Title: Reoccuring 1/1
Author: Kayla
Pairing/Character: Dick, Veronica.
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Summary:Dick and Veronica share a smoke.
Spoilers/Warning:Pre-series. Slight AU. Dick's mother is dead. Takes place two months after Lilly died.
A/N: Written for100situations. My prompt was smoke. This is unbeta'd, all mistakes within are mine.
You didn't start smoking just to start. I mean, most of your friends did, but not you. When you were like twelve that was the cool thing to do. Steal cigarettes from your dad and smoke them behind the bleachers at Neptune Junior High. Everyone did, well, except Duncan and Veronica.
Now you smoke because you need to. Your mom died last week and whether you'd like to admit it or not, it's fucking you up.
As you exhale and think of all the things you've done wrong, you can't seem to feel remorse. It scares the shit out of you because you should. You should feel guilty for the way you treated her. You should feel guilty for everything, because it's your entire fault. Except it isn't.
School on Monday is hell. Worse than hell. Hell, you'd imagine is quiet. Quiet so all you can do is ponder on past sins.
School on Monday is not quiet.
You skip lunch to smoke in the alley across from school. When you get there, your seat is taken.
"Veronica Mars smokes?" you question aloud.
"Dick, I do not want your shit today. I can't find a fucking lighter and I'm pissed."
She looks frantic. Like she needs a fix or something. But that's wrong because Veronica Mars doesn't do drugs. She's flowery. She's pink. Well, mostly. Lilly died two month ago and her father is saying some weird shit about it. You hear a lot of your mutual friends don't even talk to her anymore.
"Wow, smoking and explicit language. I should really report you to Vice Principal Clemmons," you joke. You're trying to at least, but she looks at you like she might break and curiosity gets the best of you.
"Dude, what's wrong?" you say as you take a seat next to her.
"Nothing." You can tell she's lying so hand her your lighter. From the past few weeks, you've come to hate prying. People pry you to open up, share your feelings. You've heard more bullshit in the past week than your entire life.
"I heard about your mom," she says. Of course she did. Hasn't everyone? It's only your first day back to school since you died and everybody knows.
You want to make some remark, like, 'yeah, well, I heard about your dad.' But you decide against it because it just doesn't feel right.
"Karma's a bitch," you say as you take a hit.
"I'd say."
"So what's your damage, Veronica? Why are you in an alley smoking?"
"You don't want to know," she replies as she wipes her hands on her pants. Wiggling around on the pavement, she looks up at you. "My mom left."
Somehow, from that point on, sharing a smoke with Veronica Mars in an abandon alley during lunch becomes a reoccurring thing.