Kayla (klawick003) wrote in fic_by_kayla,

Inches and Falling (Troy, Luke, Logan, Veronica) R (1/1)

Title: Inches and Falling (1/1)
Authors: Marianna (chopsticknoodle) and Kayla (klawick003)
Rating: R 
Word Count: 3,500
Summary: Set during and after 1x05. The boys (Logan, Luke, and Troy) go to TJ. Veronica and Troy break up. Luke persues Veronica.
Characters/Pairings: Troy, Logan, Veronica, Luke, Ms. Dent, Troy/Veronica, Luke/Veronica, allusions to Logan/Veronica. Duncan mentions.
Spoilers/Warnings: Set before, during, and after 1x05 (You Think You Know Somebody)
Author Notes: This was so fun much. chopsticknoodle and I thought we'd try our hands at a co-written, seeing as neither of us ever have. And I've got to say, I loved doing this with her. She's seriously the greatest. I think both our styles of writing and personalities pour into the fic, and I really hope you enjoy!

Luke sighs he looks from Troy to Logan. This was not how he expected his Friday night to go, and quite frankly, he didn’t like it.

“Listen, T, I’m just saying. You may be waiting in line for a while. From what I hear, the football team has dibs,” Logan mocks.

Troy grins as he flops down on a grimy motel bed.

“You sure talk a lot of shit for someone who supposedly hates her,” Luke counters, throwing his duffel bag on the opposite bed.

“I speak the truth. I mean, I can’t help but to ask myself what Troy has gotten himself into?”

“You do talk a lot of shit about her, Logan,” Troy offers, in a form of defense towards his new girlfriend.

“And you listen 95 percent of the time,” Logan replies.

“He’s got a point, Troy. You don’t defend Veronica, well, ever.”

“Veronica can hold her own,” Troy says simply.

“That’s not really the point,” Luke responds before heading out of the room in search for ice.

In all honestly, Luke hates how Troy never defends Veronica. If Veronica was his girlfriend - which she totally isn’t - but if she was, he’d definitely go to her defense. Isn’t what boyfriends are supposed to do?

And Logan? He stopped trying to figure out that bullshit a long time ago. Sure, Logan says he hates Veronica, but Luke can't help but wonder if his supposed hate is just misguided attraction.

After all, Logan is more bothered by Troy and Veronica’s relationship than, say, Duncan.

Venturing to the ice machine and sticking the pail under, Luke wills to stop his thoughts.

It isn't working.

Which, he kind of hates. He was sick of thinking about Veronica Mars. Really, she is Troy’s.

Truthfully, he didn’t understand that relationship either. Veronica is supposed to be jagged and rough, but when she is with Troy, she isn't. She smiles like a normal girl at Neptune High as she walks along side Troy Vandergraff.

Her smiling? Wonderful. The fact that Troy caused it? No, not really.

He doesn't hate Troy (who goes on trips to foreign countries with people they hate?) he just doesn't trust him. Not with Veronica, at least.

Because, well, ever since she chopped her hair off and grew an attitude, he's had a strange attraction to her.

The reason he hasn’t gone after her? Aside from being a 09er, he's never really had the balls to go up to Veronica Mars and ask her out.

It just wasn’t something he did.

Walking back into the motel room, he laughs as he came in view of the television. Porn.

Of course they were watching porn.

“Well, fellows, we could sit here and watch Luke jack off or we could finally go to the strip club,” Logan suggests.

The three boys headed for the door.


Of all the places Logan enjoys in TJ, this is by far his favorite.

The loud music, the hot chicks, the booze. It has everything. Including Fiona. She has short blonde hair and this belly button ring that is fucking hot. He's not sure why he finds it incredibly sexy.

But he doesn't think about it. Instead he thinks about the way she looks when it grinds against his dick.

Or the way that even though they're not kissing, she's getting him hard. And sometimes he thinks about the way that if he opens his eyes fast enough and doesn't focus too much, she kind of looks like Veronica.

He can't even imagine this with Veronica, because Veronica's the enemy. But that doesn't stop him from getting harder.

He tries to stop himself from moaning her name as he comes.

He fails.


After the strip club and hitting a taco joint in the worst possible neighborhood, the boys headed back to their temporary living quarters.

“Turn the music off,” Troy commands.

“Dude, it’s soothing me,” Logan replies, jokingly.

“I have to call Veronica.”

“Damn, nightly phone calls? Troy is pussy-whipped,” Logan teases as he took another bite from his taco.

“Whatever, man,” Troy says as he laughs the joke off. “At least I have a girl, right?”

“Multiple girls, T. I have multiple girls. It’s working out quite nicely actually,” Logan says, wiping off his hands and throwing his trash in the taco bag. “Besides, we’re almost to the motel. You could wait, ya know. Save us the torture of having to listen to the two of you goo and gah about meaningless shit.”

“I second that,” Luke says, from the backseat. Like he needs to hear Troy try to charm Veronica’s pants off. Pshh.

Troy rolls his eyes, but complies.


“Veronica, I was surprised that you weren’t in class this morning.” She likes Miss Dent; she really does, but right now is totally not the best time to be reprimanded for skipping. It’s not like she’s ever done it before.

“Yeah.” She turns to face her, fake smile in place, because even though she’d known, she’d totally, totally known that Troy was too good to be true, it hurts, it really hurts, all this…stuff. “I’m sorry, Ms. Dent.” She replies, widening her eyes as far as they’ll go, and trying to keep the smile in place. “I just wasn’t feeling…” Feeling? God, how she hates that word. She’d be really happy if she never had to feel anything ever again. “If I could have stopped throwing up, life would have been grand.” Which is true at least.

Veronica Mars does not handle the end of things like relationships like anyone else in the entire freaking world. Oh, no. She doesn’t cry. She hurls. Yet another facet of her freak of nature status.


“Oh. Well, are you alright now?” Veronica glances around the nearly empty corridor and shrugs her shoulders.

“I’ve been worse.” She responds, because she has. Been worse, that is. Although seriously, not by much.

There was that time when she was three, and she’d fallen down so hard in the school playground that a piece of gravel had gotten so deeply embedded into her knee that it had to be surgically removed.

That had really sucked. And it had hurt, god it had hurt.

Oh, oh yeah, and the past year of her life would probably top those charts. Definitely.

“What do you need?” She can feel her phone buzzing in her back pocket, it’s the Troy ring-rounding out the number to a whopping 15 calls in the past 20 minutes, but she can’t make herself care. She smiles as brightly as she can, which she actually figures probably isn’t all that brightly at all.

“The next issue of The Navigator is going to be quite an interesting one.”

“I can’t wait.”

“We’re focusing on sports teams.” Ms. Dent’s smile is falsely bright, and it’s all Veronica can do not to slam her locker and walk away. There is obviously a reason she’s being told this. She’s not stupid; she’s not expecting small talk to stay small talk. That would be a miracle.

“Sports teams. Okay.” The obvious, what does that have to do with me? hangs in the air, and it’s all Veronica can do to not drop her gaze to the floor. All she wants to do is go home, climb into bed and think of 190 different ways to dismember Troy Vandegraff.

“Partners were chosen by random assignment,” Her eyes close of their own volition, and as she reaches up her fingers to massage her temple, she wonders, if she ends up throwing up all over Ms. Dent, will she still have to do whatever the fuck it is with the freaking sports teams? “So in theory, you didn’t miss much in class except for some prep time. A lot of students broke down their entire articles during class so they wouldn’t have to meet over the weekend.” Veronica can’t decide which part of the sentence is worse, the implication of the loss of the desperately needed sleep time during the weekend, or word partner. It makes her skin crawl.

“Partner?” She coughs out, and maybe it won’t be so bad. Maybe it’s just an interview process. A switch, or an A Day in the Life kind of thing…and whatever dumb jock was left over, could sit and just try to be a PI for the day and she could…play football. Yeah, she could totally use some time off to beat the shit of someone and not get suspended for it.

She’s getting ahead of herself though, forgetting the teensy fact that she hates organized, contact sports and barely tops 5 ft.

She rolls her eyes.

“Luke,” Ms. Dent calls, and Veronica’s ears perk at the rustling in the doorway behind her, because while she’s not quite up on Neptune High School football players, she doesn’t remember anyone named-

Oh, fuck no.

“Hey, uh, Veronica.” He says casually, going for a tight-lipped smile. She has to swallow three consecutive times in a row to keep from losing her shit and flipping him off.

“Ms. Dent,” She murmurs as she turns, completely ignoring him. “I can’t do this.”

“It was a random assignment-”

“Then can’t you randomly reassign me someone else? Someone that won’t, say, be snorting coke off the bathroom sinks?”


“It’s Okay, Ms. Dent," Luke says.

“I’ve never heard you speak this way, Veronica. It’s completely disrespectful, and frankly, I expected more from you.” Veronica can barely resist the urge to roll her eyes again.

“Can I just take pictures of him for the paper?” She asks, but it’s a concession. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near Luke Bellamy, let alone take pictures of him, but it beats getting in trouble for something as meaningless as Troy Vandegraff. See? He’s a thing. Not even a person anymore.

“No.” The teacher replies, and Veronica swallows a sigh, wondering where the hell the freaking backbone had come from.

“All due respect, Ms. Dent, I would rather not to this at all rather than have to work with-”

“Me? You think I’m the problem?” She bursts out, and it’s the first time she’s gotten angry, really angry at someone in such a long time…it’s a release.

“D’you see what I mean?” He asks, but there’s a smile in his voice, it’s teasing, and not in the bad way, and if her brain weren’t already preoccupied with one beheading, she’d totally be putting him in there too.

“D’you see what a jackass he is?” She asks, mimicking his tone, and she can’t help but noticing his smile. He’s smiling at her. He thinks this is a joke. This isn’t a freaking joke.

“I want 2000 words, Veronica, on Luke, and what he does in the off season on my desk by Monday morning. Have a good weekend.” She’s halfway down the hallway, before Veronica can even process her words.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I guess we’re stuck together.” He replies, and that smile is still there. That stupid grin that she just wants to wipe off his face and clear the floor with.

“I’m not doing this. You can type up your own ‘how I spend the summer vacation that is the baseball off season’. I’m going home.”


“What? You were all laughing at me, weren’t you? You and oh god,” She hadn’t even thought of Echolls. Asshole supreme and King of the Dickheads. “Was it like a joke, to see how far I would go? Did you take pictures?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Man, Vandegraff gets the best weed,” She rolls her eyes as she flings out a dead on Dick Casablancas impersonation. “What do you say we get him to fuck around with that Mars slut,” She grounds the word out, and her eyes have morphed into slits on her face, blazing with anger. “He gets some tail, and we get to get more stoned. Oh yeah.” She pumps her fist in the air, and rolls her eyes. “Was it like that, or did he do it on his own, and then come back to tell you about it?”

“Troy, he uh…he didn’t talk about you much.”

“I knew you would say-what?”

“He mentioned you, in like, passing, like, Oh, I have to go call Veronica. Or, you know,” He’s floundering, making motions with his hands, and he really does look lost. She narrows her eyes. “Veronica bought me this sweater.”

"I never bought him a sweater.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Veronica.”

“What-the-fuck-ever.” She turns on her heel and continues down the hallway.

“Veronica, wait!” Her shoulders stiffen. She does not want to wait. She doesn’t want to be anywhere near him, or anyone else that ever-that she-she just wants to be as far away from everyone as possible.

“Okay, fine.” She mutters, spinning around and marching straight for him, her index finger pointing directly at his chest. “So you weren’t in on it. So you didn’t tell Troy to fuck around with me while he waited for his jailbird girlfriend to get out of juvie. I don’t care, Luke. I don’t care who knew what and who didn’t, I don’t. I know that just by fake dating an 09er I didn’t become one, and to be honest, I don’t want that anymore. Just…just leave me alone.” A fresh wave of nausea is roiling through her, and when it reaches her throat, she has to swallow it down, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

“You shouldn’t be.” His voice is soft, and when she snaps her eyes up to look at him, his are filled with something. Something quiet. Something she’s never seen before.

And she’s known Luke Bellamy since she was 3.

“Excuse me? I shouldn’t be what?” His cheeks are getting pink, and with a start, she realizes that this is the closest she’s probably ever been to him. She takes a step back for good measure, and then another smaller one. But his eyes are on hers, and it’s intense, and she had no fucking clue Luke Bellamy did intense.

“Forget it.” He blinks and it’s all gone. The smile is back in place, and she can breathe a little easier, because this is Luke, Luke Bellamy. The one who-no, that was Dick Casablancas. She squints, scrunching her nose, because she’s absolutely positive she has childhood memories of him. She knows she-oh. “So, your-Veronica?” He’s looming over her again, having taken a step closer, and there’s that look in his eyes and that damned concern.

“My, uh, what?” She asks, swallowing, and tugging on the neckline of her hoodie. He looks at her strangely again, but he moves back, out of her personal space bubble, but when she tries to breathe, the sound is ragged, and she feels a blush coloring her cheeks.

“Your house or mine?” He smiles, and it’s artless. He’s not trying to make her like him. He’s just being himself, and she hates to admit it, but he’s kind of a nice guy-not like-

“How ‘bout some coffee instead?”

“Can’t stand the stuff.”

“You don’t like coffee?” She pulls out her best shocked face, and he smiles back at her as they fall into step, and start the trek to the other end of the corridor.

“Wanna know a secret, Veronica Mars?” His eyes are twinkling, and she’s got to admit, he has nice eyes. They’re kind. She doesn’t get a lot of kind eyes in her business.

“Sure.” She responds, and it’s barely a strain when she smiles up at him. Holding his hand to his heart, he bends his head towards hers.

“I have never actually had a cup.” She fake gasps, her fingers coming up to rest at her throat, her eyes wide.

“Never…had a cup? Who are you?” The words are almost accusatory, but there’s a laugh in her voice, which is just about the last thing she’d expected.

“Coach never lets us drink the stuff during the season, and I’ve been playing baseball since I was 10, and it just kind of stuck, you know, straining so hard to keep away from it was just sort of like a mantra. You know.” He looks over at her, surprised that they’ve made it to the parking lot, and that she’s still smiling at him. He can’t believe that she’s still smiling at him.

“Can I quote you on that?” She asks, and he thinks there’s a wink in there somewhere if he looks for it, and he can literally feel the smile falling off his face. Of course she’s asking questions for the article.

Of fucking course.

“Oh, yeah, sure. You know. But it’s not really that important.” She’s pulled a mini pad of paper from the pocket of her pants, and she’s chewing thoughtfully on the end of her pen.

“You know, we can make this the total angle. The strains you’ve felt because of playing baseball all these years…” She’s scribbling furiously on that pad of paper, and he feels all the color drain from his face too.

“It’s no strain. Especially since it’s not Little League anymore.”

“Oh but Luke,” There’s mock sincerity in her voice, and there’s something shining in her eyes, something he can’t quite define. “You’ve been kept away from so much.” He starts to shake his head, but she plows right through his resolve, beginning to slowly walk a circle around him. “Coffee, girls-I’m betting, there was that whole scandal with Mr. Zigman and the drugs last week? We can totally turn this into a story about baseball-and sports really aren’t an outlet of creativity, but suppressing the youth of America and turning them into petty criminals!”

He does not look amused, and she has to bite her lip and turn away from him to try and keep her giggles in. She can’t help it, and when she turns back to face him, there is a sheen of laughter in her eyes.

“Christ, you should have seen your face,” She murmurs, leaning against the passenger side door of her car as they get to it, and crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Priceless.”

“So you’re fucking around with me.” She smiles, and man, does it feel good to. The nausea has even gone down a little, and aside from having to spend the better part of the afternoon with an 09er, this isn’t so bad.

“Pretty much, yeah.” His lips are pinched, and she thinks, for a second, that he’s going to be mad, but he does the strangest thing. He throws his head back and laughs. And she really, really likes the sound.

“And you don’t want to overthrow the sports team organization in favor of-?”

“Macramé. A class would just be so useful.”

“Because, uh, macramé-ers don’t do drugs.”

“Of course not.” She replies pertly, but she can’t seem to get her smile to go away.

“Although it would explain a pattern or two. You never know. The ganja,” He says perfectly seriously. “It affect many-a-kind.” She tries to roll her eyes. She really does. She tries not to find his awful impersonation of whoever that was supposed to be-Bob Marley, maybe? She tries to make it annoy her, but she’s laughing and she can’t stop it.

She kind of doesn’t want to stop it. Laughing is so much better than throwing up.


“Yeah?” She asks, over her shoulder, unlocking the backdoor of the Le Baron, and throwing her bag there.

“Do you wanna have dinner with me?”
Tags: chopsticknoodle and klawick003, co-written, logan, logan/veronica, luke, luke/veronica, ms. dent, troy, troy/veronica, veronica
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