CHAPTER ONE

She didn't understand how the dusty streets could ever have become home to him. Everything about the situation was unfamiliar and so unlike the boy she knew – that boy didn't exist here anymore. At some point he had grown up (without her) and she didn't expect him to be the same – but she would have liked to think that there would be some resemblance in him.

The address was scrawled in her pocket, nervous fingers rubbing the edges of her notelet – trying to keep it permanent. She needed to know that it wouldn't disappear like he did. The numbers three and four were printed close together in front of a house name, behind a long lost name.

Logan Echolls, 34 Seafront Crescent.

She didn't want to think about the five years that she would have wasted if this house just disappeared. He pulled a Dorothy and Auntie Em had been hiring her to find him ever since. His friends were slowly forgetting – like he was a memory already – like he was a smoke screen.

She approached a small door in a small house – he had not been hiding in the style to which he was accustomed. He always was a martyr, playing with sympathy even when there was no audience. Her breathing was short and shallow as she felt anger begin to bubble up through her chest at his selfishness.

When there was no answer she wandered round the side of the house, through sandy grass and dry ground that almost edged the ocean.

She approached a man with little boy's shoulders – hunched over a railing – staring out into the deep, endless abyss that the ocean so readily provided.

"Congratulations, you are now officially Neptune High's 2006 Hide and Seek Champion." She greeted, moving to stand beside him.

He almost didn't flinch – but she was glad to see at least a small remainder of the boy she had known in his uneasy fingertips and clenched jaw. It had been five years since she had seen some justice and standing at the edge of the dry, dusty world they were the only two corners left from their square. The siblings that had belonged to them were both in the ground, decidedly not living, and she wondered if he called this living either.

"Ever think I might be avoiding you?" He muttered, eyes still glazed – stretching out towards the waves.

She pulled away from the railing a little, squinting her lips. "It crossed my mind – but I decided that even you're not that petty."

He had turned to face her now, a self-deprecating smile smeared across his lips. "You'd think so, right?"

"It's been five years, Logan. No apology, no trying to explain all this away?" Her eyes and voice had set a desperate tone, defiance cracking under familiarity.

"Why should I apologize?" His face looked cold and hard, a weathered version of the one she knew. "I didn't leave you, Veronica. I just left; I wasn't under the impression that I needed a permission slip for that."

Her head shook slightly, a tremor in her fingers. "And you don't think you left people behind?"

"Of course I did. That was sort of the plan." He snipped, his sneer cutting. "Keep up here, V, I thought you were the super-sleuth."

Her teeth were held closely together – determined to gate back the hurt that threatened to simmer up from her lungs. "Duncan's dead." She swallowed her voice even.

"I know."

She watched as he turned away from her again, resting more deeply on the railing this time like a weight was on him. She was obviously too much for him to carry – but she was the only one left and he had to see that was good for something.

"How—"

"We get the papers." He cut off. He sighed a little, a hand moving to twist through his hair anxiously, more little reminders of the boy he used to be. "This isn't like Lilly, he wouldn't still be alive if I'd been there."

"You don't know that—" She started.

"I know we were close, but we never showered together – and since that's where he had his fit…" He let the quick shift of his eyebrows finish the sentence. Sarcasm raw and dripping.

"You could have called someone – let someone know you were alright." She reasoned, quietly.

"Who?" He sniffed. "You?! Duncan? The point of running away is to make sure no one finds you." He patronized.

"No, Logan. The point of running away is to hurt everyone else around you as much as you do. You're good at it." She shot back.

"It was a bad week." He grinned expressionlessly.

She knew he was pushing her buttons, winding her up. But it had worked as anger began to course through her. "It's been a bad week for five years? Groundhog Day didn't have that much repeating angst!"

He turned on her, stalking forwards. "You know what? You don't get to judge." His voice was wavering. "You only ever had someone take a picture of you when you were with me or Lilly." He paused, as if it took all of his control just to keep breathing regularly. "So, Ve-ron-ica, when the paparazzi are building a commune at the bottom of your driveway and your sister's using the attention to pose for Playboy, we'll talk." The tips of his fingers tapped heavily against the railing – agitated.

She refused to step down. "I know it was difficult—"

"Yeah." He gestured a hand between them. "You just get it. Now you've shown me that someone understands I'll be skipping over to the house to pack up my knapsack and head straight back to Kansas." He looked up at her seriously, worry in his eyes. "Gosh, Veronica, you didn't forget the ruby slippers did you?"

She shook his head in disgust.

"Well, I guess I'm not going back then."

She watched as he began to walk away from her – only a hesitant glance over his shoulder on the way to his door. She ran her fingers along the cool, steel railing – watching him disappear.

"Logan!"

His chin tilted back over his shoulder as she moved towards him, plodding through the dead sea grass and grains of sand that used to be shells. Weathered and worn into different shapes – like so many people that are left behind by selfish boys and their hurting chests.

As she reached him her fingers curled up over the edge of his jaw, her toes stretching up until her lips pressed closed against his. Chaste and unmoving – they stayed frozen for a moment before she pulled her mouth away.

Staring back at her, his face mostly unchanged – he let a hand trace through the very edge of her hair – longer now than he had remembered.

Her mouth quirked at the corner. "Just don't forget about me."

"It was never about that." He admitted quietly.

She nodded. Accepting whatever he wanted her to – it had been too long to argue about defenses and safety-lies. He made no further attempt to explain and with a sad smile she turned to leave, retracing the steps back to her car.

"Veronica…" He pleaded with her to understand.

She stopped a hand half-way in the air. "I know where you live." She reassured softly and he nodded – pushing his hands deep into his pockets.

She knew where he lived and it was not in the house by the edge of the ocean, or in the town where his girlfriend had died. The little boy – whose stance he still had – lived somewhere else, and he had a feeling that she was going to find that too.

That she was going to find him all over again.