Erosion - Part IV - rejeneration
Title: Erosion
Author: rejeneration, but you can call me Jen.
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica, cameo appearance by Dick
Word Count: Part IV: 6100
Rating: NC-17 for language, violence, and masturbation
Summary: Love, actually.
Spoilers/Warnings: Season 2; This is FF. And this chapter, sadly, character death. -sniff-
A/N: Part four of the "epic" I started for loveathons Epic Challenge. The story was originally meant to be only five parts, but it has taken on more meaning the more I've written, so it'll probably be at least seven, if not eight parts when it's done. I'm sorry it has taken me this long to get Part IV out. I've been selfishly indulging myself with other writing. I know it's too late to be judged, but since I've written it for the challenge, I figured I'd continue to post it here.
A/N 2: I stand by the unfailing amounts of love that I send to rindee. Seriously, you should see this stuff before she gets her hot little hands on it. -laugh- [Any typos remaining are my own.]
Feedback is like chocolate coated sex.
Parts I & II || Part III
Part IV
Logan up-shifts, maneuvering the silver X-Type through the heavy, inner city traffic. Coastal highway wraps its way along the ocean, the roadway an intricate contrast of headlights and taillights set against a backdrop of indigo water. Twenty minutes into the drive, Veronica falls asleep; she rests her head on steepled fingers, perching herself against the glass.
The farther out of the city he is, the closer he’s able to watch her, sympathizing with her exhaustion. It’s not like it hasn’t been one hell of a day. Fifteen stitches and a firm lecture about her personal safety being paramount, now more than ever, seem to have taken their toll.
There have been times when he wished it wasn’t such a necessary evil, living his life in relative seclusion. But it affords him the privacy he needs, the kind of seclusion E! and Vh-1 would never allow him. He’s happily exchanged exclusive interviews with Access Hollywood for the minor inconveniences and delayed gratification that come from living outside the spotlight; even if it’s proven to be an unanticipated bitch in cases of emergency.
Not that he’s had any real crises in the past two years. No, his disaster-phase was just shortly north of exit by the time he bought the house. Logan exchanged catastrophe for a mortgage two months after he’d woken up in TJ, in what was loosely passing for a hospital. He managed to check himself out, despite the head wound, and, thanks to bootlegged pharmaceuticals, spent the rest of the day drifting painlessly through Plaza Fiesta, trying to relocate his SUV.
Hell, the X-terra wouldn’t have been hard to spot. If he had a nickel for every time that joke got made, he’d have been… well, it wasn’t like he was a poor man anyway. Unfortunately, the Range Rover was a little harder to pin-point, especially amidst the throng of overly-indulged rich kids’ playthings; SUV’s and Hummer’s as far as the eye could see.
He’d about given up hope, figuring his ride, a chop-shop owner’s wet dream, had been meticulously and systematically diced into parts when he spotted Dick’s head bobbing up and down in the crowd. “Dude, where’s my car?”
“Hey man, what the hell happened to you?” Dick gave him a stern once over. “One minute you’re playin’ grab ass with the sen-ior-itas,” Dick broke into gyration, “and the next… shit, yer gone! What gives?”
“Hell if I know, man. I woke up in a hospital bed stuck between Mother Theresa and some guy’s goat.” Logan smirked, chuckling as Dick’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously dude, hand to God!”
“Damn man, that’s more fucked up than Chinese music,” Dick snorted. Dick’s colloquialisms were always a source of amusement, forcing an unexpected laugh to ripple through Logan’s chest, the pain causing him to secure himself against his friend. Dick seemed to consider Logan for a moment before noticing the gash. “Hey, what happened to your head?”
“Yeah, well, here’s the thing, I was actually hoping you could shed a little light on that, hombre.”
“No se, amigo. Last time I saw you, you were chasing after the worm,” Dick smirked, and winked, slapping Logan across the chest. There must have been bruises he hadn’t even seen, because the pain split him like fire. “Shit! Sorry, man.”
Of course, that would be their last trip to Mexico.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she murmurs groggily, the timbre of her voice reminding him of the Veronica he’d held through night-terrors; the tiny girl he’d comforted after the fall-out of Cassidy’s nose-dive off his rooftop.
“I was just thinking about Dick.”
He’s not sure what he sees in Veronica’s eyes at the mention of that name. It’s always been complicated, more so for her than him, but if she’d ever asked him to ditch Dick, to hang their friendship by a noose, he’d have blindly done it to protect her. Yet, while they were together, she’d never asked and he’d never volunteered. Dick Cassablancas had been a stop-block wedged between them; a topic neither spoke about, nor ever completely worked through.
Sometimes, late at night, when Dick’s head was stuck to Logan’s porcelain, Logan wondered if Dick had ever really considered the bizarreness of it all. The list of shit their friendship had endured was astronomical, and when the bodies had been counted, Dick had been the only friend Logan had left.
“I’m sorry, Logan. I heard.” She stares out at the ocean, her long lashes masking her reaction.
“What’d you hear?” Anger taints his reply, but he can’t help the open display of bitterness; Logan’s never really trusted Neptune when it comes to the accuracy of their idle talk.
“He was on his way back from Tijuana when he was hit by a drunk driver. The car careened into an embankment and Dick was killed on impact.”
The sting of unshed tears slowly replaces his umbrage, dissolving his anger into regret. “Dick… killed by a drunk driver. Even the irony twists the irony of that one.” He huffs a breath of disgust, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “The thing is… I should have been with him. It was the first time I’d ditched him for something since… well, since he’d become a surrogate. I should have been there. If I’d have gone, maybe he’d still be alive.”
“Or maybe you’d both be dead.” The inflection of her tone is frail, the light cascading through her window shrouding her in afternoon shadows.
“One night, about two years after you’d left, he and I were surfing San Miguel. The northwest swell was almost head-high; God it was impressive. Afterwards, we sat in the sand, watching the waves. About six Dos Equis’ into it, he gets all quiet, you know, not at all Dick. Finally, after half an hour, he tells me how sorry he is things never worked out between us. ‘Ronnie would have liked the ocean here,’ he said. ‘We should have taught her how to surf.’”
It’s not going to be enough, and Logan never expected it to be. How could anything make up for what Cassidy’d stolen from her, whatever part Dick might have played in it? There’d been so many versions of the truth; none had ever put the matter to rest. But Logan still thinks of that night with such clarity. He’s positive Dick had been trying to apologize. Yeah, Logan would have sacrificed Dick for Veronica in a heartbeat, to make her feel happy and safe, but in retrospect, he’s damn glad Dick never bailed on him. He’s not sure he could admit it to her, not sure how she’d take it, but he fucking misses his friend.
“His dad never came. He’s buried right next to-” Logan can’t bring himself to say his name out-loud. “But, as far as I know, Dick Sr. has never set foot on U.S. soil to pay his respects.”
Held static by the weight of her stare for a few apprehensive moments, he concentrates on the road in front of him. It’s not that he feels sorry for Cassidy, maybe not even for Dick, but, sometimes, Logan thinks, the world could have done better by both of them. Hell, it could have done better by all of them: Lilly, Duncan, Meg, Veronica -- Logan, too. If he didn’t stop to acknowledge that, the bitterness would have swallowed him whole.
“His dad’s a bastard, Logan, but you were his brother. The only one he had left.” He can see her unmistakably now, can see how hard it is for her to articulate this, but she’s still doing it… for him. “You were there, and, to Dick, that’s all that really mattered. You were always there for him, Logan. You never failed in that.” She reaches over, resting the warmth of her smooth hand over the top of his. The heat travels up his arm, spreading into darker places where emptiness has settled.
“How can you be sure?” he whispers, trying to swallow over the lump in his throat.
“You can never be sure, Logan, but I know you. When you love someone, you try to take care of them the best you can. Even if on occasion, you get a little lost, your heart’s almost always in the right place.”
+ || + || +
“So how did you find me?” He slides the full paneled door open, letting the fresh air billow in. The sunshine bounces off the glass, casting rainbow prisms across the white carpet.
“I tried every alias I could think of. You didn’t make it easy.” Her brow furrows as he watches her, his back to the setting sun, keenly aware he’s being swallowed by the glowing, red corona sinking into the ocean.
“It wasn’t supposed to be easy. Not that I thought you were looking.”
She shakes her head and he’s captivated by the multitude of colors he finds there - honey, gold, flax, wheat; a myriad of blondes she sweeps together behind her ear. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to start with Lilly in the first place.”
It’s an expression he’s seen countless times before. She doesn’t wear it long, hardly a second, but he’s intensely aware of it as it comes and goes. Veronica’s jealous. “The best place to start’s usually at the beginning,” he says irreverently, willfully needling her.
“I guess,” she nods, sets her lips in a firm line while she crosses her arms over her chest. She’s been on edge ever since they got home, ever since he sat her down at the island and proceeded to clean up their mess; dragging a wet cloth through her blood, sweeping up the fragmented glass.
“You’re pissed about this.” A short laugh escapes him. “How can you possibly be upset about my choice in monikers?”
“I’d just figured… you’d have moved on by now.” She seems somber again, like the quiet girl who showed up at his door, not looking for a fight, not seeking a challenge, just searching for a place where she could just be.
“Me?” He taunts, playfully pushing himself away from the door. “Weren’t you the one who used Lilly’s ghost to work your way back into my life?”
“And when I did, you said you weren’t hanging on anymore.”
“I’m not, Veronica. Besides, I seem to recall you liked that little bit of ours. If memory serves, you were the one who used to scribble ‘I love Regina’ into hearts on Lilly’s tennis shoes during lunch.”
“I did,” she admits, looking up to where he’s come to stand in front of her.
“Stupid kid stuff, right? Our alter-egos, further separating us from the crowd?” He throws his hands wide with a smirk. She nods, but he can tell she’s not amused. “Then what is all of this? You’re jealous because I remember her? Or you’re jealous because you think I forgot you?”
“Did you? Forget me?”
“Veronica….” He’s frustrated by her insecurity.
“Did you?” She pushes.
“Of course not,” he reveals on a heavy sigh, dropping to his knees in front of her. He’s almost surprised by how vulnerable she seems. “But it’s not the same. You know it’s not the same.”
“In the hospital, you said no more secrets, no more lies.” Capturing his gaze, her liquid-blue eyes forsake her beleaguering fear.
He nods calmly, slipping his hand reassuringly to her knee. “No more lies, Veronica. Only the truth.” No matter how terrified we are.
“Have you ever forgiven her?” She bites into the flesh of her lower lip, slowly testing the waters.
Gently, he slides beside her, one hand still on her knee, the other resting between his parted legs. “The short answer? No. I haven’t forgiven her. But I don’t hate her for what she did. I probably should, but I don’t.”
“After I found the tapes… I sort of hated her. I sort of hated her for what she did, not just to you, but to all of us.”
Logan drops his head. It shouldn’t be such a revelation to him that Veronica took personal stock in Lilly’s escapades, but, for some reason, he never really thought Veronica had judged Lilly for sleeping with his father. He’d thought that if it didn’t have anything to do with seeking retribution for Lilly’s murder, Veronica just didn’t care.
“That day at the carwash, the day you came back from Mexico, she told me she had a secret. It wasn’t like she’d… well, it wasn’t the first time she’d had that kind of secret,” Veronica inhales, nervously focusing on the tensing muscles in his jaw.
He doesn’t want to hear it. He’s gotten by just fine without knowing the full extent to which Lilly went behind his back and royally screwed him over, but he realizes the only way to heal old wounds is to rip them open, to let them bleed. “How many times?”
“Three,” she answers meekly and he can tell by the expression on her face she’s afraid of the way he’ll take it. “Three that she mentioned; we both know Lilly knew how to hide some things.”
“And apparently, so did you.”
“I’m sorry Logan.” Her voice is soft. “There were times I wanted to tell you.”
“Then why didn’t you, Veronica? I was your friend, too.”
“I was her best friend, Logan.” He watches her hide behind fallen lashes. They both know there’s more to the story, and he waits, with breath held, to see if she’ll come clean. “But,” she whispers tentatively, “it was more than that. I wasn’t strong enough to endure Lilly’s hostility. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid of what she’d do if I did.”
They both know what Lilly was capable of and even though Veronica had never told him, he can’t really fault her for not sharing the dirty details. He wouldn’t have put it past Lilly to make Veronica’s life a miserable hell, turning half the school against her with vicious lies. The lies wouldn’t have been the worst of it, though. To Lilly’s credit, she used the truth even more effectively, like a scalpel with a surgeon’s finesse.
Lilly would have exploited the truth about Veronica’s mother, or, even worse, about Veronica allegedly being Duncan’s half-sister, until she’d run Veronica out of town. The thing that bothers Logan the most is that he knows he would have forgiven Lilly. He would have forgiven her and taken her back, and Veronica would have lost everything because of it.
The profoundness of the paradox between what could have happened and what did happen doesn’t escape him. “So you went to bat for Lilly, kept her secrets, and I was the one who ended up black-balling you.”
“Yep, the truth’s a bitch.” They sit in silence, shoulder to shoulder, both of them thinking. “I overheard you that day in Ms. James’ office. “
“What are you talking about?”
“I know you blamed me for Lilly’s death. More accurately, blamed me for the break-up, for separating you and Lilly. I know you thought you could have saved her, Logan.”
“Jesus, Veronica.” This time, he doesn’t bother trying to hide his anger. He shakes his head, raking his nails through his hair, before he pushes away from her and paces the floor. “Sometimes I can’t believe you.”
“But your inability to understand the lengths I would have gone to in order to find Lilly’s killer doesn’t stop it from being true, does it Logan? You… you wanted to die.” From her mouth it sounds like an unforgivable sin; a crime she’d never even try to understand.
“Oh God!” He wraps his arms around himself, tugging his sleeves over his wrists. “Please.”
She watches him shake, his back turned to her, as she slowly makes her way to his side. She limps to where he leans, sliding the tips of her fingers down his spine in an effort to draw his attention. “Look at me,” she whispers, but he holds himself frozen to the frame. “Look at me,” she says with a little more force. When he does, she cradles his cheek in her soft, tiny hand, her words gentle. “Tell me. Just look me in the eyes and tell me all of it, for once. Don’t try to protect me, don’t bottle it up inside, Logan. Just tell me how you felt. No sarcasm, no cynicism. Just the truth.”
“I wanted to hurt you, Veronica, is that what you want to hear? Even though it was over between Lilly and me, I wanted to make you suffer for everything that happened.” The warmth of her hand and the compassion in her eyes make him weak. He doesn’t deserve her sympathy, so he walks away from her, through the door and onto the balcony overlooking the tumultuous sea. The waves crash against the shoreline, vicious, frothy torrents eroding the surface below. “I thought I had nothing left, Veronica. I didn’t think I could lose anything else… and then I lost it all.”
“Don’t turn your back on me,” she says softly, over the crash of the waves, the lilt in her voice begging him to accept responsibility. “Look at me, Logan.”
He steels himself, rounds the deck to meet her head on. His breath catches in his throat, pain constricting his chest. It’s getting too deep, and he’s afraid of how far it’ll go. “Is this what you want? You want to see all of this?”
Gentle fingers trace across his shirt as she looks up into his eyes. He’s reflected in them, shining back through her tears. “Let me take the pain, Logan. For once, just let me take it for you.”
“Veronica, don’t. Even if I could, I wouldn’t let you have it. We’ve both been damaged, and not just from the wounds we’ve inflicted on each other. I don’t want to hurt you ever again.”
“That’s why we’ve got to do this, Logan. It’s all or nothing, right now. We can’t partially commit to this. It’s all or nothing, no turning back.” She shakes her head slowly, sadly. It’s what they have to do in order to mend.
Breathing in, her palm to his chest, following the shallow rise and fall, he slips his hand over hers, gripping it so she’s unable to set him free; incapable of letting him drift off all alone. “I wanted to make you pay, Veronica. I made you pay. But I always loved you.”
Conflicting emotions filter across her face; confusion, sadness, longing and awe, but it happens in the span of a heartbeat, and then she kisses him. Her lips moves over his like she’s never tasted him before, and their kiss is filled with a raw kind of energy they’ve never shared. It’s like kissing her with nothing between them, naked, stripped of all the secrets that have prevented them from ever really touching. Secrets, secrets have always been hot between them, but this… it’s like being branded.
Pulling back, he takes a sharp, deep breath, panting just a little from the sudden heat. That’s the way it is between them - quick and untamed - and he’s determined not let it spiral out of control. “I always loved you,” he whispers with some finality, resting his forehead to hers, sliding his thumb along her bottom lip. “I’m sorry I made you the victim. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Shh,” she whispers, threading her fingers in his hair. “This isn’t about apologies. It’s not about playing catch-up for all the mistakes we’ve made. It’s about starting over. It’s about letting go of the past so we can move on.”
Taking his hand in hers, she leads him back to the couch. “How many times have you done something and wished you could take it back?” The question is obviously rhetorical, so he smirks a little as he listens. “The second I told Lilly about Yolanda, I regretted it. I’ve asked myself a thousand times why I did it… what ever possessed me… and I still don’t know to this day.”
“Like telling Duncan about your files.”
“Yeah, only in this case, it was much worse.”
“It was only worse because Lilly made it that way. Christ, what right did she have to be upset with me? She was the one fucking Aaron and probably Weevil for all I know!” His hands articulate his anger and she swiftly grabs them, clutching them in hers.
“I’m sorry she hurt you, Logan. And I’m sorry you forced yourself to watch the tapes. I know why you did it. I know you said you did it so you could testify; I just never believed it was the only reason.” Releasing one of his hands, she slowly draws her fingertips down his cheek, over his neck, tracing them against his pulse.
He watches her, his eyes darkening. She wants all of his secrets. It pisses him off, the way she wheedles under his skin, pushing for more because she knows it’s there. But he wants to know all of the things she’s hiding, too, so he reminds himself it’s only fair. Still, she has so much more of him than he has of her. He gives himself over to her without even trying. And now, with her fingers skimming across his skin, he can barely think. Instead of concentrating on his irritation, he shuts his eyes, silently accepting her comfort.
“I didn’t watch them to torture myself,” he finally murmurs. “I know that’s what you think. I know that’s what most people think, but you’re all wrong. I didn’t have to watch the tapes to confirm what I already knew about Lilly. And if you think Aaron fucking her was the worst thing he’d ever done to me, then you’re mistaken. I just didn’t have any of the other incidents on videotape, though I guess the DVD of Mom sort of counts,” he weaves his hands in front of him, his lips toying with a brittle smile. “I wanted him to pay. For what he did to you. For what he did to Mom. For what he ended up doing to Lilly. I watched because I wanted to imagine him helpless. I watched because I wanted to be the one to put him away.”
“To save us all,” she whispers, but he doesn’t face her. She lightly draws her thumb over his wrist, and draws the back of her hand over his cheek.
“I could never save anyone, Veronica. I wanted to, but I never could.”
“That’s not true.” She angles his chin so he has no option but to look at her. “You saved me, Logan. You’re still saving me,” she whispers.
He stretches back into the maroon sectional, and rules be damned, draws Veronica up his body and onto his lap. Extending his legs, he lays her flat against his chest, wrapping his arm tenderly around her waist.
After a while, she shifts so she can study him, a solemn expression clouding her features. Her fingertips delicately slip underneath his shirt. Without words she lightly caresses the first scar she finds, compelling him with her gaze and her actions to understand what she’s asking.
“Veronica,” he blows out on a trembling breath, holding the exhale too long. They’re crossing over so much ground. Sprinting a marathon through subjects they’ve never touched - all of these unspoken agreements between them, forged long ago.
“Did you cry?” There are tears in her voice and he knows that even if he didn’t, she would, and he’s not sure he can take it. “How old were you?”
“I dunno… ten? Ten maybe.” Her hands instinctively slide lower, finding another and he shivers, shivers at the way she knows his scars and bruises, maybe even better than he does. “Fifteen. Duncan and I drank half his single malt scotch.” Again they move, finding the zig-zag wound that curves around his side. Taking a deep breath, he purses his lips, trying to steady his reply. “Hunting.” It’s all he can say without losing it.
“I want you to be able to tell me how he hurt you, Logan,” she whispers, ghosting her fingertips over his forehead, her blue eyes like crystal. Tucking her hands securely at his sides, she stretches lean, blanketing herself across him, “but I know what it’s like, needing to keep it all inside.” The gentle weight of her cheek returns to his chest, making him feel… safe. And that’s what this is all about, building a place of inviolability where they can learn to trust one another. If he can show her, teach her… well he’s used to being the one who makes the big leaps.
Shutting his eyes, drawing in a harrowing breath, Logan hardens himself against the pain. “It was just the two of us. Things were fine; that’s the way it was with him. Everything okay, until it just… wasn’t. That’s what made it the nightmare, you know? You never knew when it was coming.
“His agent called. He lost a role to some younger guy. I don’t even remember what I did. I just remember…” He swallows shallowly, hand traveling absently down her spine. “I just remember him showing me the blade. He’d pinned me to the ground, all of his body weight on top of me, held the point so I could see it.” Logan’s words are quiet, impassive; he disengages himself from the images in his head. “His eyes, they were crazy, like it wasn’t even him. I didn’t move, I didn’t say a word; I just…waited for it.
“He angled the blade against my stomach. I remember thinking it was cold,” he huffs a small laugh. “He didn’t look at me, he just carved into my skin, like I was something he could just cut open, dissect.” Faintly he shakes, extricating himself from the cold anathema that twines around him. “It didn’t last long. Three cuts and he looks up at me and says, ‘Son, you’re bleeding.’ I’m just lucky he didn’t stab me and leave me to die.”
She’s shaking by the time he finishes, tears streaming down her face, holding silent vigil for… what? He’s not sure he even wants to know. Crushing her against him, he buries his head in her hair and tries to forget. There is nothing about Aaron he wants to remember. “I think that’s enough sharing for tonight,” he says.
Through her tears, she tacitly agrees.
+ || + || +
Neither one of them starts off a conversation about the logistics of their new life; after their conversation on the couch, Veronica doesn’t search out his room, but follows him into one of the guest rooms on the other side of the house. It’s just as large as his, saturated with the scent of cherry wood, and private, with its own adjoining bath. Everything is brand new, polished and clean, and as he smoothes out the fresh linens over the mattress, he thinks back to their earlier exchange.
“You wanted to know if I ever forgot about you. Well this,” he gestures with his shoulder, bending over the bed to fit and tuck the corners like his mother had shown him once, “when I saw the wood, it reminded me of you. Something you’d like, I dunno.” He doesn’t search out her expression. Instead he makes his way to the large walk-in closet, pulling a plastic-encased spread from its bag. He doesn’t tell her he tried to sleep on it for a while; he feels he should be able to keep a few secrets. In the end, it was just too hard without her by his side.
She glides her hand over the brocade, and he can tell by the expression on her face, she likes it. Stepping away from the bed as he continues to make it, she drops into one of the padded plum chairs, a small sitting area adorning one side of the room. He can feel her eyes on him; feel her concentrating on his movements as he finishes up. “You’ll be comfortable in here?”
He’s nervous now. It’s the kind of thing he can’t easily hide. It wasn’t like he’d had a concrete plan when, in the hospital, he’d made the offer to her. But she stands up and comes to him, rests both of her hands over his forearms, looking over his shoulder at the room. “It’s going to be just fine, Logan,” she murmurs. Then she looks up at him, her brow scrunching with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Tired.” He tilts his head back, closing his eyes for just a second, trying to chase away the headache that’s been pounding between his temples for the better part of the last hour. “Are you leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” she breathes, her fingers tightening around his arms like she doesn’t want to let him go.
“Let me work out a flight for you?”
“It’s okay. I’ve got the car and… it’ll just be easier this way.”
“You are coming back?” He knows he sounds frightened, but it’s a fact, this girl is responsible for some of his greatest fears.
Still, when she smiles that thousand watt smile of hers, he finds himself relaxing. “I’ll be back. I want to make this work.” Leaning up, using his forearms for leverage, she brushes her lips over his. He’s compelled to hold her at the waist, wanting to bring her up against him, to start kindling the heat that always simmers between them. But this time, she’s the one that pulls away.
“I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you then.”
“Tell me what?”
“I have to go away for a few days, too. My nephew turns five, and Trina will have my head if I’m not there to participate in the festivities.”
Veronica’s face lights with gentle bemusement. He has fond memories of that expression. Fond Camelot memories of the first time she ever looked at him like she had no idea who he was, trying to make some sense out of the concern in his eyes. Electricity still shoots through him like a volt whenever he thinks of that moment; the first time he angled his mouth against hers, trying to find something in the fusion of their skin. “God, Trina has a son….”
“Xavier. She met the guy while she was playing an extra on some Jenny McCarthy special. Paulo. Italian and dreamy,” Logan smirks, batting his eyelashes at her playfully, thinking back to Trina’s widespread gushing. His voice takes on a mock falsetto as he reenacts, “Oh Logan, he’s just perfect.”
In truth, Logan had been nothing but happy for Trina. They’d grown a little closer over the years, though he often attributed it to the fact that their bonding was done primarily through long-distance phone calls. If they’d been forced to endure each other’s company during their formative detente, things might have turned out much differently; almost certainly ending in Trina’s death or dismemberment.
“God, Logan, we’ve missed so much.”
“Yeah,” he nods, considering briefly how much they’ve been through.
“What’s Xavier like?”
“Like a miniature hurricane.” Logan can’t help but laugh. “He’s got more energy than any kid I’ve ever seen.” He holds up his hand in simulated surrender. “Granted, it’s not like I’m surrounded by five year olds, but still. He’s… incredible.”
“I wish I could meet him.”
“So do I,” he smiles fully. The last time they’d been together, Logan had convinced Trina to let him to take Xavier to the park, just the two of them. Over-protective mother she was, the nanny trailed the two of them the entire time they were out. But Logan had gotten away with ice-cream, half of which ended up on his pant leg and down the front of Xavier’s shirt, and six or seven balloons, all of which they released into the perfect blue sky before they were ushered home for nap-time.
“You’re going to be okay... back in Neptune I mean?” He knows Veronica, knows she can handle herself, but he’s sure there are some things even Veronica doesn’t have a strategy for, such as leaving a fiancé at the altar. Logan clears his throat to cover his scoff. At least Tom will have the courtesy of finding out she’s left him without having to confirm it through Keith Mars.
“I’ll be fine,” she murmurs. He’s not sure he believes her.
Logan turns down the corner of her bed, then slowly makes his way to the door. “I’ll be down the hall if you need anything. Sweet dreams, Veronica.”
“Night, Logan.”
+ || + || +
The early morning sun wakes him and he absently shifts, seeking out Veronica’s warmth. It takes him a few minutes to remember why she’s not next to him, to curb his anxiety that any or all of this has been a dream, and when he gets up, it’ll be to an empty place. But when he stumbles into his bathroom, semi-disoriented, he finds her things still on his counter. Slowly, he breathes a small sigh of relief, and turns the water on in his shower.
Tossing his clothes to the cold marble floor, he steps under the heavy stream, the heat loosening all his tensed muscles but one. Squeezing a small amount of gel into his palm, he slowly works his hand back and forth over his throbbing cock. This is the only way it’s going to work between them; he’ll have to find ways to take care of things so the strain doesn’t become unbearable.
Water trickles over his naked body, caressing him like gentle fingers, and the pressure of his fist wrapping around his rock hard dick makes him gasp. He puts one hand out to secure himself against the tiled wall, the muscles in his ass clenching with every downstroke. He closes his eyes, locking his jaw, the water cascading through the hollows of his cheeks; each erratic breath mirrored back to him in the overheated space. He draws in a damp and shaky breath, expelling it in a groan that rips from his throat as he starts to come, body shaking when he finally gives in. Whimpering Veronica’s name, a last tremor racking through his frame, he jolts when he notices the distinctly feminine gasp.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, quickly washing the rest of the soap off of his skin, before sliding the door back to grab a towel. By the time he’s out, she’s gone, and he silently curses himself for not twisting the lock behind him.
Traipsing down the hall, white towel affixed at his hip, he raises his fist to knock on her door, but stops abruptly when he overhears her from the other side.
“Listen, I know you’re worried. I know I left without an explanation, but this is something I had to do.” She pauses, and then starts again, “Look, I know you’re upset, but I’ll be home late tonight and we’ll talk. I love you, Dad.”
He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him, why he’s never considered Keith into their equation, but the fact that Veronica fled Neptune without telling her father where she was headed shocks the shit out of him. And by the sound of things, it wasn’t going to be a happy homecoming.
Logan lifts his hand to knock once more, but the door opens before he’s able and their eyes collide. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, lowering his arm. “I didn’t anticipate you... front and center for my morning constitutional.” He smirks slowly, tracking the blush as it sweep across her skin.
“I just wanted to get my things,” she murmurs, though less rattled than the blush lets on. Leaning against her doorframe, watching her, his arms crossed over his chest, he’d say his earlier performance had gotten to her.
“Gonna miss me?” Sex before exodus has never sounded so good. He doesn’t make an effort to hide the effect it’s having, the towel tenting over his erection.
“I think you’re going to miss me. But by the sounds of it,” her voice slides a seductive octave, “you’ve taken matters into your own hands.” She presses her tongue into the side of her cheek, grinning slyly; the only thing he can think of is fucking the smirk right off her face. “You’ll be late for your flight if you don’t get moving,” she nods at the clock, turning back to her packing.
He pulls the towel away from his hips and throws it on top of her suitcase, making his way back down the hall, intensely aware of her staring after him.
Bored? Want to read more of my crap? You can find it here.
Author: rejeneration, but you can call me Jen.
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica, cameo appearance by Dick
Word Count: Part IV: 6100
Rating: NC-17 for language, violence, and masturbation
Summary: Love, actually.
Spoilers/Warnings: Season 2; This is FF. And this chapter, sadly, character death. -sniff-
A/N: Part four of the "epic" I started for loveathons Epic Challenge. The story was originally meant to be only five parts, but it has taken on more meaning the more I've written, so it'll probably be at least seven, if not eight parts when it's done. I'm sorry it has taken me this long to get Part IV out. I've been selfishly indulging myself with other writing. I know it's too late to be judged, but since I've written it for the challenge, I figured I'd continue to post it here.
A/N 2: I stand by the unfailing amounts of love that I send to rindee. Seriously, you should see this stuff before she gets her hot little hands on it. -laugh- [Any typos remaining are my own.]
Feedback is like chocolate coated sex.
Parts I & II || Part III
Part IV
Logan up-shifts, maneuvering the silver X-Type through the heavy, inner city traffic. Coastal highway wraps its way along the ocean, the roadway an intricate contrast of headlights and taillights set against a backdrop of indigo water. Twenty minutes into the drive, Veronica falls asleep; she rests her head on steepled fingers, perching herself against the glass.
The farther out of the city he is, the closer he’s able to watch her, sympathizing with her exhaustion. It’s not like it hasn’t been one hell of a day. Fifteen stitches and a firm lecture about her personal safety being paramount, now more than ever, seem to have taken their toll.
There have been times when he wished it wasn’t such a necessary evil, living his life in relative seclusion. But it affords him the privacy he needs, the kind of seclusion E! and Vh-1 would never allow him. He’s happily exchanged exclusive interviews with Access Hollywood for the minor inconveniences and delayed gratification that come from living outside the spotlight; even if it’s proven to be an unanticipated bitch in cases of emergency.
Not that he’s had any real crises in the past two years. No, his disaster-phase was just shortly north of exit by the time he bought the house. Logan exchanged catastrophe for a mortgage two months after he’d woken up in TJ, in what was loosely passing for a hospital. He managed to check himself out, despite the head wound, and, thanks to bootlegged pharmaceuticals, spent the rest of the day drifting painlessly through Plaza Fiesta, trying to relocate his SUV.
Hell, the X-terra wouldn’t have been hard to spot. If he had a nickel for every time that joke got made, he’d have been… well, it wasn’t like he was a poor man anyway. Unfortunately, the Range Rover was a little harder to pin-point, especially amidst the throng of overly-indulged rich kids’ playthings; SUV’s and Hummer’s as far as the eye could see.
He’d about given up hope, figuring his ride, a chop-shop owner’s wet dream, had been meticulously and systematically diced into parts when he spotted Dick’s head bobbing up and down in the crowd. “Dude, where’s my car?”
“Hey man, what the hell happened to you?” Dick gave him a stern once over. “One minute you’re playin’ grab ass with the sen-ior-itas,” Dick broke into gyration, “and the next… shit, yer gone! What gives?”
“Hell if I know, man. I woke up in a hospital bed stuck between Mother Theresa and some guy’s goat.” Logan smirked, chuckling as Dick’s mouth dropped open. “Seriously dude, hand to God!”
“Damn man, that’s more fucked up than Chinese music,” Dick snorted. Dick’s colloquialisms were always a source of amusement, forcing an unexpected laugh to ripple through Logan’s chest, the pain causing him to secure himself against his friend. Dick seemed to consider Logan for a moment before noticing the gash. “Hey, what happened to your head?”
“Yeah, well, here’s the thing, I was actually hoping you could shed a little light on that, hombre.”
“No se, amigo. Last time I saw you, you were chasing after the worm,” Dick smirked, and winked, slapping Logan across the chest. There must have been bruises he hadn’t even seen, because the pain split him like fire. “Shit! Sorry, man.”
Of course, that would be their last trip to Mexico.
“Penny for your thoughts,” she murmurs groggily, the timbre of her voice reminding him of the Veronica he’d held through night-terrors; the tiny girl he’d comforted after the fall-out of Cassidy’s nose-dive off his rooftop.
“I was just thinking about Dick.”
He’s not sure what he sees in Veronica’s eyes at the mention of that name. It’s always been complicated, more so for her than him, but if she’d ever asked him to ditch Dick, to hang their friendship by a noose, he’d have blindly done it to protect her. Yet, while they were together, she’d never asked and he’d never volunteered. Dick Cassablancas had been a stop-block wedged between them; a topic neither spoke about, nor ever completely worked through.
Sometimes, late at night, when Dick’s head was stuck to Logan’s porcelain, Logan wondered if Dick had ever really considered the bizarreness of it all. The list of shit their friendship had endured was astronomical, and when the bodies had been counted, Dick had been the only friend Logan had left.
“I’m sorry, Logan. I heard.” She stares out at the ocean, her long lashes masking her reaction.
“What’d you hear?” Anger taints his reply, but he can’t help the open display of bitterness; Logan’s never really trusted Neptune when it comes to the accuracy of their idle talk.
“He was on his way back from Tijuana when he was hit by a drunk driver. The car careened into an embankment and Dick was killed on impact.”
The sting of unshed tears slowly replaces his umbrage, dissolving his anger into regret. “Dick… killed by a drunk driver. Even the irony twists the irony of that one.” He huffs a breath of disgust, tapping his fingers against the wheel. “The thing is… I should have been with him. It was the first time I’d ditched him for something since… well, since he’d become a surrogate. I should have been there. If I’d have gone, maybe he’d still be alive.”
“Or maybe you’d both be dead.” The inflection of her tone is frail, the light cascading through her window shrouding her in afternoon shadows.
“One night, about two years after you’d left, he and I were surfing San Miguel. The northwest swell was almost head-high; God it was impressive. Afterwards, we sat in the sand, watching the waves. About six Dos Equis’ into it, he gets all quiet, you know, not at all Dick. Finally, after half an hour, he tells me how sorry he is things never worked out between us. ‘Ronnie would have liked the ocean here,’ he said. ‘We should have taught her how to surf.’”
It’s not going to be enough, and Logan never expected it to be. How could anything make up for what Cassidy’d stolen from her, whatever part Dick might have played in it? There’d been so many versions of the truth; none had ever put the matter to rest. But Logan still thinks of that night with such clarity. He’s positive Dick had been trying to apologize. Yeah, Logan would have sacrificed Dick for Veronica in a heartbeat, to make her feel happy and safe, but in retrospect, he’s damn glad Dick never bailed on him. He’s not sure he could admit it to her, not sure how she’d take it, but he fucking misses his friend.
“His dad never came. He’s buried right next to-” Logan can’t bring himself to say his name out-loud. “But, as far as I know, Dick Sr. has never set foot on U.S. soil to pay his respects.”
Held static by the weight of her stare for a few apprehensive moments, he concentrates on the road in front of him. It’s not that he feels sorry for Cassidy, maybe not even for Dick, but, sometimes, Logan thinks, the world could have done better by both of them. Hell, it could have done better by all of them: Lilly, Duncan, Meg, Veronica -- Logan, too. If he didn’t stop to acknowledge that, the bitterness would have swallowed him whole.
“His dad’s a bastard, Logan, but you were his brother. The only one he had left.” He can see her unmistakably now, can see how hard it is for her to articulate this, but she’s still doing it… for him. “You were there, and, to Dick, that’s all that really mattered. You were always there for him, Logan. You never failed in that.” She reaches over, resting the warmth of her smooth hand over the top of his. The heat travels up his arm, spreading into darker places where emptiness has settled.
“How can you be sure?” he whispers, trying to swallow over the lump in his throat.
“You can never be sure, Logan, but I know you. When you love someone, you try to take care of them the best you can. Even if on occasion, you get a little lost, your heart’s almost always in the right place.”
+ || + || +
“So how did you find me?” He slides the full paneled door open, letting the fresh air billow in. The sunshine bounces off the glass, casting rainbow prisms across the white carpet.
“I tried every alias I could think of. You didn’t make it easy.” Her brow furrows as he watches her, his back to the setting sun, keenly aware he’s being swallowed by the glowing, red corona sinking into the ocean.
“It wasn’t supposed to be easy. Not that I thought you were looking.”
She shakes her head and he’s captivated by the multitude of colors he finds there - honey, gold, flax, wheat; a myriad of blondes she sweeps together behind her ear. “I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to start with Lilly in the first place.”
It’s an expression he’s seen countless times before. She doesn’t wear it long, hardly a second, but he’s intensely aware of it as it comes and goes. Veronica’s jealous. “The best place to start’s usually at the beginning,” he says irreverently, willfully needling her.
“I guess,” she nods, sets her lips in a firm line while she crosses her arms over her chest. She’s been on edge ever since they got home, ever since he sat her down at the island and proceeded to clean up their mess; dragging a wet cloth through her blood, sweeping up the fragmented glass.
“You’re pissed about this.” A short laugh escapes him. “How can you possibly be upset about my choice in monikers?”
“I’d just figured… you’d have moved on by now.” She seems somber again, like the quiet girl who showed up at his door, not looking for a fight, not seeking a challenge, just searching for a place where she could just be.
“Me?” He taunts, playfully pushing himself away from the door. “Weren’t you the one who used Lilly’s ghost to work your way back into my life?”
“And when I did, you said you weren’t hanging on anymore.”
“I’m not, Veronica. Besides, I seem to recall you liked that little bit of ours. If memory serves, you were the one who used to scribble ‘I love Regina’ into hearts on Lilly’s tennis shoes during lunch.”
“I did,” she admits, looking up to where he’s come to stand in front of her.
“Stupid kid stuff, right? Our alter-egos, further separating us from the crowd?” He throws his hands wide with a smirk. She nods, but he can tell she’s not amused. “Then what is all of this? You’re jealous because I remember her? Or you’re jealous because you think I forgot you?”
“Did you? Forget me?”
“Veronica….” He’s frustrated by her insecurity.
“Did you?” She pushes.
“Of course not,” he reveals on a heavy sigh, dropping to his knees in front of her. He’s almost surprised by how vulnerable she seems. “But it’s not the same. You know it’s not the same.”
“In the hospital, you said no more secrets, no more lies.” Capturing his gaze, her liquid-blue eyes forsake her beleaguering fear.
He nods calmly, slipping his hand reassuringly to her knee. “No more lies, Veronica. Only the truth.” No matter how terrified we are.
“Have you ever forgiven her?” She bites into the flesh of her lower lip, slowly testing the waters.
Gently, he slides beside her, one hand still on her knee, the other resting between his parted legs. “The short answer? No. I haven’t forgiven her. But I don’t hate her for what she did. I probably should, but I don’t.”
“After I found the tapes… I sort of hated her. I sort of hated her for what she did, not just to you, but to all of us.”
Logan drops his head. It shouldn’t be such a revelation to him that Veronica took personal stock in Lilly’s escapades, but, for some reason, he never really thought Veronica had judged Lilly for sleeping with his father. He’d thought that if it didn’t have anything to do with seeking retribution for Lilly’s murder, Veronica just didn’t care.
“That day at the carwash, the day you came back from Mexico, she told me she had a secret. It wasn’t like she’d… well, it wasn’t the first time she’d had that kind of secret,” Veronica inhales, nervously focusing on the tensing muscles in his jaw.
He doesn’t want to hear it. He’s gotten by just fine without knowing the full extent to which Lilly went behind his back and royally screwed him over, but he realizes the only way to heal old wounds is to rip them open, to let them bleed. “How many times?”
“Three,” she answers meekly and he can tell by the expression on her face she’s afraid of the way he’ll take it. “Three that she mentioned; we both know Lilly knew how to hide some things.”
“And apparently, so did you.”
“I’m sorry Logan.” Her voice is soft. “There were times I wanted to tell you.”
“Then why didn’t you, Veronica? I was your friend, too.”
“I was her best friend, Logan.” He watches her hide behind fallen lashes. They both know there’s more to the story, and he waits, with breath held, to see if she’ll come clean. “But,” she whispers tentatively, “it was more than that. I wasn’t strong enough to endure Lilly’s hostility. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid of what she’d do if I did.”
They both know what Lilly was capable of and even though Veronica had never told him, he can’t really fault her for not sharing the dirty details. He wouldn’t have put it past Lilly to make Veronica’s life a miserable hell, turning half the school against her with vicious lies. The lies wouldn’t have been the worst of it, though. To Lilly’s credit, she used the truth even more effectively, like a scalpel with a surgeon’s finesse.
Lilly would have exploited the truth about Veronica’s mother, or, even worse, about Veronica allegedly being Duncan’s half-sister, until she’d run Veronica out of town. The thing that bothers Logan the most is that he knows he would have forgiven Lilly. He would have forgiven her and taken her back, and Veronica would have lost everything because of it.
The profoundness of the paradox between what could have happened and what did happen doesn’t escape him. “So you went to bat for Lilly, kept her secrets, and I was the one who ended up black-balling you.”
“Yep, the truth’s a bitch.” They sit in silence, shoulder to shoulder, both of them thinking. “I overheard you that day in Ms. James’ office. “
“What are you talking about?”
“I know you blamed me for Lilly’s death. More accurately, blamed me for the break-up, for separating you and Lilly. I know you thought you could have saved her, Logan.”
“Jesus, Veronica.” This time, he doesn’t bother trying to hide his anger. He shakes his head, raking his nails through his hair, before he pushes away from her and paces the floor. “Sometimes I can’t believe you.”
“But your inability to understand the lengths I would have gone to in order to find Lilly’s killer doesn’t stop it from being true, does it Logan? You… you wanted to die.” From her mouth it sounds like an unforgivable sin; a crime she’d never even try to understand.
“Oh God!” He wraps his arms around himself, tugging his sleeves over his wrists. “Please.”
She watches him shake, his back turned to her, as she slowly makes her way to his side. She limps to where he leans, sliding the tips of her fingers down his spine in an effort to draw his attention. “Look at me,” she whispers, but he holds himself frozen to the frame. “Look at me,” she says with a little more force. When he does, she cradles his cheek in her soft, tiny hand, her words gentle. “Tell me. Just look me in the eyes and tell me all of it, for once. Don’t try to protect me, don’t bottle it up inside, Logan. Just tell me how you felt. No sarcasm, no cynicism. Just the truth.”
“I wanted to hurt you, Veronica, is that what you want to hear? Even though it was over between Lilly and me, I wanted to make you suffer for everything that happened.” The warmth of her hand and the compassion in her eyes make him weak. He doesn’t deserve her sympathy, so he walks away from her, through the door and onto the balcony overlooking the tumultuous sea. The waves crash against the shoreline, vicious, frothy torrents eroding the surface below. “I thought I had nothing left, Veronica. I didn’t think I could lose anything else… and then I lost it all.”
“Don’t turn your back on me,” she says softly, over the crash of the waves, the lilt in her voice begging him to accept responsibility. “Look at me, Logan.”
He steels himself, rounds the deck to meet her head on. His breath catches in his throat, pain constricting his chest. It’s getting too deep, and he’s afraid of how far it’ll go. “Is this what you want? You want to see all of this?”
Gentle fingers trace across his shirt as she looks up into his eyes. He’s reflected in them, shining back through her tears. “Let me take the pain, Logan. For once, just let me take it for you.”
“Veronica, don’t. Even if I could, I wouldn’t let you have it. We’ve both been damaged, and not just from the wounds we’ve inflicted on each other. I don’t want to hurt you ever again.”
“That’s why we’ve got to do this, Logan. It’s all or nothing, right now. We can’t partially commit to this. It’s all or nothing, no turning back.” She shakes her head slowly, sadly. It’s what they have to do in order to mend.
Breathing in, her palm to his chest, following the shallow rise and fall, he slips his hand over hers, gripping it so she’s unable to set him free; incapable of letting him drift off all alone. “I wanted to make you pay, Veronica. I made you pay. But I always loved you.”
Conflicting emotions filter across her face; confusion, sadness, longing and awe, but it happens in the span of a heartbeat, and then she kisses him. Her lips moves over his like she’s never tasted him before, and their kiss is filled with a raw kind of energy they’ve never shared. It’s like kissing her with nothing between them, naked, stripped of all the secrets that have prevented them from ever really touching. Secrets, secrets have always been hot between them, but this… it’s like being branded.
Pulling back, he takes a sharp, deep breath, panting just a little from the sudden heat. That’s the way it is between them - quick and untamed - and he’s determined not let it spiral out of control. “I always loved you,” he whispers with some finality, resting his forehead to hers, sliding his thumb along her bottom lip. “I’m sorry I made you the victim. I’m so fucking sorry.”
“Shh,” she whispers, threading her fingers in his hair. “This isn’t about apologies. It’s not about playing catch-up for all the mistakes we’ve made. It’s about starting over. It’s about letting go of the past so we can move on.”
Taking his hand in hers, she leads him back to the couch. “How many times have you done something and wished you could take it back?” The question is obviously rhetorical, so he smirks a little as he listens. “The second I told Lilly about Yolanda, I regretted it. I’ve asked myself a thousand times why I did it… what ever possessed me… and I still don’t know to this day.”
“Like telling Duncan about your files.”
“Yeah, only in this case, it was much worse.”
“It was only worse because Lilly made it that way. Christ, what right did she have to be upset with me? She was the one fucking Aaron and probably Weevil for all I know!” His hands articulate his anger and she swiftly grabs them, clutching them in hers.
“I’m sorry she hurt you, Logan. And I’m sorry you forced yourself to watch the tapes. I know why you did it. I know you said you did it so you could testify; I just never believed it was the only reason.” Releasing one of his hands, she slowly draws her fingertips down his cheek, over his neck, tracing them against his pulse.
He watches her, his eyes darkening. She wants all of his secrets. It pisses him off, the way she wheedles under his skin, pushing for more because she knows it’s there. But he wants to know all of the things she’s hiding, too, so he reminds himself it’s only fair. Still, she has so much more of him than he has of her. He gives himself over to her without even trying. And now, with her fingers skimming across his skin, he can barely think. Instead of concentrating on his irritation, he shuts his eyes, silently accepting her comfort.
“I didn’t watch them to torture myself,” he finally murmurs. “I know that’s what you think. I know that’s what most people think, but you’re all wrong. I didn’t have to watch the tapes to confirm what I already knew about Lilly. And if you think Aaron fucking her was the worst thing he’d ever done to me, then you’re mistaken. I just didn’t have any of the other incidents on videotape, though I guess the DVD of Mom sort of counts,” he weaves his hands in front of him, his lips toying with a brittle smile. “I wanted him to pay. For what he did to you. For what he did to Mom. For what he ended up doing to Lilly. I watched because I wanted to imagine him helpless. I watched because I wanted to be the one to put him away.”
“To save us all,” she whispers, but he doesn’t face her. She lightly draws her thumb over his wrist, and draws the back of her hand over his cheek.
“I could never save anyone, Veronica. I wanted to, but I never could.”
“That’s not true.” She angles his chin so he has no option but to look at her. “You saved me, Logan. You’re still saving me,” she whispers.
He stretches back into the maroon sectional, and rules be damned, draws Veronica up his body and onto his lap. Extending his legs, he lays her flat against his chest, wrapping his arm tenderly around her waist.
After a while, she shifts so she can study him, a solemn expression clouding her features. Her fingertips delicately slip underneath his shirt. Without words she lightly caresses the first scar she finds, compelling him with her gaze and her actions to understand what she’s asking.
“Veronica,” he blows out on a trembling breath, holding the exhale too long. They’re crossing over so much ground. Sprinting a marathon through subjects they’ve never touched - all of these unspoken agreements between them, forged long ago.
“Did you cry?” There are tears in her voice and he knows that even if he didn’t, she would, and he’s not sure he can take it. “How old were you?”
“I dunno… ten? Ten maybe.” Her hands instinctively slide lower, finding another and he shivers, shivers at the way she knows his scars and bruises, maybe even better than he does. “Fifteen. Duncan and I drank half his single malt scotch.” Again they move, finding the zig-zag wound that curves around his side. Taking a deep breath, he purses his lips, trying to steady his reply. “Hunting.” It’s all he can say without losing it.
“I want you to be able to tell me how he hurt you, Logan,” she whispers, ghosting her fingertips over his forehead, her blue eyes like crystal. Tucking her hands securely at his sides, she stretches lean, blanketing herself across him, “but I know what it’s like, needing to keep it all inside.” The gentle weight of her cheek returns to his chest, making him feel… safe. And that’s what this is all about, building a place of inviolability where they can learn to trust one another. If he can show her, teach her… well he’s used to being the one who makes the big leaps.
Shutting his eyes, drawing in a harrowing breath, Logan hardens himself against the pain. “It was just the two of us. Things were fine; that’s the way it was with him. Everything okay, until it just… wasn’t. That’s what made it the nightmare, you know? You never knew when it was coming.
“His agent called. He lost a role to some younger guy. I don’t even remember what I did. I just remember…” He swallows shallowly, hand traveling absently down her spine. “I just remember him showing me the blade. He’d pinned me to the ground, all of his body weight on top of me, held the point so I could see it.” Logan’s words are quiet, impassive; he disengages himself from the images in his head. “His eyes, they were crazy, like it wasn’t even him. I didn’t move, I didn’t say a word; I just…waited for it.
“He angled the blade against my stomach. I remember thinking it was cold,” he huffs a small laugh. “He didn’t look at me, he just carved into my skin, like I was something he could just cut open, dissect.” Faintly he shakes, extricating himself from the cold anathema that twines around him. “It didn’t last long. Three cuts and he looks up at me and says, ‘Son, you’re bleeding.’ I’m just lucky he didn’t stab me and leave me to die.”
She’s shaking by the time he finishes, tears streaming down her face, holding silent vigil for… what? He’s not sure he even wants to know. Crushing her against him, he buries his head in her hair and tries to forget. There is nothing about Aaron he wants to remember. “I think that’s enough sharing for tonight,” he says.
Through her tears, she tacitly agrees.
+ || + || +
Neither one of them starts off a conversation about the logistics of their new life; after their conversation on the couch, Veronica doesn’t search out his room, but follows him into one of the guest rooms on the other side of the house. It’s just as large as his, saturated with the scent of cherry wood, and private, with its own adjoining bath. Everything is brand new, polished and clean, and as he smoothes out the fresh linens over the mattress, he thinks back to their earlier exchange.
“You wanted to know if I ever forgot about you. Well this,” he gestures with his shoulder, bending over the bed to fit and tuck the corners like his mother had shown him once, “when I saw the wood, it reminded me of you. Something you’d like, I dunno.” He doesn’t search out her expression. Instead he makes his way to the large walk-in closet, pulling a plastic-encased spread from its bag. He doesn’t tell her he tried to sleep on it for a while; he feels he should be able to keep a few secrets. In the end, it was just too hard without her by his side.
She glides her hand over the brocade, and he can tell by the expression on her face, she likes it. Stepping away from the bed as he continues to make it, she drops into one of the padded plum chairs, a small sitting area adorning one side of the room. He can feel her eyes on him; feel her concentrating on his movements as he finishes up. “You’ll be comfortable in here?”
He’s nervous now. It’s the kind of thing he can’t easily hide. It wasn’t like he’d had a concrete plan when, in the hospital, he’d made the offer to her. But she stands up and comes to him, rests both of her hands over his forearms, looking over his shoulder at the room. “It’s going to be just fine, Logan,” she murmurs. Then she looks up at him, her brow scrunching with concern. “Are you okay?”
“Tired.” He tilts his head back, closing his eyes for just a second, trying to chase away the headache that’s been pounding between his temples for the better part of the last hour. “Are you leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” she breathes, her fingers tightening around his arms like she doesn’t want to let him go.
“Let me work out a flight for you?”
“It’s okay. I’ve got the car and… it’ll just be easier this way.”
“You are coming back?” He knows he sounds frightened, but it’s a fact, this girl is responsible for some of his greatest fears.
Still, when she smiles that thousand watt smile of hers, he finds himself relaxing. “I’ll be back. I want to make this work.” Leaning up, using his forearms for leverage, she brushes her lips over his. He’s compelled to hold her at the waist, wanting to bring her up against him, to start kindling the heat that always simmers between them. But this time, she’s the one that pulls away.
“I guess now’s as good a time as any to tell you then.”
“Tell me what?”
“I have to go away for a few days, too. My nephew turns five, and Trina will have my head if I’m not there to participate in the festivities.”
Veronica’s face lights with gentle bemusement. He has fond memories of that expression. Fond Camelot memories of the first time she ever looked at him like she had no idea who he was, trying to make some sense out of the concern in his eyes. Electricity still shoots through him like a volt whenever he thinks of that moment; the first time he angled his mouth against hers, trying to find something in the fusion of their skin. “God, Trina has a son….”
“Xavier. She met the guy while she was playing an extra on some Jenny McCarthy special. Paulo. Italian and dreamy,” Logan smirks, batting his eyelashes at her playfully, thinking back to Trina’s widespread gushing. His voice takes on a mock falsetto as he reenacts, “Oh Logan, he’s just perfect.”
In truth, Logan had been nothing but happy for Trina. They’d grown a little closer over the years, though he often attributed it to the fact that their bonding was done primarily through long-distance phone calls. If they’d been forced to endure each other’s company during their formative detente, things might have turned out much differently; almost certainly ending in Trina’s death or dismemberment.
“God, Logan, we’ve missed so much.”
“Yeah,” he nods, considering briefly how much they’ve been through.
“What’s Xavier like?”
“Like a miniature hurricane.” Logan can’t help but laugh. “He’s got more energy than any kid I’ve ever seen.” He holds up his hand in simulated surrender. “Granted, it’s not like I’m surrounded by five year olds, but still. He’s… incredible.”
“I wish I could meet him.”
“So do I,” he smiles fully. The last time they’d been together, Logan had convinced Trina to let him to take Xavier to the park, just the two of them. Over-protective mother she was, the nanny trailed the two of them the entire time they were out. But Logan had gotten away with ice-cream, half of which ended up on his pant leg and down the front of Xavier’s shirt, and six or seven balloons, all of which they released into the perfect blue sky before they were ushered home for nap-time.
“You’re going to be okay... back in Neptune I mean?” He knows Veronica, knows she can handle herself, but he’s sure there are some things even Veronica doesn’t have a strategy for, such as leaving a fiancé at the altar. Logan clears his throat to cover his scoff. At least Tom will have the courtesy of finding out she’s left him without having to confirm it through Keith Mars.
“I’ll be fine,” she murmurs. He’s not sure he believes her.
Logan turns down the corner of her bed, then slowly makes his way to the door. “I’ll be down the hall if you need anything. Sweet dreams, Veronica.”
“Night, Logan.”
+ || + || +
The early morning sun wakes him and he absently shifts, seeking out Veronica’s warmth. It takes him a few minutes to remember why she’s not next to him, to curb his anxiety that any or all of this has been a dream, and when he gets up, it’ll be to an empty place. But when he stumbles into his bathroom, semi-disoriented, he finds her things still on his counter. Slowly, he breathes a small sigh of relief, and turns the water on in his shower.
Tossing his clothes to the cold marble floor, he steps under the heavy stream, the heat loosening all his tensed muscles but one. Squeezing a small amount of gel into his palm, he slowly works his hand back and forth over his throbbing cock. This is the only way it’s going to work between them; he’ll have to find ways to take care of things so the strain doesn’t become unbearable.
Water trickles over his naked body, caressing him like gentle fingers, and the pressure of his fist wrapping around his rock hard dick makes him gasp. He puts one hand out to secure himself against the tiled wall, the muscles in his ass clenching with every downstroke. He closes his eyes, locking his jaw, the water cascading through the hollows of his cheeks; each erratic breath mirrored back to him in the overheated space. He draws in a damp and shaky breath, expelling it in a groan that rips from his throat as he starts to come, body shaking when he finally gives in. Whimpering Veronica’s name, a last tremor racking through his frame, he jolts when he notices the distinctly feminine gasp.
“Fuck,” he murmurs, quickly washing the rest of the soap off of his skin, before sliding the door back to grab a towel. By the time he’s out, she’s gone, and he silently curses himself for not twisting the lock behind him.
Traipsing down the hall, white towel affixed at his hip, he raises his fist to knock on her door, but stops abruptly when he overhears her from the other side.
“Listen, I know you’re worried. I know I left without an explanation, but this is something I had to do.” She pauses, and then starts again, “Look, I know you’re upset, but I’ll be home late tonight and we’ll talk. I love you, Dad.”
He’s not sure why it didn’t occur to him, why he’s never considered Keith into their equation, but the fact that Veronica fled Neptune without telling her father where she was headed shocks the shit out of him. And by the sound of things, it wasn’t going to be a happy homecoming.
Logan lifts his hand to knock once more, but the door opens before he’s able and their eyes collide. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, lowering his arm. “I didn’t anticipate you... front and center for my morning constitutional.” He smirks slowly, tracking the blush as it sweep across her skin.
“I just wanted to get my things,” she murmurs, though less rattled than the blush lets on. Leaning against her doorframe, watching her, his arms crossed over his chest, he’d say his earlier performance had gotten to her.
“Gonna miss me?” Sex before exodus has never sounded so good. He doesn’t make an effort to hide the effect it’s having, the towel tenting over his erection.
“I think you’re going to miss me. But by the sounds of it,” her voice slides a seductive octave, “you’ve taken matters into your own hands.” She presses her tongue into the side of her cheek, grinning slyly; the only thing he can think of is fucking the smirk right off her face. “You’ll be late for your flight if you don’t get moving,” she nods at the clock, turning back to her packing.
He pulls the towel away from his hips and throws it on top of her suitcase, making his way back down the hall, intensely aware of her staring after him.
Bored? Want to read more of my crap? You can find it here.