Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ghosts, they come and memories all repeat
Lift your hair while they change the hospital sheets
And I would never lie to you, no
I would never lie to you, no
I felt you long after we were through
When we were through

The plans I make still have you in them
'Cause you come swimming into view
And I'm hanging on your words like I always used to do
The words they use so lightly, I only feel for you
I only know because I carry you around,

In the background

- “Background,” Third Eye Blind

“Veronica?” Nisha’s voice floats through the open doorway of Veronica’s miniscule bedroom. “You’re from Neptune, right?”

From the chair of her tiny desk, Veronica contemplates her new roommate’s words. She’d “met” Nisha through Columbia University’s rooming boards and they’ve only actually known each other for a few days. One year in Columbia’s dorms had been more than enough for Veronica, but she hadn’t wanted to see if any of her budding law school friendships would stand up to the strain of cohabitation. Now, a few weeks away from beginning her 2L year, she's installed in a hole-in-the-wall apartment in Morningside Heights, and the little bit of distance from campus and the world of law feels like an oasis. Unfortunately, given New York’s real estate prices, achieving that distance necessitated getting a roommate, but after four years at Stanford and a year in San Francisco, that was nothing new. A necessary evil.

At Stanford and during her gap year working as a paralegal, Veronica had been vague when her fellow classmates or co-workers asked where she’d grown up. She’d found that she could usually get away with “oh, just a little town in SoCal, between San Diego and LA” accompanied by a vague wave of her hand and wrinkle of the nose that people generally interpreted to mean somewhere inland. Not very nice. It suited her fine. In California, even as far north as Palo Alto, Neptune was notorious.

Here in New York, though, those evasions had started to feel a little childish. How long can you run from Neptune?  Law School was a whole new world, a fresh start, and memories of high school were starting to feel distant. So, a few weeks ago, when bubbly yet down to earth Nisha had asked where she grew up during their move-in small talk, Veronica had indeed said that she was from Neptune. She’d felt a surge of pride in herself—look at me, being open and normal.

Now she has a feeling that has come back to bite her in the rear.

Sighing, Veronica pushes her desk chair back the spare six inches her space allows and scrambles over her bed to get to the door. She skids a little as she lands heavily on the braided rag rug next to the bed, scrambling to keep herself upright. Puffing slightly—she’s still getting used to the calisthenics required to move around her bedroom—she pads toward the apartment’s kitchenette where she finds Nisha standing, elbows propped on the counter, reading something on her laptop.

Veronica addresses her roommate, “Yeah, I’m from Neptune. What happened? Did someone finally burn the whole godforsaken place down?”

As she speaks the flippant words, Veronica suddenly feels a surge of real fear. What if it was a fire? Or an earthquake? Dad!  She quickly pulls her phone out—nothing from her Dad or Wallace—and moves toward Nisha with a little more urgency. “What happened?”

Nisha looks up, a bit taken aback, “Oh nothing bad like that! I’m sorry; did I freak you out? Your dad still lives there, right?”

Veronica relaxes. “Yeah, he does.” Okay, then. What is this about?

“No, the town is fine.” Nisha giggles a little nervously. “I just thought…well…you’re from there too and he is about our age…” Veronica cocks her head to the side, thoroughly confused now. Nisha asks in a rush, “Did you know Logan Echolls?”

Veronica blinks, a light buzzing suddenly filling her ears. No one has said that name to her or around her in years now. “Wow, Nisha, I didn’t take you for a star watcher.” Ugh, Veronica, your issues are showing. Careful. In a studiedly casual voice, Veronica continues, “yeah, I knew him. We went to high school together.”  A horrific thought strikes her—this is it—and she adds in a dead voice, “Why?” What is it going to be? Overdose? Car crash?

Nisha is slightly nervous now, she can tell she’s wandered, all unknowing, into deep waters. “There was an accident…training…” 

Training? 

Nisha turns her laptop so that Veronica can see the article she’s been reading, lowering her voice so that she’s almost speaking to herself, “…I didn’t even know he was in the Navy.”

Veronica peers at the screen in a daze, words swimming before her eyes. Snatches of phrases jump out at her, “Lieutenant, Junior Grade Logan Echolls”… “Naval pilot”… “crash” and, horrifyingly, “coma.” She reels back, blinking furiously. She meets Nisha’s eyes for a moment, nodding foolishly and saying, “right…thanks,” before retreating, stumbling, back to her bedroom. She closes the door softly, scrambling on shaky legs across her bed to her laptop. She drags the computer to her and types Logan’s name into a search engine with trembling fingers.

She finds and pulls up a slightly more detailed version of the article Nisha had been reading. It’s all there in black and white. Logan is a pilot in the Navy (Her mind scrambles to make sense of it. A pilot. In the Navy.) Three days ago, on a routine training flight out of San Diego, his aircraft had experienced “undisclosed technical difficulties” and he’d been forced to bail out over the desert. Veronica’s hands are at her mouth, muffling her deep breaths. He is currently in “critical condition” at Scripps Memorial Hospital. The crash had made local news right away, but it only became a national interest story when his name was released this morning. There is nothing else. Nothing more; no additional information no matter how frantically Veronica searches. She bites down on her knuckle, hard. She is sure the article Nisha showed her had mentioned that Logan was in a coma, but she can’t find that information in any of the articles she pulls up and can’t find whatever Nisha was looking at. She starts to type “Logan Echolls coma” into her search engine and only gets to “Log—” before her hands are trembling too much to continue. A sob bubbles up in her throat. No, no, no, no, no, no, no, fuck no. This is not what was supposed to happen. No matter how many times she told herself darkly that it was just a matter of time before she got the call that Logan had been killed in some clichéd rich-boy way, it turns out that she never really believed it would happen, deep down. He was doing well. Getting his life together. We were supposed to… I was going to…

This is so much worse, so much worse than she could have imagined. The Navy. The goddamned Navy! And you didn’t even know.

Her eyes blurry, Veronica pulls out her phone, desperate to call someone for more information. Who? There is no one. No one left who she can reach out to at the push of a button who can tell her anything about Logan.

Numbly, she pulls up the number for Scripps Memorial Hospital. Have to try. Have to try. She is connected through a maze of menu options until she finally reaches a nurse who tells her in a gratingly chipper voice that they, “can’t release patient information over the phone, but friends and family are welcome to visit!”

Veronica stares at the phone for a moment, before swiping at the tears now coursing hotly down her cheeks. She gets up and begins grabbing clothes at random, stuffing them into the small roller suitcase she pulls out from under her bed. After a quick stop in the bathroom to sweep some toiletries into a zip-up case, she heads decisively for the door, realizing only at the last second that she is still wearing her fuzzy house slippers. She swaps her footwear for comfortable flats and darts for the doors, her bag dragging behind her, mind already focused forward on the airport question. JFK or LaGuardia?

As the apartment door closes behind her, she hears Nisha’s muffled and surprised voice call, “Veronica? Where are you going?”

_______ 

Scripps Memorial is big and gorgeous for a hospital. It is in La Jolla—a ritzy part of San Diego—and butts up against dramatic cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean on one side of the complex and an exclusive golf course on another.

The cab drops Veronica off at the hospital’s front entrance. Still dragging her suitcase behind her, she begins to negotiate the maze of information desks.

The fourth time she says, “I’m here to visit Logan Echolls,” the nurse she is talking to looks her up and down suspiciously over the rim of her glasses.

“Name?” the nurse raps out.

“Veronica Mars. Is he here?” Eagerness, fatigue, nerves, and terror are all warring inside her.

The nurse overrides her without even batting an eyelash, launching into what is clearly a practiced speech. “Because of the patient’s…personal situation, his next of kin—“

“Trina! His sister!” Veronica blurts in a desperate attempt to prove her bona fides. You moron, everyone in the world knows Logan’s sister’s name.

The nurse simply nods and continues, “—has requested that no one be admitted to see the patient without specific approval from someone on the approved visitor’s list.”

Veronica nods back at the nurse, “Paparazzi, yeah, I get it. Okay, who on the list is here? Trina? She can vouch for me. Or…” she trails off as the nurse flips through a few pieces of paper. It could be a girlfriend. That could be bad…

The nurse apparently finds what she is looking for on the paper because she nods briskly. “I’ll just go check…what did you say your name was again?”

From behind her, a deep voice intones, “Veronica Mars.”

Veronica whirls around and takes in the tall, tanned blonde standing in front of her, a look of resignation and—dislike?—etched on his face.

“Hi Dick,” she says weakly.

_______

Well this fucking figures.

Dick Casablancas takes in the sight in front of him; Veronica Mars, travel-rumpled and clearly fresh off a plane. Her blonde hair probably started the day in a low ponytail but is now half straggling down around her face. Her eyes are red and her face somehow both blotchy and pale.

Still hot, in a do-the-widow-at-the-funeral kind of way, is his automatic assessment.

“Veronica Mars,” he repeats. “Funny, don’t remember calling you.”

Her eyes close momentarily and when they open there is a spark in them. “Dick…”

Shit. Better get her out of here before she goes all psycho-Ronnie. What the hell is she doing here, anyway? He sighs and reaches forward, grabbing her arm and pulling her away from the nurses’ station. “Look, Veronica. I don’t know what you think you’re doing here, but go home. Leave your number with the nurse and I’ll make sure someone calls you if there’s an update.”

“Dick, I want to see him.”

Fuck no. Not again. Their fucking drama is the last thing Logan needs. He looks her up and down insultingly, not saying a word.

Her back straightens and her eyes begin to glitter dangerously. Yep, still hot. 

“Dick.” She leans in toward him forcefully. “I want to see him.” She emphasizes every word precisely, glaring at him all the while.

Fury crashes through him at her arrogant certainty that she can just waltz back into Logan’s life after all this time. After all the fucking shit she pulled. “Well, Veronica,” he leans on her name sarcastically, “I’m pretty sure you could have seen Logan at any point in the last, oh…six years.” He puts his hand on his chin in a ‘thinker’ pose. “I’m pretty sure you could have picked up any of his calls or returned any of the million or so voicemails he left you that first year. I’m pretty sure, if you’d done that, that you’d have been able to see him whenever you wanted.” Dick glares at her; the anger feels amazing, he’s been longing to punch something for days. “I’m also pretty sure that you didn’t. So why the sudden interest?” Can’t believe she had the balls to show up now, actually. Ronnie always did have brass ones.

Her face is bright red now, expression tight, and she is clearly resisting the urge to slug him. Wonder if she still has the taser. Through clenched teeth, she says, “Look, Dick, all you need to do is tell the nice lady to let me in to see Logan and I won’t hurt you.”

He puts an 'ooh, I’m scared' look on his face, trying to ignore the fact that he is a little. Just leftover fear, of course. His mind flashes to Junior year and his surfboard and he goes on the offensive. “Did you even know he was in the Navy?”

Her jaw tightens even more. “No.” Veronica turns in place as if preparing to stomp away but immediately pivots back to face him. She takes a few slow, deep breaths and the fight seems to go out of her. 

Crap.  

She looks down at the linoleum and says quietly, “I had to leave, Dick. It was no good for me or for him. It…was hard for me too.” She looks up at him, then back down at her feet. “I had to leave, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t care. That I don’t still…care.” The last few words are choked out, barely audible. 

Fuck. You know Logan would have been on a plane in a hot second if he heard she was in a coma.

She adds, painfully. “Please.”

Dick looks at Veronica in her crumpled black pantsuit. She looks utterly defeated and smaller than he can ever remember seeing her. A single tear is running down her cheek. He opens his mouth to say, ‘Here to play the tearful girlfriend? Too little, too late.’ But the words won’t come. He snaps his mouth shut in frustration, glaring at her; trying to hold on to his anger. It’s the only thing keeping him together. Veronica’s hands are clutching the strap of her bag, her knuckles white. She is trembling almost imperceptibly. I’ve never seen her cry. Logan would kill me. The air sails out of him. “Aw, Crap. Come on now, Ronnie.”

“Please.” She senses him weakening, takes a shuddering breath in, and quietly goes for the kill. “I’m begging you, Dick.” Tears cloud her eyes.

Logan is going to kill me. “Crap.” Dick grabs Veronica’s hand and leads her over to a set of hard plastic chairs. “Ronnie, dammit, don’t cry. I don’t have any tissues or shit.”

She looks up at him, defiant despite the sheen in her eyes. “I’m not crying.” 

Fucking goddamn Logan. Fucking Navy.  

She wipes her face with her hands and Dick scoffs. “Naw, of course not. It’s just raining in here.” It’s a weak jab, but losing his anger also seems to have sapped him of any semblance of wit he had managed to scrape up during their battle. Exhaustion sits heavily on him.

Veronica is completely open in a way he can’t ever remember seeing before. “Dick, I want to see him. I just need to see him, please.” 

Damn. She really does still love him. This is fucked up.

A vision of Logan as he looks now flashes through Dick’s head. He winces slightly and runs a hand over his face, scratching at his stubble. “Look, Ron, it’s…he’s hurt pretty bad.”

She is trying to hold it together, trying to be steady. “What happened? I tried to look it up, but there wasn’t much.” 

Shit. Not again. I can’t talk about this again.

“Yeah.” He shrugs. “The Navy. They haven’t told us much either.” He spears his fingers through his hair and tugs at it. Do it quick. “He…his plane, something went wrong and it quit working. He had to eject, yeah?” Veronica nods, her arms cross in front of her stomach, hands clutching her elbows in a protective gesture. “Well, he got out of the plane okay, they think, but his…his…” Dick makes an indicative gesture behind his back and a soft whooshing noise.

“His parachute?” She fills in softly.

“Yeah, that. Sorry. I’ve been awake for, like, two days.” Dick shakes his head, trying to order his thoughts. He’s been over it so many times in his mind and it only gets worse every time. “Anyway, his parachute only opened part way.” Dick can hear his own voice shaking. Dammit. “He hit the ground pretty hard. His one side is all messed up. Lots of broken bones. The docs can tell it to you better, but they’ve got him in a coma, you know, on purpose, ‘cause they’re worried about the—dammit,” He swipes a hand across his face, sniffing, “about the swelling in his brain.” Dick glances up. Veronica looks gutted. He looks away. Can’t watch her and finish this. “They’re really worried about his…his vitals or whatever. His heart rate, his blood pressure, his …” he works carefully to get it right, “respiration rate, keep going all out of whack. Going up and down really quickly. It’s not a good sign, I guess.”

“Shit, Dick.” She grasps the armrests of the plastic hospital chair, squeezing hard. “I am so sorry I wasn’t here. Who else..?”

“The guys from his unit—squad, whatever—have been great. There’s been one of them here pretty much the whole time. This one guy, Tank, he just left.” But they don’t know him like I do. Like...you do.

Veronica nods, looking at her hands. After a moment, she looks up and they stare at each other for what feels like a long time. I can’t believe this. You’d better fucking wake up Logan; I am not dealing with Veronica Mars without you.

Dick breaks eye contact and shakes himself off, wet dog style. “I’ll go talk to the nurse. Get you on the list.”

_______

Dick comes back from the desk and tells her he’s put her on the approved list. She just needs to go show her ID at the Nurses’ Station. To Veronica, it sounds like he is talking from very far away. Everything in the room is fuzzy and muffled. She moves mechanically to the nurses station, and goes through the motions of signing in, Dick’s words echoing horribly in her ears, “…all messed up” “…swelling in his brain” “…not a good sign.”

The nurse finishes up some paperwork and points down the hall, saying something that doesn’t register with Veronica. (“…not a good sign.”) She drifts down the hall in the direction indicated. She’s come all this way, pushed so hard, humbled herself to Dick, for god’s sake, and now she stands, hesitating, outside his door. (“…not a good sign.”) With a deep breath, she tells herself Logan, and propels her body forward into the room.

As she edges around the door, at first all she can see is a mound of white blankets and bandages. Then Logan comes into focus. Oh God. God, please. He is a mass of pain; ugly purple and red bruises and raw, scraped-open skin cover all of the parts of his body she can see. His head is swathed in bandages; dried blood is in clumps around his hairline and in the little bit of hair that is peeking out. Both legs are in casts. Tubes and needles emerge from everywhere. A ventilator tube protrudes from Logan’s mouth; his breath whistles lightly and rhythmically through the nozzle.

Veronica would have thought that seeing him like this would make her collapse; she almost never cries, but the tears have been running off and on since she heard the about the crash and the actual visual is almost too painful to comprehend. Instead, though, her focus seems to sharpen. There is no room in her now for her own emotions. All of her attention is on the unnaturally still form on the bed and she moves to his side as if drawn by a magnet. Her hands flutter around uselessly, wanting to touch him so badly, but not able to see anywhere where she won’t hurt him. The opposite side of his face looks a little better than the side she is facing, she thinks, less bruised. She shifts around to the other side of the bed. It is better. He does look…better from this side. She chokes a little at the thought. He still looks horrible. This arm, his left arm, is less bruised. She settles her fingers onto a relatively clear patch of skin just below the crook of his elbow.

His skin is hot, almost burning her. It takes her by surprise and she jerks her fingers back momentarily before immediately returning them. She had expected his skin to be cold to the touch, instead he feels so…vital. Fight, Logan. To see him lying still in the bed is almost more than she can take. This is Logan; constantly in motion, energy always buzzing around him Logan. Every memory of him is kinetic, tactile. The man in the bed, so motionless, seems to bear no relation to those memories. The intense heat of his body provides the only small hope that her Logan is in there somewhere. 

Fight, Logan.

She stands there for she doesn’t know how long, fixated on his face and on the feel of his skin under her fingertips. She should talk—you’re supposed to talk to people in comas, right?—but she can’t seem to work anything past her throat. Fight, Logan. It runs like a mantra through her mind. Fight, Logan. You’re so good at it and you’ve been doing it for so long. Don’t stop now. Fight, Logan.

The steady beep of his heart rate monitor fills the room. Veronica’s breath slows and her focus narrows until she is breathing in time with his exhalations; until her heart beat matches his. Fight, Logan.

It might be minutes or hours before the sound of footsteps at the door breaks into her almost trance-like state. Someone clears his throat. Veronica looks up, blinking, and the room seems to swim slightly around her as she tears her focus away from the figure in the bed. Standing in the door is a stranger. Tall and dark skinned, he has a battered face that is not quite handsome, but draws the eye nonetheless. He is wearing a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt—nothing to give her any clue as to his identity—and is a few years older than she and Logan; early thirties is her guess.

“Hi,” he says in a melodious baritone, “Sorry to interrupt; you a friend of Mouth's?” He nods at the bed.

“Mouth?” Veronica’s lips curve a little, her voice is hoarse. “His call sign?”

The stranger nods, “If you know him, I probably don't have to explain why." Veronica smiles and he continues. "I wanted to call him Dumbo, you know, for the ears.” He cups his hands behind his own ears in demonstration. "But I got voted down." He shakes his head in mock dismay. "The guys have no imagination. No whimsy." 

Veronica releases a huff of almost laughter. “You’re in the Navy with Logan? In his…” She trails off, her mind blanking. The only military grouping she can think of is platoon, but that’s not the Navy, right?

“His squad, yeah.” The man fills in easily. He strides toward the bed and holds out his hand to her across Logan’s inert form. “I’m Cheese.” Veronica holds out her hand in response, dazedly, and they shake. Cheese gives a quick grin. “John Kraft, to civilians.” He glances down to where Veronica’s other hand is still resting on Logan’s arm. “So, you know Mouth?”

“Yeah.” Um, how to sum this up?  “We’ve been friends since we were twelve. We haven’t seen each other in a while, though. I live in New York,” she says, as though the last two statements have anything to do with one another.

He cocks his head, probably trying to sort through whatever Logan has told him about his past and place her. Uh oh.

“So, Chee— nope, I’m going to go with John.” John simply grins. “Dick said you guys have been by a lot.”

“Yes, ma’am. The Navy sticks together, you know. I’m glad to see someone else here, though. We’re deploying tomorrow. This is probably the last time any of us will be able to get away to see him. Aside from Casablancas, there hasn’t really been anyone else here.” He grimaces, “Well, the sister. But she was hysterical. Useless. Haven’t seen her recently, anyway.”

A nurse pops her head in, “Miss Mars, Mr. Casablancas asked me to tell you that he’s leaving for a while. He said he’ll get you a room at the Marriott—it’s just two blocks away—you just need to check in at the front desk.”

Veronica is somewhat stunned at Dick’s thoughtfulness, but nonetheless mutters to herself, “I’m sure I can’t afford whatever he picked out…”

John cuts in to her absorption. “Are you Veronica, then? I thought you might be.”

Veronica cringes inwardly. “Yes, sorry, I didn’t introduce myself, did I? But you figured it out…did Logan…?”

“Yeah, he’s talked about you. A good bit, actually.” John smiles a little, but she can't help but wonder if it's sincere. “I’m his Wizzo, you know.” He takes in her confused look. “His WSO—Weapon Systems Officer.” Veronica clearly still looks befuddled, because he takes pity on her, “His co-pilot, basically. I probably know more about him than anyone on the squad, which is not saying much. He’s a pretty private guy.”

“Yeah.” His co-pilot. “Were you there when it happened? The…accident?” She looks down and uses the hand not resting on Logan’s arm to smooth a wrinkle in the bed sheet near his hip.

John’s face, open and pleasant up to this point, locks down a bit. The sparkle leaves his eyes. “I wasn’t there, no.” He looks down at Logan grimly. “I would have been—” Veronica can hear the ‘should have been’ in his voice “—but we were doing some last minute emergency pre-deployment training.”

“Dick couldn’t tell me much about what happened.”

“Yeah, you know, the Navy. We’re not really supposed to say anything about it; it’s classified.”

“Oh.” She gulps and looks down again.

“Hey, Mouth didn’t do anything wrong, you know. He’s the best pilot I’ve ever worked with.”

Veronica nods, unable to speak.

John gazes at Logan’s form in the bed. His lips tighten, but his eyes remain soft. “He’s going to be okay; I know he is. He’s strong as hell. He’s a fighter.”

“Yeah, he is.” Fight, Logan.

After a moment of silence, John seems to shake off that line of discussion. “You should take whatever hotel room Casablancas has reserved for you, you know. I can take you there now, if you want. How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

Veronica shakes her head. “No, I just got here; I’m going to stay a while longer. Unless…” she stops as a thought occurs to her. “I’m so sorry; did you want to be alone with him? I can go get some coffee.”

“No,” John replies, “Don’t leave.” He laughs softly, “He’d kill me.” He smiles at her. “He’s better this afternoon, I think.”

“Really?” Veronica looks at him dubiously; a little horrified. I can’t imagine what ‘worse’ looked like.

“Yeah. Every other time I’ve been in here, including this morning, I’ve been shoved out by the nurses when some alarm or other goes off. His respiration. Blood pressure last night,” his voice roughens, “that one was scary.” He looks her directly in the eyes. “He seems more stable tonight.”

“I hope so.”

They sit on either side of the bed in comfortable silence for a few more minutes. Each contemplating Logan’s still form and lost in their own thoughts. Veronica’s fingers trace soft patterns on the inside of Logan’s elbow. I can’t lose him. I’m not going to lose him. I can’t leave until…until I know he’s okay. God, fight, Logan. Please fight.

John glances down at his watch and straightens. “Well, I’d better go. When he wakes up…” He must see an involuntary response on her face, because he repeats softly, but emphatically, “When he wakes up, tell him I said, ‘fly straight.’ He’ll know what I mean.”

She brushes right by his assumption that she’ll be staying until Logan wakes up. “Will do. Thanks John. I’m...really glad Logan has such good friends.”

“And I’m glad I finally got to meet Mouth’s girl.” He smiles and turns to leave.

“Veronica?” He pauses on his way out the door. “Talk to him. I think he’ll be really glad to know you’re here.”

Veronica nods, her attention already fixed back on Logan. Softly, she addresses him for the first time in six years. “Okay then, Logan, what shall we talk about?”

____

He is lost. Running but he can’t seem to feel the ground beneath him.

Find her!

Find her!

Save her!

Behind him, he hears the crack of a belt. A dozen belts.

Oh no, God, nononononono…

They found him again; they’ll hurt her.

They’re hurting her.

His mind screams at him—Turn and fight! No, look for her, find her!

It doesn’t matter, he can’t stop running. His body won’t obey his commands. Find her!

Can’t stop running. They’re hurting her.

A roaring fill his ears, it sounds like a jet.

Then, through the roar, a sound. It’s a voice he can’t make out.

Find her.

The voice is rising and falling in a light cadence. He knows it is speaking words but he can’t make them form in his mind.

Save her…

The voice continues. It seems important somehow. He tries to concentrate on it, but it keeps slipping away.

Find…her?

The voice.

Her?

He listens intently to the voice, feeling…

Safe.

Home.

(It clicks.)

Everything fades to black.

____

At eleven p.m.—two a.m. New York time, her brain calculates dazedly—Veronica allows the nurses to shoo her out. So far she’s filled Logan in on her Stanford years. “The dreaded gap year tomorrow, okay?” She says to him as she leaves reluctantly, giving his arm a final stroke. “I know you’ll be waiting with bated breath.”

Her only answer is the rhythmic beeps of the various machines he’s hooked up to. Fight, Logan. “Goodnight.”

____

When she wakes up the next morning, her face smooshed into a fresh smelling pillow, Veronica honestly has no recollection of how she got from the hospital to her hotel room. Somehow, throat sore from crying and talking and as bone tired as she’s ever been in her life, she had managed to make it up to her room and collapse on the bed. She rolls over, groaning, and surveys herself. Didn’t manage to get undressed, however. Her sensible pantsuit is seriously the worse for the wear.

Logan.

She flops out of bed, falling to her knees. Ouch. Ouch. So sore. Pulling herself up using the end of the bed, she half limps, half crawls to the bathroom to take a scalding shower.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s flying out of the room, dressed in comfortable jeans and a striped t-shirt, wet hair scraped back into a ponytail.

At the hospital, she stops to check in at the nurses’ station. Yesterday’s brusque check-in nurse has been replaced by a younger, friendlier version (“Call me Helen, hon.”)

Veronica braces herself a little before heading into Logan’s room. Her walk over to the hospital had been plagued by images of Logan, broken and bruised in the bed. His life measured in beeps. Overwhelmed, she had cried for the first time since seeing Logan the previous day. And in public, too, perhaps a first for her. Great sobbing, heaving gulps shook her frame as she determinedly kept moving forward on the sidewalk. Passersby went scurrying away from her. She is more under control now, but she still feels a great wall of grief and fear hovering, waiting to take her over. Monstrous images of Logan’s injuries fill her mind and she can’t understand her relative calm in his room yesterday. How did she keep from breaking down? How could she even look at him like that? What will it be like to see him today?

A vaguely familiar nurse bustles out of Logan’s room as Veronica stands hovering on the threshold. She catches the woman’s eye. “How is he doing?”

The nurse—Lisa, according to her ID—smiles, “He had a great day yesterday, and an excellent night, his best so far, but not so great this morning.”

Oh my god. “What happened?”

“A few alarms. High blood pressure.”

Veronica’s heart is pounding. I can’t do this. “Oh God.”

Lisa pats her arm, comfortingly. “Go on in and see him. You’ll both feel better.”

Strangely, Veronica does feel better as soon as she steps in the room. Her breathing calms and her attention snaps into focus, just like the previous day. It is amazing how much of a presence Logan is, even battered and lying still. He seems to fill up the room and her senses.

She steps up to the left side of the bed, her hand automatically returning to its newly accustomed place on Logan’s arm. She wills her voice into a cheery tone. “Hey there sailor, ready to hear about my adventures in paralegaling?”

________

At noon, the nurses kick her out of Logan’s room so that they can change his bandages. Veronica decides to stretch her legs, find the cafeteria and put something into her suddenly ravenous stomach. First, though, she needs to do something she’s been putting off for too long. Call her dad.

She stops in the corridor outside Logan’s room, her phone in hand, and considers her opening line. He is not going to be happy about this. Veronica’s dad has very...decided opinions about Logan. Or, more accurately, about Veronica and Logan together. Not that’s he’s ever really expressed them out loud; no, that would be too easy to deal with. It was all subtle sighs, tightened lips and pointed silences. He is eternally supportive of her in almost every other way, so the underlying hint of disapproval that always colored their discussions about Logan stung more than it should have. And, Veronica has become aware with time and distance, it probably affected her relationships with Logan in ways she hadn’t fully realized at the time.

Her dad had been ecstatic—over the moon—when she got into Columbia Law. Her first year grades had practically had him strutting like a peacock. She knows that he is not going to be happy to hear that she flew all the way across the country, ditching the end of her 1L summer internship, to be with Logan.

Veronica starts walking again, heading toward the nurses’ station on her way out. She uses her thumb to scroll down her phone’s contact list, letting it hover over the photo of Keith. Her father’s picture stares up at her, his fingers hooked into the corners of his mouth, pulling it into an exaggerated, goofy grin. She taps the call button.

As she approaches the corner of the hallway, the ring tone sounds once, twice—maybe he won’t pick up and I can just leave a message—three times in her ear. Then Veronica experiences a strange moment of dislocation as the next ring seems to come simultaneously from the phone in her hand and from the hallway ahead of her. She lowers her phone from her ear in surprise just in time to run smack into a man coming around the corner in the other direction who is in the act of pulling a phone out of his pocket.

The two bounce off of each other, stumbling back, and begin spouting apologies before they even look up.

Then they do.

Veronica stands stunned for a second before pasting a weak smile on her face. “Hi Dad.”

______

“Veronica!”

And, in fact, there she stands in front of him, his gorgeous daughter, looking exhausted and sheepish. A guilty blush tints her cheeks.

Keith blinks, trying to gain himself some recovery time. “No, I’m sorry, ma’am. You can’t possibly be Veronica. Veronica is in New York, getting ready to start her second year at Columbia Law School. Veronica would never fly across the country without letting her dear old dad know.”

Veronica flashes him an unhappy look before her gaze drops to the ground, “Dad…”

He continues, overriding her, his voice rising, “Veronica would never put her whole life on hold for no reason, just to see—“

“Dad!” She cuts him off, fire lighting in her eyes as she leans forward onto the balls of her feet in what Keith recognizes as her combative stance. 

She probably wouldn’t do that so often if she knew it only reminds me of her, age six, trying to get another scoop of ice cream in her bowl.

“No, Veronica. I don’t want to hear it.” He shakes his head emphatically. He is just as much in the right now as he was then--this situation is just as unhealthy. “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

She doesn’t back down an inch. That's my girl. Pride and frustration all wrapped up in a ball; the eternal Veronica Mars parenting experience. 

“You know exactly what I’m doing, Dad. I’m here to see Logan. Who is in a coma.” Her voice chokes a bit and she points a finger at him, “what are you doing here?”

He fires back. “I am here—on my lunch break, having not ditched any of my responsibilities—to check on Logan, who I have known since he was a teenager.” Despite whatever the hell he did to my daughter that caused her not to speak to him for over six years.

She is still flushed, breathing heavily, but calming down. “And you didn’t think I might want to do the same? You didn’t think I might want to know?” 

Keith is somewhat taken aback by that because, honestly, the answer is 'no.' He hadn't thought Veronica would want to know. He'd thought she'd left all of this behind her; this dangerous kid, now a dangerous young man. What have you been missing, Keith?

He puts his hands to his head, exasperated. “Veronica, they just released his name yesterday. I just found out this morning.” Wait a minute… “How did you…”

Veronica has taken advantage of his distraction to regain her composure. She's got a look in her eye now that is even more frightening to Keith than when she’s on the warpath—he can handle her like that. She tells him evenly, “I saw the news yesterday morning. I caught a flight and got in early yesterday evening.” 

She didn’t even think about it. Just came.  

She must be able to read the slight hurt he feels, because her tone shifts a bit. “I would have called you—I am sorry about that—but I was at the hospital so late and I…”

“You’ve seen him already? How is he?”

“He’s…” She is choking a little now, he recognizes the gulping breaths that are Veronica’s prelude to a big cry. 

Dang it.  

“Oh Daddy, he’s…bad.” Her face collapses and she leans toward him.

From angry to determined to crying in under a minute. More than anything she’s said, Veronica’s uncharacteristically lightning-quick mood shifts have him worried as hell. Keith pulls her into his arms, making shushing noises and stroking her hair as she shudders on his shoulder. Oh baby, baby, baby. My little girl. My smart little girl.

She sniffles into his shirt. “Dad, were you going to tell me?”

He pulls back and looks at her, his mouth twists downward wryly. “No, probably not, sweetie. There is nothing you can do here and you have a life to live.”

She pushes him away angrily—another shift—wiping her face and regaining her composure. “I can’t believe you.”

Oh no. This isn’t all on me. “I can’t believe you. When have you ever wanted to hear anything about Logan?”

“This is different and you know it.”

This kid is bad news. Look at how in knots he’s got you. Go back to New York. Be safe. He can’t say any of it. She won’t hear it. She never hears it.

As they stand there, glaring at each other, Dick Casablancas pops into the lounge, looking freshly shaven and showered but with an underlying paleness to his skin that speaks to sleeplessness and worry.

“Whoa.” He stops as he sees them and spreads his arms wide in an expressive gesture. “A Mars family reunion.” He looks back and forth between them. They stare back at him. “Oookay, then. You two stay out here and be awkward. I’ll go sit with our boy.” He flashes them a peace sign and starts to head down the hallway.

Veronica shakes herself, gives Keith the ‘wait just a second’ gesture and takes off down the hallway after Dick. She catches up with him and they have an animated conversation. Keith reads their body language from his position in the lounge. Catching him up on Logan’s condition. She’s really all in with this isn’t she? She’s not going to back down. God, baby, I don’t want this for you. Don’t want him for you.

Veronica finishes up with Dick and turns back, a look of determined trepidation on her face as she walks toward him. But it doesn’t matter what I want for you, does it?

With an internal sigh, he capitulates. Just like he always does for her. “So, are you staying here, or crashing with me?”

____

For Veronica, the next few days pass in a blur of doctors and nurses and Logan. The hospital staff has stopped being nameless and interchangeable to her; she knows all of Logan’s nurses now. There is Lisa, a mother of two from Encinitas; Tran and Noelle, the night nurses, whose infinite patience Veronica has tried more than once; Helen, the nice shift supervisor and Sheila the tough one; Yoselin, who Veronica loves, and Angie who smells like camphor and mothballs.

Dick is in and out several times every day. Surprisingly enough, he seems to have some other daily responsibilities to take care of, though Veronica can’t begin to guess what they are and doesn’t care enough to ask him. Veronica’s father has been back once—tense-lipped but cheerful on the surface—but Trina hasn’t come at all, although Helen mentions to Veronica that she did call, once, in the middle of the night.

Logan gets a little better each day. His vital signs have been encouragingly stable—no alerts since Veronica’s first night in San Diego. By Veronica’s fourth day at the hospital, the doctors seem hopeful that his cranial pressure has reduced to the point where it will be safe to try to lower the dosage of drugs he’s on and bring him out of the coma the next day.

The next morning, Veronica enters the room to find that they’ve changed the bandages around Logan’s head to a much smaller swath, exposing more of his cheekbones, his forehead, and his hair to the light. Veronica tilts her head to the side, contemplating him, and picks up a wet washcloth from a bowl by the sink.

“Hey, baby,” the endearment slips out without a thought and she doesn’t care to think about it, thank you very much. “Let’s get you cleaned up here, hmm?” She leans over him and starts gently scrubbing at his hairline, loosening the clumps of dried blood that are matted into his hair.

Gently, she washes his exposed hair, running her fingers through it and enjoying the clean, damp feel. He must have been just about ready for a hair cut before the accident because his hair has grown out to something resembling the length he kept it in high school. Veronica uses her fingers to tease it into damp spikes, smiling slightly.

As some of the bandages have come off and the swelling from his injuries has slightly reduced, she has noticed that Logan’s physique has changed considerably since he was nineteen. The Navy has chiseled him; he is both leaner and more muscular. A pilot’s build, not a surfer’s anymore.

One of Logan’s doctors comes into the room and makes a beeline for the machine displaying Logan’s EEG readings. Doctor Mc…Something, she isn’t the friendliest of Logan’s team but she has a brisk, no-nonsense manner that Veronica automatically respects and a reputation as the best in the state at what she does. She appears completely unaware of the fact that Logan is somewhat notorious or, for that matter, of the identities of anyone else in the room at any given point. She nods briefly at Veronica, “Mrs. Echolls.” She’s called Veronica this twice before and each time Veronica has corrected her; today she doesn’t bother. The doctor pulls out her handheld electronic reader and looks back and forth between it and the current readings on one of the many machines beeping away next to Logan. She smiles a little.

“Well, Mrs. Echolls, looks like good news. We’re going to be able to start weaning your husband here off of the barbiturates today. He’s young and strong. Good reflexes. I’d expect him to start waking up as early as this evening.” Her head goes back down to her screen. “I’ll send a nurse in to prep you on what to expect.”

The doctor shoves her electronic reader back in the pocket of her coat and with a quick, “good day!” she is off down the hall, leaving a ferociously grinning Veronica behind her.

Veronica bends down to the figure on the bed, “Hear that? You’re going to wake up today! No more lazing around eating bonbons, Echolls. Time to rejoin the world!” She taps her finger to the tip of his nose, still grinning like a fool.

Lisa comes in and says, cheerily, “I hear we’re waking up today!”

“Yup.” Veronica flops down into a chair, exhaling loudly and joyfully.

“That’s excellent.” Lisa beams at her, genuinely happy. “There are a few things you should know. We’ll be taking out his ventilator and feeding tubes later today once those vital signs start to come online. That can be pretty painful, so it’s better to do it before he’s fully awake. You might want to leave the room, go get some dinner, while we’re doing that. It’s pretty tough to watch.”

Veronica is sobering up. “I’ll stay.”

Lisa shoots her a look, but continues. “Patients coming out of comas, even medically induced ones, are usually very confused for a while. Sometimes for a few days, even. He may look awake and seem like he’s responding, but he likely won’t remember conversations later.”

Lisa walks over to the bed and starts tapping buttons on one of the machines. “Lots of coma patients report vivid dreams and many of them have a hard time separating those dreams from reality at first.” She turns to Logan and tweaks one of the tubes going into his IV port. “He won’t remember the crash—likely he never will—and he won’t understand why he’s in the hospital at first. You’ll have to explain things to him over and over. Just be calm and reassuring and keep it simple. Let him know he’ll be okay.” She looks at Veronica and pats her shoulder. “He will be okay. He’s got a long road ahead of him, but he’s young and strong.”

____

Fear! They’ve caught me! They’ve got her! They’re hurting her!

The pain, ohdeargod the pain. He struggles to the surface, choking. Gasping. He can’t breathe. Can’t breathe. They’re hurting her.

(Shhhh…)

The voice. Her.

(Shhh…It'll be all right.)

Pain! He retreats, sinking back into the black, away from the pain.

(Shhh…love you so much.)

____

Veronica hangs over Logan’s bed, stroking his shoulder lightly. Watching them take out his ventilation tube an hour earlier had been almost more than she could take.

The procedure was clearly enormously painful and, even though Logan wasn’t fully awake, his thrashing and moans were heart breaking. The first sounds I’ve heard him make and they’re ones of pain. I wish I could fix this.

Dick, who’d sat with her for hours that afternoon, had left before the extubation, promising to return later in the evening. The nursing staff has cleared the room, but left Veronica with strict instructions to call them when Logan wakes up.

She’s been battling a strange sense of nerves since she came down off of her initial high at hearing that Logan would be waking up. It’s been six years…almost seven. What if he… She pushes the thoughts away. Unproductive.

She’d spent the afternoon before the extubation cleaning the already spotless hospital room. Meticulously wringing out all of the washcloths she’d used. Re-folding Logan’s already folded clothing—unlikely to be used for weeks. Yoselin, upon coming into the room to find Veronica carefully pleating one of Logan’s t-shirts, had asked jokingly if she’d like to borrow the floor polisher.

It’s been so long. Tonight you’re going to talk to Logan for the first time since… She’d carefully buffed a scuff off of her shoe with a paper towel. What if he…

For now, though, Veronica is content to sit by the bed and watch Logan breathing. The steady rise and fall of his chest is reassuring although, after the last week, it seems almost obscenely quiet without the tell-tale hiss of the ventilator tube.

Logan’s fingers twitch a little. She sits up at attention. “Logan?”

Nothing.

A minute later he lets out a small groan and flexes his toes. She looks anxiously at his face.

Nothing. 

Finally, Logan’s eyes start to flutter open. Veronica can’t help the slight gasping inhale she lets out at the motion.

His eyes open fully and he stares up at her, blinking, uncomprehending. Her heart is one giant ache, ready to burst.

“Hi,” she breathes out tremulously. “Hi there.” Tears spring to her eyes. “Logan.” She reaches out to touch his cheek, lightly. His eyes track her hand, but his face is still puzzled and he doesn’t say anything. Veronica remembers Lisa’s advice. “You’re okay, Logan. There was an accident, but you’re okay. You’re in the hospital.”

He moves his lips, trying to talk, but nothing comes out.

“Shhh…don’t try to talk. They just took your ventilator tube out.”

A panicked look flits across his features.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Let me get you some water.”

He nods, weakly, and she reaches behind her to the cup of ice chips on the bed table. They’ve melted enough that there is a bit of cold water in the cup. Veronica sticks a straw in the cup and holds it up to Logan’s lips. “Just a little, okay. Take it easy.”

He takes a small sip and she pulls the cup back, scanning his face worriedly. He swallows painfully, working his throat before pushing out a single word.

“Hurt.”

“Oh god, Logan, I know. I know it hurts. They just took your ventilator tube out. But you’re going to be fine, the doctors said. Just fine.”

“What…?”

Keep it simple. “There was an accident. You broke your legs. You had a collapsed lung and a bunch of fractures and bruises. You’re in a hospital and you’re getting better.”

“Ver… ‘ronica?”

She looks at him attentively, eyebrows arched in question, her hand stroking his bicep.

“…here?”

Heat floods her face. He wants to know why I’m here. Veronica is abruptly conscious of her hand, now on the bare skin of Logan’s upper chest, in a way she hadn’t been moments before. She feels cold all over suddenly, and very far away. Pulling back a little, she removes her hands from Logan and straightens his bed sheet. “It’s been a while, huh?” She pastes a little smile on her face and looks up briefly to meet his still confused eyes. She looks back down. “Bet you’re surprised to see me. You’ve had a lot of visitors.” She chatters brightly, her gaze darting around the room. “Dick should be here soon; he’s been here every day. All of the guys from your squad. I met John—Cheese. He’s a great guy, Logan.” She can hear herself babbling, but can’t seem to stop it. If I stop, I’ll start crying. He hasn’t moved at all physically, but she can feel him withdrawing from her. The words dry up in her mouth. He doesn’t want me here. What did you expect? You left. It’s been six years.

“I’ll just…I’ll go get a doctor, unless…” she forces the words past her numb lips.

She waits a minute, hoping, but Logan echoes, faintly, “Go.” Pain spears through her. 

What did you expect?  

She moves back from the bed, still avoiding his eyes. As she steps away, Dick bursts through the door of the room, trailed by two nurses.

“Logan!” Dick strides toward the bed. “Logan, man. You’re back in the land of the living.” Dick’s voice is thick and Veronica can see tears in his eyes.

Dick is completely absorbed in Logan. The nurses bustle around the bed, checking machines and tubes, filling the room with activity. Dick is animated; tossing questions at Logan and answering them himself; making dramatic, amusing, overtures to the nurses that are clearly for Logan’s benefit.

Unnoticed, Veronica fades to the back of the room. She stands there, watching the show for a minute, her chest feeling curiously empty. You are an intruder. An interloper. What did you expect? She nods a little to herself before quietly slipping out of the room.

Veronica hurries briskly down the hall in the opposite direction from the nurses’ station. She reaches a little alcove in the hallway where two large floor-to-ceiling windows meet to create a V. At the apex of the V, Veronica presses her back to one of the windows and lets her legs collapse out from under her as she slides down into a sitting position. What did you expect? With shaking hands, she pulls her phone out of her pocket and dials a familiar number. “Dad, hi,” she says brightly, “guess what! Logan is awake.” She listens uncomprehendingly as Keith’s words wash through the phone, “Mmhm...it’s great. He’s going to be fine. Listen, I’m probably going to be flying back to New York right away. I don’t know if I’ll be able to make it up to see you before I do.” She takes advantage of his stunned silence to wrap up the call. “So, I just wanted to let you know. I’ll call you later and let you know where I am.” Over her Dad’s protests, she concludes brightly. “Bye, Dad!” She ends the call and immediately thumbs the phone’s volume down to silent and shoves it back in her pocket.

Veronica leans her forehead forward to rest it against the facing window, so that both her head and her back are cradled by cool glass, and takes a deep shuddering breath. 

I expected…

“Ronnie, what the hell?!”

Veronica startles, looking up to see Dick looming over her, concern on his face. She blinks up at him, “Oh, hi Dick. Sorry, you surprised me.” Her sunny tone sounds even less convincing than it did a minute ago. “It’s great, isn’t it?”

Dick shuffles his feet. “Ronnie, are you okay? He’s going to be all right, you know.”

She takes in a big breath and begins struggling to stand up. “I know. Listen, Dick. I’m going to head back to New York. I’ll send you a check to cover the hotel." Maybe I’ll sell a kidney. "Thanks for everything. Do you…do you think you could maybe email me every so often and let me know how he’s doing?”

She pushes her hair out of her eyes as she works her way to her feet. Dick is gaping at her.

“What…New York? Ronnie, you need to get back in there right now.”

Her heart rate shoots up as fear arrows through her, “What happened? Is he okay?”

Dick looks at her strangely, “Nothing happened. He just needs you.”

“No, I… He doesn’t want me in there. He made that clear.”

Dick is getting angry with her. “Ronnie, he just woke up from a coma. I don’t know how he could have made anything clear. Shit. I thought you were just overwhelmed; that you needed a minute.”

“He—”

Dick cuts her off, his voice rising. “Fuck you, Ronnie, if you think you’re going to leave. You do not get to fucking do this to him. You do not get to run away now.” There is a look in his eyes she hasn’t seen since their first encounter in the hospital. “You are going back in that fucking room if I have to carry you.”

She puts up her hands in a ‘stop’ gesture. “Dick, what is going on?”

Dick paces toward her agitatedly, his eyebrows pulled down and his voice trembling with anger. “They’re trying to get him to rest. Trying to get him to take some medicine and all he’s doing is calling for you. Won’t let them give him anything. And you’re out here. Fucking running away.” His hands are balled into fists at his sides.

Veronica stands, stunned for a moment, and then, without a backwards glance at Dick, she takes off down the hallway.

When she reaches the open door of Logan’s room, the sight that greets her is horrifying. One nurse is holding a syringe, clearly trying to inject it into Logan’s IV port. His good left arm is flailing around, thwarting her. Two other nurses try to hold him back without hurting him. His groans of pain are interspersed with shouts—shouts of her name—almost inarticulate and full of anguish.

“Veron’ca! V’ron—ronica! V’ronica!”

“Logan!” She rushes toward the bed, bumping the nurse with the syringe out of the way without even realizing it, and grabs his thrashing hand. Forcefully, she threads her fingers through his and controls his hand, bringing it up to her chest. She is making shushing noises.

“Shhh...shhh, Logan. Calm down. You have to calm down.” As his thrashing stills, and his harsh breathing ratchets down a notch, the nurse manages to jab the syringe in his port, injecting the light sedative.

Logan mumbles, “Sorry. So, sorry, Veronica. Don’t go. Don’t go.”

She gives a watery gasp. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.” Her free hand lightly caresses his face. “I’m right here.”

The sedative is working quickly on him in his weakened state, his eyelids are fluttering shut. He grips her hand weakly. “Stay. Promise.”

“I promise. I’ll stay. I won’t go anywhere.”

He drops into sleep and Veronica bursts into sobs.

____

Several hours later, Logan surfaces again, blinking his eyes at her. Veronica raises her head from where it has been resting on the bed. Their hands are still laced together; her numb fingers wiggle in his.

They gaze at each other silently for a long moment. Logan seems a little more lucid. He clears his throat and says, hoarsely, “Veronica. You’re here.”

She smiles at him. “I promised I would be.”

“I thought…They didn’t hurt you?”

She blinks, taken aback. “What? No. No one has hurt me. I’ve been right here with you.”

“Oh…I thought...” He shakes his head a little and winces at the resulting pain. He takes in her face. “You’ve been crying.” He tries to lift his still bandaged right hand toward her and falls back, face twisted into a rictus.

Veronica jumps in, gently. “Don’t try to move too much. You’re in the hospital Logan. There was an accident. Do you remember us talking about this before?”

“No…”

“You’re going to be fine. Both of your legs are broken and in casts, that’s why you can’t move them. You had a feeding tube and a ventilator tube. They just removed those this evening; that’s why your throat and stomach are sore. You have a lot of fractures and bruises, but you’re going to be all right.”

He blinks and looks at her. “You’re here.”

“Yeah,” she says softly, playing with his fingers but not withdrawing her gaze. “I came in from New York as soon as I found out.”

“You’ll stay?”

“I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me until you get better, buddy,” she jokes lightly, “so I’d suggest you get on that.”

He smiles weakly at her but doesn’t answer.

“Logan? I’m going to go buzz the nurse, okay? The doctor wanted to see you when you woke up again.”

His fingers tighten weakly on hers. “Come back?”

“I promise that I’ll come right back and I’ll stay as long as they’ll let me.”

He nods infinitesimally. As she pulls away to call a nurse, something like determination flits through his still slightly befuddled eyes. He tugs lightly at her hand, drawing her toward him. He breathes in, locking his gaze with hers. “Kiss?”

Veronica’s heart stops as she looks at him. A smile wobbles on her lips. “You haven’t changed a bit, have you?”

He gives her a weak, ghostly version of his trademark smirk. She leans down and presses a firm kiss to his forehead, her eyes closing against the tears prickling there. As she leaves the room she hears his amused voice drifting faintly from behind her, “…tease.”

____

A week goes by; Logan gets stronger every day. His two broken legs keep him mostly bed bound, but he’s quickly regaining use of the rest of his more lightly damaged left side. For the first few days, he still frequently seems confused as to where exactly he is and what happened.

There have been no more requests for kisses.

He does ask her several more times, anxiously, if she’s sure “they” didn’t hurt her. From what Veronica can tell—obsessive internet researching fills what little time she doesn’t spend at the hospital or asleep—recent coma patients often have difficulty separating their dreams from reality. Her heart aches for what that says about Logan’s dreams.

The days bleed quickly, one into another. Veronica’s dad comes to visit and makes pained small talk with an extremely confused looking Logan. Wallace drives down to meet Veronica for lunch another day and Trina finally makes a much belated and very brief visit.

Veronica sends regular email updates to John Kraft to pass on to the rest of Logan’s squad.

Every day Logan becomes more fully himself, displaying hints of the same wit and snap she remembers, fighting through the fog of pain and confusion. She can tell he hasn’t fully comprehended his situation, though. Various military figures have come in to debrief him, pointedly ushering Veronica out the door, but Logan has shown no curiosity about himself or his situation. He’s asked no questions about her life. He seems to placidly accept her daily presence at the hospital and at his bedside.

One morning, a week after Logan wakes up, Veronica walks into the room to find him sitting up in bed. The head of the bed is tilted forward and several pillows are stacked behind him. Logan looks up at her entrance with a troubled look on his face.

Veronica stops for a second, taken aback. “Are you all right Logan? Do you need pain medication?”

“I’m fine.” His tone is tired, but firm. 

He sounds like his old self. He really is getting better.

“We need to talk, Veronica.”

_______

Veronica pastes a cheery smile on her face and brandishes the white pastry bag in her hand. Logan had finally been put on an unrestricted diet the previous day and she’s brought a treat. “Look, I brought contraband muffins. Banana!”

Under most circumstances, Veronica Mars in his room, looking tired but achingly beautiful and bearing food, would be enough to distract Logan, but not today. No way. I’ve finally gotten it together enough to have this conversation. You’re not dodging it that easily.

“Veronica.” He makes sure his tone brooks no argument.

Sighing, Veronica puts the bag down on a table and sits down in the chair by the bed. “Okay then, let’s talk.” She looks at Logan expectantly.

He meets her gaze briefly and then looks away, down to his lap where his fingers pleat the bed sheet. Just like you practiced. “I’ve been…confused since I woke up. Not really thinking about things right. But the last couple of days I’ve been wondering…” He looks up and meets her gaze. “I want to know what you’re supposed to be doing instead of being here with me.”

“Logan…”

“Tell me.” Logan puts the full force of his personality behind the demand. Veronica blinks at him. That’s right baby, I’m here now.

“All right.” She says quietly. “I came from New York, you remember my saying that?” Logan furrows his brow but nods a little. “I’m there for school—Columbia Law.”

Logan’s gaze softens and he beams at her. That’s my girl. “Veronica, that is amazing. Columbia. Congratulations.”

She blushes a little and looks down. “Thank you.”

“But…” He is quiet for a moment, calculating. “How long has it been since the crash?”

“About two and a half weeks.”

“So it’s late August?”

“Yeah.” She meets his eyes. Logan can tell she knows where this line of questioning is going, but she’s not going to help him get there.

“Classes must have started.”

She smoothes a wrinkle in her pants. “They start tomorrow, actually.”

Shit.  “Veronica!”

“Logan!” she mimics his scolding tone.

Shit. Cowboy up. “You should be there. You should go now. Today. I can pay for a last minute ticket, no problem. You can still make the first day.”

“Logan.” Her lips are pursed and, when she lifts her eyes to his they are resolute. “I’m not going back right now. I talked to admissions a few days ago—“

“Veronica!” he groans, but she overrides him and continues.

“—they’re going to let me take a leave of absence for the semester. It’s already done, Logan. No going back now.” 

No, baby, don’t do this for me. Not if you don't mean it. 

He picks an easier protest. “Jesus, your dad must be furious. I can’t believe he didn’t say anything to me when he was here.”

“I made him swear not to. You were in no shape to hear it.” She drops her head and mutters darkly, “Plus, I’ve heard enough about it from him.” 

She went against her dad for this. For me. Does that mean…?

“Veronica.” He pauses, hating the fear and hesitation he can feel on his face. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, because I am so, so grateful you are here, but…why are you here?”

She arches her eyebrows. “The irresistible allure of hospital cafeteria food?”

“Please don’t,” he says, softly. This is so important. So goddamn important. “Why are you here?”

“Logan, you needed someone. Although, if I’d known how dedicated Dick would prove to be, I might not have…”

“So you’re here because I needed someone?” The words leave a bad taste in his mouth. “For that you ditched law school?” I need more than that. Please. Please.

“Logan…” she slaps her palms on her thighs, clearly frustrated, and shoots out of the chair. Pacing across the room, she comes to a halt with her back to him, facing the wall. “I came because…”

Veronica trails off and silence fills the room. It drags out for a beat. Two. Three. Please.

Finally, Logan prompts in a shaky voice. “Because..?”

She turns around slowly to face him. From across the room their gazes lock and she says, quietly but decisively. “Because I had to.”

“You had to,” he repeats. It is not a question, but she nods anyway. His thoughts are inarticulate. Please. Oh god. Please.

Logan draws in a shuddering breath. He holds out a hand to her. “Veronica, would you come here?”

She moves automatically to the side of the bed, her hand momentarily reaching out as though from muscle memory to lay itself in its accustomed place on his arm before she lets it fall back at her side.

“No,” he pats the bed next to him. “Come here, please.”

“Logan, I don’t think that’s such a good idea. You’re still—“

“Please.” He pats the bed again, using his eyes to beg with all that is in him.

She acquiesces, gingerly crawling up onto the narrow bed, carefully avoiding his casts and the few machines he is still hooked up to. He extends his left arm and she curls up into his side, draping her arm carefully across his waist and pressing her forehead into his armpit. Finally. Finally. He feels like sobbing.

They shift around a bit, adjusting the bed and covers. Logan winces.

“I’m hurting you.”

Veronica tries to pull back, but Logan grips her desperately. “It was hurting more to have you over there.”

They lay silently for a few minutes; Logan nuzzles Veronica’s hair with his chin and cheek and breathes in the scent of her skin. Six years. Six years. Veronica’s hand lightly caresses his torso, tracing the edges of his yellowing bruises.

Eventually, it is Veronica who breaks the quiet. “When I heard about the crash…” She draws in a shuddering breath, “When I heard, I realized that I could lose you. Permanently.” The arm under her twitches as Logan brings his hand up and tenderly brushes the hair away from her face. “I realized that I had always thought that someday we’d… that I’d see you again and we’d…” She stops for a moment and gathers her thoughts before continuing, even more quietly. “I thought we were finding our way back to each other. Not…not consciously, you understand. I told myself I’d moved on. I dated.” His arm tightens comfortingly around her shoulders. “But when I heard about the accident I knew that was wrong. I knew I’d always subconsciously been working my way back to you,” she snorts a little, “very slowly.”

Logan presses a light kiss to the top of her head and says, “So you came.” Thank you. Thank you to whoever is listening.

She nods into his side. “Because I had to.”

“Veronica.” Logan nudges her with his arm until she props herself up, leaning her chin on his chest so that their eyes can meet. “Everything I’ve done for the last six years—everything—has been about getting you back. Deserving to have you back.” And it's true; he'd needed the navy--needed to do something he could be proud of and she could be proud of.

Her lips brush softly against his skin--half kiss, half caress--as she murmurs. “So…you want to try this thing again?”

“No.” On the back of a sudden surge of confidence, his voice is firm. Unilateral. She sucks in a breath and starts to pull back. His grip tightens around her, not letting her go. “I don’t want to try. I want to do this again. Do us again. And I want to succeed, because nothing in the world has ever hurt more than losing you and I don’t think I could do that again.”

She sniffs a little. “Says the man with two broken bones, fourteen fractures and a formerly collapsed lung.”

“Yep.” He confirms. “Nothing has ever hurt more, says the man who fell out of a plane.”

She shudders. “Don’t joke about that, please.”

“Hey,” he teases, lightly, “This relationship is built on joking about things that would cause weaker people to flee in fear.”

She laughs, but he can feel her body tensing a little in his arms, as though for some big reveal. “Logan, I’m glad I’m going to be here with you to help out with your recovery. I don’t have even a single regret about that choice. But…next semester I’m going back to New York.”

Oh. “I would expect nothing less.”

“I don’t know if I want to be a lawyer, but I want to finish law school. I want to finish at Columbia. I’ve done well there—put myself up against the best.” 

The thought of another separation looming over them is scary, but It wouldn't be Veronica Mars if it wasn't difficult. And goddamn will it be worth it if he can snatch even a handful of moments like this one. If he can wrap even a small part of his life around hers. 

Logan gathers his conviction. Right now, in the blissful haze of reunion, anything seems possible. 

“Veronica, I know it'll be hard but I...I don't care. Would I like to see you everyday? Yes. But ultimately I don’t care where you are as long as you let me be with you.” He smiles at her, gazing deeply into her eyes, really believing his own words. We can do this. “We can talk every day. You can come home on breaks. I’ll come out there whenever I get a chance.” He grins a little. “I’m a multimillionaire with a pilot’s license, Veronica. I’m pretty sure I can make it to New York regularly.” 

I wonder if she’ll let me pay the rent on her apartment in New York while she’s here. That’s an argument for another day.

She laughs as he traces light patterns on her back. Her chin is digging into his chest and he doesn’t care. Doesn’t care one bit.

“Plus, when I’m on deployment we’d be long distance anyway. You can email me just as well from New York as from Neptune.”

“You’re going back into the Navy?” 

Oh, sweetheart…

“Veronica,” he says gently, “There is no going back; I’m still in. I made a commitment. As soon as I’m released from the hospital, I’ll have to start reporting back to base. Depending on how long it takes until I’m cleared to fly, I may wind up joining my squad for the end of their deployment.”

Even he can hear the yearning in his own voice. Veronica asks, hesitantly. “You…want that?”

Logan doesn't exactly want to have this conversation now; he just wants to snuggle down into her scent until the world disappears, but if they're going to be in a relationship he needs to lay it out for her. His palm firm on her lower back, he makes a start. “The thing I want to do most right now is get well enough so that I can hold you the way I really want to.” He arches one eyebrow meaningfully, ignoring the way his stitches pull. 

Her smile is a giddy release. “Hey, that’s a surprisingly effective lecherous look for a guy in traction.”

“I am an expert.” He laughs, but sobers quickly. Make her understand. “But right below that on the list of things I want is to fly again. It’s so amazing, Veronica. I can’t wait to take you up someday. And the guys; the Navy is…”

“Family,” she finishes for him, poking him lightly with her index finger. “Mouth.”

Uh oh. He smiles. “Remind me not to leave you alone with Cheese.”

“Ooh, does he have incriminating stories about you?” She suddenly looks delightfully mischievous, more like her fifteen-year-old self than he has seen her look in a long, long time.

He strokes her hair back from her face, teasing in return. “Yep. Although probably not as many as you do.”

They laugh a little but Logan’s eyes are serious when they return to hers. “Veronica, Cheese hasn’t seen anything that I wouldn’t tell you about myself. I’m not… I’ve changed.” I mostly like myself now. He shakes his head ruefully. “I haven’t even dated anyone seriously in a year.”

Veronica opens her mouth to respond, but he cuts her off, playfully. “Shocking, I know. But naval training is a pretty big time suck. I’ve moved around a lot, too.”

She shakes her head. “Logan, it’s not really shocking. I always knew you had it in you to grow up into someone pretty amazing. I can’t say I expected the Navy, though.” She shakes her head and sits up a little, looking down at him directly. “The Navy, Logan.” Tears are welling up in her eyes. “I am so… I am so fucking proud of you I can’t even—”

Logan leans up and captures her mouth in a fierce kiss. For a single moment he feels the pain his movements cause, then he deepens the kiss and he doesn’t feel anymore. Nothing but her. Veronica. They are falling into each other. The sensations coursing through him are amazing—electric—warmth furls through him and he is home. Six years. Six years. Please.

They pull back, gasping a little. Logan laughs into her mouth, “‘Fucking proud,’ Veronica? Ooh, my girlfriend has a dirty mouth.” He growls. “I like it.”

She takes his lips again in another kiss, light and gentle this time. A promise.

Veronica pulls her mouth away and presses her forehead to his chest. He can feel the pounding of his heart resonating through his skin into her. Love you. Love you so much.

She laughs; a light, helpless sound. “God, Logan. Our history. A long distance relationship. The Navy. Are we crazy?”

“Maybe a little, but I like us that way.” I have never been surer of anything.

She burrows herself into him. “This is scary.”

“I know.” He squeezes her hand. “Still with me?” Please.

She squeezes back. “Always.”