Sometimes she looks at him and can't breathe. She seems incapable of remembering that breathing is involuntary, that it doesn't require willpower, and should be easy to do. Her force of will is what keeps her going, keeping the panic in her mind, the fire, at bay. Standing there, staring at him, the stupid song playing over the radio, she has to remember the scorching heat, the pain and the pleasure, and turn away from it.
He smiles at her, the characteristic quirk of his lips a little higher than it has been in months, and another breath slowly leaks out.
"Make your point." Her voice comes out harsher than she intended, little pants she has no control over.
"It's a question. Answer it."
"Are we emo now?" she snaps back. "What do you mean?" She enunciates the words clearer now. "Just ask the real question."
"It is a real question, Veronica." His voice is calm, and cool, nothing like what is has been for months. There is no bite, no anger. Just a statement.
"Are you my favorite mistake?" She looks at him incredulously. "That's not a question, it's a song lyric. A shitty one at that."
"Aw, now don't insult Sheryl. She writes the truth, something you've always had trouble with."
"I have trouble with truth? Barring your spotted past, you do remember that I'm a PI, right?"
"My fault," he replied, toasting a glass to her.
She's shocked. He's given her the advantage, telling her he's wrong isn't in the pattern. This is verbal sparring, this is anger and quick wits, this is what they do.
He seems to see the emotions floating through her eyes, and smirks a little. "I'm not here to get you off Veronica; I just want the question answered."
"Wow, you're such a romantic Logan, how did I resist you?"
"Wrong again, I'm the truth, he's the romantic." He waves his arm in a flippant gesture towards the door. She turns quickly to make sure no one is behind her.
"Embarrassed? Or worried your knight might get upset?" At her expression he lets out a light laugh. "You never had trouble resisting what I had to offer. Now just answer the question."
"Fine Logan, you're my favorite mistake. Happy?" She just wants out of there, so she can go back to her sweet, loving boyfriend and ignore Logan's increasingly crazy ramblings.
She's surprised when she sees a look of relief washing over Logan's face as he turns back to the bar. "You can go now, or you might miss the chariot." He waves his arms carelessly towards the door, engrossed in the bricks on the wall in front of him, the liquor in his glass.
"Gladiators ride chariots, Logan." She shakes her head angrily. "That's what you dragged me down here for? And here I thought you actually wanted to clear your name."
"I'm clearing my mind." He didn't turn to look at her, his eyes focused firmly on the wall.
"Damnit Logan, what did you want? To torture me, to force me to lie to Duncan and drive all the way down here? What so you could play a song from the 90s on the jukebox and be a jackass? I didn't realize you needed a soundtrack now." She felt like screaming with frustration at his lack of response. Stomping towards him, she pulled him around to face her. "What did you want?"
His face is soft, softer than she's ever seen, softer than she's ever thought possible. The Logan sitting in front of her is an apparition of what could have been. He looks at her for a moment, eye to eye, the only time when she doesn't have to look up at him. And like that his face closes off, and his trademark smirk blinds her. "Bastard," she whispers, shaking her head. "I actually thought you had something important to say."
He tosses back the last of his drink, and stands up towering over her. "Go back to your castle, Ronnie."
The hated nickname, the coldness washes over her. "Glad to know you're back," she retorts. "And the princess references are trite, can't you think of something better?" She steels herself for the reply, but there's nothing, just that smile. That stupid smile that makes her want to shove him against a wall, her leg wrapped around his waist, and figure out what the sparks between them will culminate in.
"You are a princess, Veronica." His voice is back, the quality of it cold and comforting all at once. For a moment she isn't sure if he's insulted her, but he smiles again, and salutes her, his heels clicking together. "Tell his royal highness I surrender."
She scowls. "I'm not a battle Logan."
"You should have been," he replies, picking his jacket off the barstool next to him. He shrugs into it, and fidgets with the sleeves for a moment before saying, "Veronica fucking Mars." His voice is wistful and then he shakes it off, and begins to walk away.
"Damn it Logan, what the hell do you want from me?" Her voice holds a hysterical note in it.
"Just wanted to be your favorite something." He's walking backwards towards the door, his hands still fiddling with the sleeves. "I needed," he pauses, and she can see how hard he's trying for the right words. The Logan Echolls she knows doesn't pause or stop or consider. He barrels through. "I heard the song last night, and it fit."
She lets out a little sigh, and her hand does what her lungs couldn't do earlier, involuntarily moving out towards him. He pulls further away, and the door opens behind him, his orange jacket a striking contrast to the sky outside. "When I go, I'll always be your favorite mistake." His voice is soft, his eyes sad, but that damn smile is still plastered on his face.
She can't say anything again, and her lungs hurt, but she reaches again, grasping at the air between them. There's the classic Echolls wink, the little wave, and he's stepping out.
"Logan!" She's calling out his name almost desperately, her voice splintering.
He ignores her and starts humming, and for a moment she can breathe, surprised he can carry a tune. And then he's gone.
She sees him at school, hanging with his buddies, flirting with girls, eating pizza in the same disgusting way, but he's different. She can't feel his eyes on her, she can't feel his anger radiating across rooms. The song starts playing a little more often everywhere she goes, the words making her shut her eyes tighter, and grip Duncan's hand harder. She leans against him, and feels the air easily come in and out of her lungs. There's no more fire, no more pain. There's no more pleasure. But she can do without and bundles herself more firmly into Duncan.