I do not own Veronica Mars:
She runs down the hallway at a ridiculous speed. It was the only thing keeping a bullet from puncturing her body. It seemed like any other day. It seemed like everything was going to be a repeat of what it was last week. That was simply not true. She could hardly keep up the speed she was at any longer; she didn't know what it was. The Adrenalin should have been enough to keep her running for years. As she reached the end of the hallway she seemed to collide into a heavy number of other runners, a very heavy number. She blends into the crowd, not thinking, just doing. Under this situation, thinking would get you killed. You could almost feel it as the bullets went flying out of their Semi-Automatic pistol. The heat seemed enough to melt your skin off. She knew the bullets were extremely close to her, but she wouldn't dare risk it by jumping onto the ground. That could destroy any chances of her getting away from this. The shots get louder and before she has a chance to realize the crowd of runners have moved away from her and she is heading to the closest door on her own. He comes all too quickly as he sees the barrel of their weapon within point blank distance of her back. He grasps onto her tighter than anything in his life before, covering her entire body with his. She's struggling to get away, obviously not seeing that it's someone that wants to protect her. He knows that this is the end of life. There is just no way he would let her go before him. That wouldn't be fair. That is the only reason he's grasping onto her with every last second of life he has. He closes his eyes and keeps telling her he loves her in his head, but he could never get it out of his mouth. Right when their gun cocks is the moment he sees his father dancing around in his head. He's going down with him. That he's sure of. He'll be laughing his ass off, while his own son has to suffer the torture until the end of time. She thinks her life is over. She screams in fear. As they pull the trigger nothing but a loud snap of the flint smashing against the chamber is heard. Their gun is empty. The second he hears this their bodies are shot through the open door. He lets go of her, not by his own demands but the fact she was able to kick her way out of his arms. She watches in awe as the crowd tumbles over them, some stay behind in order to get on good beating out of them. She doesn't know what to say, she doesn't know why she's alive.
They stand at the door of his new apartment. He insisted that they go there. He didn't want her to leave him alone. She knew that was a lie. He simply didn't want to leave her alone. As she enters she notices the place is dull and almost colorless. He doesn't speak. Neither of them has spoken to each other yet. She doesn't know if she wants to. He only gives it a couple of minutes before he's at the counter pouring two shot glasses full of Whiskey. She's never liked it, but she doesn't care she takes faster than anything she's ever accepted in her life. As she shoots it down her thought she coughs and is spits a little out in the process. It doesn't matter to her, she shrugs it off. Before any of them knew what they were doing they had gone through over half the bottle. As they lay on his bed, both of their visions becoming slightly blurred, he tries to speak but realizes he doesn't want to destroy the beautiful silent environment they have created. He needs to get it all out. He owes it to himself. He leaves it for the next hour, not saying anything. She's about to pass out, there hasn't been a sound she's heard since the bullets. She's not sure if she should be worried or happy. She is still unsure if she should try and piece everything that had just happened to her together, she figures she won't bother. As it reaches night he finally sobers up and he forcefully takes the notepad from his night table and uses a pen he found in his pocket to scribble it all down. Moments later he leaves it on her chest. She doesn't react at first; it takes her some time to finally notice that he's left it there. He's passed out by the time she's mustard up the courage to read it. She reads through the whole thing, it brings her to tears. The whole thing jumbles on and on about what his life is like. He's lonely, something he repeats many times. She doesn't want him to feel that way. The whole note is full of things she doesn't want him to feel. She wonders if she should leave him, come back another day or not, think on her own accord for a while. Forget this little escape session. It wouldn't be the first time she used Echolls as an escape session.
He wakes up the next morning, she's gone. His head aches. He slowly stands and dresses himself in the clothes he wore the day before. He walks into the living room and sits on the couch staring at his own reflection in the blank screen of his television. Closing his eyes and applying pressure against his forehead in hopes it would clear his headache. It never does, not really. He leans onto his own lap, using his knees and elbows in order to produce a stand for his chin. He breathes in and out. She's like a Silhouette of a Goddess, occasionally accepting her fear and vulnerability but never appearing weak and unable to let feeling override logic. Its why she wont come back, he thought. Its why no matter how they get thrown into each other, he will only ever have her in spurts. Its also why he will never stop showing up for those spurts and attempting to make them longer, with any means at hand