Daisy Johnson Imagines

Ghost Rider

Summary: you own a car workshop and Daisy shows up to ask about the Ghost Rider's car. (season 4)

You have been working at your father's car workshop your whole life. Ever since you could walk and talk, your father has been showing you how to fix cars. It wasn't even a choice what you would want to do when you grew up. 

After your father retired, you took over the shop and modernized it a lot. Now, it was one of the best car workshops in the whole of Los Angeles and you were proud of that. Because it was located in a bad neighborhood where people didn't have a lot of money to spend, you kept your prices really low and a lot of the time didn't even charge people if it was a simple fix, knowing they could use the money for other things better.

Today was a calm day. You were currently laying underneath an older model car that was leaking oil and heard some commotion in the front of the shop.

Sergio's loud voice travelled through the workshop and all the way to you. He was a big guy, very useful for carrying heavy parts. ''I am telling you, I haven't seen it, but Y/N fixes those kind of cars so I can ask her.''

''Please do.'' A female voice answered your colleague. 

Sergio lightly kicked your feet, a sign for you to come out from under the car. ''Y/N, someone here wants to ask you something.''

You rolled away under the car, wiping the oil and grease from your hands with a towel. Your hair was in a messy bun and you were sure you had dirt on your face, but the woman in front of you didn't seem to care.

Her style could only be described as very black to almost goth, but underneath her black eyeshadow and pained look in her eyes, she was absolutely beautiful. There was a darkness surrounding her though, secrets. She had been through a lot and was struggling with it.

''How can I help you?'' you asked her when she didn't speak up, a kind smile on your face which you felt she could use. Sergio had left you to talk to her, going back to whatever he was doing before.

''You work here a lot?'' she asked in return. Her brown eyes were distant and her voice monotone. 

You wanted to frown at her question, not sure why she would ask that. ''I own this shop, so yes.''

She pulled a picture from her jeans' pocket, smoothing it out before showing it to you. ''Do you know where I can find this car?''

You laughed at her. ''You're kidding me, right?'' But when she just looked at you with an empty gaze, the smile dropped from your face. ''You need to stay away from that guy,'' you warned her. She looked like the type of person who didn't take that advice seriously. Many had tried to find the guy with the flaming car and the flaming head, but they had all failed. 

She perked up at your warning, knowing you knew more than you let on. ''So you know who owns it?''

More of your co-workers started to look at the two of you, sensing the conversation taking a wrong turn. You grabbed her wrist, pulling her into your office for more privacy. ''I'm serious. You need to stay away.''

She pulled her wrist out of your grasp roughly. ''And you need to tell me what you know.'' She was definitely too close for comfort and it was meant as a threat, but the pain behind her eyes betrayed her.

You took a few steps back, breaking the tension. ''I am not going to tell you anything because you look like you love trouble and I will not be the reason you get yourself killed.''

Something flashed behind her eyes, a memory maybe, but it caused her to stand down. That was when you knew you had gotten through to her. 

''Look, I don't know who you are or why you are so interested in the Ghost Rider, but you look like you're dealing with something.'' The woman didn't react, so you knew you were right. ''I know your type, you don't want help but you need it.'' You grabbed your notepad and wrote your number down with your name above it. You grabbed her left hand, which she allowed, pushed the folded paper in her hand and closed it. 

You looked her dead in the eyes and she stared back, completely paralyzed by your help. ''Call me if you need me. I don't care if that is at three in the morning or at noon, if you need to talk or even if you just need me to fix your car.'' 

You dropped her hand and she stuffed the paper in the pocket of her leather jacket. There was a war going on in her head. Doubt, pain and something else you couldn't figure out. She didn't know what to do and you waited patiently until she figured it out.

''Thank you,'' she muttered, almost as if it was hard to say. And without any warning, she walked out.

You stalked out after her, calling after her when you realized she was too far already. ''Do I at least get your name?''

''Daisy,'' she called over her shoulder. And with that, she left your workshop.