a smaller oil pan. Jarvis-"

"Dummy is fetching one of the slim designs as we speak."

"Thanks," Taylor calls, then pauses. "Do we have any man-trams left?"

"Somewhere." Tony frowns. "I thought this used an auto-tram?"

"It did." She points at something on a hologram. "Look. The auto got burnt out, almost to the point of catastrophic failure."

"We have auto-trams in stock," Tony protests. "We could just change it out."

"Doing the same thing and expecting different results is a definition of insanity." Taylor snaps. "And I don't feel like having my boyfriend charbroiled, thank you very much."

"Fine," Tony huffs. "Jarvis, where are the man-trams?"

"Fourth row, third column, third shelf down. Storage room 1A."

Taylor nods and silently slides out to get it, leaving Tony and I in complete silence minus the occasional cranking of a wrench until she returns about five minutes later with a cart loaded with a transmission and a few extra parts. She pushes the cart over to Tony, who nods and unloads it, hoisting the transmission into the car while Taylor hops into the front seat of the car and tinkers with something. "Has the oil pan come in yet?"

"It's right here. We need to change the oil too."

"Type?"

"Usual for this."

Taylor nods, somehow understanding the shorthand used, before slamming the car door shut and sliding back under the car, taking the oil pan and a small wrench with her.

One clatter, a splash, and a litany of muttered curses later, she slides back out, her head and shoulders covered in a black sludge I can only assume was the oil in my car. She just wipes her face with a rag that was lying around before getting up, snapping on a pair of goggles, and sliding back under the car.

I just shake my head as the shorthand banter continues.

"Idiot."

"That was pretty idiotic, yes. But I'm-"

"An idiotic genius, then."

"Takes one to know one. Is the drive shaft a five yet?"

"It is. He needs new brake fluid too."

"My god…is the antifreeze intact? At least?"

Tony snorts. "Barely."

Taylor huffs and grumbles while she slides back out and over to a low shelf, grabbing two jugs before sliding back over. "What about the brake pads?"

"Still there. Used, of course, but still in working condition."

"Is working condition the same as optimal condition?"

"They won't need to be replaced for another half year, minimum, unless he starts doing those crazy maneuvers like the Secret Service does."

"You can do most of those in your car." Tony points out around the screwdriver between his teeth.

"Doesn't me they aren't insane. Is this tubing okay?"

Tony rolls over about half a foot. "Seems to be…put a sucker on it."

Taylor nods simply and moves on. "Axels seem okay…wait, come here and look at this."

"Ugh…do a temperate flash mold."

Taylor nods and slides out, grabbing a tool of a workbench before slipping back under. There's a hissing sound for about thirty seconds, then a whoosh, some sparks, and another hiss as some slight steam rises from the area around my right rear tire. "Everything's okay!" Taylor reassures me without even looking up and without me needing to say a thing.

"Is that it?"

"Trans?"

"Check."

"Drive shaft?"

"Yeah."

"Fluids?"

"Got 'em."

"Oil pan?"

"Replaced."

All's silent for a moment before "Then that is all. Come on, time for stage 2."

They both slide out, and I get a good look at both of them. Taylor's still covered head and shoulders in oil, her normally soft brunette hair black and stringy. Tony's shirt is sweat plastered between his shoulders and a red mark is quickly forming just below his cheek bone.

Taylor jogs off to get cleaned up as Tony calls for the car to be lowered as he walks up to me. "We need you to take a test drive."

"What?!"

"Don't worry, we'll be monitoring the car from here." He pulls over a group of holograms, the screens showing charts, graphs, and energy level reading I can't begin to comprehend. "We placed sensors, or suckers, on a few parts of the car, and those feed their readings to here. We also installed a temporary fail safe."

"Fail safe."

"Yep." Taylor walks up from behind us, dressed in a new t-shirt and jeans with her hair still damp. "Just in case something goes really wrong. In that case, we can hit a button and immediately stop the car. But it's only temporary, we can take it off when we're done."

I nod and climb in my car. "Wish me luck."

My girlfriend grins. "You shouldn't need it."

I pull out of the lab, down a ramp, and onto the street as she returns to the bubble of screens, her dad and her murmuring softly.

The ride is a lot quieter – no groaning, wheezing, or coughing of any sort – and soft, like I was riding on air. Or a cloud. Or something else soft and clichéd like that.

I return to the garage and am immediately met with two grinning mechanics. Taylor pulls me out of the car as Tony messes with something under the hood, probably removing the fail safe.

"You know," I grin at them, "you're either brilliant or just lucky. And I'm a smart, brave, idiot for agreeing to this. Nobody tells Natasha?"

They grin. "Deal."