Title: Decade
Pairing: L/V
Rating: M
Spoilers: All aired episodes.
Word Count: 2,215
Summary: Future fic. Veronica and Logan think they have moved on with their lives. They both end up in New York, where Logan is an actor and Veronica a photographer. L/V.
Disclaimer: Obviously, these characters do not belong to me. I have just adopted them for a little while.
Author Note: I'm back! Chock full of ideas! I hope you are still into my story after so long :). Enjoy.
Chapter 13: Murder?
Veronica waited in the interrogation room, drumming her fingers on the table. It might be the NYPD, but she felt like she was back in the Neptune Sheriff's Department and that Sheriff Lamb was going to walk right through the door. She shivered; Lamb was dead, she was far away from Neptune and Olivia was the victim. It was only a few hours since she had found her body in the bathroom, but replaying it in her head it felt like a barely remembered movie. The door opened and a detective entered, carrying two plastic cups of water. He passed her one and said, "Sorry to keep you waiting."
Veronica simply stared at him expectantly. She wasn't here for pleasantries. He went on, "I'm Detective Lawson. We just want to ask you a few questions about the discovery of the body and your relationship with the deceased in general. You are Veronica Mars, known professionally as V Reynolds, and you reside in the city. Is that correct?"
Veronica nodded. "Yes," she said when the policeman seemed to need a verbal response. I really don't need this bullshit right now. I wonder if Logan's is such a dipwad?
"And how did you know the victim?" The interview went on, detailing her brief interaction with Olivia at the Vanity Fair photo shoot and then with her corpse, splayed on the mosaic bathroom floor. Veronica had seen the white powder by her head as told Detective Lawson. She couldn't answer questions about Olivia's drug habit. She hadn't known her that well and she said so.
Exhausted, she just wanted to go home and take a bubble bath. Too bad I only have a shower that's stingy about the hot water. Square footage in this town is just so damn expensive. She was relieved that she was not asked about any of the other dead people she had known. She didn't need those ghosts right now to go palling around with her newest dead body.
The tox screen hadn't come back yet, of course, but from the police's questions, it seemed like an open and shut OD. As open and shut as this tabloid drama could be, in any case.
When the detective said, "Thank you Ms. Mars," and stood up, Veronica controlled herself enough not to run out of the room. The numerous questions and the small dank room had given her an acute sense of claustrophobia and she sighed with relief to be in even the only marginally roomier squad room.
She saw Logan sitting on a bench, waiting. Veronica could see the other police people pretending powerfully that they did not have a major Hollywood film star in their midst. Although Veronica could see the furtive looks constantly thrown in his direction, he seemed oblivious, not seeing anything nearer than some sort of invisible cosmic beyond. His hair was casually tousled, going so well with his familiar lost little boy look. Veronica smiled as the scene seemed a little too typical to her.
As Veronica came close, his eyes met hers. "How was the grilling?" He asked softly.
"Oh, you know, feeling medium, medium-rare. You?"
"Definitely well done, maybe a little crispy. Seems that my guy thought my last movie was a piece of shit and was taking the $12.50 he paid for a movie ticket out on me." Logan's smile was so lonely and familiar that she reached out brushed back the unruly hair on the side of his head. He looked surprised at the intimacy of the action.
Veronica sat down on the bench next to him. "Shouldn't you have a lawyer around here somewhere stocking up on billable hours?"
"Indeed. Bob Gerber of Feinstein, Gerber and Loeb is right now in the bathroom and I am here waiting for him. Seems like this time the Echolls name will go on unbesmirched."
"Unbesmirched? Echolls? There is no way you can clean off the grime off that escutcheon. Give it up." Veronica leaned against him. She felt almost giddy. In a police station, she and Logan just seemed so natural together. Like peanut butter and jelly in a strange, fucked up little sandwich.
Bob Gerber returned and Veronica noted his expensive suit, so different from Cliff's discount ones. She guessed that maybe she and Logan had grown up a little bit since Neptune.
"So, Logan," Gerber rubbed his hands together and looked at him with well-judged solemnity, "It seems like we can get out of here. They might interview you again if new evidence presents itself, but for now it's all cleared up. Let's get you to your hotel."
"Hotel?" Veronica asked as she walked out with them. "Don't you have an apartment?"
Gerber excused himself, citing an engagement elsewhere. Logan ignored him. "Yes, Veronica , I do have an apartment. An apartment currently besieged by both the paparazzi and the police. Joe thought I would be more secure at a five star hotel, however. You know how much they're like home to me, recalling the good old days at the Neptune Grand." Logan paused and looked out at the crowd jostling in the sunlight outside. "Do you want a ride?"
"Well, I—" Her words were swallowed by the rush of people and words and cameras as they opened the doors and stepped into the autumn air. Policemen and bodyguards bundled the two of them into a waiting limousine, past the shouting reporters and paparazzi. They were already in the car before Veronica could catch her breath or finish her sentence. "I guess I'm getting a ride then."
"I guess you are." They drove away from the raucous crowd outside. "Do you want to be dropped back at your apartment, or…" Logan's voice trailed off and he shrugged.
"Or?" Veronica asked.
"Or you can come with me to the Four Seasons." Logan said it plainly, without inflection, but met her eye challengingly.
Veronica broke eye contact and stared at the seatback in front of her, thinking. Then she turned to Logan suddenly. "Is there a bath? And bath bubbles?"
Logan smiled his first genuine smile of the day. "It's a five star hotel. I am a movie star. Of course there is a bath. There may even be a Jacuzzi."
"Okay then," Veronica said.
Veronica lay in the giant bath, luxuriating in the hot water and the fluffy, jasmine-scented bubbles. The tub was huge; Veronica could entirely submerge herself in its substantial, porcelain depths if she so chose. She couldn't forget the recent tragedy, but she was relaxing into a pleasant dullness of feeling that obscured all thoughts of death and the outside world. I'd forgotten what it was like, she thought, being a part of Logan's life and the giant cushion of privilege that goes with it. In this world, every luxury hotel is a kind of home with the safety and comfort of known and expected amenities. I've reentered the existence where there is nothing so dependable as the inimitable reliability of clean sheets, turndown service and a chocolate on the pillow. And I'm brought into it again by murder.
Murder? She wondered why she had chosen that word. The police didn't even suggest homicide; nothing made it seem like anything more complex than an overdose. That's what happens to drug addicts, even famous ones. As her thoughts brought her back to reality, she realized that the water was getting cold and her fingers were looking prune-y; relaxation time seemed to be over. She climbed out of the bath and dried herself on the warm, fluffy towel hanging on a heated towel rack. She saw her clothes lying on the floor where she had climbed out of them. Gathering them up, she thought about putting them on, but folded them instead. Instead, she took down one of the white terrycloth robes that were hanging behind the bathroom door and slipped it on. It was enormous, enveloping her in giant white folds and reaching down beyond her toes.
She pushed the bathroom door open and was hit with a wave of cool air after the steamy atmosphere of the bathroom. She walked into the bedroom and saw Logan, lying on the made bed, fully clothed and asleep. She felt a swell of emotion watching him as he slept, unconscious and vulnerable. Gosh, you really know how to get a girl, don't you, Logan. You can make me go all mushy just by being your unconscious self. She lay down on the king size bed next to him. He wiggled at the change in weight on the bed and turned towards her. His eyes opened gingerly. "Veronica?"
"Yes, Logan." she replied.
"Why are you wearing a robe?" He seemed to be waking up gradually.
"It just seemed so snuggly. Do you have a problem with that? I don't see you being able to use both those robes hanging in the bathroom, so I borrowed one." She pouted. "Are you just going to lie here sleeping in the middle of the day?"
Logan rubbed his forehead. "Yeah, well, I haven't really been sleeping that great recently." Both of them looked serious. As Logan became fully awake his expression became mischievous, however. "I think I know why you put on that robe, Veronica," Logan said, moving closer to her.
"Really?" she said, his mouth just centimeters away from hers, his warm breath on her face.
The only reply was a kiss, gentle at first, then stronger as Veronica responded in kind. Veronica's hands went to his hair and his neck, running her fingers through his short, soft locks. Logan slipped his hands to the belt of her robe, untying it and slipping it off and his hands traced around her ass, up her back and to her breasts. When their lips separated and Logan began kissing down her neck and shoulder, Veronica said, "Logan, you know I am way, way more naked right now."
Logan just grinned as she slipped her hands under the edges of his shirt and he undid his pants. "We're working on that, sugarpuss." She slipped the shirt over his head.
"Good," she murmured as their mouths reconnected and her hands travelled down his now bare back, pushing pants and boxers down. "Hope you're not feeling so tired anymore."
"Absolutely not." He positioned himself over her, straddling her hips and looking down on her. "God, you're so beautiful," he said.
Veronica responded by pulling his face down to hers. "How come there's no one like you, Logan?" she breathed.
He looked into her eyes, her pupils so dilated they looked almost black, a dramatic contrast against her white skin and neck and her fair hair. He kissed her nose. "It's because we're two of a kind, sweetheart, always were," he said softly.
She smiled as he closed the gap between them.
They were recalled out of their blissful stupor by a shrill ringing. Logan rolled over to pick up the hotel phone on the side table. "Hello? Oh, hi Joe, what's up? Yes, I'm fine. Excellent, actually," he said, smiling at Veronica. His face changed at the words on the other line, however. "Friday. Okay. Yes, I have a black suit. Thank you. Goodbye."
He hung up the phone abruptly and collapsed backwards onto the bed. "The funeral's on Friday," he said blankly.
"Oh," was all Veronica could get out. It seemed like all the air in the room had been sucked out. Their different associations with Olivia put up a barrier between her and Logan. It was one that they so recently seemed to be able to breach, however briefly.
"Veronica," Logan said, still staring at the ceiling, "will you come with me? Please?"
Veronica could think of few occasions she would rather miss. And yet, after a few seconds, she said, "Okay, Logan." Go as your date to your ex-fiancée's funeral? Of course! At least she can't hate me if she's dead. Although luckily her relatives and friends will be there to be able to pick up the slack. At least I have experience as a lightning rod for hatred going for me and Logan will be on my side this time.
On Thursday morning, every tabloid and newspaper in the country screamed with the biggest celebrity scandal of the year, bigger than sex tapes or weddings or babies: "Olivia Murdered," they cried, one and all, a morbid chorus in print and on the web, finding themselves at millions of breakfasts as salacious food for speculation. Veronica almost fell off her chair when the paper came with her breakfast room service. Somehow deep down she had felt that something was wrong, something didn't make sense, something else was going on with Olivia's death, but the reality of the news was disconcerting. She opened the paper for more details. They were sketchy at best. There had been something suspicious in the toxicology report or the facts of the crime or something. Veronica was having trouble thinking properly. All that was certain was that the police were now investigating this death as a homicide.
She sunk her head into her hands, forgetting about her cooling egg white omelet. She was never one to panic, but as she sat unmoving, Logan still peacefully asleep, a single word emblazoned itself across her brain: FUCK.
A/N: Please review! You know how much it means to me. And if you're also a Buffy fan, it would be awesome if you'd check out my new VM/BtVS crossover called "The Brains and the Brawn." Love you guys.