Fic: Known too Late, Chapter 2 (Logan/Veronica, Wallace) PG-13
Title: Known too Late, Chapter 2/?
Author: ladydisdain225
Character/Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Wallace
Word count: 1000
Summary: Set after the season finale. Logan POV This chapter's rather angsty. Logan can be melodramatic sometimes, and he doesn't have a Wallace to cheer him up. Sigh. Everyone needs a Wallace.
Rating: PG-13, for language
Spoilers: Through 1x22
Disclaimer: VM is the property of Rob Thomas, the lucky bastard.
Author's Note: Sorry its taken me so long to add to this; I've been on a major music video kick.
Chapter one is located here: http://www.livejournal.com/community/veronicamarsfic/137680.html
Additional This chapter has been reworked upon the most excellent advice of sexycereal
“Anything else, hon?” The waitress, a pretty redhead with tired eyes and a sympathetic smile, gives him a questioning look.
He’s been sitting there all day. Most days in fact. The coffeeshop was clean and relatively pleasant, and most importantly blessedly free of any reminders of the murdering bastard who’d fathered him. He couldn’t stay home. The place was a mausoleum, a shrine to the great Aaron Echolls. The last thing he wanted was reminders.
The waitress - April - was polite enough to pretend she didn’t know who he was and nice enough not to hassle him about taking one of her tables all day. He guessed that was why he kept ordering coffee long after he was drowning in the stuff. It was nice to have someone on his side, even a complete stranger.
He hadn’t had anyone he could count on, not since Veronica. Except, of course, he couldn’t count on her. He couldn’t count on anyone. That was the problem.
He doesn’t remember how he got to her door, but suddenly she’s there and she’s smiling at him and for a second he feels like the boyfriend again. Like the last few days were just a horrible dream and she’s really still in his arms in the poolhouse telling him she trusts him.
But it wasn’t a dream. The bruises on her face won’t go away when the sun comes up.
If she had bothered to trust him at all, he would have been there. Would have helped her. Would have killed his fucking father for what he did to Lilly, for daring to think he could touch Veronica.
She didn’t trust him. She never had. Not enough to cross the memory of the dead girl who’d ruined her perfect pastel existence with her blood.
God, it was last year all over again. She’d sold him out for Lilly.
He closes his eyes and fumbles for the flask in his pocket. He can’t afford to think of Veronica. He’s hating too many people right now to hate her too. And he’s not sure what would happen if he let himself not hate her.
April sets down the coffee, tactfully pretending not to notice the open flask in his hand.
The door opens and he looks over automatically. The press hasn’t found him yet but it’s only a matter of time. He stiffens when he recognizes Veronica’s friend, the basketball player, and his eyes fly to the guy’s companion, relaxing when he sees not a diminutive blond with a chip on her shoulder, but a pleasant-faced brunette who he thinks was in his freshman biology class. She’s laughing about something as they're led to their seats in an opposite corner and it’s all so fucking sweet and normal he could throw up.
Instead he focuses on achieving oblivion, on forgetting that normal is something he can never have.
She’s whispering an apology and part of him just wants to hold her, relieved that she’s okay, and forget that she’d drop him again in a heartbeat. But he’s hurt and tired and more than a little drunk and he knows he can’t take another betrayal. Not from her. Who would have thought that the girl he’d spent a whole year trying to tear down was the one person who could destroy him utterly?
His voice is harsh, and he cuts her off savagely, twisting the knife in a way he’s gotten all too good at. Let her go back to hating him, if she’d ever really stopped.
“Boy, I really know how to pick them, don’t I?”
He doesn’t let himself look at her, he can’t risk softening. If he breaks down he’ll drown in her - and he knows part of him doesn’t care.
“My first love cheats on me with my fucking father, the rebound chick cheats on me with the help, and my new girl thinks I’m capable of murder.”
“Logan, I didn’t -”
He hears the sob in her voice and rushes on “But you were never mine were you? I was just another tool for you to use.” It’s not true. He knows it even as he says it, but, God, it feels true. “Well, I guess that explains everything.”
She’s pleading with him now and he knows that if he stops to listen at all, he’s lost. “No, really, I’m so happy I was useful for your little vigilante mission.” The words slur together as the accusations ring out, and suddenly he has to stop himself because if he doesn’t he’s going to start crying and he’s damned if he’s going to cry in front of her again. So he has to listen to her next sentence, hears her swear she wasn’t trying to hurt him.
He speaks slowly, trying to maintain control of himself, but he can’t keep from hitting the doorframe in his frustration. He feels her flinch and realizes she’s thinking of his father, of the violence that is his legacy. She’s afraid of him. He’s never touched her, even when all he wanted was to hurt her he had never - but she doesn’t even trust him enough for that.
He can’t continue like this. Cause even though he hates her for it, she’s right. If he stays, he’s only going to hurt her, maybe even more than she’ll hurt him. Fire and water they’ll consume and destroy and leave nothing of each other in the passing. A feeling he’s only ever felt once before comes over him and he knows he has to go now while he has the strength to leave. For the first time since she opened the door he looks at her again, reaching out a shaking hand to stroke her hair before jamming it back in his pocket. He turns to go and tries not to break as he hears her crying behind him.
He can’t let himself think about it, but he can’t forget. So he empties the flask and tries not to think at all.
Author: ladydisdain225
Character/Pairing: Logan/Veronica, Wallace
Word count: 1000
Summary: Set after the season finale. Logan POV This chapter's rather angsty. Logan can be melodramatic sometimes, and he doesn't have a Wallace to cheer him up. Sigh. Everyone needs a Wallace.
Rating: PG-13, for language
Spoilers: Through 1x22
Disclaimer: VM is the property of Rob Thomas, the lucky bastard.
Author's Note: Sorry its taken me so long to add to this; I've been on a major music video kick.
Chapter one is located here: http://www.livejournal.com/community/veronicamarsfic/137680.html
Additional This chapter has been reworked upon the most excellent advice of sexycereal
“Anything else, hon?” The waitress, a pretty redhead with tired eyes and a sympathetic smile, gives him a questioning look.
He’s been sitting there all day. Most days in fact. The coffeeshop was clean and relatively pleasant, and most importantly blessedly free of any reminders of the murdering bastard who’d fathered him. He couldn’t stay home. The place was a mausoleum, a shrine to the great Aaron Echolls. The last thing he wanted was reminders.
The waitress - April - was polite enough to pretend she didn’t know who he was and nice enough not to hassle him about taking one of her tables all day. He guessed that was why he kept ordering coffee long after he was drowning in the stuff. It was nice to have someone on his side, even a complete stranger.
He hadn’t had anyone he could count on, not since Veronica. Except, of course, he couldn’t count on her. He couldn’t count on anyone. That was the problem.
He doesn’t remember how he got to her door, but suddenly she’s there and she’s smiling at him and for a second he feels like the boyfriend again. Like the last few days were just a horrible dream and she’s really still in his arms in the poolhouse telling him she trusts him.
But it wasn’t a dream. The bruises on her face won’t go away when the sun comes up.
If she had bothered to trust him at all, he would have been there. Would have helped her. Would have killed his fucking father for what he did to Lilly, for daring to think he could touch Veronica.
She didn’t trust him. She never had. Not enough to cross the memory of the dead girl who’d ruined her perfect pastel existence with her blood.
God, it was last year all over again. She’d sold him out for Lilly.
He closes his eyes and fumbles for the flask in his pocket. He can’t afford to think of Veronica. He’s hating too many people right now to hate her too. And he’s not sure what would happen if he let himself not hate her.
April sets down the coffee, tactfully pretending not to notice the open flask in his hand.
The door opens and he looks over automatically. The press hasn’t found him yet but it’s only a matter of time. He stiffens when he recognizes Veronica’s friend, the basketball player, and his eyes fly to the guy’s companion, relaxing when he sees not a diminutive blond with a chip on her shoulder, but a pleasant-faced brunette who he thinks was in his freshman biology class. She’s laughing about something as they're led to their seats in an opposite corner and it’s all so fucking sweet and normal he could throw up.
Instead he focuses on achieving oblivion, on forgetting that normal is something he can never have.
She’s whispering an apology and part of him just wants to hold her, relieved that she’s okay, and forget that she’d drop him again in a heartbeat. But he’s hurt and tired and more than a little drunk and he knows he can’t take another betrayal. Not from her. Who would have thought that the girl he’d spent a whole year trying to tear down was the one person who could destroy him utterly?
His voice is harsh, and he cuts her off savagely, twisting the knife in a way he’s gotten all too good at. Let her go back to hating him, if she’d ever really stopped.
“Boy, I really know how to pick them, don’t I?”
He doesn’t let himself look at her, he can’t risk softening. If he breaks down he’ll drown in her - and he knows part of him doesn’t care.
“My first love cheats on me with my fucking father, the rebound chick cheats on me with the help, and my new girl thinks I’m capable of murder.”
“Logan, I didn’t -”
He hears the sob in her voice and rushes on “But you were never mine were you? I was just another tool for you to use.” It’s not true. He knows it even as he says it, but, God, it feels true. “Well, I guess that explains everything.”
She’s pleading with him now and he knows that if he stops to listen at all, he’s lost. “No, really, I’m so happy I was useful for your little vigilante mission.” The words slur together as the accusations ring out, and suddenly he has to stop himself because if he doesn’t he’s going to start crying and he’s damned if he’s going to cry in front of her again. So he has to listen to her next sentence, hears her swear she wasn’t trying to hurt him.
He speaks slowly, trying to maintain control of himself, but he can’t keep from hitting the doorframe in his frustration. He feels her flinch and realizes she’s thinking of his father, of the violence that is his legacy. She’s afraid of him. He’s never touched her, even when all he wanted was to hurt her he had never - but she doesn’t even trust him enough for that.
He can’t continue like this. Cause even though he hates her for it, she’s right. If he stays, he’s only going to hurt her, maybe even more than she’ll hurt him. Fire and water they’ll consume and destroy and leave nothing of each other in the passing. A feeling he’s only ever felt once before comes over him and he knows he has to go now while he has the strength to leave. For the first time since she opened the door he looks at her again, reaching out a shaking hand to stroke her hair before jamming it back in his pocket. He turns to go and tries not to break as he hears her crying behind him.
He can’t let himself think about it, but he can’t forget. So he empties the flask and tries not to think at all.