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The sun had missed the memo that today would be a great day for overcast. Instead it continued to work toward its apex, all the while being surrounded by fluffy white cumulus clouds. If one was looking for a morning to snap pictures for the 'Wish You Were in Neptune' brochures, today would certainly work. The brochures would probably have the tagline 'May you live in interesting times,' because that was the kind of pretty-on-the-outside-fucked-up-on-the-inside code Neptune operated under.
Logan turned his attention away from the clouds and pulled his vehicle into a parking spot at the Neptune Grand. He turned off the Xterra and sat in quiet thought.
The world could shift with unsettling speed. Rewind time 24 hours: watch Veronica step onto the gymnasium stage to accept a high school diploma that matched his own. Go back only half as far: watch a friend's kid brother step off the roof of the Neptune Grand.
The images after the roof, through the night, and into the morning were broken. Veronica had been catatonic in her grief. He had remained with her and tried to offer solace, to be what ever she needed. The world had shifted again when her father appeared; her father was who she needed. It felt intrusive to view the reunion.
He'd driven to the hotel because he couldn't think of anywhere else to go; going inside held little appeal. Maybe the beach would have been a better choice. The thought of running into his dad on the way to his suite drained him of what little desire remained to exit the vehicle.
He ran his hands up the sides of the steering wheel and then reached down to turn the key. Forget the Neptune Grand; the beach was a better choice.
Someone rapped gently on the driver's side window and jarred Logan from his thoughts. He looked up to see the solemn face of Deputy Sacks. Next to Sacks stood Ms. James, Neptune High's very own guidance counselor.
“Logan Echolls, I'm Deputy Jerry Sacks. This is Ms. Rebecca James, the guidance counselor from Neptune High. We need to talk with you inside.” Sacks' voice was muffled through the glass.
Logan lowered the window and worked up an amused look for Sacks' benefit. “Why, yes, I believe we've all met. Pretty sure you've arrested me more than once. How's it going Deputy?”
Sacks ignored his question. “Can we talk to you inside?”
“You want me to come to the station?” He kept his smile in place even as he tried to piece together where the conversation was heading.
“No, your suite would probably be best.”
Logan's smile glazed as the mention of entering the hotel shifted his thoughts back to the roof, the ledge, the 'Why not?' —the sound of a body's impact 20 stories below. He thought again of Veronica and hoped she would allow herself an easy day.
“Mr. Echolls, are you okay?” Sacks' voice broke through Logan's thoughts.
He felt his head bob in a nod, and he smiled again as he thumbed the switch to close the window before climbing out of the Xterra. Of course he was okay. He was always okay.
“Right, my suite, because we're all such good friends. I hope you brought a party platter. I'd say I've got the adult beverages covered, but I think you two would make it awkward.”
Sacks and Ms. James ignored his comments and fell in step behind him as he made his way to the main entrance of the Neptune Grand. An image of baby ducks sprang to mind.
He turned and walked backwards for a few steps in order to study them. “Scratch that. I'll supply the party platter. I'm already sensing awkward undertones, so there goes your reason for skipping the tasty beverages. Maybe you could run down to the station and grab something from the keg supply? I'm pretty sure I've donated a few. Social lubricant will be needed.”
A look of what could have been pity flashed across Ms. James' face, but then she was shaking her head and gesturing for him to turn around as the automatic doors slid open.
He followed her advice and turned to enter the lobby.
Sheriff Lamb was standing just inside the entrance, leafing through a file folder. Like Logan, he looked to be wearing last nights clothes and functioning on less than a full night's rest.
The sheriff looked up as the group entered; his gaze took on a sharp glint when it landed on Logan.
“I see the dynamic duo tracked you down. If only your old man could go see the Wizard and ask for some brains—”
Ms. James' scandalized “Sheriff Lamb!” made a strange duet with Deputy Sacks' “Sir, we didn't—”
Logan glanced from the sheriff back to his trailing companions. While Lamb appeared quite amused with himself, Ms. James looked ready to burn him alive. Sacks was making it a point to direct his gaze anywhere but at Logan. This was about his father, not Cassidy.
“What's my dad have to do with this?” The question was out before he thought to stop it, and he mentally kicked himself as his show of being uninformed seemed to give Lamb a deeper moment of glee.
Ms. James shot Sheriff Lamb one more scathing look before moving up softly beside Logan and placing a hand on his forearm. “Logan, we should go to your suite.” People in the lobby were starting to stare openly at the small group. It didn't take much for officers in uniform to attract attention.
Logan pulled his arm away. The unease that had been mounting since the parking lot was bringing his edginess from the previous night to the surface. He took a step back so he could see all three of them at once. “Did you guys attend a seminar together on how to break bad news to people? Request a refund.” He turned toward the elevators but then spun back around and shoved his hands in his pockets. Defiance to the rescue. “I've changed my mind. I don't want to go to my suite.”
Lamb laughed. “Listen, buddy, they're doing you a favor. I doubt you want your private affairs aired to the public in the hotel lobby.”
Logan rolled his eyes and rocked back on his heels. “Well, buddy, seeing as it's a hotel, they also have conference rooms available in various sizes. Geez, that doesn't even count as thinking outside the box. Take your own advice and go find that wizard.”
Lamb's face darkened.
“I'll find us a conference room,” Sacks volunteered quickly and made his way toward the front desk.
* * * * *
The elevator ride up to the third floor was made in strained silence. The only notable positive was that Sheriff Lamb had not joined them.
Sacks led the way down the hall and used the provided key card to open the door to a conference room furnished with a long oval table made of dark wood and eight leather chairs. A large picture window ran along the wall opposite the door.
“Logan, you should sit down,” Ms. James said, using that same soft voice as if he was something fragile to be handled with care. She and Sacks took their own seats near the end of the table closest to the door.
Logan's brittle control snapped. “Fuck that. What's going on?”
Ms. James winced at his word choice.
“Mr. Echolls, I'm afraid we have some bad news”
“And I'm afraid that fact is obvious.”
“Please sit down.”
“Stop telling me to sit down.” Exasperation colored his words. He turned to Sacks, challenging him to pull off whatever bandaid the pair thought they were dealing with.
The silence was beginning to stretch before Deputy Sacks finally spoke.
“Your father was shot and killed last night in his suite.”
And there was the bandaid.
Logan glanced at Ms. James; she was studying him with concern. He looked away from her and back to Sacks.
“What happened?” His mouth felt dry as he formed the words. Did he care what happened?
“The investigation is ongoing. We received an anonymous tip which led to the discovery of your father. At this time it appears he was shot twice in—”
“—in the head,” Logan finished for him, recalling Sheriff Lamb's comment.
Deputy Sacks nodded.
The room once again lapsed into silence.
Logan put a hand on a chair and began rubbing a bit of the leather with his thumb as he stared blankly down at the table.
“Logan, is there someone you want us to call to be with you?” Ms. James asked gently. Could gentle be added to the list of irritants that included fingernails on chalkboards and crying babies on planes?
“—we haven't found Trina yet. Maybe we could call Veronica?”
He looked up at her completely bewildered. “Why would you call Veronica?”
“You shouldn't be alone right now—”
Ms. James' voice faded out as it finally clicked in his brain that they were worried about how he would react. Would it prove them right if he started laughing? —was he supposed to miss him?
“—I have Keith Mars' phone number—”
The world snapped back into focus.
“No.” Logan noted the sharpness in his voice and made an effort to smooth its edge. “I'm fine. I have people I can call if I need to. Don't bother Mr. Mars. I'm fine.” He pulled on a lopsided grin and looked to Sacks. “Is there anything else?”
Sacks cleared his throat and took out a small notepad. “Uh, yes, Mr. Echolls, I'm sorry to have to ask this, but can you tell us where you were between 11pm and 12am last night?”
Logan's grin took a brief, sardonic twist. They were now back in familiar territory. Murder suspect was such an easier fit than grieving family member.
“I took Veronica home after—” he started and made a gesture toward the window before dropping his gaze to where his thumb had worn a mark in the leather; it was only a faint mark, like a scar that would fade given time. He traced the edge of it with a finger as he continued, “We thought her dad was on Woody's plane. I didn't want to leave her alone.”
Sacks nodded and put his notepad away. “Yeah, I was glad to hear Keith wasn't on the plane.”
Logan looked up. “Are we good now?”
Sacks nodded again. Logan gave a small nod of his own and quietly exited the room. Should he have asked to see the body? Did he want to see the body?
He made his way back toward the elevator on some sort of autopilot. At least now he didn't need to worry about awkwardly meeting his dad in the halls of the hotel, right? Was that right?
He jammed his thumb on the elevator call button and inhaled a shaky breath through his mouth. The elevator felt slow to come; he pressed the call button again. A brief look over his shoulder revealed that neither Ms. James nor Sacks had followed him out of the room yet. For this he was grateful.
The elevator finally arrived and he found it gloriously empty of any other occupants. He pressed the button for his floor without hesitation. Forget the beach.
* * * * *
The knock on his suite door caused Logan to glance up. Moving from the couch was not high on his priority list. If this day ended in the next minute, he wouldn't count it as ending too soon. How long had he been sitting here? Was it still early afternoon, or could it now be classified as late? That same cheerful sun was still shining—although no longer as high as it once was.
The knock came again, this time with more insistence.
“Logan?” It was Veronica's voice.
With a sigh he pushed himself up off the couch and opened the door to reveal an agitated Veronica.
She pushed past him and the spun around to face him.
“Do come in,” he said and let go of the door so it could swing itself shut. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Your phone's off and the front desk said you had a Do Not Disturb alert on your room phone.”
“I was tired of saying 'No comment.' Speaking of which, no balloon bouquet? I thought for sure you would have heard the joyous news.”
Veronica appeared to ignore his last comment and began to calm as she walked around the room and gathered details about how he had spent his day.
The curtains were open, so it was obvious he wasn't trying to block the sunlight from his room. He was wearing a different outfit than last night's apparel, and a still damp towel could be seen on the floor through the opening to his bedroom. Add to that, the room service tray which showed signs of at least a small appetite, and the lack of visible containers of alcohol for a total of five boxes checked off on the 'Logan Shows Signs of Not Yet Giving Up on Life' list.
Who said one couldn't make a proper show of things while functioning on autopilot?
Her eyes landed on the coffee table and she bent over to pick up a CD case. He found the normality of the action strangely soothing. She was so nosy.
“The new Snow Patrol CD?”
“Why yes, Random, it's become my go to jam when I want to think of you,” he said and batted his eyelashes at her.
Veronica turned the case over in her hands and studied the song titles.
“Track six is where it's at,” he offered. “It was playing a loop in my brain when you walked across the stage yesterday. Or track two. I was of two minds.”
Even though his tone carried a note of jest, Veronica appeared to catch the undertone of sincerity. She studied his face.
“Should I listen to them?”
Logan glanced down at the floor. “Maybe not when I'm here.” He looked back up and grinned softly as he shifted the conversation. “I'm really glad your dad ended up being okay.”
“Me too,” she said and mirrored his smile.
Her smile slipped, and it was her turn to drop her gaze. “I, uh, I was sorry to hear about your dad—”
“Don't do that. You don't need to pretend.”
She shrugged. “Maybe I'm not completely pretending. Maybe I heard the news and couldn't stop worrying about you and how you were taking it. I wish you hadn't turned your phone off.”
He shrugged. “No need to worry. I'm fine.”
“Are you?”
He gave another shrug and then wished he hadn't. Shrugging probably wasn't the best way to convince her he was unaffected. He made a conscientious effort to keep his smile in place. “It's not a big deal. All that it means is that I've transitioned from being Eloise to Little Orphan Annie.”
She took a step forward, invading his space, and placed her hand on his forearm. He didn't pull away.
“Do you want to talk?”
“Yeah,” he said and put on a serious expression as he used his hands to frame her face and move it this way and that so that he could study her hair. “I should skip the red curls, right? On me they would look more Carrot Top than Annie. Now the dress on the other hand, that I have the legs for.”
Veronica allowed the diversion and seemed unable to keep a grin from breaking across her face. “You do, do you?”
She pulled on his wrists to remove his hands from her face before placing both hands on his chest and pushing him backwards. He found himself laughing as the back of his legs hit the couch. It felt good to laugh.
He grabbed her at her hips and pulled her down with him as he let himself collapse onto the couch. He had been missing this physical contact all day. He had been missing her. Autopilot didn't stand a chance when Veronica Mars was present.
She was so close; her hands were still braced against his chest and she had pulled her knees up onto the couch so she could perch comfortably on his lap. All he could think about was touching her, studying her—her face, her hair, her arms, her back. He wanted to let his hands memorize every inch of her frame. He settled for drawing small circles on her hips with his thumbs.
“Mmmhm. Best legs you've ever seen. Shoulders may be a bit too broad.”
“These shoulders?” she asked. The playfulness in her tone did strange things to his mental state as she ran her hands up from his chest and over said shoulders; he closed his eyes, savoring her touch.
“Stay with me?”
He heard his own words and froze even as he felt her hands stop moving across his shoulders. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, he really hadn't. He was sure his apprehension was palpable as he slowly opened his eyes and found her staring back. He had expected her deer-in-the-headlights look followed closely by the wind of her wake and the slamming of his suite door. Instead he found eyes that met his with a look that could easily be mistaken for one of adoration. She was smiling. It was the smile of someone who knew something he didn't.
“You know what? I think that's a definite possibility," she said softly and then closed the distance between them to press a tender kiss to his lips
He felt her break into another smile as she kissed him, and then he was smiling too and returning the kiss. His hands moved to tuck her hair behind her ears and caress her face.
As kisses went, it wasn't as filled with wild abandon as some of their previous make out sessions, but then again it appeared that tenderness was what he craved in this moment. He broke the kiss and moved to press a feather-soft one to her forehead before tucking his hands under her knees and moving her with him as he adjusted his position and lay down on the couch.
Veronica stretched away from him for a moment to grab the stereo remote from the coffee table before snuggling back against his chest. “So, is there a song on that new CD of yours for this moment?”
“Track three.”