Chapter 12
Not Okay
10:00 am Thursday September 6
She wakes up warm. She hadn't taken the time to notice during her previous foray into sleepovers with Logan, but the view from his bedroom is pretty spectacular. One walls is nearly completly glass, with double doors leading out onto a wide deck. The shot of the ocean is panoramic and almost blindingly bright. She buries her head deeper into the comforter in an effort to escape it. To hold onto sleep for a few moments longer.
She feels something hit the bed beside her, rustling the comforter. A moment later the blanket she's been clutching is pulled back. She tries not to wince when she sees Logan's face. The swelling around his stitches has receded considerably, but it has given way to a large purple and yellow bruise that overwhelms his entire right temple. She blinks up at him, focusing on his eyes instead of what lies directly above them. He smiles at her sweetly, laying a kiss on the left side of her forehead. "Come on sleepyhead," he murmurs dreamily, an edge of excitement creeping into his tone, "It's finally time for the bachelor and bachelorette extravaganzas to begin."
"Oh God," she groans even as she cracks a grin, "Please tell me it's not already Thursday."
"No can do," he replies as his head falls onto her pillow, leaving their faces only a few inches apart. His smile widens slightly as he adds sarcastically, "It's finally time for this wedding thing to get interesting."
She squints as him, for the first time taking in his wet hair, robe, and the scent of chlorine clinging to his body. "Have you been swimming?" she questions skeptically.
"I tried swimming," he amends with a wince, "Apparently when doctors say don't exert your ankle, they actually mean it."
She bites back the urge to scold him. Logan is used to being able to play through the pain, always has been. If he'd stopped himself, whatever he felt was probably punishment enough. Instead she zeros in on his earlier statement, "I think our collection of injuries are all the more reason to reign in whatever outrageous plans you have for tonigh."
"Actually," Logan corrects with a waggle of his eyebrows, "we''ll be lifting off this afternoon."
"Lifting off?" She mumbles to herself, eyebrows knitting together as she tries to figure out where Logan could be taking them in a plane. When it hits her she sits up in a flash, remembering belatedly that she's completely naked, "No. You can't mean-"
"Vegas baby," he finishes with flair, mischievously yanking the sheets away as she tries to pull them up over herself. Giving him a dirty look she shifts, laying back down on the bed now on her stomach. Vegas. What an asshole.
"So that's why you highjacked my plans?" she hisses, "Because you knew I would have told you that you were insane right? And that was before we had two emergency room visits in three days."
He reaches across the space to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, arguing softly, "All the more reason to blow off a little steam before we're forced to put on formal wear and beam in front of the cameras."
"I don't want to blow off steam," she sighs, sneaking the blanket back over her face before finishing through it, "I want to stay in bed and sleep until we both no longer resemble the walking dead."
Logan looks fleetingly at the brace he'd begrudging put back on after his swimming attempt. He hesitates for just a split second before recommitting, "Strong argument. But we're going to Vegas. Which means you must return to the land of the living and gather the essentials from your Dad's. Who has by the way, been calling nonstop."
"Ugnh," she groans, still hidden from view even though the blanket thrashes as she readjusts yet again. Suddenly not able to get comfortable, her head starts to buzz, a now familiar feeling, "I believe he expects some sort of explanation."
"That makes two of us," Logan replies without losing his smile, it's more sly then upset. He's just looking to start the conversation.
Veronica pauses, but then the covers draw down and he can see her again. He might actually be getting used to the hair. Dark, long, and spread across his pillow. He can handle it like that. It's her facial expression that he currently has a problem with. Because when her eyes and mouth screw up like that he just knows he's going to hate whatever she has to say. And unlike her he can handle a few well kept secrets. At least for awhile. "Logan-" she begins. At a loss.
He knows better, and stops her by leaning over and kissing her quiet with a grin. "Nope," he explains, "I'm extending the pause request. We're going to have fun in Vegas. Lots of fun. We'll have plenty of time to piss each other off once we get back."
He goes in for another kiss and she responds by grabbing a fistful of his hair and relocating his face to a safer distance. "Pause request?" she questions incredulously, "So we're just not going to talk about anything?"
His smile gains an edge, "Not unless it involves gambling, strippers, booze, or a combination of all three." She releases her grip on his scalp and he responds by practically falling on top of her, eliciting an uncharacteristic shriek from the girl beneath him. "Oh also, you naked," he adds as he pulls back again to get a good look at her, "We should discuss that as much as possible."
Her eyes narrow theatrically as she replies, "Game on Echolls." She leverages herself up on her elbows so that she can get the first kiss this time.
She snorts as he exaggeratedly struggles to find the rest of her under the layers of tangled blankets. "I thought I had to get up," she teases, "We're burning daylight."
"I own the jet," he replies into the hollow of her throat, "We can afford to burn a little bit more."
11:00 am Thursday September 6
The clattering brings him into the kitchen. Veronica, in last nights dress and with her messy hair pulled up at the crown of her head, is banging through his cabinetry. He leans on the island and watches her back for a second before asking, "What are you searching for Nancy Drew?"
She looks over her shoulder frustratedly, "Which one of these confusing machines is your coffee maker?"
"I don't have a coffee maker," he answers nonchalantly as he bounces on the balls of his feet, "I gave it up years ago."
She spins around, gripping the counter behind her like she's about to fall over, "Logan. No," she exclaims, "How can you be a functioning adult without coffee?" Veronica had pretty much existed on coffee during her tenure as an agent, when working could mean at pretty much any hour of the day. Or all of them in a row until you collapsed.
Logan rolls his eyes at her. Forgetting that Veronica's body works like a machine no matter how she treats it. He lists his own strategies on his fingers, "I get enough sleep. And I don't treat my body like a garbage disposal," he nods towards the gleaming silver machine next to the sink, "Care for some tea?"
"Tea?" Veronica sorts, crossing her arms over her chest as she blinks at him with amusement, "God do you meditate and endorse acupuncture now? Am I going to find one of those sand and rock gardens in the family room?"
"It has less caffeine," Logan ignores her, starting another list, "it isn't as bad for your teeth, and it's much better for your body."
She closes his cabinet doors as he speaks, turning around at the end of his sermon to face him across the island. "I stopped listening after less caffeine," she surmises, laying her head on the granite top of the island she lets out a theatrical groan, "God I don't even think I'll survive the drive home."
He's just about to offer to give her a ride when his front door opens with a crash. Veronica shoots up with almost cat like reflexes. Her eyes jump to her purse across the room, where she had put her father's gun after taking it out of Logan's safe a few minutes ago.
A booming voice calls out, "Hey man you up yet? I'm dying to make jokes about your ankle brace."
"Easy trigger," Logan murmurs to her amusedly, catching her line of sight, "It's just Dick." He tries to evenly exhale the breath he doesn't want her to know he was holding.
The blonde appears a moment later in baggy shorts and gray thermal, fresh from a post workout shower. Veronica leans on her elbows, raising an eyebrow at his entrance, "God, barging in right after a home invasion. Your tact has sure developed in our time apart hasn't it Cassablancas?"
Dick, holding a paper tray filled with drinks, opens his mouth to comment. But then the gravity of the situation hits him. Logan doesn't have a shirt on and Veronica's sporting a wrinkled dress and some pretty obvious sex hair. "Oh God," his mouth falling open in horror as his head whips from one to the other, "No no no. NO." His gaze finally sticks on Logan as he bellows helplessly, "How could you let me walk into this?"
"Well," Logan replies, crossing the distance to grab what he's identified as his morning beverage of choice, "it would help if you learned to knock."
"Is that coffee?" Veronica perks up, darting around the counter to grab the biggest cup of whatever, it's hot and strong enough to jumpstart her heart. She smiles up at the disgruntled blonde as she swallows. "Wow," she begins, her tone puzzled, "I have literally never been happier to see you Dick. And this feeling of joy is really unsettling."
Logan snorts, but Dick is beyond amusement. He takes in a deep breath in an effort to calm himself, managing to choke out, "You've taken my best friend. And now my latte. War Mars. This means war."
"Well as…fun as that sounds, I'm off to return a gun and pack the essentials," Veronica takes another sip of her coffee, before crossing the room to retrieve her purse. As she passes Logan he grabs her arm and kisses her a quick goodbye. She throws a hand over head as she starts down the hall, "See you boys later."
Dick still stands in the same spot, looking dazed. "I'm hyperventilating and nauseous at the same time," he points out to Logan, who is looking at him disgustedly. "I think I might pass out," Dick finishes.
"Would you calm down?" Logan asks, taking a few steps to grab the tray from his stunned best friend. "You're making me nervous," he adds as he sets the drinks on the counter.
"I'm making you nervous?" Dick repeats in outrage, "You're back with GI Jane and I have the problem? Not likely dude."
"Weren't you the one telling me to hear her out like yesterday?" Logan shrugs, opening his pantry in search of breakfast.
"I meant have a discussion," Dick exclaims, falling onto a barstool and sipping the drink he'd originally bought for Mac. It's some sort of iced chai thing that also includes something she refers to as 'bubbles'. One gulp is enough, he grimaces and sets the cup back in the tray. "Preferably across the room. In matching turtle necks," he adds.
"We discussed," Logan explains simply, finally going to the refrigerator to get eggs and instead finding a cake. He remembers Veronica mumbling something about Maria the night before. He hadn't been paying very close attention obviously. He pulls out the covered dish and cuts himself and Dick thick slices. Finishing his thought belatedly, "And then other things happened."
"See," Dick winces, throwing up a hand to cover his face, "lets just stop there man. This whole thing is just getting way too complicated. It's all too much. You love Veronica. I love you. Mac loves Veronica. I love Mac. If this continues I think I might actually begin to…I might have to luh-lov-" he finds himself actually choking on the word, so he ends his sentence in an even more complicated way, "Develop an affection for your mutual lady friend."
"She is pest like," Logan comments affectionately, as he takes the first bite of incredible cake, "Tough to get rid of. Grows on you fast."
"Like a disease," Dick points out.
"Yeah," Logan sighs, not taking it at all like Dick had intended.
"You're killing me," the blonde moans, wincing for what feels like the hundredth time.
"You'll forgive me soon," Logan replies cryptically.
And Dick, who had only barely remembered the day's date and all that it implied, immediately stiffens. All thoughts of Logan and Veronica leaving his mind as he cracks his first grin since leaving Mac this morning. It's bachelor party day.
11:30 am Thursday September 6
She sneaks into the house like the coward that she is. Slipping out of her sandals at the door and padding down the tile hallway silently. It's not that simple though. He is sitting at the kitchen table reading the paper for the second time. Waiting up on her. Just like he did last night, when she forgot to call him back.
She doesn't notice him in her journey to get to her bedroom. And she passes him, continuing down the hall until he sets down the paper and stops her in her tracks. "You didn't say you'd be sleeping over," he says to her back, and her whole body goes stiff.
She turns slowly, her bare feet squeaking on the tile as she twirls on her heels. Her expression is calm, but he is finally able to recognize the fault lines of deception, the pain obvious in her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispers across the distance, metaphorical and physical, "I didn't think I would be."
"You've been sorry for a lot lately," he points out, trying not to sound as angry as he feels. When she was younger he had at least felt some sort of control over her life. He was her authority figure. She had to listen to him or there would be consequences. But now she is an adult. He'd blinked and missed it. She takes care of herself now. And the implication of that, that she can do it without him, that she doesn't need him, is the most awful thing he's ever felt. She is his one and only, and she has stopped needing him in her life but he will never be able to not need her.
He is acutely aware that she is in crisis. That something has gone very wrong in her life. He also knows that if he forces her to talk about it his version will be candy coated. Much sweeter then the bitter truth. He has no choice but to wait, and that is awful too.
But he can't stop himself from giving her the message, even though he doesn't understand its importance. He keeps eye contact the entire time, trying to read her nearly perfect poker face for tiny shifts, "A woman called this morning. She said her name was Lyssa Barnes and that you'd listed me as your emergency contact when you'd signed with her company. She said you haven't been answering her calls since you left New York and that she urgently needs to speak with you," he pauses, glancing down for a split second, "Is LM Duncan going to be another thing we can't talk about Veronica?"
For what feels like eternity his daughter stares at him, indecision obvious. There's a lie in her back pocket, there always is. But it's getting too hard. Making him feel like this has begun to cause her actual pain. So she does what she should have done as soon as she moved back into his house. She goes to her bedroom and pulls the stack of papers out from where she'd stashed them under all of her jeans. There are bound copies, thousands of them about to hit stores in a couple months, and only Wallace and Mac know.
She holds the pages close to her chest as she walks across the floor to her father. She takes a seat across the table from him and slides the papers towards him. "This is LM Duncan, Dad," she answers, jutting out her chin as she speaks, "I quit my job. I'm moving back. And this is what I do now. This is me."
He looks down at the stacks of pages and then back at her, forehead wrinkling, "I don't understand."
And she smiles, knowing he'd say that, "I'll explain it to you then."
11:45 am Thursday September 6
Weevil comes back from lunch to find Logan in his desk chair, feet propped up. He hasn't been there long, and he's leafing through his file. Veronica had totally forgotten about it and left it on his kitchen table when she left this morning. He'd decided to return it, since he had quite a few words to say to his rogue employee.
As the door opens Logan begins speaking, taking his feet off the desk and trading them for his elbow, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. "It would seem," he begins, "that you and I need to have a discussion about your job description."
"What the hell is it with you people?" Weevil hisses, rolling his eyes as he takes a seat on the wrong side of his own desk, "This my office. It's customary to wait outside until I actually say you can come the hell in."
"Oh don't worry, this won't take long," Logan smiles, "I mean you're obviously fired. I'll be handling the gun toting maniac solo from now on. And I'll also be keeping my file. Nice professional touch with the Asshole label by the way, I can tell you run a really tight ship."
Weevil ignores him, smiling to himself as he reveals, "The stuff I found on Daniel Jameson isn't in that file in case you were wondering."
"Have I not made it clear how much I don't give a fuck?" Logan exclaims with a shrug, as he stands, "Do you see my eye, my ankle, and the bruises strewn about my body? Congrats on getting me assaulted with a deadly weapon but I'd say your work here is done." He heads towards the office door, relieved to be done at least with this part of the mess.
"Are you sure?" Weevil smirks, swiveling in his chair to follow Logan's path out of the office, " It's pretty good. Even by your standards."
And despite everything, Logan catches himself in the doorway.
11:45 am Thursday September 6
"So they're back together," Dick says as he takes a seat across from Mac at their dining room table. She's sitting cross-legged as she messes with something on her computer. He hands her what he's taken to calling her 'shady coffee.' And she suppresses the urge to tell him he's been ordering her tea for the past six years.
"Please stop talking about this," she groans, putting her face in her hands before regaining her composure, "We're focusing on the vague text we just got from Logan now."
"'Pack overnight essentials. It's gonna be a bumpy ride'?" Dick repeats before concluding with a shrug, "The message speaks for itself."
"So," Mac's lips purse, "is the message telling me to dress casual or formal?"
Dick takes a few second, eyebrows knitting together, before he smiles. The phone in his office rings and he stands to answer it, "It's telling you to surprise us."
"And does the message tell us where we'll be going, where we'll be staying, or when we're leaving?" Mac continues.
"The message is saying more info to come," Dick infers, kissing the top of her head before heading down the hall.
She smiles and takes a sip from her tea, turning back to her computer as she murmurs to herself, "You're the worst."
11:45 am Thursday September 6
"So Vegas?" Piz contemplates as he falls on their hotel bed with a smile. They're just back from brunch at their favorite California diner.
"Yeah but keep it together," Parker replies as she kicks off her shoes and heads towards the bathroom, "we're not supposed to tell Dick or Mac."
"So we're flying on a private jet to Vegas, staying in something called a Sky Villa, just for one night?" Piz lists, his smile growing even wider.
"I believe the text was worded: 'If you remember what you did the morning after, I've failed'," Parker grins as she starts the shower and waits for the water to warm up.
"Have I mentioned lately that I love our friends?" Piz observes, "I mean in terms of lifestyles choices some of them leave a little to be desired, but when it comes to cool shit, they're making bank."
"Well if we're stuck with this ragtag group of recovering dumb asses we might as well get some perks," Parker smiles fondly as she crosses the room to grab her shampoo.
"You love them," Piz observes with a smile, one his favorite parts about his girlfriend is her unending sense of loyalty, "Even when you hate them."
She drops her dress, proving why her loyalty isn't his favorite thing about her, and heads back towards the shower, "God help me."
11:45 am Thursday September 6
"Does the man not realize we have children?" Jackie hisses as she folds a pair of Wallace's jeans and throws them into their suitcase.
"My mom already called babe," Wallace replies as he leans against the dresser and hands her a couple pairs of socks, " apparently Logan set it up with her weeks ago. We just have to drop Nay off on our way to the tarmac. She'll pick Ethan up after school."
"He'll have homework," Jackie points out, "Naomi and I have baby yoga at 5. We can't just drop everything."
"So what are you saying, you don't want to go?" Wallace sighs, rubbing his forehead. She hesitates, because sometimes she forgets, for all their responsibilities and commitments, they are still only twenty seven years old. Still young and full of potential to act like idiots. And sometimes her wonderful husband deserves to have a little fun.
"No," she sighs, smiling as she motions to their already half packed suitcase, "obviously we're going. Logan's just getting an earful on that plane ride."
He crosses the room, wrapping his arms around her as she makes him smile, "Sounds good."
1:00 pm Thursday September 6
The limo picks her up first, he's early but she's already waiting on her front porch. Essentials packed and gun returned, her bag waits with her on the steps. Her hair is still wet from her shower, and she's pulled on a pair of jeans tucked into boots and a ratty sweater. Her father had spent the whole time reading silently in the kitchen. The words excruciating did not even begin to describe it.
Logan gets out of the car and meets her as she's heading towards him, grabbing her bag with a smile. She stops though, waiting for him to notice. And he does, turning around as he finally takes a genuine look at her face, "What's wrong?"
She bites the corner of her lip, before crossing the few steps between them and wrapping her arms around his neck. "Nothing," she sighs, as he drops the bag and hugs her back, "Pause request, remember?"
"Are you sure," he questions when she still doesn't let go.
After another moment she finally pulls away, kissing him quick on the cheek and managing to summon a real smile, "Yes. Let's go have lots fun."
She heads for the limo and he, seeing no other option at the moment, follows her. "Okay," he decides.