Title: "You Had Me at Jell-O"
Author: monimala
Fandom: VM
Rating/Classification: AC for language and sexual content. V/Lamb, angst, humor, ep filler, AU.
Summary: 1375 words. 14th in the "Between The Rock and a Not So Hard Place" series and an AU spin on the events in 2.22, "Not Pictured." At that point, he'd just gone for broke…
Note: Thank you to Angel Grace for being my victim sounding board for this one and for kicking this series off in the first place!
"The Rundown" was playing on the TV in the living room, on low volume, and, for some idiotic reason, he was comforted by the knowledge that The Rock was just a few feet away, up the hall. He suddenly had an appreciation for action heroes. For heroes of any kind.
Because Veronica was his new one. His biggest one.
His raison d'etre. The cream filling in his Oreo. Etcetera.
He'd expected their first public appearance as a couple to be different. A barbecue poolside at the Sunset Cliffs. Maybe a double date at the Hut. Actually, honestly, he hadn't held out for a public appearance at all. He'd figured the idea of it would get lost in the dryer like a sweat sock and they'd just keep sneaking around with Keith's stamp of not-quite approval. Provided she ever forgave him for their last fight. Provided she didn't run off to Palo Alto and hook up with some frat boy named Chet Whipley the Third.
But he should've figured his expectations meant jack where Veronica was concerned. That nothing with them was ever going to be simple or easy or lost and forgotten. Especially when it involved one psycho kid on the roof of the Neptune Grand, a text message, and a case he thought he'd tied up neatly with no muss, no fuss, and no casualties.
"You idiot!" he'd screamed at her, dropping Casablancas with a head shot a military sharpshooter could be proud of. "You fucking idiot!"
"Why are you yelling at me?" Her face had been so pale and wet -- with tears, not spatters of blood, thank God -- and she was shaking from being hit with her own taser and all he'd wanted to do was hold her, but he'd yelled some more instead.
"Because he nearly killed you! Because you knew he was dangerous and I had to find out from a fucking forwarded text message you sent while you were practically falling to your death. I think I'm allowed to be pissed off about that!"
"Fine, then! Be mad! Th-throw a fit for all I care! Your timing sucks, though!"
"No, sweetheart, I think my timing's right about perfect."
And she'd stumbled, so he'd grabbed her close and finally remembered to tell her that Keith was okay -- despite the fact that having no future father-in-law might have actually been convenient -- and she'd cried some more, staring up at him and whispering, "Dad's alive?" like he'd given her the best present in the world. It was a "guy saves girl and kisses the Hell out of her" moment right out of a movie.
Sort of.
Guy saves girl and kisses the Hell out of her…in full view of his newly arrived Neptune police deputies, the CSU, and the county medical examiner.
At that point, he'd just gone for broke, swept her up in his arms and carried her off the roof. He'd held her in the elevator and off of it, too, walking her right past a crowd of gawking kids from her graduating class that he could probably have booked for underage consumption had he given a flying fuck about anything besides holding on to her for dear life.
He still hadn't let her go. He was thinking of getting surgically attached to her and pondering if his insurance would cover the operation. It wasn't elective surgery, after all. It was abso-fucking-lutely vital to his continued existence.
"This…" he accused, jabbing a finger into her side, "this is why I need to know what happens in the rest of your life."
"You *know* what happens in the rest of my life. I talk to you almost every day, about practically everything. Even when I'm *not* talking to you, I'm talking to you."
"Sure. But not about you investigating the bus crash on your own and realizing Beaver Casablancas was the one behind it."
"You could've figured that out, too, but you're inept."
"Ept enough to save your nosy Nancy Drew ass."
"Is 'ept' even a word?"
"You're going to argue grammar with me *now*?"
"Y-you're the one still yelling," she reminded against his neck, her voice wobbly and killing him.
"Then stop me, Veronica," he pleaded, softly. "Just stop me."
She kissed him fiercely, desperately, too bitter to be sweet, and straddled his lap. She took him inside her again, slick and ready, and they both came way too fast and not nearly fast enough.
They'd already made love twice, in *her* bed because she'd insisted on being home when her dad got in. His first time between her sheets, in her sanctuary… his first time inside her since he heard the words, "He raped me, Don. He. Raped. Me."
He'd once thought she was hanging out with him to punish him for hurting her, for betraying her trust. He'd been so insanely off the mark. Having sea green toenails in his lap and a steady supply of popcorn on Sundays was not punishment. Three syllables were.
His stomach lurched and he gently pushed her from him, rolling away and swinging his feet over the side of the bed as he gasped for air. "I almost lost you and it's *my* fault," he whispered, rubbing his face with palms that still smelled like her…that would always smell like her. Eau de Mars. His favorite scent in the whole world next to baking chocolate.
"How do you figure that?" She followed him, pressing herself to his back, lips warm against his shoulder. "I was all set to blame Cassidy and Woody Goodman. Is there something I should know here? Are you an investor in the taser company? Did you escort Woody on a suspicious trip to the Neverland Ranch and never tell anyone?"
"I…I could've stopped this. Years ago. If I'd just listened to you." He dragged his hands through his hair, clutching his skull and trying to shake the image of her tonight, standing there with death in her eyes…the woman he'd fallen in love with against all odds and all reason…superimposed over the girl who'd sat in front of his desk and gotten nothing but a couple of snide insults and a dismissal. He was scum. He was lower than scum. He didn't know *what* was lower than scum but whatever it was, he was it. "Wh-why did you forgive me, Veronica? Why'd you turn into my best friend and my girlfriend? Christ, how can you stand to do what we just did knowing that those kids on that bus died because of me?"
"If you start crying, Donald, I'm going to go call Dr. Phil."
He managed a laugh. Or at least a reasonable facsimile.
"I told you I stopped blaming you for that morning, right? I've told you that so many times, so many ways. I don't cook for just anybody, you know. That's a big clue." She moved around him, one foot on the ground as she took his chin in her hand. "For that one day you didn't believe in me, you've spent dozens more making me laugh and making me believe in everything from fairy tales to the Padres snagging the Pennant this year -- which, come to think of it, is actually exactly like a fairy tale. Don't you get it? I love you, you idiotic, ineffectual, inept, wonderful jerk. I kinda can't help myself."
"Why?"
"Because your CD collection is even worse than your movie collection…and because you *saved* me tonight."
There was something in his eye. And something lodged in his throat. "You save me every night," he told her. "You fucking redeem me."
"Oh my God, Don. You finally pulled off the Jerry Maguire moment." And there was something in her eyes, too. Definitely something in her throat. And, no, it wasn't his cock.
"Yeah, but did Tom Cruise say 'fucking'?"
"I hope not. I don't think he has your flair."
"Veronica, I haven't had flare since my mom dressed me in bell bottoms in the '70s."
"How many times do I have to tell you to quit that? Must you remind me you're old?"
"Every chance I get."
"Donald?"
"Yeah, Veronica?"
"You fucking complete me."
"No…"
"Oh. *Oh*, God, yes…"
"*Now*, I fucking complete you."
--end--
May 25, 2006.