Archive of Our Own ^beta

Veronica doesn’t hate running errands. Not usually, that is. But when it's below freezing in the middle of the night in New York city, your fondness for it disappears. 

Funny. 

But of course, Topanga is stressing over the family dinner they’re having tomorrow (Where the Matthews and Lawrences get together to see how their kids and a strange friend of their kids are doing alone in New york.) and Cory is catching the brunt of her stress. So when Topanga is asking him how he could forget the one thing she asked for (more cheese), Veronica takes the opportunity to get out of the apartment and offers to buy it. She all but snatched her leather jacket off of the coat rack and made a beeline for the elevator, ignoring Corys cries of’ “ Don’t leave me here! ”

As she walks down the street, a layer of thin ice covering everything she sees, She’s caught in between a feeling of relief and an uncomfortable chill.Shes had to survive in the cold with only a leather jacket for years, but shes finally gotten used to good, warm clothing. Clothing that doesn’t need layers upon layers to even pretend to be appropriate for the biting chill. 

Arriving at the corner store with a hand painted sign, she mentally braces herself to open the cold,cold door with her bare hands (Gloves were an afterthought. But no way was she going back empty handed. Frostbite can’t happen by just touching a cold handle? Can it?). While thinking about this, not too hard as to avoid a thinking cramp, the door opens for her.

The face of the man opening it however, stops her in her tracks. Veronica recognizes him instantly. 

His hair is shorter, not as long as it was back in John Adams high, or in the apartment she once called home. He still sports the same earring though, and the same leather jacket. The only new edition to his look is a cane. He holds it in one hand, walking steadily. It’s decorated with stickers that she can assume are from students. Small, glittery stickers with well wishes and some of skateboards and dragons, appropriate for a teacher like him. 

He’s carrying a bag with a cheap brand of wine, a small smile playing on the corner of his lips. A one of a kind, domestic, house broken feeling that doesn’t make you want to run. She recognizes the smile from her days living with the man, and then her time living in the apartment alone with Angela. She recognizes every part of her pseudo brother-father figure-almost guardian. 

Veronica isn’t sure he’ll recognize her. 

She’s aware that yes, she’s the same person, but no longer is she confused– drowning constantly in layers upon layers of too big clothes (although she does enjoy a large jacket, or pair of baggy jeans every once in awhile.),wearing the skin of a boy named Shawn who she never was. Her hair goes past her shoulders and her voice is higher now. Maybe, he won’t even recognize her. Maybe she’ll spend the rest of her life wondering what Jonathan Turner was doing in New York, somehow relocated not even 30 minutes away.

She’ll go home, telling Cory and Topanga in a whirlwind of locked away emotions and complicated feelings about who this man was, if not her Dad. She’ll call Angela tomorrow, careful about the time zones and jet lag she must constantly be experiencing; And tell her all about it. How she met the one adult who was constantly there for her, no matter what, until he wasn’t. Until he almost died, slipped into a coma, and then moved to New York and developed a tremor in his hand.

Veronica is resigned to this. Believing in some way, that being a Hunter means letting go of some things that could be good. (shes learned that’s not really it, that when good is given to her she’s allowed to take it. That the world isn’t out to get her, and that some good things really are just good.). 

What would she even say to Jon? Hey, remember me, I’m your daughter-student-ward-legal responsibility. Do you remember me? I’m a girl now, actually,I always was. Do you want to get coffee and catch up? Want to meet my girlfriend? Want to see photos from Cory and Topangas wedding?Of me and my brother? Did you know I have a brother? Did you know that my Dad died, and Virna isn’t my real mother?

Suddenly, she realizes that yes, she has a lot to say to him. 

Veronica has never been a coward, but she has never been forward with situations that make her so distressed. Yelling, shouting, closing off– she can do. But reach out emotionally?She’s better at it now than when she was 14, but still not the best. It doesn’t help that when she’s around Jon– she feels 14 again. 

As Jon starts to walk down the street, his breaths coming out with icy condensation from the cold December air, Veronica starts to walk too, adamant to not lose track of the man. She tries not to think about how shes never been faster than him before. That when she was young, it took awhile to catch up to Jon. Now it barely takes any effort. 

She does this for a minute or two, realizing only halfway through what a creep she must look like. She didn't even get to go in the store, too caught up in all the emotions of seeing Jon again. Hopefully Topanga isn’t too mad about only having 3 cheeses for her macaroni instead of 4. She’s sure she’ll understand. 

Her heeled boots make an unmistakable loud sound on the sidewalk. Every few steps, every four clacks of her heels she thinks I’ll say something now, I’ll re-introduce myself now. 

She never does. 

They’re stopped at a street light, right next to a pole with hundreds of flyers stacked on top of eachother. She leans against it, nervously tapping the sides of it until she’s sure her expertly painted nails have been filed down. 

Jonathan looks at her. His expression isn’t full of recognition yet. He has the furrowed brow look she’d get when she did anything stupid as a kid. Like hiding that one girl behind the couch, or trying to skip school because she was ‘cool’ with a teacher. 

Veronica keeps tapping, trying to feign nonchalance and ignorance. Like they just happen to be going down the same street, at the same time at 12am. Yeah, cause that’s so believable. But she commits to it anyway. Tapping her nails and looking somewhere past Jonathans head, avoiding his face and all the visible differences in it. 

He looks at her, then back at the street. 

He looks back at her again, then back at the street, eyebrows drawn up in confusion. 

He looks at her one more time, and Veronica is committed to pretending to not notice. That’s until, well, Jon doesn’t look away. Confusion washes over him, along with a bit of recognition. Recognition buried under the obvious differences in her appearance. (Angelas Dad gave her the same look, before clapping her on the back and telling her to continue treating his daughter right, not making a spectacle out of her looks.) 

The street sign flashes a pixelated man walking, giving them their cue to walk across the street, yet neither of them move. Jon is still observing her, and Veronica can almost see the years of stress wash off of him. 

“Are you–”  He starts, before cutting himself off. 

Veronica knows this is the moment of truth. The moment Jonathan proves to still be the adult she remembers him as, forever tolerant, (although not willing to put up with her bullshit,) forever accepting. 

Jonathan leans on his cane more, looking down at the sidewalk as his brows furrow in a thinking gesture. The streetlight catches on his silver earring. Veronica wonders if it really is the same one from 4 years ago. Maybe she’s just hoping something about him hasn’t changed. 

“Stacey?” is where he starts. 

Veronicas eyebrows shoot up. Not in offense, but she didn’t expect him to remember that name. Not to remember the offhand comment she made. One about a sister that ran off when she was 11, who she probably won’t ever see again. She didn’t expect Jon to really be listening to her,  listening enough that small information she said is still ingrained in his mind. Ingrained through the accident, through the turn of the century. 

Jon tries again, seeing the reaction on the girls face, not one of who the hell are you talking to? But one of how do you know that name?

She–they, if this is who Jon thinks it is, they don’t look the same. Not just in outward presence– it’s in the way they carry themself. 

Careful to not disrespect, to not activate the flight instincts that he knows used to be instilled within them, he asks, 

“Are you my kid?” 

Veronica stares at him in silence. Wide eyed and scared, blue eyes boring into brown. Shes been following him for 4, almost 5 blocks now. BUt when given the opportunity to speak– she says nothing.

But Jons face looks so kind, so full of the parental love shes seen on Mr. and Mrs Matthews face for Cory, on Angelas Dads face for her. And she wants it so bad, she doesn't want to lose Jon again. The words come out like throw up– without her permission and all too fast. 

“Yes and, Jon if you just give me a minute, I can explain okay?” 

She suddenly has the urge to hide her painted nails, to pull her hair back into something shorter. To rip the heels off her boots. She’d do all of that, just for a second more to talk to JOn. 

“Hunter–” Veronica cuts him off, the feeling that she’s in trouble and has to explain herself, justify her existence trumping any rational thought. 

“I know, it’s weird. But I feel more like myself– I am more like myself than I ever was when I knew you.” 

“Hunter it’s–” Jon tries again, sensing the emotional onslaught his kid is about to dump onto him (not that he ever minds, but he knows how much it takes out of them).

“So please, don’t hate me Jon.” She finishes lamely. The words come out too honest, quiet and scared like a frightened dog. Tears prick at her eyes ( huh, when did that happen?) and she goes to wipe them, painted nails directly in Jons line of vision now. 

Jon rests his cane against the streetlight and places his bag of wine carefully on the ground before walking to her. Slowly, ever so carefully he places his hands on her shoulders. Veronica goes rigid. Tears fall from her eyes, and her face scrunches up like it does when it feels like her whole body is crying, not just her face. Like the emotion is coming out of every part of her body. It’s too much for just her eyes to contain. 

“What’s your name?” Is all he asks. Words firm and comforting, unwavering.

Veronica considers lying. Considers saying that name she never wants to go back to, and pretending all of this is just a crazy prank. Maybe even say it’s drag, although that might not go over well with Jon either. But the look in Jons eyes, like he truly wants to see her. Like he sees past that hole inside of her, the one that will follow her around the rest of her life. The hole that’s filled with a stable family, parents, someone to always rely on. Jon looks like he wants to be allowed to mend it again. 

Veronica always hoped, somewhere inside of her, that he would. 

“My name’s Veronica.” 

Jon doesn’t waver. He doesn’t look angry, confused or disgusted. His eyebrows draw up in sympathy, maybe even guilt for not noticing her before. 

“You’re not just my kid, are you?” Jon asks, voice quiet like he’s soothing a wounded animal. His grip on her shoulders loosens as the tears in her eyes subside. 

The tear tracks are cold, and the condensation in front of her own face makes her certain she’s going to catch a cold if she stays out here any longer- but none of that matters. Not when her Dad is standing in front of her. 

“No. Haven't been, for awhile.” 

Jon looks hurt for a second, before quickly dismissing the feeling. He is the one who left. He doesn’t get to feel hurt.

“I’m your daughter,” Veronica says, and after a few moments of silence she adds, “Is that okay?” 

Jon looks at her. Truly looks at her. Not as a mirage of someone he used to know, or a confusing display of a child he once took care of. He sees her, Veronica Hunter, his daughter.

“Of course it’s okay.” The words come out earnest, and Veronica can’t help it.

She throws herself into Jons arms, hugging him for every year she missed him (every year since she was 16,). “Sorry,” she says after a few seconds, remembering the cane and how Jon isn’t as young as he used to be. He laughs quietly, returning the hug, albeit less intensely. “It’s fine, I’m not that old, Veronica.”. 

She laughs, but tears have started falling again ( wow, she really needs to get a handle on that .), so her next words come out warbled and are almost indiscernible “Whatever you say old man.”. Jon doesn’t return her quip, and she doesn’t find any discomfort in it. She simply stays in the hug, letting herself feel loved. 

“Veronica,” Jon says again, testing the the feel of the word, “it’s a beautiful name.”