still love you more than anyone else could (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
thiswholeflight) wrote2006-11-12 04:37 pm
thiswholeflight) wrote2006-11-12 04:37 pm
Entry tags:
- crack,
- fic,
- logan/meg,
- supernatural,
- vm
Fic: "Alone Again (Naturally)" (Meg) R
Title: Alone Again (Naturally)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
duckytears
Rating: R (for sex and language)
Word Count: 3781 words
Character/Pairing: Meg (with various crossover people making appearances as well as other pairings hinted at it is mostly Meg/Logan)
Summary: "Is this some sort of Little Women thing? Next time is it going to be Amy? Or Beth? I always loved Beth."
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for Veronica Mars (up to 2x22) and Supernatural (up to 2x02)
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars or Supernatural. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: So, I'm a fan of crack!fic. I remember getting this idea after watching Alona Tal on Supernatural as a "What if Jo was really Meg Manning in disguise?" sort of thing. I'm irrationally proud of it and I would absolutely love any feedback. Enjoy it!
Alone Again (Naturally)
The first thing she learns to do is hold a gun the proper way. Cocking it back, she releases the safety and Ellen uses her own shot gun as an example. In her hands, she aims for one of the empty beer bottles Ash has consumed and placed on the fence for just this sort of archaic practice. Ellen stops her from shooting and tells Meg to grip the gun real hard because the repel isn't gonna be what she's used to. Meg considers dropping in a vague accent as she holds the gun so tightly in her hands that her knuckles turn white. This is just another role, she tells herself. One that she has to live in for the rest of her life. It's nothing new.
The first three times she shoots each bullet expelling from the mouth of the gun makes her shake with just the sound let alone the backlash. She misses the swimmingly green bottle sitting on the fence seven different tries and when Ellen gives her a wry smile apologetically, she aims to take her eighth shot and the bottle crumbles into thousands of glass fragments scattered over the ground. She knows Ellen feels badly for her, but she doesn't anymore.
Ash whoops at it and finally she lets a smile flood her face for the first time in over a year.
She thinks it's odd that Ellen is pretending to be her mother. They look alike in a lot of ways, but that's only because Ellen is her aunt.
Technicalities.
Aunt Chris was the only one in contact with Ellen and, a lot like she's been - Chris too, Ellen was ostracized from the family. Mostly because she did have a daughter named Jo. Ellen had a daughter named Jo and a husband at one point, but both are gone now and she owns this saloon in Wisconsin that hunters, truckers or miscellaneous Jack Kerouaceque boys like to come through.
When Ellen talks about John Winchester it reminds Meg of Duncan Kane. Not because of how alike John and Duncan are - because they're not - but because of the soft wistful sound low in her throat. The sound bottoms out in her stomach and makes her question if Jo was her husband's daughter or John's.
Meg doesn't remember when she achieved the ability to walk away from her life entirely. There was a point when there was no way she could have ever done what she's doing now. She didn't have the quips to retort back to smart mouths or the quick and quiet reaction to aim a shot gun and use her fists and palms for defense. She definitely didn't think she could have done it when her Aunt Chris came to the hospital - her belly too large, her ankles too swollen and her body just too filled with baby and family to think of anything else - as her Aunt opened her options in a way she couldn't begin to contemplate.
"Your Aunt Ellen-"
"-I have an Aunt Ellen?"
"She lives down in Wisconsin. She has a place-"
"-You can't take me in."
"You won't be safe, Meg."
And she hadn't known exactly what safe was to begin with, but the idea that she was in any sort of danger was news to her to begin with. She had tried not to feel sick for the first months of her pregnancy - the ones she remembered because some psycho decided to put a bomb on the bus and she plunged with it - and now that she was suddenly missing months of time looking around in a colorless hospital with her stomach protruding out from under a hospital gown she had to keep a vomit bucket right by her side.
So, she's not going to Seattle like Chris promised her in the letters they sent each other in the summer heat and Chris actually looks apologetic. The fact that she barely knows her Aunt because of her parents has gotten to her before, but the idea that she has another Aunt she knows nothing about is even worse. She loses trust and comfort by the day.
"Take these," Chris tells her, leaving three small white pills on the table beside her half empty cup of water, "if you want to stay with your Aunt Ellen."
When her father comes in to talk to her about The Levi Stinson Sanctuary House, religious indoctrination and tough-love discipline, she hides the pills in her hand and clings to them like her life depends on it.
Nothing - absolutely nothing - compares to waking up in a morgue.
If she thought it was a form of insanity taking the pills that Chris has given her to see her Aunt Ellen, whom she had never met, then waking up in a morgue was psychotic. No, psychotic wasn't strong enough of a word. Stark raving mad. Bats in the belfry. Meshuga.
Meg hadn't shivered and screamed when she found her stomach empty and cold in the dark, but she had when she found herself stuck in a body bag - that only turned worse when she realized she was in a body bag in one of those freezer things used to preserve dead bodies. Because she really wasn't dead and all of this had to be a dream. She beat against the door with her feet, panicking in the small space, managing the body bag half open.
In an instant, the door opened and her drawer that fit her so perfect was pulled out. Her body shook, her heart pounding blood hard into her ears, as she gave a soft cry and found herself face to face with a blurry stranger with light brown almost blond hair. Her eyes adjusted to the light and she gasped taking in large breaths of air. She clung to the sides of the cold metal tray and sat up, still breathing heavily.
"Meg?" The stranger questioned.
She nodded feverishly, trying not to choke on her own air as the woman helped her from the cold and the body bag. She was handed clothes.
"Good, I would have hated to get a vampire instead."
Meg didn't question it as she was tugged away.
Later, Ellen (who seemed to become more of a stranger as she got to know her) told her that her mother had tried to kill her by taking her own pillow from under her head and pressing it to her face until she couldn't breathe and everything stopped for Meg then - or maybe it had really stopped a long time ago when her father made her write until her own hand cramped up from holding her pencil too tightly. The path to god is paved with righteousness.
Either way, Meg was dead now and Ellen told her to go by Jo.
She thinks Ellen jokes about the vampire thing too much (because, hey, that's crazy, vampires just don't exist), but when all she begins to hear in this place are a bunch of psychos talking about vampires and demons and showing off war scars that look like they could have been made in a kitchen, Meg feels sick.
"Didn't your parents teach you anything?" Ellen asks her.
Meg just gives her a look in return, "You grew up with my mother, why don't you tell me?"
"Your grandpa was a hunter," she informs Meg. "Rose just wanted her youngins safe, I suppose."
"Yeah, well, we're really safe."
And Meg wishes she has a picture of Lizzie and Grace to hold close to her chest or, hell, her kid which she knows nothing about - not even if she survived. Ellen doesn't respond, but leaves a cross necklace by her bedside that evening.
She's used to the consistent in and out flow of strangers. She breathes it in every day as she pours cheap beer to men who attempt to pinch her buttocks which seems to be all the foreplay they need truthfully, but she'd like to be wooed a little more - and maybe not be hit on by men her father's age. Meg smiles past this, her face tight and angry as she puts these mens hands back where they belong - which may actually be in their own pants, but she's tempted to put then in the deep frier in the back.
She curses and swears (which seems particularly un-Meg Manning like, but nothing out here is like her life before) that if any other guy is going to touch her again, she'll do just that.
She doesn't.
The first truly familiar voice is unexpected and shakes her in a way she never thought should could be. Since she's come here she's been strong, confident and a go-getter. Okay, she was a go-getter before, but not like this. His voice curls around her and floods inside of her like memories released into her system. All at once, she thinks about Duncan, her sisters, her parents and the baby she had to leave behind. She drops the case of Heileman's Old Style Light that was wearing on her arms and the case just cracks, crashes and spills everywhere. Which she attempts not to do the same.
He slips around the counter to where she is picking up glass shards. Her fingers are drowning in cheap beer and she slits her middle finger shallowly on a particularly sharp piece as he takes off his dark sunglasses and recognizes her.
"Fuck!" She cries out at the cut or at him. She's not sure but either way she feels the urge to cover her mouth at her language. Maybe, just maybe, she hasn't changed.
Logan Echolls reaches in to take her hand and look at the cut closer.
"It's not that bad," he concludes before reaching up and taking a towel to soak up the beer.
Ellen gives her an earful at the beer that she's just wasted on the Roadhouse floor, careful to use her own daughter's name. Meg hasn't heard her actually name in months. She closes her eyes and continues to clean up as Ellen talks at her. It all just fading into the background of pure white noise in Meg's ears until Ellen notices Logan standing there, leaning against the counter lazily.
"What do you want?" Ellen asks - she knows hunters and this boy just does not look like a hunter.
"My car stopped a bit up the road." He waves his dead cell phone in the air as if it should explain everything.
Meg scoffs under her breath bitterly. "I'll help him."
She ignores Ellen calling after her about cleaning up the beer and glass shards when she gets back and grabs Logan by the shirt, tugging him out the door firmly with her with a box of tools just for this sort of thing. For once, in months, she's angry. Angry at all she's lost and all she's had to go through - angry at this fucking life she has to live now where she doesn't know anyone. She's just a stranger in a mess of people that don't make any sense to her.
"Is this some sort of Little Women thing? Next time is it going to be Amy? Or Beth? I always loved Beth."
She spies Logan's familiar curve of a smirk building on his lips and she wants to slap it off of him immediately. Meg deadpans. "Beth died."
"So, maybe you should have been Beth to begin with," he replies harshly, just as furious as she feels, as she looks out for where his car might be.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She whips around, blonde curls falling into her face as she looks him in the eyes. The summer heat beats down harshly against his white skin and she watches as a drop of salty sweat builds at his left temple. He wipes it off before it can spill and rubs the wetness off on his jeans before shrugging.
"I don't know, some Jack Kerouac sort of thing?" he offers as explanation for his mysterious appearance. "My car fucking died. Are you waiting for me to apologize?"
"No," she replies simply.
His car is fucked and even with some of the mechanical skills Meg's picked up, she can't fix it. Which is rather disappointing because really she wanted to prove something to him and that smug look he consistently keeps on his face when he looks right through her.
"Should I make some comment like 'I see dead people' or are you going to tell me why you're here?" he asks, tapping against the opened hood of his yellow X-Terra. "Or even why everyone thinks you're dead?"
"You don't get to know that."
"For an old friend?" He tries, and she sees that same self-satisfied superior look rising in a grin.
"You're not a friend!" She says exasperated.
"Just think about all that potential lost, Meg!" He counters.
Her eyes darken at her own name and for once the complacent look slips off his face. They head back to the Roadhouse and she calls him a tow truck and their local mechanic to fix his car. He doesn't thank her, his lips twisted tightly in an unreadable wry smile. It looks like he's tasted something bitter.
"Duncan left because of you," he says.
She's not sure if she helps him get a room and food for the night because she feels guilty. Meg's been beyond letting comments eat her up for months and she's not sure if it surprises her when he lets her. They don't try to make conversation, but they exchange looks as she sets a plate down in front of him that looks like it's made of grease and flavor in the shape of french fries and chicken wings. Logan looks disgusted for a moment, but he eats it anyway.
"Tell me about her," Meg demands a few bites into his meal, shoving his plate away for a moment. She can't stand the silence or the idea that he knows more than her.
It takes Logan eternity, as he wipes off his fingers and face with a napkin, to figure out which she Meg's talking about. In hindsight, it seems too obvious.
"I don't know," he says, a reluctant pause lingering. "I didn't see her before Duncan left with her."
For a moment, Meg almost feels sorry for him.
He takes a dollar to the jukebox and searches through the tunes for at least twenty minutes before picking Alone Again (Naturally) to play four times. He sways lightly with the beat, not eating the rest of his fries but beating them against the plate like it's a drum. By the third time the song comes around, Meg is sick of hearing Gilbert O' Sullivan crying into his microphone about how he truly is indeed alone again, naturally. The self-pity that exists is crawling inside of her and she thinks she's going to be physically ill from the song when he goes to put in another dollar.
Quickly she lets out a harsh breath and immediately goes to pull him far away from the poor unsuspecting jukebox. Tugging him out behind the counter, past the kitchen and towards her room, he's surprised as her lips collide desperately with his like she's trying to crawl inside of him. He kisses her back hard anyway. Her mouth elicits a soft gasp as his teeth scrape against her lower lip and he soothes it over with his tongue.
Her bedroom door slams behind them.
She knows the story he tells with his hands rough over her hips and the back of her thighs. Meg's used to the expression on his face, the one that got her pregnant in the first place. The song is still playing, the lyrics echoing in her head dizzily as his hands slide up her shirt over her stomach to cup her breasts, and she's not sure how she didn't catch him inserting in quarters when she wasn't looking.
She was so careful.
The backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed and she crumbles back onto it, pulling him down with her by the sleeves of his shirt. It doesn't faze him. Logan's mouth slants heatedly, demandingly, over hers as her body rocks up into his. He's already hard and ready, pressing back against her through his denim jeans, and that shouldn't scare her as much as it does.
His fingers pop open the button on her jeans and search down, pulling down the zipper as his hand slides against her panties - which are dry, even as his fingers tease her. His mouth curves against her neck and shoulder and lower and lower as he tugs up her shirt and down her bra. Finally, closing her eyes, she feels herself rotating against his fingers that are still down there. He's pushing her underwear aside, his thumb strumming against her like he's trying to play her expertly for the right sound.
Her heart pounds at his mouth hot and wet over her perk nipples and moving lower still. The first time she comes with his tongue against her, her fingers are tangled up in his hair and his name lingers on her lips unable to escape.
They do it again and again in the few days he stays while his car is being fixed. When Meg opens her bedroom door the morning after Ellen spies the sleeping half-naked boy in her bedroom and merely gives her a look. Logan's hair is messed up wildly and as she comes back with coffee mugs at hand to put by her beside, he lifts up his head with a soft groan, opening his eyes a moment later.
He tugs her down against the mattress and the twisted bed sheets around him that smell like sex and musk.
"Do I get to know why you're here now?" he asks, looking vaguely like a little kid searching for treats instead of tricks.
As he takes her hand and kisses the healing cut on her middle finger, she tells him.
"Did Veronica leave you?" Meg asks, holding herself, as he blinks blindly towards the sun before slipping his sunglasses smoothly on - getting ready to leave her himself. His car is ready and even has a new shine in the beating sun. The yellow is abrasive, like him.
He doesn't answer her exactly. "What do you think?" he asks, fingering his car keys in his right hand.
She shuts her eyes for a moment, her shirt starting to cling to her body with the heat. "I just want to know what I was."
And he pauses for a moment, taking off those sunglasses again and putting him into her hand like he's giving her a gift. He presses it into the palm of her hand and folds her fingers over the frame and the lenses, before cupping her cheeks in both of his hands and kissing her like he means it. Breathlessly, she believes that.
"You were Meg Manning," Logan whispers softly against her lips. "You are Meg Manning."
He kisses her once more before getting into his car and driving past the broken empty bottles she used as her shooting range.
Author:
duckytearsRating: R (for sex and language)
Word Count: 3781 words
Character/Pairing: Meg (with various crossover people making appearances as well as other pairings hinted at it is mostly Meg/Logan)
Summary: "Is this some sort of Little Women thing? Next time is it going to be Amy? Or Beth? I always loved Beth."
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for Veronica Mars (up to 2x22) and Supernatural (up to 2x02)
Disclaimer: I am in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of Veronica Mars or Supernatural. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Note: So, I'm a fan of crack!fic. I remember getting this idea after watching Alona Tal on Supernatural as a "What if Jo was really Meg Manning in disguise?" sort of thing. I'm irrationally proud of it and I would absolutely love any feedback. Enjoy it!
 |
The first thing she learns to do is hold a gun the proper way. Cocking it back, she releases the safety and Ellen uses her own shot gun as an example. In her hands, she aims for one of the empty beer bottles Ash has consumed and placed on the fence for just this sort of archaic practice. Ellen stops her from shooting and tells Meg to grip the gun real hard because the repel isn't gonna be what she's used to. Meg considers dropping in a vague accent as she holds the gun so tightly in her hands that her knuckles turn white. This is just another role, she tells herself. One that she has to live in for the rest of her life. It's nothing new.
The first three times she shoots each bullet expelling from the mouth of the gun makes her shake with just the sound let alone the backlash. She misses the swimmingly green bottle sitting on the fence seven different tries and when Ellen gives her a wry smile apologetically, she aims to take her eighth shot and the bottle crumbles into thousands of glass fragments scattered over the ground. She knows Ellen feels badly for her, but she doesn't anymore.
Ash whoops at it and finally she lets a smile flood her face for the first time in over a year.
She thinks it's odd that Ellen is pretending to be her mother. They look alike in a lot of ways, but that's only because Ellen is her aunt.
Technicalities.
Aunt Chris was the only one in contact with Ellen and, a lot like she's been - Chris too, Ellen was ostracized from the family. Mostly because she did have a daughter named Jo. Ellen had a daughter named Jo and a husband at one point, but both are gone now and she owns this saloon in Wisconsin that hunters, truckers or miscellaneous Jack Kerouaceque boys like to come through.
When Ellen talks about John Winchester it reminds Meg of Duncan Kane. Not because of how alike John and Duncan are - because they're not - but because of the soft wistful sound low in her throat. The sound bottoms out in her stomach and makes her question if Jo was her husband's daughter or John's.
Meg doesn't remember when she achieved the ability to walk away from her life entirely. There was a point when there was no way she could have ever done what she's doing now. She didn't have the quips to retort back to smart mouths or the quick and quiet reaction to aim a shot gun and use her fists and palms for defense. She definitely didn't think she could have done it when her Aunt Chris came to the hospital - her belly too large, her ankles too swollen and her body just too filled with baby and family to think of anything else - as her Aunt opened her options in a way she couldn't begin to contemplate.
"Your Aunt Ellen-"
"-I have an Aunt Ellen?"
"She lives down in Wisconsin. She has a place-"
"-You can't take me in."
"You won't be safe, Meg."
And she hadn't known exactly what safe was to begin with, but the idea that she was in any sort of danger was news to her to begin with. She had tried not to feel sick for the first months of her pregnancy - the ones she remembered because some psycho decided to put a bomb on the bus and she plunged with it - and now that she was suddenly missing months of time looking around in a colorless hospital with her stomach protruding out from under a hospital gown she had to keep a vomit bucket right by her side.
So, she's not going to Seattle like Chris promised her in the letters they sent each other in the summer heat and Chris actually looks apologetic. The fact that she barely knows her Aunt because of her parents has gotten to her before, but the idea that she has another Aunt she knows nothing about is even worse. She loses trust and comfort by the day.
"Take these," Chris tells her, leaving three small white pills on the table beside her half empty cup of water, "if you want to stay with your Aunt Ellen."
When her father comes in to talk to her about The Levi Stinson Sanctuary House, religious indoctrination and tough-love discipline, she hides the pills in her hand and clings to them like her life depends on it.
Nothing - absolutely nothing - compares to waking up in a morgue.
If she thought it was a form of insanity taking the pills that Chris has given her to see her Aunt Ellen, whom she had never met, then waking up in a morgue was psychotic. No, psychotic wasn't strong enough of a word. Stark raving mad. Bats in the belfry. Meshuga.
Meg hadn't shivered and screamed when she found her stomach empty and cold in the dark, but she had when she found herself stuck in a body bag - that only turned worse when she realized she was in a body bag in one of those freezer things used to preserve dead bodies. Because she really wasn't dead and all of this had to be a dream. She beat against the door with her feet, panicking in the small space, managing the body bag half open.
In an instant, the door opened and her drawer that fit her so perfect was pulled out. Her body shook, her heart pounding blood hard into her ears, as she gave a soft cry and found herself face to face with a blurry stranger with light brown almost blond hair. Her eyes adjusted to the light and she gasped taking in large breaths of air. She clung to the sides of the cold metal tray and sat up, still breathing heavily.
"Meg?" The stranger questioned.
She nodded feverishly, trying not to choke on her own air as the woman helped her from the cold and the body bag. She was handed clothes.
"Good, I would have hated to get a vampire instead."
Meg didn't question it as she was tugged away.
Later, Ellen (who seemed to become more of a stranger as she got to know her) told her that her mother had tried to kill her by taking her own pillow from under her head and pressing it to her face until she couldn't breathe and everything stopped for Meg then - or maybe it had really stopped a long time ago when her father made her write until her own hand cramped up from holding her pencil too tightly. The path to god is paved with righteousness.
Either way, Meg was dead now and Ellen told her to go by Jo.
She thinks Ellen jokes about the vampire thing too much (because, hey, that's crazy, vampires just don't exist), but when all she begins to hear in this place are a bunch of psychos talking about vampires and demons and showing off war scars that look like they could have been made in a kitchen, Meg feels sick.
"Didn't your parents teach you anything?" Ellen asks her.
Meg just gives her a look in return, "You grew up with my mother, why don't you tell me?"
"Your grandpa was a hunter," she informs Meg. "Rose just wanted her youngins safe, I suppose."
"Yeah, well, we're really safe."
And Meg wishes she has a picture of Lizzie and Grace to hold close to her chest or, hell, her kid which she knows nothing about - not even if she survived. Ellen doesn't respond, but leaves a cross necklace by her bedside that evening.
She's used to the consistent in and out flow of strangers. She breathes it in every day as she pours cheap beer to men who attempt to pinch her buttocks which seems to be all the foreplay they need truthfully, but she'd like to be wooed a little more - and maybe not be hit on by men her father's age. Meg smiles past this, her face tight and angry as she puts these mens hands back where they belong - which may actually be in their own pants, but she's tempted to put then in the deep frier in the back.
She curses and swears (which seems particularly un-Meg Manning like, but nothing out here is like her life before) that if any other guy is going to touch her again, she'll do just that.
She doesn't.
The first truly familiar voice is unexpected and shakes her in a way she never thought should could be. Since she's come here she's been strong, confident and a go-getter. Okay, she was a go-getter before, but not like this. His voice curls around her and floods inside of her like memories released into her system. All at once, she thinks about Duncan, her sisters, her parents and the baby she had to leave behind. She drops the case of Heileman's Old Style Light that was wearing on her arms and the case just cracks, crashes and spills everywhere. Which she attempts not to do the same.
He slips around the counter to where she is picking up glass shards. Her fingers are drowning in cheap beer and she slits her middle finger shallowly on a particularly sharp piece as he takes off his dark sunglasses and recognizes her.
"Fuck!" She cries out at the cut or at him. She's not sure but either way she feels the urge to cover her mouth at her language. Maybe, just maybe, she hasn't changed.
Logan Echolls reaches in to take her hand and look at the cut closer.
"It's not that bad," he concludes before reaching up and taking a towel to soak up the beer.
Ellen gives her an earful at the beer that she's just wasted on the Roadhouse floor, careful to use her own daughter's name. Meg hasn't heard her actually name in months. She closes her eyes and continues to clean up as Ellen talks at her. It all just fading into the background of pure white noise in Meg's ears until Ellen notices Logan standing there, leaning against the counter lazily.
"What do you want?" Ellen asks - she knows hunters and this boy just does not look like a hunter.
"My car stopped a bit up the road." He waves his dead cell phone in the air as if it should explain everything.
Meg scoffs under her breath bitterly. "I'll help him."
She ignores Ellen calling after her about cleaning up the beer and glass shards when she gets back and grabs Logan by the shirt, tugging him out the door firmly with her with a box of tools just for this sort of thing. For once, in months, she's angry. Angry at all she's lost and all she's had to go through - angry at this fucking life she has to live now where she doesn't know anyone. She's just a stranger in a mess of people that don't make any sense to her.
"Is this some sort of Little Women thing? Next time is it going to be Amy? Or Beth? I always loved Beth."
She spies Logan's familiar curve of a smirk building on his lips and she wants to slap it off of him immediately. Meg deadpans. "Beth died."
"So, maybe you should have been Beth to begin with," he replies harshly, just as furious as she feels, as she looks out for where his car might be.
"What the hell are you doing here?" She whips around, blonde curls falling into her face as she looks him in the eyes. The summer heat beats down harshly against his white skin and she watches as a drop of salty sweat builds at his left temple. He wipes it off before it can spill and rubs the wetness off on his jeans before shrugging.
"I don't know, some Jack Kerouac sort of thing?" he offers as explanation for his mysterious appearance. "My car fucking died. Are you waiting for me to apologize?"
"No," she replies simply.
His car is fucked and even with some of the mechanical skills Meg's picked up, she can't fix it. Which is rather disappointing because really she wanted to prove something to him and that smug look he consistently keeps on his face when he looks right through her.
"Should I make some comment like 'I see dead people' or are you going to tell me why you're here?" he asks, tapping against the opened hood of his yellow X-Terra. "Or even why everyone thinks you're dead?"
"You don't get to know that."
"For an old friend?" He tries, and she sees that same self-satisfied superior look rising in a grin.
"You're not a friend!" She says exasperated.
"Just think about all that potential lost, Meg!" He counters.
Her eyes darken at her own name and for once the complacent look slips off his face. They head back to the Roadhouse and she calls him a tow truck and their local mechanic to fix his car. He doesn't thank her, his lips twisted tightly in an unreadable wry smile. It looks like he's tasted something bitter.
"Duncan left because of you," he says.
She's not sure if she helps him get a room and food for the night because she feels guilty. Meg's been beyond letting comments eat her up for months and she's not sure if it surprises her when he lets her. They don't try to make conversation, but they exchange looks as she sets a plate down in front of him that looks like it's made of grease and flavor in the shape of french fries and chicken wings. Logan looks disgusted for a moment, but he eats it anyway.
"Tell me about her," Meg demands a few bites into his meal, shoving his plate away for a moment. She can't stand the silence or the idea that he knows more than her.
It takes Logan eternity, as he wipes off his fingers and face with a napkin, to figure out which she Meg's talking about. In hindsight, it seems too obvious.
"I don't know," he says, a reluctant pause lingering. "I didn't see her before Duncan left with her."
For a moment, Meg almost feels sorry for him.
He takes a dollar to the jukebox and searches through the tunes for at least twenty minutes before picking Alone Again (Naturally) to play four times. He sways lightly with the beat, not eating the rest of his fries but beating them against the plate like it's a drum. By the third time the song comes around, Meg is sick of hearing Gilbert O' Sullivan crying into his microphone about how he truly is indeed alone again, naturally. The self-pity that exists is crawling inside of her and she thinks she's going to be physically ill from the song when he goes to put in another dollar.
Quickly she lets out a harsh breath and immediately goes to pull him far away from the poor unsuspecting jukebox. Tugging him out behind the counter, past the kitchen and towards her room, he's surprised as her lips collide desperately with his like she's trying to crawl inside of him. He kisses her back hard anyway. Her mouth elicits a soft gasp as his teeth scrape against her lower lip and he soothes it over with his tongue.
Her bedroom door slams behind them.
She knows the story he tells with his hands rough over her hips and the back of her thighs. Meg's used to the expression on his face, the one that got her pregnant in the first place. The song is still playing, the lyrics echoing in her head dizzily as his hands slide up her shirt over her stomach to cup her breasts, and she's not sure how she didn't catch him inserting in quarters when she wasn't looking.
She was so careful.
The backs of her knees hit the edge of her bed and she crumbles back onto it, pulling him down with her by the sleeves of his shirt. It doesn't faze him. Logan's mouth slants heatedly, demandingly, over hers as her body rocks up into his. He's already hard and ready, pressing back against her through his denim jeans, and that shouldn't scare her as much as it does.
His fingers pop open the button on her jeans and search down, pulling down the zipper as his hand slides against her panties - which are dry, even as his fingers tease her. His mouth curves against her neck and shoulder and lower and lower as he tugs up her shirt and down her bra. Finally, closing her eyes, she feels herself rotating against his fingers that are still down there. He's pushing her underwear aside, his thumb strumming against her like he's trying to play her expertly for the right sound.
Her heart pounds at his mouth hot and wet over her perk nipples and moving lower still. The first time she comes with his tongue against her, her fingers are tangled up in his hair and his name lingers on her lips unable to escape.
They do it again and again in the few days he stays while his car is being fixed. When Meg opens her bedroom door the morning after Ellen spies the sleeping half-naked boy in her bedroom and merely gives her a look. Logan's hair is messed up wildly and as she comes back with coffee mugs at hand to put by her beside, he lifts up his head with a soft groan, opening his eyes a moment later.
He tugs her down against the mattress and the twisted bed sheets around him that smell like sex and musk.
"Do I get to know why you're here now?" he asks, looking vaguely like a little kid searching for treats instead of tricks.
As he takes her hand and kisses the healing cut on her middle finger, she tells him.
"Did Veronica leave you?" Meg asks, holding herself, as he blinks blindly towards the sun before slipping his sunglasses smoothly on - getting ready to leave her himself. His car is ready and even has a new shine in the beating sun. The yellow is abrasive, like him.
He doesn't answer her exactly. "What do you think?" he asks, fingering his car keys in his right hand.
She shuts her eyes for a moment, her shirt starting to cling to her body with the heat. "I just want to know what I was."
And he pauses for a moment, taking off those sunglasses again and putting him into her hand like he's giving her a gift. He presses it into the palm of her hand and folds her fingers over the frame and the lenses, before cupping her cheeks in both of his hands and kissing her like he means it. Breathlessly, she believes that.
"You were Meg Manning," Logan whispers softly against her lips. "You are Meg Manning."
He kisses her once more before getting into his car and driving past the broken empty bottles she used as her shooting range.
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:D
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Oh, and that manip is great!
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And thanks for the compliment of the manip! I made it a little while back. :)
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I love the premise you created in this fic and how it worked wonderfully with both the VM and SPN universe.
Your Meg was perfect. Broken, hardened, bitter but even then, slightly hopeful.
And I love, love, love the manip.
Great job!
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I really enjoyed writing this - a little too much, even though that's probably not possible.
And even more yay? Characterization. Yay for the nice warm feeling deep down inside that is directly in correlation with good characterization. :D
As for the manip, I will probably be posting the Meg/Logan header I've done in my icon journal soon. Much like the manip.
Thanks again!
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Anyways. Yes. This Jo/Meg is so much better than the Jo on SPN. Bleh on her. I kinda love this like whoa even if Logan belongs with Dawn or Duncan no matta what. ;)
Write me a Dawn/Logan fic *WHINES*
Loverly :)
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Haha. I love how almost everyone's commenting that. People REALLY don't like Jo on SPN. I so need to catch up. But I'm glad you love this, yo, because you know what? So do I. And we both have awesome taste. lol. Even if Logan belongs with Dawn or Duncan. Or Mac. Or any number of characters he whores around with (well, not Madison).
*snickers and goes to find premise inside self for Dawn/Logan fic*
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I loved Meg as Jo, the thing about her grandfather being a hunter and her mother being a psycho rocked.