Veronica Mars

(As if he hasn't hurt her enough already.)

It's like fire across every nerve, white-hot pain, and she's screaming out before she can stop herself. It muddles her mind and her reflexes, and forces her, like a hand on her spine, bending her body in on itself.

The taser only touches her for a moment, but it feels like hours.

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"Y'know what I was just thinking?" says Beaver as he yanks the taser back and throws both hands into the air. He's grinning the same nearly-goofy grin he had at the party. "We're Neptune Pirates, right? And this is like I'm making you walk the plank! Except...instead of jabbing you with a sword, I'm sending three hundred thousand volts through you."

The smile drops away as if it never existed.

"Now jump."

He punches the lit taser against her again.

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It's worse, the second time. She hasn't recovered and she isn't expecting it.

When it's all over she lies prone on the rooftop, face contorted in pain. Her heart feels like a bird trying to escape her ribcage; it's beating too fast, too strong. Any more of this and she feels it will simply break free of her.

"Please don't..."

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Beaver sighs. He pulls himself to his feet and sights along the barrel of the gun, waiting.

When she still doesn't move, he rolls his eyes in irritation.

"You couldn't do this the easy way?" he asks her. A pause, and then he continues, "You know, Aaron Echolls is staying here. What do you want to bet that I can get him convicted for the death of this teenage girl?"

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Logan's been in his suite, pondering imponderables, but mostly wondering why there wasn't any food in his fridge. Not even the eternal block of cheese.

He doesn't have much time to ponder this because his phone vibrates, letting him know someone has texted him. He picks it up, flips it open, sees "Meet me on the roof now" on the screen.

Suddenly alarmed, he makes for the roof, where he sees Cassidy holding a gun at Veronica's head.

"NO!" he shouts, and it's an utter negation of the possibility that Veronica will be taken from him.

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Startled, Beaver's head snaps around.

The rest of him follows suit as he takes aim at Logan -- Veronica forgotten for the time being -- and fires.

Bang!

The bullet misses. It kicks up sparks as it scrapes along a grating.

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Logan ducks behind a skylight, suddenly realizing how stupid he was to show up, as docile as a lamb at a slaughterhouse.

He looks up - he's not sure why, it's certainly not a bright move on his part. Maybe it's just to make sure Beaver is watching him, not Veronica.

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Beaver's still watching him.

And he's aiming --

Bang!

-- and this one only misses by inches, striking the metal frame of the skylight in another rain of sparks.

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Logan ducks again, thanking...well, whoever that Beav's a lousy shot.

That's why he kinda misses what comes next.

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Veronica Mars is not very big: she's short, and small enough to still wear t-shirts from the kids' section every now and then. She's not the kind of person you'd expect to tackle you.

Which is probably why it works so well. Beaver never sees it coming.

Veronica uses all of her weight to knock beaver to the ground, and then struggles forwards: both of her hands around his wrist, trying to take the gun.

It was stupid, stupid to call Logan up here. How many people she cares about are going to die tonight?

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Compared to his brother and father, Beaver's built like a twig. He fights to catch his breath, stretching his arm forward to keep the gun out of Veronica's hands.

At the same time, he gets his other hand under him and pushes.

It's enough to raise him a few inches off of the ground. Enough to get some leverage; to expose Veronica's stomach.

He elbows her in the gut as hard as he can and rolls over, struggling to his feet.

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No...

Veronica falls to the side, clutching at her stomach. She can see him recovering, getting up, and she wants to get up - wants to fight him again. But she can't. Her body refuses to cooperate.

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As soon as he makes it, Logan's there, leaping onto Cassidy.

He's no athlete, but he's strong enough to make sure Cassidy goes down.

The gun slides off, out of reach, but Logan's too busy trying to keep Cassidy down to notice.

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He's got Beaver in a half nelson soon enough, hauling him back to lock his arms around him.

But Beaver's still got the taser.

With a loud grunt, he throws all of his not-very-considerable weight against Logan's shoulder. Somehow, it's enough to flip them both over -- and all it takes after that is a smooth follow-through to swing his arm around and jam the sparking weapon into Logan's side.

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Logan writhes in pain and makes a small, animal sound of anguish as the electricity jolts through him. Nothing's clear anymore except the pain.

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BLAM.

That's the thing about gunshots. They're hard to ignore.

The first one goes into the air, a warning. But as soon as Beaver looks up, Veronica points the gun directly at him.

"Logan. Move away from him."

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Logan obeys, watching Veronica warily, hands up.

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Veronica waits, impatient, shaking, for Logan to get out of the way.

Beaver suddenly looks very young, and very scared.

Her finger's on the trigger. She couldn't care less.

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"Veronica, no," he says quietly, trying to watch both her and Beaver now, just in case one decided to do something rash.

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She remembers what she'd been thinking earlier, as Aaron walked out of the courthouse surrounded by wellwishers instead of prison guards.

( The innocent suffer. The guilty go free )

But not this time. Not now. She can't - can't let it happen again.

Her voice breaks as she screams.

"He killed my father!"

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"Give me the gun, Veronica," Logan says slowly, quietly, trying to keep his voice soothing.

He walks toward her slowly, so slowly, trying not to scare her or give Beaver any ideas.

His heart is breaking for her, but he can't let her do this, can't let her become a killer.

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Silver. Cold.

"He killed everyone on the bus!"

The smell of sulfur on the air. Her eyes choke with tears.

Beaver looks nervous, as well he should.

"He raped me!"

After all... there's no justice.
( There's just me. )

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Logan looks back at Beaver, surprised.

Didn't you sort that out last year?

Not important.

"You're not a killer, Veronica," he says, his eyes wide, earnest.

Not being a killer is a really important identity trait.

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Maybe neither of them is.

(Maybe they both are.)

But Beaver, well. He's not so much a grey area, is he? Smiling, smirking. Taunting her as she dialed.

The gun's aim wavers, as Veronica sobs.

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