Author's note: I'm taking as canon the FBI trailer that Rob and Kristen made for the CW that's on the Season 3 DVDs, and picking up on that little featurette's cliffhanger ending. As for what happened between then and now (or between the end of season 3 and the trailer, for that matter), well, it wouldn't be Veronica Mars without meaningful flashbacks and mysteries, would it?)

Veronica squinted a bit, almost a grimace really, as she made her turn onto the Coronado Bridge and the skyline of Neptune, California once again came into view. She adjusted her sunglasses, mirrored Ray-Bans, but the facial expression came not from the sun but from what she saw in front of her. They say you can't go home again, she thought. But here she was, 24 years old, a college degree, and FBI-issue badge and gun later, making her way into the city that she would once again, call home. Then again, most of the people they say that actually want to go home. Not me.

So how does a girl with the dream job and ticket out of town that she's always wanted find herself heading back to the apartment where her dad raised her less than one year later?

3 months earlier…

Veronica Mars could not have been more scared if she were the one with the knife on her throat. A few minutes ago, she had remembered the words of her stakeout partner (potential mentor?) in her head. "He's meticulous," as she saw the ships in bottles and the cut out pages of a book where this psycho would hide the explosives. She had gasped when she realized that he was right, and that she had found the Book Rate Bomber. And then she saw Callie Farmer with the knife on her throat.

She pulled her gun. "Drop it," she said. "Don't think I won't shoot."

"No, you. Don't think I won't kill her."

She tried not to let that faze her. "Maybe you're missing something here, but I'm the one with the gun, buddy," she said. "You won't kill her, because if you do then I've got no reason not to kill you. As it is, what makes you think I won't just shoot you now. Right now you're betting your life that I'm not a very good shot. At this range? I'm not sure why you think that's a good idea. Is it because I'm a blonde? "

"It's because of the badge," he sneered. "You're not going to risk it. Government types, bureaucrats. FBI sounds badass, but you're just another pencil-pusher who thinks she's all that because all the sheep start running when you flash that badge."

"Funny. Usually men just stand and stare when I start flashing." She paused. "Let's think about what you just said a little here. Do I care more about her than you do about not dying?" Another pause. "Think hard, because the answer to that might just save your life."

"You must not like her very much. I always thought your partner was like your family. You cover for them and close down the bars together after long nights working on that one case you just can't crack? Did she sleep with your boyfriend?"

"You've been watching too many cop shows. You pull a knife, I pull a gun. That's the Special Agent Veronica Mars way. So do me a favor and drop the weapon already so we can leave."

She saw him move. It was the hand that held the knife. And it wasn't to drop the knife either, so she fired. Two quick shots, she didn't even remember the second one. She just knew she had pulled the trigger. And suddenly she heard the second bang and had known she had fired twice.

She knew guns, so she was used to the recoil, but the gun slid a little in her hand anyways. Her palms must have been sweatier than she had thought. But it didn't matter. A millisecond later and she saw the red blossom on the man's face that told her that her first shot had hit home. Well, that's that, she thought. Too bad I had to shoot him, but he was pretty much asking for it. But one more millisecond and she noticed the blood was on Callie's face too. Just the splatter she thought.

She was wrong. And all her screams of "CALLIE!" could not change that. Yes, she'd caught the Book Rate Bomber. Killed him even, justifiably. And killed off her partner in the process.

The afternoon of Veronica's return to Neptune…

Agent Morris, or rather Assistant Director in Charge Morris, the woman who ran the Los Angeles field office, returned the gun to Veronica. "You've been cleared in the shooting," she said. "They ruled it justified."

"They usually are when a suspect has someone at knifepoint," was Veronica's only reaction.

"And usually when someone kills a fellow agent in the line of duty, they don't quip about the incident."

This was beginning to annoy Veronica. She'd been through this already, and she had no desire, nor need, to go through it again now that the inquiry was over. She'd smiled and nodded and cried and mouthed inspirational platitudes (who would have thought that all that phone tag with Logan's cell had turned out to be useful after all) to her Bureau-required therapist. Yes, this was a tragedy. But her life was filled with tragedy, and the FBI knew that. So why were they so surprised by her equanimity? "You want me to mope? Look, I'm just not built that way. I am sorry, genuinely sorry for Callie. I wish she were alive. I'd give up my badge to bring her back, but it just doesn't work that way. In the meantime scapegoating me doesn't either."

Morris wasn't impressed. "Scapegoat? You're a cool customer, Mars. You always have been, from the first time we sat across a table from each other. But unless you were ever in bracelets, you don't get to say you were scapegoated. Like it or not, you said some pretty harsh things, some dumb things, about Callie. And it calls into question your judgment. You carry a gun now, Veronica. Not a taser. In case you haven't been reading the manual, one is classified as lethal force, the other non-lethal. You goddamn well better learn the difference."

"I was cleared."

"Yes, you were. Which is why I have your new duty assignment. Neptune, California. Organized crime is moving in and it's becoming a major entry point for drugs. So a few years ago we set up a small office, under this office's direction. Three agents and a receptionist and some computers. And now you."

Neptune? "What, no 'this is no reflection on you, this is not a punishment' speech?" said Veronica bitterly.

"I know you better than to think you'd buy it, Veronica."

"Isn't it usually some Indian reservation in Nowhere, South Dakota for punishment transfers?"

"Like I said, I know you better than that. This is much worse for you. Besides, some people think it's a plum post. It's got movie stars and swimming pools. Internet billionaires too. And someone with your knowledge of the town is useful."

"So that's the 'this is not a punishment speech'?"

"Had to give it the old college try."

The present…

The office was nondescript. Not the inconspicuousness of her unmarked Crown Vic, a car so generic that virtually every civilian assumed when they saw one that it belonged to a cop, but a genuine inconspicuousness that made it hard to tell apart from any other office building. The lobby had a simple, worn red couch – with thin cushions that looked overstuffed precisely because of how worn they were. Veronica walked up to the receptionist, flashed her badge, and said she was reporting for duty.

"Wait here, Ms. Mars. Supervisory Special Agent Chang was just called out to the Kane residence for a kidnapping. He should be back before too long, but if he isn't, I'll get you fixed up with the intake and you can get introduced tomorrow," said the receptionist.

Chang? Not Jason Chang, thought Veronica. And Kane residence? Kidnapping?