One corner of Logan's mouth raised slightly, and he cast Veronica a disdainful look. "If I were hallucinating," he said clearly, "You'd be in a bikini." He wrestled the cart around, pushed it by her and down the aisle toward the men's clothing section. After a pause he heard her steps following him, and it made him smile, feeling like a kid who had gotten away with something.
It'd been too long since he'd felt anything but the constant fear of getting caught, either by Mayfield or feds, or God knew who else, and falling back into the oneupsmanship he and Veronica had always played was a lot like coming home. The thought carried over as he wandered among the racks of clothing, and into the cart went simple cotton t-shirts, faded denim jeans, and solid button-downs. A package of boxers, Logan restraining himself from any kind of commentary, quickly followed by socks. But he did allow himsef to snicker as he selected one t-shirt, held up for Veronica's approval. "Whaddya think?" In big lettering the shirt said GOT YOUR TICKETS? with two arrows pointing to the arms, and underneath to the gun show.
And maybe it was the way she cocked her head, the tiny quirk of her mouth as she studied the shirt, but Logan suddenly remembered them together, sitting on a bench at Hearst and Veronica giving him her best Clint Eastwood impression. Whaddya think? The question in Logan's mind abruptly loaded with so much more meaning than wanting to know Veronica's opinion on some smart ass shirt.