Title: "Across and Down"
Author: monimala
Fandom: VMars
Rating/Classification: AC for language, Lamb, filler ficlet, MadLamb implied, angst.
Disclaimer: Rob Thomas is my tiki god. I am making no profit.
Summary: A missing scene from 2.16, "The Rapes of Graff." 495 words.
He walked away from her and Vandergraff still looking back over his shoulder. Clenching his fists, mad enough to spit and hit and maybe even drop to his knees and confess that he was the world's biggest fucking asshole. Okay, second biggest. He'd never done That...never shaved a girl's head. Not that it mattered, because there was no sense in confessing to something that seemed to be common knowledge in Neptune.
The coffee was hot. That was pretty much the only plus side. It was thick and bitter and when he put the decanter back in the machine, he swore a little bit spilled out and actually ate away at the burner. There was no telling what it would do to his insides. Add to the ulcer he already had. Maybe chew a hole in his gut the size of Arizona. About as big as the one he'd just put in his conscience.
For two years. Two fucking years. He'd prayed to every God he could think of that he'd never have to hear the words "rape" and "Veronica Mars" ever again. At least not until he stood at the Gates and they kicked him down to the other place. He should've remembered. He should've remembered from experience. Nobody listened to Don Lamb's prayers.
Of course, he expected her to follow him, to find him. And drinking crappy hazelnut decaf -- Jesus, Inga -- was a way to buy himself some time when she shoved at his shoulder, her eyes hard like the uncut diamonds they'd pulled off of Chuy Santos last week.
"So *now* you investigate rapes? *Now* you 'drop the date'?" she hissed.
He swallowed. Made himself. Even though the bile rose up to compete. And what was he doing thinking words like "bile" anyway? Madison always laughed when she caught him snagging the complimentary papers at the Grand and flipping straight to the crossword. He liked to see if he could get any of the clues right while she primped and preened and washed off the last trace of blue collar come. Of course, Madison laughed at him in general. Which was why he spent so much time making sure her damn mouth was full.
Swallow. Swallow. Refill. "Better late than never, right?" His hand shook and the still-brewing coffee hissed on the burner as he tried to lock the decanter back in. It sounded like Veronica's voice.
She flinched. He wondered if she'd flinched Then. If she'd ever found out who...if she was thankful he hadn't razored off all of her hair. Then he thought of how he liked to fist all of Madison's, bleached blond and nothing like natural, while they fucked and the hazelnut came gurgling up. He grabbed a stack of Dunkin Donuts napkins as Veronica's lips twisted with disgust.
"Are we done?" he snapped, closing his eyes and praying she'd go away.
"Better late than never," she whispered.
And somebody listened to his prayer.
For once.
--end--
March 30, 2006.