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grammarwomanTitle: The Once and Future Weevil
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
grammarwoman
Fandom/Character/Setting: Veronica Mars, Weevil/OFC (but really gen), future!fic
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word count: 2000
Author's notes: Written forinlovewithnight's Holiday Catchallthon 2008. Thanks for running this, 'Night. You've prompted some brilliant stories.
harmonyangel requested "Veronica Mars. Weevil future!fic. What does the future hold for him? Does he have a chance of making it out of his circumstances? Any pairings, het or slash, are fine (though I'd prefer no crossgen pairings). But gen is good, too." I hope this comes close to meeting your request.
The Once and Future Weevil
"Hey, Bossman, your lady's on the phone for you! Yo, Eli!"
Eli Navarro slid out from under the Mercedes and glared towards the front office. "'Bossman'? Do I look like the guy on the 'OWNER' sign over there?"
"Well, you got the same mustache as your uncle..."
"Whatever." Eli gave his hands a quick swipe with a rag. He punched the blinking light on the wall phone and picked up the handset. "Hey, Shelly, what's up?"
"Well, if it isn't the Bossman himself," his wife teased.
Eli groaned. "Michelle, don't start."
"What? You don't like being a manager?"
"Shell..."
It was an old argument. He thought about a few years ago, approaching his uncle about giving him another chance at working at the autobody shop after completing his parole and some specialty mechanic's certifications. He'd swept floors, run errands, and other crap jobs before his uncle had let him near the cars again. Working in the front office answering phones and handling the paperwork had introduced him to a lot of people, including one beautiful woman with a bad transmission in her Saturn. Michelle kept turning him down for a date, but somehow her car showed up in the shop on a regular basis as she dangled the keys at him with a sly smile. She finally went out with him a few weeks after he'd graduated to full-fledged mechanic. Less than a year later, they were married.
She'd been a little leery when he'd opened up to her about his past, especially with the rap sheet and all. So Eli had been determined to show Michelle that he could hold a real legit job with real money, especially once the baby was on the way. He had eventually worked himself up to manager, with a pretty healthy paycheck and everything. The responsibility, the money, the power rush of being in control...yeah, all of it was nothing compared to the days he'd led the PCHers. Some days, the memory still stung. Other days, he thought about how few of his guys were both alive and out of jail, and he felt pretty lucky about it all.
"Anyway, I don't suppose you've looked at the date today?"
"Huh." He leaned over to see the freebie pin-up girl/oil ad calendar. "Today is...Oh, shit."
"It's a couple of hours to Anita's dance recital, so if you take off now, you should still have time. Of course, you'd have more time if you answered your damned cell once in a while."
Eli glanced over at his office. He could practically hear the shrill beeping of missed voice mails coming from his phone. "Sorry, I, ah, took it off 'cause the battery was dead."
Michelle sighed. "Just get out of there soon, hey? You don't want to disappoint your little girl on her big night."
"Big night - she's three, and she's what, the fifth daisy or something? Like we're even gonna see her for more than a minute."
"Eli..." Michelle said warningly.
"I'll be there, Shell. Let me finish up here and I'll get home in time enough to shower and change, OK?"
She blew him a kiss over the phone. "Love ya, Weevs."
"Love you too, Shellita." He hung up, frowning. He turned around to yell, "Hey, cholos, I gotta blow -- my kid's dancing tonight."
A round of insults rose up from the guys on the floor. He flipped off the rudest of them. "Fuck you and your stripper pole. We all know you gotta pay the girls to sit your lap."
Eli headed into the office he shared with his uncle (when he bothered to show up) and closed the door. He reached into a drawer and pulled out his phone. Sure enough, it was blinking and beeping furiously. He felt a twinge about his little lie to Michelle, but he just hadn't wanted to carry it around that day: too many people calling that he didn't want to answer. It was easier to let his phone handle them.
He retrieved his voice mails and listened as he scribbled through some paperwork. There were a couple of messages from Michelle, reminding him about the recital and asking him to pick up flowers for Anita. One was from Dick Casablancas, waxing profound in all his stoner glory. "Weevil! Hey, it's Dick. I gotta say, man, my baby is running so SWEET again. Purring like a kitten and everything. Hope you liked the usual I left for you in the box. Later, dude."
Eli grinned. He didn't know what weird fluke had brought Dick to his garage with a banged-up rear axle a while back, or how he'd gotten assigned to the car. When he'd found Dick's stash of weed in the door, he'd just stuck it in a bag and handed it back to him when Dick came to pick up the car. Dick was a little confused until he checked the contents. "Dude! Thanks for saving this for me. Guess I spaced on leaving it out, huh?"
Dick had been a regular customer ever since. Eli took care of his car repairs and secured whatever sorts of incriminating crap Dick left behind. In return, Dick let him take as much he wanted. Eli helped himself to the occasional bag of weed and left the harder stuff alone. He'd seen coke and meth fuck up too many people; besides, Michelle would have kicked him out if he'd tried to bring it home. He might have been able to resell it, but those days were far behind him.
Once Eli had gotten a reputation for discretion, some of Dick's party friends had started patronizing the body shop, too. The steady stream of higher-end cars and even higher-end repair fees led to a steady stream of profit for the shop. Eli's uncle approved and looked the other way when people specifically requested Eli.
Eli wondered sometimes how Dick kept up his lifestyle after he'd blown through his trust fund. Eli figured the former 09er must have gotten in with the cougar crowd as a boytoy or something. He didn't really care, as long as Dick kept paying his bills.
The next message on his voice mail was Keith Mars.
"Eli, thanks again for the assist with that stakeout last week. I hate to say it, but Veronica's right: this old man just can't keep up sometimes. Anyway, the grateful soon-to-be-ex-wife just left a big fat check for services rendered. Come pick up your cut when you've got a chance."
Eli nodded in relief. As fat as his manager's paychecks were, the extra dough he got from helping Keith on an infrequent basis still came in handy. Plus, making things easier for Keith cut down on the nagging calls from Special Agent Veronica Mars, who worried about her dad all the way from the other side of the country. He wished that Sheriff Van Lowe hadn't made it his secondary goal in life to hassle Keith and drive away as much of his business as he could. (Vinnie's primary purpose was being the most corrupt douchebag possible.) If Keith had a more reliable client base, he might have been able to hire Eli on full time. As it was, though, Michelle was uneasy about Eli doing anything that might be dangerous or get him in trouble with the law. His part-time gigs with Keith were about the limit of what she could stand.
The voice mail that followed reminded him that living in Neptune meant the cops and dangerous situations weren't always two separate things.
"Mr. Navarro, this is Liam Fitzpatrick. Again. I'm getting a little tired of you not returning my calls. I'm sure you would prefer for me not to disturb you in your place of employment. C'mon, you're a businessman, I'm a businessman. Let's do business. Call me. Soon."
Eli banged the table. "Fuck!"
Liam had called him a few months back with a proposition of rehabbing stolen cars and certain "lost" vehicles from the police impound lot for the Fitzpatricks. (Not that he'd said anything that specific, but his meaning had come through loud and clear.) When the Irish gang had risen to power under the protection of Sheriff Van Lowe, the last remnants of the PCHers had been run out of town. It had opened up whole new areas of crime for the Fitzpatricks to exploit. Somewhere along the way, they had also gotten smart. They moved their headquarters out of the River Stix to an unknown location and had buried the rest of their activities behind other businesses, setting up a front-line of scapegoats. Evidently they hadn't yet had much luck breaking into the auto sector.
Eli had tried his best to say "No" without burying himself, but Liam was persistent. In other circumstances, Eli might even have been tempted, but between the Fitzpatricks' dirty dealings in the Sheriff's election and their "Micks, no Spics" attitude, he knew he wouldn't have much of a future in their organization.
As a result, he'd been ducking Liam's calls for weeks. He kept hoping he could think of a way out, but he couldn't come up with anything that had a remote chance of working.
He looked at the time and swore again. He needed to rush or he'd be late for the recital. Michelle would kill him if he missed a single minute.
During the drive home, his cell started ringing. The caller ID said "Keith Mars". Eli flipped open the phone.
"Hey, Mr. Mars. I'm late for Anita's recital right now, but I can definitely get that check tomorrow." He still had to fight the urge to call Keith 'Sheriff Mars'. The first time he'd said that to Keith after he'd lost the election, the glare Keith had shot him had him correcting himself in a hurry. When Eli had started working for him, Keith had tried to get Eli to call him by his first name. They'd settled on 'Mr. Mars' when Eli refused to budge.
"You kids today. Always on the run." Eli could tell Keith was smiling on the other end. "Anyway, Eli, three tickets to the San Diego ballet troupe just fell into my hands, and since I'm more of a roller derby guy, I wondered if you might know a sweet little girl who'd want to see some real life dancers in action."
Eli exhaled in surprise. "Wow. Anita would really love that. Thanks!"
"I bet Michelle wouldn't mind a night on the town, either," Keith said. "Never lose the romance in your marriage, Eli. The love of a good woman is the greatest treasure men like us will ever find."
"Duly noted, sir. Really, thanks for the tickets. I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it. You bring that little ballerina of yours over sometime to dance for me, and we'll call it good. This apartment is so empty since…" Keith trailed off. "I'll see you tomorrow at the office, then?"
"Count on it. Bye, Mr. Mars." Eli flipped the phone shut.
Keith Mars is a good man, he thought to himself, More than I could ever be. He'd always respected Keith, even during the days he'd spent more time in jail or juvie than with his boys. For Keith to get railroaded out of the Sheriff's office twice was a real crime, and not one that was going to be corrected anytime soon. Unless…
A plan started to click together in his head. If he agreed to Liam's arrangement, and kept track of those cars that came through his shop… If he could prove that that the vehicles were actually stolen or coming straight off the police impound lot… If he could tie the whole dirty mess of the Fitzpatricks and the Sheriff's office all together…
It would feel so good to show them that Eli Navarro was no stupid grease monkey they could bully. It had been too long since Weevil had seen some action. He knew Keith was itching to take down both groups. He bet he could even get one particular Special Agent interested, too; police corruption would be a juicy target for the FBI, and Veronica was hell on wheels when it came to bringing down vengeance on those who had wronged her and her people.
It was going to be complicated and messy. But after all, that was life in Neptune.
Author:
grammarwomanFandom/Character/Setting: Veronica Mars, Weevil/OFC (but really gen), future!fic
Rating: PG-13 for language
Word count: 2000
Author's notes: Written for
inlovewithnight's Holiday Catchallthon 2008. Thanks for running this, 'Night. You've prompted some brilliant stories.harmonyangel requested "Veronica Mars. Weevil future!fic. What does the future hold for him? Does he have a chance of making it out of his circumstances? Any pairings, het or slash, are fine (though I'd prefer no crossgen pairings). But gen is good, too." I hope this comes close to meeting your request. The Once and Future Weevil
"Hey, Bossman, your lady's on the phone for you! Yo, Eli!"
Eli Navarro slid out from under the Mercedes and glared towards the front office. "'Bossman'? Do I look like the guy on the 'OWNER' sign over there?"
"Well, you got the same mustache as your uncle..."
"Whatever." Eli gave his hands a quick swipe with a rag. He punched the blinking light on the wall phone and picked up the handset. "Hey, Shelly, what's up?"
"Well, if it isn't the Bossman himself," his wife teased.
Eli groaned. "Michelle, don't start."
"What? You don't like being a manager?"
"Shell..."
It was an old argument. He thought about a few years ago, approaching his uncle about giving him another chance at working at the autobody shop after completing his parole and some specialty mechanic's certifications. He'd swept floors, run errands, and other crap jobs before his uncle had let him near the cars again. Working in the front office answering phones and handling the paperwork had introduced him to a lot of people, including one beautiful woman with a bad transmission in her Saturn. Michelle kept turning him down for a date, but somehow her car showed up in the shop on a regular basis as she dangled the keys at him with a sly smile. She finally went out with him a few weeks after he'd graduated to full-fledged mechanic. Less than a year later, they were married.
She'd been a little leery when he'd opened up to her about his past, especially with the rap sheet and all. So Eli had been determined to show Michelle that he could hold a real legit job with real money, especially once the baby was on the way. He had eventually worked himself up to manager, with a pretty healthy paycheck and everything. The responsibility, the money, the power rush of being in control...yeah, all of it was nothing compared to the days he'd led the PCHers. Some days, the memory still stung. Other days, he thought about how few of his guys were both alive and out of jail, and he felt pretty lucky about it all.
"Anyway, I don't suppose you've looked at the date today?"
"Huh." He leaned over to see the freebie pin-up girl/oil ad calendar. "Today is...Oh, shit."
"It's a couple of hours to Anita's dance recital, so if you take off now, you should still have time. Of course, you'd have more time if you answered your damned cell once in a while."
Eli glanced over at his office. He could practically hear the shrill beeping of missed voice mails coming from his phone. "Sorry, I, ah, took it off 'cause the battery was dead."
Michelle sighed. "Just get out of there soon, hey? You don't want to disappoint your little girl on her big night."
"Big night - she's three, and she's what, the fifth daisy or something? Like we're even gonna see her for more than a minute."
"Eli..." Michelle said warningly.
"I'll be there, Shell. Let me finish up here and I'll get home in time enough to shower and change, OK?"
She blew him a kiss over the phone. "Love ya, Weevs."
"Love you too, Shellita." He hung up, frowning. He turned around to yell, "Hey, cholos, I gotta blow -- my kid's dancing tonight."
A round of insults rose up from the guys on the floor. He flipped off the rudest of them. "Fuck you and your stripper pole. We all know you gotta pay the girls to sit your lap."
Eli headed into the office he shared with his uncle (when he bothered to show up) and closed the door. He reached into a drawer and pulled out his phone. Sure enough, it was blinking and beeping furiously. He felt a twinge about his little lie to Michelle, but he just hadn't wanted to carry it around that day: too many people calling that he didn't want to answer. It was easier to let his phone handle them.
He retrieved his voice mails and listened as he scribbled through some paperwork. There were a couple of messages from Michelle, reminding him about the recital and asking him to pick up flowers for Anita. One was from Dick Casablancas, waxing profound in all his stoner glory. "Weevil! Hey, it's Dick. I gotta say, man, my baby is running so SWEET again. Purring like a kitten and everything. Hope you liked the usual I left for you in the box. Later, dude."
Eli grinned. He didn't know what weird fluke had brought Dick to his garage with a banged-up rear axle a while back, or how he'd gotten assigned to the car. When he'd found Dick's stash of weed in the door, he'd just stuck it in a bag and handed it back to him when Dick came to pick up the car. Dick was a little confused until he checked the contents. "Dude! Thanks for saving this for me. Guess I spaced on leaving it out, huh?"
Dick had been a regular customer ever since. Eli took care of his car repairs and secured whatever sorts of incriminating crap Dick left behind. In return, Dick let him take as much he wanted. Eli helped himself to the occasional bag of weed and left the harder stuff alone. He'd seen coke and meth fuck up too many people; besides, Michelle would have kicked him out if he'd tried to bring it home. He might have been able to resell it, but those days were far behind him.
Once Eli had gotten a reputation for discretion, some of Dick's party friends had started patronizing the body shop, too. The steady stream of higher-end cars and even higher-end repair fees led to a steady stream of profit for the shop. Eli's uncle approved and looked the other way when people specifically requested Eli.
Eli wondered sometimes how Dick kept up his lifestyle after he'd blown through his trust fund. Eli figured the former 09er must have gotten in with the cougar crowd as a boytoy or something. He didn't really care, as long as Dick kept paying his bills.
The next message on his voice mail was Keith Mars.
"Eli, thanks again for the assist with that stakeout last week. I hate to say it, but Veronica's right: this old man just can't keep up sometimes. Anyway, the grateful soon-to-be-ex-wife just left a big fat check for services rendered. Come pick up your cut when you've got a chance."
Eli nodded in relief. As fat as his manager's paychecks were, the extra dough he got from helping Keith on an infrequent basis still came in handy. Plus, making things easier for Keith cut down on the nagging calls from Special Agent Veronica Mars, who worried about her dad all the way from the other side of the country. He wished that Sheriff Van Lowe hadn't made it his secondary goal in life to hassle Keith and drive away as much of his business as he could. (Vinnie's primary purpose was being the most corrupt douchebag possible.) If Keith had a more reliable client base, he might have been able to hire Eli on full time. As it was, though, Michelle was uneasy about Eli doing anything that might be dangerous or get him in trouble with the law. His part-time gigs with Keith were about the limit of what she could stand.
The voice mail that followed reminded him that living in Neptune meant the cops and dangerous situations weren't always two separate things.
"Mr. Navarro, this is Liam Fitzpatrick. Again. I'm getting a little tired of you not returning my calls. I'm sure you would prefer for me not to disturb you in your place of employment. C'mon, you're a businessman, I'm a businessman. Let's do business. Call me. Soon."
Eli banged the table. "Fuck!"
Liam had called him a few months back with a proposition of rehabbing stolen cars and certain "lost" vehicles from the police impound lot for the Fitzpatricks. (Not that he'd said anything that specific, but his meaning had come through loud and clear.) When the Irish gang had risen to power under the protection of Sheriff Van Lowe, the last remnants of the PCHers had been run out of town. It had opened up whole new areas of crime for the Fitzpatricks to exploit. Somewhere along the way, they had also gotten smart. They moved their headquarters out of the River Stix to an unknown location and had buried the rest of their activities behind other businesses, setting up a front-line of scapegoats. Evidently they hadn't yet had much luck breaking into the auto sector.
Eli had tried his best to say "No" without burying himself, but Liam was persistent. In other circumstances, Eli might even have been tempted, but between the Fitzpatricks' dirty dealings in the Sheriff's election and their "Micks, no Spics" attitude, he knew he wouldn't have much of a future in their organization.
As a result, he'd been ducking Liam's calls for weeks. He kept hoping he could think of a way out, but he couldn't come up with anything that had a remote chance of working.
He looked at the time and swore again. He needed to rush or he'd be late for the recital. Michelle would kill him if he missed a single minute.
During the drive home, his cell started ringing. The caller ID said "Keith Mars". Eli flipped open the phone.
"Hey, Mr. Mars. I'm late for Anita's recital right now, but I can definitely get that check tomorrow." He still had to fight the urge to call Keith 'Sheriff Mars'. The first time he'd said that to Keith after he'd lost the election, the glare Keith had shot him had him correcting himself in a hurry. When Eli had started working for him, Keith had tried to get Eli to call him by his first name. They'd settled on 'Mr. Mars' when Eli refused to budge.
"You kids today. Always on the run." Eli could tell Keith was smiling on the other end. "Anyway, Eli, three tickets to the San Diego ballet troupe just fell into my hands, and since I'm more of a roller derby guy, I wondered if you might know a sweet little girl who'd want to see some real life dancers in action."
Eli exhaled in surprise. "Wow. Anita would really love that. Thanks!"
"I bet Michelle wouldn't mind a night on the town, either," Keith said. "Never lose the romance in your marriage, Eli. The love of a good woman is the greatest treasure men like us will ever find."
"Duly noted, sir. Really, thanks for the tickets. I appreciate it."
"Don't mention it. You bring that little ballerina of yours over sometime to dance for me, and we'll call it good. This apartment is so empty since…" Keith trailed off. "I'll see you tomorrow at the office, then?"
"Count on it. Bye, Mr. Mars." Eli flipped the phone shut.
Keith Mars is a good man, he thought to himself, More than I could ever be. He'd always respected Keith, even during the days he'd spent more time in jail or juvie than with his boys. For Keith to get railroaded out of the Sheriff's office twice was a real crime, and not one that was going to be corrected anytime soon. Unless…
A plan started to click together in his head. If he agreed to Liam's arrangement, and kept track of those cars that came through his shop… If he could prove that that the vehicles were actually stolen or coming straight off the police impound lot… If he could tie the whole dirty mess of the Fitzpatricks and the Sheriff's office all together…
It would feel so good to show them that Eli Navarro was no stupid grease monkey they could bully. It had been too long since Weevil had seen some action. He knew Keith was itching to take down both groups. He bet he could even get one particular Special Agent interested, too; police corruption would be a juicy target for the FBI, and Veronica was hell on wheels when it came to bringing down vengeance on those who had wronged her and her people.
It was going to be complicated and messy. But after all, that was life in Neptune.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-24 01:38 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-24 03:51 pm (UTC)I liked how Weevil well did (except for his temper) working at Mars Investigations when he was looking for a job -- I thought he and Keith would make a good team again.
You're very welcome. The Catchallathon has brought out a lot of good stories, hasn't it? *grin*
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-27 07:25 am (UTC)This is wonderful. :D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-27 05:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-31 02:49 am (UTC)Oh, YAY. I really like the idea of Weevil pulling strings and solving so many of his problems at once-- and I love the idea of him running into Veronica again, in the middle of yet another complicated investigation. (If only your future!Weevil wasn't married--! But okay, they are also awesome as platonic crimefighting pals. *G*)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-12-31 06:03 am (UTC)I gotta say, I never really pictured Veronica and Weevil hooking up. They're too...alike, maybe? They have almost a brother/sister relationship, a wary acknowledgment of equals. If there were any sparks between them, they were sparks of competitiveness and recognition of minority kinship, of being overlooked and underestimated.
Thanks for reading!
(no subject)
Date: 2012-06-23 10:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2012-06-24 05:33 am (UTC)