80's Tragedy, COMPLETED! (Logan/Veronica)
Title: 80's Tragedy
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 2315
Rating: PG
Summary: Grieving sounds like something you eventually get over.
Spoilers: Knowledge up to The Bitch is Back helps
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.
I can not even express how good it feels to finally have this story completed!
Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere.
Her ears perk as the song begins. The music floats through the grocery’s intercom, echoing across the lonely store. She leans against her cart, pushing past empty aisles with casual indifference. It’s late. A man walks in through the automatic doors, squinting at the fluorescent lighting. His hair is disheveled and his arms clutch at his coat. When he passes her, she avoids eye contact. He does the same.
Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit,
He took the midnight train goin’ anywhere.
She’s weary from lack of sleep, but a smile creeps across her lips as the song continues. She remembers when this song held the significance it does now. It had been a rough night, quickly followed by even rougher nights. But it hadn’t been all bad.
____________________________________________________________________________________
"Hmm," she muses, staring at the scene before her. "Last time I checked, I wasn’t eleven."
He looks at her, prepared for her response. "Just go with it, Mars."
He walks past the counter and fiddles with a radio.
A singer in a smoky room
A smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on
She has to will herself to keep her face impassive. Maybe she can’t bring herself to match his grin, but the distraction is welcoming.
"How’d you get them to open up the place after hours?" she asks, setting her bag on a nearby table and pacing the room.
"Oh, you know, Echolls charm and all that," he shrugs.
"Black AmEx or red?"
"Please, I only use the black for special occasions."
"Posting bail and patronizing hookers?" she quips.
"I never needed to pay to get laid," His eyes shine indiscernibly for a moment, "Haven’t we had this conversation before?"
"You really wanna go there?" she warns, her game face slipping on.
When she notes his lack of response, her sugary smile falters. A part of her appreciates that he was bothering at all. "I’m sorry," she mumbles quietly.
He ignores her, too busy setting out utensils and pulling out ingredients. Sparring with her is just par for the course.
Streetlights people, living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night
When he finishes his culinary creation, he slices a spoon through the middle and nudges the bowl in her direction.
"Thanks," she says, grateful that his expression has softened, "Does this mean you’re still having the weekly ice cream dates with the munchkin?"
He looks at her in surprise before giving her a broad smile. "Mac?" he guesses.
"No, Mac didn’t rat you out. Parker actually mentioned Heather a couple of times. She couldn’t stop gushing on how good you were with her."
He frowns at the mention of his ex. His guilt makes her sorry she brought it up in the first place. She was trying to compliment him.
"Ice cream is the great equalizer," he says, quickly changing the subject and pouring in to his own bowl.
"It’s not guns?" she counters.
He rolls his eyes and continues, "Ice cream makes everything better, makes everyone feel better."
"I guess we’re not speaking for the lactose intolerant."
"Veronica," he warns, pleading with his eyes for a moment of seriousness, "After my mom died, I was on a strict diet of Jack Daniels and burnt almond fudge. I thought at the very least I could help you with phase two of your grieving."
She swallows hard, willing tears to disappear from the corners of her eyes. She turns her head, wishing for her dad. Grieving sounds like something you eventually get over.
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on.
He pretends not to notice when she hastily wipes her tears away. She looks back at him reassuring him with a nod that she’s okay now, even laughing it off a little.
"Tell me a secret," she asks quietly.
He smiles. They had come up with this game the second, no, third time they got back together. Veronica usually liked to sleep in her own bed, but their reconciliation was still new, and Keith was going out of town.
He had been taken aback at first, searching her face for elaboration as she lay in the crook of his arm. He wondered if there was a particular secret she wanted an answer.
She asked again, her tone more playful this time. This wasn’t a trap to test his honesty. It was unclear what brought the words from her lips, but now that they were out she didn’t care to take it back. It was just pillow talk, she had rationalized.
"Fine, I’ll start," she had begun, trying to put him at ease, "I hated soccer."
He suppressed a laugh and waited for her to continue.
"I was good at it, so my parents encouraged me to play every year. But I hated it. I wanted to be on drill with Lilly."
She faked a look of hurt as he laughed at her. "You were on drill with Lilly," he grinned.
"Only years later," she pouted, "My parents relented once they realized I had no desire to be the Mia Hamm of Neptune."
She pretended to resist as he pulled her closer to his chest. After a second, she gave in and closed her eyes. "I always thought soccer girls were hot," he mused, not bothering to release her from his grip. "I remember," she sighed before finally succumbing to sleep.
"Logan?" she says, pulling him from his thoughts.
"You know all of my secrets," he stalls. She purses her lips together and looks down at her bowl, the now defunct castle of ice cream melting.
Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
"I love this song," he says finally, reaching across the counter to turn up the volume.
Don’t stop believin’
Hold on to the feelin’
Streetlight people
"That’s my secret," he grins, "I love Journey."
"You realize I now have enough ammo to lord over your head for years to come, right?"
"It’s a risk I’m willing to take," he says casually. Looking down at her, he realizes she is giving him the first genuine smile he’s seen all night. She motions towards him as if wanting to say something, but stops, looking down at her hands.
He grabs her bowl of dwindling ice cream. "Now that I got you hopped up on sugar, let’s get you home to bed," he says lightly.
She’s about to protest, but just nods, suddenly too tired to argue.
The ride home is silent. The darkness outside is beginning to seep inside her thoughts. It seems to grow as they near closer to her empty home. She knows he’ll stay if she asks him to, but he’s not hers anymore.
"Thanks for the ice cream," she manages. She would have liked to have said more, but her mouth has suddenly lost its ability to form words. She turns toward her house, surprised to see lights on in the kitchen.
As if in an answer, out steps the silhouette of her best friend. She walks to the door and matches his relieved smile. "I was worried," he says simply.
"I’m sorry," she whispers. He shrugs, not needing a response, not asking where she’s been. The composure that’s she’s been trying to sustain is lost in a torrent of tears. He’s unprepared for her weight in his arms and they collapse clumsily in to the doorframe. "It’s okay, V. You’re going to be okay," he soothes as he strokes her hair.
She shakes her head as he repeats the mantra, "Veronica, you’re going to be okay."
____________________________________________________________________________________
She jumps at the chirping of her phone, and blinks at her surroundings.
"Hi, honey."
"Hi, mommy. Did you get it?" she sing-songs.
She smiles in to the phone. She can see the image of her precocious, six year old hanging on to the phone in dizzying excitement, clad in her Princess Sparkle pajamas.
"I did," she starts, "I’m also about five minutes away."
A muffled cheer rings in to her ear and then a crash.
"Honey?" she asks, no longer hearing her voice, "Bridgett? Are you there?"
"She dropped the phone," he explains, the amusement in his voice apparent.
"I thought something like that might have happened," she grins, "I’ll be there in a few minutes."
"Super mom saves the day," he replies.
The trip from the store to his house is a quick one. She opens the gate with a push of a button and drives past the sprawling entrance to the looming estate.
The tiny little nymph is waiting for her at the front door. Her wisps of blonde cover her eyes in impatience. She hastily pushes the strands aside with one hand and pulls a large hand with her other. He is stubbornly staying in place, and even though she exerts all of her force she is unable to pull him an inch.
"Daddy," she whines, looking up at him with shiny eyes. He suppresses a smile. It amazes him how this little girl could have so much of himself and her mother at the same time.
"Okay, okay," he relents hoisting her on to his shoulders. The motion elicits a squeal from his daughter and an amused smile from her mother. She offers a grocery bag to him, holding a couple of her own.
"A whole kitchen staff and you don’t even have ice cream for your daughter’s first slumber party?" she mumbles under her breath so low that only he can hear her.
"Well, peaches. Your independent daughter decided to give them the day off so that we could all make pizza ourselves," he responds, speaking softly in to her ear.
"Good thing I made you take that cooking class before we were married, huh?" she laughs, wiping flour off of his cheek.
"It came in handy even more, when you moved out and I got to hire a personal chef," he grins back at her.
"Does that mean I was the only one who got a taste of the infamous Echolls torte?" she stage whispers.
He grins at her, inches away from her face. "We’re still talking about pastries, right?"
"Down, boy," she thinks, the heat rising up to her cheeks. As if hearing her own thoughts her daughter’s voice squirms, "Down, daddy! I’m missing my own party."
He fakes a look of shock as he sets her down. She trundles past his grasp and through the foyer where her friends are talking animatedly.
"Thanks for doing this," he says sincerely before adding. "I hate to think I pulled you away from your new boy toy."
She looks across the room at Bridgett, knowing that the little minx squealed on her to daddy. "Yeah, well, Brent hasn’t exactly been approved for sleepovers, yet."
The "yet" causes him pause, but he plows on, "Waiting for my permission? That’s sweet."
"We’re not having this conversation," she says quickly, brushing past his side.
She manages to round up the girls into the kitchen, chanting "Ice cream, ice cream!"
"Daddy, we can’t start without you." His little girl smiles. The impish look on her face reminds him so much of her mother. He pulls her in to his arms and kisses her cheek. She wiggles under his grasp. "I’m a big girl now. I don’t need you to carry me."
He sighs and sets her down. She looks up at him with kind eyes and takes out her hand. He clasps it and smiles down at her as they walk to the kitchen.
They both know serving ice cream castles to six year olds right before bed probably isn’t the smartest idea, but an hour after their sugar high, they’ve all fallen asleep.
He collapses into a couch in exhaustion. She follows suit, unaware of his arm casually falling behind her back. "Remind me the next time I agree to look after a bunch of six year olds not to give Letty the night off."
She laughs, "Do you remember the first time you made me an ice cream castle?"
He turns to look at her, slumped beside him. "I remember the Whitney."
She openly cringes at his remark. "Man, I was a mess that whole year."
"That whole few years if I recall," he says honestly.
"I still miss him," she says softly.
"I know you do," he thinks. Instead of saying the words, he pulls her in to his chest. He doesn’t comment when he feels the moisture at the front of his shirt.
"Mommy?" a drowsy voice calls out.
"Yes, sweetie," she responds, drying her eyes quickly and smiling up at her daughter.
"Are you staying for my sleepover?" Her voice captures a certain dreamy tone.
"No, honey," she says, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "You know you’re staying at your dad’s for the next couple of days. But I’ll be picking you up on Monday."
"I wish you were staying, Mommy," she says, climbing in to her lap and falling asleep.
"Logan," she pleads not trusting her voice to say anymore. He sits up and grabs their daughter, carrying her into her bedroom. He waits at the door until the soft cries from outside subside.
When he resurfaces, she flashes him a smile they can both be comfortable with. A smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
"Thanks for the ice cream," she manages. She would have liked to have said more, but her mouth has suddenly lost its ability to form words.
He waves goodbye and walks back in to the house before she even leaves the driveway.
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 2315
Rating: PG
Summary: Grieving sounds like something you eventually get over.
Spoilers: Knowledge up to The Bitch is Back helps
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.
I can not even express how good it feels to finally have this story completed!
Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere.
Her ears perk as the song begins. The music floats through the grocery’s intercom, echoing across the lonely store. She leans against her cart, pushing past empty aisles with casual indifference. It’s late. A man walks in through the automatic doors, squinting at the fluorescent lighting. His hair is disheveled and his arms clutch at his coat. When he passes her, she avoids eye contact. He does the same.
Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit,
He took the midnight train goin’ anywhere.
She’s weary from lack of sleep, but a smile creeps across her lips as the song continues. She remembers when this song held the significance it does now. It had been a rough night, quickly followed by even rougher nights. But it hadn’t been all bad.
____________________________________________________________________________________
"Hmm," she muses, staring at the scene before her. "Last time I checked, I wasn’t eleven."
He looks at her, prepared for her response. "Just go with it, Mars."
He walks past the counter and fiddles with a radio.
A singer in a smoky room
A smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on
She has to will herself to keep her face impassive. Maybe she can’t bring herself to match his grin, but the distraction is welcoming.
"How’d you get them to open up the place after hours?" she asks, setting her bag on a nearby table and pacing the room.
"Oh, you know, Echolls charm and all that," he shrugs.
"Black AmEx or red?"
"Please, I only use the black for special occasions."
"Posting bail and patronizing hookers?" she quips.
"I never needed to pay to get laid," His eyes shine indiscernibly for a moment, "Haven’t we had this conversation before?"
"You really wanna go there?" she warns, her game face slipping on.
When she notes his lack of response, her sugary smile falters. A part of her appreciates that he was bothering at all. "I’m sorry," she mumbles quietly.
He ignores her, too busy setting out utensils and pulling out ingredients. Sparring with her is just par for the course.
Streetlights people, living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night
When he finishes his culinary creation, he slices a spoon through the middle and nudges the bowl in her direction.
"Thanks," she says, grateful that his expression has softened, "Does this mean you’re still having the weekly ice cream dates with the munchkin?"
He looks at her in surprise before giving her a broad smile. "Mac?" he guesses.
"No, Mac didn’t rat you out. Parker actually mentioned Heather a couple of times. She couldn’t stop gushing on how good you were with her."
He frowns at the mention of his ex. His guilt makes her sorry she brought it up in the first place. She was trying to compliment him.
"Ice cream is the great equalizer," he says, quickly changing the subject and pouring in to his own bowl.
"It’s not guns?" she counters.
He rolls his eyes and continues, "Ice cream makes everything better, makes everyone feel better."
"I guess we’re not speaking for the lactose intolerant."
"Veronica," he warns, pleading with his eyes for a moment of seriousness, "After my mom died, I was on a strict diet of Jack Daniels and burnt almond fudge. I thought at the very least I could help you with phase two of your grieving."
She swallows hard, willing tears to disappear from the corners of her eyes. She turns her head, wishing for her dad. Grieving sounds like something you eventually get over.
Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on.
He pretends not to notice when she hastily wipes her tears away. She looks back at him reassuring him with a nod that she’s okay now, even laughing it off a little.
"Tell me a secret," she asks quietly.
He smiles. They had come up with this game the second, no, third time they got back together. Veronica usually liked to sleep in her own bed, but their reconciliation was still new, and Keith was going out of town.
He had been taken aback at first, searching her face for elaboration as she lay in the crook of his arm. He wondered if there was a particular secret she wanted an answer.
She asked again, her tone more playful this time. This wasn’t a trap to test his honesty. It was unclear what brought the words from her lips, but now that they were out she didn’t care to take it back. It was just pillow talk, she had rationalized.
"Fine, I’ll start," she had begun, trying to put him at ease, "I hated soccer."
He suppressed a laugh and waited for her to continue.
"I was good at it, so my parents encouraged me to play every year. But I hated it. I wanted to be on drill with Lilly."
She faked a look of hurt as he laughed at her. "You were on drill with Lilly," he grinned.
"Only years later," she pouted, "My parents relented once they realized I had no desire to be the Mia Hamm of Neptune."
She pretended to resist as he pulled her closer to his chest. After a second, she gave in and closed her eyes. "I always thought soccer girls were hot," he mused, not bothering to release her from his grip. "I remember," she sighed before finally succumbing to sleep.
"Logan?" she says, pulling him from his thoughts.
"You know all of my secrets," he stalls. She purses her lips together and looks down at her bowl, the now defunct castle of ice cream melting.
Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night
"I love this song," he says finally, reaching across the counter to turn up the volume.
Don’t stop believin’
Hold on to the feelin’
Streetlight people
"That’s my secret," he grins, "I love Journey."
"You realize I now have enough ammo to lord over your head for years to come, right?"
"It’s a risk I’m willing to take," he says casually. Looking down at her, he realizes she is giving him the first genuine smile he’s seen all night. She motions towards him as if wanting to say something, but stops, looking down at her hands.
He grabs her bowl of dwindling ice cream. "Now that I got you hopped up on sugar, let’s get you home to bed," he says lightly.
She’s about to protest, but just nods, suddenly too tired to argue.
The ride home is silent. The darkness outside is beginning to seep inside her thoughts. It seems to grow as they near closer to her empty home. She knows he’ll stay if she asks him to, but he’s not hers anymore.
"Thanks for the ice cream," she manages. She would have liked to have said more, but her mouth has suddenly lost its ability to form words. She turns toward her house, surprised to see lights on in the kitchen.
As if in an answer, out steps the silhouette of her best friend. She walks to the door and matches his relieved smile. "I was worried," he says simply.
"I’m sorry," she whispers. He shrugs, not needing a response, not asking where she’s been. The composure that’s she’s been trying to sustain is lost in a torrent of tears. He’s unprepared for her weight in his arms and they collapse clumsily in to the doorframe. "It’s okay, V. You’re going to be okay," he soothes as he strokes her hair.
She shakes her head as he repeats the mantra, "Veronica, you’re going to be okay."
____________________________________________________________________________________
She jumps at the chirping of her phone, and blinks at her surroundings.
"Hi, honey."
"Hi, mommy. Did you get it?" she sing-songs.
She smiles in to the phone. She can see the image of her precocious, six year old hanging on to the phone in dizzying excitement, clad in her Princess Sparkle pajamas.
"I did," she starts, "I’m also about five minutes away."
A muffled cheer rings in to her ear and then a crash.
"Honey?" she asks, no longer hearing her voice, "Bridgett? Are you there?"
"She dropped the phone," he explains, the amusement in his voice apparent.
"I thought something like that might have happened," she grins, "I’ll be there in a few minutes."
"Super mom saves the day," he replies.
The trip from the store to his house is a quick one. She opens the gate with a push of a button and drives past the sprawling entrance to the looming estate.
The tiny little nymph is waiting for her at the front door. Her wisps of blonde cover her eyes in impatience. She hastily pushes the strands aside with one hand and pulls a large hand with her other. He is stubbornly staying in place, and even though she exerts all of her force she is unable to pull him an inch.
"Daddy," she whines, looking up at him with shiny eyes. He suppresses a smile. It amazes him how this little girl could have so much of himself and her mother at the same time.
"Okay, okay," he relents hoisting her on to his shoulders. The motion elicits a squeal from his daughter and an amused smile from her mother. She offers a grocery bag to him, holding a couple of her own.
"A whole kitchen staff and you don’t even have ice cream for your daughter’s first slumber party?" she mumbles under her breath so low that only he can hear her.
"Well, peaches. Your independent daughter decided to give them the day off so that we could all make pizza ourselves," he responds, speaking softly in to her ear.
"Good thing I made you take that cooking class before we were married, huh?" she laughs, wiping flour off of his cheek.
"It came in handy even more, when you moved out and I got to hire a personal chef," he grins back at her.
"Does that mean I was the only one who got a taste of the infamous Echolls torte?" she stage whispers.
He grins at her, inches away from her face. "We’re still talking about pastries, right?"
"Down, boy," she thinks, the heat rising up to her cheeks. As if hearing her own thoughts her daughter’s voice squirms, "Down, daddy! I’m missing my own party."
He fakes a look of shock as he sets her down. She trundles past his grasp and through the foyer where her friends are talking animatedly.
"Thanks for doing this," he says sincerely before adding. "I hate to think I pulled you away from your new boy toy."
She looks across the room at Bridgett, knowing that the little minx squealed on her to daddy. "Yeah, well, Brent hasn’t exactly been approved for sleepovers, yet."
The "yet" causes him pause, but he plows on, "Waiting for my permission? That’s sweet."
"We’re not having this conversation," she says quickly, brushing past his side.
She manages to round up the girls into the kitchen, chanting "Ice cream, ice cream!"
"Daddy, we can’t start without you." His little girl smiles. The impish look on her face reminds him so much of her mother. He pulls her in to his arms and kisses her cheek. She wiggles under his grasp. "I’m a big girl now. I don’t need you to carry me."
He sighs and sets her down. She looks up at him with kind eyes and takes out her hand. He clasps it and smiles down at her as they walk to the kitchen.
They both know serving ice cream castles to six year olds right before bed probably isn’t the smartest idea, but an hour after their sugar high, they’ve all fallen asleep.
He collapses into a couch in exhaustion. She follows suit, unaware of his arm casually falling behind her back. "Remind me the next time I agree to look after a bunch of six year olds not to give Letty the night off."
She laughs, "Do you remember the first time you made me an ice cream castle?"
He turns to look at her, slumped beside him. "I remember the Whitney."
She openly cringes at his remark. "Man, I was a mess that whole year."
"That whole few years if I recall," he says honestly.
"I still miss him," she says softly.
"I know you do," he thinks. Instead of saying the words, he pulls her in to his chest. He doesn’t comment when he feels the moisture at the front of his shirt.
"Mommy?" a drowsy voice calls out.
"Yes, sweetie," she responds, drying her eyes quickly and smiling up at her daughter.
"Are you staying for my sleepover?" Her voice captures a certain dreamy tone.
"No, honey," she says, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "You know you’re staying at your dad’s for the next couple of days. But I’ll be picking you up on Monday."
"I wish you were staying, Mommy," she says, climbing in to her lap and falling asleep.
"Logan," she pleads not trusting her voice to say anymore. He sits up and grabs their daughter, carrying her into her bedroom. He waits at the door until the soft cries from outside subside.
When he resurfaces, she flashes him a smile they can both be comfortable with. A smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
"Thanks for the ice cream," she manages. She would have liked to have said more, but her mouth has suddenly lost its ability to form words.
He waves goodbye and walks back in to the house before she even leaves the driveway.