The pan sizzled upon contact with the bacon, its aroma reaching every corner of the kitchen with its fatty invitation. He inhaled.
He'd be sick of this in a week.
But there are some people worth dining for.
Logan smiled as he shifted away from the pan to grab some eggs from the fridge.
There's nothing like a job that starts late for night owls like him.
"Good morning." Her voice caught him by surprise.
He turned and offered a hesitant smile. "Hey - slept well?"
She shook her head.
Can't blame her.
After the revelation that was yesterday, even he hadn't been able to sleep much.
Hence the early breakfast.
It took herculean effort for him to wake up before Veronica. He looked up just in time to see her sensually taking in the smell of fresh bacon.
But some things are worth the trouble.
He transferred the bacon to a plate, then served it casually on the table. "Heard back from Clark yet?"
"Yeah." She didn't sound happy.
"That bad?" He cracked the eggs efficiently.
"He claims it was a mistake."
He nodded for her to continue.
"And said he'll undo the situation or whatever."
"Sounds goo - " he caught himself mid-sentence.
Undo?
"Wait, he's not going to - " He couldn't bear to finish the thought as he turned around to face her. He felt his anxiety levels rising.
"What?" She looked at him, sleepy and confused.
"Does undoing the situation involve - you or me?"
She frowned for a moment before the question sunk in. Then she shrugged. "I don't think so. I mean - he said he'd remove Andrew Warbler. That's about it."
The amount of relief was making him sweat. He wiped his brow with the back of his forearm. "So we, uhm - we're good?"
She looked at him squarely, eyes zoomed in on his face.
She's analyzing him - he knew that much.
But what's she looking for?
"You," she said at last, matter-of-fact, "you want this?"
And once again, she'd caught him.
Logan sighed, taking a few steps back to buy some time. He leaned back against the counter, hands in pocket. He shrugged. "I dunno, I mean - better someone you know than a stranger, I guess?"
"Someone who won't sue you for sexual harassment, you mean?"
He looked up. Her words were fierce, but her eyes smiled.
He smiled too.
"More like molestation," he quipped back. "That kiss at the mall yesterday? I mean, man - most people would say - "
"Alright, I'm sorry! Okay?" She interrupted. She poked the bacon with her fork. "I broke the rule - my bad."
Now he can't help smiling. "So does this mean that the rule - "
"Nope, still in effect."
He could tell she was fighting a smile.
What do you know? She's growing soft.
The thought made him smile wider.
"Happy?"
"Huh?" He looked at her, chewing her bacon.
"You were smiling - like, totally goofy smile. What's up?"
"So there's a rule on smiling now?"
"If you're gonna keep grinning like an idiot - then yes."
"What's wrong with that?"
"Blows our cover?" She shrugged, still eating.
"Cuz a man can't smile while hanging out with his fiancée."
"Girlfriend," she corrected.
"Same difference."
"Really? I don't see a ring anywhere around here." She raised her left hand in demonstration.
He smiled. Her willingness to be silly was a good sign.
A good sign for what?
He shook his head. While heading into the program had been a dramatic step, it had been a welcome one. He could witness against Liam with limited damage, and he'd get the chance to be normal for once.
Until her presence threw it out the window.
Nothing was ever normal with Veronica Mars.
"See? Grinning again."
He looked up at her voice, only to have his smile sink deeper into his cheeks.
"Are you seriously happy about this?"
He contemplated her for a moment before pulling up with another shrug. "I dunno - it's not all bad. I never did like my last name."
"Luke Erickson does have a ring to it."
"Exactly. I told Bradley - fresh name, fresh start."
"Fresh start?"
"Yeah."
"At what?"
He looked at her then, almost wishing he could admit the answer to himself. He looked away. "I dunno - life?"
"A life that isn't yours." Done eating, she leaned back in her seat.
"A life that's better than mine."
"Right - cuz a millionaire playboy would much rather work in a deserted furniture store."
He'd have to admit - that stung. "Well, maybe not. But that's exactly why I'm here, you know? Maybe I don't want to be a millionaire playboy - anymore."
"Then who would you be?"
He exhaled. "Whoever Luke is supposed to be."
He looked up when she didn't reply. Her eyes seemed to be searching his face. He shrugged. "Why? Do you like all the baggage Neptune gave us - dead best friend, overboard bus, Hearst rapist?"
The harsh words seemed to make her collect herself. "No, of course not."
By the time Logan clocked out of work, he was once again laser-focused at retrieving Veronica from her job. He arrived just as she stepped out the door - wind chime and all. He lifted a brow in question.
She shook her head, eyes darting everywhere.
Probably still being suspicious.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." She cocked her head to the side, the edges of her short hair brushing her shoulders. "I guess - I guess he's true to his word."
He nodded.
He stepped forward and carefully placed a hand on her shoulder. "And what about our case?"
She looked up at him; eyes betraying nothing. "I - well, I didn't ask him."
Does she want this as much as I do?
He followed beside her, arm across her back and hand on her right shoulder, when she started to move. The fact that their workplace was a walkable distance from their new house at least made the job choices seem credible.
His mind still spun.
Should I ask why?
"Why?" Guess he just did. He inhaled, rather nervous. "Why didn't you ask him?"
Her facial expression looked rather surprised.
"Do you want me to?" Her accusatory tone came out of nowhere.
"Well, no, but I - "
She abruptly shrugged his hand off her shoulder. She spun around to face him. "If being with me is such a chore, Logan, I could easily request a change."
"But you wouldn't, right? Vanessa?"
A sliver of guilt shadowed her face, and then rapidly disappeared. "Well - there's no point nagging Clark. I mean, unless you want to, Luke."
She always had a way of making it all sound like his fault.
"I'm good with this, trust me," he assured, hands raised palms-out in front of him. "I got no reason if you got no reason."
She smirked then. "And I'm just supposed to believe you?"
Her light tone surprised him; but hey, he wouldn't complain.
"Who else better to believe?" He contended, "You're talking to Mr. Childhood Friend here."
"Ah, so the self-congratulatory streak did carry over," she remarked, lips turning up just a little.
Encouraged, he grinned back. He continued their way towards the house, walking backwards to face her as they moved. "You think my life's easy? Trying living with yourself first, Mason. It's no piece of cake."
"I didn't ask you to."
"Right - but nor did I." He shrugged at the glare she shot him. Her exasperation made him grin. "It must be fate."
"Really? The theatrics? Now?"
"A man can't believe in destiny?"
"A man believes in doing something about his circumstances, Lo - Luke." They both stopped walking. "Why did you allow yourself in this mess anyway?"
"Mess? I beg to disagree. I find this all great."
"Being stuck playing pretend for the rest of your life - sure, #lifegoals."
"I'm not pretending, okay?" It's his turn to be exasperated. "I mean - yes, it's a new life, new name, new everything. But that doesn't mean I've been forced into this or something."
"Who would ever choose witness protection?"
"Maybe I do."
"Right, sure, whatever."
"Do you have to be dismissive about whatever I want?"
"Cuz I don't believe that's what you want."
"Well, what if it is?"
"Well, I don't think it is."
"But it is!"
"Why? Who told you to? Did the cops force you? Did they pressure you? What did they promise to give you in exchange for - "
"I chose and allowed this to happen, Veronica!"
The way he shouted her name lingered in the twilight air. They both groaned, panting as they faced each other in a standstill - his hands on his hips and hers determinedly locked. It took a minute for anyone to recover.
"Look," he spoke first - as always, "I'm not expecting you to understand this, okay?"
He walked over until they stood a mere two feet apart. He spoke gently. "I'm happy to be here. I chose to protect Trina, and I don't think this is punishment."
She looked up then. He continued, slowly, "I want this. I chose this. It may sound stupid to anyone who didn't grow up with paparazzi lurking outside their bedroom window - or have to deal with the chance of people snapping and making money off stolen naked shots."
He looked at her, straight in the eye. "I don't expect you to understand - but at least believe me."
"You want to be stuck in the middle of nowhere land?" She finally said - asked, rather.
Logan sighed. "Yes, I do. I - I probably expected to like it a lot less if I were all by myself. But hey, having someone I know helping me out isn't all that bad."
Neither chose to clarify the implications in his words.
"I'm - sorry," she blurted, surprising him. "I guess I have to accept that, you know, not everyone thinks the same."
He stood, still shocked to silence, for another two seconds.
She seemed to fumble for words again. "Look, I - "
"You apologized?" His tongue finally unknotted itself, though his mind still wandered. "I mean, that's not something that I - "
"He died before I could say sorry," she stated, and then shrugged. "It's not the best story to tell, but hey - maybe it did teach me something, you know?"
Right - Keith.
He nodded slowly, her sadness causing his. "I mean, I'm sorry too. I - I shouldn't have allowed it to escalate, and I meant to say that - "
His words dropped into a loud grunt as a piece of wood whirled by and had him crashing down on the sidewalk.
"Logan!"
She threw herself down beside him immediately. She could tell he'd almost passed out as her hands found the growing mound at the back of his head.
"Lo, stay with me."
He mumbled incoherently.
Satisfied with his consciousness, she glanced up at the direction of what must have been a heavy boomerang. Still traveling, it sailed across the air and into the hands of a lanky young man in a grey hoodie.
She narrowed her eyes.
"Sorry!" The guy, probably a teenager, yelled before disappearing into the bushes.
She couldn't shake off the sense of familiarity.
"Veronica?"
She looked down at the face cradled between her hands. "You'll be okay. Let's go home."
"Thanks." He took the pack of ice and pressed it behind him. He flinched.
"No problem."
Having adjusted to the temperature, he leaned back against the pillow and finally looked at her. Though seated on the bed beside him, her eyes looked straight out the window. Her elbow twitched.
She's nervous.
"Vee, what's wrong?"
"Nothing." The reply was instant.
What else did I expect?
He scooted a tiny bit closer. "I'm sure it was an accident."
She didn't move.
"Boomerangs - they're not uncommon. I mean - "
"Roy Barker."
He frowned. "Who?"
"He looked like Roy Barker." She turned, gaze still far away. "I haven't seen him for years, but still - I'd like to think I'm pretty good with faces."
The pain at the back of his head matched his confusion. "Another person you know?"
"I arrested his father before; Roy was still a kid then. But still - " She herself trailed off, breath heavy.
"Maybe we can ask - Clark?" The ludicrous suggestion had him almost hitting himself in the face. "I mean, if he'll tell us the truth."
"It couldn't have been an accident. The kid - what if this is all a trap? What if we're just here because they're coming for us?"
"Who?"
"Fitzpatricks? Sorokin? I don't know!" She shifted off the bed - took two steps back. "What if - "
"Veronica, we'll be fine!" He flinched at the pain of straining forward. He pulled back a little. "It's probably just an accident. Teens will be teens. I'm fine. There's no need to - "
He's silenced by the clear, distinct sound of a doorbell.
They looked straight at each other - and stared.
But when she moved, she did so all at once.
"I'll get it," she blurted while darting out the door.
"Wait!"
He couldn't catch her.
So he leaned back, listened, and waited.
Maybe Mrs. Browning's bringing cookies again?
He waited some more.
By the third minute, he was scrambling out the door.
The bumps and crashes of his stumbling gait were interrupted by her presence at the top of the stairs. He looked at her, wordlessly questioning.
"It's a letter," she stated, unusually calm.
He waited, heart thumping, until she walked up to him. She lifted the small, white card from its envelope.
'Gotcha'
The word was typed - clean, crisp, and menacing.
"Who's it from?" He blurted thoughtlessly.
"I wish I knew."
A/N: My inspiration for this story is starting to run dry. If there are enough interested readers, I would finish it. If not, I'll remove this and start another story instead. Any thoughts?