The mutinous silence stretches between them as they face-off in the small kitchen. They stand four feet apart, arms crossed, feet planted, eyes narrowed, jaws clenched, and matching scowls on their faces. Neither one moves, both refusing to back down, each waiting for the other to crack. His gaze bores into hers, making her feel exposed and vulnerable, but she refuses to look away. He won't win this one. She won't let it happen. No matter how long she has to stand her ground.

Several more seconds pass, neither one moving, until the trill of a cell phone breaks the tense silence. Both heads whip towards the sound, staring at the phone sitting on the kitchen counter.

It's Logan's.

Veronica looks back to him, and he finally moves, stepping over to the counter and snatching up the phone, shooting Veronica a glare as he stalks down the hallway to their bedroom to take the call.

Finally alone, Veronica relaxes, taking a breath as she releases her arms and turns, leaning back against the counter.

"Shit," she whispers to herself.

Things had been going fine… well, they were at first. Logan returned from his latest overseas tour just over three weeks ago, and was put on Navy-mandated quarantine, due to a handful of officers on his ship being diagnosed with the virus. He'd tested negative when he arrived back home, but as a precaution, his CO had ordered him to self-isolate at home for at least the next two weeks.

He'd been away for several months, and with everything going on in the world lately, Veronica was ecstatic to have him home. They spent the first few days wrapped around each other, making up for time lost... but then reality set in. The reality of two grown adults, stuck living together in a tiny apartment twenty-four-seven, falling over each other with no real outlet for excess energy or frustrations. Well, that's not entirely true… the first week, they'd successfully worked out all those frustrations in bed… and in the shower, on the couch, the kitchen counter… you name it, they'd done it.

But then things went south. Living your entire life—working, sleeping, eating—in a small, third-floor apartment was hard enough when you lived alone, but with two of you, one being a broad, six-foot tall Navy fighter pilot, plus one large, boisterous dog? Almost impossible.

And this morning, it all came to a head.

One Hour Earlier

Veronica shuffles into the kitchen, stifling a groan as she runs a hand through her un-brushed hair and rolls her shoulders, trying to get rid of the crick in her neck. Wrinkling her nose at the sight of Logan just a few feet away, headphones in his ears, frantically pedalling on his now stationary bicycle—thanks to a recent online turbo trainer purchase—she makes her way over to the coffee machine and pours herself a much-needed shot of caffeine.

She gives him the stink-eye as she moves around the kitchen, pulling out ingredients for pancakes and bacon, and sets to work on making herself a nice, unhealthy, calorific breakfast. Logan continues to cycle for the entire time she's cooking and eating the food, his breath coming in harsh pants, sweat dripping down his neck and back. He hasn't acknowledged her presence as of yet, but then, his back is to her, the bike taking up the majority of their living space, so he probably isn't even aware she's here.

Which rankles her just a little—okay, a lot—because he's the reason she feels like shit this morning. She had a restless night anyway last night; it's been unseasonably warm for Spring the last few days, and the air conditioning in this crappy apartment decided to pack up two days ago, so she spent the night overheated and restless… not helped in the slightest by the immense amount of body heat Logan's large form was emitting as he kept trying to curl around her in his sleep.

Then when she finally did manage to drop off, she got woken up again less than two hours later by Logan starting his morning routine at the ungodly hour of five a.m. The man is on vacation—sorry, Navy-mandated quarantine—for fuck's sake, so there is no fucking reason whatsoever that he has to be up at the ass-crack of dawn every fucking day.

And yes, she's aware she's overusing the f-word right now, but it's really fucking annoying.

With a sigh, she dumps the dishes in the sink and rounds the kitchen counter, finally catching Logan's eye. She raises an eyebrow at him expectantly, but he just sits upright, holds up both hands, fingers splayed, closing and opening them to signal twenty minutes left of his workout—then returns to his previous position, curled forward over the handlebars.

Twenty fucking more minutes? Veronica fumes silently. Seriously? The rest of us need to use the living room as well, you know.

With a roll of her eyes, she spins on her heel and flounces back to the bedroom. She'll have to attempt her morning yoga on the tiny floor space beside the bed instead.

By the time she's done a few poses and stretches, and has returned to the living room, Logan has finished on the bike and has now moved onto bicep curls using the weights that now live in the corner of the room.

Great.

"Can't you do that somewhere else?" she whines, moving to get more coffee. "You're stinking the place out."

Logan turns, frowning at her even as he continues to lift the weight in his hand. "And where do you expect me to go, exactly?"

"Anywhere but here," she mutters under her breath, lifting the coffee mug to her lips.

"What was that?" he asks, a little out of breath.

"Nothing." She shoots him a sickly-sweet smile. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

She hesitates for a moment, hoping he'll offer to join her like he usually does, but he just turns his attention back to his workout routine, leaving her feeling somewhat bereft.

"Well, okay, then," she mutters, turning on her heel and carrying her coffee mug with her into the bathroom.

The hot spray of the shower does little to ease her sore shoulders and neck, and even less to help her sour mood, even though she spends the entire time shampooing her hair and scrubbing her body, trying to work out her frustration. It's not that she isn't happy that Logan is home, it's just that… he's fucking everywhere, all the fucking time. Everywhere she turns, there he is, and there his stuff is, cluttering up the apartment, getting in her fucking way.

And there she goes with the swearing again.

Turning off the water with more force than necessary, she grabs a towel and wraps it around herself as she steps out of the shower… only to come face-to-face with a sweaty, dripping, red-faced Logan… brushing his teeth, of all things.

"Shit!" she exclaims when she almost walks into him. "Warn a girl, why don't you?"

"What?" he asks around his toothbrush.

A little toothpaste drips down his chin and Veronica scrunches her nose in distaste as she edges past him, trying not to contaminate her clean, fresh skin with his sweaty grossness, and out of the bathroom. As she gets dressed, she hears the shower running, and callously hopes he runs out of hot water halfway through. That would serve him right for ruining her sleep this morning.

By the time she's massaged lotion into her legs and has brushed the tangles out of her wet hair, she's feeling a little calmer. She makes her way back out to the living room just as the shower turns off in the bathroom, and looks around in dismay at the mess Logan has left it in. His bike is still in the middle of the room, not put away against the wall where it lives; and his weights have been left on the floor beside the bike.

"Oh, for God's sake."

She rolls her eyes in an exaggerated movement and tries to clear up a little. Only problem is, Logan's weights are so fucking heavy that no matter how much effort she puts into it, she can't lift any of them off the floor. She manages a half-hearted effort to slide one of them a few inches across the carpet, but gives up on moving it any further. Logan will just have to put them away himself. With a sigh, she sinks down onto the sofa and reaches for her laptop. Might as well attempt to get some work done instead.

Logan appears back in the living room, freshly showered and dressed, and fixes himself a coffee and a bowl of fruit and yoghurt, before making himself comfortable beside her on the sofa. Veronica gives him until he's finished eating, then another couple of minutes on top of that, before she speaks up.

"You gonna clear your crap away anytime soon?"

"Huh?" He looks over to her in puzzlement.

She nods towards his workout gear. "Every single morning you leave this room in a mess after your workout. It would be nice if you could actually pick up after yourself once in a while."

Logan just snorts and raises his eyebrows incredulously. "You're one to talk."

Veronica bristles. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean," he shifts on the sofa to face her, stretching his arm along the back. "Those dirty dishes piling up in the sink are not mine. Nor are the wet towels currently strewn across the bed. Nor the mound of unwashed laundry sitting in the corner of the bedroom."

Her mouth opens and closes for a few seconds, before she shakes her head and tosses out an airy, "Oh, fuck off."

"Nice." Logan snorts as he picks up his mug and bowl and stands. "You kiss your father with that mouth?"

"Ha ha, very funny," she mutters sarcastically.

Logan moves into the kitchen again and starts clattering around by the sink, making enough noise that Veronica gets up and moves into the kitchen after him.

"What are you doing?" she asks when she sees him trying to balance his empty bowl on top of the other dishes.

"Trying to make a point," he responds, his back to her.

"Okay, okay. I get it," she retorts. "I'm a slob. Sue me. At least I'm not a stick-up-my-ass neat freak like some people. Except of course, when it comes to putting away exercise equipment."

"Stick-up-my—?" he mutters incredulously. "Please."

"Besides, this is my apartment," she adds. "I can do what I want."

"Your apartment?" Logan bursts out. "Need I remind you who is paying half of the rent?"

"I was living here first, remember? And I've been living here alone for the last seven months," she counters. "Not to mention, I was paying all the rent during your first deployment."

"Yes, and how well did that work out for you, huh?" he shoots back. "If I hadn't moved in and helped you with the rent and bills, you would have been out on your ass years ago."

"Oh, yes, please remind me how rich you are," she snaps in return. "How you can afford anything you want… how you treat the rest of us like charity cases because we're struggling to pay the bills."

Logan stills, his jaw clenching as he crosses his arms over his chest. His eyes narrow as he glares down at her.

"Oh, grow the fuck up, Veronica. This is the real world, not some fictional narrative you've come up with in your head."

That makes her see red. Grow up? Grow up? She's plenty grown up, thank you very much. When her entire world got thrown upside down at age sixteen, she had no choice but to grow up… while Logan was still acting like a stupid, entitled, immature teenager.

She mimics his position, arms crossed, and takes a deep breath—an unsuccessful attempt to quell her anger—before biting out, "Fuck. You. Logan."

The tension between them is tangible and it's almost enough to make Veronica run and hide from her battling emotions, but she won't back down. She stands her ground, staring him down, refusing to let this go, because she's not going to let Logan make himself the victim in this.

The silence stretches between them and she finds herself holding her breath as Logan's hard gaze stares into hers. It's only when Logan's phone rings and he snatches it up and stalks into the bedroom with it that she finally moves, releasing her arms and sinking against the counter, finally letting some of the tension go.

Veronica's still standing in the same spot against the counter when Logan re-emerges from the bedroom several minutes later. His expression is serious, his lips pressed together in a thin line… but that's not what draws her attention.

"What's going on?" she asks immediately, pushing away from the kitchen counter as she takes in the navy combats he's now wearing. "Why are you in uniform?"

He glances at her warily for a moment, as if gauging whether or not he should speak—something that makes anger rise in her chest as thoughts of their argument return—then he sighs.

"They've called me back in."

"What?!" She exclaims in alarm. "They're deploying you again? They can't do that!"

"No." He shakes his head. "Not a deployment. They've tasked us with providing humanitarian aid in Los Angeles. Getting food and supplies to vulnerable people; transporting the sick to the hospital to ease pressure on the ambulance service. That kind of thing."

"Oh." Veronica blinks in surprise. "I didn't know the Navy did that."

Logan shrugs, looking a little uncomfortable. She supposes she can't blame him—the atmosphere in the apartment right now isn't exactly welcoming.

"We do. It's just usually it's in war-torn countries on the other side of the world," he informs her in a clipped tone. "But this crisis is on home turf."

"Right."

Her head is spinning right now. One minute, they're in the middle of a heated domestic argument, and the next, it's off to 'save the world'. It's enough to give anyone whiplash.

"Look, I have to go," he says then. "They need me to report to base in an hour."

"Okay. Go." She waves a hand towards the door, trying to keep her tone light. "Do your duty."

He glances at the door for a second, then back at her, looking hesitant to actually leave.

"Look, Veronica, I—"

"Don't." She holds up a hand, shaking her head. "Later, okay?"

"Okay."

He turns, then hesitates for a moment, as if he wants to reach for her and kiss her goodbye, but then he seems to think better of it and instead grabs his things and walks out of the door.

"Fuck!" exclaims Veronica, slamming her hand down on the counter. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

The day passes extremely slowly for Veronica. For all her ranting about Logan getting in her way all the time and not clearing up after himself, after three weeks of twenty-four-seven contact, suddenly the apartment seems empty and too quiet without him.

She tries to take her mind of the fight by drying and styling her, putting on some make-up and getting properly dressed, bra included. She doesn't really need to do any of those things… after all, pretty much no one's gonna see her today, and it's not like she hasn't just been hanging around the apartment in Logan's shirts, a pair of shorts and no bra for the last three weeks. It's just that… she kinda just needs to feel normal again, at least for a little while.

Once she's all dolled up with nowhere to go, she slumps into the kitchen and attempts to distract herself further by baking some cookies—she's been doing a pretty good job of resisting the urge to bake so far, given that flour is a scarce resource right now and needs to be conserved, but after the morning she's had, she's earned the right to bake. She even makes the effort to wash the dishes afterwards and clean up the kitchen, before taking Pony out for a walk.

Of course, the distractions only last for so long, and by late morning, she's back on the sofa again, Pony curled up beside her, cookies cooling on the counter, and her laptop open but untouched on the coffee table. She should be doing some background work for the small number of cases they've been able to take in the last couple of weeks, but she can't concentrate on work right now, because her stomach is churning with this weird, nervous energy. She can't quite pinpoint why, or what's causing it; she just knows that she's feeling antsy and restless.

Reaching for the TV remote, she turns it on and starts flicking through the channels, but it seems like there's nothing on but round-the-clock coverage of the pandemic crisis. She's about to switch over to Netflix and find something to take her mind off her worries, but the news catches her eye and she stops, freezing in place.

"Here in downtown Los Angeles, the US Navy has enlisted dozens of their officers to offer humanitarian aid to those who are most vulnerable," the newscaster is saying on the screen. "The men and women working behind me are stationed at North Island base in San Diego."

The camera pans around the scene, where temporary food stations have been set up in the streets, and various uniformed naval officers decked out in full PPE are carrying boxes of supplies into residential homes.

"Everyone from fire fighters, to military police, to chefs, to fighter pilots are offering their services today," the newscaster continues. "Putting themselves out here on the frontline to help the local communities, and that help is very much appreciated by the residents here."

"Shit," murmurs Veronica, feeling a mixture of pride and fear at the thought of Logan being one of those officers out there.

She strains to see if she recognises any of the military guys in the background, but it's impossible from this distance, especially with all the masks and gloves and gowns.

As the broadcast continues to play, Veronica feels tears begin to form in the corners of her eyes, and she grabs a cushion, bringing it to her chest. Logan is out there. He's essentially risking his life, potentially exposing himself to the virus, to help people in need. And while she is proud that she can say her boyfriend is a local hero, she's also extremely fucking scared. She's seen the statistics, she knows that this virus is new and scary and can strike down, or even kill, even the healthiest of people.

Maybe even Logan.

What if he contracts it? What if he ends up in the ICU? What if he suffers long-term health consequences? What if he dies?

She can't even bear the thought of that. It's bad enough when he's deployed overseas, putting himself in danger in the middle of warzones… but this, this is different. This is an unknown. This virus could get anyone, at any time.

Veronica hugs the cushion tighter, then shakes her head and leans forward to snatch up her phone. Scrolling to Logan's number, she hits the call button. He's not going to answer, she knows that. He probably doesn't even have his phone on him… but she needs to say this.

"Logan, it's me," she says when his latest inspirational voicemail message has played. "I, uh...I just saw you on the news… well, not you specifically, but they showed your unit out on the street of L.A., and I just wanted to say that…. Look, I'm sorry, okay? For this morning. I'm really sorry. I overreacted and it got out of hand." Her voice cracks, and she swallows. "Just… um… just be safe and come back to me, okay? Please."

Veronica ends the call, closing her eyes as she rests the phone against her chest. Seeing those scenes on the TV just brought it home for her. How serious this is, how important sheltering in place is, even if it's fucking difficult to live in such close quarters with another person.

She loves Logan with everything she has. Opposing views on money and household chores and bad habits be damned, she needs him in her life. She can't live without him. She already did that for 9 years and she can't do it ever again.

By the time Logan finally returns to the apartment that evening, Veronica is a total mess. She has barely been able to concentrate on anything all afternoon, instead spending all those hours worrying about him. Worrying as she finally cleaned the apartment. Worrying as she made dinner. Worrying about him being out there, exposed to people who might have the virus, people who might infect him. Maybe it's irrational to be feeling this paranoid; after all, the Navy has him working in full protective gear and taking all possible precautions, and it's not like they haven't been going for walks along the beach in nothing but simple masks. It's just that Logan is knowingly putting himself right in the middle of it, and there's nothing she can do about it.

She's sitting at the kitchen counter again, her fingernails tapping on the surface impatiently, when the door clicks open and Logan slips through. Veronica is up off the stool in a flash and is about to run over to him, when his eyes widen and he holds up a hand.

"No, stop!" he exclaims urgently. "It's not safe. I have to shower first."

Veronica stops in her tracks.

"Oh." Realisation dawns as she takes in his appearance. He's clad in only his boxers and his feet are bare. "Uh, what—?"

"My stuff is in a bag outside," he explains, sending a small apologetic smile her way as he moves quickly towards the bathroom. "Don't touch it, okay?"

"Sure. Okay."

Veronica blinks as he disappears and the shower turns on. She sinks back down onto the bar stool. Shit just got even more real.

By the time Logan emerges from the bathroom and reappears in the living room in clean clothes, Veronica is heating up the casserole she made this afternoon, and is pulling plates out of the cupboard.

"Hey," he greets softly, almost hesitantly.

Her head whips to him and without a second thought, she rushes over and wraps her arms tightly around his neck. He stiffens in surprise for a moment—whether because he's hesitant about germs or because he wasn't expecting this kind of reaction from her, she's not sure—but then his arms come around her back and he engulfs her in a bear hug.

"I'm sorry," she murmurs against his neck. "I don't want to fight with you."

"I don't either," comes his soft reply.

She releases her hold on him, pulling back just enough to kiss him deeply. When they finally come up for air, Logan rests his forehead against hers, a goofy smile on his face.

"What was that for?"

Veronica rests a hand over his chest, feeling him real and warm and solid beneath her touch. "I don't know if you got my voicemail but I saw your unit on the news today. There was a report on how the Navy is working on the frontline, and it just… it hit home, how dangerous it is for you. I've been worried all day."

"I'm fine," he tells her gently, bringing one arm up and covering her hand with his. "I'm right here."

"I mean it, Logan. I'm sorry about this morning," she tells him again. "Everything was getting to me, and I just… I blew up. I love you. So much. And the thought that you might get sick, that I could lose you… it put it all into perspective for me."

"I know what you mean," he agrees. "Everything I saw today? It made me realise we can't take anything for granted."

He kisses her again, then steps back, linking their fingers and pulling her over to the couch. They take a seat, Veronica curling into his side and resting her head on his shoulder.

"You were right," she admits eventually. "I've been inconsiderate lately, treating the apartment like it's just mine, and not ours; letting stupid little things annoy me."

"Veronica, I was wrong, too," he says. "I was frustrated and took it out on you when I shouldn't have."

A small, self-deprecating smile tugs at her lips. "I guess we both did and said things we shouldn't have."

"Yeah."

"I meant what I said; I don't want to fight with you," she tells him sincerely. "I don't want there to be this awful atmosphere between us like there was this morning."

"Me either," he says, shifting closer. "I love you too much to let something stupid like that get between us."

"Me too," she agrees. "So, from now on, I pledge to wash my dishes in a timely manner, and not let my laundry pile up."

"Thank you." He nods, a smile gracing his features, his expression softening. "And I pledge to try not to wake you up too early, and to clear away my workout gear as soon as I've finished using it."

"Thank you," Veronica returns, smiling now too. "And for the record, I don't really think of this apartment as mine. It's completely ours."

Logan's smile widens into a playful grin as he leans forward, bringing his hand up to cup the back of her neck as he pulls her in for a kiss.

"See?" he murmurs against her lips.

"See, what?"

"We can do this. Survive quarantine. Work through our problems, no matter how trivial they may seem. And I'm hoping we can come out stronger the other side."

"Yeah," she agrees, kissing him again. "I'm hoping that, too."