Seven Pounds

A Veronica Mars AU Fic.

Chapter One.

Based on the screenplay "Seven Pounds", written by Grant Nieporte.

–

"911 emergency."

"I need an ambulance."

"I have you at 9212 West 3rd Street in Neptune."

"It's room number two."

"What's the emergency?"

"There's been a suicide."

"Who's the victim?"

"...I am."

–

In seven days, God created the world.

The waves lapped over above him delicately, and Logan watched them swirl above his head as he floated for a moment. He spent a lot of time like this, suspended in the ocean, staring at the mighty natural force as it crashed and swirled above him.

And in seven seconds, I shattered mine.

Logan dragged himself out of the water after a while and climbed the steps up the slope to his house, stared at the beautiful garden as he grabbed his towel from a chair to wipe off. His senses overwhelmed with the mixed scent of the salt water and the gardenias. If he didn't know any better he'd almost swear she was standing there with him.

Going inside he picked up the stack of papers on his coffee table and stared at them, the little note tacked onto it.

"Logan,

These are the people in region 5 who match your criteria. You don't know me."

–

"Okay, sir, I can have some fillets sent to you overnight. . ."

"No, no thank you. What is your name again? Max?"

"Uh, yes sir," Max' fingers wobbled unsteadily on the keyboard and he swallowed. "Uh, yes sir. I need your name so I can call up your account. . ."

"Listen Max here's my idea, I'm thinkin' I should just mail you back the meat so you can see what kind of dog food you're peddling. . ."

"That won't be necessary sir," Max couldn't help but laugh a little at the notion but not loudly enough to cause any sort of commotion. "Uh, if I could just get your last name, we can start there."

"Stone. And don't even get me started on the pork, have you tried the pork, Max?"

"Uh, no, sir, I'm not much of a meat eater myself."

"So you don't eat pork at all?"

"No sir."

"Are you Jewish? Is that why you don't eat pork?"

"Uh, can we just, can I have your first name?"

"Charlie."

Max's hands flew across his special keyboard and then he waited as the computer searched, an electronic voice alerted him. "No order for Charlie Stone."

"Sir I don't have an order for a Charlie Stone...."

"Woah woah woah, Max, what was that voice?"

"What voice?"

"Are you BLIND, Max?"

"Excuse me?" There wasn't much that could make that conversation more awkward, now that he had been called out as both blind and Jewish. And Max felt a cold chill travel up his spine as he sat wanting to do nothing more than hang up the phone.

The test was necessary, though and after he poked and prodded as much as he could, calling him everything he could think of and saying every awful thing that came to mind, Logan hung up nauseated, clasping a hand over his mouth as he held back the urge to retch at his own behavior. The test was necessary, and after calming stuttering on the line, Max had hung up without ever returning his malevolence.

And so, he had passed.

Logan sat on a chair and ran his hands through greasy, unkempt hair, looked up at his list and starred Max's name. Whispered to himself once. "Joanna Rice, Margarita Rice, Alex Sanchez, Rebecca Foster, Jameson Randall, Jackson Spencer, Lilly Kane."

He kicked at the coffee table as his throat tightened with emotion. Stood and paced the living room, furious at himself all over again, as he so often was. He shouted the seven names and turned to find himself face to face with the newspaper clipping. Seven killed in deadly crash. One survivor. Logan Echolls. Aaron and Lynn Echolls. Lilly Kane, Kane Software, Newly Engaged.

In seven seconds, I shattered mine.

–

Logan adjusted the visitor tag on his thousand dollar suit as he walked down the hall of the nursing home. Leaned over a desk with a handsome smile to ask a nurse where he could find Vinnie Van Lowe. He was directed to a patient's room, and so he walked in to find him trying to coax an older lady to speak. She reached for a pen and paper but he berated her for not speaking verbally and said he'd come back tomorrow, having seen Logan waiting in the doorway.

He walked over with a shit-shined grin. "Hi, I didn't expect you. . .I thought I was supposed to come to your office?"

"You were, but I was auditing nearby and thought I'd save you the trip."

Logan followed him into his office and sat down, drew up the man's fine. An ex-PI who had bought the nursing home when his mother had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's several years ago. He didn't have a single medical degree, he just had money. But he was about $200,000 behind on his taxes due to medical issues, bone cancer which required a marrow transplant. A painful fucking procedure.

"Is that your new Beemer out front?" Logan asked, raising a brow.

"Ah," Vinnie dropped his gaze and laughed nervously. "You know, uh, I'm trying, I really am. I've been working to save up, but you know, that last transplant, it didn't go through. . ."

"I'm aware of your medical history, Mr. Van Lowe."

The older man swallowed nervously. "I just. . .need the extension until January, I get a bonus then, I can pay you guys back and we'll all hopefully be on our merry ways. I just don't. . know how long I got, ya know? Gotta live in the moment."

"Well I tell you what, Mr. Van Lowe, I'll consider it and let you know what my decision is soon." They shook hands, Logan never liked to just rely on the person he was speaking to. Instead he walked to the patient room he had previously been in and smiled at the old lady in the bed.

He emerged ten minutes later with her scooped up in his arms, and set her in a wheel chair. Started to wheel her away when Vinnie and a nurse caught up to him and Logan glared at them. "Where is the washroom?"

"Just down here," Vinnie motioned down a hall and Logan wheeled her all the way to the door and told the nurse. "Give her a bath right now."

"Thank you!" The old lady cried with tears in her eyes and Logan swallowed a wave of nausea, shoved Van Lowe up against a wall. "I almost believe you, you son of a bitch. You're not getting your extension. I'm going to be dropping by periodically to make sure you're treating these people with some goddamn respect!"

He left him there, standing up against the wall with shock smeared all over his wrinkled face and Logan didn't look at him, because in that moment he thought of the last days with Aaron home. And that made him think of his last days with Lilly.

"Now if you'll all excuse me I have a very hungry woman waiting for me at home."

"You were supposed to be here a while ago! Don't I'm angry at you!"

She could never stay angry when he picked her up and spun her like he did that night. He owed her dinner. He. . .

Leapt as the phone rang, waking him from his sleep on the couch. Looked at the ID, it was Charlie. He wasn't in the mood. Pulled the laptop over to study up on the next person, female, twenty six years old. Congestive heart failure. Looked at the photo. Blonde, petite. Veronica Mars. What a name. He printed out her paperwork as he stood to go get his suit together.

She lived in an apartment complex on a modest little street, far from the part of town he lived in. Logan studied the entranceway before he slipped into the gate and walked toward Veronica's door. A lady outside next door watched him to see if he was going there, older, a little bit plump. Her hands busily working a pot of soil.

"Can I help you?"

"I hope so, I'm looking for Veronica Mars?"

"She had to go get more tests done." She told him softly, with a friendly smile. A large boxer stuck his head out of her door and looked at Logan before disappearing again.

"Thank you, try some banana peel in the dirt."

"Really?"

"I swear by it!" He flashed his usual grin, tilted his head as he looked around the place. "Uh, you know, do you have any idea of where I might find Miss Mars?"