I've Never Been A Fangirl Before....

The End of Innocence, part 2 - L/V - NC-17 - rindee

rindee — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 18:59:10 GMT

Title: The End of Innocence, part 2
Author: Rindee
Rating: NC-17, sexual situations, language, implied violence
Characters/Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Lilly, implied Lilly/Weevil, and Aaron Echolls.
Word Count: 5,145 for this part - about 12,220 total
Spoilers/warnings: AU preseries fic about Logan and Veronica's growing passion for each other - spoilers for some events from S1.
A/N: Sequel to A Taste of Innocence, and Another Taste, this fic begins where the last one ended, so it might be helpful to have read Another Taste. Written for the "Dire Straits - Not the Band" challenge at vm_library. Beta'd by some of my very favorite people: inthevast, who always has the most unique perspective, moire2, who nails me when I eff-up the characterization, rejeneration, who challenges me on everything, bless her perfectionist soul, kimikochan, who magically transformed the troublesome transitions, and, of course, Madame Librarian, taken_with_you, who is simply the best evah, and who always knows the answer(s). All remaining mistakes are mine.

As soon as he’s gone, Veronica powers up her laptop. After spending ten minutes attempting to study, she gives up and begins idly surfing the web. Five minutes later, she gets up to inspect the bathroom. Returning to the plywood desk, she checks her email. Too jittery to sit still, she goes into the bedroom and pulls off the bedspread, folding it precisely and depositing it in the empty closet. She paces for a few seconds before deciding to fold down the blanket and plump the pillows.

Back in the sitting room, she tries to read, but is unable to concentrate. Kicking off her flip-flops, she carefully arranges them on the floor of the closet, goes to the vanity sink and scrubs her face until it’s pink and shiny. What am I doing? We’ve only been broken up for a few hours, and he’s Duncan’s best friend.... Sighing heavily, she perches on the edge of the bed, thumbing the complimentary copy of What to do in San Diego, nervously awaiting Logan’s return.

Around the corner, Logan breathes in the cool night air, unlocks the truck, gets in, starts the motor. Cranking Lenny Kravitz, he cruises out of the parking lot, stops at the red light. In the loop running in his head, he pictures Veronica, naked, beneath him, her skin flushed with a rosy-gold glow. Just thinking about her makes his cock hard. He bangs his hand on the steering wheel, enjoying the warm tightening in his groin.

Screeching to a halt, he’s out of the truck before it stops rocking. As the door whooshes open, he blinks and steps into the bright light of Walgreen’s. Spying a tee shirt display just inside, he randomly fumbles through the stacks, haphazardly tipping ‘em over and shoving ‘em aside until he finds a pale pink one at the bottom of the pile – size doesn’t matter, does it? She’s just going to sleep in it. Basket - I need a basket.

Dumping the tee into a green, plastic handbasket, he slips the handles over his arm like a purse, and hurries down the aisle to the back corner, where the sex stuff is shelved. He skims the condom displays, unsure because – it’s Veronica. Finally, impatient, he simply grabs one of each: lubed, flavored, latex, rainbow colored, pouch at tip, polyurethane – in case she’s allergic to latex – and textured. Two boxes of those. Staring at the package in his hand, he suddenly spaces, lost in a private reverie.

Relax. You’ve done this before. You’ve made girls come lots of time – you’ve even made Veronica come a couple of times. Cake. It’s gonna be cake, right? Just get on with it – you know she’s waiting, she may even be playing in the bathtub to, ahem, you know, get ready ... for you.

Shaking off his lascivious inner voice, and muttering to himself, Logan scrutinizes the ‘massage oils and personal lubricants’ section, clearly mystified. Warming? Tingling? Massage and lubrication? Oil? Silicone? Water-based? WTF?

She’s a virgin, the 'other' voice in his head reminds him. You have to be gentle, romantic, and understanding. She’s barely even touched your cock, much less had it thrust inside her. She’s gonna be so scared. A long, slow massage might loosen her up a bit, make it easier for both of you.

Screw that - a good stiff drink will loosen her up more, the ‘fallen’ angel in him offers. Maybe you should hit the liquor department on your way out? I know I would - something strong, a good, Irish whiskey, maybe, always warms me right up. If you get her drunk, she’ll be much more pliant and you can just pop her cherry, the angel in his head says, snapping her fingers.

Mentally, he pictures his two ‘angels.’ The brunette with the fluffy white wings, and a golden, glowing halo, is wearing a demure, lavender chemise held up by lacy, delicate straps, her soft curls swirling past her shoulders, a mere hint of cleavage showing where the silk covers her ample breasts. The blonde, on the other hand, has a throbbing red halo – he thinks it’s a halo, though it’s worn and tattered. She wears spiky, high-heeled, black leather boots, with matching, tight boy-shorts and laced-up cami, her hair teased and sprayed to a high-lacquer sheen. A stiff, red leather whip is curled in her hand, and her boobs threaten to spill out of her bodice.

You have to make it as comfortable as possible for her, and pleasurable too. Don’t be fooled by her composed demeanor – underneath, she will be terrified. You must be tender, the kind, gentle soul I know you can be, the raven-haired beauty implores him.

She wants you – she told you so. She’s picked you to be her ‘first,’ so you need to rock her world, show her a good time, lovah. Break her in ‘right,’ the other one insists, pumping her leather-sheathed hips like a stripper.

Growling to himself, he snaps to, focusing on the shelf in front of him. Exasperated, he sweeps a bottle of each kind of lube off the shelf and marches to the food aisle. He deposits a two-liter of S’kist, another of Coke, chips, pretzels, peanuts, and Twizzlers into the pile. At the front, he looks around, relieved to find no other customers in line. Lining up his items on the counter, he glances up at the cashier, and is horrified to see a two-toned-gray-haired old biddy working the register.

Squinting at him from behind black, cat’s eye glasses decorated with rhinestones, her eyes looking as large as quarters, she deliberately examines the first box of condoms – the flavored ones – hmpf’ing exaggeratedly as she slowly scans it three times before she finds the bar code and it rings up. He thinks he’s being tortured as she laboriously performs the same maneuver on each pack of condoms, each bottle of lube. Each time she glares at him, he feels like a terrorist, or a criminal, or a creep, at the very least.

Finally, granny rings up the toothbrushes and Crest. The total is $131.47. He hands her his AmEx, waits while she inspects it, back and front, before zipping it through. Scrawling his name with an illegible flourish, he nearly rips the bags from her hand, jogging out to the Xterra.

Meanwhile, back at the hotel, Veronica fidgets. He’s been gone for twenty-five minutes – what could be taking so long? Closing and securing the heavy, vinyl curtains, she decides to take a shower, despite having nothing to change into. Running the water, she goes to the door and slides the deadbolt. Pulling up her long, heavy hair with a rubber-band, she strips and gets in the fiercely hot water. Scouring every inch of exposed skin – and some parts that aren’t – she’s about to shut off the water when she hears a thud, and his annoyed voice.

“Veronica! Are you okay?”

Winding a towel around her body, she scurries into the other room. Using the door as a shield, she peeks out. “Logan? Is that you?”

“Who were you expecting? ‘Course it’s me,” he says curtly, waggling the door back and forth on the end of the chain. “Can I come in?” he inquires, his tone gentler than it had been a moment earlier.

“I ... I just got out of the shower. I only have a towel on.”

“Oh, and I bet you look cute,” he says, his voice brimming with mischief. “Please open the door,” he begs.

Pushing the door shut, she snaps the chain off and opens it part-way, still hiding behind. Slamming it with his ass, Logan lets the packages slip to the floor and gathers her into his arms for a long, intense ‘hello’ kiss.

“Miss me?” he murmurs, stroking her damp skin.

“Mmmhmm,” she breathes, catching his face in her slender hands. Staring into his eyes, she rises on her toes, closes her eyes, and kisses him again. “What took you so long?”

Glancing at the bags scattered at his feet, he chuckles. “It’s a surprise. Surprises, I should say.” Releasing her, he leans down, paws through the plastic until he finds her pink shirt. “I brought you something.” He hands her the tee. “Put it on, for me?” When she holds it out, realizing what it is, she smiles shyly, her cheeks turning a faint pink to match the fabric.

“What else did you get?” she asks, eager to see what’s in the bags.

He spins her around, nudges her in the direction of the bathroom. “Go,” he instructs, patting her behind. “Get dressed,” he adds, lips against her ear, “so I can take it off.”

Over her shoulder, she shoots him a look that’s both pure and lust-filled, and scoots away before he can react. The noise of rustling plastic fills the air as Logan removes each box and bottle, lining them up on the night stand. He places the toothbrushes and toothpaste by the sink. Arranging the covers at the foot of the bed, he grabs a towel from the rack and spreads it in the middle of the bed.

Humming to herself, Veronica languidly dries off, slips into the ‘nightshirt,’ and steps into her pink bikini panties. Examining the complimentary toiletries, she debates putting on some lotion, but decides against it. Bending over, she tosses her mane forward, shaking it out and brushing it thoroughly.

In the other room, Logan kicks out of his shoes, not bothering to untie them in his haste to disrobe. He tugs his shirt off, crumples it into a ball and whips it at the chair. Hand on his fly, he thinks better of removing his jeans; it might be too soon. Peeling off his socks, he tucks them into his Cons.

“‘Ronica?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna go get some ice. I’ll be right back – don’t lock me out, okay?”

“Okay. Can I come out now?”

“No, just stay there ‘til I get back.” Padding down the walkway barefooted, he scoops ice into the cheesy plastic bucket and hurries back, fingers tapping on the container. “I’m baaack,” he sing-songs, flipping the keycard onto the coffee table.

“I’m still in here,” she sing-songs back, her tone light and flippant.

“Just another minute, honey,” he calls out, depositing the ice and pouring two glasses of soda. Retrieving his flask from his back pocket, he sets it next to the drinks and returns to the Walgreen’s bags. He heaps the snacks next to the vodka, and pulls out the last item, six red roses, encased in crinkly plastic.

Taking his wallet, keys, and pocket knife from his pants, he puts the billfold and keys on top of the television. Opening the knife, he snips the rose stems and puts three in a glass. He steps into the bedroom and puts a single rose on the pile of snowy white pillows, and, tearing the petals from the last two, scatters them over the sheets.

Satisfied, finally, he moves to the closed bathroom door and lounges against it. “Veronica,” he says, his voice hushed and a bit reverent.

“Yeah?”

“Are you ready?”

“I think so. Are you?”

“I was born ready,” he drawls.

The door clicks; Veronica peeks out. He motions her into the dressing area, covering her eyes with his hands. Pelvis bumping her ass, he steers her into the other room, depositing her on the couch so she can’t see the bed. A single lamp is burning, the room is dim, murky. Adjusting to the shadows, she blinks, noticing the roses and the half-filled cups.

“I forgot candles,” he confesses sheepishly. She shrugs and smiles, tentative and anxious.

“They’re beautiful,” she murmurs, gesturing to the scarlet flowers.

“Drink?” he inquires, nodding at the flask.

“Yes, please.” He pours a dollop of Absolute into her S’kist, and a larger portion into his glass, gathers both in his hand. Making his way to her side, he sits comfortably. They touch rims, drink. Because Logan is watching her like a hawk, she swigs half in one gulp, wincing at the burn. He chugs his in two heavy swallows.

Taking her glass, he sets it down, draws her near, one arm circling her shoulders. “C’mere,” he invites, casual and reassuring. Sighing, she relaxes into him. “We don’t have to do this,” he reminds, lips caressing her ear. Lacing her fingers into his free hand, she squeezes.

“But, I want to, Logan. I do.” Rubbing her cheek against his bare chest, she giggles, licks his nipple. “I want to be with you. Now. Here. Tonight.”

Shuddering at her unexpected, bold touch, he blows softly in her ear. “I want you, too,” he whispers. “You have no idea how much.”

One finger sketches a line up his thigh. “I think maybe I do,” she announces as her finger comes to rest on the bulge just below his belly. She can feel him getting hard. He stirs restlessly; she turns, raises her face to his.

Inclining to meet her, he brushes a feathery kiss on her brow, places another on each eyelid before tracing her nose and lips. She climbs gracefully into his lap, knees on either side of his hips, hands balancing on his shoulders. Bringing his hands up underneath the oversized shirt, he loosely grips her waist, steadying her.

Eyes sparkling, she teeters, leans in, presses her lips to his. He sweeps his tongue into her mouth, deepening the kiss. She shudders as he gently strokes her sides, hitching back and forth over him, the friction making both crazy. Bracing her with an arm to the small of her back, he scrapes his fingertips lightly down her spine.

With a hushed “Ooo” she writhes, arches, driving her peaked nipples into the flat of his chest. The air fills with the sound of her broken panting as he tips her head back, his lips trailing a path over her jaw, her neck, the dimple of her clavicle. “Oh, God,” she whispers.

“Mmmm,” he murmurs, laying her over his knees and pulling down the neck of her top to suck at her pale flesh. “Ready to have some fun?” he asks, lips flickering against her, a wicked, dangerous glint in his smudgy eyes.

Curling her hands around his biceps, she levers her body up, flinging her arms around his neck and nuzzling his ear. “I’m ready if you are,” she teases, nipping at him.

“You minx,” he chuckles. “Are you sure?” He cranes back to look at her. She nods.

Easing out from underneath, he sways to his feet, heaves her up. From behind, he drapes his head over her shoulder, biting and sucking as he massages her breasts. Quivering, she feels his cock against her backside, his teeth, tongue, and fingers working her until her knees are weak and ready to buckle. Dizzy and completely aroused, she gropes, grabs for his thighs, fingers clenching the rough denim.

Reaching down, he slips a finger in her drink cup, dunks it in the alcohol, and slips it between her swollen lips. Catching his finger, she sucks hard, circling and pressing his digit with her tongue. Groaning, he sinks his teeth in her neck, laps at her. “Okay, it’s time,” he says huskily, hands stilling.

Nodding, she turns to him. Her face is flushed and glowing, her expression calm, serious. Hands on her shoulders, he walks her backward into the darkened bedroom. She turns, gasping a quick breath, taking in the velvety petals strewn across the prepared bed, the supplies carefully arranged at the bedside.

“What ... what’s all that for?”

“I thought we could give each other a massage,” he replies, his voice deliberately soothing and neutral. She gives him a dubious, sideways glance. “To loosen up. I’ll go first,” he ad-libs. She nods, reaches up to caress his arm. Walking to the night stand, he peruses the oils, selects one. “Heat and tingle,” he grins.

She quirks her head. “You don’t have flavored ones?”

“Cinnamon okay?” He puts the bottle down, picks up another and hands it to her.

She grins coquettishly, motions to the bed. “Lay down.”

He kneels on the edge, grabs the snap of his fly. “On or off?”

“Off, I think.” She pretends to study his body, not wanting him to know how fast her heart’s beating, how wet she already is.

Standing, he unzips, shucks the jeans. At the sight of his tented, black silk boxers, she swoons inside, willing herself not to be embarrassed or look away. She wants to scream when he subconsciously cups his dick through the fabric.

“Should you ... take those off, too?” she wonders uncomfortably, fixedly staring at the white sheets. “The oil might ... stain?”

He smiles cheekily. “Good idea,” he agrees. She averts her eyes as he slips them down his legs, doesn’t look up again until she hears the bed creak.

“Ready?” she croaks, her throat raw and hoarse.

“Mmmhmm,” he sighs, head down, arms stretched out above his head. From the end of the bed, she crawls up his bare legs, hovering over his ass while she drips slippery stuff up and down his back. A shiver twitches through his body, she can feel his heated skin beneath her naked thighs. Settling just above the cleft of his butt, she gradually lowers herself until her full weight rests on him.

Leaning down, she spreads the lube with strong, supple fingers. When her shirt catches under her legs, making it difficult for her to reach all the way up to his shoulders, she impatiently tugs it off, drops it over the side. Wearing nothing but her panties, she bends over him, pressing against his bare back as she digs into his shoulders.

“Does it feel good?” she asks, kissing him lightly.

He groans. “God, Veronica. You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

“I’m trying to get you to relax,” she chides, nipping at the nape of his neck.

“Get me some vodka, then,” he jokes.

“I can do that,” she says, eagerly sliding off his back. She manages to get one foot on the floor before he rolls over, clamps onto her wrist.

“Hey, hey.” Forgetting he’s naked, and hard as cut glass, he sits up, pulling her onto his lap. “Relax. I don’t need anything else to make me feel good, babe.” Sucking in her breath, she looks down at his dick, squirms and, biting her lip, glides her fingers over the glistening tip. Jerking at her gentle touch, it’s his turn to blush, and he does, flopping backward, taking her with him. “God, Veronica, you make me feel so good,” he confides, wrapping his arms around her.

Hungrily, he takes her mouth, slipping his knee between her legs to keep her on top of him. She can feel his dick throbbing against her abdomen, but her attention’s occupied with the sensuous play of his tongue on hers, the sizzle of his finger tips against her sensitive nipples. It’s a dizzying byplay, making her forget she intends to lose her virginity. Tonight, probably in a few minutes.

Sucking on his tongue, she undulates against him, loving the feel of his slick skin, the hard planes of his abs, the pressure of his thumb on her back, the incredible, pulsing warmth spreading throughout her body. Twisting, he settles her onto one hip, dips to take a nipple into his mouth. Head tossed back, she throws a leg over his thigh, rocking and rubbing against him, huffing and moaning. Tremors shake her body each time she brushes against him. “Oh God, Logan,” she whimpers, fingers tightening in his hair.

“Oh, fuck, Veronica,” he grunts, humping against her, his dick nestled between them. Suddenly, with a strangled cry, he pumps his cock against her belly and comes. “Shit!” he mutters, embarrassed. “Fuck! I’m sorry, babe.”

Unsure of the proper response, Veronica continues to rock on his thigh, her face contorted with desire. “Kiss me?” she begs, trapping his face between her palms. Logan works his tongue in her mouth, stroking against hers, swallowing her tiny gasps and moans.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, “I’ll be ready in a minute or two.” He plants kisses over her jaw and nibbles at the pale, smooth skin of her throat, licking and sucking. Back bowed, she arches, grinds against him; at once, she can feel his dick stiffen. His mouth travels down, capturing a nipple between his teeth, he swipes it with his tongue; the tingling radiates throughout her body, making her hiss and thrust frantically against him.

With a loud, satisfying ‘pop,’ he releases her breast, glances inquisitively at her flushed face. “I know, babe,” he murmurs, voice cracking. “You’re almost there.” Licking up her breastbone, he kisses her deeply, his tongue plunging into her mouth as his fingers stroke between her legs, fondling her tiny, swollen nub.

Crying out, she bucks into his hand. Nudging her onto her back, he covers her body with his, dragging his fingers through her creamy folds, holding her close as she humps his hand, thrashing and groaning. Once, twice, she jerks hard against him, biting his neck as she comes. Surprised at herself, her eyes flutter open. Chest heaving, she stares into his smoky eyes, hoping he can read the unspoken question in hers.

He cups her head, tucks into his shoulder. “‘S okay, baby. We’re just getting started.” Tenderly laying her back on the bed, he wipes his fingers on the towel, reaches back for a condom. Holding the small, foil packet, he kneels above her. Curious, she grabs for it. With a grin, he moves it out of her reach.

“Want to do the honors?” he asks, becoming serious, his eyes drilling into hers.

Gulping apprehensively, she nods vigorously, fingers straining for the package. “Yes, please.” Sitting up, she holds out her hand.

Ripping it open with his teeth, he hands it to her, watches with amusement as she fumbles it into her hand, picks it up with a thumb and forefinger, turning it round and round as she tries to discern how it should be applied.

“Here, let me start it for you.” Blowing into the tip, he fits it over the head of his cock, places his hand over hers and shows her how to roll it down the shaft. Both their hands are trembling by the time they finish.

“Wow. Good thing they didn’t test us on that in health class, because I definitely would have failed,” she comments with a self-deprecating half-smile.

“Uh huh,” he grunts, fisting down his length to make sure it’s smooth and tight.

“Can I?” she gestures, reaching for his dick.

“Sure,” he agrees, quickly adding, “but you don’t have to if you don’t want you, Veronica.”

Moving with alacrity, she’s on her knees, facing him, her small hand resting on his.... “I do want to....” Recalling her last ‘lesson’ on the subject, she circles her fingers around the tip and begins to caress up and down. Quickly, she realizes her hand doesn’t slide easily over the latex. Looking around, she spots the bottle of lube, and bends over to get it.

“Veronica,” he says, wrapping his warm, strong hand around her neck and drawing her up to his chest.

“Uh huh?”

“We ... we’re not going to need ... any extra lubrication,” he stammers, his dark eyes glowing, his face flushed in embarrassment.

“Wha – oh.” Blushing self-consciously, she averts her eyes.

“I think,” he whispers, “you’re wet enough.” Crushing her body to his with an intense kiss, his hand trails down her neck, glides over the jut of her shoulder blade, and skims the curve of her ass before slipping between her legs. With a smooth, deliberate motion, he strokes his fingers from the puckered indent of her ass to her wet and throbbing clit.

“Oh, oh, God,” she pants, writhing as he repeats the stroke in the opposite direction.

“Baby,” he murmurs, “you’re plenty lubed.”

“Logan!” she mutters, playfully biting at his bottom lip. “You’re sick.”

“Only for you, ‘Ronica,” he teases, bringing his fingers up to his mouth and sucking on them.

“Ew!”

“What? No, you taste good, baby.”

As if to prove his point, he seals his lips over hers, plunges his tongue into her mouth. At the same time, he parts and fondles her, fingers gliding over her creamy flesh as he rubs rough circles over her slick clit. Moaning, she sucks on his tongue, tasting herself as she shudders. Gently laying her on the bed, he continues to kiss her as he settles between her hips, hand working her clit and toying with the outer lips of her pussy.

“Do you feel good, Veronica?” he asks, eyes glinting in the dimness.

“Ye – yes,” she hisses, hips jerking as he strokes a finger into her. “Mmm, Logan,” she mumbles, surging against his hand.

“Spread your legs, baby,” he instructs her, hips wiggling between her thighs. Obediently, she splays her legs out beneath him. “No, like this.” Hand in the crook of her knee, he bends her leg until her knee is level with her hip, her heel practically to her derriere. Momentarily surprised, her eyes flutter open. “Are you okay?”

Biting her lip, she nods. From the look on his face, she can tell he’s still concerned. “I’m good, Logan, really,” she assures him, pulling him down and rocking against his hand. “Please don’t ... stop,” she gulps, squeezing his neck. Levering most of his weight on one hip and one elbow, he adds a second finger and thrusts in and out repeatedly, watching carefully as her eyes flutter and her mouth forms a graceful ‘O.’

Finally, as she flails and stutters, he rolls onto his knees and fists his cock, fitting it to her luscious opening. When she feels him nudge against her, she struggles to open her eyes, staring intently into his as he begins to penetrate her. Startled by his girth, she flinches, moans, eyes closing involuntarily. He stops, starts to say something, but before he can utter a word, she lurches upward, groaning and twitching as she tries to take him in.

“Please,” she whimpers, fingers clamping on his wrist and arm.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” he marvels as, unable to stop, he pushes deeper.

Despite her fear, and the uncomfortable sensation of muscles stretching, she’s so hot, and he feels so good she heedlessly pumps her hips, rocking up as he drives further in. “Ah, ah, please,” she pleads, her voice breathless and harsh.

“Relax, baby,” he urges, pulling out, breathing heavily. Nails digging into his arm, she pants, her body pulsing, urging him on. Stretching atop her, he tucks his head against her neck, kissing and nipping her skin as he thrusts in harder.

“Oh, God,” she grits, sucking in sharply, her body suddenly still. “Shit.” Tears brim in her eyes.

Instantly, Logan recognizes her discomfort. “Oh, baby. Are you okay?”

Nodding gamely, she swipes her face against his shoulder. “Please, Logan. Don’t, don’t stop.... I’ll be okay,” she whispers. When he doesn’t move, she winds her arms around his neck and covers her lips with his.

Kissing her tenderly, he reluctantly rolls his hips up, pushing in slowly. Gasping, she rubs and bucks against him, trying to create the friction she knows he needs. Licking her way down his jaw, she nips his throat and sucks at him, stirring to his desperate groan, loving the idea of leaving her ‘mark’ on him.

Chanting her name, he thrusts in and out and, even though it’s uncomfortable and not wonderful for her, she’s gratified, even thrilled by his passionate rapture. When he comes with a shuddering heave, she presses her body to him, her slender arms clenching across his back, her face buried in his neck.

Almost immediately, he starts to roll off, but she hooks her leg around his. “Not yet,” she murmurs, enjoying the feeling of fullness, the joinder of their bodies, and the beating of his heart over hers.

“You’re fuckin’ amazing,” he whispers, brushing his rough hands through her silky tresses, planting shy kisses on her temple, ear, and arm. “Did I hurt you?” he frets, gazing into her serene cerulean eyes.

“I ... I’m good,” she blushes. “It hurt a little, but only for a minute. Was it – was I ... are you okay?”

He kisses her forehead again. “Veronica,” he breathes. “You make me feel so great, but babe? I’m afraid I’m gonna have to – ”

“I know,” she sighs, her voice soft and plaintive. Unexpectedly, when he eases out, she winces, feels empty, as though she’s lost something. Before he can move away, she grabs and hugs him tightly, sighing.

“Shhh, it’s okay.” He nuzzles his cheek in her hair, holding her like fragile Dresden china. “I’m right here, ‘Ronica,” he promises, rocking her gently. Pressing her face into his chest, she nestles there, cheek to skin.

Drawing her head back, she announces, “I’m okay,” and dashes away her tears. “I think I want to take a shower.” Moving stiffly, she finds the edge of the bed and drags herself to her feet, wobbling to the bathroom.

While she’s gone, Logan jumps up and strips away the stained bath towel. Brushing the rose petals into a pile, he dumps them into an empty glass and puts them in the sitting room. He returns, several unopened bags of snacks in arm. He cleans up at the sink and slips into his boxers. Finding her pretty tee shirt on the floor, he snaps it in the air.

Tapping lightly on the bathroom door, he sticks his head in. “Veronica?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m leaving your shirt on the door knob, okay?”

“Thank you,” she says gratefully, peeking out from the shower curtain. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

Going back to the sitting room, he pours and gulps a few ounces of vodka, neat. Dumping Veronica’s forgotten cocktail, he fills the glass with ice and S’kist, makes a vodka and coke, and brings both into the bedroom. Shoving all the prophylactics and oil into the night stand drawer, he meticulously arranges the sheets and blanket before sliding comfortably beneath them.

She finds him lounging, hands behind his head, eyes drooping, fighting off sleep. She stands, simply watching him, until he cocks an eyebrow. “Coming?”

“I – I’m hungry,” she confesses, abashed, teeth gnawing at her bottom lip.

“Of course you are,” he chuckles, patting the bed by his hip. “Hop in, I have refreshments.”

Her eyes light up. “I didn’t know you were a boy scout!”

“I come prepared,” he swears, raising three fingers of his right hand, inclining his head to the spot beside him and reaching for a bag of pretzels. “Get in and I’ll feed you,” he winks.

Clambering over him, she settles into his side. He hands her the glass of S’kist. While she gulps it down, he tears open the pretzels and Twizzlers.

~~*~~*~~*~~

She wakes with a start at 4:13 a.m. The unfamiliar weight of Logan’s arm over her shoulders confuses her at first, but comforted by his deep, sonorous breathing, she snuggles closer and drifts off. At 5:47 a.m., she wakes again, to the warm heat of his lips nibbling on her ear, his engorged cock against her leg.

“Are you awake yet?” he mumbles, tongue tickling her lobe.

“Mmmhmm,” she murmurs, twitching her fingers across his chest. Raising her head sleepily, she sinks her teeth into the juncture of his shoulder and languidly licks the mark.

“You are awake,” he crows, tipping her head up and kissing her plump lips.

“Lemme brush my teeth, first,” she implores, wiggling out from under his grasp.

“Hurry,” he begs, his voice rough with desire. “Wait, I’ll come with you.”

Boldly, unselfconscious, he whips the sheets off, his stiff prick bobbing as he crawls to her side and hops up. Strolling up behind her at the sink, he rubs his dick on her ass, reaching over her shoulder for his toothbrush. Watching him in the mirror, she sags back against him, wiggles her ass against his length, giggling at his shocked expression.

“Veronica Mars!” he smirks, wide-eyed, gnawing on the bristly brush. She grins at the glass image of him, spits, rinses, whirls around and wipes her face on his smooth chest. Gagging, he nearly swallows the whole toothbrush as she throws her arms around him and shimmies against his tumescent cock.

“Hurry up,” she parrots slyly, not moving.

Leaning over her, he finishes, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Giving her a loopy grin, he sweeps her up in his arms. Pretending to stagger under her weight, he stumbles back to the bed and bounces her onto the mattress. Diving in next to her, he drags her to him, cradling her face in his palms.

Bending, he nips at her well-kissed lips, pulling back each time she opens to him. Quickly fed-up with the tease, she crooks her arm over his neck and pulls him in for an enthusiastic, open-mouth kiss. Rolling, he brings her on top of him, his dick pressing into her belly as they explore each other’s mouths. Stroking her back, from the elegant nape of her neck to the sweet cleft of her ass, he groans. Plucking at the hem of her shirt, she tugs it up and over her head, baring her chest to his ardent gaze.

“God, Veronica, I can’t fuckin’ believe you.”

“What?” she asks, arching and freezing momentarily, until the mesmeric pressure of his fingers makes her shiver.

“Un-fuckin’-believable,” he murmurs, swiping his tongue up from the indent of her collarbone to the bottom of her chin. “So fucking beautiful.”

Hissing in pleasure, her head tumbles backward, gasping as his tongue and lips graze over her skin, moving inexorably down her chest to capture a nipple between his teeth and tongue. With his fingers glued to one hip, he brings his hand up to cover the other breast, fingertips running over her tight nipple. Writhing above him, she can feel her clit throb and dampen as she rubs against his hard-on.

“Lo-Lo-Logan,” she stutters, eyes fluttering.

Catching her shoulder, he twists, bringing her beneath him. Wide-eyed and aroused, she looks up to see him observing her, unspoken emotion written on his face. His glittering, obsidian eyes, no longer cold with rage, are tender and caring, his lips warm and inviting. He brushes the back of his hand over her cheek, smooths his fingertip over her lips before bending to kiss the corner of her mouth. Licking her lips, his tongue steals inside, rough velvet.

Curling his hand under her hip, he slowly spreads her thighs, nestling his cock in her tawny thatch. She moans, huffing into his mouth, clawing at his neck as his fingers dip and glide over her slick, heated flesh.

“Condom?” she gasps when he fondles her clit, pitching and rubbing on his hand.

“In a minute,” he assures, inserting his middle finger in her pussy and curving it to stroke deeply.

Back bowed, she jerks against him. “Please, Logan,” she croaks, “I ... I need to feel you ... inside me.”

Groaning, he flattens atop her, burying his face in her neck as he fumbles blindly in the drawer. Randomly grabbing a box, he brings it to his mouth and rips it open, spilling the foil packets on the bed. Flailing, she grabs one before he can, barely waiting for him to roll onto his side before hastily tearing the package and extracting the little latex circle.

“My – my turn,” she reminds him, fingers closing over his cock. Shouldering him onto his back, she kneels at his hip, carefully sheathing his rigid length with both trembling hands. Bending forward, her long golden locks cascade over his belly. She licks and kisses his stomach before stretching out next to him, pulling him down over her.

“Frisky this morning, aren’t we?” he chortles, winding his fingers in her hair. “You’re not sore or anything?” he questions, serious for a moment.

Squirming under his scrutiny, she admits, “A little, but I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

She sighs dramatically, giggles at his worried face. “If you don’t want to....” she taunts, her voice hushed and dusky. Running her fingers over his muscled abs, she tickles his ribs. “Please,” she breathes, pressing against him.

Rising off the mattress, he puts a hand under each knee, lifting them up and out. Snugging his cock up to her wet pussy, he tucks his elbows against her sides, holds her head between his palms. Spreading his fingers, he lightly rubs them through the glossy sheen. Excited by the feel of his hot, solid body on hers, she strains against him, her luminous eyes wide and rapt.

“I love it to hear a woman beg for it,” he teases, low and throaty, lips against her temple. Licking at her ear, he bumps against her clit, enjoying her low moan. His lips trail down her slender throat, sucking at the throb of her pulse as his fingers strum against her tight, rosy nipple.

“Hey!” she protests, pinching his forearm skin. “I am not begging, Echolls.”

“But you will be,” he promises suavely, taking her other breast in his mouth, tongue swiping fast across her sensitive bud.

“Ohgod,” she keens, arching closer, hips riding up, pressing against him. “Mmmsogood.”

“Baby,” he murmurs, fingers slipping between them to nuzzle her clit, softly at first, then rougher and faster as she gasps and grinds on him. “You’re so fucking hot.”

Fisting his dick, he positions it against her opening, massaging her clit as she writhes and pants. “Ready, baby?”

“Yes,” she answers in a gravel-strewn voice. With a single, sure stroke, he penetrates her, watching intently for any sign of discomfort. Lips open, head thrown back, she huffs a mindless stream of “Ooos and ahhs,” as she lunges to meet his thrust.

Although the sensation of fullness is still strange and a bit awkward, the friction of his cock sliding in and out is delicious, and she deliberately rocks her hips up, trying to match his rhythm. She can feel his voracious mouth, licking and sucking at her neck as he buries his face there, trying to maintain a semblance of control.

Shuddering, she feels like her entire world has been reduced to the tingling, electric pulse of his cock inside her, and the clenching slip-slide of her muscles around him. Bucking against him as her body quivers and surges, Veronica cries out. Realizing she’s already on the verge, Logan hunches over her, hips stuttering as he drives faster and deeper with each thrust.

As she rubs and rocks against him, she feels like he’s everywhere, teeth and tongue pressed to her shoulder, hips hammering against her pubis, one hand wrapped around her neck, the other vise-gripped on her hip, cock buried deep inside her.

“Fuck,” he grunts. She doesn’t reply in words, but her body’s tremors, and the claw of her nails on his arm and shoulder tell him everything. She stiffens, hips pistoning up as he pumps. Shuddering uncontrollably, she comes in his arms, surprise and shock registering in her sapphire eyes. Curling over her, he comes moments later, and falls to her side with a gasp. “Veronica.”

~~*~~*~~*~~

“Coffee. I need caffeine, please,” she commands drowsily.

“It’s not even eight o’clock, yet,” he mumbles to her shoulder.

“I know but – ” Her cell shrills – the special ring that’s only Lilly. “Oh, God.”

“Lilly, right?”

“Uh huh.”

“Better get it. She’ll just keep calling.”

Rolling over, he straggles out of bed, padding to the vanity where there’s a tiny, two-cup coffee maker, and just enough supplies to make two pots. Shaking the grounds into the filter, he pours the water in and starts the thing.

“Hey, Lil.”

“Veronica! How are you?” Lilly gushes, her voice artificially, sarcastically cheerful.

“I – I’m fine. What’re you doing up so early?”

“I haven’t been to bed, yet, girlfriend. How ‘bout you? Why’re you such an early bird? Catch any worms this morning?” Enjoying her own joke, Lilly giggles mischievously. When Veronica doesn’t answer, Lilly continues, “So, spill, Veronica. Who is he?”

“Who?”

“The boy you’re with. I know it’s not my stupid brother, because Donut looked like someone died last night, and he’s sleeping like a good boy this morning. I covered for you, now spill! Who ... is he? I’m dying to know.”

“What do you mean, you haven’t been to bed yet?” Veronica queries in a desperate attempt to avoid answering. From the corner of her eye, Veronica watches Logan as he pours coffee and dumps in a bunch of sugar and fake cream. When he turns back to the bed, Veronica flushes; he’s almost fully erect again.

“Just got in, silly. I was out with – having se – Veronica Mars!” Lilly’s voice oozes shock and delight. “You had sex, didn’t you? Who is he? Where are you? C’mon, girl.” Veronica can hear the sound of Lilly’s fingers snapping. “You owe me!”

“Huh? I’m sorry, Lilly. What did you say?” Rolling her eyes at Logan, Veronica takes the cup from his hand, slurping quickly before Logan nestles in behind and pulls her to his chest.

“Veronica!” Lilly hisses. “Where are you? Are you still with – Oh My God, it’s Logan, isn’t it? You’re with Logan, aren’t you?”

“Um – I can’t talk right now. He’s right here.”

“Put him on.”

“What? No!”

“Now.”

“Wha – why do you want to talk to him?”

“I need to make sure he’s taking good care of you, if you know what I mean.”

Veronica looks suspiciously at her phone, then helplessly hands it over her shoulder to Logan. “Here. She wants to talk to you.”

The End of Innocence, part 1 - L/V - NC-17 - rindee

rindee — Sat, 23 Jun 2007 18:44:37 GMT

Title: The End of Innocence, part 1
Author: Rindee
Rating: NC-17, sexual situations, language, implied violence
Characters/Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Lilly, implied Lilly/Weevil, and Aaron Echolls.
Word Count: 5,145 for this part - about 12,220 total
Spoilers/warnings: AU preseries fic about Logan and Veronica's growing passion for each other - spoilers for some events from S1.
A/N: Sequel to A Taste of Innocence, and Another Taste, this fic begins where the last one ended, so it might be helpful to have read Another Taste. Written for the "Dire Straits - Not the Band" challenge at vm_library. Beta'd by some of my very favorite people: inthevast, who always has the most unique perspective, moire2, who nails me when I eff-up the characterization, rejeneration, who challenges me on everything, bless her perfectionist soul, kimikochan, who magically transformed the troublesome transitions, and, of course, Madame Librarian, taken_with_you, who is simply the best evah, and who always knows the answer(s). All remaining mistakes are mine.

“No,” Veronica whispers. “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again.”

Ignoring her command, Logan again reaches out, wrapping his lithe fingers around her upper arm. “I didn’t say anything to anyone, Mars, least of all Duncan. You’d better come in.” She jerks her arm, but Logan doesn’t release her. “Please, Veronica. Come inside and talk to me.”

Twisting free from his grip, she turns sideways and slides by, careful not to touch any part of his body. Inside the Echolls’ pool house, she crosses her arms defensively over her chest, and stares, her glittering sapphire eyes radiating hurt, betrayal, and anger.

“So,” Logan begins, firmly shutting the door behind, watching as she paces the length of the room.

Sighing, she turns finally, fingers swiping at the mascara tracks beneath her eyes. “So?”

He gestures to a chair. “Sit, please. Let me get you some water.” Her book bag thuds to the carpet as she slumps into the seat, closes her eyes to the tension of the day. From behind the bar, he orders, “Tell me what happened.” He stands, two cold plastic bottles in hand. “Veronica,” he pleads, concerned. “What did Duncan say?”

“He didn’t say much, really,” she begins, her voice soft, but clear, “just that things between us haven’t been good, and he didn’t think I wanted to be with him anymore.”

He wordlessly presses a cool bottle into her hand before slouching to one knee and leaning on the arm of the chair. She gives him a tight, grudging smile and takes a sip before continuing.

“And, maybe he’s right, Logan, but why would Duncan say I didn’t want to be with him?” She turns, eyes meeting his; he lowers his head, scrubs his hand across his forehead. “Unless someone told him about ... us.”

“I told you before, I didn’t say anything. Why would I, Veronica? What would I have to gain?”

“I don’t know.” She leans back to get a better look at him, and, anxiously biting her bottom lip, offers, “Maybe you wanted ... Lilly to find out?”

His head snaps up, his knuckles whitening as his fists clench reflexively. “No. No. No. No fucking way. I told you – I am not using you to get back at Lilly. It’s – we’re over.” He shakes his head violently. “Finished. Through.” He draws in a deep breath, exhales, shakes out his hands and arms. “I knew we were over even before you told me about ... Weevil.” He stares at her until she nods her acceptance. “So, it wasn’t me, Veronica. Try again. Who else could have told him?”

“I don’t know. Who else even knows? Think about it. You and Duncan are ... best friends,” her voice cracks as she remembers just how close he and Duncan have been lately. “When he and I went out last week – ” She stops abruptly, gazes vacantly over Logan’s shoulder at the pool just beyond the glass doors. “You don’t think it’s because ... because I wouldn’t....” She swallows heavily, and he can see the tears welling again.

Exploding to his feet, Logan stalks away, takes a few deep breaths and whirls around. “Poor you. Stop it, Veronica. Just stop acting all innocent and tortured – you’re beginning to remind me of Lilly. Besides, why do you even care what DK expects? Last time I checked, it wasn’t his dick you had your hands around. Oh, and, by the way, he doesn’t think you’re that kind of girl, so maybe he broke up with you because he’s just not into you – ” He can see her lip beginning to quiver, so he rushes on, “or, maybe, he’s noticed you’re not that into him anymore.”

“What do you mean by that?”

A smirk flirts across his mouth, but quickly vanishes in the face of her obvious distress. “Well,” he drops to his knees at her feet, sets his elbows on the arms of the chair, “it’s not as if you’ve spent much time with good ol’ Donut, lately, have you?” he murmurs seductively.

His meaning is unmistakable, and her cheeks pink in response. He bends to kiss the hand wrapped tightly around the water bottle, lasciviously licking the moisture droplets from each finger.

“Don’t,” she begs in a choked voice. “I’m not – you can’t just – ”

“Shhh,” he soothes apologetically, wiggling closer, planting himself between her thighs. “I told you, I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, his mouth mere inches from her ear. “I think I’d kill anyone who tried....” He kisses her nose, presses his forehead to hers. “You believe me, don’t you?”

Lips parted, she gazes up at him, helpless under his smoldering, possessive stare. Her answering nod is tremulous, her voice feeble. “Ye – yes, I believe you.”

When he kisses her, sixteen ounces of Evian slide unheeded to the floor as her fingers wind ‘round his forearms. Bringing him down on top of her, she relaxes for the first time since entering the pool house. Twining his fingers in her long, thick hair, he pulls gently, levering her chin into the air to expose her pale, graceful throat. As he massages the tender skin with the flat of his thumb, she murmurs, “Stop, Logan.” Ignoring her whispered plea, he sweeps his tongue into the warmth of her mouth.

“Logan. Stop!” Jerking her head to the side, she pants, “I thought I heard something. Is anyone home?” she asks, eyes wide and startled.

“‘S okay. No one’s here, no one can see us.” He studies her face, noticing her fearful countenance. “What’s wrong, Veronica? What are you afraid of?”

Shoving ineffectually at his chest, she sits up, tightens her grip on his arm. “No – nothing, really. I ... it’s just ... I don’t think I want to see your dad right now.” At once, his face darkens. She squeezes him. “I promised I wouldn’t say anything, and I won’t, but Logan, you have to tell someone what he’s doing to you. You have to.”

Breaking her grasp, he pulls away. “You just can’t leave it alone, can’t you? I told you, there’s nothing anyone can do. Besides, half the time, I deserve it.”

Pushing up his sleeve, she rubs her fingertip along the dime-sized, raised ridge in the crook of his elbow. “No one deserves that,” she continues staunchly, her voice low but steady. “It’s child abuse, Logan. He could be prosecuted for what he does to you, and he should be.”

“I told you to leave it,” he says as he shakes her off and stands, his voice thick with emotion. “Don’t you think I want to make him stop?” He strides to the glass door, slapping it hard enough to make the frame rattle. “Don’t you think my mother’s tried?” he grits out over his shoulder.

She scrambles up out of the chair and approaches him cautiously. “I know it can’t be easy, but if you make a report – ”

“You don’t know anything, Veronica. You know less than nothing.” He spins to glare at her, defiant and enraged. “Your father’s the Sheriff – ”

“And he can help you!”

“And he’d never – ”

“I care about you....”

“Then leave it alone! It’s none of your business. I’m telling you, it won’t help. It’ll only make things worse. You don’t know him like I do.” Heaving the sliding door open with a crash, Logan stomps out to the pool deck, looking around like a caged animal suddenly freed.

Trailing him to the doorway, Veronica waits and watches as his eyes roam over the patio furniture and pool equipment. He spies a stack of cushions, stalks over, and, in a burst of rage, begins kicking and punching them, grunting and cursing with each swing. Frightened by his belligerence, Veronica looks away.

“You should listen to him, Veronica,” a voice hisses, close to her ear.

“Oh my God,” she blurts, jumping back in shock. “You scared – I – I didn’t hear you come in, Mr. Echolls.”

His fingers close over her bare upper arm as he propels her away from the window. “I’ve told you, dear, you must call me Aaron. But really, you might want to listen to my son when he tells you to mind your own business,” he advises with unconcealed ire, his fingers digging deep into her musculature.

Shaking like a rag doll, she stammers, “I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Echolls.” If Logan is angry, Aaron Echolls is full-on enraged, she thinks, twisting and cowering under his snapping eyes and infuriated grimace.

“I think you do, Veronica,” he continues, yanking her further from the glass and shoving her toward a corner that can’t be seen from the pool area. “And I told you to call me, Aaron, young lady. Mr. Echolls was my old man – he was a louse and a drunk. A pathetic, mean drunk who never made more than twelve thousand a year,” he adds with a sneer. “I tipped my house staff more than that last year,” he brags, walking her backward until she’s pressed against the wall. “Now, then, Verrronica,” he says menacingly. “Did I hear you say something about reporting me to the police?”

Terrified speechless, Veronica gasps, shriveling under Aaron Echolls’ fury. “What’s that?” he barks. “I didn’t hear you. C’mon, Verrronica, you’re a smart girl. Do you really think you can turn my own son against me?” he facetiously inquires, his every word dripping venom as he looms above her, invading her personal space. “He’s my son, and he does what I tell him to. Do you understand me?”

“Please – you’re hurting me,” she blurts, trying to slide down the wall and out of his grasp. “Take your hand off of me, Mister Ech – Aaron. You’ve already committed assault, and I’m sure my father, the Sheriff, won’t be happy to hear about it,” she continues, attempting to regain her composure, but trembling like a leaf.

“You just ... don’t ... get it,” Aaron growls ominously, jamming his forearm across her windpipe and raising it so her toes barely touch the floor. “He’s my son, and I do what I want – ”

“Veronica! Get your hands off of her!” Logan yells, flying into the room. “Dad! Let her go,” he hollers, grabbing Aaron’s shoulder and spinning him around.

Veronica crumples to the floor, breathless and gagging. Before she can utter a word, Logan’s drawn back his fist, crashing it into Aaron’s mouth. Although the punch hits its mark, it barely registers on Aaron’s contorted, scowling face. Rubbing his jaw, Aaron’s eyes light with a maniacal gleam.

“You’re making a mistake, son, she’s not worth it. She’s trouble,” he announces with a snarl.

“How would you know, Dad? Because she hasn’t fallen all over herself trying to kiss your ass?” Logan replies, scorn evident in his voice. Unclenching his fingers, he slings them and winces; his knuckles are puffy and raw.

“Logan,” Veronica pleads, struggling to her feet. “Don’t, please.”

Logan turns to her, but as he does, Aaron lunges, slamming his fist into the side of Logan’s face. As Logan staggers forward, doubles over, Aaron kicks at him, his booted foot catching Logan in the ribs. Stunned, Veronica cries out, “Stop it!”

“Get outta here, Veronica,” Logan wheezes, fists jabbing wildly as he wobbles backward, eyes trained on his father. Edging away from them, Veronica fumbles frantically in her backpack as Aaron and Logan crouch and circle each other, each looking for the advantage. With an open hand, Aaron slaps Logan, the crack resounding like a gunshot in the glass room.

Finding the small, black canister she’d been searching for, she twirls it in her palm and eases cautiously toward the two men. Sidling up behind Logan, she puts one hand on his hip; the other is concealed at her side. “I thought I told you to get out of here,” he mutters, twisting to shield her as Aaron moves closer.

“I’m not leaving you here,” she whispers, wrapping her fingers in the fabric of his shirt. “I have mace,” she adds.

With a guttural cry, Aaron darts toward them. Before Logan can react, Veronica raises the tiny aluminum can and squirts it directly into Aaron’s face. “You fucking little bitch!” he screams, dropping to his knees and clawing at his eyes.

Shocked, Logan freezes momentarily as, almost robotically, Veronica continues to disperse pepper spray at Aaron, even as her own eyes water. “I think that’s enough, Veronica,” Logan gasps, coughing as he wraps an arm around her waist. “Let’s go. Let’s get outta here, okay?” he urges, tugging her toward the door, away from the choking clouds.

In a minute, the two are pounding down the walkway. Pulling a set of keys from his pocket, Logan hits the remote and yanks open the door of the brand new, yellow Xterra sitting at the side of the driveway.

“Get in,” he pants.

“But...” she objects, shooting him a quizzical glance. “You can’t drive. You don’t have a license.”

“Just get in,” he orders with barely-restrained impatience. “We don’t have time to worry about legal niceties. I have my permit.”

Shrugging, Veronica clambers in with a frown. Logan slams the door behind her and hustles to the driver’s side. “Buckle-up,” he advises, checking the egress over his shoulder. Gunning the engine, he careens backward down the drive, and skids into the street like a race car driver or stunt man.

“I’ve always wanted to try that,” he confides with a smirk and a wink.

“Let’s just go, Logan,” she breathes, her voice quivering in an apparent delayed reaction.

“We are,” he promises, reaching over to lace his fingers in hers. “It’s gonna be okay, okay? Trust me.” He waits until her eyes find his and, when she nods hesitantly, he puts the SUV in drive and peels away.

A few minutes later, once they’re out of the Echolls’ glitzy, elegantly-manicured, gated neighborhood, Veronica heaves a sigh of relief. Her head tumbles to the seatback, and her eyes flutter shut. “I’m so sorry, Logan,” she quavers, tears beginning to spill, one at a time, over her stark, blanched cheeks.

Without looking, he brings her hand to his mouth and brushes his lips over it. “It’s over now, and you don’t have anything to be sorry for. No telling what he would have done, Veronica, if you hadn’t ... stopped him.”

“I hope I didn’t hurt your – Aar – him.”

“He’ll live,” Logan responds brusquely, changing the subject. “So, where are we going, m’lady?” And, when she doesn’t reply, “Ice cream at the Pier? Spaghetti at Luigi’s? Burgers? We could go to In-n-Out, or maybe you want – ”

“It’s okay, I’m alright, Logan. You don’t have to fuss so much. I’m happy to go wherever you want. But – food would be good. I think I could eat.”

Guffawing loudly, Logan proclaims, “That’s my girl. There’s the Mars I know and love.” Wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, she smiles. “Okay, cheeseburgers on the beach it is!”

~~*~~*~~*~~

The beach is nearly deserted and blissfully silent as they perch on the tailgate of the Xterra, legs dangling. Shoulder to shoulder, they munch on burgers, fries, and sip their chocolate shakes as the sun turns russet gold and trails toward shimmering navy depths. Licking her fingers, Veronica grins happily, smacking her lips as she wads up the burger wrapper.

“Get enough to eat?” Logan teases, chuckling as he waves his fries under her nose. “How do you maintain your girlish figure, Miss Mars?” he inquires, giving her a sideways glance.

“Shut up, Logan.” Reaching across her body, she slugs him with her right hand.

“Hey! Watch it. I still know all your ticklish spots,” he threatens, grabbing her arm and pulling her to him. Molding her body to his, she slips her fingers under his shirt. He kisses the top of her head, inhaling her unique fragrance as he rubs his cheek through the sheen.

“You forget, Echolls, I know yours, too,” she retorts, doing the ‘itsy bitsy spider’ up his ribcage. Wincing suddenly, his body stiffens and he sucks in a quick breath. “Oh my God,” she huffs. “I forgot. Did he hurt you? Let me see.”

Slipping from his embrace, she hops off the edge and crowds between his outstretched legs. Pulling at the hem of his tee, she looks up at him with a worried frown. “It’s nothing, really. I’ll be sore for a day or two, but I don’t think anything’s broken.”

“Let me see,” she demands, drumming her fingers impatiently on his knee. “Your hand, too.” Realizing protest would be futile, Logan extends his bruised knuckles for her inspection. Clucking absently, she pushes at the purplish tissue.

“Ow. Dammit, Veronica, that hurts,” he complains, wiggling in discomfort.

“We should put some ice on it,” she advises. “Take your shirt off, let me see your chest,” she orders, business-like and efficient.

“Gladly,” he smirks with an elegant lift of a brow. “Usually I have to beg girls to let me disrobe.”

Flushing, she tilts her head, studies his face. “Let’s have it,” she snaps her fingers. “We’re losing daylight, here.”

Unselfconsciously, Logan whips off his tee, straightens his shoulders. Gasping at the large ruby blotch forming just below his ribs, Veronica covers it with her tiny hand. “Oh, God,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry.” Biting her lip, she struggles to control her emotions.

“Hey, hey,” he mutters, sliding off the ledge and pulling her into his arms. “I’m okay, really,” he soothes, drawing circles on her back.

“How could he do this to you?” she marvels. Leaning back, she traces the mottled outline with trembling fingers. “We should report him – oh my God, my dad. What time is it, Logan?”

“Seven ... seven-thirty,” he admits. “It’s Friday. You have to go home?”

“I – I don’t know, but I have to call and check in, let him know I’m okay.” Poker-faced, Logan nods, instinctively releasing her, dropping his arms to his sides. “What ... what should I tell him?”

He shrugs listlessly. “I can take you home, or wherever. Whenever you’re ready,” he says gruffly, trying to hide his disappointment. At that moment, his phone rings. Veronica shoots him an inquisitive look. ‘My dad’ he mouths. She makes a face, frowns, quickly shakes her head.

“Maybe you should answer it, though,” she comments slowly as his phone clacks shut. “It might ... be important, or it could be ... your mom, couldn’t it?”

“I doubt it. She usually uses her own cell. Besides, she’s supposed to be in LA.”

His phone shrills again. Veronica flinches. “Talk to him, Logan,” she coaxes. “He might have calmed down, by now.”

Shrugging, Logan answers and hits the speaker, putting a finger to her lips. “Dad.”

As if he knows he’s on stage, Aaron begins in a carefully controlled tone. “Logan, m’boy. Where are you?”

“Out with a friend. Didja need something?”

“Listen, son. I’m ... I – we both lost our tempers. I don’t think I need to tell you, it shouldn’t have happened. I want – your mother and I want you to come home, now. Talk about everything.”

“Uh, I don’t think so, Dad. I’m kinda in the middle of something right now. Besides, mom’s not home yet, is she?”

“No, your mother’s not home, but she’s on the way, and she’s very concerned. Son, do I need to remind you? You’re driving without a license. I don’t want you to get in any trouble with the law, so you really need to come home, right now!” The last few words, spoken sharply, make it clear Aaron’s unhappy and losing patience.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’m with a licensed driver,” he winks at Veronica, “and I’m pretty sure I’ll be okay. My ribs aren’t cracked or anything, so tell Mom not to worry.”

“You listen to me, young man,” he seethes, and Veronica can hear his barely-controlled rage. “I ... want you home. Right now, and I don’t want any more lip. And I don’t want you hanging around that interfering little tramp – ”

“Who are you talking about? Veronica? Sheriff Mars’ daughter?”

“You know damn well who I’m talking about – you’ve said too much to her already, you spoiled little prick. And, if I find out you’ve told her your usual pack of lies about being abused, so help me God, I’ll – you’ll – a whipping will be the least of your problems, do you understand?” he finishes in a voice so cold and deadly it makes Veronica shiver.

“Roger that,” Logan quips, slamming the phone shut and flinging it at the backseat. “I don’t think he’s cooled off yet,” he deadpans, but Veronica can see he’s shaken by the conversation.

“You can’t – you can’t go home tonight, Logan, and I – I don’t want to,” she hurriedly declares. “I want to stay with you, at least until – you could come home with me,” she offers. “I’ll tell my dad we have a school project, or something. I’m sure he’ll let you stay, and in the morning, we’ll figure something – ”

“It’s not your problem, Veronica,” he tells her, his voice carefully neutral. “And I don’t think the good Sheriff would be too happy about me camping out on the Mars’ family couch, either.”

After thinking for a moment, Veronica reluctantly agrees. “Maybe you’re right. So where are you going to go, then? ... Duncan’s?” she says unwillingly.

Raising his brow again, Logan shakes his head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea, right now. Do you?”

Pursing her lips in a thin line, she scuffs her shoe in the sand. “No, I guess not. ... How would you explain....” Looking up into his stormy, confused eyes, she impulsively rises on tiptoe and gently kisses his cheek. “You shouldn’t be alone,” she murmurs, pressing her face to his.

He gathers her into his arms and lifts her onto the truck gate. “We could spend the night on the beach,” he throws out tentatively. His lips find hers, and he kisses her softly.

“I ... I guess I could say I was sleeping over at Lilly’s,” she muses, running her fingers through his errant hair. “I’ll call her and see what she’s up to.”

“Don’t tell her – ”

“ – Of course not,” she assures him. “It’s none of her business anyway.” He sighs, tucking his head beneath her chin and hugging her tightly.

“Logan?” she says, after a minute goes by.

“Yeah?”

“Do you – how much money do you have?” Blushing, she looks away.

Craning his neck, he blinks, studies her face. “Why? You mean, on me, right now?”

“Yeah. I was thinking....” she stammers, embarrassed. “We could ... go somewhere, just for tonight.”

“You mean, like a hotel?” He grins mischievously when her head bobs up and down. “Veronica Mars! I’m shocked and scandalized. You want to spend the night alone with me, in a hotel room? What will the neighbors think?”

Her face flames. “I ... I didn’t mean it – not like that. Nevermind, it’s a bad idea.”

“No, I think it’s a great idea,” he says slowly. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.” He catches her chin in between his thumb and finger, turns her face to his. “Would you ... really do that, for me?” Nodding vigorously, she buries her face in his neck. “It’s okay, Veronica. I promise ... we wouldn’t, we don’t have to sleep together or anything, but it would be nice ... for you to be with me,” he reassures her, his long fingers floating over the back of her neck, down her spine, and up again. Shivering, she kisses the spot under his ear, squeezes him tightly.

“Call Lilly,” he prompts, kissing her jaw. “Set it up, then call your dad and make sure it’s alright.”

~~*~~*~~*~~

“You’re not eighteen,” she frets, staring at the blue and yellow neon ‘Holiday Inn Express’ sign as she unclips her seat belt.

“I have an ID that says I am, though,” he counters, pulling out his wallet and handing her a plastic rectangle.

She studies it with interest, hands it back. “Someone make that for you?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’ve seen the kits, online. How much did you pay for it?”

“Why? Think you can do a better job, Mars?” he taunts, curling his fingers over her outstretched wrist and pulling her to him. Off balance, with nowhere to put her hands, Veronica awkwardly collapses into his lap, hips resting on his thigh, her back against the steering wheel. Grinning, he bends down and wraps his deft fingers over the nape of her neck. Nipping at her pouty bottom lip, he waits ‘til she opens to protest before draping his lips over hers and swirling his tongue into her mouth.

Like he’s flipped a switch, instantly, she’s pressing her chest to his, puffing and cooing as she kisses back with abandon. Barely coming up for air, he delves into her soft mouth, running the back of his hand over her flushed cheek. Moaning, she huffs, “Mmm, Logan. Stop. We can’t ... stay out here all night. Go register, get a room. Please,” she pleads, her voice hushed and plaintive, eyes bright and lust-hazed.

“I’m fine right here, ‘Ronica.” He kisses her again, bolder, more assertive as he plunders her mouth.

“Please?” she whispers after another minute goes by.

Finally, he breaks their kiss with a loud smack, laughing and licking his lips. “Be back in a flash, Sugarlips,” he promises with a wink.

Five minutes later, two plastic keycards in hand, Logan slides behind the wheel and drives around the corner, looking for room 512. Once he parks, he hurries around to the passenger side and, wanting to behave like a gentleman, opens the door to help Veronica out. Putting a possessive arm around her shoulders, he leads her to the door, inserts the card, and swings it open with a flourish.

Walking inside, he realizes how the situation might look to her, and slipping his hand in hers, draws her over to the generic, industrial-floral sofa in the sitting room. Sitting half-sideways on the edge, she looks expectantly at him as he nervously settles on the coffee table.

“Listen, Veronica,” he begins, his voice low and rough with unspoken emotion. “Thank you for defending me. No one’s ever stood up to my father – not like that. You’re so special, and I love that you want to stay with me, but I don’t expect,” he clears his throat, “I mean, we don’t have to ... have sex or anything.”

Extending her hand, she stills Logan’s fingers as they beat erratically against his thigh. He traps her hand between his, staring at her clear, blue eyes as she bites her lip. “It’s okay, Logan. I know I’m not ... like the girls you’ve been with, but I’m not with Duncan, and I want to be – ”

Unable to sit, he hops off the table and hugs her. Kneeling beside her, he wraps her in a hug. “It’s okay. We’ll just ... cuddle,” he winks broadly, “hold each other and tell secrets.” Nodding, she smiles, but Logan notices, from her face and her tense body language, she isn’t relaxing.

“I’m not a little kid, not ... twelve anymore,” she objects, intently examining the upholstery pattern.

He cups her cheek, moves so he can see her face. Her eyes are wet and shining. Smoothing her hair back, he kisses her nose, tenderly seals his mouth over hers, licking her lips until she parts them with a sigh.

“I want ... to sleep with you,” she proclaims in her dainty, little girl voice.

“Are ... are you sure?” he asks, studying her face. “You don’t have to, you know.”

“Yes. I want you to be ... my first,” she confides, hiding her face in his broad shoulder.

Awed and touched by her announcement, Logan pulls her off the couch and onto his lap. Holding her in his arms, he touches his forehead to hers, trying to breathe deep and even despite the pounding in his chest and the throbbing between his legs.

Her first? She wants me to be her first? Damn - she’s so fucking hot. Fuck - she’s a virgin.

“Is ... is that okay?” she asks, her tone plaintive and unsure.

“Uh huh.” Rolling backward, Logan stretches out on the floor, maneuvering her on top. Threading his fingers in her gleaming hair, he brings her head to his, mashes his lips to hers. She responds eagerly, slipping her tongue into his mouth. He can feel her pert nipples pressing against his chest, her heart beating. Suddenly, he realizes he wants her more than he’s ever wanted a girl.

Bracing his arm against her spine, he twists, carefully laying her on the carpet, cradled beneath him. Setting a hip down beside hers, he covers her with his body, trailing kisses down her neck as he rubs circles over her breast. “I’m gonna make it so good for you, Veronica,” he promises, rolling her tight nipple between his thumb and finger.

Gasping, she arches against him. “Oh, God.”

“You feel so good, baby,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her ear. “Shit!” he blurts abruptly.

Her eyes clack open, puzzled and worried. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I ... I don’t think I have any ... protection,” he confesses sheepishly. “I – we ... left so fast.”

“Oh.” She’s crestfallen, trying to be brave.

“There must be a drugstore around here somewhere,” he temporizes, sitting up and straining for the telephone directory. “I’ll go get something, okay?” Agreeing with alacrity, she watches with wide eyes as he flips pages. Finding the right one, he rips it out of the phone book, folds it and puts it in his back pocket. “Looks like there’s a mall a couple of miles from here. You want to come with, or stay here?” he asks, standing and offering his hand.

She struggles to her feet, yanking at her denim skirt and thin, striped tank top. “I’ve got my books and laptop, I’ll stay here and do some homework.”

“Homework, huh?” He bends, placing his lips on her throat. “You’re such a good girl, Veronica Mars,” he mocks, the rumble of his voice sending vibrations through her body.

“Lo-gan,” she sing-songs, slapping at his arm as her lashes flutter.

“Don’t worry,” he mumbles into her skin. “You’re going to learn a lot before the night is over.”

Pulling his face up, she rains kisses on his cheeks, chin, and mouth, before pushing him away with a sigh. “Go. Now,” she commands. “Hurry back, okay?”

“You want – need – anything?”

“Umm, maybe some S’kist, and something to eat?” Dutifully, he starts a list on the cheap pad of hotel stationary. “Logan?”

“Yeah, babe?”

“I ... don’t have anything ... to wear, to bed, I mean,” she says over her shoulder, hovering at the threshold of the somewhat Spartan bedroom with its garish, paisley bed cover and Ikea-like night stands.

“Do you really ... need anything?” he asks, feeling stupid as he comes up behind her.

“I guess not,” she concedes, uneasy.

He rubs her back. “It’s okay. I’ll see if I can find something.”

Part 2 - you know what's going to happen, right?

The Last Chapter - L/V - NC-17 - Rindee

rindee — Sat, 05 May 2007 10:13:05 GMT

Title: The Last Chapter
Author: Rindee
Characters/Pairing: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 17,131
Rating: NC-17, sexual situations, implied violence, language
Summary: AU future fic: Veronica and Logan broke up near the end of their junior year at Hearst, and have gone their separate ways ever since. Spoilers through 3.16.

A/N: Written for the vm_library Alternate Ending/Roll Your Own challenge, and cross-posted to veronicamarsfic. Beta’d by the most patient, kind, and annoyingly persnickety: taken_with_you, moire2, and mastermia, all of whom get karma points just for putting up with me and my inability to spell or use spellcheck. I’m so sorry, guys. All remaining mistakes are mine.

He heard her shuffle into the bathroom, the sound of running water raising thoughts of Veronica, naked and soapy. Yanking the pillow over his head, he twisted into the frame of the couch, pressing his legs together, trying to will away his arousal.

Twenty minutes later, when she emerged from her bedroom humming lightly, she was dressed in a luxurious olive wool suit, complete with a cream-colored silk blouse and the pearls he’d given her, once upon a time. Leaning over the padded arm, she blew in his ear and taunted, “Rise and shine, sunshine.”

“When did you become a morning person?” he grumped, flopping on his back and looking up at her.

“I’m going to put some coffee on, and I’m outta here,” she replied, chuckling. “Stay as long as you need to, but when you call me this afternoon, I expect you to be at the Art Institute, or the Shed, or maybe even Watertower Place.”

“Uh huh,” he muttered. “I hear and obey. ... Wait!” he blurted, bolting upright. “You can’t go out there – I should go with you, at least as far as the El.”

“I don’t have time, Logan,” she said impatiently, glancing at the clock over the stove. “I have to go now.”

Flinging the quilt off his lap, he stood, unabashed despite the obvious evidence of his hard-on straining the cotton of his black boxer-briefs. “Just give me a minute to put on my jeans.”

“One minute,” she hissed, trying not to stare as he turned his back and shucked into his pants. “I’ve seen it before, you know,” she chirped sardonically.

“So why are you staring?” he rejoined, zipping up as he turned and glanced around the room. Wordlessly, she held out his sweater. “Thanks, baby,” he mocked, grinning as she blushed, stomped to the coat rack, and snatched her things.

Instead of taking the El, Logan cajoled Veronica into a cab. Whizzing downtown in comfort, they arrived at 7:45 a.m., earlier than expected. Seeing her inside with a lingering glance, he ordered the driver to the Drake. By 8:13 a.m., he was in his room, showered and shaved, and was simultaneously at his computer and on the phone to New York. “Ray, it’s Logan. I need some information, and a local contact here in Chicago.”

Within an hour, he’d assembled backgrounds on the men being investigated by the U.S. Attorney’s office, as well as one on those doing the investigating. Not surprisingly, gambling wasn’t the only thing they were into, and they appeared to be far more dangerous than Veronica had let on. Rudy’s crew, the men still at large, were impressive, if by impressive one meant, they had long, colorful-in-a-bad way criminal histories, and associated with other, storied gangs operating both in and outside the confines of the United States.

As far as Logan could tell, from the information he’d obtained from his research and the Times internal files and archives, the bookmaking was headquartered in the Bahamas, although they had local operations in Chicago, New York, Tampa, and San Diego. The drug distribution operation, which, in a way, fed into the sports book, was mostly steroids, uppers, and the mysterious Human Growth Hormone (HGH), currently undetectable in blood or urine. It was unclear whether the distribution ring was street-level or whether they dealt through middlemen, but in either case, between the dope and the gambling, the amount of cash generated was staggering. Lots of people, even respectable ones, would kill to protect that kind of income stream.

His next call was to a local detective, to find out whether or not he could get a rush on a concealed weapons permit. Upon learning Illinois did not issue so-called carry permits, except to law enforcement officials and the like, he decided to take his chances, and, with a few more phone calls, made arrangements to purchase a gun through a dealer in Gary, Indiana. Ringing up the concierge, he arranged for a car to take him.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost ten. If he left now, he could be back before two, and would have plenty of time to plan their date. Tonight, he intended to sweep Veronica off her feet, maybe even lure her back to his room for a ‘nightcap’ and some full-on sex, or, at least, something more than a mere good-night kiss in the hallway.

He missed her. That simple. And it killed him, especially the way his traitorous body never failed to respond to her, instinctively. But they weren’t kids any more. He had overcome a lot to get here – she had too – and one night with the woman he still dreamed about wasn’t going to cut it.

&&&&&&

The ride to Gary took longer than he expected, but he was back by two-thirty, which wasn’t bad, considering.

“Hi. Where are you?”

“In my hotel room. Where are you?”

“In my office. I thought I told you to go out and do something?”

“I did, but I’m thinking about taking a nap now.”

“A nap? What did you do this morning that you need a nap now?”

“Nothing. None of your business. And, anyway, it wasn’t what I did this morning; it was the lack of sleep from the night before.”

“I warned you about my sofa....”

“Honestly, ‘Ronica, I don’t think it was the couch – the couch was fine.”

“So ... what was it, then?”

“Knowing you were in the next room....”

“Oh,” she paused, the silence stretching over the line. Dammit, I blew that one, didn’t I? “I ... I think I had ... the same problem, Logan.”

“Your balls were blue, too, huh?”

“Logan!” she protested. He could hear her blushing.

“So, uh, think you can sneak out early today?”

“How early?”

“Like, maybe, four?”

“Yeah, I can do that. Why?”

“Well, our reservations aren’t until seven-thirty, but I figured you’d want time to get dressed up. I’m thinking, slinky little dress, strappy shoes,” he lowered his voice, “something sexy, a bit sassy....”

“Where are you taking me?” she asked suspiciously. “I can’t really wear little strappy things in this weather.”

“Don’t worry. You won’t get cold.” He chuckled, his tone telegraphing his intent. “I’ve got a limo. So, I’ll pick you up outside the Dirksen at four, okay?”

&&&&&&

Still damp and glistening from his shower, Logan dumped the packages on the bed, ripped open the boxes, and removed both handguns. He laid them on the coffee table and examined both. Although sleek, the .9mm was big and heavy. Hefting the smaller, snub-nose .38, he slipped it into his waistband, to see if it felt right. Shaking his head, he took it out and slid it into its little leather ankle holster and strapped it on, walking around the room before putting on his charcoal gabardine slacks and indigo dress shirt. Examining himself in the mirror, he noted the Smith & Wesson was virtually invisible. Even Veronica wouldn’t be able to spot it.

&&&&&&

Instead of lolling in comfort on the tuck-pointed upholstery behind the smoked glass windows, Logan got out and walked around, mingling with the masses as he waited for Veronica. Except, of course, he wasn’t really mingling, and he wasn’t enjoying the view. On his second circuit of the perimeter, Logan had spotted the guy; today, he looked decidedly more upscale, in an Eddie Bauer down jacket, black, and heavy-weight camo chinos. The drastic change in gear and appearance did more to convince Logan the dude was bad news than anything the guy had actually done so far.

The only reason to change up like that would be because he’s been doing it for a while now. Who knows how long the thug’s been out here, watching her.

Chest suddenly constricted, Logan felt sick.

A body slammed into him from behind. He whirled, fist clenched. “Hey, stranger. What are you doing out here? It’s cold....” She smiled, rose to kiss his cheek. “Where’s this limo you’ve been bragging about?”

Cursing to himself because he knew the punk was watching them, Logan threw an arm over her shoulder and led her to the quiet Lincoln Continental idling at the curb. She slid over the bench seat and, patting the space next to her, looked at him with bright, eager eyes. He got in and slammed the door, leaning forward to mutter her address to the driver.

“So,” she began, conversationally. “I mentioned my stalker – not you, the other one – to Dave.”

“Dave?”

“My boss.”

“Oh. And what did ‘Dave, your boss’ have to say about him?”

“He didn’t think it was related, said most of our targets are either already locked up, or have gone underground because they know an indictment’s coming.”

“So, the stalker you claim not to have can’t be related to the work you’re doing, because Dave, your boss, who, by the way, has never even seen the dude, says it’s unrelated? I hope Dave’s not as careless with his investigations as he is with his employees, or there’s gonna be some bad dudes walking free in a few months.”

“Don’t be like that,” she wheedled, batting her lashes and tilting her head. “I’m not saying he’s not out there, but I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. I still have my taser, just in case.” She patted her fancy messenger bag comfortingly.

“No gun?” he asked bluntly, disbelief apparent. “I thought you law enforcement types carried guns?”

“If I had a gun,” she flashed a pixie smile, “and I’m not saying I do, I wouldn’t bring it here because I’d only have to lock it up in the Marshal’s safe. No guns in the federal building.”

“But at least you’d have it for the trip to and from work, Veronica,” he groused.

“It’s okay,” she soothed, pulling off her glove to take his hand. “I’m fine. No one’s gonna hurt me, Logan.”

&&&&&&

“You have any champagne glasses?” he yelled, banging through her cabinets one after another. Veronica stuck her head out of the bathroom, a towel wound ‘round her body, her hair up in hot rollers.

“Do they have to be champagne glasses? I have wine glasses, in the cupboard over the stove.” Sidling over, Logan flipped the door open and was confronted by plain, two-dollar glasses, dusty and obviously unused since the Reagan administration. “Find ‘em?”

“Yeah, I got them. I take it you don’t entertain much, do you?”

“I told you,” she began, padding into the kitchen in a deeply vee’d, dark coral cocktail dress. Satin ribbon outlined the empire waist and flowed down the front of the filmy skirt. Logan’s wolf whistle precluded her rejoinder; she twirled, glowing under his admiring gaze.

“You told me?”

“I told you, I don’t have time for a social life.”

“We’re going to remedy that tonight, Sweetheart,” he announced with glee, popping the cork and letting the bubbles spill. Pouring into one of the two glasses he’d just polished, he handed it to her and lifted the other. “To you,” he said, clinking rims. “My favorite prosecutor, and the most beautiful woman in Chicago.”

&&&&&&

“This is wonderful,” she murmured, snuggling into the curve of his side as the boat bobbed and rocked. “I can’t believe I’ve lived here for almost a year, and have never done this before.” She squeezed him. “Thank you, Logan. I didn’t know the skyline would look so beautiful from the water.”

“I wish I could take credit, but it was the concierge who suggested the dinner cruise,” he confessed. “It is pretty great, though, isn’t it?” He shifted to stand behind her, tucking his chin atop her glossy curls, and sighing. “Wanna dance? There’s no one out here but us,” he coaxed.

“That’s because it’s freezing, and all the sane people are inside.”

“True, but you’ll be much warmer if you pressed your body against mine.”

“I want to,” she admitted. “I do....”

“But?”

“Okay, dance with me,” she implored in a hushed voice. “Convince me.” Placing his hands lightly on her hips, he twirled her to face him, pulling her to his chest.

“You don’t have to twist my arm, Mars,” he said gruffly, burying his face in her hair. They swayed in the moonlight, her fingers dancing against his neck, his hands cradling her slender waist. “Come home with me, tonight, please,” he whispered into her ear. “We don’t have to .... Just let me wake up with you.” That way, at least I’ll know you’re safe.

&&&&&&

It amazed him, every time. Awake one moment, snoring the next. Usually when he least wanted her to be sleeping. The driver offered to help; of course, Logan declined. As if he’d let someone else carry her to his bed. On the elevator, she giggled, blew softly in his ear, all warm and cuddly-soft on his chest.

Kicking shut the suite door, he glided into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. She lolled, tried to sit, cheeks still ruddy from the cold air and her body heat. He knelt on the floor beside her, breathing heavily. Shifting to her side, sleepy-eyed, she wiggled her fingers and reached for him.

“Take your coat off, beautiful,” he murmured, catching her hand and kissing her fingertips. She shot him a look, pure kitten-coquette, unbuttoned the soft wool and pulled it off one shoulder, rolling it like a stripper. Grabbing his wrist, she brought him closer, rosy lips opened, inviting. He cupped her face in his chilly hands, the heat of her flushed cheeks tingling his skin. His lips slid over hers, she sighed contentedly.

Releasing her, he stood, hastily divesting himself of his jacket, cuff-links, watch, and shoes. A soft huff caused him to turn; bemused, he watched her topple and come to rest on the snowy white sheet. Unhurried now, he hung his suit jacket and pants, brushed his teeth, and tugged on a pair of gray, Hearst sweat pants.

With gentle hands, he slid her coat from beneath her, hanging it in the closet next to his suit. Plucking the jeweled clips from her shimmery locks, he let it fan out behind her. Her shoes came off next; he debated the dress, decided she’d rather he would. As he undressed her, she woke briefly, had a glass of water, gave him another kiss, and curled up under the covers, dropping back into a deep slumber almost immediately.

Finding a blanket in the armoire, Logan wrapped up and lay down next to Veronica, atop the covers. She stirred, blinked, and slipped her hand into his, mumbling softly. He kissed her forehead, draped a hand over her quilt-covered hip, and simply watched her sleep until Morpheus claimed him.

Just as he nodded off, he recalled another night, another hotel bedroom, a less quiet ending to an evening.

&&&&&&

“I saw you kiss her,” she hissed, eyes so dark they glittered like sapphires in the low light of his bedroom. He swayed drunkenly, grabbed for the edge of the bureau.

“That isn’t what – you didn’t see what you think you saw.”

“I know what I saw, Logan. You kissing Parker.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He staggered along the wall, a blind man feeling for the bathroom door. “Except, it’s not what you saw – not all of it.”

“Oh?” she shrilled, sheets twisting beneath her fingers. “There was more? D’I miss part of the show? Was it better than the part I caught?”

Mumbling indistinctly, he stumbled into the bathroom and fell to his knees. “...was saying goodbye ... leaving for Italy....” The sound of retching filled the room.

Mildly worried, Veronica waited, fuming. “Fuck!” he groaned. She heard the flush, water running in the sink, and a very pale Logan stumbled to the foot of the bed. He crashed forward, barely avoiding cracking his knees on the footboard.

With a huff, she threw off the covers, fetched a bottle of water from the mini-bar, and aspirin from her purse. Tugging his shoes off, she heaved him sideways, leaving him on his back, lying diagonally across the king-size bed. Shaking his shoulders, she woke him long enough to feed him two pills and water before he passed out.

In the morning, he found a note, his room key, and a pile of CDs. It was weeks before she’d even take his calls. She never let him explain.

&&&&&&

He woke suddenly, chest heaving. In sleep, she’d encroached, snuggling her head onto his arm, her body pressed against his hip. Breathing deeply, trying to control his racing heart, he curled his fingers through her silky locks. Marveling at her beauty in repose, he couldn’t help remembering another horrible night, when she thought she’d lost Keith, and he thought he’d lost her.

Brushing his lips over her forehead, he gathered her in his arms and tried to remember the good times, the nights they fallen asleep limbs entwined, skin to skin, so close it seemed nothing and no one would ever come between them.

&&&&&&

“Are you sure?” he whispered, the flat of his hand stroking slowly up and down her ribcage. Shuddering, she looked up at him, blue eyes filled with desire. “You don’t have to, Veronica. I can wait, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I want to,” she murmured, breathless, trembling. “I want to be with you, Logan.” As if to convince him, she trapped his hand and brought it to her mouth, kissing each knuckle in turn. Already sheathed with a condom,, his cock twitched against her leg. Bending to take her mouth, he pressed gently until she was on her back, and he was hovering over her. Spreading her with his knees, he settled between her legs, rubbing against her damp flesh.

She gasped, her fingers tightening on his arms. “Are you sure?” he asked again, studying her flushed face. She nodded wordlessly, slipping a hand between their bodies to fondle him. The minute her hand touched him, he was inflamed, consumed, past the point of return.

“I want this,” she said, with emphasis, drawing her hand maddeningly up and down his length. “You do, too, don’t you?”

&&&&&&

Despite the sheet and two layers of blankets between them, he could feel her slumber-heat, making his cock twitch. Facing her, he laid his hand on the curve of her hip and finally willed himself to sleep. He felt it immediately, when she woke at 5:30 a.m. and slipped out of bed.

“... Um, ‘Ronica,” he mumbled. “Car’s waiting to take you home and back to work, ‘kay?”

Tiptoeing to his side of the bed, she brushed her lips over his shoulder, the only naked swatch of skin she could find. “I’m sorry I crashed last night, Logan,” she cooed, absently stroking his back. “I’m a wuss. I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

“Mmm,” he breathed, rolling to catch her hand. “I had a wonderful time.” He pressed his lips to the palm of her hand, reeling her in for a languid kiss.

“Me too,” she concurred, smiling against his lips.

“I’m serious about the car, Veronica.” He squeezed her hand. “I already made the arrangements, and paid for it, so please don’t take the El.”

“I ... I won’t,” she agreed, trying to remove her hand from his.

“Promise me,” he demanded, holding tighter. “I mean it. I’m not fooling around, here.”

“Okay, okay. I promise.” He reached up and brought her down for a deep, last kiss before releasing her. As she slipped away to get dressed, he continued to watch intently. When she got into her shoes, he said, “Your coat’s in the closet.” Startled, she looked up, puzzled. “I put it there last night.”

“Thanks,” she said nervously, flushing under his scrutiny, suddenly realizing he was more alert than he’d seemed.

“Don’t ... forget ... about the car,” he repeated, his voice clear and direct. She nodded obediently, waved, and disappeared into the sitting area and out the door. Ten seconds after he heard the door click, he was on the phone to the concierge, making sure the car was ready, and Veronica was in it.

Five minutes later, her cell trilled. “Hey! Are you stalking me?”

His warm chuckle filled her ear. “Maybe. Just a little. I only called to say ‘thank you’... for everything.”

&&&&&&

He briefly considered blowing off the opening day of the seminar, but decided against it. His boss would be upset; it would be more hassle than it was worth. When Veronica called to check in, he was standing in a two-person-deep scrum, trying to get close enough to the coffee urn to get a refill. She sounded fine, but he was anxious nonetheless. What was I thinking? What am I doing here? I live in New York ... have a once-in-a-lifetime job, killer apartment, and more women than I could ever fuck at my disposal, on my terms. She’s difficult – and that’s putting it mildly – obstinate, and we’ve never been able to make it work before. What the fuck am I doing?

As the lecturer droned on and on, he snuck a peek at his Blackberry. It was only one in the afternoon – too early to call her again. His stomach churned, he shook his head impatiently, ran his hand through his hair. Why’m I so nervous? The possibility of sex? You’d think we’d never ... done it before. When the conference broke at three for refreshments, he gave in and called. Voicemail. Irritated, he called the U.S. Attorney’s main number, asked for her secretary. Marie said she was on another line. Sliding back into his hard, uncomfortable banquet-chair seat, he shot off a quick, teasing text before turning his attention to the panel discussion.

He called again, at 4:25 p.m. This time, Marie told him Veronica’d left early, implied it was because she was planning a special evening. But when he tried her cell, she still didn’t answer. His counterpart at the Chicago Tribune, the nice guy who’d hooked him up with local police department contacts, asked if Logan wanted to grab a beer – or something stronger. Politely, Logan begged off, citing a prior engagement, and hurried back to the Drake to get ready.

At 5:15 p.m., when he still hadn’t heard from Veronica, he began to get worried. Deciding to head out for her apartment, he left one last message, then called for his driver.

There were no lights on in Veronica’s apartment. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. She could still be shopping – but why wouldn’t she answer her cell when she saw his number? Telling the driver to wait, he got out, mashed all the buttons until someone let him in. Racing to her door on the third floor, he pounded, hollered, listened. Nothing.

He banged on the across-the-hall neighbor’s door; a thirty-ish guy, with round, frameless geek glasses and a scruffy cardigan, answered, said his name was Joe. Joe said he hadn’t heard Veronica come home, but added she was usually so quiet he wasn’t sure he would have. Logan asked if she’d left a spare key, just in case. Joe admitted she hadn’t, but indicated he had one anyway, because he was the building manager. Of course, he was reluctant to hand it over, but when a truly panicked Logan told Joe he’d either pick the lock or come back with the police, Joe agreed to let Logan take a look around.

Joe stood in the door as Logan poked through Veronica’s apartment. It was clear she hadn’t been home since morning. Last night’s dress was flung on the bed where she’d discarded it, along with the bath towel she’d used only hours earlier. Her strappy shoes, which had made him so happy the night before, were tumbled on their sides. And, there was no food in the fridge.

Pacing, cursing, Logan wracked his brain. What to do? What would Veronica do – if it were him who’d gone missing? Brushing past Joe, he shouted ‘thanks’ and galloped down the stairs. As he flew out the vestibule door, something caught his eye. A glove. A red leather glove. Veronica’s, lying beside the stairs, between the shrubs and the brick balustrade, atop a bag of trash. If she’d simply dropped it, it would be on the stairs, wouldn’t it?

He staggered, heart pounding, and leaned against the banister. Someone’s got her, I know it! Oh, God. OhGod. What’mIgonnado? He pulled out his Blackberry, but didn’t know who to call. At a loss, he stared vacantly before bending to retrieve her glove. His hand brushed against the brown paper bag – it had handles, was filled with ... groceries. Prime rib, two potatoes, a smashed carton of sour cream, fancy lettuce, and hot-house tomatoes. His heart sledge-hammered into his stomach, he tasted bile and turned, heaving his stomach’s contents onto the sidewalk. She’d been shopping....

When the blood stopped rushing and he was able to stand, he noticed the rhythmic thud of a basketball bouncing on concrete. Craning his neck, he noticed a group of teenage boys going three-on-three in the driveway of the house next door. Snatching up the glove, he jogged over.

&&&&&&

Groggy and limp, Veronica came to with a gasp, strapped into the backseat of a truck, or an SUV, she couldn’t tell which. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t get past the grapefruit-sized lump. Her temple throbbed; she surmised she’d been hit there, or possibly had her head bumped when she was loaded into the vehicle. Although her hands and wrists were free, she couldn’t really move them; she’d been bound in her seat with what felt like duct tape.

It was dark outside, and even though the streetlights were on, she was unable see anything but shadows and forms through the heavily-tinted side windows. Jiggling and straining at her restraints, she struggled to see out the front windshield. Even without a glimpse, she could tell, from the sound, they were traveling on surface roads rather than a highway. Without knowing the direction, however, the information didn’t mean much.

“Who are you?” she croaked, just to see if she could talk. “And what do you want?”

“Hey, girl,” a masculine voice replied. “Glad you could join the par-tay.” He laughed, an evil-sounding chuckle that filled her with dread. Of all the times she hadn’t listened to Logan, now was the one time she wished she had.

&&&&&&

“Hey, guys,” Logan began, wallet in hand. To his surprise, following his quick, impassioned explanation, the kids cooperated without a cash bribe. They’d been outside for well over an hour, and knew Veronica on sight – the Banker Lady, they called her. She’d walked by with a bag of groceries – the next thing they knew, she was limping to an SUV.

A black guy helped her get in. He was ‘an older dude,’ at least thirty, wearing super baggy jeans, a white kuffie, and a leather jacket – not solid black, but black with a yellow, green, and red stripe on the back, like pieces of pie radiating from the shoulder down. According to the boys, the dude was short, about five-ten, and not too big, a hundred-and-sixty, sixty-five, tops.

The SUV wasn’t new, wasn’t fancy. A Ford, or maybe a Chevy Blazer, it was definitely American-made, and dark – blue or green. Definitely not a Caddy or a Hummer. No plates on it, either, which was weird.

Profusely thanking them, Logan handed the tallest a fifty, told ‘em to have one on him. Running back to the Lincoln, still idling in front of Veronica’s apartment, Logan climbed in, told the guy to take him to CPD headquarters on State Street. Punching buttons as fast as possible, he got a hold of the Tribune beat writer, Jason, who had the after-hours numbers for the CPD gang crimes unit. When Logan explained the situation, Jason, smelling a story, agreed to meet Logan at CPD, District 1, to help ‘persuade’ them to help.

As the limo hurtled toward downtown Chicago – Logan’d promised the guy an extra Benjamin if he made record time – Logan tapped out frantic notes, trying to remember everything he’d seen, everything she’d told him about the investigation. When Logan arrived at 16th and State, Jason Begge was already there and had primed the pump for him. Instead of immediately launching into the story, Logan asked if he could print his notes from one of their computers.

Five minutes later, one of the gang crime officers, LeMont Caldwell, looked up from Logan’s summary. “This is – I know who these guys are – they’re the ones O’Reilly and McMahon are after, the Southside Bankers, they call themselves.” Seeing Logan’s baffled expression, Caldwell explained the crew wasn’t a traditional street gang, but made most of their money off of loans to other gangs, front money for large quantity drug purchases. It was believed the Southside Bankers had their hands in every major drug deal made within the city limits. Too insular and compartmentalized for CPD to crack, the feds had stepped in and created a joint task force, headed by Assistant U.S. Attorney David Fitzgibbons.

“That’s him, that’s her boss,” Logan practically shouted, biting his tongue to keep from spitting venom across the room.

“Yeah, but, that don’t mean that’s who’s got your girl,” Caldwell reminded him.

“It’s gotta be them,” Logan argued, frustrated and half-crazed by the lack of action. “How ‘bout if I make a positive identification of the guy who was stalking her? You have any pictures of their known associates?”

“How ‘bout if we call her Fitzgibbons,” the Tribune reporter calmly suggested. “Tell him what happened, see what he has to say?”

“Yeah,” Logan quickly agreed. “Call him, get him down here. I want to meet the jackass.” Begge and Caldwell exhanged glances; Caldwell nodded imperceptibly. “What are you waiting for?” Logan demanded. “My – Veronica’s life’s at stake.”

Jason stepped away, and, consulting his notebook, began dialing. Attempting to distract Logan with a sheaf of photos, Caldwell offered to find a sketch artist, too, in case the stalker’s photo wasn’t in the file. Heaving great, deep breaths, Logan tried to compose himself and focus on the black and whites in front of him. Displaying admirable self-restraint, Logan methodically perused the stack, one by one, then started over again. Fifteen minutes later, he triumphantly held one aloft.

“This is the guy.”

“You’re positive?” a strange voice called out. Whipping around, Logan was confronted by a tall, gracefully-gone-gray older man wearing an expensive, obviously tailor-made suit and a sneer. “You Logan Echolls?” he said gruffly, holding out his hand.

“You must be the high and mighty Dave Fitzgibbons,” Logan replied, fist clenching reflexively as he ignored the out-stretched hand. “So, Davie, tell me again how it couldn’t be related, you dickhead,” he grumbled.

“We still don’t know if there’s really a connection,” Fitzgibbons replied mildly, unperturbed by Logan’s invective.

“You may not know,” Logan growled, stalking closer, jabbing his finger into Dave’s chest. “But I do! She’s out there,” he made a sweeping gesture toward the bank of windows, “somewhere. She’s probably scared, maybe hurt, while you’ve sitting on your ass somewhere, probably having a congratulatory TGIF cocktail. You even smell like a bum, you know that? But don’t worry your pretty head, Davie, ‘cause I’m going to find her. You got that?” He glowered at the taller, older man, daring him to ....

“I don’t need to listen to your crap, Echolls. We’ll find her, and when we do, I suggest you say ‘goodbye’ and go back to wherever you came from. She doesn’t need you here.”

“Funny, I don’t see you doing anything right now, Davie. And by the way, you don’t know anything about me, or Veronica, for that matter, so just mind your own business and Find My Girlfriend!” he gritted, taking a step back as if to swing on Fitzgibbons.

“Logan,” Jason cautioned before Fitzgibbons had a chance to response. “C’mon man, let’s take a walk.” He grabbed Logan’s jacket and propelled him into the hallway. “Relax, man,” he advised, still gripping Logan’s arm. “Fitz’s no favorite of CPD. I got some addresses we can check out, see what’s what.”

Huffing, Logan shook free. “You got ... addresses? What’re we waiting for? Let’s go.”

“Not so fast, Mr. Echolls,” LeMont called out, joining them in the corridor. “Before I turn you loose to scour the city on something that’s exclusively a police matter, I need to establish some ground rules about – ”

“Ground rules? I’m a civilian – a reporter chasing a story,” he snarled. “You’ve got no jurisdiction over me.”

“Listen to me, Echolls. I’m sure you got enough money, and enough lawyers to get you out of trouble if you ‘n’ me get sideways, but I’m the least of your trouble tonight. These guys, the Bankers, aren’t known for violence, but it’s obvious they ain’t playing around, either. You do nothing – nothing – without us, a’ight? You got it? NO-thing.”

Cutting him off before he could argue, Jason Begge stepped between Logan and the Lieutenant. “Fine, fine. Give us a number we can get through on. We’ll keep you posted, check in every hour or so.”

&&&&&&

“Where am I?” she murmured, rubbing her forehead. Her arms were no longer bound she realized, sitting up on the cold, clammy stone floor. Squinting in the murky light, her gaze swept over her surroundings. Clearly a basement, the room was filled with stacks of cardboard boxes and metal barrels. She sniffed, and was met with the tangy, spoiled scent of stale beer, and the musty odor of damp earth. Her head throbbed again, she pushed at it, studied her fingers. Blood. Her blood, apparently. Leaning heavily on the wall, she struggled to rise to her feet. The effort required was tremendous, but she succeeded, finally. Slumped and panting, she surveyed the dungeon again, searching for some indication of a way out.

The only noise she could hear was from above, a steady thump, like music, maybe.

“Finally,” a gruff voice, laced with sarcasm, greeted her. “‘Bout time, Goldilocks. I been waitin’ for you.”

Blinded by the sudden light, Veronica shrank back on the wall, flattening her palms behind her. “What do you want? Who are you?” she demanded, trying to be fierce and unafraid.

“I want a lot of things, Blondie,” the disembodied voice rumbled. “And you, Veronica Mars, are going to give them to me.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about, and I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re got the wrong person, mister.”

A low, malevolent chuckle filled the room. “I think you do, Miss Mars,” he said, stepping forward, her leather encased AUSA badge dangling from his fleshy fingers. He held up her purse in his other hand. “I know exactly who you are, Assistant U. S. Attorney Mars, and I know all about the case you’re currently working, so start talking. I’ll let you know when you get to something I like.” His menacing words belied his casual attitude, and as he approached, Veronica felt a chill run down her spine.

&&&&&&

“Okay, up there, take a right,” Jason announced with conviction.

“Tell me again, why we’re in a conspicuous limo, rather than your beater?” Logan asked, on edge and unable to be quiet for more than a moment.

Jason sighed and patiently repeated, “Flash is currency in this neighborhood, and limos are an everyday occurrence. In fact, I’m afraid we’ll stand out because we’re not flashy enough.”

“Okay,” he grumbled. “What’s the name of the place, again?”

“No Exit. Should be up the block, on the left.”

“And you expect the club to be open on a Wednesday, at two-thirty in the morning?”

“Oh, yeah. They’ll be open. I don’t know if they’ll let us in, but they’ll definitely open.”

“What makes you think they’d take her to a club, anyway?”

“Process of elimination. There was nothing doing at the dope spots, no one was home at the boss’s residence, plus, the club’s part of the money laundering racket, and someone usually checks in, late, each night. Let us out here,” he directed, tapping the driver on the shoulder. “Keep it running, and – do you have a cell phone?” When the chauffer held it up, Jason continued, “Take this number, and if anything happens, call Lieutenant Caldwell, tell him where we are. Got it?”

“C’mon, we’re wasting time,” Logan urged, stretching out kinked muscles he got out. “Take a walk,” he asked, eyeing the alley on the west side of the drab, non-descript building.

Jason gave him a startled glare. “You heard what Caldwell said. We’re just here to check it out, Echolls.”

“If that’s the way you want it,” he drawled, arching an eyebrow for emphasis. “You’re free to hang out in the club, do the hokey-pokey with the natives, but I’m pretty sure they’re not hiding Veronica in plain sight. If she’s here, she’ll be in a backroom, closet, or basement. And that’s where I’m going to start looking for her. But, hey, if you see a tiny blonde, big blue eyes, annoying and stubborn, watch out for her taser, okay?” With that, Logan slouched off down the alley, turning at the last minute. “Coming?”

They circled around to the back door, which was unguarded and propped open. A butcher-aproned, tee-shirted busboy bustled out, an enormous sack of garbage dragging behind. Watching from behind the door, they saw the boy vanish inside and return, several long moments later, with another bag. He went back in again, and, after thirty seconds, when he didn’t come back, Logan jerked his head at the entrance, his unspoken question unmistakable in his expressive eyes.

Casually, as if they always came in the back door, the two men strolled inside, finding themselves in a walk-through store room. A quick sweep was all Logan needed to know there were no other, connecting rooms, so they continued forward, into the now-empty back kitchen. Examining the walls, floor, and ceiling, Logan noticed a small hallway leading off to the side. At the end of the dead-end hall, set flush into the wall, was a narrow, almost invisible door.

Motioning to Jason, he crept down the wall to the door. Gently pressing his ear to it, he heard two voices, a faint, tremulous female one, and a louder, threatening one, clearly a man. Logan’s eyes widened, glinted hard and dangerous. Leaning down, he slipped his .38 from the ankle holster, and tiptoed back to where Jason waited, at the junction of the corridor and the kitchen. The two had a brief, whispered conversation; Jason imploring Logan to call CPD and wait for their arrival, Logan insisting they – he – needed to do something, now.

Finally, Logan won the argument, and a plan was hatched. After calling CPD, Jason slipped down the hall to join Logan at the door. Handing his snubnose S & W to Jason, Logan pulled his nine and listened again. Waiting until the man’s voice rose, Logan softly jiggled the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, he slid it opened and, gun in hand, ushered Jason ahead.

Tucking his hand, and gun, in his pocket, Jason clomped loudly down the narrow, dimly-lit staircase. “Hey, who’s there,” he hollered.

“Get outta here, right now,” the male voice shouted. “You’re trespassing on private property, and, unless you’re a cop with a warrant, you have no business down here.”

“My name is Jason Begge, and I work for the Chicago Tribune,” he answered, proceeding to the bottom step. “And I believe you are holding captive an Assistant U.S. Attorney, Veronica Mars. Veronica? Are you there?” Glancing up to make sure Logan was right behind, Jason slid off the bottom step and turned the corner. “You’re Veronica, right?”

“Ye - yeah, I am. How’d you know?”

As Logan watched, Jason, still talking, inched into the room, toward the large black man holding Veronica in front of him, a shield. “Dude, you need to let her go. Her boyfriend’s right behind me, with a big gun, and CPD is on the way.”

“Bullshit,” the man spat. “If you was with anyone, they’d be down here b’now. And if five-oh was on they way, you would’na’ come alone. So get your bony white ass outta here, NOW!, brotha.”

With a quick sideways feint, Jason darted for Veronica’s purse, half-spilled on the floor. Flinging Veronica to the ground, the man lurched for Jason. At that precise moment, Logan leapt in, brandishing the nine. “Hold it right there, brutha,” he shouted, training the gun on the dude’s forehead. “Veronica?” he croaked, temporarily overcome. “You okay? Can you walk?”

One eye on the thug, he glanced quickly at his ‘girlfriend’ ungracefully sprawled, face down, on the cement. “Say something,” he implored, his voice hushed and raw. “Please.”

“I – I’m good,” she said, picking herself up. “Logan. Thank God! How did you find – where did you get the gun?”

“We can talk about it later,” he snapped, nostrils flaring. “Get over here, behind me. Jase? You good?”

“Fine and dandy,” Logan’s newest BFF replied, dusting off his pants. “Got any rope?”

“There’s duct tape behind the chair,” Veronica chimed in.

Logan growled. “Please leave, babe, before I say something I might regret. There’s a limo outside, in front. Go! Now!”

Without another word, Veronica scampered up the stairs. Carefully securing the thug to the chair, Logan and Jason backed up the stairs and, in a flash, were out the door and pounding up the alley to the street. When they reached the open limo door, Jason pulled up, halting a few feet away. Logan shot him a quizzical look.

Panting, Jason stuck out his hand. “Man, what a story, Echolls. I can’t thank you enough.”

“No, man. I should be thanking you. You saved her life. I owe you,” he added, clasping Jason’s hand in his, pumping it enthusiastically. “I take it you’re not coming with?”

“Nah,” Jason shrugged. “CPD’ll be here any minute. I gotta get the details. Okay if I call you in the morning, for your statements?” He angled his head toward Veronica, huddled in the limo.

Instantly, Logan’s face clouded. He leaned inside. “Baby? You okay?”

&&&&&&

Once more, he carried her into his suite, cradling her like a baby and ignoring her protests. Gently settling her on the edge of the bed, he knelt and carefully removed her serious, lawyer pumps. “You don’t have to do this,” she murmured softly, her cerulean eyes brimming with tears.

“Yes, I do, Ms. Mars,” he said briefly, sliding his hands beneath her ‘sensible’ skirt to roll her tattered stockings down her slender, bruised legs. “Don’t you understand, I would do anything for you?”

“Logan,” she breathed, trembling, the tears finally tumbling down her grime-streaked cheeks. Rising on his knees, he gathered her into a soft embrace.

“You’re safe now, baby. I’ve got you.” He kissed her arm where it lay against his shoulder, hiding his teary eyes in the blue serge of her jacket. They held each other ... until Logan raised his head. “Let me run a bath for you, ‘Ronica,” he pleaded. “I need to see if you’re hurt or – ”

“I’m just banged up, a couple of bruises,” she assured him. “But I’d love a bath.”

He grimaced. Standing, he strode into the bathroom and began filling the granite-encased jacuzzi tub with steaming water. Returning to where Veronica sat frozen, he carefully removed her suitcoat. Crawling to sit behind her, he pulled her into the safety of his embrace, working the buttons of her silk blouse as he whispered soothingly in her ear. Shuddering as he drew it down her shoulders, she turned suddenly, arms flung around his neck.

“I want to kill you, you know,” he choked out, squeezing her tightly.

“I know; believe me, I know. ... How did you know where to find me?” she inquired, a hint of curiosity lightening her eyes and the mood in the room.

“I cannot reveal professional secrets to a mere federal prosecutor,” he retorted in mock outrage. “Not even one as cute as you.”

“Not even me?” She leaned back, lip quivering, but both knew it was an act.

“Time to get you out of the rest of your clothes,” he scolded, pretending to be affronted.

“So,” she baited, “you really are just trying to get in my pants?”

“Guilty, again, Madame Prosecutor,” he mumbled, pressing his lips into the valley of her breasts. “I did it all ... just to sleep with you,” he smirked, looking up at her from beneath her jaw.

Shivering again, but for a different reason, she relaxed in his arms. His lips smoothed up her collarbone and over her pale throat, to the spot just under her ear. Licking delicately, he teased her skin with tender nips until she gasped with pleasure. “Bathtub? Please,” she begged. “I need to feel clean before we ....”

Shifting around, he threw his legs over the side, lifted her in his arms and swept her into the gleaming, steamy bathroom. Briefly setting her down in front of him, he spun her toward the tub and nuzzled in behind, wrapping his arms around her slight waist.

“Mmm, you feel good,” she murmured, grinding against him. “You feel so good.”

“Strumpet,” he hissed, bending her forward to kiss the back of her neck. “Time to get you wet,” he coaxed, lips traveling down her spine as his hands working the zipper of her skirt. It fell to the floor with a whoosh, leaving her standing in her demure pink-lace bra and bikini panties. Immodestly, hands at her sides, she spun to look at him, letting him get a good look at her. “God, Veronica,” he murmured, leaning back to take her in. Under the delicate lace, rosy nipples stood at attention; his eyes journeyed down her body, following the curve of her slim hips to the tawny curls at the apex of her thighs.

Despite the scratches, dirt, bruises, and dried blood, she was as beautiful now as she’d been at sixteen. And he knew, at that moment, he’d never stopped loving her.

Rising with a growl, he picked her up and deposited her in the hot, fragrant bath. “Logan!” she whined. “My ... I’m not ... I’m still wearing my – ”

“I’ll get ‘em in a minute, baby,” he promised, whipping his shirt over his head and fumbling with his fly. “Just stay right there, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she reminded him, her voice warm and energized for the first time all night.

Peeling his jeans down his long legs, he ripped his socks off, tossing his Rolex on the vanity counter, and stood, entranced, at the edge of the tub. “Mind if I join you?”

“I wish you would,” she said quietly, the play of her fingers rippling the surface.

Assessing the situation, he eased in opposite her. Flexing his knees, he slid her toward him, reaching around to unclasp her sodden bra before smothering her with a wet kiss. Giggling, she splashed at him as he tried to pull the straps off her arms, feigning modesty as she wiggled ever closer to him.

When, at last, the offending garment was removed, he twirled it overhead and launched it across the room, guffawing when it landed with a loud splatter. “C’mere, you,” he cajoled, hand on the back of her neck. Dutifully, she arched forward, eyes closing as her lips parted. Mouth slanting down over hers, he cupped her face in his strong hands, moaned her name as his tongue stroked into her warm invite.

Fingers digging into his shoulder muscles, she quivered, brought him nearer. Her taut nipples brushed his chest, burning where she arched against him. Though their mouths were still fused, he dropped his hands below the water, boosting her astride his thighs, crushing her body to his. Heart racing, he bowed up into her, his cock stiff and throbbing against her belly.

“Please, baby,” she groaned, hips rolling as she rubbed her body on his. “I need you, now,” she implored, her voice hoarse and desperate. Shoving the wet lace aside with frantic fingers, he plunged into her, pumping deep and sure.

Panting, head thrown back, she humped his hand wildly, calling his name as she shook. “Ohgod, Iwantyousobad,” she gasped, heaving. “Please, baby, ohgodnow.”

Ripping the fabric with a single flick of his hand, he steadied her hips and lunged into her, mashing his mouth on hers to swallow her cry. “Ohfuckinghell, Veronica,” he grunted, driving harder and deeper with each thrust. “OhgodIloveyou.”

“Lo-gan,” she screamed, biting his lip and coming in with breathless, messy shudder. Squeezing her ass, he jerked, hips stuttering as he spurted, thick and hot inside her.

“Goddamn,” he hissed in her ear. “Veronica Mars, you’re gonna kill me yet.”

&&&&&&

They slept ‘til noon, Veronica having called in the night before, while still at the police station. When the eggs and bacon, strawberry waffles, and chocolate croissants arrived, they were accompanied by the newspaper. On page one, below the fold, was Jason Begge’s byline, with credit to Logan Echolls, and the heading: Rookie Fed Prosecutor Brings Down Gang - Before Indictment. Fortunately, no picture was available.

The Last Chapter - L/V - NC-17 - rindee

rindee — Sat, 05 May 2007 10:12:21 GMT

Unlike the first time she arrived at O’Hare, she barely registered the ethereal tinkle of the chimey, new-age music and the flickering glow of the rainbow florescents as she rolled her suiter down the endless United terminal. This time it felt like home, or, if not exactly home, familiar and comforting. Tucking her paperback copy of Keith’s latest thriller into her carry-on – the autographed, hardback copy had a position of honor on the bookcase in her apartment – she wound her red silk scarf a little tighter, zipped her leather jacket, and fished out her CTA pass.

Though it was only November, the weather had turned frigid over the long Thanksgiving weekend. Fortunately, she’d been living in Chicago long enough to know how unpredictable autumn could be, and had taken her heavy jacket, cashmere-lined gloves, and scarf with her to California. Swaying in the aisle as the El rattled and hurtled down the track next to the Edens Expressway, her heart lifted at her first glimpse of the stately vertical columns of black glass, steel, and concrete - the best skyline she’d ever seen. She debated grabbing a cab when she got off at Logan Square, but decided the walk would do her good, despite the whip of the winter-like wind.

Hanging up her coat on the tree in the entry-way, Veronica shoved her suitcase in the bedroom, kicked off her traveling clothes, and changed into sweat pants and thick, fuzzy socks. Rooting through her closet for something cozy and warm, she pulled out an old Hearst hoodie from the bottom of a pile of sweaters. As she tugged it out and started to put it on, she was overwhelmed by a scent. His scent, still clinging to the fabric after nearly five years of tears and quarrels and distance.

Logan.

Smiling, she rubbed her nose in the soft fleece, remembering how she’d filched it from him after an exuberant afternoon at the beach. It was their last good summer. Their only good summer, really, the one between sophomore and junior year. Logan had rented a cottage on the beach, and they’d spent every spare minute in or near the water. She’d learned to surf, he learned to cook, and it seemed they would finally be able to put the past behind them and be together in a healthy relationship. Except, it didn’t turn out that way.

Sighing, she padded into the kitchen and put on the coffee. It was only eleven in Neptune, but she knew Keith would be waiting impatiently for her call.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Who is this?”

“Very funny, father. It’s your wayward daughter. I just wanted you to know I’m home, safe and sound.”

“Veronica. How many times do I have to tell you, home is where your pater familias resides? No matter how old or sophisticated or well-educated you think you are now.”

“I know, old man. One of these days, you’re going to have to come here and spend the holidays at my place.”

“And brave Chicago in the winter? I don’t think so, honey. Your ancient relic of a father is liable to freeze to death in that weather. You’ll get tired of your fancy prosecutor’s job one of these days and come home to sunny California, take care of your old man.”

“I don’t know, Dad. Things are pretty good at the U.S. Attorney’s office. I have a postage stamp office with a view of the walls of the building next door, a sassy secretary who thinks she knows more about the law than me, and, by the way, she might, and a boss who thinks he’s God’s gift to women, men, agents, and judges. Oh, and I’m low man on the trial team totem pole on this new case we’re working.”

“You know you’re welcome any time, kiddo. Come back, find someone special, and give me some grandchildren.” There’s a long pause. “Veronica? Honey?”

“I know, Dad.” Her voice was tight, wistful. There’s nothing left for me in Neptune, except my dad. Wallace is in San Diego, which isn’t far, but he’s involved in coaching, the NBA D-league, and Sofia. Mac’s in the Valley, being paid ungodly amounts of money to do what she does best, she has a new baby and a new lover. Piz is in Darfur, working in a refugee camp, and Parker’s in New York, an associate editor at Vogue. And Logan - he’s in New York too, also in journalism, but the real kind, colorful, gritty crime and local politics. “One of these days I’ll be ready for all that.”

“Okay, Veronica. Thanks for calling. I’ll talk to you next week.”

“Okay, dad. Bye.”

“Bye, honey. Oh, and, Veronica?”

“Yeah, dad?”

“I love you, kiddo.”

“Uh huh. You too, dad.”

Taking a single-serve package of frozen lasagna from the freezer, she threw it in the oven and pulled out her laptop. Checking her email, she noted three new messages from David.Fitzgibbons@usdojgov. Sighing, she clicked open the last one first – doesn’t that man every stop? – and began reading her boss’ latest, endless list of things to be accomplished in the upcoming week.

Saving and deleting in rapid succession, Veronica weeded her in-box until she came to the message she’d been avoiding since its arrival the previous Tuesday. LLE@nytimes.com. The last time he’d contacted her, about nine months ago, it was to say he’d be in town the following day, and wanted to have coffee. She had assumed this one would be the same, and, like the one before, she hadn’t replied, knowing she was leaving Chicago the next day.

It had seemed like a pointless exercise anyway. The last time she and Logan had seen each other, he’d been passing through Chicago on his way to Dallas. He’d arranged a stop-over at O’Hare, and she’d met him there, allegedly to have a beer. What started out as an amiable, let’s-catch-up discussion about their lives had degenerated into a near-scene as she accused Logan of cheating on her and precipitating their last break-up. He accused her of engineering the whole thing by abandoning him, blind-drunk, at a spring break party at Parker’s sorority house during the last semester of their junior year.

For Veronica, Logan’s brief, one-night reunion with Parker had been the end of the end. She had already been considering a transfer to Stanford, and Logan’s last indiscretion had given her the impetus she needed to make it happen. By May 2009, she had been accepted, found a small apartment in Palo Alto, and even had a roommate lined up. She’d received early admittance to Stanford law the following December, and, by taking day and night classes, graduated in June 2012. Having done an internship at the Chicago U.S. Attorney’s office during the summer of 2011, she’d been hired there before the ink on her degree was dry.

Logan hadn’t known what hit him. As he’d informed her, that gray, snowy afternoon at the airport, from his perspective, it felt like he woke up with a monster hangover and lost his girlfriend. She’d never given him the chance to explain, and, three years later, he was still bitter about it. Veronica was too.

Finger posed over her mouse, she debated whether or not to even bother with his email. If he’d come and gone already, there was no point torturing herself with the knowledge she’d blown him off once again. And, if he was planning a future meeting – well, she didn’t know how she felt about that. Deciding it would be easier to avoid it altogether, she saved it, unopened, to her personal file.

&&&&&&

He grabbed his Blackberry almost the moment he stuck his tousled head out from beneath the three-hundred-thread-count sheets and fluffy down comforter. He would have checked anyway, as a reporter, it was his habit, but being in Chicago, on her turf, and knowing she was no more than a few miles away, made him crazy.

The night before, his plane had touched down at 9:47 p.m., and by 10:07 p.m., he was in a cab, headed downtown to the Drake Hotel. His employers wouldn’t foot the bill for a first class seat, or the Gold Coast Suite at the Drake either, but even though, now, he worked for a living, it was worth it to disembark and be out the door before the “little people.”

He wasn’t surprised to see she hadn’t replied. Like his bedhead, Veronica’s capacity for avoidance hadn’t changed, some things never do. She was either still mad from last time, or embarrassed about having made a scene. It didn’t really matter which, it was clear she was planning to duck him again.

The Medill Journalism Symposium wasn’t scheduled to start until Wednesday afternoon, which gave him today, tomorrow, and Wednesday to track her down and .... He wasn’t sure what he was going to do when he found her; he figured he’d wing it. It wasn’t as if she was actually going to be hard to locate. The federal courthouse, the Everett McKinley Dirksen Federal Building, to be exact, was about three miles south, and a couple blocks west, of Michigan Avenue. Not to mention, the building was a thirty-story skyscraper designed by Mies van der Rohe. So, really, finding Veronica was the least of his problems.

Rapidly slurping his second cup o’ joe, he ruffled his hand through his hair. Forgetting he was naked, he stood at the window, taking in the view of busy, vibrant Lake Shore Drive. Just beyond the Drive, Lake Michigan was slate gray and foreboding under the deceptively brilliant, windswept blue of the late November sky. Even the weather reminded him of Veronica, picture-perfect on the surface, but cold and brittle when you were out in it.

She was already on his mind, there was no reason to fight it, so he pulled up an old favorite, The Fray’s How to Save a Life, and cranked it before slipping into the steam. Closing his eyes against the spray, he called her to mind, as he almost always did, in happier times: the curve of her neck underneath her golden mane as he rocked her from sleep, pulling her tight to his body, cupping her breast in his hand as he slid his hard dick between her thighs ... the little gasp she always made, right before he....

Groaning, he jerked himself, hard and furious, and came with a sudden gush, whispering her name. It made him mad, his inability to find something – someone – more suitable for his morning ritual, but, no matter how many beautiful women he’d been with since Veronica, she was the one who woke him. Letting the stinging spray wash away the damning evidence, he got out and got dressed: heavy black jeans, dark olive sweater, running shoes, and his brown leather car coat. He’d brought a watchcap, wool scarf, and fur-lined gloves, but decided against the hat and scarf. He didn’t want to look like a total pussy, in case he happened to run into her in a lobby somewhere.

Making a bacon sandwich from the room service cart, he grabbed his complimentary copy of the Chicago Tribune, slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, and made his way to the lobby. Strolling around the corner, to the Magnificent Mile, he made a brisk, two-block walk to the John Hancock Building, across the street from his next destination, Water Tower Place. Pushing through the revolving doors, he caught the escalator to the food court on the “second” floor, and stood at the balcony railing, watching the people teeming into the two-story lobby, gawking at the glass elevators and gurgling cascading fountain rising next to the stairs. Christmas decorations twinkled dully in the bright sunlight; the sheer overwhelmingness of it took even his breath away.

He briefly considered buying her something, kind-of a goodbye present, but decided against it. For now, anyway. He glanced at his Rolex – he knew it was a cliche, but he wore it because he liked it – and realized he had little more than an hour to get to the South Loop. The first thing he’d done, when they told him he would be attending the journalism conference in Chicago, was wheedle his way into working Thanksgiving, and the day after, in exchange for being off on Monday and Tuesday after the holiday. In terms of crime and corruption, New York was fairly quiet on Thanksgiving, and he was not only glad he’d made the deal, but knew he’d gotten the better end of it.

The second thing he’d done was call Wallace, in San Diego, and con him into revealing Veronica’s workday schedule. It took a fair amount of fast-talking, but if there was one thing he’d learned at Columbia, it was how to “persuade” an unwilling subject to disclose information to a reporter. He knew Keith would never tell him anything, even though his attitude about Logan had softened over the years. As far as Logan knew, Keith still regarded Logan as the most unsuitable boyfriend Veronica had ever had. Keith was probably right, but then, it really wasn’t Keith’s call. Never had been.

Loping down the moving staircase, he hit the street again, making his way south past the glittering, high-end shopping district – Mayor Daley’s pride and joy. He would have stopped to admire the ancient facades of the Tribune Tower and Wrigley building, but he was on a schedule, and needed to get to 219 South Dearborn by 11:45 a.m., at the latest. When he got to the north end of Millennium Park, however, he slowed and wandered through it at a leisurely pace, pausing to gaze at the shiny steel sculpture affectionately known as “The Bean” and the changing faces on the fifty-foot high towers of the Crown Fountain.

At Monroe, the south border of the park, he made a right, crossed Michigan, and headed west toward Dearborn. He had less than twenty minutes to do the last seven blocks, but fortunately for him, Chicagoans moved fast. Must be the wind. At the Dirksen, he debated going to the fifth floor and asking for her, but realized he’d be blowing the one advantage he had – surprise. In his email, he’d told her about the seminar, but hadn’t mentioned his early arrival. He hadn’t intended to be sneaky, not really, but some small part of his brain expected her to try to dodge him. Now, he was glad he’d had the forethought.

Slouching by the Calder, across the street from the courthouse, he spotted her the minute she exited an elevator, blond hair glowing against the sensible navy of her business suit. Surrounded by an officious looking group of about five men, some in suits and ties, some in jeans and jackets, she seemed more petite than he remembered. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought against the wave of memories: Veronica in her frilly black prom dress; the way she glowed, lying in his arms after they made love; her giggle, when they were busted for making out in the backseat; the proud look she wore when he’d gotten accepted to Hearst....

Shaking his head to clear the rosy cobwebs, he stood, made ready to follow them, puzzled when they headed south rather than north. With all the posh eateries in the Loop, they walked down dismal Federal Street, past the front door of John Marshall Law School, to a seedy bar under the El tracks. A cop bar. He wasn’t surprised. She probably felt right at home.

&&&&&&

“Here you go, Veronica.”

Handing her a glass of club soda with his usual skeptically-arched eyebrow, she was grateful Dave managed to abstain from further commentary about her inability to drink with the boys. Of course, it was noon, but time of day was never a problem for Jimmy, Danny, Bill, Tom, and Dave. If left to his own devices, Dave would have beer for breakfast, beer for lunch, and beer for dinner. It was, as he often said, the perfect food, belonging, as it did, to three of the four main food groups. They ordered – she was just going to have a salad, but Dave made her get a sandwich too, so he could eat half.

About ten minutes into it, the waitress in the tight tee shirt delivered the second round. It was Dave’s signal to begin dictating. “Write this down, Veronica,” he ordered imperiously, popping a handful of peanuts and chewing as he spoke.

“With what, kimosabe? I didn’t bring my laptop, and, hey,” she snapped her fingers under her boss’s nose. “I don’t have anything to write on.”

Scowling, he glanced around until he spotted something. “Here, use this.” Straight-faced, he handed over the cocktail napkin from beneath his Sam Adams. “Okay, so we’ve got to – ”

“Wait! You’re serious? You want me to take notes on a bar napkin?” Holding the slightly damp paper between two fingers, she shook it at him. “And a wet one at that.” Her nose wrinkled. Dave laughed.

“I’ll get you a clean one.” Rising to his full height of six-foot-six, Dave marched to the bar and thumbed a hand-full of white squares from the dispenser. In his long, tapered fingers, the napkins looked like cotton swatches. “Here.” He deposited the pile at her elbow and slipped gracefully back into his seat. “Okay, so, where was I? Oh, yeah, ...collect all the police reports from CPD, and the inventories from the old search warrants. I want them in a file, each search warrant with the corresponding inventory, and any pictures we have of the guns, drugs, and money, associated with each RICO count.”

Dutifully nodding her head, Veronica scribbled as Dave talked, occasionally swiping a bite of her Caesar between items. By the time he was done with his list, he’d finished his Reuben and half of her tuna melt. The other half was wrapped while Veronica choked down as much of her salad as possible in the five minutes remaining. She tried to give Dave some money, but he waved her away, indicating it had been a working meal, and he was buying. Shrugging, a grin quirking the edges of her mouth, she tucked the graffittied napkin in her jacket, and followed the guys out the door.

Although it was half past noon, they stepped out into the slanted, criss-cross shadows of the CTA tracks. Immediately, they were assaulted by a cacophony of sound as a train rumbled overhead, taxis and delivery trucks rolled past, horns blared, and brakes squealed. Although she felt conspicuous – and really petite – surrounded by so many tall men, Veronica was glad of their company. The sights and sounds of downtown could still be a bit overwhelming, and, today, she felt eyes on the back of her head; maybe it was because of the barred, slit windows of the Metropolitan Correctional Center, a mere stone’s throw away.

She’d never been in the MCC, but it wasn’t so much the idea of being inside the prison that made her queasy, it was who lived there. She’d begun working for Dave while she was still an intern, so once she’d been hired, they’d assigned her to his team. At first, she’d spent hours and hours pouring over and organizing boxes of photos, police reports, and wire tap transcripts, but, gradually, having gotten to know the case agents, she’d started to hear stories about the several cooperating witnesses, a/k/a snitches, who were helping the government in its investigation. The “flippers,” so-called by the prosecutors because they’d “flipped sides,” had been in the office lately, testifying in the grand jury as Dave and the team prepared the indictment.

A frightening collection of men with jail tattoos and ready sneers, each flipper had been an important cog in the drugs-and-bookmaking operation that was Dave’s target: Rocco was the enforcer and had provided the muscle when a bettor didn’t want to pay up; the bookie, Gino, set the odds on the games and races; the drug distribution operation, mixing and packaging, had been supervised by Horace, and Rudolpho was the big boss who oversaw the crew. All but Gino had done substantial prison time before, and all were anxious not to return to long-term confinement. Mostly motivated by self-interest, some had wives and children, and realized another prison term would destroy their last remaining chance at normalcy. So they’d made the tough decision to rollover and cooperate with the cops, lawyers, and federal agents who comprised Dave’s team.

A few days before Thanksgiving, Dave had called her into his office, and introduced her to Rudolpho Garcia, the man who’d had the foresight and brains to orchestrate the entire operation. Before setting up the bookmaking scheme, Rudy, as he liked to be called, had done seventeen years on a two hundred year sentence for a double murder. He’d been about to be released on a technicality when Dave scooped him up from prison and “convinced” him to cooperate. Dave’s inducement, plain and simple, was freedom – Rudy’s freedom, to be exact. Dave had persuaded Rudy by letting him know they – the prosecutors – had enough evidence to put him back behind bars for at least another dime unless Garcia played ball. Once Rudy agreed, the other flippers fell like dominos.

Veronica hadn’t known Rudy’s history when she first met him, a large, polite, diffident Hispanic man with strangely impeccable manners. Unlike the other cooperators, Rudy was so important to the government that they didn’t think he was safe enough at the MCC. So, instead of being in jail, Garcia was out, living in a safe house in the northern suburbs, two agents with him 24/7. She wasn’t especially afraid of Rudy at first, despite his imposing stature and menacing eyes. In fact, even though she knew he’d been in charge, he actually seemed less dangerous than the other witnesses, whom she’d met a few days earlier.

It wasn’t until Danny whispered in her ear that Garcia’s aka was “Smith” – as in, Smith & Wesson, his weapon of choice and trademark – that it hit her. He was a killer. A reformed killer, perhaps, but a killer nonetheless. According to the agents, during his seventeen years behind bars, Rudy ruthlessly controlled the entire prison, deciding not only who would be placed on which work detail, but also, who lived and who died.

Unsure whether or not she should believe the agents, she accepted the information with a poker-face and a tight-lipped nod. The day before she left for Neptune, however, she’d gotten confirmation of Rudy’s status, if not his actual prowess. She’d been in and out of Dave’s office all afternoon, ferrying documents and files, and sitting in on some of Dave’s debriefing of Garcia. At one point, Rudy produced some photographs of the interior his “cell” at Lincoln Correctional. It looked more like a dorm room than a prison cell; the walls of the tiny space were covered with copies of art work, both traditional and gang-related, there were two, twenty-seven-inch TVs, and his stereo consisted of massive, bookcase-sized speakers – just like the kind she’d seen when Logan dragged her to an Aerosmith concert. It was mind-blowing, to say the least.

Now, whenever she saw the concertina barbed wire, heavy steel gates, chained locks, and barred windows of the federal prison, all she could think of was the true nature of the men housed there. Men she’d worked alongside, even shared meals with. Although she’d never admit it, they, and her job, scared her a bit, made her rethink her previously fearless attitude. Every time she walked by the MCC, she could feel eyes on the back of her head.

&&&&&&

He seriously considered slipping into the bar and having a beer while she ate with her colleagues, but decided against it. Too risky. He didn’t want a public scene, wasn’t trying to piss her off before they’d even had a chance to talk. Talk? Who was he kidding? The last time he and Veronica had really talked, they were freshman – no, sophomores – at Hearst. It was after Parker and Piz, but before their final, colorfully-explosive blow-out. They’d been at the beach, pretending to study for finals. Really, they’d been studying the fluffy white clouds, lazily telling stories about the shapes they saw.

Lying perpendicular and using him as a pillow, Veronica’s head had been on his chest when he asked what she wanted to do with her future. Before answering, she, in turn, made the same inquiry. New York, Chicago, and Palo Alto were the cities named: NYC for his favorite journalism program, Chicago for Northwestern Law or the University of Chicago, both of which she was just about to apply to, and, of course, Stanford’s home at Palo Alto. Anxious to get as far away from Neptune as possible, he begged her to consider some NY law schools. She reminded him of Northwestern’s Medill School of Journalism.

They’d agreed being in the same city was a priority, and each would apply to schools in the other’s city. Funny how things turned out. He went to New York, she to Palo Alto, and now both were in Chicago.

He roused himself from the doorway when he noticed her and the cadre exit the tavern. Trailing after her, he noticed her furtive backward glance and thought he’d been made. Apparently, the old P.I. instinct hadn’t completely evaporated. But when she didn’t look back again, he concluded something else was worrying her. Lagging further behind, he studied the men accompanying her.

The cops were easy to spot, with their casual street clothes, heavy jackets, and ‘I’m-the-man’ strut. It was easy to see the tall blonde guy was the boss; he had the smug air of a man who’d been both born to money and was accustomed to being in charge. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized all of them were years older than Veronica; he guessed she was the designated gopher and token female on what was clearly a well-oiled machine. Which meant the lunch was probably purely business, and it was unlikely she’d be dating any of them.

As they strolled the last block to the courthouse, Logan noticed something – someone – else. A black guy, or maybe Hispanic, about twenty feet behind the group, appeared to be tailing them, and not all that well. About thirty, he was non-descript, about five-eleven, a welterweight, or maybe a light middle, dressed in inexpensive street clothes, of conservative, not hip-hop style. Every few feet, he’d drift out to the curb, make sure Veronica and the others were still in front of him, and fade back into the foot traffic.

At the corner, where the team crossed Jackson to head into the federal building, the dude turned left and crossed Federal. Assuming it’d just been a coincidence, or that the guy had had another purpose, Logan returned his attention to Veronica, who was entering the glassed-in lobby. Something – instinct – made him turn back, just in time to see the shadow spin and dart across the street to the north side of Jackson, where he hovered at the edge of the other federal building, staring intently at Veronica and her boss as they got on the elevator.

That can’t be good.

If he’d been at all unsure of his decision to contact Veronica – today – the skulking dude sealed the deal. Grabbing the Sun-Times from the newspaper box on the corner, Logan wandered back to the bench where he’d perched before, and, tucking in an earbud, settled himself for a cold afternoon’s wait, Steve Tyler and Aerosmith wailing in his ear.

He became restless at three, scrolling through his email, then circling the plaza to study the Calder from all angles. By four, he was freezing, and made his way into the Dunkin Donuts on the corner, to warm up and ingest some caffeine. One foot on the rail, he stared balefully at the Dirksen, willing her to leave work early, for once in her life.

At about four-thirty, he decided to take the bull by the horns, and meet her in the lobby. Removing all the metal from his jeans pockets, he stuffed his Blackberry, iPod, and earphones in his messenger bag and got ready to brave security. Miraculously, just as he got to the entrance, she emerged from the north bank of elevators. Backing out the door, ignoring the cross-eyed, suspicious glare of the security guards, he ran around the corner and loped down the block.

“Veronica,” he huffed excitedly, just as she twirled through the revolving doors into the weak setting sun, and bracing cold of a late November afternoon.

“Logan?” She came to a complete halt, blocking the exit, heedless of the people spilling out behind her. “What are you – ” Without thinking, she flung her arms around him, pulling him into a fierce hug. “You’re here,” she murmured against his neck, her breath warm, heart pounding.

“I am,” he agreed, delighted and surprised by her enthusiasm. “I’ve missed you,” he informed her, squeezing back, his mouth brushing her temple. But when he bent to kiss her lips, she started and pulled away.

“Um ... don’t,” she whispered. “Not here, where everyone can see us.”

Perplexed, he nodded curtly, but, unwilling to let go, kept her tucked on his hip, an arm around her waist. “You have time for a drink, or maybe dinner?” he asked, his words shrouded in white steam as his breath hit the cold air. “Preferably somewhere warm?” he continued, feeling a shiver shake her slight frame as he eased her away from the door.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, hesitating, her gaze not meeting his eyes. “I don’t have any plans. It can’t be too late, though. I just got back last night, and I’m kind of beat,” she warned.

“You go home for Thanksgiving?” he asked with a small smile, brushing her golden hair from her face with bare, trembling fingers.

“How long have you been waiting?” she replied sternly, suddenly noticing his blue hands and lips.

“Since eleven-thirty this morning, give or take,” he confessed with a sheepish smirk.

Blue eyes flashing, she admonished, “Logan! Are you crazy? It’s like – ”

“Twenty-nine degrees out. I know.” He leaned in close, and blew into her ear. “Believe me, Veronica, I know.”

“Is there somewhere special you’d like to eat?” she inquired shyly, looking up at him in wonder.

“I was thinking – I’m staying at the Drake – I hear they have great food at the Cape Cod? That way, you could ....” He trailed off when she began to shake her head vigorously. “Okay, so, not the Cape Cod.”

“I don’t think so, Logan. It’s at your hotel, number one, and I don’t think I’m ready to go there yet. Second, as charming as you are, I’m not hopping into bed with you again. And, I’m not really dressed for it, either. How ‘bout ... pizza? We are in Chicago, after all.”

“I live in New York, remember? Good pizza’s not really hard to come by,” he softly interjected, trying to swallow his disappointment.

“Maybe you’d like Berghoff’s?” she continued, pointing to the overhead marquis on the building next door. “Except it’s not really Berghoff’s anymore, it’s 17/West Adams. But the food’s still good.”

“Wherever you want to go, Veronica. I don’t much care, at this point, as long as it’s close, and warm, once we get there.” Stomping and hopping from foot to foot, Logan rubbed his hands together briskly.

She looked him up and down, eyes dancing merrily in the twilight. “I know where we should go,” she announced with a grin. “C’mon,” she urged, grabbing his frigid hand in her gloved one and tugging him to the stoplight. “You live in New York, right? You’ve lived there for a couple of years now, so how is it you don’t own a pair of gloves?”

“I have gloves,” he huffed, tucking her hand, and his, into his jacket pocket. “Where are we going, by the way, and is it far?”

“Relax, you big baby. It’s right up the street, two blocks.” She jerked her head, indicating they should cross Adams Street.

“It’s not another dive bar, is it? I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”

“Dive bar?” she puffed after they reached the opposite corner. Her eyes got big. “You ... saw me? At lunch?”

“Uh huh. You and your phalanx of escorts. Very impressive. Now, please tell me where we’re going. I’m fuckin’ freezing, here, ‘Ronica.”

“You know,” she teased, scurrying to stay a step ahead of him as she guided him up the street. “I could probably have you arrested for stalking, or obstructing justice, or something.”

“Yeah, well, remind me to talk to you about that, once I can feel my fingers and toes again, and my face thaws.”

&&&&&&

“So, the political beat for the New York Times. I’m impressed, Logan. Really, you’ve done well,” she said earnestly, fumbling with the linen napkin in her lap. “Do you like it? You must.”

Shrugging uncomfortably, he played with the array of forks and spoons flanking his now empty appetizer plate. “It’s just local politics,” he demurred, embarrassed. “It’s not that impressive.”

“I’m impressed,” she assured him, reaching across the table to touch his sleeve. “There was a time when I thought you’d never ....”

“Accomplish anything?” He arched an eyebrow. “I know. I remember.” He smacked his lips loudly. “The Rosebud, huh? Nice place,” his head swiveled as he took in the dark wood, rose-tinted leather, white linens and lace-covered windows. “You come here often?” he asked vaguely, his body stiffening when he spotted a denim-and-wool-clad figure at the bar.

She shook her head impatiently, not noticing his heightened scrutiny of the restaurants denizens. “The real Rosebud, the first one, is actually on Taylor Street, in the Italian section. They’re all over now, and no, I don’t come here often. I’m not dating anyone, by the way, if that was your real question. So, do you have your own byline?” she continued, undeterred by his attempt to change the subject.

He sighed aloud, brought his attention back to the table, and shook his head. “Veronica,” he began in a slow, measured tone. “I’ll be happy to give you a disk of my published stories, but I didn’t come here to talk business, at least, not mine. ‘S fine if you want to talk about yours, though, since I have no idea what it is you do these days.” She flushed guiltily, aware she’d been the one to reduce their communication to an email or two a month.

“So,” she said, after the silence stretched on for a few moments that felt like hours. “Why are you here, other than the Medill symposium?”

“The conference’s just an excuse to see you,” he informed her cautiously, unable to lie while looking into the direct gaze of her clear aqua eyes, but afraid of the effect of his admission. “I wanted to see ... you, of course, and see if – see what’s left ... of us, if there is anything left,” he added with a rush of breath. She averted her eyes, toying with the last bits of calamari on her plate, unsure of how to respond.

“Look,” he continued, his voice now cold and matter-of-fact. “I don’t expect you to give me an answer right now.” His fingers scrubbed absently through his hair, which looked as it always did, spiky and well-kept. “I’m not sure what the question is. I just know we – I – can’t go forward until I put us to rest, one way or the other.”

“Us? There hasn’t been an ‘us’ for a long time.”

“So, the fact that you’re not dating anyone is because ... you just broke some poor schmuck’s heart? Or because you haven’t dated anyone in,” he squeezed his eyes closed, lips moving soundlessly as he did the math, “three-and-a-half years, give or take?”

Her mouth snapped shut, her face instantly blank, her eyes wary. “It’s none of your business why I haven’t been dating,” she hissed, glancing around the restaurant to make sure no one she knew was in earshot. “Or who.”

“C’mon, Veronica,” he whispered back. “Who do you think you’re talking to? I know you – I’ve known you since we were twelve. You don’t switch gears that quickly, but – ”

“How do you even know I haven’t been dated any – Wallace? You called Wallace, didn’t you?” she hurled the reproach as if accusing him of murder. Red spots appeared on her cheeks, and she clenched her fork so hard he thought she’d break it in two.

“Guilty as charged. I called Wallace – he’s the only one you still talk to anyway, aside from me, and that’s only when you’re feeling nostalgic. He said you live like a nun, which is a whole ‘nother issue, and haven’t had a real date since your first year of law school.”

He paused and took a deep, sustaining breath. “So, what’s up, Veronica? Did I really hurt you that badly, or are you just being stubborn, trying to make God-knows what point?” He could tell, from the luminous sheen in her eyes, that he might have gone a bit further than he’d intended. “Veronica,” he reached for her hand, only to have her snatch it away.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been kinda busy the last few years. I was in law school, studying twenty-four-seven, so I could finish, graduate, and get on with ... my career. I haven’t had time to fool around with every pretty thing I meet, the way you have.”

“So it’s all on me, huh?” he replied defensively, his voice raw and guttural. “I’m the reason you’ve made the choices you have? It had nothing to do with your well-chronicled ability and need to run away when things get too emotional? And, not that it’s any of your business,” he leaned in, hands planted flat, his nose inches from hers, “but I haven’t had a date or slept with anyone in fifteen months, give or take.”

Stunned, the blood drained from her face, her fingers fisted on the tabletop. “Why do we keep doing this to each other, Logan?” she rasped, shaking her head. “What is it with us, anyway?”

“I have no idea, sweetheart.” He laughed mirthlessly. “But you’re right. Let’s start over. Hi, I’m Logan,” he began in a high-pitched imitation of a ditz. “And I’m interested in fluffy puppy dogs, scary movies, the New York Mets, and contemporary art. ... Oh, yeah – and handguns, did I forget to mention handguns? The bigger, the better.”

Without thinking, Veronica burst out laughing, and slapped the table hard enough to make the flatware rattle. “You’re making a scene, dear,” he purred, pleased he’d managed to lighten the mood. “Let’s not rehash the past, okay?” Hand clapped over her mouth, she nodded. “You’ve hurt me, I’ve hurt you, but we’re both in a different place now. Let’s just agree to let it go.”

She nodded again soberly, puzzled hope in her glistening eyes. Saved, however briefly, from further unpleasantness by the arrival of their salads, Logan watched as she dug in with gusto, rolling her eyes in orgasmic delight at the homemade Italian dressing and fresh baked bread. Good to know some things haven’t changed. Her eggplant parmesan, and his lasagna – ordered at her request, so she could sample it – arrived a few minutes later, and, after Logan ordered a second bottle of the house red, they settled into an easier conversation about more general subjects.

He amused her with scatological descriptions of the editors at the Times, while she recounted the pertinent details of the cases she’d been assigned, especially the big one she’d been working since before graduation. After he swore their conversation was off the record, she gave him a few minor details about Rudy, Gino, Horace, and Rocco, including the basic structure of the gang, and the bare outline of the indictment being prepared by the U.S. Attorney’s office. When she finished her plate, he grinned and slid his half-finished one to her side of the table. She eyed it eagerly.

“You’re not going to eat any more?”

“It’s all yours, Veronica. I’m full. I still don’t know where you put it all,” he added, shaking his head in mock dismay before lifting his wine glass and draining it.

“So ... we’re not going to have tiramisu ... and some espresso?” she asked, disappointed. He rubbed his right hand over his watch face and glanced at her. “It’s fine,” she gently assured him. “I have time, and I won’t be as tired after an espresso.”

Nodding, he signaled the waiter as she dug into his leftover lasagna. Ordering a single serving of tiramisu, two forks, an espresso and a cappuccino, he watched with satisfaction as his former lover polished off the remains of his dinner. By the time dessert arrived, she’d finished all but a bite or two, shoving the plate away with a grimace.

“Why did you let me eat all that?” she moaned, hand on her stomach.

“Me, let you? – when was the last time I ‘let’ you do anything?”

“Yeah, okay. You’re probably right, but I don’t think I can eat that.” She nodded toward the tempting, brandy-laced concoction currently sitting between them on the damask.

“Drink your coffee. I don’t want you passing out before you get home. I’ll have them box the tiramisu you wanted so badly, and we can take it with us.”

“We?” she replied, tilting her head in the old, familiar way, a quizzical look on her face.

“Yeah, we. I think you should let me take you home, Veronica. There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.” With a deep breath, he launched into a description of his morning’s surveillance. Sparing no details, he told her about tailing her and her ‘posse’ to their lunch meeting, and the strange dude he’d seen following her back to the courthouse. After describing the man in detail, Logan reluctantly admitted he’d been so excited to see her he hadn’t scanned the lobby area, or the outside grounds, when she was leaving the building, but ....

“He was at the bar, Veronica, not ten minutes ago. I swear it was the same guy. Is that case you’re working a big one? I mean, does it involve ... I get that they’re bad guys, but are they those kind of bad dudes, the kind who’d be stupid enough to come after a prosecutor?”

“I don’t think so, Logan. I think you’re probably overreacting, don’t you?” she replied, her voice carefully pitched to a non-confrontational tone. “ I mean, when we walked in, there were probably five or six men at the bar who fit the description you gave me.” She waved at the bar curving along the far wall. “There’s probably four guys there now who could be him. I’ll ask the guys if they know of anyone like that who’s associated with the case, but even if there is someone out there, I doubt he’s following me,” she reassured him, reaching out to put her hand on his wrist.

“I don’t care. I still want to see you home. I’ll be a perfect gentleman, I promise.” He raised his right hand, as if taking an oath. “Just let me do this, okay?”

Dubious, she shrugged, then nodded. “I don’t think I can stop you anyway, right?”

“No,” he agreed with a smirk. “Not really.”

Gloved and garbed against the frosty night air, they boarded the El and, like lovers, sat in the corner at the end of the car, Logan’s arm draped possessively across her shoulders. Lulled by the rock and whoosh of the train, Veronica twisted so she was resting on his chest, and both stared out the window, mesmerized by the lights of the city against the velvety black of the star-strewn night.

The icy cold air had left the streets and sidewalks dangerously slick. When they descended the El platform, Veronica laced her arm through Logan’s, and they carefully treaded the glazed walkway to the courtyard of her apartment. Fishing for her keys, Veronica finally extracted them from her purse and promptly dropped them on the steps. Before she could react, Logan stooped and scooped them up. A hand pressed on the small of her back, he reached around her and fiddled with her keys, trying to find the one that opened the vestibule door. Uncharacteristically passive, she waited. When he still couldn’t find the right one, she put her hand on his and guided it to the lock.

Holding the door, he ushered her underneath his outstretched arm and into the warm, wood paneled entryway. “I’m on the third floor,” she advised, starting up the stairs, assuming he’d follow.

“What do you do when you have groceries?” he teased.

Pausing on the step above him, she turned her head and gave him a flirtatious glance over her shoulder. “Why, Ah find a big, strong mahn to help me, of cou’se,” she said, batting her eyes and twitching her hips. His dark eyes smoldered as he openly leered.

“I bet you do, sugah. I bet you do.”

Chortling, she scurried up the staircase, screeching as he slapped at her ass. When they got to her door, she faced him, cheeks pink from exertion, eyes twinkling in delight as he reached for her. “I had fun tonight,” she confided quietly.

“Me, too,” he instantly agreed, crowding in to press her against the solid oak door. “Can I – ” he bent to kiss her, “see you tomorrow?”

“Mmm hmm,” she murmured, her lips parting to meet his as she rose to her toes and twined her fingers around his neck.

Hands resting lightly on her hips, he kissed her soundly, his warm tongue slipping softly into her mouth. Eyes closed, body bowed against his, she sighed happily, low and sweet. After a minute, he broke the kiss to whisper, “This would be a lot more fun if we weren’t dressed for an impending blizzard.”

Giggling, she nodded. “Sorry, sailor,” she cooed. “But you have to go home, now. I have to be at work early tomorrow. We’re going into the grand jury at nine.”

Groaning, he said, “There’s a buzz kill if I ever heard one,” and kissed her once more, chastely. “I’ll call you tomorrow afternoon, okay?” Unable to stop touching her, he ran the back of his hand over her cheek. “Dinner. Plan on it.”

“I think I can pencil you in,” she joked, clutching his hand. “What are you going to do in the meantime?”

“Don’t you worry your pretty head, baby,” he smirked, bending so his lips fluttered against her ear. “I’ll think of something,” he promised, sinfully kissing the curve of her ear, his mouth sliding down her neck to sweep over her jaw before finding her lips again. This time, the kiss was rougher, more intense, leaving both panting for more.

“Logan,” she huffed. “You have to leave, now!”

“Uh huh,” he mumbled into her inviting mouth. “I’m going. Right now.”

“Good,” she breathed, sealing her lips on his. “I wish you would.”

Breaking the kiss after another minute, Logan announced, “This reminds me of that movie – the one you used to make me watch all the time. What was the name of it?”

Momentarily befuddled, she rolled her eyes when she remembered. “While You Were Sleeping.”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” he concurred. “The part when ... Bill Pullman was ... leaning,” he whispered, tilting forward to kiss her one more time.

Elated and ebullient, he clattered down the stairs and flew out the door, a satisfied grin creasing his face. When he reached the building’s courtyard, however, the smile died on his lips. Lurking behind a tree, directly across the street, was the same unsavory-looking dude he’d seen at the restaurant, in the plaza by the Calder, and in the street behind Veronica and the other prosecutors. It was him, Logan was sure of it. He whipped out his cell, opened it, and snapped it shut without dialing.

Returning to the entrance to Veronica’s apartment building, he stabbed at her call button, once, twice, three times, until he heard her dazed, sleepy voice. “Logan?”

“Veronica. Let me in for a sec. I – I forgot something.”

“‘S late, Logan.”

“I know. Trust me, babe, just this once. Let me in, please?”

She didn’t reply, but the cellanoid buzz told him she’d agreed. Loping up the steps two at a time, he had just raised his hand to bang on the door when it clicked open. Without asking, he shouldered in, immediately shutting the door behind him. Whirling to slide home the deadbolt, he turned to find a drowsy Veronica, in a pale pink satin robe, blinking uneasily.

“What is it? What did you forget?”

“Nothing. He’s out there. He’s out there right now, Veronica. Across the street.” A few long strides, and Logan was at the window, peering into the murky shadows. “Are all your windows locked?” he demanded, his voice suddenly adrenaline-fueled.

“I live on the third floor. I don’t really think I have to worry about anyone scaling the brick walls,” she retorted sharply, crossing to his side. “Except, maybe, Spiderman?”

“It isn’t funny.”

“It is, just a little bit,” she argued, raising her thumb and forefinger to display the space between. “It’s okay. I’m okay. Let me make you some coffee,” she added, soothing him with a stroke of her hand on his forearm. “Take your jacket off, calm down.” Holding out her hand, she waited expectantly until he unzipped and shed it. She hung it next to hers, on a hook beside the door.

“Want some tiramisu?” she coaxed, leading him by the hand into her tiny kitchen. Motioning to the doll-like cafe table, she turned to the counter and bustled about, putting on coffee and pulling the ‘to go’ box from the fridge. He sat, unable to relax, perched on the edge of the chair while his leg jiggling nervously. Placing the carton and two forks on the table, she went back to the refrigerator for milk, grabbed two mugs and set it all on the table. Reaching over, she ruffled her fingers through his hair before retreating to the coffee maker.

“You need to come back to the hotel with me.”

Although her face was impassive, her eyes revealed her conflicted emotions. “I can’t do that,” she countered. “You know I can’t.”

“Then I’m staying here,” he insisted, a dangerous, stubborn glint in his eye.

She stared at him. “You don’t need to do that. I’m a big girl, Logan,” she argued. “I can take care of myself.”

“I’m sure you can – you always have – but there’s a wacko out there, and this is the fourth time I’ve seen him, and it’s just not safe.” She took a deep breath; he could tell she was wavering. “I’ll sleep on the couch; you won’t even know I’m here.”

“It’s really not necessary,” she sniffed. “I don’t want you sleeping on my couch. It’s too much, too fast.”

“It’s either the couch or the bed, Sugarlips,” he threatened, flashing a grim smile.

Her lips twitched. “Fine,” she conceded, defeated by his simmering glare. “I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.”

“And a nightgown?” he prodded with a mischievous grin.

“Don’t push your luck.”

&&&&&&

Go ahead, push your luck.

Another Taste - L/V - NC-17 - rindee

rindee — Fri, 04 May 2007 08:13:36 GMT

Title: Another Taste
Author: Rindee
Rating: NC-17, language, adult situations, sex, implied violence
Characters/Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Lilly/Weevil
Word Count: 9,900
Summary: AU preseries fic - a sequel to A Taste of Innocence - Lilly’s alive, and she's dating Weevil, while Logan and Veronica become even closer.

A/N: A a sequel to A Taste of Innocence, which was written for the "Someone's Watching" challenge at vm_library. Written for inthevast, because she asked, and because her birthday’s coming up, and for havemy_heart, because she asked, and her birthday was last week. Beta’d by a fabulous, fantastic, crazy trio of the best betas a girl could ever have: rejeneration, who, I swear, can read my mind, moire2, the kewlest chick on Mount Olympus, and the incomparable, wonderful taken_with_you. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

Head down, elbows bent, Veronica studies her worn copy of As You Like It, tapping her pen against her temple. Across the table, Duncan, Shelley Pomroy, and Madison Sinclair are immersed in yet more details of the silent auction. As Veronica turns the page, Duncan catches her eye and flashes an apologetic smile. Feeling as though her face is concrete, she forces a return smile before bending to scribble notes in the margin. The arrival of Dick, Logan, and Sean is predictably loud and attention-grabbing. Logan dumps three pizza boxes in the middle of the table, and slides in next to Veronica.

Flipping open one of the white boxes, he inches a slice onto a paper plate and waves it back and forth under Veronica’s nose. When she doesn’t respond, he nudges her shoulder. Blinking, she looks up at him and shakes her head impatiently.

“Thanks, but I’m good,” she points to the apple and carton of yogurt in front of her.

Shrugging, he proceeds to inhale half the slice, smacking his lips in exaggeration. “Suit yourself, Mars, but it’s your favorite.” The crease between her brows suggests her skepticism. “Extra cheese and veggies,” he informs her smugly. Sighing in mock exasperation, she holds her hand out expectantly. Selecting the largest slice in the box, he deposits it on a plate, hands it to her, and watches as she takes a bite. Chewing happily, she nods in grateful acknowledgment.

“Mmm,” she mumbles through warm, fragrant cheese. “‘S good. Thank you.”

Cupping his hand to her ear, he murmurs, “How are you today, Veronica? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’ve been avoiding me all morning.”

A faint pink blush rises to her cheeks. “I – I’m fine. I’ve ... just been busy,” she replies carefully, the echo of yesterday’s talk with her father ringing in her head. “Mid-terms are coming up, and I’m so far behind,” she adds defensively.

Dropping his hand beneath the table, Logan squeezes her knee. “Yeah, I know. Want to help me study tonight? I’m sure Duncan’s already got plans.” To punctuate his words, his fingers stroke her thigh with light, persuasive pressure. Gulping, she opens her mouth to reply. Just then, Lilly slips onto the bench to her left.

“I don’t think so, Logan. I think my Da – ”

“Veronica,” Lilly interrupts, her voice hushed and excited. “Oh my God, you will not believe what Weevil and I did last night. I have to tell you, I so knew that boy was ... talented.” Playfully shivering, Lilly’s hip brushes Veronica’s as she leans closer to confide in her BFF. Before Veronica can say a word, Lilly rushes headlong into the story.

“So, I knew Donut was at his silly school thing, you know, his precious student council auction, and Celeste was at some stupid charity thing, so we had the mausoleum to ourselves. We swiped some tequila – it’s really good with orange juice, by the way – and went out back. Weevil didn’t have a suit, so we got naked – ” Clamping her hand on Veronica’s wrist, Lilly chuckles, “not that I minded – you should see the rest of his ink – and got in. Once we were both good and wet, if you know what I mean, he lifted me up onto the pink raft – Veronica, you should see his arms, they’re huge, just like the rest of him. So, anyway, he spreads my legs and – ”

“Oh, my God,” Veronica yelps when, just as Lilly giggles and takes a breath, finally, Logan’s fingers slide higher, brushing against her thoroughly-damp panties.

“Something wrong, Mars?” Logan glances down at her, his face a picture of feigned innocence and concern.

“Shut up, Echolls, we’re in the middle of something here,” Lilly snaps, peeved.

Confronted by the competing desires of her two worst influences, Veronica abruptly stutters, “I ... I think forgot something in the library, and, I – I have to get it before class. I – I gotta go, Logan. Thanks for the pizza.” She throws him a pleading look. A hint of a scowl crosses his face, and with slow deliberation, he removes his hand from beneath her skirt so she can stand. “Come with me, Lil. You can finish telling me all about your new swimsuit.”

Linking arms with Veronica, Lilly purses her lips and mocks an air kiss to the table. “Sorry to run, but we must be going. See you later, kiddies.”

~*~*~

Safely ensconced in a study carrel in the quietest corner of the library, Lilly huddles in, her lips mere inches from Veronica’s face. “... so, after he nearly drove me crazy, sucking my clit, he put his lips on my pussy – Oh My God, Veronica, you have no idea – and he fucked me with his tongue. Honest to God, I thought I’d left my body. It was so fucking hot – I think I came ten times, at least, that’s what it felt like – his tongue was burning, but the water was still cold and when I was finished, he just licked his lips and – ”

“Lilly!” Veronica hisses, “keep your voice down, someone might hear you!”

By the time Lilly finishes her salacious tale, Veronica feels like she’s on fire. Leaving the library for her next class, she sees Logan striding up the hall in her direction. Ducking her flushed face, she dashes in the other direction, determined to avoid any further encounters with his mouth or fingers. When the final bell rings, she ignores her locker and scurries outside, meeting her father at the side door instead of the usual pickup at the circle. As they pull away, she can hear Logan shouting, “Hey, Veronica, wait!” over the after school din.

“Someone’s calling you, honey,” Keith observes, skillfully piloting the squad out of the main entrance.

“It’s just Logan,” she sighs, idly staring out the window at the budding flowers and immaculately- manicured lawns rolling past the window.

“Logan ... Echolls?”

“Uh huh. Why?”

“I wasn’t aware you and Logan Echolls were ... friends.”

Something in the tone of her father’s voice catches Veronica’s ear. She turns to him, crossing her arms over her chest. “We’re not ... really. Logan and Lilly broke up a couple of weeks ago, and he’s been ....”

“Lonely, and maybe a little needy? I guess that makes sense, and, I mean, you are her best friend.” Reaching over, Keith pats her knee. “I’m sure you’re a great help to him, Veronica, but I don’t want you spending too much time with Logan, and I’m sure Duncan doesn’t either.”

“Why’s that? What do you mean? Duncan and Logan are best friends, Dad.”

“You know I can’t really talk about juveniles and their records, honey, but, trust me, you don’t want to get too close to him, or his family either.”

“O-kay, Dad, but, I don’t think you really know him, not the way Duncan and I do.”

“Just be careful, honey. That’s all I ask.”

“I always am, Dad,” she assures him, getting out and slamming the door. Waving, she jogs up the yard and lets herself in to the empty house. Enthusiastically greeting Backup, she heads down the hall, yanking off her tee shirt as she nears her bedroom. Before she gets there, she’s startled by pounding on the door, and Backup barking in response. Flinging her backpack and tee on the floor, she turns.

“Veronica! We need to talk.”

“Logan?” she asks, cautiously approaching. Swinging open the heavy, wooden door, she faces him through the screen, arms protectively covering her pink cotton tank top. “What do you want? What are you doing here?”

“You skipped out before I could – ”

“I know, my Dad was waiting.”

“Veronica,” he huffs. “Can I come in?” His voice drops as he gets his breathing under control.

“Sure.” Opening the screen, she stiffly stands aside to let Logan enter. Just inside, Backup greets him with a nose to his groin.

“Easy, boy,” he chuckles, dropping to his knees to nuzzle the pit bull’s wiry fur. He squints up at Veronica, “Did something happen at lunch today?”

“No. Why?” Arms still wrapped around her waist, she steps backward, in the direction of the Mars’ kitchen. “Want a soda?”

“Yeah, sure.” Nodding his assent, Logan rises, following closely at her heels. “So, if nothing’s wrong, why’d you avoid me in the hall this afternoon?” Shrugging uncomfortably, Veronica hands him a can, jumping guiltily as their hands brush. “Does it have anything to do with Lilly?” Logan continues suspiciously. “Did she say something about me?”

“No. No, she didn’t.”

“So why were you two so anxious to talk in private, then?”

“Um ... because ... it was just stuff Lilly had to tell me – you know, girl stuff, clothes, guys, makeup....”

“Guys? Is Lilly ... Lilly’s dating someone?” Clearly rocked by the news, Logan sags backward, leaning a hip against the counter. “Who? Who is she dating, Veronica?” He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it cockeyed and sticking out in all directions.

Head down, Veronica studies the tab on her soda, silently wishing she hadn’t mentioned guys. Weevil! How am I going to explain Lilly and Weevil? She looks up to find Logan right in front of her, invading her space, his dark eyes threatening. At once, she wonders exactly what it was her father wouldn’t tell her about Logan. She takes a step back, but he only moves closer. She slides back again, he crowds in until finally, she’s flat against the wall. Placing his hand behind her ear, he leans in until his face is nearly touching hers.

“I know you know something, Veronica,” he coaxes, his voice harsh with emotion. “I can tell by the look on your face. Just tell me,” he implores, dropping a hand to her shoulder.

Heart in her throat, she flinches, shrinks from his touch. As his eyes stare into hers, she can see him register her fear. Heaving a deep breath, he straightens, takes a half step back, lifts his hand. “Veronica,” he pleads. “I – I’m not gonna hurt you. I would never hurt you.” He lowers his eyes, but before he does, she can see they’re glossy and wounded. Rhythmically clenching and unclenching his fist, he scrutinizes the tile floor and whispers, “I ... couldn’t hurt you.”

Without thinking, she reaches out, curls her fingers over his fist. “Come on,” she soothes. “Let’s go.” Tugging at his wrist, she leads him out of the kitchen, down the hall and into her bedroom. Shoving gently, she pushes him to sit on her bed. Pulling up her desk chair, she settles opposite him, one hand in her lap, the other lightly resting on his leg.

“Logan ... do you – are you – do you still love Lilly?”

“No. I mean, yeah, maybe. A little.” Despite his casual words, Veronica reacts as though she’s been slapped, snatching her small hand from his knee and rubbing her burning cheek. “I don’t know, Veronica. What do you want me to say?” he mutters, picking at the nap of her fuzzy lime-green pillow.

“I – I thought ... maybe you were – because we – I thought you were getting over her ... a little, anyway.” Chin trembling, she gazes unhappily at him. “Maybe Dad was right, you were just using me.... Is that it? I’m just ... a place-keeper? A little Lilly surrogate?”

Logan’s head jerks up. “No, babe. It’s not like that.” His hand tangles in his hair. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just ... we were together for a long time, and Lilly was my first real – ”

“Girlfriend,” she finishes for him, her voice flat and emotionless. “I know. Best friend,” she points to herself, “remember?”

“Yeah, I know. Believe me, I – wait! You told your dad about us?” he asks, cocking his head, disbelief dripping from every syllable.

“No! Oh God, no, Logan. I just – he heard you yelling for me, and asked why.”

“What did you tell him?” he asks grimly, expecting the worst.

“I told him you and I – you were upset about breaking up with Lilly, and I was, I don’t know, helping you through it,” she ends, her voice rising angrily.

“And you have been. You are,” he adds, earnestness written on his handsome features. “The last few days have been ... wonderful. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say that. I know I’m not ... as exciting as Lilly, or the other girls you’ve been with. I get it, Logan, I do.”

Chin still quivering, she glares, daring him to contradict her. Lurching off the bed, he tumbles to his knees and crawls to her chair. Winding his long fingers behind her slender calves, he insinuates himself between her bare legs.

“Listen to me,” he begs, hoarse and urgent and intense. “I don’t want you to be like Lilly. I’ve – I’ve been with Lilly. I don’t need you to be ... that. I like you just the way you are,” he draws his fingers over her cheek, swiping a lone tear from the corner of her eye. “You’re beautiful, Veronica Mars. And smart,” he nestles her face in his palm, “and funny.” He places a soft, gentle kiss on her lips. “And so fuckin’ hot....” His lips press her mouth firmly, his tongue tracing the juncture of her lips. Smiling shyly, she opens to his warmth. “I probably don’t deserve you, but I want you anyway ... just like this.”

Cradling her face in his huge hands, he sighs and settles into a deep, soul-searching kiss. Unconsciously, her hands curve around his forearms, bringing him closer as she arches against his hard, flat chest. After a minute, she pulls back, scanning his face until, finally, she’s content, letting her hand slide around his neck.

Shivering, she moans a little when he licks the satiny recesses of her mouth, fingers clamping tighter on him. Pressing a thumb to the underside of her chin, he tilts her head back and swirls his fingertips over the sensitive flesh. As his hands travel lower, his lips follow the same path, humming against her smooth, white throat.

“You have no idea,” he mumbles into the hollow of her clavicle, “how much you turn me on.” His lips sink lower, nibbling at the edge of her skimpy tank. His fingers sweep across her taut nipples, he chuckles when she gasps his name. “I gonna make you feel so good, baby.”

Wiggling to get close to him, she slips lower, splaying her legs around Logan’s waist. One hand supporting her spine, Logan bends, biting playfully at her tight buds. She shudders, twining her fingers in his spiked locks. “Lo – Lo – Logan,” she huffs, rocking against him.

When he slips one hand under her shirt, she quickly shuts her eyes, tension unfurling deep in her belly. But, when he tries to slide her top up, she stops him, hand tensing on his wrist. He rolls his eyes to hers; her lips quiver a smile. “You first,” she commands in a whisper.

Trying not to laugh at her impudence, his brow quirks. “Yes, ma’am,” he nods, reluctantly loosening his grip to yank his shirt over his head and toss it over his shoulder. She runs her palms over his ripped chest, fingers lightly playing with his nipples. His eyes glitter darkly, his breath coming more rapidly.

“Your turn,” he responds, his slurred voice rough with desire. He watches, urging her on with dazed, molten eyes as she gathers her shirt in hand and hesitates, embarrassed. Laying his head on her naked stomach, he traces a line up her sternum. She bites her lip, breath hitching, and tugs the pink fabric up and over her face. Before it clears her head, he swipes his tongue over her breast, licking and sucking with gentle intensity.

Back bowed, she moans. He strums her other peaked nipple with his thumb, bringing her to the edge in a matter of seconds. Curling over his shoulder, she frantically kisses his neck and the back of his shoulder, excitedly rubbing against him. Continuing to work his tongue over her swollen breasts, he slips a hand beneath her khaki skirt, fondling her damp mons.

Gratified by her impassioned cry, he eases two fingers underneath her panties, probing her creamy folds. Writhing, she bucks against him, her body begging. “Please, Logan,” she murmurs.

In response, he kisses the soft round of her flat belly. “I am gonna please you, baby,” he promises, nudging his fingers against her clit.

“Kiss – kiss me,” she implores, fisting his hair and trying to pull his mouth to hers.

With a grateful sigh, he stretches up, sealing his lips over hers, violating her mouth with his hot tongue. His fingers glide lower, and, finding her entrance with practiced ease, he inserts them with a hard thrust. Groaning into his mouth, she thrashes, wrapping her legs around his hips as she rocks into his hand.

“Oh, baby,” he moans, stealing her breath. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

Senseless, she nods, trembling with each sharp thrust. “OhGodohGodohGOD,” she keens, clenching and releasing against him. Cradling her in his arm, he pumps in and out again and again, until, panting his name, she shudders acutely and comes, breaking apart beneath him.

Still kissing with lascivious intent, he flattens his hand against her pubis, massaging her there while his middle finger slicks up and down her clit. Her lashes flutter open, her misgivings revealed in the stark blue depths of her eyes.

“Shh,” he gentles, pressing languid kisses over her chin, trailing to the underside of her jaw, down her collarbone, into the vale of her breasts. “I’m not done, baby.” When he reaches her stomach, she stirs. Before she can protest, he pulls her ass to the edge of the chair, spreads her apart, shouldering into the breach of her thighs. Cupping her butt in his hands, he opens her further, licking his lips at the sight of her glistening pink skin. Angling so his mouth is whispering against her clit, he blows a light current of air over her wet flesh. She jumps, a tremor coursing through her body.

Feeling as though she’s on fire, she digs into the corded muscles at his shoulders, desperate to touch him as his tongue journeys into the creamy folds encircling her clit. The sensation of pleasure is so intense she feels like she can’t endure another minute of it, simultaneously wishing it would never end. When he tongues her clit, hard and fast, she groans, arches toward his mouth, her body shaking all over. Pinning her to the chair with the palm of his hand, his tongue slowly strokes from the rim of her pussy to the plump, rosy tip of her clit. Each time his tongue caresses her, the tingling burn becomes more intense, until all she can feel is his mouth on her, his breath, his teeth, the dizzying attention of his lips and tongue.

Moaning an endless stream of broken syllables and harsh sounds, she rocks in time with his tongue as it flutters against her, faster and deeper. Her nails nearly pierce his skin when he gently sucks her clit; a moment later, when he finally penetrates her pussy, she draws blood, clawing at him as he fucks her with his tongue. “Oh ... oh ... ohGod ... ohLogan ... oh, damn!” she cries, jerking wildly and coming all over his face.

“Damn, yourself,” he replies with a wicked glint, smacking his lips before shamelessly licking his fingertips. Knowing she’s just humped his face, she flushes scarlet with embarrassment, her body so limp she feels like a jellyfish. “But I can assure you, Veronica,” he continues, an amused expression on his gleaming face, “if we’re going to hell for that, we’ll have lots of company.” He shifts to sit on the floor, pulling her into his lap.

Relaxed to the point of bliss, she curls around his bare chest, nuzzles into his neck. “Ummhmm,” she agrees, nodding against him. “Like Lilly.” She giggles and, closing her eyes, starts to drift off, remembering Lilly’s description of Weevil fucking her with his tongue. So that’s what it feels like....

“Like ... Lilly?” His tone changes from smug to suspicious in a nano-second. “What about Lilly, Veronica?”

“Hmm?” It takes her a full second to process his question. “What?”

His eyes morph from satisfied to outraged. “I said, ‘what about Lilly?’ What did you mean by that?”

“No – nothing.” Startled and caught off-guard, she blinks up at him. “I just....” She sighs, playing for time. “I just meant ... that you and Lilly have probably done ... that, too. Right? I mean, I’m not the first girl you’ve ever ... gone down on. I know I’m not. I can’t be.” Sloe-eyed and somnambulant, she gazes up at him, guileless.

“Yeah, I mean, no, you’re not. But I’ve never ... Lilly – I never did to her what we just did.” He waits impatiently, but when Veronica doesn’t respond, he leans back, holding her at arm’s length. “Veronica.”

“Yes?”

“Did Lilly – she never told you about our sex life. I know she didn’t, because she used to tease me and say she was going to – except she knew you’d be too shocked.” Suddenly cold and feeling very exposed, Veronica dips to the side, feeling around for her tank top.

“You’re hurting me,” she grumbles, wiggling in his tightened grip. “Let me go.”

“Answer my question. What were you talking about? Who has she been with?” he hisses, starting to shake Veronica like a rag doll.

“Logan,” she squeaks, cowering from the fury on his face. “Please. Let me go and I’ll tell you.”

Startled by the fear in her eyes, he lets go, jerking his hands off in panic. She spills backward and thuds to the floor. Sitting up, she scrambles away, snatching her tank and whipping it over her head. When she emerges from beneath her shirt, Logan’s slumped against the bedside, his eyes fixed on his hands, which are clenched in his lap.

“I’m sorry.” He glances at her with anguished, woeful eyes, and she feels like the all the air has been sucked from her body and a fist is squeezing her stomach.

“Weevil,” she croaks, tensing to spring up and flee the room. “Lilly’s seeing Weevil Navarro.”

“Fuck!” he hollers, punching his elbow into the mattress. “She’s fucking Weevil fucking Navarro?” He glances around wildly, looking for something more substantial to hit.

“Logan!” she says sharply, her voice suddenly as icy as his is furious. “Calm down,” she commands. “You’ve been broken up for almost three weeks. You’ve been with ... someone else,” she stares at him, heartbreak flooding her eyes. “Why shouldn’t she....” She stops, realizing the implications of his angry words. Glowering, he watches her face change, close, and shut down. “Never mind. I get it. I’m just – it is like what I said. I am just a plaything to you, a diversion to keep your mind off of Lilly.”

“That’s not .... I never said that,” he mutters, unable to meet her frank gaze.

“Well, you sure as hell haven’t denied it, either. Have you?” She stands, steps stiffly and carefully over his outstretched legs and, rubbing her hands over her crossed arms, paces to the furthest corner of the room. “I think you’d better go, before my father comes home and finds you here.”

“Veronica.” He leaps up, stomps over to her, his face a mixture of pain and concern. “I ... I – you know I like you. And I care about you.” He reaches out to brush back the tendrils of her mussed gold-spun hair. Grabbing his wrist, she twists it, spinning him in the direction of the exit.

“Get out, Logan,” she grunts, starting to shove him at the door. At once, she relaxes her hold, gasps. “Oh, God,” she murmurs, easing her fingers over the thin, thready, pinkish scars scribed on his bare back. “Logan?” she breathes. “Who did this to you?”

Whirling around, Logan clutches at her fingers as they flutter mid-air. “Don’t you touch – no! It’s not – they’re not ....”

“Someone beat you. You let someone beat you?”

His fingers close like a vise. “Let someone? What makes you think I had a choice?” he hisses furiously.

“You – your ... is it – it’s your Dad. He beats you, doesn’t he?” she concludes, stunned.

Unable to deny the obvious, he drops her hand, head hanging in shame. “You can’t tell anyone,” he begs. “No one knows. My dad – he’d kill me if anyone ever found out.”

Without thinking, she flings her arms around his dejected form, pulling him into a fierce hug. “Logan,” she mumbles. “You have to tell someone. You can’t let him keep doing it.” She lays her head on his chest, pressing her cheek over his pounding heart. Relaxing for a moment, he squeezes back, playing with her tumbled tresses.

Sighing, he says, “You don’t understand. You don’t live in my world.” He pries her fingers off, backs away. “Veronica, if you care about me at all, you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

“I do ... care. A lot.” She blushes, reaches for him again. “But I don’t know ... if I can make that promise. Does Duncan know?” She tilts her head thoughtfully. “Does Lilly?”

At the mention of the Kane siblings, Logan’s eyes become hard and brittle. “I don’t really know, Veronica,” he bites out. “Would it matter if they did?” Shrugging, he turns on his heel, bends to snatch his shirt from the floor, and strides out of the room. Straightening her skirt as she goes, Veronica runs after him, catching him at the front door.

“Listen, Logan. We have to talk about this,” she pleads, hand on his arm.

“No. No, we don’t,” he gestures between them. “Wait,” he proclaims, holding up two fingers. “I forgot. There is no we because you’re with Duncan! Besides, talking isn’t going solve anything. Just go back to the sandbox with your nice, safe boyfriend, Veronica. The one who doesn’t know how to kiss, much less get you off, and leave me alone, okay?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?”

Throwing the door opening, he stalks out and stomps down the steps. Yanking his cell phone from his pants pocket, he flips it open and hits a button. Curtly addressing the person on the other end, he impatiently asks for a ride, nods, and slams it shut. Shoving the phone back in his pocket, he paces the walkway, studiously ignoring Veronica as she stands on the porch, wringing her hands.

Finally looking up, he barks, “What?”

“I ... I’ll break up with Duncan tonight, if that’s what you want.” Like a deflating balloon, the anger leaks from his face and body at her soft, conciliatory words. Tiptoeing down the concrete, she approaches him, tentative, but determined.

“I thought you said your father doesn’t like me?”

“I didn’t say that. He told me to be careful with you.” She gazes up at him with eyes so clear, so blue he practically melts.

“You should probably listen to him,” he grudgingly agrees.

“I think maybe he knows more about ... your family than I do.” She slides her fingers around his wrist and curls her slender hand into his. “Will you ... at least ... not be mad at me?”

He kisses the top of her head, nods into her glowing hair. “Sure, Mars. Will you ... promise to think about ... whether or not you really want to be with me?”

“Hey, jerkwad,” a familiar voice calls, forestalling her answer. “You ready to cruise on out to the beach and let the Dickster show you how it’s done?”

She can feel a chuckle bubbling in his chest before he drops her hand. “Fuck, yeah, if only you actually knew how to surf, Dick.” He runs his knuckles down her arm. “Don’t worry. By tomorrow, he won’t even remember where he picked me up.” She nods nervously. “I’ll see you in school – we’ll talk. Until then,” he brushes his fingers against her lips, “shhh. Okay?”

~*~*~

Duncan slips into AP English just as the last bell begins to ring. “Nice of you to join us, Mr. Kane,” the teacher simpers, smiling brightly. Barely acknowledging Mrs. Murphy’s greeting, he eases into his seat, averting his face from Veronica’s expectant glance. Directing the class to Act I, scene II of As You Like It, Mrs. Murphy asks the students to divide into groups in order to rehearse the scene for a class presentation. Veronica plucks at Duncan’s sleeve, but, before she can get his attention, Madison Sinclair convinces him to play Orlando to her Rosalind; Shelley Pomroy quickly agrees to take the role of Celia, with Dick Casablancas playing Touchstone, and Logan the Duke.

Stunned and a little puzzled, Veronica sits back and glances around the room. Ignoring Veronica’s confusion, Meg Manning waves her over to the corner where she, Luke, Sean, and Cole are gathering. After several minutes of discussion, they decide Meg will be Rosalind, while Veronica reads Celia. Cole is assigned the role of Rosalind’s love, Orlando. As they prepare the scene, Veronica glances to the other side of the room, where Logan, Duncan, Dick, and the girls are “working.” Although she’s unable to catch Duncan’s eye, Logan returns her quizzical look with a genial shrug and a quick wink.

When the next bell rings, Duncan shoots out the door like a rocket, leaving Veronica and Logan lingering in his wake. Despite Madison’s seeming indifference, Veronica keeps her conversation with Logan cautiously neutral until they’re out of earshot, then peppers him with questions about Duncan’s odd behavior. Professing ignorance, Logan assures her Duncan has no clue of their previous afternoon’s activities, although he has no explanation for Duncan shunning of her.

At lunch, Duncan is suspiciously absent from their usual table. Lilly, however, advises Veronica Duncan is cloistered with Madison and Shelley, preparing for the end-of-the-school-year silent auction. When Veronica interrogates Lilly about Duncan’s whereabouts the previous evening, Lilly confesses she hadn’t seen Duncan – but only because she’d snuck out to be with Eli, and didn’t return home until nearly midnight.

After gleefully recounting the details of her “date,” Lilly excuses herself and dances off toward auto shop, leaving Veronica to ponder her boyfriend’s mysterious conduct. With only ten minutes of lunch left, Duncan straggles out into the sunlight, his normally placid face creased with worry. Ordering Dick to move, he climbs into the seat to Veronica’s right, tapping her on the arm.

“Veronica. You’re here. Hi.”

Surprised by his lighthearted tone, she cocks her head. “Hey, yourself, stranger.”

He flushes. “I’m sorry I’ve been so busy.” He touches her arm. “Madison and Shelley had me locked up forever on that Student Council thing, and now I have to do the scene with them too.” Sliding her arm out from under his fingers, she squints at him, saying nothing.

“Hey, DK, glad you could join us,” Logan interjects, hurling a crumpled napkin at him.

Deflecting the missile with a backhand, Duncan grins. “Yeah, yeah,” he retorts. “Miss me?”

Arching an eyebrow in disbelief, Logan shakes his head. “Nah, man. We didn’t even know you were gone, did we, Veronica?” She shrugs noncommittally, lowering her eyes for fear of giving herself away.

While Duncan and Logan babble about inconsequential nonsense, Veronica, chin in hand, listens, recalling the moment, about a week ago, when she’d spied the two ... in flagrante. The bond between the boys – her boys, she guesses – is an odd one. Best friends, and competitive to the max, they’ve shared a certain physical intimacy, but not each other’s secrets. Like it or not, she – not Duncan – holds Logan’s confidence. Maybe she can help him with his problem. But – if she and Logan ... pursue things ... what will happen to her and Duncan? Will their relationship survive? And – will she care if it doesn’t?

~*~*~

Jumping up from the table, Veronica begins clearing plates so her Mom, who still looks wan and pale, won’t have to.

“Thanks, honey,” Keith calls, his voice warm and grateful.

Once the dishwasher is stacked and started, Veronica retreats to her room. Homework is beckoning. She’s researching Prohibition when a chat invitation appears on her screen. Duncan. He hasn’t been around much lately, and when he is, he’s preoccupied, almost always with something involving Madison or Shelley.

She hasn’t seen a lot of Logan either; she’s been careful not to be caught alone with him... well, except for the other day, when he yanked her into the broom closet and pressed her against the wall. He’d kissed her as if their lives depended on it. She’s thinks maybe he’s more trouble than he’s worth, but then she remembers the feel of his lips ... and she’s right back where she started.

The chat invite blinks. She answers, they make obligatory small talk, the American History assignment she’s working on, the upcoming Geometry exam, the latest Lilly escapade that got her grounded for a week. Finally, as she’s about to beg off, Duncan says they need to talk, asks if she’ll meet him, after school, in the quad. She agrees without hesitation

~*~*~

Wiping the smudged mascara from under her eyes, Veronica swipes her fingers on her jeans and taps on the glass. “Fuck!” she hears him curse over the burst of noise from GTA III. He’s not coming to the door, she realizes, when the noise doesn’t stop. She raps louder, biting her lip, trying to regain her composure. The audio halts, he’s muttering as he approaches.

“This better be...” he stops when he sees her, “good. ... Veronica?” His annoyed scowl disappears, replaced by a look of concern.

“I can’t believe – why’d you do it, Logan?” She tries to glare at him, but the luminous sheen in her eyes gives her away.

“What are you talking about? What’s wrong? Did someone hurt you?” He makes a fist, raises his hand, then angrily slides it into his hair, rubbing the back of his neck.

“What’s wrong?” Disbelief flashes on her face, her jaw stiffens. “What do you think is wrong? I thought you liked me, or at least cared a little bit – ”

“Hold up.” He puts one hand on her shoulder. “What is going on?”

She steps out from under his hand, gazes balefully at him, tears suddenly visible. “You just had to tell Duncan about us. You couldn’t keep your big mouth shut, could you?” Chin wobbling, she looks down, willing herself to be strong. “He broke up with me, this afternoon, after school.”

“Tell Duncan what?” Momentarily dumbfounded, he gapes. “Oh.” His mouth snaps shut.

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’ How could you ... do that to me? ... Without any warning or anything....”

“Veronica.” He reaches for her, but she takes another step backward, wrapping her arms around her waist.

“No,” she whispers. “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me again.”

The end of the story?

Another Taste - L/V - NC-17 - rindee

rindee — Fri, 04 May 2007 07:49:30 GMT

“There you are, Veronica Mars!” Lilly slides onto the bench, slipping her arm around her best friend’s waist. “Excuse me, everyone, but I’m stealing Veronica. She and I have to plan our after school adventure.”

Looking up from his Geometry, Duncan merely nods, forcing a smile at his older sister. Trying desperately to appear as though she hasn’t been left out, Madison quickly turns to Pam and in a loud voice, begins talking about the upcoming Spring Formal, and the dress she intends to buy for it. Dick and Sean continue playing Freestyle BMX, not even registering Lilly’s presence, or Veronica’s departure. Only Logan, pretending to contemplate his pepperoni slice, is paying attention. As Lilly tugs her away, Veronica looks over her shoulder to see Logan scowling at Lilly’s back.

“Slow down, Lil, you’re gonna break my wrist. What’s the big hurry?”

“I’ve got a secret, and it’s a good one, but you have to swear you won’t tell Donut or Logan.” Still pulling on her best friend’s elbow, Lilly leads Veronica around the corner, threading their way through several neon-washed, late model muscle cars lining the driveway outside the shop class. “Especially Logan,” she adds, dropping her voice as if he can hear around the scarred brick walls.

“Okay, fine. I won’t tell Logan. What’s up?”

“You have to meet my new boyfriend.”

“You – you’re dating someone else? Someone who goes here? And you think Logan’s not going to find out? You’re crazy. What’s gonna happen the next time someone has a party?”

Lilly pats Veronica’s arm. “Relax, silly. Breathe. He’s not gonna find out because I won’t be bringing Weevil to a party any time soon.”

“Weevil?” Confusion writ large across her face, Veronica simply stares. “Who’s – ”

“Someone say my name?” Rolling up with an insolent slouch, Eli “Weevil” Navarro moves in behind Lilly. Lifting Lilly’s heavy mane off her nape, he presses a lewd kiss to her neck, his sleepy eyes giving Veronica the once-over. Slipping her hand up the back of his sleek head, Lilly tilts back to meet his lips. Hand on her waist, Weevil spins Lilly and pulls her close, murmuring “Hiya, baby,” and possessively taking her mouth in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.

Transfixed, Veronica watches for a moment before blushing and averting her eyes. Weevil’s hand slides down Lilly’s back, coming to rest on her round behind. Squeezing gently, he deepens the kiss. Moaning appreciatively, Lilly flattens her body on his, rubbing her breasts and belly against him.

“Tha’s my girl,” he says, breaking the kiss. “You must be Veronica,” he adds, from over Lil’s shoulder. “I’m Weevil.” He shifts Lilly to his side and holds out his hand.

Ignoring his proffer, Veronica gazes pointedly at Lilly. “Um, this – he’s – you’re dating him?”

“Don’t be rude!” Stroking his chest, Lilly’s eyes flash at Veronica, who sighs and rolls her eyes.

Nodding curtly, she manages a begrudging, “Hello, Weevil,” but her chilly tone negates her words.

“O-Kay. Nice to meet you, too. ... I gotta bounce, baby, or I’m gonna be late again, and you know I don’t need no more demerits. Ladies,” he inclines his head in Veronica’s direction, “play nice now,” he chuckles, “or I’ll have to spank you.” Slapping Lilly’s ass, he gives her a hard, quick kiss and strolls away. “See you after school, babe,” he calls over his shoulder.

“Lilly! You can’t be serious. You can’t date him – he’s a ... a thug, a gangster.”

“Duh, Veronica. That’s part of his charm. Did you see his tats? Aren’t they gorgeous? And his jacket – mmm, I just love black leather.”

Stunned, Veronica merely blinks. Lilly’s face is flushed, her breathing labored, and suddenly, Veronica realizes Lilly and Weevil must be having sex. The knowledge makes her a bit nauseous. Oh, God, Logan!

“Anyway,” Lilly continues, “I know we’re gonna have to be careful – God, Celeste’s head’d explode if she found out, and Donut would never speak to me again – and that’s where you come in.” With pleading eyes, Lilly looks at Veronica, who is staring absently at a spot over Lilly’s shoulder. “You can’t tell, but I’m meeting him after school today, so if anyone asks, we went to the mall, ‘kay? ... Veronica?” Lilly snaps her fingers in front of Veronica’s face. “Are you with me, here?”

“Huh?”

“The mall? After school? Together?”

“Yeah, sure, Lil. ‘S fine. I’ll ... I’ll cover for you.” She nods, teeth razing at her bottom lip. “I gotta – we should go, the bell’s gonna ring soon.”

~*~*~

The bell rings. Slamming shut her tattered text, American History in the 21st Century, Veronica hefts it and her notebook into her arms, moving slowly into the hallway. Ducking into her locker to deposit her books, she tries to avoid Logan and Duncan, spilling into the corridor from the opposite direction, hooting and hollering at Luke, Cole, and Meg, walking the other way.

Despite her crouched position, Duncan and Logan glide to her side. “Hey, Veronica,” Duncan murmurs, holding the locker door for her.

“‘Ronica,” Logan parrots, simpering.

“Uh, hi!” she responds brightly, standing with an armload of books. Leaning in, Duncan quickly brushes his lips over hers, taking the books from her hands. Logan looks on blandly, his bemusement signified by a quirked eyebrow only Veronica can see.

“Ready to go?” Duncan asks solicitously, throwing his arm around her neck.

“Um, yeah,” she agrees, shooting Logan a questioning look over Duncan’s shoulder. “I’m ... I’m supposed to go to the mall with Lilly this afternoon. What are you guys doing?”

“I have Student Council,” Duncan reminds her. “The fund raiser’s coming up, and we still have a lot to do, so I can’t give you a ride. Is your mom coming?” When Veronica shakes her head, Duncan shoots Logan a look. “I think Lil’s already left. Maybe Logan’s mom can drive you to the mall, and he can hang with you until Lilly gets there.”

“Um ... you don’t have to do that. I can find a ride.” Veronica glances suspiciously at Logan, who shrugs ambiguously, winking at her. “But, if it’s okay with Mrs. Echolls....”

“I’ll make sure she gets where she’s going, DK,” Logan assures, his face a blank slate.

“Great. It’s settled, then.” Smiling genially, Duncan nudges Veronica, escorting her and Logan down the hall and outside, to the circle where the Echolls limo idles. Hand on her cheek, Duncan delivers a soft kiss. “I’ll call you tonight,” he promises. “Later, man,” he bumps fists with Logan, turns and heads back inside.

Gracefully swinging open the door, Logan fingers a flourish and bows mockingly. “Veronica.”

Biting her lip nervously, she gives him a demure smile and slips into the shadowy interior. Logan follows, slamming the door behind before sliding over to sit right beside her, his rough denim jeans scratching against her soft thighs.

“Where are you going, really?” he whispers conspiratorially. “I know you’re not meeting Lilly, I saw her ditch out the back before last period.”

Still nibbling her lip, Veronica shrugs enigmatically. “Home, I guess. I’m ... you’re right, I’m not meeting Lilly. Something came up.” Obviously uncomfortable, she looks away, unable to withstand Logan’s scrutiny.

Brow raised in speculation, Logan holds up a finger, leaning toward the driver. “Where’s my mother today, Tom?”

“She said to tell you she won’t be home until later,” Tom replies. “Something about meeting your father on set in LA.”

Smiling ruefully, Logan sinks back into the seat with a whoosh. “Take us home, then.” He turns to Veronica, his dilated pupils surveying her, from the hem of her turquoise, green, and gray plaid skirt, to the vee of her aqua tee. “You said something about hanging out, right?” His fingers brush circles over her knee, tapping to the rhythm of unheard music. She stirs anxiously, uneasy desire pinking her cheeks.

“Yeah, but .... I don’t know if we should.”

“You asked me,” he reminds her delicately, his hand splayed in the bend underneath her knee.

She licks her lips in nervous anticipation. It’s all the encouragement he needs. Wedging an arm beneath her back, he lifts her sideways onto his lap, settling her bottom on his leg, slipping his hand between her thighs. Eyes shining clear and blue in the murky, filtered sunlight, she gasps, hiding her flushed face in the supple leather behind his ear. Bending his mouth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, he licks a swatch before nipping there, his teeth fretting her smooth skin.

“Veronica,” he mumbles against her. “It’s okay ... to want ... it.” He kisses up the side of her throat, “I won’t tell anyone.” Shivering in his warm embrace, she tilts to press her lips to his ear. “What?” he drawls. “What do you want to tell me?”

Placing tiny kisses over the shell of his ear, she shakes her head desperately. “I ... I can’t. We shouldn’t – it’s not ... right.”

“What are you worried about?” he soothes, his fingers playing hypnotically up and down the silky skin of her inner thigh. “He’s never gonna know.”

Nodding against his neck, she breathes in his ear. “What if ... what if someone – Trina – sees us ... at your house?”

“Ahhh,” he sighs his understanding against her clavicle. “No problem. We can stay right here, in the car, for ... a while.” Cradling her into his chest, he sits forward. “Tom? Do you think we can drive around for a bit? My, uh, friend is enjoying the view.”

Waving his assent, Tom raises the opaque window. Logan eases back, lowering Veronica’s mouth to his. “That better?” he inquires, settling his lips over hers and darkly licking into her mouth. Nonchalantly, his hand toys with the thin, damp strip of cotton separating him from her velvety recesses.

Decision made, Veronica sighs gratefully, her mouth opening to bring his tongue deeper, her eyes fluttering shut. His laughter rumbles from depths of his chest, his ribcage vibrating against her belly as he strokes her surely with tongue and fingers. Panting in eagerness, she cups his face, kissing fiercely, as if her life depended on it. Winding his free hand under her arm, he sweeps his fingers over her breast, his middle finger centered on her puckered nipple. Gasping, she arches her back, rolling her butt over his thigh.

Suddenly, he winces. “Easy, baby. You don’t want to maim me, do you?”

Her dazed aquamarine eyes fly open, aghast. “Oh my God. I ... I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?” She looks down, and, seeing his hand nestled between her legs, blushes deeply.

“I think I’ll live,” he reassures her. “But, maybe you can ....” Nudging her ass, his hand clenches her hip. Repositioning, he places her bottom squarely atop his already bulging lap, her knees straddling his thighs.

Startled by his obvious arousal, her eyes widen. “Lo – Logan,” she breathes.

Curving his fingers to rub at the dampness of her panties, he shushes her with a kiss. “It’s okay, Veronica. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to.” Nodding emphatically, she smashes her lips on his, moaning and fisting his short, spiked hair as she rhythmically rocks her hips into his.

“Oh, fuck,” he groans, straining against her. His hand closes over the back of her neck and he pinches lightly. “Veronica,” he hisses.

“Uh huh.” Like a china doll, her eyes clack open. “Yeah?”

Tugging at her neck, he levers her backward, grinning as he gazes into her hazy-dazy eyes. “Slow down, baby,” he huffs. “We have all afternoon.” His eyes glitter as he admires her rosy cheeks and plumped lips. She frowns, pouts, mouth quivering. “We’ll get there,” he promises. “I just....” He looks from her to his lap, and again to her face. “I don’t want to finish before you,” he says gently.

Comprehension dawns, and she blanches. “I ... I’m sorry. What do you – what should I do?” she asks, her voice small and plaintive.

“Take off your shirt,” he instructs, drilling her with a lust-filled look.

“Here? ... Now?” Her hands fly to the hem of her tee; she waits for his affirmation.

“No one can see us, I swear,” he coaxes.

She yanks her shirt over her head and, arms by her side, stares defiantly at him. He breathes deep satisfaction, relaxing into the black leather with a contented grin. “Mmm,” he murmurs. “So fuckable.” He passes his knuckles over her taut, sheathed nipples. “Now take off your bra,” he commands. Lashes fluttering rapidly, she twists her arms behind and unclasps it. Eyes trained on his smoky ones, she crosses her arms over her chest, and, reaching to her shoulders, draws the straps down her arms.

“Like this?” she teases hesitantly, hooking her finger under the center. Gracefully, she pulls it away, letting it drop to the carpet.

“Oh, yeah,” he agrees, his fingers returning to worry one nipple, then the other. Bouncing on his thighs, she arches back, inviting him to explore. He chuckles appreciatively. “Veronica Mars, you wanton hussy,” he whispers, pressing his lips to her swollen curves. He licks the outline of her areola before swiping the flat of his tongue over the hard peak.

She huffs, bracing her hands behind, on his knees, back bowed. Arm circling around to brace her, he alternates breasts, kissing, licking and sucking one, then the other. Hips rolling in tune with his mouth, she hisses when his fingers push aside her panties, hand clamping on his forearm.

“St – st – stop, Logan,” she stammers, pleading. “We shouldn’t ... shouldn’t do this. Not here. ... Not now.”

Immediately, Logan’s hand stills. He crushes her to his chest, breathing heavy, shuddering breaths. “What’s wrong?” he gasps, once he’s able to speak. “What’s going on with you, Veronica?”

“Ne – nothing. I just – we shouldn’t ....” her voice trails off, her chest still heaving.

“Hey, hey.” He nuzzles into her neck, nosing her hair aside to rest his face on her skin. “It’s okay. It’ll be our secret. I’m not going to hurt you, and I’m not going to tell anyone. Not even my diary.”

At the mention of a diary, she giggles. Encouraged, he continues, “Veronica. If you really want me to stop,” he raises his head, searches into her luminous eyes, “I will.” He shifts underneath her, muttering. “I won’t be happy about it, but I will.” Smoothing his thumb down the curve of her cheek, he asks, “Is that it? You want to stop now?” She bites at her lip, worrying. “Just ... just tell me what’s bothering you, because I’m confused. You wanted to, this morning. Did I do something – did something happ – ”

“No, no,” she protests. “It’s not – I like this,” she presses her lips to his throat. “I like – you – you make me feel – ”

“Are you scared? Are we going too fast? Yesterday, we – ”

“ – I know,” she concurs, sealing her lips over his to silence him. “And I – you were – it was ... wonderful,” she admits shyly, kissing his cheek. “I’ve never felt ... like that before.” She sighs, willing him to forgive her for concealing the things she’s learned, but can’t summon the nerve to tell him. “I’m sorry, Logan.” She averts her face from his questioning gaze.

“Don’t worry.” He nudges his nose over her neck. “I’m good.”

“So’m I,” she informs him, kissing the sensitive hollow of his throat. “Can you – will you ... take your shirt off, too?” she implores, shimmying against him. Fingers strumming up and down her bare spine, he groans.

“Are you sure?”

“Mmmhmm,” she purrs, burrowing into his shoulder.

“You have to ... move then,” he instructs, gently laying her back. Stripping off his shirt with abandon, he growls when she presses her face to the flat of his chest. “Veronica,” he warns.

“Just – ”

Hungrily staring down at her willing lips, he gathers her to him, sighing into her open mouth. “You’re gonna kill me, yet, Veronica Mars.”

She trembles as he kisses her roughly, her petite fingers dancing up and down his muscular arms, wiggling and stretching her body against his. Once again, he slips a hand beneath her crumpled, plaid skirt, seeking her still-wet center. Quivering to his touch, she bucks her hips, lurching and whimpering when he parts her heated flesh.

“God, baby, you’re so ready,” he marvels, purposefully stroking her creamy skin.

“Uh huh,” she agrees, teeth clicking against his when she nods her head. His thumb finds her clit; she gasps in pleasure, thrusting into his hand. Palming the back of her head, he lays her over his knees and bends to her breast. Taking a rouged nipple in his mouth, his tongue flicks over it – once, twice – before he sucks, his lips harsh and urgent.

One hand clamped on his biceps, his cock throbbing against her ass, she humps his fingers until, finally, he slicks one, then two, inside her. Whimpering his name, she begs him not to stop, panting and shuddering each time he plunges into her tight pussy. Twisting, she grabs his shoulder, pulls herself up, driving his fingers deeper.

“Logan,” she huffs. “I want – need you to – wait,” she blurts suddenly.

“You’re almost there, baby,” he grumbles, fingers resting inside her.

“I – I know,” she stutters. “I want ... to feel you ... your....” She lowers her head, gazes at the bulge in his jeans. “Please,” she cajoles, cheeks flaming.

He rolls his eyes. “Now? I can’t reach – ”

“I can,” she answers, her nimble fingers descending to his zipper, waiting for permission.

“By all means, Veronica,” he concedes, slowly slithering his fingers out and in, watching her writhe as, lip caught between her teeth, she struggles to unzip him.

“Ste – stop a sec,” she moans, valiantly trying to free him. “I want you to ... with me,” she murmurs, breathless.

“Fuck! Veronica,” he growls when her hands close over his stiff cock. He circles her waist and lifts slightly, enough for her to shove his jeans down past his hips. He pulls her to him, so they’re touching, trapping his dick against her soft belly. Wide-eyed, she searches his face, trying to discern whether he’s comfortable.

When his fingers resume their deliberate assault on her slippery flesh, she sighs, gliding her hand between them to work his cock, awkwardly trying to fit her fist around him. Before she can find a rhythm, Logan begins rubbing and jerking against her stomach, the friction of her fingers and skin making him moist. Suddenly, he slides her sideways, laying her down on the broad bench seat. Frightened, her doe eyes find his, conveying her unspoken question.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he comforts. “I know you’re not ready.... Relax. You know we’re not going to do anything you don’t want.” Hurriedly kicking his jeans to the floor, he runs his hands up her unsteady legs and spreads her wide, a sweet smile stealing over his face as he watches her glazed, trusting eyes. Looming over her small body, he eases into the vee of her hips, fists his dick, and nestles it into the crease between her thigh and hip. Her mouth gapes in dizzying wonder when she feels his cock throbbing against her flesh.

“Logan,” she breathes, reaching for him.

Entranced by her obvious, unfeigned pleasure, he murmurs, “you ready?” before he covers her body with his, quickly slicking two fingers into her.

“Oh, OH, God,” she gasps, rising involuntarily to meet his downstroke. “Oh my God.”

Grunting her name as he pumps his hips, nobly struggling for control, trying not to climax too soon. Increasing the speed and pressure of his hand, he groans when she cries out, eyes rolling as she clenches around his hand.

“Oh, fuckinghell, Veronica,” he moans, clutching her fiercely as he comes, hot and sticky on her skin. Shuddering and shaking, she buries her face in his chest, unconsciously raining kisses and random bites across his skin. “C’mon, baby,” he urges. She thrusts against him, once, twice, three times before swallowing her impassioned cry. When, at last, he feels her quake and relax, he rolls onto his side, pulling her quivering body to him, smothering her in an all-encompassing embrace.

“Hey, baby,” he whispers into her flaxen hair. Hiccupping and searching for air, she tries to hide her face. “Veronica,” he croons. “Baby. God, you’re so beautiful.” He kisses her shoulder, nudges her jaw with his nose.

“Pro – promise you’ll never tell,” she begs, flushed and embarrassed.

“Tell what?” he asks, his voice hushed and reverent. She looks at him, her face somber and earnest. “And who would I tell?” he chides softly. “Lilly?”

Suddenly, Veronica freezes, remembering Lilly’s scheduled after school activity with Weevil, and the lie they’d told Duncan. “Oh, God. Lilly. I forgot....”

“I thought you said you weren’t meeting....”

“Yeah. No. We’re not ... it’s just – never mind. It’s nothing.” Worming out of Logan’s arms, she sits up, fumbling over the side for her bra and panties. “I’m sorry. I have to go home now,” she explains over her shoulder, shoving her arms into her bra and clasping it. Yanking her tee shirt over her head, she jerks her skirt down over her hips, frantically combing her fingers through her hair.

“Soo – I guess we’re not going to hang out?” Veronica rapidly shakes her head. “O-kay, well.... I guess we should get you home. Except ... I feel so used.” Smirking, Logan ducks as Veronica turns, fist clenched, to smack him.

“Hey!”

“Hey, yourself, Mars.”

Seeing his wide, silly grin, her tension slips away. She laughs loudly, and bounces back into his open arms. Glancing sideways at his face, nestled against her shoulder, she announces, sotto voce, “Hey. You don’t have any clothes on, Echolls.”

~*~*~

Breathing relief at the empty house, Veronica kisses Backup, goes straight to her room, and into her bath. Stripping off her clothing, she studies her body in the mirror, fingers tracing the small, purple blemishes blooming on her neck, breasts, and thigh. Closing her eyes, she relives the stolen moments, Logan’s hand ... there ... his lips ... everywhere ... his cock ... right here. Blushing at her thoughts, she spins the handle, hot water gushing until steam fills the room. Stepping underneath the burning spray, she soaps up and scrubs her skin until she’s pink, as if to erase the evidence.

Throwing on a pair of sweat pants and a tee shirt, she combs her wet hair, laces her running shoes, and calls to Backup. Grabbing his leash, her keys and cell phone, Veronica and Backup head out the door at a trot. Seventy-five minutes later, the duo returns, out of breath and panting.
“Hi, Honey,” Keith Mars is standing at the door, telephone in hand. “There’s a boy on the phone.”

Red-faced, Veronica nods, handing off Backup’s leash and holding out her hand. Passing her the phone, Keith takes Backup inside, leaving her heaving into the receiver. Pacing the length of the porch, Veronica listens to Duncan rattle off the latest details of the upcoming Student Council silent auction, the theme they’d selected, the planned decorations, and the donations he and Madison had finagled from Elite Sports, Ruth’s Chris steakhouse, the Vineyard, Torrey Pines, and one of the pricey boutique where Celeste Kane and Lynn Echolls like to shop. Having promised to save Saturday afternoon for a trip to the pier, she says goodbye and goes in to see her dad.

Veronica finds Keith in the kitchen, making a sandwich, a wide, white napkin spread over his uniform shirt. “Hiya, Pops,” she says on the way to the refrigerator, swiping a piece of salami off his plate.

“Hello, daughter. Was that Duncan Kane on the phone?”

“Yeah. We’re going to the Pier on Saturday afternoon. ... If it’s alright with you, that is.”

“That’s fine, honey.” Fastidiously arranging lettuce and tomato on top of his sandwich meat, he watches as she gives Backup a treat, pours a glass of milk, and wiggles her hand into the cookie jar, extracting two Oreos. “Veronica?”

“Yeah, Pops?”

“I’ve noticed you’ve been seeing a lot of Duncan, lately. Are you two ... dating, or whatever the kids are calling it these days?”

“Um, yeah. I guess.” Dipping one cookie into her glass, she studies her fingers, avoiding her father’s all-knowing gaze. “Why do you ask?”

“No special reason. Veronica, your mother and I just want you to know how proud we are of you, and how much we trust you. Even though we’re not wild about the fact that you’re dating, we both know you’re a responsible kid, and we know you’re not going to do anything ... that would jeopardize your future. We know you two will take in slow, right?”

Hoping her face doesn’t show the sudden pang of guilt she feels, Veronica flashes a wobbly smile. “Yeah, sure, Dad. Duncan’s not like that....”

“I know. He comes from ... a good family.”

“Uh huh.”

~*~*~

just push play for the second half.

A Taste of Innocence - L/V - NC-17 - rindee

rindee — Mon, 02 Apr 2007 05:49:10 GMT

Title: A Taste of Innocence
Author: Rindee
Word Count: 9,500, mas o menos.
Pairings: Logan/Veronica, Duncan/Logan, Duncan/Veronica, implied Lilly/Logan.
Rating: NC-17, and then some. A little sex, a little slash, and a some awkward groping.
Spoilers/warnings: prequel fic, so no spoilers per se. Some slash, though it’s primarily Logan & Veronica’s story.
Summary: Everyone’s getting some, except for Veronica. And she’s not happy about it.
A/N: Written for the “Someone’s Watching” challenge at vm_library. Muchas gracias to the most wonderfully deviant betas anyone could ever ask for: moire2, mastermia, and taken_with_you - I know I don't deserve them, but they're mine and I love them. I've wanted to write Lilly, and a prequel fic, for the longest - but I have no idea how the nice little fic I planned turned into this. As usual, I’m blaming it on the characters, who just seem to do whatever they please.

“Just go on in, ‘Ronica,” Lilly says with a smirk and a wink. “The ‘rents are in Napa for the week, and I know Donut will be happy to see you.”

“Thanks, Lil,” Veronica waves as, seconds after she slams the car door, Lilly peels out, gunning the motor and leaving thick black rubber marks on the pristine driveway of the Kane mansion. “I’ll call you later....”

Tugging at her demure denim skirt and rearranging her backpack, Veronica sighs, gazing at the front door. She’s known Lilly and Duncan since ... forever, but the recent change in her relationship with Duncan has left her feeling apprehensive and a bit confused.

Duncan was – is – everything a girl could want in a boyfriend; he’s kind, considerate, and attentive, but ever since she started dating him, a month ago, things have been ... awkward. Although she loves the comfortable reassurance of his arm slung over her shoulder, it felt odd to walk the halls with him, sensing the resentful stares of the other freshman girls, knowing they were whispering behind her back, looking forward to the day Duncan would tire of his prim and modest girlfriend and dump her.

Ringing the bell, she shifts from one foot to the other. Why does it feel so different, now? They’d been hanging out, doing homework together since fifth grade? He’d waited until their second date to kiss her, nervously leaning in to shyly press his mouth to hers. She’d blushed, clutching at his argyle sweater and tilting her head up. The kiss was soft and sweet, his tongue barely skimming her lips. They’d both giggled after, happy to have managed it without embarrassing themselves, and Duncan had squeezed her shoulder, telling her how long he’d been waiting to kiss her.

Duncan’s not the only one who seems different now; Logan and Lilly have been odd too. Often, when she arrives at their lunch table in the quad, Logan will shove his shoulder into Duncan’s, muttering a sly comment in his ear while giving Veronica the once-over with glittering, ominous eyes. It makes her feel naked, exposed, as though Logan knows something she doesn’t.

Recognizing Veronica, Maria opens the door with a smile. “Duncan is upstairs, in his room,” she advises, gesturing toward the stairs. Nodding, Veronica thanks the maid and heads up, walking softly over the plush carpet. From down the hall, she hears the excited hum of familiar male voices; Logan is laughing, Duncan protesting faintly, and there’s the sound of a scuffle.

She pauses outside the door, the harsh noise of something ripping filling her ear. Though she can’t make out all the words, she can tell Logan is taunting Duncan, his voice smug and cocky. “C’mon, DK ... don’t be shy .... It’s ... what you want. Go for it.”

Listening closely, she catches the bounce of bedsprings. Duncan groans, as if he’s being struck. He murmurs something soft to Logan; she can’t quite make it out.

“Just ... here ... yeah, like that....” Despite her vantage point outside the room, she’s aware of the sudden change in Logan’s voice, his sharp intake of breath before he chuckles, low and rough. The tone sends shivers down Veronica’s spine.

Without knocking, she spies into the dim room through the two-inch crack in the barely-open door. She sees Duncan’s broad, tanned back, and part of his profile. Slouching casually on the bed, Logan is facing Duncan, his eyes lowered to the other boy’s hand. Startled, she freezes, eyes focused on the two figures within. Oh my God! Waves of nausea and dizziness flood her body. She wants to cry out, look away, but she can’t.

Logan guides Duncan, fingers draped around his wrist, down to his erect cock. Falling to his knees with a thud, Duncan opens his mouth with a sigh. She can see his ruby tongue edge out and curl around .... Oh, God, oh, God. Her eyes flutter involuntarily; utter shock is the only thing keeping her upright.

This must be a dream. When she opens her eyes, hoping the room would be empty (because that’s the way it happens in the movies), Duncan is still on his knees, head bobbing between his best friend’s smoothly-muscled thighs. Logan’s head is thrown back, one fist clutching the dark satin duvet, the other twined in the soft brown hair at the base of Duncan’s neck. Mesmerized, her brain registers Duncan’s slurping moan as he ... Duncan’s mouth, his lips ... wrapped around Logan ...sucks Logan’s dick. Unable to tear herself away, she watches with sick fascination, hand over her mouth to keep from gasping aloud.

“Shit, DK,” Logan grunts, pelvis thrusting as he shoves his cock at Duncan. “Hoover’s got nothing on you.”

From her angled vantage point, she can see a flash of slick, pink skin – Logan’s belly – and the darker, blood red of his tumescent dick sliding in and out of Duncan’s swollen lips. She can feel her blood pounding, I can’t ... I shouldn’t be here. Rooted to the spot, she continues to gape, ignoring the warning voice in her head and the strange, unbidden tingling in her body.

Duncan’s hands – his gentle, familiar hands – roughly grasp at Logan’s hips as he bends and takes Logan deeper in his throat, his movements speeding up as Logan groans, harsh and guttural. “Oh, fuck. I’m gonna come,” he mutters, reaching under Duncan’s chin to fondle his own balls.

“Uh huh,” Duncan murmurs, mouth full.

With a stuttered heave, Logan cries out, hips pumping as he slumps back on the bed. Veronica can only see the back of Duncan’s head, and a bit of his profile, but when she sees him wipe the corner of his mouth, any naive doubts she may have had about Duncan’s innocence are shot to hell.

Veronica knows she has to get out, now, before they see her. Head down, she cautiously sidles away, but before she can safely retreat, her dangling backpack scrapes the wall. Startled by the soft rustle, her wide eyes flash to meet his – Logan’s – gleaming triumphantly as he struggles to raise himself and capture Duncan’s mouth in a sloppy, possessive kiss. Tiptoeing backward, the last thing she sees are her boyfriend's hands gliding up his lover’s arms.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Did I do something wrong? she wonders, staring into the bathroom mirror, her face still red and puffy. Sighing quietly, she slips between the crisp sheets and presses her buzzing head to the cool pillow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The next morning, Veronica knows she can’t confide in Lilly; how would she explain what she’d seen? She can’t even understand it, much less describe it to Lilly, of all people. During third period English, Veronica either gazes off into space or peeks through her fingers at Duncan sitting across the aisle. But he looks the same as always, studiously focusing on Mrs. Murphy’s questions, answering eagerly, unlike Dick and Logan, who carry on in the back row as they did every other day.

At lunch, Duncan slides in next to her as usual, handing her a S’kist and beaming at her mumbled thanks. She can’t look at him, though, can’t meet his sparkling blue eyes. Her stomach lurches when Logan sits opposite them.

“Hey, Ronnie, DK. ‘S up?”

Smiling wanly, Veronica nods and buries her head in Geometry, feigning study while listening to her boyfriend and his best friend go on and on about their after school surfing plans. Her thoughts are interrupted when she glances up to see Logan’s dark eyes intently focused on her.

“Gonna join us, Ronnie?”

“Join you?” she repeats stupidly, unable to think ... about anything but Logan’s mouth covering Duncan’s.

“On the beach, you know, sun, sand, water. A little fun, Veronica. You can’t study every minute of every day.”

Chewing her lip, Veronica quickly shakes her head. “I – I can’t. I ... I have to ... help my mom,” she fibs, ignoring Duncan’s downcast face. Logan shrugs, nonchalant and casual.

“That’s okay,” he smirks. “I’ll keep Duncan safe for you, won’t I, DK?” Logan reaches across the table, and, with the tips of his fingers, lightly slaps Duncan’s cheek, lingering a little longer than necessary.

“Get outta here, Logan,” Duncan replies, shoving back roughly.

“Veronica MARS,” Lilly trills from the other side of the quad, halting their conversation. “Stopping teasing the boys and get over here,” she commands with a grand wave. Relieved to be rescued, Veronica slams her book and jumps up. Before she can take a step, Lilly calls again. “VeroniCA!”

“I better go see what she wants,” Veronica apologizes, her face closed and blank. Nodding mutely, Duncan rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“By all means, go see what the queen wants,” Logan snarks. “Off with you, shoo.” He flicks his fingers at Veronica, determinedly refusing to look at Lilly as she preens in hot glare of the midday sun. “Bitch,” he mutters under his breath.

“Careful, Logan,” Duncan chimes in. “She won’t take you back if you’re not – ”

“You’re gonna get back together,” Veronica hurries to assure Logan, her eyes darting back and forth between Lilly and her crowd of sophomores, and Logan and Duncan and their table of freshman elite. “I – I know you will. I’ll see you later.” She bends, shyly brushing her lips over Duncan’s temple.

“See ya,” Duncan agrees wistfully, watching as she scurries away.

“C’mere, Veronica,” Lilly repeats, reaching for Veronica’s arm and pulling her to stand at her hip. “What’s up with you and the doofus?”

“Huh?” Veronica stares at Lilly with a puzzled, guilty look. “Nothing, Lil. Duncan’s fine, we’re fine.”

“Not Donut. Logan, my bereaved ex. I saw the way you were glaring at each other. Did something happen? Did he – he wouldn’t dare say anything bad about me – he didn’t, did he?”

Veronica opens her mouth to reply, snaps it shut, opens it again and says, “No, Lil. He’d never. Logan ... loves you. ... You know that, right?” Veronica’s forehead creases, her face the image of concern and worry.

“Duh! Of course he does. Who doesn’t?” she giggles, tossing a sheaf of blond over her shoulder as she pivots to face the half-circle of guys surrounding them. “Casey loves me, dontcha, Case?” she prompts with an inviting smile. Winking, Casey Gant cocks his finger and “shoots” Lilly, grinning broadly until he remembers Logan and Duncan are likely watching.

Nervously, he glances around before leaning in to ask, “So, Lil, now you’re a free woman and all, go out with me tomorrow night?”

Running an appraising glance up and down Casey’s bod, Lilly shrugs. “Sorry, Case,” she banters insincerely, “but I already have plans for Friday night." Nudging Veronica, she stage-whispers, “What kind of guy waits until Thursday to ask a girl out? Maybe next week,” she adds, turning back to Casey. Poker-faced and stoic, Casey nods.

“O-kay. If that’s the way you want it. I guess I’ll wait until Monday and see if you’re still a free woman, huh?”

“Fine,” Lilly snaps peevishly. “But don’t wait too long, my dance card fills up quick, ya know? C’mon, Veronica,” she continues, linking arms. “Go with me to the library so I can check out Anaïs Nin – I have a book report due tomorrow.”

Blushing, Veronica allows Lilly to pull her into the dark, cool corridor before shaking free. “What was that about, Lilly? You’re not really gonna go out with Casey Gant, are you? His reputation is worse than – ”

“Veronica, Veronica. Sweet, simple Veronica.” They stop in the hall, facing each other. Reaching over, Lilly tucks an errant wisp of hair behind the other girl’s ear and smooths it back. “You know, if I weren’t going to take him back once he grovels, I’d say you should go out with Logan. I mean, I know you wouldn’t, what with you and Donut being virgins and all, and just perfect for each other, but, really, Veronica, one of these days, the two of you are gonna have to get over yourselves and just have sex. It’s fun, Veronica. You’ll really like it, assuming Donut knows what to do.” Lilly rolls her eyes. “That’s why Logan’s so great,” she shimmies exaggeratedly. “He’s wild, Veronica. He’ll do anything.” Batting her eyes dramatically, Lilly begins to shake again, this time with laughter.

For the rest of the day, Veronica can’t concentrate, her best friend’s words swirling in her brain. She’s walking to Lilly’s shiny new BMW when Logan and Duncan swoop down on her, Duncan snatching her bookbag from her right shoulder, while Logan, coming in from left, tugs her ponytail. Startled, she yelps, her elbow catching Logan in the ribs as she flails.

“Wow, Mars,” he snarls, rubbing his chest. “Jumpy today, aren’t we?”

As she stares at Logan, mouth agape, horrified she may have hurt him, Duncan takes her hand in his.

“Pay no attention to him, Veronica. I’m happy to see you.” Tilting down, Duncan plants a chaste kiss on her lips.

“Hey! I’m happy to see her, too. Where’s my 'hello' face-suck?” Logan teases. When Veronica looks up, however, the glint in his eye doesn’t match his affable tone.

“Get your own girl, Echolls. This one’s mine.” Duncan curls Veronica possessively into the crook of his shoulder. Beaming, she relaxes into his side.

“No pro-blemo, chief. But hey, next time, don’t ask me to share with you.”

“That’s fine, Logan. I don’t want to kiss my sister anyway.”

“Who said anything about your sister?”

“Did I hear someone mention my name?” Lilly inquires grandly as she strolls up to the threesome.

“Hey, Lil.” Veronica’s eyes sparkle as she watches Logan squirm.

“Um, no. We didn’t mention her name, did we, Logan?”

Toeing the ground, Logan mumbles, “No, I don’t think we did.”

“Well, fine! I can see I have work to do here.” Unlocking the driver’s door, Lilly asks, “Okay, party people, where’re we going?”

“The beach,” Duncan and Logan chorus.

“Home,” Veronica replies firmly.

“Veronica Mars!” Lilly exclaims. “You can’t leave me alone with these two. You simply have to come with us.”

“Call your mom, Veronica,” Duncan says gently. “I’m sure she’ll let you go.”

Veronica’s torn between the urge to enjoy the glorious, late spring afternoon at the beach with her friends, and the revulsion she feels remembering the image of the boys she's locked in a box in the back of her mind. Even as she remembers, she steps away and pretends to call home. Holding the phone to her ear, she watches surreptitiously as Duncan and Logan feint and jab, circling each other with mock ferocity.

Rolling her eyes at them, Lilly shoots Veronica a look and makes the universal “hurry up” sign with her hand. Dropping her phone into her purse, Veronica raises her thumb.

“Alright, Veronica,” Lilly applauds. “Let’s go, boys.”

Everyone piles in as Lilly starts up and pushes the button to lower the convertible top. Gunning the engine, she leaves the parking lot in a spray of stone and gravel. Detouring only to the Kane house to pick up boards, suits, and refreshments, they are at the beach in no time.

Whooping and hollering, Duncan and Logan race into the surf. Lilly and Veronica spread blankets and prepare to sun themselves. Oiling each other’s backs, they ignore the commotion and settle in. Veronica closes her eyes with a heavy sigh, her mind drifting. The cawing gulls and rhythmic wash of the waves soothe her, lulling her to sleep like a lullaby.

She wakes to a low-pitched murmur in her ear, and the cool sensation of sea water dribbling down her belly. “Wha – cut it out, Lil,” she mumbles, annoyed.

“Wake up, Ver-on-ica,” Logan sing-songs, looming over her, a cup of water in hand.

“Huh?” She sits up with alacrity, her arms reflexively winding around her bare midriff. “Lo – Logan. Wha – where’s Lilly?” She glances around the beach and out to the surf. “And Duncan? Where are they?” Hearing the shrill of her voice makes Veronica wince, but she can’t control her frisson of fear at the idea of being alone with Logan, even on a public beach.

“They went to get burgers and ice cream. They’ll be back in a minute.”

“But – why? – we have sandwiches in the cooler.”

Arching one elegant brow, Logan shrugs, folding his long legs and sitting down beside her semi-recumbent figure. “Lilly wanted a cheeseburger, and you know how she is when she wants something.”

Scrambling backward, Veronica grabs her shirt and yanks it over her head. As it clears her face, Logan absently pats her hair into place, tucking a strand behind her ear in an unconscious imitation of Lilly’s gesture at school. Without thinking about it, Veronica slaps him away. “Don’t touch me,” she blurts.

“What’s up with you today?” he says in his best patient-and-placating voice. “Are you mad at me?”

“No, uh ... nope. Why would I be mad at you?” Her azure eyes are wide and guileless as she lies to him.

Shoving his fist into the sand at her hip, he angles forward so his mouth is inches from hers. “Because you saw your rosy-cheeked boyfriend blow me yesterday?” he drawls.

Aghast, Veronica’s lips form an ‘O’ before she covers her mouth with her hand. “You ... you saw me?” she mumbles through her fingers. “I – I ... you and ... Duncan.... What were you doing, Logan? Are you and Duncan – ” She stops, unable to finish the sentence.

“Are we what, Veronica? Gay? Is that what you think you saw?”

Speechless, she bobs her head, unwilling to make it worse by saying anything else. Logan’s jaw clenches, his soft molasses eyes turning hard and stony as he cocks his head to peer up at her.

“Relax, Veronica. You know boys will be boys. We were just having a little fun. You have nothing to worry, I assure you.”

“But ... you were ... I saw you....”

“It was just a little oral sex,” he purrs, his knuckles tracing a path down her bare arm. Her expression is earnest, but there’s a gleam of a slightly different sort in her effervescent eyes. “You and Duncan haven’t...?”

She shakes her head tightly, lips pursed in a thin, tense line. He nods once, watching her face. Beneath his fingers, he can feel a slight tremble, and there are goose-bumps despite the golden warmth of the late afternoon sun.

“No,” she whispers, hesitant and ashamed. “He wouldn’t ... I don’t....” Her hands twist in her lap. “I don’t think I’m ... experienced enough for Duncan.”

Logan chuckles, the sound rumbling deep and throaty in his chest. “I don’t think Duncan expects you to be ... proficient at sex. He knows you’ve never – he knows he’s your first real boyfriend.”

“But ... I don’t see what that has to do with the way he was ... touching you.”

“Veronica Mars.” He throws his head back and lets loose a loud guffaw. “Now I get it. You’re upset because he was touching me and not you? Is that it, Mars?”

She doesn’t admit it, but her face gives her away. He’s about to say something when he recognizes the happy chatter of his ex and her brother echoing over the sand.

“Call me tonight, Veronica.” He winks. “You won’t regret it. I promise.”

“Who wants a chocolate shake? I know you do, don’t you Veronica?”

Relaxing her hands, finally, Veronica scrambles to her feet and jogs over to meet Lilly and Duncan, unaware of Logan watching intently.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She’s almost asleep when her cell buzzes. It’s eleven-thirty. “He – hello?”

“Veronica,” he croons in her ear.

“Uh huh. Yeah.”

“I told you to call me.”

“Logan?”

“Yeah. Who were you expecting?”

“No one. It’s late, Logan.”

“And you were supposed to call me.”

“I – I don’t think I want to talk about it any more.”

“I think you do.”

“No, I don’t. Not tonight. It’s late, and we have school tomorrow. I’m going to sleep now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. Don’t forget about tomorrow night.”

“What’s tomorrow night?”

“You remember, Mars. The Kane family is appearing at a function at Torrey Pines, and Duncan and Lil have to be there. You and I were going to hang out and watch movies?”

“Um ... yeah. I forgot. I’ll have to check with my mom.”

“I get it. Nevermind. I should have known you’d punk out on me. Just stay home and study. It’s what you do best, right? Good night, Veronica. Sleep well.” He hangs up before she has a chance to reply.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wiggling into his gentle embrace, she closes her eyes as he inclines his head toward her. His warm lips close over hers, his tongue tickling the crease of her mouth until she smiles, opening to admit him. Sighing happily, she settles back against the pillow, snug and protected in his arms. His hand whispers up and down her arms as their kiss deepens.

“Veronica,” he breathes quietly, sea-blue eyes inspecting her face. He kisses her cheekbone and nuzzles into the downy hair behind her ear. “Can I ....”

“Mmmhmm,” she murmurs.

Delicately, he slides his fingers beneath her slip-of-a-tee shirt and raises it, drawing aimless patterns on her sensitive skin before tracing circles over the plump swell of her breast. Inhaling languidly, she whimpers once, fingers pressing into his shoulder. His mouth finds her smooth, pale neck. He licks, then sinks his teeth into her flesh in a harsh, amorous bite. Gasping in surprise, her head rolls back, chin to the ceiling, as he defines the slender column of her throat with heavy, sucking kisses, devouring her.

He sweeps the flat of his thumb over her peaked nipple. As she arches into his grasp, he palms her breast roughly, crooning her name. Excitement builds and she begins to quiver, the heat of his mouth and the motion of his hands sending a sharp tingle through her body. She moans aloud when his mouth descends to her taut, pink bud, nipping and licking. Flushed and damp, her skins is on fire as the tight knot in her belly becomes a burning sensation between her legs, shock waves effusing from her core.

“Oh, God,” she groans, fingers clenching in his thick, dark hair.

“Sweet Ronnie,” he mumbles. “You’re so hot.”

Heart pounding, she blinks. “Oh, God ... Logan?!”

Veronica bolts up, chest heaving, cell phone still clutched in her hand. Peering at its illuminated face, she realizes it’s 3:47 a.m. Logan? I was dreaming about....? Heart still racing, she pulls a pillow over her face and curls into a ball. Taking long, deep breaths, she wills herself back to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Veronica!” Keith calls from the kitchen. “Better hurry, Lilly’s waiting.”

“I know, I know.” Rolling into the kitchen, Veronica stops to buss her father’s cheek, grabbing a piece of toast as she passes. “Where’s Mom?”

“Your mother’s not feeling too well today, so she’s decided to stay in bed.”

“Oh. ... Is she okay?”

“She’s fine, just a bit under the weather. Check on her when you get home from school, okay?”

“Um ... it’s Friday, Dad.”

“Yes. Yes, it is. Do you have plans?”

“Well ... Logan and I were going to hang out at his house, maybe watch a movie.”

“Logan? ... You’re spending time with Logan?”

“Yeah, well, Duncan and Lilly have to be somewhere, and I promised him I’d keep him company.”

“Okay, well, that’s fine. Just call when you’re ready to come home. I don’t want you driving with him.”

“Don’t worry, Dad. I will.” The annoyed shrill of an automobile horn pierces the air. “Okay, gotta go, Pops. See you later.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay, okay,” Veronica calls, skipping down the walk to Lilly’s idling car.

“C’mon, Veronica. I’ve got places to go and men to do.”

Nice, Lil - make sure Logan can hear you. Veronica skids to a stop at the passenger door. Duncan is in the front, next to Lilly, and Logan’s in the back seat. Usually, Duncan and Logan sit together in the back.

“Hey, Veronica,” Duncan smiles, getting out and holding the door for her.

“Backseat?” she asks, surprise evident in her voice.

Patting the leather next to him, Logan looks up, his scowl fading. “C’mon in. I promise not to bite.”

Laughing, Lilly barks, “Riiight. As if Veronica would ever let you touch her, anyway, Echolls.”

“Shut up, Lilly,” Logan and Duncan chorus. Veronica climbs docilely into the back, setting her bookbag down between her and Logan. Arching an eyebrow, he stares inquisitively at her, his bright eyes carefully assessing her stiff, awkward body language.

As she flies through Neptune, easily doubling the speed limit for residential streets, Lilly pops in Pink’s latest, moving to the beat, “Let’s get it started....”

Talking beneath the heavy base throb, Logan leans over. “So ...ready to spend the night with me?” Cutting her deer-in-the-headlights eyes at him, she nods slowly, swallowing and shifting uneasily in her seat.

“Does Lilly know?”

He smirks, shakes his head. “Nope. A– ” he holds up his thumb, “it’s none of her business. B – ” He raises his index finger, “we’re not together, so it’s none of her business. And, C – ” He elevates his middle finger, “there’s nothing to tell her, is there, Veronica?”

She shrugs hesitantly. “Nu – no. Not really ... I guess.”

“You didn’t tell Duncan, did you?”

Flinching at the mention of Duncan, she stammers, “Ne, no, I didn’t. I – I barely talked to Duncan since ... since the other day, when you guys ....”

Putting his finger to his lips, Logan shushes her. “Not to worry, Veronica, we’ll talk about it tonight. I’ll meet you up in the front quad at three-thirty, okay? My mom’s picking us up.” Satisfied with her ambivalent assent, he sits back in his seat, closing his eyes to Lilly’s crazed driving.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flinging open the ornate door, Logan turns, waves to his mother, and ushers Veronica inside. “Let’s go to the pool house so I can kick your ass at Grand Turismo, huh?” He winks and grins. “Relax, Mars.” He cracks his knuckles. “We’ll talk later, after I’ve demolished you a few times, and have you at my mercy.”

Sapphire eyes twinkling, she rejoins, “I’m not that easy, Logan. If you think you – ”

“Save it, Veronica. I know you’re stronger than your cute little body would suggest.” He smirks, giving her petite form the once-over. “But I’m banking on my skill and superior reflexes to bring you to your knees.”

“Lo-gan!” she blushes furiously, smacking his arm.

Leading her out back, to the pool house, he takes her bookbag from her shoulder and casually tosses it on a chair. “What’s your poison?” he asks from behind the bar.

“S’kist, if you have it.”

“We have everything,” he grandly assures her, pitching a cold can in a high, soft arc. “You don’t mind if I have something stronger, do you?” he inquires, bending to rummage through the half-empty bottles stored below.

“I don’t mind, but your mother might.” Popping the tab, she sips daintily.

“Never fear, ‘Ronica, she’s out for the evening. She’s meeting dear old Dad in LA, they won’t be home until Sunday,” he snaps. Bottle in hand, he pours a generous serving of vodka into a cut-crystal rock glass, topping it with Seven-Up and a fistful of ice cubes. “Okay.” He rubs his hands together. “What are we drinking to? ... Oh, that’s right, our absent partners. To Lilly the bitch, and Duncan, the – ”

“Logan,” she chides in her best schoolmarm voice. “That’s not nice.”

“I’m not really a nice guy, Veronica, or hadn’t you noticed?”

“That’s not true,” she protests loyally. Raising his glass, he slugs half of it in a single gulp, quirking his brow as he swallows. “Logan?” Her voice is calm, compassionate. “You miss Lilly, don’t you?”

“We’re not here to talk about me and Lilly, so let’s don’t.” Saying nothing, she tilts her head, studying him with a clear, serene gaze. His sham smile dissolves under her scrutiny, and he bows, chin to chest.

“Is that why you ... and Duncan ... because you were mad at Lilly?”

Glaring up from under his unruly, spiked locks, he shakes his head angrily. “No. No, that’s not – leave it alone, Veronica. You wouldn’t understand.” Draining his glass with defiance, he dumps another two ounces of vodka in his tumbler, this time adding just ice. “Sure you don’t want some?” He waggles the bottle with a grimace.

Glancing slowly from his foreboding face to the bottle and back, she nods curtly. He jerks upright, surprised, and shoots her a questioning look.

“A little, about half of what you have, in a glass with ice, please.”

A leer quirks the corner of his mouth. “Veronica Mars,” he drawls. “Shock-er.”

Ignoring the implied taunt, she simply stares, eyes trained on his until he measures a single shot into an identical crystal rock glass and fills it with ice. “Here.” He thrusts it at her and waits. Switching her S’kist into her left hand, she accepts the glass, topping it off with a dollop of orange soda. They touch glasses with a clink, the sound ringing in the silent room.

“‘Sláinte.” He assesses his glass before downing a third in a single draught.

“Uh huh,” she sips her concoction, wincing at the burn.

Logan’s face brightens; he guides her to the fifty-four inch screen and flops at her feet. “C’mon down, Mars,” he commands gaily. “Let’s see what you’re really made of.” Veronica sinks gracefully to the floor, tugging primly at her skirt as she sits. Taking her drink out of her hand, he hands her a controller. “Ready?”

The game begins with a screech and a crash. For the next ninety minutes, the two relax, completely mesmerized as they sit, side-by-side, jostling shoulders and trading insults as they laugh and pilot their “race cars” through sharp turns and tunnels, yelling and groaning at each sideswipe and wipeout. Finally, with the score nearly even – despite his best efforts, Logan is only slightly ahead – Veronica calls for a fuel and nourishment time out. Logan suggests pizza, and she immediately agrees.

“What do you want on it, Veronica?” He waits, cell in hand, fingers twitching.

“Cheese.”

“That’s it? Just cheese?” His eyes narrow, sensing a fight.

“Veggies?”

Sighing theatrically, he shrugs. “What kind?”

“Whatever you like, Logan.”

“Well,” he scowls. “I don’t particularly like vegetables, so ... tell me what you want.”

“Broccoli, and tomatoes.”

“Anything else?”

“Extra cheese?” she prompts with a hopeful grin.

“You have been hanging around with Duncan too much,” he sighs with an exaggerated wince, dialing the phone.

“What?” She freezes, bites her lip and looks away. “What did you say?” Her tone is dull, her voice constricted.

“You’ve been....” Seeing her pained look, he halts. Realizing, with a start, Giordano’s is on the line, he gives the order, watching distractedly as Veronica wanders to the French doors and stares out at the pool, arms wrapped around her waist.

She turns, when he hangs up, starts to speak, closes her mouth and pivots away. In a tiny voice, head down, she asks, “Were you ... was Duncan ....”

“Spit it out. Spill.” Despite his gruff words, his voice is gentle.

“Is Duncan ... he’s just not attracted to me, is he?”

He shakes his head. “That’s not true, Mars.”

“But, I don’t ... satisfy him, do I? That’s why you ... he ....”

“It’s not that. Not exactly. Um ... you don’t know much about guys, do ya?”

“I know enough,” she insists hotly. “I know you’re supposed to want to touch your ... the girl you’re dating ....”

“What makes you think he doesn’t want to touch you?”

“I’m pretty sure he’s never gotten down on his knees in front of me, Logan.” She blushes. “He’s never even touched me ....” her fingers flutter around her chest. “He’s never even tried,” she finishes, obviously ashamed.

Striding over to where Veronica is trying to melt into the plate glass window, Logan plucks awkwardly at her tee shirt. “C’mere. Let’s sit down and talk about it. Don’t be embarrassed, it’s okay.”

Leading her back to the end of the bed, where they’d been playing Grand Turismo 3, Logan sinks to the floor and crosses his gangly legs. Veronica squats uneasily on her heels until Logan jerks her arm and she topples over. Righting herself, she folds her legs in imitation of Logan, they face each other, knees almost touching.

“Trust me?”

She stirs, anxiety playing across her face. He waits. “Yeah, I guess.”

“I know you and Duncan have kissed,” he looks for affirmation, and she nods, mute, “but what else have you done?”

Unbidden, her hands twist in her lap, spelling out her reluctance to answer. She’s fixating on the carpet. “We ... um, make out....”

“You mean, like in the backseat, and you lay on Duncan, or sit on his lap?”

“Yeah, you know, make out....”

Logan flashes a lascivious grin. “Yes, Ronnie, I know how to make out. What I’m trying to find out is – when you and Duncan are making out – what does he do with his hands?”

“His hands?” Abruptly, she raises her head, gazes at Logan in confusion. “He usually ... has ... his arms around me....” Obviously ashamed, she ducks her head, her long blond hair spilling over her shoulders, curtaining her flushed face.

Deliberately, Logan leans in, lifting her chin with two fingers. “Veronica,” he sighs her name indulgently. “Does he kiss you ... here?” his fingers slip softly down the curve of her throat. Shivering, she shakes her head. Tucking under her jaw, he whispers, “Like this?” and presses his lips to her downy skin.

Gasping, her reflexes take over and she tilts her head back to permit him access. His tongue caresses her pale neck, she stammers, “Waa – what are you doing, Logan?”

“This is how to kiss a woman,” he mumbles, his voice vibrating against her. Reaching down, she cups his cheeks in her small hands.

“Stop,” she pleads, tugging at his head. Quickly sitting up, he curls his angular, slender hands over hers, loosely trapping them in his lap.

“Does Duncan kiss you like that?” he challenges, his chocolate eyes smoldering. Her head whips from side to side. “Does he use his tongue, at least?” Logan continues, his thumbs sweeping erotic patterns across her wrists.

Veronica blanches, stammers, “Ye – yes.”

“And how does it make you feel, when Duncan – when he puts his tongue in your mouth?”

Like a guppy, her mouth opens and closes. “Whaa – what do you mean? It – it feels like a kiss.”

Bemused, Logan settles her hand on his ankle and strains for her psuedo-cocktail of S’kist and vodka, handing it to her. “You look like you could use a drink.” He waits patiently while she takes a mouthful, gulps it down, before continuing, “But how does it make you feel? Do you feel it here,” his hand grazes her ribcage, “or there?” He directs his gaze to the apex of her thighs, where the merest glimpse of pink cotton can be seen. Veronica immediately pushes her skirt between her legs.

“Logan!” she protests, trying to pull away. He tightens his grip on her wrist.

“I’m not gonna hurt you. I just – you should feel it everywhere when he kisses you.” His smoky eyes are glowing. “Can I – do you want me to kiss you properly, Veronica? So you’ll know what it’s supposed to be?”

“Nu, no?” she quavers, breathless and unconvincing.

Keeping her right hand in his left, he rubs her shoulder with his other hand. “Just one,” he soothes, angling his head so his lips rest on the line of her jaw, just below her mouth. He kisses the ridge of her chin under her waiting mouth. She lowers her head and he covers her lips with his, breathes into her mouth. He cradles her neck in his hand, his tongue probes, warm and moist against hers. She melts into him, squeezing his fingers as she kisses him back. Their tongues dance. Smiling, he releases her, straightens his back, looks into her dazed eyes. Her lips are slick, her cheeks vivid.

Dropping his voice, he scoots closer and asks, “Has he ever touched ... your breasts?”

Shocked, she screws her eyes closed, her breath coming faster. “I told you he hasn’t, and I want to know why.”

“Maybe,” Logan muses, “he’s too much of a gentleman. Maybe,” Logan shifts closer, one knee sliding between hers, mere inches separate their bodies. “You need to tell him it’s okay for him to touch you like this.” His caressing fingers glide lower, wandering over her clavicle, brushing against her peaked nipples. “D’you like that?”

Quivering under his touch, she denies the pleasure her body so obviously feels. “Don’t....” her voices hitches. Feebly, she pushes his hand away. Captivated by her arousal, Logan thrums across her nipple again.

“I’m not so much a gentleman,” he reminds her, palming the sweet curve of her breast, stroking tenderly. He shoots her a look from under his brow, eyes sparking as he dares her to dissent. Trembling, her eyes silently plead for compassion; she pants quietly, her fluttering lashes the only other tell. He joins their lips, licking into her mouth with confidence.

Pulling away, she shudders, muttering, “I thought I could trust you?”

Sighing, he runs his fingers up her throat and pinches her chin. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” He kisses her nose. “You’re just ... how the hell does Duncan keep his hands off you, Veronica?”

She shrugs, his hand still clutched in hers. Sliding to the floor, he stretches out and curls up beside her, head in hand, face at her hip. Bringing her hand to his mouth, he touches his lips to her knuckles. When the corners of her mouth twitch, he grins triumphantly. “That’s better.”

“Okay, okay, Logan, I get it. Duncan isn’t ... passionate, not with me, not like you are. But, is it because he doesn’t like me ... doesn’t like ... girls, or what? He looked like he was ... enjoying himself before, when he was – when you two....”

“Do you want me to tell you what I know about Duncan?” Logan asks slyly, his eyes trained on her troubled but radiant face. At her nod, he takes a deep breath, pondering his words. “Despite his father’s expectations, Duncan Kane isn’t a leader, not really,” Logan begins, absently tracing errant lines up and down Veronica’s thigh. “He’d rather ... be told what to do than have to think for himself.”

Shivering at his touch, Veronica tries not to fidget. “But – he always seems like he’s so in control,” she argues.

“Veronica,” Logan leans nearer, his breath hot on her skin. “Do you know how long it took me to get your boy on his knees?”

“No,” she bleats, following with a flippant, “do I want to?”

“Listen up, you might learn something about your precious boyfriend.” Surprised by his vehemence, she blinks. “Wednesday afternoon, at his house, we’re playing Grand Theft Auto, bashing the shit out of each other. By the time I kicked his ass for the seventh time, I had gotten a little ... excited. I told him I was horny, and he was like, ‘yeah, so what? Join the club.’ I knew he wasn’t get any either, so I unzipped and pulled out my dick. I put his hand on it.”

Logan wiggles closer, resting his head on her leg, his busy fingers slipping between her legs to stroke her inner thigh. She gasps sharply, but says nothing. “I told him, ‘this is what men do, they take care of their friends, so give me a hand here, bud.’ He looked at me with those big blue eyes...” Logan looks up to see Veronica’s cerulean eyes dilate, her mouth gaping as she blushes furiously. “I told him to get on the floor and open his mouth.”

“Oh, God,” she croaks, her fingers opening and closing reflexively. “Did he....”

“Like he’d been doing it all his life.” Logan brushes two fingers against her sensible, fuchsia panties; he can feel dampness through the thin fabric. “He didn’t even argue, just took me in his hot mouth and sucked me off....”

She sways, dizzy, unable to look at him. “And when I came,” he strokes a little harder against her crease – for emphasis, “he swallowed, like the good little boy he is.”

“Oh, no,” she shakes, off-balance and teetering. Reaching up, he drapes a hand on her arm, guiding her down to the plush carpeting, repositioning so their bodies are nearly aligned, hip to hip, shoulder to shoulder. Slowly, deliberately, he insinuates his knee between hers, wraps her leg over his hip.

“And then,” he tilts until his forehead rests against hers. “I kissed him. He’s not quite as good as his sister, but he’s a pretty good kisser, ‘Ronica. I don’t know why he doesn’t work for you.”

Anger flashes in her eyes. “I didn’t say he didn’t do it for me, Logan. I said I don’t do it for him.” He’s so close she can see the faint spattering of freckles on his face.

“Ahhh. There you go. Maybe it isn’t just him. Maybe it’s you, too. Maybe you don’t know what you want, or maybe you don’t know how to tell him what you want.”

“How do I – how did you tell him you wanted him to....”

“Go ahead, you can say it.” He studies the bridge of her nose, waiting. “I wanted him to – what did I want, Veronica?” he murmurs, enjoying the war taking place in her head, behind her guileless periwinkle eyes.

“You wanted him to ... to give you ... oral sex.”

Logan rears back, emits a loud bark of laughter, shakes his head. “Oral sex? - it’s called a blow job, Ronnie.”

“Okay, alright, a blow job. Happy? So, how did you tell him you wanted one?”

“It’s different for two guys. I just took his hand, like this,” he takes her hand, “and put it on my dick.” He presses her hand to his belly, slides it down to the bulge in his jeans. “He’s a guy; he knew what to do.” Glossy pink lips forming a perfect “O” she looks at him, speechless.

“And I knew what to do to make him happy, too. I laid him back on my bed, took out his cock – when he’s hard, it’s pretty big, by the way – and I took him in my hands, stroked him up and down until he was good and ready, and, when he was just about to come, licked him from his balls to his head. I took him in my mouth, ran my tongue around the ridge just under the tip, tugged his balls, and he practically erupted.”

As she listens, color mounting in her cheeks, Veronica has been unconsciously rubbing herself against Logan’s knee, her palm sweeping up and down his length, hidden beneath the rough denim of his jeans. Sensing her rising ardor, he continues.

“But it’s different for girls. They don’t always come so fast, and you have to be much gentler.” Leaving her hand on his crotch, he slips his hand underneath her tee shirt, strumming her stomach. “Like this.”

Eyes fixed on hers, his fingers climb up her ribs to sweep over her pert breasts. Thumbing her nipple through the delicate fabric of her bra, he watches her eyes roll back. Hips rocking against him, she hisses, her hands curling into his shirt. She shudders, desperately craving contact, friction, release. Rolling her onto her back, he moves into the curve of her hip and brings his hands to the hem of her tee.

“Please?” he asks softly. He swears he sees her nod in reply, so he pulls the shirt to her neck, tugging her arms out of the long sleeves before yanking it over her head.

“Oh, God,” she moans, trying to cover herself with her tiny hands.

“Hey,” he quietly objects. “Don’t be like that, you’re beautiful, and you have beautiful breasts.” Prying her hands away, he nuzzles one, and then the other, blowing moist, warm air over them. Inhaling, he smells the unique scent of Veronica Mars, sweet and clean with a hint of spice. “I have to taste you,” he tells her, reaching behind to unhook her bra.

Nestled in his arms, she’s dazed and overwrought, pliant and acquiescent to his intentions. Stealing the straps down her arms, he carefully pulls off her undergarment, bending to tease her nipples with his broad, slick tongue. Writhing, she arches into his mouth. “Oh, God. Please,” she sighs brokenly.

Working her with his lips, tongue, and teeth, his hands cradle her, spanning the space below her breast. As she gasps, trembling and flushed, he smooths a hand down her belly, slipping under her skirt, beyond her panties and into her tawny thatch. Beyond sense or caring, she mumbles his name, pleading for ... she doesn’t know what.

He dips a finger into her slippery folds; she cries out, begs him to kiss her. Releasing her nipple with a ‘pop’, he rises and smothers her mouth, the action of his fingers between her legs relentless, determined. She plucks at his shirt again and again until, suddenly, he realizes she wants him to take it off. Easing back, he whispers, “Stay right where you are.”

She nods blankly, wincing slightly as he cautiously removes his hand from her pussy. Like lightening, he jerks his shirt off. Hands momentarily free, he spreads her knees and crooks his leg over hers, leaving her open and exposed. Wrapping one hand around the back of her neck, he leans over and kisses her, licking into her willing mouth.

Her fingers circle his bicep; she tugs him onto her, groaning as their skin collides.

“Logan,” she prays with a hoarse voice, “let me touch you, please.”

Looming above her, staring intently into her lust-glazed eyes, he nods, massages her neck. “In a minute, baby. You’re so close. Let me do this for you first, okay?”

Shoving aside the damp material separating him from her heat, he swipes two fingers around her clit, watching in satisfaction as she quakes, her body vibrating with desire. “It’s all good,” he murmurs, pressing lips to her forehead, cheek, and jaw. “Just let go, Veronica,” he lovingly instructs, his fingers dancing over her slick flesh.

Arched like a bow string, her body comes off the floor when he inserts his middle finger into her tight, virgin pussy. “That’s my girl,” he coaches, rubbing her clit with his thumb.

“Oh, God, oh my God,” she rasps, hips pumping against his hand. Spreading her wider, he plunges two fingers deep, repeatedly sliding them in and out, stretching her as she breaks apart, keening his name. Curving his hand to hit the spot, he takes her over the edge, his guttural shouts blending with her plaintive cries.

When, at last, he feels her stiffen and release, he lowers on top of her, pressing his knee to her pussy and rolling so she comes to rest on his broad, muscular chest. Gasping for air, she hides in the crook of his neck. Soothing her, he rocks her like a baby, gentling her down from what is undoubtedly her first real orgasm – at least her first not-self-induced orgasm.

Just as her breathing comes more even, and her body stills, her messy blonde head pops up from his shoulder. “Now? Can I ... touch you now?”

His gaze is sober. “You don’t have to, you know. I’m good, I can take care of – ”

“I want to,” she confesses shyly. “But I don’t know if I can – ”

“You don’t have to,” he assures her, aimlessly running his hand through her golden tresses. He slides her off and tucks her into his side. Eager but hesitant, she puts her hand on his fly, looks to him for conformation. He nods, an amused smile playing over his lips.

Happily popping the snap, she guides the zipper down and pulls it open. With superhuman restraint, he waits as she moves lower, peeling his jeans off his hips and down his long, lithe legs. Hands back at his waist, she pauses uncertainly. He can read her puzzlement, and reaches down to shimmy out of his boxers, quickly kicking them away. Rising from the dark tangle of his pubis, his cock is purplish-ruddy and fully erect. He tugs it once, rubs his thumb over the moist tip.

“Should I – what do you want, um, what – ”

“Just touch me.” He puts his hand over hers, and wraps it around the ridge just under the head. “Like this.” With gentle pressure, he slides her hand up and down his smooth, throbbing skin. Quickly grasping the idea, she shrugs off his hand and, tongue between her teeth, begins to jack her hand up and down his length. Closing his eyes, he falls back, grunting in pleasure.

“Faster,” he mutters, but grimaces when she increases the speed.

“What? What’s wrong?” she asks timidly.

“It’s not – you’re too – c’mere a minute,” he says, finally. On her knees at his hip, she sidles up his side. “Gimme your hand.” He starts to lick her palm, but she pulls it back.

“Ew!”

“Your hand is too dry,” he explains drolly. Her cheeks pink. “Natural lubrication usually works,” he adds, motioning to the vee of her thighs. “Spread your legs?” he asks with a quirk of an eyebrow.

Shaking her head vigorously, she licks her palms and bends back, head down as she ghosts her hands over him, licks again, and smooths her spit on his dick, driving Logan wild in the process.

“Veronica,” he grits. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Smirking her apology, she fists his dick, her silky locks spilling over his groin as she begins moving up and down, varying the pressure until she hears the hitch in his throat, feels the blood rushing under her fingers. Straddling one leg, she daringly places small, wet kisses on his hipbone, quickly bringing him to climax. Groaning, he spurts, thick and creamy, into her hot little hands. “Ah, God,” he breathes, sated. “C’mere,” he demands, pulling her sweaty body up his and kissing her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She finishes applying her lipgloss just as the door bell rings. Duncan’s never late, she muses, throwing the tube in her purse. “Bye, Dad, I’m going,” she calls gaily, scurrying through the kitchen before he can interrogate her about their plans.

The night before, she’d stumbled in from Logan’s, body buzzing and brain whirling. It took two and a half hours to calm down enough to sleep, her head filled with images: Logan’s plump, generous lips descending on hers, his bewitching, midnight eyes boring holes in her face, his face contorting in pleasure when she touched him ... there. She felt like she’d just been given the secret to the universe, and now that she knew what it – sex – was all about, she was determined to see if she and Duncan....

“Make sure you have your keys, honey. I’m working late shift tonight, and your mother ... your mother might not be awake when you get home,” Keith answers from the living room.

“I got ‘em,” she hollers, slamming the door behind. Keyring jingling from her fingers, she skips down the walk to the Kane SUV. Hopping out of the front seat, Duncan kisses her cheek and squeezes her shoulder. “Don’t worry, my dad’s gonna drop us off at the boardwalk,” he confides, opening the back door and holding out his hand to help her climb in.

They eat at a little place on the Pier. After dinner, elbows on the table, they hold hands and watch as the sun glows rosy gold, painting the sky peach and purple before it slips below the horizon. Suggesting a walk on the beach, Duncan rises and possessively takes her hand in his. Happily acquiescing, she kicks off her heels when they hit the sand, squishing her toes in its damp coarseness.

Determined to find out whether or not Duncan really wants to be with her, she brushes against him at every opportunity as they stroll in the twilight. He squeezes her hand tighter, nearly crushing it in his fleshy fingers; she doesn’t know if he does it in response to her or because he thinks she’s scared or something. It isn’t sexy, but she thinks maybe he’s just not a good hand-holder.

Despite his lack of èlan, she’s excited to be close to him, thinking of Logan’s lessons. Remembering Logan, and the night before, makes her head swim. She knows she’ll be in the mood when – if – Duncan makes his move. They must be a mile from the Pier when, rounding a breaker, they find themselves in a sheltered cove.

Halting, Duncan jerks her to him, sending her slender body slamming into his solid one. Awkwardly embracing her, he smashes his lips so hard on hers, their teeth click when she opens her mouth. Roughly shoving his tongue inside, he pants heavily, his arms literally crushing the breath out of her in his effort to get closer.

Thrilled at his aggressiveness, she tries to show him what she wants, twining her fingers in the short hair at the back of his neck, sucking at his tongue to slow him down. Suddenly, she’s distracted, noticing his hard-on, which is stabbing her in the belly.

Placing her hands on either side of his face, she gently pulls him away, leaving him clutching her body, huffing in confusion. “Relax, Duncan,” she soothes, rubbing his arms.

“I’m sorry. Did I – are you okay?”

“I’m good. I’m fine. I just – maybe we could sit down?” She glances around, looking for a rock or something to perch on. Shrugging out of his jacket, Duncan spreads it on the sand, helps her sit. Alighting next to her, he proceeds to kiss her again, with vigor, pushing her onto her back and flattening himself on top.

Now she can feel both his erection and his belt buckle digging into her abdomen as he squirms, pressing her with the full weight of his body. Ribcage trapped under his girth, she tries to loosen up and enjoy it, the feel of his tongue in her mouth, the sensation of his hands on her arms. But, where Logan probed sinuously, firm but fluid, Duncan rams into her mouth as if the goal is to see how far down her throat he can get.

Sliding a hand between them, he presses it against her breast, squeezing and manipulating it as if it weren’t attached to her body. “Ow,” she gasps when he squishes her nipple between his fingers.

“Sorry, sorry – I’m sorry, Veronica,” he stammers, chagrined, scrambling off of her and sitting up.

Smiling bravely, she comforts him with sweet kisses to his neck and jawbone. He continues to avert his flushed face, grabbing handfuls of sand and flinging them off to the side.

“I ... I’m just ... not good at this. I haven’t dated much before you.”

“It’s okay,” she insists, wishing she could tell him about ... what she learned the day before.

He looks at his watch. “We’d better go back. My Dad’s sending the car; it’ll be here at ten-thirty.” Clambering to his feet, he holds out his hand.

Sighing inwardly, frustrated and maybe a bit angry, she holds on as he pulls her to her feet. Lacing their fingers together, they stroll back the way they came.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spinning the dial for the third time, Veronica is glaring at her locker when she hears her name. Looking up, she spies Dick Casablancas, with Logan, who smiles shyly at her from across the hall as the two walk past.

“Hey, Veronica,” he nods, giving her a covert finger wave.

“Hi, Logan,” she replies, blushing as she feels a knot of tension throb in the pit of her stomach.

Punching Dick on the shoulder, Logan spins on his heel and traipses back to her locker, leaning next to it with a smug grin. “How was your date,” he inquires slyly, his finger tracing patterns over the garish metal. Momentarily spellbound, she watches his hand, licking her lips. “That good, huh?”

“Wha – what? I’m sorry,” she ducks her head, “what did you say?”

Putting his lips to her ear, he whispers, “It was that good, huh?”

“Yeah, it really – what? Oh, my date with Duncan? It was okay.”

“Only okay? I don’t understand, because you were – ”

The bells rings, interrupting him. Wrenching her book from the bottom of the stack, she glances at the clock. “Listen, Logan, are you doing anything after school today?”

“Uh, I don’t think so. Why, whatcha need?”

“Because I – ” her eyes dart up and down the hall, “I was thinking we could hang out again today.”

He eyes her for a second, momentarily unsure of her meaning. At once, he breaks into a genuinely happy smile. “Sure thing, Veronica. It would be my pleasure. I'm sure we'll find something fun to do.”

Ready for Another Taste?

Where's the LoVe gone?

rindee — Thu, 22 Mar 2007 04:38:16 GMT

Okay, here's the scoop - anyone who is unhappy with the direction the season/series is headed, and, let's be real, even those of us who're still watching aren't crazy about this year, here's your chance to fix it! vm_library's April challenge is to write, or rewrite the future - before it happens! Except, you can't use spoilers, so if you're going to stick to canon, you can't jump the gun and include things the rest of us don't yet know about. So express yourself - let's see how you'd end it for Veronica, Logan, Wallace, Mac, Keith, Parker, and, yes, even Piz! Hell, if you're feeling really adventurous, you can bring Duncan back for a (final?) hurrah. Maybe Lilly and Lamb will even come back from the grave.

rindee — Wed, 28 Feb 2007 09:51:48 GMT

Here Comes Santa Claus - part deux - V/L (NC-17)

rindee — Thu, 28 Dec 2006 15:53:38 GMT

Title: Here Comes Santa Claus
Author: Rindee
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 11,179 (for both parts)
Pairing: Veronica/Logan
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 2.
Summary: AU fic - Veronica goes to Paris, and Logan goes ... elsewhere.

A/N: Written for the Santa Baby challenge at vm_library and cross posted to veronicamarsfic and veronicalogan. Beta'd by the wicked librarian herself, taken_with_you, the incomparable and yummy rejeneration, the masterful mastermia, and the smart-as-a-whip dandelion_gal. Three of the four are so wantonly wicked they got coal in their stockings, but you'll have to figure out who, because I'm not telling. Seriously, I adore all of them and I hope the new year is happy and smuty for all of them.

Shuffling along at the back of the group, the accelerated pounding of Veronica’s heart was in direct contrast to the slow drag of her feet. It seemed like a good idea ... at the time. But what if he recognizes me – oh my God, what if he doesn’t? Shoving her trepidatious thoughts deep into the recesses of her brain, she glanced casually around the lobby, the rapid darting of her eyes the only clue to her “other” mission. Nodding and smiling, she genially waved to the staff, a fistful of miniature candy canes clutched in her black gloves.

As a staff member led them through a long, non-descript hallway, she battled to orient herself, making a mental map of the facility as they proceeded. Two turns and a short walk later, they were in the first of the patient – or, as they preferred to call it – client wings. Peeking into one of the rooms, she saw two narrow, neat-as-pins twin beds, cold, industrial tile floors, and rows of green Christmas tree stickers on the wall over each bed.

Stopping in the middle of the corridor, the Salvation Army director called out to the residents to gather round and gave the signal for the choir to begin singing. When the clients began to straggle from their rooms, she moved from the group and began distributing candy canes and chocolate Santas to each one. After the first couple of encounters, she began to feel comfortable in her head-to-toe disguise and actually talked, softly, to the people as she pressed sweets into their hands.

Each time she reached an open doorway without a patient standing outside it, she stuck her head in and looked about, ensuring she hadn’t missed anyone. When she reached the end of one side of the wing, she began her journey back, repeating her actions. Completing her circuit, she rejoined the choir and, surprising herself, accompanied them for the last song, We Wish You A Merry Christmas, blinking furiously.

It wasn’t until they arrived in the third dorm that she began to worry Logan wasn’t in Hazleton any longer. Swallowing thickly, she stared at the tips of her shiny boots, willing her throat to reopen. As she fought a swirl of emotions; her urgent need to see Logan, her sincere pleasure at bringing a tiny bit of peace to the people here, her fear that Logan would turn away, send her away, she bumped into someone.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered, lost in her reverie.

“No problem, Santa,” a familiar, mocking voice responded.

Startled, her eyes jerked up. “Lo - hel-lo, how are you,” she sputtered, catching herself. He grinned at her with his insouciant, quirky smile, and, for a moment, her heart stopped. “Have you been a good boy this year?” she asked, her answering grin hidden beneath the fluffy white beard covering eighty-five percent of her face.

Eyes dancing humorously, Logan shrugged, nonchalant, and moved aside to permit her to pass him and join the choir. “Wait!” She grabbed his arm without thinking, wishing her hands weren’t swathed in leather, her fingers itching to touch him again, feel his skin under hers.

“I have something for you, if you’ve been good, that is.”

Intrigued, he spun to face her, his honey-molasses eyes expectantly meeting her sparkling ones. “Do I know you?” he asked with polite curiosity.

Tilting her head, she stared up at him, her gaze unwavering. “I don’t know. Do you?”

The color drained from his face in an instant. “‘Ronica,” he breathed, astonished. “How did you – ”

“Shh.” She held a black-gloved finger to her lips, the very parody of St. Nick nodding his head. Grasping his hand in hers, she placed in it a tiny candy cane, a foil-wrapped Santa Claus, and a small strip of paper folded in fourths. “Merry Christmas, young man,” she said, patting his arm as she turned back to the chorus.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he muttered. “Not so fast. You’re not going anywhere just yet.” Pulling at her arm, he yanked her into a patient room, quietly shutting the door behind them. Before she could say a word, he tugged her beard down and quickly kissed her, backing her up against the wall as he sealed her mouth with his.

“No fraternizing,” she mumbled into his lips. “I was given strict instructions.”

Leaning back gracefully to study her flushing face, Logan swiped a finger across her naked lips. “I can’t believe you’re really here.”

“I’m not here,” she admonished, reaching for the door knob. “I’ll be back – later,” she added, twisting the knob and opening the door. “Read your instructions.”

Ducking under his outstretched arm, she sidled through the door and walked briskly down the hall, randomly handing out candy canes and chocolate as she went.
__________________________

Four hours later, Veronica had barely made it back to her rental car when the call came. Breathlessly grabbing her cell, she rasped, “Logan?”

“I waited as long as I could, Veronica.” A grateful sigh of relief escaped as she laughed, enjoying hearing him smirk into the receiver.

“Uh huh,” she murmured, digging for a pen and paper. “I’m just happy you can still read. Okay. Where am I going?” Listening intently, an excited smile on her face, she scribbled a few notes and hung up. Driving back to the hotel, she could barely contain herself, alternating between grinning like a fool and worrying that she was going to get caught or, worse yet, get Logan in trouble.

Back in her room, she reassembled the Santa suit on a padded hanger and got ready for the evening’s events. She pulled a small, black satin lingerie bag from a pocket of her suitcase and stripped to her birthday suit. Gently extracting the lacy articles, she blushed, imagining Logan’s face when he saw her in them. She wiggled into the bikini bottoms and layered the merry widow on top, thankfully the bustier fastened in front. Slipping on the sheer blush stockings, she hooked them to the garters and bent forward, making sure they were securely attached.

Almost afraid to look in the mirror, she turned slowly, surprised at the rosy-cheeked face that peered out at her, nipples already stiff in anticipation. Fluffing the white, feathery trim that encircled the top of the corset, she nodded at her reflection and got dressed, donning baggie black cargo pants, her black boots, and a loose-fitting black sweater. Her red, fuck-me pumps went into her messenger bag, along with her Santa hat and a small box wrapped in gold foil. Finally satisfied, she put her taser and lock picks on top, deposited her cell in her pocket and turned out the lights. Show time, at last.
__________________________

Quarter past ten, Christmas Eve, and she was breaking into a mental health clinic. Veronica shook her head at the irony of it. At least he’d been happy to see her, which came as a big relief. Having already scouted the compound earlier, she easily found the back, service road which circuited the wooded perimeter and, at one point, took her gratifyingly close to the residence where the patients with substance abuse issues resided. Parking, she enjoyed a few, too-short minutes of artificially-generated heat before strapping on her pack and exiting the vehicle.

The hike to the back exit was short, only a few thousand feet, but it required slogging through an exposed, open field of pristine, sparkly white snow; the black of her attire in stark, visible contrast to the broad, unmarked expanse surrounding her. But according to the information she’d gathered, and the extra details Logan provided, there were no security cameras trained on this part of the grounds. Still, she moved quickly, almost holding her breath during the last thirty feet.

Standing at the bottom of the steel staircase which led to a landing on each floor and then the roof, Veronica tried to decide whether to take her chances with what were almost certainly wired fire escape doors, or do it the way Logan suggested, breaking in through a locked window on the ground level. Studying the windows, she noticed a small one, set about five feet from the ground, which was open about six inches. Although she couldn’t see inside, she guessed it was either a bathroom or closet window.
Reaching into her bag, she removed a small, light-weight rope ladder and hooked it over the window ledge. Up on the first rung, she peered in. Satisfied the coast was clear, she clambered up and, raising the sash, slid inside, dropping to the floor with a quiet thud. Stripping off her light-weight expedition jacket, she folded it and stuffed it in her bag. Taking out a lab coat, she shrugged into it, smoothed and retied her hair and made for the door.

Cautiously shoving it open a few inches, she was relieved to find herself in an empty room. Noting the semi-circled chairs, she was confident she’d found herself in a group therapy session room. Crossing the interior to the door, she peered up and down the now-deserted hallway before dropping to her knees and taking a map from her pocket. Fishing her mini mag from her pants, she traced the most direct path to her destination, snapped off the light and stood. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she grabbed the handle and stopped. Realizing she’d almost walked out wearing black leather gloves, she raised one hand to her mouth and, biting down on a fingertip, shimmied her hand out. Using her other, still-gloved hand, she cracked the door before removing the other glove and shoving both into her bag.

Turning right, she located the interior stairwell and, with a quiet, pneumatic hiss, slunk inside. Traversing the stairs with silent haste, she arrived, slightly winded, at the third floor. Pressing her back against the wall, she waited until she was no longer huffing – there was no hope of getting her pounding heart under control – stepped into the corridor and looked around. A few of the clients’ rooms were already dark, but she could hear the telltale hum of television from some, and the muted sound of Christmas carols from others. Setting her Santa cap at a jaunty angle and smiling to herself, she began the short, dreadful walk to Logan’s room, a riot of images flooding her brain with each step.

The horrible night after Aaron’s acquittal, when Logan, plastered and despondent, tried to throw himself off the Coronado Bridge. It was Weevil who’d tipped her off when he’d heard the call on the police band. Despite her omnipresent anger, she’d beat them to him by seven minutes, long enough to talk Logan down and save him from a night in the drunk tank. He’d begged her again, as she tucked him into bed and sat beside him, holding his hand for dear life, to let him go, to get as far away from him as humanly possible. She’d told him, then, about the Sorbonne, her voice flat and dead as she acceded to his wish.

A week later, the horriblest of all the nights in her long list of awful, she’d clung to him like drowning victim to a raft after her world blew apart in an exploding firestorm. He’d been her rock, her salvation as she teetered on the edge of insanity. Holding her hand, and later, her body, he’d whispered encouragement, promised staunchness, swore he’d never leave. His strong arms, and stronger heart, got her through the worst night of her life, and in those moments, minutes, and hours, she’d forgiven him for all his torment and torture after Lilly’s death. She’d never gotten the chance to tell him, though, before he’d surrendered to a hell of his own making and reignited her ire. Now, tonight, Christmas Eve, it was time for her to say all the things she’d avoided saying, and ask all the questions she’d been dodging for so long. It was time to find out what was left of them.

His door was unlocked and a few inches ajar. As she slipped in, she saw him, sitting on the edge of his bed, staring, sleeves twisted in his hands, arms braced to keep him upright. Flipping the lock, she flattened herself against the wall and waited, still feeling the earlier press of his lips on hers. “Merry Christmas, Logan.”

“Veronica,” he croaked, his voice raspy with undefined emotion. “I didn’t really think you’d come.”

Her eyes fluttered. “Back, or from Paris?”

He shook his head, his wounded eyes never leaving her face. “Either, I guess.”

“Logan,” she began uncertainly. “I ... I had to. I wanted to....” Her voice caught, her seafoam eyes suddenly filled with tears. She bowed her head briefly, blinking. “I need ... I need to know....”

“You need to know what, Veronica?” His hand shuffled across the back of his head; she flinched at the familiar movement. “You can sit down,” he motioned to the empty bed between them. “He’s gone. Got out yesterday afternoon. Merry fuckin’ Christmas,” he muttered, but there was no real anger in his words.

She nodded, pushing off the wall and taking a swaying step forward. Impulsively, he lurched as if to catch her, but caught himself and aborted the gesture. Tentatively walking to the end of the empty, sterile bed, her fingers locked onto the frame as she struggled to speak. “I told you before,” she said, her voice low and quavering. “You may be, you can be a jerk, but you’re not a monster, Logan. You’re nothing like – Aaron,” she gulped a deep breath, “you never could be... like him. I know I never told you, but ... I forgive you... forgave you for how you treated me, after Lilly... for the things you said about me and Duncan. I understand... and it’s over. I’m over it, all of it.”

Logan stirred restlessly at the mention of Lilly, and started to stand, his face hardening into a sneer when Veronica said Duncan’s name. “Wait,” she pleaded, holding up a trembling hand. “Let me say it all, please.” Jerking his head curtly, he allowed her to continue, but paced to the window and gazed out on the fresh snowfall.

“You aren’t responsible for what... Aaron did, to me or to Lilly.” She could tell, from the ripple of his shoulders, he disagreed, but she soldiered on. “I understand, now, why you might have needed... someone like Kendall,” she whispered. “And I know you didn’t need my permission or my forgiveness for your... for that...” He spun, his militant, dark eyes nearly invisible against the midnight sky. “...but I wanted you to know. And I never thank – thanked you, for taking care of me... that night, when Cassidy... when I thought my Dad was....” Voice wobbling, unable to finish, she pleaded with her eyes, begging him to understand.

“I don’t need your thanks,” he growled, slowly approaching her with measured steps. “And I don’t need your absolution either,” he added gruffly, returning to his seat on the bed directly across from her shaking figure. “You didn’t put me here, I did. It was my stupidity, my rage, that got me sent to rehab. I just couldn’t deal – please look at me, Veronica,” he said gently, his voice softening as he waited. Raising her head, her blurry blues searched his somber face. “I couldn’t deal with my own issues and your constant disappointment at the same time. I needed to get straight, on my own, before I could even think about us.”

Her slumped shoulders straightened, her mouth rounding into an “O” as he continued. “I am the product of an alcoholic mother and an abusive, sick bastard of a father,” he announced defiantly. “Maybe you were right not to trust me.” He shrugged. “Maybe you still are, but I sent you the plane ticket in the hopes that you would come here and go to therapy with me, to see if we could work through our issues and find a way to be together – ”

“Wait,” she blurted. “You really wanted me to go to a therapy session with you?”

He sighed heavily. “Yes, Veronica, I really wanted you to – ” Startled by her reaction, he paused as she clapped one hand over her mouth.

“Oh my God,” she murmured, eyes beginning to twinkle. “I thought you meant – I thought you wanted me – ”

“You thought I wanted you to what?” he parried sharply, confusion clouding his face.

Realizing her mistake and thrilled beyond words at the honesty behind his confession, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling and wrapped her arms across her chest. “Oh, Logan. Oh, God.” Without thinking, she began to unbutton her sweater. “I thought – when you said ‘therapy session’ – I thought it was a euphemism for – ”

In a flash, Logan’s expression changed from laborious to leering. “Veronica,” he squeaked. “You came to... seduce me?”

Grinning sheepishly, she batted her lashes, her cheeks hot and flushed. “Um... uh... well, yeah, if you must know.” He rose, reaching out for her. “Wait,” she commanded, flustered. “I need to say this, and I need you to close your eyes.”

“You want me to what?”

“Sit down, and close your eyes,” she answered calmly. “And keep them closed, and keep your hands to yourself until I tell you otherwise.”

As if on a string, he bounced back onto the bed, his eyes screwed shut, his body rigid with expectation. “This ought to be good,” he muttered half-grimly.

“I came to Minnesota,” she began, slowing enunciating each word as she moved to stand in front of him, “to see you.” She leaned in and kissed his temple, straightening as she continued.

“And because I had to tell you,” her lap coat fell with a whoosh, “something I learned in France.” Reaching down, she unsnapped her pants, letting them rustle down her legs.

“We’ve always been friends, Logan,” she reminded him, drawing his hand from his lap as she stepped out of the puddle of her cargos. Cradling his warm, rough hand in hers, she stroked it, her lips moving over his palm. They both shivered.

“Long before we were lovers,” she licked the seam of his lifeline and kissed the inside of his wrist, “we were friends.” Nudging his knees apart, she stood between them, her diminutive fingers resting lightly on his shoulder as she placed his restless hand on her satin-clad waist. She could feel his pulse begin to race as he explored with the pads of his fingers, watching his chest rise and fall as his breathing quickened.

Angling toward him, lips brushing his ear, she let her hair cascade over his cheek as she said, “Good friends, and I don’t think I can give that up.” She nipped at his earlobe as he began to shake his head.

“Hold still,” she instructed with a hiss, “I’m almost done.”

Lifting her leather-booted leg over his thigh, she settled lightly on top of him, swirling her fingers over the edge of his sweater. Rising on the balls of her feet, she abruptly tugged. Obediently, without protest, he lifted his arms, letting her take it and his tee shirt off. As her hands trailed back down his chest, he opened his mouth to speak. Swooping in, her lips claimed his, her tongue flicking over his, her hands twisted in his hair as she silenced him.

“One more minute,” she puffed delicately, sliding her thumbs over his flitting eyelids. “As I was saying,” she mumbled against his lips before tilting back to see him. “I need you,” she confessed, low and throaty. “Here,” she rubbed herself along his muscled thigh. He answered, groaning her name, his fingers tightening at the arc of her hips. “And here,” she leaned in and shimmied her chest over his, letting him feel her weight, the swell of her curves against his skin.

He shuddered and moved into her, spurring one hand against the small of her back as he ground his erection into her stomach. “Ronica,” he gritted, teeth gnashing.

“Almost done,” she promised with a chuckle. Taking his free hand in hers, she sucked his fingertips into her mouth, fondling them with her tongue. “I need all of you, Logan Echolls,” she assured him, sighing as she again rose on tiptoe, “But tonight, I need you here.” She slipped his hand between her legs, guiding him to her damp place and burying her face in his neck as they moaned in unison.

“Muh – Merry Christmas,” she stammered. “Open your eyes, please.” Sitting up, she steadied herself, fingers frantically working the last buttons as she peeled off her sweater to reveal her red satin corset, trimmed in white feathers.

Eyes big as saucers, Logan gaped at Santa’s evil pixie as she dandied on his knee. “Just what I asked for,” he smirked, flexing his fingers into the strip of fabric guarding her sex.

“Santa couldn’t make it,” she gasped, breathless, “so he asked me to come in his place.”

“Mmm,” he mumbled, freeing his hand to lift her fully onto his lap. “He asked you to come?” he inquired, wickedly running his hands over her form. “Mind if I do too?”

“I think that’s what Santa wanted,” she teased, undulating against him. Biting her bottom lip, she stared into his eyes, her gaze clear and focused. “I want to be with you, Logan,” she admitted. “I want to see if we can make it – make us work.”

“I’d like to try,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her, moving her to him for a long, hungry kiss. Opening her mouth to his, she arched against him, her tongue dancing sinfully in his mouth to reacquaint herself.

His wandering fingers traced the line of her bare shoulder, up the side of her neck and into her hair. Gathering the silky tresses in his hand, he tugged, bending her back over his arm to expose her slender throat. Licking her chin, he trailed hot, wet kisses over her pink skin, chuckling as she squirmed and scuffed against him when he reached the valley of her breasts.

“Logan,” she huffed as he fumbled with the line of tiny hooks descending from her breastbone to her bellybutton. “Let me,” she insisted, pushing ineffectually at him.

“You are trying to kill me, aren’t you,” he accused with a quirk of his eyebrow.

Rising to her knees with a giggle, she almost swooned at the lost of contact with him. Righting herself, she shoved him backward onto the bed, patiently waiting until he trained his eyes on her. Plucking the Santa hat from her head with a jingle, she tickled him with the furry dangle, swishing it back and forth over his abs as she sang, “Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, right down Santa Clause lane....”

Flinging the hat over her head, she expertly popped the first four eyelets and eased open her bodice to reveal plump, rosy nipples. As Logan’s agonized groan vibrated against her thighs, she leaned over and, still humming her song, shook her hair over his chest. Hips jerking, Logan lurched up and grabbed for her, growling his desire. Laughing, she slammed her palm into his chest, waggling her index finger.

“Uh uh, not yet, big guy. Santa’s not quite done with you.” He loosed a stuttering grunt, licking his lips as if to pounce, his coffee eyes gleaming with lust.

“Veronica?”

“Yeah.” A broad, happy smile creased her lips.

“Please take it off. Please,” he unabashedly begged.

“This?” She ran her fingers over her breasts and down her stomach. “You want me to take it off?” He nodded crazily, momentarily unable to speak. “Okay,” she agreed, unhooking a few more inches of shimmering material. “Oh, wait, I forgot something,” she announced casually, sitting back, positioning her bottom against his cock. “I have to take my boots off. Maybe you can help.” she offered, unfolding her legs and stretching them out on either side of his head.

He swallowed thickly and glared. “Please,” she coaxed prettily. “I thought you wanted me to take my clothes off?” Closing his eyes, Logan relaxed his quivering muscles. Knowing he was struggling to forestall the inevitable, she circled her ass on his throbbing cock. “Hurry, Logan, please,” she whispered, panting.

Yanking the supple leather, he quickly grabbed her ankles and ran his strong hands up her calves to the bend of her knees. In one motion, he slid her up until she straddled his chest. Now, she knew, he could feel her slick pussy against him and know how much she wanted him.

Determined to prolong things as much possible, despite her ardent desire to have him inside her, she completely unbound her corset and slipped it open, breathing heavily as his glazed eyes surveiled her, his hands clutching spasmodically over her thighs. Just as she angled in for a fierce kiss, she cajoled, “Please touch me.”

His response was automatic, hands sliding up her waist to palm her breasts, thumbs sweeping over her nipples as he caressed her sweet curves. “Baby,” he gasped. “Oh, God. I want you so bad, Veronica.”

“Me too,” she whimpered, writhing above him, her skin on fire where it touched his. Pulling her body higher up his, he rolled her onto her side. Instinctively, she threw her hip over his, spreading her legs. He dipped his head to suckled one nipple, his displaced hand moving lower to finger her through the fabric of her damp bikinis. She hissed with pleasure, bumping against his hand, seeking friction, release.

Roughly shoving her panties aside, he thumbed her clit and thrust two fingers inside her tight, wet pussy. Crying out, she flattened herself against him, her hips thrashing as he repeatedly plunged his fingers in and out. Tightening his grip on her waist, he sucked harder on her peaked nipple, intently watching her face as her eyes rolled back and fluttered, her body quivering.

Digging her nails into his arm, she implored, “Logan, please stop. I don’t want – not like this, I want you inside me.”

Stilling his hand, he gently extracted his fingers, reached to his hips and jerked down his track pants just far enough to free his hard, swollen cock. Slipping her fingers inside his, she took him in hand, her thumb circling the tip. Using her knee against his hip for leverage, she hitched her body higher and centered him against her.

“Please,” was all she said as, unable to control himself any longer, he stroked into her, clawing her ass to drive deep inside, bringing her to the verge of climax. “Oh, God, yes,” she shuddered, working herself closer to press her face to his shoulder.

“Veronica,” he rasped, straining to pull out and plunge into her over and over until she stiffened and gasped, her teeth sinking into his neck.

“Finish, baby,” she urged, running her hands over his back and squeezing his ass. “I need you...” she shut her eyes and rolled her hips, “I need to feel you come inside me.”

He made a noise somewhere between a roar and a shout and jerked into her again, spurting thick and hot, deep within. As she held him in her arms, his cheek on her forehead, she felt a tear trickling down. Sighing contentedly, she tilted up to kiss him. “Merry Christmas, baby. Santa would be so proud.”

Here Comes Santa Claus (NC-17) V/L - rindee

rindee — Thu, 28 Dec 2006 15:49:32 GMT

Title: Here Comes Santa Claus
Author: Rindee
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 11,179
Pairing: Veronica/Logan
Spoilers: Through the end of Season 2.
Summary: AU fic - Veronica goes to Paris, and Logan goes ... elsewhere.

A/N: Written for the Santa Baby challenge at vm_library and cross posted to veronicamarsfic and veronicalogan. Beta'd by the wicked librarian herself, taken_with_you, the incomparable and yummy rejeneration, the masterful mastermia, and the smart-as-a-whip dandelion_gal.  Three of the four are so wantonly wicked they got coal in their stockings, but you'll have to figure out who, because I'm not telling. Seriously, I adore all of them and I hope the new year is happy and smuty for all of them.

Trying to study, Veronica ignored the weird ‘brring, brring’ of the French phone. She never got calls in the dorm, but even if happened to be for her, Veronica’s French was not yet good enough to converse without the assistance of hand gestures. Someone knocked on her door.

“Veronique?”

“Qui?” she answered, not looking up.

“Vous avez un appel telephonique.”

“Merci.” Surprised, Veronica ambled into the hallway and grabbed the dangling receiver.

“Hallo?”

“Yes. Hello? I’m trying to reach a student, Veronica Mars?”

“Speaking.”

“Good. This is Dr. Montgomery from the Hazleton Clinic in Minnesota. I’m apologizing in advance, Ms. Mars, but I don’t have a lot of time, and I know it’s late there, so I’ll get right to the point. I believe you are acquainted with an individual by the name of Logan Echolls?”

“Yes, of course. He’s my... he was... he’s a close friend. Why? Is everything alright? What can I do for you, doctor?”

“You’re aware Mr. Echolls is being treated here at the Hazelton?”

“Mm hmm. Are you Logan – Mr. Echolls’ doctor?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am. May I speak freely, Ms. Mars?”

“Yes, please do.”

“Until very recently, Mr. Echolls had been responding well to treatment, and it appeared he was safely on his way to recovery. About a month ago, he became despondent and refused to participate in therapy. He did not give a complete explanation, but his reasons, such as they were, concerned you, Ms. Mars. Since then, he’s been sullen, withdrawn and uncommunicative. I’m not at liberty to be more specific, but – ”

“Okay. I get it. Logan’s being an ass. What do you want from me?”

“Well, Ms. Mars, and I realize this may be difficult, but I’m trying to determine what sparked Mr. Echolls’ regression, and I thought maybe you would be willing to share some information with me.”

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“No. Are you a physician or a psychiatrist, doctor?”

“I don’t see how that’s relevant, Ms. Mars.”

“It’s not, at least not to me, although I’m sure it’s of some relevance to Mr. Echolls. I just wanted to know. I’m sorry, doctor, but I’m not going to talk about my relationship with Logan Echolls, not to you, not to the tabloids, or the police. I know Logan Echolls well enough to know he wouldn’t appreciate it if I did, no matter what your intentions are. In fact, I’m guessing he doesn’t know about this phone call. Am I right, doctor?”

“Actually, Ms. Mars, you are correct, but – ”

“Thought so. Listen, doc. I’m sure you mean well, but my ‘relationship’ with Logan Echolls is our business, as I’m sure Logan’s already told you. Why is it relevant, anyway? Are you looking for something to use to pry more information out of Logan? Is that what you’re after?”

“Well. In a manner of speaking, yes. I think it’s fair to say we’re trying–”

“Okay. Well, I’m not into sharing, so I’m afraid I don’t have anything for you. But if you could, please give Mr. Echolls a message for me. Tell him – are you writing this down? Tell him I’m at the Sorbonne. Tell him Paris is as beautiful as he said it would be. And, one more thing, doc. Tell him to get off his ass and get over it. Got that?”

“Ah, yes, but – ”

“By the way, doctor, is Logan, Mr. Echolls, free to come and go?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, can he check himself out if he wants?”

“Well, the program is voluntary, but, as I’m sure you know, Mr. Echolls is here pursuant to court order, so, technically, he is not supposed to leave until I feel he’s ready. And, in my opinion, he’s not ready.”

“Uh huh. That’s your opinion. Okay. Make sure you tell him what I said.”

“Ms. Mars, do you have any plans to visit Mr. Echolls, because – ” Dr. Montgomery stopped when he heard the dial tone.

Veronica slammed down the receiver, wincing when she noticed her classmates clustered in the hall, eavesdropping. She waved casually but stormed into her room, banging the door behind her. Sitting at her computer, she opened a chat window and began typing with Wallace.

PIMARS1: You there, Supafly

SUPAFLY: I’m here, V.

PIMARS1: how are you?

SUPAFLY: Ok. Good to hear from you. Paris as beautiful as expected?

They chatted for a while, Veronica trying desperately not to sound homesick and Wallace, in deference to her, loyally trying to downplay his happiness at Hearst. As Veronica signed off, lost in thought, she stared blindly at the night lights of the Tour Eiffel and the amazing mélange of ancient domes and spires looming amid the high-tech glass and steel construction of the modern city. Logan. Despite her pleas, he’d refused to let her visit before she’d left for Paris six weeks ago.

I’m thousands of miles from anyone or anything familiar, yet Logan still finds a way to haunt me.
__________________________

Their last night together had been July 18th; Veronica woke to the pinging of pebbles on her bedroom window. Three a.m. She knew, without looking, that Logan was outside. Planting a palm on the window ledge, she stuck her head out.

“Logan. It’s late. Come inside,” she hissed, pushing the sash up and motioning.

“Nu uh, Ronica,” he mumbled, slurring his words. “‘S actually early, an’ I can’t. Come out. ... Sit with me, for a minute,” he implored, his voice trailing softer with each word. She could see him swaying back and forth in the waning light. Shaking her head, she tugged a shirt over her thin tank top, shoved slippers on her feet, and snuck out. When she got to him, he was sitting on the edge of the pool, his bare feet dangling in the water, arms wrapped defensively across his chest.

“What is it, Logan?” she sighed. “Is everything okay?” she asked worriedly, noting his jeans were soaked to the knees. “Come in. Dad’s gone. You’re drunk. You shouldn’t be driving, especially after....”

“Um ... no, I’m not okay. No, I won’t come in, and yesh, I am drunnk.” He refused to look at her, so Veronica kicked off her scuffs and eased down beside him, her painted toes brushing the silent water. She put a tentative hand on his coiled arm, and he jerked away as if burned. “Don’t.”

“What is it this time? What’s wrong?”

“I’m ... what’s wrong. Or you are. I’m really not sure. You? Or is it me? What do you think? Maybe it’s both of us. Tell me the truth, why do you even bother, Veronica? You’re not happy – ’s obvious you aren’t.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m fine. I’d be happier if you’d stay out of Lamb’s jail, but other than that....”

“Yeah, uh ... about that. ’m goin’ away. Far away. You won’t have to put up with me any more.”

“Okay, drama queen. You can go away tomorrow. But right now, you should sleep.”

“Can’t. Plane leaves in,” he waveringly held up his watch-less wrist and tapped it with a shaky index finger, “Four and a half hours. I came to say goodbye.”

He gazed at her for a long moment, and she could see, behind his glazed, loopy look, he was serious. A part of her heart broke then, which was funny-ironic because she would have said she didn’t have any heart left to break.

“Wha ... what are you talking about? Where are you going, and why?” she stammered, confused and angry.

“A, a, away,” he mimicked sarcastically, nudging her with an elbow. “To learn to be good like you, I guess.”

“What did you do this time, rob a bank?” she asked, biting back a wry retort about how long it might take for him to learn to be good. She waited for him to fill in the blanks, but when he didn’t, she pushed him for an answer. “Tell me why you’re leaving? Is it – did I - is it something I did? Are you leaving because I’m upset about your DUI?”

“No, Veronica,” he exhaled heavily and shivered, eyes trained on the rippling water. “You didn’t ... you’re not the cause of this particular torture. I – I have to go. It’s part of the deal I made so I wouldn’t go to jail. I have to go to rehab.”

“Dammit, Logan,” she groaned, circling one arm around his waist and lightly punching his stomach before laying her head on his shoulder. “You ass. Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Or were you planning to wait until I was on the plane to Paris?”

“I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t think I was going to go; I thought I could get out of it, or at least postpone it until you were gone. But the Judge said she’d put me in jail if I didn’t.” He shrugged, a look of apprehension crossing his face. “I honestly didn’t think it mattered; we haven’t exactly been getting along the last few weeks, ever since....” He twisted free of her embrace and gazed into her startled, fearful eyes. Sighing, he gathered her into his waiting arms, pressing her to his chest. He squeezed until she thought her ribs would crack, his head buried against her neck. They sat, still as stones, in the moonlight until, finally, Veronica roused herself.

“Logan,” she raised her head to peer into his eyes. “Come upstairs,” she commanded, her hand trailing through his disheveled hair. “Come up for a minute. I’ll make you something to eat and you can take a shower. Don’t leave me – don’t leave like this.” He sighed again, unwinding his limbs, and stood, offering his hand.

“Okay, Mars. You talked me into it.” As he draped a possessive arm over her slender shoulders, Veronica could tell he was wobbly and still drunk. She grabbed him around the middle to steady them both before they reached the stairs. “Hey there,” he murmured, brushing his lips against her fragrant hair. She tilted up to see him, her fingers smoothing the curve of his cheek. His lips caressed the crease of her eyelid; her lips parted instinctively. The journey to the Mars apartment was slow and stumbling, punctuated with deliberate, sloppy kisses and muttered oaths as they crashed painfully into walls and railings on their way up.

Once inside, Veronica led him to the shower, stripping him and then herself in languid haste as billows of steam filled the tiny room, making their silence feel less ominous. Under the water, Logan revived and became demanding. Their slick bodies smacked together, mouths open, gasping, as lips, tongues and fingers probed insistently, hot and hard under the drumming deluge. He took her recklessly, awkwardly, her back pressed against the cold porcelain, their tears mingling unheeded under the water. She shuddered and hitched her hips higher to meet his thrusts, crying out as he buried himself deep inside. When it was over, he trapped her against him and, faces upturned, they breathed water and steam until he kicked her out and soaped up again.

Cup of coffee in hand, she greeted him the kitchen, cocooned in a fluffy robe, barefoot because her slippers were by the pool. He ran his fingers through her sodden, tangled hair, gently smoothing it. Angrily, she shook him off, froze him with her azure stare.

“So that’s it? You’re leaving, and you’re not going to tell me where you’re going?”

Abashed, he bent his forehead to hers, kissed her nose and whispered, “Don’t worry about me, Ronica. Go to Paris. Think of me when you’re at the Louvre, and when you see Notre Dame.” He made no promises and left no forwarding address as he casually walked out of her life.

Two days later, she found out what he hadn’t wanted to tell her; the DUI he’d gotten a week earlier was his second DUI of the summer. Apparently, Dick bailed him out the first time, Logan having made Dick swear he wouldn’t tell her. After Logan left, it took her two weeks to uncover his location, and another two to work up the nerve to write. Her first letter was returned, unopened. Her second was apparently delivered, but went unanswered. She didn’t send a third, but called and left word she wanted to see him on her way to France. Through his doctor, he declined.
__________________________

Veronica reached into the drawer, felt around the back and pulled out a scarred, dog-eared picture. Logan, Lilly, and Duncan. Homecoming 2004, the last time she’d felt totally safe and secure. Absently, she rubbed her thumb over Logan’s face.

Picking up the postcard she’d been writing, she signed it and looked up the zip code for the Hazleton, in Minnesota. Slapping on the postage, she galloped down four narrow flights of stairs and, before she could change her mind, threw it in the outgoing mail basket. Returning to her room, she slipped into a tee shirt and got into bed. Tossing and turning, images slid, unbidden, through her head.

Drunk and angry, Logan stood on the bridge, swaying dangerously in the slipstream each time a car roared past. “Get away from me, Veronica. You can’t help me. God. Can’t you see? He’s a bastard, and I’m his bastard son.”

“Logan. Come with me, Logan. Be with me. You aren’t like him, I swear. Please, Logan. Don’t do this to yourself. Don’t do this to me.”
__________________________

Veronica sat up suddenly, chest heaving, head pounding. I’ve got to talk to him. It’s 11:45 p.m., which is 4:45 p.m. in Minnesota -- I think. She tugged her purse onto the mattress, dumped the contents and hunted for her cell. Checking her minutes, she discovered she had almost two hours available. Scrolling through her phone book, she found the number and dialed. Begging, pleading and wheedling, she waded through the layers of officialdom until, finally....

“Logan ”

“Yeah. Who’s this?” His voice was hearty, but sounded bewildered.

“It’s me... Veronica,” she announced softly, hurt. “It hasn’t been that long,” she reminded him, trying to make a joke.

“Veronica? They told me it was a family emergency,” he chastised, clearly confused. “Is it really you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” she sighed into the receiver. “I had to tell ‘em something. How are you?”

“Um... fine, as fine as I can be under the circumstances. What’s wrong? Are you alright? Is everything okay?”

“I’m fine, Logan. Relax. Paris is fine, you’re apparently fine – ”

“So the Eiffel Tower’s still standing? And you’re not in jail or anything, because it’s gonna be kind of difficult to bail you out from here,” he said, his tense tone belying the casualness of his words.

“Ah, there’s the Logan Echolls I know and lo – now I’m sure it’s you,” she retorted, at once pleased at his concern and angered by his nonchalance. “The tower’s still there, by the way. I’m looking right at it.”

“What do you want, Veronica? Why’d you call? What time is it anyway?”

“It’s almost midnight? I was just thinking about you and – ”

“What’s the matter... lonely? Can’t get lucky in the City of Love?” he queried, ignoring her plaintive tone.

“Funny, but I haven’t tried yet,” she advised him tightly. “I just wanted to tell you I got your message,” she continued, her voice dripping ice.

“What message?”

“From the good doctor. Montgomery?”

“Veronica. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I didn’t leave you a message.”

“Funny, but that’s not what I heard. He said he was worried about you, something about you having regressed. Listen, it’s obvious you’re not in distress, you probably wouldn’t tell me if you were depressed, and I’m not sure, but I feel like I’m wasting my time, breath, and valuable cell phone minutes on someone who doesn’t have a clue. I’m glad you’re okay. I... I just... I guess I just needed to hear your voice to remind me why I’m here and you’re there. Take care, Logan.”

“Veronica, wait. Please?”

“What?”

“It’s good to hear yours, too. I don’t know why you called, but I might be getting out soon. Maybe I’ll look you up. We always said we’d see Paris together.”

“Yeah, well, I won’t hold my breath. Good night, Logan. Be well, okay?” Hanging up with a heavy sigh, she lobbed her phone onto her desk and flung herself back onto her bed, covering her eyes with a pillow.

The next morning, her midnight phone call seemed like a dream; she couldn’t remember why she’d felt it was important to talk to him. After class, she spent the afternoon with her camera, wandering the narrow, winding streets of the Latin Quarter. She was enthralled with all of Paris, but particularly the tightly packed, quaint streets of the Left Bank. It seemed more real than everywhere else.

Almost everything was old, different: tiny crooked streets that looked like they were made for toy cars, charmingly cramped cafès where strangers sat elbow to elbow, smoking noxious Galouises and drinking vin rouge, open air markets selling the freshest fish and heavenly baked bread, and crumbling churches with ancient stained glass and scarred wooden pews. Wherever she turned, there were statutes, fountains, gothic domes, and flowers, in boxes, hanging from wrought iron balconies.

Days went by, and Veronica lost herself in her school work. Gradually, almost imperceptibly, she grew more fluent in the Parisian tongue. She became accustomed to a breakfast of strong coffee and a sweet, flaky croissant. She explored the Louvre, climbed to the top of the Tour Eiffel, and journeyed to Versailles. Studying European history, she began to get a sense of the world outside her beloved California.

Visiting the Cathedral du Notre Dame, Veronica felt the press of history and the force of humanity: she wondered how many babies had been baptized in its elaborate baptismal font ... or the scores of men who lost their lives defending God and country, whose memories were celebrated at Mass here ... and the women who were married under its soaring arches ... so many lives had begun and ended here. Not to mention all the tourists, like herself, who invaded just to gape at its grandeur and glory.

__________________________

The sun was just beginning its slide into the sea when Lilly and Duncan left to make a command appearance at a Kane Software function, leaving Logan to ferry Veronica home when they’d had their fill of the sunset. Already preparing to apply to colleges, notably the Sorbonne, Veronica had been quizzing Logan, Lilly, and Duncan about Paris. Their conversation had continued after the Kane siblings’ departure as they sat side-by-side on the blanket.

“That’s it? That’s all you remember? The women didn’t shave and you could drink wine?”

“I was thirteen, Veronica. Girls and booze were my priorities.”

“And you’ve changed so much in three years, Logan.”

“At least Lilly shaves her legs and pits.”

“Ew, Logan. That’s an attractive image.” She laughed and smacked him. “Did you go to the Louvre?”

“What’s that?” he grinned mischievously as he rubbed his arm. “Of course we went to the Louvre. My mother loves art. She dragged me and Trina there twice.”

“And Notre Dame?”

“Now that was worth seeing.” Logan bent to the sand and sketched a rough map of the cathedral. “It’s amazing, especially when you realize it was built in the 12th and 13th centuries. It has these things, I think they’re called flying buttresses, and crazy stain-glass windows, the Rose windows – seriously, Veronica – you have to see it to believe it. We should go, the four of us, after graduation. We’ll do it right; we’ll see Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the whole shebang. And then, Veronica, we can say ‘we’ll always have Paris.’”

“Mmm. Humphrey Bogart – in Casablanca.”
“Veronica. You know Bogart? I’m impressed.”

“My dad’s a big Bogie fan.”

“Figures.”
__________________________

As she stood below the Rose Window, she heard Logan’s whispered voice, “seriously, Veronica – the crazy stained-glass Rose windows – you have to see it.” His voice seemed so real she spun around suddenly and looked for him, but no one was there. Why, she wondered impatiently, with a quick shake of her head, was she hearing his voice all the time lately?

He left you, she told herself as she unaccountably stopped outside the cathedral to purchase a post card of the Rosetta windows to send him. It doesn’t matter if you still want to be with him; he doesn’t even want to see you, she reminded herself.

“J'espère que tout va bien, mademoiselle.”

Veronica glanced up to see an older woman, her face a study in concern, peering at her with kind, dark eyes. “Quoi?” she replied, blushing as she realized how crazy she must seem, standing on the steps of Notre Dame, talking to herself about her ex-boyfriend. “Je suis bien, merci,” she hurriedly assured the woman. Slopping through the wet, muddy streets on her way home, Veronica continued thinking about him.

__________________________

Pulling the postcard out from inside her jacket – she’d tucked it there to save it from the rain – she smoothed the curled edges with chilled, trembling fingers and picked up her pen. If the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, she thought, I must be insane. He’s made it clear enough, hasn’t he? Nevertheless, she wrote him a short note about the amazing stained glass at Notre Dame, and thanked him for insisting she see it. Signing her name, she realized it was the fourth time she’d written him since her arrival in Paris. This is the last time, she thought bitterly. If he doesn’t answer or in some way acknowledge this, we’re really over. Glancing at her watch, she perked up expectantly. It was almost time for her Dad’s weekly call.
__________________________

The two weeks before Thanksgiving proved to be more difficult than Veronica could have imagined. Wallace and her Dad were enthusiastically planning the inaugural, communal Mars-Fennel feast, and, despite their best efforts, every time she talked to either one, she was reminded of what she was missing. It wasn’t that France had lost its allure, but it felt surreal to be in a place where the most traditional of American holidays wasn’t even acknowledged, much less celebrated.

She missed the warm, buttery smell of turkey and stuffing roasting, and her Dad opening the oven every five minutes to make sure the mouth-watering smell permeated their apartment. She longed for the sound of the roaring crowd blaring from the living room as her Dad and Wallace watched the big game. She wanted to feel Backup’s cold nose against her hand as he begged for scraps before the table was even set, and yearned for the spicy tang of pumpkin pie smothered in fresh whipped cream. And Logan – she missed him too, despite his behavior during her last Thanksgiving in Neptune.

Back then, Veronica was still dating Duncan, Keith Mars was out of town, and Aaron was in jail, so the three of them, Veronica, Duncan, and Logan, had spent an uneasy afternoon at the Grand. They’d ordered the traditional Thanksgiving meal from room service, and the guys settled on the couch to watch the Dallas Cowboys lose to the Denver Broncos by a field goal. Logan had been barely civil during dinner, snarling, snapping and being generally disagreeable. Even though she and Duncan had made an effort, it was strained and awkward. Still, recalled being glad he’d remained in the suite with them rather than going out to drink in some dive bar, or spending the day aimlessly driving around in his Xterra.

Thanksgiving morning dawned gray and gloomy. Depressed, homesick and feeling sorry for herself, Veronica took one look at the leaden Paris sky, rolled over, sniffled into her pillow, and went back to sleep. As far as the Sorbonne was concerned, it was a regular day like any other, but she didn’t have class until the afternoon, so she ignored the buzzing of her dorm mates and didn’t crawl out of bed until almost noon. She badly wanted to call her father, but it was only three am in Neptune, and she knew Keith wouldn’t appreciate the far-too-early wake up call. Shrugging on a pair of jeans and a tatty black tee shirt, she grabbed her bag and rushed off to class, slipping on a pair of Ray Bans to hide the evidence that she’d been crying.

Returning after class, she barely took note of the black delivery van parked outside the door. It was Paris; every day, people drove crazy and parked wherever they pleased. As she hit the revolving door, she noticed a cadre of students excitedly chattering at the door of the common room. Averting her face to avoid being drawn into a cheerful conversation when she wasn’t feeling too cheery, she sidled toward the stairs, trying to become invisible.

“Veronique?” her friend Josette called from the front of the pack, happily waving at her.

“Oui?”

“C’est pour toi,” Josette announced, gesturing into the room.

“For me?” Veronica parroted, confused. Josette nodded vigorously, tugged at Veronica and guiding her into the activity room. Inside, a long, white table-clothed banquet had been arranged. Arrayed upon it, Veronica saw what had to be the largest golden brown turkey she’d ever seen, accompanied by all of the trimmings: succulent sweet potatoes, creamy mashed potatoes, crisp haricôt vert, fragrant oyster stuffing, fresh carrots, warm, crusty rolls, and the pièce maîtresse, pumpkin pie. Two white-clad gentlemen stood near the feast, waiting for the signal to begin carving and serving. At the end of the table, atop a pile of gleaming white china plates, was a small, understated placard which bore the inscription:

                                   Special Delivery for Veronica Mars.
                            Happy Thanksgiving.
                           Courtesy of Logan Echolls.

Eyes glistening, Veronica tipped her head and guffawed. “Oh Logan. Oh my God.” Carefully plucking and pocketing the card, Veronica turned to Josie and began to explain, in reasonably fluid French, the concept behind the dinner. Upon seeing Josie’s blank face, she halted her speech and simply advised Josie the meal was a Thanksgiving gift from a close friend and invited her and their fellow students to enjoy.
__________________________

Two hours later, sated and glowing, Veronica excused herself and made her way to the telephone for her expected message from Neptune. She listened as Wallace, Darrell, Alicia and, finally Keith, blew kisses into her ear and bade her a happy Thanksgiving, and listened in stunned surprise as Veronica bubbled happily about the meal sent by Logan and shared by everyone.

Hanging up with a fond sigh, Veronica wandered into her room and flopped down on her bed, pondering the significance of Logan’s largesse. Was he relenting, finally, and letting her back in his life? And if he was - why now? She slid her hand underneath her pillow, groping for her Ipod. Fitting the earbuds into her ears, she selected the play list Logan had composed for her in June, when they’d learned she would be attending the Sorbonne. The music had comforted her in the trying months after Logan checked into the Hazelton.

She lay back, lost in the slow throb of Ocean’s Away, and closed her eyes, trying to remember what he looked like, felt like, in the days before he’d shattered the rest of her illusions.

I miss the words
I love the words, you did not say.
I miss the kiss you never gave away.

There goes the sun, oceans away
And days die young when you're gone and you're gone

Groaning, she rolled onto her side, clenching her fists to keep the hot tears from spilling. Amid the guitar swell, she heard Marie’s soft voice at the door.

“Veronique?”

Pulling out her earpiece, she replied, “Oui?”

“Un homme, en bas.”

“Again? There’s someone else here – for me?”

“Oui.”

Puzzled and curious, Veronica got up and ambled downstairs. Standing in the entryway was a youngish, mop-haired guy in a gray messenger uniform. He asked if she was “Veronica Mars” and when she acknowledged she was, handed her a thick brown envelope with a travel agency logo in the left-hand corner. Absently thanking him, she turned to the stairs and stopped. Reaching into her jeans, she pulled out some Euro and handed them to him, nodded, and climbed the five flights to her room, humming and hefting the envelope as she walked.

It’s from Logan, I know it is.

Once inside, she hurriedly ripped open the flap, leaving a huge jagged hole in her haste to get to the message. Tipping it upside down, she shook it, the contents raining down on her bed. A fat ticket folder tumbled out, followed by a single sheet of paper, which fluttered gracefully in the air before sliding to the floor. Heart hammering, she pounced on the airline tickets and flipped open the flap: Delta Airlines. Flight 43, Paris to Cleveland, with a connection, Flight 5154, from Cleveland to Minneapolis-St. Paul International Airport. Total flight time, twelve and a half hours; plus the hour-and-a-half between planes in Cleveland. It was a first class ticket, and the travel dates had been left blank.

Mouth quirked in a semi-smile, she bent to retrieve the lonely golden page from the floor. It appeared to be a telegram: Veronica Mars [stop] Are you up for a therapy session [stop] Use ticket [stop] It’s good anytime [stop] Love Logan [stop]. Telegram still clutched in her fingers, Veronica gazed off into space, thinking about the boy who’d left her behind, who she’d left behind. Has he changed? Does he want to see me? Do I want to see him?

Kicking off her boots, she striped out of her jeans and tee and crawled under the covers, carefully burying the ticket and telegram under her pillow. Tugging another pillow to her stomach, she rolled onto her side and extinguished the light. A wet and chilly breeze from the window washed over her, bringing with it the tranquilizing cacophony of sounds from the city streets below. Usually, the brilliant array of lights and the exciting noises of a Paris night were music to her ears, but tonight, neither could soothe her restless, fevered brain.

Six months ago, Logan was all that stood between me and near-certain death; that night, on the roof, he was the only thing holding me up, keeping me together when I lost the will to live, to fight back. Not even two months later, he kissed me goodbye and walked away, seemingly without a backward glance. He wouldn’t let me help him, didn’t tell me where he was going, refused to see me when I asked to visit, and, six weeks ago, could hardly stand to have a conversation with me. So, now, what’s different? Why does he want me now? Does he want me, or does he just want to end it in person?

In her mind, she reread his missive over and over. Veronica, are you up for a therapy session? Use the ticket; it’s good anytime. Love, Logan. But what did it mean? What did he want from her, really?

Think, Veronica, think. It’s Logan. You know Logan; who he is, how he thinks. He sent you a feast, a plane ticket and an invitation. He wouldn’t do that if he didn’t want to see you. Would he?

The next morning, she was up at daybreak, the hazy outlines of a plan buzzing in her head. Christmas was in four short weeks, but if she worked fast, there was still enough time. She called the airlines, filled in and confirmed the dates of travel. Using the AmEx her father had given her “for emergencies only”, she rented a car and set about to purchase the other elements of her surprise, making detailed notes as she went.
__________________________

December 23rd dawned clear and frigid; Paris had been overtaken by a cold snap. Having packed her suitcase the night before, Veronica hastily flung on her clothes, laced her boots, shrugged into her black wool pea coat and locked her door. Checking once more to make sure her laptop was safely nestled in her bag, she kissed Josie, Marie and Chantal on both cheeks, and stiffly hugged Jean-Luc, Louis, and Ian, before venturing into the street for a cab to de Gaulle.

On the plane, she settled into her big, comfy first-class seat, momentarily feeling guilty about the cost, and slipped on her earphones. Again, the spare, haunting sound of The Fray filled her ears. Sighing, she closed her eyes, vowing to start anew with Logan and not to leave their relationship to the waves.
__________________________

On the ground, finally, in Minneapolis, she glanced at her watch before realizing it had nothing to do with the current time, which, according to the clock over the Enterprise desk, was about ten-to-seven. Yawning – how can I be tired when I slept half the flight? – she signed the rental contract, grabbed the key and waited in the vestibule, unwilling to step out into the bitter cold any sooner than necessary.

Hefting her bags into the passenger seat, she consulted her map, thanking God she’d had the foresight to book a hotel room near the clinic, and drove off into the icy night. It was almost nine when she finally got into her room – another ‘emergency’ charge on her AmEx – and collapsed onto the bed, greasy pizza box in hand. Shucking her boots, she grabbed a slice and the remote control, still shivering from her crunchy walk from the parking lot into the hotel.

Half an hour and three-quarters of a pizza later, she felt sufficiently revived to do a little unpacking. Unzipping her small suit case, she dug through the wooly sweaters and heavy jeans until, finally, at the bottom of the pack, she found it. Yanking it out, she carefully laid out the suit on the bed, smoothing the red velvet and combing the white fur until it laid flat. Grinning as she fingered the collar, she decided to try it on one last time.

Shimmying out of her jeans, socks and shirt, she made for the bathroom, flipping the hot water handle and letting it run until the room filled with steam. Standing still, basking in the stinging downpour, her thoughts returned to Logan, and their last shower together. He was already fully hard, as she stepped into the heated enclosure, his cock rising from his dark thatch to press at her hip as he grabbed her arms and wound her against him, frantically kissing every inch of her neck and shoulders as if to drown within in her.

As she began to lather her arms and chest, her insides stirred and she felt the familiar tingle between her legs. Roughly mashing his mouth over hers, he thrust his tongue inside, growling low in his throat as his hands cupped her ass, his fingers gliding down the curve of her bottom, seeking, searching....

Her breath hitched as she slicked her slippery hands over her belly and proceeded to work her way down through her clutch of tawny curls, gently washing her tender parts, playing with her clit until it pulsed. ...he parted her wet folds to fondle her tight, throbbing clit. She bit her tongue to keep from screaming as he shoved a finger inside her, grinding her hips against his dick as she choked and sputtered.

Biting her lip, she stepped out and buffed her skin with lush, cozy bath towel until she glowed. When she was mostly dry, she wound the towel around herself and returned to the bed. Dimming the lights, she lay next to the plush red suit, loosed the towel and pulled the velvet across her chest, luxuriating in the feel of its unimaginable softness against her naked breasts. Hands gripping his broad shoulders, she twisted against him, struggling to get higher, to allow him to insinuate himself between her splayed thighs, gasping as he hunched over her, his head descending to her neck, biting and sucking as he moaned his need.

Arching against the cool, silky fabric, she rolled it around and over her nipples until they peaked beneath her hand, the tingle between her legs becoming a pulse that radiated throughout her body. As her hips rocked involuntarily, she flung the material away and palmed her breast, her fingertips expertly stroking her nipple as she shuddered. Bracing one hand against the tile behind her head, Logan grabbed her hip and slid her body up the wall, his rigid cock pressed against her. Grunting with the effort, he waited until her eyes met his before driving inside her with a single, fierce stroke.

Bending her knees to expose her pussy, she trailed her fingers between her slick folds, erratically rubbing her clit as she began to pant in earnest. Back bowed with exertion, she plunged a slender finger inside, flicking it in and out with rapid abandon. Feeling the fluttering tremors begin, she moved faster, inserting two fingers as stars began to dance behind her eyelids. “Logan,” she cried out, her hips jerking like a marionette as she fought to take him deeper, keep him in her. “Oh, God,” she called, shaking and digging into his arms as she came.

She woke to the muffled sound of the telephone as it rang from far, far away. Batting at the thick material that seemed to surround her, she groped for the phone, only to realize, as she answered, it was her six o’clock wake up call. Sitting up, she surveyed the bed. The elegant Santa suit was crumpled, her bath towel bunched under her hips. The tasteful coverlet was wrapped around her like a cocoon, and the pristine white pillows had been tossed wildly about the queen-sized bed. Wincing only a little, she sorted through the garments and bedding and swung her legs over the side.

After a quick shower, she dressed carefully, thick tights underneath a wool skirt, a long-sleeved white tee shirt and a button-up sweater on top. Her simple, knee-high black boots completed the outfit. Grabbing her cell, she consulted her list and dialed the number of the local Salvation Army. Satisfied every element was in place, she thoughtfully folded the Santa suit, zipped it in a plastic bag and folded it in her messenger bag. Again consulting her map, she traced the route to the Hazleton once more before straightening up and making the bed.
__________________________

“Welcome, Miss Mars,” the director said, holding out his hand. “We’re happy to have you tag along with us today,” he added, flashing a cautiously friendly smile. “Not that we’re happy you’re on probation or anything, but we’re glad you want to help brighten the holidays for some folks who probably won’t be home for Christmas.” Veronica nodded soberly, not trusting herself to speak. “Did you happen to remember the letter from your probation officer? I’m afraid I need it for the file.”

Feigning embarrassment, Veronica dug into her bag and retrieved the “letter” from her “probation officer” in Neptune, addressed “to whom it may concern” and advising that, because Ms. Mars had gotten a DUI over the summer, she was required to complete fifty hours of community service with the Salvation Army.

As he skimmed the letter, the director glanced up to see Veronica nervously biting a fingernail. Mistaking the source of her apprehension, he added, “You’re lucky, Miss Mars, not to find yourself in rehab. I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Oh, I think I have,” she replied with a grimace, which the director again misunderstood.

“I’m sure you have, or you wouldn’t be here, right?” he exclaimed with so much enthusiasm her teeth hurt. “Okay, so, you have a Santa suit? Did you want to change here or wait until we get to the clinic?”
__________________________

Santa is coming....

Weevil's World - Dead Bodies

rindee — Sat, 16 Dec 2006 16:59:15 GMT

Title: Weevil's World - Dead Bodies
Author: Eli "Weevil" Navarro
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 725

Okay, kiddies, today I want to discuss a rather unusual issue, a conundrum, if you will. Hold up - I know what you’re thinking: Weevil, I didn’t know you knew big words. It’s okay, I got graduated this summer, while I was in the county clink, and I work at Hearst now, so I got a license to use the big words just like all the freaky little college kids. Which brings me back to topic.

Okay, so here’s the deal – what would you do if, on a Monday morning, you walked into your classroom and found your boss, your professor or your arrogant, tight-assed teaching assistant, faced planted on his desk – and he was dead? Now, before you get your panties all in a twist, let me say one thing – it ain’t as far-out as you might think. This kind of thing happens all the time to some people I know, and in my experience – wait, nevermind, let’s just talk about it in the abstract. Like I said, it’s a unique situation and presents a number of practical and moral problems.

Presuming, of course, you’re not the cholo who offed the stiff, the first thing you gotta do is make sure he’s really gone, as in stone cold for real. Now, finding out if he’s croaked is kind of tricky, cuz at the same time you’re making sure he ain’t breathing, you gotta keep an eye out. Five-O frowns on it when you’re the first person found near, or with your hands on, a dead guy; for some reason, they immediately make you for a suspect and it can get you a quick trip to the Big House. At least, that’s how it went down for some friends of mine. But you still gotta know if the dude really is taking a dirt nap, cuz if he ain’t, you gotta get help. No matter what.

So, okay, you gotta man up and creep close enough to see, feel him for a pulse; you have to be careful though, cuz you don’t want to leave any traces that would tell public-safety or johnny law you been there. And – this is important – Do Not Touch Anything besides the dead guy. Don’t touch his clothes, don’t touch his desk, and make sure there’s no blood on the floor, cuz you don’t want to step in nothing sticky. Five-O got lots of sophisticated, high-tech ways of telling who been in a room, but you don’t want to make it easy on ‘em by leaving footprints all over the joint.

You know the guy’s 187 if he ain’t breathing, ain’t got a pulse, and don’t move or speak when you touch him. Now, this is where it gets tricky. He’s dead, and you can’t help him, so what do you do now? Play close attention, boys and girls, cuz here comes the moral issue. Dude’s gone – is it gonna hurt you if you’re the one that calls it in? If you’re a lilly-while, upstanding citizen, maybe you just stay where you are, flip out your blueberry and drop a dime. Do that, and you’re gonna have to stick around ‘til they get there, answer a bunch of dumb, insulting questions, and generally waste your time. But, hey, a lot of you punks don’t have nothing but time, so maybe it’s okay. I mean, it’s right thing to do – it’s what you should do.

But what if you ain’t so upstanding? What if you got a sheet or happen to be on a first name basis with the local yokels? What do you do then? If you make the call, no matter how innocent you are, johnny law’s going to assume you had a hand in it, somehow, even if you know you ain’t done a thing. But if you don’t pick up the phone and the law finds out, somehow, that you was there, it’s gonna be even worse for you.

Okay, so I’ve explained the problems inherent in the sitch, but I ain’t gonna tell you what to do if you should happen to find a stiff in your classroom or prof’s office, cuz what you do depends on who you are and what your priorities are made off. All I’m gonna say is – if you’re really lucky, there’ll be a nice, anonymous pay phone nearby. Good luck, kiddies.

Outward Bound and Forward - Part Two (NC-17) rindee (V/L)

rindee — Sat, 02 Dec 2006 21:05:43 GMT

Title: Outward Bound and Forward
Author: Rindee
Word Count: 12,242 (for both parts)
Rating: NC-17, for language, sex, and adult situations
Characters/Pairing: Veronica/Logan, and a special guest appearance by Keith Mars
Spoilers: through the end of Season 2.
Summary: AU future fic in which Veronica & Logan eschew a conventional vacation to address “trust” issues.

A/N: Written for the vm_library Anchors Away Smutathon challenge, beta’d by the extremely hot, crazy and talented taken_with_you, who, in case you don’t know, is the librarian there, and the thoroughly sexy and wanton rejeneration, even though she didn’t have the stamina to go the distance. Ha! Seriously, I couldn't have done it without either of them. I truly had no intention of writing this long of a fic, but Logan and Veronica have issues, y’all. Cross-posted to veronicamarsfic.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

After the sun descended in a brilliant blaze of peach, purple and fire orange, they settled by the waning fire, dazzled once again by the multitude of stars winking in the night sky, bats flitting and soaring in the pale moon light, and the soothing croak of the frogs and other evening creatures. Once more, the tension melted away as she leaned against him, their fingers intertwined. She confided she wanted to see a bear, maybe not up close and personal, but still.... He agreed drowsily and tightened his grip.

Eventually, she woke him and dragged him off to their ‘bed.’ He was asleep before she could close their sleeping bags, which they’d zipped together so they could slumber in each other’s arms. Snuggling into his body, she could smell his uniquely warm and masculine scent mixed with the woodsy tang of the campfire smoke; she slept in the veil of his wonderful aroma.

The next ten days passed quickly, but with none of the frantic, hurried sense of rush that marked their lives in Neptune. Already fit, they became fitter; Logan was lean and sinewy after losing a few pounds, while Veronica added a ounce or two of muscle to her small frame. By the time they reached the next phase of their journey, she’d learned the calls of several hawks and songbirds, and he’d had a close encounter with some ticks, a few wasps, and, to Veronica’s delight, a family of beaver prowling after dark, looking for who-knows-what. Suddenly, it was time for water sport.

Their first encounter with the French Broad was memorable primarily because Veronica lost her footing and tumbled off a rock into the shockingly chilly water. She emerged under her own power, soaked to the bone and swearing she had no desire to repeat the performance, despite her earlier admission that she was looking forward to at least one swim in the river.

The next day, however, each member of the group was required to prove they were capable in the water; anyone who didn’t succeed would not be permitted on the whitewater course without an instructor. Wetsuits were neither allowed nor available for the proficiency test, so Veronica was forced to take the plunge in the next-to-nothing bikini she’d purchased before they’d decided to attend Outward Bound. Having passed his exam with ease, Logan disregarded his sopping board shorts and watched with glee as the Director called out commands for Veronica to tread water for twenty minutes, followed by a lengthy display of her ability to master several strokes.

He didn’t think it was as funny, this time, when she rose from the drink, the outline of her stiff nipples straining the flimsy fabric of her swimsuit. Before she could shake the water from her eyes, he hustled over with her hoodie and jealously pressed it around her, possessively guarding her from admiring eyes.

Later that night, as she was stowing the offending garment, she tauntingly asked if he wanted her to wear it again, when they did their wildwater proficiency.

“No, Veronica, I have no intention of watching the guys ogle you a second time. No thanks,” he insisted. “I can’t believe you didn’t bring another suit,” he groused, lying on his back, glowering, arms folded over his chest.

Nonplused, she replied, “I didn’t think I’d need one. I only brought it because I thought you might want to spend a few days at the resort at the top of Clingman’s Dome, not because I planned to wear it in the woods.”

“Well, you should have thought of that....”

As she turned to reply, she could feel the tension radiating from his rigid body. Slipping on her pajamas – a flannel shirt he’d loaned her – she crawled over to him, resting her palm on his bare stomach.

“Logan,” she coaxed. “No one saw anything, everyone was more than thirty feet away.” She fleetingly searched his face, trying to determine his true intent.

“Well, I saw it – you – them, whatever,” he amended. She giggled.

“You saw what, exactly,” she asked provocatively, speedily unbuttoning her shirt. “These?” she grinned, flashing him. He groaned, covering his eyes in mock offense.

“Yes, those. I could see almost all of them, through your wet top.”

“And you didn’t like them?” she inquired seriously. Steadying herself with a hand to his upper thigh, she leaned down, pushed his arm aside, and licked his nipple, blowing on it until he shivered. “I thought you liked my breasts,” she murmured just before capturing his lips.

As she proceeded to torture him by throwing her leg across his torso, his hands circled her ribs. “I’m gonna kill you, Veronica,” he promised, ruffling his fingers up her sides. “You have no idea....”

Grinding her pelvis over his, she laughed. “Oh, I think I have a clue.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The rapids looked a lot gentler when we had a guide, Veronica thought as Logan pulled in the line and shoved off. “Do you really think we’re ready for this?” she carefully asked as the raft began to move from the shore.

“I’m sure we’re ready,” he replied, emphasizing the ‘we.’ “You can do almost anything anyway, but together, we’re unstoppable. Don’t you know that, Veronica?”

Nodding curtly, she watched intently as they closed on the swirling water in the center of the river. In the two-plus years she’d been in-and-out of a relationship with Duncan Kane, he’d never once told her she could do anything. He may have believed it, but would never have thought to say it, preferring to see her as his perfect little, pigtailed china doll. The only time she’d ever seen evidence of Duncan’s appreciation was when he was about to walk out the door, into the smooth escape she’d planned for him. Ironic.

Logan, on the other hand, was insufferably proud of her, for her brains, skills, prowess and accomplishments. Sure, he took pains to protect her, but only if he thought she was in actual danger, like now, when they were entering the river wild.

“Logan,” she muttered through clenched teeth as the raft was sucked into the roiling current. “You’d better be right about this.”

“Veronica,” he shouted above the roar of the water as the vessel lurched and spun. “Get down, hook on to the life line. We’re fine. Use your paddle to keep us away from the rocks, I’ll do the rest.”

“Uh huh,” she nodded grimly, snapping her life jacket to the line running around the perimeter of the raft. “Easy for you to say, you’re in the back.”

“Someone has to steer,” he replied, exhilarated as they gained speed and got underway.

The first drop was easy, barely three feet. Logan expertly guided the boat away from the boulder on the right-hand side and they shot back into the channel where the water was deeper but the hazards less dangerous. The next plunge was steep, but at least there were no submerged obstacles to avoid. As they rolled through the foam, speeding down river at a tremendous pace, Logan yet out a whoop.

“Oh my God, Ronica. This is fannntastic.”

She swivelled to watch as Logan pumped his fist, riding the raft like a bucking bronco, and nearly falling flat on her face as their craft bounced several feet out of the water and splatted down. Logan guffawed as she pulled herself up onto her knees and spit, water dripping from her chin, snot trickling from her nose.

“C’mon, this is fun!” he cawed, whipping his paddle to the other side to send them rocketing through another churning pool. “Look out!” Biting her lip, Veronica spun and leaned on her oar, successfully propelling them around a floating branch.

“You’re outta your mind, Echolls,” she yelped as the icy spray crashed over the bow, thoroughly drenching her.

“You love it. You know you do,” he exhorted, grinning like a madman.

Smiling, she shook her head. “I’m worried about you.”

“Woohoo!” he hollered as the tube whirled three-sixty and plummeted, taking Veronica’s stomach with it. As she struggled to right herself, the blade flew out of her hand and sailed off down river. Holding on for her life, she leaned forward, hanging out over the edge to push them away from a shallow sand bar that appeared ahead off the starboard side.

“Veronica.” Suddenly, Logan’s voice was in her ear as he wrapped an arm protectively around her waist. “Don’t do that. This is not the place to go overboard.”

“I got it,” she huffed, trying to shrug him off.

“Stop it, Veronica,” he bellowed as they swayed, the raft continuing to accelerate through the bubbling torrent. “You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

The raft careened crazily to one side and she clutched at him even as she barked, “I can do it. Go steer this damned thing. We can talk after – if we make it.” Fists on his chest, she started to shove him, but he grabbed her wrists. Their eyes locked.

“I’m not trying to prove anything. I wanted to do this because you wanted to, and, hello, we’re having a great time. I’m fine, Logan; I’m safe, I’m with you, now get your ass in the back and drive, dammit.”

Veronica’s head swam for most of the next thirty minutes of their watery roller coaster ride, not only because of the rips and dips and sheer thrill of it, but also because she was shocked by what she’d said. She did feel secure with Logan, whether locked to a towel bar, sleeping unprotected under the Milky Way, whipping down the French Broad, on a stake-out in a dark alley, pursuing a rapist at a frat party, or facing her father’s opprobrium when they’d moved in together. It was all part of the same deal; she loved and trusted him, and, come hell or high water, she was where she wanted to be. He made her laugh and kept her safe.

Finally, they reached the last bend and the raft shot free of the rapids. Panting and soaked, they dropped to the bottom, giggling and hooting. As they drifted aimlessly, their eyes were drawn to the deep green overhead canopy and the blazing blue sky beyond it. Leaning over, Logan attempted to peel off the tendrils of Veronica’s hair which had escaped from her ponytail and clung to her forehead like seaweed. She pushed his hand away, and when he tried again, mockingly slapped at him.

“Stop it. I’m all wet anyway.”

“I have a towel. You could dry off.”

She sat up grudgingly and held out her hand. He dug around in their single pack and triumphantly held up a towel. As she pulled her hair out and feathered it in her fingers, he reached over and unhooked her life jacket and unzipped the waterproof slicker underneath. She playfully smacked his hand again.

“What are you trying to do, Logan?”

“Nothing,” he smirked.

Twisting to remove her gear, she noticed they were in a small, sheltered cove, branches and brush shielding them from the main branch of the river. Here, the water was shallow and semi-clear, with dappled patches of sunlight peeking through the leaves. She glanced around wonderingly, absorbing the breathtaking view, and glanced at him. As if reading her mind, Logan hopped over the side and, grabbing the line, towed her a few feet toward the shore. Securing the line to an overhanging branch, he splashed back to the raft and stood beside it, the water rising just past his waist.

“I’m going for a swim, babe. Wanna come?” he asked with a straight face.

Reading his face to see what he was really up to, she shook her head. “You go ahead. I’m comfortable right here.” She leaned back, resting on the ‘pillow’ she’d constructed from her life vest and mac, and covered with the soft, dry tee shirt she’d been wearing underneath. Reaching back, she fanned her hair out behind, letting it dry in the hot sun.

“Take your pants off,” he ordered brusquely.

“What?”

“You’re drenched. Let’s get your jeans dry. Give ‘em to me and I’ll hang them over the tree. I promise I won’t look,” he added with a smirk.

“Riiight,” she scoffed, wriggling out of her sodden jeans and handing them over.

True to his word, Logan splayed her jeans over a limb. Stripping off his soaked flannel and his own jeans, he lay them next to hers and, wearing nothing but his brief-boxers, minced and pranced into deeper water, whining and puffing about its temperature. From her dry spot onboard, dressed in her bikini top and cotton boy-cut undies, Veronica observed his departure with bated breath, certain he had something up his invisible sleeve.

Suddenly, with a cry, his head slipped beneath the water. Veronica sat up like a rocket, scanning the spot where she’d last seen him. “Logan. Are you alright?” she hollered, waiting. “Quit fuckin’ around, Echolls. I know you want me to come in after you, but I’m not gonna do it.” Listening intently, she swept the area, searching for a sign, bubbles, motion....

With a whoosh, he popped up next to the raft, smirking as he shook the water from his eyes. “Gotcha.”

“You’re such an ass,” she murmured, closing her eyes and reclining onto her cushion. “Go away.”

“Okay, babe,” he agreed, his cool lips smoothing up her arm.

“I mean it,” she replied softly, ignoring his gentle enticement. She heard him splash away as her eyelids closed and she dozed, one hand resting protectively over her chest, the other nestled in the apex of her thighs as she dreamed of her wet and willing lover.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Oh My God,” she shrieked, blinking as a tingling stream of cold water cascaded over her shoulder and down her neck. “Logan!”

“Okay, Ophelia, time to wake up.”

Opening her eyes, she tilted her head toward the sound of Logan’s breathy voice, and found him looming behind her head. “What do you want?” she inquired inanely, as if it wasn’t perfectly obvious.

“This,” he bent bringing his lips to hers, his chilled tongue sweeping into her heated, pliant mouth. Arching back, she reached for him, but before she could wind her arms around him, he slipped around to the side of the raft. Carefully balancing on one leg, he threw the other over and clambered in, landing more or less atop her prone figure.

“Hey!” she mockingly complained. “You’re getting me all wet.”

“I like it when you’re warm and dripping,” he breathed, his hypothermic blue lips trailing cold, shivery kisses down her sun-kissed belly.

“Logan – ” she protested faintly.

“– Let’s see, are you all wet?” he replied, sliding his damp, frigid fingers underneath her panties.

“Oh, God. Oh, shit.” Her hips bucked involuntarily as he grazed her tawny curls. “Ah, you’re so – ”

“– cold,” he noted, leering. “And you’re so warm and slippery. Were you thinking of me, Veronica?” he finished, tracing patterns on her skin as he nudged her thighs wider.

“Ye – yes,” she stuttered, slack-jawed and trembling. Casually aligning himself above her, his knees between her legs, he planted his arms above her shoulders and held himself over her, not quite touching, but enough so she could feel the chill radiating off him. Rippling the water by rocking back and forth on his hands and knees, he let the river’s motion do his work, each undulation sweeping his freezing body against hers. Smiling at her as she squirmed beneath him, he brushed his lips across her forehead, murmuring soft endearments as he sensuously caressed her eyelids and cheekbones before gently licking at the corner of her mouth.

Sighing happily, she gave herself up to him, opening her mouth and breathing warmth into him as their tongues tangled. Her arms slipped under his, wrapping around his icy back as she pulled him onto her like a blanket, gasping as he pressed himself to her.

“You’re so cold,” she muttered uneasily. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Veronica,” he soothed, cradling her attentively as he rolled onto his side. She hissed and gulped as he slipped his hand beneath one knee, his fingertips gliding up the back of her thigh before he grasped it at the apex and smoothly hitched it over his hip to expose her tender mound. He kissed her passionately, his fingers spidering down her back as he bumped his stiff cock against her.

Training her wide, tremulous eyes on his face, she reached a hand between them and began to stroke over his damp shorts, plying and fondling him, steadily watching as he moaned at her every touch. “Veronica,” he shuddered. “Baby.”

“Shh,” she whispered, her tongue rumbling against his Adams apple as she nipped at his damp neck. His wandering hands traveled up her spine to untie and discard the scraps of fabric covering her chest. When he fished it off and began to toy with her nipples, she arched her back and mumbled into his chest, “Ah, God, Logan. I want you so bad.”

His twinkling eyes disappeared from her sight as he angled his mouth to her breast and suckled tightly, nipping her peaked bud as he trapped the other in his palm. Sinking her parted lips onto his shoulder, she twitched and panted as the pressure of his thumb and mouth, along with the friction of his dick between her legs, brought her close to climax.

Lifting his head to gaze into her startling blue eyes, Logan twirled her onto her back; his hands immediately sliding to her waist to tug her boy-shorts off her hips and down her quivering legs. Ignoring the violently rocking of the boat, he situated himself betwixt her knees and studied her, loving the sight of her plump, rosy nipples and bee-stung lips.

“Come back here,” she begged unabashedly. “I need you. Now.”

“I know, babe,” he answered, turning to kiss and nibble each of her thighs. “I know, and I’m going take care of you.” Scooting forward until his knees bumped her ass, he spread her with one hand while drawing another finger through her honey-slick pussy. Bringing his finger to his mouth, he sucked it appreciatively as he scribed circles over her clit. The thump of her head against the raft floor caused the craft to shudder in time with her quaking as she thrust into his hand. Stretching to lick her tummy, he inserted a single finger into her tight body, groaning as she rocked against it.

“Ah, shit, Lo – ah, God,” she whimpered when he slipped two more fingers inside her, stretching her to plumb her depths. Vibrating like a bell, her body sang as, harder and harder, she rode his twisting, talented fingers, arching and quivering with every deep dart. His breathing labored, Logan’s eyes smoldered darkly as he massaged her clit with one thumb, his fingers flickering in and out. “Oh, God. Hold me, baby,” she implored, mouth gaping as she soared over the edge, shattering in a blinding flash that shook her whole body.

Quietly moving over her again, Logan gentled her paroxysms with tiny kisses to her flushed face and shoulders, but before her body quit shaking, he grasped his rigid, throbbing cock and ran his fist over it. Suddenly, with a dull roar, he boldly shoved it into her pulsing pussy, growling as he pulled out and thrust in again. Startled, she cried out, writhing and pumping frantically as she grabbed his ass with both hands to take him in.

“Fuck, Veronica,” he swore as her muscles tightened around him again. “Baby, you’re so fuckin’ hot,” he grunted, driving into her again. Before they could find a rhythm, Logan scooped her up and flung himself backward, bringing her, spread-eagle, on top of him. As she righted herself to straddle his bucking hips, Veronica sensed he wouldn’t last long. Hands braced on his, she rose up and pounded onto him, breathlessly riding him deeper as the raft bobbed and bounced riotously.

With a swift motion, Logan brought her fingers to her slippery clit, rubbing excitedly, trying to bring her with him. “Loo-gaan,” she keened, wobbling unsteadily above him. “Fuck me, baby,” she cried breathlessly, shuddering as he erupted inside her. Gasping as he continued to spurt, her body jerked and shook as she twisted above him, coming too.

Abruptly, with a bracing splash, Veronica tumbled sideways, falling head-first into the water, unintentionally pulling Logan in with her. “Dammit,” she sputtered angrily, trying to stand on the soft, shifting silt. At once she heard Logan’s hearty laugh and felt his strong arms embrace her from behind.

“Wow, Veronica, you’re really wet now, babe.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Curled up on a boulder about twenty feet from the wall, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, Veronica gawked at Joe, the rock climbing instructor, as he casually but carefully rappelled down the sheer face of the thirty-seven foot wall. Crouched at her feet, Logan relaced and retied her sticky-soled rock shoes, trying to be close without intruding on her concentration. Even if he hadn’t watched her three previous, failed attempts to climb the mountain and rappel back down it, her posture would have told him all he needed to know. She was scared. The incomparable Veronica Mars was frightened. Not of a PCHer with a knife, or a rapist with a vial of GHB, or a Fitzpatrick with a tattoo needle. No, Veronica was afraid to climb a relatively small rock face.

“You can do this, Veronica,” he flatly remarked, deliberately not looking at her.

Sighing, she cocked her arm and threw a small rock over his head. “Easy for you to say, you’ve done it twice – no, three times, now, if you count yesterday.”

“Okay, everyone,” Joe hollered as he landed and began waving expansively. “Let’s go. We’ve got three or four people who need to finish. Veronica, Steven, and Tanya, where are you?” He glanced at a piece of paper he pulled from his shirt pocket. “Is anyone else going up today? Logan, you’re first up, right?”

“Yeah. Me, then Veronica.”

Logan stood, stretched his arms skyward, and held out his hand. When she reached up for him, putting her hand into his, he heaved her to her feet with none of their usual, almost-foreplay banter. Looking at him with wide, somber eyes, as blue and clear as the sky above, she said nothing, just licked her lips and rubbed her hands on her denim jeans. Hands on her shoulders, he spun her around and began to meticulously check her harness, sliding his hands around the belt at her waist, tugging on the buckle to make sure it was locked and snug but not too tight. Sidling around her hip, he dropped to his knees, inserting his fingers underneath the leg straps to ensure they were properly cinched. As he wiggled his fingers against her thigh, she smiled, a tiny, lascivious twinkle lighting her eyes. Grinning, he brushed his lips over her inner thigh, his hand sliding up to teasingly grab her ass.

“You can do this. I know you can.”

Inhaling deeply, she nodded brusquely. It was imperative that she not only make it up, but also descend successfully. If she did, they would be allowed to do a two-person solo climb and camp on an outcrop looming high above their heads. She knew Logan desperately wanted her to succeed; both had been looking forward to sleeping unprotected, maybe even naked, under the stars. Rising, Logan patiently waited as she gave his gear the same once-over, squirming appreciatively when her fingers delicately traced the bulge of his cock where it was snugged under his jeans. Chuckling low and soft, she pressed a quick kiss on it and jumped up.

“We’re ready, boss,” she called back enthusiastically, grabbing Logan’s hand and yanking him toward the top rope dangling from the promontory that was their first stage goal.

Yesterday, she’d managed to get to the top with relative ease, but, inexplicably, froze there, unable to walk back down the face, despite the entreaties of Marcello, the other mountain climbing guru, who’d been perched above, and Logan, on the ground, belaying her. She’d hung there, a foot from the top, teeth gritted, swaying in the breeze, until Logan had clambered up the other rope to stop beside her. He’d offered to rappel down with her, promising he’d be with her step for step, but she’d shaken her head so violently he’d had to concede she simply wasn’t ready. Instead, he’d forced her to climb up onto the ledge where Marcello waited, and stood anxiously by while she’d paced, glassy-eyed and trembling, until she regained her composure. She’d been so reluctant to try again that Logan had to climb down, retrieve both pairs of hiking boots, and climb back up so they could hike down, the long way ‘round.

It had been a quiet hike, Veronica unable, or unwilling to confide in him until they were safely in the wooded part of the trek, far from prying human ears. Sitting on a rotted log, watching a snake slither away, she’d offered, in a flat, unaffected tone, “I kept seeing, keep seeing, Cassidy ... walking backward off the Grand. ... mocking me ... telling me I’d never make it down ... he said I was going to fall ... and would soon join him in Hell.”

He’d winced when she said it; the connection between rappelling, walking backward down the rock wall, and Beaver stepping off the roof, hadn’t occurred to him, but it made sense. In fact, once she’d said it, it was so obvious he’d nearly smacked his palm on his forehead.

“You’re not going to die any time soon,” he’d assured her, carefully bumping shoulders, aware that she wouldn’t want him to get too close. “And you’re not going to Hell when you do. You aren’t responsible for his choices, and you didn’t make Beaver jump.”

She’d heaved a shuddering sigh at his fierce-but-gentle words, but shook her head emphatically. “No,” she’d whispered. “But I didn’t save him either.” She’d looked at him, eyes brimming, desperately wanting to be held, but not knowing how to ask.

Unable to help himself, he’d done it anyway, pulling her into his strong, capable arms. “No, you saved me, you’ve been saving me, even before I knew I needed saving.”

Instead of burying her face in his chest and sobbing, the way another girl – woman – might have done, she lifted her head to gaze longingly at him, the muscles in her face tightening. “You’re wrong,” she’d said, so softly he almost didn’t hear her. “That night, the horrible night, when I thought I’d lost Dad, you saved me.” Kissing his cheek, she’d squeezed him around his waist. “I’m sorry, Logan, sorry it’s taken me so long to get here. I love you, and I’m so scared I’m gonna lose you.”

“I love you too, Veronica Mars. And I’m not leaving you. Ever.”

They’d both wept, rocking securely in each other’s arms, until, with a crash, a young doe lept gracefully across the path, leaving them breathless and awed.

“Ready, freddie?” he asked. Veronica tugged on the belay.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she agreed, training her eyes on Logan’s long legs as he began to climb.

“You’re gonna catch me when I fall, right?” he teased.

“Right,” she chirped, giggling at the thought of having to break his fall.

Watching as his chalky fingers easily found holds, she marveled at his grace. Who knew, she thought, that Logan Echolls, spoiled son of an abusive, good-for-nothing, murdering film star, would, at the tender age of twenty-one, find joy and happiness on an outcrop in the Great Smoky Mountains, on a camping trip with his brilliant-but-emotionally effed-up girlfriend. Aaron would hate it, if he knew, she thought smugly, reveling in Logan’s success.

“You’re gonna do this,” he yelled from above. “Think happy thoughts, like Tinkerbell.” She nodded resolutely, waited for Joe to take her place on the belay line, shrugged and reached up, toward him.

When she gained the top, Logan enfolded her in a huge hug. Tipping her chin up to stare into her determined eyes, he said, “Beaver’s dead. You’re not. I’ll be with you every step, okay?”

They walked to the edge, clipped on, and stepped backward. With a final wink, Veronica let herself fall, trusting he would be there to catch her.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Their last night, safe in their aerie perched high above the earth, was everything she’d dreamed it might be. No tent, just their sleeping bags, a small fire, and a bottle of champagne Logan had managed to smuggle, who-knows-how, up the mountain. They made love under the deep, velvety night sky, their impassioned voices echoing in the dark.

Waking in the chill, frosty air, legs entwined as she snuggled against his chest, Veronica listened to his heartbeat, strong and steady, and sighed.

“Again,” he murmured sleepily, tightened his arms around her. “You’re insatiable, you know that?”

“Mmm,” she whispered, fingers climbing to stroke his erection. “I know.”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

They had been in the air for almost two hours when Veronica jolted to consciousness, the outline of Logan’s shirt pocket creased on her cheek. Softly slipping free, she wobbled to the restroom and splashed icy water, trying to wake and remove the offending, telltale sleep wrinkles. Staring at herself in the cool glass, she smoothed her shirt, fluffed her hair and shrugged. Ratcheting the lock, she opened the tiny door to find him waiting, makeup case in hand, an evil smirk on his face. Nudging her backward, he slammed the lock back into its slot.

“Logan,” she mumbled drowsily. “What are you doing?”

Eyes dancing, he handed her the small, plush bag. “I thought you’d want this, you know, for your face,” he added, brushing stray wisps from her forehead. “And this.” He bent to lick the seam of her lips, his hand encircling the back of her neck. “For the rest of you.” As if slow dancing, he twirled them until her ass was pressed against the miniature washbasin, and hiked her onto it.

Dropping the travel bag on the narrow ledge, she gasped and arched into him, her fingers squeezing his shoulders. “Mmm,” she whispered so quietly he almost missed it. “That’s... nice.”

“Nice? Really wasn’t what I was going for, Veronica. You’re slipping.”

Tilting back, her glazed eyes met his, sparkling and dangerous. Once again, he dared her, challenging her, without words, to deny her rising need. Watching her intently, he ran his hands down her form, his thumbs sweeping over her tee shirt and, finding her chastened nipples, rubbed them until she moaned.

“Logan,” she breathed into his mouth as he leaned in to capture her lips. “You can’t....” she sighed bonelessly, whimpering against his tongue. “We just ... I’m ... aren’t you ... sore....”

Reaching down, he grabbed one of her hands, sensuously massaging her palm with his thumb and sending shivers throughout her body. “We’re going to be back in the hustle-bustle of civilization in a few hours, Veronica. I think we should take advantage of every opportunity between now and then.”

Cupping her hand in his, he slid it beneath his shirt, placed it against his belly and into his jeans. Nudging her apart with his knee, he insinuated himself between her legs, his rock hard dick leaping against her ready palm. Her sleepy eyes darkened as her hand deliberately stroked his thick cock. Hips wiggling to bring her closer, she strained to unzip and free him, huffing as he bent to kiss her throat, his lips and tongue trailing a vee from sternum to her shoulder to the tender patch beneath her ear. Shivering under his lips, she turned her mouth to his, their slow, drugging kiss momentarily stilling her hands. Leaning back to breathe, she returned to her task, pushing his jeans off his ass. Her hands closed over his dick, her thumb rubbing over the tiny beads of moisture while her fingers traced the throbbing vein underneath.

One hand perched on his hip, she hopped off the ledge and leaned forward, her plump, bruised lips embracing his dick as her hand tickled up and down it’s length. Groaning he grabbed for her shoulders, struggling to stay upright under the onslaught of her provocation. “Dammit, Ronica,” he muttered as his skin flushed and tightened.

One step forward and he was pressed against the opposite wall, urgently biting his lip and trying to restrain himself as she slumped to her knees, her mouth taking him deeper, her tongue sliding over and around him. Inhaling with a vigorous hum, her cheeks hollowed as she took him into her throat, her lips working in concert with her hand; stroke, suck, lick, breathe, stroke, suck, lick, breathe. The very sight of her kneeling between his legs, her blonde head bobbing to some infernal, internal rhythm, made him wild; his eyes rolled back in his head and he curled his hand in her hair, fighting the urge to fuck her willing mouth.

Moaning indelicately, her pace and breathing quickened; one hand continued to chuff up and down his slick dick, the other sliding to the base. Gently cupping his balls, she tenderly tugged them, mimicking what she’d seen him do when he jacked off in the shower.

“Babe,” he stammered painfully. “I ... I can’t ... Oh, God, I’m gonna come.”

Raising her eyes to meet his, she silenced him with her intense gaze. With a teasing quirk of her lips, she nodded, her hot tongue playing against his throbbing dick as she urged him on, her slender fingers probing the narrow channel behind his balls to tickle his tight opening. As she held his gaze, the alacrity of her hands, lips, and tongue increased, causing his hips to stutter and jerk.

“Oh, fuck, Veronica,” he swore, losing his last shred of control, his fist clutching her hair, his hand pressing her to him as his muscles began to contract and he came, wet and thick into her mouth. Gulping, she squeezed his ass, holding him steady in her mouth as she swallowed once more, her hand continuing to massage him until she tasted no more.

She rose from her knees, exaggeratedly licking her lips, pressing her body onto his as she threaded her fingers around his neck and purred, kissing him soundly. “I think we’re landing soon. You’d better clean up, Echolls,” she gloated, her eyes sparkling with affection and pride.

Outward Bound and Forward - Part One (NC-17) rindee (V/L)

rindee — Sat, 02 Dec 2006 21:03:01 GMT

Title: Outward Bound and Forward
Author: Rindee
Word Count: 12,242 (for both parts)
Rating: NC-17, for language, sex, and adult situations
Characters/Pairing: Veronica/Logan, and a special guest appearance by Keith Mars
Spoilers: through the end of Season 2.
Summary: AU future fic in which Veronica & Logan eschew a conventional vacation to address “trust” issues.

A/N: Written for the vm_library Anchors Away Smutathon challenge, beta’d by the extremely hot, crazy, and talented taken_with_you, who, in case you don’t know, is the librarian there, as well as thoroughly sexy and wanton rejeneration, even though she didn’t have the stamina to go the distance. Ha! Seriously, I couldn't have done it without either of them. I truly had no intention of writing this long of a fic, but Logan and Veronica have issues, y’all. Cross-posted to veronicamarsfic.

Chest heaving, she gulped deep breaths until her pulse and respirations slowed to a more regular rate. She flipped the visor and peered in the mirror, critically noting her red-rimmed, glassy eyes. Pulling on a pair of sunglasses, she got out quickly, locked up and crossed the street to the pool hall before she could lose her nerve. Standing beside the grimy, smoke smudged windows, she heard his victory caw before she spotted him, hip fixed against the rail, cue stick in hand, smugly admiring his winning shot. She didn’t want to be tailing her former? fiancè ... ex? boyfriend, but after the fight, he’d been so violently angry, so over-the-top outraged, he’d scared her. When he stormed out, she was afraid he’d harm himself, so she took off after him.

It started innocuously enough. When she got home from class, Logan was planning their summer vacation to the Grand Canyon. Their travel discussion degenerated into a squabble about money, specifically, Logan’s money and Veronica’s fervent desire not to spend it. The cash quarrel began an argument about trust; Logan accused Veronica of being unable to rely on him to plan their trip without micromanaging the details and independently verifying the arrangements; Veronica felt he was overreacting to her justifiable inquiries.

By the time things had come to a head, Logan was screaming at the top of his lungs and had drawn a line in the sand. If she didn’t trust him to tell her the truth about their vacation, how was she ever going to have enough faith to marry him? He’d stormed out of their condo and screeched through the parking garage in his Porsche, leaving thick black tread marks in his wake.

“Coming in, or are you just going to stand here and stare at him?”

Startled, she winched as though Keith had slapped her. “Dad? What are you doing here?”

Keith shrugged, his forehead wrinkling like a Basset Hound as he held the door for his perplexed daughter. “He called, asked me to find you. I told him I wouldn’t have to. Seems I was right.” The door closed behind them and Keith pulled her into a warm, benevolent hug, murmuring comfort in her ear before leading her to the billiard table where Logan was racking them up again.

He nodded up at Keith and Veronica as the cue slid through his supple fingers. Veronica flinched at the loud crack, the balls clicking and clacking as they scattered across the worn green felt. Two solids, the marigold and maroon, found their way into pockets as Logan leaned his stick against the wall and gestured to a small table in the corner. Keith nudged Veronica and the three sat, cautiously eyeing each other. Logan lifted his head toward the bar, and the bartender scurried over with a cup of coffee for Keith and two bottles of water. Twisting her hands in her lap, Veronica sighed heavily. Rising from his stool, Logan reached over and plucked the dark glasses from her face.

Before settling back onto his seat, he pulled a brochure from his back pocket and tossed it on the table in front of her. “This is it. My final offer.”

Stiffly, she glanced down, Keith craning his neck to read with her. “Outward Bound?” Disbelief dripped from her mouth. “You want me to go to Outward Bound?”

“I want us to go,” he earnestly implored. “We have to learn to work together, Veronica. You have to learn to trust me, and I have to learn not to overreact when you don’t. We’re going to take a vacation anyway, so why not? The Grand Canyon’s not going anywhere.”

Logan and Keith held their collective breath as she perused the pamphlet, her hand trembling as she turned the pages, studying the glossy photos of teenagers whitewater rafting, families backpacking through Joshua Tree, and couples kayaking through the Florida Everglades. Dipping her head, she began to read the course description, her slender fingers trailing over the pages.

Finally, she looked up, her shimmery eyes meeting his somber ones. “Which one?” she whispered. He breathed a sigh of relief, and judging by his expression, she knew he felt he’d won and at least had the right to return home to his own bed.

“This one.” He leaned over, his hand brushing hers aside as he flipped the pages. He tapped a photo of two women wearing headgear and life jackets, about to plunge a small vessel over a five foot drop into whitewater.

“The Appalachian Mountains Backpacking, Rock Climbing and Whitewater Canoeing one?” she asked, blinking in surprise. “Twenty-eight days? Four thousand dollars?” Veronica’s voice rose. “Are you sure we can do that?”

Logan simmered intensely. She realized he’d misunderstood, assuming she was again questioning financial arrangements. A tease of a smile illuminated her face as her fingers fluttered over his palm. “I know I’m in shape,” she offered slyly, “But you really think you can fit all your gear into a six thousand cubic foot pack and lug it through the Appalachians?” she finished, gently smirking.

Chuckling to himself, Keith shook his head and stared into his cup. “Veronica,” he chided.

Logan grinned at her challenge, smugly arcing an eyebrow. Tilting his lips to her ear, he whispered, “Anything you can do,” he pressed a soft kiss at the curve on top. “I can do better.” She beamed, her skin pinking.

Keith cleared his throat loudly. “Okay, kids. On that note, I think my work here is done.” Lost to their private reverie, they guiltily raised their eyes to Keith. “Thanks for the coffee, Logan. Veronica.” He pulled her into another embrace. “You’re going to be okay, kiddo. Work this out.” Awkwardly, he patted her shoulder. “You guys have been through too much to let this be the end of ....”

Veronica nodded vigorously, her chin rubbing on Keith’s scratchy shirt. “Thanks, dad,” she added, grateful for his help. Logan ambled over to pay the tab, giving Keith and Veronica a moment of privacy. Tucking his wallet into his back pocket, Logan returned, wrapping his arm around Veronica as Keith departed with a final wave.

“Ready to go?” he asked, pulling her against him.

She blinked up at him with ruby-rimmed eyes. “You’re coming home, right? With me?” Shuddering slightly, she curled into him, clutching his side with one hand and winding the other around his waist. “Good.”

“You didn’t think you were going to get rid of me that easily, did you?” he mumbled into her gossamer hair as they walked to the exit. Spying her SUV across the street, he asked, “That you, babe?”

“Yeah,” she replied drowsily.

“How ‘bout we come back for it tomorrow? I don’t want to leave the Porsche here overnight.” She nodded vaguely, letting him steer her in the opposite direction. Tucking her into the soft leather seat, Logan knelt and reached across to secure her seat belt as she watched with sleepy, hooded eyes. Her fingers fastened on his shirt collar; tugging softly, she maneuvered his face to hers, her lips brushing over his cheek before settling against his. Cupping his face in her hand, she kissed him slowly, her body quivering.

“Logan,” she breathed as she came up for air.

“Mmm. Yeah, babe?”

“Don’t leave like that again, okay?” Her crystalline blue eyes met his with laser-like intensity. “It scares me when you go off like that.”

Half-in and half-out, he cuddled her as best he could. “I’ll try not to, babe.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Three weeks later:

“Are you sure we have everything, Logan?” Veronica asked as she zipped her pack and rose, still reading from her list.

“I am certain we have everything we’ll never need, Ver-on-i-ca.” He shook his head in amusement at the amount of stuff his girlfriend had shoved into her oversized backpack. “You’re not going to be able to carry it as it is.”

“Hey!” she pulled herself up to her full height and exaggeratedly squared her shoulders. “Are you saying I’m not tough enough?” Logan guffawed, stepping into a martial arts stance, calling her bluff.

“I am not impugning your ‘manhood’, but if you feel you have something to prove, let’s go.” Grinning broadly, he beckoned with one hand. “C’mon, baby.”

Veronica glanced at her new, all-weather, waterproof to 200 feet, expedition watch. “I’ve got just enough time to kick your ass before we leave for the airport. Are you sure you want to try me?” Her eyes roamed deliberately up and down Logan’s toned, tanned body, from the tips of his rubber-capped kicks up his lean, denim-clad legs, to his abs, covered by a dark green, long-sleeved tee, and his rock-hard biceps, swathed in fuzzy flannel. When she reached his face, she stared hungrily into his glittering eyes and smiled smugly.

She stepped into his reach and dropped her voice. “Your shoes offer no protection against my boots, your jeans are too tight to let you move easily, and the rolled-up cuffs of your shirt will hamper your ability to throw an effective punch, but if you wanna go,” she ran her fingers from his navel to his breastbone. “I’m your girl.” Curling her fingers, she flattened her palm against his chest and stiffened her arm, her other hand pulling back.

Before she was fully in fighting stance, Logan clapped his fingers around her wrist and quickly swung her arm up and wide, causing her to spin as he pulled her into his body, her back to his chest, his arm across her windpipe. Brushing his lips against her ear, he murmured, “Now what are you going to do, my pretty one?”

Anticipating her next move, he shuffled his feet backward to avoid the heel of her thick-soled boot. As she brought her foot down, he shoved his knee into the back of hers, causing her to tumble. As she pitched forward, he let his body fall on top of hers, pinning her to the floor beneath him.

“Logan,” she huffed, squirming. “Let me up.”

Instead of responding, he ground his pelvis into her ass. She gasped, feeling his erection throbbing against the cradle of her thighs as his fingers crept under her shirt and crawled up her ribcage. “Be still,” he commanded. “Unless you want this to be over too quickly for you to enjoy it.”

Suddenly still, Veronica panted as Logan’s hands found their target and he began to rub her peaked nipples. She arched up, exposing her soft, white neck to his roving lips. Sucking greedily, he continued to stroke her breasts until she moaned low and sharp.

“Logan....”

“Turn over, baby,” he instructed, spreading his knees to allow her to pivot. She rolled over, but before she could wriggle out from under him, he pressed his body over hers, sealing her lips with his and casually immobilizing her wrists in one hand. Struggling wildly against his greater weight and strength, she bucked under him, gasping as he popped the button on her jeans and began to unzip them.

“Still think you can take me, dontcha?” he taunted, his hot mouth scorching her skin.

“You’re never ... going to be able ... to hold me down ... long enough ... to make me,” she gasped, clawing at his fingers.

“Don’t,” he kissed her stomach. “Make me,” he licked up her chest. “Get the handcuffs,” he finished, nipping through her bra and sucking hard on her nipple.

“Supposed ... to be ... a surprise,” she huffed, rocking her knee into his ass.

“Okay, that’s it. Where are they?” he demanded, hauling Veronica to her feet, her hands still clenched in his.

She smirked wickedly until he shoved her against the wall and began sliding his fingers over the seam of denim running between her thighs. The pressure and friction against her clit caused her eyes to roll back in her head, and she began to shake. Even through the thick material, he could feel her dampness, smell her arousal.

“Tell me now, woman, or I won’t be responsible for what happens next.” He leaned one hip against hers, stretching her arms high over her head until her body thrummed. Pulling his hand from out below, he roughly thumbed one nipple, and then the other, his tongue and teeth tracing a fiery trail from the base of her throat up underneath her chin, across her cheekbone to the spot just below her ear. He bit hard, his tongue massaging the hurt as he continued to suck and bite her neck.

Her legs buckled and she would have fallen if not for his hand suspending her on the wall. “In my backpack,” she heaved. “The side pocket.” Walking backward, he tugged her toward the luggage at the foot of their bed. “But,” she protested. “The surprise....”

“We’re going to be sleeping in a tent for the next twenty-eight days, Veronica. I think you’ll have ample opportunity to surprise me sometime during the next four weeks, don’t you?” Leaning back, he blindly fished around until his hand encountered hard, cold metal. Curling his fingers around the cuffs, he triumphantly pulled them from the satchel, dangling them from his middle finger.

He gazed at his girlfriend as she panted and quivered, hair mussed, face scarlet and damp, her beautiful azure eyes glazed and brilliant. “Trust me?” he murmured, letting the brittle steel drip over her clavicle and into the vale between her breasts. She shuddered, licking her lips in anticipation.

“That’s why we’re going, isn’t it? To learn to trust each other?”

“Do ... you ... trust ... me?” he prodded, staring intently into her eyes, seeking permission.

“If I didn’t trust you in the sanctity of our bedroom, I wouldn’t be bringing handcuffs on our trip, would I?” she retorted defiantly. Turned on by her feisty display, he watched for a moment more, the outline of her nipples clear and inviting as her breasts strained against her tee, her lips swollen and crimson.

Apparently deciding her lack of protest was sufficient answer, he transferred the cuffs to his other hand, grabbed the edge of her tee and tugged, carefully sliding it up one arm, then the other, returning both wrists to his grasp before pulling the shirt over her head and off. He unhooked her lacy, light green bra and dropped it at his feet.

Before she had time to process, he snapped a bracelet over one wrist and pulled her toward the master bath. Once inside, her head whipped around frantically, trying to determine what he was after. Stepping behind her, he slipped his arm around her waist and lifted her into the glass-and-marble-walled shower, threading the cuff chain over the heavy towel bar set in the stone wall. He clicked the other cuff onto her arm, moving back to admire his handiwork before taking off his shirt, tee, and tennies.

“Logan,” she whined. “Let me go. Please. Not here.”

He smiled and reached past her, sweeping his palm across the cold, flat marble before drifting his knuckles dangerously up the cool, smooth skin of her bare back. “It’s fine, baby.” His eyes narrowed as she continued to struggle against her bonds. “I thought I told you to stay still,” he muttered, inclining his head to nuzzle her bare flesh, his tongue lavishly circling her areola as his hands spanned her ribcage.

“Please, baby,” she whimpered, shivering under his mouth. “Please let me loose.” He looked up, his impenetrable eyes hard and dark and shiny as she beseeched him, her arms continuing to jerk against the caustic metal. He waited for her gaze to meet his; one look and she recognized the fevered gleam of excitement, knew he was not going to relent. She began to panic, leveraging all of her slight weight against the restraints, thrashing and breathing heavily.

“I told you to stop wiggling. You’re at my mercy now,” he asserted quietly, his voice all ice and determination. “Since you seem to be unable to follow my directions, I’m going to have to make you behave.” Reaching over head, he circled his thumb and index finger over one silver cuff and clicked it a notch tighter, his other hand expertly pinching her nipple at the same time, making her vibrate like a bowstring. He sucked in a shuddering breath as Veronica hitched and hissed; she could feel his cock jerk as he leaned over to compress the other cuff. Shoving her back against the slick, chilled wall, his fingers affixed to her hips, he licked and suckled each of her breasts with deliberate attention until she trembled in his hands, the sound of her passionate moans and his labored breath reverberating loudly in the small enclosure.

“You’re mine, Veronica,” Logan murmured possessively, flattening his hand on her throat before tracing his palm over her breastbone and down to the zipper on her pants. Still shaking, her eyes snapped open in surprise as his icy fingers rimmed the waist of her jeans. As he dropped to his knees to untie and remove her hiking boots and thick socks, she caught a glimpse of her flushed face in the mirrored shower panel behind his shoulder. Cringing, she tried to hide from her reflection, ineffectually craning her neck and trying to tuck her chin into her shoulder. Scooting between her knees, he ripped open her jeans, peeling them down her quaking legs, his supple fingers caressing her taut, sinuous thighs.

Realizing she was trying to avoid watching him, he rose from his haunches, chuckling, and trapped her jaw in his hand. “No, Veronica,” he corrected, forcing her to look at him. “You’re going to watch me get you off.” Staring into his lust-filled, thundercloud eyes, suddenly, she understood his intense arousal directly correlated to his power over her and her continued resistance. Shivering briefly, she struggled to bring her body under control, lifting her eyes to the reflecting wall, fighting the impulse to close her eyes.

Sitting sideways at her feet, he pressed his shoulder into her thigh, forcing her to spread wide. He ran his hand up the back of her calves, kneading and stretching her muscles, angling his head here and there to bite and suck at her silky skin. Each nip was greeted with a harsh groan as Veronica twitched impotently, unable to escape his sensual torture and the twin torment of her image captured in polished silver. As he worked his way upward, he roughly hiked one knee onto his shoulder, exposing her sweetly slick pink pussy.

“Oh, God, Veronica. You're so fucking beautiful like this I want you to watch,” he commanded, spreading her with experienced fingers, gliding slowly through her wetness, exploring, probing, testing, toying with her. Although he knew her body as well as his own, there were still things he hadn’t done to her yet. Gulping for air, she swallowed thickly, tension swirling her stomach into knots. With a quick purse of his lips, he blew across her wet clit. Her reaction was instantaneous; shuddering, her back bowed and her hips lurched erratically.

Hypnotized by her paroxysms, he slowly worked his middle finger inside her, drawing lissome circles around her clit. Shuddering, she asked him to free her. Her anxiety was his aphrodisiac, roughly shaking his head, he maneuvered a second finger into her tight pussy.

“Oh, fuck,” Veronica cursed loudly, watching with sick fascination as she rutted in his hand, his fingers driving into her as she jerked and pumped.

Barely able to restrain himself, Logan glanced up to see her eyes flutter helplessly, her hands clutching the bar as she swayed. Entranced and excited beyond sanity by the exquisite picture of his helpless lover, Logan squeezed her ass in his strong hands, bumping his nose into her soft curls, his long fingers lightly brushing over her puckered skin. “I know what you want,” he taunted. “Tell me. Tell me you want to come, baby.”

“Oh, God, Lo ... Logan,” she pleaded, flinging her head back, beyond caring when it banged against the wall. “Please.... Please let me.... I – I can’t.... I can’t breathe.... I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he insisted, his lips barely brushing her clit as he ignored her entreaties. “Do it for me,” he persisted. “All you have to do ... is ask me to ... finish you,” he ground out, all movement ceasing as he tilted back, waiting patiently. Blinking rapidly, she tried to focus, her hands curled over the bar as she squirmed. A riot of emotions played over her face; yearning, shame, anger, fear. “Trust me?” he whispered, the deep rumbling of his voice across her stomach buckling her legs and nearly bringing her to climax.

“Yes,” she confessed in a hushed tone.

“You can tell me what you want,” he gently coaxed. “Just say it, baby. Tell me.” Anxiously, he held his breath. Gazing into his pleading eyes, she could see his passion and love as he asked her to take a leap of faith.

“Logan,” she rasped. “Please ...” her voice dropped an octave. “Make me ... help me ... let me come, baby. Please.”

He expelled all of his air in a shuddering sigh, his dark eyes softening as he bent to her. Skirting his tongue across the outer edges of her pussy, Veronica trembled more violently as Logan licked and sucked her hard, dripping clit.

Thrashing and writhing against his ravenous mouth, she keened, begging and pleading unintelligibly as his long fingers twisted into her again and again, curving to stroke the spot and drive her insane. As she started to come apart, he thrust more deeply, fucking her with his tongue and hands, his thumb mercilessly strumming her clit as he held tight and brought her to climax, her body wracked by uncontrollable tremors as she screamed, “Oh, fuck, Logan. Oh, God. Oh, fucking hell. Lo - gan!”

Rising, he pressed his head to her belly, whispering soothing endearments into her flushed skin as he gentled her back to consciousness. “Oh my God,” she moaned, a slow, warm smile spreading over her face as she looked down at him. Eyes sparking, he slithered up her body until his face aligned with hers.

“Veronica? Baby?”

“Mmm, what?” she sighed, curling into him as best she could.

Slanting his mouth over hers, he pushed his tongue inside, letting it dance over hers, popping the snap, he jerked at his jeans, leaving them crumpled at his ankles. Released, his stiff prick bumped between them; Veronica could feel it, warm and moist, pulsing against her stomach. Wrapping his fist around himself, he slid his hand up and down its length once or twice before cupping and gently tugging his balls.

Veronica’s eyes grew wide as Logan caressed the backs of her thighs before hefting her up and pressing her to him, her legs coiling around his waist as he massaged her perfectly curved ass.

“Say it,” he demanded hoarsely, the wet tip of his cock nudging her opening.

She snugged closer, until her lips brushing his ear. “Oh, baby. Fuck me, please.”

With a drawn-out groan, he plunged into her, burying his dick deep inside. Locking her knees, Veronica flexed and rolled her hips, taking him even further. Pinioned and unable to move her arms, she pressed her face into his sinewy neck, gasping and biting as he pulled away drove into her repeatedly. The third time he entered her, his fingers slicked through her velvety wetness and slid up behind, fingering her ass. Squeezing his girth, her thighs clenched around his hips, she screamed huskily and sank her teeth into his shoulder as he shoved one finger half-way into her ass. Her enraptured undoing was his too; bucking wildly he slammed into her, pumping thick, hot, cum as he cried out, “Oh, God, oh Babe. Fuck, Veronica, I love you.”

Limbs tangled, dripping with sweat, they clung together, panting for breath and mumbling soft words of love. Suddenly realizing Veronica was still shackled, Logan cautiously reached one hand to his jeans, fumbling for the key to unlock her. Sweeping her into his arms, he stepped out into the bathroom and slumped to the floor. Enclosing her in a protective thicket of hands, arms and knees, he kissed her shoulders, neck, and forehead, rocking her slowly against his chest.

He felt her tremble underneath his lips, and cuddled her to his chest, soothing her body with tiny touches and easy caresses. She flexed her fingers and wrists, slowly stretching her arms before draping them around his neck. Pulling her face level, she touched her forehead to his and stared intently into his dazed, glistening eyes.

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Veronica never appreciated Logan’s net worth as much as she did when they arrived much later than expected at the airport; it was nothing short of miraculous how their first-class reservations, which she hadn’t wanted but which he had insisted upon, took them to the front of every line, including airport security. She struggled to keep the shit-eating grin off her face when they boarded before everyone else, slunk sheepishly into their seats, asked for blankets and pillows, and she was finally able to slide safely into Logan’s waiting arms. She was sure her face was still crimson as she relaxed, skin tingling, as she drifted off, securely swathed in Logan’s embrace as he randomly whispered wanton thoughts in her ear. Lulled by the ba dum ba dum of his steady heart beat, she slept.

In dreams, as they flew cross-country at 30,000 feet, Veronica reflected on their journey’s implications. On the verge of their junior year at Hearst, Veronica was almost certain law school would be her future. After two years of college Logan had no idea what he wanted to do with his life, but, like Lloyd Dobler, he knew Veronica was supposed to be in it. She was willing to admit she preferred life with Logan Echolls to life without him, but couldn’t commit to a permanent arrangement, believing, as she did, that they would eventually crash and burn. With proximity, their quarrels had become less cute and more vitriolic; she knew it was time to decide whether she was willing to go for it, or whether she’d have to set him free. In her carefully hidden heart of hearts, she believed she wouldn’t have survived past traumas without him; more importantly, now, she knew she didn’t want to. The question was – could she make it work?

Locked in Logan’s sustaining arms, she twisted restlessly, assaulted by the specters of her past, rising unbidden to haunt her. The first was Lilly – funny how, even after death, she came first – Lilly probably had loved Logan, but she’d never seemed to need him, or anyone else. Veronica knew what Lilly would say about them: “He’s weak, Veronica, you need a real man....” She was sure Logan was a real man, but she wasn’t sure whether he was her man.

Although Logan wasn’t weak, Duncan was – weak and unable to cope with life’s travails. Duncan couldn’t deal, so he’d escaped; first into mental illness, then by fleeing the country, conveniently avenging Lilly’s death by proxy. As far as she could tell, Duncan never actually considered the possibility of her and Logan, so it was difficult to know what his current response would be, but, in her mind, Duncan ultimately belonged to sweet Meg, whom Veronica had hardly had the chance to know. When she was alive, Meg approved of anything that kept Veronica away from Duncan, but Veronica hadn’t needed her approval then, and didn’t need it now.

Lynn, who’d lived fast and loved unwisely, had ended her life after becoming trapped in a cold sterile marriage. She’d left the world without any apparent regard for her only child, so it was difficult to know how Lynn would have felt about her relationship with Logan. Veronica was certain Lynn would have loved the man he’d become, though, and would have appreciated Veronica’s love for him, too.

Unlike Duncan, when Lianne left, she hadn’t bothered to kiss Veronica goodbye or tell her she loved her. Of course, Lianne hadn’t had to leave, but she did it anyway, taking Veronica’s future with her. The Lianne who had been Veronica’s mother for sixteen years would have said, “He’s not right for you, Veronica, you can do better....” But, for what it was worth, the Lianne who’d had an adulterous affair with Jake Kane, and hid it for all those years, that Lianne probably would have thought Logan was an okay guy.

And that left Logan, the boy who’d angrily lashed out at her, blaming her for Lilly’s death and tormenting her with undeniable viciousness. He’d changed, for the better, and was now a man, a man who deserved ... so many things. He deserved a woman who loved him for who he’d become, for who he was going to become ... someone who would be ... a partner, and an equal. Someone who needed him, loved him, respected him. Veronica loved and respected him, but up until now, she’d taken great pains not to need him. Need was a dangerous thing, it led to dependency; nearly everyone she’d ever depended upon had screwed up, fucked her over and left her to fend for herself. She just didn’t know if she could allow herself to trust anyone, especially Logan, ever again.

Could she put away her past, her anger, her brittle defenses and suspicious nature? Could she relinquish her ghosts, and the resentments that went with them? And, if she did, if she managed to open up a vein and let go, would she still be Veronica?

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

On their first morning, Veronica woke to find Logan looming over her, his icy cold hands having been shoved under her back for warmth and amusement as he waited for her startled shriek. The night before, after they’d staggered down the gangway, giggling and blushing, Veronica had headed outside to locate the Outward Bound faithful while Logan had gone to hunt their luggage. He’d found their packs, then found Veronica chatting with an unremarkable group comprised of couples and families. As he’d studied their fellow travelers, Logan realized he and Veronica were the youngest by several years, and wondered if it would impact their ability to “enjoy” their vacation.

They’d gotten to the base camp at about six, and quickly pitched their tent; they’d surprised themselves with their teamwork and efficiency. They’d volunteered for firewood duty, combing the area for dead wood in the deepening shadows as the sun disappeared over the mountain rise. Mindful of Outward Bound’s Leave No Trace philosophy, they’d taken special care to collect only the logs and timber that were already on the ground. The evening meal had been simple, chicken seasoned with garlic and thyme, and fresh vegetables, all wrapped in foil and cooked over a grate perched atop the fire. Desert was hot chocolate or coffee and s’mores. Ravenous as always, Veronica ate her chicken, part of Logan’s, and more s’mores than he’d thought humanly possible. While they were eating, the entire group had introduced themselves, exchanging personal information, backgrounds, a brief summary of their prior wilderness experience and reasons for coming to Outward Bound.

When it was Logan’s turn, he’d been uncharacteristically taciturn, mumblingly introducing himself and Veronica but omitting both their surnames. His smile reappeared when he announced the trip was their pre-honeymoon honeymoon gift to Veronica; he winked lasciviously as he’d tumbled back to their blanket. Rosy from the fire and blushing from Logan’s glowing words, Veronica also avoided any mention of the Mars and/or Echolls names; instead, she focused on their goal of being better partners. It was the most honest she’d ever been in front of a group of strangers.

Most of the campers had tucked in early, bidding the two of them goodnight before ten o’clock. Too excited to sleep, they’d stayed awake, watching the glow of the slowly dying embers and tracking the stars as they moved across an endless, three-dimensional sky so clear it seemed the constellations were having a cocktail party. Lolling back between Logan’s outstretched legs, Veronica relaxed in a way she hadn’t in a long time, one hand burrowed inside his sleeve, the other resting on her stomach, securely covered by his larger, warmer one. Every now and again, she surreptitiously tilted her head to watch him, her heart smiling as her eyes traced his profile. “Logan,” she murmured.

“Yeah, Babe.”

“It’s so beautiful. I’m glad we came.”

Cuddling her closer, he brushed kisses through her flaxen hair as she nestled into his chest. “Me too, Babe. Me too.”

Although it was late spring and, during the daytime, quite warm, evenings in the mountains of North Carolina were chilly, the mornings bright but brisk. They woke at the crack of dawn, their alarm clock the caws and coos of birds they’d never before heard, and a riot of clicks, pops and squeaks from crickets, cicadas, and grasshoppers.

By nine, the lustrous sun was well into the brilliant cerulean sky, and the temperature had risen to the mid-60s. Cleaning up the refuse from breakfast, they listened to the director’s quick lecture on environmental consciousness: no souvenirs, that is, take home nothing other than what you came with; leave nothing behind, i.e., remove everything you carried in; extinguished fires must be both wet and buried; respect wildlife and be considerate of others....

Although they would be returning to the same camp later, they spent the morning packing everything into their backpacks in preparation for their first real hike. Tightly rolling her bedding, Veronica cinched it to her pack and tried to heft it onto her shoulders. From his knees, Logan glanced up in time to see her lurch and nearly keel over backward from the weight. Aware she wasn’t going to ask for help, he grinned affectionately and gracefully rose to his feet, steadying her with a hand on her back until she got her balance.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I think so,” she huffed gratefully, taking a few tentative steps to get her bearings.

“Next time, it’ll be easier if you prop it up and step into it,” he replied cautiously. “Or, I could hold it for you.”

“That would be good,” she nodded. “Especially if we’re anywhere near the edge of something – ”

“Okay, everyone, on me,” the director hollered, interrupting Veronica. “We’re going to be hiking about five miles. I know it doesn’t sound like a lot, but most of it’s uphill and, believe me, you’re going to feel it by the time we get there....”

“And we’re really gonna feel it on the way back,” Logan muttered in her ear.

Surprising themselves and the others, Veronica and Logan had no difficulty on the trail, leading most of the way. When they reached the designated half-way point, she flung her pack at Logan’s feet and advised him she was going into the woods to relieve herself.

“Need any help there, Smokey?” he drawled lazily, his meaning clear.

“Thanks, but I think I can manage on my own.”

“Just be on the lookout for any red-stemmed, three-leaf vines,” he added as she was about to step off the path. “Or any bright red leaves in clusters of three.”

Shocked, Veronica spun and shot him a quizzical look.

“Poison ivy, dear. Wouldn’t want your bottom to get all red and itchy,” he smirked, lifting his water bottle and chuckling as she cautiously tromped into the brush.

“How ‘bout you let me worry about my ‘bottom’ and you keep an eye out for snakes...or bears...or ticks and spiders, okay?” she volleyed back, laughing as she continued into the woods.

Returning unscathed a few minutes later, Veronica found Logan gracefully reclining on a rock at the edge of the trail. He was leaning against his pack, head back, eyes closed, unconcerned about the who-knows-how-many foot drop-off just beyond his outstretched legs. God, he’s beautiful. He seems so free, out here in the middle of nowhere, like he’s not afraid of anything. Absently, she wondered if he heard the same voices she did, saw the ghostly bodies standing between them, felt the pull of the past. It certainly didn’t seem like it.

“Hey, Handsome,” she called in a low, suggestive voice. His eyes fluttered, a quirk of a grin teasing across his lips. “You want some candy?”

Without opening his eyes, he opened his arms. “C’mere, woman.”

She settled comfortably next to him, putting her hand in his, nudging him with her thigh. “God. It’s just so incredibly spectacular. I think I don’t want to go home.”

“Fine with me. We can stay. You’re all I really need anyway.” When she didn’t reply, he sat up abruptly, watching as she breathed in the glorious view. He put his hands solidly on her neck, kneading her neck and shoulders. “What’s wrong, baby?”

She sighed once, heavily, then bravely squared her shoulders. “Nothing. Race you to the top?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I know you don’t think you can beat me, so what’s up? What are you thinking about?” he asked, eyeing her speculatively.

She uttered another heavy breath. “Nothing. ... It’s nothing. ... I just keep thinking about....”

“You’re thinking about ... ravishing me at the top of the mountain?” he gibed. When she didn’t laugh, he continued, “No? Okay, ‘fess up, Veronica. What’s eating you now?” he inquired with a frown.

She smiled softly and squeezed his hand. “It’s not you. I just keep thinking about Lilly. I can’t imagine you two doing anything like this.”

He tugged at her hand, gently diminishing the space between them. When her head nestled on the flat of his chest, he exhaled gratefully. “I’m not that guy anymore. And you know you’ve never been a substitute for her. I don’t know what would have happened if she hadn’t died, but I’d like to think I would have outgrown her and become the ... person I am today, with you.”

“You mean the man you are today, Logan,” she corrected meaningfully.

Veronica tried to imagine Lilly and Logan at twenty-one, but found she couldn’t. In some ways, Lilly was a child, even at seventeen. Willful, selfish, and hedonistic far beyond the average teenager, Lilly wouldn’t have liked the earnest, sober, thoughtful man Logan had become. She didn’t appreciate him, or his love for her, when she had them. If Lilly had ever really loved Logan, she wouldn’t have put herself in the position to be killed. Not that it was Lilly’s fault – Aaron was a murderous bastard – but if Lilly hadn’t been fucking him, she’d be alive today. Maybe it had all come too easily to Lilly, Veronica mused, or maybe it was because both she and Logan had gone through so much together. Either way, Veronica liked the person Logan had become, even though she’d fallen in love with him long before he’d grown up.

“Yeah. About the man thing....” he teased, shamelessly brushing his thumb across the back of her neck. She tilted her face up and stretched to reach his lips, her hand cupping his cheek.

“Later,” she whispered, kissing him modestly. “We have to finish the hike first.”

Part Two

Fic - Summer Abroad - L/V - NC-17 - rindee

rindee — Fri, 20 Oct 2006 00:41:59 GMT

Title: Summer Abroad
Author: Rindee
Pairings: Veronica/Logan
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6,975
Spoilers: Nothing specific - AU future fic set sometime after they graduate from Neptune High, so if you've seen Season Two, you're golden.
Warnings: Language, adult situations, sexual content.
Summary: Six weeks of summer school at Oxford University.

A/N: Honestly, I don't know what I would do without betas mastermia and rejeneration; they're both twisted, sick individuals who put up with my bad spelling, awkward phrasing, and general obnoxiousness - and I don't even pay them well!! Written for the fiendishly wicked taken_with_you for the Incognito Challenge at Madame Librarian's vm_library, and cross-posted to veronicamarsfic because my beta threatened me if I didn't.

Frantically scrubbing the stainless steel sink and backsplash for the second time in an hour, she bit her lip anxiously, worried what he would say when she told him. It was only six weeks, she reasoned, and it wasn’t as if they wouldn’t have another six before her fall semester started, but still.... It was England. Oxford, England, to be exact; forty miles from London, and 5,539 miles from San Diego. Wow – it sounded far when she put it that way.

When he got home, Logan found Veronica in the bathroom, on her hands and knees, frenetically scouring grout with a toothbrush. She looked like a washerwoman, her long, satiny tresses bundled up under a faded bandana, her bare legs barely covered by her oldest denim shorts, the ones with the ripped pockets and frayed hems. His U2 tee was soaked with proof of her extra exertions in the kitchen.

“Ron? What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing. There’s nothing wrong. It’s just - the grout was absolutely filthy, and something had to be done about it, and you weren’t going to do it.”

He wormed it out of her after dinner, as she was putting away the leftovers. Her head was in the refrigerator and she was mumbling, but he’d clearly heard, “Summer semester, six weeks in Oxford, England.” Surprising her - he’d been endlessly astonishing since they’d moved in together six months before - he quickly agreed it was an opportunity she couldn’t afford to miss. That night, she surprised him with her own special ‘thank you’ celebration.

* * * * *

Almost two months later, as she packed the last of her things, Logan promised not to be too lonely, swore he wouldn’t spend all his free time drinking with Dick, and assured her he wanted her to go. Stubborn as ever, Veronica hadn’t let him buy her anything special for the trip, just an international cell phone; she rationalized it was as much for his convenience as hers. Tucking it in her bag, she asked if he was ready to go.

On the way to the airport, he tried to be cheerful; she tried not to be. Neither was completely successful.

“Call me when you get to Heathrow. No matter what time it is,” he commanded fiercely, his eyes deep and impenetrable.

“I will. I promise.” She blinked rapidly, trying her hardest not to cry.

He wound his arms around and folded her into his chest. He pressed her to him as if memorizing her every contour and curve, the sweep of her shoulder where he nestled into her neck, the swell of her breasts as she inhaled and exhaled against him, the narrow of her back as he pulled her tighter. He could feel her throat vibrate as she tried to say something, but he refused to release her until she tilted back and gasped, “Air, please. I need to breathe.” He chuckled and stuck his tongue in her ear, laughing harder as she squealed like a child. “You’re not really sad to see me go, you’re just sorry you’re not going to get laid for six weeks,” she teased, trying to inject a lighter note into their farewell.

“Um, about that...” he stammered, a flash of mischief crossing his face. “Six weeks is an awfully long time.”

She tiptoed, whispered, with a mocking smile, “You’re just gonna have to save it until I get home, Big Guy.”

He nudged his hips into her belly so she could feel him. “You’re gonna miss me, too.”

“I know.” She squeezed his ass playfully. “I’ll just have to take matters into my own hands and think about what I’m missing.” They stared at each other, their expressions a mixture of affection, excitement, lust, and sadness. “I have to go, Logan,” she murmured, gently extracting herself from his safe, warm grasp, taking his hand in hers. Kissing his fingers, she raised her mouth; he sealed his lips over hers, brushing his hand across her cheek.

“See you soon, okay?” She nodded and spun away, ducking her head and training her eyes on the ground.

* * * * *

The International Terminal at Heathrow was a revelation; people of all races and nationalities wearing everything from colorful ethnic garb to the chicest of fashions, talking in who-knows-how many languages. It was crowded and noisy and a bit overwhelming, making her head swim. After clearing customs, Veronica wandered through the buzzing terminal, gazing into the multitude of shops as she passed; it seemed you could buy almost anything in Terminal 1: Harrods, with their own storefront, a place called Best of the Best where they sold Ferraris and BMWs, two Italian restaurants, three espresso bars, the Caviar House – a seafood bar – two spas and a Manicure Express, in case she wanted her nails done on her way out the door.

When she passed the Cigar House, she thought of Logan and turned in to buy him some Cubans. She was going to ship directly but decided to keep them with her, their faint, dusky scent reminding her of him. She had two cases of single-malt scotch sent home though, one to their place and one to her Dad. A taste for good scotch was one thing Keith and Logan shared. Hefting her suitcase, she was grateful for Logan’s quiet insistence that she pack light and ship the rest, and managed to find her train to Oxford.

* * * * *

He’d been watching since she deplaned at Heathrow, discreetly following her across the vast expanse of the airport, observing as she casually picked her way through the crowd, stopping to buy cigars and whiskey before heading out to the cab stand. Tiny as she was, her smooth blonde halo a beacon amidst the hoi polloi, she was unmistakable, and he hadn’t needed to refer to the picture tucked in his shirt pocket. At Victoria Station, he’d managed to get on the same train, his heathered sports jacket, black jeans, and Kangol cap blending in with the other passengers, a copy of the London Times obscuring his face. He even sat in the same car; last row, aisle seat, facing the interior. Fortunately, she was so taken with the view from her window seat she didn’t even glance about the cabin during the 45-minute ride.

* * * * *

The British countryside was impossibly green and jewel-like; tiny farms dotted rolling hills, the thatched fields resembling the woven strands of a patch-work quilt, pale and deep green alternating with honey-colored wheat. Although she was exhausted from her twenty-one-hour trip, she couldn’t keep her eyes from the breathtaking view.

Too soon she’d arrived at Oxford Railway Station. Ambling out the station doors, she found an ancient-looking, black, box-like taxi that appeared to have had rolled off the assembly line before her father was born. The inside was spotless though, the cabbie friendly and seemingly trustworthy. When she told him “Queen’s College” he knew exactly where to go, though she didn’t quite believe him when he deposited her at the base of broad stone stairs leading up to thirty foot high, twelve foot wide wooden doors. The entryway was so intricately carved it appeared to have come from a medieval castle.

* * * * *

Once she reached the train platform at Oxford, he waited until she’d gotten a taxi before finding his car. He’d already memorized her itinerary and digested it detail for detail; having assets on the inside helped. Obtaining her complete travel schedule, checking the spots she’d be likely to hit, he set out plotting his best chance to grab her. Like many university towns, Oxford itself wasn’t large, and he was confident he could keep track of one cute, petite American law student. Her first scheduled destination was Queen’s College, on the High.

* * * * *

Climbing the steps to the imposing arched doorway, she imagined seeing all of the college’s impressive historical grandeur with Logan, and wished he weren’t quite so far away. Glancing at the directions she’d been sent by the University, she looked up to find the Porters’ Lodge immediately to the left. Just beyond and behind the tiny kiosk was a sea of trunks, oversized and overstuffed suitcases, boxes, and duffle bags. She handed her passport to the gentleman inside the booth and identified her belongings. The Porter gave Veronica her room assignment and indicated the proper stairwell, telling her it was five floors up and to the right.

Having laboriously lugged her belongings up the five stone staircases - apparently the term “porter” didn’t include actually assisting students with luggage - she finally sat down, flinging open the casement windows to let the rosy glow of the sunset fill her room. Too tired to remember the time differential between Oxford and San Diego, she hunted for her phone. “Hi. Did I wake you?”

“No, I’m up. How is it? How are you?”

“I – I’m fine. Tired.”

“Long trip, huh?”

“Yeah, it was. Logan - it’s, it’s beautiful, so beautiful. Everything’s so old and stately and ornate and - it’s just, I don’t think I have the words.” His warm, encouraging chuckle made her feel less homesick, even if he was only in her ear. “Tell me again,” she purred. “Where am I supposed to go first?”

“You have a list, Veronica, but I doubt there’s much to see tonight. It’s like, what time is it there?”

“Um. I’m not sure. I can see a clock from my window, but I don’t know if it’s right. I think it’s about seven-thirty - the sun’s going down, so whatever time that is.”

“Have you eaten anything yet?” Concern was evident in his voice, but he refrained from chastising her.

“No. No, I just got to my room. I haven’t met anyone so far, but I think there’s a mixer thing happening in the dining hall, wherever that is.”

“You have to eat. Go find the mixer, and if there’s no food, I’m sure there’s a coffee shop or something nearby.” She sighed, her tone a mixture of apprehension and fatigue. “Hey, it’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine. Did you call your dad yet?”

“Um, nope, not yet. He’s my next call. Thank you again for the phone, Logan. I understand why you wanted me to have it.”

“I gave it to you for selfish reasons, but you’re welcome. Call me anytime, okay?”

“I will,” she smiled, reflecting on how incredibly thoughtful and supportive he’d been in the past few months. Although she’d never admit it to him, she could get used to allowing him to take care of her. Breaking her reverie, she asked,“So, what are you doing, right now?” She wasn’t quite sure, but she thought she’d heard his breathing alter slightly.

“Right now, as in this very minute?” His voice thickened.

“Yes. Right now.”

“What if I told you I was thinking of you and taking matters into my own hand?” His leer was crystal clear.

“Logan!” She pretended to be scandalized, but the blush in her voice gave her away. “Are you really?”

“Am I really what?” he teased, drawing out the syllables. “Thinking of you?” His voice deepened into a familiar tone that sent shivers up her spine. “Yes, Veronica, I’m thinking of you.”

“What are you wearing,” she asked mischievously, her phone hand white-knuckled, the other sliding between her denim-clad legs.

“Why do you want to know?” he parried. “It’s eight-thirty in the morning, Ron. What should I be wearing?” She sucked in a quick breath and closed her eyes, recalling Logan in his low-slung sweat pants and nothing else. “Veronica Mars,” he whispered delightedly. “Are you ... thinking of me?”

“I miss you,” she blurted guiltily.

“And....” he prompted wickedly. “What are you doing about it?”

She laughed nervously. Logan knew all her secrets, but it was a big jump from knowing she was fantasizing about him to knowing she was masturbating while listening to his voice in her ear.

“Veronica,” he murmured seductively. “Are you touching yourself?”

“I asked you first,” she breathed. “What are you wearing, Logan?” She heard the rustle of expensive cotton sheets.

“My Hearst sweat pants,” he replied slowly. “And nothing else.”

“Mmm. So you’re almost naked?” Her voice barely trembled, but she was sure he’d catch the vibration.

“Yeess,” he drawled, stretching out the word to encompass more than just his answer. “I’m getting comfortable, Veronica. You should too.”

“Um.... Okay,” she said hesitantly, leaning back on the narrow twin bed before kicking off her boots. “Hold – hold on a sec.” His indulgent chuckle warmed her body as she yanked the zip on her hoodie and slipped it off. He heard the rip of the zipper followed by a soft swish as she pulled her tee shirt over her head. “Logan? Are you still there?”

“Oh, I’m here, baby. My turn. What are you wearing?”

She closed her eyes again. “My little green bra, the one you like.” He exhaled heavily. “And jeans. Logan,” she continued, her voice faint and breathy. “Are you....”

“Am I what?” he prompted, his voice deep with desire.

“Are you ... touching yourself?”

“Yep. I’m thinking of you, babe, kneeling between my legs, your soft fingers stroking my cock....” He shuddered and sighed.

“Are you hard?” she quavered. “I ... I want you to be hard, Logan.”

“Babe,” he groaned. “Like a goddamn rock.” She laughed shakily. “Are you excited? Are you wet? Are your nipples standing at attention? What do they feel like?” he demanded imperiously. She nodded, forgetting he couldn’t see her, and dutifully ran her fingers across her already-stiff nipples, tweaking them between her thumb and forefinger the way he always did. Her sharp hiss was his answer. “If I were there with you, I’d lick your beautiful breasts and swipe my tongue over each of your perfect pink nipples – ” She whimpered, her altered breathing clear and unmistakable. “ – and I’d suck each one, long and hard. You’re so frackin’ hot when you’re under me, babe.”

Puffing delicately, she tried to catch her breath. “Oh, God. You’re making me so excited my hands are shaking. Are you … can you … feel my hands on you?” she stammered, warming to the subject. “On your … dick? Can you feel me touching you … stroking you?” She drew out her words and left them lingering in the air. He groaned softly; she pictured him on his side, in their bed, his sweats pushed off his hips as he fisted his rigid cock. The very thought of arousing him to masturbate for her caused her to shiver. “I’m circling my fingers around you, running my hands up and down, my thumb caressing the head - it’s so red and tight - I want to put you in my mouth, Logan.” She grinned at his sharp gasp and continued ruthlessly, “Mmm, you’re so big, baby.”

“You ... you really do miss me?” he stuttered, confirming her suspicion. “How much do you me miss, sugarlips?” he demanded to know. “Are your hands between your legs? Are your panties damp yet?”

“Um ...wait a minute,” she temporized, the clack of her fly echoing over the line. He heard her sigh as she slipped a hand inside. “Ah … Logan … I’m so wet,” she moaned, thrusting against her fingers as she brushed her clit and bit her lip. “Oh, God. I need you.”

His grunt made her tingle in the pit of her stomach. Wiggling on the bed, she strained to peel off her jeans. “Tell me what you’re doing,” he implored in his smoky, ‘let’s have sex’ voice. “I need to see you.”

The sound went straight to her core. “I’m … I’m getting undressed. I can’t…. Oh, God.” Kicking her jeans to the floor, she began rubbing her nipples with one hand, the other reaching between her legs, the sound of her arousal flowing into his brain.

“Touch yourself,” he prompted huskily. “Put your fingers inside.”

She rolled onto her stomach, knees bent apart, ass in the air, straining for her slippery center. “Talk to me,” she begged, fingers flying as she rocked against them. “Tell me what you’re doing to me.” Eyes screwed shut, she imagined his hands on hers, spreading her wide, tracing a path from her slit to her clit, rubbing her, urging her on. Her hips began to twitch as she sunk two slender fingers inside, her thumb anchored against her clit.

“What are you doing?” he ground out.

She panted hoarsely. “I’m … I’m on my knees … my hands are - I’m fingering my.... Help me, baby.”

“Veronica. You’re killin’ me. I’m so fucking hard my cock is like glass,” he announced in a strangled tone. “And, baby, you’re so gonna pay. I’m going to crawl up behind you, and I’m going to shove my face right into your pussy. I’m gonna suck your clit,” She wheezed, gasping as he blissfully carried on. “I’m gonna lick it … and kiss it … and rub it … until you cream on me. And then,” he growled, she could hear his hands fumbling. “I’ll fuck your slick little pussy with my tongue, in and out, in and out, until you scream. And after you come, I’m gonna grab your adorable ass and pound my cock so far inside – ” The sound of her garbled wail cut him off as she wildly bucked against her hand, choking and sobbing as she brought herself to a shuddering orgasm.

“Logan?” she huffed, her chest heaving painfully. “Ohmygod, ohmygod, oh ... my ... God.” Relieved he couldn’t see her sticky, cum-covered fingers or sweat-soaked face, she rocked back and forth for a minute before collapsing onto the bed. “Baby... did you ... are you – tell me,” she pleaded, her thighs and quim still quivering. “Tell me what you’re doing. Tell me what I do to you.”

“Oh fuckingshit. Christ, I’m so fucking stiff.” Again she visualized him, head thrown back, his long fingers stroking his tumescent cock, roughly thumbing the head as he jacked his other hand along the shaft.

“What are you doing?” she begged. “What do you want me to do?”

“You tell me,” he insisted, his voice harsh and guttural.

“I’m going to kiss your belly, Logan,” she panted desperately, determined to send him over the edge. “Long, slow, wet kisses, and lick my way down your tummy to your balls.”

“Fuck,” he hissed.

“I’m gonna wrap my fingers around your hard, throbbing dick, and I’m going to run my tongue around the tip before I take you in my mouth,” she purred, lowering her voice. “Do you feel my tongue? Can you? I want to lick you like a lollipop ... mmm.” His breath stuttered and she could practically hear him jerking his cock roughly, imagining his face contorted in a grimace.

“Shit.”

“I’m gonna put you in my mouth and roll my tongue around your dick while I play with your balls. You’re so hard, baby, so hot on my lips. I can feel you getting thicker the deeper I take you in my throat. Your hands are in my hair and I’m on my knees between your legs. Can you see me, Logan? Like at home, when you’re right there, and you open your eyes to watch just before you let go? My red lips sliding up and down your shaft? You like, that don’t you? When I open wide so you can cum down my throat? Cum for me, baby,” she ordered. “Cum in my mouth.”

He called out to her and Jesus; she could hear him grunting as he tugged and yanked. She closed her eyes and moaned, breathing his name into the phone as he pumped into his hand, spilling cum over his fingers and onto his belly. When she knew he’d finished, she slurped loudly, giggling. “Mmm. That’s my guy.”

“When are you coming home?” he asked hoarsely when he’d finally regained the ability to speak.

* * * * *

Peering over the second floor balcony, he saw her exit the stairwell and trail slowly through the front quad and into the back, stopping to admire the scenery but obviously searching for something. He’d already nicked the seminar schedule from the Porters’ Lodge, and surmised she was looking for the Meet and Greet. Good, he thought, she’ll be busy for a while. He waited until she’d found her classmates, then slipped down the stairs to skirt the perimeter to the stairwell leading to her room. Fortunately, hers was off the last stairwell in the front quad, and her nearest neighbor used a different staircase. He quietly ascended the ancient stone steps, two at a time, to the last landing and the casement windows that led to the parapet.

He knew the windows opened, he’d been there before, so he carefully released the latch and climbed outside onto the narrow walkway just behind the brickwork ringing the roof. Turning to his right, he slid ten feet north, to her windows, which she’d neglected to close. He scanned the interior before easing in to sit on the ledge. Satisfied she would be occupied for a while, he hopped off the ledge and walked directly to her luggage still ensconced in the middle of the room. He popped the locks and checked inside, cautiously rummaging through the layers of clothing and feeling around the sides of each case.

Still poking around, he noticed a pale jade bra on the bed, along with a towel and a dark green, too-big tee. Nearby, a crumpled pair of jeans rested on the floor. As he bent to check her jean’s pockets, his nose twitched. He sniffed, taking note of the musky, distinctive smell of sex. Brazenly, he bent down to retrieve her bra from the bed, drawing his fingers over the jade detail, thinking about how she might look in it before sliding it into his pants pocket. Warily, he searched the rest of the room, quickly running his hands over her things and shuffling through the books and papers scattered on the scarred wooden desk.

Startled by the sound of a door unlocking, he glanced around. The noise seemed to emanate from the quaint fireplace built into the common wall between her room and the next. If her neighbor was already back, she might not be far behind. He hurriedly shoved some papers in his pocket and boosted himself back out the window, ducking down between the building wall and the brick parapet so he couldn’t be seen from High Street, five stories below.

Crouched against the wall, he crawled to the open landing windows, held his breath and listened. Within a minute, he heard soft footsteps in the stairwell. She fumbled for her key; he thought she was probably exhausted, or maybe a bit tipsy. He could hear her bumping about the room; once it got quiet, he waited another minute and stood to climb back in. Just then, her door opened. In a flash, he dropped to his knees on the wooden pallets lining the base of the parapet and prayed she hadn’t seen anything. Peering over the edge of the windowsill, he saw her lock up and head for the stairs, a towel and small travel case tucked under her arm.

There was no bathroom in her suite; in fact, there was none on the floor, or any of the other floors. She had to go all the way to the basement to take a shower. Listening as her footfalls drifted down the stairs, he counted to one thousand before climbing in and tiptoeing down and out into the quad. Staying in the shadows, he traced the perimeter to the Porter’s Gate, the side door that opened onto Queen’s Lane; it was the only way to enter or exit after hours.

* * * * *

Veronica woke to the sound of someone unlocking her door. Head and heart pounding, she leapt up just as a freckle-faced, cheerful, pink-cheeked woman wearing a dress and apron entered her room.

“Sorry, deary,” she lilted in a warm Irish brogue. “I dina know you were still abed. I kin come back, if ya like.”

“Who, who are you?” Veronica stammered.

“I’m yer scout.”

“My scout?”

“Yea, I’m ‘ere to clean up yer quarters twice a week.”

“Oh my Go - sh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” Gazing at her, Veronica noticed the woman carried a vacuum cleaner and dust rag and Veronica felt a quick pang of guilt that her ‘scout’ had climbed five flights just to do her room. “I – I’m afraid I haven’t even unpacked yet, so if you want, you can skip today and come back later this week.” Realizing she was dressed in a gauzy, paper-thin tank top, Veronica quickly crossed her arms over her chest.

“’at’s fine, love. I ken still straighten a bit.” She gave Veronica a sympathetic once-over. “I’ll just be out ‘ere,” she gestured to the hallway, “’til yer ready, dear. I’m Abby, in case ye need somethin’. Best hurry or you’ll miss breakfast,” she added, gently shutting the door behind her.

Nodding dumbly, Veronica reached into her Pullman and grabbed the first top she found. She located a khaki skirt and clean underwear, and got dressed. She slung her messenger bag and camera case over her shoulder, shuddered at the pile of yesterday’s clothes, still on the floor, and left to hunt for breakfast.

The grass was still dewy, and a fine mist hovered in the shadows where the sun had yet to reach. She strolled to the Porter’s Lodge, the muted thud of her sneakers echoing in the deserted quad. Today’s porter wasn’t the man who’d assisted her the previous afternoon, but he was just as willing to help and directed her back the way she’d come, down the flagstone walkway to the dining hall.

Walking in, she was positive she’d stumbled into the wrong place. The soaring, vaulted ceilings were easily two stories tall, flanked by arched, stained-glass windows. Between the glittering panes hung life-size, formal portraits of very serious looking men and women. Two massive brass chandeliers dangled overhead, and a huge marble fireplace punctuated the center of the mahogony-paneled west wall. So this is where Harry Potter goes to school, she mused, noting the three rows of extended plank tables running the length of the hall.

A small cluster of students was seated at the only table covered in linen; they weren’t quite whispering, but their chatter was muted, as if they were afraid to talk normally in the austere surroundings. Glancing up, a tanned, impossibly handsome, has-to-be-gay guy cocked his head at her. “Hey, are you here for the summer law seminar?” Seeing her nod, he waved her over. “Siddown. I’m Gennaro, and this is Jess, Janice, Ross, and Katie.”

Sliding onto a chair, Veronica surveyed the pitchers and vessels scattered across the table. “Is there coffee?”

A couple of the students grimaced as Gennaro explained: “They call it coffee, but we think it’s mud, probably instant. It’s horrible. If you can get your caffeine fix from tea, I’d recommend it. They do great tea.”

Amiably agreeing, she accepted the teapot and carafe of cream. In short order, she learned Gennaro and Ross were from New York City, while Jess and Katie were from Oklahoma. Janice was from Missouri, but was attending school in Los Angles. Like Veronica, all had completed their first year; none had been to England before now. Breakfast, they told her, was fantastic, as long as she liked eggs. They would bring her eggs any way she liked, with any meat she wanted, but there wasn’t much else on the menu. She was instructed to ask for toast, the jams and preserves were wonderful, but was warned not to expect it to be warm when it reached the table. The English, it seemed, were incapable of making warm toast.

By nine a.m., she felt like she’d been adopted as, joshing like old friends, the six traipsed around the manicured copse and into their first class, a survey of the history and development of British law. After class, she met Rich, the man whose room was next-door to hers, through the fireplace wall. When their last class ended at one, Janice and Katie invited her to explore central Oxford. She begged off, confessing she had some calls to make, unpacking to do, and wanted to begin reading for tomorrow’s classes.

* * * * *

Even though he had a car, he’d rented a bicycle to fit in as he moved around Oxford. He’d also purchased a scarlet Manchester United jersey, skin-tight black bike shorts, a jet ball cap, and wrap-around Oakley’s. Assembling his disguise, he studied the mirror and snatched the cap off. Greasing back his unruly hair, he reversed the cap and added the wrap-arounds. Satisfied his own mother wouldn’t recognize him, he locked up and set out to find his target.

After peddling all the way around the Ring Wall to warm up and get some exercise, he cruised up the High and into Queen’s Lane. To his great pleasure, he found the Porter’s Gate open, and, leaving his bike in the alley, strolled into the quad, a guidebook covering his lower face as he pretended to be a tourist, admiring from the outside the same stained glass she’d seen earlier. Wandering into the back quad, he located the classrooms. It was the first day, so each was labeled with the section title. Consulting her schedule, hidden inside his flashy picture book of Oxford, he figured out which was hers.

Once he ascertained where she’d be for the next few hours, he retreated to the coffee shop across the lane and purchased refreshments, knowing he was going to have to wait at least three hours before she completed the academic portion of her day. Stuffing a bottle of water into his backpack, he took his coffee and bearclaw into the back quad, and settled on the steps opposite her classroom to enjoy his breakfast.

After reading the local newspaper and every page of his book, he pulled out a sketch pad and began to draw the obelisk in the center of the square. Finally, at about 12:45 p.m., he heard the chattering magpie sounds of the students. He watched as twenty or so exited the classroom and scattered to the corners of quad or into the front. His prey was among the last to straggle out, her head tilted forward as she scrolled through her phone messages.

* * * * *

Head down, focused on her cell, she hardly noticed the cute biker sunning himself on the steps. Dumping her books on the bed, she changed into walking shorts and a short-sleeved tee, located her map of Oxford and set out to explore Magdalen (pronounced maudlin), one of the thirty-or-so colleges that comprised Oxford University. Realizing she was famished, she stopped in at the cute coffee house on the corner of Queen’s Lane and got some ice cream, a cookie and a cup of java before heading east.

* * * * *

He picked her up from his perch outside the antique shop across High Street. Kneeling, pretending to repair his bike chain, he waited until she was almost a block past before getting to his feet and resuming his tour. It was mid-afternoon, so the street was crowded with bikes, buses, and cabs, the sidewalk full of pedestrians. Confident she wouldn’t detect him, he employed a curious surveillance method, speeding ahead of her, then circling back to buzz past on the other side of the street.

* * * * *

Magdalen, she’d discovered, had a lovely deer park on the grounds, populated with their own herd. It sounded like the perfect place to read, and maybe even doze for a moment. She was thinking about writing Logan a letter – not that she couldn’t call, but she just felt like writing to him. Seeing her words on the page felt so much more substantial and permanent.

Gracefully settling beneath an old oak tree, she set her water and chocolate chip cookie on her notebook and leaned back, arms around her waist. Sighing gratefully, she closed her eyes and drifted off, thinking of Logan: his gentle touch on her neck when he pulled her in for a quick kiss; the broad, flat plain of his chest where she rested her head when they snuggled; his liquid heroin eyes when he was aroused….

* * * * *

When he saw her go into the wrought-iron gates of Magdalen, he realized he’d have to don his other disguise in order to trail her inside. Leaning his bike against the fence, he tore off his Man U jersey and slipped into a hideously plaid button-down, and hiked baggy khaki, bushwhacker shorts over his sleek lyric ones. He substituted a floppy, round-brimmed fisherman’s hat for his ball cap and switched sunglasses. Hanging a pair of binoculars from his neck, he rummaged in his backpack until he found his birdwatcher’s guide and raised his eyes to the branches above his head.

Carefully stepping through the tall grass, he circumnavigated the park, raising the binocs every ten feet or so to watch her peacefully napping in the shade. She wasn’t going anywhere, so he snapped a couple of pictures, for proof.

It would be so easy, he thought. He could do it right there, if they weren’t out in the open. Some PI. She hadn’t even noticed him, as far as he could tell, and now she was totally defenseless. He guessed she wasn’t expecting someone to tail her all the way to England. He glanced at his watch – it was almost five. At six, she’d have another cocktail reception to attend. He wouldn’t be far behind.

* * * * *

It was chilly when she woke at five-fifteen. It had been warm and sunny, but once the sun started sinking, it cooled off fast. Stretching her cramped legs, she briskly rubbed her arms and hopped up and down before heading back. She threw on her little black skirt, and a soft pink, ballet-neck sweater. Demur, low heels completed the outfit as she hurried to the pub for “happy hour.” It seemed odd and exotic to have a pub on the premises, just down the way from “her” stairwell, but she’d been assured it was an ancient ritual, and just as civilized as tea. Walking in, she was startled to see her professors cozied up to the bar next to their students, but after a few sips of a good Reisling, she relaxed into an amusing conversation about – what else – the colonies, as in, the US of A.

* * * * *

Immediately after dinner, Jess, Janice and Katie cornered her and pressed her to accompany them to Turf’s, an Oxford tradition. The thought of venturing outside the walls of Queen’s to go pub crawling with three people she barely knew made her queasy, but she gave in with little fuss. They promised to wait while she changed clothes, and she slipped upstairs to slide into her black jeans and sneakers. Slinging her leather jacket over her shoulder, she decided she had enough time to quickly call Logan. He probably wouldn’t mind if she had a drink with her new “friends” but it gave her an excuse to call and wake him up.

“It’s me,” she murmured when she heard his muffled ‘Hello.’ “Did I wake you?”

“No, I’m up. Been up for hours, just waiting for you to call,” he replied, his voice rumbling warm and light.

“You’ve been waiting for me? You could have called me, you know,” she chided gently. “This fancy phone works both ways.”

They nattered for a few minutes about nothing in particular, each confessing their longing for the other. Veronica told him about the pub walk; he agreed it was a good thing, but made her promise to be safe and careful. She swore she would and guaranteed she’d be securely in bed by midnight, in case he wanted to bid her goodnight. Tucking her phone in her pocket, she clattered down to join the crew.

* * * * *

Lurking by the kitchen door throughout the evening meal, he’d managed to overhear the plans to visit the venerable Turf’s Pub. He’d smiled wickedly. The only way to get to Turf’s was through an alley entrance by Hertford College, which was itself located on one of the smaller Oxford thoroughfares. Either location would be an excellent place for an unobserved ambush, as long as he could separate her from the pack. It looked like tonight was a ‘go’.

Hoping Turf’s would be their first stop, he decided to beat them to it and set out for the tavern. It was a short walk, despite the twists and turns of the narrow, cobbled streets, and he was able to secure a seat at the back bar with a full view of the courtyard table. She and the others arrived about 45 minutes later, emerging single file from the tight, tunnel-like path.

Turning his back to them, he surreptitiously watched between the shelves of the bar’s mirrored backdrop, wondering how drunk she’d be by the end of her evening. It appeared she was having a shandy, lager mixed with “lemonade,” known stateside as 7-Up or Sprite. It wouldn’t have been his choice, but it wasn’t the worst thing to drink if you wanted to stay half-sober.

* * * * *

Finally, at about 10:20, she admitted she was worn out and needed sleep. Missing Logan more than she’d thought possible, she knew if she was in her room, she could spend some “quality” phone time with him, maybe even nod off to the sound of his voice. She excused herself, promising to go right back to the college, and began gathering her things, her ever-present camera, which she stuffed in her messenger bag, her money and her jacket.

* * * * *

When he saw her making ready to depart, he flung some bills and coins on the bar and hurried out, leather gloves in hand. He’d cased the area on his way over, and already knew exactly where he wanted to do it. Sidling into a darkened doorway just under the Bridge of Sighs, Hertford College’s stunningly exact recreation of Venice’s most famous bridge, he didn’t have long to wait. Prudently walking down the middle of the street, her fair hair lit by the dull gleam of the phosphorus streetlamps, she had her bag clutched close, a single key in hand.

Smart chickie, he mused as she approached. I have to get her to come to me. He cunningly flipped up the collar of his black leather coat and rubbed his hands together.

* * * * *

Nervously studying the street, she turned to her left and shrewdly walked down the center of the street. Up ahead, a sudden movement caught her eye. As she watched, a guy in a leather jacket staggered unsteadily, stumbled and fell, gagging and coughing as his knees hit the pavement. As she neared, he began to retch, his head nearly hitting the gutter. She started to pass him by, but stopped before she’d gone too far.

“Hey,” she called out forcefully. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

He struggled to rise to one knee, head still down. “I … I’m fine. Musta been something I ate didn’t agree with me.”

“You’re American,” she observed, taking a step closer.

“Yeah. You too,” his voice quavered. “I’m a student at - ” he turned away, dry heaves shaking his body.

“Are you staying at Queen’s College?” At his nod, she drew up next to him and extended her hand. “Me too. I’m on my way there now. If you want, I can walk with you.”

He waited until she was upon him, stood abruptly and, with one motion, gripped her arm and shoved her into the inky recesses of the doorway. Before she could utter a word of protest, his lips covered hers, effectively silencing her. Instinctively, blindly, she began to fight back, her knee rising in an attempt to grievously damage his manhood. Apparently, he’d taken the same self-defense class; he merely chuckled. “Nuh uh, Veronica. I think I’m gonna need my balls later, thankyouverymuch.”

Her eyes snapped wide. He pulled back just enough to let her see his face. “Logan! What the fuck – what are you doing?”

“Ravishing you.” He crushed her to him again, his hungry lips finding her neck. He bit down gently, soothing his tongue over the spot where the bruise would shortly manifest. She moaned, flinging her head back into his waiting fingers, her hands buried inside his jacket as she clung to him gratefully, her heart racing.

“Logan?” she whispered when she regained breath. “What are you doing here, now?”

“I told you six weeks was too long to be without you,” he confessed unabashedly, tracing her jaw with two fingers.

She stared into his unblinking, midnight eyes, her fingers tattooing his back in an attempt to pull him even closer. “It hasn’t even been forty-eight hours,” she protested, her tone alternately teasing and angry.

“Veronica,” he murmured, his fiery lips against her ear. “Anything more than eight hours apart is too long,” He leaned his body onto hers. “Can’t you tell how much I miss you, or do I have to spell it out in more detail?”

“Mmm.” She dug her fingernails into the muscles at the small of his back. “I think I’m going to need more proof,” she whispered just before her lips met his again.

Fic - Summer Abroad - L/V - NC-17 - rindee

rindee — Wed, 18 Oct 2006 07:20:18 GMT

Title: Summer Abroad
Author: Rindee
Pairings: Veronica/Logan
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 6,975
Spoilers: Nothing specific - AU future fic set sometime after they graduate from Neptune High, so if you've seen Season Two, you're golden.
Warnings: Language, adult situations, sexual content.
Summary: Six weeks of summer school at Oxford University.

A/N: Honestly, I don't know what I would do without betas mastermia and rejeneration; they're both twisted, sick individuals who put up with my bad spelling, awkward phrasing, and general obnoxiousness - and I don't even pay them well!! Written for the fiendishly wicked taken_with_you and Madame Librarian's Incognito Challenge at vm_library, and cross-posted to veronicamarsfic because my beta threatened me if I didn't.

Frantically scrubbing the stainless steel sink and backsplash for the second time in an hour, she bit her lip anxiously, worried what he would say when she told him. It was only six weeks, she reasoned, and it wasn’t as if they wouldn’t have another six before her fall semester started, but still.... It was England. Oxford, England, to be exact; forty miles from London, and 5,539 miles from San Diego. Wow – it sounded far when she put it that way.

“Ron? What’s wrong?”

“Huh? Oh, nothing. There’s nothing wrong. It’s just - the grout was absolutely filthy, and something had to be done about it, and you weren’t going to do it.”

* * * * *

On the way to the airport, he tried to be cheerful; she tried not to be. Neither was completely successful.

“Call me when you get to Heathrow. No matter what time it is,” he commanded fiercely, his eyes deep and impenetrable.

“I will. I promise.” She blinked rapidly, trying her hardest not to cry.

“Um, about that...” he stammered, a flash of mischief crossing his face. “Six weeks is an awfully long time.”

She tiptoed, whispered, with a mocking smile, “You’re just gonna have to save it until I get home, Big Guy.”

He nudged his hips into her belly so she could feel him. “You’re gonna miss me, too.”

“See you soon, okay?” She nodded and spun away, ducking her head and training her eyes on the ground.

* * * * *

“No, I’m up. How is it? How are you?”

“I – I’m fine. Tired.”

“Long trip, huh?”

“You have a list, Veronica, but I doubt there’s much to see tonight. It’s like, what time is it there?”

“Um. I’m not sure. I can see a clock from my window, but I don’t know if it’s right. I think it’s about seven-thirty - the sun’s going down, so whatever time that is.”

“Have you eaten anything yet?” Concern was evident in his voice, but he refrained from chastising her.

“No. No, I just got to my room. I haven’t met anyone so far, but I think there’s a mixer thing happening in the dining hall, wherever that is.”

“Um, nope, not yet. He’s my next call. Thank you again for the phone, Logan. I understand why you wanted me to have it.”

“I gave it to you for selfish reasons, but you’re welcome. Call me anytime, okay?”

“Right now, as in this very minute?” His voice thickened.

“Yes. Right now.”

“What if I told you I was thinking of you and taking matters into my own hand?” His leer was crystal clear.

“Logan!” She pretended to be scandalized, but the blush in her voice gave her away. “Are you really?”

“What are you wearing,” she asked mischievously, her phone hand white-knuckled, the other sliding between her denim-clad legs.

“I miss you,” she blurted guiltily.

“And....” he prompted wickedly. “What are you doing about it?”

She laughed nervously. Logan knew all her secrets, but it was a big jump from knowing she was fantasizing about him to knowing she was masturbating while listening to his voice in her ear.

“Veronica,” he murmured seductively. “Are you touching yourself?”

“I asked you first,” she breathed. “What are you wearing, Logan?” She heard the rustle of expensive cotton sheets.

“My Hearst sweat pants,” he replied slowly. “And nothing else.”

“Mmm. So you’re almost naked?” Her voice barely trembled, but she was sure he’d catch the vibration.

“Yeess,” he drawled, stretching out the word to encompass more than just his answer. “I’m getting comfortable, Veronica. You should too.”

“Oh, I’m here, baby. My turn. What are you wearing?”

She closed her eyes again. “My little green bra, the one you like.” He exhaled heavily. “And jeans. Logan,” she continued, her voice faint and breathy. “Are you....”

“Am I what?” he prompted, his voice deep with desire.

“Are you ... touching yourself?”

“Yep. I’m thinking of you, babe, kneeling between my legs, your soft fingers stroking my cock....” He shuddered and sighed.

“Are you hard?” she quavered. “I ... I want you to be hard, Logan.”

“Touch yourself,” he prompted huskily. “Put your fingers inside.”

“What are you doing?” he ground out.

She panted hoarsely. “I’m … I’m on my knees … my hands are - I’m fingering my.... Help me, baby.”

“What are you doing?” she begged. “What do you want me to do?”

“You tell me,” he insisted, his voice harsh and guttural.

“I’m going to kiss your belly, Logan,” she panted desperately, determined to send him over the edge. “Long, slow, wet kisses, and lick my way down your tummy to your balls.”

“Fuck,” he hissed.

“Shit.”

“When are you coming home?” he asked hoarsely when he’d finally regained the ability to speak.

* * * * *

Veronica woke to the sound of someone unlocking her door. Head and heart pounding, she leapt up just as a freckle-faced, cheerful, pink-cheeked woman wearing a dress and apron entered her room.

“Sorry, deary,” she lilted in a warm Irish brogue. “I dina know you were still abed. I kin come back, if ya like.”

“Who, who are you?” Veronica stammered.

“I’m yer scout.”

“My scout?”

“Yea, I’m ‘ere to clean up yer quarters twice a week.”

Sliding onto a chair, Veronica surveyed the pitchers and vessels scattered across the table. “Is there coffee?”

* * * * *

“It’s me,” she murmured when she heard his muffled ‘Hello.’ “Did I wake you?”

“No, I’m up. Been up for hours, just waiting for you to call,” he replied, his voice rumbling warm and light.

“You’ve been waiting for me? You could have called me, you know,” she chided gently. “This fancy phone works both ways.”

* * * * *

Smart chickie, he mused as she approached. I have to get her to come to me. He cunningly flipped up the collar of his black leather coat and rubbed his hands together.

* * * * *

“Hey,” she called out forcefully. “Are you okay? Do you need help?”

He struggled to rise to one knee, head still down. “I … I’m fine. Musta been something I ate didn’t agree with me.”

“You’re American,” she observed, taking a step closer.

“Yeah. You too,” his voice quavered. “I’m a student at - ” he turned away, dry heaves shaking his body.

“Are you staying at Queen’s College?” At his nod, she drew up next to him and extended her hand. “Me too. I’m on my way there now. If you want, I can walk with you.”

Her eyes snapped wide. He pulled back just enough to let her see his face. “Logan! What the fuck – what are you doing?”

“Logan?” she whispered when she regained breath. “What are you doing here, now?”

“I told you six weeks was too long to be without you,” he confessed unabashedly, tracing her jaw with two fingers.

“Mmm.” She dug her fingernails into the muscles at the small of his back. “I think I’m going to need more proof,” she whispered just before her lips met his again.

AFD - Chapter 15: Thanks for the Memoir

rindee — Sun, 01 Oct 2006 05:54:45 GMT

Chapter 15: THANKS FOR THE MEMOIR

Title: All Fall Down
Pairing / Character: Veronica/Logan, Keith
Rating: PG-13 to R
Words: 121,942 to date
Summary: In Neptune, the brighter the summer sun, the deeper the shadows.
Spoilers / Warnings: Seasons 1 and 2 / Language and adult situations.

Chapter 15: THANKS FOR THE MEMOIR
Authors: mastermia and rindee
Additional Characters: Casey and Cliff
Words: 11,500
Authors’ Note: All Fall Down is a collaborative effort by 20 writers. You can learn more about this project here. A huge special thanks to herowlness who rocked her beta, even though it was the day before her birthday. You are awesome and happy birthday!
Also, thanks to truemyth and kantayra for their comments.

rindee and mastermia want to thank each other because we are just like that.

X-posted to veronicamarsfic, fic_from_mars, rindee and mastermia.

All Fall Down | Chapter 15: Thanks for the Memoir

Veronica's Adventures .... (WIP 6/6) Veronica/Logan - NC-17 - Rindee

rindee — Sun, 01 Oct 2006 04:32:59 GMT

Title: Veronica's Adventures in Law School (WIP 6/6)
Author: Rindee
Pairing: Veronica & Logan.
Additional Characters: Wallace, Keith, Weevil, and others.
Word Count: 7831
Rating: NC-17- language & adult situations.
Spoilers/Warnings: Through the end of S2.
Summary: AU future fic set five years after graduation - my take on what would happen if Logan and Veronica matured, tried to stay together in a somewhat healthy relationship, and chased bad guys too.
A/N: Begun as a one-shot for the vmlyricfic challenge, but I was having so much fun.... This was my first WIP and it's been a blast to write. Thanks to everyone who has commented - I know I wouldn't have finished without you. Cross-posted to the loveathons Epic challenge and veronicamarsfic. My betas recommend you read chapters 1 - 5 first. And I have to thank my betas: rejeneration, who leaves me speechless every time she whispers in my ear and whose work is awe-inspiring, and the wickedly sweet and decidedly wonderful taken_with_you; all the smut in the chapter is their fault. A special thanks and love to the amazing mastermia, who is just great and makes me laugh so hard I can't see straight. All mistakes are mine, as is the use of the dreaded "Ronnie" because, well, just because.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

The house was unnaturally quiet, showing no signs of life, when Keith arrived early the next morning. He’d banged on the front door for almost ten minutes, but he couldn’t even get Backup to acknowledge him. That’s when he got anxious. He had keys to Logan’s, had had them for months, but was always loath to use them. Unable to roust anyone, he finally relented. Even when the door squeaked open, Backup didn’t come running. It was odd and, given the events of the prior evening, made the back of his neck tingle.

After walking through the empty, spotlessly clean kitchen, Keith finally found Backup twitching and snoring in Logan’s favorite chair. Logan was asleep on the sofa, sitting upright, his bandaged fingers resting on the nape of Veronica’s neck. She was curled up next to Logan, her head pillowed on the edge of his thigh, her hand tucked under his rear.

Knowing how difficult their night had been, Keith let them sleep, slipping back into the kitchen to rummage up some coffee to go with the donuts and pastry he’d brought. He didn’t expect the rest of the team for an hour or so, and figured he had plenty of time to wake his daughter and her boyfriend and debrief them.

Within minutes, the heady scent of just-brewed Costa Rican meandered through the house. Yawning widely, Backup clicked his jaw and padded into the dining room, nudged Keith in greeting and whined, begging to go out. Although Keith tried to be quiet, the rasp of the door jolted Logan into consciousness. Blinking against the bright morning sun filtering through, his quick eyes took in Keith on the deck and he groggily wiggled his fingers in greeting. He gazed at the elfin figure nuzzled into his leg and smiled beatifically.

Bending over, he slid his nose through her hair and across the skin at the back of her neck. “Veronica. Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.” Grumbling, she rolled onto her back, peaked open her eyes, and frowned as he hovered overhead.

“Wha’re you doing?”

“Trying to wake you. Your dad’s here, and I think he brought some breakfast. I know he made coffee. Do you want to get up now?”

“No.” Her eyes fluttered and closed.

His fingers traced a figure eight on her shoulder. “Ronnie.”

“Hmm. Go away, Logan.”

“Keith’s here, and I bet he’s brought éclairs.”

“Really? Did he bring a pony, too?”

He brushed his lips her ear and he blew daintily. “I’m sure about the donuts, not so much the pony.”

Veronica’s eyelids snapped open abruptly. “Okay, I’m up.” She struggled to a sitting position and regarded Logan with soft interest. “How are you feeling?” she asked, running her fingers along the swells of his bruised face. “Did you sleep?” She scooted up until her knees bumped against him, and hung her arms around his neck. “Are we okay?” she whispered.

Logan kissed the inside of her wrist. “I think so. How’s the ring feel this morning?”

A rosy flush crept up her neck and face. “I...it’s okay, Logan, but let me get used to it before we make any startling announcements, okay?”

Laughing to himself because she truly was almost the last to know, he nipped her skin, his near-black eyes dancing delightedly over the crook of her arm. “Are you going to help me shower?”

Glancing over at her dad, who was peacefully sipping coffee on the deck, watching Backup gambol in the waves, she pursed her lips and tsked. “I don’t know, Logan. Dad’s here.” She grinned mischievously. “But I guess you can’t take one by yourself, can you? And you certainly need one.” She wrinkled her nose. Logan opened wide and molded his mouth around the underside of her wrist, his wily tongue tickling the tender skin. “Okay, okay. Let’s go, big guy, I need my éclair.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty-five minutes later, freshly showered and glowing, Veronica dashed down to have coffee with her dad. When Logan, also clean and newly shaved, joined them five minutes later, the dining room table was covered with photographs, witness statements, police reports, and case files. All of it pertaining to Maccaluso, Buell, the ONTCers, and the mysterious, wanted arsonist. Logan tossed out another file. “You forgot one.”

“St. Arnold?” Keith asked with a knowing look.

Veronica carefully scrutinized Logan but said nothing. They began reviewing the documents, looking for a connection, and Keith began interrogating Logan about what he’d observed while inside the warehouse. Unfortunately, other than a few snippets of conversation, Logan hadn’t seen or heard anything that revealed what the ONTC crew had been up to.

They’d been at it for about 20 minutes when Sam arrived, Weevil in tow; he’d been ‘released’ into Sam’s custody. Having spent the best part of the night in conference with the local agents, Sam contributed the FBI’s Maccaluso files to the collection. Keith broke out the pastries and Krispy Kremes while Veronica poured the coffee. The group headed outside to listen to Weevil and to discuss what they knew and what they were still missing.

About an hour later, Sam began to sum it up. “Okay, we’ve got a strangely mysterious law student who’s been hanging around Veronica too much and who, inexplicably, has absolutely no discernible background. He leads Logan to the docks, and it looks like he’s about to meet a connection when Logan gets nabbed.”

As everyone nodded, Keith took over. “We’ve got your garden variety Hispanic street gang – sorry, Eli – ” Weevil motioned ‘no offense’ and Keith continued, “Who are suddenly a bit too protective of an otherwise average, seedy warehouse on the port. About a hundred yards from St. Arnold’s meeting, they grab up Logan, but don’t seem to know who he is.”

Logan had been listening intently, but his eyes were trained on Veronica’s hands, hidden in her lap as they fidgeted and spun her ring round and round. Suddenly he interjected, “Wait! Keith, I wasn’t even that far from St. Arnold. In fact, I was so close they had to have known he was there. Is it possible there’s a connection between the OTNC and St. Arnold?”

“Good question, Logan,” Sam cut in. “We’ll come back to it. We’ve got the warehouse itself. Eli?”

“Yeah, boss?”

“Has the gang always operated on the docks, from a warehouse?”

“Nope. Not so far as I know. I can ask around, but last I heard, they had a crib in the barrio. In an apartment building they controlled. Usually, when you’re running a distribution game, you want to be close to the streets where you’re selling.”

Sam nodded soberly. “Yeah, that’s been my experience as well. It doesn’t track that they’re suddenly in the import-export business.”

“Sam?” Keith asked suddenly. “You have any contacts at the DEA who you can call to see if the ONTC has branched out or expanded into a new avenue of crime?”

“I’m sure I know someone over there. I’ll make some calls when we’re through. Someone start a list.”

“I got it,” Logan prompted. “I’m taking notes as we go.”

Surprised, Veronica twisted to look with fresh appreciation at her boyfriend-cum-fiancée who seemed to have concealed talents and skills she’d yet to experience. Feeling her silent appraisal, Logan grinned to himself. The things she still didn’t know....

“Okay,” Sam resumed his train of thought. “We have a corrupt judge who has been ignoring the law and dealing favors for...”

“...untaxed benefits and income,” Weevil mumbled.

“Exactly,” Keith affirmed. “And one of the Judge’s patrons, landowner Buddy Buell, who seems to be unconnected to anything or anyone or than Maccaluso.”

“Keith,” Sam interrupted. “Don’t forget Mr. Orfanos. We can’t be sure he’s affiliated with Buell and Macculso, but we know he was at Torrey Pines when Logan and Veronica were spying on them, and we know Veronica’s car was torched the very next night. So his presence seems to be too big of a coincidence to ignore.”

“Yeah, Sam. I agree.” As Keith spoke, without saying a word, Veronica rose from the table, went into the house and ran up the stairs. Logan’s eyes followed her all the way to the stairwell while the men continued talking.

Ten minutes later, Veronica returned and handed Keith a piece of paper. “What’s this, Honey?”

Lips pursed, she shrugged nonchalantly. “Just read it, Dad.”

As the group waited expectantly, Veronica slipped into her seat next to Logan and threaded her fingers through his. One eye on Keith, Logan brought her hand to his mouth and lovingly kissed her stiff, purplish knuckles. From his chair across the table, Weevil winked at them. He and Logan chuckled softly as Veronica blushed a cheery crimson.

“What is it, Keith?” Sam inquired. Although he’d known Veronica since the day of her birth, he had always been far enough away that he never really appreciated her quick mind and mental acuity.

Beaming as only a proud father can, Keith looked at his daughter and was once again dazzled. “I think you found it, Sweetheart.” He turned to Sam. “The warehouse is owned by a closely held, private corporation.” He waved the paper. “And guess who the corporate officers are? Any takers?”

Sam rocked back on his heels and grinned at his goddaughter. “Way to go, Veronica. Are you sure you don’t want to come work for me? I could use a brain like yours.”

“Hands off, Sam,” Keith warned. “She belongs to us,” he added, gesturing between himself to Logan.

Slouched in his comfy deck chair, still clinging to Veronica’s fingers, Logan glowed with satisfaction. “I give up, Mr. Mars. Who are the officers?”

“Buell and Maccaluso,” Keith announced delightedly. “We still don’t have all the pieces, but now we know there’s at least one thing tying all our suspects together. We just have to figure out what they’re really up to. Good work, Honey.”

Veronica smiled happily, then yawned. “Excuse me; sorry, Dad.”

Everyone burst out laughing. “Okay, Veronica. We get it,” Keith said, acknowledging his daughter’s fatigue and Logan’s obviously battered condition. “We’ll get out of here and let you and Logan rest.”

On cue, Weevil stood and began gathering the dirty cups and plates while Sam and Keith began reassembling the files. Tiredly lurching to his feet, Logan began piling the remaining sweets onto a tray; he knew Veronica wasn’t going to be satisfied with the two éclairs she’d gobbled earlier. And he was positive she would be hungry... later.

Agreeing to head over to Keith’s office, Sam and Weevil said their goodbyes and pulled away. Realizing Veronica and Keith hadn’t had more than a minute alone since the night before, Logan disappeared into the kitchen to load the dishwasher and hide the leftover pastries. Worried that she was about to get the lecture she’d dodged twelve hours earlier, Veronica lingered on the deck, throwing a rubber ball to Backup.

Emotions swirling, Keith watched her with a mixture of pride, concern and relief. Finally, he called, “Veronica? Honey?” She turned to look at him, her eyes so weary he suddenly felt guilty for having invaded their home to go over the case. “We need to talk.” Her frown stabbed at him.

“I know, Dad, but....” She walked slowly up to him, and he enveloped her in a tight hug, rocking her securely in his arms.

“But it can wait until you’ve slept some more. I just wanted to see the famous ring and congratulate you and Logan.” Pulling back, he stared into her puzzled eyes and gently added, “He’s talked about nothing else for weeks now.” Thoroughly confused, she tentatively held out her left hand. “It really is a cigar band.” Veronica bit her lip and nodded. “Why a cigar band? Logan told me you’d understand, but I’m afraid I don’t get it.”

Like sunbeams after a thunderstorm, Veronica’s eyes cleared and she slowly smiled. “We were married once before, and it’s what we used then. We figured if it was good enough the first time....” Seeing her father’s quizzical look, she continued. “At the end of eighth grade, we had to do a play; Shakespeare. Remember, Dad?”

“It was a long time ago, Veronica,” he said, embarrassed. “Ten years. I’m afraid your old man’s memory isn’t as good as it should be. What was the play?”

“Taming of the Shrew,” Logan said, joining them on the porch. “Veronica was Kate, and I was Petruchio.”

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

Mrs. MacDougal looked around the classroom. “Alright, class. I’ll take volunteers first, and then I’ll assign the remaining roles. Who wants to be the younger sister, Bianca?” Immediately, Madison Sinclair’s hand shot up. “Excellent, Madison. I think you’ll make a lovely Bianca. Boys, which of you want to be her suitors?”

From two rows behind, Logan flung a spitball over Veronica’s head, directly at Duncan. The wad of soggy paper hit its target and stuck in Duncan’s hair. Irritated, he yanked at it, grinning sheepishly as Veronica giggled.

“Casey Gant. Did I see your hand?” Mrs. MacDougal continued as she strolled to the back of the classroom.

“Yes, Ma’am,” he replied politely as Logan and Dick snickered behind their hands.

“Suckup,” they hissed at Casey.

“Casey, you can be Bianca’s true love, Lucentio.”

“Thank you, Mrs. MacDougal,” Casey simpered, turning his head so the teacher didn’t see him waggle his eyebrows licentiously at Dick and Logan.

“Hey Maddy,” Dick whispered. “Casey’s in love with you. He wants to – ”

“That’s enough, Mr. Casablancas. You’ve just volunteered to be Tranio.”

“Way to go, genius,” Logan mumbled.

“Mrs. MacDougal,” Dick protested. “I can’t play a tranny. I’m all-l-l-l-l man.”

“Richard Casablancas! One more comment like that and you’ll be warming a seat in the front office. Tranio, for your information, is not a – never mind. He’s one of the fair Bianca’s many suitors.”

“Oh. Okay, Mrs. M. I’m in.”

“Let me see.” Mrs. MacDougal consulted her script. “I need one more boy to play Bianca’s third admirer.” A second and third spitball sailed at the back of Duncan’s neck. As he put up his hand to block further projectiles, Mrs. MacDougal turned to walk back to the front. “Thank you, Duncan,” she beamed. “I’m glad you’re going to participate. You are Gremio. Remember, this is a class project, and everyone will be doing something.”

Veronica’s head thunked to her desk as she tried to conceal her near-convulsive giggling behind her arms. Duncan swivelled and, using his text as cover, flipped Logan off. Logan exaggeratedly pursed his lips and blew Duncan a kiss.

“Logan Echolls. You certainly know something about acting. Have either of your parents ever acted on stage?”

“Um. I’m not sure. I think my dad has acted everywhere one can,” he replied sarcastically.

“Really?” the teacher asked, missing his meaning. “That’s wonderful. Why don’t you take the part of Petruchio, Logan?”

“I’m not really sure I inherited my father’s talent, Mrs. MacDougal.”

“Nonsense, Logan. You’ll be wonderful. You have such ... presence,” she assured him fawningly. “Okay, that’s it for the major – oh, I’m sorry. There’s one more part, for a girl. It’s the title role, in fact. Who’d like to play The Shrew – I mean, Kate? Who wants to be Kate?”

As Mrs. MacDougal scanned the room, each of her favorites, Shelley Pomroy, Carrie Bishop, and Angie Dahl, hid their faces or studiously looked away. Her gaze fell on Cindy MacKenzie, but she shook her head with distain, and Mrs. MacDougal moved on. Duncan, having turned to whisper to Veronica, caught her attention. “Veronica Mars.”

“Ye...yes?”

“You like Shakespeare.”

“I do.”

“Perfect. You can be Kate. It’ll do you good to be on stage, bring you out of your shell a little, and I’m sure Mr. Echolls will be glad to offer you his insight into the craft of acting, won’t you, Logan?”

“Certainly, Mrs. MacDougal. I’m always happy to be of assistance to Veronica.” Logan smirked, his smile widening at the sight of Duncan’s pained, resentful glare. Catching Veronica’s eye, he winked reassuringly.

“Okay, class. Tomorrow, I’ll post the names of rest of the cast. Anyone who doesn’t have a part, and those of you who only have a few lines, will be responsible for scenery and lighting and preparing a playbill for the audience. Dick and Duncan, Casey, Madison, Logan, and Veronica, I suggest you start practicing right way. You’ll have some class time, but you’ll be expected to learn the majority of your lines on your own. Perhaps you can all get together after school. Tomorrow, at the beginning of the period, I’ll give you a few minutes to make your plans. That’s it for now. Read the play tonight and be prepared to discuss the staging aspects of it in class tomorrow. Everyone must participate in the discussion.”

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

Although it was an “off” week for Logan and Lilly, Veronica couldn’t wait to get home and tell her what had happened. She knew Lilly would find the thought of Veronica and Logan playing lovers as hilarious as she did. Predictably, even though she was now in high school, Lilly decided to take charge of and direct the project; she organized a rehearsal for the following afternoon at the Kanes’ home.

Always eager to return to Lilly’s good graces, Logan was the first to arrive. In typical Logan fashion, he brought gifts; the new TLC CD, No Scrubs, for Lilly and a bottle of vodka and a handful of cigars for the guys. Embarrassing her to no end, Logan gleefully presented Veronica with a vintage copy of Sanford Meisner’s On Acting. Handing it to her, he tugged one of her braids. “I am officially sharing my vast knowledge of acting with you.”

“Thanks, Logan.” Veronica smiled shyly. “I’ll read it tonight. I know I’m gonna be horrible at this.”

“Okay, everyone,” Lilly exclaimed, clapping her hands excitedly. “Let’s get going. Logan,” She tossed her hair and smirked at him with impish eyes. “I think you and Veronica should start with the most famous scene in the play, ‘Kiss me, Kate.’ So you guys can get it out of the way and relax. Plus, it’ll look better on stage if you guys have practiced once or twice.”

Dick and Casey hooted and whoofed, while Duncan squirmed. Veronica blushed and began to protest. “Come on, Veronica. Logan’s out of practice and he needs the work. I mean, he probably hasn’t kissed a girl in at least a week, have you, lovah?”

Puzzled, but not opposed to kissing Veronica now that he had Lilly’s permission, Logan winked. “Sure thing, Lil. You should know. What’s the scene number?”

“It’s the last scene of Act Five.”

“Uh, Lilly? Can I talk to you for a minute?”

“Veronica,” Lilly said in her usual, sly, mocking tone. “Of course you can. Boys,” Lilly arched her eyebrows dramatically. “I must have a brief conference with my lead actress. Excuse us for a moment, will you?”

Tugging Veronica into the powder room, Lilly pounced. “What’s wrong, Veronica. Don’t you want to kiss Logan? You should, I mean, he’s delicious,” Lilly widened her eyes theatrically. “The things that boy can do with his tongue, Veronica.” She laughed loudly. “You don’t know what you’re missing.”

“But that’s the thing, Lilly,” Veronica fretted. “I mean ... I’ve never really kissed a guy before ... not really.”

“Don’t be silly, Veronica,” she responded patronizingly. “Just close your eyes and open your mouth. Logan will do the rest,” she giggled. “Trust me, Veronica. You’re in good hands, if you know what I mean.”

“He’s your boyfriend, Lilly,” Veronica protested in a faint voice as she stared at the Italian marble floor tile. “I can’t kiss Logan in front of you ... and Duncan ... and Dick and Casey.”

“Oh, Veronica.” Lilly rolled her eyes and hmpffed. “I know. We’ll practice the scene up to the kiss. We’ll do it a couple of times, because you have a long soliloquy to learn, and when you’re comfortable, I’ll clear the room and you guys can practice - just once, if it’ll make you feel better, big baby.”

Sighing gratefully, Veronica and Lilly emerged giggling to rejoin the boys. Without editorializing, Lilly explained her plan. As she reached the part where everyone was going to leave, Logan began to chuckle under his breath, his eyes gleaming wickedly. Rehearsal began amid general hilarity. In the middle of the first scene of Act Five, Logan interrupted. “Wait a minute, Lil. Are Veronica and I, I mean Kate and Petruchio, already married?”

“Yeah, doofus. Back in those days, a gentleman couldn’t kiss a lady before he married her. ‘Course, you’re not a gentleman, so how would you know, right, Veronica?”

“Duh, dude,” Dick chimed in. “‘Course, that assumes Veronica’s a lady.”

When it was time to let Veronica and Logan ‘practice’ alone, Duncan suddenly decided he didn’t want to leave. Unconvinced by his facile but steadfast arguments, Lilly determinedly shoved him out of the room, leaving an anxious Veronica alone with Logan Echolls. The silence in the room was deafening. To break the ice, Logan handed her a cigar band. “Here. Put this on.”

“What...why?”

“We’re supposed to be married. And you won’t be cheating if you’re kissing your husband, so put it on. That way, the kissing won’t count.”

She smiled, understanding him. “Married, huh? We’re married? Funny, but I don’t remember the honeymoon,” she teased as she slid the cigar band on her finger. Logan brushed an errant piece of hair from her face.

“Okay, wife, nice and easy.” He tilted her chin up, wrapped his fingers around her jaw, and gently pressed his lips against hers. Surprising both herself and him, after a moment, she opened her mouth and kissed him back. Grinning as he slid his tongue in her mouth, he mumbled, “Some day, Veronica, you’re going to make someone a fine wife.”

❈ ❈ ❈ ❈ ❈

“And so we were ‘married’, Dad.”

“Little did we know,” Logan paused, remembering all that had happened, all the things that had gone on between them, from then until now. “That one day, I’d be standing at alter, hopes dashed, jilted by my brilliant, inscrutable fiancée.” He stared at her meaningfully.

“Logan!” she protested, stung by his words. “I said, yes, didn’t I?”

“I feel a headache coming on,” Keith said quickly. “I think that’s my cue to go. Honey,” he hugged her again. “Be nice to him, at least for today. He had a rough night. And you,” he addressed Logan, “Stop annoying my daughter. You may have come a long way, Logan Echolls, but you still don’t deserve her.”

“Don’t I know it,” Logan replied sheepishly, eyes twinkling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Working on the coffee table, Weevil sorted and stacked all the evidence and began labeling files. Cloistered in Keith’s office, Sam was on the phone with the local DEA office. Weevil could hear the mumbling and the buzz of the fax machine. It was about noon when Keith ambled in, armed with sandwiches and more coffee.

He stood and watched Eli for a moment, unsurprised at his efficiency. Eli glanced up as Keith rattled the bag temptingly. “I got lunch.”

“You tryin’ to get me fat, Sheriff?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Eli.” Keith patted his belly. “Do I look fat?” Before Weevil could answer, Keith added, “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”

Weevil grinned and mimed locking his lips. “How’s Vee?”

Keith shrugged worriedly. “She’s fine. A bit shaken, but I’m sure they’ll both recover.”

They heard the crack of the phone hitting the cradle. “Hey, Keith, is that you?”

“Yeah. I brought lunch,” Keith hollered.

“Keith?”

“Yeah, Sam?” He replied as Sam strolled into the ante-room.

“Have you ever met a crisis that food wasn’t the answer to?” The two men laughed the easy, knowing laugh of comrades in arms. “I think I have another part of the puzzle.”

“Yeah?” He looked hopeful. “What’s that?”

Sam patted Keith on the shoulder. “Let’s eat, buddy. I’ll fill you in while we talk. C’mon, Eli.” They moved to the receptionist’s desk and began to distribute the food. For a minute, the only noise was the rustle of paper and sound of chewing. Just as Sam wiped his mouth and prepared to speak, they heard the clomp of footsteps on the stairs. Nervously, Keith turned to the door.

“Mr. Mars?”

“Uh, yeah. C’mon in – I’m sorry, I know you go to school with Veronica, but I don’t – ”

Standing in the doorway was none other than their fifth case-file suspect, Jason St. Arnold, otherwise known as Special Agent Francis O’Connor. “We met Mr. Mars. And I’m fairly sure you remember my name, and probably my face too.” He turned, “And you must be Mr. Lawrence.”

“I am. Keith, meet Special Agent Francis O’Connor. He’s undercover with the local DEA.”

Keith Mars’ face lit up and glowed as if powered from within. “Ah. Well, at least some things are starting to make sense. Nice to meet you.”

O’Connor held his hand out cautiously, glancing uneasily at Eli “Weevil” Navarro, who was staring interestedly from his slouched position in his chair, black leather boots crossed in front of him, arms crossed over his leather-clad chest. “Don’t worry about Eli,” Keith advised the young man. “He works for me. He’s undercover too,” he added with an ironic chuckle.

“So,” the DEA agent replied, looking at Sam. “Is it okay to talk?”

Sam nodded. “If Keith says it’s okay, it’s good enough for me.”

Studying his boots, Eli announced, “I’m still here, guys. If you want me to leave, say the word.”

“It’s fine - you’re fine - Eli,” Keith assured him. “Gentlemen; Sam, Francis - do you prefer Frank - let’s sit down and talk, shall we?”

“Fine by me, and, yes, please call me Frank.”

“Okay.” Keith scrubbed his hands together as he turned to the young DEA agent. “I assume you were undercover on the docks for a drug-related case so – ”

“ – How does that fit with your investigation? Honestly, Mr. Mars, I’m still not sure.”

“Okay, Frank, let me tell you what Keith and I know. As I understand it, Keith’s investigation began with Judge Maccaluso, who was, believe it or not, cheating on his wife.”

Surprised and bemused, Weevil busted. “Hold it, Sheriff. You mean this whole thing started because the old guy was stepping out on the missus?”

“Yes, Eli, that is what I was originally hired to investigate. But what I found was that Maccaluso, in addition to being – ”

“ – a lyin’ scumbag cabrón.”

“Right. In addition to being a philanderer, the good judge was taking bribes to fix cases. And the person he was fixing them for was Buddy Buell. So, thinking it was a relatively low risk, white collar thing, I sent Veronica and Logan to see if we could get evidence of Buell and Maccaluso’s connection.”

“That where Echolls got the second black eye?”

“Yes. I showed the pictures to the Bureau, and Sam, why don’t you take it from here.”

“When I reviewed the pictures, I noticed something. Behind the bar at Torrey Pines was a guy on ATF’s Most Wanted list. George Anthony Orfanos is charged with arson and arson to commit a felony, mail fraud, transportation of stolen property and the ever-popular conspiracy. He’s been wanted since 1992.”

“I got all that before, Sheriff, but what’s the connection ... hold up ... we know there’s a relationship between the ONTC crew and Buell because of the warehouse, but how does Ofay or Orfan or whatever-his-name-was fit into the picture?”

“Weevil,” Sam said. “Orfanos is an arsonist – a torch – but he’s also an import-export guy, if you know what I mean....”

“I think, Sam, this is where I come in. Before I was sent to law school, to keep an eye on Veronica because Keith’s investigation was heating up, the Task Force sent me undercover to find out what the ONTCers were up to, because recently, their corner-store drug business changed and, suddenly, both the quantity and quality were off the charts. They had a steady supply of china white – heroin – which they’d never dealt before, and the coke was almost 85 percent pure, which is unheard of for a relatively low level Hispanic gang.” Frank glanced at Weevil, who nodded his agreement.

“Right,” Sam added. “And I think this is where Keith’s investigation collided with ATF’s wanted man. Orfanos hooked up with the gang and had them stealing high end cars. With his transportation connections, he shipped ‘em to South America – ”

“ – And they got the drugs in trade,” Weevil announced, pleased with himself.

“According to my contacts,” Keith picked up the thread, “Buell has always been a little shady, and he and Orfanos must have collaborated on the whole warehouse thing. When Buell realized my investigation into Maccaluso’s affairs might reach him too, he got hinky and decided to scare us. Unfortunately for him, and for Logan and Veronica, Buell was actually still ahead of us. If he hadn’t had Orfanos make a move on Veronica, I was about ready to wrap up the bribery investigation and turn over my report to the authorities.”

“He probably would have only been prosecuted for bribery, and might not have done any time, or, if he did, it would have been in minimum security like Danbury. I’m pretty sure no one at the Bureau would have made the connection – ”

“Except they tried to scare off my daughter – ”

“And pissed off Logan Echolls....” Weevil chuckled in admiration. “I gotta hand it to you, Sheriff, they’re kinda made for each other.” Keith winced.

“Okay, gentlemen, it’s time to put our report together so Frank and I can take it to our agencies and get these guys off the street before someone really gets hurt.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Atta boy,” she cooed, ruffling Backup’s coat as he gulped from his dish. “You be a good boy and stay downstairs, okay?” As Backup trailed her every step, she checked the locks on the front and back doors and, although it was still morning, set the alarm. “Your daddy and I are going to take a nap now, so watch the house and don’t let anyone in.”

Weary beyond words, she trudged upstairs, softly calling for Logan as she climbed. She found him sitting stiffly on the bench next to the ornate bathtub, his sling and bandages crumpled on the floor, a grimace of pain on his face as he cradled his left hand to his chest. The scowl disappeared the moment he saw her.

“Logan? Are you alright?”

“Better now,” he confided, smiling bravely. “Help me?”

“You want to soak?”

“Yeah. I thought maybe it would loosen me up.”

Biting her lip – Logan never asked her for help, he always took care of her – she spun the faucet handles and watched as the steam began to rise. While waiting for the tub to fill, she sat on the floor next to him and tenderly removed his shoes and socks. As she reached up to unbutton his plaid cotton overshirt, he placed his large hands over her slender ones and pressed them to his chest. She was reassured to feel his heart beating strongly, despite his battered condition.

“C’mere,” he implored hoarsely, sliding her between his outstretched legs. He leaned forward gingerly and covered her lips with his. His kiss was slow but hungry, as if he needed her.

“Logan,” she whispered into his mouth. “Stop it. Let me take your clothes off.”

He leaned back, an evil glint in his eye. “Stop, let me take your clothes off? Babe, you are a paradox.” She flushed and grinned and resumed fumbling with his buttons. Teasingly, he pushed her hands away. “I can handle the shirt, Veronica. It’s my jeans I need help with.”

She stood suddenly, and stepped back to the bath. “I’m going to put some bath salts in. They might smell a little girly, but they’ll feel great.” He nodded, gritting his teeth as he slid his shirt off. “If you’re not going to let me help you....”

Raising his hands in silent assent, Logan sat patiently as she slipped her hands underneath his tee and stretched the fabric so he could pull his arms out from beneath. As she moved closer to tug it over his head, Veronica couldn’t help running her hands over the broad plain of his chest, her fingers brushing delicately but purposefully over his nipples. As his head cleared the fabric, she stifled her gasp at her first full, daylight look at his bruised, stitched flesh. Despite his injuries, Logan’s body responded as usual to her touch; she could feel the length of him thickening against her thigh.

“Uh...Babe?”

Blinking quickly, her lips twitched as she tried not to smile. “Yes?”

“I thought you said – ”

“Shh,” she stilled him with two fingers across his lips. “Less talking, more action.” She kissed his forehead. “Can you stand, or should I take them off here?” she asked, indicating, with a tilt of her head, the jeans he still wore.

His deep chocolate eyes darkened. “Please. By all means....” He motioned to the general area of his hips. Veronica placed her hands on either side of his legs and knelt between them. Once she was settled, her hands fluttered across his stomach before descending to his zipper. Tongue tucked between her teeth, she softly popped the snap and, bending forward, playfully kissed his belly button.

“Mmm,” she hummed, snagging the zip.

“Ronnie,” he groaned, shuddering as the fastener snicked downward.

“Good to know it still works,” she announced, batting her eyelashes.

“It works just fine,” he grunted as she sat back and began tugging at his pants. Finally, Veronica was able to yank them off his ankles. Carelessly tossing them over her shoulder, she looked at his bulging boxers. “Need some help there too, big guy?”

“You’re lucky I can’t move too fast right now,” he croaked, his voice coarse with desire. “I’ll take ‘em off,” he added harshly, almost embarrassed as she put her hand on the waistband.

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you hard before, Logan,” she reminded him with a snort.

“Yeah, but usually, you’re naked too.” He kicked his shorts to the floor. For just a moment, Veronica was transfixed by the sight of him in his fully-erect glory. She shook her head and focused on his face.

“Get in,” she ordered, holding out her hand. “I’ll give you a massage.”

Obediently, Logan grasped her fingers and let her assist him in into the tub, hissing as his skin hit the steamy water. “Damn, Veronica. Are you trying to boil me alive?”

“What? It’s not that hot, I checked it.”

“Well you get in then,” he groused.

“Shut up, Logan, and relax, will you?”

Carefully, he leaned back against the terry-cloth pillow, sighing gratefully as the warm water surrounded him. Picking up a nubby natural sponge, Veronica began to sluice water across his shoulders and over his chest. Basking under her ministrations, Logan closed his eyes and hummed, trying to distract himself from his throbbing cock.

Tossing the sponge into the water at his feet, Veronica picked up a bottle of scented oil. “Logan,” she murmured. “Sit up a little and let me do your shoulders. I promise I’ll be gentle.”

He didn’t answer, but slithered upward and leaned forward, allowing her access to his back. She warmed the oil in her hands and began to work on the knots in his neck, avoiding the purple lumps and angry red gashes. As her nimble hands slid over his body, his arousal intensified. Seemingly oblivious to his increasing discomfort, she continued kneading his muscles, tilting closer to him to reach both sides.

Suddenly, without a word of warning, he grabbed her and jerked, flipping her into the bath on top of him. She landed sideways between his legs, her hips resting against his thigh. He guffawed in delight as her shrilled oath bounced off the tiled walls. “That’s where I need you, Veronica,” he announced, wrapping his arms around her wiggling body. “Right there, baby.”

Spitting and slinging water as she raised her head, Veronica blinked rapidly, her azure eyes glittering. She moved her hand underneath her leg to wrap around his dick. “Right here?” she challenged. “Or here?” she continued, gliding her fingers up and down.

Logan moaned, low and guttural, his head flung back against the cushion, his eyes squeezed shut. Cautiously, Veronica shifted to face him, her thighs spanning his; she continued to stroke up and down, her thumb brushing the ridge with each upward caress. Angling forward, she brought her mouth to his chest, her tongue tracing his nipple as her hot fingers circled his cock. Glancing at him, her hungry eyes watched her lover’s face in awe.

He panted and clutched at her desperately, trying not to come. “C’mon, baby,” she purred into his chest. “It’s okay,” she promised, her lips traveling lower. Grunting, his hips rocked up, once, twice, until, unable to stop, he thrust against her belly and spilled into her hands. Instinctively, she grabbed and held him tightly, her sodden head over his heart as he shuddered beneath her.

“Oh, god, baby,” he groaned in her ear. “The things you do to me.”

They laid there for a minute or two, half in and half out of the slippery water, until it began to cool. “Logan. We have to get out now. You need a nap, and I need to get out of my wet,” she slapped his chest, “clothes.”

“Uh huh,” he agreed, his arms tightening around her. She wriggled against him and drew her head back to peer into his eyes. “I’m not tired,” he informed her cockily. “In fact, I’m feeling pretty chipper right about now.”

Rising to her knees, Veronica put one hand on the edge of the bathtub and started to pull herself out. When he reached for her, she flattened her palm on his chest. “I get it, Logan. I do. But not in the bath. I’m sticky, wet, and my clothes are soaked,” she pouted.

Growling, Logan sat up quickly, his knees bumping her derriere. “What good is it going to do to clean up now, Veronica? I’m only going to get you wet all over again,” he said menacingly.

“You need to rest.” She rose and reached for a towel. “Hang on a sec, I want to get out of these wet things.”

Placidly sitting cross-legged in the tub, Logan watched eagerly as Veronica, eyes coolly meeting his, nonchalantly untied her sweats and let them tumble to the floor. She paused, letting him absorb the view, then turned away and yanked her tee over her head. “Veronica,” Logan begged. “Turn around so I can see you.” Like a mischievous cat, she glanced over her shoulder and shot him a look that was a mixture of innocence and daring.

“You’ve seen me before, Logan.”

“I know, but I want to see you wet.”

Shaking her head playfully, she bent over, displaying her behind as she dried her legs. Logan let out a pitiful groan.

“Woman. You are so going to regret abusing me like this.”

As if he wasn’t in the room, Veronica continued, flipping the towel over her shoulders and sliding it across her back and down to her butt. She could hear Logan’s labored breathing. When she’d finished her body, she took her brush and started smoothing her damp, tangled tresses; after, she leaned forward and wound her hair into a knot on top of her head. Finding one of Logan’s tee shirts, she slipped it on and returned to the edge of the tub.

“Okay, now you can get out.”

“But I’m all slick.”

“It’s body oil. It will make your skin soft and silky. C’mon, lean on me. And please, be careful. I don’t want to clean up any more of your blood. Ever again.”

Once out of the tub, he stood rigidly, still as stone, as Veronica began to dry him off. Climbing on the bench so she could reach the top of his head, she began briskly rubbing his hair. From there, she worked her way down, lovingly and carefully sliding the fluffy cloth over his left dislocated shoulder and down his other arm. Crouching, she skimmed his back down to the narrow of his spine, massaging the glossy oil into his skin. Her efforts made her pant lightly, and Logan could feel the warm air flow across his back. Teasingly, he flexed his muscles, causing Veronica to giggle when he vibrated and rolled under her hands.

She straightened up and, draping herself over his good shoulder, began stroking the flat, heavy muscles of his chest, her loving touch sending twinges through his body. Tired, but feeling the twitchy beginnings of arousal, Logan swayed, nestling back against her belly and dewy thighs. Veronica sucked in a quick breath and her hands began to tremble. Tucking her chin under his ear, she whispered, “Logan? You need to take it easy.”

Turning to gaze into her luminous sea-green eyes, he smiled against her pixie lips. “Then you better stop touching me, blondie.” Grinning, she kissed him lightly and clambered off the bench. Moving to a position in front of him, she made to drop to her knees, but before she could, Logan captured her wrist and pulled her to him. Her arms slid comfortably around his waist as his body sagged into hers; she could feel his excitement.

“I’m dry enough, Veronica. Leave it alone, unless you want to deal with the consequences,” he commanded gruffly, his eyes burning into hers.

Tilting back to examine his face, she regarded him bemusedly. “I suppose it would be superfluous to ask whether you’re up to it?” She could feel him shaking and realized he needed to be off his feet. “C’mon.” Still snuggled in his embrace, she walked slowly backward, bringing him with her, guiding him into their bedroom. When the backs of her knees encountered the side of the bed, she sat and fell backward, pulling him atop her petite body. “Is this better?”

He carefully rolled to his side, taking her with him so as not to lose body contact. “This is.” Face to face, nose to nose, they grinned at each other, Veronica studying his bruised face. Reaching up, she brushed worried fingers through his damp hair.

“Logan? ... Baby? ... We ... We don’t have to do anything right – ” Before she could finish, his lips found her neck, licking and sucking at the particular tender spots. Sighing appreciatively, she reclined her head, exposing her throat to his demanding tongue and teeth. When he became more exacting, she interrupted his exploration, slipping her hands between them to shove gently, putting Logan on his back.

“Wait a minute,” she pleaded. “If you’re determined to do this now...” Sitting up, she hastily tugged the shirt off. On her knees, completely naked, her back arched and nipples proudly protruding, her eyes traveled his body, assessing it, planning her assault. Recognizing his limited dexterity, she ran her hands over her breasts, sighing and rubbing her nipples.

Logan moaned and shifted restlessly, his cock and balls beginning to ache. “Dammit, babe. Are you trying to kill the rest of me?”

“I’m not done,” she whimpered, circling her thumb around her areole as her breath quickened. Her eyes glowed as she gloried in her power over his body. “How ‘bout you get all the way in bed? And lay back against the pillows.”

Scooting up the satiny sheets in his condition was a cumbersome maneuver, and Logan gratefully reclined on a mound of pillows once he was in place. Hopping off the bed, Veronica stalked around to his side and carefully propped up his weak shoulder, gently cushioning it against any sudden movement. Satisfied, she returned to the empty bedside and climbed on, crawling gracefully across to perch at Logan’s hip.

Watching her movements with sleepy eyes, Logan was unprepared for the sizzle that shot through his body when her tiny knees bumped him, her breasts flattening against his chest as she coiled onto him. “Logan,” she murmured into his neck. “I’m going to ask once more, are you sure?”

He nodded vigorously, his hand palming the back of her head to bring her to his mouth. “I want to,” he mumbled against her heated lips. “I need you, Babe.” They kissed longingly, tongues tangling recklessly as their fervor quickened. Wiggling excitedly, Veronica pulled away and rose to her knees. She hiked a slender, toned leg over his stomach and slid backward, smearing her essence over his skin. “Ah, God,” he huffed; she could feel him throbbing against her backside.

Overcome for a moment, she laid her head on his chest, pressed her ear over his heart, and listened to its strong, solid thump. She breathed in his scent, his heady manliness, her fingernails drawing aimless, ghostly lines, bars and curlicues on his ribs. Awash in the sensations of his comforting body, she briefly lost herself.

Logan’s strangled “Babe?” brought her back. She giggled, and the sound shot straight to Logan’s hard-on. “Are you gonna....” Resting her chin on his sternum, she extravagantly swiped her tongue over each of his nipples, her hands slipping behind to fondle his erection. Realizing he was nearly ready, she took his good hand in hers and placed it between them, cradling it at the vee of her thighs. In an instant, Logan’s long, capable fingers were teasing her clit, rubbing and flicking it as she rocked in the palm of his hand.

“Oh, god, Logan. Please, baby, please,” she cried out, her body frantically gliding up and down. His middle finger dipped into her wetness, twisting and flexing against her as his thumb continued stroking. Without further ado, she rose and maneuvered his cock between her legs. Her eyes opened wide and she stared into his as she began to lower herself slowly onto him, bringing him into her wet, shuddering center.

Spellbound as he watched his love fling her head back and begin to move languidly up and down, her heat seducing him, Logan could barely resist the urge to roll her over and slam into her; she was so enticing. Groaning, he began to work her clit harder, his fingers vibrating in pace with her rhythm as she rode him faster and deeper. As he thumbed her swollen clit, she keened, panting. Bracing her arms behind her, Veronica angled back, allowing his cock to hit the spot, the place that made her come undone. She let out an anguished wail and began to break, her tiny body heaving as she called out, begging him to finish her and come.

His throat clenched and spasms shook him until, unable to hold back, Logan bucked up into her: once, twice, and again, finally coming, hot and thick, inside her. He felt her tumble forward, catching herself to land next to him as he trembled and stilled.

“Oh, God, Logan,” she moaned. “I think I love you.”

“Then marry me.”

“Who said I wasn't?”

Fic - Veronica's Adventures in Law School (WIP 5/?) - R - Rindee

rindee — Sun, 17 Sep 2006 00:45:03 GMT

Title: Veronica's Adventures in Law School (WIP 5/?)
Author: Rindee
Pairing: Veronica & Logan.
Additional Characters: Wallace, Keith, Weevil, and others.
Word Count: 8237
Rating: R - primarily for violence & language.
Spoilers/Warnings: Through the end of S2.
Summary: AU future fic set five years after graduation - my take on what would happen if Logan and Veronica actually matured and tried to stay together in a healthy relationship.
A/N: Begun as a one-shot for the vmlyricfic challenge, but I was having so much fun I didn't want to stop, so cross-posted to the loveathons Epic challenge and veronicamarsfic. I recommend you read the chapters 1 - 4 before reading this; it will make more sense, according to my betas. Beta'd by the amazing and wonderful mastermia, who is just so great, and funny too, and the incomparable taken_with_you, who is insightful and patient, even when she thinks there isn't enough smut in the chapter. Special thanks to my girl, rejeneration, who knows my heart and is the best cheerleader ~~Logan~~ anyone could ever ask for. All the mistakes are mine because, occasionally, I'm too stubborn to listen to my betas.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

7:15 p.m.

Apprehensive and troubled, Wallace followed Veronica out the door and onto the small strip of crystalline sand that glittered invitingly but was cold against his bare toes. As Backup galloped into the surf and began to frisk after the waves, Veronica stood silently, her arms wrapped protectively around her waist. He could tell, from the set of her shoulders, that she was disturbed. As he crunched across the beach, she spun to face him, her face revealing a chaotic mix of emotions.

“Wallace – ”

“Veronica – ”

“I know you know someth – ”

“I got something you should – ” Taking a deep breath, Wallace started again, trying to confess. “Listen, Veronica. I gotta tell you something. Logan’s gone after Jason St. Arnold.”

“What are you talking about, Wallace?”

“We found out he’s not who he says he is, and – ”

“Wait.” Veronica uncoiled her arms and held her hands up. “Wallace, what do you mean, Logan’s gone after him? You know where Logan went, where he is, and you didn’t tell me?” Outraged, she stared intently at her best friend, her frosty eyes boring into him.

“Yeah. I mean, no.” Wallace shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know exactly where Logan is, but, Veronica, you gotta listen to me – ”

“You know what? I’m done listening to you, Huggy Bear,” she sarcastically informed him. “You’ve been here for two hours,” with each word Veronica’s voice rose a notch. “For two hours, Wallace, you sat on the couch while I worried, and not once did you bother to mention Logan was out doing something case-related, something dangerous. Logan is, he’s.... Dammit, Wallace, if anything happens to him, I’m holding you responsible.”

As she spoke, Veronica’s cell began to ring. Without looking, Veronica snatched it open. “Logan?” she answered, the barest hint of desperation coloring her voice.

“Hi, Honey. No, it’s Dad.”

“Oh, Dad. Where are you?”

“Logan’s not there with you, Veronica?”

She chewed her lip guiltily, trying to decide whether or not to out Logan. “Um, no, Dad. Logan’s not here. But Wallace is.”

“I thought I told both of you to stay put until I got home?”

“I know, Dad, but – ”

“Listen to me, Veronica. Sam and I are on the plane, ready to take off, and I need to know you’re not going anywhere until we arrive. Okay, Kiddo?”

“Dad?”

“Yes, Veronica?”

“About two hours ago, Logan left to tail Jason St. Arnold, and we haven’t heard from him since.”

“Veronica” Keith sighed heavily across the line. “I want you to promise me you and Wallace won’t leave. We’ll be there in less than two hours, Honey, and we’ll find Logan. So stay put, and don’t worry. He can take care of himself. I’ve got to go now, we’re taxiing. Call Eli. See if he can help. Don’t do anything stupid. I mean it. Bye now.” Before she could say another word, Keith hung up.

Dial tone ringing in her ear, Veronica looked at the phone in disgust, muttering, “I already called him.”

She glanced up. Wallace was eying her suspiciously. “What’d he say, Vee?”

She sighed and snapped her fingers for Backup. As he trotted out and shook off the salt water, she replied, “Oh, you know. The usual. Stay home. Don’t get involved.” She spun and started for the house. “Don’t look for your boyfriend, even though we don’t know where he is or if he’s in trouble. I hate this,” she groused, stomping up the deck stairs.

Trailing a step behind, Wallace began shaking his head vigorously. “Nope. No, Vee. No. You can’t. We can’t. We don’t even know where he is. And you can’t leave. Your Dad’ll kill you.”

Veronica smiled thinly. “I can track him through his phone. It’s just like Dad’s; it’s got a GPS chip.”

“Come on, Vee. You tried and got no answer. What makes you think he’s got his phone on him?”

“If I find his phone, and he’s not with it, he’s in trouble. If I find his phone and he’s with it, at worst, I mess up the case a little. Either way, I’ll know.” Impatiently, Veronica waited for Wallace and Backup to clear the door before slamming and locking it. “C’mon. We’ve got work to do.” She slugged Wallace on the arm and scrambled upstairs to the office.

“Hold up, Vee,” Wallace huffed as he followed her into the office. “If we’re going to do this, and I’m not sayin’ we are, we need a plan.”

Veronica sat in Logan’s chair, and motioned Wallace to hers. She walked him through the GPS tracking software. As Wallace worked, Veronica began rifling through Logan’s desk until she uncovered the file on St. Arnold. She was scanning the notes when she was interrupted by an excited yelp.

“I think I found him, Vee.”

Veronica moved to the screen. After a lengthy pseudo-argument, Wallace conceded they could take a drive and try to pinpoint the signal from Logan’s phone. Mindful of her father’s terse instructions, and aware that neither he nor Logan was going to be happy with her, Veronica left a detailed message on Keith’s voicemail, including the information Logan had learned about St. Arnold, the coordinates for Logan’s cell phone, and the fact that she and Wallace were going to be en route in a matter of minutes.

After asking Wallace to see to Backup and secure the house, she scurried into her closet and changed into dark jeans, a dark green, long-sleeved tee shirt, a black hoodie, thick-soled boots, and a buttery brown leather jacket. As she braided her hair, she heard Wallace lope up the stairs.

“All set,” he announced from the doorway. “We’re taking my ride, right? Cuz yours is a crispy critter, and Logan’s would be kind of conspicuous.”

Veronica examined Wallace’s clothing and realized he was unsuitably attired for the evening’s work. She rummaged through Logan’s shelves until she found a faded, worn pair of gray jeans and a black sweat shirt. Flinging them at Wallace, she told him to go change.

“Veronica. His stuff’s never going to fit me.”

“Just roll up the pants, and wear a belt.” Although Wallace had put on several inches since high school, he was still an inch or two shorter than Logan. Shrugging because he knew it was futile to argue with Veronica when she was on a mission, Wallace undressed in the bathroom.

His face wore a look of surprise when he returned. “Either I’m getting fat or your boy’s skinner than he looks.” Veronica grinned bravely.

“They’re old. Really old. Like from sophomore year. He said they were Lilly’s favorite and he. . . .” She paused and ducked her head, but not before Wallace caught the sheen in her suddenly-glassy eyes. She knelt to lace her boots. When she rose, her face was stern and impassive. Looking at Wallace’s stockinged feet, she arched an eyebrow.

“My kicks are in the car.” Veronica nodded curtly and reentered the walk-in. Wallace heard the snick-click noise of the safe dial. She returned carrying a .38 caliber silver Ruger revolver, and a larger, black semi-automatic pistol.

“Do you know how to use one?” she asked softly, extending the Beretta to him. “I don’t know that we’ll need them.” She took a deep breath, “But better safe than sorry, I think.”

Answering her unspoken question, Wallace reached for the pistol and tucked it in his waistband. “Yeah, Vee. Keith’s taken me and Logan to the range a couple of times.” Veronica’s astonished blink reminded him that, up until a week ago, she’d had no idea Logan had any involvement with Mars Investigations, much less that he knew how to shoot. “He’s gonna be okay,” he quietly added.

Ignoring his comment, she glanced at her watch. “Okay. It’s been two-and-a-half hours since Logan left. I say it’s time we found him.”

“Right behind you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
8:17 p.m.

Logan glared balefully at Weevil and rattled his cuffs. “C’mon, Weevs,” he grumbled. “Take ‘em off. Please.”

Weevil glowered at Logan, flexing and unflexing his fist, as if weighing his options. After a minute, he cursed under his breath, slapped his palm against his collarbone and felt around. Locating a modest gold chain neatly hidden beneath the ostentatious bling that was part of his cover, he fingered it gently and pulled. A small, 14 kt gold-plated cuff key floated at the end of the chain.

Weevil grabbed it, and, without removing it, leaned over to unlock Logan’s right hand. As he straightened to move to the other hand, the key swung free and Logan was able to see a tiny tag with initials on it hanging on the chain. Weevil stood again, and Logan briskly rubbed his wrists together. Without thinking, he reached for the cuff key and read the tag; it said, ‘V to E.’ Logan flushed, caught his breath and shoved his free hand into Weevil’s chest.

“She give that to you?” he growled threateningly.

Eli took a step back, his serene expression concealing his still-simmering anger. “Yeah. What about it?” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall.

“Before or after you fucked her?” Logan lunged for Weevil, but, despite his Echolls’ superior reach, Weevil struck first, grabbing a fistful of Logan’s shirt and effortlessly holding him off.

“You got it wrong, man. It wasn’t like that,” Weevil spit out defiantly.

Logan threw a roundhouse; Weevil easily dodged it, stepped in and crunched his fist into Logan’s bruised ribs. Doubled over and drooling blood, Logan gasped for air. He wobbled crookedly, trying to stay on his feet. Foolishly, he again lurched toward Weevil, trying to steady himself for another punch. Weevil slipped to the side, leaving Logan clutching air.

“Yeah. Well, why don’t you tell me what it was like, then, Eli,” he snarled. “I know you still love her.”

“You’re so fuckin’ stupid up you can’t see what’s right in front of your eyes,” Weevil replied, pushing Logan backward into the chair. “I got a woman, white boy,” he continued angrily, leaning down to peer into Logan’s bloodshot eyes. “If you’d been paying attention at the dojo instead of tryin’ to beat my ass every time we sparred, you’d know you got nothing to worry about.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
8:34 p.m.

“What exit?” Wallace asked as he piloted his jeep down 1-5. Engrossed in a back-and-forth comparison between the hand-held GPS finder and the surface street map, Veronica did not immediately respond.

“What?” She looked up blankly.

“I need to know where I’m gonna get off,” he patiently explained.

“I’m not sure, Wallace. There’s more than one exit that’ll take us through the hood, and I have no idea which one he would’ve taken.”

“Just pick one, then.”

“Okay. That one. There,” she instructed, wrenching Wallace’s right arm, and the steering wheel, in the direction of the exit they’d almost passed. The jeep bounced through the lane and onto the exit. Wallace sucked in his breath but did not protest. Both tensed as they turned off the ramp and silently cruised through the darkened, ominous-looking streets. “Make a right at the light,” she advised tightly, white-knuckling the GPS finder. “Down there. Straight ahead,” she pointed. “Wallace,” she shrilled. “Over there. It looks like Logan’s truck.”

“Got it, Vee.” He reached for her hand. “It’s gonna be okay now.”

Agitated, she shook him off. “I’m fine, Wallace. Just park the car, okay?”

He slid the jeep into a spot just behind the Xterra, but before he’d come to a complete stop, Veronica was out the door and rushing to the yellow beacon. “It’s not locked,” she reported, as Wallace jerked her back by the arm. “What is your problem?”

“Doesn’t it strike you as strange that Logan’s car’s just sittin’ here, unlocked, in this neighborhood?” He stared, trying to understand why, all of the sudden, she’d lost her ordinarily keen self-protective instincts. “It’s not safe, Veronica.”

“Wallace. I’ve already opened the door. If something bad was going to happen, it already would have.” Disregarding his warnings, she returned to her search of the interior. “His phone’s on the floor. And his binocs.” She crawled inside and felt around underneath the seats. “His wallet’s here too, under his seat.” Her head popped up. “What’s around, Wallace? Why was he here?” She swiveled to survey the area.

“Not much, as far as I can see.” Involuntarily, Wallace’s hand slipped into his pocket and he fingered the gun innocuously residing there. His eyes dropped to the street. “Veronica!”

“What?”

“C’mere a sec.”

She dropped out of the truck. “Yeah?”

Wallace nodded at a smooshed imprint in the dirt. “Think it means anything, Ms. PI?”

Veronica shrugged. “Do I look like Gil Grissom? I have no idea; but I am worried about the fact that his precious Xterra’s unlocked,” she leaned back inside, “and his keys are in the ignition.” She removed the keys, slammed the door before locking the vehicle and sticking the keys in her pocket. “Wherever he is, he either didn’t go willingly or was in an incredible hurry,” she offered grimly. “Let’s look around.”

“There’s a couple of warehouses over there.”

“Yeah, I see ‘em. And there’re lights in that one.”

She looked around. The combined glow of the moon and the street lights was bright enough to allow her to see an endless parade of warehouses; in front of them were rows and rows of hulking metal containers, their gray, blue and red paint scarred and corroded from many trips to and from foreign ports. The soft slap of water blended with the deep bellow of ships leaving and entering the harbor. Everything seemed peaceful, calm, and safe, but Logan was somewhere nearby, likely in one of the numerous cavernous buildings. Veronica wasn’t going to be content until she found him. They looked at each other. Wallace could see Veronica’s body vibrate with tension, and the need to do something.

“Wanna check it out?”he asked, not quite believing he was suggesting they aim straight for trouble.

“Yeah,” she nodded curtly. They began to walk toward the nearest building, taking care to stay in the shadows and away from street lights. As they slipped into the darkness at the side of the building, Veronica raised her hand. “Voices,” she noted cautiously. Using hand gestures, she indicated she wanted to navigate the perimeter. They sidled down the longest wall, pausing every few steps to listen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Weevil was slinging and flexing his right hand; with the other, he held Logan by the back of his neck, supporting him as he coughed up blood and phlegm. “I got a girl, Rosario, we’ve been together for a few months now, and things are good. But you’re right, I do love Vee. I love her like Keith does, the same way Wallace does. She’s my blood, mi familia, and I’d do anything for her. Which is more than I can say for you.”

“That’s right. I came to the ‘hood to hang with my peeps. And, oh, yeah, I’m down here for my health.”

“Are you so stupid you don’t know how much that girl loves you? It would kill her if anything happened you.” Weevil was so incensed his voice shook with rage. “She’s the reason I’m risking my ass to save your pasty white one. It ain’t cause you ‘n’ me are buds or anything like that. I’m here because, if I wasn’t, the love of your sorry-ass life would be putting herself on the line.” Weevil smacked Logan on the side of his head. “Yeah, I love Vee, and I got her back. I’ll always have her back. I’m gonna get you outta here because you make her happy, and, one of these days, when you get your head outta your ass and start deserving her, you and Vee are gonna get hitched and make little Echollses.”

Logan started, hazily staring at Weevil in shock. “Whoa. Wait. How’d you go from saving my ‘pasty white ass’ to Veronica having my kids?”

“You fuckhead, didn’ you hear – ” Weevil abruptly stopped, listening to the rumble of the garage doors that signaled the return of the OTNC crew. “Show time, white boy. You better grab your balls, man.” Logan nodded dumbly, his face becoming smooth and impassive. Pulling black leather over his fingers, Weevil grimaced, a ghost of a smile flitting across his face. “Head or gut?” he asked.

“What? Wait!”

Glowering menacingly, Weevil leaned in, his cheek practically brushing Logan’s. “When I hit you. Out there. Head or gut?”

Logan shuddered, waving his hand helplessly. “Whatever, man. Do what you gotta.”

The chatter of approaching voices alerted them. As they listened, Weevil’s name could clearly be heard. Weevil tilted his chin, and Logan resumed his position on the ground, hands behind his back. The snick of the cuffs reminded him of the precariousness of his situation, and his absolute dependence on Weevil. Grabbing the metal links, Weevil heaved, hoisting Logan to his feet.

“Fuck, Weevs,” Logan hissed. “Are you trying to dislocate my shoulder?” A boot to his backside was the only response as Weevil flung open the door, prodding Logan into the open.

“Muevete, pendejo.”

Stumbling and cussing, Logan staggered into the center of the room. Two thugs leaned lazily against a stack of boxes. They motioned for Weevil. Logan wasn’t unfamiliar with being one against the odds, but, usually, he would have at least had his hands free. The sensation of being helplessly handcuffed was new and unpleasant. From behind, Weevil plunged his boot into the back of Logan’s leg, forcing him down. Groaning, Logan dropped to drop to his knees, his head held high from sheer determination.

Spying from the shadows, Veronica gasped and froze. She would have recognized his voice anywhere. Her immediate instinct was blindingly primal; Logan was in trouble and she had to get to him. Knowing exactly what Veronica’s first impulse would be, Wallace yanked her sideways, clapping his hand over her mouth before she could do or say anything. She struggled in his grasp, twisting and turning until, finally, realizing he wasn’t going to let her go, she stopped straining and stood still. Breathing deeply, Wallace stared at Veronica until some semblance of sanity returned to her eyes. Taking his hand off her lips, but keeping his other hand glued to her arm, he dialed his cell and brought it to his mouth. Receiving no answer, he left a hushed, terse message, softly imploring Mr. Mars to hurry.

As he peered over the window ledge and into the room, Wallace could hear Weevil rattling rapidly in Spanish as he explained what he’d ‘learned’ from Logan; he’d been following a dude he thought was having an affair with his fiancee. When one of them questioned Logan’s story, Weevil assured them he had strenuously worked Logan over and had no doubt he’d told the truth. As Weevil continued to jaw with the OTNCers, Veronica tore free from Wallace’s grasp and moved away from the opening, creeping along the outside wall, her destination a smaller door situated near the middle of the building, closer to the action. Wallace had no choice but to follow.

Inside, the two men continued to aggressively voice their suspicions, arguing that Logan had already seen too much to be let go. Shrugging noncommittally, Weevil raised his hands to quell the dispute and stepped in front of Logan, his back to the others. His fist slammed into Logan’s cheek, splattering blood onto the cold concrete.

Although she couldn’t hear the conversation, Veronica heard the sound of Weevil’s punch as it echoed through the space. Inhaling sharply, she reached for the .38 snugged at the small of her back. From her shoulder, Wallace heard the Ruger click as she cocked it. Stunned that Veronica was prepared to use a gun, he corralled a fistful of her shirt and jerked her to the ground. “Vee,” he hissed. “What are you doing? You can’t go in there.”

Crouched beside the door, a single sliver of light illuminated Veronica’s face, but it was enough for Wallace to see the the wild and desperate look in her eyes; he could tell she was on the verge of complete irrationality. “We can’t wait, Wallace. Weevil may have to kill him soon, whether he wants to or not.”

“You crazy, girl. It’s Weevil, Veronica. It’s a show. He’s buying time.”

“I don’t care. I can’t just leave him here.” She stared crazily at Wallace. “You don’t have to come. You can stay here and wait for Dad. I know he’s on the way. He’s got to be, by now.”

Another vicious pop of skin on skin interrupted their conversation, and Veronica flinched violently. “Wallace. I can’t do this. I can’t just sit here. I have to try.”

Just as violently, Wallace shook his head. “You don’t even know how to use that thing - is it even loaded?. And what are you going to do when you get in there? Shoot Weevil? Or one of the other guys?” Wallace tugged the Beretta from his pocket and checked the clip. “It’d be three against one. You can’t beat those odds. At least give me your gun, Vee,” he implored, holding out his hand.

Bypassing at his outstretched hand, Veronica weedled, “I could if you came too.”

Weighing the consequences of going with versus letting her go alone, Wallace sighed heavily. “Okay, girl. What’re we gonna do?”

“I’m gonna take out Weevil while you neutralize the other two.”

“What do you mean, you’re going to take out Weevil?”

“I don’t know exactly; but I’m going to do what I have to do to make him stop hitting Logan.”

“Uh, how?” Wallace asked dubiously. “And, Vee, there’s bound to be more of ‘em around. What are we gonna do if the rest come back?”

“Wallace,” she gritted her teeth. “All we have to do is get in, get Logan, and get out.”

“What about Weevil, Vee?”

“I don’t know, Wallace.” Veronica’s eyes flashed darkly. “What about Weevil? Does it look to you like he’s in danger?”

“Veronica. You sent him in there to help Logan, and – ”

“And does it look like that’s what he’s doing, Wallace? Does it? I’m not even sure he got my messages; for all I know, he could be in business with these guys.” She rocketed up from the ground, her shoulders shaking. “Logan is hurt, Wallace. He’s bleeding.” Veronica’s voice caught, and Wallace could hear the tears he couldn’t quite see. “I have to go get him.” Angrily, Veronica spun on her heel and returned to her post by the door. Motioning with the .38, she directed Wallace to the other side of the entrance so his line of sight was on the two gang-bangers.

Stopping her with a raised hand, Wallace indicated he would go first, to keep the thugs at bay and within his sights. Reaching out, Veronica gently jiggled the door knob. Surprisingly, it gave in her hand. Pulling it toward her, Veronica eased in front of it and flattened it against the wall. Silently, Wallace pointed to a nearby tower of boxes, then stooped and scuttled toward the cover. When he was safely behind them, Veronica followed.

Extending his thumb and two fingers, Wallace’s eyes darted to Veronica. She nodded curtly and he began to count down, lowering his middle and index fingers, and, finally, his thumb. He stood and, cutting through the Spanish chatter, hollered “Everyone stay where you are!”

As all eyes turned toward Wallace, Veronica, catching everyone off-guard, dashed across the 30 feet of empty space between the boxes and Logan. Before Weevil even realized she was there, or what she was going to do, she raised her hand and smashed him across the face with her Ruger. The blow opened a gash on his forehead, dropping him to the floor next to Logan.

The ONTCers made as if to lunge for her, but Veronica whipped around and fired a shot into the ceiling, stopping them in their tracks. “Stay where you are,” Wallace ordered, extending his arms so his weapon was clearly visible. “I got it, Vee,” he instructed, trying to keep her from hurting anyone else. “I got it. Take care a’ your boy, okay.”

Trembling, Veronica took a tentative step toward Logan and began to cry. His beautiful face was bleeding in two places, one eye was puffed and swollen shut, and his hands were still trussed behind his back. Blinking, he cocked his head to see her with his good eye. “Hey, Beautiful,” he murmured. “Miss me?”

“Vee!” Wallace called out with authority. “Get him outta those cuffs, now. We gotta go.”

She shuddered, her head snapping back and forth as she focused on the scene before her. Resolutely, she wiped her eyes. The wheels began to turn as she stepped delicately over Weevil and moved to Logan’s back. Pulling out her massive key ring, she located a cuff key and unlatched the manacles. As she did, she whispered, “Should we take him with us?” Mutely, he signed his approval, rubbing his chafed wrists as he tried, vainly, to stand.

Veronica slung his arm across her shoulder and held him as he wobbled woozily. His chest heaved as he struggled to breathe. Ignoring his battered fingers, she pressed the Ruger into his hand and cut her eyes to Weevil, who was now sitting groggily on the floor, fingering the lump left by Veronica. Logan nudged Weevil with a toe and gruffly instructed him to stand up.

“You’re gonna get us outta here, pal,” he added, gesturing for Weevil to shield Veronica. When Weevil failed to quickly comply, Veronica bent and curled her hand around his leather collar and jerked. Hastily, Weevil scrambled to his fee. Logan stuck the gun into his back and prodded, forcing Weevil to walk before them over to where Wallace stood rigidly, scrutinizing the ONTCers as if they were bugs waiting to be squashed.

Silent upuntil that moment, Weevil suddenly decided to act the part, and began to loudly and vehemently insist he wasn’t going anywhere with them. Before Logan could respond, Veronica smacked her hand across the back of Weevil’s bald head, the crack ringing through the darkness. “Callate, vato.”

When they reached Wallace, Logan shoved Veronica behind his back and motioned for Wallace to stay behind Weevil. Shuffling backward, the four moved breathlessly toward the door, praying they could reach it and escape before the rest of the crew returned and drastically altered the odds.

“Wait a minute,” Veronica said just as they achieved their goal. Rolling her eyes, she dangled the cuffs from her hand. “Asshole,” she addressed Weevil. “Go cuff your buddies to that hoist over there. And don’t do anything stupid,” she added, elbowing him for effect.

Glaring in a believable imitation of disbelief, Weevil shook his head and held his hands skyward. “Nah, man, you’re so tough, go cuff ‘em yourself.” Before Veronica could hit him again, Logan stepped between them and plucked the steel from her hand. Jerking his head, he indicated Wallace should accompany Weevil across the room. Slapping the cuffs into Weevil’s palm, he lightly shoved him.

“Don’t even think about trying anything. Even with one eye shut, you’re a big target at this range,” he sneered as Weevil began moving. Gun trained on the two, Wallace followed at Weevil’s heels, walking slightly to the side to ensure Logan had a clear shot should it become necessary.

Shrugging apologetically as he reached them, Weevil clapped the cuffs on one, ran them through the hook dangling from the bottom of the hoist and over the other one’s wrist. “Okay, asshole, back here, nice and easy,” Logan called tersely. “Wallace, check ‘em and make sure they’re fastened.” As Weevil strolled back, Wallace placed the Beretta against the chest of one mope and yanked, causing both men to wince in pain.

“They’re good,” Wallace confirmed, scurrying back hastily. At Logan’s direction, Wallace grabbed Weevil by the back of his neck, and the four immediately retreated through the open doorway, disregarding the shouted curses and threats of the OTNC henchmen. Outside, Logan leaned more heavily against Veronica, gasping as her tiny hands explored his chest and felt for broken bones.

“What the hell – Weevil, what’d you do to him?” she hissed, sotto voce, as she realized her mere touch made Logan cringe.

“Shh,” Logan whispered, his head resting securely on hers. “Later, baby. It wasn’t all him, okay?”

“Are you outta your mind, girl?” Weevil demanded as they carefully moved away. “What the fuck are you doing here? Are you trying to get yourself killed? Him,” he inclined his head toward Logan. “Him I understand. But I thought you had more smarts than that.”

“Listen, guys,” Wallace cut in. “I’m sure y’all have a lot you wanna say to each other, but right now, we should be concentrating on gettin’ outta here.”

“He’s right, Veronica,” Logan croaked hoarsely. “We have to go.”

Just as he spoke, a maroon Crown Vic skidded to a stop 20 feet away. “Veronica!” Keith called frantically as he lurched from the car. “Are you alright?” Ignoring, for the moment, Logan’s plight, Keith gathered Veronica into his arms, patting her on the back to assure himself she was okay.

Before Veronica could answer, two undercover cars, sans sirens, but blue and red grill lights blazing, pulled up and stopped behind Keith’s vehicle. Sam Lawrence, accompanied by a phalanx of officers, got out and swarmed toward the quartet. “Am I glad to see you, Veronica,” he enthused. “You’re alright?”

“I am, Uncle Sam, but my boyfriend’s, pretty hurt.”

Upon hearing her, Keith broke away and studied Logan. “I’m sorry, Logan. I didn’t realize....”

“It’s fine, Keith,” Logan weakly waved his free hand. Still clutching his other around her neck, Veronica brushed her lips across his cheek and snuggled Logan’s body closer to hers. “Dad. There’s two gang members inside, but I don’t know what they’re up to. You’ll need to talk to Weevil before you can arrest them.”

As Veronica, Keith, and Logan glanced around for Weevil, they realized he’d been surrounded by the officers. “Ah, guys? Sam,” Keith called out softly. “He’s okay. He’s with us.” Arching his eyebrows dubiously, Sam Lawrence turned to Keith. “He’s one of ours,” Keith explained in a low voice. “He’s what you might call my covert operative.”

Nodding thoughtfully, Sam instructed his men to put Weevil in the back of one car, making sure it appeared as though Weevil was being detained. As Weevil rapidly began filling them in on what he’d learned, Sam began barking orders to his team to surround the premises and arrest the men inside. Simultaneously, Keith began questioning Logan about what he’d seen and heard. As Logan struggled to explain, he began to sway so wildly Veronica had to strain to keep him erect.

“Dad! Can’t this wait? He’s hurt and he needs to go to the hospital.”

Keith peered more closely at Logan’s face and realized it had blanched pure white, his answering smile more of a grimace than a grin. Taking Logan’s free arm and winding it around his shoulder, together, Keith and Veronica assisted Logan to the car. “Call an ambulance, Wallace,” Keith grimly commanded.

“Already on it.”

“Veronica? Can I speak to you for a moment, in private?” Although Keith’s words were not as much a request as an order, Veronica impatiently shook him off.

“Dad. I know what you’re going to say, and I think the lecture can wait, at least until we know Logan’s okay.”

“Veronica,” Keith insisted.

Like a dervish, Veronica whirled on her father and spit out, “Look, Dad, you weren’t there. You didn’t see what happened. I’m . . . I’m not leaving him. I won’t.” As she shook her head furiously, tears streamed down her face and she began to come unglued. Wrapping her arms around her waist, she hung her head. “I know I screwed up, Dad. I know it, but I can’t. . . I just can’t do this right now. . . .”

“Veronica,” Logan’s voice was soft and warm as he beckoned her to him. She glanced at Keith, who shrugged in resignation as she hesitantly stepped to Logan. Tugging her carefully onto his knee, he awkwardly tried a hug, but only succeeding in maneuvering one arm onto her shoulder. “Listen to me,” he began, touching his fingertips to her trembling chin.

He was interrupted by the blare of an ambulance pulling up behind the police vehicles. “Over here,” Wallace shouted, pointing to Logan. Two EMTs ran up, pulling Veronica off Logan’s lap and pushing her away in their haste to get to him. Wallace drew her to his side, calming and restraining her as the medics worked. After assessing the damage, the EMTs insisted it was imperative Logan be transported to the nearest hospital as soon as possible. One glance at Veronica’s ashen, tear-stained face, and Logan flatly refused to ride in the ambulance, calmly insisting he and Veronica could take the Xterra which was, miraculously, still on the street.

As Veronica nodded in agreement, Sam, Wallace, and Keith yelled, “No!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Veronica,” Keith continued. “You can’t drive him - he’s hurt.”

“He doesn’t want to ride in the ambulance,” she persisted doggedly. “I can drive him.”

Keith stared sternly at her. “Logan, you have to go with these men in the ambulance. I – we – can’t take the chance that something bad might happen on the way to the ER.” Stubbornly, Logan shook his head, wincing with every movement. “Veronica,” Keith tried again, almost pleading with his daughter. “He can barely hold his head upright, much less walk. Be reasonable, both of you. Be smart.”

Paying no mind to Sam, the EMTs, or Wallace, the three segued into a heated discussion. Finally, done protesting, Logan caved and agreed to get on the gurney and take a ride in the ambulance, as long as Veronica could accompany him.

“Okay, Dad. It’s settled. I’m going with Logan. Wallace will have to drive the Xterra, or you can. But one of you will have to bring it to the hospital so I can drive him home after they’ve checked him out.”

“Veronica, honey,” Keith said, his patience stretched beyond the breaking point. “They’re not going to let you ride with him; you’re not, technically speaking, family.”

“It’s fine Dad. Logan’s taken care of it,” she brushed him off. Tossing Logan’s keys to Wallace, she clambered into the van and waved jauntily as the doors slammed behind her. Sliding down the bench beside the stretcher, Veronica smoothed shaky fingers across Logan’s mottled cheeks, now ribboned with caked, dried blood. Squinting at her through blurred vision, he reached for her hand.

“Don’t ever do that again, Veronica Mars. My heart can’t take it.” To make his point, he crushed her hand with every ounce of strength remaining in his mangled body.

“Your heart,” she murmured, an unsettled glint in her eyes. “What did you want me to do, Logan? Leave you there? Do you really think I could do that? Besides, I’m furious with you. What the hell did you think you were doing, you son of a bitch? You could have died, Logan, or....”

“You didn’t think you were going to get rid of me that easily, did you, Mars?” he challenged, his raspy voice tinged with satisfaction. “I’m not the only one who runs head first into trouble without thinking – ”

“No. You’re the one with two or three broken ribs, two shattered fingers, a probable concussion, a dislocated shoulder, and assorted cuts and bruises,” she announced, ticking off the list of his injuries with metronomic precision. “You weren’t supposed to leave the house, either. Remember, Logan? So don’t lecture me about putting myself in harm’s way. I had backup.”

“And a gun, Veronica?” he growled. “A gun? In your incapable hands?” Unable to shake his head because of the foam collar, Logan tsked his dissatisfaction. “Now you know I felt all those years, Veronica, watching you fling yourself into dangerous situations, not thinking about anything but your need for action, your need to get the bad guy, or – ”

“Shut up, Logan. When I did it, when I was a P.I., it was all part of the job. It was a job, Logan,” she shouted shrilly. “I wasn’t out there tracking down your skanky girlfriends on a whim, and I wasn’t trying to be a hero.” Disgusted, she snatched her hand from his. “St. Arnold, Logan? Jason St. Arnold? That’s who you had a hard on for, isn’t it? That’s who you followed into the barrio, right?”

“Veronica, you know I promised to save all my hard-ons for you from now on.”

“Listen, mister,” the EMT interrupted. “I realize you and the missus have a lot to talk about, but you’ve got to calm down here. Your blood pressure’s not that great right now. And you, lady,” he glared at Veronica. “You need to fasten your seat belt, and lower your voice.”

“He’s not in danger of dying, is he?” Veronica snapped to the EMT. “If he’s not, mind your own business.”

“Veronica,” Logan dropped his voice. “Calm down, please. We can talk about it later, okay? Christ, I might die, if you keep it up.”

“And you might wish you were dead when you get home tonight.”

“Veronica,” he said softly, solemnly meeting her gaze. “C’mere, please.” Something in his voice sliced through Veronica. Her eyes roamed his body, from his splinted arm and hand, to his blood-streaked face and glassy eyes.

“Oh, Logan,” she groaned, her hand covering her mouth, her eyes brimming. “I’m sorry, Logan. You’re right. I’m . . . we can talk later.” Carefully, gently, she ran her fingers through his hair, and bent to kiss his forehead. “You’re going to be okay, Logan,” she soothed. “I swear.”

In response, Logan shifted restlessly and growled something low and indistinct in her ear. A tiny smile twitched at corners of her mouth. “Now?” she asked dubiously. Logan fluttered his lashes and grinned. Smirking, Veronica sunk to her knees, pressed her cheek against his and gave him a long, slow, open-mouthed kiss. He moaned, although neither could tell if it was pain or pleasure, and clutched her neck with his free hand. Sighing, she laid her arm over his chest and rubbed her fingers over the small patch of visible skin, drawing aimless patterns against his breast bone.

“Ma’am,” the EMT chimed in. “I’m sorry, but you can’t do that. I know he’s your husband and all, but you need to sit back down and leave him alone.” Veronica and Logan frowned in unison, but he released his hold on her, and she slid back onto the bench.

“By the way, he’s not – ”

“Ronica, honey,” Logan shot her a meaningful glance. “The nice man doesn’t need to know you’re planning to divorce me next week. The announcement can wait, don’t you think?” Uncomprehending, she looked at him for a second, then caught on.

“Logan, sweetie,” she cooed in a syrupy sweet voice. “I’m not going to divorce you. I’m going to stay with you forever and make your life a living hell.”

“Forever, Ronnie?” Logan smiled dreamily as he started to fade out. “Promise?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As he pulled under the canopy that protected the entrance of the ER, Wallace could see Veronica inside, wearing out the linoleum in front of the admitting desk, arms crossed, a frown marring her pretty face.

“Hey, Vee,” he called, walking in. “What’s going on? How’s your boy?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” she announced nonchalantly. “They’re splinting his fingers, the gash in his head has been stitched up, or should I say sutured and stapled, and he’s been well medicated. He’s flying high and feeling no pain.”

So what’s the problem? You look kinda upset.”

Turning away, she scrubbed her hands over her face and shook her head. “It’s not Logan, Wallace. It’s me. I made a mistake,” she mumbled.

“Hey, hey,” he grabbed her arm, spinning her to face him. “I know you effed up, but Logan screwed up too. Hell,” Wallace squeaked. “We all did. He’ll get over it, Vee. And so will your dad. You just gotta give ‘em time.”

“No, Wallace,” she rolled her eyes impatiently. “Not that. I know that. This.” Again, Veronica brought her palm to her face. Wallace stared, not understanding. “This,” she pointed to her finger. On it was a gold cigar band. An 18kt gold band in the shape of a cigar ring, with small rubies, emeralds and sapphires making up the insignia on the face of it. “He asked me to marry him, Wallace. In the emergency room. And, apparently, I took total leave of my senses and said ‘yes.’”

“Oh, that,” Wallace snickered, trying to stifle a full-on belly laugh. “I know all about that. Everyone does, ‘cept you. I’m surprised he had it on him, though. And I’m really surprised you said ‘yes’ so fast.”

“Oh my God, Wallace. What am I going to do? I can’t marry Logan, I mean, I care about him, and want to be with him, but marriage?” She studied the floor intently. “He’s not ready, Wallace. He’s so not,” she muttered.

“Are you sure it’s Logan who’s not ready?” Wallace asked evenly. “Because that’s not what I’m hearin’.” As Wallace finished, Veronica’s head whipped up; she narrowed her eyes and scowled.

“Mrs. Echolls?” the nurse behind the counter inquired. “Your husband’s ready to go home. If you’ll just sign these,” she held out a clipboard with a sheaf of papers affixed to it. Unable to help himself, Wallace doubled over, guffawing and choking.

“Oh my God, Vee. Is there something else you want to tell me?” he gasped, his body shaking with laughter. “It looks like you won’t have to worry about a long engagement, girl.”

“Shut up, Fennel,” she hissed. “Logan doesn’t have any other next of kin,” she explained defensively. Wallace unbent, wiping tears from his eyes. “And he wanted me – ”

“ – Girl, you are too much.”

“There you are,” Logan said brightly. “I was beginning to think I was going to have to wheel myself home. Hey, Wallace.”

“I’ll take that,” Wallace offered to the girl as he hurriedly scooted behind to take the handles. Handing the clipboard back to the nurse, Veronica bent to give Logan a peck on the cheek. Dissatisfied with her politically-correct buss, Logan wrapped his good arm around her waist and jerked her onto his lap.

“That’s better,” he chortled gaily. “Home, Jeeves.”

“Logan.” Veronica squirmed, trying to find a place for her hands, her face cherry-red. “Let me go.”

“Did you see it?” Logan tilted his head to look at Wallace, gleefully waggling his eyebrows for emphasis. Momentarily releasing his prize, he raised his hand for Wallace to slap.

“Yeah, man. I saw it. Congrats.”

Veronica continued to struggle as Wallace and Logan chuckled. “Sit still, Mrs. Echolls,” Logan breathed against her neck, “or things will get really interesting in a hurry. Wallace?”

“I’m on it, dude.” Flexing his arms, Wallace pushed the grinning Logan and shame-faced Veronica out of the hospital. “Want me to get the truck?”

“I can get it,” Veronica insisted, securely ensconced on Logan’s lap, her legs dangling helplessly over the arm of the wheelchair.

“I got it.” Wallace scurried into the nearly-deserted parking lot.

“What time is it, wife?” Logan asked, a gleam in his eye.

“It’s twelve-forty-seven am, and I’m not your – ”

Pulling her backward so she rested on the arm of his chair, Logan bent and kissed her longingly. Taken aback, Veronica froze, her eyes searching his. Shuddering, she opened her lips and admitted him, her hands clutching at his shirt as she drank him in. As she pulled closer and deepened the kiss, tiny tears dribbled from the corners of her eyes.

“I’m right here, Veronica,” he comforted, briefly lifting his head as the tips of his fingers whispered across her cheeks, nose, chin, and ears. “I’m fine and I’m not going anywhere,” he murmured, descending once more onto her waiting mouth.

The Xterra skidded to a stop in front of them, and Wallace hopped out. “Logan. I have to get up, Logan,” she protested.

He sighed resignedly. “I suppose you do, or we’ll never get home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She waited until Wallace’s tail lights were no longer visible before putting the car in gear and heading for the highway. Seat reclined until he was nearly prone, Logan shut his eyes, his hand resting lightly on Veronica’s thigh. “Music?” she asked, her voice still tight and tense.

“Mmm. That’d be good,” he slurred, halfway on his way to much-needed sleep. The plaintive, distinctive rasp of Billie Holiday filled the interior. Two stop lights later, just as she spun the wheel and turned onto the on-ramp, his fingers tightened on her leg. “Babe?”

“Yeah, Logan. I’m here.”

“I don’t want a big wedding, do you?” And, when she failed to reply, he continued. “I will if you want to, though. Whatever you want is fine with me.”

He couldn’t see her face, and the inky night concealed her fists throttling the steering wheel. “Go back to sleep, Logan.”

“I wasn’t asleep, ‘Ronica,” he announced clearly. “I was thinking about you becoming Mrs. Logan Echolls - well, marrying me, anyway. I know you’re probably going to want to keep your name, and you know I’m cool with that.”

Veronica heaved a deep breath, her right hand drifting down to cover his. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

Her frigid tone caused Logan to sit up quickly, and he groaned from the effort. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me you’re already having second thoughts?”

“I didn’t say that, Logan. I just said I didn’t want to talk about it right now.”

“Why’d you say ‘yes’ then?” he continued, disregarding her equivocation. “If you don’t intend to marry me, Veronica,” Logan’s voice segued from calm to strident. “You could have just said so. Before you put the ring on.”

“Listen to me, Logan. Once more, you have a concussion, several broken bones, sutures in your hand, head, and face, and your body is purple and blue. And we still don’t know what Jason St. Arnold was doing on the docks in National City, or who he really is, for that matter. I think we have more important things to worry about than when we’re going to get hitched.”

Angrily yanking his hand from underneath hers, Logan anxiously rubbed the back of his head. “O - Kay, Ver-on-i-ca. When would you like to talk about it? Before or after we pick a date? When we book the church? No, wait, I know, after we buy a dress you’re never going to wear. Veronica,” he roared, slamming his fists on the dashboard. “Ow!” he hollered. “Fuck! That hurt.”

“Stop it, Logan! You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I think it’s been taken care of, thanks,” he muttered, massaging his temples with his palm. “Veronica,” he continued in muted, controlled tone. “What’s wrong with getting married? Why don’t you want to? Is it me?”

“Just stop it, Logan,” she screamed, on the verge of losing it. “I’m trying to drive, and I can’t think straight right now. I need to get you home before you permanently injure yourself.”

“Well, then, stop the car, Veronica. Because I think we need to talk about this right now!” Logan yelled. Impulsively, he reached for the wheel.

“Dammit, Logan, don’t.” Pushing him back into his seat, Veronica hit the brakes and complied with his order, sliding onto the shoulder in a shower of gravel. The second she put the truck in park, while it still rocked, Veronica heedlessly flung the door open and ran to the passenger side, where Logan was struggling to exit. “Logan,” she begged in a tear-choked voice, hands grasping his shoulders as she tried to ease him back into the car. “Please don’t get out. You could hurt yourself, and I don’t – ”

Half-in and half-out of his seat, Logan artlessly gathered her to him, pressing her securely against his chest and holding her there as she broke down. Her breath came in huge hiccuping gulps as she shook under the weight of her fear that she might have lost him and her pain at the damage done to him.

Unable to lift her onto his lap, Logan rocked her up and down, his chin on her shoulder, until her gut-wrenching sobs began to subside. As she sniveled into his chest, he chuckled softly. “Veronica? If you didn’t like my shirt, all you had to do was say so.”

“It’s not the shirt,” she stammered soggily. “It’s you. I hate you, Logan Echolls.”

“I know, but you’re just going to have to put up with me until you find a better husband.”

“I don’t want a better husband,” she whined, muffled in his sweatshirt. “I was so scared, Logan. I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared.”

“I know, babe.” He twisted his neck to peer into her watery eyes. “If it makes you feel any better, I was too.”

“I ... I can’t marry you, Logan,” she whimpered, averting her face. “Because what would happen if I did, and then I lost you? I don’t think I could take it. It would hurt too much,” she added in a hushed tone.

“I’m not going anywhere, Veronica,” he promised, his coffee eyes somber and earnest. “I could never leave you.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Trial posting: AFD - Chapter 12

rindee — Sat, 09 Sep 2006 22:16:37 GMT

Chapter 12: SIN AND FRIENDSHIP

Title: All Fall Down
Pairing / Character: Veronica/Logan, Keith
Rating: PG-13 to R
Words: 89,945 to date
Summary: In Neptune, the brighter the summer sun, the deeper the shadows.
Spoilers / Warnings: Seasons 1 and 2 / Language and adult situations.

Chapter 12: SIN AND FRIENDSHIP
Authors: mastermia and rindee
Additional Characters: Cliff, Dick, Loretta Cancun, Brian Wixom, Rod, and Tommy Campbell
Words: 8,422
Authors’ Note: All Fall Down is a collaborative effort by 20 writers. You can learn more about this project here. Special thanks to mutinousmuse, ladydisdain225, and shazam23 for their thoughtful and insightful betas, and a special thanks to taken_with_you and rejeneration for being fabulous sounding boards and all-things-VM resources.

rindee would like to add an extra-special thanks to mastermia , who, in addition to co-authoring, beta’d all the way from Australia. mastermia wants to thank rindee for stepping in on short notice and doing an awesome job while she went to Australia and had fun.

X-posted to veronicamarsfic, fic_from_mars, rindee and mastermia.

All Fall Down

Chapter 12
SIN AND FRIENDSHIP

Chin in hand, Veronica stared at the phone as if she could, with enough concentration, force it to tell her what to say to fix things with Logan. As she replayed their fight in her head, she realized she had, once again, pushed him away. But despite the evening's ending, she couldn’t forget the too-brief moment when they'd shared a laugh over Dick. Regardless of what either one said, there was no denying their connection, one that could change from anger to understanding to passion in a heartbeat. The longer she meditated, the more she realized she missed … all of it. Logan said he only wanted to be friends, but she wanted more. She just needed to find the right words to tell him.

Veronica finished her apology and held her breath, staring at Logan, waiting for his response. She gasped as he said 'I love you' and pulled her into his arms. She clung to him as he murmured ‘Veronica’ and trailed kisses down the side of her neck. Trying to get even closer, she arched her neck. He took it as an invitation to explore the tender spot under her ear, causing her to almost purr in satisfaction as he suckled gently. Somewhere in the distance she heard the ringing of a telephone, but ignored it as his tongue dipped into her collarbone. She silently urged him lower, but as he started to obey, her daydream dissolved and she heard her father yell, “Veronica, can you get the phone?”

Sighing heavily, she picked up the receiver and all but barked, “Mars Investigations.”

“Am I interrupting something?” Cliff's voice was smooth as honey, and she could picture the quirked eyebrow at the other end of the line.

“Hey, sorry, I was thinking of something else.” As she reached for the bottle of water on her desk, she swore she was going to do whatever was necessary to reconnect with Logan as soon as possible. She snapped back to the present and realized she'd missed what Cliff had been saying. “Um, sorry, can you repeat that, please?”

“I. Have. A. Case. For. You.” he said with exaggerated slowness.

“What kind of case?” she asked warily, something in his voice warning her she might not like his answer. “Is it Weevil?”

“No, nothing like that. I told him you were still working on it.” He paused, and Veronica's suspicion deepened. “It's a pro bono case. I need a favor for a friend.”

“I thought Dad was your only friend?”

“I'm hurt, V. I have a plethora of friends you know nothing about.”

“Hmm. How good of a friend are we talking?” she said, curiosity coloring her voice.

“Good enough for me to call in a marker.”

“Let me guess, she works at the Seventh Veil?”

“Now, V, you know I like to support single moms.”

“Yes, you do. A dollar at a time.” Laughter was evident in her voice.

“Veronica, I'm a gentleman. I use fives,” he said in mock hurt.

“And I'm sure the working women of America appreciate that very much. What's the favor?”

“My friend has a son who goes to Neptune. He seems to have lost a comic book, and he needs your help getting it back.”

“He lost a comic book? Shouldn’t he go to Lost and Found?”

“Your comedic stylings never fail to amuse me,” he said dryly. “It's more complex than that. He drew a comic book, and apparently, his friend has stolen the only copy. That big comic book convention is this weekend, and he thinks his friend has a publisher who might be interested. We need you to get it back so her son can get the contract and make his mother very proud.”

“It's a comic book. Can't he just draw another one with his big box of crayolas?”

“Veronica, millions of dollars are spent within the comic book industry every year. The convention is the only opportunity he'll have to get it looked at, and if it's as good as he thinks, he could use the money for college. He's a good kid, and he shouldn’t have to wait another year,” he cajoled.

“Cliff, I don't know anything about comic books. What am I supposed to do?”

“I know you've gone to Geekapalooza before, and that head of yours is always full of crazy plans. You could go, find the thief, get back the book and save the day. I know you like to help the underdog. Come on, V. You owe me.”

“Yes, I do.” The last time she'd gone to the San Diego Comic Con was the summer before Lilly died. Aaron had been promoting a movie at the time, and the four of them, she and Duncan, Logan and Lilly, had gotten total VIP treatment. In fact, Logan could probably still get them behind the scenes, and having to ask him would give them something to talk about as they explored their new friendship. “Send my new client over. He's going to have to tell me exactly what to look for.”

“See, V. I knew you were all about truth, justice and the American way.”

“That's Superman, Cliff.”

“Whatever,” he said as he hung up.

Once again, Veronica eyed the telephone thoughtfully. Supposedly, she and Logan had broken up and were trying to be just friends, but he certainly hadn't acted 'just' friendly when Dick ogled her at Kendall's party. Although she hadn't talked to Logan since that night, Cliff had inadvertently given her the perfect excuse for a chat, and maybe a visit. Even though she was anxious to see Logan, she hated asking for him for a favor, especially one involving the use, or abuse, of his family's notoriety. Sighing, she reluctantly dug out her cell and hit '2'.

“Logan's house of pain, what's your poison, hemlock or arsenic?”

“Logan?”

“Veronica. My favorite sleuth. How've you been?” he asked, sarcasm slathered over every word. Suddenly unsure of herself, Veronica faltered, briefly speechless. In the background, she could hear the loud thunk of the Beach Bimbo Volleyball video game, and Dick exhorting his “girls” to “dig for it, baby.” Apparently, Logan was consoling himself with video games and other hijinks involving Casablancas and his unquenchable craving for anything adolescent.

“Veronica? Was there something you wanted, or did you just call to hear me and Dick breathe heavily?”

“N…no, Logan. I called to see you how are,” she confessed. “And to ask a favor,” she amended guiltily.

“It's always the same with you, Mars. Business before pleasure, although, in your case, it's business before anything, and I'm just an afterthought. What do you need this time?”

“I … I just … I need …” I miss you, the voice in her head prompted, but she couldn’t bring herself to say it aloud.

“Spit it out, Mars. Dick thinks he's kicking my ass right now, and I'd like to disabuse him of the notion as soon as possible.”

“Where are you, Logan?”

“The beach house. Why?”

“Can I come over to see you? Just for a minute?”

“You must want a really big favor to be willing to grace us with your presence,” he observed. “C'mon over. Maybe Dick'll let you play with him.”

Disappointed by Logan's antagonism, Veronica hung up and grabbed her bag. “Hey, Dad,” she called through the doorway. “I have to go out for a while.”

“Fine, Honey,” Keith replied. Veronica waited for the usual 'third degree' but none was forthcoming.

“If Cliff's client comes by to see me, ask him to wait, okay?” she added.

“Mm hmm. Okay, sweetie,” he responded absently, but Veronica could tell he wasn't really listening. Has everyone gone completely nuts, she wondered as she flounced out the door.

Logan's noxious-yellow Xterra seemed to mock her as she walked past, reminding her of happier times when she and Logan couldn’t keep their hands off each other, and couldn’t stay out of its ample and accommodating backseat. She stared at the door, trying to decide whether or not she could enter without knocking. Before she could make up her mind, it swung open and she was confronted by a grinning Dick Casablancas. “Ronnie, baby. 'Bout time you came to hang out with the big boys. Did you bring your 'A' game?” he leered as she rolled her eyes and brushed past without comment.

“Logan?” she called, her tone sharper than she'd intended. “Are you here?”

“He's in the den, Ronnie,” Dick announced, following her. “The den of inequity. We renamed it because Logan's a free man now.” As he spoke, Dick raised his fist to the ceiling and pumped his hips enthusiastically.

As she looked quizzically at Dick's gyrations, they could clearly hear Logan's exasperated groan coming from general direction of the sofa. Deciding Dick's stupidity didn't merit a response, Veronica marched into the living room and dropped her messenger bag on the floor at Logan's feet. “Can you pause that, please? We need to talk.”

Without taking his eyes off the huge plasma screen hanging on the wall, Logan nodded “Uh huh. Be right with you, just as soon as I - oh, dammit. Not again.”

“That's lame, dude. You gotta get through this level so you can groove the next one,” Dick instructed from over Veronica's shoulder. “Here. Give it.”

“Riiight.” Wrinkling his forehead, Logan gazed forlornly at the screen, ignoring Dick's outstretched hand. “You wanted something, Mars? What was it?” The frown line between his eyes grew deeper, and he tapped his fingers against the plastic box dangling from his hand. “Oh, yeah.” He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Talk. You wanted to. Hmpf.” He switched into his Yoda voice. "Want something, she does -”

Without warning, Veronica snatched the controller from his hand and dumped it on the coffee table. “Logan,” she said stiffly, her voice halfway between a plea and a demand. “I need --”

“Wait. I know this one. You need something, from me, but it's just business. C'mon,” he snapped his fingers again. “Out with it, Veronica. Whaddya want?”

“Can we talk in the other room?” she asked, pointedly glaring at Dick, who'd plopped down next to Logan and restarted the game.

Feigning carelessness, Logan studied Veronica, his deceptively lazy gaze traveling up and down her body. He could tell, from the hand anxiously jammed into her back pocket, and the way she gnawed her lip, that she was apprehensive. As he rose to stand next to her, she flinched and stepped backward. Reflexively, he grabbed her elbow to keep her from tripping over the body board lying on the floor behind her. She gasped as his warm fingers wrapped around her bare arm.

Perplexed by her hot-and-cold vibe, Logan steered her toward the stairs. “I'll be back in a minute,” he flung over his shoulder.

“Sure thing, dude. Don't take too long. Hit it and quit it, 'k? We got things to do.”

As he guided her into his bedroom, Logan could feel her tremble slightly underneath his hand. He released her arm, instantly wishing he hadn't. “What's up, Veronica?” he asked gently.

She turned quickly, surprising them both, and flattened her hand against his naked chest. The thud of his heart under her fingers almost made her forget why she was there. “I need a favor,” she murmured, looking up at him from underneath her bangs. “And,” she leaned in, aligning her body against his. “I miss you,” she breathed, running her tongue over her lips before rising to her tiptoes and pressing her lips against his. Disregarding the warning bells trilling in his head, Logan bent and opened his mouth to her, his arm curling around her waist.

“Veronica,” he whispered, one hand drifting from her back to her curvy behind as he drew her closer. Slouched against the door, his other hand tangled in her flaxen hair, he shuddered, trying to remember why this wasn’t a good idea. He stiffened, feeling the soft skin of her belly rubbing through his wafer-thin board shorts. “God, I can't do this again,” he moaned as he nudged her away. Relinquishing his grip, he cupped her face in both hands and kissed her soundly before letting go. Shaking his head mournfully, he moved to the other side of the room, putting as much distance as possible between them.

“I'm not a plaything, Veronica,” he said in a hoarse, clenched voice. “You can't just pick me up and put me down whenever you feel like it.”

“I . . . I'm not, Logan.” Bewildered, she stared at the floor for a moment before meeting his eyes. “I'm trying. Trying to make more room for you in my life.”

Ignoring her glistening eyes and inviting words, he continued to regard her impassively. “Is this,” he gestured to his clearly excited state. “What you came for? Or was there something else you wanted?” he asked, teeth gritted.

Abruptly switching gears, she took a deep breath. “No. I came to see you, but I need a favor too.”

“Ask away, Mars.” He spun away from her, and paced the room like a caged tiger, picking up discarded clothes and flinging them into the corner.

“You remember, after freshman year, when the four of us went to that fest - what was it called -”

“I don't know, Veronica. What was it called?” he interrupted, his voice muffled as he yanked a tee over his head.

“I’ll tell you, if you'd shut up and let me finish, Logan.”

“But this is so much more fun,” he smirked, impatiently gesturing for her to get on with it.

“Comic Con. You remember. Lilly and Dunc -”

“Yeah, I remember. What about it?” His eyes darkened suspiciously.

“Do you still have contacts in geekdom? I need to pretend to be a comic book publisher, so I need some all-access passes and a table at the convention.”

Arms crossed protectively, he waited a beat, watching Veronica squirm before asking, “What's in it for me? Isn't that the way it works? You do something for me, and I return the favor.”

“I don't know Logan,” she said tightly, her blue eyes cold and hard. “I don't know if that’s how it works. What would you like me to do for you?”

“Besides leave, you mean? You know, Veronica, once upon a time, under other circumstances, I'd have been delighted by your offer, but now….” He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “I tell you what, I’ll call Sabina and have her hook you up for Comic Con, and we’ll just say you owe me one. Again.”

“Thank you, Logan,” she replied, relieved and grateful but clearly disappointed.

“Was there anything else?” he grumbled.

“No.” Veronica shook her head. “I guess that's it.”

“I’ll have Sabina call you.”

“Okay.” She nodded quickly and tried to smile. She reached for the doorknob.

“Veronica.”

“Yes, Logan?”

“I don't know what you're doing at Comic Con, but be careful, will you? If you need help, call me, okay?”

“Thanks.”

Brian Wixom tentatively walked into Mars Investigation just as Veronica finished talking to Sabina Eckhardt, an assistant from the Echolls family's PR firm. Even though Brian recognized her, Veronica wasn’t surprised she didn’t recognize him; he was an underclassman, after all. But when she looked at Brian, his all-too-average, California blonde look spoke volumes about Cliff's taste in women.

“Veronica, thank you so much for helping me!” Brian said earnestly. “I freaked out when I heard Rod had a comic book he was taking to the Con. I can't believe my friend stabbed me in the back like this, but Cliff says you’ll be able to help.” He looked at her with adoring puppy eyes, and Veronica resisted the impulse to roll her eyes.

“Why didn’t you just ask Rod to give you back the pages?” she asked evenly.

“Oh, I tried, but he said I didn’t appreciate his work, and he'd show me.” He smiled conspiratorially at her. “As if he was capable of drawing a book. He's just an inker, you know.”

“A what?” she asked, mystified.

“An inker isn’t the one who actually draws the pages, he just goes over the artist’s drawing with pen. Rod thinks that makes him creative.”

“He just traces what you drew? Well if he can't actually draw, then how is anyone going to believe he drew the comic?”

He shrugged and evaded her eyes. “Well, a good inker can add shading and depth to a drawing, but the fundamental idea is all mine, and I want my pages back.”

“Okay, why would he take the pages and try to sell them as his?” Brian suddenly became fascinated with his shoelaces, and Veronica was forced to repeat herself to get his attention. “Brian, how did he get the pages?”

“Call me Bri, everyone does.”

“Bri,” she ground out, “How did he get the pages in the first place?”

“Well, I kind of asked him to ink them. And then the post came out about Marvel looking at unsigned artists' work, and I saw he'd gotten a slot. After that, I went and asked for my pages back, and he refused.”

Veronica looked at him steadily. “But you asked Rod to help you finish the pages? Doesn’t that make the work both of yours?”

“He stole them, and I want them back,” he said stubbornly, arms crossed.

Veronica had to laugh to herself; he looked so much like an angry toddler. All that was missing was a foot stomp and she would have a good old-fashioned temper tantrum on her hands. Prudently, she changed the subject. “What’s the comic about?”

Brian's face lit up. “It’s about a super hero!”

“Aren’t they all?” she asked, lifting her water bottle. “What’s his power?”

Brian leaned forward in his chair. “It’s actually about a girl. She's a mild mannered computer programmer by day, but at night she becomes a magenta-haired superhero who uses her computer to solve crime. Her name is Sin!”

His words almost caused her to choke. “Cin?” she repeated dazedly, an odd look on her face.

“Yes, and the original pages have Easter eggs buried in them, to let the real Sin know I wrote the book for her.”

“For her?” Veronica repeated, sounding like a parrot.

Brian nodded excitedly. “Yes, because when she sees the comic, she’ll instantly know I wrote it for her, and once she sees the messages I left her, she’ll realize we belong together. The messages can prove I actually drew it.” He handed over a list. “See? I wrote them all down. If I hadn’t drawn the pages, I wouldn’t know where the hidden messages are.”

Veronica looked at the list of 20 items he had given her. “How many pages is the comic?” she asked wearily.

“Why?” he asked innocently.

“Never mind. Why did Cliff think I could help you?”

“Oh, I told him about my great idea, and how Sin could right wrong with a mere stroke of her laptop. He laughed and said he knew just the person to help me.” The adoring look was back in his eye.

“I bet he did.” she said faintly. As she plotted how to get back at Cliff, she saw the look on his face and wondered what super power he would be giving her in the sequel.

“Cliff, I met your puppy, and I think I can solve his problem, but I need your help.”

“Oh?” Now it was his turn to sound suspicious.

“Rod knows me from school, so I doubt he’ll hand over the pages to me. But there will be lots of comic book companies represented, and I'm sure he will be more than happy to show his pages to a prospective publisher. So I need someone to play a slightly shady executive, and I realized I knew the perfect person.”

“Slightly shady? You insult me again. I can be entirely shady if necessary. Of course I’ll do anything I can for the poor boy.”

“Boy, have you got it bad.” Veronica smiled at his resigned sigh.

“You have no idea.” Hearing Cliff's reply, her smile turned to outright laughter, but his pained silence was her only response.

“We need someone to dress in costume and wear a magenta wig. Any idea who might help with that?”

“I think I know just the person,” he said confidently.

Having completed the necessary arrangements for her Comic Con escapade, Veronica returned to trying to find the bastard who'd shot her father. Extracting from their hiding place the stills she'd pulled from the Vixen security video, she inspected them. Finally, she had a face, and a singularly identifiable tattoo design from the Book of Kells. She glanced nervously toward Keith's office, but he seemed preoccupied, so she began running the hit man’s image through the databases, looking for a name, an address, something to lead her to him.

Nothing popped when she ran the tattoo through the Balboa County Sheriff's offenders database. And there was nothing on ARJIS. Wait - dark hair, pale skin, Celtic tattoo - maybe he's a member of the Aryan Brotherhood; they used Celtic symbols as a kind of code, she thought. Where was that database for known gang members? She scrolled through her list of law enforcement sites until she found it. Twenty minutes later, she'd found two possible names: Tommy Joe Campbell and Billy Richardson, both of whom had lengthy criminal records and were known to have Celtic tattoos. Only one, Campbell, had ties to southern California, and, fortuitously, his last known address was in San Diego. Printing out the address, and a map, Veronica grabbed her bag, cell phone, and camera. It was time for a road trip.

She would have liked to ask Logan to accompany her; she wasn’t sure what the San Diego neighborhood was like, and if Campbell was the guy who'd shot her father, he was clearly not to be trifled with, but after her earlier, unsuccessful encounter with Logan, she was sure she didn’t want to involve him in any case she was working. “Dad?” she called in her best ‘innocent’ voice. “I'm going over to Hearst to pick up some course stuff. I’ll probably be a while.”

“Are you going to be home for dinner, Honey?” Keith queried, knowing he'd been too absent too often lately.

“I'm not sure. Don’t wait for me, though.”

“Okay, Kiddo. Have fun. Be nice and make some new friends, alright?” Keith sighed. Ever since he'd aborted their trip to New York, Veronica had been distant, uncooperative, and surly. He didn’t want to further alienate her by demanding to know her whereabouts at all times, even though his current investigation suggested he should.

“Um hmm. I will. See you later, Dad.”

For the tenth time in the hour, Veronica stared impatiently at her watch. It was 7:45 p.m., and still no sign of the inhabitant of the seedy, dilapidated shack. She rechecked her map and print out, but she was still at the right address. It would be dark in less than an hour, and she wasn’t crazy about being in the area after nightfall. She grabbed her camera and began to snap the exterior. As she worked, a tall, seemingly emaciated man, wearing torn, grubby jeans, shuffled into her viewfinder. Focusing in for a moment, she sucked in a breath. It looked like Campbell. She tuned in on his forearm, and there it was, the Celtic tattoo. Jackpot. As she brought the sight up from his arm to his face, she realized he wasn’t as grungy as he appeared from a distance. His face and hands were immaculate, and his jeans, though ripped, were clean and had been pressed.

“Okay,” she thought. “It's part of his cover. Not bad.” She watched as he dug into his pocket for keys, shifting the six-pack of brown bottles from one hand to the other before he opened the door. As he went in, he carefully looked up and down the street, as if he was worried about someone following him. Or was waiting for someone.

Veronica wasn’t sure whether he was expecting someone, so she stayed in her car for a few minutes, winding her fingers in her ponytail as she waited and watched. When she saw the blue glow of the television, she figured he was in for the night, or at least, for a while. She removed her taser from her bag and stuck it in the pocket of her hoodie. She tied a bandana over her shiny hair, put on some dorky-looking, black frame glasses, and picked up the clipboard she'd brought as part of her disguise.

Locking up, she carefully glanced both ways before crossing to the house. Taking a deep breath, she rapped confidently on the door, plastering on her best 'harmless blonde' smile just as he answered. “Hi. I'm from the community cleanup committee, and we're taking a survey, if you have a just a minute, I'd like to come in and get your opinion.”

“I haven't lived here too long,” he mumbled. “I don't have an opinion.” He started to shut the scarred wooden door in her face.

“Everyone has an opinion,” she said perkily, catching the door with the palm of her hand. “It’ll just take a moment, honest,” she pleaded, trying to appear as guileless as possible. “Just a few, quick questions and I’ll be outta your hair. Please. I only have to finish two more, and it's getting dark.”

He glared suspiciously before begrudgingly shoving the door. “Okay, then, but only a minute. The game's about to start.”

“Just a minute or two, I promise,” she swore. He moved aside to allow her to step into the room, lifting the bottle to his mouth to take a swig. As he turned to shut the door, Veronica pulled her taser and zapped him on the shoulder, once to stun him, and again, to drop him. He staggered and toppled, his bottle falling and spilling beer across the entryway. “Ooo. I wonder if that’s gonna stain?” she mused to the slumped, now-silent man. Quickly, she assessed the room, searching for something to cuff him to.

Sitting immediately to her right was a shabby, beigish recliner, and next to it was a wobbly tray table with an open bag of pretzels on it, along with the TV remote. The recliner sat at an angle facing a massive-but-rickety faux wood entertainment center. The shelves of the entertainment center held a 35-inch television, a half-dead plant that looked a lot like marijuana, and a cracked black boom box of indeterminate age.

Although he was skinny, he was still too large for her to drag very far, so Veronica settled on the entertainment center, figuring if he tried to wiggle loose, it would fall on him and, at the very least, slow him down. She stepped cautiously over his now-prone body, gingerly took his arm and lugged him toward the shelves. It took almost three minutes for her to move him, inch-by-inch, close enough to thread the cuffs around the base and click them on his wrist. He stirred a little and mumbled something, but didn’t wake up.

Not wanting to touch anything, she again inspected the room. The wall opposite the door was one of those half-wall-cum-countertops and she could see a tiny, grimy galley kitchen beyond it. Taking the bandana from her head, she wrapped it around her hand and, walking into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator. Inside was a greasy, half-opened pizza box, a single white carton that looked like it had once held some type of takeout, and four capped bottles of beer. She put her covered hand around one, set it on the counter, and surveyed the area for an opener. Locating a church key, she opened the bottle and wiped off the opener before returning it to its spot on the chipped formica.

She took a quick gulp, grimaced, and poured the rest of it over Campbell’s face. He sputtered, gagged, and, as he regained consciousness, began to curse. She watched impassively until he stopped swearing. Tilting her head to the side, she asked, “Are you done yet, Mister?”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“You don't know who I am? That's funny, because I know exactly who you are. What I don't know, what I want to know, is who hired you to shoot Keith Mars.”

“I don't know you, lady, and I have no idea what you’re talking about, but if you let me go and get outta here, I’m willing to call it even and not hurt you.”

“Let me get this straight. If I let you go, you're not going to hurt me. Gee, thanks. I feel much better now, but, really, shouldn’t you be threatening me and telling me I'm gonna pay for this?” Veronica sneered. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t think you're in any position to bargain right now, so while we’re hangin’ out, let me show you some pictures.” She pulled the Vixen video stills from her messenger bag and, squatting down a few feet away, held them out. “Look familiar? Nice tattoo. You get that in prison, or when you first joined the Brotherhood, Mr. Campbell?”

“Where’d you get those, you little bitch?”

“That’s not really important, is it? Although, if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll be happy to tell you, just as soon as you tell me who hired you and why you were trying to kill Keith Mars?”

“I told you, I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Yes, you do, because these,” she jiggled the pictures, “were taken by a security camera outside of Pisano's on the night Mr. Mars was shot.” She waited for him to focus on the photo. “Recognize anything? Like the lovely tattoo? Does it, and the guy wearing it, look familiar? Because I’m pretty sure it’s you. I doubt there are many shooters in San Diego or Balboa County who're sporting an Aryan Brotherhood tat. Waddya think? Should I call the Sheriff and ask?” Veronica glowered fiercely at Campbell and, when he didn’t respond, continued, “You know, if I had your illustrious criminal record, I'd think twice about coming to the attention of local law enforcement, because they might lock you up just for being in town without a permission slip. I know I would.” Sitting cross-legged about five feet outside the range of his reach, Veronica shrugged and stared expressionlessly at him.

Finally, after a two-minute standoff that felt like an hour, Campbell said, “So, what do you want to know?”

“I want to know who, exactly, paid you to shoot Keith Mars.”

“What if I don't actually know who paid me - and I'm not sayin' I did it - but what if I did, but I'm not sure who hired me, because it was done on the phone, and the payoff was mailed.”

“I’ve got an idea,” Veronica said brightly. “Why don't you stop making excuses and tell me what you know, before I make that call.” She held up her cell and wiggled it invitingly.

“Okay, okay. If I tell you, what's in it for me?”

“You know, that’s the second time today a guy's asked me that. Hmm. Wonder what that means.” She rolled her eyes restlessly. “Out with it, boy, my fingers are getting twitchy. I just know the cops would be interested in an Aryan Brotherhood member in their fair city. You’ve got thirty seconds to make up your mind; if you spill, I might just leave and forget I ever met you. If you don't, I'm going to make a call and leave you here for them to find. It's up to you.” Veronica held the phone between her fingers and stared at the buttons. Deliberately, slowly, she punched the nine.

“Okay. Okay. What do you want to know?”

“Who. Who hired you?”

“I only got a name.”

“That's a good start. What is it?”

“All I know is Bristow.”

“Bristow? That's all?”

“Yeah. Bristow.”

“And how did you contact Bristow?”

“I had a number to call.”

“You still have it?”

“Yeah. I think so. Should be in outgoing calls on the cell.”

“Where is it?”

“What?”

“The number. On your cell phone? I don't have time for games, Campbell.”

“Okay, okay. On the table, under the pretzels.”

Veronica rose and hesitantly lifted the edge of the bag. Underneath was a small, disposable phone. She scrolled through until she found the outgoing call log. “Which one is it?”

“It’s the only one on there; it's not my phone, I only used it to call Bristow.”

Pulling her cell from the bag still hanging off her shoulder, Veronica transferred the number to her phone. She started to put his back on the tray table but thought better of it and slid it into her pocket. “That’s it? That's all you know? How'd you get paid?”

Forgetting he was chained to the étagère, Campbell tried to hold up both hands, but was rudely jerked back by the handcuffs. “P.O. box. The fee, or half of it, was mailed to me at a Neptune P.O. Box. We're still negotiating the other half, because I didn’t finish the job.” Veronica turned away so he couldn’t see her body start to shake, and her face blanche. Struggling to regain her self-control, she spun around furiously.

“You stupid son of a bitch. You don't deserve to be alive, you know that, right?”

“Hey! We had a deal.”

“Yeah, well,” she whipped out her taser and, before he could react, buzzed him again. “You’re lucky I don't have a gun,” she muttered as she stepped over him and out the door. Spitefully, she left it open - it wasn’t a nice neighborhood, maybe someone would do her and the world a favor and mug him. She ran to her car, hopped in and immediately locked all the doors. Despite her agitated state, she knew she couldn’t sit there, in the hood at dusk, so she revved the engine and peeled out.

It was almost ten o'clock when Veronica pulled into a parking slot at Dog Beach. The lot was deserted. Still trembling, she shut off the LeBaron and sat for a moment, staring at, but not really seeing, the crashing waves and the glittering foam floating onto the sand. She thought about calling Wallace to tell him what she'd learned, but he would no doubt be angry and bitch her out for being stupid enough to go after a hit man without backup. And he'd probably tell her father, too. Of course she couldn’t tell Keith; he'd ground her for life, and then he'd look into transferring her to a Catholic college in Minnesota. Mac was at a two-day geekware seminar and wouldn’t be home until tomorrow. She had to talk to someone, though.

“This is Logan with today's inspirational message: Thy soul was like a star, and dwelt apart: So didst thou travel on life's common way, in cheerful godliness. William Wordsworth. I'm traveling, leave a message.”

“Logan? It's me, Veronica. I . . . I need to talk to you. Call me when you get this.”

She sat alone, absently digging her fingers in the sand, grasping a handful and letting it seep out her fist. The moon shown hollowly on the quieting water. A curious gull strutted past, cocking its head to study the odd creature invading its territory. Startled by her buzzing phone, she fumbled in her jacket before answering. “Logan?”

“Veronica. You rang - twice in one day. Is it freezing yet?”

“Where are you? I drove by, but your car was gone.”

“Napa. Dick mother's been bugging him to come up for a visit. I had nothing to do, so I tagged along. We’ll be in San Fran for a few days. Why? Where are you? Wait! I know, you're sitting on the beach, thinking about . . . whatever stupid case you're working on. You're wasting perfectly good moonlight, Veronica. Is everything okay?”

“N…no, I mean, yeah. Everything's fine. How'd you know I'm on the beach? Never mind. It's nothing.”

“Why'd you call, then, Veronica? Are you okay? Is something wrong?”

“I'm fine, Logan,” she sighed. “It's nothing, really. I got some strange information today, and I wanted to talk to you about it, but it's not important. It can wait.”

“Veronica. If something's wrong, you can tell me. I won’t be mad. I can drop Dick off and be back by morning.”

“No, Logan, it's not that important. I . . . I just wanted to talk to you.”

“So talk.”

“No. Look, I'm sorry I bothered you. I didn’t realize you and Dick were on the road. I’ll see you when you get back, okay? Goodnight, Logan,” she said softly, ending the call before he could press her further. She shoved her phone back in her pocket and, ignoring his attempt to call back, got up and began the trek to her car. She knew if she'd told Logan what she'd just done, he would: a) move heaven and earth to get home; and, b) be so angry he might never trust her again. Plus, it would validate all of Logan's outraged accusations about her alleged tendency to leap before she looked and to put her business ahead of him.

Veronica gaped at Loretta Cancun, decked out in body hugging spandex, stiletto over-the-knee boots and a magenta wig. She glanced askance at Cliff. “That's not quite what I meant.”

Cliff looked pained. “We needed bait, and Loretta fit into the costume.” He ignored Veronica's muttered “barely” and continued. “If you can do better, please do.” He crossed his arms.

Veronica gave a martyred sigh. Her mind was still processing her conversation with Campbell, and a comic book convention was the last place she wanted to be, but she had promised, so she tried to make the best of it. Marshalling her thoughts, she pushed at the librarian glasses that constituted her disguise, shoving them farther up the bridge of her nose. “Nope, she's perfect!” she said, trying to fake sincerity and failing miserably. Ms. Cancun rolled her eyes so hard Veronica was sure Loretta could see through to the back of her own head. Of course, if Loretta really could see behind herself, she would see the phalanx of adolescent boys gawking at the spandex body suit that seemed to be several sizes too small and stretched to the breaking point.

Veronica turned to see Cliff doing some gawking of his own, as a woman walked by with a gravity defying top made of torn strips of leather; it was paired with a skirt that, if she were feeling generous, she would have described as a mini. Before Cliff could follow the girl, she grabbed him by the arm and snapped her fingers in his face. “Focus. Think about Brian's mother.”

Cliff watched wistfully as the rear sashayed away from him and into the waiting arms of a 6"4' leather clad warrior who was waiting at the end of the hall. “Ah, I guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

Veronica gave him a look over the top of her glasses. “And I was so seeing children and a picket fence for you two.” Having gotten his attention, she continued, “You two know the plan right?”

“Right,” Cliff said straightening his tie. “Loretta will let the boy chat her up. She’ll ask him why he's here. It shouldn’t be difficult to get the story out of him, seeing as she's dressed like the main character of his comic. She’ll tell him about a new publisher who's looking for artists, and bring him to the table Logan arranged for us. When he shows me the pages, I’ll palm one off to you. You’ll copy it and make sure the Easter eggs are there. Once we have proof, I can give him back the pages, and if he gets a contract, we'll be able to challenge it.”

Loretta looked at the yearbook photo of Rod. “How do we know the kid will talk to me?”

Cliff looked her up and down and, cupping her elbow, moved her toward the throngs of people headed into the main exhibit hall. “I have every confidence in your charms, Loretta.”

She gave him a hard look. “Just remember the twenty percent discount on my next bill.”

He smiled charmingly. “Don't worry my dear, I won't forget this.” He looked at her figure as she preceded him inside. “Ever.” It was Veronica's turn to roll her eyes as they took off.

A few hours later, as what seemed like the millionth scantily clad female walked by, Veronica had become heartily sick of the case. Watching Cliff’s evident appreciation of the feminine form had begun to pall, and Veronica could not get Campbell's comments out of her mind. As the fourth Xena walked by, Veronica heard Cliff say, “Make a note, V. In the future, I might need to make attending Nerd Fest a regular event.” Only the sight of Loretta leading a sweating Rod to their table prevented Veronica's tart retort.

Veronica lurked behind the blue curtain separating their table from the others. She soon figured out why Rod was sweating so profusely. Every time Loretta looked at him, or touched him, he started stuttering and blushing so wildly Veronica was worried he was going to have a panic attack. However, in his extremely distracted state, he barely noticed Cliff taking his portfolio to the back 'to get more light' and slip a page to Veronica.

As she cut through the back alley of the convention center, Veronica silently thanked Logan for the accommodations he'd been able to arrange for her. Playing on the sympathies one of the staffers had for his 'plight', and on her assistant's fondly remembered tryst with Aaron, he and Sabina had gotten Veronica access to not only the employees-only section of the center, but also the copier in the front office. As she returned to the table and slid the drawing to Cliff, she turned to see Brian anxiously waiting.

“Is that it?” He craned to see the paper in her hand. She pulled him into the hallway, nervously looking around to see if Rod had heard Brian. Rod seemed to be still engrossed by Loretta's charms and Cliff's bullshit, so she breathed a sigh of relief and showed the younger boy the copy. He looked at it intently for a moment, an indefinable look on his face.

“What?” she asked, concerned. “Is the proof not there?” She looked over the paper, searching for the heart with his phone number that was supposed to be doodled in one of the corners. A second later, after finding it, she realized he still hadn’t spoken. “Brian, are you okay?” He shook his head, sinking to the ground at her feet, the page still clutched in his hand. “Brian?” Her voice rose an octave, and, through the gap in the curtain, she could see Cliff shoot her a worried look.

“He made it better,” Brian mumbled, looking at the paper. Almost reverently, he ran his finger over one section. “Here,” he pointed Sin's cape. “Look, how he shaded the color to make it look like it's flapping. I, well, it didn’t look like that when I drew it.”

Veronica slid down next to Brian. She looked over the paper, her eyes lingering on the heroine, obviously patterned on her friend Mac. She silently chortled at the thought of Mac seeing a double D version of herself fighting crime in stilettos, and made a mental note to keep this page for the torture value it represented. “Maybe you should talk to Rod about collaborating. If he made the book better, you guys should work together instead of fighting.”

Stung, he looked at her. “But he stole the pages from me.”

“Yes, he did. But he might have had a reason. You guys should talk, and if you can't resolve things, we still have the proof.”

Brian thought about it for a moment, and nodded slowly. As he started to walk through the curtain, she pulled the page from his loose grasp, chuckling evilly. “I’ll hold onto this. Just in case.” Veronica watched him approach his former friend.

As they talked intently, she rejoined Cliff in time to hear Loretta say, “I think I should get a twenty-five percent discount, that boy almost fainted when I went up to him. I deserve hazard pay!” Cliff was negotiating with Loretta when the two boys returned.

As Rod renewed his I'm-close-to-Loretta blushing and stammering routine, Brian smiled at Veronica and Cliff and gestured to the pages. “Rod was hurt because I didn’t appreciate what he could do for my work, so he took the pages and finished them to show me how great they could be.” He opened the portfolio Rod had just shown him and pointed to the title page. It listed Brian Wixom as the Artist and Rod McClure as the Inker. “He was going to sell it as our work and use it to convince me to do another book.” Rod nodded, his eyes still on Loretta. “We're going to the Marvel reps together to see if they like the book.”

Brian held his hand out to Cliff. “Thank you so much, Mr. McCormack, for helping me.”

“Not at all,” Cliff smoothly replied. “Just don't forget to mention it to your mother.” Brian nodded as Veronica grinned mischievously. The boys walked off, talking animatedly, their past animosity apparently forgotten. Cliff looked after them. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Louis.”

Loretta, hand on her hip, stared pointedly at him. “Let's go. You promised me a steak dinner.”

He looked longingly at the sign on the wall. “But the masquerade starts soon. Can't we stay for that?” Ignoring her antagonized look, he continued. “I think you could win for best super hero, you certainly have the outfit for it.”

“Everyone seems to think so,” she noted, looking down. “Lots of people wanted to take my picture. I guess I don't mind if we stay for a while. There's a cash prize, right?”

“Excellent.” He turned and noticed Veronica's pensive face. “Veronica, is something bothering you?”

She was tempted to ask what he knew about her father's past, but dismissed the idea as soon as she considered it. Cliff was her friend too, but he would never betray her father's confidence. Besides, she suddenly realized, the person she really wanted to talk to was Logan. She summoned a smile and waved him away. “Nope, just happy those crazy kids were able to work it out.”

He placed a hand on her shoulder briefly as he passed by. “Thanks, Kiddo. And now, there's a costume category, best use of spandex, that's calling my name. Catch you later.” She smiled as he and Loretta followed the sign's directions, shook her head, and placed the artwork in her bag. As she walked to her car, she pulled out her phone and dialed Logan's number.

“This is Logan with today's inspiration message: The pleasure of leaving home, care-free, with no concern but to enjoy, has also as a pendant the pleasure of coming back to the old hearthstone, the home to which, however traveled, the heart still fondly turns, ignoring the burden of its anxieties and cares. Herman Melville. Leave a message.”

“Logan, it's Veronica. I need to talk to you. Please call me when you get this.”

She waited for a few minutes, but when Logan didn’t immediately return her call, she headed for the freeway. The pieces didn’t quite fit; there had to be something Campbell hadn’t told her. How did he get the cell phone? What information had he been given about Keith, and how did he get it? Most importantly - why had Keith Mars been targeted? Last night, she'd been so focused on finding out who wanted Keith dead that she forgot to find out why, if Campbell even knew.

Dreading another trip to skankville, Veronica rehearsed her demands as she sped south. Thankfully, it was only four and would stay light for several more hours. When she arrived in front of the ramshackle residence, she could see the door was still slightly ajar. In fact, it looked almost the same as when she'd left the night before. Was it possible he was still chained to the étagère? Not that he knew his entertainment center could be referred to as an étagère.

Once again, she locked the LeBaron and slipped across the street. This time, she didn’t try to hide her taser. It seemed prudent to carry it open. Just in case. Toes outside the doorjamb, she leaned in and peeked. Campbell was sitting in almost exactly the same spot he'd been in before.

“Hey, Campbell,” she hissed. “You awake?”

He didn’t move, didn’t stir. “Scumbag! Wake up, you jerk.”

And still, he didn’t move a muscle. Veronica tiptoed into the entryway and nudged Campbell with her foot. His body felt stiff and unyielding. She bent down to peer into his eyes, and nearly gagged. A bullet hole pierced the space between his eyes, a small trickle of blood crusted underneath. Her head swam and she staggered backward, trying not to hurl. She backed toward the door, struggling to remember whether she'd wiped the cuffs after she hooked him up last night. It really didn’t matter, because she didn’t dare disturb the crime scene. She had to get out, and pray her car hadn’t been noticed by any of the denizens of the neighborhood.

Hands shaking all the way, Veronica drove to the nearest gas station. She ripped her phone from her bag with unstable fingers, and stopped. What should I do? Who can I call? Dad will have a fit. Logan's in San Francisco. The police will probably want to detain me. Unable to compose a coherent thought, she simply sat in her LeBaron, racking her brain. For once in her life, Veronica Mars did not know what to do.

To Be Continued

Click here for chapter 11.
Click here for all previous chapters.

Fic - Freshman Initiation - Rindee - NC-17

rindee — Wed, 30 Aug 2006 21:45:12 GMT

Title: Freshman Initiation
Author: Rindee
Pairing/characters: Veronica & Logan
Word Count: 2288
Rating: NC-17 - sex & language
Summary: Totally smutty sex in the library.
Spoilers: Through the end of S2, but all you really have to know that Veronica & Logan have graduated from high school and Veronica is now going to Hearst College.
A/N: Written for Madam Librarian's vm_library challenge, and dedicated to my beta, taken_with_you, because she ~~promised~~ threatened to spank me if I ~~did~~ didn't write something. I could go on and on about what a wonderful beta she is, but, really, why would I when I'm sure she'll be happy to tell you herself.

Thursday afternoon, the first week of my first semester at Hearst. I decided to visit the library, to get acquainted with the location of the reference material and to get a head start on my Sociology term paper. I’d just settled down with my books when the the back of my neck began to tingle suspiciously. It could be the weirdness of me, in the library, during the first week. Me, planning ahead instead of waiting ‘til the last minute and having to finish it while camped out in front of the Camelot, with Logan breathing down my neck, trying to distract me. Actually, the sensation feels a lot like when Logan accompanies me on a stake out: he taps his fingers on his knees and plays drums on the dashboard, changes his position and the radio station every five seconds, and, generally makes me crazy.

“Vaaronica,” he whispers, breathing on my ear as he kneels next to me. “What’re you doing?”

I knew the burn felt familiar. “What’s the matter, Buckaroo? Never seen a book before? It’s called reading, Logan.”

“But there are so many more interesting things to do in the library, Mars.” His mere words send chills up and down my spine, but when he lightly trails two fingers down the length of my bare arm, I give in and give up my attempts to study. It’s the first week, and it’s not like I have a test to study for or anything.

“What do you have in mind, Echolls?”

He brushes his lips against my ear and whispers, “There’s a little, tiny room over there, and no one’s in it right now.”

“It’s a group study room. You are familiar with the concept of group study, aren’t you, Logan?” I know what he wants, but before I can pack my books, Logan has me by the arm, steering me toward the darkened alcove. Shutting the door, he holds me against the wall with one arm as he closes the venetian blinds with the other. He presses his body against mine, and I can tell he’s been thinking about me – for at least an entire minute. With Logan, it doesn’t take much. Giggling like a schoolgirl is such a clichè - but I can’t help it. Except, when his tongue hits that spot, the one right under my ear. I gasp, and he smirks, all proud of himself, as usual.

Panting, I beg him to stop because it’s one o’clock in the afternoon and I’m hungry and we’re in a group study room in the Library, with people walking by the door every three minutes or so. And we’re so going to get caught, making out like high school students. And it’s not as if he doesn’t have a nice, cozy apartment, right off campus, where we wouldn’t have to worry about privacy. But, no, Logan prefers - oh my God. He spreads my arms out, away from my sides, as if I’m going to be crucified on the wall, and unhooks my bra. His hands slide beneath it, his chilly fingers causing my nipples to harden, and goosebumps to pop on my shivering arms. I hear the blinds rattle as my fingers skim up the door frame.

He pushes against me, flattens his smooth, hard body on mine, and places a palm over each breast, his thumbs roughly brushing my sensitized skin. I wonder if he can feel my heart pounding, because it feels as if every inch of my body is pulsing, my blood racing. Logan’s throbbing too, I can feel him in my belly. My head hits the wall, and I don’t even feel it as I strain to rub against him.

“Mars,” he murmurs with a little laugh, amused by my raw need. He looks at me with those eyes, smoldering and liquid and endlessly reckless. I’m helpless when he uses his eyes on me, and he knows it. He kisses me breathless, toying with me, short, fast, hard, then slow, soft, and lingering. “Veronica. Have you learned anything yet? Because there’s more.”

“Logan. I ... can’t ... breathe. What are we doing?”

“We, Sugarpuss, are christening the library, room by room, stack by stack. Maybe even table by table. And when we’re done, we’re going to baptize your classrooms, too, until you finally realize you belong to me, and me alone.”

I hear myself whimper “Logan” as he sinks to his knees, his hot, wet mouth groping for and sucking on my breast. I start to reach for him, but he catches my wrist and pins it back to the wall.

“Uh huh. Not yet, baby.”

“I ... I thought ... oh God ... this was ... supposed to be ... oh my God ... a quickie ... Logan?”

He smoothly slides the zip on my jeans and peels them down my hips so he can slip one hand between my legs. He palms my clit and I’m on my toes. My ass, pressed against the wall, is the only thing keeping me upright. He has to be able to feel my thighs shaking with the strain, but it doesn’t dissuade him from penetrating me, roughly, with three fingers.

“Ah, ahh ... oh, fuck, Logan.” It feels so good. My whole body shudders; I’m on fire. I can’t talk, can’t quite breathe, and my mouth is dry and empty. My fingers scratch the wall, searching for purchase so I can push back and take his hand deeper.

He chuckles, low and evil. “Veronica,” he taunts, wetting his lips. “C’mon, babe, give it up.” He leans in and licks my stomach, his tongue darting in and out of my belly button as he rocks me in his hand, his other affixed to my hip. “You know you want to,” he whispers, his words vibrating electrically across my middle. I roll my hips, hard, into his palm, his fingers curving to hit the spot inside, the one that drives me wild.

He cranes his neck and licks up my sternum, his hot, slick mouth slipping over my breast as he bites, not gently, on one nipple. My hips jerk frantically and my fists clench as I ride him ... thrusting, straining, silently screaming until, “Oh God. Yes, baby. Yes. Oh, Logan. Oh, oh, oh my God.” Trembling violently, I collapse in his arms.

He soothes me with his lips on my forehead, rocking me and giving me tiny kisses, nips and butterfly kisses until I stop shaking. Only then does he remove his hand from my pants, languidly licking his fingers and laughing softly as my eyes get bigger.
________________________________________________________

“Oh, Veronica,” I murmur, the taste of her shooting straight to my cock. “Baby, you are so lovely right now.” She chuckles, raises an ironic eyebrow and swipes the back of her hand over her moist forehead. I brush errant wisps of hair from her cheeks and bend down to kiss her as she lies quietly in my lap. Probably plotting her revenge. The thought of what she’s going to do to me makes my dick as hard as granite, especially when she twists and tries to sit up. Despite my best efforts, I must have flinched because now she’s looking at me like a Siamese studies a bug before pouncing. I can feel her fingers against my legs, and her ass is twitching, and before I realize what’s happening, she’s shimmied out of her jeans, leaving her clad in an undone green blouse and a damp thong.

“That’s better,” she announces proudly, a triumphant grin on her glowing face. Her azure eyes stare into mine, but she’s not exactly asking for permission as her small hands close on my shoulders and she boosts herself up, legs splayed to straddle my hips.

“Hold still, Logan,” she orders, deliberately wiggling her butt down onto my thighs. I can almost feel her dampness through my jeans. She’s still so wet, and the heat radiating from her crotch stiffens my cock as it nearly impales her. She yanks at my tee shirt.

“What are you trying to do to me, babe?” I choke out, barely.

“Um... It’s called sex, Mr. Echolls, and it’s what boys and girls do, although not,” her hand slithers into my hair and she yanks my head back, “usually on the floor in the library.” Her mouth slams into mine and she nibbles at my lips before sticking her tongue down my throat. Every time she takes a breath, I feel her chest push against mine; she loves to tease, and I love being tortured – by her. Not that I need any encouragement in my quest to fuck her right here, in the next two minutes, if I even last that long.

Her beautiful blue eyes are sparkling devilishly; she dips her head and bites my neck as she runs her nails over my nipples and down my stomach. It surprised me, the first time she played rough, but for all her petite blondness, she has the fierce heart of a tigress, and the fingernails to match. Without thinking, my hands close over her tits, rubbing and squeezing them until her nipples are almost as hard as my dick.

Veronica pulls my hair again and hisses, “Uh huh, Logan. Remember,” she pants heavily. “Turnabout is fair play.” She thrusts her hips against me, brushing hard against my bulging jeans as her body seeks more friction. Her flushed cheeks and dazed look tell me she’s ready, and I know I’m going to explode in another second, so I put her ass in my hand and lift her off my cock.

“Babe. I gotta – ”

She slaps my hand away and reaches for my zipper. She tugs it down and impatiently parts my boxers, letting my cock spring free. “Very nice,” she teases approvingly, kissing me deeply as she lightly fingers the tip. It feels like my balls are in a vise, I’m so tight and so ready. Rising to her knees, she pulls her scrap of a thong to the side and holds me between her hands, making sure I’m positioned right up against her opening. Still on her knees, she leans forward, bracing her hands against my chest.

Her face glistens as she grabs my shoulder, and I want to plow so far inside her she’ll never let go. But I can’t, she’s staring at me so intently, so seriously. “What are you waiting for, Veronica?” I stutter stupidly.

She cradles my face between her hands. “I just want to be sure I have your full attention, Logan,” she says, her voice hoarse and low and amused. She kisses me desperately, sinking down on me at the same time. It shocks me, she’s so tight, so wet, so hot inside. I groan into her mouth and she rises to plunge onto me again.

“Oh, Jesus, Veronica. Oh God.”

“Logan,” she cries out, pumping up and down, her face contorted. I feel like every molecule in my body is being sucked through my cock and into her. I’m on fire as I buck into her, shoving in farther with each thrust. Her eyes flutter and roll back into her head, spurring me to a frenzy.

I’m going to come any second, but she’s not quite there. Her eyes pop open and she grabs my hand, sucking two fingers into her mouth. She wets me thoroughly, and places my fingers on her pulsing clit. As I rub it between my finger and thumb, she begins to convulse, cursing, calling my name, and urging me to go harder, faster. She flings her head back and I wrap my other arm around her waist, squeezing her tightly as I release.

I tumble backward, pulling Veronica onto me. She sprawls contently, her heart still hammering against my chest as she smiles like the Mona Lisa. “Veronica.”

“Logan?

I want to say something witty and loving and intelligent. I want to tell my tiny firebrand how moved I am when she uses me the way she does, knowing, as I do, that she’s never been this free with anyone else, but my heart is in my mouth and I can’t think straight because I’m still snugly tucked inside her. She laughs, the trill of her clear, crystalline voice snatching me from my reverie.

“What’s the matter, Logan? Cat got your tongue?” If she only knew.

“I think it’s going to be a great school year, don’t you?”

http://s42.photobucket.com/albums/e347/taken_with_you/?action=view¤t=vm_library_veronica_pimp1.jpg&refPage=&imgAnch=imgAnch2

rindee — Wed, 16 Aug 2006 12:34:46 GMT

rindee — Wed, 16 Aug 2006 12:22:36 GMT

Sarah :) (sarah_p) wrote in veronicamarsfic,
@ 2006-04-20 22:37:00

Current mood: tagtastic!
Entry tags: mod post, rules, tagging is hot

MOD ANNOUNCEMENT - Tagging!
Hello, all!

The time is here where we at veronicamarsfic are officially introducing tags to the community. Aren't you all excited? I know I am :).

In case anyone doesn't know what tags are, you should check out the LJ FAQ on tags. Basically, when you post an entry, you can assign a "tag" to it (i.e: "logan is hot" or "superhotfic"). Then, if you want to see all of the posts with a specific tag, you either click on it in an entry, or the direct tag link, like http://community.livejournal.com/veronicamarsfic/tag/corny, and you can see all of the entries with that tag.

I am working on going through and tagging all of the (3,300) past entries in the community. Because that will (obviously) take me some time, I thought it would be best to start community tagging NOW, so I won't be stuck in an endless cycle of catch-up :).

In this community, we've decided that from now on, each fic post should be tagged with the author's username, the fic rating, the main characters involved, the main pairing or pairings, and whether it was written for a challenge (and if so, the names of any challenges it was written for). For example, if I wrote an R-rated Logan/Veronica fic for, say, the loveathons challenge, my fic would be tagged as: challenge response, challenge response - loveathons, logan, logan/veronica, r, sarah_p, veronica. I know that seems like a lot of extraneous tags, and that using both the pairing and characters might seem redundant, but I DO think there's a big difference to having to search through the "veronica" tag to find some Duncan/Veronica fic to read as opposed to just being able to click on a single "duncan/veronica" tag and instantly find it. Also, note that if your fic features a LOT of characters, the "ensemble" tag will be your friend.

If this is confusing, you can check out the only author who I *know* has had all of their fic tagged, to see tagging in action, at http://community.livejournal.com/veronicamarsfic/tag/sarah_p (Because, yes, I tagged all of my fic first. It's a thing!).

All posts that pimp challenges? Should be tagged "pimp post" :). Also, all ficathons/fic exchanges/fic community fics/whatever are being tagged as "challenges" so I may keep my sanity. Hee.

Since I *am* behind on tagging, I went through the last four months or so of posts and created a tag for every author, challenge, character, and pairing I saw. If you're a new writer, or are writing for a character or pairing that there is no tag for, I'll be sure to create a tag for you. If I don't pick up on it right away, post a comment here or E-mail me (sarah_p@livejournal.com), and I'll hook you up. I'll also be keeping an eye on things, so if you're still unsure, or confused, I'll be around to help out. Because if it hasn't already been made clear, I LIKE TAGS. A LOT.

Anyone who wants to go and tag all of their back posts is most welcome to :). You'll receive cookies and my endless thanks. Also, if you go back and find that I've MIStagged any of your posts, by all means, tweak them. I did my best using the fic subject lines (See how important they are?), but, seriously, I've done a LOT of tagging in the last few days, and even I am prone to errors. I know, it's hard for me to believe sometimes, too :).

(As a note, all tags are done alphabetically, ie: Logan/Veronica, not Veronica/Logan. Beaver is tagged as "Cassidy," because that's the name he prefers, and I want to keep him happy. For that same reason, Mac is "Mac" and not "Cindy." Baby Lilly is "Lilly 2.0." Butters is still "Butters" because I like it better than Vincent. And I don't think people remember his real name. Okay? Also important is the fact that LJ won't allow a tag to start with an underscore (_). If your username fits into that category, the tag will be your username minus the beginning underscore. So "__cornyrocks__" would be tagged as "cornyrocks__", "_susanvanlowe" turns into "susanvanlowe".)

I think that's it. Please let me know if there are any questions (either via comments to this post or by E-mail), and enjoy the SUPER!HOT!NEW!ORGANIZATION. This is going to revolutionize the community, people! Searching at the click of a button! It's a thing of beauty!

:)

As a side note, I STRONGLY urge everyone here to make sure you're familiar with the posting guidelines that are stated in the community userinfo. Posts with incorrect subject and header information will be deleted, which is a pain for EVERYONE involved. If everyone posts correctly, though, we all win :).

Let the tagging begin!

:)

The Unholy Alliance - Rindee - WIP 4/4 - R

rindee — Sat, 12 Aug 2006 05:47:16 GMT

Title: The Unholy Alliance - WIP 4/4
Author: Rindee
Rating: R
Word Count: 5583
Characters/pairing: Veronica/Logan, Mac/Cassidy, Weevil & ensemble
Spoilers: An AU story that takes place immediately after 2.9, but spoilers through 2.10.
Summary: My take on what might have happened after Weevil and Logan realized they were on the same side, and after they tried to kick each other's ass.
A/N: Written months ago, before I'd ever gotten the guts to post anything, so it's unbeta'd and all the mistakes are mine.

“Dude! And dudess in Logan’s lap. What are you doin’?” A seemingly stoned Dick is standing at Logan’s window. “No offense, Lady Veronica. Are we ready to rumble?”

“Fuck, Dick! What the hell!” As he sits up, Logan is relieved to see Dick, accompanied by reinforcements in the form of Sean, Casey, and Luke. The guys, hanging from the roll bar of Dick’s jeep, watch expectantly. Veronica sits up warily, knife in hand, her tangled hair hiding her red face.

“Hey, Dick.” With a quick click, Veronica closes and attempts to conceal her blade. Before she can secret it, Logan reaches for her with practiced hand.

“You’re not gonna need that.” She slaps his hand away and bends forward to hide it in her ankle sheath.

“Dude. Are you guys done or what? Don’t we have somewhere to be?”

“Yeah.” Logan stares fiercely at Dick. “Are you guys ready?” Dick’s expression flashes grim for a short moment and he nods at Logan. Logan returns the nods and revs his engine. Casey pulls the red jeep alongside and Dick hops in the passenger seat.

“Lets do it,” he says, thrusting his fist into the sky. “Yeah!”

“Ronnie?”

“I’m ready,” she announces, twisting back into her seat. Both cars carom off toward the River Styx. In the parking lot, Logan grabs Casey and whispers to him. Casey grunts once and, as they all walk toward the door, puts his arm around Veronica and pulls her to the back of the pack. Irritated, she tries to brush him off, but Casey merely tightens his grip on her shoulders.

“You’re stayin’ with me,” Casey says softly. “Logan said so.”

“Since when do I take orders from him?” Casey steers her away from the door and pushes her up against the building, using his hands gently to pin her.

“Listen,” he begins earnestly. “None of us want to see you get hurt in there, especially not me or Logan. So if you don’t cooperate, I’m going to pick you up, put you back in his truck, and lock it. I’m serious, Veronica. Don’t make me do it.”

“Okaay. Alright. I got it.” She struggles unsuccessfully to break his hold. Unperturbed, Casey wraps his arm firmly across her shoulders and guides her inside. The interior of the River Styx is almost as dark as the parking lot, and a lot smokier. As Veronica and Casey enter and blink to get their bearings, she stumbles into Logan, who, along with Dick, Sean, and Luke, is rooted to a spot three feet inside the entrance. As she tries to move past him, Logan catches her by the waist of her jeans and holds her behind him. The scene she sees before Casey yanks her further back is truly terrifying.

About twenty feet from the back exit, next to the pool tables, Mac, a grimace of pain on her face, is trying to pull away from the ham-handed hold of Liam Fitzpatrick, whose got her by the arm and neck. Confusion written on his face, Hector Ruiz looms behind Liam and Mac. Dr. Griffith, shocked and blood-splattered, is flattened against the far wall, being restrained by a pool stick across his neck. The cue is held by Eli Navarro. Wallace is immobilized in a chair by a greasy, long-haired ruffian holding a gun, while Cassidy, bleeding from an apparent head wound, is prone on the floor amid shards and slivers of broken glass; he is being kept there by the hobnailed boot of Danny Boyd. Although the room is about to erupt in chaos, shouts can be heard about the railing guitar din of Thin Lizzy’s Jailbreak.

“Oh, god. Beav – Cassidy, are you okay?! Mac! I’m so--”

“Welcome to the party, gents, and Veronica Mars.”

“Ow. Let me go you big baboon.”

“Veronica, don’t come in here!”

“Dick! Logan! Let me up you son-of-a-bitch!”

“Wallace. Are you--”

“Shit. Fuck! Shut up!”

Time stands still for Veronica. She sees Logan reflexively reach for the gun tucked under his jacket in the waistband of his jeans. She gets there first, however, and, slipping the gun out, covertly passes it to Casey, who palms it inconspicuously. “Be cool, Soda Pop,” she whispers to Logan’s back. She slides her hand into her pocket and, blindly dials 9-1-1, leaving the line open. Dick impulsively lunges for Cassidy, only to be halted by Logan grabbing at Dick’s favorite Hawaiian shirt. A piercing whistle silences the crowd. Veronica sees Wallace pull his fingers from his mouth.

“Everyone just chill,” Logan orders, fists clenched at his side.

“Hey, Logan,” Dick blurts, “Looks like we got a Mexican standoff.”

“That’s nice, Dick.” Logan can only shake his head at Dick’s inappropriate and inopportune commentary.

“I thought I told you never to come back here,” Liam Fitzpatrick growls, jerking Mac before him to block whatever’s coming his way.

“Let. Go. Of. My. Friends.” Logan commands. “Let’s make a trade. Let the girl and her escorts go, and take me instead,” he offers, taking a step forward. Veronica audibly gasps and jerks from Casey’s protective custody, charging forward to prevent Logan from going any further with his plan. In her haste, she stumbles and thumps to the barroom floor, her teeth cutting into her tongue and drawing blood. Lying there, dazed, staring at Logan’s ankles, Veronica realizes he’s still wearing the electronic monitor that was a condition of his bail after his second arrest.

“Veronica.” If possible, Logan’s voice has become lower and more intense. “Can you get up? You’re makin’ me nervous down there.”

“Uh, yeah,” she slurs. “Gimme a sec to catch my breath.” She pulls her knees up underneath her, and as she’s doing so, inobtrusively slips her knife into her hand. As she sits back on her heels, she transfers the blade to her left hand and catches hold of Logan’s leg. At the same time, she begins wiping the blood from her lip, hoping to distract everyone as she slices through the band securing the tracker to Logan’s body. All eyes are on the crimson stain on her fingers and lip as, with her other hand, she catches the electric signal device before it hits the ground.

Logan, who has felt her stealthy movements, looks down impassively. Catching his eye, she leaves her switchblade at his feet. Alertly, he shuffles to cover it with his boot and reaches for her right hand. As he heaves her to an upright position, she turns away from Fitzpatrick and slips the box into her jeans pocket, hoping she’s right and an alarm has gone of in the office of Neptune’s finest. Their eyes meet again.

“Dammit, Veronica. I told you not to come.” Logan appears to be furious and he heaves her backward. “I told you you’d only be in the way!” Off balance, she drops again, scrabbling on all fours and swiping her knife from behind his feet as she rises. Logan addresses Fitzpatrick and cracks his knuckles. “Ready when you are, kimosabe. What’s it gonna be? Me or them?”

Suddenly, the grumble and roar of motorcycles is heard. As Weevil smirks, Thumper, Bootsy, and several other PCHers, dressed in full colors, flow into the room and stand behind Logan’s 09er crew. Unlike the 09ers, the motorcycle gang is not empty-handed. Shouldering Veronica aside, “Hey!” Thumper threads his way to Logan’s elbow. Wordlessly, he dumps a chain into Logan’s hand, pulls another from his coat and begins swinging it ominously. Bootsy extends a blackjack in Dick’s direction. Like Logan, Sean and Luke have each been given a length of chain. While the boys man up, Veronica busily applies her knife to the electronic monitor and cracks it open, knowing its destruction will sound a second alert at the Sheriff’s office.

“BFF” she mutters. Hearing her words, Wallace knows its his turn to extract himself from under the gun. From behind Logan and Thumper, Veronica counts, “Five, four, three – ”

CRASH!! Weevil smashs the pool cue against the wall above Dr. Griffith’s head, but doesn’t let go of Griffith’s arm. Simultaneously, Mac crumbles to the cement as if boneless, and Wallace flings himself down and rolls. Dick tosses a chair at Danny Boyd, and Cassidy tumbles out from underneath, taking Boyd down in the process. Logan and Thumper immediately move on Fitzpatrick and Veronica scoots to Griffith, taser in hand. Crouched to protect themselves, Luke, Sean and Bootsy fling aside tiny tables and heave chairs at the guy with the gun. When one of them hits their target, the gun clatters to the ground and they pounce on him. Logan crunches Fitzpatrick’s knee with stainless steel and follows with a roundhouse to his face. Chain whistling overhead, Thumper guards Logan’s back, ensuring no one has a clear shot as Logan and Liam pound each other.

Crawling between tables, Wallace and Mac reach Cassidy and the three make their way to Veronica and Weevil, who are attempting to drag Dr. Griffith out of the melee and to the front door. Glasses shatter, and bottles and bones crunch as the Fighting Fitzpatricks try to make good on their moniker. Weevil shoves Veronica, Mac, and Dr. Griffith outside and tosses out a pair of handcuffs. “Vee? You good? Take these and do the right thing.”

Weevil turns back and grabs Cassidy and Wallace by their shirts. He slings them out the door too. “Do I gotta tell you what your job is?” Even though they’re disappointed not to be in the midst of the brawl, Cassidy and Wallace nod and shepard the girls through the bike-littered parking lot. Weevil disappears back inside to join the fray. Veronica motions them toward Logan’s Xterra and yanks a key ring from her back pocket. She hands the cuffs to Wallace and unlocks the truck. Mac removes the scarf she’d used as a headband and cautiously dabs the still-bleeding gash on Cassidy’s head. He flinches.

“Now you’re gonna be a big baby?” she teases, lightly kissing him on the cheek. “Thanks for being there for me.” Cassidy blinks in surprise and draws Mac in for a long hug.

Smugly, Wallace clicks the manacles and smacks Griffiths on the back. “Always wanted to do that, chump.”

“C’mon. We’ve gotta get him outta here and clear the area before the cavalry arrives.”

“Huh? Wha’cha talkin’ ‘bout, girl?” Wallace looks quizzically at Veronica.

“Law enforcement. The authorities. Lamb. I think they might be on the way.” She shows him the pieces of Logan’s monitor.

“Ooo. You did that? Slick.” Wallace pushes Dr. Griffith into the backseat, slapping him on the head to make him duck. Cassidy and Mac climb in on either side of him. Veronica hops into the driver’s seat and waves Wallace to get in.

“Hey,” Wallace says, noticing they’re entering Logan Echolls’ ride. “Think he’ll mind?”

“Oh, Wallace.”
____________________________________________

As soon as they leave the parking lot, they hear sirens approaching. Hoping to avoid contact and a possible confrontation, Veronica zips down one side street and then another. She weaves anxiously through less-traveled thoroughfares, trying to dodge any incoming 5-0.

“Oh, shit!”

Abandoning his attempt to non-verbally intimidate Dr. Griffith, Wallace turns forward. “What’s wrong.”

Veronica sighs heavily. “I think that’s my Dad’s car behind us.”

“Oh, shit. You’re not clownin’, are you?”

“No, dammit. Be cool, everyone. Maybe I can convince him we’re goin’ home to chill. And Doctor, if I were you, I’d be quiet as a little, tiny church mouse, because if my dad figures out who you are, you’ll be in custody faster than you can say ‘abracadabra.’ And my dad, Keith Mars, is not someone you want to play with. ” Aware that Keith Mars knows the make and model of Logan’s vehicle, Veronica pulls over and cuts the engine. She miserably watches in her rearview mirror as Keith exits his car, gun in hand, and cautiously approaches the driver’s side door. Rolling down the window, she extends her hands out in a gesture of surrender. “Hiya, Pops.”

Keith is thunderstruck but recovers quickly. “Don’t ‘Hiya Pops’ me, Veronica Mars. What are you doing in Logan Echolls’ SUV and where is Mr. Echolls?” He carefully puts his gun away and shines a flashlight around the inside of the Xterra. “Hey, folks. Sorry about this, but I need a minute with my daughter.” He takes Veronica’s arm firmly and guides her out. They step away. Within a minute, Veronica’s hands are fluttering and Keith is shaking his head. After about five minutes, Veronica returns and slips behind the wheel.

“Aaand?” Wallace begs.

“‘S’cool. I told him we were taking Cassidy to the hospital to get his head looked at. Told him we were nowhere near the River Styx.”

“Veronica Mars. Girl, you be a playa yet.” Wallace grins, but stops. “Wait a minute. How’d he know what bar we were at?”

“Police scanner. Call went out ten or twenty minutes ago.”

“Ah, Veronica?” Cassidy chimes from the rear. “We’re not really going to the hospital, are we?”

Veronica glances back and shakes her head. “Not unless you really need to, Cassidy. How’s your head?”

“Its fine. Mac fixed me up.”

“Good.”

Mac pokes her chin over the seat. “Veronica?”

“Yeah?”

“Where are we going?”

“I want to give the good doctor a chance to sing before we turn him over to Lamb.”

“Uh huh. But where, exactly, are we going?”

Veronica brandishes her key card from the Neptune Grand. “I thought we’d stop at Duncan’s and see if he’s home.” Wallace gulps audibly. “Don’t worry. I suspect he’s with his folks in Napa. At least that’s where he said he was going . . . right after he dumped me. Something about needing to make plans for the baby.” Mac gasps and Cassidy squirms.

“So,” Mac begins hesitantly. “That’s it, then? It’s over, finally?”

“Guess so.” Veronica absently plays with her hair and shrugs. “I haven’t had time to process it yet, but he seemed sure.” “Hey, Mac?” she says after a time. “Do you still have the, uh, stuff from tonight?”

“Of course,” Mac announces proudly, pulling the wire from inside her shirt. Cassidy blushes and averts his eyes. “Relax, Cassidy. I’m not gonna flash the car. Veronica, do you have your laptop?”

“Should be under the seat.”

“Cool. I can get started.” Mac locates the laptop and boots up. She opens the program and begins watching, listening along with one ear piece.

“Oh, hey, Veronica,” Cassidy says as he removes a shot glass from beneath his shirt. “I got this for you.”

“Wow, Cassidy. You did good to get it out, what with all the, all that happened. Hold on to it, okay?”

Cassidy beams. “Thanks, Veronica. Glad I could help.”

Veronica steers into the lot at the Grand with a practiced hand. She shuts off the SUV and slumps in the seat, forehead resting on the wheel. “Listen, guys. I ... I had no right to ask you to do what you did tonight. I’m sorry you guys walked into that. I can’t ask you to lie to Lamb, but go easy on me if you can, okay? I’m gonna be in enough trouble as it is.”

“Relax, V.” Wallace advises. “You should save that speech for Logan and Weevil. We knew what we were getting into. Besides, who says we’re gonna tell him anything?” Veronica’s chest heaves once, twice, and she looks up to see her friends grinning feebly.

“Right. We gotta do this now, before they show up here. Do you think they’ve put out an APB yet?”

Wallace opens his door. “C’mon girl. Get with it. We’re not done yet.”

They exit the Xterra, taking care to shield Dr. Griffith from prying eyes through the hotel lobby. Once safely inside Duncan’s suite, Veronica puts Griffith in a straight-backed chair and brusquely interrogates him until, unable to withstand her questions or see another way out, he confesses not only his role, but also some of what he knows about the Fitzpatrick operation. While Veronica works, Mac takes Cassidy into the bathroom and finishes what she started. When they return, his head is neatly bandaged and they’re holding hands. Hooking up Duncan’s computer to Veronica’s laptop, Mac downloads the tapes and pictures she got at the River Styx and puts them on disks.

Veronica types up Thomas Griffith’s incriminating statement, prints it and has him sign it. Cassidy and Wallace serve as witnesses. She stuffs the disks and confession into an envelop and goes into Logan’s bathroom to clean her face. As she’s finishing, there’s a loud banging on the suite’s door.

“Veronica Mars. We know you’re in there. Let us in or we’ll be forced to break down the door.”

Veronica laughs dryly and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know, I’m under arrest,” she says, hastily jerking open the door. Fist raised, Sheriff Lamb nearly tumbles into her. She looks him up and down. “I assume you already have the bad guys in custody, Don, or did you come here because you need my help finding them?”

Lamb blisters bright red and lurches inside, reaching for Veronica’s arm. “I need a minute of your time, Ms. Mars. Will you come willingly?”

She avoids his grasp and ushers him inside. “Of course, Deputy. Have you met my friend, Dr. Thomas Griffith. He has some things he’d like to tell you. I think the FBI might be interested too. Special Agent in Charge Samuel Rockwell. I believe he’s in the San Francisco office. You might call him. I’ve got the number if you want it.” Veronica sports her best, I’m-just-so-helpful smile as Sheriff Lamb glowers angrily. “It’ll make you look good, Lamb.”

“Are you coming or not?”

“Yes, Deputy,” she agrees dutifully. “Oh, and I almost forgot. You’re gonna need these too.”

Fuming, and still beet-red, Sheriff Lamb plucks the envelop from Veronica and motions her and Dr. Griffith to the door, where Deputy Sacks is waiting. As he turns to follow them, Lamb realizes Griffith’s hands are shackled. “Wait. What’s going on here? Why is this man wearing handcuffs? Has everybody gone completely crazy tonight,” he mutters sotto voce. “First the PCH and the 09ers team up in a gang fight . . . .”

“I can assure you, Deputy, that it wasn’t kinky sex. You’re gonna want to leave those on though, at least until you’ve at least read his statement.” Veronica flips the swipe card to Mac. “Stay as long as you like, or until Logan gets home, but lock up when you leave, ‘kay?”

“Sure thing, Veronica,” Mac lips twitch at the mention of Logan. “Is there anything you want me to tell him?”

“No, not really. I’ll probably see him before you do. But just in case, tell him to wait for me.” Sheriff Lamb jerks Veronica out the door and it slams shut behind him. Mac looks apprehensively from Wallace to Cassidy.

“Police station?”

“Yeah. Right now.”

“How we gonna get there?”

“I’ve got my credit card,” Cassidy volunteers. “C’mon.”
_______________________________________________

Wallace, Cassidy and Mac appear at the station to find they’re the last arrivals in a mob of people clamoring to see Sheriff Don Lamb. Eli’s grandmother, Mrs. Letitia Navarro is arguing with Inga about ‘her Weevil.’ Kendall Casablancas is posting bail for Dick, Sean, and Luke; she is not planning on posting post Logan’s. Casey Gant has already put up his own bond and is trying to free as many PCHers as possible. Logan Echolls and Weevil Navarro are being held together in cell 7, while Veronica Mars is kept in Interrogation Room 1, guarded by Deputy Leo. Dr. Thomas Griffith and Deputy Sacks occupy Interrogation Room 2. Liam Fitzpatrick, Danny Boyd, and several other River Styx inhabitants are in a cell at the opposite end of the jail from Logan and Weevil. Keith Mars and SAC Sam Rockwell, newly arrived from San Fran, are in Don Lamb’s office. They’re arguing about the imminent release of Echolls and Navarro. Hector Ruiz is in the 24-hour observation, isolation cell; no one knows if he’d be safe if he were locked up with either the Fitzpatrick clan or the PCHers. Cassidy again removes the shot glass and raises his eyebrows to Mac and Wallace. Seeing Cassidy with the fingerprint evidence, Veronica bangs on the window and begs Leo to take it and have the prints lifted and run.

An hour later, Sean, Dick, Luke and Casey are the first to leave. Waving to Veronica, they slap hands with Wallace, scoop up Cassidy and Mac, and are chauffeured home by Kendall, who, for once, is glad to have their company. Alone now, Wallace slumps on the bench, waiting for Veronica and Keith Mars. About 50 minutes later, Thumper, Bootsy, and all of the rest of the PCH crew, except for Weevil, are released. They bump gloved fists with Wallace, leer comically through the window at Veronica, and coax one of deputies to bring cigarettes to Weevil and Logan before departing, middle fingers extended in the direction of Sheriff Lamb as they saunter into the night. Less than half-an-hour after the bikers exit, Dr. Thomas Griffith is formally arrested. He’s escorted to the desk for booking, his fingerprints are taken, and he’s posed for the infamous mugshot. The experience is new to him, and he doesn’t much like it. Snoring loudly, Wallace has slipped sideways down the bench. He’s out cold.

Finally, after much umbrage, many threats, and lots of BS, Keith Mars and Sam Rockwell are allowed to retrieve one still-perky, still-worried, still-angry Veronica from Interrogation 1. She gently wakes Wallace, “Hey. You know you’re my BFF.” Keith puts his arm around Wallace, and Veronica busses Uncle Sam. When Veronica realizes, on the steps of the station, that Logan and Weevil are still inside, she demands to be allowed to wait for them. Because she’s relatively unscathed and wide awake, and because he knows he’ll never get to sleep if he doesn’t, a reluctant Keith Mars gives in and lets her stay. Wallace offers to keep her company, but everyone knows she’ll be well looked after by Inga and Leo and, after a few more protests, Keith, Wallace, and Sam leave.

While Veronica, Keith, and Wallace debate Veronica’s request, Liam Fitzpatrick is booked on attempted murder charges. Danny Boyd is charged with conspiracy to commit murder and aiding and abetting; the others are formally arrested for various offenses, including assault, assault with a deadly weapon, battery with great bodily harm, possession with intent to deliver narcotics, and misdemeanor public drunkenness. Sheriff Lamb isn’t positive he can make all the charges stick, but at least they won’t be getting bond any time soon. Hector Ruiz is held for the murder of Felix Toombs. For now, it’s his only pending charge.

Veronica sits, huddled, on the steps, watching the stars move across the velvety sky and wondering what she would have done if Logan, or Eli, had been seriously hurt or, worse yet, died. And Wallace, what was I thinking, letting him and Mac and Cassidy go to the River Styx? Once again, I compromised my friends in my obstinate pursuit of . . . what? Truth? Justice? I’ve got to stop taking people for granted. Cocooned in a hand-knitted sweater, Mrs. Navarro waits in her car, close enough to Veronica to keep a protective eye on her, but not close enough to disturb her thoughts. Veronica wraps her arms around her waist and, lowering her head, cries silent tears of thanks that everything turned out okay. She hears a faint shoosh and begins wiping her tears. Before she can look up, Logan and Weevil materialize before her. Logan tentatively smooths her hair with a shaky hand. She jumps up guiltily and embraces Weevil.

“Vee.”

“Eli.”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lies, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You?”

“Never better, Vee.” He pats her on the back as if she were a little girl. “Grams’s waitin’. Hasta, Vee, Echolls.” Frozen for a second, Logan awkwardly extends his hand to Weevil, then pulls him in and squeezes his shoulder. As their heads brush, Logan whispers a last heartfelt thanks in Eli’s ear. Weevil’s eyes soften for a hot moment. He raises his fist and presses it against Logan’s. They nod. Weevil strolls away.

“Finally,” she says gratefully, looking up at Logan with unspoken appreciation.

“Yeah, I guess they’re going to drop all the charges against me.”

Veronica’s body sags with relief. “I’m glad for you, Logan.” When he doesn’t reply, she steps back and starts looking for her cell phone. “I just, I wanted to make sure . . . you’re okay. You are okay, right?”

“Thanks to you.” He watches her intently, still unsure how to bridge the gap. He notices her body shaking from head to toe, though he can’t tell whether it’s from the chilly air or fear or sheer relief. “Veronica?” he rasps.

“Yeah, Logan.”

“Don’t I even get a hug?” She meets his gaze and notes his mouth curving upward. He holds out his hand, and, when she takes it, pulls her in, enveloping her in a full-body hug. Her head rests on his chest just, above his heart. For the third time in 48 hours, they sway together in the moon’s silvery glow. “Veronica?”

“Hmm.”

“Sometimes you’re an ass.”

“So’re you.” She raises a fist and pokes his bicep. He chuckles.

“So, Duncan did dump you?”

Veronica doesn’t twitch, doesn’t flinch, in fact makes no attempt to move. “Wow. You hear stuff fast.”

“Dick told me in the back of the Sheriff’s cruiser.”

“Oh. Uh huh. Good place to discuss my love life, Logan.”

“Veronica. Are you going to come for air any time soon?”

“Maybe. I might, with the right incentive.”

“And what would that be, Miss Mars.” When she doesn’t answer, Logan tries again. “Veronica, look at me, would’ya?”

“No. I can’t.”

“Can’t, or don’t want to?”

“Both,” she says in a muffled version of her tiny, I’m-a-scared-little-girl voice.

“I’m not mad, Veronica.”

Her back stiffens and her head jerks from its resting spot on his chest. “It’s a damn good thing you’re not, because I’m furious with you!” She swats at his arm again. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed in there. ‘Take me!’ What the hell was that supposed to be, Logan? You dumbass! I suppose you thought Fitzpatrick would treat you, the guy who held a gun on him not too long ago, better than some defenseless high-school girl he didn’t know. What were you thinking, Logan?! Or were you trying to get yourself killed? Poor Logan, nothing left to live for.”

His head falls back and a roar of laughter spills from his mouth. “That’s my girl. I was thinking, Veronica, that you’d kill me if I let anything happen to your BFF, or Mac or Cassidy. I can’t win with you, Mars. Everything I do’s the wrong thing.” Veronica’s giggles join Logan’s guffaws and they stand on the steps of the Sheriff’s office laughing ‘til their sides hurt and there are tears in their eyes. They stagger into each other’s arms and their lips meet in a long, sloppy, giggly kiss. As they begin to renew their once-intimate acquaintance, Logan runs his hands up the length of her back and presses her lithe, supple body against his solid, muscled physique. He feels her shaking again, but this time Logan knows why. She unbuttons his shirt and, pushing it aside, ducks under his tee shirt to rub her cheeks, nose, and lips against his warm, bare chest. His belly vibrates and hums with desire as he rocks his already-hard cock against her stomach. Realizing he’s good-to-go, she hastily emerges from under his tee.

Veronica pushes him backward so he’s sitting on the stairs and licks her lips in eager anticipation. She steps between his thighs, puts her hands on his shoulders and leans in. Her open lips sweep over his cheek and settle softly against his lips. “Mmm,” she murmurs as her silky tongue slowly, tentatively explores Logan’s mouth as though they’d never before kissed. Her strong, slender hands cradle his pulpy, bruised face and she flicks her tongue across his eye lids, planting tiny kisses on each scrape and blemish.

Logan’s breath catches in his throat as he swallows his responsive moan. His hands move involuntarily, his fingertips trailing shivers up her side and back as he rubs small circles against her shirt and skin. Veronica shudders and arches her back as his thumb finds her aroused nipple and fingers it gently. Everywhere he touches, Logan can feel her pulse and throb with want. Veronica’s hands slide onto his chest and she pushes him away for a moment.

“Logan,” she breathes into his open mouth.

“Now what?”

“Do you have any money?”

“What? Now? Right now, that’s what’s on your mind, money?”

“Yeah. Right now. Do you have any money?”

“On me? You mean, do I have a dime to my name, or have I got any cash conveniently available for spending this evening, actually morning?”

“The second one.”

“Yeah. Why?”

“‘Because, uh, I’m kinda hungry.”

The Unholy Alliance - Rindee - WIP 3/4 - R

rindee — Sat, 12 Aug 2006 05:16:33 GMT

Title: The Unholy Alliance - WIP 3/4
Author: Rindee
Rating: R
Word Count: 4248
Characters/pairing: Veronica/Logan, Mac/Cassidy, Weevil & ensemble
Spoilers: An AU story that takes place immediately after 2.9, but spoilers through 2.10.
Summary: My take on what might have happened after Weevil and Logan realized they were on the same side, and after they tried to kick each other's ass.
A/N: Written months ago, before I'd ever gotten the guts to post anything, so it's unbeta'd and all the mistakes are mine.

Friday afternoon, after school, Veronica, Wallace and Mac get together at Mac’s house to work out the details of the bug Mac will be wearing and other matters concerning the night’s escapade. Cassidy comes over, just to hang out with Mac, and they brief him on some, though not all, of the plan.

“Cassidy. Remember, just because you can’t see the bug doesn’t mean you should spend all night looking down Mac’s shirt for it, okay?” Veronica eyes twinkle as Cassidy ducks his head and flushes a deep crimson.

“Ooo, girl. Shut your mouth and leave a brotha be, a’ight.” Wallace winks, knowing nothing can stop Veronica’s matchmaking tendencies.

“What? Mac, he’s gonna wanna look, right?”

Mac’s blush matches Beaver’s. “Yeah, okay, Veronica. Whatever.” She doesn’t know whether to be happy or embarrassed by her friend’s blatant encouragement of Cassidy Casablancas. Just then, Veronica’s phone trills AC/DC’s Hells Bells, her special ring for Logan Echolls. Wallace looks over her shoulder at the caller ID.

“Uh huh. Better get that, Veronica Mars. Wouldn’t want to keep him waitin' now.”

She frowns at Wallace and holds up a finger. “Guys, I’ve gotta take this. Be right back.” She leaves and goes into the bathroom before answering. “Hey. What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”

“Hey, Veronica. Where are you? I stopped by the office, and you’re not here.” There’s the slightest hint of urgency and panic in Logan’s voice, as though he thought something had happened to her.

“It’s a quarter to five, Logan. We’re supposed to meet at six. I had to take care of something. Where are you?”

“I’m across the street. I got some party favors and – ”

“Let me guess. You don’t want the pizza to get cold, right?”

“Well, yeah, and I then couldn’t find you, and I got worried. About the pizza.”

“Yeah, right. I’m okay. I’ll be there in two minutes. Can you stay outta trouble that long?”

“Gee, Veronica. I don’t know. I might do something crazy like punch a wall, or maybe I should just save that for Weevil?”

“Logan?”

“Yep.”

“Keep your shirt on, I’m on my way.”

“In that case, I think I’ll take it – ”

“Bye, Logan.”

“See ya soon.” Veronica hits end and eyes the phone speculatively. Logan’s being too nice. Wonder why.

As she slides from behind the wheel, Veronica sees him sitting on the sidewalk in front of the office, his back against the wall, his long legs drawn up to his chest. He’s balancing a pizza box atop his head. Seeing her, Logan stands stiffly and pirouettes, keeping the box in place. She eyes him, and beings singing: “I am sixteen going on seventeen, fellows will fall in line, eager young lads and rogues and cads, will offer me food and wine.”

Logan responds with: “You are sixteen going on seventeen, Baby, it's time to think. Better beware, be canny and careful. Baby, you're on the brink.” They burst into giddy laughter as Veronica unlocks the door and leads him into the office. Logan plops on the couch and flips open the box. Veronica grabs glasses, paper towels and soda from the kitchenette and, as she sits beside Logan, hands him one of each. Logan sniffs at the can of diet, takes a sip and shudders. “Nope.”

He hands it back to her and pulls a bottle of red wine from the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Not surprisingly, the label reveals it is an expensive brand. Logan had already unwrapped it, removed the cork and reinserted it. He pulls the cork now and takes a long swallow. “Much better. Vino for the lady? Wait, what am I saying? You’re no lady.” Despite the callow words, his eyes twinkle. “Oh, what the hell. Vino for the tramp, and you can pretend to be a lady.”

Veronica gingerly takes the bottle with both hands and tilts it to her lips. “Mmm. A bit fruity, don’tcha think?” she teases in return, smacking her lips suggestively. Wearing his warm, I’m-such-a-dope grin, Logan shrugs and the two begin eating. About twenty minutes later, Logan, having eaten his fill, tosses his greasy, crumbled napkin into the box and rubs his stomach. Veronica, however, is still shoveling pizza into her mouth.

“Wait. Don’t do that. There’s still a piece left, isn’t there?”

“Veronica. The quantity of food you need to fuel that tiny body never fails to amaze me. D’ya wanna lick the box too?”

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop.”

“No. By all means, continue. I enjoy watching you do something that makes you so happy.”

She smiles guiltily and shakes her head, taking the last slice. “Talked me into it,” she mumbles between bites. As she finishes, a sated Logan looks wonderingly at her.

“Veronica?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you think we should talk?” Logan’s face betrays his always-lurking need to communicate, to try to bridge the gap plaguing the former friends and once-upon-a-time lovers.

“Uh huh. In a minute.” She gulps down the last of the pizza, wipes her mouth and stands, gathering the empty box, paper and glasses. She goes to dispose of the evidence. Logan trails after her, stopping as she bends to a large green plastic bag on the floor. He watches her tight, denim-clad bottom. She takes a step back and collides with him, her ass against his thighs. Instantly, Logan’s cock stiffens, and Veronica can feel his erection pressing against her.

“Logan?” He gently rests his hands on her shoulders, his chin on top of her head.

“Mmm.”

“Logan!”

“Yes, Veronica?” He sighs.

“Is this what you wanted to talk about? Your adolescent libido and constant need to rub up against anything soft and curvy?” He lightly kisses the top of her head.

“No, not really. Its an involuntary reaction, Veronica. I can’t help what you do to me.” Logan grasps her shoulders and spins her around, taking a step back so their bodies are not quite touching. “I want to talk about us. Not the sexual us,” Logan’s long fingers form quotation marks. “Although I wouldn’t mind it, but as you so clearly put it the other day, there is no ‘us’. I want to talk about being friends again. Can we do that, Veronica?”

“Can we do what, Logan? Talk about being friends, or be friends?” Veronica peers quizzically into Logan’s face, trying to assess his sincerity. “Logan, I . . . .” She stops, unsure. “Logan, I do want us to be friends again, but it’s not that easy. Even if I wanted to, I can’t just snap my fingers,” she snaps hers in the air in front of his face, “and make the past four months disappear.” Veronica tries to glare at Logan, but his face is so calm and hopeful, that she’s forced to take a deep breath and relax. “I am trying,” she assures him. “Really, I think I’d like that too. Let’s just get through the next couple of days and see how it goes. Okay?”

Logan traces her jaw line with his fingertips. “I miss you, Veronica. I don’t . . . want . . . to fight anymore.”

She stands on tiptoe and brushes a soft kiss against his cheek. “Logan. I . . . .”

He cradles her neck in the palms of his hands and stills her. He kisses her forehead and nose before placing his lips lightly on hers. She opens her mouth to him and they kiss slowly, lovingly. Veronica’s arms wind round his back and she pulls him to her, breaking their kiss to nuzzle her head into his chest. Logan gathers her into his arms and they sway together as though dancing to unheard music.

“Logan?” she whispers hesitantly.

“Yeah, Ron?”

“I think we can't – ”

“Shh. I know. We're not gonna,” his lips murmur against her soft blonde hair. “This is nice, though.”

“Yeah.”

When Weevil arrives at Mars Investigations, Veronica and Logan are sitting comfortably at opposite ends of the velvet sofa. Veronica's gazing intently at her laptop, while Logan, head thrown back and eyes closed, appears to be dozing. “Isn't this sweet,” he coos sarcastically. “You two are so domestic. Maybe you oughta try goin' out sometime?”

“Sure thing, Weevs,” Logan opens one eye and raises his head. “What're you doin' next Friday?” Weevil sneers, takes off his jacket and throws it across Veronica's chair.

“What's it to you, Echolls?”

“I thought you wanted to come with us, you know, as a chaperone. Or was it a threesome?” Startled, Veronica jumps up.

“That's enough, Logan.”

“Okay, Ronnie.” He stands, thrusts his chest out, rubs his hands together and asks, “So, what are we going to do, then? Got any cards, Mars?”

“Got any money, Echolls?”

“Oh, no, you don't. Last time I played cards with you two, after I took all your money, you both whined for weeks.”

“Beginner's luck, Vee. You're not gonna win again.”

“Ya think? I dunno know, Navarro. You were pretty easy last time. And Echolls, he's a pushover.”

“O-kay, boys and girls. That settles it,” With a single motion, Logan sweeps the paperwork off of Veronica's desk. He grabs her and spins her into her chair. “Grab a chair, Weevs, and both of you get out your money.”

Weevil pulls a wad of cash from his baggy jeans. “This enough? We got chips, or are we playin' with markers?”

“Veronica, didn't I see a poker set in your Dad's office?” She nods, a bemused smile twitching at the corners of her lips. She sits watching as the boys scurry around Mars Investigations, moving chairs, gathering a deck of cards, poker chips, ash trays and refreshments. Weevil has come with a six pack. Logan contributes a handful of cigars, and, with a flourish, gives Veronica a bouquet of lollipops. “For your oral fixation, Mars. Okay, ready, steady, go.”

“Ah, there's just one problem.” Veronica is sheepish.

“What?”

“I don't have any cash, and I'm not wearing many layers.” Logan and Weevil exchange conspiratorial glances.

“No problem, sista,” Weevil smirks. “We'll front you.”

“Cash? Or clothes?”

“You askin' one of us to donate our apparel?” Logan immediately sheds his shirt and reaches for his zipper.

Veronica gulps and playfully covers her eyes with her hand. “Hold on there, big guy. I meant cash. But what I really want to know is, what happens if, by some miracle, I don't win?”

“Oh, well. In that case, we'll take payment in kind.” Weevil runs his eyes up and down Veronica's body and licks his lips.

“In other words, Ronnie,” Logan leans into Veronica and stage-whispers for Weevil's benefit. “If you lose, we'll take it outta your ass. And maybe, just maybe,” Logan runs one finger down her arm, “You'll get that three-way you've been askin' for. That work for you?”

“Hmm. Not so much.” Yeah, like you'd ever let Weevil touch me. She grins and her blue eyes widen in her patented I'm-just-a-blonde look. “But I'm willing to take my chances. Let's go.” Weevil and Logan buy in and each give Veronica a portion of their chips. Logan deals the first hand and the game(s) begin.

Three hours later, in a haze of cigar smoke, a bleary-eyed Veronica mournfully contemplates the significantly decreased pile of chips and tootsie-roll pop wrappers in front of her and folds yet another hand. “Who dealt that crap?”

“Why? You ready to call 'Uncle'?” Weevil's gaze shifts from Veronica to Logan. Both men raise their eyebrows, grin wickedly and clink their glasses together. Veronica realizes she's been played.

“Oh, no, boys. I'm just getting started. My deal, right?” She gathers the cards and begins shuffling.

Logan yanks his cigar from his mouth and bends to Weevil's ear. “She's bluffing.”

“Think so?” Weevil is doubtful as he rakes in the pot and stacks his chips. He and Logan have won about the same number of hands and have about the same amount of chips.

“I know so.”

“Not so fast, Echolls. I'm not done yet. Haven't you learned your lesson about counting me out?” Veronica's jaw clenches determinedly. She grabs another sucker, pops it in her mouth to wet it, pulls it out and licks it lasciviously before settling it back between her lips. Logan and Weevil stir uneasily. “What? Now that you've got me where you want me, no one wants to play with me?” Weevil shrugs, looks at Logan for confirmation, and stands abruptly.

“Vee. I think it's time to call it a night. We'll call it a draw. No one here owes anything.” Logan nods in agreement. “Gonna be a big day tomorrow, and I gotta get my beauty sleep.”

“I can't believe you're punkin’ out on me.”

“Let him go, Veronica.” Logan looks meaningfully at her.

“Alright, then.” Veronica and Weevil bump fists.

“Later, Vee. Echolls.” He grabs his leather jacket and ambles out the door. Once she hears his boots clatter down the steps, Veronica flies to the window to watch him drive away.

“Logan. My laptop,” she orders. Logan flips open her laptop, which has been laying innocuously on the coffee table, and glances at the screen.

“Where's he headed?”

Logan frowns. “Is this what I think it is?” He looks at her for confirmation and she nods. “When did you do this?”

“This morning. Before our meeting. Where is he now?”

“Give him a minute to get his helmet on and get going.” Logan shakes his head at her impatience.

“Yeah, okay.” Veronica frets, pacing back and forth. “Now where's he going?”

“Ronnie. You act as if you don't know where he's going.”

“I wish I didn't.” As she talks, Veronica's inventorying her messenger bag. She finds her taser and tests it, sparking the air. She digs out her pocket knife and puts it in her back pocket. “Just once, I'd like to be wrong about a friend of mine acting stubborn and stupid.” Logan’s forehead wrinkles as he attempts to focus on Weevil’s location and ignore Hurricane Veronica as she continues to buzz about the office, grabbing her laptop and stuffing it in her messenger bag, along with the leftover lollipops.

Finally, he glances up. “He's definitely going to the River Styx, Ron. We should go.” He stands and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. Veronica freezes, flustered.

“Damn. Damn. I've gotta call Mac and Wallace.” Logan flips open his phone and, keeping one eye on Veronica, dials Wallace.

“Mac is with Wallace, Veronica. And Beav's there too,” he calmly reminds her. “Oh, hey, Wallace. Listen, trouble's comin' your way. Weevil left about five minutes ago and it looks like he's gonna be there sooner rather than later.” Veronica taps her foot, hands on her hips as she listens to Logan's side of the conversation. She holds out her hand for the phone, but Logan waves her off and finishes talking. He closes the phone with a loud click and takes her arm.

“Put your jacket on, Veronica. Where's your disguise? Aren't you going to wear the black wig?”

“Huh?” She starts and looks confusedly at Logan. “No. The wig was if I was going in alone.” Veronica stops, unsure of herself. “I, I don't want, I don't think we have to worry about a disguise now, do you?”

“Guess not. It looks like Weevil's not playin' ball anyway.”

“Yeah, at least not with us. Logan, we've got to get there before the shit really hits the fan.”

“Yeah.” As Veronica locks the door, Logan takes her arm protectively. She shakes him off and clatters down the stairs.

“Come on, Echolls.”

“Yes, ma'am.” As Logan emerges onto the street, Veronica is unlocking her LeBaron.

“Veronica!”

“What! Don't just stand there, Logan. Come on.” He takes the keys from her hand, takes her wrist and leads her to his vehicle.

“I'm gonna drive,” he says firmly, his eyes cold and hard, unwilling to listen to Veronica's objections. Surprising both Logan and herself, Veronica doesn't argue, but meekly gets in and slides the seatbelt over her shoulder. Logan slams the door behind her and sprints to the driver's side. Within a minute, they're racing through the streets of Neptune. It's quiet in the Xterra, the silence broken only by the stereo playing We Used to Be Friends, by the Dandy Warhols, as Logan and Veronica navigate through the night.

“Good song.”

“Yeah.”

“I know we're supposed to be the cavalry, Veronica, but what are we going to do when we get there?”

“Make sure Weevil doesn't get killed, for one.”

“Don't get me wrong, I'm not anxious for my good buddy Weevs to get hurt.” Logan's sarcasm hits Veronica like a two-by-four. “But I thought we got into this to get evidence against Fitzpatrick and Griffith to prove my innocence?”

“'S'already done,” Veronica replies dully, knowing an Echolls outburst is impending.

“What?” Logan's voice cracks in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Mac, Wallace, and Cassidy aren't at the River Styx to reconnoiter --”

“Reca -- what?”

“They're not there to case the joint, Logan. They went there to get evidence, fingerprints and photos. The meeting between Dr. Griffith and Liam Fitzpatrick is tonight.”

“Tonight! And you sent Mac and Wallace and Cassidy?! Veronica, have you lost all control of your faculties?” Logan spits out the words angrily, but does not take his eyes from the road. “I thought it was going down tomorrow night? When were you going to tell me the real plan, Veronica?”

Veronica closes her eyes, swallows once and bangs her fist against the dashboard. “Shit. Dammit. If Weevil weren't such an ass --”

“That's right, Veronica.” Logan sneers, “It’s always someone else's fault when you lie to me, isn't it.”

Veronica pounds the dash again. “There's no way I was going to let you go back into that den of iniquity if I could help it, so I sent Wallace and Mac--”

“Hey! Veronica,” Logan bellows. “First, quit beating on my truck--” Veronica freezes in mid swing and turns to face Logan. “Second, if you'd been paying attention for the past three months, you'd know I am no longer your responsibility. That means what I do, or where I go, isn’t your problem. Or hadn't you noticed?”

Veronica's hand falls ineffectually to her side. Her chest heaves once as she gathers her thoughts. “Logan. I understand I haven't been the best of friends lately, but do you think we could talk about it later. I'm kinda worried about saving your ass and Weevil's right now,” she snaps. “You really are an arrogant bastard.”

“There's the Veronica I know and love,” Logan laughs bitterly. “Okay, you win. We'll talk about it later. What shall we talk about now? How your ass is gonna be on the line too, once we hit the River Styx to rescue Navarro?” Veronica exhales a shuddering breath, unaware she'd been holding it since she screamed at Logan. “What are we gonna do when we get there in, oh, say, two or three minutes, Ver-on-i-ca? You do have a plan, don't you?”

“Um, yeah, sure. Of course I have a plan.” Veronica's false bravado isn't fooling Logan.

“Okay, out with it. What's your plan? What are we going to do to stop Liam Fitzpatrick from trying to kill Weevil?”

“Umm. Charm him with my good looks and your sparkling personality?”

Unable to help himself, Logan chuckles. “Don't you mean my spectacular looks and your quirky personality?”

“Yeah. Whatever. Shit, Logan. I knew what Weevil was going to do, but now that he’s really going. . . .”

“May I offer a suggestion, Ronnie?” Logan sounds serious, but Veronica can’t tell whether he is, or whether he’s just being snarky again, so she says nothing. “May I?”

“Sure, Logan. If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“Let’s call Wallace and tell him to get Mac and the evidence outta there. Tell him to put her in car and drive off. Let’s call Dick and see if he’s up for a late-night game of pool, and let’s just walk in.” Logan waits for her reply, but when Veronica doesn’t say anything, he continues, “We’ve got numbers. Wallace, Weevil, Cassidy, me, you, Dick, and whomever he rounds up. We walk in, have a drink, get Weevil and leave.”

“Just like that? Wow, Logan.” As she speaks, Veronica reaches for his arm. Assuming she’s going to slug him, Logan flinches from her grasp. “Phone, Logan. Give me your phone.”

“Why?” he asks, confused.

Exasperated, Veronica explains, “Because it’s Friday night and Dick’s not gonna pick up if he sees my number on his caller ID.”

“Oh, yeah.” Feeling stupid, Logan surrenders his phone. Veronica calls Wallace, then Dick. They’re less than a mile from the River Styx when she hangs up with Dick. Logan pulls to the side of the road and cuts the engine. They sit in the dark, waiting for Dick to arrive and for Wallace or Mac to call and confirm her safety.

“Logan?”

“Yes, Veronica?”

“I don’t know how to, uh . . . I don’t know how to say – ” As Veronica fumbles her words, Logan throws up his hands in disgust.

“Just say it, Veronica. Whatever it is, it can’t be any worse than anything else you’ve said in the past 48 hours.” But it is. Because, for the first time in the last 48 hours, I’m going to say something completely, utterly and totally positive about you, and, knowing you, you’ll take it worse than all the crap I’ve dished out.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m just gonna – ”

“Point, Veronica. I’m not getting any younger here.”

“It’s a good plan, Logan. A really good plan.” Veronica’s face is red and glowing, but not in a bad way. “I’m impressed, really.”

“I’m speechless, Ronnie. Was that a compliment, from Veronica Mars?”

“I just hope it works.” Logan reaches over and squeezes her hand once. Their eyes meet and he kisses her forehead. Suddenly, a bright spotlight plays over the interior of the Xterra. Instinctively, Logan wraps his arms around Veronica and, shielding her body with his, pulls her head below the dash.