Chapter Text
The bathroom light didn't turn on when you flipped the switch. You tried it a few times, but when nothing happened, you shrugged it off and shut the bathroom door. The sun was streaming in through the window anyway.
You draped the towel onto the railing next to the shower. Shivering slightly from being exposed, you stepped into the cubicle and turned the handle, ready for a nice, warm, relaxing shower.
It was as though icicles sent by an angry ghost were rained upon you. If someone had been passing by the house, they'd have heard a sudden shriek followed by a banging noise as you slipped and landed on your ass.
Frantic, you hurried out of the shower and waited a minute for the water to warm up. It didn't.
"Babe, there's something wrong with the shower!" you called. Somewhere in the house, you could hear him stumbling about. He should have left earlier, but he'd gotten so consistent with being late to work that you knew he was still here. You went to the door and wrenched it open. "What happened to the shower?!"
"I had to fix it!" he called back. Some more shuffling, and then you heard the sound of the front door being quickly opened and slammed shut.
Oh, he had to fix it, did he? Fix it? Fix it?! Like he'd 'fixed' everything else in this godforsaken house?!
Venomous mutters spilled from your lips as you gave up and went to change into something more comfortable. He's lucky you didn't need to shower right away, but this was getting ridiculous.
To prove it to yourself, you went to switch on the bedroom light, which didn't work. Neither did the one in the hallway, the spare bedroom, the kitchen or the living room.
Fine. You could live without overhead lights. Most of the lamps were working at the very least, and they would continue to do so as long as he kept his distance. If you couldn't shower, there were other ways to relax.
You plopped yourself down on the sofa and reached for the remote. Despite pressing all the right buttons, however, the TV wouldn't turn on. You got off the sofa and crouched by the television, trailing your fingers along the bottom until you found the other 'on' button. The screen blared to life.
You sat back down and went to change the channels. Nothing happened. Perplexed, you turned the remote over in your hands. Maybe it was sixth sense that made you open the compartment. There was always a chance the batteries had simply run out of juice…
… There were no batteries in the remote. Why were there no batteries in the remote?
You shut your eyes and breathed in deeply. Self control of the highest order was something you had learned to practice regularly over the last couple of years. You were pretty sure there aren't any other batteries lying around, so you'd have to go out and get some. Not now, though, your boyfriend has the car.
Alright. If you couldn't shower or watch TV, you figured you may as well get an early start on dinner.
Something simple would do, you thought to yourself as you wandered into the kitchen. A pasta dish with tomato sauce and cheese. No, that was too simple, and you didn't want an earful. Some mushrooms to go with it and a small chopped onion.
You twisted the knob to get the stove to warm up. The familiar cracking sound it made when being switched on didn't come.
An inkling of horror swelled in your chest as you knelt down and switched on the main oven. It didn't turn on.
"I'm going to-" you devolved into incoherent groans.
You stormed out of the kitchen and went for the house phone. You put a hand out to grab it, then withdrew it - you already knew that was hopeless, and instead flew up the stairs to the bedroom where your phone lay on the bed.
The doorbell rang a little over an hour later. It was a miracle that it hadn't been 'fixed' as well.
Clutching a piece of paper, you rushed out of the kitchen and swung the front door open. "Morning, are you the- Oh."
A rather tall woman stood on the porch wearing a navy blue polo shirt complimented by a black long-sleeved shirt underneath, and a pair of black trousers. She carried a plastic box with a handle in one hand. She had dark skin, darker hair that was cut to her shoulders and tied back, which contrasted well with cool, grey eyes.
Admittedly, it wasn't her eyes, hair, or the large build that caught the bulk of your attention, but the prosthetic. You noticed it quickly, the one holding the box, while her other hand was made of flesh and rested easily at her side.
Are all handy-women this attractive?
"Morning, Ma'am," she said politely. She's got a nice voice, deep and soothing. "You did want a handyman, didn't you? This is the right address?"
"Oh- Yes, it is, morning. Come in."
The woman stepped inside and cast her eyes over the place while you shut the door behind her. "So, what is it exactly you needed? I was told you didn't make it clear on the phone."
"Everything is just broken. Just- Everything." You sighed remembering your desperate pleading on the phone. "I suppose just an electrician? I've got a list of things I need done."
"New house?" the woman guessed, raising one eyebrow.
"No- Well, sort of. It was fine before…" Before your boyfriend tried to play engineer. "Like I said, I've got a list."
The woman followed you from room to room. At first she seemed perfectly collected, and you caught a look that reminded you suspiciously of disdain when you led her around the large rooms, decorated with rich furnishings and fancy porcelain.
The further you went on, however, the higher her eyebrows raised and her eyes widened. Once finished with the second floor, she looked as though she were in another world. After showing her the bedroom on the second floor, she looked as though she'd caught a glimpse of Hell.
"And finally the shower." You led her into the bathroom and pointed to the dreaded cubicle where you'd slipped earlier. "It's ice cold, I can't get it to warm up. I only discovered that this morning, though…"
"Miss," began the woman, and she had her palms pressed together and brought to her lips in order to keep her composure, "why did it take you this long to call us? This must be the result of some serious faulty engineering."
You hesitated. It's not exactly honourable to throw people under the bus, but you're at your wits end.
"It's my boyfriend," you admitted lamely. "He likes to tinker with things that work fine."
The woman blinked. "If he likes to tinker, get him a Lego set. Why does he need to work on the house?"
"Lego won't make him feel important." The spiteful words spilled out before you could stop yourself. Under the woman's questioning look, you shook your head and recovered yourself. "Is all of this doable today?"
"Today?!"
"Right, of course not," you said hastily. "Well then, would you please just make sure the stove and shower are working today?"
"I'll do what I can," she assured you, her earlier hints of disdain replaced with hesitant sympathy. "But if he's only messed up the wiring I can do a lot more if you'll let me."
"No, please - I'd like you to be gone before he's home or I'll never hear the end of it."
She chewed her cheek thoughtfully. "I'll do what I can," she repeated doubtfully.
Her silver eyes darted to you and then away quickly, and you realised how rude you were coming across. You sounded as though you wanted her out of the house as quickly as possible. To make up for it, you asked, "What was your name?"
"Sevika." She seemed a little caught out with the question. You supposed most people weren't interested in the name of a handy woman who would only be around fleetingly. "I caught yours on the phone."
"Great! Well, er, would you like something to drink?"
You thought you'd cry with relief when you found that the kettle was still working and offered the woman a cup of tea. She nodded but after all her initial questions were answered she went straight to work on the stove, and she operated quietly. You left her cup on the kitchen counter and took one of your own into the living room.
Now, your own work began.
You disappeared into the bedroom and started rifling around beneath your side of the bed. You produced a box that, when flipped open, revealed folded clothes. The unassuming mind who came across it would assume you just didn't have room for these in the wardrobe.
Carefully, you moved a few of the clothes onto the floor to reveal… Textbooks, notebooks, a pencil case, and a pair of headphones.
Minutes later, Sevika heard murmuring coming from the living room. She assumed it was the TV and didn't pay it any mind as she tried to pick apart what horrors were put before her.
How in the hell could anybody have done all of- of- of this, and thought they were doing even a half-decent job?! Wires had been switched around and fiddled with so much they'd become frayed and loose. There were also strange holes in the walls from being drilled. Drilled for what? There weren't any screws that had fallen out as far as she could tell.
Sevika bit down on her tongue, hard. Customers didn't like when she would swear on the job, even if it was under her breath. You were the sort that Sevika preferred; offering her a drink or snack or something before leaving her alone to get on with things.
Despite appearances, Sevika realised the damage done was surface-level and easily revised. She switched a few wires around and took out some material from her toolbox to carefully apply to the frayed bits, keeping them from sparking.
At last, she got off her knees and moved the oven back into place. She switched the hobs to check the lights and heat came on. Satisfied, she turned to the kitchen table to take a sip of her now lukewarm tea. Tempting as it was to tell you she'd prefer a coffee, she didn't want to be rude.
The door to the living room had been left ajar. Sevika waited until half her cup was gone before she picked up her toolbox and went to see you. Before walking in, however, she stopped and looked through the gap.
When you'd shown her around earlier the living room had been… Clean. Apart from the expensive ornaments displayed all over the place, furniture and signs of life had been kept to a minimum. Even the bookcase Sevika could spy from her spot had few books on autobiographies that didn't appear to have been touched.
You were kneeling on the floor in front of the coffee table. On the surface were open books and a laptop that displayed an audio file you would keep repeating. Sevika couldn't hear it due to your headphones. At this angle she was only able to see the back of your head, but the way you would raise your pen above the paper, play the file, scribble something down, replay the file, and say words Sevika didn't recognise made it crystal clear that you were focused.
So focused that Sevika stayed where she was, unsure how to approach the situation. She didn't want to interrupt you, but there was a lot of work still to be done. Would it be better to head straight to the shower and let you work, or let you know she'd finished up the first task?
You played the audio file again and spoke. Sevika straightened up. She didn't have a clue what you were saying but something about it was familiar. Ah, that was it - you were teaching yourself another language.
Lucky for her, you reach for your mug to take a sip a sip of your own tea to find that it was empty. You sighed and removed your headphones, and Sevika took the opportunity to open the door.
She caught your attention right away. "How is it going?" you asked.
"I've fixed the stove. I was going to move onto the shower."
"Oh, that's good! I can get started on dinner then. Did you want another tea?"
There was a slight pause before Sevika answered, "That's alright, I've got some leftover. I should just get to work."
Sevika of course had to go through your bedroom again to get to the bathroom. This time, she saw the box that had been taken out from beneath the bed and the clothes set aside. Inside, she spotted a few notebooks and textbooks.
Then, she shook her head and stepped into the bathroom. No reason for her to stick her nose in other people's business.
Back downstairs, you had abandoned your study materials in favour of preparing dinner. After all the trouble he's put you through, your boyfriend was lucky he was even getting a simple pasta dish.
Out came the chopping board, the knife, a large wooden spoon, and the pot. From the fridge you produced half a packet of mushrooms, a packet of minced beef, a packet of bacon, some butter, an onion, and a tiny clove of garlic. From the cupboards, you took out a tin of chopped tomatoes, some tomato puree, some mixed herbs, and some beef stock. After some deliberation, you decided against adding a splash of red wine - he did not deserve it.
You chopped up the onion and mushrooms first, then switched on the stove, where you placed the pot and added some butter. On second thought, butter may not be sufficient for a meat dish like this, so you added in a touch of olive oil. When the butter had melted, you added the onions and spread them over the pot with the spoon. Once they started sizzling, you added the mushrooms.
Upstairs, Sevika had taken the shower head down to avoid any accidents and working out how your bozo of a partner had thought to screw around with the temperatures or pressure.
Despite Sevika's caution, the cubicle was still a bit wet from your attempted shower earlier. This shouldn't have been a problem.
But when she was sure she'd fixed it, Sevika dared to place the nozzle back where it was, and she caught the distant scent of your cooking. The urgency of this morning's call had urged Sevika to skip breakfast, and the smell of cooking meat and onions and whatnot made her stomach growl.
"Should stop by Vander's," she muttered. She reached up to make another adjustment, but her head twisted to the side when something else was added to the mix and wafted through the air to reach her. She missed whatever she was reaching for and instead-
You nearly jumped out of your skin when you heard the crash. Quickly, you turned down the hob and hurried out of the room, up the stairs, and dashed through your bedroom until you got to the bathroom of the door.
"Oh-" You covered your mouth with your hand.
"It's not that funny," Sevika said.
Sevika had pressed the 'on' button for the shower. Most showers didn't have this feature, so you wondered if she'd thought it was something else. Clearly the water had hit her square in the face, taking her off guard, and she slipped on bits of water already there. By the time you'd reached the room, she'd crawled out of the shower and sat next to it, staring at the steady stream through wet hair and stormy eyes. You tried to avoid looking at the splatter on her chest.
"So…"
"It's fixed."
Your lips twitched. Sevika watched, unimpressed, as you abruptly turned out of the room to go fetch her a towel and hide your laugher. The poor woman resembled an upset Labrador.
You'd gone downstairs again to make a fresh cup of tea for Sevika to try and cheer her up, figuring she'd prefer to dry herself off alone, and carried on with dinner. You were leaving it to simmer when you heard the kitchen door open.
"Are you feeling alright? I worried you hit your… Er, head," you stuttered when you saw her.
Sevika had taken her hair-tie out to let her hair air dry, and the front parts hung over her face quite well. Sensibly, Sevika had taken off her blue shirt which had been drenched. This left her in the trousers and long-sleeved black shirt. Again, your eyes drifted to her artificial hand, and suddenly you were horrified.
"The water hasn't affected your hand, has it?"
"Nah, don't worry about that. It's been through worse." The corner of Sevika's lips lifted slightly as though she were sharing a private joke with herself. "Got distracted by your cooking."
"I thought it smelt good."
"So did I. What are you making?" she asked as she draped her blue shirt over the back of a stool.
"Only bolognese," you admitted, nodding to the pot. "I like to let it simmer for forty-five minutes, then I keep the lid on properly until heating it up again for dinner. It lets all the flavour settle in."
"My bolognese never smelt like that. It was my go-to meal when I was in college," she explained when you cocked your head with interest. "I guess I just left it at meat and spaghetti though."
"Do you not cook?"
"I cook a lot. Thinking about it now, I just haven't had bolognese in years. I always associate it with my college days."
You squinted. "That makes me think you didn't like your college days."
Sevika waved her flesh hand. "Eh. What do you add in yours?"
You held up your hand and started counting on your fingers. "Apart from the usual meat and spaghetti, I do onions, mushrooms, bacon, beef stock, tomatoes, some red wine - not this time though. Since it's for me and my boyfriend, I don't feel like treating him to a lick of the good stuff after all…" You waved your hand around. "This."
"Shame you're also being deprived of 'the good stuff'." Sevika's nose flared a little and her eyes went to the pot.
Catching on quick, you opened a drawer and took out a spoon. "Want to taste?"
"I'm on the job…" She protested even as she walked around the kitchen island to take you up on the offer. You smiled and let her dip the spoon into the sauce. She cupped the underside with her real hand to keep it from spilling, though you worried about her being able to hold the spoon with her spindly metal fingers.
You watched eagerly as she brought the concoction to her lips. Her tongue poked out catch the remaining sauce around her mouth and get a little more off the spoon while she nodded.
"Much better than my college crap. Your husband comes back to this everyday?" Sevika asked in wonder.
"Boyfriend," you corrected a little too quickly. Then your eyes widened.
You took the spoon off of Sevika, startling her, and she blinked awkwardly while you washed off the spoon in the sink. Before she could be offended, you snatched a salt shaker from beneath the kitchen island, twisted it above the mixture, then stirred it up again with the wooden spoon. How could you forget something so basic? You dipped in the metal one and held it back out to Sevika.
"Give it another try," you ordered.
Sevika obediently tasted the bolognese again. She made a small noise in her throat.
"That's bound to be even better after it's simmered," she sighed wistfully, perhaps realising she won't be around for the final result.
Sevika knows a compliment will go a long way, but the way you're reacting better than most. Your eyes sparkled at her words as you placed more worth upon them than anybody should assign to a stranger, and your gaze darted to the fridge and cupboards as though considering what else you could add to pull out a few more sweet words.
As you did so, however, you caught sight of the clock.
"Oh, God." You grabbed the spoon again and put it in the sink. "Sorry, I need you to go now. Thank you for coming over - would you come back tomorrow to work on the other stuff?"
"Yeah, that's fine…" Sevika said awkwardly as you put the lid over the pot and rounded the table to hand Sevika's shirt back to her. Your face was so suddenly serious that she didn't even ask about payment. She simply wrapped the shirt around her waist and picked up her tool belt as you ushered her out of the kitchen and down the hall.
Once Sevika was out on the porch, you gave her a strained smile and said, "Thank you again. I'll make you tea tomorrow."
"Er, I haven't had any of the tea you made me a minute ago…"
"Oh. It's okay, I'll drink it." With that, you shut the door. Sevika stared at the spot where you'd been standing as she listened to rushed footsteps, curses, and some rustling from inside.
To think you'd been one the nicest customers she'd had in a long time. Sevika shrugged and trudged back up the pathway to where her van was parked just off the road. She threw her wet shirt onto the passenger seat and shut the door behind her.
Before she pulled out, however, she saw you open the curtains to the living room. She hadn't noticed that they were closed before - no wonder that room had been dark.
She started the engine and squinted. Your study materials were gone. The coffee table was totally clear.
For the remainder of the day you felt guilty about pushing Sevika out the front door the way you did, but knew it was the right thing to do when your boyfriend let himself in only fifteen minutes later.
"God, I'm tired. A cup of coffee would be great," was the first thing he said when you met him at the front door to take his jacket. You had not offered a cup of coffee.
After his mug was empty, he went upstairs to shower. While doing the washing up, you just heard him shouting, "See?! The shower is better than it's ever been! I don't know why you were so upset this morning."
That evening, you sat with him in the dining room where you ate the spaghetti bolognese. The dining room has spots for about ten people, so you've never been entirely sure why he insisted on eating in there when the kitchen island would do just fine.
You ate slowly, enjoying the work you'd put into it. He finished within minutes.
"You must have really liked it," you said sweetly.
"Mmm. Is there seconds? Could you dish it up for me? With more spaghetti, please."
You'd only done two portions of spaghetti. You left your plate to go cold while you prepared a second plate for him. "It'll take eight minutes for the spaghetti to soften," you told him.
Sevika's phone was ringing. When she recognised the number, she groaned and put down her coffee, but answered nevertheless. "Hello?"
The words came and Sevika honestly tried to understand. But for the life of her she couldn't figure out what language was coming through the speaker. It was a woman on the older side if she had to guess, and likely looking for a handy man. That was all the detail Sevika could parse from the daily calls. They were calling late today.
It went on for ten minutes. It ended as it always did, with Sevika apologising for not understanding and hanging up the phone.