“This is a mistake,” Veronica said for the fifteenth time that evening. “I’m not in a party mood.”

“Well, get out that fake ID and prepare to get your holiday groove on,” Mac retorted, pulling Veronica towards the door. “Wallace and Piz are waiting for us, and I’m your self-appointed ride home. Have a little fun tonight, Veronica. You’ve earned it.”

As they approached the blocky, chrome-trimmed doors of Copley Hall, which was hosting a ‘Christmas Wishes’ party before the campus shut down for winter break, Veronica stopped again. “This is ridiculous. You don’t want to be here; you’re only here because you think I should be getting out more.”

“No, I’ve really enjoyed watching you stare into space for the past three weeks,” Mac snarked, her wry grin taking some of the bite out of the words. “Listen, distraction is good. In fact, in the case of an emotionally devastating event like a breakup, distraction is essential. Trust me.”

“I am not devastated,” Veronica insisted. “I’m just – surprised. And maybe a little depressed.”

“Uh huh.”

Veronica sighed. “Fine. Let’s get this fun over with.”

Devastated. For a start, she thought. She’d made it through the last few weeks of the semester, taking exams and turning in papers on autopilot, feeling like a soldier struggling to finish the battle even though his wounds are fatal. When it was over, she thought, she’d have time to feel the pain. Time to let the part of her that was his – Logan’s – die its slow, agonizing death.

She’d turned in her last final that morning, and was ready to go home and commence the dying, but Mac had insisted on bringing her to this pointless party.

“Veronica!”

Wallace’s voice, coming from an upstairs window, jerked her out of her thoughts. “Are you coming up, or what?” he called.

Mac waved up at him, and poked Veronica with her elbow. Veronica responded with a half-hearted wave of her own. “I’m doing this under protest,” she told Mac under her breath.

“Duly noted. Now let’s get you something cold and alcoholic.”

***

Inside, the first and second floors of the dorm were packed with people. Two girls sold wristbands and cups at a table near the entrance; a bass beat thumped relentlessly from the floor above, where a DJ had set up shop in the second-floor lounge.

As Veronica waited in line to fill her beer cup, she noticed a poster on the wall nearby.

Tell your Christmas wishes to Santa.
He’ll make them all come true.
Room 226

The words were scrawled in black magic marker on fluorescent poster-board. Veronica considered them for a moment, her mind immediately inventing several possible schemes involving a lecherous and/or larcenous Santa copping feels and picking pockets. She motioned to Mac, who read the sign and frowned.

“I know what you’re thinking, Veronica. And whatever it is, I’m sure it’s just harmless fun. It’s the ‘Christmas Wishes’ party. You’re not here to solve a case or save the world tonight. Relax.”

She led Veronica up to the second floor, where Piz stood watching Wallace flirt with an adorable redheaded freshman.

“Why can’t I be that smooth with the ladies?” Piz groused, without preamble, as Veronica and Mac approached. “I see a girl I like, and I’m all with the dorky stares and the warp-speed talking.”

Veronica suppressed a groan. She was now uncomfortably aware of Piz’s interest in her, and did as little as possible to encourage it without being overtly rude. Tonight, she really wasn’t in the mood to deal with his not-so-subtle attempts to draw her out.

Mac nudged her. “There’s, um, someone I know. I’m going to go say hi.”

Veronica followed Mac’s line of sight to a dark-haired guy she recognized vaguely from the Pi Sig party three weeks earlier. “Why, Cindy Mackenzie, who is this young man, and why have I not heard one word about him?” she teased.

Mac went pink and shot Veronica a look. “If I give you the sign, come rescue me,” she said tersely, and took a deep breath before making her way across the room.

“The sign?” Piz wondered.

Veronica grinned. “Scratching her left arm. The universal girlfriend sign for ‘rescue me from this guy’. She’s been hanging out with Parker a lot,” she added, by way of explanation.

Piz nodded, looking vaguely disturbed. “Sometime it’s better not to know what goes on in the minds of women.”

“You have no idea how true that is,” Veronica told him firmly. She raised her plastic cup. “To less communication between the sexes.”

Piz clicked his cup against hers with a smile, and they drank. When Veronica lowered her cup, she scanned the room automatically. Typical college party: girls with short skirts and barely-there tops swaying to the music, or grinding, depending on how much they’d had to drink; guys in denim and t-shirts doing the ubiquitous step-touch, step-touch dance of the college male as they kept their eyes fixed firmly on the smooth flesh in front of them. The scents of Axe and jasmine hung heavily in the air. Clusters of non-dancers clung to the walls of the room, drinking, talking and occasionally making out.

And in the doorway: tall, lean, fitted black t-shirt and plaid overshirt, hair just a little messy on top, the way she liked it. Brown eyes focused on her with an intensity that nearly made her drop her drink; she literally had to close her eyes, shut out the force of that gaze, to keep her knees from buckling with longing.

Piz saw her, and glanced toward the doorway to see what she’d been looking at. “Oh, look,” he said tightly. “Logan’s here.”

Veronica stared stupidly at Piz, as if just now realizing he was there. She saw Logan’s gaze shift to the other boy, and go flinty with disapproval.

Asshole, she thought. You broke up with me; you have no right to be angry.

And in the next moment: Please, God, don’t let him think I’m here with Piz.

Veronica looked helplessly up at Piz, her mouth open as if to protest. Certainly this nightmare wasn’t actually happening.

When she looked back to the doorway, Logan was gone.

“I have to go,” she said urgently, pushing her drink into Piz’s hand, ignoring his flustered questions.

Frantic, she pushed her way through the crowd and into the darkened hallway. “Logan? Logan!”

He was at the end of the hall, at the top of the stairs, and turned slowly at the sound of her voice. “Hey, Veronica.”

“I – how are you?” she asked lamely. Her voice sounded too loud in her own ears, and she was certain that Logan could hear her heart thudding, even from several yards away.

He shrugged. “You know. Not much in the party mood. Dick made me come.”

“I wasn’t – that wasn’t – with Piz – it’s nothing. Not anything,” she blurted, and immediately wanted to take the words back.

Logan bowed his head, accepting this. “It’s really none of my business,” he said flatly.

Veronica squeezed her eyes shut. “If that’s how you want it,” she said, sounding petulant and whiny even to her own ears.

“Nothing’s changed, Veronica,” Logan said, his voice thickening. “Look, I’m gonna go, OK? Enjoy the party. Take care.” He turned and was gone before Veronica could say anything more.

She put a hand out to steady herself against the cool, smooth metal of a door frame. God, was she ever going to be able to see him without feeling the wound rip open all over again? She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes, and the now-familiar sensation of having not quite enough air to breathe properly. She had to get out of here; she’d go tell Mac, and then take a cab home.

“My dear. I think you’re in need of a wish,” said a man’s deep voice, almost right beside her.

Veronica jerked back and let out a startled yelp. She realized, belatedly, that the door next to her was open, and that a tall figure stood just inside the darkened room.

“No – no,” she stammered. “I’m not – I was just leaving.”

“Veronica.” The unknown man said her name gently, an affectionate admonition.

She looked around wildly, her heart resuming its thudding at a frantic pace. Her eyes went to a poster board sign beside the door, almost identical to the one she had seen downstairs.

Tell your wishes to Santa.
He’ll make them all come true.

The number on the door was 226.

Veronica shook her head. “How do you know my name? I’m not here for – for this, OK? I was just leaving.”

The figure stepped far enough toward the open door that Veronica could make out glistening white hair and a long white beard, and the glint of silver-framed spectacles. “You know who I am, Veronica. Who do you think brought you that doll house when you were six? And the new bike, the year you turned eight?”

Veronica was startled into a half-chuckle. “That’s good. Really amazing, actually. An old friend of my dad’s, maybe? Look, I appreciate this, but I really have to –“

“When you were nine, you really wanted a tiara for Christmas, but you never told anyone, including your dad, because you thought you were too old for dressing up,” the mystery figure went on. “You thought your friend Lilly would make fun of you. And by the time you were ten, you didn’t believe in me any more.”

Veronica swallowed. “OK, this is getting weird. I appreciate the trip down memory lane and all, but I really have to –“

“My dear. I don't mean to frighten you.” The figure stepped a little closer to the light, and she could see that he wore a red pullover sweater and khaki pants. At her skeptical look, he grinned. “Expecting the furry red suit, were you? I don’t actually wear that anymore. Have to stay with the times. You can pull the beard if you want, though. It’s real.”

“No, thanks.” Veronica stared at the man in front of her, who could not possibly be Santa Claus. Just a look-alike who’d somehow gathered a few details about her childhood. Of course.

“Most grown-ups don’t realize that I can grant Christmas wishes for them, too. They just have to ask. And believe. That’s why I’m here tonight, to get the word out.”

“At a college party? Right.”

Ignoring her skepticism, the man looked down the hallway and sighed. “Logan stopped believing in me at a much younger age than you did,” he said. “Poor little boy. It seems the ones most in need of wishing are the ones who have their childhood taken from them too young.”

Against her will, Veronica felt the tears well up. “I don’t know who you are, and it’s bad enough that you’re screwing with me, but I swear to God, if you mess with him -"

“You love him,” the man said kindly. “I know. Veronica.” He put a hand on her arm, gently, and Veronica thought that she should have been startled, or frightened, but she felt nothing from him but benign energy and peace. “Wish for him, Veronica. Wish it true. Just make sure you wish for the right thing.”

Without really knowing what she was doing, she closed her eyes. Her thoughts swirled incoherently, a maelstrom of emotions and sense memories that were uniquely Logan: the particular solidity of his arms when they wrapped around her; the crisp softness of his hair under her fingers; his crooked, cocky, grin; the way he loved and hated with equal intensity; the glowing, pulsing life that formed the core of his very Logan-ness. She longed for him with a craving that surpassed any she’d ever felt – no childhood toy, no desire for justice or vengeance, nothing in her life had ever been as necessary to her happiness, to her very survival, as he was.

She opened her eyes.

The man in front of her smiled. “There. That's a good start. Now go home, Veronica. Wishes do come true – you’ll see. Remember, you just have to believe.”

Veronica blinked, and backed up several steps before she turned and fled down the stairs.

***

Veronica was slow and lethargic the next morning, heavy-eyed and aching. Keith cast a worried eye over her and prescribed a day on the couch. “You’ve been working too hard,” he told her, though they both knew work had nothing to do with it.

Her previous evening’s encounter hung in the back of her mind all day, and her eyes kept wandering toward the front door. Superstitiously, she kept her phone beside her all day. Just in case. Just in case her wish did come true, and he called to say that he needed her back.

Three days later, she was still on the couch, watching daytime television, wrapped in a ratty pink quilt saved from childhood. Her phone hadn’t rung, and Logan hadn’t appeared at her door. So much for wishes, she thought bitterly.

Keith came in from work at the end of the fourth day, and sat down beside her with a sigh. “This isn’t like you, honey,” he said gently. “And I’m worried about you. I don’t think this is healthy. You and Logan--”

“It’s not about Logan,” she insisted quickly, looking up at him with big eyes. “I’m sorry. I think I’m fighting off some kind of flu. I just ache all over, you know?”

“OK,” Keith said, in exactly the tone of voice he used with a suspect he knew to be lying. “But just so you know, if you’re feeling up to it, I could use some help in the office. I need to go out of town tomorrow to follow up on a tip in Phoenix, and I still haven’t got the money shot in the Penney case. Feel like wielding the big zoom lens for old-time’s sake?”

Veronica smiled weakly at him. “Yeah, I can do that.”

The next evening, she sat in her car with a venti mocha and Life of Pi, parked outside the Camelot, waiting for the adulterous Mrs. Penney to make her appearance.

Digging through her bag later, looking for the stash of jolly ranchers she used to keep herself awake on stakeouts, she found a small plastic case containing a tracking device. It took a moment to remember, but she suddenly realized it was the one she had planted in Logan’s truck – and subsequently removed – when he was planning that trip to Mexico with Dick and Mercer.

He would have been so angry and hurt if he’d found out she was tracking him. But probably not surprised, she thought sadly. Her monumental trust issues aside, Logan seemed resigned to the fact that she’d always assume the worst where he was concerned.

He believed she thought him a disappointment.

She wished – the man’s words, make sure you wish for the right thing, came back to her unbidden – she wished wholeheartedly that she could find the words to let him know just how wrong he was. And make him believe it.

Twenty minutes later, she was standing in front of his door at the Neptune Grand. She considered using her key card, but decided against it, choosing to knock, instead.

He answered in a t-shirt in boxers, sleepy and rumpled and utterly delicious to her eyes. “Veronica?”

“I just wanted you to know,” she said hesitantly, “I just wanted to tell you, that you were never a disappointment to me. I know that I didn’t always react well when I disagreed with something you’d done, but Logan, those things never changed how I felt about you. You were – you are – one of the strongest people I know. For someone to have gone through what you’ve gone through, and yet be one of the most loyal, loving, trusting people I’ve ever met? That’s pretty amazing. And you never had a model for a healthy relationship, and yet you tried every day – much harder than I did, I know it – to make our relationship work.

“By all rights, you could have been a completely selfish, hurtful, soulless person, and yet, you’re ... you. Not perfect – and God knows I’m not, either – but you were never a disappointment to me. I’m sorry I didn’t do a better job of showing you that when we were together.”

“Veronica,” Logan started, his forehead creased with incomprehension.

Veronica had a sudden flashback to that morning after the alterna-prom, when Kendall had slithered up behind him at this point, sliding her hands possessively over his shoulders. And oh, crap, she was going to be sick.

Something of her thought process must have shown in her face, because Logan immediately put out a hand to steady her. Their eyes locked in perfect understanding, and he shook his head with a tiny grin. “Don’t look like that,” he teased gently. “There’s nobody in here but me.”

Veronica let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, exhaling on a shaky laugh. “Oh, God,” she murmured, feeling the color return to her face.

“It’s late. Did you want to come in?” Logan said quietly, opening the door just a little wider.

Veronica was very conscious of his eyes on her. She did want to go in – she wanted nothing more – but it wasn’t the right time. It wouldn’t be, until she’d won him back completely.

“No,” she said, smiling up at him. “I just wanted to tell you that. I wanted you to know.”

“Thank you.” Logan’s eyes searched her face for a long moment. He seemed to be deciding something. “It means – it means a lot.”

With a last smile up at him, she turned, and walked back down to the elevator, a spring in her step for the first time in weeks.

***

Having abandoned her post outside the Camelot, Veronica had to go out again the following evening and watch for hapless Mrs. Penney and her lover.

She finished her book, and sat staring idly through the window. She was bored with the songs on her iPod. Almost without her willing it, her hand slid over to her Sidekick, and hovered over the number 1 – Logan’s speed dial number – and then pressed it. Biting her lip, she hit ‘send’, and put the phone to her ear.

“Hey,” he answered on the second ring, sounding surprised. “Everything OK?”

“Yeah,” she said, shooting for casual and coming out somewhere closer to squeaky. “I just – I’m on a stakeout at the Camelot, and I’m a little nervous being out here by myself.” She winced even as she said it; neither the line nor the delivery was remotely convincing.

Logan chuckled. “You? Nervous?”

“OK, well, maybe bored is more like it,” she admitted. “But anything could happen. PCHers, Fitzpatricks, Lillith House girls, sorority sisters ... the list of people who hate me is long and varied.”

Silence from Logan’s end.

Veronica froze. “Look, I know you’ve probably got stuff to do and all. I just thought – hoped – you might come and sit with me for a while.”

“I don’t know,” Logan began, his voice pained.

“I know it’s not the kind of helping you had in mind,” she pressed on. “But it’s what I’ve got right now. I promise, the next time I’m being chased by a dangerous criminal, you’re the first person I’ll call.”

“Not funny, Veronica.”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she backpedaled. A beat. “Will you come anyway?”

“Mocha or gingerbread?” he asked.

“What?”

“Latte. Mocha or gingerbread?” Logan repeated.

Veronica couldn’t stop the smile that threatened to split her face in two. “Gingerbread,” she said happily. “See you in a while.”

Twenty minutes later, Logan knocked on her passenger window, and Veronica watched him greedily as he slid into the seat beside her. The straight line of his shoulders, the scent of his aftershave, his oversized boy-hands: she’d been missing every little bit of him.

“You know, if you tried just a little harder to make friends, you wouldn’t have to be worried about all the people hoping for your heart in a box under their Christmas tree,” Logan said with a smirk, handing her the latte he'd brought.

“You’re one to talk. I’m sure your very best friend, the Xbox, was heartbroken to see you leave the suite.”

“Well, now it has the Wii to help it get through the long hours without me.” Logan deadpanned.

“Ah, yes. The Wii. Stupidest name for a game thingie ever.”

“Game thingie?” Logan asked, affronted on its behalf. “It’s an interactive gaming system, Veronica.”

They bantered comfortably back and forth for a few minutes, Veronica sipping at her latte to hide her smile of delight. God, she had missed this.

After an hour or so, a black Toyota pulled into the parking lot, and a thirty-something woman and man got out. “And there’s my money shot,” Veronica announced, raising her camera. She focused, and clicked the shutter several times as Mrs. Penney and her companion made their way up the stairs to a second floor room.

Logan peered at the trysting couple through the windshield, smirk firmly in place. "He's totally got his hand on her ass. Not very subtle, my friends, not very subtle."

"Yeah, for a romance that's supposed to be a secret, they aren't doing much to keep it under wraps."

"Hard to do when you're head over heels in love," Logan said lightly.

Veronica snorted. "The kind of relationships that end up at the Camelot rarely have much to do with love."

"He's totally in love with her," Logan insisted. "Look at the way he touches her back, and her hair. See how he looks at her."

"My God, you are such a girl," Veronica said, but her smile was fond.

Logan shrugged. "Nah. I just recognize the signs, I guess."

As they watched, Mrs. Penney and her lover stopped just outside the door to their room. He pinned her against the wall with his body, and ducked in for a long, thorough kiss. Veronica took a few more shots as his hands slid over Mrs. Penney's body, cupping the curves of hip and breast, and then came up to frame her face as he kissed her even more deeply. After a time, their kisses turned more tender, and finally, Mrs. Penney opened her eyes and looked at him with such naked love and longing on her face that Veronica felt like an intruder, and quietly put her camera down.

She felt Logan’s eyes on her, and it took every scrap of courage she possessed for her to turn and meet his gaze. His eyes were black in the glow of the Camelot’s sign, and deep with a passion and hunger she hadn’t thought she’d ever see again.

“You used to look at me like that,” he said, very low. “Before everything got fucked up. Do you still feel that way about me?”

Veronica nodded, feeling the hot well of tears behind her eyes. “I never stopped,” she answered with quiet intensity. “Not for a moment.”

Logan ducked his head, blinking hard, and his hand reached compulsively for hers. “I think we have to find a way to make this work.”

“I wish we could just start over!” Veronica cried in frustration. “Can we do that? Can we start again? Will you give me another chance?”

His arms went around her like lightning, and he was almost crushing her, but she didn’t care. She breathed him in, clinging to his shoulders, sobbing against his chest, until he finally disentangled them long enough to place a tender kiss on each of her tear-wet cheeks.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said huskily.

She smiled then, her rare, blinding smile that he hadn’t seen in weeks, and nodded again. “Let’s go.”


***

They were tentative at first, a little shy of one another after several weeks’ separation. They touched each other lightly, just pads of fingers and the barest brushes of lips and tips of tongues. Veronica arched into Logan as he skimmed over a particularly sensitive spot, and could feel him straining against her, hot and hard, through the fabric of his pants. She shuddered in anticipation heightened by long absence.

When she snaked one hand down to press against him just there, he hissed, and pushed back against her palm to prolong the contact. She could feel his breath come sharp and ragged on her neck as he collapsed into her, his welcome, heavy weight pressing her backward into the sofa. She’d forgotten how good it was to be confined by him, to be kept secure and whole in his arms even as his hands and lips tore her apart bit by ecstatic bit.

Logan kissed her thoroughly and then pulled back, pausing to look down at her with serious eyes. “I want to be part of your life, Veronica,” he said huskily. “Not just a sidekick, but a partner. Promise me.”

“I promise,” Veronica murmured, her blue eyes meeting his in complete and total truth. “I promise,” she said again, the last syllable turning to a gasp as his lips found the sweet spot on her neck and his hand found the buttons on her shirt.

Deftly he undressed her, gently, relentlessly baring all of her to his hungry eyes. Her skin gleamed pink and white in the light from the window; her nipples stood erect in the cool air. He drew away a little and let his eyes linger on each beloved part of her: the blonde silk of her hair; the dear curves of cheek and neck; her small, high, breasts; the promising shadow between her legs; the lithe lines of thigh and calf. He sucked his breath in sharply as she spread her legs for him, beckoning with her body as well as her eyes.

“Logan,” she said plaintively. “Don’t make me wait.”

His fingers were stiff and clumsy as he tried to undo buttons that had suddenly grown to twice their normal size, and zippers that seemed to be permanently stuck. Finally, naked before her, he grinned, and was rewarded with her answering smile. This is what happy is, he thought giddily.

He settled his body between her thighs, bending his head to tongue her nipples even as his hand found the place where she was wet and almost ready for him. He smiled to himself as her hands pushed at him, urged him downward. Flicked his tongue against her navel, just to hear her moan. Teased her with open mouth kisses and sucking bites on her inner thighs, leading upward, upward, until his mouth closed with excruciating gentleness over the very heat of her.

She rolled her hips against him, keening, trying desperately to increase the pressure, the friction, the angle, anything, but he braced one forearm over her pelvis to keep her still, and continued his gentle assault.

Veronica could hear the sounds she was making as if they were coming from someone else. God, she’d almost forgotten what Logan’s tongue could do to her, how he knew just how much pressure to apply to bring her to the edge of completion with excruciating slowness, and keep her there, teetering, until he decided to push her over the edge. She could feel the flood of wetness between her legs, and her flesh was almost unbearably swollen, ripe to bursting and wanting him, only him.

Teasing, he penetrated her slowly with the broad flat of his thumb, twisting the digit just a little to find the right place. Veronica felt a fresh flood of arousal as the pad of his thumb massaged that crazy-making place inside her, and dug her heels into the sofa to ground herself as her cries grew louder.

He withdrew both fingers and tongue abruptly, leaving Veronica aching and desperate as he arched over her with a wicked grin. “I want you to come on me,” he whispered, “so I can see your pretty face. Will you? Will you let me be inside you when you come?”

She nodded fervently, eyes going to the ready length and heft of his erection. “God, Logan, please,” she begged. “Please fuck me.”

He thrust into her with a roar, and holy mother of all that was sexy she was hot and wet and tight and he had to think of several unpleasant things all at once to keep from coming right then.

Veronica’s eyes slammed shut and she arched her head back against the couch cushions. Logan plunged into her over and over again, listening to her breathy cries as she thrust back against him. Stopping briefly, he bent and captured her mouth, kissing her thoroughly before rolling them over so she could ride him.

Her face was flushed with arousal, tense with near-completion and utterly beautiful. Giving him a little smile, she braced her hands on his chest and began working herself over and against him. Logan could see her nipples tighten as she approached orgasm, and he reached up to pinch them lightly. She threw her head back, made a long, low growl in her throat, and then came noisily and at length, her insides squeezing his cock like a fist. Just as her tremors subsided, he joined her, thrusting up into her erratically as the red-gold oblivion of his orgasm overtook him.

“Oh God, oh God,” she breathed, coming down. Her whole body trembled as she collapsed against him, and he kept his hands still and steady on her shoulders, knowing that she was ultra-sensitive to touch after she’d just come. He could feel his own heart slamming against his ribs, and the answering beat of her heart next to it.

After a minute or so, she raised her head, and laughed shakily. “There are lot of reasons I can’t be without you,” she said in his ear, “and that’s pretty high on the list.”

“Agreed,” he said. He could feel himself grinning like a loon, and he didn’t care. This is happy. He flipped her over again quickly, and she squealed.

“I just wish –“ he began, but she stopped him with a finger to his mouth.

“Ssh,” she warned him. “I think I wished for exactly the right thing."

***

Christmas Eve Day dawned bright and sunny, and Veronica smiled and even hummed to herself as she made cookies. Logan had appeared at the apartment door about noon, and deferentially offered to help Keith haul in the Christmas tree.

Mid-afternoon, Veronica stepped out onto the porch to escape the heat of the little kitchen and the shouts of men watching football. She noticed a large, flat envelope sticking out of the mailbox next to their door. Which was odd - Christmas Eve fell on a Sunday this year, and there was no mail delivery on Sunday.

Curious, she pulled the envelope out of the box and turned it over. It was addressed, simply, "Veronica," in even, old-fashioned script, and the paper was heavy and rich. Frowning, she opened it, and pulled out a single, heavy sheet of notepaper, with two words written in the same flowing script:

Wish granted.
_________________________________________________
I wish ... for feedback!