A?N: Another Mac chapter back in 2004. Thank you so much for all the follows, fave's & reviews. So glad you're enjoying this story half as much as I'm enjoying writing it. I hope that continues because I have so many more ideas for this story, stories actually, since we've got 2 timelines going. The chapter after this one will be another Dick POV, back in the "present time." Thanks again to cainc3 for being my beta & putting up with me.

Obligatory Disclaimer: The VM universe change of ownership paperwork still has NOT come through, so apparently I don't own a thing. I do enjoy playing around though...

Chapter 7—Call me Queen Bee

Mac's second day at Neptune high started off a lot like her first day. She was just beginning to think she was stuck in her own personal hell of a Groundhog Day, doomed to repeat the same shit storm of high school angst, the exact story she lived the first time but this time with more money and the same basic characters albeit cast into slightly different roles.

At lunch time she grabbed a salad and a can of Coke from the cafeteria and exited the building through the doors leading out into the quad. She was cutting through the tables, on her way to the same grassy knoll she hid out in the previous day.

"Madison, over here," she heard as she walked by. "Why don't you join us?"

Looking around, her eyes' focused on Wallace and Veronica sitting at a table straddling the economic divide—it was the same table they'd all inhabited the previous incarnation.

Embracing her new friend and constant companion, déjà vu, Mac plopped her lunch down and sat down across from Wallace and next to Veronica. "Hey, guys."

They both returned the greeting.

"You look like you feel better today," Veronica added, referring to the previous day when she heard Mac vomiting in the bathroom.

"I am. I think it was just a souvenir from the concussion, no big deal," Mac covered in a dismissive tone.

Veronica just nodded and then changed the subject. "So, where were you off to? You're like a woman on a mission." Veronica inquired. She took a potato chip from the snack-sized bag in front of her.

"Hiding?" Wallace hypothesized. He removed his sandwich from the plastic baggie and laid it out in front of him.

"Something like that," Mac affirmed. "Though hiding is such an ugly word, I prefer questing for some solitude."

"Does that mean Dick got your usual '09'er table in the divorce?" Veronica asked. She ate the last chip from the container and put it back into the blue reusable lunch bag in front of her.

Mac laughed but just shrugged instead of commenting. All evidence had pointed to the fact this version of herself and Dick were definitely dating, or had some type of relationship beyond pseudo friendship, but she still didn't know her Facebook status with Dick. Maybe it was on her MySpace page? They MySpaced back then, right? She opened her soda can and took a big sip.

"Well, we're glad you decided to trade your solitude for wasting the hour with us," Wallace said, then took the first bite of his ham and swiss sandwich.

Then he and Veronica circled back to their earlier conversation. They were filling in the blanks on the Purity test scandal.

"Yes, scandal," Wallace reiterated. "That's the official name for it, handed down by the board of education, according to Mr. Clemmons."

"Scandal makes it sound so ugly," Mac defended. It wasn't a scandal when she did it; it was just a public service to her fellow student—and her car fund, too. This watered down Cindy didn't do it right, evidently. First, you don't delegate something of a delicate nature like this to anyone else; people talk even if money (or blow jobs) were exchanged. There were still gaps in the case, far as Mac could tell but her curiosity would be hard to explain. She was never one to really care about gossip, oh she heard it, but it was never something she catalogued for personal use, in particular all the stories that revolved around Veronica.

"So, part of your job as clerical aid is Mr. Clemmons' sounding board?"

"Hey, he likes me, what can I say? I'm a polite, upstanding citizen, that's a direct quote," Wallace said, sticking his tongue out at Veronica. She returned the favor, wadding up her napkin and throwing at him.

"I know you, remember?"

"Okay, I'll amend that, around Mr. Clemmons I'm nothing if not a polite, upstanding member of the Neptune High student body."

"And when you're not at school you have the innate ability to piss off the wrong people," Veronica added, smiling triumphantly at Wallace. Mac remembered that Veronica and Wallace had first become friends when she untaped him from the flag pole after he'd narc'ed on the PCH'ers after they stole beer from the Sac & Pack convenience store while he was on duty.

"Yup!" he agreed. "It's talent."

"Or a dual personality, I'm not sure which," Veronica retorted, tapping a finger on her chin as though in deep thought. Then she reached into her lunch bag, grabbing the butterscotch pudding cup and a spoon. She opened the container and took a big bite.

"Dual personality, definitely," Wallace agreed over another bite of his sandwich. "Guess which of my personalities likes you?"

"Both of them," Veronica retorted confidently.

Mac ate her salad as she listened to the easy back and forth between Veronica and Wallace.

Truthfully she was surprised at how easy they'd "adopted" her in this dimension, with the whole '09'er status hanging over her. Maybe it only existed in her mind. There was a divide in Neptune, that was a solid fact, but maybe she didn't wear a red neon sign. Of course, for a card-carrying member of the have-not's club, Veronica had been—once upon a time—very comfortable in the posh country club lifestyle of the town's plentiful haves, maybe that allowed her to overlook that new status in this alternate life style.

After yesterday's run in with Cassidy, Mac softened a little bit on her desire to stay away from Dick. For one thing she had the distinction of being the only one who knew how close he was lingering on the cliff of losing his entire family. He had a toe over the edge and didn't have a clue he was about to fall over. It was not knowledge she liked having—she felt like a time-warped version of Atlas, the weight of two different dimensions firmly on her bony shoulders.

The gray edges of a not yet fully formed plan were starting to take shape in her mind; maybe she could save Cassidy and therefore her classmates. She assumed that the damage had already been done to Veronica—though she didn't know if the circumstances had changed dimension to dimension or not, however. That was a realization that hurt badly, she could only hope that this Madison—herself—had played no role in things. She wanted to believe there wasn't a dimension that existed where she'd be a party to hurting her friend so deeply, accidently or otherwise. Regardless, she just hoped she could get help for Cassidy. If she could get through to Dick, that is.

There were a whole lot of hypotheticals in that pseudo plan.

In homeroom, earlier that morning, she had thawed out her cold shoulder treatment of Dick, so it was merely a lukewarm shoulder. However, it was his turn to barely acknowledge her. She had no right to be upset with his avoidance techniques after all the ducking she'd done to him, but it stung a little sharper than she'd have thought—more than she wanted it to, if she were honest with herself.

They'd exchange a brief nod as he'd come through the door just after final bell, and then he did a quick check in on how she was feeling- Presumably he had noticed her quick sprint to the bathroom after seventh period the previous day. Then once the obligatory status check was done, he went back to pretending she wasn't there.

He took the seat Mrs. Murphy had evidently had on reserve special for him and made another cocky joke about her having a thing for him. It definitely lent a whole first-day-in-an-infinite-loop air to things. When homeroom was over they both walked to their first class in close proximity, she was just a few feet in front of him but he didn't even attempt to engage her.

It was…weird.

Now at lunch he was holding court at his usual table—in this life, and the old one, too—saying something that had Logan laughing loudly. It was undoubtedly inappropriate. A side-eyed glance at Veronica proved what Mac had suspected, she was trying to be covert in her tracking of Logan's movements. If they were following the same timeline in this dimension, there was chemistry apparent between Veronica and her favorite obligatory psychotic jackass, but nothing had yet been done to resolve it—or kick it up several notches.

She and Dick had made eye contact periodically, but other than the brief eye-meets he didn't give any indication that he was aware of her presence. She wished she had a hardcopy of his rule book. She took a bite of her salad and let her mind loop around to his parting shot the day before, his cock-sure affirmation about her not carrying a grudge forever. She wasn't sure the what or why of the grudge, it happened before the soul-exchange, but he evidently seemed to think if he backed off a bit she'd step forward.

Asshole.

"Did you get chapters twenty through twenty-three read in Catcher in the Rye?" Wallace was asking.

At Mac's blank stare in his direction, Wallace snapped his fingers in her face and repeated the question.

"Yes," she lied. She hadn't actually read them but being her second favorite book of all-time it was fresh enough she could engage in an intelligent conversation about the motivation and drives of Holden Caulfield. "You?"

"Yes, because books about over-privileged white boys whining about phony people is how I like to spend my time off the court."

"I would have thought the desire to get an A and not have your mom ground you for not applying yourself might be motivation enough for you to spend precious off-court time reading about whiny rich white boys." Veronica countered. "And you," she continued now looking in Mac's direction, "stop eye-fucking Dick. You know, while we're on the whole topic of over-privileged white boys."

"Eye-fucking?" Mac raised her brow.

"I'm sorry, that was indelicate. Stop eye-fornicating."

"Much better, you are a lady after all," Wallace said dryly.

"That's right. You know what they say, Veronica Mars is a…" she paused so her friends could fill in the blanks.

"Lady," Wallace said at the same time Mac replied "marshmallow."

Veronica gave Wallace thumbs up, and then just shook her head at Mac, giving her a rueful look. "I've never been called that in my life, it's like you don't even know me."

"Sorry, I must be thinking of life in another dimension," Mac snarked with an ironic smile. She shrugged, wishing she could remove the teasing tone from her voice as she said it, but again the idea of being strapped down on a table while they studied her brain for future generations lacked a certain appeal. "Although, you know, there's a first for everything."

"True. Maybe we can spread that rumor, I can be kind of gooey, like a marshmallow," Veronica conceded.

"Stop it," Wallace said holding his hand out in front of him like a traffic cop. "Now I'm craving S'mores."

"S'mores? What do you know about those, Fennell?"

"I was a Boy scout back in Chicago," Wallace insisted. He looked over at Veronica's disbelieving expression, "What? It's true."

"I hear ya, Wallace. S'mores, with vegan marshmallows, are my favorite part of camping, probably the only part I like really."

"Camping?" Veronica echoed. She arched a brow in surprise. "You camp? I somehow don't picture you and your family roughing it."

Mac realized her mistake and back peddled a bit.

"By camping, I mean in a roadside motel, that's the definition of camping, right?"

"Text book," Wallace informed, the gleam in his eye explaining that there was an in-joke buried in there somewhere. "If you're from the oh-nines, that is. Us common folk, we prefer our hundred dollar tents with duct tape covering the holes."

"Tents? Duct tape? P'shaw, that's for sissies, the Mars family sleeps under the stars."

"When did you ever do that?"

"Um, second grade, backyard, back when we had a yard to call our own," Veronica clarified; Mac could see the yearning in her expression, hear the wistful tone behind her friend's jokey words. She longed to put her arm around her, maybe squeeze her hand, but it wouldn't be easy to explain away that intimacy which popped up in a longtime friendship, of having been there during that tumultuous time in Veronica's life. The camping remark had just proven to her why she needed to be on guard at all times in this life.

Despite Veronica's earlier accusation about her exchanging eye-fornicating glances with Dick, Mac noticed that he seemed to go out of his way to not look at her, or rather not get caught doing it. She'd glance up periodically from whatever discussion she was actively participating in with Veronica and Wallace, and notice Dick tracking her movements, their eyes would meet for the briefest of time, and then he'd look away first. If she said she understood him any better in the real world though it would be a lie, she didn't understand him in any dimension.

All too soon the bell rang signaling the end to the jokey, easy conversation with Wallace and Veronica. Mac gathered up her trash, threw it out in the proper receptacles and headed off to her Trig class.

She had just settled into a chair in the first row, center, and dug out her textbook in preparation of listening to Mr. Meyer's spend a full hour discussing Lissajous curves verses Spirographs, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She whipped around. The tapper was a guy she thought only looked vaguely familiar.

"You're back! I didn't know if you'd be here today or still at home recovering. You look good, Madi. Sorry I didn't call over the weekend, we were still at the cabin. Dick text me Friday night to tell me what happened, but I didn't get it until we were on our way back home. Spotty cell reception in the Sierra's," the lanky guy with longish, curly dark hair said in an embarrassed rush. "You know how it is."

No, not really, she thought but didn't voice. Instead she automatically replied, "it's okay..." Her voice trailed at the end as she realized she didn't have a name to use.

The nickname implied they were closer than just two people in the same math class. She didn't have any idea who her friends were in this realm, so it occurred to her this might be someone she hung out with, maybe someone who was friends with her and Dick. Those damn '09'er cliques, they seemed to be an inbred (so to speak) bunch.

The guy, her friend Mac supposed, quizzed her a little bit more about her cheerleading accident, and razzed her a bit more about that lifestyle choice as well. It was strange hearing the intimacy, for lack of a better word, in his tone, and still not know his name.

That mystery was solved five minutes into class though when Mr. Meyers took attendance and the guy-in-question raised his hand in response to the name Jackson Douglas. She wondered when and how she and Jackson became friends.

When math was over her new old friend Jackson walked her to her next class, as his was right across the hall from her English class. He told her a couple stories about his trip and she found herself laughing quite a bit. Most pages of her new script were confusing, but this was actually one place where she seemed to know her expected lines instinctively. They parted in front of Mrs. Murphy's door, Jackson promising to call that night after her class.

Mac walked in and saw that Dick hadn't arrived yet. She hadn't seen him since lunch time when they both spent most of the time sneaking glances at each other and not get called out.

It was game they both lost, or it was a game they both won. Mac really wasn't sure which.

By the time he arrived, less than a minute prior to the bell, there were two seats left; one next to Mac and another on the opposite end of the classroom. She watched as he gave her a brief smile and nod in acknowledgement—which was more than she had gotten at lunch—and then took the seat on the other side.

Instead of listening to Mrs. Murphy further delve into the themes of alienation in Catcher in the Rye, Mac tried to make sense of the fact that Dick was barely aware of her today, whereas the day before he was her shadow. Had he perhaps had his own pod person experience? She didn't want to waste all that thinking time on Dick, of all people, but his 180 degree turnaround was odd even for him, and he pretty much redefined the word odd on a normal day.

At long last, the final bell rang signaling the end of the school day. Mac didn't stick around long enough for Dick to ignore her again. For one thing she didn't want another run in with Cassidy, but she also had to get home to get ready for the class she taught at the Senior Center. Jackson had inadvertently reminded her of that gig. It was weird imagining herself teaching, but she supposed it was well-placed within her skill set.

The class went smoothly. Once Mac was up there talking about the one subject she knew in, out, and upside down she forgot about the strange time loop she'd been sucked into. She forgot about Dick and their probable relationship, she forgot about the mysteries of this new life and the pain of her old one. She got lost into the black and white absolutism of binary code, basic command functionality. Though most of her students were older than her Grandma Franklin they seemed to enjoy learning about computers and weren't shy about asking questions, though most of the questions were pretty much identical except for the way in which they were asked. Mac was surprised to find out she wasn't annoyed by that in the least, she actually spent the entire hour and fifteen minutes of class time without rolling her eyes once, she suspected that might have been a record.

Back at home—well, the Sinclair's—(would it ever feel like home?) she sat at one of the computers at the newly expanded desk 'Dad1' had been contracted to build and started outlining her paper for her Future Hackers of America class. She didn't have a large sample size to build from, but she was able to draw out a couple topics she'd covered in class, she was confident she'd be able to come up with enough to fill the five page report (double spaced) that Mr. Matthews wanted in less than forty-eight hours.

True to his word, Jackson called to check in. They chatted for a couple minutes before Mac begged off. No one else called or text her though. She tried to convince herself it was just habit that had her checking the dead-air radio silence cell phone, nothing more than that.

****/*****

The next morning, Mac was just tucking into a bowl of the organic vegan cereal Lucille always had waiting for her on the table in the breakfast nook, when 'Mom2'/Ellen came over, holding a cup of coffee. She laid a kiss on Mac's head, and then plopped down in the chair across from her.

"Morning Madi. How'd you sleep, dear?"

"Good," Mac said, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. "Thanks."

"I made an appointment for you at 2:00 with Dr. Stephenson to remove your stitches. I thought I'd drop you off at school this morning, then maybe I could pick you up after fourth period and we could go to the club for lunch. Does that work? You don't have a test or anything in the afternoon, do you?"

"No, I don't think so."

"Well, if you do we can get it excused," Ellen said dismissively, taking a sip of her coffee.

Mac made a face and lightly brushed the tender area around her cut. "Can't we just leave them in until they fall out? Isn't it going to hurt?" She took one last bite of her cereal and pushed it away, slightly nauseated at the idea of getting them removed, especially at the idea of being in more pain.

"No, and no," she said confidently. "It's much worse getting stitches than having them removed, dear."

"I don't remember it hurting when I got them," Mac smirked.

"Imagine that. You were unconscious when they brought you in. Dick said you were conscious for a little bit right after the accident, and then passed out again until after they stitched you up in the ER."

"Dick?"

"Remember, I told you he called a few times over the weekend. He mentioned that to me in passing," Ellen explained. Then she paused, took a deep breath, and then said tentatively, "is there something you want to talk about? Maybe over a veggie melt…" She reached across the glass topped table to pat her hand reassuringly.

"No, nothing to talk about, though a veggie melt does sound good."

"Excellent! I'll write a note and when you're done with breakfast I'll drop you off. I'm excited, Madi, we haven't had a mother/daughter day in ages." She gave Mac another pat and then took her hand back.

Ellen dropped her off in front of the main entrance. Mac remembered freshman year when she got into a fight with a girl on the bus through no fault of her own; she didn't throw the first punch, but she sure as hell threw the last one.

Her mom—Natalie—took her to school every day for a month; convinced the bus was a dangerous place. Finally, Sam ('Dad1') put his big, size 12, foot down and insisted Mac go back to riding the bus, Mackenzie's weren't going to let some punk ass chicken shit girl keep her from riding the bus. Her dad rarely cussed so that had made an impression on her as she heard them arguing in the kitchen, thinking she couldn't hear them over the din of the TV. She'd heard every word. Usually her mom (Natalie) was the final decision maker, but in that instance Sam won the round, and the war, too. The very next day she was back on the bus, and the girl who threw the first punch stayed far away from her.

Mac wasn't entirely sure why that memory came back to her, but ever since the previous Friday things from her Mac-life, little memories she hadn't thought of in ages, would come back to her in flashes. She supposed that was side-effect of this cosmic re-do.

She entered the building and went straight to her locker before heading to Mrs. Murphy's for homeroom. Surprisingly, Dick was already there, standing in front of Kevin Powell's desk, recapping some greatly exaggerated adventure from the night before. His eyes tracked her as she headed for a desk in the back.

Mac took a seat, and then grabbed her purple backpack and dug through it until her hand connected with her battered copy of Catcher in the Rye. She pulled it out and flipped to chapter 24. As she skimmed it to refresh her memory about Holden's conversation and coffee with Mr. Antolini she would periodically raise her gaze over the book to scan the room. Again, courting denial as usual, Mac told herself she was just staying aware of her surroundings, a good habit regardless of the situation. Dick had just plopped down in the empty seat next to Kevin.

Then homeroom commenced. Three days into her junior year redux, and seeing Meg Manning giving the morning announcements on the internal closed caption TV wasn't getting any easier. Mac was fairly certain she'd never get used to it, and if she did maybe that wouldn't be a good sign, as though maybe fate were setting things up for her to go "riding for some kind of terrible, terrible fall," to quote JD Salinger.

At last the bell rang and Mac headed out of homeroom and into the herd of students heading towards their first period. Dick had stayed behind talking with Kevin and the friend of rodent boy, for some reason Mac hadn't bothered with trying to ascertain. She was almost at the door to her computer science—aka Future Hackers of America class—when she heard her name being called. She turned around and saw Dick.

"Yeah?"

"Nice greeting, Madi," Dick snarked. "Your lessons at the Martha Stewart Finishing School are really paying off."

"Sorry," Mac muttered automatically, though she didn't feel as contrite as the situation probably warranted.

"I was just wondering if you were still digging into that grudge, and obviously the answer is that you are. Look, Mad, I know you're pissed, I fucked up, I do that. It's my thing, and what the hell, without that you'd have nothing to bitch about, so you should be thanking me."

He smirked at the glare the last bit earned him.

"Let's meet after seventh," he continued. "Maybe we can make up in the supply closet." He gave her a mocking leer, which was an expression she was certain she'd never seen combined before, but he pulled it off in an impressive way. He maneuvered to his left just before Mac's fist could meet the upper part of his arm, so she was left hitting the empty air.

It was on the tip of her tongue to give him a new address to try (hell) but he must have Jedi Mind Tricked her because instead she found herself weakly agreeing to meet, but not for the making up part, she had the wherewithal to remember to add. Maybe it would be a good thing, she could find out what was behind his hot-cold-then lukewarm yo-yo act. What part of his pea-sized brain thought that was a good plan?

Triumphantly, Dick smiled then turned on his heel and walked the other direction, presumably to go to the bathroom since his class was just a couple doors down from hers.

Mac was about to enter her Computer Science class when she remember the one little flaw in that plan.

"Shit, Dr. Stevenson," Mac muttered. She wasn't aware she'd said it aloud though until she noticed the strange glances directed her way. She blushed, and then mentally shrugged it off. She'd probably see him later anyway.

That never happened; neither did her intent to text him. She'd be about to whip out her cell from the murky depths of her bag when the teacher would call on her or something else equally distracting would waylay her.

Mac wasn't surprised in the least when, at noon exactly; her mom was at the office waiting for her. Ellen had an air of punctuality about her.

They exchanged a kiss on the cheek. Ellen was affectionate, but she lacked Natalie's natural exuberance.

On the way to the club Mac filled her in on her day thus far, carefully leaving out all mentions of Dick.

When they arrived at the club, and entered the massive foyer, Mac surveyed the place as covertly as possible. It was as though she was trying to memorize the space, so careful was her perusal. She noticed the light colored wood floors and the green and beige area rugs placed strategically near all doorways, the big rose colored velvet sofas, ornate glass topped coffee tables and the big crystal tear drop light fixture above. The far wall was dominated by a large gray stone fireplace, giving it more of a living room feel.

Mac supposed the "Richie riches" liked to dine in environments which felt like an extension of their McMansions rather than places with chipped Formica and the worn down linoleum of the Neptune Diner where she usually went with Natalie for after-shopping fortification and energy replenishment. In fact, she'd been there so much they'd even put a vegan black bean burger on the menu, special for her.

After being greeted warmly by name, the perky brunette hostess showed them to a table overlooking the first tee. The vast green of the course sloped down from there. Mac watched as an overweight guy in all pink made his first swing of the club, she was too far away to tell where it went, but it looked to her like it veered too far to the right. It seemed to land in a bank of trees.

"…being limited in their vegetarian offerings, I'm sure you're getting your usual veggie melt. Right, dear?" Ellen was saying as she looked over the menu she had likely memorized anyway. There was a pair of half-moon reading glasses perched on her nose.

A few minutes later their waitress came by with the 2 glasses of iced tea Ellen had requested when they first sat down, and to take their food order. She was a certified member of the perky club, too—obviously a prerequisite for employment here.

Mac took a sip of her tea; fortunately it wasn't the sweet variety Natalie drank by the gallon. She watched Ellen take a sip at the same time she did, mirror images of each other, and then they both opened their mouth to say something simultaneously. "Jinx," they both said, again at the same time.

Ellen cleared her throat and tried again. "Is everything okay with you, Madi? I mean," she sighed, "really. I don't want them to kick you out of the teen club or anything, but dear, you can talk to me if something is bothering you."

Mac just cocked her head. Did she smell different or something? Did she just steal a page from the cat's playbook by sensing that she wasn't the same Madi they raised? That somehow, some way, a substitution had been made mid-game?

"You just have been quieter than usual the past few days, and I mean beyond just the fact your head hurts and the pain pills make you sleepy. In fact, I noticed you were more subdued since before your accident," Ellen went on to clarify, she clinched her eyes shut briefly when she said the word accident, as though blinking back the memories that stirred up.

"I'm fine," Mac began automatically, but then the arrival of food interrupted her reassurances.

The perky California blonde waitress placed her veggie and soy cheese melt sandwich in front of her, and then handed off Ellen's own chicken and avocado melt. Conversation reached a lull as they ate their sandwiches and polished off the fries (from a dedicated fryer—Mac checked). However, the talking commenced again after they both had full bellies.

As though unpausing a tape recorder, she seemed to remember the exact spot where the conversation had last stalled. Dick's name came up again despite Mac insisting he had nothing to do with her "strange" behavior the past several days. Ellen didn't believe her, as evidenced by the raised eyebrow and head shake.

She sighed in resignation. "So how is Dick holding up these days?"

Mac cocked her head in confusion and furrowed her brow. That wasn't a question that was asked in 2004, back when Cassidy was the Beav, his tag-along too-smart baby brother. Dick was just the happy-go-lucky asshole and purveyor of boob jokes and sarcastic one-liners.

"I saw Betina out on the courts on Friday, before your, ah…tumble. That woman, she's the most frigid…creature I've ever met. I couldn't imagine looking to her for comfort; I've met statues more nurturing than her." Ellen said.

Mac noticed the hesitation before she said creature, and could tell her prim and proper bio-mom wanted so badly to use the word bitch but bit it back at the last minute. Having met Betina herself, back in the original 2004, Mac agreed totally with that assessment of her personality. It was weird, she felt bad for Cass and his obvious mom issues, and they both had that in common though the specifics of those "mom issues" were quite different. However, Dick dipped in that same gene pool and she never thought a damn thing about how it might have affected him, too. She just never had much of a reason back then to give any thought to him other than a vague reflection on what an ass he was as he called her "Ghostworld," and made fun of her dork-relationship with the "Beav". She would study the hopeful look which would make a quick flash appearance when Dick spoke to Cassidy, and then quickly fade to hurt at his cutting jokes.

"She's preparing to leave town again, which is that woman's MO. So, I know that has to be eating at Dick, just, ah, keep that in mind. I'm not saying let him treat you badly, but just keep in mind his parents keep jerking those boys around, involving them in mind games aimed to hurt each other," 'Mom2' warned. There was empathy in her voice. She looked around the mostly empty room as though making sure none of Betina's minions and admirers were around to hear her disparage their ice queen.

The waitress came by to drop the bill, and Ellen signed it, adding a sizeable tip to the amount that would be charged to their club account.

The wait at Dr. Stevenson's office was only five minutes, but Mac's stomach was knotted up in fear of what she was sure was going to be a painful procedure.

"Madison Sinclair," the nurse, in a Scooby Doo scrub top and black framed glasses, said from the doorway.

Mac reluctantly stood up, feeling like she was off to an execution—hers. She slowly made her way over to her escort to the exam room. 'Mom2' gathered her purse and followed.

She was taken to a nurse's station and her vitals were taken before they were shown to room 5. The nurse said the doctor would be there shortly, and then firmly shut the door behind her. To Mac it sounded like the final clank of an iron door being shut, locking her into a prison cell. Not that she'd ever been in jail—that was more Veronica's area of expertise than hers, but she still had the Alcatraz daydream running through her mind.

A knock sounded on the door and Dr. Stevenson entered the room. He was tall, in excess of six feet from what Mac could tell, with a lanky build and just beginning to thin, dark blond hair. The same nurse that took her vitals was trailing him; she was carrying a supply basket with her.

While the nurse had Mac lie on the table as she set to work cleaning the cut, she heard her mom ('Mom2') and the doctor chatting. She didn't hear everything that was said, but it sounded like they were talking shop. The one thing she did hear was Dr. Stevenson asking her mom to tell her dad to send Ed in, whoever the hell he was, to recalibrate their X-Ray machine.

"Ouch," Mac muttered, she automatically tried to sit up but was stopped by the nurse's hand. Her spying was interrupted by a flash of pain as the nurse squirted some betadine solution on the cut to further clean it.

The stinging quickly subsided. Now clean, the doctor came over and using some instrument, Mac couldn't even see, made quick work of removing the stitches. Other than a slight tug, it was painless. After putting a couple adhesive strips over the still tender wound, Mac was done. She was instructed to remove the strips in five days, and the appointment was finished.

*******/*********/******

That night her parents had a business dinner to attend at Poseidon's Bistro, the four star restaurant in the Neptune Grand.

Lauren had gone to bed shortly after they'd had the vegan eggplant casserole Lucille had set out for their dinner. Mac was a little disappointed, she'd hoped to spend more time with her sister, but Lauren wasn't feeling well so she understood. She also had to finish the paper for her so-called Future Hackers of America class about her teaching experiences. She'd gotten a decent start the previous night, so it wasn't looking to be a major undertaking.

Mac went up about an hour after dinner was done to check on Lauren. She was fast asleep, spread out on her bed, black hair fanning the pillow. Mac listened briefly to her soft snuffling, a noise somewhere trapped between a deep breath and soft snoring. No matter what else happened in this new life, at least she had Lauren. Softly backing out of the room so she wouldn't wake her sister, Mac detoured to her own room to grab her laptop.

After lugging it downstairs, she deposited it on the coffee table in the family room. Before going upstairs to check on Lauren, Mac had thought she'd seen Fritz back in the library, stretched out on his back, snoozing by the fireplace that wasn't even burning. She stopped by the pantry off the mud room and grabbed a small carton of Cat's Pride cat treats—Tuna flavored. Gross, but she figured Fritz would be pleased. He'd been largely avoiding her since their little run in Sunday. She certainly wasn't above trying to bribe him to get into his good graces again.

With the treat box firmly in tow, Mac slowly and carefully trekked her way over to the library. She peaked in and saw Fritzy hadn't even moved one paw since she had caught a quick glimpse of him on her way upstairs to see her sister.

Quietly she made her way towards him. Right before she reached her destination though, he rolled over so he was no longer belly up, but didn't run off. She shook the carton as though telling him she came in peace. He craned his little cat head forward as though in invitation. Wrinkling her nose in distaste, Mac shook a couple into her palm and while assailing her nose, she handed the treats out to the cat.

She tried to tamp down her impatience as the cat slowly moved closer to her hand to examine the situation. He finally deigned to take one tuna bite off her palm and was just about to daintily nibble the other one when a loud knock at the door, followed by a peal of the doorbell caused the cat to run the other direction. There went all the progress she'd made in getting Fritz to like her.

Mac slowly walked to the front hall. She looked through one of the curtains lining the narrow windows that flanked both sides of the front door. She couldn't see much about the person on the other side of the door, except a broad male chest in a green shirt. It was a familiar looking, ripply muscled chest. She put the curtain back into position and getting up on her tip-toes she flexed up so she could see out the peek-hole. She got a better view of her gentleman caller—the familiar, muscled up chest and shaggy blonde hair belonged to Dick Casablancas.

Biting back a groan, she opened the door, and pasted on a faux-smile. "Dick, I don't recall issuing you an engraved invite, or you know an invitation of any kind." She gritted her teeth.

"Well, I thought we had plans after school, I waited, you were a no-show, so I thought I'd bring this party to you," Dick explained, pushing by her, not waiting to be invited inside.

"I don't recall saying 'come in,'" Mac replied, shutting the door behind him anyway. She leaned up against it. She wasn't about to usher him into the inner sanctum, that would encourage lingering. She still had the report to finish up.

"Well, being I'm not a vampire, though I do bite upon request," he leered, "I don't need to be invited in to enter. It's not like I haven't been here before, Madi." He stood right in front of her.

"That doesn't mean you had a blanket invite."

"Oh, I've heard plenty of blanket-invites come outta your mouth," Dick rejoined, adding emphasis to the word blanket, making his wordplay obvious. Subtlety wasn't in his nature.

Mac rolled her eyes; it seemed to be her default setting whenever he was around. "So, the point of you dropping by is…? I know you weren't just in the neighborhood."

"Well, being I live in the neighborhood, I was actually just in the neighborhood. You're right though; my point for this little excursion is to explain myself since you seem so hell bent on making me miserable, Madi."

"I'm not the one being a stalker one day, and acting like a complete stranger the next, Dick." Mac hit the "k" hard, practically spitting it out.

"No, you were the one being cold and frigid the entire time, nothing but consistent there. I fucked up, but I don't want to just leave it to linger between us. We're so not done, Madi." Dick's tone got a little plaintive at the end.

"Don't I get a say in that?"

Dick laughed; it had a harsh bite to it. "Depends on what you have to say. So, where were you this afternoon? You were a no-show in class. I figured you were ditching class…Ditching me."

"Appointment to get my stitches removed. I forgot about it this morning, until mom came by to get me before lunch."

"Oh," Dick said. His face got soft for a moment, concerned. "You okay?" He leaned in a little closer to where Mac was still leaning against the door. He smoothed back a strand of her hair, so he could get a better look at the cut.

"It didn't hurt. Evidently, I'll live."

"You only, basically, scared the shit out of me Friday, Mad. I was coming by to watch you practice, and um, talk to you about Thursday, and I saw you falling head first off the pyramid. I can't unsee that, believe me, I've tried."

"You were there?"

"Your blood is still on my favorite tee shirt. Marie has washed it five times so far, there's still a brown stain in the middle of where it says 'Master Debater,'" Dick said. "I kind of like it," he added as an afterthought.

She vaguely remembered someone leaning over her, speaking softly in a reassuring tone, but she'd been so scared in that freeze-frame moment in time that she hadn't known who her nurse was. She hadn't known anything in that space except that she was on the ground, in an unfamiliar place, knowing nothing but the pain that threatened to overtake her. She'd soon blacked out, only to wake up again in the hospital once again inhabiting her seventeen year old body.

"You're welcome, glad I could help improve the aesthetic of your shirt, always happy to help." Mac went with snark, yet another of her factory default settings, "Anything for a friend."

"Friend?" Dick said, his tone indicating that he took umbrage to that word choice.

"Well, yeah."

"So, we took a step back then?" Dick asked. He backed up a little, his movements accentuating his words. "Look, I do love you, I just got freaked when you said it first, and well, yeah then Friday happened. That actually might be what convinced me I might love you, too."

Mac's eyes got wide, her heart dropped. She didn't know what the tension that popped up between her and Dick in this bizzaro world was, but she hadn't seen the neon sign saying they'd been in a serious relationship. "Love!?" she couldn't keep the incredulous tone from snaking around the word.

"You don't love me then?" Dick's expression reminded her of child finding out for the first time that there wasn't really an Easter bunny, fantasies shattering, cold hard reality setting in.

She felt guilty, like she was leading him on, which was an unfair accusation to cast upon herself. She decided to go with honestly, to a degree.

"Look Dick, I'm not the same person I was then," he had no clue the truth in that sentence.

He didn't look convinced, however.

"Obviously, we both have things to work through, if you freaked at a tiny four letter word," she pushed on.

"Not that tiny," he argued.

"Let's just rewind to before that conversation, and see what happens."

"Take it slow? Will you still suck me off, at least?" Dick looked lost, like a tourist without a map.

Mac just glared at him.

"I'll return the favor, of course," he said to sweeten the deal a little bit. Dick sighed, and then bit his bottom lip. He kicked the edge of the rug he was standing on. "Alright," he said at long last. "If it keeps us together, I'll let you define us. It's not any different than it always is with us."

"What does that mean?"

"It means exactly what I said it did, Madi. We always follow your lead."

"You don't want to follow me this time?"

"No, that's not what I said," Dick said irritably. "You have a cute ass; I'd follow that ass almost anywhere. I just wanted it on record, you've never been the beta in our relationship—you're one alpha chick, the Queen Bee. However, I have one more thing for you to think about as you try to decide how to classify me, because I know you've got to catalog every-fucking-thing."

Instead of making a verbal argument though, his topic for her consideration was more demonstrative in nature.

Dick moved in toward Mac, who hadn't moved from her spot up against the door. He placed his hand gently under her chin to guide her head up just a bit, then happy with that angle, he moved his hand so it cupped her butt, and he leaned his head down, their lips meeting.

Mac's left-ruled brain called out to push him away, but her hands refused that request. Instead, she drew him closer, opening her mouth to his probing tongue. One hand went north, tangling his hair, pushing him deeper into her, the other went south, cupping his surfer butt. His tongue explored the terrain, while his hands found her breasts. A moan built up and leaked out at his touch. She arched her head back against the door. It had been too achingly long since she'd been kissed, even longer since she'd been kissed that deeply. That tingly feeling was back, and it was vibrating stronger than it had on Monday when she responded to his heat filled look in Mrs. Murphy's homeroom. She'd dismissed that as just emotional transference from being thrust into this new world, but this, this was something else entirely. What though, she didn't have a clue, but in this atom of time it didn't matter.

Dick drew back suddenly and Mac felt bereft. "What the hell?" she bit out.

"It occurred to me that mommy and daddy Sinclair might not enjoy catching me playing tonsil hockey in their hallway."

Mac was confused and it showed on her face.

"Garage door," Dick explained, pointing in the general direction of the mud room. It was only in that moment she heard the low far-off mechanical rumble.

Dick took an index finger, tracing her kiss-swollen lips and gently moved her over so he could leave the same way he'd come. He said good-bye, and left. Mac shut the door, and then leaned against it. Her lips were still reliving the kiss.

…TBC

***So, what did you think? Loved it? Hated it? M'eh? Reviews are always appreciated!