I want very much to turn this into a fic.
Premise: Veronica has to cover that surf competition in episode 1x02, but instead of being paired with dear old Duncan, she’s paired with…!
Logan and Veronica are stopped in front of her rather saggy looking Le Baron.
“Shit,” Logan says, squinting in the sun. “Forgot I did that.”
Veronica glares at him incredulously, her mouth unapologetically popped open in disgust.
“Want a ride?” Logan offers magnanimously.
Veronica eyes him with suspicion and asks, “What’s the catch?”
With a casual shrug, Logan replies, “May have to strap you to the roof. If you start being a bitch, that is.”
Veronica looks around, desperately trying to figure out how to take pictures of a surfing competition without actually going to the surfing competition. She’s got nothing.
“Come near me with rope, and I’ll make that bong in your locker seem like a spirit box full of snickerdoodles. Let’s go.”
“Fine. I’ll use handcuffs instead,” Logan retorts. “They’re fuzzy and everything.”
“Car trouble?”
Veronica and Logan both turn their heads to the voice, and find Troy Vandegraff heading their way. Logan rolls his eyes. Troy’s looking like an over-eager puppy who just found a way into the dog food.
“Flat,” Veronica replies.
“Just as God made her,” Logan adds without a moment’s hesitation.
Veronica chooses not to reward Logan with a repulsed glare.
“I was just trying to do my small part for Neptune High,” Veronica sighs, her tone echoing how much of a burden it is to be this talented and this unappreciated. “I’m supposed to be on my way to the Gold Coast right now to take pictures of the surfing regionals,” she says, pointedly. “But Mr. Psychotic Jackass here is making it very clear he does not want me to come.”
Logan’s lip curls and he looks away. “I offered you my roof,” he argues.
Troy looks between the two of them as if they’re displaying some sort of cultural ritual he doesn’t quite understand. “Look, I can take her, if you want.”
Something about Troy bugs the crap out of Logan. Maybe it’s that Troy’s new. Maybe it’s that Troy has naturally blonde hair. Maybe it’s that Logan has some misplaced sense of loyalty to his best friend Duncan and Duncan’s (lost) property. Or maybe it’s just that anyone trying to be friendly with Veronica Mars gets an F for brains in Logan’s book. And yes, in his book, the F stands for fart.
“She don’t need no stinkin’ noble steed,” Logan says without thought, “She can come with me.” He turns to her with a smirk, “And not on the roof.” Then he turns back to Troy with a feigned air of innocence and a tone that is dripping with its hyped up lack of guile, “You can change the tire.”
Troy frowns, then licks his upper lip as he tries to save face in front of Veronica.
“I was going to anyway.”
Logan eyes him blandly. “Ah, chivalry not dead. Good to know. Veronica?”
Veronica’s frown deepens as she looks between the two men. Honestly, she wants to say something persnickety like who’s got a ruler? but she keeps her mouth shut in favor of efficiency. She decides to go with Logan without argument.
“Let’s get this over with,” she glowers to his back, following him to his giant yellow eyesore of a car.
Veronica barely has her seatbelt buckled before Logan is peeling out of the parking lot, tires squealing.
“What the hell!” she protests loudly as he continues down the road, weaving around around the traffic at breakneck speed. “My assignment was to cover the surfing competition, not be your wingman in a drag race.”
Logan side-eyes her, laughing softly, his hands firm and sure on the wheel.
“You really gotta learn to loosen up a little, Mars,” he tells her, moving smoothly around a semi and taking the entrance to the freeway.
He waits until he’s cruising along in the fast lane before he speaks again.
“So how much do you know about surfing?” he asks curiously.
Veronica shrugs, clutching at her seat. “There’s a board, there’s water. What’s to know?”
Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “I can hardly wait to read this article.”
“I can hardly wait to write it, presuming I don’t die first. Slow down Racer X.”
“Oooo, and the winner for the deep dive of Saturday morning cartoons is! Veronica Mars.” He does indeed slow down, though, just a little bit, so she’ll ignore the jab.
“You know why that’s a thing, right?” he continues, still changing lanes seemingly at leisure, stupid grin still firmly in place. “Saturday morning cartoons?”
She’ll ignore that as well. “Just, eyes on the road please.”
He laughs loudly, sensing her discomfort. “Aww, c’mon Mars! You’re telling me you never had a little,” he actually waggles his eyebrows, “morning coffee?”
You know what? Boys are dumb. Boys are dumb dumbheads with single brain cells just running in circles waiting for someone to mention sex. She’s about to tell him this much, her mouth open and ready to make him feel like an idiot, when she looks up ahead, and realizes that the tail lights in the not-so-distance are very much not moving.
“Logan!” she shouts, and her feet shoot out to hit phantom brakes.
