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*
Word was, the Sheriff was a private dick these days. His cotton candy daughter was different too – darker, tougher, meaner. She had secrets to keep, that girl, and he couldn't help but wonder what they were. Her Dad had been investigating Lil's death, after all. Weevil told himself he needed to know, owed it to Lilly, and started keeping tabs on Veronica Mars.
When they'd gotten round to talking, Lilly had talked about her. Pink and white Veronica, all shiny lips and shinier hair … “Trust me, Eli. There is a bad girl in there, just waiting to be set free,” Lilly had giggled. He'd scoffed at the time, but had begun to watch her anyway, because some of Lil's wilder ideas ... he thought about them a lot. And then someone murdered his sweet girl, and he went crazy for a while, not noticing anything. When he came back to himself, Veronica had short choppy hair and big boots and was doing everything in shades of black. Her air of purity had fractured, just like her reputation.
He'd be lying if he said that didn't make him want to find out whether the stories were true. He was PCH – hell, he was the big man, the jefe. Bad girls, sexy girls, hot girls … they were his territory. He wasn't sure about Veronica Mars, though. She didn't swing her ass as she crossed the quad, or drape herself over the lockers so he could admire her assets. Her big green eyes were too busy collecting information to be used for seduction, and she didn't use that breathy little voice unless she had an ulterior motive.
Veronica Mars had honed who-gives-a-fuck to a sharp point, but cross her, and she came out swinging. He wonders if he would have bothered with the black kid if he hadn't been sitting at Veronica's table that day. He had focused on Fennel, not even looking at her, but her scorn and annoyance tickled his skin like tangible things, riding him. And then she'd opened that mouth, and looked up at him with angry eyes, and dissed him in front of half the school. He could barely keep the smile off his face. Because Angry Veronica, crossed with Flirty Veronica, even if she was joking? Seriously fucking hot, and gracias a Dios for his baggies, because girl had gotten him hard, and the thought of oohs and aahs and her riding his hog? Not helping.
Later that night, he'd hustled up some of the boys for a cruise, nowhere specific, just around, and sure enough, the old Le Baron was across the street from the Camelot, same place he'd seen it the night before, and the night before that. Normally, they'd just roll on by, but tonight, he gave the signal to come around, and watched her face grow tight as he motioned for her to wind down her window. The guilt could fuck off, because she should be wary – little gringa, wrong side of town, bunch of bikers surrounding her … girl wasn't stupid. No way he was letting anyone touch her, but she didn't know that, and Ruiz was one big motherfucker … not that her dog cared. Score one for Veronica. And then she put Felix down with her taser – score two AND three - and that feeling was back. Awe. Admiration. And, oh yeah. He needed to fuck this girl.
She'd offered him a deal, and he'd forced doubt onto his face, because right then, all he wanted to say was damn, girl . But they were dealing here, so he gave her a week, and threw in a few idle threats to make it realistic. Then he allowed himself to just look at her, and maybe the look was a little raw, because her eyebrows flew up in two perfect arches. Good, because this girl, you had to keep off balance. Otherwise, she would rule you.
“If you get lonely out here, remember - Weevil love you long time,” he told her before he gunned the hog into life, wishing it sounded a bit more like the crude insult it was meant to be, and a bit less like a promise.
*
He's her ally now, Veronica tells herself. It makes sense to open a file on him.
Weevil Navarro, she types. Pauses. Would 'Eli' be more appropriate? She knew Eli, once. He had a head of black curls and used to play soccer with her in the park. She doesn't know Weevil, not really. People talk about him a lot, but they talk about her too, so she ignores the rumours and builds a chain of evidence.
First, the paper trail. He is licensed to drive a car, a motorcycle and a truck, and obviously needs a job just to pay for his speeding fines. His criminal record runs to three pages, most of it dating to Dad's time as Sheriff. Vandalism, B&E, car theft. Possession. Public nuisance. Assault. He turns 18 in two months time, and at this rate? He'll end up in Chino before he's 20. On his school records, next of kin is Leticia Navarro, grandmother. No mention of a mother or father. He is scraping past in four of his six subjects, and failing one, but he scored a 139 on the IQ test they took in the eighth grade. “Equal first!!!!” some disbelieving administrator had jotted in red capitals, and Veronica wonders if they bothered with as many exclamation marks on her own record.
Then, observation. In biology and health class. In the halls. At lunch. He walks into a room, sweeps it with a glance and classifies everybody: 09ers, PCH, other. Female, male. Threat, or no threat. Then his eyes light on her, and that smirk plays at the corner of his mouth. She doesn't know what it means, and tells herself he's just curious about her. Keen to know what she plans to do. There's nothing more to that questioning glance, and it has nothing to do with the way her pulse begins to slam when those warm brown eyes linger. Nothing to do with the moments when he actually smiles, and her stomach flips over.
He nods to her at lunch, scandalising everyone but the PCHers, who cackle knowingly. Sits behind her in biology a few days later, making ribald comments just loud enough to have her shaking with laughter, even as the teacher drones on. Steers her into the bathroom – he's even made up his own 'out of order' sign – to demand the details of her plan, which she refuses to share, except to tell him there might be a random locker search planned for tomorrow, just before the final bell.
One day, she wants to see him in his domain, and engineers it so she is asked to deliver a note to the Shop teacher. Fourth period, of course , and Weevil's bent over the engine of a car, two guys either side, talking them through changing an alternator. The patience in his voice is surprising – they aren't PCHers – and they hang off his every word. He lifts his head when she opens the door, and raises an eyebrow in question, but doesn't miss a beat in his explanation. He follows her out of the room, though, and corners her against the lockers.
“Hear Echolls ain't happy about his bong being confiscated,” he says. “You be careful, girl. Don't let him get you alone,” he warns, and his voice is low and intimate, something other than a warning throbbing between the words.
“I can handle him. You get your boys ready for court … no admissions, at all. You're gonna like the video evidence,” she promises, and they share a smirk. She wonders why they stand so close together when they do this, almost whispering to each other, because there is no one around to hear. Instead of moving back, though, she stands on tiptoe and breathes right into his ear: “see you round, vato,” and his eyes go black with something she's beginning to recognise.
*
They were celebrating Hector and Ramon's case being dismissed down at the bodega on Seventh when Juan and Tony come screaming in – Echolls had taken a tire iron to Veronica Mars' car down on Dog Beach, and they thought he'd like to know.
He'd set the fuckwits to watching her, so of course he wanted to know, he had yelled. “But you left her there alone, with that psycho?” She'd been with the snitch, they'd said doubtfully, looking at each other, but Weevil just grunted at them, already kicking his bike into life.
Echolls was looming over her but Veronica didn't look scared. She looked angry, but controlled, as if she wouldn't even give them the satisfaction of seeing her lose her temper. It's a good strategy, Weevil thinks, and maybe he'll take notes and do this calmly, instead of just ripping the asshole's head off. The tire iron feels good in his hand, and the mommy van is looking go nice and dinted by the time he's done, so he feels able to take on Echolls without killing him.
He even gives him the chance to apologise before he punches him. The feel of his fist slamming into Echolls gut is pretty much the best thing he's felt all day.
“I said, say you're sorry.”
Except for the feel of the 09ers nose breaking, of course. A new high.
She's less impressed than he would have expected. Tells him to let the pendejo go, and to apologise. Sure, that crack about body work … too obvious a come on? But she'd never minded before, and when she snorted and called him a dork, before telling him to say sorry to Fennel … no girl was worth that!
Wasn't just about a girl, though, was it? He'd kinda forgotten that, what with the constantly hard cock and his headlong rush to impress her. Veronica Mars had gotten his boys off … but she'd done it on her own terms, for her own reasons. He didn't really think she was sleeping with the black kid, they just didn't have that vibe between them, but she hadn't had a friend in a while, and maybe that was it. Maybe she was doing a good turn for a friend.
So he begrudgingly apologised to Fennel, and then regretted it when the kid refused to hand over the tape. She laughed, and he saw red. Had she been yanking his chain, the whole time? Sliding close, and whispering in his ear just to make him her bitch? Just like an 09er, even if they wouldn't touch her now. He'd take it as an omen and move the fuck on … adios, Veronica Mars.
He'd keep out of her way and try to forget all the want churning in his gut.
*
Her heart had leapt into her mouth as Weevil took his first swing at Logan, the crash of his fist into the taller boy's midsection taking her by surprise. The vicious, nose-crunching punch that followed sickened her. She tried not to let her shock show on her face – he's the leader of a biker gang, Veronica! - but she hadn't expected this. Not of the boy who had kept her amused in biology, or was told her to be careful just this afternoon.
She been so relieved to hear the rumble of the bikes pulling up. Weevil would stop this, before Logan creeped her out completely. Weevil would make him leave, and maybe offer her a ride home afterwards.
But this guy was far scarier than Logan could ever be. His false air of jollity didn't conceal the pleasure he was taking from the violence, or the effectiveness of it – he was good at this, she realised. Experienced. It was almost beautiful, the way he moved.
She was wet, she realised slowly. Aroused by the violence. The shame of it made her blow off his offer, made her belittle him, even as she pressed her thighs together to relieve the ache. She followed Wallace across the sand, heedless of their direction – anywhere, anywhere away from those black eyes, and the way he made her skin flush with heat, and her brain shut down.
She'd stay away, she promised herself that night, trying to lose the tension in the stream of hot water over her shoulders.
Keep clear of him. It was the only sensible option. The wise thing to do, she told herself, shoving Pope onto her bedside table and flicking off her reading light.
Shouldn't even think about him, she pants guiltily as she slips her fingers between her legs and loses herself to the memory of flying fists, and bared teeth and angry snarls.
It's not like their paths will cross again, she thinks sleepily as her breathing returns to normal and peace descends.
fin
Disclaimer: This fanfiction was written for personal enjoyment rather than profit. No infringement on the rights of the intellectual property owners is intended.