Rewrite Last Night
by Angel Monroe

Disclaimer: I gave my soul to God for the book I'm writing. I have nothing left to barter for Veronica Mars. In other words, unfortunately, I don't own it.

A/N: A rather flattering fan named ziebra put in a request, and it seems that your wish is my command. This is another 'what if' exploration…What if Kendall hadn't been there to interrupt in 2.20? What might have been? Yeah, it's my usual angsty fluff (oxymoron, much?). And, of course, it's LoVe. Enjoy.

"Oh, God." This wasn't happening. Could not possibly be happening. It had nightmare written all over it.

"Last night was kind of a blur."

She couldn't believe it. All the courage it had taken to get her up here, all the time she'd spent obsessing about every word, every look, every gesture—and he didn't remember a thing. Where was a black hole when you needed one?

Completely mortified, she turned to go.

"Wait!" She would have ignored him, kept walking until she hit Canada or Mexico, had his fingers not curled themselves so firmly around her bicep. Damn him. "Veronica, just wait a minute." She didn't turn to face him; she couldn't bear to. "Now, I may not remember last night, but whatever I said, I'm sure I meant it."

It was so ridiculous she laughed. "Yeah, it's kind of hard to trust that when you're swearing by things you said when you were drunk enough to forget them. I mean, I could say you asked me to marry you and you'd have no choice but to believe it."

"Did I?" he asked casually, his hand still holding her arm. There was no teasing or incredulity in his voice. "Did I ask you to marry me?"

The fact that he didn't sound surprised by the possibility seemed important to her somehow. She didn't want to think about it.

"No. You just said we were epic."

He smirked at that, like he knew the term and how he'd used it. It seemed too familiar to him, as if the night before were not the first time he'd thought of them that way.

"Epic." He smiled the word, letting it hang between them, still standing in the doorway of his hotel suite. "Spanning years and continents..."

"...lives ruined..." she continued, looking up into his eyes for the first time in minutes.

"...bloodshed," he finished. "Epic."

"You had that memorized pretty well for someone who can't remember saying it." But she knew the reason. She could guess his answer.

"It wasn't just something off the top of my head," he whispered, finally letting go of her arm. She knew his fingerprints would leave vague but powerful impressions, like the rest of him. He was all about the vague and powerful. "I guess it was kind of our tagline in my head." He looked away, uncharacteristically shy. "I just can't believe I was drunk enough to tell you that."

She didn't know what to say. The tension hung thickly between them, filling the hall like fog. Part of her wanted to run—from the tension and the embarrassment and the way his hair was so messy and his eyes so sincere. She probably would have run had the other part of her not wanted so badly to kiss him.

"Where are my manners?" Logan said, suddenly himself again as he made an exaggerated sweeping motion with his arms. "You wanna come in?"

She looked back at the elevator doors. They looked so very tempting. Inside the suite was a dangerous place for her, it seemed. It was where he'd won her back and then created his own amnesia. If she entered that territory again, she didn't know what might happen. But if she stepped into that elevator, she knew exactly what would happen. He'd never forgive her, never try his luck again. He may have been the jackass who drank himself into this mess, but she knew him enough to see that this—this simple invitation—was how he threw his heart out. Just the fact that this was their first amiable sober conversation in months was a huge leap for him.

"A couple minutes wouldn't hurt." The thought came straight from her mouth, and she hoped it was true. Hesitantly, watching the genuine smile flit briefly across his face, she stepped over the threshold.

The place was littered with cups and bottles and, here and there, forgotten articles of clothing. Veronica mused, shifting nervously, that garter was a stupid label when it applied to high school students. The things didn't guard anything. They just made Dick's game of What's beneath skirt number one! a little more exciting.

"Do you want something to drink?"

She looked over at Logan, ready with some comment about him not drinking this conversation into oblivion, but he was holding up two bottles of water from the mini-bar. The sigh that came wasn't meant to be so loud. "Water would be great." She smiled guiltily, hoping he hadn't noticed. She knew he had.

"You know, I'm not always a complete lush, Veronica." It was whispered as he tried to sound cool, confident, unaffected. He didn't. He pressed a bottle into her hands, standing far too close, and then turned away. It might as well have been to the next country, the distance between them.

She had hurt him again, but then she thought it might be fitting. "Because last night was just a one-time thing, right?" Her disbelief was blatant, her bitterness palpable. He had the good sense to look chastised. "Logan, do you know how hard it was to come here today? After I ran out last night, I came here to ask your forgiveness. God knows what made me forgive you after the crap you pulled last summer, but all you had to do was apologize and, idiotically, I accepted it. And now you can't even remember it, so all that is shit too. Can you see where the anger's coming from?" She hadn't noticed when she began crying, but he had a stricken look, the one that only came out when the tears did. Damnit.

"Veronica." He wasn't even trying for unaffected now. "Really, I'm s—"

"Sorry, yeah. I got that." It wasn't meant to be so cold, but last night he had made her forget who he was, who she was, who they had been. He was the friend who turned his back on her, who wouldn't forgive her for ratting on his mistake. He was an enemy-turned-friend-turned-more-turned-enemy again, and she'd never be able to tell the odd from the even days. He was the man who could be so sweet one minute and such a flamboyant jackass the next. And he was the only man she could possibly imagine who could make her love him in spite of it all and then completely forget the whole thing. "It doesn't change what's going on here."

His voice, loud and demanding, was a shock after his affected calm. "Then what could possibly change it!" he yelled and threw his arms wide as he backed away, as if offering everything he had. "I don't have a time machine, Ronnie. I can't make last night rewind any more than I can make myself remember it!"

"Rewrite it anyway," was her soft reply, and his shocked expression was enough to keep her going. "If you could do it all again, if you could say what you felt without the champagne to cloud your judgment, what would you say?"

"Without the champagne, I probably wouldn't have said anything," he mumbled.

Of course, she knew that could only a half-truth at best. There was a reason he'd invited her to the party in the first place. "Logan, the day you turn coy is the day I pole dance at the Seventh Veil." His expression clouded as his mind momentarily turned to something else. Okay, so not the best analogy to use when you're alone in a hotel suite with an ex-boyfriend. "Hey, loverboy, get past the visual and answer the question."

His exaggerated sigh made her roll her eyes, but at least he seemed a bit more relaxed. "Okay, so what? You want me to get all touchy-feely…" he paused again at the double meaning, his eyes flickering closed, and took another breath. "…and talk about my emotions?"

Again she rolled her eyes, turning towards the door. She knew this was a bad idea. She'd known it before she'd started her car that morning. This, though, was even beyond her foresight. "Never mind. Forget it." They were never going to work.

"Okay, okay, okay." His hand was wrapped around her arm again, suddenly closer than he had been, and she could smell his sweat and the toothpaste he'd used to dispatch the sour scent of champagne breath. "Give a guy a chance, alright. I don't want to screw this up twice in 24 hours."

She looked up at Logan's suddenly sober expression and turned back towards him. Where was her tape recorder when she needed it? Sure would have come in handy the night before. "Alright. Let's hear it."

His expression, unnerving in one sense, was amusing as all hell in another. He looked scared, terrified. Like he'd just gotten a pop quiz in astrophysics. There were no clear right answers here, and it was definitely not multiple choice.

"Okay," he breathed anxiously, running his hands up and down her upper arms. For a second she couldn't concentrate. "You and me, we're complicated, right? We've got this screwed up history where there's a hundred bad moments for every good one. I mean, I tortured you for a year, you accused me of murder, you broke up with me, I tortured you for another year…it's never been sunshine and roses with us." He didn't seem to want to look her in the eyes, so he looked at her shoulder instead.

"But when we were good," he swallowed loudly, "God, we were so good. You have no idea how great it was just to be around you, just to watch you smile and know I put it there." She couldn't help but smile, trying to hide a blush, and he smiled too. "See, right there. Amazing."

He breathed in deeply, his smile falling. "I know I screwed it up last time. I was so messed up about my dad and Lilly, about the murder rap, about everything. And I'm not trying to make excuses. I just…I'm sorry. I was stupid and rash and there was nothing in the world you could have done to stop it. I just needed to be angry for a while. I'm done with that now." A pause hung heavily, and she felt she might cry. Every part of her screamed, Run! But she didn't want to. God help her, she didn't want to. His voice, so steady and poignant, held her there. "Now I'm ready to be happy again."

"Tell me it won't happen again," she whispered, tears gathering dangerously behind her eyes.

"I love you, Veronica," he said instead. They both knew it would never be easy. They would fight, they would scream, they would cry. It was just who they were, together and apart.

Reaching up on her toes, she placed a brief, soft kiss on his lips. Then another. And then there was no separation. They melded together, their long absence leaving them desperate and hungry. Veronica felt his hands on her back, pulling her closer than she thought possible. It suited her just fine. She wasn't about to let go either.

Part of her knew it would always be difficult between them. He would always have a quick temper; she would always be suspicious.

It was just who they were, apart and together. That was what made them epic. And maybe—just maybe—they were better off together than apart.