Title: "five finger discount"
Author: monimala
E-mail: malisita@yahoo.com
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating/Classification: adult language, implied sexual situations, WeeVer, episode filler.
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. Rob Thomas is my Tiki God and I lifted some dialogue from 2.1 "Normal is the Watch Word."
Summary: It was easier, actually, than seeing that he considered her One of Them now written all over his face.
"I'm sure their sheets are clean," he'd mocked, eyes dark with judgment and full to the brim with a cupload of bitterness.
The words were like a kick to the head. A punch to the gut. Maybe a whole marathon of bad Kung Fu movies on the Spike channel. Even after the vaguely civil sentences that followed, she'd expected him to drive away...to speed out and leave her there in the lot. It was easier, actually, than seeing that he considered her One of Them now written all over his face.
She'd bid the bike a wry "adios."
And Wallace had still been asking for the 411 on her location when she hung up on him. Hola.
She counts herself lucky, now, to be riding bitch behind Weevil, the helmet's visor and the wind a welcome barrier between them. Of course, if she wants to be technical, a chasm the size of the Grand Canyon separates them, too. She'd like to lay the blame for that solely at Logan's feet, but she won't. She's all about spreading the wealth when it comes to guilt and recrimination. She's been raised right. Dad would be proud...after he finished kicking Weevil's ass.
"I'm sure their sheets are clean."
Her arms tighten around his waist as he takes a close curve. She flips up the visor to spit out dust and her mouth brushes against his smooth skull. She flinches because, even now, his skin is warm and salty on her tongue.
"When a guy's hot for you, V, he's hot for you," Weevil had laughed the first time she marveled at the fever-heat of his body against hers. He was better than a space heater ...and a lot more entertaining. As he'd pointed out in the parking lot, it was her year of living dangerously. So, she went to him a dozen times, maybe an even and cursed thirteen. She'd been frozen for months, like raw meat that needed thawing out, and he'd nuked her...cooked her clean through. Probably not the best of metaphors, but she's on short supply these days.
Sometimes, all they did was ride. Like this. Sometimes, they'd watch TVLand on his abuela's illegal cable line and take comfort in the black and white people with their black and white lives. "Sepia. I think my life is sepia." "What the fuck color is that?" "Old photographs when they go brown. People who tan too long." "Oh...you mean the color I already am?" "That's terrible!" "But true, verdad?"
And sometimes, they would sleep together. Yup, the old cliche. Friends with benefits. He'd fidget, embarrassed, as they moved from the couch to his bedroom -- a 9 x 13 glorified closet where the twin mattress was up on cement blocks. "Ain't no thang," she'd tease, stripping away his discomfort along with his leather and denim as they fell back on the scratchy blanket someone, probably his grandmother, had brought back from TJ.
It had been shockingly easy. Comfortable. She hadn't been with anyone since the first time she couldn't even remember and he gave her a hundred things she wouldn't forget. Like the way he laughed when she tickled him just below the hip. And the husky Spanish endearments he refused to translate no matter how much blackmail she threatened. "I'll tell Felix you wear silk boxer briefs." "Who do you think gave 'em to me? Hermano got me a whole set for Christmas." "Five finger discount?" "You know it." Making love was an even trade. His experience for her willingness to learn.
She'd ended that side of their quirky working relationship after the first time Logan kissed her. He took it surprisingly well, chuckling, "Man, I can't catch a break with Echolls, can I? Are you sure you don't want Weevil as your back door lover?" He'd even sung a few bars -- horribly off-key. "I come highly recommended, you know." "I'm not Lilly," she'd reminded, stung. "I never thought you were," he'd assured, suddenly serious, offering up one last kiss for the road. And they went back to their old pattern of mutual favors, lifts home, and witty banter. The PCH-ers had still liked her back then, even if she wasn't scoring with their capitan anymore, and Eli's uncle still tinkered with her car for free.
As entanglements went, it had been ideal. And idyllic.
Mutual respect, an equal partnership, and no bad blood between them. Pretty much the best thing since sliced bread.
"Shouldn't you be running for Homecoming Queen or something?"
Until that night on the bridge...where everything had changed for everybody.
"So, did you like your taste?" he'd asked her. "Did you get your fill?"
No.
Not by a long shot.
Maybe their sheets are clean, but his hands are cleaner.
She misses the way they feel. She misses how he used to trace their initials on her stomach with his index finger and teasingly point out that "Veronica Navarro" had a kickass ring to it. "Yeah, I'd sound like a porn star." "Naw...you'd sound like you're mine."
And that's the last thought she has before they spot the thick column of smoke and everything changes. Again.
--end--
September 29, 2005