Break It Down (aka The Adventures of Mac and Weevil), Chapter 8
Title: Break It Down, aka The Adventures of Mac and Weevil (WIP, 8/8)
Author:
sowell
Characters: Logan/Veronica, Mac/Weevil, Wallace
Word Count: 3,366 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. Also, I know nothing about elevators.
Notes: Posting the last two parts at the same time. 4 reasons: 1) They're both done, so it's kind of bizarre and pointless not to put them both up. 2) Chapter 7 is...well, it's boring (WTF made me think I could write a mystery? Agatha Christie, I'm not). If I'm going to ask everyone to read through it, I figured I should probably supply some immediate emotional payoff. 3) Trying to bounce between the tone of this and the severely angsty Kid Things is driving me a little nuts. 4) Mac and Weevil rock. Just because.
Thank you so much to everyone who's taken the time to provide feedback on this story! You rock. Almost as much as Mac/Weevil.
Read it at
veronicamarsfic
Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7
CHAPTER 8
Veronica passes the elevator workmen on their way out as she bolts up the stairs. She skids to a stop in front of the elevator, panting, just as the doors slide open. Mac looks like a drowned puppy. Her hair is a mess, her eyeliner is smudged, and her tank top looks like she’s been wearing it for three days straight. Weevil just stands next to her, holding the drugs, silent and inscrutable as always. The ground around them is littered with change, wrappers, playing cards, and discarded clothing.
"Welcome back," Veronica says, smiling. "I hope you had a pleasant -" She jerks her head back as the stench of tequila hits her. "I wasn’t aware this elevator stopped in Tijuana."
"Next time we’ll lock you in," Weevil growls. "Then we can talk." He shoves the drugs into her arms. Mac gives her a silent death glare.
"Hi. I’m Mark." Mark pipes up from behind her.
"Hi Mark," Mac says grimly. "I’m exhausted, and cramped, and I’ll never be able to set foot in an elevator for as long as I live. Your English paper ruined my life. Maybe I’ll see you around some time." She brushes past Veronica and heads for the stairs. "Wait!" Veronica calls. "Do you really want to miss seeing Clive go down?"
"I’ll live," she answers without turning around.
"I have coffee," she says tantalizingly. Mac stops walking. Then she turns around and heads back.
"I hate you," she says. But she follows Mark into his room.
*****
"This coffee’s freezing," Mac says, making a face as she sets down one of the cups Logan left almost two hours ago.
"You said you wanted caffeine. You didn’t specify temperature," Veronica says absently, doing her best not to look in the direction of Clive’s mirror. She can see Wallace frowning at her from the corner of her eye, and she tries to smooth out her expression. She lured him back with a promise to stop mooning over Logan and an assurance that he’d get to see Clive squirm, but he’s been watching her like a hawk ever since.
"When is this guy showing up?" Weevil groans. "My grandmother already bitched me out for leaving the cousins alone."
"Shouldn’t be too much longer. They’ve been gone over two hours." She looks at him curiously. "I think we have sufficient dirt to scare the shit out of this kid for life. You don’t have to hang around." Weevil doesn’t answer. Strangely, he shoots a moody glance at Mac.
"That’s amazing," Mark’s saying to her. "I would have never thought of doing it that way. I thought my system was completely secure."
Mac smiles like the cat that got the cream. "I’ve had some experience."
Mark’s returning smile is just a little shy. "Hey, are you in my Thursday night section? I think I’ve seen you there a couple times."
"For Murphy’ class, right? I needed the TA go over the new patterns with me again. Murphy talks too fast to process."
"I know, right?" Mark says warmly. "It’s like the room will self-destruct if she doesn’t finish the chapter at warp speed."
Weevil is glowering at them. "I’m still not convinced this kid had nothing to with it." He says suddenly. He stands up, towering menacingly over Mark. "How do we know the stash isn’t his?"
Mark raises his hands nervously. "I thought I was in the clear."
"You are," Veronica says firmly. "Weevil, it’s not him."
Weevil doesn’t budge. "I think him and me should have a one-on-one chat out back, just to make sure."
"Weevil," Veronica says blankly, "you can go now. We don’t need you to do this." Weevil settles himself back on the bed, arms crossed, still pinning a terrified Mark to his desk chair with a piercing glare.
"I’ll stay," he says darkly. "Just in case." Veronica shoots Wallace a mystified look. Wallace mouths "crazy" in return.
Clive opens the door, whistling, and stops short when he sees the five of them perched on various surfaces around the room. "Hi Clive," Veronica chirps. For the first time that day he looks worried.
"Hi," he says. "What happened to my mirror?"
"Least of your problems, man," Wallace advises him.
"I read your paper," Veronica continues cheerfully. "I can see why you’re doing so well in English. You’ve got a way with words. So here’s a new one for you: frame-up."
His face pales a little, but he responds haughtily, "I have no idea what you’re talking about."
"I understand the confusion," she continues. "That was one complicated plan you hatched. Too bad I’m such a nosy little thing. And I have this aversion to ruining the lives of innocent people. Your life, on the other hand, definitely needs some shaking up."
He lifts his chin. "I’m not paying you to be all cryptic and bitchy. Tell me what you found."
"Oh man," Wallace moans. "You’re going to regret that."
"Lesson One," Veronica says sharply. "When your roommate catches you dealing drugs, there are better ways to get him out of your hair than framing him for cheating. Like stopping. Lesson Two: if you’re going to hire a PI to help you frame him, don’t lie so damn much. It raises a few red flags. Lesson Three: find a new hiding place. When the drugs and the disk are hidden in the exact same way, I tend to conclude they were hidden by the same exact same person."
Weevil tosses the drugs at Clive, and he catches them, staring down at them with a horrified expression on his face. Veronica feels a sliver of triumph infiltrating her anger. Sometimes wasted time is worth it.
Clive takes a bracing breath. "It took you long enough to find the disk," he sneers. "You’re not a very good PI, are you? There’s no way you can prove these are mine."
"See, I think you’re wrong," Veronica counters pleasantly. "I think we’ll be able to prove a lot by taking a look at your computer. Earlier today, when I told you Mac was on her way, I assumed you turned as white as a ghost because she bitched you out last weekend. But it was actually because of the computer, wasn’t it?" He’s silent, but Veronica can see the "oh shit" in his eyes.
"You have something on that computer," she continues. "Something you didn’t want me to see." Clive is beginning to look like a cornered rabbit, which fits. She’s feeling pretty predatory at the moment.
"Now, here’s the part that really pisses me off," she says softly. "When you left my room, you decided to do a little elevator re-wiring on the circuit board that your father installed. Take the family knowledge, combine it with what you’ve learned in your engineering classes, and you knew exactly which wires to cross to stop that elevator dead. No access to the computer - problem solved." She pauses. "Except you’re a moron. You trapped them in with your drugs - not smart. Not to mention - in trying to stall Mac, you also ruined Weevil’s day, and I don’t think he’s too happy about it."
Weevil gets up and silently approaches Clive. He takes a nervous step backwards, but Weevil merely lifts the laptop bag off of his shoulder and passes it off to Mac.
"You can’t do this," Clive says nervously. "That’s my property."
"Shut up, Clive," Mark says derisively.
Between Mac and Mark it takes under three minutes to break into the computer. "Well, his paper wasn’t stolen. It’s here," Mac says scornfully.
Mark squints a little at the screen. "That’s it. That’s the spreadsheet I was talking about."
"It looks like it’s in some sort of code," Mac says, wrinkling up her forehead. "But I’m not sure…"
Weevil leans over her, peering at the computer, and Veronica catches the way Mac goes still. "It’s a drop-off schedule," he says. "Basic set-up." He runs his finger down one column. "Times, prices, customer codes. Not a bad thing he had going, here," he concedes. "What?" he says, off of Veronica’s glower.
"Delete the paper," Veronica orders sweetly. "He has eight hours to write a new one. And email the list to me. Wallace too, just in case."
She turns back to Clive, who’s seething helplessly. "This is over," she tells him. "We could have turned you in, but we’re giving you second chance to be smart. Stop dealing out of the room, and leave Mark alone. You try and get him kicked out again, we’ll bring everything to the administration."
"Fuck you," he says succinctly.
"And you said he’s not failing out?" Mac asks distastefully, closing his laptop with a snap.
"Shut up," Clive sneers, lashing out. "You think you were the best thing there at that party? I only hit on you because you so obviously needed to get laid, you stupid little bi- "
Weevil picks him up and slams him against the wall, holding him there in a pressing grip. "You know what I hate most about rich kids?" he says through clenched teeth. "No manners. Apologize."
Veronica looks at Mac, open mouthed. Mac’s blue eyes are lit with surprise and caution and…gratitude, like Weevil just went down on bended knee and handed her a tulip.
"I’m sorry," chokes Clive, twisting like a worm on a hook. "I’m sorry."
Weevil tilts his head, considering Clive. "I’m not convinced."
"I think he gets it," Wallace says nervously.
"Weevil," Mac says quietly. "It’s fine."
Weevil lets Clive go, and he slides down the wall, almost buckling when he hits the ground. "It doesn’t matter whether you like it," Veronica says coldly. "That’s the deal. You try to screw with Mark again, and I’ll make it my personal mission to get you kicked out. Got it?"
Clive grimaces, rubbing the spot where Weevil twisted his shirt against his throat. "Got it."
EPILOGUE
Mark follows them all back to Veronica’s room, watching in satisfaction as Veronica dumps the drugs in her sink and washes them down the drain. "I don’t want to look at him right now if I don’t have to," he confesses to Mac, seating himself next to her on Veronica’s bed. She likes him. He’s just a little taller than her, and he has glasses and brown hair and hazel eyes that are actually very pretty. He’s been talking to her about computers and classes and simple, normal things since she walked out of the elevator, and the internal cracks of the last eight hours are starting to meld together. It’s nice to realize she’s not permanently broken.
That doesn’t mean she’s forgotten about Weevil and his mouth and his dark eyes and his violent past.
"I’m sorry about Clive," Mark continues tentatively. "He’s an ass."
Mac smiles. "Yeah. It’s not your fault."
Mark fidgets. "I was thinking…maybe we could get coffee sometime? Like, after class next week?"
Mac pauses. She can feel Weevil’s eyes like a hand on the back of her neck, watching them from the doorway.
"Unless you have a boyfriend," Mark says hurriedly.
"Um…no. Lamentably single…" she lets her voice trail off, unsure why she’s hesitating. Mark likes her. He’s been shooting her admiring glances for two hours now, and he seems sweet and smart, and she would bet ten to one that he’s never arranged a murder or blown up a bus. She looks to Veronica for help, but she and Wallace are busy poring over Clive’s spreadsheet on the computer.
"Never mind," Mark says reluctantly.
"No!" she says. "No, I - I think we should. That would be fun." Out of the corner of her eye she sees Weevil’s dark figure shove through the door and out of the room.
"Nice. Ok." Mark’s grin is huge and relieved, and Mac tries to feel excited. She just feels drained.
Veronica lifts her head curiously. "Where did Weevil go?"
"Who gives a rat’s ass?" Wallace groans. "I’m starving."
"I’m shocked," Veronica deadpans.
"Oh no," Wallace says, shaking his head. "I wasted my whole day here and we didn’t even get paid. You do not get to bust me right now."
Veronica holds her hands up. "Cease fire. I’m starving too. I think the pizza place down the street is open until midnight." Mac’s stomach starts rumbling at the thought of pizza. She hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and that may as well have been days ago.
"I’m game," she says wearily. "But we’re taking the stairs."
Veronica sends her a concerned glance as they make their way down to the parking lot. "Are you ok?"
"I’m not sure you want to ask me that right now."
"I’m sorry," Veronica says, and she looks repentant enough that Mac believes her. "Did something…happen…in there with Weevil?" she asks carefully.
"Eight hours in an elevator," Mac answers, avoiding Veronica’s eyes. "We chose to bond rather than kill each other."
"I get that, it’s just…. Weevil’s usually pretty even-tempered. He’s good to have in a sticky situation, but the way he threw Clive against that wall…"
Mac’s throat jams for a second, remembering the leashed violence inherent in that act. It was ninety-nine percent terrifying and one teeny tiny guilty percent exhilarating. She forces a matter-of-fact tone. "Clive would drive anyone to violence."
"True," Veronica says quietly, but her eyes are alarmingly unconvinced.
The first thing Mac sees when they spill out into the open-air parking lot is Logan Echolls, leaning against his neon monstrosity of a vehicle. Veronica looks sharply at Wallace.
"I called him," Wallace says. "I’m sick of your mopey face."
Veronica fights for an exasperated expression for a second, only to lose the battle to tenderness when she glances back at Logan. "Uh…give me a second."
Mac watches her walk up to her sometimes-maybe-not-boyfriend, realizing, as she always does when she sees them together, how close Beaver came to killing one or both of them. Logan has a bandage on one of his hands, and Veronica picks it up gently, running her fingers over the cloth. He touches her cheek, and Mac can’t hear what he’s saying, but she can see the emotion in his eyes clear across the parking lot. It takes about three seconds for her arms to go around him and for him to bury his face in her hair. Mac looks away, feeling like an intruder.
Wallace tugs on her sleeve. "Uh, Mac?" She turns, and Weevil is parked by the corner of Veronica’s building, sitting on his bike and doing his crossed-arm penetrating-stare specialty. Mac looks at Wallace helplessly.
He takes a step back, holding up his hands. "Nope."
Weevil’s expression doesn’t soften at all as she approaches him. "Veronica’s a little - "
"I’m not waiting for her."
"Oh." They’re not in an elevator anymore, which seems like it should open up a whole new world of conversational possibilities, but she can’t think of a single thing to say. He’s all covered up in his leather jacket again, distant and frowning and inaccessible. He’s the kid who cut a swath through the halls every day in high school, five ever-present lackeys trailing behind him.
"This is yours." He reaches into his jacket pocket and drops the crumpled hairpin he used to remove the ceiling panel into her palm.
"Um…thanks."
"Well, it didn’t go with my outfit."
She doesn’t know what to do with her arms, so she crosses them in front of her. Then uncrosses them. Then sticks her hands in her pockets. He watches her but doesn’t say anything, and she feels inexplicably let down. "Well, uh, ok. See you." She turns to go.
He clears his throat. "You need a ride? You know…anywhere?"
She eyes his bike. She’s always categorized motorcycles as somewhere in between cheesy and deathtrap. With Weevil sitting there, it suddenly looks very tempting. She takes a physical step back, because there’s no way that letting Weevil drive her home is a good idea. Aside from the apoplectic fit her mother would have, she prefers to steer clear of addictive substances. And she has a feeling that pressing flush against Weevil’s back with the wind whipping through her hair could get very, very addictive.
"No," she says trying to sound firm. It comes out wistful. She waves a hand at her green bug parked a few spaces away. "No, I have a ride."
"You drive that thing? In public?" he asks, scandalized.
She bristles. "Well, it’s better than cruising around Neptune pretending you’re one of Hell’s Angels."
"There’s no pretending to it, babe."
"So I’ve heard," she says evenly, and it slams them right back into that place, that dangerous, intimate, needy place. His eyes are very dark and soulful in the tall parking lot streetlights. She wonders if he’s regretting revealing so much to her. The truth is, she told him the darkest secret of her life, and maybe learned his in return, and they don’t even know the most basic details about each other. She can’t stop staring at the stern curve of his mouth. She’s already spinning fantasies in her head, a million scenarios that all end in him putting that mouth on hers again. But she’s smart enough to know that hoping for any sort of relationship with Eli Navarro is absurd and impossible.
He shoots a brooding glance over her shoulder at Wallace and Mark sitting on the curb. "You really gonna go out with that kid? Mark?" The name sounds like it tastes bad on his tongue.
She shrugs. "I guess. I mean, why wouldn’t I?"
A smile touches his face. "He doesn’t look like the type to carry tequila. What if he won’t share with you?"
"Will you?" she asks him calmly, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.
His beautiful mouth draws tight, and that’s her answer. It’s not like she was expecting something else. She never thought she’d want to get back in that elevator so badly.
"I have to go," she says reluctantly. "We’re going to eat, unless…" She gives her daydream one last lingering moment. "Do you want to come?"
He smiles with some pity in his face, like she’s the new kid on the block. "I don’t think so. Thanks." She desperately doesn’t want to leave, because she has a terrible feeling this is the last time she’ll ever feel his eyes on her.
She starts to turn, and he opens his mouth again. "If you ever need some work done - you know, on that carnival freak show you call a car - bring it down to the shop. No charge."
A little laugh bubbles up inside her and escapes her lips. "Actually, I’m bringing it down this week. That was part of the fee Veronica promised me. A free tune-up."
Weevil snorts. "Of course it was. The girl has some cojones, I’ll give her that."
"So I don’t get the tune-up?"
Weevil just looks at her for a moment. Then he lifts his hand and picks up her smaller one. She has no idea what he’s doing until he raises it to his lips and actually kisses the back of her fingers, like some freaking white knight. Murdering, drug-dealing, trash-talking knight on a Harley. He lets his lips linger there for a second, brushing, caressing, burning hot against the cool night air. Her breath stutters to a stop in her chest and her knees go a little weak. She can’t even think of what to say when he raises his eyes to her stunned expression.
"Bring it by Tuesday. I’ll make sure we take good care of it." His low voice is so tender that she barely recognizes it, and there’s an undercurrent of amusement at her shocked reaction. She watches him put his helmet on and take off down the road before turning back to the others.
Logan is gone, and Veronica, Wallace and Mark are staring at her with varying degrees of amusement, confusion, and concern.
"You bonded?" Veronica asks slyly. "I’m sensing some holes in the narrative."
Mac’s heart is trotting at twice the normal speed. She smiles a little giddily. "You’re the detective. You figure it out."
THE END
Mac + Weevil 4 Evah!
Author:
sowell
Characters: Logan/Veronica, Mac/Weevil, Wallace
Word Count: 3,366 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. Also, I know nothing about elevators.
Notes: Posting the last two parts at the same time. 4 reasons: 1) They're both done, so it's kind of bizarre and pointless not to put them both up. 2) Chapter 7 is...well, it's boring (WTF made me think I could write a mystery? Agatha Christie, I'm not). If I'm going to ask everyone to read through it, I figured I should probably supply some immediate emotional payoff. 3) Trying to bounce between the tone of this and the severely angsty Kid Things is driving me a little nuts. 4) Mac and Weevil rock. Just because.
Thank you so much to everyone who's taken the time to provide feedback on this story! You rock. Almost as much as Mac/Weevil.
Read it at
veronicamarsfic
Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 // Chapter 4 // Chapter 5 // Chapter 6 // Chapter 7
CHAPTER 8
Veronica passes the elevator workmen on their way out as she bolts up the stairs. She skids to a stop in front of the elevator, panting, just as the doors slide open. Mac looks like a drowned puppy. Her hair is a mess, her eyeliner is smudged, and her tank top looks like she’s been wearing it for three days straight. Weevil just stands next to her, holding the drugs, silent and inscrutable as always. The ground around them is littered with change, wrappers, playing cards, and discarded clothing.
"Welcome back," Veronica says, smiling. "I hope you had a pleasant -" She jerks her head back as the stench of tequila hits her. "I wasn’t aware this elevator stopped in Tijuana."
"Next time we’ll lock you in," Weevil growls. "Then we can talk." He shoves the drugs into her arms. Mac gives her a silent death glare.
"Hi. I’m Mark." Mark pipes up from behind her.
"Hi Mark," Mac says grimly. "I’m exhausted, and cramped, and I’ll never be able to set foot in an elevator for as long as I live. Your English paper ruined my life. Maybe I’ll see you around some time." She brushes past Veronica and heads for the stairs. "Wait!" Veronica calls. "Do you really want to miss seeing Clive go down?"
"I’ll live," she answers without turning around.
"I have coffee," she says tantalizingly. Mac stops walking. Then she turns around and heads back.
"I hate you," she says. But she follows Mark into his room.
*****
"This coffee’s freezing," Mac says, making a face as she sets down one of the cups Logan left almost two hours ago.
"You said you wanted caffeine. You didn’t specify temperature," Veronica says absently, doing her best not to look in the direction of Clive’s mirror. She can see Wallace frowning at her from the corner of her eye, and she tries to smooth out her expression. She lured him back with a promise to stop mooning over Logan and an assurance that he’d get to see Clive squirm, but he’s been watching her like a hawk ever since.
"When is this guy showing up?" Weevil groans. "My grandmother already bitched me out for leaving the cousins alone."
"Shouldn’t be too much longer. They’ve been gone over two hours." She looks at him curiously. "I think we have sufficient dirt to scare the shit out of this kid for life. You don’t have to hang around." Weevil doesn’t answer. Strangely, he shoots a moody glance at Mac.
"That’s amazing," Mark’s saying to her. "I would have never thought of doing it that way. I thought my system was completely secure."
Mac smiles like the cat that got the cream. "I’ve had some experience."
Mark’s returning smile is just a little shy. "Hey, are you in my Thursday night section? I think I’ve seen you there a couple times."
"For Murphy’ class, right? I needed the TA go over the new patterns with me again. Murphy talks too fast to process."
"I know, right?" Mark says warmly. "It’s like the room will self-destruct if she doesn’t finish the chapter at warp speed."
Weevil is glowering at them. "I’m still not convinced this kid had nothing to with it." He says suddenly. He stands up, towering menacingly over Mark. "How do we know the stash isn’t his?"
Mark raises his hands nervously. "I thought I was in the clear."
"You are," Veronica says firmly. "Weevil, it’s not him."
Weevil doesn’t budge. "I think him and me should have a one-on-one chat out back, just to make sure."
"Weevil," Veronica says blankly, "you can go now. We don’t need you to do this." Weevil settles himself back on the bed, arms crossed, still pinning a terrified Mark to his desk chair with a piercing glare.
"I’ll stay," he says darkly. "Just in case." Veronica shoots Wallace a mystified look. Wallace mouths "crazy" in return.
Clive opens the door, whistling, and stops short when he sees the five of them perched on various surfaces around the room. "Hi Clive," Veronica chirps. For the first time that day he looks worried.
"Hi," he says. "What happened to my mirror?"
"Least of your problems, man," Wallace advises him.
"I read your paper," Veronica continues cheerfully. "I can see why you’re doing so well in English. You’ve got a way with words. So here’s a new one for you: frame-up."
His face pales a little, but he responds haughtily, "I have no idea what you’re talking about."
"I understand the confusion," she continues. "That was one complicated plan you hatched. Too bad I’m such a nosy little thing. And I have this aversion to ruining the lives of innocent people. Your life, on the other hand, definitely needs some shaking up."
He lifts his chin. "I’m not paying you to be all cryptic and bitchy. Tell me what you found."
"Oh man," Wallace moans. "You’re going to regret that."
"Lesson One," Veronica says sharply. "When your roommate catches you dealing drugs, there are better ways to get him out of your hair than framing him for cheating. Like stopping. Lesson Two: if you’re going to hire a PI to help you frame him, don’t lie so damn much. It raises a few red flags. Lesson Three: find a new hiding place. When the drugs and the disk are hidden in the exact same way, I tend to conclude they were hidden by the same exact same person."
Weevil tosses the drugs at Clive, and he catches them, staring down at them with a horrified expression on his face. Veronica feels a sliver of triumph infiltrating her anger. Sometimes wasted time is worth it.
Clive takes a bracing breath. "It took you long enough to find the disk," he sneers. "You’re not a very good PI, are you? There’s no way you can prove these are mine."
"See, I think you’re wrong," Veronica counters pleasantly. "I think we’ll be able to prove a lot by taking a look at your computer. Earlier today, when I told you Mac was on her way, I assumed you turned as white as a ghost because she bitched you out last weekend. But it was actually because of the computer, wasn’t it?" He’s silent, but Veronica can see the "oh shit" in his eyes.
"You have something on that computer," she continues. "Something you didn’t want me to see." Clive is beginning to look like a cornered rabbit, which fits. She’s feeling pretty predatory at the moment.
"Now, here’s the part that really pisses me off," she says softly. "When you left my room, you decided to do a little elevator re-wiring on the circuit board that your father installed. Take the family knowledge, combine it with what you’ve learned in your engineering classes, and you knew exactly which wires to cross to stop that elevator dead. No access to the computer - problem solved." She pauses. "Except you’re a moron. You trapped them in with your drugs - not smart. Not to mention - in trying to stall Mac, you also ruined Weevil’s day, and I don’t think he’s too happy about it."
Weevil gets up and silently approaches Clive. He takes a nervous step backwards, but Weevil merely lifts the laptop bag off of his shoulder and passes it off to Mac.
"You can’t do this," Clive says nervously. "That’s my property."
"Shut up, Clive," Mark says derisively.
Between Mac and Mark it takes under three minutes to break into the computer. "Well, his paper wasn’t stolen. It’s here," Mac says scornfully.
Mark squints a little at the screen. "That’s it. That’s the spreadsheet I was talking about."
"It looks like it’s in some sort of code," Mac says, wrinkling up her forehead. "But I’m not sure…"
Weevil leans over her, peering at the computer, and Veronica catches the way Mac goes still. "It’s a drop-off schedule," he says. "Basic set-up." He runs his finger down one column. "Times, prices, customer codes. Not a bad thing he had going, here," he concedes. "What?" he says, off of Veronica’s glower.
"Delete the paper," Veronica orders sweetly. "He has eight hours to write a new one. And email the list to me. Wallace too, just in case."
She turns back to Clive, who’s seething helplessly. "This is over," she tells him. "We could have turned you in, but we’re giving you second chance to be smart. Stop dealing out of the room, and leave Mark alone. You try and get him kicked out again, we’ll bring everything to the administration."
"Fuck you," he says succinctly.
"And you said he’s not failing out?" Mac asks distastefully, closing his laptop with a snap.
"Shut up," Clive sneers, lashing out. "You think you were the best thing there at that party? I only hit on you because you so obviously needed to get laid, you stupid little bi- "
Weevil picks him up and slams him against the wall, holding him there in a pressing grip. "You know what I hate most about rich kids?" he says through clenched teeth. "No manners. Apologize."
Veronica looks at Mac, open mouthed. Mac’s blue eyes are lit with surprise and caution and…gratitude, like Weevil just went down on bended knee and handed her a tulip.
"I’m sorry," chokes Clive, twisting like a worm on a hook. "I’m sorry."
Weevil tilts his head, considering Clive. "I’m not convinced."
"I think he gets it," Wallace says nervously.
"Weevil," Mac says quietly. "It’s fine."
Weevil lets Clive go, and he slides down the wall, almost buckling when he hits the ground. "It doesn’t matter whether you like it," Veronica says coldly. "That’s the deal. You try to screw with Mark again, and I’ll make it my personal mission to get you kicked out. Got it?"
Clive grimaces, rubbing the spot where Weevil twisted his shirt against his throat. "Got it."
EPILOGUE
Mark follows them all back to Veronica’s room, watching in satisfaction as Veronica dumps the drugs in her sink and washes them down the drain. "I don’t want to look at him right now if I don’t have to," he confesses to Mac, seating himself next to her on Veronica’s bed. She likes him. He’s just a little taller than her, and he has glasses and brown hair and hazel eyes that are actually very pretty. He’s been talking to her about computers and classes and simple, normal things since she walked out of the elevator, and the internal cracks of the last eight hours are starting to meld together. It’s nice to realize she’s not permanently broken.
That doesn’t mean she’s forgotten about Weevil and his mouth and his dark eyes and his violent past.
"I’m sorry about Clive," Mark continues tentatively. "He’s an ass."
Mac smiles. "Yeah. It’s not your fault."
Mark fidgets. "I was thinking…maybe we could get coffee sometime? Like, after class next week?"
Mac pauses. She can feel Weevil’s eyes like a hand on the back of her neck, watching them from the doorway.
"Unless you have a boyfriend," Mark says hurriedly.
"Um…no. Lamentably single…" she lets her voice trail off, unsure why she’s hesitating. Mark likes her. He’s been shooting her admiring glances for two hours now, and he seems sweet and smart, and she would bet ten to one that he’s never arranged a murder or blown up a bus. She looks to Veronica for help, but she and Wallace are busy poring over Clive’s spreadsheet on the computer.
"Never mind," Mark says reluctantly.
"No!" she says. "No, I - I think we should. That would be fun." Out of the corner of her eye she sees Weevil’s dark figure shove through the door and out of the room.
"Nice. Ok." Mark’s grin is huge and relieved, and Mac tries to feel excited. She just feels drained.
Veronica lifts her head curiously. "Where did Weevil go?"
"Who gives a rat’s ass?" Wallace groans. "I’m starving."
"I’m shocked," Veronica deadpans.
"Oh no," Wallace says, shaking his head. "I wasted my whole day here and we didn’t even get paid. You do not get to bust me right now."
Veronica holds her hands up. "Cease fire. I’m starving too. I think the pizza place down the street is open until midnight." Mac’s stomach starts rumbling at the thought of pizza. She hasn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and that may as well have been days ago.
"I’m game," she says wearily. "But we’re taking the stairs."
Veronica sends her a concerned glance as they make their way down to the parking lot. "Are you ok?"
"I’m not sure you want to ask me that right now."
"I’m sorry," Veronica says, and she looks repentant enough that Mac believes her. "Did something…happen…in there with Weevil?" she asks carefully.
"Eight hours in an elevator," Mac answers, avoiding Veronica’s eyes. "We chose to bond rather than kill each other."
"I get that, it’s just…. Weevil’s usually pretty even-tempered. He’s good to have in a sticky situation, but the way he threw Clive against that wall…"
Mac’s throat jams for a second, remembering the leashed violence inherent in that act. It was ninety-nine percent terrifying and one teeny tiny guilty percent exhilarating. She forces a matter-of-fact tone. "Clive would drive anyone to violence."
"True," Veronica says quietly, but her eyes are alarmingly unconvinced.
The first thing Mac sees when they spill out into the open-air parking lot is Logan Echolls, leaning against his neon monstrosity of a vehicle. Veronica looks sharply at Wallace.
"I called him," Wallace says. "I’m sick of your mopey face."
Veronica fights for an exasperated expression for a second, only to lose the battle to tenderness when she glances back at Logan. "Uh…give me a second."
Mac watches her walk up to her sometimes-maybe-not-boyfriend, realizing, as she always does when she sees them together, how close Beaver came to killing one or both of them. Logan has a bandage on one of his hands, and Veronica picks it up gently, running her fingers over the cloth. He touches her cheek, and Mac can’t hear what he’s saying, but she can see the emotion in his eyes clear across the parking lot. It takes about three seconds for her arms to go around him and for him to bury his face in her hair. Mac looks away, feeling like an intruder.
Wallace tugs on her sleeve. "Uh, Mac?" She turns, and Weevil is parked by the corner of Veronica’s building, sitting on his bike and doing his crossed-arm penetrating-stare specialty. Mac looks at Wallace helplessly.
He takes a step back, holding up his hands. "Nope."
Weevil’s expression doesn’t soften at all as she approaches him. "Veronica’s a little - "
"I’m not waiting for her."
"Oh." They’re not in an elevator anymore, which seems like it should open up a whole new world of conversational possibilities, but she can’t think of a single thing to say. He’s all covered up in his leather jacket again, distant and frowning and inaccessible. He’s the kid who cut a swath through the halls every day in high school, five ever-present lackeys trailing behind him.
"This is yours." He reaches into his jacket pocket and drops the crumpled hairpin he used to remove the ceiling panel into her palm.
"Um…thanks."
"Well, it didn’t go with my outfit."
She doesn’t know what to do with her arms, so she crosses them in front of her. Then uncrosses them. Then sticks her hands in her pockets. He watches her but doesn’t say anything, and she feels inexplicably let down. "Well, uh, ok. See you." She turns to go.
He clears his throat. "You need a ride? You know…anywhere?"
She eyes his bike. She’s always categorized motorcycles as somewhere in between cheesy and deathtrap. With Weevil sitting there, it suddenly looks very tempting. She takes a physical step back, because there’s no way that letting Weevil drive her home is a good idea. Aside from the apoplectic fit her mother would have, she prefers to steer clear of addictive substances. And she has a feeling that pressing flush against Weevil’s back with the wind whipping through her hair could get very, very addictive.
"No," she says trying to sound firm. It comes out wistful. She waves a hand at her green bug parked a few spaces away. "No, I have a ride."
"You drive that thing? In public?" he asks, scandalized.
She bristles. "Well, it’s better than cruising around Neptune pretending you’re one of Hell’s Angels."
"There’s no pretending to it, babe."
"So I’ve heard," she says evenly, and it slams them right back into that place, that dangerous, intimate, needy place. His eyes are very dark and soulful in the tall parking lot streetlights. She wonders if he’s regretting revealing so much to her. The truth is, she told him the darkest secret of her life, and maybe learned his in return, and they don’t even know the most basic details about each other. She can’t stop staring at the stern curve of his mouth. She’s already spinning fantasies in her head, a million scenarios that all end in him putting that mouth on hers again. But she’s smart enough to know that hoping for any sort of relationship with Eli Navarro is absurd and impossible.
He shoots a brooding glance over her shoulder at Wallace and Mark sitting on the curb. "You really gonna go out with that kid? Mark?" The name sounds like it tastes bad on his tongue.
She shrugs. "I guess. I mean, why wouldn’t I?"
A smile touches his face. "He doesn’t look like the type to carry tequila. What if he won’t share with you?"
"Will you?" she asks him calmly, and it has nothing to do with alcohol.
His beautiful mouth draws tight, and that’s her answer. It’s not like she was expecting something else. She never thought she’d want to get back in that elevator so badly.
"I have to go," she says reluctantly. "We’re going to eat, unless…" She gives her daydream one last lingering moment. "Do you want to come?"
He smiles with some pity in his face, like she’s the new kid on the block. "I don’t think so. Thanks." She desperately doesn’t want to leave, because she has a terrible feeling this is the last time she’ll ever feel his eyes on her.
She starts to turn, and he opens his mouth again. "If you ever need some work done - you know, on that carnival freak show you call a car - bring it down to the shop. No charge."
A little laugh bubbles up inside her and escapes her lips. "Actually, I’m bringing it down this week. That was part of the fee Veronica promised me. A free tune-up."
Weevil snorts. "Of course it was. The girl has some cojones, I’ll give her that."
"So I don’t get the tune-up?"
Weevil just looks at her for a moment. Then he lifts his hand and picks up her smaller one. She has no idea what he’s doing until he raises it to his lips and actually kisses the back of her fingers, like some freaking white knight. Murdering, drug-dealing, trash-talking knight on a Harley. He lets his lips linger there for a second, brushing, caressing, burning hot against the cool night air. Her breath stutters to a stop in her chest and her knees go a little weak. She can’t even think of what to say when he raises his eyes to her stunned expression.
"Bring it by Tuesday. I’ll make sure we take good care of it." His low voice is so tender that she barely recognizes it, and there’s an undercurrent of amusement at her shocked reaction. She watches him put his helmet on and take off down the road before turning back to the others.
Logan is gone, and Veronica, Wallace and Mark are staring at her with varying degrees of amusement, confusion, and concern.
"You bonded?" Veronica asks slyly. "I’m sensing some holes in the narrative."
Mac’s heart is trotting at twice the normal speed. She smiles a little giddily. "You’re the detective. You figure it out."
THE END
Mac + Weevil 4 Evah!