A/N: Many thanks to Nova8604, without whom, there wouldn't be a multichapter fic, much less a series.
PICKING UP HER PIECES: AMONGST THE LIVING AND THE DYING
90909
By the time you wake up the next morning, you are alone with Mac in Keith's bed. You almost panic again, in Veronica's absence, because the way this ended last time couldn't be considered 'well' by any stretch of the imagination, but then you hear voices from the kitchen, and sigh in relief.
The huge intake of air alerts Mac, who was stirring anyway. For a long moment, the two of you only sit awkwardly in bed, and think separate but similar thoughts.
"She's going to be okay, right?" Mac suddenly asks, her voice more tremulous than you've ever heard it.
You swallow hard. Truth be told, you really just don't know. You can't even tell her for certain what 'okay' means anymore.
"Let's get some breakfast," you say, deciding to ignore the question. She nods and bites her lip.
"That's what I thought," she whispers as you leave the room.
And you marvel at how easy it was to forget that Veronica wasn't the only one who was broken.
90909
Veronica is gone again, and by God you could kill her. And them, for letting her go. She took Back-up with her, so you're not as worried as you could be, but you still feel the breath catch painfully in your throat. You try to convince yourself that you needn't worry at all, after last night's talk, she won't be leaving you again. You try to convince yourself to trust that her fragile mind is healing.
It doesn't work.
And this is why, after only an hour spent pacing in her living room, you and Lamb leave to find her, without even having to say a word. It almost scares you that you are now in synch with Don Lamb of all people.
Almost. Maybe it will scare you more when you're not so terrified that Veronica will end up far too dead, far too soon.
90909
You find her quickly, but only because a local good Samaritan had found her first, unconscious on the beach, and had to call Lamb when Back-up refused to let anyone near the girl.
Seeing as the Samaritan was Sean O'Conner, you're glad. There's no evidence he's with the Fitzpatricks other than his Irish name, but given what Lamb told you last week, you're not taking any chances. You don't let yourself think too long about why someone trying to kidnap her would call the cops. Lamb has proved to be far to publically incompetent before for you to think the Irish in your girl's would-be savior is a coincidence.
The moment he hears the name, a look passes between the two of you, and Lamb suggests a vacation for Veronica – a vacation in a place far away, and with his own person police protection.
You don't agree or disagree. You want to see Veronica first.
90909
She is lying in the hot sand, a puddle of skimpy Happy Bunny pajamas and sun-blistered skin. Back-up is near her, whining piteously, occasionally licking her face and trying to cover her with as much of his shadow as he can. Which, given that it is almost noon, isn't much.
Back-up lets you near enough to take her, and then trots along after you towards the police cruiser when you carry her as gently as you can.
She wakes up and you can see the pain and confusion clouding her eyes and mind. In response to the confusion, you inform her that she's been outside, running, barefoot, and in the hot sun for roughly two hours.
In response to the pain, you take her to the hospital.
90909
Several hours pass while the doctors give her fluids and ice-baths and burn creams. They give her a prescription for Loratab, and your heart clenches as this throws into sharp relief the huge amount of pain she must be in. They had called you in to triage to comfort her as the doctors debrieded her feet, and her screaming is the stuff of nightmares. It killed you that the only thing you could do was hold her tightly, preventing her from causing herself any more damage, while they tortured her little body.
The next moment, though, you are grateful to the doctors because they prescribe her strong pain medications and some lotions for her red skin. They'd managed to prevent anything life-threatening, but there are places on her thin shoulders and her face with second-degree burns. The doctors carefully lanced the larger blisters, leaving the smaller ones to heal on their own. At first you worry about how hard it will be to keep Veronica from picking at the boils, but once the pain medications takes hold of her, you almost laugh at your fears. She's higher than you've ever seen anyone in your life.
She gazes up at you through heavy lids, struggling to keep them open.
"Sleep, baby," you tell her.
"Sleep," she echoes, a mere whisper breathed into your neck as she burrows down and get comfortable. Apparently she's decided that you are softer than the pillows provided by the hospital. You can't decide whether you should feel emasculated (you worked hard for those muscles, after all) or flattered. You decide on the latter, after much deliberation. Then you laugh at yourself for spending so much time deliberating such a silly thing. Then you reassure yourself that it's okay, because it's not like you had anything better to do, sitting on a padded gurney, holding your sleeping girlfriend.
By the time the nurse comes by with Veronica's discharge papers, you have officially decided that this little woman in your arms? Is driving you crazy.
90909
The pills are a mixed blessing. On the one hand, they put her out, so you know there's no way she's in any pain. On the other hand, she needs to eat, and she needs to talk to a therapist, neither of which can be done while she is unconscious.
Her doctor assures you that this second problem isn't really an issue, as she won't notice the passing of time while asleep, and a few weeks won't make too much of a difference in the long run. The first problem, however, he admonishes you to watch closely. She's badly injured, and injuries don't heal without propped nutrition.
You don't think you've ever seen so many types of soup in one cabinet in your whole life, but it's really all she can handle, it being soft and not requiring a lot of Veronica's wan energy to swallow, and this is what she exists on for the next several days.
This and water and pills keep her alive.
Barely.
90909
She has nightmares, as the pain decreases and the doctor tells you to start giving her half-doses of the Loratab. You can't count the number of times she's woken up screaming, thinking she was on fire again and calling for her daddy to save her. Then she realizes that she is safe, is not on fire, is at home in her bed, in her own room.
That her father isn't coming to save her because he can't; because he's dead.
The screaming doesn't stop.
90909
Back-up is a traitor, and not nearly as smart as Veronica gives him credit for. You decide this sometime around 7am, when you wake up to the sound of thunder and the damned dog howling at the door.
You go to get him, intent on shutting him up before he wakes Veronica, who's had a pretty rough night, and that's when you realize it.
You were alone in Keith's bed when the storm woke you.
Alicia is in Veronica's bed, the door is open and you can see that the woman is sleeping peacefully – and alone. Wallace is rubbing his eyes groggily on the couch, and Lamb is in his own bed tonight.
But Veronica is not in the bathroom, not in her room, not in the living room or the kitchen, and with the final tally: not in her apartment.
And since you haven't gotten a call from Lamb, Mac, or Weevil, this means that her most likely location is the beach.
Outside.
In the storm.
"Fuck!" You shout, flipping open your phone and dialing Lamb's number. Without waiting for him to ask you what the fuck you're calling him for, you tell him to meet you on the beach, the usual spot.
The usual spot.
And that is how Lamb will know that Veronica's gotten herself into trouble again.
"Shit, she's out there right now? In this weather?"
You don't answer, just jam your keys into the ignition and speed off towards Dog Beach and a little blond fairy with tiny broken wings and your heart in her hands.
90909
By the time you get there, the wind is whipping around you and the storm is raging like you've never seen in Neptune. And sure enough, there's Veronica, standing on the beach, head thrown back, screaming like there's no tomorrow. Then she turns slightly, not much, just enough to see you, and runs.
Into the ocean, barely stopping as she sheds her father's coat at the water's edge.
You chase after her, and keep your eyes trained on the spot where she disappeared into the deep, praying to every god you've ever heard of that you can find her in time.
And someone must have been listening, because you do. After just moments of fumbling blindly in the water, your hand closes on something beautiful, and you drag her up to the surface, where you race back to the shore, careful to keep her head as far from the water as you can.
You don't know whether she decided to run from you and chose the most convenient location, or if she was just trying to drown, but you're not taking any chances by letting her stick her face back in.
Lamb meets you on the shore, and you see him bend down out of the corner of your eye as you strip Veronica out of her wet clothes, too worried to be thinking about modesty, and wrap her up in her father's still mostly dry coat. The thing looks ridiculous on her emaciated body, the sleeves and tail trailing a good foot beyond her fingers and toes, and you could wrap it around her at least twice. You know, because that's what you do, in an effort to keep her as warm as possible.
Then you hear it. "Shit Mars."
You look to see what's got Lamb upset, already sure you don't really want to know.
He holds up an empty medicine bottle and a half-drunk bottle of champagne, and when Veronica sees, she starts to giggle hysterically. You hold her tighter, burrowing your face in her water-logged hair and beginning another prayer while her laughs become dry, painful sobs.
She cries about things like love and need and sorry and "I don't want to die," and you rush her to the police cruiser and then to the hospital.
She finally passes out when the doctors take her from your arms.
90909
It takes you three days to convince them that Veronica's not a suicide risk, that she just took that much medication because she was scared and in pain.
You think this isn't such a lie. You know that, subconsciously, at least, your little blond angel wanted to die. But you also know that if she'd been sober, or not in so much physical pain that it even hurt other people to look at her, she wouldn't have taken that much medication. If she'd given the pills time to take effect, she wouldn't have downed the whole bottle.
But mostly you know that somewhere deep in her heart, she was in enough pain to long for death, and this scares you.
Hell, it downright terrifies you, and you marvel at how this itty-bitty little slip of a girl can make the panic close over your throat in a way that your violent, abusive father never could. Aaron would be so jealous.
The moment you can no longer see Veronica, you fall to your knees, unable to breathe for the icy fingers around your windpipe, and Lamb practically drags you back to the Mars apartment, phoning first Leo (to go sit with Veronica until you get back), and then a friend who works at the hospital (to order that Veronica be sedated until you get back, so she doesn't have to wake up without you there).
You've never in your life had to fight the urge to kiss another man before, and if you were the kind of person to think on such things, you're sure you'd wish for someone other than the sheriff to be the first to stir this in you, but dammit if the man doesn't just blow your mind again. You weren't even aware he had friends, much less ones that he could use to help you and Veronica.
Thank God for your great self-control, right?
90909
When they finally release her, and you get to take her home, Wallace informs her that he loves her but won't be able to trust her again for quite some time. You agree with him, but when Veronica starts to cry, you want to punch him in the face. You don't though, because he obviously feels bad enough about it.
It takes about five minutes of watching her reaction to Wallace explaining himself for you to realize her breakdown isn't about what he said to her, but has something to do with her father.
You pick her up and carry her into her father's room, cooing soft words of comfort into her ears all night, and this seems to calm her somewhat.
Until you tell her you love her, at which point she cries harder and finally sniffles her first "I love you" into your into your neck. You press your grin into her cheek and reassure her of the same.
You love her.
You always will, and, on some level, you think you always have.