Title: Forty Miles from the Sun
Author: Wynn
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Veronica Mars. They are owned by Rob Thomas, UPN, Warner Brothers, etc. and are used for non-profit, entertainment purposes only.
AN: Thank you numero uno: To Arabian and Mia for fantastic betaing. Thank you numero dos: To everyone who took the time to leave feedback for chapters one and two. I appreciate each and every piece and am so glad people are enjoying reading this story as much as I'm enjoying writing it.
Chapter Three: And Andy Makes Three
By: Wynn
Veronica crawled into bed and slid beneath the requisite velour blanket present in every hotel room in every country on the planet. She'd eaten a quick dinner of junk food salvaged from her car, taken a shower, and changed into the pajamas she brought with her in her overnight bag. Then she'd called Wallace. He had nothing new to report on the Dad Front, no further calls, no other changes to her dad's plans that he could tell her. What Wallace did have, however, were some rather colorful and vehement objections to her Mexican sleepover with Logan, but fifteen minutes of assurances from Veronica that they each had their own separate room, that her door was already locked and barricaded with a chair, and that she'd sleep with her taser firmly in hand convinced him not to call her dad, the CIA, and the Army National Guard to come save her from the hormonally deranged boy next door.
No further news from Wallace on what her dad knew meant it was up to Veronica to wheedle the information out of Keith Mars, he of the stone cold poker face and unflappable secret keeping. She wanted an idea of exactly how much trouble she'd be in upon her return to Neptune before she actually returned. Walking in blind to that trial by one jury was not an option.
Veronica reached for her phone punched in her dad's number. He answered on the first ring. "Hey, honey. How's Mexico?"
He knew. Of course he knew. Somehow, he always knew. And she'd been extra sneaky this time, too, keeping mum on all things related to Duncan or his disappearance around her dad. "Fine," she said. "How'd you know?"
"Call it a hunch."
"A hunch? It's kind of hard to have a hunch on nothing."
"Not if I figured that nothing meant you were plotting something and didn't want me to know about it. Which you were."
Curses. Foiled again. Or not, in this case, which was strange in and of itself. "If you knew I was plotting something," Veronica said, "why didn't I wake up to four flat tires this morning?"
Her dad laughed. "Like you'd let something as small as a couple of flat tires stop you. Or something as big as me."
"They would have delayed me for a while."
"Yeah, until you got the tires refilled, lined up a rental car, or roped some poor soul into chauffeuring you. So, what, all of thirty minutes? I thought it was better to let you just proceed on your merry way."
Her P.I. senses started to tingle. This was not how she imagined this conversation going. There was entirely too much acceptance and decidedly less guilt-tripping. "You know," Veronica said as she sat up, "you're being awfully blasé about this. Your only daughter is in god knows where Mexico, chasing after a possible murderer who's more than a little cranky with her at the moment. Where's the over-protectiveness? The lecture on how lying to your father is a bad, bad thing because he sees, knows, and senses all?"
"I trust you."
"But you don't trust anyone else. So what…" Veronica shoved the exhausted gears of her brain into motion, trying to figure out why her dad was acting decidedly un-dad-like. He knew she would try something, try to find Duncan wherever he was, but he didn't try to stop her. And Veronica knew her dad would only let her go on this crazy goose chase of hers if he had some means of tracking her progress and keeping an eye on her.
Tracking her progress…
She should have known.
"How did you know I was in Mexico?" Veronica asked, shifting the phone from one hand to the other.
"I thought we already answered that question with a good, old fashioned hunch."
"Only if we refer to hunches as tracking devices these days. You're the one who put the tracer on my car."
Her dad didn't deny it. Good to know that aside from all the lies of omission they told each other on a regular basis, her and her dad could engage in some genuine honesty with one another. "So you found it." He sounded proud. A little exasperated, but proud.
"I found it."
"I thought you might have. The signal's been bouncing around Tijuana all afternoon, going around in circles. Very suspicious behavior. Unless it's on, what, a taxi?"
"Close. A bus."
"So how'd you find it?"
Veronica stilled. "What?"
"What made you look under your car? Engine trouble? Flat tire? Your basic all around paranoia? Something tipped you off, honey, and if it was me, I need to get cracking on improving my mad P.I. skills. It's bad for business if a mad skilled P.I.'s daughter gets the best of him too often."
Veronica debated the pros and cons of lying to her father about Clarence Weidman. She didn't want to lie to him, but she knew he would freak out if he knew Weidman was following her. Neither option appealed, so she hesitated. That's all the answer her dad needed.
"Veronica, what happened? Are you all right?" She heard the concern in her dad's voice even across international lines.
"I'm fine. I'm fine. I spotted a tail in San Diego, searched my car, and found your tracer. That's all. I thought the tracer went with the tail. But don't worry. I ditched both the tail and the tracer back in Tijuana, so I'm fine now, Dad. Really."
"Do you know who was tailing you?"
"…yes."
"And?"
Veronica sighed and braced herself for the inevitable dirty bomb explosion of exasperation, frustration, and apprehension to her reply. "Clarence Weidman."
Her father didn't say anything. She waited, preparing herself for the expected orders to turn right back around and go straight home, the why didn't she call him as soon as she spotted the tail, as soon as she knew it was Weidman, but all he said was, "Where are you?"
"Why?"
"I'm coming to get you. You are not facing down Clarence Weidman by yourself."
"Dad, I don't have to face Weidman down. He has no idea where I am. And I'm not by myself, so don't worry about that."
"Depends on who's with you."
Veronica drew in a deep breath. The who was definitely somebody to worry about. "It's Logan Echolls."
Another pregnant pause. It was the rare occasion that Veronica actually threw her dad for the proverbial loop; twice in two minutes and Veronica found herself well on the way down that twisted ring of shock and awed confusion. Her dad said, "I didn't realize you two were friends again."
"We're not. Not really. I don't know. Maybe. Duncan's his friend. He wanted to help."
More silence. Then, "Veronica, I don't like this."
"I know."
"I know you two used to be friends, and you helped him with his mother recently, but I also know how he's treated you since Lilly's death."
Veronica sighed again. She expected the over-protectiveness and here it finally came. But the last thing she wanted to do was talk about Logan Echolls, especially with her father. "Dad, it's different. Things are different between us. The past is in the past, and for now, we're focused on finding Duncan. Both of us."
"Veronica-"
"Can you just trust me on this? I can handle Logan. And both of us can handle Duncan."
It was her dad's turn to sigh. She made a mental note to invest in a World's Best Dad mug for him when she got home. He said, "All right. All right, but you call me the second anything happens, okay? And I mean anything. Your car breaks down, you find Duncan, you spot Weidman again. You break a nail. Anything."
"I will."
She felt her dad's frustration over the phone, crackling like the static. "I got to go, honey. Bail jumper's on the move. Be careful. Please."
"I will. I promise."
Her dad said goodbye and hung up. Veronica tossed her phone onto the bed as she lay back down. Not quite the Spanish Inquisition she'd been expecting, a fact that definitely sealed the deal on that World's Best mug for her dad. But before her descent into kitschy knick-knacks, she had to make it through the next day, sanity intact. And making it through meant dealing with Duncan. And dealing with Duncan would be easier with Logan by her side instead of at her throat. And for that to happen, she'd have to deal with Logan.
But dealing with Logan meant dealing with Logan, something Veronica doubted either one of them wanted to do at the moment. It had to be done though. Her tried and true method of denial and avoidance hadn't worked. Denial hadn't made the kiss go away. She'd avoided Logan, but he was still there. She didn't know how to deal with the changes between them, but not dealing hadn't shed any light on the ever changing subject, and she knew it wouldn't. So it was time to deal. Somehow.
Veronica got up, got dressed, and left the hotel room.
…………
She found him sitting on the beach, jeans rolled up to his knees, bottle of tequila next to him in the sand. He ignored her as she approached, ignored her as she sat down beside him. No opening volley of verbal fire came her way, and Veronica took that as a sign not to turn tail and run like the more irrational parts of her brain were telling her to do. She sat in the silence, letting the rush of the ocean waves soothe her frazzled nerves. She licked her lips and wondered how the hell she'd start this discretionary reconciliation. Her eyes fell to the tequila bottle. She breathed in, paused, then reached for it; Logan yanked it out of her grasp before she could grab it. He set it aside, out of her reach, keeping one hand curled protectively around the neck. His body was tense, taut like a cornered animal's.
Veronica held up her hands. "I just wanted to see how many sheets to the wind you were," she said. "That's all."
"Not nearly enough to deal with you right now." A slight slur slowed his words. So one sheet, one and a half blowing. Perfect conditions for this sure to be stormy conversation.
"Sorry to rain on your drunken parade," Veronica said as she lowered her hands, "but we need to talk."
"Unless the next words out of your mouth are 'Logan, I'm a cold, manipulative bitch,' I don't want to hear it."
"How about 'I owe you an explanation' instead?"
"On why you're a-"
"Finish that thought and I'll dump Señor Cuervo into the ocean."
Logan sighed and flopped back against the sand. He threw an arm over his eyes and waved the other at her imperiously. "Go ahead, Buzzkill. Explain away. As if I haven't heard you yap enough on this trip as it is."
Veronica rolled her eyes. Kicking sand in his face and dumping his precious tequila in the ocean wouldn't improve matters between them, so she bit down on the urge for some petty vengeance. Communication, not confrontation, was the necessary method for this madness, at least according to the Oprah rerun she caught during dinner. Besides, petty vengeance always sufficed for a quite satisfying plan b.
"What I'm about to say," Veronica began, "isn't intended to garner sympathy or pity. I don't want them, especially from you. But you don't seem to grasp the reasons why I don't trust you, so I wanted to explain." She paused and steadied herself for the self-confessional portion of the evening. "I told you I don't trust you, and that's true. I don't. But don't take it personally. I don't trust anybody."
"So I'm just one of the herd. Fan-fucking-tastic."
She ignored him and soldiered on. "If there's anything I've learned this past year, it's that people will betray you. People will lie to you, no matter how much they claim to love you, and there's nothing you can do about it. All you can do is prepare for it, and that's what I do. I prepare for the worst because I know exactly how painful it can be. It's what I've lived since Lilly's death. People hating me, people lying to me, and people betraying me on a semi-regular basis. So just on general principles alone, I don't trust you."
"Wait. Let me guess. You have specific principles, too."
"Yes. I do. Lilly." No snarky comment came. Veronica figured she finally had his attention. "When I started finding the cracks in the case that Koontz built, I made a promise to myself and to Lilly that I'd find out the truth. Find out who killed her. Why. It hasn't been easy, and it's getting harder the closer I get. I can't trust anyone because I don't know who's involved, but I know I need somebody to help me uncover the truth before it's buried forever." Still nothing. Veronica shoved away the urge to sigh. "So do you see the inherent dilemma here? I don't trust anybody, but I need to trust somebody if I want to solve Lilly's murder."
More silence. Then, "And that somebody is me."
"You kind of voted yourself onto the island. Or into the Le Baron, in this case. I know things are awkward between us right now, but I'll need your help tomorrow with Duncan. I need to be able to trust you. So…"
Logan slid his arm off his face. He stared up at the stars, at the half moon shining down on them, but he didn't say anything. One hand fiddled with the tequila bottle; the other tapped out a quick rhythm on his chest. Then he sat up and looked at her. A sharp smile cut across his face; his teeth glistened like pearls, slick and white in the moonlight. "So let me get this straight," he said. "You don't trust me because of your jaded disillusionment in humanity, right?"
"…yes."
"Because I got the distinct impression when we were having our lovely little chat in your car that you don't trust me because, while we're more than friends right now, and we are more than friends no matter what your demented blonde brain's been telling you, we might not always be."
"You're twisting-"
"Did you or did you not say that you couldn't trust me because you couldn't predict what I'd feel for you five minutes from now?"
She did, in a sense, but she wouldn't admit that to him.
"I'll take your teeth clenching as a yes," Logan said. He shifted into a crouch and leaned in close to her. His eyes shone like the ocean. She resisted the urge to lean away from his invasion of personal space and met his gaze head on. "So, really," he continued, "you don't trust me because you're afraid."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"I didn't say you were. You," he said, jabbing a finger in her direction, "are afraid to trust me."
His declaration hung in the air like the moon in the sky, bold, brilliant, shining light on shadows Veronica wanted concealed. She blinked once then said, "Like you've given me any reason to."
A half-second showdown and then Logan shot up and hurled his tequila bottle into the bay. Veronica fell back as he spun toward her, eyes blazing, his frustration razor bright. "I fucking came after you when I thought that Chuck Norris wannabe was going to hurt you! What more of a goddamn reason do you need? Do you need me to spell out how fucking terrified I was that I wouldn't get there in time? That I'd find your dead body somewhere just like- just like-" His voice broke and he stopped, stopped still, fists clenched, jaw tight, eyes wide and staring up at the sky.
And there was no sound but the crashing of the waves, no sound but Logan's harsh breaths and the rat-a-tat-tat pounding of Veronica's heart. No sound until she said, "Just like Lilly," so soft she thought it would be lost in the rushing silence.
But Logan nodded. He sighed, a thick, shaky sigh that wrapped around Veronica and lifted her eyes up toward him. Then he said, words shaky like that sigh, "You want a guarantee that I'll always feel this way, I can't give it to you. You said it yourself: there are no guarantees in life. The people you trust betray you. The people you love leave you. What I feel for you now, it might not last. It probably won't because you are one goddamn difficult woman." His eyes found hers. "But you're worth the risk. And what you need to decide right now is whether I'm worth that risk, too."
"I can't decide that now. It's not that easy."
"Yes, it is. There is something here between us. You either act on that or you don't."
"It's not that simple, Logan. There are other factors to consider."
"Bullshit. You want me or you don't. It's that simple."
Veronica always excelled under pressure. The more stress, the better. The sharper and finer her mind focused until she attained a laser-like precision and shot through the obstacles in her path, blowing them away one by one. But now, now her brain shut down fast and hard like a runaway steel trap, clanging closed with a metaphorical bang that left her breathless. The time to deal had arrived, and she choked.
Logan watched her. The fevered glow of confrontation faded from his eyes, slowly as her silence dragged on, leaving behind a pale blankness, his face bone smooth and just as hard. That jagged smile of his surfaced, but only for a moment. It sank fast like a broken heart. Veronica wondered if it was hers.
He shook his head and turned away. He started for the hotel, but she was up off the ground and reaching out for him before he made it two steps. Her hand touched his arm and she said, "Logan," and he spun back around.
He said, "See? Simple." Then he swooped down, a dive bombing missile aimed straight for her heart, and kissed her. Her mind blanked again then filled firework bright as his tongue touched hers. Her bones melted; her skin burned; she reached up for him, hung on, held tight. His hands swept across her back, matches to her nerves, lighting them up like sparklers. And she couldn't breathe; she couldn't breathe; she didn't want to; she didn't care. She-
He stopped, recoiled back whiplash fast, and Veronica stumbled into the void. One hand grabbed her shoulder, eased her up. She opened her eyes and saw sand. She dragged her gaze up to his face. He looked at her, confusion etching lines on his brow. That's when she heard the phone.
Logan's hand slid into his pocket, slid out again molasses slow with his cell phone. He peered down at it; Gwen Stefani's Rich Girl chirped back at him. He looked at her again and said, "It's Duncan."
He swallowed and continued to stare. The ringing started over again and Veronica finally snapped out of the heady, kiss-filled languor clouding her mind. She smacked him on the shoulder and said, "Answer it!"
Logan fumbled for the talk button. He pressed it, brought the phone up to his ear, and said, "Duncan! Hey, man, where-? What? Sort of. Why?" He paused, listened for a beat then said, "Duncan, I don't- All right. All right. I think so. I'm not sure. Why is this so important?" Another pause. Logan glanced at Veronica. Something passed over his face, but he turned away from her before she could decipher what it meant. He took a few steps toward the ocean. His free hand clenched, unclenched, and clenched again. "Did you?" More silence on Logan's end as he listened to Duncan. A minute passed. Logan stopped moving. Another minute. He grew still, a stone statue in the lapping waves. Then he said, "Duncan! Duncan!"
His arm dropped slow motion down to his side. He thumbed the talk button, ended the call. He rubbed a hand across his mouth, eased it around to the back of his neck, and left it there. Veronica moved next to him. He stared wide-eyed at the ocean, his mouth closed, lips thin and bloodless. She laid a hand on his shoulder, and he jumped, jerked out of his stupor. His eyes flickered over to her then away, gaze flitting from the sand to the sea to the sky. Anywhere but her.
"Logan, what happened?"
Nothing.
"What did he say? Logan?"
"You know what, Veronica," Logan said, his words slow, measured, his gaze still averted. "You were right. There areother factors to consider. Things aren't that simple." He peered down at phone. A shadow of something, anger, pain, guilt, Veronica didn't know, darkened his face. He shook his head, slow like his words, and continued, "Things are never simple." He paused and took a deep breath. He said, "So we should probably-"
"Why won't you tell me what Duncan said?"
Logan sighed and closed his eyes. His licked his lips. He swallowed again. He still didn't look at her. "If he wanted you to know, he would have told you himself."
"Then call him back and I'll ask him myself."
"No."
"Fine. I'll call him." Veronica grabbed her cell phone stuffed into her back pocket. She flipped it open. Logan lunged for the phone; she jumped back, out of his reach. He darted forward again, but she twisted away. They stared at each other, unexpected fighters to their respective corners, Veronica in shock, Logan in desperation. Both in determination. Their eyes fell, prey to gravity, down to her black hole phone. A picture of her dad and Backup glimmered back up at them from the small screen. Her thumb drifted over the tiny buttons.
"Veronica, don't."
"Why not?"
"Because I asked you to."
She closed her eyes on the phone, opened them on Logan. His eyes were soft, pleading. He didn't want her to call. He didn't want her to know. But she had to know. "Tell me what he said and I won't have to." A half-second hesitation. The softness hardened in his eyes, and he looked away. Hot tears pricked her eyes, but Veronica steeled herself against them. She gritted her teeth, swallowed back the betrayal clawing its way up her throat. "He told you, didn't he? He confessed. He killed Lilly, and he told you, and you're protecting him." More silence, hot and heavy like her tears. "I trusted you to help me find the truth. To help me get justice for Lilly." Her breath hitched. Her hands shook. "I trusted you."
A beat and then, "You shouldn't have." Then he turned and walked away.
…………