Disclaimer: I was so disappointed with tonight's episode that you know what? I really do wish I owned Veronica Mars. I'd probably do a better job. :SIGH: But since I'm a really really penniless college Freshman, please don't sue. I barely had money to buy my books last week. I can't handle a lawsuit.
In a perfect world, she thinks, grimacing she sinks down into the cushions of the rotting couch, belatedly remembering that the Langley Hotel-one of the seedier places in the downtown Los Angeles area, probably doesn't have the cleanest couches. Or the most sanitary ones, she muses, recoiling as the sight of a sticky white substance makes its presence known on the cushion next to her. I so don't want to know why that's there. Sighing deeply, she rubs her temples, breathing in and out and counting down from ten. C'mon Mars, suck it up. You've been to worse, the Camelot for one. The Harford. Oak Pines, not to mention Cove's Canyon-and that wasn't even for a case…She tries to push the overwhelming memories of Duncan in their rotting little cabin away, but she finds she can't, and sighs, closing her eyes. Not the time, Veronica. Not the time. She creaks her eyes open she shudders once, straightening as she spots the evening's mark-yet another cheating spouse in a cast of thousands, who at the moment is happily fondling the undercover cop she'd paid off a little over an hour ago.
"So you'll scratch my back and I'll scratch yours." She finishes, smiling tightly and wiping her sweating palms on the legs of her pants. Not seeming too eager, that was the key here. Sweating and stammering wouldn't get her anywhere, and begging would probably be out of line. Unprofessional was another word for it. The woman's eyes are cold as they flick across her. The expression on her face never changes, and with that Veronica's spirits plummet. "Miranda-" She starts, smiling familiarly and tilting her head to the side-a trick that usually works wonders, but the woman merely snorts, shaking her head as she leans closer to the mirror in her bathroom, adding on another coat of shimmer to her already ruby lips.
"Officer Soares to you, Blondie." She woman replies, the accent she's adopted for her role coloring her speech, and Veronica flushes furiously as she turns away, breaking eye contact. A shaft of light streaks in through the broken window, dancing merrily atop the sparkling heap of fabric on the bed. It's teensy little dress-no more than two pieces of nylon connected with shiny beading and glancing towards the nightstand she wonders how it can possibly conceal such a large firearm. Her respect for the woman skyrockets through the roof with that one. Now only to get her to agree…
"Officer Soares…I've done a lot of these cases. I get the job done. But this woman doesn't want to come face to face with the woman her husband is fucking, which is fine. Some do. This one doesn't want the detective she's hired to go play make believe with him. What she wants is pictures. And pictures I can do," Step 1. Proof. In one fluid moment she pulls her camera out of the bag at her hip. "But I can't be in two places at once. Especially since I'm only getting paid for the money shot-and not to fuck around." A frown creases the older woman's features and sighing shakily, Veronica looks into her eyes. Step 2. Honesty. Angle the mark just where you want her. "I won't beg you-whores are a dime a dozen in a place like this." And now for the hook, step 3. Compliment, compliment, compliment. "But Mr. Mars did say you were the best."
"And you know Keith Mars?" The woman asks, already visibly warming towards her. Veronica allows herself a small smile, relaxing a bit but not letting her guard down completely. She still hadn't won yet.
"Yes of course, he's my-" Father so wouldn't be the best word to fit in there. "Employer." She smiles prettily, glancing primly down at her hands, a slow smile creeping across her face. "He's letting me do more and more cases on my own now and-" She catches sight of the untanned expanse of skin on the woman's hand where a wedding ring should rest and smiles again, deepening her voice. "I really want to nail this sucker." She frowns, clouding her eyes over. "I just really hate men that cheat." The woman nods almost imperceptibly and inwardly, Veronica lets out a whoop of delight. Gotcha
"Men are bastards, the lot of them." She mutters angrily, almost to herself. She's just finished with her make up, and as she turns Veronica takes her in; the bobby pins on her bra, the mismatched slip and the outline of the holster strapped to the inside of her upper thigh-completely professional. It takes a lot of power to look that in control in such a state of undress. She's probably years of training. I need more of that. "Problem, Blondie?" She asks, and rolling her eyes to the ceiling, Veronica sighs.
"I'd like to know what your take is, Officer Soares. I really don't want to have wasted my time." The woman is silent, and Veronica turns, sighing louder this time for effect. Time for step 4-the back up reel in. "Fine. Have it your way, Officer. I would've just thought you'd want to get assholes like this off the street. After all, you're in the undercover crime unit, aren't you?" Pulling out the big guns now, aren't ya Veronica? "Isn't it your job to put a stop to prostitution?"
"You're toeing the line, Blondie."
"You're passing up a great opportunity, Officer."
"And what'll you do for me?" YES! Veronica turns back around and shrugs her shoulders casually. And another one bites the dust after coming to blows with the famous Mars tenacity. People should really stop messing with us. "There's been some mention of another drug ring starting up at the Langley Hotel. If you can get me proof of that to take to my Captain, I'll get you your money shot."
"Funny you should mention the Langley." Veronica replies, smiling. "That's just where our mark is."
"Oh Sweetheart…wouldn't you be much happier upstairs?" This is her cue, she knows, and shoving the papers off her lap, she turns, and kneeling, positions herself so that she barely hangs over the edge of the couch. She's thankful for this dark corner, especially as she starts snapping the pictures-his hand on her thigh, his mouth on her chest…what a grand spectacle the wife has in store. As they disappear into the elevator, she straightens; sitting back against the molding couch and pulling her folders back onto her lap. Glancing at her wrist, she remembers the mark's barely containable excitement, and gives them 20 minutes, tops. Sighing as she bites the cap of her pen, she glances down at the essay question again. In a perfect world-
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Veronica Mars." She cringes as she looks up. Coming face to face with Logan Echolls shouldn't shock her in a place like this, but at the same time, a low pang shoots through her. In a perfect world there would be no men.
"Why Logan!" She responds, using her bubbly cheerleader's voice, and smacking her gum against her teeth. "Why am I not surprised to see you here?" Turning away from him, she focuses back on her essay, silently damning the idiot who created the college admittance essay.
"Ronnie, you're studying? In a place like the Langley? Where you could be having so much…" He trails off, gesturing crudely to a pair of kissing girls in the corner. "Fun?" His tone is dripping with malice, and she can't help but looking up him-into his eyes. They're dark, impenetrable, and she feels another pang-stronger this time, but she ignores it. She has to. It would kill her if she didn't.
"As distasteful as it was making out with you, it wasn't bad enough to make me turn to girls. Sorry." She responds cuttingly, rolling her eyes and turning back to the essay at hand. In a perfect world-
"And what are we working on?" He demands, settling down on the couch next to her and snatching the application from her lap. His eyes widen for barely a second, his lips turning into a smirk. "An application to Dartmouth. Aren't we ambitious."
"It beats where you're applying-oh wait." She frowns at him and their eyes lock. For a moment, everything-all the noise, all the people, drops away, and it's only the two of them, connected by an almost tangible current. The rusty chime of the elevator breaks the contact and in a second, she's pulled her camera out and is poised at the ready, waiting for the money shot. "Dammit," She mutters, slumping back against the couch, when the only person coming out of the elevator, is the plump, disgusted looking, maid. Veronica doesn't blame her.
"Does your boyfriend know you're here, Veronica?" His tone is cutting and guarding her eyes; she glares as she cranes her neck to look up at him.
"Logan, you're slipping." She replies, her tone sickly sweet as she lightly punches his arm. An electric shock zings through her, and she moves her hand away as quickly as possible, turning back to face the elevator. "You, and the rest of Neptune High know that we broke up. Or wait, I guess news must travel pretty slow when there's no one around to deliver it." Somehow, the news of the destroyed Lilly Kane sex tapes had leaked to the public, and in a surprising show of camaraderie by the population of Neptune High, Logan was now as ostracized as she'd once been. Still was.
"You think you're cute, Veronica. But the bitch act gets old fast." Her jaw sets as the words rocket through her, and she's surprised that this, after all the cruel insults they've traded over the years, is the one that cuts deep.
"As does the over-sexed-drug-abusing-in-and-out-of-rehabbed son of Hollywood Royalty. Give up your vices and I'll give up mine." The elevator chimes again, and there he is, her mark. He's hastily pulling his pants up from around his ankles, and she grins to herself as her camera clicks away. Ducking adeptly as he happens to look in her corner, she sends a silent plea that Logan doesn't make too much of a spectacle of himself.
"He's gone." His voice is soft and insistent in her ear and although she has serious qualms about trusting him, she has a gut feeling he's right. Straightening, she folds her camera into her bag, and starts gathering the separate pieces of her application together. Dartmouth. She gives herself a 13 second reprieve to imagine herself amidst knit hats, sweaters and snow, then returns to the task at hand.
"Thanks." She mutters, glancing up at him once more before dumping her things in her bag and standing.
"Mark?" He asks, leaning against the backside of the couch as she shrugs her coat on, wrapping her scarf on tightly.
"What tipped you off?"
"The pants around the ankles. True Veronica Mars fashion." Although its meant as a barb, she can't help but smiling, and as their eyes meet again, she feels the world tilting a little. Blinking, she picks her bag up off of the ground, slinging it across her shoulders, and nodding at him as she turns to go. She's almost to the revolving door-the one and only luxury of the Langley, when she hears his voice again. "Federico, Simon. So glad you boys could make it." He's looking cocky as hell, which is a surefire sign that very soon, he won't be. Turn around, Veronica. Leave. Logan Echolls is nothing to you. "…right this way, if you'll just follow me out to my car..." She's too far away to hear everything, but as he begins to walk them out by the back entrance, her stomach drops.
"Dammit, Logan." She mutters to herself, and even though everything inside her is telling her to turn around and run, she can't help herself. In a perfect world, I would not have this insatiable desire to always save Logan's ass. There's an essay topic for you.
A/N: So yeah, I hope you like this. I wrote a chapter, was all set to post it, and then changed my mind. I figured it needed some retooling. So this is it. Part 1. Hopefully there'll be a little bit more, but my muse is like, slowing dying.