Summary: Logan gets a diary. Veronica questions his masculinity.
A/N: I wrote this awhile ago, but haven't decided until now to share it with you guys because it's my first and only piece of humor writing (thus far). I know I'm hysterical in person, but I'm not sure how well my humor translates onto paper/the computer screen. So please, please let me know what you think!
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Apocalyptic Now: or, a Look into the Diary of Man
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Legs entwined, kisses, short breath, champagne. It's all a part of the dream, their dream of normalcy, of bliss, of pure fucking life. And he's got it, she's got it, they've both got it, together, with hands still locked together as they fight to allow air and passion through their lips. She can only hear their breath, heavy, his breath against her skin, hers against his, as she moans into his mouth, lets go of his hands to grab onto his arm. She moans louder, kisses harder, --
And then he stops.
He stops.
Their lips part, and she's not in paradise anymore, but instead sitting next to her boyfriend who has just ended a make-out session so abruptly it makes her head spin.
"What-" she takes this moment to breathe, gasping the air she'd been lacking, before continuing, "What's wrong?"
He's not even looking at her, but instead standing to reach into his back pocket, breathing with her. He doesn't say a word as he sits back down and grabs the pen in his front pocket.
And when she sees what's in his hands, what he stopped for, why their lips are no longer pressed together in a fit of passion, she laughs. She laughs so fucking hard, tears threaten to spill from her eyes, and she doesn't even realize these are only the third set of happy tears she'd been granted in all of her 21 years.
Because Logan Echolls has just stopped making out with his girlfriend to write in his diary.
Logan tries not to avert his attention to her, writing with careful letters and focused eyes. She continues to watch him, continues to laugh, and now her eyes are closed and tears are falling through them as she clutches onto her stomach which aches from laughter.
He's finished soon, only wrote down a few words, and now all he can do is wait and watch Veronica laugh. He leans in for a kiss, tries to stop her from laughing, but it only makes her laugh harder.
"You-" she gasps, clutches her stomach, "you want to-" – deep, quivering breaths - "you want to continue after that?"
Logan smiles, if only because she's so brilliantly happy. "Hey, now. I can make journals sexy." He leans in again, but, again, she won't stop laughing.
"Journal?" Here she snorts. "Logan, you have a diary!"
"I defy that!" But he shrugs anyway, and says, "I can make diaries sexy, too."
Her laughter isn't as violent as it had been a few minutes ago, but tears are still pouring down her face and she still can't get rid of it. She snorts, "So diaries are sexy now, huh?"
Logan nods.
"If that's the case, then we should use 'Cocksucker Blues' for some mood music."
"Are you insinuating that I'm gay?"
"Of course not, sweetheart." Logan smiles, but she continues, "I'm stating the simple fact that, from experience, I've found that 'Cocksucker Blues' is the perfect song to get into an even sexier mood than when watching my boyfriend write in what's manufactured for ten year old girls."
"Veronica, I'm appalled that you'd be so narrow minded to think that journals-"
"Diaries."
"Fine. That diaries are only for-"
"You know, I think I have 'Cocksucker Blues somewhere on my computer," she continues, ignoring Logan. She stands up, as if to turn on the music, but Logan pulls her back down onto the couch.
"Veronica, stop it. I get it, I did something stupid. I showed you my journ-"
"Di-"
"Diary. Now can we please move on, and pretend that it never happened?"
Veronica pauses, and he doesn't even halfheartedly believe that she'll obey his wish. He's completely right, as she looks at the book still in his lap and bursts into a new set of laughter.
"Well, I'm a lonesome schoolboy…" she sings, her voice broken. "I'm a lonesome schoolboy…"
"Veronica, this really isn't funny anymore."
"Where can I get my cock sucked?"
"Okay. The mood has officially been killed."
"Where can I get my ass-"
"See, now you're just doing this to spite me! This is worse than the whole Brokeback Mountain fiasco."
She doesn't sing anymore, but she's still laughing.
"'Fiasco'? You mean the time you forced me to watch Brokeback Mountain?"
"I thought Anne Hathaway and the blonde chick were the gay ones!"
She isn't speaking anymore, but laughing harder. So he opens his diary for a second time and continues writing in it, and Veronica thinks she might die from the terribly numbing but oh-so-fantastic feeling that is laughter.
"Well, I'm a lonesome schoolboy…"
This is the first time Veronica sees Logan with his diary.
--
The second time Veronica sees Logan with his diary, it's not nearly as surprising, and so it's not nearly as funny. But it is still funny, and she laughs for a minute before sitting down next to him, with a straight face, and leaning her head on his shoulder to look at the page he's writing on. He turns, his back creating a barrier between Veronica and the page, and she moves her head again, only to be blocked by another of Logan's movements.
"You're becoming more feminine each day, sweetheart," Veronica says sweetly, though tauntingly, as she gives up trying to read what he wrote. Logan doesn't respond, only continues to write intently into his diary. She gets up and walks back to the kitchen, where she's preparing dinner.
"I'm feminine. Fine. Chicks dig that," Logan finally says, looking up briefly to see Veronica turn around with a smirk on her face. She doesn't reply to this.
Instead, Veronica sets down the cooking tools in her hands and allows the food to sizzle as she walks to the fridge and takes out a milk carton, from which she directly takes a sip.
"Well, honey, isn't that mighty masculine of you?"
Veronica parts the milk carton from her lips and smiles sweetly. "Logan, you've always known how butch I am. I, on the other hand, never knew I was dating a man who is secretly the ever famous pretty pretty princess."
There's a pause as Veronica takes another sip, and Logan gets back to writing.
"Oh, and for future reference," she says, taking the milk from her lips, "the Skintimate is in the last drawer under the sink, and the tampons in the second drawer. And don't come PMS-ing to me when I use the last of them."
She doesn't see the pillow as it comes hurling towards her, at full speed, as she takes another sip. It hits her hand and she loses control of the milk carton, which falls to the ground with a thud and a splash. And she doesn't wait before she runs to Logan at full speed, jumps onto his lap, and beats his chest with her tiny fists.
He simply stands up, and she falls. And he collapses in a fit of giggles as she's crying again.
---
The third time Veronica sees Logan writing in his diary, it isn't even funny anymore.
When a guy writes in his diary after sex, you'd think it'd be funny. In a situationally ironic way, it is funny. Written down on paper, it is funny. In thought, in words, in anything other than experience, it is so damn funny, so fantastically funny, that an entire sitcom could be made of a man who writes in his diary after sex.
In reality, it is so not funny.
"Logan, I'd make another joke, but then you'd think that this is funny."
He scoots his eyes over to her for a moment, smirks wickedly, then turns his attention back to his diary, where his careful letters are growing in number daily.
"It is, though, isn't it?"
"Logan!" She gets up from bed, begins picking up her clothes scattered along the floor. "Logan, this is so not funny."
He's nodding along as she speaks, but his eyes are still on the pages of his diary. She continues to move around the room, clothes in hand but not on self, and eyes him the entire time. He doesn't look up, doesn't care to. He simply gazes at his diary.
"Logan!"
He glances up.
"Yes?" She stands there, naked. He waits for her to speak. "Well?"
"Well!?" she shrieks. "Logan, I want my heterosexual boyfriend back!"
Logan smiles. "I've seen that plenty of times, Veronica. It's perky in all the same ways."
She's fuming now, and doesn't wait to storm out of the room. Logan bursts into laughter the moment she does.
It isn't funny, really. He's really just wondering what the hell he got himself into.
---
She isn't even fuming about the incident two days later; she barely remembers the chronological events. Two days later, she's simply going insane with curiosity. She doesn't tease him anymore, nor does she yell at him. Now, all Logan hears are pleads and promises, I'll-do-anything's and I'm-your-girlfriend!'s. She tries to bargain with him, tries anything to get him to show her just a glimpse of what's gotten him so focused as of late.
She even offers – though she's cringing and speaking through gritted teeth - to buy him a whip if he lets her read a sentence off of his diary. When he declines, her words are back in malicious form, and she says something to the effect of "The more I speak to you, the less gay Clay Aiken seems."
He only mutters touché and continues writing.
---
"No sex."
Logan looks up and stares at Veronica. "What?"
"It's official. No more sex."
"Why not?"
"Because I sleep with men!"
He can't really say anything, and there's no sting to her remark, so he only smiles.
"Did you hear me, Logan? No sex."
He nods.
"Logan, no sex until you let me read your diary."
He shrugs.
"Logan, I mean it!"
He looks at her and smiles.
"No sex!"
---
A week later, seated across Mac and Dick in Red Lobster, Veronica isn't making insinuating gay comments anymore. She's already concluded that they don't deter Logan from his lifelong quest of screwing with her mind, so she stays away from them. Besides, there's only so many ways she can compare Logan to Lance Bass.
Instead, she tries to convince Logan to let her catch a glimpse of his diary.
That's all she needs, she tells herself. Just a glimpse. It's not like she's asking to read the entire thing. It's not like she even cares what he has to say to a book. She isn't the same "nosy-ass Veronica Mars" that Dick dubbed her all those years ago. She's simply Veronica Mars, the healthily curious girlfriend of a man who writes in a diary.
The table is never silent when Mac, Dick, Veronica, and Logan have their weekly double date, but it is on this day, and it might be because Veronica is staring at her glass of wine, playing with her napkin, looking like she's going insane as she mumbles through her lips, and the other three are busy watching her oddly, though concerned.
Mac is the first to address the issue.
"Veronica?"
It takes Veronica a moment to realize someone is speaking to her. When she does, she brings her eyes to meet Mac's. "Mac."
"Veronica, what's wrong?" Mac asks gently. Veronica shakes her head, shrugs, then looks at Dick.
"Say, Dick," she says slowly, and all eyes are now on Dick.
Dick looks over at Mac nervously before answering, "Yeah, Ronnie?"
"Would you let Mac read something you wrote in exchange for a whip?"
Dick relaxes and smiles. "Fuck yes. That is, if the whip is strictly for kinky use." He pauses, then continues by asking, "Veronica, is this about Logan's diary?"
Veronica's mouth almost drops, but she restrains it. Nothing should shock her anymore.
"Don't worry, it's not that juicy."
Her jaw drops.
She spins her head to look at Logan, and this time ice really is shooting from her eyes and poking holes through Logan. "He read your diary?"
"Babe, he's a guy," Logan says quickly, softly, grasping her hands gently in his. "I love you too much to let you read it now."
She crosses her arms and ignores him the rest of their night out. He grins at the thought that it's all worth it.
---
The eleventh time she sees his diary, it's laying, open, on top of their bed.
She doesn't see it at first; the first thing she sees when she enters their apartment are the rose petals scattered among the floor, in a trail. The second thing she notices are the flames, dancing blissfully on the wicks of several hundred candles, covering almost all surfaces of their apartment. The third thing she notices is the meal laid out across the dining table.
She decides to follow the trail of rose petals first.
She walks slowly, in a daze, somewhat convinced that Logan would never do this for her. Laughter fills her insides, because she knows there isn't anything Logan wouldn't do for her.
Except let her read that damn diary.
But she shakes her head at the thought, because Wonderful Tonight is flooding the apartment quietly, and she almost feels like crying.
When she reaches the end of the delicate path, she's in their room, alone, and there seems to be thousands of candles and thousands of roses scattered among their things. And, atop several petals on the sheets of their bed, lies Logan's diary, open. She walks up to it and doesn't even pick it up before she begins to read.
As she turns the pages, reads the words Logan so eloquently wrote, she cries.
February 1, 2009
I didn't realize it today, but kissing you reaffirms everything. I love you so fucking much.
February 2, 2009
Today is the day I asked for permission. It was granted.
February 3, 2009
It's gorgeous, but not even half as gorgeous as you, Veronica. Nothing is.
February 4, 2009
You keep laughing at me, Veronica. And every time you do, I love you more than before. And I don't know why. I don't know why.
February 5, 2009
I know why. You're my soul mate.
February 6, 2009
Don't laugh. I didn't believe in soul mates, either. Hell, I didn't believe in love.
February 7, 2009
I believe in love.
February 8, 2009
Any woman who offers to buy her man a whip is true perfection.
February 9, 2009
You made me laugh today. You always do. God, I love to laugh.
February 10, 2009
Aren't you beginning to realize it?
February 11, 2009
We're perfect, Veronica.
February 12, 2009
I love you.
February 13, 2009
We deserve to have each other for the rest of our lives.
February 14, 2009
Marry me, marry me, marry me. Veronica Mars, I love you so fucking much. Marry me.
She hears him come into the room, and she turns around.
"Marry me."
He takes her long, deep kisses, tearing of his clothes, and a we can have sex now pant as a sound 'yes.'
---
fin.