falling backward
Title: falling backward
Author: ashley
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 744
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Veronica exits the scene, Logan muses.
Spoilers: Episode 1.18, “Weapons of Class Destruction”
Author's Note: Work in Progress. Unbetaed, first attempt at VM fic. Feel free to abuse/offer criticism.
He told himself that she wasn't running away, she was simply exiting the scene at an accelerated pace, and if she was running, it certainly wasn't from him. That didn't, of course, change the fact that she'd stared up at him as though she were a deer caught in the headlights of his eyes, making him simultaneously want to chase her down the steps and start reciting Shakespeare. But she was in her car and her car was in reverse and out of the parking lot before he could do either of those things, and he was left standing there like a complete jackass, thinking that wow, this was like an incredibly bad movie. The kind of movie that his father (or, far more likely, his mother) would have starred in.
The kind of movie that he would have avoided at all costs, especially if it involved watching his father (or, again, mom) involved in a spectacular makeout session with his (or her) archnemesis on the balcony of a cheap motel. But really, better not to think of his parents and hot, Veronica Mars kisses and movies and the burning soft lips of Veronica Mars. Really, really, really better not to think about Veronica Mars at all.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, hands that only minutes ago had been wrapped around (Veronica Mars) and began tracing her invisible footprints down the stairs of the Camelot, past the spot where she had paused, key in lock, and over to his own car. His door was unlocked (he hadn't had time to think of such petty things as locked doors when there were damsels in distress to be worried about) and he slid into the driver's seat without a clue about what to do next until his phone rang, chirpily blaring the "Murder She Wrote" theme, the tone he'd assigned to Veronica Mars. He picked it up without thinking.
"Yeah."
"Well," she began, nervous sounding and quiet, not the steely Veronica Mars of pre-kiss, post-Lilly, present-day as of two hours ago. "Where I come from, 'hello' is usually the telephone greeting of choice, but I guess --" She broke off and Logan smiled to himself, keeping quiet for a long second. He smiled because Veronica Mars sounded vulnerable and he couldn't help but think that it was because of -- well, it was obvious, really.
"I think we need to talk," he said quietly, ready to turn the key and follow her to wherever she deemed appropriate; her house, his house, the girl's bathroom at Neptune High or the Neptune fucking Grand, because they didn't need to talk -- Logan Echolls plus Veronica Mars using their mouths for anything that didn't involve fiery hot kisses always equaled trouble --
"And lucky for us," she answered, her voice slowly regaining confidence as she discovered that she had the upper hand, "We've got Alexander Graham Bell's most famous invention to use and abuse to our advantage."
"You called me," he reminded her, knowing that if she hadn't called him it would only have been a matter of seconds before he'd picked up the phone himself and called her, so it really wasn't a matter of who-called-who. "And if this is -- let's just save the 'it was a mistake' chat until we've actually had time to ruminate over the circumstances and decide that it was actually a mistake, alright?"
Her pause was long and the silence thick, even for a phone call, but when she finally spoke he decided that the forty-five seconds of awkward silence was absolutely worth it. "That's just it," she replied softly, and he wasn't sure if he'd heard her. "I'm not -- I don't think that it was a... do you?"
"No," he said quickly, too quickly for it to have any validity at all, but so fervently that she believed it. "I don't think it was a -- look, can you meet me?"
"I have to take care of something else, but... yeah," she answered, and he could tell by her tone that her mind was elsewhere. "I'll call you?"
"Okay." He didn't give her a chance to say anything else, anything that might have damaged his suddenly fragile male ego, just closed the phone and stared for several long seconds at the balcony before starting the car and backing out of the Camelot parking lot. His house, her house, Neptune High or the Neptune Grand. It didn't matter.
Author: ashley
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 744
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Veronica exits the scene, Logan muses.
Spoilers: Episode 1.18, “Weapons of Class Destruction”
Author's Note: Work in Progress. Unbetaed, first attempt at VM fic. Feel free to abuse/offer criticism.
He told himself that she wasn't running away, she was simply exiting the scene at an accelerated pace, and if she was running, it certainly wasn't from him. That didn't, of course, change the fact that she'd stared up at him as though she were a deer caught in the headlights of his eyes, making him simultaneously want to chase her down the steps and start reciting Shakespeare. But she was in her car and her car was in reverse and out of the parking lot before he could do either of those things, and he was left standing there like a complete jackass, thinking that wow, this was like an incredibly bad movie. The kind of movie that his father (or, far more likely, his mother) would have starred in.
The kind of movie that he would have avoided at all costs, especially if it involved watching his father (or, again, mom) involved in a spectacular makeout session with his (or her) archnemesis on the balcony of a cheap motel. But really, better not to think of his parents and hot, Veronica Mars kisses and movies and the burning soft lips of Veronica Mars. Really, really, really better not to think about Veronica Mars at all.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, hands that only minutes ago had been wrapped around (Veronica Mars) and began tracing her invisible footprints down the stairs of the Camelot, past the spot where she had paused, key in lock, and over to his own car. His door was unlocked (he hadn't had time to think of such petty things as locked doors when there were damsels in distress to be worried about) and he slid into the driver's seat without a clue about what to do next until his phone rang, chirpily blaring the "Murder She Wrote" theme, the tone he'd assigned to Veronica Mars. He picked it up without thinking.
"Yeah."
"Well," she began, nervous sounding and quiet, not the steely Veronica Mars of pre-kiss, post-Lilly, present-day as of two hours ago. "Where I come from, 'hello' is usually the telephone greeting of choice, but I guess --" She broke off and Logan smiled to himself, keeping quiet for a long second. He smiled because Veronica Mars sounded vulnerable and he couldn't help but think that it was because of -- well, it was obvious, really.
"I think we need to talk," he said quietly, ready to turn the key and follow her to wherever she deemed appropriate; her house, his house, the girl's bathroom at Neptune High or the Neptune fucking Grand, because they didn't need to talk -- Logan Echolls plus Veronica Mars using their mouths for anything that didn't involve fiery hot kisses always equaled trouble --
"And lucky for us," she answered, her voice slowly regaining confidence as she discovered that she had the upper hand, "We've got Alexander Graham Bell's most famous invention to use and abuse to our advantage."
"You called me," he reminded her, knowing that if she hadn't called him it would only have been a matter of seconds before he'd picked up the phone himself and called her, so it really wasn't a matter of who-called-who. "And if this is -- let's just save the 'it was a mistake' chat until we've actually had time to ruminate over the circumstances and decide that it was actually a mistake, alright?"
Her pause was long and the silence thick, even for a phone call, but when she finally spoke he decided that the forty-five seconds of awkward silence was absolutely worth it. "That's just it," she replied softly, and he wasn't sure if he'd heard her. "I'm not -- I don't think that it was a... do you?"
"No," he said quickly, too quickly for it to have any validity at all, but so fervently that she believed it. "I don't think it was a -- look, can you meet me?"
"I have to take care of something else, but... yeah," she answered, and he could tell by her tone that her mind was elsewhere. "I'll call you?"
"Okay." He didn't give her a chance to say anything else, anything that might have damaged his suddenly fragile male ego, just closed the phone and stared for several long seconds at the balcony before starting the car and backing out of the Camelot parking lot. His house, her house, Neptune High or the Neptune Grand. It didn't matter.