Main Characters: Veronica, Logan, Mac, Wallace
Spoilers: just seasons 1 and 2, the rest is AU
Disclaimer: I only own the idea for this story, nothing else
Authors Note: Hey, this is my first Veronica Mars fic, so I hope you like it, and criticism would be appreciated. Just bear in mind that where there are xxxxxx's that means the Point of View has switched between Logan and Veronica. Thanks.
When I woke up this morning I had thought that today would be just like every other day. I thought I'd get up, get dressed, go to work, and solve some cases. Same old, same old. And in a way I was right. I got up, pulled on a pair of jeans and a t shirt and drove to work, stopping at a nearby Starbucks on the way to buy the coffee that I can't function without. It was when I got to my office that things started to go wrong. I walked in, picked up the pile of memos and messages waiting for me on my desk, and sat down, sifting through them half-heartedly.
"Morning V, got any good cases?" Johnny, my colleague and rival asked me, leaning against the doorway to my office. We're both vying for the same position; chief of investigations.
"Not really, just the usual…" I trailed off as a familiar name amongst the papers caught my eye. "Murder at the Neptune Grand Hotel, Neptune California." I quickly read the rest of the case-brief, stunned at the mention of the place that I hate the most, which I ran away from four years ago.
I suppose I haven't explained myself very well. My name is Veronica Mars, I'm twenty-two years old, and I live in New York, where I work at Independent Investigations. But I haven't always lived here. Till I was nineteen I lived in Neptune, the very place where someone has just been murdered. I suppose most people would be shocked to learn about a murder in their hometown, but Neptune is no stranger to scandal. After all, the first thing that made me hate Neptune was the murder of my best friend, Lilly Kane.
The last thing that made me hate Neptune happened on the very day I left.
"Whose are they, Logan?" I asked, angrily, holding up the lacy pants.
"Ronnie, I-"
"I don't want excuses, or 'I'm sorry's, Logan, I just want an answer. Whose are they?" I couldn't believe this was happening. On the one day that we had agreed not to fight, in case it ruined the day for us, I had to pry the truth out of my once more promiscuous boyfriend.
"They're Madison's." He sighed; looking the most ashamed I'd ever seen him. "I know you won't want to hear it, Ronnie, but I'm so sorry! She came over last night looking for Dick, and I was just so torn up about you leaving that I couldn't help myself."
"You were upset that I was leaving, so you decided to make me even more upset about having to leave you? Hurt them so that they don't hurt you? Is that it?" My voice was dangerously low, and I could tell that if I didn't leave soon I was going to blow.
"I'm sorry, Ronnie, please, you've got to forgive me." He was practically sobbing, but I couldn't feel any sympathy for him, the man who had once again broken my heart. Third time's the charm. I walked out of that hotel room, and took the next flight to New York I could.
I've never once looked back, or regretted my decision, and I've never had the urge to return to Neptune, not even to visit my father. And yet here I am, only a few hours away from Neptune now, driving down the highway. I'm not even sure why I took the case; someone else could have handled it, and it's not even like I would be the main detective on the case. Far from it, actually, they were almost done with investigations, just wanting an outsider to check through all the details, facts and evidence to make sure it was all in order. It'll just be a quick in and out trip, three days at most. But why risk coming back? I have no idea.
I check myself in at the Camelot Motel; none of my acquaintances ever go there, so I'm not afraid of being found out. But even this dingy, seedy motel has painful memories attached to it. After all, it was here that Logan and I had our first kiss. I decided to get started on the case as soon as possible, so as not to prolong my stay here. I haven't even told my father I'm here, or Wallace, my best friend, so I won't have to pay visits to anyone, and no one is going to try to make me stay longer.
I drive my blue pick-up truck into town, and park outside the Grand. When I enter I flash my detective's pass and the police officers and stroll in. Great, another hotel, another batch of memories. I push them to the back of my mind as I go over to the officer in charge, and start questioning him about the case. I'm more likely to be seen by someone who knows me at the Grand, but with my blonde hair mostly hidden under my hat, and my face concealed by my large aviator shades, I'm not the most recognisable person. I guess I'll just get down to work.
Xxxxxxxx
I put down the phone, buzzing. Finally, my work for the last two years has paid off. Mac's words echo in my mind. "I've finally tracked her down, Logan. I'll be right over." So I'm going to find out where the love of my life has been hiding. With the help of Wallace and her father, Veronica has been dodging me since she left for Princeton, four years ago, and ever since she finished her degree early, and left the university, I've been searching for her, with the help of her best friend, and now mine, Cindy Mackenzie.
She knocks on the door of my condo, and I go to let her in. She looks nearly as excited as I do. I've never been sure why Veronica didn't stay in touch with Mac, but it hasn't fazed the brunette at all. Together, we've been tracking her down. And together, we've found her. She quickly dials the number she's got, and we listen to the dialling tone, expectantly.
"Independent Investigations, how may I help you?" A woman answers the phone.
"Hi, this is Logan Echolls. I'd like to speak to Veronica Mars, please."
"I'm sorry; she's away on a case right now. Is this a business call, or are you a friend?" I wonder how many friends Veronica has got that can only contact her through work.
"I'm a friend actually. We haven't met up in a while, and I just wanted to see when she was free. Do you know where she is now?"
"Yes actually. She's gone to Neptune California. I'm not sure why though, I mean, it's an awfully long way from New York." The woman was getting chatty now, but I end the conversation quickly. Mac and I both grinned madly, and hugged each other. Not only had we found Veronica, but she was right here in Neptune.
"She must be working on that murder investigation!" Mac squeals, tossing me my car keys. "Let's go!"
I'm more wary of just driving up and surprising Veronica like that. I know her well, or at least I know the eighteen year old her well and the eighteen year old Veronica would not like to be surprised by an ex-boyfriend. But I quash those feelings. I just need to see her, to talk to her, and once more ask for her forgiveness.
We drive over to the Grand, breaking the speed limit by at least 100 miles an hour, and park. I look around for the familiar LeBaron of our youth, but its nowhere to be seen. We stroll into the lobby, looking around us for a glimpse of that blonde hair, or the sound of her sarcastic voice. And then I catch it.
"All I'm saying is that a drunken Dick Casablancas is hardly a reliable witness, Sheriff." She is just as spiky and realistic as the last time I saw her, and the 'sheriff' tacked onto the end of her accusation shows no sign of the respect that our Sheriff expects. Just like old times. Her hair is shorter than before, cut to chin-level, but I don't know why I expected her to stay the same. All I know is that she is still gorgeous, I still love her, and I still need to talk to her.
Xxxxxxx
It's getting on for evening, but I'm well into my work now, and have no intention of stopping. I discarded my hat about three hours ago, and the shades long before that. I don't care if anyone recognises me; I just want to be able to do what I love without any constrictions.
The Sheriff I'm working with is a complete dolt; much like Don Lamb was when I was a teenager. I'm poking holes straight through his theory, and in a way I'm glad that I decided to come down here, as the Sheriff was about to arrest the wrong guy and I don't like it when people are falsely accused. Point of reference: Abel Koontz. I'm just reminding him of yet another thing that is wrong with his case (I mean really, trusting Dick Casablancas when he's sober is a big mistake) when someone taps me on the shoulder.
I don't turn around. "I'm kind of busy right now; could you come bug me a bit later?" I ask whoever is behind me, acidly.
"Actually, Ronnie, I'd rather talk to you now." His voice hasn't changed. Nor has its effect on me. Heart beating wildly, I whirl around to face the man I left behind four years ago. He grins at me. "What's shaking, Ronnie?"