"You can't love someone else unless you love yourself first."

Bullshit.

I have never loved myself.

But you.

Oh god, I loved you so much I forgot what hating myself felt like.

It was easier to hurt her.

Easier than the sharp pain of Lilly's death. Easier than bearing the weight of guilt. Easier than healing from the bruises and burns from his adored father.

Easier than blaming himself.

So he focused all his energy on making sure she hurt as much as he did.

(After all, misery does love itself some hot blonde company.)

He whet razor-sharp words and flung them her direction, taking pleasure in the moments she flushed or winced. Signs that he had touched a nerve, that his weapons had struck true. That he was not alone in his misery.

But one day (after Shelly's party, now that he thinks of it), she comes to school armed. Her long curls traded in for short and spikey, skirts and soft colors discarded in favor of sturdy jackets and military lines; she has weapons of her own now.

She no longer flinches or blushes, but hurls insults back at him. The first few attempts are clumsy, but it's enough of a change to throw him off balance. Soon, she tosses slights with a practiced hand, and they fall into an unconscious rhythm.

He pours out his anger at her expense, masochistically waiting for her to strike back. At least her blows are honest. There is no manipulation there, no pretense of caring.

He stares at the computer screen, wondering why he agreed to make the memorial video - reliving the ache of her absence by watching this facsimile of his girlfriend. Sweet, proper, innocent. Lilly was many things, but this award-winning model good girl was not one of them.

Then, in a moment of hesitant kindness, Veronica brings him the tape of homecoming. Their homecoming. Lilly laughing, scandalizing all of them, glorying in her youth and beauty. She gives him a way to remember Lilly as she was, not as Celeste wanted her to be.

This gift establishes an uneasy truce. They still exchange barbs, but it's less about wanting to hurt her, and more because he doesn't know what else to say. They have both been at war too long to remember what peace feels like.

But then his mom… He refuses to believe what they're saying. He doesn't care what proof they have, it doesn't make sense. And there's only one person to go to about ignoring proof and hunting down any other vaguely possible lead. One person who knew more about missing mothers and desperate hopes than he did. So he finds himself outside her door, waiting for her to pity him, to ignore him, to shut the door in his face for everything he's ever said to her.

"Come in."

Her voice was soft, gentle. She helps him, tries to guard his hopes, finds him smallest chance that his mother is alive. That's she's free.

But she's not. She's dead. Trina steals the last possibility that Lynn escaped, and mocks him for the paradox of caring for the same father that burned him with cigarettes and bloodied his nose.

He turns and sees the look in Veronica's eyes. It's finally the kindness that breaks him, leaves him sobbing in her arms as she murmurs soothing sounds and tries to hold him together. He remembers nothing else from that night except the way she smelled and how tightly he clung to her shoulder.

Then he finds her collection of files, and realizes she's as haunted as he is. That she suspects everyone because she has to. While he drowns himself in drinks and parties, her coping mechanism is to hound every fact of Lilly's death until something makes sense. She has a file on everyone. Jake and Celeste he can understand. But when he sees a folder with Duncan's name, he thinks that maybe both of their coping methods are destructive addictions. Things they pursue to relieve the pain, temporary as they are.

He may understand her more, but he has to tell Duncan about her file. (Doesn't he?) But the shaky truce and recent empathy convinces him to at least let Veronica know. And of course she's angry (when isn't she angry at him?), but for some reason, he wants to try. Try and explain why he did it, try to get her to understand.

It is in the middle of their usual bickering when he suddenly hears a threatening voice on the other end, and a gasp of alarm from Veronica that makes his hair stand on end. He isn't even conscious of running to his car and flooring it as soon as he hears her say the Camelot motel. All he can think is that he has never, in his entire life, heard Veronica Mars sound so damn afraid.

Thoughts race through his mind (He couldn't lose someone else. He couldn't lose her), and his fury and fear increase when he hears the door slam and her terrified voice is yanked out of range from the phone. He reaches the parking lot seconds later, but it feels like centuries.

He spies someone grabbing her arm and forcing her up the stairs and the rage flooding through him makes it impossible to focus on anything besides leaping over the railing and taking the steps four at a time until he can slam his fist into the guy's face.

He gets two more punches in before he realizes she's saying his name, telling him it's okay. He hovers in the hotel room, still buzzing with anger and adrenaline. The scumbag (Ben something - he makes a note to look him up for future threatening purposes) tries to get him to leave.

"Dream on, Jumpstreet. I'm not leaving you alone with her."

And he knows he sounds ridiculous, like all the clichés of the white knight and damsel in distress. God knows she's not in distress and he's never been one for chivalry. He goes when she asks (since when was he unable to say no to her?), but tells her to leave the door open a crack, and both assures and threatens when he says he'll be right outside.

(She listens, he notes in surprise as the door swings almost shut, leaving a purposeful gap.)

It's stupid. Trying to protect the Veronica Mars, with her dog and her taser and her glares that he pretends don't affect him. He slumps against the wall, knowing what will happen next.

What were you thinking, Logan? I don't need rescuing from you, Logan. I could have handled it myself, Logan. God, just leave me alone, Logan.

So he waits, slouching, for her to burst out of the room with her usual righteous anger and biting wit, ready for her to rip him a new one for presuming she needed him. But she exits the room quietly and looks at him with unreadable eyes. (For not the first time, he wishes he knew what she was thinking.)

In a way that is hesitant but impulsive all at once, she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth. He feels like he's been struck by lightning, the way electricity courses through his veins, the shock steals his breath, and he suddenly straightens and leans unconsciously towards her, full of a dangerous, damning, desperate hope.

As if the lightning granted his wish to read her mind, he sees her surprise at herself, the headshake that asks what on earth she was doing, her decision to walk away.

He only lets her take one step, two steps, before he reaches out and spins her into his arms. And he knows she must have felt the storm as well, because they're melting together and he thinks he's never actually breathed before this moment.

She pulls back, eyes dazed, and stares at him.

He stares at her.

Drops his hands away from her hips.

Watches her flee down the steps of the Camelot.

As she pauses by her car door, glancing up to meet his gaze; eyes unsure, surprised, and possibly even hopeful, Logan only has one coherent thought.

Shit.