Fic: Agitator (3/3) Veronica/Weevil - NC17
Title: Agitator (3/3)
Author: JaqofSpades
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Characters/Pairing: Eli “Weevil” Navarro/Veronica Mars
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The last week of summer in Neptune. Class war is about to erupt, the drug trade is booming, and Weevil and Veronica aren't friends.
The next time he sees her is at school. He's got his back to her, but the look on Hector's face is the only warning he needs. He thinks of all the things he hates about her before he turns to watch her walk by (because he's not convincing anyone he doesn't like to watch her walk.). He'd been aiming for “who the fuck are you?” but she looks right through him and all he can think is, hell no. She can hate him, but she's sure as fuck not allowed to ignore him, so he thinks of all the things they've done together, all the sweet places he found with his tongue, and how her gasps turned into frantic little sobs when he made her beg.
And it turns out Veronica Mars can still read him, because he sees the blush climbing her neck as she stalks by, and he can't help the smile that creeps across his face as he turns back to his friends.
“What you thinkin' about, dog?” Thumper asks suspiciously, and he shrugs, unable to put it into words. Hector saves him though: “Well, I know what I'm thinking! Girl's still hot, even when she's mad!” and he can't help but nod and laugh, because, damn, it's true. And he even lets them riff on the shape of her ass and what she should be doing with that sexy mouth and doesn't call them on it, even when Hector starts looking uncomfortable. He just shrugs, and smirks, and tells himself to harden the fuck up because she made her choice.
Later, he's trying not to look at her in bio, and all her can see is the hard line of her mouth as she stomped past him. It's never been like that before. No secret amusement, no sly tease, no soft curves hinting that if only he'd behave, he was in with a chance. He wonders exactly when it was he blew it - on the hill, when he walked away? In the alley, when he forced her to acknowledge their physical connection? The Sac n Pac, when his hatred of Echolls had exploded into anger at her? Or was it earlier? Had he lost his chance with her the minute he'd touched his lips to her face, followed her down onto his bed, and shown her something other than the badass motherfucker?
It paralyses him, that thought. He can't move his eyes away from the perfect fall of her hair, blonder than ever, no longer choppy and rebellious. She's changing again, and maybe he did it, he thinks. Maybe he drove her back to safe, and familiar.
The gossip hits him as he follows her down the hall after class.
“Veronica Mars is such a slut!'
“Straight from Logan Echolls …”
“Who'd dump Logan?”
“Apparently, Logan over the summer, but now ...”
He can feel the smirk stretching his lips, threatening to turn into a grin. He won't let it, but the triumph is swelling in his chest anyway, even as he tells himself its just gossip, and it doesn't mean anything, because he hasn't seen her yet. Hasn't talked to her, hasn't sorted a goddamn thing.
He usually ignores the gossip, but today, he tries to catalogue every conversation, to build a truth he can work with.
He's pulling his shabby, third-hand math book out of his locker when he hears the other name.
“Duncan Kane!”
“How does a bitch like her get a guy like him? I can't believe it!”
“Veronica Mars and Duncan Kane. Back together! For realz!”
His vision freezes, and all he can see is the tattered book in front of him, the coffee stains and the ripped, peeling cover.
Shabby, he thinks. Tawdry. That's all they'd ever be. A random almost-fuck in a layby in the dark before she heads back to the 09 and the rich white boys that she lets own her.
And he crunches his forehead down into the metal of the locker above him, and tears the book in two, flinging it backwards in a rain of loose pages that carpet the hall. Third period on the first day of school isn't so bad, he tells himself. He's easin' back into it. He has business to see to, and the day's too good to waste most of it inside.
Not having to see Veronica Mars cozying up to Duncan Kane at lunch is just a side benefit.
*
He manages to get through most of the week before he finally figures out they've only got one class together this year - if homeroom can be called a class. He tries to tell himself that he's glad, because seeing her every day would make it harder to stay mad at her. Homeroom is easy to skip and he's never been great at making the first class of the day anyway, so he should be able to go entire weeks without running into her.
He tells himself it's Felix who's missing, Felix who has left a gaping hole in his life, but he catches himself in the lie when Cervando gets himself in trouble, and he dials her number without even thinking. “Blondie” flashes up on the screen - Felix's idea of a joke - but it's a sharp reminder that this is PCH business, and the boys wouldn't want her anywhere near it.
Two days later, he's following the bus home from Shark Field when it stops for gas, and he steers in after it. He parks around the corner, waits a little, and when she appears, curses his fucking luck. Because he doesn't need her getting caught up in this, doesn't want her anywhere near the Fitzpatricks, or his boys. Doesn't need her sticking her nose in.
But the hurt twists inside him, and the scowl on her face is daring him to say something. He knows he should leave it alone, but all he can think is when the fuck is it supposed to be his turn?
“So did you like your taste? Your little year of living dangerously? Did you get your fill? As soon as they'll have you back, you go running to the 09ers - and as a little bonus, you give it up to the richest boys in school.”
“Bet their sheets are clean,” he says, and never once thinks of chocolate on white sheets (chocolate staining her mouth, and filling the cavern of her bellybutton. Chocolate dribbling down, between her legs, and the way it had tasted as her back bowed off the bed in a silent scream). He doesn't get to think of her that way, so he bites off a curse, and rides off, leaving her stranded.
He goes back.
They don't talk because he's not admitting anything, or even thinking about it. It's just currency, one more favour owed, and that's all that's between them now. That's all there is ever gonna be, he tells himself as they barrel down the PCH, her breath hot against his neck and their bodies already singing to each other.
He's wonders what the fuck is going on in her head as they sweep around the bend, and his first thought is the sea's on fire. Then he sees the limo, doors open and people milling about, and hears the screams. And then they're staring out past the guardrail, and the debris swirling at the bottom of the cliff, and he hates himself for thinking it, he really does, because Cervando was one of his, and deserves better.
But Veronica Mars is alive, and he's thankful. Even if she has climbed off the bike, and twisted out of his arms. Even if she is clinging to Duncan fucking Kane, he's thankful, and doesn't that say it all.
fin