Title: Who They Really Are
Author: herowlness
Pairing/Character: Logan/Veronica
Word Count: 1047
Rating: PG13
Summary: Halloween-themed fluffy futurefic, and a sequel to Devilish Charm. You don't have to read that one to understand this one, but it might help.
Spoilers/Warnings: Pretty much nothing, honestly. Just know who the characters are.
Notes: A sequel was requested by mutinousmuse, and I felt compelled to comply. However, if she wants this to take a more smutty turn, the next sequel's on her. And many thanks, again, to onastick for her suggestions and encouragement.
Disclaimer: Still not mine.

"I don't understand how you can be so drunk off of one beer," Logan grumbles as he helps a teetering Veronica into her dorm room.

"I'm drunk on love," she slurs, a silly smile on her lips. "Ooooh! A cape!" She reaches for the red cloth and quickly gets herself tangled up in it, nearly strangling him in the process.

Yeah, this is turning out to be a wonderful night.

"Easy there, Vee," he cautions, after untying his cape and watching it flutter to the ground. Veronica trips over the material and falls into a boneless heap beneath the red material. She peeks her head out at his words, and he doesn't understand how she can be so fucking hot when she's so unbelievably wasted.

He reaches down to pull her into his arms, but she weakly slaps his hands away.

"I can walk," she insists, as he suppresses a groan.

"Of course you can," he mutters sarcastically, settling for helping her back onto her feet.

Now, she manages to navigate her way towards her bedroom, only needing to be steadied a few times along the way. He guides her towards the bed, thankful that she didn't end up lofting it as she originally planned. He boosts her up onto the bed and presses a kiss on her forehead.

"I should be going, Vee," he states, taking a step away from the bed.

"But what about our private party?" she purrs, blindly fumbling for the zipper on her dress.

"Maybe tomorrow night," he suggests, wanting to get out of her room before things got too out of hand.

"But, Logan, you promised," she sighs, reaching for his black shirt and attempting to pull him onto the bed beside her.

"Veronica, we should save this for a time when you can really enjoy it," he tries, doing all he can to resist her usually-irresistible charms.

"Who says I won't enjoy it now?" she murmurs seductively, slowly pulling the straps of her dress down her arms.

"I've gotta go," he gets out, before turning and quickly exiting her bedroom. He knows his girlfriend well enough to know that she can go from fully-clothed to fully-naked in less than ten seconds if she's motivated enough. She may be drunk tonight, but she certainly seemed motivated. And he knows that his good intentions would fly straight out the window if he were to be faced with even a half-naked Veronica Mars.

"Logan, where are you going?" she calls out, and she's almost … lucid there. The slur is gone, and he wonders if he's just imagining the hurt and confusion in her voice. His hand stalls on the locked dormitory door, as he mentally debates that point. After all, if she can sound that coherent, she can't really be that drunk. Right?

"Logan?" she asks again, and he turns to see her standing in the doorway of her bedroom. The straps of her dress are slipping down her shoulders, but she pays them no mind. Her gaze is focused on him, and he can plainly see the confusion clouding her eyes. "Where are you going?"

"Vee, you've had too much to drink," he begins, knowing that she'll fight him on the point and wondering how he'll manage to make it back to his place without ravishing her first.

"I had one beer," she laughs. "I just thought that a fallen angel would have enjoyed the spirits that were at the party."

"So you're not drunk?" he questions, taking a small step forward, almost afraid to believe that she's telling the truth.

"What do you want me to do? Touch my fingertip to my nose? Walk heel-to-toe on a straight line? Recite the alphabet backwards?" She takes a few steps in his direction before pausing to amend her offer. "Scratch that last one. I can't recite the alphabet backwards when I'm sober."

He grins and reaches down to trace her cheek. "I love you," he whispers before capturing her lips with his own.

She pulls away a moment later, a dazed look in her eyes. "Mr. Echolls, I would like to take this opportunity to cordially invite you to a private party where clothes are not just optional – they are forbidden. Would you have any interest in attending?"

He kisses one cheek and then the other, before replying. "Only if we can dispose of these Halloween personas as well. It was fun playing a devilish rouge for the night, but what I want right now is to be alone with the woman I love – not with some pixie that's fallen from the heavens."

"I think that could be arranged," Veronica agrees, as he starts to remove her halo. He peppers her face with kisses in the meantime, wanting to do his part to remove every last part of the glittering angel she played that night.

Once every last bobby pin has been removed from her hair, she hops up onto the nearby futon to remove his devil horns.

"I love you," she shares softly, taking advantage of the rare occasion when she is taller than him to lean down to kiss him. Of course, he feels a compulsion to ruin the moment by pulling her forcibly into his arms and carrying her quickly into her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind them.

"You ruined the moment," she complains, as he gently lays her on the comforter.

"What moment?" he teases. "That's not anything that you haven't said to me before, and this isn't going to be anything that we haven't done before."

She rolls her eyes at his easy dismissal, but he knows as well as she does that this isn't just "the same old thing." Tonight, they both tried to play a part, tried to be someone that they weren't. And, as he tosses Veronica's slinky white dress into the corner, he is cognizant of the fact that he doesn't want to be with anyone other than Veronica Mars.

He loves her and wants her – all of her and only her. They were silly to think that masquerading as spiritual alter egos would be more fun or exotic or exciting.

After all, he thinks as he fixates on the expanse of porcelain skin before him, what could be better than this?

END

So this wasn't complete and total fluff like the last piece, but it wasn't overly angsty. Besides, it's nearly impossible for me to write Logan without giving him at least a little angst. But I hope you enjoyed it all the same. Either way though, I'd like to hear what you thought.

Thanks for reading!