I fell asleep while watching Castle. I'm still on 100% sure on how exactly this happened, I just got a little overwhelmed by the response to Welcome Home and I guess one thing led to another and this happened? Keep in mind while reading this that, like all of my fic, this is unbetaed. The only editing this has gone through is me re-reading it a few times. I have a feeling the tenses might have tripped up more than a few times. If you're interested in beta-ing, I'd greatly appreciate you hitting me up through PM/twitter/tumblr/carrier pigeon. I also have absolutely no idea of anything regarding newspaper offices or police departments beyond a bunch of episodes of Law & Order SVU and The Newsroom. The latter isn't even close. I have no idea where this is going, but, depending on the feedback I fully intend to make this a whole, blown out, multi-chaptered fic.


Casey Gant whistles cheerily as he walks down the halls of the New York police department's homicide division with a coffee tray in one hand and a recently bought copy of the New York Times in the other.

"Oh thank god. You brought me coffee," Veronica Mars exhales loudly in relief as she recognizes what was in her colleague's hand.

"Two sugars, no cream," Casey offers her the beverage as he flaunts the other object in his possession. "and another article from our biggest fan."

Veronica's momentary pleasure at finally getting her caffeine fix instantly dissipates. "You've gotta be kidding me. Doesn't he have anything else to write about?"

Casey snorts, then began to read aloud from the critically acclaimed newspaper. "It seems our very own NYPD is on yet another wild goose chase. This week, its the murder of some poor teenaged girl who happened to be in the wrong place in the wrong time. Despite evidence pointing towards a notorious gangster knowing to frequent the area she was killed, the department continues to insist that, you guessed it, it was her grieving boyfriend."

Veronica, quickly irritated with their favorite journalist's constant commentary on her career, attempts to grab at the paper to force Casey to stop. Unfortunately for her, Casey, who had over a foot on her, continues to read.

"Well, perhaps I should be easier on our law enforcement. After all, isn't wrongly accusing the boyfriend a step up from wrongly accusing the girl's father? I, for one, have to commend such marvelous detectives such as Veronica Mars," Veronica continues to swipe at the paper in his hands, but Casey only flits around the desks, ignoring the odd looks from those that occupy them. "for having the talent to perform the feat that is constantly ignoring the facts in favor of sticking their head up their asses. It must be difficult to be that disconnected from reali-"

"What in the hell are you two doing?" Clarence Wiedman interjects, interrupting Casey's dramatic interpretation.

"Nothing, Chief!" Veronica answers cheerily. "Casey was just recapping me on my fan mail, that's all."

Weidman only narrows his eyes at the two. "Echolls is at it again?"

"You'd think he'd have enough after his little blurb on our work on the East Coast Strangler." Casey replies unabashed.

"Or maybe after the murder of the transvestite." officer Leo pipes up.

"Then there was the hooker on Times Square..." Casey continues.

Weidman is unamused. Having to deal with the press backlash involved in each publication, reminders of the article were not his favorite. "The press has been on our asses since the Kane case. We don't have the damn time to deal with some bitter boyfriend of a heiress."

"Amen, boss." Eli Navarro growls. "If there's anything I hate more it's some rich white boy telling me how to do my damn job."

Clarence only sighs dejectedly. "This isn't looking good on our rep. Unfortunately we can't even sue this guy for slander."

"I guess that what happens when you accuse someone on Forbes' top 10 list on killing their own kid." officer Don Lamb waits until the Chief is back in his office to snark, then approaches his small desk to sit in chair backwards and smirks smugly at Veronica, indifferent to Eli and Casey's answering glare.

Veronica looks away guiltily. The department wouldn't have had to worry about their reputation if it wasn't her constant pursuit of Jake Kane, software inventing billionaire.


Where were you the night of your daughter's murder?" Detective Mars looks doggedly across the interview table at a worn for wear Jake Kane.

"I already told you, I was at the Park Central with my wife." Jake answers warily.

"What were you doing there?"

Jake blinks in disbelief. "Excuse me?"

Veronica doesn't reply, only looks long at hard at the father of Lilly Kane.

"I was at a hotel room with my wife..." Jake repeats.

"You've said that already and I asked you what exactly were you doing there." Veronica is quickly getting a little irritated.

"You know what we were doing there. Its like that when you have kids, your privacy goes out the window. I realize you might not understand that."

Veronica ignores the jab about her age. "I'm twenty-seven, I have friends who have kids Mr. Kane. If you were at the hotel then provide us with the receipts and we can be done here.

"You can't be serious." Jake shakes his head. "You should be out finding who killed my daughter!"

"How long were you two having sex?" Veronica persists despite the billionaire's protests.

"That's really none of you business."

"Your daughter was murdered, Mr. Kane. That sort of privacy goes out the window under these circumstances." Veronica couldn't resist the urge to throw his words back in his face. "Now, how long were you two having sex?"

"I'm not answering that." Jake shakes his head.

"According to your earlier words, you were there for a little over two and a half hours. How much of that time was spent having sex?"

"How am I supposed to remember?"

"You can remember the first thing you did when you got into the room, can't you?"

"I don't know, we just settled into the room..." Jake laughs uncomfortably, adjusting his tie. "I put on the TV."

"What was on?"

"Is this really necessary?" Jake questions the blonde detective for the upteenth time.

"This is an interview. It's my job to ask questions, Mr. Kane." Veronica states exasperatedly.

"We put the TV on for background noise so we could just get right to it, alright? You want me to draw you a diagram?" Jake spits out.


"How long were you in the room with your husband?" Veronica is in the same place in the interrogation room, though with different clothes and a new person at the end of the table.

Celeste Kane's answering voice is cold and haughty. "Two and a half hours."

"Matches up with your husband's statement." Veronica notes.

"We were there together, so obviously it would."

"Were you together in the room for the full two and a half hours?" Veronica's tone remains business-like, despite the demeanor of the woman across her.

"Yes." Celeste barks.

"What did you do when you got there?"

"We had champagne on the patio."

Veronica let an eyebrow quirk up. "Room service?"

"No, we brought it from home."

"Wouldn't it be easier just to order it?"

"We usually don't have to stay at Park Central. It was a special occasion." Celeste voice quavers on the second sentence. Veronica pretends not to notice.

"Do you happen to remember what was on TV?"

Celeste looks haughtily at the detective. "Trust me, we weren't watching TV."


Clearly both Jake and Celeste were lying about where they were the night their twenty-six year old daughter was killed nearly a year ago. Veronica knew it, as did Casey, Eli, and Clarence. You didn't lie about something as vital as the murder of your only daughter without a good reason, and she told the press as much.

They didn't take it well. One columnist and boyfriend of the dead heiress especially. Apparently him and Jake Kane were real pals, despite graphic images of him deflowering his little girl in very public places plastered in the tabloids. After he'd got wind of Veronica's on air comments on to some NBC crew pointing to the Kanes as suspects, he used every opportunity possible to ruin her and every other person at the station. It started out with a few snarky comments on his Twitter account and escalated from there. Now, Logan Echolls, son of two movie stars and renowned journalist wrote weekly headlines describing the NYPD's every mistake.

As if Veronica was the one pulling things out of her ass.

After a former employee of the Kane's, Abel Koontz confessed to the crime, the department was forced to close the investigation. Mounting media pressure caused by Jake Kane giving as many press conferences as he was physically capable made sure of that. The big bad wolf was caught, according to everyone else. Aside from Koontz's confession, rising star officer Don Lamb appeared on camera holding up the shoes he found on his houseboat as if it was a trophy. The CNN crews went home, the District Attorney made sure that Abel Koontz was currently in a maximum security prison, and the American public could sleep again.

As far as Clarence and the rest of the few colleagues that believed her were concerned, she'd dropped the case. They also thought the files on the murder were locked away in some dusty storage room. They were wrong on both counts. She didn't know Lilly Kane beyond the spreads in US Weekly of her doing keg stands and sleeping with sons of ambassadors, but she knew she deserved justice. Despite the cost that came with it.

She was going to find Lilly Kane's killer and make him pay. Logan Echolls and the rest of his attention-seeking friends who called themselves journalists be damned.


"I see murderers still don't believe in letting cops get any more than three hours of sleep." Veronica mumbles, slamming the door behind her.

"You could've gone home at any time." Weevil Navarro reminds her as they exit the squad car.

"And miss out on all the paperwork? As if!" Veronica scowls, seeing officer Leo surrounded by crime scene tape.

"Who is the vic?" Weevil asks grimly, ducking his head under the tape as Veronica soon follows.

"Late teens or early twenties," Leo looks grim. "someone must have really not liked her."

"Why do you say that?" Veronica asks, puzzled.

"Girl was stabbed at least fifteen times, and cut even more." Leo explains, looking from Weevil to Veronica.

Weevil winces sympathetically. "Got an I.D. yet?"

"We're working on it, but it looks like they got her in the face."

"You think?" Veronica raises an eyebrow sarcastically, carefully eying the multiple cuts on the young girl's face when she notices something glinting about 5 feet away.

"Gimme a pair of gloves, Leo, it looks like our perp was sloppy."


It had to be Logan Echolls' lucky day.

No, but really, there was no other possible explanation for having such gold land into his lap at a time like this. What other explanation could possibly cover a famous hotel owner's daughter's body being found and the knife that killed him having Eli Navarro's prints on it? The only thing worse than the local police department being full of liars who pulled conspiracy theories out of their ass would be one of them being a murder.

Well, it sucked for poor Caitlin Ford, but it worked out well for Logan's career.

Especially when his boss started getting on his ass and saying how unprofessional his writing was starting to be. According to Cindy Mackenzie, his ever candid editor, "If the New York Times wanted a constant stream of out-of-touch bullshit, they would've hired Rush Limbaugh as a contributor."

They hardly had the balls to fire him, though, seeing as the paper had been selling faster than ever. So, regardless of what Ms. Mackenzie thought, her superiors were more than happy to keep printing his work.

So he took his cappuccino and began typing furiously at the laptop in front of him, screw Cindy Mackenzie.

"IS THE NYPD CATCHING MURDERERS OR HIRING THEM?"


Some might say Logan Echolls had a short fuse. Hell, some people would have personally paid for his anger management classes out of pocket. Regardless of what popular opinion was, however, it did take a lot to thoroughly piss Logan off.

Veronica Mars had succeeded in doing just that.

His girlfriend was dead and there was nothing he could do to bring her back. And what did Veronica Mars, who was in charge of making the person who did this to her pay, do? Blame everyone that cared about Lilly. Instead of going after her actual killer and the evidence leading to him, Mars and her merry gang of officers had instead tried to pin the blame on Lilly's father. The guy that was more of a father to him than his biological dad.

It must take a cold bitch to accuse someone of hurting someone they love like that. He's been on the receiving end of that blue eyed glare and intimidation tactics in a room with a window that only went one way.

Had his alibi not held up, it would've been him she went after.

"Dude!" Dick Casablancas comes bounding through Logan's beach house. "I read your article today!" He holds up his hand for a fist bump. "Niiiiiiice burn."

Logan only quirks an eyebrow and doesn't raise his fist to acquiesce Dick's silent request. "Are you meaning to tell me that you actually read?"

Dick had the decency to look offended. "I totally read, man. How else do you think I've memorized the Kama Strata from front to back?"

"Karma Sutra," Logan corrects his lifelong friend. "and I'm assuming you just looked at the pictures."

"To-may-to, tah-mat-oh," Dick shakes his shaggy hair. "point is you totally nailed that Mexican. Maybe he can go back to his homeland?"

"Or, you know, prison." Logan deadpans.

"Nah, man, I think his homeland is worse. Anyway, as douchey as those cops are, I can't believe they actually were dumb enough to kill someone."

"Yeah, you'd think a homicide detective would be smart enough to get an alibi, or even to wipe his-" Logan's face visibly pales. "Oh shit."


Three days later it's revealed, through various hotel receipts and grueling interrogations, that one Chardo Navarro is responsible, not only for the murder of Caitlyn Ford, but for framing a police officer.

"I owe you, V." Weevil states, pulling his friend into a hug in the middle of the station. "I don't know how long I was going to be able to stomach pissing in front of Lamb in that damn cell."

"That's me, preventing officer Lamb from looking at private parts one case at a time." Veronica replies perkily. "I'm sorry about your cousin, though."

Weevil grimly shakes his head. "I guess this is what I get for explaining to him how a guy we had a few years ago successfully planted evidence and landed his ex-wife in prison for five years."

"As long as you didn't do a step-by-step example of how to murder your paramour for not sneaking off with you, I think you're good." Veronica elbows him good naturedly. "Now if you excuse me, I have some business to attend to."

"What business?" Weevil asks, puzzled.

"Someone owes someone an apology," Veronica smirks as she walks out the door. "and I know just how to get it."


Logan Echolls had just been bitched out by Cindy Mackenzie. Again. Despite her boss's claims that Logan was simply going off the evidence in front of them, she was not too pleased with his accusing a police officer of murder, and that he better get his head out of ass before the Times got sued for libel.

Safe to say, this day was going to require a lot of coffee.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets, tapping his foot impatiently at the local Starbucks' ridiculously long line. He's relieved when he finally gets his French Vanilla.

That is, until a tiny blonde someone slams into him and he gets it all over his white button-up. "Son of a-"

"Daughter, actually." Of course its Veronica fucking Mars and not a drop of the steaming hot coffee got on her sensible black blazer and pencil skirt. "And you call yourself a journalist."

Logan only scowls and proceeds to grab handfuls of napkins and blot as his shirt. "What brings you to this side of town? Shouldn't you be accusing innocent of people of murder or something?"

"Actually, that sounds more like your thing than mine nowadays." Veronica gives him her famous head tilt. "I was in the area and I thought, 'Hey! Why don't I catch up with my favorite writer at his daily 10:30 coffee run?'"

"Have my schedule memorized, do you?" Logan chuckles with a flirty grin, sliding into a nearby booth. "The ladies can't seem to stand away, now can they?"

"You know I only live to be close to you." Veronica says dryly, sitting down opposite him. "But you do have something I want."

"Okay, fine, I'll relent just this once, but no cuddli-"

"You owe Eli Navarro a very special apology. One published in your little tabloid you call your column." The blonde detective has a very smug look on her face.

"I'll get right on it," Logan nods. "right after I loan Satan my skis."

Veronica doesn't seem surprised by his rebuttal. "I really think this is in your best interest."

"Unless its topless photos of Alyssa Milano, you can rub a lamp."

Veronica replies in a sing-song voice. "Remember this moment, Echolls. You're going to live to regret it."

"I look forward to it." He goads smugly, folding his hands behind his head.

Veronica scoots out of the booth and out the door. Logan merely looks down at his shirt and grimaces. Without shame nor an undershirt, Logan peels the ruined John Varvatos over his head. 'This shirt probably costs more than her entire wardrobe.' He grumbles internally.

"Uh, sir!" A flustered barista interrupts his train of thought. "I'm going to have to ask you to put your shirt back on."

Logan looks at the coffee stain, then at her. "No can do."

"Then you're going to need to leave."

Logan shrugs without any trace of embarrassment, merely slinging the shirt over his back on his way out.


The very next day a video leaks on the Smoking Gun of Logan, 17 and drunk off his ass, organizing a bum fight. He knocks furiously on her door at her crappy apartment complex at six in the morning, fully intending to give her a piece of his mind and then some.

Veronica Mars opens the door, looking bored. "Written up that apology yet?"

"How about no, Mars. What the hell possessed you-"

"How must it feel to have your reputation ruined? Except I guess in this case its actually true." She snipes at him, and Logan has the decency to look down at the cracks in her porch. "Keep in mind I have more videos on my drive where that came from the next time you make a decision that hurts one of my friends, Echolls."

Logan snaps his head back up, glaring at the blonde in front of him. "You wouldn't."

"You underestimated me once, buddy, and yet here you are."

He fumes as she shoves him aside and locks her door. "I have to go to work and you're leaving to go get started on that apology. Now mush."


"Mr. Echolls, Woody Goodman would like to see you." Oh joy, a meeting with his boss' boss. As if Logan wasn't in a dark enough mood after today's events.

"Sir, you beckoned?" Logan pops his head into Goodman's office. The room was decked out in tacky baseball memorabilia.

"Logan!" Woody greets cheerily. "Have a seat, son."

Logan looks around the room warily to sit down in the chair facing Woody's desk. "Is this about the latest viral video circulating on the internet?"

Woody only laughs. "Well, yes and no." Noticing Logan's panicked expression, he quickly adds, "You're not being fired."

Logan looks noticeably less anxious.

"I've been talking with our staff, and as much as we love what you write, we've been thinking of giving you an opportunity to branch out." Woody says kindly, bustling about the room to fix coffee. He gives a mug to Logan, who accepts it gratefully.

"I get it, I'll lay off the NYPD," Logan begins, but Woody only shushes him.

"We don't want that at all!" Woody exclaims. "Just the opposite as a matter of fact."

"Oh?"

"After making some calls, we've decided the perfect way for you to reach full potential here at The Times is to have you get up close and personal with the police department." Woody explains, beaming as he sits down in his seat. "You start next Monday."

Logan looks utterly befuddled as he sips at the coffee. "Start what?"

"Following the homicide division, Detective Mars specifically, on cases! You can write columns on their work with more, uh," He looks regretfully at Logan. "accuracy when you're up close and personal. However, you'll have to sign a few things. Its not the states responsibility for any injures you get while tailing them, you won't tamper with evidence, you won't..."

For the second time that week, Logan ends up with hot coffee drenching his chest.


Remember to review! I seriously freak out everytime the little number next to the fic goes up. It's embarassing. Tell me what you think and if I should stick to writing this.