Title: Sometimes It Feels the Same
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating: R
Spoilers: Through 1-18; pretty much guaranteed to be non-canon by 1-19
so read it quick.
Thanks: Trixie "The calculator is your friend" Firecracker (
Trixalicious)
Summary: In which the author attempts to write Logan/Veronica
Why: Made a bet with myself and lost.
***
Ten days, and not a word.
Nothing from her,
and Logan sure as hell doesn't bring it up.
It's just that she looks his way more often, and she
laughs at his smartassed comments instead of glaring at him. But that's
all.
True, there's this growing sense of free-floating
unease lately, everyone can feel it, air's practically crackling with
it. Bad moon rising, trouble on the way.
Same exact feeling as the week Lilly was murdered.
Veronica and her files.
But still. Ten goddamn days. Someone should
have brought it up, and maybe it should have been him. But it's complicated.
Logan used to hate Veronica with an intensity that
was clean and pure and focused, like a laser cannon in one of his
father's b-grade scifi-action flicks. It was easy to take it all out on
her, everything that had happened. It was fun. He'd raised lashing out
to high art and Veronica was his canvas. She took his shit and just
looked at him with that infuriating mixture of pity and impatience.
But none of that was complicated. No, things
didn't get complicated till he realized he wanted her.
She'd changed, Veronica had; something had broken
inside her, or maybe something had been rebuilt: Logan's not sure what,
or exactly when it happened. Maybe it was around the time she stopped
avoiding everyone's eyes and started walking with a swagger. Sweet,
demure little Veronica had turned scrappy, and if there was one thing
Logan couldn't resist it was a chick who didn't back down. And she'd
started pushing back. Just stopped taking it one day and started handing
it out instead.
She'd planted that bong in his locker. Logan
remembers it all with annoying clarity. That scene on the beach--the
tire iron, the traded insults, and the way Veronica suddenly had a posse.
And Veronica's faint smile, cold and remote. Untouchable. That smile
made him angrier than all the rest of it put together.
And late the same night, he'd masturbated, still
angry, thinking of her. Ignoring the welts on his back and his
sore jaw; just picturing Veronica and her cold, cold smile and all the
ways he'd like to make it disappear.
"This is it," he'd said aloud, after he came. "I am
officially in Hell."
And after he'd woken up two nights in a row the week after the bong incident, sweating and still half-mesmerized from dreams of her, things got
worse between them. He made them worse. He didn't want to want
her; he didn't want her to have that kind of power over him. Not now.
And he toyed with the idea of leading her on, spending the time it would
take to earn her trust and sweet-talk his way into those tight little
jeans. Have himself a nice grudge fuck. Hit it and quit it.
But it turned out he did have a personal line he
wasn't able to cross, and he'd just found it. Pain in the ass that
was. So
he fucked with her in other ways. Pushing, always pushing. Amazing what
words could do. And she kept pushing back. He lived for her reactions.
He wanted her, sure, but he still hated her. And sometimes it
felt like the same thing.
And then...somewhere along the line, it just got
old. His repertoire of verbal abuse was played out, and her comebacks
were all pro forma. Like it was barely worth the effort any
more. For either of them.
He still thought of Veronica, mostly Veronica, when he jerked
off. But it was always in a vague, wistful way. Had to think of someone, right?
And no one's ever as interesting as the girl you can't have.
Then things got bad with his parents, really bad.
His mother--
All that, yeah. And somehow Veronica turned
out to be the only one who was really there for him--during the worst
couple of weeks of his entire life. That kind of thing tended to
violently change your outlook on a person.
So did realizing, at seventeen, that everyone you'd
ever really loved was dead.
And so did finding out that Veronica was still stuck
on what had happened to Lilly. And Logan had gotten just enough of a look
at her files to realize that she might actually be onto something. And all
at once--he was scared for her. Worried about what she was getting herself
into. And having these unfamiliar protective instincts for someone--it was
strange and unexpected. But, hell, he just went with it. It was something
solid to focus on, something to grab hold of--and he was still feeling, most
days, like he might just float away into the void.
But--
"But why'd she kiss me?" Logan asks the
walls of his empty room. That's the real mystery, the only mystery.
He already knows why he kissed her.
***
Day eleven. Logan sits alone at lunch. He spends a
lot more time alone lately; it's easier than having to see the
expression on people's faces when they look at him.
He glances over across the way and sees Veronica,
sitting at a distant table. Also alone. She sees him looking and
half-smiles at him.
Logan doesn't smile back. Day eleven, and now he's
feeling a little pissy about the whole thing.
Maybe he shouldn't feel that way; maybe he should
just go over there and talk to her. Maybe she's waiting for him
to pursue it. But something about that doesn't feel right; and it's not
the kind of vibe she's been giving him. Back off, is what her
eyes seem to be saying. Don't make one stupid kiss into a big
thing.
He's about to say hell with it and go talk to
her anyway, but there's a minor commotion down near one of the main
entrances, and Logan turns to look. But it's just an officer from the
sheriff's office and a drug dog, getting ready to do the usual locker sweep.
Sheriff's office...
Logan laughs. All of a sudden, he knows exactly
why it doesn't feel right. There was that cop with Veronica at that
stupid dance, the cop who had an amiable grin permanently affixed to his
stupid face. Logan knew--he has to admit now, he sort of knew--that
something was up with Veronica and the cop, and maybe Duncan or Meg had
mentioned Veronica and "Leo" a few weeks ago.
But a few weeks ago, Logan didn't care as much. A
few weeks ago, Veronica hadn't kissed him.
Hadn't let him kiss her. Hadn't imprinted
him with her girly, flowery smell and the feel of her arms and the way
she tasted.
And after that, well, he'd either forgotten entirely
about the cop or he'd just chosen not to remember. Till now. Day
eleven.
He shakes his head and gets up. He doesn't look
Veronica's way again.
Time to skip the rest of his classes and head to the
parking lot; time to go home and break something.
***
Fuck combo moves; the trick to winning Tekken 5 is
to hit the buttons randomly, fast as possible. The computer doesn't know
how to deal with that; computer doesn't know what to do with insanity.
Logan wins his eighth round in a row and laughs. "Once more unto the
breach, motherfuckers!"
Security's a lot tighter at the Echolls compound
since--everything. So it's the housekeeper who comes in and asks Logan
if he wants to see Miss Mars.
He laughs again. "Oh, sure, please do show her right
in."
He keeps playing. Bam, kick, pow.
A few minutes and he hears Veronica walk in. Lying
on his back, Logan doesn't look up from the floor; he just keeps on
mashing those buttons.
Veronica sits on the edge of the bed behind him.
"Hello, Logan," she says, all calm and rational.
"You," he says, relishing his own careful enunciation, "have a boyfriend."
She ignores that, just says, "I really think we
should talk."
"Day eleven," he says.
"Excuse me?"
So she hasn't been counting.
Logan goes on: "Eleven days. Everyone knows that if
you don't acknowledge the illicit kiss within twenty-four hours, it
didn't happen. But thanks for dropping by. You mind asking Carlita to
make me a sandwich on your way out?"
Bam. Kick. Pow.
Veronica sighs. "I should have known you were
going to be completely unreasonable about this."
Logan throws down the controller and climbs to his
feet; turns to face her. And there she is: Veronica Mars, one-time bane
of his existence. And someone he'd lately begun to think of as his own personal
savior, for reasons that now elude him. She's wearing
jeans and sneakers and a t-shirt, little hoodie; she's so small that
sometimes you want to pick her up and walk away with her. Deceptively
cute, just like always.
But the look on her face is cold and remote.
Untouchable.
Logan cocks his head to one side and smiles at her.
"Guy's gotta be what, three years older than you? I mean--what if things
get a little too steamy one night in the back seat of his cruiser--and you
all underage?" He clicks his tongue. "Next thing you
know, he's gonna have to arrest himself."
Oh
yeah--there it is, there's the good stuff: Veronica's furious now, he
can see it in her narrowed eyes and the hard line of her jaw. She
stands up and opens her mouth to retort. But she just rolls her eyes,
wearily, and turns to leave.
Like it's not even worth it. Like he's not even
worth it.
Logan watches her walk to the bedroom door. He's not
going to say anything.
Not a word.
But--fuck. "So why did you kiss
me, Veronica?"
She stops. Faces him, and now there's a hint of rare
vulnerability in her eyes. "I don't know," she says.
Logan nods bitterly. "Well, that's just great."
"Logan..."
Veronica stares at him, looking confused and desperate
and like she'd rather be anywhere else right now. Logan hasn't seen that
look on anyone's face since his seventh-grade girlfriend dumped him--and
then didn't understand why he had a problem with it.
Even back then, no one could ever seem to believe he
actually cared about anything.
So Logan waves her off. "Okay, okay, I get
it. Plea of temporary insanity entered into record. Good talk. Glad we had
it." She's still staring at him with that same look, and he doesn't want
to see it any more. "Shouldn't you be scurrying off now? I mean, you wouldn't
want Crockett to notice you were gone and fire up the Amber Alert system."
Then he turns his back on her and walks over to the pick up the X-Box
controller from the carpet.
Behind him, Veronica says, "Twelve days."
Logan glances up at the ceiling and sighs. He turns to her. "What?"
"It's been twelve days and two hours--jackass."
With a last hateful look his way, she leaves.
Logan stands there, heart pounding away in his chest. Angry. And otherwise. His pride
doesn't want to let him go after her. He's right, that's all, that's why she's so pissed off. And
besides--
But he has a thought; and maybe it's not so
much a thought as it is a split-second epiphany, like ball lightning in
his head. A very basic realization that things don't have
to be the way they are. Maybe it's an obvious thing, maybe he should have
seen it all along. Maybe he should have tried harder, in the past, to change
things like this. Maybe he could have--
No, probably not. But he heads for the door anyway. If he's fast, he can still
catch her.
***
Down the long driveway, into the dusk of early evening; he comes up behind her, ten
yards short of the huge gate. "Veronica--" he says. "Hey. Hold on."
When she turns, she still looks pissed, jaw set hard
and eyes full of distrust. Royally pissed.
But that's okay.
And when he takes hold of her and kisses her, she
tenses for barely a second and then she softens against him. She smells
girly and flowery, and she slides her deceptively cute little arms
up around his neck, and opens her lips to his. And there it is, like last
time, this thing between them that totally shouldn't be there and
absolutely is; the familiar and the unfamiliar all at once, the
magnetic draw that only kicks in when they get this close to each other.
Afterwards, this time, she doesn't run away. She
looks at him. The anger is gone from her face. "Logan--" she says.
"We really need to--"
"Hey," he interrupts. "You ever notice how we get along
much better if we both just shut the hell up?"
Veronica looks puzzled, but then she smiles. She's a
smart girl.
Things are fucked up, no denying it. Things in
Neptune are always fucked up. There's Lilly murder and Duncan's
craziness and Leo's mere existence.
But most of all there's Veronica and Logan, each
with their own personal brand of attitude problem; enough attitude
between the two of them to fuck up the citywide karma of a dozen
Neptunes.
But there's also this moment, and sometimes that's
all you've got. Sometimes it's all about playing
the hand you're holding right now and blowing off everything
else. Bet the whole fucking wad.
Lilly taught him that.
Here and now, Veronica's still smiling up at him.
So Logan lets himself smile back, and he kisses her
again. "Come on," he says; and then he puts his arm around her shoulders as they walk back
up to the house. Back to his room.
He doesn't know how long she'll stay, and he doesn't
know where this is going. He's got a vague idea how bad it could get,
but that doesn't seem important right now.
Because there's one thing he does know for
sure:
Right now, for the two of them, this is still better
than anything else.
***
END
a/n:Title and paraphrased lyrics
stolen from Therapy? 'Zipless'
because several people have asked: my other VM fanfic can be found
here.