Fic: Knowledge (Logan) PG
Title: Knowledge (4/?)
Author: ajeanne05
Character/Pairing: Logan
Word Count: 1177
Rating: PG
Description: AU fic. What if Logan had suspected Aaron of killing Lilly all along?
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: VM is the property of RT.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Note: Ms. Nev = Mrs. Navarro, I wanted Logan to have a pet name for her.
Logan is in his closet. It's a little weird and he knows it, but at the moment he honestly doesn't care. He hasn't hidden in his closet since he was much younger and much more likely to play 'hide and seek,' his least favorite game. He isn't hiding now either. He's just sitting in his closet. It isn't an extremely large closet, but it is a walk-in. It's not like he crammed himself into some uncomfortably small area, except the part where he sort of did. He's sitting to the right of the closet door and his left shoulder is brushing the edge of the door frame while his right shoulder presses gently against the wall. He's slouched down a bit, with his knees drawn to his chest and his bare feet resting against the side of some cardboard boxes, which are stacked up in front of him.
He wiggles his toes, then spreads them apart, and presses them against the cool, smooth surface. He focuses entirely on the feeling of cardboard beneath his feet and for the first time in quite awhile he feels calm. With the door shut, and the light bulb on, his closet feels safe and isolated, even cozy. Those aren't words he'd use to describe any other part of the mansion. Not the pool house or even the garage, where he sometimes slept in the back of his X-terra, if he needed to hide out.
He wonders just how strange his friends would find it, if they knew he had not slept in his own bed since Lilly died. One night under medical observation, two nights with Mrs. Navarro (although he seriously doubts any of her grandchildren knew about it), and several nights with Dick had gotten him through the first two weeks. Ms. Nev had picked him up from the doctor's, taken him home just long enough to be questioned by Keith, and then, to his surprise, helped him back into her car and taken him to her house. He stayed there, unwilling to get out of bed or venture from her room unless the house was completely still and silent. After sitting in her chair next to him the second night, she had to give in when he suggested (again) that he was well enough to go home. He went to Dick's instead. The current Mrs. Casablanca was not thrilled with his presence but Dick had whined, "Dude he's depressed," and, "come on his girlfriend just died," and basically threatened to throw a huge fit, which she did not feel like dealing with. The next several days were a haze of inane conversation, alcohol, and video games. Just before the funeral, it was politely suggested to his parents that maybe it was time for him to go home.
Logan slid his feet up and down the cardboard, enjoying the sensation of slight friction. He was contemplating sleeping in the closet but didn't think sleeping in his current position was such a swell idea and he was pretty sure if he got up he would just leave the closet entirely. It had been harder to find places he was comfortable sleeping after wearing out his welcome at Dick's. He tried going to Duncan's once but the bedroom window, always open for him, was shut and locked and no one woke when he tapped on the glass. He figured Duncan did not want to deal with him right now, confirmed by their complete lack of communication.
Logan started to rub circles in the carpet with his fingers, comparing the feel of shag to the feel of cardboard. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind of everything Kane. He didn't want anything to ruin his new safe place. There were shirts hanging above his head but they didn't reach down far enough to bother him. Clothing ran along all three walls, breaking only for the two boxes stacked in front of him. He had never realized just how many clothes he owned. And the shoes lining the back wall, why on earth did a guy have so much footwear?
Logan liked it. He liked the slightly cluttered, yet somehow, still bare space. It was neutral, the way nothing else was. He had no memories of the inside of his closet. No make-out sessions on the furniture. No blood in the back seat. No visions of his girlfriend on top of his father. Just clothing, and cardboard, and carpet, and one bare light bulb.
The box in front of him was labeled books. He could not remember the last time he read a book and he wondered vaguely when he had collected enough to require storage in his closet, but he didn't ponder the question. He didn't look too closely at his clothes and distinguish the individual pieces. It was important that his closet hold no memories, that it be neutral. So he sat and he felt the shag under his fingertips and the cardboard under his toes and he closed his eyes.
Logan was not drunk an he was not drinking. Unusual these days, but not unheard of. His flask sat in his room on his desk and Logan pushed thoughts of it out of his head. He didn't want the smell of alcohol permeating his clothes and lingering in his closet for the next few weeks. To be honest he didn't want it at all. Alcohol wasn't neutral. It was for parties, or pain, or hollow emptiness. All the things he wanted to forget. So he sat and he shut his mind to the world outside his closet.
It might have worked, if his cell hadn't chosen that moment to ring. Logan pulled it out of his pocket with the intention of turning it off but it was Veronica and he couldn't ignore her again. He didn't tell her he was in his closet. She asked him what he was doing and he said he was sleeping. Veronica seemed to find it strange that he was sleeping at four in the afternoon. He told he was sick. He played the angle until she got off of the phone, instructing him to, "feel better." Just because he was not willing to ignore her, didn't mean he felt like talking to her.
Logan sighed and imagined Veronica, or Mr. Mars, or maybe even his mother opening his closet door and seeing him sitting there, staring blankly at a box of books. They would probably grab him by the elbow and drag him to the nearest mental health clinic. Which might not be such a bad idea, he mused, thinking of the scars hidden by his long sleeves. Duncan would probably get into the closet with him and help stare at the cardboard. Mr. Kane might attempt to give him a heart to heart.
Logan rested his head against the wall and tried to ignore the fact that his body was becoming painfully cramped. He gave up and scooted the side of the boxes, stretched out and drifted off to sleep.
Author: ajeanne05
Character/Pairing: Logan
Word Count: 1177
Rating: PG
Description: AU fic. What if Logan had suspected Aaron of killing Lilly all along?
Spoilers: Season 1
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: VM is the property of RT.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
Note: Ms. Nev = Mrs. Navarro, I wanted Logan to have a pet name for her.
Logan is in his closet. It's a little weird and he knows it, but at the moment he honestly doesn't care. He hasn't hidden in his closet since he was much younger and much more likely to play 'hide and seek,' his least favorite game. He isn't hiding now either. He's just sitting in his closet. It isn't an extremely large closet, but it is a walk-in. It's not like he crammed himself into some uncomfortably small area, except the part where he sort of did. He's sitting to the right of the closet door and his left shoulder is brushing the edge of the door frame while his right shoulder presses gently against the wall. He's slouched down a bit, with his knees drawn to his chest and his bare feet resting against the side of some cardboard boxes, which are stacked up in front of him.
He wiggles his toes, then spreads them apart, and presses them against the cool, smooth surface. He focuses entirely on the feeling of cardboard beneath his feet and for the first time in quite awhile he feels calm. With the door shut, and the light bulb on, his closet feels safe and isolated, even cozy. Those aren't words he'd use to describe any other part of the mansion. Not the pool house or even the garage, where he sometimes slept in the back of his X-terra, if he needed to hide out.
He wonders just how strange his friends would find it, if they knew he had not slept in his own bed since Lilly died. One night under medical observation, two nights with Mrs. Navarro (although he seriously doubts any of her grandchildren knew about it), and several nights with Dick had gotten him through the first two weeks. Ms. Nev had picked him up from the doctor's, taken him home just long enough to be questioned by Keith, and then, to his surprise, helped him back into her car and taken him to her house. He stayed there, unwilling to get out of bed or venture from her room unless the house was completely still and silent. After sitting in her chair next to him the second night, she had to give in when he suggested (again) that he was well enough to go home. He went to Dick's instead. The current Mrs. Casablanca was not thrilled with his presence but Dick had whined, "Dude he's depressed," and, "come on his girlfriend just died," and basically threatened to throw a huge fit, which she did not feel like dealing with. The next several days were a haze of inane conversation, alcohol, and video games. Just before the funeral, it was politely suggested to his parents that maybe it was time for him to go home.
Logan slid his feet up and down the cardboard, enjoying the sensation of slight friction. He was contemplating sleeping in the closet but didn't think sleeping in his current position was such a swell idea and he was pretty sure if he got up he would just leave the closet entirely. It had been harder to find places he was comfortable sleeping after wearing out his welcome at Dick's. He tried going to Duncan's once but the bedroom window, always open for him, was shut and locked and no one woke when he tapped on the glass. He figured Duncan did not want to deal with him right now, confirmed by their complete lack of communication.
Logan started to rub circles in the carpet with his fingers, comparing the feel of shag to the feel of cardboard. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his mind of everything Kane. He didn't want anything to ruin his new safe place. There were shirts hanging above his head but they didn't reach down far enough to bother him. Clothing ran along all three walls, breaking only for the two boxes stacked in front of him. He had never realized just how many clothes he owned. And the shoes lining the back wall, why on earth did a guy have so much footwear?
Logan liked it. He liked the slightly cluttered, yet somehow, still bare space. It was neutral, the way nothing else was. He had no memories of the inside of his closet. No make-out sessions on the furniture. No blood in the back seat. No visions of his girlfriend on top of his father. Just clothing, and cardboard, and carpet, and one bare light bulb.
The box in front of him was labeled books. He could not remember the last time he read a book and he wondered vaguely when he had collected enough to require storage in his closet, but he didn't ponder the question. He didn't look too closely at his clothes and distinguish the individual pieces. It was important that his closet hold no memories, that it be neutral. So he sat and he felt the shag under his fingertips and the cardboard under his toes and he closed his eyes.
Logan was not drunk an he was not drinking. Unusual these days, but not unheard of. His flask sat in his room on his desk and Logan pushed thoughts of it out of his head. He didn't want the smell of alcohol permeating his clothes and lingering in his closet for the next few weeks. To be honest he didn't want it at all. Alcohol wasn't neutral. It was for parties, or pain, or hollow emptiness. All the things he wanted to forget. So he sat and he shut his mind to the world outside his closet.
It might have worked, if his cell hadn't chosen that moment to ring. Logan pulled it out of his pocket with the intention of turning it off but it was Veronica and he couldn't ignore her again. He didn't tell her he was in his closet. She asked him what he was doing and he said he was sleeping. Veronica seemed to find it strange that he was sleeping at four in the afternoon. He told he was sick. He played the angle until she got off of the phone, instructing him to, "feel better." Just because he was not willing to ignore her, didn't mean he felt like talking to her.
Logan sighed and imagined Veronica, or Mr. Mars, or maybe even his mother opening his closet door and seeing him sitting there, staring blankly at a box of books. They would probably grab him by the elbow and drag him to the nearest mental health clinic. Which might not be such a bad idea, he mused, thinking of the scars hidden by his long sleeves. Duncan would probably get into the closet with him and help stare at the cardboard. Mr. Kane might attempt to give him a heart to heart.
Logan rested his head against the wall and tried to ignore the fact that his body was becoming painfully cramped. He gave up and scooted the side of the boxes, stretched out and drifted off to sleep.