[Gabe/Vicky-T] Nice Guys Finish Last.
nice guys finish last.
by
shattered_ink . ~1500 words.
PG-13 for swearing. Gabe/Vicky-T.
summary: NICE GUYS FINISH LAST, BASICALLY. which is not always true, so that's why this is fiction. (:
disclaimer: don't own them; this didn't happen. title + opening lyrics from Cobra Starship.
a/n: this is super-short and simple, because it's based only on the verse at the beginning from Cobra Starship's "Nice Guys Finish Last." not groundbreaking work, by any means! for and prompted by xmexandxyoux . (:
Listen kid, you hear them sirens comin' for me?
But when I get downtown she will already be
postin' bail in her favorite dress
Smilin' at me because I'm no good.
It was your average Wednesday night at the pet shop.
Patrick scrubbed the white, crusted-over droppings lining the bird cage bars; Victoria called to mention she’d be late for her shift.
Gabe walked in carrying some kid’s unconscious body.
Patrick watched, without a word, as Gabe hauled the kid behind the counter. He considered asking what had happened, but he’d learned from (too much) experience that he didn’t want to know. So he continued scrubbing cages and, by the time he was done with that, the police had arrived in a parade of red flashes and crackly intercoms.
To his credit, Gabe didn’t resist the cuffs this time.
“Sir, we’ll need to have a word with you,” the taller of the two officers said, motioning to Patrick, who wiped his hands clean on his apron and stepped around the counter.
As the shorter officer rattled off Gabe’s rights and pressed him against the hamster food display, the taller man said to Patrick, “This time we got a complaint that involved your friend here punching some kid and dragging him back to this store. Care to confirm or deny this?”
“Yeah.” Patrick nodded. “The kid’s behind the counter.”
The officer scribbled something in his notepad, leaned over the counter and nodded. “Yep,” he said. “That’s a kid, all right.”
“Look, officer dudes, let me explain.” Gabe twisted, craned his neck to face them. “This kid comes outta nowhere, right, talking shit, trashing my hot-ass clothes. And I’m like, ‘I’m not gonna fight you, kid, you ain’t worth it,’ and he gets mad and starts kicking me. Like, I’m trying to walk away and he’s kicking me, tripping me up. So I swing around, pissed off, and my arm is out and it goes across his face and all you hear is CRACK. He taps out, right, and I bring him up here thinking we have a first-aid kit or something in the lounge, but we got nothing for a kid who passes out like that. He shouldn’t go around picking fights, that little bastard. I’m innocent here, man. I’m the victim.”
“Between you and this kid, who’s unconscious?” the shorter officer said, but even so, he was loosening Gabe’s handcuffs. “Lucky for you, the kid’s fine. Looks like he’ll be up in ten minutes, more or less. If anything, you’ll get a misdemeanor for hitting him. But as always, someone will bail you out tonight. Am I right?”
Gabe winked. “Are you ever wrong?”
“Inappropriate as hell, but whatever. Come on.”
The door swung open and Victoria swayed inside, spilling her many bags and wallets and keys onto the counter. She took one glance around and said, “The hell did you do this time, Gabe?”
“Long story, V.”
“But -”
“Come on, dudes. I want to get there and get bailed out before 24 comes on.”
The officers rolled their eyes and escorted him out.
Victoria stomped her foot and shoved the shop keys toward a wide-eyed Patrick. “Man the fort while I’m gone, please and thank you.” She grabbed one of the bags, a black Coach purse, and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ve got to go save - and then kick - this moron’s ass.”
-
The jail wasn’t so bad, once you got past the dank smell and the way everything dripped and plinked and echoed. Gabe sat cross-legged on the bunk in his cell, waving his hands as he explained a riddle to his cellmate, a fragile-looking college-aged kid who probably got busted with weed or something.
“You get it, right?” Gabe was saying. “It’s a coffin!”
Weed-Boy was not amused.
The guard appeared at the bars, mouth tugged into a permanent frown. “Which one of you is Gabriel,” he grunted.
“That’d be me. You wanna let me out of here?”
The guard clenched his teeth, but unlocked the gate and pulled it aside. Gabe tipped his hand in mock-solute to Weed-Boy. “Nice meeting you, kid. I’ll see you around.”
Weed-Boy blinked. Gabe took this as a goodbye.
The guard led Gabe down the hall, where the plinking and dripping and echoey noises faded into the quiet hum of air conditioning. Gabe had just stepped into the front lobby when he saw her - Victoria.
Of course.
She stood by the door, arms folded over her favorite aqua blue chiffon dress, which fell nicely around her shape and settled at her knees. She looked like something out of a dress-up game - bangles and bracelets up to her elbows, shades perched atop her head, brown suede ankle boots and a bow slipped into her hair. Gabe resisted the urge to make a comment that would get him slapped, so he settled on a teasing, “You bailed me out, huh? So you really do care.”
“Get your ass in the car,” she snapped, and turned around to go.
-
The kid blinked himself conscious almost as soon as Victoria left.
At first, Patrick had no idea what to do with him. The kid wouldn’t talk, would just sit on the counter, swinging his legs and staring at the pet food, at the ferret cage, at Patrick, at anything.
Suddenly he leaped from the counter, and a rubberband-bound deck of UNO cards fell from his pocket.
Patrick said, “You want to play?”
The kid just grinned in reply.
-
In a thanks-for-bailing-me-out-of-jail-again sort of gesture, Gabe drove back to the mall.
Victoria got in the car without a word, and spent most of the ride with her nose against the window, arms still folded, dress bunched up like a blanket around her thighs. Gabe managed to keep his mouth shut until he pulled into the mall’s parking garage. He eased into a spot on the second level, and in a much-too-quiet voice, he said, “You’re probably tired of me fucking up.”
Victoria closed her eyes, peeled her face away from the window. Staring straight ahead at the row of cars lined across from them, she said, “I think I’m just tired of you taking me for granted.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. You always have.” She tilted her chin up and combed her hair down with her fingers. “But it’s like, whatever. You’re the mysterious bad boy and I’m the stupid little girl who loves you.”
“You’re not stupid,” he said, reclining in his seat. He inhaled, once, and let the breath get dragged out of him.
Then he sat up straight. “Wait. You love me.”
“Don’t sound so sure,” she sighed. “I’m honestly reconsidering it.”
Gabe smirked, leaned toward her, arm slung around the back of her seat. “You know you can’t resist my charms, girl.”
“Oh, please. I totally can.” Except she totally couldn’t.
He kissed her then, all sloppy, snake-like tongue and saliva; while she did bite his lip especially hard once, she didn’t exactly resist.
-
Patrick had pulled out some shipping crates to serve as chairs and a table for an intense UNO match.
He peered over the tops of the cards he’d fanned out in his hands and said, “So, kid. You have a name?”
The boy threw out a green eight and said, “Cash.”
Patrick drew from the deck and tossed out a blue eight to match the green one.
Cash grinned. “Uno,” he said, flinging a blue draw two into play.
“The shop was supposed to close ten minutes ago, you know.” Patrick plucked two from the deck.
“You’re only mentioning it because I’m kicking your ass.”
“Hmm. This is true.”
The door flew open then, and they looked up from their game.
Victoria stepped inside, looking flustered, her cheeks rosy and her hair floating up and away from her head. She patted it down, but like a helium balloon, it rose again.
“Me and the Lady disappear for, what, a half hour? And we come back to find you getting your ass handed to you in UNO, Stump?” Gabe came slinking in behind Victoria, laughing as he flung an arm around Patrick and peered into his hand. “Oh, dude, you’re fucked with these cards, what the hell kind of hand is this?”
Patrick blushed.
Victoria finally wrestled her hair into a semi-neat style. “Really, Gabe. Must you be such a dick?”
“I’m a jackass. A bad guy. It’s in the job description, V.”
“What a douche,” Cash noted, as Gabe pulled her in and pretty much laved her face.
Patrick tossed out a red three. “Yet the douche always gets the girl, it seems.”
“Yeah. Uno, out.” Cash laid out a red reverse. “Looks like nice guys do finish last.”
*
by
shattered_ink . ~1500 words.
PG-13 for swearing. Gabe/Vicky-T.
summary: NICE GUYS FINISH LAST, BASICALLY. which is not always true, so that's why this is fiction. (:
disclaimer: don't own them; this didn't happen. title + opening lyrics from Cobra Starship.
a/n: this is super-short and simple, because it's based only on the verse at the beginning from Cobra Starship's "Nice Guys Finish Last." not groundbreaking work, by any means! for and prompted by xmexandxyoux . (:
Listen kid, you hear them sirens comin' for me?
But when I get downtown she will already be
postin' bail in her favorite dress
Smilin' at me because I'm no good.
It was your average Wednesday night at the pet shop.
Patrick scrubbed the white, crusted-over droppings lining the bird cage bars; Victoria called to mention she’d be late for her shift.
Gabe walked in carrying some kid’s unconscious body.
Patrick watched, without a word, as Gabe hauled the kid behind the counter. He considered asking what had happened, but he’d learned from (too much) experience that he didn’t want to know. So he continued scrubbing cages and, by the time he was done with that, the police had arrived in a parade of red flashes and crackly intercoms.
To his credit, Gabe didn’t resist the cuffs this time.
“Sir, we’ll need to have a word with you,” the taller of the two officers said, motioning to Patrick, who wiped his hands clean on his apron and stepped around the counter.
As the shorter officer rattled off Gabe’s rights and pressed him against the hamster food display, the taller man said to Patrick, “This time we got a complaint that involved your friend here punching some kid and dragging him back to this store. Care to confirm or deny this?”
“Yeah.” Patrick nodded. “The kid’s behind the counter.”
The officer scribbled something in his notepad, leaned over the counter and nodded. “Yep,” he said. “That’s a kid, all right.”
“Look, officer dudes, let me explain.” Gabe twisted, craned his neck to face them. “This kid comes outta nowhere, right, talking shit, trashing my hot-ass clothes. And I’m like, ‘I’m not gonna fight you, kid, you ain’t worth it,’ and he gets mad and starts kicking me. Like, I’m trying to walk away and he’s kicking me, tripping me up. So I swing around, pissed off, and my arm is out and it goes across his face and all you hear is CRACK. He taps out, right, and I bring him up here thinking we have a first-aid kit or something in the lounge, but we got nothing for a kid who passes out like that. He shouldn’t go around picking fights, that little bastard. I’m innocent here, man. I’m the victim.”
“Between you and this kid, who’s unconscious?” the shorter officer said, but even so, he was loosening Gabe’s handcuffs. “Lucky for you, the kid’s fine. Looks like he’ll be up in ten minutes, more or less. If anything, you’ll get a misdemeanor for hitting him. But as always, someone will bail you out tonight. Am I right?”
Gabe winked. “Are you ever wrong?”
“Inappropriate as hell, but whatever. Come on.”
The door swung open and Victoria swayed inside, spilling her many bags and wallets and keys onto the counter. She took one glance around and said, “The hell did you do this time, Gabe?”
“Long story, V.”
“But -”
“Come on, dudes. I want to get there and get bailed out before 24 comes on.”
The officers rolled their eyes and escorted him out.
Victoria stomped her foot and shoved the shop keys toward a wide-eyed Patrick. “Man the fort while I’m gone, please and thank you.” She grabbed one of the bags, a black Coach purse, and slung it over her shoulder. “I’ve got to go save - and then kick - this moron’s ass.”
-
The jail wasn’t so bad, once you got past the dank smell and the way everything dripped and plinked and echoed. Gabe sat cross-legged on the bunk in his cell, waving his hands as he explained a riddle to his cellmate, a fragile-looking college-aged kid who probably got busted with weed or something.
“You get it, right?” Gabe was saying. “It’s a coffin!”
Weed-Boy was not amused.
The guard appeared at the bars, mouth tugged into a permanent frown. “Which one of you is Gabriel,” he grunted.
“That’d be me. You wanna let me out of here?”
The guard clenched his teeth, but unlocked the gate and pulled it aside. Gabe tipped his hand in mock-solute to Weed-Boy. “Nice meeting you, kid. I’ll see you around.”
Weed-Boy blinked. Gabe took this as a goodbye.
The guard led Gabe down the hall, where the plinking and dripping and echoey noises faded into the quiet hum of air conditioning. Gabe had just stepped into the front lobby when he saw her - Victoria.
Of course.
She stood by the door, arms folded over her favorite aqua blue chiffon dress, which fell nicely around her shape and settled at her knees. She looked like something out of a dress-up game - bangles and bracelets up to her elbows, shades perched atop her head, brown suede ankle boots and a bow slipped into her hair. Gabe resisted the urge to make a comment that would get him slapped, so he settled on a teasing, “You bailed me out, huh? So you really do care.”
“Get your ass in the car,” she snapped, and turned around to go.
-
The kid blinked himself conscious almost as soon as Victoria left.
At first, Patrick had no idea what to do with him. The kid wouldn’t talk, would just sit on the counter, swinging his legs and staring at the pet food, at the ferret cage, at Patrick, at anything.
Suddenly he leaped from the counter, and a rubberband-bound deck of UNO cards fell from his pocket.
Patrick said, “You want to play?”
The kid just grinned in reply.
-
In a thanks-for-bailing-me-out-of-jail-again sort of gesture, Gabe drove back to the mall.
Victoria got in the car without a word, and spent most of the ride with her nose against the window, arms still folded, dress bunched up like a blanket around her thighs. Gabe managed to keep his mouth shut until he pulled into the mall’s parking garage. He eased into a spot on the second level, and in a much-too-quiet voice, he said, “You’re probably tired of me fucking up.”
Victoria closed her eyes, peeled her face away from the window. Staring straight ahead at the row of cars lined across from them, she said, “I think I’m just tired of you taking me for granted.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. You always have.” She tilted her chin up and combed her hair down with her fingers. “But it’s like, whatever. You’re the mysterious bad boy and I’m the stupid little girl who loves you.”
“You’re not stupid,” he said, reclining in his seat. He inhaled, once, and let the breath get dragged out of him.
Then he sat up straight. “Wait. You love me.”
“Don’t sound so sure,” she sighed. “I’m honestly reconsidering it.”
Gabe smirked, leaned toward her, arm slung around the back of her seat. “You know you can’t resist my charms, girl.”
“Oh, please. I totally can.” Except she totally couldn’t.
He kissed her then, all sloppy, snake-like tongue and saliva; while she did bite his lip especially hard once, she didn’t exactly resist.
-
Patrick had pulled out some shipping crates to serve as chairs and a table for an intense UNO match.
He peered over the tops of the cards he’d fanned out in his hands and said, “So, kid. You have a name?”
The boy threw out a green eight and said, “Cash.”
Patrick drew from the deck and tossed out a blue eight to match the green one.
Cash grinned. “Uno,” he said, flinging a blue draw two into play.
“The shop was supposed to close ten minutes ago, you know.” Patrick plucked two from the deck.
“You’re only mentioning it because I’m kicking your ass.”
“Hmm. This is true.”
The door flew open then, and they looked up from their game.
Victoria stepped inside, looking flustered, her cheeks rosy and her hair floating up and away from her head. She patted it down, but like a helium balloon, it rose again.
“Me and the Lady disappear for, what, a half hour? And we come back to find you getting your ass handed to you in UNO, Stump?” Gabe came slinking in behind Victoria, laughing as he flung an arm around Patrick and peered into his hand. “Oh, dude, you’re fucked with these cards, what the hell kind of hand is this?”
Patrick blushed.
Victoria finally wrestled her hair into a semi-neat style. “Really, Gabe. Must you be such a dick?”
“I’m a jackass. A bad guy. It’s in the job description, V.”
“What a douche,” Cash noted, as Gabe pulled her in and pretty much laved her face.
Patrick tossed out a red three. “Yet the douche always gets the girl, it seems.”
“Yeah. Uno, out.” Cash laid out a red reverse. “Looks like nice guys do finish last.”
*