This chapter came unexpectedly, I had been asked a couple of times about Logan's perspective and hadn't intended on writing it like this. But, as with most things, this popped into my head and I had to give it a go. All of your reviews and follows mean the world, so, keep 'em coming! Oh yeah, I don't own any of the characters, etc., etc. And if you're feeling up to it, take a listen to Bing Crosby's "Where the blue of the night (meets the gold of the day)", it was pretty much the catalyst for this interlude.
28 October 1945
The sunset did not hold the same appeal as the sunrise. At least not to Logan Echolls. Sunsets reminded him of when things went wrong, how everything that was seemingly bright and hopeful could be diminished, snuffed out by despondence, dark and inky like the night. He kicked at the sand. He hated that it was the same ocean he loved, he hated that he was still on the other side of it, but he was thrilled to be alive, to feel any of those things. He took a deep breath. And another when he'd realized his breathing turned ragged. He tried to focus on the sound of the waves, lapping listlessly against the shore. Willing his mind to recall the brilliant hues of home, the sun rising magnificent, all gold and roses against the cerulean Pacific. The scent of the ocean tinged by Soir de Paris, blonde hair tickling his nose. The tremor in his leg stilled and his breathing evened out. It was how he got through the nights, at least, the bad ones, and there had been more of those lately. He imagined what it would have been life if he hadn't left, the life he could be living, the only person who loved him, wholly. He shook the thought from his mind. Surely she'd moved on to someone who had deserved her, who deserved her love. He knew the reality, though. No one would ever love him better than her.
23 May 1942
"Lo! Please, just slow down!" She grabbed at his arm, but he was moving too fast and with too much purpose, she stumbled as he slipped from her grip. He heard the impact of her body hitting the ground and turned immediately toward her.
"Ronnie," he said quietly as he rushed to her side. He knelt down and scooped her up, arms clasping around his neck as her head tucked into the crook of his neck. He reverently kissed her forehead as he walked them back towards the Grand. Setting her on the sidewalk, he left his arms to encircle her waist as she refused to let go of his neck. Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes, though not from her fall, and his grip tightened. It was all he could do not to wipe the offensive tears from her cheeks, the ones streaking her perfect makeup, the ones breaking his heart into millions of pieces.
"What's going on with you, Logan?" she said in a voice barely above a whisper, eyes boring directly into his soul.
"I'm leaving," he looked away from her for a moment, knowing she'd never believe what he told her, but knowing he had to lie. It was the only way. He had to do this. For her. "I'm going to join my parents, or well, I'm going to spend the summer on the tour and then I'm going to finish school at Wycliffe." The words fell from his lips at breakneck speed, he wasn't even sure he'd said all he wanted then when he noticed her arms disengage their hold, and the tears she'd tried to hold at bay, fell steadily down her face.
"You're leaving?" She took a step back, his hands refusing to relinquish their hold on her waist. She tried to twist out of his grasp, his large hands held her rooted to the spot. "How can you leave me, too? Am I not enough?" her broken cry pulled him from his thoughts, wrapping his arms tightly around her, rubbing slow circles on her back. He knows this will make it worse, letting go is something he has never been good at. His strong, confident Veronica weeping openly in arms, on the sidewalk in front of their Prom makes him want to take back everything he said. Deny any inadequacies, be a better man by staying, he knows he'd fail. He'll never deserve her if he stays, he wants to earn her love, wants to be worthy. "This is because of those stupid navy boys, isn't it? The ones from the party?" Indignation replaced her sadness in an instant. She was fire personified, angry, incensed, and radiant. She'd moved beyond his reach, arms wrapped around herself so she didn't fall to pieces in front of him.
"No, Veronica, it's not like that," he tried, she knew him so much better than that.
"Fuck you, Logan," she spat as he winced. "Are you not joining up? Do you not feel like you have something to prove, now, like you owe some kind of recompense for being born wealthy? Spoiled prince with a death wish, perhaps?" Her words cut, she held nothing back. The hole she had reinforced and steeled at her father's departure burned.
"Please, Ronnie," his voice was soft but harsh, tears of his own bristled on his lashes. Her hands cautiously smoothed the lilac bodice of her gown as she dropped her arms to her sides, resigned. She stepped towards him, not trusting herself to say anything if she so much as opened her mouth she was done for. What heartbreak would pour from her lips, she was sure she'd beg him to stay, but if he could so easily walk away from her…she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. Yet, he was instinctively prepared for the onslaught that never came. She placed a single hand on his shoulder, only for balance as she pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. She was letting him go. And he was furious. There were supposed to be grand declarations, sweeping promises, assurance that the reunion would be, epic. She was supposed to understand this was for her. It was then he noticed the tremble of her lip as she pulled away from him, how quickly the façade began to crumble. The realization hit Logan just as she neared the end of his reach. "Veronica, you have to know how much you mean to me," she stopped but didn't turn. "I can't explain the why's and how's, I just know it's something I have to do, but please don't think it's because I want to leave you," her back constricted and chest heaved forcefully, but she remained silent. "I have to do this, Ronnie. For me. Maybe it is to prove something. To prove that I'm really worth whatever it is you see in me, or that I deserve even of a fraction of the life I have, but no matter the reason for going, you're the only one I have for coming back."
In an instant, she was in his arms. The kiss was passion incarnate. All tongues and teeth, hands reverently remembering the others form, tears wet on cheeks, raw and real. Veronica seemed to remember her decency first, breaking the kiss quickly, again stepping out of his embrace. She nodded softly, he wasn't sure what she'd been acknowledging, but he took it as her blessing.
"I love you, Veronica Mars."
"Goodbye, Logan." She turned and walked back through the main doors at the Grand. The wind blew a chill through him and he realized the sun had nearly dipped beneath the waves. It tried desperately to hang out, it's smoldering red hues blistered through the deep purples of the night, the harder the warmer tints fought, the more wholly the night swallowed them up. He was thankful by the he got to the Phantom that the sun succumbed to its fate, and swallowed down the remaining symbolism his mind was contemplating. It took all he had not to turn back every block, to take her in his arms again and never let go. He had gotten this far, he reminded himself. He had one task checked off his list, the next two were cake, and by morning, he'd be in San Diego.
28 October 1945
"Can you believe it, Ax? Another week and we're shipping the fuck up, and headed the fuck home!" Logan's pensive smile was obscured by his glass, the foamy, the nearly stale beer tasted like freedom. They'd spent the last few hours savoring the mere act of living, drinking down the swill with gusto. 'Home' kept echoing in Logan Echolls mind. He had no idea what he'd be going back to, he hadn't ever allowed himself to think that he'd really make it back, to have the chance to prove who he'd wanted to be. The thought of Veronica, waiting, opened arms when he got back after the war had gotten him through basic. He had known then it was foolish, she would hate him. He hated him. Cowardly, he ran away from her. From their future life together, she'd started talking more and more about. It wasn't that he didn't want it too because he did. He hadn't known affection, hadn't known that being angry with someone didn't have to result in violence, hadn't known a thing about life, before being pulled into the vortex that was Veronica Mars. He sighed heavily, downing the now warm pint. "I think, the first thing I'm going to do..." Bill Ward looked around, making sure he had the attention of the rest of his section, "is find me a nice filly to break in." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, earning more than a few groans from his fellow Marines. "I'm not talkin' about marryin' the first dame I see stateside, I'm just sayin', after all, this…I want something permanent. Something mine. I assumed yinz would get it." He huffed.
"Maybe, then, you shouldn't compare courting your future missus to breaking in a willful horse. Some of us have respect for women, and not just the ones who birthed us." Gunnery Sargent Albert Stokes chastised gently. These boys, men, he reminded himself, had left their lives right after high school…and some surely before then, they knew nothing about how to go home. No one depended on them, their families missed them but they knew little more love than that. A few of his older charges, himself, and the young man sitting quietly at the end of the bar, he suspected, were better versed in its bitter sting and divine beauty. And while he knew that Lonnie Ackles didn't have children waiting for his return, a stack of unsent letters made it clear there was someone he'd left behind. Ax, as he was known, was one of his finest Marines. He'd come out of a few less than favorable scrapes, and while he was tactically smart, he had a tendency to jump into situations that usually required more than a little foresight. How he had missed being skewered by that bayonet, constantly replayed in Stokes mind. And he was sure that all those letters would have hit the post the next day, but there they sat in his footlocker, growing by one each and every week.
Logan had stopped listening long before Gunny spoke. He had been stuck in his head all day. He'd managed, mostly, to keep the thoughts at bay, they'd only been sneaking into his subconscious by dreaming. But tonight, with the fourth now empty glass in front of him, he knew there was no turning it off.
The bar on the small island was packed with servicemen, Marines and sailors, all waiting to be shipped somewhere, most back to Japan or staying in the islands during the occupation. Occasionally Logan was brought out of his reverie by one of his squad mates, reminding him of this battle or that, or congratulating his being sent home with another round. He'd be too drunk soon. Not that he minded, it had been a long time, and he had a pass this weekend, but he wanted to watch the sunrise in the morning. He hadn't had the chance to enjoy it since before he left home, and the few he'd seen during his deployment weren't the romantic backdrops whose memory assaulted his senses. It also didn't help that the jukebox seemed hell bent of reminding him of Neptune with each and every song it crooned. Surely that could be said of everyone in the joint, he reminded himself. Then it was suddenly hot. Too hot, even for the overcrowded, thatch-roofed hovel on the beach of remote South Pacific island, and it was always, always hot. It was then he recognized the melody, the smooth timbre that could only be Bing, and the song that seemed to still every lonely heart on the island. The bars raucous fervor shifted behind the song, everyone singing to the loves they left at home, who were dutifully (hopefully), awaiting their return. Logan sucked in a deep breath, a vision of his own blonde haired, blue-eyed beauty floated in front of his eyes before crowd swelled with the chorus again. He had to get out of there.
"Fucking Bing Crosby," he muttered to himself as the night air hit his fevered skin. It was equally hot outside and the sound carried down the steps and onto the beach. "Where the blue of the goddamned night…of all fucking songs." He pulled on his cover, hastily making his way down the beach, away from his platoon's prying eyes, his fatigues disappearing into the haze.
He was halfway through his third imagined welcome home scenario, this one included running into a newly married Veronica, and her laughing in his face when he declared his love. The first two hadn't been so bad in comparison, if only he could recall those images to mind, he wouldn't be sitting on a beach, half a world away, crying into the surf.
"Everything alright, son?" A voice questioned from behind. Logan hastily wiped his eyes and stood to face the interloper. He noticed the man wore blues, his naval garb clean and pressed, he must have been part of the latest crew to embark the island. Brushing the sand off his uniform, he'd managed to keep his eyes down knowing it'd be pretty easy to tell how drunk he was, and this close to home he didn't want to risk tenure in the brig.
"Yeah, just fine," he replied shakily. It was dark enough, there was no way he could tell Logan assured himself. As he looked up, and his eyes adjusted to the figure in the dim light, he felt his stomach turn to lead. "Oh shit," was all he could muster.
"Good to see you too, Logan." It was the first time in years he'd heard his own name said aloud, and while it was reserved, it held no disappointment or malice. The tears returned abruptly to Logan's eyes as they took in the man standing in front of him. He had aged considerably. War has that effect on people, but behind the weathered skin and hardened veneer, the light still shone brightly behind Keith Mars' eyes. He held open his arms, and Logan tentatively stepped into them, breaking every remaining wall he had erected with the contact.
"Thanks, Mr. Mars," was all he could muster for the man who he had always admired, whom he wished was his own father, who he still hoped just might accept him as his own one day. Their embrace was short, after the tremendously emotional onset, but it served to put a piece of Logan firmly back in its place. He knew in that instance it had all been worth it, that while maybe it hadn't just yet, it would all come together. And for once, time was on his side.