Break It Down, Chapter 3
Title: Break It Down (WIP, 3/8)
Author:
sowell
Characters: Mac/Weevil, Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 2,444 in this part
Rating: R, for language
Summary: Veronica tries to solve the case of a missing term paper and drags Logan along for the ride. Elsewhere, Mac and Weevil battle it out in an elevator.
Spoilers: Spoiled through 2.22
Disclaimer: The Mars-verse belongs exclusively to Rob Thomas
Read it at
veronicamarsfic
Chapter 1 // Chapter 2
CHAPTER 3
Wallace is reading Mark’s Science World magazine when Veronica pokes her head in. "I guess that’s better than the porn," she says flippantly. "Stop scowling at me. Password is HTIMS2."
"Tell me again why I have to do this?"
She can still feel the guilty imprint of Logan’s lips on her neck. "Because I am being a good friend and going to get that coffee you asked for."
Wallace’s face lights up. "Nice. Mocha latte. Whipped cream. Maybe a muffin," he says dreamily.
Logan slides in beside her. "They let you eat like that during training?"
"Hey, you can’t slow down the Fen-man."
Veronica wrinkles her nose. "Don’t expect me to start calling you that. And see what you can find while you’re digging around that website. There might be something else useful."
"This guy has the top spot in English?" Logan glances around the room in distaste.
"What?" she asks at his obvious disdain. "Décor not up to your standards?"
"I’ve seen ritzier crap piles. But I meant that it’s a little more Bill Nye than Bill Shakespeare." She looks at him blankly. "No books," he says, gesturing to the room at large.
"Actually," she says slowly, "you’re right." Realization dawns on her as she glances around. "I assumed he was an English major, but…no tattered paperbacks, no cheesy posters with literary quotes." She focuses on his desk, thinking out loud. "No boring art films, no visible weed stash." She takes in the Star Wars poster, the hefty textbooks lining his shelf, and the stack of computer games perched haphazardly next to his printer. A little model engineering set that she never noticed before is stuffed into the alcove above his computer. "It looks like he copied a spread right out of that Science World magazine."
Wallace looks annoyed. "That doesn’t mean anything."
"Let me see Clive’s ID card." She looks up, frowning. "He’s an Electrical Engineering major, not English. Why would an EE and a CS major care so much about their standing in a basic English course?"
"Maybe they’re just overachievers," Wallace suggests, unimpressed.
"Maybe… I don’t know. It’s just weird."
"Riveting," Logan drawls. "Can we go on our ‘coffee break’ now?"
She hastily pushes Logan out into the hallway, suppressing laughter. "I think using the finger quotes in front of Wallace kind of detracts from the point of the euphemism." She calls back to Wallace, "I left the website open on my desk. Thanks a bunch."
"Mocha latte," Wallace yells after them. "And a muffin."
She sticks her head back inside. "If you see Weevil wandering around, grab him. I’m gonna send him in to lean on Mark a little."
"If I see Weevil I’ll stay right here in this chair and let him find his own damn way."
"Aw, are you still scared of Weevil? C’mon - no one likes a wandering Weevil… Just make sure he doesn’t leave. He was supposed to be here by now."
"Those muffins better be something."
She opens her mouth to respond, but Logan yanks her back into the hallway. "You got stood up by Mac and Weevil? It’s almost like they don’t want to be your minions," he says in feigned amazement.
"I know. I really have to update my posse."
"If you’re looking to update, I’d start with your vocabulary. Your slang is from 1994."
"We need to use a little elevator time to run to the coffee shop," she cautions. "If I come back without muffins that’s the last I’ll see of Wallace for a month."
"Yes ma’am. Just remember, you’re the one who asked for speed."
"I’ll keep that in - um." She stops short. A paunchy, balding, middle-aged man dressed in a blue work suit is fiddling with the open control panel next to the elevator. After a second he notices them standing there, hand in hand.
"Sorry kids. Elevator’s jammed. You’re going to have to use the stairs."
Logan’s back thumps against the wall. "So much for that plan."
Veronica feels a trickle of unease. "How long has the elevator been jammed?"
"A few hours. I’ve never seen the circuitry so scrambled. We had to call in an electrician."
"Did anyone get trapped in there?" she asks in dread, already knowing the answer.
"A couple of students. They’re fine -" he says quickly, misinterpreting the horrified look on her face. "They just won’t be getting much studying done today."
She closes her eyes, pained. Without Mac, the computer might as well be at the bottom of the ocean. The workman is looking at her curiously. The panic she infuses into her voice is only half-feigned when she says, "Is there a way to call them on the emergency phone?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "The line connects to the Maintenance office, but only staff members are allowed. Sorry, sweetheart."
She clings to Logan’s arm in what she assumes is a charming display of distress. "Please…" she glances at his name badge, "…Bob. My best friend has been missing for hours. I’ve been so worried." She widens her eyes. "Can I just talk to her for a minute? I need to make sure she’s ok."
Logan’s looking at her like she sprouted an extra arm, but Bob’s face softens. "She’s claustrophobic," she adds sadly, figuring it can only help her case. "She must be terrified."
Bob scratches his bristly mustache. "I guess I can let you in for a few minutes. We wouldn’t want your friend to panic, now would we?" He adds warningly, "I’ll have to go with you. And don’t you be telling anyone else about this."
She sighs in enormous relief. "Thank you soooooooooo much. You’re such a lifesaver." Bob beams.
She follows him to the stairwell, and at her pointed look back Logan trails after them, shaking his head.
*****
"You said ‘today of all days.’"
"What?" Weevil looks up from his cards.
"Before, you said, ‘not today of all days.’ What’s so bad about today?"
His mouth turns down in annoyance. "I don’t remember prying into your life in the last five minutes."
"Hey, you brought it up."
"Now I’m shutting it down. You got a problem with that?"
They’ve been playing for over an hour, and Mac’s taken three drinks to Weevil’s seven. Despite her assertions to Weevil, her experience with drinking has been limited to keg beer and cocktails consisting of far more coke than rum. But she would take all her clothes off and give Weevil a lap dance before she let him know he was right. So she took her first drink under his knowing smirk and didn’t even cringe, despite the fact that tears sprang to her eyes and she wanted to spit it right back out.
The second one was pretty gross, too, but the third one went down slightly easier, and now she’s feeling buzzed and relaxed and pretty damn companionable with Weevil Navarro. She’s also feeling much more interested in the way his tattoos climb around the contours of his arms than in the card game.
Mac just shrugs at his terseness. "Fine. Be cryptic." She tries to keep the hurt from her voice, because it’s stupid to be disappointed just because Weevil isn’t garnering the same lazy comfort from her presence that she’s taking from his. It’s just…she was starting to think she could sit and share bad-day stories with him for hours on end.
Weevil frowns at her for a moment. "Ok," he relents. "I was supposed to be at my uncle’s shop today, but my grandmother got called into work, so instead of making a paycheck I get stuck with babysitting duty. Like that’s not shitty enough, I get crazy detective girl on the phone telling me she needs a favor. I left my cousins alone, because," he mimics Veronica’s voice, "it’ll only take one hour, Weevil."
He makes a frustrated noise. "That’s it. I’m changing my number. No more favors for V. Abuela is gonna kick my ass to next Tuesday when she finds out I left them. The poor kids have had enough people running out on them," he sighs morosely. "They’re probably thinking I’m next on the list." Mac looks at the slump of his broad shoulders, the defeated curve to his mouth, the obvious concern he has for his cousins, and her heart expands with pity. She wants to put her arms around him and tell him it’s not his fault, that’s he’s a hell of a guy for caring so much.
She wonders how often he uses babysitting stories to get girls into bed. Really, it’s way more effective than a pick-up line.
She pushes aside the urge to comfort him and raises an eyebrow. "Or they could be raiding the candy stash and playing baseball in the living room."
"Thanks."
She can’t stop her voice from softening slightly. "You know, you could’ve just refused."
"True. And yet here we both are. How do you explain that?"
"I’m being paid for my troubles," Mac says loftily. "Or was, before this piece of crap malfunctioned."
"Yeah, well, I’ve already been paid," he says quietly.
"What does that mean?"
But apparently that’s the extent of Weevil’s emotional show-and-tell. "Are we playing or what?" he asks angrily.
"Jesus," Mac mutters. She tries to concentrate on the cards in front of her. She has a good hand - a really stellar, fabulous, wager-the-family-jewels type of hand - if she could just remember which step of the game they’re on. The flask is more interesting, anyway. She picks it up, liking the solid curve of it in her palm, and takes another sip. It goes down smooth and tart and not at all disgusting.
"I don’t remember finishing that round," he remarks evenly.
"I was going to win anyway," she says cheerfully. She points at the flask. "I like this. I think I’m a tequila girl. Is this what you always drink, you know, in the barrio? I think I’d fit right in." And she’s lost complete control of her mouth, because she’s flirting with Weevil Navarro, and she is halfway drunk and all the way insane.
He guffaws. "I’m trapped in an elevator with the whitest girl south of the Canadian border. Barrio," he corrects her, rolling the word out of his mouth in a combination of breath and teeth and tongue that sends hot-cold sensation through every one of her limbs.
"How the hell did I let you talk me into this?" he asks with mingled amusement and exasperation. She brings the flask to her mouth again, and his eyes follow its path. She stops, surprised, but his gaze flickers away immediately. He rouses himself with a little head shake. "No more for you, neighborhood girl or not," he says gruffly, plucking the flask out of her hands. He caps it and tucks it back in his jacket, and she lets him without protest.
He can’t meet her eyes as she silently watches him shuffle. His hands are beautiful - strong and brown and sinewy, an artist’s hands on a mechanic’s body. When he finally glances her way his gaze goes straight to her lips. And there’s not even a flask there this time.
There’s no way, in the name of all that’s corrupt in Neptune, that Weevil Navarro is thinking about kissing her. But he’s stopped shuffling cards, and he’s scowling at his artistic hands, not looking up at all, and Mac feels almost certain he’s thinking about her mouth.
Mac suddenly wishes she hadn’t started drinking, because if she were completely sober she would still be rational and practical and cynical, and she wouldn’t be about to do something as monumentally stupid as crawl over and kiss Weevil on the lips. She’s already started forward when the phone rings.
Weevil jumps violently. "What the…?"
It rings again, or more precisely beeps, a long, low tone like an intercom.
Mac answers, "Hello?" She sounds far away to her own ears.
"So I guess it turned out to be a little more than an hour." Veronica’s voice is tentative over the line, and the reason why she’s trapped in this godforsaken elevator in the first place comes back to Mac in a rush. She suddenly feels stone sober.
"This friendship is over," she says flatly. "You and me - broken up."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think Clive Cressley is terrified of you. He won’t come within a ten mile radius when you’re working on the computer."
"Sure," Mac agrees. "Because I won’t be working on the computer. As soon as this thing starts moving again I am turning around and going home." She glances at Weevil, sitting cross-legged in the corner like a little kid. "And I’m pretty sure your muscle is going to do the same."
"Weevil’s in there with you?" Veronica asks, surprised. "Can you put him - Logan!" Her voice grows far away.
Logan Echolls’ voice comes over the receiver. "I need to speak with Eli for a second," he says seriously.
Mac hands over the phone. "It’s for you. Eli."
He looks at her dumbly for a minute before taking the receiver. "V?" His jaw tightens immediately. "Fuckin’ hilarious," he snaps into the phone. "Laugh it up, asshole. You better pray on your momma’s grave that you’re gone when I get outta here. Don’t you have other people to piss off? Jesus."
He doesn’t so much hand her the phone as simply drop it. It clatters on its short cord, and Mac can hear Logan’s laughter on the other end. By the time she picks up again Veronica is back on the line. "Can you grow up?" she’s saying sharply. Logan keeps laughing. "Mac?" she says into the receiver.
"Amazingly, I’m still here."
"Look, Mac, I’m really sorry that this happened, but…since you’re going to be there for a while…"
Mac rolls her forehead back and forth against the cool metal and laughs shortly. "What do you need me to do?
"How do you feel about working remotely?"
"Wonderful. But you have to do me a favor first."
"Anything," Veronica says, surprised.
Weevil is still glowering at the corner, no doubt envisioning doing violence to Logan Echolls. Mac clears her throat uncomfortably. "Weevil had to leave his cousins alone, and he’s afraid they might be…could you just call his house and let them know where he is? Make sure everything’s ok?" Weevil’s head snaps around.
"Done." There’s a question in Veronica’s voice, an invitation to explain further, but Mac’s not about to delve into convoluted motives with Weevil’s stare boring a hole in her back.
"Ok," she sighs. "Now, I need as much information about the model as you can get…"
Chapter 4
Author:
sowell
Characters: Mac/Weevil, Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 2,444 in this part
Rating: R, for language
Summary: Veronica tries to solve the case of a missing term paper and drags Logan along for the ride. Elsewhere, Mac and Weevil battle it out in an elevator.
Spoilers: Spoiled through 2.22
Disclaimer: The Mars-verse belongs exclusively to Rob Thomas
Read it at
veronicamarsfic
Chapter 1 // Chapter 2
CHAPTER 3
Wallace is reading Mark’s Science World magazine when Veronica pokes her head in. "I guess that’s better than the porn," she says flippantly. "Stop scowling at me. Password is HTIMS2."
"Tell me again why I have to do this?"
She can still feel the guilty imprint of Logan’s lips on her neck. "Because I am being a good friend and going to get that coffee you asked for."
Wallace’s face lights up. "Nice. Mocha latte. Whipped cream. Maybe a muffin," he says dreamily.
Logan slides in beside her. "They let you eat like that during training?"
"Hey, you can’t slow down the Fen-man."
Veronica wrinkles her nose. "Don’t expect me to start calling you that. And see what you can find while you’re digging around that website. There might be something else useful."
"This guy has the top spot in English?" Logan glances around the room in distaste.
"What?" she asks at his obvious disdain. "Décor not up to your standards?"
"I’ve seen ritzier crap piles. But I meant that it’s a little more Bill Nye than Bill Shakespeare." She looks at him blankly. "No books," he says, gesturing to the room at large.
"Actually," she says slowly, "you’re right." Realization dawns on her as she glances around. "I assumed he was an English major, but…no tattered paperbacks, no cheesy posters with literary quotes." She focuses on his desk, thinking out loud. "No boring art films, no visible weed stash." She takes in the Star Wars poster, the hefty textbooks lining his shelf, and the stack of computer games perched haphazardly next to his printer. A little model engineering set that she never noticed before is stuffed into the alcove above his computer. "It looks like he copied a spread right out of that Science World magazine."
Wallace looks annoyed. "That doesn’t mean anything."
"Let me see Clive’s ID card." She looks up, frowning. "He’s an Electrical Engineering major, not English. Why would an EE and a CS major care so much about their standing in a basic English course?"
"Maybe they’re just overachievers," Wallace suggests, unimpressed.
"Maybe… I don’t know. It’s just weird."
"Riveting," Logan drawls. "Can we go on our ‘coffee break’ now?"
She hastily pushes Logan out into the hallway, suppressing laughter. "I think using the finger quotes in front of Wallace kind of detracts from the point of the euphemism." She calls back to Wallace, "I left the website open on my desk. Thanks a bunch."
"Mocha latte," Wallace yells after them. "And a muffin."
She sticks her head back inside. "If you see Weevil wandering around, grab him. I’m gonna send him in to lean on Mark a little."
"If I see Weevil I’ll stay right here in this chair and let him find his own damn way."
"Aw, are you still scared of Weevil? C’mon - no one likes a wandering Weevil… Just make sure he doesn’t leave. He was supposed to be here by now."
"Those muffins better be something."
She opens her mouth to respond, but Logan yanks her back into the hallway. "You got stood up by Mac and Weevil? It’s almost like they don’t want to be your minions," he says in feigned amazement.
"I know. I really have to update my posse."
"If you’re looking to update, I’d start with your vocabulary. Your slang is from 1994."
"We need to use a little elevator time to run to the coffee shop," she cautions. "If I come back without muffins that’s the last I’ll see of Wallace for a month."
"Yes ma’am. Just remember, you’re the one who asked for speed."
"I’ll keep that in - um." She stops short. A paunchy, balding, middle-aged man dressed in a blue work suit is fiddling with the open control panel next to the elevator. After a second he notices them standing there, hand in hand.
"Sorry kids. Elevator’s jammed. You’re going to have to use the stairs."
Logan’s back thumps against the wall. "So much for that plan."
Veronica feels a trickle of unease. "How long has the elevator been jammed?"
"A few hours. I’ve never seen the circuitry so scrambled. We had to call in an electrician."
"Did anyone get trapped in there?" she asks in dread, already knowing the answer.
"A couple of students. They’re fine -" he says quickly, misinterpreting the horrified look on her face. "They just won’t be getting much studying done today."
She closes her eyes, pained. Without Mac, the computer might as well be at the bottom of the ocean. The workman is looking at her curiously. The panic she infuses into her voice is only half-feigned when she says, "Is there a way to call them on the emergency phone?"
He shifts uncomfortably. "The line connects to the Maintenance office, but only staff members are allowed. Sorry, sweetheart."
She clings to Logan’s arm in what she assumes is a charming display of distress. "Please…" she glances at his name badge, "…Bob. My best friend has been missing for hours. I’ve been so worried." She widens her eyes. "Can I just talk to her for a minute? I need to make sure she’s ok."
Logan’s looking at her like she sprouted an extra arm, but Bob’s face softens. "She’s claustrophobic," she adds sadly, figuring it can only help her case. "She must be terrified."
Bob scratches his bristly mustache. "I guess I can let you in for a few minutes. We wouldn’t want your friend to panic, now would we?" He adds warningly, "I’ll have to go with you. And don’t you be telling anyone else about this."
She sighs in enormous relief. "Thank you soooooooooo much. You’re such a lifesaver." Bob beams.
She follows him to the stairwell, and at her pointed look back Logan trails after them, shaking his head.
*****
"You said ‘today of all days.’"
"What?" Weevil looks up from his cards.
"Before, you said, ‘not today of all days.’ What’s so bad about today?"
His mouth turns down in annoyance. "I don’t remember prying into your life in the last five minutes."
"Hey, you brought it up."
"Now I’m shutting it down. You got a problem with that?"
They’ve been playing for over an hour, and Mac’s taken three drinks to Weevil’s seven. Despite her assertions to Weevil, her experience with drinking has been limited to keg beer and cocktails consisting of far more coke than rum. But she would take all her clothes off and give Weevil a lap dance before she let him know he was right. So she took her first drink under his knowing smirk and didn’t even cringe, despite the fact that tears sprang to her eyes and she wanted to spit it right back out.
The second one was pretty gross, too, but the third one went down slightly easier, and now she’s feeling buzzed and relaxed and pretty damn companionable with Weevil Navarro. She’s also feeling much more interested in the way his tattoos climb around the contours of his arms than in the card game.
Mac just shrugs at his terseness. "Fine. Be cryptic." She tries to keep the hurt from her voice, because it’s stupid to be disappointed just because Weevil isn’t garnering the same lazy comfort from her presence that she’s taking from his. It’s just…she was starting to think she could sit and share bad-day stories with him for hours on end.
Weevil frowns at her for a moment. "Ok," he relents. "I was supposed to be at my uncle’s shop today, but my grandmother got called into work, so instead of making a paycheck I get stuck with babysitting duty. Like that’s not shitty enough, I get crazy detective girl on the phone telling me she needs a favor. I left my cousins alone, because," he mimics Veronica’s voice, "it’ll only take one hour, Weevil."
He makes a frustrated noise. "That’s it. I’m changing my number. No more favors for V. Abuela is gonna kick my ass to next Tuesday when she finds out I left them. The poor kids have had enough people running out on them," he sighs morosely. "They’re probably thinking I’m next on the list." Mac looks at the slump of his broad shoulders, the defeated curve to his mouth, the obvious concern he has for his cousins, and her heart expands with pity. She wants to put her arms around him and tell him it’s not his fault, that’s he’s a hell of a guy for caring so much.
She wonders how often he uses babysitting stories to get girls into bed. Really, it’s way more effective than a pick-up line.
She pushes aside the urge to comfort him and raises an eyebrow. "Or they could be raiding the candy stash and playing baseball in the living room."
"Thanks."
She can’t stop her voice from softening slightly. "You know, you could’ve just refused."
"True. And yet here we both are. How do you explain that?"
"I’m being paid for my troubles," Mac says loftily. "Or was, before this piece of crap malfunctioned."
"Yeah, well, I’ve already been paid," he says quietly.
"What does that mean?"
But apparently that’s the extent of Weevil’s emotional show-and-tell. "Are we playing or what?" he asks angrily.
"Jesus," Mac mutters. She tries to concentrate on the cards in front of her. She has a good hand - a really stellar, fabulous, wager-the-family-jewels type of hand - if she could just remember which step of the game they’re on. The flask is more interesting, anyway. She picks it up, liking the solid curve of it in her palm, and takes another sip. It goes down smooth and tart and not at all disgusting.
"I don’t remember finishing that round," he remarks evenly.
"I was going to win anyway," she says cheerfully. She points at the flask. "I like this. I think I’m a tequila girl. Is this what you always drink, you know, in the barrio? I think I’d fit right in." And she’s lost complete control of her mouth, because she’s flirting with Weevil Navarro, and she is halfway drunk and all the way insane.
He guffaws. "I’m trapped in an elevator with the whitest girl south of the Canadian border. Barrio," he corrects her, rolling the word out of his mouth in a combination of breath and teeth and tongue that sends hot-cold sensation through every one of her limbs.
"How the hell did I let you talk me into this?" he asks with mingled amusement and exasperation. She brings the flask to her mouth again, and his eyes follow its path. She stops, surprised, but his gaze flickers away immediately. He rouses himself with a little head shake. "No more for you, neighborhood girl or not," he says gruffly, plucking the flask out of her hands. He caps it and tucks it back in his jacket, and she lets him without protest.
He can’t meet her eyes as she silently watches him shuffle. His hands are beautiful - strong and brown and sinewy, an artist’s hands on a mechanic’s body. When he finally glances her way his gaze goes straight to her lips. And there’s not even a flask there this time.
There’s no way, in the name of all that’s corrupt in Neptune, that Weevil Navarro is thinking about kissing her. But he’s stopped shuffling cards, and he’s scowling at his artistic hands, not looking up at all, and Mac feels almost certain he’s thinking about her mouth.
Mac suddenly wishes she hadn’t started drinking, because if she were completely sober she would still be rational and practical and cynical, and she wouldn’t be about to do something as monumentally stupid as crawl over and kiss Weevil on the lips. She’s already started forward when the phone rings.
Weevil jumps violently. "What the…?"
It rings again, or more precisely beeps, a long, low tone like an intercom.
Mac answers, "Hello?" She sounds far away to her own ears.
"So I guess it turned out to be a little more than an hour." Veronica’s voice is tentative over the line, and the reason why she’s trapped in this godforsaken elevator in the first place comes back to Mac in a rush. She suddenly feels stone sober.
"This friendship is over," she says flatly. "You and me - broken up."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I think Clive Cressley is terrified of you. He won’t come within a ten mile radius when you’re working on the computer."
"Sure," Mac agrees. "Because I won’t be working on the computer. As soon as this thing starts moving again I am turning around and going home." She glances at Weevil, sitting cross-legged in the corner like a little kid. "And I’m pretty sure your muscle is going to do the same."
"Weevil’s in there with you?" Veronica asks, surprised. "Can you put him - Logan!" Her voice grows far away.
Logan Echolls’ voice comes over the receiver. "I need to speak with Eli for a second," he says seriously.
Mac hands over the phone. "It’s for you. Eli."
He looks at her dumbly for a minute before taking the receiver. "V?" His jaw tightens immediately. "Fuckin’ hilarious," he snaps into the phone. "Laugh it up, asshole. You better pray on your momma’s grave that you’re gone when I get outta here. Don’t you have other people to piss off? Jesus."
He doesn’t so much hand her the phone as simply drop it. It clatters on its short cord, and Mac can hear Logan’s laughter on the other end. By the time she picks up again Veronica is back on the line. "Can you grow up?" she’s saying sharply. Logan keeps laughing. "Mac?" she says into the receiver.
"Amazingly, I’m still here."
"Look, Mac, I’m really sorry that this happened, but…since you’re going to be there for a while…"
Mac rolls her forehead back and forth against the cool metal and laughs shortly. "What do you need me to do?
"How do you feel about working remotely?"
"Wonderful. But you have to do me a favor first."
"Anything," Veronica says, surprised.
Weevil is still glowering at the corner, no doubt envisioning doing violence to Logan Echolls. Mac clears her throat uncomfortably. "Weevil had to leave his cousins alone, and he’s afraid they might be…could you just call his house and let them know where he is? Make sure everything’s ok?" Weevil’s head snaps around.
"Done." There’s a question in Veronica’s voice, an invitation to explain further, but Mac’s not about to delve into convoluted motives with Weevil’s stare boring a hole in her back.
"Ok," she sighs. "Now, I need as much information about the model as you can get…"
Chapter 4