Title: "fresh out of horses"
Author: monimala
E-mail: mala@malisita.com
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating/Classification:adult language, Weevil, Veronica.
Disclaimer: I don't own them, nope!
Summary: Written for tarribabe for the VM Summer Ficathon. Requirements: road trip, flat tire, and thunderstorm.
You'd think in a place called Neptune, people would be prepared for a little water. Nah. Everybody and their mami was used to perfect days, relentless sunshine, and the laid back SoCal groove that made you think nothing was wrong with the world even when your life had gone to shit. So, when the skies opened up in the middle of June, it was like God was taking a piss all over Neptune's upstanding citizens. And the not-so upstanding ones, too.
School was out and abuela was happy with that C he'd gotten in biology so she didn't care what he did with himself. "Cuidado," was all she'd said as the first drops of rain began bouncing off the aluminum siding. And she'd pointed to the ceramic cow behind her icon of the Holy Virgin. The ceramic cow where he hid a stash of condoms. Dios. Leticia Navarro was no fool. And neither was he. So, he did what he did best...he rode. He raced the thunderclouds, kept them at his back, ignored the drumming rhythm of rain against his helmet and hoped he had enough in his gas tank to get him at least halfway to TJ.
Once he got there, he wouldn't have to pay for shit. His second cousin Julio ran a cheap cantina for the tourists and let him drink for free as long as he didn't wreck the place or give Soledad any grief. Hey. Was it his fault Soledad wanted a piece of him? Everybody wanted a piece of him. You wanted something done, you came to Weevil.
Nobody ever came to Eli Navarro. Not even Lilly.
Oh, maybe on a good day, he liked to lie to himself and pretend she saw him as something more than a piece on the side...but he didn't get many good days. And while he totally could've loved her...he never got the chance to find out. And she never wanted to. So, there you had it. Not even enough drama to make one episode of a telanovela.
He was about an hour out of Neptune, with the rain bearing down like his tia Rosalia for a Ben Gay and Love's Baby Soft hug, when he spotted the car stalled by the side of the road. Of course. Go figure. That beat-up LeBaron that Angel insisted he wasn't fixing for free no more. The beat-up Chrysler that belonged to the one and only Veronica Mars with her cute little head tilts and her fake-shy "hey"s and the capital "T" for Trouble tattoo she had to have branded on her tight little ass.
He hadn't seen her since that night Aaron Echolls got arrested. It wasn't like you could just drop by someone's place with a money plant and be all, "Sorry Logan's dad whacked Lilly and locked you in a freezer." Especially since it'd taken him a few weeks himself to keep from killing that asshole in his sleep. If he even could sleep. He hoped Aaron Echolls was an insomniac. He hoped he got thrown into the can with Big Louie and Bubba and spent the next fifty years crying like a little bitch.
But yeah, he'd given V her space. Hadn't been hard to do...with her dad and Fennel closing ranks and her boys showing up on her doorstep. That girl...now *she* definitely had herself a telanovela.
He parked the bike next to her flat-as-a-tortilla back tire, climbing off and stalking up to the door she was all ready opening just a crack so the rain wouldn't get in. "Hey," he greeted, pulling off his helmet and tilting his head. Which would've worked way better if water hadn't run straight into his eyes. He coughed and sputtered and tried to look as tough as possible despite being wet.
"Hey, Sailor. Buy you a drink?" She looked up at him through the window, slowly cranking it down. And she gave him one of those "I'm up to no good, so this is your last chance to run" smiles. He hadn't run yet. Well, unless you counted today, but that had fuck-all to do with her, right?
"How about a jack and a spare?" He swung his helmet lightly against the roof. "Can't fix your own flats, Little Girl?"
"It would mess up my nails." She actually batted her eyelashes at him and cooed. Probably something she picked up from the likes of Madison Sinclair. Or maybe reruns of The OC. "Can't a big, strong, muchacho, like you help me out?" Big...not so much. Strong, yeah. Strong enough to keep from strangling her.
"Stop that," he said, kicking the door. "You're gonna make me sick."
"Don't worry. My vapidness only goes so far." There it was, the sarcasm. Gracias. And beneath it, he could hear so much more. Like...exhaustion. She opened the door wider and there were those telltale dark circles under her eyes. The girl was beat. She still looked spectacular...but like she'd gone ten rounds with Mike Tyson and barely escaped with her ear.
"Scoot over," he heard himself saying. His bike was getting rained on and so was he and he couldn't do much about the bike. Instead of sassing him about using the passenger side door, she actually listened and climbed on over so he could slide behind the wheel. Cars were whizzing by, but none of them slowed or even stopped as he slammed the door and rolled the window back up. Southern Californians just didn't care if he had evil designs on the driver. So, it was a good thing he didn't. "How long you been here?" he asked, tossing his helmet into the back.
She sat there, her phone clutched in one hand, and he wondered who she'd tried to call. Kane? Echolls? White knights all fresh out of horses to ride?
"Don't you check your voicemail, Eli?"
"You know I do." Voicemail and voicemail alone had kept him from pounding Logan into dogmeat for killing Lilly. And, well, just on the principle of the punk needing his ass kicked, too. He dug for his cell and when he flipped the face plate...sure enough...three missed calls from the one-and-only. Would you look at that? He laughed, softly. "Me and my uncle...we don't fix stuff gratis anymore, Babe."
She laughed, too, but it wasn't real. It was hollow and fragile like those spun glass statues Lilly had always collected from the street fairs he took her to. "Since when has anything you give me been free?"
"Free advice," he reminded. "Free love," he drawled.
"I don't need you to fix my car, Eli." She closed her eyes, slumped down in the seat. Eli. Aside from his teachers and the cops, she was the only person who called him that. Even his grandma called him "Weevil" these days.
He couldn't help himself. He reached over and moved some of her hair off her face. Just a few strands that had come loose from her ponytail. He pushed them back behind her ear, tugging on her earlobe with fingers that were still damp. "What do you need me to fix? Just tell me."
She didn't have to say it. *My life.* It was right there, in those circles, in the set of her lips.
Outside, the rain seemed to have quit before it could open up all over him. He sighed, pulling away before he did something stupid like kiss her. "Let me get your jack..."
An hour out of Neptune wasn't nearly far enough.
***
Smart girl actually had a viable spare in her trunk, a long with a jack, a flashlight, and a tool kit. It didn't take him long to pop her flat off and make the swap. He wiped the grease off on his jeans as he slid back into the car...and it was like Veronica hadn't even moved. Except to put her phone on the dash. She was wearing a faded Ramones t-shirt and a pair of jeans and it might as well have been plastic wrap...because her clothes couldn't hide the fact that she was one big walking bruise. No, one *tiny* walking bruise.
On the inside.
External marks would have had him hightailing it back to town and busting some heads.
"You headed to TJ?" he wondered, curling his hands around the steering wheel and pretending it was that prick Logan's neck.
"It's where the party's at," she murmured, lightly.
Right. Exactly why abuela had hit up the ceramic cow. But he could bet Sheriff Mars hadn't done the same before his little girl left the house. "Yeah, 'cause you look so dressed to party, V."
"You don't like my ensemble?" And she said it that snooty French way..."on-somb." "I'm crushed, Eli."
And there she went again with the "Eli." Maybe he was gonna wake up in math class and find out he was having some kind of bizarre dream. Weevil in Wonderland. Except, usually, whenever he had those kinds of dreams, Veronica was naked in a tub full of flan. He shifted in the seat. Bad thing to think about, Genius. Especially with her sitting right next to him. He needed to think about something else. Anything. Like..."Are you gonna tell me what's wrong?"
"I'm not sure there *is* anything wrong. For once. God. That sounds awful." She drew in a shaky breath. "I'm complaining because my life *isn't* complicated." She rubbed at her forehead with the heel of her hand and it was instinctive for him to pull it away so he could rub her temples for her. Maybe even more instinctive for her to maneuver her head into his lap. Which didn't help the problem he had *there*. Dios. But she ignored it, closing her eyes. "Why can't I be uncomplicated?"
"V, You can be anything you want," he murmured, stroking her hair, wrapping it around his fingers. It was so fine, so pale. Outside, it was raining like a bitch and he knew all the leather proofing in the world wouldn't make his bike any less of a lost cause. Bikes could be fixed. Replaced. He suddenly had something bigger to worry about than polishing chrome. "So which one of 'em's got you running for the border?" he wondered, quietly. "Kane or Echolls?"
"Uncomplicated," she reminded, barely above a whisper...which probably meant it was both of them.
"What do you say you follow me to TJ, V? We'll laugh, we'll drink, I'll teach you how to salsa. That uncomplicated enough for you?"
She sighed, opening her eyes just long enough to look up at him like he'd suggested a double chocolate sundae and a John Cusack movie marathon. "That's actually...perfect."
***
The cantina was noisy, filled to the brim with tourists, and Soledad looking like he'd pissed in her Cheerios. He shrugged "sorry" at her as she set down a couple of bottles of Dos Equis. It looked like abuela hadn't needed to dive into the cow after all. He wasn't getting lucky tonight.
He'd parked his bike in the shed out back. It would live. And Veronica... maybe, just maybe, she would, too. Julio was flirting with her over the bar. Cabron. And she was laughing as he flipped over her palm and pretended to read her future. That old mystic Aztec trick. He'd been pulling that shit on women since long before Weevil was born.
And it worked.
He shouldered past some college girls-UCSD by the look of them-and edged in next to Veronica, slinging his arm around her shoulders. "Hey, V. Don't listen to a word this old man says," he warned. "He's got a trail of broken hearts for miles behind him."
"So, it's genetic," she murmured, looking at him and Julio with so much affection he was tempted to propose. Usually, when some little blond girl caught sight of him and one of his family members, their first instinct was to clutch their purses. Not her, no. She just settled right in. "Tell me, Julio...does Eli really know how to salsa?"
The question got answered with obnoxious braying laughter. Like a burro. "Eli? Salsa?" Julio slapped down his dishrag, shaking his head. "Sorry to tell you, Veronica...our Eli...he has two left feet."
"Yeah, and in another minute, you'll have two black eyes," he shot back.
Veronica's smile was beginning to look a little sharp around the edges. The effort of keeping those corners up and all. He cut the familia banter short and tugged her to a clear spot between four tables. Two left feet his sweet ass. Not that anything you did to Enrique Iglesias could qualify as dancing, but it would have to do.
She stepped into his arms and it was like being back in her car. Safe from the storm. "Eli," she whispered, with those eyes full of secrets that she'd never tell and he'd never ask for. "Thank you."
"Any time..." he said, kissing the top of her head. Maybe...maybe one day he'd upgrade to lips. Maybe she'd taste like flan and dreams come true. Weevil in Wonderland. "Any time at all."
Nobody ever came to Eli Navarro. Except Veronica Mars.
And every road led him to her.
--end-
July 6, 2005