Apathy Is Tragedy, a veronica mars fanfic

Logan's not sure that he would understand how it all worked out the way it did even if he had been actually paying attention in court rather than sulking and planning new ways to act like an ass. For all that he's managed to figure out it seemed that the matter pretty much boiled down to: "You're not responsible enough to be left alone and we wouldn't put a shrub in your sister's care… go live with Cliff till you're eighteen!"

There was probably a lot of sputtering on Cliff's part.

"Hey," he elongated the vowel until it was almost comical. "I live in a three room apartment above my office. I can't take the kid."

Of course that's not how it happened at all; Cliff had never been the court's decision. The strange situation was all Veronica's doing as usual. When things in Logan's life were weird she always seemed to be behind it—that was good and bad weird.

Logan had no idea how Veronica found out that the court had decided he needed a guardian who wasn't Trina, but knowing her he probably didn't want to. However it must have been a pretty desperate decision when it eventually came to her asking his lawyer to fill the position. Begging was more like it, he guessed.

"You still care about this kid," Cliff accused with the slightest hint of amusement in his voice.

Veronica glared up at him.

"No," she protested quickly.

There was a beat of silence before she shook her head comically, backtracking, "Wait, of course I do. Logan was my friend. I don't want him to end up hurting himself. Other people do that enough already."

"Deep, V, and touching, really. But I don't have the will or the way. My apartment is one-bedroom." Cliff shrugged nonchalantly, dismissing the matter at hand.

She was persistent though, that Veronica. "He could sleep on the couch; it's only a few months."

"I'm led to believe you have a perfectly good couch yourself," he parried back smoothly.

Veronica's lips pressed together into a tight, ironic smile.

She didn't hesitate as she explained, "Logan isn't exactly my dad's favorite person."

"Hmm, wonder why?" he drawled.

Veronica let a sigh cascade from her lips impatiently, arguing with renewed vigor, "Come on, Cliff. You know kids like Logan; if they put him in foster care he'll self-combust. Do you really want that playing on your conscience?"

Cliff tapped the top of the chair next to him with the spare pen in his hand, not really giving her argument much heed.

"Emotional blackmail, that's a new one, V."

"Call it a favor, you owe me." She was getting more frustrated and just a little bit desperate, Veronica was sure she was probably turning red in the face.

Cliff seemed to find her argument more and more amusing, "If I remember correctly, we're all paid up. If anything you're owe me."

"Put it on my tab?" she requested sweetly, tilting her head to try and look coy.

Cliff sighed, seeing that she wasn't going to give up. He finally relented, "This is going to cost you a whole lot of muffin baskets."

Veronica broke out into a bright beam, her face lighting up. "You're the best, Cliffy!"

Logan glared down at Veronica, his gaze intense. He spat his words at her, "I don't want your pity, Veronica."

She was pissed, keeping her tone curt and her manner all business, "Too bad, 'cause I feel sorry for you, Logan. You won't let anyone help you."

She hated that he was being unreasonable after all the effort she had put in to get him somewhere to stay—even if he didn't know about that. Logan was sick of taking Veronica's pity and guilt and sense of obligation—on top of that he definitely never wanted to live with a minimum-wage, grey-suit lawyer.

"I don't need their help," he replied ungratefully.

Veronica was beginning to see red properly; Logan had completely exasperated her with his attitude.

"What you gonna do, become some homeless orphan? You're hardly Oliver Twist."

Logan's mouth curled when he answered smartly, "I have a credit card. Several credit cards actually."

He knew that if any topic would get Veronica all riled up it would be buying your way out.

"And money solves everything, 'cause money kept you out of this mess in the first place," she ranted.

Logan couldn't help it; he actually enjoyed pissing her off. There was something insanely satisfying with watching Veronica's skin flush as she ranted and raved at his stupidity. Veronica angry was as much of a turn on as Veronica any other way really.

He kept pushing her, "You're right; you seem to be doing fine without it. Hell, I'd give up all my material possessions if they hadn't been burned with the rest of my house."

"How Zen of you," she bit off.

Logan finally dropped the act, his voice rose to meet hers as he tried to find some kind of explanation for her behavior—for why she was still trying with him when it was obvious he was a hopeless case. Even a cheap judge could see that.

"What do you want, Veronica?"

She stopped short, her mouth open but the words not coming—as if he had short-circuited her brain by asking Veronica to actually decide what she wanted for once.

Eventually she replied brokenly, "For you to be okay. I just want us to be alright."

Logan sighed, lowering his voice in response to the soft, lost tone of Veronica's voice, "Nice idea in theory, V. Our lives are a little more Grimm than Disney though."

She pursed her lips, defensively crossing her arms tightly over her chest as she reprimanded, "It's 'Veronica' and I'm trying, Logan. Why don't you give it a shot sometime?"

Cliff held the door open for Logan, extending his arm to showcase a rather run down yet comfortable looking—mostly brown—living area.

"This is the apartment, you sleep on the couch. I'm going to have a gin."

Logan sighed as he made his way towards the aforementioned couch, situated in the centre of the room and sank down onto it, letting his bag fall sullenly at his feet.

"Make mine a double."

"Riiight," Cliff smirked in Logan's direction as he added two measures of gin into a short glass. "We'll pick you up some juice boxes tomorrow."

Logan rolled his eyes, taking a deep, dramatic sigh as he grinned theatrically.

"Swell. Where's the bathroom," he paused, looking over to Cliff, "or do you think you should come with me in case I need some help?"

Cliff set down his drink on the side counter, switching his gaze from the bottle of gin to Logan and back again, definitely.

"If you're going to be smart then I'm going to need more gin."

Logan smiled as warmly as he could, his tone reasonable as he suggested, "You could just get me all liquored up. I'm pretty agreeable then."

"I doubt that, somehow," Cliff drawled, good-naturedly.

Logan threw himself back on the couch, sinking into the sagging brown fabric with defeat as Cliff turned back to making his drink. Silence engulfed the room for a brief, heavenly moment before Cliff's cell phone began to ring—shattering the peace instantly.

He brought the device to his ear, answering economically, "Cliff."

Buzzing sounded urgently from the small handset. Logan looked up in vague interest, trying to find something to pass the time that wasn't staring at the back of his hand.

Cliff's eyebrows drew together before he replied to the telephone's caller, "Okay. I'll be right there. And do me a favor? Loretta, don't assault any more deputies."

The buzzing returned briefly and Cliff's eyebrows raised in part amusement, part incredulousness. Logan imagined that sometimes his clients shocked even Cliff—some of them must be pretty edgy.

"I don't think they reply to 'pig'. Oh, I'm sorry, 'dirty pig'" he listened to the voice on the other end of the line before finishing the call with, "Let's keep the name calling to a bare minimum until I arrive. Okay? Bye."

He turned to Logan; the boy was now watching him with undisguised fascination and amusement.

"Trouble down at the farm?" Logan asked with a smirk.

"Hmm…" Cliff agreed. "Something like that, Miss Cancun is an… interesting woman. You," he regarded Logan with a look that almost encompassed an eye roll. "Play nice for a few hours. I have to pay our illustrious Sheriff a quick visit."

Logan propped his hands behind his head, reclining on the couch as he waggled his tongue crudely. "I'd play nicer if some of your clients made house calls."

"Not until you're emancipated," Cliff dismissed, paying no attention to Logan's attention seeking games.

"Whatever you say, pop," he grinned wickedly, trying to find the right buttons to push in order to piss off Cliff.

Logan seemed to fail as Cliff shook his head in amusement, bending to retrieve his briefcase as he replied, "Save it for Freud. They'll have plenty of questions for you in court appointed therapy."

"Oh, boy," Logan beamed like a cheerleader on speed. "Can't wait!"

Cliff didn't reply as he closed the door soundly behind him.

Logan's knee twitched repeatedly as he propped his foot on his toes and bobbed it incessantly. Cliff raised his gaze from the television set to scrutinize Logan's movements for a moment before offering dryly, "Obviously no one ever taught you the art of sitting still. You'll annoy less people."

Logan's eyebrows rose and fell in a sharp quirk as he asked, "And where would be the fun in that?"

Cliff nodded into his glass, turning back to the television as he replied, "The part where they don't burn down your house can be nice."

Logan merely shrugged, his voice casual, "Ah, I wouldn't know."

Logan didn't notice Cliff arriving home as he sprawled across the couch with Duncan, both hammering rabidly at Playstation controls.

Setting down his briefcase, Cliff turned to the boys. "I'm not running a crèche here, kiddo. Go take your friend and play in traffic or whatever it is you kids do nowadays."

Logan rolled his eyes, letting his controller fall to the carpet as he headed towards the door, Duncan following suit.

"Play nice or I tell V that you still have her picture in your wallet," Cliff threatened.

Logan glared as he shot back, "I don't—"

"Please," Cliff cut him off. "The first thing I did when you got here and passed out was check your pockets for shoelaces and oxycontin."

"You wouldn't…" Logan's glaring intensified, a slight tremor coloring his voice.

Cliff grinned, finally having the upper hand with the boy, "Not if you start behaving like a good boy."

Logan drew his lips together tightly, his brow knitting in annoyance. His tone was flat and mostly without malevolence when he added, "I'm beginning to really dislike you."

"That's sweet."

"You know, they feed dogs better food than this in pounds," Logan groused as he pushed food aimlessly about the small, white plate.

"I'm not forcing you to eat it," Cliff replied calmly, twisting another forkful of chow mein from his own plate.

"I thought you were supposed to stop me from killing myself or others, not poison me," Logan whined. "God, you and Veronica in cahoots or something?"

Cliff set his fork down and finished chewing before he looked at Logan across the small breakfast bar.

"If it wasn't for V, you'd have been out on your ass a long time ago so sit down quietly and eat your dog food."

Logan glared.

Logan swept an unimpressed gaze over the manila folders lining Cliff's coffee table, various notes scribbled hastily on the outside of them.

"Your job's just classy with a 'K', isn't it?"

Without looking up Cliff drawled slowly, "How long did you date Veronica?"

Logan's reply was coupled with a grunt of amused bitterness, "Too long."

"Uh huh," he replied patronizingly.

Logan shrugged. "Like she can talk. 'Cause her profession is so above board."

"Said the boy accused of murder."

"Huh. So, we're not indulging in the emotional warmth side of this arrangement then," he deadpanned, trying to keep the edge of hurt from his voice. Logan still couldn't quite believe that the world at large—not just Veronica Mars—was capable of thinking that he was a murderer.

"You're hiding from Logan, aren't you?"

Veronica smirked from behind her desk in front of the brightly lit stained glass windows of Mars Investigations.

"I don't know what you mean, V."

Cliff strode into the office, dumping his briefcase by the chair across from her as he sank down into it.

"I have some papers for your father."

He waved the short stack of pages in front of him before setting them down in front of her, covering the text-book that had been sitting open on the same page for the past hour while Veronica typed furiously at her laptop.

She tutted lightly, clicking her tongue smartly against her teeth as she shook her head.

"But you know he's out of town this weekend… You're the one that gave him the tip." Veronica smirked again.

Cliff sighed in resignation, acknowledging, "Alright, but have you met that kid? He's an ass. Makes you look precocious."

"Hey, I dated him." She sighed, taking pity on Cliff. "Coffee?" she offered.

"Only if it's Irish," he replied dryly.

"After a day of Logan I won't even make a smart remark about it," she agreed with a bemused smile.

Logan slumped down onto Duncan's couch, throwing an arm over his eyes blindly.

"Man, I can't take it anymore, that guy is whack. Like seriously just… just."

Duncan looked across at his best friend helplessly. "Dude, wish I could help but—"

"—But I'm not a sound member of society," Logan finished for him, the scoff in his voice clearly audible.

"My couch is always free," Duncan offered with an optimistic tone.

Logan seemed reluctant as he replied, "Yeah. Cool. But…"

"Yeah," Duncan agreed not completely sure of what he was sympathizing with.

"Hey," Duncan thought suddenly. "Didn't you move in with the Navarros?"

"Dude, are you serious?"

"I thought you bought the house."

"Yeaaah. Not gonna live there though. Some dumb Mexican thinks he can burn down my house and get away with it, he's way off map. Eye for an eye and all that."

"That's kinda low, man."

Logan inhaled a sharp intake of breath, keeping his lungs held tightly, "Right. Whatever."

Logan thought that maybe if they had been on slightly better terms Veronica might have understood the situation. Before she reverted to Veronica mark one she was all about the retribution. If anyone was kicking it Old Testament style, Veronica was.

"You wanna stop giving Cliff a hard time, already?"

"Uh, why?"

"Because the guy's doing you a favor, Logan. What about some gratitude?"

"I was under the impression he was doing you a favor."

"Yeah, and it'll be my last favor if you don't quit it! Act like a human being for once, I know you're capable of it."

"You have such a high opinion of me."

"Come on, Logan. Do you really want to end up in some random foster home away from Duncan and your friends at school?"

"Like anyone would really notice."

"I'm not playing the pity game with you. People care about you."

"Sure. That's why I'm living with my court-appointed lawyer in an apartment that would fit in my bathroom at home."

"It's better than the alternative. Don't make me say it Logan."

"Go on, you know you want to."

"Fine. You brought it on yourself with all those stupid stunts over the summer. You just couldn't stop, could you?"

"Obviously not."

"Just… go a little easy on him. If he goes to jail for killing you I'll have no one to role play for me."

"I'm sure you could just take out an ad. Maybe send a few pictures of yourself in that naughty school girl's outfit and someone would take you up on it. Hell, Veronica, you have my number."

"Please, Logan."

"Not making any promises," he finally muttered reluctantly.

"Fine."

"They call it my apartment for a reason."

Logan sighed, pointedly lifting his feet off the coffee table and pulling himself up so that he no longer took up the entire length of the couch.

"A little hospitality…" Logan trailed off wryly.

"Your water dish is full and you've already figured out how to unlock the adult section of cable, I'd say that's about all the hospitality you can handle."

"Sheesh. All I wanted was a hug."

"I have a very important game to watch, how about you go play with Daddy's AmEx and I'll pretend not to notice that you're going to miss your court curfew again?"

"See, I just need reassured every now and then that you care. You really care."

"Keep pushing, kid, even V won't keep you on this side of that door."

"You'd miss me." Logan smirked, picking up his coat on the way to the door. "Don't wait up."

Cliff mumbled into his glass, "Give me pimps and strippers over teenagers any day."

Logan threw his bag onto the floor, flopping backwards onto the empty couch as soon as he reached it. The lights were still on in the main room of the suite but the doors to the bedroom were closed and Logan assumed that Duncan was probably asleep already. It was only eleven but the next day was a school day and straight-laced kids needed at least eight hours of sleep.

He started to revaluate that theory when a moan that sounded suspiciously like it came from Veronica, reverberated through from the next room. Maybe not so straight-laced after all.

Logan shut his eyes tightly, pulling a cushion over his face and clenching his jaw as if that would stop the sounds that were now clearly audible through the thin, not at all soundproof door.

After a few moments he threw the cushion away from his face, grimacing as he let the sounds wash over him. Keeping his eyes closed Logan could almost match Veronica's moans and groans and breathy pants to the noises that she had made—shirtless and flushed—underneath him. His tongue moved to swipe across his bottom lip which was suddenly dry and Logan let his head fall back, huffing a harsh breath between his lips in resignation and disgust that he was almost getting off on the whole situation. He always was a glutton for punishment.

Cliff looked over the rim of his glass with interest at Logan's tightly held stance. His tone was what passed for teasing with Cliff when he asked, "So, what did V do to you?"

Logan snorted in response, the muscles in his back and neck remained tense, his fingers clenching rhythmically.

"What didn't she do?"

He lifted his eyebrows wryly. "Funny. I never figured her the type for kink," Cliff deadpanned.

Logan let that thought wash through him happily as he replied dully, "She's not."

"Like you would know," Cliff laughed. "You're both still babies."

Logan sucked in a breath, his voice low and without malice when he articulated, "I'm beginning to resent you."

"Good," Cliff lifted his glass in a slight toast, "soon you'll be caught up with me."

"Who was that?" Cliff asked as the blonde stumbled out of the door he held wide open.

Logan shrugged, his movements still belying his drunken state as he attempted to straight his shirt back out.

"She seemed… precious. Still if you want to play procreating then maybe you wait until they can jail you in the grown up courts."

"You know Kendall Casablancas?"

"Ex-Lakers girl? Yeah."

"I hit that," Logan slurred, a slight giggle coloring his words. "Also, I thought you were keeping me out of jail."

"Not if you keep having playtime with married women," he reasoned without malice.

"I'll try restrain myself in the future." Logan attempted to keep a straight face as Cliff stared at him for a moment before moving very deliberately to the liquor cabinet.

"I should ground you," Cliff added logically, his voice detached and clinical at the thought of such a task.

Logan pointed to the device strapped around his ankle. "I'm under house arrest."

Cliff shrugged, "Go to your room then."

"I don't have one," Logan pointed out.

At a loss Cliff finally decided on, "Go sit on your couch then."

"Sir, yes, sir. You sure know how to discipline."

Cliff brought the glass of liquor to his mouth before requesting, "I'm sure you've never called someone 'sir' in your life, don't start now."

"Sure thing, pop," Logan grinned, drunkenly.

Cliff sighed; talking to Logan was like talking to a brick wall. Talking to drunken Logan was like talking to a brick wall encased in steel.

"I thought we covered that your daddy issues are for the shrink to have fun with."

"But there's so much more to go around!" he reasoned with a flourish, falling backward on the couch as Cliff put a hand to his head and walked straight into his bedroom, glass attached to his free hand. Living with Logan was actually going to drive him to alcoholism, he was sure of it.

The next day Cliff stood at the end of the couch, watching a very hung over Logan sulk into the cushions. He sighed, moving toward the boy.

He maintained his position standing over him as he spoke, "Having a father accused of murder and a dead mother doesn't make you a man. Proving you're not like them, that does it."

Logan groaned, turning his face slightly so that he could see Cliff from the corner of one eye.

"Give inspirational pep talks often?" he inquired sarcastically.

Cliff sank into the armchair next to Logan's couch, letting his glass rest solidly on the end of his thigh, balancing on his knee.

"I think you're my first," he mused.

Logan rolled back onto his stomach, pressed his face firmly into the welcoming softness of the worn-down couch material and mumbled, "Glad I could pop your parenting cherry."

"Hey, honey, I'm home!" Veronica bounded into the presidential suite, looking around eagerly for Duncan.

A muffled sound came from the middle of the room. "Veronica?"

Veronica grinned as she saw Duncan lying face down on the couch, his eyes bleary from sleep or boredom as he looked up at her.

"What'd you do, sleep all day?" she asked lightly.

"Stole some 'do not disturb' signs. Went up and down in the elevators. Played chicken with the room service cart…" Duncan ticked off on his fingers.

She moved across the room, curling into his side as Duncan moved to accommodate her, a quick kiss pressed to her welcoming mouth.

"Aw, sweetie, you've had such a stressful day." She rolled her eyes.

"Don't I know it." Duncan nodded somberly in response as Veronica tried not to laugh, slapping at his shoulder.

They settled down together, Veronica resting her head on Duncan's chest. The suite was warm and fuzzy, hazy and good. Veronica could hear the rhythm of Duncan's heart beneath his chest, which rumbled softly as he spoke.

"I saw Logan today."

"Okay," she prompted.

Duncan waited a moment before adding, "I think he's kinda down."

"His life's not exactly peachy right now," Veronica observed, trying to keep her voice emotionless.

She really didn't need Logan's problems ruining another of her relationships—after all they had already destroyed her relationship with Logan himself, she wasn't going to let his issues encroach on another.

"I feel like I should do something," Duncan sounded hopelessly lost for his friend.

Veronica stroked her hand up and down his arm gently, keeping her voice comforting and soft when she suggested, "Be his friend, Duncan. That's all he can ask for."

"I guess your right." He nodded, grudgingly accepting his limited capacity to help in the situation given.

She smiled coyly, trying to rid thoughts of Logan for the evening.

"You'd better; I'm not just a pretty face you know." Veronica grinned as she lifted her face to kiss him.

"Are you supposed to have copies of these things?"

Duncan shrugged as Logan turned the key card between his fingers. "Figured you might need somewhere to hide out, y'know."

"Appreciated, bro."

"Cool. Well y'know. You're always welcome."

"Yeah. If my house hadn't been burned down in revenge for a crime I didn't commit I'd extend the invitation back.

"It's cool," Duncan waved off the sentiment.

"Well, kid. I guess this is goodbye."

"Yeah. Thanks for the couch and all that jazz, I'll send you a postcard from… well, wherever has the best surf and the most chicks."

"Way to prove yourself as a functioning and worthy member of society," Cliff congratulated.

"You bet."

"Oh, hang on." Cliff moved toward the kitchen area and plucked something from one of the cupboards. It was a small, shop-bought sponge cake and a packet of balloons.

"Happy birthday."

Logan's eyes were suspiciously cloudy and his features belying confusion as he accepted the items, replying gruffly, "Thanks."

The tension in the room dispersed quickly as Cliff threw the door open and nodded toward the corridor, "Right, out."

"Onward and upward," Logan agreed as he grabbed his small bag, leaving the apartment for the last time.

Logan wasn't sure at all why he found himself back by Cliff's door after leaving only hours before. Maybe because Duncan was acting weird lately and the chances of Veronica giving him a bed for the night were slim to none. Maybe that even if her softer nostalgic side had won out then sleeping in the next room to her on the overstuffed couch—where she had broken up with him, where she had let him see her half-naked and make out with her through bad movies, where she had cradled him broken ribs and all—might kill him.

So, with a quasi best friend, a photograph of Veronica in his wallet and nowhere else to go Logan found himself back on Cliff's doorstep when he could have grabbed a room at the Neptune Grand.

Cliff opened the door a crack when Logan reached a hand up and rapped smartly on the wood.

"Can I crash?" he asked bluntly, gesturing to the bag swung over his shoulder.

Cliff stared at Logan for a moment as if in disbelief, he blinked but the boy was still there.

"Don't you have televisions to be throwing out of hotel room windows right now?"

Logan merely shook his head, a self-assured grin coloring the corners of his mouth. "So 70s, dude."

"So, no?" Cliff raised one eyebrow, his voice slow and mocking.

"I could just set up shop here on the landing," Logan ignored Cliff's question.

Cliff looked the boy over, trying to best decide how serious she was about sleeping outside Cliff's door and how much trouble that would get him in with the landlord. Eventually he took a half-step back, opening the door wide enough for Logan to slip through.

"Hey, roomie!" Logan smirked as he threw his bag to the floor.

Cliff pursed his lips and let a quick glance fall to the liquor cabinet.

Thirty minutes later and Logan was back on his couch, joined by Cliff as the television glared neon and the room was filled with the scent of butter and salt. Logan fingered the neck of his beer bottle, watching Cliff out of the corner of his eye as the man grasped a handful of popcorn from a bowl perched on the coffee table.

"Beer for dinner and Fight Club but I'm the irresponsible one?" Logan asked.

Cliff didn't even look away from the screen as he muttered, "Anyone asks and we're on Europe time and that beer is perfectly legal."

"Really?" Logan looked across a little incredulously.

"No," Cliff added with some distain for Logan's stupidity, "if someone comes to the door you disappear under the couch and I'm going to pretend we've never met."

Logan smiled self-deprecatingly as he nodded nostalgically, "You wouldn't believe how often that happens to me."

"Believe me, kid." Cliff looked at him over the neck of his own mostly finished beer, "I really would."

"Hey," Logan protested.

Cliff shrugged, popping the top off of a fresh beer and taking a swig as Logan settled back on the couch, his socked feet propped on the edge of the coffee table.

The relative peace was broken as Cliff mumbled, "You're getting your own apartment tomorrow."

Logan grinned softly, nodding as he replied, "Sure. Whatever, man."