They'd been talking for what seemed like hours. Hell, maybe it had been. All Veronica knew was that for the first time in forever, she had felt like her. And strangely, in spite of all the changes, he was still him.

Then the questions had started. She'd heard all about him and, as she should have expected, he wanted to hear about her. She hedged and she hesitated. He had done so much. Technically, she had, too, but somehow it didn't seem like enough. It took her a minute to put her finger on it. When the light bulb went off, she wondered what had taken her so long to see something so simple.

His changes were far more than skin deep. He'd faced himself, his own worst enemy, head on and he'd won. She, on the other hand, had run from everything she was. Sure, she'd changed her look, her clothes, her career. She'd made deliberate choices in a conscientious effort to negate who she was. Looking at him now, she wanted to weep. With one simple phone call, he'd stripped her bare.

She wet her lips and swallowed hard. Their knees were touching as they sat kitty corner at her kitchen table. She leaned in and took a deep breath. Blinking her eyes, she gulped once more and said in a tremulous whisper, "I don't know if I can."

His eyes hardened and his walls came up. He instantly pushed back from the table and purposefully stalked toward the door. It alarmed her when he didn't even look back. Suddenly, she was moving to catch up. She ran the few feet to catch him but he was almost to the door. Her heart racing, her mind began to panic. Without another thought, she silently cried, "Wait! Don't go."

He stopped and he turned, his heart in his eyes. He was wary at first. He didn't say anything. He didn't move.

It took her several moments to realize that what she'd thought had been a mental plea only echoing in her head, had actually come out her mouth and he'd heard. She took several deep, hard, gasping breaths in a vain attempt to calm herself. Then she took a final breath and held it, forcing her pulse to slow.

When she felt that she was able, she took one slow step and then another. Her eyes were locked with his, communicating a million things she hoped he understood. At less than two feet apart, she reached for his right hand and took it in both of hers. She looked down at that oh so fragile connection and she knew he was watching, too.

Slowly, she looked up at him, through the haze of her lashes and said just one more word: "Stay."

The hard mask he wore quickly crumbled. It took everything in him to not lift the hand she wasn't holding to lightly frame her face. Instead, the look he gave her said loud and clear that what he was about to ask was important and her answer would make or break their tentative grasp on a new beginning.

"Why?" he breathed in his soft and low baritone voice.

What could she say? How could she explain? Her mind was scrambling to sort it out, to find a way to make it all make sense. With a sudden clarity, she knew what she had to do. She squared her shoulders and lifted her jaw, determined to at least be dignified as she did something no one on god's green earth would expect her to do.

"I," she said, pausing after each word to make sure it received the appropriate emphasis, "Was," she paused again, "Wrong." With the last word out, she breathed a sigh of relief that almost resembled a shudder. Then a strange thing happened. It was like the flood gates were opened. She took another breath and a rush of words came out, "I was wrong to leave. I was wrong to stay gone. I needed some space. We both needed to heal. But I took it to the extreme and I buried myself in school and work, research and studying. I am who I am. I only thought I could change. It took me nine years to figure out that you can't run from what's a fundamental part of your being."

Logan looked like he wanted to speak but she shook her head and lifted a finger to his lips to indicate that she wasn't done. Taking another deep breath, a brilliant smile began to creep across her face. It was with ironic self-deprecation that she said in a tone of unending wonder, "Logan Echolls, I love you. I love you so much that it hurts." She paused and then added with a smirk, "I always said the hero stays and the villain is the one who splits. Well, Mr. Badass Jet Jockey, did you ever think Veronica Mars would concede to you being the hero in her story?"

Now grinning like an idiot himself, Logan picked her up and twirled her around. When he set her down, he kissed her forehead and then her nose. His dark eyes were dancing with amusement as he teased, "Only if you'll be my personalized villain."

Relief coursed through Veronica. She threw her head back and laughed. She nodded with pleasure before answering cheekily, "I'm sure that can be arranged."

Then he spun her around until he had her pinned to a wall. He lowered his head to rest his forehead against hers and he said, "Good, because I love you, too. Always have and always will."