Fic: Candy apples. (L/V)
Sunday, September 10th, 2006 09:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
orange_crushedLogan and Veronica, in a rambling, short, post Season-2 ficlet. PG-13 for language, and zero attempts at plot.
"Shut the fuck up, Dick." Logan's not crying. He's just looking at a birthday present from his mom, circa 1999. He thought it burned. He really, really thought it burned- knew it burned.
"This is yours," Dick says, and dumps a t-shirt into Logan's hands. "Found it under my dresser, like somebody shoved it there."
Logan can only assume that was Kendall, trying to hide suspicious teenage boy evidence in the smelliest, most teenage boy place in the house. He remembers wearing a yellow shirt to her house, but not wearing it out. Not a favorite memory. It smells like floor. Like, sixth months of floor.
"Thanks," he starts to pull aside the door to let Dick into the house, but the sleeve slips to the side and he's staring at the cheerful logo, and finally seeing it.
HELLO FROM CONEY ISLAND.
And that's it, he falls backwards, he's stumbling blindly into the coffee table and is officially a fucking titty-baby. He sits down hard on the floor and shuts his eyes. Wishes for tomorrow or whatever. A second later he's sitting up against the couch and Dick has already turned on DOA Beach Volleyball and is on a second round.
"You got a special allergy or some shit ?" Dick asks, without taking his eyes off the tv. "Because our detergent doesn't make me cry like a bitch."
"Shut the fuck up, Dick." Logan's not crying. He's just looking at a birthday present from his mom, circa 1999. He thought it burned. He really, really thought it burned- knew it burned.
"Yeah, sure," Dick says, and hands him a controller.
Veronica comes over when he asks her to and actually watches him play Metroid. They do this now, now that everybody who ever came between them is either dead or gone or rapidly forgetting why they did.
"So- you're a girl ?"
"A sexy, sexy space pirate." He flips onto a ledge and turns into a ball, and she giggles.
"Does she ever take the suit off ?" She's teasing him now, with a pen in her mouth and her knees apart. Doesn't she have an essay on the Civil War to write or some crap ? This is entirely too much distraction. Some kind of weed rips his head off, and he tosses the controller onto the rug.
"College has ruined you," he sighs, and pulls her into his lap.
Later, he watches Veronica sleep and thinks, I wish I'd killed him.
Not really. Not in any emotional way- he hasn't forgiven Cassidy any more than he's forgotten him, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't have anything he's capable of forgiving him for, or anything he thinks he should let go of. No. Not yet. It's not mental- it's not like he's tallying it up, either, making notches for take-backs and got-yous and all the fucking people he killed.
No, it's only physical. He can clench his fists together and feel the hate cracking his knuckles apart. Inside Veronica. He was inside Veronica; in the sweet dark spaces where Logan, who knows he loves her, doesn't even feel he deserves to be. He can't change it, can't undo it, no matter how many times he tries. She notices, though. So she stays and sleeps next to him. Nicest thing ever.
And she's wearing the shirt.
It's like every happy moment, wrapped up inside every other happy moment, rolling around in him; and he's afraid he'll burst when she wakes up.
It was a good year, then- it got worse, but it got better again.
The birthday they just plain ran away from, since his dad was being nuts. On a plane to NYC for the weekend, and damn the goddam consequences. Two days of rides and cheap hotdogs and even though they were rich, they stayed in a crappy motel and paid way too much for dart games.
He can remember his mom standing next to him in the mirror, while he held the hanger up against his chest. It was an awesome color- the shitty bright yellow of cartoon birds and warnings. And Coney Island was framed by a burly tattooed guy and a girl with cutoff shorts, like an old burlesque poster.
"I don't know." Lynne cocked her head to the side and frowned, a little. She was practically giving in. "It's a little rude, don't you think ?" And Logan had said of course mom, that's the freaking point. He's still saying it in his dreams, watching her laugh.
He wore the shirt home on the airplane and he took the beating in it and he slept alone that night, dreaming of the ferris wheel.
"Hello from Coney Island," Veronica says, opening her eyes. "I've never been."
She rolls up against him, and her narrow little hips bump him in all the right places. She's soft and warm and stretching against him. He knows she's competitive- even in bed. She'll wrap her thighs around him if she thinks he's going to beat her to the shower. It's the greatest thing anybody's ever done to him.
"We'll go," he says, and kisses the tip of her nose. He's going to kiss it again on the rollercoaster, he thinks. "Stick with me, sugar, it'll be hot dogs and candy apples all the way."
"Didn't-" Her pretty eyes cloud over. "Didn't your mom get you this shirt ?"
"Yeah."
"I remember that year. I remember we showed up for the party, and you weren't there. You or your mom."
"Yeah."
"You want to know something ?" He does. "I remember feeling happy for you. I figured you were on an adventure." He can't even speak when she says that, just kisses her eyelids and breathes into her for a while, until it passes. He's so grateful for her memories, for her, for this.
"So-" his voice shakes, just a fraction, and she pretends not to notice. "What did you get me for my birthday ? Because I seem to recall getting no gift from House Mars this year." Veronica smiles. Always dangerous.
"Come here, and I'll show you."
And she does.
"Shut the fuck up, Dick." Logan's not crying. He's just looking at a birthday present from his mom, circa 1999. He thought it burned. He really, really thought it burned- knew it burned.
"This is yours," Dick says, and dumps a t-shirt into Logan's hands. "Found it under my dresser, like somebody shoved it there."
Logan can only assume that was Kendall, trying to hide suspicious teenage boy evidence in the smelliest, most teenage boy place in the house. He remembers wearing a yellow shirt to her house, but not wearing it out. Not a favorite memory. It smells like floor. Like, sixth months of floor.
"Thanks," he starts to pull aside the door to let Dick into the house, but the sleeve slips to the side and he's staring at the cheerful logo, and finally seeing it.
HELLO FROM CONEY ISLAND.
And that's it, he falls backwards, he's stumbling blindly into the coffee table and is officially a fucking titty-baby. He sits down hard on the floor and shuts his eyes. Wishes for tomorrow or whatever. A second later he's sitting up against the couch and Dick has already turned on DOA Beach Volleyball and is on a second round.
"You got a special allergy or some shit ?" Dick asks, without taking his eyes off the tv. "Because our detergent doesn't make me cry like a bitch."
"Shut the fuck up, Dick." Logan's not crying. He's just looking at a birthday present from his mom, circa 1999. He thought it burned. He really, really thought it burned- knew it burned.
"Yeah, sure," Dick says, and hands him a controller.
Veronica comes over when he asks her to and actually watches him play Metroid. They do this now, now that everybody who ever came between them is either dead or gone or rapidly forgetting why they did.
"So- you're a girl ?"
"A sexy, sexy space pirate." He flips onto a ledge and turns into a ball, and she giggles.
"Does she ever take the suit off ?" She's teasing him now, with a pen in her mouth and her knees apart. Doesn't she have an essay on the Civil War to write or some crap ? This is entirely too much distraction. Some kind of weed rips his head off, and he tosses the controller onto the rug.
"College has ruined you," he sighs, and pulls her into his lap.
Later, he watches Veronica sleep and thinks, I wish I'd killed him.
Not really. Not in any emotional way- he hasn't forgiven Cassidy any more than he's forgotten him, but it doesn't matter. He doesn't have anything he's capable of forgiving him for, or anything he thinks he should let go of. No. Not yet. It's not mental- it's not like he's tallying it up, either, making notches for take-backs and got-yous and all the fucking people he killed.
No, it's only physical. He can clench his fists together and feel the hate cracking his knuckles apart. Inside Veronica. He was inside Veronica; in the sweet dark spaces where Logan, who knows he loves her, doesn't even feel he deserves to be. He can't change it, can't undo it, no matter how many times he tries. She notices, though. So she stays and sleeps next to him. Nicest thing ever.
And she's wearing the shirt.
It's like every happy moment, wrapped up inside every other happy moment, rolling around in him; and he's afraid he'll burst when she wakes up.
It was a good year, then- it got worse, but it got better again.
The birthday they just plain ran away from, since his dad was being nuts. On a plane to NYC for the weekend, and damn the goddam consequences. Two days of rides and cheap hotdogs and even though they were rich, they stayed in a crappy motel and paid way too much for dart games.
He can remember his mom standing next to him in the mirror, while he held the hanger up against his chest. It was an awesome color- the shitty bright yellow of cartoon birds and warnings. And Coney Island was framed by a burly tattooed guy and a girl with cutoff shorts, like an old burlesque poster.
"I don't know." Lynne cocked her head to the side and frowned, a little. She was practically giving in. "It's a little rude, don't you think ?" And Logan had said of course mom, that's the freaking point. He's still saying it in his dreams, watching her laugh.
He wore the shirt home on the airplane and he took the beating in it and he slept alone that night, dreaming of the ferris wheel.
"Hello from Coney Island," Veronica says, opening her eyes. "I've never been."
She rolls up against him, and her narrow little hips bump him in all the right places. She's soft and warm and stretching against him. He knows she's competitive- even in bed. She'll wrap her thighs around him if she thinks he's going to beat her to the shower. It's the greatest thing anybody's ever done to him.
"We'll go," he says, and kisses the tip of her nose. He's going to kiss it again on the rollercoaster, he thinks. "Stick with me, sugar, it'll be hot dogs and candy apples all the way."
"Didn't-" Her pretty eyes cloud over. "Didn't your mom get you this shirt ?"
"Yeah."
"I remember that year. I remember we showed up for the party, and you weren't there. You or your mom."
"Yeah."
"You want to know something ?" He does. "I remember feeling happy for you. I figured you were on an adventure." He can't even speak when she says that, just kisses her eyelids and breathes into her for a while, until it passes. He's so grateful for her memories, for her, for this.
"So-" his voice shakes, just a fraction, and she pretends not to notice. "What did you get me for my birthday ? Because I seem to recall getting no gift from House Mars this year." Veronica smiles. Always dangerous.
"Come here, and I'll show you."
And she does.
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no subject
Date: Wednesday, September 13th, 2006 08:20 am (UTC)And that's it, he falls backwards, he's stumbling blindly into the coffee table and is officially a fucking titty-baby.
I could just see him going down, all arms pin-wheeling and poker face crumpling. Lovely.
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Date: Friday, September 15th, 2006 02:39 pm (UTC)