Used To Be

i. take a breath, take a long look around before you step

Logan's feet pound on the cracked concrete as he darts around Danny Boyd's ramshackle house into the alleyway beyond. These may be $500 shoes, but they don't absorb shock worth a damn. Veronica had followed the Irish mobster this way, had followed the bastard, even after he eyed her up in a way that had made Logan want to hurl himself from the X-Terra and whale the hell out of him.

If I need someone punched in the face, I'll whistle for ya.

He had been made to stay in the car. Like an errant child. No, he corrects himself… like someone Veronica does not trust, cannot trust. The thought is exquisitely painful. It is that thought – that and the look of fear that flashed in her eyes when he broke the lamp in her living room – that keeps him up at night. And it is the fatigue combined with having to watch her and Duncan all moony-faced that makes it even harder than normal to keep up his façade of devil-may-care jack-assery.

It is respect for Veronica, respect and yearning and a sort of desperate need to please her that he'd never admit to anybody that had kept him in the car for as long as he was. But she hasn't come back, and he doesn't know where she is, and he doesn't know what the hell kind of pervert Danny Boyd is, but he was looking at Veronica… he'd gotten out of the car with the (empty) gun tucked into the waistband of his pants before he'd even realized what he was doing.

He dodges a line of laundry strung across the alley. He is sort of amazed, in the part of his mind that never seems to turn the hell off, that people still do that. A vicious fusillade of barks startles him, causes him to stumble and then swear. But the junkyard dog is chained up, and Logan can carefully avoid its range. His heart is tripping like a jackhammer, and he wonders if the dog has announced his presence. He pauses, balancing lightly on his feet, waiting… There is a set of doors beyond the dog, and there is another alleyway through a dilapidated gate to his left.

He hesitates, unsure which way they have gone. What if she comes around another way, or she needs a quick escape, and he isn't in the car? He is not in the car, and he has the keys. She is so tangled up inside his thoughts and inside his soul, if he has one, and he'd been fine the way things were, fine. Bashed in headlights and planted drug paraphernalia, notwithstanding. And now, now that he's gotten to see her, the beauty and the spark and the vivid light of her… can he be blamed for not wanting to let that go? Isn't it normal for him to hate Duncan, just a little? He knows that she is helping him beat this murder rap because she is a good person and it is what she does. He can't quite squelch the simmering desire to somehow win her back, and if not, then getting to be around her, even a small part of her life, is better than nothing at all.

God. He sighs. I am creepy and pathetic. He begins to edge around the dog, making his way toward the doors, when down the alley, there is a series of smashes, the sound of glass breaking, a lot of glass.

Logan breaks into a run.

ii. 'cause the tide is coming, swallowing the ground,

He slides through an open door past the alley gate, careful not to jar it further. He is in a utility hallway, cheap stained linoleum, yellow mop bucket full of dirty water, flickering fluorescent lighting, and the vague odor of piss. He wonders how many diseases he could catch back here. There is another door just a few yards away, and he can hear the clinking of glassware and the murmur of voices. One, in particular, carries, and his heart somersaults into his throat. It is clearly threatening, though the timbre of the voice is falsely cheerful.

"Well, that was fun! But let's not stop there!"

Let's not stop there? Stop what? Veronica! Logan grits his teeth, arrests his forward motion. He doesn't know how many people are in there, if any are armed, where they are… he doesn't know anything. But he would bet his sad, sorry life that Veronica was in trouble.

He makes it to the threshold of the bar, still concealed behind the cracked door. He can see the blue and yellow of a flag hanging on the wall. Wicklow… it says, and then cill mhan… something unpronounceable and Irish. The River Stix. He has heard of this place. There is a choked squeal, almost a sob, and a high-pitched mechanical buzzing ensues. He peers through the door, and sees a man crouched over someone much smaller who is sprawled across the pool table, clearly struggling.

The blood is pounding in his ears, in his head. An almost murderous rage is swelling inside him. The way he felt when his father hit him, when the PCHers were beating the shit out of him on the bridge … this threatens to eclipse all of that. Someone is hurting her; someone is hurting her because of him. He is clawing together shreds of a plan, but he knows he is going to go in anyway. He owes her that much, and even that seems precious little in return. He flips open his phone and dials.

"I'm gonna start over here, and then when I hear something resembling the truth, I'll stop."

Logan shoves his way through the door.

"Hey!"

iii. and there's no way to tell if we will drown tonight, or we'll be found tonight.

The Irish thugs don't believe him. He'd been hoping that a 911 call, the threat of police would be enough deterrent to get him and Veronica out of there. But even as he instructs the dispatcher to find his ankle monitor, even with his implicit threat, There is blood everywhere, there is only laughter as he snaps the phone shut.

Lads, let's see how much damage we can do in the next two minutes…

They don't even care. It seems the highest form of blasphemy that they don't realize how valuable, how important she is. He ignores the part of him that snidely whispers that he used to (still does?) treat her the same way, and has the gun out before Liam Fitzpatrick can even finish his sentence.

He takes grim pleasure in the suddenly serious, cowed faces of the Fitzpatricks and their cronies. He hopes no one can see that his hand is trembling ever so slightly around the grip.

"I've had a very bad year." His voice is coldly casual. The look in Fitzpatrick's eyes tells him that the truth of his words is readily apparent. Good, he thinks. He'd gladly see the bar burnt to ashes and everyone inside it in hell, without one tear shed, as long as she is unharmed. At the same time, he is glad that he can't make eye contact with Veronica.

He waits, struggling to keep his Logan-mask in place. If they push him, if all they hear is the impotent click of an empty gun, then his life… Veronica's life… will not be worth a single damn. He forgets to breathe.

Liam blinks first. He releases Veronica, who sucks in air with a grateful, frightened wheeze that causes Logan's chest to ache. She grabs her fallen bag, darts behind him, as she slings him one grateful glance… even that tiny look is enough to send his heart soaring…

He backs toward the door, confidence rising in knowing that she is behind him, that he is between her and those who wish her harm. He turns to go through the door, wants to say something clever and original, but is still scared so witless that he'll probably go with, "Let's get the hell out of here."

She yells part of his name, but it is quickly cut off; there is a blur of movement past him. Why is she going back in the bar? And then, almost simultaneous with her movement, the thundering crack of gunfire. Something collides with his legs, and he is falling. His ears are ringing. There is distant tumult; people are yelling, sentence fragments whirling together in a cacophony of sound.

Liam! Let's get out of here! The cops! Where's Molly? Get rid of the damn gun! Do you know who that is? God, if you've killed her, we'll all go down for this.

Killed her?

The whistling in his ears is almost unbearable, but he struggles to make sense of things. Something is lying across him. He is in something wet, and incongruously, he thinks of the dirty mop water. His head and elbow throb from where they came in contact with the hard floor.

He tries to sit up, and sees Veronica at his feet.

Then he sees all the blood.

TBC

AN: This should be a short-ish three-shot or so. Canon-divergent from the events in 2x08, "Ahoy Mateys". Fic title and chapter break song lyrics are from the Arrows to Athens song "Used To Be".