Author's note afterwards. But thanks to ziebra, Drtaylor and especially MirethGuilbain for clarifying my thinking on this part.

Disclaimer: Rob Thomas owns every major character in this story except for Vanessa Mencken. I own whatever parts of the plot are original.

X X X X X

It wasn't five minutes later that the phone started ringing.

Some smart reporter had heard about the morning's stunt, broadcasting Beaver's confession to the entire school, put it together with the suicide, and wanted to know what I had to say about it.

The answer, of course, was 'nothing.'

Thirty seconds after we hung up on that guy, someone else called. This one said he was from a San Diego newspaper and wanted "just five minutes of my time."

He got fifteen seconds, ten of which were Dad cussing him out.

After the fourth such call we left the phone off the hook. Anyone who really wanted to reach me or Dad could do so on our cell phones.

Wallace called, asking if we'd heard the news. Then Weevil, apologizing – apologizing! – for not having tracked Beaver down sooner.

When, half an hour later, the first one knocked on the door – Backup growled – we realized we were in the middle of something bigger than we'd thought.

Dad tried calling Lamb to ask for help; Lamb's reply was on the order of "We have more important things to do right now."

Logan wasted no time. He called his mother while I called Weevil back. In what must have been the most unlikely alliance in the last hundred years, we got them to work together.

In between hurriedly packing, we gulped down the lasagna.

Half an hour later, a dozen PCH'ers came roaring into the parking lot, followed by Lynn Echolls in her red convertible. While the PCH'ers cleared the reporters out of the way, Lynn got all of us out to our cars.

Backup jumped in my backseat. Then Lynn tossed Weevil a wad of cash – I was sure Weevil personally would have done this for free, but the rest of the PCH'ers weren't quite as benevolent – and as Dad, Lynn, Logan and I took off, in that order, the motorcycle gang moved to block them into our apartment building parking lot.

Weevil followed us to the estate in case any of the reporters had gotten the bright idea to phone ahead once they were prevented from chasing after us. There weren't. Lynn swung the gates open and she, Dad, and Logan drove inside.

I stopped to thank Weevil for everything he'd done. "I wish I could've done more," he said. "Now all this crap's going down. Tell you what, though: I see one of these reporters at school tomorrow they're going to wish they hadn't seen me." After a second. "What, you're not going to tell me not to?"

"I'm spending the night away from home in a gated estate because Beaver Casablancas raped me and was too much of a coward to face up to what he did," I said. Did part of me feel sorry for Cassidy?

He'd never been his own person. His suicide note, all of four words, made that clear. His name was Cassidy, he insisted. Not Beaver like everyone said. Cassidy.

Like I said earlier, Dick bought the gun, loaded the gun, and aimed the gun, and all Beaver had to do was pull the trigger. Would he have raped me if he hadn't been egged on?

Probably not.

But he did pull the trigger.

He could have actually come running out of that bedroom, instead of only pretending he did. He could have told Dick to go take a flying leap. He could have refused to answer to "Beaver." He could have sounded even somewhat apologetic about what he'd done.

Instead, he mostly tried to excuse himself. And now he got to get away with it. He was dead.

So do I feel sorry for Beaver Casablancas? Not in the least. But I do feel sorry for the Cassidy Casablancas who could have existed. Even though much of the reason he didn't was his own fault.

I kept saying to Weevil, "As long as you don't actually kill the reporters I don't care what you do. And Weevil –"

"Yeah?"

"There are six people who've stood by me. You're one of them. I've said it before but I'm saying it again. Thank you."

He smiled, and for once it wasn't a cocky smile or the smile of someone who was about to engage in some quality violence. "Anytime, V. I got your back." Then he leaned in. "Just don't tell my boys. They think I been doin' this all day for the money Mrs. Echolls just threw me."

"Your secret's safe with me," I said.

Then I went inside and the gate swung shut behind me.

"So where are we all going to sleep?" Dad asked once we were all inside.

"Veronica can sleep in –"

Dad interrupted him, "If you finish that sentence with the two words I think you're about to finish that sentence with –"

"Trina's old bedroom." He was the very picture of wounded innocence. "What did you think I was going to say, Mr. Mars?"

The look on Dad's face made it clear he wasn't buying it, not for a second.

"Logan," Lynn said, "Don't tease our guests."

"Yes, Mother,"

Then Lynn looked at Backup, who was sitting there alertly. This was an unfamiliar situation for him; while this didn't make him nervous, it put him in a mood to be ready for action. "Chill. Backup," I said. Backup lay down. Then, to Lynn, I said, "Don't worry about Backup. He's probably better-behaved than I am."

"Try to hold him to a higher standard than that," Logan said. I stuck out my tongue.

Dad meanwhile, said "Thanks, Lynn. I appreciate this. We'll be out of here after tonight, I promise."

Lynn said, "Don't worry about it, Keith! I know what dealing with reporters can be like. Stay as long as you need to." She clapped her hands. "As far as beds go, we have plenty of guest bedrooms. Backup can even have his own, if he wants. Logan, go show Veronica to Trina's room. Keith, this way."

As I began to walk up the stairs, I heard Dad say, "I want you both down here in five minutes."

"Keith!" Lynn said. "You're embarrassing them!"

"Good."

I flopped down on the bed as soon as we got to Trina's room. "I can't believe this," I said.

"Yeah. Now you've been in Trina's bedroom as often as you've been mine."

"Not what I meant, Logan. I mean, Beaver . . ."

"His name is Cassidy."

I came to a decision. "No. Cassidy was who he could have been if he'd put in the effort."

"This is getting to you, isn't it?" He said, sitting down on the bed next to me.

"Of course it is," I said. "I wasn't expecting him to kill himself."

"You're not blaming yourself –"

"No, I'm not," I said.

"Think of it this way," Logan said. "This was his final attempt to take control of a situation that he had long since lost control of. By killing himself, he becomes, in some people's eyes at least, a victim again. No matter that he was a victim who'd tried to kidnap one person and raped someone else."

"Are you saying that his suicide was an act of revenge?"

"Yes. But not just on you. On everyone. Death becomes him. Everyone who needled him, put him down, called him 'Beaver' instead of Cassidy. Now they all have to feel bad."

"I don't. I feel like I should – and certainly, Beaver was damaged goods, and I am sorry for that – but look at you, Logan. Look at the way you grew up. You had a father who beat you, a mother –"

"Watch it," Logan said.

I gave him a look. I wasn't going to say anything nasty about Lynn Echolls. "A mother who, until recently, was too intimidated to help you, a sister who's a thoughtless glory-hound, and 'friends' who have the emotional depth of an Adam Sandler movie."

"I'm hardly an example of well-adjusted, Veronica."

"No; but tell me, how many people have you raped recently?"

He sighed. "None. I'd never do something like that." Which was exactly my point.

"Anyway, I meant the glut of reporters."

"You didn't watch the news at all today, did you?"

"No."

"Well, apparently our stunt of this morning was on radio by 10 AM and on TV by noon. This was already a big story when Cassidy leapt off the bridge and made it even bigger."

"Boy, school is going to be fun tomorrow . . ."

I heard Dad's voice saying, "Veronica!"

I looked over at Logan. "I know why he's calling us, but I don't think I've ever felt less horny in my life." When he opened his mouth I said, "No innuendoes."

"Then what am I supposed to say?" He said, faking a hurt expression.

"You've been doing fine so far," I said seriously.

After we went back downstairs, I called Duncan (who told Meg), Wallace, and Mac to let them know where we were.

Mac said, "As you might imagine, this has been pretty much the sole topic of conversation on the Neptune High Message Board."

I sighed, "Lay it on me. Mac."

"Lay what on you?"

"How heavy is the storm of criticism aimed at me? Do I just need an umbrella or do I need to flee to higher ground?"

"Barely a drizzle," she said. "Very few people blame you. There's a little bit of complaining about how we were so public about it, and a lot of sympathy heading Dick's way, but while people are saying it's sad, they're not really coming after you. There's a truckload of criticism of the Neptune Sheriff's Department for not having paid attention to you when you reported it a while back and how they couldn't find Beaver before he jumped, but that's about it."

"Wow."

"Yeah, I know. Every once in a while people surprise you in a good way."

X X X X X

The next morning, after a fitful night's sleep, we looked outside.

There were some reporters outside the front gate. Dad put down his cell phone and said, "Honey, I hate to do this to you --"

"Bailjumper?"

"$4,000 reward. He's in Reno."

"Go. I'll stay here again tonight." He frowned. "And I give you my word I will behave."

"And for what it's worth, Mr. Mars," Logan said as he entered the kitchen, "So will I."

"Uh-huh," he said skeptically. "I'll be checking with --"

"Backup?"

"Mrs. Echolls." I actually think if Lynn Echolls caught me and Logan making love, she'd probably back quietly out of the room. She wasn't a voyeur, no matter what Vanessa Mencken had once claimed, but she didn't seem to have any problem with the idea of her son having sex. Of course, I wasn't exactly going to tell Dad that.

Dad decided to leave first. Let some of the reporters follow him to the airport, if they wanted.

As for Logan and I . . .

We took the X-Terra. A half dozen reporters and news crews followed us from the Echolls estate to the parking lot. Logan and I jumped out of the car and ran for Neptune High before we could be boxed in.

A couple of the reporters started chasing us into the building . . .

but that was as far as they got when Clemmons got in their way. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Trying to get an interview with Veronica Mars," one of them said.

"Not on school grounds, you're not," Clemmons said. "Now get out or I'll have you thrown out. And if I see you harassing Miss Mars or any other Neptune High student I will have you prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

They tried arguing, but one look at the stone wall that was Clemmons and I knew they'd have an easier time talking their way onto an airplane carrying an AK-47.

"Miss Mars!" One of them yelled after me as Logan and I walked into the school. "Did Cassidy Casablancas really rape you?"

I'd promised myself I was going to ignore everything they said, but I had to respond to this one. "His name," I said, "Was Beaver."

X X X X X

Author's note: I just couldn't see Veronica feeling conflicted about Cassidy's death . . . At least, not when the pain of finding out about her rape is so raw. I appreciate the arguments to the contrary . . . some of which formed the basis for both veronica's internal monologue and her discussion with Logan.

Would Veronica's opinions change if she knew Woody Goodman had done to him? Probably. But in the course of this fic she likely never will.