She's a vision in black, sensible suit clashing slightly with somewhat non-sensible three-inch heels as she clickety-clacks down the courthouse hallway, heart in her throat. The wardrobe and heels were meant to instill confidence, make her feel taller – stronger – than she feels, but they seem to be having the reverse effect. Mostly, she feels like a bonifide phony, playing dress-up in Mommy's clothes that will always be one size too big. Worse, she's caught herself stumbling at least five times in those fucking heels, and she's only had them on since she got out of the car. Nothing says dependable authoritative witness like the girl that falls flat on her face while testifying, she muses sagely.

She checks her watch for the zillionth time as she rounds the corner, the door to the courtroom she's memorized long ago looming before her. She stands just outside of it for a moment, suddenly short of breath, knowing that just on the other side of that door is something, someone, she's not quite ready for. For 10 whole seconds she decides that she's not going through with it, that she's not equipped to face him. Not now, not 100 years from now. But another image of Lilly, eyes dead and sightless by the side of the pool and she's taking a deep breath, jaw set. Determined.

The courtroom is empty save for the prosecution lawyers. They look up from their paperwork, flash reassuring smiles and stand to greet her. "Veronica Mars?" the man questions as he extends his hand, eyebrow raised. She nods in affirmation and takes his hand hesitantly, noting the lackluster grip. He lets go quickly and gestures to his female associate. "I'm Ben Parker, and I assume you've already met Mattie Richards." He doesn't wait for a confirmation from her before barreling on. "The defendant will be here in a few moments. Why don't you take a seat and make yourself more comfortable while Mattie and I explain to you how this little hearing is going to play out."

Mattie has no part in any explanations, it turns out. Veronica does her best to keep up with Ben's verbal homage to War and Peace-for-court-proceedings, but her mind wanders nonetheless. To Lilly, mostly, and what it means that she's finally able to do something for her. Even if it's much too late.

But there's still that taint of bitterness to her vendetta. Lilly had once been her world, her shining example in cherry-flavored lip gloss. The girl she'd looked up to so desperately that she'd sacrificed what little hopes she had for happiness to pursue her killer. And Logan had been her adversary, the one who made it more difficult and, at the same time, easier to go through with her quest. His biting remarks and unending torment to her psyche both jarred and fueled her. Made her angry, made her search for the killer all the more meaningful, because, God help her, she was going to stick it to the bastard when it was all over. Show him that he was a selfish son-of-a-bitch, that he didn't care about Lilly at all. That his reverence for Lilly in those days was but a shadow of what Veronica felt, of what she was willing to do.

But … things had changed, and the Logan she began to know was infinitely more compassionate and giving that she had ever thought him capable of. Sure, he was still an ass, but not the misanthrope she had originally pegged him as. Gradually, the rose-colored glasses she wore when revisiting Lilly began to come off, and she see Lilly differently, especially once the evidence of her affair with Aaron surfaced. Now she sees her as she was – neither saint nor villain. A highly volatile and sometimes selfish tornado of a girl. Her best friend.

"… so just tell it the way you remember. And don't leave out any details, no matter how insignificant they seem to be. They may be important to the case regardless."

She nods at Ben and smiles wanly. He seems satisfied with her response and goes back to shuffling through the paperwork set out in front of Mattie and him. A few moments later, the judge enters quietly and sits. The court reporter soon follows, and a couple of other people, and pretty soon, they're just waiting on Aaron.

It's a full ten minutes before they bring Aaron out, shackled at the wrists and waist. His eyes seek out hers, and for a bone-chilling moment she's sharing a look with the man who tried to kill her. The man who killed Lilly. It feels all sorts of wrong and she directs her eyes to the documentation the lawyer had given her instead. She can still feel his leer though, and that's enough to add to the nausea that's been lingering in her ever since finding the sex tapes.

The hearing itself goes relatively quickly as she lays out the sordid story from the beginning, the lawyers stopping her every once in a while to ask her a question or demand clarification. She talks about spending time at the Echolls' before Lilly's death, her relationship with Logan before, after, and more recently. Her initial suspects, Aaron's Christmas stabbing, Trina and how she came to suspect that Aaron was beating Logan. And it's not as hard as she thought it would be, as long as she keeps her eyes on the judge and ignores the impulse to cry. It seems that nitpicking the details of her best friend's murder has a way of opening up the emotional floodgates, and she doesn't like it one bit.

Aaron has affected the look of the casually interested, eyes roving over her lazily as she relays the story, seemingly unconcerned as she accuses him of murder and informs the judge of his attempt on her life. Her voice breaks a bit when she talks about her dad running through the fire, and her gaze inadvertently shifts towards him, catching the small smile flicker and then die on his lips. The wince is involuntary, and she's just hoping the judge doesn't see it, that he doesn't see it.

The judge dismisses her not too long after she finishes, and she breathes out slowly in relief as she collects her things. She's almost to the door when she hears it, gravelly voice wrapped around her name like foreboding personified, and suddenly she's back in that freezer, the walkie talkie grasped in her shaky hands. The judge orders Aaron's lawyer to keep his client quiet, and she turns slowly, unable to help herself, steeling herself against the inevitable. Aaron's eyes are on her, but no longer indifferent. They exude hatred, threaten without saying a word, and suddenly she can't find the door fast enough.

She staggers through, heel slipping out from under her as she hangs on to the handle. And she's beyond pissed at her herself for letting him get to her. Allowing him that victory, no matter how small.

Her father is seated at the bench across the hallway, looking a little more agitated than usual as his gaze levels with hers. The reason for his discomfort makes itself clear when she follows his line of sight and notices Logan, sitting a few benches down, eyeing her trepidatiously. And, God, she thinks she'd be better at hiding surprise considering her line of work, but she just isn't, because now she's staring, mouth slightly agape as she watches Logan rise to his feet uncertainly. Watches him trade looks with her Dad, hesitate uncomfortably, and shove his hands in his pockets, apparently finding some sort of spot on the floor infinitely more interesting that whatever's going on with her.

Veronica does her best to smile, but it freezes mid-way when she turns her attention to her father and catches sight of his sober expression. He rises to meet her, striding over quickly before enveloping her in a bear hug. When he pulls away, she's relieved to see concern instead of anger as he sighs heavily. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, jerking his head at the courtroom door.

She closes her eyes and nods tiredly. "Yeah. I think so. It … didn't take too long," she adds quietly.

Keith nods and looks somewhere over her shoulder. "Suppose it's my turn then," he muses, shaking his head. And then his eyes are on hers, and she can already see the disappointment lingering behind them. "Veronica …," he sighs after a time, lowering his voice. "I realize that you're practically a grown woman, and that you're free to be friends with whomever you want … but. I thought we had an understanding. About Logan." She looks down at the floor, and he tips her chin upwards to look her in the eye. "So you can imagine why I'm a little confused as to why he's here."

Veronica holds his gaze for a few moments before sighing. "I … I don't know what to say, Dad. I didn't know he would be here."

"But you obviously told him about the hearing."

"Yes," she affirms honestly.

"So, what now? Are you two …?"

"No," she answers slowly, eyes darting over her father's shoulder to where Logan's still standing. She sighs, tries to look her dad in the eye and settles for his chin. "We're just … talking. And for the record, there was no understanding. That was you projecting your hopes on me, and me letting you think what you wanted. And I'm sorry for that. Really. But … I can't just turn my back on him. Not again. Not now."

Keith stares down at her for awhile, finally deflates and shakes his head sadly. "You know I love you. I just want what's best for you. And believe me, honey, this is not it." She tries to turn away in frustration, but he puts a hand on her shoulder. "You're too close to everything right now to realize it. It's dangerous to get involved with him. He's dangerous. And I don't mean physically," he says quickly when she tries to argue. "There are worse kinds of danger than physical." He sighs again and releases her. "Just promise … promise me you'll be careful."

She stares at him for a moment, takes in his concern and decides it's useless to be angry. After all, she'd had it both ways once. Her mother hadn't cared enough to inform her that she may have been dating her own brother, so her father's decidedly more involved approach is distinctly preferable. At least he cares enough to … care. She tries her hand at obedient and nods begrudgingly. "I will," she promises, and she hopes she's not fooling herself as well.

He gives her one last kiss on the head before disappearing behind the courtroom doors, and Veronica's suddenly left alone with Logan. Her eyes find his almost immediately, and she feels the heat between their gazes like a jolt. Too many things left unsaid. Too many things left unfinished.

They had left things last night behind on the sidewalk, the obnoxiousness of her "Crazy Frog" ring tone and the subsequent conversation with her father spoiling the mood somewhat. She'd returned to Logan only to find him distant, avoiding eye contact and doing his best to keep his own personal space, so she had supposed that he felt whatever had happened with them was momentary insanity, familiar but dangerous territory. Part of her was grateful they didn't have to ruin it by talking it to death, but a larger, more substantial part of her craved a discussion. Wondered what the hell was going on.

The ride back to his car had been excruciating – too many long silences between the equally awkward chitchat. She hasn't felt that uncomfortable since having to watch Lilly's sex tapes with Duncan. And through it all, she thinks she felt his gaze on her, but every time she had turned to check, his eyes had been fixed firmly on the road in front of them.

"I didn't know your Dad was going to be here," he says sheepishly when she's close enough. He's still not quite looking her in the eye, and it unnerves her.

She smiles grimly and shakes her head. "Yeah. He said the same thing about you."

"I can imagine." He shuffles awkwardly, but then he's looking at her, really looking at her, and it's all she can do not to look away. "You feel like getting smashed?" he finally asks, eyebrow raised suggestively, and she smiles, ducking her head.

"When are you going to learn that alcohol is not the cure-all to dealing with the aftermath of a raving psychopath?"

"So, that's a 'no' then?"

She glances up at him, studies him through lowered lashes before smiling diffidently. "Actually, that's a 'hell yes'."

They're almost to the beach when she breaks the silence, flipping honey-colored hair over a shoulder and eying him critically. He happens to hate that look on her, mostly because he knows where it's going.

"You haven't asked about your Dad," she states matter-of-factly, and he notices the way her voice hesitates on "Dad", like she's not sure if she should refer to him like that.

He shrugs nonchalantly, eyes trained on the silver Camaro in front of him. "Don't really care enough to inquire about him these days."

"That's not what I meant-"

"I know what you meant," he snaps as he pulls off the exit ramp and into the parking lot. He glances at her through the corner of his eye, and sighs. "Fine. How's the case?" he asks in his best couldn't-care-less intonation.

"Just preliminary stuff right now, but the lawyers seem excited."

"Are those the prosecution lawyers you're referring to or the defense?"

"The prosecution," she says unnecessarily. He watches her fiddle with the edge of her skirt, playing with a loose thread. "Anyway, they think there's more than enough evidence to convict. Between our testimonies, the tapes, and Aaron's public indiscretions-" he laughs bitterly, and she trudges on, "-they shouldn't have a hard time at all making this quick. Which is good. No need to draw it out."

"Yeah, no need to do that," he says acerbically, swinging the car into the closest available spot and jerking it into park. He lights a cigarette before hopping out, leaving her to follow.

She's doesn't bring up his father again once she catches up to him, and for that he's grateful. For now, he's content to walk with her silently, watching the sun as it dips lower in the horizon and changes the colors of everything around it. She seems similarly entranced, shoes swinging loosely by her fingers as she struggles to maintain her balance in the sand. "I'm not sure this is beach-appropriate," she jokes, gesturing to the suit as she unbuttons the jacket, shrugging it off her shoulders.

"Like anyone here will notice. This beach isn't exactly known for it's super-hotties and surfing."

She raises an eyebrow. "Super-hotties?"

"MTV. Bonnie's special brand of crack. No one's been spared." He hands her the flask after taking a swig, and she does the same after a moment's hesitation. She returns it once the initial gagging is over with, and he smiles insincerely. "I guess I forgot to mention it was tequila. Oops."

She rolls her eyes, but doesn't turn it down when he hands the flask off to her again, this time taking a slightly larger sip with minimal expression. He nods admiringly, and pockets the flask for the time being before stubbing out his cigarette in the sand and plopping down.

The sun's nearly touching the ocean now, painting their skin in golds and crimsons. Warming from the outside in. She's got her eyes closed against the glare, and he finds himself staring at her mouth, so he takes out the flask again to distract himself. Her hand brushes against his, and he looks down to see her open palm, waiting. Another pull from the flask and he hands it off to her, watches as her lips wrap around the top, and God, why couldn't the impulse to kiss her just up and die already? He's still staring when her eyes pop open, see him watching her, and he sighs, looking away.

"This is insane," he mutters, scrubbing his hands through his hair before looking back at her inquiringly. She holds his gaze, and maybe it's his imagination that her breathing is a little sharper, but he doesn't think so. His fingers reach out, draw a line up her arm lightly, slow when they reach her shoulder. "What happened last night," he begins, voice low, "was just … it was a mistake. It shouldn't happen again." But even as he says it, he's moving closer, body tingling in all the wrong places.

"Uh huh," she breathes, eyes on his, gaze unwavering, and now she's moving closer too, and he knows he's not drunk enough to blame this on alcohol, but he doesn't care anymore. So he kisses her hard, lips colliding hungrily with hers. Throws his arms around her waist and crushes her to him, the flask sinking to the sand, forgotten.

His fingers thread through her hair as he pushes her down to lay on the sand, and she wraps her legs around him tight enough to bruise. And this is how it's always been between them, he thinks, hand digging into her waist. Intense and brutal and so fucking immediate; it's a wonder how long it had taken them to try this out in the first place. And, not for the first time, he thinks of Lilly, aches for her simplicity, because at least with her, he knew what the hell he was doing. Knew they made sense in a way that he's not sure he and Veronica ever will.

She stops him when he's popping open the second button of her blouse, hand gentle but persistent on his, and he sighs, propping himself on one arm as he looks at her through eyes hazy with desire. "I don't think we should …" she trails off and gestures to the beach, cheeks coloring, and he grins at her embarrassment. "I mean, public sexual exploits are so last year," she jokes with a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

He nods knowingly, threads his fingers through hers and squeezes. "Who said anything about sex anyway?" he whispers against her ear, as he pulls her to her feet.

She's still trembling when she gets home, even though it's been half an hour since he dropped her off at her car. As a direct result, the door's abnormally difficult to open – it takes her nearly three minutes to unlock it. She crumples wearily onto the sofa, feet poised to lay on the coffee table until a knock at the door interrupts. Sighing, she manages to get up and let Wallace in, who's frothing at the mouth to know what happened at the hearing.

She regales him with a tale not too far from the truth, leaving out the Logan parts for the time-being, clamps down on the urge to feel guilty about that. She promises herself as soon as she figures out what the hell is going on, Wallace will be the first to know about it.

Trina's call comes when they're fighting about which take-out to over-indulge in, and her voice is loud enough for even Wallace to make out what's going on.

"Calm down," she says into the phone, still striving for discretion despite Wallace's glare that suggests it isn't really necessary anymore. "Like I said, all I'm asking for is a meeting. Come by my apartment tonight at nine, and you'll get it back."

She stabs the end button quickly and turns to Wallace, who seems to be studying a spot on the ceiling. After a time, he sighs and looks her in the eye. "I'm almost afraid to ask."

"Then don't," she shrugs.

Wallace shakes his head and plops down on the couch. "You better start at the beginning. And please, for the love of God, tell me I didn't hear that Trina Echolls' passport was stolen."

tbc ...