80's Tragedy (Logan/Veronica) PG-13
Title: 80's Tragedy
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 1547
Rating: PG-13
Summary: This night is about forgetting everything for at least four minutes and forty-nine seconds.
Spoilers: Knowledge up to Not Pictured helps, but no real spoilers
Warnings: Mild language
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.
“The clock strikes upon the hour
and the sun begins to fade,”
She slurs, twirling the cord of the microphone. The effect achieves a drunken but seductive quality.
“How much has she had to drink?” someone asks from the crowd, not caring enough to really hear the answer.
“Still enough time to figure out
how to chase my blues away,”
She looks around the room with vacant eyes. There’s a slight hitch in her voice that is quickly masked. This night is about forgetting everything for at least four minutes and forty-nine seconds.
“I’ve done alright up ‘til now.
It’s the light of day that shows me how
and when the night falls, my loneliness calls.”
Her attention is blurry. She barely notices the jeers from a small crowd of boys at the front of the stage. Their eyes linger over her tight sweater, knee high boots, and short skirt.
She runs her fingers through the long tresses of her hair and closes her eyes. The alcohol quiets all the external noise. She smiles for the first time in the last forty-eight hours. She knows she should be crying. She knows she has responsibilities. But none of that seems to matter anymore.
She’s here, singing in a karaoke bar, drunk off her ass. And she doesn’t care.
“Oh, I wanna dance with somebody.
I wanna feel the heat with somebody.
Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody.
With somebody who loves me.”
The crowd cheers and she barely hears them. She opens her eyes and surveys her environment. People have risen from their seats, encouraging her to continue. She drinks in their smiles as the chorus repeats. These are all strangers. They don’t know her. They don’t know the hell that she has gone through. But in the haze, the shouts of encouragement feel like support. It feels like they care.
“I’ve been in love and lost my senses
spinning through the town
sooner or later the fever ends
and I wind up feeling down,”
She sashays to the edge of the stage. Her eyes see a familiar boy. He’s frowning at her from the back of the room.
“I need a man who’ll take a chance
on a love that burns hot enough to last
so when the night falls
my lonely heart calls,”
She loses the stare down she has with him. His eyes match the pain of her own, but there’s sympathy behind his, and it unnerves her.
“Somebody who, somebody who
Somebody who loves me,”
He’s looking at her, but she can’t return the gaze. Looking at him is quickly sobering her up, and that’s the last thing she wants.
A boisterous catcall catches her attention. Its owner is a guy wearing a baseball cap and a cocky grin. She vaguely remembers him from earlier. She had just arrived and he had welcomed her by grabbing her ass. A devious smile creeps across her lips. This was going to be fun.
“Somebody who, somebody who
to hold me in his arms,”
She gazes at the guy intently, licking her lips. He grins and hollers at her with overwhelming self-gratification.
“Don’t over sell it, kid” she thinks. “People’ll think you’re a mark.”
“I need a man who’ll take a chance
on a love that burns hot enough to last,”
He tries to grab for her, but she edges away from him easily. She winks coquettishly, enticing him to come on stage with her eyes. He takes the bait, clambering on stage. It’s only a foot off the ground, but the guy’s sobriety makes that even difficult.
When he finally achieves firm footing, he finds her on the other end of the stage. He growls impatiently and stalks towards her. She just smiles.
“Ooh, don’t you wanna dance
with me baby
don’t you wanna dance
with me boy,”
It only requires a few steps to reach her. The lust in his eyes and her welcoming smile clouds his vision enough to overlook the trap she has laid for him. He’s inches away from her grasp. Her perfume fills his nostrils.
“Don’t you wanna dance
say you wanna dance
don’t you wanna dance,”
She circles around him gingerly, singing as she goes. His stupid smirk makes her enjoy this even more.
“With somebody who loves me,”
The guy’s impatience finally reaches its peak. He grabs her waist to pull her in for a kiss. His tongue is out of his mouth before he reaches hers. The crowd gasps as she shimmies out of his advance. His surprise is evident, but as he twists around to grab for her, he falls off the stage.
The applause is deafening as the guy realizes what happened. In his haste to devour her, he overlooked her winding the microphone cord around his feet. The slight movement to the right propelled him straight in to a group of surprised girls, a group whose boyfriends looked none too pleased. There will be no angry retaliation from this drunken boy.
“Don’t you wanna dance
say you wanna dance
don’t you wanna dance,
with somebody who loves me.”
She ends her song to thunderous applause. Her expression is mixed with reluctance and self-satisfaction. The buzz is still strong. It surprises her how well her plot to one-up the bad guy succeeded. She supposes it’s just in her nature.
Grace doesn’t seem to translate, however, in her inebriated state. She clumsily steps off the stage, trying hard not to break her neck. Her bad guy is too busy getting his just desserts to laugh at her perdicament. As she lunges forward, teetering headfirst in to the ground, the boy from before catches her arm and steadies her.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
The concern in his voice irritates her.
“Just leave me alone.” She spits.
He looks at her with resolve. She knows that look all too well. Saving her has become second nature to him. She gets in over her head, and he shows up before things get too messy. She’s saved him too. It’s sort of become this strange connection between them. The tragedies in their lives bind them together.
But sometimes it’s just too much. She doesn’t want to be saved. She wants to close her eyes and pretend that everything is normal, that everything is okay. She wants to pretend that the reason why she’s this miserable isn’t by her own hand.
“I have to pee.”
She hopes as she rushes to the ladies’ room that he’ll take the hint and leave.
She splashes cold water on her face and avoids looking in to the mirror. She doesn’t need to see how disgusting she probably looks. A wave of nausea hits her, and she retches in to the toilet of the nearest stall.
“Do I have vomit in my hair?” she asks quietly.
She can feel his presence behind her even as she clutches tightly to the basin.
“I’m taking you home.” He responds.
“No.” she shouts. “Just go. I’m fine.”
He sighs. “I have no problem picking you up and carrying you over my shoulder.”
She glares at him, but gets up off the floor. She swats his hands away, intent on getting up on her own. Wobbling slightly, she heads for the door. He follows her. She appreciates that he doesn’t attempt to touch her as she pushes through the crowd.
He unlocks the car as she scrambles in to the passenger seat. The ride to her house is a silent one. She looks out the window. This was not how she pictured her night going. For one, she’s not nearly drunk enough.
“Stop the car,” she shouts.
He complies. If she’s going to get sick again, might as well do it on the side of the road instead of his upholstery. She opens the door and exits. After a few minutes, sans the distinct sounds of puking, he gets out of the car as well. He finds her on the ground, leaning against his car. Her knees are pulled up to her chest and she’s breathing heavily.
His face softens and he sits next to her. He fights the urge to embrace her. She doesn’t want comfort.
“I can’t,” she starts. “I, I think you should go.” She breathes.
“You want me to leave you on the side of the road?” he asks incredulous.
“Please.” She whispers. “Just leave me here.”
Her voice is breaking. She looks so fragile. He isn’t sure how he can refuse her and abandon her at the same time.
“I have someplace we can go.” He suggests.
“I don’t,” she begins.
He shakes his head, interrupting her thought.
“After this, I’ll take you wherever you want. Even if it means alone and drunk on the interstate.”
“Logan,” she breathes.
He looks at her with kind eyes. She reluctantly gets up, brushing the dust off her legs. He’s still on the ground. She looks down at him and tries to hide a small smile. He clasps the hand she’s offered and rises.
The touch of his hand brings her an overwhelming sense of comfort. She lets him pull her in for a hug. He’s stroking her hair and softly speaking words of apology like he had done once before. She crumples in his arms. This time her dad isn’t going to swoop in and explain that it was all a terrible misunderstanding.
Because this time, Keith Mars is dead.
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 1547
Rating: PG-13
Summary: This night is about forgetting everything for at least four minutes and forty-nine seconds.
Spoilers: Knowledge up to Not Pictured helps, but no real spoilers
Warnings: Mild language
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.
“The clock strikes upon the hour
and the sun begins to fade,”
She slurs, twirling the cord of the microphone. The effect achieves a drunken but seductive quality.
“How much has she had to drink?” someone asks from the crowd, not caring enough to really hear the answer.
“Still enough time to figure out
how to chase my blues away,”
She looks around the room with vacant eyes. There’s a slight hitch in her voice that is quickly masked. This night is about forgetting everything for at least four minutes and forty-nine seconds.
“I’ve done alright up ‘til now.
It’s the light of day that shows me how
and when the night falls, my loneliness calls.”
Her attention is blurry. She barely notices the jeers from a small crowd of boys at the front of the stage. Their eyes linger over her tight sweater, knee high boots, and short skirt.
She runs her fingers through the long tresses of her hair and closes her eyes. The alcohol quiets all the external noise. She smiles for the first time in the last forty-eight hours. She knows she should be crying. She knows she has responsibilities. But none of that seems to matter anymore.
She’s here, singing in a karaoke bar, drunk off her ass. And she doesn’t care.
“Oh, I wanna dance with somebody.
I wanna feel the heat with somebody.
Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody.
With somebody who loves me.”
The crowd cheers and she barely hears them. She opens her eyes and surveys her environment. People have risen from their seats, encouraging her to continue. She drinks in their smiles as the chorus repeats. These are all strangers. They don’t know her. They don’t know the hell that she has gone through. But in the haze, the shouts of encouragement feel like support. It feels like they care.
“I’ve been in love and lost my senses
spinning through the town
sooner or later the fever ends
and I wind up feeling down,”
She sashays to the edge of the stage. Her eyes see a familiar boy. He’s frowning at her from the back of the room.
“I need a man who’ll take a chance
on a love that burns hot enough to last
so when the night falls
my lonely heart calls,”
She loses the stare down she has with him. His eyes match the pain of her own, but there’s sympathy behind his, and it unnerves her.
“Somebody who, somebody who
Somebody who loves me,”
He’s looking at her, but she can’t return the gaze. Looking at him is quickly sobering her up, and that’s the last thing she wants.
A boisterous catcall catches her attention. Its owner is a guy wearing a baseball cap and a cocky grin. She vaguely remembers him from earlier. She had just arrived and he had welcomed her by grabbing her ass. A devious smile creeps across her lips. This was going to be fun.
“Somebody who, somebody who
to hold me in his arms,”
She gazes at the guy intently, licking her lips. He grins and hollers at her with overwhelming self-gratification.
“Don’t over sell it, kid” she thinks. “People’ll think you’re a mark.”
“I need a man who’ll take a chance
on a love that burns hot enough to last,”
He tries to grab for her, but she edges away from him easily. She winks coquettishly, enticing him to come on stage with her eyes. He takes the bait, clambering on stage. It’s only a foot off the ground, but the guy’s sobriety makes that even difficult.
When he finally achieves firm footing, he finds her on the other end of the stage. He growls impatiently and stalks towards her. She just smiles.
“Ooh, don’t you wanna dance
with me baby
don’t you wanna dance
with me boy,”
It only requires a few steps to reach her. The lust in his eyes and her welcoming smile clouds his vision enough to overlook the trap she has laid for him. He’s inches away from her grasp. Her perfume fills his nostrils.
“Don’t you wanna dance
say you wanna dance
don’t you wanna dance,”
She circles around him gingerly, singing as she goes. His stupid smirk makes her enjoy this even more.
“With somebody who loves me,”
The guy’s impatience finally reaches its peak. He grabs her waist to pull her in for a kiss. His tongue is out of his mouth before he reaches hers. The crowd gasps as she shimmies out of his advance. His surprise is evident, but as he twists around to grab for her, he falls off the stage.
The applause is deafening as the guy realizes what happened. In his haste to devour her, he overlooked her winding the microphone cord around his feet. The slight movement to the right propelled him straight in to a group of surprised girls, a group whose boyfriends looked none too pleased. There will be no angry retaliation from this drunken boy.
“Don’t you wanna dance
say you wanna dance
don’t you wanna dance,
with somebody who loves me.”
She ends her song to thunderous applause. Her expression is mixed with reluctance and self-satisfaction. The buzz is still strong. It surprises her how well her plot to one-up the bad guy succeeded. She supposes it’s just in her nature.
Grace doesn’t seem to translate, however, in her inebriated state. She clumsily steps off the stage, trying hard not to break her neck. Her bad guy is too busy getting his just desserts to laugh at her perdicament. As she lunges forward, teetering headfirst in to the ground, the boy from before catches her arm and steadies her.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
The concern in his voice irritates her.
“Just leave me alone.” She spits.
He looks at her with resolve. She knows that look all too well. Saving her has become second nature to him. She gets in over her head, and he shows up before things get too messy. She’s saved him too. It’s sort of become this strange connection between them. The tragedies in their lives bind them together.
But sometimes it’s just too much. She doesn’t want to be saved. She wants to close her eyes and pretend that everything is normal, that everything is okay. She wants to pretend that the reason why she’s this miserable isn’t by her own hand.
“I have to pee.”
She hopes as she rushes to the ladies’ room that he’ll take the hint and leave.
She splashes cold water on her face and avoids looking in to the mirror. She doesn’t need to see how disgusting she probably looks. A wave of nausea hits her, and she retches in to the toilet of the nearest stall.
“Do I have vomit in my hair?” she asks quietly.
She can feel his presence behind her even as she clutches tightly to the basin.
“I’m taking you home.” He responds.
“No.” she shouts. “Just go. I’m fine.”
He sighs. “I have no problem picking you up and carrying you over my shoulder.”
She glares at him, but gets up off the floor. She swats his hands away, intent on getting up on her own. Wobbling slightly, she heads for the door. He follows her. She appreciates that he doesn’t attempt to touch her as she pushes through the crowd.
He unlocks the car as she scrambles in to the passenger seat. The ride to her house is a silent one. She looks out the window. This was not how she pictured her night going. For one, she’s not nearly drunk enough.
“Stop the car,” she shouts.
He complies. If she’s going to get sick again, might as well do it on the side of the road instead of his upholstery. She opens the door and exits. After a few minutes, sans the distinct sounds of puking, he gets out of the car as well. He finds her on the ground, leaning against his car. Her knees are pulled up to her chest and she’s breathing heavily.
His face softens and he sits next to her. He fights the urge to embrace her. She doesn’t want comfort.
“I can’t,” she starts. “I, I think you should go.” She breathes.
“You want me to leave you on the side of the road?” he asks incredulous.
“Please.” She whispers. “Just leave me here.”
Her voice is breaking. She looks so fragile. He isn’t sure how he can refuse her and abandon her at the same time.
“I have someplace we can go.” He suggests.
“I don’t,” she begins.
He shakes his head, interrupting her thought.
“After this, I’ll take you wherever you want. Even if it means alone and drunk on the interstate.”
“Logan,” she breathes.
He looks at her with kind eyes. She reluctantly gets up, brushing the dust off her legs. He’s still on the ground. She looks down at him and tries to hide a small smile. He clasps the hand she’s offered and rises.
The touch of his hand brings her an overwhelming sense of comfort. She lets him pull her in for a hug. He’s stroking her hair and softly speaking words of apology like he had done once before. She crumples in his arms. This time her dad isn’t going to swoop in and explain that it was all a terrible misunderstanding.
Because this time, Keith Mars is dead.