[fic] the dictionary definition of
YOU KNOW WHAT: EVEN I DON'T BELIEVE WHAT THIS IS. First, I am done with Veronica Mars and I am devastated and in withdrawal. And I'm just thinking that if I hadn't know the movie was going to happen, I may have jumped off a bridge right about now, even though I personally thought the finale was gorgeous. And there are people who survived six years of knowing/believing that finale was the finale? I salute you, monsieurs. Secondly, why am I always doing things no one cares about at absolutely odd times? Like writing what feels like a million words of Parker!fic when everyone is possibly discussing TVD (which I thought was hilarious, and also, that there is no space in my head for anything except VM). Why is my life this. Thirdly, can I just say that ordinarily something like Parker/Logan would be my OTP. Any other show and I'd have been shipping these characters to hell and back and agonizing about the lack of fic and fandom interest. YET THIS SHOW HAS RUINED ME TO THE EXTENT THAT I CAN'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. Beyond, of course, what do Parker-and-Piz think about dating Veronica-and-Logan, which is obv what this fic is. Because I looked around for that and didn't find it, and so I wrote it. Because I'm the worst. If anyone bothers reading this, I thank you muchly.
the dictionary definition of
veronica mars | parker; parker/logan, logan/veronica, veronica/piz
r | late season 3 onwards | canon-compliant | one-shot | > 5600
in·ti·ma·cy /ˈintəməsē/ It breeds familiarity. Or love. Maybe love.
[a cosy and private or relaxed atmosphere]
“Sure.”
Veronica’s smile is wide, almost inviting and Parker smiles back, something like relief unclogging the back of her throat. She tries not to notice Veronica's knuckles turning white with the strength of her grip on the coffee cup. These are details she's learning to compartmentalize.
“I just really didn’t want things to be awkward between us”. The whole truth and nothing but.
She's not sure if she can pull the chair next to her and just sit down. Doesn't know if they're there yet. Maybe not quite. Maybe there's an etiquette or code to talking to the ex-girlfriend of your current boyfriend who was also your friend. Sort of. Although she's pretty certain the code in general reads something along the lines of "don't." She doesn't know whether that's a 'don't date the guy' or 'don't talk to her', but a 'don't' nonetheless.
“Why would they be,” Veronica’s smile grows impossibly wider, doesn’t wait for the answer to a question Parker knows isn’t one, "we're fine, really, Parker."
"I wanted to make sure it was okay with you." she's pushing this now, but for some reason this is important; this isn't high school, she can't let one of the only friends she has in this place walk away because of some guy, even if its Logan. Especially it it's "Logan said he talked to you but--"
"He did," Veronica says, brightly, but it's the too-bright light of a naked bulb, like being under the interrogation light in the Sheriff's department, "and I told him the same thing. And I appreciate you asking, I really do. I have to rush for this case thing, but I’ll see you around, yeah?”
The sloshing of liquid in the still-full cup marks the beat of her steps as she walks away. Veronica's almost reached the door, when she turns back and waves, once. It's awkward, as she half raises her hand and then can't seem to remember what to do with it. But maybe that is enough. It's an unnecessary gesture and it's for Parker, so maybe that is more than enough.
The next time she sees Veronica around, it’s the back of her head as she quickly looks away when Parker takes Logan’s hand in the middle of the food court, balancing her tray with the other. Logan smiles down at her, tightening the grip, before turning around to look for a free seat.
She doesn’t know why she still bothers pretending to not know why she does it just then.
.
[euphemistic: sexual intercourse]
There’s that thing people do, Parker’s starting to realize, where they see a loud, blonde girl who likes boys and dressing pretty and firmly categorize her under slut.
It’s not that it didn’t happen before to her; it’s just that it’s more obvious when you have a whiteboard outside your dorm-room and a campus full of faceless people with black markers.
“They’re idiots.” Logan tells her, between kisses, when she’s melting into the hard lines of his chest, and for a moment she thinks he can read her mind, because it’s Logan and he’s always something of a mystery- before she realizes she’d voiced it out loud, "people are idiots. It's one of those constants of the world you can always take comfort in."
It doesn't matter so much when she's like this, when he's like this, when they're like this. Then the word just fades into white noise. Then she can be a slut and it's no longer insulting. It doesn't make her feel cheap, it makes her feel desirable. Somehow she thinks she should be more embarrassed by this.
“Veronica,” he starts again, and punctuates the name with a light nip at the skin of her neck. Sometimes, she looks for symbolism. Most times, she doesn’t know where to start, “would’ve never gotten through high school if she’d listened.”
Are you thinking of her, right now? she doesn't ask, because that is a question for the ages. That is a question for when she wants to know the answers and not a question for when she just wants him. “She doesn’t seem like the type to ever develop a reputation like that.” Because that would involve-- maybe she can imagine Veronica sleeping around, if she puts her imagination to task, but she still can't imagine Veronica vulnerable.
"A bunch of stuff happened," he shrugs, crossing his arms across his chest, and Parker watches the muscles flex underneath the broad expanse of his back. She does that a lot, she's starting to notice, it's become a sort of terrible habit that she can't seem to break. She's dating the guy, she has this guy and she still can't stop looking at him, and wanting. Veronica and he were so ridiculously mismatched that way, his hands probably spanned the length of her torso, her head presumably only reaching somewhere in the middle of his chest when they had sex, lower than strictly comfortable. She doesn't know why she just thought of that. "you know, high school. Nobody really cares whether it's true or not as long as they can spray paint it across someone's car. "
He doesn't elaborate, and she's suddenly struck by a fierce desire to hear more. "I always thought Veronica would've been one of the popular girls. You know, prom queen and everything."
That's not completely true, she hasn't thought about it at all. But if she were to, then she can't imagine Veronica not being top of the food-chain anywhere she is, not being the one to go to in a crisis, knowing that somehow she'll come through.
Logan laughs outright, "not exactly. Technically though, the official prom was cancelled, so I hosted--"
He pulls back abruptly, and she can pinpoint the exact moment his gaze shutters, the dark arousal replaced by...something else. It's not that he's difficult to read, exactly; it's just that she doesn't know him well enough to be able to. It's an odd sort of realization to come to in the middle of a luxury hotel with her bra unhooked and her shirt thrown carelessly across the expensive rug.
She climbs on his lap instead, pushing him down on the couch with one hand and stretching over him. Her head fits perfectly in the hollow where his neck meets his shoulder. Maybe that is its own kind of truth. "enough talk of the past, Echolls, I'm more interested in the next hour in the future."
"Only an hour?" He flips her around easily, and for a non-second he's fiercely concentrating on her, only her, and--
(-- that way it's not that he wouldn't answer, it's just that she didn't ask.)
.
[relating to, or indicative of one's deepest nature.]
There is something exhilarating about being with Logan Echolls. That sort of adrenalin rush when he does something impossibly ridiculous and hugely unnecessary like bribing the guy at the front of the line at the counter with way too much money to get her a decaf latte because she'll be late for class otherwise. Or like planning out an entire birthday party a month in advance, the guest list filled with people he'd rather avoid because she's almost nineteen in a month and he wants that for her. The way that he is sometimes, just intensely focused on whatever she wants in the moment.
The first time they had sex, they almost didn't. It was the first time since-- and she'd thought she could do it. She was ready. Had been since ages. And then she'd seen him over her, those eyes fixed on her and it had been-- terrifying. Or something close to it.
"We don't need to," he'd said, even though she hadn't said a word, because he doesn't find her as much a mystery as she does him apparently, "Parker, we don't need to do anything you don't want to."
She'd heard a lot of jokes about his 'bad boy' cred, mostly from Veronica and Mac, who seemed to have an established routine back when Logan and she were dating, and sometimes included Parker in for the chorus, but in the moment, the tenderness, it made her ache a little.
It had taken an hour of his thumb running slow circles on her upper thigh, which she knew he meant to be soothing and not arousing, but she was aroused anyway and just like that, she'd been ready. For real.
She'd faked it at first, moaning much too loud, afraid of losing control and allowing someone else to have that power over her again. But he'd looked straight at her and said "Parker", just once, heartbreakingly gentle, and then gone down on her for what seemed like years, till she thought she'd snap in half if she held on any longer. And let go.
("When you found out, how did you, you know, ever get over it enough to, you know--?" it was such a long time ago, she barely remembers asking it.
Veronica looked uncomfortable, which made sense because they'd known each other about two months and talked a total of some three times, two of which had involved Parker screaming at her and accusing her of allowing her to be raped. For assuming she was a slut because she was loud and blonde and enjoyed the company of boys and liked to dress pretty.
"Logan--" she'd begun finally and looked like she'd say more, but her expansive hand-gesture had fallen flat and she'd finally shrugged her shoulders in helplessness, unable to explain.
Parker hadn't understood then. She did later.
If she's keeping count, that's another thing they have in common.)
But he always switches off eventually, loses the focus, and goes back to the easy familiarity of looking around her, not only at her. The lazy quips and banter and casual conversations about nothing in particular, avoiding all the hot-spots; grades they're making, classes he doesn't attend, the future, Veronica Mars. The goodbye kisses in the quad that tell her that he assumes that neither of them will break if they don't see each other till the next day.
She doesn't even remember the day, but when she comes out of her class, looking down from the second floor corridor, she spots them standing together, too close in the way that suggests unconscious intimacy. Fall outs of having been with someone far too long. A force of habit, mostly. They're arguing about something, she can tell, although neither of their expressions reveal it; both bordering on something close to studied indifference. Veronica just looks. Tired. Like she'd rather not be dealing with this right that moment. Parker can almost spot the dark circles under her eyes, testament to long nights of stake-outs and constant moving. Collateral damage in the profession. And even though she can't read him per se, she's learning to recognize the thrum of hard energy in his body, when he's holding himself back carefully to avoid doing something stupid. Completely focused.
She sometimes wonders what it would be like to have Logan Echolls in love with you.
He looks over suddenly and catches her gaze, taking three seconds she counts off in her head to register, and as she smiles, his lips quirk and he winks suggestively, before turning back, the flirtatious half-smile slipping right off, hands clenching at his sides like he wants to shake the girl in front of him.
She thinks it must be exhausting.
.
[privacy; esp. as suitable for the telling of a secret.]
"Hey."
Piz turns back, slowly shifting his gaze from the empty parking space he'd been staring at, "oh, hey."
She clutches Logan's sweater tighter around herself. She doesn't even know why she's standing in the parking lot of the Grand on her own party in the middle of the night, except she's just so happy, she thinks she may just explode if Logan smiles at her again in the way he's been doing all evening, enjoying all her reactions to everything he's planned. It makes something inside her ache with a fierceness that leaves her nearly breathless. It's too much to handle, somehow.
"Happy birthday, by the way," Piz awkwardly shuffles from one foot to the other, hands in pockets, and she realizes with a start that she's almost forgotten he's here too, standing in the Grand parking lot in the middle of the night, "Great party. I'd have wished you earlier, but you were constantly surrounded by people, so I sent out a mega-futuristic thought wave instead, and it obviously reached, because, here you are."
She can't help it, she laughs. And for a moment, she's back in the bowling alley, Logan's arm possessively around Veronica's shoulder as Piz looks at her and Parker looks at Piz. She can still remember the feeling as a distant memory, something close to being underwater; the beginnings of a crush, the self-conscious way she'd tucked her hair behind her ear every time they'd talked that night. The way Veronica had tried to get them to talk to dissipate the obvious tension that the fact that Piz had kind of invited her alone had induced, while Logan had stood back, casually leaning against the table, and not-casually touching her at every possible opportunity, like he could stake his sense memory claim.
But that was a long time ago.
Somehow, it's ironic in the light of the fact that today Logan touched her on a number count she'd kept in her head, that when she'd gone into the balcony earlier to catch a break from what felt a lot like falling in love, she'd seen Piz and Veronica kissing. She'd come out of the building after that. Maybe they can all do the moving-on thing right.
"Where's Veronica?" she asks.
Piz looks at her in mild surprise, before something resembling resignation floods his expression. "Logan told you."
"No," she says, because why would-- "I just saw you guys. You know, on the balcony. It sure looked like something. Not the kind of moment that'd be followed by you standing here alone in the dark." The teasing lilt in her voice sounds faked even to her. It was genuine a minute ago. She wants to go back to a minute ago.
"Oh." he's silent for a while, "I thought-- she left." he looks back at the shadowed empty space, mouth quirking. He seems reconciled with it, like this is exactly what he'd expected.
"You wanna talk about it?" she's grateful it doesn't come out I want to hear about it.
He shrugs, "not particularly." and smiles at her, to take the sting out, she knows. But Piz is a nice guy, the nicest, and if she pushes a little harder-- maybe she's the one here who isn't nice.
"Wait here," she says, before moving towards her car. The six-packs are still in her trunk and she shivers a little when she remembers Logan's expression as he'd shoved far too many to count in her car and then told her they'd continue the party later with a dark, promising look. She pulls a six-pack out.
"Here," she hands him a can.
"Thanks," he swallows most of it in a long gulp and she watches the movement of his throat.
"So," she settles down on the pavement, her dress already inviting dirt. This is stupid. This is so stupid. "why did she leave?"
He looks at her from much too far away, and then drops down beside her. "I don't really know. She kissed me again near the elevator. Probably in the heat of the moment or something, and then realized she was quote unquote 'leading me on', I suppose. Or whatever. Something like that."
"Why did you think Logan told me about it? Does he know about--you guys." she doesn't really want to know. It's a beautiful night. She doesn't really want to know.
Piz laughs. Of every sound she's ever heard, it's closest to that, if not that exactly, "he knows there's nothing to know, which is all there is to know, really."
"But," and now she's pushing. She always is. With her parents, with Logan, with Veronica, and now here, it's like she can't stop. She wants Logan's intensity and Veronica's friendship and her parents pissed off, and she can't seem to stop pushing. "then why did you---"
"He saw us," Piz abruptly puts the empty can down, letting it clatter on solid ground, before opening a second one, "he was in the elevator. And-- I don't know, I suppose that's when Veronica really realized what was happening. Nothing like being caught by your ex making-out with the guy who once invited you to a bowling party apparently alone with presumably nefarious intentions while you were still together with the said ex, huh?" he smiles ruefully, he obviously remembers that time too. He's probably even more caught up on the irony than she is, because he's the critical analysis sort-of guy and she's the teen magazines sort of girl.
"What did he say?" she asks, because she remembers Logan's quips before the party as he'd picked out guys he'd thought Veronica could use as her proxy date if she came alone. She remembers laughing and joining in, till they'd honed it down to five, and debated the merits on their fingertips. It had felt ridiculous and fun and coupley and --
-- real. Setting up friends on blind-dates. Something like moving on.
Piz hadn't been on the list. Which is odd, if she thinks of it now, because Piz is the most obvious choice. Has always been the most obvious choice. Although she'd been concentrating more on Logan, so she hadn't taken it seriously and, Logan made the list, so maybe--
She doesn't complete thoughts like these even in her head. It's a beautiful night and she's nineteen today.
Piz is avoiding her eyes, she notes dimly as she turns around to look at him and he doesn't turn around, "he didn't say anything. He just, you know, went inside."
"Oh." she opens her second can; it's her fifth drink in total and she's more than a little buzzed now. "Oh." she says again, louder, just in case she didn't say it out loud the first time; she can't tell what's in her head and what she's actually said. Her head hurts. She can't hold her drinks. Never could.
Piz finally looks at her, "it's normal," he says, gently, and she thinks something along the lines of the weight of your history is pulling me down. She doesn't know what it means or who it's supposed to be addressed to, but it's rather poetic all the same, and she's drunk enough to afford poetry, "I mean, it must've been awkward for Logan too. But he looked...good today. Not good in the homoerotic he looks good sort-of way-- not that he doesn't look good, he's a very good-looking guy-- no wait." he stops, and takes a deep breath and she thinks she likes him a whole lot for trying, even though he doesn't strictly need to and neither of them are quite sure what he's trying, "he looked, I don't know, happy. Content. Okay, god, that's a lame thing to say, but..." he trails off, scratching behind his ear in an awkward gesture she's starting to pick up on. She likes the casual intimacy of knowing something about someone that they don't have to tell you; like that Logan has a very specific smile when he's trying to charm someone, or that Veronica shades her eyes when she's lying to your face because she's not very good at it.
"Thank you," she says, and means it. They drink their third beer in companionable silence. She's pretty sure they have something in common here, even if she's hazy on the what of the whole deal.
That's how Logan finds her ten minutes later, and when she looks up, he's standing there.
"Hey." he says, his eyes sliding to Piz, sitting beside her, and for a moment something flashes across his eyes. Relief, she thinks. He's relieved Piz is here. But it's gone before she can translate it into a language she's entirely familiar with, and she may have mistranslated it the first time round. She's not very good at that when it comes to him. He nods at Piz, who gives him a half-hearted grin.
"You ready to leave?" he asks, but sits down beside her instead, looking at the same spot she and Piz have been staring at for the past hour. She rests her head automatically on his shoulder. Wonders whether he had to bend down just so she could reach when Veronica tried to do the same. Even kissing couldn't have come easy to them, considering the difference in height. The logistics of Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars always seem so hard.
She's obviously just wasted now.
She waits for Piz to get up and offer to leave them alone. Make some excuse about how it's too late and you crazy kids enjoy, yeah. He doesn't. And she finds she doesn't mind.
With her head on Logan's shoulder and her fingers intertwined with his, she thinks something like we're all heartbroken by default as she looks at the tyre marks in the dust. That might not particularly mean anything, but she's drunk enough to afford poetry.
.
[an act or expression serving as a token of familiarity.]
"This isn't weird, right? Us hanging out? Because I really wanted to."
"No," Veronica tells her, and this time, she's the one bordering on drunk, "ohmygod, I love this song." She drags Parker onto the dance floor and this is, this just feels so good. Normal.
Logan when she'd told him had been less than overjoyed, "Great," he'd muttered, "just what every guy wants from his life. Just so you know, if you two decide to start sticking pins in a voodoo doll wearing a miniature version of my clothes, I have an 'in case anything happens to me' note all ready and Dick instructed to take it to the Sheriff's department in case anything happens to me. You and Veronica are listed as prime suspects with neon colors, which just lends credence to the whole deal."
She's exhausted by the time they get back to their seat, and Veronica is still brimming with energy. Bright, alive. For a moment, it's almost as if she is who she could have been if this was the sort of thing she did-- dance to trashy tunes in college bars-- instead of long nights of trying to find out if A was really cheating on B, which he probably was, because the world sucks that way. Parker can understand being jaded by that.
"So, the trip to South America stands definitively cancelled." she says, because she's working on the trust thing too.
"Oh," the corner of Veronica's mouth turns down, like she's genuinely disappointed for her, "bummer. why?"
Parker shrugs, "something about Dick's father being back and wanting to spend time with him before he goes to jail? And Logan can't afford the place alone. So."
Veronica raises a glass of something fruity, "only in Neptune." before snorting, "Logan acknowledged he can't afford something? Did you teach him the 101's of Economics and diminishing returns on a fixed inheritance? Because I think you should put that on your résumé for sure. It could even count as a social service."
Denver is less complicated that way, her parents are less complicated that way. They want her to keep her legs tightly shut and not draw attention to herself. She is less complicated that way. She believes in love songs and she believes in practicality. Somehow, that's supposed to work out.
"How is it going with Piz?" Parker asks instead, because this thing, it's a two-way street.
Veronica stares at her silently for a beat, "great!" she says brightly, "Piz is great. There's that whole deal with the FBI internship being in Virginia and how we won't see each other for three months, which sucks, but, hey, that's a real, grown-up relationship, right? Where you don't stop functioning because of something like that? Also, dad loves him, which, I'm still trying to figure out if it's a good thing or not."
"My parents hate Logan," she informs the other girl, for no particular reason, and Veronica doesn't look at her when she says, "no surprises there."
It feels important. "To real, grown-up relationships." she raises her glass and as Veronica clinks hers, echoing. It still feels important.
An hour later Veronica can barely lift her head off the table, "you know what is totally epic?" she leans in confidentially, pushing her head further down the table towards her.
"No," Parker says. She can feel muscles she didn't know she had, aching. It seems unfair somehow, "what's totally epic?"
"Train wrecks," Veronica says, slurring her words, "train wrecks are epic. Crashes and explosions and bloodshed. That's epic." she opens her eyes wide and she seems lost somehow. "you could be epic for a moment. But then you're dead." she bangs her hand limply on the table, presumably to indicate the explosion, eyes shutting slowly.
She opens them again five minutes later, "I don't feel so good." she says in a small voice, getting up. Or trying to. Parker ends up half carrying her to the bathroom, more than a little drunk herself, pulling Veronica's hair back as she dry heaves. She leans back against the skin, as the other girl clumsily reaches out into her purse, dialing with fingers that are all thumbs. Parker can hear the insistent ringing. No one picks up. Then--
This is Logan with today's inspirational greeting: "Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself" - George Bernard Shaw. Leave a message.
Parker's mouth is dry suddenly. It's probably the alcohol. The dictionary definition effect of alcohol on the human body. It dries you out. She wants water. Goddammit, she wants water.
"I need you," Veronica mumbles into her phone, half asleep on her feet. She looks younger than usual; hair pulled back, face white, hunched into herself, "drunk here. You were supposed to take me home. Desi-designed driver. Why aren't you here-already? Pick up, moron. You're doing the boyfriend thing wrong. You said I never need anything. And when I need- you. So much. You're not here."
Veronica lets the phone hang limply in her hand, before her head falls onto Parker's shoulder. She has to bend down to accommodate, and in her head Logan does the same.
The phone is still connected to his voicemail, she can tell, and Parker thinks something like: force of habit.
He doesn't call back, but she's not surprised when he shows up at the bar some ten minutes later. She'd do the math usually, but her head is spinning, and she can see the road as a Dali painting; a strew of broken, comically disproportionate headlights paving his way.
He can't seem to look straight at her, but there is a quick familiarity in his touch as he pulls Veronica to him, her head falling somewhere in the middle of his chest, lower than Parker imagines is strictly comfortable. Maybe you get used to that.
He holds out his free hand to her. She takes it. She always does.
She sits at the back with Veronica lying half across her lap, and somewhere in the middle of the long road to the Grand, she catches him looking through the rear-view mirror. At her or Veronica, she can't tell. Can't see how it matters either way.
Their eyes meet, "Sorry." he says, almost a whisper, knuckles turning white under his grip on the wheel. They both know he doesn't know what he's apologizing for. Everything. Nothing. He hasn't done anything wrong. None of them have. Veronica won't remember this tomorrow. He will. And she will. And she wishes she'd drunk more. Just-a little bit more.
The image in her mind involuntarily changes to one of his head between her thighs, his singularly focused mouth bringing her to orgasm. She can't remember what it felt like, even if academically she knows. She's experienced it. It's her memory to hold on to for as long as she wants. Even if the truth is, stuff like that only feels like something in the moment. In every memory, the actual sensation is always replaced by the curious emptiness of not exactly remembering. You can't remember a feeling, she knows. That would be a paradox.
She breaks the hold of his gaze first, looks out the window in lieu of a reply, resting her head against glass as her hand moves mechanically through soft blonde hair. She can hear the quiet tapping of his fingers on the steering.
You're a train wreck, she doesn't say.
.
[closeness of observation or knowledge of a subject.]
When it finally happens, she hams it up. She's loud and she throws in things like that must have been devastating for you because it's writ large across his face. The image of Veronica having sex with someone other than him clearly burnt into his skin somewhere. Maybe into his bruised fists.
And she wants to hurt him. More than a little. She's no saint.
There are things she has learnt about him, the kind that no one has to tell someone. So she takes in deep, shaky breaths, and opens her eyes wide and and allows him the theatricality. Maybe it makes it easier.
Five minutes later, when she's out of his apartment and he's out of her life, and as the elevator door closes on blonde hair and a concerned gaze, and she knows with absolute certainty he's going to get his heart broken in about five minutes as she did five minutes ago, she slumps against the metal.
And allows herself to cry. For real.
.
[thoroughly acquainted through study or experience.]
It's raining by the time she steps out of the polling booth.
In the distance she can see Veronica making her way through the rain, pulling her jacket around herself. She thinks of walking up and offering to share the umbrella. But it's too soon, and she's no saint. And she's already shared too much.
"Hey," when she turns around, Piz is just coming out of the other booth. His face is bruised and swollen, and she thinks of Logan's bleeding knuckles. Bloodshed. She thinks for no particular reason. And in her head, something explodes with the tap of a hand on a wooden table.
"Hi." she tries to smile, but her face feels as numb as his probably is. Maybe it's the rain. "Veronica's just over there." she points out.
Piz avoids her gaze, "yeah." He doesn't make a move to join his girlfriend. They're still together, she's sure. In a real grown-up relationship, the kind in which you don't break if you're away for three months from each other. There are odd little things that she remembers sometimes, in moments like these; sitting across from Mac, in her bed, as Logan pins Veronica to the open door of their dorm room, and tells her in a deliberately low voice how the week apart for her internship interview will feel like a month. She remembers catching Mac's eyes, and both of them turning away simultaneously. Remembers trying not to laugh at their ridiculously, desperately consuming, high-school romance.
Piz's hand hits Parker's accidentally as he raises it to run his fingers through his hair.
"Sorry."
She thinks of an hour ago, of standing on the other side of the room, tray in hand, as Logan pushes some guy to Veronica's feet. She can't recall the way he'd looked at her or Veronica had looked at him, but she remembers what she'd felt. Irrelevant. Just like every other person in the room. Maybe that's the real paradox, that she can remember the vivid, bright ache somewhere in the middle of her chest, but she can't remember the way he had looked at her. Piz had been there, she knows. She's sorry too.
"It's okay," she says, instead.
A quick upturn of his lips. He turns to look at Veronica once, before starting to walk in the opposite direction. "I'll see you around." he says. They have something in common, even if she still can't explain what.
She nods.
She's half-way across the street, when a yellow Xterra pulls in next to the polling stations. Watches it stop, as the brown-haired boy rolls down a rain-drenched window, gaze fixed on the retreating back of the girl clutching her jacket much too tightly. She can see Piz turn back at the sound of the car from where he'd been about to turn, looking at Logan looking at Veronica. So she looks at Veronica too, and for a moment, a strange sense of camaraderie settles in her bones; she can remember sitting on the curb with these two boys at three past midnight, staring at the tyre tracks of a girl long gone.
But then Logan rolls up his window again, getting out of the car and moving towards a booth, while Piz shakes his head, mouth quirking slightly, before he walks on, rounding the corner and disappearing from sight. And just like that, the moment's over. She can't remember that line about heartbreak now. It was such a long time ago.
Parker turns away, looks carefully at both sides of the road before crossing.
Moves on.
the dictionary definition of
veronica mars | parker; parker/logan, logan/veronica, veronica/piz
r | late season 3 onwards | canon-compliant | one-shot | > 5600
in·ti·ma·cy /ˈintəməsē/ It breeds familiarity. Or love. Maybe love.
[a cosy and private or relaxed atmosphere]
“Sure.”
Veronica’s smile is wide, almost inviting and Parker smiles back, something like relief unclogging the back of her throat. She tries not to notice Veronica's knuckles turning white with the strength of her grip on the coffee cup. These are details she's learning to compartmentalize.
“I just really didn’t want things to be awkward between us”. The whole truth and nothing but.
She's not sure if she can pull the chair next to her and just sit down. Doesn't know if they're there yet. Maybe not quite. Maybe there's an etiquette or code to talking to the ex-girlfriend of your current boyfriend who was also your friend. Sort of. Although she's pretty certain the code in general reads something along the lines of "don't." She doesn't know whether that's a 'don't date the guy' or 'don't talk to her', but a 'don't' nonetheless.
“Why would they be,” Veronica’s smile grows impossibly wider, doesn’t wait for the answer to a question Parker knows isn’t one, "we're fine, really, Parker."
"I wanted to make sure it was okay with you." she's pushing this now, but for some reason this is important; this isn't high school, she can't let one of the only friends she has in this place walk away because of some guy, even if its Logan. Especially it it's "Logan said he talked to you but--"
"He did," Veronica says, brightly, but it's the too-bright light of a naked bulb, like being under the interrogation light in the Sheriff's department, "and I told him the same thing. And I appreciate you asking, I really do. I have to rush for this case thing, but I’ll see you around, yeah?”
The sloshing of liquid in the still-full cup marks the beat of her steps as she walks away. Veronica's almost reached the door, when she turns back and waves, once. It's awkward, as she half raises her hand and then can't seem to remember what to do with it. But maybe that is enough. It's an unnecessary gesture and it's for Parker, so maybe that is more than enough.
The next time she sees Veronica around, it’s the back of her head as she quickly looks away when Parker takes Logan’s hand in the middle of the food court, balancing her tray with the other. Logan smiles down at her, tightening the grip, before turning around to look for a free seat.
She doesn’t know why she still bothers pretending to not know why she does it just then.
.
[euphemistic: sexual intercourse]
There’s that thing people do, Parker’s starting to realize, where they see a loud, blonde girl who likes boys and dressing pretty and firmly categorize her under slut.
It’s not that it didn’t happen before to her; it’s just that it’s more obvious when you have a whiteboard outside your dorm-room and a campus full of faceless people with black markers.
“They’re idiots.” Logan tells her, between kisses, when she’s melting into the hard lines of his chest, and for a moment she thinks he can read her mind, because it’s Logan and he’s always something of a mystery- before she realizes she’d voiced it out loud, "people are idiots. It's one of those constants of the world you can always take comfort in."
It doesn't matter so much when she's like this, when he's like this, when they're like this. Then the word just fades into white noise. Then she can be a slut and it's no longer insulting. It doesn't make her feel cheap, it makes her feel desirable. Somehow she thinks she should be more embarrassed by this.
“Veronica,” he starts again, and punctuates the name with a light nip at the skin of her neck. Sometimes, she looks for symbolism. Most times, she doesn’t know where to start, “would’ve never gotten through high school if she’d listened.”
Are you thinking of her, right now? she doesn't ask, because that is a question for the ages. That is a question for when she wants to know the answers and not a question for when she just wants him. “She doesn’t seem like the type to ever develop a reputation like that.” Because that would involve-- maybe she can imagine Veronica sleeping around, if she puts her imagination to task, but she still can't imagine Veronica vulnerable.
"A bunch of stuff happened," he shrugs, crossing his arms across his chest, and Parker watches the muscles flex underneath the broad expanse of his back. She does that a lot, she's starting to notice, it's become a sort of terrible habit that she can't seem to break. She's dating the guy, she has this guy and she still can't stop looking at him, and wanting. Veronica and he were so ridiculously mismatched that way, his hands probably spanned the length of her torso, her head presumably only reaching somewhere in the middle of his chest when they had sex, lower than strictly comfortable. She doesn't know why she just thought of that. "you know, high school. Nobody really cares whether it's true or not as long as they can spray paint it across someone's car. "
He doesn't elaborate, and she's suddenly struck by a fierce desire to hear more. "I always thought Veronica would've been one of the popular girls. You know, prom queen and everything."
That's not completely true, she hasn't thought about it at all. But if she were to, then she can't imagine Veronica not being top of the food-chain anywhere she is, not being the one to go to in a crisis, knowing that somehow she'll come through.
Logan laughs outright, "not exactly. Technically though, the official prom was cancelled, so I hosted--"
He pulls back abruptly, and she can pinpoint the exact moment his gaze shutters, the dark arousal replaced by...something else. It's not that he's difficult to read, exactly; it's just that she doesn't know him well enough to be able to. It's an odd sort of realization to come to in the middle of a luxury hotel with her bra unhooked and her shirt thrown carelessly across the expensive rug.
She climbs on his lap instead, pushing him down on the couch with one hand and stretching over him. Her head fits perfectly in the hollow where his neck meets his shoulder. Maybe that is its own kind of truth. "enough talk of the past, Echolls, I'm more interested in the next hour in the future."
"Only an hour?" He flips her around easily, and for a non-second he's fiercely concentrating on her, only her, and--
(-- that way it's not that he wouldn't answer, it's just that she didn't ask.)
.
[relating to, or indicative of one's deepest nature.]
There is something exhilarating about being with Logan Echolls. That sort of adrenalin rush when he does something impossibly ridiculous and hugely unnecessary like bribing the guy at the front of the line at the counter with way too much money to get her a decaf latte because she'll be late for class otherwise. Or like planning out an entire birthday party a month in advance, the guest list filled with people he'd rather avoid because she's almost nineteen in a month and he wants that for her. The way that he is sometimes, just intensely focused on whatever she wants in the moment.
The first time they had sex, they almost didn't. It was the first time since-- and she'd thought she could do it. She was ready. Had been since ages. And then she'd seen him over her, those eyes fixed on her and it had been-- terrifying. Or something close to it.
"We don't need to," he'd said, even though she hadn't said a word, because he doesn't find her as much a mystery as she does him apparently, "Parker, we don't need to do anything you don't want to."
She'd heard a lot of jokes about his 'bad boy' cred, mostly from Veronica and Mac, who seemed to have an established routine back when Logan and she were dating, and sometimes included Parker in for the chorus, but in the moment, the tenderness, it made her ache a little.
It had taken an hour of his thumb running slow circles on her upper thigh, which she knew he meant to be soothing and not arousing, but she was aroused anyway and just like that, she'd been ready. For real.
She'd faked it at first, moaning much too loud, afraid of losing control and allowing someone else to have that power over her again. But he'd looked straight at her and said "Parker", just once, heartbreakingly gentle, and then gone down on her for what seemed like years, till she thought she'd snap in half if she held on any longer. And let go.
("When you found out, how did you, you know, ever get over it enough to, you know--?" it was such a long time ago, she barely remembers asking it.
Veronica looked uncomfortable, which made sense because they'd known each other about two months and talked a total of some three times, two of which had involved Parker screaming at her and accusing her of allowing her to be raped. For assuming she was a slut because she was loud and blonde and enjoyed the company of boys and liked to dress pretty.
"Logan--" she'd begun finally and looked like she'd say more, but her expansive hand-gesture had fallen flat and she'd finally shrugged her shoulders in helplessness, unable to explain.
Parker hadn't understood then. She did later.
If she's keeping count, that's another thing they have in common.)
But he always switches off eventually, loses the focus, and goes back to the easy familiarity of looking around her, not only at her. The lazy quips and banter and casual conversations about nothing in particular, avoiding all the hot-spots; grades they're making, classes he doesn't attend, the future, Veronica Mars. The goodbye kisses in the quad that tell her that he assumes that neither of them will break if they don't see each other till the next day.
She doesn't even remember the day, but when she comes out of her class, looking down from the second floor corridor, she spots them standing together, too close in the way that suggests unconscious intimacy. Fall outs of having been with someone far too long. A force of habit, mostly. They're arguing about something, she can tell, although neither of their expressions reveal it; both bordering on something close to studied indifference. Veronica just looks. Tired. Like she'd rather not be dealing with this right that moment. Parker can almost spot the dark circles under her eyes, testament to long nights of stake-outs and constant moving. Collateral damage in the profession. And even though she can't read him per se, she's learning to recognize the thrum of hard energy in his body, when he's holding himself back carefully to avoid doing something stupid. Completely focused.
She sometimes wonders what it would be like to have Logan Echolls in love with you.
He looks over suddenly and catches her gaze, taking three seconds she counts off in her head to register, and as she smiles, his lips quirk and he winks suggestively, before turning back, the flirtatious half-smile slipping right off, hands clenching at his sides like he wants to shake the girl in front of him.
She thinks it must be exhausting.
.
[privacy; esp. as suitable for the telling of a secret.]
"Hey."
Piz turns back, slowly shifting his gaze from the empty parking space he'd been staring at, "oh, hey."
She clutches Logan's sweater tighter around herself. She doesn't even know why she's standing in the parking lot of the Grand on her own party in the middle of the night, except she's just so happy, she thinks she may just explode if Logan smiles at her again in the way he's been doing all evening, enjoying all her reactions to everything he's planned. It makes something inside her ache with a fierceness that leaves her nearly breathless. It's too much to handle, somehow.
"Happy birthday, by the way," Piz awkwardly shuffles from one foot to the other, hands in pockets, and she realizes with a start that she's almost forgotten he's here too, standing in the Grand parking lot in the middle of the night, "Great party. I'd have wished you earlier, but you were constantly surrounded by people, so I sent out a mega-futuristic thought wave instead, and it obviously reached, because, here you are."
She can't help it, she laughs. And for a moment, she's back in the bowling alley, Logan's arm possessively around Veronica's shoulder as Piz looks at her and Parker looks at Piz. She can still remember the feeling as a distant memory, something close to being underwater; the beginnings of a crush, the self-conscious way she'd tucked her hair behind her ear every time they'd talked that night. The way Veronica had tried to get them to talk to dissipate the obvious tension that the fact that Piz had kind of invited her alone had induced, while Logan had stood back, casually leaning against the table, and not-casually touching her at every possible opportunity, like he could stake his sense memory claim.
But that was a long time ago.
Somehow, it's ironic in the light of the fact that today Logan touched her on a number count she'd kept in her head, that when she'd gone into the balcony earlier to catch a break from what felt a lot like falling in love, she'd seen Piz and Veronica kissing. She'd come out of the building after that. Maybe they can all do the moving-on thing right.
"Where's Veronica?" she asks.
Piz looks at her in mild surprise, before something resembling resignation floods his expression. "Logan told you."
"No," she says, because why would-- "I just saw you guys. You know, on the balcony. It sure looked like something. Not the kind of moment that'd be followed by you standing here alone in the dark." The teasing lilt in her voice sounds faked even to her. It was genuine a minute ago. She wants to go back to a minute ago.
"Oh." he's silent for a while, "I thought-- she left." he looks back at the shadowed empty space, mouth quirking. He seems reconciled with it, like this is exactly what he'd expected.
"You wanna talk about it?" she's grateful it doesn't come out I want to hear about it.
He shrugs, "not particularly." and smiles at her, to take the sting out, she knows. But Piz is a nice guy, the nicest, and if she pushes a little harder-- maybe she's the one here who isn't nice.
"Wait here," she says, before moving towards her car. The six-packs are still in her trunk and she shivers a little when she remembers Logan's expression as he'd shoved far too many to count in her car and then told her they'd continue the party later with a dark, promising look. She pulls a six-pack out.
"Here," she hands him a can.
"Thanks," he swallows most of it in a long gulp and she watches the movement of his throat.
"So," she settles down on the pavement, her dress already inviting dirt. This is stupid. This is so stupid. "why did she leave?"
He looks at her from much too far away, and then drops down beside her. "I don't really know. She kissed me again near the elevator. Probably in the heat of the moment or something, and then realized she was quote unquote 'leading me on', I suppose. Or whatever. Something like that."
"Why did you think Logan told me about it? Does he know about--you guys." she doesn't really want to know. It's a beautiful night. She doesn't really want to know.
Piz laughs. Of every sound she's ever heard, it's closest to that, if not that exactly, "he knows there's nothing to know, which is all there is to know, really."
"But," and now she's pushing. She always is. With her parents, with Logan, with Veronica, and now here, it's like she can't stop. She wants Logan's intensity and Veronica's friendship and her parents pissed off, and she can't seem to stop pushing. "then why did you---"
"He saw us," Piz abruptly puts the empty can down, letting it clatter on solid ground, before opening a second one, "he was in the elevator. And-- I don't know, I suppose that's when Veronica really realized what was happening. Nothing like being caught by your ex making-out with the guy who once invited you to a bowling party apparently alone with presumably nefarious intentions while you were still together with the said ex, huh?" he smiles ruefully, he obviously remembers that time too. He's probably even more caught up on the irony than she is, because he's the critical analysis sort-of guy and she's the teen magazines sort of girl.
"What did he say?" she asks, because she remembers Logan's quips before the party as he'd picked out guys he'd thought Veronica could use as her proxy date if she came alone. She remembers laughing and joining in, till they'd honed it down to five, and debated the merits on their fingertips. It had felt ridiculous and fun and coupley and --
-- real. Setting up friends on blind-dates. Something like moving on.
Piz hadn't been on the list. Which is odd, if she thinks of it now, because Piz is the most obvious choice. Has always been the most obvious choice. Although she'd been concentrating more on Logan, so she hadn't taken it seriously and, Logan made the list, so maybe--
She doesn't complete thoughts like these even in her head. It's a beautiful night and she's nineteen today.
Piz is avoiding her eyes, she notes dimly as she turns around to look at him and he doesn't turn around, "he didn't say anything. He just, you know, went inside."
"Oh." she opens her second can; it's her fifth drink in total and she's more than a little buzzed now. "Oh." she says again, louder, just in case she didn't say it out loud the first time; she can't tell what's in her head and what she's actually said. Her head hurts. She can't hold her drinks. Never could.
Piz finally looks at her, "it's normal," he says, gently, and she thinks something along the lines of the weight of your history is pulling me down. She doesn't know what it means or who it's supposed to be addressed to, but it's rather poetic all the same, and she's drunk enough to afford poetry, "I mean, it must've been awkward for Logan too. But he looked...good today. Not good in the homoerotic he looks good sort-of way-- not that he doesn't look good, he's a very good-looking guy-- no wait." he stops, and takes a deep breath and she thinks she likes him a whole lot for trying, even though he doesn't strictly need to and neither of them are quite sure what he's trying, "he looked, I don't know, happy. Content. Okay, god, that's a lame thing to say, but..." he trails off, scratching behind his ear in an awkward gesture she's starting to pick up on. She likes the casual intimacy of knowing something about someone that they don't have to tell you; like that Logan has a very specific smile when he's trying to charm someone, or that Veronica shades her eyes when she's lying to your face because she's not very good at it.
"Thank you," she says, and means it. They drink their third beer in companionable silence. She's pretty sure they have something in common here, even if she's hazy on the what of the whole deal.
That's how Logan finds her ten minutes later, and when she looks up, he's standing there.
"Hey." he says, his eyes sliding to Piz, sitting beside her, and for a moment something flashes across his eyes. Relief, she thinks. He's relieved Piz is here. But it's gone before she can translate it into a language she's entirely familiar with, and she may have mistranslated it the first time round. She's not very good at that when it comes to him. He nods at Piz, who gives him a half-hearted grin.
"You ready to leave?" he asks, but sits down beside her instead, looking at the same spot she and Piz have been staring at for the past hour. She rests her head automatically on his shoulder. Wonders whether he had to bend down just so she could reach when Veronica tried to do the same. Even kissing couldn't have come easy to them, considering the difference in height. The logistics of Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars always seem so hard.
She's obviously just wasted now.
She waits for Piz to get up and offer to leave them alone. Make some excuse about how it's too late and you crazy kids enjoy, yeah. He doesn't. And she finds she doesn't mind.
With her head on Logan's shoulder and her fingers intertwined with his, she thinks something like we're all heartbroken by default as she looks at the tyre marks in the dust. That might not particularly mean anything, but she's drunk enough to afford poetry.
.
[an act or expression serving as a token of familiarity.]
"This isn't weird, right? Us hanging out? Because I really wanted to."
"No," Veronica tells her, and this time, she's the one bordering on drunk, "ohmygod, I love this song." She drags Parker onto the dance floor and this is, this just feels so good. Normal.
Logan when she'd told him had been less than overjoyed, "Great," he'd muttered, "just what every guy wants from his life. Just so you know, if you two decide to start sticking pins in a voodoo doll wearing a miniature version of my clothes, I have an 'in case anything happens to me' note all ready and Dick instructed to take it to the Sheriff's department in case anything happens to me. You and Veronica are listed as prime suspects with neon colors, which just lends credence to the whole deal."
She's exhausted by the time they get back to their seat, and Veronica is still brimming with energy. Bright, alive. For a moment, it's almost as if she is who she could have been if this was the sort of thing she did-- dance to trashy tunes in college bars-- instead of long nights of trying to find out if A was really cheating on B, which he probably was, because the world sucks that way. Parker can understand being jaded by that.
"So, the trip to South America stands definitively cancelled." she says, because she's working on the trust thing too.
"Oh," the corner of Veronica's mouth turns down, like she's genuinely disappointed for her, "bummer. why?"
Parker shrugs, "something about Dick's father being back and wanting to spend time with him before he goes to jail? And Logan can't afford the place alone. So."
Veronica raises a glass of something fruity, "only in Neptune." before snorting, "Logan acknowledged he can't afford something? Did you teach him the 101's of Economics and diminishing returns on a fixed inheritance? Because I think you should put that on your résumé for sure. It could even count as a social service."
Denver is less complicated that way, her parents are less complicated that way. They want her to keep her legs tightly shut and not draw attention to herself. She is less complicated that way. She believes in love songs and she believes in practicality. Somehow, that's supposed to work out.
"How is it going with Piz?" Parker asks instead, because this thing, it's a two-way street.
Veronica stares at her silently for a beat, "great!" she says brightly, "Piz is great. There's that whole deal with the FBI internship being in Virginia and how we won't see each other for three months, which sucks, but, hey, that's a real, grown-up relationship, right? Where you don't stop functioning because of something like that? Also, dad loves him, which, I'm still trying to figure out if it's a good thing or not."
"My parents hate Logan," she informs the other girl, for no particular reason, and Veronica doesn't look at her when she says, "no surprises there."
It feels important. "To real, grown-up relationships." she raises her glass and as Veronica clinks hers, echoing. It still feels important.
An hour later Veronica can barely lift her head off the table, "you know what is totally epic?" she leans in confidentially, pushing her head further down the table towards her.
"No," Parker says. She can feel muscles she didn't know she had, aching. It seems unfair somehow, "what's totally epic?"
"Train wrecks," Veronica says, slurring her words, "train wrecks are epic. Crashes and explosions and bloodshed. That's epic." she opens her eyes wide and she seems lost somehow. "you could be epic for a moment. But then you're dead." she bangs her hand limply on the table, presumably to indicate the explosion, eyes shutting slowly.
She opens them again five minutes later, "I don't feel so good." she says in a small voice, getting up. Or trying to. Parker ends up half carrying her to the bathroom, more than a little drunk herself, pulling Veronica's hair back as she dry heaves. She leans back against the skin, as the other girl clumsily reaches out into her purse, dialing with fingers that are all thumbs. Parker can hear the insistent ringing. No one picks up. Then--
This is Logan with today's inspirational greeting: "Life isn't about finding yourself. Life is about creating yourself" - George Bernard Shaw. Leave a message.
Parker's mouth is dry suddenly. It's probably the alcohol. The dictionary definition effect of alcohol on the human body. It dries you out. She wants water. Goddammit, she wants water.
"I need you," Veronica mumbles into her phone, half asleep on her feet. She looks younger than usual; hair pulled back, face white, hunched into herself, "drunk here. You were supposed to take me home. Desi-designed driver. Why aren't you here-already? Pick up, moron. You're doing the boyfriend thing wrong. You said I never need anything. And when I need- you. So much. You're not here."
Veronica lets the phone hang limply in her hand, before her head falls onto Parker's shoulder. She has to bend down to accommodate, and in her head Logan does the same.
The phone is still connected to his voicemail, she can tell, and Parker thinks something like: force of habit.
He doesn't call back, but she's not surprised when he shows up at the bar some ten minutes later. She'd do the math usually, but her head is spinning, and she can see the road as a Dali painting; a strew of broken, comically disproportionate headlights paving his way.
He can't seem to look straight at her, but there is a quick familiarity in his touch as he pulls Veronica to him, her head falling somewhere in the middle of his chest, lower than Parker imagines is strictly comfortable. Maybe you get used to that.
He holds out his free hand to her. She takes it. She always does.
She sits at the back with Veronica lying half across her lap, and somewhere in the middle of the long road to the Grand, she catches him looking through the rear-view mirror. At her or Veronica, she can't tell. Can't see how it matters either way.
Their eyes meet, "Sorry." he says, almost a whisper, knuckles turning white under his grip on the wheel. They both know he doesn't know what he's apologizing for. Everything. Nothing. He hasn't done anything wrong. None of them have. Veronica won't remember this tomorrow. He will. And she will. And she wishes she'd drunk more. Just-a little bit more.
The image in her mind involuntarily changes to one of his head between her thighs, his singularly focused mouth bringing her to orgasm. She can't remember what it felt like, even if academically she knows. She's experienced it. It's her memory to hold on to for as long as she wants. Even if the truth is, stuff like that only feels like something in the moment. In every memory, the actual sensation is always replaced by the curious emptiness of not exactly remembering. You can't remember a feeling, she knows. That would be a paradox.
She breaks the hold of his gaze first, looks out the window in lieu of a reply, resting her head against glass as her hand moves mechanically through soft blonde hair. She can hear the quiet tapping of his fingers on the steering.
You're a train wreck, she doesn't say.
.
[closeness of observation or knowledge of a subject.]
When it finally happens, she hams it up. She's loud and she throws in things like that must have been devastating for you because it's writ large across his face. The image of Veronica having sex with someone other than him clearly burnt into his skin somewhere. Maybe into his bruised fists.
And she wants to hurt him. More than a little. She's no saint.
There are things she has learnt about him, the kind that no one has to tell someone. So she takes in deep, shaky breaths, and opens her eyes wide and and allows him the theatricality. Maybe it makes it easier.
Five minutes later, when she's out of his apartment and he's out of her life, and as the elevator door closes on blonde hair and a concerned gaze, and she knows with absolute certainty he's going to get his heart broken in about five minutes as she did five minutes ago, she slumps against the metal.
And allows herself to cry. For real.
.
[thoroughly acquainted through study or experience.]
It's raining by the time she steps out of the polling booth.
In the distance she can see Veronica making her way through the rain, pulling her jacket around herself. She thinks of walking up and offering to share the umbrella. But it's too soon, and she's no saint. And she's already shared too much.
"Hey," when she turns around, Piz is just coming out of the other booth. His face is bruised and swollen, and she thinks of Logan's bleeding knuckles. Bloodshed. She thinks for no particular reason. And in her head, something explodes with the tap of a hand on a wooden table.
"Hi." she tries to smile, but her face feels as numb as his probably is. Maybe it's the rain. "Veronica's just over there." she points out.
Piz avoids her gaze, "yeah." He doesn't make a move to join his girlfriend. They're still together, she's sure. In a real grown-up relationship, the kind in which you don't break if you're away for three months from each other. There are odd little things that she remembers sometimes, in moments like these; sitting across from Mac, in her bed, as Logan pins Veronica to the open door of their dorm room, and tells her in a deliberately low voice how the week apart for her internship interview will feel like a month. She remembers catching Mac's eyes, and both of them turning away simultaneously. Remembers trying not to laugh at their ridiculously, desperately consuming, high-school romance.
Piz's hand hits Parker's accidentally as he raises it to run his fingers through his hair.
"Sorry."
She thinks of an hour ago, of standing on the other side of the room, tray in hand, as Logan pushes some guy to Veronica's feet. She can't recall the way he'd looked at her or Veronica had looked at him, but she remembers what she'd felt. Irrelevant. Just like every other person in the room. Maybe that's the real paradox, that she can remember the vivid, bright ache somewhere in the middle of her chest, but she can't remember the way he had looked at her. Piz had been there, she knows. She's sorry too.
"It's okay," she says, instead.
A quick upturn of his lips. He turns to look at Veronica once, before starting to walk in the opposite direction. "I'll see you around." he says. They have something in common, even if she still can't explain what.
She nods.
She's half-way across the street, when a yellow Xterra pulls in next to the polling stations. Watches it stop, as the brown-haired boy rolls down a rain-drenched window, gaze fixed on the retreating back of the girl clutching her jacket much too tightly. She can see Piz turn back at the sound of the car from where he'd been about to turn, looking at Logan looking at Veronica. So she looks at Veronica too, and for a moment, a strange sense of camaraderie settles in her bones; she can remember sitting on the curb with these two boys at three past midnight, staring at the tyre tracks of a girl long gone.
But then Logan rolls up his window again, getting out of the car and moving towards a booth, while Piz shakes his head, mouth quirking slightly, before he walks on, rounding the corner and disappearing from sight. And just like that, the moment's over. She can't remember that line about heartbreak now. It was such a long time ago.
Parker turns away, looks carefully at both sides of the road before crossing.
Moves on.