Wish You Were Here, Part II
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.
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.