DISCLAIMER: Characters of Veronica Mars, any recognizable dialogue, and the canon events of their storyline belong to Rob Thomas.
A/N:
Chapters 16 through 20 (plus Chapter 1 of Part 4 in this series) were all posted the SAME DAY.
Chapter 15 was posted a week earlier.
Click back if you need to.
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Chapter 18 is a modified version of #3.15 "Papa's Cabin" and #3.16 "Un-American Graffiti."
Occurs between late February and mid-March 2007.
Chapter 18
With Dad back in uniform, I had to take care of almost everything at Mars Investigations, every case that walked through the door – or at least as many as I could handle.
At the moment, I was glad for the distraction that work provided. I was hired by the owners of Babylon Gardens to find out who vandalized their restaurant. Rocks had been thrown through their window, and the word "terrorist" had been spray-painted on the door.
After following a few false leads, I discovered that the guilty party was Derrick Carr, the brother of a soldier who had been wounded while deployed in Iraq. Derrick harbored much more hatred in his heart than his brother did, even though Derrick's brother was the one who would spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair.
That same week, my dad was coming down hard on local bars for being too lax in their enforcement of the drinking age. A nineteen-year-old kid had been drinking at a bar called The Break. He had gotten in using what we in the biz call a "gumball-level ID." When he left at the end of the night, he stumbled out into the road and got hit by a car. It looked like he'd never walk again.
When Dad's deputies were less than cooperative, he took matters into his own hands. While out at a local bar, he saw Wallace and Piz, who had in their possession IDs made by yours truly. I got a lecture, but Wallace and Piz had to do his bidding for a night, allowing Dad to confirm which of his deputies were and were not following his orders to do surprise inspections of the local bars and give citations where necessary.
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A couple days later, I was having lunch with Wallace and Piz. Most of the time, I just sat and listened to them tell me their version of the night they had spent with my dad. It was mildly amusing, particularly because neither of them had known him as Sheriff. They had only known him as a P.I.
Just as I was gathering my things to leave, Wallace asked, "You doing okay? With the Eli situation, I mean?"
"I've been trying really hard not to think about it. So, thanks for bringing it up."
I patted him on the shoulder as I stepped away from the table. I had only gotten a few feet away when Piz appeared next to me.
"Wallace just told me."
"Told you what?" I asked.
"That Eli broke up with you. That night. Parker's party. After he saw—"
"It had nothing to do with you. Or what he saw."
"Sure about that? I mean, should I go talk to him? Try to—"
"No!" I shook my head emphatically. "No, do not talk to him. Don't give him a reason to hit you."
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The following week, Tim Foyle and I teamed up to investigate Dean O'Dell's death. After interviewing strippers and troubled teens, as well as searching Dr. Landry's house, I was convinced that Landry had done it.
It wasn't until Tim was attempting to explain the case to a lecture hall full of criminology students that it became clear to me that he had killed the dean and framed Professor Landry.
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When I went down to the Sheriff's Department to give my statement about Tim Foyle, I was surprised to see Leo D'Amato in uniform. Dad had failed to tell me that he had hired a new deputy.
While I was there, we made small talk. But I wasn't really in the head space for catching up with an old beau.
As I was leaving, he ventured into deeper conversational waters.
"Your dad tells me that you and Eli broke up."
"Is there a question in there, Deputy?"
Giving me that boyish grin of his, he said, "Just wondering if you'd be interested in going out to dinner sometime."
I wasn't sure how to reply to that. I hadn't even begun to think about dating again. So I went with honest and noncommittal. "Not at the moment. But ask me again sometime."
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The next day, Mac and I had lunch. She told me that she and Max had been spending time together since they met at Parker's party. They had flirted quite a bit that night, and she was clearly feeling guilty about enjoying the company of someone other than her boyfriend.
By the time we finished lunch, we had thoroughly dissected the situation. And she had decided that she and Casey needed to have a discussion about the status of their relationship. They hadn't seen each other since New Year's and had spoken very little in that time – two and a half months. Although neither of them had used the word "break," it felt to her as if they'd been on one for a while.
"Let me know how it goes. And give me a call after, if you need to talk."
"I will. Thanks, Veronica."
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After talking through relationship drama with Mac, my mind drifted to Eli throughout the rest of the day. If Eli and I hadn't broken up, would I be able to get past my issue with his past – the strippers and hookers? I'd like to think so, but I wasn't sure. The thoughts didn't plague me now like they had. But would that be different if we were still together?
I tried to shake off the lingering sadness over our break-up. And the loneliness.
But it wasn't just that I missed him. I missed us.
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The next couple weeks, there wasn't much going on at Mars Investigations. What little casework there was, I could easily handle by myself. But Dad would find reasons to drop by the office. At first, I thought it was to see me – or to check up on me. It turned out that he was there to see someone else.
It had been a few weeks since Eli had broken up with me. We weren't necessarily avoiding one another – at least, I didn't think so. He was tending to his business, and I was going about my daily life. But then, I started seeing him in passing as he left Mars Investigations. I didn't find it odd the first time, but when it became a pattern, I became curious. I finally asked Dad if it was something I should be concerned about. Of course, he said I needn't worry, but added that Eli thought the Fitzpatricks might be behind the crime spree.
I was now living in opposite world. In the old days, Eli dropped by to see me and exchanged one-word greetings with my father. Now when he came to see Dad, our conversation was reduced to a few syllables.
"Eli."
"Veronica."
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My car was due for inspection and in need of an oil change. I had been avoiding it, because although I didn't want to take my car to anyone else, I wasn't exactly comfortable calling Eli. I was prepared to pay like any other customer, but I was fairly certain that he would offer to do the work for free. I just wasn't sure how I felt about accepting that from him right now.
Late one evening, I finally decided I would deal with the inevitable awkwardness. I still had him on speed dial. As the phone rang on his end, I bit my lower lip nervously.
On the third ring, he answered, "Hey, V. What do you need?" His tone said it all. Not angry, but not happy to hear from me.
"What makes you think I need something?"
He laughed. "Okay, I'll play along. How was your day?"
I wasn't sure what to say to that. We hadn't done our daily catchup in so long that I honestly wouldn't know where to begin.
"V, you still there?"
"Yeah."
"Something wrong?" His voice told me that he was now on high alert, assuming that I was in trouble.
"Not exactly. My car is due for inspection, and I was wondering if you could fit me into your busy schedule."
He sighed. "I wondered when I was going to hear from you. Thought maybe you had moved on to another mechanic. I had you penciled in. Figure you're overdue for an oil change too."
"I haven't let anyone else touch my car, so you would be right."
"When did you want to come in?"
When I didn't reply, I could hear him moving.
"You're here now, aren't you?" he asked.
I looked up at the entrance and saw him walk up to the window.
"I took a chance you might be here."
He was shaking his head and muttering something I couldn't quite make out. Then, he said, "I'll open the second door. Go ahead and pull in."
I replied, "Thank you," but meant so much more than those two words could say.
Once I pulled into the bay, he closed the door again. He had a pair of coveralls in his hand, which he placed on the workbench. He was wearing a button-down shirt that indicated he had not intended to work on any cars.
He removed the shirt and slipped into the coveralls as he asked, "Should I be expecting to find any problems?"
"I haven't noticed anything."
"This shouldn't take long then – which is good because your sticker expires tomorrow." He looked at me out of the corner of his eye as he opened the hood of my Saturn. "Any reason you didn't call sooner?"
"Any reason?" I sighed. "Many reasons."
He had pulled a rolling office chair over near my car so that I would have a clean place to sit. His shirt was laying over the back of it.
Sitting still for a few minutes, I realized I had not brought a jacket and now wished I had one. I turned to him and asked, "Mind if I borrow your shirt?" I shivered before he could reply.
"No." He turned his attention back to his work, adding, "And uh … you can put the radio on if you want."
I walked over to the stereo sitting on a nearby shelf. Hitting the power button, music began to play. The volume had been left at a high level from when there would have been multiple people working. I turned the knob down low enough to allow for conversation – should we decide to go that route. At the moment, it seemed that neither of us knew what to say.
Eventually, I broke the silence. "Dad told me why you've been dropping by the office. Well, I'm sure he left out some details, but he gave me the basics."
"Yeah. I noticed a few things, heard a few things. Figured he should know. But I didn't figure that going to the Sheriff's Department all formal-like would be the best option."
"Worried about retaliation?"
"More like … my old instincts kicked in and I figured it'd be easier to catch them if they don't know they're being watched. Since I happen to have a close personal relationship with the current Sheriff … it seemed like the better option."
"Well, however you got the info to him, I know he appreciates it."
He just nodded. No verbal reply. And with that, silence fell again – well, other than the radio.
The gap in conversation was comfortable for a few songs, but then I noticed him tensing up. I wondered if he had found something that needed to be fixed. He leaned on the car with both arms and dropped his head. I was about to ask what was wrong when he spoke.
"V, please change the station."
I wasn't sure why he was asking, but I could hear in his voice that it was not open for discussion. As I walked over to the stereo, understanding hit me.
The radio had been left on a Spanish language station out of L.A. I'm not sure what they played during the workday, but their nighttime playlist seemed to center around songs of heartbreak and impossible love. The current song – and the reason he asked me to change the station – contained lyrics that translate to "give me back my life, because you've taken it away."
I accommodated his request. It didn't take me long to find another station, one that was doing an hour of dedications. Hopefully, there would be no lyrical landmines on this one.
As I moved back to the chair, he turned his head toward me. "Thank you." His hands were still on the car; his chin resting on his shoulder as he looked at me. "That shirt looks better on you."
My eyes dropped as I smiled at that. I'm not sure how loaded he meant that statement to be, but it brought back a flood of memories for me. He liked it when I wore his clothes – tshirts, dress shirts, leather jacket. I liked having his unique scent lingering under my nose. Memory lane was just a short distance away. I wondered if his mind was tracking along with mine, because he had a distant look in his eyes as he rubbed his cheek on his shoulder. Then, he turned his attention back to my car.
He gathered everything he needed to change the oil. I watched him as he moved around in his element. As he rolled under my car, I let my mind wander – not to my incredibly long list of things to do, but to sentimental memories and unanswered questions.
Some time passed (I have no idea how much) before I noticed how far away I had drifted.
He had rolled back out from under the car and was sitting on the creeper, wiping his hands. "Where'd you go just now?" he asked.
"Nowhere. I'm sorry, did you say something?"
"No." He continued with the inspection while the old oil was draining into the pan on the floor.
I continued to watch him. This did not go unnoticed. Every once in a while, his eyes would drift to mine. But neither of us said anything.
After a few more songs had passed by, he asked, "What's so interesting?" He hadn't even looked over at me.
"What do you mean?"
"You've been watching me – quite intently – for a while now."
I shrugged as if the answer should be obvious. "I like watching you work. I've always liked watching you work. You're good at what you do. It shows in your movement."
I didn't elaborate out loud, but it's why I like to watch professional athletes, dancers, musicians. It's not just about the result – winning the game or a successful performance – but the skill they've developed through years of training and experience shows in the process. I admire anyone who sticks with something long enough to be skilled at what they do. So yeah – I liked watching him work.
He didn't seem to know how to respond to what I had said. The pause in conversation was not uncomfortable, but there were many unspoken words hanging between us.
He bristled as the next song started. I recognized this one. It was on the album he gave me the night of Alterna-Prom. I had listened to that album quite a bit last summer and fall. There were some happy moments among those songs, but some of the darker, sadder moments were in this particular song.
"V, do you mind … ?"
He was pointing at the radio, asking me to change it again. But I made no move, except to shake my head. Seeing that I did not intend to make the song go away, he took a step in that direction to take care of it himself.
I moved just slightly faster than he did. When his hand made it to the dial, my hand was under it. We stood there like that for several lines of the song. My mind working to translate the lyrics, as well as the look in his eyes.
I don't care where you are,
who you date,
who you're with.
It doesn't matter to me anymore.
.~.
If you don't want to see me anymore,
you can go now,
but don't hurt me anymore.
I still couldn't quite read his eyes. I wondered if he was thinking what I was thinking – that his bedroom was right above us.
As soon as that thought went through my head, he removed his hand from on top of mine. The moment was over far too soon for my taste.
Stepping away, he said, "I should finish up."
And that's exactly what he did. Without conversation, he went about his business while I watched. After he put the new sticker on my license plate, he began to remove the coveralls and then moved over to a sink to wash up.
He walked toward me and gestured to his shirt which I was still wearing. "Gonna need that back now."
Nodding as I said, "Right." I slipped out of the shirt and immediately missed his scent.
As he pulled his arm through one sleeve, he said, "It smells like your perfume." He must have seen worry on my face, because he added, "That was an observation, not a complaint."
He turned off the radio, handed me my keys, and looked ready to open the large door for me to leave.
"Don't wait so long next time."
"I wasn't sure you'd want to hear from me."
"Veronica. I've been telling you for years: I'm a phone call away. Whatever you need. Any hour of the day." Looking down at the floor briefly, he continued, "Just because we aren't together … doesn't mean I won't be there for you if you need something."
I nodded at that as I climbed into my car. He pushed my door closed, leaving his hands resting on the seal of the open window.
My hands were on the steering wheel as I asked, "So, what do I owe you?"
"What do you owe me?!" He laughed. "V, you owe me nothing. I, on the other hand, owe you everything."
"How do you figure that?"
"Look around you. This is not the life I was headed for. I wouldn't be here right now if it weren't for you. You believed in me. Pushed me and encouraged me."
"But you did this. You changed your life." After staring into his eyes for a moment, I said, "Well, I don't care what you say. I'm gonna mark this down as me owing you … since it seems you are not going to let me pay you."
He stepped away from my car as he said, "Whatever, V. We were always owing each other favors."
As I backed my car out of the garage, he stood there watching. He continued to stand there as the door of the garage closed.
A/N:
First song he asked her to turn off:
"Devuelveme la vida" (Give Me Back My Life) by David Bustamante (2005)
Second song he asked her to turn off:
"Me Da Igual" (It Doesn't Matter to Me) by Camila (2006)
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~Jen
28 June 2020