VM Fanfic: Armed With a Broken Heart 1/2, R, LoVe

[zaftig_goddess]

A Veronica Mars FanFic
Title: Armed With a Broken Heart 1/2
Author: Zaftig_darling
Pairing/Character: LoVe, Mac/Weevil, Dick
Word Count: 1639
Rating:Hard R
Summary: Post Season 3, Logan tries to forget Veronica
Spoilers: All three seasons
Warnings: Swearing, under-age alcohol consumption, angst, cheap cigars
Beta'd by the lovely celtic_flicka. All mistakes are mine.  Written as a tribute only, no copywrite infringement is intended. 
The title comes from a John Gorka song by the same name.



“Your boy’s in trouble, V.”

Weevil’s voice cracks across the phone line before she even has a chance to say hello.

“I don’t have a boy anymore, Weevil, you know that.”

“Yeah,” he answers, scoffing, “and I’m engaged to Beyonce. Unless you relish the idea of Logan getting his teeth kicked in by the Fitzpatricks, I suggest you get yourself over to the Seventh Veil.”

“What’s –” Veronica starts to ask, but Weevil interrupts her.

“You don’t want to know why, Veronica, but if you have any interest in keeping him in one piece…you’d better get over there and meddle. It’s what you do best.”

Veronica ignores the twinge of bitterness in Weevil’s voice and snaps the phone shut.

She had been parked in the street in front of Mac’s dorm, waiting for her friend to join her. They had tentative plans to attend the student photography exhibition this evening, although she had been unable to reach Mac all afternoon. She’d been dialing Mac’s cell for the fifth time when Weevil had called to drop his bombshell.

She turns the car around and heads towards Neptune’s seedier side.


Logan Echolls was drunk. He had been drunk, to the best of his recollection, for approximately three weeks.

It had been four weeks since Veronica had returned from her FBI internship. Logan had known exactly when her plane had landed, although he had resorted to what probably amounted to stalking Mac in order to secure that vital piece of information.

The day after her return, Logan had paced the confines of his new, just off-campus apartment, anxiously awaiting a telephone call from her. A tiny part of him had hoped, in his heart of hearts, that she would call or stop by as soon as she was back in town. But he understood that she had an actual, functioning (although somewhat bruised) relationship with her father, and that she would want to spend her first night home with him.

Though he hadn’t heard from Veronica since the day before she left for her internship, he had been confident that they would be reunited at summer’s end. He understood the look she gave him in the cafeteria that day; he knew they were meant to be together.

Forty-eight hours after her return, when he still hadn’t heard from her, he phoned the Grand to inquire if anyone had left any messages for him. Maria at the concierge desk cheerfully told him that housekeeping had recovered a pair of earrings from beneath the bed in what had been his room, but there were no messages from Veronica.

The next day, with still no word, he had dropped by the Grand and picked up the earrings, tiny jade and gold lanterns he had given Veronica as a belated graduation present. The front desk clerk handed them to him, and he swallowed hard, trying not to think about how the earrings had ended up under the bed, trying not to think that they had meant so little to her that she hadn’t tried to find them.

Five days after she had returned to Neptune, he considered taking the earrings to her apartment, as an excuse to start a conversation. He talked himself out of it, telling himself she would call, she would have to call, in her own time.

He held on to the last threads of hope until she had been home for an entire week. Seven days and she hadn’t even called to say hello. Classes began that morning and Logan saw her across campus, walking with Piznarski and Wallace.

Logan had calmly walked into the men’s restroom in Hearst’s biology department, where he shut the door to a stall and had quietly fallen apart.

He began drinking that afternoon, and although he had managed to attend slightly more than half his classes, he did so by sitting in the back of the room, nursing coffee laced with Jack Daniels.

He cursed Piznarski and Veronica and the universe, and kept a steady stream of alchohol sliding down his throat.

“Dude, this is worse than when she dumped you last time, and as near as I can tell, you weren’t even together for her to dump you again!” Dick growled at Logan, as Logan lay on the couch, smoking a cheap cigar and watching Casablanca, for the twelfth time, on cable. Logan didn’t answer.

“Dude,” Dick had continued. “We need to go drop some of our trust funds on strippers and blow. Enough of this morose bullshit.”

Logan had blown smoke at Dick and kept his eyes on the screen. He said nothing except to deliver Bogart’s line in perfect time with the dialogue coming out of the television, “Tell me, who was it you left me for? Was it Laszlo, or were there others in between? Or - aren't you the kind that tells?”

Dick picked up the remote and snapped the TV off. “Enough! She’s not fucking Ingrid Bergman, okay? You did not have some tragic love affair – she’s just some chick who has messed with your head long enough! Up! Off the couch! There are strippers out there who need to be ogled.”


In Mac’s dorm room, Weevil watched out the window as Veronica drove away. He sat down on the floor next to Mac, where she was laying out cartons of tofu lo mein and meatless egg rolls.

“Is he really in trouble?” Mac asked, raising her eyebrows, as she fished noodles out of the carton with her chopsticks and dangled them over Weevil’s mouth.

“Well, to the extent that he and Dick have been sitting in the Seventh Veil for the last six hours, antagonizing Donal Fitzpatrick and monopolizing Donal’s favorite stripper…I suspect if he’s not in imminent danger, he at least needs to get out of there before he does get his teeth knocked in.”

Weevil opened his mouth and slurped in the noodles, eyeing Mac hungrily as he licked sesame oil from his lips. “And besides, now you and I can have some time all alone, without you jumping every time you think Veronica’s going to catch us together.” He leaned forward and kissed Mac tenderly. “I wish I understood why we have to keep this under wraps,” he said, as he pulled away.

Mac bit into an egg roll and chewed thoughtfully before speaking. “Because when she finds out…she’s going to…want to know how and why and where, and I’m just not….I’m not ready to share this with her, not yet. And she’s so miserable without Logan, and being so stubborn about waiting for him to call her first…I don’t want to rub this…in her face,” Mac said, and looked down, unable to meet his gaze.

“Hey,” he said, putting his hand under her chin and pulling her towards him with his index finger, “as long as you’re happy to share these noodles with me, I’m happy just to be with you. Although, I do wish we could move past tofu and into something that once ‘mooed’ or ‘oinked.’”

Mac laughed. “No food with a face, remember!”

“I’m just saying that man cannot live on bean curd alone,” Weevil answered, wrapping his arm behind her back and kissing her neck. “Although, you may have something in here,” he slid his hand up inside her t-shirt, “to distract me from what’s lacking in dinner.”



Logan had sworn off blondes, and in his hazy, drunken state, had catalogued all the wrongs that had befallen him from at the hands of blondes, starting with Lilly and moving through Caitlyn and Veronica and Parker and back to Veronica again…always, always his mind traveled back to Veronica.

“I’m swearing off blondes!” he announced to Dick, and anyone else sitting in the Seventh Veil, for approximately the three hundredth time.

On the stage in front of him, a willowy brunette bobbed and swayed, twirling around the pole.

“I will buy you a lap dance from her,” Dick gestured towards the brunette, “if you would just shut up about how you are swearing off blondes.”

Logan had stared up at the girl without answering, and Dick, having taken his silence as acquiescence, had arranged the lap dance.

Unfortunately, as the brunette hovered over Logan’s chair, gyrating above him, Logan caught sight of her empty brown eyes and heart shaped face, and he was reminded, tragically, of Lynn. Logan had frantically blinked back tears. As gently as he could, in his alcohol-induced haze, Logan put his hands on the girl’s shoulders and pushed her away, jumping up from his chair and heading out into the parking lot.

Thoughts of his mother flung themselves at him from the depths of his memory, and he sat down in the grass on the edge of the parking lot. His stomach rolled from too much liquor and not enough food for days on end.

Dick found him hunched over, staring at the ground.

“What the fuck, man? She was gorgeous, and she wasn’t fucking blonde!” Dick said.

“Dick!” Logan snapped. “Promise me you will never fucking ever again buy me a lap dance from a girl who looks like my dead MOM, okay? Don’t ever fucking do that again!”

Dick sucked in air through clenched teeth, making a worried sound. “Duuuuuuuude. I’m sorry. Yeah, that sucked on my part. That definitely sucked.”

Dick sat down next to him in the grass for a minute. “Hey, I know what you need,” he said suddenly, as if he had just been struck with the greatest idea since sliced bread.

“What, Dick?” Logan spat. “What do I need? Please enlighten me.”

“You need a redhead. You need a redhead with tits the size of cantaloupes,” Dick announced happily, pulling Logan up off the ground, and dragging him, reluctantly, back into the strip club.