The year Mattie is six, he decides that he doesn't want to be called Mattie and finally realizes that most of his class doesn't bring a posse with them every time there's some kind of school pageant or fair. There are plenty of kids with divorced parents in the school, but most of those are of the messy, "I'll have Christmas, you have Easter" variety. Mattie's parents don't request neighborly cups of sugar from one another as much as they walk into each other's houses and help themselves before leaving a playful warning about better cabinet organization. The first time Logan heard one of Matt's friends question this, he was four, and didn't even blink as he talked about how his house was really two houses and how he sometimes got to switch between bedrooms.

It's an unusual Saturday that finds Logan alone in the car with his son. They are on the way back from a Junior Lego Robotics competition, and Matthew is holding his robot carefully in his lap, while the trophy he won is leaning against his thigh.

"Dad," Mattie says, turning from the window to look toward his father. Logan crosses his fingers that it isn't going to be another plea for a dog. "I usually have a lot of people come to see my stuff, right?"

It's been a rare occasion that Matt has looked off the stage at an event and not seen multiple parents, pseudo-grandparents and assorted aunts and uncles sitting in the front row. (They show up early to get priority seating. If there are people already scattered in those seats, Logan, Emily and Veronica glare at them until they get uncomfortable, and then Eric and Keith sweep in and graciously suggest alternate arrangements.)

"Yeah, Matt, you do. But your mom won't be back from her trip until Tuesday, and Veronica needed to work today. She'll be home later, though, and she said she'd make dinner so get ready to call for pizza."

Making fun of Veronica's cooking is typically a sure way to make Matt laugh, but now his son is quiet, frowning. "I saw my friend Victor today. And he didn't have his mom or his dad with him."

Logan recalls, vaguely, a solid looking boy, a couple of years older than Matt who they saw every so often at competitions. "He was with his team, bud. He didn't come with his parents."

"Yeah," Matt retorts, frustrated that Logan isn't following his train of thought. "But the rest of his team had moms and dads who came at the end. And Victor said his mom and dad left forever, so he lives with a lady who takes care of kids."

It's these kinds of questions that make Logan freeze up and wish that Mattie saved the heavy stuff for when he didn't have to worry about causing an accident. "Hey. You know that your mom and I would never leave you. Not ever." He makes sure to catch Matt's eye in the rearview.

Carelessly, Matt continues. Veronica might not be related by blood, but her relentlessness has definitely had an effect. "Okay, but I have lots of people who come to see my stuff. I have you and Mom and Papa and Veronica, and Mamie, and sometimes Nana and Grandpa, and Former Neptune Sheriff Keith Mars." Matt is pretty in awe of Keith and, after hearing the title on the news once, refused to call him anything else. "But Victor doesn't have anybody." From what Logan can see, Matt's eyes are wide, almost panicked. "Did I take all of Victor's people? Is that why I have a lot and he doesn't have any?"

Logan pulls into the driveway. He grips the steering wheel and blows out a breath before he gets out of the car. He opens Matt's door, pauses for a moment before he places his hand on the seat, trying to remember what the new stain is from (chocolate milkshake), and bends down so he's even with his son. "Mattie. Everyone gets the family they get, and it's nobody's fault. You don't choose your family." He levels a stare. "Your mom and me, we would choose you every time if we could. But sometimes we just have to just work with what we've got. You're never going to live in a world where we don't love you, but there are people who don't have that. So it's our job to make sure that we become their family. You think you can do that?"

Matt grins at Logan, still clutching his robot. "Yeah. I can do it."

The two of them are in the middle of making chili- Logan cutting and stirring and using the stove, and Matt carefully measuring out the appropriate spices- when Veronica gets home. "I said I would cook!" she protests, tossing her shoes beside the door.

"I know. That's why we're cooking," Logan responds wryly. Mattie- Matt, he's Matt now-giggles from his place at the counter.

"You can make dessert," he tells Veronica, making it sound like a consolation, although they all know what he means is that he wants her to make him an ice cream sundae.

She brushes a hand against his hair. "Do those spices right, and we might have a deal."

It's March, not quite warm enough to eat outside, but Matt begs them, so they take the food to the huddle of low chairs on the grass. As it gets dark out, Veronica goes inside to get the ice cream and Logan goes to get Matt a jacket. He catches her arm before he goes upstairs.

"Hey," he says, and when she turns, he kisses her, because he hasn't had a chance yet, and because he can.

"You're getting soft, Echolls," she tells him, and then, looking at his face, reevaluates. "You're maintaining softness. You really can't afford to get any softer."

"Go get your ice cream," he says, and takes the stairs two at a time.

Matt has gotten into Roald Dahl, and he and Logan read a chapter every night that they can. Tonight, though, after robotics and a Skype call with Emily and Eric at her conference in Colorado, he can barely keep his eyes open, and Logan has barely finished chapter four of The BFG when Matt rolls over and is asleep.

Veronica is in her office when Logan gets downstairs, so he goes to get a rocks glass, pours himself a drink and settles on the couch. He considers turning on the TV, but can't seem to find the remote. He's somewhere between thinking and dozing when Veronica walks out. The living room lights are brighter than those in the office and she blinks as she comes toward him, adjusting. It makes him think of the way she teased him last year when he thought he might need glasses; he is going to save up commentary for if she ever gets them.

She sits beside him and neatly steals his glass. "I dare you to go into a bar one day and order this," she says, taking a sip.

"I don't think they stock apple juice."

"Oh, I don't think you'll get it, I just think it would be funny to see you order an AJ on the rocks."

"You bring yourself enough humor. No need for me."

She puts the glass on the side table and settles against his side. "He go to sleep okay?"

"It was staying awake that was the problem," Logan says, eyes closed.

"He still asking for a dog?"

"Not today." He stretches a little. He's not yet thirty, but sometimes at night now he feels pleasantly, contently older. "But I'm sure he's just waiting to sneak it on me tomorrow after my night of false security."

She snorts a tiny laugh against his side. "What are you thinking?"

"Em is thinking yes. She says it'll teach him responsibility and help him understand consequences, or reality, or something."

"Yeah, but what do you think?"

"I think he's so responsible already we can probably put him in charge of Dick. And I'm not sure I need him understanding too much reality." He shifts to get more comfortable, and Veronica shifts with him. After a minute he says, "Today he was asking me about this kid at robotics, probably in foster care, because he noticed that his parents weren't with him. What kind of six-year-old notices that? Clearly his mom's had a good influence on him."

"He's a great kid," Veronica agrees. "But Logan, he's half you, and being emotionally attuned like that comes from your piece of the pie."

Logan barely lifts his shoulder; he knows she can feel the shrug. "The village is just raising him right." Even though Veronica's father and Eric's mother are involved in Mattie's life, even though he has been surrounded by a group Logan feels lucky to have in his life, it stings a little that he'll never be able to include his mother in that number. But every day with Mattie is like spitting on his father's grave, and he has to let that balance out.

"Logan." Veronica's voice interrupts his thoughts. It is very close to his face, and very firm. He opens his eyes to look at her. "You're raising him right." She stares at him until he tips his head slightly. She nods and sinks against his side again. His eyes close again, and he lets himself fall into the peace of the house. Veronica speaks again a few minutes later. "Tell me a story?" she mumbles into his arm.

He's halfway to falling asleep, but he starts anyway. "Once upon a time, there was a guy and a girl and another guy and another girl and a little boy and…damn, this is getting too complicated…I'm ditching half of you."

"Do I make the cut?"

"We'll see." He readjusts his arm so she is settled more firmly against him.

"Logan?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you ever think we'd end up here?"

He thinks of the years when he wasn't sure of anything, wasn't sure of himself or how to be a father or, sometimes, how to get through the next minute. He thinks of the years when he almost lost Veronica. He thinks of his son upstairs, breathing his slow, sleepy, unquestioning breaths. He thinks of Veronica beside him, Veronica who can't change except as much as she does. "No," he says. "But I'm glad we did."

I hate this story. It is the monster under my bed, lurking and salivating and not respecting my personal space at all. I am sure that one day I will look back on it and appreciate it in some way (that's what usually happens with my fic). I am absolutely sure that I am a better writer because of this experience. It has also been basically my nightmare. I've had a google doc tab open for whatever chapter I was working on consistently for over a year. I basically stopped being able to read VM fanfic because it just made me feel so bad about myself, so terrible at writing and so unproductive. My brain is trying to open up space for what it will get to think about now that I don't have to consider the plot points and language for this fic during every random, nebulous moment. I really just can't stand this story anymore.

You guys have made it worth it.

People who read, who reviewed, who gave kudos or faves, who supported me on tumblr with messages and likes and replies. My tremendous betas, Ghostcat and Querulousgawks, who put up with my incredible, cringing ridiculousness for way longer than they should have had to, and made this story infinitely better. This whole thing has been the worst. You all have been the best. ❤❤❤