A/N: Here's the first switched-up Mac chapter. Pay attention to the tags in this chapter, the timeline skips around a bit! There's also a bit of a parallel storyline too. Thank you so much for the great response this story is getting! Much appreciated, I hope everyone keeps on liking this AU view of Mac. I'd especially like to thank my beta, cainc3 for all her HARDWORK and great ideas! Enjoy!
Obligatory disclaimer-Nope, I still can't lay claim to this wonderful VM 'verse. It's all Rob Thomas and the gang. Love to play around though.
Chapter 3—Bloodstains
*****Neptune High School, Football field 2004*****
Flashes of objects, a mental montage of images bombarded Mac's senses, overloading her misfiring circuits. The smell of freshly mown grass mingled with the metallic tang of blood. Pristine white converse sneakers were encircling her—walling around her prone body. Mac was drowning in the sensory overload and the pain that threatened to envelop and choke her. She didn't know why she was on the ground; she didn't know what preceded the hard landing that put her in this situation to begin with. She felt like she'd been dropped into the middle of a scene, the action going on around her while she struggled to find the script everyone else knew by heart. It was a surreal feeling; she thought maybe that was how a newborn baby felt as they left the womb—the only world they ever knew, only to be dropped into a cold new existence.
Mac had a lot of questions in that brief atom of time, but no answers.
She could hear snatches of whispered conversation from the crowd gathered around her, though she couldn't focus on the words being said.
Her reverie was interrupted by someone parting the sea of pep squad clones, with their matching yellow and green spirit outfits; the newcomer knelt beside her, whispering softly that she'd be okay as he gently, tenderly, rolled her over on her side.
She saw her caretaker remove his gray tee-shirt so he could press it—hard—against her bleeding head. She moaned from the agony of that necessary gesture. He leaned down, his longish blond hair brushing against her cheek as he apologized for hurting her. He didn't lessen the pressure though.
She heard the far-off sound of one of the pep clones retching, probably from the sight of her blood soaking the shirt.
Feeling like she just needed to get away, as though everything was pressing down on her, Mac started to get up, but it took more energy than she had in reserve. Apparently that was the wrong move because her vision started going gray around the edges, the sea of clones and her mystery caretaker all blurred together until the inky blackness swallowed her whole.
.
***Present time—June 6th, 2009, Settler's Park***
Mac's eyes blinked open, and then she quickly shut them again. The strong Neptune summer sun was shining directly in her eyes. Heaving a shallow breath, which was all she evidently was capable of, she attempted to open her eyes again despite the bright glow in her eyes. She was lying down flat on her back.
Two extremely worried faces were peering down at her, a little closer in her personal space than she'd like. One was her brother, she knew that instantly. Ry…Ryan, yeah, that was his name.
The other face, a shaggy-haired blond, was very familiar, too, but she couldn't place his name, not even just the first letter of his name. It was a frightening feeling. She had no clue where she was, or why she was on her back.
She needed to sit up, she couldn't stay here, and that thought was more coherent and insistent than anything else right now. She was vaguely aware of pain, but it was at a distance, being held back by unseen forces. Mac started to push forward, her body so heavy, but she was starting to make progress, though the further forward she propelled herself, the closer the pain got to breaking the barrier. Her progress was quickly impeded by an arm.
She groaned.
"No you don't, Mac-a-doodle," the guy leaned over, closer to her head, and whispered in her ear. "Stay down."
The guy, who she obviously knew—but had no recollection of his name—was holding her back. She had no energy to fight him so she lay back down reluctantly. She was definitely the beta at this moment, weakened and injured. She knew something bad had happened.
Mac licked her lips and then tried to say something more than just a primal moan. What though? She wasn't entirely sure. What's your am I, was on the tip of her tongue to say, which wasn't right. She didn't know the right way to phrase what she wanted to say though. However, that ended up being a moot point when nothing came out at all, except maybe what could be classified as a croak. Her eyes widened and she looked around frantically.
"Your ride to the hospital is on its way. They'll get you all fixed up," the guy continued, trying to reassure her.
His plan was unsuccessful.
He grabbed one of her hands that had been positioned—posed—on her chest.
Despite the basic knowledge that she needed help, badly, something in that sentence was taunting her. She was stacking up the questions, but falling short on the answers.
A strangled sound made her turn to look, or at least attempt, to at the second guy—her brother. He smiled. "Sis! Hang tight. You'll be okay." She saw him wiping an eye, trying to be covert about it. The fact that Ryan, her big, tough baby brother, was crying did nothing to allay her fears. In fact, it multiplied them.
She murmured something—or tried to—but again it wasn't very clear to her, or probably anyone else. She attempted to grab Ryan's hand, but lacked the necessary focus to get that task done. He grabbed at her free hand, the one the other guy wasn't holding tightly in his sweaty grip.
Then things got busy as a bunch of Strangers, in identical navy blue uniforms, were leaning over her, poking and prodding.
The hands tethering her to consciousness were ripped away and everything went dark once again.
***Neptune Memorial Hospital 2004***
Mac opened her eyes. A bright fluorescent light was shining down on her, she quickly clinched them shut again. Alarm at the unfamiliar flashes she saw, in that brief glimpse, had her opening them again, much slower this time. The light hurt her head, which was aching fiercely.
A three alarm hangover perhaps?
It didn't really seem like one of those, she'd had a few of those in her day—not many, she hardly lived the party lifestyle, but being in college she didn't live under a rock either. A hangover didn't adequately explain the unfamiliar location she'd awakened in either. She definitely wasn't in the habit of drunken "slumber parties" with members of the male species. It was too sterile and white-washed to be a Hearst College dorm room.
No, this was definitely not a party-induced headache.
"Oh, good, you're awake," A red-headed woman in blue scrubs said, peering down at her. "How are you feeling, sweetie? You're at Neptune Memorial." Her cool hand smoothed out the big gauze bandage she'd carefully applied to Mac's forehead. She pressed down along the edges, while artfully avoiding making contact with ground zero. "Your mom just got here."
"Um," Mac began, making a move as though she wanted to get up, but the nurse pushed her back down.
"You need to just lie still, you've got a bit of a concussion," the nurse gently admonished. "You fell during cheerleading practice. You were the top of the pyramid. I don't think many people realize how many cheerleaders we see come through the ER."
Cheerleading? Mac's hand automatically went up to her head, making contact with the bandage. She then smoothed back an errant strand of hair that had fallen in her face.
It felt…odd. It seemed to be longer than the chin length bob she had been wearing the past two years. To double check she grasped a chunk and traced its length with her fingers, it stopped at her shoulders. The first icy tinge of fear wrapped around her. Trying to keep the trepidation from her voice, she asked for a mirror. Her left-ruled brain needed the confirmation, though she hoped her theorem would be disproved.
"You've got four stitches there, and a big bump," the nurse replied, to set the scene as she grabbed a hand-held mirror out of the second drawer of her supply cart. She placed it in Mac's outstretched hand.
Taking a deep breath, Mac looked in the mirror and swallowed her gasp. Her hair was indeed sweeping her shoulders and three prominent chunks of purple were highlighting the otherwise black strands. The stark white bandage covered the doctor's handiwork.
"Our plastic surgeon, Dr. Pence, did the stitches and he says there won't be any scarring. He's out there now talking with your mom; she should be in here shortly," the nurse continued, in a reassuring tone.
She closed her eyes briefly, trying unsuccessfully to blink back the tears that unexpectedly populated her eyes at the mere mention of her mom. She needed the comfort that only Natalie could provide; she was in pain right now, as well as confused and scared. The only cure she needed at the moment was a hug, a lavender scented mom-hug. Lavender Field was the name of the perfume Natalie wore; it was her signature scent and the very definition of homecoming.
The door swung open, on cue, and her eyes tracked over to the doorway. The woman framed in it had long black hair, and was in jeans and a gray DKNY branded tee-shirt, but on her it didn't look casual.
Mac gasped again, this time out loud. Her heart skipped a beat out of pure adrenaline-overloaded fear. She brushed away the tears that leaked out of her eyes as she tried to find a rational explanation for first, why she had long hair and second, why it was Ellen, and not Natalie, standing there oozing motherly concern.
Maybe…Hell, she had nothing.
Ellen Sinclair—her bio-mom—a future-version of herself; she knew whose genes were dominant in this equation.
The nurse left the room, closing the door behind her.
"Oh Madison, darling, you poor thing. Your dad is still stuck at a board meeting, but he'll be leaving work as soon as possible." She strode over to the large table dominating the private room, and perched on the edge by Mac's head. She hesitantly reached a hand out, and smoothed back her hair, avoiding touching the injury. "Does it hurt?"
Wait! What? Back the tape…Madison? Did she just get called Madison? Did she lose some of her hearing, too? Mac reached up and pulled on an ear lobe. She didn't say anything for a long moment; sure shock had rendered her speechless. There was a first time for everything. She wondered what the hell kind of b-rated movie she just pitched head first into.
Literally!
Ellen just looked at her expectantly. She cocked her head and opened her mouth again, probably to repeat the question.
Mac muttered finally, "I have a little bit of a headache, but not too bad. I think they numbed the cut pretty good before stitching me up." There was another pause, but brief this time. "Um mom," she put in as an afterthought. There was a bit of a question in her voice, but Ellen didn't seem to notice.
She once again shut her eyes, both against a fresh wave of pain and also in the vain hope that it was just an injury-induced hallucination and she'd open her eyes to see Natalie Mackenzies' sympathetic green eyes staring back instead of Ellen's eerily, identical blue eyes. She wished, fervently, to be wrapped in that lavender scented embrace.
No such luck—Ellen hadn't winked out of existence.
This damn rabbit hole kept getting curiouser and curiouser.
"I know I pushed you into the pep squad, because team activities look so good on college applications, but maybe it's…" Ellen began, then her voice trailed off, and a look of what Mac could only label as mother's guilt flashed on her face. She squeezed her hand gently with one hand, as she continued to stroke Mac's head with the other. Taking a deep breath, she then continued, "It's too much for you on top of the computer classes you teach at the senior center. I know I get pushy sometimes, but I only want the best life possible for my girls, unfortunately you got my coordination, kiddo."
It was obvious that while the universe was righting its cosmic wrongs, her bio mom was in the waiting room mentally beating herself up. Mac wanted to speak up and say she didn't belong in this life, she'd served her sentence and moved on, but—honestly—a little voice inside reminded her she belonged here, in this life, more than her original life. She was hurting, and didn't think she had the spare energy reserved to explain what she didn't understand to begin with.
It was a very existential moment.
Why the hell didn't Martha Stewart run an etiquette website for people thrust into a new, strange, unfamiliar world? She designed websites, maybe that could be her next project. There was apparently a market for a service such as that—she wasn't the only one living a do-over existence, was she?
The pain was really bearing down on her, hell; her brain was hurting from the collision of several sci-fi concepts made into her current reality. Her mom never understood her love of that genre, of course that was a part of the why and how she found out about the switch to begin with. She and her parents seemed to be from separate planets, alternate realities. That disconnect, the chasm, had been apparent to her from a very young age.
What if she had never been in the bathroom—the girl's bathroom, first floor, across from the reception desk in front of Principal Clemmons' office junior year, when Veronica was conducting a clandestine meeting with a "client" about the secret life of her mother back in the early 80's. She never would have conceived of the "get dirt" website, and definitely would never have had the brass balls—iron vagina—to ask Veronica to spy on her parents' financial transactions. She'd be living her original life in blissful ignorance, still nagged by the inner voice bitching about how she didn't fit in with the camping, great-outdoors loving Mackenzies.
It was that thought train, that she'd hitched a ride on, that was making her brain hurt, helped along, of course, by the head injury she'd just sustained.
She wondered what year of high school she'd crashed, but was afraid of the ramifications of asking. How long would she be stuck in this warp of time? Would it really be "stuck"? Madison had piles of money, oodles of opportunities handed to her on a silver plate, after all.
Maybe taking her birth right as a Sinclair wouldn't be a bad thing. Then again, these were the people that raised the prototype Madison Sinclair—soul sucking bitch of epic proportion in her unbiased opinion—so maybe this was a disaster in the making.
Regardless of which scenario would play out, she was stuck in this alternate life for who the hell knew how long. She had a lot of time to dwell on her strange new normal as the staff, of the place that had made the monumental mistake of switching her and the bitch queen in the first place, insisted on chaining her to bed #5 in the overcrowded emergency room under the guise of observation.
Her mom moved to a chair across the room to give the staff space for round two of poking and prodding.
******The Sinclair's house******
Just over two hours later Mac/Madison was released from Neptune Memorial. Her mom had been given a list of symptoms associated with head injuries and concussions to watch out for, and also instructions on wound care. It was determined that while concussions were concerning, there wouldn't be any serious ramifications to her health. She just needed to take it easy for a couple of days.
Ellen—'mom2' she started thinking of her as, because just plain mom seemed disloyal to Natalie, the woman who had raised her in real life—kept up a steady stream of chatter on the ride home. She apologized, for probably the tenth time, for her father being tied up in that darn meeting, promising he'd definitely be home for dinner though.
Mac didn't say much, she was tired and aching. The thought of meeting her bio dad for her first conscious time was kind of nerve-wracking though, especially since she was the only one who knew it was the first time. She did not even know his first name. She smiled wryly at that thought as she studied the route they traced from the hospital through the not-as-familiar streets comprising the heart of '09'er territory. Until they drew near Shady Springs Court, that was. She knew that neighborhood quite well. 'mom2' pulled her Volvo SUV into one of the bays of the three car garage and killed the motor. She came around to the passenger side door and gently helped Mac out of the car. She guided her up the five stairs that led into the house. They tracked through the mud room (though she suspected that was a misnomer, by all appearances mud was probably a foreign concept to this house) out into the kitchen, then the family room beyond.
Mac was gently escorted over to the large, beige, L-Shaped sofa dominating the center of the large room. As she lay down, her mom ('mom2') lovingly tucked a hand-knit, gray and black throw over her, explaining the contractor was up in her room working on expanding her built-in desk that was being overrun by her complex web of computers. Then she grabbed one of the three remotes neatly lined up on the large marble topped coffee table in front of the couch, turning on the flat screen TV hung over the stone fireplace dominating an entire wall, and toggled her way through to the recorded show listing of the TiVo.
Expertly making her desired selection, she then queued it up and slammed the remote on the table, probably louder than she meant to. It landed next to an open Sudoku book with one of the puzzles partially opened and a pen lying on top of it—otherwise there wasn't anything else cluttering up the dust free surface. It was a stark contrast to the Mackenzies' coffee table where most of the time there wasn't a square inch of space to be found.
"Sorry baby, you don't need loud noises right now." She shrugged sheepishly. "I put on an episode of The Simple Life; I know it's one of your guilty pleasures. I'm going to check on Lauren, and then see what Lucille made for our dinner." She bent over and gently kissed the top of Mac's head. "I'll bring you a tray. Just rest up, dear."
The frisson of pain that flared up at the mention of Lauren's name had nothing to do with her head, well not much at least.
As she ruminated about the strange wrinkle in time that had allowed her to crash Madison's life, the show droned on in the background. It wasn't one she particularly enjoyed, though she had caught bits and pieces from time to time as it had been her mom,Natalie's, favorite show back when she was in high school—originally.
On screen, rich, spoiled Airhead 1 was trying to con rich, spoiled Airhead 2 into cleaning out the pig sty, but neither of them had the foresight to close the gate and as they debated who should do what, the pigs made their escape.
Airhead 1, a tall, skinny blonde with a whiny voice, reminded Mac of someone she knew a long time ago but really couldn't stand, the name escaped her at the moment, and she doubted that was merely a casualty of her recent head injury. She had thought the high school days were firmly in the rearview mirror. She needed her head examined, and not because of the prominent bump that was starting to throb and ache as the numbing shot wore off.
It occurred to her that headaches and whiny airheads that looked too much like Neptune High classmates she'd rather forget in the first place were not a good combination. Extending her arm out, Mac made contact with the remote from its perching place on the coffee table. She turned off the unreality show, and started flipping through the channels. A brief glance at the time and date stamp on the guide channel proved her theory from the hospital, that she'd gone back to 2004 was correct—it was November 12th, 2004. Seeing that Star Trek: Enterprise was about to start, she landed on that channel.
On the large TV in front of her, she watched as the bay doors opened and Captain Archer strode in. He was about to get into an onscreen verbal pissing match with the female Vulcan, Lt. Commander T'Pol , when her viewing was interrupted by a squeal and a loud thud as something hit the table beside her. She didn't bother investigating the thud, there was no time really.
"Madi! You're back, you're okay. Lucy didn't tell me much; just that mom was at the hospital with you. How do you feel?"
A girl, with long black hair, ran into the room and launched herself on top of Mac. She turned her head toward the high back of the couch so the girl—Lauren—wouldn't see her tear up. She wiped away the evidence, her emotions were all over the place anyway, but this added a whole level to what was already a tenuous grip to begin with.
Once the tears were gone, she turned back around to face the little sister who didn't seem eager to sever the embrace, either. She looked exactly the same as she did the first time they ever met, the first time she'd known she had a blood sister out there, being raised less than four miles apart from each other.
"I'm okay, really," she assured her.
"What happened?"
"I fell at practice, and hit my head. I have four tiny stitches."
Lauren wrinkled her nose—her cute nose, the little button one that looked so much like the one Mac saw in the mirror reflecting back at her.
"Does it hurt?" Lauren asked softly, as though the answer was important to her. She got off of Mac, and scooted over, so she was sitting on the couch at her feet.
"A little," she admitted. Lauren looked upset at the thought of her, Madi, in pain so she rushed on to reassure her, "not too bad. It looks worse than it feels." Slowly, creakily, she sat up so she could see her little sister's face better. She closed her eyes for a second against the crescendo of pain that reverberated at the additional movement, placing her hand on her stomach, as though to stop the rise of nausea. Evidently, she spoke too soon, at that moment it hurt worse than it looked.
"Promise?"
"I promise!" Mac said as soon as she could talk again without feeling like she'd throw up from the pain. It was a necessary lie.
If she were trying to have that conversation with Ryan, especially at that age, 11 or 12, Mac surmised, he'd be prying the bandage off so he could see her "gross" stitches. He'd be trying to touch them too, more science experiment than concern for her comfort. It wasn't that Ryan didn't love her, he did, it's just that he was an active, curious boy at that age—and his current age, too.
The comparisons and contrasts were apparent already.
For about five minutes, both girls just quietly sat there watching the action on the screen. It was a typical family scene on a typical Friday night, Mac thought, except for the fact that there was nothing typical at all about this situation.
Finally, Lauren broke the comfortable silence that sat between them.
"It's my fault, you know," she said, impressively matter-of-fact about her whole statement of guilt.
"What's your fault?"
"Your accident," Lauren wouldn't look her in the eye when she said that.
"You pushed me off the human pyramid at cheerleading practice today?" Mac mockingly asked. She grimaced as she said the word cheerleading, like it was acidic tasting, like a lemon.
"No, silly, I was here finishing my science homework."
Mac flashed her sister a blank look.
"This morning, you know, when I…Oh you know, you were there," her tone was exasperated.
No, I don't know, I wasn't here this morning, Mac thought, but of course knew she couldn't say it aloud. Neptune Memorial would be reserving a bed in her name in the psych ward. "That may be true, but I still need you to fill in some gaps in the story." She pointed to the bandage on her head as a plausible explanation.
Like all of the gaps!
"I love being in the same family, and you had every right to be mad that I was in your room. I should have asked for the book instead of taking it."
"Book?"
"The Westing Game," Lauren reminded her. She gestured to the table and Mac saw it sitting there, lying slightly askew. That must have been the thud she'd heard earlier.
"It's a great book, one of my favorites. What do you want it for, class?"
"Well, after break we're going to start reading it for English. I guess I just wanted to see why you liked it so much, maybe get a jump on things."
That was definitely not a statement that ever would have passed Ryan's lips.
"Did you think I wouldn't lend it to you?" Mac asked.
Lauren shook her head. She reached around Mac and grabbed the book off the table. "You weren't receptive to the idea this morning."
"Well, I am now," Mac assured her.
"I won't lose it. The last book of yours I lost was a long time ago, at least a year ago," she continued her barrage of arguments as to why she deserved a second chance despite Mac's ready agreement. "I'll even inscribe it, so I won't forget who it really belongs to."
She leaned forward to grab the pen sitting on the coffee table. Opening the cover, she hastily scrawled:
Live long & prosper! Get better soon. Love, Lauren
She handed the book over to Mac with a flourish.
Mac read it and grinned. "Nice quote. I didn't know you were old-school in your Trekkie ways."
"Dad's influence," she said, trying to do the accompanying Vulcan sign and falling flat.
Mac reached over and adjusted her fingers so there was a prominent space between the middle and ring fingers on her right hand, and then she did her own salute.
"Thanks, Madi," Lauren said grinning.
The verbal reminder of her new name and accompanying life made her earlier bout of nausea flicker again. It also erased the pleasure she felt at their brief bit of sisterly-Star Trek bonding.
That was the cue 'mom2' took to come back into the room with a tray of dinner. It held a big bowl of homemade vegetable soup—meatless, her mom rushed to assure her—and a glass of ice water. At least she was a veg head in this existence too.
Her mom briefly set the tray on the table so she could help Mac lie back down. Once that was accomplished she tucked two thick, throw pillows under her to prop her up into a proper eating position. She then carefully positioned the wicker tray over Mac, taking care not to spill any of the soup. Once that task was finished, she nudged her younger daughter down a little bit so she could be sandwiched on the big couch between both her girls. She placed Mac's feet on her lap.
As Mac began to tuck into the soup—out of politeness more than appetite—she felt like an animal on display as her mom and sister didn't bother to pretend that they weren't studying her as she ate. 'Mom2' still wore the requisite sad eyes that were a part of having a child who was recently injured. Lauren was harder to read, but Mac had to assume that their Star Trek bonding moment only partly assuaged the guilt she still had from a fight that Mac hadn't actually been privy to anyway.
Suddenly, mid-bite, the sound of a masculine throat being cleared startled Mac, and she ended up spilling the contents of her soup spoon on the tray below. 'mom2' was positioned on the couch so that she was facing the doorway, where the sound had originated.
"Oh, Sam, I almost forgot about you, working diligently on Madison's room. Are you finished or should I expect you back tomorrow morning?" Ellen/'Mom2' sounded startled.
Mac was facing the opposite direction, but at the mention of the name Sam she did a double take. She didn't turn around though, that is, not until she heard his familiar-sounding, low voiced response.
"I finished the built-in desk expansion, complete with a bookcase on the far corner. Now there's plenty more room for all those works of staggering genius," Sam explained. The last bit about staggering genius was said in a teasing voice. Then he paused, formulating what to say next.
Mac always liked that about her dad, he was methodical in the way he expressed himself. She used to think her halting speech habits came from his side of the family, now she wondered if it wasn't more of a nurture thing over Mackenzie nature.
"It actually was very straightforward, followed my blueprints exactly, no surprises," Sam continued. "I did have a little issue with finding the trusses though, so I lost some time earlier in the afternoon, but it's all finished now. Nat is going to be mad that I'm a little late; there was some trouble with Cindy today, evidently. I'm sure I'll get all the details soon." A grimace crossed his face briefly, but it faded quickly.
Mac/Madison watched the guy she grew up calling dad talk to her mom—bio mom, 'mom2'—as though their lives were only casually linked. She searched for some sign of recognition. The feeling she got when he said "Cindy" and not in reference to her was so alien, she wasn't sure there was a word invented for it.
At last his eyes did lock on her, but absent was the usual expression of adoration he reserved for his "precious little girl." He did seem a little wistful though, but she quickly dismissed that as wishful thinking, her old habit of over-analyzing, it was bleeding into this existence as well.
"Madison, you're a junior at Neptune, as well. Right?"
"Yes," she replied quietly, her eyes drifting to the chandelier in the hall behind where he was standing. To an outside observer it would appear as though she were looking at him.
"Do you know my daughter Cindy?"
"Not really, not very well. It's a big school," she lied. Her eyes never left the hanging crystal teardrops of the fancy light fixture behind him.
"Oh, yes, I can see that," he replied, before turning his attention back to Mrs. Sinclair and the money she owed him for the new bookcases and shelves.
Mac didn't really pay attention to the rest of the transaction between Sam and 'mom2'. At long last the door shut, and he was on his way back home to a Cindy that was not her.
Her headache drilled deeper as her past life, and this strange new existence she'd been mysteriously thrown into, collided.
TBC…
**Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Reviews are always appreciated...