bakerstreet | THE FLOOR. THE FLOOR. THE FLOOR IS LAVA.

THE FLOOR. THE FLOOR. THE FLOOR IS LAVA.

Just share the damn bed with me.

For whatever reason, the floor is unacceptable as a place to sleep. It's messy, the dog is there, THE FLOOR IS LAVA, or maybe there's flooding. Who cares why it's not acceptable, it just isn't! Normally, that's not an issue, but tonight you have a friend over. Maybe it's the safest place, maybe it's hurricane season and your house is the only one out of the path of the storm. Stop trying to figure out the details, just get over it and share the bed with that person! Sexy times are not required. Intimacy is not required.

Just share the damn bed already.

Do you need options? Here! Have some options!

1. It's late. You're tired. Too tired to drive and THE FLOOR IS LAVA.
2. It's late. You're drunk. Too drunk. Honestly, how did you drink that much and not die? Should we take you to the hospital? Here, just stay in this bed with me. No, you can't sleep on the floor. THE FLOOR IS LAVA.
3. It's early. You thought you'd just come by and visit but you can barely function. The bed seems inviting. Guess what, you're invited into the bed! Yes. The bed. Not the floor. THE FLOOR IS LAVA.
4. DO YOU LIKE TO CUDDLE? CUDDLING IS OKAY. And yes, the floor is lava.
5. WILDCARD. Just figure out a reason why you need to share the bed. But don't forget: the floor is lava!
6. The Crack Fun Insane Option - Actually Play the Floor is Lava Game!! Move about the room without touching the floor... because the floor is lava.

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You'd think they'd get tired of it by now. 'They' being the nebulous they; the ones that always thought drugging her was a good idea. She'd thought she'd been careful, too, only ordering non-alcoholic drinks and not drinking anything if she'd left it at the table alone, even for just a minute. She'd be angry about it later, if there was a later. She'd be furious about it later and take it out on the bastard who did it, if they didn't kill her this time.

She was pub, the little place she'd stopped in to get something to eat that had surprisingly picked up while she was there. Bodies were lined up against the long bar, filling the spots in between the bar and the wall with people eager to buy something to make them forget about whatever they wanted for the night.

Veronica was tiny compared to some of the crowd, bumping into bodies and trying to get out of the building before whoever had dosed her found her running off. If she could make it to her car, she could lock herself in. She'd be safe. The door was right ahead of her and she could feel the numbness in her lips, the heaviness in her lids as she tried to keep them open. No. No. She was getting out of here. A face appeared in front of her, laughing, and offered to show her a good time. She didn't have the ability to snap back at him, or even give him the finger. She just pushed past, aiming for the door. Laughter sounded behind her and mentions of her not being able to hold her liquor. They were right. She couldn't hold it. Not when she hadn't had any. So there. Hah.

Outside now, she took a minute to dig in her bag. Keys. She needed her keys. Had to get them ready. Keys. Got those. Keys. Her hand slid around something smooth and rectangular. Her phone. She should phone someone. She should phone Mac or Wallace to come pick her up. But Mac and Wallace were downstate in Neptune and no way were they going to get here in time. Not even her dad could magic that little trick and she pulled her phone out, looking glumly at it. She didn't even know anyone in town she could call.

No, wait. That was a lie. She knew someone. He was grumpy and scowly and dark and broody. And scary. Maybe he could scare off whoever might be following her. It took her longer than she wanted to to find his name, a voice in the back of her head telling her to leave now, leave before whoever drugged her came looking for her. She couldn't hear the voice because the phone was ringing.

Then she felt a hand on her shoulder and she was pulled around, vision spinning as she heard a voice telling her she should relax. It was okay. She just needed some air. How about a walk? Somewhere quiet. "Get lost." Her reply was laughed at and the hand on her shoulder turned into an arm around them both, an arm that pulled her in against a body she didn't know as they started to 'take her for a walk'. There was the taste of fear in her throat and she tried to pull away, but her hands weren't working properly. God dammit, not again.

Derek's since learned that La Loba isn't Cora at all. He knows who the obnoxious blonde is looking for when he sees her around town, but she still thinks she's hunting his sister. He's already hired Braeden to get the job done, so he has no intention of helping the girl from downstate, but that doesn't mean he isn't quietly keeping tabs on her. He knows when she's in Beacon Hills and tends to leave his loft in favor of anywhere else to avoid her.

The phone call he receives comes from a number he doesn't know and he almost doesn't bother answering it at all, but something tells him he should. Derek picks it up as he's walking through the warehouse district toward town where there's an abandoned house he hides out in when that damn woman is in town. He doesn't say a word, but the phone is off the hook and he thinks it's probably a pocket dial. There's a male voice telling someone to relax and suggesting a walk and is about to hang up when he hears her voice retort back for the original source to get lost. She sounds drunk out of her fucking mind and the subsequent laughter and weak struggle he hears before the rustle of clothing against the speaker drowns out the rest and the call ends.

His instincts tell him she's in trouble and a small part of him thinks maybe that's her fucking problem and he doesn't need to get involved. The larger part of him, though, knows he owes her one begrudgingly for the nightmare she woke him out of and, moreover, just because she's an asshole, doesn't mean she deserves what it sounds like she's about to get. So Derek takes off toward the pub crawl downtown. There's too many people, but he knows her scent, now, and he follows it until he finds her making weak struggle against a man just slightly smaller than himself. He's got her pushed against a brick wall in an alley and Derek stays back in the shadows, eyes glowing gold as he watches, waiting for the man to notice that they're not alone, anymore. When the guy's hands start to wander and Derek catches it in the piss-yellow light of the street lamp, he clears his throat to make himself known and steps out of the shadows.

"I'm pretty sure she said no," he points out calmly, eyes glowing with intensity and the tiny blonde is clearly in and out of consciousness because, when the assailant steps away from her with his hands up defensively in response to Derek's eyes and the fangs he's bearing, she slides down the brick wall until she crumples onto the street.

"We were just having some fun, man, you don't need to—"

Derek lets out a loud roar and snaps his fangs, sending the guy stumbling and running from the scene. That was easy enough.

She's out cold, or at least it looks like she is and Derek's no hero. He takes the opportunity to fish her wallet out of her purse. Time to find out who she really is.

Veronica Mars. From Neptune, California. Interesting.

Derek puts her wallet back and hooks the strap of her purse around the crook of his elbow before he scoops her up off the ground. He could probably find her car and leave her in it, but he's not that big an asshole. She wouldn't be safe, not in this state.

"Thought you were gonna find la loba at the bottom of a bottle, did ya, Veronica?" he asks, getting back to his feet and shifting her in his arms, cradling her limp form as he starts back toward the warehouse district.

Edited 2014-07-15 19:48 (UTC)

Some part of her mind recognizes the snarling growl that has the opposite effect on her it had before. Last time, she'd almost peed herself with how scared she'd been of him. Now? It was like having Backup show up out of nowhere and she felt a wash of relief when the hand she couldn't push away that had been going places it didn't need to go disappeared.

She slid down the wall and fogged out for a minute... maybe two. But her eyes fought to pull themselves open when she felt hands on her again. Blurry vision found a scowling face and god damn if she wasn't glad to see Derek. Creepy weirdo sulking werewolf he might be, but nothing she'd seen about him had giving her rapey vibes. Veronica had pretty good rapedar, courtesy of her own run ins, and Derek didn't set it off. He set off other blips; he was dangerous and she knew it and she still had no idea what that whole kissing booth thing had been about. Maybe her dad was right. Maybe she did have some kind of weird fixation on bad boys.

Nah. That was just ridiculous.

But the use of her actual name wasn't quite noticed as she took offense at the insinuation that she was drunk. She fought to lift her head, tried to give him a glare, but she barely made her mouth work. "M'not drunk. No booze. B'st'rd drugged..." Yep. That was the extent of her vocabulary skills right now.

The worst part was that her mind was right there along with it, fading in and out and tossing in random images from other occasions when she'd been helpless. She'd kick herself later for the small whimper that left her.

Well, that seemed to fit a little better, actually. The fact that she was drugged rather than drunk; it seemed a little less than he'd expect from a professional pain in his ass to be drinking on the job. He sighed a little, looking over his shoulder and half-wishing he'd left her in the alley for a couple more minutes to have a little more fun with the asshole who thought it was cool to stack the cards in his favor and take advantage. Derek was less than worried about Veronica herself, because he didn't like her. His issue was a general one. Derek Hale grew up in a matriarchal pack and he'd learned to respect women above all else, so he didn't take kindly to seeing women, even women he hated a little, being treated that way.

"Go back to sleep before I change my mind," he muttered more to himself than to her because she was in and out of consciousness anyway. There was nothing he could do to pull that out of her, so he'd just give her his bed for the night, a couple of bottles of water, and a waste bin to throw up in if she had to. Then in the morning, she could get the fuck out and be a little more careful next time. He willfully ignored the pathetic whimper that came out of her in the hopes that she'd given him the same courtesy when she'd broken into his place when he'd been having a nightmare.

The walk back to the loft wasn't a terribly long one and Derek's eyes lit up to focus through the darkness as he navigated through it for lack of a free hand to hit the lights. Derek put Veronica down on the end of the bed carefully, pulling back the covers and shifting her under them. "Don't puke in my bed, I swear to God," he warned, frowning, before leaving her there to head to the kitchen for water.

She hadn't been carried around often, for all that she was a small little thing, but she recognized the sensation; that half-floating bobbing feeling as he walked with her. For all that she really, really didn't like Derek (he was a jerk, a pain in her ass, grumpy, had something shoved up his butt, probably liked it up there too, the asshole), she felt oddly safe. Safe in the way that mattered to her. She wasn't suicidal or anything stupid like that, but she was less afraid of him potentially mauling her than she was of waking up without her underwear again. Priorities. She had them.

The bed felt like heaven, cool against her cheek and soft all over and she let herself relax into it. There was a frown on her face at the implication that she'd throw up in his bed. She wasn't drunk, jerk. She was drugged. Huge difference. The only reason she wasn't sleeping semi-peacefully was that survival instinct still needing to make sure he wasn't going to pull a fast one and chew her face off. She liked her face. It was right there, on her head. It was hers. No face chewing, stupid wolf. "D'n't you puke... bed."

Derek rolled his eyes at her weak, slurred response as he pulled a couple of bottles of water out of his refrigerator and shoved them under his arm so that he could swing past the bathroom and pilfer the waste bin from there for her. Derek didn't know what she'd been drugged with or what kind of effects that sort of thing had on human bodies, but he wasn't in love with the idea that it might make her sick. In his loft. ...in his bed.

"Here," he said, holding out one bottle of water to her, unopened, after setting down the bin and the other bottle on the floor beside her. "Hydrate. If you need help opening it, let me know, but I figure now you're probably especially skittish about open containers, so I figured I'd let you try it yourself."

His bedside manner left a lot to be desired, but he wasn't being intentionally cocky or shitty with her like he normally would've been.

Considering this was the second time she'd been drugged by something non-alcoholic, her wariness might have been on red alert -- if she could function past really liking how cool his sheet felt against her cheek. Again, her hand couldn't quite grab the bottle, so it sort of dropped and rolled against her side. Experience told her that even if she just passed out and slept like this, the worst she'd get would be something close to a hangover in the morning, so she wasn't too concerned with guzzling down water. But maybe the water would help with what was to come, so there was a struggled attempt to actually retrieve the bottle from where it rested by her side. She gave up after a few minutes.

Drugged or not, her mind always whirred and ran and it was whirring and running now, wondering why he'd actually decided to help her. He hated her. He could have just left her there to the guy, or chased him off and still left her there. So why was she here? Where was here? Here was a cool sheet. God, this sheet felt good. But she had questions. Lots of questions. All of them culminated into one word she managed to get out: "Why?"

At the complete and total apparent lack of motor skills Veronica was displaying, Derek sighed and retrieved the water bottle for her, cracking the seal with a twist of the cap and offering it to her again without actually completely opening it. He didn't let go of it, just held it out in case she felt so inclined to let him guide it to her.

"Why?" he asked back, lifting an eyebrow. Why what? Why hydrate? Why was he helping her? Why was he stupid enough to bring her willingly to his loft and use his bed? "Why what, exactly?"

She tried for the bottle again, attempting to prop herself up and failing, falling back and staring up at a ceiling that was spinning. She frowned, hating that she was like this. Hating that he was seeing her like this. He was the last person she wanted to find her in a vulnerable position, and yet here she was, basically baring her throat. Or underbelly. She wasn't quite sure how wolves worked. "You came."

Like that was supposed to answer everything. In a way, maybe it did. She'd called him because he was the only person she knew here. She called him because she couldn't let herself do nothing when she knew something bad was going to happen. She called him not expecting him to come and to give her another reason to hate him. But he'd come and that ruined everything.

Frowning slightly, Derek sat down on the bed beside her and propped her up with one arm just enough that she wouldn't choke if she wanted to try again for the water. He didn't look her in the eye when she responded, just moved the bottle back toward her. "You were in trouble."

It's a simple response to a complicated point. He could've left her. He could've failed to answer the phone at all and it wouldn't have weighed on his mind because he'd have been none the wiser. The fact of the matter is that, as much as he hated her, he wouldn't wish what it looked like she'd been about to endure on anyone. Not even her.

"I'm not that big a shithead," he added. "Try again," he finished, nodding down to the bottle.

There's something in the way he says it that has tears pricking her eyes, one sliding down the side of her face and into her hair as she tries to focus on him. 'Not that big of a shithead', he said, yet everyone in Neptune she'd considered a friend had watched what had happened and done nothing. They'd written her off as a drunk slut and she'd lost her virginity that night to a psychotic little shit who'd been given permission to have at her by his older brother. Too many people just let it happen and yet here's someone who actively disliked her who wouldn't.

It wasn't fair.

To his credit, Derek looked away from her face when he saw the tear because it wasn't his place to see it and he'd prefer he hadn't. Whatever was going through her mind just then was a mystery to him and he'd like to keep it that way. If he'd known she'd had a history of that particular brand of victimization, he wouldn't have been such an ass when he'd been carrying her home.

"Come on," he said quietly, without looking back at her. "Water."

She blinked and lifted her head, tried to, used his support to reach for the bottle and bring it clumsily up to her mouth. She got down a couple swallows before water escaped, trailing down her chin and neck, but she didn't care. It was just water. Water was cleansing. Water washed away all the bad and she was okay with that. Veronica pried her eyes open to look up at him, trying to see the monster she knew was there.

She could make him out, blurry and out of focus, but she couldn't see the monster.

Not this time. He was really good at hiding it.

"Close enough," Derek said softly, finally looking back at her face only to find her already looking back at him like she was trying to see through him or something. He set down the bottle and used the back of his hand to catch the rest of the water dripping down her chin so that it didn't end up in his bed. "I'm leaving it on the floor next to you. Okay?" he asked, lifting an eyebrow and making a conscious effort not to squirm under what felt like her scrutiny.

For a moment, he was quiet before he spoke again. "When you think you can, the bathroom's over there," he told her, pointing with his free hand. "You can take a shower if you need or want to." Because tonight, Derek would be hospitable. In the morning, she'd owe him getting the fuck out and leaving him alone for good.

She nodded, eyes still trying to focus on him. He reminded her of Logan for a minute and if she'd been more aware of herself, she'd laugh at that comparison. Both of them so abrasive and sometimes cruel, and yet here was this soft side she never would have guessed existed. She'd remember this, even if she didn't want to. She'd still hate him because he was a dick, but she'd remember this and maybe... maybe...

She didn't know what she'd maybe do. But there was too much here that she couldn't answer and Veronica hated questions with no answers. She lay back, still watching him, still seeing that bit of him under the facade and maybe understanding him a little more. Maybe.

For now, she was going to close her eyes and hope she could sleep off the worst of whatever she'd been given. When she could get up, she would, taking his offer of a shower, but for now... for now she was just going to try to take that little bit of safety he was offering and wrap herself in it until the badness went away.

"Thank you." It was quiet, more of a whisper than anything, but she had a feeling he'd heard her.

Derek looked down again, giving a small nod of acknowledgement to her gratitude. Not something he thought he'd ever hear her say, that was for sure, not even now when it was merited. After all, he hadn't thanked her when she'd pulled him out of his nightmare, but he supposed this was vastly different. "You're welcome."

Derek lowered her back down onto the bed and slid his arm out from under her before getting to his feet. He took a step to leave her there and move back across the loft to wind down the rest of his night as if she wasn't actually there at all, but he paused and looked back at her.

"You gonna be okay, Veronica? You're not gonna die on me or anything, are you? Honestly, two false murder accusations in my life were two too many for me. I don't think three's a charm in that."

His answer was an inelegant snort. "Not dying. Just... tired." Tired of a lot of things, really. Tired of being a victim, or having people think she was. Tired of being afraid to just be out in public without having a target on her. Tired of trying to figure out Derek Hale and his mysterious life with his mysterious sister who seemed to be anywhere but here.

She sighed and rested her cheek on the pillow. Just a little nap. Just to get the worst of it out of her system. Just... five minutes.

"Just checking," he replied without missing a beat. Then, he nodded again. She was getting herself comfortable and if she was going to fall asleep then at least it meant she wasn't going to start running off at the mouth or sleuthing in slurred obnoxiousness at him. He certainly wasn't going to complain.

This time, he did take a couple of steps away. "All right, then, I'm...just gonna..." he muttered, trailing off and gesturing vaguely toward the far part of the loft.

She would blame the drug for what she said if he ever brought it up later. "Gonna go be a guard dog? You're my traveling Backup. Only cuter."

That was the last thing she said before she slipped into unconsciousness. She'd swear up and down that he was a filthy, dirty liar if he ever brought that up to her face, but as much as she hated him, and she did, there was that part of her, that weird part that liked bad boys that found him attractive. The kissing booth had proved that. He was a snarly, jerky jerk, but he was a hot protective jerk as well.

Welcome to her life.

Derek lifted his eyebrows even higher, taken by surprise at her comment. He'd ask if Backup was an actual name rather than a thing because of the way she said it, but she was totally out. And he wasn't even going to touch the remark she made about him being cuter but yeah, Veronica, he heard that and he won't forget it.

"...or watch TV, but sure, traveling Backup. Whatever you say," he mumbled, rolling his eyes and frowning as he finally let himself out of the far corner of the loft wherein his bed was tucked in the shadows these days.

She slipped off into unconsciousness, half-waking twice to fumble for the water and swallow a few mouthfuls before nodding off again. It was six hours after he'd brought her back that had her finally prying her eyes open and trying to sort out where she was and what had happened.

She remembered the pub. Remembered feeling off. Remembered a face too close to hers and a hand on her she didn't want--

Sitting bolt upright, her heart went into panic mode, dread filling her as she expected to be clutching sheets to her naked chest... But... no. Nope, looking down, she had her shirt on still. And her bra. And her pants, thank god. Frowning in confusion, she looked around, more memories coming back of her phone, of a growl, of-- "Derek?"

She was in Derek's loft. Why the hell was she in Derek's loft?

Groaning slightly at the sound of her voice, Derek rolled over on the couch, covering his head with a throw pillow. He'd kind of been hoping she'd sleep through the night because it was hard enough trying to doze off on the piss poor excuse for a sofa, but he'd just started to sink into sleep when she shattered the silence in the loft. Somehow, he'd known that was going to happen.

"What?" he mumbled, frowning as he sat up, giving up the attempt for sleep tonight. He'd sleep when she was gone, he supposed. Looking over the back of the couch at her, he lifted an eyebrow, letting his eyes adjust in the darkness interrupted only by the moonlight shining through the huge wall of windows. This better be good, I swear to God, he thought miserably. "Water's on the floor. Puke bucket next to it. Bathroom across the loft. What do you need?"

She was having trouble trying to remember what happened after he'd shown up. But she was dressed and that was the thing she was focusing on right now. "How did... did you bring me here?"

The mention of water had her reaching for it, realizing how parched she was and working to get the cap off, swallowing half the bottle before she had to draw off and breathe. She still felt a little off; six hours wasn't exactly enough time to get it all out of her system, but she was conscious and could focus. Mostly.

"Yeah, I brought you here, Veronica," Derek sighed, laying back down and staring up at the ceiling. Was he going to have to fill in the blanks for her? Because he didn't have a whole lot of information to do that. "As loathe as I am to admit that, it beat leaving you in a dark alley drugged out of your fucking mind."

She moved to push herself up, sitting, then standing. She wobbled a bit, but she was up and she was looking over across the dark of the loft in the direction his voice was coming from. "I wouldn't have thought you cared."

That's not true. Even if she said it, she didn't believe it. It's probably why she'd dialed him in the first place. He was dangerous, but he had some weird set of morals.

Works for me. Share the bed, Derek. God. Bed hog.

Psh, you'll have to talk him into his own goddamn bed. You're lucky he's bailling you out, lady.

Pff. Rude, Derek. So very rude. So much judging

You leave him no chooooice, nega-V

Hey, he started it.

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