Title: Bright, Chapter Four (Clean Hands)
Author: Lois Fogg (Utsusemia on LJ)
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica, ensemble
Word Count: about 7,500
Rating: R (for language)
Summary: Logan's been poisoned, and everyone's a suspect
Spoilers: Post Plan B (2.17) AU
Warnings: A bunch of cursing

Author's note (more at the bottom): Sorry this took so long. Hopefully, you're still interested…

Chapter Four: Clean Hands

Shit, Logan had discovered, came in distinct flavors. For example, there was the aching, raw kind, sour and acrid as a rancid cranberry. That particular variety belonged, in its purest form, to his father. Sometimes shit could be bitter, and yes, occasionally sweet and heady and alcoholic like the hiballs his mother drowned herself in. Veronica filled his mouth like that, only with a sharp, burning aftertaste--helpless fury, maybe, and not a little self-pity, because everything was already so fucking awful and she couldn't even try to trust him.

Oh, Veronica's brand of bitter wasn't even close to quinine. Though he'd never actually tasted it, he suspected hers was far closer to ethylene glycol. A handy household product for use in car engines, smart-mouthed teenagers you want dead and crystal meth he never actually took, but is in his blood anyway.

Sometimes, of course, shit is just shit, which is the kind of thing you think when a barrage of tests where dignity means only partial nudity in front of strangers (as if it mattered; it wasn't like the hospital robe hid the fucking scars) has just confirmed that neither of your kidneys are working and probably won't manage to again. He asked the nurse, without a hint of sarcasm for once, when she thought he could get a transplant. She had been the nicest of all of them, but she wouldn't meet his eyes and muttered something about 'hospital bureaucracy' before practically running out. A friendly visit from his resident lawyer/hell guardian clarified matters admirably:

"They have very strict rules here, Logan. I'm sorry, but no hospital in the country would put an attempted suicide and hard drug user on a transplant list."

Attempted suicide and hard drug user. Was that what she thought of him? The machine they hooked him up to, in lieu of an actual, functioning bodily organ, only sucked away one kind of shit, and left him feeling worse than before. He watched the blood flow into the machine and thought of all the better ways there were to die.

He wondered who thought he deserved this.

Besides Veronica, of course.

The list was crumpled, but he had smoothed it out as best he could. "Should have tried razors," he'd written in his atypically careful handwriting at the bottom of the list. He had thought it would make her smile, but he must have lost that power a long time ago.

Bitter like antifreeze, like poison--and familiar, like disappointment.

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

Her hands tingled, her stomach cramped and her vision seemed to wobble every time she recalled the look on his face when she threw back his list. He was so shocked. Too shocked, a part of her thought, but she couldn't allow herself to believe that. Not after what she had done. And when had she ever come out ahead by giving Logan the benefit of the doubt?

His kidneys were shot. He had to go on dialysis. That would make anybody seem pitiable. But let someone else, some other pliable girl with a weakness for dangerous and self-destructive men, pity him. She washed her hands, and she would keep them fucking spotless from now on.

"Veronica, you planning on murdering that locker? Cause I can get out of your way."

Carefully, Veronica put away her books and closed the door. The smile she turned on Wallace as they walked down the hall was fierce enough to make her jaw ache. He backed up a few steps and held up his hands.

"Hey, sorry I said anything. Bad day?"

"Tragic understatement."

"Yeah. That smile is scary."

"You should meet Mr. Sparky."

Wallace raised his eyebrows as he opened the door to the dining tables. "Threatening to beat me up and you've named your taser? What's happened to Logan now?"

They sat down at an empty table and Veronica stared at her fruit salad and cottage cheese like it was a dead cockroach. She didn't even bother picking up her fork. She wouldn't mind impaling someone on it, really, but eating seemed like too much work.

"Seriously," Wallace said, his mouth full of what looked like quite possibly the greasiest fried chicken in Neptune. "What's happened?"

"Nothing he didn't do to himself," she snapped. "I don't want to talk about it."

Wallace looked at her thoughtfully (though how he managed that with cheeks full of fried chicken was beyond her).

"He's not dead, right?"

She shook her head, and then stared at the table so maybe he wouldn't see the sudden terror she felt in the pit of her stomach.

"Dying?"

"Same as yesterday." And about how long could he expect to live without a kidney? Fuck, she couldn't even bear to look at the table now because just the sight of food nauseated her.

"Veronica..." Wallace looked worried, which almost made her laugh. "Logan is a badass. Don Corleone, remember? You knew that."

She clenched her hands and glared at him. "I didn't sign on for his fucking issues. You never change them, you know? They never change. So why do I always have to try?"

They were both silent while she attempted to regain control of her breathing, her too-frantically pounding heart.

"You never had to," Wallace said, finally. "But you did."

He didn't ask the question, but she heard it anyway: Why?

And goddamn it, she almost couldn't bear the answer. Thank god Wallace knew it.

"Want some chicken? Mama's special recipe."

"Your mom made this? Funny, she doesn't look like Aunt Jemima..."

"Oh, now you have to try it. Unless you want me to yo mama your pasty ass all the way to Oklahoma."

She rolled her eyes, but dutifully took a small bite.

Wallace sat back in his chair, looking very pleased with himself. "Better than fruit salad, huh?"

She smiled. "Just a little."

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

The female doctor--the nice one--came to his room that afternoon. He had made it up to Suicide Alternative # 263 (write a sestina) in what might be the national championships of masochism. In his defense, he didn't have anything else to do. And reading about how to dance a maypole was better than the alternative of brooding over Veronica. So, even though the presence of doctors in his room had, until this point, always preceded some really shitty news, he almost welcomed the distraction. If it was really bad, he could try out Alternative #20 (play charades with someone who makes you angry).

"So," Logan said, by way of preemption, "what marvelous news have you come to deliver? Am I addicted to crack now? No...I have to lose a limb? Oh, I got it--my dad's decided to donate my body to science a few months early to get it in this tax period."

The doctor (Michaels, maybe?) winced, but otherwise didn't react to his little display. Which was a shame, since it was one of the best he had managed for a while. Outside of Veronica's inspiring presence, anyway.

"Better than that, I hope," she said. "We're going to discharge you. You're stable, and I think it's safe to say you'd prefer to be anywhere but here?"

Logan closed his book. "Very safe."

She sighed and walked a few steps closer to the bed. "I'm sorry. I know it sounds...inadequate, but I am. For what it's worth, I fought for you. The board can reconsider your case in a year."

Logan's mouth twisted. "Reconsider me for meth I didn't take and a suicide I didn't try. Fuck, if I wasn't depressed before."

She shrugged, a little helplessly. "It was in your system. A lot of addicts have trouble admitting they have a problem..." She trailed off at what he could only assume was his nearly murderous expression. "But have it your way. I can't keep you here--you haven't had any withdrawal symptoms. Here's a list of dialysis centers in the area. Feel free to toss the other thing in the trash as soon as I leave."

He picked up the papers. Beneath the brochures of smiling pensioners and their nurses, emblazoned with inspiring headlines like: "Healthy Living with Kidney Failure", was a thick brochure for Narcotics Anonymous. He looked up, a bitter comment already wet on his lips, but her expression stopped him. She really did look sorry, and it was so different from the anger or faux concern he had dealt with recently that he couldn't lay into her. Whatever the hell had happened to him, it wasn't her fault.

"That girl who brought you in," she said, her hand on the door. "She's scared for you. People react to it differently, but she's terrified. I don't know her, but you should think about that. Maybe she deserves more than living with that fear."

And--very weird--he actually did think about it when the discharge nurse brought him his clothes and papers to sign. A few of them already had Lavoie's loopy signature scrawled across the bottom. Logan resisted the urge to scribble across them, since at the moment leaving the hospital was more important than all-consuming rage.

What he really thought about as he signed those papers and struggled not to feel exhausted was what Veronica said during the more coherent parts of her tirade that morning.

"You think that just because you don't give a shit about yourself no one else does, either. Well, guess what? Wish granted. I refuse to care about you anymore, Logan. I can't handle it. If you want to die, then die. But leave me out of it."

So he scared her. And he could still hate her a little for not trusting him while acknowledging that she should probably have stopped caring about him a long time ago. If he was going to be honest, wasn't it amazing that she ever had? It wasn't always his fault, the shit that happened to him, but it was often enough. She didn't want him, but she felt obligated in a way he didn't really understand. She deserved not to be scared anymore. He couldn't just pass off his baggage.

His cell phone had a little juice left, but he waited until he was finally outside the goddamn hospital to use it. He leaned against the sun warmed bricks and sucked in a deep breath like he would never smell the earth again. It was strange, since he'd never been very appreciative of the so-called 'simple pleasures' before. Debilitating illness really did warp perspective, apparently.

The number wasn't in his phone, but he knew it anyway.

"I hope there's a lot of blood, because I told you not to call me at work."

"I need a ride. And some help."

Weevil sighed and Logan heard a crashing sound, like he'd tossed a wrench to the floor. "Fucking surprise. Where are you?"

"Neptune general."

"You owe me, boy."

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

She'd only been in the Navigator office five minutes when Corny sat next to her and casually snatched away the contact sheet she was looking at.

"Hey Ronnie," he said, eying the sheet of tiny prints like he'd never seen one before. Or like it giving him some groovy hallucinations. "How's it going?"

She tried to grab it back from him, but he casually avoided her reach. "I was doing great, oh, thirty seconds ago. What are you doing here, Corny? Since when do you do the Navigator?"

To Veronica's surprise, he enveloped her hands in his leaned forward.

"Now, Corny, maybe you need to ask Mommy again about personal space? I require at least two and a half feet."

"Are you doing okay?" he said, his voice low and eagerly concerned. "I heard about Logan. It totally sucks, man."

She tried not to reveal the physically painful jolt of fear that passed from her stomach straight up her spine, but it was pretty impossible with Corny so close to her and clearly refusing to budge. Jesus, she needed a damn holster for her taser, if school was going to be like this from now on. Perhaps shocking Corny would be a tad excessive, but oh how satisfying. Even more decadent than Wallace's mama's fried chicken.

"What have you heard?" she asked, when she was reasonably sure she could control her voice.

"Oh, everyone knows, Ronnie. You don't have to hide your sorrow, anymore."

Did he just say that? "Did you just say that?"

"We'll help you through this, Veronica."

"How Little Women of you. But you might want to cut down on the brownies." Roughly she pulled her hand out from under his and pushed her chair back. Breathing now officially ten times easier.

He looked a little hurt, which would have made her laugh if she wasn't gripped with worry over whatever the hell rumor he had heard. "Just offering my support. I don't know if I could've taken watching a dude get mauled by a shark right in front of me. That's intense."

Okay, forget the taser. A crowbar would be more appropriate. Only, she needed to know who to use it on. "And who told you this...tragic story, Corny?"

He smiled and put down her contact sheet. Oh, you gotta love stoners. Their inability to sense irony was only second to their creativity in finding new ways to get high.

"Dick told me. Straight from the source."

Of course. She stood up and casually took the taser from her bag. "So, just out of curiosity, what exactly was I doing while Son of Jaws got busy with my ex-boyfriend?"

"Dude, you don't remember? You waded in, zapped the sucker your ray gun, pulled his bleeding body from the water and held him while you waited for the chopper. It was like fucking Death of Superman." He shook his head. "I can't believe I even know you."

She smiled. "Neither can I." She slammed her hand down on the light table and Corny jumped. "So, where is he?"

"D-dick?"

"And not your own."

"Parking lot. Hey, Ronnie--"

But she was already stalking out of the room.

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

Gia caught up with her in the hallway.

"Hey, is it true Logan had a surfing accident and you saved his life? That is so totally cool. Is he going to be okay? I can only imagine how, like, hard it must be, going to school, pretending everything is okay, when Logan is like, fighting for his life--"

Abruptly, Veronica stopped and whirled around. "Gia?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

Her eyes widened--shock, hurt, fear, Veronica didn't know. "Oh. Sorry."

She sounded like she might be sniffling when she walked back into the Navigator office, but Veronica was still too consumed with anger at Dick to bother chasing after her. Gia would be Gia, after all.

Dick was just closing his car door when Veronica finally found him. She didn't even bother to hide her taser this time. In fact, she greeted him with it, so that he held his hands up with a lazy grin when she backed him onto the side door.

"Assaulting an endangered species, rescuing an asshole, weeping over his body like Lois Lane--I'm just a triple threat aren't I?"

"Nice to see you, Veronica."

"It's a movie, right? Made for TV, starring Lisa Rinna? Only it was an anaconda, not an alligator, and Rinna's breasts are at least two sizes larger..." She put her hands on her hips. "Wait, is this your way of telling me I need a boob job?"

"Are you dating Logan again, or can I still be a jerk?"

She shrugged. "Jerk away."

"You're a total bitch."

"Why, thank you."

"So...can you put that thing down now? I've got class."

"Ooh, he doesn't like me so much he'd rather go to school. I'm flattered. But I don't see why I should care about a guy who spreads rumors about his best friend's hospital stay."

"So he is there. I knew something was wrong."

Veronica bit her tongue hard enough to taste blood. Damn it, she hadn't meant to reveal anything. She had no doubt who Logan would blame if he came back to a school filled with rumors about him.

If he came back to school at all, that was.

Dick looked around, pulled a joint out of his pocket, and lit up. "Is he, like, at death's door? It wasn't really a shark, right? I thought that sounded fishy."

He winked at his own pun and Veronica rolled her eyes. "Why would I know anything?"

"Because you're a nosy bitch."

"And why the hell did you make up that rumor?"

Dick blew a big, white puff into her face. Great, now she was going to go back to class smelling like pot. Corny would never leave her alone.

"Didn't," he said, settling back against his car. "Heard it from someone."

The knot reasserted itself in her stomach. Something was wrong. "Who?"

"Not sure...the step whore asked if I knew what happened to him. Can't remember if she told me about the shark or Gia."

"Gia?"

"You know, likes mini skirts, hates ending sentences." He took another puff and looked meaningfully at her taser. "Come on, you can't shock me now. I'm high. It'd be like hitting a puppy."

She casually tossed it to her left hand and leaned in closer. "I am a bitch. It's what they do."

Veronica turned around abruptly and started walking away.

"Hey, you didn't tell me--is he okay?"

She walked faster.

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

Weevil pulled up twenty minutes later and leaned on the horn.

"Dude, you look like shit," he said, when Logan climbed in the passenger side. The thing about this car--it looked like it used to belong to a hustler named Shaft, but there was a lot of leg room. Way more than Veronica's, if he were comparing, which of course he wasn't.

"Really? Maybe that's why I was in the hospital."

Weevil looked at him. "Sure you shouldn't go back there?"

Logan raised his eyebrows and stretched his hands above his head. "I can think of prison cells that sound more inviting."

At least Veronica would have a harder time finding him in one.

Weevil shrugged and they rode in silence for a while. He was exhausted already, but just being away from the damn hospital and his father's creepy lawyer made him feel a little better. Maybe this would work out. Maybe he could prove that someone did this to him and he wasn't a suicidal, meth-shooting, antifreeze swilling nut. And then maybe they would give him a kidney.

Well damn, wasn't he an optimist?

Weevil pulled into an empty parking lot and shut off the car.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on, or should I call Veronica?"

That made him sit up straight. "Don't."

Weevil cocked his head, curious. "Really? What, you think she can't take care of herself? Mars?"

"This is my mess. I don't want her to clean it up." She wouldn't, anyway.

"Fair enough. So what makes you think I will?"

He knew that was coming. If only his brain didn't feel like it was stuck in first gear. "I heard Lamb wouldn't arrest Thumper. I could help you frame him."

Weevil let out a short bark of laughter, like he couldn't stop himself, and turned his head away. Why was he grinning like that?

"Officer Fuckface finally changed his mind. But it's been taken care of."

Logan stared at Weevil's profile and contemplated that. He knew how angry Weevil had been. He thought he knew what he was capable of--wasn't that why he'd called him?

"Weevil, I need help. Someone who isn't afraid to...take care of things."

"Someone you aren't in love with?"

Logan didn't say anything. Weevil sighed and rubbed one of the tattoos on his forearm. "I want something upfront. Five grand for me, and you give my grandma the deed to her house. Then I'll help."

"Deal. Murder makes you greedy, huh, Weevil?"

Weevil slowly cracked the knuckles of his right hand. "No, campadre, revenge does. So tell me what pile of shit you're in now."

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

She'd snuck in at six in the morning. He was still asleep, but the sound of her mop bucket smashing against the wall woke him up. He had seemed happy to see her--until she started yelling at him.

Last night she'd barely slept an hour, and it was getting to her--her body felt jittery with a hazy panic, and snippets of conversations kept playing in her head. Like Logan's rough, confused protests this morning: "I've never done meth in my life, Veronica. I swear."

Jesus. She hadn't believed him. Why should she? He'd lied to her before, and it was in his goddamn tests. Who could have rigged his tests? Easier to believe that he was lying. Easier than thinking he was at the center of some bizarre conspiracy.

But Dick's voice kept intruding: "The step whore asked if I knew what happened to him..." Kendall. And there, that was it, the puzzle piece that made what she had done to Logan this morning not a little horrifying.

Kendall had told her she hadn't seen Logan in weeks. That he was trying to break things off with her. But Logan said she'd been over to his place the night before he got sick. His exact words? Oh yes: "She practically raped me in the hallway."

Either Kendall was lying, or Logan was--but only one of them had almost died. The timing was too suspicious. She had been horribly, self-righteously wrong.

Madison was standing in her cheerleader uniform by the school entrance, flirting with Luke. "I heard he was totally high when it happened. Isn't meth, like, shark candy?"

Veronica glared at her, but before she could do anything (like, smashing her face in with her pom-poms), her phone rang. She sighed.

"Tell me this is Ed McMahon."

"Same suit, no giant check."

Well, at least she hadn't taken Cliff off the case. "Any news? The good kind?"

"Depends on how you look at it. We have a date. Next Monday, 8 am. I just love family court."

"That's good, right?"

Cliff sighed. "Well, it would be if we had a case. Lavoie is clogging up my phones, asking for witnesses and affidavits. He's already rounded up twenty character witnesses."

"Famous people?"

"It's like the guest list on Hollywood Squares. Veronica, you've got to give me something to work with."

"He almost murdered me. He killed my best friend. That isn't enough to work with?"

"Inadmissible. The trial's still pending."

"What about the tapes?"

"Veronica...those were destroyed. I thought you knew."

Her vision went momentarily blurry and she leaned against the rough brick wall. Destroyed? "When? How did he do it? I thought they were locked in the precinct vault."

"It wasn't Echolls. I mean, it wasn't Aaron. Ask your father about it."

It wasn't Aaron. She balanced the phone on her shoulder and massaged her temples. He saw the tapes. She could only imagine... "Oh god, Logan."

"Veronica? Are you--"

"You can still make a case. I've seen them, I'll testify. Aaron's slept around with practically every married woman in Neptune, surely one or two of them will get on the stand. Find his housekeepers, gardeners, anyone who can say what an asshole he is. He can't intimidate all of them."

Cliff was silent for a moment while Veronica struggled to control her breathing. He saw the tapes. "That's a lot of work for some snickerdoodles, Veronica."

"Please. Give me until tomorrow, and I'll help. I'll get people on the stand Monday if I have to drag them all in myself, okay? But please."

"Okay. Take care of yourself."

She stared at the phone for nearly a minute before she managed to lever herself up from the wall and walk back into the school. She headed straight for the bathroom--she felt like someone had dropped a bomb on her, and wanted to make sure she didn't look like it too. She almost reached into her bag for an "Out of Order" sign, like Logan would see it and meet her inside. Where they would...fight? Make out? Both at the same time?

"You always disappoint me," she said, this morning.

"You always want to be disappointed."

Fuck, she would not cry. That would really cap this spectacularly shitty day, now wouldn't it? She was wiping her eyes and biting her lip when she opened the door to the girl's room, but it turned out someone had beat her to the histrionics. She heard the weeping--wet, loud and almost painful--before she determined its source. The third bathroom stall. The one with the broken lock.

"Hey," she said loudly, "are you okay? Should I get the nurse?"

The sobbing got louder, but Veronica couldn't pick out any coherent words. What the hell was going on in there? She shrugged. "Hope you're decent."

She stared down at the girl on the toilet seat for a long moment.

"Gia?"

"Veronica," Gia whispered, barely intelligible through her tears, "I don't know what to do."

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

"Crystal meth? Antifreeze? Who the hell hates you that much?"

Logan laced his hands behind his head. "A wealth of possibilities."

"Dude. Maybe you should skip town, join the witness protection program or something."

"What, and abandon my girl before I clear my name?"

"So, she's your girl now? I thought she hated you."

"It's complicated."

Weevil smiled. "She always is." He pulled his car into the Neptune Grand and stopped by the entrance. "Well, here's your rich-ass abode."

"Abode? And here I thought you stopped taking English in 9th grade."

"Nah, they just took me out of remedial with you. We can get started tomorrow. But you'd better sleep, man. Corpses aren't intimidating."

Logan opened the door and slowly stood up. "Not arguing."

He hadn't turned around, but the look on Weevil's face gave him about one second's warning.

Lamb jerked his arm back so hard he thought the concierge could hear the bones popping. Curses exploded from his lips and gave way to grunts when Lamb shoved him against the marble wall of the hotel.

"Jesus, what the hell are you doing?" he shouted, even though every word made him feel closer to hurling on the pavement.

"Knew I'd get you eventually," Lamb said in his ear. "I'll figure out where you stashed the rest, but I think this will do for now."

He held up a little plastic bag filled with powdered crystals. "Recognize this?"

Oh, shit. "That isn't mine, I swear."

Lamb shoved him in the squad car and Logan seriously considered vomiting on him. Too bad he couldn't be entirely sure of his aim.

"Then who put it under your pillow? The tooth fairy?" Lamb laughed at Logan's stricken expression. "Yeah, you're screwed. Too bad Daddy isn't around to help you out of this one, huh?"

Help him out? Daddy might just be his number one suspect.

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

Gia was trembling and rocking back and forth like a mental patient. She seemed even more out of it than usual, but Veronica didn't smell any drugs. Ones she would recognize, anyway.

Veronica knelt and gripped Gia's shaking hands. "What happened?"

"She knew. Said she would...I don't know how. Oh, god, I'm sorry. I didn't want to, I'm sorry." Her sobs echoed off the tile and made Veronica shudder. What the hell was this?

"Gia...what did you do? Why are you sorry?"

She was so focused on Logan lately that everything seemed to be about him, but this was probably just a coincidence. Gia was probably just upset that she'd forgotten to invite Veronica to her slumber party or something.

"I can't," she whispered, and her voice was filled with such genuine anguish that Veronica knew this--whatever it was--couldn't be trivial. Which left scary. "She'll...Veronica, I'm so sorry."

She buried her head on Veronica's shoulder. Awkwardly, she held her there and wondered what to do.

But she was spared the decision, because a few seconds later Ms. James burst into the bathroom like she suspected underage sex.

Veronica noted that she tensed when she saw her, and then wondered when she started seeing everyone as a suspect.

"Gia, honey," Ms. James said softly, "your dad is here. He can take you home now."

Gia nodded and stood up, holding the side of the stall for support. She gripped Veronica's hand very tightly, but wouldn't look at her as Ms. James led her away. Veronica knew she should follow them when they left the bathroom, but her head was pounding, and she had Gia's tears and snot all over her shoulder. Six hours of sleep in the last three days. No wonder she felt like she was slowly going insane.

What was Gia talking about?

She turned the tap on and rinsed her face in cold water.

"Remember when we made out in here?"

Her head shot up, heart pounding, but of course she was alone. Hallucinations. As if her life going to hell wasn't already enough.

"Is he going to be okay?"

Who knew? But was it possible Gia had seemed a bit overinvested when she asked her that question? Guilty, even?

Veronica raced out of the bathroom and down the hall. Woody Goodman was helping Gia into the back seat of his Beemer with Ms. James standing nearby, radiating concern.

Woody turned to face Vreonica and she wondered for about the hundredth time how anybody could possibly possess such an array of fake smiles. This one was from the "grateful for your help during this time of sorrow" file. It probably got a good workout during funerals, but in the current circumstance it seemed truly creepy.

"Veronica. Ms. James told me you found Gia. She's...been having a hard time lately. I can't tell you how much I appreciate you being there for her. You're a true friend."

Veronica swallowed. Considering she could probably count all of those on one hand, she doubted it. But damn if it didn't look like Gia needed someone.

"Mr. Goodman, is she okay? Can I do anything?"

The smile deepened, with an effect so creepy Veronica actually took a step back. "I appreciate the offer, Veronica, but sorry. I think Gia's going to need a little alone time for a while."

He nodded at Ms. James and then drove off.

"Veronica, are you okay?"

"Not really. No, there's nothing you can do."

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

"So, you expect me to believe that two ounces of a highly toxic, illegal and dangerous narcotic ended up beneath the pillow of your exclusive hotel room...by accident? Maybe it just spontaneously formed out of thin air? Or no, maybe one of the poor Hispanic maids happened to come by five hundred dollars of drugs and gave it to you as a present?"

Logan glowered at Lamb and wondered if he actually needed to pee. That would be the one good thing that had happened to him today, which was sort of funny.

"I told you," he said, his voice a masterpiece of controlled rage, "I don't know how it got there. Maybe someone planted it."

"Oh yeah, because you don't do a good enough job of screwing up on your own. You're a walking train wreck, Echolls. Anyone who hates you would just have to sit back and watch."

Lamb leaned back and grinned like he counted himself proudly in their number. Logan wanted to beat that grin off his face, but he was so fucking tired he could barely sit up in his chair. How long had he been there?

"I bet my prints are nowhere on it, right?" he said, trying a different tack.

Lamb shrugged, but his eyes darted sideways and Logan knew he was right. "That doesn't mean anything. We got an anonymous tip that you had thirty pounds of meth stashed up there. Thirty pounds--"

"Which you didn't find. So what am I still doing here?"

"So you hid it. We'll trace it. I've got Sacks on it right now. A big drug dealer like yourself would be smart enough to wear gloves when handling his merchandise."

Logan rolled his eyes. "So, according to you, I'm such a big king pin that I can import enough meth to keep San Quentin fucking jolly for a month, but I can't be bothered to pay for, I don't know, a fucking warehouse someplace I don't live, and I can't find a better hiding place for a two-ounce bag than under my pillow? Who the hell am I, Doctor Claw? Dude, you're a criminal's dream."

Lamb slammed his fist on the table and leaned forward. He had the IQ of an iguana and the morals of a shark, but Logan had to admit he had one fucking impressive intimidating stare. "Not yours, Echolls."

"And that ought to tell you something."

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

She had to talk to Logan. There were too many things she needed to do, but that one glared out at her like a neon sign. It had been too easy, she realized, to back away from the terrifying idea that someone had tried to kill him. Logan in self-destruct mode was painful, but more manageable than...whatever this was. As usual, she knew far more about what wasn't the truth than what was. For example, Logan didn't try to kill himself, he didn't take crystal meth. Someone was trying to kill him. But the who, the why...she had no idea. Gia's blowout tonight could have nothing or everything to do with it, and she hated her ignorance. She was so tired she had started dreaming between blinks, but she didn't even consider going to sleep. Whatever else she had to do, she needed Logan.

He tried to give her the list, she remembered. And she threw it back at him.

Her father's call caught her at a stop light halfway to the hospital, which was good, because she realized she was close to tears again--out of fear, exhaustion, guilt or who the fuck knew anymore.

"Dad? Do you need help? I thought you were on a stakeout."

"I am, sweetie," her father's voice was low, but she could still hear the concern in it.

"So, what's up?" she said, as faux-cheery as she could manage. Her dad would see through it, but the attempt usually comforted both of them.

"I just turned on my police radio," he said. Ah yes, the one he had not-so-legally kept after being ousted from the Sheriff's office.

"What did you hear?" She braced herself on principle. Since nothing could possibly go right, she might as well be prepared.

"Sweetie...it looks like Lamb picked Logan up a few hours ago. Some anonymous tip. Drug possession."

"Picked him up? What the hell did he do, drag him from his hospital bed?"

"I think he got discharged. Listen, we'll talk when I get home. I think one of the neighbors is noticing me."

He hung up and Veronica stared dully at her dashboard until someone behind her leaned on their horn. She drove around aimlessly for a few minutes until she found herself pulling into the parking lot of the police station.

"Gotta love the old subconscious," she muttered.

What to do now? Knowing how fond Lamb was of her, she could hardly go stalking in there, demanding to see Logan. She could wait for him out here, but who knew how long they'd be. He might not even get released tonight. So, she could go home, but the idea of leaving without saying something to Logan was untenable. Which left...sleuthing. Nearby.

She leaned back in her chair and tried to pin down the thing that had flashed in her mind after Gia left. It might have nothing to do with Logan, but she remembered seeing something on his list...

Yes, of course, Gia had brought him some pastry that day he got sick. She had even asked after him, said she had to tell him something important. And when Veronica had done her mad dash to the emergency room in his car, hadn't she seen something in the back seat? And at the end of Logan's list, just before she threw it back at him, she had read it: cookies.

Was that what Gia was so sorry for? That some woman had blackmailed her into poisoning Logan?

Frantically, she dialed her father's number again. "Are you okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah, I'm fine, but I need your help. Listen, when the police impound cars after crime scenes, where do they go?"

"It depends. Logan's car is probably in the back lot, if it hasn't been towed already."

"How do you know I'm looking for his car?"

Her dad sighed. "Sweetie, it was a drug bust. Even Lamb can't arrest people on charges like that without evidence. You have no idea what he's gotten himself into. Go home."

She couldn't do that, so she changed the subject. "Dad, why didn't you tell me Logan destroyed the tapes?"

She could almost hear his surprise. "I was...waiting for the right moment. I wasn't sure how you'd take it."

"He should never have seen them," she said, softly.

"It should never have happened."

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

How long had he been here? At least four hours, though it was hard to tell without a clock or a goddamn window.

"You know you're violating the Geneva conventions."

Lamb stopped his pacing and smiled. "What, is your cell too small? You want to cry to mommy? Oh, right, I forgot. She's dead."

"I have to go to the bathroom."

"That's funny, because I heard your little stunt left you without any working kidneys. You're probably just trying to escape."

"How, following the North Star? Fuck man, just let me go to the bathroom. We can continue your little sadomasochistic charade when I get back, all right?"

Lamb leaned forward on the desk. "Seriously, I'm having trouble with this one. Kidney failure, bathroom breaks? Doesn't add up."

Logan clenched his teeth. "I'm renally compromised. I get to have the fun-filled experience of painful urination, daily dialysis and liquid restrictions. Now can I piss on your goddamn pot?"

"Please?"

Fuck, five more minutes and he'd do it in his pants. "Please."

Lamb stood up and grinned like a five year old boy who'd just cut a worm in half.

"Let me get you an escort."

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

The back lot was adjacent to a sandy patch of woods favored by crack addicts, heroin junkies and their dealers, but that apparently hadn't induced the Lamb regime to invest in sturdier security. The padlock on the metal gates was at least ten years old. Tricky, but she could pick it. She knelt on the tarmac, put her picks between her teeth and got to work. Ten minutes later, she held the open lock in her hand and pushed back the gate.

There were only a few cars parked in the lot, but Logan's was thankfully still one of them. The doors weren't locked, which was good since carjacking was a skill she had not picked up from her father. Unfortunately, as soon as she opened it up she realized that all the evidence had already been cleaned up. The cookies were gone from the back seat, along with his California-Mexico road maps and Homer Simpson doll.

She stared at the seat for a long time, breathing and thinking. What else could she do? Without any evidence here, how could she get the results from Lamb? Even worse, knowing him, he probably didn't even get the cookies tested.

But they were cookies. Logan said he'd eaten at least one, and as any cookie-lover knows, they leave lots of crumbs. And how thorough could Lamb's cleaning crew be?

Carefully, she leaned over and looked through the crevices. A little behind the middle seat, she finally found pay dirt: a row of dirty blond crumbs that she could only pray came from the Cookies of Doom. She scooped them into a little plastic baggie she'd brought just in case and closed the car door.

So, now what?

Wait, of course. But fuck, she was sick of being this scared. How would he react? She needed to know, not anticipate.

He was sitting on the hood of her car.

But maybe not quite so soon.

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

Lamb looked royally pissed when Logan came back from the bathroom.

"He's out," he told Sacks, not even looking at him. "His lawyer called. Bailed him out of possession."

That perked him up a little. "Lawyer? Lavoie?"

"No, that two-bit McCormack."

Which was music to his ears. Logan tried not to fall asleep on the papers some new deputy gave him to sign. Then they handed him back his effects, which included a cell phone with just enough juice left to call Weevil and tell him to pick him up.

"What'd they charge you with?" he asked.

"Possession."

Weevil whistled. "And you're innocent of all charges? Because I've already had my fill of the drug business."

"Like Sacco and Vanzetti."

Weevil didn't get the reference, but Veronica would have. He was thinking that just at the moment he walked outside and saw her car parked out front. The lady herself was nowhere to be seen. He could no more prevent himself from walking to the car than a duck could stop walking to the water.

What is she doing here? he thought. An actor awaiting his entrance.

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

His knees were pulled up to his chest while he stared at the road. His hair was a mess, but she'd always sort of liked it like that. His face was sallow, and she could feel his exhaustion from here--many times worse than hers.

"They discharged you?" she asked, when she was close enough. She couldn't bear not to speak--their silences were always so destructive.

The look he gave her was positively unreadable, with his face so tired, his eyes so raw.

"This afternoon," he said, finally. "Two glorious hours of freedom that I shall always treasure. Because now the fun starts all over again." He turned to her. "You: 'Logan, I can't believe you're a mastermind drug czar poisoning our classmates with those putrid narcotics.' Me: 'But Veronica, why would I do that? You've known me for years.' You: 'I don't care. Lamb has evidence and really hot abs.'"

Veronica punched him in the shoulder, but she couldn't stop her smile. "Logan, you sound like Mrs. Doubtfire."

"Sorry. My falsetto is a little rusty."

"And, for the record, I didn't come here to accuse you of anything."

She stared down at his hands, which were shaking slightly as they gripped the hood of her car.

"Well, that's a first," he said, his voice perfectly controlled. "Are you feeling okay? I'm always here to be your easy target, you know."

"Logan..." She could feel him looking at her so intensely that she glanced up--and regretted it immediately.

His eyes were bloodshot, burning and the feelings ricocheting through her body with such force were almost too powerful to identify. Oh God, how long had it been? She closed her eyes, but then his hand brushed her knuckles and they flew open again while she gasped.

"I'm sorry," she said. Unshed tears made her throat ache. "I made a mistake, I wasn't thinking. But you need help. You can't do this on your own." You're so sick and I have no idea why.

Logan's expression softened for a moment. He leaned forward until their foreheads touched, until she could smell and sense him so strongly she thought she might just pass out.

"You're right, I can't," he said. His lips brushed hers as he spoke, his fingers caressed the back of her hand.

She wanted it, but she didn't dare take it.

Slowly, Logan drew back and stood up. A car she hadn't even noticed pull up turned off its headlights. Someone opened the door.

"You ready, or should I get a magazine?"
She recognized that voice, but it took her long, agonizing seconds to piece it all together.

"Nope," Logan said, his voice revealing none of the roiling, desperate longing she felt flying along her nerves. "I think I'm done here."

Weevil nodded a greeting, but didn't say anything. He seemed to know she couldn't respond.

"Wait," she said, just as he got in the car. "You said I was right. You said..."

"I can't do this alone. That doesn't mean I'll do it with you."

"But what if I learn something?"

He shrugged. "Send me an email. Put some passive into your aggressive."

He wasn't coming back. His lips had brushed hers and he wasn't coming back. There was something lying in front of her car, something white and crumpled. She recognized it from a foot away: his list. It must have fallen from his pocket while he sat there. Carefully, she picked it up and smoothed it out.

"Should have tried razors," he wrote at the bottom.

He was sick and he had touched her and she had nothing left but tears.

END Chapter Four

Author's Notes: Yes, I suck. I realized I posted the last chapter of this two months ago and I'm very sorry! In my defense, I'm pretty busy, but I know if anyone still reads this sucker it must be annoying. But I gave you a nice, long chapter, right? It was pointed out to me in the last chapter that I seem to have gotten the timing of Logan's age wrong, so...sorry. You'll just have to pretend that he's turning 18 in four months or so. Hopefully, I have avoided continuity errors in this installment. In other news, I love feedback, so gimme! And...

I have started a new blog with my friend called Two Fangirls (take out the space and add .com) where we will gush about all things Veronica Mars and other stuff we like, with quizzes, recaps, rants, etc. Right now we have a very large "So you think you're a fangirl" quiz up, which basically measures how crazy you are (yes, I am very crazy). Check it out ;)

That's it for now. Feel free to bug me if you think I'm taking to long for Chapter Five.