There is an almost-sound when he steps backward off the roof ledge into nothingness, that's more feeling than sound—a sudden displacement of air that might have mattered under different circumstances. Given these? Nothing matters.

Her knees try to buckle, wanting to spill her bonelessly to the ground and have done with the struggle, but his embrace is fierce, crushing, making it hard to breathe and harder to think and for that alone and in spite of herself she loves him.

Logan, she doesn't say, you're hurting me—please don't stop."

"Veronica?" His voice scrapes the air, a whispering choked counterpoint to the words still hanging over them (That's what I thought, he'd said, and then there was that rush and then nothing but the devastation he'd left in his wake), and she shakes her head against Logan's chest, adamant though he's always relished being oppositional where she's concerned and her adamance will no doubt be wasted. But he doesn't push.

The pounding rush of blood in her temples echoes in his impossibly loud heartbeat, amplified against her cheek through the thin cotton of his damp tee-shirt. She thinks he's probably crying, but doesn't want confirmation, so she just presses herself closer and tries to absorb strength she's so much more accustomed to offering.

His muscles are taut and thrumming with an ominous tension, like guitar strings pulled too tightly and threatening to snap, and there's every chance she will have imprints of Logan's fingers on her back by morning. His lips press roughly into the top of her head in a gesture so sharp and sweet and achingly, soothingly familiar … Take Backup with you, he'd say, managing to convey love and affection and fatherly admonitions with a casual brush of lips against shaggy blonde hair.

Daddy?

Her throat constricts and a strangled noise escapes her. Logan loosens his grip enough to look down at her face, and even in this moment she wonders over the striking contrast between this raw, naked concern and the old taunting cruelty, however sincere the latter had been.

He cradles her head in his hands and she knows there is a breaking point they're rushing toward, free-falling, like a bus off a cliff or a body toward concrete.

There would be no body, just ashes, just a cloud of dust and debris raining down from the sky

The sudden gasp surprises her as much as the ice-cold thought which triggers it (Mac!), and it's strange that now even fear is welcome, its familiar sting temporarily making the other, much deeper pain abate. Logan's eyes widen and unshed tears shimmer in their depths.

The two race to rescue or to uncover, whatever is left for them to do. Later, when it's quiet and still and somewhere in the night the ashes of a hero mingle with the ashes of a monster, the way good often does with corrupt, Logan will hold her again and wish that he possessed even half her strength. She will be grateful for the strength he doesn't know he has. Beneath her brokenness she will love him back.