Disclaimer- The world of Veronica Mars is not mine. I own neither the characters or the place, but I do hope that TPTB (Rob Thomas, The CW, etc) won't mind me borrowing both for this little adventure.

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Logan had been forcefully ejected from two more bars, having accomplished only the whetting of his appetite in the first. His hunger for violence- for anything that stung, ached, throbbed, or that merely made him feel anything apart from the fathoms deep emptiness that was a constant companion- was a voracious one, a bottomless pit that alcohol only exacerbated.

He was now ensconced in a liquor induced languor; one which propped his eyes at half-mast; one which cast this dingy, smelly bar in a blurry but warm glow. His legs occupied the table at which he sat, crossed carelessly at the ankle. His chair was tipped back precariously, yet he sat with an odd kind of grace that only the remarkably drunk can accomplish. He was contemplating his half empty pint glass with something akin to camaraderie, and also contemplating the enjoyable nature of being utterly undisturbed. This was not to say that he would begrudge anyone a round or two of acting as his personal punching bag, if they came looking. But it was such a unique experience, not being surrounded by scandal-mongers- all drooling after the latest chapter in the Logan Echolls saga- that he'd felt that it deserved a little moment of silence to commemorate it. Of course, the moment had turned into two, and now he was pretty sure he'd been sitting here staring into the remains of his beer for a good twenty minutes. His drunkenness had taken a maudlin turn, and in his mind, where there was maudlin, there was also Veronica Mars. The goddamn love of his life.

A life from which she was very conspicuously absent.

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It was her voice, strangely, that interrupted him from his thoughts of her. At first, he thought he was merely imagining it; that he was projecting his angst into something tangible, or at least, audible. His eyes, however, belied this theory. She stood facing the bar, half hidden behind beer-gummed tables and a pool-table that had seen better days. Her hair fell in a tangled mess down her back. She held her shoulders stiffly, her hands behind her back, as if she was hiding something from the bartender. It was likely something that would ruin the guy's life. Veronica was tricky like that.

Logan let the front legs of his chair hit the ground with a thud and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyebrows arched in an affectation of surprise, his mouth thinned and sneered. "Look, everyone, it's Veronica Mars," he remarked to no one in particular.

Her shoulders stiffened all the more as his voice reached her. She seemed reluctant to turn, in that she didn't. She stared straight ahead, and repeated her query of the bartender. This time Logan caught the words: "Please, I need a phone. It's an emergency."

He craned his head, straining to see what she had hidden behind her back. Maybe she'd followed daddy's footsteps; maybe she was a cop now, and it was a warrant in her hands. Or maybe it was a gun… nah, Veronica had even more reasons to hate guns now than she had ever had. Her taser, perhaps, or some kind of evidence to a crime that she was going to pin on the poor, sad, bastard. And he probably wasn't even guilty. It wouldn't be the first time Veronica had made that mistake.

Unfortunately a high-backed chair stood in his way, which impeded not only his gaze, but also his quest to pin some sort of nefarious, life-altering deed on the girl he'd loved and lost.

Logan took a sudsy gulp out of the mug in his hands and smiled at Veronica's back like a shark. "Tell me, Veronica," he said conversationally, "what foul beast has dragged you back to Neptune? It must have been a tough one, considering…" he let the statement trail off suggestively.

Veronica's head turned ever so slightly, her hair falling in a fine layer, hiding her expression; just another veil to add to all of the others. "Leave me alone, Logan."

The bartender: "Did he do this to you?"

Veronica shook her head, "No."

Logan put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, "Did I do what now?"

The bartender looked from Veronica to him, his expression hard. Veronica shook her head again, "Really, it wasn't him. Now, please, could I use a phone? And a knife, maybe?"

"A knife, V? Really? I mean, I know you hate me- you couldn't have made that clearer if you Windex-ed it- but murder?" Logan looked around at the bar, "That's more than mere hatred, ladies and gentlemen."

She turned then, giving him a clear look at her battered face. Logan's breath drew in sharply, his expression shifting from mockery to concern in the span of a heartbeat. "Jesus Christ, Veronica. What happened to you?"

She shrugged, and flinched, as if the movement was painful. "It's just the job, Logan."

Logan stood and moved towards her, his face grim. "Fuck, Veronica, you're a P.I., not a boxer." He cupped her chin in his hand and tipped her head back, looking closely at her injuries. "We'll have to clean this blood up to see how bad it really is." He snapped his fingers at the bartender impatiently, "I need a washcloth, and warm water."

"And a knife," Veronica reiterated. "My hands have been tied for so long they don't even hurt anymore. Which I'm pretty sure is a bad thing."

Logan swore and turned her around, his eyes narrowing as they took in her slim hands scraped raw and bleeding, held captive by tight loops of coarse rope. "Who the fuck did this?"

"Witches. Or maybe warlocks. Whoever was behind me could have been male or female." She paused. "Male witches are called warlocks, right?"

Logan was completely flummoxed. "What are you talking about?"

"I was investigating. At a magic shop."

The bartender set a bowl of steaming water and a bar towel on the counter. Beside these he placed a very large knife. Veronica took one look at this monstrosity and told Logan, "I still carry a pocket-knife." She turned her body slightly. "Back pocket."

"There are magic shops in Neptune?" Logan asked, fishing for the knife. "I thought that was a strictly Sunnydalian type of establishment."

"You'd be surprised what the seedier parts of Neptune have to offer." Veronica took a look at her surroundings as he sawed at her bonds. "…Or maybe you wouldn't. What are you doing here, Logan?"

"Slumming." He answered promptly.

Veronica nodded knowingly. "Black eyes and broken noses go over a little better over here, huh?"

He nodded. "Plus, poor people don't mind getting their hands dirty. They give me more of a challenge." The rope separated and fell from Veronica's wrists. Logan took her hands and chafed them rapidly. "I've heard this part hurts." He said. "The blood flow returning, and all that."

Veronica cringed as the tingles hit, biting her lip as they progressed into stabbing pain. She eyed Logan speculatively as he worked the blood back into her hands, his face intent. "You think I hate you?"

He looked up quickly, with dark eyes. "Don't you?"

"No."

This monosyllabic response earned a bitter laugh. "Well, you've got a rotten way of showing it."

She said nothing, merely looking at her hands in his with an unreadable look on her face.

"So, who were you gonna call?" Logan asked suddenly.

Veronica looked up, confused. "Am I supposed to yell 'Ghost Busters' here? Because I'm not really feeling that theatric."

Logan gestured towards the bartender, "Earlier, when you asked for a phone, who were you planning to call?"

"I'm not really sure." Veronica said slowly. "Lamb, I guess."

"But not me."

"Logan…" she trailed off helplessly, looking anywhere but at him.

He flinched slightly, "Whatever, Veronica. It's fine." He turned, and busied himself with wetting the washcloth. "Maybe you don't hate me, but that doesn't mean you have to like me, right?"

"Logan, it's been seven years. Honestly, what would you have done if I had called you?"

"I would have yelled at you, and called you a heartless bitch. I might have even demanded some fucking answers. Then I would have hauled ass to come help you, like I always do." He wiped some of the blood from her forehead, peering at her lacerated scalp. "On that note, I'm taking you to the emergency room. You need stitches."

Veronica pulled a wry face. "I wonder if any of the old nurses still work there? It'll be like a family reunion."

Logan placed his hands together before his face and grinned at her evilly from behind them. "Maybe there'll even be cake."