Title: Bright, Chapter Three
Author: Utsusemia (Lois Fogg)
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica, ensemble
Word Count: around 4,000
Rating: R
Summary: When Logan succumbs to a mysterious and possibly deadly illness, Veronica is determined to discover who is responsible...and why.
Spoilers: After Plan B, but before I Am God

Notes: Look, I wrote another chapter! I promise to try to make my updates more regular in the future, but enjoy. More notes at the bottom.

Chapter Three: You Might As Well Live

She tried, very hard, to control the sudden frisson of fear that jutted up her spine at the mention of that name. But Mr. Ethan Lavoie esquire just smiled, and she knew he had seen it. The thought of Logan, unconscious on a hospital bed, with no one to stand between him and this...creature, made her feel almost nauseous.

She turned, a little desperately, to the doctor. "You can't--" her voice was hoarse, so she cleared her throat and tried again. "Listen, you can't leave Logan alone with him. He won't be safe." The doctor just stared at her like she'd lost her mind.

God, she thought, maybe I have. Logan almost died and she was probably the only one who cared enough to stop whoever it was from finishing the job. Veronica Mars, his ex-girlfriend and most bitter enemy. The irony of it was enough to make her choke.

The creature's laugh sounded like the illegitimate offspring of Laurence Welk and a walrus.

"Dear," he said, "you certainly have an active imagination, don't you? Then again, considering what baseless accusations you've leveled at my client, I suppose that shouldn't be a surprise."

"Hmm... baseless accusations like almost killing me and my father? Oh my mistake, he must have gotten those third degree burns overheating the cheesy nachos."

"And yet there's no actual evidence my client had anything to do with your father's...unfortunate accident. Nothing but his word. And yours, of course. How very convenient."

Veronica felt like she had turned into a column of rage, but it was cold and hard and just a little brittle: the kind she liked the most. The kind she could use. "You're forgetting the man in the house. He saw Aaron, too."

She had thought it would be her trump card, but the creature's smile told her something had gone horribly wrong even before she made sense of his words. "Ah, I think you'll find it rather difficult to get that gentleman on the witness stand. He seems to have left town and given no forwarding address. I heard he came into an inheritance."

Veronica just stared. Aaron's lawyer was practically admitting in front of her that he had paid off the owner of the house. And they both knew there was nothing she could do about it.

The doctor finally seemed to put together their conversation. "Wait," he said, "you're dating the son of the man who tried to kill you?"

The creature frowned. "Allegedly."

Veronica's stomach lurched--entirely unnecessarily--at the word 'dating.'

"We're not ...listen, I just don't want to see him killed. His father is in prison for murdering my best friend and almost killing me. It's not safe."

"He is in custody, awaiting a trial which, may I remind you, has not been conducted yet. Or maybe you were out the day your teacher went over the constitution? His son is gravely ill. Surely you wouldn't stop a worried father from helping his only son?"

Veronica touched her face. "Oh, look! A tear. Do you know what your concerned father did to Logan?"

Lavoie shrugged. "I can't imagine what you're implying. And it's a moot point, anyway. As far as the courts are concerned, dear, Mr. Echolls still has custody over his son, and as his representative, I am the only one authorized to make medical decisions. Which means, I think I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Just ignore him. "Please," she said, quietly to the doctor, "please don't leave them alone together. Just keep him safe."

The doctor stared for a moment, and then shrugged. "I can keep a nurse nearby. The machines will tell us if anything is going wrong. I'm sorry, it's the best I can do."

Veronica took a deep, shaking breath. "Okay. Thank you."

She felt Lavoie's eyes trailing her as she walked out.

--------------------------------------------

Cliff sounded groggy, as though her call had woken him up.

"Jesus, Veronica? What time is it?"

"Seven thirty. Shouldn't you lawyer types be up by now?"

She heard sheets rustling and a possibly female murmur. "Late night. I presume you want a favor."

"I want to hire you, actually."

"Now that's interesting. But you forget I know your father. What are you going to pay me with? Jujubees?"

"Nah, I like snickerdoodles better."

"Tempting. Rolled in cocoa?"

"For you, Cliffy, anything."

"Ah, you're sweet. Tell you what, for you: ten snickerdoodles and one favor an hour."

"And the nature of this favor?"

"At my discretion. With you, I anticipate trouble."

"See, that's why I like you, Cliff, you're always prepared."

"And you're always so interesting. It's like watching fireworks going off in someone else's living room: dangerous, but fun at a distance."

Veronica grinned ruefully. "So, I have a problem. A lawyer type of problem."

"My specialty. What is it?"

"Ethan Lavoie."
His sudden intake of breath was sharp on the phone. "That's some problem. How did you get mixed up with him?"

"He's representing Aaron Echolls."

"I'd heard that. But the trial is still at least a month away. Is he harassing you?"

"No, not exactly." She sighed. If Cliff was going to help her, she had to tell him, but it seemed so hard to say. Just asking for help revealed too many things. But not asking scared her much more.

"It's Logan."

"My favorite overentitled client. He got himself in trouble again? That kid has some self destructive streak."

"But this time...someone tried to poison him, he's in a coma, his kidneys have failed, and now Ethan Lavoie is making all the medical decisions because Logan's still a minor. I need him to go away."

Cliff whistled. "Veronica. You've outdone yourself. Custody law? I took a course a few years ago, but...you sure you don't want to get someone else?"

"Can I pay them in snickerdoodles?"

"Point taken. I don't suppose you have any dirt on Mr. Echolls' wonderful parenting skills?"

Oh god. She swallowed to coat her suddenly dry throat. "Just...go with the obvious stuff, for now. You know, the alleged murder and statutory rape. If that doesn't work...get back to me."

She could almost hear Cliff deciphering the meaning behind her words. "You should tell me what you know, Veronica."

She closed her eyes. "He'd never forgive me."

--------------------------------------------

Wallace was waiting for her in the parking lot. She thought she was maintaining pretty well when she told him--no redness left over from the stressed out crying break in the car, she checked--but he still knew. He squeezed her hand briefly and then offered her the rest of his box of Fiddle Faddle, and she had never loved him more than at that moment.

By the time she made it to last period, she was a mess. Rumor that something had happened to Logan was floating around the school, and everyone stared and whispered like they knew it had something to do with her. She called the hospital four times between classes to make sure that he was still alive. The last nurse took pity on her and gave her a few more details: his kidneys still weren't functioning, but he was well enough be taken off the coma drugs. He would be awake by tonight.

And she wouldn't be able to see him.

To distract herself from her possibly irrational terror of what Ethan Lavoie might do to him, she started a file on her laptop during study hall, labeled "Logan Echolls, attempted murder." It was weird, almost, how calming it felt to turn this situation into a simple case. Something to be solved, fixed, and put behind her.

"So, who are the suspects?" she muttered to herself. Wallace looked at her curiously, and then saw what she was doing.

"People who hate Logan?" he whispered.

Her smile was ironic, but genuine. "Good place to start."

People who hate Logan, she typed. And then, under that:

Aaron Echolls
Weevil?
the rest of the PCHers with those weird names I can never remember
most of the 09ers
anyone who knows what he did to that pool
anyone who listens to "Ahoy, Mateys"
Butters
Mr. Wu
Van Clemmons
Fitzpatricks
Lamb

Wallace shook his head. "I think you forgot Ms. Marple."

"No, it couldn't have been her, she was in the parlor with the candlestick."

Mr. Wu looked up from the book he was reading. "Veronica, Wallace, would you like to spend some extra quality time in detention? No? Then I suggest you refrain from having it now."

Veronica rolled her eyes and then turned back to the computer.

what should I do? everyone hates him!

Wallace checked to see if Mr. Wu was still looking, and then typed back.

maybe not everyone. maybe you're overestimating

oh, and I forgot all about the bums. those bums must hate his guts. and Hannah. but I guess she isn't here anymore, so it doesn't really count. yay for proximity!

yeah. damn. how the hell does a dude get that many enemies? he's only 17. shit, don corleone had to wait til he was at least thirty to get that many enemies. you know what that means? your ex bf is a bigger badass than don fucking corleone. thats hardcore. im almost afraid to sit next to you. hes gonna whoop my ass.

He's in a coma!

didnt stop the don, did it? man got shot five times. logan got poisoned. just watch, he'll walk outta there like nothing happened.

And you're basing that on...

homey has too many enemies. you got that many enemies, you're too special to die like a normal person

He's your homey now? Don't answer that. Hey, Wu is leaving. Go watch the door, okay?

Veronica stood up and looked around while Wallace went to make sure Mr. Wu was out of ear shot. This study hall seemed like a good cross section of people. Paint geeks, shop geeks, computer geeks, a few 09ers...

Well, it was worth a try.

"Hey, guys, can I take a quick poll?" Everyone turned to stare at her.

"So, uh...do you think you could raise your hand if you hate Logan Echolls?"

For a moment, no one moved, but then Weevil, lounging in the back row, laughed and raised his hand. "Dude's a punk. Everyone knows that."

A few seconds later, almost everyone in the room had raised their hand.

Right. Clearly she'd gone about this the wrong way. "Okay, maybe you could just raise your hand if you like him?"

Gia, Madison and Jackie. And Madison looked embarrassed, which was a little disturbing. Too bad Dick didn't have study hall with them. It would have brought the count up to four, at least.

"Hey, Veronica, what's this for, anyway?" Gia asked, a little nervously.

"Navigator. Special feature on our most controversial students."

Madison grinned. "Wow Veronica, it must be pretty hard to report on yourself."

"Well, it was either that or get stuck doing students with obvious comebacks."

"Hey, Wu's almost here!"

At the sound of Wallace's warning, everyone quickly turned back around in their seats and acted suspiciously busy. Mr. Wu frowned at her for a second, but he went back to his desk without comment.

So everyone hates him. Where did that leave her?

She needed a timeline, but the only person who could give it to her was Logan. And the Devil's advocate wouldn't let her within thirty feet of his hospital bed.

Hey bff. Did I ever tell you how much I appreciate your resourcefulness and flexibility?

what do you want, veronica?

I need to break into the hospital

man, how did i know you were going to say that?

--------------------------------------------

Dinner that night was ice cream and fudge, accompanied by Seinfeld reruns. The ice cream helped her relax a little, but not enough. She was worn out, and she still had to find some way to talk to Logan. Preferably tonight, before Lavoie or anyone else did something to him.

"Hey, Dad," she said, when she had downed nearly half a tub of Ben & Jerry's. "Could you do me a favor?"
He knew her well enough to look wary. "I hope it's legal?"

"Um...fuzzy, maybe?"

"Fuzzy. Is that a technical term?"

"Dad, I need help. This is...I don't know how else to do it."
He sighed. "Okay. What is it?"

"I need a hospital badge. Something that will get me into his room."

"Veronica, I'm a former Sheriff, not a former hospital director. How could I get you a badge? If I were going to do that, I mean."

She smiled. She always knew when she had him. "Oh, come on. You don't have any favors you could call in? Anyone at all connected to the hospital?"

He considered for a moment and then laughed. "Okay, but you're not going to like it."

--------------------------------------------

"Hey, I'm just happy I'm not the one in the gray jumpsuit. It's got too many associations."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "Oh yeah, you really understand prison life. Come on, Wallace, you're richer than I am!"

"Hey, I had a cousin who went to juvie."

"For what?"

He looked away. "Internet fraud."

Veronica patted him on the shoulder. "I think we're going to have to revoke your gangster card, Wallace."

"Shut up."

Veronica adjusted her black wig and the too-baggy janitor's suit her father had found for her. He was right about her not liking it, but as long as she got past Slimy Lavoie, she didn't really care.

She picked up the mop and wheel pail. "Call me if you see him or anyone else get near that hallway, okay?"

"Sure, don't worry, heard you the first five times. How scary can this lawyer be? You're acting like he's Shug Knight or something."

Veronica shivered. Jesus, she really was tired. "Just be careful. Don't let on that you know me."

"Hey, I got the lookout thing down, don't worry. Good luck," he said.

She nodded and quietly walked in through the service door.

--------------------------------------------

Visiting hours had ended for the night, so the halls were mostly empty. The few doctors and nurses she did pass looked straight by her, and she realized that a gray jumpsuit might not be very dignified, but it was private investigator gold. She went as quickly as she could to Logan's section, but it would look too suspicious if she didn't at least make a token pass at the floors.

"Okay, bright side?" she muttered to herself when her arms started to burn from exertion, "At least it's not toilets. Hospital bathroom toilets. Ugh, I'd need a hazmat suit."

Twenty minutes after entering the hospital, her phone was still silent, and she was a few yards away from Logan's door. There was a faint light coming from underneath, and she hoped that meant that he was awake and not that someone was with him. And since everyone hated him, that someone would probably be...

She had to get in that room, now. The floor nurse rounded the opposite corner, leaving her alone. Veronica dragged her bucket and mop to Logan's door and slipped inside. As she closed it, she realized that her wig had somehow gotten caught on the mop handle.

She gritted her teeth. "What a fucking great day." The synthetic hair was so matted around the wood that she almost knocked the bucket over when she pulled at it. She could feel her bobby pins coming loose and after a moment, she just yanked it the rest of the way off and tossed it down. It was supposed to land satisfyingly on the floor, but of course the hair was still wrapped around the mop, so it slid into the bucket, where it floated like a soapy, dead rat.

She stared at it for a moment, suddenly uncomfortably aware of Logan's incredulous gaze.

She sighed. "Did I really just do that?"

"Either that or I'm hallucinating." Logan's voice was rough--probably from the recently-removed breathing tube--but it was amused, carefully controlled. He didn't intend to give anything away.

She had to force herself to look up. She was too tired to control her face; she'd been so worried about him all day and she had no idea what he would see there. It was too dangerous to let him know...whatever it was she felt.

He looked terrible, no surprise. His face was too pale and a little yellow, which was only made worse by his puffy, red-rimmed eyes. Eyes that still, nevertheless, managed to pin her to the floor where she stood, and made her tremble with something she couldn't possibly name.

"H-hallucinating?" she said, after a searing moment. "Haven't you been doing that for a while? Or were those just regular delusions?"

He didn't even acknowledge her awkward retort, which made her feel transparent as cellophane beneath his considering, exhausted eyes.

"At the risk of hurting your fragile female ego, Veronica...you don't look so great. And I don't really mean the prison inmate chic you've got going...but nice concept."

She forcibly released her grip on the mop handle and walked a few steps closer. The room wasn't large--maybe a yard separated their bodies now, and as usual, she was painfully aware of every inch of distance.

"Hmm...pots and kettles?"

"I almost died. Or so my father's lawyer helpfully informed me. And look: bedtime reading!" He picked up the book that was lying on the dresser by his bed.

"1001 Alternatives to Teen Suicide," she read. "Charming. Always trust Slimy Lavoie to give it that creepy, soulless touch."

His smile, as usual, told her more than she really wanted to know. He was still in a lot of pain--something about the way his lips seemed to twist more than usual. He was angry too, but she didn't know why. Or which reason in particular.

"I'd consider giving away my inheritance to know whose idea this was." He flipped to a page towards the end of the book. 'Alternative #753: Tell someone you love them.' Hmm...that one doesn't seem to work for me." He looked back up at her. "So, what's your excuse?"

Too many possible interpretations of that question, and none of them safe.

"For looking like Steve Buscemi's stunt double," he clarified. "Sleepless nights by my deathbed? Sorry I had to disappoint you."

His voice was so callous and accusatory that she had to stop herself from slapping him. Her hands were shaking with anger.

"Jesus, Logan. Do you have any fucking clue? Call me a sap, but I really wouldn't be too happy if you died. Hell, I might just be the only one who would give a crap, so try not to antagonize me, okay? You can't do this from a fucking hospital bed."

She could see him consider that. "Do what, exactly?"

"I'm assuming you would choose a less painful method of checking yourself out?"

"Probably." He put the book back on the counter and winced. "Definitely. So, at least one person believes I wouldn't special-order an antifreeze cocktail. Which leaves..."

She had to say it. "Logan, do you have any idea who would do this to you?"

"Besides a certain lovely blonde ex who gives a mean impression of hating my guts? Not really."

"You're not exactly Mr. Popular."

His laugh was painful, in all senses of the word. "Comes with the whole 'not giving a crap' schtick."

Her phone beeped, which startled her so much she nearly fell into Logan's lap.

"Shit, it's Wallace." She quickly scanned the message:

evil lawyer just walked in. talking to nurse. hurry up, girl.

"Okay, we don't have much time. Logan, tell me everything you did in the last twenty four hours before you got sick. And don't you dare leave anything out."

She took out a small reporter's notebook from her pocket and a pen.

"Wait, what's going on?"

"Your father's charming lawyer? Asserted custody rights over your still woefully underaged self, and barred me from talking to you. Yeah, he's right at the top of my suspect list."

For some reason, this seemed to shake him. "My father..."

Moments like these, when she could peek into the hell of Logan's life and see what it was doing to him--those were when she just wanted to weep. Everything between them was just so complicated and mixed up with endless layers of guilt--and now she had no time to deal with any of it. "Logan, we have to hurry."

A few moments later, he had recovered himself. "Day before...I woke up, went to school, classes. Oh, I smoked some pot with Dick in the parking lot during lunch. Emailed Hannah again...I'm really great at the futile gestures. More school. You bitched to me about something...stopped by the library--"

"Wait, you went to a library?"

"Oh, how she persists in thinking I can't read. A Bukowski short story collection that's out of print. But you can write down Bernstein Bears if that's easier to spell."

She rolled her eyes. "What next, Logan?"

"Kendall came over, practically raped me in the hallway, and then we got really drunk together. Well, I got really drunk. I can give more detail, if you'd like."

"No, that's okay. Anything else?"

"Passed out on bed, woke up with shitty headache, went to school...I think you were there for the rest. Nothing too pleasant."

Her phone beeped again.

he's taking the elevator. get out now.

Veronica quickly ripped a sheet of paper from her notepad and gave it to Logan along with the pen.

"Write everything you ate for two days before you got sick on that. Who gave it to you, where you bought it, how much you ate."

She ran back to her mop and bucket. "Also, you don't have any objections to your dad losing custody, right?"

"Hoping that's a joke."

"Just wanted to check. I've got Cliff on it."

"You really ought to let me try those snickerdoodles one of these days."

She froze. He knew her too well.

His voice stopped her just as she was about to open the door.

"You know that Dorothy Parker poem? 'Razors pain you...'?"

She nodded.

"Thanks."

She kept her head down when she left.

--------------------------------------------

Just in time. Ethan Lavoie was rounding the corner as she left in the opposite direction. Too bad she had no idea how to get out of the hospital. She texted Wallace to let him know she was safe, and hung around mopping the same patch of floor while she waited for Lavoie and the nurse he had come with to leave. They weren't in Logan's room long: four minutes, maybe, before they emerged into the hallway again.

Surreptitiously, Veronica edged closer, cursing the shitty luck that had turned her wig into a mop. Hopefully Lavoie wouldn't be able to recognize her from behind.

"I thought you should know," the nurse was saying. "There were traces on his clothes, too. Crystal meth is made with household items, like antifreeze. Sometimes the poisonous chemicals aren't entirely removed."

"Had he taken a lot?" The false concern in his voice grated like sandpaper.

"Well...the levels were low. But there's no way to be sure. His body had probably metabolized a lot already."

They continued walking down the hall, past earshot. She couldn't have followed them, anyway. Fucking surprise, Logan had lied to her. Crystal meth. What an idiot. Why did she always want to believe in him, when every rational thought told her to stay away? What about him made her act like this?

Suddenly, the rest of that Dorothy Parker poem occurred to her:

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp;
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

She was shocked to find that her cheeks were wet. Was it really so hard for him to want to live? But his voice when she told him that she suspected his father...could she really blame him?

Yes. Oh, yes she fucking could.

END Chapter Three

More notes: Okay, wow, I really want to thank everyone who read Nightfall and commented on it. I don't think anything I've written has ever gotten quite that response, and it made me really happy.

Also, you can speculate all you want about whodunit, but I ain't sayin nothin. All comments very much appreciated!