anjoufic | Into the Blue 5/?

Title: Into the Blue, 5/?
Author: Anjou

anjoufic
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica, Logan's POV
Word Count: 3,678
Rating: PG-13 to mild R for language
Summary: It’s almost summer, and Logan is sinking into the blue.
Spoilers/Warnings: S1. Beyond that is just my imagination, running away with me.

A/N: Thanks to

suzanne_laura for speedy beta. And thanks to all of you who have left comments. There will be two, maybe three, more parts to this story.

~*~

Lets go down with the ship
Lets slip into oblivion
Lets go down with the ship
Lets slip into, lets slip into
The blue

Blue by Vast

~*~

When Logan surfaced from his long sleep, it wasn't Trina pounding on the door that finally roused him, but the sound of his mother's TiVo clicking on and off. He'd checked out of reality via his mother's happy pills, ignoring the intermittent buzzing of the intercom and yelling at Trina to fuck off when she had banged on the door loud enough for it to penetrate. He had dim memories of waking up and staring at the blue square of light reflected above him, some tumbling images of freefalls from his dreams, but mostly, he remembered nothing.

The annoying, broken TiVo wasn't the only source of noise -- now that he had risen from his stupor, he could hear activity outside the house. The shadow of the pool on the ceiling was whited out by the daylight, but its reflected surface rippled and sparked above him. Logan groaned, rolled off the divan and stumbled to the window. One story below, a swarm of uniforms were moving purposefully in and out of the pool house.

It had to be Monday morning, which meant that he'd managed to sleep the rest of Friday and the whole weekend away. Now it was a new week and everybody in the world had something to do, somewhere to be, except for him. Logan avoided his own reflection in the window while the police and the lawyers and the crime scene technicians below looked for evidence of Aaron and Lilly having been in the pool house together. Occasionally, they would stop to look at him and then whisper to each other, glancing back up at him. As Logan stepped back from the window and focused on his reflection, he finally took a good look at what they were all seeing when they looked at him. He was a dirty and unshaven stranger, with a bandage wrapped around his forehead and a mask of bruises shaped like the grille in Lamb's patrol car imprinted around his right eye.

Staring at himself in the window, Logan was overwhelmed by the feeling of being completely separated from the rest of the world. He’d felt observed as long as he could remember, felt like people were staring at him, or judging him because of who his parents were. It had been such a part of his life that he had begun to take the feeling for granted. But now, standing there behind the glass it struck him that he was truly alone.

People were just going to stare at him, like he was an animal in the zoo, or talk about him, like he wasn't even a real person with feelings, but just a plot point in a movie of the week. Even Aaron was going to keep on using him, one way or another, trying to re-write the story of Logan's life so that he, Aaron, was the real victim.

All his life, Logan had been waiting and hoping for someone to save him. When he was a kid, he used to wish that a hero, paradoxically the kind of hero that his father played on film, would sweep in and rescue his mother and him, take them away somewhere safe. When he'd gotten older, he wondered why his mother hadn't tried to save them. She'd just given up, and then she left him behind. And even though she had been dead for months, he was still waiting for someone to save him, hidden away in her room from the rest of the world, safe behind a locked door.

Maybe he was more like her than he wanted to admit.

He pulled the drapes closed viciously, cutting himself off from the unwelcome scrutiny of the crowd below.

It was suddenly clear to him that no one was coming, and that he would have to save himself. In his mind’s eye he saw Veronica, the day she showed up at school with her hair cut off and her clothes dark and tough. It had been easy then to assume that those changes didn't extend below the surface. He’d believed that she was still the same girl she'd always been, and he had taunted and tormented her with the knowledge that years of friendship had given him. But the clothes and the hair had been the least of it, when he'd gotten to know her again. Veronica had changed. She was harder and colder, but most of all, she was strong and single-minded. She'd had a purpose. And now, so did he.

He was breaking out of this fucking zoo.

He just had to figure out how.

Behind him, the incessant clicking of the TiVo continued, momentarily drowned out by the sound of buzzing from the intercom.

"What?" Logan said unkindly, his voice rusty from disuse.

"Ms. James is here," Mrs. Navarro said.

"Fuck," Logan said and just stood there blankly. The buzzer started up again and he stared at the wall. He was just vain enough to be disturbed by the idea of being seen in his current state, not to mention the fact that he was somewhat ripe.

The buzzer demanded his attention again. He'd let go of the button, leaving him to wonder if he'd done a bit of brain damage with the pills and his Rip Van Winkle act.

"Ah, what the hell. The tabloids will love it," he said aloud, then pressed the button and spoke into the intercom. "I'm coming down." He glanced at himself in the mirror. Aaron had always been so careful not to mark Logan's face up, to keep what he was doing to Logan hidden. It was ironic now that Aaron was gone from the house that Logan finally looked like the poster child for abused children. He glanced at himself in the mirror one last time and decided that he actually looked more like a derelict, than anything else.

"Fuck it," he said again, and opened the door, staggering a bit as he moved down the stairs. His headache was mostly gone, but it had left a kind of residual ache. He felt like he'd had the flu, like when he'd try to go back to school too early, usually to avoid Aaron if he wasn't off making a movie somewhere. It didn't really matter. Logan was used to pushing himself through the pain.

He heard Ms. James make a soft noise of distress when she saw him, but when he looked at her, she'd schooled her expression into one that was neutral.

Mrs. Navarro was a different story. She sucked in her breath and then said a string of things so fast in Spanish that they were incomprehensible.

"Why don't you sit down, Logan?" Ms. James said.

"Isn't that my line?" Logan said sarcastically. She was on his turf after all, and he didn't want her there. He walked over and braced an elbow against the mantelpiece. Unfortunately, not only could he could see himself quite clearly in the mirror, but the sunlight shining directly in his eyes was making his head pound.

"I suppose it should be," Ms. James said easily and sat down herself. "How are you?"

"I have a concussion," Logan said and moved, feeling like an old man, to sit on the couch.

Ms. James looked alarmed. "That accident was three days ago," she said, "Shouldn't you be feeling better by now?"

Her concern seemed sincere, but Logan had been down this road more times than he cared to remember. "Actually, a concussion can take weeks to heal," he said shortly, "and since I'm not supposed to even take an aspirin, being unconscious seemed better than suffering through the headache."

Ms. James watched him for a long moment. "How are you, Logan?"

He laughed. "Can we just get on with whatever you came here for?"

"I came here to help you," she said levelly.

Logan pointed at his laptop and his notebooks on the coffee table between them. "Whatever. Just give me back my stuff and let's set up a test schedule."

"Logan," Ms. James said, and when she reached across the table toward him, he tried to control the impulse, but he flinched.

She withdrew her hand slowly. "OK," she said quietly. "How about if I come over here on Wednesday after school, and we'll see how far you've gotten on your assignments." She pulled a file out of her handbag. "I've negotiated with your teachers and we've culled down your work to the essential points that you'll need to cover for the tests."

"Fine," he whispered, wanting her to just leave. He sat there and didn't move, didn't fidget, waiting for her to take her cue.

"Logan," Ms. James said, "I really do want to help you. Is there anything I can do?"

Logan thought it over for a moment. The sound of the cops outside talking as they removed things from the pool house became loud in the silence. "Yeah," he said, "you can find me the names of some good colleges in Australia and New Zealand."

Ms. James laughed, saying, "Well, Logan, at least you haven't lost your sense of humor." She only became uneasy when it had dawned on her that he wasn't smiling at all. "You're serious," she said.

"Why in the hell would I want to stay here?"

There was another long moment of silence, which Ms. James finally broke by asking, "Don't you have to stay here for the trial?"

Logan laughed. "Since I had no idea what was going on, I don't see why I should," he said. "You know, the family is always the last to know," he said smarmily.

"I think," Ms. James said carefully, "that you'll probably be called upon to testify for the defense."

"Oh, I don't think so," Logan countered. "I think that the last thing my father probably wants is me up on that witness stand having sworn to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help me God."

Ms. James was looking at him in her quiet, assessing way.

"What about your friends?" she asked.

"What about New Zealand?" Logan countered.

Ms. James looked like she wanted to say something to that, but he kept his gaze steady on her, and she searched his eyes carefully before she placed the file folder on top of his laptop.

"OK, Logan," she'd agreed, "I'll see what I can do."

She began to gather her things to leave, but stopped and turned back to speak to him before she left. "Logan," she began, "I'm not going to patronize you and tell you that I understand how you feel, because I don't."

He started to thank her, but she held her hand up to silence him, and he let her go on with a sigh.

"However, I do understand what it's like to be betrayed," she paused, "and I know that it has to be at least part of what you're feeling right now." She waited, but when he didn't answer her, she continued on. "Vice Principal Clemmons sent me here because I took a professional vow that prohibits me from ever talking to anyone about our conversations, Logan. You can trust me."

She waited, but when Logan didn't say anything in response, she sighed and fished around in her bag. "This is my cell phone number. You can call me anytime you want to talk." She laid it on top of the pile of his stuff on the coffee table and stood up.

"Yeah," Logan breathed out in relief. He just didn't have the desire to be sarcastic; Ms. James was too sincere. "Thanks."

Ms. James left and Logan stared at the remnants of his high school career for a few seconds before Mrs. Navarro came in with the phone, a plate full of sandwiches and an ice pack.

"I guess you're not mad at me anymore," Logan said, but she just shook her head at him in dismay. "What?" he said to the caller, placing the icepack on his throbbing head.

"The Neptune Police Department is coming over to search the pool house in thirty minutes," Cliff announced, "and hello to you, too, Logan."

"They got here at least twenty minutes ago," Logan said. "And then Clemmons sent over Ms. James to psychoanalyze me, not to facilitate my learning." He was too tired to sketch air quotes around the word.

There was a pause and then Cliff said, "Actually, I can see why he would send her over."

Logan laughed, "Because I'm just that crazy?"

"No," Cliff said, "because she's bound by her professional confidentiality clauses, so if she ever tells anyone what you talk about, she'll lose her license."

Logan said. "So she informed me. But you know, there's just not that much to tell, frankly."

Cliff was silent.

"It's the old boy meets girl, boy falls in love but girl's fucking his father on the side, father kills girl. Frankly, it's been done to death."

Cliff sighed.

"Plus the twist with the new girlfriend really pushed the whole suspension of disbelief thing," Logan added.

"Have you talked to her yet?" Cliff asked.

"Who?" Logan asked sarcastically.

"Veronica," Cliff said. "Short, blonde, dynamic. Answers to the description of your 'new girlfriend'."

"Used to," Logan said. "And did you miss the part where my father tried to kill both her and her father? It was a little over the top, I grant you, but it is a twist the audience probably didn't see coming."

"She doesn't blame you for anything, Logan," Cliff said.

"Now," Logan said under his breath, but Cliff just kept talking.

"You know, Veronica's been having a pretty tough couple of weeks -- her father's had some real problems --" Cliff stopped. "You should just call her."

"What kind of problems?" Logan asked, trying to ignore the twist of guilt in his gut.

"I thought you weren't interested?"

"Cliff," Logan warned, "you should probably know that the last thing Keith Mars said to me was to get away from his daughter. Maybe I'm just trying to do what he wanted."

There was a momentary silence. "Keith needs skin grafts," Cliff announced. "But he rejected the test graft."

Logan sucked in a breath. "That ratfucker," he muttered. He knew how much Veronica loved her dad. "I didn't think Mr. Mars was that badly burned."

"From what I understand, it's just a couple of places on his hands that need them," Cliff said. "The skin there is thinner. What I'm trying to say, Logan, is that Veronica's having a hard time, too."

Logan's hands had reflexively balled into fists in sympathetic pain, and he breathed out, trying not to focus on the image of Mr. Mars wading into the middle of a fire to rescue a trapped and screaming Veronica. He wondered if his father had laughed at Mr. Mars. He'd bet the house that he had.

"Logan?" Cliff prompted.

"Yeah," Logan whispered, his voice thin and strained, like he'd been sucking in smoke.

Cliff sighed. "OK, Logan. I want you to promise me that you're going to go do your homework and go to a part of the house that's at least 100 feet away from the pool house."

"I'll be a good boy," Logan said and hung up. When he looked over his shoulder, he caught a glimpse of a flash coming from outside of the house. The cops were supposed to be taking pictures of the pool house and not him, but Logan was sure that pictures of him banged up and looking like he was ready for one of his own bum fights would command a huge price from this week's Star. He stuffed the icepack in his pocket and stacked everything else on his laptop, balancing the sandwiches on top and walked straight out of the room, making sure to keep his back to the windows and his head down.

Logan let himself back into his mother's room to ensure that he'd have privacy, and put his stack of crap down on the divan, moving the food and the notebooks out of the way. His laptop looked strange with the huge orange 'Evidence' tag on it. It had been signed and dated and was used to seal the keyboard to the screen. He considered peeling it off, but thought that leaving it on his computer would be a good way to remind him of exactly why he needed to get out of this town. He slit the label with his Swiss Army knife and popped it open, turning it on.

It set up and displayed for a few seconds after he logged in and before the battery died, just long enough for him to catch a glimpse of the picture of Veronica that he'd made into his new wallpaper.

The day he’d taken the picture they’d still been on the dl with their relationship. He’d gotten to her before she went into work and they’d been in his car, laughing and talking. He’d been stealing kisses every chance he got and trying to convince Veronica to blow off work and spend the afternoon with him.

When she wouldn’t be sweet-talked into doing what he wanted, he’d tried pouting, but she’d only laughed at him and pinched his cheeks like he was five. The ensuing wrestling match had resulted in a lot more kissing, but Veronica still wouldn’t change her mind. Finally, he pulled out his cell phone and announced that if he couldn’t have her with him then he was going to take a picture of her to keep him company while she left him all alone.

She’d told him that he was the biggest Drama Queen that she’d ever met, but finally consented to sit still for the picture.

Veronica was sitting in the passenger seat of his car facing him, her knees up and her feet on the console between them. She was wearing her pink hooded sweatshirt and her head was tilted to the side. There was sunlight streaming through her hair, which was slightly mussed from his hands. She was smiling at him indulgently, her lipstick long gone because he’d kissed it all away, her blue, blue eyes alight with happiness.

She was looking at him as if she loved him.

"Liar," he whispered, just as the picture winked out.

~*~

When he came back into his mother's room with his power cord, he heard the sound of her TiVo clicking again. He couldn't imagine what in the hell she had recording, but decided that he had to blow it off her timer. Hearing the machine click on and off like that was too eerie for him.

While his laptop rebooted, he settled onto the edge of the divan and turned her TV on. He could hear the police downstairs discussing something and lifted the edge of the drape so he could see what was going on, but dropped it almost immediately. They were trying to take a mattress out through the pool house door -- the last thing he wanted to think about was that bed in the pool house. Ironically, the mattress was tangled on the fugly curtains that had his parents' faces on them. He hated those fucking things, and only hoped the cops would bag them up and take them with them, too. They were evidence of enormously bad taste, if nothing else.

He opened the program listings to find that there was a solitary listing for "Cooking with Vince". Logan stared at the TV screen. His mother hadn't cooked a meal in years. He heard the ruckus outside lessen, like the sound was moving away from him, just as the TiVo began recording again. He switched over to watch the program that was recording and was immediately confused. The TV screen was divided into four quarters, but three of them were dark. In the remaining square, he couldn't understand what the hell he was seeing. He could hear muffled conversation, but he couldn't understand what was going on, since all the screen was showing was a white block. He turned the volume up, then looked for the ‘stop-record’ button.

“For Christ’s sake!” a voice said. “Just take the curtains down.”

The white square moved and Logan hit ‘stop-record’ just as he realized that what he was seeing was the inside of the pool house.

“What the fuck?!” Logan said aloud.

He hit rewind, and watched the mattress return to block the camera, and then watched the mattress lay itself back down on the bed while the cops crouched around it.

“Oh my God.” Logan breathed out. He only stopped paying attention to what was happening on the TV screen when his computer began to chime with incoming IMs.

"Fuck!" He had no idea who 'news_grrrl' was, but he wasn't about to find out. By the time he blocked her and then put his away notification on, he'd gotten pinged a dozen more times, all of them by strangers. He wondered grimly which one of his so-called friends had given his IM name out to the press. Assholes.

When he turned back to look at the DVR feed, there was activity in all four windows occurring. It looked like a low-rent version of that movie "Timecode", except this seemed to be the same scene from four different angles. Logan jumped when he saw himself appear on the screen, moving backwards across the screens from four different angles. He was so surprised that he fumbled the remote control trying to stop the recording, actually dropping it under the divan. After retrieving it, he pointed and clicked 'pause' without looking at the TV. Still on his knees next to the divan, Logan looked up and drew in a shocked breath, then almost dropped the remote again at what he was seeing. All four screens were showing the same scene from different angles.

And in the top right hand corner, blue eyes wide open and staring with a terrified expression into the camera that she had obviously just discovered, was Veronica Mars.

~*~

Part 6

Current Mood: creative

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

skk670.livejournal.com

Oh, boy. I get to make the first comment! I have to say this is great stuff. You've wormed your way into Logan's head. He's dark, hurt, snarky and confused. And you are able to show all that. Great work - now update faster.

From:

Snippets and Such

Into the Blue 5/?

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags