Disclaimer: I don't own Veronica Mars, or its characters, but GOD, I wish they would just finally get back on track. :wishes:
"Veronica, c'mon. Don't be mad about this! It's for a role, you've gotta believe me!" His pathetic green eyes gleam with tears and a peel of revulsion curls in your stomach.
"Kirby," You respond, your tone reverting to calm-a throwback to your struggling days of phone operating. "A balled up pink g-string in my dresser drawer couldn't possibly be construed as being for a role." You tilt your head to the side, your eyes barely able to contain their mirth. This is the first time in a long while that you're trying to keep a smile in instead of on. Maybe you should catch your boyfriend cheating on you more often.
"But V! I swear, it isn't mine!" He fell to his knees; his clammy palms grabbing your hands and making you recoil in disgust.
"Get up, Kirby." He stands sheepishly, his eyes downcast, a smile peeking out from beneath the corners of his lips. This is why he's such a great actor, you realize. He manages to combine sexy and apologetic all in a neat, buff looking package. You bite your lip to keep back a laugh. If only those teenyboppers knew the alarming intensity that went into looking so…masculine looking.
"So you believe me?" His voice lilts slightly as it catches that last syllable, and it hits you that if there's one thing you'll miss about him, it'll be that voice. You always were a sucker for accents. "Oh, V! I'm so glad you see reason! Sophia is just a friend and she-" The incredulity shines on your face, and your eyes widen. This is it. The turning point.
"Sophia?" Your voice loses its calm, soothing edge. In fact, it's downright feral. Kirby's ears redden, a sure fire sign that he's lying. They have makeup to hide those kinds of things on television, but not in the comfort of his own living room. He's royally screwed now, and not so very literally.
"Not our Sophia!" That way the 'our' trips off his tongue makes you fairly certain that she's much more his than yours. You bite down hard on your lip, all amusement sucked right out of you.
"Get out." Your voice is small; your hands are shaking so violently that you have to clench them together.
"But V!" His eyes are wide and pleading. You're past the point of caring. "I love you!" He looks about ready to drop to his knees again, and you place your hand to the air before his chest, stopping him.
"I said, get out." Maybe not the most eloquent break up speech, but you're afraid if you say anymore, your unshed tears will fall, and that would just be unacceptable.
"Veronica, she means nothing to me, you have to know that. I just…" You spin around, anger roiling through you.
"There is no 'I just', Kirby. You fucked my best friend. And you let her leave without her underwear, which apparently you liked so much that you kept." Before you know what you're doing, you hurl his grandmother's antique candleholders to the ground; their blue and gold shards make pinging noises as they collide with the granite floor.
"VERONICA! Grandmother Provost handed those down through GENERATIONS. What do you think you're doing?" Your eyebrows arch at this. Your eyes contort into small slits.
"What do I think I'M doing? What did you think YOU were doing, Kirby when you slept with my oldest friend in Los Angeles?" Each word is punctuated with the smashing of a ceramic figurine, Kirby's prized collectables, which you grab from the baseboard and hurl in all directions of the room.
"At least Sophia doesn't have hidden rage ISSUES." He screeches back, his form retreating towards the door, his eyes wild with emotion, his voice breaking. "She cries when we make love, did you know that, Ver-on-ica?"
"Maybe she cries, KIRBY, because you fucking call it MAKING LOVE!" You aim the last sculpture at his head-his favorite, an obese dancing ballerina complete with matching floating skirt. It hits the closing door instead, Kirby's own actions causing its destruction, not your's. You collapse onto the debris-strewn ground, hot tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes, your breath labored. Life was most definitely not supposed to turn out like this.
x
"Were you aware that your wife was cheating on you?" You wipe the corners of your mouth with a small white napkin, your eyes guarded. He laughs, the booming sound warranting glances from the other occupants of the café. His eyes are dancing.
"Did ya catch her in the act, Ronnie?" You roll your eyes at the nickname, annoyed more at yourself than at him as it sends prickly shivers up your spine.
"I didn't have to." You respond, breaking eye contact. He has this amazing capability of getting you to lose yourself within him. Yet another item on the ever-growing list of things keeping the two of you apart.
"Y'know I heard that they've created this mechanical insect that has the ability to fly into rooms, allowing its owners to listen to everything that goes on. Is that what you did, Ronnie? Did ya send a fly in to spy on us?" You huff as you look away, your chin setting, and he laughs again, his chocolate brown eyes twinkling.
"Didn't need to. I found her underwear in my dresser." It's his turn to huff as his gaze sweeps around them to the other occupants of the café who are waiting with baited breath, just dying to gobble up any tidbit of gossip that could possibly come their way.
"Veronica, you're friends. You shop together. How do you know you didn't just mix packages up or something?" His almost feline demeanor is starting to slip, and you can tell that even to him his excuses are wearing thin.
"Because I don't buy pink g-strings, Logan." Your tone is cool and low, your eyes meeting his head on.
"Not even to entice ol' Kirbo? He couldn't be more of a dead fish, Ronnie. You could do so much better." You let a small smile peak through, but after a moment you're all business again.
"Kirby admitted to it, Logan." Even though you've delivered news like this before, you find that you can't look him in the eye. His pain is too raw, too palpable. After a moment though, he laughs. The sound is rough and scornful.
"Who woulda thunk it, Ronnie, that my ex wife would tell me that her live in boyfriend was fucking my current wife. Instead of wanting to get me back, she's trying to preserve my feelings. I'm such a catch, and to think, she's wasting it." His words hang between you for a moment, thick and almost tangible. You feel the panic constricting your throat.
"Our marriage was annulled 10 years ago, Logan. I can't believe you still think of me as your ex wife." He doesn't respond, he's just simply looking at you, and you squirm under his gaze. "God, Logan! Have you ever thought that maybe it's because you keep marrying the wrong people? I would love it if there were nothing to tell! You know that." He nods once, almost imperceptibly, but its good enough for you. You'd just as well not rehash the past right now.
"Wanna get out of here?" He asks suddenly, flashing you the trademark grin that made him a household name. Despite the fact that you've seen it a million times, in a million different places it still sends a low hum of pleasure through you, knowing that it's aimed at you and only you.
"Sure. I cancelled the rest of my appointments for the afternoon." He shoots a questioning glance in your direction, but you avert your eyes just in time, glancing out at the bustling city beside you.
x
"Do you remember how drunk we were that night, Ronnie?" He's glancing at you across the console, his eyebrows arching above his sunglasses, his arm casually draped over the steering wheel.
"That sentence should be a contradiction, because generally you forget when you're drunk, but I didn't. I remember everything." The last bit slips out before you can stop it, and pink cheeked, you glance out of the open side of the convertible, your eyes focusing on the setting sun, dipping below the startlingly blue horizon. This is one of your favorite views and he knows it-the bastard.
"I remember everything too, Ronnie." His voice is surprisingly tender for a man who just found out his wife is cheating.
"That must come in handy when you're the most famous actor in the world. Memorizing lines, remembering whose butt to kiss…" You laugh at the thought of it, and for the first time in a long time, you breathe. You haven't felt this at home, this at ease since…well since the last time the two of you were here.
"Wouldn't my father be embarrassed by this? His screw up son eclipses even his fame." His voice is still light, the easygoing timbre you could recognize from any of his movies, but you can hear the ice, the strain beneath the façade, and you rest your hand on his shoulder, hoping that your warmth can comfort him.
"And you didn't have to kill anyone to do it." Your words are carefully chosen. A smarter person wouldn't dare broach this subject with him, but as a fellow survivor, you can't help it. He nods, but he's not really there. Your words have taken him away, back in time to the one place where he could still get hurt. Suddenly his fingers cover yours, and a zing of heat soars through you.
"And, the million dollar question." He murmurs leaning his head back on the seat, smoldering heat pouring out of his eyes. Your throat goes dry. "Yours or mine?" He whispers right before he kisses you.
x
"You know, it's customary to do this in a bed." His lips are kissing the sensitive spot above your collarbone, and all you can do is moan in response as you drag his lips back to yours. You can't believe this is happening, but at the same time, you can't remember why it ever stopped. He nips your lips again, leaning up on his elbows to stare down at you, the shark tooth necklace you gave him 3 Christmases ago hanging from its worn leather strap around his neck. It gives you a shiver of delight to see it there. You know he never takes it off. You watch as his eyes catch the blinking digital clock above the mantle, and bite your lip to keep from sighing. You know what's coming. "I should go, V. It's getting late." He leans in to kiss you again, his arms wrapping almost protectively around you. You can't take much more of this, you'll get accustomed to it, and that just isn't acceptable. You part your lips to speak, but he kisses the protest away, his fingers running through your hair. "I love you, Veronica. You know that, don't you?" Your eyes widen, you know you must look like an idiot, but there really is no way to respond to that kind of an admonition. With another peck to your lips, he rolls off you to stand naked in the center of the kitchen, languidly searching for his jeans. He winks at you as he zips them up, doing a little shimmy as he bends to grab his shirt.
"You look ridiculous." You giggle, happiness seeping through you. For the first time in years, you feel content. Whole. You're honestly not surprised that it's with the person who ripped you apart in the first place.
"Yeah, but I still have a great ass at 28."
"Not many actors can say that," You tease as you sit up, covering yourself with his beat up leather jacket, leaning against your refrigerator. In the entire 7 years you'd lived her with Kirby you've never had sex on the kitchen floor. Seemingly reading your thoughts, he leans down to kiss you again and has you arching up into his arms. He laughs as he rips his jacket from you, enjoying the view as you scramble to cover your nakedness.
"I love you, Veronica Mars." He mumbles awkwardly, and its almost as if the years have fallen away when he looks at you like that.
"Oh Logan," You murmur standing and cupping his face with your hands. "I love you too." He kisses you again, and even though you know it's futile to hope, you can feel the tendrils of it unfurling within you. He smiles as he backs out of the swinging door, his eyes locked onto yours until the last possible second before he has to turn. Grinning wildly, you slip on your robe, knotting it loosely around your waist, determined to calm yourself. You reach for the phone, and pulling your filofax from the scattered mess on the floor. As you're about to dial the final number, you feel someone kiss the back of your neck. You bite your lip as you turn to face him, wrapping your arms around his neck as he lifts you onto the countertop. "Thank God," You murmur, losing yourself within him again. He's unknotting your robe when he pulls himself back, pushing away from the counter and as far away from you as possible. "…Logan?" You ask, your lips bruised and your perceptions fuzzy. You hear him shakily sigh.
"I have an 7:15 meeting tomorrow. There any chance I can spend the night and make it back to the house by then?" Warm heat fills you, and you bite your lip to keep from smiling too brightly. Glancing at the stove clock though, you sigh. "I know! What's the point, right? It's 3, now. I'd have to leave by 5:30." He comes closer again, his hands coming to rest on your thighs as he leans in and kisses you.
"You can sleep on the couch, if you want." Your offer helpfully, and he grins again, pulling you against him.
"Ronnie, what I have in mind won't be over by 5:30." Despite being half naked and sitting atop the island in your kitchen, you blush at his suggestive words.
"So what do you want to do?" You ask, suddenly all business. It's hard to be prim though, when you're half naked.
"Would you mind driving me back? And then spending the night?" He kisses your neck again, and you want more than anything for this to be it. The real thing. He looks into your eyes, and you find yourself tumbling. Well, it's a start.
"I have a client at 9. Will it really be worth it, driving an hour, spending a couple and then having to drive all the way back?" The conversation is all too familiar, and with a flash you remember your ill-fated marriage. It's reason 9,438 why you're not together now.
"I think so." He kisses you again, and you realize that it is worth it. All of it is worth it if you get to be with him.
"Give me a minute to get dressed." You murmur against his lips, and his husky laugh warms you straight through once more.
"You could come like that…" He teases, his gaze falling to the silken robe, which has fallen open at your sides.
"How 'bout I bring it with me?" You tease, tweaking his cheek and hopping off the counter.
x
"How many years has it been since I've been in the Le Baron, huh, V?" He's adorably excited, and your heart warms as you watch him, surprised at the ease between you.
"5, I think." You respond, biting the corner of your lip as you take a particularly dangerous curve. You can see the water glittering dangerously below you. "You tried to kiss me at the New Year's Eve Youngblood premiere, and after Kirby decked you, I ended up driving you home."
"I tried to kiss you? Really? Why? Did I get very far?" You can tell that your laugh warms him because he reaches across the console and grips your fingers with his. You can't remember ever being happier.
"I told you that you should never try and remake a Rob Lowe movie. You thought I was doubting your acting skills when in fact, I was doubting your beauty." You stop for a moment, enjoying the mirth that bubbles through you.
"That's low, Veronica. You wound me." You laugh again and smile at him, unable to contain this happiness within you at the nearness of him.
"Do I? I don't mean to." You take your eyes off the road for a split second, your heart shining through your eyes, and then in the distance you hear them. Sirens.
"Police? All the way up here?" He asks, and for the moment at least, the spell is broken. You continue along cautiously, stunned when you come across a scene that transports you 10 years back in time. There had been a crash. Practically jumping out of the car before its parked, you whip out your PI badge, to have at the ready in case you get asked any questions.
"Sir, I'm Veronica with Mars Investigations-" Your breath catches in your throat as you finally notice it-a tiny spec of silver, hundreds of feet below, sinking slowly beneath the surface. "Do you…do you know what happened?" Your hands are shaking again and you're eternally grateful when Logan comes up behind you, twining your fingers with his.
"Car swerved off the road at some crazy angle. The driver must've been drunk to miss those signs." The man replies, his sad eyes focused down below. "I have a team down there seeing what they can do, but from such a distance, it's not likely that there'll be survivors." A chill runs through you, and slipping your hand away from Logan's, you push a strand of hair away from your face.
"Did you-did you happen to get a license plate number or anything?" He looks at you strangely, and you smile back tightly. "I live around here, and it would be just awful if it were someone I know-knew." You flash him your badge again, batting your eyelashes prettily and beside you, you can tell Logan can barely keep from snorting. Turning his back to you for a moment, the policeman rifles through a sheaf of papers atop the patrol car. You shiver, an awful sense of apprehension coursing through you.
"You Okay?" Logan asks running his fingers up and down your arms to keep you warm. You nod absently, your eyes focused on the tumultuous sea.
"Ms. Mars?" The man turns back to face them again, nodding as you grab Logan's hand, squeezing as tightly as you possibly can. "It's California, 4CVU806." The world begins to spin as the numbers register in your head. Your breath bursts out erratically, and tears prick the corners of your eyes as you lose your balance and practically fall on Logan for support. "Miss? Miss? Did you know the driver?" Logan is staring down at you intently, and you nod, unable to speak, your hands trembling furiously.
"It's-it's Kirby." You whisper, and the word seems to catch on the wind, whipping away from you. Nothing will ever be the same again.
Fin.