AN I: Hello, sorry for the long wait. I had a car accident, don't worry nothing broken but the car and my hand. So, this is one handed and under the influence of pain meds, but I had started working on it prior and I figured I had made y'all wait long enough. So, please review and tell me what you think. I am always looking for ways to learn and grow with my writing. Oh and I own nothing but the mistakes. Unbeta'd so I think I probably own a lot of those…
Logan could taste his own snot in the back of his throat…..and it was gross. Undignified, unmanly, undesirable; the list of derogatory descriptions was endless, and somehow all looped sharply in his mind drenched with the conniving cultured tones of his father.
Crying like a girl, son. Maybe you need something to really cry about.
Of course the tiny blond in his arms seemed to be fighting her own losing battle with snot and concrete sinuses, as she wrenched a startled laugh out of Logan by making the most unlady like snort he'd ever heard.
"What," mumbled Veronica? "It's stuffy, I cried. Get over it."
Logan smiled slightly and reached over her head to grab and hand off sectioned toilet paper, tools for the required nose blowing. She still hadn't looked at him.
"So, nice of you to cry for me Ronnie. I'm really feeling the love."
"Oh this," she snarked, "this wasn't for you. I just remembered I'll never have a Pony. And there are starving children in Africa…." Her voice trailed off and she sniffed again.
Logan, a far more accomplished master of denial and compartmentalization added, "and the bird flu." Yeah, this isn't awkward at all.
"And the bird flu," Veronica gratefully echoed.
They once again fell silent and Logan internally grappled with what to do next. His secret was blown, irrevocably so. He'd been equal shades of violent and disgustingly vulnerable. And he'd kissed his once best friend's ex-girlfriend, the pseudo sister of his dead girlfriend; it was enough to make his already achy head spin. Not to mention, they were sitting crammed together, on the cold tile of Veronica Mars's tiny bathroom….the likes of which would probably fit in his closet.
But, try as he might, Logan couldn't remember a time when he had felt more safe and calm. Maybe before Lily, or back when after dinner drinks for his mother meant less than two. Veronica was shifting awkwardly again, and Logan knew she was gearing up to say something.
"Logan," she started and he couldn't quite suppress the sigh of resignation.
"How about them Padres?"
"Logan."
"It was that Mustard guy with the candelabra wasn't it? Cheeky bastard."
"Logan," Veronica tried again, but she was laughing this time.
"White is the new black and that Labor Day rule is just out the window, Ronnie." Logan made a flamboyant trill using his long fingers
"Stop," she laughed as she shoved a hand into his chest and finally met his gaze. "Logan this is serious. We need to talk about things and what we are going to do."
Her use of we warmed his heart, even as he silently distrusted her offer. "Look, I still don't see what we need to talk about. It happened, it might again, and it can't be stopped." At this Logan let some of the ever present tumultuous anxiety shine through his eyes as he peered into Veronica's gaze. "I'm gonna be out of there at 18, and you can't mess that up for me Ronnie. Any interference would derail me finally getting out. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?"
"Logan it's not right," protested Veronica. "You could file for emancipation."
"No," said Logan gently. "Besides it's not that bad. I get vacations on the yacht, the black amex, and a fully stocked bar in the pool house. All the things a growing boy could ever need."
She didn't say anything, but her blue eyes filled with more tears, and suddenly he could see her just the way she had looked at Lily's funeral; broken and alone. He reached out and squeezed her hand, it was the best he could do at the moment.
"But he hurts you," she spoke quietly. "Inside and out." Veronica tapped one slim finger lightly over Logan's heart.
He swallowed roughly. "Hey," he returned, "all rich people go to therapy. It's how we contribute to the economy." He looked at her. Veronica was tucked tight against his body, squished between his side and the edge of the bathtub. She looked tired, the strands of her blond ponytail laying limply against the material of her sweatshirt. Her eyes were clouded and her lips were chapped.
He thought, at that moment in time, she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.
"Can't we just pretend for a while Veronica? We can hash out all the ugly stuff later. Can't we just pretend for a while, that it doesn't exist?" Logan stood and pulled Veronica gracefully up with him, despite the pins and needles from sitting too long in one position. He ignored the painful sensation in his back as he lifted her tiny weight and maneuvered them both out of the bathroom.
"May, I have this dance," Logan asked, taking Veronica's hand in his and twirling her down the narrow hallway, all the while singing off key in a terrible French accent. She giggled and let him whirl her away, dizzy and laughing.
"When I imagined this moment…"
"I've had the time of my life, was playing," she finished flippantly, remembering old words and teenaged voices. Oh the rituals of the fab four, a language within a language, based on random quotes, lyrics, and secret code words.
Logan grinned and spun Veronica out, before using his innate grace and former dance lessons, to spin her expertly back in, cradled against his side. "Yeah, but I refuse to lift you Francis, I'm way too delicate for your obvious largess."
Veronica, switching effortlessly, into the affronted Southern Belle dilatant, cried, "Why, I do declare…such a scoundrel. I must tell my daddy and he'll see you trounced for your vile slander."
"Now, listen here sweetheart," rumbled Logan his mouth sideways as if to hold an invisible cigar, "anymore of that lip and you and your Pop's will be swimming with the fishes."
Veronica flat out smiled and her entire face was transformed. She glowed, all her rough edges suddenly smoothed out. Logan almost forgot to breath.
Which was all part and parcel to her diabolical plan, as she dove around his knees, knocked him flat on his ass, and began to tickle him mercilessly. Logan felt the floor slam into his welts, but didn't acknowledge it, as he gave into the tickle war. Veronica remembered all his tickle spots, like the past year had never happened. Soon enough, Logan found himself with a lapful of Veronica, as she straddled him in attempts to pin his arms above his head.
"Give up Echolls?"
She was grinning, sure in her victory, but Logan remembered this dance. It had been one that had been played many times by all the members of the fab four. In pairs, or the whole group, the Kane living room had been privy to the many instances of tangled limbs and squealing tickle wars.
"Never," warned Logan. His eyes were warm and laughing as he considered the possibilities. Waiting until Veronica's guard dropped, Logan locked his legs around her waist, and flipped them over. His large hand cradled Veronica's head, keeping it from banging into the floor, having already wrenched his arms from her paltry hold. Her soft exclamation of surprise landed in his gut, making it role with need
and anticipation. He tried to push it down, tickling her instead, intent on his revenge.
"You'll never stop me, I'm Fred Astaire wearing Batman's cape and toting Bruce Willis's guns. I got this baby, and I'm taking you along for the ride." Logan dug his fingers into Veronica's trim sides, enjoying her giggles.
Until she squirmed, tightly underneath him, friction making friends in all the right places. Her chest was still heaving, trying to catch her breath, as she laughingly proclaimed to give up. But Logan couldn't take his victory lap. It was like he was frozen. He could feel the carpet digging into his knees. And he could feel her body locked against his, intimately pressed together. He could hear her breath, he could see her smile, he could feel her heat, and then he knew nothing else.
Innocent, she is innocent, he tried to remind himself. Because he knew that most of the rumors about her this past year, had in fact been started by him, and had been done so out of misplaced anger and grief. In fact he was fairly sure other that Duncan and the one time with Lily in the back of the limo, he was the only other person Ronnie had ever kissed. Which made her far too innocent for the likes of him.
But he wanted her anyway.
Logan briefly closed his eyes, before he gave into being a bastard, and brought his lips crashing down onto Veronica's. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could have sworn he heard violins and maybe the Notorious BIG, an echo of a patented Lily Kane sultry laugh. So this must be Heaven, he mused, kissing Veronica Mars.
It took a minute for Logan to realize she'd gone rigid beneath him and wasn't melting in his arms like he'd intended. He tasted salt on his lips, and sat up faster than he would have thought possible. Veronica was laying there, pale and shaking. And she was crying.
"Ronnie," murmured Logan running a hand lightly along her arm when she didn't respond. "What's wrong?" It had grown quiet in the little apartment. It was growing dark too, dusk filtering in through the slats between the blinds. The shadows bounced around the room, until Veronica looked half hidden in shades of light and dark.
Still she didn't move or answer. Just shook with silent tears running down her face. And then Logan knew, whatever secret she had been hiding, he never should have pushed to find out. Because it was going to be very bad, worse than Aaron with a belt and a cigarette and a ten million dollar cinematic flop. And he almost wanted to lay his hand over her mouth, tell her not to talk, that they were still pretending. But he couldn't, he was stuck, waiting for his cue from Ronnie to tell him it was okay to move and breathe again.
"Ronnie," he asked again, his voice cracking on the end with unasked questions, even worse than it had during the great voice change debacle of the 6th grade.
"I was raped," came the quiet words.
AN II: Please review….I am shamelessly begging. I'm stuck at home with a broken hand, and typing one handed is hard. I would love to hear what you have to say. Thank you so much for reading my work.