Sometimes, an idea needs to sit with you for a while. You know it's right, but the characters, they need to conspire.

Someone threw a wish in the fic well a long time ago. The prompt: Can someone write a fic where Logan is in a coma after the car bomb and sees a glimpse of the after life? Lilly, Kendall and Carrie are there..." After much silence, Lilly and Carrie surprised me with ideas. Many of them. I'm not sure this is exactly what you envisioned when you made the suggestion, but it's quite a journey.

I love a good coma/dreamworld.

Off the top, as the tags make clear: Rob is the worst and Logan always lives in my fics. You are safe here, Mallows. I promise. No severe injuries, even. You'll see. LoVe conquers all.

Without further ado... our story. Please note: bonus content in end notes on A03

Lyrics quoted within are taken from

Holding My Breath - Mr. Twin Sister

Straight To You - Nick Cave and The Bad Seeds

Last Kiss - Wayne Cochran

Logan was already considering placing a call to the weather service in Hell to inquire about blizzards, what with Veronica Mars meeting him at the altar and all, but then, it happened: proof that Hades was surely suffering an Ice Age.

"Oh shit, you're right!" Veronica exclaimed.

Veronica Mars (Echolls?), the smartest woman in the room, had casually acknowledged that he, Logan Echolls (Mars?) had known something she had not—namely, the time zone of their honeymoon destination. He spun away into the hall to suppress a triumphant grin.

"I think I'm going to shower first," Veronica called out behind him, the sound of water cascading onto the bathroom tiles following soon after.

A moment's hesitation—I could join her—was dismissed in favour of getting on the road sooner. If he had his way, they had a long night ahead of them. A sleepless one, with as little clothing as possible.

Some thirsts would simply have to wait for Sedona. The literal one from their non-stop chatter since leaving City Hall, however… that, he could remedy.

He was rounding the corner into their cramped kitchen, his parched mouth in search of the last bottle of acai berry blend hiding in the door, when the familiar chirping of his phone disrupted his plans: Street Cleaning Alert.

Did he dare point out to Veronica that he was right and today was a cleaning day—and they should have parked on the other side of the street when they came home? Not a chance. Things were finally good again. Veronica was more… Veronica in the last twenty-four hours than she'd been in a long time.

Two victories in one day? You're dreaming, Logan.

"Yeah, I'm moving the car!" he announced, as much for himself as her benefit.

"What?"

"I'm moving the car!" he repeated, shutting the door behind him.

Taking the steps two at a time, Logan couldn't help but smile. So maybe Sedona wasn't the private beach destination he'd like to whisk her away to, but he understood her pride. It was why they'd agreed years ago to bury his fortune in retirement investments and (unknown to her) in case of emergency savings accounts just a quick wire transfer away. She wanted to be equals, and the Echolls fortune felt suffocating.

I know the feeling. Hell, Logan had spent a year of therapy on it.

He was steps from the car when her voice rang out, startling him from a mental checklist of ways he planned to explore his wife's body after their drive.

"Hey!"

As he turned towards her, he tugged his sunglasses from his face, marvelling at the Romeo and Juliet of the moment. He blinked and suddenly, he was in the Hearst cafeteria, during his prison experiment jail break. Star-crossed, she'd called them, as a joke. Another blink, and there was his bride, chin jutting slightly in that almost cocky way. Her I know something you don't know expression.

"They don't do Daylight Savings Time in Arizona," Veronica informed him, "so I'm claiming half credit, even though…"

"Yeah?" he probed, shrugging at her suddenly puzzled look.

"What's the time difference in Fiji? Penn's limerick, midday 'round Fiji?"

Her eyes darted to his left and he followed her gaze, spotting the eager-to-enforce parking patrol of Neptune on the approach. Logan held up a finger, gesturing to the driver within.

"Hold that thought. I'm moving it!"

Midday around Fiji, he mused as he unlocked the door. It never did tie to the sandwich shop… and what did it have to do with the high school?

As he slid into the car, he spotted it: a backpack, neatly tucked beneath the passenger's seat, its straps just peeking out. Neither he nor Veronica owned a backpack—and if he adjusted time zones…

Oh, fuck!

Pushing out of the seat, Logan broke into a run, charging towards the approaching enforcement officer as heat roared and threw him to the ground with the practiced hand of his father. His eyes fell closed and his head met the ground with a sickening crack, a single word branded on his brain:

Veronica.

"NO!"

Logan sat up swiftly, sheets drenched in sweat and tangled like sea kelp about his ankles. Swiping at his brow, his chest heaved for air as he glanced around the room in bewilderment. To his left, a stack of textbooks and notebooks, some opened and jammed together, were piled on the floor in the corner. To his right, a half-eaten pizza on a white china plate balanced atop the alarm clock, next to a phone branded with the logo for the Neptune Grand.

"I… what the hell?"

Stumbling to the bathroom, he took stock of the man reflected in the expansive mirror: the puka necklace, the short, choppy mess his hair was without product to make it behave; the faint definition of his abs. He was a teenager. Yanking opened the right hand drawer, he pulled out a strip of condoms and whistled low. Yeah, definitely my room.

On the counter in the far left corner, he spotted a prescription bottle and grimaced. Duncan.

Marrying Veronica was a dream?

No ring on his finger, he noticed. He definitely was not older, nor was he in the Navy. Logan snorted. Him? The Navy? Obeying orders? Turning on the shower, he stripped out of his boxers and stepped under the steaming hot spray. With every passing minute, the strange dream seeped from his memory, tendrils of thought teased into the ether until all that remained was the core truth:

You still love Veronica.

Not that it mattered. He'd destroyed his one chance with her, allowed his anger to consume him. She'd believed him a better man, and he'd spat in her face, laughed at the thought until she, too, lost faith.

Turning off the water, he wrapped a towel around his waist and sighed. Back to the darkness, he'd been cast. Back to the world where nothing grew, where no sunlight dared cast its rays. Back to a world where it was use once and destroy—

Knock-knock-knock!

"Veronica?" he whispered—no, prayed.

Foolish, since if she was her, she would be here for Duncan, not him. Never him.

A second rapping brought him to the door, where he threw caution to the wind and threw the door open in turn. The bemused grin that studied his near-naked frame was only half-satisfying.

"You're not my Rocky Road ice cream," he quipped.

"No," Kendall Casablancas purred, stepping inside the suite with a kiss to his cheek.

Dressed in a form-fitting purple dress cut mid-thigh and plunging deep between her breasts, the reason for her visit was clear. Kendall was a woman who was direct in her demands, something Logan appreciated in their little exchange: he used her to self-destruct in calculated fashion, and she used him strictly for sex and to convince herself she was still twenty-one. Her manicured fingers toyed with the towel hugging his hips as she nudged him towards the couch.

"Are we alone?"

"Haven't heard a peep from DK, but he's not a screamer like you," Logan murmured. "Guy probably texts his orgasms to his girlfriends. I'm coming, smiley face. Was it good for you? Frowny face."

"Enough talk," Kendall insisted, running a finger down his chest. "You know I don't come here to talk. Unless it's dirty."

The back of Logan's knees collided with the couch and Kendall shoved him down, straddling his waist. Her mouth moved to his neck as she whispered demands he knew by heart: "Unzip me. Touch me. Harder."

Trouble was, Logan wasn't interested, not even if it would break Veronica's heart as deeply as it wounded his to see her walking around school, holding Duncan's hand and acting like that night at Shelly's was okay. Because the more he thought about it, something wasn't right there. Just like something wasn't right here, on this couch, with the Queen Succubus.

But what was it?

A hallway. Veronica, in his arms. Kendall standing, bemused.

"No, no. Hold that position. Norman Rockwell wants to come in and paint you two. Did he pin on his pin or was he too shy?"

Veronica was pissed. "Why are you here?"

"Yeah, I didn't know you could come out during daylight hours," Logan snarked.

Logan grimaced as a dull headache set in. When was that?

"Some attention?" Kendall demanded, bucking her hips against him. "I'm not a hooker."

Veronica in his arms, naked. The master room in the Neptune Grand suite.

"You know, if I were a hooker, this snuggle would cost you."

"I'll gladly pay," Logan replied.

"Really?"

"For this? Cash money."

It felt so real. The memory of the wedding… the sense that he and Veronica were together now… Maybe the wedding and the Navy thing wasn't the dream. Was this the dream?

"This isn't real," Logan mumbled as Kendall slapped his palm upon her breast.

Tossing her hair back, her eyes narrowed. "Oh, it's real. Everything is real, including the orgasms. But if you'd like to go back to playing grab ass with cheerleaders who haven't mastered missionary, be my guest."

Kendall rose to her feet, her spike heels clicking as she re-zipped her dress. Logan sighed, shaking his head. No matter what he felt for her (not that much), he didn't want to insult her body. Her mind was the better target.

"C'mon, I didn't mean it like that. It's just… you ever get that feeling you're awake and dreaming?"

Veronica in a white dress, smiling up at him… the image was so clear. But how they got there, or when, or what came next… why couldn't he remember it if it was real?

Plucking a gold tube of lipstick from her purse, Kendall smiled in that way that made him feel like she was two seconds away from carving him up with a knife and stealing his credit cards. "No. I am always in control. And if you can't appreciate the good thing you have in front of you, maybe I'll pay a visit to your roommate. I bet he's up for a little fun…"

"Kendall, don't," he warned.

"Stop me," she dared, winking playfully as she slipped inside Duncan's bedroom.

"Shit!"

Was this real? He couldn't tell anymore but if it was, Kendall was about to wreak havoc on his life. Rising to his feet, Logan cursed his state of undress. Marching into Duncan's room in a towel wasn't his idea of a great plan, but if Veronica caught Duncan with Kendall… It would gut her. And Duncan did not have the willpower to resist the wicked machinations of someone like her.

The towel would have to suffice.

"Kendall, damn it!" Terrified of what he would find, Logan turned the handle and hurried inside…

Darkness enveloped him, shadows shifting and stirring with a sentience that sent a shiver down his spine. His palm stretched out to steady himself, to find a touchstone, but found only a vexed voice.

"Hey, watch out!"

"Sorry," Logan mumbled, bewildered as a wall became a form—Casey Gant.

Glancing down, he was dressed in a black dress shirt and pale slacks, neatly pressed. He followed Casey and his unfamiliar date through a black velvet curtain into a room brimming with people dressed in their clubbing best, clutching drinks and chatting excitedly. Decorated in shades of deep blue and gold, he could see a small stage dead ahead with a microphone, a drum kit and two guitars crammed onto it. To his right lay a bar with six seats, all of which were occupied. The one closest to him drew his gaze immediately.

"Hurry up! I'm thirsty!"

"Kendall," Logan whispered. "But… the Grand?"

They'd never taken their affair public. It had been taboo, of course, never mind the legalities. What was she thinking? Hell, what was he thinking? Baffled, Logan approached Kendall, who was now wearing a black mini skirt and a low cut red silk blouse. The man beside her departed, freeing a stool for Logan to sit down.

This has to be the dream, he decided. You can't walk through doors into… other places. Right?

"I can't decide between the Beast With Two Backs or the Donkey Punch," Kendall mused, eyeing the menu. "Maybe we should skip the drinks and have a little fun. I hear there's a pinball machine in the back. Care to give it a bump?"

"Pass," Logan replied, staring past her at the stage, where a raven-haired singer in an asymmetrical green dress was adjusting the mic, her head bowed low. "Order the De-Virginator. Seems fitting for a predator like you."

"Ha. You used to be fun," Kendall whined.

I used to think you were fun. How fucked up is that?

From the speakers overhead, a man's voice crackled: "Ladies and gentleman, our next performer is local sensation, Bonnie DeVille."

I remember this night. But it's not this night. It's another night, too.

The music began, a soft thump-thump. A pulsing beat, like a heart. He remembered sitting in the studio as Carrie demoed the track, watching her work. It needs to live, so when it ends, it dies. It dies and takes my words with it. She was always saying strange, morbid shit in the studio, but this song, this album… there was more to it.

The stage lights dimmed to a pale blue as Carrie cupped the mic and began to sing.

"Holding my breath, while the moon holds me
I can taste all my secrets and sins, like salt in the sea…"

In the back of the room, a group of men in Ottawa Senators jerseys groaned. Kendall sat her drink down in disbelief.

"Okay, I don't like her, but even I have more class."

"They're Canadian, what do you expect?" Logan quipped.

Carrie had left the stage, mic in hand as she wove her way through the crowd. Her voice drew people in, yearning and needy, as she drifted between tables and eventually, found her way to the bar. Her eyes locked on Logan and her lips curved into a knowing smile. Without hesitation, she sank onto his lap sideways, earning hoots of approval from the audience.

"Try drowning all our memories tonight
Confessions won't save me now."

As Kendall cleared her throat angrily, Carrie glanced in her direction and frowned. "Why'd you bring her?" she hissed.

"I didn't?"

He hadn't brought her. Not to Carrie's show. Not to the other night, the one with the angry Canadians, the one straining just beyond memory's reach. Why was it all so hazy and muddled?

With a nip of his ear lobe, Carrie slid away, finishing her song as she danced towards the stage. Men and women stared as her hips undulated in time with the bass line, her hand sliding provocatively up to curve her breasts. Her gaze fixed upon Logan, hungry and hot, as she sang a poignant piano cover of Nick Cave's "Straight To You" next—once upon a time, her song for him.

"Heaven has denied us its kingdom
The saints are drunk howling at the moon
The chariots of angels are colliding
Well, I'll run, babe, but I'll come running
Straight to you
For I am captured…"

Signalling the bartender, he ordered a shot of whiskey and knocked it back. It wasn't real whiskey—he understood that now. Something was wrong here—and not just Kendall's persistent hand on his leg. How did he remember Carrie's special song for him, but his memories of Veronica were a patchy, jumbled mess? Why did certain phrases feel familiar, yet out of place, like someone was playing Mad Libs with his memories?

This was a dream—maybe a nightmare, he reasoned, as Carrie finished her song and joined them, promptly cutting a line of coke on the scuffed and stained surface of the bar.

"I'm bored, Logan. Can we leave? I have plans for you and I," Kendall cooed.

"What are you, fifty? If you're looking for a sugar daddy, the retirement home is two blocks down the street. Bring pudding cups," Carrie scoffed, snorting a neat line of powder.

"Who do you think levelled up his bedroom skills, Hannah Montana?" Kendall snapped. "Nice wig."

"STOP," he pleaded, clutching his head as a fierce headache struck him with the precision of a ballpeen hammer. "Just… stop arguing."

He buckled forward as Carrie and Kendall bickered over their bedroom prowess, their dickering diminishing to a droning of debaucheries. The pulsing in his temples grew unbearable as he staggered from the stool, the bar suddenly empty, but loud, so fucking loud and so bright. So white.

A thunderclap of agony threw him face first into the wall as a voice cut through the din: "110 over 62!"

"Huh?"

The trill of laughter in his ears. Kendall and Carrie, conspiring over shots of tequila.

"We could share him. Not like I'm against a little girl on girl," Kendall added coyly.

A sniffing noise, a sigh of relief. "Wouldn't be the first time I've shared my bed with Logan and another woman," Carrie mused. "Of course, she was a ghost…"

A cymbal crashed in his ears and Logan fell to the floor, crumpling into the fetal position. Streaks of brilliant white blurred his vision as a soft hand caressed his face.

"Don't you leave me, Logan."

Tears streamed down his cheeks as the white-hot pain, it wouldn't fucking relent. It was a vice, tightening its screws around his skull, driving his brain into his feet.

"Stop it…. Please…"

Without warning, his right arm was wrenched away from his side. Yelping in surprise, Logan's eyes opened wide, staring up at the bemused expression of a buxom blonde with long, flowing waves.

"And you told me you'd never do threesomes, lover! Holding out on me?"

That smile, the twinkle of mischief in her eye, the way light gravitated to her, as if it craved the chance to caress her features…

"Lilly?"

Her cherry red lips curved downward as she stared at his prone body, still clinging to his hand. "You haven't forgotten me, have you?"

"More likely it'd be the other way around," he muttered, gritting his teeth as his temples pulsed.

Lilly pouted as she crouched beside him. "Are you really going to be like that today? I've missed you!"

Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him tight against her chest. Logan buried his face in her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her perfume. Her lips pressed to his temple and to his bewilderment, his headache eased.

"That's why I'm the best," she demurred, rising to her feet. Studying the empty nightclub, she frowned. "I expected this party to be dead without me, but seriously?"

"Lilly fucking Kane!" Carrie crowed from across the room.

"In the flesh!" Lilly enthused, dancing in circles around Logan's prone body. "This place sucks. Why are we here?"

"Ask her. She picked it," Kendall grumbled, sipping a martini. "At least there's booze."

Carrie shrugged. "Me? I didn't pick the place."

"But you were singing," Kendall protested.

"He likes it when I perform." Carrie shook a baggie of white powder. "I have party favours. I'm happy anywhere."

Lilly smirked, reaching her hand down to Logan. "In that case, let's go somewhere more… fabulous."

In his head, he heard Lilly whisper: Follow me. And like a good little rabbit bound to a blonde beauty, he closed his eyes and plummeted through the hole in the checkerboard floor that opened beneath her feet, never stopping to wonder why...

"Where's that dexamethasone?"

The light stung his eyes. It drilled into his skull, burrowed deep until there was nothing but the gnashing of its teeth, tearing his grey matter asunder.

"We may need to intubate!"

"WHAT IS HAPPENING?!"

"She can't be in here!"

What was that shrieking sound? It reminded him of an old camcorder whirring at triple speed, chewing a tape to pieces.

"WHY IS HE SCREAMING? LOGAN!"

Oh. He understood now. The chewed up tape? That was him.

It was a clear night, with a full moon hung low. Stars speckled the sky like the face of a festival faery-queen at Coachella. He was stretched out on a lounge chair, the familiar feel of the furniture having registered before he'd dared to examine his surroundings.

Logan surveyed the scene before him: the house to his right, dimly lit; the pool to his left; and the blonde beauty who was strolling to the pool in a plunging gown of golden glitter. The Kane house. Lying to his immediate left on a lounge chaise was Carrie, dressed in a green bikini, her hair back to that familiar high school auburn. Lilly twirled before him as she had the night of that fateful Homecoming, and his breath hitched in his throat.

I must be dead, Logan thought with devastation.

"Much better!" Lilly declared, reaching for a chilled bottle of champagne on the table beside him.

"You're going to swim in that?" Carrie sniped.

Lilly laughed, showing off her glittering heels. "Please. I'm not going to swim in this dress. I'm not going to swim in anything."

The back door of the Kane house slid open, revealing Kendall in a skimpy black bikini. Lilly rolled her eyes as Kendall sashayed towards the pool in a deliberate manner, seeking Logan's attention. Haunted by the memory of the woman screaming for him—Veronica?—he turned away, picking at imaginary fluff on the lounge cushion.

"Is your brother home, Lilly? Or do they chemically castrate all of the boys who go to Neptune High?" Kendall sneered, sliding into the pool.

"Sorry, Prissy Pants. My brother's only hot for blondes, which says a whole lot of creepy things about him." Lilly swigged the champagne, tiptoeing around to Carrie's side. "You know all about Donut's obsessions, don't you, Care Bear?"

Carrie's cheeks flushed. "The whole world knows, thank to Neptune's trial of the century."

"Sure. The trial. So, Logan, what do you think of our party?" Lilly asked, passing him the champagne.

Her hand was warm, soft, real. Too real for a ghost. He was definitely dead, which meant he and Veronica getting married was real. And if that was the last thing he could remember…

On our wedding day? I died on our wedding day. Are you fucking kidding me?

Logan took a large swig of champagne, laughing bitterly as it dribbled down his chin. "What do I think, Lilz? Quoth Edgar Allan Poe, 'Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.' Learned that one in rehab."

With a toss of her curls, Lilly nodded slowly, a very earnest expression upon her face. "Yeah, you need more alcohol. Finish that, babe. Carrie, unzip me!"

Carrie rose to her feet, her hand hesitating on the zipper of Lilly's gown. "You're not seriously getting naked, are you?"

"Like you don't switch hit," Lilly teased. "I have a bikini under here, duh. Hurry up!"

A champagne gown bubbled away to a white and gold string bikini, and then there was Logan, still dressed in his nightclub finest, surrounded by women hell-bent on enticing him. Bubbly was poured, toasts exchanged, but the first bottle remained his alone to nurse—and he took a long swig, since dead people couldn't collect sobriety chips, could they?

Veronica… What happened? We were married? It happened, didn't it? But then… what? Remembrances scattered in his skull like puzzle pieces cast aside in a tempestuous toddler's tantrum. Alterna Prom. The night he'd nearly died on the Coronado, but had made it to the shelter of her arms instead. That first kiss at the Camelot, his stomach dropping because what if he was reading her wrong? But he wasn't—he wasn't, and he was the luckiest. The outline of their love remained, but the colours had run.

Their relationship was a faded photograph and it was breaking him.

Logan took another drink, fighting back tears as Lilly clapped her hands together excitedly.

"I have the best idea! Let's play Never Have I Ever… but with an extra, hmm, challenge."

Carrie glanced up from the poolside bar, where she was scribbling words on paper napkins. "Challenge?"

"You'll see," Lilly sing-songed. "Me first!"

Kendall snorted. "There's not a lot I haven't done, Lilly."

"Then I guess you better be ready to drink." Dragging her fingertips in the water of the pool, Lilly smirked. "Never have I ever committed statutory rape."

Carrie snickered, side-eyeing Kendall. "I believe she's singing your song, Mrs. Robinson. Coo coo ca-choo!"

Leaning back against the wall of the pool, Kendall reached for her champagne. "I'd hardly call it that, but if you're referring to my relationship with Logan, I'll drink."

As Kendall began to sip, Lilly's eyes narrowed, the irises a chilling shade of blue. "That's exactly what the law would call it, and it's so over, like your terrible pick-ups lines, your god-awful cougar shtick, and your manipulation of Logan. Let's play, Kendall," she sneered, moving behind her. "Never have I ever stolen someone's identity. Never have I ever committed real estate fraud. Never have I ever been the door knob of the River Stix. Every Fitzpatrick gets a turn."

Logan's jaw fell open in shock as Lilly dug the heel of her gold stiletto into Kendall's shoulder, pushing her beneath the water. "Never have I ever helped my murderer frame my brother for my murder, you fucking bitch!"

"This seems personal," Carrie whispered, sitting on the edge of Logan's chaise. "Should we stop her?"

Logan threw his hands in the air as Lilly watched Kendall splash and struggle beneath the surface. "I don't know. Can a ghost kill a ghost? What are the rules here?"

"Maybe we should leave? You and I?" Her arm looped through his, pulling him to his feet. "Clearly, these two have unfinished business that doesn't involve us. Let's go somewhere peaceful, Logan. Somewhere quiet."

"Enough, Lilz!" Logan cautioned the fiery blonde, who batted her eyes and slowly lifted her foot from Kendall's arm.

Hefting the champagne bottle across the yard, Logan took two steps backwards and felt his knees buckle beneath him. Palms skidded along concrete as he slid face-first along the walkway, reeling from vertigo. Carrie kneeled down nearby, but her concerned whispers were muffled, as if spoken from miles away.

A flash of light. "Inducing a coma will protect his brain from further—"

"Logan?" Lilly was beside him now, shoving Carrie away. "Focus, babe. Focus. Where are you?"

"I… Hell?"

"Close enough," Lilly replied, laughing. "Who am I?"

"Fifty-four beats per minute, doctor!"

Logan's hands pawed the concrete, his raw skin freckling the slate grey in scarlet. "Huh?"

Carrie slipped her fingers into the cleavage of her bikini top, tugging a baggie of pills from within. "I know what he needs: a pick-me-up."

"No, no…"

Dead or not, he would never go back there. He could never face Veronica if he crossed that line, even in this twisted nightmare. He'd worked too hard to become the man she'd known he could be—to see the same potential within. Swatting the bag away, he rubbed his temples and willed his bones to solidify from the Jell-o they'd become.

"This is your fault," Lilly hissed.

"Me? It was you and your game of Kill the Kendall that set him off!" Carrie protested, glancing around the yard. "Um… where is Kendall?"

"She let him go," Lilly replied coolly.

"And that's what we're doing: we're going to go. Relax, catch-up, have an actual party—"

"A party?" Lilly pulled Carrie to her feet, pushing her away from Logan. "Let's talk about parties. Shelly Pomroy's party. Let's talk about the party where you could have stopped my bestie from being raped by Beaver, but instead, you spent the night collecting gossip about our class. Spent a year gossiping about Veronica in bathrooms, while she wondered who'd left her in the guest house that night. You knew. But it didn't serve your needs to spill the secret, did it?"

Carrie's complexion blanched as she glanced at Logan, then Lilly. "I didn't know what he did in there."

"You didn't know what he did in there, but you knew what Donut did in there," Lilly continued, backing Carrie up against the side of the house. "But my brother pissed you and Shelly off, so spilling that secret suited you when she came asking."

Overhead, the once clear sky was ominous and grey, clouds heavy and thick. A storm was brewing. Slowly, Logan pushed himself up to his feet, dizzy and weak. His body swayed to the left, but he remained upright.

Did Carrie know what had happened to Veronica at Shelly's party? Could she have stopped it? Or was Lilly twisting the truth to suit her agenda?

A man's voice. Soft, warm and kind: "Logan, can you hear me, son?"

Gingerly, he stepped forward as Lilly tilted her head to the side, studying Carrie's frightened face in profile. "When Mr. Rooks was perving on students and impregnated Susan, who found the truth? Veronica Mars. When Cobb boiled you in your bathtub gin for wanting to spill about Susan choking to death on her vomit, who made him pay? My best friend. Because the truth matters for her, babe. Not just when it suits her."

"Logan, stop her," Carrie pleaded. "We can be together, like we were before. In the beginning, remember? Veronica left you! She left you behind, like Susan left me."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but Logan recognized the difference between heartfelt sorrow and the on-cue weeping of an addict tugging on heartstrings. When Carrie truly hurt, her hands fisted in her shirt, and her forehead crinkled. She averted her gaze, fearing vulnerability. These tears, blinked hard and furious, were delivered with a needy stare. Performance art. It was a show he'd long grown tired of.

Lilly had tired of it, too.

"Logan matters to Veronica. Not just when it suits her, always. And you're killing him."

"Killing me?" Logan reached for Lilly, grimacing as a spasm shot through his right arm. "I'm not dead?"

"Almost," Lilly whispered. "Soon… Which is why Carrie is leaving now. You're only clinging to him because you still blame yourself for Susan's big sleep. Here's a secret, Care Bear: you left Susan, and now she's dead like you."

With a vicious shove, Carrie broke free of Lilly's grasp. "You never did know how to share."

"Why would I need to? God made me fabulous."

Lilly's hand reached for Logan's and his fingers wove between hers. His legs felt steadier, rooted in the earth. He understood little about the bizarre world he was trapped in, but he knew this: Lilly was the only one who might help him survive it.

"Goodbye, Carrie," he whispered, gasping softly as her body crumbled to dust before his eyes.

Lilly giggled, pulling him towards the pool as lightning flashed across the sky. "Finally! You're all mine now, lover. Just you and me…"

"Lilly, what the hell is going on? You said I'm dying! What's real? My memories, they're… I can't remember her, Lilz. Why can't I remember my life with Veronica?"

Lilly groaned loudly. "So many questions! Do I look like one of those losers from that Philosophy Club? I'm just a dead girl, spending one last night with my only love. And I want to dance."

"You really think I want to dance at a time like this?" Logan yanked his arm away, wincing as his right hand went limp. "The one thing I remember clearly is marrying Veronica today. And now you're telling me I'm dying? Sure Lilz, let's cope with that with an uplifting jig"

"Hello? Out by sixteen? Brains bashed out right over there? If I can put on a happy face for five minutes for someone I love, you can too," Lilly snapped, pivoting on her heel.

Droplets of water plummeted to the earth around them, shallow puddles forming at their feet. The collecting pools reflected the golden hue of the outdoor lights, lending an unearthly glow to the pavement. Logan's hair was swiftly dampened, his shirt sticking to his chest as he pursued Lilly to the bar. Her delicate fingers spun the dial on a radio, tuning the stations until she hummed happily at a familiar tune.

"Perfect! Dance with me, Lo. Please?"

Logan's hand gestured to her state of near-undress. "I'm not dancing with you in that."

"What? It's a pool party! It's expected!"

Logan held his ground, emphatically folding his arms across his chest. With an exasperated look, she snapped her fingers and lightning streaked across the sky in a blinding burst. When the world came back into focus, Lilly stood before him in a strapless gown of pale lavender, the empire waist bound in a bow of silver. The layered full-length skirt and the artfully-mottled dye of the fabric lent the effect of a cloudy sky. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in long, loose curls that gently fluttered in the stormy wind.

"You clean up nicely," she murmured. "But I knew that."

Glancing down, Logan was bewildered to find himself wearing a dark navy suit and white dress shirt that felt very familiar. "So do you, Lilly. But you also know that."

Twirling around, Lilly beamed. "No more excuses. Dance with me!"

Her arms wrapped around his neck and Logan surrendered to the moment, sensing this gesture was the way to garner answers about the state of un-reality he was imprisoned in.

"Considering I totally brought you two together, it was rude not to invite me to your wedding, Logan. I had the perfect dress picked out, see?"

The wedding. I wore this to the wedding. With perfect clarity, he saw the ceremony in his mind's eye.

"No one was invited, except Keith and Wallace," he replied gently. "No offense, Lilz, but we didn't think to pause and dig out the Ouija board. And me… I was so afraid she'd change her mind. That she would run. When she suggested City Hall, I took it."

Lilly clucked her tongue sadly. "And now, you're the proverbial sand through the hourglass."

"So are the days of our lives," Logan quipped. "I always saw Neptune as more Young and the Restless."

"Oh, my family is the Newmans," Lilly agreed. "Except Donut's not cool enough to be Nick."

"No, he is not." Logan swooped Lilly into an exaggerated dip, much to her delight. "It's hard to shine when you live with a sister soaking up all the spotlight."

"Please! I got the searchlight and the guard dogs. Duncan got to shine with the parents." Resting her head upon his shoulder, Lilly sighed. "This is so good. I'm sorry I didn't treat you better, Lo."

"Bygones," Logan whispered, and meant it. "Lilz, what's happening to me? To my memories?"

"Shh." Her finger pressed to his lips as she tilted her head back, collecting rain on her tongue. "Listen to the music. Dance with me."

Thunder rolled overhead, the sound echoing a harrowing image: a truck, bearing down on him as he tugged on the unconscious body of Keith Mars. Veronica, in his periphery, rushing towards them. Save him, his mind screamed. He'd glimpsed a world where Veronica lost her father, once. He wasn't ready to step through that door again, nor was she.

"Logan?"

"Hmm?"

"Truth or dare?"

Logan groaned loudly, brushing Lilly's damp hair behind her ears. "Truth."

With a decidedly serious look, Lilly leaned closer. "If I hadn't gotten my skull bashed in, would you have ever made a move on our sweet Veronica?"

A complicated question, one he'd wrestled with over the decades, including several intense therapy sessions during his stint in rehab. If Logan's self-esteem were a rotting onion in those days, one of the deeper layers was surely his disbelief in love—in being worthy of it.

Before the murder, Veronica was a more trusting, open person, but even she held secret pain and insecurity. Would it have ever been enough to navigate the darkness within him, and see the wounded man beneath? Would it have been easier for her to trust him, without so much evidence of the cruelty and dishonesty people were capable of?

Twirling Lilly out to the end of his arm's reach, Logan sighed. "Yes. But whether she would have wanted me… I don't think so."

Lilly smirked, reaching out to tap his nose with her index finger. "You're a bigger dorkus than my brother if you think that."

The radio crackled with static, changing tracks mid-song as if the dial had been spun. He recognized the tune immediately: it was an old song from the sixties, one he'd heard years ago, somewhere…

"Oh, where oh where can my baby be?
The Lord took her away from me
She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good
So I can see my baby when I leave this world…"

Logan pulled away from Lilly's embrace, sluicing rainwater from his face. "You said I was almost dead. Does that mean I can live through this?"

Sashaying backwards, she sucked in air between her grinning teeth. "Wish I could tell ya. Concentrate…"

The music grew louder around them, despite the rain pelting the concrete at their feet.

"I couldn't stop, so I swerved to the right
I'll never forget the sound that night
The screamin' tires, the bustin' glass
The painful scream that I heard last…"

An image flashed: a blue car, parked on a sunny street. Parking enforcement. The chime of a phone. Street cleaning alert. As the scene focused, Logan's temples pulsed, driving him to his knees.

Fiery heat. A shower of glass, prismatic in the late-day sun, cascading around him. His head, bouncing off the pavement. The distant sound of a scream. Her scream. Veronica.

"Penn blew up the car," he whispered bitterly. "Midday 'round Fiji…"

Behind him, Lilly sang along with the radio, her soprano strangely soothing:

"Oh, where oh where can my baby be?
The Lord took her away from me
She's gone to heaven, so I got to be good
So I can see my baby when I leave this world…"

The gossamer skirt of her pale lavender gown tickled his cheeks as she swirled around him, swaying with the melody. There was a message here, a message in all of this. Think, Logan.

Time froze: the song paused, the radio emitting a soft, white noise as Lilly balanced on a chair, tousling her hair and staring at the bolt of lightning frozen mid-strike.

"It's like my life," Lilly mused sadly. "Halfway through being awesome, and then, it just… stopped."

His life, too, was frozen. He was caught between worlds, being pulled by two opposing forces. Kendall and Carrie represented a side of him that was a quitter: someone who wouldn't fight for the good he deserved in life. Hadn't Lilly told them to let go because they were killing him?

What did that make Lilly?

"Do you trust me?" she asked, glancing down from her chair.

"Honest answer?" At her nod, he replied: "Not really."

Lilly tilted her head with an apologetic look. "Okay, so maybe I deserve that a teeny bit…"

Logan's incredulous look earned a giggle as she jumped to the concrete, hitching her dress up with her hands. Tilting her head, she stared defiantly at the threatening sky overhead.

"Better question! Do you love Veronica Mars?"

His eyes misted as his mind flickered to Veronica and Pony, asleep in their bed. "I do. My memories are hazy but I feel it. Like a part of me will always love you, Lilz."

"Then let me take you back to her," she pleaded, offering her hand.

A desperate man, he accepted her offer—and the music returned, every bass chord reverberating in his chest. With every shuffle-step of Lilly's body, her porcelain features took on a sickly pallor. Her warm skin grew cool to the touch as she pressed her cheek to his and sighed deeply.

"How do I get back?" he whispered.

Black mascara rivulets coursed down her face, her macabre tears a dagger in his heart. "Haven't you figured it out by now, babe? By letting me go."

Her grip on his neck loosened and Logan shook his head furiously. "Lilly, no…"

"I love you but you gotta know this is how it ends. Say goodbye, Lo. I mean, at least this time, we get to say it."

Her legs buckled suddenly and Logan's arms slid under hers, gingerly lowering her to the earth. Lilly chuckled darkly, shaking her head as he hugged her tightly against his chest.

"I held her close, I kissed her our last kiss
I found the love that I knew I would miss…"

"Just like the song." Her head lolled back, her skin ashen. "I hate dying… Logan?"

"I'm here." Bowing his head, he gently pressed his lips to hers. "Goodbye, Lilly. I'll never forget you."

"Like… you… could…"

A deafening silence set in as every light in the Kane home shattered simultaneously, leaving them lit by a sliver of moon peeking out from beneath weighty cumulus clouds. Clouds that wept as Logan longed to. Glancing down, he was horrified to find Lilly dressed in her Pep Squad uniform, her piercing blue eyes now dull and vacant. A trickle of blood ran down her forehead as he stared, aghast.

Leaves rustled wildly as the storm gathered might, the wind blustering to a howl. The cold rain cut through his suit as he smoothed Lilly's hair back and closed her eyes with a gentle press of his palm.

Upon the gales, a voice called to him: "It's not your time yet, lover."

"What's happening? Why is the monitor beeping?"

"Call the doctor!"

The ground beneath him fell away and Logan flailed, scrambling for a hand-hold and finding nothing but crumbling dirt digging beneath his nails. Inky blackness surrounded him as he plummeted further, faster, finding not rock bottom, but a pulsing, pink light. As the orb enveloped him, he felt something shift within.

Cog, meet gear. A turning.

An old film played in reverse, sepia-toned, edges burned. Frames skipped, missing. It washed over Logan now in a flurry of sight and sound as he continued to free-fall into the pink haze.

"You still have that ring?"

"I do."

"Well, look at that. You already know your lines…"

Daylight flickered in. Keith's porch. Veronica strolled down the steps—no, swaggered. Confident, comfortable. The woman he loved.

"You should wear only this."

The Neptune Grand. Lights down low. A knock on the door, tentative and soft. A second knock, more demanding. He saw himself opening the door to Veronica. There were no words needed. A life without her wasn't living. She ran to him and he drew her close, kicking the door shut. Do not disturb.

The hallway beyond Mars Investigations. A suitcase abandoned as his lips captured hers in a kiss, their bodies spinning along the walls.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm not going to see you for a whole week. That's like, a month."

Her laughter made his heart race. It always had.

The Neptune High gymnasium in its Sadie Hawkins best. Gia Goodman yapped his ear off as he watched Veronica shoot photos and longed to hold her. He'd been invited to this damn dance at least seven times, deflecting every offer with an excuse. Waiting for the only offer he wanted. As Veronica approached the table, it was taking everything in him to resist the urge to pull her into a corner and beg for another chance.

"Tell me what you think about me," Gia demanded. "Seriously. Be completely honest."

His mouth opened, ready with a stream of less than flattering observations, but Veronica had his arm now and her touch silenced him.

"Dance with me."

"Oh." Anything for you.

The dance floor. Bodies, contact. "When I dreamed of this moment, "I've Had the Time of My Life" was always playing. Well, what can you do?"

He should have confessed then. Laid himself bare, like the night of his not-birthday party. Taken a stand for what he felt between them.

"Goodbye, Dick."

"What?"

"Get out of my house. You have a problem with Veronica, you leave. Actually, you have a problem with Veronica, you're pretty much dead to me, so just, like, evaporate or something, I dunno."

The warmth grew unbearable as the film froze on a final image: Lilly's memorial. A still-frame of Veronica, so young, smiling knowingly at him. They'd kept the real Lilly alive—together. His lips curved upwards, his heart pounding in his chest.

That was the moment I knew I wasn't over her. Soccer uniform, knee socks, and all.

He remembered. He remembered it all now. And in the remembering, he found a desperation and a drive. This couldn't be the end of their story. They were epic. There was so much left undone, unsaid…

Take me back to her. Please, take me home…

The universe sputtered, coughed and choked on his weary body. But mercifully, it did not consume him.

"Honey, you need to eat something."

"I'm not leaving him," Veronica hissed, resting her head upon Logan's bruised hand.

Keith nodded slightly. "I understand, Veronica, but the doctors say he could be in a coma for several days. Twenty minutes in the cafeteria—"

"Are twenty minutes too long," Veronica dismissed. "Bring me back a sandwich. I'll eat it here. End of discussion."

Squeezing her shoulder, Keith leaned down to kiss her cheek. "Okay. Okay. I won't be gone long."

Veronica closed her eyes, drained from two days of sitting and sleeping in a chair with a flimsy leather cushion. Her father had tried to persuade her to go home and sleep, but she'd refused, adamant that Logan wake up and find her beside him. That he know she was here for him.

The jagged cut near her hairline itched, the stitches too taut, but she ignored them in favour of counting Logan's breaths. She watched the machines keeping tally, keeping her own score. Her own complicated calculus of comas.

She supposed she should count their blessings. A head injury was no surprise, given the force of the blast, but had Logan been inside the car… Veronica shuddered, fighting back tears. No, she was lucky her horrendous oversight hadn't cost Logan more than a fractured arm and a head injury. She only hoped that he suffered no lasting trauma from the impact of striking the concrete.

And if he does, I will be there for him.

Beneath her cheek, a twitch of a finger. Her head rose, hope again renewed. "Logan? Logan, can you hear me? It's Veronica."

He'd twitched several times in the last two days. Once, he'd mumbled Lilly's name. Dreaming, the doctors insisted. Involuntary responses. She knew better. Logan was fighting for her.

Another twitch, a groan. Was he in pain? Should she hit the call button?

"'Ron…"

"I'm here, I'm here. Come back to me," she pleaded, grabbing his hand. "Please, come back." Her voice cracked as she pressed her lips to his mouth. "You promised me. You promised."

Beeping. Rapid, steady, demanding. Veronica glanced at the monitor, recognizing the signs her late-night reading had taught her to watch for. Afraid to move, to blink, she hit the call button with her free hand and stared at his bruised face, waiting patiently.

Come on, come on… please…

A flutter of eyelashes. A slight upward hitch of his mouth. And then, oh then, she was lost in warm pools of chocolate brown, staring at her dirty, pale face as if she were a saint.

As he squeezed her hand in return, she heard a hoarse whisper: "Always."

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