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Holding Onto the Cracks In Our Foundations

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“Thumper’s still missing,” she says simply. They’ve never needed to spell things out for each other, she and Weevil.

“You know, criminals tend to disappear when there’s a warrant out for their arrest,” Weevil evades, and the fact that he doesn’t call her out on the question she hasn’t asked immediately causes her stomach to sink.

When he’s innocent he never hesitates to drag the accusation she hasn’t made but he knows she’s considering out into the open air. If he didn’t have anything to do with Thumper’s disappearance, Weevil would say something like, If you think I had something to do with it, just say so, look her right in the eye.

She thinks back, back to the night she’d shown up outside his door after walking that witness into Lamb’s office.

She hadn’t been able to explain her need to tell him right then, why it couldn’t wait until morning. The next morning she’d come up with one explanation but now she has different one eating away at her.

“It’s late,” he’d commented, slipping out the back door to join her leaning against the LeBaron, “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

“I’m not,” she’d told him, “Besides, I happen to know that the sheriff’s department is in the neighborhood.”

“Thumper?” he’d asked with a sharp intake of breath and wary eyes.

She’d nodded, “I told you I could do it with some extra hours.”

“Veronica Mars: the people’s hero,” he’d shaken his head, looking down and away.

“A simple thank you would suffice,” she’d told him, one hand reaching out to squeeze his bicep reassuringly. There in the middle of the night, the moment seemed bigger and quieter than she’d anticipated.

They’d ended up down on Dog Beach, deserted at this time of night and the year.

“So… with your rival vanquished what’s next?” she’d found herself asking, one hand holding her shoes and the other swinging as they walked.

It had not escaped her that there was a time when the idea of running into Weevil on an empty beach like this would have been cause for alarm. She’d realized that now it was the reverse. His presence had felt like safety, safety and something else.

“What you askin, V?” he’d stopped and looked at her through those lashes of his.

“After they arrested Aaron Echolls, after I found out…” she’d paused, realizing what she had been about to reveal, “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. None of my business. Got it.”

“I should probably stay away from people,” he’d muttered, as if he were talking more to himself than to her, “The people I get too close to…”

He didn’t have to say it: Felix, Lilly, they were both dead. She knew she probably shouldn’t have, but she’d looked up his parents after they’d started doing favors for each other last year. It wasn’t a pretty story.

Lilly, Logan, Meg, Duncan… None of them were her fault but the pattern was undeniable.

“That makes two of us. You know Dick Casablancas told me I was rich dude kryptonite and I couldn’t even argue with him about it.”

“Normally I’d say fuck anything that comes out of that asshole’s mouth, but maybe you ought to stop hanging around those spoiled rich boys, V. They ain't never been anything but trouble.”

“Oh really… And do you have a suggestion about just who I should be spending my time with?”

She’d expected him to say something playfully suggestive. She hadn’t really expected him to say “me” and put his arm around her waist, pulling her to him. Or maybe she had. Maybe that was why she’d gone out there in the first place, she suddenly had to consider.

He’d let go as quickly as he’d grabbed her, but there had been a moment, where their faces were oh so close and his arm has been warm against the chill of the beach at night and her breath had caught.

Her heart has raced and it hadn’t been the sick panicked nervous animal about to throw up way. It had been in that pitter patter of excited anticipation.

“Oh really?” she’d teased to mask her true reaction, “Are we going to go to prom together?”

“We’d certainly make a splash…” he’d cocked his head to the side, neither a denial or an admission.

She hadn’t been able to resist imagining it, the stares as they walked through the crowd. It drew memories of Logan and Duncan and how it had felt to have people’s eyes on her with them: not as bad as being stared at on your own.

“It’s late,” she’d told him abruptly, wrapping her arms around herself, “I should go.”

I’d had been a mistake going to meet Weevil late at night like this, she’d told herself. Duncan and Meg and the baby. Logan and that blonde freshman. Her head was a mess. She and Weevil had always played at this, that didn’t mean.

“Look, V,” Weevil had looked a little embarrassed, “I didn’t mean… I know you like them rich white boys, no matter how dumb they keep acting.”

Which had kind of made her feel like a jerk, just like Weevil always managed to when he made those kind of comments. A nagging part of her always seemed to agree with his assessment and tell her he was right, that the reason their flirtation was a joke was because his zip code wasn’t remotely close to ending in 09, which made her shallow and all kind of other things she didn’t identify with.

“My dad’s going to wonder where I am. My excuse about the line and In N’ Out is only going to get me so far.”

Further than that one, she’d berated herself. The truth was she was nervous about what she’d do if she didn’t leave now.

“Sure, Veronica. We wouldn’t want the sheriff finding out you rushed over here, might look suspicious.”

She’d paused to slip her shoes back on as they’d reached the stairs up from sand, and looked back up to find Weevil pacing restlessly. She should have just texted. She should have waited until morning. There was no escaping the fact that showing up tonight had destroyed the delicate balance of their interactions. What would she normally say at this point? It was as though all her usual instincts had abandoned her.

“Your chariot awaits.”

Weevil had gestured towards her car, standing there with one hand outstretched, leaning crookedly, a funny sort of smile on his face.

She hadn’t slept that night, excited and nervous, filled with anticipation.

Now, she thinks, she won’t sleep tonight either, but for entirely different reasons. She isn’t sure what bothers her more the: idea that Weevil is capable of what she fears down in the pit of her stomach or that he didn’t trust her to take care of the situation. On some level she knows, though, that none of it would have been so bad not if everything which has happened between then and now hadn’t happened the way it did.

She’d sent him the text message to meet her the very next day. He’d pulled up next to her car, put his hands in his pockets as he walked towards her, hunching his shoulders up to look bigger.

“Are you going back now… to the PCHers?”

It was just one question, but it was one she’d needed answered. There were certain lines she was not ready to cross, certain inevitabilities she was not ready to set herself up for. If Weevil was back with the gang he was headed towards prison or an early grave and she didn’t need a closer seat from which to watch it happen.

“Do you see me back on a bike?” he’d looked at her intently, trying to read her expression.

“So that’s a no, then?”

“Yeah. Why? You miss having a pocket gang at your beck and call?”

She’d shaken her head. No.

“Alright then, I’m man enough to admit I’m stumped. Why do you care, Veronica?”

“Kiss me,” she’d demanded, stepping in towards him.

For a moment he’d looked stunned, but he’d recovered quickly, leaning in and planting a slow lingering kiss against her lips.

“More,” she’d told him as he moved to pull away, grabbing the sides of his head and kissing him back harder, letting the tension, which had been building between for so long she wasn’t sure when it had started, flow into her movements.

“V…” he’d groaned, grabbing her hips and pulling her body against his, as they’d invaded one another’s mouths.

Now she looks at him, all too certain that this whole thing started based on a lie, a lie where he’d let her think he waited for her instead of going out for vigilante justice. She thinks about the conversation she’d intended to have with him originally (My dad’s out of town. I think I’m ready.) and knows that she can’t now, not unless somehow everything she’s thinking turns out to be wrong.

She thinks about the last few weeks, about three days ago at the office when she knew her dad hadn’t started back from Vegas yet. She thinks about how close she’d come to making things a thousand times worse.

She’d squirmed, body rubbing against his as he’d sucked on the nipple he’d exposed, pulling her breast out of her tank top and the cup of her bra. She hadn’t been able to help feeling his erection through his jeans, both of them turned on by how hot and heavy things had gotten. He’d flicked his tongue across it and she’d moaned and shuddered, running her nails down his back.

As she’d wrapped her legs more firmly around his waist; she’d pulled him tighter against her as she sat on the desk, she had felt a fresh rush of arousal flow from her further soaking her underwear through.

He’d gotten the bra unclasped on the first try, sliding the straps down her shoulders and letting her wriggle out of it without taking off her tank. (Too much. Too soon.) Cupping her breasts in his hands through the thin fabric, he’d kissed her neck. (Not hard enough to bruise. That was saved for later in places her dad wasn’t liable to see.)

Grinding against him, she’d bit her lip as he teased her nipples through the tank top. (Wishing it wouldn’t have been too fast.)

“Maybe we should take a breather,” she’d gasped, even as she’d continued dry humping him.

“Why?” he’d asked, “You scared you won’t be able to control yourself, baby?”

She’d wondered if he knew just how close he was to the mark.

“It’s easy to get carried away,” she’d evaded, undercutting her words as she rocked against his groin.

“Would that be so bad?” he’d smiled, but he’d moved his hands to her hips and placed one gentle kiss against her forehead, taking a deep breath.

“I’m not one of those girls who does it right away. I’ve only ever been with…” she found she couldn’t say Duncan’s name to Weevil, not now.

“Veronica,” Weevil had taken her head in his hands, “Look at me, chica: you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. No explanations needed, k? If you just realized this was a mistake-”

“It’s not that,” she’d shaken her head, “I want to, believe me. I just need some more time to sort some things out.”

“I get it,” he’d run his thumb over her cheek, “Duncan was your big first love and you two waited and it was all grand gestures and shit and the idea of trading that in for this…”

As always, he’d found a way to make her feel like the asshole.

“No,” she’d run her hand through her hand with a groan, “I want to be here. It’s just not what I’m used to. Waiting with Duncan was easy. It was part of our fairytale. This… I don’t know what the script with us goes, Weevil, and that worries me.”

“Let go of the script, V, just be here now. What are you feeling right now?”

“Conflicted,” she’d admitted, strangely compelled to say the truth, “Horny.”

“What if we took sex off the table for now? How do you feel then?”

“Not so much the prior… double the latter,” she’d kept her tone teasing, embarrassed but emboldened.

“Trust me?” he’d asked, falling to his knees and bringing his hands to the button of her jeans.

“I thought we said…” she’d felt a wave of panic wash over her. Her body wanted him to ignore her limits but her brain was screaming.

“I’m not going to fuck you, V, at least not now. I can still get you off though. You like having your pussy licked don’t ya? Or is that too much?”

She’d felt the heat of her embarrassment creep down her neck and across her chest.

“I don’t know,” she’d admitted.

“What do you mean you don’t know? I mean you said you and Duncan… and Logan?”

“Logan and I didn’t exactly get that far and Duncan and I… well we sort of skipped-”

“Unbelievable,” Weevil had shaken his head, “Let me guess, you gave him head though?”

“It wasn’t like…” Veronica had felt so exposed.

“How about this?” he’d interrupted her, running his hands over the front of her jeans, and she hadn’t been able to resist arching into his touch, “If you don’t like something, tell me.”

“What if I do like something?” she’d inhaled deeply as he’d slowly undone her pants.

“Tell me that too, V,” he’d grinned, as she’d lifted her hips to let him drag down her jeans.

“Christ,” he’d groaned, as he’d leaned in to press a kiss against the outside of her underwear, “You weren’t kidding about being worked up were you?”

She hadn’t been able to argue with that, not with his face right up against the evidence to the contrary. Besides, he’d obviously been pleased at just how much their makeout session had turned her own.

“We can start slow,” he’d murmured, running his tongue flat against her through the fabric so that she could feel the heat, “I won’t take these off until you tell me to.”

“What if I don’t?” she hadn’t been able to resist countering.

“Believe me,” he’d smirked, “you will.”

She had. At first she’d been determined not to but he’d licked and licked and then he’d switched to sucking, claiming her clit through the material, and she’d demanded for him to take those stupid things off so she could feel his mouth more directly.

He’d plunged his tongue inside of her and she’d writhed against him, not caring about how she might look or sound. The way he had run it against the rim of her opening, pressing against her inners walls. Okay. She’d suddenly gotten what the big deal was about, with his mouth warmth and wet and firm and soft all at the same time.

Of course, that had been before she’d felt his tongue directly on her clit, before he’d wrapped his lips around it and sucked without ceasing to tongue little circles and she’d been reduced to these little whimpers that didn’t even sound like her.

She’d squeezed tightly in on herself, mind flooded with images and imagined sensations of all the ways she wanted to feel him, though she never wanted his mouth to move from between her legs.

Papers had gone flying everywhere as she’d grappled for traction on the desk, arching against his mouth, throat gone dry from gasping and moaning with every little wave of enjoyment getting her oh so close and then retreating to a pleasurable dull hum.

She’d grabbed his shoulders as he pulled back slightly, feeling cheated as the heat of lips mouth abandoned her throbbing flesh.

“What’s the verdict on fingers, V?” he’d looked up at her though those heavy lashes, face glistening with her, “Too much?”

She’d imagined what that might feel like, and shaken her head, “Not too much.”

Leaning in and running the flat of his tongue along her opening, Weevil had hummed lightly against her aching body and she felt her body shake with anticipation.

“Tell me,” he’d reminded her, “What you want or don’t. The whole point is to take care of you.”

There was nothing of Duncan’s embarrassed hesitancy. Does that hurt? Should I do that? Weevil had seemed secure in his ability to please her, secure enough to encourage constructive criticism.

His lips had found her clit again, brushing it lightly at first and then opening slightly. She’s let out a moan as he moved his hand against the lips of her opening, running one finger carefully between them before pressing inwards slowly. She’d arched up against his waiting mouth, groaning as he’d curled that finger against her front wall, sucking at her clit at the same time.

“More…” she’d gasped, “Please... God, Weevil…”

He’d swirled his tongue around her clit as he added another finger and as he renewed the suction of his mouth she’d felt her body go rigid, tightening in ecstasy she cried out uncontrollably with the intensity of her orgasm, shaking hard.

It was different, utterly different than the sensation of getting herself off orgasming during sex. In both cases there was a sense of having gotten somewhere with her own actions, versus the uncontrolled plummet of being driven over the edge by someone else.

She’d had to push on his shoulders, squirming away from his all too overwhelming mouth and fingers against her suddenly overly sensitive body.

“So…” he’d grinned, still kneeling in front of her as he’d wiped his face with the back of his forearm, “What’s the verdict?”

“Yes,” she’d shaken her head at him for fishing for compliments, before joining him on the floor, unbuckling his pants and pulling his dick out of his boxers to wrap her hand around it. He’d kissed her as she jerked him off, moaning into her mouth.

For the first time in a while, she’d felt like she was going in the right direction.

Now they stand looking at each other and she knows that if she says the accusation out loud it is really over. If she says what she’s thinking everything that happened between them was a mistake. Still, she can’t pretend things are okay, not when part of her knows the truth.

“I should go,” she says, turning away from him, chest tight.

“What, no goodbye kiss?” he teases, but she can hear the strain in his voice. He knows what she’s thinking as well as she does.

“Did you give Thumper one?” she snaps, “Before you fed him to the Fitzpatricks? Or did you do it yourself…”

The words are out of her mouth before she realizes what’s happening, words she can’t take back and he can’t ignore.

“Is that what you think of me, V? After everything? After…”

She doesn’t hear anything else he says because she’s halfway to her car, halfway out of hearing, before another word leaves his mouth.

She hadn’t gone to him that night because she wanted to explore what was lurking between them. She’d gone because she hadn’t trusted him to wait and she’d been right… she’d just been too late.