Author's note: Just a short idea, but I would kind of like to add more chapters and make a story or at least a collection of vignettes out of it. This takes place at the end of the first Season 2 episode, when Veronica and Weevil ride up to the scene of the bus crash. Please review!
Veronica thought that nothing could surprise her anymore. She thought she had already borne as many bad things as anyone should have to. She didn't understand what was happening when Weevil stopped the bike. She moved by instinct, without thinking, as she climbed off the bike and walked toward the crowd, the cliff, the tumult, the bad news. Duncan's familiar face loomed closer, and when she heard what had happened, she didn't feel much. Her stomach jerked, seeming to tighten or twist, and a cold chill swept her skin, but the voice in her head was soft and cold—Not again, not more, not now…
She saw Duncan walking closer, she saw the crowd looking toward her, and she knew she should walk forward and face it all and get to the bottom of this mystery and gasp and mourn and fume along with everyone else. But she was tired of being on either side of the community outcry, she was tired of death and of lives cut down in their prime, and she was tired of mysteries and demands on her strength to remind her of how little she had left. She stopped abruptly, turned on her heel, and walked as fast as she could in the opposite direction, hoping that if she didn't look at the scene, she might forget it. She put her hands over her face and strode faster.
She didn't even realize what had happened when she collided with a solid object. Her hands turned and grasped cool leather, and her face was pressed against a thin layer of soft fabric over warm flesh. Before she could move, arms were around her, hands were stroking her hair, and a voice, low and gravelly and gentle, was whispering rambling sentences in her ear.
It's OK, you're fine, you're safe, you always come out fine, it's not your fault, nothing will hurt you, I'll always come back for you, you'll be OK, I love you…
A beautiful jumble of words, incoherent and comforting and lovely, and she knew Weevil's voice, and his smell and the feel of him, from the times he had given her a ride—the only times she had been so close to him. His words sounded like nonsense, but they were kind, they were everything she wanted to believe, the best things she could hope to hear, and her hands clenched handfuls of his coat as though that could somehow push everything away, or keep comfort close.
His chin was leaning on the top of her head and the words continued—I'll take care of you, I'll stay with you, I've got you… She held onto the words like a lifeline, driving all other thoughts out of her mind as long as his voice carried on.
Then she felt someone else's hand on her shoulder, and she knew it was Duncan before he even spoke. "Veronica? Baby…" Questioning, uncertain words, pulling her back into the whirlwind of misery that she was trying to avoid, so she didn't answer, didn't even look at him, just pressed closer against the leather and cotton she was clinging to, deeper into the strong embrace and flow of words that comforted her. She didn't think of how strange or even cruel her actions would look. She was below the level of thoughts now, reverting back to instinct or even reflex.
A few minutes later, she came to her senses, composed herself, regained her strength. She reluctantly pulled back from the embrace, and his arms slowly released her. She took a step back and stared into his face, which looked drawn and weary, the forehead creased, the eyes full of sadness and longing that astonished her in their depth. She felt the same sorrow in her eyes, and their gazes stayed locked as she took a few more steps back, hesitant, as if unsure of her ability to stand on her own. Then Duncan's hand touched her shoulder, and this time she turned to look at him, answered when he spoke, pressed close to him when he held her, receiving his own familiar brand of comfort. But his arms felt like a mere echo of the arms that had held her in the first shock of the moment, and she couldn't help peering around his shoulder.
Weevil stood alone, still back from the crowd, his hand pressed against his chest as though protecting his heart. His eyes stayed on her for a long moment, then he turned and walked slowly back towards his bike, isolated from the crowd and now isolated from her. She felt a sharp stab of regret or loss, but she smothered it and turned her attention to Duncan and the words of the people around her, back to duty, back to the sick reality that served as her normalcy.
She didn't know why she felt so numb, or why her own heart beat so hard that she wondered if it was possible that it could actually break.
A/N: Any ideas of what to write about for future chapters?