"I'm gonna miss you."
And now… if he could make a wish he would.
To the Powers That Be.
To God.
To some … genie somewhere.
Anyone.
But it's over.
It ended thirty-eight minutes ago. When he'd flipped on the cursed radio after he'd left Kendall to her shower.
He shivered at the thought. The whole thing was tainted – sordid and sick and nothing he'd ever really wanted.
And now, all the alcohol in the pool house tasted the same – salty from the snot and tears he couldn't contain. He'd poured at least six shots by this point and nothing. He took the bottle to the head. It was better. His hands were shaking too much to pour liquid into the tiny glass.
"She wasn't with us, Logan," Dick had stated solemnly, understanding, at least this once (thank God), the need for it. She had been their friend once upon a time, if nothing else.
'If nothing else.' That was laughable because she was everything. He felt faint.
The whiskey was empty. How many minutes? How many since another girl he loved perished? How many could he live without this one? The one.
Seventy some, by his blurry count. The room was spinning now and he dropped the vodka or gin or scotch bottle. It landed with a clunk on the carpet and, when he went down for it, he fell. Face first.
The gut wrenching, full body sobs resurged and he found himself clutching the floor for balance. He could hear his phone ringing somewhere, but he was beyond function.
He passed out. Probably around the eighty-five minute mark.
"Veronica!" He cried out as he violently woke and sat up too quickly from his spot on the rug. The movement sent him into horrible dry heaves he knew wouldn't stay dry for long. He was up and running to the bathroom. His head growled ferociously at the idea of upright wakefulness, but one problem at a time.
He was sick for a while. It was brutal and maybe the most magnificent mess he'd ever made.
No. The most magnificent mess he'd ever made was choosing a stupid turf war over keeping her in his life.
And now he couldn't have her. Couldn't win her back like he thought he would. Couldn't straighten up and fly right to impress the shit out of her, make her swoon again. Had she ever swooned? The thought wounded him.
He tried to think back to the beginning. The happy and how happy he was when she was happy and how she could make his day with a smile.
God, her smile(s)! The big one with all the teeth and the little more gum than was maybe quite right, but was quite right because it was her. The soft, shy one for when they were alone and she was trying to navigate the unfamiliar ground of their burgeoning physical relationship. The smirk he associated with her snark.
Her smiles made him think maybe she had swooned. Their first kiss at that dump of a motel made him think she had, too. He hoped she had. Veronica Mars deserved to swoon.
He sat back against the wall and dragged the back of his hand over his mouth. Slobber and bile transferred and he grabbed a towel from the rack mounted somewhere above his head. He wiped his hand and mouth and then sort-of fell in on himself again in more silent sobs. His mouth opened into the towel and his eyes shut tight in anguish. He slid sideways down the wall and curled into a fetal position on the tile, the towel now a security blanket.
"Ve-ro-nica, he whisper-sobbed.
It was the thinking of the smiles. It led to the thinking about the touching or, more precisely, how he'd never touch her again. Never brush by her, never feel her fingers in his, never hold her, never tuck that silly strand of hair back behind her ear again. Never kiss her again.
And kissing Veronica Mars? That had been one of the highlights of this jaded young man's life. She'd turned him to jelly every last time.
And now she was at the bottom of the sea! He couldn't win her back. He couldn't have another chance. He couldn't take back all the shit he put her through. Couldn't apologize. What was it with the sea?
Are they together? MomVeronica? Maybe looking down at him right this moment? Seeing his weakness and thanking Neptune (the god, not this shithole of a town—although the town deserved a thank you for getting them all into this mess in the first place) they didn't have to put up with him anymore. Maybe they were laughing at him, celebrating their freedom. Together, though. He took comfort in that. With Lily, maybe.
He knew where he wanted to be. Three hundred and eighty minutes and he needed to be at the beach.
He found a six pack of some generic beer, grabbed the bottle off the floor, another from the bar, and a back pack to make the carrying easier. He made his way to the driveway.
It wasn't late, but it wasn't early, either. His dad was somewhere in the house, but he escaped the estate with no trouble. At the end of the private drive, he turned onto the road that led away from the place where it happened. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't sure he could ever be ready for that.
Instead, he drove to Dog Beach, the place they'd spent many an afternoon with Back-Up and with Wallace that one time. The place where she'd lain on her cute little unicorn beach towel—golden and beautiful and his. Where he'd held her against his chest and pointed out constellations or they'd eaten junk food and made fun of the other beachcombers. Where she'd slid tentative fingers down the front of him and inside his jeans to touch what she probably never had before and he'd stopped her because he'd wanted more and better for them.
He plopped down on his ass close to the water's edge at the thought of her touch. What they'd never have, never do together. And all they had done. Her hands as they clutched at biceps and shoulders or gently cupped his cheek. He thought of the rotation, the fantasies of her that would remain just that – fantasies.
He opened the back pack and drank down a beer in two giant gulps. He tossed the can, limply, and it landed only a foot or two away. He brushed a hand over his face and opened another. The breeze felt good, but it made him think of her hair – sunshine in strands that framed her face even as it also seemed to blow in every direction. And it made him think of all the times he'd given her his jacket or his button up at her chill. And then he'd wrapped his arms around her for even more warmth.
She's be so cold at the bottom of the ocean. Who would keep her warm?
He suddenly couldn't contain himself and a cry burst forth. He'd been going for an all-out wail, but it had turned more high pitched and too reedy. He lifted his arms and tried again. He didn't fare any better and he slumped with the disappointment.
The water was too close now, but he didn't think he could muster much concern. If it was good enough, kind enough to take him to her, there'd be no complaints.
"He's here!" He heard off to his right. Duncan's voice sounded flat, though. Unsympathetic, cold. He hadn't thought about that. How it would be for Duncan.
He stood and backed away from the water, but away from Duncan's encroachment, as well.
'Too soon,' he thought. He stumbled backwards over his pack o' booze, but managed to stay upright.
"Too soon, man," he said out loud and in Duncan's general direction, but didn't look at him.
"What's going on here, Logan?"
"Just out, man!" He spread his arms wide. "Celebrating life!" He finally got the volume he wanted. It felt good, the force of sound through his frame.
"You didn't answer your phone!" Duncan yelled. "We all called! We left messages!"
"Not all," his head hung. He spotted another opened beer and lifted it high in the air. At the top of his lungs he shouted, "Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation!" He took a swig. And another.
"Logan!"
Not Duncan.
Or he was hallucinating now. Too much drink on an empty stomach and he thought he could hear her. He swayed towards the voice.
It came again, softer and closer. "Logan." The can fell from his fingers when he saw the wraith appear slightly behind Duncan.
He should have known. She'd loved Duncan. She'd always choose Duncan. She'd haunt his dreams, but she'd tie herself to Duncan—even in the goddamned afterlife.
And apparently, she'd still give him the impatient glare.
"Everybody called," the thing spoke and seemed able to glower.
He stumbled forward and the tears came again. "You're so lucky," his voice was hushed and awestruck. "Do you know how lucky you are?" He asked Duncan.
But the thing answered. "Yes." It was quiet and the vision had the good grace to look down.
Duncan gained ground then and "she" moved, too, as if tethered to the guy, to her true love.
"Logan? We came to get you. Take you home, okay?" Duncan put a hand out, but Logan dropped then.
It was genuflection and he knew his face took on a beatific quality as he gazed past his boyhood friend to the angel beyond. "You see her? You're so lucky. So lucky."
"And you're so drunk. We can talk about luck back in the car, okay?" Duncan said as he walked to the backpack.
"I tried to wish you were still here," Logan shook his head slowly in disbelief. "Maybe this is the best I get." His head swiveled in Duncan's direction then back. It was too quick. His vision blurred. "She's with you, but I see…" He closed his eyes for a moment. He reopened them. She was still there—ethereal in the moonlight, a golden halo crowned her and he thought his heart might stop.
"You're an angel now. So beautiful," his voice was reverent. He tried to reach her and touch her, but he fell short and on his face in the sand. He couldn't help but see the irony. Or the constant theme.
He didn't bother moving. "You always pick him," he mumbled into the beach. "So lucky."
Duncan was back at him and yanking him up. It took a minute, but he was standing against his friend.
"It's a lot of minutes now. She didn't see me for a lot of minutes and she's never going to see me again," he said low into Duncan's ear.
"Okay, buddy."
"He's really drunk. What the hell was in that bag?"
"I'm sorry, DK. You shouldn't have to—you should have time…" He doubled over in sobs again and Duncan had to bend and reposition to accommodate.
"No apologies," Duncan spoke softly, but there was no comfort or he couldn't take any.
"I'm gonna miss you," he said as he looked over Duncan's shoulder, but nothing was in that space now. He felt his face crumble and cried and sobbed anew.
"I'm right here, man. Let's get you to the car," Duncan pulled Logan's body tighter to his side and tried to push him up the beach.
"What the hell is he talking about?"
She was somewhere around or inside his head. He couldn't see her, though.
"Though lovers be lost, love shall not; and death shall have no dominion," he said at Duncan and tried to bring a hand to Duncan's opposite shoulder. It ended up by his face and he patted his friend's cheek twice quickly.
"You gotta help me here, buddy. Just a little," Duncan said and Logan stumbled gracelessly, feet nearly dragging across the sand. "I'm so sorry, man."
"You should be," Duncan grunted with exertion. "You're not helping me at all and we gotta get up to the car. You gotta walk a little."
"I tried to make a wish," he said sloppily into Duncan's shoulder and a memory of his mom bent down in front of him in their back yard flashed.
It was the house before Neptune. The one with the real flower garden, the wild flowers. His mom brought the fluffy white dandelion seed head close in front of her lips. "Make a wish, Logan. Mommy's making a wish!" She blew and the soft, wispy seeds scattered – lost to the wind. He took his own turn and, later, told his father all about the pretty, delicate flowers. The next day, the whole back yard was re-landscaped and all the dandelions gone. His mother gave him a placating smile as they looked out at the workers. Hell, maybe that was what she had wished for, but he didn't think so. His own wish was forgotten long ago.
He was sitting now and strapped in, taken care of like a child. His head rested on the window. It was cool against the side of his face. There was movement in the seat next to him and the car started. Duncan.
He passed out, the last thing he remembered was thinking about how much he loved Veronica and how she loved Duncan and not him. He decided it was okay, though, because he didn't really deserve her love. If he could let it go so easily before, he didn't deserve it now.
He was in the pool house in the bed. He could hear the shuffling of feet throughout the room and hushed voices. He opened an eye and he saw it again behind Duncan, who held up two empty whiskey bottles.
"What happened in here?" Angel Veronica was so disappointed. He could hear it in her voice. She was apparently the same in death as in life, but what choice had he given her? He let her down. He always let her down when all he wanted to do was save her, be with her, love her. He heard her mumble something about her dad.
"I'll watch over him, Ronnie. Your dad's gonna be okay," he said hoarsely, but she had disappeared again and Duncan looked disgruntled.
"Cut it out, Logan. Pass out again already," Duncan said as he sat the empty bottles on the bar and picked up the room in general.
"MomVeronica." It was a whisper, but Duncan turned to look. His friend's face was unreadable.
She was there again, suddenly, as if in answer.
"I'll stay. Dick's out front for you."
"You stay," he said from the bed. There was a push on his shoulder that forced a roll to his side. The room spun and he closed his eyes instinctively.
"Yes, it's awkward… none of your business now… our friend needs someone. She needs you…" The wraith spoke in half riddles by the bed side and he couldn't gather the strength to raise an eyelid. Duncan's responses didn't make any sense, either. The guy kept talking about "what happened in the car" and "you didn't hear him in the car" and something like "Logan either wants you to be his mother or… have babies with him..."
Logan groaned at the too much talking that was going on above him. He tried to roll over, but found he didn't have the will to do more than sigh heavily. He must have passed out then because he didn't hear much of anything after that.
His throat was dry and, as he woke, he realized that his skull must have fragmented into a million pieces and been put back together improperly because pain and pressure stretched out into each imagined fissure. Or, that's how it felt.
He turned onto his side – her side. The angel was there next to him, glowing again with the aid of the rising sun through the blinds. She—it was vigilant, awake.
"Hey."
"Hey." A tear slid, unbidden, from the corner of his eye. She reached out and wiped it away with her thumb. He jolted with her caress, pulled back and burrowed further into his pillow. She looked surprised—with herself? His reaction? Veronica's touch had always been electric, but should he be able to feel this… this… mournful vexation? His eyes squinched tight.
"Hey, it's gonna be okay now," her voice was soothing. "Can you sit up? I have some water and aspirin…"
Why was this happening? How was this happening? The thing was offering up the mundane now. Water. Aspirin. As if. It was never gonna be okay now. And he didn't give a shit about sitting up or getting out of bed or going on with things. Not right now.
"Can't… still do this," he folded in on himself and the sobs started again. They were silent but furious.
"Oh, God, Logan," the voice hit his ears and the sound of his name—again—in her comforting lilt was too much.
"Veronica?"
Her hand rubbed along his arm and shoulder.
"Oh, no." His stomach dropped. He'd gone insane. He'd driven himself so mad with liquor and longing that he was now hallucinating her touch and her kindness. "You're not real. You left… me. You're gone, too," he choked on a sob. "Bus…"
He heard the sharp intake of breath. Breath she shouldn't have. Was it possible?
"That's what… this is about?" she whispered.
He opened his eyes. Her visage was marked by surprise then pain and terror as her eyes darted all around his face.
Her lips pressed softly into his and he jumped as if stung. He flew back and up onto elbows.
"Don't do that again, okay, Logan?" she asked earnestly. "Don't hurt yourself like that again."
He couldn't blink. His eyes were stuck, wide open. They hurt, adding to the ever present and aggravating pressure inside his head.
"Logan? Promise me."
He nodded his head slowly. "You're real. You're here… with me? You… didn't die? Didn't go... over?"
"Yes. I didn't-. We all—." She stammered.
He threw himself at her. His mouth slammed into hers. The kiss was all teeth and freneticism. His hands landed on either side of her head and luxuriated in the softness of her skin. His tongue was inside and tasting hers before there was enough breath saved up for the full and focused expedition he wanted and needed.
"Logan," she moaned in that pesky way that meant she wanted him to wait.
"Please, Veronica, please," he panted out, breathless to have her among the living and in his bed. He crushed her, bodily, to him; breathed in her smell and noticed the clutch of her embrace.
"Talk first, okay," she shushed into his ear. "And get you some water."
He squeezed. He wasn't letting her go. Not ever again. He eyed the clock on the wall behind her head. Seven hundred and five minutes and he was reunited with the girl of his dreams.
"You're real. I made a wish and you're here," he smiled into her hair. "I'm sorry," he pushed her away only far enough to look down into her face. "I wanted to say that because I was so awful… but I love you. I was stupid and hurt. I shouldn't have… done that shit last summer. I should have really listened and tried. You're…" His eyes roved her face, took her in all over again. He couldn't get enough of her.
"Logan. Thank you," she gave him a lingering but chaste kiss on his smiling lips. "Let's get that aspirin and water in you." She nodded towards the bedside table then extricated herself from him, got up, and rounded the bed. She held out the remedies.
Veronica watched his every twitch and grimace as he sat up. He took what she offered and felt immediate relief when the water hit his throat. He slow-blinked. His posture changed from stiff to relaxed, and he slumped forward a bit for comfort.
"Are we… friends?" She asked. She leaned against the wall facing him. "Logan?"
"God, yes!" He exclaimed with a brilliant smile as he slammed the water bottle against the table and some of the water splashed out onto his hand.
"Then, as your friend," she righted herself and he was sure he'd never seen anything more exhilarating than the sight of her stalking towards him. She sat at his side and clasped his hand in her own. "I love you, too."
He was pleased to learn that his smile could stretch. He didn't want to undersell his joy.
Her other hand joined the first. He turned towards her slightly. "But I'm not ready for any other connotations right now, okay?"
His smile faltered, but it wouldn't be moved. He would have her in his life any way that he could. He would straighten up and fly right and work hard to make amends. He would impress the shit out of her. She would see theirs was a relationship worth trying again.
Duncan's face flashed before his eyes.
Shit.
Friends. Right. However he could have her. However she would have him. He squeezed her hand.
"Duncan and I just broke up and I might have died yesterday-"
"What? You and Duncan…?" He was exhilarated at her confession even if he was embarrassed at his glossing over of her near-death. She was here now. There was time for that.
"Yeah," she rubbed a thumb along the back of his hand. He shivered, but she didn't seem to notice.
"But you were here together?" he looked up and away, tried to recall the night before. He'd thought she was a figment then, but now he knew better. He'd been too trashed and heartsick to maintain logic.
"Yeah, we were. It was… amicable," she chose the word carefully, it seemed.
"He loves you."
"Maybe," she shrugged," but Meg's pregnant and he's the father and I'm too young to be… part of that." Again with the deliberate word choices.
He knew his mouth hung open. The shock was… Well, all of it seemed… indelicate. Duncan and … Meg? With a baby?
"Maybe that wasn't my thing to tell, but Meg was on the bus, you know?" She looked up into his eyes. Hers were liquid. He sighed, squeezed her hand again. "She's in a coma right now. He told me about the baby after… everything and I…" She looked away as a single tear snaked down her cheek. "I couldn't feel worse. Meg was so angry."
He pulled his hand from her grasp and put an arm around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head, like it was habit. He supposed it was, to a degree. She didn't reject it, rather she rested her head against him in a way the felt like habit, too.
"I finally get it, you know? Why she was so mad at me. I can't even imagine…" Every word was muffled by his shirt.
"God, this is all just… shit. I'm sorry, Veronica." He meant it. He knew what it was to her to give up Duncan. "And Meg? I hope she's alright."
"Me, too. I hope the baby's alright."
"Yeah," he nodded.
"It wasn't working out, you know?" She kept her head against him. It might be his new favorite, her resting like this with him.
"What wasn't?" His heart raced.
"Duncan."
He waited her out. The moment was too tentative and fleeting. He didn't want to ruin it with a stupid, selfish comment.
"It wasn't right anymore," she said as she twisted awkwardly into him. He stood them both up and took her fully into his arms. "We weren't right."
None of this was making sense. He'd seen her with Duncan. There was glowing, for chrissakes! He'd seen it. They—Veronica and Duncan—were the Golden Couple, happy and shiny and perfect, for all eternity.
'Except,' he supposed, 'they aren't.' She was hugging him, telling him that Duncan was wrong for her. She wasn't swooning, wasn't even adequately interested.
"So, we just sort-of… stopped. I used the bus crash as my excuse. Don't waste time with the wrong thing – all that jazz. And he did, too. But about Meg. I agreed. We agreed." She tightened her hold for a moment and leaned back. She raised doe eyes to him and he was lost.
No matter what they ever were again, he was hers.
"I need time." She sighed. "Time and a good friend." Veronica smiled then, the soft shy one. "One that will be around. So don't go making last night a habit, okay? Let's make that show one night only."
"Yes. Whatever you say. But you, too. You be careful, too."
"Deal," she said and brought a hand from behind his back. She held it out for him to shake. He loosed his hug and shook.
"I'm here for you, Veronica Mars, whatever you need. However you need." He rubbed her shoulders and smiled to match her. He couldn't believe this one eighty. He wouldn't ruin his second chance.
"I'm here for you too, Logan Echolls," she said and raised up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
By the end of the semester, Veronica was leading him around (everywhere) by their clasped hands. And, when they found out the bus crash was on purpose, he was permitted to assist in the investigation she launched immediately following. A few days into spring break, he was allowed to kiss her properly whenever he wanted. And one Thursday afternoon, before a planned Daddy / Daughter weekend trip to San Diego, he and Veronica were together in the penthouse suite of the Neptune Grand. The champagne and strawberries were lovely. Veronica's pale skin flushed pink in response to his lovemaking was lovelier. His fantasies couldn't compare. She'd used the "L" word in that connotation over the phone the next morning before she left.
And the evening after she returned, he donned a decent suit (complete with a tie she'd once complimented) and knocked on her door with a bouquet of her favorite flowers in hand.
When she opened the door it was the big smile that graced her face and he couldn't help but return the grin.
"You look nice," she said as she grabbed her posies and a gorgeous blush spread across her cheeks. She inhaled deeply and opened the door for his entry. She made quite the show of finding a vase and putting her bouquet in water.
His eyes followed her all around the tiny kitchen. She was glowing and tan since the trip and every step she took made her a glorious bronze blur until she came to stand before him again.
He reached out for her shoulders and was entranced by the ultra- soft skin that met his fingertips. He traced lightly down her arms until he could clasp her hands.
"I'd like to take you out tonight," he said softly.
"I got that," she said with a smirk and swayed towards him. She went back up on tiptoe and pressed her lips to his.
He didn't let her end it. He pulled her close and wrapped his arms around her waist. His tongue begged permission and was granted it. As he poured his ardor into the joining of their two mouths, Veronica's arms came up around his neck. He explored the softness of her lips, one after the other and slowly. He licked into the recesses he knew drove her wild. She moaned when he slid back along her tongue again and broke the kiss.
He pulled away slightly before he dipped down and planted another quick smack on her still – pursed mouth. Her eyes remained closed for another moment, but when she did open them, she was dazed and yielding.
"I missed you," he said as he watched her touch her still parted lips with gentle fingertips. She smiled out of the trance and nodded slowly.
"Me, too." She gazed up at him, took in the features of his face. Her hands raised to the lapel of his jacket and fingers grabbed on, slid the length of it. "I'm just gonna… go change." A small push into his chest with both hands and she turned.
If he'd moved or looked away, he'd have missed it.
When she hit the hallway to her bedroom, she wobbled for a moment and her hand flew out to steady. And he couldn't mistake the "Oh, my!" he'd heard her quietly exclaim.
He smiled and his heart leapt. He'd made Veronica Mars swoon.
A/N I'm brand new to the site and to writing in general. This was written in response to a vmficrecs July picture prompt (1b. Make a Wish) to see if I could and because I always wondered what Logan was thinking that day. The two quotes Logan drunkenly spouts are from Kahlil Gibran and Dylan Thomas, respectively. Thanks for reading. Oh, and sorry about the lame formatting. Like I said, I'm new. I'll keep trying.