Fic: Greet Death (V/L, Veronica) PG
Title: Greet Death
Author: x_reasonswhy
Pairing/Character: V/L (sort of, if you want), Veronica
Word Count: ~1200
Rating: PG
Summary: Wallace is the first to die.
Spoilers: Nothing specific.
Warnings: Character death abounds.
Notes: Written for the Apocalypse How? prompt at vmfic_gameon; title from the Explosions in the Sky song of the same name.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.
After everything, this is how it ends-
Wallace is the first to die.
It's sudden and painful and everything someone like him doesn't deserve. The bombing comes out of nowhere, exploding the Sac 'N Pac on a Thursday night. Wallace is closing by himself, and there's no real reason anyone would want to blow up a grocery store with one person in it, but there it is.
And what Veronica can’t understand as she watches the newscast is how most people go through life without having one of their best friends die, but somehow she's managed to lose two.
As it turns out, though, that's really the least of her problems. Because while Wallace is the first to die, he's not the last. Not even close.
Initially, they refer to his death as the beginning of the end, but they stop soon - no one cares anymore who was first, and everyone has their own dead to worry about. Besides, he's only one of hundreds blown to pieces by falling bombs from unmarked planes.
And then, he's only one of millions.
The country is under attack, and by the time they realize that it's not just a few unrelated incidents across the country, the people with the technology to stop the explosions are already gone, too.
It bothers her at first that they can’t find anyone to blame, but after a while, Veronica realizes it doesn't matter who's behind it. Everything's going to end anyway.
The news reports slow, then stop completely. She and her dad eat canned corn with plastic forks, drink water that will make them sick if they live long enough for it, and try to act like the world isn't literally falling to pieces around them. The smell of death fills the streets, intertwining itself with everything, and anytime there isn't a bomb going off, the world feels strangely quiet.
And the silence is the worst.
The silence isn't silence at all.
In the space between the bombs, there are screams and shrieks, there are moans and wails. They echo constantly, night and day, mingled in the air with the sounds of grief and pain.
There is nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. It's not like the town of Neptune has any kind of fall-out shelter that can protect them from this.
At some point, she learns that Dick and Mac have died on the same day, although not in the same place. And, at some point, Weevil and Piz and Parker and everyone else dies, too. They die on Mondays and Fridays, at noon and at midnight-and each death makes her cry until she realizes she doesn't even know whose deaths she's crying for.
And then, Mars Investigations blows up when she's out looking for food.
It happens on a Tuesday, although that doesn't really matter anymore either.
Because now she's alone.
Well, not alone. Logan's still there. And she guesses she can count him when three-fourths of the town is ash, and he hasn't really done anything to her that's as bad as blowing up the United States. She doesn't know how she knows he's still alive, but she's convinced she would feel it if he turned into dust, too.
So, on the Thursday after her dad dies-and, for all intents and purposes, her own world end-she goes to find him. It takes a while, but not as long as you might think, considering half the town doesn't exist anymore.
He's sitting on the beach, all long limbs and exhaustion, his eyes on her the moment she steps into the sand. He has a bottle of vodka in his hand, and she's not sure she wants to know where he managed to find that. Or why he even bothered. Actually, she knows why he bothered. There's something a little too appealing about the idea of drinking herself into oblivion so she doesn't have to watch it all end.
"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world..." He trails off as she flings herself unceremoniously onto the sand.
"Yeah, well, here's looking at you, kid." She grabs the bottle of vodka, tilts it back toward him, and then takes a drink. Her first thought is that it burns going down, but she's seen what burning looks like, and this isn't it.
She replaces her grimace with a twisted smirk, and raises an eyebrow at Logan.
"So, do you think we can count this as epic?" She doesn't really know why she's bringing it up, but sitting there next to him, it is all she can think about. It doesn't matter now, and it won't matter tomorrow, but talking about this is at least easier than talking about dying and bombs and the fact that her dad doesn't exist anymore.
"What?" His eyes are on hers as his hands grabs the bottle back, cradling it close to him like a small child.
"You know, lives lost and bloodshed?" She laughs, but it's a hollow sound, lost against the waves pounding at the beach. "Oh, I forgot." And suddenly, she's standing outside his door at the Neptune Grand, thinking that the Devil is a woman and her name is Kendall Casablancas. "You don't remember that conversation."
He shakes his head. "I remember; bits and pieces, but I remember." Silence stretches between them, before he adds, "Well, at least they can write a song about us now."
She laughs again, and this time there's a genuine touch of twisted amusement to it. "I don't think there's going to be anyone left to write us a song, Logan."
At that, he takes another drink. "It's the thought that counts."
They sit in silence again. There are other words they should say, things they should talk about, but for now, this is enough. The bombings are growing more frequent, and it's only a matter of time before one comes too close. And they both know it's going to be sooner rather than later.
She turns to Logan. “I never would have thought we'd be the last ones left.” At his raised eyebrow, she adds, “After everything we’ve been through, you’d think we’d have run out of second chances.”
“I’ve come to the conclusion that we are impervious to death.”
“We don’t deserve it,” she says after a moment. Her words are soft and more to herself than anything else, but Logan doesn’t respond-doesn’t tell her she’s wrong-and Veronica knows he understands.
His hand finds hers after a moment, and together they sit and watch Neptune burn.
And after everything, this is how it ends-
-they won’t wake up the next morning.
Author: x_reasonswhy
Pairing/Character: V/L (sort of, if you want), Veronica
Word Count: ~1200
Rating: PG
Summary: Wallace is the first to die.
Spoilers: Nothing specific.
Warnings: Character death abounds.
Notes: Written for the Apocalypse How? prompt at vmfic_gameon; title from the Explosions in the Sky song of the same name.
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.
After everything, this is how it ends-
Wallace is the first to die.
It's sudden and painful and everything someone like him doesn't deserve. The bombing comes out of nowhere, exploding the Sac 'N Pac on a Thursday night. Wallace is closing by himself, and there's no real reason anyone would want to blow up a grocery store with one person in it, but there it is.
And what Veronica can’t understand as she watches the newscast is how most people go through life without having one of their best friends die, but somehow she's managed to lose two.
As it turns out, though, that's really the least of her problems. Because while Wallace is the first to die, he's not the last. Not even close.
Initially, they refer to his death as the beginning of the end, but they stop soon - no one cares anymore who was first, and everyone has their own dead to worry about. Besides, he's only one of hundreds blown to pieces by falling bombs from unmarked planes.
And then, he's only one of millions.
The country is under attack, and by the time they realize that it's not just a few unrelated incidents across the country, the people with the technology to stop the explosions are already gone, too.
It bothers her at first that they can’t find anyone to blame, but after a while, Veronica realizes it doesn't matter who's behind it. Everything's going to end anyway.
The news reports slow, then stop completely. She and her dad eat canned corn with plastic forks, drink water that will make them sick if they live long enough for it, and try to act like the world isn't literally falling to pieces around them. The smell of death fills the streets, intertwining itself with everything, and anytime there isn't a bomb going off, the world feels strangely quiet.
And the silence is the worst.
The silence isn't silence at all.
In the space between the bombs, there are screams and shrieks, there are moans and wails. They echo constantly, night and day, mingled in the air with the sounds of grief and pain.
There is nowhere to go and nowhere to hide. It's not like the town of Neptune has any kind of fall-out shelter that can protect them from this.
At some point, she learns that Dick and Mac have died on the same day, although not in the same place. And, at some point, Weevil and Piz and Parker and everyone else dies, too. They die on Mondays and Fridays, at noon and at midnight-and each death makes her cry until she realizes she doesn't even know whose deaths she's crying for.
And then, Mars Investigations blows up when she's out looking for food.
It happens on a Tuesday, although that doesn't really matter anymore either.
Because now she's alone.
Well, not alone. Logan's still there. And she guesses she can count him when three-fourths of the town is ash, and he hasn't really done anything to her that's as bad as blowing up the United States. She doesn't know how she knows he's still alive, but she's convinced she would feel it if he turned into dust, too.
So, on the Thursday after her dad dies-and, for all intents and purposes, her own world end-she goes to find him. It takes a while, but not as long as you might think, considering half the town doesn't exist anymore.
He's sitting on the beach, all long limbs and exhaustion, his eyes on her the moment she steps into the sand. He has a bottle of vodka in his hand, and she's not sure she wants to know where he managed to find that. Or why he even bothered. Actually, she knows why he bothered. There's something a little too appealing about the idea of drinking herself into oblivion so she doesn't have to watch it all end.
"Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world..." He trails off as she flings herself unceremoniously onto the sand.
"Yeah, well, here's looking at you, kid." She grabs the bottle of vodka, tilts it back toward him, and then takes a drink. Her first thought is that it burns going down, but she's seen what burning looks like, and this isn't it.
She replaces her grimace with a twisted smirk, and raises an eyebrow at Logan.
"So, do you think we can count this as epic?" She doesn't really know why she's bringing it up, but sitting there next to him, it is all she can think about. It doesn't matter now, and it won't matter tomorrow, but talking about this is at least easier than talking about dying and bombs and the fact that her dad doesn't exist anymore.
"What?" His eyes are on hers as his hands grabs the bottle back, cradling it close to him like a small child.
"You know, lives lost and bloodshed?" She laughs, but it's a hollow sound, lost against the waves pounding at the beach. "Oh, I forgot." And suddenly, she's standing outside his door at the Neptune Grand, thinking that the Devil is a woman and her name is Kendall Casablancas. "You don't remember that conversation."
He shakes his head. "I remember; bits and pieces, but I remember." Silence stretches between them, before he adds, "Well, at least they can write a song about us now."
She laughs again, and this time there's a genuine touch of twisted amusement to it. "I don't think there's going to be anyone left to write us a song, Logan."
At that, he takes another drink. "It's the thought that counts."
They sit in silence again. There are other words they should say, things they should talk about, but for now, this is enough. The bombings are growing more frequent, and it's only a matter of time before one comes too close. And they both know it's going to be sooner rather than later.
She turns to Logan. “I never would have thought we'd be the last ones left.” At his raised eyebrow, she adds, “After everything we’ve been through, you’d think we’d have run out of second chances.”
“I’ve come to the conclusion that we are impervious to death.”
“We don’t deserve it,” she says after a moment. Her words are soft and more to herself than anything else, but Logan doesn’t respond-doesn’t tell her she’s wrong-and Veronica knows he understands.
His hand finds hers after a moment, and together they sit and watch Neptune burn.
And after everything, this is how it ends-
-they won’t wake up the next morning.