Veronica Mars, Season Two (AU)
Rated R for swearing.
SPOILERS for Season One and mild Season Two, through 2x11, "Donut Run."
Author's Note: Thursday Next is a sequel to Chopped Liver, which I insist you read first. This story won't make much sense without that one.

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Duncan is gone and Veronica is gone, and Logan is on his own again. Same shit, different day. Except, today is Thursday. He wakes up in the suite at the Neptune Grand with the hiss of empty space and silence in his ears, and Thursday is the first thought to skim through his head. Today is Thursday. There's a flutter under his sternum. Is it excitement? Fear? Nausea? Heart attack? He can't be certain.

He's nervous about meeting Caitlin after school. He's got a thousand questions. He thought about writing them down on three-by-five cards, and he was only halfway joking. He's still flunking everything except Calculus, although somehow he managed not to bomb Friday's history test. Hey, Rocky! Watch me pull a D+ out of my ass! That trick that never works? It worked. He passed. Barely. But a passing grade is a passing grade. He's been carrying the test paper around in his backpack ever since he got it on Monday. He's sort of proud of himself, in a weird, stupid way. It's all Caitlin's fault, of course.

***
Caitlin is waiting for Logan in the Student Resource Center. Logan is tempted to storm in and slam down his books and yell, "What the fuck, Caitlin?" exactly the way he did last week. Like it's a running gag. It's probably one of those things that's a whole lot funnier in his head. So, he doesn't do it.

He closes the door to the SRC, lets it swing shut and click to by itself, gently. "Hey."

"Hi, Logan."

She's wearing a green sweater that picks up the underlights in her brown eyes, and Logan isn't sure if this is on purpose or not, because the sweater as big and floppy on her as everything else he's seen her wear. He sits down, unzips his backpack and plunges a hand in, digging into the mess of books and crumpled papers and candy wrappers and capless pens. She waits to see what he'll come up with. Lilly would be chattering; Veronica would be sniping, What are you looking for? What's in there? What do I need to bail you out of this time? Caitlin's silence is strange, but it doesn't feel the same as the silence he woke up to this morning.

Logan finds the wrinkled test paper with the big D+ emblazoned across the top in red Sharpie, and circled several times. He was all stupid-proud of it before; now he knows it will disappoint Caitlin, because she's not a D+ tutor. She got him to focus on schoolwork for thirty whole minutes last week. Girl is crafty like ice is cold.

He smoothes the Xeroxed sheet with both hands.

"Is that Friday's history test?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"How'd you do?"

"Bad."

"How bad?"

Logan lifts his hands, and Caitlin picks up the test. She slaps it down again immediately.

"God!" she laughs. "You totally had me going. You are such a jackhole!"

"Ah, you know." A bubble of warmth expands in Logan's chest. Must be that heart attack he's expecting. "Leopards and spots."

Caitlin's own school bag is hanging over the back of her chair. She half-turns, and pulls out a Lindt chocolate bar, the red-wrapper kind with the gooey center in every square. She presents this to him. "Congratulations."

Logan grins. "How did you know I'd pass?"

"If you didn't, I guess it would've been a 'Better Luck Next Time' candy bar," she replies. "You know. Carrot and stick. But, you did pass. I'm proud of you."

"Well, what if I'm naughty, and I like the stick?" Logan asks. The second it's out of his mouth, he's positive he's gone too far.

Caitlin holds out her hand. "I've had it with your attitude, Spanky. Hand over the chocolate."

"No way!" Logan slips the Lindt bar in the outside pocket of his backpack for safe-keeping. "Forget it."

As he makes sure the chocolate bar won't get smushed, Caitlin opens her history textbook to Chapter Fifteen. Logan straightens up and flips the book shut again.

"Let's get out of here," he says.

She tilts her head. "One D+ plus won't..."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. In a year, I'll be living in a refrigerator box beside a freeway on-ramp, with only my trust fund to keep me warm. You said we didn't have to study in the SRC."

"Where do you want to go?"

He shrugs. "Anybody else on your dance card?"

"Not today."

"How about we just drive?"

Caitlin doesn't reply.

Logan runs a hand through his hair. "Look. I won't do that. I promise."

"What?"

"What you're thinking. Trap you in my truck so I can yell at you some more. I just want to talk to you. I want you to talk to me. Okay?"

Caitlin won't look at him as she puts her binder and her books away in her bag. "All right, Logan."

***
You should've written those three-by-five cards, he tells himself.

The rippling blue Pacific trails past the Xterra like a ribbon caught in the truck's slipstream. Caitlin sits with her elbow propped on the open window, looking out at the ocean. The silence in the car isn't awkward, exactly. More like... fraught. There's so much to say. She's not going to start. He knows her that well already.

"Caitlin," he says.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her turn to look at him.

"Why wouldn't your parents let you get your nose fixed?"

She laughs.

"How is that funny?" Logan snaps. He wants to add that even Aaron Echolls, Master of the Flying Belt, took his son to the hospital whenever he got carried away.

"You always start with the question I'm not expecting," she replies. "It wasn't my parents. It was me. I said no."

"Why?"

Caitlin doesn't reply immediately. This lexicon of halts and hesitations and thought-gathering silences is frustrating. While they were dating last year, he just wrote her off as dumb. But, she's like Duncan. She prefers to take her time. Logan bites the inside of his cheek impatiently.

And after a moment, she replies, "I deserved it. Chardo loved me."

Logan's hands tighten on the steering wheel. "Well, sure. Nothing says 'Te Amo' like a fist in the face."

"You're telling me that after you found out I was sleeping with him, you weren't angry enough to hit me?"

"I didn't hit you."

"No, but I wouldn't blame you for wanting to," she tells him. "I was such a stupid bitch. The oh-nine was the whole world to me. I didn't have any reason to think otherwise. Chardo took me places, bought me presents, and I just accepted that as the way a guy ought to treat me. You did the same sort of things, and you didn't even like me that much."

"Caitlin..."

"Logan," she interrupts him gently. "I'm not laying blame. I'm just stating fact. We both know you didn't care."

"Fine," he says through his teeth.

"It never occurred to me to ask where Chardo got his money. Why wouldn't he have money? Guys with no money didn't ask me out. I didn't know about the stolen credit cards, about his grandmother, about how Weevil did time for him. I found out later. I found out how far he would go. He was willing to sacrifice his family, and every single thing he had, to run away with me."

"Did you love him?"

"I loved being loved. I loved being wanted. I didn't love Chardo. But, he loved me. That's my point. He loved me, and I tossed him away like a used Kleenex. I'm not surprised he took it badly."

"You can't be responsible for somebody else's feelings."

"Of course I can," Caitlin replies sharply. "I led Chardo on because you wouldn't give me what I wanted. You were no prince, and neither was Chardo. But, just because he hit me in the face, that doesn't suddenly make me blameless. I did a terrible thing. To both of you. I don't deserve to look the way I looked before. I don't want to. I'm not pretty on the inside. I shouldn't be pretty on the outside."

It's Logan's turn to fall silent. Very easily, he can picture Chardo and Caitlin's conversation, only it's between himself and Veronica. How can you just file me in the Out box? Case closed. Move on. Like the only thing I was good for was groping you in the girl's bathroom. Like it was nothing. Like you didn't hear a word I said. I told you I loved you.

He hadn't hit Veronica. He could never do that. But he'd certainly been furious enough to smash a lamp in her living room.

He sifts his memories, through the drunken jumble of fucking Caitlin in the back of the Xterra, her breath in his ear. I love you. God, I love you, baby. I love you, Logan. Is he actually remembering this, or did he make it up after the fact? It doesn't matter. He can now see this royal clusterfuck from all sides, and it makes him a little bit sick.

How was I supposed to know you were serious? he thinks.

Oh, but Caitlin doesn't blame him. She never said anything. Not straight out. Maybe she never said anything at all. Why would she? As she pointed out earlier, he didn't give a shit.

Logan pulls off the PCH and into a scenic overlook, drunkwise, across three or four parking spaces. A red Chevette bakes in the small parking lot, but there's nobody inside. Two action figure-sized people and a toy dog run on the beach, far below. Logan shuts off the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt. He puts his head down on the steering wheel for a second, breathing through his nose. The sun coming through the windshield feels like a warm hand on the top of his head.

Abruptly, he grabs his keys, opens the door and jumps out of the Xterra. He doesn't actually believe he's going to boot; he just needs to be up and moving. He walks around to the back of the truck. The passenger-side door thunks and Caitlin's footsteps grit on the sandy asphalt.

"Logan?"

"Sorry," he says. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too."

"Last week, you said you weren't."

She laughs softly. "I guess I lied."

Logan aims the key remote at the Xterra. The tailgate pops open. He plunks down in the open bed of the truck, and Caitlin climbs in beside him. They sit for a long time, looking out at the highway. The rush of passing traffic is as soothing as the waves rolling below.

"Can I tell you my terrible thing?" Logan asks.

"I'm not sure," Caitlin looks a little worried. "How terrible is your terrible thing, exactly?"

"I never thought you were pretty."

Her eyes widen and she draws back, all affronted. Logan fights hard not to smile, and he suspects he's not one hundred percent successful.

He adds, "Hot, yeah. Undeniably hot. I like you a lot better this way. You're pretty now."

Caitlin obviously doesn't believe him. In fact, she looks a tad pissed.

"Why did you stay at Neptune?" Logan asks her.

"I told you. My father made me stay."

"You told me you figured things out. That you found a reason to stay."

Her eyebrows pull together and her mouth tightens even more, while the expression in her eyes darkens from annoyance to something unreadable.

Since last Thursday, Logan hasn't been able to shake the notion that Caitlin's unspecified reason, is him. He has no clue why. Nobody stays for Logan. He's just not worth the wait.

"What made you want to stay?"

Her face turns sad and shadowed. "Ask me something else, Logan," she sighs.

He pulls Caitlin to him and he kisses her, before she has to wait around for him one minute longer. Now he's here. And he's right. He knows he is. Her kiss says everything she won't say, even in the five seconds before she pushes him off her.

"Don't," she says.

He doesn't. He wants to; he doesn't. She's not the only one who thinks this is a crap idea. Probably even a worse idea than their first relationship. Given the chance, he will fuck this up, because he is a fuck-up. Leopards and spots. Instead, Logan lies down, resting his head in her lap. Caitlin's frown reappears at the same time that her arm falls lightly across his chest.

"You promised you wouldn't trap me in your truck," she says.

"I promised I wouldn't trap you in my truck and yell at you," Logan points out. He shifts himself, getting comfortable. Sunlight shimmers under the roof of the Xterra, reflected off the water. He claps his hands. "Okay. Chapter Fifteen study questions. I'm ready. Quiz me."

"Logan Echolls has actually done his homework," she says, arching her eyebrows. "Miraculous."

He puts a hand to his temple. "I'm picking up psychic vibrations of... disbelief. Emanating from somewhere inside this very truck."

"I think they're emanating from directly above you."

"I'm hurt, Caitlin. That's very hurtful."

"I'm sorry. Did you really read the entire chapter?"

"I read the title," Logan admits. "But, hey -- I did look at all of the pictures."

Caitlin sighs again.


THE END
***

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Part Three: Sticks and Stones
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