Fic: Full Circle, part 8/? - gertinator
Title: Full Circle, part 8/?
Author: gertinator
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 5678
Rating: NC-17 overall, but no smut this chapter :(
Summary: Epic. V and Logan find their way back to each other and solve a mystery, too.
Spoilers/Warnings: a little AU but mostly intact including 2.22. Angst ahead... "They don't write songs about the ones that come easy."
A/N:This was written for the loveathons Epic Challenge. Retro sunglasses. Also an iPod, but I mentioned one in the first chapter. I promised holly96 angst tonight, and she has the kleenex ready so I don't want to disappoint. The rest of you have my permission to just reread the last chapter's smut and save the angst for tomorrow :)
( part 1 ) ( part 2 ) ( part 3 ) ( part 4 ) ( part 5 ) ( part 6 ) ( part 7 )
Veronica awoke with a start and looked at her watch. Shit! 1:48 AM. She had four hours to get back to her hotel and pack and then be on her plane at JFK. Logan was curled around her and she didn't want to leave. She turned in his arms so she could see his face. She had always loved to watch him sleep, since he was so rarely vulnerable to anyone. She resisted the temptation to wake him with a kiss. The presentation was mostly written, and she would have time on the plane, but she had to get her ass moving *now.* She hadn't expected to meet up with Logan and have six hours of marathon sex interspersed with about two and a half of sleep. It was a good thing she felt energized by all the sex and emotion, because that was all the sleep she was going to get before having to face her AD and explain why she thought the Killer Barber should be upgraded to a serial killer.
In fact, she had planned to leave hours ago, but waking Logan up to say goodbye invariable led to another round of reunion sex. After five years, they had a lot of making up to do. And they would have to figure out how to do it with them living in different cities. Logan had tried to bring it up, but she knew she was on a schedule tonight and she put him off. They could talk over the phone but they could only touch here and now in this moment. She wanted as many memories of his body as possible to keep her warm in the weeks to come.
She touched his cheek and said goodbye, a quick breath across his forehead, then gently untangled their limbs. She gathered her clothes and briefcase, keeping her eyes on him as he slept. They were adults now, and somehow they would make this work. Clearly he had never forgotten her, and she had never let go of him. They were epic, and while it might not be easy, it was worth it. She resisted the urge to wake him, again, knowing she would never be able to leave once he turned his intense gaze on her. She'd melt, boneless, into his arms and she'd miss her flight.
She looked around for paper to write a note. She saw his writing desk to the side and looked for a notepad. Her attention was caught by a photo of her and Back-up. Recent, too. Back-up's muzzle was all grey. Had her father sent Logan a photo? She was startled. She knew he must have consulted on the books, though he had not responded to her broad hint and actually admitted it, but send a photo? Veronica's heart beat an anxious rhythm and she couldn't think. She looked down at the pad in her hand, then looked at her watch. 2:22 AM. Shit. She set the pad down, knowing she had Logan's number in her Not A Stalker, Just A Concerned Friend file on her laptop. She'd call him as soon as she landed in DC. That would give her time to think about what to say. Clearly, they had been keeping too many secrets from each other - not willing to communicate directly, but never letting go. It was disturbing how they were so much alike.
The door clicked quietly behind her as she let herself out. Logan turned over restlessly in his sleep.
*******
"Hmmm. Veronica... " Logan said, still mostly asleep as he reached out a hand. The hand met empty sheets, already cool, and Logan's eyes flew wide open. Felicia was curled at the end of the bed, sleeping as she always did. There was no sign of Veronica. He sat up, his chest beginning to tighten in a familiar fear. "Veronica?" he called out, answered only by the empty silence of his loft. "Damn it, Veronica!!!" He shouted in frustration, throwing a pillow across the room. "Damn it. Damn it. Damn it."
Logan fought to keep his voice steady, though it threatened to crack. Anger, he told himself, feel anger not self pity and flagellation. This was about Veronica and her issues, not about him. He got out of bed, still naked, and paced the apartment, confirming that she had indeed left. And left no note. He checked his cell, to see if she might have programmed her number in. No. Despair hit. She had left no way to get ahold of her. Did she know about Keith? Did it matter? He had tried to talk and she had distracted him with sex. Had that been her intention all along?
The bed still smelled like her. Logan could barely breathe. She had been there after so long, and was now gone again. Left without a word, without a note, without even leaving her number on his cell. A situation not without precedence, he knew, as the ache tore through him suspiciously close to his heart. But this time he was sure there were no criminal activities he could be linked to. Oh, God, he didn't deserve this. For four years, he had been working towards this reunion and now it came too fast and blew through like a summer storm.
His eyes stung and he needed to move, to run, to get the hell out of this place where Veronica had been only hours before. He dressed quickly and grabbed his coat, determined to walk out all of the tight, anxious feelings threatening to overwhelm him.
Felicia, awakened by the commotion, rubbed around his legs. She could tell he was agitated and offered a puzzled, "Mroar?" of comfort. Logan reached down and picked her up, buried his nose in her fur as he had done so many times. She butted her head against his chin, as if to say, "Snap out of it. We're okay." But Logan was not okay, and even this furry bit of love could not stop the panic attack.
He set Felicia down gently. "I'll be back in a little while, baby, " he said as he closed the door.
Logan walked for hours, or so it seemed, his mind swirling and out of control. When he finally came to a stop on the sidewalk, he was not really surprised to find himself in front of an all night liquor store. He didn't need to ask how he got there - his inner addict kept tabs on all the local liquor stores as a sort of safety net, even as the Conscious Logan, the In Control Logan refused to ever acknowledge them. But In Control Logan was no longer In Control and Addict Logan was making his move. He stood on the sidewalk, taking in the flickering light of the old plastic sign. "A-EX LI-UOR," it said, having lost its "P" and "Q" sometime through the years, with no one caring enough to replace them. Logan tried to will his feet to keep walking, but they had a mind of their own, and stepped into the store instead. As if in a dream, he found himself standing at the counter, motioning to a cheap rotgut whiskey. No point in pretending this was for anything other than the worst kind of oblivion. Four years of sobriety and he was throwing it away. Might as well be honest about it.
The whiskey seemed to burn his hand through the paper bag as he walked back to his loft. The streets were dark, but he felt almost as if a spotlight were focused on him, as if someone - Dr. Jan, or his AA sponsor, Pete, would jump out and catch him with his contraband. A juvenile part of his mind was thrilled, like sneaking from his parents liquor cabinet in his early teens before it became rote habit understood and ignored by all.
He got to his place and eagerly grabbed a glass from the cabinet. After four years, he couldn't just drink from the bottle. There needed to be some kind of *ceremony*. Something to indicate the importance of this event. Something to stretch it out and give his mind time to get back into control. A ritual. He added ice to the glass, twisted off the cap slowly. The sting of the cheap whiskey hit his nostrils like furniture polish as he inhaled a deep breath. Finding some kind of courage in the smell, he poured the glass, watching the amber liquid cascade out in fascination. Liquid courage. Liquid destruction. Four years of tears and hard work and dealing with his fucking problems and oblivion sat at the bottom of that glass.
Logan closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. It was so easy...and so difficult, he thought as he wrapped his hand around the sweaty cold glass. Felicia hopped up on the counter, watching him with wise feline eyes. Tears squeezed out of the corners of his own eyes and he raised the glass to his mouth and tipped it back. The whiskey burned his tongue, both literally and in a deeper, more metaphoric sense, and he turned to spit it in the sink. He looked at the glass clutched tightly in his hand, staring as if through a fog, as if the hand belonged to someone else. He then pulled back his arm and flung the foreign glass at the wall where it shattered. "God damn it!!!" Logan shouted, picking up the bottle and throwing it to the floor to shatter. Shards of glass and ice cubes mingled, almost indistinguishable glitter in the dark stain spread across the tile. Felicia let out a squeal of shock and fear and bolted for her favorite safe spot under the couch.
Logan choked on the tears rushing up and ran to the bathroom to vomit. When he had voided every last bit of the contents of his stomach and then spent another half an hour dry heaving, he crawled out to the living room. His phone sat on the table near his keys, and he glanced at the time. Nearly 5AM. 2 o'clock on the West Coast. The middle of the night. He keyed in the number of the only person he thought he could talk to about this. He prayed that Keith would pick up.
"Keith Mars." The voice at the other end was cheerful and business-like. He must have been up working on a case.
"It's Logan." Logan's throat was sore from the stomach acid and dry heaves and he sounded hoarse and broken. He sat down on the floor, and Felicia crept out from under the couch, eyeing him distrustfully.
"Logan. What's wrong?"
"She - " he took a breath to get courage. "I almost took a drink." He heard Keith gasp a little, but to his credit, he gave Logan space to say what he needed to say. "She was here." No need to ask who "she" was; there was only one "she" that could break him like this. Only one "she" who would precipitate a call to Keith.
Logan could hear Keith breathe on the other end of the line. Finally, Keith spoke, sounding so fatherly and concerned that Logan almost began to cry. "I'm so sorry, son." Son? SON? The word echoed in Logan's brain, comforting him and tearing him apart. He wished he were Keith's son, that he and Keith and Veronica could form some sort of happy family unit. If only Veronica had stayed and let it happen. "Do you - do you want to tell me about it?" asked Keith.
"She was here. I saw her on the street. She... she came back to my place... she was here... but then she left. She didn't leave a note. She didn't leave anything." Logan was a little aware that he was repeating himself, that he might not be making sense, but he couldn't seem to do any better. Felicia crept closer and licked his hand. Logan pulled his hand back, startled. He looked into the furry little worried face, and reached out to pet her, reassure her, give her the comfort he did not feel himself.
Keith seemed to take a deep breath. Maybe he hadn't been the best person to call. Hardly impartial, and had Logan really just implied that he and Veronica slept together? Not that Keith didn't know, but to say it to his face? Keith finally spoke, in that comforting fatherly tone again, but this time holding the weight of truth and personal pain. "Sometimes they leave, son. And there's nothing you can do about it."
Logan did start to cry, then. Felicia rubbed against him and he clutched at her like a small child. "But she came back, Keith. She was back and I thought it would be - I thought -" Logan couldn't finish the sentence, and his sobs echoed over the phone. His hand tangled in his hair, and he pressed the phone to his face as if it was all he had left. "I've worked so hard at turning my life around..."
Keith sighed, and his sad serious tone told Logan that he was not just giving theoretical advice. "Sometimes life doesn't work out the way we plan... Love doesn't... You think you need a person, you can't live without them, but sometimes, the truth is, you can't live with them either. And when they come back to you, it is the best and worst you could hope for. I don't know what to tell you, son. I, well, I never thought I would admire you the way I do. And I guess I always hoped things would work out somehow, but maybe... maybe this really isn't what's best for either of you."
Logan's only answer was a choked sob, and several breaths that hitched a little as he tried to calm himself down. Felicia let out a small mewl of complaint as his grip tightened painfully on her.
"Listen, Logan... you shouldn't be alone. You said... you said, you had a drink?" Keith seemed hesitant and worried.
"I broke the bottle, " Logan choked out, seeming to get a grip on himself. "I broke the glass and I broke the bottle and my house smells like a distillery but at least I can't drink it."
Keith still sounded worried. "That's good. I'm proud of you, son. Is there anyone you can call? Anywhere you can go?"
Logan shook his head, still holding the phone in a tight death grip. "I don't know, Keith. It's still the middle of the night here. I don't know what to do. I want to... I'm afraid... afraid I might..."
"Is there an AA meeting?" asked Keith. Logan sniffed. Blinked, tried to clear his head, focus on Keith's words. He continued, "It is The City That Never Sleeps. There's gotta be a meeting somewhere. Can you check online or something?"
Logan nodded again, even though Keith couldn't see him. He took a couple of deep breaths and pushed himself up off the floor to shuffle over to his laptop. Felicia protested her displacement then padded along behind him. He flipped the laptop open and clicked on the internet. The AA listings were bookmarked and after a little scrolling, he found one starting in about half an hour at a Presbyterian church across town. A bit of a ways, but he could easily get there by the subway.
"Logan?" Keith still sounded worried. "Did you find one?"
"Yeah... yeah, in half an hour."
"Okay, so listen to me. Get yourself cleaned up. Go wash your face, maybe take a quick shower. Call Dr. Jan's office and leave a message that you need her to squeeze you in sometime today, and then you get to that meeting, okay?"
Logan nodded, then added a mumbled, "Um, hum," of consent.
"Call Pete, and let him know you need him. Don't feel guilty. That's what sponsors are for. He's been at the exact same place you are now, that's why he signed up as a sponsor. And if you can call me anytime you need to, too. Okay?"
Logan felt better. Calling Keith had been the right move. Now he had a plan. The fog was clearing and Addict Logan was receding. "Thanks, Keith."
"Anytime, kid. I am really proud of you. You made the right decision. You did everything right... and the rest of it..." He didn't say Veronica's name. "The rest of it will work out the way it needs to. We'll talk about it when you feel better. Just give it some time."
"Thanks, Keith. I'll... I'll go get in the shower now, and then I'd better get going. Thanks."
"Good luck, Logan. Call me later, okay?"
"Okay." Love you, Logan muttered to his closed phone, like he never would have said to his own father. Maybe someday he'd have the right to say that to Keith in person. In the meantime, a cold shower was calling his name, and then it was time for a trip across town. Felicia wove between his legs reassuringly. She seemed to sense the break in his panic and settled herself back on the bed as he headed for the bathroom.
******
Veronica was just getting out of her taxi when the phone rang. She pulled it out of her bag impatiently. Could it be Logan? Did he have her number?
Her father's name showed on the screen. She had just talked to him recently, and it was in teh middle of the night in Neptune so it must be important. "Hey, Dad," she answered, as she paid the cabbie. "Hang on." She grabbed her carryon out of the back and told the cabbie to keep the change.
"Yeah, Dad. What's up? I need to get on a flight in about -" she checked her watch, " - half an hour and I'm not checked in or through security." She power stepped to the nearest Southwest screen, cursing the fact that she hadn't had time for online check-in. She'd be stuck in between some lady with heavy perfume and a guy who really needed three seats. That's how it always worked if you got there late. At least she only had carryon.
"Do you... Do you need Logan's number?" Keith sounded concerned.
Veronica was impatient. She grabbed her boarding pass as soon as it printed - she was a "D". She didn't even know the boarding letters went to "D." She always checked in online so she could be an "A." She hoisted her briefcase higher on her shoulder with a sigh. Her wheeling luggage bumped behind her as she rushed for the security screening line.
"Listen, Dad. Can we do this later? I'm really late."
"Veronica. I know this isn't any of my business, but if you are going to call Logan... sooner is better than later."
Veronica stopped a moment and shook her head. "What the hell? Do you have some kind of lo-jack on me? Dad, I am twenty five years old and a government agent. The days of bugging my cell phone should be *over*," she said, angrily. "I don't know why you even know about this, but it is definitely none of your business." She continued her trek to security, her steps taking on an aggression stomp.
"Veronica, I know it's none of my business." Keith paused, and she could tell there were things he was keeping from her. She had suspected that he consulted on Logan's books, but now she wondered at the extent of their relationship. Logan must have called him... and it clearly wasn't to get *her* number or this conversation would be a moot point. Keith finally continued, in that careful voice he used with clients sometimes - when there was a lot of bad news and he was only giving them a small slice. "I got a call tonight from a young man I have really come to admire, and it made me think there might have been a misunderstanding between my daughter and him.
"What??" Veronica was confused, distracted. The airport was already bustling despite the early hour. "I don't know what you mean." She found the "extra security" entry and bypassed the crowd. She flashed her badge and ID at the guard and he stamped her boarding pass.
"He thinks you left with no note because you don't plan to see him ever again," said Keith, a little uncertainly, and she could tell that was more information then he had wanted to give.
"That's stupid. I have his number on my laptop. I was going to call him when I got to DC." Veronica tried to concentrate on the conversation as she removed her shoes and placed them in a bin. She took her computer out of her briefcase and placed it in another bin, then hoisted her small rolling carryon onto the conveyor. Finally, she pulled her handgun and badge out and handed them to the security guy.
"Just... just call him as soon as possible." Keith sounded relieved.
"Okay." The security guy had his hand out for the phone. "I have to go. Just... text me his number, and I'll call him before I get on the plane. I'll talk to you later. Love you." She terminated the call and passed the blackberry to the guard, before passing through the detector machine.
"Arms out," said the guard, and small puffs of air hit her all over. The whole thing seemed sort of ridiculous, since they would be handing her gun back in a moment, but JFK was particularly sensitive about following regulations to the letter after 9/11. Only declared weapons, and only with the accompanying badge number for their paperwork. "Clear."
Veronica stepped out and reclaimed her baggage, stuffing her laptop inside. She put on her shoes and holstered the gun, pocketing the badge. She glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes to get to her gate. She flipped the phone open and checked the text messages. Logan's number was waiting.
Veronica took a deep breath and dialed as she speed-walked through the terminal. She was not ready for this conversation. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed to hear Logan's voicemail click in immediately. "This is Logan with today's inspirational message. 'In the haunted house of life, Art is the only stair that doesn't creak.' Tom Robbins. You know what to do."
It took Veronica a minute to find her voice. Some things apparently don't change, even when the rest of the world does. "Hi, Logan. It's me. I'm getting on the plane but I'll call you later. Or, uh, call me."
******
"Any guests or newcomers tonight?" asked the night's mc.
Logan raised his hand, along with several others. "My name is Logan, and I'm an alcoholic. I needed a little extra help tonight so I'm out of my usual territory," he said when it was his turn.
"Welcome, Logan. We're glad you're here." It was a ritual welcome, but it still warmed a little of the chill in his soul. It was already calming him down to be in the dingy church basement, though he would have mocked the whole idea years before. He clutched his foam cup filled with the requisite battery acid coffee and had even grabbed a slightly stale donut to pick at.
The mc covered the usual opening business. All meetings were the same, and yet each had their own flavor and this was no exception. Logan had never been to this particular meeting and the faces were all new to him, but there was something so familiar about the set-up, the routine, it might have been his home crowd. It was part of the beauty and design of AA. Logan looked around at the group, wondering at people who regularly met at 5:30 AM. A little bit of strength to get through work, or on the way home as a night shift ended. The crowd showed a broad range, from a nurse in scrubs to a construction worker and a grandmother. Also a couple of scruffy older men who could've been bums or famous artists or writers; sometimes it was hard to tell in New York.
The group recited the serenity prayer and Logan felt more of the ache recede. He could do this. He had been here before. He only had to take care of himself in this 24 hours, he could worry about the rest of his life later. He had broken the bottle, he had stopped himself in time. He would call Pete at the break, and see if he would come over and help clean up the mess. The mess in his apartment, and the mess in his head. It would all be okay. He would get past the crisis, and then he would decide what to do about Veronica.
"Before the break, is there anyone who wants to share tonight?" Logan raised his hand and since his was the closest raised hand to the front, the mc handed him the mic. He stood up.
"Hi, um... My name is Logan." Logan cleared his throat nervously. His hand reached up to touch his hair in his usual unconscious gesture of uncertainty.
"Hi, Logan," the group chorused back.
"I'm... I've been sober for four years. And tonight, I bought a bottle of whiskey." Logan looked at the sympathetic eyes trained on him, saw some nods. These were all his people whether they looked like it or not, and just seeing the faces gave him strength. His voice stabilized. "I started drinking when I was eleven. My mother was an alcoholic." More nods, and some of the pressure in Logan's chest eased. "Family life was... not good." A dry chuckle, this wasn't his full reparation speech. He'd cut some details for time's sake. "Things got really bad when I was around sixteen." He took a deep breath, considered skipping this part. But it was too critical to the years that followed. To his lapse tonight. "My... my first love... was murdered, then my mom killed herself. A year later... my dad... died." Not too many details, he wasn't going to dwell on that part. The crowd continued to nod. They had heard a lot of stories, some even worse than his. "I was drinking a lot. I didn't have anyone... except this one tiny blonde girl. She loved me, god knows why." He sighed, and let some of the pain he was feeling escape into the air on his breath. "She was everything, all I had left... but it wasn't enough to keep me from drinking. She tried, " he said in her defense. He saw the nods, some tears. They knew this story from the inside. His people, all right. "But eventually she gave up."
Most of them had been through that part, too, and he knew he held all of their attention. "I hit bottom, tried to kill myself in a car crash. A bad one. I came to my senses in the hospital and got clean. Yesterday -" his voice broke. This was the hardest part. A few hands reached out to steady him, pat his shoulder. A hand wrapped around his and he wasn't even sure who it belonged to, he couldn't see through the sheet of tears covering his eyes, dripping down his cheeks. "Yesterday, I saw her again. For the first time since - " He choked, and paused for a moment. The room breathed, and let him know silently that he could take his time. He could stop here, too, if that was what he needed. They knew, they understood. But he had to get it all out. "She came home with me. We - " he choked again, couldn't say the words *made love*, continued, "I woke up and she was gone. No note, no phone number. Gone." A sigh rippled through the group. Memories filled the air, of lovers betrayed, of lovers betraying in times of need.
Logan gripped the anonymous hand tightly. "I went for a walk and found myself in front of a liquor store. I bought the cheapest, nastiest bottle of whiskey I could find. I just wanted to... to block everything out...to punish myself..." The group murmered support and anguish at the familiar scene. "As soon as it hit my tongue, I couldn't do it. I broke the glass, broke the bottle. I called... a friend... and he reminded that I could go to a meeting. So here I am." Logan took a huge breath and let it out, rubbing his eyes and looking around. Perfect strangers were giving him more love and support than he had ever had from his own family and he felt relief. Immense relief. The crisis was over and he had survived. He was not alone, even if feeling Veronica with him and then gone had opened a new hole inside of him, when he thought his days of being full of holes were over. His new life gave him plenty of support. There was Pete, and Dr. Jan, and Keith. And all of these people, who he knew would come individually during the break to shake his hand and hug him and make sure he knew that he wasn't alone. And other friends, too, who didn't know this side of him but were support none the less.
Logan passed the mic to the next warm hand, a hand that gripped over his for a moment reassuringly, and as he sat back down he felt peaceful. This was a test. It needed to happen. He proved to himself that he really was strong and he could live a life he chose for himself, a happy healthy life, a clean and sober life. Now he just had to figure out the next step of winning Veronica back.
*********
Veronica flipped through the pictures in the file again. The plane was packed and the air felt stale, but at least there was no perfume lady next to her. A business woman dozed on one side, head propped on the window. A young man rocked out to his iPod in the aisle seat, retro sunglasses perched on his nose. The plane was not particularly brightly lit, so the kid was either hung over or stoned. Or trying for an effect. Corey Hart Lives again.
Veronica's own eyes were itchy from lack of sleep, and the past seemed particularly close, swirling and wrapping around her. What irony that she should bump into Logan on this trip of all times. When she was reviewing her commitment to the FBI, hunting a killer out of her past, and even contemplating a return to Neptune.She was about to give a presentation on the Killer Barber, as she now thought of him. She had determined that the NYU student murdered in her dorm was another victim of the killer who started in New Jersey, and then moved to Virginia. That made three they knew of, and he could officially be called a serial killer now. If she could convince her AD. She would only have fifteen minutes of free speaking time at the end of her review. She needed to have all the details arranged in the most succinct and convincing format.
She would also have to explain why she, as a junior agent not yet assigned to cases of her own, had been investigating this particular case. She was lucky this meeting was already scheduled with AD Jackson. Anderson would fry her ass when he found out, and she would probably end up with an official reprimand in her file. But if Jackson signed on, well, then it would all be worthwhile. She needed to be on this officially. Then she could really use the resources available to her at the FBI.
The Montclair police chief kept in touch, updating her and asking about her Dad. Veronica suspected the chief was really disturbed to have such a violent unsolved case linger in his jurisdiction, which seemed to be otherwise very law abiding and orderly. It was actually really odd that the killer seemed to choose small college towns - usually killers sought urban larger areas so they would be less conspicuous. Could it be part of his signature, his turn on? New York and the girl at NYU were the exceptions. What did that mean?
He wanted them unconscious and warm, then dead... The MO was changing, nothing unusual about that, especially if he was early in his killing career. He was still figuring out what worked, what got him off. The most important thing was to separate the signature signs from the MO. What *was* actually getting this guy off? What made him unique among the killers out there? Those pieces would remain constant and help track him, even as his methods evolved. The rape, the drugging, the head-shaving... Now murder? Or was the murder beside the point? The first was a suffocation. Inspiration of the moment? She had struggled, had not fully submitted to the drugs. Had he decided murder was easier? Or was it only certain instances, with rapes continuing in between?
It was so frustrating! There were too many gaps in her information. She needed the task force to start the slow, painful process of sifting through newspapers and police files to look for more similar crimes. She had to convince the AD to give her some manpower, make this an official case. Even an intern would be a help. Veronica closed her eyes and began deep breathing. "AD Jackson will support me, " she half prayed, half pleaded in her head. "She will support me." It became a mantra. "I will find this killer."
A/N: I know nothing about NY's liquor laws, so if it's impossible to buy it after a certain time, please just pretend. Thanks.
Author: gertinator
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 5678
Rating: NC-17 overall, but no smut this chapter :(
Summary: Epic. V and Logan find their way back to each other and solve a mystery, too.
Spoilers/Warnings: a little AU but mostly intact including 2.22. Angst ahead... "They don't write songs about the ones that come easy."
A/N:This was written for the loveathons Epic Challenge. Retro sunglasses. Also an iPod, but I mentioned one in the first chapter. I promised holly96 angst tonight, and she has the kleenex ready so I don't want to disappoint. The rest of you have my permission to just reread the last chapter's smut and save the angst for tomorrow :)
( part 1 ) ( part 2 ) ( part 3 ) ( part 4 ) ( part 5 ) ( part 6 ) ( part 7 )
Veronica awoke with a start and looked at her watch. Shit! 1:48 AM. She had four hours to get back to her hotel and pack and then be on her plane at JFK. Logan was curled around her and she didn't want to leave. She turned in his arms so she could see his face. She had always loved to watch him sleep, since he was so rarely vulnerable to anyone. She resisted the temptation to wake him with a kiss. The presentation was mostly written, and she would have time on the plane, but she had to get her ass moving *now.* She hadn't expected to meet up with Logan and have six hours of marathon sex interspersed with about two and a half of sleep. It was a good thing she felt energized by all the sex and emotion, because that was all the sleep she was going to get before having to face her AD and explain why she thought the Killer Barber should be upgraded to a serial killer.
In fact, she had planned to leave hours ago, but waking Logan up to say goodbye invariable led to another round of reunion sex. After five years, they had a lot of making up to do. And they would have to figure out how to do it with them living in different cities. Logan had tried to bring it up, but she knew she was on a schedule tonight and she put him off. They could talk over the phone but they could only touch here and now in this moment. She wanted as many memories of his body as possible to keep her warm in the weeks to come.
She touched his cheek and said goodbye, a quick breath across his forehead, then gently untangled their limbs. She gathered her clothes and briefcase, keeping her eyes on him as he slept. They were adults now, and somehow they would make this work. Clearly he had never forgotten her, and she had never let go of him. They were epic, and while it might not be easy, it was worth it. She resisted the urge to wake him, again, knowing she would never be able to leave once he turned his intense gaze on her. She'd melt, boneless, into his arms and she'd miss her flight.
She looked around for paper to write a note. She saw his writing desk to the side and looked for a notepad. Her attention was caught by a photo of her and Back-up. Recent, too. Back-up's muzzle was all grey. Had her father sent Logan a photo? She was startled. She knew he must have consulted on the books, though he had not responded to her broad hint and actually admitted it, but send a photo? Veronica's heart beat an anxious rhythm and she couldn't think. She looked down at the pad in her hand, then looked at her watch. 2:22 AM. Shit. She set the pad down, knowing she had Logan's number in her Not A Stalker, Just A Concerned Friend file on her laptop. She'd call him as soon as she landed in DC. That would give her time to think about what to say. Clearly, they had been keeping too many secrets from each other - not willing to communicate directly, but never letting go. It was disturbing how they were so much alike.
The door clicked quietly behind her as she let herself out. Logan turned over restlessly in his sleep.
*******
"Hmmm. Veronica... " Logan said, still mostly asleep as he reached out a hand. The hand met empty sheets, already cool, and Logan's eyes flew wide open. Felicia was curled at the end of the bed, sleeping as she always did. There was no sign of Veronica. He sat up, his chest beginning to tighten in a familiar fear. "Veronica?" he called out, answered only by the empty silence of his loft. "Damn it, Veronica!!!" He shouted in frustration, throwing a pillow across the room. "Damn it. Damn it. Damn it."
Logan fought to keep his voice steady, though it threatened to crack. Anger, he told himself, feel anger not self pity and flagellation. This was about Veronica and her issues, not about him. He got out of bed, still naked, and paced the apartment, confirming that she had indeed left. And left no note. He checked his cell, to see if she might have programmed her number in. No. Despair hit. She had left no way to get ahold of her. Did she know about Keith? Did it matter? He had tried to talk and she had distracted him with sex. Had that been her intention all along?
The bed still smelled like her. Logan could barely breathe. She had been there after so long, and was now gone again. Left without a word, without a note, without even leaving her number on his cell. A situation not without precedence, he knew, as the ache tore through him suspiciously close to his heart. But this time he was sure there were no criminal activities he could be linked to. Oh, God, he didn't deserve this. For four years, he had been working towards this reunion and now it came too fast and blew through like a summer storm.
His eyes stung and he needed to move, to run, to get the hell out of this place where Veronica had been only hours before. He dressed quickly and grabbed his coat, determined to walk out all of the tight, anxious feelings threatening to overwhelm him.
Felicia, awakened by the commotion, rubbed around his legs. She could tell he was agitated and offered a puzzled, "Mroar?" of comfort. Logan reached down and picked her up, buried his nose in her fur as he had done so many times. She butted her head against his chin, as if to say, "Snap out of it. We're okay." But Logan was not okay, and even this furry bit of love could not stop the panic attack.
He set Felicia down gently. "I'll be back in a little while, baby, " he said as he closed the door.
Logan walked for hours, or so it seemed, his mind swirling and out of control. When he finally came to a stop on the sidewalk, he was not really surprised to find himself in front of an all night liquor store. He didn't need to ask how he got there - his inner addict kept tabs on all the local liquor stores as a sort of safety net, even as the Conscious Logan, the In Control Logan refused to ever acknowledge them. But In Control Logan was no longer In Control and Addict Logan was making his move. He stood on the sidewalk, taking in the flickering light of the old plastic sign. "A-EX LI-UOR," it said, having lost its "P" and "Q" sometime through the years, with no one caring enough to replace them. Logan tried to will his feet to keep walking, but they had a mind of their own, and stepped into the store instead. As if in a dream, he found himself standing at the counter, motioning to a cheap rotgut whiskey. No point in pretending this was for anything other than the worst kind of oblivion. Four years of sobriety and he was throwing it away. Might as well be honest about it.
The whiskey seemed to burn his hand through the paper bag as he walked back to his loft. The streets were dark, but he felt almost as if a spotlight were focused on him, as if someone - Dr. Jan, or his AA sponsor, Pete, would jump out and catch him with his contraband. A juvenile part of his mind was thrilled, like sneaking from his parents liquor cabinet in his early teens before it became rote habit understood and ignored by all.
He got to his place and eagerly grabbed a glass from the cabinet. After four years, he couldn't just drink from the bottle. There needed to be some kind of *ceremony*. Something to indicate the importance of this event. Something to stretch it out and give his mind time to get back into control. A ritual. He added ice to the glass, twisted off the cap slowly. The sting of the cheap whiskey hit his nostrils like furniture polish as he inhaled a deep breath. Finding some kind of courage in the smell, he poured the glass, watching the amber liquid cascade out in fascination. Liquid courage. Liquid destruction. Four years of tears and hard work and dealing with his fucking problems and oblivion sat at the bottom of that glass.
Logan closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. It was so easy...and so difficult, he thought as he wrapped his hand around the sweaty cold glass. Felicia hopped up on the counter, watching him with wise feline eyes. Tears squeezed out of the corners of his own eyes and he raised the glass to his mouth and tipped it back. The whiskey burned his tongue, both literally and in a deeper, more metaphoric sense, and he turned to spit it in the sink. He looked at the glass clutched tightly in his hand, staring as if through a fog, as if the hand belonged to someone else. He then pulled back his arm and flung the foreign glass at the wall where it shattered. "God damn it!!!" Logan shouted, picking up the bottle and throwing it to the floor to shatter. Shards of glass and ice cubes mingled, almost indistinguishable glitter in the dark stain spread across the tile. Felicia let out a squeal of shock and fear and bolted for her favorite safe spot under the couch.
Logan choked on the tears rushing up and ran to the bathroom to vomit. When he had voided every last bit of the contents of his stomach and then spent another half an hour dry heaving, he crawled out to the living room. His phone sat on the table near his keys, and he glanced at the time. Nearly 5AM. 2 o'clock on the West Coast. The middle of the night. He keyed in the number of the only person he thought he could talk to about this. He prayed that Keith would pick up.
"Keith Mars." The voice at the other end was cheerful and business-like. He must have been up working on a case.
"It's Logan." Logan's throat was sore from the stomach acid and dry heaves and he sounded hoarse and broken. He sat down on the floor, and Felicia crept out from under the couch, eyeing him distrustfully.
"Logan. What's wrong?"
"She - " he took a breath to get courage. "I almost took a drink." He heard Keith gasp a little, but to his credit, he gave Logan space to say what he needed to say. "She was here." No need to ask who "she" was; there was only one "she" that could break him like this. Only one "she" who would precipitate a call to Keith.
Logan could hear Keith breathe on the other end of the line. Finally, Keith spoke, sounding so fatherly and concerned that Logan almost began to cry. "I'm so sorry, son." Son? SON? The word echoed in Logan's brain, comforting him and tearing him apart. He wished he were Keith's son, that he and Keith and Veronica could form some sort of happy family unit. If only Veronica had stayed and let it happen. "Do you - do you want to tell me about it?" asked Keith.
"She was here. I saw her on the street. She... she came back to my place... she was here... but then she left. She didn't leave a note. She didn't leave anything." Logan was a little aware that he was repeating himself, that he might not be making sense, but he couldn't seem to do any better. Felicia crept closer and licked his hand. Logan pulled his hand back, startled. He looked into the furry little worried face, and reached out to pet her, reassure her, give her the comfort he did not feel himself.
Keith seemed to take a deep breath. Maybe he hadn't been the best person to call. Hardly impartial, and had Logan really just implied that he and Veronica slept together? Not that Keith didn't know, but to say it to his face? Keith finally spoke, in that comforting fatherly tone again, but this time holding the weight of truth and personal pain. "Sometimes they leave, son. And there's nothing you can do about it."
Logan did start to cry, then. Felicia rubbed against him and he clutched at her like a small child. "But she came back, Keith. She was back and I thought it would be - I thought -" Logan couldn't finish the sentence, and his sobs echoed over the phone. His hand tangled in his hair, and he pressed the phone to his face as if it was all he had left. "I've worked so hard at turning my life around..."
Keith sighed, and his sad serious tone told Logan that he was not just giving theoretical advice. "Sometimes life doesn't work out the way we plan... Love doesn't... You think you need a person, you can't live without them, but sometimes, the truth is, you can't live with them either. And when they come back to you, it is the best and worst you could hope for. I don't know what to tell you, son. I, well, I never thought I would admire you the way I do. And I guess I always hoped things would work out somehow, but maybe... maybe this really isn't what's best for either of you."
Logan's only answer was a choked sob, and several breaths that hitched a little as he tried to calm himself down. Felicia let out a small mewl of complaint as his grip tightened painfully on her.
"Listen, Logan... you shouldn't be alone. You said... you said, you had a drink?" Keith seemed hesitant and worried.
"I broke the bottle, " Logan choked out, seeming to get a grip on himself. "I broke the glass and I broke the bottle and my house smells like a distillery but at least I can't drink it."
Keith still sounded worried. "That's good. I'm proud of you, son. Is there anyone you can call? Anywhere you can go?"
Logan shook his head, still holding the phone in a tight death grip. "I don't know, Keith. It's still the middle of the night here. I don't know what to do. I want to... I'm afraid... afraid I might..."
"Is there an AA meeting?" asked Keith. Logan sniffed. Blinked, tried to clear his head, focus on Keith's words. He continued, "It is The City That Never Sleeps. There's gotta be a meeting somewhere. Can you check online or something?"
Logan nodded again, even though Keith couldn't see him. He took a couple of deep breaths and pushed himself up off the floor to shuffle over to his laptop. Felicia protested her displacement then padded along behind him. He flipped the laptop open and clicked on the internet. The AA listings were bookmarked and after a little scrolling, he found one starting in about half an hour at a Presbyterian church across town. A bit of a ways, but he could easily get there by the subway.
"Logan?" Keith still sounded worried. "Did you find one?"
"Yeah... yeah, in half an hour."
"Okay, so listen to me. Get yourself cleaned up. Go wash your face, maybe take a quick shower. Call Dr. Jan's office and leave a message that you need her to squeeze you in sometime today, and then you get to that meeting, okay?"
Logan nodded, then added a mumbled, "Um, hum," of consent.
"Call Pete, and let him know you need him. Don't feel guilty. That's what sponsors are for. He's been at the exact same place you are now, that's why he signed up as a sponsor. And if you can call me anytime you need to, too. Okay?"
Logan felt better. Calling Keith had been the right move. Now he had a plan. The fog was clearing and Addict Logan was receding. "Thanks, Keith."
"Anytime, kid. I am really proud of you. You made the right decision. You did everything right... and the rest of it..." He didn't say Veronica's name. "The rest of it will work out the way it needs to. We'll talk about it when you feel better. Just give it some time."
"Thanks, Keith. I'll... I'll go get in the shower now, and then I'd better get going. Thanks."
"Good luck, Logan. Call me later, okay?"
"Okay." Love you, Logan muttered to his closed phone, like he never would have said to his own father. Maybe someday he'd have the right to say that to Keith in person. In the meantime, a cold shower was calling his name, and then it was time for a trip across town. Felicia wove between his legs reassuringly. She seemed to sense the break in his panic and settled herself back on the bed as he headed for the bathroom.
******
Veronica was just getting out of her taxi when the phone rang. She pulled it out of her bag impatiently. Could it be Logan? Did he have her number?
Her father's name showed on the screen. She had just talked to him recently, and it was in teh middle of the night in Neptune so it must be important. "Hey, Dad," she answered, as she paid the cabbie. "Hang on." She grabbed her carryon out of the back and told the cabbie to keep the change.
"Yeah, Dad. What's up? I need to get on a flight in about -" she checked her watch, " - half an hour and I'm not checked in or through security." She power stepped to the nearest Southwest screen, cursing the fact that she hadn't had time for online check-in. She'd be stuck in between some lady with heavy perfume and a guy who really needed three seats. That's how it always worked if you got there late. At least she only had carryon.
"Do you... Do you need Logan's number?" Keith sounded concerned.
Veronica was impatient. She grabbed her boarding pass as soon as it printed - she was a "D". She didn't even know the boarding letters went to "D." She always checked in online so she could be an "A." She hoisted her briefcase higher on her shoulder with a sigh. Her wheeling luggage bumped behind her as she rushed for the security screening line.
"Listen, Dad. Can we do this later? I'm really late."
"Veronica. I know this isn't any of my business, but if you are going to call Logan... sooner is better than later."
Veronica stopped a moment and shook her head. "What the hell? Do you have some kind of lo-jack on me? Dad, I am twenty five years old and a government agent. The days of bugging my cell phone should be *over*," she said, angrily. "I don't know why you even know about this, but it is definitely none of your business." She continued her trek to security, her steps taking on an aggression stomp.
"Veronica, I know it's none of my business." Keith paused, and she could tell there were things he was keeping from her. She had suspected that he consulted on Logan's books, but now she wondered at the extent of their relationship. Logan must have called him... and it clearly wasn't to get *her* number or this conversation would be a moot point. Keith finally continued, in that careful voice he used with clients sometimes - when there was a lot of bad news and he was only giving them a small slice. "I got a call tonight from a young man I have really come to admire, and it made me think there might have been a misunderstanding between my daughter and him.
"What??" Veronica was confused, distracted. The airport was already bustling despite the early hour. "I don't know what you mean." She found the "extra security" entry and bypassed the crowd. She flashed her badge and ID at the guard and he stamped her boarding pass.
"He thinks you left with no note because you don't plan to see him ever again," said Keith, a little uncertainly, and she could tell that was more information then he had wanted to give.
"That's stupid. I have his number on my laptop. I was going to call him when I got to DC." Veronica tried to concentrate on the conversation as she removed her shoes and placed them in a bin. She took her computer out of her briefcase and placed it in another bin, then hoisted her small rolling carryon onto the conveyor. Finally, she pulled her handgun and badge out and handed them to the security guy.
"Just... just call him as soon as possible." Keith sounded relieved.
"Okay." The security guy had his hand out for the phone. "I have to go. Just... text me his number, and I'll call him before I get on the plane. I'll talk to you later. Love you." She terminated the call and passed the blackberry to the guard, before passing through the detector machine.
"Arms out," said the guard, and small puffs of air hit her all over. The whole thing seemed sort of ridiculous, since they would be handing her gun back in a moment, but JFK was particularly sensitive about following regulations to the letter after 9/11. Only declared weapons, and only with the accompanying badge number for their paperwork. "Clear."
Veronica stepped out and reclaimed her baggage, stuffing her laptop inside. She put on her shoes and holstered the gun, pocketing the badge. She glanced at her watch. Fifteen minutes to get to her gate. She flipped the phone open and checked the text messages. Logan's number was waiting.
Veronica took a deep breath and dialed as she speed-walked through the terminal. She was not ready for this conversation. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or disappointed to hear Logan's voicemail click in immediately. "This is Logan with today's inspirational message. 'In the haunted house of life, Art is the only stair that doesn't creak.' Tom Robbins. You know what to do."
It took Veronica a minute to find her voice. Some things apparently don't change, even when the rest of the world does. "Hi, Logan. It's me. I'm getting on the plane but I'll call you later. Or, uh, call me."
******
"Any guests or newcomers tonight?" asked the night's mc.
Logan raised his hand, along with several others. "My name is Logan, and I'm an alcoholic. I needed a little extra help tonight so I'm out of my usual territory," he said when it was his turn.
"Welcome, Logan. We're glad you're here." It was a ritual welcome, but it still warmed a little of the chill in his soul. It was already calming him down to be in the dingy church basement, though he would have mocked the whole idea years before. He clutched his foam cup filled with the requisite battery acid coffee and had even grabbed a slightly stale donut to pick at.
The mc covered the usual opening business. All meetings were the same, and yet each had their own flavor and this was no exception. Logan had never been to this particular meeting and the faces were all new to him, but there was something so familiar about the set-up, the routine, it might have been his home crowd. It was part of the beauty and design of AA. Logan looked around at the group, wondering at people who regularly met at 5:30 AM. A little bit of strength to get through work, or on the way home as a night shift ended. The crowd showed a broad range, from a nurse in scrubs to a construction worker and a grandmother. Also a couple of scruffy older men who could've been bums or famous artists or writers; sometimes it was hard to tell in New York.
The group recited the serenity prayer and Logan felt more of the ache recede. He could do this. He had been here before. He only had to take care of himself in this 24 hours, he could worry about the rest of his life later. He had broken the bottle, he had stopped himself in time. He would call Pete at the break, and see if he would come over and help clean up the mess. The mess in his apartment, and the mess in his head. It would all be okay. He would get past the crisis, and then he would decide what to do about Veronica.
"Before the break, is there anyone who wants to share tonight?" Logan raised his hand and since his was the closest raised hand to the front, the mc handed him the mic. He stood up.
"Hi, um... My name is Logan." Logan cleared his throat nervously. His hand reached up to touch his hair in his usual unconscious gesture of uncertainty.
"Hi, Logan," the group chorused back.
"I'm... I've been sober for four years. And tonight, I bought a bottle of whiskey." Logan looked at the sympathetic eyes trained on him, saw some nods. These were all his people whether they looked like it or not, and just seeing the faces gave him strength. His voice stabilized. "I started drinking when I was eleven. My mother was an alcoholic." More nods, and some of the pressure in Logan's chest eased. "Family life was... not good." A dry chuckle, this wasn't his full reparation speech. He'd cut some details for time's sake. "Things got really bad when I was around sixteen." He took a deep breath, considered skipping this part. But it was too critical to the years that followed. To his lapse tonight. "My... my first love... was murdered, then my mom killed herself. A year later... my dad... died." Not too many details, he wasn't going to dwell on that part. The crowd continued to nod. They had heard a lot of stories, some even worse than his. "I was drinking a lot. I didn't have anyone... except this one tiny blonde girl. She loved me, god knows why." He sighed, and let some of the pain he was feeling escape into the air on his breath. "She was everything, all I had left... but it wasn't enough to keep me from drinking. She tried, " he said in her defense. He saw the nods, some tears. They knew this story from the inside. His people, all right. "But eventually she gave up."
Most of them had been through that part, too, and he knew he held all of their attention. "I hit bottom, tried to kill myself in a car crash. A bad one. I came to my senses in the hospital and got clean. Yesterday -" his voice broke. This was the hardest part. A few hands reached out to steady him, pat his shoulder. A hand wrapped around his and he wasn't even sure who it belonged to, he couldn't see through the sheet of tears covering his eyes, dripping down his cheeks. "Yesterday, I saw her again. For the first time since - " He choked, and paused for a moment. The room breathed, and let him know silently that he could take his time. He could stop here, too, if that was what he needed. They knew, they understood. But he had to get it all out. "She came home with me. We - " he choked again, couldn't say the words *made love*, continued, "I woke up and she was gone. No note, no phone number. Gone." A sigh rippled through the group. Memories filled the air, of lovers betrayed, of lovers betraying in times of need.
Logan gripped the anonymous hand tightly. "I went for a walk and found myself in front of a liquor store. I bought the cheapest, nastiest bottle of whiskey I could find. I just wanted to... to block everything out...to punish myself..." The group murmered support and anguish at the familiar scene. "As soon as it hit my tongue, I couldn't do it. I broke the glass, broke the bottle. I called... a friend... and he reminded that I could go to a meeting. So here I am." Logan took a huge breath and let it out, rubbing his eyes and looking around. Perfect strangers were giving him more love and support than he had ever had from his own family and he felt relief. Immense relief. The crisis was over and he had survived. He was not alone, even if feeling Veronica with him and then gone had opened a new hole inside of him, when he thought his days of being full of holes were over. His new life gave him plenty of support. There was Pete, and Dr. Jan, and Keith. And all of these people, who he knew would come individually during the break to shake his hand and hug him and make sure he knew that he wasn't alone. And other friends, too, who didn't know this side of him but were support none the less.
Logan passed the mic to the next warm hand, a hand that gripped over his for a moment reassuringly, and as he sat back down he felt peaceful. This was a test. It needed to happen. He proved to himself that he really was strong and he could live a life he chose for himself, a happy healthy life, a clean and sober life. Now he just had to figure out the next step of winning Veronica back.
*********
Veronica flipped through the pictures in the file again. The plane was packed and the air felt stale, but at least there was no perfume lady next to her. A business woman dozed on one side, head propped on the window. A young man rocked out to his iPod in the aisle seat, retro sunglasses perched on his nose. The plane was not particularly brightly lit, so the kid was either hung over or stoned. Or trying for an effect. Corey Hart Lives again.
Veronica's own eyes were itchy from lack of sleep, and the past seemed particularly close, swirling and wrapping around her. What irony that she should bump into Logan on this trip of all times. When she was reviewing her commitment to the FBI, hunting a killer out of her past, and even contemplating a return to Neptune.She was about to give a presentation on the Killer Barber, as she now thought of him. She had determined that the NYU student murdered in her dorm was another victim of the killer who started in New Jersey, and then moved to Virginia. That made three they knew of, and he could officially be called a serial killer now. If she could convince her AD. She would only have fifteen minutes of free speaking time at the end of her review. She needed to have all the details arranged in the most succinct and convincing format.
She would also have to explain why she, as a junior agent not yet assigned to cases of her own, had been investigating this particular case. She was lucky this meeting was already scheduled with AD Jackson. Anderson would fry her ass when he found out, and she would probably end up with an official reprimand in her file. But if Jackson signed on, well, then it would all be worthwhile. She needed to be on this officially. Then she could really use the resources available to her at the FBI.
The Montclair police chief kept in touch, updating her and asking about her Dad. Veronica suspected the chief was really disturbed to have such a violent unsolved case linger in his jurisdiction, which seemed to be otherwise very law abiding and orderly. It was actually really odd that the killer seemed to choose small college towns - usually killers sought urban larger areas so they would be less conspicuous. Could it be part of his signature, his turn on? New York and the girl at NYU were the exceptions. What did that mean?
He wanted them unconscious and warm, then dead... The MO was changing, nothing unusual about that, especially if he was early in his killing career. He was still figuring out what worked, what got him off. The most important thing was to separate the signature signs from the MO. What *was* actually getting this guy off? What made him unique among the killers out there? Those pieces would remain constant and help track him, even as his methods evolved. The rape, the drugging, the head-shaving... Now murder? Or was the murder beside the point? The first was a suffocation. Inspiration of the moment? She had struggled, had not fully submitted to the drugs. Had he decided murder was easier? Or was it only certain instances, with rapes continuing in between?
It was so frustrating! There were too many gaps in her information. She needed the task force to start the slow, painful process of sifting through newspapers and police files to look for more similar crimes. She had to convince the AD to give her some manpower, make this an official case. Even an intern would be a help. Veronica closed her eyes and began deep breathing. "AD Jackson will support me, " she half prayed, half pleaded in her head. "She will support me." It became a mantra. "I will find this killer."
A/N: I know nothing about NY's liquor laws, so if it's impossible to buy it after a certain time, please just pretend. Thanks.