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A squeal of tires. Crumpling metal. Shattering glass. Blackness. She raises her head from the steering wheel of the Le Baron. There is pain and smoke. Struggling out of the car she almost steps on a body lying on the ground. A Neptune High pep squad outfit with a bloodstain blooming across the front. The head turns and Gia's huge eyes stare up reproachfully. No, no, no, no, no! She steps around the body, looking for someone, anyone, who can help. A small hatchback is crushed against the LeBaron, flames licking around the edges of the hood. A gust of wind pushes away the smoke and she can see someone hunched in the passenger seat. Her father, his head bloodied, eyes closed. No! She takes a step toward the door. DAD! He opens his eyes . BOOM!
Veronica wakes screaming, still seeing the explosion that ended the nightmare. It is several moments before her sobs slow and she realizes she is wrapped in Logan's arms, that his lips are pressed to her hair while he repeats soothing words, "It's okay. Just a dream. Your dad is gonna be fine." She takes deep breaths and gradually softens into Logan's embrace. She lets him hold her until her heart rate slows to a pace approaching normal, and notices that her tears have soaked the front of his shirt.
"At least we know I've been hydrating well!" she says as she pulls away, referring to the advice the social worker from the ICU had given her about taking care of herself. She glances at Logan's face, worried not amused, and has to look away before the tears return.
"I need to call the hospital." She plants a quick kiss on his cheek and grabs her phone. After getting a full update from the nurse on how her dad had done during the night, she finds Logan in the kitchen pouring two big mugs of coffee. The sun has only just begun to come up, and they both have dark circles under their eyes, but in the week since the car crash and her run-in with Cobb, they've learned that there's no point in Veronica trying to go back to sleep after one of her nightmares. It'll be hours before the adrenaline dissipates enough for her to rest. And years of getting up early to surf, followed by keeping the Navy's hours, have made Logan a natural early bird.
"Thanks," she says over the rim of her mug, hoping he knows she's grateful for more than the caffeine fix. There's no way she could have gotten through this without him. Without his humor to break the tension of long hours at the hospital. Without his lips to ground her in the present when she got caught up in thoughts of what could have been. Without his arms to calm her when the nightmares came. And soon he'd be thousands of miles away. For months. Spanning continents, indeed.
Logan's voice breaks into her thoughts, "Veronica, I have something to say that you aren't going to like, but hear me out." Oh, God. What? Was he going to tell her to go back to New York, that this was a mistake? That he's quitting the Navy? She looks up into his eyes but can only tell that he's nervous. "The nightmares aren't getting better. You're barely sleeping. You're jumping at loud noises." He takes her hand, and she can see him steel himself, "I think you need to talk to someone."
"You think I need therapy?!" She yanks her hand from his, "God, Logan, you're really taking this stabilizing influence thing too far! I'm fine." Crossing her arms, she stares defiantly at him across the counter. He just raises an eyebrow at her, and she squirms under his intense stare. "Okay, not fine, exactly, but I just need time. Once dad is out of the hospital and the media frenzy over Carrie and Gia and Cobb dies down, I'll be okay."
Logan starts to pace. "But we don't have time. I ship out in six days. I won't be here to hold you in the middle of the night." She winces at how his words echo her earlier thoughts. "Or remind you to eat something. If this is going to work, I can't be worried about you all the time..." Veronica starts to protest, but he holds up a hand and continues, "Look, I can live with the fact that your job involves some danger. Mine does, too. And we probably wouldn't be together again if either of us had a normal amount of risk aversion. But I can't live with the fear of you making careless mistakes, wondering if you're too distracted or too sleep deprived to make good judgments on a case."
She takes a few breaths, trying to tamp down her anger that he thinks she's weak, damaged. That he might be right. "Logan, I don't see how talking to a shrink is going to help. It won't bring back Gia or Sacks or put Dad's bones back together. It won't tell me who was driving the truck that night."
He sighs, but comes over and cups her face in his hands. "Just think about it, okay?" He kisses her softly on the forehead and heads to the shower.
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Veronica spends the morning reading Baseball Prospectus to her dad and grilling the doctors about his latest lab tests and x-rays. While she's helping him have lunch, his glass of juice slips from his hand and shatters on the floor. Luckily, Veronica is standing a little behind Keith's head, so he doesn't see how the sound, so much like a bullet through a windowpane, makes her startle and duck. She quickly shifts her instinctive huddle to a crouch and begins cleaning up the mess while trying to slow her breathing.
Maybe Logan has a point. She kind of is a mess, but she's been through plenty of scary shit. Surely she can get through this? Then again, would it hurt to humor Logan and see someone? He'd saved her dad's life, after all. Maybe she owes him this, only the second thing he's asked of her in almost a decade. Maybe.
So, as they are doing dishes after dinner that night, she musters the nerve to bring up the subject again. "Uh, Logan... About me seeing a therapist. I've been thinking about it, and I just... I don't know. Do you remember after Lilly died and we all had to see Ms. James every week? I hated it." She doesn't mention that she's pretty sure Logan hated it, too, judging from what she overheard after planting a bugged stapler in the guidance counselor's office. "I don't like to talk about my feelings or wallow in them. I'd rather do something."
"Getting counseling is doing something. There's no shame in admitting you need help, Veronica. Your dad almost died. Gia got shot right in front of you." He was ticking these off on his fingers, "You're back in Neptune less than a week and you almost get killed again!" His eyes close and he has to take a shaky breath before going on, "On top of that, you've left your career and relationship in New York. Hell, even the Dalai Lama would need a shrink after all that!" He smiles, but the tension doesn't leave his eyes.
"But that's not the only possible solution," she protests. This isn't how she imagined the conversation going. She feels herself getting defensive, but the thought of discussing her life, her thoughts, with a stranger makes her nauseous. "I'll start a journal and take up yoga. I have a bachelors degree in psychology, Logan. I can handle this on my own."
"Fuck, Veronica! I was a psych major, too, and it didn't keep me from needing therapy." He slams the bowl he'd been drying on the counter and turns away, fists clenched.
Veronica just stands there stunned for a moment, not sure which revelation to contemplate first. She settles on the one that feels more innocuous, "You majored in psych?"
He lets out a sound that seems half laugh, half sigh and goes to sit on the couch. Veronica follows, settling in the opposite corner with her knees drawn up to her chest.
"Yeah, I was a psych major. At first I chose it because it was supposed to be a gut major, but at some point I think I started using what I was learning to try to make some sense of my fucked up family. My final paper for Abnormal Psych was pretty much a genealogy project."
Veronica is familiar with this kind of self-deprecating humor from Logan, but this time it's missing the defensive edge she's used to. She's suddenly terribly sad, thinking of all he's been through, the ridiculously unfair hand he'd been dealt in life. Yet here he is, a Naval officer, a pilot, a stabilizing influence, her rock. He'd come a long way...
She scoots over to his side of the couch and Logan raises his arm so she can tuck herself against his side. "So, therapy?" she asks quietly.
"You think I could've passed the Navy's psych evals without professional help?" he quips. "It actually all started with Dick. He fell apart after his dad came home then went to jail. He wasn't entirely joking about his depression that day at the beach house. Anyway, after a couple drunk and disorderly charges, a judge ordered him into counseling. It took about a year, but it really helped him. Though there was a horrible period where he kept asking girls if they wanted to see his 'personal growth'." Veronica groans but can't contain a chuckle. That is so... Dick.
"Meanwhile, I was okay, but kind of... lost, I guess. I couldn't believe I had trusted Mercer. I hurt Parker. I missed Duncan. I missed my mom." He pauses, and thinking he's choked up, Veronica twines her fingers with his. As she raises his hand and kisses the back of it, he goes on, "I missed you." She freezes. Before she can say anything, he is speaking again. "But I knew I had acted like an ass. That I was a spoiled brat. I didn't want to be that guy anymore, but I didn't know what else to be. What else I could be. Anyway, it seemed like the head shrinking thing worked for Dick, so I decided to give it a try. It was actually my therapist who first suggested the military might be a good fit for me. That it could channel my aggressive and protective instincts. And give me some semblance of a family."
Logan shifts so he can see her face, and she is confronted with the full depth of his gaze without any hint of the usual twinkle. "Veronica, I want you to be happy. God, when you're happy you light up a room." Her heart clenches in her chest. Somehow Logan's romantic streak always moves her. And his openness makes her feel cold and stingy. More brittle ice cube than sweet marshmallow. "I want to prove your dad wrong. Show him you can be happy here. With me. But I don't think we can do that without working through some of the old baggage. Will you please give it a chance?"
As much as the thought of dredging up her past or rehashing the recent chaos of her life terrifies her, she knows he's right. Diving back into Neptune. Back with Logan. It's a rush, for sure, but after jettisoning the life she had built so carefully in New York, against the better judgment of her father and her friends, she can't settle for a short-term high. She needs to go all in. To at least try to meet Logan's honesty and newfound maturity with some of her own.
"I want us to be happy, too, Logan. Okay. I'll talk to someone."
He wraps his arms around her and she finds herself being spun in a circle and squeezed so tightly she can barely breathe.
"Good," he says as he pulls her toward her bedroom, "but for now, I have something other than talking in mind." And just like that, Veronica's heart is pounding again, but this time in a very pleasant manner.
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Knowledge is power, so Veronica does her research before choosing a well-regarded psychologist who sees patients out of her Arts and Crafts style home on the outskirts of Balboa Park in San Diego. It would save time to see someone in Neptune, but she refuses to risk running into 09ers with daddy issues and shopping addictions, or her own clients for that matter, in the waiting room. The next available appointment was several days after Logan shipped out, and his first few emails were peppered with warnings like, "It might take a few sessions to get comfortable" and "Keep an open mind." She truly intends to give it a real shot, but the first session does not begin well.
One look at the intake forms and she already wants to flee. First, she is supposed to indicate her current issues. She ends up marking a good third of the items: guilt, sleep problems, flashbacks, anxiety/worry, thoughts of death, suspicion/paranoia, etc. Veronica is stymied by the section for family history. What the hell is she supposed to put for "Quality of relationship" with her mother or "partner"? She's tempted to go with "nonexistent" and "complicated", but leaves those spaces blank. After jotting "very good" for father, she moves on to the area for past traumas. Lots more ticky boxes to check here: loss of loved one, parent substance abuse, crime victim, parent illness. What no spots for suicide witness or internet sex tape? At least she can leave the past mental health treatment and substance abuse history blank. Veronica actually laughs out loud when the form asks for a rating of the stress level of her job, but then has to contemplate a response to "Please describe your strengths, skills, and talents." She doesn't like the first impression that answering lock picking, cover stories, and pissing off the rich and powerful would make. So, she leaves those lines blank, too.
When she is called into the office, Veronica can't help analyzing the therapist's appearance and the decor. Ms. Ryan, Julia she says to call her, is dressed conservatively in a sweater and long skirt, but her Birkenstocks, big, dangly earrings, and red hair that's just a shade more vibrant than natural give a more bohemian vibe. Well-made, vintage furniture, nicely reupholstered indicates financial stability but not a privileged upbringing. The walls, a shade of green just in between happy yellow and soothing blue, are hung with a framed Masters degree, a California license to practice psychology, and some colorful abstract art, probably there to give clients something to look at without bringing up associations with painful relationships or places. It all created an atmosphere of calm and competence with just a hint of the unconventional.
Julia finally breaks the silence. "So, Veronica, what brings you here?"
Veronica isn't sure how to answer. Um, because my boyfriend? lover? star-crossed romantic lead? made me? She settles on a simpler truth, "I've been having nightmares."
The rest of the session is spent describing the nightmares, Keith's accident (and how it wasn't an accident), and only the barest outlines of her investigation into Carrie's murder. By the end she is shaky and barely keeping her tears at bay, and she's pretty sure poor, unsuspecting Julia is a little rattled, despite her carefully neutral expression.
Veronica is dying to get away and never come back, but there's no way she can drive home like this, so she takes a walk in the park and calls Wallace. He doesn't comment on her tremulous voice, just regales her with the latest antics of his students and agrees to meet her at her dad's with takeout.
"Wallace, you really are the best."
"And all this time, I thought the B in BFF was for breakdancing! I am so relieved. Those head spins were starting to mess with my hair."
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That night Veronica lays in bed trying to figure out how to tell Logan the therapy thing wasn't going to work. She finally falls asleep, and for the first time in weeks sleeps a solid eight hours. She has a vague sense of her dreams involving guns and golf clubs, but at least she didn't wake in a panic. Perhaps she shouldn't bail on the psychobabble just yet. She emails Logan, mostly about her dad's progress and her latest case, but slips in a therapy reference in an attempt to preempt his questions.
Thanks to you, I can now cross "sweet ride", "man in uniform", and "shrink head" off my bucket list. But wait! What if I meant to pickle the craniums of my enemies? I'll have to explore my intentions with Julia at my next appointment.
She's deflecting, of course, but surely Logan knows her well enough not to expect more, especially when she has no idea who might be screening officers' email accounts. Hopefully he is satisfied with the fact that she's going.
When she arrives in Julia's office for her second session, Veronica plunks a scrapbook down in front of the therapist. Julia raises an eyebrow, but flips through the many pages of printed out newspaper articles, excerpts from trial transcripts, even a few pages from celebrity gossip websites. At the front is a meticulous timeline of major events in Veronica's life, from Lily's murder, Keith's recall, and her mom's departure all the way through her recent return to Neptune, including her somewhat damning romantic roster: Duncan, Troy, Leo, Logan, Duncan, Logan, Piz, a couple guys in Palo Alto and New York, Piz, Logan. She hopes Julia doesn't ascribe to that saying about doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.
The therapist spends a few minutes flipping through the book. "You clearly put a lot of work into this, Veronica, but therapy isn't about facts. I need to know what you think and feel about your experiences."
"Okay, I get that," Veronica replies, "but my thoughts and feelings happen to have an extensive... backstory. I just figured having the outlines might save us both a lot of time."
"Hmm. That's possible. But I will probably still want you to tell me about some of these things in your own words. For now, though, let's start with what you think this backstory says about you."
"That I live under a black cloud?" Veronica smiles, but Julia just looks at her with a neutral expression, waiting. After a moment's thought, she offers a less flippant answer, "That I'm a survivor."
Julia picks up on the mixed emotions in Veronica's tone, and they dive into the session by exploring the melting pot of survivor's guilt, relief, fear, and anger that she has lived with in the weeks since she and her dad were both almost killed. Veronica is surprised at how much she can talk about it. But there is definitely some relief in sharing those awful days with someone unconnected, with no need to screen her words for phrases that might cause worry or guilt or judgement from her dad, Wallace, or Logan. She begins to think that these sessions might do more than show Logan she's willing to listen and compromise.
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A few weeks later, she emails Logan, starting with questions about how he's doing, some amusing anecdotes from client meetings, the usual. But after a thoughtful pause and a calming breath,
Julia asked me to name the things that are most important to me the other day. Here's what I came up with. Truth. Justice. And the American Way! Okay, you know I'm kidding with that last one. I don't even know what the American way is. Maybe you can help explain it, Mr. Patriotic Fighter Pilot. Alright, all joking aside. Truth. Justice. My loved ones. Those are the things that matter to me. And I figure I owe those loved ones the truth, too. So, here goes, Logan.
I love you. And I need you.
She hits send without even signing her name. Before she can chicken out.
Logan must realize how anxious and exposed she'd feel after sending it, because his response comes less than 12 hours later, even though he's told her he often does not have time to respond to her messages right away.
Veronica, I know. I can tell from your voice and your eyes, even over Skype. As soon as you told me not to go that night, I was pretty sure. But, damn, it feels good to hear (read, I guess?) you say it. Please pass on my eternal gratitude to Julia. I wish I could thank you in person.
I love you and need you, too, Veronica. So much that I can't believe we spent 9 years apart and now another six months. So much that all that is totally worth it. Especially since this time I think we can be good for each other. I have to go. Pre-flight's in like 2 minutes.
Love you. Always.
Her heart was pounding before she'd even opened the email, but is really hammering by the time she gets to the end. She has a moment of irritation at that smug, "I know", but Logan has often seemed to know her emotions before she does. And the rest of his message leaves her missing him fiercely, but smiling like a loon. It looks like Logan may have been right that despite her diminutive size, she could use a little shrinking.