Summary: AU, Pre-series. You're broken when she touches you, but to be honest you've never really healed. Logan/Veronica Oneshot.

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, Let Go by Frou Frou doesn't belong to me, and neither do the characters of Veronica Mars. Oh. Bummer.

A/N: Inspired by a Frou Frou song that I find to be incredibly beautiful and addictive. The title comes from a line in Tim Burton's rendition of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Kind of random, pretty much AU, and just a little bit angsty. Reviews are love.


The first time she touches you, it is innocent. A simple smack against your shoulder when you're both thirteen and you make an inappropriate comment that makes her turn a becoming shade of pink. And for a very long time, that is the only physical contact you have with her.

Innocent. Sweet. Chaste.

Two weeks after your best friend dumps her she shows up on your doorstep with a bag full of movies and take-out menus. You spend the afternoon with her head on your shoulder, your arm wrapped tightly around her back. You ignore the fact that your cell phone is vibrating in the other room and it's Lilly's name that's on the caller id.

She wants to tell you how much she doesn't miss you and you really don't have time for that.

Veronica curls into your side further and lets out a sigh, making some half-hearted comment about the movie you're watching. You nod a little and run your hand up her arm. She shivers and looks up at you with wide eyes, wetting her bottom lip unconsciously.

When she kisses you she tastes like strawberries and you're certain this isn't innocent anymore.


Both of you stumble into your bedroom and you push your hands up under her shirt.

You shouldn't be the one that's instigating this; she's too naïve, too kind, too perfect for you to take advantage and corrupt her like this. But she's pulling you closer and your lips are on her skin and she tastes too fucking good for you to put a stop to this now.

Your (ex) girlfriend would encourage this. She would probably video tape it just for kicks, show it to her brother and prove to him just how much of a loser he really is. You don't want this to be such a huge thing.

It is, though.

You're broken when she touches you, but to be honest you've never really healed. Your skin has lash marks and your eyes burn consistently and you know the taste of tears like no one else you can think of.

Those lash marks on your back bring tears to her eyes and you want to kiss them away, tell her not to worry, but she turns you around and traces them before you can even open your mouth. Her mouth makes designs against your skin and the burn is a little less, now.

You choke on the words (forget it, Ronnie) when she slips back in front of you and kisses you like you're beautiful. The next thing you know, she's pressed into your mattress, and she's gasping as you brand your name into her neck with your tongue.


You stare at the ceiling while she sleeps on your chest and you run your fingers through her hair until you can't feel them anymore.

I don't regret this.

Those were her words, and they sent your heart flying. You were so fucking certain she'd hate you; scream at you; complete the process of breaking you and storm out without another word.

But she doesn't regret this. She doesn't regret you.

Your cell phone vibrates and you turn your head to look at it, not bothering to pick it up. It eventually falls off the edge of the nightstand and you turn your head and press a kiss against her forehead while she shifts against your side.


Your relationship is volatile; drenched in the ashes that are the only remainders of your group. You spend at least eighty percent of your time with her, and the time that you're apart is spent on the phone. Part of you wonders how long this will last; another part wonders why you didn't try it sooner.

Lilly finds out first and you have to laugh at her reaction: she smiles and asks you what took so long.

Your best friend throws you up against cold metal lockers while he screams at you for taking his girl.

Leave it to the Kanes to have predictable reactions.


She cries when she finds out about the fight. You wrap her up in your arms while she confesses how invalidated it made her feel to be thrown aside without a second thought and you cringe when she asks you why he doesn't love her anymore.

You want to say he does.

But then where the fuck does that leave you?


Lilly attempts to bring the foursome back together and you want to laugh at her efforts. She hangs out with your girlfriend (god, does it feel good to say that) and plans outings for the three of you that could include Duncan if he felt like showing up.

He doesn't.

You get over it after a few weeks, choosing instead to focus on Veronica (her hands, her tongue, her smile) while you do your best to avoid your dad and his favorite Italian leather belt.

That's a mission you fail with flying colors.

She gets back from a shopping trip with her mother to find you sitting on her doorstep. It's pathetic, you know, to rely this much on her. But she opens the door and drags you inside and you only notice that she's chopped her hair off when she's running cotton balls soaked in antiseptic across your skin.


She leaves her window open at night.

Her father would (probably) kill you if he knew, but you're too scared to find out for sure. She reaches for you in the dark and you crawl under the sheets with her while you whisper promises into her hair, her neck, her shoulder, her stomach, and lower until you hear her breath catch and she leaves finger-shaped bruises on your back.

You leave before the sun rises only to go home and change before returning to pick her up and take her to school.


It's not meant to turn into a fight, but it does. Duncan makes it his job to avoid you at all costs and Lilly decides to tease him about it when you're not there. Ten minutes later his fist connects with your face and you can feel the familiar sensation of your nose breaking under the force.

Lilly laughs it off and Veronica watches in horror as your nose starts gushing blood and three teachers have to pull Duncan off of you.

She asks you what you did to provoke him and you comment sardonically that the blame always falls on your shoulders. She glares at you and bites her bottom lip to keep it from quivering before storming off and avoiding your calls.

She locks her window that night, but you show up at her doorstep the next morning with breakfast and coffee and she grudgingly accepts the offer as apology (which you assume is why it shocks her when you proclaim that you're sorry).

Duncan gets the silent treatment from both of you for a week and she seems happy to be avoiding the drama for once. You're just happy she doesn't hate you yet.


Your mother is passed out on the couch when you get home from school and you sigh as you throw a blanket over her unconscious form. The sounds of your father's record player can be heard when you walk past his office to get to the stairs and he calls out your name before you even touch the railing.

Veronica calls when he's using your skin for an ashtray and he takes your cell from you and throws it against the wall. Fuck, do you wish you could remember how to cry when the plastic shatters into a million little pieces.

Instead you close your eyes and grind your teeth together when he burns another hole into your back.


Her cheeks are tear-stained and streaked with mascara when you show up at her window that night and she continues to cry silently while she helps you clean the ashes out of your burns. She presses kisses against your clavicle and shivers when your hands span her ribcage.

I wish I could give you more than this.

The proclamation is enough to drown you in her tears, and you use tender hands and a gentle touch to wipe away the salt tracks on her cheeks. She bites her lip and smiles at you, and it startles you how intimate this is.


It startles her to see Aaron treating her so kindly the next time she's at your house. She smiles politely and grips your hand as you lead her toward the pool house, whispering questions into your shoulder. You laugh when she presses herself against your back and wraps her arms around your waist, making you stumble and collapse onto the bed with her right next to you.

She pushes the hair off your forehead and comments that she misses hearing the sound.

You kiss the tip of her nose and admit that you do, too.

Aaron wanders into the pool house a few minutes later and hurriedly excuses himself before grabbing a bottle of champagne out of the liquor cabinet and heading back into the house. You roll your eyes and stare at the ceiling, Veronica pressing kisses against your neck and giggling.

Her parents actually trust you when you're spending time at her place. And amazingly, they leave you alone; kind of a new concept for you, but you think you kind of like it.


On the night your mother offs herself, it's Veronica that shows up at your place (you don't think you could make it to her window tonight). Your father is talking to the press out front and she finds the loose board in the fence around the pool, sneaking through with minimal effort and finding the back door unlocked.

You're staring at the ceiling when she crawls into bed beside you.

It's not that it shocks you to feel her there; it's just that you're not used to being this loved by anyone. Your new cell phone lies on the floor, the tinny sound of the ringtone barely filtering through the pile of clothes that's thrown on top of it. She wraps her arms around your torso and asks if you've spoken to anyone since it happened and you shake your head slowly.

She accepts your silence with a short nod and a soft, reassuring smile that lets your heart flutter just a little.


Lilly is sitting on her doorstep when you show up three nights later. She's smiling at you and asking how you are, repeating the same message she left on your voicemail every two hours for the past seventy-two hours.

You murmur a response that she doesn't catch and nod at her before stepping around her to ring the doorbell.

When she asks if you know where Veronica is you freeze and assume the worst.


You see her through the windshield of your (jackass yellow) car and you stop on the side of the road, jumping out with your keys pressed into your palm and running toward her. She stands staring at the ambulance a few yards away, her face streaked with tears that shine in the blue and red lights from her father's police car.

She sobs out the story against your shoulder and you shiver, pulling her closer when she identifies the body as one Lianne Mars.

Overdose, overdose, overdose.

The word makes you sick. You tighten your grip on her while her tears make salty, sticky paths along your neck and you whisper comforting words into her hair.

It's okay, I'm here, you're okay, Veronica, it's okay, I love you, it's o-

You freeze and she tenses in your arms. Blue eyes frantically search for yours in the semi-darkness of the highway and you swallow hard to get rid of the lump in your throat. She smiles through her tears and bites her lip, wrapping her arms around your neck and laughing against your ear as she returns the words you never meant to say.

Keith requests that you take her home and you nod numbly, glancing at the ditch on the side of the road where her mother was found only an hour ago before taking her hand and leading her to your car. She's still crying and you want to make it stop, but a week ago this was you and she didn't do anything of the sort.


She throws her cell phone against the wall of her living room when you return to her house and it shatters, much like yours did just a couple of weeks ago. She screams in frustration and sinks down onto the coffee table, losing her bearings while you try your best to comfort her.

And then it's tongues and hands and clothes that are too tight before it's cold air and cotton sheets and gasping and crying and breaking all over again.

Because you are not healed, no matter how hard you try, and your back has fresh gashes and new burn patterns that you didn't earn. She's shaking in your arms and her eyes are on fire with betrayal and hurt and love and lust and her hair is short and you don't miss it long.

You think you're both fucked up beyond repair. Your only hope (at this point, when you shouldn't even have any) is that you can bandage what's broken and remember what's lost. With her in your arms and her lips on yours, you think it might just be possible.