A/N: Another Mac chapter, which delves more into her strange new back-in-2004 existence as a Sinclair. I'm so pleased with the amount of reviews, favorites, follows this twisty AU story is getting. Thank you so much! I hope you continue to enjoy it. I love hearing from everyone! Oh, and thank you to my wonderful beta-cainc3!
Obligatory Disclaimer: Nope, I STILL do not own Veronica Mars, that's all RT's & the gang. I do enjoy playing around in it, though. I also don't own any of the pop culturey things I reference, movies, product placement, all that jazz...
Chapter 4—Luxe
***November 2004***
Mac's weekend was pretty much ruled by the business of recovering from her cheerleading accident and trying to make some kind of sense out of the cosmic worm hole that had sucked her in.
On Saturday, she opened her eyes hoping the whole screwy mess had been sorted out and she would wake up in her old—wrong family—life, the one that was familiar and comfortable.
The first thing she saw was purple washed walls, a stark colored contrast to the cool white walls of her cluttered room on Colony Place.
Nope, evidently she was still playing the role of Madison Sinclair, down to the pink fuzzy pajamas she was wearing, with little black and white kittens on them. She blocked the next logical thought though (the one about it not actually being a role but a way of life), not wanting to strain her injured, still recuperating brain.
The bed in the purple lair was big enough to qualify for its own zip code, but despite that it didn't even take up a quarter of the available real estate. She could put the entire upstairs of the house on Colony Place in her bedroom/bathroom "suite" here and have leftover room to walk, or run laps, if she did that. Did she do that in this mixed up life?
She had yet to meet her bio dad for the first time. She'd gone to bed shortly after Sam had left to go home to that other Cindy and to Ryan and Natalie with her lavender scented hugs. There was a lot that was screwy with that whole thought process.
Technically, she supposed, she had already met her bio dad, but it was long ago and she obviously didn't carry any memory of that brief meeting because the next day she'd been put into the waiting arms of the Mackenzies and taken home to Colony Place. That meeting didn't really count in the grand scheme of things. How the hell did you act when meeting someone for the first time and they thought they'd known you your entire life?
How the frak could she recover from a concussion with these thoughts circling the drain of her brain? She wished fervently for a confidant, one that wouldn't grab a straight jacket and strap her down to a table in the psych ward. She came up short on names. Veronica? Maybe.
Were they even friends in this existence?
Not wanting to stare too long at the foreign purple walls, Mac slowly got out of the very comfortable bed with its matching Egyptian Cotton sheets, which being she was in a '09'er domain now she estimated they carried a thread count of 1,500 or something equally luxe like that.
She was carefully making her way out of the bedroom and into the long, bright hallway, which lead to the winding staircase, when she saw her dad—'Dad2'—exiting what was presumably the master suite three doors up from her room.
He caught up to her, giving her a gentle hug, then drew back to look at her, his eyes focusing on the bandage on her forehead. Softly he ghosted the edges, then shifted her over so he could walk with her, and support her, if need be, on their way downstairs. It was a fatherly gesture, but more reserved than Sam would have been, with his teasing ways to cover up his very real parental fears.
"Madison, kiddo, sorry I didn't make it to the hospital in time last night. The board just would not agree on, well, on just about anything…" his voice trailed off.
They made their way carefully down the stairs, Mac closest to the railing. Her grip tightened, making her knuckles white. She still wasn't used to be called Madi/Madison, and was fairly certain she never would be. She studied 'Dad2' as they walked. He was tall, probably close to 6 feet, and had the same dark hair his wife and daughters had, but his was thinning on top, and graying along the sides. Unlike Sam, this dad was thin; he showed no signs of the middle-aged spread.
"That's okay, dad," she assured him, again her voice did that default questioning thing. She was still testing, tasting that word out with this new family.
She stepped off the last stair, on to the (expensive) red and gold Persian rug covering the wood floors extending throughout the entire first floor. 'Dad2' moved his hand down to the small of her back, still guiding her.
"I did peak in on you after I got home, you were fast asleep," he elaborated.
"Yeah, a concussion will really take it out of a girl," she quipped.
He chuckled fondly, and moved his hand up so he could tweak her hair, staying clear of the point of injury.
They made their way into the family room, her dad depositing her on the same big sofa she spent most of her first night as a Sinclair on until 'Mom2' had insisted she go to bed.
Lauren was once again parked on the couch in the same spot, like she had it on reserve. She was in a pair of striped pajamas though, a bowl of Lucky Charms cereal perched on her lap. Scooby Doo was playing on the television.
The titular character, however, was more interested in lobbying for a Scooby Snack than finding out the true identity of the Marsh Monster terrifying the small town they were stranded in. She was so involved in her show and breakfast she spared only a brief sideways glance at Mac.
Mac stretched out, easing her still aching head on a stack of throw pillows. The cut was stinging, too. 'Dad2' placed the blanket hanging over the back of the couch on top of Mac and whispered that he'd be right back with a bowl of oatmeal.
As she waited for her breakfast she watched Lauren smiling at Scooby's antics. She'd always liked this cartoon, too, with Velma being her favorite human character, and Scooby her favorite non-human character, of course. She remembered how Ryan used to call her Velma when she was launching into, what he called, one of her "geek-a-fied lectures." A pang went through her as she thought about her brother and if she'd ever go back to the world where they were siblings despite the lack of blood connection.
Lauren's bark of laughter cut into those ruminations, bringing her back into this reality. She wondered exactly how many Saturday morning cartoon sessions with this sibling, the one she was blood connected to, she had missed.
'Dad2' came back into the room with the wicker tray holding a big bowl of steaming oatmeal and bottle of Agave syrup, exactly how she took it at home. There was also a big mug of coffee, a small bottle of water, and the bottle of prescription painkillers from the hospital. He settled it down over Mac, and then kissed her forehead.
"Thanks dad,"
"You're welcome, Madi. I'll be right back with my own breakfast, and we'll all have a picnic in front of Scooby. Don't tell your mom," he replied, winking conspiratorially.
He turned back towards the kitchen, saying something to whomever was working in there, Mac presumed it was the maid, Lucille, or Lucy as Lauren called her.
Mac immediately took two pills from the bottle, swallowing them down gratefully with the water. She hoped they would kick in soon.
The show faded to commercial and Lauren leaned forward to put her now-empty cereal bowl on the table in front of her. Then she turned to Mac.
"You feeling any better today?" she asked.
"Much," Mac lied, not wanting to dash the hopeful expression on Lauren's face. She waited a beat then inquired about why eating in the family room was to be kept from 'Mom2'.
Lauren looked at her in disbelief for a moment then shrugged. "Mom is anal about this couch, actually any and all couches. You are only allowed to eat in here because you're injured and mom feels guilty, and two, because you're eating on a tray."
"Oh, yeah," Mac covered. "I thought it was just because I'm almost 17, practically an adult." It was a strange sentence to say being that she was actually 21. Again she felt like an extra who was just asked to cover the starring role in an unfamiliar play.
Cue the soundtrack to the Twilight Zone.
"Well, dad's an adult, too," Lauren started to say, and then smiled impishly as she added, "adult-ish. He's not allowed to eat in here either, like ever."
Mac raised her eyebrow, but swallowed the snark that rose up. She covertly looked for the velvet rope around the couch cordoning it off. You couldn't get a more anti-Mackenzie philosophy—in that world, couches were for sitting, eating, entertaining, mess happened and it could always be cleaned up. Casa de Mackenzie was not a museum, like the Sinclair palace evidently was.
"What about you? You're eating in here, too, and I don't see you using a tray."
"Mom is out right now, and dad is unlikely to narc on me, especially since he's now just as culpable. Plus, I'm a rebel like that."
Mac smiled at that, she didn't see Lauren as particularly rebellious. "Aren't you 10? Isn't that a little young to be a rebel?"
A flash of hurt crossed Lauren's face; it was quick, but definitely there.
"I'm 11, almost 12. Remember?"
"Oh, yeah…" Mac said softly, her voice trailing off. Lauren was only about a year older than Ryan. She wanted to touch her bandage again, but thought maybe she was hiding too much behind that, though it was plausible and it would have hurt Lauren less. She did pretty much have Lauren's life history—the black and white, computer screen version, at least—committed to memory. However, the back and forth, past and present merge was complicating matters a bit more than Mac's injured brain could process. Maybe she was right to lay some blame on the head wound.
"You usually cover your rebelliousness pretty well," Lauren relented.
Mac looked confused, she didn't think she was particularly rebellious, but she did grab a chunk of her hair.
"Yes, that's part of it," Lauren acquiesced. "Then, there was that time…"
Her voice trailed off though when their dad came back with his own bowl of Lucky Charms and big mug of coffee which was evidently heavy on the cream, light on coffee, which was eerily similar to how she usually preferred her coffee, in the old dimension at least. Genes!
"So, what did I miss?"
"Scooby just ate some Scooby snacks," Mac summarized what she believed to be the main point of the episode.
"They're hot on the trail of the swamp monster, but when you gotta eat, you…" Lauren started.
"Gotta eat," their dad ('Dad2') finished.
Mac looked down at her hands in her lap. Seeing her bio dad and bio sister together, their easy, jokey way reminded her for only the zillionth time, give or take, that though she belonged here, she didn't really belong here either. It was as simple as that; it was as complicated as that.
Her pity-party was brought to an abrupt halt when she noticed a streak of purple on her hand. She furrowed her brow, trying to think about where it could have come from. Then she remembered running her hand through her hair just before 'Dad2' came back into the room. It was weird; she'd always used a more permanent dye, at least in her old life. She absently rubbed her marked hand on her fuzzy pajama bottoms; it faded the splash of color, but didn't make it disappear altogether. She suspected perhaps her individuality was just a part time occupation in this life.
The Scooby-Doo marathon continued as the three Sinclairs ate their breakfast and laughed at the goofy cartoon dog's antics. After awhile 'Dad2' decided that the rule-bending had gone on long enough, so he gathered up the evidence to hand over to Lucille. It was obvious to Mac who ruled this roost. The balance of power laid at Natalie's feet, too, in the Mackenzie house, but in a much more subtle way than it appeared to be in this house.
Eventually the pain pills and the remnants of the concussion caught up to her, and she drifted off to sleep as Scooby Doo once again lobbied for a treat. She had a strange Technicolor dream where she was Velma and Veronica was Daphne, and a dog that looked a lot like Backup played Scooby's role. They were trying to find a wrinkle in time, but she woke up before any headway was made. It was unsettling.
She found herself still on the couch, with the blanket from last night draped over her. 'Mom2' was sitting in a chair working on a cross-stitch.
Scooby-Doo was evidently over, because she recognized The Breakfast Club. The channel 'Mom2' had selected was in the middle of a John Hughes retrospective.
Her head was back to its default achy stage.
On screen, the token misfit, known as the Basket Case, was receiving her required make-over—because hell how could the boy like her otherwise?—Mac just watched, trying not to move her head too much, in hopes that would make the pain more manageable.
'Mom2' looked up from her craft project and saw Mac was awake.
"Hi, sweetie, I'm glad to see you're awake now. I got back from my shift at the food pantry and you were fast asleep. That's good; you need all the sleep you can get now. Your dad and Lauren are running their Saturday errands. I think he was depressed when you got too old to want to join him, so he's pretty happy Lauren is taking over that tradition now."
She found herself feeling guilty for something that wasn't really her fault—not in her real life, at any rate.
"Oh, and before I forget, Dick called."
"Dick?"
"Casablancas," 'Mom2' clarified, evidently thinking she was confused as to which Dick had called, rather than her real question, which was why?
Mac was fairly certain he was the only Dick in the entire school, and in high school, at least, he was pretty aptly named, too. He certainly wasn't the only dick at Neptune High, but he was the only dick named Dick. She'd always wondered if he'd perhaps felt the unconscious pull to live up to his nickname or maybe that was what made him dick-like to begin with. Looking up she caught the brief flash of worry on her mom's face, it was short lived.
"Are you hungry?"
"Oh. A little I guess," Mac said. She became aware of hunger pangs starting to build. Breakfast must have been hours ago, which made her wonder how long she had been asleep.
"Can I make you a sandwich or some soup?"
"You?"
"Yes, me. Lucille is off on Saturday afternoons and Wednesday nights, remember?"
"Oh, yeah, I never remember her schedule, I barely remember my own. Soup sounds good, thanks."
"No problem, sweetie. We still have some of the veggie stew leftover from last night. I'll warm some up."
"What about you?"
"I already ate. Besides we don't usually eat on the couch, as you well know. I'll sit with you though."
As 'Mom2' left the room to warm up her lunch, Mac slowly sat up, inching slowly hoping it would keep the pain from ratcheting up too much, it was one of those things that sounded good on paper but didn't work in reality. She clinched her eyes against the pain, trying to focus in on the ending of the movie where the Brain, Brian says in voice over "…but we think you're crazy to make an essay telling you who we think we are. You see us as you want to see us - in the simplest terms, in the most convenient definitions…"
As Simple Minds played the theme song and the credits rolled, 'Mom2' came in with the white wicker tray laden down with a big bowl of the soup, a couple of rolls, the bottle of pills and a bottle of designer spring water. The sharp pain caused by moving, had receded a bit. Now it was back to that steady ache that was her new, hopefully temporary, default setting nowadays. 'Mom2' placed the tray over her lap, and then got to work opening the pill and water bottles, before going back to the chair she'd previously occupied.
Mac had a painkiller appetizer before tucking into the still steaming soup.
'Mom2' went back to her cross stitch while Mac ate and watched the opening credits of the next John Hughes movie, Sixteen Candles.
She had just finished her lunch and was just staring at the screen, watching Sam getting kicked out of her own room by one of her grandparents, when the phone rang. She saw her mom reach for it and answer it, instead of checking caller id, which Mac was certain they had to have in the Sinclair abode.
"Hello," 'Mom2' replied. She waited a beat while the voice on the other end said something.
"Oh, yes, Dick…I did tell her, dear…" 'mom2' replied again, still addressing the caller. Then she turned her focus to Mac. "Madi, sweetie…" she began.
Mac started to shake her head, but pain put a quick halt to that bad idea, and she waved her hands back and forth in front of her face, in an X criss-crossing type motion.
Her mom ('Mom2') got the message. "Dick, I'm sorry, but she just fell back asleep…I know, you're right, she is napping a lot, but she has a concussion…I promise, I'll tell her you called. Bye dear."
She firmly hung up the phone, and then looked back at Mac again. "Madi, sweetie, did you two have a fight?"
"Not that I can remember," Mac said honestly. "I just don't feel like talking to him now." Or ever, she added to herself. High school edition of Dick Casablancas was one do-over she wasn't interested in. However, there seemed to be some type of relationship there, the reunion would probably be inevitable but she'd push it off as long as possible. She was just barely beginning to like Dick in her old, Mac existence. Make that, tolerate. They had been building a pseudo-friendship lately, especially when his fifteen minutes of humanity made their appearance, which had been happening with more frequency lately, she admitted reluctantly.
The rest of Saturday afternoon into the evening passed in much the same way. She would have periods of wakefulness where she would watch bits and pieces of John Hughes movies in between the pain pills, which would then make her very sleepy, so she'd go back to napping. However, in spite of the increased sleepiness, the pills also kept the pain down to a very tolerable background ache, so she gladly paid that price.
The rotation of baby-sitters varied, but the pattern was firmly established.
After a dinner of some kind of mushroom casserole, her dad escorted her upstairs to her bedroom.
He helped her into the large bed, and snugly covered her up with the purple sparkles duvet and gave her a kiss on her forehead, once again not getting close to her injury. On his way out the door, he turned off the light and whispered that he loved her. It was reminiscent of her younger days, and how her own dad, well, Sam, the dad that raised her, would tuck her in.
Was there a Universal script parents used?
Once again it occurred to her that she didn't know the name of her own dad, this dad, bio dad. She drifted off to sleep with that thought circling around her thoughts.
When Mac woke up around 10:30 AM Sunday, she didn't entertain the same hope of magically reappearing in her old, non-Madison/Madi life. There was no jolt when she opened her eyes and saw the, now familiar, purple walls.
Mac eventually mustered the energy to make the longish trek downstairs to the family room, though she was still wearing those same fuzzy pink kitten pj's, she didn't feel the need to change those.
She was surprised 'Mom2's' precious couch didn't retain her butt impression. Once again a breakfast of oatmeal, coffee, and pain pills was brought to her, this time by a lady she assumed was Lucille. She was an older lady, probably north of 55, with curly black hair with silver starting to weave in there as well, with brown eyes and crow's feet which bespoke of a life full of smiles and humor.
"Just the way you like it, doll," she said as she nestled it on Mac's lap. "Your parents and Lauren are at church now. They didn't want to wake you."
"Thanks, Lucille."
"You're welcome, Doll. Ring if you need me."
At Mac's blank expression, she pointed to the small bell that was on the edge of the tray. She hadn't seen that earlier.
"Oh, sure, um thanks."
It was still an odd thought having someone paid to wait on her, at least on a regular, full-time basis. However, the funny thing was that it wasn't even near the top of her ever-growing weird list.
She took more pain pills and drifted off to sleep about thirty minutes later. Her Sunday was evidently shaping up to be a repeat of Saturday.
When she woke up, Mac saw Lauren sitting on the far end of the couch, watching more cartoons, this time the classic Tom & Jerry.
"Hey," she croaked out.
"Madi, you're up! You sleep more than Fritz."
"Fritz?"
"Um, your cat, remember? Well, the family cat, but he likes you more than the rest of us."
"Where is he now?" Mac asked.
"Who knows? He goes into hiding quite a bit."
They had a cat. She didn't remember seeing the furry Sinclair around, though she hadn't been anywhere in the massive house other than her bedroom and the couch and back again. There was still a lot of territory left to explore, and lots of choice places for a cat to nap.
*****/****/*****/*****/*****/*****
By late Sunday afternoon, however, after one more nap cycle she was feeling a bit better, and found enough of an energy peak to wander around her "new" home.
Her parents had a golf game/business meeting at the frou-frou Neptune Country Club and Lauren had a play-date at her friend's house across the street. Though she got yelled at for daring to call it a play-date; after all, almost twelve year olds don't "play."
Her mission was two-fold, find the MIA cat, Fritz, and discover the first name of 'Dad2.' Although, she was hoping to find out more than just those two details about her new existence, after all, she couldn't hide behind the head injury forever. Could she?
Lucille was the only other one at the house, and she was back in her private bedroom suite off the mud room. Dinner was simmering on the stove.
She started with the two rooms she'd already seen the first time she visited the Sinclair estate, the library and dining room flanking the Spanish tiled entry way. Mac just circled the massive dining table with seating for twelve plus the four extra chairs strategically placed in each corner of the room waiting to be called up for a sixteen person dinner party. She didn't think the Mackenzies even knew that many people, let alone would entertain them for dinner, but of course they didn't have kitchen staff to do the dirty work for them. Being chairman of the board for whatever company probably meant the Sinclairs did a lot of entertaining of clients and other important business types.
She didn't see much of interest in the dining room, except 'Mom2' had an extensive collection of china in her massive curio cabinet. There was also a collection of Hummel figurines, which Mac didn't know much about Antiques outside of occasionally watching of Antique Roadshow, but she knew they were probably worth a small fortune. Outside of the investment potential, she didn't see the appeal of the little porcelain figures.
The only other thing of note in there was the huge wine rack, it was probably four feet high and four feet in length and, by conservative estimate, must have held over fifty bottles of wine. She pulled a couple bottles out, but hadn't heard of most of the brands. She wondered if this was the entire collection, or if they had a wine cellar on premises, too. Mac suspected that their collection didn't include any of the green Gallo jugs of Chardonnay that Natalie was always buying.
Next on the tour was the library which also housed a large oak desk that most likely belonged to Mr. Sinclair, 'Dad2.' It sat at the far end of the long, narrow room, opposite of the stone fireplace with two upholstered chairs in front of it for a cozy reading nook.
Mac's mind flashed back, briefly, to the first time she'd even known of Lauren's existence. It was in this very room, five years ago—the original 2004—that they first met. The hardest thing she had ever done in her life was make small talk with Lauren without giving away the fact that they were blood sisters. She relied on acting chops she hadn't even known she'd possessed.
A startled mewing sound brought her out of her reverie.
Curled up on one of the chairs by the fireplace, the one Lauren had occupied that fateful night in fact, was a short haired black and white cat. Mac suspected the furry Sinclair—Fritz—was well-aware of Ellen's stance against messing up furniture and was probably counting on not getting busted.
"It's okay Fritzy, I won't tattle on you," she cooed, slowly coming towards the cat, who now was intently tracking Mac's every move. "Your secret is safe with me."
She reached down to pet him and suddenly drew back her hand when he hissed. The fur was bristled and he got up on all four legs holding himself corpse stiff, his back arched.
Mac backed away still cooing softly. "It's okay; I don't get this whole situation either. We'll try our introduction later."
The cat ran from the room as she headed toward the desk. She sat down in the black leather roller executive chair and opened the center drawer first. It was mainly filled with pens, hi-lighters, a lifetime supply of neon colored sticky pads, a ball of rubber bands (probably Lauren's handiwork), a chain of paper clips, and other assorted office bric-a-brac. The only thing of interest there was a key she found tucked into an envelope and folded over. She removed it from its hiding place and set to work finding out if any of the six remaining drawers on the desk were locked.
She opened the top left one; it didn't have much there, just a few empty file folders and a note pad. The middle left drawer had a stapler, which she was amused to see had a sticky note on the bottom of it with all his important passwords. She grinned and shook her head. Would that generation ever learn? Maybe her hacker tendencies came from Mama Sinclair's branch of the family tree.
The bottom left-hand drawer was unlocked, but it did contain a bunch of files organized by dates that really didn't mean much to her. She looked in a couple of them, but they mainly seemed to be related to the company he ran, which turned out to be named Sinclair Enterprises. She had never heard of them before, the company bearing the last name that should have been hers by birth and not just some cosmic accident.
The right-hand set of drawers yielded much more interesting results. The first two of those drawers again didn't contain much of interest, but the bottom file drawer, on the other hand, was locked.
Eureka, Mac thought as she tried the key. It worked.
The first couple hanging file folders contained tax and financial information for Sinclair Enterprises, things that evidently were not for public knowledge. She briefly skimmed that info, not finding much of personal interest, except that the company seemed sound, and was worth nearly 75 million, which was a huge number even for her math-oriented brain. There were an awful lot of zero's there.
However, it was the next folder that intrigued her the most. It was labeled Settlement.
Interesting! She had assumed the baby switch had never occurred in this alternative existence. Mac placed the file up on the desk and opened it up. It was a stapled document containing the foreign—to her—language of legalese.
Skimming it over, she saw her name listed as a plaintiff and the name of Robert Allen Sinclair, 'Dad2's' name. It was dated 1992 and was for one million dollars; however there was no mention of Neptune Memorial Hospital. She was just in the middle of turning the page, however, to see if she could find out more about the origins of this suit when she heard a rumbling sound off in the distance.
It sounded like the whir of a garage door, but being that this house was so much larger than she was used to, sound had further to travel. She quickly shoved things back, hopefully in a close approximation to where they belonged.
Mac was just exiting the library when her parents walked into the hall.
"Hey, sweetie, feeling better?" 'Mom2' asked, with concern.
"Much," Mac assured her. "Just decided to read a bit," she blushed as she said it, mentally chiding herself for not grabbing a book off the shelf to complete the cover story. She hoped she hid the evidence well-enough. She just needed to find more private time to continue the sleuthing, there were mysteries left to solve in this world.
TBC…
***Seems as good of a place to end it as any. Next up, is Dick's POV, so you can find out more about Mac's condition in 2009. Then, after that, Mac goes back to school. If you liked it, or didn't, please let me know in that lovely review box down there. Thank you!