Title: "Hide and Seek"
Author: monimala
Fandom: VM
Rating/Classification: AC for lots of filthy language, V/Lamb, AU ep filler.
Disclaimer: Not my characters. I wish they were.
Summary: 1500 words. Picks up in the middle of 3.7, "Of Vice and Men," and veers off into Mala's Favorite 'Ship territory. This is all Sacks' fault.
"Fuck." That's his primary thought when he walks into the River Stix. That and variations on the theme like "Fuck, what am I doing here?" and "I wonder if they'll comp me a fucking drink?" This all quickly changes to "What the fucking fuck is Veronica Mars doing here?" when he sees her in the company of one Liam Fitzpatrick. On some planet, what Liam's doing, swinging her around like a rag doll, might be considered dancing. On this one, it's just creepy. He's seen more rhythm in a frat party's mosh pit.
The River Stix is not an establishment that Don likes to frequent. Because it's not something his constituency would approve of and he'd love to be a second term sheriff, and more importantly because the Fitzpatricks, as a unit, can kick his ass.
Fortunately, he's the law around these parts, which means he gets to carry a gun. And he keeps his hand floating above his holster as he stalks through the bar. "You. Out," he snaps at a brunette who's shaking like an asthmatic Chihuahua and has "Veronica's latest case" written all over her.
This is all Sacks' fault. His oh-so-useful deputy questions the Doe in the wetsuit they have stashed in the tank and all he gets is something about a bar and Irishmen. And does a single uniform want to come down and check out the lair of the Fighting Fitzpatricks? Nope. Bunch of fucking pussies. "Why don't you go, Don…um, I mean…Sheriff, Sir?" That's what Sacks said.
And here he is. Watching Liam holding Veronica tight to his body as he sings some off-key tune that has six generations of his Irish ancestors rolling in their potato fields. Jesus Christ, she can probably feel the guy's hard-on. Actually, judging by the look on her face -- fear, disgust, panic -- he knows she can.
Fortunately, the fact that the sheriff is in the house has already made an impact on the joint. Everybody except Liam the drunk fuck has gone quiet. They're probably doing a weapons check, which means he has all of three minutes before somebody gets shot. Probably him. So, that's three minutes to get Veronica and him out of here in one piece.
"Can anybody cut in?" he asks, in that fake cheerful voice he uses whenever he has to make speeches at the Neptune Senior Center. 'Gosh, golly gee, of course I care about the new Medicare prescription plan, Ethel.'
Veronica gasps out, "N-not you. You have two left feet," and that's a good sign. Jokes are good. So is the sharp gleam in her eyes. Is that relief? Is she actually happy to see him? Imagine that. Of course, she'd probably be happy to see Aaron goddamn Echolls if it meant getting out of here.
"Well, hey, Sheriff Lamb. To what do we owe the pleasure?" Liam's expression is, however, considerably less than thrilling. Not fucking good at all. A little crazy and a lot drunk, which makes for a bad combination. "See who else came to visit? Veronica Mars."
"Don't you just hate when she shows up and sticks her nose where it doesn't belong?" He clicks his tongue sympathetically, pretending not to notice Veronica cringing as Liam's hand slips somewhere *it* doesn't belong. He also pretends he isn't wishing it was *his* hand. "Why don't I save you from having to make a citizens' arrest?" he suggest, charitably. "I need to take her down to the station for some questioning."
"Unpaid parking tickets are a bitch." Veronica plays along like a pro. Of course, some would argue that she is a pro and he's the amateur. He's not going to think about that right now. "But I'm sure these boys know… that you just want to frisk me…"
*That* he's going to think about.
"Well, then it's a good thing Mr. Fitzpatrick here warmed you up for me. Isn't that right, Liam?"
"What? Yeah. Right." With all the whiskey in his veins, he's not even sure what he's agreeing to. And that's perfect.
When Don's hand closes around Veronica's wrist, he knows he's got her. Looking a little confused, Liam lets her loose and she stumbles, half falls, against his chest. "Come on, Mars," he says, keeping up the patter so he doesn't alert the natives that they've just been screwed out of their afternoon's entertainment. "Let's go. I'll fit you with some cuffs, we'll play with ink…"
"You're a pig!" Veronica mutters, and it's definitely not just for the Fitzpatricks' benefit.
"That is the appropriate metaphor," he points out, steering her rapidly toward the door.
"Like you would know a metaphor if it bit you, Sheriff?"
Aw. She's calling him 'sheriff' now? When did that happen? Her legs are working again, so it gets much easier to break into a swift jog and then they're outside, on the sidewalk, near his double-parked cruiser. Safe. Like they've touched base in hide & seek. Olly olly oxen free. She wrenches out of his grip, squinting against the bright sunlight and automatically brushing herself off, like she can get rid of Liam's handprints that way.
"What the fuck were you doing in there, Veronica?" he demands before he can stop himself. "Have you completely lost your fucking mind?"
"Whoa there, Sheriff." She stops delousing and looks up at him, even more startled than she was to see him in the first place. "My life is rated TV-PG, so dial down the f-bombs."
The witty repartee might have been a nice vital sign inside, but out here, it's back to annoying the piss out of him. He scowls at her, any traces of the Senior Center voice gone. "Since when did you start calling me 'Sheriff'?"
"I can go back to 'Deputy' if you like. Maybe 'asshat'? That's a new one I learned at my fancy college. There's always the old-fashioned bas--"
"Did he hurt you?" Maybe he's the one who's lost his fucking mind, because that's what comes out of his mouth. Not something like "be grateful for once in your life, you mouthy bitch," but "Did Fitzpatrick hurt you?"
"Hurt me?" Her eyes go cold. So much for the repartee. "Did he 'hurt' me? You mean...did he 'rape' me? Would you believe me if I told you?"
Okay, so he deserves that. Some of it. "I saved your ass in there, Veronica," he reminds, quietly, grabbing her elbow and guiding her towards her obnoxiously shiny SUV. The sooner she gets said saved ass out of this neighborhood the better. And he's pretty fond of his own ass in its present non-shot condition, too.
She stops at the driver's side door. Her jaw is tight with anger. He recognizes the sharp line from all the times he's watched her rant and rave in front of his desk. After he got bored with watching her little tits heave, he had to start looking other places. And her face...her face is kind of spectacular. "Why?" she asks, so quietly that he has to lean down to hear her. "Why did you save me?"
This is where he gives the big speech, right? The "I needed to make things up to you" and "I'm sorry for laughing at your rape and at rape in general," speech, cued up with swelling music and mood lighting and maybe one crystal tear of remorse trailing down his cheek. But none of that would be true. He had no fucking idea she would be at the River Stix and no idea what possessed him to play hero. And he hates speeches.
"Why does any man save a girl like you?" he wonders, just as quietly, so she has to steady one hand on the window and lean up. And when her lips are just inches away, all sneering and ready to spit out an insult, he replies to his own question. "Because he wants to fuck you."
She gasps in outrage.
He swallows it.
He kisses her hard, one hand digging into her hair as he presses her flat against the door and feels everything, *everything* that Liam Fitzpatrick felt against him inside that dive. He grinds his pelvis into her hip, his free hand snaking down to replace Liam's filthy prints with his own. No less filthy. He admits it. He tastes copper on his lip from where she bites down. And when she pushes at the center of his chest, he lets himself be pushed. He stumbles back, wiping the blood from his mouth with his knuckles.
Her eyes are bright. Wet. *She cries*, he thinks, moments before she does exactly the opposite. She punches. She curls up her fist and lands a solid right to his jaw. "Fuck you, *Deputy*," she whispers.
While he's still shaking off the surprisingly powerful hit, she unlocks the SUV. Then, she drags him inside...and kisses him back.
"Fuck." That's his primary thought. His last thought, too.
But every thought in between is "Veronica."
--end--
November 16, 2006.