Break It Down, Chapter 1
Title: Break It Down (WIP, 1/8)
Author:
sowell
Characters: Mac/Weevil, Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 2,741, in this part
Rating: PG-13, if that
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
Notes: So...feedback is always appreciated, but especially in this case. This has a much bigger plot than anything I've attempted before, so I'm a wee bit nervous.
Read it at
veronicamarsfic
PROLOGUE
In general, Mac has great feelings of affection for Veronica Mars. On any normal day she’d prefer a few hours of Veronica’s quips over…well, pretty much anyone else in Neptune. Which is why she should be taken very, very seriously when she says that, at the moment, she wants to kill the girl in question.
"Veronica, I’m going to kill you for this."
"Mac. If you survived Butters at Alterna-Prom, dealing with Clive will be a piece of cake."
"You’re not the one he’ll be making tongue-gestures at."
"That’s disturbing."
"You have no idea."
"Hear me out: Clive’s dad works for university housing. Think of the connections! You and I could be reaping the benefits of this job for years to come, and he’s paying a fee. C’mon, take one for the team, tiger! Besides, maybe last Saturday was just an off night for him. Give the guy a chance - he may surprise you."
"He had a thirty minute conversation with my breasts, and then he tried to grope me in the parking lot. He can keep the rest of his surprises to himself, thanks."
"Grabby hands aside, his roommate stole the disk with his midterm essay on it, and the assignment is due tomorrow. He asked me to find proof the roommate did it so he doesn’t fail out of the class."
"If he’s too stupid to save a backup copy, then I’d say his failing is a foregone conclusion."
"Apparently his backup copy was erased as well. He thinks his roommate Mark is trying to pass off the paper as his own. They've both been competing for the top spot in English Lit. I just need you to break into the roommate’s computer and look around, see what you can find. One hour of your time. I swear."
Silence.
"One hour of your time and…five percent of the fee?"
"Fifteen."
"Ten, and I’ll throw in a free tune-up from Weevil’s uncle’s shop."
"Promise to never call me tiger again, and we have a deal."
"I think I can make that promise. The roommate will only be gone until eight tonight. Give me a call from the lobby when you’re here and I’ll have them buzz you in."
Money, and her car: her two weak spots. Which is how she ended up here, loitering outside Hearst dorm security and cursing Veronica Mars on her first free afternoon in a month. She punches Veronica’s number into her phone.
"I’m here," she grits. "That computer better be ready and waiting the second I step off the elevator, and Clive Cressley better be nowhere near it."
Veronica just laughs and hangs up. Mac silently stews her way into the elevator, still debating whether another nauseously awkward encounter with Clive is really worth a free tune-up. She’s watching the doors slide shut with a glum sense of fatality when someone sticks a dusty black, booted foot inside. The doors slide open creakily, and Weevil Navarro saunters in. He pushes the button for Veronica’s floor and leans back against the metallic wall, arms crossed. The elevator shrinks to about the size of a sardine can.
He doesn’t recognize her - that’s immediately clear. His eyes pass over her jeans-and-t-shirt clad persona in a manner that’s somehow both bored and menacing at the same time. It’s a neat trick, Mac has to admit. Then he sighs in displeasure, re-settles himself against the wall, and stares at the doors as they begin to move upward.
It doesn’t surprise her; she’s never been particularly memorable, barring her brief, hellish fifteen minutes of fame after Beaver died. She doesn’t really want to rehash her study sessions with Weevil, if only because they summon up the memory of a grinning Cassidy Casablancas. But still…she spent endless hours of her own free time trying to force-feed knowledge into his stubbornly unresponsive brain. That deserves a little recognition. On the other hand, it’s not like he technically benefited from it. Which reminds her…
"I thought you were in jail." Weevil’s eyes snap to her. Whoops. Don’t poke the bear.
"I was. Now I’m not. What’s it to you, girl?"
"Nothing…except I spent half of finals week trying to save your algebra grade. I was a little pissed when Lamb dragged you out before my time paid off." Her voice sounds calm to her own ears, but she’s wishing with all her might that she hadn’t opened her mouth. The truth is, Weevil Navarro is a little scary, and she was a hell of a lot more comfortable before that dark gaze was focused on her.
Weevil’s eyes narrow. "Veronica’s friend, right? The math girl. Can I assume you’re here because little miss blonde pain-in-the-ass summoned you?"
Mac grimaces. "Of course. You?"
Weevil blows out an aggravated breath. "Yup."
"Fun."
"Yup."
Stifling silence. Mac watches the numbers light up as the elevator crawls to the top floor. Floor 3. Floor 4. God, how slow can an elevator possibly move? Floor 5, 6….
The elevator lurches, lights flickering, and Mac goes stumbling into Weevil’s leather-clad shoulder. Their transport slowly shudders to a stop, mid-floor, and the lights dim and blink off, bathing them in the orangey-yellow emergency bulbs. No. Freaking. Way. Weevil glares at her like she and the elevator are in cahoots to piss him off.
Yup. Veronica Mars - dead.
CHAPTER 1
"I thought college was supposed to be fun," Logan grumbles, bouncing a tennis ball off the base of the top bunk. He’s sprawled on her mattress, lean and relaxed in his t-shirt and jeans, and he looks a little too welcoming for Veronica’s peace of mind. She fights the urge to go join him on the bed.
"You know you’re not actually a student here, right?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.
Clive Cressley knocks three times and pokes his disheveled blonde head in the room. "Room’s all yours, PI Princess. Search away," he says, his radio-announcer voice bizarrely incongruous with his skinny, sweater-tying, preppy persona. His Nordically pale features turn up at her in a smarmy semblance of a smile, and a shudder rolls off of Veronica’s shoulders. Something about him rubs her the wrong way, and even attempting to be nice to him starts an ache right between her eyes.
She doesn’t crack a smile at the playful moniker he tosses out. "Sounds good. My computer guru is on the way up as we speak."
"Computer guru?"
"I figured we’d poke around Mark’s computer while he’s gone, see what turns up. In fact, I think you know Mac," she says innocently. "You must’ve met her at that party last Saturday. Short, cute, dyed hair…. Ring a bell?"
His face pales. "Uh…yeah. I remember," he mutters, and beats a hasty retreat. Veronica watches him go, amused. Wrathful Mac is indeed awesome to behold.
Logan stops his game of bounce-and-catch. "You went to a party and didn’t invite me? And here I thought we had come to some sort of understanding."
"Hearst-only event. No crazy townies allowed."
"Not even the wastrel sons of disgraced movie stars?" He holds her gaze for a minute, eyes light. Her gut clenches in an involuntary pang of sympathy. Manipulative ass. The realization doesn’t stop her chest from tightening; it doesn’t stop her from wanting to put her arms around him and squeeze until all his pain is squeezed out. She gives up the fight altogether and crawls onto her bed next to him. He turns to mirror her pose and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, lightly brushing her cheek. Her whole spine prickles in response.
"Are you keeping tabs on me?" she asks softly.
"Please let someone kill me before I ever get that bored."
"Your secret’s out. I know you follow me around, Echolls."
"Your self-absorption knows no bounds. It’s kinda cute on you, though."
She wonders if he’s going to kiss her. His eyes are traveling all over her face, and he’s moved his hand from her cheek to her shoulder, stroking lightly. Since graduation they’ve been tiptoeing along a shaky balance beam of desperate make-out sessions and determined avoidance. I need to take it slow, she pleaded with him. He told her in the gentlest, most intimate of voices that he would always be there for whatever she needed. And she convinced herself they would each be able to hold up their ends of the bargain this time, because the solace of his body and his voice and his eyes was worth the lie.
But lately he’s been like a racehorse kicking at the stall. He wants a commitment that she can’t give him; he wants a promise that if he starts to drown again, she’ll either pull him out of the surf or go down with the ship. She wants to reassure him, but the words keep sticking in her throat.
She can feel the walls of this non-relationship closing in on her, and ninety-nine percent of the time she’s terrified. And then there are days like today, when he’s sober and smiling and hasn’t said anything too inappropriate or abrasive yet, when he spends all day in her bedroom and tracks her every movement like he’d be content to do nothing else for the rest of his life. And when things are like this, the thought of pushing him away gives her a choking feeling that’s worse than the shrinking walls.
Right now, she’s just thankful that he’s alive and in one piece. She moves to close the distance between their bodies just as Wallace sticks his head through the door.
"Hey superfly, what’s this emergency case I’m needed for? I got midterms too, y’know?"
Veronica rolls off the bed, shaking off disappointment, and Logan drops back down, defeated for the moment. "What we have is a time-sensitive assignment gone mysteriously missing. Roommate is the suspect. We have until eight to search the room for evidence."
Wallace rubs his hands together. "Please tell me we’re searching the room of the fine ass dancer in 805."
Veronica grins. "’Fraid not. It’s gonna be guy-on-guy today, you lucky boy. Except for me and Mac. Which reminds me," she frowns at her watch, "where’s Mac? She called me from downstairs, like, ten minutes ago."
Wallace grimaces. "I don’t know where Mac is, but you can find me in the bathroom for the rest of the night, trying to scrub that guy-on-guy comment out of my brain."
Veronica dials Mac’s cell. "This is seriously weird. I just talked to her." Her suspicion kicks up a notch when her call goes directly into Mac’s voicemail. "I guess we can search manually and then do the computer when Mac gets here."
"You going old school on me, Nancy Drew?"
"Adaptability, Wallace. It’s all part of the biz."
*****
"Try your cell phone," Weevil commands. "Maybe there’s service." In the dim emergency lighting he’s striped orange and black like a tiger, and he’s prowling the confined space in a way that does nothing to hinder the resemblance.
Mac waves her cell phone. "Don’t you think I already looked?"
"Aw, this is not happening," Weevil groans. "I am not stuck in an elevator with the algebra queen. Not today of all days, man."
Mac barely refrains from snapping that she’d rather be stuck in an elevator with two hundred cockroaches than the unreasonable, hostile, mathematically moronic ex-leader of the PCH motorcycle gang. She calmly opens the emergency panel and picks up the phone, holding Weevil’s gaze. It only takes a couple seconds to connect.
"Emergency maintenance."
"Yeah, I’d like to report a problem with the elevator in East Lomita Hall. We’re stuck in here in between floors."
"How many passengers are there?"
"Two."
"Are there any injuries?" The woman on the other end of the line sounds impossibly bored, and Mac wants to offer to trade places with her.
"No, but…."
"Ok, sit tight. We’ll get a maintenance crew out as soon as possible. It’s probably just a minor malfunction."
"Thank God," Mac drawls. "I feel so much better." She locks eyes with Weevil. "Hurry."
"What’d they say?" Weevil pounces on her the second she hangs up.
"They’re sending a crew."
"Screw that," he says in disbelief. "I’ll rip these goddamn doors open myself."
Mac starts to laugh. "Those doors are doubled layered steel. Good luck. It could actually be kind of funny to watch you try."
"You would know that," he says glumly, and slides down to the floor against the far wall.
She reluctantly follows suit, because there’s really nothing else to do. She does her best to look anywhere other than the dark figure slouched against the opposite wall, lest he start snapping his jaws at her again. It’s a little difficult when the alternative scenery consists of four identical silver walls, a rust-brown rug, and a gray paneled ceiling that looks like it’s seen far better days. She starts counting the multi-colored wads of gum stuck overhead out of sheer desperation. She gets to twenty-three before he startles her by speaking again.
"So, what are you in for?"
"What?" she asks sharply.
"Why did Queen Veronica demand an audience?"
"Computer stuff," Mac mutters at the wall, wishing she had an answer just a little more exciting.
"You need to relax," he admonishes calmly. "It’s Sunday afternoon and there’s no maintenance crew on the planet that’s gonna hustle over here. We could be here all night."
"That’s not funny," she snaps. "And you were the one yelling at me five minutes ago."
"Yeah, well, we’re gonna be stuck for a while. Yelling’s gonna do nothing but make us deaf." He peels out of his leather jacket and balls it up under his neck, stretching out full length so his booted feet are right up next to her thighs. He sighs and closes his eyes, transition from caged animal to zen master complete.
Mac lets her gaze wander up his body, resentment warring with curiosity. It’s hard to believe someone so compact could be so threatening. He’s all dark colors and amber skin, shiny bald head, gold earrings like a pirate. The muscles in his arms make her wonder if he really could rip through the elevator doors, and there are tattoos twisted all around them: flowers and words and symbols. He looks a lot older than he is, hard and untamed. And it turns out that Weevil Navarro is…kinda hot.
"Like what you see?" he asks without opening his eyes.
She jumps about a mile. "You wish," she scoffs. It’s what a third-grader would say, but it’s the best she can manage with her face turning the color of a tomato.
"If you want a closer look there’s plenty of room over by me." He rubs a slow circle next to his hip.
Mac gives her most convincing snort. "I’m fine here, thanks."
"You sure about that? I don’t bite. Hard."
"Tempting, but no."
"What’s wrong?" he asks, smirking. "You only go on e-dates?"
She grits her teeth. "I didn’t realize that was a dinner invitation."
"Only if you’re buying. But hey, if you’re looking to pass the time I could show you a few new tricks."
She studies him in annoyance. His absurd eyelashes are still resting peacefully on his cheeks. He must do this all the time, she realizes, with every girl he comes across. She could stop talking, or evaporate altogether, and he could probably just carry on the routine by himself. Mac’s getting a little tired of being ignored.
She’s proud when her voice comes out with just the right mix of flat disbelief and boredom. "Do you really want to have sex with me right now?"
"Baby, I always want to have sex."
She considers him. "Fine," she says casually. "Let’s do it."
That chases the aloofness from his expression. He opens one eye. "Excuse me?"
"I’m serious. Let’s do it. Right now." She forces herself not to look away from his dark gaze.
He sits up slowly, elbows resting on knees. "You wanna ‘do it’" - finger quotes - "right now?"
"Yes."
He makes a sound that’s half chuckle, half snort. "Fine. Come on over."
"You come over here."
"Fine."
Neither of them moves. He’s really looking at her now for the first time, his mouth tugged up in the barest hint of a smile. He hitches his chin at her, "What’s your name?"
She feels a little buzz of triumph. "Mac."
"Mac," he says appraisingly. "You play poker?"
Chapter 2
Author:
sowell
Characters: Mac/Weevil, Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 2,741, in this part
Rating: PG-13, if that
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
Notes: So...feedback is always appreciated, but especially in this case. This has a much bigger plot than anything I've attempted before, so I'm a wee bit nervous.
Read it at
veronicamarsfic
PROLOGUE
In general, Mac has great feelings of affection for Veronica Mars. On any normal day she’d prefer a few hours of Veronica’s quips over…well, pretty much anyone else in Neptune. Which is why she should be taken very, very seriously when she says that, at the moment, she wants to kill the girl in question.
"Veronica, I’m going to kill you for this."
"Mac. If you survived Butters at Alterna-Prom, dealing with Clive will be a piece of cake."
"You’re not the one he’ll be making tongue-gestures at."
"That’s disturbing."
"You have no idea."
"Hear me out: Clive’s dad works for university housing. Think of the connections! You and I could be reaping the benefits of this job for years to come, and he’s paying a fee. C’mon, take one for the team, tiger! Besides, maybe last Saturday was just an off night for him. Give the guy a chance - he may surprise you."
"He had a thirty minute conversation with my breasts, and then he tried to grope me in the parking lot. He can keep the rest of his surprises to himself, thanks."
"Grabby hands aside, his roommate stole the disk with his midterm essay on it, and the assignment is due tomorrow. He asked me to find proof the roommate did it so he doesn’t fail out of the class."
"If he’s too stupid to save a backup copy, then I’d say his failing is a foregone conclusion."
"Apparently his backup copy was erased as well. He thinks his roommate Mark is trying to pass off the paper as his own. They've both been competing for the top spot in English Lit. I just need you to break into the roommate’s computer and look around, see what you can find. One hour of your time. I swear."
Silence.
"One hour of your time and…five percent of the fee?"
"Fifteen."
"Ten, and I’ll throw in a free tune-up from Weevil’s uncle’s shop."
"Promise to never call me tiger again, and we have a deal."
"I think I can make that promise. The roommate will only be gone until eight tonight. Give me a call from the lobby when you’re here and I’ll have them buzz you in."
Money, and her car: her two weak spots. Which is how she ended up here, loitering outside Hearst dorm security and cursing Veronica Mars on her first free afternoon in a month. She punches Veronica’s number into her phone.
"I’m here," she grits. "That computer better be ready and waiting the second I step off the elevator, and Clive Cressley better be nowhere near it."
Veronica just laughs and hangs up. Mac silently stews her way into the elevator, still debating whether another nauseously awkward encounter with Clive is really worth a free tune-up. She’s watching the doors slide shut with a glum sense of fatality when someone sticks a dusty black, booted foot inside. The doors slide open creakily, and Weevil Navarro saunters in. He pushes the button for Veronica’s floor and leans back against the metallic wall, arms crossed. The elevator shrinks to about the size of a sardine can.
He doesn’t recognize her - that’s immediately clear. His eyes pass over her jeans-and-t-shirt clad persona in a manner that’s somehow both bored and menacing at the same time. It’s a neat trick, Mac has to admit. Then he sighs in displeasure, re-settles himself against the wall, and stares at the doors as they begin to move upward.
It doesn’t surprise her; she’s never been particularly memorable, barring her brief, hellish fifteen minutes of fame after Beaver died. She doesn’t really want to rehash her study sessions with Weevil, if only because they summon up the memory of a grinning Cassidy Casablancas. But still…she spent endless hours of her own free time trying to force-feed knowledge into his stubbornly unresponsive brain. That deserves a little recognition. On the other hand, it’s not like he technically benefited from it. Which reminds her…
"I thought you were in jail." Weevil’s eyes snap to her. Whoops. Don’t poke the bear.
"I was. Now I’m not. What’s it to you, girl?"
"Nothing…except I spent half of finals week trying to save your algebra grade. I was a little pissed when Lamb dragged you out before my time paid off." Her voice sounds calm to her own ears, but she’s wishing with all her might that she hadn’t opened her mouth. The truth is, Weevil Navarro is a little scary, and she was a hell of a lot more comfortable before that dark gaze was focused on her.
Weevil’s eyes narrow. "Veronica’s friend, right? The math girl. Can I assume you’re here because little miss blonde pain-in-the-ass summoned you?"
Mac grimaces. "Of course. You?"
Weevil blows out an aggravated breath. "Yup."
"Fun."
"Yup."
Stifling silence. Mac watches the numbers light up as the elevator crawls to the top floor. Floor 3. Floor 4. God, how slow can an elevator possibly move? Floor 5, 6….
The elevator lurches, lights flickering, and Mac goes stumbling into Weevil’s leather-clad shoulder. Their transport slowly shudders to a stop, mid-floor, and the lights dim and blink off, bathing them in the orangey-yellow emergency bulbs. No. Freaking. Way. Weevil glares at her like she and the elevator are in cahoots to piss him off.
Yup. Veronica Mars - dead.
CHAPTER 1
"I thought college was supposed to be fun," Logan grumbles, bouncing a tennis ball off the base of the top bunk. He’s sprawled on her mattress, lean and relaxed in his t-shirt and jeans, and he looks a little too welcoming for Veronica’s peace of mind. She fights the urge to go join him on the bed.
"You know you’re not actually a student here, right?" she asks, quirking an eyebrow.
Clive Cressley knocks three times and pokes his disheveled blonde head in the room. "Room’s all yours, PI Princess. Search away," he says, his radio-announcer voice bizarrely incongruous with his skinny, sweater-tying, preppy persona. His Nordically pale features turn up at her in a smarmy semblance of a smile, and a shudder rolls off of Veronica’s shoulders. Something about him rubs her the wrong way, and even attempting to be nice to him starts an ache right between her eyes.
She doesn’t crack a smile at the playful moniker he tosses out. "Sounds good. My computer guru is on the way up as we speak."
"Computer guru?"
"I figured we’d poke around Mark’s computer while he’s gone, see what turns up. In fact, I think you know Mac," she says innocently. "You must’ve met her at that party last Saturday. Short, cute, dyed hair…. Ring a bell?"
His face pales. "Uh…yeah. I remember," he mutters, and beats a hasty retreat. Veronica watches him go, amused. Wrathful Mac is indeed awesome to behold.
Logan stops his game of bounce-and-catch. "You went to a party and didn’t invite me? And here I thought we had come to some sort of understanding."
"Hearst-only event. No crazy townies allowed."
"Not even the wastrel sons of disgraced movie stars?" He holds her gaze for a minute, eyes light. Her gut clenches in an involuntary pang of sympathy. Manipulative ass. The realization doesn’t stop her chest from tightening; it doesn’t stop her from wanting to put her arms around him and squeeze until all his pain is squeezed out. She gives up the fight altogether and crawls onto her bed next to him. He turns to mirror her pose and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, lightly brushing her cheek. Her whole spine prickles in response.
"Are you keeping tabs on me?" she asks softly.
"Please let someone kill me before I ever get that bored."
"Your secret’s out. I know you follow me around, Echolls."
"Your self-absorption knows no bounds. It’s kinda cute on you, though."
She wonders if he’s going to kiss her. His eyes are traveling all over her face, and he’s moved his hand from her cheek to her shoulder, stroking lightly. Since graduation they’ve been tiptoeing along a shaky balance beam of desperate make-out sessions and determined avoidance. I need to take it slow, she pleaded with him. He told her in the gentlest, most intimate of voices that he would always be there for whatever she needed. And she convinced herself they would each be able to hold up their ends of the bargain this time, because the solace of his body and his voice and his eyes was worth the lie.
But lately he’s been like a racehorse kicking at the stall. He wants a commitment that she can’t give him; he wants a promise that if he starts to drown again, she’ll either pull him out of the surf or go down with the ship. She wants to reassure him, but the words keep sticking in her throat.
She can feel the walls of this non-relationship closing in on her, and ninety-nine percent of the time she’s terrified. And then there are days like today, when he’s sober and smiling and hasn’t said anything too inappropriate or abrasive yet, when he spends all day in her bedroom and tracks her every movement like he’d be content to do nothing else for the rest of his life. And when things are like this, the thought of pushing him away gives her a choking feeling that’s worse than the shrinking walls.
Right now, she’s just thankful that he’s alive and in one piece. She moves to close the distance between their bodies just as Wallace sticks his head through the door.
"Hey superfly, what’s this emergency case I’m needed for? I got midterms too, y’know?"
Veronica rolls off the bed, shaking off disappointment, and Logan drops back down, defeated for the moment. "What we have is a time-sensitive assignment gone mysteriously missing. Roommate is the suspect. We have until eight to search the room for evidence."
Wallace rubs his hands together. "Please tell me we’re searching the room of the fine ass dancer in 805."
Veronica grins. "’Fraid not. It’s gonna be guy-on-guy today, you lucky boy. Except for me and Mac. Which reminds me," she frowns at her watch, "where’s Mac? She called me from downstairs, like, ten minutes ago."
Wallace grimaces. "I don’t know where Mac is, but you can find me in the bathroom for the rest of the night, trying to scrub that guy-on-guy comment out of my brain."
Veronica dials Mac’s cell. "This is seriously weird. I just talked to her." Her suspicion kicks up a notch when her call goes directly into Mac’s voicemail. "I guess we can search manually and then do the computer when Mac gets here."
"You going old school on me, Nancy Drew?"
"Adaptability, Wallace. It’s all part of the biz."
*****
"Try your cell phone," Weevil commands. "Maybe there’s service." In the dim emergency lighting he’s striped orange and black like a tiger, and he’s prowling the confined space in a way that does nothing to hinder the resemblance.
Mac waves her cell phone. "Don’t you think I already looked?"
"Aw, this is not happening," Weevil groans. "I am not stuck in an elevator with the algebra queen. Not today of all days, man."
Mac barely refrains from snapping that she’d rather be stuck in an elevator with two hundred cockroaches than the unreasonable, hostile, mathematically moronic ex-leader of the PCH motorcycle gang. She calmly opens the emergency panel and picks up the phone, holding Weevil’s gaze. It only takes a couple seconds to connect.
"Emergency maintenance."
"Yeah, I’d like to report a problem with the elevator in East Lomita Hall. We’re stuck in here in between floors."
"How many passengers are there?"
"Two."
"Are there any injuries?" The woman on the other end of the line sounds impossibly bored, and Mac wants to offer to trade places with her.
"No, but…."
"Ok, sit tight. We’ll get a maintenance crew out as soon as possible. It’s probably just a minor malfunction."
"Thank God," Mac drawls. "I feel so much better." She locks eyes with Weevil. "Hurry."
"What’d they say?" Weevil pounces on her the second she hangs up.
"They’re sending a crew."
"Screw that," he says in disbelief. "I’ll rip these goddamn doors open myself."
Mac starts to laugh. "Those doors are doubled layered steel. Good luck. It could actually be kind of funny to watch you try."
"You would know that," he says glumly, and slides down to the floor against the far wall.
She reluctantly follows suit, because there’s really nothing else to do. She does her best to look anywhere other than the dark figure slouched against the opposite wall, lest he start snapping his jaws at her again. It’s a little difficult when the alternative scenery consists of four identical silver walls, a rust-brown rug, and a gray paneled ceiling that looks like it’s seen far better days. She starts counting the multi-colored wads of gum stuck overhead out of sheer desperation. She gets to twenty-three before he startles her by speaking again.
"So, what are you in for?"
"What?" she asks sharply.
"Why did Queen Veronica demand an audience?"
"Computer stuff," Mac mutters at the wall, wishing she had an answer just a little more exciting.
"You need to relax," he admonishes calmly. "It’s Sunday afternoon and there’s no maintenance crew on the planet that’s gonna hustle over here. We could be here all night."
"That’s not funny," she snaps. "And you were the one yelling at me five minutes ago."
"Yeah, well, we’re gonna be stuck for a while. Yelling’s gonna do nothing but make us deaf." He peels out of his leather jacket and balls it up under his neck, stretching out full length so his booted feet are right up next to her thighs. He sighs and closes his eyes, transition from caged animal to zen master complete.
Mac lets her gaze wander up his body, resentment warring with curiosity. It’s hard to believe someone so compact could be so threatening. He’s all dark colors and amber skin, shiny bald head, gold earrings like a pirate. The muscles in his arms make her wonder if he really could rip through the elevator doors, and there are tattoos twisted all around them: flowers and words and symbols. He looks a lot older than he is, hard and untamed. And it turns out that Weevil Navarro is…kinda hot.
"Like what you see?" he asks without opening his eyes.
She jumps about a mile. "You wish," she scoffs. It’s what a third-grader would say, but it’s the best she can manage with her face turning the color of a tomato.
"If you want a closer look there’s plenty of room over by me." He rubs a slow circle next to his hip.
Mac gives her most convincing snort. "I’m fine here, thanks."
"You sure about that? I don’t bite. Hard."
"Tempting, but no."
"What’s wrong?" he asks, smirking. "You only go on e-dates?"
She grits her teeth. "I didn’t realize that was a dinner invitation."
"Only if you’re buying. But hey, if you’re looking to pass the time I could show you a few new tricks."
She studies him in annoyance. His absurd eyelashes are still resting peacefully on his cheeks. He must do this all the time, she realizes, with every girl he comes across. She could stop talking, or evaporate altogether, and he could probably just carry on the routine by himself. Mac’s getting a little tired of being ignored.
She’s proud when her voice comes out with just the right mix of flat disbelief and boredom. "Do you really want to have sex with me right now?"
"Baby, I always want to have sex."
She considers him. "Fine," she says casually. "Let’s do it."
That chases the aloofness from his expression. He opens one eye. "Excuse me?"
"I’m serious. Let’s do it. Right now." She forces herself not to look away from his dark gaze.
He sits up slowly, elbows resting on knees. "You wanna ‘do it’" - finger quotes - "right now?"
"Yes."
He makes a sound that’s half chuckle, half snort. "Fine. Come on over."
"You come over here."
"Fine."
Neither of them moves. He’s really looking at her now for the first time, his mouth tugged up in the barest hint of a smile. He hitches his chin at her, "What’s your name?"
She feels a little buzz of triumph. "Mac."
"Mac," he says appraisingly. "You play poker?"
Chapter 2