Title: Free at Last
Author: Peregrine
Characters: Logan, Duncan, Veronica, Aaron, Lester family.
Spoilers: Through Episode 22.
Rating: K+ for language and violence.
Summary: This is a sequel to The Adventures of Nancy and Joe. Logan takes a trip of discovery that changes his life forever.
Disclaimer: Veronica Mars and all its characters belong to Rob Thomas and UPN.
Note: Chapter titles and lyric fragments are taken from David Sylvian's brilliant compilation, Everything and Nothing. The mood of this album heavily influenced my writing of this story.

Chapter Two: The Golden Way

The shadows emerge from night into day
And rally through lifetime in anger and rage

Duncan

I feel Veronica cave in and as I start to soften the kiss, she pushes my chest and steps backward. Her color is high as she intones, "Stay away from me, Duncan."

Her breath streams out and I know I've gotten to her. "Why, are you afraid you might feel something after all this time?"

Veronica's eyes narrow at my smug tone. "Afraid? Of contempt? Hardly."

I purse my lips. "You kissed me back. Do you expect me to believe that you didn't enjoy it?"

She pins me to the spot with her death glare. "Is that how you rationalized your behavior at Shelly's party?"

My jaw tightens with emotion and I struggle to stay cool as I reach out for her. "Veronica, that was—"

"Don't!" She eludes my grasp and folds her arms across her chest as she paces around the picnic table. "Maybe you're over it, but I don't have that luxury. You've had 18 months to heal, but to me, it's like it only happened last week."

My restless fingers find my pockets and lodge there as I say, "I thought we discussed this already. I thought you were OK with it."

Red blooms on her cheeks as she sputters, "H-how did you come to that conclusion?"

"Oh, let's see, you snuck into my house and we viewed those tapes together and sort of had a moment where you admitted I wasn't your brother, and I guess I thought we were cool."

Veronica shakes her head at my obvious ignorance. "You were mistaken, and if you honestly think I could be with you after you…after that night…" Her voice cracks with raw emotion that sends her spinning away from me and across the river of asphalt.

I stand there helplessly as her blonde head disappears inside, my fingers ripping my paper plate into shreds. When I look down at the mess I've created, I decide that it's a good illustration of my fucked up life. With a sigh, I toss out my trash and move on, knowing that things are really over between us.

Marin County

Logan

Monique is King Midas in Reverse. She doesn't look or dress the part, but her money is hidden in her property, which is some of the best coastal real estate in Marin. Her modest white house is tucked away behind a stand of aspen trees that cascade down a hill to a private beach.

"What is this place worth?" I stretch my arms and legs and try not to notice how badly my car clashes with the surroundings.

She raises an eyebrow and says, "If you have to ask, then it's clearly out of your price range."

"I'm not in the market, but I'll be sure to keep it in mind." My last few dollars are burning a hole in my pocket and I'm dying to spend them.

Monique spots someone at the door and gives an odd little hop and a wave. "Danni's home," she squeals, rushing forward and scooping up her tiny sister in a bear hug. After she's kissed both cheeks, she pulls her sister forward and presents her to me. "Logan, this is Danielle. And Danni? This is Lynn's son."

Danni's sparkling green eyes are the only common link between her and Monique and I suspect that they run in the d'Argent family. She nods politely and shakes out her dark hair with one hand. "Enchante," she says, extending her hand and throwing me a friendly smile that is a notch warmer than anything I've seen on her sister's face. "Will you be staying with us long?"

I laugh and shrug my shoulders. "Don't think so. Monique is shipping me off to the East Coast."

Danni looks between the two of us. "Is there something I should know?"

Monique launches into rapid French and her sister is soon placated. "Lucie should have dinner ready. Are you hungry?"

We've made fast food runs for the past few days and I'm ready to eat the side of a barn. "Hell, yes. Show me the way."

Monique unloads her gear from the car and hoists my pack over her strong shoulders. As I trail behind her, I can't help but admire her sculpted body, which she's mostly kept hidden under baggy shirts and loose pants. Her sister is softer and rounder and I suspect that Monique's muscles are the result of hard work and a lot of sweat. We reach a five-car garage and she points to the stairs. "You can sleep in the loft. Dinner is at 6."

Aaron

Aaron adores his fans. He especially loves his fan club and all their efforts. They've taken out two different Variety ads and raised over half a million dollars for his legal defense. They've spouted to the press about the way that Aaron was being railroaded and they've been arrested for vandalizing Lilly Kane's grave. He secretly applauds them, but he cannot acknowledge their actions. His lawyer (Todd Miller) advises him to deny everything and steer clear of fanatics, and for once, Aaron has to agree with him. The man is publicly appointed and appears every Thursday with news from home. Today, Aaron gets to give him the good news that he will no longer need his services.

With a well-practiced smile, he sits with patiently folded hands and greets Todd as he stumbles through the visiting room door. "You're looking good, Todd. How's the wife treating you?" Todd is newly married to his high school sweetheart and seems surprised that Aaron knows his background.

"Very good, thanks. How about you?"

Aaron bares his teeth at the young man and suppresses a snarl. "I'm just great, Todd. How about some good news for a change?"

Todd smiles shakily. "The judge finally set bail."

"How much?"

"250,000 dollars."

Aaron's smile widens. "That's great. How soon can we post bail?"

The lawyer stammers, "B-but I thought…you don't have access to your money right now."

"Normally, that would be true, but I received a gift from my fans. I can have a cashier's check in your hands by this afternoon."

Todd wipes the sweat off his forehead. "I'll call your bank."

"Very good," Aaron says as he watches the lawyer gather up his things. "Oh, and Todd? I won't be needing you after today."

Todd actually seems relieved by this news. "Who will be representing you?"

Aaron stares through his steepled fingers and pulls a name out of the air. "Stella Rheinhart."

Todd nods in recognition. "Then you have a fighting chance." The lawyer departs and leaves Aaron with the first stab of hope he's felt since his arrest.

Veronica

I dial up my most depressing playlist and listen to Robert Smith groaning about hanging gardens and dripping faucets. My mind wanders and turns to Logan, who's probably having the time of his life with Aunt Money. I think about calling him but something temporarily stops me from making that connection. Logan needs a break from all this. He needs to put Neptune behind and focus on his future. Maybe I'm part of that picture and maybe I'm not. All I know is that I love him, but that might not be enough.

The song changes to a fuzzed out version of Purple Haze and it seems like the right time to think about Duncan's kiss. I shouldn't have led him on. On that day that he saved my butt from a summer at the food bank, I should have told him that Logan and I were back together. But I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't wipe that hopeful expression off his face. It breaks my heart to hurt him, because part of me will always love him, but not in the way that he'd like. He was my first love, and some of that lives on. And he carries a tiny part of Lilly that I see on the fleeting occasions when he cracks a joke, moments that pass by in the blink of an eye. And he's Logan's friend, with all the 'for better or worse' baggage that comes with the territory. So he'll always be special to me.

But that kiss? Shouldn't have happened. It stirred powerful emotions, but it all pointed to the dark tides of rage that swam in both of us. And a kiss born of anger is hardly a kiss at all. It hurts as it tears its way through us, but in the end, the afterburn is hardly worth the effort. So I think about Duncan's smoldering blue eyes and the way he gripped my arms and I know that he's not the boy I fell in love with. His gaze is a changed landscape—the unchartered territory of the madman and one that terrifies me with its emptiness.

Logan

Dinner is a complicated mix of California fusion and drizzled vinaigrette over goat cheese and assorted greens. I am the last one to arrive and am happy to see that it's a casual affair. Nothing worse than traveling for two days and being expected to dress up. Danielle smiles at me and sips at a glass of Chardonnay (Mom would approve), but I see that my spot and Monique's are utterly devoid of alcohol. "What the hell is this?" I stare down at my water glass with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, didn't I tell you? This is a dry house," Monique explains with a small smile.

"Then why is she drinking?" I glare pointedly at Danielle's glass.

"She supplies her own liquor."

Danielle is vastly amused by this exchange but knows enough to keep her mouth shut. I merely frown and stick my fork into a pile of beet roots. "I thought the French were famous for their wine."

"And their cheese too," Monique whines in an uncanny impression of me.

"Haha, that's totally hilarious. Why do I have to get stuck with the only French teetotaler on the planet?"

She rolls her eyes. "You expected what, non-stop fun and continuous open bar?"

I am more annoyed by the fact that she's pegged me than the lack of good grape. "No, actually, I was hoping you could keep me in Huggies and juice boxes for the rest of my life."

Monique laughs. "Why didn't you say so?"

The food tastes better than it looks and is far superior to anything I've eaten in the past week. "Why are you going all Carrie Nation on me?"

"I'm an alcoholic."

I snicker. "Yeah, so what?"

Monique sighs and starts to retort, but Danielle beats her to the punch. "She can't handle liquor in the house. It's only been a year since she quit drinking."

"Whoop-de-doo." I roll my finger and sit back in my chair. "Good thing we're headed for Dave's house. Now there's a dude who believes in a well-stocked liquor cabinet."

My aunt and Danielle burst into laughter and a comfortable silence ensues. We all tuck into our food and the meal winds down. Monique gathers up the plates and gestures for me to follow with the cutlery. When we get to the kitchen, she says, "I know this trip is not your idea, but let's try to make the best of it."

I shrug and help her load the dishwasher. "Why isn't Lucie doing this?"

Her lips quiver into a smile. "Gone home for the night."

"Can't it wait until morning?"

Her smile widens. "Is that laziness or plain stupidity I hear in your voice?"

Now it's my turn for an eye roll. "It's not like you can't afford live-in help."

Monique counters, "Says the boy who's never worked for anything in his life."

She sounds way too much like Aaron. "And you have?"

Her hands stop moving and she stares at me through a waterfall of burnished hair. "Everything I own comes from my earnings."

I snort. "Says the trust fund baby."

She sighs. "I've never touched a dime of my father's money."

"You expect me to believe that?" I hand over the last of the knives and make a dubious face.

"Don't care what you believe." Monique added soap and started up the dishwasher. With a sweep of her hand, she said, "I have some work to do. Make yourself at home, but if you touch my stuff, I'll kill you."

It's not until she's left the room that I get the Stripes reference. The lonely sound of my laugh is swallowed up by the huge kitchen and I fall into a chair to mope for a while.

Duncan

I still feel the imprint of her hand on my chest. It burns at me, reminding me that we're no longer the golden couple, lighting the way with our saffron aura. Veronica and Duncan. Future king and queen of the prom. I throw down our homecoming dance picture and smile bitterly at all I once believed. Naïve little boy. Isn't that what Monique would say?

God, me and Logan's aunt. What was I thinking, going off with a complete stranger? Mommy always told me to stay away from weirdos, but I no longer care what Celeste has to say to me. She helped ruin a perfect relationship, and I'm not about to forget it. And Dad? He cheated on his wife and tried to cover up a crime in the interest of protecting me. I suppose I should thank him, but I only feel simmering resentment at being coddled like a baby.

Lilly and Logan. Me and Veronica. Circumstances roped us together as friends, but we were already frayed around the edges when Lilly was murdered. I mean, think about it. Celeste and Jake dropped the bomb on me and poof, Veronica and I were finished. And a short time later, the Yolanda Hamilton thing was Lilly's excuse to break up with Logan. Which in hindsight, is the ultimate irony, 'cause Lilly was the biggest cheater of all.

We all deserved better from her, and she short-changed us. I know Logan is trying to be a man about this, but honestly, if I was in his shoes, I'd be livid. The guy loved Lilly so much that it bordered on obsession. It was like he was trying to fill the holes in his life with every part of her. Trouble is, the gaps were yawning and no one could fill them. Especially not her. Beautiful, imperfect Lilly, with her sunny disposition and penchant for trouble. She and I were born exactly 9 months apart and I sometimes wonder if that was the moment that Celeste's face took on that perpetual frown that never seemed to dissipate.

The picture mocks me from the floor and I scoop it up and go over to the window for closer inspection. Heads and hands pressed together as we mug for the camera. Veronica in her virginal white and Lilly in her sultry sparkles. And me and Logan with overly besotted faces, all moony and lovesick as we're transformed into 6 million pixels.

And then there were three. Logan would say it was a really bad Genesis album, but I would say that it's my life. I can see him thumbing through Aaron's record collection and laughing his ass off at all the 70's schlock. Hall and Oates. Bob Seger. Lobo. America. Firefall. And to top the crap pile off? Saturday Night Fever, his father's desert island disk.

Yeah, I remember those times with fondness, because we'll never go back. The horseplay and the arm wrestling and the impromptu poker games are distant memories. And those pool fights where Veronica and I faced off against my sister and Logan? Never gonna happen again. There was one time when Lilly and I paired up and actually won. She was the puppet master, choreographing every aspect of our existence, and it was all programmed to keep her happy. It was never about us; it was always the Lilly show. As long as everyone was playing the game her way, everything was cool. But God forbid if someone upset the applecart.

You know, in that respect, she's a lot like Celeste. In fact, the two are far more alike than different, though you'd never know it to look at them. I somehow doubt that Mom was always such a bitch, and I'm sure she used to know what a smile is. So why did Lilly turn out the way she did? Celeste and Jake seem to be such model citizens, but everyone has skeletons in their closets. And I'm betting that my parents are no exception. So what can I dig up on them? Maybe Veronica can help me when she's ready to forgive me. It will make the summer go by faster and help me forget about that pile of crappy reading on my nightstand.

Logan

I hear someone singing and follow the sound to the lower level, where Aunt Money is ensconced in a cushy office with three oversized monitors. She smiles faintly as I peer at some gorgeous photos of the desert. "Where were these taken?"

"Kalahari Desert."

"Is this how you win a Pulitzer?" I ask simply, thinking that sandscapes are nice, but hardly the type of thing that wins awards.

Monique jumps out of her seat and strides to an adjoining room. With a flick of her wrist, track lighting comes on and illuminates a massive collage of photos. I look closer and am struck by grisly images from war-torn countries. She points to a black and white picture of a young child wailing for his mother, whose bullet-riddled body lies at his feet. "This one. Taken in Afghanistan. I was helping some relief workers when I saw that poor child, and I snapped the picture a second before a shell blew apart our truck."

She extends her arm and I see a wide band of scar tissue running from her elbow to her shoulder. "Second degree burns. I was the lucky one."

"Why do you do it?"

Monique touches the picture for a moment. "It keeps me humble."

"So that's what it takes to bag a Pulitzer."

Her sigh is loud enough to rattle the windows. "I don't care about any of that."

"Or anything else for that matter," I add, knowing I've hit a nerve when her eyes darken to an angry jade.

Monique's fingers flex in and out and something about that nags at me as she looks at the ground. "How would you know?"

"I know enough."

"Ah, so if Google states it as a fact, then it must be true."

A few things snap it into place as I stare at her. That flexing thing? I totally do that when I'm agitated, and God if she doesn't sound just like me when I rant about tabloids. With a sheepish smile, I say, "Do you blame me for checking up on you?"

"No," she replies flatly. "Hope it was worth it."

Monique shakes her head and walks out, leaving me with a wall of death. I sink down to the floor and lie flat, staring up at the pictures until they meld into a monochromatic jumble.

Veronica

Forty-eight hours have passed and everything has changed. Logan hasn't called and Duncan and I aren't on speaking terms. I'm more depressed than ever and wishing I hadn't tossed out my Zoloft. I guess it's time to pay the piper. You can only run so far, and then it all catches up with you.

I knew this would happen. I knew I'd have to face my demons. Just didn't expect it to be so soon. Call me naïve, but I thought the four of us would live forever, that nothing would break us up. But death came calling and completely disabused me of that notion. I now know what Lilly was always trying to tell me. Nothing is forever, so enjoy the moment while you have it. I thought she was being fatalistic, but I was the one living inside a bubble. And now that the bubble has burst, life is falling down on me, and I'm not sure how much more I can handle.

Logan

I'm stumbling down a dark hall and Nine Inch Nails is pounding at me from every direction. The floors and walls are shaking with the volume and it feels like someone is drilling spikes into my brain. When I reach the doorway, I practically fall down the stairs to the garage floor. "Fuck," I say when I look at the wall clock near the stairs. This is no nightmare and I'm really awake.

3:00 AM.

I rub my eyes and stare at a line of vintage cars. One of them is a pale pink Corvette from the early 60s and another is an ancient Porsche. When I get to the third car down, I let out a low whistle and find myself itching to run my hands down its shiny sides. It's a 69 Camaro SS with a ragtop. White stripes parade down its hood, perfectly complementing the custom indigo paint job. It's the kind of mouth-watering car that every boy dreams of. I pad over to it and nearly stumble over a pair of jean-clad legs.

"Who's there?" I call, managing to lord it over Trent Reznor's growl for a fraction of a second. The legs come shooting out and I find myself staring down at my aunt's grubby face. Her hair is stuffed under a baseball cap and drops of oil are right at home in the field of freckles that live on her nose. "God, how did I miss it? You look just like the French chick from Better off Dead. You even have the same fucking name. And best of all, the same car with a different paint job."

Monique's mouth trips upward into a reluctant smile. "That's very cute." She slid off her cart and wiped the sweat from her brow. "Is the music bothering you?"

I snicker at this slight understatement. "Not at all. I totally get off on listening to Big Man with a Gun. It's the perfect cure for insomnia."

She clicks off the stereo and inclines her head slightly. "I am not used to house guests."

"Wow, you got this apology thing down cold."

Monique completely ignores my snark and shudders slightly. "I have some bad news."

What other kind of news is there? It's all bad news with me. "Yeah?"

"Your father was released from jail."

It was inevitable. "How?"

Monique sweeps off her cap and rubs her grubby hands through her thick mane of russet hair. "His fans raised money for him." She starts pacing around the car and I catch a flash of terror in her eyes as she passes me.

"How sweet. You did see this coming, didn't you?" Why is Monique so spooked? She barely knows Aaron.

"I didn't give it much thought." She turns and starts in the other direction, kicking at a stray rock and ending up on the hood of her car.

"So why are you flipping out?"

Monique hops off the car and grabs my shoulders in a vise grip. "Because, Stella is defending him and she'll most likely get him off."

Her strong hands are digging into me like raven's claws. With a slight movement, I step out of her clasp and say, "Isn't that a conflict of interest?"

She sighs angrily. "She has been the Lester family lawyer for three decades. Perhaps she sees Aaron as an extension of that."

It's only natural that Dad would exploit that angle. The public sees him as the grievously wronged widower and loving father. In fact, he's perfected his persona to Oscar level. "Is the old bat really that good?"

Monique nods with extreme reluctance. "She is."

"Hmm, so it wasn't your bribe that got me out of town?"

Her lips quiver slightly. "Don't think so."

"I can understand why you might be pissed about Stella, but that doesn't explain why you're so freaked out."

Her fingers close around a tool and she starts swinging it back and forth. For a second, it reminds me of Duncan's catatonic state on the day that Lilly died. "Doesn't matter," she mutters. "You should get some sleep. We leave in the morning."