A/N: Here ya go, another chapter in Mac's POV, 2004. Thanks for your patience, it took a little longer than I'd hoped to get it finished, laptop issues among other things. As always, thank you to my beta-cainc3-thank you so much for all your hardwork, good ideas & patience. Also, I'm so happy that people are still enjoying this twisty AU story. Thank you so much for all the reviews, favorites and follows, and of course thanks for continuing to read it and follow Mac & Dick through both dimensions in time.

Obligatory Disclaimer: Nope, my change-of-ownership papers got lost in the mail, so apparently VM still belongs to Rob Thomas and the gang.

Enjoy!

Chapter 13—Cracked the Code

It was Tuesday night and Mac was collapsed on the couch in the family room, absolutely exhausted. She'd just got back from teaching the computer class for gray heads at the Senior Center. It was a requirement for her computer science block class—or rather Future Hackers of America. She loved teaching; her students, though several times her own age, were eager to learn and never failed to make her laugh.

Lauren was beside her on the couch catching up on cartoons that had been Tivo'ed earlier in the week.

Their dad was working late, and 'Mom2' had some charity board meeting or whatever, Mac had only half-listened as Ellen had tried to give her a precise itinerary of every member of the family.

Mac had her eyes closed, listening to Velma outline the clues that the Scooby gang had uncovered. She was brought back to reality by Lucile coming into the room and calling her name.

Startled, Mac opened her eyes and sat up. "What?" she croaked.

"You have a visitor, doll. Why don't you all go to your room and I'll be up with a tray of snacks," Lucille replied.

Dick was the first name that came to Mac's mind, but that mental question was answered before it was fully formed. Obviously, her bedroom wouldn't be an option if it was Dick. Then she remembered her conversation with Veronica, earlier in the day, about needing a little extra digging time. She'd hoped to have a report for her by that evening—apparently she made that deadline. Jackson had already received the dirt on his parents at lunch; he'd happily forked over the money to Veronica upon learning of his dad's own history of recreational usage. The elder Douglas was revealed to be both an Eagles fan from back in the day, as well as a not-so-savvy businessman, as he'd been caught making a deal with an undercover officer at a concert. Jackson had been thrilled with his own business dealings with Veronica and had promised to give her some positive PR. Mac was pretty sure her friend was already mentally spending the cold hard cash that was sure to trickle in.

"Thanks Lucille," Mac said. She reminded her sister it was almost bedtime, and then got up to follow the maid out to the foyer. She hadn't even heard the doorbell ring, though that wasn't shocking, noise didn't transmit as well in the Sinclair house as it did in Casa de Mackenzie. Of course, having an extra 8,500 square feet to work with did affect the acoustics.

Veronica was standing by the door, looking slightly uncomfortable, but her eyes were tracking every square foot of the vast space, not missing a thing.

"Welcome to my home, be it ever so humble," Mac deadpanned, walking into the room.

Veronica looked up startled for a second, and then she shook it off. "Hi, Madison."

"You seem surprised to see me here."

"No, that's not it," Veronica opened her mouth to explain. "I mean, I knew your '09'er status, obviously, but, um, you know I don't know what I was going to say." She seemed a little evasive to Mac.

"I just don't have that shiny '09'er sheen," Mac supplied. "Right?"

Veronica smiled, "something like that. I'm not sure I'd have said it like that, but okay, that works."

"I believe you have some intel for me? Let's go up to my room," Mac said.

"That's correct, I did find out a few things that you may be interested in. Lead the way," Veronica invited. "I'm not sure I can find my way around your casa, otherwise. I left my GPS unit at home."

They went upstairs, and then wound their way around the long hallway to Mac's room. She watched Veronica study this environment, too. She walked around the bedroom, pausing in her tour every so often to pick up a knick-knack, or a book, or to study something closer.

Mac sat down on the bed, and hoped Veronica would take the hint too. She was getting dizzy watching Veronica move so much in such a short time and geographic space.

"It must be something big for you to come by in person," Mac said. She bit the bottom of her lip and tried not to go back mentally in time to the first time her bestie had worked a case for her. Though the what of that case had blindsided her, she'd always had known deep down she didn't fit in with the Mackenzies. Whatever the result of this PI dig ended up being, she had two certainties, one, it wouldn't be as big as a baby switch, and two, it didn't involve the Mackenzies.

By the time Veronica finished outlining what she had learned, Mac discovered only one of her certainties was correct.

"Insurance payout?" Mac clarified.

"Yes, Neptune Insurance LLC awarded your dad, Robert Allan Sinclair, a half-million dollars for a car accident that took place June 6th, 1991. You were badly injured, too. The policy holders are listed as Sam and Natalie Mackenzie." Veronica paused for a second. "Mackenzie. Don't they have a daughter in our grade, Sandy or something?"

"Cindy," Mac corrected, robotically. She was in utter shock. Was there one universe, dimension, or reality— whatever the frak the proper nomenclature was— where the Mackenzies and the Sinclairs were not intertwined?! Was there any existence where the Mackenzies weren't on the bottom layer of Fate's epic shit storm? Every plane seemed to lead to the Sinclairs prospering and the Mackenzies floundering.

It wasn't fucking fair.

In the back of her muddied mind, Veronica's mention of her own injuries from the accident registered. "What happened to me?" Mac asked softly, putting a slight emphasis on "me."

"You were in a coma for a week, I think. There were two suits that came of your accident, a civil one lodged against the driver, Sam, that was ultimately settled and another civil one against SafeKidz car seat manufacture, this one for one million dollars."

She'd never heard of the SafeKidz brand before, they probably shut down after losing a big judgment. Well, it was starting to be clear where the Sinclairs got the seed money for Sinclair Enterprises, and probably the desire to go into the healing arts, as well, or benefit financially from it, at the very least.

"I don't get it," Mac said thoughtfully, "Sam built all the shelves in this room, and my new computer desk, as well." She gestured to her right where her high tech assemblage of computers was housed. "Why destroy the man's life, and then hire him as a laborer? Why blame him, punish him and then later bring him into your house to do your bidding? Did they decide to make him staff; is he working off karma or something?" Mac knew she was fired up, and it seemed displaced, but she couldn't help it. She was incensed about the whole situation.

She didn't get the rules in this strange dimension that she'd landed in. Of course, who the hell was she kidding? She didn't get the rules of her—so called—real life, either.

"Destroy his life? Sam was the one driving the car that almost killed you and your dad. The judgment and the cases sound legit to me, Madison. I mean, this is a litigious world we live in, lots of stupid cases, like criminals who break into someone's house and break their leg in the line of duty then sue the homeowner, dumbass shit like that. It makes me glad I'm not a lawyer. This lawsuit, however, there was some logic behind it."

"Logic?"

"Yes, logic," Veronica confirmed. "I'm sure your parents wanted to prevent a faulty car seat from hurting anyone else's child."

"Okay, the corporation with deep pockets, yeah, I can kind of buy that," Mac admitted, lightly emphasizing the kind of. "Why destroy a man with a family who made one small mistake."

"Madison," Veronica sounded a little indignant, as evidenced by her shriek. "He fell asleep at the wheel, in the middle of the day. You were in a coma, your dad, well, I couldn't get much info from his medical records, but he was banged up pretty badly, too." She stopped her pacing, and headed back towards the bed where Mac was still sitting, her legs crossed.

Veronica paused in front of her friend. "Why does it seem like your allegiance isn't with your family?" Her head was tilted, that patented Veronica-look that was present in every dimension.

I have 100% allegiance to my family—my real "fake" family, at least. Mac couldn't, or wouldn't, voice those thoughts though. She wanted to, the urge to confess pressed down on her, squeezing itself into every corner of her soul. "I just see all sides of the equation, that's all," she said, instead. "What about Madison? Was she with her dad? Did she get hurt, too?"

Mac didn't even realize her slip, at first, until she saw the slight look of confusion on Veronica's face get deeper.

"Yes, you were in a coma, remember?" She said at last, as a reminder, though a slight rebuke stained her words.

"No, I was three," Mac said, though she knew that wasn't what Veronica was really saying.

"I meant that I already told you about your injuries."

"I remember. Sorry, slip of the tongue. I meant, was Cindy injured, too?" Mac sat on her hands to avoid the urge to make air quotes.

"I don't think she was even in the car. Sam was heading home from working a double shift at the chicken processing factory outside of town."

"Chicken factory?" Mac couldn't keep her disgust under wraps.

"Chicken," Veronica affirmed. "Everything tastes like chicken, except, you know, when it tastes like bacon."

"Shut up, you're not helping." Mac felt like she was starting to go a little green.

"You vegans," Veronica started to say.

Right on cue, there was a knock on the door. At Mac's "come in" command, the door opened and Lucille walked in laden with a tray of snacks, despite the late hour. Mac was happy to see they were all of the veggie persuasion; the smell of meat was one thing she didn't think she could handle at that point.

After briefly greeting the girls, Lucille set the tray down on top of one of the twin, custom-built bookcases flanking the computer station on the west wall. She said her good-byes and left the room.

Veronica happily took three vegetable spring rolls and a couple mushroom caps.

Mac smirked, something's never changed.

"What? I'm a growing girl." Veronica said, raising an eyebrow, as though daring her friend to say anything. She took a healthy bite of one of the spring rolls and shut her eyes briefly, and smiled, evidently Lucille's cooking skills met with her approval.

Mac took her friend's lead and grabbed another roll off the platter.

Veronica stayed another twenty minutes, long enough to work through the snacks.

Once the case particulars were out of the way, Neptune High gossip prevailed. Boy talk was inevitable. Despite the fact both girls loathed the girly label, the desire to hash and rehash the male of the species was still a rider on the second X chromosome.

Mac let her inevitable smirk make an appearance the fourth time, in three minutes, that Veronica worked Logan into their girl chat. That was another thing that was consistent with her friend in every universe and alternate wrinkle of time—that invisible tether that linked those two star-crossed kids together. Truthfully, deep down, she'd never really embraced the idea of soul-mates until she'd become friends with Vee, then having a first row seat to the Logan/Veronica dynamic, she reluctantly, but resolutely, switched teams, admitting there might be something to that over-romanticized notion after all.

After wrapping up their visit, Mac walked Veronica out.

"You really need to think about having signs with arrows installed in the hallway," Veronica teased as they were going down the stairs.

"We're having them polished, the diamond crusting was lacking proper luster, they should be back on the walls by next week," Mac volleyed back. "I know you've been in grander houses than mine. The Kane mansion makes this one look like a shack."

"Ah, yes, the Kane palace," Veronica said. "I wondered when you'd bring them up. I always had escorts to and from the inner sanctum, that way, after I left, Mrs. Reigning Ice Queen herself could make sure all sterling silver could be accounted for." The tone was snarky; however, Mac thought there was a bottom layer of sadness and wistfulness lurking beneath. The loss of Lily was even fresher in this lifetime.

They said their good-byes and made plans to meet up for lunch at the usual time and place the next day. Mac firmly shut and locked the door before going back to the family room.

Lauren was in the exact same spot she'd been when Veronica had arrived an hour before. The only thing different was the episode of Scooby Doo playing.

"What did I miss?" Mac asked flopping down beside her sister on the couch. She put her legs on the table in front of her, crossing them at the ankles. From the way Lauren traced that movement, and then looked back into her face with a big grin, Mac could tell it was another furniture no-no. That knowledge changed nothing.

"The Scooby gang have discovered that Fred's dad was not who he always thought he was."

Mac knew that episode well, it was one she'd not shockingly found the most relatable to her own reality. She didn't share that factoid though. "Oh yeah, I remember that one. It's a good episode. I think it's a certain person's bedtime now, though."

"Good night, sis. Sleep tight. Do you want me to tuck you in?" Lauren quipped.

Mac grinned. "Nice try, kiddo, I was talking about the only member of the under 12 set in this room."

They joked around a little more, then at the next commercial Lauren stopped the episode, kissed Mac goodnight and went upstairs without argument. It was in sharp contrast to the obligatory bedtime-battles she always endured when she drew the short-straw and had to watch Ryan for a few hours. It was the short straw, indeed.

Having already completed her homework before her evening teaching gig, Mac picked up the Sudoku book still on the coffee table, and was in the middle of a particularly challenging puzzle when Ellen arrived home.

"Lauren in bed already, sweetie?"

Mac looked up, startled. "Oh mom, I didn't hear you come in."

"Sorry I scared you, Madi." She was framed in the doorway.

"That's okay, I was just thinking. Or trying not to, I guess. Yes, Lauren went to bed about an hour ago."

"On her own volition?" Ellen didn't hide her shock. She came around the couch and sat down next to Mac.

"I wouldn't go that far, but there was surprisingly little bloodshed involved."

"Well, a little bloodshed is okay, as long as it comes out of the couch upholstery," Ellen said, her inflection making it clear she was joking. There was a self-effacing expression on her bio-mom's face that made it clear she knew her own strict furniture etiquette tendencies. Admitting was the first step, as they said, but Mac suspected changing that policy wasn't on Ellen's agenda.

"So, how was your meeting, or golf game, knitting circle?"

"Knitting circle, huh? I had to give up my knitting club actually. Couldn't handle that amount of excitement in my life. It was a committee meeting for Caring Hearts, the volunteer organization that works at Neptune Memorial," Ellen explained. "It was frustrating, I felt like I was just talking in circles. Hopefully your evening was more productive than mine."

"It was interesting. Veronica came by today."

"Veronica?"

"Veronica Mars, her dad owns Mars Investigations. She and I are friends now. Anyway, we were considering going into business together, a service-oriented organization to explore the hidden lives of caretakers and guardians. I was beta testing software for her, and to put the site to its paces she entered some of my data." Mac paused for a second. It was more of an embellishment rather than a lie, she justified to herself. She kept her eye line focused at a point just over Ellen's head; it only looked like she was making eye contact.

She expected a look of skepticism like her mom always gave her whenever she mentioned doing a 'project' for Veronica. Natalie liked her friend, but she always seemed to think there had to be more to the story, which was usually the case. Ellen seemed to take that tale at face value though. Maybe she hadn't learned all her daughter's tells yet or she was better at subterfuge in this life, or had been caught in fewer embellishments.

"Oh?" Ellen said. She raised her eyebrow, but didn't seem to be bracing for bad news. She obviously wasn't afraid of anything Mac could have dug up.

"What happened on June 6, 1991?"

"I almost lost you," the words sounded simple, the tone did not. The 'you' ended in a wail of anguish, of a mother's remembered pain, the kind that lingered on indefinitely, a frozen moment. Ellen didn't cry.

"How?"

"You and your friend didn't find out the particulars?"

"I guess I want to hear it from you."

"You've heard it before."

"The Cliff Notes edited and sanitized version, sure, but what about that hardworking guy who built my shelves before Thanksgiving? Is he our indentured serf?" At least she assumed she'd been served a spit-shined catalog of events through the years.

"Sam Mackenzie is the guy who almost took you away from me. He was driving home from work. It was just lightly raining," Ellen closed her eyes, no doubt picturing the scene again. "I wasn't with you and your dad, I was taking a nap. You'd not been feeling good, so I was up with you several times the night before. You guys were just running a couple of errands."

Then, taking a deep shuddering breath, she continued, speaking quietly. "So many things combined that day to go terribly wrong. For years, I was convinced it wouldn't have happened if I had been with you two, that I alone could have saved you." She crossed one knee over the other, then took a perfectly manicured hand and dug her nails into her leg, as though she could anchor herself into the here and now instead of the hell of that long ago day. "I had a vicious case of mommy-guilt, it was almost terminal. The driver of the other car, and the manufacturer of the car seat that almost killed you, became an easy way out of the guilt that wrapped itself around me until I choked." She bit back a sob. "You were in a coma for a week, so still and quiet."

That was a hard concept for Mac to comprehend—a coma, even if it happened years ago, before she was trapped in this life.

"I'm still trying to understand why the guy you blamed for the accident now does carpentry work for us. Restitution?"

"No, dear, nothing like that. As time went on and you were fully recovered, it became easier to see that it was just a tragic accident and Sam was just a family man overextending himself, trying to provide for his wife and child. The settlement we received from his insurance took a toll on his finances, and, well, offering him jobs around here have been a win-win for us all. He's done great work for us through the years."

"You destroy a guy's life, and then build it up again?" Mac asked. She could tell it pissed 'Mom2' off, but she didn't care. It was a little like playing God to her way of thinking.

"Our family was destroyed for awhile, too, Madi. Having a grievously injured child is stressful, and expensive. The lawsuits—both of them—weren't greed, dear, but necessity. Your father was working long hours at a dead-end job. He had blueprints for a prototype medical device, our MRI flagship product, in fact." Ellen said, proudly. "Your father's company has saved countless lives, a lot of good has come from the monies we were awarded." She paused again. "You have to know if I could go back in time and make it so the accident never happened in the first place…" she waited another beat, "I would."

They wrapped up the conversation quickly, Mac suddenly eager to be alone to process things.

It was a lot to take in. The thought that there was some invisible link that intertwined both families together circled Mac's brain yet again, it had to be some type of Gossamer thread. 'Cindy's' reaction to things at the accident scene the night before Thanksgiving made more sense to her now. Mac could definitely see that, from Madison's-er 'Cindy's'-point-of-view, it would appear that the Sinclairs mess everything up. She wasn't suddenly developing sympathy for her nemesis (shudder!) but it give her another perspective.

As the week progressed, and began it's descent towards the weekend, homework proved to be a good distraction for Mac.

She'd never admit it to anyone, herself especially, but she was enjoying Dick's daily 'reminders' about their plans for the weekend, though she still maintained it was not a fair fight. However, in his book a win was still a win, false-pretenses or not, their plans were very much on.

*********Sinclair house; Mac's room Friday night************

Mac slipped on a purple satin blouse and paired it with a black knee-length skirt. The purple highlights were back in her hair, and the shirt and hair color matched perfectly. Behind her was a small hill of discarded clothing including an obligatory black dress, a red pleather mini and a flowing purple sundress, which wasn't really weather appropriate anyway. She wanted to look good but in a way that didn't look like she was putting too much effort into things either.

A glance at the bedside clock told her she was running out of prep time.

She detoured into her adjoining bathroom and grabbed the makeup case from the basket on her counter. She set to work applying a light layer of eye shadow and brushing on a coat of mascara, lastly she put on a little lip gloss. She mentally chastised herself for puckering her lips in the mirror, as though she were mentally anticipating kissing Dick. She was, naturally, planning for that likely contingency. She'd kissed him before and hell, it was an addicting thing, but still, that was all physical, mentally she felt getting attached to anyone in this, hopefully short-term, realm was not a good idea.

However, this dimensional Dick was softer, he still had a healthy stockpile of jackassery of course, but there were more gentle undertones to him, as well. A gentler high school Dick, back in the original 2004, Mac would have said no such animal existed. In this sphere, though, she was dating the elder Casablancas brother, not the tagalong Beaver, and he seemed capable of 'fifteen minutes' of humanity during their one on one time, at least.

Her reverie, and new favorite game of old vs new life, was interrupted by a quick knock at the door. The knockee didn't wait for an invite though, they just walked in.

"Madi, your date is here," Lauren called from the bed, where she'd flopped down. She once again made kissing noises.

"Thanks," Mac replied, walking back out to the bedroom. She took a deep breath, and then looked around one last time to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything. She grabbed her clutch purse from her backpack, and then ushered Lauren out, shutting the door behind.

As they went downstairs together, Lauren started loudly singing the playground song Madi and Dick sittin' in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G, Mac was just pleased to hear that in this version it was Dick in the baby carriage, and not her. Lauren wasn't a good singer, either. Mac tried to scold her sister but was laughing too hard to be very convincing.

She located Dick in the living room, with 'Mom2' keeping him company, and by keeping company it was actually closer in relation to an interrogation about the when and where of their evening plans. Mac put the kibosh on the line of questioning before he was asked to produce proof of insurance. The piece of family history she'd learned earlier in the week was probably at least partially responsible for the overprotective vibe her mom was giving off.

"Madison, you look beautiful, sweetheart," Ellen said rising off the couch.

"Thanks mom," Mac said as her eyes focused on Dick. He had also stood up upon her grand entrance. It was obvious by his expression that he thought she cleaned up quite nicely, too.

"What she said," Dick echoed.

"I was hoping for something more original," Mac teased. She was fairly certain this was the first, and only time, he uttered that phrase without making a sexual innuendo.

"Hubba hubba?"

"I like the sentiment, but again, something more original."

"And this is my cue. I'll leave you two crazy kids to start your date. Have fun, be safe. Dick, have her home at a decent hour, please. I love you, Madison," Ellen said, giving Dick a brief hug, and then kissing her daughter as she left the room.

They mumbled their good-byes.

Mac noticed the quick now you see it, now you don't, wistful look flit across his face as 'Mom2' hugged him. She averted her eyes.

"So, where are we going?"

"I drive, you go with the flow. I own that hot ass for the night, remember? If I recall correctly this little wager was your idea," Dick said, his default snarky tone peaking through once again.

He crossed over to the doorway where she was still hovering, and gave her a quick kiss on her cheek.

Squashing down her disappointment at the peck, Mac reminded him that he only won because he cheated.

"So, we're going to rehash this tired debate, huh?"

"It would only be tired if it wasn't factual," Mac returned.

Keeping his hand on the small of her back, they walked out her front door to the driveway. Dick helped her climb up and into his yellow jeep.

As she got settled, Mac appraised Dick's ensemble. He saw her lingering glance and smirked.

"I know, the kid looks good, right? I have a bod like Marky-Mark and the entire Funky Bunch."

"Did you see my eye roll?" Mac asked, making a point of backing up the question with a visual aid. He was wearing a green tee shirt under a black suit jacket and a pair of khakis. Mac could tell it was one of his signature innuendo tees, but she could only make out elan neco. "What shirt are you wearing?"

"It's one of those hobby tee-shirts. I enjoy giving exams in my free time," Dick joked, as he started the car, but before putting it into reverse, he shifted in his seat and pulled back on both sides of his sport coat to reveal Freelance Gynecologist. "I can work you in for one after dinner, but before phase two."

"We must not be going anywhere fancy then," Mac surmised.

"Hey, I have a jacket on, a formal one at that," he justified as he turned around to make sure the path was clear before putting the car in reverse and gunning it down the steep drive. "You really do look hot, though, Mad. You'll be the best looking babe at the Landlubber Grille." He chanced a brief look at her and grinned.

Mac tried to cover her disappointment; she really wasn't in the mood for a meal on Neptune's own replica pirate ship dining experience. It was the setting for too many Mackenzie family birthday celebrations and of course her pre-Alterna Prom dinner with Butters. "Oh. Land ahoy, Matey."

"Is it National Talk Like A Pirate day?" Dick inquired. "That would be appropriate."

"No, we missed that by a couple of months. It's September 19th, I believe." Mac corrected.

"You would know that," he said, but there was an undercurrent of what Mac suspected might be classed as reverence. It definitely wasn't mocking; like it probably would've been had anyone else said it.

"Let's not forget about your contribution, too. Not everyone knows that's actually a real thing to begin with."

"Hey, I'm all for anything that encourages you to wear an eye patch and put a giant bird on your shoulder."

"Sure, it's all fun and games until the bird poops all over you," Mac reminded him.

"True, that could put a damper on things; maybe they need to invent some kind of shit shield, a shoulder protector of some sort," Dick suggested.

"You're quite the entrepreneur-in-training."

"Gotta have a back-up plan if my plans to surf the world don't work out," he said.

"A lofty ambition," Mac snarked. She looked out the window, it had admittedly been a long time since she'd eaten on the pirate ship restaurant, but she was fairly certain they weren't going the right direction.

A few minutes later, her theorem was proven correct. Dick pulled his jeep into the parking lot of the Neptune Grand.

"Did you get lost?"

"Change of plans. You're too dressed up for a pirate ship there, Me Hartey."

"Well, you certainly know this place well," Mac acquiesced as Dick opened her door and helped her down. Of course she was referring to the fact that, in her old Mac-life, he was currently living there, but to her the Grand and Dick were linked together.

"Not really. They don't rent by the hour," he leered.

"You would know," Mac retorted. Dick, in any dimension, would be purveyor of that knowledge.

Poseidon's Bistro was located off the opulent marble and crystal lobby of the first-class hotel. Dick gave his name to the flirty hostess and they were promptly taken to a table tucked away in the back.

Mac perused the menu. In this world she was probably a regular, but in reality this was her first time setting foot in the four-star rated restaurant. She noted that there were several vegan dishes to choose from. Normally, she was lucky to have two options, which of course made the decision making process quick, but it was an isolating feeling deep down.

"This is nice, but seriously Dick, you know I'd be fine with that Pirate place."

"You? Ms. High maintenance? I gotta roll out that red carpet." Dick scoffed, and then grinned. "I know, babe, but those pirates aren't good with the green stuff. I guess you could have nibbled on a lettuce leaf and a couple stalks of celery."

"Yummy. Well, at least I'd be keeping my girlish figure," Mac said with a smirk.

Instead of replying, he just lowered his gaze so it tracked and traced her plunging neckline. She waved her hand in front of his face, and he looked back up and into her other eyes, as he gave her thumbs up.

"My bod has your vote of approval, my life is complete," Mac deadpanned.

Just then the waiter came by to take their order, clearing his throat and trying to hide his smile, which only succeeded in giving tell to the fact that he'd overhead the last bit of their conversation. She felt the flush overtake her face, and Dick's grin grew bigger—it was an intimate, in-joke expression.

Dick ordered the sea bass with Meyer lemon butter and Mac finally decided on roasted acorn squash stuffed with a wild rice and mushroom pilaf. After complimenting their choices, the waiter ambled away to put it into the system.

"You can cross it off your wish list," Dick said a couple minutes later, seemingly out of nowhere.

Confused, Mac cocked her head, in Vee's patented fashion.

"My approval," he reminded her. "One of your life's greatest desires, remember?"

"Nope, I don't remember that being on my bucket list at all."

"Bucket list?" Dick asked, as though he'd never heard the term before.

"A bucket list is basically a list of things you want to do before you die. Honestly, though, I don't like the concept of squeezing so much life in the limited space of time before you die. Know what I mean?"

"Not really," he admitted.

"I want to think of life as this big, empty canvas that stretches out, you don't honestly know when your time is up, or almost up, so you should fill the space up with things that make you smile. " Mac clarified. "Everyone should have a continuous storehouse of things they want to accomplish throughout their life, something to make their life fuller-a100 things to do type of list."

"You are so weird," Dick started. She could feel the corners of her mouth drooping. She put a hand over her stomach. People were always telling her some iteration of that, and yet she still wasn't used to the sharp prick of pain it caused.

"I mean you don't think the way other chicks do, it's not a bad thing, and actually it's a good thing really. I mean we're both loaded, there's that, but I like that you're not one of those snobby, stuck up bitches that seemed to have been hatched from Betina." Dick backpedaled; he seemed to know he'd inadvertently hurt her feelings.

"Oh," she said quietly, still not totally mollified, but the sting was duller now.

"What's on your bucket list, or 100 things to do, what-the-fuck-ever you call it, list?" He asked, changing the subject.

"Number 37 is to yell 'I'm the Queen of the World,' from the top of the Eiffel Tower, safely behind the protective mesh, though," she explained. "Number 19 is to go to the Four Corners and do a yoga-crab walk like contortion so I'm physically in four places, or states really, in one moment of time."

"You've never crossed off 37? You were just in Paris six months ago," he reminded her.

"Um, yes, but we didn't go to the top of the tower, too Gauche" She covered quickly.

"So, for that other item on your list, what are the four states?" Dick asked.

"Colorado, Utah, Arizona and New Mexico," she rattled off immediately. "Didn't you pay attention in Geography?"

"Hell no," Dick said, answering her question. He was quiet for a few seconds, a faraway look in his eyes, at last he announced "That would be an awesome place to play Twister, preferably naked Twister. I bet it's never been done in four places at one time. Okay, that's number three on my list."

"Three? What happened to numbers one and two? Plus, you can't steal my ideas; make up your own list."

"Starting with number one is so gauche," he teased. "May I remind you that you don't own this list; where's your trademark or patents? Don't have good ideas, and I won't steal them," he punctuated that remark with a smirk.

"I can't help it that I have a brilliant mind," Mac quipped with a smirk of her own, using air quotes. "Good ideas are the only kind of ideas I'm capable of."

Dick opened his mouth for some kind of retort, no doubt of the sarcastic persuasion, when he was interrupted by the arrival of their meals.

Mac marveled at how fast time went when they were together. They were into their second hour, and yet it seemed like he'd just picked her up minutes ago. They were past the awkward, early stages of a relationship in this realm, yet other than a 'pseudo' friendship in her real life, she didn't have any type of relationship with Dick, but that was not how it felt to her in that moment of time.

Shaking off that line of thinking, Mac eagerly took a bite of her stuffed squash. She let out a moan as the tang of the squash, earthiness of the mushroom and the sweet-tartness of the dried cherry married together in her mouth.

"Hold that thought for later," Dick said with a wink, before tucking into his own meal.

They happily attended to the serious business of eating, letting the conversation drift along in fits and starts between bites. Mac didn't think she was imagining the way Dick was tracking her movements with his eyes though, like she was a code he couldn't stop attempting to crack.

Over dessert, Dick finally shared with her phase two of the evening's plans. She was happy to see the vegan offerings extended into the dessert category, too.

"The SpongeBob movie!? Are we in the third grade?" Mac was surprised that she didn't choke on the big bite of vegan coconut spice cake she'd just bit into.

"What? He's hilarious." Dick took a sip of his black coffee, which was playing the role of his dessert.

"He's a talking sponge that lives in a pineapple under the ocean," she argued. "There's nothing funny or redeeming about that premise."

"Okay, what's your grand suggestion then?" Dick asked, following the question up by sticking his tongue out at Mac. He took another drink of his coffee.

"Well, I have to admit SpongeBob is at your maturity level," Mac rejoined, returning the gesture as well. "So I can see how it might appeal to you. As for my more adult suggestion, though, how about Aeon Flux?"

"Aeon Flux?" Dick repeated as though he'd never heard of the movie before. His next comment proved that theory right. "Is that some piece of shit Italian art film?"

"An art film?" Mac fought the urge to clear the wax out of her ears, who the hell thought Aeon Flux was one of those Independent films. Well, apparently Dick!

She took another big bite of her cake and thought back to when she saw Aeon Flux in the theaters. Maybe it hadn't been in 2004 after all. She went with her dad, she remembered that. Veronica was busy that particular evening, maybe she'd had plans with Logan. Well, that wouldn't help much with building a timeline, they had the on again/off again thing down to an art form. If it was 2005 or 2006 then she'd have to excuse Dick for not being familiar with the movie, but she still wasn't sure if she could extend the olive branch for calling it an art film, and that went double for labeling art films as 'pieces of shit.'

In her ruminations she'd missed some of the other suggestions Dick had proposed.

"Wait, go back. What was the last one you mentioned?"

"National Treasure," Dick repeated.

She caught herself before she said that she loved that movie, instead she said "oh that one sounded good. Let's see it."

After Dick paid for their meal, they headed, in his Jeep, towards the mall. The Neptune Fifteen Theater was in an outlying building on the mall proper.

Originally Dick had mentioned doing a Halo rematch at his house, but Mac had found an earlier showing of the movie so they decided to shelf the game rematch for the following week. She knew she had to start interacting with Cass more if she had any hope of befriending him in this dimension. She was grateful for one more reprieve though.

They chose seats in the back row, middle. Mac watched the seats filling up quickly. There was a parade of familiar looking classmates, no one she was close to though. Evidently going to the movies was a popular pastime for teenagers even in alternate dimensions, as well.

They were both still so full from dinner, neither of them even wanted to think about a trip to the concession stand.

At last, the lights dimmed and the parade of previews began. She felt a sweaty hand grabbing hers.

"What, no fake yawn turn hug maneuver?" Mac snarked.

"Patience, Grasshopper, you're not quite ready for my A material," Dick whispered back.

"If that's your A material, that doesn't bode well for the rest of your material," she retorted.

An older lady with curly gray hair turned around. With the din of the theater, Mac could barely make out the scowl on her face, but it was enough of a context clue for her to get the message. Dick scowled back, and there was a soft "humph" sound as the lady swiveled back towards the front.

Once the movie started, however, Dick did put his arm around her shoulders, he did skip the fake yawn routine.

Random lines and bits of dialogue, various plot points, and even jokes started coming back to Mac. She'd forgotten how much she liked the actor who played Ian Howe, the big bad. He was ruggedly handsome, and she liked all his roles from bloody rulers of fantasy lands, to greedy treasure hunters. She thought he'd probably be a good spy character, too.

"Delicious jams and jellies?" Mac muttered, along to the movie screen. She also really liked Ben's partner, Riley, she was a big fan of sidekick characters, too. His comeback to Ben's line about the preservation room had always amused her.

"How the hell did you know that line?" Dick asked.

She hadn't thought he'd heard her muttering along with the characters.

"Lucky guess, or maybe I saw it in the previews."

After that little slip though, Mac tried to be more careful with her insider knowledge of the movie that was supposed to have just hit the theaters earlier that day. There just wasn't a rational explanation; even Dick would be suspicious of a sudden 'psychic gift.'

Once the movie was over, they made their way back to the jeep. Dick helped Mac get in and get settled, ignoring her litany of complaints.

On the way back to the Sinclair house, they rehashed the movie. Dick did squeeze in a tiny dig about her "lucky guess" on some of the lines. Maybe she was wrong in thinking anything would make him suspicious! Besides, trying to sell newfound psychic traits would seem more plausible than her current reality.

They pulled into the steep driveway of the Sinclair house, and Dick put it in park before killing the motor.

Talk started out on innocuous topics, but then meandered to school and mutual friends. He was so easy to talk to on those one-on-one occasions. She had no idea how long the conversation would have continued if the front porch lights hadn't have gone on. It was definitely a sign, though more subtle than Sam would have been capable of. He wasn't nearly the gun enthusiast, however, that he acted like he was around her 'gentleman callers.'

Even though there wasn't any gun toting parental types nearby, Mac still knew it was time to say good-bye. She was about to do just that when his lips fell on top of hers. Only it wasn't a jarring fall, but a soft, gentle descent. She opened her mouth to let his probing tongue in. They leaned towards each other, Mac wasn't aware of the console pressing into her breast, not when Dick was busy stroking the other one. She arched into his hand, a moan rumbling through, from the back of throat. He tasted faintly of the mint he'd eaten after dinner.

Finally, she pulled away, reluctantly, realizing she'd reached the now or never part. The attraction they felt for each other—despite all her attempts to rationalize it away—was too real, and omnipresent, and leaving now was her only option before things progressed and she discovered whether or not 'dad2' was a gun fan.

Mac thanked him, and then slowly got out of the Jeep. He waved and then pulled out of the driveway with a flourish. She watched him go south on Shady Spring Court until the taillights disappeared. There was no denying—to herself, at least—that she was attracted to him.

Maybe this could be her litmus test, if they could make it work here; maybe it would work out in her real life, too. She didn't know where that thought came from, but it felt right in a way few things had been feeling lately.

She walked into the house closing the door behind her. She'd survived her first date with Dick-in any dimension.

TBC…

A/N: There really is a 'National Talk like a Pirate Day', (in the US) and it really is on September 19th! Arghhh! Fun fact of the day...

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