A/N: Here ya go, another update. It took a little longer than planned, I think the next few chapters will have a tendency to do that, and in the interest of full-disclosure I'm going to do Nanowrimo next month, I HOPE by month's end (um next weekend) to have a couple chapters of this story ready to post in Nov. so it'll be like I never left. :) I chickened out last year, but I'm not going to allow myself a pass this year. Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows & favorites this story continues to get. I LOVE reading your reviews, so I really hope you keep 'em coming, keep me motivated...Thank you so much to cainc3, my wonderful, ever patient beta with the bestest ideas! Enjoy!

Obligatory Disclaimer-Nope, I don't own a thing, but I love to play in the VM 'verse! Thanks Rob Thomas & gang...

Chapter 15—Tigers on a Gold Leash

****December 11, 2004***

Stardate 58411.2

Mac woke up with a big lump sitting on top of her feet. She lifted her head just enough to take a small peek at the source of the added weight. Fritz, the family cat, was snoozing, using her as his pillow. He was making a soft snuffling sound, not quite a snore, but he was deep in REM sleep. She wondered what images were floating through his mind; she suspected tuna, cat treats and his favorite fishing pole toy were heavy contenders.

She shifted slightly, not much, but it was enough to wake the cat, who lifted his head so he could flash her a dirty look, or as dirty of a look as a cat was capable of.

"Sorry Fritzy," Mac cooed. "I guess I don't make a very good pillow. Well, looks like we're both awake now." A peek at the clock beside her bed said it was a little after 10. The blackout blinds in her room did a great job of keeping errant rays of sunlight from infiltrating the darkness.

Between the firm mattress, soft cotton sheets and the dark room, she certainly slept better and deeper in this dimension.

She sat up and stretched.

Fritz hadn't tried to lie back down yet, he was observing her. It felt as though he were trying to file this memory away for permanent storage.

"So, I had another date with Dick last night," Mac began as she started gently stroking Fritz's head. She heard the low rumble of purring. "Dick, as in Dick Casablancas, of all people in the world I could be dating. This, however, is where the story gets a little weird. You ready to hear something no one else knows?"

He stilled for a minute, it got silent as though he pressed pause on his purring mechanism, and then he let out a mew in reply.

"I'll take that as a yes," Mac continued, smiling softly at him. "I mean it, this is a secret. I come from the future." She deepened her voice as she made that confession, speaking as though she were doing Voice Over work for a movie. Even without that bit of flare, however, the words sounded strange being spoken out loud. "2009, to be specific, I am not really a Sinclair in that dimension, yet, somehow that is exactly what I am, a Sinclair, by blood."

The purring started back up again—a show of solidarity perhaps.

"I was born a Sinclair in my "other" life, yet raised Mackenzie. That should be a plot for a badly scripted TV movie, but it's also my life. The funny thing is when you consider I've been caught up in a time warp and living a new life in another dimension, well, the baby switch gothic secret seems almost normal, in comparison. Oh, and now I'm confessing the secrets of my birth to a cat."

Fritz let out another Meow.

"Okay, okay," Mac laughed. "You're a very good listener, even if you are a cat." He sat up then, still facing her, and put a paw on her arm.

"Or maybe you're a good listener because you are a cat. Oh well, either way you seem to be enjoying my story. Do you want me to continue?" The cat in question started purring again. "Well, who am I to argue. It's like life granted me a do-over, except maybe this is more like a re-do."

It felt nice to verbally unburden herself—out loud—and of course, she'd made the safe choice. Her audience was non-judgmental; there was no underlying threat of straightjackets and tranquilizers. Dick played a more starring role in her retelling than she'd suspected he had in her regular Mac life.

As nice as it was to share those secrets that had been pressing on her with Fritzy she did long for a person she could talk to, as well. Veronica was her sounding board in real life, but they were just building connections in this dimension. Again, she had that overriding fear of being presented with an insane asylum get-away if the story fell into the wrong hands. She fancied herself pretty accepting in general, but she knew had it not been happening directly to her she'd not have believed in cosmic worm holes and alternate universes either.

Enjoying this kind of thing on TV or in movies didn't mean it was something fun to experience in reality. Though there were aspects she had to admit were interesting there was a lot about her regular life she missed, even if she had more economic opportunities now.

Evidently, the Sinclairs had some kind of law about spending Winter break stateside, 'Mom2' had been excitedly planning a trip to some tropical-paradise, rich person island, they were supposed to leave a couple days before Christmas. She wasn't sure if it was the same Richie rich place Dick had to been over Thanksgiving or not, the name of the place kept going in one ear and out the other. She supposed, much like the Mackenzie biannual rites of torture—AKA camping—she never really knew where they were going until they got to their final destination. She was willing to bet though that traveling Mackenzie-style and traveling Sinclair-style were two very different beasts entirely.

Fritz let out a big yawn, then got up and stretched before jumping off her bed and squeezing out of the small opening of her door into the hallway.

"I guess our chat is over," Mac grumbled out loud to the retreating cat.

At that point, she got out of bed, too, and got dressed before going downstairs and starting the day.

She was quickly recruited to run errands with 'Dad2' and Lauren.

It was mid-afternoon before she finally had a little time to relax. However, she hadn't been home very long before the ping of an incoming text came through, interrupting the John Hughes movie binge she'd been enjoying with her sister.

The subject of The Breakfast Club had come up in conversation as their dad dragged them from one end of Neptune to the other, and she'd discovered Lauren had never really seen the movie in its entirety. It was a travesty to her way of thinking, so she was in the process of rectifying that when Dick interrupted.

Mac stretched forward and picked up her phone from its perching place on the coffee table. It was her Pavlov-ian response in every dimension—every ring or ping her cell emitted had to be responded to, or she'd get twitchy.

Dick: I'm bored.

Biting back a laugh, she typed a reply:

Madison: So? How is that my problem?

Dick: You're my woman...my problems ARE your problems.

Madison: *Eye roll (since you can't see me rolling my eyes)
She really was being honest, that truly was her reaction to his text.

Dick: Hey now, I'd be rushing to your aid if roles were reversed…

Madison: I do NOT even want to know what "helpful" suggestions you'd come up with.

Dick: They involve a lot more showing, than telling…First, you take vegan whipped cream

Madison: I'm blocking the rest of your text, Lauren is on the couch beside me.

Dick: Once again, I'm seriously misunderstood; I was talking about making soy ice cream sundaes, topped with vegan whipping cream! Get your mind outta the bedroom Sinclair! What time will you be over?

Madison: Be over?

Dick: I'm bored; you rush over to my house to amuse me. The sundae bar wasn't enticement enough?

Madison: Nope! I'm staying right here, you're a big boy.

Dick: You still remember ! ! Not that I thought you could forget…

Madison: ?

Dick: How big of a boy I actually am…

Madison: See transcript of comment above

Dick: It's burned in your memory, I get it. See you in an hour…

Madison: I never said I was coming

Dick: That's what she said…See you in an hour…Over and out!

Madison: I never said I'd come.
Mac repeated. There was no answering ping, not that she really expected one. She was certain he'd cockily turned off the cell, confident in that Casablancas charm he always touted.

She was immune to it, she lied to herself. It was a harmless 'white' lie.

She truly was resolved to not head over to Dick's house, but Lauren convinced her otherwise.

It wasn't a hard sell.

They shelved the rest of the John Hughes film-a-thon for a later date, and Lauren went across the street to visit her friend while Mac changed into another pair of jeans. As she brushed her hair she told herself she didn't care how she looked, it wasn't a date or anything, this time, at least.

On the walk over—driving was silly being that the Casablancas house (Mc Mansion) was in the same plat, and two streets over—Mac tried to mentally download Dick's 2004 bio, at least from her original junior year at Neptune. It was not an easy task, though, being that saying she was on the fringes of Dick's life then was overstating their relationship. She wondered where Kendall and her plasticized, over-aerobic-sized assets fit into things at this snapshot of time. Being that perfect eyesight only happened when it came to historical events, Mac thought about what an ass she'd always thought Dick was (it was, of course, a well-earned rep) and how with his screwed up role models it was hard to imagine any other scenario. Of course, dysfunction was the rule, maybe even law in Neptune.

Dick's house was white-washed stucco in the Spanish Mission style, rising up three stories and set behind a tall wrought-iron gate. Pyramid schemes had a high profit margin for their orchestrators', of course in this moment of time everyone believed Big Dick to be all on the up and up. No one believed that more than his own namesake. The sprawling mansion made the White House look like a carriage house. In fact, the Sinclair house looked like a vacation cabin compared to this place.

Mac rang the doorbell and a woman with big, barely concealed breasts in a low cut, short skirted French Maid's uniform let her in. She wondered if the uni was real or if senior Dick had a play date of his own.

Perhaps the trophy Mrs. was away?

Her suspicions were put to rest though when the maid showed her back to the inner sanctum of the Casablancas' palace, with the required dash of polite detachment of hired help. Dick peeled his eyes from the game at the announcement of Mac's-Miss Sinclair's-arrival. He smiled real big.

"Not bad, Madi," he said cockily. "An hour ten."

"This means nothing," she rushed in to assure him, knock him down a peg. "I was bored, too." She plopped down next to where Dick was spread out on the massive, black leather sofa. It dominated a good-sized chunk of space in the cavernous game room. On the far wall was a fireplace with a wooden beamed mantle overhead, above that a 70" flat screen TV was bolted onto the stone. The title Halo2 was frozen onscreen, queued up and ready for play.

"Weren't you the one always saying that was what homework was for?"

"Eh, I already finished it all yesterday."

"Of course you did." He said it with a knowing-air.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a nerd."

"Hey," she replied, in an insulted tone.

"Evidently, I like nerds. I'm surrounded by both nerds and geeks on a daily basis," Dick retorted, pointing to the doorway. Mac followed his pointer finger to see Cassidy striding in, as though following a cue from a script.

"Well, it's better than being surrounded by airheads," Cassidy volleyed back. "I play the winner." He looked her over, then added as an afterthought, "Hi Madison." He took a seat next to her, sitting in close proximity despite the vast amount of real estate still available.

"Hey Cassidy," Mac said, forcing the casual greeting from her mouth. She was pleased that she was better able to keep her nausea at bay these days, encountering him in this life was getting less jolting, it would never seem natural or easy though. She scooted closer to Dick and therefore further from Cassidy.

Dick leaned his lanky body forward to grab the controllers, handing one to Mac and keeping one for himself. She watched his long, lean fingers scroll through the set up with the speed of an expert gamer, his brow furrowed in concentration.

"Halo, huh?" she nodded at the screen.

"Would you rather play something else?"

"How about Assassin's Creed?"

The last time Mac had played that game was with Dick back in 2009, but the screwy timeline she was dwelling in now left her utterly clueless when trying to figure out how long ago that would have been.

Time moved with an underwater murkiness here.

Dick looked confused. "What?"

"Assassin's Creed," Mac repeated. "Secret societies, Knights of Templar, a historical quest. None of that triggers your memory?"

"Nope, never heard of it," Dick said, then looked at Cassidy for backup. He just shrugged. "It does sound good though. Is it some obscure art game?" He smirked.

Yep, she definitely needed to create a Venn diagram; she couldn't keep track of the pop culture entries on the two different timelines. Maybe she was already at Hearst when Assassin's Creed came out. "Ha, ha, very funny," Mac said dryly. "Oh, well, never mind that idea. Halo is fine."

"This one just came out earlier this month," Dick explained. "I've been wanting to find someone else I could take down, other than the Beav." He looked sideways at his brother as he said that, and easily evaded the incoming fist. Mac ducked to avoid becoming collateral damage, this time, from the Casablancas' brothers' war.

The opening credits for Halo 2 played.

Dick chose the multiplayer option, and he and Mac went up against each other. She was happy to discover her gaming skills weren't rusty, and despite the surreal, sepia-colored undertones her thoughts were taking, she managed to move through the various levels with speed and accuracy.

It was something she could focus on, it followed a predictable outcome, which was a nice change of pace from how her life had been going lately. She welcomed the brief atom of time she had to fully concentrate on something outside the fact she was mere inches from a rapist and murderer, it gave her that rare chance to temporarily forget that she had fallen into another dimension, she was just borrowing a life that had never belonged to her in the first place, despite the fact it was supposed to.

Supposed to being the operative words and it was merely by an accident of birth. Accidents ruled her life, and it was a powerless feeling.

Mac and Dick matched each other move for move, anticipating and predicting each others' moves. It reminded her of her 'old' life and she wanted to press pause and freeze frame this moment forever.

Then things shifted, and their dynamic changed. One brief second of distraction and Dick seized the opportunity to get the kill shot in. He let out a whoop of celebration and held up two fingers of his right hand like a "V." Mac knew he wasn't giving her a 'peace sign,' instead it was his reminder to her that she'd fallen in defeat twice now. She didn't let that bother her though, she was secure in the knowledge that she was the victor far more often in the original dimension.

Dick left Cassidy to reset the game, while he got up to hunt down some snacks in the kitchen. Mac took that to mean hunt down the maid to rope her into 'wrangling them up some grub,' a direct quote.

She offered to help, but was quickly and resolutely rebuffed. At Dick's retreating back she hollered at him to not forget that she was vegan.

Cassidy scoffed, and Mac reluctantly pulled her gaze to him. She'd been looking down at the floor, at the screen, at the throw pillow that had fallen to the ground, anywhere but Cassidy.

"Your dietary needs have been committed to memory, everybody here has been cross-trained on your care and feeding," he replied, answering her unspoken question.

She let her raised eyebrow do the speaking for her.

The urge to run pressed in on her, but then she thought about Meg, very much alive here and dead for several years in her 'real' life. The lost boy sitting beside her needed a friend and she still wanted to run away from him screaming. She was not completely sold on the fact that she could change things in her real life by changing the course of history here, but it wasn't in her nature not to try at least.

Mac hadn't been able to reach him when they were dating, so she wasn't sure if just friendship now would be enough. Maybe the better solution would be to stage an intervention; maybe if she billed it a party Dick would be more agreeable. It was something to mull over for later, at least.

Dick came back into the room just then with a tray holding three bowls of ice cream with whipped cream.

"The sundae bar I promised you," Dick grinned triumphantly. "Soy ice cream and vegan crap cream," he added before Mac could say anything.

Mac devoured her dessert as Cassidy annihilated his older brother.

It was creeping on towards dinner time when she finally made her exit. Dick kissed her and offered to drive her home but she fended off the offer several times. She was so glad to have that time to herself; it gave the tears a chance to flow freely.

*******Neptune High School quad, Friday afternoon********

Two thoughts converged on Mac as she sat across from the bickering Veronica and Wallace, she'd been in this 'distorted view life' for over a month now, and once it occurred to her that it was her birthday—it was an odd concept anyway because which year really counted, 17 or 22? Did turning 22 in this life even bleed into the other dimension?

Dick was at his usual table. She had a perfect view of him though, and suspected it was by design. He kept making faces at her every time their eyes met, making it hard to hone in on whether it was Veronica or Wallace that would get the top bunk when their parents' got married. Evidently, their parents were dating and the situation had gone from "eww" inducing to the 'sibling talk' stage.

If the winner of that pseudo-fight was determined by who was the loudest, Veronica would the winner in that match up by far.

A movement on the other side of the courtyard caught her eye. There were four people—three women and a guy, all dressed in black—setting up folding chairs and arranging their instruments. It looked as though the stage was being set for a chamber concert. The token guy of the group had a cello; the other instruments were a viola, and two violins. At some sort of internal cue the musicians started playing 'Birthday' by the Beatles.

Mac was certain she was blushing as the feeling crept over her that the victim of the serenade was herself. Victim was exactly what it felt like, too. She hated being the star attraction of these kinds of displays. Looking around, it didn't appear as though there were any other viable candidates for victim status, so she had to figure she was the one the message was aimed for.

Veronica, suddenly noticing the free show, stopped mid comment about girls deserving the top bunk. "How would you like to be the recipient of that level of parental directed torture and abuse?" she asked, but it seemed more rhetorical in nature.

"I think you should direct that question to Madison," Wallace declared.

Veronica looked confused, while Mac looked down at the table, suddenly fascinated by the graffiti scratched into the peeling paint of the yellow outdoor table.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?"

"Translate," Wallace ordered.

"It's French for what the hell?"

"Kill me now. Please," Mac beseeched.

"Oh?" Veronica raised her brow. Then she apparently did some mental math. "Oh! Happy Birthday! Your parents must really love you to go through all that to serenade their baby,' she continued, doing damage control.

"Thanks," Mac muttered, and then she looked back up at Veronica. "Of course, if they really loved me, they'd have got the real Beatles."

"Guess it was short notice," Veronica teased. "Any plans for this momentous occasion?"

"I think I know the answer to that," Wallace interjected. He bent down to rummage through his brown backpack at his feet. "Voilà," he said triumphantly holding up an orange piece of wrinkled and torn paper. It looked faded and weathered. He placed it on the table between him and Mac, smoothing out the ripples as best as he could.

"Helping to clean up the litter?" Veronica inquired.

Mac skimmed it, and felt her jaw opening wider as she read on. "No frakking way," she said at last, her voice going up at least an octave.

Somehow, in the time it took her to read the contents of the paper, Dick had managed to leave his lunch table. Mac extended her gaze across the perimeter, but didn't see the familiar blonde mop of hair.

"Where did you find it?" Veronica asked as she leaned forward to get a better glimpse of the paper.

In big, bold black letters it proclaimed that it was once again time to celebrate Madi Sinclair's 17th year on this Earth.

Wallace pointed to the old wooden pole off to the edge of the courtyard; it was the community bulletin board.

Mac could feel the beginning of a migraine building, she rubbed her left temple with one hand, and stabbed the offending piece of paper with the pointer finger of her other hand. "No party, no frakking way."

"I take it you're not planning a party in your own honor," Wallace said.

"Nope, not me," Mac snapped. "I have a suspect in mind though. I'll give you one guess. Here's a hint, it starts with Dick, and ends in Casablancas."

"You really think this party is Dick's doing?" Veronica seemed perplexed.

"Yup," she asserted, popping the p, a sure sign of annoyance in any life. "Who else could it be?"

A few times, earlier in the week, people had come up to her mentioning they'd see her Friday night, or asking what was on tap, that type of thing. She didn't think much about it though; it hadn't made sense so she ignored it. Now, though, she realized she was the last one to the get the memo. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, except after her first 'real' date with Dick they'd already debated the party idea. She had made it abundantly clear—she'd thought at least—that despite being "tradition," being "expected," there would be no Sinclair bacchanalia, hell was not in a deep freeze.

"I got nothing," Wallace said, opening his palms and turning them upwards, and then he shrugged.

Just then the bell rang. Dick dodged Mac for the rest of the day until last period, when they had Mrs. Murphy's class together. Even then he tried to avoid her, but she finally cornered him after the final bell had rung.

She launched into him for organizing a party without her input, or blessing.

"You frakking entitled '09'er asshats," she sputtered out.

"Doesn't that make you an asshat by association?" Dick asked reasonably, which only further pissed Mac off. "By virtue of being a '09'er you, too, must be an asshat. It's just simple logic, Madi-oh!" He flashed her a triumphant look, proud that he spoke her language.

After a few more threats of bodily harm, she finally got his assurances that he'd undo the damage. At her pressing, he promised to spread the word that it had been cancelled. She believed him once Corny was recruited to help in that cause; he had gossip down to an art.

***That night, Sinclair house***

Dick had invited himself over to play video games after her parents had gone down to San Diego for a romantic dinner and a stay at a Bed & Breakfast they apparently frequented. Somehow Logan had been roped into coming along as well. Mac was just relieved that Cassidy wasn't tagging along, evidently he'd had some kind of prior commitment. It was exhausting work tamping down the grief, anger, and guilt cocktail Cass always stirred up.

The fact that the Sinclairs left the girls to their own devices, seemed to be an explicit show of trust. As they prepared to leave, 'Mom2' and 'Dad2' promised that they'd be celebrating her birthday as a family the next night, the importance of the date was not unnoticed. 'Dad2' also made it a point to tell her, as he placed one hand on the door to the garage, that she wasn't to have a party, the message was diluted though by his exaggerated wink. Her protest that she didn't want to have a party anyway died at the slam of the door.

Dick had only been at her house for about ten minutes when the guests started trickling in one by one. Soon the steady trickle grew in volume, until finally there was a big crush of classmates spreading out and infecting the entire first floor of the sprawling house. Lauren hid out in the library, however Mac made a point to let her know she had free reign of the place, though she really couldn't blame her from burrowing underground. The urge to do that herself was pressing down hard.

Mac was convinced that as the guest tally climbed, her blood pressure was increasing, too.

She pushed her way through the people littering the hall and bleeding into the living room, looking for the creator of the madness. She found him in the kitchen filling a red Solo cup with beer from the keg one of his '09'er buddies was "kind" enough to bring to her unsanctioned party.

"Asshat," Mac called out when she saw him. "I should have known, even in this life, you would still be an ass." It slipped out; she didn't try to recall it.

He stopped mid-pour to look at her; if she didn't know he was incapable of that expression she would have sworn he looked sheepish. He didn't say anything though.

"What happened to your promise to cancel the party?"

"I tried, babe, it's not my fault that Corny utterly failed in his duty."

"Not your fault!?" Mac sputtered.

"That's what I said," Dick repeated. All traces of faux-sheepishness gone from his face, replaced with defiance. "I don't see why you're making a big deal of it, babe. It's just a party. You had one last year, and the year before, why fuck with tradition? Lucy will clean up tomorrow way before the parentals come home."

"I told you no. It's about respect, Dick," Mac started, her voice rising. She saw people starting to leave the room in spite of the fact it housed the keg, sundry other bottles of alcohol, and a couple bags of chips some scavengers had procured from the panty. "It doesn't matter that we always did things a certain way, there's no law that says we can't change history up a bit, play in a different sandbox." Her voice rose up.

She headed towards him, her posture menacing; at least she hoped that was the air she was emitting.

Dick waited a beat, like he wanted to make sure she had spoke her piece, and then he took the cup he'd been filling up and shoved it in her face. "Here, you need this much worse than I do." He muttered the much. "You aren't making any sense tonight; if I didn't know better I'd swear you were drunk. Maybe the beer will help." Then he proceeded to take another cup and fill it up, replacing the beer he'd sacrificed for the greater good (his).

One of the few remaining stragglers grabbed a cup and nudged them away from the keg, so he could fill it up with his own liquid courage. After that task was complete, the guy headed towards the door, making long strides like he couldn't get out of there fast enough.

Her house was full of strangers now; she allowed herself a moment of silence to fully appreciate that irony.

The guy in question paused in the doorway, took a sip of his beer, and then, addressing Dick, said "I have a little free advice for you, buy a leash for your tiger." He left before Dick could say anything or Mac could throw something at his retreating back.

The scathing retort on her lips died a quick death though as Logan entered, towing Veronica behind him. They were holding hands and it seemed to Mac that she was watching yet another incarnation of their star-crossed relationship being born.

"It's a cathouse around here," Logan snarked. "I brought the bobcat, you have the tiger." He oofed as a particularly powerful roundhouse punch landed on his stomach. The smirk didn't flicker though.

"My claws are currently out and just itching to tear into something, be forewarned. So I'd not say another word if I were you," Mac glared at Dick, and then changed her voice to something much more welcoming to greet Veronica. "Hey V, glad you could make it. I now know a grand total of 3 people here at this big gathering to celebrate my birth."

"Five," Veronica corrected. "Wallace is here scamming on Jane, I think. I can't keep up with his conquests, and Jackson, I think, was roped into being wingman since I was kidnapped by that guy there," she aimed her head at Logan, who just smirked.

"Retract the claws," Dick instructed, and then it was his time to flinch when Mac ripped out a page from her friend's book and enacted her own form of retribution on his arm. A drop from his full cup of beer splashed up and he called "party foul."

"Cat napped, there bobcat," Logan corrected Veronica's phrasing. "And feel free to use those claws on me, anytime."

"Ewww," Mac made a face, and directed it to Logan. "As for you, Vee, I need details, and lots of alcohol, definitely NOT in that order."

Dick pointed to the beer he'd just given her; she was still white-knuckle gripping the sweaty cup.

"Something stronger," she said. Dick still stood there. "Well, go get it. This party is your fault, what happens here is your fault, so to atone you are my bitch." She flicked her hand in a fetch it now gesture.

"Tiger," Dick intoned, and then growled, but he swiveled and went over to the counter by the sink where the bottles of stronger stuff were displayed. His buddy laughed and made a whipping sound.

He handed Mac a vodka tonic and followed it up with a mock-salute, "Your beverage, mademoiselle. Is there anything else I may do to service you?" He followed that question up with a leer.

"Now it's my turn to be grossed out," Veronica stepped in.

"You can go mingle with your guests; I'm stealing the only person in this room I am not pissed at for a little girly chat."

"Talk about needing alcohol, and lots of it," Veronica muttered.

Mac watched Veronica as she said that so that was why she noticed a brief flash of pain take root. It didn't make a long appearance though, Veronica excelled in the art of compartmentalizing her emotions, and it's what made her a great detective and lawyer-to-be.

She mentally flinched at the realization that perhaps her friend's past in this wormhole life did mirror at least parts of the real dimension. It was a sobering thought, worse though was the prickly feeling that maybe in this time period she had been responsible for setting things in motion. That had never occurred to her before, but when it did it felt like a fist in her stomach.

Mac took a big drink of the vodka tonic, with its three parts vodka to one part tonic ratio. It burned going down, her penance.

"I don't know why I'm being blamed for this shin-dig," Logan was grumping.

"Guilt by association, dude, it's the chick's creed. They live by that shit, besides listening to girly chats sounds like inhumane punishment to me."

Veronica poured herself a gin with a much larger tonic ratio than Mac's drink, and then pulled her friend over to the table in the breakfast nook. She shot Logan a dismissive look, but didn't say anything until the guys not-so-reluctantly took their cue to leave.

"Okay, you got me all to yourself now. Feel free to start the girly inquisition now," Veronica invited.

"You. Logan. Go."

"You suck at this girl talk thing, just so you know," she grumped.

"So do you, Vee. Now, stop stalling, and start talking."

Veronica took her at her word and launched into a rambling, at least by her standards, explanation of her storied history with Logan, the Lily years, as well as the past several months after Lily died. A pall seemed to take over, making it hard for Mac to breath. Talk of loss, death and grief were a big reason why, but it was also the resurrection of her earlier thought about Shelly Pomeroy's party.

Mac couldn't take the free ride on the guilt train any longer; she had to know if she had to buy a ticket, or could hop off those particular rails.

Taking a deep breath and a fortifying sip of her mostly vodka, vodka tonic, Mac tentatively, haltingly steered conversation to last year, in particular some of the "social events" that earned coveted spots in the Neptune party lore, which naturally encompassed both Shelley's party and "her" own birthday fete. Vee's face broadcasted how welcome that thought was. Mac felt a tiny frisson of self-hatred overtake her for her part in causing more pain in Veronica's life, but no matter how indirectly it might be, it was a haunting thought that she could have been the precipitator in Veronica's rape, and part of Cassidy's depravity. She ran a finger around the rim of her cup, just to preoccupy her hands.

Veronica confessed she wasn't much into the whole '09'er party scene, and Mac knew that didn't even really scratch the surface. As for whether or not she, as Madi, had been to Shelly's party the previous year, it didn't turn out to be a question with an easy answer. Veronica admitted there were big gaps in her memory bank of that night; she was looking down at the table as she said it. Mac balled her hands into fists, driving her short nails into the palms of her hand, grounding her into the moment and then, unballing one hand, she shyly reached out to squeeze Veronica's hand, who flashed her a wan smile in return.

"I knew this '09'er party would be a good re-introduction to the ways of your people," Veronica said, sounding lighter.

Mac wondered how much was forced, but she played along. "That's right; I will be your guide and translator as you navigate the strange world of 'my people." She had to believe Veronica's innate trust in her was a good sign that this Madison wasn't anything like Madison 1.0 in the real world. "So, I don't think it's safe to leave our guys to their own devices." She threw a pointed look at Vee as she accented our.

"They might be auctioning off the silver."

"Don't they have their own silver?"

"Yes, but where's the fun in that? What kind of rich person are you?"

"The bad kind, evidently," Mac said, smiling wryly. "I'm just not a natural, I guess."

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

They got up and headed out into the hall. People were congregated everywhere, spreading out onto the furniture, standing in the hall, cliquing off into segregated groups. They squeezed between, weaved around, and pushed through the yawning crowd, keeping their eyes out for Dick and Logan. None of the party revelers seemed the least bit interested in the "birthday girl," they were too busy drinking and flirting.

Something's never changed.

Further proving that the truths in that adage, the guys were finally located, they were in the family room, playing Aliens Vs Predator: Extinction.

"Bullshit. You cheat," Dick was screeching at Logan.

"Sore. Loser," Logan said, speaking slowly and enunciating carefully.

His point was proven when Dick slammed down the controller, as it hit the marble coffee table it echoed.

"Aw, does someone need a time out or maybe his bah-bah?" Mac asked, playing up the baby voice.

"No, someone just needs to put his big boy pants on and pay up," Logan explained.

"Pay up?" Veronica raised her brow. She flopped down next Logan on the expansive couch; she cozied up close to him though.

"Just a friendly wager among friends."

"Asshole." It was followed up by a finger gesture, too.

"See, friendly," Logan reiterated.

"Yeah, yeah, you're besties." Mac said, "As much as I'm enjoying your he-man video game wagering, I have a certain baby sister I'm supposed to be watching. So, if you'll excuse me, I need to track her down. Let's see, I think I left her in the library…"

"Some sitter you are Madi. Lauren was here with us for awhile. She lent her expertise to Logan, the cheat, and then went up to bed about forty minutes ago," Dick assured her.

"You're just jealous 'cause all the ladies like me better," Logan said with exaggerated swagger.

"Well, not all the ladies," Dick corrected. He reached out and pulled Mac onto his lap.

A laugh escaped. She dismissed it as an involuntary reaction. "Well, right in this moment, that's not entirely true. Logan's not the one that hosted a party in my honor that I said I never wanted to begin with."

"This again?" Dick groaned.

"Yes, again."

The rehashing didn't last long though, all the anger had leaked out of Mac, and though she didn't care about the rest of the party-goers, she was having fun with her little grouping. They continued to play games, challenging one another, the age-old boys vs girls and couple vs newer couple were the main team configurations. The guys denied making any more bets, but Mac was skeptical on that, she witnessed a lot of whispered conversing. Use of Dick as the drink bitch was extended out to both Logan and Veronica too, so they all conspired to keep him running, between games at least.

Occasionally people would wander in and stay awhile. Dick and Logan both seemed friendly with most of the attendees, but once again Mac felt overlooked. In this case, though, she didn't really mind.

As the night wore on, and Dick continued to make Veronica more of his patented 3 gin to 1 part of tonic rationed beverages, the closer Logan and Veronica grew. Space wise, at least, and beyond that, Mac suspected. She found that just as entertaining to watch as Dick losing (yet again) to another round of Halo, since he'd long grown tired of Aliens VS Predator.

As she was watching the Logan/Veronica show, front stage center, Dick was doing some space invading of his own, in between pouting and shows of sore loser-ship, of course. Mac's spy focus was severed when she became aware of Dick's hand on her breast and his tongue in her ear. It was a nice diversion, not that she was ready to admit that in Swahili, let alone English.

Half-heartedly, Mac gave Dick a weak shove.

"Not here, in public view," Mac hissed in his ear.

"This is hardly what I'd define as public. Besides, I'm pretty sure zombies could dance the polka in front of us, and Logan and Ronnie wouldn't even notice." He still drew back slightly though, but his hand remained on her breast, which Mac wasn't complaining about.

"Do zombies even dance, let alone dance a polka? I'm pretty sure in their zoned out, brainless state the ability to learn a dance more complicated than the robot would be beyond their skill set. Unless, and this is an important caveat, a zombie ate the brains of a dancer, then maybe the cells would retain some sort of memory perhaps. You think?" Mac proposed, excited in her zombie theory.

Dick gaped at her a second, and then shook his head. "Whatever you say, Velma, Zombie-ology is more your expertise than mine."

"Velma? You sound just like Ryan! That's his pet name for me when I'm being geekified." She clinched her eyes for a moment, caught up in thoughts of Ryan. She missed the little pest more than she ever thought possible. The time with Lauren that she got in this dimension was a dream come true, but at this moment the trade off that it came from seemed pretty steep of a price. "Besides, you were the one that mentioned zombies."

"I try to work zombies into every conversation at least once; I generally leave exes out though. Bad form."

"Exes?"

"I'm assuming Ryan is an ex-boyfriend, though I rather like that name, it's a solid, manly name."

Busted! Mac thought. His name had just slipped out, and she wasn't sure how to wiggle out of that gaffe, so she went with the time tested method used by women everywhere, she pled amnesia. "Ryan? No, I don't know anyone named Ryan. I'm pretty sure I didn't say anything at all about a Ryan. I think Dick is the perfect name for you, by the way." She winked as she made the disparaging comment about his fitting moniker.

"Back atcha, babe. Madi is perfect for you, too, since you get mad all the time."

"Just at you, Dick," she hit the "k" hard.

"Oh come on, you're having fun."

"Not the point," Mac argued.

"It's exactly the point. You needed a party, babe. Hell, I needed a party. Plus, those two needed the right excuse to get together." Dick nodded his head towards Logan and Veronica who had dropped all pretense of fighting their attraction and were doing some exploring of their own. Mac quickly turned away, wanting to give her, normally private, friend some space.

"So this was an altruistic move on your part to help your bestie find true love?"

"True lust, but yep, it was my good deed for the year, and the next one, too."

"I'll start filling out paperwork for your purple star," Mac snarked.

"Besides, you've pretty much neutered my party-hardy ways," Dick added.

"I can think of no version of Dick Casablancas that wasn't able to walk in a straight line and find a party," Mac let the irony bleed through.

"Ah yes, the inverted Isosceles party theorem," Dick intoned in a faux-academia voice.

"There is no planet, known or unknown, where that makes sense, both as a theorem name and as a bridge you're trying to sell me."

"Go with the flow, Sinclair. Do you know how many epic parties I've sacrificed to watch chick flicks with you?"

"I do NOT watch chick flicks," Mac said indignantly.

"We skipped Shelly Pomeroy's party last year to watch Gremlins, and eat Bon-Bons because your auntie was in town, or something made up like that," Dick said.

Mac felt a frisson of satisfaction at the contact of her palm and his face. It deepened at his girly shriek.

"Hey, ouch, dude!"

"Now who's the girl? Oh, and how the frak could you label Gremlins as a chick flick?"

"D'uh, there's like kissing and love and shit."

Mac mentally counted to ten, and took a deep breath, preparing herself to school him. Hiding in that blaspheme though was the much needed reassurance she needed that whatever did happen at Shelly's party, and something still did, she was sure of it, at least had nothing to do with this Madison because she was at home watching Gremlins, and, well, she'd ignore the rest of his implications.

"Get a room," came a grumbled reply from further down the couch.

Embarrassed, Mac automatically scooted away from Dick, only about an inch but enough to miss his body heat. They weren't doing anything but sparring, their default state in every dimension, regardless of relationship status. There was something intimate about that.

"I could say the same for you guys, dude," Dick volleyed back. "Though I have dibs on Madi's room."

"Dibs, Dick, really? Are we back in junior high?" Veronica asked. She, too, made a hard k sound.

"Nope. No way, no how, this is a sex free house," Mac put the kibosh on that idea. Not that there wasn't libidinous appeal to that suggestion. She wouldn't be opposed to testing that carnal notion out, and doing some research on the rumors that Dick was well-endowed, here in this sandbox world she was stuck in, if it wasn't for the calendar reminding her that there was an age gap to factor in as well as the little matter of coming from different universes. Of course it was easier to think logically when Dick's tongue wasn't exploring her mouth's terrain. Veronica's death ray stare, which packed a lot less heat in this world, was still trained on Dick.

Sometime after that though, in the early hours of Saturday, Mac felt her eyes drooping and the effects of attraction and vodka condense internally. It was several hours later when she woke up in a pretzel of arms and legs, unsure where she ended and Dick began. As her eyes started to focus a bit more, she noticed a similar Logan and Veronica puzzle on the other side of the long couch. She heard the vacuum running from another room and figured poor Lucille was already beginning the clean up process for last night's party.

At least the house seemed to be mostly unscathed, she wasn't sure the same could be said for her head though. Thank God she had the weekend to recover. She ignored the pick ax in her head as she woke her "slumber party" guests up so they could leave the scene of the crime before her parents came back.

TBC…

****Thanks for reading! Like it? Hate it? M'eh? I'd love to know your thoughts in a review. Thank you!*******