Title: Searching For Life- Chapter One

Author: LoVefan4ever

Rating: R

Warnings: Some language.

Word Count: 6306 this chapter; 8362 total.

Characters/Pairings: Logan/Veronica, Logan/OFC, Keith, various others.

Spoilers: Goes AU during 3x13 (Post-Game Mortem).

Disclaimer: I do not own any of Veronica Mars or it's characters. I do not make any money from this.

Summary: Sometimes finding what you've been searching for is harder than not finding it at all. Letting it go is even harder. This is a LoVe story that spans years, three-quarters of a continent and maybe a little bloodshed. They wouldn't be epic without it.

A/N: This is an ongoing Christmas present for vanessagalore for vm_santa over on livejournal.

I have to thank Sabrina, the bestest friend and beta a girl could ever ask for who went above and beyond in this chapter! And many thanks to Mojo and her BFF, Bella, who helped me with my Spanish. Also, I'd like to thank Emma, Maria, and Mary for their continuous support and cheerleading. You all deserve lots of chocolate!!!

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ria pinched the top of her waitress uniform together, subconsciously checking to be sure the buttons were still closed. She didn't have much cleavage to speak of, but that didn't stop the small diner's male patrons from seeking it out anyway.

"Why won't you go out with me?" one of the more eager of the bunch asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Could it be the fact that you have a wife?"

"Soon to be ex-wife," he corrected.

"Well, that makes it so much better," she responded, rolling her eyes.

She leaned over the counter and filled his cup with the freshly brewed coffee from the carafe in her hands. The strong scent wafted up into her nose and she was suddenly struck with a strong sense of déjà vu. She'd been having lots of those moments lately - a vague flicker of people or places flashing through her mind in bits and pieces, desperately trying to remind her of what was lost.

The images themselves were never enough to put together a whole picture, but they always brought something so inherently familiar. A time, a place, somebody waiting for her somewhere - she just didn't know and it was disheartening, to say the least. She would give almost anything to find out exactly where she came from or if there was anyone out there that cared for her at all.

Her dreams were another mystery. Vivid images of a beautiful man, someone her soul felt it knew intimately, had captivated her nocturnal activities almost every night for the past three years. His face was always obscured, which was frustrating, but overwhelming sentiments of love and desire coursed through her, allowing her to sleep soundly, the euphoria of hope carrying her though the night.

Of course, it all could have been just fantasy – a mirage of love haunting her dreams, replacing the bad with good. The bad – singeing heat from an invisible fire, the rancid smell of non-existent smoke permeating her brain, both bringing terrifying possibilities of an unknown past. But the worst were the occasional screams that reverberated throughout her head. Hers or someone else's, she didn't know- only that unspeakable fears had been realized and she had no real desire to relive them.

The bell atop the glass door of the Riverside Restaurant dinged proudly, alerting everyone inside to its new guest. A bald man entered and Ria greeted him with a friendly smile in which he returned with one of his own. He wasn't tall by any means yet he seemed to silently require respect, possessing a quiet strength that went beyond his stature.

"Sit anyplace you like. Annie will be with you in a minute," she told him, taking note of his appearance.

Ria was sure the man wasn't local - he just reeked out-of-towner, not to mention that his jacket was quite out of place for a warm, sticky May in Alabama – but there was something her heart seem to recognize. Maybe it was the same tired shoulders that she carried herself, the weight of the world sitting squarely upon them, or maybe it was the recognizable weariness in his eyes. Either way, she was drawn to him in a way she couldn't explain.

She watched him closely as he chose the corner booth, sitting so that he could see the counter. After situating himself, he looked up and caught her staring. He regarded her curiously, his warm, friendly face seemingly searching hers. She found herself momentarily paralyzed by a tickle of recognition before she finally tore her gaze away from his, returning to her waitressing duties.

After the scare she'd had in Mexico, she'd settled in a sleepy little college town located in the northwest corner of Alabama. It's downtown cobblestone streets were lined with family-owned bookstores, quaint little antique traders and bars that pre-dated the civil war. Football was king and the only crime around was whatever trouble fraternity row found themselves in on Saturday nights.

Ria didn't think it was greatest life, but it wasn't like she had much to compare it to. She kept mostly to herself, too afraid to cultivate relationships for one reason or another. The only people she conversed with on a regular basis were a couple of long-time waitress from the diner and the elderly lady from whom she rented her apartment.

Her apartment was small, settled above an aged, pea-green garage in one of the historic districts. The living room was bare, as were the walls, and the dark-blue, Salvation Army couch was the only thing that stood out above the white of the carpet. She had saved up for five months to buy a twenty-seven inch color television but had pawned it a mere two months later for a camera she'd been inexplicably drawn to. The T.V had never been replaced with another.

Ria preferred to spend her days wandering the streets of Florence taking photograph after photograph of anything from co-eds playing Frisbee golf in Wilson Park to the eclectic architecture that gave the city its charm. She loved looking through the camera and being able to see subjects from and entirely different perspective. It was always nice to be able to live through her lens, escape into someone else's world for a while.

She also enjoyed reading classic crime novels while holed up in the dusty stacks of the top floor of the University Library's southeastern corner, choosing to nestle under its classic, arched stained glass windows. The mid-morning sunlight streamed in, washing beautiful color over the metal bookshelves and wooden tables, bringing brilliance to the mundane. It was her sanctuary, her refuge in the constant uncertainty that was her life.

The fear from her past had subsided over the years but the sense of longing never went away. The desire to belong somewhere, the need to know someone missed her, slowly outweighed any lingering concerns that her life was in danger. Too many days she had dragged her feet thoughtfully along the streets of Florence, hoping that someone would recognize her, that someone knew where she'd come from. It was ridiculous she knew, but that never stopped her from wishing for things to be different.

Ria had looked into her past before. Two years ago, this coming October, she'd made a trip to California. She'd lived meagerly and saved her tips for years before finally having both the money and the courage. She had still been nervous; there was no way of knowing if the nightmares she had were real, if her fear was founded or if the mind that switched back and forth from determination to vulnerability so quickly was playing tricks on her.

Nine days were all she could afford to take off and most of those were taken up by the bus ride out there and back. She was left with only three to search everywhere she could within a thirty-mile radius of the town in which the sweet grandmother and her grandson had so graciously taken her in. She'd had to limit her search to U.S. soil; it was too risky to cross into Mexico without a passport that allowed her to return.

In the end it didn't matter anyway. Nothing looked familiar to her, nothing felt right. She reasoned that it was possible she was looking in all the wrong places, that whomever she was running from had sent her a lot further than she could have imagined, or that whatever happened to her was too far suppressed ever to surface. None of these realizations made her feel any better.

Despite her growing bravery, the fear of the past that she'd been struggling against for eight years hadn't completely waned. It was right after the trip that she had decided that maybe not knowing was for the best– maybe there was a reason things should stay buried. But looking back, she thought that maybe not finding out had been a mistake, because ever since, it had been the emptiness of that forgotten time that had constantly plagued her mind

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Ten years, three months earlier

The fog around her brain was lifting, giving way to only momentary lapses of consciousness. Voices outside the darkness surrounding her began to break through, causing her heart to beat faster.

She had no idea where she was, only that she was warm and dry - two things that she didn't remember being earlier that day. Or was it yesterday - or did she imagine it all together?

The realization startled her and she started to scan her mind for things that she was supposed to remember. What day was it, how did she get wherever she was, and why couldn't she remember her name, or anyone else's, for that matter? She scrunched her forehead, desperately searching any recess of her subconscious for the answers. She found none – only bits and pieces of a memory of herself: cold, wet, alone and scared.

Her confusion made its way into fear. What had happened to her? Her head ached – she didn't know if it was from thinking too hard or something else entirely. She ran a hand over the spot where the pain seemed to be concentrated, finding a large bump, tender to the touch. Her eyes adjusted to the low light of the room and she searched her body for more proof that the achy feeling wasn't just in her mind, literally

The clothes she was wearing were loose, allowing her to examine herself thoroughly. Several abrasions and dark bruises mottled her shoulders, arms and legs. Along with a huge multi-colored contusion on her hip was a cut that looked like it had been rather nasty before someone had tended to it and another on her arm. Whatever she had been through hadn't been pretty - but she had survived. For some reason it felt like a miracle.

The voices returned, getting louder as they approached the room. From what she could make out, it sounded like an elderly woman and a boy - nothing to be afraid of, right?

They were talking, but she only understood some of what they were saying. They must have been speaking in a language that was not her own, but one that she was at least a little familiar with. Spanish came to mind.

The door opened and the elderly woman came in, a large ceramic bowl resting on her hips and a rag in her hand. The boy, who looked to be about twelve, carried a large quilt.

"You're awake, dear," the older lady said, startled. She had a thick accent but she wasn't speaking Spanish anymore.

"Yes. Where am I?"

"My home in Tijuana, Mexico." The woman paused, giving the injured girl's arms and face a once-over, examining the cuts and bruises. She turned to the young boy standing anxiously at the end of the bed. "Mario, traeme el botiquin de primeros auxilios, ràpido, por favor."

"Sí, abuela."

He hurried out of the room while his grandmother set the washbasin on the small wooden table beside the bed. She took the cloth and soaked it in the water before tending to the scrapes across her arm.

"Who did this to you?" the grandmother asked, sympathy apparent in her eyes.

Tears began to well up in her eyes for the first time as she replied softly. "I don't know."

"There, there. You're safe here, querida. Whoever did this doesn't know you're here so there's no need to worry."

She shook her head wordlessly and hoped that the lady was right - that she was safe from whatever unknown danger faced her.

"What's your name?"

She paused and gave the woman a blank look. "I don't know that either."

"You poor thing. Do you remember anything at all?"

She thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. It's all pretty fuzzy. All I can picture is water. And lots of it."

"Well, Mario, my grandson, found you asleep at the Sitio del Rezo inside Monumental de las Playas – the bullring. We are the caretakers. You were a little wet and very cold. He woke you up and brought you here. By the time we got you in bed, you were shaking and running a high fever."

"How long ago was that?"

"You've been asleep for twelve hours. It's around five in the evening."

"What day is it?"

"It's Wednesday, the fourteenth of February."

Even the date didn't mean anything to her. She somehow knew that it was Valentine's Day, but the struggle to produce any thoughts associated with the holiday failed.

Mario came back in with a basket filled with assorted first aid supplies.

"¿Cual es su nombre?" he asked.

"Ella no se acuerda, mijo."

"¿Como la llamaremos, entonces?"

"I don't know," the grandmother replied, looking at her curiously. "He wants to know what we can call you since you don't know your name." She paused, giving it some thought. "How about Ria? It means 'from the river's mouth,'" She turned to the boy again. "She looks like a Ria. Don't you think?"

The boy smiled and nodded, seemingly pleased.

"What do you think, querida? It's okay if we call you Ria until we can find out your real name?"

"Ria. Yes. That's nice." For all she knew it could be her real name.

"What can I call you?"

"Oh, goodness me. I forgot my manners," the grandmother replied as she went about applying medicine and a fresh bandage to the young woman's forearm. "I'm Rosa, and of course you already know Mario's name."

The boy smiled at Ria and gave a little wave. She responded with a small wave and smile of her own before turning her attention back to the woman.

"You English is very good."

"Yes, thank you. I worked for a family in the States for a very long time. My son - Mario's father, along with his mother, were killed in an accident. I could not leave Mario alone so I came back to Mexico to take care of him."

"That's terrible. I'm very sorry."

"Thank you," Her response was accompanied by a warm smile, laced with a tinge of wistful longing. "It was a long time ago."

It was silent for a few minutes as she watched Rosa tend to her wounds.

"Rosa," she began, breaking the silence, "thank you for everything you've done. I'm very grateful."

The older lady smiled up at her. "You're welcome. And I promise, we'll find whoever did this to you and get you back to where you belong."

Flashes began to invade Ria's mind, quick visits to the past, she presumed, but couldn't be sure. She was trapped, screaming for help, the stench of smoke so strong she could almost smell it now. The fire gave way to water and a huge wave overtook her, keeping her under and making her gasp for air. Sudden fear gripped her. What if the place where she came from and the place she was running from were one and the same?

"NO!"

Rosa stopped what she was doing and looked at Ria in shock.

"I'm sorry. Please don't tell anyone I'm here. Please," she begged.

The grandmother seemed to understand and laid her hand over hers, trying to reassure her as she spoke. "Ok, querida. We won't tell anyone. I promise. And you're welcome to stay here as long as you like."

Ria breathed a sigh of relief, grateful to have a reprieve from whatever reality faced her, if only for a little while.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Keith watched her move about the diner, serving coffee and bringing meals. She moved with such a Veronica-like grace, hard and determined yet soft and innocent, that he could not have imagined it if he tried. She had changed though, a certain reluctance in her stance and an even greater weariness in her eyes held the stories of this new Veronica that he was not privy to.

It was obvious to him as he watched her flitter around, making casual conversation, why she never found her way back home. His baby girl didn't know who she was, didn't know she had a home to go home to. For the first time, he realized that even though he'd found his badass action figure daughter, she might be truly lost to him forever. That saddened him most of all.

But despite everything, he wanted to proclaim to the world that she was his. Veronica Mars – beloved daughter, friend, love of someone's life, had been lost but now she was found. It was so hard for him not to jump up and shout, "That's my girl!" and clap like he did on her graduation day so very long ago.

And a tiny, immature part of him wanted his own small victory- a big fat 'told-you-so' to everyone who hadn't believed. He laid a twenty on the table for his coffee and went outside to wait for Veronica to finish her shift. He would have some splainin' to do but first he had to make a phone call. He knew who was first on his list.

Ria watched the stranger leave again, the bell sounding his departure. Some part of her wanted to follow him out, ask him who he was and why she felt like she knew him. A new curiosity replaced the expected fear and uneasiness; the man's warm demeanor had chipped away at her obligatory defenses.

He was just outside in the parking lot, talking to someone on the phone. She'd made a decision; she would leave it for the fates to decide. If he was still there when her shift finished in five minutes, she'd find out exactly who he was.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ten years, three months earlier

Upon coming home to the apartment and finding no note, Keith was beginning to really worry. It had been twenty-two hours since he talked to Veronica. It wasn't the first time he'd gone that long without contact, but it was the first time he was out of town while he worried away. She'd called him the day before around four in the afternoon while she was still on campus. That had been the last time he'd heard from her.

He had been off chasing a bail jumper in Arizona and had been in and out of his cell phone service area pretty much the whole time. He'd called and left a message for Veronica the evening before, letting her know when he'd be coming home and wishing her a good night. It really hadn't alarmed him until now that she hadn't called back.

Fourteen minutes and three phone calls later, Keith was no closer to finding out anything definite about Veronica. Wallace had eaten lunch with her the day before but she'd been a no-show for their standing noontime lunch date earlier that day. Of course Wallace had thought nothing of it at the time - she'd been known to skip out on him before.

It had been even longer since either Mac or Weevil had seen or talked to her, but neither had any idea of where she might be or knew of any cases she was currently working on. There was really only one person left to call.

He sighed long and hard into the receiver as he waited for the boy on the other end to pick up. Logan and Veronica were on the outs, again, and only Veronica's well-being could keep him from being the big bad daddy. The thought that maybe they had gotten back together again briefly flitted across his mind and a vision of Logan grinning lecherously at Veronica made his blood boil. But even if that were the case, she would be safe – at least from someone other than Logan.

"Hello?"

"Logan. It's Keith. Veronica isn't there with you, is she?"

"Uh, no. We broke up," he told Keith, sadly.

"Yeah, I know. I…" he started. What was he going to say - that he was sorry? He wasn't. "You haven't by chance seen or talked to her since yesterday afternoon, have you?"

"No, I haven't. What's going on, Mr. Mars?"

"To be honest, I don't know. I'm probably overreacting. We've probably just gotten our signals crossed or something, but I haven't heard from her since around four yesterday. I was out of town and the cell reception wasn't great, so I figured maybe she kept missing me and just didn't leave a message. Anyway, I got home today and there is no sign of her – no note, nothing," Keith told him, the worry clear in his voice.

"What are you going to do?"

"Well, the police won't do anything for seventy-two hours since she's legally an adult. A lot of times they'll try to at least help a little in any way they can, but it's Lamb, and well – we can forget about any help from him."

"Whatever you need from me, you've got it."

"Thanks, Logan. I'll let you know when I get a game plan together."

Despite Keith's dislike for him, Logan Echolls proved that he was willing to go to the ends of the earth for Veronica and that was exactly what he was counting on.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The sand was browner in the West Indies. That was the first thought that entered Logan's mind as he relaxed on the beach watching his new wife. Of course, most of the beaches in St. Lucia were man-made, constructed simply for the enjoyment of tourists who were frittering away exorbitant amounts of money to spend their days in the sun. Sarah's laugh was infectious was the second thought as he stared, smiling at her antics with a couple of local children playing soccer in the sand.

After Keith left on the morning of his wedding, he felt that familiar tightening of his chest, the memories threatening to overwhelm him and swallow him whole. He had been telling Keith the truth when he said that losing Veronica had nearly killed him and even though he knew it would be impossible to get over her completely, he'd come a long way. Sarah's capacity for love and the empathy she'd gained from her own circumstances had taught him how to be happy again. So, even in the face of the potential life-changing news his early morning visitor had brought, the ceremony had gone off without a hitch.

Married life looked beautiful on her. Logan still couldn't believe she was his. She was small and able to move the children's ball quickly yet gracefully along the grainy surface. Her lustrous, chestnut hair bounced in her high ponytail and he could almost see the sparkle in her almond-shaped eyes, completely captivating him from fifty feet away. He imagined her long black eyelashes fluttering closed as her laughter matched that of the kids. He hoped that he could keep her as happy as she was right at that moment- as happy as she made him.

He'd first met Sarah at a seminar for Families of the Missing, or FM, as they called it, nearly four years earlier. At the time, he was actively searching for Veronica and was exploring every avenue his and Keith's efforts to find her had uncovered.

Sarah's sister had been abducted at the age of three when the family was on vacation in San Francisco. One year later, when Sarah was only eight, they picked up and moved to Pacifica in an effort to be closer to the search.

The stress from the move and the constant battle of guilty feelings and the blame game had torn her family apart. Sarah had chosen to move to Portland with her father while her mother and older brother stayed in California. Later, during college, Sarah's mother had fallen ill. Stricken by her own feelings of guilt about abandoning her mother, she moved back to San Francisco to take over her care.

They'd done nothing more than talk a while; his grief, even some years later, was still palpable. She'd been a sympathetic shoulder, her own life marred with imperfections and Logan had found comfort in the story of her own loss.

Nearly six months later, Sociology degree in hand, Logan started graduate school at Stanford. He and Sarah kept in touch through email and became fast friends when he moved to the area. They shared a passion for the families they worked with and often found themselves working side by side at the Families of the Missing office in San Francisco.

Sarah's friendship had proved to be the strength he needed the following February. Keith had called and through his sobs, the grieving father had told him that the State of California had declared Veronica officially dead. It had been like losing her all over again.

A fifth of Jack Daniels had been his company that night, his accomplice in attempting to ease the anguish of an epic loss. The raw pain was too much; the memories of the days and years that followed her disappearance were coming back in full force. The constant wondering and the never-ending worry had always weighed on him heavily, and the possibility that they might never know had proved to be his breaking point on more than one occasion. He'd drank straight from the bottle, wanting the burn and eventually the blissful haze the amber liquid provided.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Ten years, three months earlier

Two days after Veronica vanished, panic and assumptions that the worst had happened were starting to sink in. Logan knew Keith was trying to be strong, playing the part of the father who had faith he would get his daughter back. Logan's past didn't afford him that luxury and the only hopeful ending he saw was in one of his father's fifty-million dollar Hollywood crap piles. Aaron would have enjoyed the irony.

The first thing Logan had done was to offer a reward – fifty thousand dollars for information leading to the whereabouts of Veronica Mars. Unfortunately, the tip line had been inundated with calls that had proved to be nothing more than a bunch of false sightings and con men disguised as altruists.

Keith had enlisted help from almost everyone, not that he'd had to do any convincing. Everyone who loved Veronica was anxious to help. Mac, Wallace, and Logan had split up on campus, talking to every student, faculty member, administrator and anyone else at Hearst. They'd talked to a few that had seen her here and there and to one person who had seen her coming out of the library around three-thirty.

Weevil, of course, chatted up the local criminal element, calling in every favor that he'd ever been owed. Even that had come up empty.

Keith had tapped every resource he knew of, contacted every member of law enforcement that he still had an in with. Any lead that came in was quickly followed, only to end in despair when it turned out to be nothing. He made sure Logan was a part of the investigation, keeping him in the loop on every piece of evidence; for that Logan was grateful.

Lamb had been little help, as expected. He had his hands full at the station. Josh Barry had been arrested for the murder of his father, the coach of the Hearst basketball team, and had escaped after being transported to the hospital for some kind of allergic reaction. Of course, being an even bigger ass than Logan thought he would be, Lamb still refused to put out an All Points Bulletin until the standard seventy-two hour waiting period was up.

Every minute since Veronica had gone missing had worn on Logan. His body had been on autopilot since the phone call from Keith and he'd focused on the investigation to keep him from jumping off the nearest bridge. He kept thinking about what Veronica would do in the same situation and he tried to mimic the calm, cool demeanor that he knew she would have displayed.

But at night when Keith sent him back to the Grand, with nothing more than thoughts detrimental to the hope that Veronica was alive and well plaguing his mind, he struggled to keep his sanity. Being numb inside was the only thing keeping him going because he if stopped to consider the facts, he could never live with the reality of what was happening. His worst fears were coming true.

He lay awake on his bed, someone's idea of a contemporary aquatic masterpiece hovering over him, and recalled a night only the week before when he'd been sulking about their break-up. Veronica had told him she wasn't going to get over the Madison thing, and for a while he'd believed her. But a couple of days later he'd convinced himself that they would never be over – that somehow, some way, they would find their way back to each other, however long that might take.

Logan squeezed his eyes shut, the tears finding their way down either side of his face. Even though he'd never believed in a higher power, he found himself praying for Veronica to be alive and well. And even if they were never together again it'd be all right, at least she'd be alive.

The ringing of his cell phone broke through the silence of the suite and caused his heart to beat faster. There was only one reason why it would be ringing at that time of night - Veronica. He flopped over to grab it from atop the nightstand and held his breath as he answered.

"Hello?"

"Logan. I'm sorry it's so late, but I thought you would want to know-"

"What is it, Mr. Mars?"

"A buddy of Weevil's cousin found someone who saw Veronica up in L.A. on Valentine's Day. She says she saw her around six-ish being forced into a green car by a couple of white guys. The witness is a prostitute, but so far it's been our best lead."

"Why do I get the feeling that there is more to this story than you're letting on?"

"Logan, Weevil says the neighborhood is rough – I don't know what the hell she was doing up there by herself."

Logan wanted to tell Keith that he wasn't surprised, that it was only a matter of time before something bad came of all the stupid risks she took but he couldn't bring himself to add salt to the wound.

He heard Keith take a deep breath and he wondered what other awful news could be coming.

"There's this one guy who pretty much runs the neighborhood; he's affiliated with the Temple Street gang- an Asian gang. But that's all Weevil could find out. A buddy of mine who's in the force in L.A. has arranged for me to meet with someone in the Los Angeles Interagency Gang Task force. I'm meeting with him in the morning."

"I'm coming with," Logan told him adamantly.

"Yeah, I figured. I'll pick you up at six a.m."

The next morning Keith picked him up and together they made the drive in almost complete silence. Neither man wanted to make small talk when the fate of a certain blonde they both loved more than life was yet to be determined.

They arrived at the office of Detective Harris in record time and were both anxious to hear what he had to say.

"Mr. Mars-"

"Please, call me Keith."

"Keith, Jerry tells me you're interested in knowing about Lok Lau."

"Yes. My daughter was last seen in his neighborhood."

"Well, it's a drug-saturated community – that I can tell you. Lots of crack houses and prostitution."

"So he's affiliated with the Temple Street gang?" Logan asked.

"He was until a couple of years ago. Now he pretty much runs his own operation: theft, money laundering, supplying drugs - you name it. We're not positive where he gets his drug supply from but some evidence has surfaced regarding his brother's old cellmate. Apparently the cellmate and most of the members of his family are small time drug runners and they had some kind of deal."

"What was his name?"

Detective Harris looked through his notes before answering Keith.

"Fitzpatrick, Cormac Fitzpatrick."

Logan felt his heart drop and found himself with the sudden urge to kill a man – or several.

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Before the phone call from Keith, he had been doing a good job at living, the agony buried inside giving way to a dull ache. But making Veronica's death official made it all seem so final, a definite proclamation to his heart that she wasn't coming back – that they wouldn't be coming back. There would be no happy ending for them, no epic love story for the ages.

But then Sarah had called, worried when he didn't show up for work at the FM office. He could barely talk, slurring speech and random expletives in the place of normal conversation, but somehow she had understood the pertinent facts. As far as the State of California and any law enforcement agency was concerned, Veronica Mars was dead.

Logan barely remembered that night other than a blurred memory of Sarah holding him while he cried, listening while he shouted. In the morning, after the haze of his drunken stupor lifted, he'd realized was luckier than he had ever known. He had someone who truly cared about him.

It had still been a long road of grief and heartache, but Sarah had stood by him and helped where she could.

Their friendship had flourished after he graduated Stanford with his Masters. As the summer months flew by, Logan realized that the gaping, Veronica-sized hole had started to slowly close, leaving only a small crack. It was still painful, but time and a dear friend's understanding had been healing him all along.

When fall approached, Logan had started to notice Sarah in a different light; her eyes started to twinkle, her smile grew more beautiful and the urge to kiss her became unbearable. It was then he realized he was falling in love with her and the thought didn't scare him as much as it should have. Finally, after dragging his feet for two months, afraid that she'd reject him and everything would change, he asked her on a date.

"What's got that smirk on your face?"

"Oh, just thinking about the first time I asked you out."

"Which one? The when we were friends time, or..."

"The decidedly not friends time," he interjected, waggling his eyebrows.

A blush crept up her neck and across her cheeks and finished up at her ears, followed by a shy smile. "Oh. Right. It was amazing."

"The date? Or me?"

Sarah's head dropped backwards with laughter, long, wavy locks bouncing along her back. "Both. You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"I do. But you love me anyway," Logan told her with a genuine smile.

"Yeah, I do."

"Come here. You're much too far away." He reached over and pulled her chaise next to his, sliding his hand up along her chin and lightly brushing his thumb against her cheek. "You're amazing, you know that?"

She leaned into him, capturing his mouth in a kiss. As he reveled in the soft feel of his new wife's lips, he didn't think he could have ever been happier.

"I'm going to make a trip to the bar, sweetie. Do you want anything?" Logan asked her.

"A beer would be nice, something local."

"You got it. Anything for my best girl," he yelled as he turned to make the short walk to the resort.

"I better be your only girl," she called after him, grinning from ear to ear, her dark-brown eyes full of playful mischief.

Logan smiled. He really didn't know how he had gotten that lucky.

As he approached the sandy stairs that led from the beach to the pool area, he saw a resort employee running towards him, his hand clutching the receiver of a phone.

His life had never been easy; that should have been sufficient warning. A sea of change was brewing and there would be no way he could have prepared for the storm that was on the horizon.

"Mr. Echolls, Mr. Echolls!!" he shouted as he came closer. "There is a phone call for you!"

Logan grumbled when he reached him, intent on ripping the man a new one.

"If I'd wanted to be bothered, I would have brought my own damn phone."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Echolls, sir. But the man says he's a policeman and that it's very important. He said that I needed to get you immediately."

Logan took the phone from him, his own fingers shaking slightly. There were only two people important enough to him to warrant an emergency phone call while on his honeymoon. One of them he just left sunbathing on the beach. The other – well, the other was supposedly dead. But these days, the only cop he knew personally was Keith and there was only one reason he would be calling him now.

Logan brought the phone to his ear and cleared his throat, bracing himself for whatever Sheriff Mars had to say.

"Logan?"

"Yeah?" he choked out.

"She's alive! My baby girl is alive," Keith declared, heaving sobs of relief.

Logan's knees dropped down to the soft sand, his whole body slouching over. It was news that his heart had ached for continuously but nevertheless was unprepared for.

One hand clutched the cordless lifeline while the other webbed across his face. Tears of joy flowed freely through his fingers and sobs of happiness ricocheted throughout his body.

Both men realized the miracle they had begged, pleaded, and most certainly would have died for had finally happened.

To Be Continued….

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