(Narnia/Veronica Mars, Susan/Veronica) Pandora's Gift
Title: Pandora's Gift
Author: vnilla
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia/Veronica Mars
Pairing: Susan/Veronica
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1058
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Author's Notes: I blame certain denizens of handfulof_dust for encouraging the drabble that ate my evening. I do rather like how this came out, however.
--
There are better ways of dealing with post-college graduation anxiety than fleeing the country, but Veronica Mars doesn't really feel like any heart-to-hearts with her nearest and dearest. "I'll call," she says to her father. "I'll write," she says to Wallace. "E-mail me," she says to Mac. "Fuck you," she says to Logan.
Anyway. Bumming around France is nice and all, but Veronica is beginning to understand the language, and that takes the mystery out of the whole thing. It isn't long before she starts falling into old patterns, before she walks into a bar with the intention to get piss-drunk and walks out with a case. Simple missing person, but the guy is young and rich and in love, so the reward is substantial and she gets a free plane ticket to London. (He's so earnest in the bar that she wonders if he beats his wife. But she'll take his money.)
London calling, and she checks in at a hotel, plugs in, and there's her girl after a few minutes. Amazing what technology can do, even if (oddly enough) the missing's real name doesn't seem to be available. She went by Marie Moreau in France, but her information puts her as Susan Pevensie, about eighty years old. But never mind. She flips off the lights and sleeps off the jetlag. Next day around noon she's up, showered, grabbing some curry, and then going. Easy. She doesn't even have to find out where the girl works, because she runs into her on the way out of her little flat.
"Luc says hi," Veronica calls, and Susan stops. Turns. Veronica catches her breath, even though she shouldn't. TV overexposes pretty people so that they seem commonplace, nothing much to stare at. But Susan's face has a sadness Veronica once saw half-reflected in the mirror. And yet this sadness is older, deeper.
"I suppose I never could stay away from boys and lipsticks," Susan murmurs, and indeed her lips are red, like blood and not roses. "It's my trouble."
"Well, you know what they say about trouble following you around," Veronica quips, covering her unease. Things aren't adding up, no neat balanced equations. There are clues she is missing.
"Would you like some tea?"
"Very English of you."
But it's acceptance.
"Ladylike" is the only real word for Susan's place, and Veronica wonders how anyone who ran away only a few weeks ago could accumulate this many knicknacks. There is an old black-and-white photograph of a family; it is placed so light falls on it whenever the sun shines through the windows. Veronica peers closer as Susan bustles around the kitchen. Huh. Things snap into sense without making sense at all. Okay, so she's a dead ringer for her grandmother, the real Susan Pevensie. But why the fake IDs? Why steal Grandma's name anyway? And why dump a rich guy, unless he can't help but be an asshole even when he wants to be good?
Susan comes out with two cups of tea, one of which she hands to Veronica. They sit down.
"You've got a picture of your grandmother but not the rest of your family?" Veronica asks, inclining her head towards the picture. Tactless, but she isn't here to make pleasant conversation.
She laughs. "I'm older than I look. You might say that it is something of a curse."
Dodging the question. New line of attack. "What's your real name?"
Smile sweet as apple blossoms. "Susan Pevensie."
"Why'd you dump Luc? He's pretty in love with you."
The teacup is set down and the picture of heartbreak is an English woman sitted neatly on a sofa, sunlight blazing in and sending up little haloes of light. Veronica finds herself reaching for a camera that isn't there.
"I... how to say it? I cannot change my face, not even for him. I will never grow up. I deserve nothing." She does nothing so gauche as cry, and it lends such a dignity to her sadness. She brushes away a strand of dark hair and Veronica thinks of Snow White, who slept in a coffin and dreamt of waking. This is bad, getting personally invested is bad. It's not her job to fix what's broken, only to find what's lost.
"Even if it can't be found," she says aloud, and doesn't realize it until Susan nods along with her.
"Loss is a curious thing." Susan's eyes are dark and deep with promises to keep, and Veronica barely escapes a nervous giggle. Quoting pieces of old English classes at a time like this. In a mimicry of Veronica's earlier motion, Susan inclines her head towards the photograph. "They're all dead, you know. I am afraid I will never see them again."
Veronica stands up. Up, on the go again, never stopping, never addressing what's happening here, why she feels like telling this woman all about Lilly and her mother and Logan and everyone she's ever loved and lost, never the people she's loved and kept. She's almost out the door before a hand touches her wrist.
"Just because I am afraid," Susan says slowly, as if realizing it as she speaks, "does not mean I do not hope."
It's not really the sadness that's her beauty. It's that quality of emotion mingled with something much more ethereal, the gentleness of an old woman facing her last few years alone. Quite impulsively, Veronica presses a kiss to one smooth cheek in goodbye; unusual for her to initiate physical contact, but the loneliness in the air needed clearing and perhaps all the exposure to air kissing had corrupted her. And then Susan cupped her face (oh) and really kissed her goodbye right there in the doorway, tasting of sugar and tears, salt and sweetness combined.
It tastes of hope.
Veronica calls Luc and tells him that Marie is doing well. She can sense all the questions he wants to ask, and listens with grudging approval as he says, "As long as she is happy." And then she's on her way back to Neptune, her father squeezing her close and Wallace throwing his arms around both of them. She calls Logan and he's all sweetness and light like he is the first few weeks--until she deliberately provokes him and they fight until he hangs up.
But she smiles and touches her lips and thinks that maybe in a few days she'll kiss him again.
Miles away in a lonely flat in London, Susan Pevensie finds her first gray hair.
Author: vnilla
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia/Veronica Mars
Pairing: Susan/Veronica
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1058
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
Author's Notes: I blame certain denizens of handfulof_dust for encouraging the drabble that ate my evening. I do rather like how this came out, however.
--
There are better ways of dealing with post-college graduation anxiety than fleeing the country, but Veronica Mars doesn't really feel like any heart-to-hearts with her nearest and dearest. "I'll call," she says to her father. "I'll write," she says to Wallace. "E-mail me," she says to Mac. "Fuck you," she says to Logan.
Anyway. Bumming around France is nice and all, but Veronica is beginning to understand the language, and that takes the mystery out of the whole thing. It isn't long before she starts falling into old patterns, before she walks into a bar with the intention to get piss-drunk and walks out with a case. Simple missing person, but the guy is young and rich and in love, so the reward is substantial and she gets a free plane ticket to London. (He's so earnest in the bar that she wonders if he beats his wife. But she'll take his money.)
London calling, and she checks in at a hotel, plugs in, and there's her girl after a few minutes. Amazing what technology can do, even if (oddly enough) the missing's real name doesn't seem to be available. She went by Marie Moreau in France, but her information puts her as Susan Pevensie, about eighty years old. But never mind. She flips off the lights and sleeps off the jetlag. Next day around noon she's up, showered, grabbing some curry, and then going. Easy. She doesn't even have to find out where the girl works, because she runs into her on the way out of her little flat.
"Luc says hi," Veronica calls, and Susan stops. Turns. Veronica catches her breath, even though she shouldn't. TV overexposes pretty people so that they seem commonplace, nothing much to stare at. But Susan's face has a sadness Veronica once saw half-reflected in the mirror. And yet this sadness is older, deeper.
"I suppose I never could stay away from boys and lipsticks," Susan murmurs, and indeed her lips are red, like blood and not roses. "It's my trouble."
"Well, you know what they say about trouble following you around," Veronica quips, covering her unease. Things aren't adding up, no neat balanced equations. There are clues she is missing.
"Would you like some tea?"
"Very English of you."
But it's acceptance.
"Ladylike" is the only real word for Susan's place, and Veronica wonders how anyone who ran away only a few weeks ago could accumulate this many knicknacks. There is an old black-and-white photograph of a family; it is placed so light falls on it whenever the sun shines through the windows. Veronica peers closer as Susan bustles around the kitchen. Huh. Things snap into sense without making sense at all. Okay, so she's a dead ringer for her grandmother, the real Susan Pevensie. But why the fake IDs? Why steal Grandma's name anyway? And why dump a rich guy, unless he can't help but be an asshole even when he wants to be good?
Susan comes out with two cups of tea, one of which she hands to Veronica. They sit down.
"You've got a picture of your grandmother but not the rest of your family?" Veronica asks, inclining her head towards the picture. Tactless, but she isn't here to make pleasant conversation.
She laughs. "I'm older than I look. You might say that it is something of a curse."
Dodging the question. New line of attack. "What's your real name?"
Smile sweet as apple blossoms. "Susan Pevensie."
"Why'd you dump Luc? He's pretty in love with you."
The teacup is set down and the picture of heartbreak is an English woman sitted neatly on a sofa, sunlight blazing in and sending up little haloes of light. Veronica finds herself reaching for a camera that isn't there.
"I... how to say it? I cannot change my face, not even for him. I will never grow up. I deserve nothing." She does nothing so gauche as cry, and it lends such a dignity to her sadness. She brushes away a strand of dark hair and Veronica thinks of Snow White, who slept in a coffin and dreamt of waking. This is bad, getting personally invested is bad. It's not her job to fix what's broken, only to find what's lost.
"Even if it can't be found," she says aloud, and doesn't realize it until Susan nods along with her.
"Loss is a curious thing." Susan's eyes are dark and deep with promises to keep, and Veronica barely escapes a nervous giggle. Quoting pieces of old English classes at a time like this. In a mimicry of Veronica's earlier motion, Susan inclines her head towards the photograph. "They're all dead, you know. I am afraid I will never see them again."
Veronica stands up. Up, on the go again, never stopping, never addressing what's happening here, why she feels like telling this woman all about Lilly and her mother and Logan and everyone she's ever loved and lost, never the people she's loved and kept. She's almost out the door before a hand touches her wrist.
"Just because I am afraid," Susan says slowly, as if realizing it as she speaks, "does not mean I do not hope."
It's not really the sadness that's her beauty. It's that quality of emotion mingled with something much more ethereal, the gentleness of an old woman facing her last few years alone. Quite impulsively, Veronica presses a kiss to one smooth cheek in goodbye; unusual for her to initiate physical contact, but the loneliness in the air needed clearing and perhaps all the exposure to air kissing had corrupted her. And then Susan cupped her face (oh) and really kissed her goodbye right there in the doorway, tasting of sugar and tears, salt and sweetness combined.
It tastes of hope.
Veronica calls Luc and tells him that Marie is doing well. She can sense all the questions he wants to ask, and listens with grudging approval as he says, "As long as she is happy." And then she's on her way back to Neptune, her father squeezing her close and Wallace throwing his arms around both of them. She calls Logan and he's all sweetness and light like he is the first few weeks--until she deliberately provokes him and they fight until he hangs up.
But she smiles and touches her lips and thinks that maybe in a few days she'll kiss him again.
Miles away in a lonely flat in London, Susan Pevensie finds her first gray hair.