A/N: Happy St. Patrick's Day! Thank you so much for all the reviews, follows & favorites. So happy you guys are still enjoying this story even after the long break. I'm still here though, and still writing. So thanks for still reading! An extra big shout out to my fantabulous beta cainc3. Enjoy!

Obligatory disclaimer: I still own nothing, nada, zippo, zilch in the VM 'verse, I also don't own Star Trek, the song Closer to Fine by Indigo Girls where I borrowed the chapter title and the Westing Game. I am enjoying playing in their sandbox though.

Chapter 23—Closer to Fine

Three days later-June 16th, 2009

Mac leaned her injured head back against the standard issue white pillow on her bed at Neptune Memorial Hospital, scene of the original crime that monumentally affected her life, the infamous Sinclair-Mackenzie babyswitch.

Now, fast forward twenty years later, it was her home again for who-the-hell-knows how long. She sighed, and then shut her eyes against the wave of pain.

"What's wrong?" Natalie inquired sharply. She was up and at Mac's bedside in a quarter of a second.

Impressive how fast she can move, and yet oh so annoying, though Mac felt bad about even thinking that. Her mom had taken to camping out in the ugly green polyester upholstered bedside chair. They should probably bronze it and christen it the Natalie Franklin Mackenzie chair.

"I'm fine," she reassured her mom, "fine-ish," she then clarified. No, she was far, far from fine, or even fine-ish, but compared to the last several days was definitely getting closer to fine. Whatever. She wasn't about to complain. She was lucky to even be there, and be able to complain to begin with. Hell, though, even just moving her eyeball made her still very much recovering head (and brain) hurt.

She felt like she got hit…by a baseball.

Which, apparently, was exactly what happened to her a week and three days ago, but who was counting?! Not, of course, that she remembered anything about the event that put her back in the one place she promised herself she'd never, ever set a toe in again.

Promises made, promises broken, thrown off course by errant baseballs.

Her head was throbbing; the most-minute movement would send a stab of intense pain. Her leg, where the clot originated was still very achy, the cut they made to insert the clot-dissolving meds into her vein was stinging. It was propped up on a pillow, and she kept having to shift to find a more comfortable (read: less uncomfy) position for it, which of course made her head hurt again. It was a vicious cycle…In short, everything hurt. The body was a truly complex machine, one that was under-appreciated until something went wrong.

Terribly, terribly wrong.

Okay, maybe she was complaining a little bit. She'd earned that right, and pain was a very good reason to complain.

She wouldn't be running any marathons for the foreseeable future that was for sure. That whole thought was laughable because she hadn't been a runner pre-accident either.

Maybe it could be her recovery goal.

Recovery goal, that was a pipe dream, she was barely able to keep her eyes open for more than a two hour stretch at a time and already they were talking about making goals.

It was ironic really, she'd been in a deep sleep for a week, yet even after she woke up she longed to keep on sleeping. It was restorative, recuperative, and a whole gaggle of other –tives, according to the team of medical type people who were always waking her up for various forms of medieval torture. That was also irony redefined.

Natalie didn't respond to her insistence that she was fine-ish, instead she reached a hand around her daughter to click the button on the pain pump remote.

"Mom," Mac began, but that's as far as she got because, truthfully, the immediate response of the drugs coursing through her battered body felt too good. She tried not to use it much, which was pretty messed up in the grand scheme of things, but the pain was grounding…It reminded her she was alive. She wasn't a masochist by any means, she didn't let the remote lie there idle, and she did use it, but not nearly as much as her 'team' had been urging her to do.

There was that word 'team' again, she was hearing it a lot these days—she had a team of doctors, nurses and other assorted medical people, and a team of well-wishers, cheerleaders that had nicknamed themselves 'Team Mac.'

The faint odor of smoke clung to her mom's faded gray cardigan and skinny jeans, which pulled her briefly back to Neptune High in flames, the alarm blaring, her name—but not her name—being moaned plaintively.

It was…jarring.

She closed her eyes to block out that memory and then opened them quickly, focusing on the blank gray screen of the TV in the corner. The flashes were assaulting at odd, random times and in the moment she wasn't sure what station of her mind they were coming from, what time period she'd landed in.

Was it a memory, or was it a dream?

Or, perhaps, this was a dream.

No, even with the painkillers, she hurt too badly for this to be anything but reality.

Maybe the drugs were messing with her. She'd found herself starting to mention to her mom the strange experiences from the past few months, or week, or whatever the hell chunk of time that had passed, but she'd then stop herself before she'd revealed any details.

Mental images of straitjackets bought her silence.

In his short, sporadic visits, Ryan had recapped a lot of what had happened in the waiting room as she was living life as Madison Sinclair. Apparently, cracking under the pain of having a seriously injured daughter, her mom had taken up smoking again, their dad was not happy about that, either. Something was going on with Logan and Veronica, though Ryan didn't know what, nor did he care all that much. And Dick was documenting everything happening in the waiting room on his phone.

That was the strangest revelation of all, in Mac's opinion; beyond the fact her brother was that observant.

"…now that you're out of the ICU, your friends can stay and visit longer," Natalie was saying.

Mac willed herself to pick up and follow her mom's conversational thread. She caught herself drifting in and out of conversations these days, and she was always falling asleep at odd times. She had to be the world's worst company these days.

"Veronica will be by soon to stay with you for a few hours while I run home to get a few chores done," Natalie continued.

"I don't need a babysitter," Mac started to say.

"A babysitter? I didn't know I was here in an official capacity, I thought I was just coming by to gift you with my scintillating company. Is this a paid gig? I should bring my A game, I guess," Veronica teased as she walked through the open door of Mac's room.

"You have an A game?"

"I have nothing but an A game," Veronica volleyed back. "Room 525, nice digs, I must say. A private suite, that's a definite upgrade from your prior accommodations here at Hotel Neptune Memorial. Your parents must have good insurance."

Veronica's comment was casual, but Mac was puzzled by the expression that flitted over her mom's face. It was quick, but she looked annoyed. She figured it must have been worry over paying all the bills that were piling up. After all, almost dying was an expensive affair. Her mom then quickly seemed to snap out of whatever bothered her in that sentence. Maybe she imagined it? Probably! Her synapses weren't firing as quickly these days.

"Well, ladies, I'm going to get out of here. We'll just put this babysitting gig on your tab, Veronica, hon. Love you, Cin. Don't party too hard, ladies, sleeping beauty needs her rest. I'll be back in a few hours." Natalie paused briefly at the door to blow a kiss at her daughter, and then waved at them both, before exiting the room.

"Party! Real funny, mom! I'll try to resist the urge to tap a, mmm, um, beer thingy," Mac rejoined, though her mom was probably out of earshot by then anyway.

"Keg," Veronica supplied, but not without making a face, probably at the mention of beer.

"Yeah, what you said," Mac amended, softly, looking down at the sheet covering her as though it were the most fascinating thing in the room. She averted her head hoping Vee would miss the sudden tears populating her eyes.

She was losing her vocabulary, and most of the time they were simple words, things that came naturally pre-accident. The list of things she'd lost in just a course of a week and a half was ever growing.

The hope that Vee would miss her grief died a quick death as her PI-in-the-DNA best friend crossed over to her bedside, and very gently lifted her chin, well aware that it was part of the ground zero of pain.

"Listen to me; this is going to be a process. Don't you dare be too hard on yourself!"

Mac didn't miss the ferocity in Veronica's voice.

"I lost a big chunk of time. Things that used to come easy take so much longer now. I hurt so badly, all the time," she didn't even hold back the whine that slipped through. "It's not fair."

"Nope," Veronica agreed, "it's not. That's not a new concept for you though. We work for what we have, it's always been that way, always will be, your recovery isn't an exception. What did the doctor say?" She sat on the foot of the hospital bed, down beyond the bar designed to keep the patient from falling out.

"Which one?" Mac asked, since she had a cadre of doctors these days.

"Any of them, or all of them," Veronica clarified. "Pick one."

"My coordination seems to have been affected, more than the language centers, but things may be fuzzy—I may have trouble thinking of the right words, at first, at least. I will probably have holes in what I know, I'll probably never remember the accident itself, and then yeah, I think I fell asleep during the rest of that speech."

"Well, the silvery lining here is you probably forgot more vocabulary words than Dick will ever know," Veronica snarked, with a teasing gleam in her eyes.

It was mean, but Mac couldn't help the shocked bark of laughter that leaked through.

"What? It's true," Veronica defended in response to the look of censure Mac shot her after she'd stopped laughing, of course.

"It's not, actually."

"So, you and Dick really are friends." It was a statement, not a question. "I'd thought, well, I didn't think too much about it actually, I had other things on my mind," Veronica said, her voice growing soft at the end.

"Logan," Mac helpfully supplied.

"You, mostly," Veronica corrected.

"And Logan."

Veronica didn't respond in words to that, but she didn't need to, Mac read the answer clearly.

"Ryan told me some tales from the Neptune Memorial ICU waiting room; you starred in a lot of them. I understand Dick has, has, ah…" Mac began, answering Veronica's unasked question. Then she broke off, annoyed with herself as the thought train sharply derailed.

"Yes, Dick snapped a couple pictures on his cell. Ryan drools in his sleep, by the way."

"Yeah, I know," Mac said over a yawn.

They talked a little more before Veronica's voice faded off into the background as Mac drifted off to sleep again.

Sleep, eat, sleep, talk, sleep—lather, rinse, repeat. That was, in a nutshell, her daily routine post-coma.

An hour later, or maybe longer, Mac wasn't certain, she woke up. Veronica had shifted back to the bedside chair which was undoubtedly beginning to be molded to her mom's butt imprint. She was reading a back issue of Wired Ryan had purloined from the ICU waiting room.

She licked her dry lips. "I'm the worst company ever, these days." Mac croaked out.

"Nah," Veronica argued. "I just finished spending hours at a time, day after day with Dick. A house plant would be better company. Are you hungry?" she asked, changing the subject. "One of the patient assistants, I guess Candy Striper is not the preferred nomenclature anymore, brought your tray by about 10 minutes ago." Veronica tossed the magazine aside. Before Mac could reply, she removed the lid off the plastic tray of food with a flourish. "Voila, vegan fare by zee finest chef at de Neptune Memorial bistro. Bon Appétit."

"Don't quit your day job," Mac snarked. She was about to say she wasn't hungry though, when the rumbling of her stomach disagreed. Reluctantly, she dipped her fork into the wild mushroom risotto with soy cheese, and took a bite. She didn't like being the only one in the room eating, but Veronica declined the pro-offered bite. For hospital food, and an institutional attempt at veganism no less, it wasn't bad. It wasn't good, per se, but it was more than just edible.

"Logan's picking me up here around 4 p.m., we're going to Mama Leones."

Mac was still chewing, so her only response was a raised brow.

"Did you know Luigi's closed?" Veronica continued her running commentary.

"Yes, last year," Mac confirmed when she was able to talk again. "I didn't mention that, in an email or something?"

"I don't think so. I'm sure I'd have remembered monumental news like that," Veronica said shaking her head. She paused, and then quietly added "there's room to think of other stuff now, now that you're…" it was Veronica's turn to break off mid-thought.

"Back from coma-land," Mac said, giving a name to the big old elephant sitting in the middle of the room. She took another bite of the risotto, when she had swallowed, she added, "other stuff like going out with Logan."

"Yup," Veronica affirmed. She hesitated, before softly asking, "Mac, do you, I mean, yeah, do you remember anything from when you were…uh…sleeping?" Veronica looked down at her hands as she asked that question.

She'd tried to adopt a casual tone, but Mac could tell it wasn't idle conversation.

"Not really," Mac said. She'd just been gifted with the perfect opening to share her time spent as a Sinclair, and truthfully, there was no better person to do it with. Vee knew the whole sordid story of her being raised by the wrong—right!—family, she wouldn't have to do any glossing over of details, but she didn't think she was ready to do any revealing. The moment just didn't feel right.

"Oh, yes, that makes sense. It was a stupid question, I guess. Of course you wouldn't remember. It's just I was sitting there day after day, praying you'd wake up, and while we were in our own hell, waiting for anything," Veronica said, before pausing. Mac thought she was packing a lot of meaning into that little word. "Waiting for something," she amended, "all I could think about was what you were up to, what you were experiencing, and what kind of hell you were in." It was Vee's turn to be near tears.

Mac felt bad, not telling her had the patina of lying, but again her energy reserves weren't stocked enough yet to talk about her experiences during her 'long nap'. It was a chat better suited to wine than the steady beeps of the monitor she still wore.

"Are you done eating?" Veronica asked, changing topics again, covertly wiping away the renegade tear that leaked through with one hand, while gesturing to Mac's half-eaten food with the other.

"I'm full." It didn't take much these days. Unfortunately, Mac was certain that wouldn't be a long lasting side-effect. She turned her head slightly to track Veronica's movements as she started putting the lid back over the detritus of the meal, moaning as pain sliced through.

"What's wrong?" An edge of panic colored Veronica's words.

"Just your garden variety pain from a nasty bump in the brain, evidently it's time for another push of the pain pump," Mac assured her friend as she pulled on the cable tethering the remote. "Or three," she amended, pushing the button.

"It looks like a detonator," Veronica remarked.

"I like the explosion of relief it releases," Mac admitted.

The conversation drifted off for a couple minutes, presumably to give Mac time for the meds to take full effect. She tracked Veronica's quest to tidy up the small room, just moving her eyes this time.

After things were completed to Veronica's exacting standards, she sat back down in the worn out green and wood arm chair. "Better?"

Mac figured she meant the pain level rather than the cleanliness of the room. Instead of answering she attempted to do the Vulcan Salute, but she couldn't get her ring finger and pinky to stick together and separate from her middle and index fingers. Pre-accident it had been a simple maneuver. She tried three more times, and got the same end result every time.

Before she could put together a formal pity party, though, there was a knock on the door. "Come in," she said, however, her voice was still a bit rusty from inactivity, so she wasn't able to make it rise as loud as necessary.

"Come in," Veronica echoed, but in a louder tone so the recipient could hear.

"Thanks," a teenager with long black hair said as she walked through the door. "I've come to take your tray." She was in navy scrubs and the nametag read "Lauren." The tag was unnecessary; Mac would've known Lauren Sinclair anywhere. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Nope, you're not. Mac just finished eating, and we're practicing our Vulcan signs," Veronica said brightly.

Mac could tell though that Vee recognized the patient assistant right away, it was in the look she flashed her, but not the tone of her voice.

"Live long and Prosper," Lauren said with a grin, executing a perfect Vulcan salute. "My dad is a huge Trekkie, so I suppose I am by default."

"Yeah, me too," Mac admitted, again her voice had that rusty tinge to it. "I've always like Sci-Fi, I had to sneak it in after NASCAR races though."

"Well, if you're done with your tray I'll take it out of here," Lauren said.

"I'm finished, thanks."

Lauren smiled and reached over to grab the tray that Veronica had already prepared for departure. "I'm really glad you're awake," she added, shyly.

"Me too," Mac replied, sure her confusion was showing.

"I've been assigned to this floor the past couple of days, but you've been sleeping each time I've come."

"I seem to be doing that a lot."

"As well you should, this recovery business is tough work, at least that what my cousin Tara says. She's a nurse here, in the ICU in fact."

"Oh, that explains it," Veronica said, nodding.

What it explained though Mac wasn't sure and before she had an opportunity to ask, Logan and Dick chose that precise moment to enter the room.

"Look who hitchhiked a ride with me?" Logan directed to Veronica, over his shoulder as he walked straight over to Mac's bed. "How are you feeling?" he bent down, giving her a quick hug, studiously avoiding the IV site.

"Alive, but definitely not kicking," she replied, dryly.

"Oh goody, Dick," Veronica said in a monotone.

"It's always nice to see you too, Ronnie. Hey Mac-a-doodle, you're a lot less wired than the last time I saw you." He quickly nudged Logan away from Mac, ready to take his turn to greet the patient.

Mac couldn't help smiling back at the grin he gave her, that only climbed bigger in proportion to the glare he received from her protector, Veronica.

"What Ronnie? It's a compliment!"

"Hi, Dick," Lauren said, shyly.

Dick paused mid-hug and looked over to where Lauren was poised over the tray. "Oh, hey Lauren, I thought I'd seen you roaming these halls, I almost didn't recognize you in the scrubs. You look official."

"I'm volunteering here for the summer. I admit though, when my parents said I get a job, I was picturing something with a paycheck, but my mom is on the board for the Caring Hearts charitable organization, and one of things we do is hire volunteer patient assistants."

"So, naturally you got the job."

"That's right, nepotism is alive and well here in Neptune."

"I think the mayor is voting that in as the new slogan," Logan interjected.

"What happened to Welcome to the Hellmouth?" Veronica inquired.

"Joss Whedon's law team threatened to sue?" Logan guessed at the same time Dick proposed, "No one can spell Hellmouth?"

"One l or two?"

"Well, I'll leave you guys now, I've got dirty dishes to scrub, and trash cans to empty. A payless paycheck to earn, all that fun stuff," Lauren explained.

"Bye, si, um…see you later," Mac backtracked. She felt a blush start to spread. Stupid, stupid, stupid. She was about to call Lauren 'sis', and the only theory she had was force of habit from her coma-dream, or the sandbox world she spent a week—or weeks—in.

"I'll be by with dinner around 5 p.m. See you then, Cindy."

"Mac," she corrected automatically.

"Mac, that's a cool name. I don't think I've ever met a girl Mac before."

"Thanks." Before she could stop herself, Mac found herself saying. "Actually, you and I did meet, a long time ago. I went to your, to Madison's school. In fact, I was at her sweet 16 party." The words just tumbled out, she blocked out the fact that there was an audience. Besides, in the scheme of things, it was idle conversation to everybody but herself and Veronica, the only other person reading from the same script she had.

"Oh, Madi's party. I remember that evening, or hearing about it, at least."

"You were there; I think we talked in the library."

Lauren laughed at that, though it seemed to Mac to have a slight edge to it. "I was exiled there, not allowed to talk with any of Madi's classmates; I might embarrass her, after all."

"You were reading the Westing Game, I think."

"I don't know how you remember that, talking to Madison's pipsqueak sister—that's a direct quote—about books. I still love the Westing Game; it's one of my favorites to this day. 'Smiling without good reason is demeaning.'"

"That's one of my favorite quotes," Mac said. "You have a good memory. The Westing Game is
one of my favorites, too."

In that moment it was just the two of them.

"You have a good memory, too."

"My memory's not so good now. I can't even remember why I'm here," Mac admitted with a frown.

"That's normal, and that's just your short term memory, your long term seems intact."

Before Mac could respond further, a beep sounded and Lauren looked down to the black box attached to the pocket of her scrub top. "Oh, that's me. See you later!"

"Bye."

By the time Mac had turned her attention back to her friends; Dick had found a place to sit on the foot of her bed. "You were at Madi's party? I didn't see you there."

"We didn't stay long," Veronica answered, giving her friend time to compose herself.

"We weren't there either, jackass," Logan corrected Dick. "You guys were broken up by then." He was casually leaning against the window sill. The view of downtown Neptune proper was spread out behind him, but was partially obstructed by the half-drawn institutional drab brown curtains. Too much light bothered Mac's eyes these days.

"No, correction there, asshole, you weren't there, I came by later."

"Why the hell?"

"To see if I could find out whom it was she was sleeping with while we were still together."

"Oh, Detective Dick on the case," Logan snarked.

"Who the hell cares at this point?" Veronica interrupted. "I mean really guys. And news flash, Dick, when did that skank ever not cheat you?"

He settled for the non-verbal route and just shrugged his shoulders—broad shoulders, Mac noted.

"Hey, Thing 2, and Thing 1, why don't you guys go down and get us all some coffee, make yourselves useful. And, if you feel like scrapping it out over that bitch, you'll do it away from Mac, who is still recovering, if either of you dumbasses recall."

"I think they're trying to get rid of us," Logan translated; he spread his arms out as if to say I can't imagine why, those silly girls.

"Ding…Ding…Ding. Good boy, you'll get a donut tonight. Make mine black, two sugars. Soy Chai Latte for you, Q?"

"That sounds perfect; I haven't had one of those in ages. I'm pretty sure they don't put those in IV's."

"Actually, it's just Ronnie trying to get rid of us," Dick corrected.

"I don't care what you guys do, or who goes, I'm just in it for the chai latte," Mac said. "Hey, I'm easily bought, what can I say. We all have our price."

"If that's Mac's only price, we're getting off pretty cheap, Veronica requires dinner and dessert," Logan confessed, leering when he said dessert.

"They're expert coffee bitches by now; they've been perfecting their skills the past week," Veronica explained to Mac.

"Coffee bitches?"

"Technical term."

"Dirty job, but someone had to do it," Logan interjected.

"Alright, we'll be back ladies, I can tell when I'm not wanted," Dick replied over his shoulder as he herded Logan out the door.

"Since when have you ever let that stop you?" Mac heard Logan asking, but Dick's reply was lost as they made their way down the fifth floor hallway towards the elevators.

"Okay, good, the two stooges—one of their newly earned nicknames—have left. You okay? Tell me the truth, and not a Facebook status update. "

"Peachy."

In Mac-speak, peachy was not a good thing, and she could tell Veronica was fluent enough to know that, but wise enough to let it go.

"Okay, sure. If you want to talk about this later, I'm here."

"Thanks friend. I'm okay, really."

Not wanting to push, Veronica steered the conversation towards her new life in Palo Alto, and her study buddies up there, her mentor 2.0 at Stanford, and of course the best place in town to get lasagna. That whole verbal tour of her new life was completed just as the two stooges got back with their drinks.

Dick handed Mac her chai latte first before once again resuming residence on the foot of her bed to work through his own Venti mocha. Logan nudged Veronica out of the bedside chair, stole her seat and then pulled her down onto his lap. Other than a token "oof," she didn't offer any protest.

That spoke volumes.

Mac smirked as Dick rolled his eyes, a default reaction obviously. She blew on her drink first, and then took a sip, letting the heat of the sweetened spiced tea wash the back of her throat and leaned back against the flat hospital-issued pillow, content with just listening to her friends.

Dick was on a first name basis with the barista at the coffee cart in the hospital lobby, a guy named Trent, who he described as an Adam Ant clone. He and Logan managed to make a routine trip to get four cups of coffee a humorous adventure. Veronica then added her own running commentary and reminders as to why the two Stooges was a fitting moniker.

Mac realized she had missed the camaraderie of the four of them hanging out, even though these days she was more outside looking in than an actual participant. She'd missed a lot of inside jokes that had popped up with the waiting room campout that they'd been doing during her long nap. Plus, the whole business of recovery had zapped her of energy. It was exhausting, in a word.

Veronica's recrimination of her being too hard on herself and expecting too much too soon echoed in her mind. She knew her friend was wise, but it was frustrating to think about the long recovery road ahead of her.

All that thinking hurt. Literally!

At first, when Veronica appeared to notice how quiet Mac had become, she started trying to steer the conversation in directions where everyone had equal input, but it didn't really serve to engage the patient as much as planned. Her reserves were fading fast, and it soon became apparent. The group chat soon meandered more towards a private talk between Logan and Veronica, with Dick, who was still perched on her bed, as the occasional conversational plus one.

When she was done with her chai latte, she watched as Dick leaned forward, just enough to take the empty cup and hand it to Veronica. He didn't seem to pay any heed to the dirty look she shot him as she was put on trash duty. She thought she heard Vee mutter softly I'm not your trash bitch, Dick.

As Mac slowly felt the pull of sleep, helped along by the drugs she was being fed a steady dose of, she felt something brush against her foot. She looked over at Dick, beneath hooded eyes. He was reminding Logan of something that happened recently, though she couldn't make sense of his words. It was the gentle caressing he was doing of the foot belonging to her non-injured leg that captured her focus completely. It was almost automatic, as though he wasn't even aware of where his hands were and the tender massage he was giving as he and Logan sparred. In that moment, Mac was very aware of everything Dick was doing. Right up until that moment that sleep dragged her back under.

When Mac once again returned to consciousness, around forty minutes later, though it could have been much longer than that, time didn't mean anything to her really, the room was quiet. A quick glance showed that no one was there. She vaguely remembered Vee mentioning some kind of plans with Logan, though the details escaped her. Dick had probably decided to third-wheel it on their date or something like that. She couldn't blame him, even that would be preferable than watching her sleep.

Just then she heard the flush of the toilet and her door opened. It happened all at once and she jumped a little, startled. Unfortunately, that little movement ramped up her pain level by a big margin. She sucked in a breath, and clinched her eyes shut.

"Oops! Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

She didn't reply, she was still riding that wave of pain with a slight undertow of nausea.

"Mac?" Concern bled into Dick's words.

She held up one finger, the universal 'hang on a minute' gesture.

Ignoring her sign language, Dick went on to offer to call a nurse, or hand her the pain pump. After dismissing the first suggestion, she accepted the second offer. He went on to make the same joke Veronica did about it looking like a detonator, though she opted not to recycle her same reply. She wasn't feeling very clever at the moment.

He once again resumed his usual perching spot on her bed, and also, to Mac's secret delight, continued gently stroking her good leg, too.

Once again the meds circulated quickly through her bloodstream, dulling the pain fortunately, but also dulling the sensation of Dick's soft touch, too.

She thought maybe she was using the pump more today than she had the previous two days but maybe that had something to do with the increased activity. It felt funny labeling visiting with friends as taxing movements though.

"You're looking better there, Mac-a-doodle."

"So are you," she retorted. It was a weak comeback but about the top of her ability at that snapshot of time.

"No, I'm being serious."

"So am I."

"I kicked the lovebirds out. I was afraid their kissy noises would wake you up," Dick explained, even though Mac hadn't asked.

He shifted over to the chair by the bed, presumably since her pain was lessened and didn't seem to require as much comforting in the moment.

Mac's expression broadcast that she didn't believe one letter, let alone word that he'd just uttered about Veronica's departure.

"No, Veronica was willing to choose you over lasagna, but you were sleeping so I said I'd take over her babysitting job," Dick acquiesced, and then added "you can transfer it to my tab."

"I think, maybe, even injured I'm the better choice for babysitter," Mac joked, weakly.

Dick's only retort was his trademarked smirk.

They let the quiet spread out for about a minute before Dick broke it. Sometimes Mac thought that was the outer reaches of his limit.

"I was there, you know," Dick said.

"There?"

"When…You know."

"I don't really know. That's the point; I don't remember anything from that day, Dick. Nothing. Just…nothing." Mac said, finally. Her voice went soft.

"I remember everything," Dick's voice grew soft as well, matching her tonality. "Everything," he echoed. He fisted his hands, and scowled as he seemed to go back in time. "I'm glad you don't remember, actually."

"Me, too," she agreed.

"I think the worst was wondering if you had time to be afraid of the ball flying right towards you." He paused, then amended, "or the second worst thing, at least."

"No, I don't think I did, or if so, I don't remember it at all," Mac reassured him, or maybe it was herself she was trying to reassure. "It doesn't count if you don't remember." That wasn't true, of course, and Mac's whole life was proof of that. She hadn't remembered being switched at birth, but it defined her whole life, and her coma life, too, apparently.

Dick scoffed at that. "Oh it counts alright." His gaze pointedly landed on Mac's bandaged head.

"Eh," Mac grunted the noise somewhere between agreement and disagreement without fully landing in either category. "So, what was the worst thing then?"

"Not knowing what you were going through, if you were in pain while in the coma."

This was the second time in just a span of a few hours that just begged for Mac to release what she'd been holding inside since she first opened her eyes three days ago.

What made her think Dick was the best sounding board she didn't have a clue, but still she found the words, sometimes broken, sometimes not, tumbling forth. She glossed over some important details like it was Madison Sinclair specifically she was cast as, and of course why that was significant, but still she gave him the souped-up cliff notes version of her time back in high school experiencing life as an '09'er.

For someone that couldn't remember the accident that put her in the coma to begin with, what happened during that span of time she was unconscious was certainly cemented.

She told him about their dates, including the double date with Logan and Veronica at Luigi's. She mentioned the party he threw for her despite her asking him not to. She gave a condensed version of Thanksgiving dinner, leaving out Cassidy's role, and mentioned the vacation to paradise during Christmas and the jelly fish sting. Mac ended the tale with the explosion and feeling trapped between two worlds.

"What the hell?" Dick finally asked, undoubtedly not fully processing what he'd just heard.

Mac assumed it was rhetorical but answered anyway. "Vivid coma dream? Wrinkle in time? How the hell would I know? Can you even be in two places at once?"

"I suppose you can. For example, someone can stand at the four corners." Dick hypothesized.

"Four corners?"

"It's this point where Colorado, Utah, Arizona and New Mexico touch and it's like being four different places all at the same time. If you contort your body, that is."

"Oh," that did sound vaguely familiar. In fact, this whole conversation had a ring of familiarity. "So you think I was living two lives at once?"

"No."

"So, it was a coma dream."

Dick just shrugged. "I don't have any clue. I just know we're glad you chose this dimension, not bizzaro world."

"I know, it really was bizzaro world. I'm still not clear why you played such a big role in my life in that dimension, anyway." Mac presented it as an idle statement, but was puzzled by the quick flash of expression that hijacked Dick's face. He looked…hurt. "I mean we were never even that close in high school." Mac felt the need to explain, to soften the previous comment.

"True," Dick agreed, dismissively.

It got quiet and Mac was trying to think of something to say to change the subject but nothing was coming to her. Just then a sound at the door fractured her attention.

"Dinner," came the now unmistakable voice of Lauren Sinclair. "Hope you're hungry." She was carrying a standard issue plastic institutional tray with a plate covered by a silver dome lid. She placed it on the roller table with a flourish and pushed it towards the bed.

"Starving," Mac lied. "What's for dinner?" She had to force herself to eat these days.

"Rabbit food," Dick guessed, as he lifted the lid off.

"That's right," Lauren giggled, "the finest in rabbit food cuisine prepared just for you."

Mac figured it was some kind of tofu stir fry, it smelled pretty good at least.

"Well, Mac, I'll let you eat in peace, but I wanted to let you know that I was going through my locker here on my lunch break and found my old battered copy of The Westing Game. I thought I'd lost it, which doesn't really matter; it's on my Kindle now anyway," Lauren rambled a bit. "I was thinking maybe you wanted to borrow it. Um, not to read yourself, but I don't know, maybe your mom can read it to you? Or Dick, maybe. Only if you want," she sounded timid, shy, her words bunched together at the end. "I can drop it off tonight before I leave."

"Yeah, yes, I'd like that. That would be nice." Mac stammered, she could feel the heat rising, she knew she was blushing. "Thanks."

"No problem. Enjoy your meal, I'll be back soon." Lauren said, and then exited the room.

Mac watched her leave. She felt like crying, it was torture having short bursts of contact with someone that was still on such the periphery of her life, and it was even worse now that she was back in this dimension. She held back though, one confession today was already more than she could cope with.

"Aren't you hungry?" Dick was asking, pulling her attention back.

"Oh, sure," Mac muttered as she speared a big bite. "Do you want any?"

"No thanks," Dick said quickly.

"You're missing out," she replied, and then placed the forkful in her mouth. No, he really wasn't missing out, she decided as she chewed. It might have smelled good, but it tasted like cardboard.

As Mac slowly worked her way through the taste-free meal, Dick kept up the conversation, his tone light, though it felt forced. He took out his cell and started showing her the pictures he'd snapped in the lobby while she was taking her long nap.

She was laughing at the photo of Ryan sleeping on their dad's shoulder, his mouth open, when Lauren came back into the room.

Mac's gaze honed in on the book in Lauren's hand. The black cover was creased, the corner torn off. It had been well-loved, and read often through the years.

"Are you done with your tray, Mac?"

"Yes, thank you." Mac smiled softly. She loved the sound of Lauren's voice; there was a husky quality now that wasn't there before.

Lauren removed Mac's dirty dishes, and left the book on the table. It was another too brief encounter, and Mac once again felt a loss as this stranger who mattered so much to her left the room. She figured even Dick had to have sensed the ups and downs of her moods, but there were too many variables going on to explain it away.

Feeling drained, Mac leaned her head back against her pillow, her eyes shutting again. She expected Dick to start making excuses to leave, he'd stuck around far longer than she'd expected. It seemed like maybe her friends were afraid to leave her alone, and maybe with what she'd put them through that was a normal reaction.

"Want me to read you a bedtime story?" Dick was asking.

Mac fought to open her eyes, and looked over at the bedside chair; he was flopped down in it, one leg tucked under him, fiddling with the book in his hand.

"Yeah, please." With her post-coma blurry vision, she wasn't going to be reading to herself anytime soon, that was for sure.

"The Westing Game," Dick began. "Oh, there's an inscription. 'Mac, Live Long and Prosper. Get well soon. Love, Lauren.'"

Dick started reading the first chapter. "The sun sets in the west (just about everyone knows that), but Sunset Towers faced east. Strange."

Mac was certain she went pale, though being her default setting these days it probably wasn't noticeable. She was drowning in déjà vu.

As sleep reached its tentacles out to pull her under, Mac felt as though she were still trapped between her two worlds.

TBC…

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