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A/N: Alright, so this is my first ever VM fic, and I’m not sure if it’ll be my last, but I had a hell of a time writing this. I guess this is Veronica/Duncan/Logan, and that’s all I’m saying, ‘cause I don’t want to give anything away. It’s from what I think is a totally different POV though, someone who I think would’ve had a lot of time to observe those three in all their dysfunctional-ness. I got the idea after watching the premiere for the tenth time, and seeing this chick do her perky little dance while saying the line that has become this fic’s title. So, I guess I give you Veronica’s Coworker at The Hut, who I lovingly refer to as ‘Perky Waitress Girl’.

Thanks to Jen for betaing and telling me this doesn’t suck, and thanks for reading!


~





“I just work here.”

Why don’t people seem to understand that?

Day after day, week after week, I get questioned, grilled, and interrogated. Someone could drag me into a tiny, windowless room and shove a blinding light in my face at any minute to try to get me to talk. Really, it’s that bad.

And it all began when she started working here.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t hate Veronica Mars. In fact, most of the time, I actually kind of like her. And her dad? Totally hot. Yes, I know, technically he could be my father too, but there’s just something about a man who’ll walk through fire to save someone he loves. Literally. He’s got that whole Knight in Shining Armor thing going on that I just can’t resist. Plus, I do have a slight Daddy Complex, at least that’s what my mother tells me every time she wonders why I can’t just ‘meet a nice boy my own age and settle down’, and the therapist seems to concur. But I pay him to psychoanalyze, whereas my mother feels it’s her God given right to run my life. Really, she just needs to get one of her own and stay out of mine, which she can’t seem to do since Dad left. Hmm, maybe I should introduce her to Mr. Mars…?

Wait. What was I talking about again?

Dr. Kramer (that’s the therapist) seems to think I have trouble focusing, that I’ve got that Hyperactive Attention Disorder thingy, but that’s only because my appointments are usually after one of my shifts, and hello, when you work at a coffeehouse around lattes and espressos all day, you’re bound to get all hopped up on caffeine. It’s just a hazard of the job.

Which, that’s what I was talking about! Working here, at The Hut. With Veronica Mars.

I guess she’s kind of famous, or maybe infamous would be a better way of putting it. I always get those two mixed up. However you wanna label it, I know I wouldn’t want to be known for being locked in a freezer and almost roasted alive by the raving lunatic who killed my best friend, even if that lunatic is an incredibly hot and famous older man.

I wonder if Aaron Echolls can receive fan letters in prison?

I guess I could ask his son next time he comes in. He’s a murderer too, you know, although not nearly as appealing as his dad. Way too young for my taste, but Veronica seems to like him, or seemed. I’m really not sure which one she’s on this week. Even with all the caffeine, I cant’ keep up.

If my mother thinks I have bad taste in men she should meet Veronica.

Have I mentioned that everyone wants to meet Veronica Mars? Hell, if I didn’t already know her I’d probably be in here bugging some poor overworked and underpaid waitress for the inside track.

All day long it’s ‘Oh my God, you work with Veronica Mars?!’ or ‘What’s she like, Veronica Mars?’ and ‘Is Veronica Mars as cute in person as she is on TV?’.

And yes they always use her full name. I do have to admit, it has a nice ring, but that’s all I ever hear.

Veronica, Veronica, Veronica.

Great. Now I’m Jan Brady.

Not that there’s anything wrong with Jan; I’ve always kind of sympathized with her Middle Child Neglect issues, even though I have no siblings. You’d think that would mean I was spoiled rotten but my parents barely know I exist. Well, my mom notices now, but only to remind me I’m not getting any younger and neither is she, and where are all the grandchildren she’d like to dote on before she dies. God, she’s only forty-seven!

I wonder how old Mr. Mars is?

Veronica’s an only child too, but I bet she gets everything she wants. So I heard her Mother, the drunk, ran off with fifty thousand dollars of Veronica’s college money. So what? Big deal. She’s got two gorgeous guys born with silver spoons shoved in their mouths, fighting over her.

Although, I’ve never actually seen them throw down, but if looks could kill…or at least maim a little bit, maybe cause a bloody lip or a black eye just with a deadly stare. How cool would that be? I’ve always wanted telekinetic powers like the freaky girl from that movie about the prom, the one where they dump the pig’s blood on her and she like blows up the whole school. Damn, I wish I could remember the name. But anyway, I would never go all psycho like that, I’d just maybe do little harmless things. Like make Veronica trip and spill hot coffee all over herself.

See, I’m sure you’re starting to think I’m jealous, but I swear I’m not. I could care less if her Richie Rich boyfriend visits her every freaking time she’s working. And he always comes up to me, asking, no almost demanding to know where Veronica is. Like I keep a homing device strapped to her ass just to keep track of her whereabouts all day. Does he think I follow her around like some lost little puppy dog?

As if.

Besides, he’s obviously the clingy one with abandonment issues. The way he fawns all over her makes me want to projectile vomit. Or, it could just be that onion bagel I ate a half an hour ago. It did look a little moldy, and we can’t have a customer complaining about the fuzzy green stuff on their breakfast, so I made the sacrifice for the good of the business. Plus, it went well with my double espresso. Third one of the day and I’ve only been here for two hours. I’m behind on my daily quota. I’d better drink faster.

Veronica’s boyfriend always orders the same thing. A regular coffee, black. How completely unoriginal and boring is that? I’ve always said you can tell a lot about a person by their choice of hot beverage. For instance, Little Miss Veronica, hard-ass that she’s supposed to be, always makes herself hot chocolate with a huge dollop of whip cream. And sometimes, she even adds some marshmallows. She thinks I don’t notice, but I do. Now what does that say about our precious little Veronica?

I do know for a fact that a lot of people don’t like Veronica Mars, a long list actually. Not that my name would be on it, because I think she’s great. Really. Just peachy. After all, if I got my hooks into…I mean married her father, I’d be her step-mom. I’m sure she’d love that. I could give her all sorts of advice.

Like, what is up with her hair? She let her bangs grow out and I’m just not feeling it. I could fix them for her, if only she’d let me near her with a pair of scissors. That Echolls kid stabbed someone, yet she allows him within a fifty mile radius. And there are knives here. Granted they’re plastic and can barely slice butter, but still, it’s classified as a sharp object.

And what about Duncan Kane? From what I hear he’s a few fries short of a happy meal and has to pop the crazy pills. And, if that’s not bad enough, he prefers cake over pie. I know! I was shocked myself when I found out. I’ll never forget the day I offered him a slice of our lemon meringue and he flat out turned me down. But wave double chocolate fudge cake in front of his face and he’s practically foaming at the mouth.

That boy’s taken up residence in Psycho City, I tell ya.

But Veronica seems to be a magnet for the Crazy, not to mention criminally insane.

Maybe that’s why she always looks so scared when he’s around?

Don’t get me wrong, the girl’s got a lot of baggage, too. I’m not sure how she carries it all; that cute khaki messenger bag she sports should be overflowing. Man, have I lusted after that thing. The bag, that is. It would go great with that new blazer I just bought. I tried to ask Veronica where she got it, but she couldn’t remember. Said something about having ‘too much on her mind’, which I just don’t understand. Who doesn’t have time to help a friend in the name of fashion?

She looked kind of frightened that day as well. I think she’d had a fight with her boyfriend the night before that ended in a nasty breakup, at least that’s what I overheard her telling Wallace.

Now Wallace, I adore Wallace. He never refuses the pie…or the cake for that matter, but whatever. He’s a sweetheart, too good to Veronica, if you ask me. She dumps on him, like takes the contents of that bag I was telling you about and unloads them right in his lap. And he just sits there and lets her! He’s an enabler if I’ve ever seen one. Maybe I should slip him Dr. Kramer’s card…?

Oh yeah, but Veronica, she was kind of on edge that day when I inquired about the bag. I came up behind her and said, “Veronica, your boyfriend’s here,” in a nice normal tone, just like always, and she practically jumped out of her skin. She whirled around, and when she saw him, they just stared.

Remember how I was talking about ‘if looks could kill’? Yeah, well what they were doing was a whole other kind of gawking. It only lasted for like a minute, if that, but let me tell you, it was loaded. She looked terrified, but now that I think about it, it wasn’t in the ‘Oh my God, you are such a psycho killer’ sense. More like a deer caught in the headlights.

He still does that to her. I see him sometimes, standing in the doorway for the briefest of moments, all intense and brooding, waiting to see if she’ll notice him. And she does, every time. And every time she looks like she wants to run in the other direction. But she doesn’t. She can never tear her eyes away, though you can tell she’s fighting hard to do so. And when he walks away, I know she thinks about following.

Veronica Mars doesn’t scare easily, even I know that. Yet he scares her, but not for the reasons I originally thought.

After that last incident, the next time I went to announce her beau of the week had come calling, I made sure not to sneak up on her. And, I was really perky in my delivery. Not that I’m not naturally a cheery person, thanks to Dr. Kramer and the Prozac, but I made sure to put on some extra pep. Even though the guy was different, I didn’t want to take the risk.

Now, I’ve kind of made a game of it, my little routine. Lame? Maybe, but working here is no funfest, alright? I need something to occupy my time. I’ve even come up with what I like to call the ‘Your Boyfriend’s Here’ dance. It’s a mixture of my finely tuned cheering skills from my days on the pep squad, with I think just a touch of interpretive dance and swing thrown in. I’m not one to brag, but Veronica seems to respond quite well to it. She always runs straight into lover boy’s arms, without any awkward hesitation, like she’s rethinking her entire life or something. She just goes with the moment, and I’d like to think I have something to do with that. It’s all about the delivery.

I’m kind of down though because in the last week or so I haven’t gotten to perform the YBH dance, and the artist in me is restless. Dr. Kramer says it’s good to have a creative outlet, but executing it without the audience? Now that would be lame.

Speaking of Ms. Mars, I wonder where she’s run off to? I just got a copy of her dad’s book, Big Murder, Small Town, and I need to ask her if he’ll sign it. Maybe we could go out for drinks, or dinner. Ooh, I know! I could cook for him! This will be perfect. I just need to find Veronica to set it up…

Oh, wait, there she is, standing in the middle of the room, doing nothing. I swear, I’m the only one who does any work around here. There are customers waiting at the hostess stand and she decides to go all space cadet.

I walk up beside her, snapping my fingers in front of her face. “Veronica! Yoo hoo, earth to Veronica!”

She blinks, but still doesn’t acknowledge me, and then I notice it. Her face, the wide eyes and indecision, but today there’s something else in there too, something she veiled before. I follow her line of vision and see him standing there, staring back.

“I’m gonna take my break now,” she says absently, her gaze never wavering from his. “My boyfriend’s here.”

And then she’s walking, slowly, but with determination. He meets her half way, but they seem kind of stuck when they’re only inches apart, some of that fear still very much present.

She reaches out first, just her hand, tentatively taking his, and I must admit, I’m enthralled by this exchange. That little gesture seems to break the ice, because his hands are on her face now, and she’s up on tiptoe, their lips meeting in a deep kiss.

So, I guess I’m going to have to completely rework my routine now.

Some people have no respect for the artist.

One of our coworkers whose name I can’t be bothered to remember (cut me some slack, she’s new) asks me if Veronica has a new boyfriend.

My response?

“Don’t ask me. I just work here.”