Title: "Shaking Hands With the Devil"
Author: monimala
Fandom: VM
Rating/Classification: AC for language and sexual situations, Weevil/himself and W/V implied, ficlet.
Disclaimer: Rob Thomas is my minor deity and I don't own this character.
Summary: There are a limited number of things Weevil can do to pass the time in prison. 450 words.
There are a limited number of things an hombre can do to pass the time in prison. Push-ups. Spanking it. Inking the parts of his skin that still have the space for it. Reading the Koran. Weevil's tried them all.
It's a given that he's not gonna be breaking his good Catholic abuela's heart--even if there could be 72 virgins waiting for him in Heaven--but he's got kickass arm definition, three new tats, and he's practically gone blind from the amount of time he spends jerking off.
His first week in the joint, he couldn't do it. He kept picturing everybody on the block listening in as he shook hands with the devil. And he took super quick showers, getting dressed in record time in case one of the big guys wanted to catch him dropping the soap. 'Nando, his cellie, is a scrawny Puerto Rican, in for knocking over a couple Del Tacos, and he laughed, "Cholo, you been watching too much Oz, you dig?" and went ahead and did his business right there in the bottom bunk, screaming out, "Ay, mami!" at the end of it.
By week two, Weevil gave up playing shy. He lingered in the showers a little longer, staring down the sissies and the Nazi motherfuckers, and paid no mind to the sounds on the block at night. A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do. Whatever it takes to stay sane.
But he never shouts. He never says a single name.
He says "No, thanks, Man," to Ibrahim's offer of Arabic lessons in the chow line and hustles back to his bunk with a skin mag to keep himself company after lights out. He doesn't need Allah or Jesus or anybody anymore. He just needs the dark and five minutes of peace. Five minutes and five minutes and five minutes that add up to make the months pass by.
Five minutes he spends with Lilly and Carmen and Lindsay freaking Lohan (he'll go to the chair before he admits that one) and almost always Veronica Mars. All she has to do is that head tilt thing, tapping her smart little bottom lip with her finger, and he pops it. *Ay, Veronica!*
Weevil's tried every goddamn thing he can to get through his time. He's worked the laundry. He's traded in cigarettes, using Hector to get him shit during visiting hours. He's contributed to the bleeding heart prison artists' project and made a couple of lovely vases that are probably sitting on some tree hugging bitch's kitchen table right this very second.
He's tried everything...except getting over a skinny little white girl...who ain't even waiting for him in Hell.
--end--
August 23, 2006