Wish You Were Here, Part III
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.
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.