Fic: The Yellow Brick Road: Chapter Six
The Yellow Brick Road: Chapter Six
Rating: PG-13 for now
Pairing: Veronica/Lamb
Word Count: ~1800
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but with I did.
Sorry for the delay. Real life got really in the way.
Chapter Six:
When they reached his apartment, Lamb was uncharacteristically nervous. Hell, this was the first time a woman was here that he wasn’t brining in for the sole purpose of sleeping with in… ever? Well, no, that female deputy came over to bring some case files once… but with a mustache that rivaled Sacks’… he mentally shuddered away from the image. Lamb sighed and opened up the door.
“Well Mars, welcome to your temporary residence.”
Lamb watched Veronica look around and laughed when she said “Well at least one part of you cleans up nice.” In truth, he had come home and cleaned up; throwing out empty beer bottles and doing some general tidying up. He had set himself up a bed on the big leather sofa
“You can take the bed. I set myself here on the couch.”
“But Donnie,” he watched her smirk at him, “I’m the young, limber one, shouldn’t I get shafted to the couch?”
He bit back a remark about him being plenty limber and answered, “It’s not for comfort, Mars, it’s because I don’t trust you. You’ll try to sneak out of the place while I’m sound asleep in my room.”
“Ah, not as dumb as he looks, I see. Okay, I’m going to take a shower. I smell like a foot wrapped in leathery, burnt bacon”
He laughed, “Did you just make a Star Wars, Robot Chicken reference?”
“Aren’t we a little old to be watching cartoons, Sheriff?”
“Hey, now, it’s called Adult Swim for a reason. Besides, you made the reference, who are you to judge?”
“Please, Lamb, I am a college girl. Besides doing body shots and flashing total strangers, cartoons are obviously my number one priority.”
“Body shots, eh?”
She hobbled towards the bathroom with her backpack and said, “I’ll leave you to contemplate that one as I shower. I expect food when I get out. I’m a growing girl and hospital Jello is going to stunt my growth.”
Lamb laughed and shouted through the closing door, “You weren’t even in there for two days!”
He brought the rest of Veronica’s things into his room and changed into a tight fitting t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants and started on dinner. Lamb figured that Veronica couldn’t complain too much about ravioli. As he shuffled around his kitchen, boiling water, heating sauce, and toasting garlic bread, he couldn’t help but think about how… unweird this all felt. It was almost as if he and Veronica still had the same damn relationship they’d had when she was 15, before he fucked everything up. He thought back on Veronica’s naked butt in the hospital as he stirred the onions into the pasta sauce. Okay, maybe they didn’t have the exact same relationship they had when she was 15. He would have felt guilty after checking out her ass at 15. Now that she was 21, practically a college graduate… if he knew what was good for himself he wouldn’t finish that thought.
Lamb looked at the clock above the stove, 35 minutes? Really? Even on days that he took care of some extra business in the shower, he was still out of there in 15 minutes. Almost on cue, he heard the water shut off. He added the sauce to the ravioli and spooned some out into dishes for them while Veronica got dressed.
Lamb looked up as she walked out. Her long blonde hair was wet down her back and she was wearing a loose fitting sweatshirt over a tight, white, midriff bearing tank top, and a pair of silky teal pajama pants. He thought she looked like sin… Oh crap, he’d been starting. Fortunately, Veronica didn’t seem to notice.
“FOOD! Yes! Wow, Lamb, did you cook this? I was expecting pizza.” She looked impressed. He smiled genuinely because she wasn’t patronizing him for once.
“It’s just pasta, if you’re good, maybe I’ll make you chicken enchiladas sometime during your stay.”
She smiled at him with a glint in her eye and said “Well you know how I am with following the rules. I guess I’ll be having store-bought mac and cheese for the duration of my stay.”
Lamb headed for the fridge, “Drink?”
“Do you have any wine? I feel like I need a drink after the last few days.”
He glanced towards his liquor cabinet and frowned, he wasn’t really a wine guy.
“Eh, I have beer. Whiskey? Bourbon? Gin? I can probably make you a martini…” He said martini the way most people pronounce the word anthrax. Lamb had known a lot of the kind of women who drank martinis and he hoped he didn’t have another one staying at his house.
“Do you have any lime juice?”
“Well then, sir” she spoke in a really poor English accent, “I could do for a gin on the rocks with lime. Pip Pip Cherio. Thanks Ole’ Chap.”
He looked at her, amused. “What the hell are you on?”
“I am on stress, Lambipoo, now make me a drink and bring my meal.” Did she actually just snap her hand at him? “I’ll pick out the movie.”
She was lucky that he still felt bad about checking her out earlier, housekeeper was not a role he usually enjoyed playing. He dropped the plates of ravioli on his coffee table and made their drinks. He brought a bottle of water over too. Thinking they might want it to supplement their bourbon and gin. He sat down on the other end of the couch and Veronica pressed play. He laughed when he heard the Entertainer play. Lamb looked over at her “The Sting”?
“I fully support anything that has Paul Newman in it. Besides, this movie is a cinematic masterpiece.” She took a large swig of her drink. “And besides that, we used to watch it, remember?”
“You used to tell me that I looked like Paul Newman.”
“Ah yes, well I was young, and naïve, and my brain was clouded by the ever-present symphonies of the Backstreet Boys. What did you expect?”
They laughed and bantered, and about twenty minutes into the movie Lamb felt Veronica push an empty glass towards him. “I require more happy juice.”
“Did you really just call that happy juice? Did you turn into an alcoholic since the last time we hung out?”
“This, Deputy Don, is not hanging out. This” she motioned around his apartment “is weird.”
“No it’s not.”
“You’re right, but it should be,” She answered as she took her newly poured drink from him. Lamb brought the bottles of liquor back over to the coffee table, not even bothering to refresh his ice. After a split second of decision, he sat closer to the middle of the couch than he had before. Veronica stretched her feet over his legs and fixed her slightly drunk eyes on his flatscreen TV.
Lamb took a large gulp of his bourbon and put down his glass, resting his hands on the portion of Veronica’s legs that hung over his. He smiled to himself as he heard her breath hitch and decided to be bold. Or maybe the liquor decided for him. What was this his second or third glass?
“You look tense, Blondie.”
“Almost dying will do that to you.”
“I remember,” he said, shuttering slightly at the memory of the bat hitting his head. Well, not so much the memory, he didn’t remember it happening, just waking up in the hospital a week later.
He felt Veronica sit up and look at him, her legs still in his lap. He turned his head towards her, his brow still furrowed in thought.
“I’m glad you didn’t die.”
He laughed at her outright, “well isn’t that sweet.”
“Oh, crap, I meant it nicer than that,” her speech was slurred… but then again, so was his. “I’m sorry.” She looked straight into his eyes and he wasn’t exactly sure what she was saying. But he knew what he needed to say.
“No, I’m sorry.” They held that stare for a long time, he hoped she read what she wanted him to. He was sorry for everything. Sorry for ruining it. Sorry for selling out the only family he’d ever really had.
“Fine, you do kind of look like Paul Newman, stop hassling me, will you?” She sighed, smiled, and leaned back into the corner of the couch, still leaving her legs on him. Lamb picked up one of her petite feet and started to massage it, happy when he heard her coo in response. “It’s cool, as long as you keep doing that, I forgive you.”
He laughed and kept going, zoning out on the movie.
Lamb woke up and the TV had turned off. He looked at his clock, 2am. He looked to his right and Veronica was sleeping curled into a ball. He was still a little drunk. He drank some of the water next to him and He got up to use the bathroom and when he got back he realized he didn’t want to leave her sleeping on the couch.
He lightly shook her shoulder, “Veronica. Hey, Mars, bedtime, kid.”
She didn’t even open her eyes as lifted her arms up like a three year old and he laughed at her.
“Carry the cripple.”
He laid her in his bed and wished that he was drunk enough to justify getting in with her. Instead he breathed out heavily and covered her with his dark red sheet and his brown comforter, pushing her now dry hair behind her ear and headed back out to the couch.
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Lamb heard a scream and rolled off the couch, smacking his head onto the coffee table.
“FUCK!” he grabbed his gun from the holster on the armchair and ran towards his bedroom. He expected to see Veronica being pulled out a window or assaulted, instead she was just thrashing in his bed, tears running down her face. His features softened, “Veronica, wake up, honey, wake up.”
Her eyes shot open and she threw her arms around him. “Is he dead?” she said in a small voice.
It took him a minute to realize that she had dreamed of the crash. Of course. “No, your dad is fine. Go back to sleep.”
Lamb got up to leave when he felt her grab his arm. “Stay?” she said.
He should have said no, but instead he got into the bed beside her and breathed deeply into her hair when she rolled into his chest, already back asleep.
He hoped she’d remember asking him in the morning, because if she didn’t he felt like he’d be on the losing end of a taser battle. Either Way, he thought as he wrapped his other arm around her, I’m too tired to move.
Rating: PG-13 for now
Pairing: Veronica/Lamb
Word Count: ~1800
Disclaimer: I own nothing, but with I did.
Sorry for the delay. Real life got really in the way.
Chapter Six:
When they reached his apartment, Lamb was uncharacteristically nervous. Hell, this was the first time a woman was here that he wasn’t brining in for the sole purpose of sleeping with in… ever? Well, no, that female deputy came over to bring some case files once… but with a mustache that rivaled Sacks’… he mentally shuddered away from the image. Lamb sighed and opened up the door.
“Well Mars, welcome to your temporary residence.”
Lamb watched Veronica look around and laughed when she said “Well at least one part of you cleans up nice.” In truth, he had come home and cleaned up; throwing out empty beer bottles and doing some general tidying up. He had set himself up a bed on the big leather sofa
“You can take the bed. I set myself here on the couch.”
“But Donnie,” he watched her smirk at him, “I’m the young, limber one, shouldn’t I get shafted to the couch?”
He bit back a remark about him being plenty limber and answered, “It’s not for comfort, Mars, it’s because I don’t trust you. You’ll try to sneak out of the place while I’m sound asleep in my room.”
“Ah, not as dumb as he looks, I see. Okay, I’m going to take a shower. I smell like a foot wrapped in leathery, burnt bacon”
He laughed, “Did you just make a Star Wars, Robot Chicken reference?”
“Aren’t we a little old to be watching cartoons, Sheriff?”
“Hey, now, it’s called Adult Swim for a reason. Besides, you made the reference, who are you to judge?”
“Please, Lamb, I am a college girl. Besides doing body shots and flashing total strangers, cartoons are obviously my number one priority.”
“Body shots, eh?”
She hobbled towards the bathroom with her backpack and said, “I’ll leave you to contemplate that one as I shower. I expect food when I get out. I’m a growing girl and hospital Jello is going to stunt my growth.”
Lamb laughed and shouted through the closing door, “You weren’t even in there for two days!”
He brought the rest of Veronica’s things into his room and changed into a tight fitting t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants and started on dinner. Lamb figured that Veronica couldn’t complain too much about ravioli. As he shuffled around his kitchen, boiling water, heating sauce, and toasting garlic bread, he couldn’t help but think about how… unweird this all felt. It was almost as if he and Veronica still had the same damn relationship they’d had when she was 15, before he fucked everything up. He thought back on Veronica’s naked butt in the hospital as he stirred the onions into the pasta sauce. Okay, maybe they didn’t have the exact same relationship they had when she was 15. He would have felt guilty after checking out her ass at 15. Now that she was 21, practically a college graduate… if he knew what was good for himself he wouldn’t finish that thought.
Lamb looked at the clock above the stove, 35 minutes? Really? Even on days that he took care of some extra business in the shower, he was still out of there in 15 minutes. Almost on cue, he heard the water shut off. He added the sauce to the ravioli and spooned some out into dishes for them while Veronica got dressed.
Lamb looked up as she walked out. Her long blonde hair was wet down her back and she was wearing a loose fitting sweatshirt over a tight, white, midriff bearing tank top, and a pair of silky teal pajama pants. He thought she looked like sin… Oh crap, he’d been starting. Fortunately, Veronica didn’t seem to notice.
“FOOD! Yes! Wow, Lamb, did you cook this? I was expecting pizza.” She looked impressed. He smiled genuinely because she wasn’t patronizing him for once.
“It’s just pasta, if you’re good, maybe I’ll make you chicken enchiladas sometime during your stay.”
She smiled at him with a glint in her eye and said “Well you know how I am with following the rules. I guess I’ll be having store-bought mac and cheese for the duration of my stay.”
Lamb headed for the fridge, “Drink?”
“Do you have any wine? I feel like I need a drink after the last few days.”
He glanced towards his liquor cabinet and frowned, he wasn’t really a wine guy.
“Eh, I have beer. Whiskey? Bourbon? Gin? I can probably make you a martini…” He said martini the way most people pronounce the word anthrax. Lamb had known a lot of the kind of women who drank martinis and he hoped he didn’t have another one staying at his house.
“Do you have any lime juice?”
“Well then, sir” she spoke in a really poor English accent, “I could do for a gin on the rocks with lime. Pip Pip Cherio. Thanks Ole’ Chap.”
He looked at her, amused. “What the hell are you on?”
“I am on stress, Lambipoo, now make me a drink and bring my meal.” Did she actually just snap her hand at him? “I’ll pick out the movie.”
She was lucky that he still felt bad about checking her out earlier, housekeeper was not a role he usually enjoyed playing. He dropped the plates of ravioli on his coffee table and made their drinks. He brought a bottle of water over too. Thinking they might want it to supplement their bourbon and gin. He sat down on the other end of the couch and Veronica pressed play. He laughed when he heard the Entertainer play. Lamb looked over at her “The Sting”?
“I fully support anything that has Paul Newman in it. Besides, this movie is a cinematic masterpiece.” She took a large swig of her drink. “And besides that, we used to watch it, remember?”
“You used to tell me that I looked like Paul Newman.”
“Ah yes, well I was young, and naïve, and my brain was clouded by the ever-present symphonies of the Backstreet Boys. What did you expect?”
They laughed and bantered, and about twenty minutes into the movie Lamb felt Veronica push an empty glass towards him. “I require more happy juice.”
“Did you really just call that happy juice? Did you turn into an alcoholic since the last time we hung out?”
“This, Deputy Don, is not hanging out. This” she motioned around his apartment “is weird.”
“No it’s not.”
“You’re right, but it should be,” She answered as she took her newly poured drink from him. Lamb brought the bottles of liquor back over to the coffee table, not even bothering to refresh his ice. After a split second of decision, he sat closer to the middle of the couch than he had before. Veronica stretched her feet over his legs and fixed her slightly drunk eyes on his flatscreen TV.
Lamb took a large gulp of his bourbon and put down his glass, resting his hands on the portion of Veronica’s legs that hung over his. He smiled to himself as he heard her breath hitch and decided to be bold. Or maybe the liquor decided for him. What was this his second or third glass?
“You look tense, Blondie.”
“Almost dying will do that to you.”
“I remember,” he said, shuttering slightly at the memory of the bat hitting his head. Well, not so much the memory, he didn’t remember it happening, just waking up in the hospital a week later.
He felt Veronica sit up and look at him, her legs still in his lap. He turned his head towards her, his brow still furrowed in thought.
“I’m glad you didn’t die.”
He laughed at her outright, “well isn’t that sweet.”
“Oh, crap, I meant it nicer than that,” her speech was slurred… but then again, so was his. “I’m sorry.” She looked straight into his eyes and he wasn’t exactly sure what she was saying. But he knew what he needed to say.
“No, I’m sorry.” They held that stare for a long time, he hoped she read what she wanted him to. He was sorry for everything. Sorry for ruining it. Sorry for selling out the only family he’d ever really had.
“Fine, you do kind of look like Paul Newman, stop hassling me, will you?” She sighed, smiled, and leaned back into the corner of the couch, still leaving her legs on him. Lamb picked up one of her petite feet and started to massage it, happy when he heard her coo in response. “It’s cool, as long as you keep doing that, I forgive you.”
He laughed and kept going, zoning out on the movie.
Lamb woke up and the TV had turned off. He looked at his clock, 2am. He looked to his right and Veronica was sleeping curled into a ball. He was still a little drunk. He drank some of the water next to him and He got up to use the bathroom and when he got back he realized he didn’t want to leave her sleeping on the couch.
He lightly shook her shoulder, “Veronica. Hey, Mars, bedtime, kid.”
She didn’t even open her eyes as lifted her arms up like a three year old and he laughed at her.
“Carry the cripple.”
He laid her in his bed and wished that he was drunk enough to justify getting in with her. Instead he breathed out heavily and covered her with his dark red sheet and his brown comforter, pushing her now dry hair behind her ear and headed back out to the couch.
-------------------------------------------------------------
Lamb heard a scream and rolled off the couch, smacking his head onto the coffee table.
“FUCK!” he grabbed his gun from the holster on the armchair and ran towards his bedroom. He expected to see Veronica being pulled out a window or assaulted, instead she was just thrashing in his bed, tears running down her face. His features softened, “Veronica, wake up, honey, wake up.”
Her eyes shot open and she threw her arms around him. “Is he dead?” she said in a small voice.
It took him a minute to realize that she had dreamed of the crash. Of course. “No, your dad is fine. Go back to sleep.”
Lamb got up to leave when he felt her grab his arm. “Stay?” she said.
He should have said no, but instead he got into the bed beside her and breathed deeply into her hair when she rolled into his chest, already back asleep.
He hoped she’d remember asking him in the morning, because if she didn’t he felt like he’d be on the losing end of a taser battle. Either Way, he thought as he wrapped his other arm around her, I’m too tired to move.