Archive of Our Own ^beta

The worst thing about Neptune, Keith thinks, is how it never changes. Another year gone by, and Keith Mars is knocking on the door to Logan Echolls’ hotel suite on Christmas Eve. Again.

It’s a little better this time around. Logan looks disheveled and disoriented, but this year his rough state seems to be from lack of sleep, not alcohol. Once you’ve spent Christmas watching your father have sex with your girlfriend on tape, Keith figures everything else is pretty much a breeze.

Keith hands Logan the manila envelope Lamb had dumped on him half an hour ago as he was leaving the station.
 
“For the Echolls kid,” Lamb had said, snapping his gum obnoxiously. “His two-bit lawyer dragged him out of here so fast last week he never got to sign the release.” Lamb had cocked his head at Keith’s blank expression. “You know – when he beat the shit out of one of my new cruisers and then beat the shit out of Mercer Hayes? Busy kid.”

Yeah, Keith had heard about that. His first thought had been a savage good, followed by a slightly more rational thank god he and Veronica broke up. In all the weeks since, he still hasn’t quite settled between the two extremes.
 
“Lamb, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s Christmas Eve,” Keith had said in exasperation. “What am I supposed to do with these?”
 
Lamb’s eyes had widened innocently, at odds with the smirk permanently affixed to his face. “Well I figured you two were close, Keith, what with him dating your daughter and everything.” His mouth curled up. “I mean, after all this time, he must be like a son to you.” 

Keith’s pretty sure every officer in the gaudily decorated police station heard his curt reply on the way out.
 
Logan stares blankly down at the cover sheet in his hands, Sheriff’s Department insignia emblazoned across the top. He glances back up. “Am I supposed to know what this is?” 

“Release paperwork,” Keith explains levelly.
 
Logan raises an eyebrow. “Did I sleep through another arrest?”
 
“No,” Keith says. He awkwardly gestures toward the dates at the top of the page. “It’s…for the last time.”
 
“You mean Mercer?”
 
Keith just nods. Logan bites his lip, staring down at the paperwork. Keith can see his hands clench around the corners of the envelope. Keith isn’t sure what he’s feeling – maybe it’s regret, maybe it’s bitterness, maybe it’s renewed anger. Keith can certainly relate to that last one. He feels it every time he sees the shadows of lingering fear in Veronica’s eyes.
 
Either way, Keith can sense the tension radiating off of Logan in waves, and he can’t ignore his sudden surge of pity. “I can come back,” he offers.

“No,” says Logan. “No, hold on.” He disappears back into his cavernous hotel suite, leaving Keith to cool his heels in the hallway for long minutes. It’s eerily silent. He supposes everyone is headed home for Christmas. The only people left would be the live-ins, like Logan, or the people trying to avoid the holidays altogether. Even the rich and fabulous have jetted off to various tropical locales. No one wants to hang around the Neptune Grand on Christmas Eve, and Keith can’t blame them.

Logan comes back with the envelope neatly sealed. “Signed in blood,” he says too casually, handing the papers back off to Keith.

“Thorough,” Keith remarks.

Logan shrugs. “You know me.” He shoves his hands into his pocket, looking for all the world like the awkward twelve-year-old Keith first laid eyes on at Veronica’s sixth grade graduation. His next words shatter the illusion.

“So, I guess you know what happened,” Logan says flatly.

“I heard a detail or two.”

Logan won’t meet his eyes. “Does Veronica – ”

Keith shakes his head quickly. “I didn’t tell her.” He can’t quite bring himself to say thank you to the boy standing in front of him. He can’t express gratitude for the very same violence that he’s warned Veronica against so many times in the past, even though a part of him wants to. Even though, had Logan not gotten there first, Keith just might have found a way to beat the shit out of Mercer Hayes himself.

“How is she?” Logan asks suddenly. He says it like he doesn’t mean to, like it slipped out beyond his control.

Keith knows what he should say, what any responsible father would say. He should tell Logan that, quite frankly, it’s none of his business how Veronica is. He should explain that his daughter is strong – far too strong for Logan – and that she’ll be better off if Logan just stays the hell away. But looking at Logan’s face, he finds he can’t lie.

“Not good,” he says quietly.

He watches the naked emotions play across Logan’s face – the pain, the comprehension, the tentative hope. Logan looks down after a prolonged second, then clears his throat. “I, uh – I have a present for her, that I bought before – ” He gives his head a little shake. “Would you mind…?”

“I’ll give it to her,” Keith tells him gently. Logan doesn’t seem to expect a present from Veronica in return, which is good, since as far as Keith knows his daughter didn’t buy one. Logan retreats into the suite again and returns a minute later with a long, flat jewelry box, obviously professionally wrapped, with bows and sprigs of holly sticking out every which way.

Logan runs a hand through his already-mussed hair. “It’s not a big deal. Just…tell her Merry Christmas.” His face is earnest and guarded all at once.

“I will,” Keith promises. He has the sudden urge to invite Logan back to the house for Christmas dinner, which is ludicrous, considering the uneasy relationship they’ve always had. He doesn’t want this boy any closer to Veronica than necessary, and he doubts Logan would even accept such an invitation.

But the problem is…Logan is just a boy. Angry and messed up and misguided, but still a nineteen-year-old boy who never had much of a chance. Who is probably going to spend Christmas alone, again, drinking in his hotel room, without a single happy Christmas memory to get him through the night.

Logan is beginning to look uncomfortable, shifting on his feet, so Keith takes a step back, effectively ending the conversation.

“Merry Christmas, son,” he says.

“Yeah,” says Logan. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Mars.” 

*

They’re halfway through dessert when Keith pushes the flat, wrapped box across the table to his daughter. Her mouth curls up a little bit. “Breaking the Christmas morning rule again?” she teases. “I’ve obviously gotten far too lax with you.”

“It’s not from me,” he tells her, watching her eyes. “I saw Logan today.”

The expression falls from her face with lightening speed. She stares dumbly down at the box for a second before slowly peeling back the designer wrapping paper.

She lifts a silver and sapphire necklace out of the box with delicate fingers. It’s clearly expensive; the blue-studded chain gleams against her skin, and Keith can tell it will look beautiful on her. She stares at it wordlessly.

“Nice necklace,” Keith says, making her jump. “A little showy for my tastes, but…”

She clears her throat. “Yeah.” She lays it carefully on the table and sits back, looking at it.

“What are you thinking?” he asks quietly.

“Nothing,” she says quickly. Too quickly. She picks up her fork to take another bite of chocolate cake. Only the cake never makes it to her mouth. Her eyes are unfocused, and her fork hovers in midair, forgotten.

“Honey,” he says. “You’re wasting perfectly good chocolate cake. Something’s got to be wrong.”

She sets her fork down again and fidgets. When she finally raises her face to his, he can see her eyes are bright with tears. “Dad,” she whispers. “He’s all by himself.”

Keith smiles. “It’s my turn to do the dishes anyway. Go.”

She’s up in a flurry, grabbing her coat from the couch, digging through her purse for her keys. He considers telling her that she still has the ridiculous elf hat on her head, but then changes his mind. Some jokes never get old.

She kisses him on the cheek before she flies through the door. “Thank you,” she says, and then she’s gone.

Keith washes and dries the dishes by hand, slowly and carefully, the way he and Lianne used to do after they put Veronica to bed on Christmas Eve. They’d take their time cleaning up. He’d hand-feed her leftover dessert and she’d flip through the radio stations until she found the perfect gift-wrapping music. Then they’d sit on the floor and wrap the rest of the presents as Christmas morning grew closer.

The house is deafeningly empty without Veronica wandering around, and Keith hasn’t spent a Christmas Eve on his own in twenty-five years. He slides the last of the dishes into place in the cupboard, unplugs the tree, and locks the door. The last thing he does is flip off the radio, flooding the apartment in silence, and that’s when he hears it – footsteps.

The lock turns, and then Veronica is in the doorway, pulling a sheepish Logan through by the hand. “He can’t stay at the Grand, Dad,” she says. “The lobby isn’t even decorated.”

In the shadowy room he can’t tell if she’s teasing or defiant. He doesn’t really care. He steps forward and pulls her into a hug, and she squeezes back with more life than he’s felt in her in weeks. “Merry Christmas, honey,” he says. “Logan gets the couch.”

Logan is still looking uncomfortable, despite Veronica’s death grip on his hand, so Keith nods to him and says, “Merry Christmas. Blankets are in the closet.” Then he turns his back and pretends not to see his daughter smile and touch her forehead to Logan’s chest.

Keith spies them through Veronica’s open door just as he’s heading off to sleep. They’ve got their arms around each other, and Logan is resting his chin on the top of Veronica’s head, eyes closed. They’re standing still and upright, but Keith wouldn’t be surprised if they’d fallen asleep like that. He doubts either of them have gotten much sleep over the past few weeks.

He wonders for a moment about this thing the two of them have. Logan is not a nice boy; he’s not the boy Keith ever envisioned for his daughter. He’s made her cry and he’s made her crazy, and sometimes it feels like a sacrifice for Keith to just look at him without yelling and swearing and shaking his fist.

But if this boy lets Veronica wake up at home on Christmas morning, safe and smiling and without that haunted look in her eyes… 

Some sacrifices are worth it.