Veronica Mars Fic: "In Case of Emergency"
This show is still eating my brain, and it appears I cannot stop writing fic. This is a Keith/Logan story (no, not like that!), with Veronica also factoring in, naturally. Spoilers to 222. Big love to the bestest beta ever, mcfeste.
Feedback always very appreciated. :)
The emergency room doors open with a whoosh of air, and Keith winces at the sudden clamour. A screaming baby and various shouts combine with the chatter of the people crowding the waiting room to create a din that doesn’t make the knot of anxiety in his gut any smaller.
When he approaches the reception desk, a harried-looking nurse with a bad perm barely glances up from some paperwork. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Logan Echolls. I got a call, and the woman only said that there’s been an accident.”
“You his father?” Her pen scratches over a clipboard and she flips a page.
Keith barks out a laugh. “Wow, you really don’t get out much.”
At this, the nurse looks up with a glare. “Excuse me?”
“Forget it. No, I’m not his father. His parents are both deceased.”
She walks over to a big dry-erase board and scans it quickly. “Echolls, Echolls…ah, here we go.” I’ll tell the doctor you’re here and she’ll be out to see you when she can. Just take a seat.”
“Can you just tell me if he’s okay?”
There’s a sudden howl of pain from the other side of the room, and the nurse darts off without answering. Keith leans over the desk and squints at the board. Beside Logan’s name are the words “head lac” and some other short forms that Keith doesn’t understand. He glances around and walks behind the reception desk, heading to the curtained areas.
No one gives him a second look as he peers around the exam rooms, everyone too busy running to and fro, shouting orders and reading clipboards. A stretcher carrying an old woman is ferried out into the hallway, and Keith has to press up against the wall as it speeds by towards the bank of elevators. He glances into the room it came from, and there’s Logan lying on his own stretcher, pushed up against the wall in the corner.
Keith exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Logan?”
Logan’s eyes open slowly and he raises his hand in a weak half-wave. “Hey.” A bandage covers part of his forehead, and drops of blood splatter his t-shirt and jeans.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. They said I got broadsided by a pick-up, and I guess I hit my head on the window. I don’t really remember.”
“So you were wearing your seatbelt?” Keith has a standard lecture to deliver if he wasn’t.
“Yeah. I think my head got knocked sideways.” A couple of words slur, and Keith can see him trying to focus.
“What did the doctor say?”
“I’ve got a concussion, and they wouldn’t let me leave without someone picking me up. I think they’re afraid I’ll drop dead outside the door and sue them from beyond the grave.”
Keith nods. “A valid concern.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, I’m sure you had better things to do on a Saturday night.”
“Yeah, the Padres are in the fifth inning by now, and without me watching and doing my voodoo, the game’s probably going to hell in a handbasket.”
Logan smiles faintly. “Sorry. It’s just that with Veronica in San Fran, I didn’t really…” He trails off and glances away.
Keith already knows that Logan didn’t have anyone else to call. He thinks about this boy in his kitchen, cooking pancakes and holding his daughter. Putting his hand on Logan’s shoulder, he squeezes gently. “Anytime.”
“Thanks.” Logan looks down and clears his throat. “So, I don’t know where the doctor is. Things got really crazy a while ago, I think there was a big pile-up or something. Or maybe I was in it. I don’t know.” His brow furrows and he rubs his eyes. “I wonder where my car is.”
“You mean that bright yellow eyesore? I can only hope it will never be fit to drive again for the sake of the beautification of Neptune.”
“Hey. What’s wrong with my car?” Logan huffs just a bit.
“The only thing it has going for it is that it’s not quite as obnoxious as a Hummer.”
“I’ve always wanted one of those…” Logan’s eyes drift shut.
“Let me see if I can find the doctor. Be back in a second.” Keith goes into the hall and after talking to five different people, gets a promise that the doctor will be over shortly. Keith isn’t sure he believes it, but chooses to be optimistic.
When he returns, another patient on a stretcher has been squeezed into the tiny room, and he has to turn sideways to get back to Logan. “Not enough room at the inn, huh?” Logan doesn’t answer, his eyes shut and lips parted, chest rising and falling steadily.
Keith lets him sleep, and tries not to stare too much at the unconscious woman on the other gurney. She is deathly pale, but Keith can’t see any injuries. He’s thinking about looking at her chart - once a snoop, always a snoop - when the doctor finally arrives.
“Hello, Mr…?”
“Mars. Keith Mars. I’m a friend.”
The young doctor shakes his hand firmly. “Mr. Mars, thanks for coming. Logan has a grade two concussion. If I had a bed, I’d admit him overnight, but we’re over capacity as it is.” She holds out a pamphlet. “Here’s a list of symptoms he might experience.”
Keith scans the piece of paper, nodding. The doctor continues, “The symptoms could come and go, but if they get worse after twenty-four hours, you might want to bring him back in for some more tests.”
“Does he need any medication?”
“Just acetaminophen for the headaches and any muscle pain he might experience from the impact of the accident. No aspirin, or anything that causes drowsiness. And you’ll need to wake him every few hours tonight.”
“Okay. Anything else I need to know?”
Handing over more literature, she says, “That should be it for now. He should rest for a week, and needs to be careful about playing any contact sports for a few months. There’s also some information on post-concussion syndrome there, but hopefully he’ll be up and around and totally back to normal in seven days. He’ll need to have his sutures removed by then, so he can come back in and we’ll make sure there are no other complications.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Keith shakes the woman’s hand again and she’s off to tend to other patients. Keith looks down at Logan and nudges his arm gently. “Logan? Time to go.”
Logan murmurs something indistinct and opens his eyes. He blinks up at Keith, disoriented. “Huh?”
“You’re in the hospital, and it’s time to go. Remember?”
“Right.” He shakes himself awake and winces as he sits up.
Keith puts a steadying hand on his arm as Logan swings his legs over the side of the stretcher and stands up. He sways briefly, and Keith tightens his grip. “Easy now.”
Logan takes a breath and blows it out, and his gaze seems sharper. “It’s okay. I was just kind of out of it for a second there.”
Keith lets go of Logan's arm, but sticks close by as they make their way through the crowded ER. Outside, the fresh air seems to help, and Logan climbs into the car without assistance. As they head out towards the shore, Logan looks over in confusion. “The hotel’s the other way.”
“I know. You’re coming back to my place. Doctor says you can’t stay alone.”
“But I’m fine. Really, I appreciate it, but-”
Keith pulls up to a red light and fixes Logan with A Look. “This isn’t up for debate. Doctor’s orders.”
Logan turns to the window, and quietly says, “Okay.”
*
“Did you eat dinner earlier?”
Logan pulls Keith’s faded Padres sweatshirt over his head and his brow furrows. “I don’t remember. I think I was going out to get food; I’ve had everything on that room service menu a thousand times.”
“It must get kind of old after a while.”
“Yeah. It does. Seems fun at first, but…” He balls up his t-shirt and shrugs. “Anyway, I’m not hungry.”
“Well, you should eat. My mother always used to say an empty stomach is asking for trouble. I’ll whip something up, nothing too heavy. Here,” he says, as he hands Logan a pair of pajama bottoms. “They might be a bit too short, but they’ll do.”
He leaves Logan to finish changing out of his blood-stained clothes and goes to the kitchen. The cupboards aren’t very full, but he finds a can of chicken noodle soup that he pours into a saucepan.
When Logan comes out, he doesn’t have to be told to lie down on the couch, where Keith has left a pillow and a couple of blankets. Logan had refused the offer of Veronica’s bed, and Keith didn’t argue.
The soup begins to simmer, and Keith half-fills a bowl, taking it over to Logan with a spoon. Logan grimaces. “Thanks, but I’m really not hungry.”
Keith ignores his protests. “Are you going to sit up, or do I have to feed you?”
With a sigh, Logan pushes himself up a bit on the pillow and takes the soup. Keith sits down in his armchair and waits, watching. After Logan obediently takes a few spoonfuls, Keith turns on the TV. He puts the volume on low and nods towards the two Tylenol sitting beside a glass of water on the table. “Doctor said it should make you feel better.”
“Okay.” Logan puts down his bowl only too eagerly and swallows the pills.
“Now finish the rest of your soup.”
*
Keith dozes off during late-night SportsCenter, waking with a start when Logan stumbles by. Clutching the wall, Logan almost makes it to the bathroom door before dropping to his knees and vomiting all over the floor. He coughs and heaves, emptying the contents of his stomach. Keith is glad he hadn’t tried to force any other food on him, and feels a pang of guilt about the soup.
He pats Logan on the back and helps him to his feet, maneuvering him around the mess and into the bathroom, flipping down the toilet seat before sitting him down. He darts back into the living room to grab Logan’s glass, refilling it at the bathroom sink.
Logan coughs weakly and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, nausea is to be expected. Here, drink this.” He holds the glass up to his mouth, and Logan takes a few sips before coughing violently.
“You gonna be sick again?”
Logan is pale, eyes watery and bloodshot. He shakes his head, wincing. “I don’t think there’s anything left. Fuck, my head hurts.” He looks up at Keith, like he’s just remembered who he’s talking to. “Sorry.”
Keith smiles. “It’s okay, I bet my head would fucking hurt, too.” He opens a drawer and rummages around before pulling out a toothbrush. He cracks the plastic container and squeezes toothpaste onto the bristles. “Here, this’ll make you feel better.”
Logan brushes, and when he stands up to spit in the sink, Keith hovers close by. The last thing he needs is for Logan to fall and split his skull on the hard tiles. Logan spits and rinses. “Thanks.”
He wavers as he turns, and Keith puts a firm arm around his shoulders as he guides him back to the couch. He sits Logan down and notices the large splash of vomit on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Hold on, let me get you another shirt.”
When he returns, Logan cracks a smile. “Big baseball fan, huh?”
“Lucky for you, I’ve got a pretty much endless supply of major league merchandise.” Keith motions for Logan to raise his arms, and pulls the sweatshirt over his head before helping him put on the fresh one.
After pulling the blankets up over him, Keith gets the big bowl that he used to put beside Veronica’s bed when she was sick to her stomach. Lianne had sent away for it with the UPC codes from cereal boxes when she was in college, and had refused to part with it. Tony the Tiger grins up from the orange plastic.
“Here, you won’t have to go so far next time.”
“Sorry about the mess,” Logan says. He closes his eyes, frowning.
“Like I said, don’t worry about it. I’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”
The frown doesn’t fade, and Logan murmurs something.
“What is it?” Even though Keith knows fever isn’t one of the expected symptoms, he instinctively checks Logan’s forehead with the back of hand. Cool and clammy.
“My ears are kind of ringing.”
Keith quickly consults the folded paper from his pocket. “That’s normal. Let me know if it gets too bad though. And I’ll get you some more Tylenol.” In the bathroom, he shakes two more pills into his palm and checks the bottle to see the maximum dosage. The toothbrush Logan used sits on the counter, a small pool of water underneath. Keith drops it into one of the empty slots in the toothbrush holder.
He checks his watch and sets the alarm for three a.m.
*
By noon the next day, Logan is looking a little better. The nausea seems to have passed, and he eats a peanut butter sandwich without complaint. As they settle in to watch the Padres vs. the Cubs, Keith grumbles about the ninth-inning grand slam that won the Cubs the game the night before.
Logan dozes on and off. During the seventh-inning stretch, he startles Keith by asking, “Have you talked to Veronica since she left?”
“You’re awake. How’re you feeling?”
“Okay. Better, I think. My ears aren’t ringing anymore.”
“Well that’s always a good sign in my experience.”
“Yeah.” Logan clears his throat. “I was just wondering if everything was okay. You know, with you guys.”
“Well, I think she’s a little upset about New York, but hopefully she understands that putting it off until next month was a necessity.”
“Kendall must have offered you a lot of money for whatever she wanted.”
“She certainly did. And with tuition being what it is, I wasn’t really in a position to say no.” Keith takes a sip of his coffee and affects a casual tone. “Why, did she seem upset with me?”
“Not really. But you know Veronica, it’s hard to tell sometimes.” He shrugs. “I just wanted to make sure.”
“Right.” Keith’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. “I think it all worked out for the best, Mac really needed to get away, and it’s good for Veronica, too. To have some girl time.”
“Yeah. She said Mac’s uncle works at Alcatraz, so they were going to get a special tour after hours.”
“Because there’s no better female bonding experience than visiting a maximum security prison,” Keith laughed. “I was going to call her today to check in, but I wasn’t sure if I should mention your little accident.”
Logan’s voice is sharp. “No, don’t.” He takes a breath, and his tone softens. “I mean, I don’t want her to worry or whatever. She needs a break. Not that she would. Worry.”
Keith knows that after last week, Veronica would be on the first plane home. “Right.”
The game comes back from commercials, and by the time the Padres score in the top of the eighth, Logan’s asleep again. After the post-game, Keith shakes his arm lightly. Logan doesn’t stir, and Keith feels a sharp stab of fear. “Logan.” He shakes him harder.
“What?” Logan’s suddenly awake, and Keith exhales.
“I was going to go by your room, get some of your clothes and anything you might need. I’ll pick up some dinner on the way back.”
“Oh.” Logan wipes his eyes and sits up a bit. “Sure. The key’s in my wallet, in my jeans.”
“Anything in particular you want?”
“No, whatever you think I need. But you know, I’m feeling better. If you want to just drive me over, I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Look. You need to rest for a week, and you’re staying here until such time as I decide you’re better.”
“But…are you sure you don’t want me out of your hair?”
“Hair? You must be referring to someone else.”
Logan smiles, and as Keith is reaching back to shut the door, he says, “Thanks, Mr. Mars.”
*
When Mac’s parents drop Veronica off on Wednesday morning, she blinks in surprise as she opens the door and finds Keith reading the paper at the counter. She pivots and sees Logan on the couch, asleep. He’d woken with a bad headache and had gone back to sleep after taking more Tylenol, so Keith had put off going into the office for a few hours. Just in case.
Veronica opens her mouth, but Keith puts his finger over his lips. “Shhhh.”
She sets her carry-on bag on the floor and tip-toes to the couch. Reaching down, she brushes back Logan’s hair, examining the stitches on his temple. She turns to Keith, and he smiles reassuringly as he whispers, “He’ll be fine.”
Veronica looks back down at Logan, and then at her father. She steps into Keith’s arms, hugging him tightly.
Feedback always very appreciated. :)
The emergency room doors open with a whoosh of air, and Keith winces at the sudden clamour. A screaming baby and various shouts combine with the chatter of the people crowding the waiting room to create a din that doesn’t make the knot of anxiety in his gut any smaller.
When he approaches the reception desk, a harried-looking nurse with a bad perm barely glances up from some paperwork. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Logan Echolls. I got a call, and the woman only said that there’s been an accident.”
“You his father?” Her pen scratches over a clipboard and she flips a page.
Keith barks out a laugh. “Wow, you really don’t get out much.”
At this, the nurse looks up with a glare. “Excuse me?”
“Forget it. No, I’m not his father. His parents are both deceased.”
She walks over to a big dry-erase board and scans it quickly. “Echolls, Echolls…ah, here we go.” I’ll tell the doctor you’re here and she’ll be out to see you when she can. Just take a seat.”
“Can you just tell me if he’s okay?”
There’s a sudden howl of pain from the other side of the room, and the nurse darts off without answering. Keith leans over the desk and squints at the board. Beside Logan’s name are the words “head lac” and some other short forms that Keith doesn’t understand. He glances around and walks behind the reception desk, heading to the curtained areas.
No one gives him a second look as he peers around the exam rooms, everyone too busy running to and fro, shouting orders and reading clipboards. A stretcher carrying an old woman is ferried out into the hallway, and Keith has to press up against the wall as it speeds by towards the bank of elevators. He glances into the room it came from, and there’s Logan lying on his own stretcher, pushed up against the wall in the corner.
Keith exhales a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Logan?”
Logan’s eyes open slowly and he raises his hand in a weak half-wave. “Hey.” A bandage covers part of his forehead, and drops of blood splatter his t-shirt and jeans.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. They said I got broadsided by a pick-up, and I guess I hit my head on the window. I don’t really remember.”
“So you were wearing your seatbelt?” Keith has a standard lecture to deliver if he wasn’t.
“Yeah. I think my head got knocked sideways.” A couple of words slur, and Keith can see him trying to focus.
“What did the doctor say?”
“I’ve got a concussion, and they wouldn’t let me leave without someone picking me up. I think they’re afraid I’ll drop dead outside the door and sue them from beyond the grave.”
Keith nods. “A valid concern.”
“I’m sorry to bother you, I’m sure you had better things to do on a Saturday night.”
“Yeah, the Padres are in the fifth inning by now, and without me watching and doing my voodoo, the game’s probably going to hell in a handbasket.”
Logan smiles faintly. “Sorry. It’s just that with Veronica in San Fran, I didn’t really…” He trails off and glances away.
Keith already knows that Logan didn’t have anyone else to call. He thinks about this boy in his kitchen, cooking pancakes and holding his daughter. Putting his hand on Logan’s shoulder, he squeezes gently. “Anytime.”
“Thanks.” Logan looks down and clears his throat. “So, I don’t know where the doctor is. Things got really crazy a while ago, I think there was a big pile-up or something. Or maybe I was in it. I don’t know.” His brow furrows and he rubs his eyes. “I wonder where my car is.”
“You mean that bright yellow eyesore? I can only hope it will never be fit to drive again for the sake of the beautification of Neptune.”
“Hey. What’s wrong with my car?” Logan huffs just a bit.
“The only thing it has going for it is that it’s not quite as obnoxious as a Hummer.”
“I’ve always wanted one of those…” Logan’s eyes drift shut.
“Let me see if I can find the doctor. Be back in a second.” Keith goes into the hall and after talking to five different people, gets a promise that the doctor will be over shortly. Keith isn’t sure he believes it, but chooses to be optimistic.
When he returns, another patient on a stretcher has been squeezed into the tiny room, and he has to turn sideways to get back to Logan. “Not enough room at the inn, huh?” Logan doesn’t answer, his eyes shut and lips parted, chest rising and falling steadily.
Keith lets him sleep, and tries not to stare too much at the unconscious woman on the other gurney. She is deathly pale, but Keith can’t see any injuries. He’s thinking about looking at her chart - once a snoop, always a snoop - when the doctor finally arrives.
“Hello, Mr…?”
“Mars. Keith Mars. I’m a friend.”
The young doctor shakes his hand firmly. “Mr. Mars, thanks for coming. Logan has a grade two concussion. If I had a bed, I’d admit him overnight, but we’re over capacity as it is.” She holds out a pamphlet. “Here’s a list of symptoms he might experience.”
Keith scans the piece of paper, nodding. The doctor continues, “The symptoms could come and go, but if they get worse after twenty-four hours, you might want to bring him back in for some more tests.”
“Does he need any medication?”
“Just acetaminophen for the headaches and any muscle pain he might experience from the impact of the accident. No aspirin, or anything that causes drowsiness. And you’ll need to wake him every few hours tonight.”
“Okay. Anything else I need to know?”
Handing over more literature, she says, “That should be it for now. He should rest for a week, and needs to be careful about playing any contact sports for a few months. There’s also some information on post-concussion syndrome there, but hopefully he’ll be up and around and totally back to normal in seven days. He’ll need to have his sutures removed by then, so he can come back in and we’ll make sure there are no other complications.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Keith shakes the woman’s hand again and she’s off to tend to other patients. Keith looks down at Logan and nudges his arm gently. “Logan? Time to go.”
Logan murmurs something indistinct and opens his eyes. He blinks up at Keith, disoriented. “Huh?”
“You’re in the hospital, and it’s time to go. Remember?”
“Right.” He shakes himself awake and winces as he sits up.
Keith puts a steadying hand on his arm as Logan swings his legs over the side of the stretcher and stands up. He sways briefly, and Keith tightens his grip. “Easy now.”
Logan takes a breath and blows it out, and his gaze seems sharper. “It’s okay. I was just kind of out of it for a second there.”
Keith lets go of Logan's arm, but sticks close by as they make their way through the crowded ER. Outside, the fresh air seems to help, and Logan climbs into the car without assistance. As they head out towards the shore, Logan looks over in confusion. “The hotel’s the other way.”
“I know. You’re coming back to my place. Doctor says you can’t stay alone.”
“But I’m fine. Really, I appreciate it, but-”
Keith pulls up to a red light and fixes Logan with A Look. “This isn’t up for debate. Doctor’s orders.”
Logan turns to the window, and quietly says, “Okay.”
*
“Did you eat dinner earlier?”
Logan pulls Keith’s faded Padres sweatshirt over his head and his brow furrows. “I don’t remember. I think I was going out to get food; I’ve had everything on that room service menu a thousand times.”
“It must get kind of old after a while.”
“Yeah. It does. Seems fun at first, but…” He balls up his t-shirt and shrugs. “Anyway, I’m not hungry.”
“Well, you should eat. My mother always used to say an empty stomach is asking for trouble. I’ll whip something up, nothing too heavy. Here,” he says, as he hands Logan a pair of pajama bottoms. “They might be a bit too short, but they’ll do.”
He leaves Logan to finish changing out of his blood-stained clothes and goes to the kitchen. The cupboards aren’t very full, but he finds a can of chicken noodle soup that he pours into a saucepan.
When Logan comes out, he doesn’t have to be told to lie down on the couch, where Keith has left a pillow and a couple of blankets. Logan had refused the offer of Veronica’s bed, and Keith didn’t argue.
The soup begins to simmer, and Keith half-fills a bowl, taking it over to Logan with a spoon. Logan grimaces. “Thanks, but I’m really not hungry.”
Keith ignores his protests. “Are you going to sit up, or do I have to feed you?”
With a sigh, Logan pushes himself up a bit on the pillow and takes the soup. Keith sits down in his armchair and waits, watching. After Logan obediently takes a few spoonfuls, Keith turns on the TV. He puts the volume on low and nods towards the two Tylenol sitting beside a glass of water on the table. “Doctor said it should make you feel better.”
“Okay.” Logan puts down his bowl only too eagerly and swallows the pills.
“Now finish the rest of your soup.”
*
Keith dozes off during late-night SportsCenter, waking with a start when Logan stumbles by. Clutching the wall, Logan almost makes it to the bathroom door before dropping to his knees and vomiting all over the floor. He coughs and heaves, emptying the contents of his stomach. Keith is glad he hadn’t tried to force any other food on him, and feels a pang of guilt about the soup.
He pats Logan on the back and helps him to his feet, maneuvering him around the mess and into the bathroom, flipping down the toilet seat before sitting him down. He darts back into the living room to grab Logan’s glass, refilling it at the bathroom sink.
Logan coughs weakly and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be, nausea is to be expected. Here, drink this.” He holds the glass up to his mouth, and Logan takes a few sips before coughing violently.
“You gonna be sick again?”
Logan is pale, eyes watery and bloodshot. He shakes his head, wincing. “I don’t think there’s anything left. Fuck, my head hurts.” He looks up at Keith, like he’s just remembered who he’s talking to. “Sorry.”
Keith smiles. “It’s okay, I bet my head would fucking hurt, too.” He opens a drawer and rummages around before pulling out a toothbrush. He cracks the plastic container and squeezes toothpaste onto the bristles. “Here, this’ll make you feel better.”
Logan brushes, and when he stands up to spit in the sink, Keith hovers close by. The last thing he needs is for Logan to fall and split his skull on the hard tiles. Logan spits and rinses. “Thanks.”
He wavers as he turns, and Keith puts a firm arm around his shoulders as he guides him back to the couch. He sits Logan down and notices the large splash of vomit on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “Hold on, let me get you another shirt.”
When he returns, Logan cracks a smile. “Big baseball fan, huh?”
“Lucky for you, I’ve got a pretty much endless supply of major league merchandise.” Keith motions for Logan to raise his arms, and pulls the sweatshirt over his head before helping him put on the fresh one.
After pulling the blankets up over him, Keith gets the big bowl that he used to put beside Veronica’s bed when she was sick to her stomach. Lianne had sent away for it with the UPC codes from cereal boxes when she was in college, and had refused to part with it. Tony the Tiger grins up from the orange plastic.
“Here, you won’t have to go so far next time.”
“Sorry about the mess,” Logan says. He closes his eyes, frowning.
“Like I said, don’t worry about it. I’ll have it cleaned up in no time.”
The frown doesn’t fade, and Logan murmurs something.
“What is it?” Even though Keith knows fever isn’t one of the expected symptoms, he instinctively checks Logan’s forehead with the back of hand. Cool and clammy.
“My ears are kind of ringing.”
Keith quickly consults the folded paper from his pocket. “That’s normal. Let me know if it gets too bad though. And I’ll get you some more Tylenol.” In the bathroom, he shakes two more pills into his palm and checks the bottle to see the maximum dosage. The toothbrush Logan used sits on the counter, a small pool of water underneath. Keith drops it into one of the empty slots in the toothbrush holder.
He checks his watch and sets the alarm for three a.m.
*
By noon the next day, Logan is looking a little better. The nausea seems to have passed, and he eats a peanut butter sandwich without complaint. As they settle in to watch the Padres vs. the Cubs, Keith grumbles about the ninth-inning grand slam that won the Cubs the game the night before.
Logan dozes on and off. During the seventh-inning stretch, he startles Keith by asking, “Have you talked to Veronica since she left?”
“You’re awake. How’re you feeling?”
“Okay. Better, I think. My ears aren’t ringing anymore.”
“Well that’s always a good sign in my experience.”
“Yeah.” Logan clears his throat. “I was just wondering if everything was okay. You know, with you guys.”
“Well, I think she’s a little upset about New York, but hopefully she understands that putting it off until next month was a necessity.”
“Kendall must have offered you a lot of money for whatever she wanted.”
“She certainly did. And with tuition being what it is, I wasn’t really in a position to say no.” Keith takes a sip of his coffee and affects a casual tone. “Why, did she seem upset with me?”
“Not really. But you know Veronica, it’s hard to tell sometimes.” He shrugs. “I just wanted to make sure.”
“Right.” Keith’s not sure if he’s relieved or not. “I think it all worked out for the best, Mac really needed to get away, and it’s good for Veronica, too. To have some girl time.”
“Yeah. She said Mac’s uncle works at Alcatraz, so they were going to get a special tour after hours.”
“Because there’s no better female bonding experience than visiting a maximum security prison,” Keith laughed. “I was going to call her today to check in, but I wasn’t sure if I should mention your little accident.”
Logan’s voice is sharp. “No, don’t.” He takes a breath, and his tone softens. “I mean, I don’t want her to worry or whatever. She needs a break. Not that she would. Worry.”
Keith knows that after last week, Veronica would be on the first plane home. “Right.”
The game comes back from commercials, and by the time the Padres score in the top of the eighth, Logan’s asleep again. After the post-game, Keith shakes his arm lightly. Logan doesn’t stir, and Keith feels a sharp stab of fear. “Logan.” He shakes him harder.
“What?” Logan’s suddenly awake, and Keith exhales.
“I was going to go by your room, get some of your clothes and anything you might need. I’ll pick up some dinner on the way back.”
“Oh.” Logan wipes his eyes and sits up a bit. “Sure. The key’s in my wallet, in my jeans.”
“Anything in particular you want?”
“No, whatever you think I need. But you know, I’m feeling better. If you want to just drive me over, I’ll be fine on my own.”
“Look. You need to rest for a week, and you’re staying here until such time as I decide you’re better.”
“But…are you sure you don’t want me out of your hair?”
“Hair? You must be referring to someone else.”
Logan smiles, and as Keith is reaching back to shut the door, he says, “Thanks, Mr. Mars.”
*
When Mac’s parents drop Veronica off on Wednesday morning, she blinks in surprise as she opens the door and finds Keith reading the paper at the counter. She pivots and sees Logan on the couch, asleep. He’d woken with a bad headache and had gone back to sleep after taking more Tylenol, so Keith had put off going into the office for a few hours. Just in case.
Veronica opens her mouth, but Keith puts his finger over his lips. “Shhhh.”
She sets her carry-on bag on the floor and tip-toes to the couch. Reaching down, she brushes back Logan’s hair, examining the stitches on his temple. She turns to Keith, and he smiles reassuringly as he whispers, “He’ll be fine.”
Veronica looks back down at Logan, and then at her father. She steps into Keith’s arms, hugging him tightly.