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.

32. Chapter 32

Duncan Day 11
Quartermaine Estate
Nicholas Key

Things Duncan Kane — California born and raised — knows about the Quartermaine estate on Nicholas Key: it's a Gilded Age Mediterranean-style mansion, commissioned in 1928 by Humphrey Quartermaine III, and designed by then-famous architect, Maurice Fatio. HQ3, his wife, Miranda, and their daughter, Mirella, took up part-time residence in 1930, and immediately set to work expanding the estate.

Things Harper Quartermaine — HQ's direct descendant — knows about her family's property: "Um…I think it was built in the 40s or something. Like, my great, great, grandfather, Humphrey, lost his yacht in a poker game, but won this island in a later hand."

She's wrong. That legendary card game involved Fisher Island, miles to the north, where William Vanderbilt II, traded his 250-foot yacht to Carl Fisher for 7 acres.

Going by square footage alone, most of Duncan's friends have larger houses, yet the Quartermaine mansion has presence, in a way very few homes do back in Neptune. It looms imposingly over the island like a guardian, with its red tile roofs and third story lookout room.

"The deck area was extended around the time I was born." Harper points to the statue of a lion spitting water into the shallow end of the pool. "He's original, but was restored around the time of the remodel."

Duncan can't deny that he's always wanted to get a look at the estate, but with Harper and Zadie as tour guides, he feels a bit like a lamb being led to slaughter.

Why is he even here?

He'd never needed more than a few close friends back home. Now that he's a fugitive from the law, the last thing he should be doing is socializing.

He gets Veronica's motives. Figuring out what kind of con Zadie's running on the Quartermaines brings them one step closer to getting her off the yacht and out of their lives.

But Veronica's been here all day, and, since Harper is still smiling at Zadie, the mission must've been unsuccessful.

So why is she lounging around the pool with Logan, when she could be here with them, gathering more information?

Of their friend group, she's always been the level-headed one, but her disdain for Zadie seems to be clouding her judgment. Making her take unnecessary risks, and dragging him and Logan along with her.

Zadie walks on Duncan's right, quieter today than she'd been last night. She laughs at Harper's inane jokes, but she seems distracted, maybe even a little sad.

What would Veronica make of that? Is it some kind of clue? Had Zadie had been hoping the other Q twin would be here?

Who is he kidding? Veronica doesn't even notice emotional cues, let alone try to diagnose their cause. At least not new Veronica.

Harper turns right at the corner of the house and they descend down four steps flanked by old-fashioned street lamps.

The mansion casts its wide shadow over this lower level, resulting in the reddish hexagonal flagstones being darker than the ones around the pool. Less sun bleached.

"Where are my manners?" Harper stops suddenly, turns to Duncan. "I didn't offer you anything to drink."

"Oh. That's alright."

A quick back-and-forth commences - I'm okay / it's no bother at all / really, I can wait until after the tour/ why wait? I need to freshen my own drink / well, if you're going to the kitchen anyway, I'll take some water / coming right up.

"I actually need a quick bathroom break," Zadie says, following Harper through a pair of French doors.

Duncan takes a seat to wait for them.

Something about the hard stone bench triggers something in his head. A memory?

No, it was a dream.

He can't remember the details, only that Logan had been there. He'd needed Logan to help him with something, but Logan kept running off to argue with Veronica. Leaving Duncan on the outside. Alone.

Was the dream trying to tell him something? Stop relying on others to save you, and learn to take care of yourself. Or was it some kind of premonition of things to come?

Since when have you cared about dreams? Are you going to check your horoscope next?

Duncan shakes away the image, and takes in his surroundings.

Among hedges and statuary, three more benches are spaced equidistant down the length of the house. Back when the place was built, this must've been where guests came to get air during large gatherings. A glance over his shoulder confirms his suspicions.

Through the windows is a large ballroom, empty of furnishings.

Duncan walks over to the doors and turns the handle. Unlocked. He enters, stopping just inside the door to take it all in.

The room is huge, with teal walls and ornate crown molding. An immense chandelier hangs from the very center of the ceiling, with two smaller replicas on each side.

There's a sense of balance to the room. Two pairs of exterior French doors directly face interior French doors. Artwork faces artwork. The East and West walls are mirrored, making the room look like it goes on forever.

The staff has done their job, the room is spotless, but there's a mustiness to the air. Like it needs to be aired out more often.

"Just like we always talked about," Lilly speaks wistfully from his side.

Curls from her elaborate updo manage to conceal most of her head wound, but one strand is pinker than the rest. She wears a near-perfect replica of Cinderella's blue ball gown, and he probably just lost five-hundred points of 'dude cred', for knowing that fact.

"Just like you always talked about."

"Liar. We made a pact." Lilly glides toward the mirror on their right, examining her reflection. "We vowed that when we grew up, the Kane siblings were going to make formal balls a thing again."

"Wasn't that the day that Celeste broke the news that you would never have occasion to wear all those fancy ball gowns you talked about owning?" Duncan trails after his sister. "We were like six and seven."

"So? Who sets the trends, if not billionaires? I could've pulled it off. If I'd actually been given the chance to grow up." She twirls in a circle, and suddenly, her gown is metallic gold and strapless. "Then again, if I were alive, I'd need a hoop skirt for this dress."

Lilly dances around the room with an invisible partner, her gaze never straying from the mirror.

Her dress is lipstick red, with a thousand tiny beads that twinkle the evening light. It's a matte jet black, inky smoke curling around the hem. It's peacock blue with a black lace overlay. It's a soft pastel rainbow, like somebody drew vertical chalk stripes then smudged the edges with a giant finger. It's…

"I recognize these dresses!" Duncan laughs. "You used to make me play Barbies with you."

Lilly's dress shifts to pale pink, with hundreds of tiny ruffles. "You loved playing Barbies."

"I might have, if you'd let us actually make up stories. But all you wanted to do was dress her up in outfits and make her hump Ken."

"I was a kid. I didn't know any better."

"That there's more to life than humping?"

"That Ken had a micropenis and a stick up his ass. She should've been humping that hot redhead, Midge."

Duncan lets out a weary sigh.

"Anyway, Barbie has nothing on me." Lilly twirls and her dress is emerald green and skintight.

"Um...shouldn't you be doing this fashion show for Logan? He's out back, by the pool."

"Logan can only see me when he's wasted, or if I concentrate very very hard. Besides, he only has eyes for Veronica." She flashes Duncan an apologetic smile. "You've realized that by now, right?"

Duncan shrugs, not interested in pursuing this conversation.

"Or have you always known?"

"I've always known that Logan loves you. Now, can we talk about something else? Anything else?"

"Sure, but who are we talking to?" Zadie speaks from the doorway behind him.

Duncan spins around, a hand pressed to his heart. "Jesus! Can you stop sneaking up on me like that?"

"Sorry, but you seemed deep in conversation."

"I wasn't talking to anyone."

Zadie's face goes hard. "Do not gaslight me."

"How am I gaslighting you?"

"That's what it's called when you try to make somebody doubt what they've heard with their own ears. If you don't want to answer, tell me to 'fuck off' or to mind my own business, but don't pretend that I'm the crazy one."

What was he supposed to do? Tell her the truth?

Then again, why not?

"You're right. If anyone around here is crazy, it's me. And I don't even know why I tried to hide that fact from the grifter who's making our lives miserable."

"Um…because she's like super hot?" Lilly suggests, and he shoots her a glare.

"You want to know the truth?" Duncan continues. "I was having a conversation with my dead sister. Satisfied?"

"The famous Lilly Kane?" Zadie asks, and he can't interpret from her expression whether she's seriously asking or making fun of him.

"The one and only." Lilly curtsies.

Duncan nods his assent.

"Where is she?"

He waves a hand at Lilly. "Over there, doing a one-woman ball gown fashion show, and admiring her reflection."

"Well, from the pictures I've seen online, who can blame her? I bet she looks amazing."

"I do! Thank you!" Lilly twirls, and her dress transforms again.

Duncan rolls his eyes.

One hand lifted in greeting, Zadie takes a step forward. "Hi, Lilly. I'm Zadie. I'm very happy to meet you."

"Just wonderful. Humor the crazy guy." Duncan sighs.

"I'm not humoring you. I just know to show respect to the dead."

"As you should." Lilly nods approval.

Zadie looks at him over her shoulder. "Can you describe what she's wearing?"

"Does it matter? I don't know. It's silver. Or white, maybe. I can't tell with all the beads. There's a slit up the front, and it kind of drags on the floor behind her."

Lilly rolls her eyes. "It's Charlize Theron's Gucci Oscar dress."

Duncan relays the information and Zadie covers her mouth with one hand. "Looooove that dress. Very 'Old Hollywood' glamorous."

"Yes! I like this girl, Duncan!"

"Yeah? Well, Veronica hates her."

"Of course, she does. She's a Leo. They're very territorial. When's Zadie's birthday?"

"She wants to know your birthday."

"May 17th. Why?"

"A Taurus!" Lilly bounces and claps her hands. "That's perfect!"

"Perfect for what?"

"For you, my dear brother. She'll balance out your" Lilly makes wiggly fingers at him. "…weird side."

"Nope!" Duncan lifts a hand in protest. "No. Not a chance in hell."

"What's going on?" Zadie asks.

He gives her an exasperated head shake. "Not even death is enough to stop Lilly Kane from matchmaking."

"Well then, I wish she'd work her magic on those two dummies, outside. Before they drive all of us insane."

"Eee!" With a girlish squeal, Lilly bounces over and presses ghostly lips to Zadie's cheek. "I can't wait for us to be sisters!"

Zadie distractedly brushes a hand over her face, as if to move a strand of hair. Catching sight of Duncan's expression, she asks, "What did she say?"

"Nothing I care to repeat."

Her mouth stretches into a slow grin. "She likes me. Doesn't she?"

"What was it you told me to say earlier? Oh yeah. Fuck off."

Zadie smirks, but her retort is cut short by Harper's arrival. "Sorry that took so long. My mom called, complaining about my dad's mistress, and I couldn't get off the phone." She hands Duncan a bottle of water, then takes a sip of a greenish cocktail. "Ready for that tour?"

"Lead the way."

Outside, Harper babbles incessantly as she leads them down a long hedge-lined path. It's almost like being with Logan, the way her keys jingle with every step, except Logan does it specifically to annoy him, while she doesn't seem to have that kind of self-awareness.

The path turns a corner, and the hedges open up to reveal a secluded guest house.

"This was my great, great, grandmother, Mirella's cottage. I'd give you a tour of the interior, but my brother, Harley, stays here when he's on the island, and who knows what kinds of obscene things he has laying around?"

"Not me. But I'm sure going to find out." Lilly blinks out.

They follow Harper around to the back, where a deep loggia, stretching the length of the house, gives new meaning to the term 'outdoor living'.

It's like a three-walled apartment, with clearly defined zones: upholstered furniture, for entertaining, a dining area, a canopied bed covered with mosquito netting, and, right in the center, a small pool. Iron chandeliers and a colorful mosaic tile floor tie it all together.

Duncan's chest tightens in a way that almost feels like longing. If he owned this cottage, he would spend all his time out here, only heading inside for occasional trips to the bathroom or kitchen.

"Grandma Mirella used to have the wildest parties back here." Harper widens her eyes and lowers her voice to a whisper. "Rumors say, some of those parties were orgies. Naked people, in masks, running around and doing naughty things to each other."

Gross. If there's an upside to that bit of trivia, it's that Lilly wasn't here to hear it.

"What was that saying about apples and trees?" Zadie taps her chin.

"Hey! I've never held an orgy." Harper gives Zadie a playful shove and her keys clatter to the floor. "Yet."

Zadie rolls her eyes and picks up the key ring.

"But if I did?" Harper moves to Duncan's side, presses her breasts against his upper arm. "Would you come?"

If he were Logan, he'd make some kind of double-entendre to get out of answering, but he's not, and he's speechless. He pleads with his eyes for Zadie to intercede.

She laughs. "Are you kidding? This guy practically fainted yesterday at the mere mention of blowjobs."

Duncan cringes. Thanks a lot.

"Really?" Harper looks at him with new interest, but passes up the opportunity to ridicule him. "Come on. There's much more to see."

"I just remembered, I have to make an important phone call," Zadie says. "I'll catch up with you two in a minute."

This time, Harper grabs Duncan's hand, instead of his arm, and steers him onto a path lined with tall palms and short ferns. He doesn't want to be rude and snatch his hand away, but it's a bit disconcerting.

For Veronica's sake, he asks Harper about her friendship with Zadie. How they met, and what kinds of things they do when they spend time together, but none of her answers sound like a clue.

Right before the hedgerow makes a 90-degree turn to the right, Duncan glances over his shoulder. The path is empty. If Zadie's making a phone call, she's not trailing behind them.

Around the corner sits another outbuilding, made mostly of glass and, like Mirella's cottage, surrounded by enough hedges to give it an air of seclusion.

"This was Mirella Quartermaine's art studio." Harper reaches for the door handle, and finds it locked. "Shit. Zadie's still holding my keys."

How convenient.

"I'm sure she'll be done with her phone call any minute now."

Why did he say that? Obviously, he can't say, 'Wake up! Your dear friend is a grifter and blackmailer, who stole my stateroom, because it's better than the boobytrapped apartment in a condemned building that she somehow managed to turn into a trippy, glittery, oasis. And she's probably up to something nefarious right now.'

But he could've said, 'I don't know. Let's go find her', and left it up to Harper to catch her.

He can't expose Zadie without risking her exposing him. But he certainly doesn't need to cover her tracks.

He turns his head at the sound of jingling and Zadie emerges from the opening in the hedges, looking more than a little unnerved. "Sorry about that." She holds up the keys, then tosses them to Harper.

Lilly is back, too, dressed like Zadie's twin in black, and it's all Duncan can do not to facepalm.

"She wasn't kidding about being obscene." His sister's eyes glitter with excitement. "Harley Quartermaine is a very…adventurous boy. Shame I'm dead."

Duncan's gaze slides to Zadie and then back again, one brow lifted in question.

"Oh…Yeah. Our girl was in there playing Veronica Mars. She seemed on a mission to search all the drawers and shelves."

He tilts his head. For what?

"I don't know what she was looking for, but it wasn't there. She seemed a bit frustrated, so I gave her a little gift."

A gift?

Ignoring his unspoken question, Lilly follows Harper into the art studio, looking entirely too smug.

Zadie pauses next to Duncan, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Just out of curiosity, is Lilly the type of ghost who would drop a box of condoms at my feet?"

"Kanes do not father bastard children," Lilly calls over her shoulder in a perfect imitation of Celeste's voice, "Except our Veronica, of course."

Duncan's eyes roll back farther than he believed possible. "Yes."

"Neat," Zadie grins and heads inside.

Neat?

Duncan follows her, pausing on the threshold to take in the interior.

The back wall is lined with shelves and art supplies, but the other three walls are made of glass.

"Wow. Great lighting in here."

"Oh. Do you paint?" Harper reclines provocatively on a slip-covered settee.

"Not yet. I'm starting art school in a few weeks, but right now, I mainly stick to sketching."

"Nudes?"

"Ha!" Lilly barks out.

"Um…no. Not so far."

"That's a shame. Let me know if you want to start. Maybe we could come here and recreate some Titanic magic." Harper winks.

"Titanic?" Lilly throws her head back and laughs. "You mean the part where the Donut runs to the lifeboat at the first sight of boobies?"

Duncan swallows. First the people in Bluebell and now Harper.

Is he blowing his cover when he says no? Would any art student worth their salt have experience with nudes? And should he take her up on her offer? At the very least, it would back up his cover story. Not to mention, help him grow as an artist.

Regrettably, Lilly is right. He doesn't feel even moderately inspired by the thought of sketching Harper naked.

Zadie flops down on the other end of the couch, stretching her legs out toward Harper. "Keep your clothes on, you slut. Declan's here for an estate tour, not to see your fake tits."

"He'd rather play Titanic with Zadieeee!" Lilly sings, a heart-shaped sapphire surrounded by diamonds suddenly dangling from her neck.

Wrong! One-thousand percent wrong!

Images spring to Duncan's mind, unbidden.

Zadie, reclining alone on the sofa, naked and lithe, challenging him with her eyes. His own hands, clutching a pencil and sketchpad, trying to capture the glow of candles and firelight on her face.

Another one, Zadie, nude in the morning light, practicing barre work in front of the window, as he sketches. One arm raised high and regal, then bent low, her hair swinging down to skim the floor.

Duncan's stomach turns over. What the hell is wrong with me?

In a panic, he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the unwanted images.

"Uh oh. I think our boy is glitching." Zadie whispers sotto voce. She stands, holding out a hand for Harper. "We should probably get a move on."

As Harper and Zadie move toward the door, Lilly collapses dramatically onto the couch. "I would've made a great artist's model."

She remains behind, posing for her portrait, presumably, as Duncan follows the girls out.

The rest of the outdoor tour is a blur. The hangar for Humphrey Quartermaine's seaplane. The stables, tennis courts, and fountains. Many fountains.

Duncan tries to imagine Annabeth from that night back in Bluebell, laughing in the moonlight, as she swung over the water on a tire swing. Yet, even after looking at her blog yesterday, he can't quite recall the details of her face.

That's not good.

Once they're back inside the mansion, his love of architecture takes over.

In the front foyer, a circular staircase hugs the wall, its wrought-iron railing festooned with white fairy lights. Three stories up, the wooden ceiling has been carved into the famed medallion.

The marble floors run throughout the main floor from the foyer to the ballroom, to the formal library, where the antique paneling was brought over from Europe. Many of the original bronze-framed windows still exist, while others have been skillfully recreated in modern materials.

Mirella Quartermaine's family portraits feature prominently in most of the rooms, and if he squints, Duncan can almost detect similarities between Harper and her ancestors.

Bedrooms and bathrooms make up most of the second story. Harper names them off. "My parents' room – but they rarely stay on the island, Great Grandpa Humphrey's study, Great Grandma Miranda's dressing room. This is my bedroom." Her cell rings, and she holds up a finger. "Give me a sec."

Duncan turns to Zadie, but she's not there.

He backtracks down the hall, finally locating her in Humphrey Quartermaine's study. Zadie stands behind the massive desk, feeling-around under the surface, as if looking for a secret compartment. She sighs, grabs the largest book from the bookcase, and holds it upside down by the spine. She returns the book, and tries a second one.

"What are you looking for?" Duncan asks.

She jumps, startled, hisses at him. "Don't worry about me. Go distract Harper."

"Why should I help you?"

"Really? I thought you wanted to get rid of me."

Duncan sighs, returns to Harper's bedroom.

"You know I'm not allowed to leave the island." Harper's phone is tucked between her ear and shoulder, but she's removed her crocheted swim cover up and now wears only a tiny bikini as she roots through a dresser drawer. In her current state of undress, she looks even more emaciated than before, and a sudden surge of protectiveness comes over him.

Who takes care of this girl? Who's letting her starve herself?

"What do you mean 'who would know'? Girl, you realize this ankle monitor isn't just a decoration, right?" Harper reaches up behind her head, and her bikini top falls to the floor.

Duncan inhales sharply, and spins away.

"Oh shit! I'm SO sorry, I forgot you were there!" Harper giggles, and speaks to the person on the phone. "No, I accidentally flashed my tits to Zadie's friend. Our friend, I mean."

"Look at Harper, stealing a move from my play book." Lilly stares unabashedly into the bedroom.

"You're back. Great."

"You know, I've used that same move on Logan."

"Too. Much. Information." Duncan hisses.

"Um…Declan," Harper tells the person on the phone. "About our age, blonde hair, average height. Kinda shy. No, don't even think about it, slut. I'm calling dibs."

Calling dibs on what? Me? Do I get a say in that?

"Um…not happening!" Lilly crosses her arms. "That girl is not for you."

She's not. Not at all. But he questions Lilly's reasoning with his eyes.

"She's a train wreck. You need a bitch."

I'm sorry. What?

"I just know this stuff. Harper has this sort of neediness that makes people want to protect her. You can't help but want to save her. But Duncan, you would make a really shitty savior." Lilly holds up a hand to prevent him from arguing. "I'm serious. Even coming from a benevolent place, you'd expect constant praise and gratitude. She's a human being, not a Boy Scout badge in the making."

"Wow. Really feeling the love, Lilly."

She shrugs. "I tell it like I see it. Now, you need a bitch. Somebody who'll smack you upside the head when you're being selfish or insensitive."

"What?" Duncan covers his mouth and lowers his voice. "I think you've confused me with Logan."

"Nope. Logan loves bitches." She smiles, looks off to the middle distance, as if remembering things he'd rather not know about. "But that's because he's a bit of a masochist. He doesn't need anyone to tell him he's being a shithead. For all his posturing and false bravado, he's his own worst critic. You, on the other hand, don't criticize yourself enough. I blame mom, naturally, for coddling you."

He's pretty sure he does not need a bitch. Ever. Lilly may be right about everything else, but she's the only one who can talk to him like that without making him defensive. And that's only because he trusts that she loves him and wants what's best for him.

Harper joins them in the hall, dressed in a white cotton dress, hitting around mid-thigh. The material is thin enough to make it clear that she's braless, and Duncan keeps his eyes firmly on her face.

"Sorry about that." Harper smiles, ruefully. "You're now part of an exclusive club of people I've flashed."

"Uh…Do I get a membership card?"

"No, but I'll be expecting you to flash me back at some point." She glances around. "Where's Zadie?"

"Bathroom, I think."

"Searching bedrooms," Lilly says.

"Well come on." Harper takes his hand. "There's still more to see and she can catch up."

Several rooms later, she opens the second to last door. "And this is Great Grandpa Humphrey's Billiards Room." Harper moves straight to a set of slim double-doors, opening them to reveal a built-in bar cabinet. She scans her choices, picks up a bottle of amber liquid and inspects the label.

Duncan approaches the table, running his hands over the felt and examining the balls. "Snooker. It's a snooker room."

"Yeah, I have no idea what that means. But I've heard Harley say it before, so it sounds about right." She crosses the room, handing Duncan a drink in a rocks glass, and sits down on a brown leather Chesterfield sofa.

Duncan takes a sip. Bourbon. Quality Bourbon.

He scoops up one of the balls and takes a seat on the couch, holding it up. "You see, there's fifteen red balls, and six colored balls. For billiards, no two balls are alike."

Lilly perches on a stool. "Well, that's one way to scare her off."

Somewhere outside, Logan and Veronica are play-fighting or tickling, or whatever it is they do when they get loud and boisterous. He sighs. Why do they get to have all the fun?

Harper takes the snooker ball from his hand, sets it on a side table without looking, and shifts to face him. "Do you have a girlfriend, Declan?"

He sips his whiskey. "Um…not at the moment. Not since…" We went on the run.

"But you've had girlfriends in the past, right?"

"A handful."

Lilly makes a face. "Two is not a handful. And Shelly barely counts."

Out of nowhere, Harper leans forward, pressing her lips against his.

Before he can react, or push her away, or even decide if he wants this, her tongue is in his mouth, and she's swinging a leg over her lap to straddle him.

"Whoa there, viper! That's my baby brother!"

Send. Help. Please.

Like an answer to his prayers, Zadie sweeps into the room. "Wow, Harp. I can't leave you alone for a second."

Harper smirks and shifts sideways on Duncan's lap. "It's your fault. You had to go and tell me he's never had a blowjob."

"WHAT?" Lilly shrieks, leaping off her stool.

Zadie crosses her arms. "So, you decided you had to be his first mouth?"

"I've always wanted to be somebody's first." Harper stares up at her, a message in her wide eyes that he can't decipher.

Duncan subtly moves her off of his lap and stands. Nods toward the opposite wall. "I'm uh…gonna go look at the art."

Zadie's lips are pressed together in a flat line, and without tearing her gaze from Harper, she gestures for Duncan to get on with it.

Well fine. He can take a hint.

What's she pissed about, anyway? Did he inadvertently interfere with her evil schemes?

Grabbing his glass of Bourbon, he crosses to the other side of the snooker table.

Lilly follows him. "So, this is something that just…came up in normal conversation? 'Can you please pass the salt? Also, I've never had my dick sucked.'"

"Shut up!"

Of the half-dozen paintings, two are seascapes and the rest are landscapes — Nicholas Key as it must have looked before the spas and marinas and luxury shopping. All are encased in ornate, gilded frames.

Sipping his drink, he examines each painting in turn, while Zadie and Harper's playful banter fades to background noise.

Should he take art classes for real? It couldn't hurt their cover story for him to know what he's talking about.

Behind him, a phone rings. Harper answers with an enthusiastic. "Hey girl! What did he say?"

"Riddle me this…" Lilly taps her chin. "If you knew somebody was totally infatuated with you, but you didn't feel the same way, why would you encourage their crush?"

Duncan stares at her, open-mouthed. "That was literally your raison dêtre. You weren't satisfied until everyone was half in love with Lilly Kane."

"That's different. I think I fed off the attention." She glances over her shoulder. "I know I've only been watching Zadie for a couple days, but does that sound like her?"

He speaks without thinking. "Zadie doesn't need anyone's approval."

"Exactly." Lilly's nod is slow and exaggerated. "She walks a fine line between push/pull, throws you to the lions for a distraction, then turns icy when Harper wants a snack."

"She's. A. Con. Artist." He punctuates each word. "So, stop trying to matchmake."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It is." He sighs. "It's very much a bad thing, Lilly."

A sudden inhale behind him makes him turn his head. Zadie stands at the window, eyes wide and stifling a laugh with her hand.

Lilly teleports to Zadie's side, and her giggle carries across the room.

"What is it?" Duncan asks.

"Nothing important," Zadie says.

"Veronica Mars! I didn't know you had it in you." Lilly's voice holds a note of pride.

He moves toward them. "What?"

"That bikini would be illegal in six states."

"They're just...trying to dunk each other." Zadie meets him halfway, cutting him off. "You drank that already?"

Taking his arm, she drags him over to the bar cabinet, and picks up the bottle of Bourbon. "Your sister is very determined."

"Determined?"

"Yeah, what Victoria lacks in size, she makes up for in attitude." She fills two-thirds of his glass.

Right. She's talking about Veronica. His fake (but possibly real) sister. "Yeah, I'm lucky she never drowned me, growing up."

"You've been neglecting your guests again, Harper." A male voice speaks from the doorway.

Over on the couch, Harper lifts one finger. "I'll be off the phone in a sec."

Duncan drops his gaze as Zadie greets the newcomer with a long, drawn-out hug.

Stepping back, she takes him by the wrist and pulls him toward the bar. "Harley, you met Nolan yesterday. This is his brother-in-law, Declan. Declan, Harley."

Duncan wipes his palm on his shorts, and extends his hand.

Harley shakes it, holding on a bit too long, and Duncan feels naked under the weight of his blue-eyed stare.

It feels like all of his secrets are on display.

"Nice to meet you." Harley finally releases his hand. His gaze lingers on Duncan's blond wig, the brown contact lenses, as if cataloging what's fake. "So? What do you think about our humble abode?"

"It's amazing. I can see the Fatio influence and attention to detail."

"Are you an architecture buff, or did you read up on the house?" Harley smirks and circles around him to the bar.

"Both?" Duncan says. "I love historic homes."

"Did you grow up in one?"

"No." Duncan chuckles, mirthlessly. "My mother's preferences run more toward…modern and cold."

"Sterile and emotionless." Lilly adds, from his side.

"Luckily, we're not doomed to live with our parents forever." Harley pours himself a glass of Bourbon, and touches Duncan's back. "Come with me. If I know my sister, she failed to show you the best part of the house."

Lilly lifts an eyebrow, points to her crotch, and mouths the words, 'He means his dick.' Because everyone is sex-crazed in Lillyville.

The hand pressed to his back is too warm, too heavy, and Duncan has to fight a shiver, as Harley guides him toward the door.

Zadie follows with the bottle of bourbon. "Coming, Harper?"

"Go ahead. I'll catch up in a sec."

The second-floor corridor is darker now. Harley stops just short of the midpoint and opens a door on the right, where a narrow staircase leads upward. "After you."

Duncan trails Zadie through the doorway. Harley follows, pulling the door closed behind him. Natural light pools at the top landing, but the stairwell is dark, and the higher they climb, the thicker the air tastes.

This is not Zadie's building. There are no rats.

He feels sandwiched between the others. Claustrophobic.

Every inhale is permeated with the scent of her shampoo, and Harley's exhales ghost across the back of his neck.

His pulse races and the air is like pudding, and there's no reason to be afraid. There are no rats here.

And then, they're at the top of the stairs, and the view takes Duncan's breath away.

Windows look out in all four directions, revealing the entire island. Virgin forest and beach houses to the East. To the West, golf courses, resorts, shopping, marinas, and further on, the mainland.

"What do you think?" Harley asks.

"It's amazing!" Duncan releases a reverential sigh. "I saw the house from the ferry when we came over the first day, but I never imagined how it might look from up here."

"Zadie says you're working at the marina?"

"Is it really a job if it feels more like therapy?"

Harley chuckles. "How so?"

"I don't know, I was just trying to get my head clear, when I jumped in to help the dockmaster on his rounds. Next thing I knew, I had a job. I think…" He cuts himself off with a laugh and a head shake.

"Think what?" Zadie touches him lightly on the back as she comes up beside him.

Duncan hesitates, but she's looking at him as if she's genuinely interested in the answer. "I think…I mean…I'm going through some stuff right now. But if things ever go back to normal, I wouldn't mind owning a marina someday. Just spending every minute of the day around boats."

Zadie looks surprised. "I wouldn't have pegged you as the manual labor sort."

"Better that, than politics."

Zadie makes a face. "And you even get to keep your soul."

Harley tugs the bottle of Bourbon from her grasp, refilling Duncan's glass and then his own. "So, how long have you and Logan been friends?"

"Years. Since we were in kindergarten."

"Careful, Donut. This one is a snake." Lilly says. "He gets off on manipulating people."

His brow lowers as he takes in her ridiculous white cotton nightgown, long-sleeved and shapeless and skimming the floor.

"What?" She sweeps a hand out. "Look at this view! This is lamenting garb."

Huh?

"I'm lamenting my long-lost love. Lost at sea. Never to return." She poses with the back of her hand pressed to her forehead, dramatically. "Granted, it would be more poignant if my nightgown was blowing in the wind, but what can you do?"

If they were alone, he'd point out that she's the lamentee, not the lamentor, and he snorts at the mental image of Logan in the same pose, nightgown and all.

Zadie's looking at him as if he's stupid, but before he can analyze her meaning, Harley asks, "And how long has he been married to your sister?"

Duncan freezes.

Married? Not Lilly, Veronica. And how the hell is he supposed to keep up with their stories, if they keep changing them every five minutes? Engaged, pregnant, not pregnant, and now married?

"It's been about a week, right?" Zadie prompts.

"Yeah, about that long," Duncan says.

"You can tell." Harley snickers. "I'm only surprised they brought you along on their honeymoon."

"Ssssnake." Lilly says. "Ssssss"

Duncan manages to keep his groan on the inside. Of course they left it up to him to field these kinds of questions. Not even a head's up. They know he's never been great at improvising.

"They're saving their official honeymoon for later. This is more like…one last friends' trip."

"How long will you be here?"

Duncan shrugs. "It's all up in the air. Until something better comes along, I suppose."

Harley's gaze is knowing, but rather than pressing the subject, he asks, "Do you play snooker?"

"With my grandfather, but it's been a few years."

"Let's go."

"Ssssss" Lilly calls, as they descend the stairs.

Ann Day 11
Neptune Grand Hotel
Neptune, California

The first thing Ann Marler does upon entering her hotel suite, is kick off her ridiculous Jimmy Choo pumps. She stills for a moment, allowing her grateful feet to sink into the plush area rug, then sighs and heads into the bedroom.

Off comes the tasteful designer suit. On goes gray sweatpants and the faded Pearl Jam concert tee she'd 'borrowed' from David six years ago. She twists her red hair up into a loose bun, secures it with a scrunchy, then slips on a pair of pink fuzzy socks to warm her chronically icy toes.

Back in the living room, she collapses onto the white leather couch and grabs the remote control. Opening the DVR menu, she locates the recording for this evening's segment and presses play.

Time to watch her disaster of an interview with that pompous, lecherous, asshole, Don Lamb.

C-NOW

[Neptune Three bumper photo fades to Neptune Courthouse steps. Ann Marler approaches Don Lamb with a microphone on his way inside.]

MARLER: Sheriff Lamb, do you have time to answer a few questions?

LAMB: Ms. Marler. Always a pleasure. How can I help you today?'

MARLER: About Liam Fitzpatrick...

LAMB (eyes lifted to the sky and voice monotone): Liam Fitzpatrick is out of town at the moment, and has committed no crimes in this jurisdiction, so if you'll excuse me…

MARLER: Liam Fitzpatrick has accosted six Midwestern teenagers in the past three days. He put a fifteen-year-old boy in the hospital with broken ribs.

LAMB: Does this look like the Midwest? As I mentioned, none of that happened under my jurisdiction.

MARLER: Each of those teens were '3-Peats'.

LAMB: Is that a sex thing?

MARLER: (voice tight). No, it's what fans of the Neptune Three call themselves.

LAMB: So, the guy has a type?

MARLER (blinks twice):

LAMB: If you ask me, the real question is why three violent criminals even have a fanbase. What kind of twisted mind looks at them, and thinks 'role models'?

MARLER: Are you...blaming the victims? Teenage kids?

LAMB: (arms lifted in a negligent shrug) I'm just saying, where are the parents?

MARLER: (stands taller): Sheriff Lamb, these attacks were no coincidence. Mr. Fitzpatrick is not randomly stumbling upon 3-Peats. He's working his way across the map in a precise and orderly manner.

LAMB: (warily): What are you implying?

MARLER: Is it possible that somebody on your staff is sharing leads from the police tip lines with Mr. Fitzpatrick?

LAMB: No.

MARLER: So how is he finding these lookalikes?

LAMB: I don't know, Ms. Marler, but ours is not the only tip line. Maybe it's one of your people. And are we positive it's Liam Fitzpatrick behind these attacks? Has he been positively identified by any of the victims? No? Then I'll need to get back to work, fighting crime.

"Bastard!" Ann lifts her middle finger to the television.

Snatching the DVR remote, she rewinds thirty seconds, leaning forward and watching the sheriff closely.

There. She replays the question four more times, just to make sure. He covers quickly, but there's a momentary flash of panic in his eyes when she asks if his department is leaking information to Fitzpatrick.

Guilty. As. Sin.

The part that didn't make it on air was Lamb's demand that next time she wants to level accusations at him, she'll need to make dinner reservations.

Incompetent, sexist scumbag. He's going to get those kids killed.

He did get one thing right. He's not the only one with a tip line, and Ann has a four-day backlog of N3 sightings to weed through.

After a light room-service meal of cheese quesadillas and tomato soup, she logs on to the network's shared drive.

The assistants in charge of triaging incoming photos have sorted them by date, and then into folders by location.

The San Francisco folder contains four photos of a blonde girl. She's around the right size and shape, but can't be older than twelve years old.

The blonde in the Minnesota folder has to be at least five foot eight. Clearly not Veronica Mars.

The photos from Dallas, Texas are the real deal, but since video footage of the same mall sighting aired days ago, they're not exactly newsworthy.

Toledo, Ohio's Veronica has brown eyes and acne, Lexington, Kentucky's Veronica wears braces. New Jersey's Veronica appears to be Asian.

Bluebell, Alabama's Veronica is even more baffling. Dressed like a 1950's debutante, her hair is too long, her eyes, too brown. She barely shares a passing resemblance to Veronica Mars. The face shape is off, the nose is too wide.

Nothing about the girl suggests she's even a 3-Peat. The only possible explanation for her inclusion in the Neptune 3 sightings drive, is that one of her companions – a guy in a black shirt and hat – shares a passing resemblance to Logan Echolls.

Ann passively arrows through the remaining Bluebell photos. Taken in a bar, the photos show a handful of twenty-somethings, hanging out with friends. They're at a table. They're spread out around the bar. They're dancing. They're caught up in a brawl.

She's on the verge of closing out the folder, when something catches her eye. The guy in black sits at a bar talking to a different blonde – definitely not Veronica – and…Ann rolls her mouse wheel, zooming-in tight.

Yes. There's a skin-toned blemish on his forehead.

Her pulse speeds up, and she arrows back through other photos. Now that she's looking for it, it's obvious. It's not a trick of the light, not a zit, not the shadow of his hat.

Ann returns to the girl in white, zooming in tight on her face. Is it possible?

She changes the photo to black and white, turns down the contrast, to soften the contours of the face.

It could be, but does Veronica Mars possess that kind of skill at makeup application?

Maybe a little Photoshop magic can peel away the mask.

Ann knows exactly who to ask. She grabs her cell, crossing her fingers that David's still awake. And willing to speak to her.

Logan Day 11
The Titan's Trigger
Nicholas Key

Logan perks up, lowering his book as light footsteps stride across the deck above him. He deflates when he hears the second, heavier, set of steps. Zadie and Duncan, presumably. Unless Veronica met up with one of them upon her return from getting ice cream.

The two and a half hours they'd spent on the mainland tailing some dude in a Mercedes hadn't been nearly as boring as Veronica predicted it would be. She'd let Logan drive, instructing him when to fall back, when to draw closer. When to pass the vehicle and wait for him at the next light.

Parked outside a sketchy motel, Veronica's camera did its clickety-click-click thing, as Mr. Mercedes greeted Mrs. Audi, a demure-looking brunette in a lightweight greige cardigan and floral skirt, and accompanied her into room 219.

Logan did his best to entertain her while they waited.

Did you know that I have X-Ray vision?

X-Ray vision? Tell me more.

Okay, but it ain't pretty. I can't see Mrs. Audi, but Mr. Mercedes is buck naked, and whoever airbrushes his tan, must be a complete amateur. That color doesn't exist in nature.

Interesting. Would you classify it closer to cantaloupe or apricot?

Hmm…I'd probably go with mac & cheese.

Kraft? Or the kind made with love by frugal grandmas everywhere?

Probably Kraft, but I can't say that I've ever met a frugal granny. Oh! He's handcuffing himself to the bedposts. Spread eagle.

Are they—?

Fuzzy? Only the top set. Oops! He dropped the key.

Oh no. Now he's completely at her mercy. Speaking of, did we leave my cuffs back in Texas?

I was born at your mercy, Veronica.

Groan.

Did you just speak the word 'Groan'? Wait. The bathroom door is opening.

Finally, some action!

Mrs. Audi! You're so naughty!

What?

Our shy little librarian is really a sexy dominatrix in a strappy leather bodysuit, and thigh high boots.

Naturally.

I'll award her extra style points for perfectly coordinating that huge rubber dildo to her ping pong paddle. Yellow is notoriously tough to match. I should know.

Okay, it was far from his best material, but all that mattered was that he was finally the guy inside Veronica's car, making her giggle, instead of the jealous asshole just coincidentally driving past.

When he thinks of all the time he wasted picking on her, when he could've been kissing her…

I'm such an idiot.

Back at the yacht, he'd hoped they could relax and watch TV together, but then Veronica discovered the ice cream theft.

With a string of curses and expletives, she headed back out, and Logan settled-in on the couch with a book and a bag of microwave popcorn to wait for her.

It's not really working. While his eyes continue to travel across the page, his mind keeps returning to the Quartermaine pool, their kiss, and everything that came before it.

She actually loves me. I think. Not that she'll admit it to herself. But that was the subtext, right?

Either way, he feels closer to her than ever. Well, except for the whole her-not-being-here thing.

This must be how dogs feel while their owners are at work.

The hatch opens and Zadie descends the stairs. "Well, don't you look studious?"

"As opposed to…?" Lowering the book, Logan gestures to her black everything. "…vampiric? Where's Duncan?"

"Messing with some rope up on deck. You guys ditched me at the mansion."

"Oops."

She flops down onto the couch next to him. "You missed the grand tour. Guest house, art studio, tennis courts."

"Nothing I didn't have back home. Am I supposed to be impressed?"

"Then there was the billiards room. It has a great view of the pool."

"We spent most of the day next to the pool. Why would I go somewhere else to look at it?"

"I can't imagine. You two looked pretty cozy down there." Zadie agrees. "How lucky are you and Veronica to have a friend like me?"

"Who needs enemies?"

"I had to ply poor Duncan with Bourbon in order to keep him away from the window. Didn't want him confused by your little display in the pool."

Fuck!

"Display? You mean, me and my fake bride flirting like…newlyweds?"

"Were you flirting with her tonsils?"

He shakes his head, irritably. "I don't get you. You tell us — unsolicited, I might add — that we need to fuck. Veronica tells you we already are, and you call her a liar." Aaron Echolls 101: When all else fails, turn it back around on the accuser. "If we don't touch, we look like frauds, if we do, we're putting on 'a display'."

"Wow. Sexual Catch-22's. Welcome to the life of every woman, ever." Zadie grabs a handful of his popcorn and shoves it in her mouth. Takes twice as long as necessary to chew and swallow.

"One." She holds up a finger, and it's so Veronica-like, he almost laughs. "Fake spouses, fake fiancées – whatever you decide to call yourselves tomorrow – it's all a big fat farce. There's nothing fake going on there. It's just the crutch you both cling to, so you can touch each other and cuddle and claim that it's 'for the mission'."

They've never used the words 'for the mission', but whatever.

She counts out another finger. "Two. Fuck. Your. Girl, Logan. Seriously. Not for my sake. I can deal with her sharp tongue and death glares. Do it for her. She needs it."

He snorts. Rolls his eyes. "Veronica Mars doesn't need anything."

You idiot!" Zadie elbows him in the side. "I don't know if you're blind, or you're too close to the situation, but that girl trembles when you touch her. And I'm not just talking about the, 'full-body-half-a-bottle-of-sunscreen-Jesus-get-a-room-already' touches, It's the casual touches, too."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And you touch her NON-STOP. I'm pretty sure what you're doing to her would be considered torture under the Geneva Convention."

"I don't see Veronica complaining."

Okay, so she is complaining. But isn't she waging her own form of war against him?

"I meant what I said earlier. She's either going to explode and cause casualties, or she's going to swallow you whole."

Did you have to say swallowing?

"Are you done?"

"No."

Sigh.

Another finger. "Three. Maybe you guys do want to keep pretending and living in denial. Reassuring Duncan that it's all just a performance 'for the mission'. That's fine. I think it's stupid, but it's your call."

"How open-minded of you."

"But if you choose that path, you can't fucking swap spit in the middle of a fucking pool, when your best friend is standing near a window."

"I didn't know he was there!"

"It doesn't matter. Either come clean with him, and each other, or show some freaking discretion. Do you want him emotionally scarred?"

"Who's emotionally scarred?" Duncan stumbles down the stairs, and it's a miracle he doesn't fall and break his neck.

"Tartful Dodger here is concerned that Veronica and I may be overselling our cover story." Logan stands up. "Dude, are you drunk?"

"What if I am?" Duncan ducks his face into the fridge for a second, grabs a bottle of pureed green slime, and closes the door. "Or are you the only one allowed to get wasted?"

"Harley got to him," Zadie explains, "He brought out the good whiskey in celebration of their new friendship."

Logan's stomach churns, and he reaches for his puka shells. Comes up empty. Stupid nervous habit.

Leaning against the counter, Duncan fumbles with a cellophane seal.

"Dude…" Logan crosses the room and takes the bottle from him. "Come on."

Hand on Duncan's shoulder, he guides him to the right-hand side of the couch and makes him sit. Removes the plastic wrapper from the bottle, and hands it back. "Are you sure you want to hang out with that guy? He seems pretty…"

"Intense?"

"I was going to say nosy and intrusive, but…" Logan shrugs and sits back down, opposite Duncan, marks his place in his book with a bookmark.

"Perceptive is the word you're looking for." Zadie perches on the arm of the couch, next to Duncan. "So perceptive, in fact, that it took him less than three minutes to get your BFF here to confirm your identity. And that was before they really started drinking."

"What the fuck!"

"Did not!" Duncan opens his mouth, insulted. "I never even mentioned him. What are you talking about?"

Zadie imitates Harley's voice. "So, how long have you and Logan been friends?", then answers herself with a deeper voice. "Forever. We go all the way back to kindergarten."

"Oh. Oops." Duncan tries to look guilty, but ends up snickering. "Yeah, I guess he got to me."

"Dammit! Why would you trust that guy? There's something so…sneaky about him."

"That's what Lilly said. He's a ssssnake. And it's her fault, anyway. She distracted me with all of her lamenting."

Logan stares at him. "Lamenting?"

"You know, white nightgown. True love lost at sea. Anything for a wardrobe change."

"What?" Zadie touches Duncan's shoulder. "Describe the nightgown."

Because that's the important detail here?

"Cotton. Floor-length. You know…" Duncan presses the back of hand to his forehead, pretends to stare off into the distance.

"Ohhhhh…lamenting," Zadie says.

Duncan rolls his eyes. "That's what I said."

"Can we stop with the damn lamenting already?" Logan interrupts. "We're talking about Harley Quartermaine."

"The sssssnake." Duncan gives a negligent shrug. "He's not so bad. I actually like him."

"Sure, he does." Zadie shoves teasingly at Duncan's shoulder (only not-so-teasingly). "Harley's arrival saved him from Harper on the prowl."

Duncan groans, and drops his face. "She's…also intense. In a different way."

"Oh yeah?" Logan grins.

"It's your fault." Duncan points at him, belligerently.

"My fault? I wasn't even there."

"That's the problem. If you weren't doing the whole 'fake married' thing, she'd go after you, and leave me alone. You're the one who'll fuck anything that moves."

It always comes back to that. Logan is a slut.

It's bad enough when Veronica goes there, but he knows it's coming from a place of insecurity. But Duncan? Fuck that!

Logan swallows and leans forward. "I was faithful to your sister for years. YEARS. Even when she couldn't be faithful to me. So what, if I took some time to play the field this past year? Don't act like I can't or won't do relationships."

"Don't get all self-righteous." Duncan stabs a finger in the air. "You've gotten around and you know it. But we're talking about Harper. I was just saying she would probably prefer your brand of 'anything goes'."

"Categorically false," Zadie tussles Duncan's hair. "You were in her crosshairs the moment I mentioned your oral-phobia."

"Just tossed me to the lions."

Logan almost chokes. "What did you just say?"

"Oral phobia? I mean, there's probably a medical term for it, but…" She pauses. "Wait a sec, you didn't know this? I've known this guy for two days."

"Oral phobia?" Logan repeats. "And what does that have to do with cross-hairs?"

"Harper wants to give me my first…you know what…"

"Blowjob," Zadie supplies, and Duncan's face turns red.

"So, let me get this straight. A pretty girl offered you a blowjob and you turned it down?"

"I'm not sure he was capable of turning her down. He was three seconds away from hyperventilating."

"And you were there the whole time?" Logan asks. "Watching? Or did you try—"

She cuts him off. "I showed up in time to rescue him. And no. I did not try anything. I have no interest in being the whore in his Madonna/Whore dichotomy."

"His what?" Logan holds up a hand. "Wait. Never mind, I can guess from the context."

"Why are you clapping?" Duncan mutters to the empty space on his right. "So much for loyalty."

"Duncan." Logan raises his voice, to bring his friend back to reality. "So, just out of curiosity, is this something you've tried and hated? Or are you just assuming you won't like it? Because It's definitely something you'll want to experience at least once."

Counting on fingers must be contagious, because Duncan lifts one. "First of all…" Rather than making his point, he stares at his hand, first balling it into a fist, then attempting to lift each finger, one-by-one, becoming frustrated when can't do it without holding down his pinkie with his thumb.

When it becomes clear that Duncan forgot his point, Logan continues. "But you have to at least be willing to perform it. Right? You'll never keep a girlfriend if you don't."

"It's true." Zadie rubs Duncan's shoulder. "Listen to your friend. I'd bet good money that Lord Byron here is real talented with his mouth."

"Unfortunately for you, you'll never find out." Veronica's icy voice comes from the stairwell.

A slow, satisfied smile creeps across Zadie's face, disappearing, as she turns her head. "Why not? Is he your man?"

What a little shit-stirrer! She knew Veronica was standing there.

"You're damn right, he is." Veronica stops at the counter to transfer groceries from her plastic bag to one of the cabinets.

"Wait a second." Duncan fumbles to sit up straight. "You said..."

"Not like that. Honestly." Grabbing a spoon from a drawer, Veronica takes a seat next to Logan, leaning possessively against his left side, and peels the lid off her pint of ice cream.

"Then what makes him yours?" Zadie challenges.

Veronica holds up her hand. "This wedding band. His mother's engagement ring. The baby in my womb, when I wear my pregnancy pad."

"That's not the same," Duncan slumps back, seemingly satisfied with the answer.

"Sure, they're props, but we have to pretend every single day that we're in a loving, committed relationship. If Logan chooses to start dating in a few months, that's fine…"

It's not fine. Veronica looks like she wants to puke just from speaking the words.

"…but right now, while we're still perfecting our premise, while we're still feeling our way around this new…existence, it's just way too much of a complication to add new people into the mix."

Zadie smirks and turns her gaze to Logan. "And what do you say to that?"

Logan calmly points his thumb at Veronica. "Hers."

He can feel Veronica's body relax against his side, and she rewards him with a big spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough, before going on the offensive.

"So, fill a girl in. Clearly, you're running a con on the unsuspecting Quartermaine twins. Which one is your target? Is it Harper? Harley? Or both?"

"Did you ever consider that the twins might be my best friends, and I'm working on a completely different job?"

"Not for a second," Veronica flashes her killer shark smile. "Or maybe, it's Natalia you're after."

Zadie laughs. "You've been listening to LB's crazy theories."

"Lord Byron," Logan supplies.

She rolls her eyes and continues, undeterred. "So, what's the plan? To steal their money? Marry into it? Or will you convince them to fund some once-in-a-lifetime opportunity?"

"How about all of the above? Since I'm some kind of criminal mastermind, apparently."

"Apparently."

A cell phone rings in the guest stateroom, and Zadie stands. "Well guys, as much as I'm enjoying the interrogation - and I really, really am — I need to wash this chlorine out of my hair."

Did she even get in the pool? Logan doesn't think she did.

Zadie exits to her stateroom, emerging a moment later with her cell phone, only to lock herself in the bathroom.

Veronica rushes over, presses her ear to the door, but the shower starts up, preventing her from eavesdropping.

"Dammit." She sighs. "Can't hear over the water."

"Guess no shower for me." Duncan sighs heavily.

Veronica examines him quizzically. "Are you drunk?"

"I've had a few drinks."

She lifts an eyebrow at Logan. "Are you drunk, too?"

"If only popcorn, literature and loneliness had an alcohol content, but alas, no."

"Sorry." She flashes him an apologetic smile.

"S'okay."

In a sudden rush of activity, Veronica retrieves a notepad from the side table. "Where's my pen?"

"Beats me."

While she searches, Logan stands, pushing the lid back on Veronica's pint of ice cream.

"Found one." She stops in front of him. "Where're you going with that?"

"I'm putting it in the freezer, so it doesn't melt and make you irritable."

She smiles and he can see her intention to kiss him in her gaze. He angles his own eyes toward Duncan.

We have an audience.

Right. She exhales her frustration.

While Logan shoves the ice cream into the freezer, Veronica grabs the stool from the eating counter and takes a seat right in front of Duncan.

"Okay, quick. While she's out of earshot." She glances over her shoulder to the bathroom door. "Tell me everything you've learned about Zadie. Last night at her apartment and today at the Quartermaine house. No detail is too small."

"With or without Lilly's commentary?"

Veronica stares at him.

"Depends." Logan moves to stand behind her, widening his stance to make himself shorter, and places a supportive hand on her shoulder. "How much lamenting does it involve?"

Duncan hiccups.

Logan Day 11
The Titan's Trigger
Nicholas Key

He waits while Veronica flips the latch on their stateroom door, then sweeps her up into his arms. Spins her around in a circle while peppering her face with playful kisses.

"Logan!" She pushes his face away, giggling. "What's that for?"

"Nothing. Aren't I allowed to be affectionate?" He returns her to her feet, and heads to the bathroom. Turning around in the doorway, he raises his left hand. "Hands off mah man, you HUSSY! He is mah husband. Mah fiancé. And the father of the triplets gestating in mah womb as we speak."

Okay, so he added a Southern drawl and exaggerated neck roll for dramatic effect, but still…

Veronica's eyes narrow. "You're going to pay for that."

"Undoubtedly. But seeing you all jealous and possessive? So worth it." He ducks inside the bathroom.

He's still chuckling to himself a minute later, when Veronica joins him at the sink, wearing only a heather gray bra and matching underwear.

Okay. No big deal. It's not like she was planning to sleep in her clothing.

Logan pulls off his tee shirt and unbuckles his belt.

Veronica leans toward the mirror, giving him an eyeful of cleavage as she carefully removes her colored contacts.

Logan unzips his shorts, letting them drop to the floor, and her eyes linger on his torso as he reaches his fingers tall toward the ceiling.

Just stretching out his body after a long day of lounging around.

"Let me just squeeze past you." Veronica gestures toward her products on his side of the sink. As they switch places, she pauses to blatantly grind her ass into his groin.

Cute.

Moving closer to the sink, Logan squeezes toothpaste onto his brush. As he's replacing the cap, Veronica points to her own toothbrush.

"I'll just reach across you real quick." The soft cleavage pressing into his arm is totally unintentional, right?

He smirks. "I see the cease-fire has ended."

"What do you mean?"

Chuckling, he completes his bedtime routine, dries his face on a towel, applies a handful of creams and serums, and then, kissing Veronica on the temple, exits the bathroom.

He's in bed, pretending to read when she emerges.

Veronica grabs clean shorts and a pink tank top from one of the platform drawers. Moving to the closet, she pauses in the doorway, and flips on the light.

With her back to him, Veronica reaches behind her and unhooks her bra.

Logan inhales sharply, as it slides down her arms and drops to the floor.

Oh come on!

Logically, he's aware that there's no difference between a naked back and one covered by three skinny bikini strings, but it still feels like a serious escalation.

Veronica gives her ass a little wiggle as she shimmies the tank top over her head. She walks into the closet, emerging moments later in her sleep shorts, making sure he sees her drop her underwear in the hamper.

That's just overkill.

Logan's dick seems to agree.

"Something wrong?" she asks, innocently.

"Not a thing." He marks his page and sets the novel on his nightstand. "Ready to sleep?"

Veronica glances at her laptop, as if considering doing more investigating, then back to Logan. Down to his lap. At the bulge still visible through the sheets. "Yeah, I'm ready."

Fuck.

After shutting off the lights, Logan turns onto his left side, sliding an arm around Veronica's waist. He tries to maintain space between their mid-sections, but she scoots back, pressing tight against his erection.

He groans, and shifts onto his back.

It's not dark enough. Should he get up and turn off those two touch lights?

Too late. Veronica rolls onto her other side, using his chest as a pillow and sliding her knee over his legs, just close enough to his cock to make him sweat.

Can she hear his heart pounding?

"So?" She trails fingers across his bare chest. "Is it true? What Zadie said?"

He rolls his eyes. "What did she accuse me of?"

"I can't remember her exact words, but it was something about you being talented with your mouth," she whispers, "I'm just wondering if it's true."

This must be hell.

Logan slowly breathes in and out. Twenty. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen. Sixteen. Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen.

"Fuck it. I'm only human." Quick as a snake, he has her on her back, legs up over his shoulders.

Veronica gasps, lifts her head, then sighs as he scatters wet kisses across her smooth belly. Along the curve of her waist.

Hooking his thumbs into the waistband of her shorts, Logan drags them south by several inches. Almost, but not quite, as low as her bikini.

His tongue tracing the outline of her hipbone elicits a soft moan.

He moves downward, teasing her lower belly with his lips and tongue the way he'd love to tease other parts of her. Making her squirm and undulate.

He chooses his spot — about as far down as he can go without seeing pubic hair – pulls her flesh into his mouth and sucks.

Might as well leave a souvenir. In case she forgets this helpful demonstration.

It's when he lifts up to check his work that he realizes the folly of this plan.

As choices go, this one was colossally stupid. God! Has he never been with a woman before?

Of course, Veronica was going to become aroused. That was the whole point of this demonstration, and Logan IS That. Damn. Good. And of course, she would need to seek relief in any way possible. Which, in this scenario, just happens to his chin.

Of course, he can feel her wetness through her thin cotton shorts as she bucks and writhes.

Of course, he'd end up inhaling her scent every time he breathes in. And of course, it would be the greatest fucking thing he's ever smelled in his life.

And if she smells this good, he can just imagine how she tastes.

Logan's vision goes white, and fuck, he's about to fucking blow!

Reaching down his shorts, he squeezes his shaft between his thumb and forefinger until the danger passes.

He drops his face to Veronica's belly, and takes a few deep, steadying, breaths. Fuck, she smells good.

Time to end this. He's made his point, right?

And so what if Veronica started this sexual war? Was it truly necessary for him to resort to the nuclear option?

But first, that beautiful straining tendon in her inner thigh looks lonely. Starved for attention, if he's being honest. He should do something about that. If he traces it with his tongue, he just might get a taste at the top.

NO, you dumbass! That is the complete OPPOSITE of a good plan. End this now!

Logan laughs and lifts his face from her belly. "I will shock and awe you with my mouth."

Turning his head, he takes a moment to sink his teeth into the meat of her right inner thigh. Her resulting moan nearly kills him. Dead. "Once you're my girlfriend."

He drags himself up her body, until his cock is nestled, right there. And for several blissful seconds, they rock together. Until once again, Logan comes to his senses and rolls onto his back.

They lay side by side, chests heaving, and gasping for breath. Occasionally laughing.

When his heart finally seems to be beating normally again, Logan speaks, as if they hadn't just taken a forty-five second break. "Any questions?"

"Just one." Veronica turns her head. "Should we like, wrestle or something for first dibs on the shower head?"

"Why would we…?"

Oh.

OH!

Logan's mouth opens, but no words come out.

Veronica's smile, as she climbs out of bed, is pure evil.

"Wish I could hang out, but I'm off to visit Mr. Sprays." She glances at him over her shoulder. "But uh…thanks for getting me started."

Oh. Fuck. No.

It's exactly what he deserves, right? He had to show off. Had to take things too far. And now he's stuck here, miserable, horny, hard as a fucking rock, with no way to relieve the situation in their shared bed.

He turns his head at the sound of the shower turning on.

And…she didn't close the door all the way. Because why not torture him a little more, while Mr. Sprays finishes what he couldn't.

Wouldn't.

Climbing out of bed, Logan storms over to the bathroom. He grabs the knob, ready to yank it shut - loudly - when he hears her laugh. Deep and throaty, in a way that makes his balls tighten.

Dirty.

He pushes the door open.

Veronica Day 11
The Titan's Trigger
Nicholas Key

Veronica reaches into the shower with trembling hands, twists the temperature knob, and waits, palm outstretched, for the cold water to turn warm.

She'd somehow managed to keep her composure in bed, but here, in the privacy of the bathroom, her knees wobble like a newborn calf.

He fucking bit her inner thigh.

He sunk his teeth right into her flesh. And it wasn't nearly enough.

God, what's the matter with her? What is this need?

She can still see the indentations of his teeth. Some lunatic part of her wishes they were permanent. Like a tattoo.

Oh, that old thing? Funny story.

The water is lukewarm. She twists the temperature knob another inch. Hot. Hotter.

But you've known all along, Veronica, haven't you?

That stupid sex tape.

Not a day has gone by where Veronica hasn't envisioned it - reluctantly or otherwise. Her tiny blonde doppelganger posed on hands and knees as Logan rocked in and out of her. The graceful beauty of his body, his shifting muscles, the hypnotic grind of his hips. And when he'd bitten the girl's shoulder…

She laughs out loud, and it sounds indecent, even to her own ears.

Admit it, Veronica. You've wanted to feel his teeth ever since.

There's movement in her peripheral vision. The door swinging open.

Logan glares at her from the doorway. "What's so funny?"

She takes her time turning to face him, allows a wicked smile to form on her lips. "I was thinking about your sex tape."

He crosses the threshold. "Do you often think about me fucking other women?"

Every. Damn. Day.

"Was that another woman? She looked an awful lot like me."

"You noticed that, huh?" His eyes lift, momentarily, as if something has just occurred to him, and he mumbles something about patterns.

"Is that something you do often? Fucking Veronica surrogates?"

He moves closer. "In the past. Or at least since this version of you came along."

Something in his expression makes her pulse race, and she retreats as he advances. One step. Two. Three. Until her heels make contact with the lip of the shower and there's nowhere left to run. Until his right forearm is braced on the metal frame above her, and he's leaning into her space.

"Does that bother you?" Logan fingers a strand of her hair.

It should. There's no denying that it's fucked up. But the fluttering sensation in her chest says otherwise. Tells her she's as twisted as he is.

He'd wanted her. Even before she was the default option.

Meeting his eyes, she shakes her head to the negative.

Relief flickers through his gaze, almost too quickly to catch.

"I can't say I'm not skeptical," Veronica adds, "...considering how I keep throwing myself at you, and you keep shooting me down."

He runs his thumb along her jawline. "I've never wanted anyone more."

"Hmm…"

"Tell me what made you laugh that way."

Veronica angles her left leg slightly outward, drawing his attention to the marks on her thigh.

Logan sucks air through his teeth. Reaches down and traces the indentations. "Shit. I'm sorry about that."

"Don't be."

He lifts his gaze, stares at her for several seconds, seeking the message behind her words, then nods, understanding. "That's what made you laugh?"

"No, that's what made me think of the video."

Veronica quiets as his hand moves to her hip. Five fingers press into her flesh, and she holds her breath, fighting the urge to tilt her pelvis forward.

"Which one?" He watches his own left hand, seemingly transfixed, as it drifts upward, pushing up her cami by several inches and spanning her waist. His long thumb sweeps arcs over her belly.

Veronica closes her eyes, momentarily losing herself in the sensation of his touch. "I only saw the first one. My back was turned for the others."

"Was it Weevil's joke about my um...flexibility?" The fingers resting on her back spread wide, and he tugs her closer, aligning their hips, just so.

Veronica leans away from him. "No, and I don't even want to know what he witnessed that would make him say that."

"Okay." Logan smirks. "So, you watched the one where I fucked that girl from behind."

"My lookalike."

"Right." He nods. "What made it so funny?"

If she was smart, she'd tell him to drop it. Shield herself from further embarrassment. But all is fair in love and war, and Logan just won a major battle.

A good strategist would use every weapon in her arsenal. And if she can rattle his composure as much as he's rattled hers…

Veronica exhales and smiles at him. "I was remembering watching it that day in the pool house."

"In my memory, you freaked out and turned away."

"Well, it was a little horrifying. In case you've forgotten, I hated your guts."

"No, you didn't." He kisses the tip of her nose. "You just wanted to hate me."

She shrugs in acknowledgment. "Anyway, I caught about a minute of it before I came to my senses."

"Perv." His eyes twinkle.

Considering the source…

"You'd given me that pain pill, after the park, and I didn't really understand what was happening."

"Seems straightforward to me. I was secretly recorded, nailing some blonde, doggy-style, and wishing it was you."

"I forget sometimes how much of an asshole you can be." Veronica sighs. "I meant, I didn't understand what was happening to me."

Logan leans back a little and studies her face.

Moment of truth, Veronica.

"I don't even know how to describe it."

"You were turned on?" His lips curl up a millimeter at the corners. Like he's fighting the urge to smirk.

"It's not that simple."

"Tell me."

"You kind of rounded over the girl, and kissed a trail up her spine, and…" Veronica swallows. "This is going to sound insane, but it was almost like I could feel it. Your mouth on me."

Logan traces the same path now, with his fingers.

"And then you sort of hooked your arm under her chest and pulled her upright, onto her knees, leaning back against your chest. And you reached between her legs, and…I could feel that, too. Like phantom fingers on my…"

She meets Logan's gaze and her pulse begins to race. His pupils are dilated, and his eyes seem ablaze with an inner fire.

Veronica shivers. "You can imagine how freaked out I was, considering our history."

He nods, not breaking eye contact.

"And then, you dipped your head and bit her on the shoulder, and…" Veronica laughs nervously.

Logan whispers, "You could feel my teeth on you?"

"No, it wasn't that. I guess you could say I had...what I now believe was…" Rising up on tiptoe, she whispers in his ear.

For the longest time, Logan only stares, jaw hanging slack.

"You're lying. There's no way..."

"I wish I was." Veronica lifts a shoulder. "Weevil saw my face. He called me out when you left to go pack. So that was a bit humil—"

Her explanation is cut-off, as Logan's mouth slams down on hers. As his tongue finds hers, slides and curls around it. It's a desperate, reckless kiss, and tastes a whole lot like victory.

His right hand is tangled in her hair, not quite tugging her head back. His left arm is around her, pulling her so tightly against him, she can barely breathe.

He dominates the small space, pushing forward and bending her backwards as he deepens the kiss.

It's overwhelming – the arch and stretch of her spine, her achingly hard nipples smashed against his chest, the slow roll of his hips. The feel of his skin against her palms and fingertips.

Logan pulls back with a soft laugh, presses his forehead to hers. "It's like I'm incapable of learning a lesson, or something."

"What lesson?"

He. Smells. Like. Her.

Why does he smell like her?

She can barely breathe as the truth sinks in. How she'd grinded herself on him. How she'd...

Strike me dead this very second. Please! I can never look him in the eyes again!

"That things can go from zero to out-of-control in a matter of seconds when I'm with you." Logan lets out another nervous laugh. "I'm sorry. Go ahead and take your shower. I'll get out of here."

He kisses her softly on the mouth, releases her, and steps back.

Except…her center of gravity is no longer centered. Which was fine, when his steadying arm was tight against her lower back.

It feels like slow motion. First, the instinctive drive to correct her balance by adjusting the position of her left foot, next, the sick realization that the lip of the shower is in the way, followed by, the 'move-that-foot-or-land-on-your-ass' over-correction, the three stumbling backwards steps, and finally…you guessed it.

Hot water streams down over her, instantly soaking her hair, her cami and her thin sleep shorts.

For a moment, Logan merely stares at her wide-eyed, then his mouth pulls down, lips curled inwards. Fighting to hold back his laughter.

"Oh, fuck that!" Reaching forward, Veronica fists the waistband of his underwear, and drags him into the shower with her.

"What the—" Logan instinctively reaches for his hair.

This time Veronica cuts him off, hooking her right forearm around his neck and pulling him to her mouth.

This seems to amuse him. Once the initial shock wears off.

He's smiling as he takes control, sucking on her lip and gently nipping it in-between devastating sweeps of his tongue.

It's almost as if he's playing with her. Teasing her with his tongue, and evading her attempts to take control. It's as sexy as it is annoying, and so very Logan.

There's so much she still has to learn about kissing.

He dodges another attempt to forcibly deepen the kiss, twinkles down at her. "Something wrong?"

Veronica grunts her annoyance, and he laughs, kisses a path up the left side of her jawline.

"So... the biting really does it for you, huh?" He tugs her earlobe with his teeth.

"Fuck you, Logan. And yes."

He chuckles softly, and kisses down her neck. Teasing her with his lips and tongue. He finds a particularly sensitive spot where it meets her shoulder, and Veronica moans, twining her fingers in his wet hair in an attempt to keep him right there.

Logan pulls his head back. "God, you're short."

"Shouldn't you be used to petite girls, by now?" And no, she doesn't sound bitter at all.

"Jealous?" Without any warning, Logan hoists her up by her thighs, so that her legs instinctively wrap around his waist, and presses her against the opposite wall of the shower.

"Maybe, but…" she trails off, as Logan kisses her, softly.

He pulls back, nuzzles the tip of her nose with his, "Don't be. I'm yours, Veronica." A kiss. Another. A whispered, "Be mine?"

I am. For as long as this thing lasts. If only that were enough.

Logan pulls her top lip between his, releases it. Licks her bottom lip and, when her mouth opens, flicks the tip of his tongue against hers.

Veronica gasps.

Because their lips aren't exactly connected. Their heads aren't tilted at the perfect forty-five-degree angle, and his eyes are wide open.

She chases his mouth, tilts her head, but he evades, pressing his pelvis more tightly against hers, as he lifts one hand to her face, holding it still.

Logan's gaze is locked with hers and she can see the smirk in his eyes, as he leans in. Can feel the side of his nose against hers, can taste the toothpaste on his breath.

He's a hair's breadth away, and when her lips part, she can sense his satisfaction as he licks and teases the tip of her tongue.

Duncan never kissed her like this. She would have shoved him away if he'd tried. But with Logan, something about it feels so…erotic.

She closes her eyes and teases him back – a flick, a swirl – and he makes a little hum of pleasure, as he returns his hand to the underside of her thigh, and hoists her an inch or so higher.

Veronica sighs as his erection nudges her clit, and runs her hands over his back, through the spray of water that doesn't quite reach her in this position. Around his shoulders, down his spine, and back up again.

Their tongues cavort and play like participants in a childhood game. Darting in, then away. A quick tickle. A sudden twist. A lingering caress. It's weird and discombobulating, but it feels so damn good. And when Logan's tongue curls just so, she frantically grinds herself against him.

She slips a little, and he pulls back.

"Don't stop."

"Hold on." Turning them away from the wall, Logan deposits her onto the built-in bench.

This puts her at least a foot taller than him, and her light cami doesn't hide how hard her nipples are. For a moment, he stares at them like a new flavor of candy he's dying to sample. He settles for pressing a chaste kiss to the inner swell of her left breast, and another on the right.

"Kneel."

Ordinarily, Veronica would balk at such a command, but in this context, it turns her on. Just a little.

Holding one of his hands for balance, she gingerly lowers herself down onto her knees, and sits back on her heels.

Logan tugs her back up into an upright kneel, so that she's half-a-head taller than him.

"Much better." His hands are on her ass, and the tip of his erection is pressed right there, and his tongue is playing 'connect-the-dots" with water droplets on her chest.

Veronica buries her hand in the back of his hair, pulling him closer. Arches her back.

Reaching up blindly, he swivels the shower head in its mount, and once again, the hot water flows over both of them.

Leaning in, he covers all the skin above her cami with open-mouthed kisses.

When he returns to that one spot on her neck, Veronica inhales in pleasure. Logan rocks his hips forward, the friction making them both moan.

"Do that again," she says, and he does. Again, and again.

When he strokes soft fingers over that sensitive spot on the back of her thighs, she gasps and grinds harder against him.

Logan leans his forehead on hers. "That feel good?"

"God, yes."

"Mmm" He grasps her ass with strong hands, rocking her hips forward and back. Meeting him at the top of his thrusts, and away again. Intensifying the delicious friction.

Foreheads pressed together; they both spend a moment staring down at the mesmerizing ebb and flow of their bodies. A sliver of flesh is visible where his erection pushes against his waistband, and Veronica wants to peel his boxers down. To see the rest. To touch.

She nudges his face to the side. Uses her mouth to show him how much she enjoys his hands squeezing and massaging her ass. The lovely, blessed, friction.

She kisses his neck, traces his pronounced collar bone with her tongue. She nips and bites, pulls at him with her lips and sucks lightly. Licks everywhere.

His skin tastes like nothing at all, yet at the same time, entirely like Logan. She could spend a day sampling all the different parts of him.

Her hands roam his body, sweeping over his back, his biceps, his abs and chest. When she finds his tiny, puckered nipple, and runs her thumb over it, Logan whimpers his pleasure, and drags her mouth back to his own.

This kiss is deeper. Sloppier.

Logan's hands guide her faster and faster, lifting her an inch or so at the top to rub against more of his length.

More friction, creates more sensation and Veronica feels it starting to build.

She pinches and thumbs at Logan's nipple, slides her free hand down the back of his boxers. His flesh is smooth and round, and he really seems to enjoy her touching it.

"Fuck, Veronica."

They're both breathing heavy now, their frantic kisses swallowing gasps and moans.

She's close. So close. Only one or two more seconds and...

"Wait." Logan takes a half-step back, lets out a shaky laugh. "Wait a second."

"NO!" Without even thinking, Veronica grasps his erection, now tenting his shorts, pushes it back against her clit.

Logan lets out a pained cry. Jerks away, as if her touch burns. He turns his back to her and for several seconds, stands utterly still.

"Logan?" Veronica says, when she can't take the silence. "Oh God! I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…"

"It's okay."

"I hurt you?"

"What?" He turns around, frowning. "No, you didn't hurt me. I almost came. That's why I pulled away."

"But you shrieked, when I…" She climbs off the bench, a lump forming in her throat. "I thought I was too rough."

"If I did shriek – which I didn't, because I'm a MAN…" He flashes her a decidedly boyish smile. "– it would only be because I panicked."

"Oh. Wow. Thanks."

"Look, I was two seconds away from shooting my load." He rolls his eyes. "And I know sperm typically can't swim through fabric, but does that work with wet fabric? Can it be absorbed, like a sponge?"

"What?"

"I don't know. I just didn't want to come, pressed up against you like that."

"Understood." She turns away, facing the water and avoiding his eyes. "Well…thank you for not impregnating me, I guess."

"You're pissed?"

"Nope. I'd just like to be alone, now." The lump has expanded, closing off her throat. She can barely swallow.

"Veronica…" He sighs.

Her eyes flood with tears, and Logan can NOT see her this way. "Please go away."

She bites her lip, tries so hard to hold back, but Logan's hand is on her shoulder, and he's turning her around, and when their gazes meet, it's over.

Tears flood from her eyes and pathetic sounds escape her throat.

"Veronica…?" Logan stares at her, dumbfounded, then pulls her tight against his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. I never should've let things get that far."

"I'm not crying because we let things go that far." She pulls back to look up at him.

"Then why?"

"I'm just really frustrated, okay? I came this close, and then…Nothing."

Realization floods Logan's eyes. "Fuck. She was right."

She?

Veronica pulls out of his embrace. "Who was right?" she asks, although she can already guess the answer.

He lowers his gaze, suddenly fascinated with his feet. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Her voice drops to a hiss. "Were you talking to Zadie, of all people, about my love life? Or lack of one?" He opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. "Did you confide in our new roomie. Tell her all about mean, mean, Veronica, who throws herself at you, but refuses to agree to your terms?"

"Stop it. Now." It's another command, and she goes silent. "Don't pull that shit on me."

"But—"

"You know damn well my loyalty is to you, and I wouldn't do that."

"Then how—"

"I was just sitting there, on the couch, trying to read, when she bounced in with her snarky comments and her unsolicited advice."

Veronica lets out a guttural noise of frustration. "What we do, when we're alone, is none of her damn business!"

"Except, we weren't actually alone."

"Huh?"

"Apparently, Zadie was standing next to a window during our little pool makeout session." His lips pull back in an 'yikes' expression. "She said Duncan tried to come over to see what made her laugh, and she had to physically drag him away, to keep him from seeing it."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"There was more, of course. She kinda chewed me out."

"Let me guess. Fuck Veronica already, so she'll stop being an uptight bitch?"

"Sort of…but the lecture was more focused on me. She thinks what I'm doing isn't cool."

"What does that mean?"

"She said that I'm torturing you." He swallows, lifts his gaze to the ceiling.

"What?"

"The gist of her argument was that you're wound-up so tight that you need to get laid. And every time I touch you, even the casual touches, I'm making it worse. And also, that I never stop touching you. Hence, the torture."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Nobody needs to get laid. People go their entire lives without sex."

"She's not very good at analogies, but I think she was trying to imply that you're like a bottle of soda, and I'm the asshole who keeps shaking you up."

Veronica's throat closes up again, and she turns her back to him again. The implication is clear. His sudden burst of clarity. His 'she was right'.

To Logan, her frustrated crying jag must've been the shaken-up soda overflowing like a volcano. Is he right? Or could it be…

She lets out a bitter laugh. "You're off the hook, Logan. It's just PMS."

"You're on your period?"

"No, probably in the next day or two."

"I thought PMS started on the first day of the period."

"No. That's how it worked for Lilly. But kudos for paying attention."

His hand moves gently to her waist. "PMS makes you cry?"

"Occasionally. I should've realized. I always get really horny in the days before it starts."

"Horny, how?" Another hand on her waist.

Veronica shrugs. "Fantasies. Sexually explicit dreams. And that's usually when I…"

"Masturbate?"

"Yeah." She nods. "So, you see? It's not your fault, after all. You can go back to bed with a clean conscience."

"No, I can't." Logan tugs on her shoulder, making her turn back around and face him. "You may be willing to let me off the hook, but I'm not."

"It's okay."

"We have to stop doing this to each other, Veronica."

"Showering together in our underwear?"

He snorts. "Pushing each other's boundaries. Testing how far we can take things without crossing the line. It's not good for us."

Veronica tries to deflect with humor. "Felt pretty good to me."

"What I did to you in bed?" He shakes his head, lifts his eyes to the ceiling. "That was just wrong. I went too far."

"Logan." She grabs his chin, forcing him to look at her. "I'm not mad. I knew that was a possibility when I said what I said. I goaded you into it, and anyway, all's fair in love and war."

"Yeah, well I vote for less war and more love."

Veronica's heart seems to skip a beat, and she stares at him, unsure how to respond.

Logan sighs. "That was unfair. I know you're trying."

"You do?"

"Yeah." He touches his forehead to hers. "Like earlier. In the pool. This."

Butterfly wings flutter in her belly. She loves the way he says that word. Like it's a capitalized, proper noun. Some elusive, undefined, entity of its own.

"You said you wished I'd picked you, so we could've had years being This." He sighs, dreamily.

"Oh. Right."

She'd been thinking about a cryptic comment he made earlier – something about being second-best and feelings of inadequacy – but it had taken her ten minutes to work up the nerve to make that confession. To put herself out there like that.

Veronica hasn't felt like second-best since that morning in Bluebell, when she'd eavesdropped on his conversation with his mom's friend. Since she'd overheard his assertions that he'd 'loved' her from day one, and how he'd thought it was 'for her own good' when he bone-headedly rejected her by the pool that day, and turned to Lilly.

But tonight, in a different pool on a different coast, drowsy, serene, and blissfully wrapped around Logan, it had suddenly felt imperative for him to know he'd also been her choice. That she's been his for the taking.

Now, she twines her fingers behind his neck. "And that was…" Why can't she bring herself to say 'more love'? "…less war?"

"I guess it made me feel less…disposable."

"Disposable? God, Logan, you're not—"

He kisses her lips, softly. "I know. But just the fact that you believed in the possibility that we could've stayed together for years? That you could see us having that kind of longevity?" He shrugs one shoulder. "It felt like a gift."

Veronica's throat closes up again, but this time for entirely different reasons. She's never felt this way about anyone. Certainly not Duncan. She's never wanted anyone like she wants Logan.

When it comes to him, she's a hurricane of emotion. Positive, negative, and everything in-between. And yet, she hoards her words like a miser hoards coins. Withholds everything real, in favor of light, airy flirtation.

Seeing him now — how deeply a simple, truthful confession affects him — makes her heart physically ache. Sure, he's fucked up in the past, and she has every reason to be wary. But this boy, this new and improved Logan, deserves so much more.

"I meant it, Logan. You were—" She envisions the inscription inside the gold band on her finger and smiles. Whispers, "It was you all along."

Logan closes his eyes. "Thank you. For This."

"Thank you. So, we're good?"

"Yeah." He kisses the tip of her nose. "We're good."

"Okay." Veronica exhales and takes a step back. "How about you go back to bed? I'll um…take care of bizness and join you in a bit."

"Wait. Can I stick around a little longer?"

"For what?"

He's not hard anymore, doesn't need to wait for an erection to go down.

"To make things up to you. Don't forget, I'm equally talented with my hands." He holds them up, wiggling all ten fingers.

Veronica stares at him. Is he offering what she thinks he's offering? Because, yes. Please.

Logan palms his face. "That came out sounding dirty."

Damn. "How did you mean for it to sound?"

He plucks her shampoo from the shelf, holds it up, and smiles. "Clean."

"You want to borrow my shampoo?"

"I want to wash your hair."

"Why?"

"Like I said, to make it up to you. I want to make you feel good."

"If you really want to make me feel good, I can think of better places to put those fingers."

"Veronica…"

"Right. No more pushing boundaries." She blows out a breath. "Okay, if you want to wash my hair, go for it. Sounds like good clean fun."

"Groan."

Veronica elbows him. "Where do you want me?"

"In front of me." Logan positions her so her back is to his chest and she's facing the spray. He reaches up and adjusts the shower head so that water hits her around chest height. "Okay, just close your eyes and relax."

"Sure…"

She hears the popping sound of a lid opening, and breathes in the vanilla coconut scent of her shampoo. There's a noise that sounds like palms rubbing together, and then Logan's fingers slide into her wet hair.

"Remember the last time I did this?" He speaks softly near her ear.

"Um…never? Unless you washed my hair in some dream." She can feel all ten of Logan's fingertips on her scalp, splayed wide, like spider legs, and moving back and forth in a scritching motion. Is scritching even a word?

Either way, he could go pro in the activity she thinks of as scritching. It feels amazing.

"I meant the last time I massaged your scalp. A week ago, back in Dallas. When we had the room to ourselves."

Oh, she remembers that day. She remembers the careful way he painted her toenails. His magic fingers massaging her feet, neck, shoulders, and yes, her scalp.

"I remember you stopping when I leaned back, because I was in your 'kissing space'." She hopes he can hear her eye roll in her voice.

"You say that all derisively, but wasn't it the very next day when you kissed me, and then freaked out about it?"

"I freaked out?" Veronica snorts. "You're the one who threw a tantrum and asked some other girl on a date."

"Yeah, but you—" He cuts himself off. "Actually, you're right. I was totally out of line."

"Wow. Logan Echolls admitting wrongdoing. Never thought I'd see the day."

"Yeah? Well, get used to it. You're more important to me than being right." He speaks in that low, flirtatious voice he employs on rare occasions, and that alone, would've been enough to make her weak in the knees, let alone his words.

The finger scritches turn to finger circles and Veronica can't hold in her moan. "Who knew wholesome could feel this good?"

"Told you." Logan sings. "Although, considering our state of undress and the thing I was imagining one minute ago, I'm not sure this quite qualifies as wholesome."

One minute ago? "Was it the thing I said about your fingers?"

"Yes. Now behave." His lips press to the top of her shoulder, and he laughs softly.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking, tomorrow is our one-week Kissoversary."

If he wants her to keep her eyes closed, he should really stop giving her so many reasons to roll them. Is he a middle schooler?

"Our Kissoversary?" She gasps exaggeratedly. "Oh no! I forgot to get you a gift."

"Well traditionally…" He nudges her head back to lean against him, and massages her front 'bangs' section. "When two people are in a…less war…kind of relationship, Kissoversaries are celebrated with — believe it or not — more kissing."

"Sign me up. Sounds like my kind of tradition."

"But the reason I was laughing was…did you realize we've switched positions?"

"Many times. Yet, I somehow always end up straddling you."

He lets out a contented sigh. "God, I love it when you straddle me. But I'm talking about the aftermath of that 7-Eleven kiss. The things we said in Peggy's truck that day. While you were straddling me."

"I was a little overwhelmed."

"You said we could never kiss again. That things would get messy and complicated and you couldn't afford to lose me over relationship drama. And I argued that our physical attraction couldn't be ignored."

"That rings a bell."

"So, how did we manage to do a complete reversal in the span of one week? Where I'm the one trying to protect our relationship, while you just want me for my body."

"Ehh…I kind of like your smart mouth, too."

He sighs. "Veronica."

He deserves an answer, but how does she give him what he wants without making herself vulnerable. "Honestly? I guess I just got past my insecurity."

"Since when are you insecure?"

"Hang-ups, then. I had certain…assumptions about what it would mean to be with you, and my chances of getting hurt. And then, I discovered that my assumptions were unfounded."

"Care to elaborate?"

"No. I don't think I will." She smirks. "You've come a long way, but I'm still not ready to hand you the blueprints for breaking my heart. Maybe in a decade or so."

"So, you're saying I have your heart." Logan nudges her head forward and shifts his focus to the back, rubbing wide sweeping arcs with his thumbs where it meets her neck. "I have to hold it, to break it."

"Yeah, I'm not touching that one."

"That's alright. I'll handle the touching." He subtly presses himself into her ass.

Veronica glances over her shoulder. "Anybody ever tell you you're a tease?"

"Nope. But since people seem to love calling me a slut, I'll take that as a compliment."

"Logan. I..."

He squeezes her shoulder. "Duncan. Earlier."

"Why?"

"Having a public relationship with you makes me a bad friend — not because you're his ex or his…you know — but because I'm not available to, quote: 'fuck anything', and now attractive women are hitting on him."

"And that's a bad thing? What did he want? For you to act as some kind of…sexual bug zapper for the rest of your life?"

"Sexual. Bug. Zapper. Never thought I'd hear those words. I don't know. I guess he's always had hang-ups, but he's just now starting to face them." He sighs. "Okay, lean back."

After gently tilting her head back, Logan grabs the shower head from the wall. He flicks the lever, softening the intensity of the stream, and holds it right to her scalp. With his free hand, he finger-parts her hair, searching for hidden bubbles.

If you'd asked her an hour ago, Veronica would've said she knows how to wash her own hair and didn't need any help. She couldn't have imagined having Logan do it would be this enjoyable.

If you'd asked her two weeks ago, she couldn't have imagined he would ever volunteer to do it. She'd never dreamed there was somebody so nurturing under that jackass exterior.

He returns the shower head to its holster and grabs the bottle of conditioner. Squeezing a dollop onto his palm, he begins finger-combing it through her hair.

"Use that." Veronica points to the wide-toothed shower comb hanging from the knob.

"Sure." Logan grabs it, tries to pull it through her hair, but catches a snag halfway down.

"No, you have to start at the bottom and work your way up."

"The bottom? How?" This seems to confuse him, so she takes the comb from his hand, demonstrates proper 'bottom-up' tangle removal and hands it back.

As always, Logan's a quick learner. She closes her eyes, just appreciating the moment while he gently combs and detangles her hair.

The jealous girl hiding deep inside Veronica appreciates the fact that he didn't know how to do it correctly. That he hasn't performed this ritual with all his hookups.

It feels intimate. It feels like…less war. It feels like it belongs to her.

Unfortunately, it goes much quicker than the shampoo/scalp massage.

Logan returns the comb to its perch and spends a quiet minute rinsing her hair again. When he's finished, he asks, "So, you don't want to tell me what I said or did to help earn your trust? Can you at least explain the complete one-eighty?"

"Maybe it's like you said. We let it out, and there's no locking it back up again."

"Me and my big mouth." He exaggerates a sigh.

"Or, like you so eloquently told Jake Kane, 'I've forgotten what I started fighting for'."

He snorts. "You're saying, you 'can't fight this feeling, anymore'?"

"I'm saying I don't want to." Veronica turns to face him, wraps her arms around his neck. "You see, every night, I get to curl up in bed with this really hot guy."

He smirks. "Really hot, huh?"

"Uh huh." She nods. "This really hot guy who just happens to make the entire world disappear when he kisses me."

Logan's face goes full schmoop, and he tugs her hips closer. "What world? All I see is you."

God, he makes it hard for her to keep her objectivity.

Veronica strokes fingertips over the back of his neck. "I don't know what the future holds. Maybe we'll live here together, until we're old and gray. Maybe we'll separate. Maybe we'll end up in prison. Maybe Liam Fitzpatrick will track us down and murder us."

"Oh yeah. That world. So, you're saying, you don't want to die a virgin?"

Veronica grabs him by both cheeks. "I'm saying I like you, idiot! I've always liked you." Okay, that wasn't too hard. It didn't kill her. "And due to some stupid decisions certain people made, you and I never got our chance."

Logan makes a sufficiently contrite face.

"Look. I don't know how much time we have, but if this turns out to be our last opportunity, I don't want to stand on the sidelines and watch it pass by."

He kisses her temple. "I don't either."

"So maybe I did do a complete one-eighty. Once I realized that my hang-ups were based on a misconception, I just didn't want to fight this anymore. I don't want to deny myself something that could be so good."

"I'm confused. When you talk like this, you don't sound like somebody who doesn't want to be my girlfriend."

"Grrr!" Veronica play-strangles him. "Of course, I want to be your girlfriend! I would be proud to be your girlfriend, if we could only agree on what that meant."

"Oh."

"Look me in the eye, Logan. Tell me we can take this thing, day-by-day, and I'll go out there right this second, and tell Duncan we're together."

"Duncan's right on the other side of this wall. With all the banging around we've been doing, he probably already knows something is going on. That is, if he isn't passed out drunk."

"I'll do even better. I'll call my dad and tell him."

Logan opens his mouth, and she can see in his eyes how much he wants to say yes. Wants to settle for taking it one day at a time. But he can't.

He wants more.

"Let your dad sleep. I should probably get out of here anyway, and give you some privacy." He kisses her forehead, tilts her chin up. "Enjoy your date with Mr. Sprays, and make sure you're home before midnight."

"Yes sir."

Aiming an exaggerated scowl at the shower head, he says, "Your days are numbered, punk!" He forms his fingers into the shape of a 'V' and makes the 'I'm watching you' gesture, and leaves the bathroom, pulling the door closed.

Veronica strips off her wet clothes, letting them fall to the shower floor.

She can't say that she isn't disappointed. But in a strange way, she's a little bit proud of Logan. She knows how much he wants this.

This.

She grabs the shower head from its holster and flips it to spiral-pattern. "Oh, Mr. Sprays. I hope you don't have any hang-ups about being second-best. This thing between us is just physical."

Logan Day 11
The Titan's Trigger
Nicholas Key

The bathroom door clicks open and Logan catches a glimpse of Veronica wrapped in a large towel before she shuts off the light. She skips the performance/torture this time, choosing dry clothing by touch and getting dressed in the closet.

"You still awake?" she whispers, as she climbs into bed.

"Yeah. You were quicker than I expected."

"Didn't take much. After…you know. And then the OTHER you know."

Yeah.

Logan rolls on his side to face her, props up his head up with his elbow. "So? Did he take you to dinner? Kiss you good night on the porch steps? Tell me everything. Was it romantic?"

"Everything? Well first, I played with my nipples for a bit, and—"

"Brat." Logan covers her mouth, feels her laughter against his palm. "Sounds like Mr. Sprays needs a refresher about being a gentleman."

"Oh, Mr. Sprays is no gentleman. He had me out of my panties in three seconds flat."

"Don't make me take a trip to the hardware store."

"Honestly? I just closed my eyes and thought about your mouth."

"Fuckkk. I wish I could've watched."

Veronica rolls onto her side to face him. "Can I tell you a secret? No judgment?"

"No judgment."

"Okay. I um…fantasize about you in the shower. A lot."

"When you're holding Mr. Sprays?"

"No. I mean, YOU in the shower. Solo. You know, taking care of bizness."

Logan lifts up slightly. "You're saying you want to watch me beat off?"

"No! Yeah. I don't know. I'm just saying, it's something I like to visualize. You know, like how you stand, how you hold your..."

"Cock?"

"Cock. How you move your hands and what kind of sounds you make and how the water streams down your body."

"Keep talking like that, and you'll get your chance sooner than expected."

"So, you don't think that's weird?"

Logan runs fingers over her cheek. "Not at all. I'm only surprised you trusted me enough to tell me."

Veronica pushes him onto back, snuggles into his side, and lays her head on his chest. "Thanks for not judging."

"I'm not judging. I'm imagining you watching."

"In a good way? You'd like to be watched?"

"By you? Definitely."

It might be the only fantasy he can actually grant under their current stalemate. Doesn't involve tasting her skin, or hands straying closer and closer, no possibility of going too far. Just healthy, all-natural self-love.

Of course, he would need her to return the favor at some point.

"Hey, Veronica?"

"Yeah?"

"In case it wasn't obvious, I would kill to watch you touch yourself."

"You would?"

"Yes." And, since she was kind enough to provide details for him, he returns the favor. "I want to see what shade of pink you are when you spread yourself open." He lifts her hand from her chest. "I want to see these two fingers sliding into your pussy and how slick and wet they are when you pull them back out. I want to see if you taste yourself." He simulates this, using his mouth on her index and middle fingers, and she breathes in sharply. "I want to see how you rub your clit, and how you play with your nipples and how your hips come off the bed when you really get going. I want to see you naked and sweaty and writhing from your own hand. Fuck, I want to see you use a vibrator on yourself. I want—"

"Logan!" Veronica interrupts. "I've abused Mr. Sprays enough tonight."

"Sorry. You know how my imagination gets."

"I do now. Sounds like we're both a couple of sexual degenerates."

"And thank god for that."

Conversation trails off. Logan pulls her closer, strokes fingers over her back, and lets himself drift.

He's almost asleep when Veronica shakes his shoulder.

"Logan."

"What?"

"Wake up. It's 12:01."

"So?"

She rolls on top of him. Straddles his hips. "Happy Kissoversary!"

Logan is happy to say that no hands strayed to inappropriate places, and no boundaries were tested, as they spent the next ten minutes, give or take, celebrating in the traditional manner

As for the dry humping? You can't win em' all.