-1Summary: AU, Post S1. She was his life source. She was his world. Logan and Veronica. Ficlet.

Disclaimer: We've been through this, I believe.

A/N: The prompt was 'There was nothing we could say, and even less we could do to stop the ice from getting thinner from under me and you.' The prompter was Roz. Feedback, please?


Denial was an act of faith.

Even in the beginning, they were lost. Broken. Doomed, in the epic fairytale sense of the word.

They tried to ignore the facts, but there was nowhere for them to run. They were locked in a dead end, clawing at each other to escape their personal hells and falling even further in the process.

What bothered him most was the sad look that invaded her eyes when he did something wrong or when he let Dick pull him too far over the line she had drawn in the sand between 'good enough' and 'completely hopeless.'

But at first, he was in love. Infatuated. Unsure of his feelings, really, but he felt like he was floating when he kissed her and her fingers curled around his wrist like cool silk on a hot summer day.

He asked her questions about why she chose him. Why she was wasting her time on someone who could never be worthy of her, never, not in a million years.

Veronica smiled every time and ran her hand through his hair, resting her thumb against the hollow of his throat. She told him she cared about him and she knew he was better than he pretended to be.

And he absorbed every word, every touch, every smile. She was his life source.

She was his world.


He was more aware of her nightmares than he was of his own.

For weeks, he slept on her couch and ate breakfast with her dad, waiting for her to wake up so that they could spend the day together and forget about the horror of the past two years. Logan learned when to laugh at Keith's jokes, when to nod his head in silent agreement, and when to voice his opinion to move the conversation along.

Veronica cried when she dreamt. In the mornings, her eyes were swollen and her smile was too weak to be completely genuine.

On the nights that Keith was out of town for a case, Logan slept in her bed, curled up behind her with his palm against her ribs. He listened to her breathe and he calmed her when she thrashed in her sleep.

She thought the dreams made her weak, somehow. And she never told her dad.

After particularly bad nights, she wouldn't meet Logan's eyes. He never said anything and she pretended not to notice how red his eyes were from lack of sleep.


Dick was responsible for most of the plans, but Logan was responsible for most of the executions. He could have said no. He could have called Veronica and asked her to join him for a movie or dinner or ice cream or cuddling on the couch.

But he was desperate for a more active outlet. The pain of betrayal was burning away his flesh and he felt like he couldn't breathe more often than not.

Veronica spent a lot of time telling him to be careful.

He never listened, and he was sure she was making lists of reasons to leave him long before the break-up.

Everything about him left something for her to judge.


She gave him too many chances. He knew that.

They both tried to ignore how little time they had left with each other before one or both of them went insane from the tension.

Denial was an act of faith.