Work Text:
Their first Christmas since they got back together came and went. If anyone had asked her, she would’ve said it’d been pretty uneventful, too. None of her friends did actually, all of them knowing pretty well that this subject better not be broached with her if they didn't want to have the wrath of Mars bestowed upon them.
Because on Christmas morning, while she was sipping eggnog and eating little gingerbread men with her father in front of the brightly-decorated tree, her boyfriend was halfway across the globe cooped up with a few thousand soldiers on the USS Truman . He didn't return stateside for the holidays. He didn't celebrate the holidays with her. He wasn't where he was supposed to be - with her.
She'd been a literal grouch all of December. Christmas always had been her time of jolly, the one season of the year when she didn't care about anything else other than spreading the Christmas cheer and joy. That was until he'd Skyped her the week after Thanksgiving, and she could immediately tell by the way he was stalling her that something was up. He wasn't gonna be home for Christmas. Or for New Years. Heck, he didn't even know when he'd be back for sure.
When he had signed up as replacement for Bilbo, all he knew was that it wouldn't be the full six months of a regular tour. He'd initially thought he'd just finish the tour Bilbo had started, but the more time passed without him receiving his papers for a trip back home, he knew even his superiors weren't quite sure when he'd rotate back into shore leave. So he was stuck on a tin can, a few thousand miles away from home. Away from Veronica.
She'd faltered when he'd finally told her the news. Thirteen weeks. That's all she'd been allowed to spend with him since she returned to Neptune. She'd been looking forward to the holidays, their first holidays ever to spend together as a couple. It was all she'd thought about since his deployment. Thirteen weeks just had not been enough.
He'd Skyped her on the 19th, opened their conversation with a cheerful merry Christmas and was answered with utter silence. Merry fucking Christmas indeed. They'd talked about everything and nothing, dodging the subject of their holidays spent apart, until she'd finished the call with a grumpy I gotta go. She'd known he hadn't deserved her hostile treatment, it wasn't as if he was deliberately trying to stay away from her. Bilbo's tour was supposed to have ended the week before Christmas, he was supposed to be home with her on the 19th and not in some distant unknown location. Now she knew that nothing was sure with the Navy.
During their short call, she had noticed he'd been heartbroken about not being there for her, but she'd been tired of the excuses. Hadn't wanted to hear them anymore. She clearly didn't know what she'd signed up for as a Navy girlfriend.
He hadn't Skyped her again until the 30th, telling her call time was regulated during the holidays and those with families back home always came first. It had crushed her… wasn't she his family now? Didn't she deserve to hear from her boyfriend? Her distress had been evident, the anguish that came with believing that she wasn't worthy of even a short call. And there'd been nothing he could do other than tell her that he loved her and that he'd make things right.
He hadn't Skyped her again the first week of January, or the second. He'd sent her emails instead, reassuring her he was gonna be home soon, even if he didn't know when exactly that ‘soon’ would be. Every message had ended the same. XOXO, I love you, L. Her replies had started out short and a bit distant, but the more time passed, the emails had turned longer, more joyful, no longer the curt, disappointed messages that probably had left him just as distressed as she'd been. Christmas had passed, and with that, her spirits somehow seemed to have lifted.
Maybe it had been because work at the office had finally picked up again and was keeping her busy. Or maybe something Mac had told her had finally sunk in. You wake up one morning, and realize it's December, the holidays just looming around the corner. Christmas comes and goes and before you know it, another year has passed and it's that one morning again when you wake up and realize, hey, Christmas just snuck up on you again like a bitch. Just like the year before and the year before that and the year before that. And it will sneak up on you the next year, and the year after, and the year after that. That one vicious cycle that no one will be able to break free of ever. Mac being Mac, she couldn't just right out tell her get over it, Veronica. There'll be many more Christmases with Logan to come . She'd probably just huffed at her and dismissed what she was saying.
It had taken Veronica a while to understand what she'd tried to tell her. The epiphany had come when they'd had drinks at the Upland, after two beers, three awkward attempts at flirting by freckled college boys with pimples, and Mac's relentless teasing that all this moping over Logan had turned her into a cheap copy of Bridget Jones. The image of the empty container of Rocky Road on her nightstand had flashed before her, the flannel pajama pants that lay discarded on her bed, and the large black Navy t-shirt that she'd kept tucked away under her pillow. She was pathetic. Just like Bridget Jones indeed. So she’d ordered them two tequilas and they had toasted to many more Christmases with Logan to come.
When Mac had asked her to join her at the Upland again after work a week later, she'd quirked an eyebrow, snorting that if she wanted to be hit on by not-legal-yet college boys, she'd need to find another wingman, err, wingwoman. They'd gone anyway, mostly for the beer, but the blunt prick-teasing a twenty-year-old Hearst sophomore wasn't so bad either.
Veronica was still giggling at the thought of how much this one guy actually had blushed, a bright shade of red flushing his face when he'd finally caught on to what they were doing. She picked the mail out the box, unlocked the door to her apartment, and while sorting through the letters in her hand, stepped into the darkness of the living room. She kicked the door closed behind her, then paused for a moment. Usually, Pony was sitting tail-wagging right behind the door, waiting for her to return home, and immediately greeted her with enthusiastic sloppy kisses when she entered. Tonight, however, the dog was nowhere to be found.
"Pony?" she called out and looked around. She focused on something in the back corner, squinting her eyes, trying to figure out what that black mass actually was. Just as she'd come to the conclusion that it was remarkably shaped like a Christmas tree - where the hell did a Christmas tree come from? - the whole living room lit up in shades of red, green, blue and yellow. Colorful garlands hung on the walls, holiday decorations were placed wherever possible, from a decently sized Christmas train set to two bright red stockings hanging over the TV. And there was indeed a now brightly-lit Christmas tree sitting near the front patio doors. Soft Christmas music started filling the room, and she could no longer suppress the feeling that she must have ended up in her own freakish version of Punk'd.
"Merry Christmas."
She whirled around at the sound of the familiar voice behind her she'd missed so much. There, casually leaning at the doorway to the hallway, was Logan, wearing a Santa hat and one of the most ridiculous Christmas sweaters she had ever seen. The mail dropped to the ground right where she was standing, her keys joining the jumble, and she was across the room in a flash. She flung herself at him, legs and arms wrapping tightly around his body, as her mouth came crushing down on his in a fervent, breathless kiss. He stumbled backwards, the ferocity of her unexpected assault knocking him off balance, and hit the wall, bringing their passion-induced tumble to an immediate stop.
And there they stood, in the hallway of their festively decorated apartment, bodies fused together as she clung to him, and kissing passionately as if there was no tomorrow.
"I should most definitely leave more often if I'm always in for such an enthusiastic welcome home," he smirked rather breathlessly after he'd broken the kiss, that sly grin on his face that mostly meant no good. "Hi."
"Hi," she smiled at him and touched her forehead against his, "You're home."
"I'm home."
"To stay?"
"To stay."
Fingers trailed down his cheek softly, thumb brushing over that small dimple right beside his mouth, before she leaned in for another kiss. This time, it was slow and gentle as they took their time to get reacquainted with each other, just reveling in finally being back together again.
He maneuvered them around the hallway, holding her protectively in his arms as he stumbled towards the living room. She groaned in displeasure when he broke the kiss and pulled back a fraction. His grip around her loosened, and he shifted her to move, mouthing a short later at the pouting frown she was giving him. She slipped down the length of his body, her expression slowly transforming into a naughty grin as she licked her lips in anticipation, and picked up his hand to lead him back towards the bedroom.
He chuckled at her decisiveness and tugged at her, twirling her around and pulling her back into a hug. His chin came to rest on her shoulder, and he nuzzled her hair while they stumbled forward towards the living room, locked in a tight embrace.
"It's Christmas," he mumbled when they reached the small kitchen area, indicating all the festive decorations and holiday tinsel with a nod of his head.
"I can see that," she replied gleefully, and leaned back against his chest, "Did you do all that for me?"
"Course not," he snorted, waving his hand dismissively, "I did that for the mistress who should be here in about twenty minutes or so. So shoosh, get going, woman."
That earned him a playful elbow punch in the gut, and a bout of amused giggles.
"So how did I do?”
“It’s absolutely stunning,” she marveled, her eyes following his as they roamed the living room. "One closet Christmas romantic you are, Logan Echolls.”
He glanced at her, mirroring the content and happy expression that had crept up on her face, “I confess. I had a little help from a few elves.”
“I knew it!"
"Hey, this," he swept a hand across the room, "is absolutely one-hundred percent pure Echolls creativity. I just needed a teensy little bit of help with the execution, being stuck on a tin can halfway around the globe and all."
"Like?"
"Asking a certain very friendly elf to keep my girlfriend occupied for a couple hours while I prepare this surprise for her? When I said one drink at the bar, I wasn't quite expecting for that one drink to last past ten PM though. Guess I need to be a little bit more precise the next time."
She snuggled back into the warmth of his body, "You joined forces with my friends?"
"I joined forces with A friend."
She chuckled when his mouth found her neck, smothering her with tiny kisses.
"I seem to be missing a dog," she observed, desperately trying not to give in to the pent-up need that was so desperately screaming for instant satisfaction and pop the button of his jeans, pull down the zipper, and fondle him. He'd prepared this evening so meticulously, so she was gonna go along with his plans, whatever they were. She knew they'd eventually end up in the bedroom, and a little foreplay could be just as satisfying for the moment, maybe even make their reunion more gratifying.
"What did you and your little elves do with him? Gift wrap him in a box? Send him off to the North Pole for puppy reindeer training?"
His gentle ministrations stopped, if only for a moment to give her a cheeky answer to her sassy question.
“You mean that hyper little pup who chewed up a couple ornaments and the - might I add rather expensive - new tree topper? He got dealt the go straight to jail card for his behavior. The Sheriff said two days in the tank should be enough. He'll call when he's ready to be released.”
“I did think that tree topper looked rather wonky,” she snorted, as they tumbled towards the couch. “So let's get this straight. You told Mac you were coming home before you told me. And you told my dad as well. What’s with this newfound best buddy relationship you all seem to be having?”
“We’ve come to an understanding that what makes you happy makes us happy.” He fell backwards on the sofa, bringing her down with him. “And if that means bringing Christmas to you in January, then so be it.”
They settled in comfortably, her body nestled tightly against him, and she leaned in to steal another quick kiss.
“I still can’t believe you did all this.”
With a smile, he removed the Santa hat from his head and awkwardly draped it over her blonde hair. It slipped down her forehead, almost covering her eyes, and she quickly adjusted it to sit comfortably on her head.
His lips twisted upwards in admiration, "You should only wear this."
She bit down on her lip, giving him a coy look, "Play your cards right and I most definitely will only wear this tonight."
"Kinky, Mars."
Their lips found each other again, resuming their gentle, slow-paced reacquainting. She'd really missed this, missed him. The security his body was offering, the feeling that part of her was no longer missing. She was content. Settled. She might even dare to say a bit jaunty.
With a long, relaxed sigh, she rested her hands against his chest, her chin on top, and just gazed at him silently. Yup. Definitely completely whole again.
"I've missed you," he whispered, as he nuzzled her nose with his. "So very much."
The declaration hung between them as the slow instrumental tune of what sounded like I'll Be Home For Christmas filled the apartment. She hummed along for a moment, until the music changed mid-song into an up-beat funk version of a song she couldn't quite place. If it was supposed to be a new age version of the same song, whoever the artist was, they'd failed terribly.
"Sorry. Is that even a Christmas song?" Logan snorted, "Note to self. Do not rely on pre-made playlists."
"Totally goes in sync with this hideous thing." She ran her palm over his chest, smoothing out a few crinkles in his sweater to get a better look, "Humping reindeers? Snowmen giving blow jobs? BDSM gingerbread men?"
"Hint of advice. If you ever want to impress someone, choose very carefully who you ask for help. Dick had one thing to do. One simple thing. Buy me a Christmas sweater. Should've known better though. Hindsight is 20/20."
"Impressing the girls does indeed have a different meaning for Dick," she laughed, circling her finger around the very elaboratly drawn out words Merry Fucking Christmas .
"I'm most definitely winning the award for worst Christmas sweater though."
"I wasn't aware there was a competition."
"You mean I've been led on all these years? No wonder people always gave me the funny eye when I wore something like this."
“Can you take off that atrocity please? It's absolutely awful.”
“I was debating for over an hour whether I should wear it or not,” he mumbled as he gracefully wriggled out of the sweater. “But then I thought, if it gets at least as much as a chuckle out of you, it’s gonna be worth it.”
"Wasn't worth it," she stated matter-of-factly, shaking her head lightly and skimming her palms over his bare abs with a sly grin.
"Au contraire, mon chère. It was totally worth it. You asked me to strip before we even made it to the bedroom."
She swatted his shoulder with an exasperated huff, then wriggled out of his embrace to straddle his lap. Plucking the Christmas hat from her head, she placed it back on his, shifting if carefully from side to side until it was perfectly draped over his crew cut. She admired her work for a moment, taking in the adorably complacent expression on his face while his hands slipped over her hips and came to rest on her butt. There was this glint of evil mischief in her eyes, her bottom lip tucked in between her teeth, as her hands reached for the hem of her shirt and pulled the light cotton material upwards in a seductively slow manner.
“Let’s level the playing field,” she purred, flinging the shirt over the back of the couch, before her hands cupped his face and she leaned in for another kiss. Fingertips drifted across her spine, eliciting those tiny little sparks that were bound to set her whole body on fire. Three long months without him were most definitely taking its toll on her - and judging by the immediate reaction of his body when she slowly bucked her hips against him, he could relate.
A growl rolled over his lips as his fingers hooked into the belt loops of her jeans and jerked her closer, their playful bantering slowly turning into the passionate make-out session she'd been craving ever since she'd seen him leaning against the wall earlier. His lips traveled along her jaw, a deep, long sigh her immediate response.
"So where are my presents?" she whispered, gently nibbling on his earlobe. "Can't have Christmas without presents. I need to unwrap my present."
He just chuckled against her neck while peppering her with tiny kisses, "What, me being here and bringing Christmas to you isn't enough of a present? And people tell me that I’m the spoiled one."
She tsk'ed him, blowing a tiny puff of air against that certain spot behind his ear which he answered with rather resolute swat across her ass.
"Where are my presents, missy?" he scoffed, her energetic huffs like music in his ears as he massaged her firm cheek.
"If you'd actually been here for Christmas," she breathed, turning into his touch, demanding to be groped more firmly, "you'd have found them right under the tree where they belong."
Before she even realized what she’d just said, his movements stilled, palm splayed wide across her butt. She pulled back to look at him, noticing the expression on his face shift, the playful smile replaced by a crestfallen frown. What a buzzkill! Way to go, Veronica!
"Foot in mouth. Sorry," she apologized immediately, but his gaze flicked upwards, and he puffed a breath of air over his face, causing the Santa hat's fluffy white trimming to sway animatedly. His eyes found hers again a moment later, a small, forced smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"I get this wasn't how you'd wanted to spend our first Christmas back together. You here in Neptune, me halfway around the globe. I am truly sorry for how things turned out, I hope you know that. I'm trying to make up for it though."
"And this," she waved her hand around them, "is amazing. No one has ever done anything like this for me. But it's not Christmas."
She noticed him cringe as she spoke, saw him turn his face away so she wouldn't recognize the disappointment in his eyes. He'd tried so hard to bring Christmas to her, create the memories they'd been denied to make, but yet, he'd failed. A finger trailed along his jaw, gently nudging him to look back at her, and his gaze was met with a comforting, loving smile.
"It's better than Christmas. Cause you're here. With me."
His lips curled upwards again, the doubtful frown now completely replaced with an expression of complacence, even almost happiness. He cupped her check tenderly, fingers tangling into a few loose strands of hair. "There were presents for me under the tree?"
"Of course there were. The more important question is though, would there have been presents for me from Santa you under the tree as well?"
"Why don't you go look?"
Her head shot in the direction of the tree, and lo and behold, there sat three perfectly gift-wrapped boxes in different sizes she hadn't noticed before. She looked back at him, eyebrows raised high, then quickly pecked his lips and scrambled off him.
"Wait here. I'll be right back."
Heading towards the bedroom, she picked up the mail and her keys on the way and deposited them on the kitchen island, before she rushed down the hallway to retrieve the two presents that had been sitting under the bed since way back in November.
The gifts hit the bed as she scrambled for the drawer. He wanted this to be Christmas, so he was gonna get the whole Christmas shebang she'd planned on. She shucked her jeans quickly, then pulled out the short sleepshirt she'd bought with the sole intention to make Christmas Eve a little bit more festive. Red plaid with the occasional dots in the form of brightly colored snowflakes - the slightly provocative slogan certainly not to be missed. Her bra hit the floor, and for a moment she contemplated if her thong should join the pile of clothing as well, but then decided that the black scrap of almost nothing was just the bit of additional turn-on needed as she pulled the sleepshirt over her head.
She was back in the living room a couple minutes later, traipsing around the coffee table as she balanced Logan's gifts in her arms. There was a short whistle coming from the couch, telling her she'd most definitely picked well. Carefully, she deposited the boxes under the tree and sat down in front of it. Patting the empty spot next to her, she indicated for Logan to join her. He was by her side a moment later, pulling her into his lap, his arms enveloping her into a gentle hug.
"Can't tell a tree from a mistletoe anymore?" he jibbed, his finger tracing the dark green letters K-I-S-S-M-E that were printed right across her breasts. "No bra. You come prepared, Mars."
"At least you noticed one thing," she snickered, "you did miss the most important thing though."
"Just point me in the direction of the mistletoe, and I'd be more than happy to oblige."
A cunning grin on her face, she smoothed her hand over the kiss me under the mistletoe on her shirt, then pointed a finger upwards, circled it slowly, then dipped it down, indicating the tiny mistletoe print that adorned the bottom of the flimsy fabric, perfectly placed right between her legs.
"Mmmm," he smirked, "that's an invitation I'll gladly RSVP with a hell yeah. "
He gently nudged her shoulder, and, with a hand protectively on her hip, guided her to turn around to face him. He simply smiled at her, mischief flickering in his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her. Cradling her against him, he slowly bent over, lowering her to the floor beneath him.
"We haven't opened any actual presents yet," she breathed as his teeth grazed over her neck, nipping that one spot at the slope to her shoulder that always turned her on like nothing else did. God, Veronica, what the hell prompted that? No more interruptions, let's get on with the show, dangit!
Logan huffed dramatically, pulling back just enough for his face to hover above hers, as a cunning grin spread across his face. If she wanted to be sassy, she could have sassy back.
"In the Echolls household, presents are never to be opened before Christmas morning."
"And we're nothing but traditional," she nodded at him.
"Oh, absolutely," he murmured, eliciting a ticklish chuckle from her when his hand skimmed up and down her thigh, "But - let's add to the traditions. Start new ones. Create some Echolls-Mars traditions."
"Like?"
His hand slipped over her hip and beneath her sleep shirt, a finger hooking under the elastic of her thong, toying with the flimsy material.
"Kiss you under the mistletoe on Christmas Eve. Preferably in front of the Christmas tree."
She bit down on her lip, a flicker of mischief in her eyes, "You do understand it's about 330 days, give or take, until we can start that tradition."
"There's a tree, corny Christmas carols are playing and we've postponed any actual gift opening until tomorrow - that sounds remarkably like Christmas Eve to me."
There was a moment of silence between them as he gazed down at her with those chocolate brown eyes so full of love for her.
"I love you," she smiled up at him, her palms gently bracing his face.
"Love you, too," he mumbled, lowering his head slightly to meet her halfway for a kiss. "Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."