Still not quite to Betty and Veronica, Don't worry, more fun's a-comin' . . .
I also noticed I was mentioned approvingly in the thread in the Television Without Pity Forums. So anyone dropping by from there to read my fic, hi!
Disclaimer: The characters and situations expressed in this mostly original work of fiction, with the exception of Vanessa Mencken, belong to Rob Thomas. Any redistribution or other rebroadcast without the express consent of the Baltimore Orioles and Major League Baseball is prohibited.
Sorry, mixed my disclaimers there. But you get the idea.
X X X X X
Logan showed up the next morning right on schedule. Dad raised an eyebrow at the sight of his yellow X-Terra in the parking lot – "We still have to have a talk about that –" but otherwise wasn't inclined to press the issue.
I gave him a quick peck when I got into the car – then a longer kiss, though not long enough -- and then talked with Logan about what had happened at the Sheriff's Office after I'd left.
"Mom and Big Dick practically ripped Lamb in half with their competing demands. They got an "expedited bail hearing" and the judge gave them bail, so they didn't have to spend the night in jail, unfortunately. I was hoping they'd have to spend a night with the drunks and thugs of Neptune, but I guess their introduction to the joys of dropped soap comes later. The charges, however, stuck. One count of false imprisonment for the both of them."
"Can I tell you how much joy school is going to be today?"
"Wanna blow it off and go do something fun?" The suggestive tone in his voice made it quite clear what he was thinking of when he meant "fun."
"Tempting, Echolls –" and it was, and I was still amazed by that. Not only do you not know other people; sometimes, it seems, you don't even know yourself. "But no."
"Tease," he said gently. "Honestly, though, I don't think it's going to be quite as bad as you think."
I'm not sure whether it was us holding hands that provoke the stares, glares, and dumbfounded looks, or the stories about my daring raid on the Echolls compound, but it seemed like every single person we passed was looking at us.
The only person who actually came up to us, though, was Weevil. "Well," he said, "If it ain't Neptune's one-girl SWAT Team."
I held up a hand to stop Logan from saying anything and said, "It wasn't quite like that."
"Way I heard it," Weevil said, "You and your crew stormed the Echolls place, beat the crap out of everyone, and stopped Dick and Beaver Casablancas from tossin' your boy here bound and gagged into the swimming pool."
"Pretty much," I said. "So don't mess with me."
He laughed. "Wasn't planning to anytime soon. But V," he said seriously. "That took a lot of cojones, doing what you did. Wish you'd called me and my crew in –"
"The idea was to pull off a rescue operation, not start World War III," Logan said.
Weevil said, "True. We might not've been so respectful of people and property. Anyway. Good going." He walked off.
When we got to my locker -- well. This wasn't unexpected. A 4-letter word was scrawled over the outside of my locker. Starts with C.
No, not "cold."
Someone grabbed my arm. Meg. "Turnabout is fair play," she said mysteriously, and beckoned me and Logan to follow her down the hall. We did so.
Pasted to Dick's locker was a giant-size picture of him being led away in handcuffs. Pasted to Madison Sinclair's was a picture of her lying face-down on the Echolls' back lawn. And pasted to Beaver's was that shot of him being hauled from the pool by Deputy Leo.
I got to see Madison walk up to her locker to the general laughter of the crowd and rip the photo down.
"I love you, Meg," I said.
She smiled. "Thanks. But won't your boyfriend get jealous?"
On cue, Logan said, "Yes. Grrr."
Then Logan and I went back to my own locker to scrub off the thoughtful graffiti, only to find someone else had done it for me.
"I told you you had friends, Veronica," Meg said.
That Logan and I were a couple came as a surprise to almost everyone, but one distinctly less important than "Veronica Mars, Action Hero." I heard a bit of whispering here and there, but nothing especially malicious.
Lunch that day was a bit of a chore. The 09'ers seemed hopelessly divided. Duncan and Meg were anchoring one end of the area, with Casey Gant and several others around them. Madison Sinclair and Caz were at the other, as were Shelly Pomroy and Vanessa Mencken. Cole and several others were sitting at a third table and trying to look inconspicuous. The Brothers Casablancas were nowhere in sight.
And lucky me, there I was caught in the middle, just me and Logan and Wallace.
The consensus story going around the school, though, cast Dick and his fellow kidnappers as the bad guys. There was a strong secondary strain of "Veronica Mars is the bitch from hell," but I can deal with that.
Have been for well over a year now.
X X X X X
Logan and I kissed again for a few minutes when we got into the X-Terra at the end of school.
Then we thought about doing it all the way home while we discussed the fracturing of Neptune High's ruling clique. Some of the '09ers that were at the "intervention" were denying they'd ever been there, or pleading ignorance that they were doing more than "going to a party at Logan's." That could prove interesting if things ever came to a trial.
Then we got home and went into my room and sat down and spent another few minutes kissing. Just kissing. I wasn't quite ready for anything else.
In case I haven't mentioned it before, Logan is a damn good kisser.
I could feel myself being pulled into spending the rest of the day doing fun – oh, god, tremendously fun – but unproductive things, and with great reluctance I disengaged myself and told him we needed to talk. Not about our relationship. I'd agreed to just let things flow, there. About other things.
"We need to start thinking about how to prove that your Dad killed Lilly Kane, and not you."
"Why now?"
"Because you and I just got your alibi witnesses arrested." Logan swore. He hadn't thought of that. "And while Little Dick might be stupid enough not to try to deal his way out of it, Beaver's smarter than that and is perfectly capable of admitting he lied earlier to cover for you."
"I destroyed the note," Logan said.
"Smart man. Only you and Duncan and I even know that thing existed." My Dad thought it might. I needed to disillusion him, stat.
"And Abel Koontz is still in jail – and Dad's still trying to get him out. And there's no chance of getting him to stop, so don't ask."
"I wasn't," he said. "But maybe your dad won't be able to prove him innocent?"
"Anything I can do, Keith Mars can do better," I said.
"Which makes it my word against theirs –"
"Your word against theirs, and the shot glass," I said. "Since they dropped the investigation once Abel Koontz was arrested, they may have figured that was completely irrelevant. It may be sitting in the Kane house – or possibly have been tossed long ago, given Celeste's general disapproval of Lilly's collection."
"We'll have to ask Duncan to look for it," he murmured. "Make up some excuse."
"Good idea. But here's the thing. The tape of Lilly and Aaron -- they prove that your father was having sex with Lilly. But it's also motive for you."
"If I knew about the tapes. I didn't know about them until Vanessa Mencken told you, and you came over and showed me."
"Yeah, that doesn't help much. Me? Not the most reliable witness. We are kind of dating, you know."
"You want to go back to snark and sarcasm? I am a recognized expert in the field."
I laughed. "Too late for that now."
"I don't know," he said, leaning closer. "I'm sure we could come up with a few choice insults if we tried." Another kiss, this one long and dangerously close to dragging me into doing . . . other things.
"So," he murmured,. "We're dating?"
"Well, what would you call it?"
"I'm not so much in the mood to think about vocabulary at the moment."
More kissing. Yay. After a minute or so, I said, "We need to get to the living room."
"Why?" he said.
"Because right now we're in my bedroom and my father has guns and we really don't want to be in here when he gets home."
"Ah. Right."
And so we went out and sat on the couch and alternated between making out, making plans, and making fun of Oprah. Logan, it turns out, can do MST3K with the best of them.
I was laughing hysterically at his Tom Servo impression when Dad walked in.
"Hi, honey," he said, then stopped when he saw I wasn't alone. "Logan," he said, nodding. "Veronica, can we talk in the kitchen?" We moved into the kitchenette where he said quietly, "What have I told you about having strange boys over?" he asked with that patented Keith Mars style of mockingly asking a serious question.
"Make sure they're gone before you get home, and make sure they leave their money on the bureau."
"Are you two dating?" he asked.
"Now we are."
He nodded. "Fair enough. I want him here for dinner tomorrow night."
"I think I already impressed him with the length and breadth of your firearm collection," I said.
"Yes, but I bet you didn't come across as threateningly as I will."
"No one ever does."
"Damn straight."
"Why tomorrow night?"
"Because I have a tip about a bail jumper passing through Neptune and that $1,000 is mine, baby! Just wanted to be sure you were okay after yesterday."
"I am."
"Good." He kissed my forehead. "Gotta go. And Veronica --" he said as I went back to the couch. "The curfew still holds even though I'm not here."
"How will you know?" I asked.
"Backup tells me everything."
I looked at Backup, resting comfortably by the edge of the couch. "Snitch."
I explained about Dad's dinner plans. Logan shrugged and said he'd be there. "So," I said next. "What do you want to do now?" He gave me a look that told me exactly what he wanted to do now. So we did it for a few minutes and then I said, "Okay, what else?"
"Isn't this enough?"
"Well, we do have to eat . . . "
He had his cell phone out. "So what do you want on your pizza?"
"Mushrooms, please."
Twenty minutes later, when we were still exploring the many, many different ways we could come with of kissing -- there really are a lot of them, and they're all fun -- the doorbell rang.
I went to get the pizza.
The person holding the pizza was Clarence Weidman.
"Miss Mars," he said. "We need to talk."