paradisalogs | it's so much better in the sunlight

Entry tags:

it's so much better in the sunlight

Who: Spike Spiegel, Once-ler, Anne Boleyn and OPEN
What: Fixing Cars
When: Backdated to December 21st, afternoon
Where: Stepford-land
Rating: PG

Expectations are always such a mood killer.

This time of year tends to be stressful anyway, so there's no explanation needed as to why Spike's not spending his afternoon with his spouse. Honestly, he's never fit in with the perfect family setting, which could account for why he tends to add to his wife's stress instead of fix their issues with his wit and charming personality. According to her, all their problems tend to revolve around his lack of ambition -- this time because he missed a day of work, because he found the concept so boring that he slept right through it. (Like they'd ever fire him anyway. That just doesn't happen in this town.)

So he's doing what he usually does when he needs some air and doesn't want the neighbors getting nosy; he's working on his car.

It's not any big deal, as far as he's concerned. She usually gets over it in time for dinner. Like clockwork. At the moment, he's content to bob his head to the music playing from a nearby radio and tinker in the garage with something that he's been meaning to get around to. And really, he can't think of anything else he'd rather be doing for the holidays.

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If there's one thing the Once-ler has in spades, it's ambition. A little too much of it, honestly. It's ironic that the restless feeling he has in this false world echoes that of his own life, back on that simple farm that's not even a memory for him right now. Hearing the music coming from the garage makes him smile. It's the universal house code that his father is working on the car.

So, heading down into the garage, he taps at the doorjam.

"Need a hand?"

The fact that his son usually magically appears whenever he pops the hood of his car is one of the things he likes best about him. Not that he'd admit it, or that it needs to be said, but somewhere along the way he surpassed his father's knowledge of tuning up these things. Mostly, all Spike has to do is stand back and try to curtail some of his more wild ideas.

"Didn't even have to call." He smiles, straitening and nodding him over. He knows as well as Spike that the reason his car needs so many tune ups is because of how he drives it, but they can both agree that the speed limits around here are way too conservative. Especially when people are already running late to work. Or running away from it, whatever. "The engine is making that sound again."

Once might have a little too ambitious ideas of exactly what can be done with the engine. Some of those ideas involve rockets, which while they would probably work would also likely result in second degree burns for all of them. But it would solve the running away from work problem.

Still, for now, he's happy just to have the opportunity to work on a car with his father. He steps down into the garage proper.

"Wow, again?"

Spike nods, then reaches in his pocket for a carton of cigarettes, which he then offers. It should be noted that these trips to the garage are also opportune times for him to smoke as much as he wants. It's also an easy way to pay his son back for his help when he doesn't have a beer handy.

"Yeah. Now it's barely able to go over the speed limit." It's like the whole town has something against reckless driving. "Do you remember what we did the last time?"

Once took the cigarette, happy to have the opportunity to share another interest with his dear father.

"Yeah, I remember. Maybe we just need to tighten it a little more this time. Or...you know, go back to my old idea and just remove all the speed limit signs."

Because if the signs aren't there, then there is no speed limit. Thus was his logic.

His mother might not appreciate the way they both tend to encourage the other's bad habits, but quality time is quality time. And it so happens that Once has the kind of ideas that Spike likes to entertain.

"One step at a time." He's grinning as he lights his own cigarette though, and he steps back to give him a better view of what they're dealing with. "-- But, if you're still wondering what to get me for Christmas."

But what she didn't know couldn't hurt them. Once lights his own cigarette, going to pick up some tools.

"Never huts to be ambitious," he chuckles. "Okay, that's gonna be a pain in the neck to wrap, but I'll see what I can do."

He appreciates how Once decides not to ask about his mother, it makes the whole distraction entirely more enjoyable. Not even thinking about her.

"I wonder where you get that from." ... His mother. Well, that answered itself. Spike frowns, quickly dismissing the idea. "Maybe you could give it to me early."

"It's a mystery," he smiles a little at the corner of his mouth, he knows full well his mother has enough drive to keep half the town going, if she put her mind to it.

"Then it wouldn't be a Christmas present."

He folds his arms and flicks ash from his newly lit cigarette. Suddenly fixing the car doesn't seem as good as the other suggestion. They'd joked about it before, but what's the harm in following through?

"You've got something better to do today?"

Once raises his head from looking at the car. He'd been joking, but a little light vandalism never hurt anyone, right? And it'd make the day go by a whole lot quicker.

"Not especially."

That smile of his resurfaces and he gestures for him to close the hood. So what if the noise it's making alerts the neighbors when they're making their getaway? The risk is half the fun.

"Let's get going then."

And they can always blame it on someone else at the end of the day, anyway. Shifting the blame is a great bonding exercise. Once closes the hood with a grin.

"Awesome! We can think of a good cover story for mom on the way."

Maybe something involving sick children or...something.

Like he needs a cover story. Only if the heat gets involved. He walks over to the driver's side, only calling back over his shoulder.

"She's a little preoccupied. I doubt she'll even notice we're gone." Or she'll notice and say nothing. She's still steaming from his last bright idea, so the timing couldn't be better.

Once doesn't miss that, and gives his father a side eye as he gets into the passenger side.

"What did you do this time?"

"Nothing." Although he's avoiding his gaze when he says that. It's not a lie though, he literally did nothing and got in trouble for it. Make sense of that one. "It's Saturday. She's doing laundry."

Like all housewives do. They're as normal of a family as the next house, so there's no need to over-analyze these things.

When he starts the car, 'that sound' he'd been talking about seems to rumble up from the engine. It's ignored so he can pull out in peace. He's hoping his son knows enough not to point it out when he's already formed such a brilliant escape plan.

Once doesn't point it out, but the soft frown and the crane of the neck show he really wants to find the cause of that sound and Make It Stop. Still, the desire to spend quality time with a family member overrides that, and he sits back in the seat.

Seems some things never really change.

The plan to ignore it works all the way to the driveway, when there's a sudden shuddering followed by a choking sputter, then silence. Spike narrows his eyes when the car stops moving and aggressively turns the key again. And again.

One more time...

"Maybe I should have called first."

Once winces a little at the pained noises the car makes as Spike tried to make it move.

"Uh...maybe I should take a look."

That seems like a reasonable idea, but Spike doesn't move. Either he's trying to remember if he left something loose, or it jogged something else in his mind.

Like how odd it is that the car works fine when he takes it to work, but the second he starts getting ideas...

"It's fine. Don't worry about it."

Once is not good at leaving things be, especially mechanical things.

"Are you sure? I mean, it should only take a few seconds..."

Not fast enough. He hates it when his motivation gets dashed when he's right in the middle of something. Besides, if the theory is right...

"Don't you have a car?"

Once frowns a little confused.

"Yeah, I think I...have one?"

Maybe because his father should probably know if his son has a car. It's hard remembering things when you're distracted. Either way, he nods and opens the door.

"So let's take that one."

"Yeah...okay."

He distractedly gets out and then...pauses.

"I don't remember where I...parked it."

Does he even live in this house?

Does it make him a terrible person if he would have to think that question over? Once always was easy to overlook.

"Having fun without me?" He should be proud, right? Or angry. One of those.

"...Not the sort of fun you're implying, no."

Seems even in magical Stepford land, Once can't get any.

Whatever reaction he's supposed to be having at that first bit of news, the second part throws him off even further. Spike leans against the roof of the car, hand on his hip as he borders on a sympathetic look.

"That's too bad. I'm sure it'll work for you someday."

This was getting awkward. So awkward.

"...Yeah, thanks a lot for that."

He scratches the side of his nose, contemplating things Once doesn't want to hear, then nods and stomps out the remainder of his cigarette.

"Well, that leaves us with this heap." Reaching back inside, he pops the hood. Never say he never gave Once a break.

Once brightens up at that action, finally able to move away from a possibly dangerous and uncomfortable topic and instead being able to focus on his one true love.

"She'll stop being a heap in three seconds flat."

He smiles again. Sometimes it's good to be so easy to please. While he gets back to it, Spike walks over to the radio, turning it up again.

"Take your time."

Unfortunately it's his own predictability that dooms Spike on the worst of days, when she finds herself so frantic that she can't permit him to get his 'fresh air'. If she isn't allowed sanity, or peace of mind, why should he be permitted it?

But of course she loves her husband, so dearly, and would do anything for him. Isn't that why she pushes him so? Without encouragement, he probably wouldn't go to work at all. She didn't used to be this hard, did she? Once upon a time she remembers laughing more, but it doesn't matter. She still smiles, and makes jokes when appropriate, and keeps silent when even more appropriate (at least in public). Of course when men really want to have talks away from their wives, they'll actually go away; so how could she ever be intruding?

Her own garage hardly counts as an intrusion, and despite hating the place, she stands there like she's the one who owns it and works to keep it. Well, she does work to keep it clean. Does he honestly think he has so many secrets?

"I'm no expert at motor vehicles, but I think that if a car is broken so often that you need to take a wrench to it nearly every day, it's time to get a new car. Should we go pick one out?"

There's that smile, as she holds a basket of folded laundry to one side, the other hand switching off the radio pointedly.

As much as he cares about his wife, they work together best when they have their time apart. At least, that's how he rationalizes it whenever he feels the need to slip away, but he never tries that hard. She can always find him.

Spike wears a smile at the sight of Anne in his doorway, and keeps it there all the way until she clicks the radio off, when it finally dissolves into a pout. He wasn't even playing it that loud. -- Seeing her isn't too unexpected though, and he can deduce what she's here for based on their usual pattern. It's too soon to be cutting him a break.

"I wish I could." The implication should be that they can't afford a new car, or even a used one, but he doesn't like bringing up finances when he's supposed to be the provider in his home. It's a pride thing. "Besides, it's been around so long, it's part of the family."

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it's so much better in the sunlight

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