Sans One Inner Monologue

Well, this can't be good (Keith, Veronica, Logan) 3/?

2008-07-11T05:45:37Z

Title: Well, this can't be good (WIP) 3/?
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Keith, Veronica, Logan, Vinnie (mentions of ensemble)
Word Count: 3115
Rating: PG
Summary: I know you so well, Veronica Mars.
Spoilers: Futurefic, know the whole series
Warnings: Mild language
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.

There is one line that was more me wishing Logan would have said this on the show. I apologize for the transference. Anyway, thanks to peznarskifor the beta, all mistakes are mine.

Part One, Two

“Maybe we can try…” Veronica said.

“Try?”

“…being friends.”

Keith looked away quickly. The Hearst cafeteria was the last place he wanted to be, and things were about to get even more uncomfortable. Updating Logan on a potential break in the case wasn’t supposed to mean walking in on an intimate conversation involving his own daughter.

It was tough to pinpoint, but there was something really wrong with everything he had encountered thus far. Veronica had done an extensive check of the Leary finances. No secret ransoms expended or otherwise exorbitant cash withdrawals.

Candice’s plane ticket and subsequent travel splurges all checked out. In fact, just two days ago a periodic check revealed Candice had dropped over a grand at a sunglass tiki hut. Despite even that, the contents in his jacket pocket kept his frown in place.

He hung back from the two, relieved that they hadn’t noticed him.

“Before you made happy with Piz’s face, before Parker, before Lilly,” she said.

“Do you even remember that far back?”

Veronica smiled at Logan. Her eyes clouded with the memories of her old life. It was as if she was just beginning to remember there was an actual time where things were much simpler. Keith found his own thoughts drifting to those moments.

Lamb was still a deputy, eagerly vying for Keith’s attention, wanting to soak up all he could of how to be a good officer, a good man.

Lianne welcomed him every night, promptly at six, with a home-cooked meal and a smile of adoration.

Keith could walk through the streets of Neptune knowing he had the respect of his colleagues and the love of his community.

“Some days better than others,” she said.

Logan only mustered a wan smile. His reaction caused Veronica’s smile to drop and return back to their conversation. Keith could have intervened right then. It wasn’t Logan’s fault for bringing her back to reality, but by doing so Keith felt pulled back as well. Even if it was a façade, why couldn’t they both just pretend for a little bit longer?

“We’re not so good ‘friends’,” Logan said.

Veronica’s face turned playful. In fact, she almost looked relieved that he hadn’t acceded so quickly. Logan mimicked her expression.

Keith struggled not to roll his eyes. The kid thought he was so smooth. Keith’s strategy of shuffling his weight from one foot to another wasn’t helping stave off his restlessness. ‘Dropping in’ was looking better and better.

“Better ‘friends’ than nothing at all,” she said.

Keith pulled tightly-wound fists into his jacket pockets. It was a technique he would use during stake-outs when the need for rash saving-of-damsels crowded in on his common sense. Veronica would only be mortified if he swooped in, but he couldn’t stand to hear the vulnerability in her voice.

At least Logan had the decency to look chastened. Any hint of cocky bastard and the decision would be made for him, common sense or no.

“Okay,” Logan said. “But I want ground rules.”

Veronica scoffed in time with Keith. After a stern look from Logan, she sobered slightly, still reluctant but willing to hear him out.

“I’m not the bad guy,” he said. “So I don’t want you treating me like I am and I don’t want you avoiding me ‘cause I’ve somehow landed on your list of suspects.”

“Logan--,” she said.

“--and if you’re gonna do background checks on the girls I choose to date, give me a heads up,” he said.

“But you ask--,” she said.

“--you know you lo-jacked Candice way before she went missing.”

Keith’s face softened. He would never admit it, but a small smile wrinkled the corners of his mouth. His stay was long past due. Communicating that to the rest of his faculties had been difficult up until then, but they were slowly coming around.

He turned on his heel and walked towards the double doors.

“I know you so well, Veronica Mars.”

There it was, the cocky Echolls bravado. The only thing that surprised Keith was how long it took Logan to get there. Take away his monetary resources and exclusive privilege and he was still that punk kid from high school hanging around Veronica like he had a stake in her.

Keith sat down on a stiff cafeteria chair a ways off from them both. The hard backing prevented him from becoming completely comfortable, but he preferred it that way. This was no time for relaxing.

His hands sought refuge as they clasped together. He was going for calm, but the tight set of his jaw made the rest of his frame look strained. Once they stood to leave, either Veronica or Logan would be able to see him. The idea eased his mind, loosening the rise in his shoulders.

He wasn’t some random eavesdropper skulking around in the shadows. From the moment he held the runty seven pound eleven ounce blonde in his arms, he knew he would be protecting her against harm for as long as he was able. And Veronica was like catnip for bad guys, whether she sought them out or not. With all that Logan had done for Veronica, good or bad, Keith couldn’t make up his mind where Logan fell on the hero/villain scale.

But he had promised to help the kid. Keith reviewed that statement over and over like a mantra.

I promised Veronica. I promised Veron--

“Do you wanna hug on it or something? Friends hug,” Veronica said.

“Not the way we do it,” Logan said.

“Shake?”

Keith held in his groan as the two shook hands. If their matching grins were testament, it looked like they wished they had gone for the hug. After a moment longer than Keith felt was necessary, the two broke hands.

“Bye, friend,” Logan said.

Veronica was the first to depart. Her smile faltered as soon as her eyes met Keith’s. She recovered quickly, straightening her shoulders and walking towards him.

“I thought I told you to meet at the carpool lane and do the honk and wave,” Veronica said.

“You did,” Keith said. “But I’ve been an extra cool dad these past couple of weeks. Showing up at your school unannounced balances things out.”

She looked like she was about to quip back, but the weight of Keith’s words silenced her reply. Keith frowned. He hadn’t meant the conversation to turn somber so quickly.

“You have news,” she said.

Keith nodded and retrieved a manila envelope from his coat pocket. He hadn’t intended to share any of the case details with Veronica, but figured she’d find out sooner or later. It was really the Mars family way. Even though she’d said she’d keep her distance, normal college sophomore wasn’t really Veronica.

She had dropped a few of her criminology classes that first week, but still kept office hours at Mars Investigations. He hadn’t asked what classes replaced the old ones, and she didn’t offer. There was an unspoken shame in the air, like an unacknowledged failure would make it less real.

“Is this news going to make me happy I went with today’s ice-cream-for-lunch option?” she said.

Keith pulled back the brass brads and slipped the contents from the sheath. He looked up at her with wistful fondness.

“All I ever wanted for you was proper nutrition,” he said.

“Mr. Mars?”

An internal sigh withdrew at the sight of Logan. Keith couldn’t help it. He had spoken with Logan on three separate occasions during the past two weeks, all cordial, all brief. Yet there was still a pause required to brace himself before any Logan interaction. The kid was trying. He knew that. He also knew it was probably more for Veronica’s sake than his own. Veronica and Logan’s overheard conversation wasn’t helping.

“Logan.”

It was mean to let the air hang amid sidelong glances between Veronica and Logan, but Keith didn’t care. He was in no rush to make things easier for either of them.

“Dad,” Veronica said. “You stretch out that pause any longer, and I’m going to start to think you’re enjoying this.”

“Nothing gets past you, sweetheart,” Keith said.

“Did you find something?” Logan said.

Keith flipped over the glossy photos. Looking down at his handiwork was preferable to registering Logan’s reaction. This was his least favorite part.

“A couple of somethings,” Keith said as he fanned the pictures like a ViewMaster reel.

Logan scrutinized each photo as if looking up close would somehow alter the images. Keith’s hope was that Logan’s frame would obstruct Veronica’s view in some way, shielding her from another shining example of people letting you down.

He should have known it wouldn’t help. Veronica could smell infidelity, visual assistance or no.

After a few dead ends, a contact from the hospital came through. Ten minutes before visiting hours ended a leggy redhead would be seen visiting the private suite of one Grandma Leary. These visits were always brief, but for the past three nights, the redhead would come like clockwork.

Hoping something would come of it, Keith tailed the redhead one of the nights to find that, not only was Little Miss Incognito none other than Candice Leary herself, but she was also cavorting with Uncle Alfie a bit too familiarly than common decency dictated.

Keith had stopped tracking the play-by-play before they reached the main event, but the wounded look in Logan’s eyes told Keith that what little he had seen had done enough. Part of him felt sorry for the kid. If it wasn’t stolen video and tape degaussers, it was philandering girlfriends with shady lawyers.

“I still don’t know why they would want to make people think she was out of the country, but I can do some more digging,” Keith said.

Logan nodded, as if Keith’s words were not the healing balm he was hoping to find. “What about the roommate? Did you ever find her?”

Keith shook his head. Veronica had talked to the college roommate as follow-up per Alfie’s suggestion, but the school registry showed Candice had dropped out way before she had been assigned anyone.

Everything about this case felt odd. If it weren’t for Veronica’s personal connection, Keith might’ve cut his losses right then and told Logan to do the same. Candice was apparently a lying cheat, but at least she wasn’t missing.

“I’m going to have to bail, guys,” Veronica said. “My next class is in Sterling Hall. If I don’t leave now I’ll be late.”

“You know they stop giving perfect attendance awards when you graduate high school,” Logan said.

He sobered quickly at the double-shot of glower coming from both Veronica and Keith.

“Try to play nice while I’m gone,” she said, looking more towards Keith’s direction than to Logan’s. “And if the apocalypse comes, beep me.”

Keith and Logan gazed at Veronica with a dual longing that she would stay. The whip of her ponytail bounced in time with her power walk. Knowing Veronica, a part of her was probably enjoying the forced company she was leaving behind.

“I should get going as well,” Keith said. “And don’t you have a class you should be attending?”

Logan barely moved his head, concentrating instead on the line of people waiting to stuff their mouths with the Chili’s daily special. Keith let the silence draw out a little longer before motioning his intent to leave.

“Why do you think she did it?”

Keith fell back into his chair, hesitant to come up with a viable excuse for Candice’s behavior. He had seen so much in the fields of law enforcement and private investigation to ever truly be surprised when the people you thought you knew weren’t who they seemed. Hell, he had seen too much in his personal life.

“Why do you?” Keith said.

Logan shrugged. It was obvious that his go-to method of coping had little to do with waxing philosophic about the motives of the reprehensible. Logan looked more like a drowning-your-sorrows kind of a guy. Keith wondered if the truce with Veronica played a part in Logan’s demeanor.

“We only dated for a couple of months,” Logan said.

“And in that time you weren’t able to acquire any personal details into your girlfriend’s psyche?”

“She wasn’t my girlfriend,” Logan said. “We were seeing each other, but it was casual.”

“Casual enough for you to enlist Veronica’s help when it seemed pretty obvious Candice had just left?” Keith said.

For the first time since Logan sat down, he looked at Keith in appraisal. The cold determination in his stare could have rattled even the most seasoned of tough guys, but Keith had much tougher skin.

“I didn’t ask Veronica for help to get back into her good graces,” Logan said.

“I’m glad,” Keith said. “I’d hate to think that considering what she’s going through right now, you would take advantage of her affection for you.”

Logan frowned in confusion for only a second before slipping back on his poker face. “Why don’t I believe you’re glad?”

It was Keith’s turn to shrug. He craned his head to the side, noting students taking their leave. The conversation was souring fast. Hearst cafeteria hardly felt appropriate for the airing of long-time grievances.

Logan leaned into his chair with languid casualness. If Keith hadn’t been paying extra close attention, he might have been fooled. The eyes gave Logan away. He was surely spoiling for a fight.

“Like I said, I should get going.”

“Keith,” Logan said, rising from his chair. “Mr. Mars.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Logan.”

“I don’t need you to like me,” he said. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for your help, but I’m not a miracle worker.”

Keith took a moment to assess the situation. Logan’s frankness was laced with a confidence Keith had never encountered from him before. There was no ostentation, no show of insincerity. By all accounts, it appeared Logan had shed a part of that shiny veneer that made Keith so uncomfortable in the past. It was a trait that the great Aaron Echolls had in spades, the candy-coated covering of a seedy underbelly.

“Go to class,” Keith said. “I’ll call you with news.”

Logan nodded as he made his exit. Keith might’ve even imagined hopefulness in the corners of Logan’s eyes. Then again, maybe it was relief.

Keith hung his head low, trying to steady his breathing. Being alone allowed him a moment to show how much energy this was costing him. The pungent smell of waning cafeteria food freshness made his eyes water. He swiped at them hastily with the sleeve of his arm.

“Former interim sheriff, Keith Mars.”

“Private dick, Vinnie Van Lowe.”

It was a weak comeback and they both knew it. Evolved maturity wasn’t going to be on the docket today.

Keith kept his attention steady. If Vinnie wanted literal face time with him, he would have to work a little harder. Screw whatever reason brought him there in the first place.

As if reading his mind, Vinnie weaved in front of Keith and spun around. A sputter of oil hit the side of Keith’s cheek in the process. Vinnie’s hair was slicked back with so much of it there were puddles dripping onto the back collar of his shirt. The evolution from ethically stagnant shamus with a Don Johnson fixation to Erik Estrada didn’t make this any easier.

“I got some news on the case you’ve been working on.”

Vinnie flicked imaginary lint from the shoulder of his uniform. He leaned back, grinning wide and jutting out his stomach, gripping the sides of his utility belt. Keith almost wished Vinnie had just come to scope out college co-eds and ride campus golf carts.

“So tell me the truth,” he said.

Keith held his stoic expression with growing impatience. Vinnie then edged closer, dipping his head towards Keith’s conspiratorially.

“Does the uniform make me look fat?”

Any response felt like acquiescence so Keith sidestepped past Vinnie in pursuit of getting away. Wardrobe choices and hair product aside, the only thing that had surprised Keith in this whole living nightmare was Vinnie’s commitment to the position as sheriff.

Though it was poor taste to bad-mouth the dead, Vinnie was a vast improvement to Don Lamb. Neptune was still a breeding ground for nefarious acts, but by all accounts Vinnie wasn’t leading the parade float of the morally corrupt. Rather he was on the fringes, making sure the marching band didn’t stray onto the sidewalks.

“Okay, okay, slow down,” Vinnie said.

Keith adjusted the envelope under his arm and kept his pace. The only reason why Vinnie would specifically come to him was either to goad or proposition him. From Keith’s standpoint, neither felt particularly appealing.

“Geez, does that stick up your ass come with the early retirement or is this just my lucky day?”

The sigh Keith had been trying to hold in finally released. He stopped in his tracks, waiting for Vinnie to catch up. Part of him instantly regretting doing so, as the smile on Vinnie’s face only widened.

“Now that’s more like it. You don’t wanna hurt my feelings. I might not go halfsies on the reward money.”

“Vinnie, what are you talking about?” Keith said.

“Candice Leary?” Vinnie said. “Friend found her body last night. Reward for her killer is $500 G’s and rising. Grandma wants the information before she kicks it herself. Good thing she’s an impatient ole broad.”

“Where did they find her?”

“Sunbathing off the coast of too-rich-for-my-blood island. Local law enforcement is a joke. They wanna bring out the big boys. What do you say, Keith?” Vinnie said.

“I’m gonna need a copy of the coroner’s report. I’ll call if I need you,” Keith said.

Vinnie tipped an imaginary hat and made his exit. His ebullient demeanor came from knowing the silent offer of complete access to the sheriff’s resources was too enticing to pass up.

Everything felt tipped on its side. The steamy tryst with Uncle Alfie had occurred less than forty-eight hours ago. Why did it feel like everyone was lying?

Keith shielded his eyes as he walked out into the sun. A moment of squinting allowed him to take in the sights of the Hearst campus. Kids were throwing a Frisbee to his right, running through the manicured lawn without cares of murder or corruption. It was a beautiful day, perfect California weather.

The effort it took to reach for his cell phone and dial felt more taxing than he thought it would. He was wrong. This was his least favorite part.

“Logan? Keith Mars. I have some bad news.”

Well, this can't be good (Keith, Veronica, Logan) 2/?

2008-06-26T20:49:05Z

Title: Well, this can't be good (WIP) 2/?
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Keith, Veronica, Logan (mentions of ensemble)
Word Count: 2362
Rating: G
Summary: It's called 'stealth', dad. One of the things I picked up from the FBI.
Spoilers: Futurefic, know the whole series
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.

This really shouldn't have taken as long as it did to post. Let's hope the next installment goes better. Thanks to peznarskifor the partial beta, all mistakes are mine.

Part One

Keith Mars never really thought about what his life would be like outside of law enforcement. The moment he fitted the badge to his chest, he stopped worrying about the position itself and focused on what it represented. Catch the bad guys, fight for justice. All those things he dreamt of doing when scurrying through his neighborhood on a Radio Flyer, a makeshift cape flapping behind his shoulders.

The blind sense of civic duty had rewarded him a position as sheriff, a comfortable life, and a doting family. He hadn’t taken any of them for granted, but when everything unraveled, he couldn’t help but be surprised how quickly everything could change.

Lianne’s departure that first time had almost broken him. If it weren’t for Veronica, he might’ve ended up an empty shell of his former self, rather than a man wounded but on the mend. There had been days where she was the only reason he got out of bed in the mornings.

“My dad used to say if you scrunch your face like that, it’ll stay that way,” she said.

Keith looked up from his musings and returned a drowsy smile, as if emerging from a dream. Lately he’d been thinking a lot about the past, wondering if his reminiscing would provide insight to their future, his or hers.

“He lied.”

Veronica set her bag across the table and helped herself to a bowl of mystery-Food-Network-recipe she had put together in the slow cooker that morning. He looked at her for a moment and narrowed his eyes.

“How long have you been here?” he said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“It’s called ‘stealth’, dad. One of the things I picked up from the FBI.”

Keith watched her quip visibly deflate as the words ran away from her. It had been almost a week since her confession on the beach. She hadn’t mentioned the FBI or her future prospects since then. He had worried she wouldn’t ever.

“Has anyone ever told you that unemployment suits no one?” she said.

“My daughter’s made a few disparaging remarks.”

She smiled and offered him a spoon. “Have you eaten?”

He shook his head, but set the spoon down as soon as he picked it up. She quirked her eyebrow in question. To be perfectly honest, Keith hadn’t eaten a suitable meal since that day with Veronica. There had been a strange vacancy in her eyes that had scared him.

He didn’t want his only daughter to have given up hope at the tender age of twenty. She had her whole life ahead of her.

“I wanted to wait until you got home to tell you the good news,” he said.

Veronica set the bowl down and looked at him with piqued interest.

“You took the consulting job from Farraway and Monk?”

Keith bit back exasperation. Veronica was having a hard time believing he was no longer pursuing the dirty picture biz. The San Diego PI firm had offered him a generous signing bonus and yearly salary. He could handpick the jobs he would take, and set his own hours. But the perks just weren’t enough.

When it came down to it, he had lost his drive. And what Veronica couldn’t seem to understand was that he felt no shame in throwing in the towel. He was finished, and for him, that was a good thing.

“Simon & Schuster’s advance came through this morning. My semi-autobiographical, creative nonfiction, spy novel is gonna be published,” he said.

Veronica looked disappointed, but hid it well. She raised her hand in encouragement and he hi-fived her.

“Good going, pop,” she said.

“Thanks, kid,” he said. “Now spill. How was your second day of school? Did you play nicer than your first day of school?”

She pretended to look affronted that he would even suggest she hadn’t been on her best behavior. “I tried to share my juice and cookies like you showed me, but this one guy was a total cootie burger so I had to jab him with my taser.”

“I thought I checked your bag before you left this morning,” he said. “Am I going to have to talk to this boy’s parents?”

Veronica stuck out her tongue and returned her attention to her bowl. After a second, Keith noticed her odd fixation on a meal that was quickly becoming cold. Her back had become rigid as if she was trying to calm herself without making it known.

He even thought he saw a tear fall from her lashes and hit the side of the red ceramic lip. She tensed when he wordlessly stroked her back, willing her to calm.

“Veronica?” he said.

“I’m okay,” she said instinctively.

He nodded, though she hadn’t looked up. Failure had been a wary companion to him in the last few years. But despite sheriff elections and dating relationships, there was one thing he never questioned. Keith Mars was a good father. Imperfect but dedicated. Veronica wasn’t the easiest person to comfort. It was often difficult to gauge when she even needed it. But she allowed herself to receive comfort from him, and that brought its own kind of merit.

Veronica straightened and blew her bangs from her face in frustration. She looked towards Keith’s direction and delivered a wan smile.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with me. I can’t stop crying.”

The fragility in her voice broke his heart.

“Dad?” she said. “How did everything get so messed up?”

He shrugged his shoulders and motioned her to follow him to the couch. After an obvious internal debate she plopped down against him, laying her head against the crook of his side. He rubbed her head in rhythmic circles.

“I don’t think I can help Logan,” she said.

Keith stopped to peer down at her. He had never known her to give up on a case, especially if it was to help a friend.

“Okay,” he said.

She looked up at him, surprised that he was giving her permission.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” she said. “I want to.”

He started to shush her, and she rose, eager to explain herself. The determination in her eyes was piercing. It might have been a little amusing if Veronica wasn’t developing sweat across her brow. Clearly, she had agonized over it. He hated to see her this way.

“I can’t go to my criminology classes without wondering what I’m even doing there,” she said. “I can’t help Logan find his missing girlfriend, without feeling like I’ll never…”

He waited for a few seconds without her elaborating. She slunk into the couch cushions, the weight of her thoughts clouding her mind.

“Like you’ll never…?” he said.

She looked at him defeated, pausing out of concern for his feelings.

“Like I’ll never get out of this place, like I’ll be stuck here forever,” she said.

Keith nodded, lost for words. She hadn’t said anything he didn’t already know. Veronica was always bigger than Neptune. Even knowing that didn’t make saying the words sting any less. She looked at him in concern. The regret in her confession was written all over her face.

“I didn’t mean to say it like that,” she said.

He smiled with a sad glint in his eye. She didn’t mean to say it to him.

“Are you mad?” she said.

He scoffed at her and rose from the couch. Hearing the bustle of activity, Backup ambled into the living room, eager to convey his desire to relieve his faculties. Veronica stayed where she was on the couch. Her cautious look made him return an encouraging smile.

“I’m gonna take Backup for a walk. Do you wanna come with me?” he said.

She brightened but shook her head.

“I should really do some research for a case,” she said.

“Logan’s case?” he said.

She shrugged in nonchalance, but Keith could feel the sadness radiating off her from across the room. Veronica would pursue this case for Logan, even if it killed her.

As he reached the front door, he stopped, looking at the last rays of light beaming through the slits of the screen. He was about to suggest something monumentally foolish, and needed a moment to get the wording just right.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

“I had a thought,” he said.

Keith’s hand was still on the doorknob as he spoke. The touch of the metal seemed to warn against finishing his sentence, whispering persuasions for a hasty exit. Backup had similar ideas, as the scamp nuzzled the back of Keith’s legs. He would have guided the slobber away from his pants if he hadn’t become immobile. It seemed to take all of his energy just to muster up the will to execute his thought.

“Dad?” she said. “When you get quiet like that it usually means I’m in trouble or you’re going to be.”

“We’re gonna take a walk,” he said.

“How’d I know it was the former?” she muttered.

He turned towards her and opened the door behind his back. Backup tried to shoot out through the entryway, and whined when Keith tightened his hold on the leash.

“You’re gonna brief me on Logan’s case, and I’ll take it from there,” he said. “It’ll be like my last stand.”

Veronica’s eyes widened. This was obviously the last thing she had expected from him. After Veronica had started dating Logan last year, Keith had kept all comments to himself. He didn’t think Logan was good enough for her, but found a strange comfort in knowing that Logan was aware he wasn’t good enough for Veronica either.

After they broke up, got back together, and broke up again, he had thought it was for the best. He might’ve even laid it on a little thick when voicing his approval of Veronica’s choice in dating Stosh Piznarski.

Stosh was easygoing and unassuming. He had no criminal history. True, there were a couple of speeding tickets besmirching an otherwise pristine record, and Keith hadn’t forgotten the confiscated fake ID. But he also hadn’t forgotten who was Stosh’s supplier.

The best thing about Stosh was that Keith truly believed he could make Veronica more happy than sad. And after the last few years, she could use a chance for happiness.

“Dad,” she said. “I don’t think…”

Keith silenced her with a raised hand. The incredulity of his request resided in both parties, but the sacrifice felt like it needed to be done. There were a lot of things he couldn’t do for her, but this wasn’t one of them.

“C’mon,” he said. “Before Backup decides to just pee on my leg.”

As if in solidarity, Backup tilted his head towards Veronica and released a small whimper. She narrowed her eyes at the two males, one of whom was trying hard to hold in his laugh.

“Fine,” she said. “But only because I gave you those pants for Christmas last year.”

“Okay, honey,” he said. “Start from the beginning.”

They had chosen a different path than Backup’s usual romp. It was closer and shaded by more foliage. Backup had run a few yards ahead, delight apparent in his jaunty investigations.

Keith knew Veronica preferred the beach for its open spaces and calming surf, but the small park invited fewer patrons. If she was going to divulge any details of Logan’s case, it was better to do it here than there.

“Veron--” he said.

“Two weeks ago, Logan overheard a phone conversation Candice was having with Grandma Leary. Logan didn’t get the details, but it had something to do with grandma’s ailing health. Candice ended their date early so that she could spend time with her. Three days later, grandma’s life-flighted to Balboa County Hospital and Candice is nowhere to be found.”

Veronica sat down on a bench, scratching behind Backup’s ears in distraction. After a moment, her eyes followed a careless bird weaving in between trees. Its feet landed on one branch only to flit to another, too restless to keep stationary. Keith tried to keep the amusement at her concentration from his face.

“The official word, meaning the word that was given to Logan by the family lawyer, is that Candice has left. She’s off for a probably permanent vacation to some island, whose name I can’t pronounce, off the coast of Fiji. Apparently, it’s a big hotspot for the uber rich.”

Keith nodded periodically at Veronica’s words.

Backup had scampered from Veronica’s grasp. Once, the mischievous pit bull wandered off the trail in search of squirrels. Keith whistled sharply and Backup returned, only moderately chastened.

Veronica continued without pause.

“Per his usual self, Logan has chosen to believe that there’s something up, rather than the more obvious possibility that Candice is just celebrating the multiple billions she will have access to, come Grandma Leary’s very imminent death.”

“She’s a freshman, right? Who’s taking care of the estate until she’s legal?”

Veronica stopped to catch her breath and give Keith a wry smile, “Uncle Alfie.”

Keith began to say something, but stopped at Veronica’s interjection.

“Otherwise known as Alfred Hughes. Contrary to his moniker, he’s about as related to the Leary estate as you or me. I hit up the college roommate for details. My brief encounter as vapid sorority girl makes me think Uncle Alfie is a sleazy letch, but harmless. There’s nothing to suggest Candice is anywhere besides where he says she is. Plane ticket, credit card activity, ‘farewell, Logan’ voicemail message? Everything pans out.”

“I don’t think you have to guess what my next question’s gonna be,” he said.

“Try me,” she said.

Keith finally turned to look at her. The defense behind her lashes made him swallow back a well-timed quip. There were shadows under her eyes and a weariness to her frame that he hadn’t seen since her junior year. Veronica wouldn’t be able to keep the walls up for long.

“If Candice’s been gone for over a week now, how’d you get information from a roommate she would have only met three days ago?” he said.

Veronica’s face blanched, and Keith began to seriously wonder how badly this FBI rejection was affecting her.

Well, this can't be good (Keith, Veronica, Logan) WIP

2008-05-22T07:51:49Z

Title: Well, this can't be good (WIP)
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Keith, Veronica, Logan (mentions of ensemble)
Word Count: 2039
Rating: G
Summary: The seedier citizens of Neptune have temporarily acquired moral consciousness.
Spoilers: Futurefic, know the whole series
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.

I realize now that my title may have already provided an unwanted assumption to the fic's quality and/or readability, but it's late and I can't come up with anything else. Again, no beta, so all mistakes are mine.

“Hey, pop,” she said.

Uh-oh, he thought.

Veronica plopped onto the adjoining couch, letting her weight sink her lower into the cushions. She hadn’t even bothered to drop her messenger bag from her shoulder or remove her shoes from her feet.

This could mean two things. Veronica was upset about something only fine Italian dining could cure. Or Veronica was so exhausted by the day she would be useless to him until the following morning.

“What’s up, kid?” he said.

She shrugged her shoulders in response and stared straight ahead. He knew that look intimately. Veronica was trying to nothing something out of her mind by singularly focusing on something as inconsequential as their kitchen tile.

“Case load giving you problems?” he said.

“No,” she said. “The seedier citizens of Neptune have temporarily acquired moral consciousness.”

He smiled at the disappointment in her tone, marveling at what a precocious girl he raised.

“Something will pick up soon enough,” she said.

“Classes don’t start for another week, so it couldn’t be that,” he said.

She was purposely avoiding his questioning glances. Keith perfected the I’m-here-if-you-need-to-talk look and was currently setting it to ‘full strength’. One peek towards his direction and she’d be a goner.

“Have you heard from Stosh?”

This prompted a large sigh. “We agreed we were better off as friends.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. I thought he was a fine young man.”

Keith knew he had said the wrong thing the minute the words fell out of his mouth. Veronica stood and walked towards her room, eyes brimming with moisture. His strong, proud Veronica was coming apart at the seams and he had no idea how to help her.

“Honey?”

She looked at him, warning him away with her eyes as she stood in the doorframe of her bedroom. The chipped paint had suddenly become fascinating to her as she flicked at the flakes with her thumb.

“Dad?” she said.

“Veronica?” he parroted.

“I miss mom,” she said.

Keith looked down at his feet, unsure what to say. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t sometimes miss Lianne as well. She had been his wife for almost eighteen years and his first real love. Any bitterness or resentment couldn’t take that fact away.

“What prompted this, sweetheart?” he said, unsure he wanted an answer.

“I dunno,” she lied as she slunk to the floor.

Keith sat beside her, the door of his bedroom open behind him. Backup joined them a few minutes later, resting his head on Veronica’s knee. She scratched behind his ear, distractedly. Memories floated through their circle, somehow making the scene even sadder and yet more intimate.

Both Mars members had ammunition to use against the missing matron, but at the end of the day, there was a small comfort in knowing that they were enough for each other. Lianne Mars’s absence was palpable, but her presence wasn’t really needed anymore.

“Dad?” she said.

Keith kept silent at the timidity in Veronica’s eyes. She was going to tell him a secret. It could involve him. It could have nothing to do with him. But it was a secret she was silently pleading for understanding.

“Yes?” he said.

“I miss Logan, too.”

Keith started to pet Backup as a means of distracting himself. Veronica never talked about boys. Ever. The closest she had come was her breakup with Duncan Kane, a few years previous. And honestly, he’d rather pretend that whole incident had never occurred.

Veronica had scooted Backup from her lap and pulled her knees close to her chest, shielding herself from a waiting assault. Boys like Logan Echolls were not the type that fathers envision for their only little girls. If Keith was really honest with himself, boys like Duncan Kane weren’t either.

Keith had always hoped that Veronica would make a name for herself not as a field agent for the FBI or private investigator, but as a successful and happy investment banker or CEO. He’d rather have her biggest worry be where to invest her self-made millions than being able to stay one step ahead of her current bad guy of the week.

Though it was a bit of projecting, Keith wanted Veronica to finish school, marry a nice boy, raise a family close by, and never worry about the dastardly deeds of Neptune’s undesirables.

“That’s natural,” he said.

She looked at him in slight surprise. Backup had long since left, growing bored with them just sitting there.

“It is?” she said.

He smiled. When it came to Veronica, most people had to remind themselves that she was barely twenty-years old. Some had often accused him of not regarding her youth, but he did. Or at least tried.

Veronica Mars was smart and capable and persevering. Everything he wished to instill in her. But she was still growing, still feeling her way. He treasured the moments where he could still be useful in her life.

“You dated Logan off and on for a long time. It’s normal to think about him now that you’re available,” he said.

“Available?” she said.

He rolled his eyes at her parental embarrassment. “‘Available’, ‘single’, ‘on the market’, whatever you wanna call it.”

“I guess it’s better than ‘on the prowl’ or ‘cruising for chicks’,” she said.

“Ya know it’s rude to mock your elders.”

Veronica lowered her head to hide a small smile and Keith felt like he had succeeded. Their relationship had been strained at the beginning of the summer, most of it due to Veronica’s guilt at the lost sheriff election. Then, Keith announced that he would not be returning to the PI biz. His heart just wasn’t in it anymore, maybe had never been.

It had felt like the smoothest option for their family at the time. Staying in Neptune proper had seemed so important. And the only available vocation for a sullied former sheriff was taking pictures of illicit extracurriculars involving the very people that had demanded his head on a stick. Neptune was kind of funny like that.

“Logan’s dating again,” she said.

“You saw him?” he said.

Veronica had returned a little over a week ago from her FBI internship. He had talked with her more when she was gone than the last couple weeks before she left. She had said it was nice to touch base with normal. He said she was just a little homesick. Neither said it was because they just missed each other.

“Mac told me,” she said.

“And you don’t want him dating again?” he said.

Keith let the question hang in the air as he got up to walk to the kitchen. Veronica followed. If they were going to get into a heart-to-heart about boys, he needed a change of scenery. And ice cream, lots of ice cream.

“I don’t think she’s right for him,” she said.

“And you know this from one conversation with Mac?” he said.

He pushed a spoon in front of her face and she accepted it gratefully. Now that she had something for her hands to do, she twirled the utensil around each finger. He wondered where she had picked that up from.

“I may have also done a cursory background check on her,” she said.

Keith pulled back his offered bowl of ice cream just as Veronica reached for it. She watched as he walked passed her, sat on the couch and dug in.

It wasn’t in his nature to judge Veronica when she toed the line on emotional impulses, but he wasn’t going to encourage her either. She frowned at his action, but had little moral standing to complain. Instead, she walked around the corner and scooped herself a helping of Choca-choo-choo Nation.

“So?” he said.

She turned the bar stool around, eyebrows raised, and mouth full.

“So, what?” she mumbled.

“Wha’ju find?”

She sat down next to him and kept her eyes down cast. If she was hoping to find answers or absolution at the bottom of her ice cream bowl, she was about to become very disappointed.

Exhausted, she set the empty bowl on the table and twirled her hair casually like this was something a normal college girl did in her free time.

“Candice Leary, twenty-years old. No arrests, no tickets, no library fines. Raised by grandma after her parents were killed in a skiing accident. Heir to her late grandpa’s oil fortune, which makes Candice’s bank account bigger than Logan’s. They met at a soup kitchen, ladling soup…to the homeless!”

“I didn’t think they actually served soup at a soup kitchen.”

Veronica glowered at him and prepared to leave the room.

“Sit down, Veronica,” he said. “Let’s talk this through.”

She eased back into the chair, making a show of how all of this was still getting to her. “What about this cursory background check is upsetting you the most?”

Veronica shrugged. Her eyes were clouded over with insecurity and unfair comparisons. Keith had never seen her like this. Who was this girl shifting uncomfortably in her seat? Surely not his daughter.

“I’m gonna take Backup for a walk,” she said.

“I’ll come with you,” he said.

She turned to look at him, a defeated vacancy in her eyes. Keith unsteadily rose and walked over to the utility closet to grab Backup’s leash. He pulled her towards the door, arm draped loosely over her shoulder.

Her long, blonde locks thread lightly through his fingers. Baby soft, just like when she was a little girl.

“There’s something you’re not saying,” he said.

Veronica had untied Backup long ago to run in the sand and chase poor seagulls through the surf.

“What’s that?” she said.

They had chosen a spot free of debris and watched waves crash against the shoreline in silence. The motion was supposed to be calming, but tranquility wasn’t the Mars Family way. Keith had once seen Veronica watch as Wallace flew his motorized airplane here. If only for distraction, he was sorry Wallace wouldn’t be coming home from Africa for another couple of days.

Now that he thought about it, Wallace might’ve been a more sympathetic ear than his own.

“Has something happened?” he said.

He could see her debating the pros and cons of whatever she was about to say in her mind. After a moment, she looked at him with a small smile. “They mailed my FBI psych evaluations this afternoon. I failed.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m not well-adjusted?”

Keith looked at her to see if she was serious. After a moment he laughed. It started out as a stifled chuckle and turned into a hearty guffaw. Veronica’s frown stayed in place.

“Of all the faults I apparently have, daddy issues wasn’t supposed to be one of them,” she said.

Keith controlled himself long enough to put an arm around Veronica. The comfort of his squeeze relaxed her. She buried her head into his chest like she used to do when she was younger.

“What am I going to do, dad?”

“Veronica?”

Keith and Veronica looked up to a disheveled Logan. “I need your help.”

Veronica took a quick breath that could only be heard by Keith. He knew what she was doing, readying herself before going out into battle. It was a mixture of pride and reticence to see his little warrior mount up her defenses.

“What’s wrong?” she said.

Logan hesitated, giving Keith a nervous appraisal. “The girl that I’m seeing, Candice, is gone. I think she might be in trouble.”

Veronica rose resolutely and brushed the sand from her seat. “What makes you think that?”

Keith stayed behind as the two walked along the shore, deep in conversation. After a few minutes, Veronica returned, this time with Backup tied back onto his leash.

“Is everything alright, honey?” he said.

“Everything’s just fine,” she said. “I’ll see you at home?”

Keith took the leash from Veronica’s hand and kissed the top of her head. “I love you so much, kiddo. And I’ll always be proud of you.”

Veronica smiled. A relief shone in her eyes like she realized just then that she could still smile. “I love you too, dad.”

Keith watched as Veronica started her car and drove off into the night.

Same Old Lang Syne (Logan/Veronica)

2008-01-26T19:53:23Z

Title: Same Old Lang Syne
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 1799
Rating: PG
Summary: How did that Dan Fogelberg song go?
Spoilers: Futurefic, knowledge up to Look Who's Stalking
Warnings: Some innuendo and one swear word
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.

This was another fic collecting dust. Both have felt like an excuse not to work on the 2nd draft of my NanoWriMo novel. Again, no beta so all mistakes are mine.

Tennyson Library is the oldest building in Clearwater Falls. It has a down home charm as well as leaky roof. Not exactly conducive to the housing of books, but Veronica has frequented the place often since discovery.

The lower level is quiet and secluded, surrounded by forgotten volumes of text. A simple desk, a lamp and two chairs rest alongside a wall unobtrusively. Chipped paint and creaky chairs are worth the few hours a week she gets away from everyone and everything. This is her escape.

"Veronica Mars."

She barely hears him as she focuses on the book in front of her. His stare is insistent and she takes a moment to sigh a little at the distraction. The characters brought forth from the page swirl closed like a pop-up book as she looks up at the source of her interruption.

Her mind wanders, but the man’s gaze quickly pierces her out of her thoughts. He’s close. She could probably touch him without reaching. After a brief pause, Veronica squints, trying to place where she knows him from.

The desk lamp is enough for reading, but it barely helps identify the stranger. He’s wearing a large overcoat that rests above his knees and a newsboy cap. He smirks at her confusion and runs a hand through his beard.

"How long has it been?" he asks.

Who, she thinks for a moment before realization dawns. The facial hair and incognito wardrobe threw her off, but she really should have known. Who else could look so comfortable and out-of-place at the same time?

He sits down in the available seat across from her without an invitation. She stifles the smile his expression is emanating and makes a show of looking at her watch. "Um…too long."

"Yeah," he says.

The single word feels like a secret revealed, but she pretends not to notice. The years have been good to him. After the kind of adolescence he went through, the universe probably owed him a good adult life.

"What’re you doing here?" she asks. Better to cut right to the chase. If it’s even possible, her social ineptitude has actually increased since her teen sleuthing days.

"Well, gee," he says, "I hear a library’s good for readin’."

Leave it to Logan Echolls to take the banter way out. They exchange smiles. The adrenaline pulses around them like they’re preparing for a match. Alright, Logan. I’ll play along.

"And here I thought you were illiterate," she says. It’s an easy jab, but she’s just getting warmed up.

"You got me," he says. "I really thought this was one of those kitschy art houses Giuliani got rid of in the nineties."

"That would be Shooter Joe’s Po-go Emporium, just left off Main," she says.

"I didn’t think that was a real place," he says.

"The blinking arrow and creative animation throw you off?" she asks.

"Nobody likes an eager beaver," he says.

She shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as she is. And it definitely shouldn’t be this easy to roll back into a relaxed banter after their time apart. The sadness of their absence seeps into her thoughts, taking away her previous amusement.

"I thought that was my line," she says.

"What?" he asks.

"Nothing," she says. Her frown should make apparent the sudden weariness of having him around again. "Seriously, what’re you doing here?"

"What if I said I was in the neighborhood?" he says.

"I would call you a liar and return to Time’s Arrow," she says.

"What if I said it wasn’t a lie, and I actually live here now?" he says.

"I would forward you to my previous response," she says.

The novelty of this meeting is starting to wane. Doesn’t he remember there’s a reason why she left Neptune? The past has taught her to suppress that insatiable curiosity of hers. Unveiling secrets and tussling with corruption have simply run its course. She has always been jaded, but now she finds she’s tired as well. In truth, the fatigue feels something like defeat. The bad guys win in this story, and Veronica Mars doesn’t have the energy to fight back.

"Like you couldn’t recite whole paragraphs in your sleep," he mumbles. She turns her face towards his to refocus.

"Logan," she says.

How can she be both happy and unhappy to see him again? Her life is so different than how she imagined it would be. She begins to wonder if his has too.

"You win," he says. "I came up for a conference and had a couple of hours to kill. It was either this or the Bakersfield Corn Maze."

"Does that mean you became a dentist?" she asks.

"You sound shocked," he says.

"I am," she says. "Out of all the occupations I thought you would be, dentist rated somewhere below professional assassin."

He leans in closer and whispers conspiratorially, "I wouldn’t take assassin off the table just yet."

The close proximity between them is becoming ever apparent. She leans back in her chair to attempt some kind of distance. The effort is useless and they both know it.

"Married?" she asks.

Where did that come from? She thinks, wondering if keeping her trap shut might jog her memory as to acceptable conversation when meeting old lovers. How did that Dan Fogelberg song go?

"Yup," he says. "To a stripper from Duluth."

"Kids?" she asks.

Why has my mouth lost the ability to close? Her face is conversational and innocent, but the tension begins to build around them.

A woman in her late fifties walks towards them, but turns when she sees the desk is occupied. The lines on the woman’s face are weathered with age as they develop into a frown. The tips of her blonde hair are white and frizzy.

"Never a decent place to read," the woman grumbles. "Damn kids."

Logan and Veronica take a second to exchange amused looks as they watch her head back up the stairs. The tension in the room quickly airs from the welcome interruption.

"Tatem Halley, the town eccentric. Just another colorful layer to this charming little town. Be glad she didn’t spit on us," Veronica says.

"Rainbow and Fen," he says, distracted. His eyes remain transfixed to the stairs, his quip deflated. "You?"

He looks back at her and she tries not to laugh.

"Aah, you were teasing me," she says, eager to get back into the conversation.

"A little," he says.

His laugh eases the anxiety hidden underneath her features. In her defense, the idea of Logan with a stripper wife isn’t completely out of the realm of possibility. As she recalls Logan’s choices, women of questionable virtue were more of a trend than anomaly.

"Seriously," she says. "Married?"

She looks at him undeterred, knowing that if she’s patient enough he’ll inevitably relent. Years have passed since the last time they talked, but she knows him, right?

"Legally separated," he says.

"Name?" she asks.

"So many questions," he mutters. "Kimber."

"Kim-ber?" she says. "Her name is Kimber?"

"What?" he asks.

"I’m wondering if the seven Mattel-slash-logger jokes I currently have in my head would be considered excessive," she says.

"Veronica-"

"Shh," she says. "Eight."

"Ya done?" he asks.

She looks at him with an impish smile. "Nine."

He pauses to see if he’ll allow her to speak. She nods with amusement. His personal life is none of her business and he hasn’t divulged any more information than what she could get from a simple Googling. But he’s recounting his life, and somehow that puts a smile on her face. She hasn’t let herself think about him for such a long time.

"Call me crazy, but I think you’d actually like her," he says.

Her smile falters a bit. The venom is absent in his voice, but she could easily see that change.

"Truce?" she says.

"Not even close," he responds. "Though you’re much cuter than the average periodontic lecturer you’re gonna need to play nice now."

"Fine, I’ll rein it in," she says. "Guess that answers whether or not Kimber has my rapier wit."

"What was that?" he asks.

"I’ll rein it in?" she says.

The smile in his eyes is so familiar. It’s a reassuring look that never manages to quell her insecurities. She knows she’s being immature, but her jealousy has never actually been rational.

"What about you, Mars? Can I assume you never got hitched?" he asks.

"Assume whatever you want," she says.

"How is that fair? I told you," he says.

"What are we twelve?" she asks.

"Going on thirty-two, yes," he says. He stops a moment to connote the seriousness in his features. Turnabout's fair play.

"If you must know," she says.

"I must," he says.

"I don’t know why you’re so curious. The guy I’m seeing’s no one I can’t simply change with the sheets," she says.

"You’re such a softie," he says. "Quit stalling and give me a name."

"Dylan," she says.

"First or last?" he asks. "It helps with the sizing him up in my head."

"I’ll leave that to our next conversation. Hate to put all our eggs in one basket," she says.

"There’s going to be a next?" he asks.

"Sick of me already?" she says.

He pauses a moment, a look of hesitation shadowing his features. She realizes with a flush of embarrassment what she had been implying. Way to put that foot in your mouth, Veronica.

Neither of them knows what to say. She runs her fingers across the pages of her novel like a flipbook, keeping her eyes downcast. The cap once perched atop his head is now on the desk in front of him. He attempts to smooth the jagged edges of his hat hair, but it only achieves a sense that he doesn’t quite know what to do with his hands. She smiles at the familiar nervous habit.

He’s the same and he’s different. For one, he seems happier now. The pain in his eyes is gone. His usually languid frame doesn’t seem to be hiding secrets or troubles. She wants to compliment him on the changes she sees but can’t find the words.

The silence continues to hang in the air, waiting for confirmation that this visit isn’t all for naught. As each second passes, the doubt rises in her mind. Why bring unnecessary volatility back into her life? For him as well. They once had a very epic kind of love, but it hadn’t been enough. Their childhoods were riddled with enough gloom for several people let alone two kids. Best to keep the past where it is, she thinks.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

She looks at him with relief from her reservations. His face holds the hopefulness of stories yet to tell. Then again, maybe not.

"Starved."

LoVe and Marriage (Logan/Veronica)

2008-01-12T19:06:16Z

Title: LoVe and Marriage
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 3423
Rating: PG-13
Summary: She looks up at him and smiles. "How does it end?" "Happily ever after, maybe?"
Spoilers: Futurefic, mentions of the pilot
Warnings: Some sensuality, nothing explicit
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.

This fic has been sitting around collecting dust. So I figured I would exorcise it from my system by posting it. Don't really have a beta, so all mistakes are mine.

"Hi," he says.

His voice is quiet, but the words break through the stillness of the room. She closes the front door behind her and sets her keys down on a nearby table. The brim of her hat feels soggy against her fingers as she tosses it to the floor. It’s barely her favorite but it has its functions, like tonight, shielding her from the blustery air that chills her to the bone, and forces her to seek refuge towards an even colder home.

Her hands fumble as she unbuckles the belt of her trench coat. She rolls her shoulders to remove the garment and hangs it neatly on the hook. The rain, gathered in the creases of her coat, drips off the sleeves, and forms a small puddle on the tile. She ignores it, favoring instead the walk towards him.

"What time is it?" she asks.

This is probably a foolish question. It only brings to light bigger questions. But she can’t help but ask. He looks so tired sitting on the couch, waiting for her to return. All of the boyish features she has admired so much in him are gone. The adolescence seeps away with each new year. A wrinkle that wasn’t there before furrows at the corner of his eyes. A sprinkle of gray hides under locks of light brown.

"I’m not sure," he says. "Late."

She nods. What else is there to say? How long has he been waiting up? Is he angry that she’s started making a habit of coming home so late she thinks he’s asleep? Why doesn’t he ever ask where she is? Does he even care anymore?

"What are you reading?" she asks instead.

The couch creaks under her weight as she sits beside him. Her hands graze across the cool leather. She’s determined that staring at the coffee table in front of them is better than facing him.

From the corner of her eye, she sees him looking down at the book in his lap as if he hadn’t remembered it was there, "Forgetting Things Past."

She scrunches her nose in pretend disdain, "Ugh, sounds French."

He smiles at her for the first time since she walked through the door, "I think you’re thinking of something else."

"How do you like it so far?" she asks.

His arm comes around her shoulder and she rests her head against the side of his chest. There’s a comfort carrying on the charade that nothing is wrong. They could continue to talk like this for hours, never letting the other know what the either was feeling. Pretend warmth and affection is sometimes better than none at all.

"I haven’t decided, yet," he says. "The man in the story is desperately in love with a woman that desperately loves him back."

"Sounds terrible," she says. Her eyes are beginning to droop. The effort to keep conversation going is stalled by the warmth of his body and the strength of his cologne.

"They’re not without their problems," he says. "He misses her when she’s gone, and misses her still when she’s there."

"Why does he stay with her, then?" she asks.

"I think I have to keep reading to figure that out," he says, pushing aside a lock of hair from her face.

She looks up at him and smiles, "How does it end?"

"Happily ever after, maybe?" he replies. She pretends not to see the sorrowful look about his face. He moves her to the side and stands.

She seeks him out with urgency in her eyes. Don’t go. Not yet, she thinks.

For a moment, he stands rooted to the ground, eyeing their bedroom but making no motion to abandon her. She raises her arms up to him childishly.

"You want me to carry you?" he asks. The wish to swat her hands away is heavy in his voice, but his arms remain at his sides.

"Would you take me seriously if I said ‘yes’?" she says.

Indulging her would shift the balance of power, but her desire is clear. Her eyes blaze with determination. Resistance is futile. When has he ever refused her?

Making a show of the erroneousness of her request, he sighs a moment before sweeping her into his arms, eliciting a gasp from her lips. She’s as light now as she was when they were first married. They had laughed so easily then. They had loved so freely. The shared memory of those first few years is written on his stricken face and she wonders what she can do to make it better.

She kisses him, provoking a look of surprise. The softness of her lips contrast against the stubble of his chin. He studies her face for explanation that she can’t supply. Her eyes are shining with amusement. There are no promises in her expression, but she hopes he feels her care for him, her love. If only the sincerity of her look could translate to him.

He plops her down on the bed and walks over to the dresser to change. His maturity level is passed the petulance of opening and closing dresser drawers in haste, but she can still see his irritation. For one, his hands clench and unclench absently as he tries to reign in his temper. The gait of his frame is restless and strained as well. The best thing to do is give him time to cool off, but retreating into the rain is not an option.

"You look tired," she says. Her intent is more of an observation than appraisal.

"That’s because I am tired," he responds.

The venom of his words is hollow, replaced more with fatigue. She drums her fingers against her knees, waiting for accusations that could be disguised in his voice. But nothing comes.

"Tough day?" she asks.

Tougher night, he thinks. His shoulders sigh heavily.

"No more than usual, I guess," he says. The effort to keep his voice even does not go unnoticed.

"You work too hard," she says, circling her arms around to unzip the back of her dress.

She closes her eyes for a moment wishing to have said something less stupid than, "You work too hard."

He doesn’t respond, simply pulling back blankets before getting into bed. It takes a few moments of fidgeting to warm the cool sheets to comfortable. An adjoining body will easily do the trick, but he remains silent.

She can feel the tension in the room even though his back is turned to her. It chills her to feel the space that has formed between them. She feels exposed and vulnerable sitting on the bed in her slip and bra. Her heels still remain on her feet, preparing to carry her away from here if asked.

It’s been such a long period of dreary conversations and thinly veiled threats. They’re both too tired to leave the other. It would be useless, and they both know it. She knows his unhappiness is her fault. It has to be. All the resentment she feels from him surely can’t be unfounded. Her work hours are long, her emotions are closed off. Her, her, her.

She blinks back tears of regret.

Logan, she wants to call out, but instead remains infuriatingly quiet.

He reaches his arm over the covers to switch off the light. She doesn’t move. The lamp from her side of the bed stays on. A stream of light shines on the discarded dress at her side. It’s a white, spring dress, strapless and billowy. The style is outdated, but she doesn’t wear it often. Her hands travel across the fabric carefully, hesitant to feel the touch under her fingers. For a long time, it simply hung in her closet, a present with the tags still on.

The first day she actually wore it feels like a long time ago. She sighs at the memory of her triumph, almost wishing she had shared with him the emotional back story. It wasn’t an exact replica of the dress she had worn when she lost her innocence, but something in the way it had hung on the mannequin and then on a hanger in her bedroom reminded her of that dress, reminded her of that night. He couldn’t have known what the dress meant to her. She had just looked at it in a boutique long enough for him to take notice.

The box was gold plated with matching ribbon and cream tissue paper. She lifted the lid and pushed back the paper, glancing at him in curiosity. What had he done? It wasn’t her birthday. It wasn’t an anniversary or a holiday. When her eyes rested on the dress, a pain sliced through her gut and brought a hand unconsciously to her stomach. She recovered quickly and looked into his face with feigned gratitude.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"I do," she lied. "Thank you."

After she stepped inside the folds of fabric and zipped up the back for the first time, she had to fight the nausea that threatened behind her throat. The full length mirror seemed to mock her appearance. She was a different person now.

And then, as she smoothed the non-existent wrinkles at her side, all of the pain and distress associated seemed to disappear. Before she could understand why, she looked at her reflection for a second time and realized that it was just a dress.

She walked into their bedroom with a wide smile like she had accomplished something grand. He waited for her to elaborate, but she never did. Holding her tightly in a congratulatory embrace seemed like the only thing to do.

"Thank you," she whispered into his ear, actually meaning it this time. He hadn’t said anything, choosing to kiss her lips instead of responding to actions he couldn’t quite understand. Her happiness radiated through their shared bodies and he smiled at her in spite of his confusion.

A frown of longing escapes her mouth as she looks over at his still frame, knowing he hasn’t yet succumbed to sleep. How she wishes for things to be different, how she wishes for his lips on hers.

She wobbles slightly as she rises. He moves at the shift from the bed, and she pretends not to notice. Their shared armoire is on his side. The cherry paneling matches the headboard of their bed. She smiles softly. It reminds her of a set that her parents had when they were still together. The memories feel like a different set of parents, a different version of herself.

She walks over to his side of the bed in now stockinged feet. The lace at the top of her knee highs match the lace of her bra and panties. Her slip rests beside her dress on the bed. She concentrates on removing each stocking, rolling the material down each leg, and pretending she doesn’t feel his eyes on her. She’s no longer the nubile little thing of her youth, but if there was one thing that can be considered almost perfect in their relationship, it would be their mutual ardor for each other.

Her face heats up and she wills herself from smiling. The effort doesn’t go unnoticed.

"I know what you’re doing and it’s not going to work," he mumbles, closing his eyes as she looks up.

When he opens them again she meets his gaze with an innocent questioning.

What’s not going to work? she seems to say as she drops the stockings to the floor.

A rush of excitement begins to color her cheeks as she loosens her hair from its elastic. She shakes out her blonde tresses, taking a moment to comb her fingers through her hair.

"If you want me to put out, you’re going to have to work a little harder than that," he says, lifting himself up on his elbows.

His face is more familiar to her than her own. Every line, every expression is filed away into her memory. And right now, as she looks into his face, he is daring her to save them.

"You’re still mad," she says.

"I’m still mad," he says.

She nods her head, taking a few steps towards his direction. He stiffens in a mixture of guarded reticence and tempered lust. It’s the latter that causes her to unfasten the front clasp of the lace. The material falls to the floor in a muted heap.

"Work ran over and the weather was terrible," she says. Her feeble explanation sounds hollow even to her, but she hopes for understanding. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, suddenly aware of her nakedness. "I’m sorry, Logan."

He doesn’t seem to know how to react. Her apologies are infrequent, but always sincere. She hopes he hears the difficulty it takes her to concede. The silence feels like forever, but after a moment, he pulls back the covers and motions her closer.

"Are we okay?" she asks, dreading his possible responses.

He hesitates to answer. She can almost see his brain working out an appropriate reply. The wait gives her opportunity to climb into his lap, reveling in the feel of his arms around her, warming her from the chill.

He doesn’t immediately kiss her, and she tries not to act rebuffed as she loosens his grasp to pull his shirt over his head. He tenses a bit, but inevitably lets her.

"Are we okay?" she repeats, her voice small and insecure. His eyes are vacant and inscrutable. He is responding to her advances, but his silence is making her fearful. "Logan?"

"Yeah," he says. "We’re okay."

She smiles in relief and kisses him urgently. It almost doesn’t matter the lie she sees behind his eyes when his tongue touches hers.

She wakes up the next morning alone in their bed. The sheets from his side are still warm. She buries her head into his pillow and breathes deeply. Last night, or at least parts of last night, was perfect. It’s been such a long time since she’s felt this way, an intoxicating need for his presence, for his touch.

"Logan?" she says.

There’s no response.

He’s at the sink in their bathroom. She comes up behind him and puts her arms across his chest. They look at each other in the mirror and smile, her on her tiptoes and off to the side.

I love you, she thinks.

"I’m going to be late for work," he says.

He drops her arms and starts getting ready. She frowns, knowing the moment has passed. He’s concentrating a little too hard on what he’s doing and she can feel that he’s avoiding her gaze.

"Logan?" she says. How she manages to keep the vulnerability out of her voice she can only credit to years of practice.

"Yeah?" he says. His tone carries an element of irritation.

"I don’t have to go into the office until later this afternoon. Wanna have lunch with me?" she asks.

He takes a moment before responding. "Can’t. We’re meeting with Carter’s team today, remember? We’ll probably just order in."

She nods her head in disappointment. "That’s right. I forgot."

She walks beside him and pulls herself up on the counter, watching him as he shaves. He glances at her with slight appraisal. "What?"

She shrugs. In their first year of matrimony, sometimes she would just sit like this watching him as he got ready. He would comment on how very uncharacteristically girly it was, but admitted to loving it. "This is your first morning off in how long and instead of sleeping in you’re watching me get ready for work?"

He doesn’t pause in his incredulity to see her response. She swings her legs back and forth like a child. Before he realizes what’s happening she has her arms wrapped around her neck and is kissing his cheek. "It’s a shame I can’t possibly persuade you into being a few minutes late."

"It is a shame," he says.

He tries to remove her arms from his neck and only manages to give her room to wrap her legs around his waist. "It’s an even bigger shame that you don’t have an inventive enough wife to come up with plausible excuses for why you’ve missed your morning brief with Patricia."

"Plausible excuses or no, I can’t be late," he says.

The tone of seriousness gives her pause. She looks into his eyes, and for a moment she’s sure that he can read what she’s thinking. His mouth turns upwards in a sly smile.

"You can’t be late," she repeats.

"No, I can’t," he says.

She pulls his shirt over his head. "So you really shouldn’t be wearing this, right?"

"What did I do to deserve such a helpful wife?" he says.

She ignores the bristle of his tone and gives him a challenging smile. "And I really don’t think these are work appropriate."

Her voice is low and sultry as she grabs for the waistband of his pants. He grabs her arms firmly at the wrists.

"Honey," he says. "I think I got this."

"Just trying to be helpful, sweetheart," she says. "Like you said."

He kisses the tip of her nose and turns away from her. She frowns as she looks after him.

Guess I’m still in the doghouse, she thinks.

"Have a good day, Logan," she says, retreating back to their bedroom.

She can’t help the sadness of her voice, supposing that last night’s makeup sex hadn’t really made a difference in the light of the day.

She lies on his side of the bed and pulls the covers to her chest. Her eyelids feel so heavy. The month’s workload isn’t all a ruse to avoid her husband, a lot of it has legitimately kept her from her spousal duties. Some even haunt her dreams.

She hears the faucet turn off and adjusts her body away from the door. There are too many times to count his requests to share some of the burden, be a sounding board she most definitely needs.

How she wishes for him to ask her one more time. She shuts her eyes tightly, letting the sorrow and regret wash over her. Tears escape from the corners of her eyes. The thought that she’s being silly, that she’s just overworked and missing her husband does nothing to waylay her emotions. The loss constricts against her chest, leaving her with haggard breath. She puts a hand to her lips to keep from gasping.

Just breathe, Mars. Just breathe.

She hears him come up behind her, but doesn’t open her eyes until his arms come around her own. Her fingers latch on to his sleeves as if by doing so she’ll somehow keep him longer.

"You’re wrinkling your suit," she says. Her eyelashes are still laced with moisture, but her back is to him. Maybe he hasn’t seen.

"What, this old thing?" he says.

She chuckles softly and tries to keep the emotion out of her voice. "Don’t pretend that it’s not your favorite."

"You’re my favorite," he says, whispering the words softly into her hair as she closes her eyes.

"Still?" she asks.

She doesn’t realize that she’s been holding her breath until he holds her closer and she exhales. The action feels like confirmation.

"Be there when I get home?" he asks.

She smiles wanly, knowing he can’t see her face. "I’ll try."

"Try hard," he says, releasing from her grasp and straightening his clothes.

She turns over to her side to face him fully. His expression is blank, but it feels like an ultimatum. "I’ll try."

He nods. His eyes betray a level of disbelief that she’s unable to quell.

"Honey?" she calls. He’s already in the doorframe but stops. The look of appraisal elicits a nervous smile from her lips. "Good luck with the acquisition."

He smiles, though the warmth is absent in his response.

"Honey?" she says.

He looks at her, emanating fatigue and reluctance. "Yes, darling?"

"You’re my favorite, too," she says.

She can almost see the sigh of release that hides underneath his features.

"Still?" he asks.

She nods, blush coloring her cheeks. For once the quips are slow to come.

"I love you, Logan Echolls," she says.

He smiles at her like she’s revealed a secret. "I know."

She watches his retreating frame and smiles to herself. The covers she pulls over her shoulders feel warmer somehow against her skin. As her eyes close, she nestles back into bed, hoping for a dreamless sleep.

Slow Posting

2007-12-17T07:21:14Z

I wish I had a LoVe fic that I could post right now, but between real life and NanoWriMo and family crises, I've been pretty tapped out. I would like to note, however, that last Friday's Moonlight showcased Jason Dohring's softer Josef side. It was kind of awesome. And I'm not even talking about the total gratuitous shot of Jason half-naked flexing in front of the camera. Well, mostly not talking about it. It reminded me of when we would get all those gratuitous half-naked shots of Jason for VM. Sigh. I miss VM.

And in some wonderful synchronicity, Enrico Colantoni guest starred on Numb3rs immediately following. Sure, he was a bit of a twitchy Beaver circa Not Pictured with facial hair, but it was still him!

80's Tragedy, COMPLETED! (Logan/Veronica)

2007-10-11T06:25:52Z

Title: 80's Tragedy
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 2315
Rating: PG
Summary: Grieving sounds like something you eventually get over.
Spoilers: Knowledge up to The Bitch is Back helps
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.

I can not even express how good it feels to finally have this story completed!

Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world
She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere.

Her ears perk as the song begins. The music floats through the grocery’s intercom, echoing across the lonely store. She leans against her cart, pushing past empty aisles with casual indifference. It’s late. A man walks in through the automatic doors, squinting at the fluorescent lighting. His hair is disheveled and his arms clutch at his coat. When he passes her, she avoids eye contact. He does the same.

Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit,
He took the midnight train goin’ anywhere.

She’s weary from lack of sleep, but a smile creeps across her lips as the song continues. She remembers when this song held the significance it does now. It had been a rough night, quickly followed by even rougher nights. But it hadn’t been all bad.

____________________________________________________________________________________

"Hmm," she muses, staring at the scene before her. "Last time I checked, I wasn’t eleven."

He looks at her, prepared for her response. "Just go with it, Mars."

He walks past the counter and fiddles with a radio.

A singer in a smoky room
A smell of wine and cheap perfume
For a smile they can share the night
It goes on and on and on and on

She has to will herself to keep her face impassive. Maybe she can’t bring herself to match his grin, but the distraction is welcoming.

"How’d you get them to open up the place after hours?" she asks, setting her bag on a nearby table and pacing the room.

"Oh, you know, Echolls charm and all that," he shrugs.

"Black AmEx or red?"

"Please, I only use the black for special occasions."

"Posting bail and patronizing hookers?" she quips.

"I never needed to pay to get laid," His eyes shine indiscernibly for a moment, "Haven’t we had this conversation before?"

"You really wanna go there?" she warns, her game face slipping on.

When she notes his lack of response, her sugary smile falters. A part of her appreciates that he was bothering at all. "I’m sorry," she mumbles quietly.

He ignores her, too busy setting out utensils and pulling out ingredients. Sparring with her is just par for the course.

Streetlights people, living just to find emotion
Hiding, somewhere in the night

When he finishes his culinary creation, he slices a spoon through the middle and nudges the bowl in her direction.

"Thanks," she says, grateful that his expression has softened, "Does this mean you’re still having the weekly ice cream dates with the munchkin?"

He looks at her in surprise before giving her a broad smile. "Mac?" he guesses.

"No, Mac didn’t rat you out. Parker actually mentioned Heather a couple of times. She couldn’t stop gushing on how good you were with her."

He frowns at the mention of his ex. His guilt makes her sorry she brought it up in the first place. She was trying to compliment him.

"Ice cream is the great equalizer," he says, quickly changing the subject and pouring in to his own bowl.

"It’s not guns?" she counters.

He rolls his eyes and continues, "Ice cream makes everything better, makes everyone feel better."

"I guess we’re not speaking for the lactose intolerant."

"Veronica," he warns, pleading with his eyes for a moment of seriousness, "After my mom died, I was on a strict diet of Jack Daniels and burnt almond fudge. I thought at the very least I could help you with phase two of your grieving."

She swallows hard, willing tears to disappear from the corners of her eyes. She turns her head, wishing for her dad. Grieving sounds like something you eventually get over.

Some will win, some will lose
Some were born to sing the blues
Oh, the movie never ends
It goes on and on and on and on.

He pretends not to notice when she hastily wipes her tears away. She looks back at him reassuring him with a nod that she’s okay now, even laughing it off a little.

"Tell me a secret," she asks quietly.

He smiles. They had come up with this game the second, no, third time they got back together. Veronica usually liked to sleep in her own bed, but their reconciliation was still new, and Keith was going out of town.

He had been taken aback at first, searching her face for elaboration as she lay in the crook of his arm. He wondered if there was a particular secret she wanted an answer.

She asked again, her tone more playful this time. This wasn’t a trap to test his honesty. It was unclear what brought the words from her lips, but now that they were out she didn’t care to take it back. It was just pillow talk, she had rationalized.

"Fine, I’ll start," she had begun, trying to put him at ease, "I hated soccer."

He suppressed a laugh and waited for her to continue.

"I was good at it, so my parents encouraged me to play every year. But I hated it. I wanted to be on drill with Lilly."

She faked a look of hurt as he laughed at her. "You were on drill with Lilly," he grinned.

"Only years later," she pouted, "My parents relented once they realized I had no desire to be the Mia Hamm of Neptune."

She pretended to resist as he pulled her closer to his chest. After a second, she gave in and closed her eyes. "I always thought soccer girls were hot," he mused, not bothering to release her from his grip. "I remember," she sighed before finally succumbing to sleep.

"Logan?" she says, pulling him from his thoughts.

"You know all of my secrets," he stalls. She purses her lips together and looks down at her bowl, the now defunct castle of ice cream melting.

Strangers waiting, up and down the boulevard
Their shadows searching in the night

"I love this song," he says finally, reaching across the counter to turn up the volume.

Don’t stop believin’
Hold on to the feelin’
Streetlight people

"That’s my secret," he grins, "I love Journey."

"You realize I now have enough ammo to lord over your head for years to come, right?"

"It’s a risk I’m willing to take," he says casually. Looking down at her, he realizes she is giving him the first genuine smile he’s seen all night. She motions towards him as if wanting to say something, but stops, looking down at her hands.

He grabs her bowl of dwindling ice cream. "Now that I got you hopped up on sugar, let’s get you home to bed," he says lightly.

She’s about to protest, but just nods, suddenly too tired to argue.

The ride home is silent. The darkness outside is beginning to seep inside her thoughts. It seems to grow as they near closer to her empty home. She knows he’ll stay if she asks him to, but he’s not hers anymore.

"Thanks for the ice cream," she manages. She would have liked to have said more, but her mouth has suddenly lost its ability to form words. She turns toward her house, surprised to see lights on in the kitchen.

As if in an answer, out steps the silhouette of her best friend. She walks to the door and matches his relieved smile. "I was worried," he says simply.

"I’m sorry," she whispers. He shrugs, not needing a response, not asking where she’s been. The composure that’s she’s been trying to sustain is lost in a torrent of tears. He’s unprepared for her weight in his arms and they collapse clumsily in to the doorframe. "It’s okay, V. You’re going to be okay," he soothes as he strokes her hair.

She shakes her head as he repeats the mantra, "Veronica, you’re going to be okay."

____________________________________________________________________________________

She jumps at the chirping of her phone, and blinks at her surroundings.

"Hi, honey."

"Hi, mommy. Did you get it?" she sing-songs.

She smiles in to the phone. She can see the image of her precocious, six year old hanging on to the phone in dizzying excitement, clad in her Princess Sparkle pajamas.

"I did," she starts, "I’m also about five minutes away."

A muffled cheer rings in to her ear and then a crash.

"Honey?" she asks, no longer hearing her voice, "Bridgett? Are you there?"

"She dropped the phone," he explains, the amusement in his voice apparent.

"I thought something like that might have happened," she grins, "I’ll be there in a few minutes."

"Super mom saves the day," he replies.

The trip from the store to his house is a quick one. She opens the gate with a push of a button and drives past the sprawling entrance to the looming estate.

The tiny little nymph is waiting for her at the front door. Her wisps of blonde cover her eyes in impatience. She hastily pushes the strands aside with one hand and pulls a large hand with her other. He is stubbornly staying in place, and even though she exerts all of her force she is unable to pull him an inch.

"Daddy," she whines, looking up at him with shiny eyes. He suppresses a smile. It amazes him how this little girl could have so much of himself and her mother at the same time.

"Okay, okay," he relents hoisting her on to his shoulders. The motion elicits a squeal from his daughter and an amused smile from her mother. She offers a grocery bag to him, holding a couple of her own.

"A whole kitchen staff and you don’t even have ice cream for your daughter’s first slumber party?" she mumbles under her breath so low that only he can hear her.

"Well, peaches. Your independent daughter decided to give them the day off so that we could all make pizza ourselves," he responds, speaking softly in to her ear.

"Good thing I made you take that cooking class before we were married, huh?" she laughs, wiping flour off of his cheek.

"It came in handy even more, when you moved out and I got to hire a personal chef," he grins back at her.

"Does that mean I was the only one who got a taste of the infamous Echolls torte?" she stage whispers.

He grins at her, inches away from her face. "We’re still talking about pastries, right?"

"Down, boy," she thinks, the heat rising up to her cheeks. As if hearing her own thoughts her daughter’s voice squirms, "Down, daddy! I’m missing my own party."

He fakes a look of shock as he sets her down. She trundles past his grasp and through the foyer where her friends are talking animatedly.

"Thanks for doing this," he says sincerely before adding. "I hate to think I pulled you away from your new boy toy."

She looks across the room at Bridgett, knowing that the little minx squealed on her to daddy. "Yeah, well, Brent hasn’t exactly been approved for sleepovers, yet."

The "yet" causes him pause, but he plows on, "Waiting for my permission? That’s sweet."

"We’re not having this conversation," she says quickly, brushing past his side.

She manages to round up the girls into the kitchen, chanting "Ice cream, ice cream!"

"Daddy, we can’t start without you." His little girl smiles. The impish look on her face reminds him so much of her mother. He pulls her in to his arms and kisses her cheek. She wiggles under his grasp. "I’m a big girl now. I don’t need you to carry me."

He sighs and sets her down. She looks up at him with kind eyes and takes out her hand. He clasps it and smiles down at her as they walk to the kitchen.

They both know serving ice cream castles to six year olds right before bed probably isn’t the smartest idea, but an hour after their sugar high, they’ve all fallen asleep.

He collapses into a couch in exhaustion. She follows suit, unaware of his arm casually falling behind her back. "Remind me the next time I agree to look after a bunch of six year olds not to give Letty the night off."

She laughs, "Do you remember the first time you made me an ice cream castle?"

He turns to look at her, slumped beside him. "I remember the Whitney."

She openly cringes at his remark. "Man, I was a mess that whole year."

"That whole few years if I recall," he says honestly.

"I still miss him," she says softly.

"I know you do," he thinks. Instead of saying the words, he pulls her in to his chest. He doesn’t comment when he feels the moisture at the front of his shirt.

"Mommy?" a drowsy voice calls out.

"Yes, sweetie," she responds, drying her eyes quickly and smiling up at her daughter.

"Are you staying for my sleepover?" Her voice captures a certain dreamy tone.

"No, honey," she says, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "You know you’re staying at your dad’s for the next couple of days. But I’ll be picking you up on Monday."

"I wish you were staying, Mommy," she says, climbing in to her lap and falling asleep.

"Logan," she pleads not trusting her voice to say anymore. He sits up and grabs their daughter, carrying her into her bedroom. He waits at the door until the soft cries from outside subside.

When he resurfaces, she flashes him a smile they can both be comfortable with. A smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

"Thanks for the ice cream," she manages. She would have liked to have said more, but her mouth has suddenly lost its ability to form words.

He waves goodbye and walks back in to the house before she even leaves the driveway.

80's Tragedy, part 2 (Logan/Veronica)

2007-09-19T06:53:03Z

Title: 80's Tragedy
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 860
Rating: PG
Summary: "You can't save me," she thinks. "I know you want to, but you can't"
Spoilers: Knowledge up to Wichita Linebacker helps, but no major plot points revealed, it really helps if you know The Cure's "Just Like Heaven"
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.

"Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick
The one that makes me scream," she said.
"The one that makes me laugh." She said
And threw her arms around my neck.

"Stop smiling," she says.

"What?" he replies, feigning ignorance.

"I’ve thrown-up twice in the past forty-five minutes, humiliated myself in front of a crowd of strangers and added another name to the ever expanding list of people I’m loathed by. Just let me listen to Robert Smith in peace!"

"Who knew drunk Veronica would be less abrasive than hung over Veronica." He quips.

"Show me how you do it
And I promise you, I promise that
I’ll run away with you
I’ll run away with you."

"Where are we going?" she asks softly. The haze of her drunken escapade gives way to defeated exhaustion. His response isn’t all that important. Anything is preferable to her empty house.

"Trust. You need to learn to trust." He remarks, the tease apparent in his voice.

She sinks back in her seat, too tired to retort. How did things get so bad? How did she wake up one morning to find that she couldn’t possibly be happy again? She sighs. This feeling is all too familiar. It’s knowing that you’ll never be the same.

Spinning on that dizzy edge
I kissed her face and kissed her head
And dreamed of all the different ways I had
To make her glow

She closes her eyes, letting the music swirl around her ears. Her breathing slows and her muscles relax. Sleep has yet to come, but the stillness brings her comfort. She doesn’t even mind feeling his eyes on her. Nor does she flinch, when he brushes a lock of hair from her face.

"Why are you so far away?" she said.
"Why won’t you ever know

She opens her eyes and looks at him.

"You can’t save me," she thinks. "I know you want to, but you can’t."

She breaks their gaze and looks out the window, ignoring the next few lyrics. A thought occurs to her and she frowns.

"How did you know where to find me?"

"Easy, I just followed the trail of cowering bad guys left in your wake."

"Why don’t I like where this is going?"

He smiles, a glint in his eye. "Because I tracked your cell phone, and you have no right to be pissed since you did it to me first."

"How did you even get my cell phone tracker?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Wallace let me into Mars Investigations." He says quietly, the smile fading.

"Traitor." She whispers under her breath.

The car slows and parks in the back alley of a nondescript building. She still has no idea where they are, or what they could possibly be doing here. Looking at him for explanation yields nothing. He just smiles at her and tells her to wait in the car, and he’ll come get her.

Daylight licked me into shape
I must have been asleep for days
And moving lips to breathe her name
I opened up my eyes

Her mind drifts to her dad. For as long as she could remember, Keith Mars tussled with bad guys and foiled the criminal element. His list of known enemies was long and scary.

But his death held no conspiracy. There would be no mystery to solve, no bad guy to bring to justice.

One day, he wasn’t feeling well. He blamed the chilly weather of a late-night stakeout. But then he got worse. She could only watch, helpless, as he deteriorated from the strong man she knew, to the shell she didn’t recognize. He was gone in a matter of days. The cancer too advanced for the doctors to do anything but try to keep him comfortable.

You
Soft and only
You
Lost and lonely
You
Just like heaven

The song fades and she looks towards the building. For the first time in her life, she’s lost all curiosity to find out what’s going on. She sits in the car, preferring the stillness and the quiet. There’s familiarity here. She feels warm and safe in this car.

A knock at the window brings her out of her thoughts. She looks at the boy, hesitant to get out. It’s silly, but she doesn’t want to get out because the boy’s smell is in this car. It smells like security and protection. To leave, even with said boy, would somehow expose her to all the things she’s been content to get away from. Whether or not it makes any sense when said out loud, doesn’t seem to really matter.

"Veronica," he breathes.

She stares at him, unmoving. He opens the car door, and offers his hand. She looks at him with pain in her eyes, but obliges. The firm grip of his hand assures her that everything will be alright. She can only look at him and accept the lie as he takes her through the back door.

"Where are we?" she asks, wondering how this could possibly make her feel better.

"You’ll see." He smiles and flips on the light.

80's Tragedy (Logan/Veronica) PG-13

2007-09-06T06:21:25Z

Title: 80's Tragedy
Author: Kristen
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 1547
Rating: PG-13
Summary: This night is about forgetting everything for at least four minutes and forty-nine seconds.
Spoilers: Knowledge up to Not Pictured helps, but no real spoilers
Warnings: Mild language
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars. No copyright infringement is intended.

“The clock strikes upon the hour

and the sun begins to fade,”

She slurs, twirling the cord of the microphone. The effect achieves a drunken but seductive quality.

“How much has she had to drink?” someone asks from the crowd, not caring enough to really hear the answer.

“Still enough time to figure out

how to chase my blues away,”

She looks around the room with vacant eyes. There’s a slight hitch in her voice that is quickly masked. This night is about forgetting everything for at least four minutes and forty-nine seconds.

“I’ve done alright up ‘til now.

It’s the light of day that shows me how

and when the night falls, my loneliness calls.”

Her attention is blurry. She barely notices the jeers from a small crowd of boys at the front of the stage. Their eyes linger over her tight sweater, knee high boots, and short skirt.

She runs her fingers through the long tresses of her hair and closes her eyes. The alcohol quiets all the external noise. She smiles for the first time in the last forty-eight hours. She knows she should be crying. She knows she has responsibilities. But none of that seems to matter anymore.

She’s here, singing in a karaoke bar, drunk off her ass. And she doesn’t care.

“Oh, I wanna dance with somebody.

I wanna feel the heat with somebody.

Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody.

With somebody who loves me.”

The crowd cheers and she barely hears them. She opens her eyes and surveys her environment. People have risen from their seats, encouraging her to continue. She drinks in their smiles as the chorus repeats. These are all strangers. They don’t know her. They don’t know the hell that she has gone through. But in the haze, the shouts of encouragement feel like support. It feels like they care.

“I’ve been in love and lost my senses

spinning through the town

sooner or later the fever ends

and I wind up feeling down,”

She sashays to the edge of the stage. Her eyes see a familiar boy. He’s frowning at her from the back of the room.

“I need a man who’ll take a chance

on a love that burns hot enough to last

so when the night falls

my lonely heart calls,”

She loses the stare down she has with him. His eyes match the pain of her own, but there’s sympathy behind his, and it unnerves her.

“Somebody who, somebody who

Somebody who loves me,”

He’s looking at her, but she can’t return the gaze. Looking at him is quickly sobering her up, and that’s the last thing she wants.

A boisterous catcall catches her attention. Its owner is a guy wearing a baseball cap and a cocky grin. She vaguely remembers him from earlier. She had just arrived and he had welcomed her by grabbing her ass. A devious smile creeps across her lips. This was going to be fun.

“Somebody who, somebody who

to hold me in his arms,”

She gazes at the guy intently, licking her lips. He grins and hollers at her with overwhelming self-gratification.

“Don’t over sell it, kid” she thinks. “People’ll think you’re a mark.”

“I need a man who’ll take a chance

on a love that burns hot enough to last,”

He tries to grab for her, but she edges away from him easily. She winks coquettishly, enticing him to come on stage with her eyes. He takes the bait, clambering on stage. It’s only a foot off the ground, but the guy’s sobriety makes that even difficult.

When he finally achieves firm footing, he finds her on the other end of the stage. He growls impatiently and stalks towards her. She just smiles.

“Ooh, don’t you wanna dance

with me baby

don’t you wanna dance

with me boy,”

It only requires a few steps to reach her. The lust in his eyes and her welcoming smile clouds his vision enough to overlook the trap she has laid for him. He’s inches away from her grasp. Her perfume fills his nostrils.

“Don’t you wanna dance

say you wanna dance

don’t you wanna dance,”

She circles around him gingerly, singing as she goes. His stupid smirk makes her enjoy this even more.

“With somebody who loves me,”

The guy’s impatience finally reaches its peak. He grabs her waist to pull her in for a kiss. His tongue is out of his mouth before he reaches hers. The crowd gasps as she shimmies out of his advance. His surprise is evident, but as he twists around to grab for her, he falls off the stage.

The applause is deafening as the guy realizes what happened. In his haste to devour her, he overlooked her winding the microphone cord around his feet. The slight movement to the right propelled him straight in to a group of surprised girls, a group whose boyfriends looked none too pleased. There will be no angry retaliation from this drunken boy.

“Don’t you wanna dance

say you wanna dance

don’t you wanna dance,

with somebody who loves me.”

She ends her song to thunderous applause. Her expression is mixed with reluctance and self-satisfaction. The buzz is still strong. It surprises her how well her plot to one-up the bad guy succeeded. She supposes it’s just in her nature.

Grace doesn’t seem to translate, however, in her inebriated state. She clumsily steps off the stage, trying hard not to break her neck. Her bad guy is too busy getting his just desserts to laugh at her perdicament. As she lunges forward, teetering headfirst in to the ground, the boy from before catches her arm and steadies her.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

The concern in his voice irritates her.

“Just leave me alone.” She spits.

He looks at her with resolve. She knows that look all too well. Saving her has become second nature to him. She gets in over her head, and he shows up before things get too messy. She’s saved him too. It’s sort of become this strange connection between them. The tragedies in their lives bind them together.

But sometimes it’s just too much. She doesn’t want to be saved. She wants to close her eyes and pretend that everything is normal, that everything is okay. She wants to pretend that the reason why she’s this miserable isn’t by her own hand.

“I have to pee.”

She hopes as she rushes to the ladies’ room that he’ll take the hint and leave.

She splashes cold water on her face and avoids looking in to the mirror. She doesn’t need to see how disgusting she probably looks. A wave of nausea hits her, and she retches in to the toilet of the nearest stall.

“Do I have vomit in my hair?” she asks quietly.

She can feel his presence behind her even as she clutches tightly to the basin.

“I’m taking you home.” He responds.

“No.” she shouts. “Just go. I’m fine.”

He sighs. “I have no problem picking you up and carrying you over my shoulder.”

She glares at him, but gets up off the floor. She swats his hands away, intent on getting up on her own. Wobbling slightly, she heads for the door. He follows her. She appreciates that he doesn’t attempt to touch her as she pushes through the crowd.

He unlocks the car as she scrambles in to the passenger seat. The ride to her house is a silent one. She looks out the window. This was not how she pictured her night going. For one, she’s not nearly drunk enough.

“Stop the car,” she shouts.

He complies. If she’s going to get sick again, might as well do it on the side of the road instead of his upholstery. She opens the door and exits. After a few minutes, sans the distinct sounds of puking, he gets out of the car as well. He finds her on the ground, leaning against his car. Her knees are pulled up to her chest and she’s breathing heavily.

His face softens and he sits next to her. He fights the urge to embrace her. She doesn’t want comfort.

“I can’t,” she starts. “I, I think you should go.” She breathes.

“You want me to leave you on the side of the road?” he asks incredulous.

“Please.” She whispers. “Just leave me here.”

Her voice is breaking. She looks so fragile. He isn’t sure how he can refuse her and abandon her at the same time.

“I have someplace we can go.” He suggests.

“I don’t,” she begins.

He shakes his head, interrupting her thought.

“After this, I’ll take you wherever you want. Even if it means alone and drunk on the interstate.”

“Logan,” she breathes.

He looks at her with kind eyes. She reluctantly gets up, brushing the dust off her legs. He’s still on the ground. She looks down at him and tries to hide a small smile. He clasps the hand she’s offered and rises.

The touch of his hand brings her an overwhelming sense of comfort. She lets him pull her in for a hug. He’s stroking her hair and softly speaking words of apology like he had done once before. She crumples in his arms. This time her dad isn’t going to swoop in and explain that it was all a terrible misunderstanding.

Because this time, Keith Mars is dead.