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

A/N:

Continues leading to my modified version of the Season 1 finale.


Chapter 11

I only slept a few hours before Backup was nudging my arm, begging to go for a walk. After that, it was pointless to try to go back to sleep. In quick succession, I took a shower, ate breakfast, and sent a text to Weevil telling him that I'd be at the office.

About an hour later, I was sitting behind my desk when my phone rang. Assuming that it would be Weevil, I did not look at the screen before answering. I was glad I only said a platonic, "Hello."

"Honey, I'm home. Where are you?" my father asked.

"At the office. Checking messages. Doing some filing."

"I'll pick up some lunch and join you in a little while."

When he arrived, he was trying to act casual, but his tone and actions seemed strange. And strained.

"Dad, something you want to know? Just come out and ask."

"When I got back to the apartment, one of the neighbors mentioned that she had insomnia last night … and she happened to see you come home rather late." He paused to take a bite of his lunch and chewed slowly while watching my face for any little reaction. "By the description I was given, you were escorted to the door by someone who bears a striking resemblance to Eli Navarro. Anything you care to tell me?"

"Well, I had planned to tell you later …"

"How much later?"

"Later today," I said as I rolled my eyes at him. "Recently, Weevil's done me a few favors. Last night, I was following up on a lead – and before you say anything, I know that I should have waited for you. Weevil realized before I did that I was headed for trouble. He followed me and he helped me out of a potentially dangerous situation."

His displeasure was visible, but for the moment, controlled. "Veronica, I don't know where to start. You're using the words 'favor' and 'help' and 'dangerous' while talking about you and a gang leader."

While he paused for effect, I interrupted. "The favors – that's partly why I've been tutoring him, in exchange …"

Before I could finish that thought, as if on cue, Weevil came in the door of the office with a notebook and textbook under his arm. As he pushed the door open and turned to see us sitting at my desk, he said, "Seems like I may have caught you at a bad time." When neither of us said anything, he continued. "You said I could drop by today … to have you look over my assignments and review for the test this week." The way he said it was part explanation, part question. He was trying to read the situation he had walked in on.

"Eli."

"Sheriff."

"My daughter tells me that you were of some assistance to her last night."

I nodded and smiled at Weevil, hoping he could read my mind that he should tell the truth. Just not the whole truth.

"Yes, sir. She was doing some detective work. One of my guys saw her heading into a bad part of town. He called me. I wasn't far away so I went to check on her. In her defense, she didn't realize 'til she got there that she shouldn't have gone alone. I got her out of the place without anyone getting injured. She was pretty shaken up. Even after we sat at the beach and talked for a while, I didn't like the idea of her driving herself home. So I drove her car."

"And walked her to the door," my father added.

"Yes, sir."

"Okay …" Dad was processing what he had heard while looking back and forth between our faces. "But what happened that was so bad? You said she was shaken up to the extent that you didn't want her driving and you made a point of saying that you got her out without anyone being injured. What happened?"

Weevil looked at me, indicating that I should fill in the gaps.

I jumped back into the conversation. "There was a guy there who apparently liked how I looked in my miniskirt. He was making lewd suggestions, which he emphasized with his gun."

My father's eyes bugged out. "Gun?!"

"Please, calm down. I'm fine. Weevil managed to persuade the guy to find a different outlet for his deviant ideas. And as he already said, nobody was injured."

"Persuade?! What does that mean?"

I punctuated each syllable as I said, "He used his words." Seeing the skeptical look on Dad's face, I continued, "Weevil did not hit him or use weapons of any kind."

"And you're really okay?"

"Yes. Though I was – and still am – a bit freaked out by everything."

"If you'll excuse us for a moment, Eli," my father said as he took me by the arm and steered me into his office, shutting the door behind him.

Dad was pacing and rubbing his face. Finally, he said, "I'm not at all happy about this."

"What exactly?"

His arms flailing around as he said, "This. You spending time with him. Him helping you. This."

Anger rose up in me. "Dad, you should be thanking him! Yell at me if you want – I deserve it. I was stupid to go there by myself. I was stupid to follow up on the lead while you were out of town. Stupid to follow up on it at all." As I continued to speak, my voice rose until I was shouting. "So … yell at me. But you should be thanking him. He didn't hesitate before throwing himself between me and danger." I took a deep breath before closing my argument with one last statement: "I got home safely last night for one reason – him."

Dad was quiet for a minute. Then, he walked past me to the door. At the sound of the door opening, Weevil shot up out of his chair.

Dad glanced down at the textbook on the desk. "Mathematics, huh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why do you need a tutor? What I mean is, why do you care about your grade enough to get a tutor?"

"I promised my grandma I'd graduate. Math is … a bit of an obstacle."

Dad seemed to be considering Weevil's words – and whether or not he believed them. "What do you want to do then … after graduation?"

Before answering, Weevil shot a glance over Dad's shoulder, perhaps hoping for assistance from me. "Well, I'm a good mechanic and I enjoy the work. I think I'd like to maybe run my own shop someday."

"Legal?"

He looked my Dad directly in the eye as he replied. "Yes, sir."

"Is it possible …?"

"…for me to change?" Weevil cut him off, the line of questioning was getting under his skin.

Dad softened his stance and sighed. "For you to get out … in one piece."

"Complicated, but possible."

This seemed to satisfy my father for the moment. "I'll be out for a few hours, but I'll be back by dinner time. That should give you plenty of time to get through the perils of high school homework." Turning to Weevil he added, "I'm not ready to say that I'm okay with you spending time with my daughter, but I respect the fact that you want to keep your promise to your grandmother. And well, thank you for last night – for following your instincts and being there to protect Veronica." He turned to kiss me on the cheek. "I'll see you later for daddy-daughter time."

[

After Dad left, Weevil and I were sitting on the couch working on the review section for his upcoming test.

He reached over to take my hand, mostly to get my attention. "You seem … to be doing better today."

"A good night's sleep and going toe-to-toe with my dad … can be quite invigorating." I was making a conscious choice to avoid conversation that might bring anything to the surface – where it would be detectable – before I had to spend the evening with Dad. Looking over his calculations, I said, "Okay, good. You're fine with the more straightforward problems. Let's move on to something more complex. Read me the first word problem."

Weevil groaned, but complied. The aggravation apparent in his voice as he read: "A farmer built a 960 sq. ft. fenced-in area next to his barn. The 24'x40' enclosure had fencing on three sides. One side of the barn served as one of the 40-foot sides of the area. How many feet of fence did he build?" He slammed the book down on the coffee table. "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"You can handle this. I know the phrasing can make it confusing, but …"

"V, that ain't the problem." He laid the book in my lap and stabbed his finger at the page. "It says he built the fence. Past tense! Already done. Why the hell do I need to tell the farmer how much fence he built? He knows. And even if he doesn't, what the fuck does it matter?! The job's done."

I clamped a hand over my mouth in a failed attempt to hold back my laughter.

"You're laughing at me, V?"

"I'm sorry. But it's funny. What you just said is funny!"

He didn't look amused. "I'll give you something to laugh about." He began to tickle me, mercilessly.

I was trying to say: please, stop. But I could not quite get the words out.

"I'll stop, if you stop laughing at me."

After he finally stopped, I regained my composure and smiled at him as I said, "I wasn't making fun of you. It was an expression of happiness."

"My frustration makes you happy?"

"No, what makes me happy is that you understood the question – as poorly worded and idiotic as it is. You caught the details on the first reading! This is progress. Serious progress."

"You're laughing again." He was glaring at me – unconvincingly.

"Yes. Happy laughter." I pointed at him as I warned, "No more tickling, mister."

"How about a kiss for every correct answer?" he asked, flirtatiously negotiating his terms.

I responded by shaking my head. Then, I picked up his pencil and handed it to him, saying, "The farmer may not need to know how many feet of fence he built. And you may not care. But how about you calculate it anyway … for me?"

Now, he was the one who laughed, because I tilted my head and flipped my hair.

I looked over his English assignment while he was working the math problem. He had started a journal entry about The Outsiders with a quote I recognized from the end of the book: "I wondered for a long time how to start that theme, how to start writing about something that was important to me. And I finally began like this: …" I smiled at that. I had always liked how S.E. Hinton ended the novel by having the last sentence wrap around to become the first.

After reading it, I placed his notebook on the table. I told him I was going to take a nap while he finished the review problems. Truthfully, it was an excuse to close my eyes and ponder what he had written. I didn't intend to fall asleep, but I did. He woke me up to check his math.

Looking at the problems he had done, I said, "You still have a tendency to skip over steps, not show your work. But you seem to be understanding this section. You're getting the right answer most of the time."

"How'd my journal look?"

"When is it due?"

"End of this week. Why? Is it that bad?"

"No. A few spelling and grammar things to clean up – nothing much. Even though it's not a formal essay or paper, still good to get in the habit of proof-reading." I hesitated to add the rest of what I was thinking.

He sensed my hesitation. "Something else you want to say?"

I tapped the cover of his notebook indicating that I was thinking about what he had written. "Do you mind answering a few questions? I think it might help clarify your thoughts … since you said that she mentioned taking some of these journals to use as a starting point for essay writing later."

"Ask away."

I paused briefly before speaking. "Since the novel deals with conflict between the 'haves' and the 'have-nots' … I'm just wondering what you thought. Not what you are willing to put on paper for a teacher to read, but what you really think."

His expression was difficult to read. He seemed hesitant to reveal his thoughts aloud, but at the same time, there was an eagerness to be understood. "Well, yeah, I mean, the book's old, but Hinton gets it, you know. Adults don't always get it."

"Well, she was 18 years old when it was published in 1967 … and she started writing it a few years before that. Inspired by things that happened where she lived."

"That explains it." Then, he was quiet for a moment. "I felt like I knew them – the greasers. I could picture their neighborhood and their homes. The bond between the guys, who were their real family. They looked out for each other, especially Johnny. But Johnny looked out for Pony because he was younger."

"He did. Even when he was dying – he left that letter for him." I was trying to gently lead the conversation.

"Yeah, he mentions the poem. I remember hearing Pony recite it in the movie and I liked the sound of it – you know, the flow of the words. But the year we watched it in class … the teacher tried to get us to talk about it. I didn't get the answers everyone else was giving. They all focused in on the gold part – the beauty of a new beginning and all that. But I got stuck on the line 'Eden sank to grief.' I didn't say anything though."

"What would you have said?"

He didn't immediately reply, considering how to explain. "My grandma makes us all go to church. Not every week, but pretty regular. So I know that paradise – the Garden of Eden – came before 'the Fall.' Frost used the word sank instead of fall, but whatever, same thing. I think he was saying that … even paradise fell. And well, grief … that loss was sad." He stopped himself and seemed to become agitated. "I get the thing about sunsets being the same from both sides of town and that 'things are rough all over' … but when Johnny writes to Pony to 'stay gold' … well, it made me mad."

"Why?"

"Because he can't. None of us can. Even paradise fell – and why? Because Eve was convinced by the Serpent that she knew better than God. That's the problem with this world. Too many of the people in positions of power – the ones who get to make decisions – are convinced that they know better. The rest of us have to live with the consequences of their actions."

I shifted away from that for the moment. "What about Dallas and his credo that if you get tough, nothing can touch you?"

"Well, we both know that's not true. It's just a short-term fix in the middle this long-term hell. If someone really wants to take you down, they'll find a way."

I thought he might continue, but when he didn't, I asked, "Who do you identify with, then?"

He shrugged. "A little of each of them, I guess. I mean, I get Darry feeling responsible for the guys. I get Pony … I was more like him a few years ago than I am now. He talked about seeing too many of the wrong things after years on the streets. See too much and it's not that you grow up too fast … it's that it changes you, how you think. Decisions become about survival. Problem is that there are different rules."

"You mean for the 09ers and everyone else?"

"Yeah, but more than that. There are laws … and there's rules at school. There's commandments at church and rules at home. There's the unspoken code between one neighborhood and another. Too many rules. At some point, you decide who your family is – your blood family but also friends and your …"

Finishing his thought, I said: "Gang."

"Hell yeah. When shit happens – and it will, 'cause it's one of the few things that's inevitable – you take care of the people close to you. Problem is that when shit happens … wait, let me find it." He pulled out his paperback copy and began to page through the novel.

I tried so hard not to squeal like a girl when I said, "You highlighted and made notes in the margins." I was so excited that I gave him a big hug and giggled.

"Happy laughter?"

I pulled back to look him in the eye. "Happy laughter."

He shrugged. "Sometimes, I listen to suggestions," he said, trying to act like this was perfectly normal behavior. "Here it is. Ponyboy is explaining that it shouldn't matter how someone looks, but it does: 'That's why people don't ever think to blame the Socs and are always ready to jump on us. We look hoody and they look decent.' Damn straight – you and I both know that Neptune is filled with people who look decent, but are really fucked up."

"No argument here."

"Another thing that made it real to me is that not all of them were enemies. I mean, Cherry talked with Pony about sunsets and stuff. And Soda knew people who weren't greasers … from school and working at the DX. And it talks about Darry knowing the head Soc at the rumble – even says 'they used to be friends.' No matter how divided things feel, it's nearly impossible to live in a town like this and not have contact with … other people." He was still for a moment and I could practically see a thought pass across his face. Then, he shook his head as he picked up my hand and kissed it. "Think how far back we go. In a way, this," he gestured back and forth between us, "was inevitable."

I picked up his journal again. "How soon will she have you start working on essays?"

"A month, maybe."

"She pick the book or did you?"

"There was a list. I recognized the title. I was supposed to read it a few years ago, but we watched the movie in class – so I just …"

"Bluffed your way through the test?"

"Yeah. But Miss James suggested I read it, said she'd like to talk to me about it. She actually gave me this." He pointed at the highlighted book on the table. "When we got this assignment, I remembered it was buried in my locker."

"Logical pick." I nodded approvingly and then pointed to where I had written down some notes during his last comments. "Decent looking versus good character. If I were you, I'd start there for your essay. Or maybe – just for yourself – write more about it, even if you don't show it to anyone. Ask yourself: Do …?" I cut myself off, seeing that he was becoming uncomfortable. I wondered if I'd pushed too hard. "Anyway, you can see the notes I made."

He got a serious look on his face like he was about to say something, but then changed his mind. He cleared his throat and said, "I'm gonna get going before the Sheriff gets back. Don't want to overstay my welcome." We kissed goodbye while still seated side by side on the couch. Standing, he asked, "Call me later?"

"After dinner … when I walk Backup?"

As he stepped toward the door, he gestured to his books. "Thanks, again."

"Just trading favors. Right?" I winked.

"Right." He laughed. A happy laugh.

I liked his laugh. I found myself wondering how many people got to hear him laugh like that.

There in the doorway, he quoted from The Outsiders: "'What's the safest thing to be when one is met by a gang of social outcasts in an alley?'"

As I stood and moved toward him, I quoted the correct response: "'Another social outcast!'"

After giving me one last lingering kiss, he added one more quote: "'You dig okay.'"

[

I finished up the filing. Then, I checked to be sure that I was up-to-date on my own school work. Since I was, I rewarded myself by reading about the newest beauty products and latest fashion trends in a magazine.

By the time I had reached the third perfume sample insert, Dad had returned with dinner – lasagna from Luigi's, one of my favorites. Guess he wasn't that angry with me.

He asked for a complete progress report on the new case. I told him what I had so far. I made a point of highlighting the info Weevil had been able to get. I also emphasized that my work the past few days meant that he would begin the week with a head start.

"Veronica." He wiped his mouth on his napkin, took a drink, and sighed. "I'd like to say that I'm proud and leave it at that, but I can't. You made a lot of progress on this while I was gone and from a business perspective, that's great. But you absolutely should not have tried to handle this on your own. I think you know that now. I think you know how unbelievably lucky you are that someone was there to help you."

"Dad –"

He cut me off. "I'm glad you're okay. But let me be clear … you're done on this. I'm taking over."

"No argument. But what about the other thing?"

"What other thing?"

"Weevil. Me tutoring him. Us spending time together."

"When he was over at the apartment that night watching tv? I told you I didn't like it. Every time he has been here – with or without books in hand – I have made my displeasure clear."

"Yes, you have. But now, I'm asking: has your attitude changed at all?"

He did not answer immediately. "I'm going to adopt a wait-and-see attitude." He continued eating in silence.

When he had finished his dinner, he carried the trash to the kitchen. As he passed my desk on the way to his office, he said, "Why don't you head home. I'm gonna make a few calls. I'll be there soon."

[

I stopped at home to pick up the four-legged member of the Mars family. When I arrived at the beach and parked, Backup was anxious to get out of the car. He would have to wait while I dialed Weevil's number.

"Hey there, beautiful. Finished with daddy-daughter time already?"

"Yeah. You have time to talk?" I asked as I put on Backup's leash.

Before I reached for the handle, my car door opened.

Weevil clicked his phone shut. "Yes, I do. In fact, I have time for a walk."

"You're not stalking me, are you?" I asked jokingly.

"No, that would be Logan."

"Not funny. By the way, I think he finally got the message."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Told him I was seeing someone."

"You didn't tell him who, did you?"

"No, of course not. Wallace and Dad are definitely ahead of him on my list of people to tell."

"Speaking of your Dad … how'd things go after I left?"

"He only really knows that we've been spending time together and about us trading favors including tutoring, but his exact words were that he'd take a 'wait-and-see attitude' about it." I said this with the note of positivity it deserved.

"Considering how upset I expected him to be about last night – you going there alone …"

"Not to mention the neighbor telling him about seeing you at our door in the wee small hours of the morning." I watched his face as he reacted to that information. "Yeah, considering everything, he's being pretty reasonable."

I locked the car, he took Backup's leash from me, and we walked down the beach.

[

During the drive home, my thoughts meandered. I kept coming back to the fact that after everything that had happened, Dad and I were actually happy. I mean, business was steady and he had Mrs. Fennel. I was keeping up my grades (which was good, because I would need scholarship money to add to my savings for college) and things with Weevil were going well. When was the last time things were this good? I mean, not perfect (there was still work to do on Lilly's murder investigation), but pretty damn good for life in Neptune.

While waiting at a red light, I caught a glimpse of myself in the rear-view mirror – I was smiling. I realized that recently I had been smiling a lot more.

As Backup and I bounded up the stairs toward the apartment, I tried to stop smiling – you know, as an experiment. I couldn't. I couldn't stop smiling.

That realization was followed by happy laughter.


A/N:

A little calm before the storm. Tune in next time ... as Veronica & Co. close in on Lilly's killer.

Thanks for reading! Until next time …

~Jen

9 April 2017