Pairing/Characters: Lamb, Veronica
Word Count: 1350
Summary: He’s obsessed with her.
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for 2.03, “Cheatty, Cheatty, Bang, Bang” and “Nobody Puts Baby in a Corner” although I take scenes from those two and twist them.
“You’re eighteen now, kiddo, you’re an adult.”
She’s an adult and he doesn’t have to call her father. He doesn’t have to tell Keith Mars that his precious baby girl is sitting in front of him. He doesn’t have to screw around with juvenile—she’s ready for the big courts with the real judges and juries that would hate her as much as her 09er classmates, because an actress on the stand—faking sympathy, slithering around in saccharine sadness—doesn’t make her any different than who she is. She’s Veronica Mars and people always hate the smart kid.
He enjoys the look on her face, though, when she realizes that he’s right. Her lips fall slightly and her mouth no longer sets itself in a self-satisfied smirk—it’s more of a whoops-shit-SHIT-Lamb-is-right-and-the-w
“Well,” she murmurs, “even a blind squirrel finds its nuts once and a while.”
He slams his hands on the table and he sees the ephemeral flash of fear flood through her body. Back stiffens, face freezes—it’s a similarity all beings share—fear.
“Murder, Mars, murder,” he can see the comeback in her eyes (‘Glad to know you can say the word ‘murder,’ Deputy’) but he silences the words and continues.
“Murder—serious thing. I hear one ounce of gossip or get a shard of evidence that supports my suspicions and you’re done for.”
She leans in and he can see her gaining strength from all those previous encounters—he can feel the anger and the bile and the hatred rising—he can see the memory of the night he refused to help her—he can see it and he feels his own back straightening.
“Haven’t you learned that your one-track mind gets you into trouble? Oh, that’s right, Deputy, remembering more than one thing at a time is so difficult for you.”
His eyes grow hard and he leans in so he’s breathing the same air she is—she exhales, he inhales, she inhales what he exhales.
“Get out, now.”
She pushes the chair back quickly and leaves the interrogation room. For several minutes after the door closes, Lamb sits in his chair with a hand wrapped around his cock, waiting for his erection to subside.
He hates her for that.
She dated Logan Echolls. She’s dating Duncan Kane. She has a working relationship with Eli “Weevil” Navarro.
But none of them destroyed her father.
Lamb gets the call from the Mannings and goes over to investigate. Just a typical B&E, he feels. And then it’s home to HBO and beer and loneliness.
No, not loneliness.
He picked up a picture of Veronica from the station today. She was in the paper for some silly reason.
He cut it out when he was alone in his office. He likes to think that he cut it out because he wants to take it home and put it up on the dartboard he keeps in his bedroom. The dartboard that’s full of all the people he would like to hit with more than a dart one day.
He’s not sure if he’ll be able to throw darts at her and tells himself this lie to make himself feel better. Sounds better than he just hates the girl. But the truth tingles on his tongue—the truth that he needs something to look at when he’s getting off. The truth can’t get out. If it does, rumors will swirl that he’s obsessed.
And perhaps he is.
He sees her that night, kneeling on the floor. He sees her and for a moment he forgets himself, forgets that he’s a cop and a sheriff and that he’s supposed to arrest somebody. But it’s at that moment—when he sees her kneeling—that’s when he knows he’s gone. There’s a power surge that shoots through him—he feels it touch every part of his body and he mentally controls his erection this time. He has the power. He is power.
And for a few moments, as Veronica spills her desperate attempt at justice and Manning screams at her, all Lamb wants to do is to kiss her. To slam into her in front of her boyfriend. To say ‘fuck you’ to this ranting religious fanatic behind him.
Instead, he tells both of them to shut up and cuffs Veronica and the Kane kid.
He lets them out around the corner because when he went back inside that house he found the room and he found his memories and he found his father again and it’s all too much for him right now—his focus isn’t on his duties, his focus isn’t on Veronica Mars (she’s so sullen in the backseat, so full of simmering hatred towards him)—his father’s in that house.
He goes back and parks a reasonable distance away from the house—it’s the warning to those parents that his father never got. It’s the warning that I’ll be back and I’ll get you and you’ll never live this down.
“Do you believe in ghosts?”
It’s Jake Kane’s question and he can’t help but remember it as he sits here and sees his childhood memories play out in the house across the street. Somewhere, perhaps, his conscience is telling him not to take out his anger on these misguided people.
And somewhere, too, there’s the voice of Veronica Mars, sarcasm stripped, subtlety avoided—bluntness preferred.
“Don’t let them get away with it.”
He calls her into the sheriff’s office the next day.
“You know,” she says as she leans in and her voice descends several decibels, “you call me in to talk with me so often I’m starting to think you get a thrill out of this.”
“Oh, I do. I do. What I want to know is why were you in the Manning’s house. What do you know?”
“Lil’ ol’ me know something? Why, sheriff, thank you for overestimating my intelligence. I’m so glad you think I’m…smart!”
Her impertinence makes him hard.
“Mars,” he growls, “there are so many things I could do to you right now. Drop the attitude.”
“Aw, does the poor widdle dweputy feel like he’s out of his wange?”
He’s out from behind his desk before she mangles “range.” His hands are on either side of the chair in front of her. She tries to stand up and escape, but he’s stronger than she is. He lets his knee come up and sets it right in between her legs. He presses it against her crotch—she whimpers, he knows he’s crossed a line.
“Let go of me,” she hisses.
“Not until you let go of me.”
He slams his mouth against hers and it’s so hot and he can’t believe it—she slowly accedes her mouth to him and he lets his tongue slip in and venture around—he caresses her tongue, her teeth, and then he withdraws his body completely, leaving her there breathless.
“Mars,” he says and wipes her lip-gloss from his lips.
“Bastard,” she barely manages to whisper.
“I want the information you have regarding the Manning’s. Either that, or there’ll be a story circulating in the gossipy circles of Neptune’s finest socialites that Veronica Mars came onto the honorable Sheriff Lamb in a fit of blind passion. I’ll ruin you,” he smirks.
“I’ve been ruined before, Deputy,” she says and leaves the office.
When he walks into his office the next morning, he’s not surprised to find a file lying neatly on the middle of his desk. It reads “Manning Case” on the top of the manila folder. He smirks and sits down behind the desk to read it. He not only has the information that will help him send away this incarnation of his father, but he also managed to intimidate and kiss Veronica Mars in the process of getting it.
He opens the folder. In twelve-point block letters in the middle of the page it simply reads:
OFFICER LAMB IS AN ASSHOLE.
He slams the folder shut.
Sometimes he wonders why he keeps up this obsession with her. Sometimes he wonders how those names hurt more when they come from her. Sometimes he imagines fucking her when she’s in handcuffs—fucking her when he’s in control. Sometimes she’s all that permeates throughout his mind.