Title: Fractions & Feelings
Author: VMars
Characters: Logan, Veronica. Lilly mention.
Spoilers/Warnings: Obviously, you should have seen 222. The first bit won't make sense if you haven't. Aside from that, and a few random tidbits from the premiere, there's nothing really new here. I mean, generally though, you should have a feel for s3.
Word Count: 1225
Rating: PG-13
Summary: It goes from the very end of 2.22 (well, Okay, not the very end) but at V/L stuff, and goes to random points during the summer, and then it veers a little AU to now. Written for the 100_situations prompt 'happy'.
Author's Notes: Sometimes, I write the fic, and then look on my handy dandy 100_situations prompt table, and I figure out which one will fit. This fic was not like that at all. The prompt was totally the ringmaster of this fic, and it's weird, because I've been trying to write the happy one for like, weeks, and nothing was getting done with it. I really like what turned out, and I hope you guys do too!




He wonders if people can ever truly be happy.



It’s doubtful; but he forgets that when she leans into him, warm and soft, and there, and when her eyes and her lips are telling him that it will be Okay, it will, and he believes her because he has to.



They hold hands the entire way to the airport, their wrists bumping against the console, and when they get to the gate, he parks the car crookedly, even though it’s a no stop zone, cupping her face in his hands, and holding her close.


I’ll be back in a week, you know; she says, and she’s smiling like everything is Okay. Like their lives didn’t go to hell with an explosion and a suicide; like life is a movie with a silver lining and a happy ending. It’ll be Okay; she says, and she looks like she really believes it.



He’s having trouble, but when she pulls back and ruffles his hair, and says, I’m happy; he’s hard pressed to find something to argue with her over.


**


It’s almost like they are an old married couple.



He spends his days on the beach, the beach bum act perfected, and she finishes out the summer at the Hut, and they meet in the middle, having late dinners and early mornings together, and he wonders if this is happy.



Their first fight-the first of many, is over something small. Tiny. Inconsequential. He can’t even remember what it is 5 minutes after she storms out, with wild eyes and scathing words, but he never questions the fact that she’ll come back, even when she says she won’t; that it’s over.



An hour later they tumble into bed, and her lips are hot as they trace patterns against his skin, and before he goes under, before the world goes hazy, and it’s nothing more than god, Veronica there, he realizes that neither of them said I’m sorry.



He wonders if that is part of the problem.


**


God, Veronica; he says to her in the middle of it. In the middle of the mess, and the anger and the regret; cutting her diatribe in half, causing her to sputter. I love you. Isn’t that enough?



Enough.



The word is fluffy, and it feels soft and round on his tongue, but when he thinks about it, at least in context with them, and who they are, and how they are, he doesn’t think it makes much sense.



Enough of what?



Is it enough to make her happy?



She says the words back, mumbled, her eyes cast down and away, the toe of her sneaker scuffing on the parquet, and he knows, more than he’s ever known anything in his entire life that it isn’t.



The words, the sentiment, him, even, aren’t enough.



He wonders what is. What finally will be.


**


He feels awkward and forced in his own skin.



His shirt is starchy, and the collar is chafing against his neck and his watch feels heavy-too heavy on his wrist, and he doesn’t want to do this. Even if he thinks about it hard enough, he doesn’t know if there’s anything else in the world he would rather be doing this.



Math problems, maybe, but they can’t talk back, and she can, and that’s what he’s worried about.



Logan; she says, and her voice is quiet and icy and cold, and he knows-he can tell she wasn’t expecting him-it’s etched all the way across her face, and he wonders why, because she had to know that this conversation would come sometime.


We need to talk, V; he says, and he surprises himself, because his voice is a lot steadier than he’d expected it to be, which is sort of a step in the right direction.


She is silent as she stares at him, and he can practically feel her squeeze the hell out of her keys-her knuckles are turning white, and he’s got to give her credit, because she doesn’t play dumb.



Okay…so talk. I don’t have all the time in the world to waste. I have a job, you know, and they expect me to be there, and-


I don’t know what happened to us; he says, effectively cutting her off again, and her eyes are wide and round as they look up at him, and he can see the hurt filing in, even though she doesn’t want to let him see it, even though she’s standing a good 10 feet away.


I don’t…I don’t know what-


I mean, we were happy, weren’t we? She scoffs at the word, muttering under her breath about not being able to feel that anymore, about how it doesn’t really exist, only a state of being inside the human mind, but she’s not looking at him, and he’s fairly certain she doesn’t really believe what she’s saying.


Things change. People change. Shit happens, Logan. It’s not easy. Is the answer she comes up with, but she isn’t as cool as she’d expected, and the words get caught in her throat a little, and she has to clear it to get them out, and for a second, just one, she looks at him, and their eyes meet, and-


I have go to work.


I know; he says, because he does. She’s had the same schedule since they set it up together during the summer, maximizing prime hanging out opportunities, and it almost surprises him a little until he realizes that she also based her classes around it, and it’s too late to do anything about the times of those.


So are we done here? You’ve established that we’ve changed as people, and wasted my time. Can I go now, or will there be handholding later?



He flinches. He doesn’t mean to, but her words get to him. The way she’s pushing him away, and making this harder, but easier all at once, is killing him.



He wonders if she knows, and he’s betting on it.



He wonders if she cares, and knows it’s doubtful.



I want you to be happy; he’s saying, and he’s taking a step closer to her, even as she’s taking a step back, and he touches her arm-light, because he doesn’t want her to get angry, and he’s smiling-or trying to, and she’s looking at him like he’s crazy.



He is crazy.



This is not the way a break up is supposed to go. None of them ever have before. He yells, and gets emotional. That is his thing; the impetuousness is his trademark, but…he can’t.



There’s no fight left in him.



So you’re walking away? That’s going to fix it? She asks, and she sounds angry and she sounds shocked, and he almost laughs, because Lilly always told him it was a lady’s prerogative to change her mind, but he’s never seen such a quite drastic one before.



He smiles tightly at her, because she’s like the sun; it hurts to look too long, and he pushes past.



She’s screaming things, and each one of her words cuts into him like a barb, shooting into his skin, and into his heart, and if he were to move his hand up to his face, he knows what he’d find leaking out of his eyes. Still, he doesn’t stop walking.



He wonders if now, she’ll be happy.