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.

28. Ch28 Day 9 Dodger

Day Nine
Veronica
The Titan's Trigger

Morning. The world moves beneath her in a gentle rocking rhythm, boats thump their moorings, and waves crash. Veronica wakes without an alarm, the taste of salt on her tongue.

Right. Logan's yacht.

He's still here - the mattress dips enough to confirm that - and she stretches the fingers on her right hand, until they find the comforting presence of his skin.

She's embarrassed by how much she's grown to depend on him. Physically, he's the Big-Bad-Wolf-on-a-leash, here to guard her from all things that go bump in the night.

Emotionally? She foresees an abundance of soul-searching and self-analysis in the near future.

But it doesn't need to be right now.

Her eyelids glow an orangey-red, dispelling any notions she might've had about drifting back to sleep. She opens them, squinting in the blinding light that reflects off the mirrored armoire by their feet.

If not for the AC, they'd probably be deep-fried like ants on a sidewalk.

Seriously fucked-up design flaw, yacht making...people.

Her vision adjusts and she checks the alarm clock on the built-in nightstand. Seven-thirty A.M.

Huh. She didn't get enough hours of sleep to be this rested. Either the boat's motion had a soporific effect on her, or the reprieve from that constant being-hunted feeling bought her some extra time in the REM zone. Also, Logan.

To her right, he sleeps on his back, bare-chested.

He'd been wearing a shirt when he'd climbed into bed. She'd peeled it off him.

Should she be ashamed right now? Guilty? Confused?

She isn't.

What a difference a day makes. Yesterday, she'd woken humiliated by her behavior. Today, there's an indefinable lightness in her chest. Maybe it's because he'd been so accommodating to her needs last night. Downright sweet, actually.

What had he called himself? My 'On-Call boyfriend'?

Something like sunlight warms her blood, and she smiles.

She can feel it in her bones; this place is good for them. All three of them, but especially Logan.

He'd tried to appear nonchalant and unaffected, but she'd witnessed the subtle changes in him after they'd arrived. The inner glow filling his soft expression, the smile he kept reaching up to touch. He loves it here.

And Wallace calls me a marshmallow.

Duncan had certainly been a busy beaver last night, proving himself indispensable in the operation and maintenance of a yacht. Hopefully, out of genuine interest rather than obligation, or fear that they would turn against him otherwise.

Her stomach clenches, and she breathes through it. She doesn't want to feel angry or vindictive.

We're a family, and we need him. Logan needs him.

No doubt, he fucked up royally, but when it comes down to it, he was a victim, too.

She'd rather channel her ire towards those who truly deserve it. Lianne and Jake.

Allowing her and Duncan to date had been reprehensible. If there was even the smallest chance they were related - impossible, as Keith Mars is, without a doubt, my father - they were morally compelled to stop .

No excuses, no deflections, no claims of ignorance or confusion can ever divert the blame.

Two years ago. Waffle Day at the old house (long before the world went dark). Matching mother-daughter hairdos. A guessing game, warm, crinkled eyes, wide smiles, and playful teasing.

"Okay! It's Duncan Kane." She'd relented.

Lianne's face had crumpled, and it was she'd admitted to kicking a puppy. Without a better explanation, Veronica had attributed her mother's obvious (but unspoken) reservations to concern about the shenanigans she might get into by having a boyfriend and best friend residing under the same roof.

No wonder Lianne's drinking had escalated. Who wouldn't pick drowning in a vodka bottle over saving their child from a humiliating, incestuous disaster?

Celeste. That's who. The Ice Queen was a better mother than mine.

Which only leads to another question. Why? It couldn't have been to protect her parents' relationship, as Lianne had no problem walking away without a backwards glance. Celeste already knew of the affair, so the Kane marriage wasn't in danger. As for her and Duncan, it was way more damaging to hide the truth, than it would have been to reveal it before things could go too far.

Isn't it obvious, Veronica? The scandal.

Can't besmirch the name of the most beloved man in Neptune with whispers of adultery, false paternity, and incest, right?

And Lianne went right along with it. Probably not a rarity in the course of a twenty-year affair.

What kind of love is that?

What kind of love causes someone to elevate their lover's reputation over their daughter's mental health? To betray the kindest, most thoughtful, and loving husband in the world?

What kind of love makes a woman vehemently defend the man who'd willfully destroyed her husband's career and character? The same man who'd all but bankrupted her family, forcing his own (possible) daughter to vacate the only home she'd ever known and move to the crime-ridden side of town?

What kind of toxic, destructive, love inspires a woman to abandon her husband and child in the dark of night, while continuing to get cozy with her high school boyfriend at The Camelot?

Only last week - seems like a year ago - Veronica left the boys in their Arizona motel room and snuck off to search for Lianne and the comforting only a mother could provide. Now, she couldn't give a rat's ass if she ever sees the bitch again.

As for the comforting, who could've predicted she'd end up getting it from Logan - the boy she'd considered her enemy? He turned out to be more than qualified to supply all the comfort, kindness and compassion she could ask for.

He must sense her thoughts, as he sighs in his sleep and pats his hand along the bed, looking for her.

She rolls onto her side, facing him.

Logan's other hand is tucked under the pillow, supporting his head, and emphasizing his defined bicep. She's never been an "arm girl" in the past, but she's fast reconsidering that position.

The scent of yesterday's deodorant still lingers on him, preserved perhaps, by the cool, air conditioned room.

Am I like her?

As long as she's known Logan, she's wanted him.

Back when wanting him was merely a jolt of recognition - This boy burns brighter than the rest. This is a kindred soul.

Back when wanting him was a jolt of bodily awareness. When the rough-housing with her best friend's boyfriend lingered a few seconds too long, when she held on a little too tightly.

Even when she despised him - could barely stand to look at him - his presence was the defibrillator to her walking-dead existence.

But none of those jolts came close to the day they kissed. When they'd generated so much electricity, she'd half-expected to hear reports of brownouts later.

Is this how it started for Lianne and Jake?

And if so, what's the lesson to take away?

Is intense, burning, consuming love like theirs to be feared? Something to avoid at all costs? To banish before it has an opportunity to grow roots and flourish? Before it can turn destructive?

Can you outrun it? Outsmart it? Outlive it?

Or is it something to be embraced and cherished? Protected to your dying breath. A united front against all interlopers.

That was Lianne and Jake's fatal mistake. Walking away from something that wasn't finished. Involving innocents. Sure, Veronica might never have been born if they hadn't. Or would she be?

Regardless, both options make her queasy. She's not running. But she's in no hurry to pledge her undying devotion, either.

Mostly, she wants to make out.

She's been the damaged victim for too long. She's ready for a sexual awakening, and she knows just who she intends to bring along for the ride. It's been building up - since the day they kissed, even before then - and if they don't make out soon, she's liable to combust.

Every part of Logan's body invites her to touch - the path of freckles dotting the sun-kissed skin of his arm, the dip of his clavicle, the indent of his hip bone.

As recently as yesterday, she would have ignored the temptation. Would've kept her hands to herself, despite his carte blanche invitations to touch him any time for any reason.

It's out in the open, now. Her desire for him is no longer her most shameful secret. And the world didn't end, after all.

I'm allowed to touch him.

To caress his cheek.

Prickly stubble scratches her palm - surprisingly coarse for one-day's growth.

By contrast, the sprinkling of hair on his chest is downy, and inviting. She tickles it with the tips of her fingers.

"Uh oh, you're smiling.' Logan's sleepy voice says. He gazes at her, soft and drowsy. "Should I be worried?"

"This? You call this a smile?" she asks. "This is just my lips getting out of the way so I can work one of those popcorn kernel skins out of my back molar. I'm sure you know the feeling."

"Odd. You haven't eaten popcorn. At least not since we watched The Notebook a few nights ago. And I know you floss daily."

"You mean since I watched the Notebook? As I remember, you spent the entire movie licking butter off my fingers."

"Were your non-finger parts jealous? Because I'd gladly lick butter from-" He waggles his brows.

"Don't finish that sentence." Veronica fakes a sigh and her mouth stretches wider. "Fine, you busted me. I was smiling. It just occurred to me that, for the first time, waking up like this isn't even a tiny bit awkward." She runs her fingers up the side of his neck.

"Yeah, now that you mention it..."

"You're almost naked," she points out.

"Say that again," he says.

"Why?"

"I want to concentrate on your pronunciation."

Veronica lifts one brow.

"I could interpret it three different ways. The emphasis is key to whether you're saying, 'Good lord, put some clothes on, asshole', or 'Great job on the disrobing, Sport, just lose those boxers and we're golden'. A better outcome, in my opinion."

She shakes her head, suppressing a grin. "And the third?"

"My personal favorite. 'You're almost naked.' Which I would take to mean that I'm way ahead, and you're hurrying to catch up." Logan makes an and-there-we-go hand gesture.

Option three would be Veronica's choice as well, but it's the kind of conversation you work up to. Gradually.

She trails her fingers over his breastbone. "Think of it more as, 'The mere fact that you're nearly naked should make this situation incredibly awkward. Yet it isn't.'"

"Progress. I'll take it." His lips turn up. "So what makes today different than usual?"

She knows exactly what's changed, but how do you tell someone, 'I eavesdropped on your conversation with Dash DeWitt, I'm pretty sure you told him you're in love with me, and now the things that used to make me insecure seem silly and insignificant. Also, I want to make out'.

She shrugs off the question. "No particular reason that I'm aware of, but sure, Echolls, let's jinx it by analyzing it to death."

Logan's eyes say he doesn't believe her. He climbs out of bed - six feet of nearly naked boy - stretches his arms overhead, and bows his spine. "Back in a sec."

She traces his muscled back with her eyes. The same dips and ripples she'd traced with her fingers last night.

He must feel the weight of her gaze. He glances over his shoulder. "Veronica Mars. Are you checking me out?"

She smirks, and rolls onto her back. Props up her head with her forearm in imitation of his own lazy insolence."And what if I am?"

After four years of successfully hiding and concealing her feelings, it's no wonder his grin momentarily slips, revealing a sort of stunned speechlessness on his features.

He recovers quickly. "Then I would invite you to continue at your leisure. As soon as I come back out." The bathroom door closes.

Veronica relaxes into the mattress, stretching long and pointing her toes. Her red toenail polish juxtaposes with Logan's glossy Target sculpture, arranged on one of the television armoire shelves.

Getting up, she moves to the shelf. Tries to view the object from his perspective.

It's not so much that it's tacky - it is, but her Neptune apartment isn't exactly something out of 'House Beautiful' - it's that it creates a vague sense of unease in her belly.

Logan sees something beautiful. Two soulmates coming together to achieve the ultimate union of sex and intimacy. Nirvana. The kind of love to aspire to.

He doesn't see anything wrong with the way the figures gradually become less and less distinct as they entwine around each other, merging into a single form at the bottom. How they cease being two separate entities in their quest to lose themselves in each other.

The problem with all-consuming love, is the being consumed part.

Logan
Day Nine
The Titan's Trigger

Logan runs wet fingers through his hair, plucking at a stubborn flat spot. It's pointless really, without product, and he'll be showering in a bit, anyway. He straightens the plush hand towel, turns off the light and opens the bathroom door.

Veronica - now standing at the foot of the bed - stares at his new sculpture, lip raised and nose wrinkled. From her expression, you'd think it depicted a Roman orgy instead of a tasteful embrace of lovers.

His heart droops like a wilted daisy. As much as he loves the thing - as much as he desires to assert his individuality over just one single space in this world - he wants her more.

"Do you really hate it?" He skirts the foot of the bed, lifts the object and tests its weight. "Cause I can move it somewhere else. If you want."

Please don't want.

Her eyes drop, guiltily. "No! No, It's nice. I mean, my mom used to collect Precious Moments, so..." She takes it from his hand, tracing a swirl with her finger. "...this is practically fine art."

Logan casts his mind back to when Lianne Mars was still an anxious, fluttering presence in their lives, and he was still a welcomed guest in their home. "You mean those creepy figurines she displayed all over your old house?"

Veronica shudders and places the statue back on the shelf. "Yeah. She ended up selling them all after Jake Kane..." She breaks off, breathes out through a clenched jaw. "After the recall election. When we lost our house."

Back when I should have been supporting you, instead of inciting the torches-and-pitchforks brigade. God, I was an asshole.

Logan reaches out, tugs at her shoulder. She resists. A split-second of defiance flames to life, then she softens, allowing him to pull her into his arms. She must have shrunk overnight, because she feels even more tiny and delicate than usual today. Fragile.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers into her hair.

"Don't be. I secretly hated those things. All of that wide-eyed, butter-wouldn't-melt-in-my-mouth innocence was just a smokescreen for their true agenda."

He pulls back, smoothing her hair from her face. "And what was that?"

"Devouring souls." She says it so straight-faced and matter-of-factly, he chokes out a laugh.

Her answering smile doesn't quite reach her eyes. She's putting in the effort, but yesterday took a lot out of her.

He should've checked in on her emotional state earlier. Now she's had time to erect her walls,and she'll only deflect. Instead, he asks, "So what's on the agenda for today, boss?

"The agenda." she repeats, dragging out the word as she shifts into planning mode.

Logan chuckles. "I can already see the gears whirling in your head."

"Those gears are trying to categorize and prioritize a dozen different pressing concerns."

"How can I help?" He walks her two steps backwards, and lifts her up onto the too-tall bed. "I'll make a list for you."

Logan digs through his nightstand drawer, pushing aside boxes of condoms, until he finds a notepad and pen.

She quirks a surprised eyebrow at him.

"Hey! I can be helpful, too!" He pouts.

She doesn't refute it, but her lips turn up.

"So? What's on your mind?" His hand hovers over the pad.

"The broad categories?" She counts each point out on her fingers, and Logan scrambles to write them down. "Safety, money, communication, education, information, and..."

"Romance?" he supplies, hopefully.

She rolls her eyes, adds a fifth finger. "Our futures."

He nods, grinning as he jots that down, followed by 'romance' in parenthesis.

Ignoring his addition, she scoots closer, points to the top item on the list and begins counting fingers again. "Safety. One - we have to figure out if Liam Fitzpatrick fell for our ruse."

"Can we?" Logan asks, "I mean, he - hopefully - headed North, while we drove Southeast. Do we need to be within a certain range?"

"Good question, but no. I'ts a 'push-capable' tracker. Meaning periodically it pushes its coordinates to the global positioning satellite - or GPS. That position is recorded to a server we can log on to from anywhere."

"So you could technically access a record of everywhere he goes and how long he's there?" Logan shudders, adding 'Operation FitzGooosechase' to the list. "I'm glad you never used one of those on me."

"What makes you think I haven't?" she asks with a straight-face, but her eyes twinkle with humor. She counts out another finger, "Two - Disguises. If we learned anything from yesterday's debacle, it's that Old Blue-Eyes is way too recognizable. If those douche nozzles picked him out on sight, I don't want to risk him around people with functional brain cells."

He writes down, 'Get the Donut new sprinkles (hair bleach and colored-contacts)'.

"I'll need to nail down my island persona as well," she says.

"Pregnancy pad and a wig?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think so. 'preggers-and-about-to-pop' is the perfect mainland disguise. But here, it would attract more attention. We can't pass for locals - they'd surely all know and recognize each other - and nobody goes on vacation when they're that pregnant."

"Especially when there's no on-island hospital," Logan adds. "So what's your plan?"

"I won't know until I get a better look at the residents. I can do a pretty decent Angie Dahl impression, but I don't quite have the wardrobe for Trust Fund Bitch."

"Not to mention, being loathsome is memorable."

"Not an Angie fan? She'll be devastated to hear it." Veronica says, gleefully. "I suppose, I should project whatever will make people dismiss me as vapid arm-candy. Or a trophy wife. But I don't want to attract a different kind of attention, so I can't be too sexy."

"Good luck stopping that," he mutters.

She pauses, on the verge of making her next point, and although she rolls her eyes, her face seems to light up from within. "You old, sweet talker."

Puns come to mind. He rejects them. Asks instead, "So what about me?"

"Fishing for compliments? You know damn well that you're sexy."

"I meant my island disguise, but now that you're on the record..."

"We'll figure you out after we've scouted a bit," she says, peering down at the list again. "And I'm pretty sure I went on the record Saturday night. You should pay better attention. So where were we?"

"Um...Romance?"

"Money. We brought it in from the car, right?"

"Obviously. So back to that last subject."

"I think we should split it up," she says. "Or hide it in multiple locations. I don't think it's a good idea having it all in one place."

Logan makes a note of it.

"We'll need a budget, of course," she says.

He wrinkles his nose. "I hope you're not waiting for me to volunteer."

"It might be amusing to see what you'd allocate to booze and entertainment, but I think I'd better handle this one."

"Wise choice. So that's everything for money?"

"Not even close," she says. "You two can't even conceive of the fact that it's a finite resource."

He moves the pen to the paper, but loses the thought. "What did you say again?"

She shakes her head. "Make money last. Spend little. Earn more. Also, find jobs."

"Got it," he says, and scans up the list. "Goody! Communication's next. I hope that means you're ready to honestly share your feelings and emotions."

"Dream on. It means we've been off the grid for the past few days, and my dad must be frantic. He wanted to talk to you specifically, if you remember. Then, Wallace is working his first case, and probably needs my help. But first we need to get internet."

"Bravely face-down angry father-in-law, get Wi-Fi password from marina office, train replacement Nancy Drew wannabe." Logan speaks aloud as he writes. "Hey. What happened to you teaching me?"

Veronica points to the 'our future' bullet point.

"We should touch base with Weevil, too. Make sure he hasn't murdered our ace in the hole."

He scrawls. 'Check Weevil's stew pot for boiling bunnies'.

She snorts. "Only for you, Logan. Don't think I didn't notice all that close-talking, mouth-watching action in my parking lot."

"He did have an unhealthy fixation with my sex tapes."

She glances up sharply. "You're not still carrying those around, are you?"

"Sorry, you lost your chance for a private viewing. They're floating somewhere in the Gulf, now." He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "But if you really wanted to, I'm sure I could recreate them for you - at least. the first two. That last one might require a Twister board, baby oil, and ten minutes of deep stretching."

Veronica clamps her lips together, fighting off her smile. "I'll keep that in mind."

"Should I add that under 'our future'?"

"Make it a mental note." She double-taps her forehead and then peers closely at the notepad. "Education can wait. It's not urgent. As for Information..." Handing back the pad, she rattles off questions. "Did Lamb find the breadcrumb trail Duncan left on the library computer? Did he pass that knowledge on to Liam? What's the state of the investigation? Do they have any leads to our whereabouts?"

Logan looks up from his notepad. "Did Poodle Head and his Smells-Funky-Bunch report seeing us at the rest stop yesterday?"

"Or any of the people you punched on Saturday night?"

"Or the ones you tasered."

Their eyes meet and they grin.

Veronica looks away first. "Between the Barracuda tracker and my dad, we might be able to answer some of these. Unless Lamb has the department on information lockdown." She glances down at the paper and sighs. "I'm getting exhausted just looking at this list. Why don't we check off a few items, and come back to it tomorrow?"

"Sure. What'll it be?" he asks.

Taking the pad from him, she examines the contents closely and then flips to a new page. She tugs the pen out from between his teeth, wipes it on the side of her shorts, and writes a new list. 1. Grocery shop. 2. Get wi-fi password 3. Call dad 4. Check tracking app.

She tosses it aside, stands up and, pressing her hands to the bottom of her spine, leans backwards.

"Stiff?" Logan asks.

"Nothing a shower won't help." She smiles at him, and it's as if she's removed all semblance of seriousness along with her Getting-Things-Done hat. Her eyes dance with humor as she holds out her hand and tugs him to his feet. "Anything you wanted to do today?"

He shrugs. "Nothing you'd consider worthwhile or productive."

Veronica steps closer, sliding her hands up his biceps. "Haven't you heard? All work and no play makes Logan-" She cuts off with a laugh. "Never mind. Impossible."

He tentatively wraps his arms around her, clutching his own hands against her lower back. "If I didn't know better, I might think that was a compliment."

"It wasn't an insult." She traces idle fingers over his shoulders. "Why don't you think up something fun for us to do while I'm in the shower?"

He grins wide. "Oh, I know plenty of ways to have fun in the shower."

"Slip-slidey ways?" She whisper-teases, "Pressed up against the wall?"

What the hell? He'd used the same words in the maternity store, while inventing their conception story, but hearing them spoken from Veronica's mouth is a bit disconcerting.

"That was so yesterday. Now that I've seen this shower and its special attributes, I think we could get way more creative."

"I see." Veronica takes a step back. She picks up the memo pad, flips it back to the first page, and hands it to him. "Add it to the list."

"Um...?" He stalls, fumbling for words.

"Right there." She leans in and points. "Under romance. Now, why don't you use that pretty brain of your to come up with more...public...opportunities for fun?" She gives him a slap on the ass, and disappears into the closet.

Logan rubs at his stinging flesh. Did she really just...

Her voice calls through the opening. "At the very least, I think we should take a tour of the island today. Get to know our new home."

"That sounds like a plan."

"You know what else would be great?" She pokes her head through the doorway. "Breakfast. I noticed one of those marina restaurants in the brochure has delivery. Maybe you should investigate that while I shower."

"I'll think about it." He says. "So it's a definite no on the water conservation efforts?"

She doesn't answer.

He takes-in the rumpled mess of sheets and bedding. "Think anyone provides on-board housekeeping service?"

"Please refer back to our list. The money section, specifically."

Right. With a sigh, he goes to work giving the flat sheet a good whip. It lifts and floats almost entirely off the bed.

Veronica emerges from the closet in time to witness this. She sets down a small pile of clothing, and moves opposite him, grabbing the sheet in both hands. "On the count of three," she says. "One. Two. Three."

In unison, they snap the sheet. It catches the air like a parachute lifting high, and then floating slowly back down.

"Once more," she says, and they repeat the process.

The sheet momentarily blocks his view of her, and when it comes back down, she's smiling at him with soft, tender, eyes.

Logan's heart swells, and if he wasn't already enamored of her...

She pulls the sheets taut, smoothing and tucking, and he mimics her movements. They pull the comforter back onto the bed, folding it out around the edges.

"Are you sure we didn't get married?" he asks as they move to the bottom, adjusting a folded-under section. "Because I'm feeling a little domesticated."

"Married?" She touches her lower lip, pretending to think about it. "I remember your oh-so-romantic proposal. Because you liked my underwear."

"Mmmm. Are you wearing them now?"

"Eww. We haven't done laundry. Which, by the way..." She points at him.

"I know, add it to the list."

"Wow, it's almost like you know me."

"So which ones do you have on now?" He waggles his brows. "Please tell me it's that black thong you picked up at Target?"

Veronica's hands smooth over her tiny striped cotton sleep shorts. "Do you wear underwear under your boxers?"

"Of course not, but..." He trails off. Is she saying...? Oh fuck!

As if those clingy tank tops she sleeps in aren't insult enough - outlining things he'd kill to touch, put his mouth on. His dick twitches, and he summons images of fiery car crashes, wrinkled grandmas.

Veronica leans back against the foot of the bed. "You know, there's a chunk of time missing in my memory. Somewhere between pet alligators and drunks on a roof whistling 'Moon River'. Maybe we got married then?"

He grins. "So you're theorizing that we found us a 24-hour wedding chapel, in Bluebell Alabama, in the middle of a heat wave. Tied the knot, and then forgot all about it?"

She shrugs. "It makes about as much sense as pet alligators."

"Okay." He takes two steps closer. "So by that logic, if we did get married, you know what that means?"

"What does it mean?"

"It means..." Another step. "...that we're on our honeymoon." He swoops down, lifts her by the back of the thighs, and spins her around three times, before depositing her up on the platform bed.

"Now you're catching on." She laughs as he assaults her with a barrage of loud smooching kisses - forehead, cheeks, tip of her nose.

He pulls back, and for several seconds they smile at each other.

"You want to play the part of honeymooners, don't you?"

"There are advantages." Veronica wraps her arms around him, pulling him closer.

Her inner thighs hug the waistband of his underwear, offering tantalizing slivers of skin-on-skin. He glances down, belatedly realizing how they're positioned - parts conveniently aligned. Between the placket on his boxers and what she isn't wearing under those tiny shorts, he could be inside her within seconds.

He inhales sharply, tries to pull away but, like a bear trap springing shut, Veronica's calves wrap around his legs, her ankles locking together.

She continues her thought. "Spending all day poolside, sipping drinks and not feeling guilty about it?"

So we're just going to ignore my desperation to escape before things get embarrassing? Fine. I'll play along. "Or sunset yacht cruises?"

She nods, enthusiastically. "Exploring the beaches."

"Snorkeling?"

She laughs. "Add it to the list."

"Did I miss the part where we woke up in some zany personality-swap comedy? Because I'm not sure you're even capable of being unproductive."

She tilts her head. "Maybe this whole fiasco is fate's way of saying I need to lighten up and learn to enjoy life."

"Do you even believe in fate?"

"I don't know. I believe in opportunity and personal growth. I watch you becoming a better person every day, and I like to think it's - at least in part - due to my influence."

He would thank her for acknowledging his efforts, if his throat wasn't so thick with emotion.

Her hands move to his sides, and she speaks to his sternum. "And I believe that there are things you can teach me as well."

"Well if pool boozing is your goal, I'm your man."

"Certainly, but you're good for more than that."

It's hard to think with her thumbs rubbing patterns on his hip bones. Her core is hot - a furnace pressed against him. His balls tighten and his cock throbs in response.

He tries again, to extract himself from her trap. She slides her arms around his back.

"Veronica?" He searches her eyes for meaning.

"What did you think of the first time you saw this bed?" she asks.

"How lonely it would be without you. I was still moping, thinking you wanted separate rooms."

She touches his cheek. "I didn't."

"How about you? What did you think?"

She drops her eyes, traces the back of his waistband with her fingers. "I thought about what you said back in our room in Bluebell."

"Really? We talked? Because from what I remember-"

She cuts him off. "You said you were going to 'fuck me so hard someday'. Once I got around to seducing you."

It's as if he can hear his own heartbeat. He's breathless and whatever restraint he'd been exerting over his cock fizzles. It springs up, ready and willing.

He swallows and asks, voice shaking. "Is that what you're trying to do now?"

"No, not really?" She phrases it like a question - like she herself is not sure of the answer - but he knows better.

He reads it all in her expression. This isn't a seduction, it's a test. And not for him.

The objective is a bit harder to read. It could be any of a number of things - from sexual curiosity to flexing her seductive muscles, evaluating her pull over him. Which is not a bad thing, per se. He wants her to be confident.

He suspects however, that this is more reactionary. She has something to prove.

Maybe that she's still the same after her attempted-rape. That she's not afraid of sex, or damaged, or altered. That she owns her body.

Or...that she can move on after first love. That she's totally over him.

Yes, it hasn't escaped his notice that these changes in her - the exploratory touches, suggestive comments, and open flirting - started up right after learning that Duncan is no longer (and never can be) a romantic option.

It's too soon. For all her the teasing, there's been no mention of their relationship outside of a sexual context. He's just as much to blame. She's merely lobbing back his own innuendos.

He's not deluding himself into thinking she's in love with him, but he can't be nothing more to her than the tool she uses to prove her sexuality.

And who the hell says 'I'm going to fuck you so hard' to a traumatized girl? What's wrong with me?

"Hey. You know I would never hurt you, right? Like that." He touches her cheek, and she leans into his palm. "What I said to you in that room? I was turned-on and frustrated, and it was nothing more than verbal swagger. But you have to know, I would never be...rough...with you. Okay?"

"But what if that's what I wanted? Like in your..."

What? The sex tape?

Logan whimpers, drops his head back, and stares at the ceiling. "This is karma, right?"

"Would you fuck me so hard like this? Standing up?"

I give up.

He looks back at her, eyes hardening and twists his lips into a jackass smirk. "No darling, I'd fuck you nice and slow like this. Probably a great angle for hitting your g-spot."

She scoffs, as if he'd just suggested a threesome with the Tooth Fairy.

Logan rolls his eyes. "Let me guess. Lilly convinced you it was a myth, right?"

"She may have mentioned it."

"Lilly had the patience of a gnat. She wanted me to get her off quickly, and then pound her senseless. Not a lot of room there for exploration."

Veronica presses herself harder against him. "So if it was Lilly here in this bed, how would you...?"

"I wouldn't. Because I want you. Only you. And I want you to want me back, for more than just what I can do to your body." She starts to speak, but he holds up a finger. " But since you're not going to let up on me until you get your answer...If I wanted to fuck the hell out of you..." He guides her down to the mattress. Reaches behind his back, unhooking her feet and lifts them both straight up his body to his upper chest. His hands slide down her legs - shins, knees, thighs, settling on either side of her hips. "...I'd do it like this." He yanks her to the edge of the bed, lifting her slightly off the mattress, so that his painfully hard erection presses right against her core.

She gasps, wiggles, tries to create friction.

"Much more range of motion this way," Logan says, lowering her hips back down. He caresses her thighs for a second and then smiles at her. "Any more questions?"

She shakes her head, seemingly unable to find her voice.

"Good." He pulls her back up by the hand, this time leaving plenty of space between them.

His boxers are tented away from his body, creating a slight gap between the elastic and his skin.

Veronica, thinking she's sly, surreptitiously angles for a peek.

"Perv," Logan's hands come down over the fabric, shielding himself from view, but not trying to conceal his amusement. "You know, there are consequences for evil temptresses who get innocent boys all hot and bothered."

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"They must forfeit their dibs on the first shower. But, just to be nice, I'll try to save you some water."

She laughs. "Seems like a fair punishment."

He kisses her forehead and the tip of her nose. Considers her lips, but instead exhales and bounces back two steps. "Shower." He points.

She nods, and rolls over on her stomach, propping up her chin, and blatantly watching him walk to the bathroom. "Think of me?"

Logan chuckles, stopping in the doorway and smiling over his shoulder. "I always do, cupcake." He hooks his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, thinks about putting on a show for her - it's not like she's never seen his ass before. But he's terrified that she'll return the favor later.

Fisting himself in the shower has become a daily occurrence since he's started sharing a bed with Veronica. His imagination tortures him enough - the last thing he needs is a perfect visual of exactly what he's missing out out on.

He closes the door to the sound of her laughter.

Logan
Day Nine
The Titan's Trigger

The TV drones in the background - the usual bad news: hostage crisis in Russia, body discovered in a landfill, Bush on the campaign trail.

Logan licks bacon grease from his fingers and gets to his feet. "Anybody need a coffee refill?"

Veronica, pausing in the act of devouring her French toast, peers into her cup, seeming almost disappointed to find it full. "I'm good."

"Duncan?"

He glances up from his wheat-germ smoothie and rolls his eyes. "I don't drink coffee."

"Right." Logan shrugs. "Your loss."

The carafe is heavy, and the rich aroma of hazelnut wafts up as he pours. He peels back the lid of a creamer cup, rips open a sugar packet, and empties the contents of both into his mug. Taking a sip, he returns to the couch and sits.

They'd found a map in the marina folder, and now Logan spreads it out on the center of the table.

The island is more heart-shaped than round, and by that, he means the bodily organ his game avatars often rip - still beating - from their opponents' chests.

But if it were a circle - and by extension, clock shaped - then the ferry dock would be at eight o'clock, their marina at five-ish, with the shopping/playing/entertainment district in-between.

The majority of the landmass shows as green - whether the undeveloped forest area that dominates the Northern third of the map, the rolling acres of golf courses, or the large Quartermaine Estate that looks out over everything.

"It looks like this Lila's Point Avenue circles the entire island." Logan's finger traces a gray road. "I was thinking we could head Northeast and circle around the long way."

Duncan agrees. "Good idea. I saw the Quartermaine house in an architectural magazine once, and I'd love to get a better look at it."

Logan shakes his head and points to the long winding driveway on the map. "With gates like this, your magazine is the closest you'll ever get."

Veronica takes a closer look. "Who are they hoping to keep out? The other millionaires on the island?"

"From some of the stories I've heard, I wonder if they're trying to keep people in." Duncan says.

"What stories?" Veronica asks.

He fills them in on the history of the Quartermaine family. Tales of treachery, madness, and a multi-generational curse.

"Don't forget the rumors of incest." Logan doesn't realize his blunder until he catches their expressions. He drops his head to his hands. "Fuck. I'm sorry."

"It's fine. We can tiptoe around the situation, or just deal with it." She cups her hands to her mouth, as if shouting out to the world. "I spent a year making out with someone who might be my half-brother. And our parents allowed it to happen."

Duncan makes a whimpering sound. "Can I vote for the tiptoeing?"

"Hiding your head in the sand," Logan observes. "How not like you."

"What would you do? Broadcast it publicly?"

"Well, I'd probably start with a DNA test, but that's just me." Logan lifts his eyes skyward. "But she has a tried the 'treat it like a dirty secret' approach, and look how well that turned out."

"Hey, at least we can finally mark-off incest on our sexual taboo Bingo cards," Veronica says, once again chewing on French toast.

"Not even remotely funny," Duncan mutters.

"Really? I thought it was," she says. "So either of you into wearing furry mascot costumes? I'm going for that coveted diagonal streak."

Logan's lips twist up, and he shakes his head. "This is Florida. Can't you at least tailor your kinks to the weather?"

"Or not at all?" Duncan suggests.

The tinny zing of a "Breaking News" bumper sounds, and they all glance up at the TV.

[C-NOW Breaking News logo fades to an image of the four of them from last year's Homecoming, Lilly prominently featured in the foreground]

Logan's breath catches, and that old heart-stabbing anguish threatens to overwhelm him. Until Veronica's small, syrup-sticky hand squeezes his own. He breathes out.

Anchor, Rebecca Doss: Neptune, California. America's eyes have been focused on this seaside town this month since the disappearance of the Neptune Three - Logan Echolls, son of Oscar winning actor, Aaron Echolls; Duncan Kane, son of the billionaire software developer; and Veronica Mars, daughter of the former town sheriff.

[Split screen displays: Left side: Doss / Right side: images of Lilly Kane]

Doss: But it was another crime that first put Neptune on the map. The October 3rd murder of beautiful heiress, Lilly Kane. Older sister to Duncan Kane. Best friend to Veronica Mars. Girlfriend to Logan morning, there has been a shocking new development in the Lilly Kane murder case. We go to Ann Marler in Neptune, California for the details.

[Split screen displays: Left side: Doss / Right side: Ann Marler]

Doss: Hello, Ann. What can you tell us?

Marler: Hello Rebecca. Just this morning, Abel Koontz, formerly convicted of Lilly Kane's murder, was released from prison.

"What the fuck?" Duncan propels out of his seat, eyes flashing.

Logan grabs his wrist. "Dude, sit down. Flip out after we find out what happened."

Duncan clenches his jaw, but allows himself to be pulled back down on the couch.

Doss: Do you have any details as to how that came about, Ann?

Marler: Yes, I sat down earlier for an exclusive with Keith Mars.

Anchor: Let's go to tape.

[Split screen fades to full screen. Ann Marler sits with Keith Mars in the Mars residence living room.]

Keith's exhaustion is evident in his appearance, reminding Logan again, that he hasn't heard from his daughter since Dallas.

Veronica leans forward, probably drawing the same conclusions.

Marler: I appreciate you contacting me with this exclusive, Keith.

Mars: Not a problem, Ann. I'm a fan.

Marler: I understand that Abel Koontz is scheduled to be released from prison this morning?

Mars: That is correct.

Marler: Can you explain the circumstances of his exoneration?

Mars: It was a combination of blind luck and a year of hard work.

Marler: Tell me what happened.

Mars: Several things came together in proving Mr. Koontz' innocence. It started when my daughter Veronica found evidence of discrepancies in Lilly's time of death.

Duncan's glare swings to Veronica, and Logan slides his arm around her in a show of solidarity.

Mars: Further research into Mr. Koontz, unearthed a daughter, who just happened to have a large deposit in her bank account right before Mr. Koontz' arrest. But what held me up until now, was finding proof that Mr. Koontz could not have killed Lilly."

Marler: And you found that proof?

Mars: Yes, I've been chasing down a witness for almost a year, but I finally located her Thursday in Vegas. She came forward, and Mr. Koontz should be released from prison right about now.

Marler: Can you explain why Mr. Koontz would confess if he was innocent?

Mars: I learned that he has a terminal form of cancer, and I believe he accepted a bribe in exchange for his confession, in order to leave an inheritance for his daughter.

Marler: Do you have any evidence of who arranged the payout?

Mars: [looking straight into the camera] I don't have anything concrete, but I believe Jake Kane ordered the bribe.

Whatever else Keith Mars might have to say, they don't get the chance to hear it.

"My dad would never do that!" Duncan springs up from the couch again. "What the hell is wrong with your father?"

Veronica rises, hands lifting. "Right. I forgot that Jake Kane is the poster child for honesty and integrity."

He ignores the jab. "Hasn't your father hurt us enough?"

"Exonerating an innocent man hurts your family? That's a new one."

Logan steps between them before things escalate further. "Dude. You need to chill. You're not helping anything."

"It's not your father being blamed!"

"Listen to me." He moves in, so that he's the only thing Duncan can see. "Sit down, and calm down. Want me to get you some coffee?"

"For the twentieth time, I don't drink coffee!"

"Tea, then. I'll brew some water, and we'll talk calmly, okay?"

Duncan shakes off Logan's arm. "Forget it. I just want to be alone for a while." He storms up the stairs.

"Well that went well," Veronica says.

Logan sighs and turns around. "You weren't a lot of help there. I thought we were going to break the whole traffic-camera thing to him gently."

"Yeah, but then he started defending his asshole father, and I couldn't control myself. I'm so tired of the Jake Kane defense squad. He was just as guilty of letting me date Duncan as my mom was. Among other things."

Logan's scowl fades. "Veronica..." He reaches for her.

She twists away, jutting her chin out belligerently, "Sorry if I don't feel like being placated by the guy's biggest defender."

"I'm not. Not anymore."

"Since when?"

"Since I started being yours."

Her eyes soften, and her lower lip wobbles - like it can't decide whether to pout or stretch. She walks forward, poking his chest with her forehead, and he enfolds her in his arms.

"So what do you think? Should we wait around for Duncan?" he asks.

"Nah, if his tantrums are anything like yours, it could take hours. Let's go."

Logan
Day Nine
Lila's Point Avenue
Nicholas Key

The golf cart zips down the road, Veronica at the wheel, while Logan tracks their location on the island map. Who knew they could get this kind of speed out of an electric contraption designed for moving old farts from one hole in the ground to the next? It's an Italian jobby, luxury-class, with caramel-colored leather sport-seats that conform to the body (much like his dad's Aston-Martin).

Veronica had been impressed by the in-dash refrigerator, stocking it with sodas before leaving the marina. Funny, considering the way she teased me about purchasing a portable fridge for the truck.

The grass is vividly, painfully, green here, and palm trees line both sides of the road, uniform in height and fronds.

The ocean-hugging mansions - currently on their right side - huddle closely together, their private docks compensating for smaller yards; while sprawling estates spread out over the island's interior, still claiming ocean views by way of elevation.

Immense horses graze in paddocks - glossy blacks and browns and silvers. Veronica sucks in a quick breath, turning to him with an 'are you seeing this?' look.

He worships the girl she's become - tough, fiery, sexy - but this momentary glimpse of Veronica 1.0, twists something in his heart. He reaches for her right hand, running his thumb over the pink rubber bracelet she'd started wearing yesterday. 'As a bridge to my past', she'd said. 'To the girl who was still able to trust people.'

"What?" she asks, now.

"Nothing."

They pass the occasional modern home - sterile glass structures like the Kane Estate - but most of the architecture here reflects Mediterranean, Italian, or French influences.

Logan points out the mansion his family stayed in years ago, tells her the story about his mother and the peacock.

He doesn't call attention to the home of an A-List, Oscar-winning actress Veronica's always admired. That same house he'd seen his father sneaking out of, shoes-in-hand, in the wee hours of the morning. Nor does he mention the makeout session he'd been engaged in with the woman's daughter when he'd witnessed said event.

There's building trust, and then there's fanning the flames. She's had enough reminders of his indiscriminate promiscuity to last a lifetime.

Twenty minutes into their drive, the terrain changes. A forest springs up on their left, while oceanside, the docks give way to beaches. The housing here is smaller, though still luxurious. With the exception of the occasional sports car parked in a driveway, most appear empty. If the mansions were year-round residences, these are the vacation getaway homes. Built for the ultimate in privacy and discretion, they're separated from their neighbors by wide expanses.

As they round a sharp bend in the road, a dock comes into view. Stretching far out into the water, it widens into a large, multi-level structure at the end.

"What is it?" Veronica asks.

"I don't know. It's not on the map." Logan says. "Looks like a deep-water dock."

"As opposed to?"

He shakes his head. "You can't bring a yacht up to the beach, so you have to take a dock to the yacht."

She pulls the golf cart off the road, leaning forward and peering around him. "Whose is it? and why is it out here in the middle of nowhere? We haven't passed any houses for the last minute or so."

"Nobody's, apparently." He gestures to at an Island Realty sign. Reaching over, he turns the golf cart's key to the "off" position. "Come on. Let's go check it out."

They get out and move across a wide swath of lawn. Logan points out wooden stakes in the grass connected by string. "Looks like someone was in the process of building a house here. Wonder why they changed their minds?"

She shrugs. "Somebody cheated. The property is being sold in the divorce."

He nudges her with his shoulder. "Not everything is so ugly. Maybe the house was supposed to be a surprise for the owner's young bride, and right before they broke ground, she died of smallpox or polio or something. He couldn't bear to go on, so he threw himself into the sea."

"You realize smallpox has been eradicated, right?"

"That's what makes it so tragic."

They step out onto the dock, - solid and sturdy enough to support their weight without wobbling.

Logan touches Veronica's arm. "Race you to the end," he says, and takes off at a jog.

"I'll meet you there," she calls after him.

His footfalls echo, and he makes it across in no time.

The roofed structure is open on all sides, with stairs ascending to an observation deck. The space must have been Intended for recreation, as a half-octagon shaped bar squats in the center, a single stool left behind like an afterthought. Eight bags of concrete lean against a support pole, and two egg-shaped wicker chairs dangle from the ceiling. At the far end of the structure, embedded metal cleats wait like abandoned dogs, to secure a yacht that's never coming back.

Shallow steps lead down on either side. Probably to swim platforms. He peers over the left edge and grins.

A squeaky board from his side telegraphs Veronica's arrival. He turns around, points at her, and calls out, "Veronica Mars. Tell me I'm your one and only, forever and always, and that you'll never love another."

"Um..." She lifts a brow. "You have nice hair?"

He grips his heart as if crushed.

"And you're not related to me. That's a plus. And-"

"Too late. You've drawn blood." He spreads his arms wide and falls backwards off the side, yelling, "Goodbye cruel world!"

Her footsteps thump thump thump across the decking, and then Veronica's peeking over the edge. "You are such an ass."

"But my hair is great. Come on down."

He's on his back, arms propping his head, laying on what could best be described as a cargo-net crossed with a hammock. Suspended over the ocean, and attached to the swim platform on three sides, it has just the right amount of give to get comfortable. Or catch swan-diving jackasses.

Veronica walks down the steps, hesitating at the net. "Is it strong enough for both of us?"

"It's strong enough for an elephant." He rolls over, hauls himself to his feet, and hustles wide-legged to the edge, holding out his hand. She takes it and he tugs, falling backwards and pulling her down on top of him.

Laughing, Veronica pushes herself partially up, and props her chin on her hand. "Logan Echolls. Tell me you want to make out and suck face with me for hours, and that you'll never dry hump another."

He manages to keep his idiotic smile on the inside. "You do have a phenomenal butt."

She glances over her shoulder. "I wore it just for you."

"And...I suppose...all of my humps - dry or otherwise - belong to you."

"You're such a romantic." She pulls his arm around her neck, laces their fingers together, and props her head on his shoulder. She smells like dessert, and everything good in the world.

He closes his eyes, blocking out the blinding sun. Why hadn't he remembered to bring sunglasses?

She speaks again a moment later. "Remind me again why we're not doing that?"

"Dry humping?"

"Sure, but I meant making out."

He brings their linked hands to his mouth, pressing his lips to back of hers. "I've asked myself the same question a hundred times this morning."

"And?"

And if we don't handle this carefully, I'll end up losing you and Duncan, both.

"Everything I said yesterday. We need to take our time, and we need to be absolutely positive."

"You also said that I'm in control. Whatever I want and need."

"And I meant that." He strokes her shoulder with his thumb. "But my needs matter, too."

"Believe me, I'm all about satisfying your needs," she purrs, rolling onto her side. "You want this, Logan. I want this."

"No, you want this." He runs his fingers from his sternum down to his belt. Turning on his side, he meets her gaze and takes hold of her free hand. "But you can't have that without this." He kisses her palm and presses it to his heart. "Package deal, baby."

Her lower lip pokes out - just a little. "And just how many girls have told you that?"

"Not enough. More like zero."

Some kind of fierce emotion runs through her gaze. Pity, laced with anger.

"Okay." She exhales. "I understand your reluctance. Especially since a few days ago, I had the same reservations."

"But?"

Now she smiles, switches to a Southern belle accent. "But ah don't intend to stop using mah feminine wiles on you, suh."

"God, I hope not," he says. Which is probably about as intelligent as waving a red cape in front of a bull.

Veronica's eyes narrow, and she rolls over him, scrambling to the edge of the cargo hammock.

Something's moving out in the ocean. A whole bunch of somethings. Not here, but close enough to see without squinting.

"Oh my god." Logan moves next to her, letting his feet dangle over the water. "It's..."

"Magical," she finishes, sliding her arm around his back, and resting her head on his shoulder.

"Yeah."

All words disappear as the dolphin pod leaps and frolics in the sparkling waves.

After, Veronica is pensive and quiet.

"Hey, how are you holding up?" he asks. "After last night's revelation?"

"You mean that old secret brother thing? Pshaw." She flicks away the idea. "Yesterday's news. I've already forgotten all about it."

He doesn't sigh at her flip response, just slides an arm around her and squeezes. "You can be real with me, Veronica."

"I'm okay." Her lips turn up - not a smile by any means, but a soft, I-appreciate-your-concern expression. "Look, I understand why Duncan kept it secret. We had a heart-to-heart the night you left us in Dallas to go on your...date." A momentary narrowing of the eyes. "I didn't have all the details then, but it was pretty clear he was on a guilt-and-shame spiral. I believe that he wanted to spare me from having to feel that way."

"Okay. But?"

She shifts, bringing her left leg up on the net and facing him. "What bothers me is that we dated for a little more than a year."

The whole thing makes him queasy, and he breaks eye contact, not wanting her to feel any worse that she already does. "Yeah, it's a clusterfuck. Maybe if you pretended it -"

"After a year of dating me, how could he actually think I would want to be protected from the reality? Did he ever know me at all?"

No, not really.

She clutches his arm. "Hell, you only had a suspicion, and you insisted on clearing the air."

"I hate to defend the indefensible, but the version of you he dated wasn't quite as 'truth, justice, and the American way' as this latest incarnation," Logan says. "Plus, I really had nothing to lose yesterday."

"Where do you get that idea?" Veronica squirms out from under his arm, and turns sideways, eyes narrowing. "I've always been committed to the truth."

"So you came to me every time Lilly cheated?"

She inhales as if slapped, and averts her gaze.

Great job, Logan. Nothing says 'Be mine, Buttercup' like putting the object of your affection on the defensive.

Veronica turns back, sets her chin. "I knew there were other guys, but how could I keep track of your constant breakups and makeups?"

"Okay," he says. Not because he believes her, but because it doesn't matter. Why allow the past to drag them down? And anyway, it tends to be a one-way street with her. Just because she expects honesty, doesn't mean she always gives it.

Veronica bites her lip, and meets his eyes. "I wasn't blind, but maybe I didn't want to know the truth."

"You loved her." Logan takes her hand, rubs his thumbs over her knuckles. "I loved her, too. And we buried our heads in the sand because it was the safe choice."

"Safe, how?"

"If I acknowledged her cheating, then I'd have to do something about it. That, or admit what a pathetic loser I was. And as long as you didn't see what was right in front of you, you didn't have to sacrifice your values for your friendship. We turned a blind eye because it made it easier to keep her at the center of our worlds."

Veronica nods - a sad little bob of the head - and lifts her eyes to the sky. Breathes in. Breathes out. She takes his other hand, meets his gaze, and squeezes. "Logan, I'm so sorry I told Lilly about you kissing Yolanda. Or for not discussing it with you first."

"Don't be." He shakes his head several times. "Don't."

"Do you remember the conversation we had the day we left Neptune?"

"Sure I do. You called me an asshole. I called you a bitch, and then I vowed to kiss you someday." He tilts his head, pretending to think. "Or maybe I kept that last part on the inside."

She gives him a little shove on the shoulder. "You told me that if I hadn't ratted you out to Lilly, you could've been there when she was murdered."

"Veronica," he begins, but she cuts him off.

"I don't know if that's true - there's way too many factors to consider. Was she going to break up with you anyway? Or if you'd been there, would her killer have waited you out? Or killed both of you?"

Logan inhales, opens his mouth, but she holds up a hand.

"Let me finish. I know I bear some responsibility for Lilly dying angry at you. And that you spent the past year blaming yourself for not being there. And for that, I'm truly sorry."

But I could've been there. I came back. He lowers his face to his hands. How did this get so fucked up? "Veronica, we need to talk about that."

"We are talking about it," she says, rising to her feet. "But hold that thought. I'm a bit dehydrated. Be right back."

She crawls over to the swim platform, and climbs the steps.

Logan flops back down.

How would she react if she knew the whole story about that last fight with Lilly?

Sure, ostensibly, they'd fought over him kissing Yolanda. Lilly didn't suffer public disrespect, no matter how often she dished it out. But what had truly sparked her ire that day, had been that he'd ruined all of the progress she'd made on 'making them see how perfect they were for each other'. Veronica could never be with a cheater, and he must have done it on purpose, so she'd give up on her quest.

She'd been wrong. The kiss that destroyed his life hadn't been planned at all. He was drunk, Yolanda was hot, interested, and available, and Lilly was fucking with his head (and probably fucking around). Veronica, her boyfriend-criteria, and their future relationship had been the last thing on his mind at the time. He'd still been in denial that it could (or should) ever happen, and she was still with Duncan.

Logan works his way over to the swim platform, and ascends the steps.

Veronica is on her way back, moving down the dock with quick strides, a bottle of soda in each hand.

He tests the chain on one of the suspended egg chairs, giving it a tug. It proves solid, so he hops up, kicking off with his toe. It spins clockwise for five or six rotations, then counter-clockwise for three. Clockwise for one.

Veronica halts it before he can set it spinning again again. She hands him an ice-cold root beer, and then springs up onto the second chair.

"I know what you want to talk about," she says.

"You do?" He toes the ground until his seat faces hers. Maybe this conversation won't be a disaster.

"Yeah." She smiles, soft and reassuring. "And you need to know, I don't think you're a cheater."

Oh.

"I mean, I know what happened with Yolanda was an isolated incident, and that there were other contributing factors."

"Okay?"

"I just want it to be clear, any hesitation I might have in...taking that step with you...has nothing to do with me thinking you would cheat on me."

He slides off his chair, and moves in front of her. "I would never. I need you to know that."

"I know." She hooks her feet behind his thighs, using him, to pull herself up straight. "In fact, my reservations have very little to do with you. It's mostly my own hangups."

"Hangups I helped to create."

She silences him with a look. "We talked about this yesterday. Lose the hair shirt, Logan."

"Yeah, okay."

She bobs her eyebrows. "And the pants."

"Cute." His face splits into a smile. He tugs her swing closer, and presses his forehead against hers for a second.

"Guess what?" he asks cheerfully, when he pulls back.

"What?"

He leans back in, whispers in her ear. "I'd fuck the hell out of you like this, too."

"Sure you would, Romeo." She pats his cheek, eyes sparkling. "Sure you would."

---

Back on the golf cart, Veronica resumes driving.

They're surrounded only by sea and sand and forest here. With the exception of the pavement, the occasional real estate sign selling parcels of land, and two small groups of bicyclists, this place is untouched by humanity.

Civilization returns somewhere around ten o'clock on the map. The road widens at a neatly-maintained warehouse complex with dock access.

A minute later, on the left, a wide driveway welcomes visitors to Quartermaine Park - containing two basketball courts, a state-of-the-art playground (whatever that means), jogging paths, public stables, and a dog park, according to the map's legend.

He points out the rolling greens of one of the island's two award-winning golf courses. He'd played here before. At the third hole, his dad had pulled him aside, (fingers bruising his arm) to berate him for his half-assed game and overall sullenness. On the ninth green, he'd gotten a lecture for playing too competitively. You can never win with Aaron.

Perched midway up a hill, the five-story Aspirazione Hotel and Spa looks out over the shore. He reads out the bullet-pointed list of services which, Veronica reminds him, they neither need, nor can afford.

He disagrees. If anyone deserves a day of pampering, it's her, but that's a debate for a different day.

Three quarters of the way into their trip, they pass the Island Ferry and enter the heart of the vacation district.

Tasteful stands offer bike rentals at the swipe of a card. On the beach, children play while their parents seek shade under cabanas and umbrellas.

Retailers border the other - more public - marina. Designer clothing, handbags, and luggage interspersed with upscale dining establishments - Italian, French, seafood.

The air holds the aromas of garlic and basil, and Veronica perks up, turning her head until her eyes light upon the red, white, and green sign of La Trattoria.

Logan playfully pretends to restrain her.

"What?" she asks. "Did you see how much I put away at breakfast? I could hardly eat another bite."

"You can always eat another more."

She thinks about this for a second and then points at the Island Market. "We'll make our own Italian for dinner."

Duncan
Day Nine
Huntington Marina and Yacht Club

The Barcelona is the last of the four vessels on Duncan's list. A sweet, eighty-eight foot Pershing motor yacht, it's also the only thing standing between him and going back to face Logan and Veronica.

He works through the checklist on his clipboard at half-pace. External walkway and ramp inspection? Check. A board wobbles underfoot, and he repairs it like Burt demonstrated earlier. Railings? Secure. Hoses and cables? Utility connections? Safe and functional. Garbage? Emptied.

A dock-line shows signs of fraying. He grabs fresh rope from the ATV, and kneels, fingers looping and hitching by rote.

"Look at you, becoming all zen-like with your manual labor."

His dead sister is draped like a mermaid across the yacht's bow, wearing a white-and-navy dress that could have come out of a package labeled, 'Sexy Sailor Costume'.

"Um...look around, Lilly. Do you see anyone else dressed like that for yachting?"

"Because I've always been such a conformist?" She giggles. "Hey, I don't get any more Halloweens. I need to exploit all the opportunities I get."

His chest tightens and, if he could, he woud stop October from happening altogether; just skip ahead to November. Forever.

"While we're discussing fashion..." She wrinkles her nose and points an accusatory finger at him. "There's a logo on that polo, and it it's not a sailboat or a cute little guy on a horse."

"This is my uniform."

"Never expected to hear you say that."

"Maybe not." He finishes the knot, yanking it tight. "But I like it."

She jumps down to the dock, now dressed like a 1940's sailor whose wide-legged pants shrunk five inches in the dryer. "You know what doesn't make sense?"

"Spontaneous costume changes? Ascots?"

"My murder. The whole..." She makes air quotes. "Official story."

His body tenses. "You sound like Veronica. Your murderer is walking the streets again, and she's partially responsible."

"Why would that creepy old drunk want to kill me? I never even met him."

Sigh. "Because our father ruined him. Made millions off his work and left him behind."

"So why not murder Dad? Or the kid he actually liked?"

"Thanks. Appreciate that." One of the dock lights has a burned out bulb. He notes it on his clipboard. "I'm supposed to believe Dad would pay-off an innocent man to protect the real murderer? That's not the man I know!"

"You mean the one who ruined his old partner and made millions off his idea?"

When you put it that way. He grinds his teeth and initials the boxes on his checklist, hoping against hope that when he looks back up, she'll be gone.

She isn't.

Lilly's sailor outfit is now a one-piece swimsuit - vintage style with low-cut legs and two rows of gold buttons. A white, flowered swim-cap covers her hair, and she sits side-saddle on the ATV, one leg crossed over the other. "You already have all the answers, you're just too afraid to face them."

Hopping down, she skips to the end of the dock and stares out at the water. "It doesn't add up. It never did." She glances back over her shoulder. "Clue in, Donut." Then she dives, disappearing into the water with a splash.

She doesn't resurface, but then again, he didn't expect her to.

He loads up his supplies, returns the ATV to the office, and signs out for the day.

Lilly's words ping-ponging off the closed doors in his memory, he heads back to the Titan's Trigger.

Duncan had taken off this morning with a nauseous feeling in his gut and no destination in mind.

Angry strides carried him away, but he couldn't maintain the emotion for long. Not when he was surrounded by some of the most majestic and awe-inspiring vessels he'd ever seen.

A little while later, he'd stopped to steady a sign Burt Dwyer, the Dock Master was installing.

Striking up a conversation about yachts, Duncan accompanied the man on his rounds, helping out when he could, and eventually, taking on the lion's share of physical tasks. Pressure-washing docks and hulls, docking and fueling boats, cleaning up litter, and pumping excess water.

He hadn't asked for a job, and Burt never mentioned one being available. But when they stopped in the office for a midday sweet tea, Burt removed the 'Help Wanted' sign from the window and tossed him a polo shirt and cap. "Just uh...keep those sunglasses on, and avoid interacting with the clients, if at all possible."

As he approaches slip 38, Logan's voice carries down on the wind. "You're the one who wanted to play trophy wife. You can't be mad when people believe you."

"I guess I should be used to people looking at me like trash by now," Veronica answers, as he boards. "But it still burns me up."

"Those women at the market weren't looking at you like trash. They may have glanced at you a bit dismissively, but that's exactly what you were hoping for. Hey, it's not too late to do Angie Dahl."

Duncan climbs the stairs to the aft deck where Veronica and Logan sit at a white-leather, horseshoe-shaped booth, sipping coffee.

"Hey, man." Logan sees him first. "Where've you been all day?"

"Working." Duncan takes off his Huntington Marina and Yacht Club cap; holds it up by way of explanation.

"You found a job?" Veronica asks.

"Let's just say it found me. It's under-the-table, but..." He fishes a smooth piece of plastic from his pocket. "It comes with this handy-dandy discount card. Twenty percent off goods at the marina store, and twenty-five percent off at the restaurants and the club."

"Veronica will be happy to hear that," Logan takes it, reading the stipulations. "She nearly had an aneurysm when she saw the prices at the Island Market earlier."

"It certainly wasn't the Sac-n-Pac."

Logan hands back the card. "So we were just waiting for you to get back. We wanted to take the boat out for a little cruise."

"And you don't know how to operate it?"

"That too."

He chuckles, but it sounds fake to his own ears. Rolling his shoulders, he takes a deep breath and says, "I think I'm ready to talk."

Concern colors Logan's features. "Okay. We're here."

"So I noticed neither of you seemed surprised about Lilly's time of death."

Veronica adjusts her posture, sitting up straighter. "Remember when we were pulled over on our way back from covering Bodie Chang for the Navigator?"

"Yeah? What does that have to do with..." Comprehension dawns. "Lilly's unpaid ticket."

"Yes. You didn't seem to catch the ticket date, but I did. I used a fake I.D. in Lilly's name to get a copy from the sheriff's department. That's when I saw that she was still alive nearly three hours after her official time of death."

"What about you?" He turns to Logan. "You weren't any more surprised than Veronica."

"I learned about her investigation back in Dallas, while you still catatonic."

Catatonic. His stomach cramps at the very word. "Okay, be straight with me. What does the change in time of death mean?"

"It means that nobody in your family has alibis," Logan says.

Duncan groans and collapses onto the little one-seater side bench.

"And..." Veronica begins. "It means that somebody in your family went to extreme measures to alter the time of death."

"Are you saying they paid off the medical examiner?"

"Or iced down the body."

"Why?" is all Duncan can say. "Why wouldn't they want Lilly's real killer caught?"

Veronica and Logan share a glance.

Dizziness overtakes him and nausea clenches his stomach. "You think I did it."

Logan gets up, looks out over the marina, and then back at Duncan. "We didn't say that, man."

"There are..." Veronica draws in a long breath. "...factors...that might suggest that."

"Factors?" Duncan lets out a bitter laugh. "Like what?"

"For one, your parents washed your soccer uniform. Celeste Kane doesn't do laundry on a good day, let alone after finding the lifeless body of her daughter."

"Is that all you've got?"

"You have that condition your dad talked about at his press conference." Logan lifts his eyes to the sky, searching for the term. "Temporal Lobe Epilepsy?"

Duncan nods, barely able to swallow around the lump in his throat.

"And you blacked out for days after her death." Veronica says.

"Why would I ever hurt my sister? I loved Lilly!"

Logan places a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I think if there is any chance you did do it, you didn't know what you were doing. Like what happened with Fitzpatrick."

Duncan grips the side of the boat. The world spins, and he's going to vomit. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. "Do you guys honestly think I killed my own sister?"

"No," Veronica whispers. "I can't bring myself to believe it, despite what happened at the Community Park."

"Me either, man," Logan says, and Duncan can breathe again.

He'd lost her a year earlier, but losing Logan would be unbearable.

Veronica stands, moves to a glossy white island, lifting the top and revealing a hidden grill and sink. She rinses out her coffee cup, sets it down, and turns back to Duncan. "There's still the problem of you not having an alibi. That's troubling."

"Come on, Veronica. Just because he doesn't have an alibi, doesn't mean he killed her." Logan says. "I don't have an alibi, either."

Her head snaps around quick enough to get whiplash. "What do you mean ? You were out of the country with Dick and Beaver."

Logan stares at his hands. "I came back early."

"You lied?"

"Not exactly. I just let everybody else lie. My dad met me at the door when I got home that night. He'd found out about Lilly, somehow, and was afraid the cops would come after me. As the jealous boyfriend, you know. He'd already spoken with Dick and Beaver, and offered them new surfboards if they would keep quiet about leaving early."

He takes a step towards Veronica, and she backs up. "I tried to tell you. Yesterday at the rest stop, and again today at the dock."

"Great job using your words, Buddy," she spits.

Okay, this can't escalate any more. Duncan stands, now resting his hand on Logan's shoulder. "Why did you leave early?"

"Because I was a jealous boyfriend. She was fucking around with some other guy, and taunting me with it." He exhales, heavily. "I wasn't even sure what I wanted. To call her out on her double-fucking-standards? Or to beg her for another chance. I just knew I needed a confrontation. So I drove to the car wash."

Suspicion narrows Veronica's eyes. "I didn't see you there."

"You sure? A neon yellow truck directly across the street is a little hard to miss." Her arms cross over her chest, and Logan gets back to the point. "I didn't get out or anything. I just sat there, watching and thinking. And suddenly, all that anger that had been driving me...just drifted away. I didn't want a confrontation. I didn't even want to be in that relationship anymore. It felt sort of...peaceful, and exciting at the same time. So I wrote her a note explaining it."

"Did you give it to her?"

"Yeah, I left it in her car, with this shot glass I bought her in TJ." He moves toward Veronica holding out a hand, and again, she steps backward.

Logan's eyes widen. "Wait. You think I killed her?"

Veronica just stares at him, eyes hard and mean.

"If you could just read my letter, you'd know."

"Well we don't have that letter now, do we?" Her voice could freeze lava.

This is an unmitigated disaster, and Duncan needs to find some way to fix it before it reaches the point of no return. "So just tell us where you were between the carwash and when you got home. That should clear everything up."

Logan's expression turns cagey. "I can't."

"You'd better," Veronica says.

"I. Just. Can't."

"What the hell, Logan? You think we don't know what a manwhore you are? If you're so innocent, just tell us whose wife you were fucking while Lilly was being bludgeoned to death."

Duncan winces. Obviously, she's changed, but never has he heard such venom in her voice before.

Logan recoils as if gut-punched, eyes glittering with tears. "Well, I guess I know now how you feel about me, Veronica. You believe Prince Charming here, on his word, but won't take mine?"

Veronica tilts her head as if in challenge, and Logan throws up his hands. "You know what? Fuck this, and fuck you. I'm out of here."

Duncan catches a split-second glimpse of Logan's face - crumpled with despair and heartbreak - before he's careening down the stairs and off the boat.

Oh dear God! He's fallen in love with her.

Veronica watches him go with tight lips, and cold, calculating eyes.

And her only regret is that she didn't get the opportunity to douse him with gasoline and light a match on his way out.

Veronica
Day Nine
Titan's Trigger

He's halfway to the marina, and she's still frozen in place.

What the hell happens now?

They're fugitives. If Logan gets arrested, they'll all get arrested - that's if the lunatic out to murder them doesn't find them first.

But I can't let him get away with it. He needs to pay.

Her blood is ice water. How is she supposed to think when she's shivering like this? Get warm first - if she ever can again - then think.

Grabbing her mug - still wet - she jogs down the stairs to cabin, and into her stateroom.

She doesn't look at the bed. Won't look at it. He made me trust him. Heads straight to the closet, clanking hangers - my clothes, his clothes, my clothes, his clothes. Are you sure we didn't get married? Ha ha. So domesticated. Ignoring Logan's super-plush hoodie, she yanks her own lighter-weight one off the hanger and shrugs it on.

Still freezing.

Duncan's standing in the stateroom doorway when she comes back out. "Logan didn't kill Lilly."

"We can't know that." She shoulders past him, moves to the counter and refills her mug from the carafe Logan brewed twenty minutes ago.

So considerate. For a psychopath.

"I do know that. And I think you do too."

They need a new plan. They can't stay here. The boat is Logan's, but they can take the Explorer. And head where? Chicago? Liam Fitzpatrick is there now, searching for them. She can work with that. Or Dallas, maybe. Who would expect them to go back there?

She'll call in an anonymous tip once they're a few hundred miles away. Logan Echolls killed Lilly Kane, and he's currently in Miami.

That should lure Liam right back to Florida. Two psychos. One stone.

She takes the coffee to her stateroom, sets it down next to his stupid, creepy, codependant statue, and retrieves her bags from the under-floor cubby.

"What are you doing?" Duncan's shadow darkens the doorway.

"What does it look like? Go pack."

"I'm not going anywhere." He's wearing that obstinate expression she hasn't seen in ages.

"Well, you can't stay here with your sister's killer. You realize that, right?"

Heading back into the closet, she snatches clothes from the rod. Mine, not mine, mine, not mine. Doesn't bother with removing the hangers. No time. Folding and stuffing, and...shit. that's his black tee-shirt.

"I'm. Not. Going. Anywhere." Duncan repeats. "I've known Logan since I was five. He did not kill my sister. His very nature is to protect the ones he loves."

She stops shoving clothes in her bag and looks at him. "Oh, is that what he's been doing for the past year? Protecting me? Because it felt a lot more like torture."

Duncan sighs. "I understand that he's hurt you, but that just means he's an asshole, not a killer."

"And you can't possibly be both a killer and an asshole." She rolls her eyes.

He shakes his head, mulishly. "Logan did not kill Lilly. I would believe that I did it and blacked-it-out before I'd buy that he did."

"That's not helping your case."

Which cubbies are hers and which are Logan's? Damn, all of these built-ins.

"You sleep with him every night."

She sighs. "That's for practical reasons. The nightmares, and..."

"Exactly. Do you really think your instincts would allow you to sleep with - to be at your most defenseless with - a killer?"

Her instincts have always led her wrong when it comes to Logan. Why should this be any different? "He won't tell us where he was at the time of her death."

"That just means he was doing something embarrassing. This is Logan we're talking about. Cagey is his middle name."

Her chest aches and her mouth won't formulate a response.

"Search your heart for the truth, Veronica."

"Can't you see, I'm afraid of what's in my heart?" She sounds too shrill. Too pathetic. "I knew who he was, but somehow he made me trust him. I feel like such an idiot. After everything he's done to me!"

"He was a shithead," he agrees. "And he's spent every day since we left Neptune trying to make it up to you."

Duncan has a point.

What was it Peggy told her back in Dallas? "There is no 'earning' trust. You need to give it away on faith and then hope that the person will live up to your belief in them."

Over the past few days, Logan's gone above and beyond, justifying her faith in him. He's been her rock, supporting her through the worst, but never making her feel weak or needy. Never forgetting how necessary humor is for her as a coping mechanism. He'd gracefully deflected her physical advances, without rejecting her. Quite the contrary. And he'd brought the truth about Duncan to her the moment he figured it out. In fact, he had tried to confess something to her yesterday at the rest stop, and she'd told him to save it.

If she's learned anything about him since leaving Neptune, it's that he would sacrifice life and limb for the people he loves. That he values them - her and Duncan - more than himself. And he loved Lilly - even if he'd been telling the truth about the note - she knows he did, and he would have traded his own life for hers.

"He didn't do it, Veronica," Duncan repeats for like the four-hundredth time.

She turns around, meeting his eyes in a firm gaze. When she speaks, it's to repeat his words. "He didn't do it. Oh God, he didn't do it."

She snatches her bag, dumps it out on the bed, and scavenges through the contents until she finds the burner phone. Pressing speed dial #1, she holds her breath.

Ringing chirps from the top of Logan's nightstand where the device sits charging. Fuck! "He didn't take his cell with him."

"He wasn't wearing any kind of disguise either," Duncan says. "But he'll be back."

"What makes you so sure? What if he doesn't return? What if he thinks he's better off without us?" Oh God, if I've lost him... Her heart aches, and her throat scratches like she has the flu.

Duncan shakes his head adamantly. "Logan won't leave us alone - not with Liam Fitzpatrick out there - no matter how hurt he is. For all of his posturing and attitude, he's still that kid who's always wanted to be Batman."

She pauses in her response. "No!"

"Yeah." He nods. "He spent three months in first grade speaking only in Batman-voice. Got him sent to the principal's office at least once a week, but he refused to relent. Then, there was the mask."

Veronica can feel her features softening, her tension draining. "I envy you, you know. Your ability to believe in people without any evidence. I lost that after Lilly."

"It's not really like that. I believe in Logan. He's never let me down. And you. That's about it, now that Lilly's gone."

"Me? We haven't exactly related much ever since..."

"Are you kidding? You're the brains of this operation. We'd probably be dead already without you. Logan's the heart. The glue that keeps us together. And me?" His voice wobbles, as if he's struggling to keep back his emotion. "I'm supposed to be the who's reliable, responsible, but out here? I'm useless."

"Don't sell yourself short," she says. "You actually know how to work this boat, and more importantly, you hold the discount card."

He laughs, breaking the tension. "As goes the discount card, so go I?"

"Something like that." Veronica says. She pats him on the arm. "Come on. Let's go teach you to be useful. You're going to make me dinner."

Back in the galley, she collects ingredients - tomato sauce, spices, dried rigatoni. She cuts Duncan off before he can speak. "If I hear one word about using boxed pasta, so help me..."

---

Duncan ended up proving not nearly as useless as one might expect, although she did have to persuade him that extra vegetables would not be necessary. And he'd scoffed at the idea of using paper plates - something about living in a disposable society.

"You want us to eat off of real plates, you can do the dishes," she'd said (but of course, she had to teach him how to do that, as well).

The evening hasn't been a complete bust. She chatted with her dad while cleaning up the mess she made in the stateroom. No, Logan can't come to the phone. He's out doing a side job. No, nothing illegal. I promise. Afterwards, she'd taught Duncan everything she knew about budgeting. He seemed to have an affinity for the task, so she'd dubbed him 'Boat Treasurer'.

"You don't drink," she said when he poured himself a tumbler of something amber.

"It's been a very rough couple of days."

"Well, in that case..." she slid an empty glass towards him.

The stuff burned going down, but - after two drinks - she could finally warm up inside.

He seemed to be having an internal struggle. "Veronica?"

"What?" she asked.

"Should we...maybe...talk about it?" "What happened between us that one night? At the party?"

She didn't need for him to clarify. A week or so after Homecoming last year, they'd found themselves a little out-of-the-way hidey-hole at Enbom's Autumn Bash. With the makeout growing more heated - at least for Duncan - she'd worked up the nerve to move his hand onto her breast. Pulling at the button on his jeans, she'd asked if there was anything she could do for him. Of course, he'd become squirrely, suddenly remembering something he had to do with his dad in the morning, and could he take her home early? At the time, the rejection had stung, but considering what she knew now...

She shivered. "No, let's not. In fact, I would be fine with saying we imagined the entire thing, and never thinking about it again."

He let out a little exhale of relief. "I support that proposition." He held out his glass. "To: it never happened."

"It never happened." She toasted, sipped and, other than that minor hiccup, the atmosphere the rest of the evening might be described as comfortable.

They've been talking and bickering and playing video games for hours now. Almost like siblings. Veronica's eyes have strayed periodically to the stairs, although mostly she's successfully hidden her concern. This time, though, Duncan catches her.

"He'll be back," he puts his arm around her and squeezes.

"If he knows what's good for him," she answers, dropping her head to his shoulder. "I know a little bit about bounty hunting."

Logan
Day Nine
Titan's Trigger

The steps are too steep, and the world spins. Logan braces himself as he takes the stairs down to the cabin.

Literally. Why did he drink so much?

Figuratively, too, come to think of it. Because who knows what kind of Veronica-hell waits below?

Oh yeah. That's why I drink.

Will they demand that he immediately turn around and leave again? If she looks at him like she did earlier, he just might take off anyway.

How could she believe that he would ever hurt, let alone kill, Lilly? If he had killed her, why would he have volunteered the fact that he had no alibi? Bet you didn't consider that, Ms. Genius.

They're sitting together on the couch - practically cuddling. What the fuck?

"Well isn't this cozy?"

"Logan!" Veronica's up and moving towards him. "Where have you been?"

"Somewhere else." he sidesteps her, turning to the galley.

She's right there on his heels, opening her mouth to interrogate him, when his...well...companion is probably too nice of a word - steps into the doorway. "Snazzy."

An inch or two taller than Veronica and slighter in build, her blindingly-blue eyes contrast sharply with her black hair, black eyeliner and...black everything, to be honest.

"Who's this, Nolan?" It's funny - that deceptively calm thing Veronica does with her voice when her eyes are narrowed slits of wrath.

"Um..." he waves a hand, shrugs. "Introduce yourselves."

He leans into the freezer, searching for that bottle of Gray Goose he'd put in to chill last night.

One sharp exhale and she's walking away. Straight to their stateroom.

"Does this mean that we can't be outfit-sharing buddies?" The other girl calls after her.

Veronica freezes, squaring her shoulders before looking back. Ice Queen in the hizouse! "I'll tell you what. If I decide to dress up as Goth Barbie for Halloween, I'll look you up." The door slams.

"Goth?" Wide-mouthed, the girl turns to Logan. "Does this look Goth to you?"

He'd probably call it more, 'Avril-Lavigne-meets-goth', with the knee-length, lace-up boots, one of those tops with bra hooks up the front, and ripped pants flashing glimpses of fishnet. But what the fuck does he know about fashion?

In the words of the great Romeo Scavo, he's a fashion 'DON'T'.

He turns his attention back to freezer, moves aside a half-loaf of garlic bread. So much for 'How do you feel about getting even more domestic and cooking dinner together tonight, Logan?' Ah, there's the vodka.

The girl drops down onto the couch. "Nice digs. I'm going to love it here."

"Fuck you." Logan says.

She blows him a kiss and then points to the guest stateroom. "So I guess that's my bedroom?"

"No, that's my room." Duncan, who's remained silent up to now, speaks up. "Um...Nolan? Explanation?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm being rude." Logan gestures between the two. "Duncan, meet our new blackmailer. Blackmailing Bitch, meet Duncan."

"I also answer to Zadie." She reaches out her hand, and Duncan, a gentleman even at his most bewildered, takes it and shakes.

"She followed me home like a stray mongrel. I tried to lose her, but she clings tighter than an STD."

"What do you want from us?" Duncan asks.

"I'll start with your bedroom," Zadie stands and heads into the stateroom. Switching on the light, she lets out a whoop of delight.

A thud follows - her leaping onto the platform bed - followed by a series of thumps.

Logan sticks his head in the doorway. "Do you mind?"

She's kicking her feet on the mattress. Like a freaking toddler's tantrum, except with laughing instead of tears.

"I can't help it!" She lifts up on her elbows pressing one hand to her wide, smiling mouth. "It's so comfy and clean. Not a rat or cockroach in sight."

"You sure about that? I'm looking at one right now?"

"Where?" Her head snaps around, and then she rolls her eyes. "Funny, but not even you can ruin my good mood, Lord Byron."

"That's me. Mad, bad, and dangerous to know. Just ask Veronica."

She hurries past him into the bathroom. "The towels are like clouds!" Cabinets and drawers open and close.

Logan flops onto the couch beside Duncan. "God help us."

"What are you complaining about? You're not the one who lost a bedroom."

"You don't think? In case you missed it, Veronica accused me of murder. And manwhorishness. And probably a dozen other offenses after I left."

"Dude, you're drunk. Talk to her in the morning."

"Oh, I'll talk to her tomorrow. Long enough to say 'Farewell, Tundra!'" Duncan misses the joke as usual, so he explains. "Because she's an ice queen. 'So long, Antarctica. Thanks for the..."

"Memories?"

Blue balls.

"And anyway, I'm not even full-on-drunk, yet." He unscrews the lid on the Gray Goose, and is in the process of lifting it to his lips, when Zadie swoops in, snatching it from his grasp.

"Ohhh. The good stuff." She chugs straight from the bottle.

He exchanges a glance with Duncan, and then stands. Pulling the bottle from her hands, he walks to the galley, pours himself a full glass, and gives it back to her.

"I bet that couch transforms into a bed," Zadie addresses Duncan. "Get up, and we'll check."

"And then you'll sleep on it?"

"Not a chance." She winks. "That's for you. And maybe Loverboy here, too. Looks like he's in the doghouse with the girlfriend."

Logan sits, pulls Duncan's arm around him, and bats his lashes.

"Logan and Veronica aren't dating."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself. Didn't you see footage from that mall?"

"No, what happened?" He turns to Logan.

"Selling the dream, man. You can be an outlaw supercouple, too!" Logan makes an invisible marquis with his hands. "They wanted romance, we gave them romance. They gave us a diversion."

"I see," Duncan says.

"Veronica's a great pretender." He swallows a long gulp of vodka. "Guess it's a Kane thing. You'd be proud."

Veronica
Day Nine
The Titan's Trigger

So much for 'I want you, and only you, Veronica'. Logan's symbolic commitment to her lasted about as long as the first murder accusation.

It's not like I had him arrested, or anything.

Why did she even unpack? She can't stay here. Not when he's already with another girl. A girl with a dancer's body and a face like something out of fairyland.

Even if it's just a hookup, - and who is she kidding, of course it's just a hookup - she can't live this way. Wondering who he's fucking every time they get into a minor fight. Or walking on eggshells out of fear of propelling him into another bimbo's arms.

A light tapping comes from the door.

Veronica swipes away tears as it opens. "Yes?"

"I need to come in for a minute." Logan's voice. Neutral.

"It's your yacht."

She shrinks back into the darkness as he shuffles past. Mask up. Face of stone. Never let him see you cry. He'd enjoy it too much.

A blue night-light turns on in the bathroom, not bright enough to blind her, but still illuminating him through the partially open door as he brushes his teeth and goes through his ridiculous skincare routine.

"I'll leave in the morning." He says, patting some kind of serum onto his skin.

"The boat?"

"The boat. The state. Your life."

A sob forms in her throat. She swallows it back. "You want to leave?"

The night light goes off, denim rustles. "No, but you clearly don't want a murderer around."

"Shut up, Logan."

"Shutting up."

The closet light turns on.

Silhouetted in the doorway, he peels off his top, tossing it into the hamper. He thumbs open the fly on his jeans, a hanger clinks, and he drapes a clean tee shirt around his neck. He ducks down at the foot of the bed, and - in the glow from the closet - fumbles around in one of the platform's cubbies.

"What are you doing now?"

"Oh, I'm allowed to speak again? You've caught me, Nancy Drew. I'm hiding murder weapons. That, or looking for clean sheets. For the couch bed."

"The one in the cabin?"

"Yes, the one in the cabin." He stands, a pile of linens in his hands, turns off the closet light, and heads back to the door.

So he's going to make her listen? Punish her by showing her what she's missing out on, when she'd so clearly demonstrated her interest in him?

"Real classy, Logan."

He lets out a pained sigh. "What have I done now?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. Don't forget your condoms in the nightstand."

He laughs, bitter and ugly. "Why? You afraid I'm going to impregnate your brother, or give him an STD?"

"Don't play dumb. Fine, I don't care. Knock up your little groupie. Mommy and Daddy will just pay her off, anyway. No consequences for Logan."

"Groupie?" The designation seems to tickle him. "You mean old Tartful Dodger, who stole Duncan's bedroom? The only way I'm using a condom on her, is over her face."

"What?" Veronica sits up.

"To suffocate her. You know, because I kill young girls. Wow, you guys are slow catching the murder jokes tonight."

"No, the other part."

"She's a con-woman, Veronica. A grifter. She's keeping her mouth shut in exchange for a vermin-free roof over her head, but who knows what she'll demand next?"

"And you brought her here? Some kind of parting gift before you abandon us?"

"Abandon YOU?" She can't see him, but if his exasperated tone is any indication, dramatic hand gestures are a-flying. "You're the one who turned on me. And anyway, I thought I'd lost her. I zig-zagged all over the place, but this chick could give you lessons on tenacity."

"Oh really?" Sounds like a challenge. Veronica slides out of bed. "Let's just see about that."

Logan's leaning against the door. He hits the nearest tap-light.

"Move, please."

"What're you gonna do?"

"I'm going to go toss her out her out on her thieving ass."

"Fine." He moves aside. "She seems reasonable. I'm sure she'll shake our hands, wish us luck, and wait until the morning to call the cops."

Veronica hesitates.

"Or maybe you can wake up your couch-cuddling buddy to drive the boat. Make a run for the border. Like OJ, except with a luxury yacht instead of a Bronco."

"God you're annoying. I suppose it can wait until morning. But then, she's got to go." She climbs back up onto the bed.

"Thought you'd see it that way."

She stops him as he's reaching for the door knob. "Why did you let me think she was a conquest?"

"Let you? Since when has Veronica Mars needed permission to call me a bad guy?" He runs a hand through the top of his hair. "Anyway, I was a bit more concerned about your other accusations."

"You're an asshole."

"And you're a bitch." He turns off the tap light and opens the door. "Goodnight, Veronica." The way he says it - with a sort of catch in his voice - tugs at something inside her.

"Logan?"

"Huh?"

"Stay."

"Stay where? The boat?"

"The boat. Florida. In my life. In my bed."

Silence. Her heartbeats stretch out for an eternity. Is he leaving? Is he staying?

Click.

The mattress dips. Logan crawls up from the bottom, kneeling - no, straddling - her hips. She reaches for him, but he captures her wrists, pressing first one, and then the other into the mattress next to her head.

He shifts forward, lowering himself over her. His tension coils like a live wire, and there's something dangerous about him right now. Something that makes her nipples tighten, and her pulse race with excitement.

She tastes toothpaste on his breath as he draws closer, and his lips whisper against the side of her mouth. "Are you afraid of me, Veronica?"

He's testing her.. She's seen a dozen flavors of this behavior over the years. He's pushing boundaries, and living up to people's bad opinions. You're going to reject me anyway, so might as well get it over with.

She fakes a yawn. "I've seen scarier."

"Do you believe I killed Lilly?"

"No."

He brushes her hair back from her forehead. "Do you think I could ever hurt you?"

She understands the behavior - she really does - and the feelings motivating it. She's even a little turned-on. But she won't allow him to think she'll tolerate this kind of bullshit.

Her eyes have adjusted enough to make out his face in the moonlight. His pretty, jackass face, and that dumb lower lip that's always hanging just a little bit slack.

So she takes it between her teeth. The lip. She doesn't suck it, or bite it. She just gets a grip on it and locks her jaw.

Logan spends a moment or two digesting this, and then gives a little tug.

She holds firm.

He wiggles his head.

Nothing.

"Ronkah?"

"Hmm?"

"Thash naw shekshi, Ronkah."

"Not trine be," she speaks around the fleshy obstruction.

"Ca you yecko?"

"Caw you staw beeng a zhockass?"

"Kay."

She releases him.

"Oh my god!" He pulls away, sitting back on his heels. A look of horror crosses his face. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you."

"I don't deserve forgiveness." Logan crumples, wrapping both arms around her, and pressing his face to her sternum like a shipwrecked man clinging to floating debris. "I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry."

Veronica runs her fingers through his hair. "To answer your question, no, I know you would never hurt me. Just...don't ever get aggressive with me to prove a point again."

"Never."

"Unless the point is that you're going to 'fuck me so hard'.

Logan lets out a choked laugh against her collar bone.

"Or I might be down for some aggressive kissing." Right now, perhaps? Having his face between her breasts isn't helping her libido any. "Just never be aggressive when you're angry, okay?"

"I'm not angry, Veronica." He lifts up his head. "I swear. I'm just afraid."

"I believe you."

He shifts to his side. "I didn't kill Lilly, but I'm sorry for lying about my alibi."

Breathe, Veronica. He's being sincere right now, but her nipple is sincerely about to poke him in the ear.

"I was afraid you and Duncan would kick me out."

"Of your own boat?"

"You could have left me behind."

"And you'd probably be better off. Look what we've brought down on you. You stopped to help a girl out, and ended up a fugitive."

He shifts, glancing up at her face. "I don't think you understand, Veronica."

That makes two of us, considering your mouth is inches from my breast, and you still want to chat. "Understand what?"

"I wouldn't take it back. I'd take away your suffering and Duncan's suffering. I'd take away the danger. But not this. Wherever you are is where I want to be."

Words can't convey the warmth and contentment his statement elicits in her. She scratches at his scalp, and he leans into her touch like a happy puppy.

They fall asleep twined together.

Veronica
Day Nine
The Titan's Trigger

She wakes in darkness, heart pounding and adrenaline surging. The momentary panic of being alone and abandoned. Again.

An hour may have passed, or three - she has no idea - but soft, sleeping breaths drift across the side of her neck and the heavy arm draped over would prevent her from turning enough to check the clock. If she cared about the time, that is.

Just a dream. He's still here.

She rolls onto her left hip, facing Logan. He's on her side of the bed tonight, and enough moonlight streams through the stateroom window to make out the thick sweep of lashes on his cheek, the relaxed set of his jaw.

No tension in him now. He's okay.

I came so close to losing him today.

What if he'd decided they weren't worth the trouble? What if he hadn't come back?

Her throat closes-up and she wiggles closer, a sudden instinct to cling to him.

I can't lose you. I need you. I...

She exhales, and presses her forehead to his. The tips of their noses touch, and she tastes his every exhale.

His body is warmth, aligned with hers from chest to hips. Smooth bare skin against her forearms, denim against her thighs.

Emotion swells through her like a symphony. Her fingers skim across his cheek, and down his jawline as her nose slides to the right.

She needs only to move her lips a centimeter or two to kiss him. So she does. One whisper-soft kiss to his sleeping mouth.

He's not a fairytale princess, and he doesn't wake.

Could you be any more creepy, Veronica? This is not okay.

She sighs, pulling away. Just turn over, be his little spoon, and go back to sleep.

Logan stops her. Threading his fingers through her hair, he pulls her back to his mouth with a little 'mmm' sound. His lips part, and his tongue tastes of toothpaste and vodka as it glides sensually against hers.

She clutches at him - hair, skin, neck, shoulders. The kiss is a tsunami in her belly, at the intersection of desire, chemistry and emotion. She can't get enough of his mouth.

Her leg inches forward, inner knee sliding up to his hip. Logan's palm glides down her spine, over her ass, wraps around the back of her thigh.

She kisses around his mouth - the corners, cupid's bow, bottom lip. Their bodies move together, rocking right and left, until he plants his shoulder and rolls on top.

His mouth moves to her neck, licking, biting, sucking. Veronica clutches his hair, calves bracing against the back of his thighs, urging movement, friction.

Logan complies, his hips rock, and she arches into him. They move together, creating overwhelming sensations deep inside her. Sensations she needs to control.

Pushing at him, she rolls him back and climbs on top. She curls over him and he holds back her hair as she explores his mouth, raw and demanding. Biting and sucking at his lips.

Logan's hand slides under her shirt, sweeping caresses over her naked spine and shoulder blades.

She finds the rhythm again, rolls her hips, undulates. Pressure builds, and she mouths at his neck, tasting salt and skin and Logan. His collarbone, his chest. She flicks her tongue over his nipple, and he lets out something between a moan and a growl.

Bracing her hips, he grinds his erection against her once, twice. He releases her abruptly, pulling her back to his mouth, and giving her a soft, tender kiss. Another one.

And then...the jackass rolls onto his side and pulls her snug. Spooning.

Surely he's going to do something. Touch her someplace fun. Show her that famous Echolls Magic.

His breathing grows softer. Shallower. Slower. Asleep.

Oh my god. What the hell just happened? How much did he drink?

Frustrated, Veronica lays awake feeling...unfinished. Following her urge to rub her thighs together does nothing to relieve the ache. Finally, unable to take it any longer, she throws off Logan's arm and slips out of bed.

She gives the cold shower thirty seconds before she gets sick of chattering teeth and shivering, and she turns it to warm. As the water beats down on her, she relives what just happened. The way he made every cell come to life, the way her body 'just knew' what it was supposed to do, some sort of primal drive making up for what she lacks in experience.

She lifts the shower nozzle from its cradle. Guides the stream across her flesh. Over her breasts, her belly, and down between her thighs.

At first, she doesn't get what the big deal is. She experiments with the settings, trying out soft sprinkles and concentrated streams. Massaging, pulse, one that sprays in circles. It's not an unpleasant sensation, but certainly nothing to write home about.

Until she tilts her wrist just a fraction of an inch more.

Oh.

OHHHHHHHHH.

Falling back against the wall, she clings to the hand rail while waves of pleasure crash through her.

She crawls back into bed in a much better mood. Logan senses her presence, pulling her close again.

"You're wet," he mumbles, licking a water droplet off the back of her shoulder.

"No thanks to you."