Final gift for xbitexmyxlipx
Title: Angels with Dirty Faces
Author: mutinousmuse
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4, 866
Spoilers: This is an AU take on “An Echolls Family Christmas”.
Characters: Logan, Veronica, ensemble
Summary: Logan makes himself useful as Veronica investigates the circumstances surrounding the world’s best game of strip poker ever.
Author’s Notes: This fic is my vm_santa gift for xbitexmyxlipx. Merry Christmas! Hope you like! Oodles of gratitude to ladydisdain225 for the brainstorming help - in thanks, I offer you mad kitten fic shout-outs as the fandom’s resident goddess of fluff. Thanks to forcedmovement and queen_haq, both for being fabulous betas and for holding my hand as I attempted to write this, the creature that refused to be written.
Angels with Dirty Faces
Veronica watched in mild disbelief as Logan pulled out his cell phone and dialed what was apparently Connor Larkin’s phone number. Drawn on abs or not, she could think of several worse ways to spend her afternoon than staring at them.
“Hey, man, it’s Logan Echolls. Yeah, say, can you get my friend a drive-on today to see Connor?” Logan paused, and then rolled his eyes. “Look, I promise she’s not a stalker. Yes, I know, but it won’t be like last ti- ”
Veronica raised an eyebrow, earning a rather nasty glare from Logan.
“Okay, great. 4 o’clock. Yeah, thanks, you’re a real prince.”
Logan snapped the phone shut with a flourish and shoved it back into his pocket. “I have to go with you,” he said.
“Because of what happened last time?” Veronica asked, curiosity etched across her face.
Logan grimaced. “I guess Caitlin Ford had a hard time containing herself when I got her on set a few months back.”
“Fancy that,” Veronica smirked. She pulled out her car keys and jingled them. “Shall we?”
“Oh no,” Logan replied. “No way am I driving onto a Warner Brothers set in that rust bucket. I’m driving.”
“Fine,” she said. “Saves me the trouble of de-lousing the upholstery later.”
Logan smiled back, the expression somehow managing to look vicious, and stopped in front of her. “You know, the only reason I’m doing this is because the thought of your peskiness being unleashed on Connor brings me joy. Well, that, and my deep and abiding love for Russian art.”
“And here I thought you missed me.” With that, Veronica spun on her heel and strode past the swimming pool without glancing back. Had she done so, she would have seen Logan’s eyes trailing contemplatively after her retreating form before turning back to the game room to grab his keys.
* * * * *
“Hey man, what’s up?” Connor and Logan performed a hand-slapping ritual while Veronica looked on, amused.
“Who’s your friend?” Connor asked, flashing Veronica a half-smile.
Before Logan could say anything, Veronica stuck out her hand. “I’m Veronica,” she said. “I’m a huge fan.”
Connor clasped her hand in return, and his smile deepened into the one Veronica was used to seeing adorn his face in his movies. The million dollar smile, she thought. Matched in hotness only by his two million dollar abs.
Still holding onto her hand, Connor turned to Logan. “Has it ever occurred to you that if you have to namedrop me to get a girl to date you, it probably doesn’t bode well for the relationship?” Connor’s tone was light, clearly implying that his comment was meant as a good-natured jest, but something about his expression gave Veronica pause. She reminded herself that Connor was, after all, a successful actor, and god-like abs or not, he was tantamount to a professional liar. Extracting her hand from his, Veronica laughed as though Connor’s comment had been obscenely clever.
“Oh, Logan and I aren’t - ”
Her voice cut off in shock as Logan wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. “What can I say?” he said, matching Connor’s practiced grin with one of his own. “She’s impossible to say no to.”
It took several seconds before Veronica’s mouth would stay closed on its own. Logan’s fingers tightened around her shoulder, and he gave her an expectant look. Veronica forced out a laugh, and wrapped her arm around his waist.
“That’s me,” she said. “Little Miss Irresistible.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Connor said, and then opened his vest and began inspecting his own stomach. He looked up at them, and asked, “Too shiny?”
Veronica could practically hear Logan’s eyes roll as she admired the view. Damn, she thought, and leaned towards Connor. Logan’s arm jerked her back, and she resisted the urge to step on his foot.
“Not too shiny at all,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“I don’t know, man,” Logan said through clenched teeth. “I think they look a little gross.”
“It’s too much, right?” Connor said. “My helicopter gets shot down mid-flight, so I’m supposed to be sweaty, but…” He trailed off, and looked searchingly around the set. He waved his hand at a brunette fussing over another actor’s fake head wound and called out, “Annette! Can I get my abs touched up, please?”
Veronica jumped as Logan’s lips brushed her ear. “I told you they were drawn on,” he whispered in amusement, and she could feel his lips curl into a smirk. Goosebumps broke out on the back of her neck, and she became suddenly and intensely aware of every point at which her body and Logan’s were touching.
Connor turned away to talk to Annette, and Veronica pulled her head away from Logan’s mouth, working to muster annoyance. “Is all this physical contact really necessary?” she hissed.
The smile dropped off of Logan’s face, and he pulled his arm away from her as though he’d been burned. “I was just trying to help,” he snapped. “God knows why.”
Scowling, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Veronica tilted her head, eyes narrowing. If she didn’t know exactly how much Logan hated her, she would almost think that she’d just hurt his feelings. She was fairly certain, however, that would require Logan having some.
Connor turned back to them and smiled. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“No worries,” Veronica replied. “So, Logan was just telling me about your poker game last weekend.”
“Oh yeah,” Connor said. “That was fun, right man?”
“It was a barrel of charming little monkeys,” Logan said.
Veronica listened as Logan and Connor began to describe the events of that evening, noting with particular interest Sean’s refusal to pitch in on the pizza bill and the ensuing conversation. The entire time, people bustled around Connor, adjusting his hair, wiping grease off of his abs, and bringing him refreshments. She was surprised by how annoyed Logan looked by the entire thing; she’d figured that being the son of actors, he’d be immune to life on a movie set, but apparently he wasn’t. When Connor clumsily flung his tea bag in the direction of the trashcan and then continued talking as though he hadn’t just left it sitting on the ground, Logan snapped, “Nice shot, man.”
“What do you care?” Connor asked, clearly surprised. “Someone will clean it up.” Veronica sighed inwardly. Apparently it was one thing for Connor speak up in Weevil’s defense, but quite another to translate his egalitarian ideology into practice.
Before either of them could respond, Connor excused himself to answer his phone.
Veronica turned to Logan, and when she spoke, she sounded almost impressed. “You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you suggest that perhaps those who don’t fall into the seven-digit income bracket might have more useful things to do with their time than clean up after those who do.”
“Connor’s an ass,” Logan said, shrugging his shoulders. “Now, for my next trick, I’ll be rescuing a kitten from a storm drain.”
“Don’t kittens usually get stuck in trees?”
“Strom drains are pretty treacherous,” he said. “And you can rescue it if it’s in a tree. That way I’ll be able to look up your skirt.”
“And there’s the jackass I know and love,” she replied, smile tightening across her features.
Logan bowed. “At your service.”
“Speaking of obnoxious assholes, has it ever struck you as interesting that Sean is one of the richest kids in Neptune, yet he’s one of the tightest with his money?” Veronica asked, turning to head back to the car.
“Actually, there’s nothing about Sean I find particularly interesting,” Logan said. “The guy has all the personal appeal of a dead possum.”
Veronica paused, surprised. “Then why do you hang out with him?”
Logan said nothing, eyes sliding over the scenery of the movie set as he dug in his pocket for his keys.
“Well,” she said, “I suppose it wouldn’t do to alienate your fawning audience, now would it?”
Logan’s expression darkened, but he remained uncharacteristically silent. Veronica resumed walking, and he followed after her. She had the distinct impression that he was upset about something, and reminded herself that she couldn’t care less. She glanced back over her shoulder at Connor, and noticed that he was drinking another cup of tea. She wondered what kind of tea it was, and made a mental note to call his agent later under the pretense of sending Connor a thank you gift for the visit.
Veronica had a feeling she knew exactly what had happened to the poker money. She turned to tell Logan as much, but he strode past her and slid into the XTerra, slamming the door without so much as a glance in her direction.
* * * * *
Logan’s eyebrow shook hands with his hairline as Veronica spread the cards across the table like she’d been some kind of fucking Mafioso in a past life. Or possibly a current one, which he supposed would explain some things. The Mars family was Italian, he was fairly certain, and he found himself envisioning the small, stealthy figure of Veronica Mars creeping up the Kanes’ driveway to leave a well-wrapped dead fish on their doorstep in the middle of the night.
The image made him laugh out loud, and he ignored the perplexed look that Duncan shot him. Clearly he wasn’t drunk enough yet, he thought, and picked up his beer. Veronica began to deal, and he took a swig.
“Hey man,” Connor said as Veronica began to deal cards out to each of them. “You didn’t tell me your girlfriend was a card shark!”
Duncan looked up and began to inform Connor that he and Veronica weren’t dating anymore when he realized that Connor wasn’t looking at him - he was looking at Logan. And Logan was looking nervously at Veronica. And Veronica was looking uncomfortably at Connor.
No fucking way, he thought. Simply not possible. But sure enough, amidst the awkward glances ping-ponging back and forth across the table, Duncan had the sickening feeling that he was very excrutiatingly out of the loop.
Just as Logan opened his mouth to speak, Duncan stood up so quickly that his chair fell to the floor. He grabbed Logan’s arm and wrenched him upward. “Did he just call Veronica your girlfriend?”
Logan yanked his arm out of Duncan’s grasp. “Look, Duncan, it’s not what you think. We - ”
Duncan cut him off. “You really are a full-fledged jackass,” he spat.
He rounded on Veronica, eyes flashing. He opened his mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut. His unspoken words hung in the air between them: And you really are a slut. Saying nothing, he backed away from the table, hands held up in the air as if he were warding off whatever explanations they might offer. As he turned to leave, Veronica jumped to her feet.
“Duncan, wait!” she cried.
“Fuck you, Veronica.” And then he was sprinting across the pool top, his years of soccer sprints making Veronica’s efforts to follow him useless. She stopped in the doorway and watched him vanish, and then sighed as she heard the soft padding of rubber-soled shoes approaching from behind. She didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Logan standing behind her.
“Fuck,” she said, voice thick.
Logan was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was vaguely incredulous. “You really don’t know, do you?”
Veronica turned to face him, head titled slightly, eyes rimmed with tears she refused to let fall. “Don’t know what?”
For a split second Logan looked torn, guilt and malice battling across his features. Veronica blinked and the expression was gone; it was replaced by something that looked suspiciously like sympathy, and it sat uneasily on his generally callous face.
“What don’t I know, Logan?”
“You don’t know much,” he snapped, but there was little feeling in the jibe. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be inside losing all of my money back to me?”
“Something like that,” she said, feeling oddly as though she were accepting an unarticulated peace offering. She looked over her shoulder into the darkness which had swallowed Duncan, and was suddenly struck with the feeling that she shouldn’t be chasing him tonight. She shrugged the feeling away and trailed after Logan into the game room to re-shuffle the cards.
“Sorry about that,” Connor said as Logan sat back down at the table. “I thought he knew.”
“Look, Connor,” Logan said. “Veronica and I aren’t actually dating.”
Connor shrugged. “Whatever you say, man. It’s cool with me.” His eyebrows drew together thoughtfully. “If Duncan and Weevil and Sean aren’t coming back, does their money stay in the pot?”
Logan nodded. “Once you’re in, you’re in.” Veronica began to toss cards out to their now-smaller circle with a surprising finesse, and Logan couldn’t help but grin. This was going to be interesting.
* * * * *
Three hours later, Logan would have paid for the evening to have achieved merely “interesting.” His father was in the hospital, his father’s mistress-cum-stalker was all over the headlines, his best friend most likely hated him, and he was out several thousand dollars to Veronica Mars of all people.
And even worse, she was the only person who seemed to give enough of a shit about his life’s sudden explosion into chaos to have followed him out to the pool to make sure he wasn’t drowning himself.
“Logan?” Her voice was softer than he wanted it to be, and he shifted in discomfort. A business truce was one thing; however, he wasn’t sure he wanted his relationship with Veronica to evolve back into the shoulder-to-cry-on variety. It brought back too many memories he wasn’t ready to deal with, and he turned to tell her to go fuck herself.
“Veronica,” he said. “Go…”
He stopped, his powers of language betraying him as he took in the expression of her face. Damned if she didn’t actually look concerned. About him. It wasn’t a look he was used to seeing on much of anyone’s face anymore, and he hated how much the tiny amount of compassion she was showing him affected him. He realized with a start that for the first time in over a year, he was looking at Veronica without the specter of Lilly hovering several inches behind her. Inhaling sharply, he fished around desperately for the rest of his sentence.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go. This was clearly a horrendous idea anyway.”
“Don’t,” he said, the word falling hard and heavy between them. She stopped, waiting, hovering, and before he could think about what he was saying, two more words spilled out. “Don’t go.”
“Okay,” she said, as though it were actually that easy, and then she was sitting down on the concrete next to him, and Logan was, for perhaps the first time in his life, utterly at a loss for words.
He was very good at making people like him. He was very good at making people not like him. He simply and suddenly didn’t know which one he wanted Veronica to do.
He picked up one of the champagne bottles he’d brought outside with him and took a long and desperate swig.
Veronica watched him as he drank, but said nothing. A warm feeling coalesced in Logan’s belly and began to spread out through his limbs as the alcohol he’d been downing for the past half hour finally began to work it’s way through his bloodstream.
He felt a jarring sensation shoot through his hand, and realized that he’d set the bottle down on the pavement rather hard.
“Are you okay?” Veronica asked.
“That didn’t really hurt,” he said.
“I didn’t mean that. I meant - ” She stopped, and took in his loosened posture and swaying form. “You’re drunk. Already.”
She was right, he realized, and the he found the thought comforting. He picked up the bottle again, clutching it hard that his knuckles paled.
“The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind,” he said sagely, nodding in agreement with himself. He took another drink in a clear effort to remedy the situation he had just described.
Veronica jaw dropped open. “Did you just quote Humphrey Bogart?”
“Did you just recognize a Humphrey Bogart quote?” Logan shot back. He pointed the champagne bottle at her defiantly, and Veronica had the distinct impression she was being challenged to a duel of sorts.
She rolled her eyes, and turned her attention back to the pool. “My mom used to love watching old black and white movies,” she explained. “She loved the dancing. Well, that, and we both thought Rick Blaine was hot.”
“Wow, Veronica. It’s almost as though you have culture or something.”
“Gee, Logan. That’s sweet. It’s almost as though you have manners or something.”
“I have manners,” Logan said, clearly affronted. He scrunched his eyebrows together, and then shoved the bottle at her, clearly delighted with himself. “See? If I didn’t have manners, would I be offering to share my $200 bottle of Cristal with you?”
“Thanks, Logan, but I’m good.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, taking another swig. “Here’s another Humphreyism for you: People who don’t drink are afraid of revealing themselves.”
Veronica paused, inspecting Logan through narrow eyes as she attempted to discern how drunk he really was. He stared back at her unblinkingly, torso swaying unconsciously towards her, and she suddenly became acutely aware of their proximity.
“You know, I think I will have a bit of that,” she murmured, and took the bottle from him. She took a long swig of the champagne and set it down between them. She was suddenly reminded of another night, long ago, sitting next to this same pool with this same boy, drinking with her best friend and her boyfriend, and she shivered. Turning to Logan, she asked, “You want to know what my favorite Humphrey quote is?”
Logan nodded.
“Things are never so bad they can’t be made worse.” Veronica’s voice was melancholy, and she picked up the champagne again.
That strange guilty look was back on Logan’s face, and Veronica got the distinct impression that he was remembering, too. She wondered if he missed Lilly as much as she missed Duncan. She was also beginning to wonder if she really did miss Duncan, or if she missed a person who didn’t exist anymore, had maybe never actually existed. The Duncan she missed didn’t slam people into lockers, or threaten his best friend, or look at her as thought he thought she was a slut.
Or run away when things got complicated.
She wondered if Logan ever had these kind of thoughts about Lilly, or if he too had begun to move on - and she wondered why she cared whether or not Logan had moved on.
Her limbs grew heavy as the champagne began to take effect, and she realized belatedly that Logan was talking, maybe had been talking for a little while. He was attempting to snap his fingers in front of her face to get her attention, but his thumb wasn’t cooperating, and she giggled as his hand flopped around in front of her.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, voice clearly wounded.
“Maybe,” she laughed. She smiled, and the act seemed to have a strange effect on Logan. His brown eyes grew even darker, and seemed to linger on her curling lips.
“Okay, my turn,” he said, leaning towards her. “You want to hear my favorite Humphrey quote?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “Sure.”
Logan turned to look directly at her, and Veronica’s breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was barely louder than a whisper. “I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks when you loved me.”
Goosebumps ran down Veronica’s spine, and she shivered violently, breaking the tenuous spell that seemed to have momentarily linked them.
Logan looked down at her arms, taking in her trembling. “Are you cold?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but he yanked his sweater over his head anyway and handed it to her. “Really,” she insisted, “I’m not that cold.”
“Dammit, Veronica. Can you not be a stubborn ass for like five minutes of your life?”
Her mouth dropped open, and she sputtered, “Oh, that is just rich coming from you.”
Logan glared at her and tossed the sweater on the ground. “Fine,” he snapped. “Freeze. I don’t know why you’re even out here.” He fell silent again, attention once more occupied by the champagne.
Veronica contemplated his profile, attempting to answer his unasked question for herself. Why are you here, Veronica?
She had no answer… but she had no desire to leave, either. With a sigh of resignation, she grabbed the discarded sweater and pulled it over her head. She watched Logan watch her out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything, but she noticed that his shoulders seemed to relax a bit, and he set the bottle back down in between, the invitation to continue drinking with him hanging silently in the air.
Slowly, she lifted the bottle to her lips and took another sip.
* * * * *
An hour later, Veronica couldn’t feel the cold anymore. It had been effectively warded off by the significant amounts of alcohol coursing through her system. The sweater had long since been discarded, both because she was no longer cold, and because the smell of Logan wrapped around her was doing funny things to her senses. With very little success, she was struggling to remind herself that her light-headedness was due to the champagne, and not to the very Logan-ish sent of spiced cider that seemed to be permeating her awareness.
“What?” he said.
“What what?” she replied. She had the sinking feeling that in addition to robbing her of the ability to discern between “jackass” and “hot guy who smells really good,” the alcohol had stolen her ability to formulate complete sentences.
“You’re staring at me,” Logan said.
“No I’m not,” she replied.
“Yes you are. You’ve been staring at me, for, like, three minutes.”
“You’re just too drunk to have any sense of time,” she said. “That’s the only logical explation. Expation. Expal...” She trailed off, clearly sense a losing battle between her tongue and the letter ‘x.’
“I might be drunk,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re logical.”
“Well if I’m not logical, how come I can do this?” Veronica began rattling off her multiplication tables, getting as far as the four’s before Logan stopped her.
“Look, fine, you’re the most logical person I’ve ever met,” he laughed. “I hereby crown you Sir Veronica of the Multiplication Table. Happy?”
“Sir Veronica?” she asked, indignant. “Are you saying I look like a sir?” She stood, hands planted firmly on her hips, and attempted to loom ominously over him. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that she was swaying back and forth rather unstably, and an amused grin broke out over Logan’s face.
“What are you smiling at?” she said, still enraged by her recent elevation to knighthood.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Now you’re the one who’s staring.” Veronica took a step toward him in an attempt to loom in a more intimidating fashion, but instead managed to trip over her own feet and crashed down onto him.
“Jesus, Veronica!” Logan’s hands wrapped around her waist as they tumbled backwards. He pulled her against him to keep her from falling over him and onto the concrete, and instead his own head cracked hard against the pavement.
“Logan! Are you okay?” Veronica’s hands flew up to his head, combing through his hair as she checked to see if he was bleeding. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I think. Why is there a tunnel in front of me, and why is some guy standing at the end of it with a really bright flashlight?”
Veronica pulled back in alarm, hands braced on either side of him. Logan smirked up at her, clearly amused with himself, and she punched him in the shoulder. “That wasn’t funny!”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure it was.” His face seemed to be one gigantic grin, and his eyes were full of laughter. Veronica realized three things at once. The first was that she hadn’t seen Logan smile like that since Lilly died. The second was that she had missed seeing him look like that rather acutely. The third was that her entire body was pressed into his, legs entangled, hips smashed together, chests meeting, and ohmygod he was as turned on by it as she apparently was and suddenly Veronica was skittering upwards, backwards, anywards as she panicked and lurched away from him.
She came to a stop several feet away, and Logan sat up, concerned. “Veronica?”
“I…” She stared at him, eyes wide, breath coming far too rapidly, and she suddenly felt light-headed again, and not in a good way. “I can’t breathe,” she said, and the thought made her chest clench up even tighter.
Logan crawled over to her, one hand coming up to smooth her hair back from her face. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”
Veronica gulped, concentrating on slowing down her breathing. Logan’s hand continued to move through her hair as he crouched down in front of her, and she was struck by the absurdity of the situation. She wasn’t sure which was more nonsensical - the fact that she had devoted her entire evening to drinking with her arch nemesis in an attempt to cheer him up in the wake of his father’s stabbing, or the fact that he was currently talking her down from the near-panic attack she was having because she was pretty sure she’d almost kissed him.
She reached up to grab his hand, stilling his motions, and let out a bitter laugh. “This is ridiculous.”
“Which part?” he asked, and he turned his hand so that their fingers were interlaced.
Somewhere between opening her mouth to answer his question and words actually coming out, Logan’s lips crushed into hers. Veronica gasped into his mouth, but then his tongue was moving against hers, and his hands were in her hair again, and the whole thing felt far too good to think about why it was such a horrendously bad idea.
Tentatively at first, and then more aggressively, Veronica’s hands sought out Logan. Her left hand curled itself around his neck, fingertips brushing against his hairline, and her right hand slid around his waist. He mimicked her gestures, pulling her against his chest and deepening the kiss. She turned, legs falling on either side of his waist, and she found herself pressed into him, leaving her no doubt exactly how much he wanted her. For a brief moment she let herself sink down onto him. The feeling of Logan pressing up into her through their jeans created a fierce and frightening sense of wanting inside of her that was somehow familiar and new at the same time. Her head rocked back, and his mouth found her throat. Fireworks of sensation exploded beneath his lips as his teeth nipped gently at the juncture between her neck and her shoulder.
It wasn’t until she heard her name passing through his lips that she realized what he was doing, what she was doing, and she pulled away. Hands still wrapped around his waist, she met his gaze; his eyes were dark, swirling, and it took an immense amount of effort for Veronica to extract herself from his incredibly warm embrace. He didn’t resist as she pulled away, nor did he say a word. He simply watched her as she stood on shaking legs and stumbled backwards.
She stared back at him, the cold air harsh against her skin in the absence of his warmth. She wrapped her arms around herself, and suddenly felt far too sober.
“Logan, I…”
The corner of his mouth quirked up a little sadly as she trailed off. “Don’t,” he said, but this time he didn’t follow with don’t go. She nodded and turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
“Veronica.” She looked at him, wondering what he was going to say, wondering what she wanted him to say. “You can take the sweater.”
“What?”
“If you’re cold. You can take the sweater.”
It wasn’t exactly a confession of his undying affection, but it wasn’t a damning condemnation of her now-proven sluttiness, either.
She leaned over to pick up the sweater, accepting the truce. As she slid it over her head, the spicy scent of Logan once more surrounded her. She turned to leave again, and she was halfway to the gate when she heard him again.
“Merry Christmas, Veronica!”
She turned and gave a small smile. “Merry Christmas, Logan.”
He smiled back, and watched as she turned around and walked out of the pool gate and into the night.
Merry Christmas indeed, he thought, and slowly began to walk back to the house.
~fin
Author: mutinousmuse
Rating: PG
Word Count: 4, 866
Spoilers: This is an AU take on “An Echolls Family Christmas”.
Characters: Logan, Veronica, ensemble
Summary: Logan makes himself useful as Veronica investigates the circumstances surrounding the world’s best game of strip poker ever.
Author’s Notes: This fic is my vm_santa gift for xbitexmyxlipx. Merry Christmas! Hope you like! Oodles of gratitude to ladydisdain225 for the brainstorming help - in thanks, I offer you mad kitten fic shout-outs as the fandom’s resident goddess of fluff. Thanks to forcedmovement and queen_haq, both for being fabulous betas and for holding my hand as I attempted to write this, the creature that refused to be written.
Angels with Dirty Faces
Veronica watched in mild disbelief as Logan pulled out his cell phone and dialed what was apparently Connor Larkin’s phone number. Drawn on abs or not, she could think of several worse ways to spend her afternoon than staring at them.
“Hey, man, it’s Logan Echolls. Yeah, say, can you get my friend a drive-on today to see Connor?” Logan paused, and then rolled his eyes. “Look, I promise she’s not a stalker. Yes, I know, but it won’t be like last ti- ”
Veronica raised an eyebrow, earning a rather nasty glare from Logan.
“Okay, great. 4 o’clock. Yeah, thanks, you’re a real prince.”
Logan snapped the phone shut with a flourish and shoved it back into his pocket. “I have to go with you,” he said.
“Because of what happened last time?” Veronica asked, curiosity etched across her face.
Logan grimaced. “I guess Caitlin Ford had a hard time containing herself when I got her on set a few months back.”
“Fancy that,” Veronica smirked. She pulled out her car keys and jingled them. “Shall we?”
“Oh no,” Logan replied. “No way am I driving onto a Warner Brothers set in that rust bucket. I’m driving.”
“Fine,” she said. “Saves me the trouble of de-lousing the upholstery later.”
Logan smiled back, the expression somehow managing to look vicious, and stopped in front of her. “You know, the only reason I’m doing this is because the thought of your peskiness being unleashed on Connor brings me joy. Well, that, and my deep and abiding love for Russian art.”
“And here I thought you missed me.” With that, Veronica spun on her heel and strode past the swimming pool without glancing back. Had she done so, she would have seen Logan’s eyes trailing contemplatively after her retreating form before turning back to the game room to grab his keys.
* * * * *
“Hey man, what’s up?” Connor and Logan performed a hand-slapping ritual while Veronica looked on, amused.
“Who’s your friend?” Connor asked, flashing Veronica a half-smile.
Before Logan could say anything, Veronica stuck out her hand. “I’m Veronica,” she said. “I’m a huge fan.”
Connor clasped her hand in return, and his smile deepened into the one Veronica was used to seeing adorn his face in his movies. The million dollar smile, she thought. Matched in hotness only by his two million dollar abs.
Still holding onto her hand, Connor turned to Logan. “Has it ever occurred to you that if you have to namedrop me to get a girl to date you, it probably doesn’t bode well for the relationship?” Connor’s tone was light, clearly implying that his comment was meant as a good-natured jest, but something about his expression gave Veronica pause. She reminded herself that Connor was, after all, a successful actor, and god-like abs or not, he was tantamount to a professional liar. Extracting her hand from his, Veronica laughed as though Connor’s comment had been obscenely clever.
“Oh, Logan and I aren’t - ”
Her voice cut off in shock as Logan wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. “What can I say?” he said, matching Connor’s practiced grin with one of his own. “She’s impossible to say no to.”
It took several seconds before Veronica’s mouth would stay closed on its own. Logan’s fingers tightened around her shoulder, and he gave her an expectant look. Veronica forced out a laugh, and wrapped her arm around his waist.
“That’s me,” she said. “Little Miss Irresistible.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Connor said, and then opened his vest and began inspecting his own stomach. He looked up at them, and asked, “Too shiny?”
Veronica could practically hear Logan’s eyes roll as she admired the view. Damn, she thought, and leaned towards Connor. Logan’s arm jerked her back, and she resisted the urge to step on his foot.
“Not too shiny at all,” she said, smiling sweetly.
“I don’t know, man,” Logan said through clenched teeth. “I think they look a little gross.”
“It’s too much, right?” Connor said. “My helicopter gets shot down mid-flight, so I’m supposed to be sweaty, but…” He trailed off, and looked searchingly around the set. He waved his hand at a brunette fussing over another actor’s fake head wound and called out, “Annette! Can I get my abs touched up, please?”
Veronica jumped as Logan’s lips brushed her ear. “I told you they were drawn on,” he whispered in amusement, and she could feel his lips curl into a smirk. Goosebumps broke out on the back of her neck, and she became suddenly and intensely aware of every point at which her body and Logan’s were touching.
Connor turned away to talk to Annette, and Veronica pulled her head away from Logan’s mouth, working to muster annoyance. “Is all this physical contact really necessary?” she hissed.
The smile dropped off of Logan’s face, and he pulled his arm away from her as though he’d been burned. “I was just trying to help,” he snapped. “God knows why.”
Scowling, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Veronica tilted her head, eyes narrowing. If she didn’t know exactly how much Logan hated her, she would almost think that she’d just hurt his feelings. She was fairly certain, however, that would require Logan having some.
Connor turned back to them and smiled. “Sorry about that,” he said.
“No worries,” Veronica replied. “So, Logan was just telling me about your poker game last weekend.”
“Oh yeah,” Connor said. “That was fun, right man?”
“It was a barrel of charming little monkeys,” Logan said.
Veronica listened as Logan and Connor began to describe the events of that evening, noting with particular interest Sean’s refusal to pitch in on the pizza bill and the ensuing conversation. The entire time, people bustled around Connor, adjusting his hair, wiping grease off of his abs, and bringing him refreshments. She was surprised by how annoyed Logan looked by the entire thing; she’d figured that being the son of actors, he’d be immune to life on a movie set, but apparently he wasn’t. When Connor clumsily flung his tea bag in the direction of the trashcan and then continued talking as though he hadn’t just left it sitting on the ground, Logan snapped, “Nice shot, man.”
“What do you care?” Connor asked, clearly surprised. “Someone will clean it up.” Veronica sighed inwardly. Apparently it was one thing for Connor speak up in Weevil’s defense, but quite another to translate his egalitarian ideology into practice.
Before either of them could respond, Connor excused himself to answer his phone.
Veronica turned to Logan, and when she spoke, she sounded almost impressed. “You know, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever seen you suggest that perhaps those who don’t fall into the seven-digit income bracket might have more useful things to do with their time than clean up after those who do.”
“Connor’s an ass,” Logan said, shrugging his shoulders. “Now, for my next trick, I’ll be rescuing a kitten from a storm drain.”
“Don’t kittens usually get stuck in trees?”
“Strom drains are pretty treacherous,” he said. “And you can rescue it if it’s in a tree. That way I’ll be able to look up your skirt.”
“And there’s the jackass I know and love,” she replied, smile tightening across her features.
Logan bowed. “At your service.”
“Speaking of obnoxious assholes, has it ever struck you as interesting that Sean is one of the richest kids in Neptune, yet he’s one of the tightest with his money?” Veronica asked, turning to head back to the car.
“Actually, there’s nothing about Sean I find particularly interesting,” Logan said. “The guy has all the personal appeal of a dead possum.”
Veronica paused, surprised. “Then why do you hang out with him?”
Logan said nothing, eyes sliding over the scenery of the movie set as he dug in his pocket for his keys.
“Well,” she said, “I suppose it wouldn’t do to alienate your fawning audience, now would it?”
Logan’s expression darkened, but he remained uncharacteristically silent. Veronica resumed walking, and he followed after her. She had the distinct impression that he was upset about something, and reminded herself that she couldn’t care less. She glanced back over her shoulder at Connor, and noticed that he was drinking another cup of tea. She wondered what kind of tea it was, and made a mental note to call his agent later under the pretense of sending Connor a thank you gift for the visit.
Veronica had a feeling she knew exactly what had happened to the poker money. She turned to tell Logan as much, but he strode past her and slid into the XTerra, slamming the door without so much as a glance in her direction.
* * * * *
Logan’s eyebrow shook hands with his hairline as Veronica spread the cards across the table like she’d been some kind of fucking Mafioso in a past life. Or possibly a current one, which he supposed would explain some things. The Mars family was Italian, he was fairly certain, and he found himself envisioning the small, stealthy figure of Veronica Mars creeping up the Kanes’ driveway to leave a well-wrapped dead fish on their doorstep in the middle of the night.
The image made him laugh out loud, and he ignored the perplexed look that Duncan shot him. Clearly he wasn’t drunk enough yet, he thought, and picked up his beer. Veronica began to deal, and he took a swig.
“Hey man,” Connor said as Veronica began to deal cards out to each of them. “You didn’t tell me your girlfriend was a card shark!”
Duncan looked up and began to inform Connor that he and Veronica weren’t dating anymore when he realized that Connor wasn’t looking at him - he was looking at Logan. And Logan was looking nervously at Veronica. And Veronica was looking uncomfortably at Connor.
No fucking way, he thought. Simply not possible. But sure enough, amidst the awkward glances ping-ponging back and forth across the table, Duncan had the sickening feeling that he was very excrutiatingly out of the loop.
Just as Logan opened his mouth to speak, Duncan stood up so quickly that his chair fell to the floor. He grabbed Logan’s arm and wrenched him upward. “Did he just call Veronica your girlfriend?”
Logan yanked his arm out of Duncan’s grasp. “Look, Duncan, it’s not what you think. We - ”
Duncan cut him off. “You really are a full-fledged jackass,” he spat.
He rounded on Veronica, eyes flashing. He opened his mouth to speak, but then snapped it shut. His unspoken words hung in the air between them: And you really are a slut. Saying nothing, he backed away from the table, hands held up in the air as if he were warding off whatever explanations they might offer. As he turned to leave, Veronica jumped to her feet.
“Duncan, wait!” she cried.
“Fuck you, Veronica.” And then he was sprinting across the pool top, his years of soccer sprints making Veronica’s efforts to follow him useless. She stopped in the doorway and watched him vanish, and then sighed as she heard the soft padding of rubber-soled shoes approaching from behind. She didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Logan standing behind her.
“Fuck,” she said, voice thick.
Logan was silent for a long moment, and when he spoke, his voice was vaguely incredulous. “You really don’t know, do you?”
Veronica turned to face him, head titled slightly, eyes rimmed with tears she refused to let fall. “Don’t know what?”
For a split second Logan looked torn, guilt and malice battling across his features. Veronica blinked and the expression was gone; it was replaced by something that looked suspiciously like sympathy, and it sat uneasily on his generally callous face.
“What don’t I know, Logan?”
“You don’t know much,” he snapped, but there was little feeling in the jibe. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be inside losing all of my money back to me?”
“Something like that,” she said, feeling oddly as though she were accepting an unarticulated peace offering. She looked over her shoulder into the darkness which had swallowed Duncan, and was suddenly struck with the feeling that she shouldn’t be chasing him tonight. She shrugged the feeling away and trailed after Logan into the game room to re-shuffle the cards.
“Sorry about that,” Connor said as Logan sat back down at the table. “I thought he knew.”
“Look, Connor,” Logan said. “Veronica and I aren’t actually dating.”
Connor shrugged. “Whatever you say, man. It’s cool with me.” His eyebrows drew together thoughtfully. “If Duncan and Weevil and Sean aren’t coming back, does their money stay in the pot?”
Logan nodded. “Once you’re in, you’re in.” Veronica began to toss cards out to their now-smaller circle with a surprising finesse, and Logan couldn’t help but grin. This was going to be interesting.
* * * * *
Three hours later, Logan would have paid for the evening to have achieved merely “interesting.” His father was in the hospital, his father’s mistress-cum-stalker was all over the headlines, his best friend most likely hated him, and he was out several thousand dollars to Veronica Mars of all people.
And even worse, she was the only person who seemed to give enough of a shit about his life’s sudden explosion into chaos to have followed him out to the pool to make sure he wasn’t drowning himself.
“Logan?” Her voice was softer than he wanted it to be, and he shifted in discomfort. A business truce was one thing; however, he wasn’t sure he wanted his relationship with Veronica to evolve back into the shoulder-to-cry-on variety. It brought back too many memories he wasn’t ready to deal with, and he turned to tell her to go fuck herself.
“Veronica,” he said. “Go…”
He stopped, his powers of language betraying him as he took in the expression of her face. Damned if she didn’t actually look concerned. About him. It wasn’t a look he was used to seeing on much of anyone’s face anymore, and he hated how much the tiny amount of compassion she was showing him affected him. He realized with a start that for the first time in over a year, he was looking at Veronica without the specter of Lilly hovering several inches behind her. Inhaling sharply, he fished around desperately for the rest of his sentence.
“Fine,” she said. “I’ll go. This was clearly a horrendous idea anyway.”
“Don’t,” he said, the word falling hard and heavy between them. She stopped, waiting, hovering, and before he could think about what he was saying, two more words spilled out. “Don’t go.”
“Okay,” she said, as though it were actually that easy, and then she was sitting down on the concrete next to him, and Logan was, for perhaps the first time in his life, utterly at a loss for words.
He was very good at making people like him. He was very good at making people not like him. He simply and suddenly didn’t know which one he wanted Veronica to do.
He picked up one of the champagne bottles he’d brought outside with him and took a long and desperate swig.
Veronica watched him as he drank, but said nothing. A warm feeling coalesced in Logan’s belly and began to spread out through his limbs as the alcohol he’d been downing for the past half hour finally began to work it’s way through his bloodstream.
He felt a jarring sensation shoot through his hand, and realized that he’d set the bottle down on the pavement rather hard.
“Are you okay?” Veronica asked.
“That didn’t really hurt,” he said.
“I didn’t mean that. I meant - ” She stopped, and took in his loosened posture and swaying form. “You’re drunk. Already.”
She was right, he realized, and the he found the thought comforting. He picked up the bottle again, clutching it hard that his knuckles paled.
“The problem with the world is that everyone is a few drinks behind,” he said sagely, nodding in agreement with himself. He took another drink in a clear effort to remedy the situation he had just described.
Veronica jaw dropped open. “Did you just quote Humphrey Bogart?”
“Did you just recognize a Humphrey Bogart quote?” Logan shot back. He pointed the champagne bottle at her defiantly, and Veronica had the distinct impression she was being challenged to a duel of sorts.
She rolled her eyes, and turned her attention back to the pool. “My mom used to love watching old black and white movies,” she explained. “She loved the dancing. Well, that, and we both thought Rick Blaine was hot.”
“Wow, Veronica. It’s almost as though you have culture or something.”
“Gee, Logan. That’s sweet. It’s almost as though you have manners or something.”
“I have manners,” Logan said, clearly affronted. He scrunched his eyebrows together, and then shoved the bottle at her, clearly delighted with himself. “See? If I didn’t have manners, would I be offering to share my $200 bottle of Cristal with you?”
“Thanks, Logan, but I’m good.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, taking another swig. “Here’s another Humphreyism for you: People who don’t drink are afraid of revealing themselves.”
Veronica paused, inspecting Logan through narrow eyes as she attempted to discern how drunk he really was. He stared back at her unblinkingly, torso swaying unconsciously towards her, and she suddenly became acutely aware of their proximity.
“You know, I think I will have a bit of that,” she murmured, and took the bottle from him. She took a long swig of the champagne and set it down between them. She was suddenly reminded of another night, long ago, sitting next to this same pool with this same boy, drinking with her best friend and her boyfriend, and she shivered. Turning to Logan, she asked, “You want to know what my favorite Humphrey quote is?”
Logan nodded.
“Things are never so bad they can’t be made worse.” Veronica’s voice was melancholy, and she picked up the champagne again.
That strange guilty look was back on Logan’s face, and Veronica got the distinct impression that he was remembering, too. She wondered if he missed Lilly as much as she missed Duncan. She was also beginning to wonder if she really did miss Duncan, or if she missed a person who didn’t exist anymore, had maybe never actually existed. The Duncan she missed didn’t slam people into lockers, or threaten his best friend, or look at her as thought he thought she was a slut.
Or run away when things got complicated.
She wondered if Logan ever had these kind of thoughts about Lilly, or if he too had begun to move on - and she wondered why she cared whether or not Logan had moved on.
Her limbs grew heavy as the champagne began to take effect, and she realized belatedly that Logan was talking, maybe had been talking for a little while. He was attempting to snap his fingers in front of her face to get her attention, but his thumb wasn’t cooperating, and she giggled as his hand flopped around in front of her.
“Are you laughing at me?” he asked, voice clearly wounded.
“Maybe,” she laughed. She smiled, and the act seemed to have a strange effect on Logan. His brown eyes grew even darker, and seemed to linger on her curling lips.
“Okay, my turn,” he said, leaning towards her. “You want to hear my favorite Humphrey quote?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “Sure.”
Logan turned to look directly at her, and Veronica’s breath caught in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. When he spoke, his voice was barely louder than a whisper. “I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks when you loved me.”
Goosebumps ran down Veronica’s spine, and she shivered violently, breaking the tenuous spell that seemed to have momentarily linked them.
Logan looked down at her arms, taking in her trembling. “Are you cold?”
“I’m fine,” she said, but he yanked his sweater over his head anyway and handed it to her. “Really,” she insisted, “I’m not that cold.”
“Dammit, Veronica. Can you not be a stubborn ass for like five minutes of your life?”
Her mouth dropped open, and she sputtered, “Oh, that is just rich coming from you.”
Logan glared at her and tossed the sweater on the ground. “Fine,” he snapped. “Freeze. I don’t know why you’re even out here.” He fell silent again, attention once more occupied by the champagne.
Veronica contemplated his profile, attempting to answer his unasked question for herself. Why are you here, Veronica?
She had no answer… but she had no desire to leave, either. With a sigh of resignation, she grabbed the discarded sweater and pulled it over her head. She watched Logan watch her out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t say anything, but she noticed that his shoulders seemed to relax a bit, and he set the bottle back down in between, the invitation to continue drinking with him hanging silently in the air.
Slowly, she lifted the bottle to her lips and took another sip.
* * * * *
An hour later, Veronica couldn’t feel the cold anymore. It had been effectively warded off by the significant amounts of alcohol coursing through her system. The sweater had long since been discarded, both because she was no longer cold, and because the smell of Logan wrapped around her was doing funny things to her senses. With very little success, she was struggling to remind herself that her light-headedness was due to the champagne, and not to the very Logan-ish sent of spiced cider that seemed to be permeating her awareness.
“What?” he said.
“What what?” she replied. She had the sinking feeling that in addition to robbing her of the ability to discern between “jackass” and “hot guy who smells really good,” the alcohol had stolen her ability to formulate complete sentences.
“You’re staring at me,” Logan said.
“No I’m not,” she replied.
“Yes you are. You’ve been staring at me, for, like, three minutes.”
“You’re just too drunk to have any sense of time,” she said. “That’s the only logical explation. Expation. Expal...” She trailed off, clearly sense a losing battle between her tongue and the letter ‘x.’
“I might be drunk,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean you’re logical.”
“Well if I’m not logical, how come I can do this?” Veronica began rattling off her multiplication tables, getting as far as the four’s before Logan stopped her.
“Look, fine, you’re the most logical person I’ve ever met,” he laughed. “I hereby crown you Sir Veronica of the Multiplication Table. Happy?”
“Sir Veronica?” she asked, indignant. “Are you saying I look like a sir?” She stood, hands planted firmly on her hips, and attempted to loom ominously over him. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that she was swaying back and forth rather unstably, and an amused grin broke out over Logan’s face.
“What are you smiling at?” she said, still enraged by her recent elevation to knighthood.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Now you’re the one who’s staring.” Veronica took a step toward him in an attempt to loom in a more intimidating fashion, but instead managed to trip over her own feet and crashed down onto him.
“Jesus, Veronica!” Logan’s hands wrapped around her waist as they tumbled backwards. He pulled her against him to keep her from falling over him and onto the concrete, and instead his own head cracked hard against the pavement.
“Logan! Are you okay?” Veronica’s hands flew up to his head, combing through his hair as she checked to see if he was bleeding. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “I think. Why is there a tunnel in front of me, and why is some guy standing at the end of it with a really bright flashlight?”
Veronica pulled back in alarm, hands braced on either side of him. Logan smirked up at her, clearly amused with himself, and she punched him in the shoulder. “That wasn’t funny!”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure it was.” His face seemed to be one gigantic grin, and his eyes were full of laughter. Veronica realized three things at once. The first was that she hadn’t seen Logan smile like that since Lilly died. The second was that she had missed seeing him look like that rather acutely. The third was that her entire body was pressed into his, legs entangled, hips smashed together, chests meeting, and ohmygod he was as turned on by it as she apparently was and suddenly Veronica was skittering upwards, backwards, anywards as she panicked and lurched away from him.
She came to a stop several feet away, and Logan sat up, concerned. “Veronica?”
“I…” She stared at him, eyes wide, breath coming far too rapidly, and she suddenly felt light-headed again, and not in a good way. “I can’t breathe,” she said, and the thought made her chest clench up even tighter.
Logan crawled over to her, one hand coming up to smooth her hair back from her face. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”
Veronica gulped, concentrating on slowing down her breathing. Logan’s hand continued to move through her hair as he crouched down in front of her, and she was struck by the absurdity of the situation. She wasn’t sure which was more nonsensical - the fact that she had devoted her entire evening to drinking with her arch nemesis in an attempt to cheer him up in the wake of his father’s stabbing, or the fact that he was currently talking her down from the near-panic attack she was having because she was pretty sure she’d almost kissed him.
She reached up to grab his hand, stilling his motions, and let out a bitter laugh. “This is ridiculous.”
“Which part?” he asked, and he turned his hand so that their fingers were interlaced.
Somewhere between opening her mouth to answer his question and words actually coming out, Logan’s lips crushed into hers. Veronica gasped into his mouth, but then his tongue was moving against hers, and his hands were in her hair again, and the whole thing felt far too good to think about why it was such a horrendously bad idea.
Tentatively at first, and then more aggressively, Veronica’s hands sought out Logan. Her left hand curled itself around his neck, fingertips brushing against his hairline, and her right hand slid around his waist. He mimicked her gestures, pulling her against his chest and deepening the kiss. She turned, legs falling on either side of his waist, and she found herself pressed into him, leaving her no doubt exactly how much he wanted her. For a brief moment she let herself sink down onto him. The feeling of Logan pressing up into her through their jeans created a fierce and frightening sense of wanting inside of her that was somehow familiar and new at the same time. Her head rocked back, and his mouth found her throat. Fireworks of sensation exploded beneath his lips as his teeth nipped gently at the juncture between her neck and her shoulder.
It wasn’t until she heard her name passing through his lips that she realized what he was doing, what she was doing, and she pulled away. Hands still wrapped around his waist, she met his gaze; his eyes were dark, swirling, and it took an immense amount of effort for Veronica to extract herself from his incredibly warm embrace. He didn’t resist as she pulled away, nor did he say a word. He simply watched her as she stood on shaking legs and stumbled backwards.
She stared back at him, the cold air harsh against her skin in the absence of his warmth. She wrapped her arms around herself, and suddenly felt far too sober.
“Logan, I…”
The corner of his mouth quirked up a little sadly as she trailed off. “Don’t,” he said, but this time he didn’t follow with don’t go. She nodded and turned to leave, but his voice stopped her.
“Veronica.” She looked at him, wondering what he was going to say, wondering what she wanted him to say. “You can take the sweater.”
“What?”
“If you’re cold. You can take the sweater.”
It wasn’t exactly a confession of his undying affection, but it wasn’t a damning condemnation of her now-proven sluttiness, either.
She leaned over to pick up the sweater, accepting the truce. As she slid it over her head, the spicy scent of Logan once more surrounded her. She turned to leave again, and she was halfway to the gate when she heard him again.
“Merry Christmas, Veronica!”
She turned and gave a small smile. “Merry Christmas, Logan.”
He smiled back, and watched as she turned around and walked out of the pool gate and into the night.
Merry Christmas indeed, he thought, and slowly began to walk back to the house.
~fin