Ugh, I don't know why this was so hard to get out, my brain just wasn't cooperating with my heart. Hopefully, they get their shit together so that I can get back to more frequent updates, that maybe aren't so dialogue heavy, I tried, I swear but it kept happening. Anywho, many thanks to those who are still reading and to everyone who takes a minute to review, I cannot tell you how much it means. You guys are the BEST!
22 December 1945, cont...
Logan stared at himself in the mirror. He studied the visage staring back at him; sure he was recognizable under deep bronze tone his skin had developed after years in the unforgiving South Pacific sun, but he knew less and less how to reconcile the man he became with the boy he was, somehow, still mistaken for. His face, hollow, eyes, haunted, pain and anger leaving their calling cards in the creases of his brow, it was all so obvious, wasn't it? He tried to shake off the guilt that was seeping to his belly, replace it with righteous indignation, but as he threw his tie across the room he knew it was useless. He was never more ashamed of his actions than he was that night, with her two, his former, best friends flanking him and telling him she could have died. Again. And that time it was really, truly, unmistakably all his fault. Angrily, he spun on his heel, stalking back to his dresser to grab clothes to change into when his eyes stuck on the small cigar box on top. With a heavy a sigh he flipped open the top.
The assortment of additional cardboard boxes inside brought with them a myriad of emotions he thought he had dealt with before he had even stepped foot on that ship from Korea. This was why he had gone, to prove to her, that he was worth it. As many times as he tried to convince himself that his intentions were purely altruistic or that it was for his benefit, and his alone, it dawned on him that the boldest lies we tell are often to ourselves. Sitting on his bed, half-dressed, with his box full of accolades the magnitude of his absence struck him. How different their lives would be had he stayed? But would they really have been better? The two of them, or more so, just him as a parent, the boy he was before. Sure, he had always strived to be better, he would have gone to a good school, been capable of supporting a wife and child, but God, the scars he bore. No love was balm enough to assuage the pain that had sometimes torn through him. No, she had done all she could to help him heal and still he only could see the weakness he'd leave in his wake. Aaron made sure of that. And Veronica deserved strength and courage, so he left.
Maybe if he had been stronger to begin with he would have sent a letter. And she could have responded. They could have dealt with life together, maturely, but he wasn't and they didn't, and now he had to deal with more revelations that had at least some correlation with his leaving. He threw the box against the wall, contents escaping their enclosures, littering the floor with bold colors and metallic sheen. His hands, usually strong and sure, shook warily as they ran through his hair. Laying back on his overly-plush pillows, his thumb and forefinger sought the bridge of his nose trying to ward off a headache that was bound to hit like freight.
"Logan, are you okay?" She asked from the doorway. He was so lost inside his head he hadn't heard the door open. Her hair still pinned in place though her dress had been replaced by faded flannel that was far too big for her small frame. Those were his formerly favorite pajamas, nearly threadbare when he'd left, he wasn't surprised to not find them in his drawer assuming they had been thrown away. Apparently he wasn't the only one who tried to find solace in mementos and that thought alone constricted his already aching heart. When she moved toward the bed she stopped, bending down to examine what had been strewn about. Gingerly, she picked up each medal and put in back in the box with its corresponding ribbon.
Logan swept over her profile, gaze locking on her averted eyes. He'd dreamed their blue so many times he swore he could pick them out anywhere, for they were the blue of the California sky, hopeful and bright. But that was not his Veronica, it was never his Veronica. And while his mind perpetuated that youthful exuberance while he'd been gone, the realist had turned to cynic, the sharpness was cold and cutting, her edge never wearing off, only softening for brief interludes. He could see the razors edge, even in the din, but there was something else lurking there too. He was reminded of oppressively humid beaches cloaked in a haze of gunpowder and smoke. That's the blue they were now. Paradoxically bright and dull all at once. He ran a hand up the back of his head as he tore his eyes from her form. None of his nervous gesticulation had changed, he was impossibly unsettled by that moment, before him flashed everything he'd envisioned for his future, smothered out by a type of pain that left too many scars to ever truly heal. And then he wondered if she, if only for even a second, saw the similarly reflected fog that seemed to cloud his every thought. His mind replayed every conversation they had since he'd been back, all the tears they'd shed, all the frustration that seemed to accompany as she pushed him away every time he thought he'd gotten closer. Today had been different, of that he had been certain. She had come to him, open and vulnerable, and here she was again, no hasty retreat back into her subconscious, here, trying to get him to talk to her. When he got the nerve to look at her again, she was working on putting the last few items in his box, when it dawned on her what was in her hands. Eyebrow quirked, she held the item out questioningly.
"You're really going to ask me about that while wearing my pajamas?" Her face scrunched in mock contempt.
"Fine, I suppose we're even then. Though this," standing, she pointed to herself, "is far less weird than having one silk stocking in a cigar box."
"It's the one thing I have from the best night of my life, Veronica, I didn't intentionally steal it…I just happened to find it, and then not return it to you." She smiled impishly as she folded the hosiery, placing it back in the box, once again sat on the dresser.
"Well, as long as they're not spoils of war, I suppose I'll let it slide. C'mon, finish changing and meet me in the living room. You can brood just as easily in front of the fire."
"So, do you want to tell me what happened with Wallace and Dick?"
"Not particularly," he said pithily. Logan could feel his heart in his throat. Wallace had blindsided him at the party and even though he had recovered, or perhaps sobered, enough, he didn't want to completely dispel the magic that had engrossed the both of them earlier. He wanted to feel her in his arms again, to see the smile that had warmed the room permanently embossed upon her face, he wanted to believe the shadows from her were permanently banished and the darkness that seeped through were merely reflections from the fire's light.
"No?"
"Veronica, can we please, just not yet," he implored, his shaky hand setting the mug on the coffee table before turning his disheartened face back to hers.
"Look, I know he's taken issue with this, with us, but whatever he said…that's his opinion. It's not…"
"That's not what this is about, Ronnie, and while he did threaten my looks if I ever hurt you again, it wasn't about us getting back together."
"Then what was it? What could he have possibly told you that upset you so much if it didn't have to do with us?"
"Oh, it very much had to do with us, and how I proceed as we move forward; he wanted to fill me in on some things that appear to have just slipped your mind."
"Excuse me?" He felt her recoil, confusion and hurt marring her face. This was the first time since Logan had been back that he had been upset WITH her, and you could see she wasn't sure how to take it.
"What happened last Christmas, Veronica?" Red rose up her neck, her eyes gleamed with indignation as he scooted closer to her.
"That, that was an accident, Logan," she said, her words erupting in fumbling breaths.
"Caused by what?" she had moved as far away from him as the couch would allow, the arm was now painfully crushing her from behind, but he kept invading her space. He would not relent.
"I thought we weren't doing this tonight," she mumbled and he could swear he felt his lip quirk, but her vexing gaze proved his body hadn't betrayed him.
"Nope, you pushed so I want to know everything, Ronnie, everything. As bad as it got, I need to know it all, if we ever want to be able to get back to where we were."
"Logan, there are too many tears to track. I can't possibly tell you about all the bad times because, as frequent as they were, they were also fleeting. And yes, one of my coping mechanisms wasn't always helpful, and it certainly doesn't mean it was the one I most often employed. Wallace only ever saw the really bad, because that's when I needed the help to get back up, and in the instance of last Christmas it is literally true, but I always picked myself back up in between. I am not my mother. My drinking is not a problem. Not anymore, anyway, I have too much to lose now," her voice had fallen to a mere hush, her arms wrapping protectively around herself and he wanted nothing more than to replace them with his own. "And I don't know if I want to be back to where we were. We're not those kids anymore and I want this," she motioned frantically between them, "these two adults who have shared so much and lost so much and loved so, so much; I want them to have a clean slate."
"I do too, Veronica, but I can't put this off. I can't get this image out of my head and," he shook his head vehemently. "Everything. Tonight. No more lies of omission or half-truths or lying to protect each other, if you really want this HALF as much as I do, you'll talk to me."
"All we do is talk about the past, Lo, and I am so tired of looking back..."
"This isn't about looking back for the sake of dredging up pain, though, Ronnie," he interrupted, his long arms closing the distance between them as he took her small hands in his. "This is about burying it for once and for all, and leaving it there." Her mouth opened as if to retort but snapped quickly shut as her eyes bore through him. Before he could even try to comprehend the look on her face, the tears had begun their well traversed decent down her cheeks. Her body seemed to move without conscience thought, or effort as she crawled into his lap, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck as she cried. The dumbfounded expression quickly faded as he held the now sobbing woman in his arms.
"Veronica, please, don't cry. I'm not mad. I swear. I am so, so sorry I wasn't here, knowing what you went through, I can't…I'm just so scared because I can't lose you," pressing his lips to her hair, he held her close as the sobs began to subside and fade to soft hiccups. Minutes passed, or maybe hours, when he faintly heard her voice.
"I know you want to hear the details of that night, and I wish I remembered exactly what happened, but after a certain point, it's just fuzzy."
"Can you tell me what had you so upset?" He could feel her eye-roll even though he couldn't see her face, she pushed out of his embrace, still sitting on his lap but infinite distance between them.
"I don't know if you remember this or not, but Christmas was a pretty big deal to me. And after two less than memorable Christmases with Vinnie Van Lowe, having Wallace and Dick back meant some semblance of normalcy," she shook her head grimly. "Turns out there's nothing left of that life to go back to Logan, that normal is a fallacy."
Her eyes fixated on the empty space between them, nervously picking at a loose button on her top as she shared how the nostalgia of Dick and Wallace's return wore off rather quickly as she realized how damaged they were. The combined force of trying to help them pick up the pieces of their shattered illusions and trying to maintain her own wore her down, instead of focusing on her own healing, she worked tirelessly so that they could have at least one good day. Of course, it would happen to be her worst, since the accident at least.
"That was the night I lost hope. The only one. I had made up my mind that you were never coming back and if you did, you wouldn't want anything to do with me. I lost our baby and the thought that you would have never known about, what happened, God, I got so angry. So I drank. Out of spite, out of pain and fear and I just wanted to stop the barrage of feelings that hit. I went out back with every intention of watching the sunrise…it always made me feel close to you, as silly as that sounds, but I didn't get to see it that day. Why wasn't I enough for you? Why couldn't you just let me know you were alive?" Veronica's dagger like eyes locked on his, their exacting edge cut through all the pretense he'd used to shield himself to this point.
"Veronica," exasperation coloring his words, his hands moved to find her waist again but before he could make contact, she stood, leaving only the shadow of the warmth her body had emitted pressed against his. "I just couldn't, okay? It's not like I didn't want to know…"
"Oh, funny, how disappearing after our prom, joining the Marine Corps under an assumed name, and not once reaching out to anyone who knew you really proved you cared what was going on."
"After everything you've seen and read, you actually think I didn't care?" He was standing now too, his hands balled into fists at his sides as he watched her walk over to the fireplace.
"Actions, Logan."
"Actions? Please tell me, was your swan dive off the patio stairs an intentional action?"
"I think I've made it perfectly clear that it wasn't. What exactly did Wallace and Dick tell you?" he sighed loudly, the realization the conversation had taken a course he hadn't planned for.
"That you fell. That you had been drinking but ever since then, have been exceptionally attentive when it came to actual consumption. That they just wanted me to be aware, because as you may have noticed, I was nearly three sheets myself…and they didn't want you to have to take care of me. It kills me, Ronnie, that they know you better now. It made me realize how little I really know about how hard these years have been on you, not matter how many times, or how earnestly I say I understand."
"Is this the future we have to look forward to? Every time you get sad about how things happened after you left, and then I get angry that I feel any guilt for your sadness because I know you care, but I won't apologize for how I got through it. That girl you knew; the sweet, naïve, 'Susie Homemaker' who dreamed you'd marry, the one you romanticized in your mind, she's gone. If she ever actually existed Logan."
"You cannot possibly think that all I wanted you for was to pop out three-point-five kids in our two story Tudor with lushly green lawns enclosed in pristinely picketed white fencing? Fuck!" He took a moment, evening his breathing and gathering the words he wanted to convey, stepping in front of her he placed his hand under her chin and tipped it up to meet his eyes. "You were the most fiercely independent twelve-year-old I'd ever met. You didn't cry when you fell down, or when mean boys picked on you, you fought back with every ounce of sass your tiny body possessed," when he saw her fighting off a smile he continued, "You fought so that every kid in Neptune could play at the same park, even when some of our friends didn't exactly see eye to eye. You told my parents I was worth fighting for when I didn't believe it, or deserve it. You never backed down from a challenge, or correcting injustice, whether actual or merely perceived. You were never this shrinking violet you seem to think I've painted you as, that idyllic vision was never going to be our life. I am not Duncan, and you, Veronica Mars, are not Meg and that bullshit façade of happiness would not have been us, because whatever it is between us is more real than that. You don't just look pretty on my arm, or fill the doting debutante roll well, you make me want to do more. Be more. Be enough," his hand slid up her face, thumb passing gently over her cheekbone. She nodded into his hand, a soft smile turned from her lips as the coldness in her eyes seemed to melt away.
"I know it's kind of cold, but, um, do you maybe want to get some blankets and hit the beach? It's getting late and I'm sure everyone will be back soon, and I want to end this night how it started, just you and I, in the place where we're moving forward. I just want us, just a little longer, please?"
"Of course," he whispered, kissing the top of her head. Her father and Vinnie were doing some last minute surveillance, he learned as she fetched the blankets from the linen closet. San Diego, she had said, and they weren't expected back until at least the next afternoon. He swallowed thickly as he took the blankets from her hands and carried them down to the beach.
All the words she'd said continued to swirl around Logan's mind. Dick had vehemently denied that Veronica's fall had been a misbegotten suicide attempt but Wallace had been unconvinced. At least initially. Now he seemed to believe her but still erred on the side of extreme caution. She swore it was an accident and he believed her, but it wore his heart that she could ever feel so low as to drink away her Christmas. He'd always imagined her celebrating with Mac and Lilly and whatever man she'd made fall madly in love with her. As much as he'd hoped and dreamed it wouldn't be, he was certain she'd have moved on. In his dreams she was happy and loved, he thought he'd left her for the chance, she could live without all the bullshit that accompanied the Echolls name, but that seemingly made it worse.
Thoughts of his mother flitted in as he laid the first blanket down. It was over a month that he'd been back and still, not a word, not from anyone. Lynn had saved Veronica, knew even when neither of them did that the fates would bring them back together. She would love the house right now, he thought. The decorations, the warmth, the love that actually seemed to seep from the walls, whether it be from Keith or Veronica or even himself. Seemingly anyone who spent more than five minutes inside could feel it too. It was every feeling he ever wanted from that house; family. It hit with startling clarity just how much he missed his mother. The faint Christmas carols that bellowed from the house above which twinkled in festive splendor ignited all of those memories of Christmases past, where his mom had tried to maintain a smile and give him the happy holidays they usually reserved for the cameras.
"Logan?" Veronica questioned quietly as she watched his expression turn sullen. He forced a smile as he sat, beckoning her to sit between his legs, blankets enveloping them as they watched the dark surf.
"You wouldn't have seen or heard from my mother in the past few months, would you?" Shaking her head, she laced her fingers between his and pulled them as tightly around her as she could.
"Last I knew she was going to New York, and that was close to a year ago. I'm sorry, I should have kept up contact but…"
"No, no, that's not on you, Ronnie. I've been back for a month, made myself known through all the proper channels and no one has reached out. If that doesn't speak volumes about my family. Well, my blood family," he corrected as he felt her completely relax against him, still holding onto him tightly but the fear of her fleeing completely subsided. "You are my family. Our friends and your dad, and even Vinnie I suppose, we're family." He kissed her temple before fulfilling the silent promise to explain the contents of the box he'd thrown earlier. Regaling her with stories of his war, they stayed on the beach as wrapped up in each other as they were before, like two kids in love, letting the rest of the world fall away as they learned each other again.
23 December 1945
"Mac. Mac! Ciiinnddyy!"
"What time is it?" she croaked as she tried, in vain, to rub the sleep from her eyes.
"Just after ten," Veronica said cheerily, holding a steaming mug in front of her friend. Mac willed herself semi-upright and relieved the saucer from Veronica's hand.
"Thanks," she mumbled. "I swear; I didn't drink that much…. did I? Ugh, I feel like I might have."
"What, they don't drink in England, Mackenzie?" Her cocked brow urged Veronica on. "Just chalk it up to jet lag, unexpected emotional upheaval, and good liquor."
"You seem well versed in the phenomenon."
"Ah, yes. My life in color three years running, minus the jet lag of course. No Mac, not that face, it's fine. Actually, things are better than fine, life is only looking up."
"Whoa, all this positivity first thing in the morning is going to throw off my whole day," Mac ran an exaggerated hand across her forehead when she noticed Veronica's eyes become as large as the saucer that held her tea cup.
"What is that?" She squealed excitedly.
"Oh, that, well…Dick may have kind of, sort of, proposed last night…"
"What?!"
"Shh! You'll wake them!"
"Mac, there is no one here but you and me." Looking around the empty bedroom it dawned on Mac that they were indeed alone and that she wasn't exactly sure where she was.
"Where are they?"
"Dick and Wallace passed out in the den, Lilly is in the guest room, I think, and you, you're in my room."
"Ah, wait! Where'd you sleep then?" Blushing, Veronica quickly turned her head. "What!?"
"Now who's in danger of waking up those feral beasts, you wake 'em, you feed 'em!"
"Whatever, deal, now details!" Mac implored.
"Fine, but only after you tell me how Dick 'kind of proposed'. How does one kind of…" with a look she was silenced and let Mac tell her about the rest of their night at Sugar Blue. It turned out Dick hadn't been too pleased that Wallace had told Logan about last Christmas. He had always believed her accident was just that, considering that she hadn't tried anything after she'd nearly been killed and lost her child, he couldn't imagine her not being strong enough to get through anything else. He and Wallace were terse for a while but came to an understanding when they realized they were both right and wrong, which of course had been pointed out by their exceptionally perceptive dates.
"After the testosterone induced chest beating and proclamations of best friendship, I don't know, it was almost like a flip switched in Dick. He dragged me off to the dance floor and decreed his undying love."
"So, something new?"
"Right? I didn't realize how serious he was until he tried to get down on his knee," Veronica cringed at the thought, sober one-legged Dick could be awkward, drunk, however, could not have been good. "Yet somehow he managed to keep his balance, propose and pull this ridiculous ring out of thin air." It was indeed ridiculous, it looked like an iceberg mounted in filigree on her dainty hand. Dick was never one for small, his sentiments as well as his feats, always seemed to register on a grander scale. Veronica was happy for her friends, but couldn't help but feel a little jealous and when she realized Mac was waiting for her to respond, the mental berating began.
How selfish can you be, Veronica? Happiness is not exclusive to you.
"Mac," she said as the tears welled, "Explain how this was a 'kind of, sort of' proposal? I'm pretty sure this ring could power a small country! I am so, so happy for you!" she pulled her into a tight hug as voices started to filter down the hall from the kitchen. Not a minute later the door opened, letting Lilly, sleep addled and quite possibly still drunk, into the room.
"Please tell me there's coffee somewhere," she said into the mattress as she dramatically collapsed on the bed next to Mac. Offering her tea, Lilly begrudgingly accepted the lukewarm beverage claiming it would do. While Veronica caught the girls up on what happened with her and Logan, she heard the doorbell. She was in no state to answer but her curiosity got the better of her as she slinked down the hall to catch whoever was on the other side. She saw Logan approach the door, grinning from ear to ear, probably laughing at something lewd Dick remarked. The door swung open as the bell chimed again, the smile dropping from Logan's face as the sound faded into the void. She saw the rigidity set it, his spine ramrod straight as she hastened her approach before two words stopped her dead in her tracks.
"Hello, son."