Fixed

Trisha J. Wooldridge

 

“Victoria, would you mind getting another pot of coffee? It’s going to be a late night.”

The woman gritted teeth behind her smile as she left the table of men. She would break into the notes later so she could stay updated on the new specs for the joint bearings. It was her personal mission to stay on top of this project despite Broderick’s insistence upon treating her like an overpaid secretary.

She wasn’t a day into this contract before realizing she was hired because she, alone, fulfilled three equal opportunity quotas: woman, Hispanic, and disabled.

Victoria flexed the fingers of the prosthetic hand that she’d been the lead engineer on. That project had lost funding almost two years ago, bankrupting the small company she’d worked for. She had at least ensured that she got the one working prototype. It had not been an entirely legal process, but it had worked.

The burnished steel coffee pot beeped. With a sigh, she carried the tray with her prosthetic hand into the board room. No one noticed how effortlessly she maneuvered the heavy tray with just one hand, placing it on the table without a drop spilled.

She fixed her attention on the presentation and frowned. “Wait, you think just a silicone coating will be enough for that projected usage?” She pointed to the list of stats on the corner. “Are you crazy?”

“The manufacturer specs—” Alan Garrison, Chief Mechanical Engineer, started to scoff.

“The manufacturer’s specs are bullshit.” She glared. “Read the fine print.” Turning her gaze to Broderick, who appeared amused enough to lift his eyes to hers temporarily, she continued, “That coating assumes no weight bearing usage of the joint and only single-directional usage. Per the blueprints, this joint needs to lift or move up to a hundred pounds with full rotational capabilities. That coating will be worn down, and you’ll have metal on metal in less than a year functioning at full capacity.”

“And you know this from…tests you’ve run?” Garrison asked, waving a dismissive hand.

“Hijo de Diós,” she muttered. “Yes, nearly seven years of testing and then almost two years of direct usage.” Unbuttoning her right shirt cuff, she folded and shoved it nearly to her shoulder. Had no one read her work? The flesh around her prosthetic was a shade lighter than the rest of her body, but only that suggested it was not the limb she was born with. She rarely wore less than three-quarter sleeves, keeping the line of difference hidden. The men in the room glanced between each other and her in confusion except for Broderick, who stared steadily, perhaps the longest time on record without looking to her tits or ass.

Slipping her fingers under the flesh “glove,” she unhooked the neural attachment that allowed almost perfect sensory simulation then proceeded to fold the glove until her elbow and half her forearm’s mechanics were exposed. She managed to subdue most of a smirk upon the gasps then the murmurs of admiration.

Except Mason Broderick. Broderick gave a half nod and pulled a thick file folder from under his clipboard, proceeding to pass around packets of paper.

“You were the lead engineer on that project, weren’t you, Ms. Chattham?”

“I was.” Something in his tone chilled her, and she regretted her moment of indignant pride. She knew the smart thing to do was keep quiet about her arm no matter how thorough she’d been in doctoring the history and records so it “belonged” to her.

Leaving her arm exposed—it seemed the right thing to do—she reattached the sensory cable. It took a moment for the faux skin to get used to feeling folded upon itself, but it didn’t hurt. She picked up the packet and leafed through it.

Or rather flipped through the first two pages before dropping it.

“Where did you get this, Mr. Broderick?” She tried to keep both the accusatory and panicked tone from her voice.

He gave her the slightest smile and flash of perfect white teeth below his sculpted moustache. “When the Medical Endeavors team lost their grant, I offered them an under-the-table buyout in return for all their information. It’s how they could give all the laid off employees generous severance packets.”

“Interesting,” was all Victoria said. Scratch the “only hired for EEO purposes” theory; Broderick was a more manipulative bastard than she thought.

“As you know, I handpicked this entire team,” he continued. “I wanted your particular expertise on these things.”

With that, every other man in the room nodded approvingly at Victoria.

“Now, Ms. Chattham.” Broderick grabbed the projection screen’s remote, switching the view to his own tablet. “If you would kindly refresh us on your notes regarding bionic appendages and then give me feedback on how I applied it to our team project, that would move things along.”

“Of course, Mr. Broderick.” For the next hour and a half, Victoria jumped between excitement about her research, and terror regarding what other knowledge about her Broderick was hiding and how he would use it against her.

#

“Another long day?” Bill placed a steaming cup of chamomile in front of his wife after she checked on the two sleeping boys.

She nodded, taking the warm cup with a murmured “thank you” while trying to gauge her husband’s mood and pain level.

He rubbed her shoulders. “A good day though?” He was testing her too. She couldn’t blame him. She’d come home a right bitch more often than not lately.

“Mmmnn.” Was it a good day? With one statement, her boss had elevated her from wait staff to new Chief Mechanical Engineer. It had been her work that was impressive. Then again, the tone of his voice, the baiting look in his eye whenever she looked at her notes…

“‘Mmmmn’ isn’t very descriptive,” Bill teased, tipping her chair back a few inches so he could kiss her on the nose.

“Ee!” She squealed, gripping his arms. “Don’t do that!”

“Ow!”

Her chair banged back into place as he yanked his arms from her grip.

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry, Bill! I just…I don’t like tipping…it feels like…” She bit her lip, fighting her mind from flashing back to the accident that had taken her arm—and nearly killed Bill.

“You don’t know your own strength.” He glared at her prosthetic arm. She stood, cradling it. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and leaned on the fridge. His lips silently counted, a trick their therapist taught him.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice felt tiny. Despite the brain injury that had screwed with his temper, Bill had never, ever raised a hand to her or the children. He’d lost it once, just once, and smashed the family computers. She knew in her heart he’d never hurt them. Hell, the therapy had been his idea!

He stopped counting but still took deep breaths. He was trying. Victoria put her left hand, her real one, on his chest, leaning her body on his and closing her eyes. After a few moments, he wrapped his arms around her. It felt good.

No need to worry him about what Broderick might know.

#

Broderick was building a robotic suit.

Victoria sat back in her chair upon reviewing the full project stats sent to her internal email. Until now, she had only seen pieces. She knew that Broderick World Enterprises was the world leader in robotics and that half the parts on the Medical Enterprises project were sourced from them, but she’d never, no pun intended, put the pieces together.

It seemed too ridiculous. Too much…well, too much like a particular comic book series kept in her dad’s pristine cardboard-backed sleeves. Victoria had been grounded, twice, for raiding his collection, but he’d eventually given in and started re-reading them with her when she was eleven. It had been her big Date with Daddy when she was thirteen to go see the movie.

Normal people, rich and über-smart as they may be—and Broderick was in the top tier of rich and über-smart—normal people did not try and build super human-robot fighting suits.

The specs didn’t actually include weapons, but they were incomplete. There were various partially created plans for flight that spanned rocket-fuel to electromagnetism. It was kind of scary.

It was also pretty damned exciting.

By lunch, Broderick managed to get his hands on enough supplies to let Victoria’s team of mechanical engineers start mock-ups for the joints. The team listened to her. It was past dinnertime, again, when they had done enough testing to get optimal measurements for the software designers. After a catered evening meeting with Broderick, they had a timeline to begin simulations within six weeks.

For the first time in almost two years, Victoria drove home with a smile.

#

“It’s okay, honey.” Victoria stood in a puddle of water amid the triangle of her red-faced husband, two tear-faced boys, and the still-trickling dishwasher, half-yanked from under the counter. “I can fix this. I can fix anything, remember?”

“I’m sorry, baby. I-I…” Bill cast a guilty glance to Mike and Petey. Neither of them had any injuries. Bill had a gash up his forearm that still seeped blood across a deeply purpling bruise.

“Shh… Sh-sh-sh.” Victoria looked between them, soothing. She took a tentative step toward her husband then put a hand on his arm. No warmth, so no infection. “Just wash this out with antibacterial soap, and I’ll take a look at it, okay, babe?”

He nodded. “Vic… I…” He glanced at the boys again. “I didn’t.”

She stood on her tip-toes and kissed his rough cheek. “I know, babe.”

Leaning his head on hers for a moment, Bill sighed.

“I’m gonna tuck in the boys. Just wash that out and have a seat, okay?” She kissed him once again before heading toward her sons.

When she returned to the kitchen, Bill was not resting in a chair but on his hands and knees, sweatpants soaked three quarters of the way up, mopping water and suds.

“I can get that—”

“You worked all day.” His arm swept across the floor with the zeal of one slaying enemies with a dishtowel.

Victoria knew better than to argue; she knew the lines by heart. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed a chamois from under the sink. “Mikey really likes the manga you got him. He’ll probably be exhausted tomorrow because he’ll read through this one tonight.”

Her husband sagged a little as she knelt beside him, and she almost melted from the gratitude in his eyes and the silent question of why she even put up with him. Picking up his towel and tossing it into the sink, where it landed with a sploosh, she edged closer and took his injured arm. Kissing his knuckles, she asked, “Can I see this now?”

Darkness touched his face again, though he relaxed his arm. “I know how to bandage a cut.”

“I know you do. Doesn’t stop that crazy mom instinct from wanting to check every little injury on my boys.” He had, in fact, done a good job of layering sterile pads up his arm and neatly taping each overlap. Being the stay-at-home parent to two boys since even before the accident meant that Bill knew his way around the medical shelf in the linen closet. Victoria lightly kissed the bandage. “See, you couldn’t do that yourself.”

He smiled again, blue eyes hinting the playful spark she loved from the moment she met him. “No, you’re right. That wouldn’t work if I did it.”

“All right, what I need is the area closest to the washer dry. Can you work on that while I get my toolbox and change real quick?”

He nodded. When she returned in her “dirty work” sweats and a so-worn-it-was-almost-see-through Batman T-shirt, heavy toolbox clutched in her prosthetic hand, cordless drill in her flesh hand, the area around the dishwasher was just about bone dry, and the rest of the kitchen floor had only sheens of leftover dampness. Bill grinned from the floor. “Good enough?”

“Perfect.”

Victoria removed the front panel so she could access the internal motor. She really didn’t need the tools or the drill. It wasn’t a plumbing problem; a quick glance below the sink when she had grabbed the chamois informed her the pipes and hoses were intact despite Bill’s hulkish moment. It wasn’t electrical either, thank God. Not that she couldn’t have fixed that just as easily—her talents actually seemed to have the most power over any current or charge issues—but that would be dangerous with all the water.

The motor for one of the blades was stuck. Victoria only needed to touch, caress even, the molded plastic above the motor to feel it, feel the life of the machine—which she knew sounded crazy, so she only thought this way to herself—and coax it to work. When she felt the mechanism was fixed, she reassembled the front panel and realigned it. Closing the dishwasher, she regarded the crack through the countertop that would have been outdated when she was a child.

She felt her husband’s tense body behind her. Victoria tried to mask her own deep breath. “If we just can edge it back in, it’ll be fine,” she said. “Then just epoxy the crack for now. My job is going good, so we’ll be caught up on the bills, and we can start getting those renovations we planned.”

He didn’t say anything, but skinny as he was, he moved her out of the way with his body and muscled the washer back in place.

“We can just have the contractors start in the kitchen…” She continued her pep talk as if her husband wasn’t doing exactly what his physical therapist had told him not to. If she pointed it out, he’d only push harder.

Bill grunted, not meeting her eyes. The red on his too-pale cheeks and the tight lines around his eyes confessed more pain than she knew he wanted to let on. Trying not to limp, he grabbed the epoxy from the broom closet and sealed the crack with the same precision as he’d bandaged his arm.

They finished cleaning up together before retiring to just an hour of television before Victoria had to go to bed for her next early morning.

#

“Why is it that it seems only you can make the joints work correctly, Ms. Chattham?” Mason Broderick glanced between the armor on his arms and legs and the woman making minute adjustments.

Victoria pressed her lips into a tight smile, not missing the layer of acid concealed below his joking tone. “I’ve worked on joint mechanics longer than anyone else on the team, sir. And my day-to-day life kind of depends on it.”

“I see.”

Her stomach turned. She’d never planned on getting this close to her boss, but once he’d put on the armor, the joints seemed to have lost their fluidity. Proximity was only half of her discomfort. The mechanical team was stuck on this part when the prosthetics project lost its funding. Same problem. The joints only seemed to respond with proper sensitivity to Victoria.

She was basically puttering around Broderick at this point. In her mind, she was coaxing the machinery to respond to his body, pick up on nerve sensors they’d so carefully tuned to his physiology. There was some other signal she sensed wasn’t coming from the armor. She couldn’t pinpoint it, but not having encountered it in her prior projects, she dismissed it for the moment; she could investigate it later.

In a voice so low only she could hear, he said, “I never realized that just tightening and loosening the plating screws had so much effect.”

“Amazing, isn’t it.” She allowed herself a moment of pride at how neutral she kept her voice. “Try moving now.”

Mason Broderick proceeded through what looked like some martial arts kata. He didn’t move quite like she’d seen in generic movie montages, but when he was done, he nodded.

“Better. But I think we can fine tune it a bit more. There’s still a lag, and the hydraulics aren’t compensating enough for the weight difference.”

“It’s also lacking the torso, which will smooth things out.” Victoria folded her arms. Her phone vibrated for the fifth time that hour. Something must be wrong. Her lip twitched. Bill could just be fretting over something silly like one of the boys misplacing something. She wished her voice didn’t waver as she continued, “Weight has to be evenly distributed over the body. The arms and legs are designed to work with the strength enhancement of the torso to balance everything.”

Broderick nodded and glanced at her glowing, buzzing hip. “Makes sense. Do you need to get that, Ms. Chattham?”

“Yes, please, excuse me.” Ignoring her boss’ amused yet disapproving face, mirrored by the rest of his all-but-clones, she casually retreated to the upstairs women’s room and called her husband back.

“I rescheduled our session,” came his icy voice. “They couldn’t take us any earlier than four weeks out. If you think you can actually get out of work, of course.”

Joder. Their couple’s therapy had been today. She had missed one for the interview then missed another. This would be the third reschedule. “I’m sorry, baby. We started testing today, and I couldn’t get out—”

“Couldn’t even answer the phone for two hours?”

“No, I couldn’t.”

“What if it was an emergency?”

“I programmed Krissy’s line into your phone for that. Under ‘Emergency.’”

“What if I forgot?”

The question hung in the air.

“It wasn’t though,” she finally said. “And I said I was sorry. I’ll be at the next meeting. I promise!”

“Yeah, whatever. Enjoy work.” The sarcasm in his voice cut.

Victoria heard the click as he slid his phone shut, hard, ending the call. Thank God she was gripping her phone in her flesh hand; her prosthetic one would have crushed the damned thing. With a conscious thought for each flexing muscle, like when she was learning to control the prosthetic, she moved her hand to her pocket and inserted the phone before she threw it across the bathroom and broke it.

#

Only the kitchen lights were on when Victoria pulled into the driveway. Swallowing bitter bile, Victoria ascended the side porch stairs, each feeling higher than normal, and came into the warm kitchen. She picked up the faint smell of chamomile flowers even before she saw Bill at the stove, hand clenched around the tea kettle handle, squinting at the laminated yellow sheet on which the boys had drawn a steaming kettle (different from the steaming coffee-cup-adorned sheet by the coffee pot) in the corner to help Daddy keep track of different recipes and kitchen tasks.

What was there to say?

After he set the kettle down, counting five checks that it was on the burner that he’d ignited, Bill leaned on the handle of the oven.

Laying her head on his back, she wrapped her arms around him. “I’m sorry I missed our meeting today.”

He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t push her away. When the kettle whistled, she let him pour into the two cups he’d prepared with tea bags. They sat in their usual seats at the table, kitty-corner from each other where each could face a kid or reach another kid.

“I miss you.” Bill’s comment shattered the tangible silence into slicing shards.

Victoria felt herself deflate. “It’s testing. You know how my schedule is for testing. It’s my job.”

“I don’t mean…” He stopped and scrunched his face. “Vic, is this what you want? This job I mean. Yes, the money’s good…but are you happy?”

With her eyes closed, Victoria could hear unasked questions though she couldn’t honestly say she wasn’t hearing her own fears. Is this job more important than our marriage? Than our family?

There was also what she hadn’t told Bill. She intended to, but every time she considered it, she was either afraid to ruin his good spirits or didn’t want to further stress him when he was already stressed or in pain. Broderick knew something about her arm. And her abilities. With his lawyers, if he went to claim her arm, claim every penny of their savings, their house…she didn’t know if she could stop him.

Was she happy? She loved the project, yes, but could she even quit now if she wasn’t? Would Broderick come after her for whatever secrets he thought she knew to make her arm—and his suit—work? Would he go after her family?

“I don’t want to leave my job,” she said. At least that was truth. “I’ll make things work. I won’t miss our next session… I’ll black it out on the calendar, set five different alarms on my phone, my email, everything. And I’ll find a way to start cutting hours.”

Bill stared at her for a long time. He had the most beautiful and intense blue eyes, and they could cut like diamonds. She didn’t want to feel she had to hide pieces of her soul from his scrutiny.

She reached across the table and took his hand. “Baby, I just need you to trust me to fix things right now. Please? I need you to trust me.”

He snatched his hand back. “Do you know what that sounds like?”

She cocked her head, not understanding what he thought it sounded like. “Huh?” Then it dawned on her. Late nights, grouchiness, missing family meetings, secrets… Shit! “Oh, God, babe, no-no! I…wouldn’t even think!”

He snerked, clicking his cup down on the table and pressing his hand over his mouth, possibly holding in tea. After a swallow, he all but giggled. “Obviously not. I can’t remember the last time I ever saw you that confused.”

“Every guy I work with is an asshole!” was all she could sputter.

Bill raised his hands in surrender. “And you want to work there?”

“The project we’re working on… Broderick bought out Medical Endeavors.” She held up her right arm. “It’s based on what I did with this… It means something to me.”

“You never told me that.”

“Non-disclosure agreement… Like fifty pages long. I shouldn’t have even said this much.” She begged him with her eyes to understand.

Taking and releasing a deep breath, Bill nodded and sipped his tea.

#

Mason Broderick resembled a demon when he was not happy, but Victoria stared him down anyway.

“We are on schedule, and I cannot miss this appointment. I have had it marked on every calendar in this office for a month now.”

“And we’ve had our testing schedule for two months. You helped put it together.” His voice was a cold knife; he didn’t even look up from shuffling papers.

“Nowhere in that schedule does it state that we would work eighteen hour days, every day, for all of testing with absolutely no personal time no matter how far ahead we schedule it.” Victoria put her hands on her hips and glared harder, hoping to pry his eyes to hers through sheer will.

“It’s your design that won’t work when you’re not around.” He glanced at her then back at the papers, the few lines on his face hard as granite. “One might think you’re trying to find a way to secure yourself on this project. Especially after I’ve dropped Miskal, Kerrigan, and Hendricks.”

“They were dead weight, and Miskal was smoking pot in storage. We spent more time fixing their screw-ups, so no, I’m not trying to secure my way on this project. I know I’m better than anyone on this team, and so do you.”

Now, he looked up. His eyes were coffee brown, like teddy-bear eyes if they weren’t so damned cold, a sharp contrast to the fine, blond hair gelled perfectly atop his head and neatly groomed over his upper lip. Victoria refused to look away.

The desk phone vibrated Krissy’s signature ring. Broderick clenched his jaw. When the phone buzzed again, he gave an almost-inhuman snarl.

“The torso attachments for the arms and legs better be perfect when I try it on tomorrow.” He snatched the phone. “What is it?”

Not bothering to hide her smile—she’d take her victories where she could get them—Victoria exited Broderick’s office. As she passed Krissy, she heard, “I’m sorry, Mr. Broderick, really. He said he was an attorney, and he swore it was important, and now the line’s dead.”

Victoria caught her eye and the slightest of winks.

She’d get those damned couplings to work when she got back from her appointment.

#

It was nearly ten o’clock at night when Victoria admitted the damned couplings would not be perfect in the morning. Everyone else, even Broderick, had left for the night. It took twenty minutes of a frustrated pace, fighting tears, before a fix came to her. The fix would cost more, but it would work. And it was a reasonable issue—well, reasonable to humans with souls, something she was unsure applied to Broderick—so work could continue on the project without much of a blip. She just needed a certain material… She had better write a proper proposal while she was thinking of it.

Her cell buzzed on her desk. It was Bill. “R U ok?” She puzzled at the message before noticing the time.

Shit. Joder. Goddamnit! Hijo de Dios!

“Yes. Sorry. Leaving in 15.”

She finished the proposal in exactly fifteen minutes and promised herself she would go in early to double check it.

#

Victoria did not go in early to double check her proposal. Mike woke up with a fever of 102, and Petey’s ears hurt. They wanted Mommy.

She appreciated Bill’s silence. He was holding back; she knew he wanted to say if she had been back last night, this wouldn’t be a surprise for her. Then again, he’d walked in on her sobbing on the downstairs toilet.

“I’ll call your sister. She can drive us to the ER.” His voice was a mix of emotions she couldn’t pick apart as he closed the door.

Broderick was going to fire her. No, worse, he was going to use whatever he knew about the fudged and “misplaced” forms around her prosthetic arm and sue the shit out of her because there was no way her family could afford any lawyer to go up against him. He’d own her.

She heard her sister’s car arrive and leave the driveway with Bill and the boys. When she could no longer hear it, she lifted her head and let out a howl that ended in a stream of curses in three different languages that would be the pride or shame of anyone.

The goddamned mech suit wasn’t going to work. It would never work. Like her arm, it only responded to her, to her talents, to her…power or whatever the hell it was. Victoria had pondered many times on the ability that had manifested in her teens. Her sister, Vivian, had her own gifts too…charming people, getting them to do things. Victoria could use that right now. Charm Broderick into…well, into not being a dick.

Still on the toilet, trousers and underwear around her ankles, Victoria blew her nose into sheets of toilet paper until she could finally breathe. Vivian had once said that she didn’t use her power nearly as much as one would think; the trick was knowing what someone wanted and showing them how helping you got them there.

Broderick had handpicked their whole engineering team, signed them all to secrecy, placed them above every other employee at BWE in pay grade and attention—gave them offices in his personal building. She knew this. She also knew that everyone let go still got a ridiculous layoff payment. Every piece of this project had been funded from Mason Broderick’s personal accounts, not the business accounts.

Hell, it was a super robot suit. Of course the man wanted it more than anything.

And she was the only one who could make it work.

Taking a deep breath, Victoria cleaned herself up, reapplied make-up, and drove into work.

#

“So you decided to come in for testing after all?”

The men around Mason Broderick turned angry eyes on Victoria. Galliston, next in line for Chief Mechanical Engineer, harrumphed and turned back to the suit, trying to shove the right arm into the socket.

“It’s not going to work with brute force. Or did we forget we’re all Homo sapiens and can actually think?” Her voice was cool, and she stood straight as if she were taller than every single one of them.

“Then why don’t you demonstrate how you fixed the coupling problem last night? Or do I need to look deeper into your work with Medical Endeavors to see if I missed anything?” Broderick looked from her eyes to her arm, threat clear.

So this is it.

Victoria strode over to her boss. Eyes wide, as if looking at an oncoming tiger, Galliston moved from her path. She placed her hands on the arms of the suit then slid them onto the shoulders. It took a millisecond for her to coax the joints to attach to the torso. With her determination, she felt her power extending past what she touched. Even as she moved her hands from the suit, she could manipulate the energy.

This close, she could see the pulse jumping in his neck. Its pattern didn’t match what she was picking up from the suit’s readings. She frowned. The slight interference she’d picked up when he wore just the arm and leg armor felt stronger, more enhanced. It didn’t make sense. The circuit was complete. Victoria knew every tiny part of this suit. There shouldn’t be any signal she didn’t recognize.

He was masking ragged breathing. She smelled cold sweat.

“Mr. Broderick…” Something was definitely wrong.

He stepped away from her. Surprise momentarily dissipated the fury and pain as he moved effortlessly.

“Now, show us all how you made this work,” he said. “It needs to be replicated. I don’t want to need you every time I want to use this suit.”

Victoria lifted her chin in defiance. “No.”

“What?”

“I have worked my ass off more than any. One. Else. On this team, including you, and you don’t want to need me?”

He narrowed his eyes, but she noticed the day-bright overhead LEDs reflecting a sheen of sweat down his cheeks and neck.

“Have one of them get you out of that contraption.” Victoria gestured dismissively at the suit. “And then tell me you don’t want to need me. In the meantime, I have a proposal to rewrite so we can fix some of the problems the team will eventually find if they can work half as hard as I do.” She turned on her heel, strode out of the testing area, and took the stairs back up to the offices.

Krissy was frowning on the phone, obviously on an intense personal call. Using the distraction to her advantage, Victoria walked past her own office, where her proposal lay in the middle of the desk.

She needed to know exactly what Mason Broderick had on her. How much was he bluffing, and how much of a case could he take against her and her arm?

With said arm, it didn’t take much effort to break his lock.

She glanced around the sparse office. It was almost clinical, it was so clean. Five different sets of black file cabinets, unmarred by the least dust mote, shone in sunlight streaming through the wall of windows. Pursing her lips, she regarded his desk where a sloppy pile of mail, likely left by Krissy, rebelled against the pristine order.

One envelope was placed atop the others, and Victoria recognized the medical company’s logo immediately.

They only made and patented one specific item: high-end pacemakers.

“The dude really is like Tony Stark.” This certainly explained the unexpected feedback she’d sensed.

This changed everything.

Inhumanly heavy footfalls thundered from the stairs.

“Mason?!” she heard Krissy scream.

As she’d designed it, the suit moved faster than humanly possible. Broderick shoved the door open so hard it cracked against the wall, bouncing to slam shut behind him. Thoroughly drenched in sweat, face twisted in pain, he approached.

She ought to be terrified at the armored human before her. Even without weapons, the strength in the limbs alone could crush every bone in her body.

Victoria folded her arms and smiled.

“Get. This. Goddamned. Thing. Offa-me!” His voice betrayed the pain.

“You’re experiencing myocardial infarction,” she stated. “Brilliant as you are otherwise, you’re an idiot. Did you think this huge magnetic machine set to your vitals wouldn’t mess with your pacemaker?”

“I had…it…specially…made. It wasn’t… Just. Take. This. Off!” His metal hand clutched his metal chest.

“See, I take it off, your heart stops. You don’t want that, do you?” There was more than a twinge of guilt as she saw his suffering. But still. Things could not go back to how they were. She would not lose this contract. And she could not risk him destroying her family with his lawyers.

“You can. Restart it.”

“Here’s where I choose whether to play innocent and not know what you’re talking about, or I can just cut to the chase because I was sick of these games when you started playing them.” She paused for effect. “Yeah, I can restart it. And I can stop it again. And I can fix it so your mechanical ticker plays nice with your mechanical armor for the rest of your life.”

“What. Do you. Want?”

“Glad you’re with me on the done playing games part.” She walked up to him and pressed her left hand to the armor chest. “I want…this arm.” Victoria held up her right arm. “Mine. Period. No strings attached. And I want this contract.” She tapped her forefinger on his chest. “Also mine, all mine. I’ll even be nice and ask for the salary of only half the team combined. Saves you money for the improvements I can make on this.” She tapped his metal suit again. “I can make this thing work, and I can keep it running, and I can keep your ticker issues secret…because that’s the only reason I can see you being stupid enough not to let us know about it.

“Last, and not least, starting right now, my family comes first, and don’t you ever forget that. You take care of them and let me enjoy my life with them; I’ll return the favor. Go save the world, rule the world, I really don’t care, but me and mine get taken care of. Am I clear?”

He paused. She wasn’t sure if it was for effect, to maintain whatever dignity he felt he had left, or if it was the pain overcoming him. Finally, he nodded. “Clear. Deal.”

“Good.” Victoria pressed the flat of her left hand to his chest. With the help of her robotic hand, she eased him to the ground as the suit clanked to the floor around him, no longer holding him up. He curled up as the rest of the armor released. She pressed her left hand to his chest, searching for the sub dermal bump of the pacemaker. He convulsed once, but she held him steady, sending the signal of her own pulse to reset the charges into his heart.

As soon as she felt it regulate, she stepped away from him. It did not escape her notice that she still felt the energy, like a slight buzz in the palm of her hand. One more step back made it weaken but not fade entirely.

He lay on the floor for several minutes, just breathing. As he sat up, he looked at her. The curiosity in his eyes tempered his threat. “I could have you arrested.”

“You’re not going to though.”

He regarded her a few more minutes. Half-naked, covered in sweat, shorter and younger than Victoria, he didn’t lose his imposing air. She didn’t flinch.

“One addendum.”

“Mmn?”

“You don’t care if I’m saving the world or ruling it so long as your family is okay. Fine, then don’t ask. No questions about where I’m going, what I’m doing, who I’m with. Nothing. No prying, peeking…or the deal’s off. Am I clear?”

Victoria took her time considering. It didn’t require the time, but she was getting the hang of the power of the pause. “Clear. And agreed.”

“Good. Then, before you leave at five, I want a draft of the contract delivered to me personally along with your proposal for improvements based on today’s test.”

“I’ll have both done by four, at which time I’m taking a whole hour of the accumulated PTO from the past four months and going home.”

“Past hours do not get figured into your new paid time off schedule.”

Victoria tensed her mouth. She wasn’t budging. Not this far into things.

“You can leave any time today once both the contract and proposal are in my hands. We start counting accumulated PTO tomorrow, when you’ll still arrive at promptly 9:00 am.”

She considered. It was a compromise but one she felt comfortable making. “All right. I will see you when I deliver the contract and the proposal and again at 9:00 am.”

At his nod, she turned to leave then paused. The connection to his pacemaker, she could identify it now, barely tingled her palm. Turning once more, she smiled. “Also, so you don’t think your lawyers can work me over later…” She closed the fist of her flesh hand and watched him clutch his chest. “From anywhere. Good day, Mr. Broderick.” Opening her hand, she turned to go, leaving him sitting amid a mess of robot armor parts. He didn’t have to know that she was just discovering her range.

Tonight, she would cook Bill dinner and make him tea, definitely tuck in her boys. And maybe break out her dad’s old comic collection.