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Her father says, "I want you to be happy, Veronica."
They're home from the hospital now. The bruises are fading, and his crutches are tucked away against the wall. He finally looks like he's going to be okay...which of course means that he has to make one last attempt to pack her off to New York.
The easiest answer would be a lie: I am happy, Dad. She can't tell him that she doesn't want to be happy, that she's made for something more complicated than that. She's made for adrenaline and bad decisions that turn out okay in the end. Maybe adulthood means becoming the person who hides complicated truths from your parents, rather than letting them hide complicated truths from you. She rolls her eyes at herself; it sounds like the kind of pseudo-deep voiceover you'd hear at the end of a TV show.
She says, "Is happy what you want from life?"
"Yes," he says without hesitation. "Having you here makes me happy."
She can hear the but coming. There's always a but...but she's not listening to it today.
"Being with you makes me happy too," she says.
And there is one uncomplicated truth they can share. Logan wasn't the only thing missing from New York.
***
Where are you? she writes. She's at the office -- always -- poring over files and ignoring the balance on her student loan account.
I could tell you, but then I would have to kill you, he answers.
And then who would help you beat the murder rap? she writes back.
At least you didn't accuse me this time, he says.
One step closer to the white picket fence, she answers.
It's not healthy, how much she loves longing for him this way. Maybe she likes it even better than if he were here all the time. That's the kind of dysfunctional issue to discuss with a therapist she'll never have. Veronica Mars, not one to take too hard a look at herself. Just like her mother before her.
***
Her father frowns. "Are we doing this? Really? Are you sure?"
Veronica shrugs. "Well, I did think about living with my father forever. But now that you're out of the wheelchair and off the crutches, you seem to have some lady callers. My ear drums are still bleeding, by the way, but thanks for not asking her to call you daddy."
Her father chokes on his beer. "Is this what happens when your kids grow up? They make disturbing allegations about your sex life while looking you in the eye?"
"Hey, you created me," she says, even though that's not entirely true. Sometimes she thinks her father made all the nice parts of her, and Neptune is responsible for all the rest. "And yes, even if you ask 84,976 times, I am doing this. I'm here to stay."
"But you're not living with..."
"Logan. You could at least say his name."
"I could. It's just that the fact he's with my daughter sometimes fills me with murderous rage." And sure enough, his grip on the beer bottle looks just a little white-knuckled.
"Geez, Pops, what does a man have to do to win your approval? Other than join the Navy and save your life?" Because really, if that's not enough, Logan's fucked and Veronica had better get used to dividing her life in half.
"Touche," her father says. "I will stop casting doubts on your slightly questionable Navy hero of a boyfriend. But only if you answer one question: Are you familiar with the definition of insanity?"
"The thing about repeating the same behavior and expecting different results? Hmm, let me think." Veronica rolls her eyes up to the sky and twirls a lock of hair around her finger, doing her very best dumb blonde impression. "Actually, I think I might have learned it from you. Still coming after the sheriiff's office after all these years..."
Her father sighs, but his smile is warm. "Okay, you win. If my Ivy League graduate wants a shady boyfriend and a lower middle class apartment, by god she'll have them."
***
Her apartment is actually not that bad. It has approximately eighty-seven percent less vermin and two hundred percent more space than anything she could have afforded in New York. Not that her dad would listen to that. And she has a feeling that Logan still thinks anything without an ocean view and a game room is slumming it.
"Living with you somehow seems to entail living Dick Casablancas. He actually uses the word hoobity boobities, if you hadn't noticed," she says. As if hoobity boobities are seriously the worst thing about Dick.
"Actually, I'm not sure you should dignify that by calling it a word," Logan says. "But could you say it again? It's pretty funny coming out of your mouth." He looks up at the clock and fails to conceal his nervousness. "Is your dad coming tonight?"
Veronica shakes her head. "No, but it's not because I don't want to expose him to you." Well, maybe it's a little because she doesn't want to see what nuclear disaster might result from putting her father and Logan in a room together. Parents and boyfriends, not her strong suit.
"All right, then why?" Logan has that disturbingly perceptive look on his face, one of the many new things about him in the past nine years. It's like he's going to make her talk about her problems instead of just fucking them away.
"I don't..." Veronica trails off. Admitting this is hard. "I don't like to see him disappointed with me. He thinks I gave up this great life in New York, and he can't understand that I didn't even want it."
"And why did you come home, Veronica? As much as I'd like to believe my effity white uniform and virile manliness persuaded you... You have to admit, you worked pretty hard to be gone."
"I was turning into an oh-niner," she mutters. It's hard to admit, even to herself. Logan looks skeptical, so she adds, "Okay, maybe not with the drugs and the throwing my friend's body into the ocean. But fighting frivolous lawsuits for corporations that don't matter, going home to some swanky apartment, it's all the same fake world." She thinks of Weevil and the planted gun, the teenage boys getting tased outside her father's office. "I used to think the cost of fighting was too high. Now I think it's not fighting that ruins you."
"What can I do to help?" Logan asks, and he looks so real in front of her. The awkward teenage theatrics are gone, and there's just a very sincere, very capable person standing in her kitchen, wanting to to help her.
Maybe that's why she tells the truth. "Don't let me go overboard. Don't let me turn into adrenaline and anger."
Maybe it's not right of her to ask that; maybe what she's asking of Logan isn't any different from what Bonnie demanded. But Logan's eyes light up.
"Veronica Mars, I'll be the eye of your hurricane any day."
***
"You don't have to say anything, Veronica," her father says. She's sitting behind her desk, which is her safe place, and he's lounging in the doorway of his office, like nothing important is happening.
"I do." She takes a deep breath. "I know you're disappointed that I stayed here. That's actually really hard for me. It's why I don't invite you to my apartment very often. The thing is, I'm an adult now, and I can make my own decisions. I need you to respect them."
"Veronica, I know," her father says. His expression somehow says you have no idea the depth of my forebearance. "I'm not disappointed in you, and I would have told you that weeks ago if you would have quit running."
He moves over to sit on the edge of her desk. "I'm worried about you, and I think you'd be happier if you'd stayed in New York. But I know why you're here. You're doing a good thing. Every dad loves his daughter, but not every father gets to admire their daughters the way I do. I'm proud to call you my partner."
He holds out a hand and dammit, Veronica can barely see it. The world's gone all blurry because she has to ruin this extreme moment of equality and respect with actual tears.
"And here you caught me without a good quip," she says shakily. She decides to forgo the handshake in favor of a hug.
"So whaddya say, can a private dick buy his new partner an ice cream cone?" her father asks.
"Only if it's a double scoop," Veronica says. "I'm not a cheap date."
If this were a TV show and she had a voiceover at the end, she'd promise to fight clean and leave the ring as a person her father can still admire.