TITLE: Drabbledygook: Chicken and Stars
AUTHOR: StarCrossdSparrow
PAIRING/CHARACHTERS: Veronica/Logan
RATING: T
PART: 1/3
WORD COUNT: 575
DISCLAIMER: RT is the master of all things "Veronica Mars." I'll put everyone back when I'm done, so please don't sue.
SPOILERS: None for this one.
SUMMARY: Three separate ficlets, two things in common: LoVe and food.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: These little scenes were just nagging at my brain and since I couldn't organize a nice fic to contain them, I made them into drabbledygook.
XxXxXxX
"Logan!" Veronica groaned for what must have been the four hundredth time, "Put. Me. Down!"
He grunted, juggling her slight weight between one arm and his hip as he tried in vain to insert her key into the apartment door's contrary lock. Finally, he set her on her feet with one long, concerned look.
Veronica rolled her eyes heavenward and silently counted to three before speaking. When she opened her mouth to explain that she wasn't going to run off, she sneezed. Logan lifted his eyebrow as if the ill-timed sneeze only served to substantiate his case that she was too ill to be left to her own devices. Even if said device was the lock on her apartment door.
"Fine," she grumbled as she leaned on the wall, wrapping her arms around herself, protecting her bare arms both from a sudden chill and his righteous indignation. Logan opened the door and ushered her inside.
When Veronica made for the couch, Logan snagged her by a belt loop and redirected her toward the rear of the apartment. "Pajamas, now," he ordered, "And if it has to come to me dressing you, I will do it." He said it without his usual eyebrow wiggle, so Veronica knew his command brokered no argument. She went to her room to change.
"And stay in bed, Veronica," he called over the clatter of opening and closing cabinet doors, drawers, and finally the refrigerator. Veronica cringed as she imagined the carefully hidden clutter in the kitchen in shambles as Hurricane Logan blew through it. Her fears weren't allayed as her nurse stuck his head in the door, shaking a carafe of orange juice in her direction, "Does this expire?"
Veronica nodded, "Yeah, but my dad just bought that."
Logan smelled it and then considered. "Better not risk it." He disappeared again only to poke his head in a moment later, "Haven't you got anything other than canned soup?"
Veronica shook her head to indicate the negative and then moved to get out from under her blankets. "I'll help," she started.
Logan was at her side in an instant, pressing her back into her pillows and pulling the comforter to her chin. "Please, Veronica. Listen to me this once and stay put."
She stared up at him, trying desperately not to laugh at his too-serious face and the worry creasing his brow. "Why can't I have canned soup?"
"Because," he began, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world, "It has too much salt. It'll make you sicker."
"That's-" Veronica cut herself off with a sneeze. "Ridiculous," she finished, lamely.
Logan tucked her blanket tighter. "I'm just going to run to the store and I'll-"
"Logan," Veronica said his name in a such a small voice, it gave him pause. "Stay."
"But... I... The soup-"
"Just stay here with me." The infamous tilt of her head, even at the awkward angle against her pillows, was in full effect. "You don't want me to catch a chill while your out shopping, do you?" She knew that the damsel-in-distress act worked a lot better on Logan than her usual spit and vinegar, so she laid it on extra thick.
Logan looked one last time in the direction of the kitchen before sitting down on the edge of her bed. He laid a cool hand across her forehead and asked, "Okay. Chicken noodle or chicken and stars?"
