lv au week, day 1: vampires/werewolves
Fandom: Veronica Mars
Rating: PG-13 (one or two swears…look, Veronica is under some stress)
Pairing: Logan Echolls/Veronica Mars,
Additional Tags: Secret identity, vaguely vampire hunter related things, filed under: relationship obstacles
Word Count: 862
written solely for @cubbiegirl and @marshmellowbobcat because they are two humans who deserve all good things - though, I don’t think this half-baked barely a fic I wrote qualifies. BUT IT’S ALL I HAVE TO OFFER, OKAY?
this is also so out of my comfort zone, so please be kind. and rewind. okay…I am stalling.
Veronica Mars wakes up sore and pissed off. She’s also not entirely certain of her precise location, though she has her suspicions. How she arrived in the mysterious location, though, is something she remembers clearly.
She’s not sure what she should be more concerned with: the sharp pain that starts somewhere in the back of her head, her palpable and seething anger, or the fact that her dad is probably losing his mind with worry. He never did quite warm up to Logan. She can’t imagine that changing much now.
Veronica blinks away the sleep (can it truly be called sleep when one’s sleep was the result of being bashed in the head?), waiting for her eyes to adjust to her surroundings. Once able to discern some of the shapes around her, she attempts to sit up. Her hands are bound tight, though her feet have been left alone. It takes some maneuvering to feel the sore spot behind her head. Her fingers come away clean, and that at least is a small mercy.
She knows it’s a fruitless endeavor but she reaches down and pulls up her right pant leg only to confirm that, yes, her hidden stake has been confiscated. No doubt when she pulls up her left — son of a bitch. Not only did he take her vial of, the bastard also left her a note.
Looking for something?, the post-it note reads.
Veronica crumples the note and tosses it aside.
The cell where he’s decided to hold her is by far the nicest holding cell she’s ever spent a night. (What is it with vampires, by the way? How do they always, no matter how unassuming they appear, have access to a place to stash humans?) He’s left her a bottle of water, a package of her favorite granola bars, and some of those sour gummy worms he can’t stand but keeps his kitchen stocked with for her. The biggest affront is that he also left her a pillow and duvet. Because it’s her pillow. The one she brought over special from her apartment once she started staying the night more and more. And the duvet is the one from his bed. The one so comfortable it’s actually inspired impromptu songs about its decadence. Is his bringing these to her is an act of kindness or a form of torture?
“I’m sorry. I do love you.”
That’s what he’d said right before he’d sent her flying backwards into a tree. The last words she heard before her vision went black.
“See, this is why I don’t date,” Veronica mutters.
“And here I thought it had more to do with your general disdain for the human population.”
Knowing Logan, he’s been standing by to wait for the perfect melodramatic moment to make his entrance. That she wasn’t able to sense him, even now knowing his true identity, is more than a little alarming.
“I might have disdain for the human population, but at least I don’t eat the human population,” she replies.
Logan comes into view and leans against the bars of her cell. He holds out a bottle of what she assumes to be painkillers. She would really like to tell him to shove it, but this headache is no joke.
She takes the bottle from Logan and he immediately steps back several feet. Which, given she was about to yank him by the neck of his henley and slam his face into the bars was a smart move.
“So,” he says, “how was your day, dear?”
She doesn’t look up from the pill bottle. Instead she concentrates on pouring three into her hand. Veronica swallows them dry, puts the lid back on, and tosses the bottle over to her cot.
“Kind of shitty, if I’m being honest,” she says. “Pretty sure my boyfriend and I broke up.”
The tendons in Logan’s neck flex. “What makes you say that?”
“Well, see, he’s a soulless, bloodthirsty monster. And it’s my job to kill soulless, bloodthirsty monsters. So, as you can see, we’re a bit at odds.”
If Veronica wasn’t mistaken, she would think her words actually hurt him because he visibly tenses at her cold tone.
“Ah. Well, thanks for letting me know, then.”
“Oh, god. Spare me, Logan. I’m not the one who decided to imprison the other. I’m not the one who planned an ambush. And I’m sure as hell not the one who pretended to be in love just to—”
“ —You think I pretended?”
“You must think I’m a fucking moron.”
“I don’t, Veronica. I really don’t.” He sighs heavily, taking a step closer to the bars. “I wasn’t pretending.” He looks past her to the interior of her cell. “How do you like your suite?”
“If that’s what you want.”
“I haven’t decided yet.” She lunges forward at the precise second Logan jumps back, out of her reach. His mouth twists up in enthusiastic delight. “Chinese for dinner? You probably can’t be trusted with chopsticks anymore, right?”
