the sky above - logan/veronica
Title: the sky above
Pairing: logan/veronica
Rating: pg
Spoilers: through ep. 15
Disclaimer: the characters are not mine; vm, et al. belongs to upn and rob thomas.
Notes: For (and betaed by) metafic.
---
He doesn't remember how they got there, except that they are there. Sitting on the hood of her car and staring at the setting sun. If he believed in romance -- which he doesn't, not since Lilly died -- he might think that this was romantic.
Except that it's not.
He still feels hung over from the night he'll never live down. He -- some part of him -- keeps regretting being too drunk to notice Duncan breaking Veronica's heart.
And Veronica.
She looks as though she hasn't slept in weeks. And if he worried -- which he doesn't. That would imply caring -- he'd ask her what's wrong. But he's not that sort of guy. They don't have the type of relationship where he can worry. Where he can admit he cares.
So he just lets her tug them into the backseat of her car. He lets her curl up in his arms. He ignores that his arms tighten around her. He pretends that he is somewhere else. Anywhere else.
He stares at the sunset until it's almost gone. Stares until he can't pretend any longer. He shifts, first himself, then her. He takes a breath, breathing her in. She smells nothing like Lilly. Nothing like she used to smell when she was with Duncan.
At least he knows what changed.
He presses his face against her neck, brushing his lips against her skin, and he doesn't pretend. He doesn't bother not crying. He is too exhausted to care.
She doesn't wake as his tears slip along her hair and onto her neck. And when she does, she won't know. It will be as though nothing had happened.
Just the way he wants.
Pairing: logan/veronica
Rating: pg
Spoilers: through ep. 15
Disclaimer: the characters are not mine; vm, et al. belongs to upn and rob thomas.
Notes: For (and betaed by) metafic.
---
He doesn't remember how they got there, except that they are there. Sitting on the hood of her car and staring at the setting sun. If he believed in romance -- which he doesn't, not since Lilly died -- he might think that this was romantic.
Except that it's not.
He still feels hung over from the night he'll never live down. He -- some part of him -- keeps regretting being too drunk to notice Duncan breaking Veronica's heart.
And Veronica.
She looks as though she hasn't slept in weeks. And if he worried -- which he doesn't. That would imply caring -- he'd ask her what's wrong. But he's not that sort of guy. They don't have the type of relationship where he can worry. Where he can admit he cares.
So he just lets her tug them into the backseat of her car. He lets her curl up in his arms. He ignores that his arms tighten around her. He pretends that he is somewhere else. Anywhere else.
He stares at the sunset until it's almost gone. Stares until he can't pretend any longer. He shifts, first himself, then her. He takes a breath, breathing her in. She smells nothing like Lilly. Nothing like she used to smell when she was with Duncan.
At least he knows what changed.
He presses his face against her neck, brushing his lips against her skin, and he doesn't pretend. He doesn't bother not crying. He is too exhausted to care.
She doesn't wake as his tears slip along her hair and onto her neck. And when she does, she won't know. It will be as though nothing had happened.
Just the way he wants.