Title: Insisting on Love (Part 1/?)
Author: JaneDtwo
Pairings: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 9914
Rating: This part R. Eventually NC-17
Warning: Adult language.
Spoilers: Everything that aired.
Summary: Picks up a few weeks after the events of the last episode of the show. The roller-coaster that is Logan and Veronica. Sometime you need to get off the ride and stop spinning in order to appreciate the high.
Disclaimer: I dont own them. I just love them. Despite everything.
A/N: My excellent, patient, long-suffering beta, JenniferH, deserves a cookie. Or a Logan under her tree this year. But since I cant perform miracles, cookie it is!
A/N2: Yep, its shaping up to be Epic. Very sorry! Its just that it lived in my brain for so long I was considering charging rent.
We are all of us
All the time
Coming together
And falling apart.
The point is,
We are not rocks.
Who wants to be one anyway,
Impenetrable,
Unchanging,
Our history already played out...
"Insisting on Love"
John Rosenthal
"This is Logan with todays inspirational greeting: Don't abuse your friends and expect them to consider it criticism. Ed Howe. Leave a message."
He has changed it. Veronica let out a shaky breath. For a week she werent sure if the messages she kept leaving were even heard. She still wasnt, but the fact that he recorded a new greeting meant, at least, that Logan was alive and, presumably, well enough to check his voice mail. And that he listened to at least some of it to respond in this passive-aggressive way.
With relief came an overwhelming surge of annoyance. The trepidation (mixed with inexplicable guilt she valiantly shoved down to the bottom of her psyche) that carried her through a week of searching -- tracking his credit cards, leaving messages, interrogating Dick, questioning Tina at the reception desk of the Grant, even going as far as asking Parker -- have worn Veronica down. And that was just the physical reaction. The sheer terror of the possibilities she could not allow herself to consider fully still made its way into her subconscious. Lying there in wait for the time when the active search options would be exhausted and she would have to stop moving and start freaking out in earnest. Monitoring local news for likely incidents was unnerving enough, but the daily inquiring calls to the hospitals and the morgues were the limit.
She felt badly enough for her share of the fallout, but now that it appeared Logan wasnt floating in the Pacific in multiple chopped pieces or succumbing to alcohol poisoning in Tijuana, the guilt and trepidation were quickly supplanted by anger with a side of frustration.
Logan was gone. Left the Neptune Grand a day after their last encounter. Their last encounter Veronica pushed that memory back. Now wasnt the time. Now was the time to open a can of hurt on his ass. Again. And for once, perhaps, completely deservedly.
"Listen to me, your unmitigated jackass! I know how much your inner drama queen loves to come out and play, but the act is getting stale, Logan! You leaving? I get that. You not returning my messages? Fine, I get that, too. But you not showing any signs of life anywhere? Not telling anyone? Not using your credit cards, turning off your phone for a week? Making people think you might be dead? That is seriously not cool! Call me!"
She shut off her phone with an extra forceful snap. Her heart was beating fast, her mind racing, her emotions in a seriously muddled mess. Veronica stopped and took in her surroundings. She was at home, her bed unmade, her hair in messy ponytail (she couldnt remember if she actually brushed it this morning), drawstrings of her gray hoodie frayed to shreds by her nervous fingers. Dark circles under her eyes were no surprise, either. She only managed to sleep in short intervals, waking up from the dreams that resembled shards of broken glass: Sharp edges and shattered continuity, reflecting events of her waking hours but all distorted and hopelessly irreparable. So many things felt hopelessly irreparable these days.
How did she get here? Only a week-and-a-half ago she was okay. In fact, by all standards, she was thriving. Veronica Mars was a full-fledged PI (the license exam was a breeze compared to what she feared it would be). The FBI internship was on offer, pending the results of the background check and should that go well a polygraph (she was concerned about both, but it couldnt have been helped). The finals were successfully over with only a week of school left. And the new relationship she embarked on with such misgivings was proving a surprisingly comfortable fit. Piz slipped with little difficulty into her life: All smooth surfaces and even tones blending seamlessly with her pattern, his presence un-daunting and his insecurities easily appeased.
She wouldnt have admitted it even to herself, but Veronica was worried at first what with her sexual history and ever-present doubts that getting into a relationship with someone new would be uncomfortable. Being Veronica, she made a conscious decision to push through the discomfort, initiating that first definitive step. She felt she owed Piz something for the way she failed to consider him in her summer plans. Besides, might as well get it over with. Not exactly the most romantic sentiment, but romance, she has learned, usually led her nowhere good. Practicality, reason, steadfastness these worked in all other aspects of her life and she didnt see why it couldnt apply to relationships.
And it turned out to be okay. Not quite actual sex -- not yet -- but enough of a skin-to-skin exploration to ease her into the idea of future possibilities while taking away initial awkwardness and hesitation. She knew her body by now, knew how it reacted, and, thankfully, Piz turned out to be fairly undemanding, agreeably pliant and eager to accommodate. And if it sounded a little callous even to her own ears, well, she didnt mind acknowledging that these were the qualities that drew her to him in the first place. They were good qualities, too. They meant Piz was the kind of person who made friends easily and was a nice company to keep. A quintessential college boyfriend material: Long hair, wide smile, guitar, eclectic interests and rabid enthusiasm for pretty much anything that came his way. She found him rather endearing (if a bit too much at times), after she finally came around to considering him as an option.
His singular fascination with her didnt hurt either. It wasnt as if Veronica hadnt realized he had a crush before. She became aware of it at the beginning of the school year. But Piz then occupied so little of her thought and attention, she kept forgetting. And every time the fact of his feelings presented itself anew Veronica was momentarily surprised.
Again, it wasnt out of callousness. Simply put, her common sense prevented her from taking his puppy-dog devotion seriously. After all, Piz didnt even know her, not really, not anything about her that mattered. It wasnt love; it was hero-worship spiked with hormones.
But the guy kept at it. He didnt date around. He went so far as to practically inform Veronica (albeit in a clumsily veiled way) that he refused to settle for anyone other than her. And if she werent available -- his speech and demeanor seemed to imply -- he would wait patiently until things changed. Or until you meet someone, Veronica had thought, rather uncharitably, at the time.
But things had changed. She became available and, given the circumstances of her sudden availability, Pizs particular brand of wide-eyed stalwartness gained certain appeal. It wasnt a smooth transition or an immediate one, but it worked. Piz was officially installed as her boyfriend. They were spending time together, cuddling and making summer plans. Her father liked him. So did her best friend (though, in all fairness, Wallace was partial to Piz way before). This new and unfamiliar absence of underlying tension between emotional factions of her life wasnt lost on Veronica. Dating someone she didnt have to sensor or attach disclaimers to while cautiously integrating him into her other relationships felt nice. The way she imagined it should be. So she made a command decision to give this a real shot. She and Piz progressed to fooling around. Soon they would be sleeping together. There was life after Logan.
And if it felt a bit surreal, well, what of it? After the turmoil of tragedies and never-ending drama, an even-keeled, low-humming content would seem strange. She was sure that she would get used to it. Good things were easy to get used to. And it was a good thing. Mac could tease her about the no-thrill rides of "Pizneyland" all she wanted, but there was something to be said for the steady motion and the absence of the free-falling sensation. And sure, somewhere in the back of Veronicas mind an impish voice (that sounded suspiciously like Logans) kept singing with mocking glee: "All we are saying: Give Piz a chance." But she was nothing if not adept at shutting out unwanted noise, whether it came from the outside or from her own doubts.
That was a week-and-a-half ago. That was before. Before her inadvertent stumble into the "wacky and wonderful" world of amateur porn. From which a daring attempt at a career as a high-stakes thief seemed like a logical progression. Followed by torture, bloodshed and death threats. Culminating in a spectacularly public failure of her fathers career as he took the fall for her. All in all, a rather impressive week, even by the Mars standards.
She should have known. She should have known she would never be allowed things like contentment and even-keeled steadiness. She was Veronica Mars. Gut-wrenching misery, humiliation and constant struggle were more her speed. And all things considered, at least she could credit the succession of shocks to her system with the reappearance of the kind of clarity she experienced last four and a half years ago, when her world went spinning into a vortex.
Of course, Veronica thought ruefully, that pesky clarity people put such stock into, was mostly nuisance. What was the point of seeing the folly of your own actions when you couldnt either change the outcome or fix the damage already inflicted? Her father was invariably kind, but she could see it in his eyes. The "Ive warned you about this if you had only listened" look he tried hard to hide. Shell take it. She wanted the blame, but he refrained from voicing it and there were other looks also carefully controlled that made Veronica wish for the out-and-out guilt tripping.
The look of uncertainty, for one. It was so hard to see Keith Mars uncertain. Not even through their toughest times, not even when he lost everything, did Veronicas father look unsure of his moral position or his judgement. That inner conviction, that absolute faith in the rightness of his choices was what sustained them both through the dark times. These days she caught him looking conflicted, almost lost. And she kept digging her nails into the palms of her hands, inflicting small pain as some sort of penance for the "I did this to him" that kept running through her head. She had tiny, half-moon shaped bruises and it wasnt enough. Nothing was enough.
Even worse was the perplexed look her father sometimes regarded her with. Half contemplation, half bewildered curiosity, as if he were looking at a stranger, trying to figure out where his daughter -- the one he thought he knew -- went.
Clarity. Such a useless thing when you realize you need a certain person and it may be too late to even find, let alone repair, the bridges you so gleefully burned not long ago. Because, just as clearly as you wanted to cross them again now, in your previous blinding, righteous fury born our of fear, you were determined to inflict structural damage and insure you never would be able to.
The situation with Logan was a mess. Veronica wasnt even certain if he and Parker were really over or just fighting. Not to mention, there was a part of her still seething at his free-ranging impulses that led him to do things like beat up Piz or have one night stands with heinous bitches. But she no longer dismissed his actions as spite and pure jealousy (has she really, truly ever thought that or was it just a knee-jerk reaction to her own frustration, trepidation and something suspiciously like a desire to punish?).
She kept seeing Logan walk away from her, shoulders straight, spring in his step, bloodied hands relaxed for once. Comfortable. He was suddenly comfortable in his skin, in his position, with his place in the grand scheme of things -- his body language was implying. This was the boy whose body language for the past two years at least communicated constant restless need to spring into motion. The boy who always seemed in search of something or somewhere else.
When or how that ceased Veronica couldnt tell, but she was watching him retreat without a backward glance at her or the wreckage of their impossible situation, realizing with shock just how in the moment and relaxed he looked. As if he no longer had anything to prove, gain or decide. And she kept seeing his smile: Bright, brilliant, devoid of cynicism or hidden pain, open, even somehow conspiratorial -- as if they were sharing a mutual comprehension. He was bruised and his shirt had blood smudges. He wiped his mouth carelessly and the corner of it was scratched. And his eyes were alight with that undeniable something that made Veronica want to follow him anywhere. She realized she was smiling back, her own body ready to close the space between them. But something in his eyes, in the easy, confident slant of his shoulders, signaled to her that, for the first time in a long time, he wasnt waiting for her to do that. Or do anything. He looked at peace, beyond seeking approval or fearing censure. He looked beyond her.
She realized he has turned a corner of some sort. That he might walk out of her life for real. And what an irony that would be just as she realized she couldnt possibly let that happen. It was a core reaction, a pull so strong she almost grabbed at him. But then she saw Piz. Standing a few feet away, looking at them with that pained expression she remembered seeing once before, in January. In the same cafeteria. Watching the same two Logan and herself. He was bruised, like Logan, now, but, unlike Logan, looking defeated and hurt. And a crushing wave of guilt distracted Veronica temporarily. All she could do was watch Logan issue a surprisingly graceful and sincere apology to Piz and walk away. He didnt glance her way.
She told herself there was time. Sure, only yesterday she all but kicked Logan out of her life, declaring their association -- such as it was -- over irrevocably and completely. But then Logan knew her. He knew she was prone to over-the-top vitriol when upset, threatened or confused. There was time to undo and take back. She resolved to go to the Grand and talk. She was going to tell him he was forgiven, and they would take it from there. Newly found independence or not, Veronica was armed with inner conviction that, should she really push, Logans defenses would crumble. The fact that he still considered himself the righter of her wrongs told her everything she needed to know about his feelings.
In the meantime there was Piz and his muted misery to take care of. And Wallace issuing the not exactly uncalled-for rebukes of "didnt I specifically ask you to not mess with my guy and his delicate feelings?" There was also Mac with her loyalties split three ways between Veronica herself, Parker and Logan. Mac, who tried for neutral and was forced to admit in the end that she hated being Switzerland, and "why did everything had to get so damn complicated?" Mac, who needed reassurances even if she loathed to show it.
With all of that still unsorted, nightmarish events in and around her fathers life hit like a freight train, and it was two weeks before Veronica was ready or willing enough to go face Logan.
And found him gone.
At first she was perplexed but unconcerned. He was probably cooling it in Mexico, and she could trace him in five minutes. Then, when she couldnt find him or any signs of him, she had gotten scared. And angry. And frustrated. And piling more guilt onto the already hulking mountain of it. So the flash of righteous anger she experienced upon hearing his god damn inspirational greeting was a very welcome relief from all the jumble of other conflicting emotions. She missed feeling justifiably angry. She missed being in the right.
So, it stood to reason that Logans inspirational greeting got quite a workout while it took Veronica seven separate messages to unburden herself of everything she had to say to him. In language most graphic. She hoped his voicemail curdled under the acid outpouring of her indignation. She had every right to be indignant here: He left without so much as a "post it" note with forwarding address. He didnt answer his phone. He let her think he might have been harmed in some way, and it werent as if he had a death threat hanging over him or anything Veronica was pissed and she made sure Logan knew it. Or his voicemail, at least.
It was another two days before she found the letter. A pile of unsorted mail, nothing in it looking urgent, sat on the corner of the kitchen isle for longer than Veronica could consciously remember. Keith went through it, with eyes only for official looking envelopes, not surprisingly apprehensive of bad news on formal stationary. And Veronica herself avoided mail, partially afraid of painful reminders of temporary recent victories and partially out of a kind of a self-preservation instinct. The same way she only briefly scanned her e-mails and screened her calls determinately.
Her dad finally went through the jumble of rolled newspapers, sealed magazines and junky advertisement leaflets, and tossed her the rather thick envelop with "The Neptune Grand" embossed in intricate letters in the corner. She opened it mechanically, her mind elsewhere. And stilled in shock at the familiar, slanted handwriting.
******
"Veronica,
Dont worry: This isnt anything you need to respond to or take action about. Its simply a last probably as futile as ever attempt on my part to be heard. What with the finality of our parting and all. See, I know the drill by now: Your minds made up, which usually means my calls dont get returned, e-mails get blocked and explanations dismissed. Hence the old-fashioned letter. You dont think I pay attention, but I do.
When you said you were never getting over the Madison thing, I believed you. Sure I had to make a masochistic stab or two at your mercy, but they appeared forlorn even to me. I know you, Veronica. For most people terms like "never," "ever" or "forever" are just hyperbole outlets for anger or upset. Not for you. You dont get over anything.
All this to let you know I accept that Im out of your life forever. I know you think my seeking you out yesterday and apologizing meant I was trying to get back into your good graces. A "nice gesture," as you put it. It was a gesture, but it didnt mean what you assumed it did. I owed you an apology and I owed one to Piz. I simply began with you. Everything for me had been beginning and ending with you for such a long time, its almost a second nature.
Anyway, I owed both of you an apology for jumping to conclusion before making sure of my facts. Also a habit and a consequence of keeping you company. To be fair, your leaps to judgment seldom leave people bruised and battered (well, I ended up being pummeled by a deranged biker gang, but that was a fluke and, you may well argue, I deserved a beating regardless), so theres that. See, I kept forgetting the unspoken motto in our dynamic: Quod licet Iovi non licet bovi (Arent you impressed? I actually learned something. I think thats how its spelled, anyway, but History of Rome is, well, ancient history, and I slept through most of the class) -- "Whats allowed to Jupiter, is not allowed to the ox." Or, in plain English, rank has its privileges. And lets face it, youve always outranked me, often simply by staking the claim to the higher ground.
So I shouldnt really find it at all ironic that you would declare defending your honor to be completely none of my business in the same tone of voice you once announced that your nose belonged wherever you chose to put it. I shouldnt find it ironic and I dont. Before yesterday I would have thought it a given, even natural. Because thats what one signs up for with you: Double standard with the best possible intentions.
Yesterday, however, something happened to me. I swear I was just sitting on the couch, contemplating what the fuck happened to my life, listening to Dick wonder if any more angry blondes were going to barge in and tell me they were through with me. (And, as an aside, I must say that was my first official "friend" breakup. DK dumped me once, but he didnt have a speech or anything, he just did what hed done with you sophomore year: Stopped acknowledging my existence. On the whole, I prefer your approach. A nifty tirade delivered with just the right flourish lends such an air of significance to the moment, puts a final bow on the irreversibly wrapped relationship.)
I was sitting there, looking at myself through your eyes yet another habit Ive acquired and seeing what you must see: A jealous, unstable lunatic of questionable morals and non-existent loyalties who put your boyfriend in stitches for no good reason.
And something jarred. Didnt feel right. In fact, none of it made any sense. Granted, the sight of you climbing aboard the Piz express is forever burned into my retinas. (Where its occupying a place of honor next to the image of Lilly fulfilling her dream of "parental love" too bad it was my parent and the love was of the creepy, illegal kind. Incidentally, Im never watching porn again. Ever.). And sure, it wasnt the fuzziest feeling Ive ever had. But if you seriously believe I went after Piz just because he rounded 3rd base with you, you know me even less than I realized.
I jumped to conclusion. A logical one, if you stop and think about it. It was you and Piz alone. It was in his room. The one he shares with Wallace. Who could have possibly taped that and to what purpose? Not you. I dont even need to ask to know that. Not Wallace, because, well, ditto. So whos left, Veronica? You tell me what other conclusion was there for me to jump to? Some improbable-sounding secret society? A "connected" shmuck with an attitude?
Fine, whatever, I jumped the gun and a non-responsible guy got hurt. That I apologize for. I accept responsibility for my mistake. I refuse, however, to accept your other charges. My mostly fatalistic view of heredity aside, Ill be damned if I let you convince me Im a psycho for trying to stand up for the people I love, for making sure those responsible dont get away scot-free. If this is lunacy, then hey, we can get certified together! Because whether you admit it or not, you do the same thing. You just dont do it with your fists (though youve been known to use your taser on occasion). And I can tell you right now: I will always, always continue to fight when fightings called for. You, of all people, should know that justice takes many forms. Because sometimes, if it doesnt come by way of less-than-proper channels, it doesnt come at all. I dont think I can live with that. And I KNOW you cant.
Believe me or dont. Im not trying to change your mind. Not now, not anymore. I couldnt do it when we were together, and it would be useless to keep trying now, after all thats happened. It comes down to this: You still see me with the same eyes you did two years ago. You may have absolved me of some sins, but it was never a full pardon. Sure you said you trust me, but Id be damned if every time you didnt automatically assume the worst when opportunities for doubt occurred.
I asked you if you loved me. You said you did. Or as near to the sentiment as your reluctant "yeah" would come. You may have loved me (or close enough), but you sure as hell didnt like me. Not my choices, nor my friends (for which, granted, I dont blame you, considering), nor my hobbies, interests or aspirations (such as they are). You didnt approve of my life-style or my outlook, barely tolerated my taste in recreational activities, and, of course, my coping methods didnt bear thinking about.
Look, Im not claiming anything I am or do is admirable or even interesting. But you acted as if most, if not all, of it was downright reprehensible. Which makes me wonder what it was that you saw in me in the first place? Was it love? Was it just some physical thing, fueled by recognition of the similarities of our situations, fueled by loneliness, fueled by missing our mutual departed, fueled by guilt, fueled by ?
You know, when we got back together after the graduation, it was all a whirl of frantic and determined activity: The funerals, the inquiries, the NY trips, the endless news cycles, the estate settlements, the last minute college applications. So it took a while for the dust to settle, for "us" to hit a stride, and for me to start noticing things. But I finally saw that, consciously or not, you kept me pretty separated from the rest of your life. I was only allowed to your place when your dad was out of town. Something I, in my euphoria at being with you at all, attributed to the fact that you didnt want to emphasize the intimate nature of our relationship to the parent. When you went out with Mac on a weekly basis and wouldnt let me join you, I didnt question it, because well girl talk. Plus, given what you both had just been through And when you disappeared to hang out with Wallace, I wasnt offended: Everyone needs his or her BFF time. Even when you would cancel our plans to go do this or that "thing," as you put it, I figured you were working your PI gig on your own for so long, you got used to the solitary stints. I wanted to be there, but I didnt like being a pest or a nuisance. Worse, not being versed in sleuthing, I was afraid of cramping your style and seriously hampering your efforts. I just hoped youd take me along for the seriously dangerous stuff.
Even when I started seeing the pattern, I didnt feel concerned. I thought I understood. Considering you once lost everything in one fell swoop your friends, your mother, your innocence, your stability, your peace of mind it wasnt a stretch to imagine you were keeping various facets of your life separate now. Just so if one of them went, for whatever reason, you werent losing the lota kind of a self-sustainable departmental structure of a life. Yeah, I had a whole theory worked out. So much for my theory.
What Im finally getting (what I suspected but didnt want to believe) is that you werent protecting yourself from possible unpleasant eventualities. It was you protecting me and yourself from judgment and censure you felt assured of. From your father, your friends, and your own mind. You were ashamed of me. Of what you saw as my shady morals, narrow horizons, and low aspirations.
It was so clearly illustrated by that one ill-conceived dinner with your father, Im stunned I didnt put two and two together right then and there. The 12-page instructional manual you recited before you let me into the place? Made me feel like I was meeting your dad for the first time, instead of knowing him for years. The list of topics cleared and subjects banned, the rush to clarify and twist my every word like they needed translation I didnt see through it and I feel like even more of an idiot than I did then.
Continued in the next entry, because it won't let me make one post this long (stupid program!).
) ...
Author: JaneDtwo
Pairings: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 9914
Rating: This part R. Eventually NC-17
Warning: Adult language.
Spoilers: Everything that aired.
Summary: Picks up a few weeks after the events of the last episode of the show. The roller-coaster that is Logan and Veronica. Sometime you need to get off the ride and stop spinning in order to appreciate the high.
Disclaimer: I dont own them. I just love them. Despite everything.
A/N: My excellent, patient, long-suffering beta, JenniferH, deserves a cookie. Or a Logan under her tree this year. But since I cant perform miracles, cookie it is!
A/N2: Yep, its shaping up to be Epic. Very sorry! Its just that it lived in my brain for so long I was considering charging rent.
We are all of us
All the time
Coming together
And falling apart.
The point is,
We are not rocks.
Who wants to be one anyway,
Impenetrable,
Unchanging,
Our history already played out...
"Insisting on Love"
John Rosenthal
"This is Logan with todays inspirational greeting: Don't abuse your friends and expect them to consider it criticism. Ed Howe. Leave a message."
He has changed it. Veronica let out a shaky breath. For a week she werent sure if the messages she kept leaving were even heard. She still wasnt, but the fact that he recorded a new greeting meant, at least, that Logan was alive and, presumably, well enough to check his voice mail. And that he listened to at least some of it to respond in this passive-aggressive way.
With relief came an overwhelming surge of annoyance. The trepidation (mixed with inexplicable guilt she valiantly shoved down to the bottom of her psyche) that carried her through a week of searching -- tracking his credit cards, leaving messages, interrogating Dick, questioning Tina at the reception desk of the Grant, even going as far as asking Parker -- have worn Veronica down. And that was just the physical reaction. The sheer terror of the possibilities she could not allow herself to consider fully still made its way into her subconscious. Lying there in wait for the time when the active search options would be exhausted and she would have to stop moving and start freaking out in earnest. Monitoring local news for likely incidents was unnerving enough, but the daily inquiring calls to the hospitals and the morgues were the limit.
She felt badly enough for her share of the fallout, but now that it appeared Logan wasnt floating in the Pacific in multiple chopped pieces or succumbing to alcohol poisoning in Tijuana, the guilt and trepidation were quickly supplanted by anger with a side of frustration.
Logan was gone. Left the Neptune Grand a day after their last encounter. Their last encounter Veronica pushed that memory back. Now wasnt the time. Now was the time to open a can of hurt on his ass. Again. And for once, perhaps, completely deservedly.
"Listen to me, your unmitigated jackass! I know how much your inner drama queen loves to come out and play, but the act is getting stale, Logan! You leaving? I get that. You not returning my messages? Fine, I get that, too. But you not showing any signs of life anywhere? Not telling anyone? Not using your credit cards, turning off your phone for a week? Making people think you might be dead? That is seriously not cool! Call me!"
She shut off her phone with an extra forceful snap. Her heart was beating fast, her mind racing, her emotions in a seriously muddled mess. Veronica stopped and took in her surroundings. She was at home, her bed unmade, her hair in messy ponytail (she couldnt remember if she actually brushed it this morning), drawstrings of her gray hoodie frayed to shreds by her nervous fingers. Dark circles under her eyes were no surprise, either. She only managed to sleep in short intervals, waking up from the dreams that resembled shards of broken glass: Sharp edges and shattered continuity, reflecting events of her waking hours but all distorted and hopelessly irreparable. So many things felt hopelessly irreparable these days.
How did she get here? Only a week-and-a-half ago she was okay. In fact, by all standards, she was thriving. Veronica Mars was a full-fledged PI (the license exam was a breeze compared to what she feared it would be). The FBI internship was on offer, pending the results of the background check and should that go well a polygraph (she was concerned about both, but it couldnt have been helped). The finals were successfully over with only a week of school left. And the new relationship she embarked on with such misgivings was proving a surprisingly comfortable fit. Piz slipped with little difficulty into her life: All smooth surfaces and even tones blending seamlessly with her pattern, his presence un-daunting and his insecurities easily appeased.
She wouldnt have admitted it even to herself, but Veronica was worried at first what with her sexual history and ever-present doubts that getting into a relationship with someone new would be uncomfortable. Being Veronica, she made a conscious decision to push through the discomfort, initiating that first definitive step. She felt she owed Piz something for the way she failed to consider him in her summer plans. Besides, might as well get it over with. Not exactly the most romantic sentiment, but romance, she has learned, usually led her nowhere good. Practicality, reason, steadfastness these worked in all other aspects of her life and she didnt see why it couldnt apply to relationships.
And it turned out to be okay. Not quite actual sex -- not yet -- but enough of a skin-to-skin exploration to ease her into the idea of future possibilities while taking away initial awkwardness and hesitation. She knew her body by now, knew how it reacted, and, thankfully, Piz turned out to be fairly undemanding, agreeably pliant and eager to accommodate. And if it sounded a little callous even to her own ears, well, she didnt mind acknowledging that these were the qualities that drew her to him in the first place. They were good qualities, too. They meant Piz was the kind of person who made friends easily and was a nice company to keep. A quintessential college boyfriend material: Long hair, wide smile, guitar, eclectic interests and rabid enthusiasm for pretty much anything that came his way. She found him rather endearing (if a bit too much at times), after she finally came around to considering him as an option.
His singular fascination with her didnt hurt either. It wasnt as if Veronica hadnt realized he had a crush before. She became aware of it at the beginning of the school year. But Piz then occupied so little of her thought and attention, she kept forgetting. And every time the fact of his feelings presented itself anew Veronica was momentarily surprised.
Again, it wasnt out of callousness. Simply put, her common sense prevented her from taking his puppy-dog devotion seriously. After all, Piz didnt even know her, not really, not anything about her that mattered. It wasnt love; it was hero-worship spiked with hormones.
But the guy kept at it. He didnt date around. He went so far as to practically inform Veronica (albeit in a clumsily veiled way) that he refused to settle for anyone other than her. And if she werent available -- his speech and demeanor seemed to imply -- he would wait patiently until things changed. Or until you meet someone, Veronica had thought, rather uncharitably, at the time.
But things had changed. She became available and, given the circumstances of her sudden availability, Pizs particular brand of wide-eyed stalwartness gained certain appeal. It wasnt a smooth transition or an immediate one, but it worked. Piz was officially installed as her boyfriend. They were spending time together, cuddling and making summer plans. Her father liked him. So did her best friend (though, in all fairness, Wallace was partial to Piz way before). This new and unfamiliar absence of underlying tension between emotional factions of her life wasnt lost on Veronica. Dating someone she didnt have to sensor or attach disclaimers to while cautiously integrating him into her other relationships felt nice. The way she imagined it should be. So she made a command decision to give this a real shot. She and Piz progressed to fooling around. Soon they would be sleeping together. There was life after Logan.
And if it felt a bit surreal, well, what of it? After the turmoil of tragedies and never-ending drama, an even-keeled, low-humming content would seem strange. She was sure that she would get used to it. Good things were easy to get used to. And it was a good thing. Mac could tease her about the no-thrill rides of "Pizneyland" all she wanted, but there was something to be said for the steady motion and the absence of the free-falling sensation. And sure, somewhere in the back of Veronicas mind an impish voice (that sounded suspiciously like Logans) kept singing with mocking glee: "All we are saying: Give Piz a chance." But she was nothing if not adept at shutting out unwanted noise, whether it came from the outside or from her own doubts.
That was a week-and-a-half ago. That was before. Before her inadvertent stumble into the "wacky and wonderful" world of amateur porn. From which a daring attempt at a career as a high-stakes thief seemed like a logical progression. Followed by torture, bloodshed and death threats. Culminating in a spectacularly public failure of her fathers career as he took the fall for her. All in all, a rather impressive week, even by the Mars standards.
She should have known. She should have known she would never be allowed things like contentment and even-keeled steadiness. She was Veronica Mars. Gut-wrenching misery, humiliation and constant struggle were more her speed. And all things considered, at least she could credit the succession of shocks to her system with the reappearance of the kind of clarity she experienced last four and a half years ago, when her world went spinning into a vortex.
Of course, Veronica thought ruefully, that pesky clarity people put such stock into, was mostly nuisance. What was the point of seeing the folly of your own actions when you couldnt either change the outcome or fix the damage already inflicted? Her father was invariably kind, but she could see it in his eyes. The "Ive warned you about this if you had only listened" look he tried hard to hide. Shell take it. She wanted the blame, but he refrained from voicing it and there were other looks also carefully controlled that made Veronica wish for the out-and-out guilt tripping.
The look of uncertainty, for one. It was so hard to see Keith Mars uncertain. Not even through their toughest times, not even when he lost everything, did Veronicas father look unsure of his moral position or his judgement. That inner conviction, that absolute faith in the rightness of his choices was what sustained them both through the dark times. These days she caught him looking conflicted, almost lost. And she kept digging her nails into the palms of her hands, inflicting small pain as some sort of penance for the "I did this to him" that kept running through her head. She had tiny, half-moon shaped bruises and it wasnt enough. Nothing was enough.
Even worse was the perplexed look her father sometimes regarded her with. Half contemplation, half bewildered curiosity, as if he were looking at a stranger, trying to figure out where his daughter -- the one he thought he knew -- went.
Clarity. Such a useless thing when you realize you need a certain person and it may be too late to even find, let alone repair, the bridges you so gleefully burned not long ago. Because, just as clearly as you wanted to cross them again now, in your previous blinding, righteous fury born our of fear, you were determined to inflict structural damage and insure you never would be able to.
The situation with Logan was a mess. Veronica wasnt even certain if he and Parker were really over or just fighting. Not to mention, there was a part of her still seething at his free-ranging impulses that led him to do things like beat up Piz or have one night stands with heinous bitches. But she no longer dismissed his actions as spite and pure jealousy (has she really, truly ever thought that or was it just a knee-jerk reaction to her own frustration, trepidation and something suspiciously like a desire to punish?).
She kept seeing Logan walk away from her, shoulders straight, spring in his step, bloodied hands relaxed for once. Comfortable. He was suddenly comfortable in his skin, in his position, with his place in the grand scheme of things -- his body language was implying. This was the boy whose body language for the past two years at least communicated constant restless need to spring into motion. The boy who always seemed in search of something or somewhere else.
When or how that ceased Veronica couldnt tell, but she was watching him retreat without a backward glance at her or the wreckage of their impossible situation, realizing with shock just how in the moment and relaxed he looked. As if he no longer had anything to prove, gain or decide. And she kept seeing his smile: Bright, brilliant, devoid of cynicism or hidden pain, open, even somehow conspiratorial -- as if they were sharing a mutual comprehension. He was bruised and his shirt had blood smudges. He wiped his mouth carelessly and the corner of it was scratched. And his eyes were alight with that undeniable something that made Veronica want to follow him anywhere. She realized she was smiling back, her own body ready to close the space between them. But something in his eyes, in the easy, confident slant of his shoulders, signaled to her that, for the first time in a long time, he wasnt waiting for her to do that. Or do anything. He looked at peace, beyond seeking approval or fearing censure. He looked beyond her.
She realized he has turned a corner of some sort. That he might walk out of her life for real. And what an irony that would be just as she realized she couldnt possibly let that happen. It was a core reaction, a pull so strong she almost grabbed at him. But then she saw Piz. Standing a few feet away, looking at them with that pained expression she remembered seeing once before, in January. In the same cafeteria. Watching the same two Logan and herself. He was bruised, like Logan, now, but, unlike Logan, looking defeated and hurt. And a crushing wave of guilt distracted Veronica temporarily. All she could do was watch Logan issue a surprisingly graceful and sincere apology to Piz and walk away. He didnt glance her way.
She told herself there was time. Sure, only yesterday she all but kicked Logan out of her life, declaring their association -- such as it was -- over irrevocably and completely. But then Logan knew her. He knew she was prone to over-the-top vitriol when upset, threatened or confused. There was time to undo and take back. She resolved to go to the Grand and talk. She was going to tell him he was forgiven, and they would take it from there. Newly found independence or not, Veronica was armed with inner conviction that, should she really push, Logans defenses would crumble. The fact that he still considered himself the righter of her wrongs told her everything she needed to know about his feelings.
In the meantime there was Piz and his muted misery to take care of. And Wallace issuing the not exactly uncalled-for rebukes of "didnt I specifically ask you to not mess with my guy and his delicate feelings?" There was also Mac with her loyalties split three ways between Veronica herself, Parker and Logan. Mac, who tried for neutral and was forced to admit in the end that she hated being Switzerland, and "why did everything had to get so damn complicated?" Mac, who needed reassurances even if she loathed to show it.
With all of that still unsorted, nightmarish events in and around her fathers life hit like a freight train, and it was two weeks before Veronica was ready or willing enough to go face Logan.
And found him gone.
At first she was perplexed but unconcerned. He was probably cooling it in Mexico, and she could trace him in five minutes. Then, when she couldnt find him or any signs of him, she had gotten scared. And angry. And frustrated. And piling more guilt onto the already hulking mountain of it. So the flash of righteous anger she experienced upon hearing his god damn inspirational greeting was a very welcome relief from all the jumble of other conflicting emotions. She missed feeling justifiably angry. She missed being in the right.
So, it stood to reason that Logans inspirational greeting got quite a workout while it took Veronica seven separate messages to unburden herself of everything she had to say to him. In language most graphic. She hoped his voicemail curdled under the acid outpouring of her indignation. She had every right to be indignant here: He left without so much as a "post it" note with forwarding address. He didnt answer his phone. He let her think he might have been harmed in some way, and it werent as if he had a death threat hanging over him or anything Veronica was pissed and she made sure Logan knew it. Or his voicemail, at least.
It was another two days before she found the letter. A pile of unsorted mail, nothing in it looking urgent, sat on the corner of the kitchen isle for longer than Veronica could consciously remember. Keith went through it, with eyes only for official looking envelopes, not surprisingly apprehensive of bad news on formal stationary. And Veronica herself avoided mail, partially afraid of painful reminders of temporary recent victories and partially out of a kind of a self-preservation instinct. The same way she only briefly scanned her e-mails and screened her calls determinately.
Her dad finally went through the jumble of rolled newspapers, sealed magazines and junky advertisement leaflets, and tossed her the rather thick envelop with "The Neptune Grand" embossed in intricate letters in the corner. She opened it mechanically, her mind elsewhere. And stilled in shock at the familiar, slanted handwriting.
******
"Veronica,
Dont worry: This isnt anything you need to respond to or take action about. Its simply a last probably as futile as ever attempt on my part to be heard. What with the finality of our parting and all. See, I know the drill by now: Your minds made up, which usually means my calls dont get returned, e-mails get blocked and explanations dismissed. Hence the old-fashioned letter. You dont think I pay attention, but I do.
When you said you were never getting over the Madison thing, I believed you. Sure I had to make a masochistic stab or two at your mercy, but they appeared forlorn even to me. I know you, Veronica. For most people terms like "never," "ever" or "forever" are just hyperbole outlets for anger or upset. Not for you. You dont get over anything.
All this to let you know I accept that Im out of your life forever. I know you think my seeking you out yesterday and apologizing meant I was trying to get back into your good graces. A "nice gesture," as you put it. It was a gesture, but it didnt mean what you assumed it did. I owed you an apology and I owed one to Piz. I simply began with you. Everything for me had been beginning and ending with you for such a long time, its almost a second nature.
Anyway, I owed both of you an apology for jumping to conclusion before making sure of my facts. Also a habit and a consequence of keeping you company. To be fair, your leaps to judgment seldom leave people bruised and battered (well, I ended up being pummeled by a deranged biker gang, but that was a fluke and, you may well argue, I deserved a beating regardless), so theres that. See, I kept forgetting the unspoken motto in our dynamic: Quod licet Iovi non licet bovi (Arent you impressed? I actually learned something. I think thats how its spelled, anyway, but History of Rome is, well, ancient history, and I slept through most of the class) -- "Whats allowed to Jupiter, is not allowed to the ox." Or, in plain English, rank has its privileges. And lets face it, youve always outranked me, often simply by staking the claim to the higher ground.
So I shouldnt really find it at all ironic that you would declare defending your honor to be completely none of my business in the same tone of voice you once announced that your nose belonged wherever you chose to put it. I shouldnt find it ironic and I dont. Before yesterday I would have thought it a given, even natural. Because thats what one signs up for with you: Double standard with the best possible intentions.
Yesterday, however, something happened to me. I swear I was just sitting on the couch, contemplating what the fuck happened to my life, listening to Dick wonder if any more angry blondes were going to barge in and tell me they were through with me. (And, as an aside, I must say that was my first official "friend" breakup. DK dumped me once, but he didnt have a speech or anything, he just did what hed done with you sophomore year: Stopped acknowledging my existence. On the whole, I prefer your approach. A nifty tirade delivered with just the right flourish lends such an air of significance to the moment, puts a final bow on the irreversibly wrapped relationship.)
I was sitting there, looking at myself through your eyes yet another habit Ive acquired and seeing what you must see: A jealous, unstable lunatic of questionable morals and non-existent loyalties who put your boyfriend in stitches for no good reason.
And something jarred. Didnt feel right. In fact, none of it made any sense. Granted, the sight of you climbing aboard the Piz express is forever burned into my retinas. (Where its occupying a place of honor next to the image of Lilly fulfilling her dream of "parental love" too bad it was my parent and the love was of the creepy, illegal kind. Incidentally, Im never watching porn again. Ever.). And sure, it wasnt the fuzziest feeling Ive ever had. But if you seriously believe I went after Piz just because he rounded 3rd base with you, you know me even less than I realized.
I jumped to conclusion. A logical one, if you stop and think about it. It was you and Piz alone. It was in his room. The one he shares with Wallace. Who could have possibly taped that and to what purpose? Not you. I dont even need to ask to know that. Not Wallace, because, well, ditto. So whos left, Veronica? You tell me what other conclusion was there for me to jump to? Some improbable-sounding secret society? A "connected" shmuck with an attitude?
Fine, whatever, I jumped the gun and a non-responsible guy got hurt. That I apologize for. I accept responsibility for my mistake. I refuse, however, to accept your other charges. My mostly fatalistic view of heredity aside, Ill be damned if I let you convince me Im a psycho for trying to stand up for the people I love, for making sure those responsible dont get away scot-free. If this is lunacy, then hey, we can get certified together! Because whether you admit it or not, you do the same thing. You just dont do it with your fists (though youve been known to use your taser on occasion). And I can tell you right now: I will always, always continue to fight when fightings called for. You, of all people, should know that justice takes many forms. Because sometimes, if it doesnt come by way of less-than-proper channels, it doesnt come at all. I dont think I can live with that. And I KNOW you cant.
Believe me or dont. Im not trying to change your mind. Not now, not anymore. I couldnt do it when we were together, and it would be useless to keep trying now, after all thats happened. It comes down to this: You still see me with the same eyes you did two years ago. You may have absolved me of some sins, but it was never a full pardon. Sure you said you trust me, but Id be damned if every time you didnt automatically assume the worst when opportunities for doubt occurred.
I asked you if you loved me. You said you did. Or as near to the sentiment as your reluctant "yeah" would come. You may have loved me (or close enough), but you sure as hell didnt like me. Not my choices, nor my friends (for which, granted, I dont blame you, considering), nor my hobbies, interests or aspirations (such as they are). You didnt approve of my life-style or my outlook, barely tolerated my taste in recreational activities, and, of course, my coping methods didnt bear thinking about.
Look, Im not claiming anything I am or do is admirable or even interesting. But you acted as if most, if not all, of it was downright reprehensible. Which makes me wonder what it was that you saw in me in the first place? Was it love? Was it just some physical thing, fueled by recognition of the similarities of our situations, fueled by loneliness, fueled by missing our mutual departed, fueled by guilt, fueled by ?
You know, when we got back together after the graduation, it was all a whirl of frantic and determined activity: The funerals, the inquiries, the NY trips, the endless news cycles, the estate settlements, the last minute college applications. So it took a while for the dust to settle, for "us" to hit a stride, and for me to start noticing things. But I finally saw that, consciously or not, you kept me pretty separated from the rest of your life. I was only allowed to your place when your dad was out of town. Something I, in my euphoria at being with you at all, attributed to the fact that you didnt want to emphasize the intimate nature of our relationship to the parent. When you went out with Mac on a weekly basis and wouldnt let me join you, I didnt question it, because well girl talk. Plus, given what you both had just been through And when you disappeared to hang out with Wallace, I wasnt offended: Everyone needs his or her BFF time. Even when you would cancel our plans to go do this or that "thing," as you put it, I figured you were working your PI gig on your own for so long, you got used to the solitary stints. I wanted to be there, but I didnt like being a pest or a nuisance. Worse, not being versed in sleuthing, I was afraid of cramping your style and seriously hampering your efforts. I just hoped youd take me along for the seriously dangerous stuff.
Even when I started seeing the pattern, I didnt feel concerned. I thought I understood. Considering you once lost everything in one fell swoop your friends, your mother, your innocence, your stability, your peace of mind it wasnt a stretch to imagine you were keeping various facets of your life separate now. Just so if one of them went, for whatever reason, you werent losing the lota kind of a self-sustainable departmental structure of a life. Yeah, I had a whole theory worked out. So much for my theory.
What Im finally getting (what I suspected but didnt want to believe) is that you werent protecting yourself from possible unpleasant eventualities. It was you protecting me and yourself from judgment and censure you felt assured of. From your father, your friends, and your own mind. You were ashamed of me. Of what you saw as my shady morals, narrow horizons, and low aspirations.
It was so clearly illustrated by that one ill-conceived dinner with your father, Im stunned I didnt put two and two together right then and there. The 12-page instructional manual you recited before you let me into the place? Made me feel like I was meeting your dad for the first time, instead of knowing him for years. The list of topics cleared and subjects banned, the rush to clarify and twist my every word like they needed translation I didnt see through it and I feel like even more of an idiot than I did then.
Continued in the next entry, because it won't let me make one post this long (stupid program!).
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