There could only be so many chairs to dust and covers to clean in a furniture store boasting a grand average of three customers a day.
I swear her job's more interesting.
"In other news, a 60-year-old woman was found hanging on a tree in her backyard in an attempt to save her cat. This cat - "
The radio's static mumble didn't offer anything worthwhile either.
"Bored?"
Logan turned to face his boss. The man's question felt honest enough. Logan shrugged. "Excitement's no tagline of the program."
Bradley, bare arms and all, nodded solemnly. "Ya hang in there, fella."
Logan smiled a little. "I will."
Cuz the longer I hang in here, the longer she stays around.
"Now for a word from our sponsors."
The radio's cheesy jingles failed to pull him from the inevitable emotional spiral.
Hands planted on the ornate back of a dining chair, he sighed.
And here I was thinking I'd reached my goal.
His frown deepened. While his cocky self-absorption had promised relief at her admission of caring for him, the result was quite the opposite.
I just felt worse.
Logan tightened his grip. Sure, he'd backed away with his integrity intact - and kept his promise to himself that he wasn't about to get rejected again after another fake kiss.
Then why do I feel so - broken?
He almost scoffed audibly at his own melodrama.
What am I - an English teacher?
"At 6'2" with dark hair, blue eyes - " The radio droned on.
Logan smirked, his very soul feeling grim at this point - all because of a pair of sparkling blue eyes. Because give it a decade or a half apart, she still had the same hold on him.
"Local residents are suggested to stay indoors." The static noises crackled louder than the reporter's voice.
Logan looked at Bradley. The big man shrugged.
At this point - I'd give anything to be OUTDOORS.
For a few more seconds, he pulled down and refocused on scrubbing the table leg completely clean. Each second saw him leaning deeper into the shadow of the tabletop.
"We have just received news about the identity of this mystery man," the radio cackled on.
Logan scrubbed harder.
"Known as Liam Fitzpatrick."
His head hit the table instantly.
No.
Right hand pressed firmly against the aching spot on the back of his head, he scrambled out from beneath the table. He came face to face with a wide-eyed store owner.
"Ya'll alright, there?"
Logan swallowed, shaking his head. His eyes burned in his head.
"Ya'll gotta go?"
He knows.
"Yes." Between aching neck and throbbing head, he finally found his tongue. "May I - "
"Go, son."
He nodded thanks and was out the door.
The rows and aisles of chips, canned goods, and plastic bottles swirled together into an impressionists' palette. Her hand flew on to the cashier counter for support. She blinked.
Liam Fitzpatrick.
Her surroundings spun another five degrees. She felt the vomit climbing up her esophagus.
Chill, girl. You've trained for this.
She blinked - repeatedly - then shook her head as if to disperse a cloud around her face. Her eyes jumped back to the rows upon rows of synthetic color.
"We repeat: local citizens are suggested to stay indoors," the radio droned on.
But she was wide awake.
Her hands instinctively catalogued every item on her. She gazed at the shelf beside the cashier - that little row of impulsive purchases.
Nope, I don't need gum right now.
Recuperating from her initial shock, she backed away from the counter.
If Liam Fitzpatrick is here...
She slid around and out to the wider floor space.
That could only mean...
She looked up sharply, plan of action set.
Logan.
She pulled off her apron, mumbled an insincere excuse, and pushed out the door.
Liam Fitzpatrick.
She gulped, nervous in spite of herself.
Wasn't this what I became an agent for?
The thrill of the chase, the urgency of split-second decisions - she'd adored this stuff.
Then why does this feel eerily unsettling?
The chime fading behind her, she shifted firmly to the left.
She ran.
Ten hurried steps later, she met his eye.
Logan...
The worry in his gaze proved that he wasn't the least bit worried about himself.
She breathed in, fighting the sudden onslaught of tears. Veronica Mars was never a softie.
Never - until she was.
Emotional equilibrium completely knocked off-center, she dashed towards him, conspicuousness be damned. He rushed forward just as urgently.
She was ready to fall into his arms, to cry into his shoulder, to let him hold her up in a hero's pose. He looked fierce, determined, and tender all at once as he flew towards her.
After all - that's what happens in the movies, right?
But I'm Veronica Mars.
Closing the ten yards between them, she hugged him first. He reciprocated by gathering her close against his torso - and his beating heart.
For another ten seconds, they held each other closely as their whirling world restored itself.
Unless this is the new normal.
The thought had her pulling back first; he promptly let go.
She scanned his eyes - then grabbed his arm. "Let's go."
She took off immediately. His eyes flashed bewilderment as he followed her small form.
Gotta get him safe.
She could hear the whispers of a fading door chime behind her, and she refused to think who it could be.
"Veronica - "
She dragged him forward unapologetically towards the nearest street. His long legs caught up in an easy stride.
"Where are we - "
His questions's cut off by the sight of a fast-approaching van. It stopped for them.
Two more lanes to go.
Simultaneously annoyed and grateful at their jobs' proximity to the largest avenue in town, she pulled them onwards.
A car horn, loud screeches, and one breathless Logan later, they landed on the woody embankment across from the deserted strip mall. She let him go, transferring her hands on to her knees as she leaned forward, panting. To her left, he heaved breaths just as heavy as hers.
"Where are - where are we going?" He managed between breaths.
"Somewhere - safe." She panted. Her eyes scanned the trees.
We'll make this work.
"Where - "
She cut him off with yet another strong grip as she plunged them into the woods.
Stray branches clawed at their clothes; the leaves on the ground perished under their weight. Still, she towed them on.
Deciduous leaves - half brown and half fiery red - waved around them like a woodland on fire. She tugged them on.
Her feet traced a path she'd practiced years ago. Her eyes scanned for every marked tree, stone, or stump. Every part of her training, dormant for months, sprung back to life with univocal purpose.
He'd stopped questioning her by now as she immersed them deeper into the foliage, her nimble feet weaving a path from one sparse patch to another. She felt his hand, the one she's not holding, wrap around her waist. For once, she didn't mind the comfort.
But who's got time for comfort?
She took another sharp turn. He athletically shifted along with her. At this rate - she'd never get rid of him ever again.
Not that I'd want to anyway.
She flinched at her own thought, burying it away for another, less life-threatening hour. The nuances of romance had never posed any genuine competition to true danger.
Twenty steps later, they pulled to a stop before a large, whitewashed, wooden house. She could feel him cataloguing the place. The dirty panels, streamer-like cobwebs, and broken step on the porch cried dilapidation. But she knew the fully-functional haven within the broken shell.
"Straight out of a movie," Logan quipped, hand on her shoulder.
"Well, Hollywood got it from us," she snapped back, voice proud.
"Ya sure got the forlorn safehouse down to a tee."
"Maybe because it is one?"
"Ah, how enlightening." He smiled down at her, and the thought that everything might be fine, after all, tugged at her mind.
The crashing sound of a broken branch echoed from the woods. They both turned towards it - then to each other.
"Wine cellar," she barked.
He nodded. They ran.
"I know I'm not the agent here," said Logan as they balanced their way down the narrow steps, "but are we sure getting cornered underground is a good idea?"
Ya think?
She told the uncertainty in her own brain to shut up. She closed the doors behind them, nudging him further from behind. "It's easily overlooked."
"But what if he finds us?" The slight quiver in his voice hinted at the fear beneath the false bravado.
Adrenaline pumping, she felt a pang of panic that she forced herself to ignore. She licked her lips, frowning. "Just - trust me."
He nodded casually as he hit the bottom of the staircase, his frame bent over to accommodate the low ceiling. "Why does this place have a wine cellar anyway?"
"It's the best place to bring in whole boxes of stash without raising suspicions," she explained, patience fast giving way for genuine fear. "Besides, you'd be surprised at the nooks and crannies a wine cellar could justify."
"Like this one?" He peered around an L-shaped shelf.
Logan, please.
Unless that's his coping mechanism.
She sighed. "We'll be okay - alright?"
"Yeah." His reply sounded rehearsed, but unsure.
As if he's convincing himself.
"Liam can't find us that easily," she insisted.
"I hope not."
"Look, Logan!" She marched in front of him and grabbed him by the biceps. "He's not - going - to - find - us."
He looked at her then, eyes uncertain. She willed his fears - and hers - away.
She gripped him tighter. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you."
His eyes glistened - hopeful.
She inhaled.
Go for it, girl.
"To us," she added.
His eyes widened visibly. He inhaled - sharply. She began to doubt, quite strongly, if she should've said anything at all.
The loud bang of a door forcefully thrown open gave her no time to decide.
Both of them, jumping at the sound, hung tightly to the empty shelves.
Did I imagine that?
She glanced at Logan. His eyes were suddenly unreadable.
But he heard it too - right?
Another loud crash of falling metal, distinctly above them, confirmed her deepest fear.
Instantaneously, she found herself locked in tight, safe, masculine arms. He whirled them over behind a shelf.
"Is this one of those nooks?" He whispered hoarsely.
"Ya think?"
Neither spoke as the wooden floor - creaking loudly under each footstep - indicated the exact position of the man above them. He held her tighter.
"You okay?"
For some reason, the soft way he spoke those words didn't bother her as much as it should.
"Yeah."
Another loud creak, mere inches from Logan's head, had her pulling him even closer than he'd been.
For five nervous, painful seconds, they listened to the whining wood. The man - cuz those heavy, booted steps couldn't have been anything else - walked towards the kitchen, the hallway, and then back to the kitchen.
Maybe if he doesn't see -
As if finding a new sense of purpose, their visitor strode resolutely down the length of the hallway above them - and out the back door.
She held her breath.
Please don't see the -
The cellar door clattered loudly against its hinges. The door frame vibrated from repeated attempts to pry it open.
She felt Logan inhale.
Please think that there's no -
"Hey," Logan's voice, barely a whisper, breathed against the top of her head.
"Yeah?" She whispered back.
"If we don't it out of this - if Liam - or that guy - or whatever - "
"We'll be fine!" She repeated, conviction waning. She clung to him - hands fisted.
The jiggling grew louder - more forceful.
She blinked back the tears in her eyes. "We'll be fine. Trust me."
"Veronica! We're in a wine cellar hiding from - "
She looked up and glared at him directly. He stopped talking.
She inhaled, heart pounding - and insisted, "We'll - be - fine."
His eyes softened. And she wished, for a moment, that they were not in a wine cellar - hiding from who-knows-whom.
Cuz things would be so much simpler that way.
Then, all of a sudden, like driving a car through the edge of a rainstorm - the movement stopped.
They heard a loud grunt, a last kick, and footsteps shuffling away.
Each footstep on the wooden planks sounded as loud as thunder. He tried to step more softly to no avail. One yard ahead of him, still holding his hand, Veronica inched closer to the safehouse's backdoor.
Why are we going back in?
"We'll need some supplies if we run," she replied to his unspoken question.
"Right."
With her small hand firmly grasped within his larger one, his body resolutely refused to let him forget the way her eyes had skipped to her lips, or the way her fists had clung against his chest, in the privacy of the wine cellar less than an hour ago.
Fitzpatrick should've tried a bit longer.
He shook his head, dissipating the foolish thought, just when they'd finally sneaked their way to the actual backdoor. She shot him a look, free hand on the knob. He nodded.
She turned back to face the door after a returning nod of her own. He held his breath as she nudged the door open.
"Coast's clear."
He followed her into the kitchen. Stepping softly into the new space, he spared a thought on how well-furnished the area appeared - utensils, plates, pots, pans, and spices as fully stocked as a housewife's pantry. He placed both hands on the nearest counter. Its smooth texture belied the house's rough appearance.
If I hadn't known better, I would've thought -
"You bitch!"
The dark bellow of an angry man drew his instant attention.
To his left - jaw set and fists clenched - Liam Fitzpatrick stormed forcefully down the narrow hallway. With the strides he was making, he was a mere five steps away from -
Veronica.
Logan's mind froze completely still - every portion greyed out into stone. The smooth counter, the stocked shelves, the rough tiles, and his own hands cemented into a monochromatic still-life. Time froze too - the second hand on the wall clock stuck in a repeated twitch. He thought - he tried to think. His mind refused. He tried again.
Veronica.
Stationed three steps away, in the exact center of his greyscale mindscape, she shone with light and life. Where everything faded, she glowed. When everything stilled, her eyes grew large as she peered into the distance.
He followed her gaze.
No!
His limbs sprung to life just as his mind finally acknowledged their circumstance. He rushed forward, hands wide open. Then, three steps later, his right hand reached out for Veronica's shoulder, tucking her behind him; his left hand swung around to make sure she stayed behind him.
Then he looked up.
"Well, if it isn't Aaron's own little shit." Liam, only a handful of inches taller than he was, still towered over him. Logan gulped. Liam growled, "Guess it's my lucky day."
Hands still holding Veronica behind him, Logan had no retaliation to offer the two large hands that swung forward - and lifted him by the collar.
Logan found his hands - and his feet - dangling in the air. His throat struggled to maintain a clear passage of air.
"I'll have you in pieces before you can say 'please,'" Liam threatened gleefully, tightening his grip.
Fine - just don't hurt Veronica.
Logan's mind fogged at the lack of air. He swung his legs forward, desperate to get a kick.
Then suddenly, there it was - that familiar crackle of electricity - that sound that had preceded so many moments of deliverance - before he fell on to the ground. Logan gasped, anxious for air. He shoved himself backwards until his back hit the wall. His mind swirled.
He was grateful for the momentary reprieve to let his body recover. After all, the trustfund life wasn't one to build muscle. He was lucky that Liam wasn't -
Veronica.
His eyes shot open and up. His breath quickened at the sight of Veronica, wrists trapped in Liam's hands, trying to swivel her way out. He pushed himself off the ground instantly.
But what could I do against 200 pounds of crazy?
His eyes fled to the counter behind Veronica - and its fully stocked collection.
He stumbled over as fast as he could, and he pulled out the largest butcher knife he could see.
"I'll see you take this!" Logan felt every bit a teenager as he swung the knife between Liam and Veronica, with Liam retracting his arms just in time to keep his limbs. A short rush of triumph flood his senses - until he realized that he had no Plan B.
Don't they just surrender after this?
He met Liam's eyes - Liam's very pissed off eyes.
Don't they?
The eyes charged forward.
Towards my knife - right? RIGHT?
Logan braced himself for the clash. A small part of him was absolutely certain that the knife in his hand would be buried in his own gut within the next three seconds. He gripped the handle tighter. He waited for impact.
But the clear, harsh ring of a gunshot made sure it never came.
Logan looked down, knife in hand, to see the man the taser couldn't tame cowering over a gunshot to his thigh.
"Go!"
His mind shot to the woman beside him.
"Let's go!"
He didn't need to be told again.
"Instant transfer - now!" She barked into the phone she pressed closely against her cheek. She ran as fast as her short legs would take her. The foliage sped by in a warped-speed blur.
She could hear - and feel - Logan's large footsteps behind her. With his longer legs, he could easily overtake her. But he lingered - letting her take them to the next safe place.
And I appreciate that with all my heart.
She huffed a weary breath, frowning away the soft emotions. She refocused on her phone. "Now! Right this instant! I need new names, new IDs, new home, and new work."
The non-committal mumble she received over the line fanned her flaring temper to full flame.
She gritted her teeth as she threaded her way between houses and through lanes - towards their shared home for the past weeks.
"Agent Mars?" Clark's voice - annoying as hell - asked in false beguilment.
"If I don't get all that within the day," she threatened, eyes narrow, as she ran, "I'm headed to Stanley. And I know all that federal nonsense about different jurisdictions, but God forbid that you do not let me have - "
"Yes, yes." Clark's voice, and attitude, seemed to pick up slightly. He sighed. "We'll get you what you want."
"I would thank you," she replied, pulling up to the house's backyard. She stopped, panting. She heard Logan slowing down to a halt behind her. "But I know it's just your job."
Clark was saying something - but she hung up anyway.
For a handful of seconds, she stood by herself, wordless and panting. She could feel Logan hovering - but what could she do?
I'm in no shape to -
"Veronica?" He asked, obviously concerned.
She slowly turned to face him. Hands still braced on her hips, she looked up. Her own eyes watered at the sight of his teary ones. She licked her lips.
He was the one to speak again. "Are you okay?"
After all this time...
"Yeah," she panted, "we just need to get some stuff and run for it."
He nodded wordlessly. And she felt - like a complete idiot.
Cuz packing is the last thing I want to do right now.
She felt his gaze searing into hers. His jaw, so often slim and boyish, was set in firm resolve. His shoulders - a constant source of comfort for so many times over so many years - leaned forward in a mixture of desire and concern.
She gulped. "Logan - "
"Thank you," he whispered, gentle voice in stark contrast with his towering presence.
Thank you?
"Sure, of course," the words tumbled out of her. Her vision blurred further at the recollection of Liam Fitzpatrick charging at him. "Logan, it's you! I can't ever stand it if anything happened - "
She choked over the rest of her own words.
But he would have none of it. Striding forward immediately, he grabbed her into a tight, safe hug. His arms wound around her and settled on opposite shoulders; his chin instantly tucked her against his neck. She felt every nerve of her body awaken.
"The gun, Veronica - the gun," he whispered reverently above her. "I know you're an agent and all, but really - thank you."
And once started, the tears kept coming.
"Use it to save yourself, okay?" He continued, still. "Next time - if there's a next time - don't wait for me. Please go. I want you safe. I need you safe. I want you in once piece of wonderful Veronica Mars-ness, and I want you - I want you -"
She pulled back and met his gaze. Her heart jumped to her throat.
Well, it's now or never.
"Cool." She fought to keep her voice steady. "Cuz I happen to want you too."
Her strong forearms pulled him back before he could respond.
This is stupid. I mean, why would he -
From the very moment his lips touched hers, his kisses left no room for argument. Stunned - yet glad - she kissed him back with equal ferocity. Lips opening, tongues searching, throats moaning, hands roaming, legs melting, chest heaving, nerves tingling - a million sensations descended upon her like the wrath of a thunderstorm brewed far past its due.
His hands found her back, her waist, her hips, her thighs. Hers found his neck, his chest, his abs, his ass. His lips soon trailed to her neck, while hers devoured his earlobes. Her blood vessels battled against her veins - from her brain down to her very fingertips. She kissed, she sighed, she hummed, and she whimpered.
How does he -
He kissed all thoughts away. She closed her eyes, reveling in the trail his mouth took on its way back to hers. His large hands pressed her firmly against his body.
We need to -
Her brain refused to stay clear. She tried harder to think.
In case Liam -
That thought gave her the final courage to pull gently away. She felt him loosen his hold without removing his hands. She met his eyes, expecting a thousand questions.
But the gaze he offered back only gave her one answer.
She panted, pained that they had little time to explore that answer, and whispered, "Alright, let's go."
A/N: We're officially halfway done with this one! Special thanks to irma66 for checking this for me. This chapter had been extemely difficult to write. I still feel that some details were not fully explored. I hope you could understand the emotions and action I tried to convey!