A/N: Time jump! It's only a couple of months though. We're now at Thanksgiving break, November 2009. I had one vision for this chapter, but something else entirely came pouring out. However, this ended up being one of my favorite chapters to write! I hope you like it, too. I'd love to hear your thoughts if you have a minute or two to leave me a brief review. Next chapter will be the Sinclair-Mackenzie combined Thanksgiving dinner. I promise! I'll upload it when it comes back from my awesome beta! Speaking of my wonderful beta—as always, thank you so much Cainc3!

Thank you so much for reading!

Chapter 29—Attitude of Gratitude

Wednesday, November 25th, 2009

Mac stood in front of her closet surveying her options. Dick was coming to get her in less than an hour. They were planning a rare evening in; he was taking her back to his penthouse suite at the Neptune Grand. They'd probably just get takeout from Poseidon's Bistro located in the hotel lobby and then watch a movie. Mac was trying to break Dick of his '09er belief that dating someone meant you needed to spend more money on each date than her dad ('Dad1') earned in a week.

Dating!

She was still trying to get use to the fact that she and Dick were officially dating, and not just in bizzarro world, but that it had bled out into the real world, too. A year ago, she'd never have believed it. Dick had already started to let his "15 minutes of humanity" peek through by then but, learning to tolerate a guy who used to bully you and your friends, and then moving on to dating him wasn't necessarily a natural progression. Unfortunately, it took a serious head injury to show her that this post-grief version of Dick came complete with a caring, compassionate side, and it wasn't buried as far down as she'd originally suspected.

That injury ended up being the catalyst in her life for so many changes.

Deciding that the brown satin blouse and skinny jeans she had on were fine for her evening plans, Mac continued to scan through her clothes looking for an outfit appropriate for tomorrow. The plan to merge the Mackenzie and Sinclair family feasts into one big, festive "family" Thanksgiving gathering had moved from theoretical to set in stone. There never was a discussion where to hold the event, the Sinclairs' house was the only place with enough space to accommodate everyone. Mac was sure the guest list was close to a mile long. There was also the fact that 'Mom2' had staff to assist her with cooking and cleaning.

Her eyes zeroed in on a white topped dress with a black lace overlay collar that flared into a black pleated skirt. If only she could tie that look together with her combat boots. She laughed to herself imagining her mom's reaction.

Having made her outfit selection, Mac was about to close the closet door when she happened to glance up at the row of storage shelves to the right of her hanging clothes. The X-Men volume 1 comic she'd been keeping for Ryan as a backdoor college-fund was gone. The basket she lovingly kept it in was empty, and she had no idea when it had gone missing. She had given Ryan the comic book a couple of Christmas' ago after making an under the table bargain with the owner of the local comic bookstore. She'd saved the store tens of thousands of dollars, so he was very agreeable to the proposal she had made involving one of his more valuable comics. It wasn't in mint condition, but it was still in very good condition, and sold to the right collector, it would pay for a healthy chunk of her brother's tuition, should he decide to go to college. Otherwise, he could make a large down payment on a house.

Mac was lucky and knew it. She had a scholarship to Hearst, otherwise she would at max, maybe, be able to swing Neptune Community College on her own. However, Ryan wasn't on the academic track to qualify for a big enough scholarship to afford a 4-year school. She didn't want Ryan to have to struggle to attend college, or whatever else he'd want to do after graduation, and she didn't want her parents bearing that burden either.

"Ryan Samuel Mackenzie! Get your ass in here now, or you'll know pain like you've never experienced before!" Mac stood in her doorway and screamed. The threat of bodily injury was usually an effective motivator for the not-so-little pest.

"What do you want?" Ryan asked, ambling up the steps, taking it slow and leisurely, like he was on his way for a social visit instead of answering an angry summons.

"Where is it?" Mac spit out, tapping her foot, not hiding her seething anger.

"Where is what?"

"You know what!" She glared at him.

"No! I really don't. Mind reading isn't one of my superpowers."

"The X-Men comic I've been holding for safe keeping. It's not in the basket where it's supposed to be."

"Oh, that." Ryan's voice was flat. "I gave it to Dick."

"Dick?! Dick Casablancas?!"

"Duh!"

"Why would you do that? Why didn't you ask me first?"

"It's mine, right?"

"No! Not really. I mean, technically," she stammered in her anger, "but it's more like I'm holding on to it on your behalf, than it's physically yours."

"I lost a bet this summer." Ryan spoke quietly.

"A bet? You were what, 14? What could you possibly have to bet on?"

"I'm 15 now."

"I know that dummy! I said you were 14 at the time of the bet! Either way, that's irrelevant, but the question still stands. What could you possibly have to bet on?" Mac amended, sarcastically. She huffed out a sigh.

"Mom." Ryan said simply. It was a whole sentence in just one word.

"Mom?" Mac was confused. "What do you mean mom? You know what, the bet doesn't really matter. Regardless of what it was for, you should have asked me first before just giving it away."

"I couldn't ask you! You were, you know, um…sleeping."

Mac cocked her head and studied her brother, confused. Then, just like that, she got what he was trying to say. Sleeping, it was her family's shorthand for the word coma, a four-letter word they still hated saying. Maybe they thought it was too painful for her? Most likely it was too painful for them to hear or even think about.

"Oh." Now her voice was the flat one, she worked hard to keep the emotions talking about her accident stirred up at bay. "The coma. That answers one question, I guess, but I still don't know what mom has to do with this bet."

"I thought you said the reason for the bet didn't matter," Ryan snarked. But then he paused before replying, "I didn't think mom would even notice my black eye. She was too busy worrying about you." Ryan spoke softly. "We all were," he added.

"How did you get the black eye?" Apparently, there was even more drama in the waiting room than anyone had told her about. Mac had heard all about Logan and Veronica reconnecting, and Mr. Mars getting back together with Wallace's mom, and of course she also had the picture retrospective that Dick had put together, including her favorite shot of Ryan napping, and drooling on her dad's shoulder. However, no one had mentioned any brawling. Did they leave out all the good stuff?

"I went over to Roger's house. He's the guy that hurt you. We had a talk."

"It must have been some talk." Mac said using air quotes. "So, this bet was Dick's idea?"

"Yes," Ryan confirmed. "He bet me $500 that mom would notice my black eye. I said she wouldn't."

"I take it she noticed?"

"Right away."

"So, in lieu of the money you gave Dick your X-Men comic?" Mac hypothesized.

"Yes," Ryan replied. "It's not like I have $500 in cash lying around. As you just pointed out, I was only 14. Where would I get that kind of money? Mowing lawns won't exactly make me rich. Then, I remembered the comic book, so I offered that to Dick instead of the money."

"Aren't you 15 now?" Mac asked. She couldn't resist throwing that back at her brother, and giving him a smirk, before continuing, "How much do you think the comic is worth?"

"Um, maybe $600?"

"Try closer to $90,000. If it was in mint condition, it would be worth almost 3 times that." Mac watched her brother's eyes get wide at that announcement; she was surprised they didn't bug out like they do in cartoons. That was obviously not the dollar value he was expecting.

Ryan's confession that Dick was now in possession of that valuable property did nothing to allay her fears, in fact it made things worse. Who knew the kind of damage that was being inflicted? He wasn't known for being careful with his toys, with the only exception being his custom-made Ed Hardy inked surfboard, his child. His word, not hers.

She felt her anger towards Ryan leaking out and transferring to the guy who would be coming by her house shortly. It's not like she was forthcoming with her brother about the value of the comic book. She didn't want him to take out an ad in the Neptune High Navigator announcing he was the proud owner of a comic book worth almost six figures. There was a lot of things teen boys were not known for, keeping their mouths shut was high up on that list, and guys in their 20s, and possibly all the other ages, too, she mentally amended, weren't any better at that, either.

Mental images of the comic being in tatters paraded across her mind, making her anger tip higher on the Richter scale, though the benefactor of her anger had shifted. Fortunately, the guy in question would be darkening her doorstep shortly. She had argued with him about coming to get her since they were going to just end up at his place anyway, but she conceded when he'd pointed out her nighttime driving skills had dulled quite a bit post injury.

Every reminder of what she'd lost pushed forward a frisson of pain. Still, she tried to balance the scales with reminders that she'd gained a lot, too. In that snapshot of time, however, dating Dick was no longer feeling like a check in the win column.

Mac grabbed her cell phone from its perching place by her bed and typed a brief message.

Me: Did you extort Ryan's X-Men volume 1 comic book?!

She wasn't expecting an answer so quickly, but approximately 45 seconds after hitting send there was an answering ping.

Dick: What? The? Hell? Extortion?! What the hell are you even talking about, Mac?!

Me: The X-Men COMIC I bought Ryan, it's apparently now in your possession!

Dick: I'll be there in 10 minutes; you can yell at me then! You know, in person!

It was a frustratingly vague comment, not an admittance of guilt, but it wasn't a denial either. Mac resisted the urge to throw the phone.

Belatedly, it occurred to her that by texting Dick beforehand she may have just lost a strategic advantage, but she still had the hope that the head's up text could serve as a reminder for him to mentally search his mental bank for where he'd stashed the comic. She didn't hold any illusions that it was locked in a safe for, well, safe keeping.

By the time the doorbell announced Dick's arrival, Mac was stationed by the door. The sound of laser blasting funneled in from the living room where Ryan was staging war against little green men parading across the TV set. He'd recovered well, evidently, from their brief sibling spat.

"Extortion? That's a heavy charge, don't you think?" Dick replied, in lieu of a greeting.

"Well, I don't know any other verbs that fit."

"It was just a friendly wager. I'd actually forgot all about it."

"Of course, you did, Dick." She sighed. "Do you have any idea how much that comic is worth?"

"Way north of $500," Dick said immediately. "We '09ers, with our inherited wealth, have a sixth sense for these kinds of things." His tone was mocking.

"Why did you accept it then?"

"Well, you've seemed to have already tried me, proclaimed me guilty without a jury of my peers, so you tell me why."

"Jury of your peers?" Mac asked, ignoring the crack about his motivations.

"You know, us '09ers, with our inherited wealth," Dick clarified, borrowing a phrase he'd heard from Mac more times than he could count, and he could count quite high, thank you very much. "Look, I don't need the money obviously. I was going to give it back to you."

"When?"

"Eventually."

He was back to being frustratingly vague, to Mac's supreme annoyance. "Define eventually."

"Christmas?" It came out as a question.

"Like regifting?" She attempted to clarify. "Actually, that would be more like re-gifting to the 3rd power."

"Look, Ryan gave it to me a couple of months ago, the night of our first date, in fact. It was payment for the bet he lost this summer. It wasn't high on my priority list at the time, because…Well, you know. And then, once he finally did give it to me, I forgot about it again. As I said, I wasn't going to keep it." Dick said. "Really," he added, after seeing Mac's doubtful expression.

"Where is it now?" Mac had her hands on her hips.

"In my room," Dick said, then added in a much softer tone, "somewhere." Then, he added, "I think."

It was more like a whisper.

"That's Ryan's college fund." Mac's voice rose, and she was pretty sure her blood pressure was getting higher. "We're not trust fund kids. We don't have a million dollars stashed away in our couch cushions. That's a life changing amount of money for us, Dick."

"You know, most people use bank accounts or 569 plans to save for college, not extorted comic books." Dick parroted back to her, borrowing the word she'd recently flung his way.

"Extorted?" By now Mac was sure she was right about her blood pressure ticking higher and higher. She could practically feel it climbing. "And it's a 529 plan," she corrected.

"Yes, extorted. I used it in context and everything."

"I didn't extort anything, Dick." She hit the -ck hard.

"Did you buy it?"

"It was a gift from a happy client who happens to own The 4th Wall Comics next door to Java the Hut. I certainly didn't win it in a bet with a 14-year-old."

"I'm 15." Ryan shouted from the living room.

"Butt out, Ryan!" Mac was surprised he could hear them above the din of his video game. She then turned her focus back to Dick, "I did some work for Derrick, the shop owner. He was appreciative of my services."

"Yeah, I bet." Dick winked.

Dick's volume was barely above a whisper, but Mac heard it clearly, as she was sure was his intention. She just glared, thinking that would communicate her lack of appreciation for his patented sexual insinuation much more clearly than any of the words running through her head ever could.

"He was being blackmailed, so let's just say with just a little database digging I got him out from under that, saving him respect, embarrassment, and a ton of money," Mac explained, despite the fact she really didn't think Dick deserved the truth. "His blackmailer had a couple skeletons in his own closet, which should definitely be a rule that you don't cause trouble for other people, unless you've buried your own bodies so far down, they'll never be found." She waited a beat, then added, "asshole," gifting Dick with another glare, so he'd realize who the ass in question really was.

"I figured there had to be a borderline illegal story behind it."

"It's only illegal if you get caught, which I most certainly did not!"

"You better watch it, Mackie, those words can, and definitely will be, used against you."

"In the court of law?"

"Oh no, the court of Dick."

Mac groaned and shook her head. As her fist connected with Dick's upper arm, it was his turn to groan. It was a start, but she could think of another thing she could do to the aforementioned "court of dick." She was pretty sure he wasn't a mind-reader, but he took a step backwards, moving further out of her reach, hands blocking her direct path to his second brain. The timing was comical and took a little more sizzle from her anger.

"So, if you're done injuring me, why don't we get on with our evening? Or should I just see myself out?"

"I can't promise I won't have to injure you, as you say, at some point later in the evening, but I can keep my hands to myself for the present time." Mac compromised.

"I didn't say you had to keep your hands to yourself, that would put the kibosh on other activities I've planned for tonight."

Mac just raised a brow. "Oh yeah?"

"Twister!"

"Naked Twister?"

"Now who has the dirty mind?"

"Definitely you, oh Jedi Master." She said, following it up with a sarcastic curtsy, if such a thing even existed. If not, well, she'd take the credit as the creator.

"Your lessons are starting to pay off, young padawan apprentice." Dick reached a hand over and grabbed the knob on the front door, he was practically snuggled up against it anyway in his haste to avoid more bodily injury.

"And so are yours. You used padawan correctly, and everything." She clapped her hands.

"Well, it pays to date a hot 12th level dork."

That label stung less these days, than it did when he used to call her that in high school. Part of that was the reverent tone he used, and tacking on hot didn't hurt the cause, either.

Mac called a quick good-bye over her shoulder to her family, though with Ryan's video game war still waging she held no hope of anyone hearing her.

As she settled into Dick's truck, fastening the seat belt, adjusting the radio to her favorite Indie rock station, Mac once again steered the conversation back to Ryan's comic book.

"I told you I know where it is, or I have a general idea of where to look," Dick said with a sigh, as he backed out of Mac's driveway. "We'll pick up dinner at Poseidon's Bistro and go upstairs. You can tear apart my bedroom after we eat. I placed our order before I left. I hope you still want your usual."

"Yes," Mac affirmed. "You know me so well."

"Yeah, cause you're an open book," Dick rejoined, ironically.

"I'm War and Peace, baby."

"You're more peace, less war there, oh vegan one. Although you do have a decent left hook."

"I was referring to the book by Tolstoy." She rolled her eyes, but since they were sitting in the dark truck, he missed that part.

"Oh, and I thought it was written by Sir Cliff of the prestigious Notes family, one of the most prolific writers of our time."

"Your English professor must have loved you."

"Well, she did, until I turned in a book report on Garden State."

"That's not a book, Dick!"

"Now you tell me! Duh, I know that, now! That's why the prof took me off her Christmas card list that year. Apparently, you do one little book report on a movie, and it totally trashes your grade, and your GPA. Who knew?!"

"Me! Logan! Oh, and about 2,500 other Hearst students."

"It would have made a great book though."

Mac watched the scenery speed by on the PCH as they made their way towards the Neptune Grand hotel. Dick continued to list reasons why Garden State should have been a novel, and somehow all his reasons kept circling back to the motorcycle sidecar. Other than an occasional grunt of agreement, Mac figured she didn't have to wax poetic about a movie she'd only watched once, many years ago.

"Right, Mac?"

"What?" Apparently, Dick had been asking her opinion, and she hadn't even heard the question.

"What planet are you on now?"

"Planet please don't make me go to the Sinclairs' for Thanksgiving."

"Oh, I heard that's an inhospitable place, ruled by an Ice Queen."

"An ice queen you used to date," Mac couldn't resist tossing in his face.

"Right, but she was just a place holder until I got to know the real Madison Sinclair. I've since traded up."

"Be sure to work that into conversation tomorrow."

"About that," Dick started, then his voice trailed off.

"You're flaking on me." It wasn't a question.

"No," Dick rushed in, "I was just going to say I'll need hazard pay."

"You're so cruel, making me think I'd have to endure that hell by myself."

"Never." His voice got soft. "And it's not exactly like I have a lot of invitations for tomorrow."

Mac looked over as Dick said that and saw the briefest flicker of a frown, before he quickly shut that operation down and replaced it with a wry grin.

She waited a beat, then asked, "Hazard pay?"

"Yes, hazard pay," Dick repeated. "You know, for putting up with Madison, the succubus herself. She has sharp talons."

"I thought she was an Ice Queen."

"She is, but she's also a succubus. They're not mutually exclusive, especially here on Neptune's Hellmouth."

"Good point! So, maybe that's why you guys seem to find her hard to resist?" Mac proposed.

"Resist past tense," Dick corrected. "I'm refined now. Once you've gone geek, you never go back."

"I think I should be insulted, but somehow I'm not."

"You know I think you're awesome." Dick said, awe creeping into his voice. He took the 6th Street exit and turned left.

"And you know I don't dislike you," Mac said, parroting Dick's same serious tone.

"That right there, that flattery, that's why I keep you around. Stop! You're making blush."

"There's more where that came from, as soon as I get Ryan's comic book back, that is."

"Just when I thought we'd left that subject behind us."

"If you really thought that you don't know me at all."

"I didn't think that, per se, it was more like I hoped we'd finished that conversation once and for all." Dick back peddled.

"The subject ends just as soon as I have that comic back in my hands, not until then." Mac spoke firmly. She dusted off her Kindergarten teacher voice just for him.

"Okay, okay. We're almost there. Let's have dinner first, then you can snoop in my drawers until you find it."

Mac's only reply was a sigh.

Dick engaged his right turn signal and drove into the parking garage next to the Neptune Grand Hotel.

They were settled on the couch of Dick's hotel suite, eating dinner. Gremlins was droning on in the background.

Mac took the final bite of her spicy eggplant casserole and closed the lid of the take-out container. She placed it on the coffee table in front of her.

Dick was only about a third of the way through his steak dinner.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into a chick flick," Dick was saying, or at least that's what Mac thought he said. She couldn't tell for sure since he started talking before swallowing the big bite of steak he'd just shoveled in his mouth.

"Chick flick!?" Mac's tone was incredulous.

"Yes, you heard me Mackie." He must have swallowed before speaking this time because he was much easier to understand. "Chick flick."

"You are the first person I've ever heard classify this classic horror movie as a 'chick flick.'" But even as Mac said that a feeling of déjà vu stole over her. Ever since awaking from the coma in June, that had become her factory setting. A lasting side effect of her coma dreamland was the blending of the two realities. She wondered if she'd ever get used to that feeling.

"Well, there's kissing, and it's a love story, everyone knows chicks dig that shit."

"I prefer the Gremlins, Dick. As far as I'm concerned the love angle is just filler between the good stuff."

"Logan likes the kissing, and shit." His tone sounded confident, like he'd just proven his own point.

"Logan is a guy," Mac pointed out the obvious.

"You'd think so, but you'd be wrong."

Her face must have broadcast her skepticism.

"I mean deep down, not externally." Dick further clarified, before taking another bite of his steak. This time he finished chewing before adding, "We know who wears the pants in the Mars-Echolls coupling. It's not the Echolls quotient."

"Quotient?"

"I thought you were fluent in math."

"I can traverse math pretty well," Mac admitted, "but there's a lot of things out there I can't traverse."

"What can't you traverse?"

"Life?" Mac spit out, then waited a beat before adding, "My new family situation? Give me a quadradic equation any day of the week, I'd be happy. Stick me in the grand dining room of the house that was supposed to be mine by birthright, add lots of strangers I'm blood related to eating turkey, and I'll go mute."

"Then I'll go mute right along with you."

"How about you just be my mouthpiece? You know what to say, what to do. You grew up in the fancy Nancy crystal chandeliered, real silver silverware, country club setting. You know the difference between a salad fork and a dessert fork, and every fork in between."

"There you go again, giving me way too much credit, Mackie. I just know how to fake it."

Dick speared the last piece of his steak and popped it in his mouth. He closed the lid of the

take-out container and grabbed Mac's discarded trash, stashing them both in the Neptune Grand branded paper bag. "Why are you so scared about tomorrow? How many family dinners have you all had by now?"

"Three, I think? But it's always been just the eight of us, and Lucille, of course. Tomorrow, we'll be paraded around the extended family. That changes the equation," Mac tried to explain. "It changes the quotient," she couldn't resist adding, smirking.

"Aren't you excited to meet other members of your expanded family?"

"Not really. What if they think I'm a fraud?"

"A fraud!?" Dick's voice got a little louder as his disbelief filtered in. "You mean, like what if they want to see your DNA?"

"Something like that, I guess. They might think we're looking for a payday. Or another payday, technically."

"Where do you come up with these ideas?"

"I can't reveal my sources."

"I thought Ronnie was the journalist. Anyway, I already know who your unnamed source is," Dick said confidently. "Madison."

"I can neither confirm, nor deny my source. It was more like I overheard my unnamed source say something when they didn't think I could hear them."

"Madison was never one for discretion."

"That was never your strong suit, either" Mac couldn't resist reminding him.

"Ha! I'm right. Your source is Madison." Dick gloated.

"I can neither confirm, nor deny," Mac repeated.

"You've just rendered that unnecessary, Mackie."

Mac didn't answer. Her attention was fractured by the action on the screen. Billy's frantic mom was pureeing a poor Mogwai in her blender, though being he had transformed into a Gremlin, and was a threat to her safety, it wasn't an undeserved fate.

She tried to focus more on the Gremlins reign of terror, and less on thoughts of doom about tomorrow's family Thanksgiving gathering at the Sinclairs'.

It was an exercise in futility.

****************Begin flashback******************

Madison had been in the kitchen venting to Lauren during the previous week's Sunday night dinner at the Sinclairs'. It hadn't yet become a weekly tradition, but they'd been doing it roughly every other weekend. It was still a study in awkwardness, everyone was still trying to get to know each other, but that was hard when the families were opposite in every way. Mac believed that the fact there hadn't been any bloodshed qualified it as a minor miracle.

Mac had grabbed her empty plate, and headed towards the kitchen, her hand on the door handle when she heard Madison's nasally voice complaining that something wasn't right about the whole situation. It took Mac approximately three nanoseconds to catch on to the fact that she was the one being cast as the villain. That didn't bother her, well, not much at least, what really hurt though was the implicit judgement that was also being cast towards her family, the ones that raised her, the people that always put her needs, and wants, first. And ironically, the very people Madison was looking down on, were the very people who gave her life.

As she was about to storm into the kitchen, Lauren was already diffusing the situation, she'd had a lifetime of experience dealing with the ice queen after all, but as far as Mac was concerned the damage was already done. She pulled the door open with more force than the situation usually called for, but she wanted to make sure Madison was aware of her presence. She put the dish in the sink, and turned on her heel, not even glancing in Madison's direction.

Lauren had later tried to apologize, but she waved it off, saying she hadn't really heard anything.

******************End flashback***********************

As usual, her brain wouldn't stop cycling Madison's words around, analyzing and then re-analyzing them. It was one of her least favorite aspects of her personality.

"You would think a pureed Gremlin would be a good distractor," Mac grumped to Dick.

"That always distracts me," Dick agreed, "but since it's not working its mojo on you this time, how about that game of naked Twister that you promised me?"

"Promise is a strong word there, Dick," Mac said, putting extra emphasis on the -ck.

"It is," Dick replied, "that's why I know you'll want to keep your word to me. At the end of the day, a person's word is all they have."

"I never promised you a game of Twister in a naked manner," Mac hedged, "but you did make a promise to me. I need Ryan's comic book back…NOW!" Mac tapped her foot impatiently, but the beige carpet muffled the sound.

"I thought you were going to tear apart my room looking for your precious investment."

"I'd have no clue where to start looking. This is your mess. Fix it!"

"How about dessert?"

"How about you stop changing the subject?"

"I'm not changing the subject, just delaying it a little bit. How about I pick us up something sweet first, and then I'll find your comic for you. Okay?"

Mac sighed but gave a terse nod in agreement. She always had room for cake, and Dick knew exactly how to get back on her good side. With the sharp detour her mood had taken, this would be medicinal cake.

After Dick left the suite in search of vegan coconut spice cake and whatever chocolate concoction he was craving at the moment, Mac tried to focus her attention back on the gremlins wreaking havoc and terror on the tiny hamlet of Kingston Falls, NY. The cabal of little green terrorists were currently infiltrating the small-town movie theater, watching Snow White. She couldn't help but draw parallels between Gremlins and her current life. She wondered which Mogwai would represent Madison. Stripe, perhaps, leaving herself as Gizmo. She found it funny how her mind worked. It could spin and meld the most innocuous things and find relevance in any situation. Of course, she would be the one person on the planet to find this campy, classic 80's horror movie relevant to her screwed up, Made-For-TV movie family dynamics.

Not even pureed demon monsters could save her from the dread of tomorrow's festivities. At least she had coconut cake to look forward to. Sometimes it was the small pleasures in life that mattered.

As though she'd summoned him, Dick entered the suite, making his usual grand entrance, letting the door slam behind him. He'd be the world's worst burglar. His hands were laden down with to-go containers, and a small paper bag. He placed one of the boxes on the table and handed off the other one to Mac with a flourish.

"Your dessert, Mademoiselle, zee finest in vegan dessertz," he said in a poor imitation of a classy French waiter.

"Don't quit your day job."

"And now, for your reading pleasure, may I present zee X-Men," Dick continued, ignoring Mac's lack of appreciation for his accent skills. He handed her the paper bag.

"Finally! So, where was it?" Mac asked, unveiling the missing comic. She was relieved to see it was in the same condition she remembered it being in.

"I put it in a safe in the front office, you know, for safe keeping."

"Along with the family jewels?" Mac guessed.

"And the silver."

"You could have just led with, 'I have it stored somewhere safe and sound. Now, let me go get it for you, oh wise and wonderful Goddess, whom I'm lucky enough to have in my life,'" Mac suggested. "It would have saved a lot of time, time we wasted with our fighting. Time we'll never get back."

"I like fighting with you."

"Who's the Geek now?"

"Still you," Dick affirmed. "How about next time you just hand me a script, and I'll just read off my lines. That would be a time-saver." He opened the lid of his to-go box and took a generous bite of his piece of 3-layer chocolate cake. He shut his eyes in pleasure.

"Do you want some alone time with the cake?" Mac snarked, before digging her fork into her own massive slice of coconut spice cake.

"It's not naked Twister, but it'll do, for the moment at least." Dick said, and then grinned as Mac emitted her own groan of satisfaction.

Mac came out of her cake eating stupor long enough to glance up at the screen to see the credits rolling. "Well, you missed the whole movie, Dick," she said.

"Not true. I saw…Well, um, yeah, I saw the beginning." Dick defended. "I saw enough to maintain my original opinion about it being a chick flick."

"And yet you miss the point of the whole movie…again."

"We'll just have to plan another rewatch then." Dick shut the lid on his dessert container, only crumbs remained. He took Mac's empty dessert box out of her hands, she'd all but licked it clean. He tossed them carelessly on to the coffee table in front of the couch before leaning over towards Mac, pressing his lips on hers. She opened her mouth to let him in. He gently pushed her down, so she was lying on her back, their eyes locked on each other. She moaned softly as he straddled her, gently pinching her sensitive nipples, which were hardening at Dick's skillful ministrations. She felt how turned on he was, as his now fully charged penis pressed into her, only the barrier of their jeans blocking him full entrance. As their kiss deepened, she ran one hand through his hair, the other gently caressed the outline of his balls, straining through the fabric of his chinos, begging for freedom and for release.

"Left hand red," Mac whispered huskily into Dick's ear. "That's as close to naked Twister as I'll get."

"Right foot yellow," Dick replied, in between kisses. He removed his right hand from Mac's breast and started to unbutton her jeans so he could move the theoretical game of Twister into the naked realm. However, before he had the chance to successfully shed her of her clothes, the door to the suite was opened.

"I'm so full, I don't think I'll be able to eat a thing tomorrow. Though Alicia makes the best green bean casserole in all of Neptune," Veronica was telling Logan.

"And yet, somehow I'm sure you'll find room in that bottomless pit you call a stomach," Logan replied as he walked into the suite. He looked over to his left, and added, "um, Bobcat, I think we have company. I told you this was a bad idea." He shut the door behind him louder than usual, presumably to alert his roommate to their arrival.

Veronica looked up at Logan's comment and let out a shriek. "Get a room!"

Mac's attention, which had been entirely on Dick, however, was fractured at the sound of Veronica's shriek. She let out a shriek of her own. Embarrassed, she was sure her face was beet red.

"Get a cow bell," Dick rejoined, as he rolled off Mac, and sat up on the couch. "I thought you guys were at Mama Leone's."

"We were, and now we're here. Apparently, the waitress didn't want us to stay there all night, something about wanting more tips." Veronica sassed. "And now I have eyeball trauma."

"Maybe we should've put a sock on the doorknob." Mac said in a teasing voice, though once she thought about it, decided it wasn't a bad idea overall.

"Now, you tell me. That would've been a good thing to have suggested 30 minutes ago."

"Is it safe to sit here?" Logan asked, but plopped down on the couch anyway, without waiting for an answer. He pulled Veronica down with him.

"Well, Q, it looks like you two crazy kids had a good time tonight."

"It was a salvageable evening," Mac admitted. "After I got Ryan's X-Men comic book back, that is."

"What now?!"

"Apparently, Dick extorted my baby brother out of his first edition comic book while I was in the hospital."

"I won it in a bet, fair and square," Dick corrected. "I've had to defend myself all night against a charge of extortion."

"I think the better story might be how Ryan got ahold of a first edition comic book to begin with." Logan said.

"Wouldn't you like to know?!" Mac interjected, raising an eyebrow. "It's not as interesting as you'd think. Anyway, after stringing me along, Dick finally "found" it," she said using air quotes.

"I'm glad there's a happy post-script to the story, and all extortion charges have been dropped, I presume," Veronica commented.

"For now," Mac said. "I'll leave the door open for future crimes."

"That's probably wise." Veronica agreed, then she added, "Oh, before I forget, Alicia wanted me to invite you and Dick for dessert tomorrow night."

"That's so sweet of her," Mac said. "I'm not sure how much room we'll have after dinner at the Sinclairs', but we will muddle through. Besides, I need my Wallace fix. I haven't seen him in ages."

"What time?" Dick asked.

"7:30 PM."

"Your first Sinclair family Thanksgiving. You ready?" Logan asked.

"Ready to be fed to the lions? Of course! Sounds fun!" Mac snarked, putting on her best faux pep squad cheerleading voice. The only thing missing was a pair of pom-poms.

The four friends talked and teased each other a little more, until Veronica started yawning. Mac spared a quick glance at the clock and saw it was almost midnight. She didn't have a curfew per se, but she still tried to be home before one AM.

After firming up logistics for dessert at Wallace's house, they said their good-byes and left the suite.

**************Mackenzies' house on Colony Place*********************

After one more not-so-brief goodnight kiss from Dick at the door, and a promise that he'd be at her parent's house at 11:45 AM on the dot, so they'd all be on time to the Sinclairs' feast, Mac put her key into the lock and entered the house.

Her parents usually went to bed around 10, so the voice interrupting her thoughts was unexpected.

"Cindy?"

Mac jumped.

"Mom?!" She looked around for the source.

"Sorry to startle you, baby. I couldn't sleep." Her mom was on the old, faded brown velvet couch, several photo albums scattered beside her, and another couple were stacked on the wooden coffee table. Her voice was hoarse.

"Are you okay? What's wrong?"

"Come join me, hon," her mom said, not really answering her questions. She picked up one of the photo albums, shifting it over to her other side, leaving some space open for Mac. She patted the seat in invitation.

In the dim light spilling out of the lamp next to the couch, her mom's eyes looked blood shot.

Mac sat down. "The photo albums, mom? Are you feeling nostalgic?" She tried not to wrinkle her nose at the smell of smoke clinging to her mom's clothes.

"You were such a beautiful baby," Natalie continued, as though Mac hadn't said anything at all. "You had all that gorgeous black hair. I kept thinking you'd lose it, and end up bald like I was, but that never happened." Her mom's voice was soft, wistful. She leaned over and grabbed an album, flipping through several pages until she came to a photo of Mac at approximately 4 months old, sitting up in her baby swing, holding a toy duck. "This is one of my favorites. You loved that duck."

"Did that make you suspicious, the fact that I looked so different from you when I was a baby?" Mac asked, squeezing her eyes shut.

"No, not at all, and that's what I keep trying to figure out. Why wasn't I suspicious? Why didn't I notice something, anything? What kind of mother doesn't notice something different about her own baby?" Her mom flipped through a couple more pages of the album, stopping at a picture of Mac sitting in a large basket, in just her diaper. "You were about 7 months here. Look at your big grin, and that dimple. You were the happiest baby, with the best gut laugh."

"Why did you bring out my old baby pictures?" Mac asked. She kept her theory about her mom wanting to torture herself with guilt to herself. "Is this what you usually do when you can't sleep?"

Truthfully, she'd had the exact same lingering question herself when Veronica first told her she was biologically a Sinclair. There would have had to be some feature that set newborn Madison and herself as an infant apart, some little detail someone should have noticed. Maybe her ears were a little pointier, or Madison's nose was bigger? It was a question that had always lingered in her mind, but without the secret being out in the open she never had anyone to give her the answers she'd craved so much.

"No, hon. Honestly, I dug them out tonight because I decided to bring a couple of your baby books with us tomorrow. I know Ellen is interested in seeing what you were like as a baby."

"And you want to see what Madison was like." Mac's voice was flat.

"Um, yes, of course. I definitely want to see Madison's baby pictures."

She wondered who her mom was trying to convince, herself probably.

"Mom, I already knew that Madison and I had been switched at birth." It came pouring out in a rush, all garbled, not even close to the way Mac had always imagined the conversation would go. She studied her feet like they were the most fascinating things in the universe. She couldn't look into her mom's warm green eyes; it would be her breaking point. She had tried almost daily since the 16 years of silence was broken back in September to confess that one final piece of the Gothic Secret. It had defined her life for way too long. "Veronica found out about the million-dollar settlement our junior year at Neptune High."

"Wh…," her mom started to say, but couldn't quite manage to get the word out. She paused, probably only for a few seconds, but it took on a life of its own. "Why? How?"

She opened her mouth to say that Veronica was looking into finances for Neptune Memorial, a cover story V had helped her concoct, but that wasn't what came tumbling out. She figured if she was going to confess, she'd go all in. "I asked her to look into our family, Mom."

"Why?" Anguish coated the word.

"I'm so sorry." Mac took off her glasses, leaning forward to place her them on the table. She covered her eyes, hoping to hide the fact they were tearing up.

"Baby, you don't have anything to be sorry about. I just want to know why you did that." Her mom reached over to wipe off one of the renegade tears that had leaked out. It was a gentle caress.

"You and dad are the best parents I could ever ask for," Mac said, her voice hitching over a sob she failed to hold back. "But I always felt like I didn't really belong here. I've been an outcast in my own life. In school, and at home. I honestly thought I was adopted, and you just didn't want to tell me."

"Oh, hon…" Her mom swallowed the space between them, engaging Mac in a fierce embrace. She felt herself being scooped up into her mom's lap, it was like going back in time to when she was a small child, and a mom hug was a powerful panacea to external, and internal wounds. Apparently, it still was. "You always had a place in this family. Our differences are what enriched my life, and your dad's. You've been the best teacher I could ever have, my love. I'm the one who should be sorry, hon."

"No," was all Mac could get out. It was a wail more than an actual coherent word. She buried her head in her mom's chest. It should've have felt weird, clinging to her mom, being she was an adult now, but instead, at this one moment when she needed to feel loved more than anything else, it felt like homecoming. It wasn't until the numbness subsided a little bit, that Mac realized that her head felt wet, 'Mom1' was crying, too.

As their cries mingled and merged, Mac wasn't sure where she stopped, and her mom began. Maybe this was that umbilical cord tether to the woman she always wanted to belong to, but never truly felt like she did—it was a gossamer thread born out of love they'd cultivated, not by genetics. Despite the mix up being an accident, in that moment she knew that she was raised by the right family, and that love was what mattered, not that she and her mom viewed their worlds so differently.

"Hon," her mom started to say between tears, "I was serious when I told you that the best thing in my life started with a hospital error. The thing is, I don't believe it was a mistake, not in the grand scheme of things. It never felt that way, not to me. You will always be the daughter of my heart. The daughter meant for my arms. I've enjoyed getting to know Madison better, but she'll never replace you…Ever. I should've told you earlier, but every time I tried to, I couldn't get the words out."

"I feel the same way," Mac was able to say, though the words came out broken, and between sobs. "I'm right where I belong."

Apparently, sometime after her tears had dried up, Mac fell asleep. When she woke up, the lamp was off, the TV was on, spilling dim light into the room. A guy in the informercial was demonstrating how the slap chopper could be used on both onions, and garlic.

Instead of curled up in her mom's lap, she was now spread out on the couch, her head cradled on a pillow, a pink and purple knit blanket draped over her. Looking over, she saw her mom still sitting upright on the couch, but she'd fell asleep sometime after Mac. She had a bright pink fuzzy neck pillow draped around her; Mac recognized it from her long hospital stay when her mom had barely ever left her bedside. The bejeweled sleep mask her dad had bought her mom from the hospital gift shop was positioned over her eyes.

The grandfather clock in the corner, that appropriately enough her grandfather Franklin had willed to her mom when she was just a child, trilled out six chimes.

Mac remained in her prone position, but rolled her head from side to side, her neck sounding gravelly. She wondered who the clock would go to next. It was hand carved from Brazilian Cherry wood and had been in the family for generations. Ryan would be a logical choice, but she and her grandpa had been very close, and when he died Ryan wasn't even a year old.

What if the accident had happened before she'd ever learned about the baby-swap? Her mom's bedside camp out had nothing to do with genetics, it was separate from dietary lifestyles, and it had everything to do with a mother's love. Would she even have had Veronica investigate her parent's finances? Would the sense of being on the outside of family life growing up have been driven away in the aftermath of everything else swirling around in her life?

Maybe that didn't matter because the truth always floated to the surface anyway—it was inevitable.

Those separate, but quasi-related thoughts, circled around in her brain.

It was Thanksgiving and they would be going to the Sinclairs' in just a few hours. She was going to be on display there, not unlike a float in the traditional New York City Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade. Hopefully, for her mom's sake, Madison would behave, and the dread that had been setting up residence in her stomach for a week would be unfounded. She wasn't feeling very optimistic about her chances, however.

Her mom woke up around 7AM, and the rest of the household came alive not long after. Mac was thankful that for the first time in recent memory, her mom ('Mom1') wasn't hosting. The mess and cursing were kept to a minimum, as Nat's contribution to the Sinclair-Mackenzie feast was minimal, vegan Waldorf Salad.

This year there would be no dramatic declarations that they'd have to move, because the festivities, and her hosting duties, were shaping up to be an epic disaster. That refrain had made up the soundtrack of Thanksgivings Mackenzie style as far back as Mac could remember. She suspected that a Sinclair feast would more closely resemble the one in her coma dream, Lucille running the kitchen and dining room with smooth efficiency.

Mac was showered, and fully dressed five minutes before their planned departure time, and she was happy to see that Dick was in her living room poised to defeat Ryan in an epic Halo 3 battle. She grabbed her clutch purse, making sure to have her bottle of headache pills on hand, just in case.

They all settled into the Mackenzie's battered mini-van a few minutes later. As Dick and Mac sat on the bench seat in the back row, she whispered in his ear that she'd finally told her mom she'd known about the hospital mix up since she was 17.

"I'm so proud of you, Mackey-Mac! How did your mom take the news?"

"Good. Maybe too good?" Her voice lifted at the end.

"Too good?"

"She wasn't mad, or at least she didn't seem like she was."

"Mad? How could she possibly be mad at you? You didn't do anything wrong."

Mac shrugged but didn't say anything else. She watched the scenery go by. They were almost at the entrance to the Sinclairs' ritzy development. Her stomach was knotted up. Apparently sensing that, Dick reached over and grabbed her hand.

Three minutes later her dad pulled into the Sinclairs' brick paved driveway and shut the engine off. Mac sucked in a deep breath, counted to five silently, before exhaling.

Let the festivities begin.

TBC…