Fic: "Cast Away" (Logan/Veronica) R
"Cast Away"
By halfway2home
Disclaimer: I don’t own “Veronica Mars.” Rob’s the man.
Word Count: 5843
Rating: R. This is the smuttiest I've ever gotten, but it's still very tame.
Pairing: Logan/Veronica
Setting/Spoilers: Post-2x22.
Summary: If she couldn’t tell him, she’d write it down.
Author’s Note: Thanks to eolivet for all her help and betaing.
Veronica stood beside the bed, carefully avoiding the tubes and wires extending out in all directions. His left arm was in a cast from his hand to just above his elbow and there was a distinct bruise forming on his left temple, overshadowing the cut above his eyebrow. She focused her eyes on his chest, on the rise and fall of it with each labored breath.
He’s breathing. He’s going to be okay, she tried to convince herself.
Everything felt so surreal. One minute she was walking out of class, and the next, a doctor from Neptune Memorial was calling her. They hadn’t even spoken in weeks. This was not the way she was supposed to see him again.
She reached out tentatively for his hand, but just as she did, his fingers twitched. She pulled her hand back quickly, moving closer to his face.
“Logan?”
He blinked a couple of times and then opened his mouth slightly, but nothing came out. She could see him wetting his lips, probably trying to get the feel of cotton balls out of his mouth.
“Veronica…” he whispered hoarsely, and she let out a breath. “What’s going on?”
“You’re in the hospital,” she answered softly. “You’ve got a broken arm, some broken ribs, and a concussion.”
“That’s it?” he asked, smirking weakly.
She shook her head. She didn’t understand how he could be so blasé about this when he had come so very close to never waking up again.
“Some drunken idiot ran a red light and rammed right into the driver’s side of your car. You’re lucky to be alive, Logan.”
He smiled. “Figures. The one time I get into the car sober…”
“Logan!”
“Hey, my yellow monstrosity, as you so lovingly call it, saved my life.”
She sighed heavily, turning around to face the wall. The wall was good. The wall didn’t talk back and it couldn’t see her biting her lip as her eyes watered.
“I’m your emergency contact?” she finally spoke, turning to look at him.
He shrugged before stating simply, “There’s no one else.”
She wished that those words didn’t fill her with as much sadness and guilt as they did.
---
“You don’t have to babysit me, Veronica. I can take care of myself.”
“Right,” she smirked as they made their way into the living room of his suite. “You’ve got a concussion, Logan. The doctor said you’d need supervision for at least a couple of days. Plus, you’re going to need help with that broken arm.”
“Well, if you’re going to play nurse maid, can you at least put on the outfit?”
“Yeah, I’ll get on that right after your sponge bath,” she replied, setting her messenger bag down on the floor beside the couch.
“I don’t know whether I’m disturbed or aroused.”
She scrunched up her nose, following him into his bedroom. “You’re sick. And not just physically.”
He gave her an overly fake smile. “Aw, you’re sweet.”
“Here,” she said, placing two pills down on the nightstand. He looked at her, confusion across his face. “Your pain meds. Do you need water?”
He shook his head. “Just two?”
“Yes. We don’t need you developing any more addictions.”
A moment of hurt pierced his eyes and she felt awful, but he quickly masked it, turning away to swallow the pills.
“I’m going to go get some clothes and books from home,” she announced, hoping to fill the silence.
“You left some of your clothes here. I put them in the dresser,” he continued evenly. She looked up surprised, but he still had his back to her. “First row, second one from the left.”
She stared at the dresser for a moment, trying to process the situation. Behind her, she could hear him shuffling on the bed. Did she really have a drawer? Sure enough, upon opening it, she found her clothes neatly folded inside it.
She had a drawer.
“Didn’t this used to be your sock drawer?”
“Yeah, I moved them,” he replied nonchalantly like he hadn’t cleaned out a drawer for her, a drawer which she’d never had the chance to use. “They now reside one drawer below if your toes get cold.”
She smiled, remembering his surprised screams when her cold toes would brush up against him at night.
She shut the drawer swiftly. “I still need my textbooks,” she threw over her shoulder. “You’ll be okay?”
“I think I’ll survive.”
She turned, grabbing a couple of pillows, and placed his broken arm on top of them. “Remember, the doctor said to keep your arm elevated above your heart to prevent swelling. And move your fingers every once and a while,” she added, hurriedly.
He smiled. “I’m all about using my fingers.”
---
“Veronica?”
She looked up from her spot on the floor. “Hey dad.”
“How’s Logan?” he asked genuinely. It had taken a while, but the walls her father had built against Logan had begun to crack. Just as she and Logan had begun to crack.
“He’s going to be okay,” she answered, and she didn’t think any other words had ever sounded so good.
“What’s all this?” he asked, pointing to the piles that lay strewn around her. There were notebooks, clothes, and bath products all over the floor.
“I’m going to stay with Logan for a little while.”
He gave her a concerned look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Someone’s got to look after him right now and there’s no one else.” Keith nodded solemnly. He couldn’t argue with that. “I could call Dick, but most of the time he needs a babysitter of his own.”
There was a pause as he watched her from the doorway until he asked hesitantly, “So Logan’s pretty hurt?”
She looked up, already knowing where this was going. “Yeah,” she answered, trying to suppress a smirk.
Keith smiled. “Good.”
---
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” she asked, shutting the door behind her. She noted happily that he was keeping his arm elevated on the armrest of the couch. “I thought you were resting.”
“No TV in the bedroom. I got bored,” he answered, channel surfing.
“I don’t get why this place is so great. No TV in the bedroom, nothing to watch on the five hundred channels offered.” She sat down on the couch, leaving plenty of room between them. “Why do you still live here?”
“Four words. Room service and fluffer,” he answered, wiggling a finger on his broken arm with each word.
She rolled her eyes in response. “Seriously, this place is a gaping, sucking wound of awfulness. I don’t think any other hotel can boast being the site of two deaths in one night.” She paused, trying to read his face, but he was just staring at the television calmly. “Why would you stay here?”
“Because I don’t know where else to fucking go, Veronica.” His voice was angry and frustrated, but she noticed that he was still staring at the TV evenly. “I was looking at a place close to campus so I could see you between classes, but then you broke up with me, again, so I passed on it.”
“I didn’t break up with you,” she responded defensively. “I just asked you to slow things down.”
“Oh, come on, Veronica. Who are you kidding?” he replied incredulously, turning to look at her. “We haven’t seen each other in weeks. That’s not slowing down. You effectively broke up with me.”
“That’s not what I was trying to do, Logan,” she said softly.
He sighed audibly. “Then why do you keep pushing me away?” His voice was weary, and she wished that she had an answer for him as she sat silently. “That’s what I thought.”
He turned back to the TV, numbly clicking through the channels. She grabbed her duffle bag from the floor and quickly walked into the other bedroom. It felt weird to be in there without Duncan and with Logan stewing in the other room. All of Duncan’s things were gone, and she briefly wondered if Celeste had come to get them or if Logan had moved them.
She was too worked up to study or work on cases, so she decided to take a shower instead. The water muted out the sound of the TV, to her relief. She leaned against the wall, the water cascading her body, as her mind drifted back to the living room.
She could never say the things she really felt. It wasn’t just with Logan. Duncan, Wallace, her father… But unlike the rest of them, Logan needed the words and if she never gave them to him, she knew that she’d lose him. She was already losing him, and still, she could only stare helplessly or deflect him with humor.
Wrapping her hair in a towel, she dried off and dressed. Finally feeling calm and sorted, she walked into the living room only to find that he had fallen asleep. She sighed, turning off the TV. So much for talking, she thought. It was probably for the better. They’d only end up yelling.
She covered him with a blanket from his bedroom, carefully tucking it under his cast. It was pristinely white and blank, and she thought, sadly, that it’d probably remain that way. He didn’t have a lot of people left to sign it. No get well cards or messages on his cast, but she could write something. She could… Realization dawned on her, and she reached into her messenger bag, pulling out a black marker.
If she couldn’t tell him, she’d write it down. She gently scribbled the words on his cast, glancing up occasionally to make sure he wasn’t waking up. She sat back assessing her work.
If she didn’t say them, it was like the words weren’t real. They didn’t exist, except in the letters that made them up on his arm.
I’m afraid.
---
Veronica woke up the next morning to find that Logan had already woken up and changed by himself. She wondered how long it had taken him to manage that task one-handed and with a couple of healing ribs. God, he could be so pig-headed.
He was standing over a service cart filled with plates.
“Morning,” she announced, pulling her robe tighter around her pajamas.
“Hey,” he replied, looking up. “I ordered breakfast. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got --”
“Everything on the menu?” she finished with a small smile.
He returned her smile, handing her a plate and fork.
His demeanor had changed, she noted. Yesterday, he was bitter and angry, keeping space between them even when she was right next to him. Today… She could never quite tell where they stood (probably because they were always in some middle ground between love and hate), but he seemed relaxed, maybe even hopeful. With that, she was certain that he had seen what she wrote. He had to have. But if he did, he never said as much. In fact, he didn’t say anything about it all day. She worked on cases from her laptop while he watched endless amounts of mindless television shows as day passed into evening and still she had received no acknowledgement of the words she had left on his cast.
“What do you want for dinner?” she asked, handing him some take-out menus. “We’ve got Chinese, Indian, Italian, burgers, or we could just order room service --”
He groaned dramatically.
She smiled, finishing, “-- but I imagine you’re probably sick of it.”
He handed her back the menus, not even looking at them. “Italian’s good.”
“You don’t have to vote for Italian just because that’s what you think I want.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked, looking up at her. She didn’t reply. “I think I’ll save myself the thirty minutes of pouting before I eventually give in.”
She straightened up, hands on her hips. “I don’t pout.”
“And I’m not a smartass.” His eyes remained glued to the television. “I’ll have the lasagna.”
She ordered the food and settled back into her work when he exclaimed, “Fuck.”
She looked up startled. “What?”
“I have a fucking itch,” he groaned.
“This better not be a segway into one of your naughty jokes, Logan.”
“My arm, Veronica,” he replied sharply, holding up his left hand.
“Oh. Right.” She ran her hands through her hair, trying to think of what to do. “Okay. Do you have a hair dryer?”
“Yeah,” he drew out the word, confused. “But I think makeover time doesn’t start until the other girls get here.”
“Where. Is. It?”
He backed down, catching onto the annoyance in her voice. “In the bathroom.” He followed her languidly into the other room. “Veronica…”
“Wallace broke his arm when he was ten. The doctor told him to blow cold air down the cast,” she said, holding up a hair dryer.
She switched it on and he extended his arm out. That’s when she saw it. The only acknowledgement he’d given her all day of her words. In slanted letters, right below her handwriting, was his response.
What are you afraid of?
When she looked up at him, he was gazing intently at her. His eyes were usually intense and passionate, but there was something softer in them this time. There was understanding. He understood it was hard for her and that was okay. As she stared back at him, they made a silent agreement. They could talk in a different way.
---
“Veronica?”
She turned her attention from the rerun of some 90s show they were watching to where he was sitting beside her on the couch. “Yeah?”
“How’s my car?” She looked at him in disbelief. His car? He was worried about his stupid car? “I’m serious, Veronica.”
“It’s pretty much totaled,” she answered.
He nodded, wordlessly. The silence stretched as he rubbed his temples, and she marveled at the fact that he seemed genuinely distraught over his car. She thought they’d gotten a good deal, the car for his life.
“I want to see it,” he announced suddenly.
“Logan… It’s just a car.”
“It saved my life. I think I owe it a proper goodbye.”
“Fine,” she answered, and hoped that her face didn’t betray her feelings about the ludicrousness of this situation.
She drove them to the impound lot, the journey silent. She had known that Logan was attached to his car (boys and their cars, she thought, rolling her eyes), but this was crazy. They were driving an hour out of Neptune just to say goodbye to an ugly, yellow tank. She was starting to wonder if that concussion was affecting his brain.
It wasn’t hard to find Logan’s car in the lot. Yellow and totaled stood out very well.
“Shit,” he said, observing the damage. “This is unfixable.”
“Um, I think you can afford a new one,” she replied sarcastically.
“It won’t be the same,” he replied, looking at her over his shoulder.
“What’s so great about this one?”
He smiled suggestively at her. “It holds some good memories.”
She tried to refrain from blushing, but she was pretty certain that she was failing miserably. The memories of their make-out sessions and one night, in particular, rushed back to her.
They had just finished dinner when he had asked if she wanted to go home. She had smiled at him, shaking her head. They’d driven around for a while, his hand grasping hers against the skin of her thigh. Finally, he’d parked the car in a lot looking out at the beach.
She could feel the last warm breezes of summer flowing through the window. She was going to miss this, their careless summer days together, when school started in a few weeks. She was going to miss lying in the sand all day and trips to San Diego and his tongue licking the melted ice cream trailing down her chin.
He’d been so good, so patient, all summer long. All the issues she thought were buried within her had risen to the surface that night on the roof. She wanted nothing more than to bury the past once and for all. Tonight, he was going to help her do that.
He opened his mouth to say something and she straddled his lap, silencing him with her lips. He gasped into her mouth when she pulled away.
“The only words coming out of your mouth tonight are ‘God’ and…” She pretended to muse thoughtfully. “Nope, that’s it. Just ‘God.’”
She leaned in again, but he pushed her back, hands gripping her hips. “As much as I want to, and believe me, I really want to… But not like this.”
“What wrong with this?” she replied, looking hurt. “Is it… Did I…?”
He kissed her cheek. “You’re perfect, but this… This is not the perfect place.”
“Why not? Many great first times took place in cars. ‘Titanic,’ ‘Say Anything.’”
“Jack also died,” he pointed out. “And I’m no Lloyd Dobbler.”
“No, you’re not.” He frowned, and she grazed her hands over his cheeks, trying to reassure him. “But nobody is. Lloyd Dobbler has set an unrealistic level of boyfriend perfection. But you, Logan,” she kissed him softly, “you’re real and I want you.”
She was lying underneath him, naked, in the backseat within a matter of minutes. He looked down at her, drinking her in, and she felt her whole body blush from the look in his eyes. He propped himself up on his elbows, the muscles in his stomach stretching tautly. Whatever embarrassment she was feeling was quickly overshadowed by the growing ache of desire in the pit of her stomach.
“Veronica…” He was staring down at her with questioning eyes and she realized that he was giving her an out. If she was the least bit unsure, all she had to do was say so and this would all be over.
She ran her hands down his arms and nodded her answer.
“Veronica?”
Her head snapped up. “Yeah? What?”
He smirked. “Reminiscing?”
She turned away, pretending to search for her car keys. “Say goodbye to your car, Logan. I want to beat traffic.”
Her back was to him, but she’d bet money that he was smiling smugly behind her. She didn’t expect the softness in his voice when he said, “We were doing good, weren’t we?”
She sighed, staring straight ahead. “Yeah,” she answered softly.
They really had been. They were getting along. Well, most of the time because they wouldn’t be them if they didn’t argue a bit. There was something almost peaceful, relaxing, between them like they had finally weathered the storm. But when she thought about the future, she couldn’t imagine him not being there and that scared her because what if someday he wasn’t? And when had she become so dependent on someone else?
Then school started and suddenly there were all these new people and classes and social events. It was overwhelming and she didn’t know where he fit in anymore, her townie boyfriend. It was like her heart had enlarged to twice its size and was crushing her lungs. It was too heavy, all of it, but especially him.
“Funny how things fall apart,” he replied, walking around her to the LeBaron. The sting in his words made her feel like he had taken all the air out of her lungs. She stood still for a second, gathering herself, before following him.
That night, after he had fallen asleep, she tip-toed into his room with her black marker. What are you afraid of, she read the words again. She uncapped the marker, sliding it over his cast carefully.
How you make me feel. Like this is it, but what if it’s not?
Just thinking about it made her ache with worry. What if he started to drink just a little too much? What if she said something she didn’t mean? What if they destroyed each other? It could all so easily turn back into hate.
---
Logan clicked off the television, throwing the remote against the cushions. “I’m bored.”
Veronica looked up from the table where she and Wallace were studying. “Read a book. You do read, don’t you?”
He smiled sharply at her. “Doesn’t the job description for nurse maid include entertaining the sickly?”
“Some of us have midterms to study for. Entertain yourself.” He arched an eyebrow. “Not like that!”
He groaned, running his right hand through his hair. She smiled at Wallace apologetically. They obviously weren’t going to get much studying done here. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. There was plenty of space, room service to keep them fueled, and she’d be able to keep an eye on Logan.
She didn’t expect for him to be keeping an eye on her over the back of the couch. “I think you should read your book,” he announced. “Aloud.”
“You want her to read our psychology book to you?” Wallace asked, surprised.
He shrugged. “I can’t watch any more E! channel. Plus, maybe it’ll help explain some of your,” he waved his finger at her, “issues.”
“My issues?” she replied incredulously. “If anyone --”
“So Logan, man, what kind of car are you going to get now?” Wallace interjected quickly. She groaned, laying her head down on the table. “What?”
“Logan believes the Xterra deserves a proper mourning period before he buys a new car,” she answered, shaking her head.
Wallace tried to stifle a laugh. “Seriously?”
“Hey, you seem to keep forgetting that it saved my life,” Logan replied before holding Veronica’s gaze evenly. “And it holds some good times.”
Wallace looked between them, shuddering. “Okay, stop right there. I get it.”
Logan stood up suddenly. “I’m going to take a shower since you won’t entertain me.”
“Do you need help?” she asked automatically.
“Are you going to give me that promised sponge bath?”
“In your dreams,” she smirked.
“You have no idea.”
“You two are disgusting,” Wallace spoke up.
Logan smiled, leaving the room with a wave. Veronica got up and walked over to one of the drawers, extracting a box with a heavy sigh. Leave it to Logan to forget the most important thing. Wallace looked at her questioningly.
“I better go save him before he drowns his arm,” she answered his look begrudgingly.
She entered his bedroom to find that he had already managed to take off his shirt, which was lying half-hazardously on the floor. His back was to her and she could hear the showering running in the bathroom.
“Smart thinking with the button-down shirt,” she said, her voice coming out too loud in the quiet room.
He turned to face her and she could see, for the first time, the bruises coloring his abdomen. He didn’t say anything in response, just stared at her, and she shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly.
“Here,” she said, handing him the box of plastic cast protectors. “You need to keep your cast dry.”
“Thanks. Help me get it on?” he asked almost shyly.
She couldn’t help grinning. “We’re just full of double entendres today, aren’t we?”
He looked at her confused for a second before it hit him. He smiled, extending his cast covered arm out to her. She took out one of the protectors and began covering it, pulling the plastic further up his arm.
It’s only going to end if you let it.
Her fingers ran over the words almost as if of their own free will.
“Veronica…”
She looked up startled to find that she had been staring at his cast wordlessly. “Yeah?”
She took a deep breath, waiting for him to say something, anything. He stared down at her intently, and she wondered if this was Logan Echolls’ own personal brand of torture.
“Thanks.”
---
Her psychology professor insisted on lecturing after their timed midterm, but she couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to what he was saying. It obviously wasn’t very important if he had decided not to include it on the test. Or at least, it wasn’t important until finals came around and she could always borrow Wallace’s notes. Then there was that other thing. Logan’s words kept racing through her mind, sending her into a tailspin of thoughts and what ifs.
It’s only going to end if you let it.
That was exactly what she was doing and, of course, he had called her on it. Smartass.
She was letting him slip away. She was letting herself push him away. She was letting it crumble. She was throwing it - them - away all because there was a possibility that, one day, maybe, it might fall apart.
She was preemptively breaking up with him. As Wallace would say, “Girl, you’re being stupid.”
As soon as lecture was over, she rushed out of the room, mumbling “I’m sorry” as she pushed past her classmates.
The concierge greeted her by name when she arrived at the Neptune Grand. Apparently, she had made herself known here over the summer. More recently, she’d made a deal with one of the housekeepers to keep an eye on Logan and give him his pain meds while she was at class. He didn’t like it at first, of course, but he quickly shut up when she suggested that the housekeeper might be wearing a nurse maid outfit.
When she entered the suite, she was surprised to hear another voice along with Logan’s.
“Ronnie!” Dick greeted from the couch. “Wanna play?”
She looked between him and Logan and then at the television screen where Dick was pummeling Logan’s character. Logan slammed furiously on the controller with his right hand, trying to fight him off.
“You’re playing with one hand?” she asked. Honestly, she was sort of impressed.
He shrugged.
“Sometimes one hand is all you need,” Dick said, smiling at her lecherously.
She scrunched up her face in disgust. “Not even going to go there.”
The boys’ attention quickly reverted back to the video game. This was not how she was hoping things would go. For one, it didn’t even seem like she was needed here anymore. Logan was finding entertainment and taking care of himself just fine without her. She had obviously overstayed her welcome.
“I’m just going to…” She motioned to the other bedroom to no reaction before slipping away quickly.
She shuffled around the room, gathering her things back into her duffle bag. Her eyes scanned the room. That seemed to be everything, except for the stuff in Logan’s dresser. She was going to have to come back for that later.
“Hey.” She turned around, startled, to find Logan standing in the doorway. “Dick just left.” She nodded wordlessly, zipping up her duffle bag. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving. You don’t need my help anymore.” She shifted the duffle bag onto the floor. “You’re doing fine on your own.”
“You can’t go,” he replied, a hint of panic in his voice. When she turned around, he was standing dangerously close, threatening to take her air away even from a foot above her. “I can’t even change without it becoming a thirty minute ordeal. Look.”
He tried to slip his cast through his sleeve, but it snagged while the other side lifted over his head, covering his face. Veronica couldn’t help smiling a little. It looked like he was being strangled by his own shirt.
“A little help here, Veronica,” he pleaded through the material. She stepped closer, helping him slip his arm through the sleeve and up over his head. Her hands rested lightly on his hips, her fingers digging into the cloth, as she stared up at him.
“Don’t leave.”
He leaned down, kissing her, as his arm slipped around her waist, pulling her closer. A moan escaped her as he pressed his tongue against her lips, parting them. She ran her hands up his arms, skimming all the familiar crevasses of his body, until they threaded through his hair.
He pulled away and she breathed in heavily. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not leaving,” she echoed his words from two years ago and realized how true they were. Duncan left, Wallace went to Chicago, her father stood her up at the airport, but Logan… Logan never left even when he should have. For the longest time, she couldn’t understand why he would do that. Now, standing here, saying those exact same words to him, she knew.
She pressed her palms flat against his chest and pushed him back gently until he was sitting on the bed. Straddling his lap, she pulled her top over her head, letting it fall to the floor, and smiled down at his wide-eyed expression.
She concentrated on kissing him, lavishing every inch of skin from his lips down to his collar bone, as he reached around with his right hand for her bra clasp. He struggled with it for a couple of minutes until she finally pulled away from his neck and reached behind herself, quickly unclasping it.
“Seems some things you do need two hands for,” she said, her lips curving around the edges into a smile.
“Not everything, luckily,” he replied, sliding the straps down her arms.
She moaned softly as his thumb grazed the side of her breast. “Luckily.”
She arched her back as he kissed his way down between her breasts, causing her to grind against his lap. He was pressing against her, inch for inch, and God, he was going to kill her.
“Logan…” She slipped off his lap before he could protest and quickly slipped off her jeans and underwear. “Let’s take it slow next time.”
She extended her hand out to him nervously, sure that he could see her fingers trembling as he stared at her. Finally, he nodded and took it in his own, letting her pull him up. She threaded their fingers together as he kissed her hungrily. Her chest was pressed up against his, and she wondered briefly whose heart it was that was beating so rapidly.
Her fingers escaped from his hand, reaching down for the zipper of his jeans. She slide the denim down over his hips before removing his boxers to rest with the rest of their clothes.
He sat back down on the bed and she slipped back down over his lap. His hands grazed her thighs, making her tingle all over. Every time with him felt like the first time. She was always a bundle of emotions. It was exciting and scary and different every time. But one thing always remained the same.
“Veronica…” She stared into his questioning eyes. He always gave her that out.
She moved her head slowly until it was resting right by his ear. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice husky and laced with lust like it was dripping in rich, sweet honey.
He pressed into her, causing a gasp to escape her. She gripped his sides for leverage, accidentally putting pressure on his sore ribs. He winced, biting down on his bottom lip.
“Sorry,” she mouthed. He shook his head, kissing her neck as her hair fell forward, cascading over him like a curtain of blonde strands. His hands fisted in her hair as he moved more quickly.
“I missed you,” he breathed sharply as she sank down, pulling him deeper within.
“Oh God.” And then she was getting that feeling. The one like she was coming apart and only he was going to be able to glue her back together.
She collapsed beside him on the bed, careful not to hurt him. It was sort of twisted, to do this in here, but she felt like it had allowed her to finally banish that chapter of her past.
“Now this room is ours,” she announced.
“I had no idea you were so kinky and territorial,” Logan responded with a mischievous smile.
She wrapped a blanket around them messily, burying her face in the crook of his neck. After a couple of minutes, she noticed that his eyes had slipped closed. Her fingers reached for the marker lying on the nightstand. She positioned it over his cast when his hand gripped her wrist, stilling her.
“Whatever it is, just say it, Veronica,” he pleaded.
She nodded. “You need to stop almost dying on me.” She took in a deep breath. “’Cause I need you. And that scares me. So much.”
“It’s okay. I’m fucking terrified too,” he replied. “Mostly of not being with you.”
He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer into him. It hadn’t surprised her to learn that Logan was a bed hogger, arms and legs stretched out towards all corners of the bed. But she had been surprised that first time in his car when he had pulled her tightly against the curves of his body afterwards and stayed that way for what seemed like an hour. It was like he was trying to mold them together. Logan Echolls, despite all his bravado and sexual experience, was a snuggler.
She hummed into his skin. “I think you should get that place by campus. If it’s still available.”
“Yeah?” he asked hopefully.
She smiled. “Definitely.”
---
Veronica looked around at the anatomical posters and charts lining the walls of the room. She didn’t understand why doctors took their décor so literally. It’s not like they lined the walls of Mars Investigations with posters of peeping toms.
“Hey,” his voice broke her out of her reverie. She turned, smiling at him. “Remember when you asked me about being my emergency contact and I said there was no one else?”
“Yeah…”
“What I meant was there’s no one else.” He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “And I don’t want there to be.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she kissed him and hoped that that said it all.
“Okay.” Dr. Menze coughed, entering the room. They broke apart and she ducked her head, embarrassed. “Ready to get your arm back, Logan?”
“You know, doctor, I’ve found that you don’t really need it as long as you have other appendages.”
“Logan!” she exclaimed, blushing furiously as Dr. Menze chuckled.
Dr. Menze lifted Logan’s arm, observing the cast curiously. They had blacked out their messages with a thick Sharpe the night before, leaving streaks of black lines covering the white material. It was slightly scary, no longer having the safety cushion of the cast.
“Hmm, haven’t seen that design before,” Dr. Menze remarked with a smile. “Okay, let’s begin.”
When it was all gone and done, Logan turned to her and joked, “You know, you’re gonna have to talk to me now.”
She smiled and whispered into his ear the only words she had yet to write.
End
By halfway2home
Disclaimer: I don’t own “Veronica Mars.” Rob’s the man.
Word Count: 5843
Rating: R. This is the smuttiest I've ever gotten, but it's still very tame.
Pairing: Logan/Veronica
Setting/Spoilers: Post-2x22.
Summary: If she couldn’t tell him, she’d write it down.
Author’s Note: Thanks to eolivet for all her help and betaing.
Veronica stood beside the bed, carefully avoiding the tubes and wires extending out in all directions. His left arm was in a cast from his hand to just above his elbow and there was a distinct bruise forming on his left temple, overshadowing the cut above his eyebrow. She focused her eyes on his chest, on the rise and fall of it with each labored breath.
He’s breathing. He’s going to be okay, she tried to convince herself.
Everything felt so surreal. One minute she was walking out of class, and the next, a doctor from Neptune Memorial was calling her. They hadn’t even spoken in weeks. This was not the way she was supposed to see him again.
She reached out tentatively for his hand, but just as she did, his fingers twitched. She pulled her hand back quickly, moving closer to his face.
“Logan?”
He blinked a couple of times and then opened his mouth slightly, but nothing came out. She could see him wetting his lips, probably trying to get the feel of cotton balls out of his mouth.
“Veronica…” he whispered hoarsely, and she let out a breath. “What’s going on?”
“You’re in the hospital,” she answered softly. “You’ve got a broken arm, some broken ribs, and a concussion.”
“That’s it?” he asked, smirking weakly.
She shook her head. She didn’t understand how he could be so blasé about this when he had come so very close to never waking up again.
“Some drunken idiot ran a red light and rammed right into the driver’s side of your car. You’re lucky to be alive, Logan.”
He smiled. “Figures. The one time I get into the car sober…”
“Logan!”
“Hey, my yellow monstrosity, as you so lovingly call it, saved my life.”
She sighed heavily, turning around to face the wall. The wall was good. The wall didn’t talk back and it couldn’t see her biting her lip as her eyes watered.
“I’m your emergency contact?” she finally spoke, turning to look at him.
He shrugged before stating simply, “There’s no one else.”
She wished that those words didn’t fill her with as much sadness and guilt as they did.
---
“You don’t have to babysit me, Veronica. I can take care of myself.”
“Right,” she smirked as they made their way into the living room of his suite. “You’ve got a concussion, Logan. The doctor said you’d need supervision for at least a couple of days. Plus, you’re going to need help with that broken arm.”
“Well, if you’re going to play nurse maid, can you at least put on the outfit?”
“Yeah, I’ll get on that right after your sponge bath,” she replied, setting her messenger bag down on the floor beside the couch.
“I don’t know whether I’m disturbed or aroused.”
She scrunched up her nose, following him into his bedroom. “You’re sick. And not just physically.”
He gave her an overly fake smile. “Aw, you’re sweet.”
“Here,” she said, placing two pills down on the nightstand. He looked at her, confusion across his face. “Your pain meds. Do you need water?”
He shook his head. “Just two?”
“Yes. We don’t need you developing any more addictions.”
A moment of hurt pierced his eyes and she felt awful, but he quickly masked it, turning away to swallow the pills.
“I’m going to go get some clothes and books from home,” she announced, hoping to fill the silence.
“You left some of your clothes here. I put them in the dresser,” he continued evenly. She looked up surprised, but he still had his back to her. “First row, second one from the left.”
She stared at the dresser for a moment, trying to process the situation. Behind her, she could hear him shuffling on the bed. Did she really have a drawer? Sure enough, upon opening it, she found her clothes neatly folded inside it.
She had a drawer.
“Didn’t this used to be your sock drawer?”
“Yeah, I moved them,” he replied nonchalantly like he hadn’t cleaned out a drawer for her, a drawer which she’d never had the chance to use. “They now reside one drawer below if your toes get cold.”
She smiled, remembering his surprised screams when her cold toes would brush up against him at night.
She shut the drawer swiftly. “I still need my textbooks,” she threw over her shoulder. “You’ll be okay?”
“I think I’ll survive.”
She turned, grabbing a couple of pillows, and placed his broken arm on top of them. “Remember, the doctor said to keep your arm elevated above your heart to prevent swelling. And move your fingers every once and a while,” she added, hurriedly.
He smiled. “I’m all about using my fingers.”
---
“Veronica?”
She looked up from her spot on the floor. “Hey dad.”
“How’s Logan?” he asked genuinely. It had taken a while, but the walls her father had built against Logan had begun to crack. Just as she and Logan had begun to crack.
“He’s going to be okay,” she answered, and she didn’t think any other words had ever sounded so good.
“What’s all this?” he asked, pointing to the piles that lay strewn around her. There were notebooks, clothes, and bath products all over the floor.
“I’m going to stay with Logan for a little while.”
He gave her a concerned look. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“Someone’s got to look after him right now and there’s no one else.” Keith nodded solemnly. He couldn’t argue with that. “I could call Dick, but most of the time he needs a babysitter of his own.”
There was a pause as he watched her from the doorway until he asked hesitantly, “So Logan’s pretty hurt?”
She looked up, already knowing where this was going. “Yeah,” she answered, trying to suppress a smirk.
Keith smiled. “Good.”
---
“Hey, what are you doing out here?” she asked, shutting the door behind her. She noted happily that he was keeping his arm elevated on the armrest of the couch. “I thought you were resting.”
“No TV in the bedroom. I got bored,” he answered, channel surfing.
“I don’t get why this place is so great. No TV in the bedroom, nothing to watch on the five hundred channels offered.” She sat down on the couch, leaving plenty of room between them. “Why do you still live here?”
“Four words. Room service and fluffer,” he answered, wiggling a finger on his broken arm with each word.
She rolled her eyes in response. “Seriously, this place is a gaping, sucking wound of awfulness. I don’t think any other hotel can boast being the site of two deaths in one night.” She paused, trying to read his face, but he was just staring at the television calmly. “Why would you stay here?”
“Because I don’t know where else to fucking go, Veronica.” His voice was angry and frustrated, but she noticed that he was still staring at the TV evenly. “I was looking at a place close to campus so I could see you between classes, but then you broke up with me, again, so I passed on it.”
“I didn’t break up with you,” she responded defensively. “I just asked you to slow things down.”
“Oh, come on, Veronica. Who are you kidding?” he replied incredulously, turning to look at her. “We haven’t seen each other in weeks. That’s not slowing down. You effectively broke up with me.”
“That’s not what I was trying to do, Logan,” she said softly.
He sighed audibly. “Then why do you keep pushing me away?” His voice was weary, and she wished that she had an answer for him as she sat silently. “That’s what I thought.”
He turned back to the TV, numbly clicking through the channels. She grabbed her duffle bag from the floor and quickly walked into the other bedroom. It felt weird to be in there without Duncan and with Logan stewing in the other room. All of Duncan’s things were gone, and she briefly wondered if Celeste had come to get them or if Logan had moved them.
She was too worked up to study or work on cases, so she decided to take a shower instead. The water muted out the sound of the TV, to her relief. She leaned against the wall, the water cascading her body, as her mind drifted back to the living room.
She could never say the things she really felt. It wasn’t just with Logan. Duncan, Wallace, her father… But unlike the rest of them, Logan needed the words and if she never gave them to him, she knew that she’d lose him. She was already losing him, and still, she could only stare helplessly or deflect him with humor.
Wrapping her hair in a towel, she dried off and dressed. Finally feeling calm and sorted, she walked into the living room only to find that he had fallen asleep. She sighed, turning off the TV. So much for talking, she thought. It was probably for the better. They’d only end up yelling.
She covered him with a blanket from his bedroom, carefully tucking it under his cast. It was pristinely white and blank, and she thought, sadly, that it’d probably remain that way. He didn’t have a lot of people left to sign it. No get well cards or messages on his cast, but she could write something. She could… Realization dawned on her, and she reached into her messenger bag, pulling out a black marker.
If she couldn’t tell him, she’d write it down. She gently scribbled the words on his cast, glancing up occasionally to make sure he wasn’t waking up. She sat back assessing her work.
If she didn’t say them, it was like the words weren’t real. They didn’t exist, except in the letters that made them up on his arm.
I’m afraid.
---
Veronica woke up the next morning to find that Logan had already woken up and changed by himself. She wondered how long it had taken him to manage that task one-handed and with a couple of healing ribs. God, he could be so pig-headed.
He was standing over a service cart filled with plates.
“Morning,” she announced, pulling her robe tighter around her pajamas.
“Hey,” he replied, looking up. “I ordered breakfast. I didn’t know what you wanted, so I got --”
“Everything on the menu?” she finished with a small smile.
He returned her smile, handing her a plate and fork.
His demeanor had changed, she noted. Yesterday, he was bitter and angry, keeping space between them even when she was right next to him. Today… She could never quite tell where they stood (probably because they were always in some middle ground between love and hate), but he seemed relaxed, maybe even hopeful. With that, she was certain that he had seen what she wrote. He had to have. But if he did, he never said as much. In fact, he didn’t say anything about it all day. She worked on cases from her laptop while he watched endless amounts of mindless television shows as day passed into evening and still she had received no acknowledgement of the words she had left on his cast.
“What do you want for dinner?” she asked, handing him some take-out menus. “We’ve got Chinese, Indian, Italian, burgers, or we could just order room service --”
He groaned dramatically.
She smiled, finishing, “-- but I imagine you’re probably sick of it.”
He handed her back the menus, not even looking at them. “Italian’s good.”
“You don’t have to vote for Italian just because that’s what you think I want.”
“Isn’t it?” he asked, looking up at her. She didn’t reply. “I think I’ll save myself the thirty minutes of pouting before I eventually give in.”
She straightened up, hands on her hips. “I don’t pout.”
“And I’m not a smartass.” His eyes remained glued to the television. “I’ll have the lasagna.”
She ordered the food and settled back into her work when he exclaimed, “Fuck.”
She looked up startled. “What?”
“I have a fucking itch,” he groaned.
“This better not be a segway into one of your naughty jokes, Logan.”
“My arm, Veronica,” he replied sharply, holding up his left hand.
“Oh. Right.” She ran her hands through her hair, trying to think of what to do. “Okay. Do you have a hair dryer?”
“Yeah,” he drew out the word, confused. “But I think makeover time doesn’t start until the other girls get here.”
“Where. Is. It?”
He backed down, catching onto the annoyance in her voice. “In the bathroom.” He followed her languidly into the other room. “Veronica…”
“Wallace broke his arm when he was ten. The doctor told him to blow cold air down the cast,” she said, holding up a hair dryer.
She switched it on and he extended his arm out. That’s when she saw it. The only acknowledgement he’d given her all day of her words. In slanted letters, right below her handwriting, was his response.
What are you afraid of?
When she looked up at him, he was gazing intently at her. His eyes were usually intense and passionate, but there was something softer in them this time. There was understanding. He understood it was hard for her and that was okay. As she stared back at him, they made a silent agreement. They could talk in a different way.
---
“Veronica?”
She turned her attention from the rerun of some 90s show they were watching to where he was sitting beside her on the couch. “Yeah?”
“How’s my car?” She looked at him in disbelief. His car? He was worried about his stupid car? “I’m serious, Veronica.”
“It’s pretty much totaled,” she answered.
He nodded, wordlessly. The silence stretched as he rubbed his temples, and she marveled at the fact that he seemed genuinely distraught over his car. She thought they’d gotten a good deal, the car for his life.
“I want to see it,” he announced suddenly.
“Logan… It’s just a car.”
“It saved my life. I think I owe it a proper goodbye.”
“Fine,” she answered, and hoped that her face didn’t betray her feelings about the ludicrousness of this situation.
She drove them to the impound lot, the journey silent. She had known that Logan was attached to his car (boys and their cars, she thought, rolling her eyes), but this was crazy. They were driving an hour out of Neptune just to say goodbye to an ugly, yellow tank. She was starting to wonder if that concussion was affecting his brain.
It wasn’t hard to find Logan’s car in the lot. Yellow and totaled stood out very well.
“Shit,” he said, observing the damage. “This is unfixable.”
“Um, I think you can afford a new one,” she replied sarcastically.
“It won’t be the same,” he replied, looking at her over his shoulder.
“What’s so great about this one?”
He smiled suggestively at her. “It holds some good memories.”
She tried to refrain from blushing, but she was pretty certain that she was failing miserably. The memories of their make-out sessions and one night, in particular, rushed back to her.
They had just finished dinner when he had asked if she wanted to go home. She had smiled at him, shaking her head. They’d driven around for a while, his hand grasping hers against the skin of her thigh. Finally, he’d parked the car in a lot looking out at the beach.
She could feel the last warm breezes of summer flowing through the window. She was going to miss this, their careless summer days together, when school started in a few weeks. She was going to miss lying in the sand all day and trips to San Diego and his tongue licking the melted ice cream trailing down her chin.
He’d been so good, so patient, all summer long. All the issues she thought were buried within her had risen to the surface that night on the roof. She wanted nothing more than to bury the past once and for all. Tonight, he was going to help her do that.
He opened his mouth to say something and she straddled his lap, silencing him with her lips. He gasped into her mouth when she pulled away.
“The only words coming out of your mouth tonight are ‘God’ and…” She pretended to muse thoughtfully. “Nope, that’s it. Just ‘God.’”
She leaned in again, but he pushed her back, hands gripping her hips. “As much as I want to, and believe me, I really want to… But not like this.”
“What wrong with this?” she replied, looking hurt. “Is it… Did I…?”
He kissed her cheek. “You’re perfect, but this… This is not the perfect place.”
“Why not? Many great first times took place in cars. ‘Titanic,’ ‘Say Anything.’”
“Jack also died,” he pointed out. “And I’m no Lloyd Dobbler.”
“No, you’re not.” He frowned, and she grazed her hands over his cheeks, trying to reassure him. “But nobody is. Lloyd Dobbler has set an unrealistic level of boyfriend perfection. But you, Logan,” she kissed him softly, “you’re real and I want you.”
She was lying underneath him, naked, in the backseat within a matter of minutes. He looked down at her, drinking her in, and she felt her whole body blush from the look in his eyes. He propped himself up on his elbows, the muscles in his stomach stretching tautly. Whatever embarrassment she was feeling was quickly overshadowed by the growing ache of desire in the pit of her stomach.
“Veronica…” He was staring down at her with questioning eyes and she realized that he was giving her an out. If she was the least bit unsure, all she had to do was say so and this would all be over.
She ran her hands down his arms and nodded her answer.
“Veronica?”
Her head snapped up. “Yeah? What?”
He smirked. “Reminiscing?”
She turned away, pretending to search for her car keys. “Say goodbye to your car, Logan. I want to beat traffic.”
Her back was to him, but she’d bet money that he was smiling smugly behind her. She didn’t expect the softness in his voice when he said, “We were doing good, weren’t we?”
She sighed, staring straight ahead. “Yeah,” she answered softly.
They really had been. They were getting along. Well, most of the time because they wouldn’t be them if they didn’t argue a bit. There was something almost peaceful, relaxing, between them like they had finally weathered the storm. But when she thought about the future, she couldn’t imagine him not being there and that scared her because what if someday he wasn’t? And when had she become so dependent on someone else?
Then school started and suddenly there were all these new people and classes and social events. It was overwhelming and she didn’t know where he fit in anymore, her townie boyfriend. It was like her heart had enlarged to twice its size and was crushing her lungs. It was too heavy, all of it, but especially him.
“Funny how things fall apart,” he replied, walking around her to the LeBaron. The sting in his words made her feel like he had taken all the air out of her lungs. She stood still for a second, gathering herself, before following him.
That night, after he had fallen asleep, she tip-toed into his room with her black marker. What are you afraid of, she read the words again. She uncapped the marker, sliding it over his cast carefully.
How you make me feel. Like this is it, but what if it’s not?
Just thinking about it made her ache with worry. What if he started to drink just a little too much? What if she said something she didn’t mean? What if they destroyed each other? It could all so easily turn back into hate.
---
Logan clicked off the television, throwing the remote against the cushions. “I’m bored.”
Veronica looked up from the table where she and Wallace were studying. “Read a book. You do read, don’t you?”
He smiled sharply at her. “Doesn’t the job description for nurse maid include entertaining the sickly?”
“Some of us have midterms to study for. Entertain yourself.” He arched an eyebrow. “Not like that!”
He groaned, running his right hand through his hair. She smiled at Wallace apologetically. They obviously weren’t going to get much studying done here. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. There was plenty of space, room service to keep them fueled, and she’d be able to keep an eye on Logan.
She didn’t expect for him to be keeping an eye on her over the back of the couch. “I think you should read your book,” he announced. “Aloud.”
“You want her to read our psychology book to you?” Wallace asked, surprised.
He shrugged. “I can’t watch any more E! channel. Plus, maybe it’ll help explain some of your,” he waved his finger at her, “issues.”
“My issues?” she replied incredulously. “If anyone --”
“So Logan, man, what kind of car are you going to get now?” Wallace interjected quickly. She groaned, laying her head down on the table. “What?”
“Logan believes the Xterra deserves a proper mourning period before he buys a new car,” she answered, shaking her head.
Wallace tried to stifle a laugh. “Seriously?”
“Hey, you seem to keep forgetting that it saved my life,” Logan replied before holding Veronica’s gaze evenly. “And it holds some good times.”
Wallace looked between them, shuddering. “Okay, stop right there. I get it.”
Logan stood up suddenly. “I’m going to take a shower since you won’t entertain me.”
“Do you need help?” she asked automatically.
“Are you going to give me that promised sponge bath?”
“In your dreams,” she smirked.
“You have no idea.”
“You two are disgusting,” Wallace spoke up.
Logan smiled, leaving the room with a wave. Veronica got up and walked over to one of the drawers, extracting a box with a heavy sigh. Leave it to Logan to forget the most important thing. Wallace looked at her questioningly.
“I better go save him before he drowns his arm,” she answered his look begrudgingly.
She entered his bedroom to find that he had already managed to take off his shirt, which was lying half-hazardously on the floor. His back was to her and she could hear the showering running in the bathroom.
“Smart thinking with the button-down shirt,” she said, her voice coming out too loud in the quiet room.
He turned to face her and she could see, for the first time, the bruises coloring his abdomen. He didn’t say anything in response, just stared at her, and she shifted from one foot to the other awkwardly.
“Here,” she said, handing him the box of plastic cast protectors. “You need to keep your cast dry.”
“Thanks. Help me get it on?” he asked almost shyly.
She couldn’t help grinning. “We’re just full of double entendres today, aren’t we?”
He looked at her confused for a second before it hit him. He smiled, extending his cast covered arm out to her. She took out one of the protectors and began covering it, pulling the plastic further up his arm.
It’s only going to end if you let it.
Her fingers ran over the words almost as if of their own free will.
“Veronica…”
She looked up startled to find that she had been staring at his cast wordlessly. “Yeah?”
She took a deep breath, waiting for him to say something, anything. He stared down at her intently, and she wondered if this was Logan Echolls’ own personal brand of torture.
“Thanks.”
---
Her psychology professor insisted on lecturing after their timed midterm, but she couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to what he was saying. It obviously wasn’t very important if he had decided not to include it on the test. Or at least, it wasn’t important until finals came around and she could always borrow Wallace’s notes. Then there was that other thing. Logan’s words kept racing through her mind, sending her into a tailspin of thoughts and what ifs.
It’s only going to end if you let it.
That was exactly what she was doing and, of course, he had called her on it. Smartass.
She was letting him slip away. She was letting herself push him away. She was letting it crumble. She was throwing it - them - away all because there was a possibility that, one day, maybe, it might fall apart.
She was preemptively breaking up with him. As Wallace would say, “Girl, you’re being stupid.”
As soon as lecture was over, she rushed out of the room, mumbling “I’m sorry” as she pushed past her classmates.
The concierge greeted her by name when she arrived at the Neptune Grand. Apparently, she had made herself known here over the summer. More recently, she’d made a deal with one of the housekeepers to keep an eye on Logan and give him his pain meds while she was at class. He didn’t like it at first, of course, but he quickly shut up when she suggested that the housekeeper might be wearing a nurse maid outfit.
When she entered the suite, she was surprised to hear another voice along with Logan’s.
“Ronnie!” Dick greeted from the couch. “Wanna play?”
She looked between him and Logan and then at the television screen where Dick was pummeling Logan’s character. Logan slammed furiously on the controller with his right hand, trying to fight him off.
“You’re playing with one hand?” she asked. Honestly, she was sort of impressed.
He shrugged.
“Sometimes one hand is all you need,” Dick said, smiling at her lecherously.
She scrunched up her face in disgust. “Not even going to go there.”
The boys’ attention quickly reverted back to the video game. This was not how she was hoping things would go. For one, it didn’t even seem like she was needed here anymore. Logan was finding entertainment and taking care of himself just fine without her. She had obviously overstayed her welcome.
“I’m just going to…” She motioned to the other bedroom to no reaction before slipping away quickly.
She shuffled around the room, gathering her things back into her duffle bag. Her eyes scanned the room. That seemed to be everything, except for the stuff in Logan’s dresser. She was going to have to come back for that later.
“Hey.” She turned around, startled, to find Logan standing in the doorway. “Dick just left.” She nodded wordlessly, zipping up her duffle bag. “What are you doing?”
“Leaving. You don’t need my help anymore.” She shifted the duffle bag onto the floor. “You’re doing fine on your own.”
“You can’t go,” he replied, a hint of panic in his voice. When she turned around, he was standing dangerously close, threatening to take her air away even from a foot above her. “I can’t even change without it becoming a thirty minute ordeal. Look.”
He tried to slip his cast through his sleeve, but it snagged while the other side lifted over his head, covering his face. Veronica couldn’t help smiling a little. It looked like he was being strangled by his own shirt.
“A little help here, Veronica,” he pleaded through the material. She stepped closer, helping him slip his arm through the sleeve and up over his head. Her hands rested lightly on his hips, her fingers digging into the cloth, as she stared up at him.
“Don’t leave.”
He leaned down, kissing her, as his arm slipped around her waist, pulling her closer. A moan escaped her as he pressed his tongue against her lips, parting them. She ran her hands up his arms, skimming all the familiar crevasses of his body, until they threaded through his hair.
He pulled away and she breathed in heavily. “Don’t go.”
“I’m not leaving,” she echoed his words from two years ago and realized how true they were. Duncan left, Wallace went to Chicago, her father stood her up at the airport, but Logan… Logan never left even when he should have. For the longest time, she couldn’t understand why he would do that. Now, standing here, saying those exact same words to him, she knew.
She pressed her palms flat against his chest and pushed him back gently until he was sitting on the bed. Straddling his lap, she pulled her top over her head, letting it fall to the floor, and smiled down at his wide-eyed expression.
She concentrated on kissing him, lavishing every inch of skin from his lips down to his collar bone, as he reached around with his right hand for her bra clasp. He struggled with it for a couple of minutes until she finally pulled away from his neck and reached behind herself, quickly unclasping it.
“Seems some things you do need two hands for,” she said, her lips curving around the edges into a smile.
“Not everything, luckily,” he replied, sliding the straps down her arms.
She moaned softly as his thumb grazed the side of her breast. “Luckily.”
She arched her back as he kissed his way down between her breasts, causing her to grind against his lap. He was pressing against her, inch for inch, and God, he was going to kill her.
“Logan…” She slipped off his lap before he could protest and quickly slipped off her jeans and underwear. “Let’s take it slow next time.”
She extended her hand out to him nervously, sure that he could see her fingers trembling as he stared at her. Finally, he nodded and took it in his own, letting her pull him up. She threaded their fingers together as he kissed her hungrily. Her chest was pressed up against his, and she wondered briefly whose heart it was that was beating so rapidly.
Her fingers escaped from his hand, reaching down for the zipper of his jeans. She slide the denim down over his hips before removing his boxers to rest with the rest of their clothes.
He sat back down on the bed and she slipped back down over his lap. His hands grazed her thighs, making her tingle all over. Every time with him felt like the first time. She was always a bundle of emotions. It was exciting and scary and different every time. But one thing always remained the same.
“Veronica…” She stared into his questioning eyes. He always gave her that out.
She moved her head slowly until it was resting right by his ear. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice husky and laced with lust like it was dripping in rich, sweet honey.
He pressed into her, causing a gasp to escape her. She gripped his sides for leverage, accidentally putting pressure on his sore ribs. He winced, biting down on his bottom lip.
“Sorry,” she mouthed. He shook his head, kissing her neck as her hair fell forward, cascading over him like a curtain of blonde strands. His hands fisted in her hair as he moved more quickly.
“I missed you,” he breathed sharply as she sank down, pulling him deeper within.
“Oh God.” And then she was getting that feeling. The one like she was coming apart and only he was going to be able to glue her back together.
She collapsed beside him on the bed, careful not to hurt him. It was sort of twisted, to do this in here, but she felt like it had allowed her to finally banish that chapter of her past.
“Now this room is ours,” she announced.
“I had no idea you were so kinky and territorial,” Logan responded with a mischievous smile.
She wrapped a blanket around them messily, burying her face in the crook of his neck. After a couple of minutes, she noticed that his eyes had slipped closed. Her fingers reached for the marker lying on the nightstand. She positioned it over his cast when his hand gripped her wrist, stilling her.
“Whatever it is, just say it, Veronica,” he pleaded.
She nodded. “You need to stop almost dying on me.” She took in a deep breath. “’Cause I need you. And that scares me. So much.”
“It’s okay. I’m fucking terrified too,” he replied. “Mostly of not being with you.”
He wrapped his right arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer into him. It hadn’t surprised her to learn that Logan was a bed hogger, arms and legs stretched out towards all corners of the bed. But she had been surprised that first time in his car when he had pulled her tightly against the curves of his body afterwards and stayed that way for what seemed like an hour. It was like he was trying to mold them together. Logan Echolls, despite all his bravado and sexual experience, was a snuggler.
She hummed into his skin. “I think you should get that place by campus. If it’s still available.”
“Yeah?” he asked hopefully.
She smiled. “Definitely.”
---
Veronica looked around at the anatomical posters and charts lining the walls of the room. She didn’t understand why doctors took their décor so literally. It’s not like they lined the walls of Mars Investigations with posters of peeping toms.
“Hey,” his voice broke her out of her reverie. She turned, smiling at him. “Remember when you asked me about being my emergency contact and I said there was no one else?”
“Yeah…”
“What I meant was there’s no one else.” He reached for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “And I don’t want there to be.”
She didn’t know what to say, so she kissed him and hoped that that said it all.
“Okay.” Dr. Menze coughed, entering the room. They broke apart and she ducked her head, embarrassed. “Ready to get your arm back, Logan?”
“You know, doctor, I’ve found that you don’t really need it as long as you have other appendages.”
“Logan!” she exclaimed, blushing furiously as Dr. Menze chuckled.
Dr. Menze lifted Logan’s arm, observing the cast curiously. They had blacked out their messages with a thick Sharpe the night before, leaving streaks of black lines covering the white material. It was slightly scary, no longer having the safety cushion of the cast.
“Hmm, haven’t seen that design before,” Dr. Menze remarked with a smile. “Okay, let’s begin.”
When it was all gone and done, Logan turned to her and joked, “You know, you’re gonna have to talk to me now.”
She smiled and whispered into his ear the only words she had yet to write.
End