Many apologies for the tardiness of this chapter. I am desperately trying to catch up! I promise I won't let it drop, just stick with me! Thank you to everyone who reads, and especially to those who review. I love hearing your thoughts, so leave some love :)
Also, many many many many thanks to Bondopoulos for her amazing beta work! Without her, this chapter would be a hoootttt messs (and frankly, so would I).
23 December 1945
(Logan POV)
Logan warily eyed the men in front of him. His father stood center, looking posh and polished from head to toe, ever ready to be captured in print, while the man to his left, whose fedora sat low on his brow, practically melted into the shadow Aaron's larger-than-life ego cast. For a moment blood pounded through Logan's veins as if he were back in combat. Except this time his instincts seemed to fail him. The carefully construed speech he'd prepared for this very moment remained lodged in his throat. Each and every word that he'd painstakingly chosen to relate his disdain, to defend his actions, to declare sovereignty, fizzled on his tongue as Aaron's acid-laced smile sent him back to a time when he had been too weak, too young to fight back. Logan reflexively pulled at his sleeves, shrinking into his clothes as if they were armor, as he fought to maintain what ground he tremulously held.
"I asked if you were going to let us in, son," Aaron repeated tersely. His weight shifted from foot to foot, as if bored, as he adjusted his cufflink. It was almost as if the word were a clarion call, the triggers of Logan's past melted away, and now, with war-shadowed eyes and absolute clarity, he observed the man in front of him. Son. That bastard thought he could still call him son. In the past three years, the two men who'd addressed him with that moniker treated like he was actually blood, rather than just the body that bore his name. Logan's head cocked as his now steady hands clasped in front of his chest.
"No, Aaron, I am not letting you in. Not into my home, not into my life. As a matter of fact, I would be okay if I never saw you again. Now kindly move along." Logan shooed them away with a sweep of his hand. Now Aaron's anger showed, evident in every feature.
"I know you think that you're a man now, but before God, I swear, Logan, I will remind you of where you stand, you little piss-ant."
Aaron's move to the door was interrupted by a small, blonde-haired body that carefully nestled itself between Logan and doorjamb. The surprise on her face quickly turned to disgust as Aaron stepped back, his familiar sneer firmly in place.
"Ah," he surmised, "If you were fucking the help, Logan, that's all you needed to say."
"I'm sorry, I should have stated more clearly…our home. You will never, ever, be welcome in our home, Aaron."
"How quaint. After everything, you two finding your way back to one another," Aaron hissed, dramatically clapping his hands in mock celebration. "It's just like the pictures. Maybe even a happy ending this time?"
Logan watched as Aaron's sharp eyes focused directly on Veronica, her hands reflexively covering her abdomen. Logan pushed his body in front of hers, effectively obscuring Aaron's line of sight.
"I believe he asked you to leave," Veronica's voice was strong from her position behind Logan's torso.
"I promise I will do just that as soon as I talk to Lynn."
Perplexed, Logan looked at Veronica, whose expression mirrored his own. Neither of them had seen nor heard from her yet. When Logan revealed this to Aaron, he looked unconvinced between the two, processing the news as if it were bad wine. It was obvious in his affectation that he did not believe them.
Logan could see how it would seem unlikely that, without laying eyes on his mother, he had been able to slip completely under the radar to become vastly wealthy while. None of these things would lead to a happy Aaron Echolls. "To be honest, I was hoping you'd be able to answer that question. None of her associates in LA have heard from her, and apparently, she's not been seen in the press since she was last seen with you in Paris."
"It's been quite a long time since your mother, or myself, have been in Paris. I thought she was in New York. That's what my contacts had told me, but I was unable to locate her. So after New York had run its course, I checked LA. She's not there, either. And then a little bird told me that you were here, so naturally, I assumed she would be as well. I'm not leaving until I see her. This is my house, dammit, and I will not be dismissed!" Rage tracked through Aaron as if he were a thermometer; with each word, the red rose up his face, soft at first, but rising with his voice, deepening with conviction. Clearly, he was used to his childish tantrums yielding results.
"I'm pretty sure Logan told you to leave, Aaron. More than once by my count," Keith Mars, flanked by Vinnie Van Lowe, purposefully walked up the path to the door, effectively cornering Aaron and his associate.
"And I do believe Veronica, who is a legal resident of this address as well, also asked them to leave. Non-compliance with the homeowner's wishes could be cause for detainment, isn't that right Keith?"
"You are absolutely correct, Vin." Keith moved to stand on the other side of his daughter, bristling past the imposing lunk that still stood as Aaron's reserve.
"Keith Mars. Am I to assume you live here as well?" Aaron asked curtly, extending his hand toward Keith who simply looked at the outstretched appendage as if it were grotesquely deformed.
"As a matter of fact, I do reside here for the time being. And to clarify, again, Lynn is not here. She hasn't been here since Logan and I returned from duty. As far as I've heard, while doing actual detective work rather than listening to the chirping of little birds, she hasn't been in southern California for over year."
Logan looked sharply at Keith. They'd never discussed looking for Lynn, and while Veronica didn't look completely caught off guard, it appeared that no one had more information regarding his mother than he did. With quiet reserve, Logan swore to himself that after the holidays were done that's what he'd do; he would find her. He would try, anyway.
"Now, what I think these kindly people are trying to say—again—is leave, now." Vinnie casually slid his hand onto his hip, purposefully revealing the Colt revolver he carried, its mother-of-pearl inlaid handle sparkling in the early afternoon sun.
At the sound of his associate's throat clearing, Aaron met each of their eyes again, catching the faces that loomed behind his son, looking defiant. He turned sharply on his heel, followed closely by his companion, and walked briskly to their waiting vehicle.
(Aaron POV)
"At least today wasn't a complete bust."
Aaron felt his face burning. I am no closer to finding Lynn than I had been weeks ago. "How can you possibly say that? We have nothing!"
"Not nothing. We know that Lynn isn't here and that despite their efforts, they don't know where she is either," he explained.
Is this some kind of joke? "How exactly is that not nothing?"
"Because now we just have to watch them. Cautiously. Did you see that girl, that boy? There's no way they'll let this rest now."
Aaron's couldn't contain a smirk forming on his lips. Finally! It's about time I got my money's worth out of this guy.
Clarence Weidman's eyes practically twinkled. "They'll lead us right to her. None of the hard work, all of the benefit; we couldn't ask for a better Christmas present, Mr. Echolls." His smile matched that of his employer, sardonic and cold, as they drove away from what was just a very happy home.
24 December 1945
(Keith POV)
"We do not need a ham, Veronica," Keith argued tiredly. Setting his glasses on top of the newspaper, he ran his hand over the sparse hairs that grew on his head and steeled himself for the inevitable fight.
"Dad, I really don't understand why my getting a ham is such a big deal. I think it was your idea as a matter of fact. It's already taken care of, I just need to pick it up, and the butcher is only open until noon today. So, if that's all…" she made a move to leave but hesitated a moment when she looked at his face. "I have to leave the house, Dad."
"Do you? I don't see why Logan, Vinnie or even I can't pick up what you need today." He was tired; coming back from war to be thrown into this level of dysfunction was wearing his every nerve. And the fact his daughter seemed to be so lackadaisical about that monster's return put him on guard at a level he'd never known existed.
"Never once, not in my early years, not in my teens, and especially now, have I been so scared that I couldn't do for myself. There were times I didn't have a choice, and soldiering on was the only viable option, so I did it. And I'm here because of it. And, Aaron Echolls, that sad, pathetic excuse for a man, will never hold enough power over me that I can't live my life or leave my home."
Keith Mars couldn't hold back the pride from his eyes, or maybe it was the tears that bristled on his lashes that burned. Either way, he nodded his acquiescence and accepted the kiss on his brow before she walked out the door, hating every second she was out of his sight.
(Veronica POV)
The department store wasn't half as busy as she'd expected. Sure, people were there picking up last minute gifts for unexpected guests, but the underlying mood of this Christmas was somber, even against the glittering backdrop that the war-free world provided. So many still not home and many more never coming back; she shivered as she picked the last item on her list up from the service counter. She'd ordered it weeks ago and was promised it would be in before Christmas. With only one day to spare, it had arrived and was now tucked lovingly into her pocket.
"Veronica?" The voice that came from behind her immediately triggered dread, every hair on her body stood on end as the panic stuck in her throat. Its slimy baritone permeated the deepest recesses of her soul as she struggled to hold in her sick. She turned slowly, meeting his eyes with defiance.
"Mr. Echolls." Her voice was cold and strained, her throat closing more each second she was exposed to him.
"You look well," he schmoozed as if she should be disfigured, or limping at the very least. Oh, right. I'm supposed to be dead. It was as if a switch had been flipped, and her fear abated. Replacing it, however, was a rage, a hatred that Veronica never knew she was capable of. The antipathy reinforcing her stance, her voice, her heart. It was a cathartic healing, one she hadn't anticipated, but it appeared. Looking into the face of evil is much less scary when you realize what garbage the man is.
"I am well. Mrs. Echolls' generosity after the incident was so kind, and of course, much appreciated." While the crowd wasn't large, they all seemed clustered about, forcing an absurd level of forced pleasantry.
"Of course, Lynn loved you like a daughter. And I suppose that's what you would've been had that no-good son of mine up and left you. And then your drunkard mother? Did they both know you were with child?"
"She knew. While it clearly did nothing to stop my mother from leaving, I am certain it would have stopped Logan. I didn't even know myself when he left." Her nostrils flared angrily as he stepped closer to her. She tried to suppress the shudder that coursed through her, fought the bile scouring the back of her throat, the sound of his scoffing burned through her like a match.
"Logan should be dead, Veronica, and I'll never understand how he's not. I'd been so relieved that, though I have no other male heirs, his weaknesses would not be passed down to the next generation. That his progeny would not be the ones, thankfully, to carry on the Echolls legacy…it was truly a blessing."
"It's so unfortunate that you feel that way. Logan is a wonderful man, infinitely better than you could ever dream of being. He's loving and compassionate and supportive; he's completely selfless, even if he doesn't know how to go about it." She chuckled to herself and continued. "And rest assured, we can get to working on heirs relatively quickly."
The sardonic smile that crept across his face amplified the cruelty that lay within the popular actor. He reached forward and grasped a strand of Veronica's hair before she could side-step his reach.
"If the job was done correctly," he leered, "and I am certain it was, then we'll never have to worry about you carrying Logan's children. Especially since he'd be crazy to marry you, sullied woman that you are. You should probably find God, turn yourself over to the Lord. Best of luck, Veronica."
He brushed past her, stopping and turning back after a few steps.
"When you find my wife, tell her I'll be in LA." Before she could question his words or actions, he added, "You know, don't worry about it. I'll know as soon as you do…birds, you know." With a wink and flourish, he was gone, and she was left to deal with the aftershocks for the rest of the day.
25 December 1945
The sun rose the next day. And the one that followed. All of Veronica Mars' dreams that the world would simply cease to exist before Christmas had failed to come to fruition. As if merely getting through the next twenty-four hours wasn't enough, the gods decided that for the first time in as long as she could remember that December should suddenly feel like December. The breeze picked up the sand, algid as it swept up her robe and bit into her ankles. She shivered, though she wasn't certain it wasn't merely from the cold. Aaron was back, his presence, lingering in her subconscious; in every silence, she heard his voice lurking in shadows from which there was no escape. Lights from the tree in the house above burned her thoughts into focus. Christmas morning carried on, and all across the world families celebrated, more mourned, in its first peacetime observance in too many years. This was her gift. Against all odds her boys had come home, and she got to be there to share the future with them. And yet, the harshest reminder of what they had lost had shown up on their literal doorstep, throwing the carefully crafted semblance of normalcy into a tailspin. She hated that the anger that burned in her stomach threatened her happiness, forced her to face the reality that lay ahead. Justice. The idea of Aaron Echolls paying for his crime—crimes—well, it would be her gift to Logan, albeit the delivery would be a bit late.
With a resigned sigh, she trudged up the steps, fueled by false bravado and a crudely affixed smile. It was Christmas after all, and she'd had plenty of practice perfecting her casual contentedness. Walking through the patio doors, the smell of bacon permeated her senses, invoking the minutiae of Christmases past that caused her well-acted façade to slip. The radio trilled in the background, prerecorded happiness that couldn't compare to scene in front of her. Logan at the stove, hair still disheveled, hanging lazily across his brow as he worked tirelessly to cook the perfect bacon. The cast iron griddle stretched the breadth of the stove, his bacon sizzled effortlessly on the right as Keith manned the left, flipping pancakes with gusto. They smiled and laughed, falling into an easy routine, neither noticing Veronica had come in from outside.
Veronica knew it was Logan who'd turned on the tree, her sign that someone was watching, waiting…she still wasn't used to that. The sight in front of her constricted her heart; the easy smile her father wore whenever he and Logan were together reaffirmed the decision she had made. The man who stood beside her father, with his boyish face and tortured eyes, the same one who'd left her shattered, was the one who best reassembled the mess. Her heart broke and rebuilt in the same breath, for the millionth—and presumably not last—time. Involuntarily, and completely unbeknownst, her breath hitched, alerting Keith and Logan to her presence.
"Everything okay, sweetie?" She swallowed down whatever tears remained and nodded sweetly at her father. With a glance back to Logan, she inhaled deeply, just a hair on the melodramatic side and her lips blossomed into a true smile.
"Bacon? You do love me!" Logan lowered his curious brow and shook his head in mock disapproval.
"Is bacon the only thing I can give you that will prove…"
"Yes. Always yes. Honestly, when was the last time either of you had bacon?"
They looked at each other and shrugged. Years, she imagined. She hadn't even thought to make it. The government had only recently begun to lift the rations, and even then supply was iffy. When Keith had inquired as to her wartime bacon consumption she'd explained that sugar was a much higher priority. She'd often traded her bacon away for confections. Everyone needed a pick me up, and cookies always seemed to have that effect. She didn't have the capacity to deal with people on an individual level so baking became her way to contribute to the mental welfare of her community.
As they ate, they discussed more of what Veronica had done over the past few years and what the States had been like during the fighting. She told them about the factory and the other women who worked there; she enjoyed describing how driven and proud they were of the work they were doing for their country. She tactfully managed to give them a glimpse of her life without her having to actually give up any details about herself during the time. She didn't like to dwell on that darkness, the one she could feel welling despite her efforts to stop it.
When the group finished their meal, the topic naturally shifted back to food. Dinner was discussed at length, of course, and the events of the previous day came back with renewed vigor. Veronica found herself practically shaking as she leaned over the sink with a few dishes. When her dad had commented that he hoped the ham was worth the extra trouble, Veronica couldn't remain outwardly calm any longer she hastily excused herself, letting the dishes clatter in the sink as she rushed from the kitchen.
"Now what do you think that was about?" she heard her father ask, pausing for just a moment to hear Logan's response. There was nothing, then her father's voice again. "Well, devil-dog, I reckon it's up to you to find out." Another beat, and nothing. With inflamed anxiety, she carried on down the hallway.
Not wanting isolation, only reprieve, Veronica retreated as far as the living room. She flopped on the chaise and sighed for a moment, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, the thin fabric of her robe doing nothing to eradicate the chill. Despite the fact that she knew it wasn't only December air causing her to shake, she attempted to keep her hands and mind busy by starting a fire. She knelt down in front of the fireplace and stacked the wood from the hearth. Her unsteady hands had a much harder time with the matches, however, and she groaned when she fumbled while removing one from the box. Damnable thing!
"Ronnie, do you want me to do that?"
Veronica jumped at the intrusion and defiantly shook her head no. Match after match extinguished in her grasp, the frustration rolling off in waves. His hands reached out, covering hers, taking the box away as the grimace took root on her face. Resigned, she marched off toward the couch and sat stiffly on its edge as he coaxed flame from the petulant matches.
Joining her on the couch, a soft smile appeared as he took in her pout. Her head tilted shamelessly to the side, her lip trembling slightly as she fought the tempest that threatened; she couldn't help but get lost in his eyes and forget everything that troubled her. And when he pressed his lips to hers all rational thought flew out the window. The only thing that mattered was that moment and what was building between them.
He pulled away abruptly, leaving them both breathless.
Biting her lip, she pulled a small box from beside her and presented it to him.
"What's this?"
"It's a Christmas present…you know, today, on Christmas, we give the people we care about gifts to thank them for being in our lives, or in our case, putting up with an exorbitant level of craziness," she replied, thrusting the packing toward him again.
He finally took it from her hands, still eyeing it circumspectly. "I'm aware of all of the things you so succinctly pointed out, I was merely taken aback considering I thought we were exchanging gifts later."
"We are," she reassured him. "This is just something I wanted to give to you privately."
"Veronica, you really didn't have to do this. Letting me back into your life, allowing me to be a part of every day, it's more than I could have ever hoped for. It's all I'll ever need." He pushed the hair from her face and she nuzzled against his hand, losing herself in the feeling of him before pulling away and focusing purposefully on the wrapped present. He tore the paper away from the box slowly. Nervously, Veronica bit her lip as he lifted the lid to reveal the pocket watch she'd painstakingly designed. Shoreline crept across the bottom, waves appeared to break on the sand. Stars had been delicately etched and set with gemstones, twinkling in the fire's light. She saw the recognition of hers and his birthstones, but there were other stones that she knew he probably couldn't place. His long fingers deftly released the front to reveal the face of the watch. It was beautifully done, its silver filigree numerals ticking steadily. At the inscription he paused. Veronica felt the breath leave his body, and when he looked at her, his eyes glistened.
"Are those?" His words sounded choked, and she knew that he was barely holding himself together.
She nodded. "One for the month they were conceived, one for the month they would have been born, and one for when they were lost to us."
She held him as the tears fell Unable to keep from crying herself, she allowed herself the break alongside him.
"I'm so sorry, Ronnie."
She sniffled and wiped the tears from under her eyes before moving to do the same to his. "How can you even look at me? How do you not see him?"
"Logan, I've never seen him in you. I never could've loved you if I had felt differently. Even when you act like a fool." She felt the smile on the back of her hand as he held it near his lips.
"And what do we do now that Aaron's come back?"
She inhaled sharply. "We bring him down," was her matter-of-fact response. "Together."
"What if he hurts you again?"
"He can't! Lo, he cannot possibly hurt me any more than he already has. He drove you out of my life once, and I'll be damned if I let it happen again. He tried to break you, and he failed. He tried to kill me, and yet, here I stand. He can never come between us, and we will never let him get away with what he did."
"All right. You and me. We'll make him pay," he kissed her forehead and pulled her tight. She had never been more certain of anything in her life. For the first time, she wished away the holidays so that she could get back to work. It was undoubtedly going to be a long week.
Later, as the sun began its descent into the Pacific, their friends arrived, amazingly forgoing spending the holiday with their families in favor of sharing Christmas dinner with Logan and Veronica. She had spent hours preparing the picturesque feast that sat before them, and now she sat at the table, surrounded by nearly everyone she loved. It looked more like a Rockwell print than a Christmas dinner in Neptune, California. Keith sat at the head of the table, Vinnie to his left, Alicia to his right. Next to her sat Wallace followed by Darrell, Ryan MacKenzie, Mac, and Dick. Logan sat opposite Keith, Veronica to his right, Lilly and Ruby next, followed by Meg and Duncan, who surprised everyone by coming back home for the holidays. The meal had been eaten in peace, though Veronica felt as though her every move was tracked by no fewer than three sets of eyes at a time. Her companions even seemed to be doing it in shifts, trying to seem inconspicuous, no doubt, but in her mind, it only drew more attention to the fact that everyone was on edge.
Aaron's return had thrown a wrench into the finely spun web they were attempting to rebuild. Every knock, every jingle of the phone and loud voice, startled them to the point of looking over their shoulders. Veronica especially. Contrary to Logan's belief that she hadn't seen Aaron after he'd shown up on their doorstep, her chance encounter with Aaron the day before had turned left its mark on her brow. His brazen admission to his role in the 'accident' was unsettling. Now the hours of swallowing down her tears and fears threatened to spill over. Pushing down the burdensome feelings, she sipped her wine and affixed her best smile for the remainder of the meal.
(Logan POV)
Logan smiled contentedly as he walked through the house, loving every moment of his first Christmas dinner home after being away so long. The group had made quick work of clearing the table, and now everyone had dispersed throughout the house. He could hear voices singing loudly, and in the case of Dick, off-tune, along with the carols emanating from the radio. He stopped a moment, leaning against the far wall to watch Veronica laugh genuinely as Darrell and Ryan raced their Slinkies down the patio steps.
She turned a moment later and caught his stare, shaking her head. Logan held his hands up in mock surrender, turning away. That's better. She'd looked so broken this morning on the sand, a failingly attempted patchwork held together by gossamer threads of hope. He had watched her in the morning when she thought she was alone, cold and pale against the moon. It hadn't been hard to miss the tear tracks as they'd washed away the vestiges of the previous days' makeup. He'd seen the shadow on her heart and it never stung quite as strongly as it had that moment, when she tried to maintain her cheerful facade for the show. Turning the corner into the living room, he saw Ruby eyeing the ornaments on the tree.
"Whatcha looking at, pea?"
"Unca Loag!" Her face lit up at him, beaming. "Up!" she demanded.
Laughing, he hoisted the toddler into the air, reveling in the sound of her delighted squealing.
"Whas dat?" she asked, pointing to the cherubic faces that adorned the tree.
Logan set her down and crouched down next to her as he explained the ornaments. The ones that were his, the ones that were Veronicas...the ones they had gotten together. She listened intently, hanging on his every word, her hands cupping his face as she looked adoringly at him with her pale blue eyes. What would his little girl have looked like? Would his son have been brown-eyed, or blue? Would they favor Veronica, or would they act like him?
Lilly's voice carried through the room, shaking Logan from his thoughts. He gently kissed Ruby on the crown of her head and then watched as she toddled to her Uncle Duncan. Quietly he excused himself, not wanting to acknowledge the pain he saw reflected back from an unassuming pair of brown eyes.
The water was cool on his face, though it did little in the way of actually assuaging him. That feeling, the revulsion, and shame at the immediate jealousy that came over him, sickened him. He could only imagine what Veronica saw when she looked at her best friend with that little girl. They were the picture of everything motherhood could be. A laugh bubbled up as he thought about Lilly's transition from fun-loving girl to mother and how the latter seemed to suit her much more than he would have ever imagined. Duncan and Meg would be married soon, and no doubt would pop out a brood of their own in no time. And Mac and Dick wouldn't be too far behind. For the first time, he saw how much work lie before them, the road long and arduous. But the road took him to the only home he'd ever known. The only one he'd ever wanted. He knew what had to be done, and he was willing to be at her side wherever it leads.
The hallway was dark as he made his way back to their guests, the silence only marred by harsh whispers. It was Duncan and Meg in the kitchen, so he rushed past catching only fragments of their tense conversation, trying not to interrupt. Once back in the living room, he quietly sat down on the floor next to Veronica. He allowed himself a moment of reprise, his body to conforming to hers as he slid his arm around her shoulders and held her close, his lips lingering a second longer on her brow than he usually allowed.
"Do you think that maybe we could spend New Year's Eve alone?" she whispered.
"I'm sure that could be arranged," he murmured into her hair.
"Away from Neptune?"
"Is everything okay?"
"No, and yes."
He knew she wouldn't share more with the house full, so he let it go, banking that the honesty that she demanded from him would be reciprocated in time.
"San Diego?"
"Perfect. Merry Christmas, Logan."
"Merry Christmas, Veronica."