Fic: Veronica Mars--Days of the Phoenix

[kieyra]

Title: Days of the Phoenix
The Enemy You Know, Book II
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating: NC17 (barely)
Characters: Veronica/Weevil, appearances by Mac, Keith, Logan, Wallace, Dick, Felix, Lilly, etc.
Spoilers: Through Mars vs. Mars; goes non-canon from there. (No Ruskie Business events.)
Warn: Violence; potentially disturbing themes
Thanks: Trixie 'Beta Reading for the Just Plain Crazy' Firecracker (trixalicious)
Summary: Veronica and Weevil take on one of the many mysteries surrounding them.



Missed Book I? It's right over here

***

The dress had belonged to Lilly. She'd worn it a few times two springs ago, then dumped it unceremoniously at Veronica's house. "Way too virginal for me," Lilly had said with a wicked grin, "and it's getting too small in the chest anyway." She wasn't wrong; they'd been the same size for so long, and then suddenly Lilly had become...voluptuous. And she loved to flaunt it.

Veronica ran fingers over the fabric of the dress hanging in front of her now. She'd forgotten about it until she'd been digging through her closet trying to find something to wear to the party. Lilly had been right, it was on the conservative side, but Veronica suddenly found it appealingly symbolic. It was summery and carefree and white; white, like the clean start she was determined to make. And she smiled to think how Lilly would give her a hard time for wearing it to a house party.

So she put the dress on. Then, as a concession to the imaginary Lilly smirking at her, she added a choker and heavier makeup than she usually wore.

"You're not fooling anyone, you know," said the Lilly in her head.

"Shut up," Veronica murmured.

Tonight was the night. Someone at school had handed her a flyer--maybe before they realized exactly who she was--and she was going, end of story.

She was going to show them all.

***

Eli's bedroom is small but neat. Too neat. The only thing that gives the space a sense of belonging to anyone is a pile of sketches on a little table. Veronica picks them up and pages through them--mostly stylized designs and patterns, nothing really concrete--and realizes that Eli probably drew his own tattoos.

Through long habit, she doesn't mention this observation out loud. Some things you just take mental note of in case they might come in handy later. And then Eli comes up to her and takes the sheaf of drawings from her and sets them back down.  He brushes her hair back on one side and kisses her neck.

He's not much for small talk, as she's beginning to learn.

It all right. She isn't either. Besides, what are they going to talk about? They've got maybe three things in common: Lilly Kane, high school outsider status, and a shared love of breaking and entering.

And this: Veronica lets out a little sigh as Eli kisses his way up her neck. She smiles and turns her lips to meet his. His hands are warm at the small of her back, and she melts against him and gives in to the kiss.

Three weeks now, and they've been stealing little moments together all over town: at the beach, in the shop at school, in her car, in little diners on the edges of the city. And now, here at Eli's house in the middle of the afternoon. Veronica's not totally comfortable with it. Eli's grandmother isn't home, but there are a lot of assorted cousins and such hanging around, and she's not real clear where all the family ties are. Doesn't want to ask.

There are a lot of things she doesn't want to ask. And some things she does want to, but won't.

But she pushes it all out of her mind, because if there's one thing life has taught her it's that the good moments go by too fast. Eli's kissing her neck again, because he totally clued in on the fact that it makes her go all swoony. And that's all right. Swoony is good. It's something she's missed, in the last year or so.

She feels his teeth, gently, at her neck, and she hisses in surprise. "Easy," she says, but it comes out breathily.

"Baby," he murmurs in her ear. "You know I never leave any marks."

It's true. He's thoughtful like that. She's seen plenty of girls come to school with barely-concealed hickeys two inches across. Had of a few of her own from Duncan, truth be told. Not very attractive.

And besides which--Veronica lets out a little gasp as Eli suddenly wraps both arms around her and pulls her up against him and kisses her. Hard.

He's also good at telling when she's getting mentally sidetracked.

All in all, he's not a bad secret boyfriend, if one is willing to overlook a few minor issues. Such as antisocial behavior and a juvie record.

He starts to walk them back over towards the bed, and they both go down, Veronica ending up on top in the sort-out. She laughs. "Such subtlety," she says.

"Yeah, it's my specialty," he says, and pulls her down to him. He snakes his arms up around her waist and tries to roll them over, but Veronica holds on tight and doesn't let him.

"You're stronger than you look," he says.

"It's all about leverage," she says, smiling down at him.

He tries again and she lets him this time. They lie together, one of his knees between both of hers. Which is all fine, because it's more comfortable this way anyway, she can just lie here in his arms and let him kiss her.

Which he does.

After a while, things get a little more heavy and intense than she might have had in mind when she agreed to come here after school. But when he slides his knee up a little higher between hers and pulls her against him more insistently--well, it doesn't really alarm her, because her body knows what it wants and it's getting better and better at circumventing her brain. She moves with his pull, allows herself to make the smallest sound of pleasure.

Eli seems to take this all as some sort of cue; with no hesitation at all he starts to slide a hand up under the front of her shirt.

Veronica grabs his wrist and stops him. Old reflex.

She lets go instantly, but Eli sighs, defeated. "Guess all those rumors about you really aren't true," he murmurs. A hand on her hip, his fingertips nudge under the hem of her shirt and just graze the bare skin above the waistband of her jeans. She doesn't flinch. "Or are they?"

Veronica laughs. She says, "Guess I'm just your basic riddle wrapped in an enigma." She runs the tip of one finger slowly along his lower lip. His dark eyes go half-lidded, and about ten seconds later they're all over each other again.

Problem is, she doesn't really know what's true. Problem is, she's spent so long hearing the echoes of those rumors about herself that sometimes she almost starts to believe them, almost begins to feel as sexually jaded as she's alleged to be.

At least until someone tries for second base, and then she's fifteen years old again and still basically thinking of herself as a good girl. The question of her virginity doesn't help. Mentally and emotionally, she is inexperienced. Technically she is not. She exists somewhere in between, in the sad limbo state she's occupied ever since the hellish morning after the party.

Duncan was supposed to be her first. She'd had it all planned out. Graduation night, when she was eighteen...

Veronica suddenly realizes that they've stopped kissing, that her mind has wandered off again. And Eli is just lying there, head propped up on one fist, looking at her with an unreadable expression.

"Sorry," she says quickly. "I just--"

"Gonna tell me what's on your mind?"

Veronica makes a snap decision: "Yeah. I am." She moves up against him again and smiles. "I was thinking about the fact that my father is going to be out of the state this weekend. And that my place would be a lot more private."

***

Her father had frowned, but hadn't forbidden her from going. They weren't talking much lately. Everything was still too recent, wounds too fresh.

But when he saw her emerge from her bedroom in her party dress, he smiled and walked her to the door. "Have fun, honey. And be careful. Call me if you need anything."

She smiled back. "I will, Dad," she said.  And she closed the door firmly behind her.

Three times during the drive she almost turned around. But finally she found herself parking a few blocks over from the party. There were cars lining the street in both directions.

She steeled herself, got out of her car and began the long walk up to Shelley Pomeroy's house. She felt like she was walking to her own execution, but her determination held.

She'd been hiding long enough.

***

The rest of the week's about normal: sleep through first period, do third period's homework during second period, sleep some more, wake up and glare at the two girls whispering behind their hands and laughing her direction. Class-end bell; Duncan and Logan in the hall, looking like they're up to something, but she can't be bothered to find out what. Lunchtime, down to the east hallway and the shop--can practically pick that lock in her sleep now. Fifteen sweet minutes with Eli, back outside and grab some food with Wallace.

Wallace, who looks at her on Wednesday and says, "Girl, what's up with you anyway?"

"Huh?"

"You haven't stopped smiling for like a week--and honestly, it's starting to creep me out."

"I'm just in a good mood. You should try it sometime."

He shakes his head. "That's some weak-ass repartee you're bringing. I'm always in a good mood."

She shrugs. "There's just nothing wrong right now. For a change. Is that so hard to believe?"

"With you? And that big dark cloud of bad luck that follows you around? Yeah, it's kind of hard to believe."

"What can I say? I guess I'm just getting my five minute break before the next tornado."

And she goes back to smiling at her plate.

After lunch it's back inside for two more classes; out early since she's got a job. Downtown to the office for the rest of the afternoon, where she mostly surfs the web. It's a slow week and they're not taking any new cases till after Dad gets back in town. So she reads The Smoking Gun and alt.gossip.showbiz and downloads lots of mp3s on the office's broadband connection.

Even a lower-middle-class girl's gotta stay culturally aware.

Wednesday, Thursday and Friday all slip by like that. She drives Dad to the airport Friday afternoon. He's off to Scottsdale and the pursuit of a bond-jumper. This one's on an 09er expense account--someone's precious son skipped town on drug charges--so Veronica changes Dad's hotel reservation to the Biltmore and tells herself it's not because she feels a little bit guilty.

***

It was worse than she could have imagined. She'd thought she could just blend right in and they would accept her back into the herd. But they weren't herd animals, as she'd tricked herself into thinking, they were pack animals. Predators. And they smelled blood.

No one would talk to her. If she tried to join a circle of conversation with people who used to be her friends, the circle tightened imperceptibly until she was left staring at the back of someone's shoulder. So she walked around, trying to pretend she had somewhere important to go, someone to meet. Yeah, that was it--someone to meet. Someone cool, someone waiting just on the other side of the room, someone who was going to welcome her with open arms and magically grant her social legitimacy.

She never found that person. So she walked around some more.

Seeing Duncan with another girl barely registered. She was still broken inside by the way he'd dumped her with no explanation at all, so shattered she fell asleep at night thinking of it and woke up thinking of it. Being anywhere near him made it hurt to breathe. Compared to that exquisite pain, some random girl nuzzling his neck was purely academic.

But maybe it played some little part in her decision to close her fingers around the drink someone pushed at her. Besides, it was the first time anyone had even acknowledged her existence tonight. It was a token. So she gulped at the drink gratefully, wincing her way past the alcohol kick.

She finished it in four swallows.

***

Eli comes over Friday night; Veronica greets him at the door with a kiss.

He's got a paper sack in one arm. "Cool, you got it," she says. She asked him to bring over a six-pack.

"Yeah," he says. "Wallace hooked me up."

Veronica frowns at him. "Wallace?"

"Don't worry, it's not like I told him who I was drinking it with."

She leads him into the kitchen so he can put down the bag. "Are you hungry?" she asks. "Because I'm totally not cooking you dinner."

He reaches into the sack and brandishes a bag of Ruffles.

Veronica grins.  "Gotta love a man who can provide."

They settle down next to each other on the living room sofa. It's kind of awkward at first, because they haven't spent a whole lot of uninterrupted time together. Like, ever. Veronica solves it by drinking her first beer down fast. She rarely drinks, but this is why she wanted it: a fast cure for nervousness.

Fifteen minutes later, her head is buzzing dreamily; she's got some music on, and they're watching the muted television and talking and laughing.

"What's this show, anyway ?" Eli asks after a little while, gesturing at the television with his beer bottle. David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson are on the screen, looking troubled.

"Very funny," says Veronica,

Eli looks at her blankly.

"You mean you've never watched The X-Files?" she demands. "That's not possible. Everyone's seen X-Files."

She tries to explain the premise to him, spends about ten minutes getting herself confused with the UFO conspiracy part and trying to remember what happened in the finale--and then she looks at Eli and realizes that he's totally messing with her. He's got his Corvette grin on now.

"Note to self," she says, "Boys with motorcycles cannot be trusted under any circumstances."

Eli leans over and kisses her. "Had a crush on Scully when I was 12," he says.

Veronica laughs. The she takes a longer look at him. In jeans and a black buttoned shirt, he looks much younger for a moment, looks his years.

He looks good.

Impulsively, she climbs over onto his lap, facing him. It's a new thing for her, being so assertive, but the beer helps. So does the way he looks. And all the stolen kisses of the last month.

And besides, she's determined to get through this.

She settles back on his thighs, and kisses him once, quickly, to hide her nervousness. He only seems surprised for a moment; then he puts his hands on her hips and looks up at her, smiling faintly. Almost like he's daring her to keep going.

She touches his cheek with her fingertips. Such nice skin he's got. And the eyelashes. Funny how you see a person every day, and certain things just don't click for a long time. But when they do...

She leans down to kiss him again, putting her whole body into it. It doesn't take him long to respond; he cups one hand behind her neck, wraps the other arm around behind her. Body to body, straddling him, she can feel his abdominal muscles flex when he leans forward to meet her, can feel him breathe as they kiss. And she can feel his growing hardness. His hands slide around her waist to the back of her jeans, then up underneath her shirt. He touches the bare skin of her back, all over, leaving tiny sparks behind. Then one hand is at the back of her neck again. Pulling her down to him, against him, closer. And with the way they're kissing now, fevered and desperate, Veronica feels there's not much chance of misunderstood intentions.

But when she reaches down to find the buttons on his shirt, his grip on her loosens. He breaks the kiss. He takes her by the hands and says, "Wait."

Veronica stops, fingers still at the top button. "Wait? I mean...wait?"

But he doesn't answer, and now he doesn't seem to want to look at her.

"Uh," she begins, "Okay. I have a question. Why am I suddenly the one not succeeding in getting your shirt off?" She catches his eye and grins. "You're not one of those abstinence-club people, are you?"

He laughs. She can feel his abs contract again. "Not even gonna justify that with a response," he says.

"Fine," she says, still smiling, trying to keep things light so she doesn't completely freak out. After psyching herself up for tonight, she's not sure she can handle this unexpected rejection. "But I hope you're gonna justify it with something."

He slides her off his lap and onto the couch, where she sits feeling foolish. She grabs a loose cushion and hugs it to her chest.

"Need to show you something," he says. "Just so you know."

She almost makes a joke about scars or missing toes, but then she sees the look on his face. "Okay," she says, mystified.

Then he stands up and unbuttons his shirt. Veronica watches, increasingly confused, as he takes off the shirt, revealing more or less the solid, muscled torso she's envisioned in her recent late-night fantasies. And there's one scar after all, pretty good one, high up on his ribcage. But then he turns around halfway, and it takes a moment for Veronica to comprehend what it is he's trying to show her.

A tattoo just below his left shoulder. The color red jumps out at her. A heart. A name.

Lilly.

Veronica raises a hand to her mouth, doesn't quite gasp.

"Oh," she says, behind her fingers. Then, mostly to herself: "That's why you didn't want me looking at your drawings."

Eli pulls his shirt back on but doesn't button it up again.  He sits down on the couch next to her and stares back at the silent television without really focusing on it.

Veronica looks at him and tries to think what to say. She remembers his words about Lilly in Miss James's office: She was someone I could have loved...

She can't help it. She has to ask. "I know it's none of my business," she begins carefully, "but if you want to tell me what happened between you two...I'm listening."

He glances at her. The little crucifix glitters against his smooth, tattooed chest. "I don't really want to talk about it. I just wanted to show you. So you knew...beforehand."

Beforehand.

So they are on the same page.

She nods. "Okay." Then she stands up and smiles."Come on," she says, hoping he won't catch the tremor in her voice. She holds out a hand, and he follows her back to her bedroom.

***

Twenty minutes after she finished the drink, she started to feel tired and dizzy and a little sick. She shouldn't have had alcohol on an empty stomach. She suddenly just wanted to go home, but she decided to find a place to rest for a few minutes and make sure she wasn't going to throw up.

She wandered around the big house some more. The party was in full rage, and the sounds of the music started flowing all together into one indistinct rhythm. She couldn't recognize people's faces any more. Yeah, she was going to be sick for sure. She tried to find a bathroom. She kept trying doors, but they were all either locked or they opened into big empty bedrooms. Then she found an oversized laundry room. She walked inside and leaned against the washer for a moment, trying to feel better. There was a sink, so she bent over and splashed her face with cool water from the tap.

It worked, a little, or at least her stomach settled down. She straightened back up. She decided she'd at least get out to her own car, lock herself inside, maybe call her father to come get her. He'd be mad she was drunk, but he'd understand.

But she got lost trying to find the front door, and ended up out by the pool instead. There were people swimming, but at least it was quieter and less smoky out here. Things were getting fuzzy and slow and confused, and she knew she was going to pass out soon. She didn't remember drinking so much, but she must have really had a lot. She walked as carefully and deliberately as she could, because she knew there was a real danger at this point that she was going to fall into the pool. She could barely remember what she was doing one moment to the next, but she managed to keep focused on the empty lounge chair way out in the distance.

Best to sleep it off out here. No one would pay her any attention.

The lounge chair seemed like it was miles and miles away, but she finally reached it and sank down onto it with a profound sigh.

***

Here in the cool darkness of her bedroom, it's quieter than the little moments they've stolen in other places, less frantic than the scene on the couch.

It's also scarier, and far more intense.

Still, not quite as scary as Veronica thought it would be; maybe because Eli's inclined to go so slow. At times she has to urge him on silently--like by sitting up and peeling off her own shirt when he seems hesitant to push beyond that barrier.

She's afraid he suspects the truth, that he can tell she's damn near a virgin. He's being a little too careful with her. And she's got a feeling he's fairly well experienced himself--otherwise, she's sure, he'd be more desperate to move things along.

Still, it goes on and on; clothing comes off piece by piece at intervals delineated by endless slow kissing. And once she slides out of her jeans, he seems to take the situation more seriously. He touches her, does things to her in ways she never really thought about, ways that fall far outside her realm of experience. His hands and mouth are deft and confident, and she doesn't have to fake her sounds of pleasure, or the arching of her back, or the tensing and relaxing of her thighs.

Or the sudden, unexpected orgasm brought on by his patient, deliberate touch. She bites his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut, trying not to make too much noise. Faintly embarrassed, for reasons she'd be hard put to explain.

Maybe he can tell she doesn't really know what she's doing, and maybe he can sense the fear lurking just beneath her skin. Maybe he notices that she can't seem to stop shaking, even after she comes.

But if so, he makes no comment.

And now he takes her hand and guides it towards him. She does what she can--it's not rocket science, after all--and is rewarded when he seems to grow bigger in her hands, and draws shallow breath.

Now or never, she thinks.

"Hold on," Veronica whispers. She stops, leans up on one elbow and reaches over for the nightstand. She opens the drawer and feels around in the dark until she finds the condom that she put there six hours ago.

Wordlessly, she presses it into his palm. He opens his mouth to speak, probably to say something like, You sure?  But she covers his mouth with her own, killing any questions, because the last thing she wants to do right now is stop to think about things.

He takes her face in his hand, kissing her again, and gradually they shift around till he's positioned over her. In the moonlight through the window and the glow of electronics in her room, she can just make out his face. She hears the sound of the wrapper tearing.

She closes her eyes. And then--

Veronica gasps, then bites her lower lip hard to keep from crying out. But it doesn't really hurt, it's just uncomfortable. Which is disappointing in its own stupid way--it makes what happened to her distressingly real, just for the fraction of a second till she pushes it out of her mind.

And after a few uneven moments Eli gets a rhythm going, and Veronica gets a vague, instinctive idea of how she can move with him to make it go easier. And then it starts to actually feel kind of good, an unfamiliar background pleasure behind the discomfort. And when they hit a particular tempo, the new feeling comes strongly to the foreground. It sends fresh shivers down her body; it brings new sounds from her throat, sounds she barely recognizes as her own. They find each other's mouths then, kissing as hot as they ever have, and she holds onto Eli's slick shoulder blades as they move together.

Later, he says her name. Just once, fast and low through gritted teeth. The only time either of them speak.

Much later still, they fall asleep, all scrunched up in her bed because it's not really made for two people, and Veronica sighs elatedly before she goes out.

She knows now that she made the right decision. She's out of limbo; she understands what it's all about. And it was with someone she trusts, someone who clearly cares about her. She's just a normal girl, a girl who put on her boyfriend's shirt to go the kitchen for that all-important post-sex Coke, just like something out of a movie. And the way he looked at her when she came back into the room was almost unbearably cute.

It's all good. Everything's going to be fine.

***

She felt someone lift her up. "Dad?" she tried to say, because it was the only thing that made sense, the only person who should be carrying her around like a kid.

But her mouth didn't seem to be connected to her brain any more, and no sound came out. She tried to open her eyes and focus on whoever was holding her, but her eyelids only fluttered open for a second, revealing fuzzy dark shapes.

"Don't worry," said a voice, a voice that was familiar, even if it echoed and stretched. "I've got her. I'll take care of it."

She was placed gently on a bed, covered up with a blanket, and she wanted to tell them that the lounge chair had been quite comfortable and they didn't have to do this. But all she could do was mumble incoherently.

And then things went dark.

Some vague time later, hands touched her, and the bed shifted and moved with the weight of another body, and it went on for a nightmarish few minutes until she slipped back into unconsciousness.

But just before that, a different voice, also familiar, said, "Veronica?"

***

"Veronica!"

The voice in the dark scares her, and she grapples with an unseen assailant. Who makes a scarily powerful grab at her wrists.

"Veronica, it's me! What the hell's wrong with you?"

The figure lets her go and she tries to get away, but there's a wall in front of her. She gets down low and tries to make herself as small as possible. She scrabbles at the wall in the dark, trying to find a doorway, a window, anything.

Lights go on, momentarily blinding her. When she can focus, she realizes she's in her own bedroom, huddled down in the corner by the door. And Eli is standing over her, white-eyed, his hand still on the light switch.

Shirtless, he crouches down beside her and reaches a hand towards her. She flinches away. "Veronica," he says. "You've gotta tell me what's wrong."

She slows her breathing with effort. "How did I get over here?"

"You screamed in your sleep, and then you tried to run out of the room. Scared the hell out of me."

"Oh God."

Eli looks dead grim. "You screamed 'don't touch me,'" he says. "You gonna tell me who you were talking to?"

***

She knew she'd been raped; knew it for sure as soon as she got up to walk and felt the vague soreness.

Devastation. She thought she'd been devastated before. When Duncan rejected her. When Lilly was murdered. When her mother left.

Now, she truly began to sound the very depths of the word.

She knew Sheriff Lamb wouldn't do anything, but she went anyway. And it just made everything worse.

She held herself together until her father left town a day later, and then she had a total meltdown, walking from room to room in the little apartment, weeping until her nose was running and she was blinded by tears, gasping and choking for breath, then sobbing some more. Everything she'd been trying to shove down for so long came up from inside her like vomit, and there was nothing she could do but let it all out.

She didn't eat or sleep for two days. She was afraid to sleep alone in the apartment. At night she sat on her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, every light in the apartment turned on. Fingering one of Dad's spare revolvers.

She finally fell asleep at dawn the third day, mentally and physically and spiritually exhausted.

***

At first she tries to say it was just a nightmare.

But Eli looks at her with a cold, black look in his eyes that says he knows she's lying. "Veronica. Come on."

She's frightened and confused, and she's misplaced her natural tendency not to do what people tell her to. So she sits on the bed, wrapped up in the blanket because she's still shaking, and tells him the whole story.

And as she talks, Eli gets quieter and quieter. The look on his face gets darker. His silence scares her. And when she's finished, he stands and puts his fist through the bedroom wall.

Veronica flinches, stares for a second at the crumbling empty space in the thin drywall. "Okay, that's not helping any."

Eli shakes out his hand.  "I ever find the asshole..."

"Yeah. I know."

He sits next to her on the bed. His expression is still dangerous. "And that was the only time--?"

"Yeah."  She starts to shake harder. She draws the blanket tightly around herself.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks. Anger in his voice.

She matches anger for anger. She says, icily, "I really didn't think it was anyone's business but mine."

"Dammit, Veronica--" But then he just sighs and looks at her pleadingly. "Why'd you come on to me like that tonight? If I'd known, I'd have--"

"You'd have what? What would you have done differently? Treated me like I was made of glass? Or would you have even touched me if you knew?"

He glares at her. "You know you're way too smart to say something that dumb."

It makes her even madder. "I wanted to get it over with. And I wanted it to be my decision."

"Get it over with," he echoes bitterly.

"The first time! I mean--goddammit, you know what I mean."

"Yeah, okay,"  he says. He takes a deep breath, and slides one arm around her. Then the other. Hugs her against his shoulder. "Okay. I'm sorry. Okay? I'm just--I want to get my hands on this guy. I'm going to kill him. We have to find out who it was."

Veronica shakes her head. "You're going to be eighteen in a few weeks. You think it's going to make me feel better if you go to prison over this? You need to let me handle it."

"So you know who did it, then."

"No," she says quickly. "But if I ever remember what happened--"

"If?" he says. "You really think you're going to be okay with this, not ever knowing for sure?"

Veronica shrugs. "I was doing fine till now."

"Till now, yeah. Till you woke up screaming. That ever happen before?"

"No." It's a bad thing to have to admit, like he caused it or something. "I should have told you," she says finally, not looking at him. "I just figured, hey, the hardest part was already over. I thought it would help me get past it. Once and for all."

He doesn't look at her, either.

"And," she goes on desperately, "I knew if I told you there'd be a body count. It's the same reason I never told my father. Just let me handle it. I've got some leads."

He's still tense. He doesn't say anything for a long moment, then: "Okay. We find out who it was, we do it your way."

She can't tell if he's lying. Or if he knows that she is. After a long time, they fall asleep again.

The next morning, he leaves early. He's got things to do, and so does she. They kiss goodbye.

But Eli doesn't say he'll call her, and Veronica doesn't ask.

***

Veronica woke up the afternoon after her breakdown, weak and dehydrated. But she felt different, ineffably changed. And she felt a strange exhilaration.

She was a survivor, she realized then, and she had a new, secret store of rage inside her that would carry her forward. She'd been through the worst they could throw at her, and she was still alive and still sane.

She was all done with crying.

She got up, calmly walked into the bathroom, and cut off most of her hair.

Then she got dressed and went down to the beach, carrying a plastic sack. She found the remains of someone else's bonfire and built it back up with pieces of paper and twigs until the flames were high and crackling. Then she took the white dress out of the sack and tossed it onto the fire.

And watched while it burned to ash.

***

Sunday night, Veronica wakes up running down the hall.

Something chasing her. Right behind her.

She stumbles and catches herself against a wall. But she has to keep moving. She's sure of it. She has to get away from...

Away from--

What, exactly?

Her throat feels raw.

She leans against the hallway wall and catches her breath. Looks around, panting.

Then her father opens his bedroom door and comes to her, takes her by the shoulders. "Veronica? Are you all right? I heard you scream, what's going on?"

Veronica swallows. "A roach." Her voice cracks, and she controls it with effort. "In my bedroom."

"A roach?"

"A really big one." She takes another deep breath. "I'm fine, Dad, really. I'll call the landlord tomorrow."

"Well, do you need me to come kill it?"

"No," she says quickly. "I think I scared it off with my high-pitched wailing."

"Okay," he says dubiously. "Well, if you need anything, just wail again."

"I will."

He kisses her on the forehead and goes back to bed.

And Veronica goes back into her room, opens her laptop and googles 'night terrors', a phrase she pulls out of some half-memory of a psych book she skimmed once.

What she finds makes her angry; angry and frustrated and upset. It's not fucking fair that she was raped and she has to experience these charming little psychological repercussions a year later, when she thought she was totally fine and over it.

The gift that keeps on giving, she thinks glumly.

And she realizes that Eli is right: she really ought to try to do something about it.

***

Monday, she spots Mac in the parking lot. "Hey," she says, walking up and leaning against Mac's Beetle. "I need a favor. A huge, sensitive, highly confidential favor."

Because if there's anyone at Neptune High who understands secrets the way Veronica does, it's Cindy MacKenzie.

Mac appraises her with those too-intelligent eyes. "Sure," she says. "What is it?"

"Can you come over to my place after school?"

That afternoon, they go into Veronica's bedroom. Mac immediately spots the hole in the wall. "Remodeling?" she asks.

"It was a really big roach," says Veronica absently, and makes a mental note to cover the hole with a poster. Or make friends with a construction worker. Something, before Dad notices.

"Uh-huh."  Mac sits on the bed next to Veronica. "So. What's this favor?"

Veronica says, "I need to know if you heard any unusual rumors about me around this time last year."

Mac smiles. "Come on, Veronica. We're in high school. Last week I heard a rumor that the Warrick twins were starring in a gay bondage video with Mr. Clemmons."

Veronica winces. "Thanks so much for the visual. And thanks for trying to be nice about it. Look, I know the rumors were out there. I know they still are. And you're in a better position to hear the stuff about me than I am. Spreading malicious slander just isn't as much fun if the victim is actually in the same room with you."

Mac shakes her head. "Still not sure specifically what you mean. There was the stuff about you and Duncan, like I told you before..."

"No," she says. "Different stuff. After a party last year. Like, maybe I got drunk and passed out."

Mac's face darkens. "That rumor."

Bingo. Veronica's stomach tightens up, but she says, "Yeah. What were the details of that one, exactly?"

"You really want to know?"

"I don't want to. I need to."

Mac avoids her eyes, says, "I heard you got really drunk and that you were, you know..." She clears her throat. "Giving it away in one of the back bedrooms."  She adds quickly: "But I never thought it was true, even before I really knew you."

Veronica smiles sadly. "Anything else? Any other details you remember? Like maybe who else was involved?"

Mac looks thoughtful, then says, "No, but I heard Dick Casablancas tell someone he had, like, hidden video footage of the whole thing. But you know that kid, he's a total poser. He talks out his ass all the time. No one ever believes him."

Video. Veronica closes her eyes. She feels like she's breathing liquid nitrogen, all her veins and arteries gone to ice. If it's true, if a video recording exists, it's all the answer she'll need. It also makes the situation about five thousand times worse.

"Veronica?" says Mac. "You all right?"

"I'm fine," she says. "Just fine. You feel like doing a little hacking? I can pay."

Mac regards her curiously. "Sure. But you know it's always pro bono for you."

***

Tuesday, she catches Eli's eye in the hall. "Got time for a little chat?" she asks. "Lunchtime? Usual place?"

He nods once, keeps walking.

Veronica has spent the past few days mentally preparing herself to get dumped--if that's even the right word when one is talking about a totally clandestine relationship. But she figures it's coming either way; it's only to be expected after everything else that's happened to her.

She guesses most guys wouldn't take the rape news very well. But it still hurts like hell, and dammit, she's not going to let him give her the Duncan treatment. She's going to make him break up with her like a man.

In the shop at lunchtime, she gets there first and she thinks maybe he's not even going to show up. But the lock clicks a moment later, and he lets himself in.

And then he walks over to her kisses her hello.

She looks up at him after. "Well. That's weird."

"Eh?" He hooks his fingers into the belt loops of her jeans, keeping her right there next to him.

It just doesn't seem possible, but... "You're not breaking up with me?"

He shrugs. "I dunno, baby. You keep calling me weird, I might start to take offense."

"Oh," she says. "I just thought that after what happened... you know." A little on the vague side, so she tries again: "You haven't called me."

"You haven't called me either," he says.

Veronica blinks. Okay, so maybe he's got an itsy-bitsy point there.

"I figured we both needed some time to cool down," Eli says, "think things through."

It's a reprieve, absolution, where Veronica was sure there was none to be found. So she slings her arms up around his neck, smiles. "You're right. And I have thought things through, and maybe you were right about some of the stuff you said. But--" she interrupts when he starts to respond. "I still want you to let me deal with it."

His eyes narrow. "You don't trust me to help you."

"It's not that," she says. "I just need to know exactly what I'm dealing with before we do anything rash."

"'We,'" he repeats.

"Yeah. We."She kisses him.

After a moment, Eli breaks the kiss and says in a low voice, "When's your Daddy going out of town again?"

Veronica laughs in surprise. "Wow. Not even trying to be smooth about it, are you?"

He shrugs, still holding her close; he slides his palms into the back pockets of her jeans. He grins and says, "I thought I'd come over and patch up the hole I punched in your wall."

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

"Well, I'm serious. Not," he adds, "that I wouldn't take a lil' something in trade..."

"Ha! You really are the perfect secret boyfriend."  She says it with sarcasm, but she's also relieved that he's not treating her any differently, now that he knows the truth.

He grins bemusedly. "'Secret boyfriend', eh?"

"Well, you're not too easy to bring home to meet the parents, are you?"

"And I never can figure out why."

They walk to the front of the shop, and they kiss one last time as Eli holds open the door. Which is really stupid, Veronica thinks to herself as they kiss, because all it would take is the wrong person walking by the door at the exact wrong moment, and--

"Well, if this isn't an unholy alliance!"

Veronica flinches away from the kiss and turns to face--

--Logan.

Of course it is.

"Oh, this is just perfect." Logan grins at the tableau before him with amusement and disbelief. He looks at Weevil. "And here I thought you were holding out for me. See, this is what happens when you take your eye off the prize."

Veronica feels her cheeks pinkening. She rolls her eyes. "Fine. You caught us. Go ahead, get it out of your system."

Logan laughs like a madman. Veronica senses Eli starting to tense beside her, but Logan holds up his palms and says, "No, no, this is good. This is great, actually. I'm having a party this Friday night. Daddy's going to this spiritual retreat to see if the gurus there can help him cope with what happened to my mother. Or that's his cover story anyway--he's probably going to Vegas and getting a suite full of Asian hookers. But I digress. I'm hosting the gala event of the season, and I'm telling my rent-a-cops  to let in anyone under twenty-five as long as they don't look like media types. That means even you two can get in."

Veronica stares at him. "Gee. Thanks."

"No, really. You have to come. Fully catered, open bar. And special party favors, if you know what I mean. I've got it all lined up. Just bring ten bucks and pick a vowel. Besides, It wouldn't be the same without you guys there." Logan reaches over and pretends to straighten the collar of Eli's leather jacket. "It's not a party until someone gets arrested, right?"

"Yeah, man," says Eli, batting his hand away. "We'll think about it."

"Excellent," Logan says. "I look forward to it. And you two really do make an adorable couple. Way to embrace the cultural diversity." He smiles and waggles his fingers at them. "Toodles."

As he walks away, he says, "Fucking perfect," apparently to himself.  And laughs again.

"One of these days..." says Eli.

"I'm going to bitch-slap the white right off that guy," finishes Veronica. She turns to look up at Eli. "So, what do you think? Do we make an appearance at Logan's annual house-trashing? Could be pretty scary.  But hey, free food and booze, right?"

"Look, I'll see you later," says Eli, staring down the hallway.

"Nice non-sequitur."

"I've gotta go, I just remembered something." He smiles and presses her arm. "I'll call you tonight. Okay?"

***

Weevil figures Felix is the one to ask; he's got a good memory for the little details, but he's not smart enough to put them all together and come up with a big picture. And he keeps his mouth shut. Mostly.

But he can't talk to him until after their next class together. He catches Felix's eye as they're filing out into the hall, and motions him over to the locker wall.

Felix sidles up next to him and nods. "Yo, Weevil. 'Sup?"

"Hey, man," Weevil says, keeping it low, "Got a question for you."

"Yeah?"

"Remember when Catalino got busted last year, when he was selling that shit to the 09ers?"

"Yeah, so?"

"You remember what he finally got caught with?"

Felix screws up his brow with the effort of concentration. "Pills, I think. He was making all those trips to TJ, you know? Yeah, that's it, it was roofies."

Weevil nods. "Yeah. That's what I thought."  He slams his locker door shut. "You know where I can find our boy Catalino these days?"

***

Continued in Chapter Two