Disclaimer: No matter how much I wish for it, Veronica Mars doesn't belong to me.
Spoilers: This takes place during 1.15 "Ruskie Business."
A/N: Special thanks to my anonymous reviewers for "Home," Kate and Amy. This story was requested by them and, therefore, they get my first ever dedication.
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"So now you're worried about Dad's welfare. Isn't he the Big Bad Wolf? Cigarette burns and broken noses, oh the stories you used to tell." Trina's words resounded in head, red-hot and loud. They stung like the leather of an Italian belt or the crunch of a breaking bone never had. They wailed on and on like a siren in his head and he was afraid all of the guests at Grand had heard her. All of Neptune. All of the damn world.
And Veronica's face. Understanding. Slightly crumpled, but still... He went to her. And Logan knew that she knew. She knew years before. But, she never stepped into that shadowy place. He wouldn't have let her. She probably knew that, too.
He cried against her shoulder for his dead mother, his vile father and his bitch sister. For his torn childhood, his bloodied memories, his scars. For his dead Lilly. As he cried, he remembered the exact moment he knew that she knew.
0o0o0o0o0
The sun bounced off of the white stone finish around the rim of the lagoon-like pool behind the Echolls' mansion in a way that made Logan wish he hadn't broken his sunglasses. He also wished he hadn't let Lilly talk him into drinking The Glenlivet with her during their umpteenth screening of Guys and Dolls (her latest "favorite movie of all time") in the Kane's game room.
Of course, he should have been wishing that he hadn't been caught drinking and fooling around with the Kane's only daughter until three a.m. But, according to Lilly, getting caught was half the fun.
When Mr. Kane had finally gotten around to kicking Logan out, Aaron had graciously apologized, claiming that he thought his son was spending the night at his best friend's house, not his girlfriend's. Unlucky that they lived in the same house after all. And, even more unlucky when his father had caught the stench of liquor on Logan's underage breath.
He'd cuffed Logan lightly on the shoulder with his Father Knows Best grin in full effect. Jake Kane's weary smile shook and he offered to let Logan spend the night in Duncan's room. Logan was never sure why Mr. Kane had made that offer, but he could guess. However, the smile that launched a thousand movie premiers cut him off. "Come on, Logan. Let's get you home." Sincerity dripped from his lips in oozy strings. It was enough to make the bile rise in Logan's already dry throat.
The beating had been relatively brief as it was late and Aaron was tired. Good old Pops, though. He could always be counted to put on an impressive show even without an audience. Mom had been passed out for hours.
So, it was with questionable sanity that he'd allowed his girlfriend to persuade him into having Duncan, Veronica, and Lilly over to swim the following morning.
"It's unbearably hot, Logan! And daddy says our pool won't be ready for another week!" Lilly whined and wheedled into the phone.
Logan laid on his side, gingerly keeping his back from touching the sheet under which he lay. The room was darkened by shades and heavy draperies. Only the horrific little seam of white taunting him from where the curtains met the carpet told him it was daylight at all. He had a forehead-splitting headache, his back was literally split open, and now his girlfriend's whine was threatening to split his eardrums.
"Lil, I just can't," he came back, burying his face in a goose down pillow. "And, need I remind you, your house is air conditioned. Stay inside."
"I can't!" she moaned, "This week is the peak this month for sunbathing."
Logan rolled his eyes, "We live in the freaking ultraviolet capital of the world, Lilly. It's always the peak time for sun worship."
"Come on. Just get your ass out of bed and down to the pool. I have Veronica right here with me and she is looking hot in this skimpy black bikini. And, I do mean hot."
Logan heard Veronica squeal of disapproval and Duncan's laugh in the background. He relented, just as Lilly knew he would. "What, no yellow polka dots?" he asked, his sardonic voice lost on Lilly. She knew that she'd had him at "Good morning, Lover." She always did.
"No, we saved that suit for the Donut. He is definitely itsy bitsy and teenie weenie." She squealed and he could only imagine his best friend giving Lilly chase for her little insult. If nothing else, his friends would cheer him up and keep the elder Echolls as charming as could be for most of the daylight hours. And, it ever hurt to see Lilly parade around in a bikini. Or Veronica, for that matter. Not that she was much in the way of the patented Kane sashay.
"Okay, you win. I'll be ready in twenty."
"Ten," she chirped and hung up. She always had to have more.
And that's how he found himself sprawled face down on a lounge chair, faking interest in a magazine article about Paris Hilton and watching Lilly unfasten the strings of her pink bikini top in order to get the most skin cancer per square inch or exposed flesh.
He'd explained away the sleeveless tee shirt he wore despite the boiling August temperatures easily enough. He'd certainly had enough practice. "I got tore up last week at the Canyon. This huge wave came down and wham," he clapped his hands together for effect, "I went ass over elbows on the rocks. I don't think prolonged sun exposure will do me any good."
Lilly rolled her eyes at him. "Boys," she huffed. Of course, boys were one of Lilly's favorite things, completely taking the place of whiskers on kittens and brown paper packages tied up with strings.
Logan wiggled his eyebrows at her. "But, I hear scars make me sexier. Dangerous and all that."
Veronica rolled over next to Lilly and fixed a look at Logan. "Why do guys do stuff like that? Can't you just be content to sit still and read or something?"
"I do sit still," Logan answered. "To play video games."
"And I read," Duncan added, looking a little hurt.
Lilly chimed in, "Yes, but Logan," she looked at him over the top of her sunglasses, "You play video games where two guys have to kill each other and you don't sit still. You bobble all around like you're really there. And, Duncan," she turned her gaze to her brother, "You move your lips when you read."
"I do not," he defended.
"You do," Veronica and Logan answered in unison. Lilly joined them in laughing at Duncan who only scowled in reply. Logan could see that there was no anger in his eyes. They actually sparkled when he looked right at Veronica.
Logan watched as his best friend stood and lifted his girlfriend easily out of her lounge chair. She squirmed and tried half-heartedly to get out of his grasp and then squealed delightedly as he tossed her into the pool, following shortly behind with a great splash.
"Those two just need to get it on and get it over with," Lilly remarked with a bit of a sniff, fanning herself with a paperback novel.
Logan quirked an eyebrow at his friends splashing and giggling in the shallow end. He quickly turned his attention away from Veronica, nicely outlined in her clinging black bikini, and back to the practically naked Hilton on the page before him. Neither made his position on the lounge chair very comfortable. When he shifted his weight, he felt a telltale trickle down his back. It was too thick to be sweat. He swung his lanky frame into a sitting position and stood.
Lilly glanced up at him, doing her best imitation of coy, and asked, "All that talk about getting it on giving you ideas?"
He shook his head and nodded toward the house, "No, I just need an Advil. Or another shot."
His girlfriend smiled sweetly and fixed her sunglasses over her eyes. She tugged at her loosened straps with the pretense of fixing them but really giving her boyfriend something guys used to pay a quarter to see in a little booth. He groaned and walked away, seriously wanting that shot.
He entered his house, as usual, full of trepidation. He never knew what sort of mood Aaron might be in and some days, he wasn't even up to the challenge of finding out. He made it to the downstairs bathroom without running into his father, so it seemed luck was on his side for the day.
But, as he should have learned from Frank, luck is rarely a lady.
"Logan? Are you down here?" Veronica's voice wafted through the open door. He hadn't planned on being long, so he hadn't bothered to shut the door. He turned quickly to shut it and it turned out to be a painful mistake. Another wound opened and he groaned out loud before he could stop himself.
"I just need another-" Veronica cut off as she stopped in front of the door and saw him. Her eyes grew wide as she took in his bare back, crossed with red-black welts an smeared with fresh blood.
She stepped into the small room before he could stop her. "Oh, Logan," she breathed. "You should have gone to the doctor. This looks bad."
"Veronica," he began through clenched teeth. He was staring into the mirror above the basin, watching her horrified expression deepen into worry. "Go."
She shook her head resolutely, "This needs to be fixed, like yesterday. Let me help." Her voice was earnest and without pity as she met his eyes boldly in the mirror. Logan hoped... no, pleaded... that she didn't know what the welts were really from, but in his heart he knew that she knew.
He nodded, never breaking their reflected eye contact. "There's a first aid kit in the cabinet behind you. I... I couldn't reach it."
Veronica wrinkled her eyebrows. He knew what she was thinking: If he can't reach it, how am I ever supposed to? But, she turned around and peered into the open cabinet. The first aid kit was on the floor toward the back. He hadn't been able to bend to get it without opening yet another wound.
He watched her in the mirror as she turned, cradling the kit against her. She placed it on the closed toilet seat and moved to run water in the bathtub. He saw her test the water, turning the handles until the temperature suited her. She let the tub fill as she unpacked the first aid materials. Each of her movements was tight and methodical. He admired the way she didn't expend energy on questioning him or worse, consoling him.
"Can you sit on the rim of the tub?" she asked once the back of the commode looked like a mini triage clinic.
Logan nodded and moved away from the sink to sit. He faced the wall and tried to ignore her light touch as she dabbed a soft cloth, wet with the warm water in the tub, over his opened flesh. He stared at a tile mural on the opposite wall that was a near-perfect copy of Waterhouse's "Ophelia." It was Lynn's favorite painting, but even she hadn't wanted it staring back at her while she bathed. But, Aaron had insisted.
Even though the painted Ophelia was looking away from Logan, he felt like somewhere in her screwed up mind, she was judging him and putting him somewhere in line with her own crazy boyfriend. But, even concentrating on her creepy portrait was better than focusing on how red the water in the tub was getting. And how quiet Veronica was. Or how softly she touched him.
Finally, she stopped. Logan was afraid to turn around to look at her. He waited for the inevitable questions about why getting dragged across jagged rocks while surfing left such even, straight wounds. But, when she spoke, she surprised him.
"Does your mom have any salve?"
Logan laughed out loud before he realized he was going to. Salve. The word was stupid sounding. It was also much better than "Does your dad beat you with a belt?" He turned to face her. Her eyebrow was cocked and that sobered him, slightly, though he still grinned crazily at her.
"I think so. It should be under the sink."
Veronica nodded and stooped the get the mentioned item. She was still clad in her bikini and almost fully dry. Logan thought that Duncan and Lilly would miss them if they didn't get back soon. Veronica stood and held out the tin of Red Barn Salve. He'd always wondered what it was for. Apparently, Veronica knew.
"Turn," she commanded softly. He heard her unscrew the lid. "My dad used to put this on my cuts and scrapes when I was little. I don't know exactly what it's supposed to do, but it helped."
"Why?" The question came from Logan's lips before he could stop it. Ophelia mocked him silently from her position on the wall.
There was a beat before Veronica answered. "Because my dad said it would. And I wanted it to."
Logan nodded. He thought he understood. His mother had kissed his cuts and bruises once, too. Though, not in the last several years. Now, she was busy licking her own wounds. Or, rather, dousing them with a bottle of Tanqueray and a few Vikes.
He started when he felt the cool, slick touch of her hands on his back. She smoothed the balm from his shoulder blades to the waistband of his swim trunks. He felt his skin prickle with gooseflesh the further south her hands traveled. Ophelia no longer mocked him. She would certainly need a nunnery if she knew exactly what thoughts darted through his mind at that moment.
She pulled her hands away too quickly. Logan listened to the metallic scrape of the tin closing while he steadied his breath. When he didn't hear it, he turned to face her.
Her cheeks were pink from something other than the harsh rays of the SoCal sun. He saw that her skin was pebbled all over as she gazed up at him from beneath sooty lashes. A growl formed at the back of his throat as he looked down at her. But, before he could act, she shook her head and began collecting the antiseptics and bandages, packing them neatly into their case.
Logan let out a ragged breath, half-relieved that she'd made the choice to look away. He reached for his shirt, but once again, his movement was too quick. He moaned as pain radiated across his back.
"Did you open one again?" Veronica asked, all business again and she turned him to inspect his back. "No," she answered herself. "Here, let me."
Wordlessly (because words would only have sounded gravelly and needy) Logan pushed his arms through the shirt and Veronica helped him pull it over his head without aggravating his newly cleaned wounds. She pulled the shirt down, her knuckles barely grazing his abdomen. Her hand lingered a moment too long before she snatched it away.
She looked guiltily up at Logan. He met her gaze boldly and then he broke the connection. "Thanks, Ronnie." Gravelly and needy were better than betrayal.
She smiled up at him. "Hey, anytime. That's what I'm here for."
"Nursing me? Well, luck is on my side, then," Logan quipped, busying himself with returning the bathroom to rights.
"Just call me Hot Lips," Veronica replied. She colored instantly and hastily added, "Or don't. Don't would be better."
Logan laughed dryly as he watched the pink water swirl out of sight down the drain. "I won't if you won't go mentioning this to anyone."
"Never ever," Veronica swore as she rinsed her hands in the sink. She turned to go. She looked back and said, "Hey, Logan?"
"Yeah?"
"I meant what I said. I'm here to help, all right?"
Logan nodded. And after that, they never mentioned it again.
0o0o0o0o0
He'd been going ninety-five down the highway to Hang Over the night of the stupid 80's dance. He hadn't expected to see her there, but he'd been silently hoping for it.
She'd pushed him against a wall and pawed him, trying to find his keys. She looked hot, all in black again. Sort of like that day by the pool... but, not. Her long curls were gone and so was her perpetual smile.
He'd wanted her to fix it the way she had that day. Wanted her to stop pretending to look for the damn keys and just kiss him already. She wanted to, he could tell even through the haze of scotch and too many tears. The way she'd wanted to that day.
But, Miami Vice showed up and she lost interest in the Logan Echolls train wreck. To sweeten the pot, his bitch of sister had shown her smug little face, too, pretending to save the day.
"Just like old times," Trina had said. Truer words were never spoken.
Logan looked back at his pint-sized savior, who'd already forgotten him in favor of the deputy. But no matter how she pretended not to, Veronica knew. She had always known.
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A/N 2: I also don't own The Glenlivet, Guys and Dolls, Father Knows Best, "Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polka Dot Bikini" by Brian Hyland, "My Favorite Things" by Rodgers and Hammerstein, "Luck Be a Lady" by Frank Loesser, John William Waterhouse's "Ophelia," Red Barn / Watkins, Tanqueray, MASH, or Miami Vice. Or anything Trina says... her lines are from "Ruskie Business."
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