A/N: The plan for this story is to cover episodes 1x14 (Mars vs. Mars) through 1x18 (Weapons of Class Destruction). The first few chapters will probably stick fairly close to scenes from the show; as a result, a lot of the dialogue will be direct quotes. I'm hoping I've added enough extras that the story won't feel like a regurgitation of the episodes. (Please let me know if I fail!) Later on, the story should focus more on missing moments.

I hope you enjoy!

Logan actually had to look up Veronica's new address in the phone book. He'd heard that her family moved to the sticks after Papa Mars got canned, but even his most vindictive fantasies hadn't conjured anything quite as seedy as the Sunset Cliffs Apartments. He at least thought she'd have a doorman.

"How the trashy have fallen," he muttered, mostly to make himself feel better. After all, he was the one asking her for help.

Duncan hadn't even pretended to believe that Mom could still be alive. He'd listened to Logan's explanation – the missing credit cards, Grandpa's heirloom lighter left on the dresser – and hadn't said a goddamned word. Logan didn't know what he'd expected, but his best friend should have said something. Instead of just staring at him with that "poor crazy Logan" expression while backing away slowly. The old Duncan would have…

He snorted, flicking Grandpa's lighter open and slapping it shut.

The old Duncan would have gone to get Lilly. And then Lilly would have stomped in and told him to snap out of it, that alive or not, his mother was gone, and that either escape was no bad thing. He would have told her to shut the hell up.

Then Veronica would have jumped in with the quiet voice and doe eyes that he'd always secretly known disguised a backbone of steel. She'd have gotten them all to calm down, and then asked Logan to take them through it again: the evidence, the signs that Mom was still alive. Lilly would score some booze and get them reminiscing about good times with Lynn, and then good times in general, until they were all so shit-faced that no one cared when Logan started crying. By morning, they'd forget all about it, and Logan would know, deep down, that his mother was dead.

But that family was gone now – broken apart by Lilly's murder and Veronica's betrayal; Duncan's anti-depressant daze and Logan's own dickishness. Looking back, he realized that Duncan had never been the one who came through in a crisis. Duncan was good for goofing around, high-stakes poker and talking about chicks, but Lilly and Veronica were the ones he'd relied on when stuff really mattered. Was that irony? In Veronica's case, maybe. In Lilly's, it was just tragic.

After Lilly's murder, Veronica had changed so much and so fast that he had to wonder if he'd ever known her at all. These days, she tromped around school in dyke boots and thrift store clothes, beating up stoolies for the PCHers or some shit. Getting her top stud Weevil to punch a hole in Dick's car radiator. Framing Logan for possession. Basically, she pretty much sucked.

But she did manage to nail that rat Shaun for ripping off their poker game. And she got Luke off the hook with the dealer who probably would've broken both his legs. Mr. Mars might be the one with the business cards, but it was pretty obvious that Veronica did more at Mars Investigations than handle paperwork.

Well, god knew no one else was going to look for Mom – least of all the Grieving Widower, expertly played by Academy Award Winner Aaron Echolls. If anyone was going to find Mom, it was Logan himself. And to do that, he needed Veronica.

He flicked his grandfather's lighter open a couple more times to psych himself up. Free at last, the inscription said. He wanted to believe she was. He just had to know for sure.

"Cowboy up, Logan," he muttered, adjusting the rearview to make sure the paparazzi hadn't tailed him. No need to give the tabloids another Echolls-sponsored paycheck. Although he was almost curious to see what they'd spin from catching him here. White trash baby mama or snorting coke off a hooker's ass? So many exciting possibilities out here in the 92107 ZIP.

Before he could punk out completely, he launched himself out of his car and into Veronica's building.

Apartment 110 was on the ground floor. The lights were off, but he knocked anyway.

Blue reflections from the pool danced across the stucco walls, just like they did in his backyard. He shivered and hugged his jacket tight around his chest.

A shape moved behind the glass and then Veronica was there, cropped hair and green hoodie making her nearly unrecognizable as the girl he used to know. Then her eyes softened and her lips fell open in a little pout, and recognition twisted in his gut. He knew that face. Or thought he had. He looked away.

"Logan, what are you doing here?"

Her voice was soft and gentle, just like he'd imagined in his fantasy funeral where the whole gang got drunk and mourned together. Just like she actually gave a shit.

Veronica Mars, ladies and gentlemen. The devil in a ponytail and lip-gloss. He'd been so totally suckered. Suckered when he thought Veronica was as much his friend as Lilly's. Suckered when she'd rushed to tattle on him for kissing Yolanda for five seconds after two years of dogged fidelity. Suckered when he confronted her with the rumors that her dad was leading a witch-hunt against the Kanes, and she'd glared at him and said, "what about it?"

Logan squeezed the lighter until the edges dug into his palm.

"I want you to find my mother."

Veronica's expression froze. Logan huffed a laugh, suddenly realizing how it sounded.

"Relax, I'm not asking you to drag the lake."

He took a deep breath, looking away so he wouldn't have to see it when her expression changed. He wasn't sure if it would be pity or ridicule. Either one would be pretty unbearable right about now.

"My mother didn't really kill herself."

For a moment, she didn't say anything.

"Come inside, okay?" she murmured, waving him in.

Pity. Super.

He shot one last, longing glance toward his car and followed her in.

She left the door open; a reminder that she could kick him out any time. He waited for her to toss one of his own jabs back at him – one of his gems about Mrs. Mars turning tricks at the Camelot, or disappearing to Cabo for spring break. Those jokes didn't seem so funny now. When she didn't say anything, he tried again.

"Veronica, she's not dead."

"What makes you think she's still alive?" Her voice was so gentle. It made him want to scream at her.

"Why does everyone assume that she's not? I mean, there's no body…"

"What about the woman who saw her jump? It's been on every channel."

"Well, if she's on TV, she must be telling the truth," he snapped.

Her frown deepened and Logan fumbled for some evidence to break through the wall of skepticism going up behind her eyes.

"Look, her credit cards were missing! Doesn't that seem like, I don't know – a clue? You don't jump off a bridge with your platinum card."

"Logan, I–"

"I know my mother!" he shouted, jabbing his clenched fist at her.

Veronica flinched, but she didn't blink. Logan realized the lighter was still digging into his palm. He shoved his hand into his pocket and forced his fingers to let go. This was Veronica. He had to give her real clues, not some sentimental crap about a family heirloom.

"Okay…" Veronica's tone was harder, and Logan relaxed a little. If she kept talking in that gentle, pitying voice, he'd either break something or cry. "I heard she left a note."

Right. Mom's post-modern answer to the suicide note: a memo on her Blackberry.

I can't take this anymore. I've tried and tried, but it's just too hard. I'm sorry.

She should have closed with, Goodbye, cruel world, just to really nail the cliché.

The note hadn't been addressed to anyone. She hadn't written one word to Logan. If she'd really killed herself, she would have told him that she loved him. She would have at least said goodbye.

"Yeah, well, she wants people to think she's dead," he explained, wrapping his arms around himself. He was cold. Ever since the funeral, he'd been so goddamned cold. "But if she was going to really do the deed, it'd be chardonnay and sleeping pills. She wouldn't risk being found bug-eyed and bloated in some shrimp net."

The ghost of a smile flickered across Veronica's face. He was right. She knew his mom well enough to see that he was right.

"I'll see what I can find out," she promised.

He waited for the punch line; for her to yell, "gotcha!" and kick him to the curb. When it didn't come, his lips twitched into a hesitant smile.

It hadn't been as painful as he'd thought it would be, asking Veronica for help. Honestly, he'd expected her to refuse flat-out. Maybe laugh in his face. Make him beg on his knees. She hadn't even mentioned money. Part of him hated her for being the bigger person. Most of him was just grateful she was going to help.

He'd already turned to go when he stopped in the doorway. In the dark, you almost couldn't tell this place was a dump. He could nearly pretend he was looking at his own pool; that mom was about to go for her nightly swim while he, Lilly, Duncan and Veronica sat in the pool house, watching a movie.

He should say something. Thank you? I'm sorry? Both options sounded like admitting he was wrong, and he wasn't. Veronica was the one who had turned her back on them.

"You know, I…" He trailed off. Forced himself to start again. "I just need to know she's okay."

Without looking back at Veronica, he stepped into the night.