Wish You Were Here, Part I
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.
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.