Painfully Human.
Summary: Fifteen years ago, Sheriff Keith Mars's wife took off with their one-year-old-daughter. When he suddenly gets a phone call from the San Diego Department of Social Services regarding his daughter Veronica, he finds out that Veronica Mars isn't exactly the sweet and innocent girl he'd expected, and that she will turn life in Neptune around… AU.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Okay. So here is how it's gonna go down:
The story's set somewhere in January 2004. I don't know exactly when Veronica's born, so I'm assuming somewhere between August 1 and August 23, 1987.
Lilly Kane didn't die (yet? Insert evil laugh!), and the rest of the people are pretty much the same: Logan's rich, Duncan's rich, Weevil's the big-bad gang leader.
Wallace's been attending Neptune High since 2003.
Okay. We're taking off.
Rewritten Nov 23rd, will be revised again.
DISCLAIMER: Do not own Veronica Mars.
CHAPTER ONE.
The annoyingly persistent sound of a phone ringing invaded Keith Mars' thoughts mercilessly.
He'd been trying to concentrate on writing a rapport file about the latest series of pranks played upon inhabitants in the 090909-zip. The key word here was trying.
Ring.
It kept on going until he couldn't take it anymore and yelled for Inga to pick it up. Her muffled voice yelled something back; the ringing was replaced by blissful silence. Wonderful.
He tried to focus on the papers on his desk again, frowning as he began to read what he'd already written.
"Keith? It's for you," Inga spoke in her thick accent. Keith looked up and saw her standing in the doorway, shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously. "San Diego Department of Social Services. I thought you'd like to hear it…" her voice trailed off unsure.
He smiled tiredly. "What's the problem?"
She was fidgeting with the sleeves of her blue blouse. "They didn't want to say," she told him apologetically. "But –
Keith leaned back in his black leather chair and let out a sigh. "Put them through," he replied, rubbing a hand over his burning eyes. "Thanks, Inga."
"Not a problem, sir," she nodded solemnly before leaving.
He furrowed his brow in thought. The day hadn't exactly started out on a high note. Around eight in the morning, there had been – yet another – phone call filled with complaints about the local motorcycle gang having a not-so-polite conversation with someone's car. Keith had had to arrest sixteen-year-old Eli "Weevil" Navarro, the clichéd example of a boy from the wrong side of the tracks, for the second time in less than a year. Next time – and he had told the guy as much – it would be juvie. The Mexican had snorted arrogantly before saying, "Yeah well, what else is new?".
Neptune was filled with guys like Eli Navarro. Constantly feeling outshone by the kids with world-famous actors as parents, they tended to get rebellious. Not living even near the prestigious 090909-zipcode things almost never worked out for them the way they worked out for other, luckier people. And though everyone deserved an equal chance in life in Keith's eyes, some people appeared to be more equal than others in this town.
That didn't mean he had to like it.
Keith's gaze fell upon the blinking red light on the phone on his wooden desk and he quickly pressed the speaker button. "Sheriff Keith Mars speaking," he said in an intentionally light tone.
"Sheriff Mars, this it Steven Parker from the San Diego Department of Social Work. The reason I'm calling is because of your daughter Veronica?" an unfamiliar, deep and reassuring male voice on the other end of the line responded. "We have-"
Keith froze.
"What?" he asked slowly, though he'd heard every word as though the speaker had been sitting next to him.
"Your daughter, Veronica Mars?" Parker repeated. He could hear the shuffling of paper in the background, probably Parker checking whether or not he had the right K. Mars. "Daughter of Keith and Lianne Mars?"
He found himself being glad he'd put the phone on loud; he was sure he would've otherwise dropped the horn.
Veronica.
Please…
Fifteen years ago, give or take a week or three, Lianne had bolted. She'd always been an impulsive woman, but to take off with their one-year-old daughter?
She'd left a note on the kitchen table. Sorry. It's better this way. Don't come looking.
It wasn't like Keith didn't have the resources to track down the two of them. He'd been sheriff for a long time and with that title automatically came certain privileges. He'd tried to find them, he had – he just hadn't succeeded. Lianne had taken every precaution she could think of. The last few years he'd been trying to suppress the memories that threatened to overcome him every second he wasn't up to his ears in work.
If there ever was something Keith Mars was not good in, it was suppressing things.
Veronica, little blond Veronica with blue eyes that could charm the hell out of him, always kept appearing in his mind. And now there was a social worker from San Diego calling about her.
"Mr Mars? Are you still there?" Parker's voice pulled him out of his mental freakout.
Keith scrambled to find words. "Yes- I'm here. It's just – yes – what's wrong with her?"
A thousand questions were spinning through his head. Was she alright? Why was he calling? What was going on? Where was Lianne? What did she look like? Could he take her home? Were they coming home? How -
"It would be easier if you could just come down by the office as soon as possible, Mr Mars," Parker told him politely. "Things are a bit too complicated to explain over the phone. Is there a convenient time for you?"
Keith almost screamed in frustration. This was his daughter they were talking about. He hadn't seen her in fifteen goddamn years. He thought he deserved some information, at least.
"Of course, I will come over," he replied, trying to keep his voice as calm as possible. "But what's wrong?". He was leaning forward on his desk, fingers drumming against the wooden surface.
The guy sighed. "Mr Mars, Lianne has been an alcoholic for several years. She's been to rehab, and always stayed clean for some time, but sadly enough, she didn't stay that way for long. And now, she's been missing for two weeks. We think it's in Veronica's best interest if she was placed in a safer, healthier environment."
"You've known about this all along and nobody's ever thought about calling me?" Keith asked, his eyes big, anger boiling up inside him. Clearly, these San Diego people had known about his wife and daughter. Then why were they calling now? Why didn't they call years ago? Why hadn't they ever, ever, let him know that they were alright? Hadn't they read the "SEARCHED" posters?
Jesus.
"Mr Mars, if you would just come over, we'll sort things out," Parker dodged his question.
Four hours later, Keith Mars was standing in front of the red, brick building that represented the San Diego Department of Social Work. He peered through one of the windows, right into some woman's office, before he took a deep breath and pushed open the double doors that lead to the entrance hall.
He looked round and unbuttoned his coat. He was still wearing his sheriff's uniform – he hadn't cared about his clothing when he'd heard he could see Veronica.
Now he wished that he had. He had a feeling that no sixteen-year-old girl liked to see her father for the first time in fifteen years dressed like one of the Village People. The hall was airy and spacious, painted in beige and white colours and about as boring as they got.. Around the square place were several offices, with white doors with nametags on them. There were people walking around, but none of them paid attention to him.
His brown eyes searched the doors for the name "Steven Parker". It didn't take long to find it, and he cleared his throat nervously before knocking on it, three times, a quick rattling of knuckles against wood.
It almost immediately flew open, and Keith stared into the face of a tall, dark-haired man in a black suit. There was a large, bald patch forming on the back of his head. His eyes, though small and watery, with pale blue irises and reddish whites, stood friendly.
"Keith Mars?" he asked, his eyes taking him in from head to toe.
Keith, who was remarkably smaller than the man, nodded. He was suddenly very conscious of his khaki uniform.
Damn it.
"Please enter," Parker said then, his lips curling into a pleasant smile as he took a step backwards to let Keith in. They both took place in the standard uncomfortable chairs that could be found in any kind of cheap office.
"Mr Mars…" Parker began, leaning forwards. Keith stared at him intently, eager to hear more. Come on, he thought frustrated. Don't stutter. Just say whatever the hell it is you have to say and let me see my daughter already.
Parker sighed again, and he started moving some papers that had been lying on his desk around, before he pulled a file from a pile of documents and opened it.
"Veronica Mars, born August 18th, 1987," he read slowly, in a matter-of-factly tone.
Keith nodded. "That's the one."
He was pretty sure impatience could be heard in his voice, but he'd reached the point where he just couldn't bring himself to care anymore.
"Around four years ago, we received the first call regarding Lianne's drinking problem," Parker began, speaking in the slowest voice possible.
Keith wanted to hit him. No, violence was not the option. Violence was never, could never, be the option, not even when there was a social worked speaking like he was mentally disabled.
No. That definitely wasn't an option. He couldn't just go around hitting people. What an example would that make him?
"In 2002, Lianne entered a rehabilitation program for two months. Veronica stayed in a foster home. When Lianne got out, she managed to stay clean for about thirty days."
A foster home?
"Did you know all of this, Mr Mars?" Parker asked.
"No," Keith answered. "My wi – Lianne ran away with Veronica when she was a baby. I haven't seen them ever since."
Silence.
"So you didn't know any of this?"
So much for stupid, pointless questions.
"No, I didn't," Keith repeated impatiently. "Like I said, I haven't seen them since."
"Okay," Parker responded, clearly trying to ease up the situation. "Right. That's a new… twist. Don't worry," he said quickly, when he noticed Keith's frown. "We'll figure this out."
He flipped a few pages of the file on the desk.
"Right. So, Lianne was admitted into the program once again. Veronica stayed at another foster home. Sadly, she still didn't manage to stay clean for long and had to enter again. You can see how disturbing this is for Veronica's childhood, especially now she's a teenager."
He pressed his palms against the desk and smiled down at Keith.
"Truth be told, Mr Mars, Veronica isn't your average teenage girl."
Keith hadn't exactly been expecting a pony-and-puppies-kind of girl. She was, after all, his daughter as well, and no girl could grow up normally with a raging alcoholic – he would kill Lianne – as mother. But still, to hear it, to hear the words spoken out loud…
"Lianne disappeared two weeks ago, leaving nothing but a note saying "I'll be back soon" on the kitchen table," Parker continued.
Lianne had a knack of disappearing, it seemed.
Keith took a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. Underneath the plastic surface of the table, he clenched his fists.
"It would be better for Veronica if she was placed into the care of a normal parent," the man in front of him said, blinking his green eyes, and he let out a nervous cough.
"Why haven't you called me before?" Keith's question came immediately.
"Apparently…" Parker answered, "Lianne left your number and information on the note she'd jotted down earlier. Said that Veronica had to call you if she got into trouble."
Keith tried to compose himself; it wouldn't do his credibility much good if he vomited words. Stay calm. Relaxed. You're a sheriff. You can deal with this.
Somehow, it was always easier to be the one to tell people this kind of news.
"Can I see her?" He managed to croak out.
There was a short silence again. After many years, experience had thought Keith that, when confronted with silence, most people instinctively want to fill it. This case was no different. Parker shifted his gaze uncomfortably to the table, shoved a few papers around on the smooth surface, before he cleared his throat. His tone wasn't overflowing with confidence, but all that mattered was that his reply was a clipped, "Alright. I'll take you to her."
He stood up and mentioned for Keith to follow him as he left the office.
A few moments later, Keith stood in front of another white-painted door. Through a window with blindfolds he'd been able to see a flash of a petite, blonde girl, alone in the room, sitting in a chair that faced a table. She looked like someone he was about to interrogate, with her feet resting on the table. She looked like she'd been through this a hundred times before.
God.
He felt the reassuring eyes of the social worker thrilling holes into his back, took a deep breath and opened the door.
Immediately, two greyish blue eyes stared at him, cold and angry.
He found himself staring at his daughter – his daughter! – as well.
She resembled Lianne more than him, with blonde hair and big, blue eyes. But she didn't look innocent, or sweet, or anything else Lianne might've looked like at this age. Her eyes were framed with dark eyeliner and matching mascara, her hair was short, her features sharp. She was beautiful, though, and he didn't just think that because she was his child.
She was dressed in a black shirt and faded jeans and dark Allstars, and right now, was shooting daggers at him with her eyes.
"What's the matter?" her voice came, sneering. "Not what you expected?"
She spat out every word, the syllables laced with something Keith could barely distinguish as anger.
This was going to be hard.