Devil Piglet (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} devilpiglet) wrote in ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} veronicamarsfic,@ 2006-02-06 07:33:00 |
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Fic: A&B Song (Logan, Weevil, Veronica) PG-13
Title: A&B Song
Author: Devil Piglet
Pairing/Character: Logan, Weevil, Veronica
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,100
Summary: Logan manages to find a new roommate without placing an ad on Craigslist.
Spoilers/Warnings: 2.12, "Wallace and Rashard Go To White Castle"
A&B Song
There they slouch, twin tough guys, bookends of suburban class warfare. Mutually irritating highlights of her current existence.
“Oh, look,” she says. “It’s Brokeback Neptune.”
Weevil glares. Logan sneers and throws an arm over the back of the couch. “More like Resident Evil.”
Good thing Weevil’s sitting on the floor, she thinks, or Logan would lose that limb.
“You know I was kidding, right? About eating the peanut butter? It’s not a euphemism for anything.”
“Do you come with the room?” Weevil asks. “You know – twice a day turn-downs, fancy shampoo, mini-bar and Veronica?”
Logan answers before she can. “Hardly. Am I right, sugarpuss?" He cocks his head at her and when she doesn't respond, continues. “Veronica’s visits here, sadly, will be few and far-between now that Duncan’s ridden off into the sunset.” He doesn’t bother to hide the sharpness of his voice; she knows that he’s stung as much by Duncan’s exodus as hers.
She plops down next to him on the couch. It’s as much of a peace offering as she can muster, these days. “So.” She glances around, observes the black leather jacket slung over a chair and the shit-kicker boots she’d almost tripped over in the doorway. “I think it, and it really does happen, huh?”
Weevil's jaw clenches. “When are you gonna let up?”
“When you tell me how this,” she waves a hand, “happened. Don’t leave anything out.” Leaning down, she whispers into Weevil's ear conspiratorially. “You really shouldn’t move in with a guy until he at least gives you a promise ring.”
He bats her away. “You haven’t got anything better to investigate than my lousy living situation?”
“Nope.” She grabs the remote from Logan – yes, her snarky exchange with Weevil lulled him into channel-changing complacency. Soon What Not to Wear spans the sixty-inch screen. “I’m trying to tone things down after my wacky confessional-spying last week. I still can’t get that ‘Blasphemous Rumors’ song out of my head.”
“Aw, Ronnie. You’re so cute when you’re dogged.” Logan makes a grab for the remote but she dodges him expertly. Weevil twists around to look at them.
“If you guys keep up with the foreplay, might I suggest doing it somewhere I don’t have to see it?”
Logan grins, but there’s something bitter behind the pride at piquing her. Veronica knows she’s blushing, which makes her poke Weevil with her toe just a bit harder than necessary. “Well? What’s the story?”
In what must be a moment of pity – or penance, after their shared church shenanigans – Logan speaks up. “Lety –”
“That’s Mrs. Navarro to you,” Weevil puts in. “She isn’t your babysitter anymore.”
“Mrs. Navarro got a job in Rancho Palos Verdes. Live-in.”
“A job,” Weevil adds loudly, “she wouldn’t have needed if you hadn’t gotten her fired for not stealing from you.”
“Well,” Logan snipes back, “you can comfort yourself knowing that since you burned my house down, she would have been out of work anyway. Hard to clean a pile of melted stucco.”
“Boys,” Veronica interrupts. “Save the flirting for the webcam.” She surveys one, then the other. Each shift uncomfortably.
“Now that Happy Share Time is over, mind telling me what you’re doing here?” Logan asks at length. “Celeste seems willing to cover the tab so far in the hopes that her prodigal son will return, but I’m betting that’ll change if you decide to move in.”
“Tempting offer, but I’ll have to pass.”
“How’d you know we were here?” Weevil eyes her suspiciously. She affects astonishment.
“Please! I’m Veronica Mars, girl detective!”
Logan nods. “Trina told you.”
“She’s very accepting of your alternative lifestyle. Also, I have fourth period with the dude who delivered you guys eighty dollars worth of Thai food.” She turns serious. “Haven’t seen either of you around school much.”
“We’ve been busy,” Weevil tells her shortly.
“Giving Mars Investigations a run for its money,” Logan needles.
“Really? Which one of you is me, and which one of you is Backup?”
“Oh, yay,” Weevil says. “Banter. I’d love to stick around for it, but I gotta go wash my hair.” He gets up and lopes into what was, until just recently, Duncan’s room. The door closes with a soft snick behind him, leaving them in silence and the flickering of the television screen.
She wants to tell Logan that this is a good thing that he’s done – giving Weevil a place to stay, even if it’s only until they come to blows over Burnout Revenge.
Maybe it’s just her recent religious experience, but Logan’s actions speak of atonement.
He’d scoff at that, make a remark lewd and objectionable enough to distract her, and she’d get mad, and he’d get stone-cold and smirky, and she wouldn't remember her idea again until she was long gone from the Neptune Grand. So she doesn’t say anything about it to him. But she has a funny suspicion that she’s right.
Logan makes his amends in a roundabout way – in Veronica’s case, several too-hard punches delivered to the face of an undercover ATF agent meant I’m sorry I hurt you. I won’t let anyone else. Not anymore.
For the Navarros, it’s a roof – however rented, however temporary – over Weevil’s head.
“I should go, too,” Veronica says. “My dad – he’s keeping pretty close tabs on me these days.”
“You mean since you played Bonnie to Duncan’s Clyde?”
“That’s a big assumption.”
“I can be a big ass.”
“Very true.” He walks her to the door. The light above the entryway is dim, casts shadows over them both. This gives her the courage to say something else that’s been ricocheting around in her brain for days now. “You helped him. You gave him money.”
Surprisingly, Logan doesn’t deny it. “He was my friend, Veronica.”
“He still is, Logan.” Fishing in her backpack, she pulls out a slightly bent photo. “Here. He asked me to give this to you.”
Logan takes it, looks down. She can’t help doing the same; the image is addictive, intoxicating. Duncan and Lilly Kane, golden children now gone.
“Duncan asked you, huh?”
“That’s right.”
He strokes a single finger down the photo, then tucks it into his back pocket. His other hand rises to cradle the back of her head – she’s reminded, again, that she’s small and he’s not.
She waits, apprehensive, but he only bends to drop a chaste kiss to her forehead. “’Night, Veronica Mars. Thanks for the house call.”
Title: A&B Song
Author: Devil Piglet
Pairing/Character: Logan, Weevil, Veronica
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,100
Summary: Logan manages to find a new roommate without placing an ad on Craigslist.
Spoilers/Warnings: 2.12, "Wallace and Rashard Go To White Castle"
A&B Song
There they slouch, twin tough guys, bookends of suburban class warfare. Mutually irritating highlights of her current existence.
“Oh, look,” she says. “It’s Brokeback Neptune.”
Weevil glares. Logan sneers and throws an arm over the back of the couch. “More like Resident Evil.”
Good thing Weevil’s sitting on the floor, she thinks, or Logan would lose that limb.
“You know I was kidding, right? About eating the peanut butter? It’s not a euphemism for anything.”
“Do you come with the room?” Weevil asks. “You know – twice a day turn-downs, fancy shampoo, mini-bar and Veronica?”
Logan answers before she can. “Hardly. Am I right, sugarpuss?" He cocks his head at her and when she doesn't respond, continues. “Veronica’s visits here, sadly, will be few and far-between now that Duncan’s ridden off into the sunset.” He doesn’t bother to hide the sharpness of his voice; she knows that he’s stung as much by Duncan’s exodus as hers.
She plops down next to him on the couch. It’s as much of a peace offering as she can muster, these days. “So.” She glances around, observes the black leather jacket slung over a chair and the shit-kicker boots she’d almost tripped over in the doorway. “I think it, and it really does happen, huh?”
Weevil's jaw clenches. “When are you gonna let up?”
“When you tell me how this,” she waves a hand, “happened. Don’t leave anything out.” Leaning down, she whispers into Weevil's ear conspiratorially. “You really shouldn’t move in with a guy until he at least gives you a promise ring.”
He bats her away. “You haven’t got anything better to investigate than my lousy living situation?”
“Nope.” She grabs the remote from Logan – yes, her snarky exchange with Weevil lulled him into channel-changing complacency. Soon What Not to Wear spans the sixty-inch screen. “I’m trying to tone things down after my wacky confessional-spying last week. I still can’t get that ‘Blasphemous Rumors’ song out of my head.”
“Aw, Ronnie. You’re so cute when you’re dogged.” Logan makes a grab for the remote but she dodges him expertly. Weevil twists around to look at them.
“If you guys keep up with the foreplay, might I suggest doing it somewhere I don’t have to see it?”
Logan grins, but there’s something bitter behind the pride at piquing her. Veronica knows she’s blushing, which makes her poke Weevil with her toe just a bit harder than necessary. “Well? What’s the story?”
In what must be a moment of pity – or penance, after their shared church shenanigans – Logan speaks up. “Lety –”
“That’s Mrs. Navarro to you,” Weevil puts in. “She isn’t your babysitter anymore.”
“Mrs. Navarro got a job in Rancho Palos Verdes. Live-in.”
“A job,” Weevil adds loudly, “she wouldn’t have needed if you hadn’t gotten her fired for not stealing from you.”
“Well,” Logan snipes back, “you can comfort yourself knowing that since you burned my house down, she would have been out of work anyway. Hard to clean a pile of melted stucco.”
“Boys,” Veronica interrupts. “Save the flirting for the webcam.” She surveys one, then the other. Each shift uncomfortably.
“Now that Happy Share Time is over, mind telling me what you’re doing here?” Logan asks at length. “Celeste seems willing to cover the tab so far in the hopes that her prodigal son will return, but I’m betting that’ll change if you decide to move in.”
“Tempting offer, but I’ll have to pass.”
“How’d you know we were here?” Weevil eyes her suspiciously. She affects astonishment.
“Please! I’m Veronica Mars, girl detective!”
Logan nods. “Trina told you.”
“She’s very accepting of your alternative lifestyle. Also, I have fourth period with the dude who delivered you guys eighty dollars worth of Thai food.” She turns serious. “Haven’t seen either of you around school much.”
“We’ve been busy,” Weevil tells her shortly.
“Giving Mars Investigations a run for its money,” Logan needles.
“Really? Which one of you is me, and which one of you is Backup?”
“Oh, yay,” Weevil says. “Banter. I’d love to stick around for it, but I gotta go wash my hair.” He gets up and lopes into what was, until just recently, Duncan’s room. The door closes with a soft snick behind him, leaving them in silence and the flickering of the television screen.
She wants to tell Logan that this is a good thing that he’s done – giving Weevil a place to stay, even if it’s only until they come to blows over Burnout Revenge.
Maybe it’s just her recent religious experience, but Logan’s actions speak of atonement.
He’d scoff at that, make a remark lewd and objectionable enough to distract her, and she’d get mad, and he’d get stone-cold and smirky, and she wouldn't remember her idea again until she was long gone from the Neptune Grand. So she doesn’t say anything about it to him. But she has a funny suspicion that she’s right.
Logan makes his amends in a roundabout way – in Veronica’s case, several too-hard punches delivered to the face of an undercover ATF agent meant I’m sorry I hurt you. I won’t let anyone else. Not anymore.
For the Navarros, it’s a roof – however rented, however temporary – over Weevil’s head.
“I should go, too,” Veronica says. “My dad – he’s keeping pretty close tabs on me these days.”
“You mean since you played Bonnie to Duncan’s Clyde?”
“That’s a big assumption.”
“I can be a big ass.”
“Very true.” He walks her to the door. The light above the entryway is dim, casts shadows over them both. This gives her the courage to say something else that’s been ricocheting around in her brain for days now. “You helped him. You gave him money.”
Surprisingly, Logan doesn’t deny it. “He was my friend, Veronica.”
“He still is, Logan.” Fishing in her backpack, she pulls out a slightly bent photo. “Here. He asked me to give this to you.”
Logan takes it, looks down. She can’t help doing the same; the image is addictive, intoxicating. Duncan and Lilly Kane, golden children now gone.
“Duncan asked you, huh?”
“That’s right.”
He strokes a single finger down the photo, then tucks it into his back pocket. His other hand rises to cradle the back of her head – she’s reminded, again, that she’s small and he’s not.
She waits, apprehensive, but he only bends to drop a chaste kiss to her forehead. “’Night, Veronica Mars. Thanks for the house call.”
