DISCLAIMER: Characters of Veronica Mars, the canon events of their storylines, and recognizable dialogue belong to Rob Thomas.

A/N:

This chapter contains bits of #2.4 "Green-Eyed Monster" and #2.5 "Blast From the Past"

Chapter 8

A couple days later, Weevil and I had a chance to finish the conversation my dad had interrupted. It began with more questions.

"Do you remember Shelly's party … and when you went around school interrogating everyone who was there?"

"Obviously, I don't remember much about the party. I do remember finding out about the GHB and questioning people at school."

"After you were done with your investigation, you told me what you found out, but you left out a key piece of information."

"Why are you so sure I left something out?"

"Because you told me later."

He took both my hands in his and proceeded to tell me about the night I went to the club by myself and how he showed up to help. He spoke in vague terms about what happened while we were there. We ducked into the women's restroom to hide from a couple of the Fitzpatricks who were there. Apparently, an armed pervert followed us into the bathroom.

Again, I found myself in a situation where I was being told that I had been intimate with someone – and I had no memory of it. It was disturbing enough once. But twice?

After giving me a moment to absorb, Weevil continued, "After we got out of there, we rode my bike to the beach. The guys brought your car and took my bike. Then, you and I sat there for a while and talked. I knew you were upset by what had happened. I thought it was just about the creep with the gun, but then, you told me the part you had left out."

When he didn't continue, I asked, "What did I tell you?"

"That when you were with Duncan at Shelly's party … it wasn't just the first and only time you had been with him … it was the only time you had been with anyone."

"I left that part out?"

"Yeah. And if I had known that …" His thought trailed off, unfinished.

We sat there for quite a while – his arms wrapped around me, my head on his shoulder. It gave me time to process.

[

[

For almost twenty-four hours, thoughts swirled around in my mind. Having Weevil tell me that I had forgotten such an eventful evening … well, it was unsettling. What other memories had I lost?

When Mac dropped by the next day, I asked her if she ever remembered hearing Weevil and I say "I love you" to each other. I tried to ask the question without having to come out and admit the memory loss issue, but she wanted to know why I was asking and wouldn't let it go until I answered her. I told her just enough to satisfy her.

Finally, she answered my question. "You never said it when I was around. And you've never told me that you said it to each other."

Then, I begged her, "Please, don't say anything." Explaining that I hadn't talked to my dad about the memory loss and I didn't want Weevil to be paranoid about what I did and didn't remember about our relationship.

[

[

Those first days at home were boring; at the same time, annoying. Remembering the doctor's advice, I tried to pace myself and be patient, but everything was more difficult and took longer to do. The simplest things took too much thought and caused fatigue. When I was tired, I had issues with coordination and balance. One good thing: the site of the incision from my surgery was no longer sore.

Among the most frustrating things: not only were there still gaps in my memory, my short-term memory sucked. I forgot things. All. The. Time. So I made lists. But then, I would forget to look at the lists.

Normally, I would have filled hours of free time with watching tv or reading. Or doing any number of things on my computer. But reading bothered my eyes and gave me a headache. Plus, the doctor and vision therapist had told me to limit the amount of time I spent looking at screens – computer or tv.

Despite their recommendation, I did end up spending some time on my computer. One day, I was cleaning off my desk and found a list from before the accident. Among the things to do: print senior pictures and Navarro family portrait. I dug through everything on my desk and on my laptop until I found the photos and a list of what to print and who to give them to.

Little by little, I worked my way through the list. I took breaks. Many breaks. The seniors got first priority. Most people at school already had theirs. I did not want to make them wait any longer.

That task took a couple days. As I looked at the photos, I began to remember the days I had taken them. Bits and pieces came together to form complete memories – like tiles in a mosaic. Or pixels.

Before diving into all the Navarro family 8x10s and wallets, I took the time to print out a few of the photos for myself – ones of Weevil and I at the beach. I also printed one of him and Felix together with their bikes in the background. They were laughing and smiling – obviously, the best of friends.

All these memories were so precious. It bothered me that any of my memories were missing.

I had printed a few photos to give to Weevil the next time he was here. Also, I burned a CD of all the shots I had taken of the two of us, the PCHers, and his whole family. If he ever wanted to print any others, he would have them.

Once I was finished with that – and I took another break – I began on the family portraits.

Weevil came over while I was knee-deep in photo paper and ink cartridges. When he offered his help, the first task I gave him was to double-check that I had correctly labelled the envelopes containing senior portraits. It would be embarrassing to give someone the wrong photos.

He promised to take them to his house and let everyone know they could pick them up there.

The next thing I had him do was enter the list of Navarro family email addresses into my contacts. As soon as I had all the portraits printed, I would be able to send the .jpg to the people who requested it.

I asked him if anyone was upset that I hadn't gotten the pictures to them yet. He assured me that they were not, that they understood I had a lot to deal with right now. But I figured after making them wait, it would be better if everyone got the family portraits at the same time. I told him I thought I should have all of them done by the end of the week. He promised to pass that along – and to come back the next day to help me again.

When he was leaving, I handed him the pictures of us and one of him with Felix.

He thanked me, adding, "Your talent is wasted on cheating spouses."

[

[

In between printing photos that week, I tried to do a little baking. That should have been an easy task for me. It would have been before the accident. But as I kept finding out every day – in new and different ways – things that should be easy were now hard. It was incredibly frustrating.

I would forget where I was in the process. I would question whether or not I had included a particular ingredient. While measuring and stirring, my coordination problems were on full display. I burned a couple dozen – which was unusual for me. I even had to throw out one batch of dough, because upon tasting the batter, it was clear that I had put in too much of something, perhaps not enough of something else, or I had forgotten something altogether. Or maybe, all of the above.

Baking would normally be relaxing for me. A mindless activity. Like knitting. It had been therapeutic for me in the past. I hoped it would be again in the future. Because here in the present, it made me want to scream.

In general, I was frustrated and going a bit stir crazy.

Dad was busy trying to keep up with things at the office. His newest client was a jumpy (potential) fiancée – emotional, in great need of reassurance. His eyes rolled every time he talked about her, but it was easy money. I offered my assistance, but he wouldn't even let me help with research that could be done online.

Sometimes, Dad took me to my appointments – my many appointments. Physical therapy, vision therapy, cognitive therapy, checkups with my regular doctor and a specialist. But when he couldn't, there was a list of people who offered to take me. If it was after school hours, Wallace usually filled the role of my driver. During the day, several people took turns: Alicia, Letty, Natalie MacKenzie, and our neighbor Sylvia. Even Cliff took me to one appointment.

When Letty took me to appointments, she always had a deck of cards in her purse. We played her favorite game, Conquian, while we waited. We had occasionally played when she visited me in the hospital. At the time, I couldn't play for very long without getting tired. Now, I was able to get through an entire game. However, it was easier for me to focus if I was at home. The noise and lights in the doctor's office affected me quite a bit.

If someone other than Dad took me to an appointment, I had them stay in the waiting room. I took a written list of questions to ask and things to tell the doctor. And I recorded the appointment in case there was anything Dad should hear. I knew I wouldn't remember everything long enough to tell him.

After two weeks of outpatient treatment, my doctor cleared me to go back to school. I was thrilled. He wanted me to start with half days, but at least, I would get to see people who were not medical personnel. Although I understood his reasoning, I wasn't happy that the doctor didn't want me to drive yet.

[

[

Finally, the big day arrived: first day back at school. I tried to prepare myself for the faces I would see, as well as the faces I would never see at school again. I was gradually coming to terms with the deaths of the others on the bus. However, I wasn't naïve enough to think that being back at school would not bring up emotions. Because of that, I had promised Dad and Weevil – and myself – that if I felt overwhelmed, my first step would be to visit Miss James. Second step would be going home early, if needed.

Each morning, Wallace came to my apartment and drove my car to school. He not only planned to carry my books to and from the car, but also from my locker to each class. He had already spoken to his teachers, explaining that he would be a little late for class and would need to leave a few minutes early.

I guess there was reason to be concerned. The doctors had warned me that one of the symptoms of post-concussion syndrome was fatigue – so I needed to take it easy and make sure to get more rest than normal. Even though I would not be taking gym or chasing criminals anytime soon, Dad, Weevil, and Wallace were all trying to make sure that I did not overdo in any way. In a way, it was nice, but if they kept it up too long, I would undoubtedly feel smothered.

[

[

Later that week, Dad let me know that after some back and forth through Cliff, he and Mom had worked through all the details. The divorce papers had been filed. The process was all very civilized, so it shouldn't take long for everything to be finalized.

He seemed more relaxed than when Mom was here. Watching him with Alicia made me smile. It was good to see him so happy. If anyone deserved a solid, loving relationship, it was my dad.

[

[

On Friday, Deputy Sacks showed up at school to escort Duncan to the station for questioning. After school, Weevil dropped by my apartment to tell me what he knew. But he didn't have to, because Duncan showed up a few minutes later.

Taking one look at Duncan, I said, "Seems like you had quite an exciting day."

"And now I need a favor." Seeing my facial response, he added, "Yeah, I know. Another favor."

"Step into my office." Once all three of us were sitting in the living room – Weevil was not about to leave me alone with Duncan – I began by stating the obvious, "If what you're about to tell me is going to make it necessary for me to investigate something … then the two of you have to swear not to tell my dad."

They looked at one another and nodded.

Duncan proceeded to tell me that Lamb had questioned him about a body that had washed up on the beach. The last place the guy had been seen alive was outside a bar called The Road Hog – obviously not somewhere that Duncan frequented. When I asked him why Lamb had singled him out, he said that his name was written on the guy's hand in permanent marker.

Since he had turned eighteen, Lamb did not have to call Duncan's father. The reason he had come to me was that he was hoping he could figure out how the dead man – David "Curly" Moran – was connected to him before he talked to his dad.

I told Duncan that I would try do some research tonight and get back to him. After he left, I went to use the bathroom. When I returned to the living room, Weevil was pacing back and forth. I watched him as I got myself something to drink and a snack.

Seeing that he was not calming down, I asked cautiously, "Are you upset because Duncan was here? Because I'm not planning to tell my dad about this? Or—"

He stopped and held up a hand to get me to stop talking. "I didn't want to say anything until he left. But a few days after the bus crash, I got an anonymous call … actually, a voicemail saying that this guy – Curly Moran – was involved."

"Why call you and not the Sheriff's Department?"

"Don't know … maybe the person knew that I was connected to two of the people on the bus. And wanted me to make sure that the person responsible got what he deserved. No idea. I had no way of knowing if the tip was true and I wasn't gonna take the time to look into it while you were in the hospital."

Dad had dropped in for dinner, but was out most of the evening. Weevil and I sat side by side on the couch as I began the research I promised Duncan I'd do for him. Weevil was focused on his homework, except when I made a noise or a comment indicating that I found something interesting. Then, he would lean his head over to look at my laptop screen.

A quick Google search of the name David "Curly" Moran revealed that he was a stunt coordinator, most notable for a stunt he supervised and performed that coincidentally involved a tractor trailer being sent off a bridge. It was such a pivotal part of the 1982 thriller The Long Haul that an image of it was featured on the movie poster. And here's where we get within a few degrees of separation from Duncan: this action movie starred a young Aaron Echolls. Since Duncan did not recognize Curly's name when questioned by Sherriff Lamb, I had to assume that he did not know about the connection to Mr. Echolls.

As I read a detailed description of how the stunt was pulled off, it became clear that Curly had the skills to send a bus off a cliff. I just didn't know exactly how he had done it or why.

The only connection my brain could come up with was chilling.

Weevil had been reading over my shoulder. When I shivered in reaction to my last thought, he asked, "What?" When I didn't answer, he said something he had said before when I did not immediately respond to one of his questions: "Dime. Ahora."

Pressing my lips together, I steeled myself, knowing his reaction might be extreme. I turned my head and looked into his eyes. "I don't know who else had motive to kill someone on the bus, but …" I paused for a second. "Aaron Echolls certainly had motive to kill one person on that bus. Me."

I had only gotten part way through my statement when he caught up with my train of thought. I saw it in his eyes and felt his body tense.

"¡Mierda!" He spat the word into his hand as he rubbed his jaw. Then, he said seriously, "We've got too many enemies."

Turning toward him, I leaned into his side as his arms embraced me. "When do we get to let down our guard?"

"In Neptune? Probably never."

There are very few things I hated more than feeling weak. But at moments like this, having Weevil hold me allowed me to lean on his strength until I could find my own again. This was similar to the solid rock I had in my father, but I didn't like Dad to worry about me. With Weevil, I felt like I could allow myself to be completely vulnerable and he would never let anything happen to me. I wished we could stay like this forever. Just like this.

"V, before your dad gets home, you should listen to the voicemail and decide if it's worth digging into."

Lifting my head to look up at him, I said, "Let me hear it."

"The night of the call, I had my phone off while I was in your hospital room. I didn't listen to it until I got home late that night. Sometime the next morning, I forwarded it to Felix and didn't give it another thought. I had other things on my mind." He picked up my hand and placed kisses on my knuckles. Then, he hit play.

The voice was disguised, but the words were clear. The person claimed that Curly had been hired by the Fitzpatricks to cause the bus crash to get back at Cervando.

"Is that possible?"

"Possible? Yeah. Probable? No. That's not how the Fitzpatricks handle things. Baseball bat in an alley is more likely. But if the Fitzpatricks are involved in this … and since Thumper is working with them, it's possible he'd eliminate someone they hired to do a job."

"You said 'since Thumper is working with them.' What did you mean?"

"The surveillance photos you showed me. You don't remember?"

Looking through folders on my laptop, I found the photos I had cleaned up.

"I didn't remember … until you said something."

"Did you ever show these to your dad?"

"I don't think so. I know I planned to, but I'm not sure if I got around to it … you know, before the bus crash." Seeing the look in his eyes, I said, "I'll show them to him. Soon."

He seemed satisfied with that. "Anyway, the Fitzpatricks may have asked Thumper to tie up loose ends. If Felix handed off the info to him, none of the guys would think twice about him taking out the person supposedly responsible for Cervando's death. That would be awfully convenient for him. And them."

"What's the number?"

"619-555-0162."

After I typed the number into the search box and hit enter, I said, "Huh!" I was surprised by the results of my reverse lookup.

He leaned over to look at the screen. "The Echolls house?"

"Apparently. They have multiple phone lines, but I don't recognize this number."

"What are you thinking? Private office? If so, how many people would have access to that?"

"Already there." Another chill ran through me. "Would Mr. Echolls have … well, he couldn't have made it himself. But he could have gotten someone else to make that call to get you to take out the person he hired to kill me."

"Not a stretch. We know for sure that he's killed one person. And the events last spring prove that he'll go to great lengths to cover up evidence connecting himself to a crime." After a silent moment, he asked, "Now what?"

"I let Duncan know where we are. Duncan or I ask Logan who might have been in his house at the time of the call. You check with Felix to find out what happened after you forwarded the voicemail to him. Then, decide when I hand this off to Dad."

"When? Not if?" He stared at me. "Not disagreeing with you. Just …"

Poking him in the side, I said, "Surprised. You can say it. You were surprised."

"Little bit." He pulled out his phone to call Felix. "Hey. You alone?"

"Yeah, Weevs. What's up?"

"I'm at Veronica's. You're on speaker. Got a couple questions for you."

"Go."

"Remember the anonymous call I got a week after the bus crash?"

"Yeah."

"What happened after I passed that on to you?"

"I handed it off to Thumper – just to check it out and report back to me. I kept an eye on him, sort of a test to see what he would say. He came back … said he looked into it and decided that it didn't match their normal M.O. I agreed with him. No proof that the information was actually good. Decided it was a crank call. That was the end of it." He paused. "Why are you asking about that now?"

Weevil said simply, "Curly Moran washed up on a local beach."

"Fuck. You think it was Thumper?"

"I'm not sure what I think. But if the info was good and Thumper took out the link between the Fitzpatricks and the crash …" Weevil left that sentence open-ended. "And it gets worse."

"Curly was an old buddy of Aaron Echolls," I chimed in. "If Curly was hired by him, then Cervando wasn't the target."

All three of us were quiet for a solid minute.

"What's our next move?" Felix asked.

"I've got one more lead to follow up on. Depends what I find out," I replied.

"I'll be in touch," Weevil told Felix. Just before ending the call, he added, "Watch your back."

Immediately, I dialed Duncan's number and put him on speaker. After I told him what I had been able to find out about Curly Moran, I mentioned that Weevil had gotten an anonymous call about Curly's involvement, claiming to know who hired him. There were doubts about whether the info was true. "I was able to find out where the call was made from. Logan's house on September 24th. It was a Saturday night."

Duncan thought for a moment and said, "Wait …" Then, I heard what sounded like paper being crumpled. "That was the night of Logan's 'Life's Short' party. I just checked the flyer, which was still in my backpack."

"Were you there?"

"Yeah. Lots of people were."

"Including some of my guys," Weevil added.

"Great! Anyone could have made that call," I said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Then, I added, "I don't recognize the number as one of the Echolls' primary lines. Not sure what he'd be able to tell us, but if I give you the number, can you ask Logan about it? And if possible, avoid telling him why you're asking – or at least, don't tell him the whole truth."

"Sure. I'm not sure I can get ahold of him tonight, but I'll definitely check with him tomorrow."

Just then, I heard Dad's keys at the door. I quickly said, "Goodbye," into the phone and ended the call.

Dad came in and had a brief chat with Weevil as he packed up his books. I told Dad I was gonna walk him down, because I left something in my car. That gave us a chance to talk. We decided to wait at least a day to see if either of us or Duncan came up with anything else. But someday soon, I'd be having a conversation with my dad. The timing might be determined by when Duncan told his father about being questioned.

Weevil expressed his feelings – again – that he did not like me spending time with Duncan. Even though he knew this was necessary.

Our goodnight kiss was longer than it would have been if we were inside my apartment. As I walked back up to my door, I wished our time alone hadn't been eaten up with investigating this lead.

He didn't like that I was splitting my time between doctors, friends, my ex-boyfriend, my father, and him. I wasn't that wild about it either. I wanted more time with him, too.

[

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The next morning over breakfast, I tried to casually bring up a topic of potential contention.

"I was wondering what you thought of me becoming a licensed P.I."

"Where did this come from?" Dad asked.

"I've been thinking about it for a while." Before he could say anything else, I launched into my reasoning. "I'm eighteen. I bet I've worked more cases than most people who take the exam. I'd still work at the Hut, but this way when I 'help out' friends and classmates, I'm doing it as a licensed investigator. Plus, Mac had this crazy idea last year – well, I thought it was crazy at the time. Now, I realize it could be a lucrative side business." I explained the idea behind Mac's 'Get the Dirt' website – basically doing background checks. Granted, I spun it as a way for people to find out more about people who ask them out – you know, before the first date … for safety reasons. "Basic background and a little online research? That's easy money and not dangerous at all."

Dad's response: "I'll think about it." His face: unreadable.

Hearing his tone, I knew that I'd have to wait a little while before bringing it up again. Maybe next time, I'll take the approach that I could work from home rather than being on my feet at Java the Hut.

[

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The following week, Dad decided I could drive myself to school. The doctor had cleared me, but he wanted the last say. He and Weevil both made me promise that if I wasn't feeling well, I would get a ride home.

While I was getting ready on Monday morning, I got a text from Wallace asking if I had time to talk before school. Of course, I did. Anything for my BFF.

Sitting on a bench outside the school, he told me that his dad had shown up. He was glad that his mom had already told him, because his dad tried to make it sound like his mom was the bad guy. But as I told him, "The hero is the one who stays."

He told his dad that he would try to keep in touch – calls and emails. Even said that he'd consider a visit this coming summer. But no matter how much his dad tried to persuade him, he wasn't interested in going to live with his dad.

"For starters, you're here," Wallace said as he winked at me.

Weevil approached while I was pulling Wallace in for a hug. By now, there were other people around; I had to assume that some were watching. Weevil didn't look happy as he reached for me.

I patted Wallace's leg and said, "Give me a minute." Stepping to the side, I kissed Weevil and then turned my face away from Wallace to whisper into Weevil's ear, "You look like you need an explanation. His real dad just came back into the picture. He didn't know anything until recently."

Pulling back to read his eyes, I saw understanding. He still gave me one hell of a kiss – one of his "you're mine" kisses. And then, he asked, "Will I see you at lunch?"

Glancing back over at Wallace, I said softly, "I'll see what I can do. But you might have to wait 'til later." I winked at him as I ran a fingertip down his chest and abdomen, catching on the waistband of his jeans.

He brought his lips to my temple. "You're definitely worth the wait, querida."

"Even if you have to sit at my bedside for weeks?"

"Been there. Done that. I'd prefer not to go through that again."

I couldn't agree more.

A/N:

While you're waiting for Chapter 9 ... if you haven't read my other VMars fics, please check them out.

Posted today: first chapter of a WeeVer fic set one year before the movie (We Used to Trade Favors).

Earlier this month: two WeeVer one-shots (Just One Night and Beyond a Shadow).

In the past year: a Weevil/OC one-shot (Making Friends and Influencing New Principals) and an M-rated WeeVer fic set pre-Season1 (Pleasure Principle).

Thanks for reading! Until next time …

~Jen

27 March 2018

Dime. Ahora. = Tell me. Now.

¡Mierda! = shit

querida = darling