Chapter Text

Prologue - The Wind Began to Switch, The House, To Pitch

Logan once described our story as ‘Epic’.

Of course, being Logan, he'd been referring to the stuff of movies. Sweeping vistas and the swell of violins. Lovers separated by cruel twists of fate, aching and longing for each other. Love conquering all.

In his version of Epic, the lives ruined would be those who dared to come between us. The blood shed would be that of our enemies.

We weren't that lucky.

HEARST COLLEGE 

Blame the balmy weather or maybe, the light, end-of-year schedules, but the entire Hearst student body seems to be outdoors today.

They cluster in groups all over campus, sipping frappés, soaking up the sun, and participating in the usual spring mating rituals.

Veronica pauses at the corner of the Murdock building and scans her surroundings.

Straight ahead, between her and the street, Jenny Budish and the rest of the Ski Patrol huddle in a loose group, laughing as they peer down at Nickerson's cell phone. Because rich kids, apparently, are not subject to the same rules and laws as everyone else.

To her left, by the building's front entrance, Domonick Desante gesticulates wildly to a guy in a sweater vest, still milking the story of his persecution at her hands, probably.

Man, I need to stop making enemies.

Veronica rejects both options, instead taking a diagonal path across the campus lawn.

She refuses to lower her eyes; not even to avoid the near-constant stares and whispers. She'd never asked to be in a sex tape – it may be the only thing she's innocent of – and she will not be shamed for being a typical college girl with normal sexual urges.

Anyway, one last jaunt across campus won't kill her. Her Stanford admissions packet sits on her desk at home, ready to be mailed, Dad's working on securing financial aid, and when she leaves here today, she'll never have to see this place again.

She shouldn't even be here now – her last final was two days ago – but this is one mission she can't put off any longer.

She skirts around a group of dudebros, and three heads turn, as if on puppet strings.

Ah...Let me guess. You've seen me topless, you've seen me topless, you've seen me topless, and you...haven't?

Dudebro number three whispers in the little guy's ear and his eyes grow wide and lascivious.

But...you 'll see me topless later. Congratulations, you little prick. Hope your dick shrivels up and falls off.

“Hey Blondie! Watch out!”

Veronica ducks her head just in time to avoid being clotheslined by a neon green Frisbee.

Ignoring the shouts of disgruntled frat boys – like that’s anything new – she picks up her pace, pulse racing in her throat from the near-miss.

Straight ahead, and partially obscured by Nelson Hall, a black SUV sits parked at the curb. It might be a Range Rover, it might not, but she intends to keep searching until she finds it.

Logan has been surprisingly evasive since last week's cafeteria altercation – avoiding his usual haunts and ignoring her calls and texts. She's given him ample time and space to get over his...whatever this is...but she leaves for her FBI internship tomorrow, and she’d prefer to track him down in public.

Drawing closer, she recognizes the triple-wave-shaped vinyl cling on the back passenger-side window – the logo for some surf brand or another.

Yep, that's Logan.

So he's fine, physically, he's just purposely avoiding her. The knot of dread in her chest unravels, quickly replaced with righteous indignation.

What the hell is HIS problem? I'M the injured party.

They broke up back in January, but she vaguely remembers his Business class letting out around 1:30. Assuming he heads straight to his car, she can expect a thirty-minute wait, give or take. Who knows how long he'll be if he stops to grab lunch with Dick or coffee with...well that's over now.

Regardless, her Sac N' Pac bag contains drinks and snacks a-plenty and she's prepared to wait all day, if necessary.

Veronica lasts about five minutes before the comfortable heat of the midday sun begins scorching her scalp. Her hair feels hot to the touch and, of course, she’d neglected to bring a cap. She rummages through her bag for a hair tie, but comes up empty.

Checking the car is pointless - Logan is meticulous about keeping his vehicles clean and uncluttered - but she peers through the Rover's tinted windows, anyway. Nothing.

She could always wait inside the truck. If he didn't want her blasting his AC and using up his gas, he should've asked for his key back two breakups-ago.

Before resorting to that, she checks the trunk. Bingo! Her beach chair is still in there.

He'd purchased it last summer from some outdoor-living store with astronomical prices. ' So my girl's delicate skin doesn't burn while I'm surfing' he'd said, punctuating every other word with a kiss.

Summer's almost here.

If she were to follow her usual pattern, Logan-time would be fast-approaching. Long lazy days and steamy nights. Beaches and boat rides. Bare skin and tropical scents. A time to forget about homework and deadlines and securing her future.

Logan-time is the best of times - hedonism and excess and mind-blowing sex.

Also, utterly unsustainable.

An aching lump of regret swells in her throat.

It's okay. She'll have the FBI this summer, and hasn't that always been the dream?

Veronica grabs what resembles an over-sized backpack-on-wheels and slams the trunk. She wiggles and tugs on the turquoise canvas chair until she's freed it from its snug pouch, places it on the tree lawn next to the vehicle and unsnaps the fasteners.

The mechanism catches on one side of the chair as she's unfolding it, but she gives it a good shake and it opens.

Fully expanded, it transforms into a chaise with a thick, cushioned seat. Soft-sided coolers fold down under each arm, an attached shade umbrella clicks up to the sky, and an ergonomic head rest with integrated iPod speakers cradles her neck.

The chair is as ridiculous as its owner, and just like Logan, painfully easy to grow attached to.

Veronica tucks a cold soda in her cup holder, fishes a paperback novel from her bag and settles-in for the wait.

Her book – a thriller, highly recommended by Mac – seems interesting enough, but after twenty-minutes of skimming the same three paragraphs, she can admit it's just not meant to be.

Between passing groups of chattering students, her racing thoughts, and that tingling-between-the-shoulders feeling of being watched, she's far too keyed-up for reading.

To describe this past week as hell-on-earth would be an understatement. Her single-minded pursuit of justice, truth, or, let's face it – revenge – only managed to boomerang back on the people she loves most.

In isolation, Weevil's arrest on trumped-up parole violations wouldn't come as much of a shock, especially after the ID machine debacle a couple weeks back. But with hoodie-clad white boys roughing-up Wallace (twice), Mac facing expulsion for her actions in the Hearst lab, and D.A. Redding charging Dad with evidence tampering, coincidence is out of the question.

Jake Kane is flexing his muscles, giving her a taste of the damage he can inflict from his position of wealth and power.

Meanwhile, Gory Sorokin is still on the rampage, flooding Veronica's voicemail with threatening and blatantly creepy messages.

If anything were to happen to Logan...

Gory's probably identified him by now. How hard could it be? Ask-around about Veronica Mars and the name of her infamous ex-boyfriend is sure to come up.

She shouldn't have waited until the last possible day to force this confrontation, but, with them both being single now, she simply hadn't trusted herself to pound on his penthouse door. The odds of ending up in his bed...well, let's just say that would be a disaster.

She hasn't even seen him since that day in the cafeteria, when he walked away, proud and confident, head held high. And despite Beyoncé wailing 'Dangerously in Love' in her head, despite the adrenaline racing through her veins and Piz's whipped-puppy stare, she could no longer deny one simple truth: I'm no good for him.

"I'm not built to stand on the sidelines," he’d told her that day months ago, while breaking her heart, and it finally clicked.

She makes dangerous enemies by her very nature. Logan's nature is to assume her problems as his own. To fight at her side. To take the punches for her. To shoulder her burdens.

By simply being , she puts him in danger, and he's not likely to stop fighting her battles any time soon, no matter how nicely she asks.

Her only resort is to take herself out of the equation. First, by attending her FBI internship, and then Stanford.

She's permanently retiring from investigating, done exposing her loved-ones to danger. She's leaving Neptune. Forever.

Logan's shadow reaches her a moment before he does. He lifts one expressive brow. “Comfy?”

Veronica cups her right hand over her eyes shielding them from the sunlight. “I am, actually. This baby is the Cadillac of beach chairs. You should try it out sometime.”

She stands, pinning him with a reproachful expression. “You've been avoiding me.”

“And yet...here you are.” Logan thumbs the lift-gate button on his key fob. He snags her soda bottle from the cup holder, hands it to her, and grabs the chair.

Veronica follows him around the back of the truck. “We need to talk.”

“So talk.” He collapses the chair, shaking it on the left, where it appears to be stuck.

Here goes. “I want you to hire a bodyguard.”

“You want me to what? “ It's less of a laugh than a bitter burst of breath.

“You heard me, Logan. Hire that brute you paid to follow me around, or an ex-cop, or a security firm. Hire anyone.”

“No matter how many times I remind myself that you have no shame, you still always manage to surprise me.” Logan shakes his head.

“Fine. Call me a hypocrite. I'll own that.” Veronica grabs his arm. “Gory Sorokin, you know, that guy you tossed around the cafeteria? Logan, I watched his confession video – the one where he calmly described the day his father and uncle dismembered a body – and it was like he was recalling some quirky, ‘Take Your Kid To Work Day’ memory.”

“Ahh. A psychopath. My specialty.” Gently dislodging his arm from her grip, Logan jostles the chair again, then tries forcing it closed. When that doesn't work, he reaches through an opening in the canvas, feels around for a second and extracts a small obstruction.

One more hard jerk, and the chair collapses. Logan snaps it closed, stashes it in the trunk, and tosses the carrying bag on top.

“Can you try taking this seriously? He wants to kill you, and not only for revenge. He'll make it slow and painful, and he'll enjoy every second.”

“I'd like to see him try.” Logan glances down at the mangled piece of card stock he’d dislodged from the chair. He smooths it out with his thumb, sighs, and hands it to her.

Oh no!

The Topps trading card portrays Han Solo and Princess Leia. Han's huge hand cradles Leia's neck, his thumb skims her jawline, and his mouth hovers an inch above hers. The caption reads ‘STAR LOVERS’.

Veronica's heart constricts, as if it’s being squeezed. They both stare at the card, as if the rips and creases represent their broken relationship.

Logan swallows and slams the lift gate. “Gotta go, but I'll think about what you said.”

Veronica tucks the card in her jeans pocket and trails him around the truck's driver's side. “Why are you so surly with me? The last time we spoke, you seemed...” Penitent? Remorseful?

He exhales. “I'm not angry. I just think it’s time to jump off this merry-go-round.”

Great. They're on the same page. A clean break is for the best.

So then, why does it feel like he's dumping me all over again?

“Okay.” She nods, blinking fast to hold back the inevitable tears. “Well, I'm leaving for my FBI internship tomorrow, so...you know, have a great summer.”

Have a great life.

“If the bad guys aren't shivering, they should be.”

Veronica speaks to his back as he reaches for his door handle. “When I said I wanted you out of my life forever. I was angry and lashing out. Maybe when I'm back on the West Coast we can work on fixing our friendship.”  They do have phones at Stanford, after all.

“No.”

“No?”

Logan turns back around. “I don't want to be your friend.”

Veronica inhales, cheeks stinging from his rejection.

His expression softens and he meets her eyes for the first time today. “I still love you, Veronica.”

Oh.

“I don't want to be your friend. I want to be your boyfriend.” He steps closer. “Your lover. Your husband. Soul mate. Life companion. Any of the above – I'm not picky – but not your friend.”

Veronica's eyes flood and her throat closes-up.

He skims his fingertips over her temple. “Pretending this was merely friendship wasn't fair to anyone.”

"You wanted it. You visited me in jail, acting all mature and talking about being adults.”

“It seemed necessary at the time. The thought of...”

He breaks off, glancing over his shoulder as a black pickup truck drives by, a posse of whooping Pi Sigs in its bed. “I pray they never reproduce.”

“Including Dick?”

“He wasn't with them, but, yeah, especially Dick.”  The levity disappears as quickly as it appeared.

Logan's expression is grave when he turns his attention back to her. “We hurt people, Veronica. I swore things would change after we broke up. That I would be a great boyfriend to Parker and a better person overall. I was dating the kindest girl I've ever known and the high point of most days was those five minutes around 9:00 AM, when you and I had class in the same building and might get to walk together.”

Me too!

That electric thrill of her first Logan-glimpse of the day, the rush of walking beside him without touching, and the agony of parting without a goodbye kiss. She'd lived and died for those moments.

“I ran into Piz this morning in the coffee line, and he told me about your breakup. Veronica, he looked like he'd been run over by a bus.”

“That was your fist.”

“I meant emotionally.” A ghost of a grin surfaces on his face and disappears. “Look, if we ever want to have healthy relationships with other people, we need to just forget about being friends. At least for now. Okay?”

Or they could just skip the other relationships altogether.

Why bother with something not good, just because it's something?

Especially when you know the difference.

“That's probably a smart idea.” A rogue tear escapes to roll down her cheek.

Logan tenderly wipes it away with his thumb. “Good luck with the FBI. I have no doubt you'll be sitting in J. Edgar's chair in record time.”

“Mueller's.” She corrects, absently, adding, in response to his blank stare, “Robert Mueller's chair. He's the FBI Director. You know what? Not important.”

“Goodbye, Veronica.” He opens his car door. Lifts one knee to climb in.

It can't end. Not like this. Not ever.

“Logan...” Her voice breaks as she calls his name. “It's NOT over.”

He turns back around, resigned, whispers, “I know.”

“It'll never be over.”

Logan closes his eyes and nods. “I know.”

Veronica hurls herself at him. Kisses his mouth and climbs his body like the world's clumsiest panda.

He resists, lips tight and neck stiff, and for a long, excruciating moment, she panics. He's not going to kiss her back, he's rejecting her.

Then, with a groan, he opens up. His hands move to support her thighs and, after slamming the door with his hip, he spins her around and presses her against the truck.

The rear door handle digs into her lower back, Logan kisses her and the world shifts back into orbit. She feels whole again. Electric. And who cares about the past? Who cares if their natures don't mesh? This is real happiness. The only thing worth fighting for.

A yellow hummer drives by, the passenger calling, “Get a room!” though the open window.

Logan pulls back. “You know, this isn't going to fix anything. It never does.” He gently lowers her to the pavement.

“It's a start.” She grasps his beige cotton over-shirt in both fists, and pulls him back to her mouth. Speaks against his lips between kisses. “We'll talk every day while I'm away. Phone. Text. Email. Whatever. We'll try that whole ‘communication thing’ you're always talking about. Figure out how we keep going wrong, and how to make things work.”

“That sounds an awful lot like ‘blame Logan for everything’. Since everyone knows you're perfect and never wrong.”

“Logan...’ Veronica pokes out her lower lip and stares up from under her lashes. “Know what I hate more than being wrong?”

Smirk. “Admitting it?”

“Missing you.” She sweeps her hands over his chest. “And knowing it was my choice. That it doesn't need to be that way.”

He searches her eyes for the truth. “You honestly want to make this work?”

“Yes,” she answers, meaning it with all her heart.

Why can't she have it all? The dream career AND the boy who makes her heart flutter?

She tilts her head, inviting him to trail kisses down her neck. Shivers at the touch of his mouth on her skin. “I want to be your...”

“Hmm?” His lips thrum against her pulse. “My what?”

“Your...Star Lover.”

Logan snickers. “You think a princess and a guy like me...?”

“Who are you trying to kid? We both know which one of us is the princess.”

Pretending affront, he lifts his head high and pushes his hair back, regally. “When do you leave for Virginia?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.”

“Fuck! Too soon!” He sighs, touches lips to her forehead, and takes a step back. “Maybe it's for the best.”

“Why?” Don't you dare toy with me, Logan.

Shrug. “We can spend our time apart getting our shit together, which will be a lot easier without sex getting in the way.”

“I suppose you're right.” She bites her lip and looks up into his eyes. “On second thought, fuck it. We still have tonight. Let's get naked and screw.”

Logan releases his breath with a little 'whew'. “God, I'm glad you said that. Dick's out of town on some father/son bonding road trip, so we'll have the penthouse to ourselves. We can grab takeout on the way home.”

“I have to drop something off at the office first. I'll meet you there. Give me twenty minutes?”

“Don't be late.” He kisses the tip of her nose and backs away. “Manicotti?”

His beautiful smile makes Veronica's heart skip a beat. She can't remember the last time she's seen him happy.

“Manicotti sounds perfect. Don't forget to order extra garlic bread. The kind with four types of cheese.”

“What kind of monster do you take me for?”  Logan's reaching for his car door when a red dot sweeps across his black tee-shirt and settles over his heart.

Somebody playing with a laser pointer? She scrutinizes the students across the street, but nobody appears to be paying them any attention.

Somewhere nearby, a car backfires. Veronica glances over her shoulder, scanning the road.

When she turns back around, impossibly, the red light has liquefied and Logan is staring, baffled, at his chest.

His knees buckle and he collapses to the pavement.

“LOGAN!” Veronica runs to him, skidding to her knees, and rolls him over, the reality of the situation sinking in.

There's blood.

So. Much. Blood.

“HELP! Somebody call 911!”

Due to the positioning of the truck, the shot could only have come from somewhere on the opposite side of the street. Somewhere with a direct line of sight. But she’d looked over there. Wouldn't she have noticed someone pointing a gun at them?

Her gaze lifts to Fisk Hall. Four stories high. Dozens of windows. An experienced shooter with a scope...

A shooter who might still be up there...

Time slows and the back of her neck tingles.  She isn't strong enough to lift Logan or drag him to safety, so she shifts her body, presenting her unguarded back to a gunman in hopes of shielding Logan's head and torso.

“Get out of here.” Logan's whispers. “Not safe.”

“Like hell I will. They want to shoot you, it’s going to have to go through me first.”

She drags up his tee-shirt, pressing it to the wound, but the blood is flowing faster than the material can absorb. She needs his other shirt, but his body is weighing it down.

Students are beginning to congregate, filling the road around them, wide-eyed and useless. A few have phones pressed to their ears. A couple more hold them up to record. Nobody steps in to help.

Not until a tall, Middle-Eastern woman in a rosy-hued hijab pushes through the crowd and drops to her knees. Logan's partner for a group project last Fall, if Veronica remembers correctly. He'd introduced her as Zara.

“You've really done it this time, Echolls.” Zara's accented-tone is deceptively light, as if trying to keep him calm.

She helps extract him from his button-up shirt, moves Veronica's hands out of the way, and uses the fabric to help staunch the blood.

“Thank you,” Veronica whispers. She wants to say more, but Logan is trying to speak, bloody bubbles forming on his lips.

Veronica squeezes his hand, and leans down to his ear.

She's still there when two paramedics arrive. Still babbling a steady stream of promises.

“We'll be together and happy. I'll be the best girlfriend ever. No more stupid breakups. We'll buy a house and move in and  get married. The whole picket fence thing you always wanted but pretended not to care about. Anything you want – even the dirty stuff – just as long as you stay with me. As long as you fight for me.”

She doesn't tell him she loves him.

Not now. It's too final.

She'll tell him later, when he's recovering. When those momentous words won't be forever-linked to blood and violence. And he'll recognize her sincerity. He'll know she's not just saying it out of obligation.

The taller paramedic - red-haired and freckled - crouches down and speaks quietly to Zara. He weaves his arms through hers, and at his signal, she lets go of Logan and scrambles back several feet.

He's looking at Veronica and his lips are moving, but the rushing sound in her brain drowns out his words.

He addresses his partner - a buff Asian guy - and Veronica finds herself being hauled to her feet and dragged away from Logan.

“You don't understand! He needs me. And if he knows I need him too, he'll fight for me.”

The man releases her with a strict warning. “You need to stay back and give us space to work.”

“Please! Just let me hold his hand.”

“Not now.”

Paramedic Two moves into the spot she previously occupied and leans over Logan, completely blocking Veronica's view.

Someone clasps her right hand and squeezes. A familiar, citrus-based perfume.

Parker Lee. Her eyes are closed, tears flow freely down her cheeks and her lips move in a whisper.

Is that... she's praying?  Something about Heaven and God's welcoming embrace.

“NO!” Veronica wrenches her hand away. “Stop that! He's going to be okay.”

“Veronica...” Parker reaches out, but Veronica recoils.

Every face reflects the same knowing pity. Parker's, Zara's, the other onlookers. Even the ghouls with the camera phones.

They think he's...

“FUCK YOU!” she roars. “Every last one of you! This is Logan Fucking Echolls.”

Nobody responds.

She sneers and turns in a circle, taking-in each unblinking face. Flings a hand in Logan's direction. “He's survived things that would make the rest of you shit your pants and lose your goddamn minds. Rogue feds, an entire biker gang, murderers, and rapists. They all tried to take him down and they all FAILED. You think THIS is going to break him? Gory Sorokin? Some wannabe mobster punk?”

“Veronica...You need—” Parker tries again.

“Leave me alone! ALL of you! Take your pity and your camera phones and shove 'em up your asses.”

Logan doesn't need this bullshit. He needs all her focus and attention.

Veronica can see him now. He’s staring at her, all the love she’d pretended not to see for so long, written clearly across his features.

She pleads with him. “Fight for me, Logan. I need you! I told you it would never be over, and you agreed. Now prove it, dammit!”

Prove it. Prove it. Prove it.

She moves her lips in a silent mantra, willing him to keep fighting.

Minutes pass, and the red-headed paramedic releases a defeated sigh.

He looks up at his partner with a tiny head shake, whispers, “He's gone,” and closes Logan's eyelids.

Gone where?

He can't mean....

Veronica shatters.

Logic and reason cease to exist. She's barely human as she struggles to get to him. To break free of a dozen hands grabbing at her, holding her back. Keeping her from him.

She screams his name, over and over again, fighting to wrench herself free.

“LOGAAAN! LOGAAAN! LOGAAN!”

She screams, and the sound looks like darkness. Blocking-out the onlookers. The paramedics. The campus. The sun. The sky.

“LOGAAAN! LOGAAAN! LOGAAAAAAN!”

Without warning, the hands are gone. She's free.

And she's falling, falling...

Black
       ness. 
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                         f
                          s

                             He
                                r.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2 - Wake Up You Sleepyhead Rub Your Eyes, Get Out of Bed

A machine beeps steadily. A squeaky wheel rolls across a floor. Phones ring somewhere in the distance.

Veronica inhales and screams.

She needs to get to him, but she can't see. Her eyelids are glued shut.

She's thrashing. She's tangled in tubes and wires, attached to her skin, and limiting her movement. Confining her.

"LOGAAAN! LOGAAAN! LOGAAAN!"

She kicks off the blanket weighing down her legs. Something heavy crashes to the floor in a clatter of shattering glass. An alarm begins wailing.

She screams.

Running feet. Voices. Bodies pressing in around her. Hands reaching for her, pinning her down, restraining her.

She needs to tell him. If she tells him, he'll keep fighting. He won't give up on her.

"LOGAAAN!"

She breaks through the crust sealing her left eye.

Blurry figures surround her. Light glints off a hypodermic needle.

She screams.

"LOGAAAN!"

She struggles harder, her foot connecting with soft flesh.

A man's voice. "Oof! Hold her still!"

The syringe plunges into her flesh, and her muscles stop cooperating.

I never told him I love him.

The world disappears.

She fades in and out. It's nighttime, it's morning, it's evening. It's afternoon.

Voices speak to her. Ones she recognizes, ones she doesn't. She mumbles answers to questions she's already forgotten. Someone shines light in her eyes. She kicks them.

More beeping machines. Pungent bleach and cleaning supplies. Canned laughter from a distant television. Squeaky shoes on a hard floor.

Veronica's pillow is fluffier and somebody has cleaned the sleep from her eyes. Her hair is pulled back too tightly. It tugs at her scalp in a dozen locations, and her lips are chapped and split.

A woman moves about the room, singing softly under her breath. "Looking everywhere, haven't found him yet...He's the big affair I cannot forget...Only man I ever think of with regret." Her voice is lovely, her tone from a long ago era.

She shuffles some papers, hums the next verse as she reads, then picks her song back up. "There's a somebody I'm longing to see...I hope that he...turns out to be...Someone to watch over me."

Logan!

Veronica inhales, but this time the scream won't come.

He's gone.

And she, apparently, has suffered an emotional collapse.

The steps move closer, and she holds her breath, staying perfectly still as cotton fabric brushes against her fingertips.

So where is she? Neptune General? The...place for crazy people? What's that called again?

She plays possum as the woman interacts with the machines around her. A wheel squeaks, buttons beep lightly when pressed. A tube draped over her inner elbow is moved to the outside of her arm.

The singing resumes, moving away from the bed, out of the room and down the hall. "Won't you tell him please to put on some speed...Follow my lead...oh, how I need...Someone to watch over me."

The lyrics are a knife to her heart - a cruel reminder of how very alone she is. Forever.

Veronica opens her eyes and sits up, blinks and squints as her vision adjusts. Her head... buzzes? ... spins?

Light streams through a window - that pinkish-gray hue of barely-past-sunrise.

Predictably, she's in a hospital room. Her hands and feet are free of restraints. Apparently, nobody considers her a threat to herself or others.

Little do they know.

What's that saying? Hell hath no fury...

Veronica chooses the side with the machines - her right. No point in dislodging anything prematurely.

She carefully swings her legs over the side of the bed, slides off the edge of the mattress to the floor, and stands up.

So what now? Methodically remove all the tape and needles? Or turn off the machines first?

Another wave of dizziness surges through her and she grabs for anything within reach. Her knees give out, like they're made of rubber, and she topples to the floor, pulling the IV pole down on top of her.

That's gonna leave a bruise.

As she pushes the pole to an upright position, her pinky catches on a wire, dislodging an electrode from her chest. An alarm goes off.

Damn! So much for stealth.

She can't get back up on her own. Her arms are weak and her legs are practically useless. Not paralyzed - she can wiggle her toes - but incapable of supporting her weight for more than a second or two.

Five feet ahead, a handrail wraps around a corner and she drags herself across the floor on her belly.

As her fingers close around the cool metal rail, something tugs painfully between her legs. She looks over her shoulder, notices a clear tube originating under her hospital gown and terminating in a silicon bag attached to the foot of her hospital bed.

A catheter? How the hell is she supposed to remove that?

Swift footsteps approach from the hall, and sweep into the room.

“Oh my word! What were you thinking? You could've hurt yourself.”

Veronica rolls over onto her back. “Ouch.”

“Well aren't you a regular Beatrix Kiddo?” The nurse crouches down, knees cracking. “Let's get you back into bed.”

She's unusually tall for a woman - six feet, at the least. Strong too, as she effortlessly hoists Veronica off the floor and carries her back to bed.

Tugging on a pair of latex gloves, she efficiently untangles the wires, tubes, and hoses twisted around Veronica's limbs, reattaches the chest sensor, examines her under the hospital gown – “Good, no bleeding.” – and covers her with a blanket.

Necessities complete, the nurse smiles, dimples denting her plump cheeks. “Welcome back, Veronica. Thirsty?”

Veronica nods.  Back from where?   Her throat is sandpaper. She tries speaking, but only produces a pathetic-sounding croak.

“Let's sit you up.” Removing and disposing of her gloves, the nurse clicks one of the siderails into an upright position and pushes a button, elevating the head of the bed.

She appears to be in her thirties, and despite her modern lavender scrubs, she projects a vintage aesthetic, with her shockingly red lipstick and her strawberry blonde hair pinned back into 1940's-style victory rolls.

She pours water from a grayish-pink plastic pitcher into a matching cup and hands it to Veronica. “My name is Adele, I'm guessing you have questions?”

Not really. Next to Logan's fate, her own confusion and disorientation rates around a three on the things-that-matter scale.

Veronica lifts the cup to her lips. Cool liquid hits the back of her desperately parched throat.

Adele continues, “I'm so thrilled to finally meet you. To hear your friends and family talk, we were in the presence of a flesh-and-blood saint.”

She nearly chokes on her water.  Saint?  “Yeah, that's me. Veronica Mars. Patron saint of karmic ricochets.” She swallows several times, sets the cup on a wheeled table, and takes-in her surroundings for the first time.

The room is professionally decorated and large enough to contain the front half of her Sunset Cliffs apartment with space left over. The walls are a soothing, robin's egg blue, with chocolate brown accents. The floor is a multi-toned Pergo.

To her left, a teal upholstered visitor's chair is angled toward her bed. Several feet beyond that, a matching…uh…furniture piece for three sits under a large window, throw pillows arranged just-so.

The other side of the room is comprised of a dark wood armoire and a wall-mounted television. Matching granite slabs make-up a built-in writing desk and a recessed wall shelf.

Two glass vases on the shelf contain long-stemmed red roses, dark and curling-in at the edges. Between them, a larger white vase holds a mixed-flower bouquet in an explosion of bright, sunny colors.

A 5x7 vinyl portfolio with an embossed Neptune General logo sits on the desktop. A teal chair is pushed underneath.

Every detail, down to the high thread-count sheets and spiderweb-soft blanket screams money and opulence. Even her bed is roomier than necessary. Queen-sized, at least.

How?

As a small business owner, her dad can afford only the most bare-bones of health insurance plans, the kind that doesn't cover single rooms, let alone luxury rooms. Unless "Big Murder, Small Town" had a sudden resurgence in popularity (entirely possible in the wake of Logan's death) her father couldn't possibly pay for this.

“I have to go.” Veronica gestures to the tubes and wires. “Can you get these off me?”

Adele places a gentle, but firm hand on her shoulder. “You've already seen what happened when you tried getting out of bed. You think your second attempt will be any different?”

“So find me a wheelchair. Please! I'll have my dad return it later.”

“It's not that simple, dear.”

“I can't stay here.” She sweeps her hand out, indicating her surroundings. “My dad can't afford a...” Damn, what's that word?  “... private room.”

“Veronica.” Nurse Adele's voice demands attention. “You've been in that bed for almost three months. You can't simply get up and leave. You're not physically capable.”

“Three months?” Veronica's scalp prickles. She assumed she’d been here a day. Maybe two.

That would make it, what? September?

I missed his funeral.

I didn't get to say goodbye. I didn't get to tell him!

A choking sound escapes from her throat, and her eyes fill. She presses a fist to her mouth.

Adele runs a comforting hand over her back. “Sweetheart, You suffered a traumatic brain injury and fell into a coma. You need to give yourself time to heal.”

Brain injury? Did she crack her skull on the concrete when she blacked out?

“I can't.” Veronica's voice crumples with grief. “I can't just sit around doing nothing.”

“And why on earth not?”

‘Because...” She fumbles for the right words. Thinks of Logan, in his bedroom, defending his actions against Piz. “Because someone always has to pay.”

Isn't that the rule we live by?

“For your hospital bills? They're being handled.”

By who?

With two notable exceptions, every rich person of her acquaintance is either dead or far, far away from Neptune, and she can't imagine Dick Casablancas ponying-up for her medical care.

Now she comprehends why that name, Beatrix Kiddo, sounded so familiar. While Nurse Adele had only been teasing, she could not comprehend how close to the truth she was.

Veronica is The Bride, alone and afraid, seething with fury, and forever separated from her love.

So, that would make Bill... Jake Kane.

Adele is still staring at her, expectantly.

“They killed my boyfriend,” Veronica says, “I loved him, and we'd finally agreed to fight for our relationship and they took him from me. They need to pay.”

There. I said it aloud. It's as good as a promise.

Adele's brow furrows. “You're mistaken, Veronica. Your boyfriend visits you several times a week.”

A spark of hope flutters in her belly, warming her from the inside-out. “He does? Logan?”

“I don't know his name, honey. I work nights.  I only know the other nurses gossip about how handsome he is.”

Veronica grabs her arm. “Logan's alive?”

“Dark hair?”

“Yes.”

“Blue eyes?”

“Piz?” It’s like plunging through thin ice into near-freezing waters. “Fucking Piz is not my boyfriend.”

She's not proud of her sudden rush of hatred toward him. For getting her hopes up. For being alive while Logan... isn't .

Adele shrinks back, forehead creasing. “Well, I don't know anything about that.”

More flies with honey, Veronica.

She tries a different approach. “What can I do to get out of here faster?”

“I don't suppose anybody has ever accused you of being a quitter.” Adele sighs. “Only Dr. Joshi can say when you're healthy enough to go home, and you're only going to get healthy under a medically-supervised recovery regimen.”

“How long will that take?”

“Don't take this the wrong way, but you should thank your lucky stars that you were capable of getting out of that bed and that you don't need to relearn how to speak.”

She has a point. Duncan's cousin, Marina, spent a month or so in a coma after falling off a jungle gym in third grade, and years later, she still struggled with her communication and dragged one foot behind her when she walked.

“You win. I won't try to leave again, but I want all this...stuff removed. Especially the catheter.”

Adele doesn't seem to find this demand unreasonable. “I'll contact Dr. Joshi to see what we can do. My shift ends in about twenty minutes, but I'll leave a note for the incoming nurse to follow-up.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“The doctor will stop in and check on you some time after three, and I'll contact your parents to let them know you're awake and lucid. In the meantime, do you think you can tolerate some soup?”

“Soup?” The wall clock reads 6:40 AM and Veronica's appetite is nonexistent. She could waste away to nothing for all she cares. From the emaciated look of her arms, she's already halfway there.

“The stronger your body is, the sooner you'll be able to go home.”

In that case...

“Fine. I'll eat. Bring me some spinach or quinoa, or whatever will make me strongest fastest. I won't taste it anyway.”

“How about we start you off with broth? If you can keep that down, we'll discuss solid food.”

Adele rolls the bedside table forward, swiveling it around over Veronica's lap like a desk, then refills the plastic cup from the pitcher.

“Drink as much water as you'd like, and I'll get started on that broth.” She turns to leave.

Veronica stops her. “While I'm waiting, can you bring me a notebook and a...um...” Unable to find the word, she mimes the motion of writing. “I need to make a list.”

A hesitant expression crosses the nurse's face, and she chooses her words carefully. “You need to prepare yourself. Many TBI survivors experience problems with written language and hand-eye coordination.”

“Consider me prepared.” Veronica points to the built-in desktop. “I think I see a... pen over there.”

“Logan Echolls is dead.”  She speaks to the ceiling tiles.

May as well get used to saying it.

He’s dead, and everything aches. Her bruised heart feels like it’s been locked in a metal chamber, where every beat painfully bounces and reverberates; she can barely swallow around the lump in her throat; and her belly is a pit of nausea. 

It’s as if half her soul has been ripped away and her body is in shock.

She catches herself cringing at the analogy. Then cringes at the cringe.

Because God forbid, Veronica Mars experience human emotions.

God forbid she say, ‘I love you, too’, or ‘My life doesn’t make sense without you in it,’ or ‘You’re the one I want to grow old with’. 

God forbid she give anyone – let alone, Logan ‘Machiavelli’ Echolls – that kind of power over her. 

Congratulation, Veronica!  You win! 

Scores have been tabulated and you’ve pulled-off a record-setting two-year stretch of concealing your emotions and hiding your vulnerability. 

Grand prize?  An all-expenses-paid opportunity to die alone, without the love your life. 

Nothing has ever hurt like this before.

Not Lilly’s death (sandwiched between Duncan’s betrayal, Lianne’s abandonment, and her rape, she’d spent months too numb to feel anything), not even those hours after graduation when she thought her father was dead. Of course, Logan had been there that night. Holding her and keeping her safe. A repetitive, but comforting whisper, reminding her how very sorry he was, how he was there for her no matter what, and later, when he thought she was fast asleep, that he loved her, and that as long as he walked this earth, she would never have to be alone. We’re epic, Veronica. I know it my heart.

Epic Love can go fuck itself. 

It wasn’t supposed to end this way, with him dead and her a widow at nineteen. And fuck anyone who contradicts her choice of words. ‘Girlfriend-of-the-deceased’ is too trifling, too insignificant a label to describe what they shared.

He was hers and she was his, and no ring or certificate could ever change that. 

Knock-knock.

The doorknob turns. “Hello?”

“Come in.” Veronica quickly flips her notebook back to the first page.

With its glittery unicorn cover and rotating pastel background-images, the spiral-bound blank book was clearly intended for little girls. According to Nurse Karen, it was the only notebook in the gift shop.

Liar.

The door opens, admitting a middle-aged man in a lab coat, glossily-bald, with pale brown skin and South Asian features. “Veronica! Great to see you awake. I'm Dr. Joshi.”

He crosses to where she sits at the writing desk and thrusts out his hand.

She considers the gesture for a moment, her anger and grief too fresh and overwhelming to give a shit about social niceties.

But this man is the gatekeeper to her freedom. If she wants to be released, she’ll need to cooperate. To do whatever’s necessary to prove she’s healthy.

And once she's home, she can burn the fucking world down.

She shakes his hand, tepidly. “Veronica Mars.”

Ruiner of lives. Destroyer of everything I love.

His brow lowers. “I have to say, when your nurse contacted me this morning about removing your catheter, I had my reservations. The last thing I expected was to find you out of bed a few hours later.” His accented voice contains a faint musical lilt.

“I'm an overachiever.” Veronica shrugs and fakes a smile. “And anyway, the lighting is much better over here.”

“I see...” The doctor studies her, shrewd eyes cataloging clues like some kind of medical Sherlock Holmes – her pale blue cotton robe, the folding wheelchair she’d manipulated Nurse Karen into bringing her, the remains of lunch - an empty soup bowl, crust from a grilled cheese sandwich, and a few crinkle-cut carrots, left-over from her steamed veggies.

“May I?” He inclines his head toward her notebook.

Veronica hands it over.

The first page is innocuous enough. Convinced the staff would be invested in her ability to write (or lack of), she’d created a decoy list. Things a less... revenge-minded girl might be concerned about after losing three months of her life:  bank account balance, scholarship status, recent addresses for Mac and Wallace.

Nothing to worry about, here. As long as you don't flip to the center of the book.

"Very legible. Is this your usual handwriting?"

“Close enough.” She had painstakingly formed each letter, like back in elementary school, omitting, by necessity, any ornamentation or flourishes.

But he doesn't need to know that. Any sign of weakness could be used as an excuse to prolong her stay.

“Impressive."  He hands it back. "Well, let's get you back into bed for a quick examination.”

Ignoring his offered hand, she stands on her own, just long enough to swivel into the wheelchair, notebook tucked between her arm and body. She rolls across the room and reverses the process bedside.

Dr. Joshi observes this without comment, recognizing her need to prove herself.

“I hear you gave the nurses quite a scare the other day,” he says, once she's situated.

“Scare? Did my heart stop beating or something?”

“No, nothing like that.” He shakes his head, and rests a calming hand on her shoulder. “Just a bit of blood-curdling screaming. To hear them talk, Jamie Lee Curtis has nothing on you.” He winks, as if sharing a private joke.

Veronica isn't amused and she can't quite summon any sympathy for the scared nurses. Logan is dead and she can't do anything about it from a stupid hospital room.

But...the doctor's face is kindly and his eyes twinkle with mirth. He clearly meant no offense. To him, she's just a broken body needing fixing.

“The other day? Wasn't that yesterday?”

“Four days ago, actually. Sunday. You've been in and out ever since. Waking occasionally for a few minutes, and sleeping the rest of the time.”

He shines a tiny flashlight in her eyes, leans closer, smelling strongly of medical-grade hand soap. “That's a good thing, by the way. Sleep is restorative, and your body required a lot of recuperation. We took you in for an MRI yesterday, and the results look very promising.”

“When can I go home?”

“That remains to be seen, but I'm optimistic about your recovery. You're one of the lucky ones.”

She snorts, bitterly. “Lucky, how?”

‘Your family brought in a physiotherapist to work with you several times a week.” Noticing Veronica's look of confusion, he elaborates, “For a comatose patient, a physiotherapist can be the difference between muscle atrophy and a full recovery. They typically massage and exercise the limbs. Your physiotherapist is a lovely young woman with a more...holistic mind/body approach. A real blessing for you and your family.”

Dr. Joshi keeps up a steady stream of questions as he examines her, testing her memory and cognition.

“Veronica Lake Mars...”  Sigh.  “Yep. Veronica Lake. Dad's a huge Film Noir fan...August 18th, 1987...Keith and Lianne Mars...Reynolds. Nope. No siblings...One dog. Backup. B-A-C-K-U-P. As in 'I radioed for backup' . Pit bull. Yes, a very good boy.”

He glances up from his notes. “Do you remember your first teacher?”

“Kindergarten? That was Mrs. Carlson.” A kind, red-haired woman, with watery eyes so pale, Veronica could never determine whether they were blue or green or gray. “She gave me a special award for earning the most gold stars that year.”

“Once an overachiever...” He grins at her. “And the name of your high school?”

“Neptune High.” She pastes on a cheerleader's smile. “Go, Pirates!”

“Good…good.”

At Dr. Joshi's request, she recites the alphabet (backwards and forwards), runs through her multiplication tables (sixes through nines), and names at least a dozen state capitals.

The questions trail off and she listens in only the most subconscious of ways. Enough to open her mouth for the cold thermometer, to hold out her arm for the blood pressure cuff. To push against his hand with her fist, with her knee, with her foot.

Mentally, she's a thousand miles away.

Her plan is still in its infancy stage. Despite her rage and impatience, she’d learned the hard way about the dangers of acting hastily.

Not to say she’s been idle.  Between naps, she’s completed two “Jake Kane” brainstorming sessions: his strengths and weaknesses, his secrets, his known associates, and that’s just to start.

Veronica has no clear memory of meeting the man. As far back as her early childhood, he’d always been Uncle Jake, long before she’d known him as Lilly’s dad.  Between her natural inquisitiveness and sixteen-plus years of observations, she has a unique advantage here. Any information – no matter how trivial it might seem at the moment – could be the key to bringing him to his knees.

Jake may not have pulled the trigger – he would never get his own hands dirty. But he could’ve stopped it. By leashing his dog, by demanding he stand down, by declaring them off-limits. He could have saved Logan’s life. 

But why would he? A child for a child, right?  Shame Aaron didn’t live long enough to barely-suffer.

Dr. Joshi’s voice brings her back to the present.  “Well, everything seems to be in working order. I'm very encouraged by your physical condition.”

“Thank God.”

 “This is the part where I would prepare you for a long recovery period and warn you not to expect miracles.” He peels off his gloves, discarding them in the trash. “But everything I’ve observed today might already be described as miraculous. I expect you'll be walking in no time."

Perfect. The kind of revenging she has in mind can't be accomplished from a hospital.

The...uncoded...decoded - no, decrypted - hard drive is still locked in a secret safety-deposit box at Neptune Savings and Loans, rented in Wallace's name.

And Kane still makes a million dollars before breakfast.

Dr. Joshi is staring at her, expectantly.

“Huh? Can you repeat that?”

“I asked if you could tell me who the president is.”

Veronica stares at him. Who gives a fuck? Logan is dead.

“Um...Bush. George W. Bush.”

Dubya.

Sounds like Gorya.

Gorya Sorokin who, for all she knows, is still out there walking the streets as a free man.

Dozens of people witnessed his threat to kill Logan, but would that be enough to convict him?  Any competent lawyer would argue he was merely trying to save face after a public humiliation.

Veronica knows very little about him except that he's a scumbag psychopath with Russian mob connections and a small penis. Unfortunately, a lack of intelligence is not one of his shortcomings.  

He would've known to ditch the gun immediately. Somewhere it would never be found, like off the side of the Coronado Bridge. And there would be no gunshot residue on his hands by the time they picked him up.

Assuming the new sheriff even bothered to investigate. With Logan's influential relatives already dead and buried, who's left to incentivize Vinnie to do his job?

Nausea churns in her belly and her shoulders curl forward over her chest.

Sensing her shift in mood, Dr. Joshi pats her shoulder. "Tell you what. How about you get some rest and we'll talk again tomorrow?"

Veronica waves him off with a dismissive flick of the hand and the gesture reminds her so much of Logan her eyes prickle.

Dr. Joshi exits the room, with a final, "Goodnight, Veronica."

She should've stopped it.

Of course Logan would never walk away after watching Gory humiliate her. She should've physically dragged him from the cafeteria. Distracted him with the true story of The Castle.

And she should've told him.

While he lay, bleeding and dying, she could've told him. She had been so sure he would make it, and that they would have the rest of their lives to talk about love.

Closing her eyes, Veronica imagines Logan's face. The warmth of his eyes, the amused twist of his lips. His unconditional love.

Why hadn't she reciprocated? Why had she let him die never hearing the words? 

Why had she let him die at all?

They'd said their goodbyes that day, and he was halfway in his truck when she called him back. To kiss him, to keep him, to weave her web more permanently around him.

It's not over,' she'd told him. 'It'll never be over,'

And now it is, thanks to her. Forever.

Wasn't the mutilated card enough of a sign?

At age thirteen she would've shrieked in denial - or laughter - at the mere suggestion that she might someday fall in love with Logan Echolls. She liked him, obviously, considered him a close friend, and one her favorite people to kill time with. But love ? Ewww ! Never! And anyway, Lilly already called dibs.

While visiting a weekend flea market with her father, she'd stumbled upon a vintage metal R2D2 lunchbox stuffed to capacity with hundreds of Star Wars trading cards. Despite the high price tag, despite her lack of series knowledge and her dad's misgivings, she decided it was worth two-month's-worth of allowance to buy it for Logan's birthday.

Of course, as her father predicted, Dick and Madison ridiculed her 'garage sale' gift, but Logan told them to shut up, that it was his favorite present.

Later, after the other guests left, they sat on his bed, sorting the cards into stacks - first by collection, then by numerical order. Every so often, a card would make him smile, and he'd pause to describe a certain scene or moment.

One card made them both giggle. Not because of the mere inches between Han Solo and Leia's lips - they weren't that young and naive - but because of its caption: "STAR LOVERS".

It was just...sooo corny. At least for a pair of thirteen year olds. Who - besides Lilly Kane - dared use the word 'lovers' with a straight face?

They made a pile of duplicates as they sorted and, once finished, he offered her first dibs. Veronica had declined the stack, taking only the twin STAR LOVERS card. How could she resist?

She's had it ever since - or at least until last summer - a makeshift bookmark that never failed to put a smile on her face. A symbol of their enduring friendship.

And later, after they'd kissed and touched, after they became lovers , a visual reminder that the universe works in mysterious ways.

Seeing it ripped and mangled should have been a giant neon sign. A warning for her to let him go and give him space. He would have come back eventually. Right?

Now, she'll never have the chance to find out.

Veronica drifts off into a fitful sleep.

Paper scratches against paper - the turning of a page. A rhythmic tapping of one shoe on the floor.

Someone is sitting in the visitor's chair to Veronica's right.

She considers ignoring the visitor; feigning sleep a little longer, until they give up and leave. But the faint whiff of cedar and leather aftershave - as familiar as her own hand - is a promise of love and safety.

"Dad?" She opens her eyes.

"Veronica!" The chair scrapes on the floor and then her father is leaning over her, laughing through his tears.

She throws both arms around his neck and he crushes her in a hug. "I knew you would come back to us!"

She buries her face in his soft, plaid shirt.

Dad's here now! He can fix everything!

Except...he can't this time. Even her father, the hero, can't bring back Logan.

A sob escapes before she can help herself and he pulls her tighter.

It's okay to cry now. I'm safe.

Veronica unleashes her grief and her father smooths his hand over her hair, makes soothing noises, and promises she'll survive this.

"Sorry." She sniffles and pulls away. "I don't know what came over me."

"Never apologize. That's what I'm here for." Dad pushes buttons on the side rail, lifting her bed to a sitting position. "You must be pretty frustrated."

She snorts. "That's one word for it."

How long was she asleep? Dr. Joshi left her room somewhere around 4:30.

The analog clock on the wall reads 5:35, but the sky outside her window is darker than it should be, this time of year. The whiteboard by the door still lists the nurse-on-shift as KAREN.

Veronica drags the bedside table closer and swings it around over her lap. She pours herself some water, chugs most of it down in one long gulp and refills the cup.

"I talked to Dr. Joshi and your nurses, but why don't you tell me how you're doing?"

I'm fine' is on the tip of her tongue - her first instinct is always to shield her father from anything upsetting - but his tear-stained shirt tells a different story.

"I'm a little disoriented. Weak, exhausted, but physically whole." Emotionally destroyed. "My brain is...maybe not 100%."

"How do you mean?"

"Words. Sometimes I can't find the right word for something."

"To describe how you're feeling?"

"No, I mean everyday words." She points to her right, past his shoulder. "I couldn't remember the word couch this morning. How could I forget that?"

"Oh honey." Dad squeezes her hand. "You're recovering from a brain injury. You need to give yourself time."

And what else would she expect? He's not going to tell her she's permanently damaged. Even if she were. "I'm mostly frustrated that I can't go home."

"I know how much you hate feeling helpless, but you have to understand, your health and recovery matter more than anything else."

"I understand."

He's right, but for the wrong reasons. She needs to build her strength, because it would be suicidal to go after Jake and Gory from a position of weakness.

"You have a lot of people pulling for you, Veronica. People who love you and can't wait to see you up on your feet again."

And that just makes them stupid.

As long as she's confined to this bed, she can't get her friends killed, injured, arrested, or expelled.

She doesn't want their forgiveness, their idle chit-chat or platitudes. They never even liked Logan, and she doesn't need them trying to speak for him. Telling her how he would want her to (a) take care of herself, (b) forgive, and (c), move on.

If only she could talk to someone who knew the real Logan. The person behind the asshole facade. Someone who loved him too.

But nobody else loved Logan. He was utterly alone in this world, except for...

"I need to talk to Dick Casablancas. Can you convince him to come visit me?"

"Dick Casablancas?" Her dad raises one eyebrow. "My impression was that you didn't like him very much."

"Even less than that, but I'm considering starting a...project, and his input could be valuable."

He examines her with suspicious eyes, and she smiles back, sweetly.

Nope. Not plotting vigilante vengeance here. Just an innocent project memorializing Logan. My great love and Dick's BFF.

"I'll see what I can do about the Casablancas kid," Her father says, finally. "I've been trying to reach your mother all afternoon to tell her you're awake, but she hasn't answered her phone."

"Maybe it's bad cell reception. No bars on the bar stool?" Veronica scratches at an ancient fleck of pink nail polish on her cuticle. That should be a country song.  "Or maybe, the jukebox is louder than her ringer."

"Veronica..." Dad sighs.

"What?" She shrugs. "Like it's some big secret?"

Her mother is dead to her.

What kind of mom takes her daughter's life-savings and college fund not once, but twice?

Lianne's terrible choices robbed Veronica of the opportunity to attend Stanford last year, and if she'd attended Stanford, she never would've met Gory Sorokin. Or Piz, for that matter.

And Logan would still be alive.

We might not BE together, but he would be out there somewhere. Alive and healthy. A crucial part of my future.

Conversation turns to one of Keith's recent cases.

Unable to help herself, Veronica shifts into work mode. Mentally assembling and rearranging the clues, and offering investigative suggestions.

"If only it were that easy." He shakes his head. "But unfortunately, doing that would make the evidence inadmissible."

"So what? We just need to catch him and hand over the photos..." She pauses and the pieces click into place. "Wait a minute. You're talking about criminal case."

He lifts an eyebrow. "Yes?"

"The election! " Veronica grips her father's arm. "You won? You're still the sheriff?"

"It's been a while since the election, but yes, I won."

"Oh thank God!" She sinks back into her pillow.

That's one life she hasn't managed to destroy. Of course, there's still the question of how things worked out for Mac, Wallace, and Weevil.

And Logan's case. With her father as sheriff, the probability of Gory facing justice increased ten-fold.

Should she ask? Or would that just prompt demands for her to 'stay far far away from this case' ? Demands she has no intention of obeying.

Then again, wouldn't it look even more suspicious for me NOT to ask?

Inhaling for courage, she begins, "Dad, did you ever catch—"

The door to her room opens and her mother rushes in, platform wedges clomping on the Pergo. "Oh, Veronica! I just found out you're awake!"

She leans over, kissing Veronica's cheek, and vodka fumes waft from her breath.

"Sorry for dragging you away from your bar stool. Or was it the Camelot Motel?" Veronica wrinkles her nose and points to Lianne's rumpled blouse. "You missed a button."

Her mother recoils, one hand clutched to her chest.

Keith gasps. "Veronica!"

She ignores him, narrowing her eyes at the bitch who ruined her life.

Had she been with him ? Is she taking his side? Again? Like years ago, when he iced down his own daughter's body?

Hate burns like acid through Veronica's veins, corroding her last-remaining tender feelings for her mother.

"Veronica?" Lianne begins, timidly. "Did I...?"

"Leave."

Keith rises and places a hand on her shoulder. "Veronica, I know you're frustrated, but you can't speak to—"

"GET OUT OF MY GODDAMN ROOM, NOW!"

Footsteps pound down the corridor, and Nurse Karen rushes in. "What's going on here?"

"I don't know," Keith says, "Veronica was fine and then..."

Karen presses two fingers to Veronica's inner wrist. "Her blood pressure's elevated. I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you both to leave."

Her dad sighs and places a kiss on Veronica's forehead. "We'll be back tomorrow."

"Come alone."

She stares daggers at Lianne, who's backing-away toward the open door, crocodile tears running down her face.

Keith steps between them, breaking her line-of-sight. "I love you, Veronica. Your mother and I both do." He gestures to a turquoise duffel bag, stashed under the chair. "I packed some clothes and toiletries, as well as a few books to keep you entertained."

"Thank you, Dad. I love you, too."

Only you.

He stops in the doorway, gives her one last cryptic look, and leaves.

After dinner, Veronica spends an hour working on Operation Storm the Castle, but her progress is hindered without a laptop or internet.

She turns the page.

Dear Logan.

No. She can't use his name. She can just see the US Weekly headlines if anyone were to find it: VERONICA'S TRAGIC FINAL LETTER TO LOGAN.

She rips out the page, crumples it, and starts over.

Dear You,

Wallace once described you as a cat, with nine lives, and I think, subconsciously, I believed it. No matter what, you always landed on your feet, and we had decades to figure our shit out.

She writes for more than an hour. Until her fingers are cramped and her wrist aches.  It's a rambling, directionless, letter, including a list of twenty-three things she would do differently, knowing what she knows now. 

Logan had been no saint - far from it - nor had he been the immoral, directionless, wastrel she'd accused him of being, upon occasion.  She's had years to analyze his shortcomings. It her turn now.  

Morning brings strength for Veronica - both in body and in resolve.

The nausea and dizziness are gone and her appetite has returned.

She's as determined as ever to find justice for Logan, but this time, there can be no collateral damage. This mission - her last - will have to be solo.

Breakfast consists of bran flakes and milk, whole wheat toast and orange juice. She scarfs it down and asks for more.

Nurse Adele appears dubious, but returns with a bowl of vanilla yogurt. "I'm off work in fifteen minutes, so if you need anything else, you should tell me now."

"Nope. I'm fine."

"Okay, well take it easy, Veronica." Her eyes flick to the wheelchair. "Don't push yourself too hard this weekend, and I'll see you Sunday night."

Veronica waits the fifteen minutes - and another twenty to ensure Adele is really gone - then rolls herself into the bathroom.

She'd stolen the wheeled walker in the wee hours of the night, when the halls were silent and empty, and hid it in the shower stall, curtain pulled tight. Who would think to look in there?

Her legs are weak and wobbly, like a newborn colt, but she grits her teeth and pretends this is easy.

She clings to the frame and laps her room like she's walking bases.

First base (couch by the window).

Rest.

Second base (visitor's chair).

Rest.

Third base (bed).

Collapse onto face.

Home plate (wheelchair).

Prolonged rest.

Start over.

By the time her day nurse checks in on her, she's skipping every other base, and drenched in sweat.

Nurse Maddie is pretty and blonde, barely out of college, and exasperated. "Are you trying to set back your recovery? Adele warned me you were tenacious. I should have listened."

"I'm just doing whatever it takes to go home and back to my life," Veronica says between gasps and flops down onto her wheelchair. "And now...I need a shower."

"I'll send in a nursing assistant to give you a sponge—"

"A real shower. I stink."

"I don't think that's smart."

"Relax. I'll be a good little invalid and sit on the shower bench." Veronica wheels herself toward the bathroom, stopping momentarily next to the writing desk to retrieve her toiletry pouch from the bag her father packed for her.

Like the writing desk in her room, the bathroom vanity is the same wall-mounted granite with dark wood drawers. Low enough to reach the sink from a wheelchair.

A mirror dominates the wall behind it, making it impossible to avoid her reflection any longer.

She'd glimpsed herself for the first time last night, and while every feature is unchanged, something's 'off' about her face. Something she can't quite put her finger on. Maybe it's the gauntness - she's lost a decent amount of body weight - but she doesn't think that's it.

She unpacks the toiletry pouch, placing each item on the vanity. A hairbrush and several gold barrettes. Shampoo and conditioner, liquid body wash, a pink disposable razor and shaving cream, toothpaste, a toothbrush, and floss, face wash and moisturizer. Some of the brands are outdated, but not altogether bad for a single father.

The hairbrush is new, electric purple with matching balls on the tip of each black, plastic bristle. Removing a golden hair tie, she unravels the French braid that's been pulling at her scalp ever since she woke yesterday morning. Her crimped hair falls long over her shoulders. Too long.

She runs the brush through the length, glancing over at the doorway, where Maddie hovers, biting her lower lip in indecision. "Is this some kind of coma thing? Hair miraculously growing several inches in a three-month span?"

"Everybody's different, but it's not uncommon for hair and nails to grow at a rapid pace for some comatose patients."

Veronica stuffs the relevant products back into the pouch, looping the drawstring twice around her wrist. She rolls her wheelchair to the shower entrance and stands.

Sighing in resignation, Maddie turns on the water and adjusts the temperature. She helps Veronica out of her robe and hospital gown and onto the bench.

"I'll give you some privacy, but I'll be right out there. Call me when you're ready to get out." She pulls the thick white vinyl curtain closed and leaves the room.

Once she's gone, Veronica stands, with the help of the grab bars and turns up the hot water until the temperature is just short of unbearable.

So much for having cried herself out yesterday. Her sobs begin again as she lathers her too-long hair.

It's not fair.

In the lottery of life, Logan had been given everything other boys his age yearn for - money, power, fame, sex on-demand. He'd also possessed the wisdom to recognize it for the cold shallow existence it was.

His heart's desire had been for somebody to accept his overflowing love and give it back in return.

They had been so damn close. She'd only needed to learn how to outwardly demonstrate her inner emotions. A bit more time and they could have had it all.

She closes her eyes, summons him in her imagination.

He's behind her, his hard body pressed up against her back, slick and wet. He's running his hands down the outside of her arms, whispering all the things he's going to do to her.

Eyes still closed, she pretends it's his long fingers massaging her scalp, scrubbing her skin clean from top to bottom.

Logan was not a selfless man; the kind to hope she would move on and find love again. No, if he had his way, she would spend the rest of her life single, masturbating to his memory. Given the means, he would haunt her forever.

Haunt me, Logan. I welcome it. 

He would want her to make them pay - to burn down the city. But to do it safely. To not get caught.  Logan loved her at her best AND her worst.

Her hair is washed and conditioned, her skin, squeaky clean. She's shaved her legs and underarms. Still, she stands under the punishingly-hot water stream for what seems like an hour after the last soapy bubble circles down the drain.

She thinks of him. All of him - middle school, high school, college.

Fun, goofy, life-of-the-party Logan. Angry, vengeful Logan. Sensual, loving, tender, addictive, gorgeous, talented, mind-blowing, Logan. Even at the worst of times, they'd shared a connection like none other. He was everything.

Veronica turns off the shower and wraps a white towel around her hair, turban-style.

After carefully donning her robe, she eases into her wheelchair and returns to the vanity, where she brushes and flosses, washes and moisturizes. She towel-dries her hair, pulls it up into a high ponytail, and makes a mental note to add a haircut to her list of things to do once she's finally escaped.

Out in her room, Maddie helps Veronica dress in a pair of black yoga pants and an old pink tee-shirt with a green frog on it, and for the first time since waking yesterday, she feels almost human.

"I'll check back in around lunchtime." Maddie holds up the remote control. "Why don't you watch some TV in the meantime."

"Actually, I think I'd rather read." Veronica could not be less interested in television, in watching life go on for other people. "Any chance I can get some coffee? Two sugars, two creams?"

"That shouldn't be a problem."

Maddie leaves and Veronica snags her duffel bag from the visitor's chair. She drapes the strap over her neck cross-body style and using the walker, slowly makes her way to the couch.

Once seated, she removes three paperback books from the bag - a true crime story, a mystery novel, and one that looks like a supernatural romance, of all things. No thank you!

She drops the first and third on the side table, and turns over the mystery to read the back cover.

A chill seeps in through the window edges and when Maddie returns with her coffee, Veronica ask her to retrieve the fluffy red throw blanket from the bottom of the bed.

She cracks open the book and begins to read.

For every three chapters finished, she stands and does two laps around the room, clutching tightly to her walker.

It's exhausting work, but necessary if she wants to grow strong and healthy.

Lunch arrives. Chicken noodle soup, a tuna salad sandwich, mixed veggies (broccoli, cauliflower, carrots) and a fruit cup. Chocolate milk for a drink.

The nurse's assistant brings the over-bed table to her, adjusting it to couch-height, and Veronica inhales every bite. Makes a note to ask Dad to bring her some healthy snacks.

The mystery picks up its pace, and she becomes so engrossed in the clues and red herrings that she doesn't immediately register the arrival of a new visitor until the room's door clicks shut.

Glancing up, she does a double-take.

Holy shit!

"Duncan? You're back?"

Is he crazy? Does he think the feds won't find him here?

He rushes across the room, drops to his knees in front of Veronica, and pulls her into his arms. Squeezes the air from her lungs. "Of course, I'm back. I've been here at least three times a week since the accident."

On second thought, she detects nothing furtive or sneaky about his demeanor. The Kanes must've cut a deal to bring him home. Probation? Community service? A slap on the wrist?

Logan's dead, but god forbid the Kane heir does jail time.

Finally releasing her, Duncan presses a soft kiss to her lips and takes a seat next to her on the couch. "God, I've missed you so much!"

Veronica fights her urge to recoil. He can't possibly believe they're going to pick right up where they left off. Right? Sure, he'd sworn he would love her forever, but that was teenage drama, not a binding vow. And she, pointedly, had not returned the sentiment.

He looks the same, for the most part. Blue jeans, striped polo shirt. Dark hair, styled the same as it's always been, blue eyes. Handsome.

It occurs to her that Nurse Adele must have been referring to Duncan, not Piz, as the boyfriend the other nurses gossiped about.

Is he telling people she's his girlfriend? Or had they just assumed?

Duncan takes both her hands in his own. Normal-sized. Soft. All-wrong .

He stares at her with a mixture of relief and adoration. Has he forgotten about senior year and Meg, and possibly-Kendall?

"We heard about you waking up this morning and I came as soon as I could get away."

Veronica's eyes drift to the wall clock.  3:15 PM.  

We?  Logan's dead and his relationships with the other 09ers were superficial at best. Who's left?

The answer is as obvious as her luxury room and VIP treatment. Jake Kane. For all she knows, the nurses are sending him progress reports.

Duncan adjusts his collar self-consciously under her intense gaze.

Right. At least try being polite, Veronica.

He might be useful later. In fact, she should probably revise her plan to account for this unexpected resource.

"So...how is your family?"

She doesn't actually care, but it's smart to obtain a baseline before destroying someone. Makes it so much more satisfying in the end when you can measure just how far your victim has fallen.

"The same. Cold, distant, always pushing." He shrugs, scrunches his nose, and then smiles. "I can't get over the fact that you're actually awake and speaking to me. These past few months have been hell for me."

Tell that to Logan.

She changes the subject. "So, where's Lilly now?" She would be...what? Two years old? Three?

"Stuck with my parents for the moment, but you'll get to see her later."

Good. Fill up on as much grandpa-time as possible. While you still can.

Veronica wants to ask a million more questions - she'd committed a felony to save that baby, after all - but her bladder suddenly throbs, protesting the two chocolate milks and the entire pitcher of water she guzzled before his arrival. She offers him a weak smile. "Can you excuse me for a second? I need a bathroom break."

"Of course. Do you need help walking?"

"I'm okay. Maybe you could just help me stand up? I can take it from there."

Duncan stands, and supports her elbow as she rises from the couch.

"Thanks." She grips her walker tightly, and slowly hobbles into the bathroom.

After finishing up, she washes her hands and splashes cold water on her face.

On the one hand, Duncan is exactly what she needs - someone who genuinely loved Logan. Somebody who can relate to her grief and loss. On the other hand, she can barely stand to look at him.

It may be irrational, but his face only reminds her of the time she wasted on him senior year, when she could have been with Logan. She'd allotted him too many grains of sand from her metaphorical hourglass, and Logan too few.

She dries her face on a hand towel and fixes her ponytail. Stares at her indescribably-different face in the mirror.

Outside, somebody new enters her hospital room, slamming the door behind them. 

Duncan speaks, his voice muffled by the thick wooden bathroom door. "Took you long enough. I was starting to think security ran you off."

"Please. I had to distract Nurse Maddie while you slipped past, but she was hoping for distractions of an entirely different sort. I had to fight her off with a stick."

"You wish!" Duncan says.

The second person draws closer, voice growing clearer. "I did get a look at the rotation schedule, though, and we should have at least an hour before anyone comes in to toss us out."

Goosebumps erupt over Veronica's entire body. Every hair stands on end - from her forearms to the back of her neck. She silently eases open the bathroom door, heart lodged in her throat.

The newcomer sits on her hospital bed, one leg dangling. He glances up, grins, and gives her a little finger wave. "Hey, you."

Veronica swallows and stares into the very-much-alive eyes of Logan Echolls.

Chapter Text

But it wasn't a dream it was a place. And you...and you...and you...and you were there.

“Logan?” It’s only two syllables, but the word cracks and wobbles on her lips.

Not real, Veronica. Dead boyfriends don't rise from the grave.Dead boyfriends don't lounge in your hospital room.

“Bout time you got out of bed. I’m all for marathon napping, but sheesh!” Logan shakes his head, eyes lifting to the paneled ceiling. “That was just showing off.”

It must be the meds. Something in that Dixie Cup of pills Nurse Adele handed her this morning. Six pills - white and brown, round and oblong, coated and embossed.

Why hadn't she thought to question the contents? To demand an accounting of their names and purposes? At the very least, she should’ve inquired about potential side-effects.

On the other hand, she clearly overheard Duncan greeting someone not two minutes ago, and Logan's the only other occupant of the room.

Granted, Duncan takes his own daily cocktail of pharmaceuticals, but the odds of him and her sharing a hallucination seem infinitesimal.

It’s the hair that convinces her this is real - Logan is real - and not some kind of twisted mirage.

Admittedly, her imagination has played tricks on her in the past - particularly during that first year after Lilly’s death - but her subconscious would never stoop so low as to bring back the frosted tips. Even in her nightmares.

Logan.

Is.

Alive!

Veronica’s heart seizes and her throat constricts into a tight lump and she tangles her walker between the bathroom vanity and the door-jamb in her desperation to get to him.

She pulls and tugs, over-corrects, and catches the wheel on the other side of the door. A third attempt bangs the vanity again. Hard enough for the clang to resonate up her arm.

“Dammit!”

“Chill, Mars! Demolition Derby isn't until next Summer.” Both boys stand up, but it’s Logan who crosses the room, hand outstretched. “Need some help?”

Veronica flings the walker behind her, vaguely registering the clatter of steel on ceramic tile as it topples into the shower enclosure. She hurls herself at him - arms and legs and fingers locking around his neck and torso.

“Oomph!”

Her momentum knocks him backward two steps and his hands automatically lift to support her weight.

Solid.One-hundred percent real boy.

“Wow, Veronica. Do you greet all your visitors this way or just the exceptionally hot ones?”

Most beloved.

Party of one.

She pulls back, cradling his baby-smooth cheek in her right palm. “How is this possible?”

“Good genes, mostly, but never underestimate the value of a good skincare routine.” Logan winks.

Veronica laughs, but in a way that makes her lower lip quiver. The windowpane plaid pattern on his shirt blurs, and she buries her face in the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hot tears on soft cotton. Breathes him in deeply.

He smells…noxious.

The cologne is new. Some kind of citrus and black pepper blend, potent enough to substitute for tear gas in a pinch.

Whatever it is, it makes her sinuses tingle. Like that frustrating feeling of winding-up for a sneeze that never comes.

Which matters around zero percent. She'd suffer a lifetime of near-sneezes for this. Logan is here, and her shrunken, petrified heart is beating again.

Somebody's whispering “Omigod, omigod, omigod” and, of course, it’s her. Who else could it be?

“Well, here you go.”

They're next to her bed now, and if Logan thinks she’s letting him go, he could not be more wrong.

Veronica locks her ankles and clings more tightly to his neck. He’ll be lucky if she ever lets him out of her sight again.

“Uh…this is your stop.” He gives her a little bounce. “The Logan Special needs to head back to the depot, now."

“Nope.” She’s beyond caring whether she sounds like an overtired toddler.

Somewhere above her head, the wall clock tick-tick-tick’s. Sharp and distinct.

That sound, his scent, her nose pressed against the smooth skin of his neck, soft cotton against her cheek. Stiff styling product where two fingers curl into his hair, a firm torso flattened against hers, and warm hands supporting her thighs. Is that his heartbeat pounding against her chest? Or her own? All her senses coalesce to anchor her in this moment, to make it real.

Logan turns around, speaks over her shoulder. “Dude, she’s like a really strong barnacle.”

Duncan’s answering chuckle sounds forced.

Why is he even here? This reunion should be a private moment between her and her miraculously-alive, over-fragranced, boyfriend.

She should be delivering a poignant - yet dignified - confession of love right now. She should be kissing every inch of Logan's face. Every individual freckle.

His voice thrums from behind her ear. “And you said she would be as weak as a kitten.”

“Well, she’s been comatose for months. She shouldn’t even be able to walk.”

“She was extremely motivated.” Veronica twists, just enough to glare at Duncan over her shoulder. “And perfectly capable of speaking for herself.”

He shrinks back into his chair, brows squishing together as if unaccustomed to being challenged. "Oh…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s fine.”

Logan shifts his weight from one leg to the other, hikes her up a few inches, and rolls one shoulder with a slight wince.

What are you doing, Veronica? He’s recovering from a gunshot wound and you’re hanging on him like a pet monkey with separation anxiety.

“I should probably…” She angles her chin at the bed and unlocks her ankles.

Logan stops her, one hand tightening on her lower back. “Hold on a sec. You’re gonna fall.”

This time, when he leans over, Veronica allows her knees to settle on the center of the mattress. She can’t quite bring herself to release her hold on his neck.

“Hey. It’s okay.” He ducks down, making eye contact. Grins impishly. “I get it. I wouldn’t want to let me go, either.”

Veronica smiles back, surprised by how much she’s missed this criminally-cocky side of Logan. When did it go away? And why hadn’t she noticed?

“You’ll be right here?”

“If that’s what you want.”

“Okay.” With a heavy exhale, she drops her hands and sits back on her heels.

Logan smirks and makes a show of rubbing the back of his neck. “Man, I should probably get checked for whiplash or something.”

“Send the bill to my insurance company.” Veronica sweeps her hand around her professionally-decorated hospital suite. “They’re shockingly generous.”

“She’s like ninety-five pounds, you wuss,” Duncan snatches the top lunch napkin from a pile on the side table, balls it up, and chucks it across the room.

Logan dodges, mouth falling open in faux outrage. “You try hanging ninety-five pounds from your neck, some time.”

“Any time.” Duncan puffs out his chest. “And you won’t hear me whining about it.”

“Sure, tough guy.” Logan shares a conspiratorial eye-roll with Veronica, then toes off his sneakers and hops up on the bed, twisting left to peer down at the buttons on the side rail.

With a mechanical hum, the bed’s head begins to rise from its fifty-degree reading angle.

Veronica scoots backwards - making room for him to stretch out his legs - and shifts to face him. She settles into a cross-legged position, right knee overlapping his, and a warm glow of happiness radiates outward from her heart as she watches him adjust and readjust his angle of recline. A centimeter higher. Three inches lower. One back up.

He looks different and - unlike Duncan and herself - it's not in that vague, can't-quite-put-your-finger-on-it sort of way.

With Logan, it’s a bit of everything. The hair, frosted and cut tighter on the sides, the outfit, the cologne, even the way he carries himself.

She’s accustomed to seeing him in fitted clothing. Slim jeans. Snug tops and sweaters that hug his pecs and accentuate his physique.

Today’s ensemble is bulky, boring, and two sizes too big.

His tear-spotted mossy-green plaid shirt is unbuttoned, layered over a white tee shirt that brings out the healthy glow in his skin tone. His cargo pants are the exact same sickly green-brown as the sneakers down on the floor.

He’s traded his usual black pukka shell necklace for the old white one today. The one he’d sworn he lost over Christmas break.

And here, she’d accused Madison Sinclair of stealing it in Aspen, as some sort of ‘big game trophy’ that time she ran into her at Java.

If she thinks she’s getting an apology, she can keep holding her breath.

Finally, settling on a sixty-degree sitting angle, Logan grabs a pillow, fluffs it lengthwise and widthwise, accordion-style, gives it three firm shakes, and then slides it behind his neck with a contented sigh.

His gaze lifts to Veronica. “So, be honest, Mars. How are you feeling?”

“Like breaking into song, now that you’re here.”

He scrunches up his nose. “As long as it isn’t. ‘Don’t Go Away Mad. Just Go Away’.”

“More like a mash-up of every Journey power ballad ever!” She bats her lashes. “I’m a little weak, but not bad, overall. Considering.”

“And your head injury?”

“Fine. Everything seems fine.”

As long as this is really happening, and not a fever dream.

“But what about you? This is like…” She gestures, palm up. “… a complete miracle.”

“You know, I say the same thing every morning when I look in the mirror.”

Duncan groans. “The ego on this guy.”

“I was there, Logan. I saw them close your eyes.”

“A bit prematurely, if you ask me,” he sing-songs, eyes lifting to the heavens.

The memory returns, unbidden. The paramedic’s resigned head shake. A dozen hands holding her back. Her own screams.

Her chest constricts and her sinuses prickle. So much for having cried herself out.

“Veronica?” Duncan leans forward, alert. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” She answers, then contradicts herself by shaking her head - back-and-forth and back-and-forth and back-and-forth. Biting her lip in a pointless attempt to maintain control.

It’s a losing battle.

Rising up on her hands and knees, she crawls over to Logan. Pushes her face into his chest, just in time, as another bout of tears floods her eyes and great heaving sobs wrack her body.

He seems at a loss for how to handle a hysterical girlfriend.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m fine.” He nudges her sideways onto his lap, pats her awkwardly on the back. “You’re fine. Everything is fine.”

Typical Logan. Indomitable in the face of her snarling, prickly worst, but panics at the first sight of tears.

She laughs, despite herself, and it’s enough to break the tension. Her blubbering subsides into weeping, and her weeping trails off into sniffles.

Lifting her head, she fixes him with her sternest expression. “If you ever scare me like that again, I’ll murder you, myself.”

“Oookay, Lizzie Borden ” He snags a tissue from the side table and awkwardly dabs at her tears. “Better now?”

Helpless shrug. “Peachy keen, jelly bean.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners, and to Veronica, they’ve never been more magnetic. Spellbinding.

This shouldn’t be some big revelation. They’ve always been beautiful. His best feature, honestly. But she’s never fully appreciated the depth and richness of color until this moment.

They glint with mischief and mirth, and just a hint of uneasiness.

Over her outburst? Her seemingly-fragile emotional state?

He’s the one who almost died.

“So, how are you? Physically?” She skims fingertips over Logan’s heart, where the bullet must have missed killing him by mere centimeters. “I imagine there’s scarring?”

“A little.” He holds up his thumb and forefinger. “It was pretty gruesome at first, but plastic surgery fixes everything. You can barely see the scar now.”

He doesn’t lift his shirt or offer to show her. Surprising, for a boy who’s never needed much of an excuse to get naked and flaunt his killer bod.

Then again, there’s a sort of… cuddliness to him now, where his body used to be all hard planes and muscles. Even his face looks fuller, his cheeks rounder, giving off the illusion of carefree youthfulness.

Is he self-conscious about it? He has to know a little weight gain wouldn’t matter to her. He couldn’t exactly pump iron while recovering from a gunshot wound. Anyone would get a little softer, under the circumstances. And while she appreciates a work of art as much as the next girl, his body wouldn’t even make the top ten in a list of reasons why she loves him.

“Well…as much as I enjoy having a cute blonde squirming on my lap, Duncan doesn’t seem to share that opinion, so…?”

“Really, Logan?”

“Uh… yeah?” He points over her shoulder. “Look at that pout. You’d think I kicked his dog, or…I don’t know, personally delivered old Molly to the farm.”

Molly. Duncan’s one and only pet. Evicted from Chez Kane for the heinous crime of acting like a dog, and subject of many a rant back in middle school.

Turning her head, she looks a question at Duncan. His expression is blank, and he answers with a tiny head shake.

“I thought we were on the same page.” She turns back to Logan, speaking slowly and infusing each word with meaning. “During our last conversation. Remember?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but bat-shit looks adorable on you.” He boops her on the tip of the nose.

The words set off alarm bells, but his delivery makes her smile back like an idiot.

A few months back, a condescending nose-boop from Logan Echolls would have made her blood boil. Now, it’s almost endearing. He looks all wrong, and he’s acting weird, and nothing makes any sense, but all that truly matters in this moment is that he’s here, he’s alive, and she’s so fucking in love with him.

“She suffered a head injury!” Duncan sounds pissed. “You can’t expect her to be one-hundred percent, right off the bat.”

“What? It was a compliment!”

Veronica speaks without breaking eye contact. “Duncan? Would you mind running to the vending machine for me? I have a sudden craving for something carbonated.”

“You can have my drink. I haven’t opened it yet.” Logan leans far to the left, stretches a few centimeters more, and grabs a bottle of Coke from the bedside table.

Veronica fixes him with a hard stare. I’m trying to buy us some alone-time!

He lowers his brow. Why?

Come on, Logan. We’re long overdue for some lip-locking. Get rid of the Kane.

“She actually prefers S’kist.” Duncan rises to his feet.

She doesn’t. Hasn’t for years, but if it gets you out of here…

Snagging his backpack from the floor, he crosses the room, tugging an orange soda from a stretchy side-pouch. “I bought it on my way up to see you.”

Dammit!

Veronica accepts the beverage from his outstretched hand. “Thank you, Duncan. That was very…considerate.” It’s still cold, at least, and makes a soft hiss as she twists open the lid.

“The least I could do, since I didn’t stop to buy flowers.” He dips his chin. “I was in a bit of a hurry to see you.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” Logan mutters.

And you were what? Ambivalent?

“Flowers really aren't necessary. There’s barely enough room for the ones I already have.” She gestures to the opposite wall.

“I see what you mean." Duncan frowns, brow furrowing, as he takes in the three vases crowding a small granite shelf. "I can fix that."

"You can?"

"Easy. Toss me your knife, Logan."

Logan gently shifts Veronica off his lap to the space on his right, makes a show of patting down his hip pockets, and shrugs. "You’ll have to get it yourself. Inside pocket." He angles his chin toward the desk chair.

A camel-brown canvas jacket is draped over the back. Duncan grabs it, fumbles around the lining for a moment, and extracts a pocket knife.

As he unfolds it, Veronica leans forward for a better look. "Hey! You stole that from my glove compartment."

"Did not!” Logan looks offended. “I bought it from that Great Outdoors store on Heisley.”

"I know. But then I stole it from you to keep in my car."

“I don’t remember that, but I do appreciate the irony of you accusing me of stealing my own knife.”

Since she has no argument - other than debating his definition of irony - she tilts back her soda and takes a long drink.

Duncan pays no mind to their squabbling. With the soft smile of someone escaping into their comfort zone, he drags the desk chair and a black plastic garbage can over to the granite shelf.

“Donut to the rescue.”

“Be nice.” Veronica nudges Logan with her elbow.

“I am! He’s a goddamn hero! Bouquet Man saves the day!”

Duncan responds with a single raised finger.

He carefully wiggles a rose free from its companions and lifts it from the vase. Two petals fall and he plucks off a third, dark and curling at the edges.

“Speaking of saving the day…” Logan launches into a story about Dick Casablancas being chased down the beach by an angry surf gang.

Because, apparently, a girlfriend in a coma needn’t interrupt his surf schedule or anything.

“He had it coming.” Duncan diagonally slices an inch or two of stem off the bottom of the rose, sets it down, and reaches for another. “Remember him complaining about his nachos being stale the other day?”

“Vaguely? He’s always bitching about something.”

“Well, he was too lazy to walk over to the garbage can, so he gave them to that dog that’s always around.”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “How…not surprising.” He’d have earned some quality one-on-one time with Mr. Sparky, had she been there.

“That tall dude’s bulldog? Agro?” At Duncan’s confirmation, Logan asks, “Are nachos toxic for dogs?”

“No. But they were covered in jalapenos. Let’s just say, poor Agro spent the next two days with…um...intestinal distress.”

“Damn.” Logan runs a hand through his hair. “So I probably should’ve let them beat Dick’s ass.”

“I’m not saying that. And I’m not not saying that.” Duncan cuts a stem, eyeballs it, then compares the length against two other roses, before slicing off another inch.

Veronica had examined the flower arrangements yesterday, and while none of the vases had cards attached, she’d assumed the mixed flower bouquet was from her dad, or possibly, Wallace. Something about the bright, summery colors projected warmth and all-around cheeriness. True, platonic affection.

She’d been stumped, however, by the presence of the red roses. Who would make such a tone-deaf choice in the aftermath of her boyfriend’s death?

Had she known Duncan was back in Neptune, she would've guessed in an instant. He used to have them delivered to her house back in tenth grade, and she’d imagined it the world’s most romantic gesture.

Just another preference she’s long since outgrown.

Logan has never once sent her roses, and yet, he’s absolutely the bigger romantic.

She would trade all the flowers in the world for his heartfelt honesty. The reverence in his eyes when he strokes her cheek. The way her name sounds on his lips - not just in happiness, but in frustration. His touches and whispers and…

As if sensing her thoughts, Logan glances Veronica’s way. Catches her smiling at him.

She can’t explain the heat that flushes her cheeks. What does she have to be embarrassed about? He’s her boyfriend. Why wouldn’t she smile?

She holds the moment for a three count, then slowly, her mouth widens and her teeth emerge from her behind her lips. Her grin transforms from ‘you’re alive, and this may be the happiest day of my life’ to something a bit more dangerous. Something closer to, ‘I may be weak as a kitten, but hurry up and get rid of the third wheel, and I’ll fuck you until you’re sweaty, exhausted, and begging me to finish you.’

She’s a hunter, and he's the tasty morsel she intends to devour for dinner.

Logan picks up her signal. Veronica knows him better than anyone, and she recognizes all his tells.

That slight quirk of the lips. The hint of a head tilt.

His brow lifts in challenge - recognition - then, after a beat, furrows in confusion.

It’s as if he thinks he’s messed up the translation. That his interpretation couldn’t possibly be accurate. That Veronica would never be so bold as to proposition him while her ex arranges flowers ten feet away.

Me? Not bold? Has he forgotten who made all of the first moves in their relationship?

Logan's gaze flicks over to Duncan, as if seeking a second opinion.

Duncan is oblivious. A dozen roses now lay on the shelf, and he’s sweeping petals onto his palm with the side of his hand.

Logan shakes his head with quiet self-deprecating laugh, then snags the bed remote from the over-bed table.

Did he…?

Did he just convince himself that he’d imagined her signal? He’s the one who christened her Bobcat, and it had very little to do with her purr.

Duncan shoves the empty vase to the back, pulls the second one forward, while Logan returns to adjusting and readjusting the bed.

Two degrees higher. Three. Back down a smidge. Another button push, and their knees slowly begin to lift - from flat to just below chest height.

“Ahh, just the way I like it.” He sets the remote back down, wiggles like he’s burrowing in.

It is surprisingly comfortable. Like sitting in dad’s ugly green La-Z-Boy. Minus that broken spring that always pinches her left thigh.

“You’re way too easy.” Duncan ponders a rose, pulling back petals, turning it this way and that, before dropping it in the trash. “It’s just a dumb bed.”

“Whatever.” Logan pulls an exaggerated yawn-and-reach - AKA: the world’s most cliche date move. “It’s the simple things in life…a comfy bed and a hot girl. What more can a guy ask for?”

His hand drapes lightly on Veronica's upper-arm and it seems more for Duncan’s benefit than his own. He’s teasing a friend, not marking his territory.

Duncan aims a glare over his shoulder.

“Oh, I know. A hot girl in your comfy bed.” Logan waggles his brows at Veronica.

The desk chair pushes back with a loud screech, and Duncan stands.

“Kidding! Relax, man!” Logan holds up his free hand.

“How about a best friend who isn’t a jackass?” Duncan grabs one of the vases and trudges into the bathroom.

“Where would be the fun in that?” Logan calls after him.

Duncan returns with clean water, then shuffles around the room peering at medical supplies. Before Veronica can ask what he’s doing, he plucks a small square packet of aspirin from a white, green and blue box, and smashes it three times with the bottom of the vase.

“We’ve talked about those anger issues,” Logan says.

“Coming from the poster child for peace and harmony, I’ll take it under advisement.” Duncan rips open the packet and pours the pulverized contents into the water.

The bent-knee position of the bed pulls Logan’s cargo pants tight, making the lumps and bumps in the leg pockets stand out.

Veronica experiences a sudden twinge of nostalgia for the early days of their romance, when he would hide little notes and surprises for her and wait for her curiosity to win out over her self-control.

The perv always did love being frisked.

She reaches forward now, popping the snap on his right thigh pocket and lifting the flap.

Logan’s brows push down in that ‘I-find-your-break-with-reality-amusing’ way of his. “What are you doing?”

“What do you think?” She keeps her eyes lowered, but her lips form a smirk. “Being nosy.”

“Well, self-awareness is a virtue.” He waves a hand. As you were.

While Duncan slides roses one-by-one, back into the vase, Veronica inventories Logan’s many pockets:

• 1 flat, round, tin of Sex Wax that smells like coconut when she pries off the lid.

“You know that’s for my surf board, right? Wouldn’t want to traumatize you.”

“Silly me, I thought it was lube for your butt plug.”

“It multi-tasks”

• 1 small package of mixed nuts from a vending machine
• A clump of lint.
• 1 black gel pen, teeth marks in the cap
• The ever-present silver flask, 3/4 full of a clear liquid that tastes like molten fire on her tonsils when she takes a sip
• 1 triangular paper football. Disappointingly blank, once unfolded.

“What were you expecting?”

“I don’t know, something interesting. Love note. Evil manifesto. Dirty limericks.”

“I can write you dirty limericks, if you want.”

“Here’s your pen.”

• 1 skinny joint.

“Spare me the ‘Say no to drugs’ lecture.”

“I’m more concerned about that paint thinner in your flask”

• More lint
• 1 tube of minty Jack Black Intense Therapy lip balm that stings her lips and tastes nothing like Logan’s kisses.
• 1 Zippo lighter, inscribed, “Free at Last”.

“That was my grandfather’s.”

“I know. I’m just glad you found it again.”

• Yet more lint
• A smooth, flattish stone with a pearlescent sheen on one side.

“Cool, huh? I found it on the beach.”

• A silver whistle

“Why are you carrying around a lifeguard’s whistle?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

• 1 box of grape and strawberry nerds.

“Finally! I was starting to think you’d forgotten all about me.” Veronica rips off the perforated seal on the strawberry side, and thumbs back the paper slit covering the hole. Shakes a handful of tiny pink candies onto her palm.

They taste more sour than she remembered, and she leaves them on her tongue, allowing them to dissolve into sugar crystals.

She opens the grape side for Logan, handing it to him afters he’s returned all his treasures to his pockets.

He pours his purple candies directly into his mouth, tapping the box with his index finger to shake out a few more.

“There. How’s that?” Duncan steps to the side, revealing to his handiwork.

“That looks…really amazing.”

She’s not just being polite. The remaining, combined rose bouquet somehow seems… wilder than it had before. Healthy and upright, and overflowing the vase like something out of the darker Grimm fairy tales.

He offers her a hopeful smile at the compliment. “You really like it?”

“Yeah. That took talent,” Veronica says, “I’m almost afraid to touch it. Like I might prick my finger on a thorn and fall asleep for a hundred years, or something.”

Logan snorts. “Haven’t you slept enough, already?”

She pinches him on the side, making him wiggle and squirm.

When she looks back up, Duncan is gone.

The sink turns on in the bathroom. The sound of running water grows stronger, as he adjusts the faucets, followed by a squeaking sound that could only be fingers rubbing wet glass.

We're alone!

She turns her head, pulse racing. “Well?”

You can kiss me now.

Logan’s gaze is focused on the open doorway, but he passes the box of candy to her, as he speaks under his breath. “When Celeste starts bitching about her little dumpling’s sudden desire to give up his political aspirations for a career in the botanical arts, I’m sending her straight to you.”

“Excuse me?” Veronica presses a hand to her chest. “He’s a grown-ass man who can deal with mommy all by himself.”

“Come on. You know he’ll do anything to impress you. With great power comes great responsibility, Mars.”

“And with a felony comes disqualification from holding public office, Echolls, so let him play with the damn flowers, if it makes him happy.”

Logan’s head swivels. brows dropping low and lips flattening. “What in the hell are—”

They both turn at the sound of a squeaky wheel.

Duncan emerges from the bathroom holding a sparkling glass vase in one hand and pushing Veronica’s walker with the other. He rolls it over to her side of the bed. “You left it in there. Figured you’d be needing it.”

“Thank you. I’m afraid my frustration got the better of me, earlier.”

He dips his head in acknowledgment. “Who can blame you? It’s been a rough few months.” Crossing the suite, he opens a high cabinet and shoves the empty vase inside, next to what looks like half a dozen of its twins.

He casts a pointed, ‘don’t you have somewhere better to be’ look at Logan, who, apparently, reads Duncan’s non-verbals a lot better than he reads Veronica’s, and responds by leaning forward and sliding a foot toward the edge of the bed.

Yeah. Not going to happen.

Veronica captures Logan’s right hand where it still rests on her shoulder, and snuggles more tightly against his side. He freezes and stays put, but she doesn’t miss his quick apology glance toward Duncan.

What does he have to be sorry for?

Clearly, something is going on here.

Is this Duncan’s doing?

Neither boy seems particularly motivated to discuss the situation. There appears to be some kind of agreement that Duncan, and not Logan, is her boyfriend. But does that mean that Logan stepped aside? Or did his shooting wipe his memory of their reconciliation?

She’ll always care about her ex - she has to, he’s her first love. But if he even insinuated to Logan that he has some kind of claim over her now that he’s back, she might have to taser him.

They made no promises the day he left - they hadn’t discussed the future at all - the unspoken implication being, they would both move on. That she wouldn’t be waiting around for him to return.

But the thing about Duncan, is that he always hears exactly what he wants to hear.

And the thing about Logan is that he’s stupidly loyal.

It would be just like the former to act as if he and Veronica made plans to reunite someday, and just like the latter to believe him, and step aside as some kind of noble gesture.

As if Veronica’s love was a matter they could resolve like gentlemen.

But Logan is her boyfriend. The one she chose, irrevocably, on the roof of the Neptune Grand, and her Epic Love since that day at the Camelot, long before he gave her the words to articulate their bond. She may not have been an exemplary girlfriend, but he must know he’s the only guy for her.

But he’s not acting like her boyfriend, today, is he?

He’s acting like he’s been body snatched.

Her Logan would’ve crushed her in his arms the moment he laid eyes on her. Her Logan would be drinking-in the sight of her like a starving man in the desert. There would be roving hands (stroking her hair, rubbing her arms, twirling her fingers), straying lips (the top of her head, forehead, temples, cheeks and hands). And he would kiss her lips like he meant it, witnesses be damned.

Her Logan would not defer to Duncan, or purposely misinterpret her nonverbal signals. He would never squander the opportunity to get her alone.

But for all of that, he’s not pouting, not sighing dramatically or playing martyr. Nor is he icy calm, avoiding eye contact with a tight mouth and jawline. No glistening-eyed sadness, no hangdog expression, no guilt.

He’s cheerful, cocky, a bit of a jackass, and…

…just doesn’t seem to want me anymore.

Her rib cage suddenly seems too heavy to hold up and she grinds her teeth to keep from crying.

Oh God. Does he actually want to be rid of her?

He’d been so chilly and standoffish that day at Hearst, unwilling to even be friends. Until the moment she attacked him with her mouth.

She’d believed he was as thrilled to be reuniting as she was. He’d certainly kissed her like a man in love, and he couldn't wait to get her back to his suite.

But maybe he'd come to regret that decision. Later, during the long recovery from his gun-shot wound. Maybe he blamed her for it. He’d have every reason to. Without her, Gory Sorokin wouldn’t even know Logan existed.

And just maybe...Duncan’s return was an answer to Logan’s prayers.

Duncan could take back the troublesome girlfriend, and Logan could wash his hands of her. No hard feelings.

“Veronica?” Duncan speaks softly. “You okay?”

She must look like a crazy person, mouth hanging slack and her eyes focused on nothing in particular.

She swallows past the lump in her throat. “I think we need to discuss the elephant in the room.”

“Elephant?” Logan bends his head, confirming that his zipper is still up. “What elephant?”

“Dude! No!” Duncan howls and throws another balled up napkin their way.

Veronica snorts and elbows him in the ribs. It’s such a blatantly stupid thing to say - such a Logan thing to say - that it manages to interrupt her emotional spiral.

“You are such a perv!”

“What?” He grins at her, unabashed. “You said elephant! And trust me, I’ve seen Duncan in the locker room showers and that word does not—”

“Dude!” Duncan crumples another napkin and throws it. “Shut the hell up.”

“Man…” Logan sighs and rubs at an imaginary bruise. “Nobody can take a joke these days.”

“Try telling a good one, sometime,” Duncan says, “Go ahead, Veronica. What were you trying to say? About addressing the…um…”

Yeah yeah. The elephant.

“What we need to address is…” Veronica turns to Logan. “Who in the hell did you lose a bet to?”

“A bet? What bet?”

“Was it Duncan? Dick?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Come on. I wasn’t born yesterday.” She flicks her hand at his hair. “Frosted tips? Really?”

He rolls his eyes. “Five minutes out of a coma, and you’re already picking on my hair. How unlike you.”

“The hair. The baggy clothes and the two-sizes-too-big little boy pants. And what’s that I smell?” She leans close, takes an exaggerated sniff of his chest. “Axe-freaking-Body Spray?”

“What’s wrong with my cologne?” Logan pouts, and this time, it seems genuine.

“Nothing. If you’re in middle school.”

“Nurse Maddie seems to like it. She likes my hair, too.” He smirks. “She wants to run her fingers through it later.”

“Ohhh...I’d like to see her try.”

Logan’s eyebrow lifts.

Smug bastard.He loves when she’s jealous.

“So? What was the bet?”

“There was no bet.”

“Liar.” She narrows her eyes for a beat and then shrugs. “That’s fine. Guess I’ll just have to find my answers through other methods.”

“Such as?”

“Please. Like you even have to ask? We both know how much you love it when I investigate.”

“Veronica Mars,” Logan drawls, giving her shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “I do declare, you have lost your mind. Keep it up. Please. It’s kinda adorable.”

“I know! And wait until you see me with my cell phone tracer. It’s downright precious.” Veronica makes an ‘oopsy’ face. “Oh wait…”

“What are you…”

Logan’s right hand still rests casually above her collarbone. Veronica picks it up, intending to weave her fingers between his, then peers closer. Runs her thumb over the smooth skin.

“Logan? Where’s your scar?”

“What scar?”

“You had one right here on your wrist. You know, from the glass? When the PCHers shot out your back window.” She makes a gesture like fireworks. “You had to get stitches in three places.”

He tilts his head, brows lowered. “Veronica, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think the accident may have rattled your brain.”

“Accident? What accident?”

“Uh…the one that landed you in this bed?”

“There was no accident. I blacked out and hit my head on the pavement, and...” She trails off, replays his words in her head, and her stomach bottoms out. “Oh God.”

Sensing her apprehension, Duncan rises from his chair and approaches the bed. “Veronica. Breathe.”

“I thought this was real.” Her throat closes up, and she struggles for air. She’s going to be sick. She’s going to… “This was all a dream and I’m going to wake up and you’ll still be…”

Logan rolls his eyes. “And you accuse me of being dramatic.”

Somewhere behind her the hospital suite’s door opens, clicking shut a moment later.

Veronica doesn’t turn around. What does it matter if it’s a doctor, a nurse, her father, Wallace, or anyone else in the world?

If this is all an invention of her mind anyway, she’ll focus on the one person who matters most - Logan.

Footsteps approach, light, but also clunky. Familiar in a way her soul recognizes, but her brain can’t quite place.

Veronica raises her hand to Logan’s cheek, glides fingertips over his smooth skin. “I don’t understand. You feel so real. You’re warm.”

A voice speaks from behind her. “God, Veronica. That would be kinda hot, if it wasn’t my boyfriend’s face you were stroking.”

The voice is as familiar as her own, and yet, at the same time, all wrong.

Logan looks over her head, puckers his lips and blows an air kiss.

“Wait. Come to think of it, that makes it even hotter. Do it again!”

Don’t look, Veronica. Don’t even acknowledge it. You know damn well this is utterly, completely impossible.

“Veronica?”

With a heavy exhale, Veronica turns her head.

For the third time in what feels like three days, her world goes black.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Her ears are ringing. Her head, swirling and reverberating. It’s as if she’d spun in circles to the point of dizziness and then struck a tuning fork inside her skull.

She feels like she’s been out for hours, but, judging by the surrounding conversation, it couldn’t have been more than a minute.

“Trust me, that was a dead faint. Her eyes rolled all the way back into her head,” the newcomer is saying, "I'm just glad Logan has those lightning-fast reflexes and caught her before she could topple off the bed."

"Going forward, I will be answering only to the name Flash.”

He sees her. He can hear her.

“But I so prefer Flesh!”

“Guys, there's something really...off with Veronica.”

Duncan's voice.

'Guys'. Plural. Logan, plus another. He sees her, too.

“Off, how?”

“She acted like she barely knows me, or like she was disappointed in me. And she kept crying, and clinging to Logan, like he might disappear if she let him go."

“And here, I thought the odd part was how she kept sniffing me.” Logan deadpans.

Oh, please!

“It’s not like I couldn’t smell you and your Axe Body Spray from three rooms down the hall,” Veronica mutters.

Taking a deep breath, she opens her eyes.

Three dark silhouettes hover between her and the bright, overhead light. As her vision clears, their features come into focus.

Her head is in Logan’s lap, making his face appear upside down. As much as she loves him, as thrilled as she is to have him here, the view straight into his nostrils is far from his best angle.

Duncan stands just to Logan’s left, expression slack and hands shoved deep into his pockets. There’s a wariness in his eyes, as if he’s wondering how much she heard.

Finally, perched at her right side and peering down, is the one and only, Lilly Kane.

Hair lifts on the back of Veronica’s neck and she skitters backward, poking Logan in several tender places and making him grunt in her haste to put him between her and her deceased best friend.

“Owwwww! You are relentlessly determined to maim me tonight!”

Lilly hasn’t aged a day since her death. Which… makes a certain sense, biologically.

She sits, legs tucked to one side, ruffled yellow mini skirt spread out in a circle, and a worried expression marring her lovely face.

Veronica blows out a breath. “So, we’re all dead then.”

Logan’s eyes lift skyward. “There you go, making sense again.”

“This can only be purgatory. Because there’s no possible way all four of us would end up in the same place.”

“Whoa! Hold on!” Lilly’s ghost lifts her right hand. “While I admit, I can be a bit… spirited, I hardly think I’ve done anything terrible enough to earn an eternity of getting hot pokers shoved up my ass.”

“Hell is where we go to get punished, dear, not pleasured.” Logan says, and she blows him a sarcastic kiss.

Veronica grinds her teeth at the endearment. "I meant him." She flicks a pointed glance toward Duncan.

“ME?” His eyes grow comically huge. "What did I do?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. It wasn’t hard to figure out, especially when I saw the height of the security cameras. And paying somebody else to do it, doesn’t make it any less of a sin.”

“What?” He frowns, gaze going distant as he rubs the back of his neck.

“You think Donut, of all people, is going to hell?” Logan asks, incredulously. “He’s like a choirboy. He’s never even cheated on a test.”

I doubt your dad would agree.

Duncan interrupts before Veronica can elaborate. “Wait. You’re mad at me for paying that Lucky guy to buy us champagne? If I’d known it would upset you—”

“Right…if underaged drinking was enough to close the pearly gates to you, nobody would make it to heaven.” Veronica shakes her head, then recoils as her dead BFF puts a hand on her knee.

“Why are you afraid of me, Veronica?” Lilly pulls back, forehead creasing, and a hurt expression in her eyes. “I was only kidding earlier about you touching Logan’s face.”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you’ve been DEAD for four freaking years?”

“Dead?” Lilly’s brows jump to her hairline. “I am very much alive. Logan, tell her."

“I'd have to check your pulse to be sure, but I can attest that I had it racing in my back seat during lunch period.”

“Ugh!” Veronica shoves at him. “What the hell!”

Anger burns through her veins like wildfire.

Extinguishes just as quickly.

How many clues had she ignored? In how many more ways could Logan have shown her that he’s just not hers anymore?

She slides her feet down to the floor, tries to stand, but her walker is on the other side of the bed and her legs are too wobbly.

Duncan swoops in to help, steadying her and guiding her to the teal armchair.

Sitting, she drops her face into her hands, tries to make sense of everything. She’d seen Lilly’s dead body, firsthand. And she’d been absolutely convinced Logan died that day at Hearst.

One mistaken death is feasible, given the crowd, the location, and her hysteria. Two mistaken deaths stretches the boundaries of believability. Especially after all this time.

Yet, Lilly’s hand, when she touched Veronica’s knee, had felt solid. As solid as Logan. That hadn’t been the case during her previous “visitations”.

If she isn’t dreaming or hallucinating, if this isn’t Purgatory, and nobody is dead, that leaves only one explanation.

Lilly had a doppelganger.

And Logan dumped me while I was in a coma, in order to trade up.

Nausea churns Veronica’s stomach, and her sinuses prickle, but she refuses to cry this time.

Lifting her head, she addresses Duncan. “Did you know there was a twin all along? Or is this a new development?”

“Who has a twin?”

“Lilly.” Veronica waves a hand at the impostor. “Where has she been hiding all these years?”

He opens his mouth to speak, pauses, as if choosing his words, carefully. “Veronica, that is Lilly. There is no twin, and there never has been.”

The not-doppelganger shudders. “The world can barely contain one Lilly Kane, as it is. Can you imagine two?”

“All the time.” Logan sighs, wistfully. “All...the...time.”

“Well then, I’m out of logical explanations.” Veronica’s posture is unnaturally stiff and her jaw hurts from clenching. “Does somebody want to explain what the fuck is going on?”

“Veronica Mars!” Lilly gasps.

“What?”

“I’ve just...never heard you use that word before.” Covering her mouth, Lilly pretends to cry tears of happiness. “This must be what it feels like to see your baby all grown up. I’m so proud.”

“Agreed,” Logan says.

Duncan merely stares at her like she's possessed.

“Help me to understand,” Veronica begs, her voice cracking on the last syllable.

"Understand what?" Lilly scoots to sit next to Logan on the edge of the bed, crossing one platform espadrille over the other.

“To start with, how are you here?”

“I drove the Mercedes. Sorry, I was late, but you know Ms. Stafford. World’s peppiest drill sergeant.”

Veronica expels air from her lungs. This is like pulling teeth. “You died almost four years ago.”

“When I was twelve?”

“Of course not. You were sixteen.” She turns to Logan. “Back me up here?”

He stares, blankly.

Thanks for the help, boyfriend.

Ex-boyfriend?

Cheating boyfriend?

She turns back to Lilly. “October 3rd, 2003?”

The date doesn’t seem to register.

Frustration makes Veronica raise her voice. “You were bashed on the skull with a heavy glass ashtray. Right next to your pool.”

“Ouch!” Lilly scrunches her face and rubs her head. The wrong side of her head.

How does she not know? And why doesn't she have a scar?

“Veronica?” Duncan crouches down in front of her. “Can you tell me today’s date?”

“I have no idea. Does it matter? They said I was in a coma for almost three months, so that would make it September, right? Or late August?”

“September of what year?”

“2007.” She rolls her eyes. “Did I pass the test, Professor?”

A silent communication passes between the other three.

Lilly speaks softly. “Veronica, today’s date is December 2nd. December of 2003. October 3rd was two months ago and, as you can see, I’m clearly very much alive.”

“Why are you guys doing this to me?" Veronica closes her eyes, squeezes her temples with the heels of her hands. "I'm sure it sounded a lot funnier when you were planning this…prank, but it's not."

She exhales and rubs her eyelids. “I blacked out and hit my head on the pavement, and they told me I was in a coma for three months. Logically, that would make it September of 2007, now.”

“Veronica…” Duncan begins."Nobody's—"

She cuts him off. “It happened at Hearst. Last day of my freshman year of college. Why the hell would I be at Hearst in 2003?”

“Veronica.” Logan’s voice makes her open her eyes. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, feet on the floor, elbows on his knees. Pity in his eyes. "Your head injury came from a car accident. Three months ago, in September. We were all there.”

Why is he lying?

"No, I've only been in one car accident, and that was in Spring of 2005. The same night you were attacked on the bridge. I found those tapes in the vent, and then…”

Your psychopath father popped up from the back seat.

Instinct tells her not to complete that sentence. At least not in front of Aaron’s victim.

Lilly joins Logan at the edge of the bed. “The accident happened on Homecoming night. Some asshole drove left of center. Our limo rolled three times and landed in a ravine.”

“No. That’s wrong. We got home, fine.” Veronica says. “I mean, it was morning, and my dad was waiting with your parents, but…Don’t you remember? Celeste went off on you for being out all night? Duncan had to take most of the blame to get her to leave you alone.”

Lilly shakes her head, sadly. “The poor chauffeur died instantly. Duncan and I had scratches and lacerations. But you and Logan were in bad shape...really really bad.You were both life-flighted here to the hospital, and you’ve been here ever since.”

“Homecoming night? Pink dress?”

Lilly makes a face. "Unfortunately."

Veronica opens her mouth, prepared to argue, but defending her teenage fashion choices is the least of her problems.

“No. You’re all fucking with me. What about the past four years? I didn’t just imagine them.”

The pity and concern reflected back to her makes Veronica’s temper flare. She pushes herself up to her feet, turns on the two boys and flings out an arm. “Lilly’s death? The recall election? Mars Investigations?”

"Is that some kind of NASA thing?" Duncan asks.

She silently counts to three to keep from shouting. "What about Wallace and Mac? Parker and Piz? Weevil?”

“I know Weevil,” Lilly says.

“Oh I just bet you do.”

“I don't know what you want to hear.” Lilly gives her a helpless shrug. “All I know is that I’ve missed you. Desperately. And I’m absolutely overjoyed that you’re finally awake.”

She stands up, arms outstretched, beseeching Veronica with her eyes.

Veronica hesitates, longing to hug her lifelong best friend, but terrified what doing so might say about her sanity.

She can’t even remember the last time she hugged a girlfriend. Was it Mac? That night Beaver took her clothes and jumped from the roof? Was it Parker?

A choked cry escapes from her throat, and somehow the choice is already made. Her feet are moving and she finds herself wrapped in her dead best friend’s embrace.

Lilly’s signature scent surrounds her, and no sooner does she breathe it in than she remembers it. Dolly Girl. Anna Sui.

She squeezes more tightly. “I’ve missed you so much! Every single day.”

"I haven't gone anywhere."

"You died! And everybody hated me, and I dedicated my life to finding your killer.”

“You’re kind of freaking me out.” Lilly pulls back with a nervous giggle. She cups Veronica’s face between her hands and examines her expression. "It’s not real, Veronica. I’m alive and well.”

“If you say so.”

"But uh… just out of curiosity, who did it?”

“Um…”

What could it hurt to tell her?

Logan, to start. And that’s just the beginning. What if telling the truth actually contributed to making it happen?

“Why don’t I fill you in some other time? When it’s just us.”

“Was it Logan?” Lilly stares at him with exaggeratedly-wide eyes. “I could totally see it. He gets crazy jealous, you know?”

“Bullshit.” Veronica rolls her eyes. “Logan is no more jealous than the next guy.” Trust me. I’ve tried. “It just makes you feel more important to pretend he is.”

For several beats, all three stare at her.

Finally, Lilly snorts. “So you’re saying I like my drama, huh?”

“You think? And to answer your question, no. It wasn’t Logan.”

“I know we all have some catching up to do,” Duncan begins, slowly, “But it’s extremely concerning to me that Veronica doesn’t know what year it is.”

“Um…do we look like doctors?” Lilly says.

“No, but I think I should go find one.” Duncan wipes his hands on his jeans and moves to the door. He glances back before closing it behind him. “I’ll be right back.”

“And the countdown to us being kicked out starts...now.” Lilly helps Veronica back to her bed, and takes a seat beside her. “I know this is a lot to take in, but you’re going to be okay. I promise.”

Sure I am. Once my mind stops resurrecting dead best friends. And dead boyfriends. Just peachy.

At the foot of the bed, Logan watches Veronica with a grave expression.

Has he even spoken to her since her calendar gaffe?

“What?” she asks.

“You really believe it’s 2007? Four years in the future?”

She doesn’t even hesitate. “I lived every last second of those years, Logan.”

“So, where’s your boyfriend in 2007?”

She narrows her eyes. Is he really going to make her say it? Wasn’t it obvious from her behavior earlier?

“Duncan?” he prompts.

Oh.

And now it makes sense. Because Duncan was her tenth grade Homecoming date - her boyfriend at the time - it’s no wonder they all believe he still is.

“I honestly don’t know. He fled the country in early 2006. Midway through senior year, and we didn’t stay in contact.”

“Being a felon disqualifies him from office,” Logan says, and it takes her a moment to realize he’s repeating her words from earlier. “I’m not sure I can wrap my head around the idea of Duncan being a fugitive.”

“He had his reasons.”

“Couldn’t have been great reasons if you think he belongs in hell.”

“No, that came later. He paid somebody to…” She trails off. “You know, let’s add that to the list of things I’ll answer later.”

“Should I start a list?” Lilly begins rummaging through her purse.

“So, in your mind, Lilly died four years ago, and Duncan took off senior year. But what about me? Where was I?” Logan’s trying to be nonchalant, but he can’t quite conceal his intense curiosity.

“You were…” Veronica drops her gaze.

You were my heart.

She can’t tell him. Not if this insane situation is somehow real.

“You were…”

The door opens, and Dr. Joshi hurries in, followed by Duncan. “Sorry kids, but I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Aww, Doc! Can’t we just sit over there?” Lilly bats her lashes and points at the couch under the window. “We promise we’ll stay out of your way?”

“I’m afraid not.” The Doctor flips through pages on Veronica’s chart. “You can come back tomorrow, during visitor’s hours.”

“I don’t want to go.” Lilly pokes out her lip in pout.

“Afraid I’ll convince myself that you’re dead again?”

“Fat chance!” Lilly plants a kiss on Veronica’s right cheek and stands. “I’ll be back every single day. Until you get out of this place.”

“Me too,” Duncan says.

Veronica can’t help but look at Logan.

Not mine. Never was mine.

Always will be.

He crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue at her.

“Mature, Logan.”

“Aim to please, Mars.” He blows her a kiss as he backs out of the room.

Moments later, he’s back in her doorway, a paper triangle positioned between his thumb and index finger.

As Dr. Joshi reads over her chart, Logan flicks it across the room, throwing his arms up in triumph when it lands directly on her lap.

Veronica laughs at his antics. He salutes, and disappears from sight.

All that matters is that he’s alive and he’s healthy. And Lilly’s alive and healthy.

The rest will work itself out. Right?

She quickly unfolds the football. Laughs at the contents.

There once was a princess from So-Cal

Who wanted to test-drive a local

she tried and she tried

to get him to dive

but he said such diversions weren't focal

The first time she’d asked Logan to explain what he meant by “diving skills”, it had taken nearly an hour for her flushed cheeks to cool back down. Afterward, Logan needed only to point to a diving board and waggle his eyebrows to set her off all over again.

She’s not that sheltered and naive girl anymore.

Today she smiles. Until it falters. Until she considers the limerick’s implication.

Somehow, despite all her mistakes, and the lessons she’d learned from them, despite letting go of her idealized version of the past, pushing past her fears to finally embrace what scared her most, her true passion. Despite everything said and done, everything left behind and everything she fought to keep... Somehow, she’s right back where she started.

However skilled those divers might be, for now at least, Veronica Mars is back off the menu.

Refolding the limerick, she places the triangle on her side table, next to the near-full box of Nerds.

She picks up a flattish stone with a pearlescent sheet, curls her fingers around it, and pretends it’s Logan’s transferred warmth she feels against her right palm, as she submits herself to Dr. Joshi’s questions.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4 - I'd be tender, I'd be gentle And Awful Sentimental Regarding Love and Art

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The pungent odor of hospital disinfectant always makes Keith a little queasy.

Of course, it’s not really the smell. They’d used the same cleaning product at the Sheriff’s Department for as long as he can remember, and it never bothered him in the past. But after Veronica’s accident, after months spent sitting helplessly next to her bed, he’d asked the department’s janitorial staff to switch to a different brand or formula. How was he supposed to get any work done if the mere proximity of a cleaning cart was enough to make him sick?

“Hold on.” He takes his wife’s arm before she can charge through the open doorway of Veronica’s hospital room. “I need a moment to collect myself.”

Lianne nods curtly and waits, subconsciously patting the zipper pocket on her purse where she hides her flask. It’s a nervous gesture. If she wanted to imbibe this very moment, she need only sip from the paper cup of gas station coffee she’d spiked while he was filling up the tank.

She’d wanted to stay home this morning, fearing a repeat of the scene from two days ago. Had only relented when he reminded her their daughter was expecting both her parents to be here.

Even so, he’s nervous.

It’s not Veronica’s negative reaction toward her mother making him hesitate. It’s not even what Dr. Joshi wouldn’t say when he called last night to request an in-person meeting.

It’s just…Veronica.

The girl who woke from the coma is not the daughter he knows. Not his optimistic ray-of-sunshine, always looking for the best in everyone.

During his last visit, he had to force himself to meet her gaze, to not flinch at the bone-deep sorrow in her eyes. To show her the father she knows and can depend on.

To his shame, he’d appreciated her sudden and unexpected vitriol toward Lianne. At the very least, her misplaced anger proved her spark wasn’t fully extinguished. She wasn’t completely dead inside.

The analog clock on the wall advances to 9:00 AM with an ominous click.

Time to go in.

He exhales his frustration, making a point to relax his features. Veronica can’t see his fear and doubt.

“Okay. Let’s go.” He steps through the open doorway, breathing in the usual scents of roses and hand sanitizer.

At the foot of Veronica’s bed stands Dr. Joshi, chuckling, as if in response to a joke. Catching sight of Keith and Lianne, he bounds over to greet them. “So good to see you again, Mr. and Mrs. Mars. Especially under such happy circumstances.”

They shake hands and he leads them into the room, one hand on Lianne’s arm.

The doctor’s warmth and geniality makes him impossible to dislike. Lord knows, Keith has tried.

It hadn’t been easy for him to ‘graciously’ accept Jake Kane’s offer to pay Veronica’s hospital bills. To play along when Kane insisted it was only fair — after all, Veronica would’ve been safely tucked into bed at the time of the accident, if his children hadn’t hired a limo and kept her out all night.

They both know the only person at fault was the drunk driver who veered left of center and fled the scene.

Keith is a proud man, but when it comes to a choice between his pride or his daughter’s life, he’ll always put Veronica first.

Kane had delivered on his promise with the best specialists, round-the-clock care, a top-notch physiotherapist to keep her physically strong, and a private hospital room. She’s alive right now because of that level of care.

And if the cost is having to share his faithless wife? So be it. Kane can keep her.

Veronica swings her legs over the side of her hospital bed, carefully stands up, and meets Keith halfway, embracing him tightly.

“Look at you! Up on your feet already!” He pulls back, studying her face.

Something has changed in the past day, and he can’t tell if it’s for the better, or worse.

Thursday’s sorrow has been replaced by an expression he can only describe as shell-shock.

He pretends not to notice. “Did I raise an overachiever, or did I raise an overachiever?”

Veronica shakes her head, amused - Amused! She nods at the bag hanging from his shoulder. “Is that the stuff I asked you to bring? Just put it on my bed.”

To her mother, she offers a chilly, but non-threatening, smile. “Hey.”

Lianne looks tempted to press for an apology, but Keith stops her with a tiny head shake. Whatever Veronica’s problem with her mother is, she at least tried.

Slinging an arm around his daughter, he pulls her snug against his side. “Sorry, kiddo, I’d intended to visit yesterday, but ended up stuck at the station with a kidnapping case. By the time I could get away, it was too late.”

Veronica holds up a hand to halt his apology. “It’s fine. My friends visited yesterday. It was…interesting. Did you find the kid?”

“Yeah, they nabbed the father trying to cross into Mexico, and the little boy is back, safe and sound with his mother.”

“Good to hear.” She shivers.

Is there a draft in here? Should he have packed a sweater?

“This guy treating you okay?” He nods at Dr. Joshi. “You seem different, today.”

“Yeah…” Veronica drags out the word. “There’s a reason for that.”

Dr. Joshi takes this as his cue to beckon forward the room’s other occupant - a thirty-something Latina woman with deep dimples and warm, intelligent eyes.

“I’d like to introduce my colleague, Dr. Natalie Acosta. She’s a neuropsychologist from the San Diego Brain Center, and she’s been working with Veronica this morning.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Keith shakes her hand, and Lianne follows suit.

“Pleased to meet you as well.” Dr. Acosta gestures in invitation to the couch in front of the window, then sits down in the bedside chair.

Lianne takes the right side of the couch, setting her cup on the small table, before peeling off her short trench coat and draping it over her arm.

Keith offers Veronica his arm, helping her back into her bed.

“Can you…?” She gestures to an over-the-bed table, just out of reach.

He pushes it closer to her and she picks up a Styrofoam cup of coffee, cupping it in both hands, as she takes a sip.

He waits for her to scrunch up her face in distaste.

She does not.

So….what? She’s suddenly a coffee drinker?

With a confused head shake, Keith joins his wife on the couch.

He typically visits later in the day, so he’s unaccustomed to the natural light coming from the large window behind him. Somehow, it makes the room feel more welcoming. Other than that, it’s the same as always, except for a huge bouquet of roses, practically spilling out of their vase on one shelf. Duncan Kane’s doing, presumably.

Dr. Joshi grabs the chair from the built-in wall desk, dragging it over to the space on their left, to form a loose circle. He sits down, resting his right foot on the opposite knee. The casual pose exposes a pair of woven black socks with a bright green caduceus symbol on it.

Catching Keith’s gaze, Joshi tugs his pant leg a few inches higher, revealing the words ‘TRUST ME I’M A DOCTOR’. He shrugs and grins, ruefully. “My wife loves novelty socks. I have pairs for every day.”

“I’m not judging.”

Lianne has reached her limit for small talk. “Can you tell us why you called this meeting? Is everything okay with our daughter?”

“Dr. Joshi can answer to her physical condition,” Dr. Acosta says, glancing a question at the man, “…but from my understanding, there seems to be no issues with her physical recovery or motor skills.”

“Veronica’s physical recovery is exceeding all expectations.” Dr. Joshi aims a conspiratorial smile her way. “Your daughter is a warrior. In fact, one of her nurses caught her practicing with a walker yesterday morning.”

“What do you mean ‘caught her’?”

“I stole it.” Veronica shrugs, negligently. As if she hasn’t been a diehard rule follower since birth. “In the middle of the night. There were a few of them just lined up against the wall out in the hallway. Nobody else was using it.”

Keith stares at her. “But how did you get out to the hallway?”

“Very slowly.” She arches an eyebrow, like a punchline.

“Like I said, she’s a warrior,” Dr. Joshi says, “But I didn’t call this meeting to talk about Veronica’s physical recovery.”

Dr. Acosta leans forward. “First and foremost, you should prepare yourself for some dramatic changes in your daughter.”

Like inexplicable sadness, misdirected rage, misappropriating medical equipment, and sudden coffee drinking?

Consider me prepared.

“Because of the head injury?” Lianne asks.

“Indirectly. Think of it more as learned responses to emotional trauma. I know that doesn’t make a lot of sense right now, but we’ll come back to that in a minute.”

Heat flashes through Keith’s body, and he speaks through clenched teeth. “Did somebody hurt my daughter while she was defenseless?”

“Absolutely not,” Dr. Joshi holds up a placating hand. “Your daughter has received the best treatment possible.”

“Let her speak, Dad,” Veronica says, “Nothing happened to me. At least not physically.”

“Let me start by saying that I’ve been studying the brain for over a decade, and I’m still constantly baffled by its capabilities,” Dr. Acosta begins, “There are quite a few states of consciousness that fall under the ‘coma’ umbrella. Some patients exhibit very little brain activity, while others exhibit extraordinary amounts. I’ve worked with hundreds of recovered coma patients, and — of the ones who were able to regain their speech — no two individuals described their experience the same way.”

She emits a warm, confident vibe, and she clearly knows what she’s talking about. Keith leans forward, intrigued.

“There’s a wide scale of experiences. For example, one of my patients woke up after seven months with no memory of his coma. To him, mere seconds had passed between his accident and awakening. Another young lady described nightmares she couldn’t wake up from - hundreds of them. Still another, a teenaged boy, was fully cognizant of his physical environment the entire time. He could recount entire conversations his friends and family held in his presence, but he’d been unable to communicate.”

Keith had read a bit about locked-in syndrome during his research on comas, and wouldn’t wish that on his worst enemy.

Luckily, the doctor seems to be offering these anecdotes as a contrast against whatever is coming next.

“And Veronica?” he prompts, “How did she experience her coma?”

Dr. Acosta smiles softly. “To put it plainly, your daughter kept living.”

“Of course, she kept living,” Lianne says. “What does that even mean?”

“Until last night, Veronica was convinced she was a nineteen year-old woman, just finishing up her first year of college. In 2007.”

“Wait. What? 2007? College?”

He’s heard of patients losing time, but he’s never heard of anyone gaining years.

Veronica’s mouth turns down in a comical ‘Oops’ face, but it’s a little too forced.

Keith turns to Dr. Joshi. “You examined her. How did this get past you?”

“That was a bit of a misunderstanding. When I examined Veronica on Wednesday, her answers to my initial questions convinced me she wasn’t suffering any lapses in memory.” Dr. Joshi rubs the top of his head. “But when she started showing signs of exhaustion, I told her to get some rest, intending to finish my consultation this morning.”

Dr. Acosta steers them back on-topic. “Veronica’s subconscious had no awareness of the September 12th accident that put her in a coma.”

“According to her friends, she was napping in the back of the limousine when the accident happened,” Keith says.

Dr. Acosta accepts the information with a nod. “While there is nothing magical or otherworldly about this situation, medical terminology simply can’t do it justice. I’m afraid I’m going to have to borrow jargon from Science Fiction.”

“Okay?” Keith motions for her to continue.

“After the September 12th accident, when Veronica was incapable of waking, her mind set to work building its own version of September 13th. Then September 14th. September 15th. By the time she woke up, she was up to June of 2007.”

“She was only comatose for three months,” Lianne says. “How is that possible?”

“Time is a social construct. Her mental clocks and calendars ran more swiftly than they do here on the ‘physical plane’” She notices Keith’s grimace at her word choice, and elaborates. “I’m making a conscious choice not to use the terms ‘real world’ or ‘real life’. I feel that would diminish Veronica’s experiences, and while these events may not have happened on the ‘physical plane’…” She wraps the word in air quotes again. “They were very real to Veronica, as were the effects on her psyche.”

“Veronica dreamed that four years passed?” Lianne asks.

“It was nothing like a dream. It was real for me.” Veronica snaps.

She exhales, inhales, and continues in a softer tone. “My usual dreams are strange, surreal, fragmented. Like last night, I dreamed that I couldn’t concentrate on my homework because a reproduction of the masturbating Picasso painting on the wall, kept singing Missy’s Elliot’s ‘Get Your Freak On’.”

Keith groans. “Veronica…” Must you?

“What I’m saying is that this was not like any dream I’ve ever had. I flossed, for God’s sake. Who flosses in their dreams? I slept, showered, went to school, completed my assignments, blew my nose, and worked two part-time jobs. I even went to bed every night and dreamed typical dreams.”

Keith glances around the room, taking a moment to process this.

Veronica couldn’t experience life while in a coma, so she’d mentally constructed one around her. As weird as it sounds, it doesn’t come as a complete surprise.

At four years old, Veronica would entertain her parents every night at dinner with vivid stories about preschool. Stories about Belle, her favorite friend, who already knew how to whistle, and taught her super-secret tricks for tying her shoes and doing cartwheels. About Ariel, whose four crazy dogs were always getting into trouble and chewing up shoes. About Eric, who ate his boogers and peed his pants, but offered her his string cheese the day Liane forgot her lunch at home. About Phillip, who liked pulling pranks, and was alway getting time-outs for clowning around.

This went on for months, until the day Keith left work early to take her to the zoo.

When he showed up at the preschool, Ms. Becky expressed how happy she was that Veronica had finally found a friend, in the shy new girl, Amy.

“What do you mean, finally?”

“Oh.” Her face fell. “I thought you knew. Some of the other students rejected Veronica, her first week here, and after that, she decided she didn’t need friends, anyway. She typically keeps to herself, and can be resistant to any ‘matchmaking’ attempts. But when some of the kids made Amy cry, she swooped right in and took her under her wing.” Sensing Keith’s continued confusion, she added, “I’ve discussed this with Mrs. Mars, several times.”

“But…what about Belle? And Ariel? Eric and Phillip?

“Mr. Mars, we don’t have any students by those names.”

“Of course you do. She tells me anecdotes about them every day. As much as she talks about those kids, I feel like I know them.”

The teacher gave him a pitying look. “Belle, Ariel, Phillip and Eric? Those are Disney characters.”

Later that day, while in the monkey house, he’d carefully broached the topic.

Unfazed, little Veronica had merely shrugged. “I know. They’re from my ‘magination. But they’re better than the other kids.”

That was the end of the Belle and Arial stories. Dinner conversation shifted to Amy, who cried a lot, had a rash under her nose from all the sniffling, and was terrified of going down the slide. He came to miss her ornery imaginary friends.

Lianne’s voice brings him back to the present. “Is this common in coma victims?”

Dr. Acosta tilts her head, consideringly. “I’ve never encountered it personally, but it’s not an unknown phenomenon. I’ve read a case study about a woman in London who woke from a coma to find her children were several years too young, and while she recognized her home, she insisted her first floor bathroom was supposed to be on the second floor. Another man woke from a coma to learn that the wife and two daughters he’d lived with for over ten years had never existed at all.”

Veronica exhales sharply, as if gut-punched. Her eyes lift to the ceiling and her mouth drops slightly open, examining possibilities she hasn’t yet considered.

“Veronica?”

“I’m okay.,” she says, but her face is ashen and she’s blinking rapidly.

“I can’t even imagine how painful that would be,” Keith says, gently. “I’ve heard of False Memory Syndrome. Is that what’s happening to Veronica?”

Dr. Acosta hesitates. “There are similarities. False Memory Syndrome does tend to center around imagined traumas, and Veronica’s ‘parallel life’ certainly included multiple traumatic experiences. On the other hand, False Memory Syndrome is usually attributed to recovered memory therapy rather than spontaneous creations of the brain. To be honest, Veronica’s experience has more in common with near-death experiences.”

Veronica scoffs. “It was nothing like that. There was no white light at the end of the tunnel. No feeling of peace. Those four years were, by turns, horrific, blissful and mundane, but never, ever, peaceful.”

Keith flinches. Horrific? What the hell happened to my little girl?

“I understand that, but hear me out,” Dr. Acosta says. “Studies have shown that survivors of near-death experiences are able to describe the experience at a level of detail unequaled by people describing actual, verifiable events. You describe your parallel life with a similar vividness. It may be related to the release of certain chemicals in the brain, but that’s debatable.”

“How can we help our daughter?” Keith asks.

Dr. Acosta nods, as if she’d been waiting for this question. “If I could caution against anything, it would be dismissing Veronica’s memories as merely dreams or figments of her imagination.”

“You mean, we should pretend it actually happened?” Lianne asks with a nervous glance at their daughter.

“That’s not what I’m suggesting.” Dr. Acosta does a decent job of hiding her impatience, but Keith is trained to read people. “What I’m saying, is that — although these events did not occur on the physical plane — their effect on Veronica’s psyche is all too real.”

“What happened to my daughter that was so traumatic?” Lianne asks.

Dammit.

Keith had been waiting to ask those questions until Veronica was back home and comfortable, and safe.

“My conversations with your daughter are confidential. It’s up to her what she would like to reveal.” Dr. Acosta glances a question at Veronica.

Veronica sighs. “Traumatic events? Just the usual. Rapes, murders, and heartbreak.”

Lianne presses a fist to her mouth, while Keith recoils, mind whirling helplessly. Somebody hurt his baby.

How can he punish the bad guys if they’re not really there? How can he be useful? How can he make it better?

Veronica lowers her gaze. “If you need specifics, Mom, you walked out on us when I was sixteen. Or…right around now, I suppose. You reappeared a year later, but only long enough to steal my college savings. Not once, but twice. I haven’t seen you since — and that was around two and a half years ago.”

That explains her vitriolic reaction to her mother’s presence, but Keith still can’t wrap his head around this whole thing.

“But I never left you!” Lianne cries.

“Were you not listening to Dr. Acosta?” Veronica snaps. “I’m fully aware that you didn’t leave in…” She makes finger quotes. “…the real world, but my abandonment issues are real, just the same.”

“I’m here, baby. You don’t have to feel abandoned anymore.”

“But that’s just it. I gave up on you a long time ago. It’s the other people I love who had to bear the brunt of those issues. Because I couldn’t trust that anybody — besides Dad — had the stamina to stick around when things got tough.”

The thing is, Lianne’s had one foot out the door for years, now. She doesn’t love Keith, probably never did. But Veronica had always seemed close with her mother, blind to her many faults.

If this experience proves anything, it’s that she’s a lot more observant than he’d given her credit for. At least, subconsciously. She must have sensed something was not quite right with the family unit.

Lianne is crying now, and Keith can’t tell if it’s from guilt or if she’s feeling persecuted.

Veronica sighs and speaks more gently. “I’m sorry I’ve hurt you, and I’ll do my best not to punish you for things you haven’t done. I just need time to sort everything out. Time to convince myself that you’re not the villain of the story.”

“Whatever you need from us, Veronica,” Keith says. “You only have to communicate it. Don’t keep us in the dark.”

“I’ll try my best, but it’s going to be tough.” She stares at her hands. “Look, I struggle with involving you with my problems. It’s hard enough being a single dad.”

She doesn’t even notice her slip.

Dr. Acosta folds her hands. “I’d like to schedule ongoing appointments with Veronica at my San Diego office. Would that be doable for your family?”

“I don’t need therapy,” Veronica says.

“Nevertheless, I believe it would be a good idea. Recovered coma patients who find their lives changed are notoriously suicidal.”

“I’m not suicidal.”

“Some other patients who’ve experienced this kind of parallel life phenomenon become convinced that this is the ‘fake world’ and desperate to return to the life they left behind.”

Veronica turns hard eyes on the doctor. “Three days ago, the love of my life was shot in the heart right in front of me, and it was all my fault. Why would I ever want to go back to that?”

Keith’s lungs constrict into a tight painful ball.

That explains the sorrow he’d seen in her eyes on Thursday. She was grieving a lost love. Duncan Kane? Or somebody new?

“Let’s keep it that way,” Dr. Acosta says, gently. “We don’t have to talk about your feelings, but transitioning back into your existing life is going to require a tremendous adjustment. Let me support you.”

Veronica hesitates. “Can we do a trial run?”

“Certainly. I’d like for you to begin keeping a journal, and record every time you have a problem distinguishing between your parallel life and this one. We’ll discuss it at our appointments.” Dr. Acosta leans over and squeezes her hand. “Don’t worry, Veronica. There are no right or wrong answers. it’s to be expected that you’ll make occasional mistakes or suffer from disorientation. My job is to give you the tools you need to deal with those moments.”

The appointment ends and Dr. Acosta thanks Keith and Lianne for their time.

Dr. Joshi shakes their hands. “Thank you for coming. We’re still evaluating when Veronica can be released, but it’s looking like sooner, rather than later. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

As the doctors exit the room, Keith pulls out his keys and hands them to Lianne. “Go ahead down to the car, I’ll be down in a minute.”

Lianne agrees — a little too quickly — makes her goodbyes, and leaves.

One they’re alone, he fixes his gaze on Veronica. “Tell me the truth. Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah.” She puts on a brave smile. “I’ll admit, I was a little shocked to be visited by dead best friends, but it was a good kind of shock.”

So, it was Duncan she was grieving.

“But…?” He continues to study her expression.

“But…” Veronica looks away and swallows. “There are some people I care about, very much, who didn’t enter my life until…after.”

That’s about what he’d expected.

Keith pulls her into his arms and squeezes. “I’m so sorry. I wish there was some way to fix this for you.”

“I know. You would if you could.” Veronica releases him, and he takes a step back.

“If you want to talk about it, or rant, or cry, or shake your fist at the heavens, I’ll be here.”

“I think…I’d prefer not to think about it, right now. As long as I can pretend everything is okay….” She trails off.

You won’t have to grieve.

“Denial.” He nods, sagely. “You get that from your father.”

That makes her crack a smile. “I love you, Dad. Now get to work. There’s bad guys to catch.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

“Wow! Look at you!” A familiar voice speaks.

Veronica turns her walker around, then tilts her head in confusion.

The brunette standing in the doorway is thirty-ish, tall, very pretty, in a Anne Hathaway sort of way, and Veronica has never laid eyes on her in her life.

The woman enters the room., with a wide, toothy smile. “I heard you were already up on your feet, but I had to see it for myself.” Her eyes flood with actual tears, and she fans her hand over her face, as if embarrassed by her display of emotion.

Veronica stares, dumbfounded.

It’s not that the voice doesn’t fit with the face, it’s that Veronica’s brain is searching for a different face entirely, and coming up empty.

And if that wasn’t strange enough, the woman’s smile is one of delight and pride. Like a mama bird watching her chick fly for the first time.

Veronica’s own mother hadn’t looked this proud of her. Or her father, for that matter.

I don’t even know you. Why do you care?

The woman notices her expression. “Oh my God. Of course you have no idea who I am. You probably think I’m a crazy person.” She laughs, rolls her eyes self-deprecatingly, then moves forward, holding out a hand. “I’m your physiotherapist. Parker Lee.”

Veronica freezes in the act of shaking the woman’s hand. “What did you just say?”

“I’m your physiotherapist?”

“Parker Lee?”

“Yes?”

“Is this some kind of joke?” Veronica rolls her walker over to the bed, and sits heavily on the mattress.

Confusion furrows the woman’s brow. “Is something wrong?”

“Um…Parker Lee is a friend of mine.” Veronica’s eyes narrow, and she angles her chin accusingly. “Only, she’s a nineteen year-old student at Hearst College, a blonde, and looks nothing like you.”

“Well, I did actually attend Hearst College, but it’s been at least six or seven years.” She considers for a moment. “So, there’s another Parker Lee out there, attending my alma mater? What a small world.”

But this can’t simply be a case of two people with the same name. This woman has Parker’s voice.

Either this is a cruel prank by a talented mimic, or….

That’s when Veronica remembers.

“No.” Her throat constricts in sadness. “I was confused. That Parker Lee never actually existed.”

“I don’t understand,” This Parker says.

“Have a seat.” Veronica gestures to the visitor’s chair. “It’s a long story.”

New Parker listens attentively, eyes filled with empathy, while Veronica describes the world she’d invented around herself. She asks the occasional clarifying question, but mostly, just listens quietly.

“And that’s the whole ugly truth,” Veronica finishes. “Everything I am, and everything I knew, was just a big, ugly lie.”

“You’re exactly who you choose to be, Veronica. Don’t let anybody else’s expectations define you.”

Veronica laughs, softly. “That’s exactly what my Parker would’ve said.”

New Parker considers this. “You say her voice sounded like mine?”

“Exactly like yours, right down to the inflections. Strangely enough, you’re even wearing her favorite perfume right now.”

Parker nods, slowly. “You brought me into your world, but you had to take a guess on my appearance.”

Veronica shakes her head. “I don’t know anything about you.”

“You know all kinds of things about me. I talked to you all the time, while I exercised your muscles. It’s important. In fact, that was my number one request to your parents and friends.”

“What was?”

“To talk to you. As much as possible.”

“Talk to me about what?”

“Doesn’t matter. Important stuff or trivial stuff. The subject doesn’t matter. It’s medically proven that hearing the voices of loved ones exercises parts of the brain in coma patients and speeds recovery. Even if it’s just something dumb, like a recap of this week’s One Tree Hill.”

“What’s One Tree Hill?”

“Oh. Right. You were in here when it premiered. It’s a new WB show. Two brothers from two mothers end up on the same high school basketball team. Drama ensues.”

“And this is what you talked to me about?”

“I talked to you just like you were one of my girlfriends. About that hot new doctor in Pediatrics who couldn’t take a hint if you knocked him over the head with it. Or my terrible blind date at the bowling alley where I crushed the guy’s score and he sulked for the rest of the evening. Or my volunteer work with Take Back The Night. And yes, occasionally, One Tree Hill recaps.” She gives a helpless shrug. “It’s my guilty pleasure.”

Parker notices the expression on Veronica’s face. “Something I said just struck a chord with you.”

“Yeah. I think so.”

Parker sticks around for another twenty minutes, describing her previous visits. In addition to exercising Veronica’s muscles and massaging her limbs, she’d employed more holistic methods of treatment, including stimulating the senses by playing music of varying genres, exposing Veronica to different scents, and rubbing different textures against her fingertips. “A stimulated mind is an active mind, and your mind was more active than most.”

She clearly has a passion for her job, and the more they chat, the more clarity Veronica finds.

The only thing that separates this woman from Hearst Parker is her face and her backstory. They share the same spirit, the same zest for life, and the same thirst for Colin Farrell.

At heart, this IS Parker Lee, and that brings Veronica a small measure of peace.

“Okay, Veronica, don’t think I’m going to go easy on you, just because you’re conscious,” Parker teases, as she rises to leave. “Next time you see me, I’ll be making you sweat. We’re going to make you as strong on the outside as you are on the inside.”

Veronica flashes her a bring-it-on smile. “I’m looking forward to it.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

“Prime of my life? Yeah right…” Logan mutters.

The empty stairwell does not respond.

As often as he’s visited, he should be used to climbing stairs. Yet, here he is, bent over on the seventh-floor landing, huffing-and-puffing like a pack-a-day smoker.

Whoever designed this building so that the nurse’s station was right in front of the elevator bank must’ve been a real asshole.

Cracking open the heavy stairwell door, he peers out into the hallway.

To his left, three nurses stare down at a medical chart.

Nurse Maddie - AKA ‘Aaron Echolls’s greatest fan #328’ won’t be a problem. A bit of harmless flirtation usually has her eating out of his hand. Nurse Mary, the fifty-something black woman with close-cropped hair and orchid-colored scrubs, seems immune to his attempts at charm but, as long as he isn’t underfoot, she’ll look the other way.

It’s the third woman, the tall, dirty-blonde with a severe asymmetrical haircut and a stick up her ass, most likely to toss him out on his ass.

Nurse Karen. His nemesis.

Luckily their backs are to him, and the path to Veronica’s room is clear.

Logan slips through the doorway, only releasing the handle once the door is completely closed behind him.

He tiptoes down the hall, placing his steps deliberately, and avoiding the telltale squeak of sneakers on linoleum.

It’s so stupid. Sheriff Mars specifically requested that Veronica’s friends visit her as often as possible. But in practice, the hospital staff tends to frown upon unaccompanied minors wandering their halls — or at least minors whose last names aren’t Kane.

“Hey, Logan.” The simpering voice causes him to freeze.

Crap.

Kimmy Kittlemeyer: drama nerd, 09-er wannabe, and classmate most likely to ‘single white female’. The other person he’d hoped to avoid.

Eyes lifted to the heavens, he turns around.

Holy fuck!

Sure, they’ve all laughed privately about Kimmy’s creepy fixation on Lilly (and Logan, by extension), but this is…wow.

As a rule, he tries his best to avoid Kimmy. He can’t even remember when he’d last noticed her at school, but he’s pretty sure her hair had been brown, long, and wavy.

Today, it’s a honey-blonde shade with highlights, shoulder-length, straightened, and parted just slightly off center.

To be fair, it’s not like Lilly owns the copyright on the style — it’s a fairly common look. What’s unsettling, is that Kimmy could actually pass for Lilly’s sister. He’d never noticed the resemblance before, but something about the huge green eyes…

She’s wearing one of those red-and-white candy striper uniforms, and stares at him with barely concealed hunger.

After the accident, Lilly had visited his hospital room dressed in one of those numbers — only altered, obscenely altered — and if he ends up springing a memory-boner while talking to Creepy Kimmy, he might have to binge drink some drain cleaner or something.

“Uh…hey…Kelly, how’s it going? Kudos on the attention to detail.”

If Veronica were here, she’d give him disappointed-face for his deliberate use of the wrong name. But she’s not here, and there are some people you just don’t encourage.

Give a stalker an inch…

Scratch that. No inches for you.

“Kimmy,” she corrects him with an eye roll and a huff. “What attention to detail?”

He gestures to her transformation. “You could teach my parents a few things about committing to character.”

“Huh? What character?”

“Never mind. Where’s your boyfriend tonight?”

“Luke? I’m meeting up with him later, at Shelly’s party.” Her brow furrows. “He’s supposed to be at the batting cages with you, Dick, and Enbom, right now.”

Oops.

Batting cages aren’t until tomorrow night, and as far as he knows, Dick’s currently at the shooting range with his dad.

What are you up to, Luke?

But Logan is a loyal friend, so he shrugs and says, “Yeah, I backed out at the last minute.”

“To come here?” She looks skeptical.

“I’m here to visit Veronica.” As if it’s any of your business. “So I’ll just…” He backs up a step.

“But you’re still with Lilly, right?”

Behind her, the nurses are still talking, but any moment now, one of them might turn around and notice him.

“Yes. I am with Lilly. My girlfriend. My very possessive girlfriend.”

Provided you have a very loose interpretation of the word ‘possessive’.

Kimmy’s mouth flattens into a pout. “So then, what’s going on between you and Veronica Mars?”

“Um…friendship? Many years of friendship. This is your business, how?” He’s losing the minuscule amount of patience he possesses.

“Even before the accident?” she probes, “There was nothing going on between you two?”

“Romantically? Why would you even ask that?” He sneers, no longer willing to hide his contempt. “She’s Duncan’s girlfriend. She’s Lilly’s best friend. Which basically makes her the last person I would have something going on with.”

He pauses, gives Kimmy an exaggerated once-over and meets her eyes. “Make that the second-to-last.”

“Okay! I’m sorry!” Face reddening, she lifts both hands up in apology. “I just thought… I mean, she did wake up screaming your name.”

Logan sighs. “Look, yesterday was a bit traumatic for her. It’s no wonder she would have nightmares.”

“No. I meant Sunday. When she first came out of the coma.”

“Wait.” Taking Kimmy by the elbow, he pulls her into the nearby visitor’s lounge.

The room is empty. Silent, except for the barely-audible hum of the vending machines. He shoves aside two paper cups of cold coffee and leans back against a table. “Now tell me what happened.”

Kimmy moves closer, dropping her voice low, so that he’s forced to lean closer to hear her. Lilly’s perfume curls around him and he has to fight the urge to gag.

“My aunt Karen works on this floor, so I come up here all the time on my breaks. Let’s just say it’s pretty quiet up here, as a rule.”

“Of course you’re related to Nurse Ratched.”

“No. It’s Karen.” Kimmy says, and Logan gestures for her to get on with it.

“So, I was telling my aunt about school, and…” She looks away, embarrassed. “…and Luke, when suddenly, we heard screams.”

“Veronica?”

Kimmy nods, slowly. “Everyone rushed into her room, and she was completely out of control, struggling and kicking, knocking over medical equipment. And the whole time, she was screaming your name. Over and over again, like she was trying to get to you. They had to sedate her to get her to settle down.”

A shiver runs down Logan’s spine, like somebody walking over his grave. “So what? She had a nightmare. How does that translate to me fucking around on my girlfriend?”

He’s composed on the outside, but internally, he can admit that’s weird. Really fucking weird.

Of the four of them, Veronica has always been the cool-headed one. She doesn’t panic needlessly. So, obviously, there must be a perfectly reasonable explanation. And he’ll find out what it is. After he figures out what’s behind Veronica’s weird…aversion towards Duncan.

Kimmy begins, “I didn’t mean—”

“She’s my friend, and if you know what’s good for you, you won’t spread false rumors around school.”

“I would never!”

“Pay attention, Kimmy. If you think I’m an asshole, my wrath is nothing compared to Lilly’s. And Lilly would do anything for Veronica.”

She nods her agreement.

“I need to go. Do me a favor, and check if the coast is clear.”

Kimmy peeks out into the hall. “There’s nobody there.”

“Later.” Logan says, on his way out, “Remember what I said about rumors.”

Behind him, she whines, “But you didn’t see the way she fought to get to you!”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Logan raps his knuckles against the door for room 712, then eases it open and peeks his head in.

Veronica sits crossed-legged on her bed, reading a thick paperback novel. She glances up, and something…interesting…flickers in her eyes. It’s gone before he can identify the emotion.

He enters the room with a grin. “Ready for your sponge bath?”

Instead of the expected eye roll, her lips curl into a knowing smirk, and she answers in the sultry voice of a phone sex operator. “I have been feeling a little dirty, Dr. Logan.”

Alright. She’s leveled-up in recreational banter. Good for her.

“Good book?”

Veronica wrinkles her nose. “I’ve read better. My dad would never dog-ear pages, so I’m guessing it’s one of my mom’s.” She marks her page with a folded napkin and sets the book down on the over-bed table. “So…to what do I owe the pleasure?”

It’s a far cry from yesterday’s emotional greeting — he suspects that greeting was meant for somebody else, entirely — but she’s not unhappy to see him. He’d probably describe her expression as warm, but cautious. On edge, but glad for the company.

No big surprise, there. While he went to school as usual, she’d spent her day being forced to come to grips with the fact that everything she believes is a lie.

“Oh, you know. I was just in the neighborhood.” And I have a million questions.

She looks cute today, with her hair pulled up in Princess Leia cinnamon buns. A first, in Logan’s memory.

Other than that, if Logan were to take a photo of Veronica right now and lay it down next to one from Homecoming night, she would look exactly the same. It’s been three months, not nearly enough time for any of her features to change.

Yet, somehow, at the same time, she looks entirely different.

It reminds him of a phenomenon he’s seen in movies. When most actors play identical twins, they rely on props or hairdos, clothing styles or accents to distinguish one character from the other. When the very best actors play twins, you can tell them apart at a glance, even when they’ve switched places, unbeknownst to the audience.

There’s a ‘knowing’ in Veronica’s eyes that hadn’t been there before. An unflinching boldness, daring him to underestimate her. She looks — and he can’t believe he’s applying this word to Veronica Mars — like a badass.

He’d kept his silence in the elevator yesterday, while Lilly reassured a shaken Duncan. ‘She just had a bad dream. It’ll fade, and she’ll be back to normal any day now.’

Nobody had asked Logan’s opinion, but for the record, he thinks ‘back to normal’ is highly unlikely. Nothing about her transformation comes across as temporary. It’s not as if she can just get her mind wiped. Like it or not, this is Veronica, now.

He can’t say for a fact that he falls into the ‘Like it’ column — he hasn’t spent enough time with her to make that determination — but it’s safe to mark him down as ‘Optimistically intrigued.’

She glances over at the door as he approaches. “Are Lilly and Duncan with you?”

“They’ll be here later. I wanted a chance to talk to you alone, first.”

Veronica’s gaze shutters, features going blank, but he notices the subtle squaring of her shoulders, as if bracing for a fight.

“Okaaaay, then. Small talk now, interrogation later.”

“Some people might call this karma,” Veronica mutters, “How about interrogation never?”

Dropping his backpack on the ground, he half sits on her bed, left leg bent sideways while his right foot remains on the floor. It’s hard to be sure amongst all those damn roses, but he thinks he can detect a hint of oranges, and possibly, chicken noodle soup. “Dream on. I have six hundred questions, and very little impulse-control.”

“I’ll give you three questions and, by all means, make yourself at home.” Veronica gestures to his position.

“I will. Thanks for the gracious hospitality. And you can do better than three.” Logan snatches the bed remote from the table and gets back up, preparing to kick off his shoes.

“You can play with the bed later.” Veronica gently tugs the remote from his hand, placing it back where he found it. “Right now, I need you to get me the hell out of here.”

“Huh?”

“Jailbreak, Logan. Keep up.” Veronica swings her legs over the side of the bed.

“You mean like, dye our hair black and make a run for the border?”

“I mean like, if I don’t get some fresh air, I’m going to punch somebody in the throat. Can you grab my shoes?”

“Can you even walk?”

“It’s getting easier, but I may need you to be my human crutch.”

“Human crutch.” Logan retrieves a pair of white Keds from in front of the closet and hands them to her. “I’ve been used for my body before, but I have to say this is a first.”

Veronica’s mouth twists, and she clearly wants to make a scathing remark. Instead, she exhales, allowing the moment to pass, and pulls on her shoes.

“I hope you’re not planning on a long walk. Nurse Ratched will toss me out on my ass if she sees me. She despises me, for some reason.”

“Leave Nurse Ratched to me.” Veronica finishes tying her second shoe and slides down onto the floor.

Maybe it’s the slim fit of her green tee shirt and black yoga pants, but she looks even tinier out of bed. Almost fragile.

If anybody deserves a throat punch, it’s the drunk who put her in the hospital. If Logan ever finds that guy…

“Give me a second before we go.” Veronica heads into the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Logan sits back down, picks up her paperback.

Gold letters on the dark red cover spell out, The Da Vinci Code, and a ripped page effect reveals a fragment of The Mona Lisa.

Logan hasn’t personally read the book, but ever since Columbia purchased the movie rights a few months back, it’s all his parents talk about. His dad, campaigning hard to be cast in what he calls ‘The Role of a Lifetime’.

He groans and puts it back down, noticing for the first time the shallow drawer on the underside of the overbed table.

Inside, he finds that shiny stone he’d discovered on the beach, his impromptu limerick, a handful of pens, half a box of Nerds — the grape side — and one of those spiral-bound blank books with a sparkly unicorn cover.

His hand moves straight for the book.

The first page looks like some kind of To-Do list, obviously written before Veronica discovered her little timey-wimey mixup, because these tasks don’t belong to a high school sophomore: checking the status of her transfer to Stanford, researching dorm options, contacting professors.

- Schedule movie night with Mac and Wallace (ask about trip).

Hadn’t she mentioned those names last night? Logan envisions a young, gay couple, only with their names ironically switched — Wallace, the husky, beardy trucker-looking dude, Mac, the slim fastidious GQ type who likes to host dinner parties.

- Plan a memorial (if there hasn’t already been one)

- Check in with Dick and see how he’s holding up

In what world does Veronica give two shits about Dick Casablancas? Even if four years had passed in her mind, he can’t imagine Dick maturing enough to merit a task on her to-do list.

Logan flips through blank pages, pausing at a written alphabet, painstakingly printed over and over like first grade practice worksheets.

He turns the page. A dozen repetitions of ‘The quick brown fox jumped over the lazy dogs’, span from top to bottom, growing neater toward the middle of the page, before deteriorating, as if her hand grew tired.

He flips through a few more pages of writing practice, then dozens of blank pages, before finding anything of interest.

She must’ve been concentrating really hard on those earlier pages, because this handwriting is a scrawled mess, written in what looks like a stream of consciousness, and spanning page after page after page.

At first, he thinks it’s some kind of journal entry, but the repeated use of the word ‘you’ makes him flip back to the beginning.

Dear You.

A love letter?

Much of it is completely unreadable, but the sentences that are legible give him an overall impression of loss, heartbreak, and regret, along with a heaping serving of self-recrimination.

You always said you were more invested than me, claimed that I had one foot out the door. You were partly right. I was more invested in protecting myself. Like if I held some part of myself back, I’d be able to survive that inevitable day when you walked away for good.

Joke’s on me, I guess. You’re gone, I’m shattered, and all the king’s horses and all the king’s men can’t put Veronica together again.

Logan turns the page, reads a passage from the middle.

I thought loving you meant being your Fixer. Fixing your problems, fixing those who’d wronged you, fixing You.

All you wanted was to hear me say the words.

I know it’s too little, too late, but I did love you.

It was the purest part of me. The truest. Sometimes I feel like it was written into my DNA — petite, blonde hair, blue eyes, loves You.

Throughout all the trauma, the breakups and makeups, the times I tried to move on with someone else, and the times I pretended to hate you, it never ever wavered. It never will.

God, if you could read this, you would think I’d been body snatched or something. Look at me, communicating.

Two pages later.

Even when we were apart, you were always my ‘Someday’. Someday, we’d make our way back to each other. Someday, I’d be as honest about my feelings as you were, and we’d figure out how to make it work. How to communicate like normal people. Someday, we’d discover how our separate issues could fit together instead of driving us apart.

How am I supposed to go on without you? How do I face each new day knowing the future I’m moving toward doesn’t include you?

There’s a golf ball sized lump in Logan’s throat and he feels heavy all over, like the weight of Veronica’s sorrow has seeped all the way into his bones.

Logan loves Lilly. Loves her more than he’s ever loved anything in this crazy, fucked-up world. But, of all the times she’s broken his heart, all the times she’s cheated on him, or dumped him on the thinnest of pretexts, he’s never experienced this level of despair.

Lilly’s need for adulation comes from a place of insecurity, from never being good enough to her parents. From a need to prove she’s lovable, just the way she is.

In comparison, Veronica had always known her worth. She’d breezed through life with an air of complete self-assurance. Perfect and confident. Unwavering in her belief that she was always right and deserved to be loved.

Most of the time she was right. Logan had never doubted her intelligence or drive, had even admired the way she was guided by her own values, rather than caving to peer pressure. But he’d never guessed she had the emotional depth for this kind of self-reflection. Hadn’t known she was even capable of self-doubt.

It makes her more human, somehow.

Is this a letter to Duncan? She’d mentioned something about him fleeing the country. Being a fugitive, of all things. If he’d left and could never return, it might explain the sense of permanence in her loss.

Even as he ponders the idea, Logan knows he’s wrong. It doesn’t feel right. He just can’t reconcile the deep, visceral, emotion in these words with her icy treatment of Duncan, yesterday.

He turns the page. Oh goody, a list of things she would have done differently.

Jesus Logan, what are you doing?

Everyone knows he’s nosy. Leave him alone with something private, and it’s his moral obligation to snoop. Even acknowledging that it’s a bad habit, doesn’t stop him from seeking out little truths. Clues to the real human being behind the masks people wear.

But this is just…wrong. This isn’t some cutesy love letter he can tease her about later. It’s like she’s wringing out her soul, taking all the blame, and cataloging her crimes, real or imagined, so she’ll never forgive or forget. It’s Veronica as confessor and priest, seeking penance, but unwilling to grant it.

The toilet flushes in the bathroom, the sink turns on, and he’s about to return the book to the drawer when he notices how the pages are not quite flush at the center. A small gap around another folded napkin bookmark. He turns to the marked page and quickly scans the contents.

Okay, this is more like it. Bring on the schemes!

The handwriting is precise, the plan, a polar opposite to the task list on page one.

OPERATION STORM THE CASTLE - DEPOSE THE KING

Strategies:

Divide and Conquer - Use powerful men to take down other powerful men.

False Flag Operation - The streaming video is coming from inside the house

Overview:

The country’s most powerful and dangerous men entrusted their king with all their dirty little secrets, their recorded confessions of murder, corruption, and sexual depravity. When those confessions go public, one-by-one, there’s only one person to blame. He has no defense. Either he leaked the videos himself, or he admits he was so negligent in securing the world’s most valuable hard drive, that a college student was able to sneak past his security, steal it, and break the encryption in a matter of days. Either way, the King falls.

Assumptions:

My continued existence indicates the king doesn’t want me dead. Not yet. I’ve spent months in a coma, helpless to defend myself. Anyone could’ve smothered me with a pillow and passed it off as natural causes.

I presume this is out of loyalty to my mother, but it proves he’s still underestimating me.

The Captain of the Guard knows better. He knows what I’m capable of, knows I can be a formidable adversary. He has all the resources, all the experience, all the skill. I’ll need to anticipate his chess moves well in advance.

Phase One:

Timeframe:

Six months from the time I’m released from the hospital (see: hospital release plan).

Summary:

For all intents and purposes, it’ll appear I’ve fled Neptune with my tail between my legs. This ruse will give me the space and freedom to carry out my plan from the shadows, without CW breathing down my neck. New name. New appearance. New bat cave. I’ll spend these months recovering my health, taking steps to ensure my future survival, and acquiring the skills, supplies and allies required to move on to Phase 2.

Assumptions:

CW won’t be fooled forever. Eventually, he’ll discover I’m still in Neptune, and will resume surveillance. I can’t stop him, but I can make his job difficult.

The Deets:

To the world, Veronica Mars is broken and defeated. A husk of the person she used to be. Unable to remain in Neptune after all the destruction she’s caused, she announces that she’s moving to Virginia to stay with her ailing great aunt Margo and rebuild her life. A paper trail will back up the story. Should they want further proof, their investigators will confirm that a five foot tall blonde does indeed live in Margo Mars’s over-garage apartment., that this blonde drives a black Saturn SUV, and attends the local community college under the name Vera Mars.

Meanwhile, I’ll be in Neptune laying the groundwork for this operation.

1.0 Personal:

1.1 Disguise: Completely alter my appearance. Not just the cosmetic – hair, eyes, wardrobe – but anything else that distinguishes me. The way I walk and talk and hold my head. Dad’s P.I. friend in Vegas may be willing to teach me some of his techniques in becoming a chameleon.

1.2 Stamina: You can’t take down giants from a place of weakness. I’ll need to rebuild my health, do whatever it takes to get strong : nutritious food, daily exercise, pushups, pull-ups, punching slabs of beef, whatever. Check if Logan’s old trainer (Darren? Darrell?) can give me a referral. And since phase two will be dangerous, I’ll begin taking self-defense lessons as soon as my body is capable.

1.3 Credentials: I’ll need papers. New name, driver’s license, birth certificate, passport, the works.

2.0 Budget

This operation will run into the tens of thousands. Since I don’t have that kind of money in my bank account, I’ll have no choice but to use THE money – as long as nobody’s found it.

I should feel worse about this. I TOLD him to keep it. That I would never touch a cent, and wanted nothing to do with it. But now, it seems almost fitting to use it for this purpose, and it may be my only way of pulling this off.

Thought Exercise: If money comes from an evil source, would spending it to fight a different evil wash it clean?

(he would love that question. I can picture him hashing out the pros and cons. Taking the opposing position, just to be ornery.)

3.0 Allies

3.1 Crew: I WON’T endanger my friends this time. Find a new crew. At the very least, a hacker and somebody with connections to Neptune’s criminal underworld. Max might be an option. Depends on who he still talks to.

Mac and Wallace MUST believe I’ve left town. Dad would be furious if he knew my plans, so I’ll need to lie to him as well.

3.2: Other allies: Ideally, I’ll find others who’ve had their lives ruined by The Castle. In addition to there being safety in numbers, this could be useful for favor-trading, ‘Strangers on a Train’ style. (minus the murder).

4.0: Command Central

I’ll need shelter and a home base for the operation.

4.1 Location: An apartment building/complex abutting something public and crowded – shopping center, mall, hospital, car dealership. Somewhere with a large parking lot and too many entrances to watch all at once.

4.2 Building: The apartment building itself should have at least one entrance that isn’t visible from the street and an attached parking garage with keycard access. I can’t be traced to the location, so I’ll need to rent under my new name.

5.0 Other Resources

5.1 Everyday vehicle – reliable and nondescript.

5.2 Emergency backup vehicle, for when my primary vehicle is being watched. Is L’s old SUV still garaged at Greenline? Does anyone but me know it’s there?

5.3 Countersurveillance equipment – sophisticated detectors for bugs, cameras, GPS trackers, and RF signals (plus a smaller model for my purse).

5.4 Signal jammers

5.5 Primary laptop – reinforce my East Coast alibi by giving it to my second cousin Vera for daily use (ditto for my existing cell phone)

5.6 Secondary laptop – Dedicated to the operation. Must have a kill switch

5.7 Private untraceable computer server – crucial for phase 2. Finding a location to install/conceal it will be a challenge. See what Max says.

5.8 Multiple disguises, wigs, reversible jackets, etc...

5.9 Burner phones

THE CASTLE HARD DRIVE

6.O The Nitty Gritty

6.1 Create transcripts for every video and audio confession on the hard drive.

6.2 Create a database cataloging the names of every member, date of confession, and the nature of the secrets (among other things)

6.3 Score each member on a 1-10 scale with 1 being ‘dead or faded into obscurity’ and 10 signifying highest-level politicians, mafia dons and cartel leaders.

6.4 Score each video confession on a 1-10 scale from 1 (barely merits an eye roll) to 10 (Hitler would approve).

6.5 Have hacker create an algorithm to pinpoint which members have the greatest means of destroying the king, along with the most to lose if their secrets gets out. This will be Group A. The Weapons.

6.6 Pinpoint members with everything to lose, but with less power to retaliate. This will be Group B. The Canon Fodder.

6.7 Gather evidence to corroborate the confessions. Tighten the nooses.

Logan glances up at the sound of the bathroom door opening.

Veronica emerges, freezing at the sight of her notebook in his hand. “What are you doing with that?”

“God, Veronica.” Logan shakes his head. “I never knew.”

Her gaze widens, then quickly drops to her feet. “I can explain.”

“I wish I had known...” He sighs, regretfully. “You can’t imagine how many times we kept you in the dark during the Great Prank War with Pan High. Ostensibly, to protect you, but really, we just thought you’d disapprove and lecture us. Now I find out you’re some kind of evil mastermind.”

“Put my book down.”

“Much like – what did you call him?...” He finds it near the top of her battle plan. “...The Captain of the Guard. Right. Much like The Captain of the Guard, I will never underestimate you again. I’m tempted to start another war, just to set you loose and watch you in action.”

“I said put the book down.” Veronica crosses the room faster than he’d thought her capable and rips it from his hand.

“But I still had like five more pages to read! I need to know what happens in Phase 2.”

“How could you?” Veronica’s body language screams Anger! Rage! Fury! - flared nostrils, high chin, tight lips – but it’s fear he sees deep in her gaze.

Fuck. Great job, Logan.

He reaches out, intending to touch her on the arm reassuringly, but pulls his hand back when she flinches. “I guess you’re upset about the love letter.”

“That was private! It’s all private!”

“I’m sorry.” He tries to catch her gaze, but she refuses to meet his eyes. “For what it’s worth, I only skimmed it. Read a few of the more legible passages, sobbed uncontrollably, and swore-off love forever. But I stopped, Veronica, once I realized what it was, and how deeply personal...I guess even I have lines I won’t cross.”

“Fine.” Veronica sighs and turns her back to him, shoulders slumping dejectedly. “Let’s just drop it, okay?”

She snags a canvas duffel from under the chair, tosses it on the bed, and reaches inside, shifting contents around to get to whatever’s beneath.

Logan’s heart aches at the resignation in her posture. More so, because it’s all his fault. When she finally pulls out a black hoodie and swings it around her shoulders, he steps forward to help her put it on.

Veronica freezes at the unexpected contact. Logan freezes, too. What’s the protocol here? Drop it and leave her on her own? Complete the assist, despite her hesitation? Both options seem pretty damn rude.

“Sorry. Just thought you might still be…stiff. I mean, you’re definitely stiff, in an ‘unhand me, you monster!’sort of way, but…”

“Thank you.” Veronica seems to thaw, just a little, as she pushes her right arm through her sleeve. “I am still having issues with my shoulder flexibility.”

“No problem.” Logan lifts the other side of the hoodie a little higher while she slides her left arm in, moves the hood from the inside to the outside, then steps back, giving her space.

Veronica returns her attention to the bag, pulling out a random tee shirt and laying it flat on the bed. She places her unicorn journal on top of it, right at the center, folds the top, bottom and sides around it, like a present., then shoves the whole packet to the very bottom of the duffel.

She’s still avoiding eye contact when she turns back around, tries to sidestep him, but Logan grabs her wrist, ducking to make her look at him. “Look, nobody needs to know about your letter. Not Lilly and especially not Duncan. It’ll be our secret.”

“That’s not—” Veronica cuts herself off. “Thanks. I’d appreciate you keeping it to yourself.”

“I promise.”

She looks away again, but this time, it’s not personal. He can see her considering his words, weighing and evaluating choices.

“Especially not Duncan,” she says, finally, “What did you mean by that?”

“Like I said, I only skimmed it. But based on intuition alone, I don’t get the impression that Duncan was the intended recipient.”

“I see.” She seems to visibly relax at his answer.

It’s the perfect segue into the topic he came here to discuss. Or at least one of the topics. As for the other, there’s really no casual way to ask, ‘by the way, did you bring me back to life, or did I imagine it?’.

He hesitates too long. Veronica speaks before he can ask about Duncan.

“So the recipient is a mystery?”

“What you’re really asking is whether your letter named any names. The answer is no, not as far as I noticed. Although we both know the intended recipient was me. You’ve been madly in love with me all these years.” Logan winks.

“Oh no! You caught me.” Veronica’s eyes go comically wide. “Gosh, I hope you didn’t see the last page, where I practiced writing Veronica Mars-Echolls fifty times.”

“Mars-Echolls? I always go with the much superior Echolls-Mars in my Trapper Keeper. Packs more of a punch. Now, are you ready for that jail break, Machiavelli, or what?”

The left side of her mouth tilts up, just a little, at the nickname. “Beyond ready.”

He gives her a crisp salute. “Human crutch reporting for duty. How do you want me?”

“By my side.”

“Want me to grab your walker thingy?”

“Nope. That’s what I have you for.” She zips the duffel closed and shoves it back under the chair. “I just don’t want to be reliant on a walker. I need to be able to walk on my own — especially when I go back to school. But…if I feel tired or weak, I’ll grab onto your arm. Okay?”

Her doctors would probably have opinions about this whole endeavor, but who is he to argue?

“Yeah. Okay.” Logan opens the room’s door, peering out into the wide hallway. Empty. He holds it for Veronica as she walks through, then allows it to close behind them.

She directs him to stand on her right side and sets off at a slow, deliberate pace.

Kimmy hadn’t been lying about how quiet it is on this floor. So quiet, he can hear Veronica’s faintly-labored breathing as they walk. Her expression is relaxed, but the set of her jaw tells him she’s concentrating very hard on making this look easy.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

As they approach room 709, Logan makes a point to stare straight ahead, but Veronica glances through the open doorway, inhaling sharply when she catches sight of the comatose patient inside.

“She’s so tiny,” she whispers.

“Marisol Reyes.”

Her head jerks up. “Marisol Reyes? The little girl who went missing the same day Lilly died?”

“Well, as you know, Lilly’s alive and well. But yes, Marisol Reyes did go missing. It was all over the news for a few days.”

“What happened to her?”

“They never said. They reported that she’d been found, was in critical condition, and that was it. On to the next disaster.”

Veronica looks back over her shoulder. “Poor kid.”

“Yeah.”

“Were there any arrests? Is her disappearance still being investigated?”

“Not that I’m aware of, but your dad would know better than I would.”

Her gaze turns inward, troubled, and she doesn’t look through any more open doors.

Something niggles at Logan’s consciousness and he counts backwards in his head. “Wait. Marisol Reyes went missing weeks after the accident. How could you know that?”

She lifts her shoulders. “I have no idea.”

Had the TV been on in her room during the search? Had she overheard the nursing staff talking about it?

Add that to the growing list of mysteries.

Veronica goes quiet, losing herself in her own thoughts as they walk the corridor. Who can blame her? She still has so much to process, and if keeping his mouth shut helps, he won’t interfere.

He finally breaks the silence as they round the corner to the elevator bank

“Down?” His finger hovers over the elevator buttons. At her nod, he presses the lower one, and it lights up.

Behind the nurse’s station desk, Nurse Karen looks up from a computer terminal, lips pinched. “What are you doing out here, Veronica?”

“Going for a walk with my friend.”

“You’re supposed to be in bed, regaining your strength.”

Veronica’s jaw does that tight, angled thing it always does when he gets her riled up in a debate. “I know Neptune isn’t famous for its education system, but it’s common knowledge that building strength requires some kind of exertion. Laying around in bed seems a little counter-productive.”

Nurse Karen sighs. “You’ll need to take that up with your doctor.”

“I could.” Veronica shrugs. “But I’d rather take a walk with my friend.”

The bell dings, the elevator doors open, and Logan follows her inside, avoiding eye contact with the nurse through the closing doors.

After pushing the button for the ground floor, she leans heavily against the back railing.

He pulls his lips inward, holding back his laugh.

“What?”

“The way you shut her down.” He dips his forehead in homage. “Very satisfying.”

“What’s she going to do? Kick me out?”

Valid point, but it’s safe to say new Veronica is no people pleaser.

The elevator settles onto the ground floor, the doors open, and Logan gestures for her to go first.

Neptune General’s glass-roofed Atrium — donated by the Kanes, naturally — reminds him of some of the nicer hotels he’s stayed in: open and airy with tons of greenery and plenty of options for sitting and quiet conversations.

And then, there’s the coffee bar.

Veronica’s eyes go wide as she steps off the elevator, instantly seeking out the source of the aroma like an addict looking for a fix.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The barista drizzles caramel over a mountain of whipped cream, shakes toffee sprinkles on top, and snaps on the lid. Sliding the cup through a cardboard sleeve, she hands it to Veronica, wishing her a nice day.

“You too.” Veronica turns toward the hospital’s main entrance and Logan falls in at her right side with his own Macchiato.

“Thanks for treating.” She sips her drink, eyes momentarily closing, as if she’s having some kind of rapturous experience.

“Any time. I thought you didn’t like coffee.”

“Are you high?” Her brows raise, then slowly lower, as she considers her words. “Did I not drink coffee back then?”

Back then?

“You’ve always ordered the cream Frappuccinos.”

“I think you’re right. It was the late night stakeouts that made me start…” She trails off, frowns. “Right. Never happened.”

“Stakeouts?”

“Never happened.”

The main problem with jailbreaks, is getting past the guards.

A uniformed man steps forward, intercepting them as they approach the tinted glass doors. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Veronica freezes, as if seeing a ghost. Takes a step back, eyes blinking rapidly.

Fuck. He’d forgotten Don Lamb was moonlighting as hospital security.

“Just…outside.” Logan waves a hand at the door.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”

“Why not? That guy just walked right past you. ” Logan points to a middle-aged man in a hospital gown standing next to the drop-off curb and fumbling with a pack of cigarettes.

Lamb doesn’t turn his head. “That guy isn’t my boss’s daughter.”

“She just wants to get some fresh air. What’s the problem?”

“Do you have permission from Keith Mars to remove his daughter from the building?”

“Excuse me?” Veronica breaks out of her trance and steps forward, eyes blazing. “Do I look like a piece of property? I don’t need my father’s permission — or anyone else’s — to go outside.”

“Sorry, Veronica. Your father wants you here. Recovering. Not joyriding with…” Lamb sneers. “…delinquents.”

“My dad knows Logan. He’s like family. And how is this any of your business? I’m a patient, not a prisoner.”

“If I let you leave, and you have some kind of relapse, the Sheriff will blame me.” Lamb’s tone is soft, but condescending. Like he’s explaining something obvious to a small child. “And how much does your dad really know about Mr. Echolls, here? Think he’s aware how Logan regularly purchases weed under the bleachers at school?”

Logan's mouth falls open. “That’s not even true!”

I buy weed right under your nose, you fuck!

“Guess it’s your word against my confidential informant’s. I know everything that goes down at Neptune High.” Lamb’s sly expression is as good as an admission that his informant hadn’t said anything about Logan. That he can make stuff up with impunity, knowing Aaron is one of the few 09er parents who practices tough love. Heavy on the tough.

“Wanda Varner?” Veronica demands.

“What?” Lamb’s forehead wrinkles and his eyebrows pull together.

Is her guess wildly off-base? Or too close to the truth? His expression could go either way.

She crosses her arms over her chest. “She’s a lying opportunist, and can’t be trusted. Ask her how she always happens to be there when people make bad choices.”

“Think what you want. If I told you the name of my informant, it wouldn’t be confidential now, would it?” Lamb smirks, then glances down as a crackling hiss issues from his radio. He removes it from his hip and listens as a deep male voice reports in for his shift.

Depressing the button, Lamb informs the other rent-a-cops to keep an eye out for Logan Echolls — Yes, the movie star’s kid — and to prevent him from taking Veronica out of the building under any circumstance.

“Was that really necessary?” Logan asks, when Lamb returns the radio to its holster. He gestures through the door to a sunny spot on the lawn. “We can just go sit on the grass over there. We don’t even have to leave the premises.”

“Try it.” Lamb hooks his thumbs under his belt. “I’ll have you arrested for kidnapping.”

God, he hates this guy. Men like Keith Mars go into law enforcement for the right reasons, and then there are the Don Lamb’s of the world — power hungry and over-compensating for their tiny dicks. He gets off on this shit.

“Kidnapping?” Logan takes a step back and smirks. Holds up his phone. “Guess I’d better call my lawyer.”

Backup plan, it is. Logan shoots off a quick text message.

Veronica’s still not willing to accept defeat. “I’m with Logan, voluntarily.” Lamb opens his mouth, but she doesn’t give him an opportunity to respond. She moves closer to him, and there’s something deadly about her posture. Like a cobra, ready to strike. “But sure. Why not? Let’s do this.”

Um...I can think of a few reasons why not.

“Of course, I’ll then have you arrested for kidnapping.”

“Sorry, Veronica.” Lamb smirks, condescendingly. “You see, officers of the law retain their legal authority to place people under arrest whether they’re on-duty or off.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“It’s not kidnapping for me to arrest your little boyfriend here.”

Boyfriend?

Logan’s phone buzzes. He reads the text and responds.

“That’s debatable, since you have no probable cause for an arrest, but I’m talking about myself.”

“Veronica...” Lamb sighs, wearily. “You’re overreacting.”

“Have you witnessed me carrying out a crime? Am I violently insane? No? Well, you’ve been restricting my freedom to leave for the past few minutes. That’s called unlawful detainment.”

It’s almost like watching a cat toy with a mouse; Veronica’s smirk, cruel and calculating, Lamb, sulky, and avoiding eye contact.

Except this mouse will live to vent his anger on a different target. Three guesses who.

Veronica continues. “In case you slept through that section in the academy, what you’re doing is a violation of my civil rights. The fourth amendment, specifically. So, do you want to call my dad, or should I?”

Lamb’s face goes stony, but he doesn’t answer.

“I’m walking out those doors. Alone. You can shoot me in the back, or you can get out of my way. Which is it going to be?”

Lamb takes three sullen backward steps.

“I thought so.” Veronica looks at Logan. “Wait here for three minutes, so there’s no possible question of kidnapping, then meet me out on the lawn.”

“Veronica, don’t.” He grabs her hand as she turns to leave. “Please.”

“What do you mean, don’t?”

Logan leans in close, drops his voice to a whisper. “Lamb is a spiteful piece of shit. You’re his boss’s daughter, so he can’t retaliate against you.”

She catches on. “But he can and will retaliate against you.”

“Look, I’ve seen his harassment campaigns. Bodie Chang had to get special grills installed over his headlights and taillights, just to stop all the tickets. Now Lamb pulls him over for suspected drunk driving every time he gets behind the wheel. Won’t let him go without a full sobriety test.”

“Does my dad know?”

“Bodie’s family made a complaint, but who’s more believable? The Sheriff’s deputy or the stoner surfer? It’s Bodie’s word against Lamb’s.”

“Not anymore.” Veronica’s venomous gaze cuts over to Lamb, then drops to her feet, as her shoulders slump. “Forget I said that. I’m out.”

“Out of what?”

“Case work? Making enemies? Defending the downtrodden? Take your pick.” She starts walking back the way they came, pausing momentarily to call to Lamb over her shoulder. “Changed my mind. Have fun watching a door all night.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

The Atrium’s indoor garden is about as close as you can get to a park, without actually being outside. Lush plants share space with taller trees, while old-fashioned lamp posts compliment the ‘walk in nature’ theme.

“Breathe it in, Veronica.” At her arched brow, he chuckles. “Nature is healing.”

That’s what his mother said that day, pushing his wheelchair along the paved path that cuts right through the center of the Atrium garden. ‘Breathe it in, Logan. Nature is healing.’ He hadn’t needed the chair, was capable of walking just fine, but she’d insisted. And if it made her feel needed, what could it hurt? A needed Lynn Echolls is a checked-in Lynn Echolls.

Veronica steers them down this path, now.

His mom hadn’t been wrong. The space is so verdant, he can smell the green, and his steps feel lighter, somehow.

To their right, water trickles serenely down the face of a decorative rock feature, disappearing into a pile of mossy stones at the bottom.

He turns to Veronica, watches her gaze zig-zag up the rocks until it zeroes-in on a barely-visible pipe.

That’s the Veronica he knows. Never satisfied with the magic. Always looking for the trick wires.

She’s good at hiding her discomfort, but the longer they walk, the tighter she holds her jaw.

“Let’s sit.” Logan nods to the right, where a pair of brown leather chairs are tucked into a nook, amongst the greenery.

“If you want.” Her tone says she doesn’t care either way, but she thanks him with her eyes.

Setting her latte down on the retaining wall, she uses both hands to slowly lower herself into the chair.

Logan flops down into the other chair and gestures up at the glass ceiling. “It’s kinda like being outside.” Shrugs.

“If I wanted to look at fresh air, I have a perfectly good window in my hospital room.” She pouts. “I want to breathe it. I want to feel the sun on my face.”

Logan’s phone buzzes in his jacket pocket. He pulls it out and reads the text.

Veronica notices him typing out a response. “Hey. Are you okay with all this? I probably should’ve asked you to walk with me instead of demanding.”

“I don’t know, I’m kinda into your new, assertive side. And yeah, this is fine.”

“I’m not keeping you from anything?”

“Nah. Shelly’s party isn’t until much later. I’m all yours for now.”

“Shelly Pomroy?”

“Yeah. The annual ‘End of the Year Blowout’. Sucks, you're going to miss it this year.”

Veronica grabs his arm and looks directly into his eyes. “Don’t go.”

“Where? To the party?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not? We won’t even go until ten-ish, and hospital visiting hours—”

“I’m not asking you to skip the party and hang out here with me. I’m just asking you to skip the party.”

And…what? Just sit home and do nothing?

“Just this one specific party, Logan. That’s all I’m asking.” She releases his arm and looks down at her hands. “I can’t give you an explanation. At least not one that makes sense. Let’s just say, I already lived through today. I won’t get into the specifics, but it was a monumentally shitty night.”

Right. If she was nineteen in her…coma life?, Shelly’s party would’ve been years in the past for her, instead of hours in the future.

“What happened?”

“Did you miss where I said, ‘I won’t get into specifics’?’ We all made terrible choices. You. Me. Duncan. I don’t think things were ever quite the same between the three of us after that night.”

Is that supposed to assuage his curiosity?

What kind of bad choices? Did they get drunk and make out or something? Did Duncan catch them making out and cause a scene? Did she catch Duncan making out with some other girl and cause a scene? Did she catch Duncan making out with Logan and cause a scene?

He shudders. If he ever feels a sudden urge to make out with another dude, it definitely would not be Duncan.

“I see the wheels turning in your head.” Veronica lifts a hand to forestall more questions. “Logically, I know none of it really happened, and anything that went down that night couldn’t possibly repeat tonight. But try convincing my sense of paranoid dread.” She fakes a self-deprecating laugh.

Fuck, she’s really worried.

“You know…” Logan slouches back, one arm bent to support his head. “I’ve never liked Shelly’s parties, anyway. Way too many people. All of them hanging on my every word, laughing at my jokes, and flirting with me.”

Veronica’s relieved smile almost makes sacrificing his Friday night worth it.

“What?” He lifts a hand. “You don’t know how exhausting it is being the most interesting , charming, and handsome guy in any room.”

“You forgot the wittiest.”

“Goes without saying.”

“It’s very noble of you…” She affects a mock-serious tone. “…how you’re always willing to ‘take one for the team’. Logan shines, so the rest of us can…fade into the wallpaper.”

He offers her a knightly dip of the head. “It’s my sacred duty.”

“It must be tough for a shy, retiring guy like yourself.”

“Yet somehow, I soldier on.”

“You deserve a break.” Leaning forward, she gazes into his eyes with solemnity. “Let someone else bear the burden, for once.”

“Maybe I will. As long as Lilly’s okay with skipping the party. Personally, I’d much rather take her to the advance screening of JLo’s new Rom-Com. If my mom still has the VIP passes.”

“You’d rather watch a chick flick than attend the biggest party of the year?” Veronica arches her brow. “Rule number one about lying: don’t stretch the limits of credulity.”

“Who’s lying? I never said I care about the movie, I just know my girlfriend. On the ride home, she’ll start musing about where she can get her hands on a hotel maid uniform, and which kind of feather dusters are the most ticklish.”

“Ahh…” Veronica sighs, heavily. “…the longstanding hotel maid fantasy.”

“Longstanding?”

Did Lilly blab to her?

She notices his confusion. “You know what I mean. Classic. Enduring. Like nurses and flight attendants. As long as maids have dusted, men have fantasized about banging them.”

“So you’re saying my fantasies are cliche?”

“With your imagination?” An enigmatic grin ghosts across Veronica’s lips. There and gone again. “I highly doubt that.”

“That’s an understatement.”

She’d be shocked by the vividness and creativity of his fantasies. Not to mention the fact that she’s costarred in her fair share of them over the years.

Something about that wide mouth of hers…

“Logan…”

“Sorry. Got lost in dirty thoughts.”

“I know. Recognized the look.” She pats his knee like he’s some wayward puppy. “I asked if you think Lilly will agree to the movie, or insist on going to the party?”

“She’ll agree. I think. She wouldn’t want to miss ogling JLo’s ass on the big screen.”

“She does love her some JLo booty.”

“To be fair, booties don’t get much better.”

She nudges him with her elbow. “The couple who pervs together…”

“Gets to have a threesome?”

“Yeah right.” She rolls her eyes.

“Maybe this will make up for me secretly going to see Elf with the guys when I was supposed to wait for Lilly.”

Veronica gasps. “You bastard!”

“What? I took her to see it the next weekend. She had no idea it was my second time. Not until Dick opened his big mouth.”

“Elf is a movie?”

Right. She wouldn’t know.

“Will Ferrell. It’s a Christmas movie.” He summarizes the movie’s plot.

Veronica doesn’t look impressed. “So…it’s a grown man running around in tights and acting like a child?” She wrinkles her nose in distaste.

“Yeah, but…you’d have to see it, I suppose. It’s really good.”

“If you insist.”

Logan’s phone buzzes again, and he scans the message.

Finally.

“I do insist. We’ll watch it when you get out of here. If it’s still playing.” He stands up. “Will you be okay here alone for five minutes? I need to take care of something.”

“Something?” She lifts a brow.

“I’ll explain later.”

“Fine. Go. I’ll just enjoy my latte.” Veronica looks more than a little anxious.

“I’ll be right back. Promise.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

“If that’s your idea of five minutes, you need a time refresher.” Veronica glares at him fifteen minutes later.

“Sorry. Got a little carried away.” He offers her a hand. “Come with me.”

She stares. “Where to?”

“Trust me?”

Veronica considers the request, then pushes herself to her feet, ignoring his hand. “Lead the way.”

The elevators are, unfortunately, located near the front entrance, and if Veronica’s mood has improved at all in the past half hour, it sours as soon she catches sight of Don Lamb.

Her jawline goes rigid and her lips twist in cold contempt.

“Please don’t,” Logan whispers.

She nods stiffly, without taking her eyes off her nemesis. “I feel so stupid. I should’ve guessed I might run into him, eventually. If Lilly’s still alive, it stands to reason that bad people would be, too.”

It explains her initial reaction to seeing Lamb. Hearing her refer to one of her father’s deputies as ‘bad’ is a little weird, though. “I always assumed you had a crush on that guy. I know Lilly does.”

She lets out a disgusted snort and tosses her empty coffee cup in a garbage can. “She wouldn’t, if she knew how he botched her murder investigation. Not to mention, leaking crime scene video on the internet, so the whole world could ogle her dead body.”

“Lilly would remind you that she’s still alive, so he couldn’t have leaked anything.” Logan holds up a hand before she can interrupt. “But on my behalf, fuck that guy.”

“Fuck that guy,” she repeats, with a hint of a smirk. “I know Lilly’s alive, and I know it was all...imaginary. But for so long, my entire life revolved around bringing her real killer to justice. It’s part of my identity, so it’s going to take a while...”

“I know.” Logan gives her shoulder a supportive squeeze.

He has so many questions, starting with how she thought a high school girl could accomplish something like that on her own. But that can wait until they’re someplace private.

Both UP buttons are illuminated, and two middle-aged women stand at the elevator bank, speaking in hushed tones. Sisters probably, based on the unusual shade of their eyes. Like the ink on money that’s been laundered (in the Tide and Downy sort of way).

A bell dings and the arrow over the left car lights up.

“Wait for the next car.” Logan speaks just loud enough to prevent Veronica from following the two women inside. To avoid looking suspicious, he pulls his phone from his jacket and pretends to read an incoming text,

She barely notices. She’s too busy practicing her Pyrokinesis powers on Don Lamb. Luckily, she’s no Drew Barrymore, and Lamb does not actually burst into flames. Not that Logan cares about the asshole, but a human inferno blocking the entrance would make it difficult to evacuate all the decent people.

Lamb stares right back at her, as if daring her to try him again. Either he’s spoken directly to Keith Mars, or he’s thought up a good comeback since their last encounter.

Veronica flips him the finger, Lamb rolls his eyes, and the ladies in the elevator look questioningly at Logan.

“We’ll get the next one.” He touches buttons on his phone — an imaginary response to his imaginary text.

It feels like an hour waiting for the next elevator to arrive — the extra-large one on the far right, this time. The doors open, revealing a janitor with a canvas-covered cart, who makes no move to exit.

Logan shoves his phone in his jacket pocket, nudges Veronica, and enters the car.

He waits until the doors have closed before speaking. “How many times did you ride up and down?”

“Three.” Lucky inserts the elevator key into a lock on the control panel and turns it to the right. “You’d better not get me fired, Logan.”

“I told you I wouldn’t. Sheesh!” Logan sighs. “Veronica, you remember Lucky Dohanic, right? He’s the guy who picks up the beer and alcohol for our parties.”

And saves me the trouble of buying weed under the bleachers at school.

“Hey, Veronica.” Lucky gives her a shy wave. “Good to see you back on your feet again.”

“Hey...Lucky.” She speaks, tentatively, “Good to see you alive.”

“Thanks?” Lucky glances a question at Logan.

Logan gives a tiny head shake. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain some other time.”

The words sound condescending even to his own ears, but Veronica doesn’t seem to notice.

She’s back in her own head. Thinking of Lamb, presumably, if her tight lips are any indication.

The elevator skips all the in-between floors on its way to the roof. When it stops, Lucky turns his key to the ‘hold open’ position, and they follow him out of the car.

Logan watches Veronica take in their surroundings.

The glass-walled lobby is a floor higher than the rest of the building and relatively small.

Through wide, automatic doors in front of them, a sky bridge crosses over to a large red-and-white helipad on the neighboring building’s roof.

Logan has no memory of arriving here that night in September — he’d fallen unconscious mid-flight — but they must’ve been wheeled over that bridge. Into the same elevator they’d just stepped out of.

Lucky turns away from the sky bridge, moving to an unobtrusive glass door on the left wall. It has the sort of metal push bar you see on Emergency Exits, yet no alarm sounds when he shoves it open.

Outside, a white, grated-metal, industrial staircase descends away from the sky bridge and down to the original roof.

Logan proceeds Veronica outside, turning around on the landing to face her, and sweeps out a hand. “Behold. Fresh air.” Okay, so it’s not exactly the freshest air, but still… “And what’s that big ball of light up in the sky? Could that be…the sun?”

“You got me outside.” A tentative smile spreads across her face, and she mouths, ‘Thank you’.

“Any time.”

Lucky flips a turn-latch on the door ‘so you two don’t lock yourselves out’, but doesn’t follow them outside. “You remember my rules?”

Logan leans back against the railing. “Throw away our trash, don’t mess with any equipment, and stay behind the painted yellow line so nobody down in the Atrium can see us.”

“Both yellow lines. One for the atrium and one for incoming copters.” Lucky says. “This elevator blocks most of the lower roof from view, but if anybody sees you out here, I’ll lose my job.”

Logan sighs. “We won’t cross the lines. Promise.”

“I need to get back to work. Use the garbage can at the bottom of the stairs.” He points. “And leave the other stuff out here. I’ll clean it up later.”

“Sounds good.”

“You can call the elevator to take you down, but you can’t get back up here without a key. So no going back and forth.”

“Got it.” Logan gives him a thumbs-up.

“Fine. Don’t do anything stupid.” With a wave, Lucky heads back to the elevator.

“Tin foil should’ve been the first clue,” Veronica mutters as the doors close behind him.

“Well, he is crazy paranoid.”

Her brow furrows. Huh?

“Because he’s a tin-foil-hat…? Wait. What were you talking about.”

“Ohhh… I didn’t say ‘tin foil’, I said ‘Tim Foyle’. F-O-Y-L-E. It’s a name.”

“Righhht.” Logan gestures down the stairs. “Ready?”

She looks nervous. “Yeah.”

“Crap. I didn’t even think about the stairs. Would you rather go back to your room?”

“No!” She answers forcefully. Taking a breath, she continues in more measured tones. “Let’s give it a try.”

The stairs aren’t particularly steep, but it’s slow going. She white knuckles the railing, lowering herself down one step at a time.

God, he must be the world’s biggest idiot. Just because she was eager to get some walking practice, didn’t mean she was ready for stairs. What had he been thinking?

“Sure you don’t want to turn around?”

She glares.

Right.

“So…Tim Foyle?” He begins, once her feet are back on solid ground. “That sounds really…fake. Who is he?”

“Somebody fake.” She sighs. “Back from the dead with a bargain bin wig, a bad pun for a name, and the stupidest murder plot I’ve ever seen. He showed up on my first day of college as the TA in my Criminology class. And somehow, despite all that, I decided, ‘This is normal’.”

“The dead guy being Lucky Dohanic?”

She nods, a faraway look in her eyes. “Suicide by cop. A week or two before graduation.”

“And by stupid murder plot, did you mean…?”

“Hmm. How to explain Tim’s thought process…” She taps her chin and looks up. “Want to make your enemy pay? Don’t kill him and make it look like a suicide. Just murder some other random guy who’s never wronged you at all, plant clues that lead to a bunch of different people and groups, and hope like hell a teenage private eye comes along to find that one hidden clue incriminating your enemy. Or to put it another way, why have one point of failure when you could have dozens?”

“What’s that Scott Evil quote? ‘If you’ve got a time machine, why don’t you just go back and kill Austin Powers when he’s sitting on the crapper or something?’”

“How about…No, Scott. Okay?” It’s no surprise that Veronica does Dr. Evil better than most guys he knows. Voices were always her super power.

“I have a million questions and I don’t even know where to begin.”

“Doesn’t matter. They all have the same answer.” She meets his gaze. “It wasn’t real. None of it was.”

She turns away, bending to sit down on one of the bottom stairs.

“Nope.” Logan tugs on her wrist. “Not yet. Come this way.”

Veronica groans, but allows him to pull her along.

The roof stretches out long before them, culminating in the Atrium’s sparkling glass ceiling, but Logan turns at the elevator lobby’s corner, keeping the brick wall at his left shoulder.”

“What? Are we just going to walk circles around this building?” Veronica asks.

“Just three sides. Unless you know how to fly.” He stops right before the next corner. “Close your eyes.”

She lifts both hands, sighing as if put-out by his request, but the hint of a smile at the corner of her lips tells him she’s secretly pleased.

Gripping her shoulder, he leads her through a small opening and around the corner. “Okay, you can look.”

A decade or so ago, they’d extended the elevator one floor higher, with a small lobby to connect with the sky bridge and helipad. Construction of the brick surround on the lower half of the addition, had resulted in one small, trapezoid-shaped section of the original roof being cut off from the rest.

No chimneys clutter this space. No ducts, or pipes, or whirligigs.

It’s clean and private, and there’s a stillness to the space Logan can’t quite define. Rows of potted plants sit on or near the ledges. Cuttings taken from the Atrium, according to Lucky - whatever the hell that means — and while they can’t see the ocean from here, the view is still decent enough.

Veronica gestures to the spot next to the ledge, where they’d spread out a half-dozen waffle-weave hospital blankets and a few couch cushions, for comfort.

“You did that? For me?”

“With a little help from Lucky.” He shrugs.

‘Help’ is being generous. Lucky whined the entire time they were gathering supplies and setting up the surprise.

‘I can’t believe I’m wasting my entire break to help you get laid.’

‘It’s not like that. We’re just friends.’

‘Do you surprise all your friends with romantic sunset picnics?’

Sigh. ‘It’s just hanging out in the fresh air. Nothing romantic about it.’

‘So, you’re not even getting sex out of it?’

‘I have a girlfriend. I have plenty of sex.’

‘Then why are we going to all this trouble for the sheriff’s daughter?’

‘YOU’RE going to all this trouble because I’m paying you a lot of money. I’m simply helping out a friend.’

Lucky wouldn’t understand, even if he tried to explain. Nobody would.

Homecoming night had changed everything, and if Veronica wanted fresh air, she would get her fresh air. It was the least he could do.

Except, there’s a sadness in her expression, completely incongruous to the situation. She looks like she wants to cry.

“You don’t like it? I know this wasn’t what you had in mind when you asked for a jailbreak, but I wanted you to have something a little better than sitting on a dirty roof.”

“I do like it!” She slides an arm around his waist, squeezes, then lets it drop. “I really do!”

As she walks away, Logan could swear he hears her say, ‘SO much better than a face cake’.

Had she been expecting a face cake? Whose face? And more importantly, why?

Veronica kicks off her shoes, chooses a spot on the blankets, and gingerly lowers herself down onto a cushion. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back and breathes deeply.

It’s nearly dusk, and for a moment, with the setting sun lighting up her hair like a gilded halo, she looks like something out of an oil painting.

He shakes off the image and opens Lucky’s potting cabinet, retrieving the fast food bags he’d stashed a few minutes ago and a cardboard ice bucket with four bottles of soda chilling inside. “I have dinner.”

Her face lights up and she makes a grabby hands gesture. “I forgive you for taking so long to come back.”

“It’s not Mama Leone’s.” Logan kicks off one shoe, then the other. “I was going to order takeout, but how would the delivery guy find us?”

“Anything has to be better than what they’ve been feeding me.”

“Well, I hope you like Chick-Fil-A.” He sets everything down on the blanket, grabs a cushion, and takes a seat.

“How…?” Veronica’s brow furrows. “Neptune doesn’t have a Chick-Fil-A, Logan, and you were only gone fifteen minutes.”

“We have one now.” He points his thumb over his shoulder. “Right across the street.”

Peeling off his jacket, he tosses it to the left.

Veronica crawls over to his side of the blanket and peaks over the ledge. “Hmm…I guess we do.”

“They started construction back in August and opened in October.” Logan passes her a cold bottle of Coke, and gestures to the food, inviting her to dig in.

After peering into the bags, she unpacks them, one-by-one. Chicken sandwiches, in their weird, foil sacks, chicken nuggets, and a handful of dips, in different flavors, and of course, waffle fries. “This is a lot of food for two people.”

“I grabbed enough for Lilly and Duncan. But then she texted that they were held up and wouldn’t be here for a while.”

“More for us, I guess.” Veronica shrugs and begins divvying up the food.

“Some things never change.”

Veronica passes him a chicken sandwich and some waffle fries, and he scoots back on the blanket to use the ledge as a backrest.

Veronica glances up, her eyes widening with panic. “Logan, be careful!” She reaches out a hand, but there’s several feet between them.

“What’s wrong?” He leans forward.

“Nothing. Ignore me.” Her eyes flick to the ledge and back to his face.

“It’s solid brick and comes up to my shoulders, Veronica.” He smacks his palm against the ledge to demonstrate. “The only way I’m falling over is if you shove me.”

“I’m just…being paranoid.” She gives him an embarrassed head shake, then turns all her focus on peeling back the cover on a pack of honey mustard dip.

Once opened, she dunks a chicken nugget and glances up at him. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Let’s not pretend you didn’t rush straight here after school so you could be the first to dish on all the latest scandals. Let’s have it?”

Well, this is interesting.

It’s a well-worn routine. Veronica teases him for being a gossip and Logan protests the designation. Keeping his finger on the pulse of the 09er-dom is what keeps them at the top of the social food chain, after all. He’s providing a much-needed service.

Yet, she’s never asked him for gossip before. She has no interest in the petty grievances and never-ending drama of people she tolerates at best.

But her wide eyes beg him to play along. A stalling tactic? Or is it merely the desire for familiarity?

As they eat dinner, Logan gives her what she wants. The newly-formed couples and the ones that didn’t last. The nasty fights and drunken hookups. The rivalries and alliances. The lying, the cheating and the backstabbing. Basically, any other Tuesday for 09-ers.

Veronica listens quietly, her eyes lifting occasionally, as if mentally comparing facts against her own memories. Some of his tidbits satisfy her — confirming her suspicions, perhaps? — others come as complete surprises to her.

“And you and Lilly?” Veronica asks tentatively, “Things are good?”

“Better than ever. Six months without a breakup. I think that’s a record, or something.”

They’d hit a rough patch a few weeks after the accident, but for once, they were able to work through it without imploding. Or rather, Lilly had allowed him to work through it, without sabotaging his efforts. Baby steps.

“That’s…great. I’m really happy for you two.” Veronica gathers up her wrappers and napkins, shoving them into one of the empty bags. She stuffs the two uneaten boxes of nuggets and a handful of dips into a second bag.

Another perfect opening for bringing up the Duncan topic. “Speaking of happy couples, I wan—”

She cuts him off. “So…no trips down to the bathroom, I suppose.”

“Do you need the bathroom?”

“Not really. I was actually considering if it was worth it to grab another soda. I like it up here, and Lucky said once we go down, we can’t get back up.”

“Oh. Well, there’s always the stairwell, if we’re desperate.” Logan gestures to the far end of the roof. He pulls a bottle of Coke from the bucket, flicking off a few ice cubes clinging to the sides before passing it over to her. “I noticed he didn’t lock up behind us when we brought up the cushions. And we took the elevator back down.”

“No alarm?”

“Nope.”

“Nothing gets past you. Shame you’re not interested in an investigative career.” She takes a sip of her drink, then shifts positions, stretching out her legs in front of her and leaning back slightly.

“Logan Echolls, you may have single-handedly redeemed rooftops for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“It’s a long, complicated story. I’ll tell you some other time. What I’m trying to say is thank you. For the picnic and the food, and for just getting me outside.”

“Thank you. For letting it go with Lamb. I know more than anyone how much you hate to back down.”

“I really hate that guy.”

“He’s easy to hate. So, what happened with him? Real or otherwise.”

“It’s complicated, but it boils down to him picking and choosing when to do his job. He decided who was worthy of getting justice and who wasn’t.”

Jaw clenched, Veronica snatches up Logan’s jacket from where it rests on the blanket, and shoves her hands into the pockets.

“And here, I thought wearing jeans would spare me the strip search.”

“Jeans can be stripped.” Her eyes flick up, momentarily, with a slight curve of the lips. “But it’s fun that you thought to outwit me.”

“Smartass. If you’re looking for my knife, I left it in the truck.”

“Nope.” It’s no big shock when Veronica discovers the joint in his inside breast pocket. “I’m looking for this.”

That is a shock.

She brings it to her lips, pops the lid on his grandfather’s Zippo.

Logan’s jaw hits the ground. “What the actual fuck?”

The paper lights and crackles, Veronica closes her eyes, and inhales.

She holds it in for several seconds before coughing out a cloud of pungent, skunky smoke. She wheezes and hacks, fist pressed to her mouth, then sips from her soda.

Her cheeks are red and her eyes are watering, and just when he thinks she’s had enugh, she takes another hit. Coughs some more.

“So…this is something you do now?” Logan reaches for the joint, one brow raised.

“Nope.” She hands it over.

“But this clearly isn’t your first time.” He takes a long hit, holds in the smoke.

Shrug. “I’ve done it a few times in the past. It’s not a habit.”

Blowing out the smoke, he passes it back to her. “So, why today?”

“To calm the fuck down. Stop my brain from doing that thing it does.” She lifts it to her lips and inhales. Coughs.

“Because Lamb wouldn’t let you leave the building earlier?”

“Kind of?” She answers through a cough. “Lamb isn’t the problem — not really — it’s my reaction to him.”

“It’s natural to get angry when somebody condescends to you, Veronica. You don’t need to ‘calm the fuck down’.”

“It would be natural. If I could stop with anger.” Another long hit and she passes the joint back to him. Slowly blows out the smoke.

“What does that mean?”

Veronica’s gaze follows the red tip as he lifts it to his lips. “The moment we walked away from him, I started plotting how I would retrain him.”

Logan coughs, smoke escaping through his nose, and tears from his eyes.

“Retrain?” He rasps out, “Like a dog?”

“Walks like a dog. Talks like a dog…” Her eyes lift in memory. “I won’t say he was exactly afraid of me when he was alive, but he learned the hard way not to underestimate me. That if he pushed me too far, I could and would retaliate.”

“Yeah, I’m not seeing the problem here. Assuming it’s even possible to retrain Lamb, wouldn’t that be a good thing?”

“Not really.” Veronica opens her soda. Seems to be considering her words as she drinks from the bottle.

Logan waits her out.

“I made a promise to myself last night, after Dr. Joshi left. Once I was alone and trying to process everything I’d just found out. I vowed that I was done with all that. Working cases. Blackmail. Revenge.” She laughs bitterly, and stares down at her hands. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours, and one encounter with Lamb was enough to make me go back on my word.”

“That battle plan in your notebook wasn’t written by a person swearing off revenge.”

“I wrote that before. When I still thought…you know.”

That you were a college student in 2007.

“I wish you hadn’t read that.” She takes the joint from Logan’s outstretched hand. “But it perfectly encapsulates everything I can’t do anymore. I can’t make the same mistakes I made before.”

In the back of his mind, Logan had been musing over how Veronica’s talents could be used for mischief, but, for her sake, he hides his disappointment. “And that’s why you felt you needed to ‘calm the fuck down?””

She nods, holds up the joint like it’s Exhibit A. “Look. I know this isn’t the solution. I don’t even like how it makes me feel. It’s just…this whole situation…Lilly being alive. Duncan back in Neptune. You…” She gestures to him.

“What about me?”

She shakes her head. “I need to learn how to let things go. That getting angry isn’t an excuse to start plotting and calling in favors. But…” She swallows and looks off into the distance. “…Right now, my head is swimming. It’s just all too much.”

“No judgment here.”

They quietly pass the joint back and forth for a minute or so, until Veronica waves it away.

Logan twists his torso, stubbing it out on the cement ledge behind him. “Wait. Is Lamb the captain of the guard? From your battle plan?”

“No. Lamb is pathetic. A mere nuisance.” She seems to find the question amusing. “That person — if he even exists — was very competent and a bit terrifying. Ex Army Intelligence. Ex FBI. The kind of person you don’t want as an enemy.”

“I have SO many questions.”

“As you’ve mentioned.” She looks like she’d rather have a root canal than answer any of them. “Hey…buddy. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to run down to the vending machine for me?”

“Are you serious? You just ate enough food for two people.”

“But I’m hunnngry!” She fake-whines.

Logan smirks. “That’s called the munchies, my friend.”

“I know what munchies are, But last time, you fed me.” Veronica huffs out a breath. “Think the vending machine has Funyuns?”

“There was no last time.”

She opens her mouth and closes it again, Covers her face with both hands.

“It’s fine, Veronica.” He grabs the bag of leftover nuggets and hands it over to her.

She considers, then pulls them back out, fumbling with a sauce packet. “It’s all just going to take some getting used to.”

Logan lifts a hand to his mouth to cover a wide yawn.

“Tired?”

“A little. I was up all night.”

“Video games?”

“No, just thinking about you.”

“Tease.” She smirks in a very un-Veronica way. “What was I wearing?”

Oh. He could have a whole lot of fun with that opening. He’ll mark it down as a sign of maturity that he allows it to pass, and answers truthfully. “No, really. My mind kept racing, thinking about what you’re going through.”

“Which part?” Veronica cuts her eyes toward him.

“You know…having your life change in a blink of an eye. Waking up to find you’re sixteen again, back in high school instead of college, and people who were dead in your…coma dream…are alive.” He catches her wince at his word choice. “What? Should I call it something different?”

“Dr. Acosta called it a ‘parallel life’, for lack of any better description.”

Logan mulls this over, comparing her situation to comics he’s read. It doesn’t add up. “No. That’s not it.”

“Huh?”

“Parallel Life is the wrong term.”

She pulls her head back, amused. “Oh. I’m sorry, are you an expert now?”

“No, just a guy who likes science fiction.”

“There’s a term for that. What was it?” She pretends to think. “Oh right. Nerd.”

“Whatever.” He kicks her shoe lightly with his own. “Anyway, parallel lives are an aspect of the multiverse theory. Like in The Obsidian Project?”

“The what?” Veronica tilts her head.

“That movie my dad made back in ‘91. Where his decisions spun-off different timelines.”

“Whatever. Same thing. Minus the time travel.”

“Technically, his character never traveled through time, just across timelines.”

“Wait. Is that the one where…?” An evil grin spreads across Veronica’s face. “…that adorable baby kept stealing all the scenes by giving everyone kisses?”

Logan rolls his eyes. “Toddler. I was already walking.”

“Huge distinction.”

“Do me a favor. Don’t spread that around. It’s bad enough that Demi Moore still makes smoochie lips at me every time I see her at an event. Last thing I need is the entire school doing it.”

“Your kisses must be memorable. Hey, maybe that explains Ashton. You ruined her for men her own age.”

At his glare, Veronica snorts a laugh. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

Rearranging the cushions, she stretches out on her side, one hand supporting her head as she dunks nuggets in sauce.

“Have you ever actually watched the movie?”

“If you count fast-forwarding to your scenes. You know I’m no Aaron Echolls fan.”

He hadn’t. Sure, she’d never fangirled over his dad, like the rest of their friend group, but he can’t recall her ever boldly defining herself as an anti-fan.

“It’s actually one of his better movies,” Logan says. “His character — on the verge of a fiery death — discovers he has the ability to travel across timelines. To parallel universes. In some of the lives, he’s married to Demi and has the adorable kissing baby, in one, Demi had a miscarriage and they’re childless, in another, Demi died during childbirth and he’s a single father. In one, I’m being raised by his second wife, or he’s married to his high school girlfriend, or never got married, or was paralyzed in a motorcycle accident and drinks a lot.”

“Alright.” Veronica holds up a hand. “I get the picture.”

“The point is, that the timelines are parallel. January 1st in one timeline was January 1st in all of the timelines. In the universes where Aaron’s adorable kissing baby exists, he’s always a baby. Time always moves forward.”

“…And?”

“And, if you were somehow capable of jumping universes — like from one where Lilly was murdered to one where she’s still alive, for example — you would’ve ended up in 2007. On the same date and time where you left. Which is why parallel life is the wrong term for what you experienced.” He turns his palm up in an ‘I rest my case’ gesture.

“You’ve clearly put some thought into this.”

Logan sips from his soda. “Like I said. Up all night.”

“You’re talking like you actually believe me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because none of it was real?” Her voice is rough, like she’s struggling to hold it together and she sits back up. “Because I invented all of it in my head.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t make it less real.”

Veronica stares at him, warily. As if waiting for him to take it back.

“At the risk of starting up our old, endless, debate…” And he means ENDLESS. “The Obsidian Project is the wrong movie to compare your situation to. The actual movie analogy you should make is—”

“The Wizard of OZ?”

He considers. “Only the last few minutes. My analogy is better.”

“Right. You’re the expert.”

“Just hear me out. Don’t you see?”

“See what?”

“You were in The Matrix.”

She groans and tosses a nugget at him — sauceless, luckily. He catches it as it bounces off his forehead and eats it.

“The Matrix wasn’t real. It was a simulation.”

“Here we go, again.” Logan releases a beleaguered sigh. “Yes, the Matrix was virtual, but everything that happened in it was still real.”

“By definition, virtual and real are opposites.”

“Not really. Do I need to pull out my old talking points?” He removes an imaginary list from his pocket. “Inside the Matrix, did Neo just blink into existence as a fully grown man? No. He was born there, just like everyone else. He was raised by his parents. He had other family members. Grandparents, aunts or uncles, maybe siblings.”

Veronica shakes her head. “Children were farmed. For all we know, he shared no DNA with the people he believed were his parents.”

“So? I share no DNA with Trina, but she’s still my obnoxious sister.”

“That’s different.”

“Not really. Did Neo’s mom read him bedtime stories at night? Did his dad put Bandaids on his scraped knee? Did they do all the things real families do? Birthday parties and roller coasters and Little League? Did he have a dog? School friends? A first love? First broken heart?”

“But none of it was real. All of those experiences were with other blue pills.”

“Doesn’t make the heartbreak hurt any less.” He flops his head back, speaks to the sky. “How did Neo become the man he was? Forget the all-powerful source code. Why did he become a hacker? Who taught him? What made him follow the rabbit, instead of just slamming the door and going to bed? Words on a screen? Or his own curiosity? Where did his courage come from? His stubbornness?”

“A pod full of nutrients and goo?”

“No! His upbringing. His experiences. It literally doesn’t matter that his body was stationary. He had a life. A lonely one, sure, but it was all real.”

Veronica’s gaze turns inward, seemingly considering his points. “In a very roundabout way, that’s the same argument Dr. Acosta made. I am who I am today because of my experiences in…”

“The Matrix.”

She looks like she wants to argue, then lets it go. Shrugs and sweeps out a hand. “Fine. The Matrix.”

It’s an improvement over the last fifty times they’ve argued this.

“Dr. Acosta? Is that the one who kicked us out yesterday?”

“No, that was Dr. Joshi. Dr. Acosta is a neuropsychologist from the San Diego Brain Center. I spent the morning with her.”

“How’d that go?”

Veronica shrugs. “The gist is that the brain is gonna do what the brain wants to do. My brain wanted to believe we made it home after Homecoming, and it constructed a whole life around me to support that idea.”

“Is that common in coma patients?”

“Rare, but not completely unheard of.”

“And you’re supposed to just…what? Get over it?”

“She wants me to schedule regular appointments with her. Like therapy sessions.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “Did you tell her to get bent?”

“She’s just worried. I guess people with traumatic brain injuries have an increased risk of suicide.”

“Veronica…” Logan leans forward and looks into her eyes. “You’re not feeling…?”

“Suicidal? No. I swear. But I’ve agreed to see her, anyway.”

“Weren’t you always anti-therapy?”

“Yes, but…” She swallows and drops her gaze. “There might be other things I’ll need help with.”

“What kind of things?” He knows he’s prying, but his gut tells him she needs to vent.

“I just can’t be her.” She speaks so softly he has to lean in to hear. “There’s no room for me in her life.”

“You can’t be who?”

“Her. ME!” She makes a frustrated sound in the back of her throat. “Everyone expects me to just slip right back into her life and for things to go back to normal. Or at least that’s what everyone wants. I can see it in their eyes. My dad, my mom, Duncan. Even Lilly. I make them uncomfortable.” She lifts her head meeting his gaze again. “Everyone except for you.”

Logan smirks. “I take pride in my ability to make people squirm. It’s going to take a lot more than what I’ve seen so far, to freak me out.”

“What if I told you that you’ve only seen the tip of the iceberg?”

He taps her foot with his own. “Tell me whatever. My name isn’t Titanic, and I’m not afraid of icebergs.”

A wistful plays on her lips as she dips a chicken tender in barbecue sauce and takes a bite.

“It’s interesting that you refer to your pre-accident self as a different person.”

She chews and swallows. “I think of her as Veronica one-dot-oh.”

“Like a software version?”

“Basically. She’s been dead for years.”

“How’d she die?” Obviously, she’s speaking in metaphors, but he’s curious how she’ll respond.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Veronica meets his gaze. “I killed her.”

Hair lifts on the back of Logan’s neck. Just a metaphor. Just a metaphor. “Why would you do that?”

She licks a spot of sauce off her fingertip before chewing and swallowing. “She was soft. Weak. The perfect little scapegoat for everyone else’s problems. She believed in the goodness of people and turned the other cheek when they were abusive.”

“You’re talking about my friend.”

“I’m your friend.” She emphasizes the first word fiercely, almost as if it’s a competition between her and her old self.

“What happened to make you hate her so much?”

She bites her lip, expression wary.

“What?”

“I want to be able to confide in people. If things are going to be different this time, I need to communicate.” Veronica shakes her head, looks off to the right. “It’s just…really hard when all my instincts tell me to clam up and keep everything inside.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s what leads people to shoot up post offices.”

“Like you’re not concealing a hurricane of feelings behind that ‘nothing really matters, so let’s party’ facade?”

She’s just lashing out. He doesn’t need to clap back.

Still, since when are you the expert on all things Logan Echolls?

“Sorry.” She points two thumbs at herself. “Queen of deflection, here.”

“S’okay.”

“Make me a promise. If I confide in you—”

“I won’t repeat anything you say.”

“I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you turning against me later, and using my trauma as a weapon.”

“Jeez. What kind of asshole do you think I am?”

“You’ve done it before. More than once. I mean, not you, but…”

“Matrix Logan?”

She opens her mouth as if to argue, then shakes her head. “Fine. If it helps avoid confusion, I’ll go along with your analogy. But only when I’m talking to you. Now promise me.”

Logan lifts his right hand. “I promise I’ll never turn on you.”

“You can’t possibly know that. Just promise me you’ll never use my Blue Pill life as a weapon.”

He looks her in the eye. “I promise.”

She stares at him, as if gauging his sincerity, then nods. “What did you want to know?”

“What happened to Veronica 1.0?”

“Way to start with the easy stuff.” She sighs. “I’ll have to summarize. It would take hours to explain, otherwise. But no interruptions and no questions. Not even to defend yourself. You don’t need to, because none of it was real.”

“Okay?”

“The worst of it took place between Homecoming and somewhere around…” Her eyes lift up and to the left. “…now.”

“So, the early days of your coma.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” She takes a deep breath and forcibly exhales. “It started when Duncan… No, wait. It really started a week earlier. Your parents went to Nepal and you threw a party.”

He was supposed to throw a party. After the accident, his mom backed out of her trip to take care of Logan, while his dad went on vacation ‘alone’.

With Veronica in a coma, nobody was in the mood to celebrate, anyway.

“Lilly skipped your party out of some stupid notion of putting you in your place. You were pissed and drunk and ended up kissing some other girl.”

“I would—”

Veronica cuts him off with a glare.

…never.

“Right. No interruptions.”

“Naturally, I tattled to Lilly and she dumped you.”

“Naturally.”

“Next, Duncan dumped me by way of pretending I didn’t exist. No explanation, just silence. And a week after that, Lilly was murdered. I was with my dad when he got the call. I saw her body, next to the pool.”

Veronica’s eyes are haunted and she holds up one hand, preemptively cutting off any questions.

“I won’t get into who murdered her right now. I will say that it wasn’t Jake, Celeste, or Duncan.”

“Thanks for that weirdly-specific clue.”

“It’s important. You see, they covered it up. They found Duncan catatonic, covered in blood and cradling Lilly’s dead body, and jumped to the obvious conclusion. Iced down her corpse so it would look like she’d died hours earlier.”

Obvious? Duncan wouldn’t hurt a fly. Other than that, it does sound like something the Kanes would do. Anything to protect the heir, even at Lilly’s expense. Especially at Lilly’s expense.

“My dad could sense the Kanes were hiding something, and focused the investigation entirely on them. In response, they held a press conference, played the grief-stricken family being railroaded by the ambitious sheriff with an ax to grind, and demanded a recall election. With half the town receiving paychecks from Kane Software, it was a done deal.”

“Your dad lost his job?”

“Yep. And then there was the grieving boyfriend.”

“Me?”

“Ex-boyfriend, I should say. Because if Lilly hadn’t dumped you, you would have been with her that day. You could’ve prevented her murder. Guess who bore the brunt of all that rage and despair?” Veronica points a thumb at herself. “If I hadn’t told Lilly about the kiss…”

Oh God. He can see it. How easy it would be to blame her for his own stupidity.

“Veronica…” Logan speaks around the lump in his throat.

“Shhh…” Leaning forward, she presses a fingertip to his lips, looks into his eyes. “You’re not him.”

He shivers, searches her gaze for any sign of anger or recrimination, but finds none. He nods slowly and slouches back against the wall.

“Matrix Logan may have led the charge against me, but the rest of my so-called friends couldn’t wait to go after the little nobody who’d dared to believe she was one of them. I could shrug off the rumors, but the slashed tires and vandalism was hell. Especially when there was no money for repairs.”

He wants to reassure her, or defend their friends, or something, but he’s heard people whispering about her when they didn’t know he was within earshot. Veronica is tolerated because she belongs to Lilly, and Duncan, and himself.

Fuck. She’s known all along.

“In order to pay the bills, my dad decided to take his case-solving skills to the private sector.”

“Mars Investigations?” He hadn’t known what she’d meant by that yesterday, but now it makes sense.

She nods. “But my mother didn’t sign up to be a private investigator’s wife. The foreclosure notice must’ve been the final straw. Mom took off in the middle of the night, leaving behind only a note and a music box. Dad and I left the house I grew up in and moved into a crappy apartment on the seedy side of town. Didn’t take long for the 09ers to find me, though.”

“Shit, Veronica.”

“And then, the cherry on the shit sundae. As if all of that wasn’t bad enough. I thought if I pretended I wasn’t a pariah, if I acted like it wasn’t happening and everything was normal, then the torment would stop. So I put on my pretty white dress and my kitten heels, and—” She cuts herself off, squeezes her eyes closed, and swallows. “Some other really bad shit happened.”

“Really bad? What else is left after all the rest of it?”

Veronica holds up a hand. “Some things I might never be willing to talk about. Some discussions could do more harm than good.”

“Tell me whatever you’re comfortable with.”

What could be traumatic enough to make her draw the line here, after speaking so candidly about the death of her closest friend, being bullied, isolated, and abandoned by her boyfriend, closest friends, and her mother?

What had she said before? The worst of it took place between Homecoming and now.

Shelly’s party.

Whatever happened that night must have been so much worse than being caught making out with an inappropriate partner. She’d said things were never the same again between her, Matrix Logan and Matrix Duncan.

What the fuck did they do to her?

Her face is composed when she speaks again. “I guess that answers your question. What happened to Veronica 1.0. By the end of that year, I was so low I could look up and see rock bottom. So when I rebuilt myself, you might say I left out the parts that could lead to more pain.”

“What kind of parts?”

“Trust. Or the ability to trust and rely upon other people. Optimism. Vulnerability.”

He can’t explain why, but this small admission feels like a punch to the gut.

Of course, he deflects with sarcasm. “You couldn’t have left out your stubbornness and need to always be right instead?”

“Please. If I don’t keep you on your toes, nobody will. You love how I challenge you.”

She’s probably right, but the wickedly amused glint in her eyes makes him feel naked, and strangely, turned on.

She takes a leisurely sip of her soda and sets down the bottle. “So here I am. Slammed right back into Veronica 1.0’s life, expected to pick up where she left off. Except, I can’t do that. I lost my innocence too long ago. And there’s no place for Veronica 2.0, either. She was born kicking and scratching. Clawing her way out of that pit. She doesn’t know how to exist any other way.”

Logan finds her hand and squeezes it.

“There’s nothing I can do to reverse this…situation. I’m not sure I would, even if I could.”

“Was The Matrix all bad?”

“No. Between all the trauma and misery there were some amazing times. The best moments of my life. But towards the end…” Veronica swallows, avoiding eye contact. “You know that saying about chickens coming home to roost?”

“What about it?”

“Well mine roosted in other people’s hen houses. I fucked up, and the people I cared most about paid the price. So even if it was possible to ‘go back’…would I?”

“Of course not.”

She raises a brow, either surprised he presumed to speak for her, or by his confidence in his answer.

“Back to our endless debate. You always said you would take the red pill. No hesitation. No matter how bad the truth was, it had to be better than living a lie.”

“Yeah…You’re right.” She speaks softly. “And you always said you would take the blue pill. Because…how did you word it? ‘a simulated, but happy, life with Lilly, was better than living in a dystopian hellscape without her?’”

“Something like that.”

Sadness fills her gaze, reminding him she’d lived a life where Lilly was dead, and they’d both been forced to live without her.

Logan breaks the tension with an exaggerated shudder. “Besides, could you really see me eating gruel and sleeping on low thread count sheets?”

“A life without luxury is no life at all.” Veronica’s Celeste Kane impression is dead on.

“Damn straight.”

She exhales and forces a smile. “I should be happy. Who wouldn’t jump at the chance to be a kid again?”

“If you’re a kid, what does that make me?”

That gets a genuine smile out of her. “An infant. But I’ve been telling you that for years.”

Logan clutches his chest, dramatically.

“So then, you’re glad it wasn’t real?”

“No, I can’t say that. I’ve lost as much as I’ve gotten back. I’m just saying I’d be an idiot if I didn’t use this as an opportunity to do better.”

“Better at what?”

She looks up at the sky for several beats, then recites, as if from a memorized list. “Well, first and foremost, minding my own business. Not chasing after trouble. Being a better friend. Being loyal to those who deserve it, and not wasting my time on those who don’t. And communicating with the people I care about, even when it makes me feel extremely uncomfortable.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “That sounds a whole lot like Veronica 1.0.”

“No, I’m saying…wait…I’m describing this all wrong.”

“You want my opinion?” he asks.

“That’s rhetorical, I presume. You’re going to give it to me either way.”

“Forcing yourself to be something you’re not is the worst thing you can do. You’ve already reinvented yourself once. Now decide which parts feel the most authentic from both versions, and work on being the best little Veronica 1.5 you can be.”

“Veronica 1.5.” She looks up consideringly. “I like that.”

He makes a tagline gesture with both hands. “The best of both universes.”

Veronica groans and rolls her eyes.

He nudges her leg with his knee. “I have to say, though, for a girl who says she’s unable to communicate, you’ve opened up to me more in the past ten minutes than you have during all our years of friendship.”

She nods slowly. “You’ve earned my trust.”

“But have I, though?”

She means Matrix Logan, but isn’t he the guy who bullied her? The guy who used her pain as a weapon against her? The guy who’s probably responsible for whatever happened at Shelly’s party? Because, let’s be real, Duncan surely wasn’t.

Veronica doesn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

If she’d learned to trust — let alone forgive — Matrix Logan after all of that, she’s not nearly as different from Veronica 1.0 as she thinks she is.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

All signs indicate that Veronica is fully baked - glassy eyes, tiny pupils, random philosophical musings.

She’s been lost in thought for minutes now, eating the last box of chicken nuggets on auto-pilot, one bite after another. Judging by the dopey little smile on her face they must be good thoughts.

Glancing up, she catches him watching and launches into giggle fit number thirteen.

Lightweight.

He can’t help but join in. Not that anything is funny, but her laughter is contagious.

“You are so high.”

“Am not.” She feels around in the box for another nugget, but finds it empty.

Pouting, she stuffs it into the bag with the other garbage, looking around for somewhere to put it

Logan takes it from her and sets it next to the ice bucket.

It’s full dark now, and Veronica stretches out on her back, both arms cradling her neck.

“You okay?” Logan asks, “You want to go back to your room?”

“Just looking up at the stars. Why? In a hurry to get rid of me?”

“No.” He lifts both hands. “Just worried I might’ve tired you out.”

“Don’t lie.” She smirks, rolling onto her side to face him. “You just want an excuse to go back and play with my hospital bed.” She pushes buttons on an imaginary remote control.

Ahhh, back to the shallow end of the pool. “Am I that transparent?”

“Using me for my hospital bed.” She shakes her head, feigning disappointment, but her lips twitch up at the corners. “You know, you can purchase adjustable beds for home use. I’m sure if you ask mommy nicely en—”

She goes silent, biting her lip, then turns a worried glance up at him. “Wait, your mom is doing okay, right?”

“My mom is just fine, thank you very much, and I don’t even want to know why you would ask me that question.”

It’s not like he has to ask. Matrix Lynn Echolls must’ve died at some point.

“And yes, while I could ask Santa to bring me an adjustable bed for Christmas, I’m afraid the ladies — or, more specifically, Lillian Kane — just wouldn’t find it very sexy.” He lets out a tragic sigh at the injustice of it all.

“Ye of little creativity.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Tell her it’s the lazy man’s Kama Sutra. No flexibility required.” Her gaze flicks to him and away again. “Not that you’re lacking in that department. From what I’ve heard.”

“I’m sorry. What?”

He must’ve misheard her.

“Really, Logan?” She raises her eyebrows, and how is SHE the incredulous one, right now? “You’re telling me you can’t think of seven different ways, offhand, to use those bends and dips to your advantage?”

Now that she mentions it, he can think of a few. But she shouldn’t be able to.

She takes his silence for confusion. “Bend your partner, face down, over the knee curve for Burrowing Rabbit.”

“Fuck. Thanks for the visual.”

“Turn her right side up, and throw one of her legs over your shoulder for…I don’t know…Hunting Panther.” Veronica bobs her brows at him once.

She’s laughing, like this is just an amusing brainstorming session. “Or slide down a bit, and you could go-down on her all night long without any neck strain. Probably wouldn’t take that long, with all the blood rushing to her head, but still…”

Logan nearly chokes on his own tongue. What the absolute fuck is going on?

“Or…you could kneel at the top of the bend, with her below you, and push her legs—”

“Veronica!” He lifts a hand, cutting her off. “I think I’m capable of figuring out the permutations on my own.”

“Oh. Well you looked confused.” She shrugs and lifts up enough to sip from her bottle.

She’s joking. He thinks. But she’s so matter-of-fact about it. As if there’s nothing particularly unusual about her imagining — let alone describing — sexual positions. No reddened cheeks, no crinkled-up nose.

He can accept The Matrix. Can accept that her imagination created this whole other life and that four years is a long time.

But sex? Unless they’re talking about Missionary or Cowgirl, the world’s most blushing virgin would require some kind of source material to build upon, right?

Was Veronica 1.0 reading erotic novels on the down low? Did Lilly expose her to porn? Or is her imagination just that vivid?

And why is she so comfortable discussing it with him? Did she engage in this sort of talk with Matrix Logan? Was oral sex and legs-over-the-shoulders sex just typical lunch table conversation where she came from?

She catches him staring. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Oh…I get it.” She laughs, and it sounds way too old for her years. “I’m doing ‘Veronica’ wrong, again. I’m supposed to be innocent and demure.” Her voice goes soft and sugary, and she blinks her eyes several times like a baby bunny. “I’m not supposed to know anything about sex.”

“Veronica Mars!” Logan clutches at his heart, dramatically. “Did you go and become all worldly and wanton in The Matrix?”

“‘Wanton’, Logan? Have you been reading bodice rippers again?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure you have.”

She wrinkles her nose at him.

“I’m just saying, our Veronica couldn’t even speak the words, Kama Sutra without going all red in the face.”

“Yeah, well your Veronica never dated—” Her mouth is forming the next word when she suddenly freezes. All the amusement drains from her gaze, panic sliding into its place.

“Dated who?”

And just like that, she’s back to normal. Completely unruffled. “She never dated. At all. Other than Duncan.”

No way. Her cadence had been all wrong for that to be a complete sentence.

“You were about to say a name.”

“Was not.”

“Yeah you were.”

“Really. I wasn’t.” She sighs. “What I was going to say was that your Veronica never dated a sexual savant.”

She’s still lying. Her mouth had been forming an ‘oh’ sound. Or maybe ‘ew’.

“Sexual savant? You mean, like Rain Man?”

“I mean, like…hyperbole. Exaggeration.”

Oh…and there’s the evasion.

“Ah ah ah.” He wags a finger at her. “I’m going to need more than that.”

“What? You know what I mean. A guy who was to making girls come, what Einstein was to Physics. How is that confusing?”

Making girls come.

It’s not even crude, but hearing her use the word ‘come’ instead of something vague and innocent, like, ‘reach climax’, is just weird.

He shakes his head. “The idea of Duncan—“

“Duncan?” She snorts.

“Wait…you’re saying, Matrix Duncan was not the guy making you come?”

She makes a ‘yeah…right’ face, then reconsiders. “Well…once or twice, I suppose. With guidance.”

“With guidance.” He nearly spits out his drink. “Because you’re a confident, independent woman, who knows what she likes in bed and isn’t afraid to ask for it.”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “I’m nineteen years old. It’s not like I’m some blushing virgin, who…”She trails off, eyes going wide, as if this hasn’t occurred to her, yet. “Oh.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still a virgin.” She seems genuinely horrified. Despite the fact that, on the night of the accident, she’d thought Duncan was ‘so cool’ for still being one.

“Well, according to our little game on Homecoming night, you still were. And since you’ve been a bit indisposed for dating since then, I’d say yes, you’re definitely a virgin. Still. Or…again?”

This causes another giggling fit, but there’s a manic quality to it that hadn’t been there before.

“God, I should be happy.”

Logan bobs his eyebrows. “Donut fumbled the ball the first time, huh?”

His words are like an ‘off switch’. Her laughter ceases and her expression turns so icy, he can swear he feels frost in the air.

“I’m sorry.” He holds up a hand, contrite. “So, is a do-over a good thing?”

Veronica doesn’t answer immediately. Her eyes lift upward, as if genuinely considering the question, then she sighs. “There’s no such thing as a do-over. Not really. How can I convince myself that the less-than-stellar experiences never happened, without erasing the good ones? The sublime ones?”

Fuck. Sublime is a sexy word.

“You mean with your — what did you call him? Your non-Duncan Sex Ninja dude?”

She nods tightly and swallows.

“Who is this guy? Somebody I know?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“But it’s somebody real, right? Somebody you knew before the accident?”

“Not really.” She waves a hand. “Just a really believable copy. The product of an injured brain, I suppose.”

Is it someone from their friend group? Definitely not Dick. She barely tolerates him. Not Beaver, for obvious reasons. He can rule out anyone she openly disdains: Sean Friedrich, Chester, Darren and Kelvin. She thinks Mercer Hayes is a psychopath and that Cole is ‘a wolf in nice guy’s clothing’. Enbom? Her mouth could have been forming the name ‘John’. But no, she’s described him as ‘a box of rocks wrapped in pretty paper’. Bodie has an ‘O’ sound, but he’s the opposite of her type. Rams has a butt face. Kelly Kuzio is obviously into dudes Travis Kittlemeyer, too (along with having the misfortune of being Kimmy’s brother). Luke Haldeman? She could’ve been forming his name and she seems to like him well enough, but the thought of him being a ninja in the sheets is unfathomable.

Casey Gant? If he’s good in bed, Darcy isn’t telling, but he’s smart enough to have a conversation with, genial, in a phony sort of way, and not hard on the eyes, if you’re into that floppy-haired kind of look. Not to mention, Veronica’s hinted at being interested in the past.

Otherwise - unless it’s somebody outside the 09er group - he’s all out guesses. She’s already ruled out Duncan, and that only leaves…

Hold on.

Name starting with an ‘O’ sound? Check.

Reputation for being a supremely good lay? Check.

Great conversationalist and fluent in sarcasm? Check. Check.

There was that moment yesterday where she’d looked at him like she knew how he tasted and wanted another bite. And her silent communication urging him to get rid of Duncan. Hints of jealousy?

The love letter! Her expression when she caught him holding her journal.

Check. Check. Checkity check check check.

“Oh. My. God!”

“What?”

“It’s me! I’m the Sex Ninja! I mean, I know you’ve harbored a secret crush on me for all these years, but I never dreamed…”

Fuck, he’s into that.

Sure, he belongs to Lilly, heart and soul, and would never, ever cheat on her.

But if some other Logan, in a Lilly-less world is acting out Hotel Maid fantasies and strenuous, master-level sex positions with Veronica Mars? Well, it’s only a shame that he can’t watch and get some pointers.

His cock seems to agree, forcing him to cross his legs to avoid embarrassment.

Veronica’s jaw is hanging slack, her eyes comically wide.

And…his dick goes limp.

“WOW! Could you look a little less horrified?” He snorts a laugh. “From your expression, you’d think I’d named Tad Wilson, or something. Should I be insulted?”

She exhales. “Get over yourself.”

“I think I am insulted.” He clutches his heart. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll keep up a brave face. At least until tonight, when I weep silent, manly tears into my pillow.”

“There there” She pats his knee.

“I’m fine. I mean, ten years from now, when my therapist tries to get to the root of my poor self-esteem, I’ll tell her about the time Veronica Mars looked at me like Jamie Lee Curtis looks at Michael Myers at the very idea of us having lots of sweaty, athletic sex.”

“You really know how to milk a grievance.”

“Lots of practice. So if it wasn’t me bending and twisting you like a salty soft pretzel, then—”

“Drop it, Logan!” she snaps. “Stop asking, because I won’t answer. Not now, and not ever.”

“What if I promise—”

“I’m ready to go back to my room.” She rises to her feet, wincing slightly, glances around the blanket until her eyes land on her empty soda bottle, and bends to pick it up.

“Let me.” Logan stands and gathers up their trash, stuffing it all into the cardboard ice bucket.

After folding the blankets and stacking them in a pile for Lucky to retrieve later, he guides her to the opening with a hand on her lower back.

They move at a snail’s pace, Veronica gritting her teeth to conceal her pain.

Why hadn’t he just picked up dinner and taken her back to her room.

She turns to him suddenly. “Try to imagine waking up one day to learn that everything you’ve shared with Lilly — your relationship and the love you feel for each other — was all in your head. That your great romance was nothing but a figment of your imagination.”

To be fair, he wonders that every time Lilly ignores his calls and starts acting secretive.

“I would feel devastated and confused,” he speaks slowly, “but I wouldn’t just throw in the towel.”

“You would if she was unavailable. Involved with some other guy.”

Logan shakes his head. “The only way Lilly is involved with some other guy is if she doesn’t know that I’m an option.”

Veronica’s raised eyebrow is almost insulting. You’re so delusional.

He lifts a hand. Hear me out. “She’s hooked up with plenty of guys and her definition of commitment is…loose, but I’m the only one she’s ever cared enough about to call her boyfriend. The rest are all distractions.”

“That’s fair.” She nods, but he can tell she feels sorry for him. “Well, it’s not the same for me. I’m not the first choice. I’m not even on the radar.”

It has to be that bastard, Casey Gant. She can do better, honestly, but she doesn’t want to hear that.

Real life Casey is so head over heels for Darcy, that Logan has $500 riding on them getting engaged within a year of graduation.

He wouldn’t name names either, if he were in her shoes.

They reach the bottom of the stairs, and Logan takes a moment to stuff their trash into the garbage can.

When he turns back, Veronica’s face is ashen and she’s staring up the stairs with trepidation.

“I’ll carry you.”

“No.” She climbs the first step, hissing in pain.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Veronica.”

“I’m fine.” She attempts the second step but stumbles, grabbing the rail with her free hand, to keep herself upright.

“That’s it. I’m carrying you.”

She glares back at him. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wanna bet? I’ll throw you over my shoulder right now. Dare me.”

“Oh, I fucking dare you.”

The gleam in Veronica’s eyes makes him glad he left his knife in the truck.

Logan sighs. “I got you into this situation. The least I can do is stop you from hurting yourself.”

He crouches down, then crouches even more, since she’s tiny. “Climb on my back.”

She stares at him, blankly.

“Just…put your arms around my neck and climb on.”

“Logan…” She speaks through her teeth. “We’re at a hospital.”

“That didn’t stop you yesterday. Oh wait, that was my front you climbed like a tree. My mistake. You sure I’m not the Sex Ninja?”

“Jackass.”

“Over my shoulder, it is.”

In the time it takes him to straighten and turn around, Veronica has scurried up three more stairs.

Her strength visibly flags as she attempts the fifth step. She wobbles and tilts backwards.

Racing up the stairs, Logan grips both railings as tight as he can and stiffens his entire body, just in time for her back to slam into his chest.

She doesn’t thank him. She doesn’t speak at all. For several seconds, the only sound is her deep, heaving breaths, reverberating through his torso.

He doesn’t need to look at her face, to sense her frustration and humiliation. Old Veronica hated being forced to depend on others, and it’s clear this new version feels the same way.

Maintaining his tight grip on the railings, he moves up one more step, carefully easing Veronica back on her feet and vertical.

He keeps his chest pressed to her back. Both for support and as an unspoken promise he won’t let her fall.

After a few more seconds, she blows out a breath. “Okay.”

She moves her left foot up one step, and he absorbs her weight as she follows with her right.

Like before, he moves up one step, using his strength and his body to push her upward. To straighten her center of gravity.

They make it up three more stairs this way, the breaks in-between growing longer each time.

Veronica reaches her limit right around the halfway point.

She only gets her left foot halfway up before dropping it, and collapsing back against him.

“Logan? I…can’t.”

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.” He whispers. “Can you turn around?”

With her weight on him, it takes effort and some help on his part for her to be able to turn.

There’s vulnerability and a hint of shame in her gaze before it drops to her feet, and a fierce burst of tenderness surges through his chest.

It’s different from the protectiveness and connection he’s felt toward her since the accident. Different from the affection you feel toward that one friend you secretly love squabbling with.

He wants to keep her safe, but more importantly, he wants this stubborn, prideful girl to feel safe depending upon him.

“Arms around my neck.”

Veronica complies, still refusing to look him in the eyes.

Logan does the rest of the work, ducking slightly and pulling her legs up around his middle as he stands. He hooks his left hand under her thigh for support and holds the railing with his right. Tries not to think about all the times he’s carried Lilly this way.

Luckily, Veronica just feels different. Lighter, despite them being the same size. Delicate, but with a wiry strength he’d noticed yesterday when she refused to let him put her down.

She must be exhausted, because she goes limp in his arms, cheek dropping to his shoulder with a sigh. Soft breaths tickling the side of his neck as he climbs the rest of the way up the stairs.

Using a combination of fingertips, foot, and elbow, he manages to get the emergency door open, thumbing the lock, once inside, to allow it to close behind him. He carries her into the elevator lobby, hoisting her an inch or two higher in order to push the call button, then backing up a few feet to wait.

Veronica finally lifts her head, vulnerability gone and mask firmly back in place. Leaning back slightly, she lifts one brow, a wicked gleam in her eyes. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

Logan grins.

She grins back.

He feels a sort of tightening in his chest and can’t bring himself to break eye contact. Just stands there, smiling like an idiot at his best friend’s girlfriend.

He hears the ding of the elevator, hears the doors sliding open, shifts his weight to carry Veronica inside.

“What the hell is going on here?” The voice, feminine, but deep breaks whatever kind of spell had fallen over him.

He turns, carefully lowering Veronica back to her feet.

The speaker is a heavy-set black woman, forty-ish, with teal scrubs and long braids.

He recognizes her from that day back in October when Lilly was hurt. Was her name Tiffany? He knows she’s the head nurse. The type of person who doesn’t suffer fools gladly. But kind and empathetic when it matters.

Shit. This is bad.

He’s not worried for Veronica or himself. They’ve committed a misdemeanor, at most. But this is exactly what Lucky feared, and there’s no explanation that doesn’t drag him down with them.

“I repeat, what’s going on?” She pushes a stretcher out into the lobby, glancing back over her shoulder. “Beth, call security.”

“Please don’t!” Logan holds up a hand.

The second nurse hesitates, looking back and forth between Logan and Tiffany. She’s younger, early thirties. Dark hair, blue eyes, porcelain skin. The kind of face you’d describe as ‘lovely’, despite it being an antiquated term.

Logan slouches slightly, minimizing his height, and keeping his hands in view. “We’re not doing anything bad. I swear. She just wanted some fresh air. That’s all.”

The chances of these nurses walking down the stairs, circling three sides of the building, and finding their little picnic spot are practically zero.

From the way Tiffany keeps glancing over at the sky bridge, they’re here to meet an incoming helicopter.

Her hands move to her hips. “There’s plenty of air down on ground level, and it’s a whole lot fresher.”

“We tried that.” Veronica steps forward. “We went to the entrance first, but the security guard refused to let me walk outside. Not even to sit on the grass by the window. He radioed the other guards and told them to keep me inside.”

Tiffany’s brow furrows. “You’ll have to come up with a better excuse than that. This is a hospital, not a jail.”

“Yeah? Well Don Lamb believes I’m the property of my father. That my father gets to decide whether I can breathe fresh air or not.”

Nurse Tiffany rolls her eyes, heaves a loud sigh, and mutters something under her breath about men ‘with no damn sense’.

It seems for a moment that she’s going to let them go with a warning, then Nurse Beth asks, “So do you still want me to call security?”

Nurse Tiffany spends a long moment considering, her gaze flicking from them to the sky bridge and back again. “Yeah, give them a call.”

“Come on,” Logan mutters.

She raises a hand in a ‘let me speak gesture’ and addresses Veronica. “I’m sorry. Look, I’m not unsympathetic when it comes to dealing with ignorant men, and I could let the trespassing slide. What I can’t condone, is you two endangering other patients.”

“What?”

“This space. Right here.” She points to the floor under their feet. “The trauma patients who arrive by helicopter are the ones most desperately in need of help. There has to be a clear shot into the elevator, and even three seconds spent trying to navigate around a pair of teenagers could be the difference between life and death.”

“We know,” Logan says quietly, “We were those patients back in September.”

She tilts her head, studying them more closely.

“I swear, we were only standing here for a few seconds. I carried her inside, pushed the elevator button, and then it opened, and you were there.”

“And why exactly were you carrying her?”

“Because she couldn’t make it back up the stairs on her own.”

Veronica glares at him.

Too bad. Deal with it.

She deals with it by stepping in front of him.

“Please,” she entreats. “People make stupid mistakes when they’re young and in love.”

In love?

Reaching back, she pulls both of Logan’s arms around her and leans back against him. To an observer, they might look like they’re posing for prom photos, but her entire body is trembling. She can barely stand up.

“Why don’t you go sit down,” Logan whispers, and points to a small window ledge near the emergency door.

Veronica ignores his suggestion. “All I wanted was some alone-time with my boyfriend. I’ve been here for months, and he stuck by me the entire time.”

Nurse Tiffany looks unimpressed, but Nurse Beth watches this unfold with cartoon heart eyes.

“Of course, I stuck by you, Honey Bear.” Logan steps back slightly, in order to take more of her weight.

Veronica turns her head and gazes up at him with soft, adoring eyes. Fuck, she’s good. Rising up on her toes, she presses a chaste kiss to his cheek. “Not every guy would.”

“Anyone who didn’t would be an idiot.”

Tiffany clears her throat. “You can have alone-time in your room.”

“I know.” Veronica drops her eyes, shyly. “But people coming in and out all the time makes it hard to be intimate.”

“Intimate?” Tiffany’s brows shoot up to her hairline. “Out there? With the fumes and dirty chimneys?”

“Not THAT intimate!” Veronica pretends to be scandalized. “PG-rated intimate.”

“Makeout session,” Logan translates.

“It’s just been a really long time. We’ve missed each other.”

“So much.” Logan rubs the tip of his nose against Veronicas, making her giggle.

Nurse Tiffany looks like she’s going to hurl. She glances over her shoulder to Nurse Beth. “What do you think?”

“They’re just kids. We all did stupid things at that age. I know I did.”

At Tiffany’s hesitation, Nurse Beth adds, “I think they’ve learned their lesson, and luckily for all of us, it wasn’t the hard way.” She glances at the sky bridge. At the helipad, all lit up.

When Tiffany’s shoulders fall, he knows she’s going to relent. “Alright, I suppose I can let you off with a warning.”

“We’ll never do it again,” Veronica says. “Promise!’

“Well, make it quick. We need that elevator back ASAP.”

“Okay.”

She stops them before they can get in. “How did you even get out here? The elevator requires a key.”

Fuck. How do they explain without throwing Lucky under the bus?

“Back stairwell.” Veronica makes a vague gesture to the other end of the roof. “I picked the lock. And this one.” She nods at the side door.

“You picked the lock.” Tiffany tilts her head in an ‘I know bullshit when I hear it’ way.

“Surprising, huh? Don’t worry, I’m not a criminal. My dad taught me how to do it when I was ten. He’s taught me a lot of skills I’m only supposed to use in case of emergency.” Veronica makes an ‘oops’ face, and adds, “He’s the sheriff.”

From the way the nurse’s eyes widen, you’d think Veronica was a ghost.

She slaps a hand to Logan’s chest, preventing them from stepping inside the elevator.

“You’re Veronica Mars.”

“Yeah?”

“The same Veronica Mars who woke from a three-month coma less than a week ago?”

“See why I needed fresh air?”

Nurse Tiffany closes her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose, as if to stave off a migraine.

“What. On. Earth. Are you doing up here?”

“Um…makeout session.” Veronica smiles back at Logan. “A really good makeout session.”

She’s probably making things worse, but he can’t help but smile back.

“I mean…What are you doing up on your feet?”

“Trying very hard not to fall over.”

Nurse Tiffany’s gaze flicks to Logan. “What’s wrong with you? Pick her up!”

“Yes ma’am.” Bending down, he hooks a forearm behind Veronica’s knees and swings her up into his arms.

She clutches his neck, smiles up at him lovingly, but the tightness in her jaw tells him exactly how much she appreciates being lugged around.

He gives her a look. ‘What else am I supposed to do?’ and she nods curtly.

Nurse Tiffany looks from them to the helipad, to the elevator, and finally to Nurse Beth. “How much time?”

Beth speaks into a headset, presses a hand over her earpad to better hear the response, then glances up. “ETA less than two minutes.”

“Oh hell in a handbasket.” Nurse Tiffany throws up her hands, allowing herself a moment of ‘I did NOT sign up for this nonsense’, before shifting into drill sergeant mode.

“Go on. I’ll be right out,” she tells Beth, who, with a nod, pushes her cart through the automatic doors.

“You two. Back in that corner.” She points to where she wants them to stand. “Stay quiet, stay out of the way, and for God’s sake, do NOT make that poor girl stand on her own feet.”

“I understand,” Logan says.

Grabbing hold of the stretcher, she pushes it toward the sky bridge, pausing to add, “She’s in no condition to go traipsing all over the hospital.”

“I’m fine,” Veronica says, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Just wait here. Once we get the incoming patient where they need to be, I’ll send somebody back up with a wheelchair for Veronica. Don’t even think about leaving until they get here.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“And security?” Veronica asks.

Nurse Tiffany blows air through her lips, making a ‘pbbbb’ sound, and rolls her eyes skyward. “As if I’d give Don Lamb the pleasure.”

With that, she pushes through the automatic doors and onto the sky bridge.

It occurs to Logan that he’s carrying Veronica around like she’s his freaking bride or something. Backing up into their designated corner, he takes a seat on a shallow window ledge, arranging her sideways on his lap, like a proper ‘boyfriend’ would.

The copter arrives right on schedule. Logan watches through the window, chin resting on the top of Veronica’s head as the door slides open and the medics go to work in a flurry of activity and controlled chaos.

Like a well-oiled machine, it takes less than a minute for the team to cross the sky bridge. Two EMTs follow the nurses through the automatic doors.

Well, well, well. If it isn’t my old pals, Brent and Laura.

Before he can even get a look at the trauma patient, the stretcher is inside the elevator. Probably a good thing.

Nurse Tiffany pauses on the threshold and points at them. “Remember what I said. Stay put until I send up a wheelchair.”

Laura is already inside the elevator, but Brent looks their way, shaking his head in amusement before following the others into the elevator.

The doors close, finally, leaving him alone with his ‘girlfriend’.

He’s not mad about Veronica’s ruse. Intrigued? Definitely.

One second, she’d been new Veronica, guarded and shrewd, then, in the blink of an eye, she was his love-struck ‘girlfriend’, appealing to the nurses’ romantic natures.

And she’d enjoyed it. He’s not sure how he knows, but she did. Not so much the duping of the nurses, but inhabiting a role. Playing The Game. And winning.

“So…Honey Bear, is this something you do often? Faking a romance to tug at people’s heartstrings?”

She doesn’t look at him, continues staring out the window, but a faint smirk forms at the corners of her lips. “Last time, you called me Sugar Puss.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

They’ve been waiting for at least five minutes when Logan’s phone rings.

He answers the call. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey,” Lilly answers, “Sorry I’m so late. Duncan has the car, so I have to wait for him to get back from his soccer game, or borrow my dad’s when he gets home. I didn’t bother asking Celeste, for obvious reasons.”

“It’s fine. My new girlfriend is warming my lap.” He preemptively pulls the phone away from his ear to protect his hearing.

“Your WHAT?”

Veronica rolls her eyes. And squirms to get off his lap.

The ledge isn’t big enough for two, so he gives up his spot and slides down to the floor.

“We were busted sneaking back inside after getting intimate on the roof.”

“So help me, Logan—”

Veronica rips the phone from his hand. “Ignore him, Lilly. He’s just being a jackass. You know, day that ends in Y.”

She quickly recounts everything that transpired since being busted in the lobby, her reasons for initiating the ruse, and firmly reiterates the fact that no intimate moments occurred, PG-rated or otherwise.

Notably, she leaves out the part where her legs had been wrapped around his waist when the elevator doors opened. Innocent or not, two days in a row is bound to raise eyebrows.

Other than a loud ‘NO WAY!’ and a few gasps, he can’t hear Lilly’s end of the conversation, but Veronica doesn’t seem worried.

And why should she be? They’d done nothing wrong. Other than trespassing and weed smoking, that is.

“Okay, I’ll see you in a little bit.” Veronica hands him back his phone.

He lifts it to his ear. “Hey.”

“Hey you.” Lilly purrs. “I just wanted to say thank you for being the best boyfriend ever!”

“For what?”

“Just…keeping Veronica company, while we’re held up. And arranging the little rooftop adventure. It’s good to hear her laugh again.”

“Oh, she was laughing, alright.” As people do when they’re stoned. “And it’s not any trouble. I’m enjoying getting to know her.”

“You’ve known her for years, dork.”

“You have no idea, Lils. No idea at all.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think I’ll let you discover for yourself.”

Lilly launches into a story about Ms. Mills, who ‘totally has it out for’ her, and Logan tries to pay attention.

But Veronica’s reflection in the window steals his attention.

Something’s wrong. She’s turned away from, looking out toward the helipad, and seems to be struggling to hold back some emotion.

Her profile looks very adult. And heartbroken.

Something twists, painfully, behind his rib cage.

This is just wrong.

Veronica should be smiles and lighthearted laughter. That’s her role in the group. Those are the rules.

“Hey Lils,” He interrupts. “Can you tell me when you get here? I’m gonna hang up…Okay…Right…I love you, too.”

He disconnects the call.

What to do? Pry or distract?

She’ll clam up if he goes with the former. Fake a smile and tell him everything’s fine.

Distraction, it is.

“So…”

She glances up. “So what?”

“Kama Sutra? Sex Ninja boyfriend?” Logan boops the tip of her nose with his finger and shakes his head, sadly. “I could be wrong, but all evidence points to the fact that you, Veronica Mars, have become the world’s first virgin nymphomaniac. We should get Ripley’s on the line.”

That gets a grudging smile out of her. She punches him lightly on the arm. “I get it. I thought you came here to play with my bed, but we both know you live to antagonize me.”

“That’s fair. But now that you’ve dated a Sex Ninja I wouldn’t mind playing in your bed. Think of all the things you could teach me.” He wiggles his eyebrows at her.

Hard stare.

He sighs. “Actually, the reason I came early was because I wanted a chance to talk to you alone. Before Duncan and Lilly got here.”

“Right.” Veronica swallows, and looks around, as if searching for some means of escape. Wheelchair or not.

“Why does it seem like you hate Duncan now?”

Her reaction is one of surprise and relief. “That’s why you’re here?”

“Why? What did you think I was going to ask you?”

“Nothing.”

He sighs. “Veronica…”

“Logan…” She parrots his name back to him like a five year old, then sighs. “I just figured you’d want an explanation for why I cried all over your shirt. Why I was so…clingy. We were never exactly hugging friends.”

“Actually, that was one of the only things that made sense.”

“It did?”

“Yeah.” Logan nudges her in the side, points out to the helicopter. “I mean, we went through some real shit that night, Mars. I think we’re like soulmates now, or something.”

He turns to meet her gaze, scrunching up his nose as if to say, ‘Gross!’

At her expression, he realizes his mistake. “Oh! No! Not like that, obviously. Bad choice of words.” He presses his hand to his face, laughs softly into his palm. “I mean, we’re like…blood brothers. Or guardian angels. Fuck I don’t know. Just guardians?”

Veronica squints at him like he’s speaking gibberish.

“You don’t remember anything about that night, do you? Being medevaced to the hospital?”

“Wasn’t I unconscious? From what the doctors told me, I never woke up after the accident. Until Sunday.”

“Yeah, but…?” There’s a sinking sensation in his belly. He’d wanted so badly for her to remember. To validate what they’d shared, at the very least.

“But, what?”

“Never mind.” He shakes his head. “It’s not important.”

“Don’t keep things from me, Logan.” Her voice goes hard. “Even if you think it’s for my own good.”

“It’s not that. It’s more for my own good.”

“How?”

“Look, I just try not to talk about it, anymore.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I thought what happened that night was…” fucking miraculous. “…kind of intense. But when I told Duncan and Lilly about it, they just laughed and ridiculed me. They still tease me about it, months later.”

“I won’t ridicule you.”

“Really?” He lifts one skeptical eyebrow, counts out his points on his fingers. “Because just yesterday, you ridiculed my hair, my clothing, my necklace, my cologne, and even the contents of my pockets.”

“That’s different. I was confused. The You I’m used to — Matrix Logan — is older and a lot better groomed. Seeing you like…this…” She flicks a hand toward him. “…just seemed like a major fashion backslide.”

He scoffs. “Define better groomed.”

“Really, Logan? I’m asking you to tell me what happened that night. We can trade beauty secrets later.”

He gives her his ‘not amused’ face.

“Please.” She widens her eyes, as if faking a facial expression proves her sincerity. “Tell me everything, and I promise I won’t ridicule you.”

Logan sighs heavily. God, she’s pushy.

Behind him, the elevator dings. “Saved by the bell.”

The doors open and an empty wheelchair rolls out into the lobby.

“That’s it?” Veronica whispers, “Not even a wave?”

“We can hope.”

But nope. Out comes Brent, followed by Laura.

It’s not as if he’s going to go bowling with them, or anything, but in a weird way, Logan thinks of these two as friends. They’d visited him while he was recovering from the accident. Brent, making him laugh when he was going stir crazy, and Laura making him feel not-so ‘crazy-crazy’.

True believer, that one.

Brent approaches them with a shit-eating grin. “Did somebody get caught making out on the helipad? I expect you to name your children after us.”

“Fuck off,” Logan responds, without any real heat. “We weren’t anywhere near the helipad, and we weren’t making out.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Dude, we made it up. I have a girlfriend.”

Laura steers the wheelchair over, staring at Veronica like she’s the Virgin Mary on a grilled cheese sandwich or something. “Why would you make up something like that?”

“Because, apparently, it makes us more sympathetic than the truth. Just two friends having an innocent picnic on the roof.”

Brent shakes his head, and even Laura looks disappointed.

“What?” he asks, “Do you want us to go make out on the helipad, or something.”

“Not. Gonna. Happen,” Veronica says.

In truth, Logan can’t be too annoyed. Turnabout is fair play, after all.

He turns to Veronica. “Let’s get you in your chair, so we can get the hell out of here.”

He bends to pick her up, but Veronica swats his hand away, stands up, and gets into the chair herself.

Brent blows out a breath. “I’d heard you were up on your feet, but I guess I had to see it to believe it.”

“You look amazing.” Laura crouches down, adjusting the wheelchair’s foot thingamajigs to the correct height for Veronica's small frame.

“Thanks?” Veronica looks back and forth between the two EMTs. “Have we met?”

“Where are my manners?” Logan places a hand on her shoulder. “This smartass is Brent. And Laura here, is the reason you’re alive right now.”

“Me? No, that was Logan. Or maybe it was the other way around?” She nods at the two of them and makes a switcheroo gesture. “I’m not sure what exactly happened, to be honest. It was just…” She trails off, glancing up at Brent, as if asking him to finish the sentence.

“Yeah.” Brent blows out a breath.

“Yeah.” Laura repeats.

“What was ‘yeah’? Will somebody please explain what’s going on?”

Both EMTs turn to Logan.

“Fine!” Blowing out a breath, he turns to Veronica. “Our limo rolled into a ravine. Brent and Laura pulled us out, flew us to the hospital. We lived. The end.”

Brent leans back against the wall, beefy arms crossed over his chest.

“What?” Logan huffs. “Those are the objective facts.”

“We’ll give you some privacy.” Laura says. She hesitates, and addresses both of them, “Look out for each other, okay? No matter what happens.”

Logan smiles down at Veronica. “Always.”

When Brent makes no move to leave, Laura grabs him by the wrist, dragging him through the automatic doors to the sky bridge.

Logan glances at his watch. “If we hurry, we might make the coffee bar before they close for the night. I’m in the mood for more caffeine.”

“I’m in the mood for the truth,” Veronica says, “But you can tell me over a latte.”

“Fine. Just remember, you asked for it.”

To Be Continued

Chapter Text

Chapter 5 - OZ Never Did Give Nothing To The Tin Man

September 12, 2003

I’m about to be squashed by a helicopter.

Logan’s brain is trying to batter its way out of his skull, and he’s not sure if the throbbing is coming from the tissue or the bone. His body doesn’t hurt. Not at all.

Should he be concerned about that? A few minutes ago everything hurt like holy hell. Every single cell. Or was that hours? Weeks?

He wiggles his toes. They wiggle back.

Thank fucking God!

A flash of memory: He’s rolling. His body slamming into the roof, the doors, the floor. And then falling. The sounds of metal ripping and crumpling, glass shattering. A thousand little stings. Somebody crashing into him like a human projectile. Long hair. A girl. An instinctive last-second body roll, to take the brunt of the impact.

He’s on his back now. Nobody on top of him. No hair in his mouth.

Where’d she go?

Girl? You okay?

A smarter guy would probably get out of the way of a helicopter, but how is he supposed to think with all this noise? Anyway, he lacks the energy to even open his eyelids, let alone move. They can find somewhere else to land.

Tonight was fun. At least, before the whole, screech/crash/boom part.

Way better than going to a stupid dance, with Coach Pepperdine standing guard over the punch bowl while Ms. Hauser patrols the dance floor to enforce the no-grinding rule. No pelvises shall come within three inches of any other pelvis. She probably brought her ruler.

Was this their last dance on the beach?

Next year, they’ll have to make an appearance at the dance, so Lilly can accept her crown. The year after that will be Duncan’s turn. Unless a certain dark horse candidate comes along to steal it out from under him.

While Logan isn’t one for school spirit and the wholesome high school experience, he can’t deny he would look damn good in a crown.

Hands are on him, poking and prodding at his torso, unbuttoning his shirt.

Not now, Lils.

The fabric is pushed aside, then something warm trickles over his ribs and down his side.

Logan shakes his head. “Go ‘way.”

It’s like magic. The hands are gone.

“Alright! A little higher…higher….Okay, I’ve got her!” To his left, a woman shouts to be heard over the propellers. “Pull her in. Slowwwly. Good!”

A door slams closed, dampening the noise level considerably, and something clatters on the floor. Since the ground doesn’t have a floor, this must mean he’s actually inside the helicopter, not under it, and they’re hovering somewhere over Neptune.

“I’ve got a pulse.” The woman speaks again. “A faint one. Okay, I’ll unclip this. Get that buckle for me.”

“And then, what?” A gruff male voice answers. “Where are we putting her?”

“On the bench.”

“It’s too narrow.”

“Not with the gurney supporting the other half the board. Scoot it closer.”

It goes quiet, and if not for the sounds of plastic clips and cords sliding against metal buckles, Logan might mistake this for sleep.

Another click and the gurney he’s laying on is lowered by several inches.

“One…two….three…Lift,” The man says.

Footsteps shuffle past Logan’s head.

“Okay, turn…a little more…now bring it down gently.”

The cushion below Logan depresses slightly, and fingers brush against his right knuckles.

“Scoot him over just a bit,” the woman says, and he feels his own body being lifted and set back down.

Fuck off.

He would say it aloud, but that would require opening his mouth. Not worth the effort.

His head is spinning, and his brain feels fuzzy, and he has a hard time following the medical jargon or tracking what the hands are doing to his body.

Then the woman lets out an exasperated, “What is your problem, Brent?”

Logan snaps back to attention. Drama?

“Nothing. I’m fine. It’s just…we have protocols for a reason, Laura.” The man — Brent —speaks calmly, but as if through clenched teeth. “If this kid dies, we’re both thoroughly screwed! And he had a much better chance of survival before you insisted on going back down for the girl.”

“I couldn’t just leave her down in that ravine to die.”

“Team B was right behind us.”

“Team B hit a patch of fog and were still five minutes out. She wouldn’t have survived down there. I made the call. It’s on me.”

“And now, we’ll be lucky if either of them makes it.” Brent’s tone downshifts from anger to resignation.” You need to accept that some cases are lost causes. I hate it, too, but I’d rather save one, than lose both.”

“How was I supposed to look Keith Mars in the eyes and tell him I left his little girl behind to die, in order to save the rich movie star’s son?” Laura’s voice cracks.

What? Veronica?

“I think I’d rather take my chances with the Sheriff than Aaron Echolls,” Brent mutters. “Rumor is, he has a cruel streak.”

Logan opens his eyes.

A burly jock type, mid-twenties, with sandy brown hair and freckles - Brent, presumably - stands over him, doing something to his torso.

At the head of the gurney, a strawberry blonde with a tight braid is attaching some kind of clip to one of Veronica’s fingers.

Sensing his gaze on her, she glances up. “Hello, Logan. Try not to panic.”

Yeah, right.

“You were in a car accident. We’re on our way to Neptune General.”

He swallows painfully. “Lilly?”

Laura offers him a reassuring smile. “Your other two friends are fine. They were able to climb out of the ravine and call for help. They’re being taken to the hospital by ambulance, but should be cleared to go home tonight.”

He exhales his relief. If anything had happened to Lilly….

Brent shines a mini flashlight into his eyes, blinding him.

“Stop it.” Logan bats it away, turning his head to look at Veronica.

She lays at his right side, like a lifeless porcelain doll, deadly still and ashen white.

Is she even breathing? She doesn’t look like she’s breathing.

“Veronica?”

She doesn’t answer.

Blood saturates her pink formal dress. Why is there so much blood?

Laura connects a tube to some kind of tank, and then fits a clear mask over Veronica’s mouth and nose.

“We need you to lie still, Logan, so we can do our job.” Brent says.

“Forget about me,” he rasps out, “Make her stop bleeding.”

“That’s not her blood, bro.”

“Whose is it, then? Mine?” Logan tucks his chin, to get a better look at his own body.

“Don’t look!” Laura says, circling around to his side of the gurney, but it’s too late.

Once the dry heaving starts, it takes a while to make it stop.

He’s seen roadkill in better shape.

“Shit!” Brent says, then repeats it with a more emphatic, “SHIT!”

Laura leans over him. “Breathe with me, Logan. Four counts in. Four counts out.”

Once his esophagus has stopped trying to murder him, Laura lifts her head, yelling to the pilot. “Radio Neptune General, and tell them to be ready with a blood transfusion. And a CT scan for the girl.” Turning back to Logan, she says, “Try not to look down again.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. Instead, he turns his head back to the right. “V’ronica. You okay? She’ll be okay, right?”

Their silence is deafening.

“Veronica.” He extends his fingers until he finds her small hand, then wraps it in his own. “You need to fight, okay?”

“Logan. Stop moving!”

“If you die, Lilly’s going to murder me for letting it happen. Then, we’ll both be dead, and then she’ll have to spend her life in prison. You don’t want that, do you?”

Nothing.

“You know she looks terrible in orange. It totally washes out her complexion.”

Come on, Veronica.

“And what about poor Duncan? He’ll be left all alone. A sitting duck for Shelly to sink her talons into.”

Blood spurts in his peripheral vision, and Brent, mutters unintelligibly under his breath.

The paramedics share a look.

Fuck.

“Veronica. Listen to me. You need to live. Your dad needs you. Duncan needs you. Lilly needs you.”

He swallows. Tries to imagine a world without Veronica Mars in it. Without her around to call him out on his stupid decisions.

“I need you, Veronica.”

“Logan! Stay still.” Brent commands.

“Why aren’t you working on her?”

“Because you’re bleeding out.”

Logan considers this, but can’t manage to muster his self-preservation instinct.

Would it really matter if he died?

Aaron would just milk his demise for everything it was worth. Attention, sympathy, an inspiring comeback with new, grittier roles.

His mom could finally walk away, no longer forced to stay for his sake. Trina wouldn’t even notice his absence.

Lilly would grieve him, of course. For a while. But before long, she would declare herself too fabulous for mourning, and would stage her own sort of comeback.

Duncan would raise a glass to his memory on holidays and special occasions, but life would go on as always.

He contributes nothing worthwhile to the world, has no bright future ahead of him. His death would barely make a blip in the news cycle.

But Veronica…Lilly and Duncan would be destroyed.

He grabs Brent’s wrist with his free hand. “My dad won’t be mad if I die. I promise. Help her.”

Pity fills the man’s eyes, and he tugs free of Logan’s grip. “There’s nothing we can do for her, beyond keeping her breathing and getting her to the hospital as quickly as possible. You need my help, right now.”

Logan turns his head back to the right, his voice quieter, now. Why is it getting harder to speak? “V’ronica, you need to fight to live. So many people love you. Your parents, Backup, Lilly and Duncan. Even me, believe it or not.”

“Logan! Stay still.” Laura says, “We need to strap him down.”

“How? The board is in the way.”

Logan rambles on, unsure if he’s even speaking the words aloud, or only thinks he is. “Remember all your big plans to grow up and join the FBI? Think of all the bad guys, you’ll get to outwit if you stick around. Think of all the ugly pants suits you’ll get to wear. Fight for the pants suits, Veronica.”

His head is spinning, and his eyes are blurred with hot tears. “These two aren’t helping you, because they think you’re a lost cause. Prove them wrong. We both know you always get the last word. You HAVE to prove them wrong!”

He feels for the back of her wrist. Is there a faint pulse?

Veronica’s limp arm offers no resistance when he pulls her hand over to his face. He touches his lips softly to her palm and her knuckles, then weaves their fingers together, rotating their wrists so he can rest his cheek against the back of her hand.

Soft.

Her skin is even paler now. Like death.

No. No. No.

Where is her pulse?

“Where is her pulse!”

An alarm goes off somewhere, flat and insistent, and Laura races around the foot of the gurney to her side.

He nuzzles his cheek against Veronica’s hand, and concentrates as hard as possible on sharing with her through the skin contact. Sharing his lifeforce. His Chi, or spark, or energy, or who even gives a shit what it’s called, as long as it keeps her alive.

Maybe it’s completely insane, altogether pointless, but it works in the comics, sometimes. More importantly, it’s the only thing he’s physically capable of doing. The only way he can help.

Veronica has so much left to offer the world. Logan has so little.

“Keep fighting.” His words are no louder than a whisper now, but he continues chanting.

He’s so light-headed and dizzy, but he can’t stop trying to push his energy into her. To will her to live.

His eyelids are heavy, his vision fading, but he won’t look away from her face. So still. So pretty.

As long as he’s keeping watch over her, she can’t die. Right?

“We all need you, V’ronica.”

So heavy…

“We all…”

So dark…

“…love you.”

A second alarm joins the first. Loud and insistent.

Blackness.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

He’s wide awake. Standing on the other side of the copter, right behind the pilot’s seat. He shouldn’t be able to stand upright, yet somehow, he is.

“What the fuck? Did I shrink or something?”

Laura and Brent ignore him. Her hands are pushing on Veronica’s chest, while some new patient has Brent’s attention. It looks like they’re both yelling, but Logan can’t make out any individual words, only muffled noise.

The new patient’s shirt has been ripped open revealing a gash from chest to belly, Blood pools underneath the gurney. So much blood. The poor guy can’t possibly survive losing that much blood.

Brent shifts from the head of the gurney to its side, and Logan finally gets a look at the patient’s face.

My face.

Wait. If I’m over there, then how am I…?

Oh.

Fuck.

Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck. I’m not ready.

“I’m over here!” he yells, but they can’t hear him. Their movements are urgent. Fearful.

“Help me! Brent!” He waves his hands. “Laura!”

She’s up on the gurney now, straddling Logan’s thighs, as they fight to save his life.

“Please! I’m right here!”

She lifts her head, looking right through Logan as she yells something to the pilot. It’s as if he’s invisible.

He takes a swipe at Brent’s arm, but feels only nothingness.

“FUCK! I don’t want to die!” Logan cries. “Put me back in! Please PUT ME BACK IN!.”

It’s useless. He’s so thoroughly fucked.

The ramifications of his death begin to sink in. Things he hadn’t considered earlier.

Who was he kidding, to think his mom would use his loss as motivation to change her life? She won’t. She’ll just double-down on her drinking to numb the pain.

Without Logan around to deflect his anger, will Aaron turn his violence on his wife? Trina?

What about Lilly? Without him to play the ‘bad boy boyfriend’ role, will she find an actual bad guy to taunt her parents with? Someone legitimately dangerous?

And Duncan is already too antisocial. Who’s going to be there to pull him out of his shell, and remind him the world exists outside his head?

“Here lies Logan Echolls. Lived as a fuck up. Died as a fuck up. Who could’ve guessed?” He chuckles, bitterly. On the bright side, at least, he gets to take Aaron’s tux with him.

Something squeezes his hand.

What the hell?

Veronica’s head is turned and she’s staring directly at him over her oxygen mask.

Not his body, at her left shoulder. HIM. Right here, by the cockpit.

Logan shivers. “You can see me?”

Her eyes are a bright, vivid blue. Bluer than they’ve ever been before, and full of pure, unadulterated fury.

“What are you so pissed about? I’m the one who’s dead.”

Eyes narrowing even more, she tightens her grip on his hand.

“Stop it!”

She only squeezes harder. And harder still, fingernails digging painfully into his flesh.

She squeezes until it feels like she’s crushing every bone in his right hand, and he can’t bear the pain another second longer.

“Owwwww.” Logan screams. “That fucking HURTS, Veronica!”

All at once, the pain is gone.

It takes him a moment to realize he’d screamed with his own mouth. He’s looking through his own eyes.

Laura and Brent stand above him, sweat-soaked, dazed, and speechless.

“Fuck, that was close,” Brent wipes his forehead with a clean gauze pad.

Laura’s attention shifts over to Veronica, and Logan follows her gaze.

She’s the same as she was before Logan’s little out-of-body adventure. Eyes closed, hand slack against his cheek. But…is there more color in her face? She no longer looks like a corpse. And is that…? Yes! Her chest is steadily rising and falling.

Logan’s laugh sounds insane, even to his own ears. “We did it! Oh God, we fucking did it!”

Thank you.

Laura can’t seem to decide whether she’s exhilarated, or about to collapse. She looks exhausted, as if fixing their broken bodies was as strenuous as climbing a mountain.

Brent too, come to think of it. He drapes an arm lightly over her shoulders in support, and when she lets out a laugh that sounds a bit like a sob, he tenderly pulls her face into his chest.

Logan can’t help but giggle.

Brent’s brow furrows. “What’s funny?”

“When this is over, you two are SO going to bang.”

It’s a good exit line, luckily, because that’s the last thing Logan remembers before passing out, cold.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Now

“So, that’s the whole, bizarre, story.” Logan wheels Veronica to the ground floor elevator bank and presses the call button. “The next time I woke up, I was in post-op recovery and you were up on the seventh floor.”

Or almost the whole story. Obviously, he’d withheld any thoughts about his dysfunctional family or how he’d weighed the value of his own life against hers. Nobody needs that kind of burden.

He stands behind Veronica’s wheelchair, mostly because he can’t bring himself to look at her.

After what they went through together, seeing her laugh at him might sting even more than when the others had.

“But who knows? We had a lot of champagne that night.”

It wasn’t the champagne. Wasn’t some kind of alcohol-induced hallucination. He’s giving her an out. Sparing her the need to come up with a tactful way to tell him he’s crazy.

The elevator dings, the doors open, and Logan waits for two nurses and an elderly couple to exit before wheeling Veronica inside.

“So, that’s what you meant earlier. About us being soulmates,” Veronica muses, as he presses the button for the seventh floor.

“Yep.” He hangs her bag of candy over the wheelchair’s handle to better glimpse the brownish marks dotting the space between his right thumb and index finger. Marks left behind by two crescent shaped punctures he’d discovered the day after the accident. Punctures that aligned perfectly with Veronica’s fingernails.

Despite what Lilly and Duncan and everyone else says, he knows it was real.

Veronica stared right at those marks yesterday, then asked him about some other scar. Something about PCHers shooting up his car.

“You think there’s some remnant or residue of your…lifeforce inside me?” she asks, “I guess that would explain my affinity for guys who love hair gel as much as anything else.”

“You promised you wouldn’t ridicule me.” Logan finally looks at her, but she isn’t laughing. She isn’t crying, either, but her eyes are shiny. Glassy, but not in the way they’d been earlier, when she was high.

“You believe me.”

“I want to.” She lifts her gaze to the ceiling, in that way people do when they’re trying to prevent tears from falling. “I really really want to.”

She’s leaving something unsaid, and Logan has a pretty good idea what it is.

“Because you couldn’t save me in The Matrix?”

Veronica goes rigid. “What?”

Before he can probe further, the floor indicator flips to ‘7’, the elevator dings and the doors open.

Before Logan has time to blink, Veronica rises from her chair and exits the elevator.. Despite his entreaties, she refuses to sit back down. Claims she’d regained her strength in the time they’d spent talking over coffee. Needless to say, the walk to her room takes three times longer than it would’ve if she’d simply allowed her to wheel her there.

Luckily, the hallway is silent, with no sign of any nurses, and Kimmy has gone back to wherever obsessives go between stalking sessions.

Veronica has not, in fact, recovered. You’d think, after their time on the rooftop stairs, she might just allow him to help. Nope. She puts almost as much effort into concealing her pain from him as she does walking.

Stubborn girl.

Finally back inside her hospital room, Logan closes the door behind him and stands aside while she gets comfortable in her bed.

He takes a moment to toe off his shoes, then faces her. “You really don’t have to push yourself so hard, Veronica.”

“Sure, I do.” Her smile is one of the saddest he’s ever seen. “How can I run from true emotional connection, if I can’t even walk?”

“Have you considered planting your feet and staring it down?” He demonstrates, catching her gaze and holding eye contact.

Veronica breaks first, tugging the bag from his hand and emptying Twizzlers, peanut butter cups, and assorted candy bars into the same drawer he’d found her journal inside.

“I’ll be fine. My muscles aren’t used to exercise. I just need to remember to stretch first.”

“I can help with that.” He shifts around, so that he’s beside her, snags the bed remote from the table, and presses the button to lift the lower end of the bed.

“How? You teach yoga in your spare time or something.?”

“No, but I volunteer my shoulders. Feel free to throw your legs over them, anytime.” Smirking, he raises the knee section higher. “What was that position again?”

She groans loudly and rolls her eyes. “It’s cute that you think you’re in my league. Come back in a few years, and we’ll talk.”

“Man, you’re brutal!”

She shrugs and rips open the pack of Twizzlers. “You’d grow bored with me if I wasn’t.”

She’d been neither brutal nor boring before the accident, but he suspects she was talking to Matrix Logan.

Speaking of that guy.

“So, you had no memory of the accident before I told you about it.”

“Nope.” She bites into a Twizzler.

“So that means something else prompted yesterday’s oh-so-enthusiastic greeting.”

She freezes, mid-chew, peering up at him like a cornered dog.

“I spoke with Kimmy Kittlemeyer for a minute, when I got here earlier.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

“Oh, you know. She ambushed me with all sorts of baseless theories as to why you woke up on Sunday, screaming my name and fighting to get to me. Want to fill me in?”

“Next question.” She takes a sudden interest in The Davinci Code, turning it over and pretending to read the back.

“Come on, Veronica. Something obviously happened, and it involved me.”

Her jaw does that stubborn, flexing thing again, but she doesn’t speak.

“Here’s what I know. Yesterday, when you opened that bathroom door, you looked at me like you were seeing a ghost. Seeing me made you very emotional, but you tackled me and refused to let me go, so I think we can rule out negative emotions.”

“Wow. You should be a detective.” Veronica’s voice is flat.

“I naturally assumed all of that was about the accident. That you’d mistakenly believed I’d died that night, and were relieved to be wrong. But now….”

She visibly stiffens, as if bracing herself for a blow.

“I think I died in The Matrix. You were either there when it happened, or arrived moments too late. It had to have happened recently. You were still able to wrap your mind around a miraculous survival, where with Lilly, you would’ve accepted a secret twin or doppelganger before admitting she was alive.

Veronica’s eyes drop to her hands and her fingers twist together. “Can’t you just let it go?”

“Nope. I’m sorry, Veronica. But we’ll need to have a reasonable explanation prepared for when Kimmy starts spreading rumors about our secret romance.

“Fine!” She exhales loudly and lifts her chin, a combative glint in her eyes. “I watched you die. Specifically, I got you killed. And I guess the trauma was so bad - so overwhelming - that my subconscious was like ‘Fuck this! I’m out!’, releasing its hold on the whole…fantasy life it had created.”

Hairs lift on Logan’s arms, and the back of his neck tingles. “My death was your red pill.”

“Yes.”

“So, it was my henhouse?”

Her brow furrows.

“You said your chickens came home to roost in other people’s hen houses.”

“Right. Your henhouse. My dad’s, Mac’s, Wallace’s. Weevil Navarro’s. I was a one-woman wrecking crew. But you, most of all.”

What the hell does Weevil Navarro have to do with anything?

“Wallace…?” he begins.

“My best friend.”

He doesn’t even have to ask if Wallace is the Sex Ninja. Her expression is all wrong. An entirely different version of panic.

She seems to enjoy her memories of the Sex Ninja, her face going soft when she thinks of him. It was only when Logan tried to guess or narrow down Mr. Ninja’s identity that her fear showed itself.

It’s hard to describe her reaction to Wallace’s name. She looks normal enough on the outside. Her jaw is tight, but not in that belligerent, ‘I want to fight’ way. It’s more like… If he had the ability to listen to her internal monologue, he suspects it would be chanting, ‘Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it.’

Wallace can wait until she’s ready to talk.

“So, how did I die?”

“Gunshot. I saw the red laser dot on your shirt — right over your heart”

She’d touched his heart yesterday, when she asked him about scarring.

“But I didn’t think quickly enough to push you away. I didn’t save you.” Veronica’s voice breaks, and she bites her lip to keep from crying.

“Shhhh.” Logan swings his right arm around her, and pulls her snug against his side. “We were pretty close in 2007, huh? Or…you and Matrix Logan, I mean.”

“What makes you say that? Maybe I was just relieved that I didn’t get my old acquaintance killed.”

“That tracks. I, also, like to sit on the laps of my old acquaintances, and randomly search their pockets.”

“Our relationship was complicated.” Veronica speaks slowly as if searching for the right words. “You were like family, for better or worse. We didn’t always get along. You had your friend group, and I had mine, and they rarely intermingled. But we always came through for each other. Not without argument usually, but still…”

“Argument? That doesn’t sound like us, at all.”

“Righhht.” Veronica rolls her eyes.

“You must’ve spent a lot of time with Matrix Logan, though.

“Because I searched your pockets?”

“Because, even knowing where and when you are, you keep forgetting who I am.”

Veronica looks offended. “I do not.”

“Not for long. They’re just…momentary slips. Glitches in the Matrix.”

She heaves a sigh.

“You’ll say something, and I can sense that it’s an inside joke. Except I’m not in on it. Or you’ll look at me funny after I answer a question, because Matrix Logan would answer differently.”

“Sorry. I’m trying to—”

“Don’t apologize.” He cuts her off. “I’d be more surprised if you didn’t. You basically grew up with him. I’m just the poorly dressed version you remember from four years ago.”

“Not poorly dressed.” She holds up a hand in protest. “Just…not living up to your potential. Once you figure out how to dress for your body type, you’ll be fighting off the girls with a stick.”

Her eyes lift in memory a tiny smile flitting across her lips.

“What are you picturing right this second?”

She smirks, not even bothering to deny it. “Dark jeans. Snug black henley.”

“What IS IT with women and henleys?”

“They accentuate all the assets.” Veronica squeezes his bicep. “But in an effortless, ‘not trying too hard’ sort of way.”

He’d never noticed. Does he even own any henleys?

“Did ‘coming through’ for you get Matrix Logan killed?”

“Yes, but I’d like it stated for the record that nobody asked him to.”

“What happened?”

“I had this boyfriend, Piz.”

“What the hell kind of name is Piz?”

“I’d explain how it was a nickname, short for his last name, but…” She shrugs. “It’s just not that relevant.”

“Was it serious?”

“No. Not really. “

So not the Sex Ninja.

“He was my best friend’s dorm mate, and had a pretty obvious one-sided crush on me for most of the school year, but we only started dating in the last month or so.”

“He wore you down, huh?”

She shrugs. “You know how it goes. My ex moved on while I was still nursing a broken heart. Piz made me feel wanted when I was vulnerable.”

“Sounds like a real love match.”

Veronica swallows, and stares up at the ceiling. “Anyway, there was a video.”

It takes Logan several seconds to catch the implication. “Wait, are you saying you made a sex tape?”

“No?”

“Is that a question?”

“I didn’t make it, and I never had sex with him, but I did get topless.”

“And he filmed you?”

“I was filmed by a hidden camera, but it wasn’t him.”

“You sure about that? You wouldn’t be best friends with a guy who would do that to you, so who else could it be?”

Veronica lets out an aggravated growl. “And you wonder why I might accidentally mix you up with Matrix Logan? Aside from the frosted tips, you’re just like him!”

“And…that’s a bad thing?”

“He beat up my boyfriend!”

“For filming you topless? Good. I would too.”

“You are SUCH a jackass.”

Logan smirks. “Aww, there’s Veronica 1.0. I knew there had to be an expiration date to all this…niceness.”

Veronica stares at him, dumbfounded.

“What?”

“Veronica 1.0 is the nice one. I’m the bitch.”

“Really? You seem to like me more.”

“I know you better than she did.”

“You know me the exact same amount.”

“Fine. I understand you better. Happy? Four years in The Matrix is plenty of time to psychoanalyze your friends and family.”

“I’ll accept that. So this Piss guy posted topless videos of you online and then murdered me for beating him up?”

She groans.

“Matrix Logan called him Piss?”

“Obviously. And the answer is No and No. He didn’t film me. He didn’t shoot you. And the video spread through email. Like wildfire. The whole school saw it.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“No offense, you’re definitely hot, and if I wasn’t with Lilly, I’d totally want to scope out your tits.”

She lifts one doubtful eyebrow, and he sighs. “Fine, even being with Lilly, I’d still be into looking, although to be fair, so would she. My point is, these are college kids. In a world with Girls Gone Wild and unlimited online porn, what makes a topless video of Veronica Mars so titillating that it would spread like that? Unless the boobs were secondary to some other action?”

She drops her gaze. Speaks under her breath. “I did a cheer.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Piz was sulking. I wanted to make him feel better, so I did a little cheer. You know, ‘Give me a P’ and so on.”

“Only…topless? Boobs a bouncing?” Before he can stop himself, Logan’s over-active imagination forms an image — a very pleasant image.

“If you say, ‘I’ll give you a P’, I’ll punch you in your ‘P’”

“Would I be so crass?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll own that.”

“Hey Logan?”

“Huh?”

“Stop picturing me naked.”

Right. Topless cheerleader Veronica belongs firmly in the shower thoughts category, not in the ‘sitting in bed chatting with Duncan’s girlfriend’ category?

He fights to overwrite it with the most unsexy things he can think of. Like Celeste Kane. Ewww…put down those pom poms! Kimmy Kittlemeyer. Except she’s wearing Lilly’s obscene candy striper uniform, Stop it! Duncan with pom poms.

That’s better.

Logan clears his throat. “Veronica Mars, nympho virgin, strikes again.”

“And that’s not going to get old.”

“Sorry.” He lies. It’ll never get old. “So if Pisshead didn’t murder me, who did?”

“Unreal. What is it with Logans hating my boyfriends? You’ve never even met the guy?”

Logan shrugs. “His name sucks. Did Matrix Logan hate the Sex Ninja too?”

Veronica looks out the window. “Probably most of all. Not outwardly, of course.”

“I bet he was jealous. I mean, I’m completely in love with my girlfriend, and even I’m a little jealous.”

“Shut up.”

“Just saying.” He lifts his hands. No offense meant. “So, who did film your sexy cheer? And who killed me?”

Veronica blows out a breath. “The Castle.”

“Operation ‘Storm The Castle Depose The King’.”

Slow nod. “I really hope this doesn’t come back to bite me in the ass.”

“How could it?”

“Does the Castle exist, as an entity, outside The Matrix? I assume it’s just another invention of my mind. But, until today, I would have assumed the same about Marisol Reyes’s disappearance. I can’t know what’s real and what’s fiction until I get out of this damn hospital.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I can’t really go around bitching and whining that The Castle murdered me.”

“You mean you don’t want people looking at you like you’re crazy? Weird.” She shakes her head. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Skull and Bones, right?”

“It’s a secret society. Yale, right?”

“Right.”

Logan glances toward the door, double-checking that nobody is around, and lowers his voice to a whisper. “Believe it or not, Neptune High has a secret society. This Junior I know put in my name for next year.”

“The Tritons? They’re harmless. Mostly.”

His mouth falls open. “How the hell do you know about the Tritons?”

“Investigated them, too. I’d be happy to tell you that story, instead. The ending is much more pleasant.”

Oh right. What kind of idiot interrupts his own death story? “No. Finish this one.”

She sighs. “A long long time ago in Matrixland, one of those Skull and Bonesers founded The Castle at Hearst and Stanford. Think of it as a lifetime golden pass to wealth, power, and privilege. As long as you have a penis.”

“Sweet!”

Veronica does not call him a jackass this time, but she definitely thinks it. “As a show of loyalty to The Castle, each member confessed their deepest and darkest secrets. On camera.”

“You mean, like admitting I own ‘Glitter’ on DVD? Count me out.”

“You wouldn’t have to admit it. If you made it that far in the vetting process, they would already know you own ‘Glitter’, along with ‘Cruel Intentions’, ‘Deep Impact’, and of course, critically acclaimed, ‘The Master of Disguise’.”

“Hey! That’s only because Dick said something about me looking like Dana Carvey when I’m baked. I honestly don’t see it.”

Veronica shrugs. “The Castle would know that, too, from the hidden camera planted in your room.”

“Ohhh. I think I get it now.”

Veronica nods.

“So the Castle tapped your boy Piz and caught your little moment of school spirit on tape during their information gathering. Matrix Logan found out, beat up your boyfriend, and was murdered in retaliation?”

“Close. The Castle wanted to tap my BFF. Piz and I were just collateral damage. Matrix Logan did find out and beat up my boyfriend. Who, as I’ve mentioned twice before, was innocent.”

Logan frowns. Then why would they kill him?

Veronica sighs. “When I found out about the video, I kind of went on a rampage trying to find who planted the cameras.”

“A cuteness rampage?”

“The clues led me to a guy named Gory, and a computer hard drive containing fifty plus years of Castle confessions. Audio. Video. Handwritten and notarized. A friend of mine broke the encryption for me, but I only watched a few.”

“Gory’s?”

“He talked about watching his Russian Mafia father and Uncle disposing of bodies.” She sighs. “I had to let it go and give up on the idea of revenge. It was too dangerous.”

“Aren’t you the girl who always lectured me that revenge isn’t worth it?”

“I told you, I’m not that girl anymore.” Veronica meets his gaze, unflinching. “A few days earlier, when I went to your penthouse to confront you, one thing you said resonated with me.”

Penthouse? So Matrix Logan got away from Dad? Lucky bastard.

“What did I say?”

“Someone always has to pay. Isn’t that the rule we live by?”

Logan shivers. It’s unnerving how New Veronica can feel like a perfect stranger, yet has a better understanding of the way he thinks than Duncan.

“I was in the Hearst food court when you tracked me down.”.

“I actually got into college?”

“Your test scores were very high,” she says defensively, as if annoyed he’d even ask.

He grins. “You imagined me smart.”

“You’ve never fooled me. I know you hide your intelligence, so nobody will expect anything from you.”

He turns away, unsure whether to be irked or flattered.

“I was still pizzed about you beating up my boyfriend…” Faint smirk. “…and trying to ignore you — like that ever works — when Gory slithered over to my lunch table. It’s like he didn’t even see you standing there, as he gloated about broadcasting the video. Insinuating I should be grateful for my…” she makes air quotes. “New notoriety. And I just sat there taking it, because this particular bad guy was way out of my league.”

“Because he had the might of this secret society behind him, and you couldn’t do anything?”

She nods. “He finally left, and you were still there. And I just couldn’t look you in the eyes.”

“Why not?”

Veronica takes out her frustration on a Twizzler, twisting it into submission. “Because I’d backed down. Because I let a man speak to me that way, without tasering him in the balls. I felt weak and pathetic.”

Jesus! Who the fuck are you?

“Veronica, that's not weakness, that’s being smart. You’re not Superwoman.”

Her Twizzler snaps. “Next thing I knew, you were tossing Gory around the packed food court like a rag doll, Knocking over tables and dumping food on him. Trying to make him apologize to me. You know, the Logan Echolls special.”

“The Logan Echolls Special?” It’s not even real. This never happened, and yet he feels this weird sense of pride.

“Well, it wasn’t exactly the first time.” She rolls her eyes. “You know the rest. I spent days trying to track you down, and finally waited for you by your truck. I was hoping to convince you to hire a bodyguard.” Her voice goes hoarse and she turns back to the window, refusing to look at him. “We were going to go get something to eat. Then you were on the ground with a bullet in your chest and I couldn’t get you to stop bleeding. The paramedics dragged me away and wouldn’t let me help. When they closed your eyes…” She swallows, thickly. “Logan, after all the other stuff that went down — Lilly, Duncan, my mom — you were all I had left from my old life. I started screaming and I guess I collapsed. And it seemed like mere seconds had passed when I opened my eyes in this bed, still screaming.”

“I’m sorry.” She sniffles, trying not to start crying again. “It’s still too fresh. My internal clock tells me that was mere days ago.” She rubs her eyes with her knuckles. “I spent two days grieving and plotting revenge, and then I opened my bathroom door and…there you were.”

“Surprise?”

“Yeah, no kidding. I feel almost…stuck now.” Veronica twists her hands together, “Like I’m overflowing with all this anger and vengeance, and I have nowhere to put it. Gory doesn’t exist, and J—” She cuts herself off. “…the Head Boss bad guy hasn’t actually done anything wrong.”

Puzzle pieces are slipping into place, and the big picture is too mind boggling to comprehend.

“Plotting revenge,” he repeats.

“You already knew that.”

“That whole…” Logan shakes his head. “Operation Storm the Castle was about ME?”

She gives a negligible shrug, and takes a sudden interest in the Twizzler ingredient list.

“You were plotting to take down a secret society. Mobsters and politicians and other very dangerous men, all to avenge me?”

“Someone always has to pay.” She finally meets his gaze. “You would do the same for me.”

“Fuck. This is crazy!”

Veronica’s lip wobbles, and he squeezes her shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. At least I got to die a hero, right?”

She breathes out, almost a laugh. “My own personal Calvary. Always riding to the rescue when I got in over my head.”

“And here, my dad thinks I’m the poster child for the lazy and self-absorbed.”

“Your dad can go fuck himself.” Veronica drills him with her wet, shiny, eyes. “Matrix or not, you have a values, and you’re brave, sometimes stupidly so, and when you put those qualities together, you’re capable of being a big fucking hero. Do not fight me on this, Logan.”

His chest feels somehow light and heavy at the same time. His lips curl up into what must be a goofy ass smile, judging from Veronica’s expression.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing.” He glances down. “I just feel…” He can’t find the right words.

“Valued?” she supplies.

“Yeah.” He picks at his thumb nail.

Although Veronica has always been part of his inner circle, their relationship has mostly centered around teasing and antagonizing. Challenging each other, and passionate debates. They’ve never discussed feelings, and the idea that she might have seen through all his bullshit to find something good and noble in him, is both humbling and unsettling.

“I thought I would get answers to all my questions, but now, I just have 500 more questions.”

“Write ‘em down. I’ll answer one question - of my choosing - each day.”

“I notice you’ve skillfully evaded the Duncan question four or five times already. Do you want to answer it now? Or wait until the Kanes get here?”

“How has Duncan been?” she asks, polite, but disinterested.

Maybe this was a waste of time.

“Mostly alright,” he begins, “I could be wrong, but from where I was sitting yesterday, it looked like you’ve lost that loving feeling.”

“Well, I guess that would make you slightly observant.” Veronica sets her jaw, preparing for fight mode.

“When Duncan got the call yesterday about you being awake, it was like both of you came back to life. He’s done nothing but mope since September, and it’s kind of hard to be around him when he’s that way.”

“Thanks so much for your concern over my wellbeing. I feel fine,” she says, coldly.

“Come on, you know that’s not what I meant.”

When did she become so touchy? “I’m just trying to say that you waking up was his greatest wish come true. It was like having the old Duncan back. And then, just as quickly, he was depressed again. He could sense something was wrong between you.”

Veronica sighs. “I don’t want to hurt Duncan.”

“But you’re going to.” It’s a statement, because there doesn’t seem to be any question now. Still, as Duncan’s official best friend, he has to at least try.

“He really loves you, you know? And he visited you at least three times a week. Every week.” He laughs softly. “He never quite got the hang of talking to you conversationally, like your dad wanted us to. He said it felt too much like being on a stage. But he showed up, night after night. And he would sit there,” He points to the green chair. “Holding your hand, and silently praying for you.”

“Praying?” She seems surprised.

“I think so? Eyes closed. Lips moving. But who knows? Maybe he was just reciting Latin or summoning demons or something.” Shrug. “Sometimes your physical therapist would join him. Have you met her yet?”

“Phsyiotherapist, and yeah, I met her officially, this evening.”

“She’s perky, but really sweet. I figured you would like her.”

“You certainly did.” Veronica makes an accusatory face at him. “At least, Matrix Logan. He was dating her right before I got him killed.”

“She’s like ten years older.” Not that he wouldn’t. If he was single and Lilly didn’t want to be together. Parker is hot and funny and a really good listener, but she doesn’t seem like the type to overlook statutory rape laws.

“Like that ever stopped you.” Veronica rolls her eyes. “She was our age in The Matrix and a student at Hearst. She also had a completely different face.”

How…? Wait. It doesn’t matter.

“You’re trying to distract me from Duncan again, aren’t you?”

“No, but if it works, who am I to complain?”

“Here’s the thing. I know for you, Homecoming night feels like years ago.”

Veronica nods, a bittersweet smile on her lips. “It does. I cherish the memory of that night. It’s probably my last happy memory of the four of us.”

“But it wasn’t years ago for Duncan. It was like yesterday. You held hands on the beach and kissed in the limo, and were completely in love. No fights, no breakups., no perceptible tension. And then, suddenly, you’re awake and looking at him like he’s a stranger. And he doesn’t understand what he did wrong.”

“Poor Duncan. It’s just devastating to think of him being frozen out and suffering.”

He recoils at the sheer amount of venom in her voice. What did Duncan ever do to her?

Oh. Right.

She’d told him how Matrix Duncan had dumped her without any explanation right before Lilly died.

“I’m sorry.” She closes her eyes and shakes her head. “That was unnecessary.”

She slouches down enough to tip her head back and look at the ceiling. “The last time I saw Duncan, he was wearing a disguise and about to leave the country. We said our goodbyes, and I was okay with it. I knew it was permanent.”

“Do you still love Duncan? Even a little?”

“No.” Veronica blows out a breath and looks down at her lap. “Only in that obligatory ‘your first love always has a place in your heart’ sort of way.”

“Damn.”

“Why do you even care?” she snaps at him, bristling. “How do my feelings, or lack of feelings for Duncan affect you in any way?”

“Because! You’re Veronica and Duncan!”

She tilts her head as if he’s speaking gibberish.

“Veronica and Duncan. The Golden Couple. Perfect in every way, and so in love, it’s almost nausea-inducing.”

Another blank stare.

“You two were the shining example. What the rest of us were supposed to strive for. If Veronica and Duncan can’t make it, how the hell will the rest of us have a chance?”

Her frown slowly transforms into a warm, affectionate smile.

“What?” he asks, suddenly self conscious.

“You are Such. A. Romantic.”

“I am not!”

“Oooookay.” She stretches out the first syllable and makes a matching gesture with her fingers.

“Whatever. You know who is a romantic? Duncan. I mean, look at all those roses.” He gestures to the opposite wall.

“Roses are the ultimate symbol of ‘I want credit for being romantic without actually doing anything more than plunking down my credit card’.”

“You’re brutal! So how would you define romance?”

“Romance is personal. Not performative.”

“Give me an example.”

Veronica’s gaze turns inward. “Making eye-contact with the boy you’re secretly dating, and holding an entire silent conversation, while the people around you walk or talk, or go about their day, none the wiser.

Okay, that does sound romantic.

“Being with somebody who knows you inside and out. Somebody who can intuit your mood and how you need to be touched at any given moment. Somebody who places random kisses on your forehead just for the split-second moment of connection.”

“So, this is the Sex Ninja we’re talking about, right?”

“And…you ruined it.” She shakes her head. “So what about you and Lilly?”

“Romance?”

“No. I’m changing the subject. Did you two visit me while I was in a coma?” She asks this in a conversational tone, but there’s a vulnerable cast to her eyes, that tells him this is important to her.

Fuck! Why does he always have to be the bad guy? “You know Lilly loves you, right? Probably more than anyone.”

Veronica nods.

“It’s just… she couldn’t deal with seeing you this way. She tried at first. She’d sit here, and tell you all the latest gossip, how many hearts she was breaking every day. But the problem was, she expected you to talk back. Your injuries should be nothing in the face of her fabulousness. And she left here in tears more often than not.” Logan exhales, runs a hand through his hair. “Eventually, she just stopped coming, and we couldn’t convince her otherwise. You know, Duncan enjoys wallowing in his misery. But Lilly…”

Veronica affects a Scarlett O’Hara drawl. “I can’t think about that today. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

“Pretty much. Please don’t be angry with her. Lilly pretends to be optimistic, but she was terrified. She didn’t think you’d ever wake up. Or that if you did, you’d be um…”

Veronica nods, sparing him from having to finish the sentence.

“Same with Duncan, but he was determined to keep trying.”

“And you?” She lifts a brow.

“Please.” Logan rolls his eyes. “I’m still kicking your ass in every one of our debates. No chance in hell that Veronica Mars was going to die without getting the last word.”

She elbows him, but she’s smiling, eyes crinkled.

“I tagged along with Duncan on Tuesdays, when I was his ride. I don’t know if he really needed me here but…” He shrugs. “It was mind-numbingly boring when he was here. You know how I get squirrely when it’s too quiet. But now and then, I visited you without him. Is that weird?”

“Why would that be weird?”

“I don’t know. I mean, we were always friends, but we never really had deep conversations or anything.”

“Fighting about The Matrix and the meaning of life isn’t deep?”

“That’s valid. There was this one day…Early October, I think? Duncan and I had planned to meet here, and then leave straight for TJ after visiting you. But Lilly had a little mishap, and Duncan never showed up.”

A mishap that landed Lilly in the ER, but Logan hadn’t known about that while he sat here waiting. “I started talking to you like always. It never felt awkward for me.”

“It wouldn’t. You’re too in love with the sound of your own voice.” She laughs at his outraged gasp. “No judgment. It does have that sort of smoky, sandalwood thing going. When you speak in your lower register. ”

Smoky sandalwood?

“Don’t overthink it. So, you were here and Duncan never showed up?”

“Right. I was really… stressed that day, and I just started venting. By the time Duncan remembered to text me, I’d been talking to you for over an hour. And all that stress had just…fizzled. Babbling to you was kind of…” He searches for the right word.

“Cathartic?”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

He’d been so fed up with Lilly that day, ready to throw up his hands and walk away forever. He’d even written a her a breakup letter — right there in that stupid green chair, reading it aloud to Veronica as he progressed.

His mind was made up. To avoid a nasty fight, he would just leave the note in her car. Ignore her calls for a few days until they’d both calmed down enough to be civil.

Note folded up in his wallet, he was just about to leave Veronica’s room, when Duncan’s text came in.

Lilly in ER.

Even now, he shudders to imagine what stupid mistakes he might’ve made if he hadn’t stuck around to talk to Veronica that day.

“After that, whenever things got to be too much, when the pressure built up and I felt like I was going to explode, I would come here and vent. It’s easy to let it all out when nobody can tell you to man up and grow a pair.”

God, it sounds like he treated her like a confessional. He braces himself for new, prickly Veronica to point that out — he deserves it — but she’s staring off into space, smiling softly.

“What does that smile mean?” he asks.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “I’d been entertaining a loose hypothesis about my Matrix life and I think you just confirmed it.”

“What hypothesis?”

“The meaning behind Duncan and Lilly disappearing from that life. You were always there, because your voice was always here.”

“Oh FUCK!”

What the hell have I done?

The implications make his heart hammer. He’d told her everything. Things he’d never spoken aloud before. The beatings and the cigarette burns. His mother’s passive acceptance and refusal to act. His suspicions about Lilly and other guys. Complaints about Duncan’s hypocrisy and how he only cares about being the ‘nice guy’ when he has an audience.

“What’s wrong?”

He swallows. “I may have rambled on about things I’ve never told anyone. I guess I never thought you would…hear them.”

“Logan.” She lays a hand on his arm. “It’s not like that. I have no memory of you or anyone else sitting at my bedside telling me secrets.”

“No?”

“How can I explain this?” Her eyes flick up while she thinks. “Okay, let’s say my brain did internalize all of your secrets. They would’ve become part of the fabric of the Matrix. Of everything that happened to me or around me in those four years, I have no possible way of knowing which originated from people speaking to me, which were built from my intuition, and which were complete and utter fabrications.”

Logan exhales and shifts the tone back to humor. “I think there’s evidence that you did hear me. I told you the dirtiest, raunchiest jokes I knew, hoping the urge to slap my face would be greater than your need to keep sleeping. The last thing I expected was for you to wake up all perverted like me. Is the Burrowing Rabbit position even a real Kama Sutra pose?”

Veronica grins and shrugs. “First thing that popped into mind. It could be? You’d know better than I would.”

“I’ve never even seen the Kama Sutra.”

“No? I just figured, since Lilly talked about your mad skills in bed.”

“She did?” A smile stretches across his face. “The only feedback she ever gives me is, faster, harder, and right there.”

Veronica scowls and jabs an elbow in his side. “Please stop.”

“You’ve done it again,” Logan says.

“Done what?”

“Redirected the Duncan topic, before I could nail down an answer. Although, I suppose that IS the answer.”

“As his best friend, would you really want me to fake it for him?” she counters. “Wouldn’t it be nicer all-around to just rip off the band-aid?”

“Touche. This entire experience has to be horrible enough for you, and then here comes this asshole…” He points both thumbs at himself, “…making demands on your romantic life when you’re probably only concerned with getting out of the hospital. I guess I just don’t want to see him heartbroken.”

“At the beginning of senior year, I spent months trying to force myself to love Duncan again. On paper, he was exactly what I wanted, and if I just tried hard enough to want him, we could live a nice, normal, uneventful life together.”

“Normal and uneventful?” Logan scrunches his nose in distaste. “That’s the stuff they write stories about.”

Veronica gives him a sharp glance.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “Trying to force things with Duncan only made us both resentful and kept us from the people we truly wanted to be with.”

“That’s hard for me to wrap my head around. As long as I’ve known Duncan, he’s only ever wanted to be with you.”

She points at him. ‘Bingo’. “He’s only ever wanted to be with Veronica 1.0, and he still wanted her. But we’d spent a year apart. A year where I’d seen every ugly and dark side of human nature. The girl he wanted was gone. And as much as I tried, there was no bringing her back.”

Every dark side of human nature? Jesus.

That’s what’s been niggling at his consciousness since yesterday. Veronica’s blinders are off and she sees the world as it is, not the pretty packaging around it.

She reminds Logan of himself.

“You said you both wanted to be with other people.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re not making me say it.”

“Right. Sex Ninja. So why were you faking it with Duncan if you loved this other guy?”

Veronica lifts her eyes to the sky, and the fluorescent lights reflect wetness. She swallows, and her voice is hoarse when she speaks. “He had a death wish, and I didn’t want to be there when he got himself killed. I don’t know. The feelings were too intense for me, and there was Duncan, safe, steady and dependable. A safe harbor.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. I came here to plead Duncan’s case, because he’s my friend and I hate seeing him depressed. But safe, steady, and dependable? That’s not a love story.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“I want to plead with you to put him out of his misery. But he’d probably see that as a betrayal.” He exhales and runs both hands over his face. “This situation sucks.”

“I’ll give it some thought before I do anything. And if I do break up with him, I’ll do it gently.” She mumbles under her breath. “Which is more than he ever did for me.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

“How come every time I show up, I catch you cuddling with my boyfriend?” Lilly’s voice rings out from the doorway.

She’s changed into that hot pink velvet tracksuit she loves so much and is smiling warmly at them.

Logan smirks. “Because she recognizes quality when she sees it. ”Tightening his arm around Veronica’s shoulder, he uses his hip to nudge her further to the right, and holds out his left arm. “Get over here, woman.”

Lilly bounces across the room and onto the bed, snuggling into his left side and offering him a chaste kiss. Leaning forward slightly, she winks at Veronica. “Has Logan been pestering you?”

“Logan fed me dinner, junk food, and two caramel lattes. He’s my best friend now.”

Lilly’s mouth drops open in faux outrage. “Betrayal!”

Logan pretends to swoon. “Can this even be real? Two hot blondes in a bed. It’s like every guy’s dream. I wish somebody could take a picture.”

Lilly rolls her eyes. “He says he wants a picture, but what he really wants is a threesome,” Reaching over him, she strokes Veronica’s arm. “What do you say, Veronica?”

“I’d say,” Veronica pretends to think about. “You bring the toys, Lils.”

“Whaaaaaat?” Lilly’s eyes widen comically. “Not even a blush? Who are you?”

“I warned you. Our Veronica is worldly and wanton now.”

Veronica rolls her eyes. “And our Logan has time traveled from the 1600s”

Lilly holds up one finger. “I’m still back at the sex toys. I repeat, What?”

“Are you two going to kiss again? Like on Homecoming?” Logan lifts his eyes to the ceiling in mock prayer. “Please let them kiss.”

Lilly mouths something, but he’s at the wrong angle to read her lips. Whatever it is, Veronica grins and nods.

“Come here, Veronica. Let’s give Logan the show of his life.” Lilly lifts her chin.

Veronica bites her lip and looks up at him. Speaks huskily, “You think he can handle it?”

Fuck! When did Veronica learn how to be sexy?

Logan puffs out his chest. “I can handle anything you two can give out,”

Both girls lean over him, toward each other.

Holy shit! Are they really going to do it? He’d thought they were fucking with him.

Nearer and nearer. Eight inches. Six. Four.

By some silent signal, they scream in unison. “TWO CHEEK KISS” and swoop up to plant loud, wet smooches on both sides of his face.

Logan tries to squirm free. Giggles like a five year old hearing the word ‘Booger’. He’d forgotten all about that little game. What’s it been? Two years?”

“Ahh…blondes. I could get used to this.”

“Keep dreaming.” Lilly rolls her eyes.

“Veronica was just telling me about my heroic deeds in her coma life, before you showed up..”

Lilly lowers her brows, skeptically. “Heroic?”

“He always came through when I got myself into trouble. Which… was a lot.”

“Trouble? You don’t even jaywalk, except when I coerce you into it. You always do the right thing. And I do my best to corrupt you.”

“Yeah, I barely even remember that girl.” Veronica says. “What you should know about me and the last four years of my life, is that I was a private investigator. Licensed, even.”

“Shut! Up!” With a flurry of elbows and knees poking into Logan’s soft places, Lilly squirms around to face Veronica. Her eyes blaze with interest. “Are you serious? I know you always loved Nancy Drew, but…”

“I’m serious. After you were…” Veronica winces and draws a finger across her throat. “…My dad lost his job as sheriff, and opened a private detective agency. I had no friends or social life, thanks to a certain jackass, so I helped out at the office after school. At first, it was little things - filing and answering the phones. Then it was research, background checks and financials. Dad started bounty hunting, and I’d do stakeouts while he was away. Eventually, I started taking full cases on my own.”

“Holy shit.” Lilly whispers, finally beginning to understand what Logan saw yesterday. “You’re a rock star, Veronica Mars.”

Veronica points two finger guns and winks.

“What did you mean about having no friends?” Lilly asks. “What jackass?”

Of course she picked up on that part.

Logan lifts one hand. “That would be me. I bullied her. Except…not ME-me.”

Lilly’s mouth opens in outrage.

“He was grieving,” Veronica says, “And he more than made up for it later.”

“I meant to ask. How did that happen? Like how did Matrix Logan go from a piece of shit bully to somebody you could count on.”

“The thaw was so gradual I barely noticed it. You came to me for help, and we worked together on your problem.” She lifts her eyes, remembering. “I think the real breakthrough was the carjacking.”

Lilly gasps. “Oh my God!”

“I’d tailed this asshole to a building supplies store and was photographing him stashing bomb-making materials in his trunk, when you called me.”

Veronica lifts an invisible phone to her ear. “‘Hey, Veronica, it’s Logan. So, I totally blabbed to Duncan about your secret investigation into him, and I’m just calling to give you a heads-up, hours after he already angrily confronted you.’”

“What a dick,” Lilly shoots an accusatory look at Logan.

He lifts both hands. “Not me.”

“You were giving me the ‘He’s my best friend. I had to tell him’ excuse when the guy yanked open my car door and told me to drive. While I drove, I questioned him about our destination, praying you were still listening. I’d hoped you would send the police, but our truce was still fragile, so I wasn’t sure.”

“Thanks for the note of confidence.” Logan sighs. “You really thought I wouldn’t call the police?”

“Of course, you didn’t call the police!” Veronica snorts. “You showed up at the Camelot, hid out of sight, and wailed on the guy— who just happened to be an undercover DEA agent, by the way.”

She swallows hard, and he’s almost positive she’s leaving something out.

“So how much time did I spend in jail for assaulting a fed?”

“None.” She shakes her head. “He couldn’t have you arrested or it would blow his cover as a high school student.”

“A high school student?” Lilly perks up. “Like 21 Jump Street? Did he have a baby face or something?”

Veronica mumbles something under her breath, looking extremely embarrassed.

“What was that?” Logan says.

She rolls her eyes. Sighs. “I said…it was Jonathan Taylor Thomas with a mullet!”

Lilly squeals and claps her hands. “That’s why Logan beat him up. I had the biggest crush on JTT when I was thirteen. Logan was so jealous.”

Veronica rolls her eyes and gives Logan a tiny head shake.

“What was up with the Duncan confrontation? You were investigating your own boyfriend?”

“I have investigated my own boyfriend. But Duncan and I were broken up. We hadn’t had a real conversation in a year.”

“Is that why…” Lilly pauses. “Duncan’s worried that you’re upset with him.”

“I came here to talk to Veronica on Duncan’s behalf,” Logan says, “…but it sounds like that ship has sailed.”

“Why? Did he do something wrong in your dream?”

“It wasn’t a dream.” Veronica sighs, then seems to realize she’d spoken harshly and softens her voice. “You know that feeling when you wake up from a really intense dream, and everything is clear and vivid, and you can’t wait to tell someone about it. But then later that day, you have trouble recalling even the smallest details?”

Lilly nods. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“Well, this isn’t anything like that. These are memories, not images slipping through my fingers.”

“Memories of things that never happened,” Lilly says gently.

“Imagine it as if she was in The Matrix.”

Lilly stares at Logan blankly. “Yeah, you’re going to have to be more specific. All I remember about that movie is the naked Keanu scene.”

“How shocking,” he deadpans.

“You’re saying Veronica is Keanu?”

“Well, technically, I’m the one who was resurrected, but yeah. Kinda.”

“Here we go again.” Lilly rolls her eyes. “Wait until you hear this story. Logan thinks he died and was brought back to life.”

“I already told her. And she believes me. So there.” He sticks out his tongue.

“Do I need to go watch that movie to understand what’s going on?” Lilly asks. “I remember it being complicated.”

“Nope,” Veronica says. “Remember the Wizard of OZ?”

“The movie,” Lilly says. “I don’t think I ever read any of the books.”

“The movie is fine for this analogy.” Veronica says. “When we first meet Dorothy, she’s dissatisfied with her life in Kansas, and feels disconnected to the people around her. She’s naive about the dangers that could come to a young girl out on her own, and the most wicked person she can imagine is that mega-bitch, Miss Gulch, who owns half the town.”

“A.K.A. Celeste,” Lilly says.

“Definitely.” Veronica laughs and continues. “In Oz, through the wicked witch, Dorothy learns what true wickedness is. And through the minions, she learns how easily decent people can be controlled by fear. With the wizard, she learns not to trust the faces people show the world. She completes a mission, overcomes several obstacles, and with the scarecrow, tin man, and lion, finally forms connections to other people. As much as she wanted to experience adventure, what she most longs for is to get back to Kansas. Back to Normal.”

Veronica pauses, laughing quietly to herself as if having suddenly realized something.

“In the end, Dorothy wakes up back in Kansas, and learns that it was all a dream. That she’d hit her head and had basically been in a coma.”

“Which brings us back to you,” Lilly concludes.

“Dream or not,” Veronica begins, “Dorothy is irrevocably changed. She’s braver now after conquering her fears. She’s accomplished. She’s wiser to the ways of the world. And she’s learned to appreciate the simple things in life - friends and family and home. Dorothy’s dream doesn’t slip away by noon, or bedtime, or a decade later. Those experiences - real or otherwise - are part of her history. They’ve shaped her character.”

“And that’s how you feel,” Logan concludes.

“That’s exactly how I feel.”

“I think I understand,” Lilly says. “But how did OZ change you, Dorothy? Other than it being harder to make you blush.”

“How did OZ change me? I learned that people lie and cheat and steal. Everyone is hiding something, and the people you love will let you down. I learned not to be a victim. To hit back harder and make them pay.”

Logan shivers at her intensity. “But it wasn’t all bad, right? You had your Kama Sutra Sex Ninja.”

“HER WHAT?” Lilly asks, and Veronica shoots him a warning glare.

Logan ignores it. “You see, Lilly, the reason our little Ronnie here doesn’t blush, is that she’s been schooled in the ways of Eastern sexual pleasure by a certified Sex Ninja.”

“His words. Not mine.” Veronica buries her face in her hands.

“Oh my God!” Lilly says, waving her hands. “remember that time I found the Kama Sutra in Celeste’s night stand drawer?”

Veronica laughs. “You were convinced that was the reason behind her daily yoga classes.”

“I mean, come on. You’d have to be super flexible to get into some of those positions, right?”

“I’m flexible,” Logan says. They both ignore him.

“She was so pissed when she caught me with the book.”

“Well, you were trying to simulate the positions with an oversized pool noodle, so…” Veronica shrugs.

Logan tilts his head. “I need to get my hands on this book.”

“Don’t you worry about that book. I’m not flexible at all.” Cutting off that topic, Lilly turns back to Veronica. “So, what are you going to do about Duncan? Do you feel anything for him?”

“I fell out of love with him a long time ago. We said goodbye, and he fled the country.”

“That’s right!” Logan laughs. “That’s the other mystery I meant to ask you about. How does Duncan Kane turn into an international fugitive?”

“By kidnapping a baby.”

At their twin expressions of shock, she clarifies. “It was his own baby.”

“Start from the beginning.” Lilly says.

“Junior year, at the Valentine’s dance, Duncan started dating Meg Manning.”

“Wow…” Lilly tilts her head. “That makes a lot of sense. I always thought you were too exciting for Duncan. Wait, are you saying MEG MANNING is the mother of the kidnapped baby?”

“He knocked her up at some point that spring.” Veronica fills them in on her last, doomed attempt at a relationship with Duncan, Meg’s accident, coma, and death, and the discovery that the Mannings were abusing their youngest daughter. She describes her plan to get Duncan and the baby across the border and safe from prosecution.

“Was there some part of you that was tiring of your relationship with Duncan before the accident?” Logan asks.

“The bus crash?”

“No, our accident. The limo.”

“I don’t know. Why?” Something flickers in Veronica’s eyes for a moment.

“It sounds as if your subconscious cast Meg as a stand-in for old Veronica? She’s a lot like you in looks and personality.”

Veronica is listening intently, so Logan continues. “Maybe, somewhere deep inside, you felt guilty for wanting to move on from Duncan, so you created a substitute. Somebody you believed could make him happy?”

“That sounds…plausible,” Veronica admits, looking at Logan as if seeing him in a new light. “But what about the baby? Why would Meg-in-a-coma be pregnant?”

“That’s easy,” Lilly says. “You saw that as your future. Wife to Duncan, mother to his children. And you’re smart enough to know that kind of confinement is a fate worse than death.”

Ouch! Worse than death? Is that how she views their future?

“Possibly…” Veronica says, unsure.

“Probably,” Lilly says. “You’re a wild thing, Veronica Mars. It’s about time you realized that for yourself. So how are you going to break it to him?”

“I don’t know. Let me think about it. Maybe if I spend time with him, I can get back those feelings?” She doesn’t seem convinced. “I hate that I’m going to have to hurt him.”

“In the meantime, Logan and I will get to work making that Duncan/Meg thing happen,” Lilly says. “How should we break up Meg and Cole?”

“Expose him for the douche that he is?” Veronica suggests.

Lilly ’s eyebrows raise. “Cole’s a pretty nice guy.”

“He’s certainly patient,” Logan says

Veronica glares. “OZ-Cole was a douche. He believed rumors about Meg, despite her denials, dumped her, and slut-shamed her in public.”

“Freeing her up to take your place with Duncan,” Logan says.

As if mirroring Lilly’s pose on his left, Veronica snuggles into his left side, head on his shoulder, and a contented smile on her lips. “In case I haven’t mentioned, I’m so glad you guys are here.”

“I’m so glad you came back to us,” Lily says.

“I’m so glad you were both still here when I came back.”

“And I’m so glad I’m in a bed, literally covered in blondes.,” Logan says.

They both roll their eyes.

Veronica yawns.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Lilly says. “No napping . You still haven’t explained this Sex Ninja.”

Veronica’s eyes shutter. “And I’m not going to.”

“How many times did you fuck him?”

“Lilly! I have no idea.”

“You lost count?”

“I mean,… we dated like four times between eleventh grade and college. I spent a lot of time at his place.”

“Wait. So you were in love with him?”

Veronica looks like a cornered dog. “Um…”

“Of course you were. You wouldn’t keep going back if you weren’t.” Lilly says. “He’s real, right? Somebody you knew in real life before the accident?”

“Not this again.” Veronica stares at her lap looking simultaneously heart broken and guilty.

What does she have to feel guilty about?

Logan nudges Lilly. “Maybe you should drop it. If she wanted to talk about it, she would.”

Lilly brushes him off. “Well? Who is he?”

"I can tell you who he isn't." Logan points a thumb at himself. "She made that super clear."

"You asked?" Lilly's forehead scrunches. "Of course it wasn't you. Why would you even ask her that?" 

"I don't know, maybe because the name Sex Ninja rules out everyone else?"

"Remind me who came up with that name?" Veronica tilts her head. "Because it wasn't me."

Lilly rolls her eyes. "He forgets that other people exist outside of the 09er bubble." 

"Do you know a lot of guys outside the 09er bubble, Veronica?" Logan asks.

She sighs heavily. "Forget it. It doesn't matter." 

“Of course it matters. You’re madly in love with him!” Lilly says.

“And he’s madly in love with somebody else. His girlfriend. I’ll just have to get over it and move on.”

“No! You can’t just give up, Veronica! Fight for your man! Logan and I can help!”

Since when has Lilly become the champion of love?

“Why do you even care if Veronica fights for this guy?”

“Because she’s my best friend, and she’s been through hell! She deserves a happy ending with her Sex Pirate.”

“Sex Ninja,” Logan corrects.

“Can you PLEASE stop calling him that?” Veronica pleads.

“Then tell us his name,” Logan and Lilly speak in unison.

“Never.” She shakes her head defiantly.

“Sex Ninja, it is.” Logan says.

“If you must talk about him — and I wish you wouldn’t at all - call him…” Veronica trails off, reaching for an appropriate pseudonym. Then she smiles, softly. “Call him the Tin Man.”

Logan lifts an eyebrow. “Why the Tin Man?”

“Because he had a heart all along.”