Author's Note: We get an extra update this week, courtesy of the rain storm that's delaying the start of my biology job. These are scenes I added to the finale, because it needed them.

Chapter 2: Reparations

Veronica plucked at the rivets on her bag as Logan pulled their borrowed truck up alongside the curb. "You sure you want to do this right now?" he asked.

"Bombers to catch, hotties to marry, ticking clocks in every direction." She smiled and the skin on her neck felt too tight. "But I've put off my friends for my cases too many times. Thanks for coming along to do the heavy lifting later."

"Yeah, well, as someone who's done a lot of emotional heavy lifting lately, can I give you a piece of advice?"

She was pretty sure she did not want to hear this advice. She nodded anyway, because that probably meant she needed it.

"Grovel a little more than you want to." He reached over and squeezed her hand, and she could tell by his tone that he knew how much she was going to hate that. "If you want him back in your life, that's what it's going to take."

"Is that a hint that I need to grovel more with you?"

"God no." Logan shuddered. "Can't imagine a bigger turn off than Veronica Mars groveling." He flicked his hands like he was shaking water off them. "Think it'd make me feel dirty."

"Hmm, you never seemed to mind feeling dirty before."

He gave her a crooked smile. "Stop stalling. Cowboy up, Mars."

"It's so not a good sign that you only say that on the worst days of my life." She sighed. "If you hear gunshots, come in after me."

"And if I hear screaming?" He cocked his head. "Should I rescue Weevil?"

She grinned. "If he's screaming, leave him to me."

He snapped off a lazy salute that was halfway between High School Detention Logan and Naval Officer Logan, and Veronica slammed the truck door before he could notice how it got her nipples hard.

She checked the safety on the dual pistols she had under her jacket, then the extra clips in her pocket, and her bag. Logan was packing, too. She may have only had one Get Out of Death Free card with Weevil, and his hoodlums weren't her biggest fans. Then she let out a breath and strolled onto the yard of the chop shop like she hadn't almost been raped, beaten, and robbed there barely a few days ago. Be cool, Soda Pop.

She didn't believe in showing fear, especially not to gang members. Double especially not to pipsqueak gang members.

Weevil was under the hood of a Dodge out front, doing something that looked suspiciously like honest work. In the interest of diplomacy, she didn't say that out loud. Instead, she stood back, noting the flick of his long eyelashes that had registered her presence and ignored it.

"I don't much like admitting when I'm wrong," she said.

He turned at that, wiped his hands on a rag. "I ain't never been too fond of it, either. But you were right about those rich assholes. They used me to get what they wanted on the boardwalk and then they left me, left all of us, with no damn work. And I don't know what scheme they got cooked up, but I don't think it ends with my rent going down."

"No," she said quietly. "It doesn't. But I should have helped you instead of being an asshole about it. I've got pride, too. I know how it works." She looked away, turned her back on him because she needed a minute.

She knew it was safe to do it, even now. And they understood each other well enough that he held the silence until she could force the words up out of her throat.

"We worked really hard on that lawsuit. I even got my hopes up, and you'd think I'd know better than to do that by now." She let out a dry scoff of a laugh that quieted quickly. And made herself turn back around.

Grovel more. Logan was waiting in the car. Her backup and her better half, and she was a conservative enough gambler to know that the few pennies she had left? She should bet them on his advice, not her own instincts.

She met Weevil's eyes. "But the truth was, one lawsuit was never going to clean up everything that's wrong with this town. We have an honest sheriff now, even if she does have a phobia about PIs. And we still have plenty of crime. What I'm saying is, I get taking care of your people. My…" It took her a minute to swallow and start over. "My dad got sick recently. Needed better doctors than we could afford." She set her jaw, kept holding his eyes. "I get doing what you have to do for money."

He nodded. Just once.

She let out a breath. Quietly, so he wouldn't see. "Thank you for having my back, Weevs. Even when I didn't have yours."

"I'd rather that road ran both ways, V."

"I would, too." She held out her hand first, and he slapped his palm into hers with no hesitation, and shook it firmly. Then hauled her in to pound her back in the one-armed hug she'd seen him give all his guys. It rattled her ribs, and still, she let herself relax into him for one instant when his hand was clasping hers, his other behind her back. His eyes still open because he was watching her six.

"Thank you," she whispered. Quiet enough that both their pride would survive it. And this time, when he pulled back, the thinnest blade of a smile widened his mouth.

"Anytime, V."

#

Veronica walked into Comrade Quacks with quite a bit less bravado than she'd entered Weevil's chop shop. It was still early in the day, and the place wasn't technically open, but she knew bartenders and she knew the alley door would be unlocked for smoke breaks. So that's where she left Logan, with a kiss and specific instructions, while ignoring his sympathetic sideways look.

She also didn't give him the "I told you so" he'd earned from his voicemail, predicting she'd start to suspect Nicole. A girl could only take so much groveling in one day. She hitched up her messenger bag. "Cowboy up, Mars."

Only half the lights were on, the cardboard character cutouts and bright decorations draping with an ironic poignancy across the shadows. A slim white guy was behind the bar, gauged ears, dark eyes, and sharp bangs, moving through his prep work with slight, graceful movements. She wondered if he was the one who'd helped Nicole give her desk such a vigorous workout. Guilt washed over Veronica at the reminder of her eavesdropping, and when the bartender flicked his eyes across her and allowed a bare nod of greeting, she didn't stop to press for more conversation.

Instead, she mounted the steps to Nicole's office with heavy feet, but the other girl came down before she could get all the way to the lion's den.

"I come in peace," Veronica joked. "And with gifts. Can we talk?"

Nicole gave her a cold look and stalked past her. But she stopped at the bar and took a bar stool, so Veronica took the seat next to her.

"Look, I'm not saying I was right to do what I did."

Nicole laughed. "Oh, you so fucking are. If you start like that, that's the only goddamn thing you're saying."

"It's not," Veronica said quietly, and let the silence stand until the other woman looked over at her. "I wanted to know because if I suspect you, the police will start to suspect you, and when that time comes, I want to be able to help shield you, because I believe you're innocent."

"Yeah, thanks so much for that."

Veronica bit the inside of her cheek until the urge for sarcasm passed. Made a mental note to ask Logan if he'd learned a trick for that that didn't leave the taste of blood in your mouth.

"Why did you sell this place?"

Nicole scoffed and gestured to the bartender, who poured her a cup of coffee and dumped two jiggers of bourbon into it, then a dash of walnut bitters. "You think I like getting wankers drunk for a living? I have to stay as drunk as they are all spring break just so I won't kill any of them. It's not exactly what I wanted to be doing when I grew up."

"But you acted like you cared that they were shutting down businesses on the boardwalk. Even though you'd already been secretly bought out."

"I do care!" Nicole tossed her a nasty look and gulped back a shot of her spiked coffee. "Just because I don't want to own a bar all my life doesn't mean I want a bunch of high rises along the beach, or for those rich assholes to win." She sent her a nasty look. "You're a cynical bitch and you still care about this town. Why couldn't I?"

"Touché." Veronica tilted her head, acknowledging the point. "Look, I don't have a great track record with trusting people. You don't know this, but telling you about the bug, pulling it, it was a step forward for me." She slipped a hand in her bag and hit a button on her phone.

"Your step forward sucks."

Veronica winced. "I know. I…wish I could take it back, but that's hindsight and guilt talking. And I doubt you care how sorry I actually am, so instead, I brought you a peace offering."

Nicole glanced at Veronica's bag, around at the empty, dimly lit bar. "So far, it sucks, too."

The alley door banged, and Logan walked in, carrying a four-foot long, tree-trunk sized box propped up on one massive shoulder.

"Hmm, he's pretty," Nicole mused, "but how long do I get him for? A day? Because that bug was more like a week's worth of full service."

"Ha ha," Veronica said dryly, hoping like hell that was a bluff.

When Logan got closer, he smiled in that warm, friendly way he hadn't mastered until his mid-twenties. "Nicole."

She smiled back. "Ah, so the elephant returned."

Logan's smile disappeared and he bent his knees to set the box up against the bar.

"Have you been telling that story again? You're not the tusk, Veronica." Turning away from Nicole, he stepped up to Veronica and brushed a strand of hair back from her face. "The tusk is our insecurities. That gnawing fear that if anything's good, somebody will take it away. The poacher is the self-sabotaging behavior that becomes our greatest enemy, trying to protect ourselves and only making things worse. Without the insecurity of the tusks, the enemy doesn't have anything to prey on. You're the elephant." He slipped a hand around the back of her neck and kissed her forehead, softly. "You're not the damn tusk."

Veronica swallowed, and tried not to argue with him. She was pretty fucking sure she was the tusk. But maybe if she groveled enough, bit her cheek often enough, and tried hard enough, she wouldn't gore him. She caught his hand as it was slipping away from her neck, and held it hard.

The ghost of a smile slipped across Logan's face in the instant before he turned away from her. Anyone but a trained investigator would probably have missed it. Lucky for her, she was born into the right profession to not miss something as precious as that tenth of a smile.

"I'm not condoning what she did," he said to Nicole. Veronica bit her cheek, and tried not to take the disclaimer personally. "But you should know, if Veronica cares enough to start suspecting you of crimes, it means she likes you enough to be afraid you're going to let her down."

Veronica's fingers tensed, and Logan's grip gentled. But he didn't let go.

"Oh, I would let her down." Nicole flicked her hand casually. "If we were friends. Which we're not."

He smiled, and she didn't know if she hated him for looking so sympathetic to Nicole, of if she loved him for it. "I'll be in the truck." He kissed Veronica's fingers, and headed for the alley door with his long, easy strides.

Veronica pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth so Nicole wouldn't see her swallow.

The bar owner nodded to the box. "That's about the size of a body. Who'd you bring me?"

Veronica smiled. "Speaking of violence, I thought you might like a heavy bag. Keep those punching muscles up to speed. Maybe put a picture of my face on it, do double duty."

"Ah." Nicole was smiling. Veronica wasn't sure if she should read into it.

Grovel more.

"Look, I know I'm a fuck up," she said. "But I'd like us to be friends. I…feel a little out of synch with my old friends. I love them, but all they want to talk about are subway tile remodels and how to get your kid into the fanciest daycare." Veronica glanced away, tried to drag her eyes back to Nicole's. She cleared her throat and pretended she didn't feel terrifically awkward. "I felt like we clicked."

Nicole looked up at the ceiling. Finished her mug of coffee. Veronica intercepted a sharp look between the dark-eyed bartender and Nicole.

"I'm not really a forgive and forget kind of person."

"Hmm, well, I'm not really an 'admit that I'm wrong and apologize' type, so…"

Without being asked, the bartender brought a coffee-bourbon-bitters combo to Veronica, too, and Nicole tried to hide her smile.

"I think I know my bartender's vote." She cleared her throat and flicked an impassive-eyed glance at Veronica's left hand. "So, if we're trying out this whole friends thing again, you wanna tell me about that new rock you're lugging around?"

"Ah, this old thing?" She wagged her fingers so the track lighting caught the stone and zig-zagged rainbows across the bar top. A dopey smile tried to rise to her face and she hid it behind a sardonic twist of the lips. "Brand-new development. Gotta hide it from my daddy before I go to work. Feels like middle school all over again."

"Because he doesn't approve?" Nicole's eyebrow arched pretty high.

Veronica took a sip of her spiked coffee—dark, delicious, complex—and relaxed a touch on her stool. "Believe it or not, that Zen Navy Ken doll of a man was the only one of my boyfriends who Dad ever forbid me to see. Now, the two of them lecture me in unison." She rolled her eyes. "It'd be adorable if it wasn't so annoying."

Nicole snorted. "So why hide the ring?"

"Mostly so Dad doesn't accidentally trigger a hidden bomb, while he's dancing his celebratory jig."

Nicole laughed, and they both sipped in silence for a moment. "Don't bug me again, or I'll make you regret it."

"Yes, well, the benefit of being friends with me is that I've always done something worse," Veronica said, giving Nicole back the words she'd once said herself.

Nicole lifted her drink, and their mugs met in the middle with a ringing clink of perfect understanding.