Neptune
Episode One/Part Three – The Wizard of Neptune
Veronica wakes to the sounds of Motown - The Temptations, she thinks - and the mouth-watering aroma of frying bacon. Disoriented at first - she can't remember the last time she woke up to anything other than a silent, empty apartment - she eventually remembers coming home to Neptune.
Home.
She spends several seconds indulging in the images of old cartoons where scents waft through the air in currents of white curly smoke with beckoning fingers at the end. Were she a character in one of those cartoons, she would rise from bed now, eyes still closed, arms extended zombie-style to follow the scent, narrowly escaping disasters such as open manhole covers, swinging I-beams, and falling pianos, perhaps with the help of Backup to nudge her out of the way.
She opens her eyes. Nope still in bed.
She briefly debates the merits of remaining in a warm comfy bed vs. bacon. Of course, the bacon wins out.
Padding down the hall in pajamas and footie socks, she lingers in the doorway to watch her father kitchen-dance to 'Papa Was a Rolling Stone'.
You still have the moves old man, but if catch you doing James Brown jump splits, I'm intervening.
Two crossover steps and a spin takes him to the stainless steel stove, where he pokes at the sizzling bacon with a pair of orange silicon-coated tongs.
He turns around, noticing Veronica. "Good morning, o' fruit of my loins," he says, lowering the volume on the under-cabinet CD player.
"Don't," Veronica shudders exaggeratedly and holds up a hand in protest. "There's a reason that term is antiquated."
"How was your sleep?" Keith approaches, examining her face with concerned eyes.
Not good, but nowhere near as rocky as usual.
"I slept fine." She eyes the pan with interest. "I don't suppose some of that bacon just might be for me?"
"Help yourself." Keith gives her a quick tour of the small kitchen opening honey-toned cabinets and drawers to show her where to find silverware, dishes, and most importantly, coffee pods.
Minutes later, she's seated at the table across from her father with a plate of bacon and a fresh cup of hazelnut coffee. She pointedly avoids his eyes while considering potential conversation starters.
'How was the booty call?'
'Are you two crazy kids using protection?'
'I guess it's a little late for that birds and bees talk?'
Keith breaks the ice. "So, should we do the whole carpool to the office thing?"
"Can't. Weevil's dropping off his old Hearst ID badge for me this morning. I'll have to meet you there later."
"Okay." Keith nods. "Well, since you'll be here anyway, the phone company is sending somebody to fix the landline. Can you let him in?"
"Or her," Veronica answers, sipping from her coffee.
"Or her," Keith corrects.
"Not a problem. I'll humor your over-reliance upon old-fashioned communication devices."
"Says the girl whose cell phone battery died yesterday."
She points at him. "Touché"
Keith leaves for the office, and after spending a few minutes cleaning up, Veronica showers and gets ready for the day.
The Keurig machine whirs and gurgles as Veronica brews another cup of coffee and checks her cell.
She'd forgotten to power the phone back on after dinner last night, and now finds three more texts and a voicemail from her partner-slash-sometimes lover, Joe.
Conflicted between guilt and annoyance, her lips press together in a thin slash. After two years of being partners, she owes him an explanation, but she's still angry with him for letting her down when she needed him to have her back.
She makes the decision to get this over with, sighing and dropping down into a chair.
He answers on the first ring. "Veronica? Where are you?"
"Neptune. At my dad's house." She circles the rim of her mug with her index finger.
"Okay. Alright. So you're taking some time? How long do you think you'll be away?"
Silence.
Silence.
Deep breath.
"I'm not coming back." She pulls the napkin from under her coffee spoon, halving it, and running a fingernail against the fold.
"WHAT?" Well acquainted with his legendary temper, she imagines him erupting from his chair to pace.
"I'm. Just. Done." She begins twisting the napkin. "Turned in my resignation. Paid the last month on my lease. Hired the movers and forwarded my mail.
Silence.
He exhales, probably forcing himself to speak calmly. "Why are you doing this, Veronica?"
"You know why."
"The Veronica I know doesn't let herself be chased away by one case."
And there you go, pissing me off again.
"It's not just one case! He's a serial. And he's fixated on me." She says, icily.
"We've talked about this." She can literally hear his eye roll.
"No!" Her voice rises in pitch. "I talked! You ignored me. All you had to do was back me up and convince Burns to call in a profiler. One tiny request."
"It's a series of coincidences. Nothing more." His pained, long-suffering sigh pushes her too far.
"I'm done. I have to go."
"Wait!"
"I'm done Joe. It's not just about the case. I'm. Burnt. Out. I can't remember the last time I was actually happy." The napkin is now twisted into a tight rope, and she begins coiling it cinnamon bun style.
"What about me?"
Was that an actual whine?
"You'll get a new partner. Maybe not as talented as me, but…"
"What about us?"
Definitely a whine.
"Us? Joe, there is no us."
"What do you call these last months?"
"Unprofessional? A mistake?"
"Don't."
"It was sex, Joe. A releasing of physical tension. Nothing more." She untwists the napkin, and begins ripping it into long, even strips.
He answers quietly. "Not for me."
Bullshit.
"Don't try to pull that. We weren't dating. We weren't exchanging house keys. We weren't even spending the night. You didn't want anything serious any more than I did." She realizes she's clenching her jaw, and tries to relax.
"No!" He stabs out the word. "That's what I let you think. That was the only way I could have you, and I didn't want to scare you away."
"Joe, don't do this."
"I care about you, Veronica. I need you in my life," he says with a hint of desperation.
Veronica sighs. Why are you doing this?
"Listen. I'm angry with you for refusing to trust my instincts. But I'm not purposely trying to hurt you. I thought we were on the same page. This wasn't some deep emotional love affair. We had good sex, but developing any type of feelings would have interfered with our ability to catch killers. So I didn't allow it to happen."
"I can't let you go. I won't."
Won't let me? Do you realize who you're talking to?
"And now? You're starting to creep me out. Goodbye Joe." She disconnects the call, and drops her face into her hands, allowing herself the luxury of a good wallow for a few minutes before finally rising, and cleaning up the napkin shreds.
Well that was unpleasant.
She'd never intended to get involved with her partner. Sure, his good looks had been the first thing she'd noticed about him when they'd been assigned, but he'd been dating a model at the time, and she'd been dating Pete, the third in a line of long-term 'nice-guy' boyfriends. While she'd respected Joe as a partner, and his ability to get the job done, she hadn't liked him very much as a person. His tendency to shift blame for every problem in his life grated on her. Everything that went wrong was because of his parents, or his first girlfriend, or the kid who stole his lunch money in second grade.
One night, shaken by the case they'd caught earlier - the murder of a seven year old girl - and fresh off her breakup with Pete, they'd found themselves at the bar doing tequila shots. She remembers taking him in - his dark eyes, cocky smile - and thinking 'Nice Guy hasn't worked out, maybe it's time to try Bad Boy again. For tonight.' The sex had been a marked improvement over Pete, but even better had been when he'd acted as if nothing had changed when showed up for work the next day.
He was never supposed to develop feelings for her, because he had never been a viable boyfriend option.
The knock at the front door startles Veronica out of her thoughts, causing her hand to jerk and almost overturn her now lukewarm coffee.
I'm rattled way too easily these days.
She laughs at her own paranoia and pushes away from the table to let Weevil in. He looks good, but she stares at him for a moment, disconcerted. Like everything else since she's been back, his appearance feels...odd...to her. More proof Neptune has moved on without her.
"What, V?" he asks, amused by her expression. "Didn't think I knew how to iron a shirt?"
"You iron?" She says in the tone of voice usually reserved for something like: 'you do particle physics?'
"Nah." He grins. "I've got this steam contraption-thingy. Two minutes flat. Don't even need to take the shirt off the hanger."
"Awesome, remind me to send you home with my laundry." She steps aside to let him in, catching another whiff of his woodsy cologne. "Coffee?"
"I wish I could," he says, handing her a card, still warm from his pocket. "...but I need to be at work in fifteen minutes."
She examines the card. White, with a thick red border, it contains the Hearst logo, a photo, and Weevil's name. Luckily, it's laminated, rather than one of the newer magnetic PVC cards. A spring-loaded clamp looped through a cutout allows it to be attached to clothing. "So this is more of a security badge than an ID card."
"Yeah, red border is for staff, blue would be for students." Weevil reaches out a thick fingertip to touch the badge. "You'll want to work a little Photoshop magic to change out the name and photo, but you'll get past the guardhouse as long as they don't examine it too closely."
"Excellent."
"Wait, let me think…" He pauses. "The guards - you see a short man with blond hair and a huge nose, turn around and leave. Pretend you don't have your card or something. He comes across as a nice guy, but he'll call the cops on you in a heartbeat for having the forgery."
"Sounds like a winner."
"His name's Milo Adderly, and you have no idea what a prick he can be." His face twists in disgust at the mere mention of the name. "I'll find out when my buddy Cody is on duty. That'll be the best time to go. Just smile at him and do that head tilt thing, and he'll barely glance at the card. He's a tall guy. Burly. Reddish hair. One of those stubborn chins that makes him look like an asshole. He's not, though."
"If you have a buddy in the guard house, why are we bothering with this ID badge thing?"
"Uh uh," he said, shaking his head emphatically to make his point. "No. If you get caught, I don't want you taking anybody down with you. They take security very seriously these days."
"I understand," she said. She'd do this his way. For now. She could push later - if necessary.
She stops him on the way out the door. "By the way, what is that cologne you're wearing?"
"Um..." His eyes move up and to the right, in a way she's come to recognize as visualizing something from memory. "Stuff's called Oud Azur." He spells it for her. "By Krigler. Why? Want to buy some for that special man in your life?"
"No, just curious. It's nice. And there's really only one special man in my life - you might know him - short, bald guy?" She laughs at the widening of his eyes. "The other short, bald guy. And if I were in the market to buy cologne for him, it would smell like skunks and mildew and spoiled milk. The perfect touch for nights with his special lady friend."
Weevil laughs heartily as he backs down the steps. "Yeah, I figured you'd disapprove of that relationship."
"Disapproval is putting it mildly."
Weevil drives away in a red classic Mustang, and Veronica goes to work on the ID badge, running a blade carefully along the edge of the laminate, and extracting the cardstock with a pair of tweezers. After connecting to her father's flatbed scanner and importing the image, she spends the next hour meticulously Photoshopping a Hearst badge in the name of Dottie Hinson. Finally, pleased with the results, she prints it out to cardstock.
She dials her dad on her cell while comparing her version of the badge to Weevil's.
Damn. The font is a little off and I'll have to darken the photo.
"Mars Investigations," her father answers. "Keith Mars speaking."
"Dad, it's me." She enters the kitchen, contemplating whether to brew a third cup of coffee.
"What's up?"
She decides to check the fridge first. "How could I go about getting an ID badge laminated?"
"Just go to Kinkos or Office Max like everybody else."
There, in the back is a lone can of Skist. Jackpot! "Can't. It's for the Jackie Cook case. I can't walk into a Kinkos and ask them to laminate a card for me to bypass Hearst campus security."
He lets out an amused sigh. "Back one day and already finding ways to break the law."
"I turned in my law-abiding ways along with my badge. Renegade looks better on me."
Keith chuckles. "I seem to remember you having a collection of ID cards. License massage therapist, if I recall?"
"Hey, I happen to give fairly adequate massages, thank you very much, and before you ask, no, I will not rub your feet. Anyway, those all came by mail. I don't have the luxury of waiting for this one."
She brings up the Office Max site on her laptop, clicking the link for laminating machines. Fifteen results display. She clicks the 'Available for Store Pickup' checkbox to narrow the selection down to four.
"Maybe I'll just swing by Office Max later and pick up a laminator. They have four in-store models."
"Wait. Before you do, tell me about the original ID. Can you loosely fold it?" Keith asks.
Veronica thinks about how much force she'd had to apply to the blade in order to slice through the card. "No. It was thick and unbendable - like drivers licenses used to be before they switched to PVC.
"Okay, sounds like 10 mil. You don't have to worry about width, but most laminating machines have a max thickness as well."
She skims the four remaining selections. "Damn. They all say 3 - 5 mil."
"You'll probably need a commercial thermal laminator for this. Bill Schroder used to make these for me, but he picked up shop and moved to Vegas. Tell you what, I'll call around to some of my contacts and see if I can locate one for you."
"Thanks, dad. You're the best!" The soda makes a hissing sound as she pops the top open.
"I do accept foot rubs as payment."
Veronica screws up her face. "That is literally made of eww."
"Speaking of identification…" Keith changes the subject.
She pauses on the verge of taking a sip. "Yes?"
"What's the status of your PI license?"
"I don't know. It has to be expired by now, right?" She retrieves the strongbox where she stores her most important documents from the closet shelf in her room, and brings it back to the kitchen table, flipping on the bright overhead light on the way.
"You'll need to get it reinstated. In order to add you to the agency's insurance policy, you need to be legal."
"Okay, I'll get on that." She flicks the combination lock to 3188, opens the lid, and begins rifling through papers inside.
"Wait…" Keith says. "I'm looking at the FAQs on the website right now…'How long after the expiration of my license am I able to renew it?'"
"So what's the answer?" She sets things in a pile as she empties the box. High school diploma...birth certificate...a handful of old love letters - two in a careful blocky script, the rest in a dramatic flowing script...
Keith continues reading. "If, after three years, you fail to renew a delinquent license, you must submit a new application and begin the application process again."
"Well, that's encouraging." Her eyes fall upon the document in question. "Oh here it is."
"You found it?"
"Yeah." She examines the document, does the math in her head, and then groans in frustration. "It expired three years and two months ago."
She can hear the wince in Keith's voice. "You missed it by only two months?"
"Looks like it. I can't believe I have to start the entire process all over again. This could take months."
"On the plus side, maybe you'll be able to beat my score this time."
"Not funny, old man. I would have beaten it last time if—" The sound of the doorbell interrupts her. "That's the door. I'll call you back."
She sets down her cell and uses both hands to hurriedly shove papers back into the strongbox, closing and locking the lid before rushing to answer the door.
The tall man in a service uniform on the front steps offers Veronica a friendly smile as she opens the door. He opens his mouth to introduce himself, and then freezes, eyes widening.
"Veronica Mars?" Apparently, her presence is a surprise for him, and not the balloons and noisemakers type.
"Yes?"
"Wow. I didn't…" He glances down in confusion at the paperwork on his clipboard. "I would have sent another technician, but the service order says Mark Keith." He turns the clipboard to show the form to Veronica.
"That's Mars, Keith," she says, sparing a glance at the form. "Do I know you from somewhere?"
"You don't remember me?" He seems surprised.
Why? Were you thinking you'd left an indelible mark upon my psyche? "You look vaguely familiar."
"Rick Smith." He stares at his feet, as if severely uncomfortable. "Um…we had that…incident…in high school."
"Well now you've narrowed it down to only half of the student body. Can you be more specific?"
He seems relieved to not be remembered, moving down a step, and poised to leave. "How about I send somebody else to fix your phone line? I can probably get somebody here by tomorrow afternoon."
What did I do to you to make you so eager to get away from me? "Does my breath stink or something?" She cups a hand over her mouth and breathes. "Should I be offended here?"
"No." He shakes his head. "I just figured you wouldn't want me around." He moves down another step to ground level.
"Wait! I do know you!"
He squirms under her intense gaze.
"You're the guy who almost got me charged with a felony, and tried to blame it on a secret society - the Tritons."
"Yeah…" He exhales, and looks up with remorseful eyes. "I'm that guy."
He still seems just as pathetic.
He moves back up one step with his hands held up in a goodwill gesture. "Listen. I sincerely apologize from the bottom of my heart."
She waits him out.
"I'm not trying to make excuses, but that was one of the worst periods of my life. Everything was falling apart. My dad being fired and arrested. My parents' divorce. I was drinking all the time and acting out."
Veronica narrows her eyes. "I could have been charged with a felony."
"I know, and I am so sorry."
He does seem sincere.
"What happened after you were busted?"
"They lowered the charges to a misdemeanor and sentenced me to six months community service. I ended up finishing school at Pan High."
"Of course you got a slap on the wrist," she says bitterly. "You were an 09er. Did you even consider that Lamb would have thrown the book at me?"
"No. I swear! Everything just got out of hand. I thought that maybe you'd get detention. A suspension at the most." He nervously wiggles his fingernails between the carbons on the service order form.
But did I consider the possible consequences when I planted a bong in a certain locker?
Rick steps backwards again. "I'll just call back to the office and see what I can do about rearranging appointments. Maybe we can get another guy in here this afternoon?"
I intimidate the hell out of him.
Good.
"Yeah. You do that." Veronica says dryly.
"Sorry for wasting your time." He gives a small apologetic wave and walks to the pale gray minivan painted with the red and white 'SoCal Telecom Specialists' logo.
Veronica turns to close the door.
I remember being less upset by the set-up than by the fact that they were trying to pass off obvious fakes as my work.
The door is halfway closed when it occurs to her. She spins around and jogs down the front steps to the driveway. Rick is still at the end of the driveway waiting for an approaching car to pass. When he sees her waving, he pulls back forward and lowers his window. "Something wrong?"
"The laminating machine. What did you do with it?"
"The one we used for the fake ids?"
"Yes." She motions for him to spit it out.
He looks up, thinking. "I don't know. It's probably up in my mom's dusty attic. She never throws anything away. Why?"
"I need an ID card laminated. Like immediately." At the expression of alarm in his eyes, she holds up her hand in reassurance. "No, not a government-issued ID. A college ID. For a case."
He still seems hesitant.
"I'll pay you well."
"I couldn't accept money from you after what I did."
"But—"
"I'll do it. I mean, I can't promise the machine is still there, or even functional, but I'll go over to mom's after work and at least try."
"Thanks. You're a life saver."
Ask and you shall receive. She grins up to the universe at large. I'd also like a brand new car if you can arrange that.
"Where's the card you need laminated?" he asks.
She remembers she still needs to correct the font and the lighting. "It needs a tiny bit more work."
Rick puts the van in park. "How long?"
"Not sure. Actually, you can repair my dad's retro communication device while you wait." She smirks.
He gives her a relieved smile, and climbs out of the van with his clipboard. "Thanks. I wasn't looking forward to explaining to my tyrant sister-in-law she'd have to rearrange appointments because I was a moron at sixteen."
"Your sister-in-law?"
"My brother's wife. She liaisons with the phone companies, accepts the contracts, and stuff. It's a family business, and she runs it with an iron fist."
"Come on in," Veronica says. "But I'm warning you now, I have a taser, so don't even look at me funny."
He holds up both hands in innocence. "My face will be a mask of indifference."
Veronica leads him into the house, showing him the locations of the wall jacks.
She grabs her strongbox from the kitchen table. "If you don't need anything else…"
"I'm good, thanks."
It takes her two more tries to get the lighting perfect on the photo and three to get the font spacing perfected. The clock on the stove reads 1:15 PM when she finds Rick in the kitchen watching the readout on an electronic device plugged into the wall jack. Looking up as she enters, he grins and turns the device towards her, allowing her to see flashing digital numbers that mean nothing to her. "Getting a signal now. Few more minutes."
She's showing him the printed cardstock – two copies in case he makes a mistake – and the plastic from Weevil's old ID card pointing out the rounded corners and ¼ inch of overlap, when her cell rings.
"Hello?"
"Veronica. It's me," Keith says. "Good news and bad news."
"What's up?"
"I talked to a contact that used to work at the California Bureau of Security and Investigative services."
"Okay?"
"Turns out there's a 'special circumstances' extension you can get to avoid having to start the PI application process all over again."
"Well that's the good news, what's the bad?"
"The extension can only be signed by the sheriff or the county supervisor."
"Hmmm...Well, we both know Vinnie won't sign it. He can't have me around showing-up his sheriff's department. Looks like I'll be paying a little visit to the Mayor of Neptune."
Rick is standing awkwardly, with his clipboard in his hand as if waiting for her to get off the phone. She holds up one finger to tell him she'll be off in a second.
"Hey, need to go. The phone repair guy needs to talk to me."
"Wait. Veronica. You need—"
"I remember the drill with Mayor Wilson. He does favors for deserts. Specifically Tiramisu from The Hut. Gotta go." She hangs up.
Rick is smiling at her. "So hey, if you ever need any help with any other cases, just let me know. I know I owe you big-time..."
Uh-oh. I recognize that look. Piz Piznarski, circa 2007. Don't even think about asking me out, buddy. One laminated card does not make us even.
Although…a few more favors...
Her phone rings again. "Forget something, dad?"
Joe's voice answers. "Veronica. Can we please just talk?"
Oh dear God, can't he take a hint?
"No. I can't talk, Joe. We can discuss our relationship later." Rick's smile falls. Hint taken? "I'm in the middle of something. Goodbye."
She disconnects the call, signs-off on the service order form, and finishes up her own business with Rick. He promises to call with an update on the ID card later that evening.
When, three minutes later, Joe's name shows once again on caller id, she ignores the call and powers off her phone for good measure.
He never could take no for an answer.
Veronica double-checks her reflection in the glass windows outside of the new City Hall. Her black pencil skirt - worn without the matching jacket - ends inches above her knees. She pairs it with a recently purchased blouse in a rich shade of emerald, short sleeved with feminine detailing, in a fabric that glides across her skin like silk without any of the negative properties. Her hair falls in waves around her shoulders, and her classic black pumps accentuate her calves nicely.
Although the bagged desert in her hand should do the trick, she's known Mayor Jeff Wilson - through her father - since high school, and is aware of his appreciation for a nice set of legs.
I'll have him eating out of the palm of my hand.
The austere lobby of city hall is deserted. Nobody lingers on the unobtrusive maple benches tucked in between potted trees. Nobody climbs the focal-piece staircase or looks down from the balcony. She shivers from the chill of the air conditioning, and glances left and right to get her bearings. This building was newly built the last time she was here, almost seven years ago.
Was the mayor's office upstairs or down that hall to the right?
Or maybe I should follow that large brass sign with an arrow pointing right?
Her heel clicks on the mosaic tile floors bounce loudly off the tall, vaulted ceiling as she rounds the corner. She stops in front of the far door - wooden with a frosted glass window, labeled 'County Supervisor's Office' in gold leaf.
Smoothing out her skirt one last time, she turns the knob and steps into the office shutting the door silently behind her. She stands in tastefully furnished reception area. Straight ahead, on the far side of the room, a narrow hallway leads back to the mayor's inner sanctum. Immediately to her left a tall counter divides the waiting area from the receptionist/supermodel perched with her back to Veronica on the edge of a desk, a phone pressed to her ear.
"And then…the fourth time we broke up, he swore he only wanted me, but when I went out for drinks with Amy that same night, there he was with that skanky blonde he used to date."
"No, not her." She listens to the other end of the call and then continues. "Not her either. That was a different time. There have been a few blondes. No, she's just a friend." Pause. "No, it's not his fault. He's damaged or something."
Momentary silence.
"Because his mom was never there for him, and his dad…well…you know."
How do I know that voice?
Gia Goodman?
"But I know he's the guy for me. We just click on this…you know…cellular level."
Oh, crap. Maybe I didn't think this through enough.
Veronica can only see two possible outcomes. She announces her presence, and Gia tells her she can't get in to Mayor Wilson without an appointment. Or she gets trapped for the next hour 'catching up' with the details of Gia's dramatic love life.
She eyes the closed door at the end of the hallway longingly.
Or maybe there's a third option.
She makes a split decision, thankful for the rebuilt City Hall. Back in the days of Woody Goodman, the mayor's office had glass walls, and it would have been impossible to sneak past the receptionist.
Dropping to her knees, she cradles the bakery bag and crawls past the reception area as quickly and silently as possible.
"No, he hasn't actually called yet. But I'll make him wait a few more days before I take him back." Gia never breaks from her conversation. "...because I just know I'm the only one who can help heal his soul."
Veronica rolls her eyes. Some girls never learn.
Maybe I will have to find time to catch up with her. Somebody needs a reality check - Veronica Mars style.
But not before I get my license extension.
Once safely out of view in the hallway, Veronica stands and smoothes her clothing again. A faint repetitive thumping noise comes from the office at the end of the hallway, and to be safe, Veronica tiptoes the rest of the way to the door.
Forgive me for my tenacity, Mayor Wilson, but this is kind of time-sensitive.
She opens the door, slipping inside and holding the knob to allow the door to close silently.
The office is larger than most, with a large cherry desk dominating the far side, and a matching round conference table circled by four mauve cushioned chairs to Veronica's left. At first, the room appears empty, but then she registers that the tall burgundy leather chair is facing away from the doorway.
A hand rises up and tosses a small blue ball - the type used by racquetball players - at the round, copper City Seal mounted on the far wall. It strikes the second letter 'E' in 'Neptune', before bouncing back into the hand. Tossed again, it strikes the letters 'C', 'A', and 'L' in 'California' in a steady thumping rhythm.
Our tax dollars at work, ladies and gentlemen. Odd, I never took Wilson for the type to slack on the job.
Well...better announce my presence.
"Mr. Wilson?" she calls out. The hand freezes, missing the ball on its bounce back from the letter 'I'. It hits the desktop and bounces, rolling across the floor to Veronica's feet.
"Hi, I'm sorry for disturbing you and sneaking past your secretary, but I really need to talk to you immediately."
The hand, until now, still frozen in the same position, finally lowers, and the chair slowly turns to face her.
Well that isn't Jeff Wilson.
FUCK!
Veronica's stomach bottoms-out like an elevator with its cable snipped. She finds herself incapable of looking away, as the County Supervisor rises from his chair.
This is wrong. It makes no sense.
This is 'Guess what, Veronica? The sky is chartreuse; the earth is flat, and 2 + 2 = 629' wrong.
From his slack jaw and wide eyes, it's obvious the mayor is as surprised by her presence as she is of his. They remain deadlocked for what feels like several hours. Then he's moving. Crossing the office in long powerful strides.
Her gut clenches and she unconsciously stops breathing as her pulse begins to race. On the scale of 'fight-or-flight', she's definitely leaning towards flight. But her feet won't cooperate, remaining frozen to the spot. She stares at the offending appendages as if trying to will them into action.
Flight, I said! Move!
And then he's in standing front of her, and her heart is racing faster than any rabbit's.
With agonizing slowness, she raises her eyes to his face, and what she sees reflected back at her makes her eyes flood and her chest tighten painfully.
She jerks her gaze away, inspecting her pumps and a pair of expensive black loafers through blurred vision. Tries to swallow, but the lump in her throat gets in the way.
Tears? What the hell is wrong with you, Veronica? You're not that girl.
Get the hell out of here!
Run!
She takes a shaky breath and lets it out, reaches deep inside for any small measure of control, and finally raises her eyes, curling her lips into a tiny forced smile.
It slips away unnoticed under the fierce intensity of his gaze.
Deer, meet headlights.
Run. Run. Run. Run.
She meets his mouth halfway. A violent collision of lips and teeth and tongue.
A hand lifts as if to push him away, but instead slides up into his hair and roughly drags him closer. Kissing him harder. Fisting the soft material of his suit jacket with her free hand. Breath quickening. Pulse accelerating. Overcome by how nothing has changed - the same intoxicating aquatic scent, the same minty taste on his tongue, the same little "Mmm" sound he makes as the kiss deepens. His hands are on her back. Around her neck. In her hair. Cupping her face. Alternately tender and rough.
Her back slams against the door, followed by her head, leaving her breathless. A large hand slides in to cradle the back of her head, as his mouth tries to move down to her neck. She laughs, dragging him back to her mouth. She wasn't done.
She's losing her ability to think rationally, and doesn't give a damn. The only thing that matters is that there are spaces between them that need to be eliminated. She's arching her back to crush her breasts against him. She's pulling him closer by the hips, but can't get the damn parts to align correctly. And then, fuck it, she's climbing him like a tree, wrapping her legs around his waist. Aligning. The forgotten bag, still hanging from her wrist bounces against his back with a soft thump and a crinkle. Hands move to support her weight, sliding up her bare thighs, under her skirt, to her ass.
He pulls back to catch his breath, and pauses to stare at her, eyes wide in disbelief. She bites her lip self-consciously, not yet ready to be under the microscope. Please, no talking. Just go with it. And then he's smiling – the kind of smile that inches slowly across the face – and she can't fucking breathe.
He's beautiful. How did I forget how damn beautiful he is?
She could stare at his face for days - even feels an answering smile tugging at her own lips – but she has a much better use for his beautiful mouth. She pulls him in again, kissing him deeply and urgently. Crushed between his body and the door, she rocks her hips against his erection, causing him to moan in her mouth. So perfect. He manages to lock the door with a loud click, and then long fingers slip inside her panties gripping her ass cheek tightly. She answers by grinding against him more aggressively. His sharp inhale sucks air from her lungs and without breaking the kiss, he whirls around.
They're moving, and she's laughing - holding on with one hand and untucking his shirt with the other. He's stumbling - that damn blue rubber ball - and then righting himself. Snickering against her mouth as he kicks it across the room and resumes his track.
They're stopping. One warm hand disappears from her thigh, leaving a cold spot, and then the contents of his desktop are crashing and clattering to the floor. So we've decided to wake the dead? He deposits her on the hard surface, and leans into the kiss while shrugging out of his suit jacket. She doesn't have enough hands for all the places she wants to touch, but settles for locating the knot on his tie, and prying at it until it loosens enough to pull over his head.
He's pressing her backwards, and with her legs wrapped so tightly around his waist, she's pulling him with her. She's stretched out full-length on his massive cherry desk and he's on top of her, kissing her senseless.
She's dizzy. Incapable of thought, as he shifts his attention to her neck, honing in on the junction of neck to shoulder. She gasps for breath, and if her nipples weren't already hard, they would be now. There's a desperation to the way she pushes against his chest to relieve the pressure.
"Boss?" Gia's tinny voice projects from somewhere on the floor.
He groans in annoyance, continuing his assault on Veronica's neck.
"I heard a loud noise. Is everything ok in there?"
He sighs, raising his head enough to get his bearings. Trails kisses along Veronica's jawline while dragging the phone off the floor by its cord. It clatters onto the desktop, and he lifts up on one elbow to press the intercom button.
"Everything's fine!" Presses a kiss to Veronica's mouth. "Cancel all of my appointments and take the rest of the day off." Kisses his way to the other side of Veronica's neck.
Veronica realizes that (1) this is the first time she's heard his voice, and (2) when it's husky like this, it still does funny things to her insides. She fumbles with the top button on his shirt.
"But you have an appointment with Dave Bartlett, and I've had to reschedule it twice already." Gia says.
Two buttons, no three buttons down, as he lifts back up on his elbow, shooting a baleful glare at the intercom. "Make it a third and go," he says, urgently.
With his long, graceful throat right above her, Veronica can't resist running her tongue up its length. He answers with a grinding of his hips.
He's so damn hard. What was I saying about putty in my hands earlier?
"I didn't like the sound of that bang." Gia insists.
"Please go." He whimpers, and whether it's due to frustration at Gia, or Veronica's teeth on his throat she can't say.
He releases the intercom button and lifts up on both arms, gazing down at Veronica hungrily, while allowing her to clumsily work at his shirt buttons. Her stomach flip-flops in anticipation. He's deciding what he wants to do to me.
His eyes are on her breasts, and she trembles, resisting the mad urge to rip her own shirt open for him. Her nipples are so tight right now, it's actually painful, and are clearly visible through her blouse. If he doesn't do something soon…
He meets her eyes again giving her his trademark bob of the eyebrows. The one he uses for a hundred different meanings. Today, it seems to be a cross between 'We should do something about that' and 'I'm going in.'
He ducks his head taking one of her nipples between his teeth and her hips fly up off the desk crashing against his erection. He lets out a sexy laugh, and pinches her other nipple between two fingers. She forgets all about unbuttoning his shirt - forgets all about breathing - as her hand moves to the back of his head. Her legs wrap around his ass, working as leverage to drag his hips down as she presses up into him. She watches his eyes nearly roll back from the sensation, and repeats the motion.
Gia's voice intrudes again. "You know, if there were terrorists in there with you, and they were holding a gun to your head, they could be forcing you tell me to leave."
He pulls up onto his knees, straddling Veronica. His eyes are glazed-over with desire, and he caresses her breast with his thumb as he leans forward to press the button. "Gia, just leave!"
Veronica manages the last two buttons on his shirt, and he shrugs it off his shoulders revealing his bare upper body to her eyes for the first time in years.
Mine!
She has to shake away her first thought, it's so off base, it's not even funny. Her second, third and fourth thoughts are more acceptable: FUUUUCK! Want! Damn, somebody's been hitting the gym, respectively.
Gia's still babbling. "If somebody has a gun to your head, just give me some kind of sign. What's the code word?"
"We don't have a fucking code word!" He growls in frustration. Then, in pleasure, as Veronica reaches out and squeezes his erection, perfectly outlined by his dress pants. His head falls backwards and his hips thrust forward against her hand.
"Yes we do, I came up with it that day you worked up the pool proposal. You really need to work on your effective listening skills. I can recommend an online training course for that."
His eyes find Veronica's. 'Can you fucking believe this?' She smirks and shrugs, and he leans over to press the button again.
"Fine. I'll get right on that. Tomorrow, if you'll just go. Now."
He moves to kiss her again, but she puts out a hand to keep him upright. He eyes her with barely restrained eagerness as she pushes herself up into a sitting position. So close, but not yet touching, she can feel the heat radiating from his bare skin.
Her hands lift to glide over his back and chest. Mine. Along shoulders and abs. Mine. Brushing fingertips over places that make him tremble. Smooth places, and places lightly dusted with hair. Caressing and squeezing. Cataloguing differences in shape or contour. Mine.
Just like it always has, the word repeats like a mantra in her head, no matter how hard she tries to push it away. Then again, this entire situation is crazy. It's best not to overthink it.
His breathing is faster now, and a glance up at his eyes tells her how much he enjoys what she's doing.
Of course he does. He lives to touch and be touched.
And...the lump in her throat returns. A sharp stab of grief and loss.
I took this away from him.
Which is ridiculous, of course. He's probably been with dozens of women over the years. Most of them fully equipped with hands.
But did they give this to him? Did they know how much it means to him? Did they do it right?
Get a fucking grip, Veronica. Sex now. Over-analysis later.
Sex now.
Leaning forward, she licks his nipple with the flat of her tongue, causing his hands to tighten reflexively on her waist. She swirls her tongue around it, while his fingers locate the hidden side zipper on her skirt. She takes his tiny nipple between her teeth. Almost laughs as his breath comes out in a hiss and his hips jerk involuntarily.
Turnabout is fair play, sweetheart.
She flicks her tongue against his captured nipple, just to make him squirm.
His thumbs are rubbing half circles on the skin right above her skirt, making it difficult to figure out how to work a belt buckle. It sticks, and she has to tug on the end a few times to pull it free. His button and zipper are less problematic. She runs the tip of her fingernail down the exposed crimson silk of his boxers.
He groans, and then turns the tables, crushing his mouth against hers. And again, she's swept up. He's kissing her in that particular way that…
Leaves me foggy and dazed?
Makes my toes curl?
Makes every other man I've ever kissed look like an amateur.
He's abandoned her mouth, and is kissing his way down her neck, tracing her clavicle with his tongue, and popping open the buttons on her blouse. More skilled than she is, he manages to slide it off her shoulders in mere seconds. Not like he hasn't had plenty of practice.
She almost laughs as he pulls back to stare at her. He forgets how well she knows him.
Step one. Show appropriate awe and appreciation for the beauty of the blonde wearing black lace bra.
Step two. Surreptitiously scope out the hardware.
His eyes zero in the front-hook between her breasts.
Ding ding. Target acquired.
God, you're such a guy, but it's my turn.
She pushes roughly on the waist of his pants. Why won't they come off?
Because he's sitting back on his heels, genius.
She gives him a little shove, and he gets the message, smiling almost shyly as he slides onto the floor and tosses his wallet on the desk.
Leaning all the way back onto her elbows, she watches him with lowered lids as he slowly drops his pants. Damn! Instead of coming right back to her, he leans over and tugs on the hem of her skirt with both hands. She lifts her hips off the desk as he shimmies the material over her hips and down her legs.
I am so glad I went with a matching bra and panty set today.
He eyes her heels, appreciatively, and she knows him. He'd much rather she leave them on, but he goes ahead and slides them off her feet.
Now he's staring at her, and she's literally tingling all over from the heat of his gaze.
He climbs back up, and kneels over top of her. Eyes predatory.
That's my boy.
Just how I like you.
He unconsciously licks his lips.
FUCK!
Her breasts are tight and begging for contact.
Do something. Put your hands on me. Put your mouth on me. Get the fuck inside me.
He leans forward to kiss her.
Gia's voice returns on the intercom. "So hey, has Dick even asked about me?"
Veronica can't help but snort out a laugh. He smirks down at her - there he is - and just to be an ass, pops open her bra, exposing her breasts before turning to the phone and pressing the intercom button.
Fucking tease. Touch me already!
"Gia?" he says, voice now deceptively calm.
"Yes?"
"That noise you heard earlier?"
"Yeah?"
"I was clearing off my desk to have sex. Which you've managed to interrupt four times now."
"GAWD!" Gia says. "I mean I know masturbation is a natural and healthy part of the human experience and everything – some studies say that 95% of men do it – but would it kill you to do it in the bathroom or something?"
Veronica throws her head back and laughs. He flicks her nipple with his thumb and index finger and tries to fight a smile.
He inhales and exhales, striving for calm before pushing the button to answer. "Actually Gia, I have somebody here with me. Somebody I really really want to have sex with, and if you fucking ruin this for me, I will fire you faster than your head can spin. Now leave, for God's sake."
Ruin it for you? As if I've ever been the one to put on the breaks between us?
He dips his chest just enough to graze her breasts with the soft hair on his chest, before pulling back up with that awful damn - beautiful - smirk of his.
"Well why didn't you just say that in the first place? How would I have ever guessed that? I'll clear your schedule and see you tomorrow."
He groans in relief. Pushes the button. "Thank you."
Veronica reaches for him, but he holds up a finger. Keeps an eye on the intercom, his eyes saying 'Wait...for...it'.
Gia's voice returns. "And you firing me? As if! You need me a lot more than I need this job. Like you could ever figure out how to run this office without me."
"You're absolutely right. You're the oil that keeps the wheels squeaky around here. Or something like that."
"Good. Now enjoy your sex or whatever. You deserve it."
He closes his eyes and shakes his head in disbelief. Waits silently. Makes the hurry-up gesture at the intercom, while Veronica looks on.
Gia speaks. "Um...the Clorax Wipes are in the utility closet behind my desk. For...you know. The broom and dustpan are there too, in case you broke anything."
He pushes the button. "Good to know. Good night."
That must be what he was waiting for, because the moment he releases the button, his mouth is on Veronica's breast. Oh my fucking...YES. Sucking and swirling with his tongue, and...yep, he still remembers that sensitive spot at the edge of the areola. FUCK.
Her hands slide inside the back of his boxers. Mine. Dragging him against her, as she lifts to meet him.
As he lifts his head to switch to her other breast, she pushes at his waistband, baring his ass. He gives her a half-smile, and lifts up to his knees to drop the boxers, kicking them off a leg at a time.
Uh oh. This is getting real.
She wraps her hand around his erection, and his head falls back. God, he feels perfect in my hand. He exhales loudly at the ceiling before looking back at her.
She makes the mistake of meeting his eyes.
He's giving her that look. The look that no other man has ever been able to replicate. The one that says without words, 'I see you clearly. I understand you like nobody else ever has. I love you completely and always will.'
She pulls his face to her breast so he can't see the moisture flooding her eyes.
For months – ever since this whole ordeal started – her life has been hell. She's twitchy and on edge. Probably suffering from depression. Even before that, it's been a string of one bad relationship after another. She colder now. Her heart 'closed for business' for all intents and purposes.
But for a moment there, she'd thought 'He could be my haven. He could keep me safe, and love me, and make me forget.'
He probably would too, without complaint, but it would be cruel to use him that way.
So she loses herself in the physical - his lips on the sensitive undersides of her breasts. The solid feel of him in her hand. The little gasp he makes when she guides him closer, pressing him against her panties, and rocking up against him.
He shifts lower, palming her breast as he traces her ribs with his tongue. She inhales as he drags his teeth along the innermost curve of her waist. She knows what he's doing. Testing out the little spots that elicit responses from her.
How can he remember more than the last three guys ever bothered to learn?
She shivers all over when he runs his short fingernails lightly down the back of her thigh. Watches him smile into her skin.
He slides lower. Her stomach muscles clench as he kisses her hip bone. The muscles in her ass and thighs tighten as he kisses across her lower belly to her other hipbone. She fucking trembles when he presses his face to her panties. Every muscle in her body tenses to keep her hips from pushing up. She fails a moment later when he gently nips the inside of her thigh. He doesn't even try to hide his smirk.
Teasing bastard.
He locks eyes with her as he reaches for her panties, and she holds her breath as he slowly peels them away from her hips and down her legs. She can't remember the last time she's felt this exposed.
Her legs are bent, feet flat on the desk, and he's between them, hugging her right leg and pressing his cheek to the inside of her knee. He's looking at her from under his lashes, and years seem to disappear from his face. He's sixteen years old again, and still thinks she's the answer to all of his prayers.
Her chest constricts almost painfully.
Damn him! Sex isn't supposed to be like this.
Except…maybe it kinda is. For other people. People who aren't as broken and hardened as they are.
She smiles softly at him – gives him the go-ahead – and he's sprinkling kisses up her thigh, creating indescribable sensations in her belly.
Gia's voice comes over the intercom. "So how did this happen anyway? Did you finally sign up for that speed-dating service I recommended?"
Their eyes meet in disbelief, and then Veronica twists, and dives for the phone, holds down the intercom button, and speaks in her iciest voice. "Gia? If you interrupt one more time, I'm going to come out there, and trust me, I'm the last person you want to deal with."
"Okay, okay! I'm leaving now," Gia answers in a sullen voice.
"Make sure that you do."
When she releases the button and turns back, he is right there. He's looking up at her in invitation, and kneading her inner thighs with his thumbs. She's almost scared, but she knows he enjoys this almost as much as she does. So she exhales, closes her eyes, and lets him guide her to his mouth. And when his tongue touches her clit…
"HOLY MOTHER OF WHAT THE FUCK!"
He snorts against her, and seriously, what the hell was that? Felt more like a live wire than a tongue.
How can he still make me feel this way?
Her body is as taut as a bowstring, neck bowed, chin up, fingers curled around the edge of the desktop behind her, as he alternates taps and dashes and circles with his tongue.
Missed this so much.
She's all deep sighs and breathy moans when his fingers slide inside her, moving in and out in time with his tongue. As he increases his speed, her breathing becomes ragged. She feels as if she's gathering energy from every other region of her body, and redistributing it to the place between her thighs. She's babbling a steady stream of 'ohmigodohmigodohmigod', and when he gently sucks her clit into his mouth, she's exploding in waves of sensation, his name on her lips.
Then he's beside her, and she's cradled in his arms. He's whispering nonsense and kissing her, and all she can hear is the sound of her pulse between her ears.
She's different, but not as different as she thinks. Her hair is longer. The dark circles are new. She's obviously haunted by something.
But she kisses the same. She touches the same. Her body still responds to him – even more so, if that's possible. And the gleam in her eyes may have dimmed, but it's still there.
If I have my way, we'll have it blazing back to life in no time.
But first...the obligatory chase, because there no way in hell she's giving in this easily.
He'd seen the fear in her eyes when she'd first locked eyes with him. She hadn't been expecting him here, and she sure as hell hadn't come back for him.
But if I'm lucky, she'll be staying for me.
His eyes widen when she rolls him over and straddles him. He gulps when he feels her wetness against him. His hands brace her hips to help her find a rhythm. Perfect.
If she knew the way his heart was palpating, she'd probably be gone already. If she knew the way he'd waited for this…
She's a tiny blond goddess looking down on him from above. Still so damn beautiful.
And he loves her.
Like always.
She's straddling him, one knee on the manila folder for the new Kane Wing at Neptune General. He's trying his damndest not to surge up into her.
Without taking his eyes off her, he feels around the desktop, finds a plastic bag with some kind of container inside, finds a post-it note pad, finally finds his wallet, and fishes out a condom.
Before he can even get it open, she's impaling herself on him, and he gasps. He hasn't been bareback since…her actually. She's the only one. Ever. The way she feels around him…can't even be described in words.
He palms her hips and guides her up and down, supporting her body weight as she rises, and letting gravity bring her back down. Her lips are slightly parted, her eyes glazed with passion, and he thinks it's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. Overcome with emotion, he pulls her mouth down to his, kissing her long and slow as if trying to compensate for lost years. This has to be the pinnacle of his life. He thinks he could die happy now, inside Veronica Mars, kissing her.
When they part, she gives him an apologetic smile and slides off him. She reaches for the condom and rolls it over his cock before sliding him back inside her. He loves her even more for giving him those few minutes of how things used to be.
And hopefully will be again.
She entwines their fingers together, pausing to examine his left hand, a ghost of a smile on her lips.
Not until you put one on me, baby.
She uses his hands as leverage, pushing against them to move a little faster, slam a little harder.
But it's too good. He's too close. He needs to slow things down.
Without withdrawing from her, he rolls her so that he's on top. He begins to rock inside of her, dipping his hips as she rises to meet him. Her legs wrap around his back, and he covers her neck and jaw with wet kisses, returning to her mouth every so often, breathing her in.
He locks eyes with her. And he knows he's probably telegraphing his feelings. Everything he felt for her six years ago. Everything he still feels today. He doesn't really care. He's come too far in life to start playing games now. And her eyes soften, and shift, and…
Holy shit!
She still loves me!
She loves him. She probably doesn't even know it herself, but he'd know that look anywhere. He sees it in his dreams. Veronica Mars still loves him.
She touches his face and lifts her head to give him the softest kiss. And he feels choked up inside. He feels like his soul has been injected with summer.
His chances are better than he'd initially thought.
It won't be easy, but then you know what they say about the ones that come easy.
He shifts his hips, adjusting his angle, until her eyes tell him he's found the spot. Holding the pose, he watches her pupils dilate as she approaches climax again.
Together, their breathing becomes more labored as he slams into her faster and faster. Fucking love you. Fucking love you. He watches her eyes as she comes, crying out his name again. The feel of her throbbing and contracting around his dick is too much for him to take, and he lets out a guttural moan, slamming hard into her one last time, and letting himself go.
He collapses on top of her, breathing in her perfume, and her essence. Feeling the pulse in her throat against his lips.
Once he has his breathing under control, he raises himself on his elbows, leaning down and planting a lingering kiss on her mouth.
"Welcome home, Bobcat." He smirks down at her.
"Hey, Logan." She smirks back.
End episode one:
Neptune wasn't waiting
But Logan was.
A/N1 As always, thanks to ShanghaiLily for everything! From beta-ing to talking me through my blocks. You freaking rock!
A/N2 Blame it on Plan B for forever shaping my head canon. It's not the most influential episode of the series, but it's the one that pops into my head first when people mention favorite episodes.
A/N3 So I hate to beg for reviews, but this is my first full real-time love scene, so a little curious whether I did it right, (or if the cuddling was the best part)? Thoughts?
A/N4 I've had a lot of requests for updates on the next Sometimes chapter. This is what I can tell you. So far, it's at around 15K words – and that's about 80% of the first draft. Probably will be at least 17K when I finish the first draft. Second drafts generally get longer, because that's when I add in all the details to make it come alive. So I'm almost positive that it'll be split into two chapters. Just as a reminder, I can't respond to anonymous reviews, and it would be mean to post a new chapter just to give a status update. What I can do, for those of you who want to keep track of where I'm at, is post periodic progress updates on my Tumblr. Check my profile page for a link, and check the right nav of my Tumblr page for the Silver Fic link.
A/N5 Writers: Sorry I'm so behind on my fic reading. Will be playing catch up next few days. Been killing myself trying to get a chapter up.
