Chapter Text
"I give up. I'm going to be one of those kids who lives in her dad's basement until she dies."
Veronica threw her purse onto the couch, apologizing as Pony whined and scurried down the hall towards the bedroom. Yanking open the fridge, she was pleased to find two of her favourite cheap wine coolers lurking in the door. Logan had given up hard liquor, but wine and its derivatives—coolers, spritzers and sangria—were occasional indulgences, and as she waved the bottles at him, he nodded enthusiastically.
House hunting was worse than a stakeout during finals week.
They'd spent the last three days looking at homes across Neptune, veering into county territory to keep to their agreed-upon criteria. Thirteen houses later, not a single prospect was on the table. Too big for Veronica's liking. Too small for Logan's. An architectural design that repulsed them and wasn't worth fixing up. Too many security gaps to close up. Too far from work. The list went on and on.
Today had been particularly heartbreaking, however. Veronica opened the coolers, passing one to Logan and taking a large swig of her own. The first home had been on Wallace's street—not exactly close to the beach, but close to a park for walking Pony, and close to her best friend. A safe, quiet neighbourhood, just as Logan wanted. There was just one major issue: warning signs of a former meth lab.
"I wondered why the asking price was so low for this area," Logan had whispered to her. "It must be a money pit. I wouldn't touch it without a full structural assessment."
Sure enough, the moment Logan had mentioned one, the realtor had become extremely nervous and mentioned a much better home nearby that they had to see. It was beautiful, alright—and had just been sold to a couple who'd viewed it the previous morning.
"We'll find something," Logan assured her, sitting on the couch and setting her purse on the table. "Although I think I'm going to hire a different agent to help us."
"We're down to forty-five days, and it might just be me searching if you get shipped out," she grumbled. "You know what pisses me off the most? They're not even renting these places out to rich families. The owners are planning to convert to Air BNBs. Jenny from downstairs was telling me yesterday after Pony's evening walk."
She plopped onto the couch, curling into Logan's side. His arm wrapped around her, squeezing gently as they quietly drank. From down the hall, she could hear Pony's collar jangle and a soft thump. Their dog had the right idea: jump into bed for the rest of the day, and ignore this mess.
"What would you say to a pick-me-up from Mama Leone's?"
"That depends. Are we talking lasagna of sadness or manicotti of despair?"
Tilting her chin up, Logan kissed her nose. "Why not both?"
"Then I would say you're the best husband ever."
Carefully sliding out from beneath her, Logan smirked. "To which I would say, that was a critical error, jumping to the superlative. You could have had garlic bread with cheese, too."
"Damn it!" Veronica pouted, batting her eyes furiously. "What if I promise you a hand job gratuity?"
Shrugging on his jacket, he furrowed his brow in mock contemplation. "Make it oral and I'll throw in tiramisu."
"Sold! You're not calling it in first?"
"Oh, I am. I just figured I'd take Pony for a quick walk while I—hey, girl!" Logan laughed as he was nearly tackled by an excited canine in search of her leash. "Alright, just a quick one. See you in a few."
Veronica waved, draining her drink and turning on the TV in search of distraction. She cursed as a casual flip of the channels landed her on an episode of House Hunters. Maybe refurbishing a former meth lab really wouldn't be so bad. Hell, wouldn't using a criminal's money to do it be the circle of life? Settling on an episode of Schitt's Creek, she stretched out onto the couch and lost herself in snarky humour.
Pony returned in ten minutes, Logan in thirty with a large bag brimming with her favourite comfort food. They dispensed with plates, opting for trading trays back and forth over a rerun of Murder, She Wrote.
"Clearly, Jessica is a serial killer," Veronica decided, waving her fork in the air. "There's no way this many murders happen in a tiny town called Cabot Cove."
"This one's in New York, though," Logan countered, "Then again, Jessica comes to visit her best friend and whoops, there's a body."
"Some people are cursed." Behind her, a cell phone rang—Logan's phone. "Speaking of curses, I feel like that might be proof of mine."
Logan grimaced, rising to his feet. "Don't count deployments before they're dispatched." Glancing at the display, he nodded knowingly. "I have to take this."
Veronica muted the TV and speared a mouthful of manicotti. No new home in sight and now, no one to house hunt with. She knew this was the life of a Navy spouse, and she didn't regret being with Logan, but couldn't life toss her a damn softball for once?
Logan's end of the call was the usual cursory replies: the uh huh, yes, I understand language she'd grown familiar with over the years. She could only hope this assignment came with advance notice. It was rare, but it did happen. If not, at least there was tiramisu in the fridge to console her.
As Logan hung up, Veronica rose to her feet. "So, where are you not allowed to tell me you're deploying to this time, and when do you need to be at the base?"
"That wasn't my CO. That was Shariq, my lawyer."
"Lawyer? Is everything okay?"
Logan smiled, taking her hand. "It definitely is. I found us a house."
Her heels dug in at the singular pronoun. "I'm sorry, you found us a house? We had an agreement—"
"Yes, that you have some say in our home, correct?"
"Yeah, and—"
His arm rose suddenly, twirling her around in a circle as she huffed in protest. "Well, I distinctly recall you having one hundred percent of the say in our current home."
Veronica's free hand flew out to steady herself against his chest. "I'm not sure I follow, Fred Astaire. We're being evicted from here by the owners. Hence the last three days of endless disappointment and the blow job tiramisu?"
"Yeah, but if we're the owners, why would we evict ourselves?"
Her eyes widened in question; he affirmed with a kiss.
"You bought this place. The whole house?"
"I had Shariq make a call. He pointed out the average costs of repairing damages annually after spring break shenanigans, and we offered half a million over the assessed value. Took the owner fifteen minutes to agree to sell. Shariq's sent him the papers."
"Logan, this is a beachfront triplex! That's not a 'modest home'!" Veronica leaned against the couch, mentally constructing the space. "That's like, what, four bedrooms?"
"Five, with three baths and a hot tub on the roof, apparently," he replied casually. "We'll have to do renovations, convert it back to a single family home. If you think you'll miss the puking and partying of spring breakers, we could leave the basement as a rental unit for income. It would take care of the property taxes on its own."
"Frat bros can rot, but you may be onto something with a regular rental. We could keep it cheaper, for someone who needs a break, like a scholarship student from Hearst," she mused aloud. "Wait, stop, I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm not going to believe it until the deal is signed."
"Me neither, but Shariq is very confident. He said the guy seemed overwhelmed, like he was doing Air BNB because it was the cool thing and not because he had a single clue how to run one properly as a business." Pulling her close, Logan pressed his forehead to hers. "I know I didn't ask first, but you've always loved it here, aside from the lack of space, which we just solved. Is this okay?"
"It's perfect," Veronica assured him.
"What happened outside… that's not going to bother you?" he queried.
It was a fair question, and for the first few weeks after their honeymoon, it had upset her to glance down that road, or hear the street cleaning alert on her phone. The passage of time had eased that fear for her. Inside their home, she was safe and loved. She would not let Penn Epner or anyone else take away the beautiful memories they'd made here.
"It did at first, but not now. This is our home. I love it here. Besides, absolutely nothing else has worked out for us, so I take that as a sign."
"Then we're not going anywhere."
Their lips met in a soft kiss, their bodies entwined. Trees taking root, like their family: sturdy and strong.
The next two weeks were a blur of paperwork, closing costs, contractors and final surgical consults. Logan had insisted Veronica be on the title as co-owner, which meant finding out just how much Logan had paid for their home. The $3.5 million price tag had made her nauseous, but he'd gently reminded her that it was to keep them both safe. Once renovations were complete and a fund created to cover several years of monitoring and maintenance for their security system, the rest would be divided between Trina and charities of Veronica's choosing.
While plotting out the best way to unify the upper suite with their own, Veronica couldn't help but raise a question niggling in her brain since Logan had revealed his less-than-broke status.
"With how bad things have been for my dad since the accident, why didn't you…?"
"Why didn't I give your dad the money?" Logan completed.
"I mean, it's your money, and I understand why it's tainted for you, but I have to ask," she reluctantly pressed. "Especially now that we know he could have been feeling better for years with this surgery."
Setting aside the floor plans, Logan frowned. "I did offer it to him, Veronica. Repeatedly. He turned me down every time."
"I'm sorry, my father did what?"
His long fingers lightly drummed upon the table, something he did when deep in thought. "I offered in the hospital, right after the accident. You'd gone to get him that sub he wanted when he woke up. I told him that any specialist he wanted, I'd pay. That it was the least I could do to thank you both for being in my life for so long. He told me he was sure it was fine, that the doctors said the first surgery went well and with physio, he'd be good as new. I was skeptical, but your dad is proud. I get that, Veronica. I admire it a lot. It's not asshole pride, you know? It's just… looking after yourself."
"Yeah, he's always been like that," she agreed. "Remember how he didn't want me to move in when he came home? Said he could take care of himself. Idiot," she scoffed lovingly.
"When it was clear that physio wasn't working, I asked him again. I told him I had no desire to use the money for myself, but I was happy to give it to him. He said that he felt the same about the money, but…" Logan cleared his throat, his voice growing hoarse. "He said, 'I appreciate the love behind the offer, son'. First time he'd said that to me."
Veronica edged her chair closer, her hand rubbing soft circles on his back. A father—a real father—was all Logan had ever wanted. She'd never been able to pinpoint exactly when her father had gone from casual acceptance of Logan to truly embracing him as part of the inner circle, but now she knew.
"Oh, Logan. I know you two got off to a bad start, but he really loves you. He sees what I see in you."
"Yeah, I guess he does. Anyway, it's been our running joke ever since for his birthday. I ask him if he wants a robotic hip and he tells me he wants some spy gadget instead. I did offer, Veronica, but I would have been a hypocrite to tell him to take the money when I couldn't make myself use it."
"But now we're using it, to build a home," she mused.
"Life's too short to be angry at a ghost. You matter to me. He doesn't. Not anymore."
Veronica kissed his cheek, her fingers gently combing through his hair. "No shitty parents allowed in Casa Mars. Now, because I just know you're going to be deployed while these renovations happen, what are we doing with our new rooms?"
Logan pulled the plans back to the centre of the table, walking her through the layout: the two kitchens would be merged into one as they were separated by a wall; the upper unit's master bedroom would become theirs, with their current bedroom reconfigured to an office space. A second smaller bedroom was flagged as a guest room.
"You forgot this bedroom," she nudged him, pointing to their third new room towards the front of the house.
"It doesn't have a purpose yet. That one's up to you."
"Surprised you didn't tell them to make it a nursery in hopes of swaying me with cute children's furniture," Veronica countered sarcastically, reaching for a nearby bowl of popcorn.
"For someone who doesn't want kids, you bring them up a lot."
"Uh oh, Therapy Logan's arrived. You think my Psych degree doesn't make me acutely aware of my own behaviour?" she snapped.
Leaning back in his chair, Logan threw his hands up. "I'm not looking for a fight here. I'm looking for clarity. Are you bringing this up to tell me how you feel about the subject, or to ask me how I feel?"
"I don't know! Both?"
Buying time, she stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth. Logan called her bluff, choosing to sit silently and watch her slowly chew. A single droplet of water escaped from the kitchen faucet, the plunk as it collided with the metal below startling them both.
Swallowing her overly masticated mouthful, she sighed. "I just… I've never seen myself as a mom. Not a good one, anyway. But I know you would be an amazing father."
"That makes one of us," he replied quietly. "It's terrifying to even think about it, after my childhood. But I'm willing to try with you, if you want to try with me."
"And if I don't?" Her words were scarcely a whisper as fear's fingers tightened around her neck.
"Then we don't. You're the one person in this world I need in my life. You need to start believing that."
Belief. Faith. These were her weaknesses. Facts and evidence were her touchstones. Probabilities of genetic inheritance were facts. Divorce rates were facts. But evidence was a whole other matter. Even at their fractured worst, she'd never truly feared Logan. Whenever someone had threatened her well-being, Logan had been there, whether she asked him to or not.
He had always put her above everyone else: Hannah, Parker, Dick, Duncan. He'd seen her at her very worst, been pushed away, pushed aside, yet still shown her kindness and love. She'd rejected his proposal and he'd patiently waited for her to change her mind. Yes, this was all evidence she could rely on. She needed to remind herself of it.
"I'm enough? Just me? Because this is one of those things that couples can't usually reconcile, and I feel like we should have had this talk before you tied yourself down to me." She was rambling now, but she couldn't stop spewing words in a panicked heap at his feet. "It's not that I hate children, it's that I hate the thought of fucking them up half as much as my mother fucked me up. And I really don't know if I'm ever going to get past that fear, Logan."
"Hey, listen to me." His hands found her face, cupping her cheeks gently. "I'm ready for kids whenever you are, Veronica. But if you're never ready for them, or never want them, the life we have is enough. I want to be with you, kids or not. It's not a deal breaker for me, okay? I'm not going anywhere."
"Okay." She steadied herself within the warmth of his loving gaze. "Okay."
Rising to his feet, he stretched his hand towards her. "Come on, we're taking a stroll on the beach."
"A stroll?"
"I can't say the other word around our overgrown puppy. C'mon, you need sunlight and air."
"Like a plant, huh?"
"My little Mars Fly Trap. Snares evil doers and food in record-setting volumes," Logan teased.
Laughing, she followed him outside, but he was mistaken about one thing: he was her light, not the garish sun overhead. As long as he remained by her side, she could survive.
Time began to fly, seasons shifting as much as they ever did in the California sun. Light jackets and jeans became a mainstay as she played dutiful nurse to her father, who insisted he could care for himself after a hip replacement. Renovations moved ahead swiftly, converting their triplex into a duplex and tidying up the wear and tear in their future rental suite. In the midst of a series of rapid, albeit short deployments, Penn's trial finally began.
As she'd expected, it was a media circus, largely fed by Penn hiring documentary filmmakers to capture his wrongful prosecution. The husband and wife team had dared to approach Veronica during the trial for an interview and had earned a guttural warning: "That man almost killed me, my father and my husband on our wedding day. He is guilty and you are fools to think otherwise."
The courts had seen it correctly, convicting Penn on a multitude of charges and sentencing him to 320 years. The documentary streaming on Hulu, however? Only 40% of viewers were convinced Penn was actually guilty. Veronica was disgusted, yet unsurprised: had she not been personally involved, she never would have suspected the doughy pizza man with the petty "Spring Breakers suck" motive.
It was mid-January when the bulk of the renovations were finally complete. Logan was deployed and her father still housebound, albeit able to care for himself on the ground floor for short periods. This was a cause for celebration, so she called up Wallace and asked him to join her for the first walkthrough. A mini-bottle of champagne in tow, the long-time friends stepped inside what was now the home of Veronica and Logan Mars.
"I'm so excited to have a grown-up kitchen!" Veronica enthused, cooing at the sight of the remodeled space. "Now we'll actually have room to cook."
"Cook. Sure," Wallace teased.
"Oh come on, that was one time!"
"V, I've caught you two on that counter twice. Mac's caught you three times. The law of averages says you two spend as much time using it for leverage as you do for chopping vegetables."
Veronica playfully shoved Wallace's arm, leading him through the new L-shaped living space. "Like you and Shae didn't christen every surface of your new house in the nude."
"At least I spared my best friend the visual. Oh, this is cool!"
"Isn't it? Because the other unit was kinda front of house and up, it wasn't as neat to join the living rooms as the kitchens, so we made our old living room a sort of mini dining space and turned the new space into a proper living room. The other unit was so much bigger, it made more sense. And watch this!"
Veronica led the way through the living room, pausing to gesture to her right. Just beyond the steps leading to the upper floor was a sliding glass entry into their former bedroom, now an office.
"Lets you cut through the space easily. It's soundproof, but still feels open. Logan's idea."
"Lets him keep an eye on you," Wallace added coyly.
Veronica sighed. "He worries. I get it. I mean…" She lifted the hem of her sweater, revealing the thick scar on her waist. "He has a reason to be scared. I still don't like watching him get into a car. But we deal."
Wallace grimaced. "Yeah, we do. That first two days… It was tough. You almost left us."
Veronica felt her heart skip. "Left you? Wallace, do you mean that I died?"
"You stopped breathing in the ambulance," Wallace confessed, his expression pained. "Your heart was weak, but still there. They had to support your breathing until they got you into the operating room. Logan told me while we were waiting. It messed him up, badly. I thought he was going into shock, he was so pale. Kept saying if you died, it was his fault."
She remembered the cold, remembered leaning into his lap and thinking that he would keep her safe. She remembered sirens, then nothing until the chirping beep of the monitoring machines in her room. No bright lights, no dead relatives offering counsel.
Oh, Logan. She imagined him in the ambulance, hearing those words. Hearing that her lungs had given up on her. Her blood on his hands, literally, as they took her away. You must have been terrified. I would have been.
"Why hasn't he ever told me this?"
"Because of the face you're making right now," Wallace replied, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I'm only telling you because I remember when you two broke up because he was being too protective. This time, Veronica? Let him be. He almost lost you."
"I almost lost him, Wallace," she reminded him quietly. "Those men finding us, me getting shot? It saved his life."
"Alright, so remember how you felt when you thought he was dead, and if he ever pisses you off by hovering outside that glass wall, cut him a little slack. But only a little. Man likes a challenge or he wouldn't have married you."
Veronica laughed, hugging Wallace tightly. "Alright, Papa Bear. I'll take it under advisement. When did you get so damn smart?"
"When I emerged from the womb! Fresh, fly, full of wisdom." Wallace popped his collar with a smirk. "So what's back there?"
"Two bedrooms, one for guests, one to be determined, and a second bathroom. Upstairs is the master, which has its own patio and hot tub. It's the most 09'er thing about the place."
They made their way upstairs, Veronica gasping at the light and airy feel of her new bedroom. Twice as large as the master in her old apartment, one wall was entirely glass, spilling out onto the patio deck. In her mind, she added a bed, sparse furnishings, perhaps twinkle lights to bring a little more night sky inside. Perfect.
"You're going to need privacy fencing," Wallace mused.
"Yeah, that's one of the last jobs on the to-do list. We had them focus on the stuff that we needed to move back in for now. So, what do you think?"
Wallace rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. "Well, I think it'll be alright."
"Alright?"
"Oh yeah, I mean it could use more fabulous windows and a bigger hot tub, but it'll do." Wallace laughed, gesturing to her purse. "Let's toast!"
Veronica pulled two tiny plastic cups from her purse and popped the mini-bottle, laughing as the plastic cork flew down the stairs. They sat on the freshly carpeted floor, tapping their drinks together lightly with a giggle.
"To a new beginning," Wallace toasted.
"To a good foundation with a fresh coat of paint," Veronica added.
Noticing it was close to four, she sat her phone beside her and turned up the ringer. Logan had said if there was a window to Skype, it would be between four and five their time, but he couldn't promise anything. All the same, she hoped she could share her bliss with him today. The contractors had done a beautiful job with their home, and he deserved to see it.
"So, how are things at Satan High?"
Wallace grinned. "Oh, you know, WIFI in every corner, secret societies in the basement. I love it, though. We have a great team already, which is hard to do."
"That's because they have the best coach ever. The mighty Wallace Fennel, legend of Neptune High!"
"It's a good school. The Kane name is just that: a name, and money. It benefits the kids."
Veronica couldn't argue with that logic. While she'd loathed the elite in her high school, their social cache meant the school board had kept Neptune High brimming with technology and courses most schools could never fund.
"How's Noah?"
"He's getting huge! I'm telling you Veronica, being a dad? It sounds like corny shit when people say it changes you, but it really does. Watching this tiny human grow and learn, someone who relies on you for everything but can't wait to do it all on their own…" Wallace shook his head, grinning. "He's fearless, because he doesn't know what this world can do to you yet. I envy him that."
"Can we bottle some of that innocence? My jaded nature has long poisoned that optimism out of me."
Wallace scrolled through his phone, pulling up a video of Noah. Veronica laughed as the toddler announced he would cook his breakfast—by pouring the entire box of cereal on the floor, then drizzling milk on top.
Brushing away tears, Veronica gasped for air. "And Shae didn't kill you for not stopping him?"
"Nah, she posted it on Instagram before I could! Took all the credit!"
Leaning back on her arms, Veronica smiled. "You know, I'm really glad you found Shae. Marriage suits you, Mr. Fennel. Fatherhood, too. Noah's such a good guy. Our monthly hangouts are so easy, and I doubt it's because toddlers are well-behaved by default."
"Well yeah, I always wanted a family. But it takes work. We fight. There are days when Noah is a terror, just throwing things around and refusing to do anything we ask him. But that's life, right?"
"You just make it look… not easy, but natural," Veronica explained. "None of this has ever felt natural for me. Living with Logan is easy—I love him, he loves me. We have a rhythm. But this?" She wiggled her finger at him, her engagement ring sparkling in the midday sun. "This felt suffocating. Terrifying. Doomed to fail. I didn't want to lose him by changing what was working."
Wallace sat his champagne aside, leaning closer. "You've known each other for over two decades. You spent nine years apart and fell right back into that rhythm, right? What difference does a ring make?"
"I know it's irrational. Deep down, I know that. I was even sorta okay with it as a distant hypothetical, but when an actual ring appeared, I short circuited. Ugh, I'm one of those whiny girls now!" Veronica sprawled on her back, groaning. "Weren't you afraid of marriage at all? Afraid to become another statistic, like your mom? Afraid to end up angry and hating each other?"
"Ah, I got you." Wallace considered her question carefully. "I was and I wasn't. I know what your mother did, and it's unforgivable in my books, even if she thought she was protecting you. Stealing your money, wasting your money at rehab, then making a whole new family and pretending you never existed? That's cold, V. It's damn cold."
"It was, although we're at least passably civil now," she replied softly.
"Here's the thing: my mom left my dad young, so young that I only remember my stepfather. And when I lost him, it was because he died. That's a different type of leaving someone. So while yeah, everything went down in high school with Nate and Chicago, I grew up with a good home. Two good parents. I saw it both ways. You didn't see that."
"No, I definitely did not," Veronica agreed. "Never mind the clients at work."
"My mother lied to me, and it hurt. It hurt me deep. I had to work through that and it took time. But for the most part, she's a great mom. I guess my advice is, if you're worried about screwing up your marriage, just remember you have two parents to take an example from: your mom, and your dad. Your dad's a good guy. Be like him."
Veronica nodded thoughtfully, pushing herself back up to a seated position. "You're right. I spend so much time worried about being my mother, that I forget I don't have to be her. Just like Logan chose not to be his father."
"Exactly, Supafly. How do you think I get through being a dad? One of mine is dead, and the other one is a selfish asshole who chose himself and drugs over me, every time. So I try to be like my mom."
"It's working," Veronica assured him, leaning into his shoulder. "Thank you. I forget sometimes that I don't have to do everything alone. That I can ask for advice."
"Oh, I know. But I've learned that when you really need it, you'll come to me. And I'll be here when you need me."
From her phone pealed a familiar bell. Skype incoming call alert. She hurriedly accepted the call, beaming at the sight of Logan's face.
"Hey, sailor. Miss me?"
"Always," Logan replied. "Hey, Wallace! How are you?"
"I'm great, man. The place looks beautiful, but I'll let Veronica give you the tour. See you later?"
"Yes, thank you so much, Wallace." Turning her attention back to her phone, Veronica blew a kiss to Logan. "They've done a wonderful job in here, baby. Wanna see?"
Logan's hand rose and feigned catching her kiss, pocketing it with a grin. "I have about twenty minutes, so hit the highlights."
"I can work with that. Now, look at this bedroom where I fully intend to violate you upon your return…"
"The tide recedes but leaves behind bright seashells on the sand. The sun goes down, but gentle warmth still lingers on the land. The music stops, and yet it echoes on in sweet refrains... For every joy that passes, something beautiful remains."
The pastor paused, glancing in Veronica's direction. "Although we have lost a great man in Logan Echolls, the love his family and friends carry in their hearts for him remains. Through us, we keep his music echoing on, always. In honour of his service to his country, we will close with the traditional Taps and presentation to the family."
The mournful bugle began, and with it, her tears fell anew. Her father's arms wrapped around her, but it was of no comfort at all. This all seemed wrong. It was impossible. Logan couldn't be dead. She didn't feel him gone. In her mind, strange memories insisted that he'd made it out of her car alive, that an altercation had spared him. That she had been shot in the process.
"I'd have a scar," she whispered, her fingers grazing her black dress.
"What is it sweetie?" her father whispered.
"This isn't right," she sobbed. "He's not dead. This can't be real!"
"Oh, Veronica, I'm so sorry."
Her father clung to her tighter as she struggled against the flashes of memory. A gun, a struggle. Making love on the beach in the Virgin Islands. This funeral… oh god, had she imagined the rescue? Deluded herself into thinking he'd survived to avoid facing her guilt?
She watched as a flag was carefully folded and presented to her, faces somber and sad. She thanked them, but the fabric… It felt wrong. It didn't feel like a flag. And if it didn't feel like a flag, was it possible that Logan wasn't dead?
"I need to see him," she demanded, rising to her feet.
"Veronica, there was nothing left to see. We went over this," her father insisted.
She pushed away from him, shoving back Wallace's hands, Mac and Weevil's hands as she rushed towards the casket. The pastor looked on in horror as she flipped the heavy lid open, shouting to the heavens that Logan was not, could not be dead.
When she saw the skull and scattered bones contained within, she began to scream…
"NO! LOGAN!"
Veronica gasped for air, legs kicking wildly as her eyes flew open. Her hand flew to her face, seeking shards of glass as she searched the windows for damage. But these weren't the same windows. She was in a different bed, in a different room.
It was a nightmare. Logan didn't die. He lived. We bought the house.
She walked herself through the facts, palm slicking away the cold sweat coating her forehead as she struggled to slow her breathing. It had been months since she'd had a nightmare like this—and she'd never woken up alone before. Logan, her father, Mac—someone else had always been nearby for comfort.
"Logan," she whimpered, reaching for her phone.
It was four in the morning, dark outside still. It was daytime wherever Logan was, but his calls on this mission had been sporadic at best. All the same, the dread coursing through her veins would not abate.
What if the nightmare is a warning?
Unable to shake her anxiety, she sent a quick email to Logan: Hey, it's me. Have a strange feeling. Need to know you're okay. Call me when you can. Love you.
Beside her, Pony nuzzled her hip, reminding her that this was her beauty sleep time, and only she dictated early morning wake-ups. Veronica's hand ran over her short fur, smoothing circles across her ribs in hopes of steadying herself.
Why are the nightmares back?
Glancing at her phone, she found her answer: Spring Break has begun. It was the anniversary of the Sea Sprite bombing, the day Penn had come into their lives and nearly destroyed them. She may not have consciously remembered, but her brain was keeping score, just as it never failed to remember the passing of Lilly Kane. Hot tears slid down her cheeks, a boiling over of frustration and shame that her life was still being ruled by the events of last year.
Her phone vibrated wildly in her palm and she yelped in surprise. A glance at the screen brought her relief as she accepted the Skype call.
"Logan."
He leaned closer to the screen, tilting his head. "Hey, what's wrong? You look like you've been crying."
"A little. I'm fine now. How are you?"
"I'm good. I was actually waiting until five your time so I could call you before your morning jog. I should be home in a week or two, definitely before our anniversary."
Veronica smiled, rolling onto her side. "That's amazing news. I miss you so much."
"I miss you, too. Why were you crying?"
"It was just a bad dream. Not a big deal. I just needed to hear your voice, that's all."
She could tell he wanted to ask questions, but thankfully, he let them go. "Is Pony taking good care of you?"
"Always, although she hogs more of the bed than her dad does," Veronica joked. "She's also a terrible big spoon."
"Well, if I didn't excel at something, you wouldn't keep me around."
"Oh, you excel at many things, but I remember your rules about your calls being monitored," she replied coyly.
Logan chuckled with her, sipping on coffee. "Hey, how's your dad doing?"
"Great! He's been back at work for a week now. No field stuff yet, just office files, but he's really happy to be there. The hip feels good and he's barely using his cane now. Matty's been a huge help around the office."
"How does she have time to work with you and the motel?"
"Her mom hired a general manager for the motel. She works with us 3 afternoons a week. It helps with the backlogs on filing, answering phones. Lets me get out of the office and not worry about dad. Speaking of out of office, something weird has been happening thanks to Penn's shitty little documentary."
"What's that?"
"We're getting calls for cases from other cities. Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco. Even farther places, like New York and Seattle. It's weird."
Logan mulled this over for a long moment. "Well, you could charge them extra, on top of expenses. There's only so much you can make on cheating spouses in Neptune."
Veronica shifted up in bed, adjusting the pillows behind her. "You think we should do it?"
"Maybe only the bigger stuff worth the effort. Missing persons, that kind of thing. I'm gone so often for work, Veronica. What's holding you back? Your dad's up and working, and Matty is there to help out."
"He is. I just worry."
Logan's attention was drawn away from her, and she knew what that meant: time's up.
"Hey, I have to go. Are you sure you're alright?"
"I am now, promise. I love you."
"Love you. I'll see you soon."
The call ended and Veronica reluctantly shoved her phone aside. Seeing him had eased her worry, but that lingering anxiety would not shake free. To hell with it. I'm taking the day off. Self care. There were several things she'd been meaning to do or look into for herself, but between her father's recovery and Logan being away, her needs had been her lowest priority. Dentist appointment, doctor's appointment, treating herself to a massage, courtesy of a gift certificate from Wallace and Shae—she'd put everything off. She would take this as a sign to slow down and make the time.
Sending a text to her father, she turned off her alarm and curled up with Pony, hoping to catch just a couple more hours of hopefully peaceful sleep.
It had taken two weeks, five days and eleven hours—not that she was counting—to open the door to her house and find the welcome sight of Logan's duffel bag. Pony was snoozing contentedly in the living room on her new dog bed, cradling a brand new chew toy.
"He's home," Veronica whispered happily, setting her bag down quietly.
The last few weeks had been rough. Visions of Logan and her father torn to pieces broke what little sleep she could manage, and she'd had to make liberal use of her under-eye concealer to keep her father from asking questions. She'd found herself on edge, snapping at Matty and her dad over trivial things and quickly apologizing. Matty, too, was on edge, so much so that her father had declared the space Mars In Retrograde and taken a bail jumper case in Fresno to escape the tension.
Logan's calls had been erratic, short and infrequent, but she'd clung to the promise of them to cope with her brain's ghoulish preoccupations. Last night's horror film inside her head involved watching helplessly as a collar bomb decapitated Logan while Penn laughed hysterically.
Tiptoeing upstairs, Veronica found her weary husband asleep in their bed, still in his NWUs which stood out against the pale blue quilt beneath him. Tugging off her sneakers, she crawled into bed beside him, resting her head upon his chest. His heart was steady, sure and slow, his breathing calm. A soothing metronome for her frayed nerves.
"Ron?" he mumbled.
"Shh. Let's nap."
His arms curled around her tightly, his eyes never opening. "Nap," he agreed.
Safe in his arms, she fell into a dreamless sleep for hours, waking to a pitch black sky outside and Pony whining for her late evening bathroom break. Logan stirred beneath her, grumbling at the noise.
"I'll get her," Veronica offered.
"No, my turn," he insisted. "Need to switch back around anyway."
Yawning, Veronica reluctantly rolled off of him. "Alright. I'll order dinner. Vietnamese?"
"Works for me."
She studied him as he changed into street clothes, seeking bruises, blemishes, scars. There was a yellowing bruise on his left hip, and a nasty purple one on the rear of his right calf, but no signs of pain as he pulled on cargo shorts and a black tee. Surface injuries. Those, she could live with.
"Do I pass inspection?" Logan quipped, noticing her scrutiny.
"Same beautiful man I kissed goodbye in January." Pressing up onto her toes, she kissed him hard, reveling in the groan she elicited from him. "Same lips, too. Now go, before Pony pees on our brand new floors."
"If you'd let me buy the mansion with the yard—"
"Ha, ha!"
She followed him downstairs, admiring the rear view on her way to the kitchen. Grabbing her cell, she waved goodbye to Logan and quickly opened the delivery app to order their go-to: Bun Ga Nuong, with a side of spring rolls and chicken satay for Logan. Stepping outside, she walked around the house towards the beach, watching from a distance as Logan and Pony ran in circles on the sand.
Peace.
On his last call, Logan had promised he wouldn't deploy again until after their anniversary, which meant they had at least a week or so together. Her case load was light, easily passed to Matty for background checks and her dad for the legwork. She'd planned it that way, out of cautious optimism. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do for their anniversary—she'd considered Sedona but the thought brought her back to the bomb and that hollow ache in her chest—but she felt grateful they could be together.
Logan made his way towards her now, Pony obediently heeling at his side. It was so unfair. She seldom listened to Veronica, but Logan? His wish was her command. Seeing her waiting, he picked up his pace.
"Food on its way?"
She checked her phone. "Should be here in twenty."
"Good. I'm starving."
They headed inside, settling onto their couch while Pony disappeared into the guest room. Veronica crawled on top of him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"When did you get in?"
"Base at five, got here around ten? Crashed after a quick walk with Pony." His fingers toyed with her hair, looping strands around them and releasing the spirals one by one. "How are you doing?"
"You're here. I'm wonderful."
"Amendment: how were you doing?" At her hesitation, he tugged her closer, tucking her beneath his chin. "The nightmares came back, didn't they?"
"Maybe…"
"I was afraid of that. Maybe buying this place was a mistake."
"No. No, I love it here!" Veronica pressed herself up, meeting his worried gaze. "I promise you, I really don't believe it's the house. It's my internal tragedy clock. I dream of Lilly every year. Now, I'll dream of this, too."
"You know, I work very, very hard to contain my anger, but there are times I really want to abuse my access and meet up with Epner in a private military interrogation room," Logan muttered angrily. "I could kill him. I would kill him, if I ever had the chance and knew I'd get away with it."
"Get in line. I'm first."
"I had a nightmare, too. Three nights ago." Logan's voice was softer now, shaky. "If I tell you about it, will you tell me about yours?"
"Mine always change. It's never quite the same…"
"Tell me about the one that made you cry. The one that made you email me."
Her heart hammered in her chest as she brought the images back into focus. "I was at your funeral. The bomb killed you, and they were burying you. Military honours, Taps. But I couldn't believe it was real, so I opened the casket and it was just… bones…" She bit her lip, willing herself not to cry. "Even in the dream, I knew it wasn't real, but it felt so real, I was afraid it would come true anyway."
"Huh." Logan's hand caressed her cheek, tracing her jawline lightly. "My nightmare was your funeral. You didn't survive the bullet. And after it was all done, after you were laid to rest, I took a boat as far out as I could, and I put a gun to my head. I woke up as I pulled the trigger."
Veronica shuddered at the imagery, her hand fisting in his shirt. "What is wrong with us?"
Logan laughed darkly. "Maybe we love each other too much, I don't know. But the weight of that pain, of considering a world without you in it, was far greater than any I've ever felt. You left Neptune, left me behind, and that gutted me. It did. Yet, I could live, because I knew you were out there, hopefully happy, living the life you deserved."
"I'm living it now," Veronica affirmed, sealing it with a gentle kiss.
A soft knock on the door ended their conversation and signalled the arrival of dinner. Logan took care of paying, while she set the tiny table in their dining nook and lit a small candle in the centre. Plates made up, they settled in, eating quietly at first, but soon returning to their heavy conversation.
"Do you remember my nightmares?" Logan asked quietly.
"I do."
How could she forget? Thrashing, screaming affairs, her name ringing out in a pained voice. Logan near catatonic in his waking hours. Her chest tightened, recalling how helpless she felt.
"I want to tell you why I had them." He pushed his dinner aside, half-eaten. "I can't tell you where I was, but that mission… It went to shit, fast. Worst one I've had in my entire Navy career. We lost half of the men and women in my unit, Veronica. Half of us came home in body bags."
"Oh my God, Logan…" Her hand reached across the table for his, holding it tightly. "I'm so sorry."
"That wasn't… It didn't help. On our final extraction, everything went wrong. My plane got taken out and I had to eject. Everything went wrong…" His voice trailed off, his eyes glazing over as he lost himself in a personal hell. "My main parachute failed to deploy. I was descending fast, too fast, scrambling for my back-up chute, certain I was going to die. We'd had that fight right before I left, remember?"
Fuck. They had fought before that one. She remembered it now. She'd been chafing about the time he was spending with Dick because the deployments were coming fast and furious around then. She missed him and she lashed out, accused him of missing bachelor life. She'd gone to bed angry and woken up to his phone ringing. They'd barely said goodbye.
"I'm falling, flailing, and I start screaming your name, over and over, because if I'm about to die, I want you to hear me. I want you to know that you're the only damn thing on my mind. I'm about to die and I'm terrified you might not know how much I love you. And then my fingers find the ripcord and the emergency chute deploys… and I live. I hit the ground hard, but I'm alive."
"I'm so glad you are," she managed, brushing aside a tear. "When you came back, I was so scared. I knew something was wrong, but I couldn't reach you. I just tried to be there until you came back all the way."
"The nightmares were terrible. Either I was back there, or watching you at my funeral, hurting and angry at me for staying in the Navy. Days were no better. I'd think of the ones we lost, or how stupid I was to leave for deployment that way." His hand squeezed hers, pulling it to his heart. "I've done my best to never leave us in a bad place again. Just in case."
"And the nightmares?"
"Jane and I worked on them, a lot. The one I had on this deployment was the first in a very long time. Veronica, come here." He pulled her to her feet, embracing her tightly. "You've made your opinions known repeatedly, but you have a degree in Psychology. You're smart enough to know that these aren't just run of the mill nightmares, right?"
"Everything I do is special and unique," she deflected weakly.
"You flinch every single time I open the car door."
Fuck, she was busted. "So maybe I get a bit anxious. It's normal, given the circumstances."
"Well, if you ever tire of waking up panicked and crying, Jane can help you find someone to talk to. That's it, that's my pitch. I'm not pushing you. I just don't want you to feel what I felt for those months. Seeing you that morning, being so far away… it broke my heart."
Maybe. For him, maybe.
"I'll consider it."
"I'll take that as a win."
She wrapped her arms around his waist, thinking of failing parachutes and backpacks that ticked. Maybe she would. Maybe it was the only way to save her sanity.
"I have a plan for our anniversary. Want to hear it?"
"Yes, please."
Logan began to sway slowly, dancing to music in his mind. "You, me, Mac's currently empty home in Santa Barbara. Tons of wine, her guest room, us replacing her sheets out of courtesy. No clothes."
"Ooh, tell me more about this 'no clothes' business you speak of…"
"I'd rather show you," Logan murmured, tugging on the hem of her scoop neck tee.
Like breadcrumbs for the lost, they abandoned their clothes in a trail leading to their bed beneath twinkling star lights. Limbs entwined, hands grasping, mouths tasting, they found their way home.
May 14, 2020
She squeezed the stress ball tighter, staring at the floor. Avoiding eye contact.
"Sorry. You asked a question about me, and I told you all about my hometown. All about the case."
"It's quite a story, though," Jane replied softly. "I followed it in the newspaper."
Veronica felt her body tense with anger. "After the documentary aired, a survey showed that only 40% of America thinks Penn did it." She shook her head in disbelief, recalling the feel of the glass shards impaled in her skin. "He really is an evil genius. Who knew?"
Not I. And it almost cost me Logan.
Jane leaned forward, her pendant necklace swaying with the momentum. "What do you think Logan will think about you coming to see me?"
"I think he'll be pissed it took me this long," she admitted, blinking away tears.
"I think he'll be impressed," Jane countered, smiling warmly. "Reaching out shows me that you are on your way."
"To what?"
"To… well-being," Jane replied. "I'm afraid we're out of time, but I'd love to talk to you some more, or if you prefer to see someone who is strictly your therapist, I have a dear friend and colleague I can recommend. Our sessions would remain completely separate and private from my work with Logan, and vice versa."
"Maybe by phone?" Veronica suggested nervously. "I'm heading out of town, and I'm not sure when I'll be back."
Jane was clearly puzzled, given her awareness of Logan's schedule. "Vacation?"
"Case. Since the documentary, we've been getting calls from everywhere. Which is good, because with these nightmares and Logan deployed for another month or so, I kinda wanna be anywhere but here."
Jane nodded thoughtfully. "What's your dad going to do without you?"
"Oh, I think he'll manage. He's got a girlfriend now, plus he's going to have Pony for a while. Matty will help around the office, keep him in line," she added with a smirk.
"If I might not see you for a while, there is something that I think you should have. I'll email it to you. On your wedding day, I asked Logan if he was sure he wanted to get married. He said he was, but I guess he wasn't satisfied with his answer, because after our session, he called my house and left this message. I saved it for our records, and when he asked me about whether you could approach me for help, I asked if I could share it with you someday. He said I could, whenever I thought you might need to hear it. I think now is the right time, Veronica."
"Okay. Thank you, Jane. For listening to me, for helping Logan… Thank you." Veronica rose, passing back the stress ball. "I think this might need a little therapy of its own."
"It's strong, it can take it," Jane assured her. "It's a lot like my clients. Safe travels, Veronica."
Stepping out of Jane's house, Veronica turned her face upwards, feeling the sun's warmth. This was a good decision. As much as she'd balked at therapy over the years. Jane felt like a wise aunt. She could see why Logan liked her. And with Logan deployed since the day after their anniversary and her nightmares persisting since March, she'd recognized that just as she'd reached out to Mac and Wallace over the last year, it was time to seek help with this, too.
Mental health is health, she reminded herself. You wouldn't let an open wound get gangrene when you could treat it and heal it.
Her car was outside, packed and ready for her trip to San Francisco. As Logan had suggested, she'd decided that major cases were worth the travel, and this one had piqued her curiosity immediately. A teenage boy had disappeared after a New Year's Eve party, leaving on a chilly night with no coat, no cash and on foot, headed into the wilderness of Yosemite. He'd been missing for a year, with no trace of him to be found, and his girlfriend wanted closure.
Carefully checking the front and rear seats, she unlocked the vehicle and started the car. She hit the highway in twenty minutes, making excellent time. Passing by a rest stop an hour later, her rumbling stomach decided a quick stop at Wendy's couldn't hurt. She pulled off the highway and entered the drive-through as her phone pinged, ordering a strawberry lemonade and fries.
That has to be Jane's email.
"Three seventy-seven," the cashier cheerfully announced. "Please pull up to the window."
Veronica fumbled through her purse, shoving aside case notes, old CVS receipts and—grr, what are my blood work results doing here? This lack of sleep was messing with her entire routine. Grabbing her wallet, she paid for her food quickly, turning her attention to her phone. As she'd hoped, the alert was indeed from Jane.
What did Logan say about me?
The cashier passed her drink and a small bag and Veronica thanked her, pulling into one of the nearby parking places to open the email. Jane had provided little explanation, only a simple as promised to accompany her file. Veronica stared at the attachment, suddenly hesitant to open it.
It felt strange to listen to something not intended for her, but Jane had obtained Logan's permission. Knowing her husband, he would repeat it if asked to her face, anyway.
Stop being silly, Veronica, play it!
She pulled out onto the highway, merging back into traffic and sipping her lemonade. Her thumb tapped the screen and Logan's voice filled the car. His tone was calm and warm as he spoke of her, just hours before their vows.
"Is it weird to want to marry someone because you respect her? Because you want to be like her?"
Veronica's hands gripped the wheel tighter, a pang of longing in her chest. This deployment was hitting her harder than most; she hadn't even heard from him in a week.
"Because you want children who will inherit her qualities?"
Veronica laughed, a single blast of surprised humor as her right hand absently drifted to her abdomen.
"I want to marry Veronica because she's the toughest human being I've ever met," Logan continued, his voice heavy with emotion. "Blows that would destroy most people? She always picks herself back up."
She remembered making the call to Jane, lab results on the table beside her. Her doctor's words echoing in her ears: "You're about six weeks along, Mrs. Mars. Congratulations." She trusted in the guidance of Wallace: that she could choose to be a good parent, like her father. She was going to need a little help to do that.
"She was the first person in my life who believed I could be a better man. I love her for that. I want to marry her so she knows that I am never going to abandon her like her mother. I want her to believe she's worth sticking around for… I think that better answers your question."
Yanking the sunglasses off her face, she brushed away tears. "Stupid hormones," she cursed.
Logan had always seen right through her, hadn't he? Known her heart better than she'd known it herself, much to her annoyance. But she was right: he'd become that better man she'd seen inside of him. He'd become her rock, a steadying, grounding energy.
Somewhere in Santa Barbara—whether it was in Mac's guest room or beneath the stars in the private yard—she'd surrendered to fate. She was terrified and elated all at once, but determined not to tell Logan—or anyone—until he was safe in her arms again.
Merging into the fast lane, Veronica popped a fry in her mouth and replayed the message. She couldn't wait to see Logan's face when he found out what she planned to do with that fourth bedroom...