Title: I'm Giving It All To You
Pairing: Logan/Veronica
Rating: Adult/Mature

Summary: Starts during the VM movie and continues from there, essentially covering those two weeks of bliss.

Author's Notes: I had the idea for this story before I had read the published books, so although I'm trying to stay mainly in canon with TTDTL and MKAT some of the details/situations are slightly different.

Chapter One

Veronica's head snaps up at the sound of a crash outside, fingers tightening around the knife in her hand. What the hell was that? Half-chopped vegetables forgotten, she leaves the kitchen, taking careful, controlled steps through the living room, goes to glance out of the front window, but can't see anything. Easing the front door open, she slips through to get a better look. There's a car, stranded at an awkward angle in the middle of the road, steam rising from the hood. She doesn't recognise the car, but she certainly knows the man crouched beside the passenger door, phone to his ear.

Logan.

An engine roars and she sees a white truck heading towards him. She watches wide-eyed as Logan drops the phone and starts tugging at someone in the passenger seat. She glimpses a familiar balding head and gasps, making a run for the road, halting in her tracks when she realises that the truck is barrelling straight towards the car. It hits full-force, sending two bodies flying.

"No!" comes a shrill scream, seemingly from far away. It sounds foreign to her ears. "No, no, no no."

She runs unsteadily into the road, coming to a stop before her father's prone body, sinking to her knees as she grasps hold of him, trying wake him, her shaky fingers reaching out to find a pulse. There isn't one.

"Dad? Daddy?"

Tears stream down her face as she clutches Keith's lifeless body, wrapping her arms around him.

"No, please, Dad…please, no."

"I've called an ambulance." She hears someone saying a few feet away. "They're on their way."

"It might be too late." Another voice sounds. "I think this guy's gone too."

Veronica's head snaps up, tears streaming down her face. "What?"

She twists her body, eyes finally landing on the prone form lying in the middle of the road, limbs twisted at awkward angles, blood trickling down his face, lifeless eyes open wide, staring at her. "Oh God, Lo—"

"Logan!" Veronica gasps, shooting upright in the bed, heart pounding. Her shirt is sticking to her lower back, the material damp with sweat.

It was just a nightmare. She sucks in shaky breaths. It wasn't real. They aren't dead, either of them. Logan got her father out before the truck hit.

The smell of car fumes assaults her nostrils and she fights the urge to gag as she looks down at herself. She's still wearing the same clothes, remnants of the crash clinging to them. She needs to get out of them. Now. Tugging off the blanket, she walks over to her bag, hunting through it frantically, pulling out a oversized T-shirt and quickly changing into it. She shoves the dirty clothes into the hamper in the corner of the room.

Heart rate returning to normal, she tries to piece the events of the evening together in her mind. She remembers how scared she was on the ride to the hospital in the ambulance, clasping her father's hand the whole way there. She remembers that Logan followed behind in his car. She remembers Keith being whisked off to surgery; remembers Logan sitting with her in the corridor, clasping her hand in his as they waited for news. She remembers the immense relief she felt when the doctor told her her dad was… well, not out of the woods yet, but definitely still alive. She remembers Logan's arms coming around her and burying her head in his chest, relief and exhaustion spilling over into tears.

She doesn't remember the rest.

Glancing around the dark room, noting that the shoes she was wearing earlier are neatly placed on the floor next to the door, she smiles slightly.

Logan. He must have brought her home, put her to bed. Is he still here?

There's a sliver of light visible under the door, but she can't hear any movement from the other side. Opening it cautiously, she heads out into the living room, spotting him as she rounds the corner, his hand reached out to open the front door. He's leaving. He can't leave. Not when she's all alone, her father unconscious in the hospital.

"Wait," she calls out urgently, her voice coming out breathier than she'd anticipated.

Don't leave. Don't leave me. Please.

He stops, hand falling from the doorknob, arm hanging limply at his side, as he slowly turns to face her. Her eyes lock with his, his features partly obscured by the shadows in the dimly-lit room.

"Don't go."

The words are so soft that she's not sure she even said them out loud, but from the way his hand furrows into his pocket—a trademark nervous gesture—she knows he heard her.

"Okay." It's a soft, easy agreement, like he already knew it was coming.

Eyes still locked on his, she hesitates for a moment, unsure of herself. She's not ready to see him leave—she could have lost him tonight—but what happens if he stays? But he's here. He's right here in front of her and it's been nine years and she just wants to feel again. She'll be damned if she lets him walk away now.

Letting out a shaky breath, she starts towards him, and if he's surprised when she grabs his neck, cups his face in her hands and tugs him down to her, desperately pressing her mouth to his, he doesn't show it. He lets her take the lead, sinks into the kiss with ease, as if it hasn't been almost a decade since the last one.

It feels so right; it's like coming home, and she can't get enough. He pulls back, looks down at her searchingly for a moment, then starts walking her backwards, hands sliding down to cup the back of her thighs. She jumps up quickly, wrapping her legs tightly around his waist, clinging to him, fingers digging into his shoulders as he kisses her.

God, I've missed this. The thought comes unbidden but it's not unwelcome. She can't remember the last time a simple kiss made her feel so—

She loses her train of thought when he spins her around, stumbling slightly in his haste and then he's pressing her up against the wall. She's acutely aware of just how close he is; how his body—all hard, lean lines—is invading her usually impenetrable personal space. He's surrounding her completely and it brings back all of the long-buried memories in a rush. This—being together again—is both achingly familiar, yet completely new all at the same time. I need him. So much.

She feels dizzy, overwhelmed. Logan Echolls is like a drug. Her own personal brand of heroin. Geez, Veronica, you're quoting Twilight now? What is wrong with you? He is though, always has been. No matter how much she tried, how much she knew they shouldn't be together, that they weren't good for each other, she could never stay away from him; she always fell right back off the wagon.

It's so familiar: the way his lips nibble and brush over hers; how his warm breath rushes against her skin, his strong hands sliding down her back and curving over her butt, his fingers digging into her flesh just like they used to; the scent of his cologne, still the same one he wore back in high school. She tightens her legs around his waist, the feel of him pressing against her intimately sending thrills up her spine. It's been so long.

She breaks the kiss, clinging to him desperately, breath catching when his fingers slip beneath the cotton of her panties, lightly tracing her folds, then gently brushing over her clit. Oh, God, Logan. She rolls her hips, the movement dragging a stuttering breath from his throat as their bodies press together, and his eyes meet hers, their lips parted but barely touching. It's the most intense feeling, caught in his gaze like this; it's like time stands still, a long-lost connection reignited. Needing more, she reaches for the collar of his shirt, fisting the material in her hands and then tugging, her stomach clenching with anticipation when several buttons fly off, exposing a large expanse of tanned, muscled chest to her gaze.

She aches to reach out and touch him, to feel that smooth, firm skin beneath her fingers, but he's looking at her so intently that she can't tear her eyes away, can't get her hands to move. Two of his fingers slide inside her, curling up just in that way that drives her crazy, and she freezes, eyes wide and breath catching in her throat. Fuck, yes. Right there. He holds her gaze, expression focused, serious, his hips tilting forward, increasing the pressure on her clit. His fingers stroke deeper and she whimpers, her body tingling with pleasure; she can't look away, doesn't want to. It's just the two of them, in this moment, and nothing else exists.

It's urgent and passionate and calm and serene all at the same time. Not enough. Need more. Need him. She leans forward, capturing his mouth in a soft, languid kiss that belies the passion and urgency thrumming through her. He kisses her back with the same softness, like he's savouring the moment, but then deepens it, urging her mouth open with his tongue, pressing her into the wall insistently as his fingers stroke inside her.

It's incredible. He's incredible.

"Bedroom," she manages in a breathy gasp. She's shaking, on edge, aching for more. "Now."

He nods, carries her down the hallway, still kissing her. He lowers her onto the bed, then pulls back, running warm, strong hands along her thighs, eyes darkening when she bites her lip. Gaze still fixed on her, he tugs off his shirt, then grins when her eyes drop to his chest, an involuntary hand reaching out to run her fingers running across the warm skin, tracing every ridge of his toned stomach.

Wow. He gives a throaty chuckle and she belatedly realises she's said it out loud.

She grins. It's true. Logan Echolls certainly has grown up in the last nine years. Gone is the youthful teenager, strong and slim but lacking confidence in himself, and in his place is a well-formed, muscular man who simply exudes grace and self-assurance.

He pulls off the rest of his clothes then kneels between her legs, leaning forward to kiss her again, his hands slipping beneath her T-shirt. He tugs it over her head and she lifts herself up to help, then moves with her when she settles back against the pillows, hovering over her. She shivers as his eyes travel downwards, hungry gaze taking in every inch of bare skin before him. God, what are you doing to me, Logan Echolls?

Under his scrutiny, she's well aware that she's no longer the skinny teenager he fell in love with all those years ago, that her body has matured and filled out, has become more rounded and curved. She hopes he's not disappointed.

He grins predatorily, pressing his mouth to hers gently before dropping a trail of fluttering kisses along her jaw, easing his way down her neck and over her collarbone, only stopping when he reaches her breast. Her hands come up to cradle his neck, fingers burying in his short hair when he drops a soft kiss to the sensitive flesh, then gently flicks her nipple with his tongue. She arches beneath him. Oh fucking Christ.

She feels him grin against her skin, laving her flesh gently before moving to the other nipple. His hands flatten over her stomach, his mouth moving lower still, and her muscles contract in response. So good. It's only when he slides her panties over her hips, tugging them off, and lowers his mouth to her inner thigh, that she tugs on his shoulders, urging him up. Need him close, need to feel him. He looks up at her questioningly but she just shakes her head. Her voice, though barely above a whisper, cuts sharply through the silence in the room.

"Come here."

He fixes her with another intense stare, one that sends a shiver down her spine, before nodding slowly, moving up her body again. Her legs fall open to accommodate him and he settles between her thighs. She inhales sharply at the feel of him pressing so intimately against her. Yes, just there. Perfect.

It's overwhelming, being with him like this after so long, flesh against flesh, not an inch of space between them. He looks down at her with a soft smile—so familiar—and kisses her again. Veronica inhales sharply as he enters her slowly, hesitantly and her eyes almost roll back in her head at the feel of him filling her. So good. So right. She's missed this, missed him, so much more than she ever cared to admit.

The room is quiet around them, harsh breathing and soft exclamations of pleasure the only sounds as they rediscover old rhythms and find new ones. Logan's forearms rest alongside her shoulders, supporting his weight as his fingers smooth through her hair, lightly grazing her temples. His gaze is unwavering, and the raw emotion she can see in his eyes leaves her transfixed, unable and unwilling to look away even as he strokes steadily inside her, increasing the pace and adjusting his position in response to each of her gasps and whimpers. I can't. Oh God. Fuck, I need—

It's the most intimate, most intense coupling she's ever experienced and it simultaneously frightens and thrills her; it's so many things at once: it's making up for lost time after nine long years apart; relief that he's here with her; desperation that this might be their only time together; wanting to savour the moment, to hold him tight and never let go.

She slides her hands up over his chest, cups his jaw, watching his reactions. He shifts his hips slightly, the movement hitting a particularly sensitive spot inside her. She gasps. Yes. Right there. Then his hand is skimming up her left arm, urging it up and over her head. He holds it there, his forearm resting on the mattress, skin brushing against hers as he links their fingers. He does the same with the other hand. She's at his mercy now, arms pinned above her head, fingers entwined, legs wrapped around his waist as he moves within her.

She tries to keep her eyes locked on his, but when he releases one hand and slips it between her legs, teasing the sensitive flesh there, her eyes slide closed involuntarily and her chin tilts back, neck arching, head falling against the pillows. Oh God. Fuck, yes. Need you, Logan… Love you. She feels his mouth on her neck, needy, open-mouthed kisses trailing up over the exposed skin, along the underside of her jaw, and she shivers. He's moving faster now, strokes uneven and hurried, and she's still riding out the waves of pleasure when his head drops to her shoulder, his body stiffens and a low moan escapes his lips.

Holy fuck. That was incredible.

Her breathing is laboured, body spent and exhausted. He nuzzles her neck, pressing a soft kiss to the sensitive spot just below her ear, then moves to her mouth again, capturing it hungrily. She can feel all the emotions she'd been trying to keep buried bubbling up to the surface. Her breath hitches. She doesn't realise she's crying until she feels his thumbs on her cheeks, wiping away her tears.

"Are you okay?" He breaks the silence with a gentle whisper.

She opens her eyes, finds him looking down at her with concern, his face adorably flushed.

She smiles, squeezing her fingers around his, then lifts her right hand, still clasped with his, moving it to her mouth and kissing his knuckles softly. "Yeah. Just… yeah."

He smiles and kisses her nose, then her lips once more. "Come on, you need to sleep."

He pulls out, climbs off the bed, and Veronica shifts, reaching for the covers, then turning on her side and settling beneath them. The bed dips behind her, and then Logan is right there, his chest pressing up against her back, legs tangling with hers and his arm sliding around her waist, tugging her close.

Logan eyes the seedy-looking bathhouse across the street, watching for any sign of Luke Haldeman. It's been over an hour and he's getting antsy. With nothing to do but sit, he has way too much time to think, endless questions running through his mind. What's Veronica doing right now? Is she safe? What exactly happened between them last night? Will it change anything? Did it mean as much to her as it did to him? What will it mean for them now?

At the time, it seemed natural—inevitable—like the last nine years were inconsequential and they were finally back where they belonged: together. He'd fallen asleep relaxed and sated and with more than just a little hope that they could actually make things work this time. But then the sun rose and Veronica woke him, already up and dressed and all-business, and he wondered if maybe she was regretting it now, if it had just been an escape for her, an attempt to forget. Which he can understand; it's a tactic he's used often in the past, when things have gotten too much and he just wants to forget for a while, just lose himself in someone. But with her, with Veronica, the idea that what they shared meant nothing to her makes him feel sick. He'd rather not be with her at all than to simply be an itch she needs to scratch. Even if the sex is amazing.

Breakfast this morning was strange, to say the least. He emerged from the shower, dressed in last night's jeans and his shirt tugged on but unbuttoned, to find her perched at the kitchen counter, typing on her laptop. She barely looked up from the screen as she nodded towards the carton of OJ and the plate of freshly-toasted bagels. He ate in silence, watching her work. She finally looked up when he carried his plate and glass to the sink, rinsing them under the hot water, and for a moment, he thought this was it: the big talk.

"Logan…?"

"Hmm?" He turned to face her, resting his hands against the side of the sink.

"I—" She glanced down at his chest. "Shit, sorry about your shirt. Here, I uh, found these earlier."

He raised an eyebrow when she reached across the counter and retrieved a small collection of clear buttons. She handed them to him and he had to suppress a smile. She actually went searching for his buttons?

"Uh, thanks," he said, taking them awkwardly. "I, uh, don't suppose you have a needle and thread?"

She started in surprise, mouth opening for a moment, before she snapped it closed, and hopped off the bar stool. "Uh, yeah, I think so. Be right back."

He watched her leave, feeling a mixture of amusement and anxiety. It was weird, and awkward, but kind of familiar—kind of normal—at the same time. She reappeared in the kitchen a couple of minutes later and handed him a small sewing kit. Nodding his thanks, he headed out to the living room, tugging off the shirt and sinking down onto the couch to sew the buttons back on. He worked quickly and efficiently; navy training at its finest. As he was finishing the last button, tying off the thread and biting through it, he looked up to find her leaning against the kitchen doorway, arms folded, one leg crossed over the other, watching him. He shot her a quick smile, then pulled the shirt on, buttoning it.

"You, uh, ready to head out?"

"Sure." He nodded, noting the large, full bag at her feet. "What's the plan?"

She pushed off the doorway, reaching down for the bag and hoisting it over her shoulder as she moved further inside the room.

"I figure I'll head to Gia's, find a prime surveillance spot, see what I can find out. Can you tail Luke, see what he's up to today?"

"Uh, sure," he agreed albeit somewhat reluctantly. He didn't like the idea of her on a stake-out alone, but then again he also knew it wasn't worth trying to argue with her when she was focused on a case. "Okay."

"Great. Can you give me a ride to the office first? I need to pick up some stuff on the way to Gia's."

And that was that. They headed to Mars Investigations, he dropped Veronica off near Gia's apartment, and then drove over to Luke's. which was how he'd ended up here, all the way out in West Hollywood, sitting outside this sleazy bathhouse like some kind of creeper.

He glances down at his phone: no word from her yet. It's been almost three hours now. He hopes she isn't planning to do anything dangerous. She's been out of the game for a long time, but he still remembers how she was in those last few weeks back at Hearst. She was angry and ruthless and rash, especially when it came to people messing with her friends and loved ones. And speaking of… hadn't Piz had been at the reunion? Piz, who had no possible reason for being at a Neptune High reunion, except perhaps if he was…

Shit. He lets his head fall back against the headrest. She's still dating Piz… and I slept with her. Fuck.

His phone rings and he lifts his head, sees her name on the caller ID and answers with a bright, too-casual, "Hey."

It's well past dark by the time Logan makes it back to Neptune and he hasn't heard from her in several hours. He's trying not to imagine the worst, but it's Veronica; it's hard not to worry.

She'll be fine. She's an adult, she can handle herself.

He flips on the radio, hoping for a distraction.

"… Police have been called to a warehouse apartment building on Second Street in downtown Neptune, where reports of a shooting have been made. Details are still coming in, but it is believed that a woman in her late-twenties has been shot in one of the apartments."

Shit. Logan steps on the gas, speeding over Coronado Bridge at several miles an hour over the speed limit. Second Street is where Gia lives; it's where Veronica is. Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay. He can't lose her again.

Of course, it's stupid to think he's not going to lose her anyway, he realises belatedly. She'll be heading back to New York soon; she has a life and a career and a boyfriend there. There's no place for him, for Neptune, in her life anymore.

When he reaches Second Street, he finds it filled with police cars, an ambulance, TV cameras and a ton of curious bystanders. Logan screeches the car to a halt at the end of the road and scrambles out, slamming the door behind him. She has to be alive. She has to. He jogs over to the commotion, eyes scanning the crowd, fear gnawing away at him as he makes his way around the side of the throng of people, towards the ambulance. He spots a familiar-looking blonde head of hair standing at the back of the ambulance and pushes his way through the bystanders. Oh, thank God.

"Veronica?"

He's getting closer, only a couple of people in front of him.

"Veronica!" he calls again, louder this time. She turns around and relief floods through him. It's her, she's okay.

"Logan!"

He strides quickly over to her, taking in her dishevelled appearance, the exhaustion on her face, and pulls her into a hug.

"You're okay," he mumbles against her hair. "I heard, on the news, someone got shot… I thought maybe…"

She shakes her head against his chest, then pulls back to look up at him sadly. "It was Gia. Cobb shot her, from the apartment across the street. He came for me too, but I—I got away. Knocked him unconscious." Her eyes search his. "Logan; he did it. He killed Carrie. They've arrested him."

He nods. He suspected as much. His hand drifts to her cheek, cupping her jaw and tilting her head up toward him; he's grateful that he can touch her, that she's real in front of him.

"Are you okay?" he asks seriously, trying to keep the worry out of his tone.

She closes her eyes briefly, before nodding. "Yeah. I mean, I will be. I just wanna get out of here."

"Okay, I'll take you home." He nods. "Do you still need to be here?"

"No." She shakes her head. "I've given my statement. The paramedics have checked me over, given me the okay." She gives him a small, warm smile, one that he hasn't seen from her in a long time. "I was about to call you, actually."

The sincerity in her tone triggers a small spark of hope inside him, and he smiles softly, slipping an arm around her shoulder, holding her close to his side.

"Come on. Let's go."

The ride home is quiet, sombre; Veronica leans back in her seat, head tilted away from him, staring out of the window. Logan looks over at her in concern, sees her blank expression reflected in the window, notices the way she's slumped in the seat. She looks drained, exhausted… sad. Not really knowing what to say, he stays quiet until he's pulling the car up outside Keith's house.

"Home, sweet home."

"What?" She lifts her head, blinking dazedly. "Oh. Okay."

She reaches for the door handle and he follows suit, climbing out of the car and moving round to her side as she opens the door. Feeling gentlemanly, he holds out his hand to her. She takes it, smiling her thanks, before turning back and reaching back for her bag.

"S'okay, I got it." He releases her hand and moves around her to grab the large bag.

He follows as she makes her way up the front steps and onto the porch. Her fingers shake as she fumbles with the keys, and he frowns in concern. He hopes she's not going into shock. Veronica finally gets the door open and steps inside, coming to a stop in the middle of the living room and hugging her arms around herself. Logan lets her bag slide off his shoulder and down to the floor as he closes the door behind them. Regarding her for a moment, he walks toward her, intent on offering comfort, but she shifts, almost flinches away, when he reaches out a hand, so he thinks better of it and comes to a stop a couple of feet away.

"So…"

"So…"

There's an awkward beat. He's not sure what to say or do.

"You gonna be okay?"

She looks around helplessly, glances towards the bedrooms, then clenches her fingers around her upper arms.

"I, uh…" She stumbles over her words, before exhaling and looking at him resolutely. "Logan, I can't sleep here tonight. Not knowing my dad is…"

She looks vulnerable, her voice catching slightly as she speaks, and his heart goes out to her. He steps forward, closing the gap between them, and reaches for her wrists, gently lifting so her fingers loosen on her arms and he can take hold of them.

"Hey, it's okay. You don't have to." He looks down at her seriously, debating whether what he's about to suggest is the wisest thing. Ultimately though, it doesn't matter.

"Look, come back to the beach house." He strokes his thumbs over the back of her hands. "Dick's out of town for a few days, so there's a spare bed."

She frowns, starting to shake her head, but then she looks down the hallway again, and sighs.

"I'd like that. Thanks." He nods, glad she's not insisting on being alone, but then she narrows her eyes, extracting her hand from his and holds up a warning finger. "But I am not sleeping in Dick's bed."

Logan smiles, relieved to see even a small glimpse of her usual self. "Don't worry, I won't subject you to that. I'm sure we can work something out."

"Okay." She steps back, her other hand sliding out of his grasp. "Let me just go pack a bag."

Thirty minutes later, Logan lets them into Dick's condo on the beach, flipping on the light in the hallway.

"Okay, you've probably seen most of the place already, but quick tour: kitchen's that way," He points to the left. "Dick's room, bathroom." He indicates as they head toward the living room. "If you're adamant about not sleeping in Dick's room,"—she shudders in response and he chuckles lightly—"then I'll sleep in there and you can have my bed."

They come to a stop in the living room, Veronica shaking her head as she turns to face him. "No, Logan, I'm not gonna turf you out of your own bed. Don't be stupid."

He gives her a look. "Seriously. It's fine. It can't be that bad, right?" He raises his eyebrows playfully. He can see her open her mouth, ready to protest, so he quickly cuts in with, "You want something to eat, or drink?"

She closes her mouth with an audible pop, then shakes her head. "I'm fine, thanks. Just… need to sleep."

He nods. Fair enough. "Okay, well, feel free to use the bathroom. I'll just make sure everything's sorted in here."

Her lips twitch and she tosses out an airy, "Gotta hide the porn, huh?" as she turns in the direction of the bathroom.

"Of course," he shoots back with a grin, enjoying the light-hearted banter. "And maybe change the sheets while I'm at it."

"Oh, eww." She turns back to him, disgusted grimace on her face. "I did not need to know that."

He just chuckles and watches her disappear into the bathroom, before moving over to the small alcove just off the living space which houses his bed. Truth is, he already knows it's clean and tidy, the bed already made with fresh sheets and hospital corners yesterday—five years in the military have instilled a level of order and discipline in him that's hard to shake, even in the privacy of his own home… or Dick's beach house, if you want to be picky—but he does want to give it a once-over anyway.

When he's done, he moves to the window, slipping his hands in his pockets as he looks out over the ocean, the realisation of what today's events will mean finally sinking in: they've solved the mystery, they've caught the real killer… which means he's off the hook. He's a free man.

"Hey," she says softly from behind him, pulling him from his thoughts.

He turns around, giving her a small smile. She's wearing a baggy Stanford T-shirt and cotton pyjama shorts, her hair loose around her face in limp waves, all her make-up scrubbed off. She looks young, vulnerable even, and exhausted, and suddenly he's back there again, back to that morning ten years ago, after graduation, after that fateful night at the Neptune Grand, when she thought her father was dead. He shakes himself out of the memory quickly.

"Hey," he says warmly, walking over to her. "I'll, uh, leave you to it then."

He starts to move past, but her hand comes out, wrapping around his wrist, stopping him. Her fingers are cold on his warm skin. "No. Don't."

"Veronica?"

"Just…" She bites her lip. "I don't want to be alone. Not yet. Can you…?"

She gestures toward the bed. His eyes follow the movement and he hesitates for a moment. Then he looks back at her, at the pleading expression in her eyes, sees the fear and pain she's struggling to mask, and finds himself nodding.

"Okay."

The relief on her face is evident. "Thanks."

He nods again. "Just let me lock up and I'll be back."

"Okay."

He heads across the room and down the hallway, locking the front door and then ducking into the bathroom. Closing the door behind him, he leans back against the wall with a sigh. He has no idea what's happening between them, no idea how he's supposed to handle this. What he does know is that Veronica needs someone right now. Hell, I do too.

He washes his face, brushes his teeth, then heads back out. He finds Veronica curled on her side in the bed, her back to him. With a small smile, he pulls the thin curtain across the alcove entrance and lowers the window blinds, then rounds the end of the bed, changes into a t-shirt and boxers, and slips under the covers, mirroring her position.

She opens her eyes and regards him sadly, before shifting closer and slipping her arm around his waist, burying her face in his chest. Bewildered for a moment, he doesn't move, but then he feels her take a shuddering breath and suddenly she's sobbing against him. Oh, Veronica. Chest clenching with sympathy, he wraps his arms around her, tugging her close, one hand cupping the back of her head, just letting her get it all out as he strokes the other up and down her back, whispering soft, soothing words.

"Hey, it's okay, you're okay," he repeats comfortingly.

It takes several long minutes before her sobs subside and her breathing becomes more even.

"Sorry," she mumbles into his chest.

He tightens his arm around her, flattening his palm across her back and rubbing gently. "You don't need to apologise. You've had a rough couple of days."

She inhales heavily, then lifts her head to look at him. Her eyes are red-rimmed, tears wet on her cheeks. "Thanks."

He smiles gently, shaking his head and moving his arm so he can tuck her hair behind her ear with his fingertips. "Feel better?"

"Not really, but…" she shrugs. "Just needed to get it out. I'm okay now."

He shifts onto his back and she moves with him, curling against his side and resting her head on his chest. He lets his fingers drift along her arm absently.

"So," he starts hesitantly. "The case is closed, your dad's going to be okay, you have a new job to start and a boyfriend who's waiting for you… I guess this means you'll be heading back to New York."

She sighs. "Actually, no."

"What?" He looks down at the top of her head in surprise.

"Well, the new job fell through yesterday." She shrugs. "Apparently they get testy if you don't return a couple of calls."

"Veronica, I'm sorry." An awful thought occurs to him. "Please tell me it wasn't because of me, because of you coming here."

She sighs. "Look, it was my decision, okay? I chose to ignore the calls. It's my fault."

"Still…"

"And, uh… FYI? There's no boyfriend. Not anymore."

"There isn't?" He's caught off guard. "But I thought… Piz… I mean, at the reunion, it seemed…"

She shakes her head. "We broke up. Look at that, losing a job and a boyfriend all in one day." She sighs. "Piz wasn't exactly happy about me staying here longer, especially since I was supposed to be meeting his parents for the first time yesterday."

Well, shit. Logan looks up at the ceiling.

Veronica lifts her head. "Hey, I know what you're thinking, and don't blame yourself, okay? Piz and I… we just weren't meant to be." She gives him a small smile. "Logan, it was my decision to stay, my need to solve the case, that caused all this. It wasn't you."

"But, Veronica…"

"Look, maybe I've realised some things over the last few days," she says softly, her hand coming up to his chest, fingers flattening over his heart, their warmth seeping through his t-shirt. "Maybe I realised that I've been trying to be something I'm not; maybe I realised I don't belong in New York after all, that being a lawyer isn't for me. Maybe I want to solve crimes and be a PI and bring justice to good ole' SoCal again."

Logan's head is spinning with all this new information. Does this mean what I think it means?

"So… you're saying…?"

"That I'm staying here, in Neptune, yes," she confirms. "I mean, I'll have to go back to New York at some point, you know, to pack up my stuff, move out of the apartment, but, yeah."

He can't help it, a wide smile spreads across his face. She's here, and she's staying… and she doesn't have a boyfriend.

"Oh, thank God," he breathes. "Last night… I thought maybe… well, I thought you and Piz—"

"Wait a minute." She pushes up quickly, supporting herself on one elbow and looking down at him, affronted. "You thought I slept with you when I was still with him? Logan, I would never—"

"I know. I know you wouldn't intentionally," he tells her earnestly. "It didn't even occur to me at the time, but afterwards, I remembered he was here, and… well—"

She cuts him off with a finger to his lips.

"Logan," she says seriously. "You have to know that I would never cheat on anyone. Ever. No matter what I was feeling for y—no matter what I was feeling."

He lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding, his lips tingling from her touch.

"I know." He looks up at her seriously, then pauses for a moment, lips curling up in a lopsided smile as what she almost said sinks in. "Wait, you were feeling things… for me?"

"What do you think?" She's trying to hide a smile. He looks down.

"It's been nine years, Veronica," he says quietly, seriously. "Your dad was in the hospital, you were tired and upset, I thought maybe it was…"

"What, a quick lay to make me feel better, a momentary lapse in judgement? Please." She leans over, her face hovering over his, their lips barely an inch apart. "Last night was… incredible." She lowers her mouth to his in a soft kiss. "Breathtaking." Another kiss. "Phenomenal." Kiss. "Everything I've been missing for nine long years."

He raises an eyebrow, a familiar warmth spreading through his stomach. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." She kisses him again, one last time, before looking down at him seriously. "I missed you."

He smiles, lifting his hand to her cheek, then tucking her hair behind her ear, cupping her neck as he pulls her mouth down for yet another kiss. "I missed you, too."