Things I'll Never Say
Title: Things I'll Never Say
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Pairing: Weevil/Veronica
Rating: G
Spoilers: "The Girl Next Door", "Ain't No Magic Mountain High Enough".
Disclaimer: Veronica, Weevil, and all other characters mentioned here are the property of the CW, Rob Thomas, Stu Segall, and Silver Pictures. I make no money from this work of fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for jenedorspas as part of vm_santa.
~*~
He finds her sitting on the hood of his car when he crosses the parking lot, heels bumping against the grill as she waits. Weevil nearly chastises her for potentially damaging the paint job, but he's a bit blindsided by the way her head is tilted back, skin drinking in the sun and pale hair falling across equally pale shoulders.
"Need something?" he asks curtly. Veronica smiles at the sound of his voice, but doesn't open her eyes.
"Let's go for a drive," she says. He goes to put his bag in the car and realizes with a start that the top is already down. When he looks back she's got his keys dangling from her fingers, her smile now a full-blown mischievous Mars grin.
"Anybody ever tell you stealing's a crime?" he asks, dropping the bag next to hers in the back seat. He doesn't even bother to ask how she got ahold of the keys in the first place - she'll just tell him that he's losing his edge, and last time she had Fennel swipe them from his jacket pocket during gym class.
"Remind me how you got this car again?" she teases. Weevil swats at her knee.
"Off." She makes a face at him but climbs down from the hood all the same - only after a long, languid stretch that pulls the hem of her tank top well above her navel, because she knows full well the effect that it has on him. He tries for a menacing glare and settles for mild annoyance. "Where are we goin'?" he asks. Veronica shrugs.
"I don't care, I just wanna drive."
~*~
She feels, as of late, like her days can be measured by the stretches of silence spent in the passenger's seat of Weevil's car (and, memorably, that one time he actually let her get behind the wheel). There's no rhyme or reason as to when and why they go, but most days out of the week find them cruising up and down the PCH, around his neighborhood and hers, killing time and miles. Weevil says that the LeBaron is feeling neglected, but it's just not the same in her old clunker.
He controls the radio, she controls everything else. She expects, the first time, to be bombarded by rap and metal; instead he listens to an endearingly eclectic mixture of punk, country, and 80's music. He knows all of the words to "Achy Breaky Heart" and "Video Killed the Radio Star", and delights in singing along.
She learns all kinds of new things when it's just them and the road: like exactly how he and Logan spindled Mr. Daniels' car, or the way his mom used to take him to Magic Mountain every year on his birthday. She feels like she should add something, spill her own secrets, but Weevil knows her darkest ones already; she's at a tactical disadvantage. If he learns any more she might be forced to admit that she's actually let him in, of her own volition, and the thought halts her in stark terror.
Weevil understands. He never pushes. She feels guilty and undeserving of his loyalty.
They don't talk about it.
~*~
They talk constantly about heading to the border, crossing over and never looking back. Mostly it's in jest, but there are times when they understand, unquestioningly, that they could make it happen for real.
"You'd make me go to some big city, like New York, wouldn't you?" he asks, having to shout to be heard over the wind. Veronica shrugs, eyes obscured by her sunglasses, hair whipping around her face.
"What's wrong with New York City?" she counters. "It'd be different, at least."
"I hate cities. Gramps took me to L.A. a few time when I was a kid. Scared the shit outta me, all those huge buildings everywhere, closing in. Like you can't breathe."
"Aw, but I'd be there to protect you. I promise I'd even kick somebody's ass if they tried to mug you."
"I'm holdin' you to that, Mars."
"I got your back."
They roll to a stop at the light on 51st and Grand. Weevil glances over.
"Hey. Got your back too." Veronica smiles. He reaches over and threads his fingers through hers. He expects her to protest, but she doesn't. He holds her hand the entire rest of the ride. When they get back to the school parking lot, her LeBaron like a tiny bobbing island in the ocean of the empty parking lot, they finally uncouple. Veronica smiles vaguely.
"Thanks for the ride," she says. Her eyes are still hidden beneath her glasses, but he knows that she's not looking directly at him.
Weevil clenches his fist.
They don't talk about it.
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Pairing: Weevil/Veronica
Rating: G
Spoilers: "The Girl Next Door", "Ain't No Magic Mountain High Enough".
Disclaimer: Veronica, Weevil, and all other characters mentioned here are the property of the CW, Rob Thomas, Stu Segall, and Silver Pictures. I make no money from this work of fiction, and no copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes: Written for jenedorspas as part of vm_santa.
~*~
He finds her sitting on the hood of his car when he crosses the parking lot, heels bumping against the grill as she waits. Weevil nearly chastises her for potentially damaging the paint job, but he's a bit blindsided by the way her head is tilted back, skin drinking in the sun and pale hair falling across equally pale shoulders.
"Need something?" he asks curtly. Veronica smiles at the sound of his voice, but doesn't open her eyes.
"Let's go for a drive," she says. He goes to put his bag in the car and realizes with a start that the top is already down. When he looks back she's got his keys dangling from her fingers, her smile now a full-blown mischievous Mars grin.
"Anybody ever tell you stealing's a crime?" he asks, dropping the bag next to hers in the back seat. He doesn't even bother to ask how she got ahold of the keys in the first place - she'll just tell him that he's losing his edge, and last time she had Fennel swipe them from his jacket pocket during gym class.
"Remind me how you got this car again?" she teases. Weevil swats at her knee.
"Off." She makes a face at him but climbs down from the hood all the same - only after a long, languid stretch that pulls the hem of her tank top well above her navel, because she knows full well the effect that it has on him. He tries for a menacing glare and settles for mild annoyance. "Where are we goin'?" he asks. Veronica shrugs.
"I don't care, I just wanna drive."
~*~
She feels, as of late, like her days can be measured by the stretches of silence spent in the passenger's seat of Weevil's car (and, memorably, that one time he actually let her get behind the wheel). There's no rhyme or reason as to when and why they go, but most days out of the week find them cruising up and down the PCH, around his neighborhood and hers, killing time and miles. Weevil says that the LeBaron is feeling neglected, but it's just not the same in her old clunker.
He controls the radio, she controls everything else. She expects, the first time, to be bombarded by rap and metal; instead he listens to an endearingly eclectic mixture of punk, country, and 80's music. He knows all of the words to "Achy Breaky Heart" and "Video Killed the Radio Star", and delights in singing along.
She learns all kinds of new things when it's just them and the road: like exactly how he and Logan spindled Mr. Daniels' car, or the way his mom used to take him to Magic Mountain every year on his birthday. She feels like she should add something, spill her own secrets, but Weevil knows her darkest ones already; she's at a tactical disadvantage. If he learns any more she might be forced to admit that she's actually let him in, of her own volition, and the thought halts her in stark terror.
Weevil understands. He never pushes. She feels guilty and undeserving of his loyalty.
They don't talk about it.
~*~
They talk constantly about heading to the border, crossing over and never looking back. Mostly it's in jest, but there are times when they understand, unquestioningly, that they could make it happen for real.
"You'd make me go to some big city, like New York, wouldn't you?" he asks, having to shout to be heard over the wind. Veronica shrugs, eyes obscured by her sunglasses, hair whipping around her face.
"What's wrong with New York City?" she counters. "It'd be different, at least."
"I hate cities. Gramps took me to L.A. a few time when I was a kid. Scared the shit outta me, all those huge buildings everywhere, closing in. Like you can't breathe."
"Aw, but I'd be there to protect you. I promise I'd even kick somebody's ass if they tried to mug you."
"I'm holdin' you to that, Mars."
"I got your back."
They roll to a stop at the light on 51st and Grand. Weevil glances over.
"Hey. Got your back too." Veronica smiles. He reaches over and threads his fingers through hers. He expects her to protest, but she doesn't. He holds her hand the entire rest of the ride. When they get back to the school parking lot, her LeBaron like a tiny bobbing island in the ocean of the empty parking lot, they finally uncouple. Veronica smiles vaguely.
"Thanks for the ride," she says. Her eyes are still hidden beneath her glasses, but he knows that she's not looking directly at him.
Weevil clenches his fist.
They don't talk about it.