Title: Pieces of You
Email: I do not own the characters of Veronica Mars. They are owned by Rob Thomas, UPN, etc. and are used for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.
Pieces of You
Wallace knows he'll never have every piece to the Veronica Mars puzzle. He doubts even Veronica herself will have every piece. The girl's probably got things stuffed so far down inside even she doesn't know about. So the possibility of him a) figuring out what those things are and then b) figuring out how Veronica feels about them are slim to none.
But not for lack of trying.
Because his fate as the boy man destined to attempt to unravel the twisted, prickly knot that is Veronica Mars was forever sealed that afternoon on the beach.
When she waved.
People wave everyday. Wallace knows this. Hello, goodbye, watch out for that pot hole over there, buddy. It's a common gesture. Babies do it. Old blue haired ladies do it. So Wallace knows he shouldn't be so affected by something as simple as 1) lift arm, 2) move side to side, 3) drop down.
But he is.
Because Veronica waved to him like she hadn't ever done it before. Like the gesture was as complicated as Ulysses in sign language or something like that. It wasn't even an entire wave. She lifted her arm and twitched a finger or two at him. That's all.
He didn't understand why that half of a half of a gesture struck him as much as it had. Not then. Not until later when he laid in bed, reviewing the crap day he just had (piss off scary biker gang? check; get taped half-naked to flag pole in front of entire school? check; get cut down by slightly unstable blonde girl with a big ass knife? check), that he finally understood.
It wasn't the foreign finger-twitching wave.
It was the look.
The girl had looked at him like he'd grown an extra pair of heads when he'd waved to her. Like she couldn't believe someone (him in particular? a boy man person in general? or just anyone at all?) would wave to her. But then there was that smile, a half of a half of a smile just like her wave, and a spark of hope in her eyes that (almost) made Wallace forget about the slightly unhinged, knife wielding Veronica of that morning.
And at that moment of realization, Wallace had to know. He had to know what had happened to Veronica to make something as simple as a friendly wave of hello elicit that sort of hopeful, 'dying man sees magical, life saving oasis in the middle of the desert but won't let himself get too happy or excited about it because he just can't' kind of smile.
He had to know, so he could make sure it never happened again.
Because Veronica cut him down when no one else would, when she had no idea whether he was the super-fly, pimp juice extraordinaire he was or some jackass like Echolls, when she knew that cutting him down would only ostracize her further from the masses at Neptune High and probably get her targeted by whoever the hell had stuck his naked ass up there in the first place.
So Wallace pokes and prods the tough nut exterior to Veronica's marshmallow self and he waits. He waits for her next puzzle piece to drop, waits for what had happened and why and how Veronica feels about it and what he can do to make sure it never happens again and if he can't do that, what he can do to help Veronica because she helped him and Wallace doesn't turn his back on someone who helps him.
Even slightly unhinged, knife wielding, angry young marshmallow blonde girls.
Wallace knows that he'll never have every piece to the Veronica Mars puzzle, but he also that knows he'll never stop trying.