FIC: Collapse (Veronica/Logan) (1/?) (PG13/R)
TITLE: Collapse (Veronica/Logan) (1/?)
CHARACTER: Veronica, Logan, mention of Duncan
WORD COUNT: 1,462
SUMMARY: The day before your world collapses is the worst day in your life. Granted, your bad days don't really register on most people's worst days so you know that this day is special.
SPOILERS: Spoilers for the whole series, especially season 2.
WARNINGS: Cursing, Angst
DISCLAIMER: I don't own any rights to Veronica Mars.
CHAPTER 1: The Day Before
The day before your world collapses is the worst day in your life. Granted, your bad days don't really register on most people's worst days so you know that this day is special. This day is especially painful and awful.
What's so damn special about this day and not the day your world actually collapses is that you could have stopped it. You could have saved it, stopped time, and provided a sturdy base rather than what happened the day after.
You spend most of your time reliving it in your head. Reconstructing your relationship. Deconstructing your relationship. Your head is basically bordered with orange construction signs as your brain is hard at work trying to grasp what you didn't earlier, what you couldn't earlier. It's working harder than it's ever needed to before (you never applied yourself at school—a fact she resents) and it still isn't enough.
Remembering fights is not one of your strong suits. It's never been. The only thing you remember with quite clarity is listening to your heart beat escalate and simmer down during the peaks and lows of the fights. When you were older, after you listened and participated in all your parents' fights (figuratively and literally, of course), you tried your best to remember them, to see when their world and their hearts (physical, not metaphorical) stopped beating. But as has been proven time and time again, your best isn't good enough.
Eventually, every fight blurs together and the lines become indistinguishable from one another. Eventually, every fight, every snippet of hurt and pain, and every low blow comes together to make a larger part of the equation. But sometimes there are moments where you can remember it with such clarity that you swear it just happened, your heart still pounding from the adrenaline. But for you, it's just that one time.
"You're a hypocrite, you know that?" You counter quietly right as she was about to slam the door. Your body is absolutely still as your heart races.
"Really, Logan? I'm the hypocrite! You are the one—" You don't know what stops her, but you are just thankful that it did. It's probably because she's never seen you so still. You're always moving (heart always throbbing and thumping), always fighting back, and never taking it. But now, you are on a mission. A mission to have this damn conversation.
"'The hero is the one who stays; the villain is the one that leaves,'" You quote to her. Your voice is surprisingly timid, yet not defeated. "I didn't go anywhere and I'm still the villain, while Duncan will forever be the hero in your eyes."
The shock on her face is worth it. You've wanted to see her give a damn since you got back together again for the billionth time. Her face scrunches up to retaliate but you stop her quickly.
You've always admired her morals. Cut and dry, black and white, morals. You know that she doesn't have a difficult time undercutting and punishing the bad guys. You just wish she'd stop seeing you as one of them.
"I have been here for everything—every awful day, every shocking case, every life-changing event. I apologize for the things I have done, the things I haven't done, and the things other people do. I try my best to be forgiven. I try my best to be good enough for you—and I'm slowly dying."
The way you say this inner monologue, with the words written for years but never said, is haunting. You are scaring her with your seriousness, but the point is getting across and that's what is important. Your heart is beating with adrenaline, but you let it guide your speech's rhythm.
"For years I've been afraid that I'd become my dad. Lately, I'm afraid I'll be like my mom."
The abrupt look of shock and hurt on her face is enough to make you want to die inside, even if it existed for only a nanosecond. You know the words would affect her, or at least she'd have the decency to look affected, but you didn't know it would look so raw; maybe you're wrong about her, but it doesn't matter. This conversation needs to happen.
"You literally make me crazy. When Duncan came back to town, I knew he'd sneak his way back into your life like he did the last time we attempted this. And all I can think about when he's near us, or rather you, is how crazy I am for being this way. You're with me, you're with me!"
Your voice isn't as hollow anymore and that's alright. Your heart has never been hollow as it pumps the blood dangerously quick and full you think you can feel it. This is the emotional segment of your monologue and you need her to know it. Despite how dramatic it sounds, you literally put all your worth in the most important sentence you could ever say.
"You love me."
You're watching her reaction now; trying to confirm your suspicions. But alas, nothing on her face would ever give such emotion away.
You are shaking your head now, over and over again. "You've never said it. Not once. Not when I forgave you for running out on me all the time. Not when one of us did something stupid and life-injuring and reckless. Not when we made love or when we fucked." There's a certain revelation in your last made-up words that make it difficult to continue your speech, but it's good enough to improvise on this particular tangent.
"That's what I am right? A good fuck. The guy you can fight and berate and hate and fuck—maybe love?" Her face is hollow like her heart.
"But I thought, surely she must love me—right? She says she does when I ask her, but she never says it. Maybe I am going insane."
You're crying a little now, you can't help it. For a second, you feel like she wants to cry too.
"I'm allowed to have her right? I keep her like Duncan did? Can't I? I can keep this up just a little while longer and maybe..." It's not affecting your voice much, but tears are definitely running down your cheeks now.
"I am the one person who you can be your worst with and you feel alright (because I'm beneath you). I know you think that—why else do you come back? I have no idea how you feel about me—the basics mainly: anger, lust, sadness. But love? I am baring my soul here and I have no idea. Even if you told me what I wanted to here, I probably couldn't believe you. Believe that you could love me and mean it.
"And this revelation will probably send you running away, scared and emotionally fucked, but when it happens will you let me know so I can die in peace?"
You are still so still it hurts. You are almost out of breath as your blood is pumping more viciously than ever; the last few minutes have been a run-on of ideas and you aren't even looking at her really.
"If you don't love me, can I just collapse?"
The rest of the fight might have carried on, but you don't remember. You said what you thought had to be said, and you said it.
The next day she tells you she loves you truly and honestly; you actually believe her. Your heart is pounding so hard and fast that you manage to make yourself believe this is nirvana—it cannot be real.
And it isn't. She breaks up with you; she doesn't want to love you anymore. She can't. Her voice is distant and detached. She explains she can't feel so out of control with her fate by how much she feels for you. She can't not know everything, and because she doesn't, she can't do this with you anymore.
She decides for the both of you that you can't love her anymore. She won't let you; you being you are going to break this rule like you do with every rule society give you. Yet your heart goes from 150 beats per minute to a solid 40 when you realize this means leaving for someone normal again.
Every fight blurs together and the lines become indistinguishable from one another. Eventually, every fight, every snippet of hurt and pain, and every low blow comes together to make a larger part of the equation. Every memory spikes your heart rate. Forgetting it dips it.
Later, a part of your heart caves in (from the spontaneous combustion of your cardiovascular walls) as your world collapses before you.
CHAPTER 2: The Day Of