Author's Note: Yay! I got my first flame for this story!! I'm so happy. Well, I don't know, but personally I kind of like the Logan & Keith pairing. It's just so … unexpected, right?!?! I actually have another Logan/Keith story that I'm working on right now. I think they have become my favorite odd couple from VM. Maybe even more than Dick and Veronica.
Warning: Angst, bad humor (which is kind of offensive!), bad language, Dick being a Dick (as usual!!), etc. Oh, and I have nothing against Jews, but I find Mel Gibson kind of annoying. (Sorry!!)
The Love That We Leave Behind
By Lymie Eros
Chapter 2: Dick Casablancas, Grief Counselor
I awoke in a hospital bed, but the first thought that came to mind was: 'My dad was fucking Logan.'
And then from beside my bed, I heard: "So, I hear Logan was fucking your dad last night."
My eyes were still closed, but I recognized that voice. Only one person could possibly be so insensitive as to say something like that to an injured person lying in a hospital bed. And furthermore, how the Hell could he even tell that I was awake when I hadn't even opened my eyes yet?
So I popped one eye open and attempted to glare at him from the corner of my eye. I had never realized until that moment just how hard it is to glare at someone with only one eye.
"Shut up, Dick." I told him.
Dick just grinned. "I always knew you could turn a man gay," he said with a nod. "I just didn't think that Logan would be your first target." He shook his head with mock sadness, but the grin on his face betrayed his true intentions. I wondered if I was the only one who had noticed his uncanny resemblance to the ever-smiling Cheshire cat from Alice in Wonderland.
I started to sit up, then winced and fell back onto the soft pillows. Finally, I opened both my eyes and fully surveyed my situation. The hospital room was very typical; white, white, and more white, with only the slightest hint of beige trim. And a few metallic instruments lying on a table on the other side of the room that I sincerely hoped had not been used on me. There was an IV sticking out of my left arm—Dick was in a chair on the other side of my hospital bed—and a big bag of fluid connected to the IV hung menacingly overhead. I put one hand up to my head, and confirmed what I had felt since I had first awoken; there was a huge roll of gauze wrapped around my head, presumably holding some sort of bandage to the part that had bumped into the wall. The back of my head still let off a dull ache; but my thoughts came out clearly, so it seemed that there was no significant or permanent damage. With a sigh of relief, I settled back against the pillows and stared up at the ceiling.
For a minute there, I had been so absorbed in myself and my situation that I had completely forgotten about Dick.
Dick was frowning at me. "What, no snappy comeback?" he asked. His concern sounded sincere, but I knew better. Dick didn't have a single sincere bone in his body. "You must've hit your head harder than they thought."
I turned my head slightly to the side to look at him, then immediately regretted it as the pain began shooting through my whole body from the wound on the back of my head. The only way I could look at him was to keep my head straight and glare at him from the corner of my eyes. It was a little easier this time, since I had both eyes open, but still remained ineffective. Normally my glare would make Dick at least a little nervous; today, it simply had no effect.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" I asked abruptly. "Shouldn't my visitors be people I actually want to see, like my friends or my family—"
My family … the only real family I had was Dad. And right now, I didn't think I could even stand to look at him. If I looked at him, I'd remember that image seared onto my brain since last night, the image of him standing beside …
"Your Dad has to work, and Logan is … shall we say, indisposed." He winked at me. "Besides, I'm not here as a friend or anything; I'm here in my professional capacity."
"You have a job?" I asked incredulously. "As what, a gigolo?"
"Of course not," he scoffed. For some reason, he sounded genuinely offended. "That's my night job. It's not even noon yet; I don't start work for another six hours." I honestly couldn't tell whether he was joking or not, but it seemed to me that there might have been a slight twinkle in his eye.
He pulled his wallet out of the pocket of his jeans, and out of his wallet he pulled a business card. "Here," he said, shoving the card in front of my face as though it were my arms that had been injured instead of my head. "This is my profession du jour."
I wondered for a moment if Dick actually knew what that meant before grabbing the card out of his hand and examining it. If I wasn't already in enough shock after the events from last night, this would have put me over the top.
"Dick Casablancas, Grief Counselor?" My voice was laced heavily with a mixture of sarcasm and incredulity.
"It says "Richard Casablancas, Jr.," he said, sounding hurt, "I'm kind of offended that you won't even read it properly!"
"However you want to spell your name is no business of mine," I said breezily. For some reason, I was beginning to feel a bit tired, but I tried desperately to hold on to my consciousness. After all, who knew—the next time I fell asleep could be my last.
"Besides," I added, "What do I need a grief counselor for?"
"Veronica," he began, his voice sounding as though he was about to launch into a long-winded speech—which, I found out much to my dismay, he was indeed about to—"Let me tell you a little something about grief. It comes in many forms. Some are physical, such as the death of a loved one." A single tear slipped down his cheek, but from the corner of my eye I could see him stuffing something into his pocket that looked vaguely like an eyedropper, so it was probably fake. "Some are mental, such as the death of a beloved cartoon character." Another tear slipped down his cheek, but this time I had the feeling that it was real. "And some forms of grief are caused by betrayal. The betrayal of people that you once trusted, who broke that trust, and left you defenseless to be killed by the Roman dogs. And the Jews." He was trembling with rage now. "Betrayed, just like Jesus," he said bitterly, "Those damn Jews!! They're lucky Mel Gibson wasn't alive back then! Or he would have killed them all and single-handedly saved Jesus! Dammit!" He leaned over and burst into tears, holding his head in his hands.
Dick continued to cry as I wondered what type of drugs he was on. Definitely not pot; that would make him lazy, not worked up into a state like this. It could be cocaine—that would definitely put him on edge. Heroin, maybe? Or it could be a "snowball," a mixture of heroin and cocaine. But in that case, if he was high he wouldn't come to the hospital in the first place, right? Unless he came to the hospital in order to get his drugs of choice …
Finally, Dick pulled a tissue out of his pocket—really, he has more stuff packed into those things than Dennis Kucinich—blew his nose, and put it back in his pocket—which was completely disgusting. Then he turned towards me and took my hand in both of his and squeezed it. I really wanted to pull it away, but any sudden movements would have caused my head to jostle, leading to immediate and intense pain—so there was really nothing I could do to shake him off of me.
"Look," he said, in what appeared to be an actual moment of seriousness, his hands grasped firmly around mine, "Your situation isn't all that bad. I mean, so your ex-boyfriend is going to be like your step-dad—at least until gay marriage is legalized in California, and then he'll be your real step-dad—but so what? If Logan hadn't banged my step-mom first, I would have totally hit that! It's the same thing with you, except," I could see the little wheels turning in his brain. They weren't clockwork wheels, but rather wheels turned by mice running on them. Not pretty, and certainly not what you'd want inside your brain. "Except … it's like the opposite. I don't think there's even a problem to it!" He finished with a dramatic flourish.
"That's because you're a douchebag, Dick," I explained patiently. "I'm not. It's … it's my dad. And Logan. I mean …" How on Earth could I explain what I felt like at this moment? How could I possibly say out loud all the thoughts that were running through my mind? If I let loose with my true feelings, the tough façade that I always wore would crumble down around me, and I did not want to burst into tears in front of Dick Casablancas, of all people.
So I tried as hard as I could to explain while keeping my voice from shaking, but with little success. "I thought there was … a burglar, or something," I explained, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I … heard noises, it sounded like a struggle …" and now I was the one struggling; struggling to cope with this bizarre situation, struggling to find the words to express how I felt, struggling with long-buried feelings that had suddenly risen to the surface to taunt me with their very existence …
"I … went to see what was going on. And then, I saw …" I shut my eyes tightly, holding back the stinging tears that wanted to escape and flow freely. I couldn't let them. I wouldn't let them. I wouldn't humiliate myself in front of Dick, of all people.
"It's okay, Veronica."
At the sound of his voice saying something so out of character, I immediately turned my head to look at him. But instead of the usual feeling of pain that I expected, my head was just … numb. And I stared at him, at Dick, wondering at that look in his eyes. There seemed to be some sort of compassion there. As though he understood what I was going through.
But there was no way that Dick Casablancas could ever understand what I was going through. What I had seen. What I wanted to forget …
"I want to forget," I told him. Of all the people in the world I could have told, I was sharing my deepest darkest secrets with Dick. I knew that I would regret it some day, but I was desperate. I was drowning; drowning so deep in a figurative pool of my own blood. There was no one I could trust. I certainly couldn't trust Dick. But he was there, right when I needed someone—anyone—to listen to my thoughts and my fears and my troubles. And he was the only one there; the only one who would listen to me. Yes, he would judge me; yes, he would tease me after the fact. But for the few minutes during which I could unburden myself onto his unsuspecting ears, during those minutes I would be free. Free from the pain and the anger and the shock and the grief.
Yes, grief.
Dick was right. Grief did come in many forms. And one of those forms was betrayal. The betrayal of a man I once loved and the betrayal of the man who had brought me into this world. Two of the people closest to me had betrayed me, and the grief I felt over their betrayal tore me apart from the inside.
"I want to forget," I said again as I licked my suddenly dry lips. "I want to forget everything. Last night, this morning, everything that I know is going to come after this. I just want to get it all over with and then … forget it. I just want to forget. That's all."
"I understand."
Maybe … maybe he really did understand. At least, that's what I began to think, for a few hopeful moments.
But then … he leaned down and kissed me. On the lips.
I had never been more surprised than at that moment. Being kissed by Dick Casablancas was even more surprising and disturbing than finding my ex-boyfriend in bed with my father. And that's saying something. At least I wouldn't be needing a grief counselor anymore.
Then again …
In my shock, I hadn't bothered to close my eyes, although Dick had closed his. And from my vantage point half-sitting in my adjustable hospital bed, I could see over the top of his head towards the door to my private hospital room. And standing there in the doorway, dead still, with a bouquet of flowers in hand, watching Dick kissing me was …
Piz.
My boyfriend.
I might just be needing some of that grief counseling after all, I thought to myself as my eyes met his.
XO XO XO XO XO XO XO
Next Chapter: Veronica is discharged from the hospital, and has a talk with someone (who?!) And what about Piz?! And Mac?! And Parker?!!? AND KEITH?!?!? AND ARE WEEVIL AND WALLACE GOING TO JOIN KEITH AND LOGAN FOR A BROKEBACK-STYLE ORGY?!?!!!? OMG!!! Too much to write!!! Author overload!!! KABOOM!
Also, I know the chapters seem short, but if I do longer chapters it will take me forever to update, so I figured I'll try to do shorter chapters with just one or two scenes, and update more frequently.
