He's in the yard yanking weeds out of Abuela's modest little vegetable garden when the now-familiar LeBaron pulls up to the curb. Weevil rises to his feet with a sigh, steeling himself for whatever's about to come next; you never know with Veronica Mars. She barrels towards him, determined, but stops at the fence like she's not sure whether she's welcome, even after she's eaten dinner across his kitchen table and helped his grams wash and dry the dishes. The action softens him, just a little, to whatever's about to come out of that smart mouth of hers.
"So, I'm trying to find a way to say this without being completely rude and offensive," she blurts, and Weevil snorts in response.
"Since when has that ever stopped you?" he retorts. He ambles down towards the end of the short gravel driveway to stand closer to her, but with the fence still between them. Let her squirm a bit longer.
"I'm in the middle of a case right now and I'm up to my neck in Mexicans and stolen cars." Weevil pauses a moment, then just snickers. It occurs to him, somewhere in the back recesses of his mind, that he probably should be offended. But it's Veronica, and he wishes he knew how or why, but she's got him making allowances for her that he usually doesn't for anyone except family.
"This about your little boyfriend?" he asks. She nods, and that one stings more than the knowledge that he's the first person she comes to when she needs info on Latino carjackers. But he tamps it all down (because what else is he supposed to do?) and gestures to where his bike is parked along the side of the house.
"Come on, my cousin Angel's got a body shop next town over. He's legit, but every once in awhile...stuff comes through and he looks the other way, you know?" Veronica nods, but wiggles her car keys at him.
"We can just take mine," she suggests. Weevil shakes his head.
"Not gonna let a car he doesn't know onto the lot. Me, he'll have the gate open once I turn down the street. Come on, I'll go find my extra helmet." But instead of following him to the garage, Veronica takes a few steps back.
"You know what, we can just do this another day," she says, words spilling out as she nearly trips over her own feet trying to get away from him. Weevil cocks his head to the side, baffled.
"Was it something I said?" he jokes. When she doesn't even bother with a retort, he knows it's something real that's got her spooked, and he follows the line of her gaze over to his hog. No. She can't possibly. Oh, this is rich.
"Seeya later, Weevil," she calls, back already turned and in the process of fleeing the scene, but he's not having any of that. He will milk this for all it's worth.
"Don't even tell me Little Miss Badass is afraid of riding a motorcycle!" he crows. He can't help it, he really can't. When she whirls around, she's got the Mars Death Glare trained on him, but he's still laughing, loudly and heartily.
"I am not!" she predictably insists. Veronica's stance - eyes blazing, brows furrowed, tiny fists balled at her hips - is starting to become quite familiar. The girl is stubborn as all get-out - he's beginning to see why she and that pit bull of hers get along so well.
"Hey don't worry about it, I think it's kinda cute," he confesses without thinking. This is clearly the wrong thing to say to a girl like Veronica. There's a fleeting moment when he could swear she's blushing, but then the mask of fury returns, and he's half convinced that he actually sees smoke coming out of her ears.
"I am not scared of getting on your bike," she says again. Weevil shrugs.
"Then I guess there's no problem," he says easily, and begins anew his sojourn into the cramped, messy garage. It's mostly toys and old patio furniture, but with so many people under one roof it accumulates quickly. There are a few spare helmets lying around and it takes him a few minutes to locate one small enough for Veronica, tucked in the back under Berto's workbench. He takes a minute to wipe it free of dirt and sawdust, and when he escapes back into the sunlight he finds Veronica up near the house, eying the bike like it's a live animal she's trying not to spook.
"Ready to go?" he asks nonchalantly, slinging the helmet towards her. Veronica takes it and fastens it beneath her chin, pulling the strap taut.
"I'm not scared to ride a motorcycle," she repeats once more, as if he's somehow forgotten.
"Of course not," he agrees. "So hop on, then." He busies himself with flipping the killswitch and keying the ignition, and a moment later he feels her weight settle in behind him. She keeps a few inches between them, so far back on the saddle she's going to tumble off the back of it in a minute. Weevil turns his head, meeting as much of her gaze as he can in the awkward position.
"What's the holdup, vato?" she questions. It's just a notch below her usual level of bravado; almost undetectable. Almost.
"Don't have to do this, you know," he says easily. "I could just go see Angel and report back to you tomorrow." He doesn't need to be looking at her full-on to figure out she's glaring at him again.
"I don't make it a habit of sending other people to do my dirty work when I'm perfectly capable," she says primly. "Let's go."
"Alright, then." Weevil takes his own helmet from where it dangles off the left handlebar and slides it into place. Without warning Veronica, he reaches back and grabs her hands, yanking her forward so that the whole line of her body presses firmly into his back.
"Weevil!" she protests, scrambling backwards.
"Gotta hold on unless you feel like eating pavement," he replies easily, voice muffled through the helmet. She huffs indignantly, but leaves her arms wrapped around his waist. He thumbs the start button, and the motor roars to life beneath them. It's a comforting sound, followed by the familiar purr thrumming between his legs, but Veronica lets out a yelp and lurches to the side before catching herself. "You've gotta stop doing that!" he yells back.
"What?" She leans forward to be heard over the engine, breath hot against his ear. Weevil pulls her arms firmly across his middle.
"Just hang on and trust me." She snorts, and normally it'd be enough, but today he wants to hear her say it. Wants to hear that he's more than just her ticket to the Mexican underground, even if the words are hollow and meaningless. "Do you trust me?" he presses.
"What?" she says again, but with their cheeks pressed close together he knows she heard his words crystal clear.
"Do you trust me?" he repeats. She hesitates. He tries not to let it get to him; after all, it's not like she's a very trusting person to begin with. But the pause rankles at him all the same, and he's glad for the barrier of the helmet visor between them. Finally Veronica lets out a loud sigh.
"I guess I don't have much of a choice, do I?" she says wearily. And they both know that's crap, because there aren't many people out there that can make Veronica Mars do something she doesn't want to do. Weevil grins beneath his helmet. He'll take what he can get.
"Then just relax and let me do all the heavy lifting, chica." He only catches the first few words of the retort she aims back at him as he flips up the kickstand; then their feet are off the ground and she clutches him tightly, the rest of her words getting swallowed by the wind.