To Be Home
Summary: Set after the last season - Logan POV, oneshot. Another Foo Fighters inspired song fic. Song is "Home" ... there's something about it I find hauntingly beautiful. Kinda like Logan.
Disclaimer: No pueda hacer nada.
A/N: I know, I know ... shame on me for posting a oneshot when I still have another story hanging unfinished. I'm still working on "Heartbeak Hotel" ... I just needed to get this one out of my head. :)
Wish I were with you but I couldn't stay
Every direction leads me away
Pray for tomorrow but for today
And all I want is to be home
He lays on his back, flat out with one hand tucked up under supporting his head, and stares at the ceiling above. A hotel ceiling, though not the Neptune Grande. This ceiling belongs to another just as posh, overly priced, absurdly decorated hotel somewhere in town down Manhattan. The name of the place doesn't matter, nor do the names of the employees - it's just a different stage with the same set, same characters and they all play the same roles.
So, Logan plays his role. Only here in New York the 'Echolls' name is recognized less & less these days and he gets to be more the rich carefree playboy this time around and less the tragically abused (now) orphan, who was accused (and acquitted) of murder.
He finds it easy enough to blend in with the New York scene. He's made friends with a few other inherently rich twenty-somethings in the city, happily avoiding any of those 'Gossip Girl' types and is enjoying his freedom from the drama of Neptune. Not to mention that (almost) anything he could ever want or desire is literally at his finger tips.
And yet, there's something missing. Something Logan can't quite fully put his finger on. Except he's suddenly convinced that the ceiling he's staring at just isn't as good as the ceiling over his bed at the Neptune Grande.
As ridiculous as that sounds.
It's just for a moment, but Logan wishes that he is back in Neptune with shades of his old life. Even as he wishes it, he knows that it's not possible. Knows why he couldn't stay in Neptune being haunted by past ghosts and regrets. Knows why every direction lead him away from that life and to the opposite coast for some much needed distance.
He closes his eyes and rolls onto his side praying tomorrow will bring him new reminders of why New York is okay for now, but for tonight - in that moment - it would have been nice to be home.
Stand in the mirror you look the same
Just looking for shelter from the cold and the pain
Some want to cover, safe from the rain
And all I want is to be home
He stands looking in the mirror before him and just stares. Leaning in close, his nose almost touching the glass, Logan examines his reflection with narrowed eyes as if searching for something.
He straightens once again and inwardly sighs. He looks the same and, for some reason, that surprises and annoys Logan. He doesn't know what exactly he'd expected, he just thought there should be something on the surface that gave away how broken the inside was.
An ugly scar maybe, an unfading bruise that wasn't there before. But nope, the same boyishly handsome image just stares back at him.
He knows he's being melodramatic. He blames his sulking fully on the weather and the worst case of 'shack wackiness' he's ever experienced. It's raining in New York, freezing cold and threatening snow. As a born and bred California boy Logan's just not built for this type of sleety, snowy crap all the time. It was nice when visiting an Aspen ski resort for a few days, but it got really old really fast here on the East coast.
It never rains in California. It's never cold enough to make your fingers hurt if you're outside too long. Just warm sandy beaches to lay on, only taking shelter under an umbrella if the sun got too hot. Miles of warm Pacific Ocean water to surf in.
Peeking out the window Logan frowns seeing that the rain has indeed turned to wet sticky snow causing the people on the street below to run for cover. He had hoped it was an idle threat. He turns from the window with a sigh and wonders what the weather is like in Neptune.
Echoes and silence and patience and grace,
All of these moments I'll never replace
No fear of my heart, no absence of faith
And all I want is to be home
He knows the poor girl standing before him, staring with that wide eyed hopeful look, is falling in love. With him, of all people. He feels bad. She's fun enough and he's had a good time these last few weeks hanging out around the city with her, but he had only been spending time with her as a friend.
He smiles weakly at the girl to suppress cringing and gracefully avoids her subtle hints of wanting to be kissed. He hasn't kissed anyone since Parker and there's a part of him that regrets ever kissing, ever dating her at all. Not because there was anything wrong with Parker, quite the opposite in fact. Parker was too perfectly normal and (sadly) became collateral damage in an ongoing war between love and hate.
He's no where near wanting a relationship or falling in love with this girl before him. Or anyone for that matter. Echoes of a past life he rarely talks of make sure of that.
All that hope in this poor girls eyes tell him that she wants to make 'moments' with him and he knows that it's just not possible. He's already had these moments - where he loved without fear, had faith in another - and it's those moments he holds onto, keeping himself closed off.
Which he knows it somehow very wrong, but he honestly doesn't care.
Because he still does love without fear, he still has faith and he's learning to have a little patience. After all, New York isn't forever. Someday home (she) will call him back and he wants to leave as little damage behind as possible.
People I've loved, I have no regrets
Some I remember, some I forget
Some of them living, some of them dead
And all I want is to be home
He stares at the framed picture in his hand. It's the last to be wrapped up in a sheet of bubble wrap and then carefully placed into his duffle bag like the four before it. He'll keep the bag with him during this trip. After the last time when the bag carrying the photos got lost for a week, Logan was taking no chances. He's already lost enough, he's not willing to risk losing these.
Sure the frames are cheap, it's the pictures themselves that matter.
A young, long haired blonde girl wearing a pep school uniform, a too-old-for-her impossibly sexy smile and her hip jutted out seductively. Lilly before torrid affairs and ashtrays - when she was fabulous.
A dark haired woman in the prime of her life. With big expressive eyes and a million watt smile as she holds a small tawny haired baby boy sporting those same expressive eyes. Lynn before the pills, booze and bridges - when the dream was still just that and not the nightmare it would become.
A dark haired boy of about 13 with his lighter haired best friend beside him. Arms slung around shoulders and a goofy smiles in place. Duncan before the antidepressants and disappearing acts - when life was much more innocent and they had each others backs no matter what.
A blonde shaggy haired surfer wearing the biggest, most ridiculous smile as he proudly poses with his cherished surfboard. Dick before the absentee parents and crushing (Cassidy shaped) guilty conscience - when his biggest worry was what time the tide went out.
This last picture, the one he always packs last because it always seems to go in order, was somehow different than the others. All pictures are of people Logan has loved without regret (for the most part) and lost in some way (be it by time, distance, death). They all show a moment when the subject was truly happy, but the first 4 pictures were taken before their worlds crashed down around them. This last picture was taken after. It made it unique in ways Logan couldn't quite bring himself to put into words. He'd come across it one day when fooling around on her computer. (Something she could never know about, by the way. Seriously, he'd be a dead man.) When he saw the picture it was instantly his favorite and he sent himself a copy.
A blonde tousled haired young woman and his own equally tousled haired image captured on film in a rare moment of youthful abandon, a crisp white sheet as their background. An obvious self-portrait, by the angle of it, showing them both laughing without restraint - his arm wrapped her waist, tickling her just as the shutter sounded. Veronica unguarded, happy and (though she never said it) in love.
He runs his finger tenderly over the glass before securing the bubber wrap and slipping the picture in with the rest. He smiles as he zips up the bag and takes one last look around the room to make sure he's left nothing behind. Satisfied, he shoulders the bag as he heads for the door. The car waiting downstairs will take him to the airport to catch the earliest flight offered back to the west coast. A flight he certainly doesn't want to miss ... because she called late last night waving the proverbial white flag ... and he can't wait to be home.
fin.
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