A/n: Rated for language and certain disturbing themes. Nothing explicit yet. The timelines are a little all over the place on this one. As always, feel free to let me know your thoughts.

CHAPTER 5:

Good whiskey was supposed to feel like silk sliding down your throat. And while Logan wasn't a connoisseur by any means, he'd had his fair share of liquor and the brown concoction in his hands could by no means be labeled decent. He might have complained about the quality had it not been for the small fact that he had willingly walked into a beach bar that blazed 'Foam's up,' in neon lights.

Hell, he fucking deserved this sewer water that they passed for whiskey.

It might have been endearing that he still required a key to access Aaron's liquor cabinet- almost adorable -if his keys had stayed in their old hiding places. Might have even appreciated the irony. The house however had been remodeled, renovated and the earlier familiar nooks and crannies had been cleaned out.

Wallace probably would have insisted on coming with him had he known his partner's nefarious plans. The silver lining or not so silver lining to his messed up childhood was that he didn't nearly need as much sleep as the average Joe. The much-touted eight hours seemed just out of reach for people like him. He had puttered around the house hoping to magically run into a key or a bottle of Scotch and had found nothing but Wallace snoring.

He supposed there were advantages to working a crazy job and having a toddler at home.

It wasn't that he hadn't tried to distract himself. Late night TV complete with infomercials had been a good choice until he caught sight of an Aaron edition of Tinseltown diaries. Well that lasted all of an hour. The humid air called for a late night swim, an invitation that he gladly accepted.

Except the embrace of the cool water did nothing but rile him up. He needed a drink.

Twitchy and out of sorts, he had expanded his wandering grounds, driving up north till he found the perfect place, or rather a place that served alcohol past 2 am. From the looks of the outside, he should have figured that it would be jammed with college kids, blue cocktails and 50 cent- a real classy joint.

He wished he had sought out something better but the last time he was in Neptune, he was still underage- which meant he pretty much had no idea of how to legally access alcohol in the place he called his hometown.

Logan knocked back another shot knowing full well that there was no way in hell he was going to find his way back home. He briefly considered sleeping on the beach until finally deciding that he might as well pass out in his car- it would be just like another stake out, another day at work.

Having assuaged his inner policeman, Logan signaled for the bartender to refill his glass when he noticed her eyes on him.

She was petite, dark haired, beach waves framing brown eyes and dressed like she didn't belong. It was her clothing that got his attention; dark jeans and a black button down that skimmed her body stood out in a place where the unofficial dress code was mini skirts and tube tops. For a brief moment he wondered if she were a fellow cop out on an undercover mission, his alcohol fueled imagination conjuring a million fantasies that ended up with the buttons on her shirt flying in different directions. He swallowed hard and their eyes met once more. Unable to look away he raised his glass in a mock salute summoning every ounce of will power to step away from the obvious temptation.

Once upon a time Logan might have settled for the drunken night of debauchery. He would have stalked across the room; a careless grin tugging across his face and hit on her with smiling yet earnest eyes. He would have let her lead him to a secluded corner, or even a bathroom and held her up against the wall, letting her wrap those legs around his waist. A skirt would have been a better choice for no matter how well those jeans fit like second skin; they would get in the way of his intentions.

Logan let his eyes fall away.

He wasn't that person anymore.

Logan briefly wondered if his recent stumble was due to his return to Neptune. After all, he hadn't been out drinking in years, let alone contemplating picking up strangers. Not since he had begun working. Those white walls, the brown couches, framed magazine spreads and the French doors had all seen him at his lowest- maybe being there brought out the worst in him.

Maybe it was the air in here.

Most likely it was because Pete and Wallace's news had been the discovery of a body in the water tanks at the Hyatt downtown. Blonde. Female. Early thirties. Security feed showed a woman matching Veronica's description entering the hotel two days ago. With no surviving family members and a bloated corpse, the PD had resorted to checking out dental records.

Peachy.

In hindsight, he had reacted predictably. Poorly. Had turned wild-eyed, and inconsolable when Wallace had broken the news to him gently. Gently because he knew his partner, and knew that this wasn't the kind of 'news' he wanted to hear.

"I just want you to be prepared," Wallace said. Like anyone could ever be prepared for this sort of thing

Statistically speaking, it sure as hell couldn't be Veronica.

He supposed he tended to romanticize his relationship and associations to Veronica. She was the one good thing he remembered of his childhood and voila! She had been raised up to a pedestal. He was all sorts of messed up on the inside.

Logan twirled the glass in his hands while waiting for a refill. He needed to focus- to put his energy into sorting things out, needed to…

"Fuck off, " the voice was hostile, no nonsense.

"Oh c'mon babe. You didn't just come here to stare didja?" The man next to her reached for her shoulder, and she sidestepped him allowing him to trip on his feet. A mild chorus of laughs followed and the dude seemed annoyed.

"No need to be a bitch," the man muttered, dusting off his arms. He seemed annoyed, angry and Logan grinned. It always made his day to see a girl stand up for herself. He allowed himself another glance because there was nothing more attractive than a seemingly delicate woman kick ass.

"That was pretty good," he slurred as she occupied the seat next to his.

She frowned at him. For a second, he was positive that he recognized her from somewhere but couldn't put his finger on it. Busted for DUI? Another cop? TV actress?

"Do I know you?" He asked because sometimes it was best to be up front.

'"Not. Interested."

Logan put his hands up and offered a smile as if to say, hey, just making conversation. His brows furrowed together as she tilted her head his way. He knew her from somewhere- he never forgot a face.

"Oh you're that chick from that show. One Tree Hill, what was her name?" he blurted before he could stop himself. Knowing he sounded like one of those guys who just didn't know what it give it up, he winced. Perhaps he should've gone with 'I'm a big fan,' or 'you're hotter in person," or even, 'you look like my next girlfriend.' She shot him a dirty look and with a heavy sigh started to move away when the dude from earlier showed up with his buddies.

Yes. That seemed fair. Three buff men against one little lady. He heard the meathead yell, and Logan counted to three in his head. He could whip out his badge, stop this bar brawl before it began, but there was one thing that provided a better outlet for his rage than drunkenness and meaningless sex.

It really wasn't much of a battle.

He lunged and heard the resounding crack of bone against bone. A scuffle ensued, and he felt several pairs of hands grabbing at his arms. Logan bucked forward, intent on head butting the nearest goon when the woman stepped in the middle.

Duncan Kane was dead.

And as the last person to see him alive, at least according to news reports she, Veronica Mars was prime suspect. She really had no choice but to run.

It was hard to reconcile Duncan's death with her presumption that he wanted her gone. Veronica wasn't wrong very often, particularly in light of events that occurred right before his death. She barely knew him anymore, but if Duncan really was dead, she was back at square one.

You changed your hypothesis as facts emerged. And with the way the past week had turned out, she wasn't sure she had a working theory anymore.

Suddenly it was imperative that she got to the bottom of this. They had taken her sanity, her dad, Duncan, and she'd be damned if she let them get away with it.

Then:

Following her rendezvous with Logan she went back home. Smiled, re-applied her lipstick, run a hand through her hair, smiled some more and waited at the front stoop for her husband to pick her up.

The country club soiree had been the same as always- predictable, boring and pretentious with few less than average crab cakes. She didn't think twice of it when she continued the same mind numbing conversations as always, her body still tingling from meeting Logan.

Logan Echolls.

She had been surprised when she had run into him at the memorial for Lynn. Almost every year since her death, Aaron and Trina had almost always offered an excuse as to why he never could make it. So she had definitely been surprised to see him lounging on a bar stool, his bow tie slung loosely around the neck- a sign of the slightest of rebellions.

He looked good; different but good.

The boyish roundness of his face had given way to hard edges and his hair was buzzed closer. She remembered a time when his locks had fallen to his eyes and he would brush them aside impatiently. His eyes however had remained the same.

Trustworthy. She had almost begged him to help her that night at the gala. But he had beaten her to the punch, his anger and bitterness the same as it had been all those years ago.

Veronica had heard of his occupation of course, who hadn't? But it wasn't until he stood before her with his partner taking her statement that it truly hit her. Detective Logan Echolls.

The Abel Koontz business had been tricky, traumatic even. She had been so unbelievably sure that he was there to attack her especially when he moved to reach for the kitchen drawer. She felt a chill raise up her spine- she had killed the man; self defense or not.

If only she knew what it was that she stumbled upon that had them spooked. Like she didn't know Clarence had been tailing her for weeks. Like she didn't know the Kanes used Clarence for their dirty dealings.

But this was her dad- she wouldn't be intimidated.

Thoughts of Keith and his corny jokes flooded her brain almost bringing her to tears. Three years and she had no answers. Weevil had handed over Keith's last files- handwritten notes that made about as much sense as random doodles on napkins. She didn't have much to go by except for a McDonalds receipt with Duncan's name circled over several times.

Like it meant something.

She wished she had found it before she married the goddamn man.

Duncan was supposed to be the one. Her true love, the Romeo to her Juliet, the star-crossed love that survived through birth secrets, ruined lives and lost friendships. He had been there every step of the way from the day Keith hadn't answered his phone or called back in over two days and the pit in her stomach grew deeper.

He had held her, said the right things and when three months later, the local authorities closed the investigation she had said yes.

She was weak, no had been weak. And for once, Duncan had been smart enough to move in quick. Had they waited another couple of months, she might have never married him.

Veronica felt her head throb at the ramifications- of what could have been, of what might have been had she not tried to seek relationships just to fill some metaphorical hole in her life.

A shrink would have had a field day with that.

But she outgrew the phase and in her crusade to make someone pay, had started spying on Duncan's finances finding next to nothing.

It wasn't hard; she was after all his wife, and Duncan trusted her. Implicitly. She wished desperately that she loved him more but it was probably a lost cause. She hadn't since the day she found out that he was kind of person who stood by idly as his friends got hurt.

Pretty goddamn unforgiveable.

"Ready to go?" Duncan pressed a kiss to her temple, distracting her from thoughts that threatened to drown her. She smiled wanly, allowing him to lead her by the small of her back. Another day, another country club, another party.

It was time for them to go home, play the part of the loving husband and the doting wife, make love and fall asleep in each other's arms.

Except it sickened her to think that she had to sleep next to the man who very much might have had something to do with her dad's disappearance. They drove in silence, Duncan's hand on her thigh, his fingers tracing lazy patterns onto her leg and she tried to not push him away, to not call him out right then and there.

His hand traveled further and she demurred, moving away slightly.

"What the fuck, Veronica?"

She was so startled at the profanity that she banged her head against the door. Duncan pulled over quickly- in a part of the city that he otherwise wouldn't find himself dead in. Her husband never raised his voice at her, let alone cursed. She backed up against the farthest corner of the seat trying to match his anger with calmness.

"What is it, Duncan?" She was tired and wanted nothing more than to go home. Everything else could be dealt with later.

He said nothing, his face set stonily before he reached to grope her breast.

"Stop it."

"Why?" He moved in closer, his eyes glinting dangerously. Duncan seemed on edge and she had never seen him like this. Not since he had almost bashed in the guy she dated for a couple months in high school.

"This isn't such a great neighborhood, Duncan. Let's go home and talk," she tried to reason with him.

"No," he said stubbornly, licking a strip from shoulder to neck. She recoiled despite her best efforts and he grabbed her chin hard, forcing her to face him. "Why don't you like me?"

"I..I…what?"

"You never seem to have time for me. We don't even fuck anymore."

"Duncan."

"What? My wife doesn't like to say fuck?" He practically growled, his entire body filling up the space in front of her. One of his hands crept under her dress to pinch her thigh. She let out a little whimper trying to stay as calm as possible.

"Not like this Duncan. Let's go home." She remained firm, unwavering.

"Don't want to. I want…I've waited so long. It's just not fair." He trailed his hand purposely, cupping the junction between her thighs. She tried to push him away but he was stronger, bigger and he used his size to his advantage.

"Duncan, no. No!" She tried again, more forcefully but he seemed beyond caring. A sick smile covered most of his face and he groped her, his fingers digging into her skin.

"I'm your husband dammit!" He yelled, his face turning red. He pulled at the strap of her dress and a part of the fabric ripped in his hands. He seemed surprised at himself and Veronica took advantage of the situation pushing him as hard as possible before getting out of the car.

And then she ran.

Like before, her first instinct had been to run.

She should have trusted her instincts; they never failed her.

Now she was stuck with a black-eyed split lip raging drunk. So that went well.

Logan leaned on her heavily, his feet dragging as she managed to maneuver them towards the motel room. The Camelot, a haven for the shady under the table dealings of Neptune had been the adulterers' spot of choice during her sleuthing years. It now provided the perfect location to hide out.

Clearly not the best choice to bring your drunken ex-friend slash detective in charge home to.

But she couldn't leave him slobbering over the bar floor given that he had lunged in defense of her honor. So when the fight had broken out, she had gotten a bouncer to back her up and held people aside while she calmly explained that they were assaulting a police officer.

The days fake IDs came in handy.

She was currently Agent April Smith. April because it was that time of the year, and Smith for obvious reasons.

Confidence was key; she had learned a long time ago. Most people needed a quick flash of the badge and a firm attitude, and she was out walking like she owned the place.

The dark hair and brown eyes helped a lot- she doubted even her dad could recognize her. Average. Normal.

"Fuck," Logan cursed loudly as he slid down to the floor. She had temporarily propped him up against the wall as she turned the key.

The Camelot wasn't like the Neptune Grand- security key cards were non existent and the snot nosed kid that manned the front desk was more interested in the porn on his laptop than his clients. So as long as she left the cash for the room on the desk, there were no questions asked.

It worked well for everybody.

Well until now. Now she would have look for a new place, another motel that asked the same or fewer questions than the esteemed management at the Camelot.

She sighed heavily as she helped Logan onto the bed, taking care to remove his boots as he leaned back mumbling another string of curses and names. That wasn't new.

Veronica dug into her suitcase looking for the first aid kit. She really should have left the instant his eyes had roved over her. Judging her- sizing her up, his eyes intense and liquid as they slowly moved over her body. She had folded her hands in front of her defensively and he had smiled. Yes she was aware- average frame, breasts- nothing to write home about- her eyes and hair- her best features painted over by cheap dye and colored lenses.

She had stuck her chin out. It was like she was twelve all over again and his eyes had skated over her soccer uniform and knee high socks as if to say 'you're such a baby.'

"Ow! Fuck."

Veronica couldn't help roll her eyes. Nearly two decades later and he was still a baby. She ghosted the cotton dipped in peroxide over the split lip, not quite touching the sensitive area. She shushed him quietly dabbing the cotton lightly and blowing over the skin. She could feel his eyes on her.

Following her every move as she painstakingly cleaned every bruise and cut on his face and his hands. His forehead was wrinkled as he looked up to her. "Oh god that kicked puppy look," Lilly's voice echoed in her head. Her childhood friend had been wrong about a lot of things but definitely not this. He mostly remained childlike allowing her tilt his head from side to side quietly accepting her ministrations.

Like a good little boy.

"Ronnie used to do this," he noted humorlessly and she looked up in surprise. She had almost forgotten the times she had stepped in when Logan had walked into the Kanes after another fight at school. She hummed under her breath. There was no need for conversation. She only needed to fulfill some warped sense of responsibility and high tail it out of here.

Before he became aware of his surroundings.

Veronica squeezed a blob of Neosporin onto a q-tip, taking care to gently swab it over his bruises. He was so close. She forced herself to look up, to offer a half smile before she slipped away but his gaze held hers.

"I can see down your shirt," He grinned cheekily, his eyes continuing to look in the same direction.

Veronica let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. For a second it looked like he recognized her, but upon closer inspection, his eyes appeared glazed, unfocused with a silly smile plastered across his face. Her heart hammered against her ribs and she forced herself to calm down.

She was a grieving widow, a fugitive who had more questions than answers or plans, and she was out here tending to one of the people, who could have her locked up. A million reasons why there shouldn't be goosebumps prickling her skin.

"I know you from somewhere," Logan mused as she moved to settle him up against the pillows. Her hair fell across her shoulders and she watched as his eyes flickered shut. He took in a deep breath and she was about to move away when he caught her by the arm, is thumb brushing across the inside of her wrist as he pulled her down.

His eyes searched hers as he looked at her accusingly, "Veronica?"

She should have run.