I still lack in the ownage department, they are not mine, I'm merely borrowing them. This one took me longer to work out, so here's hoping that after far too many rewrites, this chapter is up to snuff. Thank you to everyone who follows/favorites/reviews...I love all of you :) It really is the best motivation.

Monday 12 November 1945

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

She looked up. Seven minutes passed. Another fifteen before her meeting. Could she experience every known emotion in one week? All she could do was try…

Tuesday 13 November 1945

No office work today. After the emotional torrent of the previous day, she was thankful for that.

Every last sheet washed, hung, bed remade. Rugs were beaten, albums re-alphabetized, sinks scoured.

And when she was done, she started over.

Wednesday 14 November 1945

Lunch with the 'Rosies'; they're all waiting for someone. Since the factory closed a few more women learned their patience had been for naught. It was tense, at the very least. And holding back excitement wasn't something Veronica had to do in a long time, the restraint hurt.

Was it wrong that she only half listened as they cried? She was fairly certain she didn't care.

Thursday 15 November 1945

Two days. All that's standing between my dad and I are two days. Keep it together Veronica. Single digits. Two.

One week until Thanksgiving, the official start of the holiday season, and she hated it. Truthfully, it started long before November. The anxiety would come in August, physical, palpable, she would retreat into herself so deeply that by the time September came, it had passed without acknowledgment. She could still hear the squeal of tires, the sickening crunch of her leg and the thud she made when she hit the pavement. It's been three years now and it never seemed to go away, the ache resided in her soul, and for it, there was no cure. Looking at the small, ornately carved box on her vanity, her stomach turned. It held only knitted booties and a hat from Lilly and Mac, which truthfully weren't done very well as it was the first thing either had knitted. The poem Cliff had sent was framed next to it, his formal, composed hand recounting Tennyson's "Tears, Idle Tears."

It was a good thing Keith was coming back. She'd spent the last two years trying to keep herself from falling apart, and aside from the occasional quasi-catastrophic slips, she'd done a fine job of it. The last year of high school had been beyond difficult; the physical recovery, the emotional stasis, trying to catch and keep up with her classmates. She missed a great deal of school, nearly a semester. She'd been devastated when she learned she wouldn't be eligible to walk for graduation. But several of her teachers and friends took up in her defense and worked additionally with her so that her high school experience would culminate when her friends did. If the exhaustive schooling wasn't enough, she had learned to live on her own and work what were most times grueling, long nights…looking back she wasn't even sure how she'd done it, but she did. At the time, Veronica would have told you it was determination, pride and no small amount of faith, but that wasn't exactly true. Well, the pride and determination had been real, but it wasn't divine interference or sheer power of will that had gotten her through. It had been a healthy diet of denial and depression; if she didn't acknowledge it, it didn't exist and had no power. Allowing her thoughts only a moment to linger, she fixated on the task that had brought her into the bedroom in the first place.

Anxiously she fiddled through her closet looking for something appropriate to wear to the American Legion's Thanksgiving of Victory dinner. If she had known her father was coming back she would have graciously declined, but seeing as she agreed to accompany Wallace and Dick the month before, she was stuck. Groaning at her lack of options, her eyes locked on the garment bags that hung at the end. One held her prom dress, it had been in the bag since she got it back from the cleaners and hadn't been opened since. She tried to never think of prom. None of them went their senior year, opting for a low-key beach picnic that was more somber than it should have been for high school students, each knowing that the next few years of their lives were going to be dramatically different than what they had known. Duncan choosing college rather than enlistment was a rather hot button issue that night, Veronica remembered. Her eyes then flickered to next bag, the one that held the dress she wore on the night that everything changed.

Carefully, she pulled the zipper down, revealing the red lace, fingers skimmed across the neckline as she remembered the flash in his eyes when he saw her wearing it. She flushed at the memory. She was lost in her mind, thoughts of how closely he held her when they danced, of how the lace felt as he pulled it down her body, of how his skin felt…no. She shook herself free from the past's grasp as she thought, once again, about why he felt he had to leave. Logan would have had a lot of growing up to do had he stayed, she supposed, considering they would have had a baby. The more she thought about that, though, she wasn't sure. The first few, tremulous times had been fraught with cautious anxiety. They were careful. Exceptionally so. But she realized now, with great clarity, that after he'd made up his mind to go, he'd been desperate for her, for connection. It wasn't intentional and it's not as if they hadn't been safe, just not as safe as they should have been.

For some reason, that made her angrier. How long had he planned on leaving, she wondered. Could she trace back to the first time his kisses felt distressed? He had, if anything, clung to her after L.A. Up until right before the prom, when he'd suffered through a particularly savage 'lesson' from Aaron. She couldn't help the involuntary shudder that ran her spine when she thought of how he'd turned up on her steps, bruising, bleeding, broken. He cried in her arms for what seemed like hours until exhaustion finally took him over. They'd been fortunate her father had been out of town and her mother was oblivious, for neither would be able to explain his appearance without giving away his secret. Veronica had always hated that he kept it a secret. Hated that he felt weak, in any way, because his father tried to beat him into idolatry. Aaron had found some pamphlets Logan had gotten from the Army recruiter and a casual conversation about the future turned into bruised ribs and an intricately woven map of belt blows. He had apparently been lucky that his father decided his cigar was too good to waste. Who knew burning flesh sullied the taste of hand-rolled Cubans? The bile, that had burned the back of her throat for the entire month turned to fire, rage erupting from her throat in gut-wrenching agony. Her tears came freely and unchecked for the first time in years. She stumbled out of the bedroom, her red dress lying in a heap on the floor and crossed the hall into Logan's room, where she collapsed on the bed, tears staining his pillows. It was just like after graduation. The cracks had started to become visible, and the ever taut nerves holding her together frayed more and more.

It was when she was nearing the end of her tether that Lynn showed up. The vibrant young woman she once knew was a barely functioning void. Lynn only planned to be in town long enough to finish what she had set in motion the previous fall. Her house, Logan's house, the one he loved so much, was nearly sold by Aaron in a piqued tantrum. Lynn Echolls may not have been the most attentive parent, or nurturing mother as it were, but she knew Logan would never forgive the loss. The shattered girl who stood in front of her reaffirmed her intentions. She had set the house to be transferred into Logan's name upon his eighteenth birthday but hadn't been able to get back to the states until then. She had actually been on her way to hire a caretaker when she was all but physically struck by the image of Veronica, living in the house, awaiting his return. Logan would much rather come back to Veronica, Lynn knew, he would have run away long before he did had he not met her. Veronica didn't get a chance to rebuke the offer, it was settled, accounts with her name on them had been set up and before the week was out, all but Logan's things were removed, and what little she had, moved in.

If anything, the upkeep of a 4,500 square foot home ensured Veronica was always busy. If she wasn't cleaning the offices at VLM or the house, she was working at the factory. Busy hands don't allow for busy minds, she wished she could abide but it was a skill she could never master. She desperately needed a reprieve. She was supposed to have gone to see Lilly for Christmas in '43, but the Kanes hadn't allowed it. Surely that had nothing to do with her having a baby right before the aforementioned holiday, though since Celeste was adamant that no one know Lilly's condition. When Veronica had heard Lilly had a baby and she was to be her godmother, she was elated and heartbroken, but it was the first time there had been light in the darkness. She had to try harder to keep her emotions in check, but she was utterly thankful that they returned to her in the first place. They'd started talking every Sunday, Lilly would call Veronica after the sun rose over the west coast, knowing she'd be on the beach, praying to whatever it was she believed in to send her father and that stupid, stupid boy back to her. Dicks return, and then Wallace's had been a literal godsend. In her friend's recoveries, she finally found a focus for the manic energy that had been back-building. Years of exhaustive, monotonous work and excessive, compulsive, cleaning weren't able to stop Veronica's mind from getting restless. For the second time, her future looked less bleak. She wasn't alone.

The thought forced her from Logan's bed.

Nothing like a nervous breakdown to set the party mood. Brain, could you have done this Monday, or maybe, never?

Wearily, she reentered her bedroom and picked her dress off the floor. Relishing the feel of the fabric for just a second more, she zipped the bag, and tucked it away, a heavy sigh escaping her lips. Plucking the closest dress from the bar, she moved on to making herself presentable for polite society. Everyone knew what happened, or well, had a version of the story they preferred better and deemed true, over actual fact. They all have the following, at least, in common: that Logan left when he found out she was pregnant. A few of the stories she had heard included a torrid affair with Lilly Kane, who also became pregnant with his love child after he left California for New York to be with her. She stopped correcting the fact he left first, they didn't care, and it was a story that would sell. As much as Logan would have hated it, he was still embroiled in Hollywood's gossip mill without even really trying to be. The few intelligent people in town knew the reality, two were waiting in the foyer, ready to face the masses.

"Well look at you Ronniekins!" Dick exclaimed. They hadn't seen her look more like her old self than she did that night. Her hair fell in soft waves around her face, eyes lined in kohl with a pop of rose on her lips. Her navy, polka dotted dress swung gracefully as she walked, a delicate sapphire sat just above the boat neck collar and she looked very much the twenty-one years she was. She just smiled and shook her head, hooking her arm through Wallace's as they walked toward the door.

"Don't worry Vee, we'll get you through tonight," he said, she squeezed his arm assuring that she knew they would. Two days.

Friday 16 November 1945

His ship is set to arrive in Tacoma. Within the span of today, he will be back, safely on terra firma, one day closer to her. Closer to home. Today the office got the full treatment. Floors gleamed. Even the filing cabinets, which had been thoroughly sorted, glinted brightly as she closed the door on another day.

One more day, Veronica. Get through Saturday, and you'll be home free.

Saturday 17 November 1945

Tacoma was 1,100 miles from Los Angeles. He would have to have covered at least half by now. His train was due in at nine Sunday morning. Under twenty-four hours, nineteen and a half to be exact.

She jots some notes, file some more, scribbles incoherently on a piece of paper that neatly gets tucked into the garbage so no one can see the words that have leaked from her hand. She'll never admit that it's what always seem to happen when her nerves get the best of her. Nineteen hours and twenty-two minutes.

Absentmindedly, she begins writing Logan's name all over again.

Sunday 18 November 1945 6:15 a.m.

"No, Dick, I'm driving!"

"Wally, it's my left leg that blown off, I am still perfectly capable of driving."

"Let's not be hasty. You couldn't drive with two functioning legs, Dick. It's my car, I'm driving!" Her head tilted, slightly at first but as she noticed Dick's expression softening, the lilt became more noticeable.

"Neither of you are driving," Wallace exclaimed, tired of hearing his friends argue. It had been twenty minutes of back and forth and if they didn't get on the road soon, they'd be late, and it would just cause another argument. He took the keys from Veronica and swept his arm toward the door. With a huff, she exited, Dick grumbling behind her.

"The Stud's a great car, V, but we should take the Phantom or my Caddy. It's L.A., you know, have to rack up some points for style, you know, when the dames realize," he knocked on his prosthesis dramatically. She didn't want to acknowledge it, but she couldn't help the chortle that made its way from her throat. Dick grinned in response, getting her to laugh was a feat he tried to accomplish as often as he could, laughter did them all well, he'd concluded.

"I can't take the Phantom, it's not mine first of all," Dick raised his eyebrow in question. "It's not, it's Logan's…I mean, I suppose by that same logic the Studebaker is his too, but, I just can't, Dick. It's too, recognizable," and painful, she added to herself. That stupid car held too many memories now, and without him, it was just a shell like her. "We could take your Caddy, I mean if you really, really, wanted." She smiled out of the corner of her mouth, eyes playfully avoiding both her friends. The Cadillac was larger, presumably more comfortable as well, and if she was forced to be a passenger it was a necessity.

Before Dick could react, Wallace had reached across and grabbed the keys from Dick's hand.

"I don't care whose car we take, I'm still driving," They clambered into the vehicle and turned northward, less than three hours away from what was sure to be an emotional homecoming.

8:37 a.m.

"Veronica, will you please stop pacing," Wallace begged. He'd watched his friend work herself up from the minute they'd parked. She practically broke down when they'd gotten into the terminal and taken to pacing to keep herself distracted. The clatter of her heels on the tiled floor was setting Wallace's teeth on edge, if it wouldn't be taken totally out of context he would pin her to the wall to keep her from agitating them anymore. The boys wore their Class B's, but it did nothing to detract the stares mounting their way. They were quite an oddly matched threesome, two young service men, one clearly injured in the line of duty, flanking the frantic blonde who could not stay still to save her life.

"I can't, Wallace if I stop moving I'll probably just keel over," she said breathlessly, a million things swirling around her mind were about to tumble from her lips when the approaching trains whistle pierced the air.

"Well, Miss Mars," Dick intoned casually, "You ready to go find your father?" A genuine smile spread across her face, one she found reflected in the face of her friends as they made their way toward the platform. She would have sworn she felt every last nerve ending in her body as they moved closer to the train, the excitement was excruciating and exhilarating. With each step, she felt more of herself returning, as the reality that her father was literally just around corner struck her. She knew what he'd been through, knew he had been shaken more than he would let on, and she was so grateful for the opportunity to be able to help him back to normalcy.

The uniformed men and their crying families were suffocating every available space on the platform. Dick and Wallace being significantly taller than Veronica, were leading her through the crowd, directing them nearer the train when she heard her name called out. Slowly, she turned toward the sound and found her father, in a sea of blues and tans, holding his arms out to her. She ran into his embrace full speed, leaving Dick and Wallace to gape after her.

"Oh Veronica," Keith cried. "I have missed you so much, let me look at you," he said effectively stepping out of her embrace and steering her slightly away from him. She didn't want to think about the changes he saw, she knew she was too thin and her face had taken on a sunken pallor, she didn't look bad per say, just aged beyond her years. He noticed all those things, and how she favored her right leg and her hands always seemed to find their way to her abdomen, nervously fluttering across her stomach. Logan noticed those things too. He was standing a few feet behind them, watching the happiness that radiated from her face as she embraced her father for the first time in years. He'd known that he never stopped loving her, but at that moment, he realized he never stopped being in love with her either, and probably never would.

So caught up in the commotion of the platform Veronica nearly missed the sharp intake of breath that came from behind her. The sound of flesh on fabric and hushed, urgent whispering came mid-turn, her eyes scanning for what could have prompted such noises. It had to have been major for Dick to have actually been in pain from Wallace's blow before she could face either of them her eyes locked with a pair she had only been seeing in dreams. Her pulse quickened. Every furious flutter of her heart reverberated throughout her body. For a moment she was sure she'd fainted and, as usual, when she woke up he'd be gone, along with those molten eyes. Eyes squeezed tightly shut and when she opened them he was standing out of her reach.

"Hello, Veronica," he said out of the side of his mouth, it was the playful tone he only used when speaking to her and it stabbed to the very core of her.

"Logan," his name fell from her lips, almost reverent, tinged with confusion and no small amount of anger.

"God you're beautiful," he whispered, coming to stop mere inches away. Keith had shifted next to Wallace and Dick, he knew this confrontation had to happen, regardless of much he wished he could shield the both of them from the inevitable pain it would bring.

Tears swam in Veronica's eyes. The closer they got to falling, the closer she got to him and just as his hands neared her waist…

The sound of her fist connecting with his cheek echoed through the corridor. Curses chorused around her as she tried to regain her composure but her mind swam and her body couldn't compensate. She had led with her dominant leg like she'd been taught, but that had been the leg that had been broken in the accident. At the moment it was bearing more weight than it should and before she knew it, she was stumbling, right into Logan's arms. His shock at being struck by her turned into unadulterated concern as he felt her tears soak into his shirt. He tried to soothe her, whispering endearments into her hair, it only made the tears come harder. Her friends' concerned gaze fell to Keith as he clapped Logan on the back, and grabbed his bag, then motioned them to start heading to the car. No words were exchanged, none needed to be as Logan swept Veronica into his arms and followed them out of the train station.

"Mr. Mars, what is going on?" Dick asked quietly, they were only a few steps ahead of Veronica and Logan, and her cries had seemed to at least have subsided some.

"Logan and I," he paused. Wallace had come up on his other flank, intently listening as he spoke. "We ended up at the same outpost before getting shipped back here. I've spent the last couple weeks trying to process seeing him again. Clearly, I shared you boys' anger," which they both openly wore, "but after talking to him, and the guys he served with…I'd say he was punished enough by someone much more powerful than you or I."

"That doesn't mean we have to like it," Wallace said tersely.

"Especially since you'll be cohabitating. Fuck! Does he know any of that?" Keith shook his head. "Oh, this'll be fun." He looked at Wallace, they both knew their anger was secondary to Veronica's feelings, in that instant they acknowledged they'd follow her lead. Keith looked at them and smiled, proud of the two young men who sacrificed so much for their country and who had clearly been looking out for his daughter. He slowed to a step behind them, trying to collect his emotions before facing his daughter again.

As they got to the parking lot, Wallace pulled the keys from his pocket and chuckled.

"What?"

"I was just thinking about how lucky we are that Veronica vetoed your suggestion that we bring the Phantom, the Studebaker we could have explained away because he gave it to her when he got the Rolls but…this is not the reunion scene I envisioned."

"Wally, when does anything actually turn out the way we expect? Just another SNAFU in Neptune," Dick lamented. They'd been standing at the car a few minutes before Keith, Veronica and Logan sidled up next to them.

"Why don't you sit up front Logan?" Keith suggested. Logan looked at Veronica, her face still buried in the crook of his neck, the last thing he wanted to do was lose the physical contact he'd been craving for so long. "I'd kind of like to be the shoulder my daughter cries on, for a little while at least." Logan nodded in acquiescence, gingerly setting Veronica down. She looked up at him, her once bright, cerulean eyes dull with too many years of tears. He swept the tears from under her eyes and kissed her on the forehead, the stinging contact with his slightly swollen cheek reminding him how deeply he hurt her. He nodded moving toward the passenger side, painfully aware of how his former best friends looked at him, watched his every move. Sighing, he prepared for the ride back to Neptune. He had no idea what awaited him, but he knew for certain that his future included a soft bed, a hot shower and a certain petite blonde whose trust and love would only come after many years of contrition. He couldn't wait to start proving himself to her.

The silence in the car had been sublime. Veronica had fallen asleep shortly after they left L.A. Keith had followed suit shortly thereafter and though Logan fought to stay alert, he eventually he did succumb to an uneasy slumber. He was jostled awake by the nearly frantic rattling of his seat. Panic started to hit before he realized where he was, his breathing coming in rapid, shallow bursts. Wallace looked over concerned but Logan just shook him off. Wallace understood, he'd woken up like that more times than he'd like to recollect. Dick stopped his legs nervous bouncing while Logan composed himself, the fact that they were entering Neptune at that moment made it all the more difficult to control. Just a few minutes before things changed forever, again. Without realizing it, his leg resumed its frenzied rhythm. Logan was about to ask Dick where the fire was when he realized they were turning down the private driveway that leads to his house. He had wanted more time with Veronica. At least a few more minutes in her presence before he had to face whatever waited on the other side of that door.

Wallace stopped the car in front of the front doors. Logan was preparing what to say before he got out of the car before he was interrupted by Keith's voice.

"Veronica, honey, it's time to wake up," she opened one eye, then another, her gaze fixing on her father.

"Are we home already?" she asked sleepily.

"Yes, baby, we're home," she smiled at him and turned toward Logan, her breath catching in her throat. It hadn't been a dream. There he sat, his face was awash in confusion as he listened to their exchange.

"I hope you're okay with new roommates," she said almost cheekily, her voice seemed lighter, and warmer. "Welcome home, Logan."