Title: "Dancing With the Mars"
Author: monimala
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating/Classification: AC for language, Veronica/Vinnie, ep filler, AU.
Disclaimer: Not my characters but I truly heart Ken Marino.
Summary: 1075 words. Picks up in the middle of 3.7, "Of Vice and Men," and then swerves off course. There's a pretty short list of stuff Vinnie never wants to look at.
Vinnie likes porn. Pretty much all kinds. Yeah, even guy-on-guy if you get him drunk enough. He's a regular connoisseur. He can enjoy the technique, you know? And Ultimate Fighter marathons. He likes those, too. The more blood spilled, the better. There's really very few things he can't stomach. You have to have a high tolerance in the private dick trade, 'cause you're bound to see some kinky shit through people's bedroom windows. So, there's a pretty short list of stuff he never wants to look at. Like the First Lady naked. Or the footage of Shark Field blowing up. And Veronica Mars getting manhandled by Liam Fitzpatrick.
He's spent the last two hours nursing a Guinness and discreetly spilling shots of Jameson's down the side of the bar. He can slur "slainte!" with the best of 'em. That's pretty much how he rolls during these lovely afternoons at the River Stix. Attendance is mandatory. The only good thing about that is that he's totally improved his pool game and learned the ultra-important lesson of always letting Danny Boyd win at darts.
So, there he is, minding his own business, watching his back, and wasting liquor when Liam shoots up to the front of the bar like a man on a mission. And five seconds later, there's Veronica being swung around in some fucked up non-dance. Liam can't sing worth a damn and Vinnie doesn't know if the song is "Irish Rover" or "Red Rover," but it doesn't matter if he's singing the entire track listing of Flogging Molly's last album, Veronica looks terrified. And small. And helpless. Her feet don't even touch the ground.
It's a vision he could do without. Okay, maybe not the feet part, because he could totally see himself holding her up against some flat surface and making her moan, "Ohhhh, Vinnie..." But the terror is not so much an aphrodisiac.
A lot of people think Vinnie's stupid. Most of the time, he can't argue. But he's got finesse, a limited amount, and he uses it now to get her out of this without blowing the delicate balance of "Please don't break my face, Liam" that he's achieved while working for the esteemed FFs.
He pulls out his best drunken boor impression, carved out from many a personal experience, and locks eyes with Veronica the whole time. All of two minutes. If that. And then Liam's stumbling off and she's back on solid ground with her little friend. And she's headed for the door she never should've walked through in the first place.
Just like that, he's a fucking hero.
He deserves a prize.
Or at least a "thank you."
He gets neither.
Not surprising.
What's surprising is that he follows Veronica out into the sunlight and tells her about the kid Danny shook down the night before probably ending up in the tank. And while he's being helpful, he looks her over, checks for rips in her clothes or glowing handprints...any sign that Liam's greasy mitts have been on her.
Yeah, he's relieved when he finds none.
And then he waits by her shiny SUV while she puts her friend, a cute little brunette, in a cab, saying something like, "I'll be right behind you." Jesus, he misses her old LeBaron. He should've bought that sucker off of her. He bets the seats still smell like her shampoo and her perfume. That, right there, is quality jerk-off material.
It's not until the cab pulls away, headed for the sheriff's department, that Veronica goes pale and wobbly. He's got to give her credit for not losing her cool faster. She steadies herself against the driver's side door, looking like she's going to puke shamrocks. He can't blame her.
"Babe, you okay?" he asks, which earns him a killer look. Atta girl.
"Peachy, Sweetheart," she snaps, taking in huge lungfuls of air. "Do you think Liam will be my partner for next season's 'So You Think You Can Dance' tryouts?"
"I already called dibs. He lets me lead." He waits till she's less green, more Veronica-colored, making a show of tapping his foot in impatience. "And I'm still waiting."
"For what?" She opens one eye. Then the other. And scowls. "A tip? Don't bet on Pride of Boston. She always drops back on the third lap."
Duly noted for his next visit with the ponies. "No, for a proper thank you for your uncle Vinnie saving your perky ass."
"I don't know what part of that is more disturbing: you wanting me to call you 'Uncle Vinnie' or you thinking my ass is perky." And with that classic gem, the girl is back in the game. Steady on her feet, non-Liam-ed and hunting for her car keys.
Thank you Jesus, Mary, Joseph and Pete. "Well, in my vast experience with women, 'perky' is a relatively safe adjective when describing a woman's ass. You want to stay away from words like 'shapely' or 'delectable' because it makes them all defensive and then it's your own ass hitting the curb."
She looks at him, going all fake wide-eyed with awe. "You should write a book. I'm sure that vast experience could fill...oh...ten pages?"
"That's generous. I was going for a kiddie's board book. Lotsa pictures."
He holds open the car door for her as she climbs inside. And he doesn't know what makes him do it. The Guinness? The fact that the Fitzpatricks could walk out at any second and catch him consorting with the enemy? The desire to sniff her hair and file it away for future masturbatory use? He leans in, wraps one hand loosely around the back of Veronica's neck, and kisses the top of her head. And he whispers what he hopes is a gruff, sincere warning of, "Stay outta the Stix, okay?"
She pulls back and stares at him with shock. Fortunately the kind that isn't accompanied by a slap. Instead, she reaches out and pinches his cheek like his grandma Sofia on his mother's side. And she manages to sound like Nonna, too. All disapproving and certain that he'll come to a bad end. "Take your own advice, Vincent." When he opens his mouth to counter with some brilliant comeback, she cuts him off with a gruff, sincere..."Thanks. Thanks for what you did in there."
And moments later, he comes to the fairly freakish realization that there's one more thing he doesn't like seeing: Veronica Mars driving away from him.
--end--
November 15, 2006.