1Title: Warning Sign
Rating: T for some naughty words.
Pairing: Logan & Veronica
Spoilers: Up to the end of season one.
Summary: After months of not seeing each other, Veronica ends up giving him a drive home. Everything that had been building between the two begins to boil over.
Author's Note: I wrote this a while back during the summer but never had the chance to finish it. I came across it tonight and thought, 'Might as well get this thing completed. It beats doing homework!' Also, Rob Thomas is a genius. I own nothing.
THANK YOU guys for the messages, reviews, and for adding me to your favorites lists & story alerts. I never thought I could start this story up again. And because of all the positive response I felt the desire to keep going. I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Enjoy!
Veronica woke up just a few hours later, feeling refreshed and more well rested than she had in a long time. Nights would go by as she would lay in bed; wondering what he was doing; who he was with; wondering if he was okay. Her phone had been purposely placed on her pillow next her head. Each night she waited for his call. And each night came silence. It was deafening.
Rolling onto her back, she looked up at the ceiling, and a goofy grin spread across her features. Was her good night's sleep due to the fact that he was nearby? That she knew exactly where he was? Quite possibly.
Wait a minute.
With a flash of lightning, she shot up in a sitting position. The couch was empty, but still warm as she tested the cushions with her hand. A wave of panic took over her body. Where was he? She bolted to the window facing the front yard. His yellow X-Terra was still in its same sitting position by the curb. That's right; she had his keys in her pocket.
Did he walk home? He was in no way, shape, or form to walk all the way across town. What if he got hit by a car? He wouldn't have any way of contacting her without his cell phone, which was still sitting on the coffee table. What if somebody saw him, half drunk and disheveled? The press would eat him alive. That was the last thing he needed. The more scenarios her mind could come up with, the more panicky she became. Why didn't she just take him home? This was a horrible idea, bringing him here . . .
Just as she was about to lose her mind completely, the sound of a running faucet from the bathroom filled the tiny guest house. It was sweet music to her ears. Thank God.
She went to go knock on the door when Veronica began to taste the awful morning breath she had obtained. Glancing at herself at a nearby mirror, she was horrified at the way she looked. Her hair had begun to ball in a rat's nest in the back of her head, flakes of dried mascara had flicked off her lashes and onto her cheeks, and . . . was that drool on her face?
Good God, she looked like she came straight out of the Night of the Living Dead.
The messenger bag sitting by the front door had her emergency kit; mouthwash, face wipes, body spray, and a hairbrush to name a few items.
Her phone began vibrating in her pocket as she put the finishing touches on her appearance. Reaching into her back pocket, panic began to strike her chest. She forgot to call Dad. Crap.
She dreaded answering the phone as she hit the answer button. "Uh, hey Dad," She casually answered, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible.
She pulled the phone away from her ear for the inevitable yelling she knew was going to flow through. "Don't give me that 'Hey Dad' crap. Where in the hell were you? I've been calling you for hours! I almost called Lamb of all people because I was so worried. LAMB, Veronica...,"
"I'm okay Dad. I just slept at Wallace's . . . "
"I know," he interrupted, his voice beginning to calm down. "I traced the signal from your phone just before I ate part of that crow."
"So, uh, how does it taste?" she humored him, and began pacing around the living room.
"Don't joke about this, Veronica. I'm not laughing here."
She squeezed her eyes shut as the guilt washed over her. Wincing at his words, Veronica felt as if someone punched her in the stomach. He probably spent the entire night wondering where she was. Her father, of all people, didn't deserve that. Not after what they've been through.
"I'm sorry, Dad," she spoke solemnly.
A moment went by where there was silence. It was a good ten seconds before she heard him sigh deeply into the receiver. "Just," he paused. She knew he was choosing his words wisely. "Just don't do this again. Now get home."
The two each spoke their goodbyes and the call ended. She wanted to smack herself silly for doing such a foolish thing. She had a lot of explaining to do when she arrived home.
"You must be a deep sleeper," a deep voice spoke from behind, and nearly caused her to jump right out of her own skin. She flipped around to find Logan standing there with this arms crossed in front of him. "I'm surprised you didn't wake up to Hurricane Wallace?"
She was a little confused. "Hurricane Wallace?" she repeated.
He shook his head. "Never mind. I, uh," he stuttered, and looked down at the floor, "I wanted to wake you, but, you looked so peaceful. Sleeping, I mean."
She couldn't speak. Her mind was reeling with so many thoughts that she couldn't process a single one. All she could do was nod and stare back at him.
The next three words out of his mouth took her thought process to a whole new angle. "I've missed you."
Veronica wanted to scream at him. Scream about anything and everything. The pain he had caused her, the sleepless nights, the drinking. Nothing at that moment would have satisfied her more than to open her mouth and shout from the rooftops.
But the look on his face stopped her. Not only the expressions on his face. But his eyes.
Being the daughter of a private detective and a former police officer, Veronica has learned a thing or two about the human emotion, and how they spoke volumes. It is an uncommon gift; only 5 percent of the population actually knew they have this talent and put it to good use.
She had enough people in her life lie straight to her face. It was much easier, now that she was older, to cut through the bull shit. But what is most important, she knew when someone was being genuine. And that was exactly what his eyes told her.
They were free from pretense. Free from affectation or hypocrisy. Most of all they were sincere. It had been so long since her gaze last fell upon a man, whose own intent stare wasn't fake.
Logan remained still, watching as she stared back at him. He longed to brush those few strays of blonde hair away from her eyes, just as he had some so many times before. Each time his fingers would graze the soft, satiny texture of her cheek. He missed the tingling sensation his entire body felt, the way the warmth of her body would lick at his skin. He yearned for it.
Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets, and wondered why she wasn't saying anything. The seconds went by as she said nothing. The silence in the room was not only driving him crazy, but slowly tearing his insides apart. He just said he missed her. For him, that was a big thing.
His voice suddenly became was thick with emotion. The near sight of her brought him to his knees. "Say something," he pleaded. His voice cracked ever so slightly. "Anything."
What was she doing? Why didn't she just leave before he came out? She had the perfect opportunity. Her breathing became slightly labored as he took a few steps forward. His long limbs only needed baby steps before he was towering over her petite frame. A hand was placed on the small of her back, his other finally giving into temptation.
Veronica took a sharp intake of breath as the back of his hand brushed her side-swept bangs aside. Her eyes had never left his the entire time. A tingle tear rolled down her cheek. The pad of his thumb caught it midway down her cheek, and gently wiped it away. Not from the gesture, but from his own eyes beginning to brim.
"Veronica," he softly spoke. "Why couldn't you find me?"
The curve ball of an answer woke her out of her gaze. She shook his touch off of her and took a step back. "What?"
Somewhat regaining his composure, his quickly wiped his face clean and cleared his throat. His head hung low, and turned to the left. "You never... tried to find me. Not once, did you?"
She felt as if someone threw her into a tub full of ice. "What are you talking about," she asked flabbergasted.
"Come on, Ronnie, don't play dumb here. We both know you're smarter than that." By now, he was slowly pacing back and forth, and speaking with his hands. "I may have been drunk off my ass last night, but I still remember the festivities," He paused for a short moment before adding, "somewhat."
She scoffed at his words as she looked down her feet, her arms crossing her chest. "Unbelievable. I have..."
Logan quickly cut her off. "Don't even start that. Don't fucking start that!" He stalked towards her until her back hit the couch. His finger thrashed in front of her face as he spoke. "You can find any bailjumper at the drop of a hat. You never once gave up on Lilly until the case was solved. Hell, you put my dad in jail. And yet, you couldn't find some poor little rich boy living in your own backyard? All you had to do was follow the money trail." He patted his pockets. "Where the hell is my flask?"
"I threw it away," she said coldly.
"That was 300 bucks. Are you insane?"
"It's something you can afford. But you know what you can't afford? Your health."
If he heard her speak, he ignored it. Logan talked right above her in a fit of anger. "And where the fuck are my keys? Did you throw those away too or did you shove 'em up your ass?"
She pulled them from her pocket and threw them at his chest angrily. She flung them with such force that she the sound actually echoed throughout the guest house. Grabbing her bag and keys from the table, Veronica stomped to the door. Just as she had the door cracked open, it was slammed shut from behind her. She looked up; Logan's arm stretched out above her, his hand sealed on the door.
His other reached for her arm, but she shoved him back, so hard in fact that he hit the wall. "Don't touch me. Don't fucking touch me!"
Opening the door once again, she was about to leave when he slammed the door shut once again. He'll be damned if she was going to leave him again. This had been brewing for far too long.
"No," he spoke sternly. "We're not leaving until we get this out in the open." He took her bag and keys without a fight this time, and threw them across the room.
She realized she was stuck. He outweighed her with a considerable amount of weight. But something else inside of her head kept telling her that she wanted to stay. He was right; things had been left up in the air with no resolution. If their issues kept festering, somebody was going to blow.
However, she was too angry and far too proud to admit that Logan Echolls was somehow right. She refused to give him that satisfaction. No way. She could only muster up one response.
"Fuck you," she spat out, and flung herself onto the couch.
He took a deep breath and exhaled. How in the hell was this conversation going to start?
This is going to be a long day.