"Do you want to get out of here?" He's not sure he's heard her right. She's small, tiny compared to him, and the music from the party is blaring really loudly. He could just be imagining things. "Do you want to get out of here?" She asks again and it isn't her voice that grabs him. It's different, harder, but it can change at will. She even looks the same. Her hair still falls in light waves around her shoulders and her skin is pale and unmarred and perfect. But they haven't spoken two civil words to each other in months so he's kind of slow on the uptake. He doesn't know what it is, but she's different somehow, and he doesn't like it.
"You want to get out of here. With me." He's speaking very slowly, trying to look in her eyes, except she seems to be more fascinated with the spot right by his left earlobe than with him. He never thought he'd be jealous of one an appendage before.
"If you're gonna keep talking like that, I'll probably revoke the invitation. Sterling conversationalists allowed only." If this were a movie, he rationalizes; he would touch his palm to her cheek now, stare deep into her eyes, kiss her a little and then say something that's been dooming his species since the dawn of time. I love you. Except he has a feeling if he tried to touch her, she'd break his hand, and as for the kissing and love spouting-the thought is just ridiculous. Or at least it was until she shifted her feet, and a shaft of moonlight danced across her face. He doesn't want to notice how pretty she is. Actually, that's a lie. He's always known how pretty she was. Pretty is not the word he would use now. There are scars on her face now, a certain coldness in her eyes that was never there before. Before, she was sweet, bubble gum, cotton candy and sundresses and he realizes that her face hasn't changed, not really, except, it has. She's different and somehow pretty just doesn't seem to fit anymore. His mind thinks beautiful, maybe, but he doesn't want to acknowledge it, so he doesn't. Not pretty works just as well as anything.
"I came with someone." He mutters finally, because he realizes that he's been staring at her for far too long, and staring at Veronica Mars nowadays spells certain death, especially for him.
"Whatever then," She mutters, turning slightly, and he's fairly certain that if he didn't reach out and grab her wrist at the very last second, he would've lost her in the crowd. He doesn't know the exact moment when he started not wanting to lose her, but the sensation is there now and it doesn't seem to want to go anywhere. "Are you gonna let go of me, Echolls? I kind of need that arm to leave. Or, oh, let me put in terms you'll understand," She bites out after another moment of his silent appraisal of her. "I need to go find some other unsuspecting guy to seduce in the backseat of my car, and I kind of can't do that if you've got a vital part of my body." He can't take his eyes off of her lips; a vital part of my body. Her words catapult through him as he imagines her body and he gulps because this is her fault. She should have never come up to him. He doesn't even have a decent buzz going, which is completely unacceptable considering the place where this conversation is going.
"Were you going to seduce me in the backseat of your car, Ronnie?" Her eyes flash at the use of her nickname. He knows she hates it more than anything, and it's almost his defense mechanism now.
"My standards may be low, Echolls," She whispers sweetly, her fingers grazing cheek lightly, a sunny smile grazing her lips. "But they're not that low." The words bounce off him, they don't hurt and he's surprised that she thought they would. He's used to much richer retorts from her by now, and if he were thinking rationally, he might see it as a let down. As it is, the Echolls bothers him more than anything, even though he's not quite sure why. It's the second time she's used it since speaking to him, and for a crazy second he wants to yell at her that he isn't just Echolls, he's Logan and he wants to hear the name fall from her lips. Which is crazy. She twists her arm from under his fingertips and is gone then, before he can grab her again and hold her back, before he can say anything but stare at her as she leaves, her barely there hips swishing in a wake of white eyelet. He hates that he looks and hates himself even more when she turns around and catches him looking. "Have you seen my keys?" She asks, and for a moment, she's the Old Veronica and her voice is breathy and her eyes are hopeful and all he wants to do is protect her, which is crazy too, because if anything he needs protection from her.
"Why would I have seen your keys, Veronica?" He asks, his voice low, her signature scent of lime and honeysuckle wafting around him.
"Because I had them when I issued my pity invite, and now they're gone. Come on Logan," Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him and he's caught. He's trapped in two worlds because while her voice and face may be the same, it's her eyes that are different. They're shielded and wary and they've seen too much and fallen too hard for someone her age. He has a feeling that they're a mirror of his own, even though he doesn't want to acknowledge the possibility.
"Why don't we take my car?" The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them, before he even thinks about them, and for a second he expects a hush to go over the crowd. Needless to say, it doesn't.
"I thought you said you came with someone." She mutters and it isn't a 'no' which is his second thought, but only after-god her lips look good. Which is insane, because she's Lilly's best friend and Lilly is catalyst behind this whole mess.
"Dick can find another ride." He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to leave this party and this booze and these people to ride off into the sunrise with Veronica Mars. If there's one thing he's learned, it's that the horse is never as comfortable as it appears to be, and sex is uncomfortable on beaches. Movie magic is just that, a trick of the light, a swish of the curtain and then it's gone, packed away, the unnecessary pieces left callously on the cutting room floor.
"I thought you didn't want to leave." He'd never actually said that, but it's true. He doesn't want to leave, even though he's been to this same party three times this week, and more times than he wants to remember during the past month. The same conversation, and the same dark cornered groping, even the same hangovers in the morning. She's the only thing that's different and suddenly the patio is stifling, even though it's open air, and the beach is only a few feet away.
"I never said that." He murmurs, turning his back to her. He can't look at her anymore. She isn't Lilly, no one is Lilly, but he has a feeling that even if Lilly were here, she wouldn't be able to do much good. Veronica makes a faint gasping sound and he has a feeling she won't be needing his services in the car department after all. He's disappointed, but he doesn't know why. Spending time with Veronica Mars is like pulling thorns from his back; painful and completely unnecessary in the first place, because falling was stupid.
"So where are we headed?"
"Headed?"
"I'm not in the mood to get buzzed and you're not looking too happy there yourself, cowboy." He looks at her to see if she's kidding and sure enough there's a hint of a smile on her lips, but it isn't the malicious kind. "You're the one who suggested leaving. I only took you up on your offer."
"It was your offer first."
"A mere technicality," She laughs, inviting him to laugh with her, but he doesn't. He can't. Instead he just nods, gulping down the rest of his beer and walking away without waiting for her. He has this feeling that if he just goes fast enough, he'll be able to outrun everything. It's the faint strains of music from the party that drag him back though. He can't even outrun Veronica Mars; he notices belatedly. Lilly is still gone and there's a new welt on his back and Duncan is nowhere to be found half the time, even though they spend almost every waking moment together. He collapses then, his back against the coarse sand, his eyes focused on the inky black sky above them. "When I suggested we get out of there I was thinking about going a bit father, but this works too."
"Take what you can get, Mars." He mutters, glancing up at her just in time to see the smallest of smiles flit across her face. She settles down next to him, the wind from the surf blowing the skirt of her dress as she sits next to him.
"Lilly loved the ocean," She murmurs after a long moment and she sounds so much like the old Veronica that he can't stand it.
"She did." She sighs, and the sound is almost inaudible but she's so close that he feel it. He turns suddenly, surprising her because she hadn't realized they were that close and she gasps when his lips press against hers, feather light.
"What are you doing?" There's panic in her voice, but there's a hint of desperation too, and now his hands do cup her cheeks, his lips settling more firmly on hers. He doesn't let himself think about it. She's just another girl, a nameless face girl he's using to recapture Lilly's bright, all consuming Technicolor. She moans a little as he nips at her bottom lip, and the sound so is unquestioningly Veronica that he can't pretend she's Lilly anymore.
"Logan," She breathes, giving in and kissing him back-just barely, just a little and he realizes that maybe he doesn't want to. Pretend she's Lilly that is. He can't. The sun rises hazily on the horizon before them, but as his sand coated fingers dance over her skin, he doesn't notice.
Fin.