Disclaimer: I do not own Veronica Mars, which belongs to Rob Thomas
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Glass Clover Houses
Veronica Mars fanfiction by Vayleen
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College dorm closets always smelled musty because of the thin walls between them, no thicker than cubicles. Scents from different people and their unique lifestyles accumulated and settled in the dark corners of the closets and mixed into one musty, murky aroma. Naturally, over the course of the year, the not-so-important pieces of Parker Lee’s worldly possessions had been shoved into a box and pushed to the back of her closest so that she had to get on her knees and reach behind everything else until the offending box was firmly in her grasp.
Lately many of the things that Parker may have taken for granted before weren’t quite so trivial anymore. Like heritage, or at least it was one of the things that came to mind when she woke-up that Saturday morning, still dressed in her Coldwater Creek little black number from the night before. Her cell phone was ringing, Nelly Furtado permeating the buzz of dorm life with her monotone, contralto voice. It was her mother calling to wish her a happy St. Patrick’s Day. Parker had tripped over her discarded high-heels attempting to get to her desk, thinking it was Logan, and was both relieved and vexed that it wasn’t.
Her family was disappointed that Parker wormed her way out of going home for the weekend, especially since it was right before spring break so her excuse was rather flimsy. Half of her already regretted it and the other half reminded her, as she dug through the box, that a weekend of rowdy Irish, all of whom she was related to, wasn’t how she wanted to spend her first St. Patrick’s Day weekend as a University student.
But the half of her that felt guilty smiled in triumph when she finally found the pewter pendent buried at the bottom of the box, the center of which held a four-leaf shamrock protected by a glass cover, an inheritance gift from her late grandmother. Paired with a green sweater, it was perfect for an Irish-American chick meeting her boyfriend for Saturday morning breakfast on March 17th.
Boyfriend. Parker grimaced as she dried her hair, thinking about the night before. A night on the town, but she barely drank anything. A gorgeous tour of Los Angeles but she barely took any of it in. A drop-dead sexy boyfriend but she didn’t touch him nearly as much as a good girlfriend should have while they were out, save the kiss after Parker gave Logan his belated birthday present. At least she took full advantage of the expensive dinner he bought her.
And it wasn’t like Logan didn’t try to seduce her. He wasn’t pushing her but the champagne and music was obvious indication for Parker, who had been around her share of blocks once upon a different time, and she knew all the affection was a prelude to the President’s suite at the Neptune Grand.
They had been dating for almost a month and Parker was no stranger to Logan’s kisses, nor was he to hers. If there was something Parker could take pride in, it was her ability to make a boy’s head spin and she was delighted to find Logan such a vibrantly fantastic kisser. The return to Logan’s hotel room started as it had many a time before, with more wine, more touching and lots of said kissing. Parker recalled the pressure of his lips, his fingers on her waist, tickling her skin between the fabric of her dress. The texture of his hair beneath her fingers, the way he moaned when she half-scratched, half-caressed the skin at his hairline. The way their movements moved from slow and sensual to fast and urgent. The heat in her stomach as he bit the junction between her shoulder and neck, the way he shuddered as she ran her hands down his hips and thighs and leaned into him.
Everything was perfect until they moved to the bedroom and Logan leaned her back into his bed. Parker felt his full weight on top of her, his hips on her hips, pushing her into the mattress and her vision went white then spotty, her brain shut down. Distantly, she could feel her body thrashing and flailing, panicked. When she was coherent again, she found herself bent over Logan’s toilet and he was holding her hair back and soothing her with that wonderful voice of his. Purging her body purged the bulk of her fear but it didn’t stop the overwhelming guilt despite Logan’s comfort and light kisses on her forehead and cheek. Ever the gentleman.
She insisted on going home even though he didn’t want her to. He gave her a chaste goodbye kiss at her dorm room door and teasingly, sweetly told her that he’d meet her for breakfast the next morning as he leaned his forehead into hers, one large hand cupping her face. She smiled for him but her face crumpled after he left and all she could do was kick off her high-heels, fall into bed and curl up her body, as though if she didn’t hold herself in she would bust into a thousand tiny stars.
When she arrived at the cafeteria for breakfast, Logan wasn’t there yet and Parker figured she had a good thirty minutes before he showed himself at 10am, when it was still considered early enough for breakfast. She bought a bottle of juice and settled at an empty table to wait. She thought that just maybe it wouldn’t be awkward. Logan was easy going and he wouldn’t hold last night against her. She shouldn’t worry about it but she hadn’t had a serious boyfriend since eleventh grade; originally she didn’t plan on having a serious boyfriend during college, just a line of boys to have fun with, like she did in twelfth grade, only on a much grander scale. And while she dated on occasion, her reasons for trying to get more intimate with a boy did change.
But Logan was exciting. He loved parties and showing her a good time. He was a hot, rich Californian boy, the ideal fantasy boyfriend for a girl who grew-up in Denver. And Parker had stopped seeing other boys because Logan asked her to so she honestly wanted to try.
Parker was lost in thought when Veronica Mars walked into the other side of the cafeteria. Parker smiled and waved and when Veronica saw her she responded by cracking a half smile and lifting a hand in return. Then she deliberating walked into the radio station and within a minute, in front of everyone that was interested enough to watch, did her Veronica-thing and broke into the sound booth to make a satisfactory plop upon the bemused young man sitting therein. Piz was finishing his new early show at ten, a slot he was temporarily given as the station shuffled shows around in wake of Mercer’s arrest several months prior. Apparently reliable DJs were hard to come by.
Parker was half absorbed in watching the laughing banter between the couple when a parfait, consisting of granola, yogurt and fruit, appeared before her followed by the laughing brown eyes of Logan Echolls.
“Early morning sustenance for a lady in need of nourishment,” he said with a flourish. “With all those healthy food groups you girls love.”
“‘Early morning?’ It was early morning when we arrived at your hotel last night.”
“It’s early morning in the old world,” he retorted, reaching out to finger the pendent resting on her clavicle. “Or maybe it’s late. Can’t remember.”
“Ah, well,” Parker agreed, and leaned over to meet his kiss halfway.
“So, my bonnie lass, tell me why a weed is considered lucky.”
“FYI, the shamrock is a symbol of my good people, so mind your manners. And the leaves of the clover mean hope, faith and love - the fourth, when present, represents luck,” Parker said, while picking at her breakfast concoction with a spoon.
“Been wiki-ing this bright morn?”
“Been listening to old folk for eighteen years.”
“I think it’s just a clever way for you Irish to make people buy you breakfast and do your dirty work for you once a year.”
“I can do my own ‘dirty work.’”
“I’m sure you could,” Logan murmured suggestively, as he leaned forward for a second kiss.
It was after that kiss that Logan chose to idly look around the cafeteria and see Veronica and Piz sitting happily in the sound booth, Piz attempting to finish his show with a tiny blonde in his lap. Veronica also happened to look up and see Logan watching them.
Sometimes when Parker and Logan bumped into Veronica in the hall, everything was a normal, hey-how’s-it-going type encounter with nothing unusual save the awkwardness one might expect between exes. But there were other times when it seemed to Parker that things started moving in slow motion and the world suddenly revolved around them. The cafeteria was one of those times. While the walls seemed to smoke and ice over from the alternating fire and frost in their eyes, Parker was surprised no one else noticed how the air between them was suddenly tangible.
But then it was over. And Logan was leaning back towards her and was talking about breakfast elsewhere and coffee made from real beans. Parker was content enough to leave behind her cafeteria parfait but froze when the escalating conversation a few tables over reached her ears.
“Not cool, dude!” someone shouted as he rose from the table.
“What?” his buddy responded, spreading his arms and glaring, a half-smile on his cute-in-a-jock-way face. “It’s true. I’m not saying it was okay because it’s never okay to rape a girl. I wouldn’t do it. But there must be some wacky way guys who do that are wired, and since they aren’t going around doing it to every girl they see, there must be something about the girl that does get raped that means she asked for it somehow.” He put his hands behind his head and continued. “You’ve seen the way some girls dress. They’re just asking for it.”
Parker could taste bile in her throat. She fought back the tears and anger and was more than ready to leave for the proffered real breakfast when she noticed that Logan looked ready enough to kill and had walked a couple steps towards them when Parker reached for his arm.
“Please, Logan, I just want to leave...” she started.
“Veronica...”
Parker looked over at the sound of Piz’s voice coming from the door to the radio station. It wasn’t a warning or pleading tone but Piz looked worried enough and, from the look on Veronica’s face, Parker could understand why.
Veronica walked towards the table and the jock stood up to meet her, a towering form to Veronica’s petite frame. But that didn’t stop her from executing a quick, back-handed slap that sent the young man reeling backwards into the table. And just as quickly as she came, she went, Piz hurriedly following her out of the cafeteria.
“I think I’m ready for that breakfast now,” Logan said after a moment. Parker may have imagined it, but there was a restrained caliber to his voice.
“Okay,” Parker answered.
It was several seconds later that Logan took her hand and led her away but during those seconds, Parker watched Logan stare at where the previous scene transpired. There was a careful blankness to his face save for the intensity in his dark eyes that slowly faded away, as though he needed a moment to gain control. Then he was smirking and smiling at her as he always did and was entwining his fingers in hers.
The luck of the Irish, Parker thought. Where people did her dirty work for her once a year. Parker wondered if, within a year or two of her own rape, she’d have enough of her spine back to really do her own. But for now she’d have to thank Veronica next time she saw her.
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The End
