Y'all are really lucky. Usually when I say complete, I mean complete, but I have a lot of headcanon after the movie, so I just kept writing and here we are.
Still unbetaed. Review if you liked it.
Just a tip: when you're not going to see a guy for another five months, mentioning lingerie, primary colored or otherwise, is ill-advised. I'm trying to serve my country while you're violating my eighth amendment rights from across the ocean. And you say you want to keep me around.
If I recall correctly- and these kinds of things rarely slip my mind- I was at some point promised pictures from home. I'll let you draw your own suggestions from that.
I did ask for letters, though, so I'll do my best to respond coherently. That famed military discipline at work.
It took a while to figure out where to mail my Nicholas Sparks gesture, but I figured New York was the best option. I knew that you would eventually get back there, or Piz would continue to be his normal, good guy self and just forward your mail like a functional person would after a relationship ends. Better chance of that than your dad eagerly handing it over as the new captain of Team Logan. Although I'm told that my fan club does have some t-shirts in bold colors if you think that'll convince him.
And you got the letter, so everything's apparently coming up Logan. Don't tell Dick. He'll hire cheerleaders. And they'll probably be of the full service variety.
Even if he tries to intimidate me with words like "uppity," I'm glad your dad is doing okay. He looked pretty rough the last time I saw him, and I'm sorry that I can't be there to help the two of you through it. You're your own boss, but just make sure that you don't kill yourself taking care of him and getting to appointments and doing your usual Sam Spade thing. What are you working on now, anyway?
As for keeping you in the loop, I'll tell you this: we don't have a lot of time for poker. I fly. I fly an F-18 Hornet, and God, Veronica, she's gorgeous. I have to spend my time learning every part of her- how she flies and what keeps her up and how to take care of her- and it's not even a chore.
(That's a lie. Command Master Chief was coming by, and he does not take well to snippiness. I do love it, though.)
When I'm not flying or learning how to fly or preparing to fly, I'm a training officer. It's something that just happened, because when you were a history major, you're no one's top pick for maintenance and they kick you out of clerical when the best thing you can do for the office is bring muffins. The kids I'm working with have been training for at least a couple of years before they get onto the Nimitz, but Christ, Veronica, I wouldn't trust them to pet-sit my hamster and they're supposed to be working with millions of dollars' worth of equipment. If I have to break up one more brawl over Grand Theft Auto, there are going to be murder charges that even you aren't going to be able to get me out of.
They haven't hurt my girl, though, so I haven't gone Howling Mad yet.
Other than that, I spend my time pining over my stateside heart. My bunkmate hates the sound of your name already. Guinness is sending you a little plaque to commemorate this record; that should be arriving any day.
That's what I've got for you. Hold off on Mac at least for today. Going on the lam is only fun when you're outrunning the regular police. The military police have the power to arrest you, plus they practice their poker faces for twenty minutes every day and twice that on Sundays, so they're a lot less likely to be swayed by that pretty smile of yours.
And you know that the first rule of running is no contact, and I suspect Mac would go into withdrawal if she wasn't allowed to use her computer.
I'll do my best to twirl only on the inside. I haven't fallen off yet.
Logan
She sent the email once she got back to her dad's house, taking a hot shower and several deep, deliberate breaths before hitting send. And even though eagerness lapped at her at the thought of hearing back from him, she didn't expect him to feel the same, didn't expect to wake up from the dead sleep that comes from shuttling back and forth across the country to find a reply.
The time stamp reads 3:22 AM, Pacific Time. She calculates: mid-morning if he is near England, just past noon if he is out by Afghanistan, close to 3 PM if he is farther into the Middle East toward Syria. She hates not knowing.
She's supposed to go into Mars Investigations today, start work on the backlog of cases that have been piling up over the past weeks, but she takes the time to read it through and then does it again. She doesn't quite know how reading it makes her feel. She smiles, but it's so odd to read his words without the gestures, the eyebrow twitches and spinning twirls that are part of Logan. There's a sterility to it that she finds off-putting, unexpectedly so. All she really considered when she and Logan had talked about him going away was him being in danger halfway around the world. She didn't think about missing him like this when she spent years away from him, gestures and words.
She presses her palms to her eyes and gets up. She and her dad are stuck in a sort of catch-22. If she doesn't work, then she can stay and take care of him but they won't be able to afford those fun little life bonuses like food and Keith's nice new house. Beyond that, she'll go slowly insane. And if she does work, then all the money she earns will just slip away to pay for a nurse for him, something he'll endure but despise.
"Maybe you should have married rich," she says to her dad as she cooks eggs for the two of them. "Boy toy for some cougar. You could do that with your eyes closed."
"In my day, it was the daughter we paired up with the neighbor boy to keep the family farm."
Their joking has a slightly uncomfortable edge, but it's either laugh or cry. "Well, the times, they have a'changed, Pa. The bras have been burned and we have taken back our power." She puts his eggs on the coffee table, and kisses his forehead. "And now to complete our role reversal, I'm off to the salt mines while you sit here and do needlepoint for your hope chest." She gathers her jacket and laptop and bag, speaking to him over her shoulder as she does. "Someone will be here in a couple of hours to make sure you haven't passed out in front of SportsCenter. Make sure to have your face on, or you'll disgrace the Mars name."
"If they don't love me for what's in here," Keith says, pounding on his chest, "They don't deserve me." But the words are curdled with a yawn, and although morning has barely begun, it looks like he is due for a nap courtesy of his medication. Veronica is glad that Wallace has a key for when he comes by during his free period.
The morning is a blur of paperwork. If there was one thing law school was good for, it was her speed-reading skills. She makes calls to people whose cases she put on hold weeks ago to inform them that Mars Investigations is reopening. Some of them say that their business is resolved or that they've taken it elsewhere, but most are like the woman who tells Veronica, "Honey, I'm not getting any younger, and my husband hasn't stopped being turned on by twenty-two year olds. We've got the time, you and me." By lunchtime, Veronica has a list of clients that will keep her busy for the next few weeks. She closes up the office and goes to check on her dad. She makes sandwiches for the two of them ("maybe I should have sent you to culinary school") and they talk about nothing until she has to go back to the office.
Mac comes by in the afternoon. Veronica is surrounded by files. "I don't think my dad has organized anything since I left for Stanford," she complains, but hands over a stack of folders, Post-its inserted where a computer expert would come in handy. She has another stack next to her thigh, one that foretells many nights of her and her camera on a stakeout.
Probably a bad sign that those are some of my better high school memories, she thinks, rueful but not bitter, and goes diving back under. The corruption at the sheriff's department means that a lot more people have been looking to her dad to help them with their problems, but even though it's a great cash flow opportunity, it'll take a little time to get things sorted and even more to actually get the work done. And all of that time means less time available to figure out the important things: who was driving the truck that night and why? Her dad had reluctantly told her about Sack's claims of a larger conspiracy, and that seems like the first avenue to tackle, except it's not an avenue as much as a hidden back road with a decoy entrance, and the only possibly friendly guard is dead. She's going to have to work to even start finding what she's looking for.
Her dad is, in fact, passed out in front of SportsCenter when she gets home, so she drops her bag by the kitchen counter and goes to cover him up with an afghan. He wakes as she does and looks up at her blearily. "How is it in the outside world?" he asks sleepily, and Veronica laughs softly as she hands him a takeout container of shwarma. But even as she sits beside him and smiles, she knows that they can't live like this for long. She clings to the doctor's most accelerated timeline for his healing, but knows that there are a million things that could make it last longer.
It's barely dark out, but she takes a shower and settles in bed with her laptop. Two weeks spent focusing on her father's recovery and saving up the sensation of Logan against her, so she didn't waste time getting the lowdown on the inner workings of an aircraft carrier. She needs information, she always has, but Logan isn't her only source for this and she needed him for other things while he was still close by. She spends an hour researching, looking at carrier pictures and schematics, and videos of F-18s. She starts watching a documentary about life on the Nimitz, but the first scene is of the ship leaving port and she can't watch the sobbing of the families left behind for too long. It's been years since Logan's first tour, but she wonders if he still felt a wrench when no one held him back from getting on the carrier.
Finally, she pulls up his email. The words are a familiar pattern to her now, so she wants to just start writing. But the first thing to respond to is sexual. She knows that Logan is attracted to her. She's turned too many times to see him to see him watching her with lowered lids and a smile not to know. That's not even considering the times he's tried to keep her in bed for days, although obviously not against her will. And she's fairly certain of the fact that she's not bad in bed. She dated a guy in New York, Max, for nine months years ago, and she dated Piz, and neither of them had ever been dissatisfied. But there's still something about being with Logan that makes her nervous. Because he's Logan, and Lilly used to moan about his skills, and he was with Madison who knew that he wasn't into one piece numbers, and he dated Carrie Bishop with her smoky eyes and her swaying walk. There's something in her that isn't soothed by time or the way he pulls her hips toward him as if he couldn't get close enough, something that is irritatingly, insidiously nervous that while she might be good, she isn't good enough at this.
So she'll respond to that part, say something sly and sassy, but she'll do it later.
Forget fan t-shirts. After your whole white horse maneuver, my dad has actually begun worshipping a statue of you. What you really should be worried about is him using the envelope as part of his attempt to clone you.
But seriously, he's doesn't dislike you. He wouldn't have burned your letter in a bonfire and cackled over it. You did save his life, and he appreciates that and respects it. Also bonfire building would necessitate being able to move around on his own and that's not going to be in the cards for a little while. And I feel
She erases the words, hesitates for a moment. There are minutes during the day where she has to shake off her panic about how they're going to pay the bills. It's something she's struggled with since high school, but there's so much more now: living expenses, the new house, the new office, her student loans, and medical bills. She wants to be able to talk about it, but it feels like weakness. There is no longer any fear in her that he will look down on her for it, that he will bring it up with bitter words and a harsh laugh if she gave him this knowledge. She suspects that he would offer money, the same way she knew before she saw her ticket confirmation that he would book her in first class. Taking it would make things easier, but she knows that it will also make her ashamed and vulnerable and angry.
She can recall his face, rounder with youth and strained with grief, as he accused her of never needing anything. She still doesn't like to, but she wants to try. She wants to try to be a person who can be attached to someone without being afraid.
She types with hesitant fingers. I love being back in Neptune, in all its anti-Stars Hollow glory, but it's hard. Not like making it in the big city was super easy sitcom fun, but I'm going to have to up my juggling act to keep up with everything here.
She sketches out a few of the more interesting cases for him: the three women who separately want money shots of the same man, Cliff hiring her to refute the accusation that Loretta Cancun crashing into the DMV building caused the gas leak there. She tilts her head and adds, And when I'm done with all that, I thought I would start cleaning up these mean streets. Time to start figuring out what is this season's conspiracy fashion.
Hard to complain about all this to the guy who's at war, though. Even though it sounds like you keep yourself busy with your amazing flying girlfriend.
She lifts her fingers from the keys again. She remembers vividly the email from Wallace midway through her senior year. Between a discussion of wrangling people as captain of the Hearst basketball team and a comment about his dislike for his mom's new boyfriend: Just thought you should know that they're saying that Logan got drunk and applied for the Navy. Guess some things change and some things stay the same.
She had thought to herself, 'They must be really desperate,' but it had been with a faded sense of anger and disappointment. After that, whenever she happened to think about Logan, she overlaid a uniform onto her imagined version of him, but it was strange and without context.
How did the two of you get together anyway? From whence did Lieutenant Logan Echolls spring?
Speaking of your new duties, if I recall, you can cook fine. They should stick you in the mess hall instead of putting you near impressionable children. Who I will bet you all the money in my pocket, a stick of gum, and your car are not the only ones throwing down over GTA. Duncan used to have bruises after you played together. Still, I guess you should get some credit for not going Howling Mad, although that might be because you have some other military nickname. Maybe you're gonna go Smug Snarky Rich Boy on them?
Although it sounds like your bunkmate might off you before you have a chance to snap. I think this might be the first time someone's hated me before they met me, but I'm proud. You know I've always dreamed big.
Keep the news coming, pal, or I'm going to be dreaming big with Mac, MPs and withdrawals or not. I don't care about diamonds. Just keep me in information.
She tips her head back against the wall. She fixes in her mind the image of Logan's eyes as she moved toward him in his shirt, and just before adding her name writes, If you complete that mission, I might be persuaded to remind you of the good parts of home. Keep serving your country, Lieutenant, and we'll see what happens.
You're set back, by the way, by your insinuation that there's anything my smile can't do. These pearly whites are magic, baby.
Veronica
She knew that he had probably been getting anxious because of the eighteen hour gap between his response and hers, but she didn't realize how it would feel until she is lying in bed the next night, about to turn out the light after another day full of files and cooking and cases and empty of news from Logan. She checks her email one last time, and somebody is finally smiling down on her, because there it is.
My amazing flying girlfriend is named Lola, because whatever she wants, she gets. Take a minute to remember my patriotism before you start hitting me with your best shots, she reads, and she laughs hard and silent so her dad doesn't wake.
Lola and I flew today. Can't tell you the where or when, but I will say that it's the scariest and best thing in the world. Burns my Hollywood-bred fashion sense to put on the outfit, but we go so fucking fast, it's worth it.
Flying is what got me here in the first place. The summer after freshman year, you were gone and Dick was living the denial life with his dad. I knew that I wanted to not be the person I was, but I also wanted to drink myself to death. You can understand my dilemma. But I saw this ad for flying lessons and I figured that at least it was something to do. I started learning with this guy, Gerry, at the air field in San Diego, and I just fell for it. I kept coming back and I got my pilot's license. Gerry's a crotchety old bastard, ex-Navy, but he loves to fly and he saw that I did too. Senior year, this guy "happens" to be watching one day when I'm at the air field. He caught me on the way to my car, and I could tell by the way he was standing that he was military.
"How'd you like to come fly jets for us?" he asked. He had this whole speech about protecting people and learning the value of hard work that maybe would have convinced me, but that first thing he said…that's what made me want to do it. Because he asked. Because he watched me fly, and he wanted me.
That's my origin story. How'd you get from California crime solving to Columbia Law?
She checks the clock and knows that she should go to sleep. She sits up against her pillow and starts to type.
If you leave me for Lola, I'll understand. The two of you clearly have a connection.
It's weird how you and Weevil are both ruled by the women in your lives. Only his are his human family, and your woman could one day start singing 'Daisy, Daisy' and leave you to make sure your parachute works.
I moved out to New York after I graduated. Industry, job market, all those buzzwords. Except that I forgot that a BA in Psychology isn't exactly a clear path to career success. I ended up in the HR department at a newspaper. It was terrible. It was like going undercover as Biffy McPep every day, except that it was actually my life. Six months in, I was ready to do anything to get out. I was looking at becoming a paralegal, but I figured why dream small, and applied to law schools. All the kids were doing it. It was something I could be good at, somewhere where maybe I wouldn't be a bitch for being competitive.
Plus it was the only way to get Cliff to notice me, and I was desperate for that.
Writing to Logan like this is almost like writing in a diary. There's a separation that makes the truth easier than it is when she is looking into his face, and she has promised him that truth. She still hits send with a jabbing nervousness before she can change her mind.
Just after her ten AM client meeting, her phone buzzes. He's written just four sentences.
I'm not leaving you for Lola. She'll be jealous, but you had me first, and you'll have me longest.
If you need to leave me for Cliff, though, I'll do the noble thing. I understand the allure of a voice that can make you weak in the knees.
More later,
L