The whine of the sirens grows closer by the second, and suddenly he's grabbing Veronica's hand and pulling her in the direction of the pool house. She allows it for the moment, feet stumbling as she struggles to keep up, until she comes to her senses and snatches her hand back. "What the hell are we running from?" she hisses, rubbing her wrist a little. He stalls sluggishly, blinking at her. "This is your house, Logan. Remember? They're not going to arrest you for being here."
His eyes cut over to the lights flashing through the front gate. "Just trust me on this, Veronica," he says impatiently, once again grabbing her hand. "The last thing I need is to deal with the cops. We have to go."
Veronica wrinkles her brow and stares at him, until the dots connect. "What's wrong with your eyes?" she breathes out slowly. Definitely not Vicodin.
"What, night-vision is on your ever-growing list of superpowers?" he snaps.
"I'm thinking it wouldn't be a stretch for Stevie Wonder to notice those pupils."
"Well aren't you just the sunshine of my ass?" He shakes his head and rolls his eyes. "Sure, Veronica. We'll play it your way then. I'll be the dutiful little lawbreaker and wait for the cops. They'll arrest me for consumption of whatever, pretty much guaranteeing my stint in foster care and therapy for an additional 6 months. Then on the way to the car, I can explain how I found you breaking into my house for God knows what reason." He cocks his head to the side and observes her mordantly. "Or maybe you'd care to explain that."
Checkmate. He watches as she glances back at the door one last time then glares at him as she nods begrudgingly. He sighs in relief, and leads her to the back of the house.
"Just where do you think we're going to hide?" she stage-whispers to his back, but he doesn't answer. Just glides open the slider and pulls her through, careful to shut it quietly behind them.
The key comes out and they're through the door to the pool house. He catches her staring up at the exposed wiring, ugly tangles like dark spider webs spread against the expanse of the ceiling. The Sheriff Department's way of collecting evidence. A hand goes gently to her arm, and he tries not to wince when she jumps at the contact. "The bookcase," he says, guiding her over.
She frowns, jaw dropping just the slightest bit when he slides the case open, revealing … nothing. The audio visual equipment as well as the custom-made entertainment center is all gone, wall tracks bare from paint the only indication anything had been there at all. She turns to him, corollary question-mark in her eyes, and he shrugs. "It was either that or the bed. And call me crazy, but there's no degree of satisfaction in hacking the shit out of feathers."
"You did this?"
He nods. "After I left your place."
Something catches the corner of his eye and prompts him to shove Veronica inside the bookcase. She endures it with an indignant "Hey!" and then they're pitched in darkness.
For a while, all he can hear is her slow breathing and the hammering of his own heart and then, keys jingling. He risks a glance at Veronica, but her eyes are trained to the front, back rigid against the wall.
"Are all you Rent-a-Cops so skittish?" he hears as the door swings open. Logan's pretty sure it's the same asshole who interrogated him that day at the precinct – Lamb.
"Echolls family preference," someone says, a little miffed. "If the silent alarm goes off, we're to report to local law enforcement and go in when they--you--arrive."
A loud clanging and then: "What do you suppose that'd be worth on E-bay now?"
"Far be it from me to usurp your authority, officer, but I'm pretty sure we're not supposed to touch anything."
"You're right. We should wait until after the conviction. Just to be sure." The Rent-a-Cop starts sputtering some sort of half-assed response, but Lamb drowns him out with an irritated "Shut up."
Their footsteps fade a little, indicating that they've moved their search on to the common room, and Logan finally feels as if he can breathe. He shifts from one foot to the other, arm inadvertently grazing against Veronica's when he notices something's not right. At first glance, she appears to be fine, her breathing a little shaky, sure, but that's to be expected considering the situation. The slight twitch in her jaw catches his attention, and it's then when he notices the tremble in her shoulders. All of the signs of someone quietly terrified. And as far as he knows, Veronica Mars doesn't "do" terrified.
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he risks whispering into her ear, and he's not really surprised when she doesn't answer. He is, however, surprised when he feels her fingers thread through his, squeezing through the trembling, almost hard enough to hurt. He tells himself he only allows the contact because he's worried any sudden movements on his part might draw attention to their presence. But in truth, something's niggling in the back of his mind – an almost memory, maybe …
They sat in Veronica's living room, and she did her best to avoid eye contact. As soon as Aaron's name was mentioned, he found the flask back in his hand, and this time, she made no move to take it from him.
"He locked me in this old freezer," she said. "When I came to, all I could hear was the sound of my own breathing. Until he started talking. I tried to hold out as long as I could. Wouldn't tell him where I put the tapes. But … I could smell the gasoline and I knew what he was going to do and … he kept kicking the freezer …" her voice broke and she trailed off, taking a deep breath before continuing. He took a slow pull from his flask and watched her, expressionless as he fought fingers that itched to reach for her. Instead, he took another swig and waited for her to finish.
"I heard my dad, and then fighting. Lots of things breaking. Then … this like, whoosh sound. And I knew. I could feel the heat and taste the gas in the back of my throat …" she looked up at him, and he didn't think he'd ever seen a look like that on her face. "I've never been more scared in my life," she whispered.
Logan looks down at the death grip Veronica has on his hand, takes note of her tense shoulders and feels like the biggest ass in the history of asses. Sure, it's not exactly like he's clairvoyant, or even that perceptive these days, but suddenly everything falls into place with a sickening crunch. And not in that vaguely psychedelic, coming down off of acid ways.
"There's nothing here," Lamb's voice filters back into the room. "Whoever it was is obviously long gone, and it doesn't look like anything's taken."
"So … who do you think it was?"
"Probably an obsessed fan or something. One of the more aggressive paparazzi. Who knows?" Logan hears the door open and Lamb's voice begins to fade. "Let's get the hell out of here. God, that's the last fucking time-"
And then the door clicks shut and all he can hear is muffled voices. Logan counts to sixty slowly, just to be sure, before sliding the bookcase open cautiously. Veronica's hand slides out of his and works at shoving the doors open more quickly, and she nearly trips over herself getting out. "Easy," he tells her as he follows. "They could still be around."
She rolls her eyes and smirks. "Drugs will make you paranoid. You should be well aware of that by now."
"Well, I guess that means you're back to your old delightful self," he nods with a small smile. She looks at him quizzically, and he gestures to the door. "I'm going to make sure they're really gone," he says distractedly as he slips outside.
Logan's back in less than ten minutes, and Veronica sighs in relief. "I was beginning to worry that you forgot about me," she says half-teasingly as she follows him back to the house.
"I wish," he mutters as he fishes in his pocket for the key. "Your annoyance has a way of leaving an impression." He unlocks the door and slips inside, pointing to the rectangular box located on the wall. "Now this," he says, flipping the bottom open and stabbing a series of numbers, "is an alarm system. Most people who own anything worth owning install these things so bad people," he cocks his head to the side and contemplates her, "or, as the case may be, crazy people, don't come in their houses and take any of their shit. Well, at least not without getting shot."
Veronica suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and smiles placatingly. "Thank you, Oh Wise One, for that informative tutorial. I'll keep it in mind for next time."
She makes a move to leave, but he grabs her by the arm. "Not so fast." He looks up at her, eyes stone-cold. "What were you doing here anyway?"
Veronica debates between telling him the truth, some elaborate lie, or simply shaking him off and running. She's pretty sure she can out-run him in his current condition, and there's something to be said for avoidance tactics – they really can't be as unhealthy as the gurus claimed. Especially considering the look he's giving her now.
In the end, she takes a deep breath and settles on half-truth. "I … was looking for something crucial that can be used in your father's case." Sure, Trina isn't actually on the preliminary list, but she was listed as a potential witness for the future.
He blinks at her and hesitates, drops his eyes from hers before gritting his teeth. "The police have been through here a million times. They've collected more evidence than a hobo collects fleas. Just what else do you think Aaron has hidden in here? My dead mother?"
She can tell he's just as shocked by the accusation as she is, when his eyes widen marginally and drop to the floor. She regains her composure first and shifts uncomfortably. "I didn't know what I was looking for. I just thought … well, since the police did such a good job last time at collecting evidence … I don't know. Maybe they missed something."
And something in the way he looks at her and immediately looks away tugs at the corners of her chest, and she doesn't like it one bit. She knows he's hardened himself to her, knows that there's probably no coming back from all they've done to each other, and really, she's generally okay with that. Sure, she's entertained the possibility that some day, maybe, they could start over as acquaintances, forge the bond of the equally disenfranchised, go out to a movie once in a millennium, but nothing more. And she's working on staving off those almost-feelings she'd developed for him last year. But she's not quite there yet, not really sure when she will be there. And for him to look at her like she's a stranger, like she could never understand him or know what he's going through, hurts just a little more than it should.
After what feels like forever, he looks her in the eye and gives just the smallest of nods before making his way towards the liquor cabinet. "Find anything?" he asks over a shoulder, and she's not sure if it's tinged with hope or dread.
"No," she shakes her head, even though he's not looking. She watches as he refills the flask, suppresses a smile. He seems to sense it and turns back to her.
"There's a certain amount of comfort in knowing that despite my father's incarceration, the hired help still find it prudent to stock the bar."
"I'm sure," she agrees with a half smile. She declines with a shake of her head when he tips the bottle in her direction and studies him. She wants to tell him that other things haven't changed either. That she's still here for him just as much as the substances he's shoveling into his system these days, but she's pretty sure he'll just laugh. Or worse, say nothing, as if she didn't even merit a reaction. Besides, she's still got work to do, and mulling over the complexities of her feeling and his apparent lack thereof won't win any awards in the productivity field.
"Hey, Logan, do you mind if I get a soda?" He shrugs and gestures vaguely towards the kitchen, so she smiles her thanks and goes. Once inside, she makes a beeline for the third cabinet to the right of the sink. Weevil's grandmother had been very informative, specific to a T, and she has no trouble finding the pile of mail situated on the second shelf. She takes a deep breath, glances at the entrance just to make sure Logan's still otherwise occupied before flipping through it. At last, her eyes light on a familiar address and recipient. She rips open the envelope, careful not to damage it too much and pulls out the contents, scanning them quickly before folding them up and stuffing them in the left pocket of her jeans. Another deep breath, and then she's pulling another piece of paper out of her other pocket. She stares at it hesitantly, glances at the entranceway one last time, and finally stuffs the piece of paper into the envelope.
She's just closing the cabinet door when Logan saunters in, and she does her best to appear innocent. "I couldn't find the soda, so …" she trails off and gestures to the cabinets. He eyes her suspiciously and pops open the refrigerator door, revealing a shelf of meticulously stocked Coca Cola. She smiles and shrugs, takes the proffered drink from his hands. "Thanks. I guess I should be going. You know. Big day tomorrow and all that."
He nods, and she doesn't waste any time getting to the front door.
"Hey Veronica." She stalls and briefly considers bolting, but something stops her and she turns to face him. He grimaces, as if in pain, and slowly rolls his eyes up to meet hers. "You wouldn't happen to want to give me a ride?"
Initially, the walk to her car is oddly quiet. Logan notes that she seems to have parked somewhere in the vicinity of Pluto, so it's a struggle to keep the swaying to a minimum. His skin feels warm and his head feels dizzy, and he really wishes he hadn't done the acid. Not to mention the fifth of scotch back at the house.
She stops suddenly in front of him, and he bites back a curse as he narrowly avoids a collision. "Logan … the cameras."
He blinks at her, wondering what possible relevance cameras could have to the current location of her car, until he catches her meaning and rolls his eyes. "They never tape. Once in a while – big party or event – we hire security and people. And then there are tapes. But not normally." She looks back at him like she doesn't quite believe him, and he sighs. "I'm high, not mentally-challenged. We don't. Have. Tapes. Now, can we please find your damn car before I die of exposure?"
He thinks she mutters something about drama queens, but since she continues walking, he's willing to overlook it.
"So … what were you doing there?" she asks quietly after a couple of minutes, eyes on the sidewalk in front of them.
He grimaces and shakes his head. "You'll think it's stupid."
"I already think most everything you do is stupid."
"Well, let's just say more stupid than usual." She waits patiently for him to finish, and he sighs heavily. "I was with some guys, we were bored, and so I thought I'd give them a tour. Get the whole Aaron Echolls experience out of the way."
"Doesn't sound stupid," she muses after a bit. "Desperate, maybe, but not stupid."
"Thanks ever so," he says demurely, gliding up to walk next to her.
"Any time." She grins, side-eyes him before pressing on. "And your … should I be calling them friends? Where the hell did they go?"
He shrugs, not picking up the tone in her voice. "Heard the cops and bolted, I guess."
"Hmm."
He glances at her, eyebrow piqued. "What?"
She lets out a long suffering sigh. "It's just--they don't sound much like friends. Leaving you to get caught by the cops and everything."
He scoffs, and it's then when she realizes her mistake. "Yeah. You can imagine how different it would have been had my girlfriend left me for the cops." She stops, expression apologetic and mouth opening to say something, but he waves her off, irritated. "Just forget it, all right? Jesus. Can we just find your car already? Where the hell is it, Cambodia?" He makes a show of stomping off, and gets his foot caught in an overgrown root. Wind-milling, he grabs onto Veronica reflexively, pulling her down with him. He hits the pavement hard, right elbow picking up the brunt of the fall, and he rolls a little, grasping his elbow in one hand as he leans his head against the grass. Veronica oomphs her own fall, managing to mostly land on him. In the end, they're sprawled in chaos on the sidewalk.
Veronica's foot twists underneath one of his legs as she props herself up on her arms. "Great, Logan. Just great. As if hiding from the cops couldn't be the highlight of my evening." She attempts to disengage her leg and only succeeds in twisting it further.
"You have a twig in your hair, princess," Logan mutters helpfully from below.
She jiggles her leg a little more, and he clamps his thighs closed in an effort to shield himself from permanent damage. Veronica glares at him. "Keep that up, and I'll roll us toward that special treat Sparky left on the neighbor's front lawn. Then we'll see who has the more embarrassing hair supplement."
He gapes at her, she raises an eyebrow defiantly, and that's enough to make him burst into laughter. She looks at him like he's gone insane and that only serves to make him laugh harder. Her head tilts just so, and he can't quite make out the expression on her face, but now she's smiling with him, ducking her head in amusement.
He's still snickering when she kisses him, barest touch of lips against his, and he freezes, not sure what to do. Not sure what she's even thinking. She pulls back a little, eyes hooded, uncertain and tentative, and he knows it's over for him. Doesn't hesitate to meet her half-way when she leans in again, wrap an arm around her waist, and crush her to him. She lets out a startled gasp, and his lips trail over the pulse points in her neck, warm and wet, dipping to the curve of her shoulder before returned to her mouth. And God, he's known that he misses this, but he's never realized just how much until now, sprawled out on a sidewalk a few blocks from his home.
He thinks she moans a little, or maybe that's him. He's so far gone at this point he doesn't know which way is up. Something between them ignites, sparks into fire, and suddenly his hands are everywhere, her breath is shallow, and he's beginning to regret the ecstasy as well, given it's many side effects. She shifts just the slightest bit, running her hands coarsely through his hair, pulling him to her, fierce and needy and …
"Ba ding ding ding ding di di ding ding bah bahbeday…"
Logan surges upward, nearly upending Veronica in the process and looks around furtively. "What the hell is that?"
Veronica sighs and rolls her eyes, awkwardly reaching into her pocket to retrieve her cell phone. "Ill conceived attempt to be one of the cool kids," she sighs again, checking the caller I.D.. before glancing up at him.
"Your dad?" he guesses.
She nods, picks herself off the ground and staggers down the sidewalk a few feet. He figures he should follow suit, brushing himself off as he waits for her to finish with her dad.
tbc ...