VMARS FIC: This Damned Unholy Alliance (Logan/Weevil)
x-posted to various fic comms.
I, like most eveyrone else, loved that L/W fight scene last week. And then when it was over, I thought: "Heh. I wonder how THAT'S gonna work out?" And then my brain spit this fic out. Y'all know how it goes.
TITLE: This Damned Unholy Alliance
SERIES: Veronica Mars
PAIRING(S): Logan/Weevil, implied Logan/Veronica, implied Weevil/Veronica.
AUTHOR: amelia_kay
SPOILERS: Through "My Mother, The Fiend". Includes kelex's and my speculation about some of Weevil's backstory.
SUMMARY: Weevil thinks this whole truce thing is a hell of a lot harder than it looks.
***
Weevil thinks he shouldn't be amazed that they argue about absolutely everything, from the dumbest detail to the most important parts, but he is, anyway.
It never stops. It's like a war with words, and that pisses him off, 'cause he'd thought they'd called something like a truce.
They can't even agree on where to meet. Logan insists on being in "his territory" because he's so damn paranoid (thanks in no small part to Weevil, the bitch has to keep reminding him) that he won't risk showing his ugly mug in Weevil's neighborhood. So Logan Echolls gets his way.
Again.
***
Three different white people he passes on the way up to Logan's hotel room actually think he works there. They don't even notice he's still wearing his shirt from the garage. They just see brown skin; that automatically translates into non-person. And Weevil's never gonna be able to stand for that, not as long as he lives.
The third guy, who asks him to bring towels up to room ten-fourteen, just gets a bitter "Fuck you" for his trouble.
He's pretty sure Logan used to see him - not see him - like that too.
Well... that's all changed now.
***
"This is one tacky-ass hotel," Weevil barks, by way of a greeting, shoving past Logan into the room. "Is that the Mona Lisa on the pillows? Dizzam."
Behind him, Logan sighs. "Don't get too excited, Weevs, the real thing's in the Louvre behind bulletproof glass."
Yeah, this is off to a good start.
"Although," Logan continues, in the same neutral, amused murmur, "Why anybody'd ever wanna shoot the Mona Lisa, I have no fucking clue."
Weevil turns around, saying, without malice, "Wow. You're an idiot."
Logan sniffs. "I'd offer you a drink, but I don't really care if you're thirsty."
***
Logan leans back. "Let's go over everything we remember about that night."
"Hmm," Weevil drawls sarcastically, "I remember standing on the bridge, and telling your sorry ass to come down from the rail, then I remember your size nine swinging into my damn eye." He feels a prick of satisfaction at the guilt that flushes Logan's expression just then. "Next thing I know, I was at my house with an icepack on my head, and Felix was already dead."
"You got lucky - I was aiming for your teeth." He cocks his head. "Oh, and eff-why-eye... I wear a size eleven."
***
"It had to have been one of your people, man." Logan sounds hesitant, and oddly gentle.
"My people? The hell's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, one of the other Boy Scouts." Another blank stare from Weevil, and Logan snaps, "Your fucking stupid gang, moron."
The idea doesn't sting nearly as much as he thought it would. "How'd you figure?"
"Look. I was out cold when that guy found me. You think I stabbed Felix, then they beat me up some more while he lay bleeding to death? I think not."
Weevil's gotta admit it: the man has a point.
***
"So you can't be the guy," Weevil agrees. "That doesn't necessarily mean one of my boys punked out."
Logan blows air between his teeth, like he can't believe Weevil isn't getting it. Weevil rolls his eyes in irritation. "What?"
"Are we conveniently forgetting the part where they all said they saw me do what we've established I couldn't possibly have done? They're lying to you from start to finish."
No, Weevil isn't conveniently forgetting anything. He frowns, and Logan claps him on the shoulder. "Y'know, Weevs, denial is not just a river in -"
"Don't touch me."
"My bad... compadre."
***
An hour later they're no closer to having any answers. So Logan says, "Maybe we should run all this by someone else."
"Oh, hell no, boy." Weevil's expression shifts into shock. "I know what you're thinking."
"Huh?"
"You're thinking: we should call up Veronica Mars, and I'mma tell you right now: that ain't gonna happen."
"I wasn't -"
"You think this is kid's stuff?" he says, voice rising. "This ain't your goddamned lacrosse team, son - they will take down whoever gets in their way. And I ain't gonna have Veronica's blood on my hands."
Logan blinks. "Awww. What. A. Gentleman."
***
"I don't know, all right?" Logan rubs his jeans tensely, starts pacing almost on automatic. "I'd never seen the guy before, and he took off before I was even on my feet."
"Did you get his license plate -"
"Fucking no, I already told you!" Logan waves around for emphasis. "You think I've had anything else to think about since this happened? I don't remember."
"Jesus. Calm the fuck down."
"Fuck you, calm the fuck down!" Logan snaps. "Pretty easy for you to say. You're not the one whose life has gone to shit four times over here."
"Oh, please."
***
"Excuse you?" Logan retorts, incredulous.
Weevil leans forward, eyes narrowing up at the other boy. "Look, if we're gonna do this, you gotta stop asking me to feel sorry for you. Yeah, I know you got problems. Here's a little news they mighta kept out of your precious zip code: everybody's got problems. My best friend's dead, and it's looking like my other friends killed him. Your mama's dead? Well, I'm sorry. Mine got gunned down in a drive-by shooting. I was ten. Your daddy's a piece-of-shit jailbird? Hey! Mine is too. Maybe you and me can start a club. Way I see it, the only difference between you and me is that you got a lot more money and... I tan better. So yeah. Cry me a river and then calm the fuck down."
He thinks maybe Logan's gonna hit him then, but instead, he just blankly sits down again.
***
"You know what? I'll take that drink now," Weevil says, to break the heavy silence that's settling on them. "I'm just parched."
"Heavens to Betsy," Logan replies dryly, heading for his mini-bar anyway. "You know, Weevs. I feel like we've bonded here. Except... you left something out."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. The part about us both having a weakness for pain-in-the-ass, inquisitive blondes."
Weevil's face suddenly splits into a tired smirk. "Fine. Call her nosy ass up. But if she gets killed or worked over, it's all on your conscience... if you got one."
"Cross my heart and hope to - well. You know."
- END -
A/N: Thanks to kelex and kerfect for their invaluable and thoughtful feedback, without which this story would've made a whole lot less sense. =) Any and all feedback is very much appreciated!!!
I, like most eveyrone else, loved that L/W fight scene last week. And then when it was over, I thought: "Heh. I wonder how THAT'S gonna work out?" And then my brain spit this fic out. Y'all know how it goes.
TITLE: This Damned Unholy Alliance
SERIES: Veronica Mars
PAIRING(S): Logan/Weevil, implied Logan/Veronica, implied Weevil/Veronica.
AUTHOR: amelia_kay
SPOILERS: Through "My Mother, The Fiend". Includes kelex's and my speculation about some of Weevil's backstory.
SUMMARY: Weevil thinks this whole truce thing is a hell of a lot harder than it looks.
***
Weevil thinks he shouldn't be amazed that they argue about absolutely everything, from the dumbest detail to the most important parts, but he is, anyway.
It never stops. It's like a war with words, and that pisses him off, 'cause he'd thought they'd called something like a truce.
They can't even agree on where to meet. Logan insists on being in "his territory" because he's so damn paranoid (thanks in no small part to Weevil, the bitch has to keep reminding him) that he won't risk showing his ugly mug in Weevil's neighborhood. So Logan Echolls gets his way.
Again.
***
Three different white people he passes on the way up to Logan's hotel room actually think he works there. They don't even notice he's still wearing his shirt from the garage. They just see brown skin; that automatically translates into non-person. And Weevil's never gonna be able to stand for that, not as long as he lives.
The third guy, who asks him to bring towels up to room ten-fourteen, just gets a bitter "Fuck you" for his trouble.
He's pretty sure Logan used to see him - not see him - like that too.
Well... that's all changed now.
***
"This is one tacky-ass hotel," Weevil barks, by way of a greeting, shoving past Logan into the room. "Is that the Mona Lisa on the pillows? Dizzam."
Behind him, Logan sighs. "Don't get too excited, Weevs, the real thing's in the Louvre behind bulletproof glass."
Yeah, this is off to a good start.
"Although," Logan continues, in the same neutral, amused murmur, "Why anybody'd ever wanna shoot the Mona Lisa, I have no fucking clue."
Weevil turns around, saying, without malice, "Wow. You're an idiot."
Logan sniffs. "I'd offer you a drink, but I don't really care if you're thirsty."
***
Logan leans back. "Let's go over everything we remember about that night."
"Hmm," Weevil drawls sarcastically, "I remember standing on the bridge, and telling your sorry ass to come down from the rail, then I remember your size nine swinging into my damn eye." He feels a prick of satisfaction at the guilt that flushes Logan's expression just then. "Next thing I know, I was at my house with an icepack on my head, and Felix was already dead."
"You got lucky - I was aiming for your teeth." He cocks his head. "Oh, and eff-why-eye... I wear a size eleven."
***
"It had to have been one of your people, man." Logan sounds hesitant, and oddly gentle.
"My people? The hell's that supposed to mean?"
"It means, one of the other Boy Scouts." Another blank stare from Weevil, and Logan snaps, "Your fucking stupid gang, moron."
The idea doesn't sting nearly as much as he thought it would. "How'd you figure?"
"Look. I was out cold when that guy found me. You think I stabbed Felix, then they beat me up some more while he lay bleeding to death? I think not."
Weevil's gotta admit it: the man has a point.
***
"So you can't be the guy," Weevil agrees. "That doesn't necessarily mean one of my boys punked out."
Logan blows air between his teeth, like he can't believe Weevil isn't getting it. Weevil rolls his eyes in irritation. "What?"
"Are we conveniently forgetting the part where they all said they saw me do what we've established I couldn't possibly have done? They're lying to you from start to finish."
No, Weevil isn't conveniently forgetting anything. He frowns, and Logan claps him on the shoulder. "Y'know, Weevs, denial is not just a river in -"
"Don't touch me."
"My bad... compadre."
***
An hour later they're no closer to having any answers. So Logan says, "Maybe we should run all this by someone else."
"Oh, hell no, boy." Weevil's expression shifts into shock. "I know what you're thinking."
"Huh?"
"You're thinking: we should call up Veronica Mars, and I'mma tell you right now: that ain't gonna happen."
"I wasn't -"
"You think this is kid's stuff?" he says, voice rising. "This ain't your goddamned lacrosse team, son - they will take down whoever gets in their way. And I ain't gonna have Veronica's blood on my hands."
Logan blinks. "Awww. What. A. Gentleman."
***
"I don't know, all right?" Logan rubs his jeans tensely, starts pacing almost on automatic. "I'd never seen the guy before, and he took off before I was even on my feet."
"Did you get his license plate -"
"Fucking no, I already told you!" Logan waves around for emphasis. "You think I've had anything else to think about since this happened? I don't remember."
"Jesus. Calm the fuck down."
"Fuck you, calm the fuck down!" Logan snaps. "Pretty easy for you to say. You're not the one whose life has gone to shit four times over here."
"Oh, please."
***
"Excuse you?" Logan retorts, incredulous.
Weevil leans forward, eyes narrowing up at the other boy. "Look, if we're gonna do this, you gotta stop asking me to feel sorry for you. Yeah, I know you got problems. Here's a little news they mighta kept out of your precious zip code: everybody's got problems. My best friend's dead, and it's looking like my other friends killed him. Your mama's dead? Well, I'm sorry. Mine got gunned down in a drive-by shooting. I was ten. Your daddy's a piece-of-shit jailbird? Hey! Mine is too. Maybe you and me can start a club. Way I see it, the only difference between you and me is that you got a lot more money and... I tan better. So yeah. Cry me a river and then calm the fuck down."
He thinks maybe Logan's gonna hit him then, but instead, he just blankly sits down again.
***
"You know what? I'll take that drink now," Weevil says, to break the heavy silence that's settling on them. "I'm just parched."
"Heavens to Betsy," Logan replies dryly, heading for his mini-bar anyway. "You know, Weevs. I feel like we've bonded here. Except... you left something out."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. The part about us both having a weakness for pain-in-the-ass, inquisitive blondes."
Weevil's face suddenly splits into a tired smirk. "Fine. Call her nosy ass up. But if she gets killed or worked over, it's all on your conscience... if you got one."
"Cross my heart and hope to - well. You know."
- END -
A/N: Thanks to kelex and kerfect for their invaluable and thoughtful feedback, without which this story would've made a whole lot less sense. =) Any and all feedback is very much appreciated!!!