Title: Macaroni
Synopsis: Tipper One-shot. Piz arrives drunk to his bedroom, only to find Veronica sleeping over in Wallace's bed. A few drunken words and music are all it takes for Veronica to re-evaluate her relationship with Logan.
Ship: Tipper (Veronica/Piz)
Spoilers: Set during season 3, after of Vice and Men, during a non-descript Veronica-Logan breakup.
Rated: T
Disclaimer: Characters and master plotlines belong to Rob Thomas and the CW. Situations mentioned in this story and Macaroni belong to me. The songs mentioned are "Nothing Better" and "Brand New Colony" by The Postal Service. No copyright infringement intended.
MACARONI
It takes Piz fifteen minutes to manage opening the door. He swears under his breath and shuts the door behind him loudly. The entire floor is still at the party, evidently having the stomach and brain for drinking themselves silly. Maybe it's the fact that he's silly to start out with, but all he really knows is that he can't hold his liquor.
That, and there's a body stirring in Wallace's bed, which is odd, because he just left Wallace in the party three floors up.
He tries to maintain his balance against the doorknob, and realizes that whoever is in Wallace's bed, probably woke from the sound of the door.
It takes him a couple of seconds to realize who the blonde hair belongs to. "Hey, Piz," Veronica Mars speaks, sleepily. "How's tricks?"
It's hard enough to keep his balance on 100-proof koolaid, let alone his cool. But in close proximity of Veronica? Impossible. Also, he's never had any cool to keep, so that makes everything one misstep away from landing face-first on the floor.
He takes a few steps towards the nearest vertical surface he can hold on to. Desk chair. "Oh, you know... I never do well unless I'm wearing a miniskirt," he answered, his tongue heavy.
In the dark, Veronica sits up. She clicks on the light on the bedside table. "Piz, you're drunk."
"You're definitely not Wallace," he answers, pointing in the general direction of her face, which seems to come in focus a little. He smiles. "Yeah. I think I'm drunk."
"Need help?" she asks, pointing to his bed.
"Nah," he answers, taking a few short steps to the nearest wall. "All good."
Veronica shakes her head and smiles. "You just took three steps back towards the door." She walks a few steps over to him and wraps one of his arms around her neck. "Come on, party boy."
His head turns to look at her as he takes a few careful steps. Her hair smells nice. "Like shampoo," he whispers, unaware he's saying it out loud. He makes it to the bed and sits down. "Now what?" he asks.
Veronica sits cross-legged on the floor and starts undoing his shoelaces. "Your shoes need a trip to the washing machine," she comments.
"You're tiny," he counters.
"Ok."
"Beautiful, too," Piz adds. Sensing he's said something wrong, he presses a finger to his own lips. "Don't tell Wallace, ok?"
If he were sober, maybe he'd notice Veronica's self-satisfied little smile at his words. "Why shouldn't I tell Wallace?"
"Because he says I have to get over it, so I have to. He knows better," Piz explains as Veronica pulls off one shoe and gets to work on the other.
Veronica can't think of what to say to this, so she just keeps at his shoelaces.
"Did you have a fight?" he asks, trying to get her face in focus again. He loves seeing her eyes sparkle, only they aren't sparkling now as she looks back at him.
"What?" she asks.
"You come here when you fight with him."
"Yeah, we had a fight," Veronica answers, truthfully. She finishes with his shoe and stands up. Pushing his chest back, she makes him lie down. She sits on the edge of the bed, looking into Piz's face as he purses his lips.
She would never admit this to Wallace, of course, but she likes watching Piz think. There is something about the way the connections in his mind, unbidden, make jumps from one idea to the next. And right now, he seems to be upon the verge of some great discovery.
"Nothing Better, The Postal Service," he says, softly.
"Did you just say there's nothing better than the postal service?" Veronica asks, her smile masking her disappointment in the 'epiphany' Piz has just had.
He closes his eyes and nods. "Nothing better. Ask me tomorrow and I'll play it for you." He yawns.
"O-k, Piznarski. Nap time," she whispers. She covers him with a blanket and brushes the unruly hair off his eyes. "Goodnight, Piz."
"Night, Veronica," he answers, shifting to his side. "I promise I'll be sober next time. Then we can talk about deep things like... macaroni."
Veronica laughs as she runs her fingertips over his forehead. "I'll hold you to that."
- - - - - - - - - - - -
The first he hears is a short giggle, followed by a heavy feeling in his arm. And then, a deep female voice that says, "That was the best I've ever had."
Piz's eyes fly open to find Mac lying in bed next to him, under the blankets. His eyes wide, he looks panic stricken. Had he... But... Was she...
Just then Mac bursts into a fit of uncontrollable laughter and, tearing off the blanket, shows herself completely dressed. "Thanks, lover-boy," she adds. On Wallace's bed, Veronica rolls around on her back, laughing her head off.
"Your face... priceless..." she says, between laughter and gasps for breath.
Piz shakes off whatever sleep he has left and sits up on bed. The sudden rush of blood feels like getting hit over the head with a hammer. "Funny. Laugh at the guy with the killer hangover."
"Sorry, Piz, I really really couldn't help myself," Mac says, sitting down in front of the computer. "Too tempting."
"That's me. Too tempting," Piz mutters. "Wallace?"
"Not back yet, so we got started on some work," Veronica replies as she scans the school newspaper. "I got you coffee and a cheese sandwich." She points to his dresser. "Figured egg would be entirely too much for your recuperating body."
"Coffee, thank goodness," Piz says, jumping off the bed and grabbing the cup of scalding liquid. "I'm going to marry coffee."
Veronica raises her cup in agreement. "Not if I propose first." She glances up from the paper at Piz. "So, how was this party?"
Piz shakes his head slowly. "I can't say I remember it all, but there were good parts, people moshing, girls taking their tops off, snow lined up in tidy rows... oh, wait, no, that was the My Pretty Pony concert DVD. Nope, the party sucked and they spiked the drinks with kool-aid."
"Huh," Veronica says. "Did you see..."
"Don't ask that, Veronica!" Mac calls out. "Remember, the whole remove focus from old mistakes to new mistakes thing you were trying to do?"
"But he hasn't called. He hasn't even knocked on the door."
Piz takes a sip of coffee. "Who are we talking about?"
Mac raises an eyebrow at him. "Who do you think?"
Piz frowns. Veronica is surprised to see him so openly disappointed. "Logan. Right." His eyes light up for half a second, as if he's remembering a punch-line. "Was Wallace here when you came in last night?" Piz's hair sticks out in every odd direction, in a way that makes it impossible to ignore him or take him seriously.
Veronica nods. "Yeah, he let me in."
"Ah, then he must have installed our Anti-Logan System. It's almost like a cloaking device that hides you from him," Piz says, walking to the door and opening it. On the whiteboard on the door, in Wallace's handwriting, the words 'Logan, fuck off!' are written clearly in red marker. "Ta-da."
"Hey, I thought we were using 'frak' this time." Mac snickers. "It's the second time Wallace has done it and the second time you haven't noticed, Veronica. You're losing your touch."
Veronica's mouth hangs open in protest, but she decides against saying anything.
Piz volunteers information anyway. "And I honestly don't remember if he was at the party last night." He shakes his head and turns his neck to the side, trying to get the kinks out. "I'm gonna go take a shower," he adds, grabbing his towel and some other things. As he opens the door to go find the bathroom, Wallace walks in and, seeing Veronica on his bed, he makes a last minute turn and drops his entire body on Piz's bed, immediately snoring.
Piz shrugs, then smiles, just a bit acidly. "Maybe you can ask Wallace."
Mac glances at Veronica, who looks at the space Piz has just vacated with a confused stare.
"That was harsh," Veronica says softly.
"It actually wasn't, Veronica." Mac sighs. "Even I can see he has a crush on you, and I didn't get past High School Crushes 101."
"Yeah, but Logan and I..." Veronica starts.
"Broke up because you were disgusted at him. Do you see a pattern forming, Veronica?" Mac interrupts. " "You break up every two weeks because he does something that is unthinkable or unacceptable or inconceivable, but then you go back. You just keep lowering and lowering your standards. And getting hurt." Mac takes a deep breath and turns to look at her friend head on. "That's your decision. But you shouldn't expose Piz to it, you know? He doesn't deserve to be collateral damage from your relationship with Logan."
Veronica takes a shaky breath and whispers, "I know."
"That being said, if you want to talk to Logan, maybe you should call him."
"Maybe." She fidgets with her sidekick, opening and closing it a few times. "Last night Piz told me I'm beautiful. And then he said there was nothing better than the postal service."
Mac laughs. "It stands to reason that he'd be a weird drunk."
- - - - - - - - - -
Shifts at the radio station have a tendency towards being eternal somedays. Piz loves his job, but he still has a slowly-receding hangover and fast-growing crush and a semi-broken heart, and none of these things make his shift go faster.
When Wallace finally woke up in mid afternoon, he'd confirmed to Veronica that Logan had been at the party and that, if she wanted details about it, she'd have to ask Logan.
Wallace liked Logan, really, he did, but he was Veronica's friend first and foremost, and he didn't enjoy watching her get hurt. He also knew that it was best to take himself out of the equation sometimes. Piz wished that sometimes he could take himself out of the equation as well.
Veronica had nodded and had, for lack of a better word, gone off to battle, gone to find Logan and have it out.
Piz had been disappointed to watch her go, but he understood how some things are unavoidable.
"She doesn't mean to be cruel," Mac had said as she packed up her computer.
"Huh?" Piz had asked.
Mac smiled at him then. "Her brain works in a different way. She doesn't trust people easily, and when she finally does, she expects great things from them. She can't bring herself to believe things with Logan are over. She doesn't mean to be cruel."
"I'm that obvious, huh?" Piz had asked.
Mac nodded. "You're a good guy, Piznarski. And she needs a good guy. Hopefully she'll realize it sooner or later."
"Right."
Piz places a new record on the second plate and lowers the microphone. "And now, before I go, I leave you with Feist's "1, 2, 3, 4". I hear she's going to make an appearance soon on Sesame Street, and it's the perfect song for everyone, from toddlers to math majors. Piznarski out."
He signals for Mercer to take the cabin and clears out his records from the table. Mercer stops the song Piz has just left on and speaks into the microphone. "Yeah, that's boring. Now for some clubhouse to remind us of all the fun we had at last night's party." Mercer hands Piz the record.
Piz flips him off and takes his box of records to the back. He scans the records and starts inserting them, alphabetically, into their respective shelves.
It takes him half a second to sense her presence. Maybe it's her perfume he's memorized, or maybe he does feel her stare on his back.
"Hey," he says, turning to glance at her. He doesn't want to watch her too closely, look at her too much. It hurts. Like looking at an eclipse head-on.
"Hi," she says, her arms crossing against her chest. "Can I help?" she asks, approaching.
Proximity is intoxicating, so Piz takes a step back. "Uh, sure," he stammers, handing her a stack of records. "Alphabetically."
Veronica smiles. "You forget I work in the library."
"Right." He turns the corner and goes searching for the M shelves. He can see her, through the gaps between records. Her eyes are puffy, her nose is red. She's been crying. "So, uh, how've you been?" he asks, knowing it's both inappropriate and stupid.
"You know how my breakups with Logan tend to, uh, not stick?" she asks. He doesn't say anything, doesn't move. "Well, I have a feeling this one will."
Silence.
"I guess you don't really want to hear about this," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry, I should go," she tells his eyes, which she can see through the shelves.
He gives her a smile with pursed lips, "I asked, Veronica."
"He hooked up with Parker last night. They're dating."
"Huh."
"Yeah."
Silence.
They finish filing the records in the silent hum of the soundproofed rooms, and Piz places the empty crate on the floor near Veronica. "I'm not sure what you say in cases like this," he says, because he isn't.
"Well, according to Mac, this is when people say congratulations and condolences," Veronica offers
Piz smiles. "That sounds about right." He places a hand on her shoulder, because that is what friends do. "Come on. I'll buy you a toy."
"A toy?" Veronica asks, confused.
"Yup. You can pick from anything at the campus bookstore, but I highly recommend the teddy bear with the Hearst emblem," Piz recommends.
"What are you, my grandpa in town for my birthday?" Veronica asks, laughing.
"No, then?"
"How about you buy me frozen yogurt instead? Ooh, better yet, a Slusho."
"Sounds good."
- - - - - - - - - -
"These are really good," Veronica says, as she takes a sip from her giant Blueberry Zoom Slusho. The cafeteria is deserted and the lights at the station are already dimmed. Piz shakes his head and tilts an eyebrow at Weevil, who has joined them after he finished the mop-down.
"You're gonna die an early death," Weevil says, handing her the cafeteria keys. "I have an early day tomorrow. I'll stop by to pick them up."
"Wallace's room," Veronica says, taking the keys and placing them in her pocket. "Thanks, Eli."
"Yeah, yeah. Don't keep her out too late," he adds, a warning to Piz.
"Yes, uh, sir," Piz replies.
Veronica bursts out laughing. "No need to be afraid of Weevil. Also, no need to make me snort blue slush out of my nostrils."
"That would be infinitely attractive," Piz ponders. "And painful." He takes a sip from his cup. "What flavor is this again?"
Veronica looks at his cup sideways and smiles. "I think we're better off not knowing."
"Ain't that the truth." He taps his cup against the table, trying to think of what exactly to say. "So, uh, I kind of remember you suggesting that I wash my shoes last night."
"Is that so?" Veronica asks.
"Was that before or after you had your way with me?" Piz jokes. He's discovered that making light of situations, desires and uncomfortable conversations is the only way he can survive them.
"After. I like my men with shoes," Veronica replies. She laughs heartily. "You also promised that when you sobered up we'd talk about deep things, like macaroni."
Piz's face pinks up, a childish quality he has yet to shake. "Yeah, I'm a lousy drunk. Back home I would stumble into the tub and fall asleep there. My sister woke me up by turning on the shower on me a couple of times."
"You have a sister?" Veronica asks, surprised.
Piz nods. "Iza. She's... thirteen now? Impossible age. She was cute until she was about seven, then she got annoying. Last time I called home, she had threatened to run away and my dad placed a ladder right by her window, you know, he's like 'You want to go and get out of my hair?' All in good fun. I guess she'll grow out of it and then I'll have to, like, fend off the boys."
"I bet you were a terrible kid at thirteen," Veronica says.
"Me? I was an angel. Well, no, I was a geek."
"Still are," she volunteers.
"Still am."
The silence of the cafeteria surrounds them. She wonders for a second how different her life and Piz's are. His family, his life, growing up. She's a little jealous of him, of his easy smile, his trusting eyes. She wishes he would rub off on her, even just a little.
She slurps the rest of the contents of her cup, then sticks her blue tongue out at Piz. He counters sticking out his green tongue at her. It's easy to smile right here, right now.
She continues recounting his drunken actions. "Let's see... oh, you also declared your love for the USPS."
"I what?" Piz asks, confused.
"You said, and I quote, 'Nothing Better The Postal Service'," she says, smiling mischievously.
He looks at her quizzically before putting two and two together. "That's a song. The Postal Service is a band, and Nothing Better is a song." He pauses for a second. "I said that? Just... out of the blue?"
"Well, not completely out of the blue," Veronica replies, not volunteering anything else.
"I gather you've never heard the song," Piz says, standing. She shakes her head. "Come on." He motions towards the station and shows her his set of keys. "You've got some musical learning to do."
- - - - - - - - - - -
Sitting in the cabin, Veronica suddenly has a clearer idea of who Piz was. He moves expertly among the cables and knobs, treating the equipment with complete care. She watches him as he works slowly, taking an album out of its paper sleeve, smiling back at her. He enters the cabin and places a pair of headphones around her neck.
"You're not going to listen to it in here?" she asks.
He shakes her head. "Some things are individual experiences," he explains, placing the headphones over her ears. Carefully he adjusts them, brushing her hair out of the way. "Good?" he asks. She nods.
He leaves, closing the cabin door behind him. He sits on the control room chair and speaks softly into a microphone that is evidently connected to her earphones. "Tell me when you're ready, ok?"
She nods. She doesn't know what to expect, has no idea what kind of music it is, why he mentioned it, what it means. She watches as he pulls on a set of headphones. "Individual but shared experience," he whispers into the mike, a reddish tint creeping up his cheeks.
She smiles softly and gives him a thumbs-up. He turns his back to her and hits play, then fades in the music.
There's an electronic beat and a clear male voice, pleading. She tries to keep up with the lyrics. A woman's voice comes into play soon, and she starts to understand why Piz mentioned this song. A man trying to get back together with a woman, who tries to make him remember why they broke up in the first place.
The music itself is upbeat, even though the song is about reproaches, apologies. The song ends with the words, "say goodbye."
Veronica shakes her head. How could he know?
But maybe he doesn't. Maybe he just... guessed.
She looks up and sees Piz looking at her through the cabin glass. "Can you play it again?" she asks, but knows he doesn't hear her. He just watches her mouth words through a glass encasing. She gestures for him to play it once more, and he clicks on the song once more.
This time, he keeps his eyes trained on her. She doesn't pay much attention to him, concentrating on the words. After a few seconds, he lowers his eyes. He feels, in a way, that he's invading her space.
The song fades out and he stops the record before it goes to the next song. "You should hear the entire album, it's great. I can download it for you," he offers, a whisper into the microphone. He looks back into the cabin and she's taking off the headphones. It's hard to tell from where he's sitting, but she looks shaken. He takes off his headphones and opens the door for her.
"Why?" she asks, a single word.
He understands exactly what she's asking, but he can only answer by quoting the song. "Your heart won't heal right if you keep tearing out the sutures."
She bites her lower lip, breath shallow, slow nods. She doesn't know exactly when she starts crying, but she does. At first it's just a quiver of her lip, a tear squeezing out of the corner of her eye. But then it's tear upon tear, sob upon sob.
She doesn't ask for a hug but Piz needs to do something, even if it's just providing support so she won't crumple to the ground. She is rigid in his arms, fighting with herself over how to react, until she slowly gives in. He wraps his arms around her, his large hands holding her close. He can feel the warm tears on his t-shirt, and figures being just her friend isn't bad because he's here now, when he needs her.
He strokes her hair, softly, trying to soothe her, and wonders if he's crossing some unspoken line just by touching her. There must be frontiers, maps of outposts, guides to being her friend. Border police and armed guards.
Her tears subside eventually and she wipes her eyes on her sleeve. He drops his arms carefully, giving her an easy out of his hold. She doesn't take it.
When she looks up at him he knows he's in trouble. Veronica's eyes are reddened, but the sparkle is there. Piz feels his nerves jumbling up, building the preamble of a ramble. "If you give me your IPOD I can download the album for you," he started, softly. He couldn't help wiping away one of her tears with the back of his hand. "I've been meaning to give you a ton of music, but we never had the chance."
She nods. Taking a step back, she looks down to the ground, apologetic. "Sorry for the whole... breakdown thing... I swear, I don't know what came over me," she adds, dismissing everything.
He watches her, nodding, willing himself to either be brave or shut up. He's always doing things halfway, and he doesn't really know how to make it work. "Don't mention it."
"Thanks," she says, grabbing her bag. "For everything," she adds, almost an afterthought. "I should go."
He nods, unjacking his headphones and wrapping the cable carefully around his hand. "I have to finish up in here." Piz looks up and attempts his weakest smile ever, before giving up. "Just leave me the keys and I'll close up," he adds.
She nods. "I'm staying over at my dad's tonight," she offers, and he's relieved.
Veronica hands him the keys, struggling with how to say goodbye when she wants to say so many other things. She wants to thank him. She wants to hug him. She wants to show him that she understands what he just did for her. But she can't and she doesn't.
She stands on the tips of her toes and gives him a gentle kiss on the cheek.
He understands.
For a second he teeters on the brink of courage. He wants to tell her that he could be good for her if she just gave him a chance, but he also wants to say that he doesn't want to be her rebound. He wants her to understand that even though he doesn't look it, he hates second place. But he bites down his words and says only, "Goodnight."
- - - - - - - - - - -
It's a few days before they see each other again, through the glass that separates the radio station from the cafeteria. His smile is wide once again as he finishes his show. Instead of getting up and walking around, he holds something up for her to see.
She approaches the cabin, her eyes narrowing quizzically. He signs off and walks to the glass between them. She smiles. He's like a giddy five year old, showing her a toy or a kitten.
It's a disk he holds up against the glass.
Then, with a felt-tip pen, he writes something on the disk.
He presses it against the glass, smudging the writing just a bit.
It says, "Macaroni".
She laughs.
- - - - - - - - - -
She sits in her room listening to the mix-tape style CD he's made for her.
He made a show of giving her his headphones to use, because hers are "crappy".
At first she thinks it's a mistake, but after the third track, she realizes he's purposely recorded only one song, fifteen times.
She thinks she owes him this much, so she listens to the same song. Fifteen times.
She recognizes it as the same band she'd listened to the other night. The song, this time, starts like an arcade game, then moves into more palatable territory. By the fifth track she's forwarding directly to the voices, to the words.
This is Piz's confession. She has to admit that he's not the bravest soul in all the land, so much was counting on her hearing the disc, understanding the words. But then, she understands something else. He's giving her the choice.
He's just telling her where he stands.
She follows the song lyrics, and by the time she's on the twelfth track, she can sing them. "I'll be the platform shoes, undo what heredity's done to you, you won't have to strain to look into my eyes," she sings softly, laughing.
- - - - - - - - - -
It's a week later that she finally works up the nerve to face him again. She knocks on the door to Piz and Wallace's room, where the cry of "Logan, frak off" - the frak written above the crossed out curse word – remains. She can hear the sound of a guitar coming from inside the room.
Piz's voice says come in, without even asking who it is. She can gauge his surprise by his delay in smiling. His fingers stay put, close to his guitar strings, waiting.
"Do I get a restraining order?" he asked, attempting humor.
She shrugs. "Wanna talk about Macaroni?"
It's his turn to shrug. "Do you?"
"I want you to tell me," she says, sitting across from him, in Wallace's empty bed.
"Tell you?" he asks, confused.
She points to the disk in her hand. "Tell me."
Piz nods softly. "I think I'd be good for you... if you let me."
"And?" she asks, almost a whisper.
"And I don't want to be just a rebound."
She nods. She's holding back tears because she can see that in his eyes, he means this. All of it. And she's scared.
"And?"
He gives her the saddest smile she's ever seen. He softly starts strumming, his eyes looking up into hers. "I want to take you far from the cynics in this town, and kiss you on the mouth," he starts, and she recognizes it, the end of the song he has given her, of the promises the song has made to her. "We'll cut our bodies free from the tethers of this scene, start a brand new colony, where everything will change, we'll give ourselves new names. Identities erased, the sun will heat the grounds under our bare feet, in this brand new colony..."
She finishes with him, for him. "This brand new colony."
He places his guitar aside and takes two steps towards her, giving her his hand. She stands, so much shorter than him and he smiles, because he knows she's thinking about the same line in the same song as he is.
For once, he thinks they might be on the same page.
He knows she can't promise anything, and he finds that he doesn't mind.
He places a hand behind her back and his other hand pulls her face closer to his. His lips touch hers softly at first, and then he is unstoppable, a super-hero. He kisses her with the fierce knowledge that maybe he only has a few weeks, maybe he only has tonight, maybe she'll never truly be his.
But when she kisses him back, it doesn't matter.
His strong arms raise her up a few inches and her feet aren't touching the ground anymore.
She opens her eyes and tilts her head. He smiles, a real smile this time, full of hope.
He says, "Huh."
And she says, "Yeah."
The End.
Author's note:
Thanks for reading. Please, let me know if you liked it or hated it. I'd love to know if people are still interested in reading these.
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