scribblinlenore | Holiday Fluff Advent Style: Day Nine (Veronica Mars)

Okay, this didn't come out entirely fluffy. Veronica is just too tough for that!

Day Nine: The Secret Language of Cookies, VM, mostly Gen, tiny whiff of Logan/Veronica, PG-13

ETA: OOPS! I totally forgot to warn for spoilers. They're in here, for the most recent episode, 3x09. I'm SO sorry if I spoiled anyone before. Mea culpa!

The Secret Language of Cookies
by Lenore

The holidays. Is there a more action-packed time of year? So much consumer debt to pile up, suicide methods to contemplate. All the hustle and bustle of eating enough to overtake the elephant as the world's largest land mammal and spending precious vacation days on once-a-year relatives who aren't once-a-month or once-a-week for good reason. In all this excitement, it's easy to lose sight of what the season truly offers us: the opportunity to catch up on 365 days of backlogged sentiment in a frosted vocabulary that everyone appreciates.

The first delivery was the easiest, red paper plate left next to the coffee maker. Her dad raised an eyebrow as he moved to the cabinet for a mug. "Is this about that pony again?"

"Please, Dad, please! Can I have him?" She grabbed onto his arm and bounced on her toes. "He can live in my room, and I'll feed him the straw pocketbooks I don't want anymore, and braid flowers into his mane. We can even call him Keith." She flashed a big, bright, hopeful smile.

He picked up a sugary reindeer by the antlers. "I don't know. Have you been good this year?"

Veronica deflated melodramatically. "Sex, drugs and rock and roll, why must you tempt me so?"

Her dad laughed and kissed her on the forehead. "Thanks for the cookies, honey. You plan on being home for supper tonight?"

Veronica helped herself to one of her dad's snowmen. "Unless Brad calls and says he's dumped Angelina."

"Tell him I'm picking up tacos from Manny's."

"I'm sure he won't want to miss it."

Some cookies had it easy, an uncomplicated "I love you" packed into every artery-hardening calorie.

Delivery number two was a three-for-one deal, Mac and Wallace paying an early morning, finals-are-almost-upon-us visit to the library.

"Are there," Wallace lifted the foil cover and peeked underneath, "snickerdoodles! Score!" He grinned.

"Can I trust you to actually give this to Piz?" She squinted suspiciously before handing over the other plate.

Wallace put on his most innocent expression.

"I have eyes everywhere," she reminded him.

"I hear normal girls worry about holiday cheer adding to their waistlines." Mac hugged her plate of cookies. "How happy am I not to be normal?"

"Enjoy, my friends," Veronica said with a grand sweep of her arm. "The salt mine of the stacks is calling my name, I'm afraid."

She left them discussing the relative merits of milk or coffee as the beverage of choice for a holiday sugar overload.

Some cookies conveyed what was just a little too hokey to put into words, "You'll always be my hero" and "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Veronica borrowed Mac's key to leave Parker's care package on the desk in her room, along with a note, because the provenance of edibles took on a whole new importance when you'd been through what Parker had. If Veronica had learned that lesson a little more thoroughly herself, she might have avoided at least some of her recent trouble.

Sometimes cookies were humble, "I don't know how to thank you, and I wish I could have returned the favor."

Weevil looked up from the thermostat he was repairing. "Veronica Mars. I was wondering when you'd be by. So, what am I guilty of now? Kicking puppies? Drowning kittens? Littering?"

He looked interested.

She held out the package. "Peace offering."

His wariness took only a moment to melt away. He reached for the cookies, truce accepted, and that was the thing about Weevil. He didn't hold a grudge, not about being falsely accused at least. Probably because there was so much he had actually been guilty of over the years.

"I didn't have anything to do with the dean's death, just so you know," he said as he munched away on a gingerbread man. "I liked the guy."

"I know," Veronica told him.

"You need any help looking into it, you let me know."

"So you can end up on the next bus back to Chino? Pass. Besides, what makes you think I'm not leaving the investigating in the hands of the intrepid Sheriff Lamb?"

Weevil laughed. "Like I said, Veronica, if you need any help."

Sometimes it was like making a toast, "Here's to being on the same side, until we're not again."

The cemetery was quiet, middle of the week empty, and Veronica fiddled with the snaps on her jacket. These places made her jumpy.

"So," she felt self-conscious talking to a slab of granite, "that 'most hated man on campus' thing was supposed to be joke."

The answering silence made her all the more anxious to get the hell out of there. She sat the foiled-wrapped plate on top of the headstone, an oddity among the neighboring flower arrangements and wreaths.

"Nobody gets away with murder on my watch," she said into the air.

Sometimes it was making a promise.

It took some convincing at the prison--specifically, a handful of pecan sandies--to get the guards to let her bring the goodies into the visitor's room. Mercer hadn't lost his smirk, but there were dark smudges beneath his eyes. Somebody hadn't been getting much sleep lately.

"Couldn't stay away, could you, Veronica?" His smarmy smile turned her stomach, even from the other side of the bulletproof glass.

"As irresistible as I find a drug-wielding coward of a rapist, Mercer, I've really just come to deliver a message." She unwrapped the cookies and took a big bite out of a pink-frosted Santa. "Life is good, and you won't be part of it for a long, long time." She got to her feet and flashed a bright smile. "Enjoy your institutional gray Christmas."

Sometimes it was just the most effective way to make your point, "It's good to see you finally getting what you deserve, and I can only hope it involves being passed from thug to thug like a human party favor."

The last delivery was the only one that made her nervous, standing outside the room at the Neptune Grand, heart pounding in the back of her throat.

Logan looked beyond surprised when he opened the door. "Veronica."

"I, uh--" She pushed the cookies at him. "It's just-- Cliff said you worked something out about the charges from vandalizing the police car."

Logan's mouth quirked into an ironic smile. "Restitution, and I'll be donning an attractive orange vest for some community service fun."

"That's-- good." She looked down at the floor. "Do you think--"

At the same time, he said, "Maybe we can--"

They paused awkwardly.

"Dinner?" he asked at last. "Sometime."

"Tonight my dad's making Manny's. But...tomorrow?"

He nodded. "That's sometime."

She let out a breath. "Okay. I should, uh--" She gestured toward the elevator. "So. Tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow."

She was halfway down the hall when he called after her, "Veronica?"

She turned.

"Thanks for the--" He held up the plate, his smile lopsided and sheepish.

She braved a smile in return. "Happy holidays, Logan."

Some cookies didn't really know what they were trying to say, but the fact that they were talking at all was reason to hope.

Current Mood: recumbent

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Holiday Fluff Advent Style: Day Nine (Veronica Mars)

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