Title: Remember me as a Time of Day
Author: Marianna
Characters: Logan, Veronica, Keith.
Spoilers/Warnings: I would say just about everything.
Word Count: 1438
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Logan goes to the Mars' for Thanksgiving! Sounds fun, right? NOT! Set tomorrow, in TV-time, with every little thing so far as a reference point. I even mention something from Tuesday night's episode even though I haven't seen it yet.
Author's Notes: I am very tired and very cranky, and I've had a really long day packed to the brim of being bummed about Veronica Mars. This reflects that I think, and I'm sorry. I hope you like it anyway.




He does not know where they stand.



This, in and of itself, is nothing new.



The invitation was extended weeks ago, weeks ago when, she would sneak out of her window on Friday nights (Keith always knew) and just lay in bed next to him, the honeysuckle of her shampoo weaving around them like magic.



Weeks ago when he would call her and she would actually pick up.



Weeks ago when he was sure that for once-just once, they weren’t standing on the edge of something. He was sure that they were on solid ground, that they were-dare he even think it, happy.



He was wrong. He thinks he’ll write a handbook one day listing all the things he’s ever been wrong about.



It will be very, very long.



He rings the doorbell once, and then again, because their apartment is small, and its not like they could miss it if it rang once, unless they’re not there, and it’s not like they’re the type of people who just forget about inviting someone to a holiday dinner and-



And.



He’s just about to turn away, because really, he can think of better ways of spending his time (no he can’t) than standing in front of (his girlfriend? Ex type person? Sort-of-maybe-sort-of woman/girl?) Veronica’s door, like a pathetic jackass, even though he totally, totally is just that.



He’s halfway turned around. He’s ready to climb into his truck and go home (the suite is not home. Veronica is home. Maybe he should invest in a house) and drink himself into oblivion.



Oblivion seems pretty inviting right about now.



The door opens, and the way she sucks in her breath tells him that she wasn’t expecting him, and he really, he wants to leave (no he doesn’t. He wants to stay. He loves her. He never wants to leave her again).



He turns around anyway.



You came; she says, and she’s wearing a light blue sweater that he’s never seen before, and it offsets her eyes, and he feels his stomach churning, because of-fucking-course there’s this tiny little ray of sunlight peeking through the overcastness of the clouds, and it hits her straight on the face and (God) she looks beautiful.


I was invited; he replies, and deep down he knows he shouldn’t have come (he knows it, even though he wishes it weren’t true), but she shrugs, light like her sweater, and turns back into the apartment, letting him choose whether to follow her in or not.



He does, because he really has no choice in the matter.



Keith smiles when he sees him, but it’s the kind of smile that a father smiles to the boyfriend his daughter was just bitching about. The kind of smile where the father knows the end is coming, even though the daughter and the (almost-but-not ex) boyfriend don’t.



Mr. Mars; Logan says, and he hands him the bottle of Glenlivet, which he spent an entire 20 minutes standing in the liquor store choosing. They didn’t even card him (the irony of course being that there was a tabloid with his face and probably biographic information sitting two feet away on the magazine rack).


My favorite; Keith says, and he smiles again, patting Logan lightly on the arm, and they both feel a little sick inside.



Silence settles, and they’re both listening for the Veronica sounds emanating from the kitchenette, and when the oven clicks definitively shut, the sigh of relief from the table is almost deafening.



Is this new? He asks, when she sits, and he means the table that they’re sitting at, which he’s never seen before, but both Marses look at him as if he’s insane, and this isn’t new either.


Are you like, monitoring my shopping now too? She asks cuttingly (how many times does he have to tell her that he’s sorry? He only wanted to help), and she barely looks at him as she gulps down the water from her bottle, and closing her eyes as it smoothes its way down her throat.


Not unless you bought the table; he mutters back harsher than he’d expected (if he had his way, he would never speak a harsh word to her in his life), and when she looks up at him, her eyes are glittering.


It’s a fold-up; Keith is saying conversationally, but the look on his face is strained (which Logan doesn’t find all that surprising, considering) even though he’s smiling. We keep it in the closet for good occasions, like holidays, or you know, a Papal visit.


You can never go wrong with one of those; Logan says, and Keith laughs outright, and it’s real, and Logan can’t help but smiling. When they both look at Veronica (he has to look at her. That’s where his eyes gravitate) she is focused with something more interesting than both of them on her plate (no, she isn’t).


Would you excuse me? She asks after a long moment of staring and staring and not eating anything and not doing anything, and it’s more formal than anything she’s used with him since before they started sleeping together, so it’s a HUGE, SURE-FIRE TIPOFF that something is very, very wrong.



She is up like a shot, her plate, still full of the food she must have spent hours preparing, deposited in the sink, and the bathroom door is closing, and he doesn’t know if he’s ever seen her move so fast in the entire time he’s known her.



I’m sorry about this; they say it at the same time, looking at each other but not, and it should be funny, but it’s not, and if this were a TV show, some kind of Friends spin-off dramady, they would laugh, and turn and watch some football, maybe.



But it isn’t, and they won’t be, and it doesn’t matter anyway, because it’s not like Logan is the hugest football lover anyway (he would be though, if she asked him to).



Maybe I should-



He’s gesturing over his shoulder towards the door, because words don’t seem very adequate. What would be the proper way to finish that sentence? It hurts his head to think of anything that could possibly, ever fit.



No, Logan! Stay, eat your dinner; Keith says, but it’s a second too late, and his line delivery is off, because he can’t look him in the eye, and the pit in Logan’s stomach just gets bigger and bigger.


I think I’m just going to-



He can’t talk anymore, because she’s out of the bathroom and wiping at her (red rimmed and swollen) eyes, but she’s smiling and she’s beautiful, and he can’t think when he looks at her.



Going to what? She asks, and it’s the first time in he can’t even remember how long (one week, two days and 17 hours) it’s been since she hasn’t sounded like she hates him. God, how he wishes she didn’t hate him.


Go; he says, and the word clangs noisily against the walls, making a far bigger impact than he’d intended it to.


Oh; she says, and she honestly looks surprised.


Oh? He asks, and his voice is angry, there’s anger coursing all the way through him, and this, this is the fight they’ve been gearing up for. The Big One, the deal breaker, and he just wants it over. He wants it to be done. He just can’t handle this anymore (yes he can! He could handle it forever, if only it would make her happy).


Honey, I’m sorry, I think I-



Keith’s words are lost in the slamming of the door, and it startles Logan a little, because he seriously didn’t even see the guy get up.



Great; she mutters, and she’s pushing her hair behind her ears, and her sleeves up around her elbows, and picking up the massive amounts of food on the table that’s not really theirs, that none of them really ate. What a waste.



He glances between the two them, how she’s not even showing any indication that she knows he’s there, and that he’s been there, but won’t be for the foreseeable future. He wonders if she even cares, and if it even matters, and then he’s got to agree with her, because it is a waste.



They both are.



Do you need any help? He asks, because he has to (if she says yes, he’ll stay. If she says yes, they’ll be able to work through this. If she says yes, it’ll all have meant something in the end).


No; she responds, and she isn’t even looking at him.



That is the deal breaker.