Charisma Brendon

All This Fashion, Lilly/Veronica

2009-02-06T19:15:43Z

Title: All This Fashion
For: bitter_crimson
Author: xbitexmyxlipx
[Forgot-the-freakin']Disclaimer: Sadly, I'm not affiliated with Rob Thomas, UPN, or anyone from VM. If that changes, I'll let you know first!
Rating: PG-13/R works for me. I doubt I'd be very good at writing explicitly, but there are a lot of bad words! :p
Summary: AU; Duncan died instead of Lilly.
Warnings: Not only is there femslash (if that's something you avoid), but it's also my first attempt at femslash. This is also the first thing I've written in a while. It is probably wise to be at least a little afraid. :p Any/All sex is strictly implied since I just can't ever write it.
Pairings/Characters: Veronica/Lilly, Duncan/Veronica, Logan/Lilly (Primarily LilVer)
Notes: The title is from the Say Anything song of the same name. This sucker got away from me. I just wanted to give a nice little somewhat fluffy (all-things-considered) fic to bitter_crimson and ended up...here. I have no idea where here is, and I'm a little scared, too.
Other Special Note: I'm more of a friendship!fic-writing girl, which probably shows. It's the thought that counts?

Veronica Mars was a good girl. She was never arrested (a fact that her sheriff father used to console himself when she went to an Echolls' or Casablancas' party). Her fist never made contact with the cheek of another person. Veronica had only been truly drunk twice -- which was an accomplishment when one was friends with the town alcoholic, Logan Echolls.

Veronica Mars had the perfect life, complete with loving parents and a warm little house in the 09er zip that already felt like home despite only living there a few weeks. Practically everyone in Neptune loved her –something they showed by leaving her tons of glowing messages on MySpace. She even had the perfect, loving boyfriend.

Lilly Kane was Veronica Mars' best friend.

Lilly Kane wasn't a fan of lipstick. She had a million reasons why, but (as she told Veronica – or Celeste, if she were feeling vicious), she wasn't evil enough to name them all. Instead, she stuck to four cardinal reasons.

Number one: Lipstick was too fucking hard to get off.

Number two: Too many ways it could go wrong. "I've got enough fuckedupness in my life." She shot a pointed look in the general direction of her dresser -- specifically, the tiny, photo booth pictures of the "Fab Four" -- before grinning mischievously at Veronica.

Number three: "The only shades that match my complexion smear far too easily."

Three was the one Veronica argued with. Three million shades, brands, and types out there, and none are a match?"

"Can I help it if I'm so Old Hollywood that vintage lip coloring would be the only thing available?"

With a look of faux horror, she asked, "You would wear a stranger's makeup?"

"Of course not! I could ... scrape the top-" Veronica's laughter earned her a pause and glare from Lilly. She continued, laughing herself, "- Shut up. Layer off first. Old makeup is the stupidest – and least fun-- way to get herpes."

Mouth agape and eyes wide, Veronica jumped from Lilly's bed. "Can you really? I used Madison's balm Friday! I could die!"

Such a melodramatic statement then led to talk of exactly what that suspicious sore on the side of Dick's mouth was, and how long until its spawn was on someone else. Their theories ranged from a conspiracy involving government experiments (with alien help, of course) to an allergic reaction to Madison's overwhelming –"And cheap," Lilly was quick to point out – perfume before Lilly decided that it simply must be a personality-eating bacteria.

Veronica shook her head, and sat on the bench in front of Lilly's vanity table. Curiously studying the newest additions to her Collection O' Glam, she asked, "What's four?"

Not one to deny her interested public, she continued. Number four: "It gets everywhere! I tried it once – This was before I reached my full level of awesome. – and it was a disaster."

"I don't remember that."

Lilly stared incredulously at Veronica before she ran over to her closet. "Sure you do," she called amidst the barrage of too-small clothes flying out around her. "I looked like a clown the entire day. Where the hell is – Ah!" Triumphantly, she came back into view, holding a tie dye shirt with a smirk.

Veronica frowned. "Wasn't that Halloween in fourth grade?"

"Well, that would explain why no one commented." She waved her free hand as if that train of thought wasn't important. "But, do you see this?" she asked, pointing at the red stains. She waited for a nod of confirmation. "This is all lipstick."

Letting out a low whistle, her friend turned her attention back to the new eye shadow Lilly had bought. "That takes talent."

With a grimace, she threw the shirt back in the closet, and joined Veronica at the table. She dropped herself heavily onto the free space, half-sitting on her friend's lap.

"Gee, Lil. Would you like me to move over?"

"Oh, only if you want to," she responded magnanimously.

With an exaggerated sigh, Veronica slid over. Neither commented on the lack of personal space or the few inches of seat left beside Veronica.

"Did I tell you I'm taking French?" Lilly stage-whispered in Veronica's ear.

"Ooh, la la."

Lilly grinned. "Watch this," she said, and turned her bottle of lotion around. "Lotion pour le corps avec de la vitamine E et de l'aloès," she read off the label. She stared solemnly into Veronica's eyes. "That means 'body lotion with vitamin E and aloe'."

"Wow! That is so impressive, what with the translation being right there and all!"

Lilly elbowed her and rummaged through her dresser drawers.

"Here," she said, handing Veronica a makeup case, "I think there's a gold you should try buried in that somewhere."

At fifteen, Lilly Kane was Veronica Mars' first kiss (The opposite was true as well, but Lilly didn't want it known that everything she learned, she learned from Cosmo.). Considering how strange Duncan acted when Veronica simply hugged Lilly (and how eager Logan would be to see a repeat), that information was best left unmentioned.

Jake and Celeste Kane were away on private vacation, and Duncan was staying the night at Logan's.

"Truth or dare?" Lilly asked from her spot on the wine-colored chaise in the Kane living room.

"Um," Veronica hummed and considered, "truth."

"Has my brother made a move on you?"

Veronica stared at her in shock before throwing the pillow she had been leaning against at her. "Lilly!"

"What? Forgetting the squick factor, I'm interested." Lilly sat up straighter and laughed. "He hasn't, has he?" She grinned knowingly.

Veronica blushed a pretty pink and stared staunchly at the television screen. "No, and it's fine."

They watched the lame chick flick in silence for a few, long moments before Lilly couldn't take it. "Aren't you curious at all?"

With a frown and normal complexion, Veronica turned towards her. "Sort of."

Lilly swung her legs over the side of her seat and moved carefully to sit beside Veronica on the floor. "I could help you," she offered softly.

Veronica sighed in resignation. "What do I do?"

With the knowing smirk that seemed permanently glued to her face these days, Lilly leaned in. "Close your eyes."

As soon as her request was fulfilled, she closed the small gap between them, and gently covered Veronica's lips with her own. Remembering the magazine's instructions, she sucked Veronica's bottom lip softly, before switching to the upper. After a second, she pulled away. She took in her friend's slightly dazed expression before quipping, "Next time, we can practice French."

Veronica shook her head and laughed. "What else did you rent?"

Like Lilly silently predicted, that night wasn't the only time the "appropriate friend behavior" line blurred. Her brother had finally made a move –a chaste peck on the lips during a double date– on her best friend, yet she couldn't help but feel smug that she had gotten there first. And maybe that was why for a full month, they snuck around behind Duncan's back. -- She wanted to keep pushing the line away, while simultaneously clinging to that feeling. It was more than a little fucked up, and she knew that. But, at least Veronica could look back on some of her firsts without remembering how awkward they had been.

By the second month, it changed. Duncan broke up with Veronica without a word; Lilly supposed that he wanted her to be the bearer of bad news.

"I just don't understand," Veronica admitted.

Going to the beach seemed like a good idea at the time; clearly, Lilly was wrong. "Understand what?" she asked, carefully navigating into a parking space.

"He just dumped me without a word. Who does that?"

Lilly frowned, unintentionally gripping the steering wheel harder. "I thought you didn't care."

Veronica glanced at her, trying to read her expression. "I don't. I'm just put out, I guess. I thought at least an E-Mail would be how he'd do it."

She sighed and unlocked her door. "Celeste."

"What?"

Lilly turned in her seat. "Mommy Dearest said something to him. Like I told you she would."

"What'd she say?"

"It really doesn't matter," she responded, getting out of the car. Veronica followed suit.

"No, it really kind of does. If it was so bad, why aren't you avoiding me?"

Lilly's face lit up. "Because, Veronica Mars, I know all and see all. My brother can't see three feet in front of him without getting confused."

She smiled. "That makes no sense."

"Of course it does. I know anything that hag says is a lie."

Veronica nodded, linked arms with Lilly, and headed down to the ocean.

Double dates sucked now.

Since Duncan broke up with Veronica and split up the Fab Four, Lilly and (after much convincing) Logan decided they needed to do whatever possible to regain that group dynamic. But, which one to pick?

Duncan was out, Lilly had argued when Logan had almost said it. Duncan had practically jumped on the first available, willing female – who happened to be Madison Sinclair; there was no way Lilly was spending so much time with her.

Really, Veronica made more sense. The only real problem was that no boys in Neptune would be as chaste as Duncan has been with Veronica. Casey Gant had tried to take advantage of her slightly drunken state, and Dick Casablancas (What was Logan thinking with that one?) had upped his sleaze factor considerably by feeling her up every chance he got.

Lilly realized that she wasn't a sharer.

"I thought you hated lipstick," Veronica reminded with twinkling eyes and a solemn expression.

Though the corners of her mouth lifted, Lilly silently continued applying her makeup. Once she was satisfied that her lips were perfectly coated in dark red, she replaced the cap and turned to face Veronica. "There are always exceptions."

Veronica shrugged and jumped on Lilly's bed. "I think we should watch the bad horror movies first. Then we can switch to the unfunny comedies, and save the 'romedies' for last."

Lilly raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a plan."

"Good. While you were busy, I went ahead and put in what's guaranteed to be a lousy remake."

Lilly laughed softly. "You're such a movie snob."

"I can't help it if Keith Mars was determined that his only daughter watched movies from that time period when talent mattered."

Paris Hilton's character would just not die, Lilly noted. Bored, her fingers rose and moved across her bottom lip, and when she pulled them away she smirked at the trail of red the motion left behind.

She leaned over and brushed her lips across Veronica's cheek. She spread the trail down her neck and across her shoulders before deciding that marking Veronica was a more interesting way to spend time.

The next morning, Veronica woke up early to see her dad before he left town, and hopefully leave before Duncan was supposed to be back from his trip. Even though he wouldn't speak to her and it was like walking past a human-shaped wall, it still felt more than a little awkward to be around him. It was just her luck that once she left Lilly's room, he was in the hall, staring. Despite her shower, she felt like he could see light pink, oily remnants on her skin.

He looked from her to Lilly's door, then went into his room and slammed the door.

--------------------

Life has a funny way of abruptly sucking.

After soccer practice one warm October day, Duncan Kane was home alone. After assuring his parents that the house would still be standing when they returned home, he decided to head out of a swim. When his parents found him by the pool hours later, his skull had been bashed in, and the surrounding cement was dyed red.

Things went downhill from there.

When Sheriff Mars responded to the 911 call, he studied the crime scene while one of his officers questioned the Kanes. Though outwardly he seemed sympathetic, on the inside he noted inconsistencies to examine later.

After studying the evidence, he concluded that it was an accidental death. Duncan had been walking past the table the ashtray was on, stumbled, knocked the table over and sent the ashtray flying into the air. Not noticing this, Duncan had continued on his merry way only to catch the tray with his face when it landed. Upon impact, it bounced off his head and into the pool.

Not really.

Ultimately, he reached the conclusion that Jake Kane murdered his own son.

If Jake Kane weren't so beloved, maybe Sheriff Mars wouldn't have been kicked out of office. Maybe his replacement, Don Lamb, wouldn't have solved the murder
thanks to an anonymous tip. Maybe the Mars' could've kept their lovely 09er house instead of relocating.

There were too many "maybe"s. It was just the way things were. Veronica's ex-boyfriend was dead; her father was fired; her mother fled without warning... At least she had her supportive frie- Oh, wait, no. They weren't too happy with her picking her father over her best friend's family. As if they knew anything about loyalty.

"So, uh, does your dad still think Jake Kane did it?" Logan's dark, shining eyes stared her down.

Veronica returned his gaze helplessly, and he laughed bitterly at her silence. "And you just stand by him while he destroys them. Duncan was my best friend – your 'first love'," he added mockingly. "Does that mean nothing to you?"

She looked down, away, at his shoes – anywhere that wasn't his face. "More than you know," she acknowledged.

He shook his head in disbelief.

She finally worked up the courage to meet his glare. "I miss him. I miss Lilly, and I miss you. But, I know my dad." Her voice rose to cover his scoffing, "And I know that he must have a good reason for thinking something's off."

The office of Keith Mars, Private Investigator was completely uninhabitable. When he had been fired from his position as sheriff, he had found a somewhat nice area for rent in the somewhat nice part of town. It was the best he could do, but the situation fit in with the somewhat nice persona he used when dealing with the people he was hired to trail. -- It came as more of a shock when he turned on them.

However, the office needed new doors, and the walls had been in desperate need of a good coat of paint; which was the reason Keith's files and office supplies were stacked in boxes, waiting to be moved when the renovations were done. Of course, the fact that they had just moved into the tiny apartment and hadn't unpacked complicated things a bit. Living room bric-a-brac was mixed with notebooks and paper clips, and frankly, Veronica was tired of opening boxes just to find things that didn't belong there.

With a sigh, she labeled her latest find and dropped it on the coffee table with the other things moving to the office when it was ready. Shoving everything else over to make room proved to be a horribly bad idea, since it sent the unsteady tower she'd built crashing to the floor.

The bottom boxes had slid off the coffee table and remained closed, but the top one had landed on its side. The cover with "Playboy" scrawled across sloppily rested inches away, but the contents that spilled out were anything but. Veronica half-wished that she had to blindly (A hand would have to cover her eyes, because there was only so much trauma a psyche could take.) replace images of partially-clothed women. But no, instead she had to deal with folders filled to the point of needing rubber bands to keep them closed with information on Duncan Kane's murder.

The ones about Abel Koontz were put back first; she already knew what they said.

She was about three pages in the collection of the Kanes' alibis (and why they didn't hold up) when the phone rang.

Her father would be home soon.

Shit.

After a moment of hesitation, she gathered the remaining folders and rushed to her room. She could do a lot of scanning in ten minutes.

She should have done this months ago.

Veronica knew that, yet she was still just staring blindly at a flickering computer screen. For the second time in the past hour, she hit the side of the monitor and exhaled loudly. The damn thing was dying on her -- losing its red and turning blue, which seemed oddly fitting, all things considered. She just hoped her laptop would be fixed soon. This was torture.

Duncan Kane had been in the (sort of) cold, hard ground for almost a year, and only now was she thinking about other possibilities.

Like the unsettling thought that her father was right and a killer really was still walking free. God, she had been so distracted by her father's fall from grace, mother's betrayal, and best friend's borderline catatonia that she had checked out on the slim chance that the murderer of her (ex-)boyfriend (who she would always have fond memories of, even if she didn't love him that way) was skulking around. Without even examining Keith's files on the murder, she knew two things that should have clued her in: The new, pretend-improved sheriff's department was inept, and killers rarely missed the chance to revisit their crime scenes. And if he saw Lilly on his pilgrimage – Fuck.

Now wasn't the time to get paranoid about Lilly's safety.

If Abel Koontz hadn't killed Duncan in a fit of rage, then who had? And if the killer was still free, what would it take to draw him out?

With a sigh, she closed her newest folder and shut down the computer. This should wait until the morning.

-End?-

Okay, so I debated whether or not to write a follow up of sorts, then realized it would take even longer to get inspiration for that. So...

Veronica fought back another round of uncomfortable coughing and shifted in her chair. All those months of investigating and research had resulted in several unpleasant revelations. Keith Mars' instincts had been half right. Abel Koontz wasn't Duncan's killer, but neither was Jake Kane. Aaron Echolls had flown into a violent rage (which wasn't surprising considering the way he treated his son), and attacked Duncan.

During a game of cards in Logan's pool house, Duncan had happened to look up to find a wayward wire leading from the ceiling light fixture to what he had always thought was an armoire. When he pushed the sliding doors open, he was surprised to find a video screen and several tapes. He randomly picked a few and shoved them into his jacket pocket to watch later. He hoped he would catch Logan somehow cheating, but instead he found his sister (and other underage females from their school on different tapes) in a compromising position with Logan's dad.

Somehow, Aaron had realized that Duncan was the one with the tapes, and showed up to negotiate their return. Instead, according to Aaron when he spoke to the police, Duncan had thrown the first punch.

When he locked Veronica in an old freezer and tried to burn her a-fucking-live, he'd told her that Duncan planned on taking them to the police and releasing copies to the media. How he could do that to Lilly, she didn't know. But, a part of her knew that if Lilly had been the one to find them, she'd have immediately called Access Hollywood.

Her father shifted in his sleep on the hospital bed, and her attention returned to him. Behind second and third degree burns, he smiled at her. At least it was over.

Little Spies

2009-02-06T19:11:48Z

Title: Little Spies
Author: xbitexmyxlipx
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine and never will be. Sad, indeed.
Rating: PG-13, maybe.
Summary: Pre-series Logan/Veronica
Notes: I'm very sorry I didn't get this out until the last minute. Now it's officially beta'd!. Still, pointing out mistakes is made of win! :)
Written for afrocurl for vm_santa

Summer, 2003

Logan Echolls was a drunk dialer. The moment the room started to blur, his fingers were seeking the keypad. Even worse, he was a drunk dialer who knew exactly who to call. Worst of all, Veronica was the recipient of his latest three AM, Lilly's-mad-at-me, Duncan's-out-of-town, my-dad-will-kill-me call for a designated driver. He expected her to sneak out, drive to the home of Madison Sinclair on her dad's car, and risk spending the night in the clink for driving with a permit sans a licensed driver.

He was insane, but she was the one who stole her father's car.

So far, she was feeling generous. Logan was one of her best friends, and friends helped friends. Her dad wasn't likely to come home anytime soon since he was stuck on graveyard, so she was safe there. She was already awake, so that wasn't getting him added to her list.

However, the engine was running, his phone was ringing if her side was any indication, and he wasn't answering. Damn it all.

Already dreading what she was about to face, a suffering sign escaped in a whoosh of breath as she took the key out of the ignition. She should have known she'd have to go in.

The car door slammed and she winced at unwittingly announcing her presence. Her hesitance took her by surprise. These were her friends, whether they were drunk or not. Though she had opted out of the party, she had been invited. But these parties made her nervous once her friends abandoned her for shots or hallway gropes.

She waved to a few pep-mates as she walked through the door, phone already redialing Logan's number. This is Logan with today's inspirational mess-- Veronica stopped his spiel with the push of a button. Scanning the room, she saw her only hope. Dick Casablancas. With a growled curse, she pushed her way through the crowd of drunk 09ers to stand in front of the even drunker blond.

"Have you seen Logan?" she shouted over the music.

Dick stared for a long moment before he recognized her. "Veronica! You look hot."

She looked down in confusion. There she stood in Madison Sinclair's living room, in her pajamas. She knew she forgot something. "Yeah, thanks Dick. Where's Logan?"

He leered. "Dressed like that you must be looking for-"

Blushing, she interrupted, "Logan."

He actually pouted at her. "He's in the 'entertainment lounge'," Dick paused to make air quotations, "waiting for someone."

"Thanks," Veronica called behind her as she ran away. God, she could feel Dick's eyes on her ass as she left.

Once out of the den of sin, she walked the familiar path to Madison's TV room. There he was! Watching Spongebob on DVD. Wow.

“Okay, Logan, it's time to go,” she announced, marching into the room.

His head rolled to the side so his bloodshot eyes could look up. “Ronnie?”

That accursed nickname. “Yeah. It's time to go home.”

“I thought you'd never get here.”

Rolling her eyes, she took the remote out of his limp hand. “Check your phone. I called eighteen hundred times.”

He looked around sleepily. “My phone? I can't remember where I left it.” He took her offered hand and allowed her to pull him up without any help. She was funny when she was annoyed, and he liked making her funny.

But her attempts to get him up were making him nauseous with all the pull up-fall downs, and finally he put his own effort in.

Yay, solid ground.

“You're short,” he laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, and patting her on the head.

Oh good, touchy-feely Logan was back.

Half-dragging Logan Echolls was not an easy thing. He was right; she was short. She was also much more aware of the stares her pajama shorts were getting, and the hand that was attached (for now) to the arm around her neck was slipping to dangerous territory. Crap. She was't look forward to the rumors that she would have to face tomorrow.

Veronica Mars was all over Logan last night! He hasn't even been her best friend's ex a day!

Tomorrow would be great. But for now, she had to deal with getting Logan in the passenger seat of the car.

For all the leaning he had done on the way out, he regained enough of his motor skills to open the door, sit straight up, and buckle himself in.

Once she was in the driver's seat and the car was cranked, she turned to him. "What the hell?"

He was the picture of innocence. “What?”

"You were faking!"

He raised a hand to his head. "Lower the decibels, please. I promise I'm too drunk to drive."

"Just not too drunk to walk in a straight line when you feel like it?" she challenged. "Do you know what they're going to say?"

He couldn't hide his smirk. "That I'm not hung up on Lilly Kane?"

"Yeah, I'm glad you're amused. Why wouldn't you be? You aren't going to be the one who has to explain to Lilly-"

"Lilly and I are over. She made that clear," he cut in angrily.

"-When she gets pissed that her best friend would dare touch her ex."

He rolled his eyes. "You're so innocent. If anything, she'll be pleased that I won't be calling this time."

She was softening by the minute. "Lilly loves you."

"Lilly doesn't know what love is. She's not like you."

She blushed, but couldn't stop the pinch of pain. "Not loving enough for Duncan, though."

He reached over and brushed his fingers across her cheek. "Duncan's an idiot."

She gave an awkward laugh and looked away. "Yeah."

His voice was lower but closer. "You deserve better."

Veronica turned to find that his face was much closer and his hand had been waiting to return to her face. He was gazing at her with unguarded eyes -- eyes that suggested he was in the middle of silently pouring his heart out.

Though thoroughly embarrassed to be in such an intimate position, she couldn't deny that she was intrigued. Lilly had mentioned what a good kisser Logan was more than a few times. They were both unattached. Unattached, but parked in front of a house full of their gossipy friends who would have even more to tell Lilly. Would it hurt to find out anyway? The very un-Veronica thought should have been enough to push her far away from him, but it just added pressure to the desire to find out.

She slowly decreased the gap between them, letting their lips touch briefly. He stared at her a long moment -- long enough that she began to worry she had misinterpreted everything -- before pulling her back to him.

The taste of alcohol was almost completely absent. She would be mad about that later.

Dear Santa, Define 'Good'

2009-02-06T19:10:10Z

Title: Dear Santa, Define 'Good.'
Author: Charisma Brendon/xbitexmyxlipx/anonaficcer
Summary: Sort of Buffy/Dean. (Setting it up for the next parts, at least.) First impressions aren't always right. AU, obviously.
Notes: And it's betad! This is set before Buffy moves to Sunnydale, so he meets her around the time she's first called.
Word Count: 1947

Dear Santa, Define 'Good.'

December, 1996
Dean

Dean was not a happy camper. Papa Winchester had insisted he go ahead to check out the situation while he checked out a banshee sighting in Oregon. Once again, he and Sammy were left all alone for the holidays. In Los Angeles. At seventeen and thirteen respectively, they had spent so much time alone the novelty was long gone. Some kids would kill for that kind of freedom.

Eh, the holidays were stupid anyway, but that wasn't the point. Although he was currently slowly dying in a mall, shopping was out of the question because he was a dude. No dude enjoyed shopping for doilies, no matter how bored he was. So far, the most demonic activity he encountered came in the form of vampires, which meant real fighting was out of the question. He couldn't watch television without the importance of family being drilled into his head. It didn't fill him with fuzzy feelings.

God, he was bored, and the synthesized muzak coming out of the speakers did not help at all.

The smell of pastries and specialty coffee stopped him in his tracks. A Starbucks was right in front of him, and he could have sworn he heard angels singing as they showered the building with sparkling light. The cookies and coffee he had in his greedy little hands went a long way in improving his mood. Maybe Sam would appreciate some chocolate chip cookies, if they lasted the ride back to the hotel.

"Are you crazy? Look, I don't know who you think I am, but you've got the wrong girl."

His steps barely faltered as he abruptly abandoned the path to the door. He should sit. Take the time to enjoy the scenery.

Over the lid of his coffee cup, he tracked down the owner of the voice. Blonde, pretty, innocent, and short. Just the way he liked them. The bright pink of her short dress was a bit much for his taste, and he got the distinct impression she was too young. Maybe when she was older and going through a rebellious stage. Not that he'd be around, but it was nice to pretend.

The older man sitting across from her was more subdued. If Dean's ears hadn't been straining, he wouldn't have heard the word "vampire."

Vampire? Why would he be talking to this valley girl about vampires?

"Yes, the guy was strange and I noticed. That doesn't mean anything unusual was going on. He was just severely deformed. Or light! It was a trick of light. Vampires don't exist."

Wow, this girl could use a lesson in subtlety.

Whatever. He needed to get back before Sammy started worrying. His brother could be such a girl sometimes, and they only had an hour until sundown.

Buffy

She should have been at home with her parents, drinking hot chocolate and singing off-key Christmas carols. The cemetery was not on her list of places to go, yet there she was with a man old enough to be her grandfather and a styrofoam cup of Starbucks coffee, waiting for some jackass to rise from the dead. Life had a tendency to suck for her.

“You should be prepared,” his smoke-deepened voice broke the silence.

“Prepared to rationalize more?”

He raised a graying eyebrow. “You admit it?”

She sighed deeply. “It's been drilled into my head. Responsibility to save the world, destroy vampires, try not to die.” She laughed. “Try not to die. I'm sixteen. That really shouldn't be something I have to worry about.”

For the first time since she met him, his face softened. “I'm here to keep you alive.”

She smiled. “That makes me feel a little better.”

As if he had committed an offense by letting his gruff exterior loosen, his face returned to its normal scowl. “That doesn't mean you should let your guard down, of course.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, of course.”

They both sat on tombstones across from the grave of Stan Echolls and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

An hour later, Buffy threw her long-emptied cup on the ground beside her makeshift seat. “Are you sure he rises tonight?”

“It's tonight. Believe it or not, I've been doing this a long time.”

“I believe it,” she mumbled under her breath.

He pretended not to hear her. Perfect.

A muffled scream came from the ground below, and Merrick spared a moment to glare smugly in her direction. And she was the teenager?

“Be ready,” he advised. “He's going to be hungry when he comes up.”

The sounds alone were enough to make her nervous. When the ground started to break apart and a hand extended, her own tightened around her stake. Stay brave, you have help. She glanced at Merrick, and drew assurance from the weapon in his hand.

Once the first clawed hand made room, the second joined the quest for freedom for the slowly ascending head and torso. This was the second time she had watched a vampire come back to the surface, and it was still as frightening. As surreal.

She drew in a breath to prepare herself...

And lost it when two more figures came into view. “Merrick?” she asked uncertainly, her eyes still on the approaching boys. The growl brought her attention back to the hungry vampire, who was now flying at her. Oh crap.

She landed with a grunt, and immediately a hand was around his throat keeping him from hers. Realizing it was the hand that previously held her defense, she panicked. She looked around for her weapon and was surprised to find Merrick talking to the strangers. What?

“A little help, backup of mine?” she managed to squeak out and draw attention back to her predicament. Her predicament that was steadily forcing her hand down and his teeth closer to her jugular, at that.

Her eyes tightened against her will. She was a goner. Bye bye, parents. Goodbye, friends. Farewell, ice cream. Whoosh, and she was covered in dust. Wait, dust? Then she noticed the lack of weight holding her down. She opened her eyes to find the vampire gone and one of the very attractive strangers standing over her and offering his hand. Well, at least she knew he wasn't evil. An evil guy wouldn't stop a vampire from killing a slayer. Would he? Either way, he had really pretty eyes and she was sick of being on the ground, so she allowed him to help her up.

“Thanks.”

He smirked (and oh, God, looking like a jerk shouldn't be so hot). “Momma raised a gentlemen,” he drawled. Southern. She did have a soft-spot for accents. He was going to finish her off! That must have been the evil plan he concocted with the vampire.

“For the save, too.” How was her hair? She must have been covered in grass stains and dirt.

He shrugged. “It's what I do.”

Buffy frowned and looked to his companion. “What are you doing out here, though?”

He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out an FBI badge to flash in her face.“We're investigating a series of grave desecrations. We think it may be a cult.”

Confused, she asked, “Why would the FBI be investigating cemeteries?”

He gave her a stern look. “We have great respect for the dead, ma'am.”

Merrick cleared his throat. “If you're finished spinning yarns, would you like to explain who you really are? You're obviously not a federal agent.”

He blinked. “Yes I am.”

“What kind of agent would carry a stake around and know they were dealing with a vampire? And you're, what? Sixteen?”

“I just look young, sir.”

The obviously younger (and slightly taller) boy came forward. “Dean, he's not an idiot. We're demon hunters,” he announced proudly.

“Sammy!” Dean stared at him in disbelief. “Anything else you'd like to share? Blood type, maybe? At the rate Blondie's going, it won't be long before she needs a transfusion.”

She glared and drew herself to her full, intimidating height of five feet, three inches. “Hey! We can't all be experts!”

“A little bit of a clue would work just as well.”

“You're about to find out how much of a clue I have,” she spat out and walked towards him with clenched fists.

Merrick reached out an arm and held her back. “Now's really not the time, Buffy.”

“And what are you doing out here? It's only fair to know, right?”

Merrick gave Dean a look that said more than words could have. He didn't like him at all. Instead, he turned to Sam when he spoke. “Training. Buffy's the slayer.”

“Slayer?” Sam frowned. “I've read about them, but I always thought they were myths.” He eyed Buffy speculatively. “Aren't you a little short?”

Her eyes narrowed. “How old are you?”

“Thirteen.” Thirteen and six feet tall? He was going to be a giant.

She couldn't resist. “Have you even hit puberty yet?”

“Buffy!”

“I'm sorry!”

“It was a...pleasure meeting the two of you. I wish we could chat more, but we have more training to do and I don't have any aspirin.” Merrick lightly gripped Buffy's arm and guided her to the cemetery gate.

They walked to Merrick's car in silence. The car ride wasn't much better, and it wasn't until he turned onto her street that she spoke. “There are others?”

He sighed. “You're not as alone as you think you are. You're the only slayer, yes. But, you're not the only one hunting. There are more watchers. More people like those two.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? More – what was his name? Dean? More people like him doing what I do? We don't have a chance in Hell, do we?”

A true smile lit his face. “Try not to be so disheartened. It's not all bad.”

“And there's more than just vampires? I can barely get those, how am I supposed to fight a demon?”

He pulled to a stop in front of her house. “I didn't want to force the knowledge that everything evil you've heard about is real. I wanted you to have time to adjust and deal with it. Not all slayers have been about to handle it.”

“I do appreciate it. Even if I'd rather whine than show it. I could be learning this all alone.”

Dean

The entire trip back to the motel, Sammy teased him about the cemetery incident. “We have great respect for the dead, ma'am,” Sammy repeated in a comically deep voice for the seventeenth time, before laughing hysterically all over again.

Dean was less than amused. “Will you stop, already?”

“That was so lame. Is that the best you could really do?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact it was. What would you have said, Sammy?”

“I don't know. Grave etchings, maybe? Certainly more plausible.”

Dean grunted. “Yeah, that might have worked. That old guy would have noticed the lack of paper.”

Sammy sighed. “Another one of those things attacked us and I dropped them. Duh.”

“When did you get so sneaky?” Dean asked, impressed.

“I learned from watching the best.” Sam waited for Dean to feel the glow of pride before finishing with, “Dad.”

Dean ruffled Sammy's hair before turning up the radio. “Yeah. Dad.”

Though he doubted their father would show up before the beginning of the new year, he asked like he always did. “Think he'll be here soon?”

“Yeah, Sammy. I think this time he'll show,” Dean lied to him, like he had every other Christmas.

Some things never changed.

Off on the Road to Rhode Island

2009-02-06T19:02:29Z

Title: Off on the Road to Rhode Island
Author: Charisma Brendon/xbitexmyxlipx
Disclaimer: I don't own anything connected to Veronica Mars (except a copy of the soundtrack and DVD set), so suing me will gain nothing. (Unless Rob Thomas really wants another copy of either of those, then I guess he could, but the point remains.)
Summary: Logan needs help. Again. Some more.
Spoilers: If you know who either of the characters are, and that Logan seems to attract trouble, then you're set. Oh, and something about Duncan.
For: kantayra in the L/V ficathon.

Characters/Pairings: Logan/Veronica, OC
AN: There's some wishful thinking, and a lot of trying not to use bad words. The latter is the hard part. Also, I don't think this turned into anything angsty, but I'm probably not a good judge of that. (Also, thanks to the_quandary for the beta. Any mistakes are my own since I went back and added/edited after she beta'd.

*Sighs* Nothing I write ever turns out the way I expected it to. I apologize for the weirdness.

Veronica Mars didn't expect to like the East coast. When her counselor had first given her a list of recommended schools, the idea of moving across the country was not a fun one. While the only things keeping her in California were her father and Backup, she couldn't just pick up and leave. She wasn't Lianne. She wasn't Duncan, either, but that comparison was only slightly less fair.

So, she stuck to applying to Western schools only and hoped for the best. Though, she didn't know why she bothered since nothing in her life ever went according to plan, and Keith Mars found out about her master plan.

Go to school on the East coast, he said.

That was how she found herself accepted to Brown University.

Say hi to the Griffins for me, he said.

Her dad was still not as funny as he thought he was.

It'll be fun, he said.

Even if his sense of humor was questionable, his intuition was right. Leaving Neptune behind worked wonders for her psyche; it was like therapy in a way.

In Rhode Island, she didn't have to worry about “class wars” or fixing people. Her reputation didn't precede her, and she found that she liked the level of anonymity it offered. No one knew her, nor did they know how handy she was with investigation; it was like she had an entirely new life.

Except for one glitch, of course.

Much like herpes and how they have a way of showing up at inopportune moments, Logan Echolls was in the same state, same zip code, same town, same college as her. The last time she saw him was a week after they graduated and he'd been completely cleared of murdering Felix, and Thumper was convicted.

Truth be told, she half-expected (and wanted) him to make at least a tiny move on her (After all, Duncan's fortune cookie did say “True love stories never have endings.”) before he went on a road trip to “find himself,” but he didn't. Which really sucked since he hadn't even mentioned the night of drunken groping they'd shared after the last day of school, and shit, thinking about that led to her wondering if he even remembered it. But, that day he simply thanked her, made a comment about getting drunk to celebrate, then left.

Three months without a phone call or E-Mail, and now here he was at Brown. She was sure he somehow knew and followed here there. Okay, so he maybe he didn't really follow her. It was still odd, especially considering what a slacker he was. Brown did not admit slackers and video game junkies.

The first time she ran into Logan, Serious College Student, they were in the bookstore for their supplies. She recognized him immediately by his jacket alone. He saved that jacket –the one from the Camelot-- from the fire, apparently. Amazing.

He recognized her, too. He had to have. Except for a slight, disbelieving quirk of his lips, he virtually ignored her. Which she hated, and was kind of hurt by if she wanted to be honest. But, whatever, if he wanted to pretend they didn't know each other, she could do it, too.

One time would be easy. Two times, cake. Everyday for five months? Not so much.

Every morning from eight to ten was Psychology 101 with Professor Charles “Call me Charlie!” Rivers, the ambiguously gay thirty-year-old. Logan sat three seats over, one seat down from her, and a part of her resented him for it. He was far enough away to maintain silence, but close enough for her to read every expression that crossed his face. During class discussions he felt particularly passionate about, his gestures were animated, his eyes sparkled, and when he found a retort he was itching to use, his mouth twitched. Unfortunately for her, she liked his quirks.

Why did he have to move his hands so much? Rea-- Hey, what was Carrie putting in his bag?

Veronica gazed back at the board the professor was writing on and frowned. She'd just have to talk to Logan about it.

Target acquired. Whatever she had passed him, he had found, read, and shoved into his pocket.

She gathered all her courage and worked to cosmically borrow some of Mac's from wherever she was. “Hey, Logan,” she greeted brightly with a sunny smile and trademarked head-tilt.

He stopped mid-stride and looked around. “Wow.” Logan held up his wrist and stopped the timer on his watch. “One week, three days, and two hours. New record.”

She exaggerated a flinch. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because you wouldn't be Veronica Mars if you didn't know me inside and out. It's a little touching, but mostly embarrassing.”

She nodded. “So ... what'd she slip you? GHB? A shiny new flask?”

He snapped his fingers and checked his watch again. “Two minutes to accuse me of evil. You are on a winning streak, Mars.”

Her stream of vision dropped to the ground by his feet. “Sorry.”

Logan shrugged. “It's just history repeating itself. Right now, we're in eleventh grade, and you're pulling my proverbial pigtails 'cause you like me. Then someone I love will die and we can switch to the version of you who tries to be helpful and 'fix' me. It'll be fun.”

“Logan.”

He held up a hand. “Don't make me shrug again. I might get a reputation of being loose.” With a pointed glance, he reached into his pocket and threw what he removed into the trash can. “See you tomorrow.”

Am I really going to steal his trash? Glancing around quickly and finding the coast clear, she decided that she was not, in fact, against it.

“I know it was you,” she read aloud, then groaned. Sometimes she hated being so inquisitive.

The next morning, she decided her best bet was to talk to Carrie.

Carrie Bibb was a brunette from Missouri. Or Mississippi. Or Canada, Veronica wasn't entirely sure. She had no detectable accent or personality, but she was nice enough to pass on information about the note. “I don't know his name. I just met him on the bus and he gave it to me,” she told Veronica and Logan after class.

“What'd he look like?” Logan asked, leaning against his desk.

“He had dark hair. And he was tall-ish. He was wearing jeans, too.”

“That's it?”

“Oh, I think he was in a fraternity.”

Veronica breathed in deeply and counted to three. “Which one?”

She thought about it a minute before responding. “It had a 'K' in it.”

Logan and Veronica exchanged vaguely annoyed glances. “Thanks. You've been really helpful.”

“Actually, she was a little helpful,” he said, smarmy grin in place. “There's only one fraternity with a Kappa here.”

Veronica nodded slowly. “Of course there is. And, uh, how many dark-haired, tall ... -ish boys who wear jeans do you think there are?”

“A lot?” His grinned widened. “Good luck finding him!” Logan said, crossing the room in long strides.

“Hey!” She picked up her bag and ran after him. “I'm not doing this alone. You weren't even going to ask for help, and now you expect me to do it on my own?”

Logan exhaled deeply, and a mischievous look passed over his face. “Of course not. I'll get you started, okay? Repeat after me: Which of you rides the bus?”

Veronica scoffed. “That's not funny.”

“It is to me. Look, I know you'll find him.” He gave her a thoughtful once over. “Unless moving across the country and dressing like a Stepford wife dulled your super-sleuth prowess.”

With an exaggerated bow and tilt of his imaginary hat, Logan left the room.

Drama queen.

Also, jeans and a striped pink shirt did not a Stepford make. Ass.

She made a small noise in the back of her throat and followed Logan's invisible path out of the room. He was right, though. It couldn't be that hard to find out. Maybe she could just go with Carrie.

“I've never known anyone from California before! Is it anything like the OC? I love that show,” Carrie prattled away, happily.

Veronica laughed weakly. “More like Arrested Development.” She grabbed the back of the seat in front of her as the bus lurched over a pothole.

“First time on a bus,” she asked with a bright smile.

Veronica shook her head. “They just make me nervous.”

Carrie nodded. “I know what you mean.” She looked off to the side, gasped, then grabbed Veronica's arm. “There he is!” she whispered.

Subject B (since clearly, Carrie was “Subject A”) swayed even when the bus didn't. Drunk in the morning. Drunk boys were easy. A little fluffed hair and smeared lipstick, and they sang like canaries.

Look acquired, she moved over the two feet of distance and dropped in the seat beside him. “Hi! I'm Amber.”

He blinked at her, clearly trying to figure out what she said (or who she was, where he was, what he did last night) “Steve.”

She watched him stare out the window for a few long, boring moments. “There are so many cars,” he commented in awe.

...Maybe he's high.

“So, question: Where'd you get the note you gave my friend?” she asked, finishing with a gesture in Carrie's direction. Inwardly, she cringed at her lack of stealth.

He stared intently at the floor of the bus, and thought. “It was attached to that, uh, circle-y thing. It's, uh, like, at the front?”

“You mean the wheel?” she asked incredulously.

His head snapped upwards. “Yes!” He pointed to add emphasis. “Thank you!”

Clearing her throat, and shooting Carrie an if looks could kill look, she paused. “Did you just find it and decide to pass it on?”

“This chick in my history class told me about it. She said that she couldn't do it herself.”

“Do you remember her name? What she looks like?”

Thinking, he opened and closed his mouth. “No.”

She nodded and stood up. “Thanks.”

“Every person owns seventeen lab puppies.”

“...What?”

“That was her license plate,” he explained as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

“He remembered a license plate number, but not the girl's name?” Logan asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes. But, at least we can run it,” she reminded him. She really kind of wished she'd met him at the library instead of his dorm room.

He was uncharacteristically silent as he stood behind her and watched her type in the information.

“I kind of missed this,” he said softly. If she hadn't expected him to say anything, his words would have went unnoticed.

“You missed getting in trouble?”

He sighed, and moved around to sit beside her on the couch. “Watching you be a cooler Nancy Drew.”

“And you just had to impregnate a girl to do it.” Shit.

“Excuse me? Now that you know the person behind the note is a girl, I must have a paternity test in the works?”

She laughed mirthlessly. “What was that? That emphasizing?”

He shrugged. “Nothing. Just thinking about senior year and thought it'd be a good choice of words.”

“Care to elaborate?”

A bitter smile was her only answer.

“Have you been sent anything else?”

“Just a few other messages, all of the 'You'll pay.' variety.”

“Of course you wouldn't mention it. Do you know Karen Cohen?”

“Should I?”

She barely glanced at him as she wrote down the address on the screen. “We're about to pay her a visit.”

“This is stupid,” Logan grumbled for the fifth time. He rearranged himself in the cramped seat of Veronica's LeBaron again. “My legs hurt. Your car's small.”

She glared. “Stop complaining.”

His fingers drummed out an uneven rhythm on the dashboard. “How much longer do we have to wait out here?”

Veronica sighed. “Until a red Ford Explorer pulls into that,” she paused to point, “driveway.”

He reached over and pushed the radio's power button. “I can't listen to bad pop music for that long.”

“Do you want to tell me what you meant earlier?”

Silence. Scoff. Pause. “You know what I meant, so don't try to pretend you don't. I don't want to fight you.”

“Maybe I want clarification.”

“Really? I thought you knew all about those kinds of tests.”

She kept her eyes on the road. “If you have something to say, maybe you should just say it.”

“Okay. Duncan didn't get you at all. Hell, he didn't appreciate the new, improved version of you until he needed something. And instead of telling him that his best --and easiest-- bet would be DNA samples and a lab tech, you helped him flee the country. Oh, and get the FBI on his ass, great plan.”

Veronica's eyes narrowed. “We had to make sure the Mannings wouldn't-”

“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted. “And I know that you know that the courts would've given the kid to Duncan instead of her parents if they had the evidence.”

Veronica stared out the window silently.

“Do you think he really knows that he can never come back? Or that he threw his life away? It seems like all his common sense died with Lilly.”

“Probably not,” she acknowledged. “But should you really be talking about your best friend like that?”

He laughed. “Best friend? He wasn't really that good a friend. It was like 'best friend of a fuck-up' was just a convenient title, and letting me move in a suite he wasn't even paying for was an act of charity he could use later. Always the politician, that Duncan. And before you say it, I don't blame just him; I could've been a better friend, too.”

“Hmm.”

“That's it?” Dark eyes stared at her in amazement. “That's all my soul-baring gets? A 'hmm'?”

She was saved from answering by the reason for their excursion. “Oh, look.” She pressed her lips together tightly in an impression of a smile and got out of the car.

He followed suit, and they crossed the street together.

“You!” the blonde getting out of the Ford exclaimed.

“Are you Karen?” Veronica asked, frowning.

She didn't spare Veronica a glance. “I can't believe you'd show your face here after what you did!”

“What I did?”

“You know what you did.” Karen responded immediately, accusingly.

A look of realization crossed over Logan's face at that. “You sent the letters?” He looked at Veronica. “I kind of expected her to send us to someone else. Maybe a chimney sweeper.”

“Yes, I did.”

“What is it he did?” Veronica broke in.

The girl looked away. “Last week, I was at the store. And when I came out, a yellow X-terra was parked next to me. There was a scratch on my door! The painting was chipped off!”

Logan held up a hand. “Whoa, back up. You've been sending me letters because I may or may not have scratched paint off your car?”

“I got grounded for that! My dad wouldn't let me drive my car for a month, and stuck me with this piece of crap.” She kicked the Explorer's wheel.

“So, you've been basically stalking me? Are you crazy?”

“Maybe a little.”

Veronica cleared her throat. “We should get going. I'm pretty sure we have a Psych test tomorrow.” She pulled Logan away by his sleeve. “That was interesting.”

“That was strange,” Logan corrected. “Coffee?” he asked.

“Are you buying?”

He opened her door for her. “Yes. Yes I am. I do owe you for the strangest non-lethal day of our lives.”

“Okay. But I want Starbucks hot chocolate instead.”

Logan couldn't resist. "Are we past junior year yet?"

Veronica started the car. "We might even be repeating the summer, minus all that awkwardness."

Logan smirked. "Works for me."

The Uninvited

2009-02-06T19:01:07Z

Title: The Uninvited
Disclaimer: Same old song and dance. Rob Thomas/UPN hasn't suddenly decided that I can have Veronica Mars.
Word Count: 3028
Summary: Written for the Ask Questions Later ficathon. My scenario was “How to fend off a ghost.” Veronica has a bad day.
Characters: Veronica, Backup, Keith, Logan
All spoilers are so minor, it seems pointless to even warn about them. (Donut Run, Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner, basic knowledge of characters.)
AN: I can't resist awkward/un!comfortable situations sometimes. Any mistakes are my own since backup!betas don't always work out.

----------------------

Today was not going to be a good day.

Veronica could feel that much, even if she couldn't pinpoint exactly why. More than likely, it was because she somehow found herself agreeing to babysit Mrs. Hauser's demon-child again. Why did she do these things to herself?

She tried to open her eyes only to find herself blinded by the early morning light. With a groan, she pulled her green blanket over her head, and snuggled deeper into her bed. Maybe if she ignored the threat of being late for school, she could freeze time and put it off for hours. She desperately needed to catch up on sleep, and at the moment she vowed to never go on a late-night stakeout again. Ever. Well, maybe on the weekends.

Sighing softly, she peaked out from under the covers. If she got up now, she would still have time to take a shower and not smell like cigarette smoke. Then again, she could be lazy.

Before she knew it, twenty minutes had passed, and her father was standing outside her door with an expectant look. “I'm awake,” she declared, struggling to sit up.

“This is the third time I've tried to get you up. You don't want to be late for school.”

“You're right.” She pushed back her covers and stood up.

He nodded and closed the door. His voice was muffled as he called back in, “Don't make me take you to school in your pajamas.”

Laughing, she crossed the small distance to her closet. At least her clothes were clean.

She looked around, frowning and mumbling under her breath, before she found her favorite jeans beside the bed where she'd thrown them last night.

She pulled her jeans over her legs and contemplated shirts. Was she feeling band-y, flower-y, or plain? Her hand closed over the bottom of a dark pink T-shirt, and she tugged it off the hanger.

She sprayed her neck and torso with papaya-scented body spray before putting on her shirt.

Two minutes later, she was out the door with her bag and keys. She just couldn't shake the feeling that she was forgetting something.

His coffee cup paused on its way to Keith's mouth, and he stared at her questioningly. “Has Neptune High decided 'no shirt, no shoes' is a bad policy?”

Glancing down in horror, she was happy to note that she was only missing shoes. Not that walking out without shoes wouldn't have been a bad thing. There was broken glass and rocks all over the parking lot, plus it was against the law to drive without shoes. And she was pretty sure she would have realized she didn't have any on by then.

Veronica dropped to the floor and tentatively pushed her arm under the couch. As soon as she triumphantly produced a pair of decent tennis shoes, Backup whined and pawed at the front door. “You didn't take him out?” She asked, tying the laces into a bow.

Keith finished his coffee before he answered. “When I tried to put his leash on him, he growled.”

She frowned. “That's not like him.”

“Really?” Keith asked dryly.

Sheepishly, she picked up Backup's leash. “I get a sign for that, don't I?”

He chuckled. “Luckily, I'm fresh out.”

Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she moved to the door and reached down to attach his leash. He growled faintly, but offered no other resistance. “This is just a pit-stop,” she reminded him.

A few minutes after she stepped out the door, she ushered Backup back through. “Bye, Dad!” she called.

In her peripheral vision, a bright light flashed through the glass panes on the door before quickly fading. She shook her head. Must have imagined it.

.:.:.:.

School officially sucked, she decided as she walked into her home. Ms. Hauser was as much of a bitch as always, and Veronica seriously wondered why someone who hated teenagers would want to teach them. Aside from masochistic/sadistic tendencies, she was coming up blank.

The feeling of off-ness she felt when she woke up had disappeared when she pulled into a parking space at school, but came flooding back now. Veronica tried to shake off the feeling of being watched as she walked into her room. She dropped her messenger bag on her bed, and changed into her bathrobe to indulge in that shower she didn't take when she woke up. Humming softly, she walked into the bathroom. The shower dial turned easily, but for several long moments, nothing happened. “Don't fuck up now,” she mumbled under her breath and twisted the cold water dial. Great.

Cursing loudly (and taking advantage of the empty apartment), Veronica stomped down the hall and into the kitchen to get the phone. The fucking supervisor could at least make sure the water was on since that was the only utility he had to pay for. As soon as her finger pressed the 'on' button, Backup woke from his nap and proceeded to rush to the bathroom to bark. The sound of pipes groaning and liquid splashing into the ceramic tub followed quickly, and she placed the phone back on the charger. Relieved, she retraced her steps and found herself facing the drawn shower curtain she really didn't remember moving.

Cautiously and hesitantly, her hand reached to draw the fabric back. “Oh, ew!” she exclaimed at the growing pool of rust-colored water rising in her bathtub. Leaning over the side, she quickly turned the water off. “That's disgusting,” she commented more to herself than Backup, though he whined in agreement.

It was during times like this that she really missed her old house. Hot water was normally a luxury, but clean-looking water shouldn't be considered one, no matter how bad the place was. Mind made up, she rushed to her room to change back into her school clothes and plucked her cellphone from her bag. Pressing the arrow key on her phone until she found a suitable number, she snapped Backup's leash onto his collar and left. The desired caller answered on the third ring, and her head unconsciously tipped to the side. “I need a favor.”

.:.:.:.

For a split second, she questioned the wisdom of being there. She looked down at her furry companion. “What am I doing here?”

Backup stared expectantly, still except for his wagging tail.

Before she had time to turn around and leave, her body decided it needed to be clean far more than it cared about how awkward things would be.

Silence met her knock, but she could hear shuffling on the other side of the door. A second later, the door was cracked open and the occupant retreated. Rolling her eyes, she unhooked the leash and let Backup push the door open and barge in.

“Hey, Mankiller,” she heard him greet the dog.

Had she not known Logan as well as she did, she would have thought he looked completely bored by her presence. But, there was no one she watched as much as Logan, and she quickly spotted the restrained smirk and gleeful gleam in his eyes. He enjoyed awkwardness far too much. He glanced at her as he scratched the pit bull behind his ears, and she knew how uncomfortable she had to look just standing there. “How'd you get him in?”

“I'm a detective. You really think I can't get past such lax security?”

He accepted that with a nod. “Why here?”

Whirling around, she closed and locked his door. “Because my pipes are rusted or something.”

He shook his head. “A, that's too easy. B, that's not what I asked.”

Scowling, she shrugged off her jacket and dropped it on the couch beside him. “Only you would make everything dirty.”

The corners of his mouth tipped upwards the slightest bit more, but otherwise he didn't respond.

“Fine. I couldn't ask Wallace since his mother probably hates my entire family – and all future children with the last name 'Mars' – and he had practice today.”

“You picked me over his mother? I'm touched.”

“Don't be. I only chose you since I can yell at you.” She looked around the suite. “It's five in the afternoon and you're not drunk?”

Logan smiled wryly. “I didn't know you cared. I'd love to be, but Dick shanghaied everything decent last night.”

“Poor you.”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I almost hate to tell you this, but you smell like Hypnotiq, sweat, and whatever they were serving in the cafeteria today.”

“Hypnotiq?” She raised an eyebrow.

“It smells and tastes like alcohol flavored with cigarettes for a touch of class.”

Tightening her grip on the change of clothes she brought, she turned suddenly and walked towards Logan's room. “I hope you don't mind keeping him busy.”

“Nah.” He waited until she was out of sight before tacking on, “Bossy.”

.:.:.:.

She emerged clean and fully dressed from Logan's bathroom ten minutes later. She had half-expected to find him gone or warping Backup's innocent mind, not sleeping on the floor while her dog watched cartoons. Today was a very strange day indeed.

She turned the TV off as she passed and tried to ignore the look Backup gave her. Bending over, she nudged Logan. “I'm not asleep, and I was watching that,” he stated.

She nodded and straightened. “Thanks. I should probably get home.”

He ran a hand through his shorter hair and rose. “I'll go with you.” Off her look, he elaborated, “You can show me your problem, and I'll use one of the many connections I have left to get it fixed.”

“You don't have to do that.”

He scoffed and gathered her things. “If I want to avoid having a new roommate, I think I do.”

She shrugged, and followed him and Backup out the door. “I just hope Dad's not there.”

They made it down the hall, out of the elevator, and past the front desk without anyone commenting on the illegal animal. Once they were in the parking lot, he turned his head in her direction. “Was that how you got him in? Flashed your Echolls card and prissed in?”

She laughed. “The only person I've ever heard say 'priss' was my eighty-year-old grandmother, and she was using it ironically. I never give away my secrets.”

“Ah. Never reveal the true secrets of your trade: the one thing PIs, magicians, and actors all have in common.”

They passed his obnoxious X-Terra without stopping.

He seemed to feel her questioning look. “An awful lot of people want me dead,” he reminded her. “Besides,” he continued, “this way we don't have to worry about splitting our assets evenly.”

She rushed ahead of him to unlock her car, and opened the backseat. “C'mon, boy!” she called to Backup, and repressed her grin at the way he pulled Logan along behind him.

Logan glared at her and threw her things in haphazardly. “That was below the belt,” he told her, rubbing his sore arm.

“I never said I played fair.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “No, you didn't.”

.:.:.:.

The ride back to Veronica's apartment was silent except for Backup's panting, and she mentally revised her statement. The scene in the suite was somewhat uncomfortable; this was full-on awkward. Not only were neither of them talking, but every time she turned the radio on for noise one of Lilly's favorite songs would play. Or worse – a song they'd made out to and jokingly declared their song.

The five minutes felt more like twenty, and when she finally pulled into her parking space, she was a very happy camper.

As soon as she cut the engine off, Logan was out of the car and following Backup on the very familiar path to her front door. He could move fast when he wanted to.

She followed at a much slower pace and when she was almost past the pool, Logan's worried voice met her ears. “Uh, Veronica? Your door's open.”

She ran the rest of the way just to confirm that yes, it was in fact open. “I know I closed it.”

Backup whined and lived up to his name as he moved as far from the door as his leash would allow. Logan glanced down at him, then looked back at her. “Yeah, so do we. It just ... opened.”

“Wait here with him, I'll go look.”

He grabbed her arm and spun her around as she tried to pass him. “Are you crazy? Do you really think I'll let you go in there by yourself?” His eyes flashed angrily. Except for his expression, this situation was a little too similar to one that happened about the same time last year. She looked away and tried to seem unaffected. “Fine.”

Logan loosely tied Backup's leash around the post outside her door. When he was sure the dog wasn't going anywhere, he led the way. “Fuck,” he whispered.

She echoed his statement and stared in amazement at the disaster that was her living room. The couch cushions had been thrown in the kitchen
and, apparently, knocked over all the glasses on the kitchen island. Her father's chair was on its side beside the smashed remains of the end table and lamp that had been between the couch and the wall. All
the picture frames were in various degrees of glasslessness, and several pictures had been turned around so the film information showed. Her eyes drifted over to the walls, where paint had been scratched off in several spots. The television was the only thing that remained intact, but someone had turned it on. The white noise accompanying the static was nerve-grating, but they unspokenly decided it wasn't worth the effort to try to turn it off.

Together, they navigated through the debris covering the floor. The phone in the kitchen had been completely torn apart. “Who do you think
did it?” Logan asked.

She ignored how stupid the question was and sighed loudly. “I don't know.”

“Maybe we should call the police. Or at least your dad.”

“I will once we finish loo-” Veronica abruptly stopped. “What are you doing here?” she asked Mrs. Hauser's son. She gestured towards the destroyed room and walked closer to her own incredulously. “Did you do this?”

He shook his head quietly. Quiet. They didn't have any ice cream, and she didn't have a TV in her room anymore. Now that she could see him
closer, she realized he looked more than a little frightened.

Her voice softened. “Who did?”

His mouth opened, but before anything came out, the front door closed loudly, followed quickly by Veronica's door. The kitchen cabinets banged opened, then closed, repeatedly. “What the fuck is going on here?” Logan spoke louder than he intended to and barely ducked out of the way when a large chunk of table flew at him.

Veronica pulled Logan to her door, and he barely had time to register the red-tinted bathroom and shredded shower curtain before the door shut in his face. Snarling and growling from outside carried easily over the other noises, but Veronica ignored that in favor of the screaming child. “Albert!” she called out and tried to force the door open. She turned to the frozen Logan. “Can you help me out here?”

He snapped out of his daze and backed up a foot, then threw all his weight into her door. “Thank God for cheap wood.”

She ignored him and pulled ~~Damien~~ Albert up. “We need to get out of here!” she shouted over her suddenly blaring stereo. Dimly,
she wondered where the Spice Girls CD came from, but pushed the thought back.

Holding the kid's hand, Veronica rushed through the shaking doorway and Logan lead the way into the living room. He abruptly moved in front of them, and stood still for long moments as splinters of wood and fragments of glass rushed past them. He'd done that before, too, she remembered before ruthlessly pushing that memory back.

He guided her to the door, ignoring everything around them until she tried to pull her arm away. When he turned to look back, he noticed what she had. Everything was still, and more importantly, intact. “What?”

“I don't know.”

Logan opened the door and Backup trotted in and made himself at home in his usual spot on the couch. “Where'd Mrs. Hauser's son go?”

“He's right he-” Veronica looked around. She rushed down the hall and returned moments later. “He's gone.” She reached into her pocket and pulled her cellphone out. “Vibrate,” she explained before answering. “Hello? Hi, Mrs. Hauser.”

Logan looked around and tried not to listen to her half of the conversation.

“Oh, I don't? That's too bad, I was looking forward to it. Next week? I'll have to see what I have planned. Goodnight, Mrs. Hauser.” She hung up. “She called to let me know that I wouldn't be watching her son tonight because he's with his grandparents.” She threw her phone in the direction of the couch. “Am I having a
nightmare? Because I know he was here; he was too fucking heavy to be a mirage.”

“If you're asleep, then so am I. I saw him, too. I saw this place in shambles and now nothing. Maybe Dick slipped us something. He seemed
a little too happy with himself today.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “I'll be going now. I need a drink.”

She waved him away. “I'm not stopping you.”

He almost made it out the door before she stopped him. “Your shirt's torn. How do you feel?”

“Fine. It was probably already torn, right?”

“Yeah.”

“I'll see you at school tomorrow.”

“I'll
try to think of something snarky to say.”

He turned his head a little. “Do you hear... never mind.”

Awkward. Down the hall, a door slammed and they both jumped.

She nervously looked toward the hall before pushing him out the door. “Didn't I drive you here?”

“Right.”

As Veronica walked out the door, she could have sworn she saw Lilly reflecting off the television screen. She really needed to start getting more sleep.

The End

Echolls is the Keyword

2009-02-06T18:58:53Z

So...I don't think this is finished. There are other things I wanted to add to it, but then they just escaped me and I wanted to go ahead and post it somewhere. Torey seems to think it pretty much works the way it is. :p

Title: Echolls is the Keyword
Author: Charisma Brendon
Disclaimer: My pants say that Rob Thomas owns my ass, so I guess he owns these characters, too.
Rating: I curse a lot.
Word count: 836
Character/Pairing: Logan, mentions of Logan/Lilly, Logan/Caitlin and Logan/Veronica
Summary: Logan reflects (somewhat) on his need for pain. (...Not as angsty as it sounds, probably because I lost the train of thought that started this.)
Spoilers/Warnings: All of season one to be safe, even though there are only a few things mentioned.
AN: Welcome to the post of my first VM fic. How are you? Can I offer you a cookie and cup of tea?

Logan was a masochist.

Emotionally, at least. He didn't enjoy the beatings his father (or the PCHers, or the occasional Oh-Niner he pushed too far) gave him. Or did he? Wasn't the point of not fighting back to be punished for his insult, random comment, or destructive tendencies? Eh, that wasn't really the point.

The point was that he seemed to be addicted to having his heart broken.

If he really wanted to think about it (and he did), he could see that Lilly Kane started the obsession for him. The day she blew into his life and he actually tried to keep her there, he essentially signed over any claim to a pain-free life he had. Because really, no one normal would have fallen in love with her, especially after knowing how evil she could be (and oh, could she come up with doozies).

He was also damn sure that a normal guy would have run in the opposite direction instead of begging her to keep him.

Logan wasn't stupid; no one balanced would have gone near Caitlin Ford. Air-headed and skanky, but from a good (rich) family, she was a cheater and liar (just like Lilly), but at least he could say he didn't love her. That didn't mean it didn't hurt a little that she fucked a PCHer while she was still with him. Bitch.

As far as girl-related pain went, though, his biggest had to be Veronica Mars. She was the one that made him breathe pain and not care. She was the one to never think about. The one who caused stomach aches, migraines, and hangovers (because, damn it, some things needed to be drowned to be forgotten. Unless they were Lynn Echolls, in which case, drowned to remember that happy, stable, normal people don't beat their kids or do nothing while their wives drink and entertain ideas of a glamorous suicide).

She was the one who fucking left him for Duncan (and sure, to her credit, she waited a few weeks to do it, but giving her credit meant thinking about her enough to do it, and the things that need to be drowned aren't thought about). But despite (or because of) all that, she was the one he always thought of.

Unpleasant tangent aside, he suspected that nothing proved it for him as much as actually Googling the Echolls name. Idiot.

Honestly, what kind of moron would go looking for that sort of trouble when his father was famous and on trial for murder (and attempted murder, arson, and assault)?
The first few links had taken him to online articles from legitimate newspapers. Those he had briefly skimmed before the repetition of “allegedly” and details of Lilly's murder made the words blur. Despite that, the articles were surprisingly unbiased. Maybe Veronica was right when she said that celebrity doesn't mean much. Or maybe, they just knew he was guilty. For once, he had no problem with what the media said about his family and father. Then again, it was the first time that the bad side of Aaron's personality had ever been in the news without being attached to a character that could give him another few million. Bastard.

His real problem was what he saw in the links after that. Pages of opinionated nerds who loved Breaking Point and were just absolutely sure that their idol would never have an affair with an underage girl or murder her. And there was no way he'd try and kill her best friend or leave his mark all over the back of his legacy. Movie stars just didn't do that kind of thing. But, worse than those were the fucking flash games that popped up. Hit Lilly Kane with the ashtray by moving your mouse and ... win a fake, generic iPod!

It wasn't long after that “Lilly Kane” was gone and various B-list celebrities took back their flash game thrones. Though she'd be annoyed at being switched, he knew Lilly would have hated the crappy graphics much more.

What really convinced him that he needed to be drunker to do this was reading anything on the journal sites. It seemed as if anyone who had ever heard of Aaron Echolls had a fucking opinion on the situation. The alternate theories ranged from Lilly's twin being tired of being second best and deciding to kill her, to Lynn – his fucking mother – finding out about the affair and slamming an ashtray against Lilly's forehead in a moment of jealous rage. Of course, that was why she killed herself in their minds. Fucking blog sites. Any idiot with a computer, Internet connection, and the ability to press keys and form sentences (coherency optional) could “enlighten” the world with their typo-ridden opinions. Fuckers.

Maybe his problem was that he just hated most people. That anger management class was starting to look awfully good.

Until Now - Buffy, (kind of) Kendra, angsty

2009-02-06T18:57:30Z

Title: Until Now

Author: Charisma Brendon

Rating: PG-13 – (Oh, I'm sorry “K+”) for a couple of bad words. Nothing major here.

Spoilers: There’s nothing here that anyone reading this shouldn’t have seen before anyway. (In other words, this is set in the second season.)

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the song. Oh, there’s no song? Right.

A.N. - I know this has most likely been done but I guess I wanted to write my own. I was reading through The Watcher’s Guide. On page five, there was a quote:

Buffy: “You named your stake?”

Kendra: (embarrassed) “Yes.”

Buffy: “Remind me to get you a stuffed animal.”

(-Becoming Part 1)

A.N. 2 - I’m still doing Lipgloss and Letdown. This is just a one-shot fic that I thought I’d get out to clear the crap out of my writing system. ;p

Note: Unbeta'd. Liz is goooooone, Sarah isn’t on right now, and Jenn doesn’t seem to have a messaging service and it didn’t seem that important.

Something about a quiet night disturbed her. She thought that maybe, it was because, by now, she'd noticed that the worst things happened after a period of quietness. But then, the worst has already happened and the shit just kept hitting the fan.

It was almost hard to believe that this time yesterday, she was worried about grades, Snyder, Angelus and that damn “creamy rinse” shampoo that she just had to buy. - That was something she should have learned her lesson with. - And now...

Now she was wondering how everything could fall apart in such a short amount of time. Her mom found out about the whole Slayer thing (and sufficiently freaked out - telling her to get out and never come back) and Angelus tried to suck the world into Hell. Who does that? Honestly. To top the whole thing off, Buffymade an alliance with Spike. How do you like them sour apples?

I shouldn’t be here.

That was really the only distinguishable thought running through her muddled mind. And, to be honest, she didn’t care.

She didn’t care that the night is so silent and unaware.

She didn’t care that soon, she'd be leaving and not coming back.

She didn’t care that her coat was way too heavy for the stifling Californian weather.

Right now, she didn’t even care about the hash words she had exchanged with her mother.

No, I have something much more important right now.

Unconsciously, her hand tightened around the package she was carrying.

Bleh. For such a small town, it really takes a long-ass time to get around. What’s that about?

No, no, no. Now really was not the time for sucky, unfunny jokes. She had a mission here.

City Morgue.

Deep breaths, in and out.

What should she say?

“Sorry I couldn’t stop him? That he, once again, was responsible for the death of a friend?”

Sure, she knew that he didn’t physically do it himself, but that doesn’t change anything.

Should she apologize for slipping and falling into a trap meant for her friends so easily? It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

I guess all that’s left now is...

“Goodbye.” She covered her mouth to smother the sob threatening to come out.

As soon as she gained control over her emotions, she reached into the bag and pulled out her last gift for Kendra.

“I promised to get you something to replace your stake. So, meet Mr. Theodore Bear.” She placed the small stuffed bear beside Kendra's hand.

With a soft sigh, she turned away and walked away, feeling lower than she had in a while.

One, Two, Thr- Ouch! BWX (Friendship fic)

2009-02-06T18:56:41Z

Title: One, Two, Thr- Ouch!
Author: Charisma Brendon/Stocie
Summary: Xander isn’t like other people; he can’t stand pain. It hurts him.
Dedication: To Lez, but just because it’s her birthday.
Notes: Old-school BtVS fic. (Season two, maybe.) Written for liz_will_ow/pal_athon
Word Count: 1210

The first Halloween that Xander could remember that didn’t involve or focus on drunken ramblings or brawls was also the first day he officially met Willow. Despite her somewhat painful shyness, he had been invited to his (and her) first real party.

Okay, so everyone in the class had been invited, but to him, it still counted. That explained how Larry Blaisdell had gotten past security in the form of Ira “What are your intentions with my daughter?” Rosenberg. In an unrelated show of pure, projectile vomit-walls ooze slime-Do you like my leather mask?-666 evil, Larry had shown up dressed as the clown from IT. After he heard Xander comment on how much it freaked him out. Asshole. He would never admit it, but Larry had kick-started his clown phobia. It wasn’t his fault that five-year-olds were easily startled by “boo”s and people jumping from behind things. (Jerk.) It also wasn’t his fault that Larry’s bully gene had kicked in early and he had been a terrifying six-year-old.

The jerk had also pushed him to the ground, skinned his knee and made him cry in front of his “Even-though-she’s-a-yucky-girl-and-girls-have-cooties” crush.

It was funny how history repeated itself, he decided from his position on the ground as Willow fussed over him and Buffy glared daggers at Larry’s retreating (and laughing, the bastard) back.

“One of these days, I’ll be fighting a vampire and my stake will slip,” Buffy commented.

“And bury itself in his big, evil chest?” Xander asked, rising to his feet.

“Buffy! Xander! That’s so wrong!” Willow chastised with feigned shock. “You could always show up late instead.”

“Maybe I could lock him in a room alone with a demon.”

“Hey, here’s an idea! How about we stop talking about my continued humiliation at the hands of Larry?” Xander interjected.

“Sorry,” Willow and Buffy said sheepishly in unison.

“It’s fine. You know what would be great? A shark with a taste for big, dumb, jocky bully-jocks.”

“Xander! You jinx! Now Larry will be the only one that monster doesn’t eat!”

“Willow, you silly little goose, you! It’s not possible for sharks to walk on land, anyway.”

“Tell that to him,” Buffy instructed with a startled expression akin to Willow’s.

“What are you looking at?” He turned around quickly.

Willow giggled and pointed beside the school. “Just the shark with a helmet on. Y’know the way Spongebob does sometimes.”

“Just when he goes to visit Sandy,” Buffy added.

Xander immediately froze and glared sulkily at the ground. “One, you two suck. Two, stop bringing your imaginary friends to school. Three, watching cartoons before school is bad.”

Willow stiffened. “I do not have imaginary shark friends anymore, and I only watch cartoons on Saturday mornings, Xander Lavelle Harris.”

Xander triumphantly opened his mouth.

“We don’t suck, either,” Buffy quickly pointed out.

Xander’s mouth closed with a snap. “You are mean, though. I’m injured here!”

Willow rummaged around her book bag before pulling out a neon orange band-aid. “Stay still,” she instructed as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

“Hey! What are yo-“

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she playfully scowled before sticking the adhesive side to his scraped knee. “Oops,” she said with a frown, and abruptly ripped the bandage off. “Lopsided.”

“Ow! The hell?” He tried to back away. “I think you pulled hair out.”

She placed the newly positioned bandage over his boo-boo. “There.”

“I should be angrier.” Xander smoothed his pant leg.

“I know.” Willow patted his hand comfortingly. “We’ll work on it.”

Déjà vu all over again, again. Only the last time it had happened, it was their first day of high school.

“I don’t want a neon band-aid for a paper cut.”

Willow sighed in frustration. “Well, I don’t have any Tweety ones.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I never wear anything with cartoon characters,” Xander said loudly for the benefit of the passing cheerleaders.

Willow followed his gaze and rolled her eyes. “I think the obscene Speedo incident already ruined your chances with them.”

Xander blushed bright red. “It was laundry day, and you shouldn’t have pantsed me anyway.”

“I apologized for that! I still maintain that you shouldn’t have swimsuits left from your Ninja Turtle phase.”

“They weren’t that tight.”

Willow’s laugh was flustered. “Maybe on your end they weren’t, but the rest of us could see everything you had. If I ever go gay, I’m blaming that.”

“Promises. Empty promises, always.”

She rolled her eyes, and went back to reading her book.

.:.:.:.

“How’d you get duct tape stuck to you?”

Xander scowled. “Easily.”

Willow sighed. “Okay, how’d you get it stuck to your ass?”

Xander gasped. “I can’t believe you said that word!”

Willow flushed. “Don’t change the subject.”

Xander groaned. “I sat on it. Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.”

She sighed the sigh of the long-suffering sigh. "The things I do for friends," she commented as she hesitantly reached for the edge of the tape. "I think it's safe to say this hurts me more than it hurts you. On three?"

"I bet it doesn't," Xander responded. "Three it is."

"One. Two," Willow counted slowly.

"Just say th- Ouch!" Xander yelped. "Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!"

"You're not getting sympathy from me considering how often this happens."

"I told you it would hurt me more, though."

Willow shook her head. "Physically, it hurt you more. Mentally, I'm further scarred by you."

After he had recovered from the burning pain, he grinned that crooked grin she loved liked in a platonic way. "Admit it. You wouldn't trade it for all the mental health in the world.”

“I’m that transparent?” she frowned, worried.

“I just know my Willow.”

“That’s all well and good, but I’m never pulling tape off your butt again.”

.:.:.:.

Xander stood in front of Willow with a blank expression. “Take us to your leader, or we will annihilate all beings with loads of potassium and calcium.”

She covered her eyes and turned her head to the sky as if to ask, ‘Why me?’ Looking back at him, she tried to look stern. “Xander, get the banana peel off your head.”

“But I’m an alien!”

Staying annoyed by Xander wasn’t as easy as she wished it was, and the hysterical laughter that escaped her mouth wasn’t helping matters. If she kept encouraging him, he’d never stop.

With a put-upon sigh, he shook his head to remove the peel. “It stops being fun when you laugh at me.”

Guilt. Guilt was bad. “We can play in the sprinklers after school if you want,” she offered.

He perked up. “And pretend to be those guys with the red capes? The ones who wave them around and make bulls charge at them?”

“Matadors?”

“Yeah! We can use paper towels! But not Bounty. They’ll just soak the little water drop bulls up, and then the towels will get too heavy to hold.”

“I’ll let you use a real towel.”

“Can I use your dad’s boxers instead? They’d be more cape-like, y’know.”

“That’s crossing the line, Xander.”

"It could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship?"

"Sure. I guess the other ten years meant nothing?"

"You have to go with the flow, sometimes, homie."

In Lieu of Chocolate - Angel, Cordelia, Doyle

2009-02-06T18:55:06Z

Master list Here.

Title: In Lieu of Chocolate

Author: Charisma Brendon

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A.N.: Okay, this probably wasn't what she wanted...but, I don't do A/C and there *was* that part that asked for smut and, I doubt I could have done it. :p

Special thanks to Lez...who helped me with the idea and beta'd. :p

Dedication: To Lexi, I hope I got this close enough so that you don't hate me. :P

Timeline: After "IWRY" - but not mopey! Woo!

.:.:.:.

"Angel, this isn't healthy."

Though his annoyance was obvious from the soft huff of unneeded air he exhaled, Angel barely looked up from his tattered book. "I'm fine."

Cordelia cursed under her breath. "You are not fine! You've done nothing but mope and brood since Buffy left. I knew she'd just depress you."

He looked up angrily. "Leave her out of this."

Cordelia let out a scoff-like laugh. "Okay. You're over two hundred years old and you're getting all broody over a teenage girl. Shouldn't you be more mature than that by now?"

He sighed. "Did you have a reason for coming?"

At the change of subject, Cordelia perked up. "Sure did! Doyle and me are going to see a movie."

"Have fun," he absently murmured.

She whined in annoyance. "We want you to come with."

"No."

"C'mon! You need to get out; we need to get out. Why don't we all get out together?" she asked with a sunny smile.

"Because I like being alone. It's what I do, remember?"

"Angel, you're my friend and I love you...but you need to move on with your unlife. And we are just the people to help you!"

"Still, no."

She was clearly close to having a tantrum. "If you don't come with us, I will never speak to you again. No talking, no writing, no E-mailing. No communication between us whatsoever."

He leaned back in his chair, obviously considering what she had said. He smiled his first real smile in days. "Well that's a relief."

She felt somewhat relieved at the sight of the smile - and smug because she had been the source - before she fully realized what he said. "Hey!" A much more evil idea soon came to mind.

She pulled up a chair and began to tell him about her day. "The funniest thing happened today. I was checking out the new vintage store. - You know the one, the building is huge and blue! Honestly, blue? - Anyway, I saw the cutest shirt! But...I'll need a raise to get it. It would be so perfect for me. It just screams, ‘Wear me, Cordelia. I need you.’ Oh! Then, I found a matching skirt that would go gre-"

He interrupted her with a groan. "What are the odds you'll leave me alone?"

"Less than zero," she cheerfully replied.

He marked his place with a cloth bookmark and stood. "Fine. But, I'm wearing the duster you hate."

Cordelia merely rolled her eyes and walked out of his office.

.:.:.:.

The line outside the theater was oddly long. People were grouped together in several different rows. Some were talking about movies they wanted to see (the dominant one was about an English spy. He tuned them out after he heard something about an actor from MAD TV playing a henchman), others about actors or dates. His mind flashed back to the last movie he'd seen in Sunnydale. From French por-..."art," to English spies. The jump in topics was very depressing.

Doyle's voice asking for three tickets brought him out of the comparing thoughts.

Angel turned to Cordelia. "What are we seeing again?"

"Titanic. We've only told you that forty times tonight."

He nodded absently. "Right. Right."

Doyle excitedly waved for them to follow him inside.

"He's strange," Cordelia commented fondly.

"He wants to sit next to you."

She rolled her eyes. "It sucks to be so lovable."

.:.:.:.

The lights in the theater were darkening as the trio walked down the aisle to their seats.

"I hope this showing doesn't have those people that talk through movies. I hate that," Cordelia grumbled as she accidentally stepped on someone's foot.

"Ow!" the innocent byst- sitter mumbled.

"You'll get over it," she said with a disarming smile.

"Last time we saw this, you were the talker," Doyle reminded her.

They reached the middle of the row and sat with Cordelia in the middle. "Shut up. It's not like you didn't help."

He shrugged and re-situated himself for maximum comfort.

As the opening played, Angel decided that maybe there were worse ways to spend three hours and fourteen minutes.

.:.:.:.

Of course he was wrong. Lately, when was he not? The first half-hour had gone rather smoothly. Both of his friends seemed content to at least look at the screen.

But then, the trouble started.

.:.:.:.

"I love Leo," Cordelia commented.

"Why?" Doyle asked her incredulously.

"Because he's awesome. Shh."

.:.:.:.

Cordelia scoffed at the screen. "Ew. What is Rose wearing? That is soooo 50s."

Doyle gave her a "duh" look. "Rightfully so, Cordy. The ship did sink in '58."

"It sunk in 1912," Angel automatically corrected. "Now shut up."

.:.:.:.

"Near. Far. Wherev-ev-ev-er you are," Doyle sang under his breath.

"Once more, you o-o-o-open the door," Cordelia continued.

Angel groaned. "You skipped a lyric. Now, shut it."

"Grouchy," the children disguised as adults whispered in unison.

.:.:.:.

As Rose stood at the tip of the ship with her arms in the air and Jack behind her, Doyle suddenly laughed. "Wouldn't it be funny if she fell overboard?"

Cordelia gaped at him in disgust. "Morbid much? Of course it would be. But, God, whenever I hang around you two we always have to think morbidly. Like that time when -"

Angel waved a hand in front of her face. "Shut up!"

.:.:.:.

Cordelia stared thoughtfully at the screen. "There is no way that's her real body."

"Why not?" Doyle asked, genuinely curious.

"Look at her ti-"

Angel glared at them.

"Fine, Dad."

.:.:.:.

Doyle's head tilted to the side as a thought struck him. "Heeey, do you think they really had to sink a ship to film this?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes at him. "Of course not. They just filmed the original sinking."

Doyle nodded. "Oh."

Angel growled.

Cordelia suddenly snapped. "You know how we are. Why did you agree to come? We all could have stayed home and watched movies."

Angel's expression barely changed. "Number one, you harassed me until I agreed to come. Number two, you wouldn't take 'No!' for an answer. Number three, you get popcorn-butter stains on my chairs."

Her eyes squinted in (possibly mock) outrage and she threw a handful of popcorn at him.

.:.:.:.

"If this were real life, he would've told her to move her ass and let him on that board, too."

Doyle nodded his agreement. "And, after she let him draw her naked, he would've ran off with some blonde."

"Bastard."

"Will you two shut up?"

.:.:.:.

"Psh. 'Never let go,' my ass." Doyle snorted.

"Well he was dead," Cordelia reminded him.

"Just like a woman to make a promise then immediately break it."

Cordelia snorted. "Yeah, because men never do that."

.:.:.:.

Cordelia stretched merrily and walked arm-in-arm with Doyle and a reluctant Angel. "Wasn't that fun?"

Doyle nodded readily while Angel glared.

"Aw, cheer up, Mister! It got your mind off your problems."

"Yes. And now I'm angry with you." Angel stared sullenly at the ground as they walked into the night air.

"You know what this means." Cordelia grinned.

"What?"

"That we get to plan an outing to make you love us again!" Cordelia exclaimed, tugging them both in the direction of Angel's car.

"...Yay."

.:.:.:.

Name/LJ name: Lexi/kuku4wikka
Request: Cordelia, Angel (maybe Wesley)
Alternate request: Cordelia, Buffy
Prompts: "Angel, you're a vampire. I doubt you'd understand these things." Set in Season 1 or early Season 2. Cordelia eating popcorn on the couch, Angel grumbling about it, her throwing popcorn at him. Maybe smut.
Please do NOT include: I do not want to see uber bitchy Cor, or uber sweet Cor.

The Pack - Xander/Buffy

2009-02-06T18:54:34Z

Well, some of you may know that I somehow convinced myself that the best thing to do would be to write a rewrite for Krissirk's awards.

What the hell, why not try the LJ Cut again? And...just a word of warning: It does get better after this chapter. :s

Title: The Pack

Author: Charisma Brendon

Rating: R? I might do an NC-17 rewrite of this.

Disclaimer: I make no money from this. I own nothing but some gum. The beginning dialogue with "the pack" (until Buffy speaks) comes straight from the episode.

Spoilers: The Pack and possibly any of the five episodes before. But . . . since this is a rewrite, there aren't as many as there could be.

A.N. - This was written especially for Kris's awards so she could start them sooner.

You're not going in there, the zookeeper had told her.

Please, like I'm leaving Xander and Lance alone with those . . . those . . . winged monkeys.

As soon as he had turned his back to her, she had ducked below the yellow "Caution" tape and walked blindly into the dark hyena house. Now that she was actually safely inside, however, she was painfully aware that she should have listened to the warning. And that she hadn't entirely gotten over her fear of the dark.

I just had to go and be "noble." Where did it get me? In a dark, dank animal house looking for Xander because he's so obviously going to get his ass kicked.

Her heels made a slight clicking noise as she walked through the almost-pitch black hallway. The only light came from a few dim torches that illuminated the cages that lined the walls. At least I know where the hyenas are, she thought to herself when a quiet growl came from off to her right.

"It looks hungry," the drawl of a familiar voice echoed over the cavern-esque walls. Kyle?

The distinct sound of scuffling followed that statement before another voice spoke, "Come on, Spot! Suppertime!"

She ran towards the sounds and came upon Xander facing off with Kyle, who had been pushing Lance towards the hyena cage with the help of his friends, whatever their names were.

"Why don't you pick on someone your own species?" Xander asked, standing between Kyle and Lance.

"You're gonna get in my face?"

"I'm sorry to interrupt this testosterone-fest but the zookeeper's heading this way and he looks pissed," Buffy broke in.

Kyle barely glanced at her before he took a threatening step towards Xander. "We'll finish this some other time."

He grinned - more of a teeth-baring, really - at Lance before he turned and walked away, followed quickly by "The Monkeys."

"What the hell was that about?" Xander raged.

"Excuse me?" Buffy's eyes widened in amazement as she stared at her angry friend. "You were extremely outnumbered! Plus, let's not forget that we're surrounded by feral animals with nothing separating us but flimsy bars!"

"What? You think I can't take care of myself?"

Before she could answer, a piercing, shrill laugh permeated the air. They turned slowly, in unison, towards the unseen animal. A flash of yellow stood out in the black and, in a moment of strange synchronicity, soft peals of laughter came from Buffy and Xander.

Lance watched them in morbid fascination before turning abruptly to leave. The awkward movement caused his foot to prematurely jet out and he tripped.

"Ow," he murmured, touching his injured knee lightly.

The two teenagers that had previously ignored his presence seemed to remember he was there and slowly turned back until he could see their eyes. The matching yellow glows were enough to send him running.

Laughs that were disconcertingly like that of the hyena followed him.

All of these chapters are short-ish. Just so we all know. :p

Dead on Arrival - Xander/Cordelia snark

2009-02-06T18:49:55Z

Written for Round 1 of Buffy Survivor

Title: Dead on Arrival
Author: Stocie/Charisma Brendon
Summary: Xander basically annoys Cordelia.
Disclaimer: Wit wasted on Lez's disclaimer? Check. Vaguely misleading title? Check. Idea for fic? Semi-check. Ownership of characters? No check. Damn. A check speaks a thousand words.
BS Challenge One: Coffee, umbrella, match.
Word Count: 764
Special thanks to Lez for beta'ing and actually correcting stuff. I don't know what I'd do
without you. :p

.:.:.:.

"Okay, who ate the last doughnut?"

Cordelia rolled her eyes but continued flipping idly through her magazine. "Gee, Xander, I don't know. It's not as if you've been guarding the box since you brought them in. And, surely you aren't the only one that's touched them even though we're all by our lonesomes and I'm on the Atkins diet."

"I know there was still a Bavarian cream." Xander stared blankly at the box.

She ignored him.

His attention moved from the box to her. With a labored sigh, he threw it in the direction of the table and made a show of stretching his arms far above his head and dropping his right arm onto her shoulders.

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

He faked a yawn.

She sighed in exasperation, but the corners of her mouth lifted. "Coffee?"

After getting no immediate response, she turned to see the 'O'-shape his mouth had taken. "You forgot," she concluded.

He tilted his head to the left side and exhaled loudly. "Yes. Yes, I did. In the excitement of doughnut-picking, I forgot that your parents love all technology except the coffee-maker. I also forgot that unless they started making designer coffee, you would never set foot in a supermarket to buy it. But, I did remember to pick up a movie."

She groaned loudly. "Please not Apocalypse Now. Don't we see enough sweat stains in real life?"

He reached under himself and produced a DVD. "Heathers," he told her as he went to pop it in the DVD player.

"How very." She grinned, conveniently ignoring where Xander had been storing the movie.

He turned back to look at her and frowned in confusion. "Very what?"

She shook her head. "Never mind."

He shrugged.

.:.:.:.

"Do you think Christian Slater is cuter than me?" Xander asked in a high-pitched voice.

"God, Cordelia. Is this appropriate conversation?" he replied to himself with wide eyes.

She sighed impatiently. "I'm sure Giles will be glad to know that you won't give up your day job
of fetching jelly doughnuts to take your act on the road."

"Hey! You know I'd make a good ventriloquist!"

She laughed. "Sure you would...if you weren't terrified of dummies."

Xander threw his hands in the air. "It was just the one! Why won't you people forget it?"

Cordelia smirked. "Maybe one day."

He cleared his throat and used his "Cordelia" voice again. "Oh Xander, why can't I get my hair that high?"

"Have you ever tried to not be annoying?" Cordelia asked with a glare.

He nodded and shrugged a little. "To impress a girl, I drank an entire gallon of Gatorade without taking a breath."

"Yeah, that's impressive."

"Not nearly as impressive as striking a match with my teeth."

"You can do that?" Her eyes widened a bit before she regained control of her reaction.

"No. Willow can, but she's always been kind of weird."

Cordelia nodded slightly. "I should have expected that."

.:.:.:.

The clap of thunder that accompanied JD's expiration startled them both.

"Nature has amazing timing," Xander stated with a slightly awed look.

"Whatever. I hope you brought an umbrella with you."

"You mean I'm not welcome here anymore? Is it because the toilet overflowed?" Xander asked, mockingly scandalized.

Cordelia abruptly sat up straight and glared at him in horror. "What? Mother is going to kill me! The carpet outside the door just arrived from Persia! Do you have any idea how much it was?" Cordelia grabbed at her neck as her breath caught in her throat and stayed there.

Xander watched his girlfriend hyperventilate. With a sigh, he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "One, breathe! I was just kidding. Two, Persia doesn't exist. It's Iran now."

She glared at him - If looks could kill... - as her breathing regulated. "You..."

He nodded gravely. "Me. So, what do you want to watch now?" He grinned.

She took a deep breath and relaxed into the couch. "I don't care. How do you know it's Iran, anyway?"

"Willow."

"Figures. She does have to teach you everything."

.:.:.:.

Fin.

Fic: Not the Sun; R; L/V

2007-01-09T05:02:56Z

Title: Not the Sun
Author: Anonaficcer
Disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with Rob Thomas or the CW.
Pairing/Characters: Logan/Veronica, implied Veronica/Unnamed Character
Rating: R, for language.
Summary: History repeats itself for a reason, and people rarely change completely.
AN: So, I ended up being back-up santa for spikeshunny, who wanted angst, and this turned out to be pretty hard to write. But hey, I can appreciate a challenge. Also, I realized I could combine two of your loves. I hope I don't regret this.

Chapter One: Logan

The ground was too blurry. Logan misjudged his sense of balance, and the depth of the hole he thought was in the carpet, and barely righted himself as he tripped over air. His laugh sounded shaky and loud, and if he wasn't in such a good mood, he'd hate himself for disrupting the quiet. He had been so sure one more drink wouldn't hurt. Tequila used to be his friend, damn it.

Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, though. The house -- he couldn't think of it as home right now -- was silent and empty and God, why was he here. He still had a good three hours until the sun came up; the house would be well-lit, and he could convince himself that Veronica was just at work. That she hadn't run away. Again.

He hadn't done anything wrong this time.

For the last year, Logan had been nothing but the good, docile boyfriend. Never drunk, never questioning, never far from home. He'd been perfectly passive and placid (and so fucking boring he'd wanted to punch himself a few times). All the arguments they had about her career path had stopped once he channeled Duncan to keep her. After all, Duncan had managed to sink his claws in, and only let go when he was ready. She'd never abandoned him.

He laughed humorlessly, and began the ascent up the stairs. If the banister could talk, it would probably be screeching its protest at being treated like...

He stopped to think. Like the mask of a fresh oxygen tank being grasped by a scuba diver who's all out. Yes, he was pretty sure he couldn't breathe.

The urge to sink and meld with the carpet of the stair he had paused on was great, but he pushed himself to keep moving. He just needed sleep. In the morning - oh, who was he kidding? Late afternoon - he could deal. And plan. He could fix everything.

The mid-afternoon sunlight managed to pierce through the hangover-induced fog. Logan groaned, tightened his eyelids, and covered his head with a pillow. Bright orange sunspots danced tauntingly in the darkness of his closed eyes, and he agreed with their assessment. He couldn't handle his alcohol anymore.

Just as well, really. His old friends hadn't done very much to help him get over the latest Veronica-Logan chapter --this one titled Veronica Leaves Logan: Take fourty-seven. Bitch.

Why was he still bitter over her? They had performed the same song-and-dance routine so often the steps were beyond memorized. She would be back in a few days, they wouldn't talk through their issues, and everything would be fine-with-a-hint-of-fucked-up until the chorus kicked in and the steps grew dizzying.

He raised a hand to rub his eyes, but let it fall back to the soft blanket instead. Last night, getting Veronica back had seemed important. Things usually were when alcohol was involved, though. Now that he was sober, he wasn't sure it was worth it. Love wasn't an issue, but keeping his metaphorical heart intact certainly was. Veronica didn't seem to think that, if her leaving without a word to hole up with someone else was any indication.

Fuck.

Day one, he thought she left to work on a case. It wasn't uncommon for her to get a lead and rush out without thinking, hey, maybe he wanted to know she was leaving. He had worried about her with his cellphone in his hand constantly, but his new Duncan-esque personality told him to let it wait. If she didn't call by the next morning, then he could start the calls.

Day two, and no word. His legs were bouncing while his insides practically itched with impatience for her to answer, and nothing. Either her phone was off or she was screening. There was a time when he would have respected her enough to let her keep her privacy, but time marched on. Before the new leaf, Veronica changed pin numbers for her voice mail every few days out of paranoia that Logan would do something stupid. With barely a second thought, he checked her saved messages. Honestly, he hadn't expected to find anything useful since he thought she deleted all the important ones. Oh, joy upon joys, he was wrong. Keith's resigned voice floated from the speaker, telling him (her) that whatever he (she) decided, Keith would support. Hmm. That certainly couldn't be positive.

Day three had him calling Keith directly. That conversation had certainly gone swimmingly. Ever cautious, Keith gave away nothing. His tone had been friendly and his words vague. Once they hit the half hour mark, certain damning information had come out. "Staying with one of her friends" hung between them, and Logan's request for gender clarification hadn't been answered. To quote Yoda, bode well, this did not.

Days four through six were a wash-repeat of the first three days, only with Logan's anger increasing and pushing his Duncan persona out a fucking window without warning a silent, "Thanks for not helping at all, asshole." Daily, ritualistic end-of-the-night voice mail checks told him that someone other than him was certainly listening to all the pleads for some sort of reassurance or answer.

When day seven came around, Logan hadn't turned down Dick's invitation to go to some shitty club where the booze was cheap and the girls matched. Even drunk off his ass the thought of touching anything in the place made his skin crawl and pulse morse code: Do not want disease! Not enough bleach in the world to clean!

He was working on day eight with an aspirin, a small list of names, and a side of self-loathing. He just needed to know she was okay.

Day nine brought a flurry of activity. Yesterday, he found out she was staying with someone he didn't know. A male friend. The desire to do something stupid had been almost irresistible, but he managed. Instead, he chose to do something proactive. He packed a bag, hopped in his car, and drove down the freeway. He could run, too.

Welcome to Sunnydale, indeed.

Fic: Shut Your Mouth; R

2007-01-04T21:50:38Z

Title: Shut Your Mouth
Author: Anonaficcer
Characters/Pairing: Lilly/Veronica
Word Count: 451
Rating: R to NC-17
Summary: Veronica isn't as pure as she used to be.
Warnings/Spoilers: None, really. The timeline has been messed with a little, as well.
Disclamer: Rob Thomas, I am not.
AN: Written for mammothluv for vm_santa. Also, this is short. I tried to add to it, but nothing came out right, and my beta said that sometimes it has to be short. :p

Veronica wasn't as pure as she used to be.

There was a time when sweet words and pretty vows from Duncan were all Veronica needed. But then, Duncan silently broke up with her. Suddenly all the whispered, chaste promises meant absolutely shit, and all that was left was Lilly.

Lilly's slightly cruel taunts about her lack of experience with Duncan ("God, Veronica! Even if you let him past second base, he wouldn't know what to do."), and Lilly's heated, seductive words about her own escapades with Logan. Lilly, her mouth, and her sounds.

Veronica always liked Lilly's mouth. Her words, she could do without, but her lips were things of beauty. Full, firm, and strawberry-flavored. She shouldn't know these things when neither of them were that way. She didn't think they are, at least.

She did know that best friends don't kiss, despite what Lilly told her the first time. Now, she was sure that all of Lilly's frivolous words about what they do needed to be put to rest. Lilly was too entrenched in denial.

Veronica hadn't spoke to Lilly in hours. Slightly awkward since they were together. No matter what Lilly did, Veronica wouldn't break her apparent vow of silence. Lilly wasn't all that patient to begin with, and Veronica was firmly planted on her last nerve.

"What? You've been playing your little game since we left school, and I'm tired of it."

Veronica's eyes flashed. Anger. Lilly fought back a smile. She could deal with anger.

"I don't have a problem."

Lilly's head tilted to the side; her hair fell over her shoulder, and her neck was invitingly exposed. "Hmm. Could this have anything to do with Logan?"

A shadow passed over Veronica's face, and Lilly couldn't have been more delighted to see her dark side coming out.

Veronica was really kind of possessive.

The angry red marks on the pale skin of her thighs assured she would only be seen by Veronica until they healed. "No, Logan, I don't know how those girlie scratches got there." Not that she really cared if he knew. In fact, it would be kind of fun.

But, as jaded as Veronica had become, Lilly doubted she would agree to include Logan in their fun. Right now, at least. With a little pushing, maybe...

Lilly could deal with her toys being separated; she hated sharing anyway.

The vivid images combined with Veronica's mouth moving lower down her abdomen drew a low noise from her. She let her fingers entwine with Veronica's hair. It didn't hurt to think.

When Veronica showed up at school with choppy, sharp hair, Lilly was intrigued.

"I don't want to look like you anymore."

Well, ow. She got the point, but that was a little fucking harsh. She would have to fix that.

Fic: What the Hell is a Stipulation? B/X

2007-01-03T02:00:27Z

Title: What the Hell is a Stipulation?
Author: Anonaficcer/Charisma Brendon
Rating: PG-13, maybe R
Disclaimer: The copyright belongs to Joss Whedon, and some quotes are taken from the show. I don't own Reggie and the Full Effect, either.
Summary: Set during 'Prophecy Girl'.
Dedication: For authoressnebula, who was both my btvs_santa santa, and my santee. I hope you don't mind some angst - something I normally don't write - before I go horribly AU.
Word Count: 1327
Pairing: Buffy/Xander
AN: Bold/Center text is from the Reggie and the Full Effect song of the same name. Lyrics not in order and only used to focus. Unbeta'd at the moment, because I was anxious to get this out. Pointing out mistakes makes me happy.
Download: "What the Hell is a Stipulation?" - Reggie and the Full Effect

The Bronze wasn't as crowded as usual. The Spring Fling at Sunnydale High was only a few days away, and most of the people who patroned the club were more than likely at the mall, searching for adequate attire at the last minute. The DJ's music was barely audible from the corner, which suited Xander Harris just fine.

"Would you, um, date me? Oh, that's good! 'Date me?' That's terrible, right?"

Willow Rosenberg stared silently, transfixed, before she snapped out of her trance. "Huh? Oh, no! Well yeah, 'date me' is silly."

He shook his head, oblivious to his friend's rapt attention. "See, what I should do is I should just start with talking about the dance. 'Y'know, Buffy, Spring Fling just isn't any dance. It's a time for students to choose, um... a mate and then we can... observe their... mating rituals and tag them before they migrate.' Just kill me!" he spat out.

She smiled kindly. "You're just nervous. You can practice more on me, if you want. Maybe we can figure something out."

He returned the smile, before looking around. "Where is she, anyway? I don't have much nerve to begin with, it would suck to lose it all before I got to talk to her."

Willow's voice lowered. "I'm sure she ran into something."

He only wants to see her whenever she will permit.

"Buffy, I like you. A lot. And I know we're friends, and we've had experiences. We've fought some blood-sucking fiends, and that's all been a good time. But I want more. I wanna dance with you."

There. It was out in the open, his heart was on his sleeve, and nothing perverted had squeaked out like it normally did when he was nervous. What she said next would set the tone for their relationship, no matter which way it went.

But, she was silent with her eyes were so focused on her boots, and his hands were sweating, and his heartbeat was echoing in his ears.

There he was, poised for rejection, but unable to stop the glow from just sitting so close to her from spreading through his consciousness.

She says she doesn't want a boyfriend; she's better off with friends.

Angel wasn't as out of the picture as previously thought. Xander wasn't sure who had worse judgment: Buffy for getting involved with Angel, Angel for ending things, or him for asking her on a date when she wasn't fully over her almost-ex.

I just don't think of you that way.

One sentence was all it took to tear Xander down. The months of not-so-subtle drooling and attempts to actually tell her how he felt about her had led to this. This being practicing the ancient Buddhist art of splayed meditation - arms akimbo, legs stuck in running motion, that's not sobbing, it's a breathing technique - while he listened to Patsy Cline.

Yeah, he was moping.

He had every reason to mope, in his personal opinion. Buffy tore his heart out, then Willow rejected him in the nicest way he'd ever been rejected, and he felt a little guilty. Willow didn't deserve to be considered his backup date, and he knew bringing up Angel was a low blow, but he hadn't exactly been rational. Buffy gave him tunnel vision, ruined his sense of direction, and made him forget his own name just by breathing.

He was so melodramatic.

Maybe he should go by the dance anyway.

All that he can give, he gives her.

Giles could have done more to stop her. Sure, he had a concussion and swollen jaw, and Buffy had superhuman strength, but Xander wasn't thinking rationally at that moment. After all, he was edging a disgusting sewer tunnel with ~~that bastardblood-sucking fiend~~Buffy's ex. If he felt like admitting it, which he didn't, he would concede that Angel hadn't been that bad. Once Xander shoved the cross in his face for a little fucking help, he was much more cooperative. He would be lying if he said the situation was pleasant, but tolerable. A tolerable stroll in a dank sewer with Buffy's vampire ex who happened to be eyeing his neck.

"Stop looking at my neck!"

"I wasn't looking-"

"Yes, you were! I'm not a Happy Meal." A beat passed. "I told you to eat before we left."

Angel billowed off - like it was so impressive - to find the tunnel that would lead to the Master.

Xander figured it was a good idea to stay back, just in case. Just in case he fell into the river of sewage, or found a deep hole to China, or there were a lot more vampires in there. He was a little wimpy and afraid, and he freely admitted it.

All of the things he thought could be around the corner (vampires, clowns, a Xander-eating beast) flew out of his mind when he saw Buffy on the ground, and Angel running to her.

Buffy was dead.

Dead in an underground church, her face surrounded by a puddle of murky water. He could safely say he never wanted to see her like this. In his head, Buffy was invincible. Untouchable.

Something, this Master, had beaten her, and he'd never get the chance to apologize. To say he was sorry for making things awkward, or for acting out.

Water. Drowned. Water-logged lungs, plus forced air, plus pressure to the chest equalled -

"CPR," he said, startling Angel.

His eyes went from Buffy's face to Xander. "You'll have to do it. I have no breath."

Xander resisted the urge to push Angel out of his way as he rushed over and knelt beside Buffy. Of all the excuses to touch Buffy's lips, CPR had really never factored in. He inhaled, leaned over, and hoped for the best.

He'll tell her that he's happy. She feels good.

Buffy's lungs were water-free, and filled with air when the Master tasted death again. His bones were intact on the floor of the destroyed library, and Buffy seemed almost hypnotized by them. How could so much evil degrade down to so little?

When Giles gently snapped her out of her thoughts, he doubted she even realized she was crying. "I'm sorry," she said with her brave face firmly in place. "It's just been a really weird day."

Despite his estimation of it being the worst day ever, Xander piped up, "Yeah, Buffy died and everything."

Inadvertently, the conversation around him was turned into white noise, and he couldn't stop staring at Buffy in awe. She was alive and looked absolutely beautiful in her dirty white dress, with her scratches and messy hair.

"I hear there's a dance party at the Bronze. Could be fun."

The others murmured their agreement before Giles asked the one whose opinion really mattered to Xander. "Why not? I mean, I got all pretty." Buffy smiled sheepishly.

Yes, he considered this a small victory.

The others wandered through the doors, chatting amongst themselves while Xander held back. Buffy's hand slipping around his arm was certainly a surprise. He glanced over.

She shrugged. "I've been thinking, and life's too short. You've been a good friend, but certain events made me realize how here for me you are."

"I thought you didn't want to ruin our friendship." Stupid! Why would you say-? Stupid!

She grimaced, before smiling brightly. "You brought me back to life! If that doesn't change a girl's mind, I don't know what does. Even if things end badly, I just feel like I'll always be able to count on you."

He moved her hand from his arm to hold it in his own. "I can accept that."

She used the new-found grip on his hand to pull him closer to her height. "Good."

When her lips brushed against his, Xander was pretty sure this was shaping up to be the best night ever.

"You're geeky friends want to - oh God, ew - know if you're coming or not."

Xander broke the kiss to glare at Cordelia.

"Fine, whatever. If you want to be all gross and grope around a body, don't let me stop you."

Xander sighed. "To the dance?"

Buffy firmly nodded. "The dance, it is."

Neither of them looked back.

Within Earshot (1/?) L/V

2006-09-12T07:15:30Z

Title: Within Earshot (1/?)
Author: Anon-a-ficcer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1443
Disclaimer: I just own a bottle of Sobe Life Water. Rob Thomas owns VM, and Joss Whedon owns BtVS
Warnings/Spoilers: Most of VM's first season.. With Buffy, Earshot is pretty much spoiled.
AN: Written for the </font>neptunechaos ficathon(, but is now reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeally late because I suck., but at least other people seem to, as well). Raping two fandoms at once. (That's me trying to be funny, I really love the idea for the ficathon and can't wait to ~~suck up~~ read the other entries.) So, the canon moment was from Earshot...and I'll include it. But for the most part, "Earshot" is AU.
Other notes: Around the "Veronica and Logan are in Sunnydale" section, there are italicized thoughts. That isn't one of those "what they really mean" or "telepathic, oh my Bob!" things, more like for Buffy's POV to be in the scene, kind of. Yeah, it's hard to explain.
Characters: Logan, Veronica, Xander, Buffy, etc
Summary: The beaches of Neptune, CA are frequented by too many people who know the Echolls and Mars names. Sunnydale, CA, on the other hand? Yeah, that would work.

Xander Harris couldn't believe his rotten luck. All his thoughts weren't about sex, damn it. Sometimes, he thought about (hating) school, (hating) Cordelia, and (hating) the jocks. Then, when he was done hating, he thought about naked girls and how awesome it would be for Sunnydale High to be clothing optional.

Why couldn't he have been the one to read minds? All those hours spent wondering what Cordelia really thought could be spent thinking about comics. Giles would be easy to understand, because really, he couldn't always think in British, or whatever they spoke in England. He could know what Stuffy McStickUpAssPants was going to say before it was actually said, and then mock him first. Oh, the saved time! Mostly, he just wanted to know if Buffy ever thought about him naked.

"God, Xander! Didn't we just talk about this?"

He turned abruptly toward the direction of Buffy's voice. Oops. "Buff! Didn't know you were there." He grinned nervously.

"Clearly." She said with a twist of her mouth. Amused or disgusted? Internal shrug.

He frowned when she grimaced. "Am I thinking too loud? Because I can be quieter."

Brave Little Toaster face in place, she replied, "It's not just you. So many people here are actually thinking. Who knew? It's like national 'We Know Buffy Reads Minds' day, and everyone's come to celebrate."

Resolutely, he reached out and grabbed her hand. "We're getting out of here."

The yellow car glided smoothly through the non-existent traffic. The occupants were silent, though not uncomfortably so, and let the early morning wind and soft indie music drift over them.The drive to Sunnydale shouldn't have been two hours. On the freeway, it was practically a straight shot from one town to the other, but Logan hadn't counted on needing to stop so many times for food and sugary sodas for his companion. Honestly, could she really not wait an hour? Fuck.

"Do you really have to drive this slow? Old ladies are passing us."

"Veronica, no one likes a passenger seat driver."

She rolled her eyes and tried to get comfortable in her seat. "Why couldn't we have taken my car? When the sun's in full power, it'll be too hot for a car without a roof, and the leather's already sticking to my ass."

He smirked. "I could go in so many directions with that one, but I won't be distracted. Roofless though it is, my car has leg room. Yours is really only suitable for you and the other midgets of the world. Also? Stop shifting. If the leather sticking is bothering you, then imagine how I feel, having to listen to you disconnect yourself from it."

"Gee, I'm sorry I offended your delicate sensibilities."

"If you keep it up, you'll have to marry me to salvage my reputation."

"We have to get you pregnant first."

"But I never skip a pill! How could this have happened? It was you! You switched them with Tic-tacs, didn't you?" Logan dryly accused and fiddled with the radio.

Veronica smacked his hand and turned the radio dial herself. "Eyes on the road, buddy."

They listened to the music in peace before Logan's mouth opened again. "You already got me pregnant. Now you're making me listen to bad nineties pop?"

The Cove was deserted, just like Xander knew it would be. Anyone who could have possibly been there was either in school or at a beach with actual waves.

He hoped it was isolated enough, and his rambling thoughts were the only ones Buffy could hear. The closest occupied house was about a mile away, and really, that didn't seem like far enough. There could be goats there, and who wanted to know what they thought? Baaaaah-trash. Baaaaaaah-Don't-milk-me!

Buffy laughed softly. "Here's good." She stepped out of the old Citroen and inhaled the clean sea air. "It's quiet."

"Too quiet. Say hello to my little friend. I'll be back. Hasta la-" vista, baby.

"Xander! I think you've met your quote quota for the day."

He was less than apologetic as he dropped into the sand. "Hey. It's either this, or I start thinking about assorted beach fantasies. It's really your pick here."

She didn't hesitate. "We're gonna need a bigger boat."

He grinned his patented Xander grin. "Here's to swimmin' with bow-legged women."

"Should that mean something?"

Xander shrugged. "It's another Jaws quote." He pushed himself to the side quickly. "You aren't going to hit me, are you?" Please say no. Please say no.

"Of course not." She reached up and pressed her fingers against her head. "Someone's here."

Even the best laid plains... "We should go." Xander tried to stand, but Buffy pushed him back down.

"No, it's okay."

"So, you can hear their every thought?"

She nodded. "And there's a lot of thinking going on."

"What are they here for?" Is it naughty? Should I be waggling my eyebrows as I ask?

Buffy looked down. "It's a secret."

"It's nice here. No one visible is around. Dick isn't harassing random girls. There aren't screaming children splashing and attracting sharks," Veronica hopped out of the X-Terra and pulled at her clothes to straighten them.

Logan's eyes subtly followed her movements before he left the car. By now, he was the master of unnoticed watching.

Together, they walked in silence from the parking lot to the actual beach. Finally, Veronica spoke, "We shouldn't have to leave town to be in public together." Even though it's kind of your fault.

Logan reached for her hand and sighed dramatically. "But you're oh-so-embarrassed of me. It's really for the best." It was your idea. He adopted a faux-kicked puppy look, but Veronica knew him too well to think he was entirely kidding. Logan was always realest at his fakest, and that mocking tone was of the most artificial quality.

"Maybe it's the other way around," she suggested softy. You agreed it was for the best.

"Keeping us quiet was your decision," he reminded her. His voice was laced with bitterness, but he didn't let go of her hand. Dramatic, but still sort of clingy.

She just shook her head and tugged him towards the ocean. "Come on. It'd be a shame to come all this way and not get our feet wet."

A small, pre-Lilly's-death-Logan smile appeared around the edge of his mouth. "Continue leading the way, munchkin."

Xander was pretty sure Buffy's sudden flinching had more to do with the couple walking down the beach than his bad joke. Would two people really be able to produce enough noise to really hurt her?

"Stop worrying. You're giving me a headache," she snarked softly. She did look awfully pale, though. She fell back against the sand and closed her eyes.

He jumped up. "I'm being a man, and taking care of this." Despite her protests, he rushed down toward the two overly-thinky people.

"He-e-e-ey, how are you?" Xander called out loudly when he reached them.

The boy frowned. "Oh, we're just peachy."

The short blonde elbowed him, not at all lightly if he's resulting "oof" was any indication. She grinned at Xander and tilted her head slightly. "Ignore my friend, he doesn't get out of his cage much."

"What a coincidence! I just busted out of my own." He turned to the guy. "Word of advice: Go for the center bar, it's the weakest." The bright X-Terra caught his eye. "I can lend you my file if you need it, but, uh, I'm pretty sure you don't."

The girl shook her head. "I'm Veronica, and this is Logan."

"Xander." He looked behind him, before turning back to the couple. "I don't know the best way to put this, but my friend back there - she's Buffy, by the way - and I sort of came down here to be alone. Not that it wasn't nice meeting you and all, but, uh-"

Logan interrupted. "I think I know what you're getting at, and we should be going, anyway. Especially since my friend hasn't eaten in about two hours, and she might take up aquatic game hunting in desperation."

Veronica smacked his arm. "Stop spreading lies. I wouldn't mind seeing the sights, though."

Xander laughed. "I hope you have ten minutes to spare.

Logan nodded. "We most certainly do! If we don't leave right now, we might hit the afternoon horse traffic."

"You could be here all day," Xander agreed dryly. He looked back at his own companion one more time. "See you around." He waved and started back up the beach.

"Well, he was nice," Veronica commented.

"Nice? He ran us off the beach."

Veronica rolled her eyes. "No, he didn't. Besides, I live right there at the beach."

"I just wanted to be able to be in public with you, and not pretending we hate each other. It's really kind of the thought that counts here."

"Which I appreciate, because closet dust is starting to give me asthma. If you're done being a girl, I'm actually am kind of hungry."

That's all of the first chapter, folks. Feedback is loved and cherished.

Fic: Apocalypse, How? (2/?) - R, L/V

2006-07-11T00:09:33Z

Title Apocalypse, How? (2/?)
Author: Anon-a-ficcer
Disclaimer: Claim to the convoluted plot? Check. Possible bastardization of the characters we all know and love? Check! Ownership of said characters? Big red 'X'. Damn.
Word Count: 2780
Summary: If this wasn't the most pointless waste of Veronica's time ever, she didn't know what was.
Spoilers: None.
Timeline: Any time in the second season, basically. No matter what I say, I pretty much make it AU. :p
Rating: R, for cussing.
AN: Thanks to my beta-toasters: liz_will_ow and the_quandary! I incoporated a summary of Logan's chapter one reactions mina_murray left in a comment. I needed another source of humor. :P
Feedback is love, cookies, marshmallows, and promises.

Previous chapter here.

Veronica was pretty sure she should be on an open-and-shut case right now. Neptune wasn't short on men willing to cheat on their wives (or vice versa), and they always met at the same tawdry location - the Camelot. There, the windows had adopted the seediness within, and blinds fell at the worst time (for them), allowing Veronica to take her prize-winning money shot, then proceed to get the hell out of Dodge.

Tonight was different, though. Tonight, every shadow seemed sinister, and every noise created a new, exciting level of uneasiness. She really didn't feel like analyzing that right now. Sometimes, it was too easy to be scared, and that was all it was. She wanted to go home, and if this asshat didn't hurry the hell up, she would have to leave her post for doughnuts, or a Gameboy or something. Boredom was a bitch. She shook her head slightly and reached for her camera. Some men never learn: Use the mistress, cuddle the wife. She snapped a quick series of pictures. He really should have skipped the foreplay; maybe then he would have gotten off scot-clean. His face, her back. Damn.

She should have made Wallace come, too.

"Don't try and bring me into this. I have a life tonight, thanks," her imaginary Wallace informed her.

How dare he have a date and abandon her? Sure, it was a movie night with his mom, brother, and her dad, but damn it all. BFFs were supposed to be there for each other, and Veronica had made her share of sacrifices; she watched UPN with him! Yes, the entire point was to snark on the stupid, then cave and watch the chick flick he wanted to see, but it had still hurt them both. A part of her wanted to call Logan and see if he wanted to keep her entertained, but then she remembered they weren't speaking. Just because she couldn't understand the importance of occasionally being normal. (The sequel to the Importance of Being Earnest.) She had gotten her fill of normal, thanks so much.

She groaned in annoyance. It would really help to get a shot of Mr. Reynolds with her mistress's face showing. His wife was sure he was sleeping with her best friend. Just a little to the right.

Her target separated from her mark, and Veronica got a clear shot of... Mrs. Reynolds. The hell? Did she really think he was cheating? Does she have a twin? Were they creepy exhibitionist people who wanted a teen P.I. to "catch them in the act?" Seriously, what the hell?

With a heavy (on the disgust) sigh, Veronica started the car and pulled away from the curb. Bastards. Never before had she been so happy that Mars Investigations had enforced a new pay upfront policy for the well-off clients. At the first stoplight, she glared down at her camera as if it were to blame. Ew. There was nothing tawdry about a married couple at a motel. She really hoped there was ice cream at home.

------

He probably should have been more than annoyed. Like, slightly frightened, but he was pretty sure he was in a drunken coma (booze would do that to a person), so he could afford to wonder if old blood stained rubber. Sleeping through his life didn't explain why his fucking foot sort of hurt, though.

A quick glance at the speedometer told him he was going thirty miles over the speed limit, and he reluctantly eased off the gas. The last thing he needed was a run-in with zombie cops, or worse.

There was still the possibility that he imagined the assault. Yes. The dude wasn't trying to bite him, he wanted attention. Medical attention. An ambulance. Paramedic workers to he- bite.

Shit.

He reached down to click on the radio. The silence was kind of killing him.

"-Egade steer clear! A tournament! A tournament, a tournament of lies. Offer me solutions, offer me alternatives and I dec-."

Motherfucker. Silence filled the car once more. He really hated that song.

He was so busy thinking loudly that he almost missed the parking lot for Veronica's building, but managed to brake harshly in time to make it. She was really lucky she was there. It would suck to get into another un-winnable fight with her.

Once he had managed a half-assed parking job, he pushed the car door open enough and raced through the waist-high gate, past the covered pool, and to Veronica's apartment. He hesitated at the last minute. If he was awake and all, what if she was already hurt and waiting for him so she could eat him? That would truly suck.

He pushed the thought back and knocked rapidly on the door. Every passing second seemed like a minute, and he kind of hated time. Finally, an hour later, Veronica opened the door. Wearing pajamas, and eating ice cream. He also hated when his worry was a little wasted. She stood up straight and looked as apathetic as possible. That was at about Queen Ice-level. "What are you doing here?"

Play it cool. "I saw something," he paused, "bad. An accident." Oh yeah, that was cool.

The ice melted away. She stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

He gazed searchingly around the immediate area before walking past her. Not weird at all.

She threw herself on the couch and pulled her legs close to her chest. "What happened?"

He sat beside her and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I was leaving the beach, and heading back home. There was this big eighteen-wheeler truck in front of me, and this guy stumbled into the road. I thought he was just drunk or something."

Veronica scooted closer and grabbed his hand.

He gave her a half-smile and squeezed her hand lightly. Drawing in a deep breath, he continued, "The truck didn't even try to stop. I think he might've swerved a little just to hit him. But the force just tore him apart. I pulled over, and tried to help him, but... he was falling apart in ways that had nothing to do with being flattened. He actually tried to bite me."

Veronica stiffened. "Bite you?"

He ran his free hand through his hair and sighed in frustration. "I know how it sounds, but he bit my fucking foot."

She nodded. "I believe you."

"I got in my car, and pretty much found out that there's something faster than the speed of light."

Veronica smiled teasingly. "And you didn't get drunk before you came to see me? I'm flattered."

He laughed appreciatively. "Well, it's more fun getting drunk with someone else.

"There must be something else, if you sped here."

He held on to her hand tighter. "I think," he started slowly, "that it bit at me for a reason. A reason that may seem stupid and impossible."

"What? He was addicted to the taste of sweaty foot leather?"

He didn't laugh this time. "Veronica, the way he looked- he was decaying."

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"If you had seen him, you'd know."

The porch light showed a shadow move in front of the door, and Logan almost jumped from couch to door. It was a shame he hadn't moved that fast when they dated.

Veronica's cellphone rang shrilly, and whoever it was moved past the door, and Logan relaxed slightly.

"City morgue," Veronica answered with a chirp.

"So that's why the telemarketers stopped calling," Keith teased.

"Who is that?" Logan returned to his seat on the couch.

Keith spoke loud enough for both of the teenagers to hear him, "Is that Logan? Well, this is surprising. I thought we had some pesky rule about not having guests over, Veronica."

Keith's first words didn't involve a threat about coming through the phone line to throw Logan out by his jacket. Clearly he was infected.

"We did. Imagine my state of flabbergastion when the king of 09ers walked into my humble apartment."

Keith's grin was audible. "Flabbergastion? I don't know where to be intrigued or afraid that you're making up words."

"A little of both, and we'll be on the same page."

"I need you to meet me at the office. There's something I need your help with."

"Yeah, no problem."

"Do me a favor? Get Logan to drive you."

"I'm sure he'll be thrilled. I'll see you soon."

Veronica stood. "I'm going to go change. You're taking me to Dad's office."

------

The ride to Mars Investigation would have been much more pleasant in Veronica's car, what with the roof and all.

There was a bright side in the form of something gross and disturbing, though. If Back-up hadn't been following them, Veronica would have been seriously injured after being grabbed by a used-to-be man missing an eye and an arm. Consequently, Veronica believed him about the oddness. And encouraged him to drive faster. But not too fast. Crashing, flipping the roof-less car, and having to travel on foot around zombies would be bad.

In Logan's mind, the phrase "in record time" had been beaten to death over the night, so he didn't think it when he parked across the street from their destination. Or "Fuck!" when he saw the small crowd shuffling and howling their way.

It was just a hop, skip, jump and "Eep!" inside, and Veronica was quick to lock the door behind them. Just in case.

They found Keith in his office, loading guns, and both realized they weren't there for a case. Twenty minutes later, the noises had reached a fevered pitch, and Logan couldn't take it anymore.

"We can't stay here."

"Where do you propose we go, Logan? Oz? Do you have a pair of ruby-red slippers hidden on you somewhere? Give me something here."

He stared long and hard at her in confusion before something in his eyes clicked. "My place."

"What makes you think that's safe?" Keith asked.

"Gates, thick hedge, solid doors."

"Logan, your house is one big window!"

"One, you exaggerate. Cut the drama. Two, to get to my 'big window,' they have to get through that electric gate. I don't see that happening."

Veronica paled. "It's electric? What about Back-up? What if he-"

"Veronica," Keith interrupted, "I'm pretty sure Back-up knows not to whiz on the electric fence. God knows Ren & Stimpy drilled that into my head."

She allowed a small smile before her scowl came back. "It's safe here."

"For how long? Until we run out of food and they lose patience; when they realize we're here and rip the door off the hinges, and shatter all the windows to get to you? Tell me, Veronica!"

She broke eye contact. "Maybe you're right. But, you did see all those things waiting for us, right? How do we get past them?"

Logan sighed, but refused defeat, and carefully eyed the space from door to car through the stained-glass window. "We know they don't notice Back-up," he thought aloud.

Veronica (and Keith, from the look on his face) bit back a "Back-up can't drive" comment. He carefully studied the ground outside the door. "The door opens in." He smiled triumphantly at the Mars family.

"That's all you got? Veronica's right, this is stupid."

Logan shook his head. "I'll take Back-up and bring the car around."

"No."

Logan tensed. "Fine, Back-up waits with you."

"That's not what I meant and you know it." Veronica pulled her sleeves down to cover her hands.

His face softened. "I'll be fine."

"I'll go with you." Keith's tone left no room for argument. At least, he thought it did.

Logan shook his head. "I'm faster alone."

Well, Keith just learned a new lesson about unarguable arguments. He nodded, and held his gun out to Logan. "Take this then."

Logan hesitantly reached out. "What if they-"

"They won't. Besides, I have a spare," Keith admitted.

Veronica stared quietly at the floor. Logan recognized the moment she came to a decision from the steely resolve in her eyes when she made eye contact.

"You aren't going, so don't even think it," he said, preemptively.

She rolled her eyes at his assertion and moved to stand in front of him. Though ever mindful of her father's presence, she stood on the tips of her toes to brush her lips against his. He glanced warily at Keith, even, though he was unarmed. His thoughts flashed back to a situation a lot less series, though still similar, involving Lilly Kane. She wouldn't be...

He smiled uncertainly at Veronica, and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. "I'd say 'I'll be back,' but it's really cliche. Plus, I don't want to jinx myself."

"Be careful."

He braced himself and carefully pulled the door open. Back-up, who had seemed to be resting comfortably, immediately stood and trotted out the door in full-guard mode. With a smile he hoped looked reassuring, he followed the dog into the night.

--------

The first few feet, he was so close to the ground he could see every individual flaw in the cement. Though he would never admit it, in his mind he could hear a bastard hybrid of the themes from Mission Impossible and the Pink Panther every time he stopped moving to listen (or wait for something bad to happen). Once he was comfortable enough to rise close to Veronica's height, another inhuman snarl sent him crouching as far in the shadows as possible. Unfortunately, that left his view of the car and door blocked by walls of trashed crates. Fuck.

Back-up stayed a few feet in front of him, and seemed to be stuck on repeat for all the growling he was doing.

Logan wondered if they could hear him or the threatening noises from the pit bull. His heart was pounding so hard from adrenaline, he was sure the old cartoon gags would be humanized in the form of his heart bursting from his chest. Except, no girl was involved in the current situation, so maybe it was better if he didn't think about it.

He began moving again, and wished he hadn't. Back-up's shackles hadn't been raised for nothing, and in Logan's professional opinion: Fuckity fuck fuck.

They had his car surrounded.

The goddamn thing should have come with a warning label - CAUTION: Do not own or operate in case of zombie outbreak!

He should have listened to Veronica and upgraded to something less ... yellow.

Keith's car wasn't as close, but it also didn't have (practically) a zombie orgy happening on it.

Keys. He doubted Keith forgot and left his key in the ignition. That would be too convenient. He inched forward, and all his muscles prepared to work as hard as possible to get him to the car.

Keith had to have a spare somewhere in the car. The key was to figure out where. Somewhere in the front. Glove compartment was too obvious. He doubted there was a little metal box considering how paranoid he was.

Ashtray?

It was worth a try.

As he continued in the opposite direction of his car, he could almost hear their conversation inside the office building.

"Veronica, your boyfriend is going the wrong way."

"Dad, his car's occupied."

"He has a gun."

He snapped back to full attention when a growl that wasn't Back-up came from behind him. He knew he should have gone to Mexico. His feet probably left dents in the pavement as he rushed to the car; Stealth, be damned. The noise had alerted the others to his presence, and he didn't bother thinking the expletive that he so richly deserved to use.

He jumped over the hood of Keith's car and flung the backseat door open. Back-up followed the unspoken command and hopped in the car. Logan looked down the street, and, for a moment, felt completely hopeless. But, he remembered that he had something to do, and time was important. When they were all safe, he could have the breakdown he was entitled.

He popped open the car's ashtray, and bingo! From terrified to falsely safe in one-point-seven seconds. He eased the car out of Keith's parking space and pulled a wide U-turn to get in front of the door at the right angle. Mission Impossible was practically blaring in his head by the point, and he was relieved when the passenger-side doors flew open.

"Go!" Veronica ordered.

"As you wish." Logan gunned it, running the closest zombie (who happened to look a lot like that nice, crazy, old apple-lady down the street from the Seven Veils.)

The car was silent, and he didn't want to risk hearing a bad song about the world ending right now, so he was stucking with his thoughts. His friends weren't safe, and Veronica's weren't safe, and fucking hell, what if Lilly Kane wasn't as fabulous in zombie form? Which was a really stupid thought since it had been two years and none of those looked like they'd been buried. Was Dick in Neptune? Did that hair girl live nearby? What were the odds Weevil was someone closer than the PCH highway? Fuck. He pushed down the urge to buy a bus.

He could use a drink. Or ice cream.

To be continued...

Title: Expected and Unexpected - PG-13, Lilly

2006-06-27T04:43:06Z

Title: Expected and Unexpected
Disclaimer: Rob Thomas? Who's that?
Rating: PG-13?
Word Count: 1014
Warnings/Spoilers: Okay, so Lilly's dead, and I don't make any hints about who did it, even though everyone's goat knows by now. I'd say this is meant to be set around the pilot episode.
Characters/Pairings: Lilly, mentions of Logan/Veronica and Lilly/OC
Summary: Lilly's death wasn't what she thought it would be.

When Lilly pictured dying, it wasn't sudden or violent. Her ideal death (despite the "live fast, die young, leave a pretty corpse" philosophy she claimed to have) would have been an older (but still fabulous) her, surrounded by spoiled grandchildren (because she could be fourty and have grandkids, damn it). They would go on and on about how much they loved her and her awesomeness, then she would tell them that not buying them expensive toys showed how much she really loved them. She would then tell stories of her childhood, and retire to bed while they laughed over Granny Lilly's stories. Her last breath would come and go in her sleep while she remembered that one prom night and playing "I Never" with her best friend and their respective boyfriends.

She never pictured who her husband would be, but she was sure he would be a former "lovah" who just refused to be pushed aside. Maybe he would manage to track her down in her new city, and profess his undying love in a public, somewhat embarrassing way. They would run to the nearest church, which would be just around the corner since she was sure she'd live in Vegas, and get married by Elvis. Veronica Mars (the only witness) would be standing silent, befuddled, and somewhat amused beside her while she repeated her vows, then she would declare the first round of drinks were on her. Not that Veronica would actually mean it, she would just get as much sarcasm and disbelief as possible in one sentence.

Veronica Mars would always be her best friend. She just knew it, and it didn't matter if she was strapless red satin or soft candy-pink cotton. Even though it would have been really gross and psychologically traumatizing for Veronica, a part of her had hoped they were sisters. Real sisters. not that dorky "spit sisters" oath they did since they were both terrified of blood. They would be together forever. Of course, they still had to find people to marry for kids, and because Lilly didn't picture a life of celibacy. While Lilly married Un-pictured Lovah - maybe that cute drummer she "dated" for a while -, Veronica would marry...

Hmm. Duncan was out of the picture. Lilly refused - refused - to let either of the Casablancas boys near her best friend. Boys who could exist somewhere but didn't live in Neptune had no chance in Hell since Veronica's future husband had to be someone she knew and approved of. It would simply have to be Logan. Sure, they didn't think of each other "that way," but she never met people she couldn't convince, and she was damn good at convincing them. ("C'mon Veronica, just take one little sip." "Logan, it's not that public, and if someone does come in, I can just pull my skirt back down.")

Yes, it would be her, Veronica, Logan, and Random Guy Who Possibly Drummed at Some Point in His Life, all living together like one big happy family. The house would be huge, of course. It had to be for them to all live comfortably and not find each other in compromising positions. (Her Veronica now would never have sex in the kitchen, but who knew what an older, Logan-influenced Veronica would do?) They would go out drinking together, and when Logan and Veronica finally got married on one drunken night (after somehow managing to wake all the people that mattered and get them there), Lilly would serve as the Best Bridesmaid Ever in her amazing jeans and shiny shirt. Then, sometime the next day, Keith Mars and Celeste Kane would gang up on them during their hangovers and demand real weddings. "Everyone's already here," they'd say. "Money can buy anything," Celeste would reply to their protests of short-notice. Later, they would all have a laugh about how stupid it was to say that when they both indulged in shot-gun weddings.

There would be problems, but Lilly already knew that. They (mostly Logan and Lilly) would have a screaming match about personal space and the benefits of coming up with codes, while Veronica tried to be the peacekeeper until they both snapped at her and she decided to throw in witty quips when she felt like it. It would all be resigned when Lilly promised to knock before coming in the bathroom, and Logan would agree to keep Veronica quiet, and Veronica would turn bright red at the insinuation, but everything would be fine.

Then a few months later, Veronica would come home bitchy and snappy because some gossiping asshat at work (or school) had asked how she could possibly let Logan and Lilly be alone together for some much of the day when they had a history. They would vehemently (and honestly) deny it until she finally broke down and Logan would proceed to spend the rest of the day showing her how insane the doubt the co-worker/student's theory created was, with Lilly's instruction to make Veronica be as loud as possible. Maybe that was a little disturbing and got into the "history" a bit, but Lilly would just be looking out for Veronica and their future.

They would live happily ever after, until Lilly passed on first in a moment of subtle drama (which should have been at fifty, damn it. She didn't want to completely miss her prime). She knew Veronica would be the one to fall apart, and Logan would have to help her; Veronica would appreciate the savior complex he had. Her own husband would mourn her until Logan made him realize that he couldn't go on like that because she wouldn't like it. Then she'd have to step out of Heaven occasionally to haunt his ass when he tried to move on with someone she didn't like. Why the hell did she marry him?

But, she knew her perfect world wasn't meant to come true, what with the ashtray to the face, and all. She just wished Logan and Veronica would stop fighting and accept that they needed each other to move on. Oh, and catch the murdering skeeze, but getting along would be a good start.

Title: Apocalpyse, How? - R, L/V

2006-06-22T19:34:38Z

Title: Apocalpyse, How?
Disclaimer: Pah-ha. Like they're mine.
Summary: It's the end of the world as he knows it, but he feels just fine.
Rating: R. Lots of cussing, and fairly disturbing image-y words.
AN: Zombies can be mixed in with any fandom if you try hard enough. This is at Level "Half-Ass" on the Trying scale, but hey, if that works...;p Also, there may be some things that seem kind of flippant in this fic. Personally, I like a little humor with my drama/action/horror/whatever, but some people don't. If you see mistakes I'd love to know. :)

Logan knew he was going to Hell, he just didn't expect it to be now and like this. If anyone had told him that Night of the Living Dead (or hell, even that D-grade disaster Aaron starred in Honey, I Love You, But I Have to Eat Your Brain Now - He didn't deserve to use the excuse that it was his first role.) was now showing at a street corner near him, his first reaction wouldn't have been automatic belief. There would have been a lot of laughing, eye rolling and eyebrow raising, but belief? No.

Seeing is believing, though, and seeing someone torn apart by a tank-like truck and still be able to move was enough to make him believe something odd was going on.

He shuddered and gripped the wheel tighter. Despite (or because of) his penchant for trouble, his first instinct had been to just keep driving, but Veronica's Influence (its own entity) had beat his instinct down, took over the wheel and brakes, and guided him to the side of the road. Then the fucking thing had prompted him to get out of the car and try to help. Help. Help, how? The guy was in two separate pieces, and trailing his intestines behind him - apparently he decided his legs weren't worth the effort.

"Do you need any help?" he asked the torso crawling towards him. Of all the stupid fucking questions. He cringed, more out of disgust than embarrassment.

His would-be good deed didn't answer with words, just growled and continued moving in his direction.

Logan pushed back the bad feeling (after all, who'd be comfortable with visible body cavities and organs randomly decorating the street?) and moved closer. Bad idea. When he was standing directly in front of the man and bending down, he noticed how rank and dead the man looked. While he was somewhat distracted (or maybe just because he was close enough), the man grabbed his leg and bit down - hard - on his foot. Technically, he got a mouthful of imported leather, but he still went for Logan's foot.

The sudden movement startled Logan enough to push V.I. back and let his instincts get him out of a harmful situation. The speed of light had nothing on him as he raced back to his X-Terra. He couldn't resist looking back to see the thing that bit him was still steadily moving in his direction with an open mouth, and something thick and dark dripping from it. Blood? Ew. And also, eep.

Logan had seen enough scary movies to know that this? Really wasn't the best thing ever. Good thing he was already at his car. He'd hate to have to let out a shrill, girly scream. It would have just hurt the thing's ears from where they were somewhere beside his legs.

What should he do? Should he report it to Lamb? His V.I. laughed at that, and the rest of his brain agreed that was a fucking stupid idea. Lamb couldn't handle regular, everyday, human criminals, how could he deal with a shoe-biter? There was always the trusty standby of getting completely shit-faced, passing out, then waking up to discover it was all a dream. He could drive far, far away from the mess on the highway (which was about a foot closer now, and he really should get his ass in gear, but it wasn't like the fucking thing could get to him in the car.). Maybe there was just one of those things, and maybe it wasn't really a "zombie," just an escaped mental patient preforming an illusion; they were supposed to be super-strong and all. The horror movie geek within snorted, and shouted how stupid that was.

Logan sighed. Even if that was the only one (for now), he couldn't just pick up and leave. Fuck. Despite the urge to be in Timbuktu, he knew he wasn't going anywhere, because of Veronica. Veronica, who was out there somewhere trying to crack a case for her dad. What about Keith?

With a set location in mind, he started his car, made an abrupt U-turn, (ignored the squishy sound from under his tires) and drove.

To be continued? Well, I'd say it depends on you people but then I'd be a big ole fibber since I doubt I'd just leave it alone. Still, reviews are nice. *Bats eyelashes*

Ficlet: As Far As You're Concerned, R, Mac/Dick

2006-06-13T05:33:09Z

Title: As Far As You're Concerned
Pairing: Mac/Dick
Word Count: Around 536
Rating: R to NC-17
Spoilers: Clearly the finale.
Warnings: This is my first attempt at anything resembling smut, so here's to firsts. ;p
AN: This was actually the first fic I intended to post, but then I realized it wasn't quite finished. Now almost a month later, I decided to add a few lines at the end so that I could really consider it worthy of a rewrite later. Or something. Any mistakes are mine since the_quandary was my brave little beta-toaster and can't control me.
Summary: They are somewhere between what-the-fuck-am-I-doing? sex and using the physical to solve the mental, but the limbo is better than nothing.

She doesn't know what inspires her to stop by Dick's room at the Neptune Grand, she's just sure she shouldn't know how many steps it takes to get from elevator to door. Shouldn't know how many post-knock seconds he waits beside the door to try not to seem like an eager beav- shit.

When he doesn't just want to play games or hang out, she knows how many kisses it takes to get her naked (like he lasts beyond one); how long until the fumbling and teasing stop and desperation kicks in.

She knows this isn't fucking healthy at all, but what can she do? They are somewhere between what-the-fuck-am-I-doing? sex and using the physical to solve the mental, but the limbo is better than nothing.

He moves her backwards through the fucking labyrinth that is the "family room," to his bedroom (A fucking stupid idea that had them cursing and tangled on the floor the first time, now a well-known path. Small table to the left, decorative rug to the right). Five big steps (for him, several stumbling ones for her) past that ugly gray landscape painting with the fucking hills (alive with the sound of music, no doubt), and they land on the giant queen-size bed with the Egyptian cotton bedspread (that reminds her how rich he is, how rich she could have been, how normal she would have been, how much her skin hates foreign cloth by the itchy feeling on her back, but what-the fuck-ever). She's on her back, and his mouth is on her neck, biting hard enough to bruise, and she has to try really hard not to count the dots on the ceiling, but she can't just lay there and not think, which Beav-, Cass-, he loved about her. She wishes she was as good at it as Dick (which seems really unfair to think when he isn't all bad, and since his tongue is doing very talented things to the hollow of her throat - why is she still thinking? Fuck.)

His hands meet his mouth at her clavicle, and his fingers trail down to the swell of her breasts, over her nipples gently (a strange contrast to the almost violent oral treatment, but that is Dick - be careless with skin covered by clothes, treat the tits like they could break). His hands move farther down to her [insert euphemism here], and the urge to count, do anything to distract herself, intensifies. She should not be trying to find a distraction.

Mac knows that the second his finger dips inside of her, her vision will go white, her mind will go blank, and her hands will tangle in the non-hypo-allergenic sheets to keep from pulling any of the blond hair out of his head - he would bitch about that too much.

Bitch about it. Maybe she should just to see if his rambling leads to any validation for this. Sleeping with his brother's ex, a room that is only one level from the roof. Maybe he's trying to get closer to his brother because he never bothered before. Maybe he can't get over it any other way...

Maybe it's just his own form of revenge. She can't begrudge him that. It's hers, too.

anonaficcer @ 2006-06-04T08:26:00

2006-06-04T12:28:27Z

Welcome, random strangers!
This is a fic journal. Shocking, I know. Honestly, I just have this thing where I don't like people to be able to read something I write, then see something personal immediately above or below it. I'm funny that way. *Bats eyelashes*