Sometimes You Can't Make It On Your Own

by SilverLining2k6

Silly Duncan stopped taking his meds. Now, one dead Fitzpatrick later, Logan and Veronica need to get him out of town. Too bad they hate each other. AU. Takes place mid 1x3 - Meet John Smith.

27. Ch27 Day 8 Nicholas Key

A/N - Completely unbetad due to deadlines.

---

Day Eight
Veronica
Bluebell, Alabama

The pungent zing of ozone, invades Veronica's nostrils as she exits Rusty's Wrench.

The temperature still hovers around 100 degrees, but the sky has darkened to an ominous shade of gray.

If they hurry, they might be able to beat the storm.

Across the parking lot, Logan closes the door of the Explorer. He meets her halfway, moving with that lazy insolence she would've considered obnoxious two weeks ago.

Today, she would probably use the words: 'sexy as fuck'.

"Ready?" he asks.

"All paid up, and look, Rusty even threw in this nifty tire-pressure gauge key-chain." She twirls the ring around her pointer finger.

"And it's not even your birthday."

Veronica takes his elbow as they walk back to the truck. "Aren't you going to ask what the damage was?"

"Wasn't planning to. Why?"

She sighs. "Note to self. Find a way to break it to the guys – gently of course – that the money tree doesn't actually exist."

Logan gasps and covers his mouth. "Thanks for ruining my childhood. Next you'll try to tell me there's no Tooth Fairy or something."

Veronica grins and shakes her head. Rich boys. "Where'd Duncan disappear to?"

"Last-minute bathroom break." He points at the auto shop. Opening the rear door of the Explorer, he steps back and gestures to the backseat with a flourish. "So check it out."

Inside the vehicle, he's piled sleeping-bags and pillows across the bench seat to create a nest-like space. Soft duffel bags arranged in the foot wells, widen the surface area, granting extra room to stretch out.

The gesture overwhelms her - in a good way. "What's this?"

"Thought you could nap while I drive. Since I know for a fact you only got like five minutes of sleep last..." He trails off and drops his eyes.

You mean because I was too busy throwing myself at you?

"Careful. I could get used to this kind of pampering."

"I'm counting on it," he says softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes twinkle down at her, and she smiles, feeling light and unburdened.

You're going soft, Veronica.

A fat raindrop splats on the tip of Logan's nose, and he glances up, so utterly offended that she can't help but cackle.

She pats him on the arm. "Relax, pretty boy. Your hair is safe under that hat."

Logan opens the driver's door, turning back to say, "It's heartwarming the way you constantly validate my beauty. My self-esteem will never suffer with you around."

Veronica crawls into the stuffy truck pulling the door closed behind her. She kicks off her shoes and pivots around so that her feet are behind the passenger's seat. Plumping up the pillow under her, she nestles into the softness.

"Comfy?" Logan asks.

"Mmmm...like being on a cloud."

He shifts to look at her around the head rest. "So hey, remember last week when we were driving through Arizona?"

"I remember desert. Everywhere. Why?"

"We were talking about what Lily would think about us being on the run."

She remembers the conversation now. "Yeah, we agreed that she would think it was the most fabulous thing ever."

"Right. Remember what you thought her advice to you would be?"

"Um...eat good food, wear amazing clothes, dance hard and get naked."

"Well, I wasn't going to mention the naked part, but last night covered the rest of it."

Yes, let's forget about the almost naked part.

"But I 'called it a night before three men fell in love with me.' "

"Yeah, you missed that one by a hair." He holds his thumb and index finger about a centimeter apart. There's nothing cocky or sarcastic about his smile – it's almost bashful, and if they weren't sitting in a car, she expects he'd be toeing the ground.

Butterflies dance in her belly. Oh, my.

"I had a great time," she says, and where did that soft, girlish voice come from?

"So did I." He looks as if he's going to something else, but the sky opens up in the drizzle changes to a downpour.

Running feet approach from outside. The passenger door flies open, and a bedraggled Duncan dives in.

"Guess the heat wave broke," Logan says, turning the car key.

"Ya think?"

Logan pauses before shifting into Drive. "Last chance. You sure you want to come with? I mean, I'm not trying to get rid of you or anything, but if you'd be happier staying here, I don't want to hold you back."

"Yeah, I'm sure," Duncan says, but he still looks unsure, and his eyes remained locked on the side mirror as they pull away.

Within minutes, they pass a large white wooden sign: LEAVING BLUEBELL. COME BACK SOON.

The AC blasts, and the windshield wipers make a steady schwump schwump schwump.

It's a little bittersweet. Unlike Duncan, she could never settle in a town like Bluebell. She'd be too stifled by its rules and conventions, but their overnight stay had changed everything.

Like she told Logan, she'd had a blast last night. But it wasn't just from meeting interesting people, wearing a pretty dress, and drinking fruity, frosty beverages.

She'd had a great time with HIM - dancing, tickling, escaping the jaws of a not-so-ravenous alligator. It had been almost like old times (except with the sexual tension cranked up to one-hundred). Call it 'Heat Wave Fever' or 'loosening-up' or whatever, but she'll remember their time in Bluebell for a long long time.

The truck's interior is chilly now and she covers up with the edge of a sleeping bag. She folds her pillow in half to get more comfortable and tries to get some sleep.

---

An hour later, she's still awake. With the last remnants of her hangover still clinging, lingering embarrassment over last night's behavior in their room, and this morning's stunning revelation, her mind is too restless for a nap.

There's no question that Logan did the right thing by pulling the brakes - she was in no condition for making decisions - but a part of her still wants to know what she's missing out on. That Echolls Magic that kept Lilly coming back over and over again – and incapacitates the decision-making skills of grown women.

Now that he's left it up to her to set the pace for their...whatever...she'll probably never find out.

That's the smaller part of what's keeping her awake.

Because, although the knowledge was obtained by eavesdropping, all clues point to the possibility that Logan Echolls is in love with her. Present tense. And she has no idea what to do with that information.

It's always bewildered her how wrong she'd been about the strength and depth of her initial connection to him. Even back then – still fresh-faced and optimistic – she hadn't been so impractical as to call it 'love at first sight', but it had felt monumental.

If what he'd said to Dash Dewitt this morning had been his true assessment of the events, she has to reevaluate every perception she's held since meeting him.

Moments of rejection. Moments when his flirting had seemed less teasing-buddy and more authentic. Hey, whadya say we should ditch the Kanes and run away together? Moments she'd thought she was crazy for interpreting the expression in his eyes as love.

And that's leaving out this past year. Dysfunctional doesn't even begin to cover that shit.

She shifts onto her left side and closes her eyes again.

The boys talk quietly in the front seat, and Veronica has been (mostly) successful at tuning them out.

That is, until Logan says, "Have I mentioned that I'm going to be a dad?"

Duncan spits out whatever liquefied vegetable he was in the process of sipping. "WHAT?"

"You're cleaning that up, man," Logan points at the splatter on the glove compartment and hands him a napkin. "I said, I'm going to be a proud papa."

"Who the hell did you knock up?"

"Veronica is eight weeks pregnant – or eight months, depending on what she's wearing."

From her vantage point, the side of Duncan's face and neck darken to a deep red and he seems in danger of swallowing his tongue.

"Shut up, Logan," she says.

He glances up at the rearview and a smile spreads across his face. "Hey. You're still up?"

"This is some kind of joke, right?" Duncan asks, "Eight weeks ago you were..."

"Not even speaking." Veronica confirms.

His rigid posture relaxes. "So this is some stupid cover story thing?"

"Stupid?" Logan plays outraged. "Says the guy who told everybody last night that your father was a plastic surgeon and I'd had a nose job."

Duncan laughs. "You think that's bad? I told AnnaBeth we were driving across the country to attend my ex-girlfriend's wedding."

"What's wrong with that?" Logan asks.

"She asked why we broke up, and I ended up giving her the plot to one of your father's movies."

"Which one?"

"Twisted Cravings."

Veronica's never seen the film – which is supposed to be a psychological thriller with a shocking twist ending – but from the withering glance Logan shoots him, she gathers it's a moronic choice for a cover story.

By necessity, keeping up a cover story requires lying. It's interesting however, that when Duncan lies, he invents a more exciting life than he's actually lived, while Logan's lies revolve around inventing a happy family.

Is this what's missing most from their lives?

Veronica intervenes. "I bought a cushioned pregnancy pad back in Bluebell as a disguise, and Logan is having WAY too much fun with the idea."

"Why shouldn't I? I am the daddy, after all. Since we're engaged and everything."

She rolls her eyes. "Has there ever been a situation that you didn't take too far, Logan?"

He catches her eyes in the mirror, and she knows he's thinking about last night. She looks away.

"So that's why I saw you rubbing Veronica's belly across the square when I was saying goodbye to AnnaBeth?"

Logan laughs. "I was talking to my imaginary spawn. It's not every day that you can knock somebody up without suffering any consequences."

"The idea of you reproducing is terrifying," Duncan says.

"I'd be a great dad." Logan pouts. "The perfect combination of fun and strict."

A wave of sadness overtakes over Veronica.

---

Flashback - August, 2003
Veronica
Kane Estate

"Okay Veronica, that comes to..." Lilly's finger runs down the magazine page and her lips move as she does the math in her head. "Ten points."

She circles a paragraph with her red pen and reads the results. "Six to eleven points: Shy Little Sister. Time to tune into this reality: Guys aren't telepathic. If you don't give him some love hints, you may never connect. You don't have to throw yourself at someone, but you can send surefire hints that you dig him. It sounds simple, but it works. Gather your confidence, crack a smile, and make eye-contact."

Veronica, stretched out across the bottom of Lilly's bed, glances up from a riveting magazine feature on Josh Hartnett's 'ideal dream date', and rolls her eyes. "Well then I guess it's a good thing that I already have a boyfriend."

Lilly flicks her hand, brushing off Veronica's response. "I wish I knew where I left that Teen Vogue from the other month. It had a 'Have You Outgrown Your Boyfriend' quiz I meant to show you. Hey, how long until I need to drive you home?"

Veronica lays her magazine aside, and sits up, checking the time on her cell. "Another hour or so."

She sets the phone down on Lilly's nightstand next to a thick red leather book with a gold satin ribbon sticking out.

"Hey, you're using it?" She runs her fingers over the cover, tracing the deeply embossed Celtic heart just like she had the day she found it in a high-end book-store.

"Of course I am. I would love it regardless, but because it's from you, I cherish it." Lilly tosses her magazine on the floor with a flick of the wrist. "And anyway, didn't you say, 'Every famous author needs a good journal'?"

Veronica smiles her appreciation. "I think I recall saying that. So how is the memoir coming?" She pronounces it like Lilly does: mem-wah.

"It's a real page-turner, Veronica Mars," Lilly says. "It'll turn Neptune on its head. Want an advanced peek?"

"That's okay. I'll wait until it's topping the Bestseller lists."

"Probably a wise choice," Lilly says, standing and brushing cookie crumbs from her fuchsia skirt. "Wouldn't want to scandalize you or anything."

Lilly disappears into the attached bathroom, and Veronica returns to learning what it takes to catch Josh's Harnett's attention - "project confidence and be yourself", for the record.

Guess you're out of luck if those qualities happen to contradict each other.

From the bathroom comes a shouted, "YES!"

Veronica lifts her head. "Um...are you having a religious experience in there?"

"Got my period," Lilly calls back.

"Okay? Do you always celebrate five days of torture?"

"Only this month."

"Why would you...Ohhhh." Veronica's stomach drops. "Lilly...?"

"Can we talk about it when I come out?"

"Yeah. That would probably be smart," she says. She stares numbly at a Shane West poster on the wall - the one Lilly refuses to admit looks just like Duncan because..."Gross Veronica, that's just creepy."

The toilet flushes. A faucet turns on. Turns off again. The door opens and a contrite-looking Lilly emerges. "Alright. Let's hear it."

She sighs. "What do you want me to say?"

"Whatever you're thinking. That I should have been more careful. That I'm only sixteen..."

Veronica tosses the magazine aside, stands, and wraps Lilly into her arms. "All I care about is that you're okay."

"Well, I am now," Lilly says in a hiccupy laugh. "False alarm, I guess." She pulls away, turning to her dressing table and taking a seat on the tufted bench. She plucks a ponytail holder from a silver Eiffel Tower shaped ring-holder.

"So that's why you've seemed so 'off' the past few weeks?"

Lilly answers with a terse nod. "Three weeks. I tried not to think about it too much, but..." She shrugs.

She doesn't seem okay. At all.

Veronica searches for words as Lilly wrangles her hair back into a high ponytail with punishing strokes of her hairbrush.

"Does Logan..."

Lilly's laugh is bitter. "I didn't want him to know."

"You thought he'd be an ass about it?"

Lilly meets her eyes in the mirror. "Well, he would've accused me of cheating, for one thing."

Veronica's features telegraph her outrage and Lilly laughs. "He's careful. He inspects his condoms before and after."

"More information than I ever wanted or needed, Lil."

"Anyway, we had that three-day breakup in June, so..."

So she'd been afraid it wasn't Logan's, and dealing with it all by herself for weeks.

"Scoot over," Veronica hip-checks her to make room on the bench. She wraps an arm around Lilly and squeezes.

"Gawd, can you even imagine Logan as a father?" Lilly asks.

"Strangely enough, I can," Veronica says.

"That's what I mean. He wouldn't even care if it was his. He'd use it handcuff me to him forever."

Veronica rests her chin on Lilly's shoulder, remaining quiet so she can get it all out.

"I don't even like kids. They're loud and they stink, and my social life would be ruined. You know?" She stares down at her fingernails, but the mirror reflects wet eyelashes.

"I know." Entwining their fingers together, Veronica visualizes sending strength to Lilly. "I love you no matter what. You know that, right?"

Lilly laughs again - that ugly, hollow laugh. "You shouldn't, Veronica. You wouldn't if you knew who I really am."

"I know exactly who you are."

Lilly stares at her lap. "I've done things..." she clutches her forehead for a moment before running her hand over her head. "I've done things that repulse even me. Things that would make you never speak to me again."

Veronica turns Lilly's chin, forcing her to meet her gaze. "Nothing you could do would make me never speak to you again."

Lilly lets out a hiccuping sob. "Sometimes...when I'm being pulled in every direction, and my parents are coming down on me, I need to...prove...that I can exert some kind of influence on my world. Or control. You know?"

"I think that's a universal need. Nothing to be ashamed of."

Lilly clutches her arm. "Sometimes...I need to prove that I can wrap people around my finger. People that aren't Logan."

"Not news to me, Lils."

"But the people..." Lilly's face is blotched and she looks like she needs to vomit. "Bad people."

Veronica pulls Lilly's head down on her shoulder and strokes her hair. "Shhhh. I'm here for you."

The sniffles eventually taper off and then stop. Lilly straightens up, laughs at her reflection. "Look at me, sniveling." She opens a vacu-sealed package of cleansing wipes and goes to work fixing her face.

Veronica gives up on napping and grabs a Skist from the mini-fridge. Logan meets her eyes in the mirror. "You okay?"

"Yeah, but you look exhausted. Why don't I take a turn driving?"

---

Day Eight
Logan
Interstate I75 - Florida

The utter blueness of water and sky gradually gives way to the rich greens of grass and forest as they leave the Gulf of Mexico behind and move into mainland Florida.

Logan experiences a pang of sadness when they finally exit Interstate 10 for Interstate 75. After 2600 miles on the same road, it feels a bit like an old friend.

Between himself and Veronica, they'd shaved almost two hours off their ten hour trip by the time they reached the halfway point, but Duncan is driving now, and his middle name is not 'Speedy'.

Logan's eyes stray to the speedometer for the hundredth time, and he calculates their chances of making the last ferry out to Nicholas Key.

If he wasn't so exhausted, he'd take another turn behind the wheel, but of the three of them, Duncan's the only one who got any sleep last night.

He tries to be discreet as glances over his shoulder, but he can feel his features softening like a lovesick idiot. Veronica is stretched out sideways across the length of seat playing a handheld video game. The wig is gone, and her short hair waves softly around her face. An iPod rests on her stomach, but he can't see what she's listening to from this angle.

Her tongue sneaks out of the side of her mouth - her "tell" when she's concentrating hard on beating an opponent - and it's never failed to captivate him.

She's successful this time, because her posture relaxes and she exhales a 'whew'. Her eyes lift to meet Logan's, and his cheeks warm at being caught adoring her.

"Having fun?" he asks.

She pulls out one of the ear buds, and the right side of her mouth lifts in the universal expression for 'meh'. "As much fun as you can have trapped in a car all day."

"Well then, you clearly haven't-" He trails off.

Maybe I should lay off the sex talk with DK in the car.

And then there's the fact that I told her I would lay off.

Duncan hasn't spoken much in the last couple hours. He stares straight ahead, lost in his own thoughts and only sparing a dark glance now and then when Logan urges him to drive faster.

He's miserable, and I must be the biggest dick ever for being happy he came along.

A true friend would have encouraged him to stay where he clearly belonged. In Wholesomeville, USA, with AnnaBarbera, or whatever her name was.

Had Duncan fallen in love overnight? He certainly believes in love at first sight. They'd established that back when they were twelve, and Duncan has never been a paradigm-shifting kind of guy.

This feels different, though. Duncan in love is red cheeks, goofy smiles and staring dreamily into space. In love with Veronica, at least. Today's introspection - if Logan had to define it - reads more like resolve with a bit of sadness thrown in. He's made his decision and is trying not to second-guess himself.

Aside from the zings and pops coming from Veronica's game, the vehicle is completely, oppressively, silent.

Logan stabs the power button for the radio, pressing scan repeatedly until he finds a channel playing Saliva's "Always". Like the masochist that he is, he leaves it on; allows it to take him back.

2002...this song on repeat...alone in bed...crying like a little bitch...Lilly...some other guy's cheap cologne on her neck...the yelling...the pleading...breaking up...making up...repeating the cycle.

He can't even really blame Lilly.

If this past year's conflict with Veronica has taught him anything, it's that HE'S the one who needs a little hate in his love. A little love in his hate.

I'm the common denominator.

They both would have been better of never meeting him at all. And if he wants to make things work with Veronica - hell, to even get past the starting gate - he needs to cut that shit out.

The song ends and the station goes to commercial.

[The iconic theme for "Entertainment Tonight" plays.]

[Mary Hart] Tune in to ET tonight to learn which middle-aged action star has been romantically linked to beloved ingénue, Lisa Loper!

[Soundbyte - male voice in a gossipy tone] I couldn't believe my eyes when I caught them together!

Please not dad! Anybody but my dad.

[Mary Hart] And from Neptune, California. We've speculated about the Mars and Kane feud, but new information shows that its origins may be over twenty years in the making.

[Soundbyte - middle aged woman with a squeaky voice] Oh yes. Lianne Mars - she was Reynolds then - and Jake Kane were the golden couple of our class. King and Queen of the prom. Cinderella and her prince. Everyone was sure they'd be married five minutes after graduation. When he married Celeste Conafen instead, we were shocked.

[Mary Hart] These stories and more on tonight's ET.

In the backseat, Veronica smashes buttons, laser-focused on her video game.

Earbuds. She didn't hear anything.

Duncan stares out the window, oblivious.

Seriously? Did he completely tune out that commercial?

Duncan's dad and Veronica's mom, huh?

Up until he'd seen the photographic proof of Jake Kane's extracurricular activities at the Camelot Motel, Logan had thought he was the last faithful husband in Neptune. Now, in the space of a week, he's learned of two additional women he's been with.

Unless...?

Oh shit.

That would explain Veronica's reticence to name the other woman at the motel, and Duncan's outright hostility at being questioned about it.

My God. It's like a soap opera!

And he would know.

Logan started watching "Days of Our Lives" as a young child when his mother was cast as the love-starved and impetuous Billie Holiday Reed (and on more than one occasion he's pondered how his personality more closely resembles Lynn's character than Lynn herself). Billie left Salem in heartbreak years ago, but Logan's addiction to the show's melodrama and cheesy romances remains his secret shame to this day.

On Days, when a long ago affair between two characters is revealed, it's only a matter of weeks before a secret love-child arrives on the scene.

In real life, Lianne Mars couldn't possibly hide having an extra child.

But she could pass one off...

He glances at Duncan and then back at Veronica. Sure, they both have blue eyes, but...no.

Don't be ridiculous, Logan. Life is not a soap opera.

They look nothing alike. And their parents would never let them date if there was even the smallest possibility.

He tries to let it go, but little details keep niggling at the back of his brain.

Just days ago - after listening to Jake's press conference - hadn't he been left with the impression that the elder Kanes were behind Duncan's breakup with Veronica? Hadn't Duncan seemed bereft and miserable after the breakup he himself had initiated? Hadn't he caught Duncan with his hands around his father's throat screaming Veronica's name?

Oh. My. God!

"Pull over the car."

Duncan visibly startles at the sudden noise. "Dude we're on the freeway."

"Pull. Over."

"But..."

"Pull the fuck over NOW."

Duncan flinches, but doesn't argue further. "I just saw a sign for a rest stop coming up in half a mile."

"Fine."

The sounds from Veronica's video game halt abruptly and her fingers curl around the back of his seat. "Logan, what's going on?" she asks.

His throat is thick and he can barely bring himself to look at her as he gestures for her to hold on. If he's wrong, they can all laugh about this later, and he'll happily endure months of ridicule for his closet soap opera habit.

But if he's right, this is going to destroy her.

She would want to know the truth no matter what. Isn't that what she lives for?

The tick-tick-tick of the right turn signal seems amplified as they approach the pull-off.

Of course, Logan still has his own secret to confess - that he wasn't actually in Tijuana when Lilly was murdered - but that can wait for now. He'll tell her in the next couple days. When things calm down .

Duncan parks in the dead center of the rest stop. Straight ahead, a wide sidewalk leads back about 100 feet to the squat brick building housing the restrooms. At the far end, near the entrance back on to the highway, an eighteen wheeler is parked, the driver probably sneaking a nap before getting back on the road. Midway down, a harried-looking mother paces, yelling into her cell phone, while her three children eat sandwiches at a nearby picnic table.

"You gotta pee, man? You should have gone in Pennsicola." Duncan says.

Logan doesn't answer. The moment the vehicle is shifted into park, he jumps out, pulling open the rear door and holding out a hand for Veronica.

"What's going on, Logan?"

He speaks softly. "I need you to come out here. This is not something we should talk about in the car."

"You're scaring me," she says, but accepts his hand and allows him to help her out.

Duncan has circled around to their side and stands with his arms crossed. One heel rocks back and forth on the edge of the curb. "Dude, what's going on?"

Now that they're here, Logan's not sure he should go through with this. He hesitates, eyes tracking the angry mother as she takes a baby wipe to each child's face. Roughly, as if to punish.

Bitch.

"Logan?" Veronica's hand slides up his back.

He exhales and turns to Duncan. "What's going on, is that we're going to talk about why you broke up with Veronica last year."

"WHAT?" Duncan steps back, nearly tripping on the curb. "No. We talked that night you went out with Carolee, and I told her it's not something I'll ever be comfortable discussing."

Way to remind her what a stupid ass I was the day we kissed.

Logan's eyes narrow into an 'I-mean-business' stare. "You tell her or I will."

Duncan posture is like an animal backed into a corner. "I don't know what it is you think you know, but..."

Veronica's fingers tighten on the back of Logan's shirt, but her eyes focus on Duncan, hard and glittering.

She wants answers. This is the right decision.

Logan sighs. You had your chance. "What I think I know - what I suspect - is that your father and Lianne Mars have been fucking around for the better part of twenty years."

Veronica gasps, and Duncan takes another step back, looking as if he's about to puke.

"Off and on," he whispers.

Fuck! I wanted to be wrong.

Duncan doesn't elaborate, so Logan presses on. "Did your parents force you to break up with Veronica?"

Duncan silently nods.

You're going to make me drag this out? "Did your parents make you break up with Veronica because she's your sister?"

Duncan turns away. He leans both forearms on the hood of the truck and bows his head as if praying. "It's a possibility," he answers so quietly Logan almost misses it.

"But..." All the color has drained from Veronica's face and she seems to be struggling to get her words out."...we dated for a year. And we..." She dry heaves.

Fuck.

She stumbles to the grass and falls to her knees.

Oh God, why did I do this to her?

Logan goes to her, crouching down and smoothing her hair back from her face. He rubs circles on her back while she throws up her lunch.

He turns his face away, offering her a small measure of privacy.

Down the way, the young mother drags a crying toddler to her car, taking no care to be gentle. Five-to-one odds the kid ends up with a dislocated shoulder within the next year.

He itches to interfere, but what would be the point? The hag would only take it out on her kids later. He's helpless to do anything. Helpless to stop parents from hurting their children. Helpless to make things better for Veronica as she empties her stomach on the grass.

When she can't puke any more, he retrieves her duffel from the truck and steers her to the restroom, ignoring the "Ladies" sign and following her right in.

It's a large bathroom with pale gray floor-to-ceiling tiles and stainless steel stall doors. Logan sits on a slatted wooden bench, while Veronica stares at herself in the mirror - searching her face for signs of Duncan, or Jake, or maybe Keith Mars. He doesn't know how to help her, so he remains silent.

Finally, Veronica shakes her head, as if she's reached her self-imposed time limit for wallowing, and a look of determination comes over her face. She peels off her shirt, tossing it to Logan who stuffs it in an empty plastic bag and hands her a fresh heather gray tee shirt. While she dresses, he lays out her toothbrush, toothpaste, and a plastic wrapped cup he'd taken from one of the motels. He snatches a handful of paper towels from the dispenser, wets them down, and gently wrings out the excess water before handing them to Veronica to use as a makeshift washcloth.

She surveys his work with a raised eyebrow and a faint smirk. "Logan Echolls, the caretaker. Who would've guessed?"

He drops his eyes to the floor. "It's the least I can do, considering I caused this."

"No!" she says sharply. "Duncan caused this. Actually, my mom did. And...him."

He counts ceramic tiles while she brushes her teeth, making it to 349 before she speaks again. "How did you figure it out?"

He glances up to the mirror where her reflection scrubs away her eye makeup. "Radio commercial for Entertainment Tonight. Some woman was talking about Lianne and Jake - Prom King and Queen and voted most likely to be wedded to each other."

"Prom Queen?" Veronica screws up her nose. "Gross!"

An uneasy snicker escapes him, "So being crowned prom queen is not at the top of your list of goals?"

"I think I'm more likely to taser the prom queen," she says. "Go on."

"Right. I guess when I combined that information with the fact that both you and Duncan refused to talk about Jake's...visitor at the Camelot, my suspicion that the Kanes forced the breakup, and Duncan's attitude after the breakup, it all kind of clicked into place."

"We'll make a P.I. out of you yet, kid," she says in a Bogart accent, tossing the wet paper towels in the trash and reaching into her bag.

Sure. If you ever need to run your theories through soap opera logic, I'm your man.

She brushes out her hair, makes a deep side part, and pulls each side back into a low pigtail at her neck.

When she turns around, she's twelve-year-old Veronica again, and Logan's heart aches. He's on his feet before he can think, pulling her into his arms and crushing her to his chest.

"Logan...?"

"I'm so sorry," he whispers into her hair. "I should have left it alone. I shouldn't have forced the issue."

She hesitates for a moment, and then her arms come around him squeezing just as tightly. They remain frozen for nearly a minute, before Veronica steps back swiping away a stray tear with a nervous laugh.

A flash of color catches Logan's attention.

"What's this?" He reaches for her wrist and examines the new rubber bracelet - candy pink and smooth under his thumb. No embossed lettering. "I've never seen a plain one before."

She glances away, almost shyly. "I found it at that gas station in Mobile. The color..." she pauses and lets out a self-deprecating laugh. "I guess the color reminds me of who I used to be. Before Lilly died. I thought it could be like a bridge to my past. To the girl who was still able to trust people."

Guilt burns like acid in his gut. "I'm the one who ruined that for you."

Veronica's eyes narrow and her voice cuts like shards of broken glass. "Right. It was all you. Guess that lets Duncan off the hook. And my mom. Jake Kane and Celeste. Don Lamb and Abel-fucking-Koontz. The other 09ers at school and every adult who ignored what was happening. Because only the mighty Logan Echolls gets to take credit for ruining me."

Was it even a week ago when she'd accused him of being the force that turned her into who she is today? "Veronica..."

"I'm trying, Logan. I'm trying to learn to trust again." She moves closer so that he's forced to look into her eyes - still luminous and wet. "I want to be able to trust you."

His heart speeds up when he intuits her meaning, and all he can do is pull her close again and breathe her in. Marshmallows and coconut and commercial hand soap. He kisses the top of her head and whispers, "I'll be worthy. From now on. I promise."

Veronica pulls away and gives him a small hopeful smile. "I believe you."

He swallows around the golf ball sized lump in his throat and smiles back. "Um...there's one more thing. Before we go back out there."

"One more thing?"

"Yeah, since we're working on trust, I have one more confession to make."

Veronica squeezes her eyes closed for a moment moving her lips as if saying a silent prayer and then levels her gaze upon Logan. "Is it something you did to me?"

"No. Not at all."

"On a scale of one to ten, how likely is it to destroy my world?"

"Um...one? Two maybe, since you hate lies. It's a big one."

Veronica exhales in relief. "In that case, it can wait. Haven't we dealt with enough drama today?"

"Yeah." It comes out like a giggle. A manic fucking giggle.

She squeezes his hand, grabs her bags from the counter, and exits the restroom.

In the lobby, she stops to inspect the vending machines, finally sighing. "I'm just not hungry. At all."

"And hell has officially frozen over."

She laughs and elbows him in the ribs. It's a forced laugh, but she's trying.

They push open the double doors and step squinting out into the sunlight. In the parking lot, Duncan slouches against the front bumper of the truck waiting for them. The angry mother is gone, but a Dodge SUV is now parked near their Explorer.

To the right, a group of guys in their late teens/early twenties lounge on a nearby picnic table, smoking weed. Between the six of them, Logan counts three buzz-cuts, two pairs of camouflage shorts, four black concert tees, and one chin beard.

One of them - a tall guy in jean shorts and a wife beater stands with one foot on the bench seat. With his curly white-blond hair, he resembles a poodle overdue for a trip to the groomers. He eyes Veronica up and down lasciviously, and Logan slides an arm around her.

He rubs her back gently as they walk back to the truck, says in a lowered voice, "You know, blood doesn't really matter. He's still your dad no matter what."

"I know," She leans into him. "Keith Mars is my father." She's silent for a second, and then, "What is he...?"

Logan glances up to see Duncan barreling towards them with fast, aggressive strides.

"What the fuck?"

"Back. The. Hell. Away." Duncan demands and the steel in his voice sends chills down Logan's spine.

Three extra shadows merge with theirs and Logan looks over his shoulder to see the men from the picnic table closing in around them.

"Veronica Mars," The Poodle calls out. "Stay and talk for a while."

Adrenaline floods Logan's body and he spins around, maneuvering Veronica behind him. "Walk away, guys."

Experience tells him to get right up in the guy's face; show him how few fucks he has to give. Coming across as crazy isn't a big stretch of his acting abilities, and It's worked in the past to disarm situations like this.

Veronica's here though, and he won't risk leaving her undefended. He hangs back, assessing the situation.

"Make us walk away," The Poodle says. He seems to be the leader of this group.

Logan looks him over, automatically cataloging dozens of ways to eviscerate the dude, from the threadbare dirty wife-beater visible through his unbuttoned shirt, to his albino Orphan Annie hair, to the amateur-looking scorpion tattoo that barely covers the swirly letters of the name 'Carly'.

By sheer force of will, he doesn't escalate.

Sure, he can take this guy - he has several inches on him and a lifetime of experience shutting out pain. But this isn't Weevil and the PCHers, and the other five guys won't just stand around watching.

Two of the guys - Chin Beard and the Kid Rock impersonator - are average-sized. A third guy, dressed in a Nine Inch Nails tee shirt, barely clears 5"5', but looks twice as mean as the others. Have to watch out for those short guys with something to prove. The final guy is immense. At least four inches taller than Logan, with a wallet-on-a-chain tucked into his front pocket and dull blue eyes.

Better take him out first. Everyone else will be easier.

This is his fault. If he hadn't been so insistent, they would've driven right past the rest stop. But he wanted be a hero. To gift Veronica with what she values so much - knowledge. Now look where they are.

"V, go get in the truck and lock the doors," he says through gritted teeth.

"Like hell I will!"

Of course she won't. She probably thinks a stun gun will be enough to get them out of this.

"She's not going anywhere," The Poodle says. He pulls a switchblade and gestures for his friends to surround them. "I know who you are, and if there's a reward for you, we're getting all of it."

"That's not going to happen." Logan's pulse hammers in his throat. He shuffles backwards, trying to prevent the goons from getting behind them while still keeping Veronica shielded.

Shockingly, Duncan steps between him and the other men.

What the fuck are you doing, Donut?

Duncan's hand slips behind his back and raises the hem of his shirt revealing the grip of Danny Boyd's gun.

Oh...

Cold fingers of dread crawl down Logan's spine and he should probably make a grab for the gun before DK fucks everything up.

Too late. Duncan draws the pistol and aims two-handed at the ringleader.

The Poodle's hands lift. "Hey. Take it easy, Buddy. Nobody needs to get hurt here."

Duncan's hands shake and his voice trembles. "Back away."

The Poodle steps back, but the Walking Napoleon Complex attempts to move in from their left.

Logan's elbow takes him in the nose with a sickening crunch, and he goes down, hands covering his bloody face.

From behind, the crackle of a taser, a shriek, and then Chin Beard joins his tiny friend on the ground.

Kid Rock and the Linebacker wisely stay where they are.

He turns to see if Veronica's okay, and she looks up at him with intense, predatory eyes reminiscent of that day of the car chase when he'd thought she was about to maul him.

Right. Adrenaline junkie. One of these days I'm going to...

He slides an arm around her, gives her a momentary squeeze, and releases.

Duncan blows out a series of short breaths and his gaze darts back and forth between their adversaries. If they don't do something about him, this could get even uglier.

Veronica notices and touches his arm. "Hey," she speaks softly and calmly. "Why don't you let Nolan hold the gun? He's done this before."

"Yeah. Okay." Duncan visibly relaxes as Logan takes the weapon away. "Good idea."

That threat neutralized, Veronica takes control of the situation. "You two. Go stand by your friends."

Logan turns the gun on the two injured parties, and they get up and join the others.

"I think you broke my nose, man," Napoleon whines.

"Good."

"You. Steve Sanders," Veronica points at The Poodle. "Toss the knife."

Who the hell is Steve Sanders?

The knife hits the grass with a muffled thunk.

"Now I want all of you to empty your pockets onto the ground."

"Suck my dick, bitch," Napoleon says, gesturing between his legs.

Logan cocks the safety and the little shithead drops a wallet, a phone, and a set of keys onto the ground at his feet.

Four more wallets, one money clip, two sunglasses, three sets of keys, a utility knife, and five cell phones accumulate in front of the group.

"All of the pockets," Veronica says, hands on her hips.

Three joints and a long strip of condoms join the pile, courtesy of Kid Rock.

Logan snickers. "Feeling lucky, man?"

The guy shrugs. "Always, dude."

"Okay, I need all of you to take three steps backward."

Napoleon looks like he wants to argue, but a glance at Logan changes his mind. He follows instructions like the others.

"You." She points to The Poodle. "Lose the shirt."

"Why?" He leers, undoing the bottom two buttons on his reddish short-sleeved shirt. "You wanna see-"

"Don't finish that sentence," she says. "You're repulsive."

"Your loss, bitch," he slides the shirt off his shoulders and drops it in the pile, revealing several holes in his wife-beater in addition to the dirt spots.

"Honey? Can I pistol whip him?" Logan asks.

Veronica grins. "Not unless he makes a move."

She touches Duncan on the arm and hands him a napkin from her bag. "Gather up the phones and keys for me. Wrap them up in that shirt and tie it into a bundle."

"What about the money and wallets?"

"No. We're keeping them from following us, not robbing them," she says.

"Couldn't we just take out the sim cards? Or pull the batteries?" Logan asks under his breath, while Duncan collects the loot.

"You can call 911 without a sim card, and not all carriers use them, anyway." Veronica whispers. "As for the batteries, they can't be removed in at least two of those phones. We're better off taking them."

"You learn something new every day," Logan says.

He can't lie. Her knowledge and skill at being shifty is a turn on.

Duncan returns with the makeshift parcel, handing it to Veronica.

She recoils for a moment - the scent of body odor and heavy cologne emanates putridly from the shirt - and squeezes Logan's shoulder. "Can you hold the gun on them until we're safely in the truck."

"With pleasure."

"Hey," Napoleon Complex yells, as Veronica starts walking away. "You can't take our phones and our keys. We'll be stranded here."

She turns back. "I suggest you start walking." She points towards the rest stop's exit. "That way. As long as you don't do anything stupid, you'll find your things down the road." She wiggles the bundle. "Just follow your nose."

They don't speak until they're a almost two miles away from the rest stop, at which point Veronica instructs Duncan to pull onto the freeway's shoulder. Logan tosses the bundle onto the grass and they pull away again.

---

Day Eight
Duncan
Interstate I75 - Florida

The needle creeps up to eighty-five and Duncan's insides feel like they're vibrating. He's never driven this fast before. It's never been necessary.

Their head start doesn't mean anything if those assholes call the police.

Logan insists that they won't. They're high, in possession of drugs, and were committing a crime at knife point.

Veronica's less convinced. They only have to stash the weapon, the joints, and commit to a believable story.

What it comes down to is time. Will they keep walking until they locate their phones? Or will they hang around the rest stop and borrow a phone from the first motorist to arrive?

Duncan had been leaning against the front of the Explorer - mentally flagellating himself for not coming clean when he still had a chance - when the other vehicle arrived, taking the spot to their left.

Six guys had spilled out of the four doors, laughing and bickering and transferring beer into empty Big Gulp cups.

The short one saw Duncan first. Ready for a fight and already preparing his 'what-are-you-looking-at?' posture, he'd paused before speaking, mean little eyes widening. Seeing too much. He'd caught up to his blond friend, whispering, and they'd both turned back to stare.

Duncan hadn't a doubt that they recognized him. Veronica and Logan would be even more recognizable when they returned from the bathroom. He had to do something.

As the group of guys walked away, he'd moved to the back of the vehicle and popped the trunk. The gun was in the same place where he'd stumbled across it yesterday - tucked into the middle bath towel in a stack of five. He'd shoved it into the back of his jeans and returned to the front of the vehicle, prepared to protect his friends before they could be ambushed.

He doesn't want to imagine where they'd be right now if he hadn't been ready.

It takes fifteen minutes for his hands to stop shaking. Thirty, before he can exhale. Nobody is coming after them.

The atmospheric shift in the vehicle occurs gradually - from the heart-racing adrenaline of their escape to this suffocating gloom.

We're all thinking about it now.

Veronica is my sister, and our parents allowed us to date for almost a year before stepping in.

Each sniffle from the back seat is a hot poker to his heart.

Everything he'd done had been to avoid ever having to put her through this. To protect her from ever having to live with this knowledge.

Logan sits in the passenger seat. Shell-shocked.

Don't know what he has to be so screwed up about. He's the one who forced this out into the open.

Why didn't I stay in Bluebell?

He'd spent most of last night considering the idea, still undecided when he fell asleep. At some point during wee hours of the morning, he'd been visited in his dream by his sister.

---

"Wake up!"

"Lilly?"

She was costumed in a green Scarlett O'Hara hoop skirt as wide as the dresser, and her hair was parted in the center with the sides rolled up and pinned on top of her head. A hint of red seeped through on the left side.

He rubbed his eyes and sat up in bed, while Lilly paused to admire herself in the mirror, pushing her fluttery sleeves off her shoulders and adjusting her neckline to display maximum cleavage.

"Well, I do declayah, Daddy's gonna need a stick to beat off all of my gentleman callahs," she drawled. "Don't you think Mama would just have the vapahs if I convinced them to duel over me at dawn?"

He rolled his eyes. "You do realize people don't talk like that in real life, right?"

"Fiddle dee dee." Lilly waved him off and flounced onto the bed between himself and AnnaBeth. She tossed both legs straight up in the air like an old pinup girl, and tilted her right calf to better appreciate her ruffled knee-length underwear. "Oh yeah. I totally could've worked this look."

"Why are you here?"

She didn't answer, instead dropping her legs and rotating her head to the right. "Who's the hottie?"

"Her name is AnnaBeth, and it's not what you think."

"Trust me, Donut, I know you too well to think anything of the sort. Nice rack, though. You think she likes girls?"

He groaned. "Come on, Lil. I like this girl."

"Of course you do. Unfortunately, she's all wrong for you."

"What's wrong with her?" Already teetering on the edge of the mattress, Duncan gave up and moved to the bottom of the bed, careful not to pin down his sister's dress.

"Nothing at all," Lilly brushed a thick strand of hair out of AnnaBeth's face. "She's sweet, classy, just the right amount of sass, and a hidden core of steel. A perfectly acceptable Veronica-imitation."

"She's nothing like Veronica."

"Oh, you're right. She's a redhead and speaks with a drawl. Totally different." She rolled her eyes. "Get it through your head. Veronica was never right for you, and neither are her clones. And don't think I don't know about your crush on Meg Manning."

"So, what? I should just give up completely? Join a monastery?"

"Don't be ridiculous - the color brown totally washes you out." She lifts a glass jar filled with botanical stuff, sniffs through the holes in the lid, scrunches up her nose, and returns it to the nightstand. "That Lemon girl could have been a perfect match. Of course, if I were alive, I would've hated her guts. But I could have come around. Grudgingly."

Unsurprisingly, she'd named the scariest of the Belles. "Why Lemon? I barely even spoke with her."

"For many reasons, the most personally satisfying being the idea of our mother trying to scare her off. Lemon might be the one woman formidable enough to force Celeste to retreat."

Duncan laughed. "While the idea holds a certain appeal, Lemon is already in a long-term relationship."

Lilly pushed herself up, straightened her wide skirt, and returned to the mirror. She plucked a fancy hat from thin air, and placed it on her head. "Relax, I wasn't seriously suggesting you pursue Lemon. Just giving you an idea of the kind of girl I would pick for you. You're leaving Bluebell, anyway, so it doesn't matter."

"Am I?" he asked.

She adjusted the hat to the left, to the right, and finally to the back. Satisfied, she tied the green satin sash under her chin and turned around, suddenly serious.

"This is it, Duncan. Two choices. Stay in Bluebell, and remain the same naïve, oblivious, 'nice guy' you've always been. Date the ingénue, delude yourself that this is enough. That this satisfies you and can meet your needs for the rest of your life."

"Or?"

"Leave with Logan and Veronica tomorrow. Face the unknown and become something new. Someone greater. This experience happened for a reason, Donut. Make it count."

---

He'd woken with his decision already made and AnnaBeth held snugly in his arms.

She'd drifted off to sleep during his third sketch. Not wanting to disturb her, he'd covered her up and gotten comfortable on top of the covers. But at some point during the night, she'd closed the gap without waking him.

Before he could extricate himself, she'd opened her eyes and smiled. "Morning"

"Morning," he'd mumbled. "I'm so sorry. I have no idea how we ended up like this."

"It's okay, silly. Nothing to apologize for. You were a perfect gentleman."

That's me. Always the gentleman.

It explains Logan and Veronica. Both times he'd woken to find them cuddling had been after they'd gone to bed angry, so they're probably just reaching out in their sleep. It's nothing to worry about. Although that sleeping arrangement will probably change once we're on Mr. Echolls' yacht. With two staterooms, two guesses who's going to end up on the couch.

He'd shared his B&B breakfast with AnnaBeth, and then - not quite ready yet to say goodbye - they'd gone for coffee at Cuppa Joe's. They'd tried to keep the mood light and airy, but his chest had ached when he kissed her goodbye.

He still thinks she might be the perfect girl for him. He has her email address and promised to keep in touch. Maybe someday, once his new identity has been established and his face is no longer in the headlines, he might find a way to make it work with her.

Logan shifts sideways in the passenger's seat to check on Veronica in the back. "She's sleeping." he whispers.

"Not surprising. I heard you guys all last night running around and shrieking."

"Tickle fight," Logan says distractedly. "And she started it."

"AnnaBeth thought it was cute."

This catches Logan's attention. "AnnaBeth spent the night in your room?"

"It wasn't like that."

"How was it?"

"I was sketching her." He mimes holding a pencil with his right hand.

Logan face-palms. "You had a beautiful woman in your hotel room, and all you did was sketch her?"

"You had a beautiful woman in your room and all you did was tickle her."

Why the hell did I say that?

Logan's mouth falls open, his bottom lip shifts to begin forming words, hesitates, and then morphs into one of his 'I-can't-believe-those-words-just-came-out-of-your-mouth' smiles.

"Let me get this straight. Are you suggesting I should be doing more than tickling with Veronica?"

"No! God, no. I was just being defensive about Annabeth and spoke too quickly."

"I see." Logan draws out the word, and something in his eyes niggles at Duncan's consciousness.

Disappointment? He wasn't hoping I would encourage him to molest my...ex-girlfriend/true love/sister...was he?

Stop it, Duncan. He's your best friend. You need to stop doubting him all the time.

Silence rolls in again.

Between the disaster at the rest stop and her closed-off demeanor, he hasn't had an opportunity to apologize to Veronica, yet. Somehow, 'I'm sorry' doesn't seem like nearly enough.

Logan's presence isn't helping, he can't seem to decide from day-to-day whether he's Veronica's chief protector or antagonistic nemesis. One minute they're fighting, the next they're a united front against the world. Including me.

I'll catch her alone tomorrow to properly express my regrets. She has to know my intentions were honorable.

He glances to his right to find Logan scowling at him again.

"If you have something to say, go ahead and say it."

"Dude, you don't want me to say what I'm thinking right now."

"Go ahead man. Get it off your chest." His voice is more belligerent that he feels.

Logan glances to the back seat to make sure Veronica is still asleep, and then turns back, eyes blazing. "Your sister? Your fucking sister?"

"And?"

"And you let me treat her that way?" Hands lift, fingers spread wide. "You let all of us treat her that way?"

"Wait. You're trying to blame me for your actions? I never asked you - or anyone else - to go after her."

"You should've stopped me." Logan whisper-shouts.

"Own your own behavior Logan. I'm not your fucking keeper."

"She's your sister. Look at me and Trina."

"That's supposed to be an example?" Duncan sneers. "You can't stand Trina."

"Exactly. That's my point. I don't even get along with my sister, but I'd kick anybody's ass who tried to disrespect her."

He's not lying. Duncan was there the night Logan caught Trina's C-Lister boyfriend with another woman. It had taken himself, Dick, John, and Casey to drag him out of the club before things could get physical.

He stares out at the highway fumbling for the words to express how different the two situations were. Logan had never been in love with Trina. He'd never experienced that kind of shame.

Logan breaks the silence. "Look man. I was horrible to Veronica. I can't even say it 'just happened'. I looked at her one day and consciously decided that she needed to suffer - for twisted reasons that couldn't possibly make sense to anybody else. I do own that. Every single day."

"Dude..." Duncan begins, but Logan cuts him off.

"But all you had to do was say one time, 'Hey, that's my sister. Leave her alone.', and I would have stopped. I'm your best friend."

"Really, Logan?" Duncan lets out a bitter laugh. "Imagine our places were switched. Imagine that the girl you were in love with turned out to be your secret sister, and that the entire year you dated has now become twisted into something dirty and shameful. Then imagine that your best friend is a fucking jackass. Would you hand over that kind of ammunition to somebody like you?"

Logan's forehead furrows and his eyes narrow. "When have I ever used anything you told me as ammunition against you?"

"Off the top of my head, Homecoming last year. Something about taking myself in hand after cheerleading tryouts?"

"Oh...that." A hint of Logan's usual smirk comes out of hiding.

Duncan sighs. "It hurt, Logan. Every single time I saw her, it hurt."

"It hurt me too."

"That's different. You weren't the one battling inappropriate romantic feelings for her. I was afraid to even be near her."

Logan doesn't answer - just rotates his head to stare out the window.

Duncan flexes his hands on the steering wheel, and thumbs idly at the Cruise Control buttons.

Logan is partially right. He didn't need to confess to the incest, but he should have at least broached a discussion about leaving Veronica alone. His half-hearted reactionary attempts had been too little too late.

He doesn't even want to think about what his failure to protect her might say about the kind of person he is.

Was. This is our fresh start and I'm not that guy anymore.

A whimper comes from the backseat and Logan is instantly alert.

Veronica cries out. "No. Don't. I don't want to."

Logan is out of his seat, pushing into the back seat.

Duncan watches in the rearview as he lifts Veronica just enough to allow him to stretch the length of the back seat and then rolls her up against his side.

Is she thinking about her attempted rape, or making love to me at Shelly's party. Guess that moment is tainted forever for her now.

"Lo?" her sleepy voice says.

"S'okay, V. I've got you. Go back to sleep."

Duncan watches him kiss her forehead in the mirror.

It's so unfair. He shouldn't be the one who fixes things.

Logan's voice is quiet. "I'll keep you safe. You and my little imaginary fetus."

A groan bubbles up in Duncan's throat, and he rolls his eyes.

---

Day Eight
Logan
Nicholas Key, Florida

The Nicholas Key ferry is smaller than Logan remembered - or he's bigger. The wheelhouse hugs the left side of the vessel, leaving room to transport about a dozen vehicles in the four yellow-painted parking lanes.

The boat's motor thrums and the vibrations resonate through his blue molded-plastic seat. Shaded by an overhang, he sips a Sprite from the vending machine and splits his attention between the tri-fold colored map of the island and Veronica.

She stands at the front of the observation deck staring out at the water. The light brown hair of her wig blows forward around her face, and her fingers curl around the metal railing. Her shoulders tremble occasionally, as if she's trying to hide that she's crying.

Logan's torn between respecting her need for space and his ache to comfort her.

I am the biggest asshole ever. They're both miserable because I couldn't leave well enough alone.

They'd arrived with a mere ten minutes to spare before the last trip of the day. Channeling an air of 'young, rich, and bored' while the attendant examined their island credentials, he'd only exhaled once the man moved on.

The ocean breeze cools his skin and after surviving twenty-four hours of a Bluebell heatwave, he'll never complain about hot weather again.

Veronica glances over her shoulder. "What are you doing back there?"

"Admiring the view."

"You can see it better from here."

"Not that view." Logan winks and pushes himself to his feet.

Veronica tilts her head and a slow smile spreads across her face. She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. "You can do better than that."

"I'll keep practicing." He joins her at the railing, arm sliding around her waist. "Let me know when I'm succeeding."

"Where's Duncan?" Her eyes are pink-tinged, but she's putting on a strong face.

"Never got out of the truck. Said he wanted to close his eyes and rest for a few minutes."

Veronica nods, steals his soda and finishes it off. She hands back the empty can, and he tosses it in the nearby trashcan.

They stand, companionably silent until the island comes into view - isolated, partially-wooded, and lusciously, verdantly green.

"See that mansion?" He points to an immense Mediterranean-style home on hill, surrounded by acres of manicured lawns and guest cottages.

"The one with three pools? Let me guess? Friends of yours?"

He laughs. "Hardly. That's the Quartermaine Mansion."

"Quartermaine? You mean like the railroad and publishing empire? Partied with the other robber barons back in the day?"

"Some people call them 'captains of industry'," Logan says. "But yeah, those Quartermaines."

The vessel slows for the approach and a strange sort of anticipation builds in his belly. "You ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be. Let's go."

---

The Explorer sticks out painfully among the island's Beemers, Jags, and Lexuses.

Or would that be Lexi?

Logan guides Duncan - via the map - to the nearest marina, but he can tell by looking it's the wrong one. Surrounded on three sides by restaurants and boutiques. It's a location for those who want to be seen.

His father purchased the yacht as a place to bring women. Even in a discrete place like this, a very recognizable - and married - man like Aaron knows not to parade around his side-action.

Another four-minute drive brings them to their destination. A large stone monument sign spells out "HUNTINGTON MARINA AND YACHT CLUB" in a wide Copperplate font, below the logo - a single curling wave over a sixteen-point compass.

Duncan parks in the Visitor's lot, and they each retrieve a duffel bag from the trunk.

Next to the entrance, Logan stops and scans a Plexiglas-covered map sign for the location of their slip.

The office door swings open and a man walks out. "How ya guys doing? Can I help you find anything?"

He approaches with a slow, rolling gait. Several inches shorter than the boys, his frame is round and his blue marina-logoed polo shirt stretches over an ample belly. He reminds Logan of the 'who's-on-first' comedian - What's his name, Costello? - only older and more sun-weathered.

Logan smiles and slips into 'affable-rich-boy-without-a care'. He gestures to the map. "Sure, I'm just trying to locate my dad's boat."

"May I?" the man asks, taking the marina keycard from Logan's hand.

"Slip 38? Follow me." He lifts Veronica's duffel from her shoulder and winks. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't carry her own bags." He doesn't give her time to protest, simply begins walking.

They hurry to catch up.

"My name is Burt Dwyer, by the way. I'm the Dockmaster here."

"I'm Nolan," Logan says. "And this is my fiancee, Vickie, and her brother, Declan."

The man doesn't stop moving to shake hands, but it comes across as efficient rather than rude. He points out some of the amenities as they walk - the office, the clubhouse with pool, a café, a bar & grill, a marina follow him to a ramp leading down to the well-maintained pier.

Veronica inhales and Duncan lets out a whistle.

Docks curve out into the ocean in a shape resembling a four-pronged trident. Which, I suppose would make it a quad...something.

The wide span between rows allows space for some of the largest yachts Logan's ever seen. At least fifteen super-yachts, and - at the far end - two mega-yachts. He estimates a total of no more than fifty vessels docked below.

"I expected more boats for some reason," Logan says.

The man nods, as if he's heard this before. "We're a private marina. We remain small in order to provide unparalleled services to our customers."

"Good to know."

"Slot thirty-eight...slot thirty-eight..." Burt repeats under his breath as his feet thump down the ramp. "That's the Cruisers motor yacht? Fifty-four footer?"

Shit, is this a test? If I say 'yes', will he catch me in a lie?

"Nice!" Duncan steps in with the save. "Sounds like something your father would choose."

"One of the 'Cinetopia Group' yachts, I believe."

"I don't..." Logan begins, not knowing how to continue. Agree? Deny? "Dad never-"

"No, you probably wouldn't know about that. Bunch of Hollywood producer/director types formed the group to purchase property without the press getting wind of it. They own half a dozen or so of these yachts and a handful of the island's beach houses."

"Oh..."

"No skin off my back. It's legal, and we don't want cameras and reporters around here any more than they do." Burt switches topics. "Do you boys have any experience piloting a yacht that size?"

"I do," Duncan says. "I've been boating all my life."

Thank god.

Down closer to the water Logan recognizes the familiar taste of salt, the steady clang of boats thumping their moorings.

"See the ramp at the end of the pier?" Burt asks as they walk. "It leads up to a gated and secure Members Parking Lot. After you get settled, you can move your vehicle there and you won't need to haul your stuff so far. Just swipe marina keycard."

He passes the first dock on the right, and the second, but turns right at the third.

The boats moored here are more modest, but even the smallest makes Aaron's Sundancer back home seem tiny.

"It'll be up here on the left," Burt says.

He skips the first eleven vessels and stops at the twelfth. "Here she is."

The yacht is parked nose-in. Long and pointy, it resembles a heron's beak from the front.

They follow their guide down the slip dock. From the side, the boat is a glossy white wedge.

Logan's body tingles and his knees are weak. He can't resist touching her, running his fingers over the smooth fiberglass.

Wow. I might think I was falling in love, if my heart wasn't already taken.

At the end of the slip, Burt pulls a cord from the yacht and connects it to a pole on the dock. "Okay, that's your power. Let's get your water and cable on. If you need Wi-Fi Internet, just call the office for the password."

Veronica perks up at that but, practical as ever, asks, "How much extra is it?"

Burt shakes his head. "It's included in the utilities fee."

"Hey," Duncan says. "If you guys want to board, I can help out here with the hookups."

"Sure, go ahead," Burt says. "This shouldn't take long. Old Joe Morgan keeps these Cinetopia properties running like a dream and ready to use within minutes."

"Okay." Logan doesn't need to be told twice. He hops over to the swim platform, and helps Veronica across.

They thank the dockmaster for his help and take back Veronica's duffel.

She smirks at the boat's name, emblazoned above a padded seat in bold, gold-leaf, capital letters. An image of Medusa's head separates the two words.

A pair of molded plastic stairs bracket the bench, steep on the right side to allow passage to the bow. He touches Veronica's right hip, guiding her to the more gradual stairs on the left.

As he steps on the first stair, it's as if some kind of weight lifts from his chest, and Logan has a sudden urge to cry.

Home.

He's never experienced anything like this before. When your father is a violent sadist, your house becomes a prison.

But here he is, in a place where he can feel safe. With a family of his own choosing - the two people he loves most in this world.

This is home.

Veronica doesn't say it until they pass through the opening in the clear plastic side-curtains.

"Titan's Trigger? Really? If I remember my mythology correctly, the Titans didn't carry guns. And didn't need them, to be honest."

Logan chuckles. "If I had to guess, I'd say it's a mashup of my dad's favorite movies: 'Clash of the Titans' and 'Hair Trigger'."

"His favorite movies are his own work?"

"Picture of humility, my dad. Runs strong in our family."

There's enough light from the dock to see they're in some kind of entertainment area. Fifteen people could fit comfortably between the horseshoe shaped booth to his right, the two seater to his left and a three-seater ahead and to the left.

"Wow! It's beautiful." Veronica says, staring up at a million stars visible through the sunroof.

"Looks like it'll open," Logan says, noticing a sliding mechanism. "Once we figure out where the buttons are."

Two steps up takes them to the cockpit with two leather seats and a dash full of gadgetry he'll need Duncan to train him on.

"It's big, but there's more than this, right?"

"Yeah. Definitely."

A small locked hatch to the left of the cockpit is the only thing that makes sense. He tries the boat key and it slides open, revealing a staircase.

"After you, my dear."

Veronica grips the Plexiglas railing and inches her way down the stairs.

Inky blackness engulfs them in them cabin. Four oval windows let in only a meager amount of light.

"I'm afraid to move," She whispers. "I'm likely to fall and break an leg or something."

"Don't worry. I'll protect your body from harm," Logan closes his right arm around her shoulder and feels around with his left hand.

"Let me guess, by protect, you mean cover it with your body?" Her voice hints at amusement.

"Of course. Whatever is necessary to keep you in one piece." His hand finds something hard and flat - granite or stone - and inches Veronica to the side.

Footsteps move across the deck and a flashlight shines down through the hatch. "Having fun?" Duncan asks, coming down the stairs.

A circle of light glows to their right, skimming along white leather, mirrors, and wooden built-ins. The beam stops on a cabinet and then the scents of baking soda and deodorant waft past.

The cabinet door swings open, and Duncan begins switching on breakers in a series of heavy metallic clinks.

A handful of small safety lights comes to life above and on the front of each stair, making it just bright enough for Logan to locate the wall switches.

The room illuminates from two large ceiling lights.

Veronica inhales. "I repeat, Wow!"

"Yeah," Logan laughs. Even he - who should be immune to this stuff by now - is impressed.

"Okay, that's only the main power and the lights," Duncan says. "I'll be back." He jogs back up the stairs.

Veronica turns in a circle taking everything in. "I guess I was expecting something like an R.V. where everything is cramped and doubles-up on space, but look at this kitchen."

"Galley," Logan corrects. He doesn't know much, but he's learned a few terms over the years.

Cherry wood cabinets and granite counters zig-zag along most of the left-hand - Port - wall, ending in a small breakfast counter with two stools. An honest-to-goodness upright refrigerator is tucked next to the staircase and paneled in matching woodtone.

"Salon," he says, pointing to the right-hand - Starboard - side, which consists of a cream-colored leather sectional below built-in shelves and cabinets.

"Fancy," Veronica says.

She crosses to the far side of the room and opens the door straight ahead. "Ohhh."

"What?" Logan joins her in the doorway.

The guest stateroom is under the bow, and reflects its angles. A queen-sized berth on a high platform takes up almost the entirety of the space. Shelves run along both walls, and two carpeted steps on each side make the mattress easier to reach.

"It's much nicer than I expected," Veronica says. She pulls open the top drawer in the pedestal. "I think most of my clothes will fit in here."

Logan's heart sinks.

What did you expect? Of course, she wants her own room.

Duncan will just have to take the couch in the salon.

A small head - toilet, granite vanity, glass shower stall - opens into both the stateroom and salon.

Logan turns on the light and checks himself in the mirror. He would splash some water on his face, but he's not sure if the water is connected yet.

Veronica's reflection joins his own. "Cramped, but lots of storage. I can work with this." She glances at Logan, and must see something in his expression. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." He puts an arm around her and squeezes. "I'm going to go check out the other stateroom."

"There's another one?"

"I think so. There's a door next to the stairs where we came in."

Veronica trails behind as he crosses to the other side of the salon.

He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. "I'm nervous."

"Dork," She covers his hand with her own and turns the knob. "Oh my god!"

One step down, the master stateroom is much larger than the first one.

His eyes land first on the bed. Another queen-sized platform bed with a fitted royal blue and gold striped comforter and a handful of matching throw-pillows. It juts out from the center of the left-hand - Starboard - wall and is surrounded by cabinets and built-in nightstands.

Veronica squeezes past and walks into the room. She flicks a switch on an entertainment unit opposite the bed and two accent lights illuminate a pair of mirrors. Between them, a mounted flat screen TV hangs above a DVD player and a stereo tuner.

Duncan's feet thump down the stairs. Three more breakers clink and then the kitchen faucet turns on, burping out air for several seconds before running steadily. Footsteps head back upstairs.

Veronica moves forward along the foot of the bed and opens a door in the far corner. "You've got to be kidding me?"

"Another head?"

"No. Walk-in closet. Nothing huge, but it's bigger than the one in my apartment."

Logan joins her in the doorway, breathing in the scent of cedar. "Not bad."

"I'm calling dibs," Veronica says. "Duncan can take the other room. This one is ours."

"Ours?" He asks, and his world lights up again.

"Oh..." She glances up at him, expression guarded. "Would you rather have separate rooms, then?"

"No, I thought you did. When we were looking at the other stateroom."

Veronica's face relaxes. "Well that would be just dumb. We have a cover to maintain, and what kind of engaged couple sleeps in separate rooms?"

He smiles. "Good point. I'm sure Duncan will appreciate your sacrifice when he doesn't have to sleep on the couch."

"Ehhh. I've gotten used to you. It's not like you snore or anything."

Logan points at another door in the room's opposite corner. "I'm guessing that's the other head."

Veronica wrinkles up her nose. "Can't we just stick with calling it the bathroom?" she asks as she crosses the room and opens the door.

He follows her in. "Not a fan of head? I admit, it takes a while to get used to, but with practice, many come to enjoy it. You could too."

She smirks at him. "Not. Even. Subtle."

"I'm talking about ship vernacular. God, get your mind out of the gutter, girl."

The master bath is slightly bigger than the other one. Toilet to the right, vanity, and wide, mirrored, medicine cabinet to the left.

Straight ahead is a glass shower stall. Logan moves in and opens the door.

The enclosure is oddly shaped, but spacious enough for two. He faces a built-in seat and he's not proud of where his imagination takes him: the slippery fun we could have with her standing on the bench, kneeling on the bench, straddling me on the bench.

Veronica closes the medicine cabinet and moves next to him. "Well that's a...transparent...shower."

Logan turns on the faucet and cold water streams out. He unhooks the sprayer, aiming it at his other hand and clicking the lever. The full spray shifts to center jets only. To pulse. To massage. Soft impact to hard impact to full spray again.

"Massage head," he says unnecessarily, with a lecherous double-bob of his eyebrows.

"And...?" Veronica tilts her head, momentarily confused before comprehension sinks in and she rolls her eyes."Ohhh...I get it. Yeah. Lilly used to rave over her shower head."

"Wait, you've never...?" Logan asks.

"Sorry. In the kind of places I've lived, the plumbing remains firmly attached to the wall."

Her kneeling. Me holding the-Logan slams the door on that image before it can take hold.

He turns off the water, returns the hose to its holster, and leaves the bathroom with Veronica.

"So should we stick with our usual sides?"

"Of course," she says. "You get the left side, I get the right."

"How weird is it that we already have patterns?" Logan asks, "It's only been eight days."

"Eight days? It feels like months." She moves around the room, peeking in cabinets and drawers.

Is that a good thing or a bad thing?

"No freaking way," she says, opening a waist high cabinet next to the closet.

"What?"

She pushes the door all the way open.

"What is it?" Logan asks. "A washer or a dryer."

"Both. It's a two-in-one"

"Wish we had something to wash. I'd like to see that in action."

"You would." She grins.

"We're all hooked up," Duncan calls out from the staircase.

"We're in here," Logan answers.

Duncan appears in the room's doorway, eyes taking in the layout. "Nice stateroom!"

"Ours!" Veronica says.

"Noted." Duncan puts up his hands in an exaggerated defensive gesture.

Logan laughs. "Your room is on the bow side."

"I see. So you two...?"

"Need to maintain our cover story," Veronica says, leaving no room for questions.

"Alrighty then. I went ahead and moved the truck to the members lot, so we can start bringing stuff inside in a minute."

He returns to the salon, flipping a dozen more breakers. The refrigerator turns on with a hum, and the air conditioner comes to life moments later.

---

By the time they finish lugging everything in, Logan is vowing to never go on a Target shopping spree again and his imaginary baby in Veronica's belly is making alien sounds.

"If we don't feed her soon, she's going to start gnawing her way out," Logan says.

"Still sitting right here," Veronica says, from her spot on a stool. "Also, gross."

"I saw a gourmet pizza bar a few minutes' walk from the parking lot. If I left now, I could probably be back within a half hour," Duncan says. "What do you like on your pizzas?"

"Pepperoni," Veronica and Logan say.

"And double-cheese," Veronica adds.

Duncan stares at them. "Don't you guys ever eat vegetables?"

"French fries," Veronica says.

"Deep-fried pickles,"

Duncan shakes his head and leaves.

"Well he's being ridiculously helpful," Logan notes, after Duncan's footsteps on the deck trail off. "Does he think we're going to vote him off the island?"

Veronica doesn't answer, and he could slap himself for reminding her of the elephant in the room.

They start in the galley, falling into a comfortable rhythm as they unpack their bags and boxes into the refrigerator and cabinets.

Logan finds some cellophane-wrapped coffee pouches and condiments in the care package from Peggy and - along with some bottled water - starts a pot brewing.

Veronica hums something under her breath that sounds a bit like Britney Spears' 'Toxic'.

The galley is stocked with the requisite essentials for eating - plates and glassware, silverware and serving utensils, pots and pans and covered-glass bakeware.

Veronica opens a deep drawer under the cooktop and laughs aloud. "I don't know why I'm surprised," she says, gesturing at the dishwasher inside.

A mirrored dry bar next to the master stateroom door contains a decent selection of alcohol. Logan squeezes in a few more bottles, and splits the remainder between the refrigerator and the wet bar up on the deck.

Coffee in hand, they make their way into their room, unpacking their duffels into the closets, drawers and cubbies.

In one of the platform cubbies, Logan finds several sheet sets and blankets enclosed in dust-proof plastic vacuum bags, and they work together, stripping the bed and re-making it.

While Veronica replaces the pillow-cases, he moves into the bathroom, hanging two towels and stashing the rest in a cabinet above the toilet. Their shower products fit in the built-in nooks behind the shower hose. Hair and face products are stowed in the medicine cabinet.

Logan divides the framed photos, displaying most of them behind the couch in the salon. He places ones of Veronica and himself on their nightstands.

Finally, he carries his in Target-purchased objet d'art of the two lovers entwined, setting it carefully on the shelf left of the TV. The mirror behind it reflects its twisted and melded form.

The piece is just short of tacky, but it's the first decorative object he's ever purchased, and he experiences something like pride in displaying it.

Veronica returns, stopping to stare at the little sculpture. "Wow."

"Do you hate it?" Please don't say yes.

"No. It's..." she trails off and he detects a trace of pink in her cheeks.

Maybe she's thinking about last night. The way our own bodies wanted to twist around each other.

She responds with her usual tactic for when things get uncomfortable - efficiency. Gathering up the remaining duffels, she peeks inside.

The first is empty, and the second she tosses to him. "Your..." her face tightens. "...condom collection."

Logan laughs and stuffs the eight unopened boxes into his nightstand drawer.

He realizes what he's done when he notices Veronica's deer-in-the-headlights expression. "No! It's not like that! Guys just keep them in nightstands. Do you want me to move them somewhere else?"

She lifts a hand. "No, by all means, store your condoms wherever you like."

"I can toss them out if you want. I meant what I said about taking as much time as you need." He winces and runs his hands through his hair. "Fuck! That came out wrong, too. Giving you time didn't mean that I assume you and I would eventually do...that. Just that I won't be doing that with anybody else... Until you figure out-"

"Logan!" Veronica interrupts, and he realizes he's babbling like an idiot. "Shut the fuck up about the condoms already." She stands on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek.

"Okay." he exhales, and lets out a nervous laugh.

---

Logan checks the cable connection while Veronica makes a list of needed food and supplies. It's functional and gets a gazillion channels on each of the three televisions. He shuts them off, too exhausted to be bothered with TV tonight.

The telephone has a dial tone, but isn't strictly necessary since they have burner phones. The fridge is getting cold and the cooktop heats up. He microwaves a glass measuring cup full of water, and refrains from testing out the dishwasher. They don't have any of the soapy stuff and he shouldn't waste their hot water right away.

He stuffs the empty duffels and organizers in the Master Stateroom's under-floor storage, hangs their laundry bag in the closet filling it with the original sheets and comforter. Portable electronics go in the cabinet above his night stand.

The wall-mounted television at the end of the galley swings out, allowing it to be viewed from the salon. He doesn't want to leave wires dangling, so he stashes the X-Box and games in the cabinet underneath.

Veronica stands at the counter, thumbing through the yacht's owner's manual. She walks over to the geometrical end table and pushes a button.

With an electric hum and a repeated beeping, the center part of the sectional slides away from the wall, flattening out to a bed. She pushes the button again and it restores to its original position.

"Ah. Guess that's where I'll be sleeping when I'm in the dog house," Logan says. "At least it seems comfy."

"How often do you intend to be in the dog house?"

"Less than my father?"

"That sounds like a goal to shoot for."

She presses a second button. This time, a wooden table pushes its way out of two hinged flaps in the floor. She adjusts it to its optimal height, and then lifts and locks the fold-down sides.

"I had no idea that was there," Logan says.

"You think that's nifty? Wait until tomorrow when it's light out," Veronica says. "I'll take you up on the deck and show you all kinds of fun things." She walks back to the couch and flops down on the left wing.

"I really hope you intended that to sound dirty, because if you're only talking about the navigation system, I'm telling you now, it's going to be a letdown."

"Sit." She grins and tugs him down next to her. "Take a load off your feet." She pulls a lever and the foot section pops up, while the back reclines.

"Smooth." Logan snickers. "If you were anyone other than Veronica Mars, I might think that was the equivalent of the yawn-and-stretch move."

"Yawn-and-stretch?" She touches her chin feigning confusion. "You should demonstrate this move so I'll know it when I see it."

Logan complies and she adjusts her posture, snuggling into his side.

His heart does that swoopy 'this-is-all-I-need-for-the-rest-of-my-life' thing. Embarrassed, he stares up at a large, round, etched-glass mariner's star in the center of the ceiling. "I should get back to work."

"Work tomorrow. Relax now." She toys with the fingers of his right hand. "It's been an excruciatingly long day."

Footsteps on the deck signal Duncan's return.

"So much for relaxing." Logan sighs and closes down the recliner.

He gets up and begins gathering drinks, two sodas and one carrot juice, still cold from hours in the truck fridge. Veronica pulls out three plates and a handful of napkins.

"I'm back," Duncan says, as he comes down the stairs. He sets two pizza boxes on the counter and opens the lids: a large pepperoni, and a small pizza covered with seaweed or kelp or something nauseatingly green and slimy.

They serve themselves and move to the table. Veronica grabs one of the stools from the breakfast bar.

She rifles idly through a thick binder with the marina's logo on it while she eats. "Wow. Would you believe your dad pays full utilities every month, simply because some guy comes around every two weeks to inspect the boat. That's in addition to the slip rental and the club dues. Which are an obscene amount of money, by the way."

"I believe it," Logan says. "He has no clue. Harvey makes the arrangements and the money funnels through Avi Kaufman - my dad's business manager."

"Well that explains why you felt safe coming here."

"So what does an obscene amount of money buy us, anyway?" Logan asks.

"Well..." She flips back a few pages. "Apparently, an oasis for the discerning mariner who wants to enjoy the best of everything."

Logan snorts.

"Um...a bunch of yachting events and dinner dances to begin with. A clubhouse, Tennis, Fitness center, Spa, Salon. Golf, with restrictions. Three heated pools - one with a tiki bar. Showers and laundry - I think we're good there. Three restaurants and cafes - one with onboard delivery. A picnic area. Concierge service for all of our entertainment needs. The gated parking. Fifty percent off golf-cart rentals - which I guess is the preferred form of island transportation. Reduced fuel costs. Discounts on restaurants and attractions. And a bunch of boat-related stuff, including something I suspect has to do with the toilets."

"Well, that is an obscene amount of perks, to be honest," Logan says.

"I guess..." Veronica closes the binder and grabs another piece of pizza.

"May I?" Duncan reaches a hand towards the binder.

"Go for it." She slides it to him.

Duncan flips through the pages while Logan considers the amenities. He's never liked tennis much, and he didn't bring his golf clubs. He could rent clubs, he supposes. But he has a sneaking suspicion Veronica wouldn't consider that a good use of their funds.

Fuck. We're poor now.

At least the pools are free. And he should start working out. Channel some of his frustration into pumping iron.

Or maybe you should get a job, dumbass.

"This Joe Morgan guy inspects every inch of the boat biweekly," Duncan says. He turns the binder, showing Logan a fifty-point checklist.

Logan scans the date column at the top of the list. "He was just here two days ago, so that gives us a bit of time before he comes back."

"That explains a lot," Duncan says. He flips a few more pages, and then glances back up. "Dude, did you see that Benetti when we were walking down?"

"I'd have to be blind to miss it," Logan says.

Veronica glances up from her pizza. "What's a Benetti?"

Logan chews and swallows. "It's an Italian yacht company. Basically floating mansions."

"You've been on one," Duncan says. "Two years ago, for Grace Enbom's Sweet Sixteen party."

"You mean our third date?"

"Yeah. That one, but imagine it doubled. That was the night..." Duncan trails off, and it's as if all the fun and life and oxygen drains from the room.

Fuck. You idiot. What made you think this was a good time to remind her of your romantic history?

They both become silent and introspective. Logan tries to overcompensate with jokes, but the most he can get out of them is a few wan smiles.

Veronica gathers the plates and rinses them off in the sink. "I'll leave these here tonight and we can pick up some dishwasher detergent tomorrow."

"And laundry soap," Logan says.

The shopping list is still sitting on the counter and she takes a moment to writes something down. Then she yawns. "I think I'm going to crash - on my face if I don't get some sleep."

She catches Logan's eye on her way out of the room giving him the 'are-you-coming-to-bed?' look.

Yes. Soon.

Logan gives it ten minutes, waiting out Duncan while he turns on the television, grabs a glass and a bottle of Dad's Courvoisier, and begins flipping channels.

He lets out an exaggerated yawn. "Dude, I'm exhausted too. Last night was a late night."

Duncan doesn't even glance up. "Okay. See ya in the morning."

---

Logan silently closes the door behind him.

Veronica likes it dark when she sleeps, but she's left two push-lights glowing in the stateroom and another one in the head for him to see by.

Stripping off his jeans, he stuffs them in the hanging laundry bag and then heads into the bathroom. He doesn't turn on the overhead light, instead clicking a second push-light. He can feel Veronica's gaze watching him through the open door as he brushes his teeth and performs his skincare routine with lukewarm water.

There isn't enough hot water for a shower, and he took one this morning anyway, so there's nothing left to do but go to bed.

He clicks off the lights one-by-one, bathing the room in darkness.

The sheets are cold and he makes an exaggerated shivering sound as he slips between them.

Veronica laughs softly and rolls to face him. "Hi."

"Hey," he whispers back. "So...how do we do this thing now?"

"What thing, sleeping?"

He laughs nervously. "Well, between last night's lapse-of-judgment-but-super-enjoyable grinding of body parts and this morning, when I told you how I feel...I guess I just don't want to assume that things will just go right back to cuddling-as-usual."

Veronica takes too long to answer, and Logan rushes to fill the silence. "But for the record, I really enjoy the cuddling. In a way that's separate from any kind of feelings or lust."

"Well then," Veronica's voice is powder soft, and she curls her fingers around his waist. "I think we should probably cuddle."

He slides his left arm under his pillow to make room for her and she wiggles closer until their bodies touch and her nose brushes his chest.

Logan exhales his tension. He closes his eyes, and breathes in her hair, allowing his hand to rest on her lower back.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "About what you learned today?"

"I'm adjusting. It doesn't change who my true father is. And as far as...the other thing...it could have been worse."

How could it possibly be worse?

His thumb rubs an arc on the small of her back, offering a small measure of comfort.

"Logan?"

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think Duncan knew all along?"

"What? No way. I remember that night I pulled him off his father. The anger was fresh. He must have just learned the truth."

She tilts her head back, nose bumping his chin. "I've been thinking about it all day, and I can't help but wonder if that's why he never tried to move past kissing."

Well that's one way it could be worse.

"That's just Duncan. He's always been that way. Even before he met you."

"He was twelve when we met. He probably hadn't even discovered girls yet." She touches his back, tentative fingers tip-toeing up his spine.

"No. It wasn't a little boy's 'girls are gross' thing. He liked girls. It was more like he had a puritanical view of anything sexual."

"Puritanical?" Veronica's palm sweeps over his right shoulder blade, and he leans into it.

"Like 'probably-bleaches-his-hand-after-beating-off' puritanical. Dirty! Shame! Nasty!"

"Lovely."

"Lilly was sure he caught her banging the pool boy or something and it scarred him for life." It doesn't ache as much to talk about her as it used to.

"Way too much information."

"Sorry. I just wanted you to understand that while DK is repressed and has an outdated - by a century - view of sex, he isn't twisted enough to date his own sister."

"Okay."

Her hand grows bolder, rubbing in a wider arc over his back.

"Wait. Right there," he says when she hits that spot under his left shoulder blade. "Can you scratch?"

Her fingers scrape over the itchy spot.

"Thank you. I've needed that all day."

She stops, and he's not going to whine, because he's lucky to even get to be close to her.

He hand moves to his lower back, slides under his Tee-shirt, and resumes scratching the same spot.

Fuck.

"Logan?"

"Huh?" It comes out like a squeak.

"Great job keeping a clear head today when those guys surrounded us."

"Clear head? I was freaking the fuck out."

"But you didn't start swinging. I was so afraid you would." Veronica's fingers form a claw, dragging lightly across his skin. Top. Bottom. Side to side.

"Mmmm." It feels amazing. "You're becoming a bit of a liability to me."

Her hand stops moving.

"I'm not used to restraining myself, and I can't really pull off the 'crazy sonofabitch who isn't afraid to die' act when you're around. I'm afraid I'm just not scary anymore."

"You poor thing," she whispers. "You've lost your edge."

"I know, right? Just call me Edgeless Echolls." He wiggles his shoulders.

She catches the hint and begins scratching again. The angle of his lower arm stretches his tee-shirt tight around the upper left part of his back. Afraid it might deter her from covering that area, he lifts up to loosen the fabric when her hand begin moves in that direction.

Veronica interprets his movement wrong - but also so so right - and suddenly she's pushing his shirt all the way up, and he's lifting up on his elbow so she can pull it over his head.

His lungs burn and he's afraid to breathe. Little breaths, Logan. Little breaths. Don't scare her off.

This is not sex. This is not sex. Not sex.

Her thumbs knead his muscles and he arches wherever she touches.

This is her needing a human connection after this afternoon's bombshell Nothing more.

Still, he has to ask.

"I'm not sure where I should put my hand." He presses his five fingers into her lower back. "I mean, do you want me to touch you?"

Oh. My. God. I sound like a fucking virgin.

"Your hand is fine where it is." He hears the laugh in her voice, and it makes him happy.

I must be doing this right.

At the slight pressure of her palm, he rolls on his back. She shifts into her favorite position with her head on his chest. Her silky hair spreads against his skin, and his right hand moves to stroke the top of her head.

"She could have been my sister," Veronica says.

And that came out of nowhere.

"She always was your sister. Blood or no blood."

"But what if she was my blood sister? What kind of person lays like this with her sister's boyfriend?"

She pulls back, lifting up on her elbow.

Logan tips his head back and exhales. "I am not her boyfriend. I wasn't when she died, and as far as I'm concerned, I'm your boyfriend."

Veronica inhales and he continues before she can interrupt.

"I didn't say that to pressure you. I meant every word I said this morning. Take weeks or months or however long you need to be sure you genuinely want this thing we have. Or maybe that you don't want it. Maybe Burt the dockmaster is more your type."

Veronica snickers. "I'll try to resist his magnetic pull. So how did you mean it, then?"

He wishes he could see her. Could gauge her mood. The look in her eyes this morning gave him the courage to put it all out there for her. Now he's flying blind.

To hell with it. "I meant that I'm yours. And I hope someday you'll be mine. And in the meantime, I'll just consider myself your on-call boyfriend. Ready to boyfriend quickly and comprehensively at a moment's notice. Hey, I could wear a boyfriend beeper or something."

Veronica sighs and leans over him. "You. Are. Utterly. Fucking. Ridiculous." She presses her mouth to his lips, soft and sweet, and pulls away again before it can escalate, rolling back to her previous position at his side.

Her fingertips skim over his chest, his ribs, his collar bone, his neck. They curl around his bicep, following the length of his arm to his hand.

Pulling it to rest on his chest, she twines their fingers together, and her bent leg slides forward to drape over his thigh.

"For the record, that's two kisses today," Logan says, because he can't let it rest. "Neither strictly necessary."

He feels her silent laughter against his skin. "Don't let it go to your head, pretty boy."

He smiles, happy and wide. "Wouldn't dream of it."

---

A/N - Reminder: Nicholas Key is completely fictional. It's basically Fisher Island without all of the condos and way way less developed.