Work Text:
“Coffee with cream, for Veronica?”
“Yes, thanks.”
Veronica grabs the piping hot cup, stepping to the side of the booth in the cafeteria so the next person in line can pass her. Carefully taking the lid off, she blows the top layer of liquid. She’s just about to take a tester sip, when someone mumbles in her ear.
“Some things never change.”
An involuntary shiver runs down Veronica’s spine.
Logan.
Perfecting her mask of indifference, she turns slowly. Standing in front of her, hair perfectly mussed (as always), is the boy she hasn’t seen in four months.
(The boy you ran from, her brain supplies unhelpfully.)
And fine —but it’s not like she didn’t have other reasons to leave. FBI internship, anyone? She wasn’t going to turn that down. But… the whole botched election? Drama with the Castle? Yeah, she needed space from Neptune, and Neptune needed space from her.
And she needed space from him. To… think properly.
She drinks him in. Considering she wouldn’t let herself be distracted at Quantico—never looked him up on Facebook, never looked through her old photos of him—seeing Logan now brings back a rush of memories and feelings. Ones she’s not quite sure she wants to—or is ready to—remember or feel.
She takes a deep breath, tapping her chin. “What do they say again? The more things change… yada, yada.”
His answering grin warms her insides without her consent.
“So, you’re back, huh?” he asks. “Kind of figured the FBI would hire you right on the spot and you’d never grace us with your presence again.”
She replaces the lid on her coffee cup, shaking her head. “Yes, eighteen-year-old sophomore is exactly the kind of recruit they’re looking for these days.”
He leans his hip against the counter, getting comfortable. “Don’t they know you once busted a dog-napping ring wide open?”
“For some reason, they don’t seem to hold that piece of experience in such high regard.”
“Wow, they’re picky.”
“Tell me about it,” she replies, a genuine smile spreading across her face.
She missed this. She can admit that to herself, right? She thought it might have had a clunkier landing, so to speak—their first conversation. After all, she did call him psychotic the last time they interacted. But either he’s become a better liar, or he truly believes all that is bygones, because he doesn’t seem upset.
“Your dad must be happy to have you back. You gonna teach him all your new tricks?”
She narrows her eyes. “If I did, I’d have to kill him.”
“Patricide to keep state secrets.” Logan tsks, faux disapproving. “You’re one of them now.”
“One of us, one of us,” she chants.
They stare at each other with grins on their faces for a few moments, before his wanes slightly. Slightly—because someone who didn’t know him well wouldn’t catch it.
“How’s Piznarski these days?”
Powering through the feeling of someone pouring a bucket of cold water over her head, she forces her smile wider. “Good. Better than good! I’m actually on my way to meet him at the library.”
“That’s… great,” he says evenly, nodding his head.
She really is going to meet Piz, but things between them aren’t good or better than good. She isn’t sure why she just lied to her oldest friend. (Okay, yes, she’s sure, but she doesn’t want to read too much into it.)
Their easy back-and-forth from before quickly evaporates, leaving behind an awkward silence bordering on cringy.
“How’s the Grand? And my number one fan, Dick?” she asks lamely, desperate to get him talking again, even if it is about—shudders—Dick.
A ghost of a laugh graces his lips, and she considers it a win. “Dick is still… well, you know. As for the Grand? We gave it up a couple months ago. Figured two spoiled rich kids should learn how to invest in real estate and become even richer, just like our dear old dads would want.”
“Invest? You bought a place?”
His face brightens, and he puffs out his chest a bit. “Beachfront property. Waves just a hundred feet from our backdoor.”
“Let me guess, your wetsuit never has the chance to dry?”
“You know me well.”
She’s proud of him, making such a mature decision, and makes sure he can see it in her expression, even when she jokes, “Wow, never thought I’d see the day when you gave up the turn-down service.”
Leaning in, he whispers, “Well, I do miss my pillow fluffer.”
A laugh escapes her, and she lightly smacks him on the shoulder, which he rubs with a smirk.
He hesitates, tapping his fingers on the counter beside them, as his expression gets rueful. “But it, uh, held too many…” Breaking eye contact, he rubs the back of his neck. “Too many memories, so.”
His eyes flicker to hers for a second, and in just that second, all those aforementioned memories come flooding back in her brain. Secret sleepovers she kept from her dad and weekend movie marathons. Late night orgasms and early morning whispers. “Do you love me?”s and “You’re out of my life forever”s.
She swallows, hating the way they can’t seem to navigate one fucking conversation properly. What once was smooth highway sailing is apparently now all tight curves and dead ends. She can’t stand it.
When Logan looks back at her, he’s masked whatever emotion was showing before. Which is quite a feat, since he usually wears his heart on his sleeve.
“Anyways, I should let you get back—to Piz,” he stutters a little, stepping away from her. He licks his lower lip, deciding, and places his hand on her bicep, squeezing just a little.
She would look down at her arm in surprise (they haven’t touched since… since…), if she could only look away from his molten eyes that seem to beckon her.
“I’m really glad you’re back, Veronica.”
Words don’t come, lodged somewhere between her heart and her throat, so she just nods. He crosses through the cafeteria, out the doors, and she watches him go the entire way.
She blinks once, taking a deep breath in, and suddenly the roaring noise and bustle of the other students comes back into focus. As usual, when Logan Echolls puts his full attention on someone, it sucks them into a bit of a vacuum.
She stands in the middle of Hearst’s caf, taking stock of her body and brain’s reaction to that conversation. Dry mouth, shallow breathing. Relief when speaking to him—like she’s been parched in the desert previously—and automatic disappointment when her boyfriend was brought up.
Does she still have feelings for Logan?
All signs point to yes.
How could she be so naive to think that four measly months and some space from him would help her get over him? She was so focused on time heals all wounds that she didn’t realize distance makes the heart grow fonder.
Idiot.
She takes a big gulp of her coffee, and it burns her tongue and throat. She does it again—a bit of a masochistic reaction—because she knows what she’s gotten herself into.
And what she has to do.
***
Veronica paces in her bedroom later that night, biting her thumbnail, clutching her phone in her clammy hand like a lifeline. For the sixth time, she scrolls to his number, only to freeze up and slam her flip phone shut.
“Ughhh,” she groans, collapsing backward on her bed. She shuts her eyes and rubs them with the heel of her palms.
How does she tell Logan in a way that doesn’t sound like she dumped Piz for him? Which… is not what happened… exactly. Not what happened, exactly.
It’s just… seeing him today opened up something inside her that she’s been trying to ignore for the better half of a year. If talking to her ex gave her heart more of a workout than talking to her current boyfriend, isn’t that a problem? That’s when she knew she needed to let Piz loose. It wasn’t fair to him.
And it’s not like their long distance summer had been magical, anyways. When she started to choose flicking through the TV channels instead of calling her boyfriend back, she should have known their relationship was dead in the water.
I should have read the writing on the wall long ago, is what Piz said to her. He looked at her knowingly, and it made her feel like shit.
But she didn’t dump Piz for Logan. She didn’t. And she has no grand illusions of what happens next. But she wants Logan to know, because… well—because. Because he’s still her friend, even after everything they’ve been through.
The problem is, she doesn’t trust her voice to not betray her. Veronica Mars doesn’t do emotion well. She gets quippy, or evasive, or prickly. Pure emotional honesty? Not her forte.
Besides, if he doesn’t pick up, she and Logan don’t have the greatest track record of the efficacy of impassioned voicemails.
So there’s only one option left. Is it the coward’s option? Yes. Yes, it is. And at any other time, Veronica Mars would laugh in the face of cowardice. But… not today.
She sits up, pressing the buttons on her phone until she is composing a text to Logan. She really doesn’t expect anything to happen between them, no matter what she may have discovered about her very-much-present feelings for him. Honest.
(What she might hope for, way, way, deep down, is another story altogether.)
She’s sure he’s still upset with how she reacted before she left, and how she ran without saying goodbye, and he was probably just trying to put that aside today when he saw her.
But she still wants him to know. Because… well, she already went over this.
Veronica Mars to Logan Echolls, 9:48pm: Was nice running into you today. Could have made a girl feel a little more welcome, though. A little welcome back banner? Some music? Maybe a parade? I don’t know, just spitballing ;) Also, I thought I should tell you that Piz and I broke up. I wanted you to hear it from me.
She hits ‘send’ before she can read it over for the eighth time, and stashes her phone in her nightstand, smushing a pillow over her face.
Logan tosses the leftover trash in the bin under the sink, stomach full from takeout tacos. Dick burps loudly while rooting around in the fridge for a beer, and Logan smacks him upside the head, laughing.
Plopping down on the couch, he rests his head on the back cushion and closes his eyes. What pops into his mind? Well—against his will—it’s the same thing nearly every time, except for that he has an updated picture in his brain now.
Her hair is different, no more bangs, side or otherwise. It’s shorter again, closer to how she styled it senior year. But her eyes are still the same. Big, ocean blue, threatening to drag him under once again.
He’s a fucking sap. Four months, and he’s still not over her.
His phone chimes from the kitchen counter, right when a beer bottle opens in the same direction, and he groans, not wanting to get up from his food coma.
Logan approached Veronica cautiously today, not quite sure how attached she still was to the whole ‘out of my life’ thing, considering he didn’t even merit a goodbye. He tried to keep some walls up, in case she told him to fly a kite, but of course they came crumbling down twelve seconds in when all seemed right.
Though… Wincing, he remembers how erratic the conversation turned out to be. How effortless it was one minute and fucking painfully stilted the next. Is this how it’s always going to be with them? One mention of their past issues, and the air between them turns stale?
His phone beeps again, and without opening his lids, he says to Dick, “Yo, can you bring me my phone? Can’t get up.”
Dick belches his assent, and Logan tries to will Veronica’s image from his mind.
It doesn’t work. Obviously.
Not sure why he thought it would this time, when it never has before.
He peeks open one eye to see Dick staring down thoughtfully at something on Logan’s screen. “Earth to Dick?”
“Yeah… yeah. Sorry, man.”
Dick hands Logan his phone, and he opens it to check the messages he missed. Message, singular, it seems. Weird. He could have sworn it chimed twice.
He lets out a big gust of frustrated air when he sees Mac’s text.
Cindy Mackenzie to Logan Echolls, 9:49 pm: Sure, just got the new report for site traffic, numbers look good. I’ll meet you there at 8. But Veronica’s love life is STILL off-limits conversation.
His business partner is way out of line. It’s not like he was going to fish or anything.
(He tells himself.)
“I cannot believe I agreed to come to this.”
“She said for the seventieth time,” intones Mac from behind her, giving her a tiny nudge forward.
Veronica looks up at the brick structure with disdain. “Am I someone who attends frat house parties now?”
Wallace rolls his eyes as they climb the steps. “Do you mean, am I friendly and outgoing and have an actual social life? Why yes Veronica, you are.”
Veronica huffs. About a week ago, she committed to getting out more, making more friends. Trying to create age-appropriate memories her sophomore year, instead of investigating rapes and deaths. She tried to take to heart the lessons she learned last year—she’ll never get this time in her life back, and putting her friends in danger, losing an election for her father, choosing the wrong guy… maybe if she reevaluates her priorities, she won’t drag anyone under with her anymore.
The measure of intelligence is the ability to change, right?
No—no quotes, she thinks, and works hard at busying her mind.
Mac, Wallace and Veronica enter through the front door, and the loud music becomes deafening. The theme was ‘under the sea’, which means people have interpreted that as ‘wear as little clothes as possible’. Clutching her purse close to her shimmery aqua top and latching her finger into Mac’s belt loop so she doesn’t get lost in the crowd, the trio squeeze past some sweaty students grinding.
She finally sees their destination when Parker jumps up and waves them over into the kitchen. Jeanine, Isaiah and Daniel, new friends they’ve been hanging out with from Parker and Mac’s Comm lecture, welcome them with hugs.
“Oh, hey! People actually wearing clothes,” Daniel says once they are all together, clapping Wallace on the back.
Parker, clad in a DIY seashell bra, tuts. “I told you to come as Triton!”
“Yeah, I didn’t have time to spray on my abs, like Isaiah.”
The aforementioned man whacks his six-pack. “All natural, bro.”
“Are we sure the theme wasn’t ‘who can get the least tan lines?’” asks Mac, who looks down at her multi-coloured, bright crop top. “I feel like I dressed for the arctic compared to them.”
Wallace cranes his head as he looks around. “Yeah, I might just have to take off this tank if I see a lady fine enough to compete for,” Wallace jokes, while Veronica scrunches her nose.
“Not a visual I need, Papa Bear!”
“Oh, come on. Seriously, I need a good wingman tonight. Who’s got me?”
But Veronica doesn’t hear who answers Wallace, because the man who currently takes up every inch of her brainspace walks into her sightline.
This is only the second time she’s seen him since she sent the text a couple weeks ago.
The text he never answered.
Their eyes lock, like they always do over a crowd. It never matters how many other people are in the room, Logan and Veronica always seem to find each other.
Veronica swallows the lump in her throat, her fight or flight instincts kicking in, just like they did when she saw him across campus last week. She had walked the other way as quickly as she could, feeling the embarrassment of the unanswered message choking her.
This time though, she doesn’t want to walk away. She wants to figure out why she didn’t merit a response. As if in a trance, she steps forward to make her way to him, and he says goodbye to the person he was talking with, meeting her half way in the living room.
“Logan Echolls at a frat party?” She taps her finger on her chin, faking shock.
He shrugs nonchalantly, looking around the room. “Thought I’d try something a bit different.”
“Where’s your best bud?”
“Already legs up at the keg stand.”
“Always keeping it classy.”
“He would hate to disappoint.”
His eyes dance as he speaks to her, like he’s been looking forward to this, which just confuses her further. A million questions float around in her brain. Why didn’t he answer her text? Maybe he didn’t know what to say? Maybe he didn’t want it to be awkward? She doesn’t want that either. Her quest for answers falters.
“So, what brings you to this fine establishment?” Logan asks Veronica. “Can’t say I ever thought you’d be caught dead here unless you were investigating.”
“I don’t really do that anymore.” Logan’s brows hike up in surprise, and she tucks her hair behind her ears. “Yep, I’m just an outgoing sophomore with a social life now! Or, at least that’s what Wallace tells me.”
“Good old Wallace. Props to him for not having to cuff you to get you in here.”
“It was actually Mac who did most of it. She’s too damn convincing for her own good.”
“Agreed. She’ll end wars one day.”
“Or start them. That girl has an evil streak nobody sees.”
Logan huffs out a laugh, shifting his weight to lean against a column. “Trust me, I see it. Once you become business partners, a lot of the smoke and mirrors disappears.” He stuffs his hand in his pocket, looking around. “You here with both of them?”
“Yeah, we met up with Parker and some of their Comm friends.”
Logan nods slowly, seemingly searching her eyes for something, and it muddles her brain.
She thought talking to him would make everything clear. Option 1: He would tell her to fuck off, that he wasn’t going on this merry-go-round again, and don’t talk to him anymore. Option 2: He would say sorry she wasn’t with Piz anymore, but that he wasn’t interested. Option 3: He would sweep her into his arms and… well, that one was a pipe dream.
All of them had one thing in common though—him acknowledging the message.
She’ll have to do this the old fashioned way. She was a PI, she can solve this puzzle, right?
Well, he definitely hasn’t acted as though he wants nothing to do with her, but he hasn’t made a move. He hasn’t brought up Piz at all, and while she would usually be convinced he just wants to be friends—why is he looking at her like that? Like the intensity between them still burns.
She glances behind her and tries to get a glimpse of her friends, who are still where she left them, drinking and laughing. Turning back to Logan, she notices his eyes glued to her chest before they snap back up to meet hers.
“Do you want to get some fresh air?” she asks him, jerking her thumb to the sliding door out back, feeling her face flush.
His eyes widen slightly. “You sure?”
“Why not?” she asks, threading her brows together.
Logan places his hand on her lower back and guides them out and down the patio steps, to the backyard. He maneuvers them through the outdoor crowd, walking along the concrete, and making their way to the pool area. She exhales slowly when his palm leaves her spine, missing his touch instantly.
She sits down at the edge of the water and puts her flip flops to the side. She hikes her jeans up, dipping her feet in. He smiles and mirrors her, doing the same.
She eyes the students in the pool—the boys roughhousing in the corner, the couples canoodling by the wall—when Logan starts talking.
“This seriously isn’t your scene. Drop the whole ‘outgoing’ bit—why are you really here?”
“Whatever do you mean? These are my peeps, Echolls.”
“Jeez, how could I forget the bond you and Chip share,” he deadpans.
“And Charleston too, don’t forget him.”
“Before you know it, you and Dick will be holding hands in solidarity—upside down over the keg stand.”
She visibly shudders. “Okay, now you’ve gone too far.”
He smiles, resting his hands behind him and leaning on them. He knows when not to push (knows her so well), that she’s certain he’ll drop it.
Veronica sloshes some of the water with her foot and decides to go for the communication this new Veronica 2.0 should surely work on. “Obviously some choices I made last year didn’t work out very well…” She chances a glance up at him just as a muscle ticks in his jaw, and she ducks her head back down. “I figured, might as well try something new and see if I get into less trouble this way.”
His lips curve upward slowly as he faces her. “You? Veronica Mars could find trouble at church on a Sunday morning.”
She laughs, looking skyward for a moment. “So I’ve noticed.”
The boys who were wrestling in the corner get too close and before they could move away, the pair get splashed, wincing from the cold water.
“You know, I was just asking myself, how could I take the under the sea theme to the next level?” Veronica mumbles, gingerly patting away moisture from her face with the back of her hand. She hopes it doesn’t smudge her makeup, not that she put a lot on in the first place.
“You mean this wasn’t a part of your plan for best dressed?”
“Not sure I would win with birthday suits one and two over there.” She jerks her head toward the couple who are inhaling each other like their oxygen tanks are empty, and the other person’s tongue is the only thing keeping them alive.
“Classic.” Logan looks around. “Lines of coke, people having sex in the middle of the crowd, random fights. All that’s missing is someone being thrown into the pool.”
She whips her head around to see his brows bobbing, and he leans into her frame, pushing her body towards the edge. She shrieks and pulls back into him, pressing her hands into his chest, laughing. “Uncle! Uncle, I say!”
Grin on his face, he looks down at his arms still wrapped around her and recoils quickly back to a neutral position, clearing his throat. “It’s not often I can get Veronica Mars to cry uncle. I’ll have to write about that in my journal tonight,” he covers with a quip.
“Next to the entry about my coming out into society?”
“Dear diary,” Logan begins, “today, Veronica actually thought normal was the watchword again—”
Veronica cups her palm on his mouth for a moment, laughing. “Oh, shut it, you.”
He smiles at her and kicks the water with his leg, looking out across the lawn.
Being with him feels so natural, so right. But it’s obvious what he wants. As the night progresses, he never brings up Piz. He never pushes her away, but never makes a move either. That aforementioned quest for answers halts in its tracks permanently. Message well received—he wants to be friends.
The weight of acceptance washes over her, and she feels motivated to work on their friendship, if that’s what he wants. They can learn how to be around each other again like they used to be when they were the Fab Four. So much has changed, except for one important thing—she still can’t imagine her life without him.
She takes a deep breath. Friends it is.
Logan is contemplating the benefits of Grana Padano vs Parmigiano Reggiano when he hears a familiar voice behind him. “Wow, you’re actually buying real, adult food.”
“Of all the supermarkets…” He laughs without turning around, adding the Parmesan to his cart and returning the other. “I decided if I wanted to live past thirty, I should probably change my eating habits. I’m proud to say I even ingest something green every week or two.”
He spins to see Veronica with a basket hanging on one arm, other hand on her hip. “That’s very astute of you. But you’ve made one fatal mistake,” she whispers dramatically, channeling her inner Tim Curry.
“Let me guess; I didn’t choose both.”
“Both, Echolls! The answer is always both.” She steps forward and grabs the Grana Padano from the shelf, placing it in his cart with a flourish. “What’s this for anyways? The hard cheeses in your hotel fridge were always put there for me, if I recall correctly.”
There’s a glimmer in her eye, and it sends a thrill down his spine that she referenced their time together. “Want to know a secret?”
“If my name isn’t Veronica Mars…”
“I’m learning to cook.”
She is actually speechless for a couple moments, her mouth open in a breathless smile. “Will wonders never cease.”
“Yes, they actually called me and asked if I wanted to be the eighth wonder of the world, and I accepted.”
“Graciously, I’m sure.”
“Of course. Don’t want to sully the pristine Echolls name.”
She grins, and he internally sighs. He missed her. Missed this. They’ve been texting on and off for the last few weeks since the party, catching up in the cafeteria when they see each other, but they’ve never interacted outside of Hearst, and it feels good.
“Excuse me, ma’am.”
She has to step closer to him as a man passes behind her, and it’s a bit of a wake up call that they’re talking in the middle of a grocery store aisle.
“Would you want to see the phenomenon up close? Say, tomorrow night?” he blurts out, and has to physically stop himself from wincing as her eyebrows rise.
He feels a cold sweat break out on his forehead as he waits (the seconds, but what feels like hours) for her response. How could he be so stupid? It’s like the still-functioning parts of his brain melt when he’s around her. She has a boyfriend. Piz obviously doesn’t want her—
“How could I miss something like that? I’ll be bringing my camera—there’s no way I’m not documenting this.”
His relief is only outmatched by immense confusion.
Maybe she isn’t going to tell Piz? Or… maybe Piz is cool with them hanging out. Maybe they’re in an actual grown-up relationship, and he trusts her and she trusts him. The devil on his shoulder never gives him a fucking break, throwing shade at him whenever it can.
Whatever the reason she’s into dinner at his place, he’s determined not to be an ass and bring Piz up, even though he’s dying to. It would only piss her off. She’d accuse him of thinking Piz has a leash on her, or something. She seems content to not bring him up, either.
She apparently wants to compartmentalize them, and while that always pissed him off when it was him being tucked away in a box in her mind, he can’t say he minds much now if it means he doesn’t have to hang around Piz.
She wants to move on and not dwell on what went down between them, if her ‘I made lots of mistakes last year’ comment from the party meant anything. He knows he fucked up, but being considered a mistake by her just nearly split his dramatic heart in two. He doesn’t want to be that guy to her anymore. He wants to be someone she can depend on. He’s not going to screw this friendship up.
So he compartmentalizes Piz too (into the grimy old recesses of his brain, where he belongs), smirks, and says, “If you want to hoard pictures of this pretty face, all you have to do is ask, Mars.”
“You a bounty hunter, boy?” Leaning forward, Veronica crosses her arms into the Rover’s open passenger window.
Logan throws his hand around the front seat beside him, stretching his soft tee over his chest. “I hear there’s a damsel nearby who might be in distress. Do you mind pointing me her way?”
She groans, throwing her head back, and hops into the car, placing her purse at her feet. “Who'da thunk it? Veronica Mars. Damsel.”
Putting his gear shift into drive, Logan says, “Your Knight in Shining Armour knows it’s only a one-time deal.” He crosses his heart with his finger.
She lolls her head towards him. “You didn’t have to use your Triple A for me, seriously. My dad would have helped me jump it in a few hours when he gets back.” She hopes he knows that’s a ‘thank you’ in Veronica speak.
“We both know that’s why you called me first.” She rolls her eyes, and he puts his hand on his heart. “But when my favourite maiden is in misfortune, you know I have to come through for her.”
Snaking her hand under his arm that’s on the wheel, she pinches his side, and he squirms away from the contact while trying to stay steady in his lane. “But I used synonyms!”
“Okay, Hemingway.” He laughs, and she mutters, “Smartass.” But she can’t stop her smile, so she doesn’t think it had much effect.
“We need to get you a better car—again. Who would have thought the LeBaron would be missed? At least it never crapped out on you.” He switches lanes, giving her a once-over when he’s situated. “Unless you purposefully blew your engine to hitch a ride with me.”
“Totally. I had just finished reapplying my lipgloss before you pulled up.”
“Wouldn’t put it past you. You’d make a great con artist.”
“How do you know I’m not already one?” She turns in her seat, twirling her hair. “I could have you in a long con.”
He thinks about this for a moment. “You know, I actually wouldn’t be surprised.”
She sits against the backrest once more, crossing her legs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“You would.”
“ Anyway, this shit is bound to happen when you buy used,” she says. “Not all of us can afford Range Rovers, Richie Rich.”
“Well, maybe in”—he checks the nonexistent watch on his wrist—"just over five weeks, Santa will put a new car under your tree this year.”
“Aw, you think I’ve been a good girl?” She bats her eyelashes.
“Without my bad boy influence? Yeah, I’d say you’ve got a better chance to get on the nice list this year.”
Her face heats up with his reference to their time together, and she kinda goes for it. “I don’t know, I’m plenty naughty on my own, in more ways than one, if you recall.”
His eyes widen a fraction, and they dart towards her for a millisecond. Shifting in his seat, his lips curve upward. His voice is gravelly when he responds, “Yeah, I recall.”
She’s wondering if she took it too far, when he continues. “Not sure Santa takes into account bedroom activity when deciding on his list. You might be in the clear.” He faces her for a moment, winking.
“Phew.” She jokingly wipes sweat from her brow, feeling thankful that he seemed to be receptive to her insinuation. He didn’t shut down her flirting, at least. She decides to walk it back, just in case it was too much. “I think you could even make the nice list, too. On one condition.”
“Oh, you already worked this out with Santa, did you?”
“Mhm.” She nods. “All you have to do is keep cooking for me. Easy peasy.”
“Why am I not surprised?” He bobs his brows in her direction. “You just like watching me in an apron.”
“I mean, you’re not wrong…”
He stops at a red light and turns toward her, tucking his hand behind her headrest again, putting her face in close proximity to one of those tanned forearms she used to love so much.
Oblivious to her inner struggle of attraction, he asks, “So, when do I get you cooking for me in an apron?”
“Why mess up the perfectly good set-up we have now?”
“Where I do all the work and you reap all the reward?”
“That’s the one.”
He smiles as the light turns green, returning to his position at the wheel. They continue the drive silently until he turns into her neighbourhood a few moments later. She already feels bereft that their time together will end soon.
The desperate part of her brain scrambles for a way to make it last longer. “Wanna come in? Maybe this whole ‘me cooking for you’ thing won’t be so bad.”
He looks a little surprised as he pulls into her driveway. “You sure?”
Why is he always asking her that?
“Second thoughts? Because I’ve added to my punny apron collection since the last time you were here, so you really don’t want to miss out on this one-time offer.”
She’s been over to his place three times now, but he hasn’t been back at hers since the breakup. Her heart is yammering in her chest, terrified he’ll reject her suggestion. Bad memories, not interested, prior plans, not hungry, it’s getting late—he has a million reasons to say no.
So when he puts the car in park, shaking his head a little at himself and says, “You sound like a QVC commercial,” while throwing open his door, she breathes a sigh of relief.
Veronica Mars to Logan Echolls, 2:36 pm: You don’t always need to arrive fashionably late, Echolls. Coffee is getting cold! May need to show it some love and drink it myself…
Logan Echolls to Veronica Mars, 2:39 pm: TA let us out late. 3 mins. Don’t you dare! *Lord of the Rings ‘It’s MINE’ gif*
Logan pockets his phone, shuffling his feet a little bit faster than before. He wonders how lame it is that this is the best part of his Tuesdays and Thursdays.
Their routine cafeteria meetup for coffee just sort of… happened, once they both realized they shared a tutorial twice a week at the same time. It’s only their fifth time (not that he’s counting…), but he’s going to miss it when break starts in a couple weeks.
Logan pulls open the double doors to the cafeteria, and searches the tables for Veronica.
What he finds is a kick to the gut.
Sitting across from Veronica is Piz, looking just as punchable as ever. Leaning forward toward her, holding his own cup of coffee, he flicks his head to the side so his dumb bangs move out of his eyes.
Veronica laughs at a joke he makes, and waves of various emotions flood through Logan’s body—confusion, anger, embarrassment, disappointment, and finally, resignation.
He hasn’t seen Piz with Veronica for so long—he hasn’t even been brought up in their conversations—that he kind of… forgot about him, that he was such a big part of her life. Or maybe actively tried to forget.
There is no forgetting now, as he gets an eyeful of the couple. The anger washes over him again—how could he have been so fucking stupid? Here he was, thinking… thinking what?
That she looked forward to their time together as much as he did.
That maybe… maybe they could…
God, he’s an idiot.
He backs away slowly, through the doors he just entered, trying to rein in the defeat he feels. It doesn’t work.
***
Later that night, Dick nudges Logan into Quench, the most popular bar on campus. He hollers at a few of his friends that clap their backs on the way in, shouting in Logan’s ear, “Come on, buddy, we’re gonna get you out of this pussy-whipped state you’re in.”
Logan grunts, preferring to wallow in self pity at home, in bed where Dick found him, but his friend drags him over to the bar.
Tapping on the counter, Dick waves a fifty, and is served fairly quickly after the bartender pockets the tip. Six shots are lined up in front of them, and Dick hands Logan two, taking a couple of his own.
“To reclaiming your balls!”
Sighing, Logan ignores the looks they get from the crowd around them, and throws back the tequila, slamming the empty glasses on the counter. He swallows his third with as much gusto, shaking his head and exhaling. They grab lime wedges from the dish beside them to chase.
Logan looks to his side, and sees a few girls from his Sociology lecture eyeing him appreciatively. And yet all he can think about is Veronica.
“No, no, no. After three shots, Logan Echolls is not allowed to still have the pathetic, puppy dog eyes,” Dick whines. “The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else, dude.”
Logan shakes his head. “That’s not necessary.”
“Like hell, it isn’t.”
“Listen, it’s not a big deal,” Logan tries to convince his friend, whose eyes couldn’t roll farther back into his head if he tried. “I just lost sight for a minute that… that we’re just friends.”
Dick throws his head backward and groans. “Ugh, see? This is exactly why I—” He lets out a huff of frustrated air. Placing his hands on Logan’s shoulders, Dick looks him directly in the eyes. “Logan, my brother. You need that viper out of your life. Please, for me. If you care about me at all… go get laid.”
Logan closes his lids momentarily, and Dick slaps him on the face lightly. He turns back to the bar, waving a twenty, and pointing at Logan. He shouts at the bartender, “Two more shots for this guy! And a Bud.”
Once Dick procures the tequila, he sips from one like he can’t help it, before shoving both of them in Logan’s hands again. “Drink. Enjoy. Flirt. Bone.”
Grabbing his beer, Dick walks past him, heading over to a crowd of his frat friends.
Staring into the clear liquid, Logan swallows thickly. Dick’s right. (He shows it in unconventional ways, but he’s right.) He can’t keep doing this—wanting something from Veronica she can’t give. Something she already has with someone else.
He needs to move past it. She’s happy, and that’s all that should matter to him.
Move past it…
He rockets back both shots, squares his shoulders and turns around, heading for the girls who can help him do just that.
Veronica pauses highlighting her textbook mid-sentence to yawn and stretch. She groans, placing the cap back on, and crosses her legs on her bed. Like she’s done at least twenty times this morning, she flips her phone open to check her messages. Nothing from Logan after their texts yesterday afternoon.
Logan Echolls to Veronica Mars, 2:46 pm: Something came up, can’t make it. The coffee is all yours.
Veronica Mars to Logan Echolls, 2:47 pm: My master plan worked! Mwahaha.
Veronica Mars to Logan Echolls, 2:49 pm: Everything okay, though?
Veronica Mars to Logan Echolls, 3:32 pm: Logan?
As if she had magical powers, her phone lights up and buzzes in her hand. Her stomach clenches for a moment when she thinks… but it’s Mac.
“You’re interrupting an incredibly successful and efficient study session, wherein I have made commendable progress, so this better be good.”
“Put the sticky-notes away, and get comfortable.” Mac’s voice contains a bit of mystery, and Veronica is already intrigued.
“Oooh, storytime, Ms. Mackenzie? Did our lovely lady meet a special someone last night?”
“Well, you would already know if you came out with us,” Mac scolds in a teasing tone.
Veronica sighs. She just wasn’t in the partying mood, and she’d love to feign confusion about why, but the newest unanswered text from Logan is a pretty solid guess. How pitiful can she be?
“Anyways,” Mac continues pointedly, “this is about last night, just not about me.”
“Jeez, Mac. Yank my chain much? Spill!”
“Logan was there.”
Instantaneously, a pit lands with a thump in Veronica’s stomach. “Not surprising. Just don’t know why the asshole couldn’t text to tell me he was alive.”
“Of course, I did the best friend thing of keeping watch over the rim of my mojito. Uh, mojitos. Multiple.”
Veronica is grateful for the decision to confide in Mac yesterday. Chewing her bottom lip, she asks casually, “Was he there with anyone?”
(Well, as casually as she could.)
“That’s the thing. He was talking to these girls all night—”
Veronica’s heart plummets. “Okay, maybe I don’t actually need the details—”
“No, Bond, that’s what I’m getting at. Around midnight, he left alone. He spoke to them all night and then just… left.”
Veronica shakes her head, confused. “Maybe they were meeting up later?”
“I don’t think so, because they shook it off and went to talk to another group of guys.”
Silent for a few moments, Veronica finally mumbles, “Well that sucks.”
“Why? I thought you’d be happy.”
“It just confirms it, though.”
“Confirms what?”
“If he left with someone, then I could be frustrated and jealous. But… he isn’t hooking up with anyone, and he still doesn’t want me? I’ve officially been friend-zoned.”
“I don’t know, man. Have you seen the way he looks at you?”
“Not sure that means anything anymore. I guess the moral of the story is… don’t take too long to decide you want the fettuccine. ‘Cause the fettucine will move on.”
She huffs out a breath of resignation and leans back on her bed. “On that note, I saw Piz yesterday.”
“Oh, yeah?” There’s shuffling on the other side of the line, probably Mac getting comfortable. “How’d that go?”
Veronica shrugs even though Mac can’t see her. “It just underscored again that I made the right decision.”
“Good. Um, so, speaking of fettuccine—I hooked up with Max again last night.”
“WHAT!” Veronica yells. “Okay, this should have had first billing! Tell me everything!”
***
After a fulfilling conversation with Mac, where she was able to focus on someone else’s drama for a little while, Veronica decides to take a page from her best friend’s book.
The direct approach.
While she wasn’t exactly going to stalk up to Logan and ask him if he wants to go home with her (point Cindy fucking Mackenzie), she can take inspiration.
Taking a deep breath to psych herself up, she presses Logan’s number on her phone. Fiddling with a loose string on her comforter, every ring makes her heart beat faster, until—
“Hello?”
“He’s alive!” She fake gasps.
Logan grunts. “Barely.”
Veronica keeps her voice even. “Fun night?”
A few beats go by. “Not really.”
She can’t help but feel a little pleased about that. “Way to ghost me yesterday.”
“Yeah,” he mumbles, “Sorry, something came up.”
“So you said.” She could probably grill him and get a straight answer, but she decides to stick to the mission. Direct approach. “My dad’s going away for the weekend. Come hang at mine tomorrow night. We can watch a movie.”
He exhales slowly into the phone. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea.”
“Sitting on my lumpy couch and watching a movie on my twenty-four inch, non-plasma TV doesn’t sound like the best idea?” she jokes. “That’s like, the dream.”
He hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“There’s that question again, like Veronica Mars is ever unsure.” She’s trying to save face, but she actually is unsure why he’s pulling away from her, and it’s kind of freaking her out.
“What would Piz think?”
Veronica snorts, scrunching her brows together. “Random, much? Since when do you care what Piz thinks?”
“I—I just… want you to be happy.” Logan’s voice sounds tired all of a sudden, like he just woke up. She frowns, confused, as he continues. “Are you happy?”
Dodging the uncomfortable and out-of-left-field question, she quips, “Only if we watch Big Lebowski again.”
That gets a chuckle out of him, and she finally starts to relax. “Shocker.”
Veronica turns the TV off with the remote, lifting her arms in a stretch that makes her short top rise over her belly button.
Logan bites his lip, hard, to get a god-damned grip. He stands up to refill their water glasses, needing a bit of space. She sat too fucking close during the movie, and he found himself leaning in to the warmth of her body.
She’s happy with Piz, he reminds himself for the umpteenth time. Don’t mess up this friendship.
Veronica yells from behind him, “Hey, there’s some more popcorn left in the bag. Want?”
“Trying to live past thirty, remember?”
“Overrated when junk food tastes this good. Besides, this is corn. A vegetable. I’m basically eating a salad.”
He heads back to the couch, placing their drinks on the coffee table. “Next time you should get those shaker add-on flavours.”
“And ruin the perfection that is buttered popcorn? No thanks.” A kernel falls down her tank top, and she fishes down into her shirt to get it, giving Logan an eyeful of cleavage and her black lace bra.
Focusing very, very, very hard at keeping his gaze on her face, Logan says, “So, what, you’re a popcorn snob now?”
“If I wanted the taste of salt and vinegar, I would buy a bag of chips.”
“But what if you want the taste of salt and vinegar, but the texture of popcorn.”
“You’re talking crazy-pants, now.” In her haste to crunch down on another mouthful, a second kernel falls down her shirt. Is she trying to kill him?
“We need to get you a bib.”
“At least there’s not much there to hinder me from finding it,” Veronica laughs self-deprecatingly, rooting around and procuring the latest casualty.
“You know my philosophy,” Logan finds himself saying. “It’s about quality, not quantity.”
She blushes, propping up her elbow on the back cushion and leans her head in her hand. She looks up at him through her lashes. “You never were shy to show your appreciation.”
Smirking, he drawls, “Pleasure for you was always pleasure for me.” It’s like he’s unable to stop the words from falling out of his mouth. Flirtation was not supposed to be on the docket tonight. Pull yourself together, Echolls.
She smiles, ducking her head, and places the now-empty bag on the coffee table. Gasping, she scolds, “You left ice cream in your bowl? Cardinal sin number one!”
Relieved at the subject change, he grins at Veronica’s affronted face. “We had just stuffed our faces with pizza and snacks—I was full!”
“I obviously didn’t have enough of an impact on you when we dated.” She grabs his bowl, putting his spoon down, and swipes her finger through the melted rocky road. She sucks it in her mouth, moaning, and Logan tries desperately hard not to think about other times he’s seen her cheeks hollow out like that.
“No spoon?”
“Lasts longer this way.”
“You’re literally eating straight melted sugar.”
“And it’s delish.” This time she uses her perfect pink tongue to swirl the liquid into her mouth, and good fucking god, he’s getting hard.
He shifts a bit—nonchalantly, he hopes—and averts her eyes, putting his feet up on the coffee table so he has something else to do.
“You know you want a taste.”
“Why would I when there’s perfectly good still frozen ice cream in the freezer?”
She scoots closer, forcing him to look back up at her. “It’s somehow yummier this way. Don’t you trust me?” She pouts, gleam in her eye.
Danger, Will Robinson!
Her glistening finger presented in front of his mouth, he doesn’t know what comes over him. Holding her wrist steady, he locks eyes with her and slowly licks her finger. Her lids droop, and she inhales deeply, her lashes fluttering.
There’s a few charged moments where neither of them move—her palm still mid-air in front of his face—and all he can focus on is the sound of their breaths and her chest rising and falling. Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip, and his eye tracks it immediately. She twines her hand with his and rubs the back of his thumb with hers.
He’s overcome for a moment—inching forward to give into what he’s desired for eons—before he snaps out of it. Shaking his head, he hops off the couch, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Logan?” Veronica’s voice behind him is small, so unlike her. He turns to see her brows furrowed, vulnerable look on her face, placing the bowl back on the table.
“I can’t.” It’s wrong. She’s with Piz. This is all so fucking wrong.
Pulling her knees into her chest, she tucks her bangs behind her ear. “I don’t understand.”
“I can’t keep doing this, Veronica.”
“Doing what?”
“This weird in-between. Pretending I can actually be your friend.”
That gets her angry. She stands up, crossing her arms. “Pretending? What the hell, Logan?”
He presses the pads of his fingers into his eyes, rubbing hard, trying to figure out how they got here. “You need to let me go. I need to move on.”
***
“You need to let me go. I need to move on,” he says, resigned. And he seems to think he’s speaking in English, but he could be speaking in Gibberish for all she knows, because what the fuck? What is he talking about? Could she have possibly misread the flirtation tonight?
“Move on? Where is this even coming from? I don’t understand,” she repeats, trying desperately to keep her guard up, but her walls are crumbling slowly from this blow.
“I thought I could do this—coffee in the cafeteria, cooking together, movie nights. But I think we both know this is a recipe for disaster. Maybe it means nothing to you, but it’s meant something to me—”
“How could you say that? Of course it’s meant something to me—”
“Then that’s even more reason to walk away. You’ve got a good thing going for you, and you don’t need me fucking it up.”
She’s losing the thread, she doesn’t know how to get him to see the obvious. “You’re the good thing going for me, Logan! This.”
He throws his palms up in the air, backing away from her. “No, I shouldn’t even be here.”
Panic settles in her chest. “Don’t go.” She attempts to swallow the emotion in her wobbly voice. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
Hand on the doorknob, he pauses, barely looking back at her. “I can’t do this halfway. I’m sorry, Veronica. You deserve better.”
“What?” It comes out like a whisper as he slips through the threshold. The door slams, and she tries to catch her breath, barely registering the tear leaking down her face.
The door to Quench chimes as Logan stumbles in, running his fingers through his hair. It’s been a couple hours since his blowout with Veronica, and trying to get over it while Dick entertained a female friend in the room next to his was not cutting it.
On the way to the counter, he notices Wallace and Mac drinking beers with a few of their buddies at the back, and he internally groans. This is what he gets for coming to the campus bar. But—the bartender here won’t cut him off for a good, long while, and he won't get that assurance elsewhere.
Choosing a stool with his back to Veronica’s friends, he peels off his coat and hunches over, waiting until the group beside him is served.
“Three shots of the cheapest vodka you got.” When he gets a raised brow, Logan elaborates. “I need it to burn going down tonight.”
Shrugging, the barkeep (Harold, his tag says) turns around and starts fixing his drinks.
Logan leans his head in his hands and lets out a deep sigh. How did he get here, rock bottom and drinking the equivalent of rubbing alcohol? Well, fine, he knows the answer to that. He played with fire, and he got burned. Only an arrogant jackass would think they could be friends with an ex they were still madly in love with, while they dated a mop-haired, vanilla loser.
Someone sits down in the stool next to him, and Logan steels himself, knowing what’s coming.
“Listen, I don’t want to get involved, so I’ll only say this once. You should know you’re a jerk for leading her on,” Wallace says.
News sure travels fast, huh?
Logan turns toward him as Harold finishes pouring the vodka. “How could I have possibly led her on? She’s been very clear from the start what she wants. I’m just taking myself off the playing field.”
“This. That’s what I mean. You say she’s been clear, and yet you want no responsibility for letting her think things could go back to the way they were, only to yank it away.”
Unable to follow Wallace’s logic, Logan downs his first shot. Yep, that burns. “I’m over it, man. She’s better off with Piz.”
Wallace scoffs. “She’s a big girl. Why don’t you let her decide what she wants instead of telling her what’s good for her?”
“She did decide.” He swallows the second one. No chase, just to be a masochist. “She couldn’t have been any clearer.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Wallace asks, eyes narrowed.
Fucking tired of this, Logan slows his voice down like he’s talking to a two year old. “She. Wants. Piz. I’m done pretending I can stick around and play second fiddle.”
Silent for a few seconds, Wallace’s face morphs from confusion to disbelief, and he mimics his voice to sound like Logan’s just did. “Veronica broke up with Piz—in September.”
Hearing those words makes Logan’s head throb. Is he already drunk? Why would Wallace say that? Logan shakes his head. “No, she didn’t.”
“Yes, she did.” Wallace puts his beer down on the counter. “She said she told you.”
“What are you—” Logan huffs out a frustrated breath, not understanding. “What do you mean, she broke up with Piz and told me? I saw them—I just saw them.”
Wallace opens his mouth and closes it, seemingly unable to form words. “You thought they were together this whole time?”
They stare at each other for what feels like centuries, Logan searching Wallace’s eyes for maliciousness. There’s none there. He’s telling the truth.
Heart in his throat, Logan shoots up, throwing a few twenties on the counter. Pulling his coat on roughly, he bolts out of the bar without a backwards glance. As he hails and jumps in a cab, he replays every encounter he and Veronica have had since she’s been back from Quantico. Squeezing his eyes shut, he thinks of every conversation, every meet-up, every flirtatious exchange, viewing them all through a new lens.
This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. How could this be happening?
He can’t have wasted almost four months.
When the taxi pulls onto her street, he drops a few bills in the front seat and throws himself out of the still-moving car, ignoring the protests of the cabbie. He runs toward her house, adrenaline pumping.
Racing up her front steps, he pounds on the door, his pulse thumping in his ears. He doesn’t know what he’ll say, doesn’t know what he’ll do, and then—
Veronica opens the door with red rimmed eyes, and his heart sinks and soars all at once.
“Logan?”
He rockets forward, grabbing her face and kissing her finally—finally—with all the pent up emotions that he’d been holding back. After a moment of shock and a squeak of surprise, she melts into him, her arms around his waist and up his back, pressing him into her. Allowing him to explore and reacquaint her tongue with his after so long.
He feels complete for the first time since she was last in his arms—before the miscommunication, before the mended friendship, before ‘you’re out of my life forever,’ before the tape, before pretending to move on with other people, before the Aspen disaster came out. He shuffles them farther into the house, and she slams the door shut behind him.
Veronica slowly wakes from her peaceful sleep, moving to stretch the kinks out from her body. Fists by her face, her elbows extend out, and her chest rises, making the comforter fall below her breasts. She opens her eyes to see a very naked Logan staring at her with a soft smile.
The pads of his fingers reach for her skin, and she mirrors his expression. “What?”
“Mmm, nothing,” he responds, voice scratchy, while burrowing into his pillow and wrapping his arm around her back to pull her closer.
Facing each other now, she runs her hand up and down his forearm, playing with the soft hair surrounded by freckles. She whispers, “How long have you been watching me, you perv?”
“It’s not my fault you’re so fucking cute,” he says, leaning his forehead against hers for a moment.
“And don’t you forget it.” She pecks him on the lips.
Looking back at him, his eyes bore into hers, and she feels the weight of last night and all the things unsaid. He thought she was still with Piz, but how? Why didn’t he get that text?
Her gaze lowers to his chest, and he tilts her chin back up with his index finger. “Stay with me.”
She swallows, trying to find the words to explain. “It’s just… I’ve had months to think about this—about us. To be sure this is what I want. If you’ve thought I was with Piz this whole time, were you really able to give it the thought that it—”
He cuts her off with a passionate kiss, threading his hand through her hair. He makes sure she sees his sincere demeanour before he promises, “This is it for me, Veronica. You’re it for me.”
There’s no use in fighting the edges of her lips from curving up, and she chews on her thumbnail to keep from looking like a giddy schoolgirl. Which—Logan sees right through, of course. He laughs and launches forward, rolling on top of her and continuing the passionate kiss…
When the doorbell rings.
He pulls back, the colour draining from his face. “That’s not your dad, is it?”
Veronica chuckles, pushing him off her. “No, that’s definitely not him. You can breathe again.”
She throws on a robe, while Logan puts his boxers on. Padding down the hallway, she looks behind her, and Logan’s eye peeks out from her room so he can see. She shakes her head and unlocks the bolt, opening the door to a delivery man.
“Is there a Logan here?”
“Uhh, yes?” She eyes the white box he holds.
“This is for you, then. Good day.” He thrusts it into her hands and heads back down the stairs. Confused, she locks up, then places it on the counter.
Logan approaches the island and asks, “What is it?”
She shrugs, while getting a knife. “No clue. Looks like one of those bakery boxes.”
She cuts through the tape on each side, and lifts the cardboard to reveal a red velvet cake with a message on top.
Please don’t kill me. PS Congrats on the sex, I guess.
“Who the fuck would—” But then it hits her. “Shut. Up. That asshole!”
Logan seems to have figured it out at the same time, his face stricken. “Dick. He wouldn’t have… would he?”
Logan’s phone chimes from the bedroom, and he goes to fetch it while Veronica says, “Why would you ever put anything past him? He hates me.”
“Speak of the devil.” Logan walks back into the room reading a text. “‘Bumped into Wallace at the bar who told me you handed over your balls again. Dude, don’t be mad, I did it for you,’ etcetera, etcetera.”
Throwing his phone on the counter, Logan grips his head between his palms and starts pacing. She clenches her fist… and goes to grab a fork.
“You sent the text the day we first saw each other, right? Dick and I ate dinner together that night,” Logan says, walking back and forth in her living room. “I remember, because he kept telling me to stop moping!”
She takes out her rage by stabbing the cake, chomping on a big bite, and… fuck, it’s good.
“It’s coming back to me now—he handed me my phone! I’m going to fucking kill him. That jackass actually deleted it!”
“Yep, and I’m going to hunt him down and make him pay.”
But her threat must not have sounded very intimidating through a mouthful of red velvet, because Logan spins around and looks at her with sappy eyes. He stalks forward, and wipes a bit of frosting off her cheek.
“I might be thrown in jail after I deal with him,” Logan says, kissing that same spot, “so you should really take advantage of me while you’ve got me.”
Eating one more piece and licking the fork, she taps her chin. “Hmm. Do I want sex or cake?”
Leering, he swipes his finger through the icing and lets her taste it off him. “How about sex and cake?”
“Now you’re talking.”