I really apologize for taking this long to get the chapter up. But if I may counter with this: how exciting that we have a movie now?! (Did that random comment successfully distract from my negligence?)
Thanks so much to everyone who's read so far, and infinite thanks to the wonderful Ghostcat, who really got into the trenches with me on this one.
Veronica is sitting on his couch when he gets home. She is looking down at her phone but before he can even fully finish his thought about somehow avoiding her, she has looked up at him.
"I'm full up on bibles, but thanks anyway," he says, attempting to make her forget that he hasn't talked to her in a week and a half.
"Yeah, we're not doing that." She gets up and follows him as he puts his keys away, as he slowly unloads his bag. "It's way past time to get to explaining why we're having a session of radio silence."
Logan thinks that, just for a change, maybe he should think ahead and try to figure out how to avoid the things that are going to bite him in the ass. But it's a resolution for another day, so he shifts his eyes to somewhere beside Veronica's head and deflates a little. "There's something going on." He can see her body close up out of the corner of his eye, but doesn't hasten to correct her impression. If she's been waiting on the edge this whole time for him to mess up, then it won't matter what he says. He continues dully, "It's not hurting anyone, but it's not my story to tell." He finally gathers himself enough to look at her face. It looks soft, and he hopes that it is not deception. "I didn't want to have to lie to you," he finishes helplessly, moving his fingers in a little shrugging gesture.
He can't remember the last time he was so surprised, but when he looks over, her face is the same. "Okay." She crosses her arms protectively, swings herself so her hair covers part of her face. "We're doing another thing with Mac in a couple of days. Do you want to come?"
Sitting in the Sinclair's living room trying to avoid the Taboo words and Veronica's eyes is simultaneously the best and worst thing he can think to do. "If we can do the normal thing, then, sure, family game night is on."
"Of course I'll take up my usual mantle of keeping Lauren away from you. Don't you worry, smoochie buns." She knocks her fist into the side of his arm and makes a clicking sound at him with her mouth. He smiles and laughs a little. "But if you don't work at it, you'll get stuck on her team instead of mine for charades."
"I've been training. Wouldn't want another 'Bridges of Madison County' disaster." He makes a fist, thumb running over the backs of his fingers. "So, do you want me to pick you up?"
"I think I can make my own way there," she says, and even though her voice is light, her face tilted up toward his, he remembers that she is still Veronica Mars and there's something in her marrow that doesn't let her forgive so easily.
She starts toward the door and he follows her and it's not because of any good hosting manners that he has. "Veronica," he blurts as she steps outside and he is left hanging onto the doorway for stability. "I know it goes against every lesson Jessica Fletcher ever taught you, but can you just let this one stay just as it seems?"
"No one's been murdered, right?"
"No."
"And I'm not going to get called to post bail?" He shakes his head.
"And you'll tell me eventually?"
"When we get to eventually, I won't be able to avoid telling you."
She squints at him, hand on the handle of her car door. "Okay."
He gets a text from her ten minutes later. I wasn't kidding about eventually, it says, and even though he smiles, he feels sick at the same time.
Two weeks later, Logan gets home at about ten. He's pissed off because it was a long day of classes and then he went for pizza with Heather and all she wanted to do was talk about some guy. He'd snapped at her after forty-five minutes because he couldn't handle another second talking about the glories of Doug, and she had stewed across from him until he had dropped her off.
But it's an uncomplicated kind of anger, sensible, cause-and-effect aggravation separated from the thoughts that have been festering in his mind for the past month, and so he doesn't mind it. And then he goes to throw his mail on the counter and notices the large letters that say CONFIDENTIAL across one of the envelopes. The letters are shredded, the envelope drifting to the floor a moment later, and he is confronted with the most passive-aggressively dooming sentence he has ever read.
The Alleged Father cannot be excluded as the biological father of the fetus based on the samples submitted from the mother and the alleged father and the DNA extracted from the population of fetal cells.
He retches a little, the words the alleged father pounding through every one of his heartbeats. He goes out to the beach, intending to run, but he just ends up screaming "Fuck!" at the sky with varying degrees of intensity and sitting on the sand, head rested on his knees, until dawn. This is no longer a girl he met once saying probably. Now it's science, cells and physicality that are changing his life.
He shows up at Emily's door before human hours have strictly begun. Her roommate answers the door groggily, and he blinks a couple of times because she has been absent for the entire drama and he doesn't even know her name. Emily comes up behind her after a few seconds, which is lucky because Logan can't seem remember how to politely request her presence.
"I assume you got one of these?" he says, brandishing the letter. He focuses his eyes slightly to the left, because he is struck by the idea that there is a human being percolating inside her body and he doesn't want to start screaming again in her presence.
"Yes," she says, so calmly that he forgets her pale face as she thrust the news upon him, or the way she broke a little telling him that she was keeping it, or how she flinched and clenched her fingers around no hand at all when the doctor went to draw her blood. He forces himself to breathe because he is suddenly alone in his panic. But he thinks that she can see it in his face because she continues gently, "Give me a few minutes to get dressed, and we can go somewhere to talk about it."
They end up at a coffee shop, empty except for a hipster looking dude in black typing away on a MacBook. Emily orders milk, although she asks for it in a coffee cup. Logan gets coffee, but doesn't drink any of it, choosing instead to tap his finger reflexively against the side. They are quiet for a while, until eventually Logan realizes that he is supposed to start.
"This isn't me trying to get out of anything," he begins, voice tarnished, "But there's some stuff that you should know about me." He pauses, wishing that there were someone around to script this. "I'm not a good guy. I drink too much and get into fights. I don't know what you've heard about my dad-"
"I'm not really into celebrity stuff," she shrugs, almost apologetic. "'Big movie star' is all I really know."
Logan laughs heavily. This is the first time he has had to tell anyone. With quietness he doesn't feel, he says, "My dad was…he could be brutal." He shifts, sniffs sharply, but continues facing down. "It started when I was a kid and…you took Psych 101, right? So that cycle of violence stuff is probably something you're aware of. I just thought you should know that if you wanted me to stick around, it's something that could be coming to a theater near you." She doesn't react except to take a sip of milk, twitching her nose a bit as she does so. Trying to soften the edges of his voice, he says, "I'll still pay for anything you need, but if you don't want me around, you wouldn't be wrong."
"I want you around, Logan," she says, voice certain. He wonders inanely if shaking her will hurt the baby, or if that's strictly a post-birth thing. "All the literature says that kids do better with their fathers around. But if you don't want to be around, I'll understand. If you're going to do it just because I told you to or you're afraid I'll go running to the Enquirer, maybe it's better if you go now."
"Okay." He scrapes a hand through his hair. "So should I go to therapy or AA or rehab or something? Because I'm not really a nice guy and you need someone who will be."
"That's your choice. I don't know you that well, but you coming to me, sitting here, talking about this with me…that seems like nice guy stuff. I don't think you're a bad guy. I think you're a hurt guy."
"You don't get it, okay?" he breaks loudly. "My dad could go from the best guy in the room to smacking me around in the space of a minute. This person, the person I am right now? He could be gone before you knew it, and if that happened, you would need to run fast and far. You couldn't stay around and hope it got better."
Emily takes an unhurried drink and places her cup back down on the table. She stares at him so deliberately that he has to fight against shifting his gaze. "When I met you, I was on the rebound. I had just broken up with a guy I had been dating for six months. We were naked in bed on my birthday and he told me he had my present." She glares at Logan like this other guy is in front of her. "He gave me cooking lessons because," she leans forward and takes on a mannish affect, "'Your cooking sucks and once we're married I don't want to be embarrassed to have people over for dinner.'" She sits back, folding her arms. "I had told him I loved him two weeks before, and I broke up with him in that minute. I told him I might be pregnant because it seemed like the right thing to do and I was panicking about never knowing who the baby's father was, but I'll never go back to him. I know how to get rid of people who aren't good for me. Right now you don't seem to be one of those people."
Logan makes her come to see his lawyer anyway. "If she ever comes with allegations of abuse, even if they're unsubstantiated, she and the kid get seventy-five percent of everything." Out of the side of his vision, he can see Emily getting a pinched, uncertain look on her face as he says the word "abuse." She pulls him quickly into the hall.
"Look, maybe this isn't…" she takes a breath. "You didn't hit your head on anything while I wasn't looking, right? You're just going to let them give me millions of dollars if I come in with a paper cut?"
He slides his hands into his pockets, calm like he's in shock, a false, temporary thing. "If I ever hit you or the kid, if I ever start getting out of control, you'll deserve the money, and you'll need it."
Quite honestly, it makes him feel better for her to look shaken and uncertain after the rest of the morning. "You washed your cereal bowl after we slept together, even though you made jokes about being unaccustomed to physical labor. But now you keep making it sound like you're going to morph into a werewolf in a second."
His shrug is all gallows humor. "Guess you're lucky it wasn't a full moon that night."
She frowns and he can see that he's finally frightened her into taking the money. She turns to go back and he reaches toward her wrist, although she turns just from the brush of his fingers before he has a chance to grasp it.
"Why is this the only thing that freaks you out? I mean, I've seen enough TLC to know why playing host to a baby generally isn't considered a hobby."
She laughs, a sudden, sharp, punching burst that makes him step slightly back. "Please. You think I'm not freaking out? I peed six times last night. I'm considering moving myself into the handicapped stall to save myself the commute. Once this week I cried thinking about cells being taken over by a virus. I skipped classes to read baby books, and let me tell you, those things should be made into horror movies, no sons of Satan necessary. And I hope this baby doesn't actually need any of the protein they say it does, because I've developed an aversion to eggs, beef, any kind of fish and, weirdly, chickpeas." She laughs again looking at his face. It's more relaxed, more genuine now, and he can feel his shoulders loosening just a little from the sound. "I just figured that only one of us is allowed to be having a meltdown at one time. And see, we did a tradeoff thing. You freaked, then I freaked. Good support teamwork stuff!" She holds her hand up for a high-five and then puts it back down immediately. "Forget I did that," she blurts, clearly horrified at herself, and he finally laughs too before they both turn to go back into the office.
When they reenter, the lawyer takes a turn at attempting to pull Logan aside. After he refuses to acquiesce to a sidebar, the man straightens and says bluntly in front of Emily, "This is an insane move. You realize that, don't you, Mr. Echolls? I can't in good conscience…"
"Fine," Logan says, and, tired of people second-guessing his decisions, he and Emily go to find Cliff, who calls them "you wacky kids," and tells them the contract will be ready on Wednesday.
"Not with seventy-five percent in it, it won't," Emily interjects firmly. "The baby doesn't need six on-call hookers and a Bengal tiger. Think about a more normal person number. I understand why you're doing this, but that's too much." Logan nods, a little reluctant. "Good. I'm going out to breathe some fresh air in an attempt to wake myself up. Because I am growing a human being, I'm not allowed to have coffee, and someone had an early morning panic attack."
"I'll try to restrict my panic attacks to midday hours."
"Hey." She rests a hand on his arm on her way past. "Panic whenever you want. You get your turn. But if your phone rings in the middle of the night, just remember how payback works."
Once Emily is out the door, Logan turns back and raises an eyebrow at Cliff. "Try to remember your midlevel legal education, and make sure that this doesn't go in one ear and out into Veronica's other."
"Oh, believe me, Mr. Echolls," Cliff says lazily, leaning back in his chair. "I'm really looking forward to you telling her yourself."
"Yeah, me too," Logan mutters. He leaves the office, and a lot of his satisfied pride along with it.
They agree to sit down a few days later and outline what Logan should be involved in. "You're the boss," he tells her, because he doesn't want her to see how clueless he is. It quickly becomes evident that he should have just faked it, because she's a maniac with a pen and six research papers to support his involvement in everything from choosing the name ("it will help you bond better") to being her Lamaze coach ("I saw your face when you came to find out about the baby. You're never going to look at me sexually again anyway, so watching me pant and get sweaty and bloody won't make a difference"). She's very bossy, and he wonders if this is her real personality, or if she's over-compensating and she's really more like the scared, pale girl who still went to the pediatrician. There's a part of him that knows that he should probably put his foot down and set some boundaries, but he isn't sure how to go halfway with this, especially since Emily seems to want him to be her partner. "We're practically strangers," he wants to tell someone, but there's no one to tell.
Against Logan's better judgment, when Emily calls her parents to tell them, she wants him to be around. He haunts the edge of the laptop screen as she takes a deep breath and cheerfully opens with, (also against his better judgment) "Mom, Dad, there's been an accident."
Emily had given him the lowdown on her family, had shown him pictures from her high school graduation, her face a little rounder and blossoming a brilliant grin. Logan had been mostly focused on the smiling, bearish man flanking her, a protective arm thrown around his daughter's shoulder. But he had forgotten that the scariest person in his life looked less like Barbie and more like Barbie's little sister, because although there is an outburst, it comes not from the burly Irish father, but Emily's tiny mother.
Logan remembers that her name is Teresa, but only because after a ten minute rant about making poor choices and ruining her life, Emily's dad leans over and curves an arm around his wife. "Teri," he says quietly. "It's okay." Her dark head is buried in his shoulder for a moment.
"Please don't cry," Emily manages, wincing a little. Teresa's head bucks one last time, and then she stands, looking furious enough for Logan to move back, although there is no way for her to reach him from Connecticut.
"We'll speak about this later, Emily," and she storms out.
One side of Emily's mouth is pinching in as she bites at her lip. Logan stares at her face for a second and then moves into the main part of the screen. "I'm Logan, Mr. O'Connell. I'm the…I'll be taking care of your daughter."
Jim O'Connell peers at him through thick glasses. "Will you? I trust you'll do a good job, then."
The image freezes, a victim of Hearst's notoriously poor internet, but Logan's throat has already summoned the words, "I'll try."
Emily sits, staring at the computer screen for a while before Logan closes the laptop and gets to his feet. "Let's get ice cream," and twenty minutes later they're sitting across from each other at Amy's.
"It's a little known fact," Logan says, awkwardly casual as a silent Emily manages to somehow lick morosely at her cookie dough fudge mint chip cone, "That they started making Chocolate Bondage here because of me."
His voice jolts her out of her own head although clearly she did not pay attention to his words. "I'm sorry about before," she blurts. "I shouldn't have made you meet them, not when I was just telling them and not when I don't even know what we are. I just really wanted to be able to tell them that I had a plan, that I had people around, that it was kind of normal. Like, 'Hey, I might be ruining my life, but at least I've got a guy here! Now you can finally give Grandma some good news!' Ugh!" She tosses her head before investing herself even further into her ice cream. "It was stupid and it put a lot of pressure on you and I'm really sorry."
Logan looks down at the cup of ice cream in his hands and plays with the spoon. "No, I get it. You need a support system around you, and you want me to be part of that. I probably should be part of that. I just don't want to make you think that I'm going to duck into the phone booth and come out as Superman. But I wasn't lying before. I'm going to try to be there. I'm going to try to learn how to be that guy."
He risks a look up. Emily has her head tilted back. She's smiling a little. She brings her chin down to face him. "Well, knowing to get me ice cream was a good first step."
He really does try. He manages to attend classes, and deep-breathe himself into going to a few of Emily's doctor's appointments (even though most of the time there he spends having staring contests with the waiting room walls before the doctor calls him in to say that everything looks "tip top down in the old tum." Logan wishes Emily would switch doctors to someone who didn't seem to think he was from nineteenth century England, but she seems to find him amusing). He spends time with his friends, who are only slightly colder as they realize that he's still hiding something from them. He decides to start seeing a psychologist and makes an appointment with student health services before he realizes that he has enough money to buy the student health building, and instead asks his GP for the number of the best shrink in town.
He had refused therapy after Lilly had died, but he thought that he knew something about it. His mom had gone to someone for years who might not have listened to her confessions but at least prescribed her antidepressants, and his dad had brought a life coach to live in their guesthouse for two months when Logan was nine, although he had known even at the time that it was more about proximity to bang her than making changes in his lifestyle.
But his assumptions are called into question when the first session with the highly recommended and very pricey Dr. Derek Remora finds Logan slouching progressively more nervously in a waiting room chair while he tries to ignore what he hopes is very loud therapeutic role-play occurring in the doctor's office.
"You know, I've heard that if you really want to disappear, that closet is an alternate gateway to Narnia."
Logan looks up blankly at the casually dressed woman in the doorway opposite him. She is leaning offhandedly, arms folded and one ankle tossed over the other, as she raises a playful eyebrow at him.
"I've seen that look on plenty of patients before." She tilts her head at the other office where the door is still closed. "He's just dedicated. He'll be the same with you when it's your turn."
"Not sure how reenacting scenes from Streetcar Named Desire will help me with my problems, but I guess only time will tell," Logan says dryly. After a few minutes, a tearful man comes out, followed by a silver-haired guy wearing a lab coat over a dress shirt. "Logan Echolls," he intones solemnly, although by that point the other guy has left and Logan is the only one in the room. Logan follows the doctor, but turns back as he enters the office. The woman has disappeared, and all he can see of her is her heel as she flicks the door shut.
"Let us start with some assessments," Dr. Remora says, and that's what they do for the next few weeks. Pick one from this selection of picture books. I see. What is your spirit animal? Revealing.
By the fourth session, Logan is ready to give up. If the best doctor in Neptune is content just to fuck around with him, then maybe he's just getting ripped off because he can't be fixed.
"It's not you," he hears from nearby. It's the woman again. She's been there every time he has, but even when he asks point blank what she's doing there, she just makes up stories ("I steal the vending machine key from here every so often because I get a thrill from free chips." "I'm a protester making sure they don't tear down the building." "I have a thing for one of the janitors."). "Sometimes he works for people and sometimes he doesn't."
"Bet the ones he doesn't work for end up in little padded cells," Logan remarks, idly bitter.
"He's too showy for you. And that works for the ostriches of Neptune, but you've got a hair-trigger bullshit meter. You need someone who won't bullshit you back. But it can't be a man, because you'll just get combative and refuse to work with him, and it can't be a woman because you'll try to flirt and charm your way out of any real progress."
"Do you have a list of recommended genderless shrinks, or can I find them in the phone book?" He waves a cynical, underlining hand.
"Hey, if you're old-fashioned like that." She gives a slight, spunky punch to the air, "You go."
Logan takes out his phone and slouches his legs further in front of him. "Well, as much as I want to get my advice from strangers fix, I'm going to stick with a professional."
"It won't work, but, you know, your choice."
"Yeah," Logan says, sneering a little. "Thanks for your well-informed certainty."
"Well, my BA and doctorate in psych might have something to do with that." She juts her chin a little, not even bothering to step forward to shake his hand. "Dr. Darcy Remora."
Logan skims a look for a nameplate on her door, confused. "The lucky wife?" he asks, returning his attention his attention to his phone.
She has an excellent, rich laugh. "Sister. Younger. I'm the second Remora. And I wanted to add you to my list of clientele."
He has the Remora and Remora business card in his wallet, but had assumed it was an affectation, like the totally unnecessary lab coat his current doctor wears.
"Remind me again why I want to get poached by Doctor Second Best?"
"Oh, it's not poaching. The good citizens of Neptune have provided Derek with a vacation home, a boat, and a woman who would be considered a trophy wife if he were a few years older. His bounty overfloweth, so he doesn't mind if I take the more interesting cases off of his hands." She straightens from her place against the doorjamb, shrugging and taking a step back into her office. "But I would understand if you wanted to stick with him. You're supposed to start experimenting with your chi next week. It's all the rage."
Logan starts scheduling appointments with Darcy after that.
Emily and Logan don't really hang out together. Every so often they'll get lunch together after a doctor's appointment, and he and her roommate, whose name he now knows is Amanda, nod each other when they pass in the halls. Emily doesn't futilely try to keep the baby a secret from the people in her life, but there are no kumbaya bonding sessions between her friends and his. In fact, there are very few bonding sessions between Logan and his own friends. They still talk to him, but the pressure of hiding makes him go home instead of going out, makes him focus on his schoolwork as an excuse. Disappearing is unfamiliar to him; confrontation is more his style. But when he tries to come up with words ("I knocked up a girl," "Maybe you've seen this girl and her rapidly expanding waistline…that's my fault") he can picture Mac's slightly pitying understanding, and the way Wallace will bump his arm and say "you're doing the right thing, man." And then he tries to picture Veronica's face and has to do the focused breathing techniques Darcy has mentioned to ensure that he's breathing at all.
He didn't start to change for Veronica. He didn't hit rock bottom either. It was just him in his room, realizing that he didn't want to be dying alone at forty of liver failure, and trying to remind himself that he didn't get terrible grades and he knew how to interact with people even when they weren't the type to ostracize girls or burn down pools at his command. But the thought of Veronica was perpetual, and the disappearance of that possibility made his body numb. So he takes a page from her book and avoids, avoids, avoids.
But one Sunday morning, he agrees to drive Emily to church. She doesn't go often, but she wants to go today and she asked him far in advance, so he couldn't say no.
"You don't even have to go in. I really just need the ride this time," she had said, and because he and Darcy were talking about cycles, he had thought about gratitude and owing and the fact that he kind of wants to be friends with Emily, and said yes. He didn't want things to be about bargaining between them.
And being the wheels wasn't bad. He had sat in his car for a while, doing some class reading, but by the time people started to filter out he had moved to lean against the car. He looks up from his phone just in time to see Emily step out, which actually makes him smile, until he notices that she is walking out with Weevil. They are chatting as they maneuver down the church's old steps. Emily has been starting to get off balance as her body extends, so she is looking down to avoid the crumbling spots, but he can still see the ticked up corners of her mouth.
"Does knowing about your high school hijinks make me an accessory after the fact?" she is saying. Laughter is still sliding beneath her voice as they approach the car. "Oh, hey Logan. This is Eli. He helped me survive the sermon."
Logan, trapped by secrets and falsehoods and the alternate versions of himself that Emily has never had to face, isn't sure what exactly to say. He glances at Weevil, who is managing to mix amused and poker-face. Even as he opens his mouth, Logan is not sure what will come out, but maybe proximity to the church is working in his favor because at that moment, her cell phone rings.
"It's my sister," she says excitedly. She rests a hand on Weevil's arm. "Maybe I'll see you next week," and she slides into the car with the phone against her ear.
Logan and Weevil look at each other for a second, Logan's mouth lost with the vulnerable slackness it can have in the second before his brain kicks in. Weevil looks up at him from beneath lowered lids.
"Must be so easy for you to fool the sweet ones," he says, leaning almost lazily into the words. "But this one must be extra special if you're risking lightning bolts for her."
Logan's heart rate slows from the barbed familiarity and the words slide out from a gleeful tongue. "Well, she is my…your people use 'baby mama,' right?"
"Weird how I haven't heard anything about that," Weevil returns. "It's almost like you took me off your Christmas card list."
"Figured you could gather the whole family to read about it in the tabs." He shifts a little. Emily, he can see peripherally, is still talking. "Gotta support the rags, you know." As he thinks about it, he doesn't really understand how he's managed to keep everything so quiet, how no student looking for some quick cash has gone paparazzi as he and Emily were leaving the doctor's office. He supposes that it's what comes with living a quiet life: people aren't interested in you. For someone as dramatic as Logan, it's strange being so thankful for that peacefulness.
It's real funny," Weevil continues, and his casual tone makes Logan's back tense up. "I was with Vee just yesterday and she was just her normal level of prickly. And you know how contagious that detective thing is, so I'm gonna Sherlock Holmes my way into guessing that she doesn't know about your little accessory, or her little accessory."
Logan's insides freeze and his mouth moves anyway. "Clearly, Weevs, you need to put the effort in if you want to be Holmes. You miss the obvious fact that my head is not planted on the poor excuse for the Mars lawn, and I'd like to keep it that way."
"You," Weevil says, appraising him from behind crossed arms, "Have one week. And that's only because I want to give you time to make yourself crazy trying to figure out how to tell Our Lady of the Taser about your little Knocked Up situation here."
Problems with Veronica, and Weevil there to simultaneously protect her and torment Logan. It was clear that high school had never actually ended. He flips the bird at the church as he pulls out of the space. Clearly God hasn't decided to step into his life any more than He ever has.
There were many reasons not to meet in a bar: the ready availability of alcohol, the temptation to drown everything he had to say in it, and the knowledge that there was no reason to pace himself so he could get home because Wallace would be responsible enough to play designated driver.
But he told himself that going out for a beer with a friend was normal, and ignored the fact that he was there half an hour early forcing himself just to sip at a scotch. His hand was already signaling for a second glass as Wallace came in.
"Beer. Whatever's cold," he requests as he settles himself on the stool next to Logan's, and Logan wishes for that kind of casual indifference, that simple contentment.
"Hey." Logan hopes that Wallace doesn't notice that he automatically took a sip of scotch upon his arrival.
"Listen," Wallace starts, turning to look directly at him. "I'm glad you called." He accepts his beer from the bartender with a politely absent nod. "I don't want to get in the middle of things, but whatever secret you're keeping, it's driving Veronica crazy, and that means that she drives me crazy."
There is no new information here. He knew that she must be on edge waiting to find out what was happening, and that he would have to tell her eventually. He still feels like saying something cutting to Wallace that will make him look over in disgust and leave. "Did she pester you to talk to me about it?" he asks instead. "That thing she does where she's like a terrier…it can be brutal."
"Hell no." Wallace slumps back against the stool. "She's in strong, silent mode where she pretends not knowing something doesn't bother her. But man, I have never seen her hold out like this." Wallace gives him a look, the kind can only shame Logan because it's Wallace. Because he knows that Wallace knows the bad things that happen in Neptune and chooses not to let them make him a bad person. He takes another drink before setting the glass on the bar.
"Wallace," he says, clapping him on the shoulder and summoning his smarmiest grin. "I have called you here tonight to tell you my great secret." He can't hold the grin, though, and it drops in degrees. He turns back to pick up and examine his glass in the light. "There was a girl a few months ago. And, you know." He toasts himself, mocking. "Congratulations, Mr. Echolls. You're the father."
This admission clearly goes beyond what Wallace considers the boundaries of their friendship, but he makes a gesture toward the air by Logan's arm anyway. "That's rough, man. That's really rough." There's so much awkward compassion in his voice that Logan feels choked by it. "You've been dealing with this by yourself?"
Everything in Logan wants to say something glib, but he tries to ground himself through Wallace's presence. "Just me, my therapist, and I." He tosses back the rest of his drink. "And in an amazing example of the power of fate, Weevil." He looks down at his hands, at the way his fingers flutter against the bar, before sliding his gaze to Wallace. "I'm going to tell her soon, but I just needed to know…do you think she'll forgive me?"
He knows the answer is no, that no matter how much Veronica is trying to change, she's never going to get past this, but he wants Wallace to lie to him. He wants a plan, because he will do anything, follow any advice that Wallace has, to regain the possibility of being with Veronica.
"I don't know." Wallace says after a minute. "I've known the girl for years and I still can't always figure out which way her mind's going." He squints a little as he looks at Logan. "But have you maybe considered that this isn't your fault? Maybe it's not something that you have to be forgiven for."
Logan flips his glass over so he won't order another drink. He doesn't know what he expected, but he had wanted something more than uselessness.
The day he tells Veronica is a great one. He turned in a paper on Friday, so he is expecting a quiet weekend. But mid-morning Saturday Veronica shows up at his door with her winningest smile and convinces him that he really wants to spend the day playing backup on a low level case she has.
It turns out that this kind of backup just means standing around chewing on a straw while Veronica plants cameras in a restaurant that seems to have an employee who feels entitled to more than their share from the cash register.
There's an awkward moment as they squint in the sun just beyond the restaurant awning, where the work is done but they can't quite figure out how to transition into their once familiar friendship when everything lately has been so secretive. After a minute, Logan, who can't resist the idea of a day with her, unsuccessfully tries to convince her that going to the beach is a year-round activity. He isn't as skillful as she is, though, so they end up just getting ice cream and eating it on the boardwalk. By the time they're done, Veronica is pulling him toward a cafe, reminding him that she's a growing girl.
"Dream on, princess," he says, taking a risk and patting her head, but they go to get dinner anyway. They pass a karaoke bar on the way back to their cars and Veronica, looking over at it, mentions that the last time she did karaoke she was working a case. Without discussing it, they end up inside.
When Veronica jumps off the stage, flushed and still clearly caught up in her performance of Hot N Cold. She had fun with it, but Logan gets the pointed choice. He realizes that if fate didn't have it in for him, he's ninety-nine percent sure they would be getting back together tonight. As it is, he folds his hands into themselves, fingers to palms, and wishes he were the kind of person who prayed.
She stumbles, just a little, as she comes back to their table. He puts a hand by her waist, although she doesn't really need it.
"What would your father say about this type of behavior?" he says, aiming for his usual drollness.
"Probably something uninspired about how his fond memories of Prohibition." Her voice is breezy as she smiles up at him and rests herself against his side. She's at that happy, unconcerned stage of Veronica tipsiness. If this were any other time in their life, this would be a moment where he would put a hand on her face and kiss her. If he hadn't seen a blurry ultrasound image last Wednesday, this would be time for them in the best way they've ever been.
But life has never done anything just because he wanted it to, so he takes a breath. There are a thousand ways to put it, a thousand ways he could manipulate the words, and he doesn't want to say any of them.
"I slept with someone."
Veronica pales and flinches. He tightens his grip on her waist for a moment before letting go. He can't believe he's telling her this with a terrible version of Piano Man in the background. He chokes out the words as quickly as he can. "It was just once. It didn't mean anything. But she's pregnant, and she's keeping it." He steps back, turns away, clenches his hands around the back of a chair. "I'm going to be a father, Veronica." It's a fact, but it sounds lost and hollow as it comes out of his mouth.
When he manages to look back at her, she has her arms crossed. It's as if she's become instantly sober. "Wow. I'm two for three on exes knocking people up. Better get Piz to make sure Piz Junior isn't running around out there somewhere."
Some guy, midsized and buff and fratty-looking, bumps into Logan, barely realizing to mumble a "Sorry, man," as he laughs his way onto the stage. Jolted, Logan tries to cling to the suddenly remembered reality of the bar. He tries to remember Wallace's words: Have you maybe considered that this isn't your fault? Maybe it's not something that you have to be forgiven for. "I didn't mean for this to happen, but I'm doing the best I can with it. I'm trying, Veronica. I'm sorry I kept it from you. And if you can't deal with that, or it, or anything, I'll get it." And he would, because he can feel the burning of nausea in his throat at the thought of her having a child with someone else.
As if she can tell what he's feeling, she blurts stiffly, "I can't breathe," and walks so quickly to the exit that he pauses by the table for a full minute before following her.
When he gets outside, certain that she'll be gone, she's leaning against a wall that doesn't look like it's clean enough for that purpose. As he approaches, he can see her cross her arms, straighten, gather herself. "I assume you got a paternity test. The advice given in the Echolls guide to boot-knocking, I'm sure. If she has an in with the testing company, she could have faked the results." She fakes a dramatic sigh. "And you on the hook for child support. You realize that money's one of those things where you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone, right?" She finally looks at his face. Her features look smaller than they usually do, tight and tired. "What's her name?"
There's a certain amount of dirty relief in this course of questioning. The Veronica who wants to investigate medical testing companies and pregnant biology majors to help you is the Veronica who will stay. But there's part of him that struggles every day with going to class and not getting wasted, that wants to be something other than a rich screwup who Emily doesn't tell her kid about, and that's the part that grips Veronica's hands and says, "Don't, okay? She's a good person. I believe her, so I can't have whatever this is messed up."
The first time Logan got into a fight was in second grade. He was sent home for the rest of the day, and he remembers his mother sitting down beside him and asking him why he had done it. He had played with the sleeve of his shirt, poking with a finger and widening the hole he had torn there. "He said my new haircut looked stupid," he had told her truthfully.
Lynn had turned away, sighing, and had moved downstairs to make herself a drink. Logan had sat on his bed and kept pulling until the stitching on his sleeve was destroyed and he needed a new uniform shirt. After that he realized that it was better not to tell the truth than to disappoint people. Because he was afraid that one day he would tell her the truth and she would not just go down the stairs, she would go away. If he showed her the inside of himself, the whys behind the things he did, she would leave. It wasn't his last fight, but it was the last one he was honest about.
He lets go of Veronica's hands and steps back. If she's going to leave, he going to let her go, even though he has to swallow to keep from being overwhelmed by the thought. "I slept with someone. I knew we were probably going to get back together soon, and I slept with someone anyway because it was just once and I didn't think it would hurt anyone. I can't take it back. And you can walk away if you have to, but," he glances away, grasping for the control to get the words out. "I hope you don't. If you could just...just keep trying to be my friend...I'd like that."
He feels raw with the words, wishes they could go back to quips and snark that sometimes cut deeply instead of honesty that cut even deeper.
Her arms are crossed again, and he's sure that she's going to spit fire and draw this as the line. But he's forgotten that he's not the only one who's been trying to change. Her eyes are dim and tense and she looks like she doesn't want to say the words. "This isn't something that I'm comfortable with. I'm angry that you keep having sex with people, and I'm angry that I'm angry about that, because you don't owe me anything. And that's not even getting into the part where you're going to have a kid in a few months. But I," she shifts herself and her face softens, just a little. "I like being your friend, Logan. We worked for it, and I don't want to lose you."
He had thought that he could no longer be surprised, but in a reverse of everything in their lives since they were fifteen, he is proud of her. He moves forward gingerly, arms slightly open, and his lungs relax as she allows him to hug her. She is not all there, though, and he knows that not everything is fixed.
"I know you're still mad," he says, hushed and clumsy. "But I don't want to lose you either. And after this long, I think we've proven that we're stuck with each other."
She smoothes out a little in his arms, and because it is dark and something calm is playing in the bar he allows himself to hope.