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pheonixrss
Okay, so I don't post very often since I find the whole putting-my-life out-into-cyber-space thing kinda creepy, but I haven't put anything up in a year, so I really should. Let's see . . . last year was hell. The end. See everyone in another year. :)

Goodbye
pheonixrss
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am in a thousand winds that blow,
I am the softly falling snow.
I am the gentle showers of rain,
I am the fields of ripening grain.
I am in the morning hush,
I am in the graceful rush
Of beautiful birds in circling flight,
I am the starshine of the night.
I am in the flowers that bloom,
I am in a quiet room.
I am in the birds that sing,
I am in each lovely thing.
Do not stand at my grave and cry,
I am not there. I do not die.

Robert January 16, 2009

Shadows
pheonixrss
I grew up
Under shadows
Though no one
Ever knows

Shadows
Of the past
Traditions
Made to last

Become shadows
Of here and now
Theirs to mine
The ancestral vow

Angry, sad,
And alone
With this fear
Unknown

Abandoned,
Abused,
Drunk, and
Confused

The hidden sun
That never lit my face
Didn't feel so bad
It was my place

From shadows
I need to escape,
Find a way out of
Depression's black drape

But how do I
Get away from here?
Which way
Do I steer?

Because there isn't a way
To block shadows
And the more I try
The more it shows

Don't want to hide,
Don't want to run,
Only want
To see the sun.
Tags: ,

Matchmaker, Matchmaker
pheonixrss
Title: Matchmaker, Matchmaker
Author: pheonixrss
Pairing/Character: Morgan/Garcia, OC
Word Count: 3900
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Garcia's cousin comes for a visit and meddles.
Spoilers: The fic begins at the end of 3.14.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or
producers of Criminal Minds. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: My first G/M fic. :)

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Dark
pheonixrss
Touch the darkness
Feel it touch back
Hand to hand
It goes through
Feel it enter
Choke the heart
Possess the soul
Kill the spirit
Touch the darkness
Feel it touch back
Can Ophelia rise again?
Tags: ,

Wish You Were Here, Part III
pheonixrss
Part III
Veronica is surprised by the void Weevil leaves in her daily life. She’d gotten used to him being there when she opened the door, and she silently chides herself for letting hope creep in, for stupidly thinking that something had changed, that she could change. Her life has settled into a quiet monotony: movies with Piz, dinner with her father, basketball games with Wallace, studying with Mac. Always a polite smile, always a perfect line, always maintaining a safe distance. But when she lays awake at night, she wonders what he’s thinking, if he feels that same gnawing desperation, and she cries.

Veronica locks up her dad’s office and turns to find Weevil there, sitting on a bike.
“Look who’s got wheels again,” she says, managing to contain her excitement.
“What can I say? I missed the wind in my hair,” he smirks.
Veronica snorts. “Hair?”
Weevil scowls at her good-naturedly. “Figure of speech, chica.”
“Well, it may not be as pretty as your old bike, but it’s a hell of a lot better than that car. You in a car is just not natural.”
“Hey, hey! My bike was not pretty.”
“Oh no, of course not. It was very macho and tough and rugged and virile. Hell, you’d have to paint a cowboy riding bareback and smoking a cigarette to make it any more masculine!” Veronica smiles sweetly at him.
Weevil smirks. “Well, as long as we’ve got that straight.”
Veronica snickers, but decides not to take the bait. “So, do I get a ride?”
“Depends.”
Veronica raises her eyebrows. “On?”
Weevil looks down. “Well, chica, the thing is I’m going for a ride. And I don’t plan on coming back.”
“What do you mean?” she asks, her smile instantly gone.
Weevil looks at her, his eyes soft. “I never planned to stay here. My rap sheet aside, this town will never see me as anything but Weevil. I want more from my life than to clean other people’s houses.”
“There’s no shame in scrubbing toilet’s for a living. It’s honest work.” Veronica responds fiercely, trying to ignore the tears that burn the back of her eyes and the way her stomach has twisted up.
“There ain’t a hell of a lot of respect to it either.” He looks off into the distance. “That why I got into the PCHers to begin with; they demanded respect. It took me a long time to see the price of that.”
Veronica is silent, searching for something--anything--to keep him from driving away from her. Slowly, she accepts the truth of his words and two tears spill out. The wall has been breached, her shield is fractured.
Weevil gets off his bike and walks to her. He smiles gently and wipes the tears off her cheeks with the pads of his thumbs. “Veronica Mars is a marshmallow,” he whispers.
She laughs as the tears continue down her face. “I don’t want you to go,” she admits.
He leans down to catch her eyes. “Come with me.”
Veronica takes a step back. “What?”
“Come on, V. You gotta break free of Neptune some time. This place has a way of killing pretty little blondes.”
Veronica turns away, not wanting to think of her dead friends, but Weevil asks the million-dollar question.
“What’s keeping you here anyway?”
She takes a deep breath, wondering how he knows the question that haunts her. “I’m not just going to leave my dad.”
“Veronica, your dad knows you’ll never be happy here!”
“Everyone I care about is here,” she responds forcefully.
“You can’t stay for them. You can’t give up your life for them,” he persuades.
Veronica whips back around again, finally spitting out the bitter words. “I can’t leave them! My dad, Wallace, Mac . . . they need me.”
“So is that worth it? Letting this town eat you up?”
Veronica looks away, unable to give an answer.
“You’re never gonna have a real life if you do this. You’ll end of hating yourself and everyone around, you know that, right?”
“Then I guess I should have stayed with Logan after all,” she bites back, hating Weevil for saying the truth aloud.
He takes Veronica roughly by the shoulders and forces her to look at him. “Self-preservation is a natural human instinct.”
Veronica looks at Weevil sadly and slips gently into his arms. They stand there holding each other in the middle of the sidewalk, oblivious of the world around them. She steps back and wipes his tears away. Weevil takes a deep breath and nods. He kisses her on the forehead, then lets her go.
Veronica watches him get on the bike and drive away. She sits on the stoop of Mars Investigations and stares after him long after he’s gone.

Weevil doesn’t come back, and it kills her a little each day. But every few months she’ll get a postcard with four little words on it. Wish you were here.

Wish You Were Here, Part II
pheonixrss
Part II
Weevil’s public defender calls Veronica at home to tell her Weevil will be released the day after he testifies. She smiles broadly into the empty expanse of her room. The smile evaporates as Logan’s caller ID pops up on her phone. After a few minutes, she throws the phone on her bed tiredly.

Veronica is there when Weevil walks out of prison. She notes his split lip and how he leans slightly as he walks, but her smile is brilliant and her tongue silent. She hands him a doggie bag and milkshake as they settle into the car.
“What happened to the Le Baron?”
“She was old, needed to be put down,” Veronica replies fondly.
“Hm. I liked it.”
“You liked it? Never would’ve guessed.”
He shrugs with a smile. “She had class, attitude. That car fit you.”
Veronica rolls her eyes. “Eat your burger, Weevil.”

Keith wasn’t exactly thrilled with Veronica’s proposal; he had spent eighteen years keeping her away from gang members, having one as a houseguest kind of went against policy.
“Ex-gang member, Dad.”
“You say potato . . . ”
“No, I say relax-o. It would just be until he could get on his feet.”
“You’d be surprised how long it could take an ex-gang member to ‘get on his feet.’”
“Dad, you know Weevil--he’s not going to like this arrangement anymore than you.”
“Yes, I know Weevil. I arrested him for five years.”
Veronica looked down, clearly running out of ideas.
“Honey, why are you fighting so hard for him?”
Veronica looked back up at her father and shrugs simply. “Somebody should.”
Keith wasn’t sure if it was his daughter’s amazingly still-intact morality or the sadness in her eyes that made him relent.

They drive by the Camelot on their way into town. Weevil quickly swallows the last of his shake and nods to Veronica. “Let me out here.”
She looks at her passenger. “Here? Don’t think so.”
“Veronica,” he warns.
But before Weevil can launch into one of his patented don’t-make-me-kick-your-ass rants, Veronica rudely pokes him in the side.
Weevil winces and contracts away from her. “Hey, what the hell--”
“Cracked rib?”
Weevil clamps his mouth shut and fixes her with an unimpressed stare.
“You can stay there once that’s healed and you’re up to partaking of the Camelot’s specialized room-service,” she announces brightly.
“And where exactly am I going to stay until then? Last I checked, the Grand doesn’t accept food stamps.” Weevil glares at her, fearing the worst.
“Not the Grand, better,” she replies in the same cheery voice as she drives up to her apartment complex. “This place comes with free Band-Aids, all-you-can-use.”
“Not. A chance. In hell.”
“Hmm,” Veronica pretends to think, “What about Neptune?”

Weevil decides Veronica must really love to torture him. He decides this as she brings blankets and a pillow out to the couch for him. I mean, why else would she force him to sleep under the same roof after having been locked away from the fairer sex for so many cold, cold months? Torture, it’s the only answer. Then she tells him to take off his shirt.
“Uh-uh!”
“Weevil, I’m guessing your manly pride kept you from having your ribs checked by a medical professional. Luckily for you, I passed Health class with a B+,” she explains patiently.
“Congratulations,” he grunts, clearly restraining himself from the following ‘fuck you.’
“Now, while I don’t know how, I’m sure there’s some way that a broken rib could poke any number of vital organs resulting in your death. More importantly, I’m also sure that a broken rib could poke something that would result in penile complications.”
Weevil pales and glares even more intensely at his tormentor. “I’m 95% sure you’re full of crap, V.”
“Ahh, but that pesky 5% will get you to take your shirt off. Up, up!”
After a brief but excruciating assessment, Veronica sets to the task of taping Weevil’s ribs. And while she keeps this opinion very strictly to herself, Weevil is a very nice hunk of manhood. So to distract herself, she asks about the various tattoos she has never noticed so closely before. And to distract himself, Weevil allows this line of sterile questioning.
After far too long, Veronica finally proclaims, “Finished!”
“Well, it’s about damn time.” Weevil carefully lowers himself back down on the couch.
“Also known as, thank you,” Veronica replies pointedly.
“Thanks, chica.” Weevil doesn’t look at her, but his tone is genuine.
She smiles. “Hey, that’s what friends are for.” Veronica puts the medical supplies back in the bathroom and brings out a bag. “Tomorrow your life begins again, Eli Navarro. But for tonight, you get to catch up on all the action movies you have missed in the last six months.”
Weevil laughs, the first time today. “Why you so good to me, V?”
The honest joy and caring in his eyes automatically raises her shield. Swallowing it down, she shrugs and smiles at him. “It’s nothing you wouldn’t do for me.”
He nods slightly and takes a deep breath in. “So, do I have to watch these alone?”
“Took you long enough to ask!” This time her smile is easy.

Living with the Sheriff is going easier than Weevil had expected, finding a job was not. For the third day in a row, he comes back to Veronica’s apartment with a head full of no’s. Veronica and Keith are good to him, but the bleakness of his reality weighs heavily on Weevil. It became clear to Weevil quickly that this wonderful oasis Veronica had created for him did not exist outside those four walls. Weevil looks around the empty apartment for a moment, then grabs his jacket and heads out to Angel’s shop.
“Qué pasa, tio?”
Angel sticks his head out from under a rusted Caddy. “Sobrino! When did you get back into town?”
“About a week ago.”
“What took you so long to come by?” Angel smiles. “Oh, let me guess: it’s a girl.”
“Veronica Mars,” he admits.
“Ay, Dios. What is it with that girl? You finally tell her the truth?”
Weevil wills himself to his eyes and voice steady. “Angel. She’s doing me a favor.”
Angel gets up and walks over, wiping his hands as he goes. “Eli, sobrino, I may not have the brains of the family, but love I know.”
Weevil tries to cut in, but Angel puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Eli, escucha me, you do not want to realize when you are a fat, wrinkled, old man that you wasted the opportunities that came to you.”
Weevil shakes his head. “She doesn’t see me that way, tio.”
“Then open her eyes, stupid boy!” Angel softens after a moment. “She’s a nice girl, sobrino. Not as nice as some of the chicanas around here, but if you have to go outside the neighborhood . . . ”
Weevil laughs. “You never give up do you, tio?”
Angel looks around him. “This city teaches us strength,” he replies thoughtfully.
Weevil follows his gaze, noting the fading paint on houses and the shabby hand-me-downs two little girls wear. He takes it all in, finally letting memories back in. Memories of his abuelita, memories hurt so much, he built a wall around them, to keep them out. Weevil thinks of what his dear abuela would say to him. “Angel, you got a couch?”
“Of course, sobrino, it’s all yours,” he answers, though confused.

Veronica gets home as Weevil packs his clothes into a duffel bag.
“Hey, you going some place?”
Weevil stops and turns to her. “Yeah, Angel’s setting me up.”
“Oh.” Disappointment laces her voice and she looks down to avoid his eyes. A moment later she looks up, all sadness erased, contained behind a safe plexiglass wall. “You leaving now?”
“Yup.”
They stand awkwardly, both searching for the right words to ease the tension. Weevil finally slings his bag of his shoulder and walks over to the door.
“Say thanks to your dad for me.”
“Sure.”
“See you around, V.”
Veronica tries to think of something appropriate to say. “Hey, you ever get bored, just come looking for me in the dark alleys,” she smiles.

Six weeks later, Weevil comes home to Angel’s place after a hard day’s work of cleaning 09er cars. The pay sucks and Weevil hates the people, but it’s the only thing his parole officer could get him. That night Weevil collapses on his bed and has a dream of his old bike, an open road, and the sweet-smelling wind in his face. He wakes up with a plan.

Wish You Were Here, Part I
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Part I
Veronica sits in the prison wondering when walls had become so comforting; that nice plexiglass barrier that kept everyone out. She knows she has a problem with boundaries and barriers and all that other psychobabble that the shrinks spouted at her, and while people assume that was just a reaction to certain events in her life, the truth is she’s always been that way. She was after all a cop’s daughter. And while her father’s words were supposed to be a loving caution, her mother’s actions proved the darker truth of the message: people are a particularly vicious breed of animal.
A guard comes out, one hand resting above his gun holster and the other wrapped around his nightstick. “Visitors have one hour!” he barks, as the chain gang shuffles out behind him. Veronica startles out of her reverie and turns to look for the familiar face.
Veronica never considered herself a “stand by your man” kind of girl, but here she is every Wednesday afternoon like clockwork, come rain or shine or frat-boy rapists. Come to think of it, she was starting to develop a pattern here: Logan and the trial, Duncan and the baby . . . Veronica is seriously going to have to consider her masochistic tendencies. Another time.
Besides, Weevil is just a friend. And with his grandmother gone, Veronica is the only one left to keep him alive in here.
They don’t talk about her bruises or his bloody knuckles. He doesn’t bring up Echolls and she doesn’t ask about his cellmates. They talk about her cases and how the food here is worse than the Neptune High cafeteria. Weevil asks after Mac, Wallace, the Sheriff. She tells him that she’s staying home, and he gives her a real smile--his first in Chino. Veronica brings her class catalogue and Weevil helps her plan her first semester. Come Thanksgiving, she shows up with an entire pumpkin pie which he manages to put away in an hour.
Today, Weevil sits at the very end booth, next to the wall. That means he’s worried. He usually sits in the middle, exposed on all sides, just to prove what a badass he is. Something’s up.
“Hey, vato. How’s life in Oz?”
“It ain’t the Emerald City, V, but we do get a movie every Friday night. How’s hell?”
Veronica smiles and rolls her eyes. “You know Neptune.”
“And how is life for Veronica Mars these days?”
“Dead Week starts on Monday.”
“Dead week? Don’t tell me you’ve weighed your career options and decided to go with gangbanger. I thought you’d at least try to pass Rocks for Jocks first.”
The corner of her mouth crooks upward in a half-smile. “The week before finals teachers are supposed to not teach anything new, just review.”
“Oh. My bad.”
“So . . . I talked to your PD.”
Weevil’s head snaps to attention. “You and my lawyer trading style tips?”
“She called me, Weevil. Says things are getting tougher in here.”
“I hold my own.” His chin juts out angrily.
“Yes, you’re a big, strong caveman, we all know that, but there’s a reason why they died out. Your lawyer told me about the deal.”
“I’m done talking, V.” Weevil hangs up his phone and pushes his chair back.
“Wait.” She stands quickly, putting her hand on the glass to get his attention.
Weevil holds out for a few moments before picking up the phone again, but he doesn’t sit.
“You need to get out of here, and I don’t want it happening in a body bag.”
“So what, I have to spy on my cellmate to get outta here alive? Who cares, they’re just criminals!” he hisses at Veronica.
“We play the game, Eli, it’s not exactly a new concept,” she answers quietly.
He looks at Veronica. “Don’t do this to me, V.”
She idly taps her finger against the glass, avoiding his eyes. “Your lawyer is going to come for a meeting with you next week. She’ll need an answer.”
Weevil sighs heavily and sits back in his chair, refusing to look at her.
“You do this--you get the information, you testify . . . you can be out in two weeks. Think about it: six more months or two weeks.”
“Would you turn snitch to save your own ass?”
Veronica finally looks at him again, her eyes hard. “Self-preservation is the first natural response in every situation.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She shakes her head. “There’s no noble excuse I can give to help you sleep better, but my couch is a hell of a lot more comfortable than a jailbed.”
Weevil looks down. “I’ll think about it.”
Veronica takes a breath for the first time.

Ficlet: A Life Lost (Lamb) R
pheonixrss
Title: A Life Lost
Author: phoenixrss
Pairing/Character: Lamb
Word Count: 313
Rating: PG-13/R, to be safe
Summary: What does a man like Lamb think about as he dies?
Spoilers: Let’s say everything.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: Go easy on me, this is my first fic ever.
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Don Lamb always expected to leave Neptune. He would lie awake at night thinking of a far-off town where high school girls never fucked movie stars, or local sheriffs. A place where he didn’t have to always be one step ahead of himself, or anyone else who paid attention. A place where he didn’t have to constantly worry about the man he had become.
He would live in a white house with a lawn and picket fence, with his wife and son and daughter and their little dog that never drooled. There would never be beer or leftover pizza in the refrigerator. His shirts would always have starch in them. Bank fees would not be allowed. Birds would sing, clouds would roll by, and nothing scandalous would ever happen.
He thought of the woman who would be his wife. She would work at some non-descript office building doing something Don didn’t care enough to find out about. She would be nice and normal and boring. She would wear white at their wedding without any irony. She would have brown hair and think french manicures were snobby. Their sex life would be average, at best; he would always be on top, she would look out the window. She would never go at it in an elevator.
They would have kids, and he would exceed all other fathers. Don was desperately scared of children, scared of himself around children, but in this other life that would never be a problem. He would run on the grass with them all day, carry them into their beds at night, and watch their sweet faces as they dream. He would do everything his father never did--and skip a few things his father did do.
Don Lamb dreamt of these things as he lay bleeding from the head, knowing it would never come. He had stayed too long.