A/N: Okay, I'm freakin' inspired to write my Zogan one-shot. I'm basing it on the aftermath of the Wrestling episode. I had to admit, the Zogan was cute. This is set about one week after, so Logan is healed up, mostly. I was fine yesterday, and then I feel terrible – complete & utter shit. It's Christmas Eve, but my mood has basically been shot to hell, so you're getting angst regardless. Sorry, no fluff from me even if you do want it, you're not getting it.
I have a fluffy holiday Quogan one-shot due for the New Year. I might start tomorrow. But this is due on Friday, so I'm getting this out of the way first. This is AU because Zoey and Chase started going out towards the end of Season Three, so Goodbye Zoey never happened. Season Four never happened as well.
This is another "gift" one-shot for Song (StoriesThatNeverWere). I know she loves Zogan and I'm writing this for her even though this pairing usually makes me cringe. Zogan usually turns me into a cringing mess but I'm always willing to branch out. This author's note is already too long. Shutting up now…
Disclaimer: No. And I don't own "Prelude 12/21" by AFI (Listen as you read)
I: This is what I brought you, this you can keep
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Zoey zones out in English class when she usually one of the attentive. Usually, she's scribbling down the notes of the blackbird, working to maintain that three-point-eight grade point average.
But today, she's in a blank stare masked as attentiveness, but it's not. It's her head stuck up in the clouds – with memories of the wrestling match which elapsed on just those four seconds. Before she ends up with a concussion, Zoey sees four different pictures flashing in rapid succession.
Michael and Chase's jaws dropping, Lola and Quinn screaming her name at the same time while gasping, Chuck Javers growling at her, because he "hurts everyone all the same", and there's steroids most definitely involved.
And Logan's warning gaze, flickering prominent in his eyes, almost telling her not to.
(No. It can't be – she sees that out of her peripheral version, and can't see why Logan would care.)
II: This is what I brought, you may forget me
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"Zoey!"
"Zo!" Lola almost yells, startling her. She turns her eyes to the faces of her worried roommates as Zoey positions herself on her elbows, the pink comforter of her single bed being imprinted by the slight pressure. Before she could get a word in, the slender brunette is speaking and she's left gaping like a fish, unsure of what to say. "Are you okay? We've been trying to ask you if you want to go with us to Sushi Rox for almost five mintues."
"Did your concussion worsen?" Quinn questions, and the blonde goes to form a reply before she directs a confused, slightly worried look towards her roommates. Lola twists the cap off of her bottle of strawberry-kiwi Blix.
"What? Who said I had a concussion? The nurse told me I just hit my head really hard."
"Yeah," Quinn explains, pushing her glasses to the bridge of her nose. " – the part about hitting your head is true, but the concussion was my own diagnosis – slight unconsciousness and the slightly dilated pupils."
"But now, you're all better, right? So, let's go to Sushi Rox. Chase and Michael are going to meet us there!" Lola replies, and takes another delicate sip of her Blix. Eyes turned to the window, she sighs, her eyes catching Maxwell Hall in the distance. It would be foolish (obvious – and quite stupid) to ask about Logan.
"Are you coming or not?"
Zoey smiles to just to pacify (maybe shut them up) her roommates, "I'm not for a sushi night. But you guys have fun. Really."
"Okay," Lola says, and links her arm through Quinn's. Down the hall, Zoey hears Lola's disgusted tone, probably reacting to some fact Quinn says. "Ew! I like avocado in guacamole, but the heck puts avocado in sushi?"
The blonde sighs loudly, running a hand through her hair.
It's a slapdash decision, but Zoey just desperately needs to clear her head, sans concussion week-old unknown concussion. She leaves, walking out briskly, allowing the door to close behind her.
(Oh, cruel irony. She's in Maxwell Hall, heading up to Room 148. So much for avoidance.)
III: I promise to depart, just promise one thing
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Logan's throwing that stupid tennis ball, against the (tap, tap, tap) walls.
There's a perfectly good reason why he's doing that over and over. The repeating noise helps him stop thinking ("You never started in first place," would be Lola's snarky remark with a saccharine sweet smile. Cue brown eyes narrowing to slits and a borderline furious, "Watch it, Martinez,"). The little yellow tennis ball bounces off the walls, and landing in his hands in a meticulous pattern.
Logan Reese is distracting himself and he is grateful for the short attention span.
Having a short attention span is a choice. He chooses not to think. He chooses not to think about the searing rage that envelopes him almost rapidly when Chuck Javers pick Zoey up like a rag doll. He chooses not to think about the rage (searing, white hot) induced by adrenaline when he throws whatever little judgment he has out the imaginary window and tries to take on Chuck Javers.
(Obviously, it's a puberty overdose and a double whammy of whatever steroids may be out there.)
Logan also doesn't like to think about the reason, lest Chase actually finds out and gives him a look acidic enough to peel back paint. Oh, God. He's actually scared.
(Uh, the sarcasm is totally intended, even though harboring this crush for Zoey isn't. It shouldn't.)
"Logan, it's me, Zoey!"
He squeezes his eyes shut for a split second, even though it's kinda hurts to blink in his right eye (ah, whatever, the chicks are into battle scars) during to a fading black eye that is sort of purplish now.
The reason is standing on the other side of the door, and Logan sighs, before he gets up.
Fuck.
IV: Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep
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"You should have never joined the wrestling team."
The blonde's face goes from confused to just downright angry, as her eyes are aflame with rage.
"Excuse me?" her voice is incredulous, and a whole octave higher. He's so infuriating, her pretty manicured hands wanting to slap that cocky smirk on his handsome (and ridiculously perfectly chiseled, Zoey finds herself thinking) features. Logan doesn't allow the sentence to taste bitter contrary to previous thought, but it rolls off his tongue effortlessly. Brushing the dirty blonde bangs from her eyes, Zoey fixes him with a challenge stare, crossing her arms over her chest. "Please tell why I shouldn't have joined, Logan."
"Fine, Brooks, I'll gladly you tell why," he replies, his own rage creeping up on him like his…thing on the girl staring at him, trying to ignite him on fire or something. "Wrestling simply wasn't for you. You weren't supposed to join the team."
"What?" Zoey scoffs, with a slight snort. "Because I'm a girl?"
"Now, you're catching on to what I've been to say all along," is his sarcastic reply.
(He's not sure if he wants to come to terms with whatever it is yes. Yeah, he's sure. He's not going there. No way in hell.)
"You're a sexist, self-absorbed person. Know that?"
He smirks, the proximity between them getting closer, her scent just barely giving him some sort of forbidden high, "Get in line. The effort to hurt me was cute, though."
She shakes her head, because the term contradicts itself. Up until now, the fact that Logan Reese is selfish, brash, conceited and self-serving rings true to all who know him well enough. And then it becomes a contradictory term because what Logan does is actually noble and selfless. Even after her friends leave her (and Logan – as battered and bruised as he is) in that infirmary, she's more confused than ever.
"Why?" she questions, her eyes being locked around the purple ring around his eye, but she keeps her tough resolve. Her eyes are boring into his, liking a messy collision of all of browns in the world. Like a car accident gone totally wrong, but the spectator can't peel their eyes away from the mangled cars. Sure, the people involved may be paralyzed (damn you, Zoey. Damn you), or having life hang on by a single thread, but the spectators remains entranced.
(Browns that collide – russet brown, honey brown, chocolate brown, chestnut brown.)
"I hate, absolutely hate, having to protect you," he whispers, and her small hand curiously tracing the outline of his purplish eye. It's gentle, but he feels the slight sting. He winces, before Zoey gasps lightly and pulls her hand away.
"Sorry, if that hurt you."
"Didn't hurt."
"Liar," she quips, small smile on her glossed lips. And then her face gets serious. "You never answered my question, though? Why did you feel the need to take on a crazy, wrestling psycho because of me?"
(Oh, crap. Stupid obvious coverage – oxymoron: Zoey teaches him that, he thinks. Maybe.)
"I don't have to tell you."
"Why not?" Zoey questions, frustrated. Her face gets flustered.
"Because, Brooks…" Logan answers, like it's the most obvious thing in the world, and he laughs, more to himself. His eyes lock with hers again, and he's slightly licking his bottom lip out of force of habit. His warm breath brushes her cheek, and Zoey feels herself remained rooted to the spot. Like her sneakers are glasses to the boys' carpeted dorm. "I'm a visual learner."
The reason he defends her. The reason he argues with her. The reason he smirks to himself when she gives him a cross between choking him and kissing him senseless.
(There's only one instance when Logan and Zoey argue – and the outcome leads to him being pinned down and straddled by her. Truth is, he lets her win.)
He's kissing her, his feelings (rage, love, lust, need, desire, want, gentleness) mashed up in that one kiss. All of those emotions mixed in that one encounter.
As quickly as its beginning, the kiss is over.
"And that is why I defended you."
She stops blinking at him in shock, and allows her cheeks to go pink, shadow of a smile on her lips in silent gratitude.
(The next three week, Logan smirks at her in that typical way, and she keeps that one encounter borrowed deep in her thoughts – damn, it's already there. But she strangely doesn't mind.)
A/N: Oh my. I can't believe I'm saying this, but that was actually fun and challenging to write. Zoey/Logan is starting to grow on me, even though it's my first time. It'll probably be my first and last ZL oneshot if inspiration doesn't hit me, but yeah, enjoy. It fixed my mood a little, not by a lot, but I'm getting there. Check out my 'to do' list to see my progress on other stuff.
Song, this is for you, hun. I hope you enjoy this gift, and I hope you made you proud. It's my first time writing Zogan. Merry Christmas and thanks for the birthday gift.
Merry Christmas, everybody! I'm off to crash.
Reviews make wonderful presents!
-Erika