Fic: Four Bar Fights...(R) VM Cast
Title: Four Bar Fights that Never Happened, and One that Should Have
Author: Bedsidekibbles
Rating: R
Length: 2775 words
Spoilers: Nothing beyond Donut Run, but probably not even up to that
Summary: Response to the "Ask Questions Later" challenge. Scenario: How to take a hit with chair. Five people find themselves in similar situations. AU
Author’s Notes (if any): The Spanish swearing I got from here: http://www.insultmonger.com/swearing/spanish.htm The rest I did myself, sorry if it's wrong. Yay for four years of high school Spanish, and two semesters in college (though that second one is still in progress). Please, please review. Beta'd very quickly, because I need to go to bed. So sorry for any mistakes.
Duncan (Cuba, Spring 2005):
Duncan had been in Cuba for about a week at that point. He had taken to drinking in the evenings (as well as the afternoons and the mornings). He didn't know what the legal drinking age was, if there even was one, but no one really seemed to care how old he was. They knew he was an American with a lot of money, and were all only too kind in helping relieve him of the latter.
For some reason that night, Duncan was quite a bit more aware of his surroundings. He had never really paid attention, too eager to be drunk enough that he forgot where he was and why. The first people he noticed were two huge guys at the end of the bar, already three sheets to the wind (and for Duncan to think something like that was saying something, as he had yet to sober up since arriving, as his preventative cure for a hang over was to just keep drinking). Both wore muscle tees, leather pants, and their long hair in ponytails, reminding Duncan of American bikers. Maybe these were Cuban bikers. But the only type of bikes Duncan had seen since arriving in Cuba had been little ten speeds like the one he got for his birthday in fourth grade. Duncan started giggling at the image of these two huge men on bikes like that one, and found himself able to stop. As drunk as he was, he was also very loud in his merriment, quickly catching the attention of everyone in the bar, and especially that of the bikers. They saw him looking at them as he laughed, and became enraged.
"Que mira, pendejo?" The first asked.
Duncan continued to laugh, thinking that pendejo was a funny word. He didn't know what it meant, but it sounded funny. "Pen-day-hoe," he giggled. The only things he could remember from Spanish after this much alcohol were "Mas cerveza, mas tequila, por favor!"
The men became angrier. "Estas preguntaba por una lucha, capullo."
Duncan continued to laugh, and was finally able to string together a complete sentence in Spanish. "Tu eres un capullo." It was definitely a mistake.
One rushed him, knocking from his stool. Once he was on the ground, they both started to kick him, steel toed boots connecting with his ribs each time. Despite the pain, Duncan continued to laugh. In his drunkeness, he found it ironic. He was in Cuba because he possibly killed his sister, and he may very well be about to be killed himself.
Angry that he continued to laugh, one of the men grabbed the stool that Duncan had been sitting on. Lifting it over his head, he yelled, "Por que no, come mi mierda!" as he slammed it down towards Duncan's face with as much force as he could muster.
Duncan couldn't help but thinking of Logan's Action Hero handbook. Logan had told him all about it, especially excited about the entry on how to take a hit from a chair ("Just think, DK, I'll never lose in a barfight!"). Maybe he should have read it himself. Duncan smiled at the irony. Then everything went black.
Veronica (Future):
Veronica wrinkled her nose at the smell as soon as she walked in. She hated bars. They reminded her too much of her misspent youth, tracking down killers and adulterers. They reminded her that despite her best efforts to be more than just a private dick, she had taken over her father's business, and occasionally did enjoy it. Actually helping people she enjoyed. Helping Madison Sinclair-Casablancas get money out of her cheating fourth husband really didn't appeal to her, but it was what paid the bills. As casually as she could, she took a seat at the end of the bar, watching Dick out of the corner of her eye, trying not to be too obvious. There was some blonde bimbo sitting across from him. With practiced ease, Veronica took out her lighter and set it on the counter, making sure the camera lense was pointing straight at the table in the corner. After that, she tried to relax and let Dick dig his own grave. If he was stupid enough to cheat on his wife, who he knew was only waiting for an excuse to divorce him, within five miles of their house, than he deserved to get caught. Then again, in Veronica's opinion, Dick deserved anything and everything he had coming to him. But, so did Madison. For an hour, Veronica slowly sipped a rum and coke, followed by a beer, and then three vodkas. She had developed her mother's taste for alcohol, but was at the point in the night where the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her father had shut up, leaving her to her alcohol induced happiness.
Eventually, the blonde left, leaving Dick by himself, sipping his sixth (or what it his seventh? Veronica had lost count of both their drinks long ago) beer. Casually, or so she hoped, Veronica fumbled to put her lighter back in her purse. However, even the minor movements caused her to sway dangerously on her chair, catching attention that she had been trying so hard to avoid. Namely, Dick's. Seeing Veronica Mars in the same bar as him immediatly put Dick on edge. Veronica had earned a reputation in Neptune (yet another one) as the best person to go to if you wanted incriminating photos of someone. Despite being drunk, Dick knew that she was there to catch him cheating on his fucking bitch of a wife. Getting up, he stormed over to her, grabbing her arm, yanking off the stool and towards him. Her feet hit the floor, but she swayed back and forth. It was possible that she only stayed upright because of the iron grip he had her arm in.
"You fucking bitch, were you taking pictures of me? I know you're working for that fucking bitch I married. Give me the fucking camera!" By the end, he was screaming in her face.
Even drunk, Veronica refused to back down from the likes of Dick Casablancas. "Fuck you Dick. Did you see a camera? I'm just here having a drink, same as anyone else."
"You fucking slut. A drunk as well as whore. But I know you were taking pictures of me somehow, and I fucking want them. That bitch is not getting my money."
"Shame shame, little Dickie. Shouldn't cheat on your wife if you don't want to get caught."
Enraged, Dick drew back his hand, made a fist, and let it connect with her face. She fell the floor, and groaned, pain blossoming in and around her left eye. "Fuck you Dick," she managed to grunt out.
"You never knew when to shut that fucking smart mouth of yours. Well, I'm going to finally teach you." Grabbing the chair closest to him, grabbing the wooden legs. Veronica watched his actions as if from afar. All she could really think at the moment was that she should have read Logan's Action Hero handbook all those years ago. If she remembered right, he had said there being something in there about how to take a hit from a chair. That was the last thing she thought of before a pain exploded in her back, wooden splinters rained down upon her, and everything went black.
Weevil (Summer 2005):
Tension had been thick all summer, and was growing by the day. Weevil was getting sick of it fast, but he refused to pussy out first. The 09ers had it coming to them. He knew it had been them behind the poolhouse fire the other day, but of course no had been arrested. It wasn't even being investigated. The Sherrif's department had made it clear that the only time they would step in would be when it was the 09ers who were being attacked. Sick of even thinking about it, he stopped in his uncle's bar, next to his other uncle's chop shop, hoping to get a drink and to just relax before heading home.
He had only been there for about fifteen minutes when a pack of 09ers made their way in. He recognized them all from school, but didn't know any of their names. Beyond Echolls and Duncan Kane, he didn't know any of their names. They were all interchangable to him anyway.
"Bitches," he growled, "I think you must be lost. You're in the wrong bar."
"Fuck you, you fucking 'spic." He didn't know which one it came from, but it didn't really matter.
"Oh, that's orginal. Don't hurt yourself trying to think up the insults." With a smirk, he turned back to his beer, determined to have at least one night's peace. He wasn't going to get into it with the little pricks. They were on his turf, and had to realize that he had the advantage.
That assumption was his mistake. He didn't see one of the boys move forward and grab one of the metal chairs at the table behind him. He didn't see it raised above his head. He heard someone mutter, "The only good Mexican is a dead Mexican," but before he could turn, he didn't see the chair coming down, right for his skull, but the last thing he did see was everything go black.
Lilly (Past):
She was thirteen, with the breasts of a twenty year old. She knew, if she put a little effort into it, she could easily pass as that, if not a few years older. So as a challenge to herself (she thought it was always good to set personal goals, and to strive to achieve them), she decided she would get dressed up one night, go down to the closest bar, and see if she could get someone to buy her a drink.
So she went one Friday night, when her parents were out at some function or another. She dressed herself up in her shortest, tightest outfit she could find. She slathered her face in makeup until she looked ten years older than she was. She snuck out the back and made her way down the mile and half road to the nearest bar.
She was able to get in without anyone stopping her, and she knew she had done it. She sauntered over to the bar and sat down, making no move to order anything.
Soon enough, a big man, covered in tattoos made his way over to her, taking the stool next to hers. She smiled flirtaciously, and before she knew it, a drink was in front of her. She had done it. Anything else tonight would just be icing on the cake. She couldn't wait to tell Duncan about this. He would just die.
Before long, alcohol souring through her bloodstream, Lilly found herself leaning back against the counter, the big man's breath coming in short pants against her neck as her hand crept up to meet her panties. She shifted a little, bringing his fingers a little closer to her center. Slipping in under the lacy edge, the man quickly buried a finger within her. She let him fuck her for a moment before pulling away. "Please, stop. I...I'm really not comfortable with this." She smirked, loving the tease almost as much as the sex itself. And there was not way she was fucking this guy. He was, like, her dad's age.
"You fucking tease. You fucking cunt whore!" Jerking his hand from between her thighs, he brought it back and slapped her across the face. She couldn't believe it for a moment.
But only a moment. Lilly Kane could never stay silent for long. "You asshole, just wait until I -"
Not letting her finish, the man grabbed a chair, slamming it into her side, knocking her to the ground. She gasped in pain, tears streaming down her face, her makeup running, hemline pushed up just below her pantyline, making her look debauched. "You what? That's right you little bitch, nothing. Because I'm not getting arrested again." And with that the man grabbed an ash tray from the bar, and swung it towards her head.
The last thing Lilly Kane thought before it all went black, was that it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Logan (Fall 2005):
Veronica had been in Fitzpatricks too long. Knowing she would be in the type of trouble that only Veronica could get into, he went in, guns blazing (figuratively, of course), glad to once again be her knight in shining armor. Glad to have some kind of role, importance, in her life at all.
Seeing the man on top of Veronica, the tattoo gun only inches above her face, Logan lost control. Grabbing the nearest weapon he had, which happened to be a metal chair that had been sitting by the door, he ran at the man, slamming it into his side. The man rolled off Veronica and onto his back on the floor. Before he could even try to get up, Logan brought it down again, this time right on the guy's chest. Just as he lifted it to bring it down a third time, he felt a tiny hand wrap around his wrist. He stopped and looked at the terrified blonde next to him.
"Please, let's just go."
He couldn't refuse her. He threw the chair to the floor, and walking backwards to make sure the man stayed where was, he followed her out.
In his car, Veronica broke down, the events of the last twenty minutes fully hitting her. Logan pulled her into his arms, and refused to let her go, even when she tried to put up a fight. Eventually she gave in and sobbed against his chest.
"Logan, what the hell were you thinking? You could have killed him, and then you really would be guilty of murder. Even now, you could still go to jail for assalt."
"Veronica, he was going to hurt you. I couldn't just stand there and do nothing. Nothing is going to happen. For him to press charges, he would have to tell the police what he was doing to you and he's not going to do that. Besides," Logan added, his voice becoming bitter, "I didn't think you really cared what happened to me anymore."
Even through her tears Veronica glared at him. "It was never about not caring about you. I did...I do, I had just hoped..."
"What Veronica, what had you hoped for? Perfect little rainbows and puppies? I just wasn't "normal" enough for you?"
"I hoped that me breaking up with you would make you see what you were doing. I hoped it would be a reason for you to stop. But you cared more about petty revenge than me, and you just kept at it, like it didn't even matter that I was gone."
"Veronica...they almost hurt you. That day they shot out my window, they could have killed you. I couldn't just let that go."
"Logan... this whole thing has gotten way out of hand." She stared down at her lap, not used to seeing the love in his eyes anymore.
He tilted her chin up and made her meet his gaze. "I know. That's why I'm going to fix it." With that, he leaned in and kissed her.
She didn't pull away right away, but when she did it was reluctantly. "That's not what I was talking about, I..."
Logan cut her off with another kiss, though this one was brief. "I know what you meant, and I'll see to that too. But Veronica... this is stupid. We should be together."
Unable to lie to him (or to herself any longer) she whispered, "I know... are you willing to take me back?"
"Are you willing to take me back?"
She nodded. "If you stop this shit, in a heartbeat."
He nodded as well, and brought his lips to hers again, murmuring, "In a heartbeat."
When he pulled away again, a few minutes later, he smiled as he started the car. Just as they were pulling way, he broke the newly comfortable silence. "Oh yeah, remind me to send Fitzpatrick a gift."
Veronica was confused. "A gift? What? Why?"
"Well, if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have gotten back together."
Veronica smiled. "Alright, what is it you're going to get him."
"I'm thinking I'll send him my copy of the Action Hero's Handbook. That way he won't go down so easy someone hits him with a chair."
And the sound of Veronica's laughter erased all the blackness from Logan's life.
The End...
(Don't you love sappy endings?)
Author: Bedsidekibbles
Rating: R
Length: 2775 words
Spoilers: Nothing beyond Donut Run, but probably not even up to that
Summary: Response to the "Ask Questions Later" challenge. Scenario: How to take a hit with chair. Five people find themselves in similar situations. AU
Author’s Notes (if any): The Spanish swearing I got from here: http://www.insultmonger.com/swearing/spanish.htm The rest I did myself, sorry if it's wrong. Yay for four years of high school Spanish, and two semesters in college (though that second one is still in progress). Please, please review. Beta'd very quickly, because I need to go to bed. So sorry for any mistakes.
Duncan (Cuba, Spring 2005):
Duncan had been in Cuba for about a week at that point. He had taken to drinking in the evenings (as well as the afternoons and the mornings). He didn't know what the legal drinking age was, if there even was one, but no one really seemed to care how old he was. They knew he was an American with a lot of money, and were all only too kind in helping relieve him of the latter.
For some reason that night, Duncan was quite a bit more aware of his surroundings. He had never really paid attention, too eager to be drunk enough that he forgot where he was and why. The first people he noticed were two huge guys at the end of the bar, already three sheets to the wind (and for Duncan to think something like that was saying something, as he had yet to sober up since arriving, as his preventative cure for a hang over was to just keep drinking). Both wore muscle tees, leather pants, and their long hair in ponytails, reminding Duncan of American bikers. Maybe these were Cuban bikers. But the only type of bikes Duncan had seen since arriving in Cuba had been little ten speeds like the one he got for his birthday in fourth grade. Duncan started giggling at the image of these two huge men on bikes like that one, and found himself able to stop. As drunk as he was, he was also very loud in his merriment, quickly catching the attention of everyone in the bar, and especially that of the bikers. They saw him looking at them as he laughed, and became enraged.
"Que mira, pendejo?" The first asked.
Duncan continued to laugh, thinking that pendejo was a funny word. He didn't know what it meant, but it sounded funny. "Pen-day-hoe," he giggled. The only things he could remember from Spanish after this much alcohol were "Mas cerveza, mas tequila, por favor!"
The men became angrier. "Estas preguntaba por una lucha, capullo."
Duncan continued to laugh, and was finally able to string together a complete sentence in Spanish. "Tu eres un capullo." It was definitely a mistake.
One rushed him, knocking from his stool. Once he was on the ground, they both started to kick him, steel toed boots connecting with his ribs each time. Despite the pain, Duncan continued to laugh. In his drunkeness, he found it ironic. He was in Cuba because he possibly killed his sister, and he may very well be about to be killed himself.
Angry that he continued to laugh, one of the men grabbed the stool that Duncan had been sitting on. Lifting it over his head, he yelled, "Por que no, come mi mierda!" as he slammed it down towards Duncan's face with as much force as he could muster.
Duncan couldn't help but thinking of Logan's Action Hero handbook. Logan had told him all about it, especially excited about the entry on how to take a hit from a chair ("Just think, DK, I'll never lose in a barfight!"). Maybe he should have read it himself. Duncan smiled at the irony. Then everything went black.
Veronica (Future):
Veronica wrinkled her nose at the smell as soon as she walked in. She hated bars. They reminded her too much of her misspent youth, tracking down killers and adulterers. They reminded her that despite her best efforts to be more than just a private dick, she had taken over her father's business, and occasionally did enjoy it. Actually helping people she enjoyed. Helping Madison Sinclair-Casablancas get money out of her cheating fourth husband really didn't appeal to her, but it was what paid the bills. As casually as she could, she took a seat at the end of the bar, watching Dick out of the corner of her eye, trying not to be too obvious. There was some blonde bimbo sitting across from him. With practiced ease, Veronica took out her lighter and set it on the counter, making sure the camera lense was pointing straight at the table in the corner. After that, she tried to relax and let Dick dig his own grave. If he was stupid enough to cheat on his wife, who he knew was only waiting for an excuse to divorce him, within five miles of their house, than he deserved to get caught. Then again, in Veronica's opinion, Dick deserved anything and everything he had coming to him. But, so did Madison. For an hour, Veronica slowly sipped a rum and coke, followed by a beer, and then three vodkas. She had developed her mother's taste for alcohol, but was at the point in the night where the voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her father had shut up, leaving her to her alcohol induced happiness.
Eventually, the blonde left, leaving Dick by himself, sipping his sixth (or what it his seventh? Veronica had lost count of both their drinks long ago) beer. Casually, or so she hoped, Veronica fumbled to put her lighter back in her purse. However, even the minor movements caused her to sway dangerously on her chair, catching attention that she had been trying so hard to avoid. Namely, Dick's. Seeing Veronica Mars in the same bar as him immediatly put Dick on edge. Veronica had earned a reputation in Neptune (yet another one) as the best person to go to if you wanted incriminating photos of someone. Despite being drunk, Dick knew that she was there to catch him cheating on his fucking bitch of a wife. Getting up, he stormed over to her, grabbing her arm, yanking off the stool and towards him. Her feet hit the floor, but she swayed back and forth. It was possible that she only stayed upright because of the iron grip he had her arm in.
"You fucking bitch, were you taking pictures of me? I know you're working for that fucking bitch I married. Give me the fucking camera!" By the end, he was screaming in her face.
Even drunk, Veronica refused to back down from the likes of Dick Casablancas. "Fuck you Dick. Did you see a camera? I'm just here having a drink, same as anyone else."
"You fucking slut. A drunk as well as whore. But I know you were taking pictures of me somehow, and I fucking want them. That bitch is not getting my money."
"Shame shame, little Dickie. Shouldn't cheat on your wife if you don't want to get caught."
Enraged, Dick drew back his hand, made a fist, and let it connect with her face. She fell the floor, and groaned, pain blossoming in and around her left eye. "Fuck you Dick," she managed to grunt out.
"You never knew when to shut that fucking smart mouth of yours. Well, I'm going to finally teach you." Grabbing the chair closest to him, grabbing the wooden legs. Veronica watched his actions as if from afar. All she could really think at the moment was that she should have read Logan's Action Hero handbook all those years ago. If she remembered right, he had said there being something in there about how to take a hit from a chair. That was the last thing she thought of before a pain exploded in her back, wooden splinters rained down upon her, and everything went black.
Weevil (Summer 2005):
Tension had been thick all summer, and was growing by the day. Weevil was getting sick of it fast, but he refused to pussy out first. The 09ers had it coming to them. He knew it had been them behind the poolhouse fire the other day, but of course no had been arrested. It wasn't even being investigated. The Sherrif's department had made it clear that the only time they would step in would be when it was the 09ers who were being attacked. Sick of even thinking about it, he stopped in his uncle's bar, next to his other uncle's chop shop, hoping to get a drink and to just relax before heading home.
He had only been there for about fifteen minutes when a pack of 09ers made their way in. He recognized them all from school, but didn't know any of their names. Beyond Echolls and Duncan Kane, he didn't know any of their names. They were all interchangable to him anyway.
"Bitches," he growled, "I think you must be lost. You're in the wrong bar."
"Fuck you, you fucking 'spic." He didn't know which one it came from, but it didn't really matter.
"Oh, that's orginal. Don't hurt yourself trying to think up the insults." With a smirk, he turned back to his beer, determined to have at least one night's peace. He wasn't going to get into it with the little pricks. They were on his turf, and had to realize that he had the advantage.
That assumption was his mistake. He didn't see one of the boys move forward and grab one of the metal chairs at the table behind him. He didn't see it raised above his head. He heard someone mutter, "The only good Mexican is a dead Mexican," but before he could turn, he didn't see the chair coming down, right for his skull, but the last thing he did see was everything go black.
Lilly (Past):
She was thirteen, with the breasts of a twenty year old. She knew, if she put a little effort into it, she could easily pass as that, if not a few years older. So as a challenge to herself (she thought it was always good to set personal goals, and to strive to achieve them), she decided she would get dressed up one night, go down to the closest bar, and see if she could get someone to buy her a drink.
So she went one Friday night, when her parents were out at some function or another. She dressed herself up in her shortest, tightest outfit she could find. She slathered her face in makeup until she looked ten years older than she was. She snuck out the back and made her way down the mile and half road to the nearest bar.
She was able to get in without anyone stopping her, and she knew she had done it. She sauntered over to the bar and sat down, making no move to order anything.
Soon enough, a big man, covered in tattoos made his way over to her, taking the stool next to hers. She smiled flirtaciously, and before she knew it, a drink was in front of her. She had done it. Anything else tonight would just be icing on the cake. She couldn't wait to tell Duncan about this. He would just die.
Before long, alcohol souring through her bloodstream, Lilly found herself leaning back against the counter, the big man's breath coming in short pants against her neck as her hand crept up to meet her panties. She shifted a little, bringing his fingers a little closer to her center. Slipping in under the lacy edge, the man quickly buried a finger within her. She let him fuck her for a moment before pulling away. "Please, stop. I...I'm really not comfortable with this." She smirked, loving the tease almost as much as the sex itself. And there was not way she was fucking this guy. He was, like, her dad's age.
"You fucking tease. You fucking cunt whore!" Jerking his hand from between her thighs, he brought it back and slapped her across the face. She couldn't believe it for a moment.
But only a moment. Lilly Kane could never stay silent for long. "You asshole, just wait until I -"
Not letting her finish, the man grabbed a chair, slamming it into her side, knocking her to the ground. She gasped in pain, tears streaming down her face, her makeup running, hemline pushed up just below her pantyline, making her look debauched. "You what? That's right you little bitch, nothing. Because I'm not getting arrested again." And with that the man grabbed an ash tray from the bar, and swung it towards her head.
The last thing Lilly Kane thought before it all went black, was that it wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Logan (Fall 2005):
Veronica had been in Fitzpatricks too long. Knowing she would be in the type of trouble that only Veronica could get into, he went in, guns blazing (figuratively, of course), glad to once again be her knight in shining armor. Glad to have some kind of role, importance, in her life at all.
Seeing the man on top of Veronica, the tattoo gun only inches above her face, Logan lost control. Grabbing the nearest weapon he had, which happened to be a metal chair that had been sitting by the door, he ran at the man, slamming it into his side. The man rolled off Veronica and onto his back on the floor. Before he could even try to get up, Logan brought it down again, this time right on the guy's chest. Just as he lifted it to bring it down a third time, he felt a tiny hand wrap around his wrist. He stopped and looked at the terrified blonde next to him.
"Please, let's just go."
He couldn't refuse her. He threw the chair to the floor, and walking backwards to make sure the man stayed where was, he followed her out.
In his car, Veronica broke down, the events of the last twenty minutes fully hitting her. Logan pulled her into his arms, and refused to let her go, even when she tried to put up a fight. Eventually she gave in and sobbed against his chest.
"Logan, what the hell were you thinking? You could have killed him, and then you really would be guilty of murder. Even now, you could still go to jail for assalt."
"Veronica, he was going to hurt you. I couldn't just stand there and do nothing. Nothing is going to happen. For him to press charges, he would have to tell the police what he was doing to you and he's not going to do that. Besides," Logan added, his voice becoming bitter, "I didn't think you really cared what happened to me anymore."
Even through her tears Veronica glared at him. "It was never about not caring about you. I did...I do, I had just hoped..."
"What Veronica, what had you hoped for? Perfect little rainbows and puppies? I just wasn't "normal" enough for you?"
"I hoped that me breaking up with you would make you see what you were doing. I hoped it would be a reason for you to stop. But you cared more about petty revenge than me, and you just kept at it, like it didn't even matter that I was gone."
"Veronica...they almost hurt you. That day they shot out my window, they could have killed you. I couldn't just let that go."
"Logan... this whole thing has gotten way out of hand." She stared down at her lap, not used to seeing the love in his eyes anymore.
He tilted her chin up and made her meet his gaze. "I know. That's why I'm going to fix it." With that, he leaned in and kissed her.
She didn't pull away right away, but when she did it was reluctantly. "That's not what I was talking about, I..."
Logan cut her off with another kiss, though this one was brief. "I know what you meant, and I'll see to that too. But Veronica... this is stupid. We should be together."
Unable to lie to him (or to herself any longer) she whispered, "I know... are you willing to take me back?"
"Are you willing to take me back?"
She nodded. "If you stop this shit, in a heartbeat."
He nodded as well, and brought his lips to hers again, murmuring, "In a heartbeat."
When he pulled away again, a few minutes later, he smiled as he started the car. Just as they were pulling way, he broke the newly comfortable silence. "Oh yeah, remind me to send Fitzpatrick a gift."
Veronica was confused. "A gift? What? Why?"
"Well, if it wasn't for him, we wouldn't have gotten back together."
Veronica smiled. "Alright, what is it you're going to get him."
"I'm thinking I'll send him my copy of the Action Hero's Handbook. That way he won't go down so easy someone hits him with a chair."
And the sound of Veronica's laughter erased all the blackness from Logan's life.
The End...
(Don't you love sappy endings?)