Title: Tinkerbelle and I

Author: mswyrr

Rating: R

Genre: Angst/Humor

Summary: One-shot. Logan POV. Veronica and Logan come to an understanding in the girl's bathroom.

Spoilers: Everything up to and including Ruskie Business, just to be safe.

Author's Notes: I owe much thanks to Goldstars for her kind words and awesome beta skills.


At the end of the day, Veronica pulled him into the girl's bathroom (what the fuck?) and gave him a solemn look. It was awkward, so he sidled up to the feminine products dispenser, tapped on the Tampax window, and turned to give the stalls and the glistening tiles a long amazed look.

"It's like a whole new world," he said in mock awe.

He waited a beat. She didn't say anything. He went on, "Really. I want to thank you for showing this to me, Veronica. I think I understand women a lot better now. I think it's..."

"Logan," she said, kindly and quietly.

Christ, this was weird.

"Yeah?"

"He's hurting you."

Shit. Her solemn act made sense now; Veronica Mars wasn't all scathing wit and jibes and flippy hair. Oh, no. Veronica Mars was a crusader of justice, too. She protected the weak and the abused. She was a good person. She wore fashionable pinks, and she drew the line at snarking at cigarette burns. And now she was out to save him. Just perfect.

Shit.

"There are things you could do. I could help you," she paused, "I could make him pay," she said, and it was a fierce promise. For a second, she was the scariest tiny blond girl in the world.

Huh. He must be one of 'the weak' this week. And to think, he was last week's weak, too! This was becoming a bad habit for her.

"You could. You're good at it. But I didn't ask for your help on this, Veronica, and I don't want it," he paused to let that sink in. "So I'm going to walk out of here, and we're not going to talk about this again."

He headed toward the door. She moved to stand in front of it.

"Do you really think he's ever going to stop, Logan?"

"I know he won't," he snapped, and took another step forward. "Move."

"If he won't stop, we have to make him."

"No. You need to get out of my way," he said, getting angry. "And what is this 'we' shit? Is that the royal we? Or are 'we' Siamese twins now? Chang and Eng, maybe? Connected at the ass? I'm sorry if I didn't notice you back there."

"Logan," she said, reaching out.

He pulled back. "Don't touch me," he said. "This conversation is over. I ended it. Don't fucking stand there making me talk to you and expect me to just let you..."

He turned away from her, walked over to a stall and kicked it. He stood there breathing and trying not to think about how he could make her move.

"All day, you were so stiff. The way you moved, it just... it hurt just to look at you. It made me feel sick. I never saw it before," she said, and then again, quieter, "I can't believe I never saw it before."

"Well, gee, Veronica," he said bitterly, "I'm really sorry that my pain is making you a little queasy. I'll try not to get beat-up by my father in the future, if it'll make you feel better. Sorry I can't make any guarantees," he turned to face her with a ridiculously sorrowful expression, "but Daddy's a little unpredictable."

He dropped the act and glared, taking a step forward, "I'm going to leave now."

She didn't budge. "I don't want another friend of mine to die, Logan," she said. "I don't want you to die. Have you ever thought of that? Of what might happen if he goes too far? It's happened before."

"Hmm… Let's see," he said, stepping into her personal space. "You'd get to see me on the news, and prove that my 'unfortunate fall' down the stairs was, in fact, a very dastardly deed. Then everyone would love you and tell you how smart you are," he paused, and very deliberately brushed her hair back with his hand, "I don't see what your problem is, Veronica. This sounds great for you."

She shivered, "This isn't funny."

"It's my life," he said softly, "I get to say if it's funny or not."

She gave him the sort of look he'd imagined she'd give him if he ever chose to talk to her about all this shit. The kind of look that said she would make everything better if she could. And he wanted to believe it so much. It was the sort of look with such aching kindness that it made him want to drown in it.

She reached out and cautiously put her hand on his hip. He let her. She had her fingers splayed and she was rubbing little circles through his shirt with her dainty thumb. He closed his eyes and wondered vaguely if she was trying to hypnotize him. It didn't matter; he'd made his choice. Her other hand came forward and he felt the cool air as she lifted his shirt.

"You're such a snoop," he muttered, and turned so she could see better.

When she was done satisfying her curiosity, her hand went back to his hip and started again with the soothing circles. With her other hand, she found his hand and gave it a squeeze. He sighed.

"I can help you," she said, "Let me help you."

"Okay."

He pressed closer, leaning his head against the door over her shoulder. She got the point. Her hands moved over him; fingers splayed against his stomach, moving in widening patterns up his ribs and over his arms. When she reached his hands, she entwined her fingers with his and just stood there together with him.

When he came out of his stupor, he found that he'd guessed right. She could make it better. He felt warm. Every inch of his skin felt alive, even the parts that hurt, and he was more than a little turned on.

"You hungry?" he mumbled, darting his eyes away.

She gave him a wry look, "I could eat."

"Tacos?"

"Sure."

He backed off and gave her a look. "You know, if you move, I'll be a gentleman and open the door for you," he bargained jokingly.

She laughed a little and got out of the way. He did as promised, playing the gentleman and ushering her into the hall. They walked out of school together in silence. It got a little awkward in the parking lot, so he reached out and mussed her blond, pixie-ish hair.

"Hey," she protested, "what was that about?"

"You," he shrugged. "It's like having a furious little Tinkerbelle on my side."

Her eyes smiled at him. "Don't tell me," she scoffed, "you're Peter Pan in this little fantasy?"

"That flit? Nah." He grinned, "I'm a Lost Boy."

end-