if i could name you in this song, would it make you smile and sing along?

Fic: It's Gonna Bleed Sometimes

Wed, 23 Dec 2009 00:33:56 GMT

Title: It's Gonna Bleed Sometimes
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: Twilight -- J/B
Rating: PG
Summary: AU in New Moon: Bella couldn't stop Charlie from sending her to Florida, even if she convinced him to let her return a few weeks later. But because of that, she never learned to hear Edward through danger, and she never be-friended Jacob. And where did she end up? Hospitalized.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely no rights to the Twilight books or movies.
A/N: Title and lyrics taken from "Sweet Talk" by the Killers, an all time favourite of mine. This is a good old fashioned, past-tense, third-person POV. But it touches a sensitive topic.

i. Lift me up on my honour,/ Take me over this spell,/ Get this weight off my shoulders,/ I've carried it well

Every time she gave up after counting thirty-seven tiles.

She counted in the same order every time, but when she reached number thirty-seven, she was distracted. Number thirty seven had been bleached, and it shone brighter than all the others. When she stared at it, she saw how beautiful it was in comparison to all the other tiles, and it made her heart hurt with the reminder.

She would look away, trying to focus on something — anything — else, but her eyes were always drawn to that one tile. She would try to start counting the tiles again, but she would always end up on number thirty-seven, and it ached. It ached.

She let her eyes wander to the bathroom door. She stared at it for a moment.

But then her eyes bounced past it and back on to that one shiny tile. She swallowed thickly.

She couldn't escape. Tears gathered in her lashes.

When the nurse arrived, her checks were sticky with old tears hidden under the fresh ones that still poured down. "Why, sweetheart, what's the matter?" the older woman asked. "Close it," she whispered.

The woman frowned. "What's that, dear?"

"Close it," she repeated. The woman's eyes darted from her to the bathroom door and back again. "Please close it."

"Of course, dear," she replied, and in a few swift steps, the bathroom door was closed. "Is that better?"

She didn't respond. She couldn't see any of the bathroom tiles any more, but she still knew what lay behind the closed door. She looked up at the ceiling, and her eyes caught on a stain. It was as dirty and wrong as tile number thirty seven was bright and right.

She let her eyes flutter shut.

ii. Loose these shackles of pressure,/ Shake me out of these chains,/ Lead me not to temptation

He pulled the car into the closest spot he could, putting it into park. But he couldn't make himself move. He still didn't know how he could have possibly agreed to this. There were a thousand better things he could be doing. God, he would rather be doing anything other than this. But he had said he would, and what other choice did he have? He had no truly valid excuses, except that every single fiber of his being was screaming at him not to walk into that hospital.

He sighed, turning the key and cutting the engine. It was another moment before he could climb out of the car. He slammed the door shut a little too viscously. The hospital entrance was only about twenty feet away. It still took him a good five minutes to make it to the doors.

The last time he had been at a hospital, his mother had died.

What was awaiting him inside was worse than even that memory, though.

He made his way to the information desk eventually, even if it took over ten minutes to muster the courage. "Can I help you?" The woman behind it was young and pretty, with bright blue eyes and a bright smile. What were the chances she would look anything like that?

"Hi, I'm here to see a — a friend of mine. Her dad called in to say I was coming."

"Her name?" He gave it, and with a few clicks on her computer, she was smiling up at him again. "Are you Jacob Black?" she asked. He only nodded. "Perfect timing, Mr. Black. Just sign in here, and this is your visitor's pass, and please read this sheet here about how to act appropriately with patients."

Five minutes later, his pass was pinned to his shirt and there was no backing out. "Alright, its on the second floor, room 217. I'll call up to tell them you're on your way. Do you need a map?"

"I'll manage," he murmured. He gave a tight smile and she beamed.

He took the stairs slowly, and when he pushed open the door to the ward, he had to fight the sudden, pulsing urge to hightail it out of the hospital pronto. It took another ten minutes for him to find room 217. It was open, and he shifted from one foot to the other, sighing. "It won't be that bad," he told himself.

And then he was in the doorway, and the breath rushed suddenly out of his lungs.

She was sitting in a chair, wearing hospital pyjamas and a grey knit sweater, one he recognised as made by Sue Clearwater. Her hair was cropped short around her ears, and her face was blank. His mind buzzed with blurry, bright memories of a little girl with long curls down her back chasing him down the beach and then of a pale, unknowingly pretty girl, who's shy eyes lit up at the sight of her own vehicle.

The girl sitting in front of him was nothing like the girl in those memories, and suddenly the very action of swallowing was painful.

"Bella?"

iii. Hold my hand harder,/ Ease my mind,/ Roll down the smoke screen,/ And open the sky

"How about we start today by talking about Charlie."

Bella picked at her nails.

"What's your relationship with Charlie like?"

She wished she hadn't cut off her hair, so that she could still let it fall forward and cover her face, hide her from the world and from the woman in front of her. She glanced out the window. It was closed and locked. All the windows were always closed and locked. She sighed.

"Charlie brought you in here, didn't he? How do you feel about that? Bella?"

Bella shifted uncomfortably. Charlie. Guilt flooded her. He must be feeling so terrible. She hadn't meant to leave him, to hurt him the way she had. He must feel like such a failure. But he wasn't. He wasn't. She shifted again, letting her arm wrap around her middle.

"On Wednesday you told me you weren't very much like your mother, Renee. Do you think you're like Charlie?" She didn't say anything. The woman sighed, slipping her glasses off her nose. "Bella, you need to talk to me. I know you can. You have before."

"I'm sorry," Bella whispered. Dr. Albright was disappointed with her again. Who wasn't?

"Don't be sorry," the woman replied. "Talk. Tell me about Charlie. Do you miss living at home with him?"

"I —" She couldn't finish.

"Bella, do you miss talking to Charlie?"

"Yes."

"I bet he misses talking to you, too," she said. "He comes to see you every day, doesn't he?"

"I wish he didn't," she whispered.

"Why not?" It was quiet. "Bella, why do you wish he didn't come see you every day?"

"Because . . . I don't . . . deserve it. Its not his fault I'm so . . . broken."

"It's not your fault either, Bella. And you do deserve your father's love." Bella didn't say anything. "Why do you think its your fault, Bella? Did you break yourself?" She nodded. "Yes? Yes, you broke yourself?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"It's my fault," she whispered, and she swore she could smell the pine again, smell the heavy, thick scent of dead leaves and old oaks and forest, and her eyes welled up.

"Why, Bella? Why do you think its your fault?"

"I — I — can I — can I go now?"

"Why don't you keep talking to me for a few more minutes. Is that okay?" Bella didn't reply. The woman sighed. "Okay, Bella. You can go."

iv. Dig me out from this thorn tree,/ Help me bury my shame,/ Keep my eyes from the fire,/ They can’t handle the flame

He pressed his face into his palms.

The door behind him opened — hopefully whoever it was would pass him by. But the shuffle of feet was cut short by a sigh, and when he pulled his face from his hands, it was to see that the older woman who'd watched him bolt was now sitting beside him on the top stair. "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"I know. It's hard. Do you know her well?"

He shrugged. "I . . . we used to play together when we were little. Our dads are friends. But she . . . I mean, I never really knew her, but just now she looks so . . . I don't know, so —"

"Hopeless?" He nodded wordlessly. "I know. Every day her father comes to see her, and every day she doesn't say a word to him. It never gets any easier seeing it." She sighed.

"I'm actually here for him today," he said. At her curious expression, he explained, "Charlie — her dad — was in a fishing accident. He was too out of it to come today, but he didn't want her to be lonely." He gave a humourless chuckle. "I volunteered to come for him before I knew what I was doing. She was so . . . her eyes were, like, empty."

"I know, dear. It was good of you to come, though," she assured. "But if you don't feel up to talking to her today, that's okay. My name is Sarah Ludlow, by the way. If you'll be visiting again, we ought to have a proper introduction. You can call me Ms. Sarah."

"Jacob Black," he replied, (although he would not be visiting again).

She nodded, but before she could say anything more, he abruptly turned to her. "What's wrong with her?" he demanded. She looked slightly startled. "I mean, I know she's depressed and everything, but she's been in here for months, so there's gotta be something else, right? I mean, is she — mentally ill or something?"

Ms. Sarah sighed. "Depression is a mental illness, a serious one. She is severely, severely depressed. It's not something to be taken likely. Medication can help a lot of people, but not everyone. Never everyone. There are always a few, who . . . the important thing for you and for her father and for her, is not to give up on her." She reached out and squeezed his arm.

She stood to leave, but he wasn't done. "But — so — that's it? The medication isn't working, so she sits in a hospital while everybody just hopes she gets better?"

"Dear, I don't know who you are, but I can see that this is hard for you, and I'm sorry. We're doing everything we can for her. This isn't an easy road, and she needs all the help she can get from the people who care about her. But if you can't handle it, then you shouldn't be here." This time he didn't stop her when she left.

He sat there for a while longer. What reason did she have to be depressed? Her boyfriend broke up with her. That was all he knew. Sure, he was a bloodsucker, but at the end of the day, it was just a high school romance, right? The werewolf in him wondered suddenly if there was more to it than that — if the bloodsucker had somehow had made her sick, but he shook the thought away.

He got up to leave and was halfway down the stairs when he heard the crash. It wasn't too loud, but it was plenty noise enough for his ears to catch, as was the exclamation of pain that followed. Before he could think it through, he climbed back up the stairs two at a time.

He arrived at Bella's room to find Ms. Sarah just starting to pick up an overturned bedside table and a broken lamp. Bella sat on the ground, shock written all over her face. Her arm was battered and a little bloody, but her eyes stared straight at her pointer finger and the drop of blood on its tip.

"What happened?" he breathed.

"She got a card," said Ms. Sarah. "I was trying to help her open it and all of a sudden she lost it, leaping off her bed and knocking over the cabinet." She paused, taking a deep breath. "We should get it bolted down." She sent Jacob a tight smile before pushing aside the collected lamp shards and turning to Bella. "Come on, dear, lets get you back up on the bed." But Bella didn't seem interested in helping.

"Here —" he said, reaching out to grip Bella's tiny, frail body and lift her onto the bed.

"Thank you," Ms. Sarah smiled.

"I — I —" Bella began, frowning.

"What's the matter, honey?" he asked.

Her eyes flickered up to him. "I got a paper cut," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. Her face pinched and she glanced down at her bloodied arm. Ms. Sarah had already fetched a bandage and was approaching Bella. "I'm sorry," Bella wailed suddenly. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's quite all right, sweetheart," assured Ms. Sarah, but as she reached out, Bella pulled away, half-scrambling across her bed as if frightened. Ms. Sarah sighed.

"Let me try," Jacob offered, and she wordlessly handed over the bandage.

He sat down on the bed and held out a hand to her.

"I'm sorry," she said, her large eyes glistening in tears.

"Nah, don't worry about it. You know how many times I've knocked over my bedside table when the alarm clock was just a little too loud? Happens to the best of us." He grinned, his hand still waiting.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, looking away.

"What else is there to be sorry for? Bleeding a little?" he joked. But her eyes snapped back to his face. "Bells . . .," he began hesitantly, not believing the words that left his mouth, "are you apologising for bleeding?" She didn't respond, but her face was flushed with guilt as she looked down at her sheets. He swallowed nervously.

She looked so . . . lost.

And the urge to help her find herself again reared up inside him. "Honey, a little blood never hurt anybody." And he curled the finger of his outstretched hand at her again, grinning teasingly. "C'mon."

And slowly, as if she were some sort of frightened animal, she hesitantly rested her arm in his, and he carefully began to bandage it. "You know if you want," he said, aware of her eyes trained attentively on his face, "we can take advantage of this opportunity and become blood siblings. Lasts a lifetime, you know."

"W-what?" she whispered.

"There, puuurfect," he said, placing her unresponsive and newly bandaged arm back in her lap. "And here, let's see. . . ." Ms. Sarah had disappeared with what remained of the lamp, and before she could come back, he grabbed the first thing his eyes landed on: the card. "Bella, Get well soon, Mike. Huh. Heartfelt. Well, if it worked for you —"

Bella gasped aloud, her thin, white fingers reaching out to grab his arms, but she was too late — he had already slit his finger on the edge, and a little drop of blood oozed out. "Okay, give me your finger. . ." He grasped her hand. She had begun breathing heavily, but he pretended not to notice. He wasn't sure what he was really doing, but it was something, and he had to do something. He pressed her finger to his and rubbed them together. "There. Maybe we should make an oath or something. Got any good ideas?"

She didn't respond.

"Okay, um, how about — we swear . . . never to pee in public, and as blood siblings, to prevent each other from peeing in public should one ever try? Sound good?" He grinned and she only stared at him. He released her hand, shifting uncomfortably.

Ms. Sarah returned, and she immediately took in the sight of Bella's bandaged arm. "Oh, good. Looks like he got you all patched up, dear, didn't he?" She smiled at Bella, who gazed down at her hands. "Thank you," Mrs. Sarah murmured to Jacob.

"Sure, sure," he replied, swallowing thickly.

It was quiet, and he found it almost painful.

"Bella, dear, this is Jacob Black. He's a friend of yours. Do you remember Jacob?"

Bella didn't look up. "I, ah, I guess I should go," he told Ms. Sarah.

"Jake," Bella whispered. Large, round, nervous eyes darted to his face. "We used to . . ." Her voice trailed off. He waited for more, but nothing more came. She turned to face the window.

"Bella? Bella, dear? Could you look at me, Bella?" Ms. Sarah asked kindly. Bella turned back to face them. Jacob cringed.

Her eyes were empty again.

v. Grace cut out from my brothers,/ When most of them fell,/ I carry it well

"Good morning, Bella," she greeted. Bella didn't reply. "Did you get a good night's sleep last night?" Bella glanced at the window. It was closed again. Her eyes flew to the clock. How much longer? But she had only just arrived. She shifted in her seat.

"You know, everyone one tells me that you show no interest in anything. Nothing bothers you, nothing affects you, and nothing upsets you," the woman said. "But when you come in to see me, you're always very nervous. Do I bother you, Bella?"

It wasn't like that. The blonde woman simply forced her to think about. . . .

"Do you know, Bella, that my secretary saw your bandage — the one on your arm, there — and thought you had tried to slit your wrists, to kill yourself." She paused. "But I knew that wasn't the case, because I know that you're not going to kill yourself."

Bella let her thumb touch her bandage, thinking of Jacob. Why was he always so happy to see her? When she first came to Forks, and now, here in the hospital. . . . Could a person really be that happy?

"I know you're not going to kill yourself, Bella, because you're waiting for something. Your father brought you in here because you were neglecting your life, Bella. He didn't know why, but I think I do. You've stopping living your life, because you're waiting, isn't that right?"

She wondered if Jacob would come back. Probably not. Why would he?

"What are you waiting for, Bella?" The woman sighed. She was growing frustrated again. She always did. "Are you waiting for Edward?"

Bella's eyes flew to her face. The hole within her twisted and shrieked, and she wrapped an arm around her middle, trying to relieve the pressure. "That's it, isn't it? You won't ever tell me anything about Edward. Why not?"

Bella picked at her nails, her uneasiness growing.

"Edward was your boyfriend, wasn't he? That's what your father told me." She paused. "And the nurses on night duty tell me that sometimes at night you have nightmares and you scream for Edward. You ask him to come back. You say you want to become like him. You want him to turn you. What does that mean, Bella?"

"Nothing," Bella murmured. "I don't — I don't wanna talk about it."

"Are you waiting for Edward, Bella?"

"No," Bella breathed.

"You're not waiting for Edward? Why not? You're not hoping he'll come back and —?"

"He's not coming back!" Bella shouted. Couldn't the woman understand that? Couldn't she see it? She began to shake, her breath coming short. "I'm not waiting," she said, "I'm not, I'm not, I'm not. He's not . . . he left me . . . and I — I — I shouldn't have ever thought . . . I'm not. . . ." She rocked back and forth.

"Bella," the woman said softly. "It's okay. It's oka —"

"Please let me go," she pleaded, tears starting to gather. "Please, please . . . please let me go."

"Listen to me, Bella. It wasn't your fault that Edward left. It wasn't your fault. You are a smart, beautiful girl, with parents who love you and friends who care about you, and Edward doesn't matter."

"Please, please . . ."

"Look at me. Bella. Look at me."

Bella pressed her hands to her eyes, trying to make it all go away — she could see Edward in her mind, could see him dancing with her at the prom, could see him sitting across from her while she ate dinner the night he rescued, could see him telling her that she wasn't good enough, that he needed better. . . .

"It's okay, Bella. It's okay."

"Please let me go," she pleaded, looking up at the woman. "Please."

It was quiet, and Bella's grip around her torso was tight, but it didn't stop the pain.

"Alright. We're done."

vi. Let me fly,/ Man, I need a release from,/ This troublesome mind,/ Fix my feet when they’re stumbling

"Okay, when you said that you weren't gonna meet us after school 'cause you had to do some research in the library, I thought you were joking," Quil said, falling in to the seat beside him. But Jacob didn't look away from the computer screen. "Seriously, man, what's going on? When did we decide to actually try in school?"

"This isn't school," Jacob muttered, scrolling down the page of yet another medical webpage.

"Then what are you doing looking up —" he frowned as his eyes scanned the firefox page, "— the effects of cognitive therapy? And, holy shit, are you taking notes?" Quil grabbed the notebook before Jacob could stop him. "Types of antidepressants . . . exogenous depression . . . dude, is this some project for health class? Are you even in health class?"

"It's not for school," Jacob insisted.

"Then what's it for?"

"It's personal," Jacob replied, his teeth gritted.

"Oh, c'mon, man, we share the pack mind. Tonight when we patrol I'll find out anyway. What gives?"

Jacob sighed. "It's for a friend of mine. She's kind of . . . really depressed. I was just — I was curious, okay? I wanted to look up some stuff. Maybe see if I could, I don't know, help her or something."

Quil frowned, as if unconvinced. "Who is it? I don't know anybody who's depressed. Who do you know that I don't?"

"She lives in Forks. Her dad's friends with Billy."

"Wait a minute — wait, wait, wait — is this that girl you were crushing on so hard last year? The one who dated one of the bloodsuckers? You haven't said anything about her in ages, dude. And we killed all the vamps around here, so —"

"Yeah, well, I saw her recently, and she's . . . she's not doing really well."

Quil smirked. "You wanna be her white knight, do ya? I get it, I get it. The girl doesn't give you the time of day, but once you sweep in with all your thorough research —"

"It's not like that —"

"Oh, hell its not! Don't try and deny it, Jake. I get it — you make her feel better and get a little action in return —"

"She's hospitalised, Quil!" Finally, the other boy was silent. Jacob grabbed the notebook from him, trying to control his rage. The tiny school library was not the place to phase. "She's been in the hospital for over three months. She's sick. She's really, really sick. And I don't know why, but I just want to help her, okay?"

"Okay," Quil murmured. "I'm sorry."

Rightfully ashamed, Quil wasn't hard to shake off, and before long, Jacob pulled the rabbit into the parking lot outside the Forks Police Station. "How can I help you, kid?' a large, pot-bellied man asked the moment Jacob entered the building.

"I wanted to talk to Chief Swan for a minute," Jacob said. "Is there any way I could —?"

"Jacob!" Charlie greeted suddenly, saving Jacob an awkward conversation.

"Hey Charlie."

The older man gave a tired smile. "What are you in town for? Everything okay with Billy?"

"Yeah, everything's fine. I just . . . I wanted to talk to you about Bella." The age seemed to sink suddenly into Charlie's face, a kind of thick sorrow burrowed in his eyes, and his shoulders tightened, all in a single instant. "Just for a minute."

"Come on back into my office," Charlie murmured, jerking his head backward. Jacob followed him to the small room silently. "What about her?" the older man asked softly, wearily.

"Well, I went to see her the other day for you," Jacob began. Charlie nodded. "And I . . . I was just doing some research on depression. I thought maybe . . . I could help."

Charlie frowned. "What did you have in mind?"

"Okay, so I'm guessing Bella's been on all the different anti-depressants, right?"

"That was the first thing they did when the admitted her," Charlie said. "Nothing worked." His face seemed to age even more.

"And she's probably going to therapy, too, right?" Charlie nodded. "But after three months, they haven't made any progress yet, right? I mean, if it wasn't going to work, shouldn't they have made some progress?"

Charlie sighed, sinking into the chair behind his desk. "They told me that sort of thing took time," he mumbled sadly. "We just have to wait."

"Yeah, but I was looking some stuff up, and there's this thing called electoconvulsive treatments — ECT. Apparently nobody really knows how they work, but they do, and —" Charlie was shaking his head.

"They need Bella's consent." Charlie seemed so small as he spoke, so unlike a Chief of Police should look. "And she won't give it."

"Well, maybe you could talk to her, you know? I mean, tell her how much it would help?"

Charlie rubbed his eyes. "I tried. She never responds." He looked up sadly at Jacob. "I know you're trying to help but I don't think . . . there's nothing you or I can do. I tried to help her myself, and so did her mom, but . . . I can't . . . the best I could do was get her to the hospital. And she barely agreed to that."

"But there's got to be something. I mean, if we both keep talking to her about it — she'll have to agree eventually, right?"

"Charlie?" Jacob whirled around to see an officer standing hesitantly in the doorway. "You busy? We've got a briefing. . . ."

"Oh, right, right," Charlie said, standing. "Be there in a minute, Arthur." As soon as the officer was gone, Charlie turned to Jacob. "I'm sorry. I appreciate you trying to help but . . ." He looked away. "I'm sorry."

He started to leave, and Jacob could do nothing more than stand there helplessly.

"Son," Charlie said, glancing back from the door. Jacob met his gaze. "It's — it's killing me, too."

vii. I guess you know it hurts sometimes,/ You know it's gonna bleed sometimes

As soon as the nurse left, Bella crossed the small room, unlatched the window lock, and pushed the window open. Chilly spring air immediately swirled around her. Charlie was going to be there soon. He came every day. She didn't know why.

It wasn't fair to him to have to put his life on hold for her.

It would have been better if she hadn't brought made him bring her back from Florida. He sent her there, hoping her mother could make her feel better, but Florida was so far from . . . what if he couldn't find her in Florida? Her mother had tried to put her on antidepressants and Bella had called her father, begging him to let her come home to Forks.

He had, but only a month later, she'd found herself in a hospital.

She knew she was upsetting them all, she knew, but . . .

"Did you open that window? It's freezing in here!" the nurse exclaimed. Bella didn't respond. The nurse moved to close it, and Bella made a strangled noise. "Do you want me to keep it open?" Bella looked away. "That's fine, dear. We can keep it open."

Two minutes later, Charlie arrived. "Hey," he mumbled. "How are you?"

She let her finger run along the scar on her wrist, the cold reminder that he couldn't take away from her.

"It's pretty cold in here, isn't it?" Charlie asked. "You . . . are you shivering?" He turned away. "Ms. Sarah?" he called. The old nurse appeared. "Could we close the window, maybe?"

"I think she likes it open," the woman replied.

"Oh . . . okay." When Charlie turned back to her again, the smile on his face was strained. He started to talk, and she kept her gaze on her lap. Her finger ran back and forth over her scar. Charlie mentioned something about the Newtons and then about a bear and then about Harry Clearwater, but Bella wasn't really listening.

Her gaze flickered to the open bathroom door, and the tiles behind it. She forced her eyes to her lap.

It grew quiet after Charlie had exhausted his power of speech, which took less than two minutes.

"I, ah, I brought a book," he finally muttered. "Maybe . . . Mrs. Kraninski thought reading might make you feel better. It's — have you ever — she gave me this one that's about a dog . . . well, its . . . you'll see. I'll just leave it here, okay?" He placed it on her bedside table. Bella didn't say anything. "She said it was really good," he added quietly.

He sighed, rubbing uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "How's your — how's your bandage feeling?" he asked. She paused, and then went from touching the scar on one wrist to touching the bandage on the other. "Does it itch?"

Again, she didn't answer. And again, it was quiet. Maybe he would leave soon.

"Bells, I —" There was something in his voice, and she glanced up to see desperation written all over his face, and guilt suddenly clutched at her heart, even as the hole pulsed and she wrapped an arm around it to keep it from ripping open any more.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He swallowed painfully. "It's okay." He tried to smile, but it didn't really work. She looked back at her lap. It only took another ten minutes for him to grow too frustrated to deal with her anymore, and he stood. "I guess I'll go now." She didn't respond.

He started to walk away.

But she couldn't help herself. "D-dad?"

He spun around. "What's the matter?" he asked.

She squirmed uneasily under his gaze. "Is . . . is Jake going to come see me again?"

viii. Now hold on,/ I’m not looking for sweet talk,/ I’m looking for time

He still couldn't believe it.

She had asked for him. Apparently that was an amazing thing. And once Charlie told him that and nearly begged Jacob to visit her again, he couldn't say no. She was sitting in the chair by her bed just as she had been the first time he'd seen her. He didn't run this time, though.

"Hey Bells," he greeted cheerfully. She didn't look up. Hadn't she wanted him to come? He took a deep breath. He could do this. He could turn into a mythical creature and had torn the heads off vampires — how hard could visiting a girl in the hospital possibly be compared to that? He entered the room and plopped down on her bed across from her.

He could only take the silence for so long. "Can I ask a question?" She didn't respond. He plodded on anyway. "Why'd you cut your hair?"

Her hand was rubbing her wrist.

"I gotta admit, I liked your hair."

She only went on rubbing her wrist.

He reached forward and grabbed her hands. She was so startled she looked up at him, but his eyes focused on her upturned wrist and the the small, half-moon scar. "What's this from?" he asked curiously. She said nothing. He ran his hand over it and nearly dropped her wrist when he realised the scar itself was unnaturally cold.

"He bit you?" he exclaimed, unable to stop himself. "Your bloodsucker bit you?" Bella gasped, trying to tug her hands away. "Bella, did Cullen bite you?"

"No," she cried. "No, no, no, it was — he loved — no," and she began to cry, rocking.

He cursed himself for letting his temper get the best of him. Unable to think of anything else to do — but he had to stop the crying and the rocking, he had to — he pulled her into his arms. It wasn't hard. She gave no resistance, and her thin, tiny body folded into his easily.

"I'm sorry," he murmured into her cropped hair. "I'm sorry." The Cullens hadn't only caused him to transform into a hairy beast, but they had attracted vampires to Forks and La Push — vampires that Jacob and the pack were responsible for killing. And on top of that, they had done this to Bella. Jacob couldn't get back at them for any of it, but he could help her.

They sat like that for a while as her cries subsided. "You — you . . ." she mumbled into his shirt.

"What?" he asked, leaning down. If he didn't have the ears of a wolf, he wouldn't have been able to hear it.

"You're so warm."

ix. I’m gonna climb that symphony home and make it mine,/ Let his resonance light my way

Charlie stopped coming every day.

But Jacob started.

He would talk about ridiculous things, and ask silly questions, and tell funny stories of the trouble Quil and Embry got up to. One day he started to talk about the legends of his people, and her chest ached, because it reminded her of him, and she clutched at her torso. He frowned. "What's the matter?" he asked, pausing in his story.

She didn't respond. How could she? She liked having him come everyday. It was something to look forward to. But if he knew how broken she was, he would stop coming.

"Does your stomach hurt?" he questioned, his eyes swirling with concern.

The arm around her stomach tightened.

"Why are you gripping it like that?" he went on. "You do that a lot. . . ."

She looked away from him, wishing he would stop, just stop.

"Are you holding yourself together?" he whispered. She glanced over at him, and she could see understanding in his eyes. But how could he understand? Suddenly he tugged her arms and a moment later she fell into his lap. He pulled her arm from her torso, but before she could protest, he wrapped his strong, warm one around her middle.

"Why don't you take a break?" he suggested softly. "I'll hold it for now."

"Okay," she whispered.

He went back to his stories, and she snuggled into his warmth. She hadn't been warm in a long time.

A few days later he brought her burgers and fries and even a milkshake, and they made a feast of it. As they were eating, he let her curl up in his lap, her favourite place to be. He asked her questions about Phoenix, and it seemed such a long time ago that she began to remember it right then as she slowly murmured the details of her past life to him. He pressed for details about her mother, and at first it was hard — the older woman had been sobbing the last time Bella had seen her.

But she reached back for older memories, for silly, stupid stories of her mother, and Jacob laughed, and his warmth seemed finally to slip past her skin and into her. She didn't want the conversation to end, but the moment she whispered softly, unsure of herself, "What about your mom?" she knew she had made a mistake.

How could she have forgotten?

He didn't shout or yell or leave, though.

His smile faded slightly as he looked down at her. "She died, you know." Bella nodded softly.

"I'm — I'm sorry."

"Yeah, it kind of sucks a lot. But I try not to . . . dwell on it. The past is the past, right?" Bella didn't reply, but as she looked down at her lap, she could feel his eyes on her face. "I loved her a lot. And when she died, I felt like I'd never be whole again. I couldn't talk to anybody for weeks, and I didn't feel like doing anything ever again."

It was quiet. Bella started to move her arm to press to her torso, but his warm one was already there. She let her fingers play across his arm, and the forest was dancing in front of her eyes.

"But one day it just . . . got easier. Sun came out again, you know?" He paused. "It wasn't my fault she left," he whispered into her hair. "Just like its not your fault he left." She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing herself into him, trying to make the forest disappear. "Even if you thought he never would leave, that doesn't make it your fault," he told her.

She wanted to sink into him, to become him, to be happy like him and smile like him.

"And its not wrong to want him to come back even though you know he won't," he went on. The tears seeped out. The large, warm hand that wasn't holding her tightly to him wiped them away immediately. "The sun'll come back out eventually, honey," he promised. "And I'll wait with you until it does."

She nodded into his chest, into the warmth, and the forest faded away. "But," she breathed.

"What?"

"But . . . the sun. . . ."

"It'll shine again, Bells, I promise," he assured.

"But," she murmured, desperate to make him understand, "you are the sun."

x. See, all these pessimistic sufferers tend to drag me down,/ So I could use it to shelter what good I’ve found

"Are you sure about this?" he asked her softly.

She nodded.

"And she can come home after this, right?" Charlie piped up, addressing the doctor rather than Jacob or Bella. "Just . . . just to make sure."

The doctor smiled. "If that's what she would like, then yes. She'll have to come back for additional treatments, but ECT works just as well with an outpatient. There may be some short-term memory losses, but I trust that you both, having signed the forms, are well aware of the possible consequences."

Charlie nodded. The doctor looked at Bella. She glanced up at Jacob, who had a secure arm around her shoulders. He grinned down at her reassuringly. "I know," she murmured.

"Also, Dr. Albright would like her to continue to come in twice a week for therapy. She tells me you're finally making progress. That's really great," she smiled brightly at Bella. "So as long as you come for your therapy sessions and the rest of the ECT, you're welcome to live at home." Bella nodded again. "Let's go in, then."

Bella turned to her father. He gave a small smile. "I'll be right out here," he said. She pulled out from Jacob's arm, took a few hesitant steps, and then timidly hugged her father. He was slow to respond, but when he finally did, Jacob pretended not to see the older man's tears.

Charlie had been through a lot.

Jacob remembered suddenly all those months Bella had been a ghost and the way she had gone to do homework in her room when Jacob and Billy had come to have dinner with the Swans on Christmas Eve. He could still recall shaking his head at the thought that she was doing homework on Christmas Eve. But he hadn't tried to stop her. Or to help her.

And the next time he saw her was months later, when she was in the hospital.

She turned to face Jacob. "You'll wait?" she asked.

"Always," he replied.

And Bella smiled.

Fin.

Fic: Stars are Dancin' on the Water

Thu, 10 Dec 2009 03:39:01 GMT

Title: Stars are Dancin' on the Water
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: Twilight -- J/B(ish)
Rating: PG (because Leah still hasn't got her language in check)
Summary: Living life is harder than Bella thought. Sequel to 'Feel The Rush'
Disclaimer: I own absolutely no rights to the Twilight books or movies.
A/N: Title and lyrics taken from "I'm Alive" by Kenny Chesney and Dave Matthews. And, as you probably guessed, it's second person! I think I like the first one better than this, but that's probably because I'm very emotionally attached to the first one in ways people shouldn't be emotionally attached to fanfiction (which is probably not at all). *sigh*

i. So damn easy to say that life's so hard

You ask Leah if she can drive to Seattle and let you think. She scoffs. "I hate driving."

"Please, Leah? I really don't feel up to it," you plead.

She shrugs, not accepting the keys you hold out to her and instead circling around to the other side of the car and climbing into the passenger seat. "Sucks to be you, then," she tells you.

Some things never change.

And some things do.

You're leaving Forks for an undetermined period of time. Leah had gotten accepted to the University of Washington at Seattle, and although she had put off attending for a year, knowing her obligations for the pack, (she hadn't even told anyone she had applied), she had stubbornly insisted to Sam and everyone else that she could no longer let pack obligations run her life. It had been a bitter battle, but Leah had come out on top.

And you had decided to go with her, to live in Seattle and get a job, and perhaps apply to attend the University the following fall. You're not ready for school right now, but you can see it as a part of your future.

Honestly, though, you have no idea what the future holds. Charlie seems sad at your leaving, but ever the man of a few words, he didn't have much to say on the subject when you told him. But he is following behind you on the highway with a U-hall full of yours and Leah's worldly possessions. Renee was delighted at your decision to try your hand at a fresh, new life in Seattle, and you know she's probably thrilled that you aren't going through with your marriage to Edward.

You have no idea what will happen with Edward. For now the wedding is off, and you even tried to return his engagement ring, but he wouldn't accept it. He told you to take as much time as you need, and if you realise that you would be happiest living out your life, he would want that for you.

He wants whatever will make you happiest, even if that breaks his heart.

The thought that you've hurt him makes guilt flush through you, makes your heart thud painfully in you chest, makes knots form in your stomach. You can't deny how much he loves you, and whatever is happening to you isn't fair to him, but you can't see an alternative.

The idea of losing Edward is still too painful to fathom, but what does that mean? And what about Jacob? God only knows when you'll see him again. It's been two weeks since you returned to Forks from your road trip without ever having found him, and he never came back. Who knows when he will? If Ever. Don't say that. Don't even think it. What would he say if he knew that doubt was now waltzing with Edward in your mind?

Throw a party, probably, you think, and the idea makes you role your eyes at the imaginary Jacob grinning in your head. But its not as if you'll actually leave Edward. Impossible. Ridiculous. Insane.

Right?

You don't know how to handle all of this, how to pick a future when so many other people's futures depend on you. "Stop thinking so hard," Leah tells you, yawning and shifting in her seat as she flips a page of her Star magazine.

You don't reply. You only drive, because that's one thing you do know how to do.

ii. Everybody's got their share of battle scars

The apartment that Sue Clearwater had volunteered to fund isn't the best, but it isn't terrible, either, and the worst part of move in day is probably the fact that its pouring out rain as you unload the car and then the U-hall. It's a small two bedroom place, with a corner kitchen and a common room with a giant window that lets you see the pounding rain in all its glory.

Charlie hugs you good bye tightly, and then its just you and Leah in your new apartment, ready to start your new lives. The only problem is that you're not exactly sure what your new life entails. You don't actually have a job yet, and you miss Edward already, and you're pretty sure this whole idea is going to end up falling flat on its face.

You lie in bed that night staring at the ceiling of your new room, and when the bed shifts and you feel Leah lie down beside you, you remember one reason why you're doing this: because your life is worth living, and if you can remember that, maybe Leah can, too.

"Which one are you thinking about?" she asks.

"What?" your frown.

"Edward or Jacob? Which one? I know you're thinking about one of them. You're always thinking about one of them." You can almost hear the the roll of her eyes in her voice, and you blush a little. You're not always thinking about one of them.

"I don't know," you finally tell her. "I . . . I just don't know. I don't even know what I want anymore. How can I live for myself and for what I want if I don't even know who I am or what I want?"

She doesn't reply for a long time, and you begin to suspect she's fallen asleep. When she does reply, her voice is soft and knowing and comforting, and its entirely the Leah you like best. "Maybe the only thing to do is to figure out who you are and what you want."

"How do I do that?"

She snorts. "Do I look like a crystal ball? Just wing it." She shifts her head on your shoulder, and the physical affection is so unlike her that you're startled. But you don't protest. "Just wing it, Bella," she repeats, "just wing it."

The next morning, Leah leaves at seven in the morning for freshmen orientation, and you spend the day in bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the unceasing rain. If Edward were here, the two of you could go out: the sun wouldn't touch a single inch of his skin. You let yourself live in that imaginary world for a little while, and you know that you could make it real with a simple phone call.

He would be there in an instant.

But for some reason, you never even pick up the phone.

When Leah comes home to find you still in bed, you can almost feel the words burning up inside her, waiting to burst out. "Did you get out of bed at all today?" she asks.

"Yes." She stares. "To go to the bathroom and eat a peach," you add sullenly, because there's no point in lying to her. She continues to stare at you, as if assessing. "Get up," she finally demands. "The girls in the apartment next door want to meet you. And me, too, but I don't want to talk to them, so you have to."

You start to protest but she only glares at you, so you slowly pull yourself from the bed and patter in your socks out of your bedroom, across the sitting area, and out the front door. You frown. No one is there. You turn back to face Leah only to have a door slammed in your face.

"Leah?" You knock on the door. This is bad. "Leah! Open the door!"

"No," she replies. "It's time for you to go out. I'm sick of you lying around."

"I was lying around for one day!" you protest. "And you weren't even here!'

"Don't come back for at least three hours, because I'm not letting you in. Have fun!"

"Leah!" you yell, pounding on the door. "This is not funny! Let me in!" There's no response. You curse her name in your head and turn away in frustration. The door opens, but you barely have time to spin around before its slammed again. Your tennis shoes, your coat, your umbrella, and a twenty dollar bill are lying in a pile at your feet.

There's a note attached to the bill. "Don't spend it all in one place."

You stare for a moment, before you start pounding on the door again. Twenty minutes later, she still hasn't let you in. Knowing you might as well go get dinner, you shove your feet angrily into your tennis shoes, slip the coat on, and stuff the bill into your pocket. You take the umbrella, too, because there's what looks like a tropical storm raging outside — not that an umbrella will be much help.

Can you say band-aide for a bullet wound?

By the time you finally slip into a greasy diner two blocks down from your apartment, you're soaked (because Leah parked the car in some unknown location, probably just to make your day even worse) and you look like a drowned rat in old pyjamas and a ratty coat. A few customers look over at you, but no one says anything, and you manage to avoid all their gazes.

You sit at the counter, picking up a menu and burying your face in it.

"Does it smell good?" someone asks.

You look up to see a twenty something blonde boy smirking at you behind the counter. He's wearing an apron and you know he must be working there, and worse, addressing you. "What?" you ask.

"The menu," he nods at it clutched tightly in your hands, "does it smell good? Your nose was a good inch from it." You know he's only teasing you, but you blush magnificently nonetheless, and he chuckles.

"I'm having a bad day," you tell him defensively.

"That would have been my best guess. What can I get you?" he finally asks kindly, as if taking pity on you.

"A cheeseburger, fries, and a coke," you reply with your eyes back on the counter.

When he places a plate down in front of you five minutes later, he doesn't leave immediately, and you're forced to look up at him. "Thanks," you say, hoping he'll leave.

"Sure. I'm Nick, by the way."

"Bella," you reply.

He smiles. "Nice to meet you, Bella. I hope your day gets better." He doesn't talk to you for the rest of the night, but when you're walking back through the rain to your apartment, you realise that he might have been flirting with you. A young, attractive human boy was flirting (was he?) with you.

Except, knowing yourself, he's probably secretly a zombie or a wizard or a demon with a soul and your life probably got sixteen times more complicated, because, well, you're you.

iii. As for me I'd like to thank my lucky stars that,/ I'm alive and well

You get a letter from Alice asking how you are and detailing every trivial fact of her recent life. The only thing you really absorb from the entire four page letter, however, is the number of times she writes the words, "when you come home." She's expecting you. Edward is, too. They all are. You have a feeling even your dad suspects you'll return to Forks and to Edward.

And, really, aren't you expecting that, too?

"What's on today's agenda?" Leah asks, accepting the plate of pancakes you hand her. You shrug. "Going to see Nick?" she presses, and there's a smile playing on her lips. You never should have told her about him. In the two weeks you've been in Seattle, you've only been to The Royal Diner a few — okay, maybe nine — times, but you and Nick are only friendly acquaintances.

"Do you want me to make you bacon or not? Because if you do, I suggest you shut up," you growl at her. She only grins.

"You know," she says as she finishes breakfast and stands up, grabbing her backpack. "You make a great housewife. If you don't end up choosing between Edward and Jacob, you're welcome to be my wife and cook and clean for me all day."

"I hate you," you reply.

"But our children would be beautiful." You don't dignify that with a response.

Five minutes after she's gone, you go to the diner.

Nick greets you within a few minutes of your arrival. "What book are we reading today?" he asks. You hold it up for him to see. "The Blind Assassin," he reads. "Huh. That looks about as interesting as the snorefest you brought in yesterday.

"Joy in the Morning is not a snorefest," you reply.

"Sure thing, B," he says, returning to his work as you return to your novel. A few hours later, when he sets your usual lunch down in front of you, he slips into the seat across from you at the booth. You frown as you put down your book.

"Do you need something?"

"I'm just curious about something. Don't take this the wrong way, but — do you have a life?" he asks.

"What does that mean?" you say, frowning.

"It means you're in here all the time reading books all day. Don't you have to go to school or something?" You realise he's genuinely curious, and as much as you hate talking about life — specifically yours — you try to give him an actual answer. It's even harder to do than you had thought.

"I'm not in school," you explain, "but my roommate, the girl I came to Seattle with, she's a freshmen at U-dub. But I just . . . I don't know. I'm thinking about getting a job. That was the plan at least. Sitting around is kind of easier, and I'm sort of an easy-way-out person." You blush at your own words and how ridiculous you sound.

"Most people are," he replies. "So you have no other friends?"

"I just moved here!" you defend.

"Calm down, calm down," he says, holding up his hands as if in retreat. But he doesn't leave. "What about a boyfriend? Got one of those?"

You cringe. That might be your least favourite question in the world. You search for an answer for way longer than you should, finally settling on, "Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I, um, had a fiancee," and you glance automatically at your bare left finger, your heart bursting at the thought of Edward, alone and waiting for you in Forks, "but I wasn't really ready to get married, so . . . I don't know where we stand any more." He nods.

"I'm getting the impression your life is more complicated than the average girl's," he says.

"That's one way to put it," you tell him, and he smiles, and this is easier than it usually would be. You think of Jacob, and now its not Edward you're missing, but your personal sun, and your bursting heart starts to ache.

"Well, being in love can be hard, so you've got my sympathy," he says, standing up. "But if you do still want a job — Rita, that blonde who used to serve you some times, just quit yesterday. Pete's looking to hire. I can put in a good word for you."

Two days later, you're a waitress at The Royal Diner.

iv. It'd be easy to add up all the pain,/ And all the dreams you've sat and watch go up in flames

The door bangs open, and you nearly jump out of your skin. You press your hand to your chest, trying to slow your heart rate down. "Did you just break down the bathroom door?" you exclaim. "What if I had been naked?"

"Well, if you had been naked, you would have learned not to lock yourself in the bathroom for two hours when your roommate has a nine o'clock class," Leah tells you, pulling her toothbrush out of the mirror cabinet.

"I have not been in here for two hours," you reply.

"Check the clock," she says, and your eyes go wide when you see that, yes, you've been in there for two hours. "What were you doing, anyway?" she asks, her eyes scanning you up and down as she starts to brush her teeth.

You blush, and you can almost see the suspicion grow in her face. "Nothing," you mutter. You try and step out of the bathroom, but she doesn't let you. You sigh. "I was looking in the mirror."

"For two hours?" she asks, raising an eyebrow. "To do what? See if you're the fairest of them all?"

"No," you say, "I was just . . . I was thinking about how old I'm getting." She snorts and spits out her toothpaste. You know you should just leave, but you also know she must have something more to say, and you're a masochist, rooted to the spot awaiting whatever snide comment she surely has.

But nothing comes. She starts to push you out of the bathroom. "What are you doing?"

"Kicking you out of the bathroom so I can pee," she replies. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"But — but don't you have something to say? Some harsh criticism about my life and my love for Edward?" You can't help but be shocked. Leah always has something to say.

She shrugs. "I'm too tired to fighting losing battles today. Sorry. Try again tomorrow." You only stare. "Seriously, Bella, I'm gonna drop my drawers in front of you if you don't get out." You step backwards out of the bathroom, and the door is shut an instant later.

The entire walk to work, your mind is turning over her words, twisting and prodding and dissecting them, and three feet from the door of the diner, you realise what she must have been saying. She thinks you're going back to Edward. She, like everyone else, is sure this is all an experiment to you, that this is a playful rebellion before you return to your regularly scheduled life.

And you're unimaginably hurt by that idea.

Your mind flashes to Jacob, and you know if he were in her position, he'd be thinking the same. Bitterly, angrily, telling you that he loves you with burning eyes, he too would be sure that you'd return to your bloodsucker. That thought only hurts you more.

When you return to the apartment late that afternoon, Leah is sprawled across the couch, books and papers surrounding her. "Hey," she acknowledges, not looking up from the textbook propped up on a pillow in front of her.

"Why do you think I'm going to go back to Edward?" you demand.

She looks over at you in surprise. "What?"

You throw your keys on the tiny kitchen counter and kick off your shoes, approaching her. "This morning, when you said you didn't feel like fighting a losing battle today, you meant that you know I'm going to go back to Edward. Why do you think that?"

"Aren't you?"

"I don't know!" you shout furiously. "That's what I'm trying to figure out!"

"Then figure it out, already!" she says, exasperated.

"It's not that easy," you reply. "I thought you understood that! I thought you were going to help me!"

She sits up. "I'm not your life coach, Bella. What you want to do with your future, whether or not you want to end up with Edward, whether you want to get a job or go to college or sit in the bathroom pining after Edward or Jake or the hottie at your diner isn't up for me to decide.

"And until you acknowledge the fact that you're the only fucking one who can make that decision, your life is at a stand still. So you want some advice? Fine. Here it is: start living and maybe then you'll find out what you want. Until that time, piss off, because I have a test tomorrow, and I'm not going to be able to fit a Pity Party for Bella in to my schedule tonight."

You turn on your heel and stalk to your bedroom, slamming your door shut and biting back tears. You sink to the floor, your back to the closed door, and you try and remember why your life has to be so hard. Were you evil in a past life? Is this some sort of cosmic justice?

You wish Edward were here.

No. Jacob. You wish he were here to make a lame joke and call you Bells and force you to smile, because that's what he does best.

You wish you weren't alone.

There's a knock on the door. You wipe hastily at your eyes, standing and swinging open the door. Leah stands there, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and looking anywhere but at you. "What?" you ask petulantly, crossing your arms protectively over your chest.

"I recognise that I might have been a bit harsh," she says, her voice a monotone, as if she's reciting something. "This is me apologising. Sorry. There. Feel better?" You can't help it: you start to laugh. She looks over at you, clearly annoyed. Before long, however, she gives a grudging smile, shaking her head.

"Don't worry about it," you assure her. "It's okay. Sometimes I think you yelling at me is theraputic. I'm that messed up." You head over to your bed and flop down on to it, staring up at your ceiling the way you always do, because your life is pathetic. She comes to sit on the edge of your bed, and you feel a little guilty. "Really," you say, "its okay. You can go back to studying." You smile encouragingly, but she doesn't leave.

"You love Edward," she says. Slowly, you nod. "That's not a question," she tells you. "The question that matters, then, is whether or not that love is enough. Can you sacrifice everything else for it? Is it worth sacrificing everything else? In other words, can you live without him?"

"How do I . . . how do I figure that out?" you ask helplessly. She shrugs, standing.

"Beats me." She starts to leave, and you know that's the best you can hope for. She glances back, though, right before she disappears out of the room. "Go on a date," she tells you. You're not sure you understand. You sit up, frowning at her.

"What?"

"Go on a date," she tells you. "I can't really talk now, but — think about it?"

You only nod.

v. Dwell on the wreckage as it smolders in the rain,/ But not me . . . I'm alive

Alison calls in sick that day, so you volunteer to take the nightshift for her. The dinner rush is hard, but as you tell Nick afterwards, its nothing compared to the lunch rush, something he knows as well as you. But it's past ten now, and you're alone at the diner, except for Mac, the cook, and he's not nearly as good of company as Nick.

There are only a few customers there, and you've wiped down all the tables twice. The diner closes at eleven, so you've just got to make it through another half hour. Maybe if you're lucky, no one else will come in.

You've gotten good at being a waitress.

It was ridiculously hard at first, trying to be social and deal with answering to ten different people at once, dealing with a cook who hates people, customers with children who throw food, and regulars who all know Nick and the other day waitress and want to be served by them. But as you got better at dealing with Mac and the kids and the regulars, things got easier.

It just happened.

Mac taught you how to throw pizza dough one slow morning, you can now clear a table in thirty seconds flat, and most of the regulars know you and like to talk with you and leave you big tips. You can make small talk better now than you ever have in life, although you're sure that's one talent you'll never fully possess, and Nick even says you've gotten better at smiling at strangers.

Truth be told, you've kind of become enamoured with the job, despite the aching of your back every night and how you constantly smell of cheeseburgers (something Leah likes to point out on a trice daily basis).

"Fifteen minutes 'till closing!" Mac shouts happily at you.

"Hooray!" you yell back with false cheer, wiping down the clean counter for the umpteenth time. You don't much like it when things are slow, because it gives you time to think, and thinking never leads you to good things these days. All of the customers are gone and you're staring at the clock, waiting for the three remaining minutes to tick away. Mac has already turned off the oven and you can hear him gathering up his things when the bell over the door jangles.

You sigh, trying to predict how angry the customer would be if you told him that you're closed. You decide to take the risk, but when you actually look at who's entered, you can't utter a word. You only stare, not aware of the water dripping on to your shoes from the washcloth in your hand or the fact that your mouth is open.

When sense finally returns to you — and it takes a minute or two — neither of you has said anything. You don't care. You run at him, throwing your arms around him and letting him lift you up off the ground, his arms wrapped warmly around you. You curl your fingers in his hair as you press your face into his neck and take a deep breath of the familiar smell that belongs to that one beautiful boy.

"Jake," you whisper. "Jake."

vi. And today you know that's good enough for me

Mac wants to close shop, but you convince him to let you close up so that you and Jacob can sit and talk for a while. He tells you that means you're responsible for his set of keys overnight, and you gladly accept responsibility.

A few minutes later, the diner is officially closed, and you and Jacob (who's really here — please, please don't let it be a dream) sit across from one another in your favourite booth. He still hasn't said a word, but he also hasn't taken his eyes off of you. You can't exactly keep from staring at him, either, and its as if you two both want nothing more than to drink each other in. He's happy, you can see that much, but once Mac has left the silence seems suddenly a terrible thing, and you become self-concious of the stained uniform you're wearing and the way you carelessly tossed your hair up that morning.

"Hey Bells," he finally says, and he grins.

"Hi," you reply, and you're strangely breathless. It's quiet again. You feel self-conscious, sure, and nervous, too, but its Jacob sitting across from you, and that one thought seems to conquer all others. Jacob. Here. With you. Jake.

"A waitress, huh?" he asks at long last. You blush. You always blush.

"I needed to do something," you reply, wishing you had something better to say. "And I — I like it. It's kind of fun." He nods. You're desperate to hear his voice again, that warm voice. "What have you been up to lately?" you ask, biting your lip.

He looks down. "Just been travelling. Seeing the world." He pauses, and as he looks up again, his eyes bore into yours. "Thinking about you." He grins again, the smile stretching across his face, and you smile, too, and the happiness building up inside you is greater than anything you've felt in weeks.

Then he reaches across the table and tucks a lock of your hair behind your ear.

The gesture is so sweet and intimate, and you realise that Jacob is back, and he's grinning at you like he used to when the two of you worked in his garage, and your heart beats faster, because this is real; he's really come back. You didn't have to find him. He found you. And with that thought, a thousand questions dance across your mind. "What are you doing here?" you ask. "How did — how did you know I was here?"

"Charlie," he replies easily, leaning back comfortably in his seat. "I came back to Forks for . . . your wedding, actually." His words darken. "I wanted to say good bye." And as quickly as they grew dark, they grow light again. "Billy told me I should talk to Charlie, and I did, and he told me that you had called off the wedding and that you were living with Leah in Seattle. And here I am."

"Here you are," you echo, because you can think of nothing more to say.

"I've missed you," he murmurs, and he reaches forward and grabs your hands, and you look down at his large, warm brown hands encompassing your own, and your heart doesn't ache anymore. "Bella," he says slowly, tracing a small circle on your hand, "did you leave him . . . for me?"

Your eyes dart to his face, and you realise that even though Jacob is back, even though he's with you once more, your life isn't any easier. In fact, you'd probably say its just gotten a whole lot harder. "I left him for me," you tell him quietly. "But no, wait, I — I didn't leave him, exactly." Jacob frowns, and suddenly fearful that he'll pull his hands away from yours, you tighten your grip.

"You didn't leave him?" Jake asks, and there's an edge to his voice.

"I . . . sort of."

"Sort of?"

"I realised that I wasn't ready to get married or even to become a vampire but I — I still love Edward. I just need some time to sort everything out. That's what I'm doing here. Sorting everything out. Trying to . . . to figure out what I really want."

He nods slowly, as if understanding. He doesn't pull his hands away from yours. "Okay."

"Okay? That's it? That's all you have to say?" you ask. You can't help it: you expected more.

He smiles. "Should I say something else?"

"I —" you shake your head, "no, I mean, if you — if you have something else to say — but you don't, I mean, no. You don't have to say anything." He grins, and its clear he's taking pleasure in how flustered you are. "Stop looking at me like that!" you snap, annoyed at how pink your face must be.

"How am I looking at you?"

"Like — like — you know how you're looking at me, Jacob Black!" He only starts laughing. You glare. You pull your hands from his and cross them over your chest.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says. "I'll try not to look at you like that." He waits, staring at you with a playfully innocent face, and despite your best effort, you can't stop yourself from smiling. "Bells, you have no idea how happy I am right now."

You look down, heat rushing to your face yet again. The idea of saying this tears you to pieces, but you know you have to. "You do know, though, that . . . I am so happy to see you — so happy that you're here," you look back at him, "but I might still go back to Edward. And I might not! But I . . . I need time to sort things out, and if he can't be here for that, then . . . you can't either." You can barely say the last words.

The idea of Jacob leaving you is unthinkable, but you know, you know, that its the best way.

"I get it," he says. He pulls his hand from yours, but before you can protest, he reaches out and clasps you face. "It's okay. I don't care. I'll give you whatever you want, Bells. You know that."

You can't help but need to be closer to him, and even though you make a fool of yourself, you stretch across the table to hug him, and his rumbling laugher only makes you hug him tighter, because he's Jake, and things are still hard, but the truth is that they are a little easier, because when its just you and Jacob, things are always easier.

Jacob walks you back to the apartment, and you invite him up — after all, does he have anywhere else to stay? "You can sleep on the couch," you offer. He accepts happily, but one thing you didn't count on was Leah. When you walk into the room with Jacob right behind you, Leah glances away from the television and sees you both. She freezes for a moment, silent.

You try to remember if Leah and Jacob even like each other.

"Hey Leah," Jacob greets cheerfully. She sighs, turning her attention back to the TV.

"I should have known you'd show up sooner or later. The men love Bella Sawn." She flips the channel, and you only shake your head at her.

You know that tomorrow things will go back to being complicated, but for now, for that night, with Leah and Jacob in the apartment with you, you stop thinking and you let yourself live.

Leah'd be proud.

vii. Breathing in and out's a blessing, can't you see

Jacob offers to walk you to work. You insist that its not necessary, but he insists that it is, because he wants to spend as much time with you as possible before he has to leave. That makes you blush, but the tension is diffused (the way it always is with him) when he adds, "Besides, I get to see you in that uniform again." You smack him, which has a minimal effect, and pretend not to feel self-conscious in the get-up that The Royal Diner forces you to wear.

He grabs your hand as you walk the two blocks to the diner, but you don't protest. You don't have the strength in you to deny yourself the pleasure that holding his hand brings, even if it's selfish. You think guiltily of Edward. Live your life for you, Leah says in your head, and you chant that to yourself.

"Are you going back to Forks?" you ask Jacob.

"That's home," he replies causally. You nod.

He walks into the diner with you. "Morning, B!" Nick greets, even as you're happily hailed by two costumers who are in there every morning. But then everybody's eyes bounce to Jacob and to your intertwined hands, and you quickly slip your hand from his. In answer to Nick's questioning gaze, you say hastily, "This is Jake. Jacob. He's my friend. Best friend. My best friend."

"Nice to meet you, Bella's best friend," Nick says, shaking Jacob's hand. "I'm Nick Jackson."

"Jacob Black," Jacob replies. You love it when everybody gets along, and you smile at them both. But work calls, and you know that you can't continue to live in denial. As if sensing that you need a moment with Jacob, Nick leaves to help a customer. "This is when I get sent away, right?" Jacob asks. He doesn't look upset or offended, which is the best you could hope for.

"Yeah," you murmur. "But you're just going back to Forks again, right? You're not going to disappear on me?" He's already told you that, but you can't help yourself. You have to make sure. He smiles, brushing his knuckles affectionately across your face.

"I'm not going to disappear on you again, Bells. I'll be in Forks waiting."

Guilt grabs you once again, and you look down at your feet, unable to handle the affection in his gaze. "I know this is selfish," you tell him softly, "what I'm doing — asking you and Edward to put your lives on hold and —"

"It's okay," Jacob interrupts. "You deserve to be selfish. I knew what I was getting into when I fell for a white girl, something which, by the way, Embry and Quil never let me live down." You smile a little, but when he goes on, his voice is serious again. "But, before I leave, I need to say something." You glance back up at him timidly, and determination that is so very Jacob Black is etched into every line of his beautiful face.

"What?" you ask, and it comes out as a whisper.

"I know you have to make a choice, and I know its hard, but I just have to say — pick me. Choose me. I can't give you eternity, but I can give you a lifetime, a lifetime of anything you want or wish or could possibly ever imagine. We can go anywhere or do anything or be anything. All you have to do is say the word. Pick me, and you can be selfish every day of your life, as long as I'm in that life."

And while you stand there, unable to say a single word, he swoops down and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth, a kiss that's barely there and leaves you wishing he would slam his lips possessively to yours as he's done in the past. Soft, gentle kisses are more Edward's style, but something about this kiss is different. This kiss is a promise, a wish, a kind of life, and its all Jacob, your Jacob, Jake.

For a moment his breath swirls around your lips as his face lingers only a hair's breadth from yours, before he suddenly grabs you in a tight hug, lifting you onto your toes. You hug him back, because its all you can do, and the idea of him leaving is suddenly more terrifying than ever.

"I can't give you forever, but I can give you more," he whispers. And then he's out the door and on the street, and he only glances back once, giving you a trademark grin through the window before he disappears from view.

You don't know how long you stand there before Nick comes to stand beside you. "A friend, huh?" he asks knowingly. You blush a little. "Well, I'll say this — after standing within ten feet of him, I feel strangely inferior. Like less of a man." He pauses thoughtfully. "I think its the height."

His joke manages to extract a smile from you, and you start work, wondering how life can be so wonderful and amazing and right, and still so immensely hard.

viii. Stars are dancin' on the water here tonight,/ It's good for the soul when there's not a soul in sight

Leah has started doing her homework at the diner, and she's commandeered a booth for herself when you go on break and shift aside papers and books to make room for yourself across from her. "Have you decided yet?" she presses.

"Decided what?" you ask, sticking a straw in your drink.

"If you're going to apply to join me in the field of higher education next year," she says matter-of-factly, glancing at her long cold fries with indecision, only to sigh and focus back on her work. Her question has startled you more than it should, however, and you only sit there.

You've gotten very good about not thinking of Edward or Jacob or the future, and the reminders that Leah takes such pleasure in randomly throwing always take you by surprise. "Bella," she says, "you haven't answered my question." She looks over at you with one eyebrow perfectly arched.

"Why do we always have to have conversations about my future?" you ask irritably, trying to divert the subject. "What about your future? What are you doing after college? And instead of talking about how I should go on a date, why don't you? When was the last time you went on a date?" It's a fair question in your mind, and you silently add, so there!

"We talk about your future because I don't want to talk about my future," she says, as if its the most obvious thing in the world.

"Well I don't want to talk about my future," you tell her.

"How unfortunate for you," she replies smoothly, her attention focused once more on her work. You sigh, standing up to go back to work. "Speaking of dates," she says, stopping you from taking more than a step away from the booth, "you have one."

"What?"

"Tomorrow afternoon," you say. "It's Sunday. Your day off. And you have a date. Be ready by two. You're going to a baseball game."

"Leah!" you exclaim, but she only smiles up at you. "You set me up on date?" you ask angrily.

"Is that a problem?"

"Yes!" you hiss.

"You complain any more," Nick says, setting a new basket of fries in front of Leah, "and you might hurt my feelings." You look at him with round eyes, shocked. "But, if you don't want to go to the game, we don't have to." He smiles kindly.

"I — um — I —"

"She wants to go, Nick," Leah says, taking over. "No worries. Thanks for the fries."

"Sure."

And suddenly Nick's back at the next table taking an order and Leah's immersed in some sort of complicated math, and you're left standing there flapping your mouth like a fish out of water.

Tomorrow at two, Nick picks you up from the apartment. You're still not sure how you got roped into this. Did he even want to go on a date with you? Was Leah paying him? Or worse, did he actually like you? But he was your friend! Your mind flashes to Jacob and how your friendship with him turned out.

You groan to yourself, and Nick glances at you in the passenger seat. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," you mutter.

He pulls the car up to a gas station, putting in to park and then turning to you. "Tell me," he demands.

"Nothing's the matter, Nick, I swear."

"No, not about that. About whatever it is that eats you up inside whenever you have five minutes to think. Leah asked me to take you out so you would stop thinking so much. So what is it? What do you think about? You were engaged, right? But it wasn't to the guy who walked you to the diner that one morning, was it? So what's the story? Why is Bella Swan such a mess?"

"It's a long story," you say, looking down at the chipped purple nail polish Leah painted on a week ago.

"I have time." You look at him and his sincerity is clear.

"I fell in love," you say, looking out the window, your mind flashing backwards.

"Strangely enough, I've gathered that." You roll your eyes. He sounds like Leah.

"He was . . . perfect," you finally continue. "He was everything a girl could ever want. But then he — he left me. It was complicated. He was trying to do right by me, but. . . . And the only person who could make me feel better after that was my friend Jacob, who you met. And I fell in love with him. But Edward came back."

"Edward's the first one?" he interrupts. You nod. "So . . . ?"

"So, Edward explained why he'd left me and that he still loved me, and we got back together and we even got engaged, but I was in love with two people and I wasn't ready to marry, and it was just easier to come here with Leah and try and make sense of my life."

He doesn't say anything for a long time.

"There's more to it than that, isn't there?" he finally asks.

"Trust me, the rest really would take too long to explain. And you wouldn't believe me, either."

"Okay," he says thoughtfully. "Well, if you don't know which you love more — that is the problem, right?"

"Among other things."

"Okay, then, who makes you smile more?"

"They both make me smile," you say, frustrated.

"Who makes you laugh more, then?"

You start to repeat your last answer, but you pause. "Jacob," you whisper. "But it's not that simple!"

"I think maybe its simpler than you're making it," he tells you, putting the car back into drive and pulling back onto the road. "I mean, what do you want from life?"

"I — you know what? I hate that question. I mean, I really hate it. There's no right answer! I want Jacob and I want Edward but I can't have them both and . . . I want to live my life and experience everything, but that only makes everything more complicated and. . . ." You don't finish but simply press your forehead to the window, staring out at nothing.

"The question isn't who you want in your life," he says, "it's what you want from life. And once you figure that out, you figure out who can give you that. Take me, for example. I want for my life to be fun, you know? And I want a girl who's funny because of that, someone who can always make me laugh, even when I feel like crying. When I meet that girl, I'll knows she's for keeps. Until then, I'll just have fun on my own.

"See? Simple."

"For you, maybe," you mutter. "I'm not very good at having fun."

"Well, buckle up, B, 'cause you're about to have the most fun you've ever had in your life, and its called watching a game of baseball."

ix. This motor's caught its wind and brought me back to life,/ Now I'm alive and well

"And that, ladies and ladies, is a full house," Nick declares, marking it on his Yahtzee sheet.

"I'm so bad at this game," Leah sighs. "Who am I kidding? I'm bad at all bored games."

You smile at her as Nick hands you the die. "I'm not doing too great, either," you tell her sympathetically.

"Yeah, well, you're bad at life, so the fact that you fail at Yahtzee, too, isn't really shocking news," she tells you, as Nick chuckles and you glare at her.

"You're so mean to me," you complain, letting the die drop out of the cup and scatter across the floor.

"I'm mean to everybody," she replies, "what makes you so special?"

"That's kind of a good point," Nick adds. "Nice role, by the way. You gonna go with fives? You've got four of them." You nod, accepting the pencil from him and marking it down on your scorecard.

You hold out the die to Leah, and she's reaching out to take them when suddenly her face snaps to the door, her posture going rigid and her whole expression becoming alert like — like a wolf. A moment later, there's a knock on the door. You glance at her and see that her face is now stony cold.

And you know without a doubt that there's a vampire at the door.

You scramble to your feet while Leah mutters under her breath, and Nick simply looks confused, clearly aware that he's missing something. You open the door slowly, and Alice Cullen is waiting on the other side. "Bella!" she exclaims, and she's hugging you before you can fully comprehend that she's there.

"Hey," you finally manage to reply as she pulls away. She steps past you into your apartment, and you have no choice but to shut the door and follow after her. You're shocked to see her, but happy, too, because despite how awkward things were left between you and the Cullen family, Alice is still your friend.

"I haven't seen you in forever," she says, "so I thought instead of waiting for you to come see me, I'd take the initiative. I like the apartment! It could use a little more decoration, but its nothing permanent, so I guess it doesn't matter." She smiles brightly at you before her eyes land on Leah and Nick, both still sitting on the ground.

"Clearwater, right?" she addresses Leah.

"Cullen, right?" Leah replies bitingly. Alice only smiles. Her eyes turn to Nick. "And you are?" she asks.

"Not dinner," Leah answers before Nick can even open his mouth. You can see the confusion growing on his face, which makes you sympathetic. You know what its like to be out of the loop (and you've always hated it) when it comes to all things supernatural.

Alice rolls her eyes. "Heel, mutt," she says, "I come in peace. I just want to talk to Bella."

Leah simply glares. "This is Nick," you tell Alice. "He works with me. And Nick, this is Alice Cullen . . . this is Edward's sister."

Nick nods, giving a warm smile, but Alice isn't paying attention to him. She and Leah seem to be in a battle of stares; at least, they are until Alice seems to grow bored and abruptly turns to you. "Bella, could you call your guard dog off? I haven't seen you in forever and I just want to catch up," she says, her eyes wide and pleading.

"We can talk in my room," you tell her, smiling, which makes her face light up. You start to lead her there, but she's already a step of you, knowing exactly which way to go. That shouldn't surprise you.

She settles gracefully on your bed and you're about to say something in apology for Leah when, without hesitation, she asks, "So, when are you coming home?" You have no response. It takes you a moment to remind yourself that this is Alice, and she was never one to beat around the bush.

"I don't really know," you tell her. "I'm not really living with a plan right now." You slowly sit beside her on the bed.

"Bella," she says, "I'm going to be honest. When I look into your future, I'm a little concerned. I see different flashes. Different futures. I know you have doubts and I know you're conflicted, and that's okay, really." Her eyes bore suddenly into yours, yet her voice is soft and reassuring. "But you do know where you really belong — who your real family is, don't you?"

You mean to give an answer. You really do. But no words come out. You look down at your nails, picking at them as nonchalantly as possible, which is not at all. "Bella, you do still want to become on of us, don't you?" she asks.

"Actually," you look up, and you can feel tears welling in your eyes, "I'm not so sure anymore. I don't know what I want." You've had this conversation with multiple members of the Cullen family before, but its impossibly harder this time, for reasons you can't begin to understand. Alice can only stare, and the idea that you've genuinely shocked Alice Cullen makes your head spin.

"Bella, you belong with us," she says, reaching a hand out to touch you. But you pull away. You see the hurt flash across her face and guilt bites your heart. You step away from her, wiping at your tears. You have to get out of that room. Alice is your friend and you've missed her, but you can't handle this. "Bella," she says.

But you walk out of the room, and suddenly its as if you're walking out of that motel room months ago, and Edward is calling your name, but you just can't, you simply can't. When you reappear in the sitting area, Nick is gathering up the game on the floor (you have a feeling he's still out of the loop) and Leah is pacing. She stops when she sees you, and it takes her less than an instant to assess your state.

Alice follows after you, pleading, "Bella, please, listen to me."

"I'm sorry," you tell her pathetically. "Really, I am. I just need more time." Alice only looks at you with an expression that shows how clearly she wants to comfort and reassure you. (And how clearly she wants your comfort and reassurance that you're not turning your back on them.) No one moves. It's quiet as you wipe uselessly at your tears.

"I think its time for you to go," Leah finally says.

"Why are there always dogs following Bella around?" Alice snaps, sudden annoyance flaring in her face.

"It's called loyalty," Leah growls back.

"Bella," Alice begins, turning back to you. Leah doesn't give her the chance.

"I told you to leave."

"Stay out of this," Alice snarls, her eyes flashing. "This isn't your business."

"Except it is," Leah says. "And see, regularly, I would let Bella fight her own battle. But since I've decided to turn over a new leaf and be a decent person for at least ten minutes a day, I'm going to fight this one for her. Leave. Do you know what that means? Maybe in your eight hundred years of life, no one told you what the word leave means. Here, let me help: leave means get your smelly ass out of here."

"Leah," you murmur. You can't let them keep fighting. If its not Edward and Jacob, it's Alice and Leah. "Please. This is my life. Let me figure it out!" Leah sighs, turning away from Alice and staring at the far wall. Alice's eyes dart from you to her and back again, and a knowing look appears on her face — a look of acceptance. Wordlessly, she bridges the few feet of distance between you and her and hugs you, and you return the hug fiercely. When she pulls away, she gives you a gentle smile.

"I really am sorry," you murmur. "Just give me a little more time."

She doesn't reply until she's standing at the door to the apartment, her hand on the knob as she looks back at you. "You don't need more time," she tells you. "You know what you want, Bella. You know where you belong. You just won't admit it." You can't bring yourself to reply, and her eyes flicker to Nick. "Nice to meet you, Nick," she says. "And I'd wear the red one if I were you."

She turns to Leah. "Clearwater."

"Cullen."

And she's gone.

For a split-second, everything is absolutely still and silent. And then you burst into tears, because she's right, and your heart is breaking at the truth, and in the days to come, its only going to get worse. But there's nothing for it.

x. Today's the first day of the rest of my life,/ And I'm alive and well

"Bella! Wait!"

The last thing you want to do is spend another moment near that house, near any of them, near him, but you halt nonetheless. Leah is standing beside the car, leaning against it, waiting with her arms crossed over her chest. Her expression is unreadable when you look at her.

Rosalie has caught up with you, but you can't look at her. You bite your lip in a fruitless attempt to stop the tears that are glistening in your eyes. You don't want to cry in front of her.

And then she hugs you. It's the most awkward embrace of your life, hands down, but when she pulls away she's giving you the first sincere smile she ever has. "You're doing the right thing," she tells you. "And if — you mentioned the Volturi, and Carlisle said he'd take care of them, but I just want you to know that I'll do anything in my power to keep them from you, too. I'll do everything I can to give you a normal life."

"Thank you," you whisper. There's nothing else to say.

She stares for an second (does she wish she was you? that she had a choice, too?) and then disappears back in to the house, and you know its the last time you'll see her. (She does.) It's the last time you'll see any of them. You choke on your tears at the sight of Edward standing in the doorway. "I'm sorry," you murmur.

"Don't be," he whispers, his words velvety and familiar, and the tears burn your eyes. "You've changed my life, Bella Swan." You can barely breathe. He goes on, but you can say nothing, do nothing, only feel, and your heart is breaking. "You've taught me love, taught me to hope that I might have a life after this one, and I'll always have that." You've already said good bye to him in the house, but this is your real good bye, you final good bye. The tears start to come faster. He takes a step towards you. "If you ever need me. . . ."

"I know," you say, your face contorting in an effort to hold back sobs. You can see the pain on his face and the love in his eyes, and you can't do this any more; you can't talk with him or any of the other Cullens, not after having spent hours in their house saying good bye, ending that part of your life so you can actually live the rest of your life, and you can't take it anymore.

You clutch your mouth to keep from bawling outright and stumble away.

Before you know it, Leah's arms are wrapped around you. She doesn't say anything. You like it better that way.

She drives you back to her house, because you can't deal with Charlie and you don't think you can stand an entire car ride back to Seattle — not yet, at least. When you're lying in her bed, curled up in her sheets, and wearing her old pyjamas, you only feel worse. You don't know how long you lie there (not forever — you've given up forever — but close) before she slips into the bed beside you.

"I thought about making hot chocolate to make you feel better," she says. "But then I remembered that I'm a fuck-up at all things remotely domestic. So, sorry. It's the thought that counts, right?" You start to laugh only for your laughter to become sobs. She lets you press your face into her shoulder and cry, and the rest of the night passes in silence.

The next day, you don't leave her bed. You hear voices in the hall, but its raining hard, and you can't make out any distinct words. Leah brings you a sandwich. When you show no interest in eating it, she does. A little ways into the afternoon, she settles on the bed beside you with Cosmopolitan magazine. You don't get up. Neither does she.

She does make you get out of bed the third day, but its because "you smell like ass, Bella," and she drags you to the shower, forcing you into it with your (her) clothing still on, turning on the ice old spray. You go back to bed afterwards. She doesn't stop you. You're still crying, but this time the tears are soft and slow and silent.

On the forth day, you leave the bed. "Ready to live again?" she asks when you appear in her kitchen. She's wearing pyjamas, too, and her hair is a mess as she putters around the kitchen with a bowl in hand.

"Ready to try?" you say quietly.

"If the enthusiasm in those three words is any indication of how well your trying is going to go," she replies, "you might want to go back to bed." She turns away from you, disappearing into the pantry. You give a weak smile. You won't go back to bed.

You're tired of bed. You're tired of not living.

"Thanks for putting up with me," you tell her, because you can't imagine going through everything — anything — without her. She's changed your life, as silly as it sounds to say. She's saved your life. She reappears with a box of Cheerios. She shrugs.

"Don't worry about it," she says. "But if you want to pay me back," she glances up, and you nod, waiting, "you can hate Emily." At your puzzled look, she adds, pouring milk into her cereal, "I really need someone else to hate her." You start to laugh, and it feels good. "I'm serious, you know," she insists.

"Sure you are," you say, echoing a favourite phrase of hers.

"Whatever," she replies. "I don't need your support. I'll make Nick hate her. He has to."

"Why's that?"

"Since you've been rather self-involved lately," she tells you, "you might not have noticed, but Nick's my new beau." You're shocked. "What? Did you think you're the only one that boys ever go for? Self-centered much, Bella?" And the smile you give this time is nothing close to weak.

You go home. You change into jeans and a t-shirt. And you drive your now beloved LeBaron to the first place you really started to live. When you enter his garage, he isn't alone. He's wearing nothing but jeans, and there's grease on his hands and engine parts to an old car scattered everywhere as he works, but Quil and Embry are both there, and they're all three laughing about something.

They go silent the moment they catch sight of you standing there.

"I thought you were dead," Embry says. Quil smacks him. "What? Seth said she was a zombie."

You don't reply. Your eyes are locked on Jacob, who's staring back at you. "Quil," he says, "take over for me." He thrusts the wrench in his hand at a startled Quil, who barely grasps it before Jacob is walking towards you, and you know what you want from life and who you want in that life, finally.

The hardest part of your life from here on out will be attending college three hours away from your boyfriend.

You have nothing to say, because he knows everything you could possibly think to utter. You only kiss him, and he kisses back, and its both possessive and a promise, and you're sure that if there's one certain way to live life, it's by kissing Jacob Black.

Fin.

A/N: As I said above, I'm not sure if it has the same . . . feel to it as its predecessor, but I'm still pretty happy with it. :) Review?

Fics: Feel the Rush

Sun, 06 Dec 2009 06:23:36 GMT

Title: Feel The Rush
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: Twilight (with bread crumbs to Jacob/Bella)
Rating: PG because Leah has a dirty mouth
Summary: Bella goes on a road trip and realizes maybe she's not as ready to be a vampire as she thought. (AU after Eclipse, because denial is the J/B shippers bread and butter.)
Disclaimer: I own absolutely no rights to the Twilight books or movies.
A/N: Once more, this is in second person -- for some reason, its my new favorite way of writing. Also: title and lyrics taken from "Ride" by Martina McBride.

i. You wake up from your dreamin' and you don't want to face the day

You have no idea where you're going or what the hell you're doing, and you're eating breakfast at a greasy diner when order (if you can call her that) finally gets introduced to your plans. "Bella Swan," she says, her voice rolling over the words in a strikingly unkind way. Your eyes dart up and all you can see (and feel) is Jacob, because whenever you encounter anything that has to do with the pack, you hear and see Jacob — always.

"Leah?" you ask, surprised.

She's dyed her hair a dark blonde that startles you, its pulled back loosely in a bun, she has an unlit cigarette tucked behind her ears, and her expression is unreadable as she slips into the booth across the table from you. But its most certainly her. "Your bloodsucker isn't near. Has he loosened the leash for a day or are you meeting him somewhere?" She sneers and you cringe, but being near to her is like being near to Jacob, and her voice magically becomes music to your ears.

"Edward's not here. I won't see him for another month, actually." You had protested that, but Edward had held firm that a month on the road was what you needed, even if it meant a month without him. There's a dull ache inside of you these days — there has been for days — and you have to find a way to end it.

She looks surprised. "What are you doing?"

"I'm on a road trip," you say. It's the truth, but you blush at how silly it seems to you.

"With who?" she says, sceptical.

"Nobody," you answer shyly. Her smirk is slow to spread, but when that flower blooms, its the prettiest of all.

"You're on a road trip by yourself?" she asks.

You nod self-consciously. "So?" you challenge with bravado.

"You can't go on a road trip by yourself. Where are you even going?"

You shrug. "I — I haven't really figured that part out yet."

She stares for a minute, a long minute that might have actually, secretly been an hour, and then says, with no room for argument in her tone, "Well, I guess I'll have to come with you."

"What?" you say, shocked. "You want to come with me?"

She shrugs. "It's not as if I have anything better to do." And she takes a fry from your plate, and it seems the conversation is over. You know there's probably more to it, but maybe a road trip with Leah wouldn't be so bad, and there's a chance (slim, but who really cares?) that Leah could lead you to Jacob. And honestly, you realise as you sit there, when Edward had left, danger had become the only way to be with him again. Now that Jacob's gone, Leah seems to be the only way to be with him again.

You'll take what you can get.

This trip hadn't even been your idea.

It had been Edward's.

The wedding was fast approaching, but you couldn't manage to muster any real excitement. There were probably a lot of reason for that, but the best on you could see was the same one Edward identified: Jacob.

He's run away, the pack has let him go, and you have a terrible feeling in your gut that you'll never see him again, a terrible ache that gnaws and gnaws and gnaws.

If he doesn't return before your wedding, he won't return before you're a vampire, and what are the chances he'll want to see you when you're one of the people he so detests? He's always said that he'll love you until you die, until your heart stops beating, and that date is fast approaching. You're ready for it, ready to become a vampire, ready to spend an eternity with Edward.

But you're not ready for Jacob to stop loving you, to no longer be your friend, to lose him for an eternity. It might hurt Edward — a part of it hurts you, too — but its still the truth.

As the summer slowly passed you by, you only sank deeper into despair over the idea that you'd never see Jacob again. It's not something you could admit to, even though everyone knew (knows) it to be true, even Edward. And that's why Edward, because he really is that amazing, suggested you take a trip.

You can have one last trip to enjoy your life before he takes it from you.

You suppose he wants it to be a distraction from Jacob or perhaps he's trying to give you a chance to seek out Jacob, to say good bye to him, but there's no way that's possible: you wouldn't know where even to start looking for him. Whatever the reason, Edward allowing you to leave on a road trip all by your lonesome is an astounding thing.

You took the Mercedes Guardian, and you drove out of Forks with Edward waving you off (and Alice, too, who was rather sour that you were leaving in the middle of the wedding preparation).

Your first stop was La Push for a new car.

You didn't (and still don't) know why, but you wanted an older one, perhaps one with a badly tuned radio, and — and — just a different feel than a Mercedes Guardian. You can hear Jake snorting in your ear at the thought, and you're sure Edward would have more than a thing or two to say about your safety.

Nonetheless, you left the car in Billy's (Jake's) old garage after receiving strange, uncomfortable, formal approval from Billy, and you drove towards Seattle in an old black convertible Chrysler LeBaron (or that's what the salesmen told you, anyhow — you're not exactly an expert). You spent the night in a nice hotel in Seattle, as Edward has given you enough money to go on a trip for life.

You ran into Leah the next morning.

And so it began.

ii. You can't find a reason to think your world will ever change

The top on the LeBaron is down and you're flying across the highway at a speed that doesn't make you want to lose the cheap lunch you'd just eaten. Leah sits in the passenger seat, a map spread around her, and the only sound is bad pop music playing softly on the radio.

It's day three of your so-called adventure. Leah hasn't said much, but neither have you, and you kind of like it that way. For some reason, however, today is the day she decides things ought to change. "Fuck this," she declares suddenly, and she crumples up the map, throwing it into the back.

"What're you doing?" you frown. "Don't we need that?"

"Why?" she snorts. "Maps are to take you to your destination. Do we have an actual destination?" That's a good point, but you don't say so. You say nothing, knowing she'll take it as an agreement. if this were yesterday, she would have turned up the music and you wouldn't speak with each other again until it was time to stop for dinner.

But today isn't yesterday.

"What are you going to tell him?" she asks.

You frown again. "What?"

"Jacob," she says casually, as if that name isn't sacred (as if it doesn't stop your breath and break your heart and warm something inside you). "When you find him, what are you going to say? 'Good bye? It's been fabulous but I've got to go marry the undead?' Because I'm pretty sure he's already gotten the memo."

You blush, anger rising up in you. Why does she have to be so mean to you? You let her hijack your road trip, didn't you? And even though you know she must have a reason for coming, you haven't asked her a single question.

"It's not like that," you reply. "And I'm not looking for him." You're not. You can't.

"Sure you're not."

"I'm not!" you protest angrily.

She finally turns to look at you, and her gaze burns your face as you stare determinedly at the road ahead. You are driving a large vehicle, after all. "Don't lie," she says. "I'm so sick of people lying. When Sam left me for Emily, he said he would always love me. He lied. No one can tell the fucking truth any more. If you want to break Jacob's heart, if you want to be a selfish bitch who has her cake and eats it, too, if you want to find Jacob to dig the knife a little deeper before you sacrifice your soul for a bloodsucker then that's fine, but tell the truth, Bella.

"Tell the fucking truth. Jake deserves that much."

Its silent for a long time, but your heart is pounding.

"I don't know what I want to say," you whisper. "I don't even know what I'm doing. All I know is that I am selfish but I can't . . . I'm in love with two people and I can't stand to lose either of them." She wants the truth? That's the truth.

She shakes her head. "You can be in love with two people, Bella, but you've got to love one more than the other."

"I do," you say softly, "Edward. He's my whole life."

"I'm pretty sure he's the end of your life, actually," she informs you, and its such a Jacob thing to say that you swear he's the one riding shot-gun.

"I love Jacob, I really do," you insist, "more than I could have imagined. But Edward is . . . my world."

"If Edward's your world, what the fuck are you doing right now?"

You don't answer, and this time, she stays quiet.

iii. You can hide beneath the covers

You miss Edward.

You miss waking up to find his eyes on your face, a smile curling his lips. You miss burrowing under the blanks and next to him. You haven't been away for him this long since he left you without a trace. But this isn't the same thing. Because then you had thought you'd never see him again, and now you know you will.

The person you really miss most at that moment is Jacob.

It's as if the world has been turned upside down. Once upon a time, you lost Edward, and Jacob was the only way you could live again, and he kept you afloat. Now you've lost Jacob, and its the thought of Edward that sustains you. Edward, who's good enough to send you off and let you search for a boy who would do anything to steal you away.

Of course, Edward was never as good at distracting you as Jacob was, and really, what sustains you most is a bleak hope that you will find Jacob, that you kind finally put to rest everything between the two of you and let the ache inside of you at the thought of losing him (forever) fade away, but you can't bring yourself to say that out loud.

You want to hear him call you Bells one last time, you want to be hugged by an oven, you want to make one more age joke, and take comfort in how cheery another person can be when as far as you can see, the world is a dreary place.

You've always been melodramatic.

iv. Or you can run outside, head up high and carry on

"So," you begin one afternoon, "why did you dye your hair?" You need to talk to her, and you can't think of any better way to start the conversation. You've been on the road for nearly a week, and its time you finally asked what you want. She'll appreciate the honestly of the question, right?

"Because I've always wanted to," she replies, flipping a page of People magazine with minimal interest in it or you.

"Is that the truth?" you question.

"No, but didn't we already determine that you really don't care about the truth?" she says, flipping another page and still not looking up. Sometimes her apathy drives you up a wall.

"Why are you on this trip anyway?" you demand, anger rising like a tide within you.

"How about this," she says, looking up at long last, "you ask what you really want to know, which is if I can help you find Jake, and then I'll think about telling a bloodsucker-loving user bitch why I've decided to take a road trip with her, okay?"

You swerve the car off the road, slamming on the breaks and slipping it into park. You turn to see she looks shocked, and satisfaction rushes through you. Your momentary bursts of anger do come in handy. "Why are you being so mean to me?" you ask. "You know I want to find Jake, but you refuse to help me, but you have to rub it in my face, and you know that —"

"How was I supposed to know that you wanted to find Jake? You never said anything."

"But you still knew," you assert.

"Oh, yes, and since the world revolves around you, I'm supposed to cater to every whim that your fragile heart can't properly express?" she asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

You stare across the road again, unable to look at her. You've already made the decision. When you put the car back into drive, you make a u-turn. "What are you doing?" she asks immediately as you start speeding back in the direction you'd come from.

"Going home," you answer. "This was a bad idea. This whole trip — you, me, looking for Jake, Edward saying I need this — its all wrong. We're going home."

"Wait, Bella, wait," she says, actually reaching across to grab the steering wheel from you. For the second time that day, the car veers off the road, this time on the opposite side of the two lane dirt road. It's a good thing today wasn't a day on the highway.

"What?" you ask petulantly.

When she doesn't answer right away, you glance at her to see that she's staring at her hands. Something's off. "I dyed my hair because . . . Sam used to talk about how much he hates it when girls dye their hair to try and be something they're not."

She looks up at you, and for the first time, Leah Clearwater looks vulnerable. She's giving a self-deprecating grin. "I try so hard to block him out of my life, but everything I do still revolves around him." She swallows thickly and looks out at the road. "I was in Seattle when you found me, because I needed to get away from the pack — from Sam. But I had nothing to do and . . . and I need to escape everything as much as you do."

You know you should say something comforting and kind, but nothing comes to mind. "I'm not trying to escape," you finally tell her, which is probably the worst thing you could have come up with to say, but you are Bella Swan, and tact was never one of your talents.

She smiles sadly at you, and its the closest to a genuine smile you've ever seen on her face. "Sure you're not." There's a moment of silence that stretches and stretches and stretches. "Tonight, if we can find somewhere private, I'll transform. I'll see if I can find him for you."

"Thank you," you whisper. You don't mean to whisper, but its all that comes outs.

She only nods, and you pull the car back on to the road, making another u-turn to set the LeBaron back in the right direction. You don't talk for the rest of the afternoon.

It's probably better that way.

v. Life is a roller coaster ride,/ Time turns the wheel and love collides

Leah tries two or three times, but she can never get a clear view of Jacob. "I'm sorry," she says, but that's it, and you don't press it, because you have a feeling she's has only so much sympathy for you. You're not going to push your luck, not since the two of you have reached a grudging friendship.

You're in California now, because Leah has suggested you try going South in search of Jake, although she never really gives a reason. It's getting warmer and it reminds you of Phoenix, although that seems like a lifetime ago. It really is, if you think about it, because it was a different life — a life before Edward isn't one you really want to remember.

You stop at a hotel, and you're picking what drink to get from the vending machine in the hall when you hear laughter. You head back to room to see the Leah is standing in the doorway, mercilessly flirting with the boy delivering pizza. He's large and has one too many tattoos and piercings.

Leah's laugh is unnatural, but she seems more comfortable with a boy she's just met than you've ever been with anybody (except for Jacob, and — once you got to know him — Edward, too) in your whole life. You stand awkwardly shadowed, clutching the two cold diet cokes in your hands. When Leah sees you she lets you step by her into the room, but she continues to flirt until you've finished your share of pizza and your drink.

You're almost afraid she's going to invite him in, and when she doesn't, your relief is unmatched.

It's quiet as she eats her cold pizza, and fearful of the building awkwardness, you say timidly, "He seems nice." She snorts.

"Are you kidding? He's a complete asshole. You couldn't pay me to date someone like that." She pops open a soda can, and when she catches you're disbelieving look, she shrugs, seeming a little pleased with herself.

"Why were you flirting with him, then?"

"Because I could," she replies flippantly, leaning back in her bed and switching on the TV with the remote. You don't have a response, so you say nothing. Half an hour later, there's a knock on the door. You glance at the clock in confusion. It's eleven at night.

Leah answers the door, and your eyes go wide at the sight of the pizza delivery guy, who looks immensely proud of himself. He holds a bag out and Leah hands him cash. "Really, thanks," she smiles simperingly. He leaves again, and she triumphantly returns to her bed with the bag.

"This is why I was flirting. Guys'll do anything if you work the right angle." And she pulls out a bottle of vodka. "Want some?" she offers. You have no words, and she laughs at the look on your face. "God, you're such a goody-two-shoes. I bet Eddiekins has done blood shots or something equally nasty. Why can't you have fun, too?"

"He doesn't do blood — he doesn't do that. And this isn't about him. I'm just — just shocked is all." You know you sound like an idiot, but then again, you usually do.

"Does that mean you want some?" she asks, and having gotten the top off, she takes a swig. You're pretty sure vodka isn't meant to be drank like that. As if reading your mind, she adds, "I don't have any shot glasses, do you?"

You shake your head. She holds out the bottle, but you only shake your head again. She narrows her eyes, a smirk playing across her lips. "Bella," she says slowly. "Have you ever had alcohol?" You know its nothing to be ashamed of, but under her scrutiny, you blush profusely all the same. "Bella!" she exclaims. "Are you honestly telling me you plan on killing yourself without ever having had alcohol?"

"I'm not killing myself," you reply, a little annoyed.

"You kind of are. But that's not the point. You'll never know what it's like to be drunk! Forget drunk — you'll never know what it's like to be tipsy! There's no way bloodsuckers can get tipsy. Here." She thrusts the bottle at you. "You have to."

You can hear Edward in your head telling you what a bad idea it would be.

And you can hear Jacob egging you on, teasing and taunting. "Come on, Bells — what's the harm?" Feeling a little dangerous, you reach forward and take the bottle. You take a deep breath, your eyes darting to her grin, an actual, genuine grin. Steeling yourself, you take a drink.

You almost spit it all out, nearly choking. She laughs, and it isn't the high-pitched, strange giggle she had given the pizza boy (man), but a warm, hearty laugh that makes you laugh, too, despite what a fool you'd just made of yourself.

You spend nearly an hour passing the bottle back and forth, and although you really end up only having two or three sips in all, you're pretty sure the bottle is the culprit of the warmth flaring in your cheeks and the giggles that keep escaping. Leah tells the story of the first time she got drunk when her parents went out, and it has you laughing so hard you fall off your bed.

Two hours later the room is dark and you're almost asleep. You feel warm and sleepy and a little dizzy and you're almost positive you're not actually drunk, but something close. It's a nice feeling. You're glad you had it before you lost the chance.

How many other feelings will you never get to experience?

A new found desire to try and do and be everything while you have a few months left to live flares up in you. For the first time, you realise that you're not only leaving behind people when you become a vampire, you're leaving behind a whole world.

"Yeah, well, its a suck-y world," Leah tells you, and you realise you've spoken aloud. "And you're a very drunk poetic." She hiccoughs. "Did I say that right? No. Whatever. You know what I mean." She giggles and you giggle too, because why not?

"Leah?" you prod, already half-asleep and hoping she isn't.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for flirting with that guy. This was nice."

She laughs. "You're a strange girl, Bella Swan." It's quiet, and your eyes have just begun to flutter closed when she whispers, her voice strangely clear despite the vodka. "He has no idea that I'm the poor girl Sam left. Sometimes its nice not to be that poor girl."

You stare up at the ceiling. The only sound is your breathing and Leah shifting under the sheets of her bed. "He didn't mean to hurt you," you tell her. You have to say something, and its the truth. You know what its like to have to choose between two people you love so much it kills you, and you know that if you could, you would do anything to keep from hurting either of them.

Suddenly you feel terrible.

"Don't say that," she replies. "If I ever want to have a life again, I have to hate him! Hate him hate him hate him!" she chants, before adding angrily, "Don't try and make me forgive him. You have no idea what it's like. None." Her voice is angry, sure, but its a different kind of anger than when she's yelled at you before. It's a bitter, cynical anger, and its almost worse.

"I'm not saying I know what it's like," you say, slowly, softly, carefully choosing each word, (you really wish your head wasn't so fuzzy). "But I know what its like to be Sam, and I —"

"Stop it," she interrupts. "Just stop it."

You do as she asks, and you silently watch the bright blue numbers of the digital clock by your bed click from minute to minute. They make your mind go even fuzzier, and your eyes are heavy, but you can't seem to fall asleep.

"He says he can't help but love her," Leah says abruptly, shattering the silence. "But love's not supposed to be like that. Love's supposed to be what you choose, what you want. And saying that its not your choice, that's just an excuse to make yourself feel better. He says he still cares about me and that imprinting on her just . . . happened, but that's just so he can sleep better at night."

Her voice is venomous, and your instinct tells you to stay silent. But you don't.

"You don't always choose who you love," you murmur. "I didn't mean to love Jacob. And I really didn't mean to love Edward. I can't help it. He's just become a part of me. I never had a choice." It's quiet for so long afterwards that you're sure she's fallen asleep. She hasn't.

"And you wonder why I hate you."

vi. Faith is believing you can close your eyes and touch the sky,/ To shine while you have the chance to shine

You don't have a hang-over the next morning (at least you don't think you do) but you feel out-of-sorts and groggy all day long. A part of you expects Leah to be angry at you, considering her final words the night before, but she isn't.

In fact, she acts almost as if last night hadn't happened, not any single part of it, but you know she knows it has, because you can feel her stare on you as you drive, and its different than usual: there's a kind of scrutiny to it.

You try to ignore it, though.

If you think about it, then you'll have to think about how much you and Sam having in common, loving two people, but one more than the other in an inexplicable way and somehow unable to keep from hurting the other. You don't want to look at Leah and see Jacob anymore, because then you'll have to see an angry, bitter, cynical Jacob who spends his nights convincing himself to hate you.

Instead you think about how you do want to get drunk before you're a vampire, and its a silly wish, but you wish it nonetheless, and you secretly want it with Jake. He'd be a funny drunk, you think, and the idea of having one last night of fun and frivolity with him is the most enticing thought you've had in a very long time.

You refuse to acknowledge that if you did find him and he did agree to spend time with you despite how you've treated him and the two of you did get drunk, it wouldn't be fun, because you'd both spend the entire time knowing that it was good-bye. (Except, you did just acknowledge it).

A pang rears up inside you at the idea of saying good bye (forever, for all of eternity) to Jake, but you know that the constant ache inside you won't go away until you do, you know that you can't spend forever with Edward before you've made peace with Jake.

You can only hope that you will be able to make peace.

A week later, and you're doing pretty well ignoring all thoughts even remotely related to Sam.

"Shoot, I left my wallet in the car," you say, mentally berating yourself. You look guilty across the table at Leah. "I know it was my turn to pay, but could you maybe —?"

"I didn't bring mine," she replies.

"It doesn't matter," you say. It's not as if it's a great feat to walk out to your car and fetch the wallet. You start to stand up, but Leah stops you.

"Don't," she tells you, standing up herself. "Finish your pancakes. I'm already done. I'll go get it for you." You let her go, impressed at Leah doing something so innocently nice. But when she hasn't come back in five minutes, you're a little concerned.

Then you get a call. It's Leah, and you frown as you answer it. "What's the matter?"

"Are you coming or what?" she asks. Your frown deepens.

"I need to pay," you say. "You're supposed to be getting my wallet, remember?"

"Yeah, about that — I've changed my mind. I think you need a little more thrill in your life. So, come on. We've got places to go, things to do, broody boys to find." You sit there in disbelief for a moment.

"Leah," you finally whisper angrily, "are you trying to get me to — to — to dine and ditch?" You glance around to make sure no one is watching. No one seems to have heard you. This is bad. Is she serious?

"I wouldn't call it that, but sure, dine and ditch, Bella."

"But —" you can barely even sputter your protest "— no!"

She laughs on to the phone, and if you weren't so angry at her, you would appreciate how Leah has laughed more with you in the last few weeks than she has in all the time you've known her. "Come on, live a little. You've only got a few weeks of humanity left, right? Why not make it exciting?"

"I am not going to dine and —!" you pause, not wanting to say it again aloud. What if someone heard you? What if someone was already suspicious?

"It's not as if you have a choice. I'm not coming in, which means you have no way of paying anyway." You hang up the phone. You'll simply wait for her to come back. Fifteen minutes later, she hasn't returned. Your waitress is in the back when you clench your firsts to keep them from trembling and causally start walking towards the door.

You keep waiting for someone to shout or grab you or something, but you walk out the door without a problem. As soon as the door of the restaurant has closed behind you, you take off running towards the car.

Leah has tears of laughter in her eyes and your hand is shaking so terribly it takes you three tries to start the car before you tear out of the parking lot and speed back on to the highway.

"Now, wasn't that fun?" she asks, when her laughter finally dies down. You send her a filthy glare, but as thoughts of Jacob and what you're sure would be his adamant approval swim through your mind, you're secretly happy.

But you'd never admit that to her.

vii. Laugh even when you want to cry,/ Hold on tight to what you feel inside and ride

Leah leans forward to change the radio station again. If there's one thing you've learned with absolute certainty about her, its that she's a radio whore. She can never listen to the same song for more than five seconds. She flips to another station again. She taps her fingers restlessly against the car door, a new song comes on, and she reaches forward once more.

"Wait, don't change that one," you protest. "Leave it."

"What do you like about this one?" she asks sceptically.

"It's a classic," you say, biting your lip in a fruitless effort to stop the warmth gathering in your neck from rising to your face.

"If you really liked it you'd sing along with it," she says, and there's a kind of challenge in her voice.

"I can not sing," you tell her matter-of-factly.

"Singing along with favourite songs is not about talent, Bella. If you like it, sing with it. Come on, I'll help. 'Haaand, touchin' hands, reachin' out,'" she sings, her voice growing louder even as she spins the volume up, "'touching me,'" she nudges you encouragingly, and you start to smile inadvertently, because as rarely as it emerges, a happy Leah is as infectious as a happy Jacob, "'touching youuuuuu —'"

"'SWEET CAROLINE!'" she belts out, and you can't help it: you join in, "'Good times never seemed so good! I've been inclined, TO BELIEVE THEY NEVER WOULD!'"

She begins to bob her head and you shift a little in your seat, as you both, laughing idiotically, mutter the words neither of you really know. But then she begins to belt out again, "'Warm, touchin' warm,'" and you slowly join in. "'Reachin' out, touchin' me, touchin youuuuu! SWEEEEET CAROLINE!'"

By the time the song has ended, you're both laughing, and you've decided that if no one is listening (because Leah doesn't count) singing isn't so bad. You would be mortified if Edward were to hear you, or anyone really, but being with Leah is like being with Jacob — embarrassing things happen, sure, but if she (or he) laughs, you laugh, too.

You can't help it.

And the more time you spend with Leah, the more you remember why you have to see Jacob one more time, despite how very wrong you know it is.

viii. It brings you up slowly then shoots you like a rocket towards the ground,/ It twists you and it shakes you before it turns you upside down

"Can I ask you a question?" Leah asks.

"You never struck me as someone who would ask permission," you reply, before adding, "hold still or you're going to get black dye all over your neck." You can almost feel her roll her eyes. She had asked for your help in dying her hair black again.

"Consider this me working on my people skills," she bites back, and you know you've touched a nerve.

"Ask away," you say. "I'm almost done, by the way. Then you have to stick your head under the shower spray for half an hour to wash out all the excess dye."

"I know how to dye my hair," she snaps, "I've done it before, obviously."

"Shut up," you say. "And ask your question." You've become accustomed to her moodiness, and you've long since learned that the best way to deal with Leah's bullying is to bully back.

She doesn't reply immediately, not at all, in fact, until she's bending backwards on a chair you've manoeuvred into the shower and, because the hotel was lucky enough to have a shower head with a portable arm, you feel as if you're working at a saloon as you run your fingers through her hair to wash away the dye. "Do you really expect to find him?" You're taken a back, and she takes your silence as reason to go on. "I mean, we've been driving no where for three weeks. Isn't Cullen expecting you back soon? What are you even doing?"

"I still don't really know," you say softly. "I guess . . . I'm waiting for some cosmic sign. I love Edward so much, and I'm ready to spend forever with him, I am! But I can't stand the thought of losing Jacob. Maybe — when you said I was escaping — maybe you're right. As long as I'm driving no where, then I'm postponing my wedding and . . . and then I don't have to deal with hurting anyone."

It's the most honest you've been in a long time.

"Bella," she replies, "you're spraying me in the face."

"Oh! God! I'm sorry," you blush, but she only takes the shower head from your hands and begins doing it herself with practised ease. It makes you wonder why she even asked for your help in the first place.

"I know you don't want to hear this or talk about it, but just tell me this one thing — you say you have to be with Edward, that he has your heart and you can't change that and you need to be with him, but why? Why do you have to be with him? Why can't you choose Jacob?"

"It's not like that," you protest. Her eyes are still closed and little droplets of black water sprinkle her forehead and checks and runs in rivers around her neck, but this is the most calm and collected she's ever been.

"Forget Jacob, then," she goes on. "Why can't you just make it about you? Why does it have to be about spending eternity with Edward or hurting Jacob or picking? Why can't you just decide what you really want?"

"What I want is Edward!" you insist.

"But why?" she demands. Her eyes flicker open despite the close spray of hot water, and her stare is so intense you can't keep it. Your eyes fall to your hands instead, and you start to pick at your nails. She sighs, and when you glance at her again, her eyes are shut once more. "Okay, let me back track. Why do you love Jacob? Why don't you want to hurt him? Why does his friendship mean so much to you that you're putting off your wedding?"

You shrug. "I don't know," you say, your mind flashing back to all you know about Jacob. Becoming a vampire is all you've wanted for years, so why are you putting it off? It's a fair question. "He's happy," you finally admit. "He's so full of life, you know? And sometimes he gets angry and annoyed but he's — I call him my sun, and I know that's corny, but he has this way of . . . he's funny, don't you think?"

"I suppose," she concedes. "A little, maybe. Tell him that and I'll slit your throat."

"And he's gorgeous, too," you add, smirking at the thought of his face if you were to say that in front of him. "And he just . . . he's not afraid of living his life. I am, but he's so . . . unafraid. And determined. I want to be more like that, I think? I do. I need to be more like that. When I'm a vampire, I'll be able to act without thinking and . . . I can be like that. I just hate that I have to lose Jacob to get it."

She sits up, and water sprays her lap while black dye runs over all her clothing. "Leah —!"

"Shut up," she cuts you off. "Look at me and then listen to yourself. You don't need to be a fucking bloodsucker to be determined or unafraid or happy. You don't need to be anybody but you, the girl who drinks vodka in a seedy hotel and dines and ditches or dashes or whatever the fuck and sings as if its your job to break glass. You don't need Edward or Jacob to define you or make you better. Take it from the girl who lets a boy run her life — they are so not worth it."

Her face is so sincere, her words so empathetic, that you feel as if Leah Clearwater is breaking into your soul, and its the scariest thing you've ever felt. You don't know how to reply, but before you can think of something, she cries out. "EFFING —!"

There's dye in her eye.

ix. You can't see what's around the corner,/ And you can't look back, so just live it up and feel the rush

It stills seems a little strange to you that Edward let you go — that he nearly pushed you out the door. The more you think about it, though (and you think about it a lot) you know he did it to make sure that when you finally marry, you're ready for it. He's ridiculously afraid of you making a decision you don't really want to make, and you've become pretty sure that he sent you on this trip in his last ditch attempt to assure you really want him and marriage and his life.

You don't understand how he could have still thought that. After all, you were ready to go through with marriage and everything, and you would have, because then you didn't know better. Well, not really. But you definitely know better now. You're still going to marry him, you have to, you can't imagine life any other way.

But it turns out there's a whole other kind of life out there, and it's like waking up when you didn't know you were ever asleep. Edward was right to send you off on your own, even though you know it must have been so hard for him, who's forever afraid for your safety, to let you go off the way he did. You love him more for it.

But the urge to find Jacob is fiery within you now, because you know he's a part of this other, different, foreign life you've only just recently discovered, the only part you had a taste of before now, and you wonder if you'll see him differently.

You wonder if you'll ever see him again.

You clutch the pillow in your the motel bed more tightly to your chest. You have to see him again. You have to. The ache makes your head pound and your heart beat fast and it takes you over. You won't just lose the feeling of being tipsy and doing something stupid and being alive, but you'll lose Jacob and Leah — Leah, oh, God, why didn't you think of that? Leah's the first real best girl friend you've ever had, even better than Alice, which you'd never thought possible. You actually have something in common with Leah.

But she's not going to want anything to do with you after you're a vampire.

How unfair is that?

When you fall asleep, its to fall into a dream. You're a vampire. You're beautiful and graceful and everything you've ever wanted, and you and Edward chase one another, and its perfect in every possible way. Rosalie finally accepts you and you go hunting with Alice and you travel around the world.

And then the dream becomes a nightmare.

You're at Charlie's funeral and then Renee's and then Jacob's and the world is spinning out of control and the years are flipping by, and there's Leah's gravestone, and you're not growing older and they're all gone and suddenly you're at your own funeral.

You've died at eighteen years old, and the priest is speaking of God's will, and its raining, and you, with blood red eyes, can do nothing but stand in the shadows and watch the tears drip steadily down your father's broken face as your mother sobs into Phil's shoulder. And then you see Leah and Jacob, both with stoney faces and knowing looks in their eyes, because they know you're not really dead, but you're gone from their lives, their world, your world forever, for all eternity —

You wake up.

You sit up in bed, sweat soaking you shirt and face and hair. You glance around the motel room to see that Leah's standing out on the tiny balcony of the room, the wind rustling the motel curtains. Slowly, you climb out of bed and come to stand beside her. The breeze feels good on your hot skin, and you can see pretty well with the full moon shining brightly above you.

Leah's smoking a cigarette and she's staring out at nothing as if there's neither nothing in the world nor in her, and you're not even sure she's noticed that you're standing there a foot from her. "Couldn't sleep?" she asks, the words startling you.

"Bad dream," you admit. She takes another drag.

"Smoke?"

"No thanks."

"Why did you take him back?" she asks abruptly. She's still staring out into the darkness, but you know her mind's completely on you, and you can't get away with not answering this time.

"Who?" you question timidly.

"The bloodsucker."

You cringe. You still hate that word — you probably always will. "You mean Edward," you murmur.

"Yes, Edward," she replies, her voice curling over the name as if it has a bad taste. You hate this Leah, the choleric, disenchanted, mean Leah, the one who hurts you in ways you can't understand and who, you suspect, hurts herself in more ways than even she can understand. "Why, after he left you in the woods saying he hated you, did you take him back? I understand saving him from — from whatever the hell you saved him from — but why did you take him back afterwards? After what he did?"

"Because he wasn't trying to hurt me," you reply. "He was trying to protect me. He loves me."

She snorts. "You are aware that you sound like the victim of domestic abuse, aren't you?"

"Edward would never hurt me," you tell her furiously. How could she even suggest that?

"'Without you I have no reason to live! Leave me and I'll commit suicide!' Have you ever seen a soap opera? Because you're living in one. Physically he'd never hurt you, maybe, but Bella, you're so fucking emotionally bruised and beaten you could be a poster child for domestic abuse. And you'll never really escape him. You'll marry him even if you don't find Jacob, and you'll let him bite you, and you'll spend all of eternity as his bitch."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," you tell her, a sickening feeling rising in your throat. You hate this. How can she be this way? How can she make you smile and laugh and feel so happy and alive and unafraid, and then turn around and do this to you? "He let me go on this trip, didn't he? And even though he didn't want to see me leave, he let me, because he knew it was what I needed, even though I didn't realise it."

"Bella," she murmurs, shaking her head with a distinct kind of pity. "He didn't let you go."

"What are you talking about?"

"He's been following us the entire time. He disappears for a day or two at a time once a week, probably to hunt, but the rest of the time, I can smell his stench on the air." She turns to you at long, long last, taking a deep drag before crushing the remains of the cigarette over the balcony edge. "He never let you go. You're living in a delusion. But do me a favour? When it finally shatters, don't come crying to me. I don't want anything to do with bloodsuckers. Who knows, maybe I'll have died by that point anyway."

And, crossing the motel room and disappearing out the door to God only knows where, she leaves you alone on the balcony, trying to remember a time when everything — or anything, really — made sense.

x. Hold on tight to what you feel inside

You look around at the night. You can't do this. You can't be alone. Not anymore. You're done. It was a mistake, all of it was a horrible, stupid mistake. "Edward," you say. Leah wouldn't lie. And it makes sense, really — of course Edward wouldn't actually let you go off on your own when you could encounter any number of dangers. "Edward! EDWARD!"

You're desperately biting back tears.

And then he's there. Swift and pale and beautiful, Edward Cullen has leapt on to the balcony. "I suspected she knew that I was following," he tells you, and there's a soft smile on his face that melts into utter concern when he sees the tears that begin to gather in your lashes against your will. "Bella," he whispers, his voice caressing your name in the most comforting way. That's all you need: to hear him say your name. "Bella." (Bells).

He reaches forward and gently brings you to his chest. "It's okay," he assures lovingly. "It's alright. I know this has been hard." He strokes your hair and you cling to him. But suddenly an urge builds in your chest, a strong, painful urge that screams in your mind how wrong this is, and for the first time, the cold of his arms makes you flinch. "I'm here now," he murmurs. And the urge explodes out of you. You push him away. You press your palms to his chest and shove him backwards.

"You've been watching me all this time!" you yell, not sure what you're even saying, what you want to say, what's even happening. But something's happening.

He gives a sweet smile, and it infuriates you. Why does he never take you seriously? Why can't you get angry and have him respond with more than an indulgent smile? "I've been keeping an eye on you, yes," he confesses. "I wanted to make you sure you were safe."

"I don't need you to keep me safe!" you exclaim furiously.

He seems to sense that you're actually angry. "Bella —"

"STOP IT! Stop talking to me like that! I'm not a china doll! And you — you watched me do private things and overheard conversations that you weren't meant to hear and —!" It had never bothered you before, his peeping Tom habits, but for some reason, now — now everything is different.

"Bella, please," he pleads quietly.

"I don't want to get married," you declare. "It's not fair! You can't play my hand like that. I've never wanted to get married. Never. You can't make me."

"Bella," he murmurs. "I would never force you to marry me, you know that."

"But you are," you say. He doesn't reply immediately. When you look at him, you still see perfection and you feel love and you know it would break your heart to lose him, yet there's more to it than that. Perfection isn't everything. The most fun you've had in the last month — the last year — have been in moments of utter imperfection. And you love him, but . . . but it's not him you need. You turn away from him, swallowing thickly, and you start walking blindly towards the motel door.

"Bella," he calls. You don't know what you're doing and you don't know what you want, but you do know one thing: you do know what you don't want. You don't know what that means for him or for Jacob or for anyone, but at that moment you simply have to get out of that motel room.

You're barefoot as you run out the door and down the outdoor hall of the motel and then down the stairs, but you couldn't possibly care less. You're sure he's following, but when you stumble and fall face forward, he doesn't catch you. Biting pain sears your hands and knees as they take the fall and gravel digs into your skin, and you're crying outright, but you can't stop.

When you feel hands pushing the hair back from your face, you look up through teary eyes and a blurry vision to see Leah, her beautiful face framed with black hair and her dark eyes round and knowing. "I don't — I don't —"

"You don't what?" she asks quietly.

"I don't want to lose me!" you cry. "I've just found me and I can't — I can't —"

She pulls you to her, and suddenly its as if you're five years old again and your mother is cradling you to her chest, shushing and rocking and making everything bad and wrong and unfair in the world fade away. "You won't lose you," she whispers. "I won't let you. I'll help you. You're my best friend, Bella Swan, and we'll figure this out, I promise."

You don't know what'll happen next, but when it does, it'll happen on your terms.

Fin.

A/N: After I saw New Moon with a couple of my friends, we got into a discussion about Jacob vs Edward, because, yes, we're those people. One of my friends is a huge Bella/Edward shipper, while I'm 100% Bella/Jacob. We were arguing when our third friend announced, "You know what I want? For Bella to go off to college and meet someone new." We laughed it off, but it got me thinking. She kind of had a good point. Bella is a man's woman throughout the entire series. She's not even her own person. Of course, when I started writing this, I envisioned Bella ending up with Jacob (who would let her be herself), but the story took itself over (and if SM had let the Twilight books take themselves in the natural direction that inadvertently developed, Jacob and Bella would have ended up together, in my humble opinion).

Maybe a sequel? We'll see. I hope you enjoyed! Sorry for any typos :)

Fic: The World Spins Madly On

Wed, 02 Dec 2009 00:49:44 GMT

Title: The World Spins Madly On
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: Twilight (J/B -- 'cause, yeah, I'm one of those people, and better yet, I was long before Taylor Launter was cast as Jacob!)
Rating: Nice and innocent :)
Summary: AU: The Cullens never came back in New Moon (It's been done before, I know). A look at the life Jacob and Bella would have led, with a little twist.
Disclaimer: I own absolutely no rights to the Twilight books or movies, obviously.
A/N: If you're not a fan of second person POV, I apologize! Also -- I'm big on having a non-main character tell the tale, so. . . . And this is un-betad, so I'm sorry for any typos!

i.

The world tilts off its axis on a Thursday.

You come home from school to find your mother sitting at the kitchen table in silence. Your mother isn't one to sit still. Every other day for, well, your entire life, you had come home to find your mother busy typing the next great American novel or cooking dinner or fruitlessly trying to teach the new dog how to sit even though she knows very well Piper only ever listens to your dad.

But on that Thursday, your mother sits silently in a kitchen chair, staring off into space with a blank face. There is something strange about the way she sits there, so pale and quiet and still, and you stop in your tracts, your backpack still slung over one shoulder. Before you can say anything, Charlie and Billy both brush past you, eager for an after school snack.

"Hey, Mom, what are you making for dinner? Is anything made already?" Charlie asks, not even glancing at her as he opens the fridge door and disappears behind it.

"And what's that smell?" adds Billy, shoving his older brother aside.

Your mother glances at them strangely, as if she doesn't know who they are, who she is, who anyone is. Charlie straightens up, a Pepsi in his hand. "Mom, did you —?" He stops. He glances at you and then back at her. "Is everything okay, Mom?" he asks hesitantly.

Billy looks worried now that he's cottoned on, too. She's simply sitting there, and almost rocking a little, and its the most disconcerting picture you've ever seen. "Did something happen, Mom?" asks Billy nervously. There's something surreal about the moment.

After another silent minute, Charlie slams his drink on the counter and then crouches down in front of her. Charlie is the oldest, a senior in high school, the spitting image of your father, and your mother has always been a little in awe of him, in that way that mothers are when they think their children perfect. "Mom," he says, reaching out and grabbing her hands. "Mom, your hands are freezing! How long have you been sitting here? What's going on?"

Her hands are trembling as they reach forward and clutch Charlie's face. "Jacob," she finally whispers.

"Um, Mom, that's not Dad," Billy oh-so-helpfully says. You send him a withering glare.

"Jacob," she repeats, and sense seems to flicker across her face. She glances between you and Billy and then looks back at Charlie. "Jake — y-your dad. Where is he?"

"He's at work Mom," you say. She abruptly stands, pulling her hands from Charlie's, and starts towards the door only to turn on her heel and hurry to the phone, her hands still shaking as she begins dialling the cordless.

"Something's happened," Billy whispers to you and Charlie.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," you hiss back.

"Jake?" your mom says suddenly on the phone. She sounds like a child, like she's lost and confused and its so not your mother, with her wry smile and subtle affection and fierce protectiveness. "Come home — please. Yes, now!" she cries out, her eyes going wide. "I just — you have to come home right now. Please, Jake. Please!"

When your dad tears into the house ten minutes later, you have a feeling he used the emergency lane and barrelled down it at a speed that was far from legal. He glances at you and your brothers, having abandoned your backpacks but still standing awkwardly in the kitchen. "What's going on?" he asks. His hands and arms and t-shirt are all covered in grease, and the usualness of his appearance highlights his alarm.

Your mom is now leaning against the counter, staring out the window. "Bells," your dad says, rushing towards her. "What's going on?"

She stares at him for a moment and then bursts into tears. Your eyes go wide in amazement, and you can do nothing but gape in disbelief as sobs rack your mother's body and your dad gathers her up in his arms, rubbing her back and whispering into her hair.

And then you see it.

He sniffs. His nostrils flare. And understanding sears his face, along with absolute fury.

ii.

When you were little, there was no one in the world you loved more than your daddy.

As far as you were concerned, the man hadn't only hung the moon, he had made it, and he would forever be your best friend. You liked sitting at his workshop watching him work on cars, and sometimes you would play with the parts that lay dismantled around the shop until you had grease all over you. It would make you look like him, which was exactly the point. He would only laugh, covering your face in butterfly kisses and then grinning innocently that night when you were standing butt naked in the tub with your fuming mother scrubbing your three or four or five-year-old skin raw.

To say you were a daddy's girl would be an understatement.

He was so much larger than you that it seemed he was a giant, and you had to run to keep his pace when he walked, and his hand entirely encompassed yours, and the world was a different place when you were riding on his shoulders. What more could a girl possibly want? Your brothers were always playing games they said you couldn't play, and Granddaddy Charlie and Grandpops Billy were fun, too, but they weren't like your daddy. Nobody was like you daddy: he was in a league all his own.

You loved your mommy, too, of course, but not like your daddy. Your mommy couldn't tell stories the way your daddy could, and she wasn't always so warm, and when she made breakfast, she didn't make your eggs and bacon smile at you.

You understand why your mommy loved your daddy, but why did he love her? Why did he say he couldn't marry you because he was already married to her? It mortifies you now when you think back on it, but he still likes to tease you about it, and you suppose lots of little girls want to marry their dads.

When you were eight years old, your parents got into a huge fight — you never did learn what it was over — and your whole world tipped upside down. For six days, your daddy slept in the living room, and no matter how many pictures you drew him or how many stories you asked him to tell or how many times you kissed his cheek and clung to him, he didn't cheer up. He didn't smile, he didn't laugh, and he was sharp and cold with your brothers and even with you.

"What's the matter, Daddy?" you finally asked. He hedged the topic at first, but when you'd pushed enough, he told you, "I miss Mommy, is all. Don't worry. It'll all be better soon." And it was. A week after their fight, it was as if it had never happened.

That, however, was your first taste of the realisation, although you wouldn't fully understand it until years later, that even though your childish world revolved around your daddy, his world revolved around your mommy. And sometimes — to this day — you couldn't (and can't) help but wonder what he would be like if he ever lost her.

iii.

"Hey, sweetheart, can we talk to you?" your dad asks, stopping you on your way to make a peanut butter sandwich. It's well past midnight, but you hadn't been able to fall asleep, not since your dad disappeared with your mom, who was still in shock, and returned with her at eleven o'clock only for them to hole up in their room, arguing in whispers.

"Sure," you say hesitantly. From where she sits next to your dad at the kitchen table, your mother looks like your mother again, even if she does still look a little out of sorts. "What's going on?"

"Why don't you get your brothers?" your dad suggests.

"Jake —" your mom begins.

"We need to talk to all of you at once," he goes on, as if he didn't hear her.

"Jacob, we don't need to —"

"Actually, Bella, we do. They need to know. They could all be in danger now," he says darkly.

"If you're implying that they would ever hurt —"

"Go get your brothers, Lily," your dad demands, ignoring your mother. The tension is clear. What the hell is going on? You only nod, walking slowly out of the room only to race up the stairs and pound on their bedroom doors.

"What's your damage, Heather?" Billy asks, annoyed and looking half-dead as he pops his head out into the hallway.

"A, you need to come up with a way to talk that doesn't require quoting movies all day, and B, Mom and Dad are acting all weird and they want to talk to us. Come on." Charlie hears everything you say, and he wordlessly follows you back to the kitchen, Billy slowly shuffling behind.

You each take a seat at the kitchen table. No one says anything immediately, but finally Billy asks, "Okay, what gives? What's going on?"

Your mom looks down at her hands, twisting a napkin uselessly. "Do you guys remember all those old stories I used to tell you?" your dad begins. "About how the tribe is descended from wolves and we supposedly protect people from Cold Ones — from vampires?"

We all nod. "I used to think you were a wolf, Daddy," you tell him, blushing a little when Billy grins at your admission.

"Well, hon, you weren't wrong."

His confession is met with a moment of utter, still silence. Until, that is, you, Charlie, and Billy all start speaking at once.

"What do you mean —?"

"Are you kidding —?"

"Wait, what?

Dad only holds up his hand, as if to silence you. "Vampires really exist. And there really was a band of them in Forks, and for several years, not only me, but Uncle Sam and Uncle Embry and Uncle Quil and — and a bunch of us were able to transform. We can't anymore, but once . . . when we were your age. . . ."

"Does this mean we will?" Charlie asks immediately. You can't believe this. It doesn't even make sense. Vampires aren't real and your dad can't turn into a wolf. It's ridiculous, completely ridiculous.

"No," your dad says. "You would have by now. The Cullens — the family of vampires that lived here — they left over twenty years ago, which means there isn't a reason for another generation of protectors."

"But then why are you telling us now?" asks Billy.

"Because they're back," you say, knowing its the truth. You've been watching your mother, watching the way she flinches a little when your father says the name Cullens and suddenly the stories your father told that you recall most vividly are those of a beautiful woman who befriended both the Cold Ones and the protectors, and you know at that moment, although the idea never occurred to you in any capacity when you were younger, that your mother is that woman.

"Yes, Lils," your dad says softly. "The Cullens are back." His expression seems to harden. "That was the smell in the kitchen earlier. The bloodsuckers paid your mother a visit." Her eyes flicker closed for a moment.

"Jake," she murmurs, a kind of plea in her voice. He looks a little guilty, and with the subtle movement of his arm, you know he's grabbed her hand under the table. "They didn't come back for no reason," she says. "They came back to help us."

"To help us?" Charlie echoed. "What are you talking about?"

"Remember, in the stories, how one of the Cold Ones in Forks could see the future?" Dad asks. We all nod silently, waiting for more of this bizarre story. "Well, she saw a future moment that concerned us, and she came to warn us, to keep it from happening."

When neither he nor your mom says anything more, you prompt softly, "It has to do with me, doesn't it?" Why else would your mom have thought it necessary only to talk to you?

"We won't let it happen, Lily, we won't," your mom says suddenly and she looks at you with such fear and awe and love and all sorts of emotions you don't understand, and you wonder what pieces of the past — what parts of the story your dad had never told — are still missing.

"Won't let what happen?" presses Charlie, because your mouth has gone dry. Why is this happening to you?

"We don't know, exactly," your dad says slowly, as if every word is painful to let leave his tongue. "She's painting a pretty vague picture, but it looks as if there's going to be some sort of accident — a car accident. And you'll be . . . hurt." Dead, you think, because you know, you know, that its what the truth, but he just can't bring himself to say it.

"But the Cullens will protect you," your mother adds hastily, desperately. You find it hard to believe that a group of vampires came back after twenty years simply to protect a fourteen-year-old girl they've never met. "They'll find a way to stop it from happening, Lily, I promise." A clan of vampires is going to protect you from some terrible car accident one foresaw you being a part of in the near future? Really? Seriously?

"And if they don't," your dad says grimly, firmly, "we will. I will."

iv.

You've been in a car accident before. You were little — so little that most of it is a blur now — but you remember your mother slamming on the breaks with a shout and then blackness. When you woke up, you were in a place you'd never been, surrounded by people you'd never seen, and your arm hurt a lot.

And then there was your mother, and you didn't care that her face was smeared with blood or her hand was half-bandaged or that nurses and doctors were trying to herd her away. She clung to you and you to her, and there wasn't anything to worry about anymore, because your mommy was there, and she would keep you safe and warm and happy.

You remember when your granddaddy Charlie came to the hospital and played cards with you for hours, and you remember how your brothers were especially nice the day you got home from the hospital. You also remember how the day after you got home from the hospital, they went back to treating you as always.

But most of all, you remember when your daddy came to the hospital. It was the first time you ever saw him cry. You remember the way he asked you where you were sore, and he kissed every spot, and you had so much fun picking places he had kissed nearly every inch of your arms and legs and face by the time you, giggling and happy and forgetting about your broken wrist and the stitches in your arm, let him tuck you under the covers.

You pretended to go to sleep, but really you watched him and your mommy talk, and you watched them hug, and when you saw your daddy had pressed his face to your mommy's stomach and you watched them together, watched her clutch at his head, holding it to her stomach, you thought she was taking care of him the way she took care of you. After all, she was a mommy. That's what they did.

You didn't find out until four years later that the car crash had caused your mother to have a miscarriage. She had never had another child. You were forever the baby. She calls you and you alone that. Your mother isn't one for terms of endearment — she never has been and you doubt she ever will be. She's a lot like your granddad Charlie that way. But sometimes, when she kisses you goodnight or smiles or tells you how proud she is of a good grade you got, she'll call you baby.

You've always secretly liked it.

If you really think about it, your father isn't the only one who counts on your mother, who's always counted on her. You do, too. But you've never really thought about it, because she's always been there, and there's was never a reason to think on it. For all the things you can find to complain about her — you are fourteen years old — she's actually a pretty good mother.

You wouldn't trade her.

v.

The next morning, you get up for school as if its any other day. You don't know what else to do. But when you arrive downstairs, the entire family is surprised. "You're planning on going to school today?" Billy asks incredulously.

"Um . . . yes," you reply, your eyes bouncing from person to person.

"No," your mom says suddenly. "No. Its too risky. You can stay home with me today." You look at your father and he only nods. Truth be told, you wouldn't mind missing a day or two of school. But how long were you expected to sit at home?

"Wait, how long is this going to go on? The v-vampire's premonition or whatever — she has no idea when its going to happen?" Your mom shakes her head.

"She told me — she said she would tell me if she found out anymore." Your dad snorts. "Jake," your mom replies, her voice both an entreaty and a reprimand. This is a dance they seem to be doing a lot lately.

"If you ask me, she's just withholding information so as to worm her way back into your life," your dad says, "I never liked her, you know."

"You never liked any of them because you never knew any of them," your mom snaps back. "And actually, no one asked you." Last night was not even close to as tense as this moment is.

"We talked with your grandpa Billy and your uncle Sam last night," your dad finally says, breaking the silence, "and we're going to try and figure out a plan tonight. This won't last for long, Lily. I promise." As he passes you by, he presses a kiss to your head, and he lingers a little longer than usual, but it isn't any real comfort.

Your brothers leave for school, and its just you and your mom, but as you sit in the kitchen flipping half-heartedly through an English reading assignment, you wish your mom would say something, would explain more about the vampires. How close was she to them, anyway? It was obviously a spot of discomfort for your parents, which was strange enough, considering how rarely they fought.

Your parents were aces at teasing and mockery and playful bickering. Big blow ups and tense arguments weren't their style, and it was unsettling.

"Hello, Bella."

You look up at the same time your mother drops the breakfast bowl she had been washing. But there's no crash. You can only stare in amazement as the tall, pale boy holds the bowl out to your mother. He had caught it. One minute he had been standing in the doorway of the kitchen, the next he was next to the sink and your mother, holding out the bowl.

It's a vampire. You know it without a doubt. It's not how he darted across the room in the blink of an eye; its the pale face — paler than you ever imagined a person could be — the strange amber, no, gold eyes, and simply the way he stands. He's not human. But he's gorgeous, and looking at the copper hair and the perfect face, your heart beats a little faster.

The only downside is the barest trace of an unpleasant smell.

"Edward," your mom whispers.

She's leaning against the counter, and her hand is gripping the edge, her knuckles white, as if she's holding on for dear life. "It's been a long time," he tells her, and his voice is more alluring than any voice you've ever heard. "I've missed you." He's a kid. He's your age. But the way he's talking to your mother, the way he's looking at her —

"I'm Lily Black," you say. It slips out before you can stop it. He turns to you. He stares. Slowly, he smiles.

"Hello Lily," he finally replies. "I'm Edward Cullen." You don't know how to respond, and he turns to your mother again. "She's beautiful, Bella," he tells her, and once more its as if you're not even in the room. "And she's so much like you. She has your smile, your smell, . . . even your mind."

"M-my mind?" your mother says, echoing your own thoughts.

"I can't read her thoughts."

"I should hope not," you say. You can't help it. Your mind is a private place, thank you very much. He smirks a little, and you feel your ears tinge pink. It is not right to be attracted to a vampire. Your father would be horrified.

"Edward," your mom murmurs, nearly choking on the word, "does — does Alice know any thing more? Is that why you're here?" Once again your mother seems so small and lost, just as she had the day before when you'd found her sitting in the kitchen.

"No," Edward replies softly. "I just wanted to see you." And you watch with growing confusion, concern, and fascination as he raises a hand and his fingertips just barely brush your mother's face. Her eyes flutter shut. "You're still so beautiful," he tells her. "My beautiful Bella." Her eyes are still closed and she lets out a shuddering breath. He steps closer to her, and alarms are going off in your head, but you can't tear your eyes away.

"Jacob," your mom says, and as her eyes flicker open, a trance has been broken. She swallows, and when she repeats your father's name, its with more resolve. "Jacob. He's my husband."

Edward looks away. "I know," he says, and some of the beauty has left his voice.

"He wouldn't . . . he wouldn't want you here. You need to — to leave. Please." It seems to take every effort of every single fiber of her being to tell him that. "I'm sorry," she whispers.

"I'll save your daughter," he promises.

And he's gone. He's disappeared.

You glance at the door, as if maybe he'll reappear as quickly. He doesn't. When you turn back to your mother, you see that she's crying. You stare at her for a moment as she wipes hastily at her eyes, avoiding your gaze. You look at her hair, cut short at her shoulders and tied back from her face in a practical way, and you imagine it long and curling as it is in all the old pictures of her.

You look at her face, at the minimal make-up she puts on every morning, at the smallest of laugh lines on her face, and you picture the age fading from her face, you see her eyes as brighter and you see her as a teenager. You see her maternal frame fall away, and she's the young teenager in the jeans and a wife-beater who's giving half a smile in the picture your dad has on his dresser.

And you know, with a strangely queasy feeling in you stomach, that years ago, years before you were born, your mother had been in love with a vampire named Edward Cullen.

vi.

The first Sunday in the month was always your favourite.

Every first Sunday, it seemed all of La Push came together. They would all meet at someone's house — a different family hosted every time — and it was an afternoon of too much food and too much gossip and too much hugging and too much family and too much chaos. But there was always something about it, even when you grew older, that made you love it.

Uncle Sam and Aunt Emily would be there with your cousins, and Uncle Quil and Aunt Claire would be there, too. Grandpops Billy would be there, and Aunt Rachel and Uncle Paul, and Granddad Charlie with Grandma Sue. Uncle Seth, Aunt Leah, Uncle Embry, Aunt Kim — everybody was there.

You loved it. You still love it. Sometimes in the summer you would have the gathering on the beach, and you'd get to run around in the sand and the water, chasing your cousins and letting them chase you, and your brother Charlie called it one big incestuous Quileute event.

You got to try your first sip of beer on a Sunday afternoon, and you once had a birthday party as part of the Sunday afternoon meeting. Th first Sunday of the month was a holiday that came around twelve times a year, and they were the twelve best days of the year. It doesn't matter if you've been stressed about school or fighting with your parents or your friends or your brothers.

On Sunday afternoon at the start of each month, you belong. Unquestionably. You're one of the tribe. And that's the best feeling in the world, you think. You suppose its human nature to like that feeling of belonging — to need it.

And when you see your mom laughing with Aunt Leah and Aunt Emily, and then being teased by and teasing your Uncle Quil, and then playing silly games with your youngest cousins, you know she must love it as much as you. And you wonder how she must have felt so lucky to have found your dad and the tribe, to have gone from the only child of divorced parents to part of the biggest and best family in the state of Washington.

What more could a person want?

vii.

It had taken a lot of discussion, and nearly every single one of your aunts and uncles had contributed to to the arguments, but eventually it was decided that your parents, your uncle Sam, your aunt Leah, and you would all go to see the Cullens. It had been three days since the vampire who could see the future — they called her Alice — had come to your mom and put her in a state of shock.

And it was time to demand answers.

As you drive to the outskirts of Seattle where the vampires are staying, you still can't believe you were allowed to come. It hadn't been a battle easily won, and you don't really understand why your aunt Leah fought on your behalf, but you're grateful.

The elevator ride to their floor is slow and silent and almost painful.

Finally, you're at the door to suite 675, and Uncle Sam takes charge, knocking.

It swings open, and you gawk as a young girl, barely older than you, smiles in delight before jumping your mother, hugging her tightly. When she pulls back, the pale, pretty pixie of girl glances around. Her eyes linger on you. "Lily," she says. Her head tilts as she seems to appraise you.

You're pretty sure she's Alice.

Her stare lasts so long its unnerving.

"Do you mind letting us in?" your dad finally growls.

"Calm down, puppy," Alice replies, condescension dripping from her tone. She steps back, allowing them into the room. The moment she closes the door and you realise you're surrounded by pale, perfect people, all seeming only a little older than you, the sudden urge to bolt runs through you like an electric current. Your eyes find Edward first, but they quickly turn to each of the other pale, perfect creatures.

"Bella!" one vampire shouts, smiling widely.

Your mother gives a small, hesitant smile in return. "Hi Emmett," she greets timidly. You can't help but notice your father wrapping an arm around your mother's waist, pulling her securely — possessively — to his side.

"Hello Bella," greets the oldest of the beautiful undead women. She stands beside the oldest of the vampires, or so it seems, the one with blonde hair, the one you would guess to be their leader. He catches you looking at him and smiles. Your eyes immediately dart away. "I've missed you," says the woman, still smiling kindly at your mom.

"Hi Esme," your mom replies, and her own smile is more sure this time. "I've missed you, too."

It's quiet. There's another vampire female, one who sits the furthest away with an unpleasant look on her bewitching face. You can't help but be most intimidated by her. She never says anything, though. "Can we get to the point?" your father demands at last. "You say Lily's in danger. That a car is going to hit her. When? How do we stop it?"

"You don't need to stop it," Alice replies, giving an enchanting smile. "We already have." She slips her arm through that of a small vampire, the one most shadowed, the one you hadn't noticed at first, who seems even more unpleasant than the rest. You wish you had kept not noticing him.

"What?" your dad says, his disbelief clear.

"What would you have done today, if we hadn't come to see you?" Alice asks. Your dad starts to answer, but she cuts him off disdainfully. "Not you," she says, and her eyes alight on you. "Lily."

Your mouth is dry, and you realise that all the vampires are staring at you — Edward included, although he had previously had his eyes trained on your mother. "I — I would have gone to school."

"And then?" Alice presses.

"And then . . . I — I don't know." You glance at your father as if for some sort of support, and he reaches out a hand, resting it on your shoulder. Now he has an arm around your mother and a hand on you; he's got his girls close and protected. "I might have gone to spend the afternoon at the shop with my dad," you finally say.

"You would have," Alice tells you. "And when you were passing through the second light on the road to his shop, someone would have run a red light and hit your car. You would have died. But now you've come to see us instead, and the future has changed, and you're safe!" She grins delightedly but you can only stare.

You seem to be doing of staring these days: staring and gaping and gawking.

"Are you kidding me?" your father shouts abruptly.

Alice doesn't seems fazed. "I knew you wouldn't believe me. This is what happens when I try and help dogs. Well, I didn't do it for you. I did it for my best friend." And her eyes turn warmly to your mother, who seems to shrink in response, which only bolsters your father's confidence. Before he can say anything, however, your uncle Sam finally speaks.

"Does this mean you are leaving again?" he asks calmly.

"Yes," Alice says. "Unless you'd like us to stay for a little while?" she adds hopefully, clearly addressing your mother and no one else. "I'd love to catch up with you. We all would."

"We're not interested," your dad replies, his teeth gritted.

Alice only looks annoyed. "Could I speak to Bella alone?" she asks, putting a hand on her hip and suddenly looking much more intimidating than anything else, even more intimidating than beautiful.

"No," your dad barks back.

"Bella," Alice implores.

"I — I —" she glances around at all the faces. Her eyes lock on Edward's face and all of a sudden she explodes. "Stop it!" she yells. "Stop staring at me like that! Stop it! You can't do this! You can't come back after all this time! You — I can't —" She turns into your father, mashing her face into his chest as if to hide away from a nightmare.

You all leave a few minutes later.

Your father's triumphant expression lasts the rest of the day.

viii.

When you were six years old, Josh Uley proposed to you.

You said yes, of course, because if you couldn't marry your daddy, why not Josh? He was your best friend, after all, he could swim better than anybody else, and he even gave you a ring with a pink plastic flower on top of it. Your Aunt Emily had thought it adorable, oohing and awing, your mother had only given a amused smile and asked if she could be in the wedding, and your father had said you weren't allowed to get married until you were thirty-five.

Seven years later, on the beach that was as much your home as your house itself, Josh Uley placed a wet kiss on your lips. The two of you had decided that at thirteen, it was a crime neither of you had ever kissed, and who better than one another? It was nice, and after that, he called you his girlfriend and held your hand. You never protested. Josh was sweet and he smelt like salt water and he knew all the old stories better than anyone (except your dad, of course).

Billy told you that the only reason you liked him was because he let you boss him around. You smacked the back of his head. You liked him for lots of reasons. (The fact that you're the boss is only one of many!)

Having your first kiss — and first boyfriend and the whole enchilada and all — got you thinking about your parents' romance. One night at dinner, you asked your parents how they fell in love. "Was it love at first sight?" Charlie and Billy both protested the conversation, but you couldn't help it: you were curious.

They glanced at each other across the table. "For me," your dad replied. "I knew your mom was the one from day one. It just took her a while to realise exactly how charming I was." He grinned cockily, and your mom rolled her eyes skyward.

"Why wasn't it love at first sight for you, Mom?" you asked.

Charlie shook his head and Billy made gagging noises, but you ignored them. You wanted to hear your mom's answer. They never really talked about the past. Your dad tells stories and there are way too many pictures of you as a naked baby littering the house, but that's the extent of it.

"She had the hots for somebody else," your dad answered, still teasing.

"Jake," your mom reprimanded. His smile faded slightly, and a look passed between your parents that you didn't really understand. Back then, you didn't know about Edward Cullen.

"All you need to know," your mom said, turning to you, "is that I ended up with your dad. It's easy to fall in love, but its hard to stay in love. The trick is falling in love with someone you'll stay in love with. That's your dad and me."

And the conversation moved to Billy's baseball game.

ix.

In the end, its Aunt Leah who explains everything to you.

She's sitting on her porch, smoking. Its an old habit of hers, one that most of her family frowns upon, and for the most part, she refrains, but sometimes you catch her doing it. You always liked your aunt Leah, because she's always treated you like an adult, she's always treated you the same as everyone else, and that's a rare thing to find among adults when you're fourteen years old.

Your parents have been tense in the week since you went to see the vampires and found out that they had saved your life from a future they'd seen simply be telling you they'd seen it, and you want an explanation. What exactly had your mother's relationship with the vampires been? Neither she nor your father will say a word, and you have a feeling everyone else would hem and haw on the subject, too.

Everyone else, that is, but your aunt Leah.

"Hey kid," she greets.

"Can you tell me about my mom and the Cullens?"

She snorts. "You really don't beat around the bush, do you?"

"I'm kind of eager to get to the point," you say sheepishly, sitting on the porch swing beside her.

She sighs and slowly crushes her cigarette in a glass dish that sits on the porch sill. "How much have you guessed?"

"My mom was in love with one of them, right?" you ask softly. "With . . . Edward, right?"

She nods. "Desperately in love with him, really. I didn't know her then, but . . . I have a feeling, if he had never left, she would have ended up a vampire." Your eyes go wide. You try to imagine your mother as pale and beautiful like the Cullens, but it doesn't seem possible. Your mom is a mom, not a vampire.

"He left?" you prompt. "What happened?"

She only shrugs. "One night — a completely random, regular night, as far as I was concerned — my dad got a call. It was from Charlie Swan, telling him that Bella was missing, and could my dad come help search for her. The entire town was mobilised. It was Sam who found her in the end. She was lying in the woods and he carried her out. Her bloodsucker had left her there. She wasn't hurt, just . . . broken, almost." She gave a dry laugh. "She had a broken heart, you could say."

"And then?" you press quietly.

She shrugs again. "She fell into depression after that. It was all anybody in Forks or La Push could talk about — the Sheriff's pretty daughter from Phoenix had fallen in love with the quietest Cullen son, only for him to leave her. She was in bad shape. I never really found out why he left or what happened in the woods that day — she never talks about it, not even to this day. I'm pretty sure the only person who knows the full story is your dad. The Cullens never came back, not until now."

It's quiet. You can hardly process it all; it seems too unreal. After a minute, you can't help but ask more questions. "So, when then? How long was she depressed for?"

"Months," she answers casually, staring off into space. "But you must know what happened next." She finally turns to face you, and there's a wry smile on her face.

"What?"

"She was broken when the vamp left her. And your dad put her back together again."

x.

For as long as you can remember, you've taken too much pleasure in eaves dropping.

The first time Charlie had his girlfriend over to the house — a pretty blonde (a rarity in La Push) named Lizzie — you had stood on a chair and listened through the air vent between his room and yours as they talked. Two years later, when Billy came home from school and punched a wall, you sat on the ground outside his room while your dad talked to him, and you heard him explain how another student had called your mom a MILF and Billy had been suspended for sucker-punching the boy.

And when your dad stormed out of the room and down the hall shouting bloody murder and claiming he was going to go straight to the school right that instant and demand they suspend the jackass who Billy had been entirely in the right to sucker-punch, you only smiled sheepishly at Billy when he caught you eaves dropping.

It's a hobby of yours, after all.

Naturally, then, when you're passing by your parents' bedroom for another midnight snack and you hear voices, you stop. You can't help it. "— all he said?" your dad is asking.

"Yes," your mother murmurs softly, so softly that you stand close to the door, straining your ears to catch everything.

"And now they're gone?"

"They're gone." There's a clear pause in the conversation. You haven't heard them say the names yet, but you know, you know, they're talking about the Cullens. Who else would it be?

"What did you say?" your dad finally asks, and his voice is dark and guarded in a way you've never heard before.

"What do you mean?" your mom replies, but you can tell she knows — her voice was never a hard one to read. Your mother wears her emotions on her sleeve.

"You know what I mean. When the bloodsucker — "

"Please don't call him that," your mother interrupts, a pitiful appeal in her voice.

"When the vampire told you that he loved you, that he'd always loved you, and that it tore him apart to leave you but he knew it was best, knew he had to lie and say he didn't love you, in order to keep you safe and give you a normal life — what did you say?" you can hear the anger in your dad's voice now. It's clear. But there's something else there, too.

It takes you a minute, but you realise its the last thing you would every connect with your dad, your tall, strong, smart ass dad: vulnerability.

"I told him that I'd always loved him, too, that I'd never stopped," your mom finally says. Your breath catches in your throat. How can she say that? "But then I told him that I was glad he left, because if he hadn't I never would have been able to realise how much more I would love you. Edward was — is — he's a dream, a wish, a fantasy . . . but that's all. After all these years my time with him almost feels like a dream. Having him back again — having them all back again — was hard.

"But what I'm trying to say is that it's — he's — not real. You're real. I thought the love I felt for Edward was incomparable. But it wasn't. How much I love you, Jake, I swear — its so much more."

There's a tremble in your mother's voice, then.

"I'm glad I loved him, Jake, so that I could know true love when I found it with you."

You stop eaves dropping after that; you've heard what you needed to. And the idea of eaves dropping any longer, despite how much you love it, would be wrong on so many levels, because no sane teenager (and probably no sane person of any age) wants to hear her parents having sex.

And the world spins on, righted once more.

Fin.

Fic: The Paxtons

Sat, 17 Oct 2009 06:10:29 GMT

Title: The Paxtons
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: The Proposal (Andrew/Margaret!)
Rating: Absolutely innocent!
Summary: Jack Wesson loves his job and hates his boss. When he has to stop by her house as per her directions, however, he realizes there's a lot more to the editor-in-chief than he ever could have imagined.
Disclaimer: I clearly do not own any rights whatsoever to the movie The Proposal, although I'd love to claim credit for something so fabulous!
A/N: Just a little fluffy family shot. Enjoy :)

Truth be told, Jack Wesson wasn't a hater.

He got along with most people, could never really hold a grudge, and, hell, he even loved animals. But there was one woman that Jack — and as far as he knew, everyone he worked with — absolutely despised. It wasn't his fault, really. If he had to guess, he'd say she wasn't born, but instead manufactured in Satan's laboratory.

She was always meticulously dressed and expected everyone else to be the same. She read at a ridiculous pace that no human being could keep up with. She was always in control, drank the same coffee every day (which he was expected to provide), and could charm the bosses better than anyone in the business. Truth be told, she probably was better than anyone in the business, but you'd have to impale him on a rusty spike to make him admit it.

She was an oddity, though, in addition to being evil. He got a lecture that made him want to wet himself the first time he was late to work, but on rare occasion she would show up to work an hour late looking a little dishevelled. And while she never took a sick day and often frowned upon those who did — since getting ill was entirely a person's own fault, clearly — she was off work and usually out of town for every holiday.

Strangest of all was the fact that she wore a wedding band.

Someone had been psycho enough to marry her.

Of course, that was all Jack knew. There were rumours that she had been pregnant a little while back, but he couldn't imagine that. She would make the world's worst mother.

Then, again. . . Who knows. If someone married her. . . . He had been working at Hewitt and Company Publishing for just over five months as her assistant, and she was impossible to get to know. His co-workers were as scared of her as him, and all they could tell him about her was that she'd worked for years at another publishing company but had come to Hewitt after "personal problems." What the hell did that mean?

Right at that moment, however, he couldn't have possibly cared less. Because his delightful boss had just told him that he had to work late on the night of Halloween. Who did that? She was already flipping through another file, apparently having dismissed him, but he only stood at her desk, gaping.

"Is something the matter?" she asked coolly.

"Halloween is a holiday," he stuttered, swallowing thickly. He shouldn't protest — but as bad as she was, she had never forced him to work on a holiday before.

"For children," she replied, not bothering to glance up.

"Yeah, but —"

"Are you a child, Jack?"

"No, but I —"

"Do you have any children?"

"No! No, but —"

"Were you planning on spending Halloween with children?"

"Er, not really, but —"

"Then you have nothing to do. When you have children, you're welcome to the night off. Until then, this is any other night to you. Therefore, I'll see you at eight. You have the address." She flipped a page, and it was clear she was once more through with him. But he didn't budge. Giving an almighty sigh, she finally looked up. "All I'm asking is for you to stay late and finish reading the manuscript you should have finished this morning. Then deliver it to my apartment at eight. How is that difficult?"

"Okay, honestly?" he asked, feeling strangely courageous. She nodded, and there was a gleam in her eyes as she looked at him that should have set alarm bells off in his head. "I was going to go to a party at my roommate's brother's apartment and there's this girl that I really want to —"

"Enough," she cut in. "First, if the party starts before eight, it can hardly be an amazing party. Second of all, look at my face. Does this look like the face of someone who cares about your love life and the girls you want to sex up at parties?"

"N-no."

"Very good, Jack. Eight o'clock. Don't be late."

And he had to admit defeat.

He might have been her assistant for only a few months, but there was a reason she never kept assistants for very long: Margaret Paxton was a horror.

"I swear, I'll be there as soon as I drop this off," Jack said, stepping out of his car. "It'll only take a minute," he assured, and he snapped the phone shut as he started up the stairs. It figured that his boss would live in one of the most gorgeous buildings in the city.

Glancing at his reflection in the gold panelling of the elevator, he straightened his tie and tried to flatten his hair. He knew his unruly curls were an annoyance to her. She seemed unable to fathom that he was born with that hair.

When he knocked on the door, he had already placed a smile on his face, ready to hand over the manuscript and his notes on it as soon as she opened the door. It'd be a simple "Hello, here you go, goodbye," and he'd be gone.

The door swung open.

No one was there . . . until he glanced down.

He balked. There was a little girl looking up at him. Her feet were bare, but she wore what he guessed was the smallest suit on earth. He didn't know much about kids — anything, actually — but he guessed that she was three or four at most, and who in their right mind put a three-year-old in a pencil straight, dark grey suit?

"Hi," he finally said.

"Hi," she replied. She looked up at him curiously. Suddenly she gasped. "You's a tricker-or-treater!" she exclaimed happily, her face lighting up. Before he could protest, wondering if perhaps he'd gotten the wrong address, she shouted out "Daddy!" and went flying into the apartment. "DADDY!"

Jack teetered on the edge of the doorway. He glanced at his watch. It was three minutes past eight.

Margaret was going to kill him.

A moment later, the little girl reappeared, but this time she was on the hip of an older man. He was dressed in an impeccable suit — Margaret would be proud. The little girl's tiny suit skirt was bunched at her waist so that her chubby legs could wrap around the man's waist, and she looked even more delighted than before as she clutched at a bowl of candy. "Look, Daddy!" She pointed at him.

The man stared critically at Jack, his brows slowly rising. "Either you're the oldest tricker-or-treater ever and probably a child molester," the man said, "or you're here to see Margaret." Jack felt relief flush through him: this was the right apartment.

"I just wanted to drop off this manuscript," he said, holding it out. The man nodded, stepping back.

"Come on in," he replied. "You must be Jack Wesson, the new assistant. We haven't met yet. I'm Andrew Paxton." As he lowered his daughter to the ground, he held out his hand, and Jack shook it wordlessly. This was the man who'd been medicated enough to marry Margaret.

"Margeret!" he yelled down the hallway. "You've got company!" He looked down at the little girl, still clutching her bowl of candy. "Sorry, hon, looks like this one isn't a tricker-or-treater," he told her.

"But — but —" She looked sorely disappointed, but Jack was too astounded to say anything.

Margaret had a kid?! How did he not know that? And how was that even possible?

"But, you know, it's been a while since I've gotten to trick-or-treat," Andrew Paxton said thoughtfully, tapping his chin. The little girl looked up at him with renewed excitement. "Say," he looked down at her, "would you mind — ? Wait here!"

He walked out the door, shutting it behind him. Jack frowned, but the little girl only trained her eyes on the door. There was a knock. She leapt into action, jumping at the doorknob and swinging the door open. There was Andrew. "Trick or treat!" he sang.

"Trick!" the girl sang right back, before, ready to burst at the seams, she added loudly, "Close your eyes!" He did as told and an instant later she sailed out the door and under his legs. "Open them!" she demanded.

He did as told before letting out a gasp of disbelief. "You're gone!" he exclaimed. He looked at Jack. "She disappeared! Did you see? Gone! Poof! Annie? Annie!" The girl — called Annie, apparently — was having a fit of giggles behind him. Jack could only stare.

These people, a perfectly normal daughter and dad, were related to Margaret Paxton?

Seriously?

"Margaret!" Andrew shouted. "Annie's disappeared!"

Annie darted suddenly forward, back through her father's legs and appeared before him. Once more, he gasped with perfect shock. "You're back!" and he grabbed her, lifting her up while she laughed, her face a bright pink, her brown pigtails swinging wildly.

When they finally seemed to calm down, Andrew frowned dramatically. "It seems Margaret has disappeared," he told Jack, shutting the door behind him. "My best guess? She tried to drown herself in the tub to keep from having to wear her costume." He spoke in complete seriousness. "Darn! Knew I should have hidden the drain stopper." He snapped his fingers.

"Oh, well." He looked at Jack. "So, Jack, tell me about yourself." He smiled.

Jack was pretty sure the man was insane.

"I — I actually have this party to get to and I just wanted to drop off the manuscript and notes," he replied slowly. "Maybe you could give it to her?" He held it out hopefully.

Andrew smiled. "Trust me, Jack, I speak from personal experience when I tell you that you should give it to her yourself. The dog that lives in the apartment next door might nudge open the door that you didn't shut all of the way because it was two in the morning by the time you finished the assignment she gave you and you're exhausted, and the dog will get into her apartment, knock over the stand you put the manuscript on, which will break a china vase, and then pee on the manuscript, and it will be entirely your fault, something she'll remind you of for the next two months."

"Oh," Jack said, not sure what else there was to say.

"Relax," Andrew told him, smiling, "I was her assistant once, too. She's not as evil as she seems. It's all a carefully crafted illusion. She is, contrary to popular belief, human." Jack could only nod. "Annie," Andrew looked down at the girl, who'd gotten bored with their conversation and was eating her way through the contents of her bowl, "go see if Mommy's still alive, will you?"

Annie nodded, sliding out of his arms before racing across the stylish front room and disappearing down a hall.

"You were her assistant?" Jack asked, unable to stop himself.

Andrew nodded. "Three years. I have her job now, though, at her old company. She went over to Hewitt when I first became an editor. Conflict of interest, you know? Not supposed to sleep with your boss and all." He nodded at Jack as if it were all the most obvious situation in the world.

"Right," Jack said.

"Daddy!" Annie had reappeared, and was skipping her way over to him. "Mommy says she'd rather throw herself at the mercy of Kevin before she wore that suit in public," Annie declared. "And she said if you go looking for her and try and get her to come out," Annie giggled, "she'll beat you to death with the shoes you're trying to get her to wear."

He cracked his neck. "I'll risk it. Hold down the fort. Oh, dear pumpkin!" he yelled, disappearing down the hall as Annie had before. Annie smiled up at him. He didn't know what to say. She thrust the candy bowl at him suddenly. "Want some?"

"I'm okay," he replied.

"Don't you like candy?"

"Yes, but —"

"Mommy says that eating lots of candy will make all your teeth rot and fall out," she told him matter-of-factly.

"Well, she was probably just —"

"Daddy says Mommy's heart is gonna rot if she goes around spoiling the magic of childhood for kids." She giggled. "And Mommy says Daddy's favourite limb'll rot 'cause a disuse if he doesn't shut up." She leaned towards him as if about to share a great secret. "I asked Daddy, and he said his left hand was his favourite limb, but he said it was a secret. Shh!" She couldn't contain her giggles.

"Okay," Jack said, still not sure how to deal with Margaret's apparent family. This was unbelievable. Shouting came from down the hall. He glanced up just in time to see a furious Margaret storm into the room.

She wore a man's suit, one that hung oddly on her shoulders. Her feet were bare, and he was shocked to see her toenails painted a bright orange. "Jack," she greeted as if everything were perfectly normal. "You're late."

"I was actually —"

"Did you finish the manuscript and write a report on it?" He nodded wordlessly, holding the papers out for her. She began flipping through it immediately, only to have it taken away by her husband, who came out of no where and grabbed it before she could stop him. She protested but it was to no avail.

"It's Halloween," Andrew told her, holding the manuscript above his head. "We've got to get out there before it gets any later or all the door candy. Right, Annie?"

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" Annie exclaimed, jumping up and down around her parents.

"I am not going out dressed like this," Margaret replied, a hand on her hip and her fiercest glare set in her face. She glanced at Annie. "Mommy'll buy you some candy, sweetie, how would you like that? Anything you want!"

She sent her husband another glare but Andrew Paxton only smiled back at her.

"It's just a suit. You love suits. You love pants suits. Its like any other day for you!"

"This is a man's suit," she replied, glowering.

"You don't say!"

"Andrew!"

"You turned down the Wonder Woman suit," he said. She rolled her eyes.

"If you really thought I would ever wear that —"

"Yeah, yeah, blah, blah, whatever," he interrupted. "So instead your costume matches with your daughter's. It's cute. We'll take pictures for Gammy. It'll be great." He made a cutesy face at her. She mockingly returned it.

"How does my wearing a suit match with Annie's costume?"

"I'm you, Mommy!" Annie interrupted, clearly used to her parents' bickering.

"Do the hand on the hip," Andrew coached, and little Annie struck a pose. "Atta girl! And you," Andrew turned back to Margaret, "are me, back in my days as assistant. Remember that time when I loathed you with a burning passion?"

"Oh, fondly," she replied. "And who, remind me again, are you?"

"The later me."

"That's not a costume."

"Sure it is, sugarpuss. I was going to be Superman to go along with —"

"Do not bring that up again."

Jack knew he should be on his way — he was already late — but he was too fascinated to leave. They seemed to have forgotten he was there, and he couldn't help myself: it was the same Margaret he knew, yet it was a completely different one at the same time. . . .

It all took on a new level of weird when a baby started crying.

"Saved by the baby!" Andrew exclaimed as Margaret started walking towards the plaintive cries.

"This conversation is not finished!" she called back. Andrew shook his head, a smile playing on his lips. "You ready to go?" he asked Annie. She nodded, her eyes round and excited. Andrew looked over at Jack.

"Any plans for the night?" he asked.

"A party, actually," Jack answered. "Not costume, but I think I prefer it that way."

Andrew nodded in understanding. "I can get behind that." The cries had stopped. So Margaret had been pregnant recently. Un-fucking-believable. "She likes you, you know." Jack looked back at Andrew to see the older man watching him keenly.

"You sure about that?"

Andrew grinned. "She's not the friendliest person. But she's been complaining about how even though you deserve a promotion, she doesn't want to give you one and lose you as an assistant." That was news to Jack, and he was sure it showed on his face. "It was kind of the same with me," Andrew went on, "but she didn't admit it until after our first wedding."

"You've been married multiple times?"

Andrew shook his head. "Had two weddings. Only managed to see one all the way though." At Jack's confusion, he added succinctly, "lo-ong story."

Margaret reappeared at that moment, and this time she was the one with a child on her hip. A baby, actually, a small, chubby boy with dark peach fuzz hair, flushed pink cheeks, and a tiny devil costume. "You're still here," Margaret remarked, eyeing Jack.

"I just — is it okay for me to leave?"

"Go," she waved her hand in dismissal. "Have fun at your aunt's cousin's brother's wife's mother's party." She turned to her husband. "If you expect me to go out like this, you better have an actual costume. You'll suffer right along with me."

"Gammy only made something for Annie and Teddy," he replied, smirking. "What would you like me to wear — my birthday suit?" He started for the door, and Annie was instantly on his side.

"Come on, Mommy!" she whined. "Le's go!" She stomped her foot.

"Yeah, Mommy," Andrew whined, "let's go!"

Jack had once again faded into the background, and he knew it was time to go. He wasn't sure what Andrew Paxton had done with the manuscript and the notes, but it wasn't his problem any more. He made for the door, and when he glanced back at the threshold, his eyes nearly bulged out of his head: they were kissing as Annie danced around their feet making noises of disgust.

The little boy smashed between his embracing parents looked at Jack with a happy face, drool gathering on his chin and his devil's horn cap sliding off his head. It looked as if Margaret wasn't the world's worst mother. He thought of his own parents, divorced when he was eight.

But it didn't matter. He needed to get to the party.

Work tomorrow, though, was definitely going to be interesting.

"You're late. You are aware, aren't you, that the world doesn't revolve around you, right?"

Jack sighed. He hadn't meant to be late, really, but the party had gone on for a while, and now Margaret was sitting behind her desk, meticulously dressed, her hair pinned up neatly and her work already spread out before her, and he looked even worse in comparison. Why couldn't today have been one of the rare days she was late?

He wondered randomly if Andrew Paxton was the reason behind her occasional lateness.

"Jack?" she asked critically.

"Ah, I'm sorry. Really. Sorry." He handed over her coffee, which she accepted without looking up. "The night went longer than I thought." Hoping maybe it was worth a stab, he went on hesitantly, "How was your night?"

"Fine." It was clear she wasn't willing to talk. No wonder no one knew about her husband or kids. He had done some Googling on his phone, though, as he waited in line at the coffee shop, and he'd discovered that Andrew Paxton was as big in the business as his wife.

"I guess I'll, ah . . . get to answering the phone, then. We have that meeting at nine, by the way." She nodded and he turned to leave. At the door, however, she stopped him. She was still looking at her desk as she spoke.

"I read your notes on the manuscript. They were good. Thanks for having them delivered."

"Sure," he said slowly, a little confused. Since when did she thank him? In fact, she had told him once that such thanking was unnecessary from boss to assistant as a pay check was thanks enough.

"You're good." She glanced up finally. "Which is why I'm promoting you as long as you one, purchase a functioning watch, and two, never tell a soul that you saw me go out in a men's suit." He could only stare. Her husband had been right. Swallowing thickly, he nodded.

"Th-thank you," he finally said.

"Find me a replacement and you can take the office across the hall as soon as you do." When he didn't reply, she went on, a gleam in her eye that he would have thought was amusement if he didn't know her better . . . but evidently he didn't know her very well at all. "Unless, that is, you'd like to stay my assistant." He shook his head quickly, and to his amazement, she smiled her first genuine smile at him. "You're good, Jack. You deserve this. I've only ever had one assistant as good as you before, and I stuck him under me for three years. Consider yourself lucky."

"Right," he replied, and when she looked down at her papers again, he knew he ought to leave before she could change her mind. So maybe she wasn't a horror after all. Maybe she was just hard to get to know and —

"Oh, and Jack!" she called. He glanced back.

"Yes?"

"That tie is hideous. Buy a new one before you mortally offend someone."

Or maybe she was part horror and part human.

Fin.

A/N: I saw the movie, bought it on DVD as soon as I could, and am officially obsessed. And in love with Ryan Reynolds. I had to write something, and this was what came to mind. Please review!

my first livejournal award!

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 03:10:23 GMT

Although I've won awards on mugglenet (the Silver Quill) this is the first time I've ever won an award on livejournal! I had a lot of fun writing Safe in Harbor, so I'm glad that others enjoyed it, too. Thanks to all who voted for it! This makes me want to write more VM fic :)

Fic: Safe In Harbor (part two)

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 05:18:37 GMT

Title: Safe in Harbour
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: Veronica Mars (V/L)
Rating: PG
Summary: A few years after college, Veronica gets an unexpected visitor who has a case for her. Between an estranged lover, a dying friend, and visits from the majority of the VM cast, Veronica has her hands full. For the vmfic_gameon 's Back to School challenge, using the prompt "You're NOT the father" (which seems to be the most popular!)

***New title, as not to be confused with another story!***

"Hey! And how are we feeling today?"

"Well, personally I'm feeling a little down, actually," Veronica answered the nurse, rubbing her stomach thoughtfully. "Mac here just told me she's having a great day. But neither of us could begin to guess how you're feeling." She smiled brightly.

The nurse gave a tight smile. None of them liked Veronica. The feeling was mutual. "I'm okay," Mac told the woman, shaking her head at Veronica with a small smile playing on her lips.

"Your pain today?" asked the nurse, scribbling on her clipboard.

"Four," Mac answered.

"Well, that's excellent!" exclaimed the nurse, beaming. "You let me know if you start to feel bad, okay?" Mac nodded and to Veronica's relief, the blonde nurse with dancing elephants on her scrubs left as quickly as she had come.

"We really need to get you out of this place," Veronica told her friend.

"You're telling me," Mac replied. It was quiet. "I'm so sick of this room. You know the same people who design prisons, design hospitals? What does that tell you?"

"They also design schools, and we survived that," she replied. Mac didn't say anything. Her heart fluttering in her chest, Veronica reached forward and grabbed Mac's hands, stopping their incessant sheet twisting. "The surgery tomorrow? It's going to work. Dr. Bojarski is one of the best in the country and she has a really high success rate. This is going to work. It'll keep you strong until a transplant comes along, I promise."

Mac didn't meet her gaze. "I actually . . . I've decided not to have the surgery."

Veronica sat back in her chair. "What?"

"I can't keep doing this," Mac said, looking up at Veronica in desperation. For years, they've been cutting me open to keep me alive while we wait for a transplant and I'm just so . . . tired of it. All these surgeries . . . they're like putting band-aides on bullet wounds. Even if this surgery is successful, I'll be back in a month."

"Mac," Veronica murmured.

"I'm not doing this anymore. I'm gonna wait for the transplant and if I don't make it until then . . . I'm not going under the knife again. I can't. Not even with the promise of some transplant in the distant future."

"If I remember my Scrubs right, its a scalpel, not a knife," Veronica said, wishing desperately that there weren't tears clinging to her lashes.

"Veronica." Mac looked up at her. Veronica squeezed her hand.

"Please, Mac, don't just give up —"

"I've already made my decision. I talked to Dr. Bojarski and my parents and . . . the next surgery I'm doing is a transplant. That's it. And I'd . . . I'd really like your support in this. You've done so much for me, given up so much for me and you're the best friend I've ever had and I just really need you to understand." Her eyes were pleading. Veronica didn't say anything, but she reached forward and grabbed Mac's hand, giving it another squeeze.

It was quiet for a moment. "Tell me about something else," Mac blurted suddenly. She gave Veronica a weak smile. "I'm sick of talking about how . . . sick I am. What are you working on for the FBI now?"

Veronica gave a small grimace. "I can't really tell you. . . . But its nothing interesting, I swear! They have me do a lot of looking through old cases and paper work and all that."

"Okay," Mac said slowly, "What about Logan? When are you two going to get back together?" There was teasing gleam in her eyes now.

"Honestly?" Veronica sighed, slumping in her seat. "I don't think we are this time." Mac was watching her carefully, and Veronica knew what she was about to say, but she wasn't ready to hear it; she didn't want to talk about Logan and their failed relationship. "I do actually have a pretty interesting case," she said, perking up.

"Yeah?" Mac said. Veronica nodded.

"It involves Duncan Kane." She paused for dramatic effect. "He's back in town. He came to see me and told me that he wants me to find out who his daughter's biological father is."

"Wait, what?" Mac exclaimed. "As in . . . he's not her biological father?"

"Nope," Veronica confirmed. "DNA tests prove he's not."

"Do you have any idea who is?" Mac asked.

Veronica shook her head. "I'm basically at a dead end. Meg's little sister didn't know anything and neither did her ex-boyfriend or anyone else I talked to. I've been going through the yearbook, looking at potential boys she might have had a one-night stand with, but its not going very fast."

"God . . . that's crazy." Veronica could only nod, and before either said anymore, there was a knock on the open door, and they both glanced over to see Wallace. "Hey supa-fly!" Veronica greeted, standing up. Wallace was working in Washington D.C. these days, and she rarely saw him.

"Hey, girl," he replied, smiling as she approached him and giving her a hug. It was always good to see Wallace. He turned to Mac. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm still alive," Mac shrugged.

"Strangely enough, I see that," Wallace told her, and he and Veronica both sat down on either side of the bed.

"Instead of talking about me, because all I do is lay here day after after day why don't we talk about you? Tell me about the big world out there. Has it changed in my absence? Is the sky still blue?"

"It's gonna a little green lately, actually," Wallace told her.

"Interesting, interesting," Mac nodded her head. She smiled, and it was clear she was happy at having fresh company. "How's D.C.?"

"Ooh, yes," crooned Veronica, "How's life as a lobbyist?"

Wallace made a face at her. "See, when you say it like that —" he began.

"Say it like what?" asked Veronica innocently. "You are a lobbyist, aren't you?"

"What I am," he replied, puffing out his chest, "is a man working to make our government help children forced to fight."

"You tell her," Mac encouraged. Veronica only shook her head, smiling. She really was proud of all that Wallace had done and was doing. There was a good person, and then there was Wallace, at a level no one else could ever touch.

"I think you should give up the middleman game and put your name on the ballot," Veronica said matter-of-factly. "That's how you'll really change the world, Fennel. I'd vote for you!"

"Yeah," Wallace said, "you and three other people."

"Gotta start somewhere," Veronica countered.

Before he could reply, one of the numerous machines Mac had been hooked up to began to beep wildly and Veronica looked at Mac in alarm to see her friend slumped onto the pillow, convulsing. Wallace had no idea what was going on, but Veronica was on her feet in an instant, punching the blue button that would send nurses flying into the room.

The nurses wasted no time in arriving, and two minutes later, Dr. Bojarski had stopped the crisis. But Wallace couldn't even walk back in to the room he was so horrified. Veronica sighed. It would all be over soon. It had to be. They'd faced this for too long. Mac had faced this for too long.

But now Mac was saying. . . .

Focus on the case, Veronica told herself. Focus on the case.

"This warms my heart, you know," he told her, smirking. "My protégé, my FBI daughter, coming back to her old man for advice. The student does not surpass the master."

"Yuck it up," she replied. "But you better be able to help me after all this."

"Oh, rest assured, darling daughter of mine," he grinned, "I will be. So. . . ." He leaned back in his desk chair, putting his hands behind his head and stretching his legs, a smug look firmly in place on his face. "How can I help?"

"Here's what I know so far," Veronica said, handing him the file on information she had written and complied. Most of it was basics — copies of the DNA tests, a timeline showing that the baby had to have been conceived within certain dates; her own reports on Lizzie Manning and Meg's Aunt Kris knowing nothing and Cole not being the father. . . .

"I've made some calls to some of the 09er boys Meg didn't completely detest," she told him, "but none of them were any help. I honestly . . . don't know where to look next."

Serious now, her father flipped through the file thoughtfully, his brow creased. "And there's no chance the parents have any idea?"

"If Lizzie doesn't know, I don't know why they would. And asking them would —"

"Put Duncan at risk," he finished for her. "I know. Meg's close friends at the time — have you talked to any of them?"

"I wouldn't know where to start," she replied. She sighed. "Meg pulled away from everyone in the months leading up to the crash. And before that, I was probably one of her best friends. A lot of the girls she grew up calling friends turned out to be . . . not so great. If she was talking to someone, I honestly have no idea who."

"Did, ah, did she have any hangouts? Any bars, maybe, where she might have gotten drunk and . . . ?"

"I hate to think that Meg would do that," Veronica told him.

"Honey, honestly, it makes the most sense at this point."

She nodded sadly. "Yeah, but I wouldn't know where to start with that either. When I was close to her, she wasn't hanging out at bars and having one night stands."

"It looks like at this point you'll have to go door to door — in a manner of speaking," he said, handing her back the file. "Seek out old classmates — maybe people who did frequent bars and the like — and ask them if they can remember Meg Manning in a bar seven years ago. It's a long shot, but if her being there was really an abnormality, it might be something someone remembered."

Veronica was about to reply when her cell phone rang. She glanced at it and then back at him, apology gleaming in her eyes. "I've been playing phone tag with him for a while —"

"Logan?" Keith asked knowingly.

"Casey, actually. You remember him, right?"

"Cult boy, sure, sure," he nodded. "Are you two an item these days?"

"No, Dad, we're not an item. Just — I'm gonna go. Thanks for your help." She turned away before he could protest and answered her cell phone. "Hey," she greeted.

"You're welcome!" her dad called out.

"Hi, you've reached Logan with today's inspirational message: "A ship is safe in harbour, but that's not what ships are for." William Shedd. Leave a message."

"Hey, its me . . . again . . . this is getting kind of old. Could you please just . . . look, just, ah, give me a call when you get this." She snapped the phone shut. He could only ignore her for so long, right? She did not want to go another two months without talking to him.

"Is everything okay?" Casey asked as she slipped the phone back into her pocket. He sat back down at their restaurant table.

"Oh, yeah, of course," she assured. "I was just making a call while you were busy, that's all."

"Logan?" he said, giving a small, understanding smile.

"He's avoiding my calls," she answered, taking a forkful of salad.

"Would you mind me asking what, exactly, happened with that . . . ?" he questioned.

"The short version? He asked me to marry him."

"W-wow, and you . . . ?"

"Said no, obviously," she answered, stabbing a carrot and impaling it on her fork. "We're too young and we're both starting our careers and I never — I stopped imagining myself with that kind of life — you know, happy wife and smiling kids — a long time ago, and I . . . I didn't want to break up but he said now or never and since I couldn't choose now. . . ."

"He chose never," Casey said softly. She nodded. "He'll come around. The guy loves you. He has since junior year. That's not gonna change so easily." She met his gaze to see him giving an encouraging smile.

"Thanks, Casey," she said. "Things are just piling up so much lately. Things with Mac are worse than they've ever been and its not looking good and there's this case that's got me walking in circles and I'm just really, really tired." She sighed.

"Yeah, but you'd so be bored if things weren't piling up," he told her. "Don't lie." She glared at him but his grin only widened. "And Mac's going to be fine."

"God, I hope so," she murmured. It was quiet for a moment as they both ate, but eventually he broke it, clearing his throat.

"So — the case you're working on — what's it about? Anything interesting?"

"Sorry," Veronica shook her head, giving him an apologetic smile, "client confidentiality."

"Oh, no, its cool," he said. "I get it. Back in high school I was pretty glad you kept things confidential when I tried to drink the kool-aide." Watching him, it occurred to her suddenly that maybe Casey would know something. After all, he was a part of their crowd, and once a person got close to him, he was a hell of a lot sweeter than most of the 09er boys. What if he noticed a guy hanging around Meg or . . . ?

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked suspiciously.

"Okay, so I'm going to break a confidence," she said, shifting in her seat. He raised his eyebrows, amusement clear. "Duncan's back in town. Nobody knows but Logan, my dad, Mac, and me. And you can't tell anyone. He's back in town for a little while. He didn't bring his daughter, but he's here about her." She paused.

"Go on," he encouraged.

"He found out a couple of months ago that he wasn't the father."

Casey frowned. "I'm not sure I. . . ."

"Meg had a baby right before she died, remember?"

"And Kane ran off with it," Casey nodded. "Yeah, I remember. You're saying it wasn't actually his kid?" His disbelief was clear. Obviously he hadn't thought Meg was that sort of girl either.

"Not according to DNA tests," she confirmed. "He wants me to try and figure out who is the father. I'm a complete loss. I mean, I talked to her sister and her aunt, but neither of them knew anything and as far as I can tell she didn't have any really good friends she could have confided in —"

"Wait, you're sure the kid isn't Duncan's?" he pressed.

"Positive," Veronica said. "About the only thing I do know about the father is that he has type O blood, just like Meg and the baby."

He let out a strangled laugh. "That's crazy. Wouldn't Meg have told someone? It just — I mean, it doesn't sound like her, you know?"

"Oh, I know, believe me. Maybe she never got the chance," Veronica said. "Or maybe she honestly thought it was Duncan's baby. Sometimes you want to believe something so much that you actually start to."

"Wow," he said. "Wow. That's pretty crazy. Who knew, right?" He grabbed for his water.

"Yeah. So does this mean you don't remember ever seeing Meg with . . .?"

"No," he said quickly. She cursed inwardly. She was never going to figure this out.

"That's okay," she sighed. "I'll just keep looking, I guess."

"Actually," he said, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I do remember . . . um, do you remember Caz — Caz Truman?" It took Veronica only a minute to recall the boy, the one who Meg said would flirt with anything that had boobs. "I remember seeing — one night, ah, it really stuck out in my mind — I saw her talking to him at the diner out on Main. It turns into a bar after ten, you know and. . . ."

Veronica tried to process that. "I can't believe that she would go for him, but I if she was really depressed. . . ." Her voice trailed off as she let the information click in her mind. It fit. Meg would probably be pretty drunk, things would progress quickly, and her memories would only be hazy the next morning. "But I guess it makes sense," she murmured. "Thanks."

"Yeah, sure," he dismissed. "Um, I actually have to go. I have — I forgot about this thing — and I . . I know we were supposed to go see that movie after dinner, but maybe a second rain check?"

"Okay," she agreed, only half-paying attention. It wouldn't be hard to find Caz, really.

He stood. "I'll call you. And here — this should cover it." He handed her a few twenty dollar bills.

"You don't need to," she protested.

"No, just — its no skin off my back. I'll call." He gave a tight smile and was gone before she could do more than nod.

Veronica glanced at the screen before she answered her cell. She was already out the door and walking to her car to go see Caz, but she couldn't ignore a call from Mac. "Hey," she greeted, opening her car door.

"Veronica? This is — this is Cindy's mother. I'm using her cell phone."

In the back of her head, alarm bells went off. "Ah . . . Hi, Mrs. Mackenzie. Is everything okay?" Veronica paused where she stood beside the car, her grip on the door handle tight.

"I . . . I know that you're Cindy's best friend. She always talks about how amazing you are and I know how much you did for her after your senior year at Neptune and then again when she got sick and I thought you should be here."

"Has something happened?" Veronica asked, gripping the steering wheel tightly. "Is Mac okay?"

"She is," Mrs. Mackenzie assured, "they . . . I thought you should know — they just took her into surgery. They found her a transplant." Veronica felt her heart seize at the words. Mrs. Mackenzie let out a tearful laugh. "After nearly three years on the National Donors List, she finally has her transplant. They just took her into surgery."

"That's amazing, Mrs. Mackenzie," Veronica said, leaning against the car as ripples of shock still ran through her.

"I know, but I was just thinking — if this doesn't work — if it doesn't —"

"It'll work," Veronica cut her off. "Mac's going to be fine, Mrs. Mackenzie," Veronica said, refusing even to think anything else. "And I'm on my way to the hospital right now. I'll be there as soon as I can."

The line was quiet for a moment. "I'm so glad Cindy was lucky enough to have you in her life," Mrs. Mackenzie whispered. "You're such a good friend."

"She's still lucky," Veronica answered firmly. "She's getting a transplant. This is it. This is what we've been waiting for."

"I — I know. I'll see you in a little bit, Veronica." The call ended and Veronica slowly lowered the phone from her ear. She climbed into the car, her hand shaking as she buckled her seat belt. But she only made it a few miles before she couldn't take it any more and had to swerve the car off the road.

She bent over, unable to stop the tears from welling in her eyes and spilling out over her cheeks as she pressed her forehead to the steering wheel. For years Mac had been fighting, for years Veronica had taken her to the hospital and gone to visit her and to wheel her out after a successful operation, and this is what they had been waiting for all along, and. . . .

It took her a while before she could coach herself into drying her tears and starting up the car again. She couldn't break down like that. She couldn't. Mac deserved better. Veronica had done everything she could to be a strength and comfort to Mac's family and to Mac, and she wouldn't abandon that job now, not when they were so close to the finish line.

When she finally made it to the hospital, it was to find Mrs. Mackenzie pacing and looking as if she were hanging by a thread. Veronica approached her quietly, ready to comfort, and before she knew what was happening, Mrs. Mackenzie had thrown her arms around Veronica, hugging her tightly.

Mrs. Mackenzie released her at long last. "How's she doing?" Veronica asked. Mrs. Mackenzie's face contorted, her bottom lip trembling, and Veronica immediately wished she hadn't asked. "I'm sure she's fine, isn't she?" she went on hastily, producing the best smile she could.

Mrs. Mackenzie nodded. "There hasn't be an — an update yet. But they should probably be done soon, right? I mean, how long do these sort of things usually take?"

Veronica shook her head. "I really don't know."

Mrs. Mackenzie gave a brave smile. "That's okay. They'll be done soon, I'm sure. Sam just took Ryan home. It's too hard for him to be here," she explained. "He's just a baby." The tears broke free. "She's just a baby, too. She's my baby, and there's nothing I can do for her."

"You've already done so much."

Mrs. Mackenzie and Veronica both spun around to see Mrs. Sinclair standing a few feet away, looking at them anxiously, as though she still didn't feel she was allowed to be there. After a long pause, Mrs. Mackenzie said softly, "Hi Anna."

Mrs. Sinclair took a step closer. "Natalie . . . I've only just gotten to know Mac these past few months and I still don't know her very well but I do know that she's an amazing girl, an absolutely amazing girl, and I know she must owe so much of that to you. You couldn't — you couldn't have done more."

Mrs. Mackenzie burst into tears, and this time she threw herself at Mrs. Sinclair, and the two older women clutched one another as they sobbed. Veronica could only watch in astonishment.

"Hey, how's she doing?" Veronica tore her eyes away from the women to face Logan. When she didn't answer, his concern deepened. "She okay?" Realising Veronica must be confused, he added in explanation, "Mrs. Mackenzie called Dick."

Veronica nodded even as Logan reached out and squeezed her shoulder reassuringly. "She's still in surgery. I don't really know anything, though."

She looked back at Mrs. Sinclair and Mrs. Mackenzie, and Logan followed her gaze. "That must be so strange," Veronica murmured to him. "Hugging the woman who raised your child. I can't imagine being either one of them. They've been through so much, survived so much, and now to have to face this . . . it's not fair."

"You know better than anyone that life's not fair," Logan replied. Veronica nodded. She smiled up at him.

"It was good of you to come."

"Of course," he said. "Mac's my friend, too." He paused. "Honestly, though, I came more for you. Always you." He stared at her in that burning way of his, that way that made it seem as though he could look straight into her soul. It took all her strength to drop her gaze. "Dick's parking the car," he said, breaking the tension. "He offered. I think he's probably gonna need a bit to get it together before he can come in. I swear, I can't get over how much he's changed."

"Me neither," Veronica agreed.

They were quiet for a few minutes as Mrs. Sinclair and Mrs. Mackenzie sat murmuring occasionally to one another in the chairs that lined the wall. Veronica glanced at the clock. Who knew how much longer they'd be there?

As if sensing her building distress, Logan caught her eyes and asked, "How's the case going?"

"Pretty good," she answered, glad for the distraction. "I actually have a new lead. I'm meeting Duncan tomorrow to tell him." Logan nodded. Before he could reply, however, Dr. Bojarski approached, and Veronica's heart caught in her chest. The small blonde woman nodded in acknowledgement at Veronica and Logan before addressing Mac's two mothers.

"How'd it go? How's my baby?" Mrs. Mackenzie asked immediately. "How's my Cindy?" Veronica's breath caught in her chest and she was grateful to feel Logan's hand on her back.

"The surgery went very well," Dr. Bojarski smiled. Veronica gasped and found herself in Logan's embrace. Mrs. Mackenzie let out a cry, clutching her mouth and looking skyward as if thanking God. There were tears in her eyes as Mrs. Sinclair wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "The transplant was a perfect match and your daughter's doing very well. She should be awake soon."

"Thank you," Mrs. Mackenzie said. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! Oh, I have to call Sam and tell him! Thank you!"

"She'll have to stay in the hospital under observation for a while longer yet, and you should be aware that complications can always arise after surgeries of this magnitude, but we'll be closely monitoring Cindy, and there's no reason to suspect she won't make a full recovery."

Even Veronica was crying now.

"I've got to call Sam," Mrs. Mackenzie murmured again, patting her pockets as if to find her cell phone but too ridiculously happy to make a real effort. She glanced back at Veronica, and for the first time in a long time, her teary smile reached her eyes. "Thank you," she told Dr. Bojarski again. "Thank you so much."

The doctor only smiled. "Congratulations, Mrs. Mackenzie. Your daughter has a brand new heart."

"Hey," Veronica said softly.

"Hey? That's it? That's all you've got? I undergo major surgery to have my heart replaced after waiting three years and when I wake up and they let you in to see me, all you have to say is Hey?" Mac asked, and she grinned so widely, Veronica knew that everything was uphill from there on out.

"I can say it with jazz hands if you'd like," Veronica offered, sitting in the chair by Mac's bed.

"You joke, but you should take advantage of this joyous mood I'm in. Before long I'll be back to my default setting," Mac warned.

"You know, I kind of like your default setting."

For a moment they only smiled at one another. Mac's parents and brother had all been in to see her when she first woke up an hour ago, and she had even talked with Mrs. Sinclair. Veronica had waited out with Logan the entire time, and now that she was finally in to see Mac, she couldn't really think of anything to say.

It didn't matter.

"Veronica, can I talk to you about something?" Mac asked, her fingers twisting in her sheets.

"Of course," Veronica encouraged, a little puzzled by Mac's soft, serious tone.

"Why did you say no to Logan?" Veronica could only stare, and Mac took her silence as reason to go on. "I know you love him. You've loved him for years. And you're both young, sure, but don't you think its less about age and more about experience? 'Cause you and Logan have experienced plenty together, more than most people do when they get married."

"Mac," Veronica murmured, "I do love him. It took me a while to admit that, I know, but I can say it now. But I don't think I'm ready for marriage. I don't know if I'll ever be ready, honestly."

"If you have the ability to get married and spend the rest of the life with the man you love, Veronica, then you should take it. Not everyone gets that chance. I came pretty close to missing it." Veronica looked down at her hands. "I'm not trying to make you feel bad," Mac continued, "but when they were prepping me for surgery, I kept thinking. . . ."

"But you're okay," Veronica said. "You're gonna leave this hospital and be okay and you can be with anyone you want — even Dick."

Mac gave a small smile. "I know," she nodded. "And I know how much you've done for me. You spent most of senior year taking care of me, and you even helped me start that site that found dirt on teenagers' parents so that I could pay my medical bills, and then you came back to Neptune despite how much you hated it. . . . But I think you're making a mistake, Veronica. I think you're scared. But if you don't take a chance now, you might lose all chances.

"Maybe you're not cut out for marriage with a happy, normal guy, 'cause you're not a happy, normal girl and you'd never be able to put up with a happy, normal marriage. But if Logan Echolls is a happy, normal guy, then I'm a bunny."

"A bunny, huh?' Veronica asked, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay.

"He's the guy for you," Mac said, her eyes wide with enthusiasm. "I don't really do this kind of thing — give this kind of advice, but I'm gonna use my status as a person that almost died to tell you wisely that he's the guy for you. Be scared if you want, but don't let him go."

Veronica didn't know what to say, but Mac didn't seem to require a response. "What about you?" Veronica finally asked. "What happens next?"

"Who knows," Mac shrugged. "Things are definitely gonna be different."

"In a good way," Veronica assured.

"Yeah," Mac smiled. "In a good way."

Veronica couldn't help herself. "Dick was mighty excited when Logan went and found him in the parking lot and told him the news.

"Don't you even start," Mac protested.

"It's okay, I'm totally immune to Dick these days. If you want to date him —"

"We are not having this conversation," she insisted. Veronica smirked. And Mac, glancing side to side as if about to reveal a secret, leaned towards Veronica and said, "I can safely say, however, that Dick is not eggplant."

They both laughed, remembering a time when things weren't literally life and death, a time that would return in the weeks and months and years to come. "Ooh, so tell me about the case!" Mac said when they'd both calmed down. "Have you found the daddy yet?"

"I've got a new lead, actually," Veronica replied. "Caz Truman."

Mac raised her eyebrows sceptically. "I'm not sure I remember exactly who he is, but if I'm remembering right —"

"I know," Veronica agreed, "but Meg was probably pretty drunk.

"Why do you think it's him? Have you talked to him?"

Veronica shook her head. "I'm about to. It was Casey who told me. I mentioned the case to him over lunch and he was really shocked — he basically freaked out — but then he suddenly remembered —" She stopped.

Mac frowned. "Veronica?"

"Oh my . . . " Veronica stared at the far wall, her mind spinning.

"Veronica?" Mac repeated. "What's the matter?"

Veronica shook her head in amazement. How come she hadn't picked up on that earlier? "I have to go," she told Mac, standing up. "I'm sorry. I'm sure Dick'll want to talk to you anyway. I'll come by later, okay?"

Mac shook her head in bewilderment, a puzzled smile on her face, but she gave Veronica her consent, and Veronica was out the door in an instant.

"You really should lock your door," Veronica said.

He shut the refrigerator door he had just opened, not taking anything out of it, and looked over at her in surprise. "Weren't you the one that was just lecturing Logan on breaking into people's homes?" he asked. He had only arrived a moment ago, but Veronica had been waiting for nearly an hour and she couldn't hold it in.

"It's you," she said.

"I don't —" he shook his head.

"You're the father," Veronica accused, standing up. Casey sighed, meeting her gaze but not denying it. "You and Meg ran into each other one night," she went on. "Your life wasn't great with those parents of yours and you got drunk at a bar, and Meg was there drinking, too, and things got out of hand, didn't they? And the next morning, when she barely remembered it, you decided to forget it, too." She let her words settle. "Am I close?"

"You're pretty much spot on," he answered softly.

Veronica's breath caught a little. Even though she had been positive as she ran from Mac's room with the new revelation, hearing his confirmation was still. . . .

"I'm sorry I mentioned Caz. I just . . . I needed a little bit to digest the bomb you'd just dropped." He ran a hand through his hair. "I never really knew Meg, okay? But when she saw me at the bar and started chattering away about Duncan dumping her and how terrible her parents were and . . . I knew, afterwards, that she wasn't that sort of girl and that she would be better off forgetting whatever hazy memories she might have. I left her alone. Never mentioned it. It was . . . it was one night, okay? One night."

"And it never occurred to you when you found out she was pregnant that it might be yours?"

"Honestly?" he replied. "No. It didn't." She couldn't deny the look of utter honestly on his face. "It was just one night," he said, and there was almost a plea in his voice. "What were the chances?"

"I'm guessing you're type O negative?" she asked.

He nodded. "So this means . . . I have a kid, right?"

"There's always a chance you weren't the only one that Meg . . .," Veronica told him. "But I don't think that's the case. Still, there'll be a DNA test."

He ran his hands over his face, slowly slipping into a seat across from her at the kitchen table. "I can't believe this. It doesn't — this sort of stuff — it doesn't happen in real life."

Veronica felt her sympathy for him rise. "Trust me, Casey, nothing in my life ever seems like real life. Welcome to the club."

"What happens after this?" he asked, swallowing thickly. "Duncan's been raising the kid, right? He probably . . . loves her and everything and — its a her, right?" Veronica nodded. "He's not gonna want to give her up and besides I don't know if I want him to. I mean, I am not ready to raise a kid. I'm still a kid myself!" he exclaimed. "And he's a fugitive and what, is she supposed to take a plane half way across the world every weekend so she can see us both?"

Veronica shook her head. "I really don't know. But at least now you know, right?"

He let out a breath of disbelief, giving a strangled laugh. "Yeah, at least now I know." His voice was sarcastic, and Veronica felt even worse for him. He didn't deserve this. Neither did Duncan. "What's her name?" he asked suddenly.

"Lilly," Veronica answered softly. He didn't say anything. "I haven't told Duncan yet. Do you want me to or do you . . . ?"

"Together?" he requested anxiously. She reached forward and grabbed his hand in hers. She nodded.

"Together."

Duncan opened the door without a word.

She knew he must have seen Casey through the peep hole when he'd checked to make sure it was her knocking on his hotel room door, and just how blank his face was revealed that fact. "Can we come in?" Veronica asked softly. His eyes flickered from her to Casey and back again, before he stepped back, opening the door wide and allowing them in.

"Hey Duncan," Casey greeted warily. "It's been a while."

"What are you doing here?" Duncan replied tonelessly. Veronica nearly flinched. She hated robo-Duncan.

"You know why I brought him, Duncan." Silence. "He's the father. He's Lilly's father."

Duncan didn't reply. He didn't give any reaction whatsoever. "I had no idea," Casey finally said, put off by Duncan's reaction. When Duncan still said nothing, he went on hastily, "It never even occurred to me when it went around the school that Meg was pregnant in her coma that the baby was anybody but yours —"

"You slept with my girlfriend?" Duncan asked, his voice dangerously calm.

Casey looked down at the ground, shaking his head softly, and then looked back at Duncan. "It wasn't like that," he said.

"It wasn't like that?" Duncan repeated.

"Duncan —" Veronica began, sensing the danger.

"YOU SLEPT WITH MY GIRLFRIEND!" Duncan roared, and he lunged at Casey.

Veronica was in between them in an instant, and she pressed her palms to Duncan's chest in an attempt to stop him. "Hold on," she demanded. "Just hold on. Look at me. Duncan. Duncan." He tore his eyes from where they were glaring death at Casey to gaze down at her, still fiery. "Casey didn't do anything wrong. Meg was miserable after you broke up with her, and she got drunk one night and she and Casey ended up in bed together."

"So you took advantage of her?" Duncan challenged.

"Hey, you're the one who dumped her," Casey threw back. Duncan started forward again and Veronica had to shove at his chest to keep him from trying to pummel Casey.

"Casey didn't do anything wrong," Veronica defended, forcing Duncan to meet her gaze as she spoke to him. "It was one night, and he knew she had done it with a broken heart, and he never pressed her about it or told anyone. That's why it was so hard to find him. No one ever even knew — he protected her reputation. And now he's fessed up." She paused. "He's done nothing wrong."

Slowly, Duncan drew away from Veronica, and he looked at the far wall, running a hand through his hair. Veronica glanced at Casey, who took a deep breath and spoke. She wondered what, exactly, he could possibly say that would make any of this better.

"I'm not going to try and take her away from you," he announced. Duncan's back stiffened, but he said nothing, and Casey went on. "She's your daughter, and I know you've already done so much for her. I wouldn't be a good Dad anyway. She's yours."

"Casey," Veronica murmured softly, but he only spared her a brief glance and a tight smile.

"I want — I want to meet her, though," he went on. Still, Duncan said nothing. "I'll come to wherever it is you're living now. You don't have to tell her who I am. I just want to meet her. And maybe . . . maybe a couple times a year I could visit. But she never has to know who I am unless you want to tell her." He said it with resolve, allowing no argument.

At long last, Duncan turned to face him. "That's all you want?"

"That's all, man," Casey said. Duncan stared at him and Casey didn't drop his gaze, and Veronica knew that whatever happened after this, it would be okay.

Her work was done.

"So, now, tell me, why is it you need a ride home from the some dingy motel right outside of town?" Logan asked as he strolled up to where she waited outside the motel. He was smirking.

"The jackass wouldn't pay for my taxi home," she replied.

"Shame," Logan replied, shaking his head sympathetically as she stood from her seat on a railing. He was clearly waiting for a real answer as they started towards his car.

"This is where Duncan is staying," she said. He stopped, glancing around as if he expected Duncan to pop out at any moment. "Do you want to — to see him?" she asked, realising he hadn't yet. He didn't answer right away.

"No," he finally murmured. "No." He turned and gave her a soft smile. "So what, did you jog here?"

"I got a ride from Casey." Logan nodded, probably assuming Casey had simply dropped her off, but Veronica knew there was no harm in adding the rest. "He's still in the room with Duncan, talking over logistics. I figured I didn't have to stay for that."

Logan gave her a puzzled frown, only for understanding slowly to seep across his face. "Casey's the father?" he asked.

"Casey's the father," she confirmed. He opened the car door for her and she climbed in. A few minutes later they were turning onto the road. It had been quiet all the while, but Veronica had to say her bit, even if it was too late. But Logan had come to pick her up as soon as she called, hadn't he? And he had been at the hospital for Mac's surgery, too.

She'd been thinking about it for a while now off and on, and her mind had been entirely consumed by it while she waited for Logan to pick her up. She had to say it. She had to try.

"It's amazing, what they're doing, Duncan and Casey. They both acted up when they first heard, but now . . . its gonna work, I think." He nodded. She looked down at her nails, wondering what Lilly would say about her cuticles. That happened sometimes — when she least expected it, she would have a random thought of her dead friend.

"You okay?" Logan asked, glancing away from the road to sheet her a quick glance of concern.

"What they're doing — their plan — its going to be so hard. But just because something is hard, that doesn't mean you should avoid it. Just because something is uncertain, doesn't mean . . . I don't want to die without having really lived, you know?"

His brow crinkled. "Were you planning on dying soon?"

"Its like Mac," Veronica went on. "Until she was sick, she — she wasn't. There was nothing wrong with her. And then one day, her heart became defective. What if she had died, Logan? What if all her life had consisted of was growing up in Neptune and — and everything that happened with Cassidy? That's not a life. That's barely even a beginning."

"Mac's fine," Logan assured softly. "She's fine. You don't have to worry." He grabbed her hand and lifted it to press a kiss to her knuckles.

"I'm not talking about Mac," Veronica told him. "I'm talking about me. About this," she said, lifting up her hand, still clutched in his. He released it, as if he took her words to be a reprimand. She went on hurriedly, before she lost her courage.

"I'm so scared of marriage, Logan. And I've always thought that every example I've seen of it has gone South, but that's not true — Mac's parents have stayed together and strong through so much and my dad and Alicia have gotten their act together, and I — I think its just about finding the right person."

He didn't see anything, but she saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel. "I'm not going to be a very good wife," she murmured, the words sticking a little in her throat. "But . . . are you okay with that?"

He didn't answer immediately, and before she knew what was happening, he was swerving the car off the road and onto the grass. She grabbed the inside of the door to keep from flying forward in her seat. "What are you doing?" she yelled. He slammed on the breaks, not answering.

He put the car in park and turned to face her completely. "Are you serious?" he asked.

Veronica swallowed. She was about to get in way over her head. But if Casey and Duncan could deal with their situation, then she could deal with hers. Weevil was wrong and Mac was right. She couldn't deny that any longer. "Ask me again," she said.

He ran a hand over his hair. "I asked if you're serious — if you really mean —?"

"No," she interrupted, unexplainably breathless. "Ask me again," she repeated, pounding home each word. He stared at her.

"Marry me?" he guessed, and his eyes were shining with disbelief.

Straightening up, Veronica nodded. "Okay," she replied. He stared.

"Okay?" he repeated. A smile swept across her face and she nodded again. "You couldn't even say yes? You had to say okay, like you were just trying to pacify me —?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Are you seriously complaining?"

He only laughed, and it was a rare moment, then, when nothing whatsoever was amiss.

"Hi, you've reached Logan with today's inspirational message: "Okay." Veronica Mars. Leave a message."

Fin.

A/N: This story is pretty much all over the place and I managed to include cameos from nearly every character, but hopefully it all worked! Please review :)

Fic: Safe in Harbor

Wed, 23 Sep 2009 04:58:22 GMT

Title: Safe in Harbor
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: Veronica Mars (V/L)
Rating: PG
Summary: A few years after college, Veronica gets an unexpected visitor who has a case for her. Between an estranged lover, a dying friend, and visits from the majority of the VM cast, Veronica has her hands full. For the vmfic_gameon 's Back to School challenge, using the prompt "You're NOT the father" (which seems to be the most popular!)

***New title, as not to be confused with another story!***

She knew something was amiss.

Not only was her spidey sense tingling, but he was involved.

Some people had Gaydar, but after everything that had happened, Veronica Mars had Clarence Wiedman-dar. When the man was close by, Veronica knew. When he was following her, she definitely knew. And he was following her.

She saw him the first time as she exited Mars Investigations. She didn't work there any longer, but she still checked up on her father occasionally, and she had been doing so more lately now that he was once again attempting to run for Sheriff. She had been on the phone as she stepped out of the building and started towards her car, and a random glance up had found her eyes pinned on his face.

He was gone before she could blink, but within the hour, Veronica was home on her computer doing a little research into the recent activities of one Clarence Wiedman. She couldn't find much, and she decided simply to be wary. When she saw him at the grocery store, she waved. He only sighed and it was clear he wasn't going to bother hiding.

She couldn't stop him from making a quick getaway, though. And before she could confront him, she came home from work to find the reason why the Kane family's biggest fan was stalking her again: Duncan Kane.

She froze at the sight of him sitting on her porch, his elbows on his knees and his hands clasped. His head rose at the sight of her, and she was positive it was him. Despite the added years and the sprinkling of a five o'clock shadow, his dark hair, bright blue eyes, and tired shoulders — as if the weight of the world rested there, even after all the time that had passed — were still the very same.

"Duncan?" she asked. It was a pointless question. It was him. But she squeaked the name out nonetheless.

Slowly, he stood. "Hey Veronica," he greeted softly. He gave a small smile.

"What — what are you doing here?" she questioned, her mind whirling. This was why Clarence Wiedman had been following her: Duncan had wanted to find her, and it was easy enough to have Clarence locate her and give Duncan the details. But why would Duncan need to find her? And why —?

"After six years, that's how you're going to greet me?" Duncan asked, a teasing note in his voice. He opened up his arms, and shaking her head as if to shake away her curiosity and confusion, she finally stepped forward and hugged him. He smelt strange, and she realised after a moment it wasn't that his scent had changed; in fact, it was the very same.

She simply hadn't smelt him in a very, very long time. Six years. When they broke apart, he leaned down and kissed her sweetly before she could pull away. "What're you doing here?" she asked again. "Where's Lilly? Do your parents know you're here?"

He sighed. "Some things never change," he said. Running a hand over his hair, he gave a tired smile and asked, "Could we at least go inside?"

Nodding and once more trying to gather her wits, Veronica stepped past him and unlocked her front door, inviting him in. Her house was small, but she was proud of it nonetheless: she had bought it with her own money, without help from anyone, not even her father. And she had made the house a home; she had even had some photos she'd taken framed and hung on the walls.

She had meant to escape Neptune; really, she had. She spent every summer interning with the FBI, and for years grand schemes of a life in Virginia had swam through her mind the way that dreams of going to candy mountain consume the nights of children. She wanted it even more than a pony. But senior year had come with its set of shocks, and after FBI training was complete and she was given a list of locations from which to work, she had reluctantly decided on Neptune, knowing it was the right choice.

"Have a seat," she told Duncan as they entered the living room and she threw her purse into a corner and sat down on the chair. He sank onto the sofa, sighing again. Something was the matter. It had to be. "Can I get you anything or . . . something?"

"I'm fine," he assured. It was quiet.

"Duncan," she began softly, unable to take it. What did he expect?

"I'm not supposed to be here, I know," he said. "Nothing's changed with the Mannings. I'm still a fugitive, for a lack of a better term. And my parents don't know I'm here. But I needed to talk to you. I . . . I need your help."

"Of course you do," she said wryly, leaning back in her seat. "What's happened?"

"I was doing so well," Duncan said. "I was giving surf lessons for a little extra cash and I had even opened my own store. I started seeing a girl who worked —" he paused, blushing a little.

"It's okay," Veronica said, a little amused. "I haven't been living the life of a nun in your absence." His blush deepened and he didn't look nearly as amused as she. "Go on," she pressed. "Things were going well, but . . . ?"

"I really don't want to do this," he said slowly, "but I have . . . I have to know. I tried to ignore it but I couldn't. I need to know."

"Know what? What's going on?"

"It's Lilly."

The two words hung in the air. Veronica knew nothing of the little girl; she hadn't seen her since she was a new-born baby. And, honestly, she hadn't thought much of the child. She only did when she thought occasionally of Duncan, and after six years, it wasn't really something that entered her mind very often.

"What about Lilly?" Veronica asked. "Is she okay?"

"She's fine," Duncan replied. "I left her, actually, with my — my girlfriend, Sarah. She's fine." He went silent.

"Then what's the problem?" Veronica pressed. Did he really have to drag it out?

"Lilly was in an accident," he explained. "It was horrible. She was in the hospital for days." At the look on Veronica's face, he added hastily, "this was a few months ago. She's fine now. But at the time, they needed more blood. They said she was type O negative and that meant I could probably give blood."

"Okay," Veronica nodded slowly. "And . . . ?"

"And I'm not type O negative blood, Veronica. I'm AB."

Veronica's mind came to a screeching halt and her high school experience flashed before her eyes, memories of Meg and the bus crash playing out in an instant. "But the hospital assumed that you probably had . . . because for a kid to have O blood," Veronica said, "you couldn't have AB blood. . . ."

Duncan nodded, swallowing thickly. There was no trace of any sort of smile on his face now. "Lilly isn't . . . I thought that I was the only person Meg ever . . . Lilly —" He seemed unable to say the words, and Veronica couldn't help but utter them.

"You're not the father."

He only nodded again.

There were a lot of things Veronica didn't like, and while she had no problem digging into the pasts of others, digging into her own past was at the top of her list of dislikes. She had closed the doors to certain affairs in her history, and she was loath to open them.

But for Duncan Kane, she did. She had always had a weakness for him. He checked into a hotel a little ways out of Neptune after she promised she would find the truth. How could Meg have hidden this? She had obviously thought Duncan was the father; and her laptop hard drive must not have revealed anything about the true father. It didn't make any sense.

Veronica was looking up Lizzie Manning's address when she got the call. She picked up the cell without looking — if she had, she probably wouldn't have answered. She hadn't talked to him in two months, but it was as much his fault as it was hers: after all, he hadn't called in two months; she'd had no opportunity to talk to him even if she'd wanted to. At least, not until now.

"Hello?" she asked distractedly, expecting it to be one of Mac's parents or Casey.

"Duncan's in town," Logan announced without preamble. Veronica paused, sitting up at the sound of his voice. "Did you hear me?" he pressed.

She sighed. "I heard you." The other line was quiet for a moment and she knew what he was thinking before he spoke, his voice low and almost accusatory.

"You already knew," he said.

"He came to me," she admitted.

"Were you going to tell me?" he asked, and the note of accusation spun with anger was clear this time. He had no reason to be angry.

"Honestly, Logan? No, I wasn't. He's here for help, and the less people who know, the better. The Mannings can't find out he's here, and it's probably better if his parents don't either," she said. "He only got into town early this afternoon and he was waiting for me at my house when I got home from work."

"I'm his best friend," Logan replied. "If anyone deserves to know that he's here, it's me." Veronica didn't say anything, and he went on. "And I deserve to know why. What's happening? What does he need help with?" She had known he'd ask.

"I don't think —"

"Don't even try, Veronica. Tell me."

"Lilly," she answered softly. There was no point. It wasn't as if Logan would tell anyone. "She's not really Duncan's daughter."

"You're — you're kidding," Logan said, his amazement clear.

"I wish I was," Veronica said. "I can barely believe it. But its the truth. Biologically, she's not his. He's even had tests done." She paused. "He wants me to find out who her father is. He says he has to know. Do you have any idea who she —?"

"None," he said, not hesitating. "Wait, so — do you think she was pregnant before they first got together? But that would have been way too soon, right? Maybe she got with someone right when they broke up and she just told everybody Duncan was the father."

"She wouldn't lie like that," Veronica defended immediately.

"So you think she honestly believed Duncan was the father?"

"That's the only thing I do know for sure."

It was silent, then, and suddenly the topic of Duncan and Meg and Lilly seemed to fade into the background a little. "How's Mac?" Logan asked finally, breaking into the silence.

"Okay," said Veronica, "for now, at least."

"Is Parker still avoiding her? Refusing to deal with it?"

"Pretty much," Veronica nodded. It went quiet again.

"Veronica," he began, and this time his voice rang with a plea, "I know that you —"

"Look, Logan, I really can't deal with it right now. Duncan needs to get out of here as soon as he can, but he refuses to leave until I find something out, so. . . ."

"Right. You and Duncan Kane. It's always the same story." She rolled her eyes. He was such a girl. "Look, if you need any help, I'm around, okay? Give me a call. Don't do anything stupid without inviting me along to be your muscle."

"You be the muscle? Haven't you heard, Echolls? Its a new day and age. The female gender has their own muscle now. Men are obsolete."

"Do something stupid to get yourself killed, Veronica, and I'll never talk to you again."

"Pinky swear?"

"Veronica," he said, his voice sharp. Duncan was right: some things never changed, and the white knight in Logan Echolls was among those things.

"If I have to do something in my line of work that requires extra protection, I have you on speed dial and I will call, hand to God," she said, her voice monotone.

"Good." There was a long pause.

"I'll talk to you later," she said at long last.

"Good luck," he murmured, and the call ended. She stared at the phone for a moment. Two months was a long time to go without talking to someone who had become such a huge part of her life. He had always been a huge part of her life, first as a friend, then as a tormentor, then as something, always something.

Veronica could say a lot against Logan, but one thing she couldn't claim was that he'd ever left. One person that had always been around — in good and bad ways — was Logan. And like any quality drug, in addition to being entirely detrimental to health, Logan was also insanely addictive, and going cold turkey the past two months had been hard.

Veronica sighed, tossing the phone onto the bed and turning back to the screen. Thoughts of Logan slipped away as she realised what was now displayed on her screen; Logan's call had distracted her. Lizzie Manning was living right outside of Neptune. It'd be easy to stop by and ask a few questions.

Veronica wrote down the address and was on her way out of the room to stop by the hospital when she saw the picture Duncan had given her. She had put it on her desk earlier, and now she picked it up, giving it another close look. The little girl smiling up at the camera was holding a buttercup flower under her chin and giving a toothy grin. She had dark brown hair in a braid and dimples in her cheeks. She looked like Duncan's kid.

Meg wouldn't have lied. But if she had been so depressed after Duncan broke up with her that she turned to someone for one night — but she had to have had some inkling then, that — but no, Meg wouldn't do that. Veronica wouldn't disrespect her memory that way. Meg believed Duncan was the father. Of course, that didn't really change anything.

It didn't make it any easier to find out who the real father was.

But she would.

"Veronica Mars," Lizzie said, her eyes scanning Veronica as she slowly drawled the name.

"Hi Lizzie," Veronica greeted. Instead of inviting her in, Lizzie leaned against the door frame of her front door and crossed her arms over her chest, looking at Veronica appraisingly. "I was hoping I could talk to you," Veronica said softly.

"About what?" Lizzie asked, and Veronica shifted uncomfortably in the apartment hall.

"About Meg," she answered simply. When Lizzie made no move to say anything or invite her in, Veronica added, "It's for Duncan and — and Lilly. I'm trying to sort some information out."

"Lilly is . . . ?" Lizzie began softly, but Veronica knew by the look in her eyes that Lizzie understood who Lilly was, even if the name was different than that she'd known.

"Your niece," Veronica confirmed, nodding. Again, Lizzie seemed to consider Veronica, and finally she stepped aside and allowed Veronica into her apartment.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Duncan and Lilly are both fine, and they're happy, too, living down in Australia. Lilly was in a car crash a couple of months ago. She's recovered now, but they found something out at the time." She hesitated, but Lizzie only stared, waiting impatiently for more. "Duncan isn't Lilly's biological father."

Lizzie's eyes went wide and she started shaking her head. "That's impossible," she said. "Meg might not have been crazy religious like our parents, but she did not spread it around. Duncan was the only person she ever . . . it's impossible, okay? Some mistake."

"It's not," Veronica shook her head sadly. "I talked to Duncan. When he realised that she might not be his, he had a DNA test done. He wasn't a match."

"Well — then have another one done," Lizzie said. "Those things can be faulty. He is her father, okay? I know it."

Veronica sighed. "I guess this means you have no idea who else Meg was close to? Who she might have . . . any boys that she spent time with after she and Duncan —?"

"You mean after Duncan dumped her for you?" Lizzie asked, a slight snarl in her voice. "You mean after you stole my sister's boyfriend when she was pregnant?"

"Lizzie, this isn't . . . about that. For the record, I didn't steal Duncan. He and Meg broke up weeks before he and I got together. And, also, not that this matters, but I dated him long before he and Meg got together, and I even gave her permission to go out with him." Lizzie only glared at her. "You can't think of anyone who might . . . ?"

"No," Lizzie said, crossing her arms over her chest again. "No one."

"Okay," Veronica said. "If you think of anything —"

"I'll hunt you down!" Lizzie said, her eyes widening in exasperation.

Veronica turned to leave only to pause, curious. "How's Grace?" she asked hesitantly.

There was a brief pause, but finally Lizzie answered, her tone genuine this time. "My Aunt Kris sued for custody of her four years ago," she explained. "She lives with her now. She's okay." Veronica nodded, happy to hear it, and turned to leave once more. "It's because of Meg, you know," Lizzie added. "What Meg did, even when she was heartbroken, is what saved our baby sister."

"She was my friend," Veronica said. "And I hate what happened, too."

Lizzie didn't say anything, and Veronica left, no closer to an answer than she was before. It was clear, though, that Lizzie really didn't know anything. If not Lizzie, then who? Was there any trace at all?

When Veronica arrived at the hospital, it was to find Logan and Weevil sitting in chairs side by side. "This can't be good," she muttered under her breath. No combination of Logan and Weevil ever led to good things. "I'm going to have to call you back, Casey." She snapped her phone shut. "Hi boys," she said, approaching them.

Logan looked up. "Hi sweetie. Did you know our little Weevil here is going to community college? Our boy's all grown up. Here I didn't even know he could read!" Logan gave a simpering smile and slapped Weevil on the knee as Veronica rolled her eyes.

"Do that again and you'll lose that hand, boy," Weevil growled at Logan. "Hey V," he nodded at her.

"Are you here to see Mac?" she asked. She knew that Logan came often enough without her; he had grown to be friends with Mac over the years. But Weevil?

"I had some time," he answered vaguely.

"What about hitting the books?" asked Logan. "Wait, can you read? You do know you have to read in college, right? Even if it's play college, reading is still important! Here, let's have a test. What does that sign say? Sound it out if you have to."

"So, tell me again, what is it you're doing now?" Weevil asked. "Sitting on your ass spending daddy's money on video games and hookers?"

"Actually, Juan, I just got a job at the quickie mart. Wait, wait, no, that's you. Sorry, you're right. Video games and hookers." He smiled, only to glance up at the sight of Madison Sinclair's mother slipping quietly from Mac's room. They all went silent, and the older woman froze under their gaze.

She was why Weevil and Logan had both been sitting and waiting. Veronica knew that Mac had spoken with her biological mother in recent months, but she didn't know their relationship had progressed to visits. "Veronica, right?" Mrs. Sinclair finally said, glancing at Logan and Weevil for an instant as if she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar and they were about to tattle.

"Right," Veronica nodded. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," Mrs. Sinclair assured, gripping the strap of her purse tightly.

"Are you done?" Logan abruptly asked her. "Can I —?" He nodded at the door to Mac's room.

Mrs. Sinclair nodded, as if grateful that Logan was making no to-do about her presence. "Of course," she added softly.

Logan looked back at Weevil and Veronica. "You all wait out here, now. Taking turns is as important as reading. Think of this as a lesson, Tido. And I'm not even charging you for it!" Logan gave Weevil a big thumbs up and disappeared into Mac's room, closing the door behind him.

Mrs. Sinclair started to leave, and Veronica felt a little bad for the woman. "I think it's good," she said, and Mrs. Sinclair hesitated. "That you come, I mean. I think it's good." She gave an encouraging smile and Mrs. Sinclair nodded.

"Thanks," she murmured. She left before another word was exchanged, and Veronica turned to Weevil.

"She was in the room when I came," Weevil explained. "I thought she deserved a few minutes."

Veronica nodded. "How long have you been waiting?"

"A while. Your boy toy showed up just a few minutes ago, though." He finally turned to look at her. "You still with him?"

"No," she said softly. "Not anymore."

"Glad to hear it," he replied, staring straight forward again.

"He's not as bad as you think," Veronica defended. "He acts up some times, but —"

"If he's not so bad, why aren't you with him?"

"It's . . . complicated."

Weevil scoffed. "Right." Veronica watched him for a moment, considering. Weevil might have been a bad boy, but much like Logan and Veronica herself, he was a softie on the inside. A marshmallow, a Wallace-like voice said in her head. The fact that he was at the hospital right at that moment was proof. "What do you want?" he sighed.

"What?" Veronica said, frowning.

"What do you want?" he repeated. At her confusion, he glanced at her knowingly. "You always want something. You're staring at me that way now. What do you want, V?"

"I was just wondering . . . do you remember Meg Manning?" she asked.

He nodded. "The only one who survived the bus crash, right?"

"Yeah, but she died a few months later," Veronica said. When Weevil didn't seem interested in saying anything, she went on, "she and Duncan dated. She was pregnant, actually, during the crash."

"I remember," Weevil said. "Kane ran off with the baby. Everybody who went to Neptune knows that, V. What are you fishing for?"

She shook her head, leaning her head against the wall and staring straight forward as he was. "Nothing. I'm not fishing for anything. I've just been . . . thinking about Meg lately. I wondered if you ever spoke to her or . . . saw her around."

He looked at her. "Far as I'm concerned, she's another reason why the boys you like to hang on aren't any good. Kane, Echolls — you'd all be better off without them. If she had lived, trust me: she would have been better off without Duncan Kane."

Before she could reply, he stood. "I'm gonna get going. My shift starts in a few minutes. I guess I'll come back later when the great Logan Echolls isn't here. I'll see you later, V." She only nodded and he turned a corner out of sight a moment later. She sighed.

"There has to be something else," Veronica pressed.

"No," Duncan shook his head. "There's nothing."

"But on her hard drive —?"

"No!" Duncan shouted angrily. "Why aren't you listening to me? There's nothing on there! That's why I came to you!"

"I don't have magical powers," Veronica snapped. "There's not a wand in my back pocket. I need something to go on." Duncan said nothing, only covered his face with his hands, letting out a deep breath. It had been nearly a week, and Veronica had been unable to make any headway. She had gone to speak with Cole and had found to her disgust that the boy hadn't changed much.

When he realised what she was after, he freaked out and said he hadn't been anywhere near Meg and if she tried to stick him with paternity he'd have a DNA test done. Veronica declined the oh-so generous offer: Meg had had better tastes than that.

Of course, at this point, she might very well have to resort to considering Cole again. . . .

"Look, there's got to be something else. You're Veronica Mars. You can solve anything. You've got to be able to figure this out," Duncan said, a plea in his voice. Veronica assessed him for a moment, leaning towards him as he was towards her.

"Duncan," she said softly, "maybe . . . maybe you don't need to know." He sat back in his chair, gritting his teeth and clearly unhappy with her suggestion. She wasn't deterred. "It's not like it'll change anything!" she went on. "Lilly is still your daughter, no matter what. Why do you —?"

"I just — I just have to know, okay?" he replied, taking a deep breath as if to calm himself. "I can't let it go. And you of all people should understand that. When was the last time you let something go?"

Veronica didn't say anything.

"Do what you have to do," Duncan told her, standing up. "Money's not a problem. Just figure it out." He turned and left, his face stony. Veronica sighed. She couldn't deny that he deserved to know the truth, but finding it wasn't going to be easy.

"It never is, Mars," Veronica muttered, slumping in her seat. She frowned, thinking, before fetching her phone from her purse and dialling his number. There was no answer, and she had to listen to one of his inane messages.

"Hi, you've reached Logan with today's inspirational message: "The mind determines what is possible. The soul surpasses it." Pilar Coolinta. Leave a message."

"You really need to find something to do other than peruse inspirationalquotes.com," Veronica said. "And I need a yearbook from Neptune High. I seem to remember being forced to sign yours. Hand it over."

If she was going to do this, she might as well go all out.

"I got your message," Logan said. She looked up from the table in surprise.

"You do know you don't live here, right?" she asked, annoyed. "You're not allowed to just walk in." He barely seemed to pay her any mind; instead, his eyes were trained on Casey, sitting across the table from her. She knew immediately what he was thinking, and she resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I still have a key," he replied, his burning gaze still on Casey. "Hey Casey," he said. "I didn't know you were back in town."

Casey gave a tired smile, as if he too could read Logan's mind. "Got back a few months ago, actually," he replied. "I just graduated from NYU. It took an extra year, but I managed to do it.

"Call it a victory lap," Veronica told him, teasing. He only grinned. God. Was it wrong that her stomach turned to jelly when he smiled like that? Some boys were just God's gift to women.

"I brought my yearbook, as per your request," Logan said, nearly growling. He held up the book as proof. "Is now good?" It now seemed his new tactic was simply to ignore Casey. It could be worse, Veronica thought; he could start mocking Casey, as was his usual route.

Veronica sighed. "So it looks like I've got case stuff," she told Casey, smiling apologetically. "Could we maybe cut this short and take a rain check on the movie?"

He nodded. "Sure. If you need any help, give me a call." He stood and she followed suit. There weren't many people Veronica kept in contact with from Neptune High, but as of recently, Casey was one of them. There was something about him that . . . that was so different from the rest of the Neptune minions. "I'm actually going to be pretty busy for the rest of the week, but maybe sometime this weekend?" he asked.

"I'll call you," she assured, and with Logan watching on reproachfully, she gave Casey a hug. He nodded at Logan as he passed him by and left the house. The moment the front door shut, Logan turned on Veronica.

"Is he why you said no?" he demanded.

"Oh, do not start," he said, grabbing the yearbook from his hand and heading to the living room. She'd clean up their lunch dishes later.

"I thought maybe it was some lingering love for Duncan —"

"Logan, please," Veronica exclaimed, exasperated, as she plopped down onto her living room couch, tucking her legs under her and beginning to flip through the yearbook.

"— or maybe your own aversion to — Veronica!" he snapped, clearly irate at her inattentiveness.

She looked up at him patronisingly. "You are such a girl, you know that?" she said. He sighed, looking away from her and running a hand over his face. Despite her best effort, she felt herself soften towards him. "Thanks for the yearbook."

"Sure," he replied wearily. "What do you need it for, anyway?"

"I'm thinking maybe one of our former classmates could be Lilly's biological father. It's worth a shot, at least. It's the only shot I've got at this point, actually." She sighed heavily. The middle stretch of cases was always the hardest.

"Yeah. I talked to Dick, asked if he knew anything, but he didn't have a clue," he told her.

"You told Dick?"

He shrugged. "You know he couldn't care less, and he's not gonna bother telling anyone." It was true, but —

"But Dick?" she repeated. "Really?"

"I think he's turning over a new leaf, actually," Logan informed her. He grinned as he went on. "He came home last night ranting and raving about how he'd lost his balls because he got a call from some girl about going out only to turn her down because he'd already told Mac he'd visit her. He was asking me what was wrong with him that he'd pick a sick hospital girl over a hot one night stand."

"How long do you think it'll be before he figures out he's in love with Mac?" Veronica asked, matching his grin with one of her own. Regardless of his past transgressions, Dick really had fallen for Mac, and he was treating her better than Veronica could have imagined, though they weren't even an actual couple . . . yet.

"I'll give it another five years," Logan replied, and Veronica shook her head, still smiling as she looked back down at the yearbook. It was silent for a moment before he spoke, his voice pleading. "Veronica . . . are you and Casey — ?"

"We're friends," she said firmly. "I ran into him in the supermarket months ago. We went for coffee. We meet up every now and then. He's cool and easy to talk to. That's all. Honestly." He nodded and looked at his feet so pathetically that she felt sympathy rise in her once more.

"I wasn't ready," she murmured. "I told you that."

"Are you ever gonna be ready?" he questioned, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"Maybe," she answered honestly, shrugging her shoulders. "Maybe not. But — but probably . . . I — I hope so. I want to be."

He looked away, not answering. He'd lost all his fire recently, all his snarkiness, and she hated it, hated knowing that she'd done that to him. "It's not that hard, Veronica. Either you love me or you don't."

"No, Logan. No. You of all people know it is hard, and its not that simple!" He said nothing. "My mother had an affair and broke my father's heart before abandoning me. I spent years taking pictures of husbands cheating on their wives and —!"

"So you think I'm going to cheat on you?" Logan demanded indignantly.

"No! That's not what I'm saying!" she replied, her own anger building. "Listen to me!"

"I am listening, Veronica. I've heard you loud and clear. And I —" he scoffed, his lip curling, "I don't know what it is about you. I honestly can't . . . just let you go, not even when its what you want."

"Okay, don't do this self-pity thing! You're the one that broke up with me!" she said furiously, nearly leaping to her feet. "I was happy. I was in love with you!"

"Yeah, and it only took you until our senior year of college to admit it! But I waited and I stuck it out and I wanted to marry you, Veronica!" Logan yelled. "I wanted to marry you and I asked and you just stared at me like I was a lunatic! And the truth is its not because you don't like marriage or because you're too young. The truth is that I've never been what you really wanted." He paused, and his next words were low and angry and resigned, and they stabbed at her with sudden fury. "I'm just what you settle for when there's no one else around."

"Logan, you — you know that's not true," she protested.

"No, Veronica, I really don't. If its not true, then why don't you want to marry me? Why did you say no?"

"Because I'm not ready!" she exclaimed. He only shook his head.

"Logan —"

"I've got to get going," he cut her off. "You can keep the yearbook." He started towards her front door, clearly too pissed to deal with her. Why did he always do this? Why did he have to be like this?

"Logan. Come on. Logan! Don't be an ass!"

But the front door slammed shut loudly. She sighed. He said it wasn't hard, but he was the one making it hard. Refusing to dwell on it, to remember his simple proposal in her kitchen, to remember the disappointing realisation that she was refusing seep across his face, she focused her attention back on the yearbook.

Cases were always the best escape.

And this case was definitely on a timelimit. She turned to the senior photos in the yearbook, grabbing the pen and notebook she'd discarded on the floor earlier. There was a good chance that Lilly's real father wasn't a former Neptune student, but there was also a good chance he was.

And if he was, Veronica was going to root him out.

Continued in part two . . .

Fic: Birds of a Feather

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 04:49:44 GMT

Title: Birds of a Feather
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: One Tree Hill (Peyton and Lucas!)
Rating: PG-13/Teen
Summary: "As each day goes by, it makes way for another,/ We discover that we're not alone,/ And each day we try the best that we can to recover,/ All the feelings that we left below." AU Lucas/Peyton. What if Lucas had lost to Nathan in the pilot?

You wish for a moment, a single moment when the world seems to still and you don't hear the screams around you and you don't feel Brooke standing beside you, you wish for that one moment that the basket is good. You know its wrong; you know that you should be supporting your boyfriend, ass that he is. But you can't help yourself: you see yourself when you look at that boy, and you hate that, but you can't change it, and you wish for a single moment there on that old court that he wins the game.

How much would your life change if someone finally put Nathan Scott in his place? How much would your life change if the outcast, the forgotten son, Lucas Scott, the boy the world knows but refuses to acknowledge, were to win this game? How much would your life change if Lucas Scott joined the Ravens basketball team? It seems a silly thing to imagine, but you know, you know — you can feel it in the air — that if the blonde brother wins this game and joins the Ravens, everything will change.

But he misses the basket and Nathan grabs the rebound and in one swift movement, one swift layup, the game is over, and once more Nathan Scott has won, has conquered all, is smugly smiling while the world cheers him on. You don't cheer for him, though. Your eyes are trained on Lucas. "Guess this means you'll stay where you belong," Nathan tells Lucas, and his vindictive satisfaction is so thick it should be suffocating the crowd around them.

Lucas says nothing, but his faces hardens and you recognize the gesture, you recognize the strength, and you hate that see yourself in it all, in him, yet again, but once more: you can't change it. His friends surround him; they pat his back and glare at Nathan and the mob of faceless, nameless celebrating students, and you know, without a doubt, the truth in the words you next say.

His eyes meet yours, and you can't help it, "You're better off," you say, your face as hard as his. His gaze bores into you and the stare is so intense, so somehow intimate, that you want to slap him. But its not like with Nathan. It's not a smug stare or a dirty one. It's a stare that sees you as no one ever has.

Nathan throws his arm around your shoulder and slams his lip to yours. When he pulls away he looks at Lucas and you know he kissed you to put one more nail in Lucas Scott's coffin. So you glance away, because its easier that way. You let Nathan drag you towards his friends. You look back, though, and its your fatal mistake: "I'll be seeing you," Lucas tells you. There is no smile on his face, no emotion in his expression, but there are his eyes, and they repeat his words so loudly you know you'll never forget them.

"God, your boy looks good tonight," Brooke says, giving you a lecherous grin and then waving about her pompoms, yelling.

You don't reply. Sometimes you have no idea why you're friends with Brooke. You do know deep down, of course. There's a part of Brooke that's been hidden for years, a part of her that is good and sweet and concealed under layers of negligent parents and fake friends and thick eye make-up, and you've seen that part of her only few times but enough to know that keeping Brooke in your life is worth a hell of a lot, even if most of the time she pisses you off more than anything else.

Then again, most of your life doesn't make any sense, so why should your relationship with Brooke? At least your friendship with her is explainable to a degree. You have no reason whatsoever to date Nathan anymore, not with the way he treats you, not with the way he treats everyone. And as often happens, your mind sticks on that fact, swirls around it and won't let it go, and by the end of the game, you hate yourself for dating Nathan and for being someone you're not, and you skip out before the victory celebrations can really begin.

You blow off Brooke and Nathan and his offers of a party if you wait until he changes. You get in your car, toss your pompoms in the passenger seat and take off. You know you're a sucker for pain when you find yourself driving to the river court. You know its wrong that you're hoping he's there, and you know its wrong to be upset he's not there alone.

He's playing basketball, because that's what Scott boys do, and he looks so much different from Nathan in his grey t-shirt and mesh shorts. He's laughing and horsing around as he plays with a mismatched collection of boys you barely even recognize. Up in the stands two boys talk into microphones, laughing and shoving each other and having as much fun as the boys on the court, and there's a girl with them, too, smiling and shaking her head and rolling her eyes, and you realize there's a whole world you don't know about.

You know about Lucas, sure. Everybody knows about Lucas Scott and his sordid story. But when you labeled Nathan as a king and Lucas as an outcast, you didn't really realize that he was a king in his own way. Nathan Scott was king of Tree Hill high, but Lucas Scott, he was king of the kids who didn't want to be ruled by Nathan; he was king of the outcasts.

"Can I help you?"

You look at your window in surprise and see the girl from the stands is no longer in the stands; she's standing in front of your car, her dark brown hair held back from her face with one hand, her dark eyes looking at you critically and even a little knowingly. "Can I help you?" she repeats.

You roll down your window. "No," you tell her.

She shrugs and walks away. You expected her to say something more. Then she glances back. "Your boyfriend's a jerk," she says.

"I know," you reply.

She shakes her head softly. "I don't get why he likes you. I've never gotten it."

You frown. "What are you talking about?"

She looks over at the court, at the boys still playing, and her eyes land on Lucas, and you look, too, and suddenly he's looking at you and at the girl, his eyes bouncing back and forth, and he only stops when one of the other boys hits him in the back of the head with the ball and he laughs and shoves the boy and turns away from your direction.

"You could always dump Nathan, you know," the girl says.

"Mind your own business," you snarl.

"Hey, honey, you might be the leader of the pompom bimbos, but this is my turf and I'm in charge here," the girl tells you with a kind of sass that throws you for a loop. "Don't forget that you're the odd one out here. You came to us." And she walks away without looking back then.

In school the teacher asks you to describe Lucas Scott in one word. You think of a thousand biting things to say in an instant, but you say the thing you really think of when you see him, the thing that you first thought of when Nathan told you about his big brother: "Forgotten," you say.

And he calls you lonely. You stare at him and he at you, and then Nathan ruins it all and he and Lucas fight and the entire time you see those blue eyes floating in front of you face, haunting you like in some sort of Victorian novel, and that afternoon you drive to the river court again. This time he's the only one there, and you're not in a cheerleading uniform and you don't feel like such a phony in jeans and a t-shirt, so you climb out of the car and you approach him, your arms crossed over your chest defensively.

"You play?" he asks, holding the ball under one arm and smiling at you. He has a split lip.

"No," you reply.

"Ever tried?"

"No," you repeat. You've forgotten why you're here. He throws you the ball. You don't catch it and he laughs and you glare at him and it takes you a moment to realize he's not mocking you or insulting you or making a show for all the people around — because there aren't any people around and he's just teasing you, just trying to clear some of the anger from your face.

You pick the ball up and throw it at the hoop. It misses by a mile. "You were aiming for there, right?" he asks.

"What do you want from me?" you ask.

"Hey!" he says, raising his hands up. "You're the one that keeps coming to my court."

"Maybe I wouldn't if you would stop watching me and calling me lonely and —"

"And treating you like an actual person?" he interrupts. "Yeah. Sorry. I'll try and get my act together. I know you like your men to be asses." You roll your eyes and walk away, berating yourself for coming here. Why did you come here? What did you want to happen?

"Aw, Peyton!" he yells. "Wait!" You turn back around, your mouth perused. "Look, I'm sorry, okay?" he says. "I shouldn't have said that, I know. I'm sorry. I just really don't like your boyfriend." He gives a small smile, one that asks for understanding. You stare at him for a moment, at the sincerity in his face that Nathan never has when he apologizes. When Nathan says sorry, he's patronizing you; when Nathan says sorry, there's a clear note of devil-may-care in his voice that turns the apology into an insult. But its not like that with Lucas.

"Why do you like me?" you ask.

"Because you deserve to be liked," he replies simply, as if its the most obvious thing in the world.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" you demand.

"I like you because you're you," he explains. "And your legs. I like your legs." You roll your eyes and you try and leave again, try to erase the words he's just said. "We've having a game tonight on the court," he calls out. "Haley's bringing popcorn. You can come, if you want." You keep walking.

But you come again that night, and you sit next to the girl who must be named Haley, and she offers you some popcorn and she doesn't mention the peculiarity of you being there and she talks about her stupid science teacher and this commercial she saw on television and why she hates the color yellow, and a boy named Mouth introduces himself to you and Lucas only smiles and you make a sarcastic comment and Mouth and Haley laugh and you realize you like it in this other world.

Maybe you should have joined the small kingdom of those who chose Lucas over Nathan a long time ago.

"So thanks for making this a no-brainer," you tell him.

This is it. This is for real. You and Nathan have broken up before. But its time you're finally ending it once and for all. For so long you convinced yourself that he was the way he was because of the pressure of basketball and his father and this and that and this and that.

But you had only been making up excuses for him.

He treats you like shit, he treats his own friends like shit, and he treats Lucas like shit. He still won't leave his brother alone, even though Lucas did as agreed and refused to join the basketball team. It makes you wonder: how can Lucas be such a good person and Nathan such a . . . dick? How can Lucas submit your art to thud and Nathan not even notice the sketches in your room?

"Is this about Lucas?" Nathan asks angrily. You huff, crossing your arms over your chest.

"This is about the fact that you're an asshole, Nathan! I keep on giving you chances and you keep on proving you don't deserve them and I'm finally doing something about it!" You are. You should have done this a long time ago.

"If you honestly expect me to believe this has nothing to do with Lucas," he begins, his face contorted.

"Maybe it does have something to do with Lucas!" you interrupt. "Because the way you treat him, Nathan, is disgusting. He's your brother and you can't leave him alone —!"

"He's not my brother. And I'm not going to leave him alone when he won't stop hitting on my girlfriend! The guy's asking for it!"

You stare for a moment. "Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore, because you no longer have a girlfriend."

"Peyton," he murmurs, making a puppy dog face, "please. Things are so hard for me right now. My dad is really riding me and my grades are getting so bad Turner is threatening to suspend me if I don't get a tutor and get my act together and I need you!"

"No, Nathan. You need to become a decent human being. Get out." You're not going to fall for it again. You're not. Your mind flashes to all the terrible things he's said and done and then suddenly you're remembering the nights you've spent on the river court lately, the conversations you've had with Haley and the way Lucas looks at you and the things he said when he submitted you art, and your resolve hardens.

"Peyton —"

"Get out."

"Fine," he replies. "Fine. You'll change your mind by tomorrow anyway." He gives you a nasty glare and then leaves, and you know he'll be calling you, begging forgiveness and telling you that he knows you didn't mean it.

But this time you won't listen. You won't even pick up the phone.

The phone is already ringing in an hour. You pick up your sketchbook and pencil and you drive to the river court. They're all there: Lucas and Haley and Skillz and Mouth. You climb onto the bleachers and Haley smiles at you but doesn't say a word as you focus on your sketches.

"I broke up with Nathan," you blurt out.

She only smiles and then asks if you've done your English homework yet and whether or not you liked the assignment. You answer and go back to your sketches and you feel once more at home in the land where the ravens with broken wings all gather.

You should have known since that game at midnight on the river court when brother had gone against brother that no matter what you would eventually find yourself on the damned river court about to do this. You don't know how your life has changed so much so quickly and you wonder again if things would have been different had Lucas won that game or joined the team regardless of losing or never have stared at you with those intense blue eyes, but he didn't win the game and he didn't join the team and he has always stared at you with those eyes.

You put your hands on his face and you stare at him and he says your name, so softly you're not even sure he really did, and you don't know what you're doing but you haven't known what you're doing for a long, long time, so you throw caution to the wind and you kiss him. The river court is empty except for the two of you, and its dark, and he responds so ardently to your kiss. He wraps his arms around you and lifts you off the ground and his hand tangles in your hair and you wonder why you put up with Nathan for so long.

When you break apart he says, "I've wanted this for so long. I want everything with you, Peyton." His eyes are so intense and his words so deep and you're frightened for a moment and the urge to run or to shout or to fight flickers in your mind. But you don't. Because you want this, too. You've been lying to yourself for so long and its time you finally told the truth. You've spent so much time on this court in the last few weeks with his friends and with him and you know you want to be a part of this world, a part of his world.

But you don't know what to say. So you kiss him again, desperately, passionately, and you stand there as time passes by — you have no idea how much time — kissing him and letting him trail kisses down your jaw and whisper into your skin how beautiful you are and how amazing you are and how much he wants you and wants this.

Maybe if you had gotten to know him in the world you grew up in, maybe if you had gotten to know him at Ravens basketball games and parties and the world of Nathan and Brooke and preps and jocks and cheerleaders, you wouldn't be able to do this. Maybe you'd be too afraid. But you've been slowly pulling away from that world to spend more time in his, and you've gotten to know him in this world, and in this world, you don't have to be afraid.

A part of you is still scared, but you keep kissing him anyway.

You arrive at school and he's there and he greets you with a soft kiss and intertwines your hand with his. You're aware of all the stares, of the pointed fingers and whispered words, but then Haley bounds up to the two of you gushing and grinning and even winking at Lucas. She wraps an arm around your shoulder and you really like this bouncy brunette who calls herself Luke's best friend, so you smile and laugh and squeeze his hand in yours.

"Oh. My. GOD!" Brooke exclaims, dragging you out of class the moment the bell rings for lunch. "It is all over the school, P. Sawyer. How come I had to hear from a complete stranger that my best friend is dating Nathan's broody brother?" Her eyes are glinting with a kind of excitement.

"I, ah, meant to tell you, but —"

"Well, tell me everything now!" Brooke interrupts, clapping her hands. "Is this why you dumped Nathan? 'Cause I gotta say, Peyton, Lucas is one fine looking boy, even if he is poor." She grins and you have to hand it to Brooke: at least she doesn't come with any surprises. "But so you're definitely dating, right? Oh my god! So how is he?" Her voice lowers. "He kicks ass in the backseat, doesn't he?" She wriggles her eyebrows.

"We just kissed, Brooke. We haven't gone out and we've haven't had sex, but we —"

"You're gonna have sex, though, right?" Brooke persists.

You manage to get away from her eventually. You then have a choice: you can sit with Brooke and Bevin and Nathan and the group of kids you've always sat with, or you can sit with Lucas and Haley and the group of kids you've been slowly growing close to but only on their turf, only on the river court and never at school or around Nathan or Brooke or anyone else.

But you've kissed Lucas, and you can't keep precariously living on the edge. No one can be loyal to two kings. It's obvious Brooke doesn't care who you choose, at least not now, and she's probably the only person you grew up with whose opinion matters. You see Nathan watching you with burning eyes, but you sit down beside Skillz and Lucas and Haley, and when Lucas kisses your temple, you know what's done is done and you pointedly ignore the attention of the Tree Hill high school students, because you've fallen from grace, and you're one of the forgotten now.

Thank God.

They don't really forget about you, though. Just like everyone knows who Lucas Scott is and everyone knows who his father is and who his brother is and how he's the abandoned, unclaimed son, everyone knows who you are. You're the cheerleader who dated the basketball star only to leave him and cheerleading and all of your friends behind to date Lucas Scott and spend your afternoons playing records for Haley James, discovering that she knows more about music than she ever let on before.

You meet Keith Scott, and he's such the Lucas to Nathan's Dan that you smile, and you can't understand why he and Karen don't get their act together.

You see less and less of Brooke once you quit cheerleading, but you never really belonged there anyway; you belong with Lucas on the river court, so you start spending your evenings there. You draw comics while he plays basketball, and afterwards he wraps your curls around his fingers and kisses you with such adoration that you melt further and further into him and fall deeper and deeper for him, so that when Brooke yells at you for abandoning her you can't help but feel less than completely guilty.

You begin to realize that Haley is keeping a secret but you don't think about it too much, because Karen leaves town and you end up in bed with Lucas and its skin on skin and he's only the second boy you've done this with and you wonder briefly if there's a greek play about you, the girl who bonked two brothers. But he's making you feel so good, so loved and worshiped and damn. . . .

Then he comes so soon you know this is the first time he's even done this. You laugh at him and he's so adorably offended that you laugh harder. He doesn't get angry the way that Nathan would, though, he only kisses you again and the first time you have sex with Lucas, you don't have sex, you make love, and when he rolls away from you and you think that to yourself, you chuckle at your own stupid, inane thoughts.

"What?" he asks.

You turn to him and smile, biting your lip. "Nothing," you say. "I'm just turning into such a girl."

"Don't worry," he replies, "you're the best kind of girl." You shake your head at him and then let him wrap an arm around you, your head resting on his shoulder. This is better than with Nathan, and you realize you're glad you dated him, you're glad you experienced so much with that dark-haired boy, because it means you can appreciate this for what it is, you can appreciate Lucas for who he is.

You never should have agreed.

But you did. Brooke begged you to spend some time with her, to come to a college party, and you agreed. You hate the place, though. You feel stupid in the outfit Brooke put you in and you wish you were with Lucas and Haley and Mouth and Jimmy and Skillz and Lucas and so you let Brooke get lost in the boys and you retreat to the room of a boy who looks cool enough.

He has such an amazing music collection, and you don't refuse the drink he offers you.

The next thing you know, you wake up with Lucas brushing the hair from your face, his eyes concerned and his smile widening at the sight of your slowly opening eyes. "Hey babe," he greets softly. He explains what happened, how Brooke got you away from the jerk who tried to hurt you and how she called him.

You let him cradle you in his arms and you can't really fully comprehend what happened, but you're okay now, and that's what you focus on. Brooke is at Luke's house, too, and she talks with you and smiles and then she smiles at Lucas and you realize they've bonded over what happened to you. It's weird, really, having the two worlds collide.

Brooke starts spending more time on the river court with you and with Lucas and Haley, and you kind of like it, because they bring out the hidden part of her and she's the person you've always known she could be but have so rarely seen her as. You wonder what it would be like if everyone could be a part of Lucas's world, if everyone would be better for it the way that you and Brooke are, but then if everyone were an outcast, would the world of outcasts still be the secret, sacred thing it is?

If Lucas were popular and played basketball, would Haley still be as sweet and dorky as she was? Would Mouth and Jimmy still be his good friends who teased her endlessly even as they blushed every time she or Brooke joked with them? Would Lucas still be the good person that he was? Would you still be unafraid to be with him? Would you still be slowly opening your heart to him as you have been over the last few months?

You don't know the answer to any of those questions, but you are glad that things are the way they are. You can't imagine them any other way.

Fin.

A/N: For some reason I like writing my One Tree Hill fics in second person! Hopefully you didn't mind that. I've been rewatching old episodes of OTH and the idea of what would have happened had Lucas not made the team got stuck in my head. I actually thought about how everything might have happened differently with Keith and Dan and with Ellie and with Derek, but I ended up sticking to first season events. What'd you think? Does it make sense? I played a little with the timeline but not too much. I really wanted to only tweak the OTH universe a little ;) Please review! Also -- who caught the allusions to the fact that Lucas and Peyton aren't the only ones who'd end up together regardless of whether or not Luke made the team?

Ooh, and the lyrics and title are taken from the song "My Eyes" by Travis, one of my favorites by them!

Fic: What Will Your Legacy Be (ten steps to growing up)

Sat, 25 Jul 2009 04:04:22 GMT

Title: What Will Your Legacy Be (ten steps to growing up)
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: One Tree Hill (Peyton and Lucas; Sawyer's POV)
Rating: completely innocent
Summary: How Sawyer Scott grew up.

i.

Your parents start fighting worse than ever before. You come home from school to the sound of shouting, and a peek in the kitchen reveals the battle lines clearly drawn: your mother, tears streaking down her face, is waving her arms about wildly, and your father has a kind of furious fire in his eyes.

You hate it when they fight, because they fight so rarely that it always means something when they do. You wonder what they're fighting about now and if it'll affect you in any bad way.

You never thought so highly of your life; you hate the girls at school and you know your mother doesn't understand: she was never an outcast, however much she'd like to believe she was. You fight with your parents because they want you to follow your dreams but you don't have any dreams to follow, and you're tired of trying to find some — you'd rather watch TV.

But your life is your life and it's what you know, so when they announce that you're moving, that the whole family is moving, your head explodes. Is this what they were fighting about? It doesn't matter, because now they're fighting with you. You scream and cry and throw a book your dad wrote into a lamp, sending it crashing to the ground, but the temper tantrum doesn't do any good.

The school year comes to an end and the next thing you know, everything you own is in the moving van and you're on your way to Tree Hill, your parents' home town, your least favorite place in the world.

You hate the house they buy. It's too big, too white, too unlike everything you've ever known. You hate when Aunt Haley comes by with casserole and croons over how very much you look like your mother. You hate how happy Anna and Keith are to be in Tree Hill, and you hate how no one seems to care that you're so full of hate.

You lock yourself in your room, leave everything in boxes except for your ipod speakers, and as you lie on your bed blasting the music, you wonder why your life is so hard.

You've been in Tree Hill for nearly a month when your mother collapses in the kitchen, splattering spaghetti sauce and completely terrifying you. She's in the hospital when your father squats down in front of you in the hospital waiting room, his eyes wide. He tells you the truth, then, and you learn why your parents were fighting and why you've moved back to Tree HIll and why your mother collapsed and why your life was nothing close to hard before now.

Your mom's dying.

ii.

Anna and Keith were adopted. You were five at the time, and you didn't understand why your parents wanted more than you. For five years they had been your parents, yours and yours alone. You had been the center of their lives, the center of their day, the center of their hearts. How could they possibly want any more than you?

But they did, and you can still remember when they came home with two babies, Anna Elizabeth and her twin brother Keith Larry. You stared at them, not understanding your mother when she told you how wonderful it will be to be a big sister. You didn't see anything particularly brilliant about it, and the babies weren't so very cute: they were small and squishy and they cried too much.

When you suggested your parents take them back to wherever it is babies come from, they laughed and you pouted and they assured you that you'd always be their baby, but that the family had grown now, and you had to accept it.

You did, eventually, and years later you understood why it took them so long to have more children: your birth was a risk, and they were too scared to try again, so scared, in fact, that in the end they didn't try again; they adopted, and you suppose that they could have done worse. Keith and Anna are pretty okay, you think.

When you're sixteen and they're eleven and your mother is dying, you realize for the first time what your father had meant the day he told you what a responsibility it was to be a big sister. Because Keith and Anna don't understand why Mom is in the hospital; they don't understand why Dad is crying for the first time in memory. You don't want to understand, either, but you think you do: the world is an unfair place.

You can't explain that to them, so you take them to ice cream and play video games with them and they're so happy to be cool enough to play with you that for an hour or so a day they forget how the world is crumbling down around them and you think that's about as much as anyone can expect of you.

iii.

Tree Hill was always like a movie set to you. It was where you went on Christmas and Thanksgiving and sometimes during Spring Break. It was the picture perfect family vacation, and it contained picture perfect families that ought to be on postcards. When you arrive in Tree Hill at the start of summer, you see your extended family as you've always known them.

There's Aunt Brooke and Uncle Julian, always bickering and making out and bickering and making out like they can't decide whether they want to be an eighty-year-old couple or a seventeen-year-old one. They have two sons, both of whom look like models, and you hate them both, because they're so very much the epitome of jocks that you look at them and think of all the boys at school you despise.

Then there's Aunt Haley and Uncle Nathan, the ever-endearing example of a loving mom and dad, the perfect family with four children, two boys who have dark hair, boyish grins, and sharp basketball skills, and two girls who have light brown hair, sweet, innocent eyes and a love of all things school. You think maybe your cousins weren't born but rather manufactured, and you suspect that Aunt Haley has a secret lab in the back of her house that contains the chemicals she used to clone her husband and herself for her perfect little angels.

Of course, that summer is the first time you've spent any extended period of time in Tree Hill and therefore with your aunts and uncles and cousins. Tree Hill doesn't represent vacation anymore, and for the first time you see your relatives as less than perfect: Uncle Nathan fights with his son Bobby more often than any father and son you've ever known; Aunt Brooke desperately wants a daughter, and she looks at you and your mom like she wishes she could redo her life.

Nobody gets whatever they really want in life, you think, and it annoys you, because you realize that maybe it would be better to have gone on thinking of Tree Hill and the people within it as little dolls who knew no pain or suffering, and you hate that everything has changed. You hate that you see all the cracks and you hate that your mom is sick and you hate that you still can't stop hating everything.

iv.

Anna is a dancer who has a talent for writing music and singing it too, and Keith is a basketball champion true to the Scott family legacy. You've never understood how Anna and Keith could be so like your parents when they're adopted. But at eleven years old they are, and it just doesn't make any sense.

Because you're not adopted and you're nothing like your parents. You can't draw to save your life; music is only music to you. You have the grace of a club-footed duck and you can't even be a cheerleader, which isn't even a real sport to start with. The only connection you can see is your blonde hair and green eyes and penchant for reading books with a fury.

Apparently that's good enough for your mom, though, because for as long as you can remember, seeing you read has always made your mom smile. You would sit curled up on the couch while she ironed and you'd look up from Dickens to see her eyes warm as they watched you. You would lay on the grass in the front yard and as she passed to fetch the mail, you'd see the slight change in her expression, the slight upturn of her lips, and you'd wonder how seeing you read Pride and Prejudice could really mean all that much to her.

But it does for some reason; you think it must have to do with your father being an author, but you've never really thought of your love of reading as something that made you like him. Your mom evidently does, and when you visit her in the hospital and you walk in on the doctors telling her the options for women with brain cancer, you go straight home, pick up the first book you find, and go right back to the hospital.

You sit on the chair beside her bed, pull your legs under you, and you start to read, waiting. From the corner of your eye, you see her watching you. You see her slowly start to smile, the expression reaching her eyes for the first time since she became sick, and you feel proud of how simply you can make her happy.

You start spending every afternoon reading beside her bed. You don't talk with her, not really. You've never been able to talk with her for very long. What does a teenager talk about with her mother? That hasn't changed now that's she's sick. It's only gotten worse. But you don't need to talk. You sit there and you read and she smiles and you don't hate it.

v.

You always liked Jamie. He's the kind of cool cousin that's in movies. He's in college now, the star of the Duke basketball team, but he's home for the summer, and you can't help it: you ask him what it's like to live out the dreams his parents had dreamed for him.

He tells you that they might have dreamed it, sure, but he dreamed it, too, and that's what matters. He seems so wise, then, grinning at you like he knows and understands everything, and you know that you adore him the way everybody does.

Everybody does adore Jamie: his parents, your parents, even Aunt Brooke and Uncle Julian. You know that he was born when they were all young and in a way they all feel as if they had a part in raising him. You realize they probably look at him and see their youth and the beginning of parenthood and being grown-up and you wonder what it would be like to be Jamie and if he ever gets tired of being so important to so many people.

You resolve to be more like Jamie.

You start with Aunt Brooke; she's always tried to be close to you. She always wanted to talk to you on the phone when you were little, to play with you whenever you were in Tree Hill, to spoil you and make you think of her as your favorite aunt. She still hasn't given up, so when you stop by her store and ask if maybe she wants to hang out, she jumps at the chance.

She takes you out shopping but you hate shopping; you hate trying clothing on and standing around in stores. But it doesn't seem to bother her that you're bothered. She tells you that you're just like your mother and drags you back to the store to give you a make-over.

You look at yourself in the mirror when she's done. Your flat blonde hair has been curled, and the curls shorten it so that it barely passes your ears. You're wearing green eyeshadow; you've only ever worn brown, and not very often. She's put you in a sundress with large lilies on it and a light green cardigan, but you don't wear dresses; they pinch what little cleavage you have uncomfortably and you think them silly in general.

She fawns over how gorgeous you look, and when your dad stops by a few minutes later he says you look amazing, too, but all you can think about doing is getting out of the store, away from your crazy Aunt Brooke and into the t-shirts and jeans you so much prefer.

That night, you lie on the couch in sweatpants and a blue wife-beater, your hair in a messy ponytail and a bag of goldfish resting on your stomach as you watch television. When you notice your dad watching you and you turn to glare at him, he only smiles, and he tells you that he's glad to see you look like you again.

He calls you baby and kisses your forehead, the smell of his aftershave familiar.

You think maybe all the fighting you've been doing with your dad lately isn't worth it.

vi.

Your mom goes into surgery on a Thursday night. They're going to try and remove the tumor. It's a make or break situation, and you can taste the fear in your mouth like old cheese. Anna and Keith talk with your mom first and then leave the hospital with Aunt Haley and Uncle Nathan. Your dad talks to her next, and you talk to her last, five minutes before the surgery is scheduled.

The two of you are quiet at first, and you realize that she could die. She could die. You suddenly start to cry, because why didn't you realize this sooner? You knew it, of course, but you didn't really know it. You wouldn't let yourself know it. She reaches for you and wraps her arms around you and shushes you and you feel like you're a little kid again and you know that you shouldn't have stopped yourself from missing this so much as you grew older.

She whispers that she loves you and you repeat the words through your tears. The last thing she tells you is to take care of your dad, and the words echo in your head as they wheel her away, because she spoke them like they were words to live and die by. She spoke them like they were the words by which she had lived and would now die; she was telling you to take care of your dad because she wouldn't be around to take care of him any more.

You sob outright as she disappears down the hall, and its Aunt Brooke who wraps her arms around you, then, and she's sobbing, too, and you cry together, trembling and rocking in the worn hospital chairs. She doesn't tell you its going to be okay; she doesn't try and change the subject. She holds you and cries and she's there and she's warm and welcoming and you begin to comprehend for the first time why your mother was always so close with Brooke Davis.

The surgery goes well, the doctors tell your father. Most of the tumor was removed.

But when your mother wakes up four days later, she's not your mother anymore.

vii.

When you were eight, you broke your arm falling out of a tree.

Its such a cliche that you almost feel silly telling people. But you secretly love remembering that time, because your parents spoiled you rotten in the weeks in took you to recover. They bought whatever food you wanted at the grocery store. They let you watch TV all day long and eat ice cream out of the carton. Your mom drew pictures that you described to her and your father started to write a story that you had devised, and you felt like a queen with her two most adoring subjects.

When school starts up in Tree Hill, you're a celebrity. You're Lucas and Peyton Scott's child; you're Mrs. Scott's niece; you're the new girl that everybody knows about by the time homeroom ends. You try and ignore it and when your English teacher — and aunt — assigns an essay on a childhood memory, you focus on collecting your thoughts for that essay.

You decide to write about breaking your arm, and you sit on your bed and use your dad's laptop. He would let you if you asked, but you don't have to ask because he hasn't touched it in weeks; he's barely been home in weeks. As you're writing you start remembering more than falling out of that tree.

You remember going to the circus with your dad and sitting on his shoulders. You remember Parents' Day at your elementary school and how when all the mothers were asked to write a word describing their child on a card to post on the wall, your mom wrote mine. You remember when you found out that the boy you'd been in love with for all of sixth and seven grade was dating Stacy, the most beautiful red-head on Earth, and you'd cried until it hurt and your mother had stayed up all night watching movies like Pretty in Pink with you and talking about how stupid girls like Stacy were.

You remember how it hadn't only been those weeks after breaking your arm that your parents treated you like a queen. They've always treated you like a queen. And somehow, in becoming a teenager, you forgot how wonderful they were and are, you forgot that they didn't care if you weren't a cheerleader, if you had only a handful of friends and they were all as nerdy as you, if your only dream was to figure out a dream. You forgot how much you loved them.

You finish the essay and turn it in and ignore the stares of the Tree Hill high school students, because you've finally remembered.

You only hope its not too late.

viii.

Your mom is bald now; they shaved off all her hair for the surgery. She has a nasty scar on her bare head where they cut her open, and you can't look at it. She doesn't remember you; at least, you don't think she does. She doesn't talk. Her stare is vacant, and the doctors say her memory has been severely affected, as is often the case in these situations. You think it'd be more accurate to say she's simply brain dead.

They start her in on chemotherapy in hopes of fully destroying the cancerous cells that remain. Your dad decides it would be best if Anna and Keith don't see your mother too much; they can't handle it, he says. They end up going to live with Aunt Haley and Uncle Nathan, because your dad doesn't have the time for them anymore. He doesn't have the time for you, either, but you refuse to leave him.

You sit and read next to your mother, but she doesn't smile anymore. She doesn't seem to care at all that you're there. It becomes the worst part of your day, but you go every day after school anyway, because you can't think of anything else to do.

ix.

One night you leave the hospital particularly late and when you arrive home your dad isn't there. You know he's not at the hospital. He doesn't pick up his cell phone. You call Aunt Haley. He's not there either. Where else would he be? You call Aunt Brooke. She picks you up ten minutes later and the two of you begin searching for him.

You find him at a bar. You don't ask why Aunt Brooke knows to look for him there. He's past drunk when you find him, and you've never seen him like that. Your aunt Brooke takes over. She takes the beer out of his hand and splashes it in his face. She begins to lecture him, dragging him out of the bar. She looks so much like your mother at that moment that you feel your heart break in the same instant you realize why its easy for Jamie to let Aunt Brooke think the world of him.

You want Aunt Brooke to think the world of you, too.

The days drag by slowly, your mother stuck in limbo, your father slowly falling apart, and your own world a world you don't recognize. You want life to go back to the way it was before. You were so young and immature and unburdened then, and you want that back. You want to hate the world again, because right now you're not angry, you're just . . . lost. You're sad and scared and lost and this isn't something you've ever been before.

Your mom told you to look after your dad but you don't know how.

When you go to the hospital and find Uncle Nathan sitting and talking to your unresponsive mother, you don't know how to respond. You never thought Uncle Nate and your mom were all that close. You find yourself talking to him as you haven't talked to anyone in a long time. He's doesn't put the pressure on you that everybody else does; he's never tried hard to be close to you, and its kind of like the theory of how easy it is to talk to a stranger.

He listens and nods and he doesn't tell you about all the stories he found on the internet of people who gained back full functioning skills after having brain cancer like his wife does. First its Aunt Brooke and now its Uncle Nathan, and you wish you'd been raised in Tree Hill so you could have known how amazing these people are all along.

You wish it didn't take losing your mother to gain everyone else.

And you can't begin to decide who you'll go to live with when your father finally loses it altogether.

x.

Something is different. You sit in your mother's hospital room reading Joy in the Morning and something is off. You realize what it is: she's watching you. Her green eyes, the same eyes you see every day in the mirror, are staring at you. The daze that you've become accustomed to associating with her is gone.

"Hey Mom," you say. "Are you okay?"

She reaches for you, and her bony hand lies on your arm strangely. She stares down at her hand, and her fingers seem to flex, and suddenly they clamp around your arm and she looks back up at your face. She's so bony now. The doctors say she hasn't been eating well. Her grip is tight on your arm, and you repeat your question, scooting closer to her. She squeezes harder, and you feel like she's telling you something, but you don't know what.

Ten minutes later the doctors are checking her vitals, your Aunt Haley is hovering around firing off question after question, and your dad has arrived on the scene. He runs to her, literally shoving aside a nurse, and falls to his knees beside the bed. He murmurs her name, his countenance desperate. He looks different now, too; some of the desolateness is gone from his face, replaced by sudden hope.

Her hands cup his face, he begins to cry and she starts to make sounds, strange, groggy sounds that are thick as they slip from her dry throat. She never does say anything, not that day. Not for a long time after. But tears streak her face too, and as you watch your parents, you see that there's no such thing as a perfect life, as a perfect child, a perfect couple or a perfect family. The world is an unfair place and the wrong people suffer all too much.

But even if your life isn't perfect, you'll take what you can get. It's an okay life, and you've never been happier recognizing that everything is going to be perfectly okay.

A/N: One Tree Hill was on sale at Target when I was there to pick up new towels a few days ago, and I couldn't help myself: I added to my collection and bought season three (I am now the proud owner of seasons one, three, and four!) I've naturally been re-watching the season, and something about the friendship (squee! I love the scene in the gym when Dan attacks Luke and Peyton tries to stop him) that Lucas and Peyton develop in the third season inspired me to write this (although it was much more Sawyer focused than anything else -- my brain draws bridges in strange ways). I wrote it all in one sitting and all mistakes are mine; feel free to point them out so I can fix them! Hopefully this was enjoyed :) Review and let me know what you thought!

The title was inspired by the song War Sweater by Wakey!Wakey!, a song that I listened to over and over again while writing this. It's great! It was actually in the season six finale.

Fic: Truth Be Told, part 10

Sat, 11 Jul 2009 15:28:06 GMT

Title: Truth Be Told
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: Veronica Mars
Rating: Teen (for later implications and such)
Summary: Marlie Echolls has as many doubts as any other sixteen-year-old girl. One thing she never doubted, however, was who her parents were. At least she didn't until a woman knocked on her grandfather's door and dropped the bombshell. Logan/Veronica; future fic.

"So Marlie's coming home?" he asked. It was about time. Without Marlie around, there was no one to watch baseball with or play chess with or do anything with. Ben wasn't much fun. And without Marlie around, they had to have the weird babysitter with the blue hair come, and she talked on the phone the whole time and didn't even want to do anything with them. When Marlie babysat she would do cool things like help him on his lego castle or bake some brownies to eat.

"Looks like it," his dad replied.

"Does that mean we get to go out to dinner tonight?" he questioned, grinning at the thought.

His father glanced away from the road to shoot him an amused look. "Why would that mean we're going out to dinner?"

"To celebrate and stuff!" he exclaimed. "That'd be cool, right, Benny?"

From the back of the car, his little brother agreed with an enthusiastic, "Yeah!"

His dad only chuckled, though. "Your mom is cooking a celebratory dinner."

"Mom's cooking?" he asked. "How's that a celebration? Mom cooks every night. It's no fun at all."

"Anytime you want to cook dinner, just say the word," his dad replied. Before Jason could think of a reply to that, his dad's cell phone went off, buzzing wildly against the car console. "Get that for me, will you?" his dad asked as he turned onto the highway towards home.

Jason loved answering the cell phone. His mom said he couldn't get one until he was thirteen, but he had already picked out which one he'd get. Marlie said there would be a cooler one by the time he was thirteen, but he didn't care. "Hello?" he asked.

"Jason?" Marlie asked breathlessly.

"Hey Marlie!"

"Is Dad there? Where's Dad? Put him on the phone!" Marlie demanded. Jason frowned.

"He's right here, but why? Is something wrong?"

"PUT HIM ON THE PHONE!"

She didn't have to be mean about it. "It's Marlie," Jason said, holding the phone out for his father to take. "She really needs to talk to you or something."

"Hey kid, what's the matter?" his dad asked. "Wait, hold on, slow down — what happened?"

Jason was curious. Was Marlie not going to come home anymore? What was so great about living with their grandma anyway? He was pretty sure it was their grandmother she was living with. She said the woman was her other mother, but Jason didn't really get it.

It would be cool to live with Grandpa Keith, sure, but Grandma Alicia was always cooking weird green stuff that was supposed to be extra healthy or something and it was so gross. Mom at least made stuff like mac n' cheese and burgers and spaghetti with really big meat balls.

"Did you get her to the hospital? . . . Okay, alright, just calm down; I'm on my way right now. Call your grandpa and grandma and your uncle Wallace. . . . No, thirty-four. Tell the doctor she's thirty-four weeks along. Okay. Yeah. It's gonna be okay. Call me if anything else happens, okay?" He hung up the phone.

"What's happening?" Jason asked. A moment later he grabbed the door to steady himself; his father had slammed suddenly on the accelerator, swerving off the highway and onto an exit. "Dad, what's happening? Is Marlie okay?"

"Marlie's fine," his dad replied, speeding down the ramp. "We're going to the hospital."

"The hospital?" Jason repeated. The only time he had been to the hospital was when he'd broken his arm at the carnival. It had been horrible. The whole place smelled funny and they made you sit through all those awkward x-rays and everybody stared at you and prodded you where it hurt. "Why are we going to the hospital? Did Marlie break her arm?"

"Marlie's fine, Jason," his dad insisted. He took a sharp turn and Jason felt his stomach go in the other direction. They were speeding back onto the highway again. The hospital must be in the other direction from the house. "Your mom is having the baby."

"Cool! Did you hear that Ben?"

"Yeah. I hope its a boy."

"It's a girl, Ben. Mom already told you that."

His dad didn't say anything.

Five minutes later the car was swinging into the hospital parking lot. His dad was in a hurry — probably wanted to be there when the baby was born; Katie Hudgins got to be there when her little brother was born and she said it was really cool — and the car went up on the curb, banging loudly and jarring Jason.

"Get out of the car," his dad said, already shoving his door open. The key was still in the ignition but his dad wrenched it out a moment later. Jason fumbled with his buckle. "Now!" his dad shouted. It finally came undone and he started out of the car. His dad never got this worked up.

Dad was now nearly dragging Ben out of the backseat, and before Jason knew what was happening, he was running to keep up with his dad as the man raced into the hospital. "DAD!" Marlie shouted, coming out of nowhere. She had been crying — she still was. Was the baby ugly or something? It was worse than that, wasn't it?

"What's wrong, Marlie?" Ben asked.

Marlie didn't spare him a glance. "They took her in to have a c-section," she told Dad, breathing heavily. "They were saying — I don't know, its like a placental, um, a placental abruption or something. They think. They don't know for sure. I don't know," she said, shaking her head wildly and looking as if the whole world were about to come crashing down. "There was all this blood and —"

"Blood?" Jason exclaimed. No one paid him any mind.

"Where are the doctors?" Dad asked Marlie.

"I don't —"

"Hey, YOU!" A tall, balding man with a bright green clipboard looked up when their dad shouted loudly. "Where's my wife? Veronica Echolls? What's happening? My daughter brought her in and —"

"Calm down, sir," the doctor replied. "You're the husband? Logan Echolls?"

'YES, I'm the husband! Who the hell do you think I am?!"

"Calm down, sir. I was here when they brought her in. She's in surgery right now."

"Jay, what's going on?" Ben asked, tugging on Jason's shirt.

"Mom — Mom's in surgery," Jason replied, not taking his eyes away from the scene. He didn't understand. Nobody said you had to have surgery to have a baby. He glanced back and forth between Marlie, his dad, and the doctor, but no one was about to explain anything.

"What's wrong with her? Is she gonna be okay? What about the baby?"

"Calm down, sir; you need to calm down. She —"

"I WILL NOT CALM DOWN! TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK THEY'RE DOING TO MY WIFE!" Other people in the hospital were staring at them now, but neither Marlie nor Dad seemed to notice or care.

"She is in surgery," the doctor replied, not seeming very fazed by their dad's yelling. "We're not sure, but we suspect the abdominal pain and bleeding she experienced were due to a late-term placental abruption; it happens in about one percent of pregnancies —"

"What does that mean? Is she going to be okay?"

"The doctors are doing everything they can, Mr. Echolls —"

"They damn well better be or I'll sue this hospital into the ground!"

The doctor kept talking, their dad kept shouting, and Marlie kept crying. Jason had never been more confused. Something bad had happened to Mom. Was she going to be okay? She had to be okay. He thought suddenly of his friend Susan. She wasn't really his friend but she was pretty cool and when she was seven her mom had died and . . .

But Mom wasn't going to die . . . no way!

"LOGAN!"

Jason whirled around to see his grandpa and grandma running towards them.

"Mommy's in surgery, Grandpa!" Ben exclaimed, grabbing onto Grandma Alicia, who wrapped her arms around him.

"What's going on? What happened?"

"Veronica felt pain in her stomach and her — you know — started bleeding," Logan answered. "Marlie was with her and brought her in."

"Bleeding? I thought she only went into premature labor . . . bleeding is. . . ." Grandma Alicia looked worried; she was shaking her head, her eyes wide.

"They're doing a c-section," Dad answered, "and. . . ."

Jason stopped listening, his eyes locking on Marlie. She was crying so hard her face was contorted and she was rocking on her heels. "Marlie?" he asked, going closer to her. "What's going on? What happened to Mom?" Marlie clutched her mouth with her hand.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, YOU DON'T KNOW? THIS IS MY DAUGHTER WE'RE TALKING ABOUT!" Grandpa shouted.

"Sir, Mr. —"

"Sweetie," Grandma Alicia said, standing in front of Jason and blocking his view of his dad and grandpa chewing out the doctor. "Why don't you come with me to the cafeteria? We'll get something to snack on, okay? Come on. I'll get you anything you want."

"What's happening to my mom?" Jason demanded. "She's going to be okay, right?"

Grandma hesitated. "Right?" he repeated.

"Right," she said, giving a tight smile. "Let's get something to eat and leave the doctors to Dad and Grandpa, okay? Doctors are boring anyway, right? And I bet they have pudding in the cafeteria. . . ." Grandma Alicia began herding them away.

The last view Jason got of his family was his grandpa waving his hands about and yelling at the doctor, who had called over a nurse, and Marlie standing curled against their dad, his arm over her shoulder. Everything was going to be okay. Mom would get out of surgery and have a really cool scar and it'd all be okay.

"Grandma?" Ben began. "Is Mommy —?"

"Mommy's just fine," Grandma Alicia assured. "We'll even get her some pudding in the cafeteria. What flavor do you think she'll want?"

"Chocolate," Ben guessed. Grandma Alicia smiled.

"We'll get her chocolate, then. That's my favorite flavor, too. What flavor do you like?"

It would be okay. It would.

"You're up early," Mrs. Navarro said. She was sitting on the couch folding laundry.

"Yeah, couldn't sleep," he replied, slipping onto a stool at the kitchen counter. "You're here pretty early. When you said you liked working in the mornings I didn't realize you meant the crack of dawn."

She only smiled. When they'd moved to LA he hadn't sold the beach house; he was so attached to his first real home that he couldn't let it go. It was a good thing, too, because they were living in it once more until they found a more permanent place — and if Veronica got her way they would be finding a more permanent place outside of Neptune.

It was weird to be back in the little house, though; so much had changed since they'd lived there.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked kindly. He glanced over at her and she must have seen something in his expression. "I'm happy you're back, but you don't seem happy to be back," she told him. "What's the matter?" She put aside her laundry. She had gone on working for Keith after Logan and Veronica left; she only stopped by his house once a week and Keith paid her a little something, just enough that she didn't have to get another job. She was really too old to have any job, but there was only so much they could do about that.

Now that Logan and Veronica had moved back into town with Marlie in tow and another baby soon to come, Mrs. Navarro had volunteered to help Veronica around the house for free. Logan paid her for it despite her protests, but it was kind of nice thinking of the little old lady growing so fond of them.

"It's not that," he sighed. "It's . . . the baby."

She frowned. "Is everything okay with the baby? Veronica is healthy, yes?"

"Yeah, of course, that's fine, it's just . . . she's having a boy, did you know that?"

"I know, a sweet little chico. Marlie told me. She's excited to be a big sister." Mrs. Navarro smiled as she spoke of Marlie. She had always liked the little girl and Logan was pretty sure the older woman had first begun to like him and Veronica because she was impressed by their decision to raise Marlie.

He smiled. "It's all she talks about any more." He turned away, deciding to have a glass of water. Maybe that would make him feel better.

"But what's making you upset? You don't want a boy?"

"No, I want a boy," he said, using the tap to fill the glass before taking a sip. "It's nothing. Don't worry about it." She didn't say anything for a moment and he thought perhaps she had dropped the subject. But she hadn't.

"You'll be a good father," she said slowly. "Not like him."

He looked over at her to find that she was staring intently at him. How did she know he was thinking about . . . that? And how did she . . . ? "How . . . how do you know?" He almost felt ashamed asking it, but it was Mrs. Navarro. She had seen a hell of a lot worse than doubt from him before.

"I see you with Marlie. You're a good father. Better than my sons ever were. You will treat your son well. I know it." She gave him an encouraging smile, not breaking her steady gaze. Logan didn't know much about Mrs. Navarro's sons. He knew that Weevil was the son of one of her daughters, but that was about all he knew. He tried to imagine what it would be like to raise Marlie's kid because she didn't care enough. He couldn't fathom it. He thought suddenly of Lianne. He hadn't thought about her in a long time.

But it wasn't about Marlie, because Marlie . . . well, honestly. . . .

"But Marlie's . . . Marlie's a girl," he said, feeling as if he were admitting to some sort of sin by even alluding to it. "He never . . ." he paused. A part of him knew he shouldn't say anything. A part of him was desperate to nonetheless.

"He never touched Trina."

There. He'd said it. If only Veronica could have gotten pregnant with a girl. He could take care of a little girl; he knew it. He was doing an okay job with Marlie, wasn't he? But a boy . . . and how could he even say anything to Keith or Veronica? They would tell him it wasn't the same, that he wasn't like Aaron, but how would they know? They didn't understand. . . .

Mrs. Navarro stood up and came towards him, taking his hands in hers. "You are a good man, Logan Echolls. I knew the maids who worked for your parents got paid better than anyone else but I didn't know why until I went to work for him. He was a bad man, Logan. But you are not him. You might have become him. When you were young I thought you would. But you did not. You have not. You are a good man. Your son is lucky to have you."

"You really believe that?"

"I know it," she assured, squeezing his hand. "Veronica knows it. Marlie knows it. Keith knows it. You should know it, too. You are like Eli. You are a good man." She smiled again and finally released his hands, returning to the couch and the laundry.

"I've raised many children," she told him, starting to fold a shirt. "My children and my children's children. It is not easy. But you do a good job. Marlie is lucky she got you. Her real mama would not have taken good care of her. I know. Not good care at all. But you do. You give her all the love she needs. Just like you will for your son. You and Veronica are good parents. You have grown into good people." She gave him another smile and began to hum softly to herself.

Logan didn't know what to say. That was probably one of the longest conversations he had ever had with her, despite the fact that she had worked for his parents for years and had then worked for himself and for Keith. He took one last sip of water and then started back to the bedroom. He glanced over his shoulder before he disappeared into the dark room.

"Thanks," he said.

She smiled. "De nado."

Veronica was still sound asleep in bed. It was only seven in the morning, after all. Still, she was generally an early riser. She would probably be up soon. He crawled into bed beside her, slowly pulling back the sheets to reveal her large stomach. She was eight months pregnant now, and it still amazed him. He hoped it all went okay.

Wallace had gotten him a book about 100 things that could go wrong with a pregnancy, and things had been pretty scary for a while. It had come to a climax when a six months pregnant Veronica threatened to clobber him to death with an oven pan if he didn't give it a rest. Things were better now. She was healthy and in a month the baby would be born healthy and then. . . .

Well, then pigs would fly, because Logan Echolls would be a member of a standard family, complete with son and daughter, a new puppy, a cute little house and a happy marriage. Who knew it would ever happen? Even Mrs. Navarro had admitted she hadn't seen it coming.

"You're a good man," she'd told him. He let the words play over in his mind again and again. He ran his hand over Veronica's stomach. Was the baby sleeping too?

"I'll never hurt you," he whispered to her stomach, pressing a kiss to the stretched skin.

"Good," Veronica murmured sleepily back. "He's thrilled to hear it. Stop ogling me." Logan only smiled, pulling the covers back up and closing his eyes. It would be okay. It would.

"I don't drink coffee."

"That's why I got you Hot Chocolate." She drew her eyes away from their important task of staring at the wall and accepted the cafeteria cup he held out to her. He smiled but she couldn't return the favor.

"Thanks," she muttered. He sat down beside her, another cup in his own hands.

"I must say: Hospital coffee leaves something to be desired. That's not news, though, is it?" She didn't bother replying. "How are you doing?" he asked softly.

"Okay," she replied. "I'll be better when this is all over and my mom's not about to die."

"She's not going to die," he told her.

"You don't know that, and I'm not ten, so you can't convince me you do." He didn't say anything. That was something nice about him: sometimes he knew when not to say something. She sipped the Hot Chocolate. It was luke warm. That was probably better, wasn't it? She couldn't exactly drink it if it was scalding.

She hadn't eaten anything since lunch. "We're going Italian tonight."

"Do you know what caused it?" she asked suddenly, looking over at her grandfather.

"What?" he asked, looking startled.

"What caused her to have a, you know, torn placenta or whatever?" she asked. She had to know.

He started to shake his head. "Honey, I don't —"

"Was it because of stress? Can stress do that to a pregnant woman? I mean, I know stress is bad for them and stuff but . . . did I — did I do this? Because I've been so mean to her lately, and even when she was there for me and I knew, I knew that she was my mom, I was still yelling at her because of those stupid letters."

"Marlie," he said softly, "you did not cause this. Your mom knows you love her. I'm sure that this happened because . . . it happened. She's a tiny girl who's had multiple babies. Those aren't the best odds."

"But the stress couldn't have helped." He didn't seem to have a response, but she let him wrap an arm around her shoulder and press a kiss to the crown of her head.

"It's gonna be okay, kid. Just hold in there."

A few minutes later her grandma Alicia arrived back at the hospital and she ushered Grandpa Keith over to her, leaving Marlie by herself on the worn, hospital chairs. Grandma had taken Jason and Ben home to get some rest, and apparently she had found someone else to babysit them. She talked to Keith in a hushed voice. Marlie didn't care.

She looked down at the frayed edge of her seat. How many people had sat in this chair? How many people who sat in this chair finally stood from it only to learn from some doctor that someone they loved was dead? Wives, husbands, children, sisters, brothers, aunts, grandpas, mothers.

She wasn't going to be one of those people. As far as she could tell, the doctors were more worried about the baby. But if her mom lived and the baby died . . . that would still be her fault, too. And her parents would be devastated. Wasn't that the worse thing that could happen to a parent, losing a child?

Marlie glanced at her grandparents for a moment only to do a double-take. Clutched in her grandma's hands were, unmistakably, the letters. How had she gotten them? She must have found them at the house. Marlie hadn't exactly been paying much attention to them when she was hysterically crying and trying to get her pregnant mother to the hospital.

Suddenly Grandma Alicia and Grandpa Keith were both looking at her. As one, they came towards her. She didn't want to talk about it. She knew one of them must have been sending the letters back. She didn't want to hear their excuses.

"Honey, are these what you were fighting with your mom about?" her grandpa asked as they sat on either side of her. He was holding the letters out to her. She glared at the envelops as if they were to be blamed — cursed things.

"Yeah," she murmured.

"Sweetheart, I don't know what Lianne told you," Grandpa began. "But none of us have ever seen this letters. I think — we think — that maybe —"

"I don't care," she replied.

"Marlie —"

"I don't care. Okay? I just don't — I don't want to deal with it. My mom's in surgery. Either she's gonna die or my little sister's gonna die or . . . and even if they live I . . . and I just . . . I don't care about the stupid letters. It doesn't matter."

"Okay," Grandma Alicia murmured, running a hand over Marlie's hair and tucking a loose lock behind her ear. It was silent then. Marlie took another sip of her drink. It had gotten even cooler and was now a little gross. She wasn't thirsty anyway.

The next thing Marlie knew, she was being shaken awake. She wasn't sure when she had fallen asleep or even how — how could she possibly sleep when this was happening? But she had, and she blinked rapidly to clear away the grogginess. Pain shot through her neck and she realized she'd fallen asleep leaning on Grandma Alicia, who appeared to have left the conscious world, too.

Her grandpa was squatting in front of her. "Hey? Sleep good?"

"Fine," she said. "What — what's going on? Did something happen?" Alarm swam through her. Then he smiled and it looked genuine.

"Everything's fine," he assured. "Come with me. Grandma will be fine." She took his hand and let him lead her down the hall. Where was he taking her? To see her mom? How much time had passed?

He lead her into a room in the maternity ward, and there was her dad, his hands pressed to a clear box. She thought suddenly of all the doctor shows she'd seen on TV. "How's she doing?" Grandpa asked. Dad glanced back at them for a moment.

"She's doing okay. They got all the blood out."

Not sure what was going on, Marlie approached her dad and saw the occupant of the little plastic box: a tiny baby, small and pinkish with her eyes squeezed shut. Her sister. But what was she doing in a box? And there were . . . there were cords twisting all around her and in her. What had happened?

"Dad . . . ?" she asked as she stood beside him.

"She swallowed some blood so they had to pump her stomach. It's okay, though. They're giving her oxygen and have her hooked to an IV. They said it'll only be for a few days at most. She's gonna be okay." He finally looked away from the baby to muster a smile for her. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her to his side. "How are you doing? Get some sleep?"

"A little bit," she answered. His hand ran assuredly up and down her back. She looked at her little sister, born fighting. Her mother would be proud. "Have you thought of a name yet?" she asked.

"Not yet," her dad answered. "We didn't ever really . . . come to a consensus or anything. Unless we go with Tangerine."

"Tangerine?" Marlie repeated. "You're not serious, right?"

He glanced at her, a small, familiar smirk on his face. "And if I am?"

"Then I — I use whatever big sister vetoing powers I have and veto that. God, Dad." He only chuckled. It was quiet for a minute. She had to ask. She had to know. "How, ah, how's Mom? Is she — okay? Or —"

"Your mother's going to be just fine." Marlie and her dad both looked back to see the doctor who stood in the doorway smiling at them. She was a young, blonde woman with a pretty face; she looked smart and competent, the sort of doctor whose picture hospitals put in advertisements. "The surgery went very well. She's a healthy woman, your mother."

"So she's gonna be fine?" her dad asked.

"Yes, sir," the doctor answered, nodding her head. "The surgery went very well. She's sleeping now but she'll wake. It may be a little while; her body needs to rest. But she should be fine." Marlie felt relief flood her. It was all going to work out.

"You know," Marlie told the doctor, "I never really liked doctors, but I totally love you now."

The woman grinned. "Good to know. Now, Mr. Echolls, if you could come with me, I need you to sign a few things. . . ."

"Yeah, yeah, sure," he said, and he left with the woman. Marlie looked over at her grandpa, who was smiling widely now.

"I knew she would pull through," he said. "She's too stubborn not to."

"So, that's it?" Marlie asked. "It's all over?"

"Looks like it," Grandpa replied, coming towards her. "It was a placental abruption, as they thought, but they got her into surgery right away and were able to get the baby out without a problem. She swallowed a little blood, like your father said, but she's going to be fine, too." He let out a soft chuckle, glancing down at his tiny granddaughter, and Marlie could see tears gleaming in his eyes.

She glanced at her sister. All the time that she had been fighting with her parents, all the time she'd been living with Lianne, all the time she had thought her world was coming apart, this little girl was safely inside her mother. She thought suddenly of the movie Look Who's Talking. If babies were really like that, could really think and understand what was going on around them, what did her little sister think of her, the girl who was so mean to the woman who served so kindly as a warm, squishy incubator?

"I'll make it up to you and to her," Marlie whispered, touching the glass as if to touch her sister, just as her father had been doing earlier.

She visited her sleeping mother, whispering words to the pale, small woman she loved so much, but her grandpa had finally prodded her into going home with him and grandma. Her father stayed at the hospital, telling them he would follow in a few hours. On the car ride home Marlie thought of her unnamed little sister, of her mother who lay sleeping in the hospital, smelling not like herself but instead like the sterile smell of hospitals.

But it would all be okay. Still, Marlie couldn't sleep. She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking about it all, about Lianne and her mother and the letters and her father and her grandparents and her sister and everything.

When she heard the front door opening downstairs, she slipped from her bed, hoping it would be who she thought it was. She was right: her father was popping open a beer when she came downstairs. The kitchen clock said it was past four in the morning. "Is everything still okay?" she asked.

He glanced over at her. "Everything's still fine," he assured. He looked tired but he gave her a small smile. "You can't sleep?" She shook her head. "I don't think I could either. Want something to drink?"

"Beer?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I was going to suggest orange juice."

She only smiled. 'I'll get it." He sat down at the table and it was silent as she poured herself the juice, glancing back at him to see him staring off into space as he drank his beer. It was light beer, something her mother had begun insisting he drink a few years ago, along with adding salads to his dinner. "Don't think I haven't noticed what might be a gut starting to form," her mother told him. It occurred to Marlie suddenly that her dad put up with a lot from her mom and still loved her so much.

She wanted someone like that someday, to put up with her that way, to love her that way.

"How'd your talk with Lianne go?" he asked her at last.

"Okay. She showed me a box of stuff, pictures and a baby blanket. I think she really does love me."

"Nobody ever doubted that. Okay, well, maybe we did, but it's not like we're mad that she does." He smiled a little, as though to lighten the mood. She didn't need it lightened.

"But I'm coming home," she told him, not letting her gaze waver and making sure her voice held all the finality her statement containted. She meant it. And she was happy to see the slight curve of a smile on her father's face as he took another swallow of beer. When he put the beer back down, though, he looked as if he were preparing himself for something.

"Did she . . . did she tell you about your father?" he asked.

"She told me he was her college sweetheart Craig," Marlie answered. "She said that he . . . he wasn't exactly the greatest guy in the world."

He sighed. "There's kind of more to the story. I don't know if she was telling the truth when she talked to me — I don't know why she would lie — but —"

"It doesn't matter," she cut him off. "I don't need to know. If he doesn't want to be a part of my life or can't or whatever it doesn't matter. I have Grandpa and Uncle Wallace and Uncle Dick and I . . . I have you. That's the best part. I've always had you." She smiled.

"You want to know a secret?" he asked, grinning a little. She nodded. "When you were really little and I would take care of you, I tried to teach you to call me Dad. I never told anybody. They were all so shocked when it worked."

"Really?" she laughed.

"Yeah," he said. "I was sneaky like that."

"Oh, I'm sure." They smiled at each other for a moment, but she couldn't help asking, "Why did you . . . why did you want me to call you Dad? Why were you willing to raise me and stuff?"

"It's complicated," he answered. "For starters, I loved your mom . . . a lot. For a while there she was really the only family I had. And I — I would look at you and think about how my mom dove off a bridge instead of sticking by me and I . . . I felt like maybe I could make up for how bad my family was by being good to you. And . . . I never thought I would have kids. I thought I would just screw 'em up if I did. But for a wealthy, privileged kid who never went by the rules and never wanted kids, I got attached to little baby you pretty damn fast."

He smiled. "That sort of the stuff . . . it's not what you plan. Most of life isn't. But if you can take the hits, take the bad stuff in stride, then the good stuff will be all the better. You'll be able to appreciate it and . . . and realize it's good when other people wouldn't."

"That's very . . . poetic," she said slowly.

"You say that as if I'm not a poetic person."

She grinned. "Oh, no, Dad, you're an amazing poet, really." She looked down at her orange juice. "You know what I was thinking about in the hospital?" she asked. He looked at her curiously, waiting for her to go on. "I think . . . and get ready, 'cause this is real poetic — I think the best things in life are also the worst."

"That is very poetic," he replied.

"No, I mean think about it. Like, take food, for example. The best food in the world is also really unhealthy. Popcorn with melted chocolate on top is so good but its also a gazzilion calories. And also . . . family. Families are . . ."

"Messy?" he suggested.

"Yeah. Families are messy. But they're pretty cool, too."

He laughed a little. "Cool, huh?"

"Is there a problem with that?"

"No, no, of course not."

She finished the rest of her orange juice. "I think I'm going to try and get some more sleep," she told him, setting the glass on the counter. "As soon as I wake up, though, we're going to see Mom."

He nodded. "Before you go to bed, though," he said, turning towards her. "Your grandpa told me about the letters. Do you want to, ah, talk about them or something?"

"It's okay. I'll want to eventually, I guess, but . . . it was probably Grandma Keith or Grandma Alicia who sent them back, right? Probably doing it in my best interest or something. And I guess it was, but still. . . ."

"Actually, I was talking with your grandpa and he claims it wasn't them."

"Then who was it?"

He sighed. "Do you remember your nanny very well?"

She frowned. "I had a nanny?"

"Sort of," he answered hesitantly. "She was also a kind of maid."

"A maid?" Marlie repeated in disbelief. "Mom allowed you to employ a maid? Does Uncle Dick know about this? Because he would definitely rip Mom a new one if he did."

"He knew. You really don't remember her at all?" She thought back. She did remember someone, an older woman who smelled the way you imagined little old ladies were supposed to smell. Not really a bad smell, just a little old lady smell. She used to sing to her in Spanish, Marlie thought.

"I sort of remember," she said. "She was . . . she was related to us somehow, right?"

"She was Weevil's grandmother, if that's what you mean. You used to call her Nana."

She did remember. She couldn't believe she had forgotten her. "Where is she now?" The last time she'd seen her was probably right after Jason was born and before they'd moved to Virginia.

"She died a little while ago," her father said. "Years ago, actually, when you were nine or ten. Her name was Lettie Navarro."

"Okay. But what — what does that have to do with anything?" He didn't say anything at first and it occurred to her suddenly what he was implying. "Wait, you think Nana, my old sort of nanny and sort of maid, sent the letters back? Why would she care?"

"I don't think that; your grandpa does — though I guess it makes sense. Mrs. Navarro was nearly living with your grandpa and your mom when you were really little, and she was still around for a while after you were born. Keith said that even when she was only doing a few chores for him, she always got the mail, but he never really thought much on it. If Lianne was sending the letters to Keith. . . ."

"But that still doesn't make sense," Marlie argued, repeating, "Why would she care?"

"Mrs. Navarro raised Weevil and a lot of his cousins because her own children were incapable. I think she knew a little something about people other than the parents raising kids. We were all pretty sure that you were better off with us — I think that's why your grandpa only tried so much to find Lianne — but while we were pretty sure, Mrs. Navarro was positive."

"That seems so . . . strange to me." He nodded.

"We don't know for sure," he said, "but I think if your grandpa or grandma had done it, they'd admit to it, and if it's not them, who else would it be but her?" Marlie had to admit it made sense.

"I wish I could talk to her," Marlie said softly. "But it doesn't . . . I don't think it really makes a difference. Sending letters doesn't make her any better of a person, right? And besides . . . Nana, Mrs. Navarro, whoever, was right. I am better off with you and Mom. As soon as I get the chance, I'm packing my stuff up and bringing it home. Uncle Wallace was here earlier looking after Jason and Ben and he said he'd help me."

Her dad nodded. "You know that if you want to stay with Lianne, you — you can." He looked as if it pained him to say it, but he said it nonetheless. "Hopefully we'll still see you a lot, but if it's important to you to get to know her, you can live with her. . . . And you'll always have a home here no matter what."

"I know," she replied, coming closer to him. "I know that you'd let me live with her and that you'd always welcome me back. And that's . . . that's why I belong here." She smiled at him, and he ran his knuckles across her check.

"When the monsters under the bed are big and hairy, who do you call?" he asked her. It had been so long since they'd played this game, even though she'd loved it when she was little. She wasn't little any more, but she still loved him.

"My daddy," she answered.

"When the bullies at school are big and bag, who do you call?" he asked.

"My daddy," she repeated.

"When Mrs. Kemp's dog is slobbering all over you, who do you call?" he asked.

She laughed, remembering the large black dog that should have come with a warning on his collar. "My daddy," she told him.

"That's my girl."

"Ah, my first born."

Marlie smiled at the sight of her mother, propped up against fifty pillows and wide awake. The color had returned to her cheeks. She really was okay. "Hey Mom," she greeted. Her father had been by the hospital while Marlie was still asleep and when he came home he told her she could go on in and see her mom if she wanted.

Marlie suspected he wanted to give her a chance to talk with her mom by herself.

"Are you just going to stand there and stare at me?" Veronica asked.

"Does that bother you?"

"Come here," Veronica demanded, not answering her question. "You dad told me about the letters and how you claim it's all okay. Is it . . . all okay?" She could sense the slight wariness behind her mother's words, as if Veronica expected Marlie to start yelling at her again. Guilt flooded her.

"It is. I talked to Lianne on the phone earlier," Marlie told her. "I still want to get to know her, but she'll . . . she'll never be my mom. I already have one."

Veronica grinned. "If I knew all it took to get that out of you was a little blood, I would have been sure to do something about that earlier," she said.

"Okay, it is way too soon for you to be joking about that," Marlie said, sitting down on the edge of her mother's bed.

"Did you see the baby? They brought her in earlier. They said she's really strong and if she keeps it up, she'll be off the oxygen and IV by this time tomorrow. Of course any child of mine would only need a machine to stay alive for so long. The women in this family are stronger than that." Her mother seemed almost proud of her newborn, and Marlie found that rather amusing.

"I know. She's not really very cute, though," Marlie teased. "I give her a 7.5 out of 10."

"Hey! She had a hard entrance into this world. Be nice." Her mom was smiling and she looked so happy, much happier than she had seemed in a long time.

"Mom, can I say something?"

"What happens if I say no?"

"Mom, please. Be serious."

It looked as if her mom were trying hard not to smile. But Marlie had to get this out; she had to, and her mom would just have to hold in her strange, bubbly mood for a moment. "Okay. Go on."

"I love you. And I have a feeling I'm going to be really mean to you again. I'm not the world's greatest kid. But I do love you. And I want you to know that, so the next time I yell at you, you know and . . . and yeah. That's it. I love you."

Her mom reached out to her, and the next thing Marlie knew she was lying curled up beside her Mom, her head on her mother's should and her mother's hand running over her hair. "I love you, too, Marlie. You might not be the world's greatest kid, but you are top ten, at least." Marlie smiled. Her mother smelled like her mother again.

"Good to know." She paused. "And if you get pregnant again, I swear I won't do anything to complicate the pregnancy." Her mother snorted. "What? I won't!"

"No," her mom replied, "you definitely won't because I am not getting pregnant again. Much as I love all my children, none of you were exactly planned and I think four is plenty." A few months ago Marlie would have found some reason to resent that statement. It didn't sound bad at all, now, though.

"So how do you know you won't have another unplanned one?" Marlie questioned, imagining what her mother would do if she got pregnant again. It would be a lucky kid, though. Anyone who had Veronica Echolls for a mom was lucky. Jason and Ben were lucky. The little pink bundle in a glass box was lucky. Marlie was lucky. There was no way to deny that. If there was such a thing as fate, and it honestly thought her mom wasn't meant to be a mother, fate sure got a kick in the ass from Veronica Echolls.

"Because I just spoke to some very nice doctors," her mother replied. "And he doesn't know it yet, but someone is getting a vasectomy this afternoon."

It was good to be Marlie Echolls again.

Fin.

A/N: That's it! That's the end. I could have dragged it out a little longer but I think it was best ending like this. Please review! While I've written VM before this was the first VM story I really poured myself into -- it's kind of taken over my life, as of late -- and I'd love to know what everything thinks of the story as a whole :) And thanks to all who have reviewed before now!

Fic: Truth Be Told, part 9

Thu, 09 Jul 2009 05:30:38 GMT

She slowly put the phone down. Something must have happened at the party. Right? But why wouldn't Marlene come home? A cynical voice in her head told her that Marlene did go home, but home wasn't with her. She sighed. There was no way to . . . maybe it would have been better for her never to have come back to Neptune.

She had thought that often in the time since her return.

But how could she resist? She really was sober. She was finally rid of Craig, and she was tired of sacrificing everything. And Marlene had understood, Marlene had . . . had moved in with her, had let her be a mother again. At least, she had until she spent the night with Logan and Veronica.

The doorbell rang. Wondering if it was Marlene — hoping it was Marlene — she slowly stood and answered the door. She hadn't expected to see Logan Echolls standing on her door mat staring at her. "Hi Lianne," he said. "Can I come in?"

It took her a moment to gather her wits. "Ah . . . of course, of course, come in," she finally said, stepping aside and opening the door wide enough to allow him entrance. He really was tall. She lead him to her living room. Marlene's backpack was leaning against the couch. He stared at it for a moment. "Would you — would you like something to ear or drink or —?"

"I'm fine, thanks," he replied. She nodded nervously.

"Well, then, please just . . . have a seat," she offered. He sat on the couch and she slowly sank into the opposite chair. What was he doing here? It had to be about Marlene. It had to be. He was a handsome man, in his own way. He had been a cute kid, all knees and elbows. She could still remember him coming over to the house to play video games with Veronica. She would tease her daughter about it, asking if she liked-liked Logan, and Veronica would always say. "Mom! Logan likes Lilly."

Then Veronica had started dating Duncan and Logan had started dating Lilly and the four of them were inseparable but Lianne couldn't stand to see them together, because. . . . A lot had changed since then. Logan Echolls had gone from the twelve-year-old who played video games with her daughter to the man who married her older daughter and raised her younger one. And now he was sitting on her couch in her living room and staring intently at her. She shifted nervously. "Do you —?" she began.

He cut her off. "My daughter was attacked last night." She stared at him in shock. "My daughter." His eyes were burning. "I let her move in with you because it was what she wanted. But it's your job to protect her — I'm not sure how much experience you have in this, but mothers are supposed to protect their children." His voice was cutting.

"I didn't —" she said, shaking her head.

"She's a kid. Do you understand that? She's a kid. She might not realize it, but she still needs people to take care of her. You want to show up out of the blue and take her away from the people raised her and have been taking care of her for the last sixteen years? Fine. But that means you have to start taking care of her."

"If I had known —" she started, swallowing thickly, her mind whirling with images of all the horrible things that could have happened to Marlene. "Is she okay?"

"Is she okay? You're asking that now? Yeah, she's okay, but you're a little late in asking. Weren't you worried about her? She's a teenager who didn't come home! Didn't you care even a little?"

"Of course I cared!" she protested. "But I went to bed a few hours after she left and I didn't realize that she hadn't come home until —"

"Who's her father?" he asked abruptly, taking her by surprise. "Is he going to come looking for her? Is he going to try and take her away from me?"

"No, he's not, I swear, he's not," she assured him.

"Who is he?" he pressed, staring at her so keenly she felt at any moment he would lunge and attack her. But he wouldn't. She knew that. She knew the sort of men that hit women, and one look at him revealed he wasn't that sort of man. Still, he was so angry and. . . . It wasn't her fault! She had tried so hard to make amends and. . . . "Who is he?"

"Jake Kane."

There. She had said it. She had admitted it. He stared at her for a moment, as if he had half-known what she would say but now that she had he could barely believe it. "Jake Kane," he repeated slowly, as if trying to process the information. She stood, crossing her arms over her chest and looking out the window.

Maybe if she just said it all, it could finally be put to bed and. . . .

"I love him. Even after all these years, I love him." The words came out at a near whisper. "I probably always will. I always have. I loved Keith, too, but Jake just . . . if there's such a thing as soul mates, I think he's mine." Logan said nothing and if he had any sort of reaction to her words, she didn't see. She only stared out the window, remembering.

"I ended up with my college sweetheart Craig after I left Keith and Veronica. He lost his job, though, and he started hitting me and I left him and ended up . . . ended up with Jake. It was only for a few weeks. He — he finally told me it was a bad idea. Said he was working on his marriage with Celeste." She felt bitterness rise in her. What was so amazing about Celeste?

"I went back to Craig. I had no where else to turn, and he promised me . . . he promised me he wouldn't hurt me again. I found out I was pregnant a few weeks later, he didn't keep his promise and I . . . I wound up going to the last safe place I knew: Keith."

She finally turned back to him. He sat on the couch, watching her. "I wanted to start over. But Veronica wouldn't let me. And I didn't belong with her or Keith anymore. I hadn't in a long time. So I had the baby and I left with her, hoping at least Veronica could thank me for that, but . . . but I couldn't do it on my own. I was so lonely and scared and —" She felt tears building; she could still remember vividly how she sat in the hotel room by herself, desperate to make Marlene stopping crying and just wanting something to drink and someone to take care of her.

"I shouldn't have just left her there. But I didn't know what else to do. It was so hard to just leave . . . just like it was hard to walk out on Veronica all those years ago but I . . . I knew if I went back to Craig with a baby he would hurt her and. . . ."

"But you went back to him," Logan said, finally speaking again. "You went back to a man that hit you." She could see the disgust in his eyes. He must think her as weak as Veronica imagined her to be; he did, after all, marry her tough, hardened daughter. He would expect nothing less of women than to be as tough as his wife.

"I never said I was proud of the decisions I've made," she said, bitterness thick on her tongue again. Her life hadn't exactly turned out the way she planned. It was silent for a moment.

"Does . . . does Jake know?" Logan finally asked. "Does he know that Marlie is . . . ?"

"He knows. I told him, when she was about three, that . . . I missed her so much and I hoped maybe that he . . . I thought it would. . . ." She had gone to see him at his office. She had been planning it for weeks, planning how she would reveal the truth to him. He had lost his daughter to murder and his son had runaway but she . . . she could give him a new hope, a new child. He would take her away from Craig and they would get Marlene and raise her together and maybe together they would even find Duncan and. . . .

He hadn't reacted like that at all. Not even close.

"What did he say?" pressed Logan.

"He said he couldn't handle a daughter. He said it sounded as if I had already given her up and that it wouldn't be easy to get her back and maybe it would be better for everyone if . . . if he didn't claim her." The silence that came then threatened to stretch into forever. "He even," she said at long last, willing her voice not to tremble, "he even offered me money."

She still couldn't believe he had done that to her. Had treated her like that. He was not the man she had known in high school. He was a broken shell of that man, and Lianne hated Celeste for what he had become. "I didn't take it," she went on, "but when Craig died last year he left all sorts of debts and I . . . I went back to Jake and demanded the money. He gave it. I used it to. . . ." She met Logan's gaze.

"Craig couldn't hurt me or Marlene once he was dead, and with the money I could support myself and I could . . . it was my real chance to start over, don't you see? Marlene and I could start fresh! I never meant to hurt Veronica or Keith or anyone but . . . I waited a long time to get my baby back."

Logan nodded slowly and stood. "Marlie didn't need to start fresh. She had us. She still does. If you want to be a part of her life and she doesn't mind, then that's fine. But Veronica will always be her mom. And she's not Jake Kane's daughter. She's my daughter. I wanted her; I claimed her. That's not going to change because your circumstances have."

He turned away from her, not giving her a chance to say a word, and started out of the living room. He grabbed Marlene's backpack as he went. She wanted to say something; she wanted to stop him. Desperation clawing at her insides, she called out his name, following hot on his heels.

He turned to her with one hand on the doorknob. "Just imagine that — Veronica's pregnant, right?" He nodded silently. "Okay and, and just imagine that the only way to keep that baby safe was to give her up. To let someone else raise her. You would do it, wouldn't you? But — but the moment you had the chance you would want her back."

"It's not that simple, Lianne," he told her. "You didn't have to go back to Craig. No one was forcing you. That was your choice. It was a fucking stupid choice, even if you were smart enough to know you couldn't take Marlie with you. But it was your choice. And honestly? Even if you didn't have a choice, Marlie's a person. You can't expect her to live her life according to yours. Once you do something, you can't always go back and fix everything."

He left then, before she could stop him. Not that she had the right words to stop him. She didn't have any words. And for what was surely the millionth time, Lianne wished that she could close her eyes and open them to a new world, to a better world, to one that had gone another way, a different way, any other way.

"Mommy, if you could have anything in the whole world, what would it be?" Marlie asked. They were sitting on a bench, waiting for Logan to return. They had celebrated the New Year with dinner and a movie and were now walking along the beach. They'd had to make a pit stop for ice cream, though. Logan had been sent on the errand.

Marlie was wrapped up in her brand new Christmas coat, a bright blue and green knit hat from Alicia on her head and her beloved stuffed panda clutched tightly under one arm. Her cheeks were pink from the cold but she looked up at Veronica eagerly. "Mommy?"

"Anything at all?" Veronica asked. "Hmm, I don't know. That's a pretty big question. A pony, maybe."

"A pony?" Marlie repeated, her eyes wide with wonder. "What sort of pony?"

"A pretty pony," Veronica answered knowingly.

"I want a pony, too!" Marlie exclaimed. Veronica only grinned. "But I want something else, too," Marlie went on, looking as if she had rehearsed this. "Ask me what I want, Mommy."

"What do you want?" Veronica asked.

"No, ask me what I want more than anything in the whole world. Even more than a pony!" Marlie looked up at her as if it were the most important question in the world. Giving a puzzled smile, Veronica played along.

"What do you want more than anything in the whole world?" she asked.

Sitting up straight, Marlie told her importantly, "For you to marry Daddy."

Veronica stared.

"And I've pa-papared a list of reasons why you should," Marlie went on, and it was clear she was not coming up with this on her own. Veronica was still dumbstruck "First, it's easy for you to pay taxes. And get health 'surance and stuff." Veronica couldn't help but smile a little at that.

"Is that so?"

"Mmm-hmm," Marlie nodded.

"Second, Mommies and Daddies are su'posted to be married," Marlie told her, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, Mommy, everybody knows that!"

"Wow. Everybody?"

"Everybody." She smiled at Veronica.

"Are there any other reasons?"

"Oh! Yeah!" she said, her eyes bright. "Also number third, you should marry Daddy 'cause you love him lots and people who love each other lots should be married, like Grandpa Keith and Grandma Alicia. And —"

It was then that Marlie glanced past her and Veronica realized her little four-year-old was looking at someone else. Veronica whipped her head around and found a smirking Logan standing a few feet away. "How long have you been standing there?" Veronica demanded.

"I think I can take it from here, Marlie."

"Did I do a good job?" asked Marlie as he came to stand in front of the bench.

"You did a very good job."

"Thank you!"

"You're welcome." Logan faced Veronica. He got down on one knee.

"How long have you been planning this?" she asked. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen this coming. She had been sure she would know weeks in advance; he was never any good at keeping things from her, not even surprises. He only smiled, not answering her question.

"Veronica Mars," Logan began. "When I first met you, your hair was in pigtails, you had grass stains on your knees, and you were the hottest soccer player I'd ever seen."

"Logan . . ."

"Now we've had a rocky relationship and I'll be the first to admit that I did not see this moment coming for a very long time. But I love you, Veronica. I love everything about you, even your ingrained suspicious paranoia. I've had my heart broken, by you and by others, but as long as I've got you, I'll be okay. I'm ready for a lifetime of Veronica Mars." He pulled out a box, opening it to reveal the ring. "Marry me, Veronica."

"I . . . I can't believe this," Veronica finally said. He was grinning up at her. She glanced down at the ring. It twinkled up at her tastefully. He always did have good tastes in jewelry. She had known he would propose to her eventually; they were raising a kid together, for God's sake. . . .

But marriage was still so. . . .

"Mommy, do you want to know what I think?" Marlie asked. She scooted closer to Veronica on the bench until she was right up beside her. She tugged at Veronica's sleeve. "Mommy!"

"What do you think?" Veronica asked, not taking her eyes away from Logan on bended knee and the ring in his hand.

"I think you should marry him," Marlie said. "I would, but Daddy says I'm too little to be married. He says I can't get married 'till I'm forty." Veronica chuckled despite herself, and she and Logan both glanced at the little toddler who was smiling at them, so pleased with her performance.

Veronica met Logan's gaze again. When she'd first kissed him, when they'd gone out, when they'd come together again the summer before Hearst, all along, she'd been unable to imagine marrying him . . . or anyone, for that matter. Marriage was a reckless endeavor; it was just setting yourself up for disappointment and heart ache.

But at that moment, she saw it.

She saw herself marrying Logan Echolls and it . . . it wasn't so scary.

"Veronica?" Logan asked. There was the first trace of doubt in his voice. "I don't care when or where. I just want to be married to you."

Veronica turned to Marlie. "You know what I want more than anything in the whole world?" she asked her daughter, smiling and trying not to cry. She so did not need to start crying.

"A pony?" Marlie guessed.

"Even more than a pony," said Veronica.

"What?" asked Marlie.

"To marry your daddy."

"To — to marry — YAY! Did you hear that, Daddy? Did you hear it? It worked! Our plan worked!" Marlie jumped from the bench, twirling around in excitement.

"I heard it, baby," Logan said, his eyes on Veronica. She smiled at him, her hand clasping over the ring box. The next thing she knew, he was kissing her. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, the velvet box clutched tightly in her hand, and she was kissing him at nine o'clock at night on a bench in the middle of the street.

And she was barely conscious of Marlie standing up on the bench, shouting out to the passersby, "MY MOMMY AND DADDY ARE GETTING MARRIED!"

"What do you want to know?"

Her parents sat side by side on the couch, looking at her, ready for any questions. This is what she had wanted all along. Why had it taken so long?

"Why did Lianne leave you when you were my age?" she asked. Had Veronica truly been threatened? It wasn't as if Marlie didn't believe the older woman; she simply knew there was more to the story . . . there had to be more to the story.

"Celeste Kane wanted to get rid of her," her mom answered. "I should have told you this when Lianne first came back but . . . there was a time, when I was your age, when I didn't know if your grandpa Keith was really my father."

Marlie could only stare. "What . . .?"

"Lianne cheated on Keith," her father said, picking up where his wife had left off. "She didn't know if he was really Veronica's father and it didn't come out until we were in high school. And Lianne was . . . she —"

"She was cheating on him again, with Jake Kane, again. She claims she wasn't, but . . . but Celeste tried to get rid of her with threatening photos of me," her mom explained. "That's why she fled. Celeste told her to or else."

Marlie was barely listening; her mind was stuck on the fact that had just been revealed. "Grandpa Keith isn't your real dad?" she asked.

"No, no," Veronica said, "he is. I didn't know it for a while, but there eventually was a paternity test and he was proved to be my father. Even if he hadn't been, though, biologically, I mean, he still would have been my father. But I . . . it made me resent Lianne, because not only had she left, but she had — she nearly took away my father, who had stayed, who was all I had at that point."

There was silence as Marlie tried to take it in. "When did she come back? Lianne?" she finally asked.

"I found her," Veronica said. "I had been looking for her ever since she'd left. I finally found her, got the full story out of her. But she was an alcoholic and she needed help. I paid for her to get sober. I wanted her to come home. I wanted my mom back."

"But when she came home —," Marlie said, trying to put all the pieces together.

"She was still an alcoholic," her mom told her, nodding. "She had wasted my money."

Again, no one said anything immediately.

"It was around the same time," Veronica finally went on, "that we discovered who really killed Lilly. Apparently Lianne couldn't handle it all, because she left again, taking with her what little money your grandpa and I had. I didn't see her again until she came to us six months pregnant."

"And how — how old was I when she left?"

"She actually . . . she took you with her when she left the hospital," Veronica said, and it seemed suddenly as if it pained her to speak of it all. "Two weeks later you were found alone in a hotel room. We didn't see or hear from her again until she came back a few months ago."

"She left me in a . . . hotel room?" Marlie asked in disbelief.

"There was a note," her dad said. "Your grandpa saved it and he gave it to us to show you." He held the folded paper out to her, and the room was quiet as she took it, slowly unfolding it and reading it. Her mother sounded as if she really loved her, but . . . but a hotel room? What if someone had taken her and . . . done something . . . bad or something?

"So . . . you two decided that you would raise me instead?" she asked, handing the note back to her father.

"Simply put," her mom replied, "yes." Her mom sighed. "There's something you need to understand. I was the only person who could be your legal guardian, but Keith still could have been the one to raise you. But he didn't because I . . . I chose to raise you. I wanted to."

Marlie didn't want to start crying again. She really didn't. She wouldn't. She refused.

"Do you, ah, do you have any other questions?" her dad finally asked.

"Do you ever wish," Marlie began softly, looking down at her chipped blue nail polish, "some times . . . do you ever wish you hadn't decided to raise me?" She met her mother's gaze at last. It was a stupid question, she knew, but. . . .

"There are lots of things I regret in my life," Veronica said slowly, "so much I would change and do differently, and I think sometimes I think about all the things I would change too much. But one thing that I have never, ever regretted and never will is my decision to raise you as mine. Never, Marlie. Not once. I promise you: you have never been a regret." She spoke with such conviction, her eyes so fierce, that Marlie felt the words burn into her.

Veronica glanced at Logan and when Marlie did the same he looked back and forth between them for a minute before telling her, pointing his thumb at her mom, "What she said." Marlie let out a soft chuckle, Veronica shook her head at him, and he smiled at her.

"So," her mom asked, "does this mean you're coming home?"

She went to Lianne's house. She had talked with her parents but she still needed to talk with Lianne. She still had questions. Lianne hugged her when she arrived at her house and it was awkward. Though Marlie had been living with her, they hadn't often showed one another any real physical affection.

"I was so worried about you," Lianne told her as they sat down in the kitchen and Lianne gave her a diet Dr. Pepper. "Is everything okay? Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"No, I . . . I'm okay. It's gonna be okay." She popped open her soda can but didn't make a move to drink from it. "I actually wanted to talk to you about . . . about everything. I'm just so . . . confused and I don't even know what to think or feel anymore." She finally looked up at Lianne. "I really want to get to know you. And I . . . I want to be a — a daughter to you, but I don't think . . . I don't want to hurt you, but I don't think I belong here."

"Sweetheart," Lianne said softly, reaching for Marlie and grasping her hand. "I know that this is hard for you. I know it's a lot to handle and that it's a lot of change. And I would never ask anything of you that you couldn't handle. But . . . moving in here, it was a big deal, and it's going to take some time to get used to."

Marlie didn't know what to say. Lianne seemed to realize that. She stood slowly and went to the pantry under the stairs. "What are you doing?" Marlie called as she heard Lianne began to rummage around out of view. A moment later she emerged holding a shoebox.

She placed it down on the table and pushed it towards Marlie. "I think this will help."

Marlie felt she was entering a world she didn't want to enter when she lifted the lid off the box, but she couldn't say no. The box was filled to the brim with things. There was a blanket, a soft pink one that seemed new it had been used so little.

"That's your baby blanket," Lianne told her. "I took it with me when I . . . when I was so selfish as to leave you. I thought you would be better off with Keith and Veronica, but I knew I was going to miss you so much, so I took the blanket because it smelled like you."

Marlie gingerly lifted the blanket from the box. She already had a baby blanket. It had dancing penguins on it. Her dad had gotten it for her, and it was so tattered and frayed now that it looked pathetic. But she still kept it in her room, a fond reminder of the childhood she had loved. This blanket didn't remind her of anything at all. But it was soft and . . . and there were tears in Lianne's eyes.

She put the blanket aside gently and reached into the shoebox for a stack of pictures. The first showed a tall man with black hair. He wore jeans and a black t-shirt; his hands were greasy and he was leaning against a partially restored car. "That's Craig," Lianne murmured. Marlie stared at the picture for a moment, finally putting it aside to find a picture of a tiny little baby held in Lianne's arms.

"Is this . . . ?" she began.

"You?" Lianne said, a slight smile to her voice. "Yes, that's you in the hospital on the day you were born. You were such a beautiful baby." Marlie stared at the picture for a long time. There was one just like it, framed and sitting on her grandpa's mantel. But in his picture it wasn't Lianne holding a little newborn Marlie; it was Veronica.

Before Marlie could go to the next photo, however, her eyes caught on something else in the box. A stack of letters tied with a ribbon sat innocently there in that box, and clear on the top envelope was black cursive writing that said Return to sender. Marlie put the pictures aside, reaching in for the letters. As she had suspected, they were all addressed to Keith or Veronica or even Marlene Mars. They were all from Lianne. And they all were unopened with the words Return to sender written on them.

"What are these?" Marlie breathed.

"Letters that I wrote to you. I sent them to Marlene Mars at first, but when that didn't get me anywhere I tried writing to Keith and Veronica. Every single letter was sent back unopened." Her voice was soft and sad. "The first one is from when you were only two. I eventually gave up a few years later. I knew no one would ever show you the letters or answer any of my . . . questions. I wasn't going to take you away from them; I just . . . I wanted to make sure you were okay, but. . . ."

"You sent them letters and they never told me?" Marlie asked, frowning as she finally looked away from the letters to look up at Lianne. "They never even read a single one?"

"The first. I should have said that. The first was opened. But that was it." She came to sit beside Marlie at the table. "You can read them now. I know this might be too little, too late, but I want you to know that even if I wasn't around, I always cared about you."

Marlie couldn't believe it. She had just talked to her parents. They had made it clear that they hadn't heard from Lianne after she'd left Marlie with them. But they had heard from her. Lianne hadn't completely abandoned her. "Do you want to stay for dinner?" Lianne asked softly.

"I need to talk to my parents," Marlie said, standing up abruptly and clutching the letters to her chest. "But I'll . . . I'll come back for dinner, okay?" She mustered a smile for Lianne, and the older woman smiled in return, nodding.

"Okay."

She sped the entire way back to her house. Why did this all have to happen to her? Why couldn't everything just go back to a mere semblance of normalcy? Why did the hits have to keep coming? She pushed open the backdoor and entered the kitchen, the letters heavy in her hand. Her mother was making dinner. "Marlie!" her mom exclaimed happily on sight of her. "I was hoping you'd be back in time. We're going Italian tonight."

"Where's Dad?" Marlie asked. Veronica must have noticed her mood, because her mother frowned, wiping her hands on a dish towel and coming towards Marlie.

"He and Ben went to pick up Jason from basketball practice. Is everything okay? Did something happen?"

"How come you didn't tell me about the letters?" Marlie demanded. "You made it sound like Lianne abandoned me without looking back but she didn't! She sent letters and you — I know you love me, but how could you still be lying to me?"

Her mom shook her head slowly, her eyes wide. "I have no idea what you're —"

Marlie thrust the letters at her and her mom took them hesitantly, her frown deepening as she began to flip through the letters. She finally looked back at Marlie. "I swear I have never seen these," she said. "I swear."

"Then who sent them back? Dad?"

"No, he would have — he would have told me. No. Neither of us ever saw these letters. I swear, Marlie. We haven't lied to you. Everything we know, you know," her mother assured. She looked as if she really meant what she said, but. . . .

"Was it Grandpa, then? It was him, wasn't it?" Marlie asked. It made sense. If Lianne thought Keith was raising Marlie then of course she would send the letters there.

"Your grandpa wouldn't do this," Veronica said, shaking her head. "Just calm down. We'll figure this out. Here, have a glass of water and just sit down and —"

"No," Marlie said, snatching the pictures from her mother before Veronica could stop her. "I need to talk to Grandpa. I can't believe he would do this."

"Marlie!" her mother yelled. "Marlie, stop —"

Marlie slammed the door shut behind her. But she didn't slam it fast enough, because she still heard the sudden shatter of glass, the sound piercing through her. Had her mother thrown something at her? Marlie turned and tore the door back open, only to freeze, horror flooding her.

"Mom!"

The shatter she had heard was the sound of a water glass falling to the ground and breaking. It had fallen because her mother had dropped it. And her mother . . . her mother was lying on the ground, her face contorted in pain, her arm wrapped around her stomach.

A/N: There's only one chapter left! One last memory, one last final twist, and one last decision Marlie must make! Please review : )

Fic: Truth Be Told, part 8

Wed, 08 Jul 2009 04:23:40 GMT

The party took place on the beach.

Marlie spent nearly two hours getting ready with her friends beforehand. Lianne had been all smiles, obviously happy that Marlie was happy. The older woman didn't even care that it was a Wednesday and therefore a school night.

And then Sam had come to pick her up. He had come over to her house, had made nice with Lianne, and was driving Marlie to the party. It was a date. While she would have preferred their first date to be a little more . . . personal, she didn't really care. This was more relaxed, anyway.

"So that woman wasn't your mother, was she?" he asked her when they first got into the car. She had introduced Lianne simply as Lianne. He must have noticed the look on her face, because he added hastily, "I just mean that I thought your mom was Veronica Echolls."

"She . . . she is," Marlie answered. "Lianne is also my mom, though. It's complicated." Thankfully, he asked nothing more, only gave her an understanding smile.

But then, as he punched the radio on and commented on how much he liked the song that was playing, Marlie suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to say something, to say everything. "I just found out, actually," she told him.

"Yeah?" he asked, sounding interested but not about to press her. She liked that.

"I always thought Veronica was my mom. But then I found out she was really my sister. My real mom was the same as hers, was Lianne. But Lianne hadn't been able to raise me so Veronica did."

"That's . . . kind of crazy," he said slowly.

"Tell me about it," she murmured. She caught him looking at her. "Eyes on the road, buddy," she teased. He smiled and looked back out the windshield. She grinned to herself.

A few minutes later he started talking, his voice smooth and perfect, and he spent the rest of the care ride telling her a story about his lab digging up his mother's rose garden that afternoon, and he had her laughing so hard she was crying by the time they arrived at the beach.

She talked with his friends, most of whom she had known for years, and at one point he put his arm over her shoulder. She was delighted. They both got drinks from the keg, and though she thought it had a little too much of a kick to it, it didn't matter; she didn't take more than a few sips. He was certainly drinking a lot, but he looked as if he could handle it.

"Are you having fun?" he asked her at one point. He was leaning down towards her as he spoke, and she could feel his breath warm on her face, making it all the better of a moment. She nodded, smiling.

"Of course."

"You want something a little stronger to drink?" he offered, his voice lower, and he flashed her a flask from his pocket. Veronica Echolls would have been proud at that moment, because her voice managed to worm its way into Marlie's thoughts. "And never, under any circumstance whatsoever, take a drink from someone else. It doesn't matter if it's your BFF. You get your own drinks, always."

Why was she thinking of her mother at that moment?

She brushed all thoughts of her mother aside, but she still shook her head at his offer. "I'm good, thanks," she told him, smiling again. He nodded in understanding and then drained the rest of his cup before proceeding to refill it with the drink in the flask.

Marlie glanced over and Amy caught her eye. 'How's it going?' Amy mouthed. Marlie gave her a large grin and Amy mimed clapping in excitement. Marlie was chuckling softly as she turned her attention back to Sam and his friends. An hour later, however, and she was starting to get a little bored. His friends were all getting wasted and it had long since passed amusing and was now annoying.

"You want to go somewhere else?" Sam asked, noticing her slow change of mood. "We can talk or something. We really haven't had a chance to talk yet."

"I'd love to, actually," she said.

He grabbed her hand. "C'mon, we can walk down along the beach. Nobody'll be over on Dog Beach this time of night. Hopefully." He made a face, she laughed, and off they went.

"So what do you think of Neptune?" she asked him as the sounds of the party started to fade. They walked hand in hand, and she felt herself pretty in the blue dress Amy had helped her pick out and her favorite little purse tucked beneath her arm. "I mean, I know you've lived here for a year now, but still. How's it compare to the rest of the world?"

"Better parties here," he answered. "And better girls." She nearly melted under his gaze. "But I still miss Chicago a little bit, too. There was a lot more to do there. But you haven't lived here your whole life, either, have you?"

"No," she said. "We used to visit all the time because my parents grew up here, but we didn't move here until five years ago when my mom had my little brother Ben. I have such a bad memory, though," she joked, "I might as well have lived here my whole life." He chuckled and there was a brief moment of silence.

"So, what's with your name?" he finally asked.

"It's short for Marlene. I think my dad came up with it. The nickname, I mean." He nodded but didn't say anything. He had stopped walking and turned to face her.

"Do you like it?" he finally asked. "Or do your prefer Marlene?"

She shrugged. "I don't mind it — Marlie. It's my name, you know? I've always been Marlie. It's a little weird when people call me Marlene."

"Well, Marlie," he said slowly, grabbing her left hand so that he gripped both her hands now. He stepped closer. Her heart suddenly started racing. She had been kissed before, but she already knew his kiss would be better. He leaned down. She started to lean up. His eyes were on her lips. She closed her eyes.

It was a good kiss. It was an amazing kiss. She opened her mouth to his and let him wrap his arms warmly around her back, pulling her to him. It was perfect. There was nothing else in the world but him and her and the waves crashing softly on the short a few feet away.

And then it spiraled out of control.

Eli Navarro stepped out of his truck, sighing. Before he slammed the door shut, he looked back at the passenger seat and the yellow lab that sat happily panting. "You coming or what?" he asked the dog. The large animal, understanding, scrambled across the seats and jumped out of the truck before allowing Weevil to clamp a leash down on him.

"Let's go," Weevil muttered and they started across the beach. Sometimes he couldn't believe this had become his life. He got in a fight with Rachel and blew off steam by walking his Labrador dog on the beach. Who did that?

And who had a lab for a dog? Of all the animals, Rachel had to choose that one. "They're so playful, Eli," she told him, smiling with those big blue eyes. Those would be the death of him. He always went for the girls who had big blue eyes. He snorted to himself. It could have been worse: the woman could have pleaded for a Chihuahua or poodle or some other white plaything.

Of course, Rachel might have blue eyes, but she also had brown hair. Blondes were too much work for Weevil. Not that Rachel wasn't work; the day Weevil had actually married her he had been setting himself up for a lifetime of Labrador puppies and manipulative blue eyes and leaving after a fight to walk on the beach rather than go to a bar or something any sane man would do.

It's not like that would change anytime soon. Rachel was pregnant. Weevil wasn't going anywhere now; she officially had him for good. Even as he thought it, Callie tugged on her leash so suddenly that a distracted Weevil didn't stand a chance: the leash slipped through his fingers and Callie was off, barking as she raced across the beach. "Hey! Get back here!" Weevil shouted.

Groaning to himself, he started after the dumb dog. He didn't have to run too far, however, because Callie had reached her destination and stood happily with Marlie Echolls. Weevil slowed. He was pretty sure it was her. He hadn't seen her in a long time, but he could probably recognize Veronica's Mini-Me anywhere. But what the hell was she doing on Dog Beach at this time of night?

"Marlie?" he asked as he came closer. It was definitely her. And she was crying. Her make-up ran down her face and . . . and her shirt was ripped. Weevil saw red for an instant, his mind reeling with sudden conclusions. "What's going on?"

"Hey Weevil," she greeted softly. "I — I was just at the party and . . . can you give me a ride home, please?"

"Did somebody hurt you?" Weevil asked darkly. "He still here?"

Marlie shook her head, wrapping her arms around herself and not even seeming to notice the eager dog that nudged at her legs. "Can you please give me a ride home? I don't . . . I need to go home."

Weevil didn't ask anymore questions. He never did. Those blue-eyed blondes always got to him. He nodded and led her back to his truck. She didn't meet his gaze as she climbed into the truck, but he saw her fingers curl into Callie's fur as they started out down the road.

He had talked to Veronica the other day when she'd called to congratulate him on the pregnancy. He didn't really know what was going on, but. . . . "Where you want to go?" he asked softly.

"Home," she repeated. "Home."

"Home it is," he told her and she mustered a small smile for him.

The rest of the ride was painfully silent. It wasn't the longest drive in the world, but it was long enough. Weevil found himself hoping Rachel didn't have a girl. He couldn't handle the things people do to sweet little girls. He pulled his truck into the big-ass house Logan Echolls had bought and put it into park. But Marlie didn't make a move to leave. Weevil frowned. "I thought you meant —?"

"I did mean here," Marlie murmured. "But I just realized I . . . I can't go in that house." He didn't know what to say. "Ah, I guess can you just . . . can you take me to, um, this house up on . . . it's kind of far away, but I can't go in there and see my parents."

"Look, girl, I don't know what's going on with you and your mom," he began hesitantly, "but V will want to know what happened. She'll want to help you."

"You don't understand," Marlie told him. "My mom always warned me and she'll . . . she knew something like this would happen and I didn't listen to her and . . . I can't face her."

Weevil didn't know much, but he knew enough to know Marlie was wrong. He could drive her back to where ever she was staying now with the woman Veronica had sneered about over the phone. Or he could honk his horn. Loudly.

He did.

"What are you doing?" Marlie asked him. He couldn't read her expression through the dark.

"Waking someone up," he replied, slamming his palm on the horn and letting it blare through the night. A light turned on in a room on the second floor of the house. Marlie suddenly started swatting at her eyes, trying to wipe her running make-up with her hands. All she managed to do was smear mascara on her cheeks and her knuckles.

The porch lights turned on. Weevil started to get out of his truck. Marlie didn't move.

Logan Echolls, wearing boxers and a t-shirt, opened the front door and stood squinting at the headlights of the truck. When Weevil stepped all the way out of the car, he saw recognition dawn on the white boy's face. Echolls started towards him.

"What are you doing here?" he shouted, not angry but clearly confused. Weevil looked back into the car at Marlie and saw her staring at her father.

"I got something for you," Weevil yelled back. Before he could say more, though, the other truck door opened and Marlie barreled out of it and at her father. The shocked man didn't hesitate in hugging his daughter as she sobbed into his shoulder but he looked over at Weevil as if for some sort of explanation. "Found her at the beach," Weevil said simply.

Echolls didn't seem to have a response, but Weevil gave him a small nod and then climbed back into his truck. He needed to go to his own home. He needed to see Rachel. Callie barked as they pulled out of the drive, bathing Marlie and her dad in darkness, but he only patted her head. "Good girl," he murmured. "Good girl."

Marlie barely knew how she got into the house. Her father lead her, probably half carried her, and before long she was on the couch in the living room, trying to stop crying. He hadn't asked her anything and she was glad for that. She had missed him so much and. . . .

"Who was it, Logan?" her mother asked. Marlie sat with her face pressed against her father's chest and she couldn't see her mom, but she heard when the woman whispered softly, "Marlie. . . ."

A moment later, small, soft hands were stroking her hair. "What happened?" her mom asked. She didn't say anything. "Baby," her mom whispered, and slowly she drew Marlie from her father's grasp. Marlie sat there, then, curled up against her dad with his arm around her shoulder while her mother knelt on the ground, her hair in a messy bun and her eyes large and searching as she brushed at Marlie's face.

"You've got a bruise forming on your neck," her mom said softly, her fingers dusting across the spot. Marlie swallowed thickly. There was no point in trying to deny anything.

"You know," she said, forcing herself to stop crying, "you know how you always used to stick pepper spray in my purse and every time I took it out you would put it back in until I finally gave up?" Marlie asked. Her mom nodded, not saying a word. "Well, it was still in there when I went to a party and . . . and Sam and I were kissing and then he — and I had to use it."

"You — you had to . . . did anything —?" her mom's voice had gotten very soft and it was clear she was at a loss for words.

"It worked," Marlie whispered. The tears began to well up in her eyes against her will as she remembered the whole series of events. Her face began to contort in an attempt to hold back the tears. It was a failed attempt.

"Come here," her mom murmured, and as Veronica sat on the couch, Marlie found herself hugging her mom, enveloped in the soft, sweet smell that was her mother, that was reassurance when the doctor put the needle to her arm and comfort when the nightmare was too real, that was so very much like home. "It's okay," her mom whispered, rocking slightly and stroking her hair as Marlie began to cry again. "It's okay. It's okay. I've got you. I'm here. Daddy's here. It's okay. It's okay."

"I'm sorry for — for everything," Marlie whispered, "and I . . . I —"

"Don't think about that now," her mom murmured, "it's okay." Her tears started to subside slightly and she said nothing more, letting herself melt into her mother. "Let it out. Cry it out. It's all okay. That's my girl," her mom said softly, her voice reassuring. "That's my baby."

He had volunteered to get more beer. He couldn't believe they'd run out: as seniors in college, shouldn't they know how much beer they'd need? He was the only one who could really go out and get anything, though, as he was the only one still sober. It wasn't even that late at night! They were pathetic.

He was in the grocery store right on the edge of the campus, trying to load the basket he'd gotten and wishing he'd chosen a cart instead when he saw her. She had cut her hair short, so short it didn't even brush her shoulders, and was wearing a t-shirt and jeans while she tried to choose between two different kinds of peanut butter.

No one else was in the aisle. Unable to resist, he called out her name. "Veronica!"

She looked away from the peanut butter and he saw recognition quickly followed by shock dawn on her face. "Piz?" A smile split her face. He approached her, grinning. "Hey, I didn't know you were in town!" she said as glanced briefly back at what must have been her cart.

"Yeah, I came home for winter break to see my parents and I thought I'd visit Neptune for the weekend to see Wallace and some of the boys. Hearst hasn't changed much."

"Yeah, no, it hasn't," she agreed, smiling. She looked much the same as she did years ago when he had known her, when he had dated her; she had the same sparkling blue eyes, dark make-up, and addictive smile. "How's the East coast?"

"Amazing!" he immediately assured. "I love it out there."

"Still in the radio biz?"

"Definitely," he nodded. "I already have a job starting in July for a local radio station."

"That's great, Piz," she told him, smiling widely, "that's really great."

"What about you?" he asked. He had heard tid-bits from Wallace, such as the fact that her mother had come home the summer after they'd broken up. But he didn't really know much; over the years Wallace had shared less and less.

"I'm graduating, of course, and it's pretty open-ended after that," she answered. "I'm not sure what I'm doing."

"Think you might go into the FBI?"

She hesitated. "I . . . I really don't know. There's a lot of . . . factors, I guess." He nodded. He didn't know what that meant but he was sure whatever it was, she would figure it out. Uncertainty was one thing with which Veronica Mars did not allow herself to be familiar.

He opened his mouth to ask after her dad and Mac when someone shouted, "Ma! Cookies!" Veronica turned at the voice so Piz did as well. A little girl, probably about two, if Piz had to guess, was standing a few feet away holding up a package of Oreos as if it were the Holy Grail. "Cookies!" she repeated.

"You don't need cookies," Veronica told her. Piz looked back and forth between Veronica and the little girl, confusion rising in him.

"Yes cookies," the girl said.

"No cookies," Veronica replied slowly. The girl ran up to Veronica, her shoes lighting up as she went.

"Yes cookies," she insisted, holding them out to Veronica.

"If you get those then they're your one pick. You only get one special Marlie food. Is that your special food?" The little girl nodded.

"Yum cookies!"

Sharking her head softly, Veronica took the Oreos. "In five minutes when you want goldfish," she told the girl," remember this moment." The little girl didn't seem wary of the warning; she only smiled, her big blue eyes turning on Piz.

A little blonde girl with big blue eyes who begged Veronica for cookies and called her . . . Ma. The little girl had called her Ma. Veronica looked back at Piz. His shock must have shown on his face, because she sighed knowingly. "You have a kid?" he asked, unable to help being blunt. If the girl really was two then she was probably born right after Piz left, which meant Veronica must have gotten back together with Logan — was Logan the father? He had to be, didn't he?

But Piz didn't like the idea of Veronica getting back together with Logan so soon after she dumped Piz. He had known they would get back together; he had known it since that day in the cafeteria. But still. . . .

"Her name's Marlie. Marlene, actually, but we call her Marlie," Veronica told him. "Can you say Hi to Piz, Marlie?" Veronica asked the girl.

"Hi Piss," she said.

"She's been spending time with Logan, hasn't she?" Piz asked, trying to joke. Veronica made a face, picking Marlie up and balancing her on her hip. Marlie grabbed for her cookies, hugging them to her chest. "He, ah, he's the father, isn't he?"

He hoped he didn't sound too hurt. He wasn't hurt. Not really. It had been a long time since they'd dated. He'd moved on. He had dated other girls. But the idea of Veronica having a kid with Logan Echolls, of all people. . . .

"Depends on what you mean," Veronica answered. "If you call me her mom, then yes, Logan's the father." Piz wasn't sure what to make of that. Once again, Veronica seemed to read his expression. "She's not really my kid."

He was even more confused now.

"Didn't Wallace . . . he didn't tell you anything, did he?" Veronica asked. Piz shook his head.

"My mom came back the summer after freshmen year. She was pregnant. Long story short, she had a baby girl and left it with me and my dad. Piz, say hello to that baby."

"So you . . . you're raising the kid?" he asked. This was unbelievable. He had never thought Veronica even wanted any of her own kids. How much had changed in the past two years?

"Looks like it," she replied. "I had to be her legal guardian and I . . . I really didn't plan on making her mine. But . . . I just . . . I want to do this for her. Be her mom. So she never has to know . . . she deserves better than my mom, than our mom." Piz nodded slowly. "She called Logan her dad before she called me her mom. I don't really know when I decided that I didn't just want to take care of her, I also wanted to be her mom . . . it just . . . happened."

She seemed to realize how much she was saying and she looked away, giving an awkward smile. "That's really amazing of you," he told her, "to, you know, do that. I don't think most kids our age could do it." There was a pregnant pause. "Then again, most kids our age couldn't do any of the things you do."

She smirked. "That's true, I guess." There was another brief silence. "Hey, so it was really good to see you but I should actually get going —"

"Oh, yeah, me too," he agreed.

"— It's late enough as it is and Marlie's got to get to bed before too long," she finished.

"Yeah, yeah," Piz told her. "I get it. I got to get back to Wallace and stuff." Her eyes flickered to his beer and he felt sort of embarrassed. She and Logan were raising a kid that wasn't their own and he was . . . he was buying beer for his buddies.

"Have fun," she told. "It really was good to see you."

"Ditto," he replied. She started to turn away, heading to her car. Marlie looked at him, waving goodbye. She was kind of adorable, certainly cuter than his cousin's fat newborn with the rhombus-shaped head.

"Hey Veronica!" he called out suddenly. She turned back to him with raised eyebrows. "Are you happy?" he asked. She smiled slowly.

"You know . . . I think I am," she replied. "Having a kid . . . it's not so bad." He nodded. "You?"

"I'm happy, too," he answered. She gave a soft smile.

"Good. See you around, Piznarski. Say bye-bye, Marlie. Say bye-bye to Piz."

"Bye-bye, Piss," said Marlie. And then they were gone, and Piz was left wondering how Veronica Mars could still manage to shock and amaze him.

Logan Echolls was a man on a mission.

"I'm here to pick up Sam Winters," he told the receptionist.

"Are you . . . a relative of his?" the young woman asked. It was clear she recognized who he was, and he was going to use that to his advantage.

"He's a friend of the family," Logan asked. "You know how that is." He was leaning against her desk, smiling warmly. She blushed. He had no idea what he was talking about, and if she did then she was a lot smarter than he thought.

"Oh, of course," she replied. "Well, ah, I'll just call him to the office, okay?" she asked, patting her blonde hair.

"Thank you so much, Sally," he said, his eyes barely making a movement as they flittered to her desk and saw the name. "And I like your necklace."

"I made it myself!"

"It looks like a piece of costume jewelry Reese Witherspoon wore in her new movie," he told her. "You wear it better, though." He winked. She nearly fainted. She didn't, though; instead, she picked up the phone and asked Mr. Albrect to send Sam to the office for early dismissal.

Sam Winters looked like an asshole.

He walked with a swagger in his step, had beady eyes and blonde hair too perfectly jelled. If Logan still went to Neptune High he would have beaten the kid to a pulp on principle. "Hi, Ms. Evans," Sam Winters greeted the secretary. "Did my parents call in to say I could leave or is someone here, because I have my BMW and —?"

"A BMW? Well, we might just have to go for a spin," Logan said. The punk kid looked over at him. He frowned.

"Are you —?" he began hesitantly.

"Let's take a walk," Logan said, grabbing the kid by the shoulder and steering him out of the office. If Ms. Evans noticed anything strange about the interaction, she didn't say a word. As soon as they were out of the school, Logan shoved the boy from his grasp.

"Okay, what's going on?" the little jackass asked. "You're Logan Echolls, right?"

"And you're Sam Winters, the boy who tried to force himself on my daughter."

The kid looked momentarily stunned. "Look, ah, I don't know what Marlie told you, but I didn't —"

"Shut-up," Logan cut him off. "I have a gun, a wife who has an unnatural obsession with tasers, and a reputation as the son of a murdering jackass. You will never go near my daughter again. You so much as look at her, say a bad word to or about her, or happen to be within fifty feet of her when anything bad happens to her — I don't care if it's a freak lightening storm — you'll still be to blame, and I'll make sure your perfect little life becomes hell."

A part of Logan expected the little pimple of a boy to make a fight, to say, "Gee, Mister, you don't scare me!" but such was not the case. The pathetic kid looked at Logan with wide, fearful eyes.

"I swear, I didn't — I won't —!"

"Shut-up," Logan repeated. Winters clamped his mouth shut.

"You want to drink, go ahead, kid. But the moment you start reaching for girls who don't want to be reached for — that's when you cross the line. Cross it again and you'll see how your pretty little self fares in Neptune prison. Or worse. Got it?"

Sam Winters nodded wordlessly.

"Have a nice day, then. And remember — I'll be watching."

When Logan left the parking lot, he smiled at the spot from which a BMW had been taken to the impound lot and turned into a nice, shiny cube by an angry but useful Mexican man. As he turned down the road, he settled his mind on his new task: he was going to spend a little quality time with one Lianne Mars.

A/N: This chapter was a little choppy, but I wanted to get the different POVs in. For those of you who saw what was coming concerning Sam, hats off to you. The story has almost come to an end, though there is still a little bit more important background to be revealed; I hope you're excited to see how it all comes together! Please review : ) It makes my day!

Fic: Truth Be Told, part 7

Tue, 07 Jul 2009 02:42:41 GMT

She hadn't wanted to go, not really, but as those sorts of thing go, she was happy once she arrived. She had been so caught up in her own troubles for the past few months that she hadn't been paying much attention to anyone and it was good to rejoin the rest of the world. Marlie had never been a big partier, but with a father who wrote screenplays and best-selling books and was the son of a murdering actor, she was always invited to every 09er party.

Her mother had never liked that fact, but Marlie had never cared less in her life than she did now. And it was rather nice, really, getting to go to a party and not having Veronica around to give her yet another lecture on not accepting drinks from anyone and always keeping an eye open and taking that pepper spray I got you and this and that and this and that. . . .

Marlie was not stupid enough to get herself into whatever horrible thing Veronica was always so sure would happen.

The best part of the evening, however, was not the chance to get all of her family problems off her mind or getting to catch up with her friends or not having Veronica around to ruin the night. No, the best part was Sam Winters. He had moved to Neptune the previous year and was put in Marlie's trig class. She had fallen for him immediately.

She had dated boys before; she had even come close to having a serious boyfriend, but Logan Echolls had nipped that one in the bud before anything really came of the relationship. But something was different about Sam. Most of the boys at Neptune who were good-looking were also complete idiots or complete jerks. Sam was perfect as far as looks went and he was smart and sweet.

She had found herself shy around him, something she hadn't thought possible considering her parents were the least shy people ever. Now, though, Marlie wondered: was shyness genetic? And did that mean that maybe Lianne was shy? Was that why Marlie was shy? But she wasn't really shy . . . just around Sam Winters.

"Sam's looking at you again," Amy murmured, her voice both delighted and teasing. Marlie only shushed her.

"Don't let him catch you staring at him, then!" she said, blushing and hoping people assumed it was from the heat of the crowded room. She had bumped into Sam at the start of the night and they'd talked briefly. It was the first time they'd really spoken outside of school. And though they'd gone off in different directions, he'd been staring at her all night. Marlie was thrilled.

It was nice to feel normal again.

A little past midnight he finally approached her again. "Hey Marlie," he greeted, smiling. He had the bluest eyes she'd ever seen. She had blue eyes and she'd always liked them, but her eyes had nothing on his. Nothing.

"Hi Sam," she said, smiling and trying hard not to blush.

"Tim and Riley are both too drunk so I'm giving them rides home," he told her, "but I was kind of hoping I could ask you something before I go."

"What's that?" she asked casually, her heart hammering.

"You got a boyfriend?" The way his blue eyes seemed to smile at her only made her heart beat faster.

"Nah," she answered, painfully maintaining the casualness of the conversation. "Why?" she continued, biting back her nervousness as she added playfully, "Interested?"

He leaned close to her and pressed a kiss on her cheek, murmuring into her ear so closely that she could feel his warm breath, "Definitely."

When she arrived back at Lianne's a few hours later with Amy, she had been all giggles. He had left her a moment after that one whispered word, and the rest of the night had been a blur. She was sure it was only a matter of time before they went out.

Staring at the darkness of the living room, a part of Marlie's good mood evaporated as thoughts of her family and her new, upside-down life flushed through her once more. She wondered what it would have been like to come home to Veronica and Logan after that party. They would have both still been awake to assure that she was still alive and all in one piece.

"It's a little late, isn't it?" Veronica would ask while Logan would frown, perhaps saying softly, "How was it?" They would stare at her with a mixture of suspicion and fear, as if she were going to tell them something terrible. Maybe they wouldn't care that much, or maybe her dad wouldn't, because he usually wasn't too bad, but maybe. . . .

It didn't matter. No one was awake now.

A part of her was happy about that. She was responsible. She wasn't going to get herself killed at some party. She went up to her room, got ready for bed, and fell onto the mattress thinking to herself that it was nice living with an adult who trusted her.

But was it wrong that a part of her was a little sad, too?

The next afternoon Marlie picked Ben and Jason up from school. She called her mom on the way and asked permission. Veronica had given it in a clipped tone. Marlie had tried not to care; she took Ben and Jason to ice cream. It didn't go well. They were in such a good mood, so happy to get ice cream and see her, but they couldn't stop asking again and again, "When are you coming home?"

"How about Katherine?" suggested Logan, "Katie, for short?"

Veronica didn't reply.

"Katie Echolls. That's cute. What do you think? Veronica?"

"Hmm?" Veronica asked, looking at him rather distractedly.

Logan sighed and Veronica realized he was probably annoyed with her. They were sitting in the living room trying to make some crucial decisions concerning the baby, as she was now more than eight months along, but she couldn't help but be distracted. All she could think about was Marlie. It had been weeks since her daughter had left her.

Had left her.

How could she do that? She had told Veronica that it was what she deserved, that if Veronica were in her place, she'd want the same thing. But that wasn't true! Back in high school Veronica hadn't demanded to move in with Jake Kane! She had loved her father no matter what, even if he wasn't her real father. Because . . . because he was her real father, biological or not.

Was it wrong for her to want Marlie to feel the same way concerning her?

"Veronica!"

Veronica's eyes snapped back to Logan's face. She had gotten distracted again. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'm just. . . ."

"Thinking about Marlie?" Logan finished for her knowingly.

"Is that a crime?" Veronica snapped. Logan chuckled softly, looking away. Veronica immediately felt bad. Logan had been nothing but good to her these last few months. She knew everything with Marlie was killing him, but he had stood by her. And during that one fight . . . well, he hadn't exactly been right, had he? She'd talked to Marlie, and nothing good had come of it. Still, he was trying.

"Not Katie," Veronica told him. "It's too common."

"Jason and Ben are common names," Logan pointed out. "You didn't have a problem with them."

"Veronica and Marlene aren't common names," Veronica countered.

"Sweetie, honey, darling, dear," he said, leaning towards her as if about to tell a great secret, "you didn't pick either of those names."

Veronica snorted, rolling her eyes dramatically and telling him breezily, "Psh, details." He only shook his head, smiling, and pressed a kiss to her forehead before leaning back in his seat.

"So do you have any not common suggestions?" he asked lazily.

"I want Alicia to be the middle name," Veronica told him.

"Shocker," he replied. She frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means Marlene Mackenzie and Jason Wallace and Benjamin Keith have set a, what's the word now? Precedent. Middle names chosen after loved ones is your specialty, sugarpuss," he said.

"And once again, I repeat: is that a crime?" she asked, this time with a teasing note in her voice.

"Of course not. But why not use names of loved ones for first names, too? How about we have another Veronica? Because God knows we need another Veronica,” he told her, all seriousness. “We can call her Little V. She’ll be inspiring hatred left and right.”

Veronica made a cutesy face at him. “Yeah, hon, that sounds great. We’ll call her twin brother Little Logan.”

“But now that might get confusing for you,” he said, clucking his tongue. “There’s already a Little Logan in your life, Missy. He caused your current state, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“You mean this?” she asked, indicating her balloon of a stomach. “How do you know he did that?” she questioned conversationally.

“He better have,” Logan replied with a slight growl. Veronica only laughed.

“But of course Little Logan isn’t a part of my life right now,” she went on, “considering I’m a ways into my third trimester.”

“Little Logan can wait,” he replied smoothly.

“See, now, I’ve heard differently before. . . .”

When Ben came into the room and found them kissing, he made a face. “Ew, stop it!” he protested. “Cooties are contagious!” he exclaimed.

As they separated, Veronica told him, mockingly outraged, “You can’t get cooties from your parents!”

“Yeah, you can!” he told her earnestly. “Hannah says so!”

“Hannah says so?” repeated Logan, his voice in awe.

“Yeah!” Ben assured.

“Wait a minute,” said Veronica, “how do you know Hannah didn’t give you cooties?”

“‘Cause she gave me the cootie shot so we could be friends, Mommy, duh,” he answered.

“Well maybe you should have the cootie shot again,” Logan told him, “so that you can be friends with us, too.”

“We’ve already had the cootie shot,” Veronica added. “Twice, in fact. So we’re extra protected.”

“You don’t need it twice,” Ben told them matter-of-factly.

“Did Hannah say that?” asked Logan. “I bet it’s just because she hasn’t had it twice.” Veronica nodded enthusiastically in agreement. Ben seemed to consider, and after a moment he marched up to his mother and stuck his arm out to her.

“Do it,” he told her bravely.

“Magic word?” she asked. “These things aren’t easy, you know.”

“Please do it?” he asked, his eyes wide.

“Okay,” Veronica nodded solemnly, taking his arm in her hands, “Circle, circle, dot, dot,” she said, tracing the shapes on his arm, “now you’ve got your cootie shot. Circle, circle, square, square, now you’ve got it everywhere.”

“Thanks!” Ben said cheerfully.

“You’re very welcome,” Veronica replied, smiling at him as he skipped out of the room again, probably already having forgotten why he came downstairs in the first place. As she watched him go, though, she couldn’t help but think of the last time she’d administered the cootie shot. It hadn’t been for Jason. He’d never been too concerned about cooties.

It had been for Marlie.

That seemed so long ago. It was so long ago.

“We can get a list of celebrities’ names for children. There would be some less than boring ones for you,” Logan suggested, drawing Veronica away from her nostalgic thoughts.

“Sure, sure, little Tangerine Echolls will get along with the other kids really well.”

“Which celebrity named her kid Tangerine?”

“I don’t know; I’m sure one of them has,” Veronica told him. “Besides, we can’t be complete copy cats and call her Apple, can we?”

“Good point.”

There was a soft moment of silence. Veronica’s thoughts started to wander. . . . She had given Marlie everything. She had told her enough about her own past to keep Marlie from the same horrors but she hadn’t told her enough to jade her. She had always made sure she knew she was loved and cared for and . . . and it hadn’t been good enough.

“You could always talk to her,” Logan said. It took Veronica a moment to pull herself away from her thoughts and process what he said. “There’s so much she doesn’t know, Veronica. She doesn’t know about Lianne leaving you the first time and —”

“We’ve told her,” Veronica interrupted. “And we already had this conversation.”

“We’ve told her but we haven’t explained anything. She’s old enough to hear it. To hear all of it.”

“Oh, is that so?” Veronica asked angrily. “Should we tell her about you smashing in my headlights? Should we tell her about that whole little rape thing? She would —?”

“Don’t do that,” he cut her off. She looked away from his gaze. It wasn’t as simple as he made it out to be. “She can’t understand what she doesn’t know. She’s only a kid.”

“I dealt with paternity issues when I was a kid,” Veronica countered.

“Do you really want Marlie to have to deal with all the things you dealt with?” Veronica didn’t reply. She didn’t have to. He was right: she would never want Marlie to deal with any of the things she herself had faced. But. . . .

“If you don’t want to talk to her about it,” Logan finally went on, his voice soft, “can you talk to me about it?” Veronica frowned, looking at him.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . do you know . . . do you know who her biological father is?” He was staring at the far wall.

“I told you that —”

“I know you don’t know for sure, but I also know you have a guess,” he said, looking at her again. “We have to know, Veronica. If Lianne is back, what if the father shows up, too? What if I lose my rights to her?”

“That would never happen!” Veronica protested, alarmed at the thought.

“When you adopted Marlie you had to terminate Lianne’s rights to her, didn’t you?” he asked knowingly. “But you never did that for whoever the unknown father was, did you?”

Veronica was silent for a minute. “I think . . . I think it’s Jake Kane.” She’d never said that aloud before. “He’s her greatest weakness.” Logan didn’t have a response. “So . . . Tangerine? Or Clementine?” Veronica asked, giving a weak smile. She hoped Logan would accept the subject change; she couldn’t stand to talk about it all for another minute.

“Well,” Logan said, wrapping an arm around her, “whatever we name her, she’s going to know we love her.”

“Not if we name her Tangerine, she won’t,” Veronica told him.

“No, she’ll know,” he insisted, leaning close and murmuring, “the same way she knows.”

“I did it,” Veronica declared.

Logan looked up from the box he had just finished packing. “You did what?” he asked. She didn’t answer. Her eyes were scanning the Grand, which was currently filled to the brim with haphazard stacks of all his worldly possessions and boxes, some empty, some full, and some on their way from empty to full.

“Are you going somewhere?” she asked him, frowning slightly.

“I’m moving out of the Grand,” he told her.

“And going where?” she insisted. How come he hadn’t told her about this?

“I bought a house. It’ll be cheaper in the long run and it’s closer to the beach,” he said.

“You bought a beach house?” she asked. She really should have known about this.

“You could call it that,” he answered, and his voice had taken on a tone of wariness, as if he could sense that she was not pleased with what he was saying.

“And when did you buy this house?” she questioned, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well, officer, I signed the papers last Saturday. I started searching for houses over two months ago, though, and I promise I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. And as for the time of the murder, I was at the Wal-Mart so my alibi is air tight.”

“Why are you joking about this?” Veronica exclaimed. “You bought a house, Logan!”

“Yeah, ah, I just told you that, so if I’m supposed to be surprised —”

“How could you buy a house and not tell me?” she went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “This is the sort of thing you tell me, Logan! I’m your girlfriend!”

“I just did tell you!” he said.

“You should have told me before you bought the house!” she snapped.

“I wanted it to be a surprise!” he finally yelled. “I wanted to get partially moved in and take you there on Sunday night and show it to you. Is that really so horrible? Can’t I try and surprise my girlfriend?” She didn’t say anything immediately and he took the chance to get everything out.

“Look, I can’t live in the Grand anymore. It’s a waste of money and it’s . . . I want a real home. School is out and I have nothing to do this summer. I figured this would be a good time to settle into a real house. When junior year starts up in a few months I’ll be all ready. I bought the house on the up and up; I did the hunting for it myself and everything. You have nothing to be angry about.”

“You bought a house,” she said, sighing. He nodded. “I’m sorry I got a little . . . upset,” she told him, “I just . . . I like being in on big changes in your life.”

“Understandable,” he said. “But like I said: it was supposed to be a surprise, Veronica.”

“Okay,” she swallowed, nodding.

“Okay,” he agreed. It was awkwardly quiet for a moment. “So . . . what did you do?” he finally prompted.

She frowned. “What?”

“When you came in here just earlier,” he said, “you said —”

“Oh, right, yeah, I officially adopted Marlie. I signed the papers and everything.”

“That’s great!” Logan exclaimed, smiling.

Veronica returned the smile. “It’s weird. She’s been ours all along, really, all these months, but now it’s official. If Lianne ever does come back, she can’t take her away. Marlie’s ours.”

“Do you think . . . do you think she ever will? Come back, I mean?”

Veronica looked away before she answered. “Probably not,” she said. “I think she would have come back by now if she were planning on it. If she does come back it’ll be because she needs money or something.” Logan nodded in understanding and it was quiet for a moment again.

“So,” he said as she began to pick through his stuff and he started packing up again, “are you her actual legal guardian or did you work out everything with your dad?”

“I’m her actual legal guardian,” Veronica answered. “It’s okay, really. Dad will help me raise her no matter what. And, honestly . . . after I graduate and I’m living on my own I’ll probably — I think I — I’ll want Marlie with me. So it makes sense.”

They had intended to have Keith adopt Marlie. He had been more than willing and Alicia had understood as well. But it wasn’t that easy. Keith wasn’t exactly rolling in the cash, he didn’t have a lifestyle conducive to children — according to the government, anyway — and he would be a single father who wasn’t a relative of the child.

But Veronica was a relative. Even if she was much less qualified to take on the legal guardianship of a child, she was the one who could, with a simple signature, make Marlie her own. It had taken a lot of research and a lot of time with Cliff, but this was what they had finally settled on. Veronica would be Marlie’s legal guardian, plain and simple.

“What are you thinking about?” asked Logan, taping shut a box and pushing it aside as he grabbed an empty one with which to start fresh.

“What I’ve gotten myself into,” Veronica admitted honestly. “I can’t believe I’m responsible for a kid now. . . . I’m not even twenty-one years old yet.”

“You’ve been taking care of her for months,” Logan said. “It’s not like anything’s really changed, right?”

“I know,” she said, shrugging slightly. “Still, it’s . . . it’s weird.” He nodded. “I guess I’ll never get to go wild in college, huh?” She gave a small smile.

“Well, let’s see,” Logan said, standing up and starting to tick off fingers. “You spent some time in prison, you got to know all the boys in a Frat house, oh, and there was that whole sex tape thing, too.” He smirked at her.

“Point made,” she told him, rolling her eyes. He watched her for a minute but she didn’t meet his gaze as she started to fold clothing to put in a box. So much had changed for her and for them in the last few months. She felt she knew him better than ever before. For the first time he was truly involved in her life. He knew her father so well it was sometimes annoying: they had their own running jokes now, to her outrage. He even had dinner at their house two or three times a week. He had actually started spending time with Wallace without Veronica, and he probably saw as much of Marlie as Veronica did.

All of a sudden she felt his arms wrap around her as he came to stand behind her. “I love you,” he murmured.

“You better,” she replied, so proud of herself for not shrinking from those words the way she once had. There were not many people Veronica could count on in her life; in fact, there were not many people Veronica even liked in her life, but she had long ago accepted that in addition to her dad, Wallace, and Mac, Logan was one of those people too.

It certainly took her long enough.

“And I was thinking,” he went on.

“Thinking?” she repeated. “Was it hard?”

“Actually, it wasn’t so bad,” he replied. “I might have been avoiding it all these years for no reason. Crazy, isn’t it?”

“Very,” she agreed.

“So, anyway,” he continued, “I was thinking about Marlie and you . . . and me, and I sort of have an idea.”

“You sort of have an idea? What does that mean?”

“It means I’ve been thinking about this for a long time but I’m still not sure how you’re going to take it. I’m going to say it, though. But don’t get all worked up. Don’t run away or anything.”

She turned around, slightly concerned. What was he getting at? “I’m not going to run away. . . .”

“I know you,” he said, “and you’re going to want to flee the moment I say it.”

“Then should you really say it?” she asked, wondering suddenly if he was going to ask her to marry him. Oh, God. That was it. He was about to ask her to marry him. She couldn’t believe this. Things had been going well, yes, but marriage? They were way too young to be married!

“Veronica,” he began, “how would you like to —?”

“No,” she said, walking away from him and starting in on another box. They weren’t even going to have this conversation. “It’s not a good idea, Logan. It’s not. It’s too soon. We’re too young.”

“You haven’t even heard it yet!” he protested.

“I know what you’re going to say and the answer is no.”

“So you’re not even going to hear me out?” he asked. She paused, taking her time.

“No.”

“Veronica, just listen!”

“No.”

When he opened his mouth to say something more she started for the bedroom. She could not have this conversation. How could he even bring it up? He had to know she would react this way; he had to. He followed after her.

“It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me or anything!” he yelled. She stopped walking away and turned to face him with a frown. “What?” he said, obviously frustrated.

“You’re . . . you’re not?”

He stared. “You thought I was asking you to marry me?” He looked so incredulous that she felt herself starting to blush. It hadn’t been that crazy of a thought, had it?

“Well . . . yes!” she admitted, feeling suddenly defensive.

“Veronica, much as I would like to marry you, we’re still in college. And there is no way either of us is ready to be married.”

“I know,” she said, “obviously.”

“And I know that you know,” he told her. “I wasn’t planning on asking you to marry me. And, trust me, if I were, it wouldn’t have been like this. Give me some credit, will you?”

“But then what were you . . . ?”

“I wanted to know if you wanted to move in with me,” he told her. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t guessed that. Of course he would think that; he had bought a house. Why wouldn’t he want her and Marlie to move in with him?

“Logan,” she said slowly, “I don’t think that’s such a good idea either. . . .”

“Why not?” he immediately demanded. “That way you and Marlie would be out of your dad’s hair so he could spend some actual quality time with Alicia, and if Mrs. Navarro comes to work for me she can look after Marlie when we both have classes.”

He made good points, but still. . . .

“Do you really think we’re ready to move in together?” she asked him. “And do you really think you could handle Marlie all day, every day?”

“I spend nearly all day, every day with Marlie as it is,” he replied, not even batting an eyelash. “And as for me and you . . . yeah, I do think we’re ready. I want this, Veronica, and it’s smart, too. You can’t live with your dad forever. He has his own life. Besides, if you and Marlie don’t move in with me then Mrs. Navarro will have to keep cleaning your apartment and I have to go find a new cleaning lady for the beach house and, let me tell you, hiring help is not one of my many strong points.”

“But I really don’t think. . . .”

“Just think about it, okay?” he asked. “It’s an open-ended offer. Anytime you want to move in with me, you’re welcome to. And if it helps, I took cooking classes. That was part of the surprise. I’ll still cook you dinner when I show you the house, but it’s not going to be a surprise anymore, obviously.”

“You . . . you took cooking classes?”

He nodded. “If I decide to sign up for glass-blowing classes, strap me to some train tracks, please.”

“So you bought a house and took cooking classes and . . . is there anything else I don’t know?” She didn’t expect there to be more. There was more.

“Your dad thinks it’s a good idea, which actually surprised me because I thought he would —”

“You talked to my dad about this?!”

He only grinned at her. “Just think about it. Take however long you need. When you want to move in with me, I’ll be waiting.” Veronica nodded. There wasn’t anything else to say.

The rest of the summer passed slowly, and though she helped him pick out furniture for his new house, helped him christen every room, and even helped him sharpen his surprisingly not bad cooking skills, he didn’t bring up moving in with him again until the summer was coming to an end.

She still said no; he still told her to think on it. Junior year began and everything was routine. Marlie even started talking, much to Veronica’s delight. It was around Christmas when it happened. Logan was over at the apartment playing on the ground with Marlie while Veronica made dinner and Keith read the mail.

She blamed it on Keith constantly asking Veronica, “Who’s your daddy?” But she never did understand how Marlie made the mistake. A part of her wondered if maybe Logan had . . . but he never admitted to it. She had read that children usually say particular words because parents encourage the sound, and no one, as far as Veronica knew, had encouraged Marlie to make that particular sound to that particular person.

But she did.

Logan got up to look at something in Sports Illustrated that Keith wanted to show him. Logan had gotten Keith the subscription for his birthday, and Veronica secretly loved watching the two most important men in her life bond over it even though she had never really pinned either of them as a sports lover.

Marlie did not enjoy the loss of attention, however. She started to pout. No one noticed. She reached out her chubby little arms, whining in the back of her throat. No one noticed. She wiggled, kicking a Barbie with her foot. No one noticed.

“Da!” she shouted.

Everyone noticed.

“What did she just say?” asked Logan.

“Who was she talking to?” asked Keith.

Veronica went over and picked her up. That wasn’t good enough for Marlie. She wiggled in Veronica’s arms, still reaching her tiny hands out and repeating insistently, “Da!” It was clear she was talking to Logan.

Veronica and Marlie moved into Logan’s house a month later.

“Could I ask you something?” she began hesitantly one night. She had been growing more and more curious, and she couldn’t help herself any longer.

“Of course, honey,” Lianne answered, smiling as she took a sip of sparkling cider. Dinner tonight was as fancy as it always was; Lianne didn’t work, and it afforded her plenty of free time. Marlie wondered how she had gotten the money, but it wasn’t what she wanted to know most of all.

“Why did you leave my father?”

Lianne froze, and Marlie was irresistibly reminded of the way Veronica had frozen all those months ago when Marlie had brought up the topic of sisters. “Your father,” Lianne repeated slowly.

“Yeah,” Marlie nodded. “I just wanted to know . . . something about him, is all.”

Lianne slowly put down her knife and fork. “His name was Craig Olsen,” Lianne began. “I dated him in college. At the time I had just broken up with my high school boyfriend and I was upset . . . I was a mess, really. Craig made me forget about, well, everything. He wasn’t good for me, though; he drank a lot and he was failing out of school. . . .”

There was silence for a minute, but Marlie was too afraid to break the flow of information by saying anything. It was just a pause; any moment Lianne would go on. . . .

“I left him for Keith,” Lianne continued at last, to Marlie’s relief. “Keith was . . . he was the perfect man,” she finished, smiling warmly and finally let her gaze land on Marlie. “But you know that. I’m sure you love him very much.”

“I do,” Marlie admitted quietly.

“I messed up that, though, as you know. After I was on my own again . . . around the time Veronica graduated from high school, I . . . I ran into Craig again. He had just gotten divorced, too, and he was so. . . . He made me forget, just like before. It was weak and it was wrong, but I was weak and I had done a lot of wrong, too, so. . . .”

Slowly, Lianne began eating again. Marlie waited for more. There had to be more. There had to be. “I moved in with him,” Lianne said after a few minutes. Marlie nodded, desperate to hear the rest. “He hadn’t been drinking for years and he had a steady job and he was . . . he offered the comfort and security I had missed for so long. He listened to me when I talked about how much I missed Veronica and he . . . he could be really sweet, your father.”

She swallowed the rest of her meat loaf and took a long sip of cider. Marlie opened her mouth to ask for more, to ask about Lianne getting pregnant, but she didn’t have to. Once again, slowly, softly, Lianne went on.

“But it turned out that he was with me for the money I had,” she said, so quietly that Marlie had to strain to hear her. A voice in her head, one that sounded suspiciously like Veronica, murmured darkly, Money you stole from Keith and Veronica. Marlie ignored the voice.

“He started drinking again and . . . and when I found out I was pregnant, I was afraid. I didn’t want him to hurt the baby — hurt you — the way he had hurt me.” Lianne was staring determinedly at the table cloth. It took Marlie a moment to process what she had just been told.

“He . . . hurt you?” Marlie whispered. Lianne looked up from the table with wet lashes.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she assured, forcing a smile as she reached out and grabbed Marlie’s hand in her own. “I left him and I ended up with Keith and Veronica, and they took care of both of us. I wasn’t very strong, but I was strong enough to get you away from him.”

Marlie had meant to ask more. She had meant to ask if her father had known about her; she had intended to ask where he was now. She had wanted to ask why Lianne had left her; she had wondered if Lianne had gone back to her father after leaving Marlie with Keith and Veronica. But the news that her father, her biological father, had hurt her mother. . . .

“It’s okay,” Marlie said, smiling at Lianne. “I understand.”

The rest of dinner passed in silence.

As she lay in bed that night, she grew angry. Veronica had always spoken ill of Lianne, but she had no idea what Lianne had been through! Had she even thought to ask, when Lianne was pregnant, about the father? Had she wondered why Lianne had run to them scared and alone? Probably not, Marlie thought viciously.

What kept her awake more than her anger, however, was her horror. Her father, her own flesh and blood, the man from whom she had come, had. . . . It was impossible. It had to be. She tried to imagine what he looked like. Everything her mind conjured was . . . unpleasant, to say the least.

It was 12:17 when Marlie called him on his cell. His voicemail picked up. She listened to his peppy little message, wondering if she should hang up. But she couldn’t. When the beep sounded, she let out a deep breath.

“It’s me,” she said. “I’m just calling to say . . . I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you or something, I guess. I shouldn’t have called. Never mind.” She was silent for a minute, feeling like an idiot. But before she hung up the phone, ending the inane message, she whispered tearfully, “I love you, Daddy.”

Because he was her father; he was. She was Marlie Echolls, and Logan Echolls was, always had been, and always would be her father, and that was all that mattered.

A/N: This chapter was sort of Daddy-orientated and I hope you enjoyed it! I'm sorry it took a little longer to post. My sister set up a new firewall on my laptop and it messed up all of my documents! I was lucky enough to save this story, but it had all sorts of spacing issues I had to work out before I could post. Hopefully now I'll be able to get the last few chapters up at a chapter-a-day pace. :)

Fic: Truth Be Told, part 6

Sat, 04 Jul 2009 17:15:50 GMT

Title: Truth Be Told
Author: monroeslittle
Genre: Veronica Mars
Rating: Teen (for later implications and such)
Summary: Marlie Echolls has as many doubts as any other sixteen-year-old girl. One thing she never doubted, however, was who her parents were. At least she didn't until a woman knocked on her grandfather's door and dropped the bombshell. Logan/Veronica; future fic.

“Do you want something to drink . . . maybe?” she offered hesitantly. He shook his head. She nervously flattened her hair. “Well . . . maybe something to eat? I can make you —”

“How long are you back for, Lianne?” he asked, cutting to the chase. He didn’t want to be there. He didn’t want to spend an afternoon that could be spent making money or with Alicia or with Veronica here, with the ex-wife who’d torn him to pieces years ago, trying to gauge her end game.

But he didn’t have a choice. Obviously, his last visit hadn’t been effective.

“Keith. . . .”

“I came over here weeks ago and you said that it was a mistake to try and see Marlie,” he said. “You said that you didn’t want to throw her life into chaos. You said that you had moved here a year ago because it was cheaper here than San Diego. You said that she wasn’t part of the decision. But, honestly, Lianne, I’m not really buying that any more.”

“I wasn’t lying to you, Keith, I wasn’t,” Lianne immediately defended. “That was why I moved here. And going to your house that night — it was completely spur of the moment! I really did mean to keep out of it after that. But she called me, Keith! How could I say no to her?”

“Probably the same way you left her in a hotel room sixteen years ago,” he replied. She looked away from him, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Why can no one forgive me? I made a mistake, okay? I made a lot of mistakes, I know.” She faced him again, her face pleading. But I’m trying, here! I’m trying as hard as I can! But no matter how much time passes and no matter how hard I try, you and Veronica never seem to care!” Keith only stared, sighing.

She turned away, fishing out a pack of cigarettes from a nearby drawer and lighting one up. She smoked for a minute, leaning against the kitchen counter with her hand tightly gripping the edge and her eyes closed. She looked so much older.

“I still have it, you know,” he finally said. Her eyes flickered open.

“Have what?” she asked softly.

“The note you left. Veronica threw it out, but I went back and rescued it from the trash. I kept it. I thought maybe Marlie would want to see it when we . . . when we decided it was time for her to know the truth.” She didn’t say anything. He didn’t need her to. He took the folded, yellowing paper from his pocket, unfolded it and smoothed it out, laying it on the kitchen table.

She stared at it.

“Do you remember what you wrote?” he asked. When she didn’t say anything, he began to read aloud. “Dear Keith and Veronica, I know this isn’t the best way to do this, but it is the only way I can. I want to be better than this. I want to be better than I am. But I can’t. I’m not.”

“You don’t have to — to read it,” Lianne protested softly.

Keith didn’t heed her. “No matter how hard I try, this is all I am, and I know that you both deserve better; I know that you demand better. I’m sorry. I tried to leave you to live your own lives separate from me. I wanted to raise this baby on my own without burdening you. But I can’t do it. I’ve already used up what money I had and I have no idea how much longer I’ll be able to stay sober. I’m sorry. It would be better for her to have you as her family, not me. She deserves you as I do not. Please don’t deny her that because of what I am and what I’m not. I’m sorry.”

“Keith,” Lianne said, her voice a whisper.

“Wait, wait, I’m getting to the best part,” he told her. “I really do love her and both of you. For as long as I live, you’ll always be my family and I wish only the best for all of you. Love, Lianne.”

There was silence then as he finally looked away from the old, fading cursive hand-writing and at the woman to whom that hand-writing belonged. “If you only want the best for us, why is my family falling apart because of you? Why is Veronica crying herself to sleep every night? Why is Marlie running away every other day?”

Lianne shook her head, looking away from him determinedly.

“I understand that you want to get to know your daughter, Lianne,” he said softly. “But if you truly loved her, you wouldn’t be doing this to her. Or to her sister.”

“I’m not doing anything to her!” Lianne defended. “I — you have no idea what I’ve sacrificed for her! I have done the best I can, and no one will . . . no one understands.” Keith said nothing. There was pity rising in him. There was no way not to pity her. How had she become this woman? How had things changed so much?

“How long are you here for, Lianne?” he finally asked again. “How long are you staying this time? That’s all I want to know.”

“I’m staying for good,” she answered him. “I’ve been saving money for years and I bought this house. I’m staying for good.” She said it firmly, bravely, fiercely.

He met her courageous gaze. “Did you save the money or did you get it from your husband when he died?” The color drained from her face at his question. There. She wasn’t expecting him to know that. He had discovered her second marriage; he had finally found out the vital piece of information that had been hidden for so long.

“I — I . . . don’t —”

“When you came to me all those years ago, pregnant, saying you had made a mistake, saying that there was no where for you to turn, I took you in,” Keith said, ignoring her stuttering. “I found out that you had been living with Craig and that he was probably the father, but I didn’t do anything about that fact. I didn’t confront you. I didn’t tell Veronica. But —!”

“I didn’t get a penny from Craig!” Lianne insisted, interrupting. “He was trailer trash. He was . . . I saved the money, Keith. I’m here all on my own. His death was just . . . How do you even know? What gives you the right to — to dig into my past like that?”

“What gives me the right?” Keith repeated. “Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re the mother of my daughter and her daughter? Perhaps it’s the fact that my entire family is suffering because of you?” he said, standing up in his anger.

“It’s not my fault if things are. . . . She called me. She called me. She wants to get to know me. She’s the one person in my life who can forgive me for all the mistakes I’ve made. And you can’t blame me for wanting to make up those mistakes to her, to the one person who. . . . I know I’ve ruined everything with you and Veronica, but you can’t take Marlene from me. You can’t.”

Keith said nothing. He turned away from her and started out of the house. When he glanced back at her, she wasn’t trying to stop him or say anything. She was simply lighting another cigarette. “I remember Craig,” he told her. She stared at him. “You dated him in college before we met. When I found out you were having an affair, I thought it was him before I learned it was Jake.” He paused. “He was the one who’s girlfriend putting a restraining order on him around the same time we got married. You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“I picked you,” she said softly.

“But I wasn’t what you really wanted. I never was.”

And he walked away without looking back this time.

“I want to talk to you about something.”

No one responded to her announcement. Jason was spending the night at a friend’s house; Ben was trying to sneak his peas to B.J. without anyone noticing. Her mother didn’t even bat an eyelash. The closest thing she got to a response was the slight stiffening of her father’s back. She hadn’t talked to either of them in nearly two weeks, not since that disastrous fight, and they obviously were wary of what she would say.

They couldn’t hold this against her, though; they couldn’t.

“I’ve made a decision, and I hope you respect it, because it’s what I want. I think it’s what I deserve. And I think it would be best for all of us. I know that you can say no, but I’m asking please to let me do this.”

“Ben,” Veronica said softly, “it’d be easier to flush the peas down the toilet.”

Ben looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

“I’d use the upstairs bathroom if I were you,” Logan recommended. “It’s less temperamental.”

“Really?” Ben asked, looking rather confused.

“Just this once,” Veronica said. When he hesitated, she added, “act now on this special offer; it wouldn’t come around again.” Ben looked back and forth between his mother and father before gathering his peas onto a napkin and racing up the stairs. Veronica smiled after him for a moment. Her smile disappeared when she faced Marlie again.

“What do you want?” Logan asked softly, putting down his fork.

Suddenly they were both staring at her. Marlie swallowed. She had made her decision. This is what she wanted. She had already told Lianne she was going to ask. There was no backing out now.

“I want to move in with Lianne.”

Veronica pushed back her chair and stood up. “Veronica,” Logan began softly. Ignoring him, she walked out of the room. A moment later Marlie heard the front door open and slam closed again. And Veronica thought that she was immature. Marlie looked at her father.

"This is your hard for your mother," her father said softly.

"I can tell," Marlie replied dryly. It was quiet for a moment.

“Was it her idea or yours?” he asked.

“Hers. But I . . . I really want to do this, Dad. I want a chance to get to know her. It’s not fair that I can’t have that. I know what you and Mom did was in my best interest and everything but . . . but I deserve the chance to get to know her.”

“What about school?”

“I’ll drive the extra miles,” Marlie told her. “If . . . if you’ll let me have the Honda.”

“I gave it to you, didn’t I?” he asked. Marlie nodded, waiting for him to say something more. “Marlie, I know we haven’t really talked about any of this . . . about your adoption and everything. Things haven’t been so good lately in this house. Your mom and I have just been . . . do you want to talk about it?”

“I do,” Marlie nodded, “but it won’t change my mind.” He stared down at his plate and she felt guild prickle her spine. How could he always do that to her? “I love you, Dad,” she told him, and he met her gaze again, “and I . . . I love Mom, too.” Those words came out more hesitantly. But they were true, really.

“But I,” she went on slowly, “I want to get to know Lianne. I think maybe this would be the best way. It’s not like I won’t see you and Mom at all or anything. I’ll still be in Neptune.”

It took him a little while to answer. She had always thought of all the people in her family he was the one who understood her best, the one with whom she was closest. How had they gone from that to . . . this? “This is really what you want?” he questioned. His brown gaze bore into her. “You want to leave us? You want to live with her?”

“Yes,” Marlie answered, and it came out as a whisper. He stood up, wiping his mouth on a napkin. “Dad?”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay. Move in with her.”

“Really?” She had expected more of a fight than that. She had expected shouting and tears and . . . more.

“We can’t force you to live with us if you don’t want to, Marlie.”

“I’m not saying that I don’t. . . .”

“It’s okay,” he told her. “If this is what you want, we’ll make it work.” He gave her an encouraging smile. The fact of the matter, however, was that as good as her dad was at writing screenplays and best selling novels, the man was not an actor. He was nothing close. And the smile he gave her didn’t reach his eyes.

Before she could say anything he was gone. He had left the room. She heard him climbing the stairs, probably to check on Ben. Marlie looked around the empty kitchen.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," she said. She had meant to say that. She had planned to say that.

But now there was no one was there to hear her.

Ben ran into her room. His pajamas were a little too small for him but he refused to let anyone buy him new ones. He had a ratty rocket-ship blanket with him, one that Grandma Alicia had gotten him when he was a baby.

Marlie knew why he was there. It was a shock the whole house hadn't come tumbling down at this point, her parents were shouting so loudly. Any minute the neighbors were going to call the police about a domestic dispute.

"Come here, Benny," Marlie whispered, inviting her little brother to join her in her bed. He looked relieved and crawled eagerly under the covers before wrapping his little arms around her. She smiled down at him.

"YOU'RE THE ONE THAT TOLD HER TO GO ON AND MOVE OUT OF THE HOUSE! YOU MIGHT AS WELL HAVE PACKED HER BAGS FOR HER!"

"Do you want to read a story?" Marlie asked him, as if she couldn't hear her mother shouting. Ben nodded. "The usual?" she said knowingly. He nodded. She fished out the Percy Jackson books from her bedside table. Her father had gotten them for her years ago but Jason and Ben had always been more attached to them; they were falling apart at this point, with yellowing pages and torn covers.

"I'M NOT THE ONE WHO NEEDS TO TALK TO HER!" Logan bellowed.

"Which one do you want to read?" Marlie asked. "The Titan's Curse? That's my favorite."

"Mine, too," Ben agreed. His favorite was always whichever one Marlie suggested first. It was adorable, really. He had once told her that his two favorite heroes were Percy Jackson and his mom. He was such a mama's boy.

"I'M DOING THE BEST I CAN!" Veronica screamed. A door slammed.

"Marlie, why are Mommy and Daddy fighting?" Ben asked, his eyes wide.

"Let's start at the beginning, okay?" Marlie said, opening the book and not answering. She knew the answer. But she couldn't deal with it. Because this fight . . . this fight was worse than any of the others. She hadn't realized it; she had thought her parents fought all the time.

But they didn't.

They bickered and argued but it never lasted more than day; the shouting never got too loud. The last time they had gotten in a fight remotely close to one this bad, she and Jason had been shipped to spend the weekend with the young couple that lived down the street in Virginia. On Sunday night Mr. Lewis went by their house to see how things were going.

When he came back, Marlie had heard him telling Mrs. Lewis that she and Jason had to stay another night because, "they were on the kitchen table, Sally! The table! I can't believe I had to see that!" Marlie hadn't known what that meant at the time. She wasn't sure if it meant her parents were fighting anymore or not.

Ben was born nine months later.

Maybe they had fought like this more often when she was little. She had hazy memories of such. But they had fought badly less and less over the years. This fight made all their squabbles over carpools and screenplays and even babies seem silly. They were better parents than ones who fought viciously in front of their children. They were better spouses than that.

At least, they had been, and she hadn't even realized it until now.

"Marlie?" Ben insisted. "Are they fighting because they don't love each other any more?"

"What?" Marlie said, looking down at him in alarm. The day her parents, as crazy as they were and as rocky as her relationship with them currently was, decided to split would be the day the world really came to a screeching halt.

"Jesse's parents stopped loving each other and now he only sees his daddy once a month. Am I only gonna see Daddy once a month?" He looked truly afraid.

"Mom and Dad still love each other, Ben, I promise you," she told him. "You're going to see them both every day for years and years. Okay?"

"But then why are they shouting?" Ben asked.

She looked away from him. "Because of me. They're fighting because of me."

“LOGAN ECHOLLS!” Veronica shouted, storming into the Grand.

Alarmed, he looked up from where he sat on the ground playing video games with Dick. “What’s up?” he asked frowning.

“What’s up?” she repeated viciously. “What’s UP?”

“Dude,” Dick exclaimed, his eyes still glued on the scream, “I just totally ripped your head off!” Her eyes flashing, Veronica stepped forward and ripped the x-box cord out of the wall. Dick let out a yell of protest.

“Scram!” Veronica replied angrily.

“Did you forget to take your happy pills, Mars?” Dick asked, grinning. The fact that he took her anger less and less seriously over the years was really starting to bug her.

“OUT!” Veronica yelled.

“Okay, okay, jeez!” Dick said, making a face at Logan as pushed himself to his feet and started for the door. “I hate it when you PMS.”

“Dick, I swear to God,” Veronica began threateningly.

“I’m gone, I’m gone,” he assured, and then he really was, disappearing out of the suite. Veronica looked back at Logan, who had gotten to his feet.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“What’s going on is that you are paying Mrs. Navarro to come by my house and do ALL the cleaning and cooking and I can’t kick her out without being mean and she keeps insisting she’s being paid, and then I found out you paid all the my mom’s hospital bills and you paid for the rest of my Hearst education and you set up a trust fund for Marlie!”

Logan stared at her. “To be honest, I expected you to figure it all out a while ago. Better be careful or they’re going to take your Nancy Drew badge away.” When she only stared at him, her jaw locked with indignation, he sighed and asked, “Is there a problem with my paying for any of that?”

“I DON’T NEED YOUR MONEY!” Veronica shouted at him angrily.

Three months ago she had agreed to let him pay Mrs. Navarro to clean the house twice a week. Since that time she had found herself running into him more and more often, as he suddenly seemed to think that being financially invested in her life he could once more be an actual part of her life. He had started helping her dad at the office, saying he needed to get some experience in the working world, and for the first time, Keith was actually starting to speak well of Logan. And he was always volunteering to babysit Marlie and. . . .

She was rather enjoying it, truth be told, and she couldn’t help but be touched by how much he liked playing with Marlie and how well he seemed to get along with her, but. . . . And suddenly Mrs. Navarro was coming around more and more often and doing more and more and then Keith was saying that all their money problems were disappearing and, damn him, that sneaky little —!

“Actually,” Logan said, not at all affected by her anger, “you kind of do. But don’t worry. I have plenty to go around.”

“You can’t do that, Logan! You can’t just —!”

“Why not?” he demanded, his calm demeanor gone in a flash. “Why can’t I help the few people I care about? I don’t have any family, Veronica. I don’t have anyone but you and Dick. What I do have is money. So I’m giving that to you. I don’t need it. And I want to help you. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Yes, there is,” Veronica insisted.

“Well, too bad!” Logan yelled. “You can’t do everything yourself! Let me help you! I’ve gotten attached to Marlie too and I don’t want to see you have to give her up! If that means paying for a few things, then okay! I’ll do it!”

“It’s not that simple,” Veronica told him.

“Because you won’t let it be,” he replied. “What are you so afraid of? Do you think I’m going to turn on you again? ‘Cause I hate to be the one to shatter all your ideas, Ronnie, but I’ve haven’t abandoned you at all in years. I was an ass back in high school, but with a father who beat me —,"

Veronica flinched at that; he spoke so rarely of that part of his life. But he just plowed right on, not seeming to care at his admission of weakness or her wincing response.

"— and a mom who drank and drank and then threw herself off a bridge and a girlfriend who got murdered, can you really blame me? But you know what? Fine, blame me. The fact is I’m not that bastard any more. I grew up. I slept with Madison, yeah, because the one person who meant anything to me was out of my life for what I thought was forever and I was drunk off my ass! I would have fucked anything that moved! That doesn’t mean I was betraying you!

“And it doesn’t mean I will betray you!

“I’ve been doing everything I can, Veronica. I’ve been going to all my classes; I’ve stopped drinking as much and I haven’t so much as looked at a girl in months. I’ve started helping your dad at the office and I actually like spending time with Marlie. What is it gonna take, Veronica?

“Why won’t you let me fucking help you?”

Veronica turned away from him. Every word out of his mouth was true. What was it about him that got her so riled up? Why did he bring out all the anger and bitterness in her? She turned to face him again. “I’m sorry,” she said slowly, crossing her arms over her chest defensively, “I just. . . .”

“You just don’t want someone like me, I get it, really,” Logan told her bitterly. “You can’t have me be a part of your life in any way, because if I am then it means the Pizs and Duncans of the world can’t be in your life, and that’s who you want, isn’t it? Whatever. I obviously can’t change that.”

She hated when he got self-deprecating like that. She hated it. Unable to stop herself, she told him furiously, “I wish it was that way. I wish that I wanted boys like Piz and Duncan. I wish I was the sort of girl that went with that sort of boy. But I’m not. Opposites don’t really attract. Piz called himself a lover. But I’m a fighter, Logan. I wish I could change it, but —”

“I thought you were proud of that fact,” he told her coldly. "Superwoman Veronica Mars to the rescue! Powers activate! The world needs me but I don't need anyone! Does your coat transform into a cape, Veronica? Be honest now — does it have a stripe?"

She shook her head. “You think you know me so well —” she began angrily.

“Oh, I do,” he told her, his eyes blazing. “That’s what you wish you could change. No one's supposed to really know you, no one's really supposed to care about you —!”

“No!” she exploded. “You don’t know me! And you don’t get it! I don’t want to be a fighter but I am! I wish I wasn’t but I am! I’ve tried so hard not to be. But I’m a fighter and you’re a fighter too and. . . .”

“And what?” he asked.

“And I’m afraid to be with you because loving you means admitting I’m a fighter and admitting that . . . admitting that means admitting I can’t control who I am and not being able to control who I am is the scariest fucking thing I’ve ever had to face!” The words poured out of her before she could stop them.

He stared at her and her at him, and for a moment the only sound was their harsh breathing. Their yells lingered in the air; their wounds were open and raw. And an instant before it happened, she knew it would, and she also knew there was no use pretending there was anything else she wanted in the world at that moment.

He ran at her, clutching her face in his hands and slamming his lips to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck, sinking into him, into what was right and familiar and everything she had been too afraid to miss in all those months. He lifted her off the ground even as he began trailing kisses along her jaw.

“Saying you don’t want to love me really isn’t the most romantic thing in the world,” he told her between pants, even as they stumbled backwards towards his bedroom, “but I’ll take what I can get.”

She captured his mouth with hers again, desperate for more, and as her knees hit the bed and she folded onto it he came after her, his weight warm and right; her little hands slipped under his shirt, feeling his chest and his arms as she pushed the green t-shirt up, hoping to discard it and much, much more soon. . . .

“Wait, wait,” he said, pulling away from her and holding her back, his arms tight around her arms. “Say it,” he demanded, his eyes burning determinedly into hers even as she felt him hard against her leg. “Say it.”

She didn’t have to ask what. She stared at him for an instant, knowing what would happen if she said it. There was no going back after this. They couldn’t keep playing the on and off again game. It would kill them both. Either they ended it for good now, stopped what they were doing and she left, or . . .

“Say it, Veronica.”

She took a breath. She was what she was. It was about time she accepted that. It was about time she accepted herself . . . and him.

“I love you.”

"I wanted your life to be a fairy tale," Veronica told her.

Marlie looked up from unloading the clothing in her dresser to stare at her mother. In the week since she had said she wanted to move out of the house, her mother hadn't said a word to her. She had gotten permission, though, so she'd begun to pack.

"What?" Marlie asked.

"Maybe not a fairy tale, but something close," her mom went on.

"My life was once. I had a boyfriend I loved, a best friend I adored, and parents who couldn't have been more amazing. Then my boyfriend dumped me for no reason, my best friend was murdered and all I had left were my parents. And then I didn't even have them both."

"Your mom was sixteen years old, too, the first time Lianne left her."

"Mom . . .," Marie began hesitantly, not sure exactly what she was going to say.

"I didn't want that for you," Veronica said, and she had this look on her face, a look of near confusion, as if she couldn't understand how all her plans had gone so horribly awry. "I wanted you to have . . . I wanted it to be so that even if you . . . even if you didn't find that perfect boy and even if your best friend was murdered or something equally bad happened, I still wanted you to have parents who loved you no matter what.

"I tried so hard to give you that."

"You did give me that," Marlie said, suddenly flushing with guilt for all the things she'd said to her mom. How did parents do that? How could they be so horrible for so long and you were perfectly within your rights to rip them to pieces, and then suddenly they made guilt your new best friend?

Was there an instruction manual? Did they take a class? Because Logan and Veronica Echolls aced that class. Straight 100s across the board.

"If you go to live with her, Marlie, she'll only hurt you."

Marlie looked away from her mom. "I don't believe that," she replied softly.

"I know you don't. You don't want to believe it. I didn't either once upon a time. My mom left me when I was your age, she abandoned your grandpa and . . . and she abandoned me, but I searched for her. I couldn't believe she really. . . . I found her. I used all my college money to put her in a clinic to get sober. I didn't believe she'd really meant to abandon me. But when she came home, she was still drunk, she'd wasted my money and she left again."

"Maybe she's changed," Marlie said defiantly. She still couldn't look at her mother. Why didn't Veronica understand? It wasn't the same. It wasn't. It couldn't be.

"She hasn't."

"You don't know that!" Marlie insisted. Her mother didn't say anything for so long that Marlie finally looked back at her. Veronica's face had gone steely. That was never a good sign.

"I do know that," she answered slowly. Her eyes darted around the half-packed room. "And you will too eventually." She left the room before Marlie could get a word in. If that was her idea of convincing Marlie not to leave, it wasn't very effective. She went on with her packing.

But as she lay in bed that night, her mother's words echoed in her head. The words, though, weren't nearly as bad as the look on her mother's face as she spoke those words, a look that swam before Marlie's eyes until she finally fell asleep.

Marlie started slow. "You haven't really said anything about . . . and I haven't asked or . . . about my mom. Veronica. Why did you . . . why did you leave her and Grandpa Keith?"

Lianne paused with her fork halfway between her plate and her mouth. They had finished painting Marlie's soon-to-be room and were having a celebratory dinner. Marlie didn't want to ruin it, but she had to know. The nagging voice in her head courtesy of her mother wouldn't let her not know.

"I was scared for her," Lianne answered, slowly lowering her fork back to her plate. "Lilly Kane's murder . . . it was terrifying and Keith was so involved in the investigation. Someone started to threaten Veronica's life if I didn't leave. It's hard to . . . it's really complicated. But I had to leave. I didn't want to come home to find my daughter dead the way Celeste Kane came home to find Lilly."

It didn't make much sense to Marlie, but she knew one thing: Veronica hadn't said a word about a threat on her life. It was kind of something pretty big to leave out.

It took her about a week to pack up the rest of her things after that. The room in Lianne’s house that had been set aside for her was larger than her room at home, and Marlie and Lianne had gone out on a Saturday afternoon to pick out a bedspread and furnishings and curtains and it had been actual fun.

There was a word that the Echolls family didn’t seem to remember anymore: fun. At least not as far as Marlie was involved. It didn’t matter, though. She was going to live with Lianne; the decision had been made. Ben asked her why she was going. She told him she wanted to get to know Lianne. “Why?”

“Because she’s my mom.”

“But Mom is your mom,” he replied, frowning in an adorable way.

“I have two moms,” she told him.

“Why?”

“I just do.”

“But what’s wrong with our mom? Don’t you love her?”

“I do, of course I do, I just . . . I need to live with Lianne.”

“Why?”

She gave up at that point. She had talked to Keith and Alicia, explaining her choice. They’d been rather nice about it. Grandpa Keith had given her one of his large, warm hugs, telling her that she was his beautiful baby girl no matter what, and that she could always come to him for anything.

That was the sort of response she wanted from her parents. But it didn’t matter. It didn’t.

When Jason had asked her why she was leaving, she’d tried to explain it to him a little better than she had with Ben. It didn’t really work. “So you’re just leaving us?” he asked, ten-year-old anger radiating off him. “Getting a new family?”

“No, I’m just —!” she protested. He didn’t let her get a word in.

“You’ve been acting weird for weeks!” he yelled. “You never want to do anything with me anymore and you’re the worst big sister in the world. I don’t care if you leave!”

That was probably the worst of it all. She could handle her parents ignoring her. She could shoulder the confused “Why?” that Ben continually gave her. She could take her grandpa and grandma’s quiet disappointment. But she had always liked to think of herself as a good big sister; it was something she had prided herself on before everything had changed. . . .

She had been nothing close to a good big sister for months.

But there was nothing she could do about it now. Two and a half weeks after she made the announcement to her parents, she moved out. She packed all of her things into Lianne’s truck. Her father had actually helped her.

Her mother, on the other hand, had watched from the kitchen window, her face blank.

When they were finished, she found herself wrapped in an awkward hug with her father. “If you need anything,” he told her, “I’ll be around.” She nodded as she pulled away.

“Thanks,” she murmured. He said nothing more, only gave a stiff nod to Lianne, waiting nearby, and walked back to the house. As he went in, Veronica came out, and Marlie wondered if her mother would finally show some sort of emotion, any sort of emotion. Would she get angry and demand Marlie didn’t leave? Would she break down into tears? Would she hug Marlie tightly the way her father just had?

“Hi Veronica,” Lianne said hesitantly. Veronica only stared at her. Marlie felt bad. Lianne didn’t deserve the cold shoulder from Veronica. She really didn’t.

“Let me talk to her,” Marlie told her, smiling. She turned to face her mom again.

“Don’t — don’t worry about it, sweetie,” Lianne said, wavering under Veronica’s glare.

“Sweetie?” repeated Veronica, her lip curling. Lianne flinched.

“Mom,” Marlie began, “I. . . .”

“Goodbye, Marlie.”

Marlie heard Veronica lock the door after she slammed it shut. That was it. They left.

Lianne had a huge Italian dinner to celebrate Marlie’s first night with her, and it had been a lot of fun dancing around the kitchen listening to music blasted at full volume. They’d stayed up late watching old TV and talking about stupid, silly things.

The next morning, a new routine began. She had cereal for breakfast instead of pancakes; no one argued over packed lunches. Lianne kissed her on the cheek before she left for school. It was strangely normal and yet. . . . School passed without incident. Marlie updated her friends on what had happened; they all understood, even if none of them really understood. How could they?

Dinner was fun again. But Marlie spent the whole night wondering what her parents were doing right then, what they were having for dinner and if they were thinking about her. It was past ten at night when the phone rang. “It’s for you,” Lianne said, holding out the cordless.

“Hello?” Marlie asked, wondering who had called. All of her friends would use her cell phone. . . .

“Hey, Marlie,” her father greeted softly. She was surprised. She hadn’t expected him to call. “How are you?” he asked.

“I — I’m good. How are you?”

“I’m fine.” There was silence. “How was school?”

“Good. I think my English test went well. And I got an A on my paper.”

“That’s good.” Again, the line went quiet. Marlie was glad he had called, she really was, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say. There were a thousand things to say, really, but suddenly, somehow, her mind was blank. “Ben says Hi,” he told her.

“Tell him I said Hi, too,” she replied.

“Your, ah, your mom, Veronica, I mean, says Hi too.”

“Does she really?” Marlie asked skeptically. He didn’t answer right away. She knew that was her answer. “You don’t have to lie to me, Dad,” she went on sharply, angry at her mother.

“Goodnight, Marlie,” he said, a sigh in his voice.

“Goodnight, Da —.”

He’d already hung up the phone.

"What did he have to say?" Lianne asked kindly as Marlie handed her the phone.

"He was just saying Hi," she answered softly. Lianne smiled.

"That's nice."

"Yeah."

Her dad didn't call the next night or the night after that. Soon fun dinner was just dinner; her new house was just her house. Her first week at Lianne’s house passed into her second and then suddenly she had been there for a month. It was fun, in away. But at the same time . . . it just wasn't home.

A/N: This was kind of a big chapter and I hope you enjoyed it! The next chapter will hopefully be posted soon. Happy July 4th everybody! : )

Fic: Truth be told, part 5

Fri, 03 Jul 2009 02:35:08 GMT

Logan lay down on the bed, yawning.

His life might not have been perfect, but it was as close to it as he could have ever hoped, and truth be told, it was more than he could have ever wished. He loved his job, he loved his kids, and he loved his wife. It still amazed him sometimes: he had actually gotten Veronica for keeps. She had agreed to marry him, to be with him in sickness and health until the day she dies. It still made him smile to think about.

Except now everything was falling apart. Veronica was tense at all times, even to the point that he worried about the baby, and she didn’t want to talk to him or anyone else. The boys were both worried and confused but there was no good way to answer their questions, and Marlie . . . she was always running away from them as fast as she could.

It wasn’t fair.

Lianne was just like his mother, and just as he had come to hate his mom, he hated Lianne. He had been there for Marlie. He had driven her to the doctor’s at three in the morning when she got the chicken pocks at age two. He had invented wild stories about princesses and castles and dragons to get her to sleep at night. He had taken her to her first day of kindergarten. He had let her sleep in his bed with him when she saw the movie Hocus Pocus and had nightmares for a week.

He had always been around to raise her and love her and make sure she was never scared or alone or hurt.

And all she was interested in was Lianne. How was that fair? But he couldn’t hate Marlie for that; he couldn’t be angry at her or even annoyed. He knew Veronica was. But he couldn’t be. He never could be. Veronica said he was too soft when it came to Marlie. She said he spoiled her. But he didn’t care.

He liked spoiling her. Or at least he had, when she’d stayed around the house for more than two seconds. All he wanted was for her to forget about Lianne, to forget about all the sordid past she was slowly learning and remember who really loved her and where she really belonged. But how could he make that happen?

“What are you thinking about?” Veronica asked suddenly.

He had thought she was asleep.

“Marlie,” he answered honestly. She didn’t reply, but he hadn’t expected her to. She didn’t like talking about Marlie now. She hated it, in fact. He knew it was killing her, what was happening. And he wished he could take that pain away; he wished he could make everything better for her and for Marlie and for himself. He couldn’t, though. He was helpless.

He thought about the baby. It was a girl. Would it be like Marlie? Would it be like Veronica? Would it be like him? He tired to imagine the female version of himself. He suddenly saw too many teenage boys hanging around. That was not going to happen. He’d send her to a convent first.

He’d told Marlie the same thing a few years ago. No boy, no matter how smart, wealthy, funny, intelligent, or attractive he might be, was going any where near his baby. The very thought drove him even crazier than the idea of boys going any where near Veronica had back before they were together for good.

Of course, when he’d told Marlie that he’d put her in a convent before he’d let a boy near her, she’d laughed and swatted his arm and told him, “Dream on, Daddy.” Where had that amazing girl gone? The one who smiled and laughed and called him Daddy? All he got from her now were disappointed, unhappy stares and sharp, one word answers. He sighed softly to himself.

The bed shifted as Veronica scooted close to him. She couldn’t exactly curl into him, but she pressed her side to his, grabbing his arm and wrapping it around her stomach. She was warm and soft in his arms and he breathed in that familiar smell. “I miss her,” Veronica whispered. Marlie was still around; they still saw her every night, even if on this particular night she had run from the house and straight to Lianne’s.

But Logan knew what his wife meant.

He pressed a kiss to her temple, his hand running over her stomach, over his tiny little baby growing inside this woman he loved so much. "Maybe you should tell her that," he said gently. She didn't reply. A part of him wanted to repeat the words, wanted to force her to listen and realize that she couldn't expect Marlie to understand everything without explanation.

But Logan knew it would be a waste of his time. “I miss her, too,” he whispered. A moment later he felt hot tears on his neck and the slight tremble of a silently crying Veronica in his arms, but he didn’t say anything. There wasn’t anything to say, anyhow, and there was nothing Veronica wanted to hear.

He just pulled her even closer.

“Logan?” she asked a few minutes later, her voice even softer than before.

“Yeah?”

There was a pause. “Never mind,” she finally said.

He smiled to himself. “I love you, too, Veronica.”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say!” she protested.

“What were you going to say, then?” She didn’t reply immediately. “Veronica?” he pressed, not sure whether to be concerned or amused.

“I hope this baby loves me,” she told him, the words coming out hurriedly, and there was a note of vulnerability in her voice that was so rarely there. For an instant he was angry at Marlie for causing that vulnerability, that hurt, in Veronica. It faded, though; she was just a kid, after all. . . .

“This baby will love you,” he said, his voice firm. “The same way that Ben loves you and Jason loves you and . . . Marlie loves you.”

“I . . . I know,” she whispered, and the trace of vulnerability was stubbornly pushed aside. “Goodnight,” she told him, and he knew she had closed her eyes. He stared into the darkness for a moment. For so long in high school and college she hadn’t said it, but after all these years she had come to say it at least once a day, right before she fell asleep. Well, usually she did. She didn’t when they were fighting and she hadn’t done it very often lately. . . .

“I love you,” she said softly.

It was always what she said right before drifting off to sleep. He smiled, closing his eyes and imaging when everything with Marlie and Lianne would resolve itself and things would go back to normal. It had to eventually, right? “I love you, too.”

Veronica swung open the door to see a rather shocked Logan standing there. She wasn’t sure whether he was shocked by the fact that she obviously hadn’t showered in days, the bit of fresh spit-up on her shoulder, or the red-faced, screaming baby on her hip. “Hi. . . .” he greeted slowly.

“Hi, Logan,” she sighed, shifting Marlene from one hip to the other tiredly. She tried rocking the baby slightly but the small blonde continued howling. “Is everything okay?” she asked him. “Do you need something?”

It was about nine in the morning on a Saturday; she couldn’t begin to imagine what he was doing at her apartment.

“I just wanted to see how you were doing. I stopped by your dorm but Mac told me you had moved back with your dad and I . . . I just wanted to catch up and make sure everything was okay.”

Veronica gave him the best smile she could muster. It was kind of sweet of him. “I moved back because it was cheaper and because Dad needed help caring for the baby.”

“So . . . does this mean your mom’s back?”

Veronica scoffed. “No. That winner of a woman isn’t back. But she did leave a note when she abandoned her baby in a hotel room two weeks after the kid was born. So when they found a crying baby in an empty room. . . .”

“They gave you and your dad the baby?” he asked.

“They didn’t have many other options,” Veronica said, nodding. “And, you know, it’s what my loving mother told them to do in her heartfelt note.” She looked down at the baby, officially two months old yesterday. So much time had passed and yet no time at all.

Logan nodded as if he understood. But he didn’t move. It was obvious what he wanted. She resisted the urge to sigh. She had sort of missed him, and if he didn’t mind a screaming baby and the smelly, vomit mat that she had become, then what the hell.

“Do you want to come in?” she offered.

“Sure,” he said, smiling. She turned away, walking into the house and leaving the door open for him to follow her. She felt the smallest twinge of embarrassment at the state of the apartment: baby toys and clothing were scattered everywhere; the bookshelf in the living room had collapsed, spilling its contents across the ground, and it had yet to be picked up. Dishes were pilled high in the sink; Chinese takeout from the night before was still on the kitchen table.

But it was Logan. What the hell did he care? And even if he did, why should she care that he cared? She hadn’t even seen him since that time at the hospital, although that could have been because she had been spending all her free time with the baby.

“Looks like things are going well for you,” he said slowly, his eyes gazing around the house, “I’ve never seen the place this spic and span before.”

“Are you making a crack at my housekeeping skills, buddy?” Veronica asked him, cocking an eyebrow at him.

He raised his hands defensively. “I’d never, Miss Mars.”

Marlene was still screaming. At only two months old, the baby was the loudest thing Veronica had ever heard. She didn’t understand how Marlene could possibly have the strength to cry and scream that loudly for that long. She tried again to rock the baby but it was to no avail. “Come on, kid,” she muttered. “Come on.”

This would be so much easier if she knew something, anything, about babies.

Keith did, but he was working more than ever right now to try and scrounge up some more money, and Alicia did, but things were somewhat rocky with her and Keith, and Veronica wasn’t even sure that her dad had told his girlfriend that he was currently caring for his ex-wife’s baby.

“You — you got a little, you know, on your shoulder,” Logan told her, half nodding and half pointing at the spit-up.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” she replied, rolling her eyes. She grabbed a dishtowel from the kitchen and wiped the spit up, before tossing the towel on top of the dishes. She’d clean it up eventually.

It was quiet for a few minutes while Logan stood awkwardly aside as Veronica tried to tempt Marlene into happiness with toys. “Want this teddy bear? It’s cute, right? Huh, want the teddy bear?” A small fist swatted wildly at the bear. “Come on, kid, what’s the bear ever done to you? Okay, fine, whatever. How about the Care Bear? It Cares about you! No, no, don’t like that one either. . . .”

“How are classes going for you?” Logan finally asked.

Veronica looked up at him slightly distracted. “Ah . . . fine, they’re fine. What about you? Are you — isn’t the hippo cute? Come on, kid, stop crying and play with the hippo! — are you going to your classes this year?”

“Actually, yes,” Logan replied. “I’m working on that whole being an upstanding citizen thing.”

“That working out for you?” Veronica asked tiredly.

“A bit. Hey, maybe it would be better if I came back later.”

Veronica looked up at him with a knowing smile. “Sure. I’ll . . . just see you around.” She sighed, getting up off her knees and depositing Marlie in her swing. She was still screaming, but Veronica had to go the bathroom so the kid would just have to scream. There was nothing Veronica could do.

She smiled at Logan, telling him, “I’ll see you later,” and wandering back to the bathroom. To her surprise, when she stepped back into the kitchen, Marlene was no longer crying. She wasn’t in her swing either.

Logan was holding her.

He had his keys out and was holding them over her. She was reaching for them and giggling, drooling a little. Veronica didn’t know what to think at the sight. Logan looked over at her, realizing she was back. “She likes the keys,” he said.

“I see that,” Veronica said softly, stifling a yawn.

“So . . . does this mean you and your dad are keeping the baby?” Logan asked hesitantly.

“I . . . I honestly don’t know,” she answered. “I don’t want to give her up for adoption. It seems so wrong. My dad’s looking for Lianne but he’s not having much luck finding her, and even if he does . . . could she really raise a kid? But it’s not easy trying to take care of her. I haven’t slept in days and . . . I don’t think we can do it. We don’t have the time or money or,” she let out a desolate chuckle, “or any of it.”

She hadn’t really said it all aloud to anyone. She knew it and her dad knew it so what was the point in saying it to one another? And in the past month and a half they had been pretty much in their own sad bubble, so who else was there to talk to? “I don’t even have time to think about it,” she said, rubbing her temple and yawning again.

“So . . . take some time,” Logan said softly.

“What?” Veronica frowned.

“I’ll babysit Marlene for you. Take her back to the Grand and introduce her to Dick. Don’t worry, though; I won’t let him touch her. You can get some sleep or shower or something. Whatever.”

Veronica didn’t really know what to say. “I don’t know, Logan. . . .”

“I’m not gonna kill the kid, Veronica. I can take care of her for two hours. If I can’t handle it I’ll just bring her right back, okay? You can try and get some sleep. You need some. You can’t live like this. And I’m doing pretty good right now.”

Veronica looked at Marlene, tucked safely and not crying in Logan’s arms.

Slowly, she agreed. “Okay. Two hours. Bring her right back.”

Logan smiled.

The moment he left, Veronica collapsed on her bed and was asleep within seconds. When she awoke, it was a little after four in the afternoon. She groggily sat up, trying to remember what was going on and where she was, before suddenly alarm shot through her. She had been asleep for eight hours.

She ran from her bedroom only to stop short. The kitchen was sparkling clean; the laundry was running. All the toys were picked up; everything from the broken shelf was stacked neatly in the corner. And a woman who Veronica was nearly positive was Mrs. Navarro, Weevil’s once ailing grandmother, was vacuuming Veronica’s living room.

Veronica stared.

What the hell was going on?

“Morning, sunshine!” Logan greeted.

Veronica stared at him. “What . . . what’s going on?”

“Not much,” Logan answered cheerfully. A rather contended Marlene was on his hip. It looked as if she had been given a bath, and she was dressed in fresh clothing. The vacuum cleaner didn’t seem to bother her. “Feeling better after your nap?” Veronica continued to stare at him.

“Logan!” she finally exclaimed.

“What?” he asked.

“What?” she repeated outraged. “Why is my house clean? Why is Mrs. Navarro here? Why are you still here? What’s going on?!”

“Um, I thought this was rather evident but since you asked: your house is clean because Mrs. Navarro cleaned it. And she cleaned it because I’m paying her to clean it since she needs the money and you need it to be cleaned. Plus, she really likes me now since I paid for her to get care at a private hospital and she’s all better.”

“You . . . you. . . .” Veronica wasn’t sure what to start with. “You paid for Mrs. Navarro to get better at a private hospital?”

“She really wasn’t that sick, actually,” Logan told her conversationally. “She just couldn’t afford the right care because she didn’t have any health insurance. She called me to ask if I could recommend her for a job at a hotel since they gave health insurance and she really needed it, and I started doing a little research and found out she was sick but she couldn’t afford to stop working and, well, I took it from there.”

“But . . . why?” Veronica asked.

“‘Cause she was always nice to me,” Logan answered simply. “And so I could hold it over Weevil.” He grinned.

Veronica didn’t say anything for a moment. “And now . . . now she’s cleaning my house?”

“I’m paying her, don’t worry,” he replied.

It took Veronica a moment to process it all before, “I don’t you need you to pay people to clean my house!” she yelled.

“I wouldn’t yell if I were you; it’ll probably upset Marlie. Right, kid?” he asked the little baby in his arms, who only looked up at him with big blue eyes.

“Marlie?” Veronica repeated.

“I think it’s cute.”

Again, Veronica could only stare.

Logan took a step closer to her. “I know things between us aren’t too great right now, Veronica, and I don’t know if they ever will be again. But I want to help you. You’re trying to . . . you’re trying to take care of this baby and make up for the fact that her mom abandoned her and . . . I wish there had been someone around to take care of me when my mom abandoned me. So I want to help.

“Mrs. Navarro has just gotten out of the hospital and she needs a job. I’m paying her to do cleaning for you twice a week . . . if that’s okay. It helps you and it helps her.” He paused. “Let me do this for you.”

“I don’t think so, Logan,” Veronica answered slowly.

 He seemed to evaluate his next move. “Give me one good reason why not.”

She glanced around the clean room. Mrs. Navarro caught her eye and gave a cheery wave, oblivious to their conversation as the vacuum was too loud. It really was weird that Marlene wasn’t bothered by that. Marlene. If Veronica and Keith had a little help then maybe they really could keep her. . . .

Veronica couldn’t imagine keeping her. She was twenty years old, for God’s sake! Who did she look like — Lorelei Gilmore? But she wouldn’t actually be raising her . . . but could her dad? He didn’t have the time!

At the same time, though, she couldn’t really imagine just giving Marlene away. It would seem so wrong. She was her sister. And besides, she’d been with them for five weeks and Veronica was starting to get a little attached. . . .

“Please, Veronica. You’d just be giving a job to a poor cleaning lady. How can you say no to that? Where’s your heart?”

She glared at him for that.

“You still haven’t given me a reason,” he told her. She sighed.

It might be wrong, but . . . “Just cleaning? No babysitting or cooking or anything else?”

“Maybe a little shoe-shining.”

She glared at him. “Just cleaning,” he said, nodding obediently. “Scouts honor.” He raised his free hand with a solemn expression.

It took a minute, but at long last, she said tiredly, “Fine.”

That was when everything changed.

“Ms. Echolls?”

Marlie looked up from the writing assignment Mr. Jackson, her English teacher, had just given the class. One of the office-aides was standing in the doorway. “You’re getting picked up for early dismissal, Marlie,” said Mr. Jackson.

“By who?” Marlie frowned. She thought suddenly of her mother sitting in the office waiting for her and her stomach churned uncomfortably. She did not need to deal with Veronica right then.

Mr. Jackson looked at the office-aide who only shrugged. He disappeared back into the hallway, probably to deliver another message, but Mr. Jackson was still staring at her. “Well?” he asked. Marlie sighed, gathering up her books and shoving them into her backpack. “Your paper’s due on Friday!” he reminded her as she left.

To her relief, it wasn’t Veronica waiting for her. It was Uncle Wallace. She smiled.

“You got me out of sixth period and now I don’t even have to go to seventh,” she said. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He grinned. “You know it. Come on. Let’s get some food. I’m starving. Penny’s on some new diet,” he said as they left the school and started crossing the parking lot, “and all we eat at the house any more is fish and green beans. A man has to eat some real meat!” Marlie laughed softly.

“Is that really why you picked me up?” she asked.

He shrugged. “That,” he said, “and to talk to you about . . . everything. But you knew that the moment you saw me.” He looked at her from the side as they walked. She nodded. It wouldn’t be so bad, really. He wouldn’t force any conversation on her, and it’d probably be nice to talk to him.

It had been three days since she’d spent the night at Lianne’s house, and although she had returned home the next day and was staying there once more, Veronica hadn’t said a single word to her. The woman wouldn’t even look at her. Things with her dad weren’t too swell either. Not to mention the fact that Keith and Alicia had come to dinner last night and it had been beyond awkward. . . .

She climbed into Uncle Wallace’s car. It would be nice to talk to him; to have somebody to talk to. He smiled at her as he pulled the car out of the parking lot and she smiled back. She wondered what he thought of everything that was happening.

It was silent for a few minutes as they drove. “Are you mad at me?” she asked suddenly.

He glanced at her. “Why would I be?” he asked, his eyes returning to the road.

“For wanting to get to know Lianne,” she answered honestly. “For meeting up with her and then spending the night at her house. My mom won’t talk to me at all anymore.”

“If you want to get to know Lianne, that’s your thing,” he told her. “Nobody gets to decide if that happens but you.” Marlie smiled. “But your mom . . . well, she loves you, so don’t think on it too much. Just remember that she loves you.”

“If she loved me,” Marlie replied bitterly, “she wouldn’t hate me for trying to get to know Lianne.”

Uncle Wallace took his time responding. “Have you noticed that you still call Veronica your mom and Lianne by her name?”

“Old habits die hard,” she answered simply.

He glanced at her again. “Your mom loves you, Marlie. She does. But it’s always been hard for her, accepting people into her life who have hurt her once. Lianne is one of those people. She’s been burned too many times to want to risk getting burned again.”

Marlie rolled her eyes. “I know, I know,” she said, “my mom had such a horrible past and she’s so scarred because of it and blah, blah, blah. I’ve heard it all before, Uncle Wallace.”

“You’ve heard that, yeah, but nobody’s ever actually told you what happened in that past. Not the really bad stuff.” Marlie frowned, staring at him, waiting for more.

“This is the part where you tell me,” she said.

He chuckled. “It’s not my place. I’m just saying that you don’t know everything about your mom. And her mom, Lianne, she represents a part of Veronica’s life that wasn’t so good. That was the opposite of good. And it’s hard for Veronica to deal with. She’s not a superwoman or anything.”

“I know,” Marlie murmured.

“So cut her some slack, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed. It was quiet for a few minutes.

“She asked me to move in with her.” Marlie wasn’t sure if she had intended to say it or it had just slipped out, but it didn’t really matter. Either way she’d said it. The words were out in the air, there for Uncle Wallace to soak up.

“Lianne?” Marlie only nodded. “Damn,” Uncle Wallace murmured, “you sure know how to bury the lead, girl.” Marlie smiled slightly at that response.

“Sorry,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” he assured. It was silent for a little while again, but this time he was the one finally to break it. “Are you going to?” he asked. “Move in with her, I mean.”

“Veronica would never let me,” Marlie told him, pressing her forehead to the glass of the passenger side window.

“She’d let you,” Uncle Wallace said. “Just the way she let’s you run off and stay with me and Mac and Lianne. She’d never try and control you.”

“She grounded me,” Marlie said, not wanting to think anything good of her mom.

“Has she tried to enforce it?” he asked. She didn’t reply. “She’s not the villain, Marlie.”

“I want her to be,” Marlie replied, realizing she sounded rather immature.

“You know, my mom’s real name isn’t Alicia.” Marlie frowned, looking over at her uncle Wallace with a furrowed brow.

“What?”

“She changed her name when she ran away from my father when I was just a baby.” Marlie didn’t know what to say. How come she had never heard this before? She was beginning to think she knew nothing about the past of anyone in her life. “She went on to marry the man I was always told was my father, the man who I got my last name from, the man who really is the father of your uncle Darryl.”

“Wow,” Marlie said softly, realizing what he was trying to say. “So you . . . you. . . .”

“Found out my senior year of high school that the man I’d always been told my father really wasn’t, that my mom had been lying to me for my entire life and that she had kept my father from me even though he wanted to get to know me? Yeah.”

“I didn’t know,” Marlie said, reeling.

“It’s not really something I start conversations with,” he replied, giving a small smile.

“So what happened when you found out?” she asked. “How did you find out?”

“Nathan — that was his name, my real dad — came. Found us. Told me the truth and forced my mom to tell the whole story.”

“What did you do?” she pressed as he turned the car into the parking lot of his favorite restaurant.

“I didn’t know what to do. When I asked you mom, she told me to side with my mom. She said that the hero was the one who stays and the villain is the one that leaves. It was always simple for her. But it wasn’t so simple for me and . . . it was tough.” He turned the car off.

“It isn’t ever simple. Mom just likes to think it is.”

“Sometimes, Marlie, painting everything black and white is the way to deal. You can’t hold it against your mom that she found a way to deal with it all.” He was quiet for a moment. "Lianne didn't just abandon you when you were a baby, Marlie," he said softly. "She abandoned your mom, too."

Marlie didn't know what to say.

He climbed out of the car and she followed suit, and neither of them spoke as they entered the restaurant and seated themselves.

They talked about regular things for a little while. She told him how much she hated her math class; he told her a story about the new cat Aunt Penny had just brought home. She described a food fight that had gone on in the cafeteria; he explained the process he’d gone through to buy a new lawn mower. They both discussed TV with fervor.

And then, as she was finishing up her waffles and ice cream, the topic came up again.

“So what are you going to do about Lianne’s offer?” he asked her.

“To live with her?” He nodded. “I . . . don’t know. Things are so bad with my parents right now that I’m thinking about taking it.” She paused. “Plus . . . I like her, you know? And I think it might be kind of nice to get a chance to know her . . . really. But what if I regret it? She did abandon me once, so. . . .”

“People make mistakes. They do things they regret. Sometimes you just have to forgive ‘em for it. You can’t live hating everybody.”

“My mom does,” Marlie countered.

“Veronica’s forgiven her fair share of people, even if it wouldn’t seem like it.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if you want to get to know Lianne, it’s not a crime. I’m saying that I went and lived with Nathan. And while I came home eventually, I was glad that I did it. I still am today.” It took Marlie a minute to process what he was really saying.

He was saying she should go live with Lianne.

“Just know,” he told her, “that no matter what happens, Veronica is your mom. You're sixteen years old. Your mom was sixteen years old, too, the first time Lianne left her.”

Now she was just confused.

A/N: Once again this is a shorter chapter, but I think it works. I know everyone has mixed opinions on Marlie (most leaning towards the dislike category) but she has some hits coming, so be nice! Hopefully I'll be able to get the next chapter posted tomorrow, but I may not have the chance, so hang tight. : )

Fic: Truth Be Told, part 4

Thu, 02 Jul 2009 04:47:08 GMT

The baby was born at three in the morning after hours and hours of labor. Lianne wasn't too old, but she was certainly past the safest age for giving birth, and there had been some concern. The baby had been born without too much trouble, however, and in good health.

Veronica went to the hospital with Keith. She couldn't not. She hadn't gone into to see Lianne yet, but she had seen the baby, seen her little sister. She was starting at her right at that moment. Veronica had never had much experience with babies. And now she was staring at the tiny seven pounds and thirteen ounces of her own flesh and blood, so small and pink.

Her sister lay among rows of other babies, but Veronica had no time for any of them. She stared at her sister intently. What would life be like for that innocent little girl? How would it be to have only Lianne for family? Veronica was her family, too, but if Veronica became a part of her life then she would have to become a part of Lianne's life, and Veronica wasn't sure she could handle that.

"Would you like to hold her?" a nurse asked. Why did they always ask that?

"She's my sister," Veronica said, not sure why. "My half-sister." The nurse nodded kindly.

"You can hold her if you want," the older woman told her softly. Veronica didn't reply. "Do you want to?"

Slowly, Veronica nodded. "Sure," she murmured. She watched as the nurse went in and picked up her sister, who squirmed slightly, and the next thing Veronica knew, she was holding the small baby. The small tag on the little foot read "Mars."

"Are you a Mars?" Veronica whispered to the small baby. Big blue eyes looked up at her. Her sister had her eyes. She stared down at the baby, silent.

"She looks like you," the nurse said, and when Veronica glanced at her, the woman was smiling.

"Yeah," Veronica said absentmindedly. The baby's tiny eyelids closed. Veronica impulsively hugged her closer. Her revere was broken by the beep of her watch. Unable to glance at her wrist with a baby in her arms, she glanced at the clock on the hospital wall.

It was exactly seven in the morning. Veronica started to look back down at her sister only for her eyes to catch on Lianne, standing at the end of the hall watching Veronica. Lianne seemed startled when Veronica caught her eyes, but after a moment the older woman came towards her.

"She looks beautiful, doesn't she?" Lianne asked.

"She's a baby. She looks like a baby," Veronica answered. She gazed down at her small sister. Weren't babies supposed to cry more? Maybe her sister wasn't big on crying. That was probably a good thing.

"She looks a lot like you," Lianne told her. "Just like you, really. I've named her Marlene. I haven't thought of a middle name, though. You — you can pick one, if you want." Veronica didn't say anything.

"Who's her father, Lianne?" Veronica finally asked. "You have to know." She hadn’t brought the question up at all in the past months, but she had to know now. She had to.

"It doesn't matter," Lianne whispered. "He isn't going to be a part of her life." There was a small pause. "Are you going to be a part of her life?" Lianne asked. Veronica didn't answer her. “I guess that’s a no,” Lianne whispered.

“My dad looked into it, you know,” Veronica told her, ignoring the question entirely.

“Into what?” Lianne frowned.

“Into the father,” answered Veronica, her voice steely. But she didn’t look at Lianne. She refused. “He won’t tell me anything, though. I know he knows something but —”

"Veronica?"

Both Veronica and Lianne looked up at the sound of her name, and Veronica wasn't sure what to feel when she saw Logan coming towards them. What was he doing here at seven in the morning, anyway?

"Is that . . . ?"

"My sister," Veronica answered him. "She came a few hours ago."

"Oh," Logan said softly. "She's small."

"Babies generally are." His eyes flittered briefly to Lianne, standing and watching their exchange in silence, but he said nothing to her.

"She's, ah, cute, I guess, too," he offered. Veronica couldn't help but smile at him.

"How have you been?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Dick drank a little too much last night. Had to have his stomach pumped. That's what I'm doing here. He's the one constant in my life and he's getting his stomach pumped. Great, right?" Logan shook his head sadly. Veronica felt a twinge in her stomach.

"He's not the one constant. I'm in your life, too."

Logan didn't say anything, but when he glanced at the ground, Veronica saw the slightest curve of a smile in his face. She wondered if she would ever really get over Logan. Something about him brought out the worst in her, brought out the nastiness and bitterness, but at the same time, there were times with him when she was just so happy and. . . .

"I'm going to get some sleep," Lianne murmured.

Veronica only nodded in reply, looking back down at her sister. She really was small. It was hard to imagine her growing up and into her own person. What would she be like? Would she be anything like Veronica? Would she like the same things as Veronica?

"Hey, are you okay?" Logan asked, his voice especially soft.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean with your mom and everything. A lot's been going on," he said. Veronica looked up at him and, oh so automatically, he reached out and brushed his knuckles affectionately across the side of her face.

"I'm dealing with it," she sighed.

"You always do."

They talked about mundane things, then, about their classes and what Wallace had done in Africa and how her internship with the F.B.I. had been and the latest show Trina had just been killed off of. All the while Veronica held the small baby in her arms, letting the little girl fall asleep.

Eventually she gave the child back to the nurse and let Logan talk her into getting a cup of coffee from the cafeteria. The coffee was terrible. The company wasn't so bad, though. She really had missed him. It was impossible not to. He had been such a big part of her life for so long, and he certainly had a vivid personality.

It was nearing eleven in the morning when her father found them. She was slightly disappointed: who knew when she and Logan would get a chance to talk again? All disappointment disappeared, however, on sight of the panicked look her father possessed.

"What's wrong?" she immediately asked.

"Have you seen your mom?" Keith asked.

"I saw her a few hours ago . . . why?"

"Because she left. She checked out of the hospital.”

“Already?” asked Veronica, a small alarm going off in her head.

"Did she go back to your house?" Logan asked.

"Alicia was just leaving her house to go to work. I had her stop by the house. She said no one's there, but Lianne's things are gone." Veronica couldn't believe it. Had her mom really just left . . . again?

"And the baby?" Veronica asked, not exactly sure what she wanted to hear.

Keith was silent for a moment and Veronica thought she knew exactly what he was going to say. Lianne had left the baby behind. But Veronica was wrong.

“The baby’s gone, too.”

She was reading her English assignment when her mom walked into the room. "I've got your laundry," she announced.

"Put in on my dresser," Marlie replied, not taking her eyes off of her book. She waited for her mom to leave. It didn't happen.

"Do I look like your personal slave?" asked Veronica.

"Dad's offered to hire a maid," Marlie replied. A moment later her mom dumped all of the clothing on top of Marlie's book, forcing Marlie to glare at her.

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," Veronica told her.

"Thank you," Marlie said, gritting her teeth. Her mom was officially 'off-duty' from the FBI and had been told, to her great annoyance, that she could not return to work until the baby was born. As far as Marlie could tell, her mother was doing her best to blow off steam by spending her free time torturing Marlie.

She brushed aside the clothing and focused on her book again. Her mom didn't move an inch. Slowly, realizing her mother would not stand to be ignored, Marlie looked up. "Is there something you want?" she asked.

"How was school today?" Veronica asked.

"Fine," Marlie answered. Did her mom want to make peace? Well, it wasn't that easy.

"Did your biology test go well? You had one today, didn't you?"

"It's tomorrow."

Veronica nodded. "Are you ready?"

"Yes."

Sighing, Veronica turned to leave. Marlie looked back at her book. There. That served her mother right. But a moment later Veronica was facing her again. "I found something in the attic," Veronica told her.

"That's nice," Marlie replied, focusing her eyes on page 227 and not letting them wander.

"It's a dress. Your dress . . . from when you were little, only two and a half, actually." Marlie didn't say anything, but Veronica forged on ahead. "Alicia made it for you. You wore it to a Hearst party."

Marlie frowned and looked at her mother, confused. "I went to a Hearst party when I was two and a half years old?"

Veronica smiled. "You didn't stay long. It was one of the last parties of my senior year. Between you and classes, I hadn't been to any parties for a long, long time. Your aunt Mac insisted I go to this one. But Logan was visiting your aunt Trina in LA after her car accident and your grandpa was chasing a bail jumper. There was no one to babysit."

"So you just took me to a college party?" Marlie asked in disbelief.

"We didn't really have to, actually; Alicia probably would have watched you," Veronica admitted. "But once we got the idea into our heads . . . Alicia had just made you the dress a few days ago and. . . . We did our hair and make-up and I even curled your hair and . . . and the three of us went to a party. People stared at you like nobodies business."

"Wow," Marlie said. Her mom had taken a baby to a college party. No. That wasn't right. Some strange woman had taken a baby to a college party. Not Veronica Echolls. Had Veronica Echolls met the strange woman? "That's kind of crazy, you know."

"Your dad said the same thing when he got home. 'Did you buy her a beer, too?' he asked. But I . . . I had fun. It was probably more fun getting ready and then seeing everybody's expression when Mac and I walked into a party with a baby in between us than anything else, but. . . ."

Marlie imagined the scene and found herself smiling.

"And I was . . .," Veronica went on, slightly hesitant, "I mean, I didn't mind people staring because I was . . . proud of you."

"I was two and a half years old," Marlie said softly.

"I've always been proud of you," Veronica replied, her voice just as soft. She had come closer during their conversation and she reached out now, tucking a lock of Marlie's hair behind her ear. "You're so smart and tough and . . . and I do love you, you know.

"You know that, don't you? That I love you?"

"I know," Marlie answered, smiling at her mom. "I love you, too."

Veronica gave a warm smile then, and she looked at Marlie with the very same gleam in her eyes as when Marlie had been in her second grade school play and Veronica had assured her afterward that Marlie, dressed as asparagus with cheese on top, had been the best part of the play.

"I'm washing the dress now," she said. "I'll show it to you later, if you want."

Marlie nodded and, still smiling, her mother left the room.

It didn't occur to Marlie until after her mother was gone that that while her mother was being so open Marlie should have asked about Lianne, should have tried to get more information. She shouldn't have so easily folded under her mother's affection.

But for the first time in weeks, Lianne hadn't been on her mind.

At dinner that night, Marlie said she wouldn't be at dinner the next night because she was going to dinner with Lianne. She was trying to be honest. The last two times she had met with Lianne, she had done so without telling her parents; (though she was sure they knew nonetheless). Maybe she could reach an understanding with them and. . . .

"I assume we'll be footing the bill?" her mother asked.

Her father changed the subject, asking Jason about basketball practice.

And her mom didn't say another word to Marlie for the rest of the meal.

It turned out that Lianne had named Marlie after her grandmother, Marlene Reynolds. Lianne loved music, but she couldn't sing or dance to save her life, or at least, she said she couldn't. She loved the beach and hated the cold. She always called Marlie by her full name. It was weird at first; before then, Marlie had only ever been called Marlene when she was being yelled at. She had gotten used to it, though.

And she thought she was really getting to know Lianne. It seemed that was an unforgivable transgression in Veronica's eyes, and it was as if that conversation with her mother had never taken place. But her parents couldn't expect Marlie to ignore Lianne; she liked the older woman, and more and more often, as she ate silent dinners with her parents, avoided her mother's conversation like the plague and steadfastly ignored her father's burning stares, she wondered what her life would have been like if Lianne had never left.

The fifth time she was to spend time with Lianne it was for ice cream after school. Her car in the shop for an annual check-up, Marlie had gotten a ride that day from her dad, and she called Lianne to tell her that she would need to be picked up. It had been strange, driving along in Lianne's old truck, but it had been kind of nice, too. She had gotten chocolate ice cream.

Everything went wrong when Lianne dropped her off at home.

Marlie didn't know why she did it, but she couldn't help herself. "Do you want to come in for a minute?" she offered. Lianne was taken aback.

"I don't think that's such a good idea. . . ."

"Why not?" Marlie asked, knowing exactly what Lianne would say.

"Your mother. . . ."

"I don't care what my mother wants or doesn't want," Marlie replied rebelliously. "It's my house, too. And I'm inviting you in." Lianne was still hesitant, but with a little prodding she finally agreed. The house was cool and silent when they entered.

"I guess no one's home," Lianne observed. Marlie shrugged.

"Do you want something to drink?" she asked.

Before Lianne could answer, the sound of the front door opening could be heard and loud voices floated into the room. "Anybody home?" Logan called out.

"Be down in a second!" Veronica yelled from upstairs.

"I guess she is home," Lianne whispered, her eyes wide and almost fearful.

"It doesn't matter," Marlie assured.

Ben raced into the room right after that. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of them. "Hi," he said, his big eyes taking in the sight of an older woman he'd never met standing in the kitchen with his big sister.

"This is my little brother Ben," Marlie introduced. It was always strange referring to her brothers or father or mother as such in front of Lianne. And she had so far entirely avoided the issue of what to call Lianne. "Ben, this is Lianne."

"Hi Ben," Lianne greeted softly.

"Hi," Ben repeated. Logan appeared in the kitchen then.

"I thought you were dying of thirst," Logan said, flipping through the mail and not noticing who else was in the room besides Ben.

"He got side-tracked," Marlie said. Logan looked up from the mail.

"I didn't know you were here; you said you were going over to Amy's house. . . ." His voice wasn't accusatory but it faded away when he caught sight of Lianne. Ben glanced back and forth between his father and Lianne, obviously confused again. Marlie felt a little bad for him; she hadn't been the best big sister lately, and the poor kid was only five years old.

"Hi Logan," Lianne breathed.

Logan didn't reply and Lianne turned slightly pink under his stare.

"I just invited Lianne in for a drink, Dad," Marlie said.

"I see," Logan answered, his voice curt. Marlie felt her stomach drop. Of course she shouldn't expect any better reception for Lianne from her father than from her mother. After all, the man had married Veronica, hadn't he? That had to mean he wasn't the best of people. But was it so wrong of her to wish that the father she so loved but who she hadn't been able to talk with properly for weeks would get along with her mom, her real mom, who she was just starting to get to know?

Right on cue, Veronica entered the room. "How was school?" she asked Ben kindly. Ben's eyes lit up at the question, but before he could answer, Lianne let out a gasp.

"You're pregnant!" she said, her eyes staring at Veronica's stomach, which looked particularly large compared to how tiny Veronica was.

"You're in my house," Veronica replied, her eyes flashing. "What are you doing here?" Lianne took a step back, as though afraid Veronica would attack her.

"I invited her here!" Marlie immediately defended. "It's my house, too, and I have every right to invite her here!"

"You live here, kid, but I'm the one paying for this house, not you," Veronica told her.

"Veronica, I didn't mean to cause any trouble," Lianne began.

"All you do is cause trouble, Lianne," Veronica snapped. Lianne winced at the sound of her name coming so harshly out of Veronica's mouth, and fury flared up within Marlie.

"Don't talk to her that way!" she yelled.

"I think it's time for you to go upstairs, Ben," Logan interrupted.

"But Daddy. . . ."

Logan didn't listen to his small protests; he only scooped him up and disappeared out of the room with him. Veronica didn't miss a beat. "It's time for you to leave, Lianne."

"No! She doesn't have to leave! Why do you treat her that way?"

"It's no problem, Marlene, really," Lianne told her.

"Yes, it is," Marlie replied, almost pleading with Lianne to believe her. "She's your daughter and she owes you more than that.

"You're one to speak!" Veronica said, her face contorted. "And you know that? You're grounded. You go from home to school to home again and there will be no more clandestine meetings with Lianne. Now go to your room. This conversation is over."

Marlie exploded. "YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!"

"Actually I have every right, Marlie, and —!”

"You're not even my real mother!" Marlie snarled. "You're not!"

"Guess what, kid? Legally, I am! Which means I say where you go and who you spend your time with. You answer to me. Now go to your room."

"I hate you!" Marlie screamed. "All you ever do is try and control me and you don't even like me! You didn't even want kids!" At some point Lianne had slipped from the room and left, but Marlie didn't even care anymore. She was too blinded with rage.

"Then why did I adopt you?" Veronica asked. "If I hate kids so much and never wanted them, why did I adopt you?"

"Because you wanted to ruin my life!" Marie cried.

"Oh, that's very mature, Marlie, really. You’re certainly going to take the world by storm with that attitude! I know you think you're some sort of victim, but I gave you everything! I sacrificed my life to take care of you, to give you a better life, and you're still not happy! I'm tired of that! And as long as you're under my roof, then you're going to follow my rules, do you hear? If I have to tell you one more time to go to your room, you're not just grounded for a month; you're grounded until your hair turns gray!"

Marlene stared at her for a moment. She stared at her fiery blue eyes and furious face. She had never hated her mother more. And she couldn't stand to talk to her for a minute longer; she couldn't stand to even be in the same house as her for another moment. So she turned away, walking right out of the house.

Veronica followed.

"You can't keep running away, Marlie! It doesn't work that way!" Veronica yelled.

"WATCH ME!" Marlie yelled back.

She saw from the corner of her eye when her father appeared at the door next to her mother. But she was too far away to hear what they said, and she didn't care. She could think of only one place she could stand to be at this point, and this time, it wasn't the house of one of her mother's minions.

"Where do you think she's off to now?" asked Logan.

"Lianne's," Veronica answered. There was a pregnant pause before she mumbled softly, her eyes staring at Marlie’s retreating figure, "I hate that she. . . ."

"That she what?"

"That she's just like me."

It was Lianne who made the offer.

Marlie had fled to Lianne’s house and ending up spending the rest of the evening and even the night. This time, though, her mom didn’t call. A part of Marlie wished she would. Did her mom really hate Lianne so much that she wouldn’t even call to make sure her daughter was okay?

“This is nice,” Marlie told Lianne, sitting and sipping hot chocolate with Lianne in the living room. The TV was on softly in the background, and Marlie felt more comfortable and at home with Lianne at that moment then she had felt at her house with Logan and Veronica for weeks.

“It is,” Lianne replied, giving a small smile and taking a sip out of her own mug. And then, so timidly she couldn’t even look at Marlie, she made the suggestion. “You can always stay over her more often.”

“What?”

“I mean, if you wanted, you could come and . . . live here with me. I’d love to have you.”

Marlie was too shocked to answer.

But as she lay in a foreign bed that night, the idea began to take root in her mind.

A/N: I know this chapter was shorter than the others, but that's just how it all worked out. The next chapter should be up soon! : )

Fic: Truth Be Told, part 3

Wed, 01 Jul 2009 05:09:45 GMT

“I wondered when you'd come to see me,” her aunt Mac greeted as Marlie pulled into the driveway. Marlie almost pulled right out again. Aunt Mac would probably just call Veronica, who would come and. . . . But no, Veronica was too busy pretending nothing was wrong to be bothered coming across town to fetch her.

Marlie's stomach was swirling with anger as she stepped out of the car and slammed the door shut. When she finally met her aunt Mac's gaze, it was to see the brunette staring at her with utmost sympathy and understanding. “Did you hate your parents for not telling you that they weren't your parents?” Marlie asked her, not beating around the bush.

Aunt Mac didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” she answered. "I could barely stand to look at them. And I even sought out my real parents. It was obvious my real mom wanted to know me as much as I did her." Marlie knew she had come to the right place. Aunt Mac gave her a small smile. "You want to come in and talk? Maybe have something to eat?" Marlie nodded gratefully and followed her aunt into the house.

Aunt Mac's house was huge, probably the biggest house Marlie had ever even seen. Her uncle Dick was just as wealthy as her dad, but the difference was that while her mom and dad liked being subtle about their wealth, Uncle Dick enjoyed flaunting it and Aunt Mac didn't seem to mind too much. It meant they lived in huge house full of expensive things, and if Marlie hadn't known her aunt and uncle her entire life, she would have felt awkward in the grandiose place.

"Where's Uncle Dick?" Marlie asked as she slipped into a couch in the living room and accepted the orange juice Aunt Mac handed her.

"On a business trip," Aunt Mac answered. "And Chris left for school, so we have the house to ourselves." She sat across from Marlie, a mug of coffee in her own hand. Aunt Mac hadn't simply married a wealthy man; rather, years before she married Uncle Dick when they were both passing thirty years old, she had made her own fortune online. She was probably the most intelligent person Marlie knew, and her entire life had always fascinated Marlie.

Except, she had never really pressed for details concerning . . . the switch; whenever the subject had come up in the past, Aunt Mac had always said something simple — “I like my parents, even if they named me Cindy,” — and that was that. End of discussion.

"Can you tell me about . . . everything with your parents and stuff?" Marlie asked, unable to hold back.

"It was Veronica who figured it out," Aunt Mac answered. "But that shouldn't surprise you." She gave a small, affectionate grin. Marlie couldn't help but wonder bitterly to herself why so many amazing, cool people like Uncle Wallace and Aunt Mac so adored her mother.

“Remind me again why I tried to get away from my parents and ended up at with one of their best friends for the second time in a row?” Marlie asked sullenly.

“You’re stupid?” Aunt Mac suggested.

“Thanks, Aunt Mac, that really puts me in a better mood,” Marlie replied.

Aunt Mac gave a small, sympathetic smile. "She found out about the switch because I asked her to find out some information on my parents,” she said, carrying on with her story, “and she was really hesitant to tell me. I think she realized that in some ways it would be easier for me not to know."

"But she did tell you?"

"She told me, yes, because I asked her to. It — it blew me away, Marlie, just as I'm sure the truth blew you away. You hear about this sort of thing on the news and in TV and stuff, but . . . you never imagine it could happen to you. I didn't know how to react. I just, I guess I had this overwhelming urge to meet my real parents because I had always felt so out of place in my family of blonde meataterians."

"Did you meet your real parents? What were they like? Did you get to talk to them?"

Aunt Mac smiled at Marlie's eagerness. "It turned out that I had been switched with a girl who went to Neptune named Madison Sinclair. I hated her almost as much as your mother did. She was spoiled rotten and was a complete and utter bitc. . . well, she was a bad person." Marlie smiled slightly at her aunt Mac.

"Anyway, I went to a party at her house and got to meet her little sister, who was really my little sister, and I saw all these pictures of Madison in amazing places and . . . and I was angry at my parents. Because I should have had that great little sister and been to all those great places and grown up in a house that loved reading and traveling and . . . and I was so angry. Because it looked as if I could belong in that house.

"I got to meet my birth mother and it was obvious just by the way she looked at me that she wanted to get to know me," Aunt Mac went on. "But . . . ."

"But what?"

"But I realized I didn't need to know her. As much as I might resent my parents, they raised me. They loved me enough not to want give me up when it came out that Madison and I had been switched as babies. And my little brother . . . I mean, I know Jason and Ben can annoy you, but you still love them, don't you?" Marlie had to admit, however grudgingly, that she probably did. But she didn't say that aloud.

"And I realized that my mom and dad loved me so much they gave up ever getting to know their real daughter in order to have me. That's a lot of love, considering I never thought I was all that special to my parents."

"So what did you end up doing?"

"Nothing," Aunt Mac answered. "I did nothing. It wasn't worth it."

Marlie couldn't help but be disappointed. That wasn't what she wanted to hear. It just wasn't. She sure as hell didn't want to do nothing. She couldn't do nothing; it would kill her.

"Don't get me wrong," Aunt Mac continued, "I still thought about it a lot. When I got in a fight with my parents or had a bad day, I would wonder what my life would be like if I had never been switched. But . . . at the end of my senior year, things really went wrong for me, and my parents were there for me as they never had been before. They . . . they would have moved heaven and hell for me that summer after it all happened."

Marlie knew something terrible had happened to her aunt Mac on graduation night; she had heard plenty of allusions to it. Somehow Aunt Mac had been related to the boy who jumped off the roof, but that was about all Marlie knew.

"So what should I do?" asked Marlie. "Forget I learned the truth? Because that's kind of hard to do."

"No one's asking you to forget anything. I think they always planned on telling you –"

Marlie snorted meanly. "Are you sure about that?"

"I can't imagine telling your kid something like that is easy," Aunt Mac told her. "How do you say to a girl you raised and loved that she isn't your kid even though as far as you're concerned she is?"

Marlie didn't answer.

"Look, I know you're mad at your mom for lying to you, but . . . she did it for you, so you didn't have to live with the fact that the woman who actually gave birth to you abandoned you. Veronica gave up normal life as a teenager, gave up parties and late nights out and being young so that you could lead a carefree life. Can you really hate her for that?"

Marlie didn't meet her aunt's gaze. So the woman made a good point. But it didn't mean that Marlie didn't want to meet her real mother, didn't want to meet the woman who . . . because Lianne had come back, right? She had left Marlie, but she had come back, too, she had wanted to see Marlie and . . . that meant something, didn't it?

"If you want to meet Lianne," Aunt Mac said, as if reading her thoughts, "then that's your choice. And no one is going to try and stop you. But before you . . . just remember that Veronica is the one who stayed, Veronica is the one who raised you — and Logan, too, even though he wasn't even related to you — and if you seek out Lianne, you're going to hurt them . . . badly. You need to make sure it's worth it."

"That's a lot to expect of me," Marlie said. "I'm the kid here. Shouldn't they be thinking of ways not to hurt me?"

"Their way was not to tell you." Marlie could only stare at her. "I still remember what Veronica told me when it all came out," Aunt Mac went on. "'You had a choice in all of this,' she told me. I did. I chose to learn the truth and it was then my choice to seek our — or not seek out — my biological parents."

"And you chose not to," said Marlie.

"And now you have to choose," Aunt Mac replied, nodding.

"It's not that I . . .," Marlie began hesitantly, looking down at her orange juice. "It's not that I don't love my parents or anything." She looked back up at her aunt Mac. "I just . . . I feel so . . . confused. And I . . . I, oh, I don't know." She sighed.

The phone rang at that moment. Aunt Mac slowly rose to her feet and put down her mug. "It took me over a year to ask my parents about the switch," Aunt Mac told her. "I wish I had done it sooner. You should talk to your parents — your real parents — before you decide anything. You can go to Lianne if that's what you want, but there’s a pretty good chance you’ll hurt your parents if you do that. If that's okay with you, then okay. But just . . . make sure it's worth it, Marlie. Make sure. Your parents will always love you, but that doesn't mean you should ever make them doubt you love them back."

Marlie had no chance to respond before her aunt Mac was in the other room, answering the phone.

Veronica had gotten rather good at the art of ignoring. She ignored that dinner at her father's house meant sitting at a table with Lianne. She ignored that her dad went to every doctor's appointment with her mother. She ignored that Lianne kept trying to talk to her whenever she could, even if Veronica would give clipped answers. She ignored the growing bulge beneath her mother's dress.

She ignored it all.

Sophomore year began and that was that. She was living with Mac like a normal teenager, she was single and she was focused on school. Her infamy from the sex tape had faded. It was college and people got over things like that quickly; there were, after all, new scandals to make everyone gasp. She got to know new professors; she made friends with strangely normal girls who didn't have sordid histories, violent ex-boyfriends or mothers who could win the world's worst mother award.

But everyday, in the back of her mind, was her mother, was desperate blue eyes so terribly similar to her own and a round stomach that cried out for pity and sympathy and forgiveness, and it was killing Veronica. She just didn't understand her mother and how the woman could be so weak. She was nothing like Veronica, and weren't parents and their children supposed to be alike?

But that wasn't necessarily true. After all, Logan was nothing like his father.

Logan.

She didn't talk to him for months after that day at the Grand. She would see him from afar with Dick or walking out of class, but she never approached him. A part of her was ashamed of how she had broken down in front of him. But the larger part of her knew it was simply impossible for Logan Echolls and Veronica Mars to be friends.

It was just impossible.

Because even though they couldn't possibly to be together, every time one saw the other with a member of the opposite sex things went horribly awry. And then there were familiar gestures that had become so automatic when they were together it seemed wrong not to do them now, but it was wrong, because, for example, kissing your friend's neck was inappropriate on multiple levels.

It was simply easier to avoid him, and she was pretty sure he realized that, too, because Hearst wasn't that big of a school and if they hadn't both been making the effort of avoidance, they surely would have run into one another by now.

"Hi, honey," Lianne said hesitantly as Veronica entered Keith's apartment, dropping the groceries she had gotten for dinner on the counter. Veronica didn't reply. "How was your day?" Lianne questioned. Veronica began putting food into the fridge, steadfastly ignoring her mother, as per usual.

"How's Logan?" Lianne asked slowly, hopefully. "Aren't you two . . . ?"

Veronica finally responded. "None of you business." How did her mother even know about Logan? And how dare she presume to have the right to know about Logan?

There was a brief silence in which Veronica got out a pan to begin boiling water for the spaghetti. She was painfully aware of Lianne's presence, but that was the cost of agreeing to her begging father to stop by for dinner that night, and she would put up with it as she always did. She loved her dad too much; it was unnatural, really, the sacrifices she made for him.

"Are you ever going to talk to me, Veronica?" Lianne asked suddenly.

"Sure," Veronica answered. "When I forgive you then I'll talk to you."

"And . . . and when will you forgive me?" Lianne asked, her voice timid.

"When all four of the Beatles get back together," Veronica answered, wishing she hadn't bothered to start speaking to Lianne at all. She decided not to say another word as she made dinner; her dad would be home soon and he could handle the ex-wife he had invited into his home.

Again there was a stretch of silence. But once more Lianne broke it, her voice thick with desperation. "What can I do, Veronica? Please, just tell me what I can do. I'm really trying here."

Veronica couldn't help herself. "How are you trying, again?" Veronica asked her angrily. "You run away without a word to Dad or me. Months later I finally find you in a bar and I use all the money I've saved for college to make you better and bring you home and you waste it all. Then you leave again, stealing thousands of dollars from us and —”

"It's not that simple!" Lianne protested. "I was sober when I came home. I hadn't wasted your money! But it was hard, Veronica! There was no place in this house for me anymore. Your father had moved on; he was in love with someone else, even if he tried to deny it! And you . . . you had turned into a person I didn't recognize anymore, and it just wasn't the same!"

"Did you expect it to be?" Veronica snarled. "Did you really think you could abandon us for an entire year and everything would be picture perfect when you returned? My life was HELL that year, Mom. I could have used you! Even if it was only the fact that you stayed and stood by us! That would have been enough.” She paused, breathing heavily, before adding bitterly, “But it was too much for you."

"I'm not as strong as you and your father!" cried Lianne. "You can't hate me for that, you can't. Not everyone can face the world the way you can. I'm sorry I can't, Veronica, I really am, but I can't be any more than who I am!"

"Yes, you can," Veronica replied. "People can change. They can become tougher. I did. I was a teenager, my best friend was murdered and my entire school hated me . . . but I got tougher. I learned to deal with it. And do you know why I did? Because I loved Dad enough not to abandon him. You should have loved us enough to do the same."

Lianne was crying now, was shaking her head and crying, but she said nothing more than a mumbled, "I'm sorry, Veronica, I really am. . . ." Veronica didn't reply. She turned away from her mother and put her entire attention into stirring the sauce.

Time seemed to pass slowly, and with each passing minute Veronica grew more and more annoyed with her father. How could he leave her here with her mother? It was past six; he should be home. Where was he?

"I'm going to get a job as soon as the baby's born," Lianne told her. "I'm not going to keep living off your father. I used to be a bank teller, you know. I could probably get a job doing that."

Veronica didn't care. She didn't want to hear this.

"Veronica?"

"Good for you. Is there any chance you could do that sooner than later so I don't have to see you every time I want to see my dad?" Lianne said nothing at first in response to Veronica's bitter reply.

But finally, her voice softer than it had been in a long time, Lianne told her, "I'm going to do right by this baby, Veronica. I really am. I'm never going to hurt her; I'm never going to abandon her." The doctors had told them the baby was a girl. That fact made Veronica even angrier for reasons she couldn’t fathom.

"I wouldn't tell the kid that," Veronica said. "That would just be setting the baby up for disappointment." And even as the door finally opened and Keith stepped into the apartment, Veronica met eyes with Lianne for the first time and told her mother, "That baby deserves better than you."

"Hey hon!" Keith greeted Veronica, smiling brightly at the sight of her.

"I've started dinner, Dad, but you'll have to finish it," Veronica replied, "I have to go."

Keith frowned. "I thought you were going to stay for dinner. . . ."

"I have a paper," Veronica replied tightly. She gave him the smallest of smiles, pressing a kiss to his cheek and passing him by. She didn't look him right in the face. She couldn't handle the sad, disappointed expression she was sure was there. And she certainly didn't glance at Lianne as she left the apartment.

But she couldn't stop herself from hearing her mother as the older woman whispered, her voice broken, "I know she deserves better."

There were a thousand pictures of her as a baby, a toddler, a little kid. Plenty of them were framed and scattered across her house and her grandpa's house, but plenty more were in box after box, all stacked in her parents' bedroom closet.

Veronica had been on the phone that Aunt Mac had answered, as Marlie had known she would be. But just as she hadn’t the night before, her mother did not demand Marlie come home or go to school or do anything at all. Aunt Mac told Marlie she'd be working from home that day and Marlie was welcome to spend the day there.

But as soon as her aunt Mac settled down in her study, Marlie left. And she found herself back at her house, one that was empty now that everyone was gone at school or work, and in her parents' bedroom, looking through the boxes in the closet. She wasn't sure what she was searching for, but she had nothing better to do.

It wasn't as if she didn't fit into her family. She would have never imagined she wasn't her parents' child. She was a carbon copy of her mother as far as looks went; she had the same explosive temper both her parents possessed. She had always felt herself a part of the family; she didn't feel the way Aunt Mac had described feeling about her parents.

But she couldn't stop herself from feeling suddenly as if her whole life had been a lie. For so long she had believed that her mother hadn't wanted a child, hadn't wanted her, but had learned to love her anyway because she was her kid. But now she wasn't. Did that suddenly mean that all those times Veronica got angry at her, yelled at her or at her father, telling him when she didn't think Marlie could hear that she never should have become a mother . . . did that mean all those times Veronica really, truly, disliked her?

That couldn’t be possible, not really; Marlie knew her mother loved her, she knew it . . . but what if Veronica resented her? What if Veronica lay awake at night wondering what her life would have been like if Lianne had never left Marlie with her?

Sitting there thinking about it, Marlie felt her anger towards her mother rise. She hadn't forced her mother to take care of her or claim her as her own. That had been Veronica's choice. Why should Marlie suffer for it? And, really, was it so wrong to want to know her real mother? Among all the pictures of a baby Marlie, pictures that also held her grandparents, Veronica, Logan, Uncle Wallace, and Aunt Mac, there wasn't a single picture of Lianne. Why was that?

Marlie tried to imagine what Lianne must have been thinking when she had left Marlie behind. Had she wanted to leave her? How long after she had been born did her mother leave? Was her mother afraid? Had she regretted it and tried to come back and Veronica hadn't let her? Had Veronica made her leave in the first place?

There was no way to know. After all, how could she understand what Lianne was thinking and feeling if she didn't even know the woman? It wasn't wrong, then, to want to know her real mother. It was her right, just as she had told Lianne before the woman drove away.

It took Marlie a few minutes to formulate her plan. According to the clock on her mother's bedside table, it was eleven thirty-seven in the morning. Hopefully Grandpa Keith wouldn't be at the office; hopefully he would be out working on a case. . . . She called the office. It went to the machine. Praying that no one would show up at Mars Investigations between the call and her arrival, Marlie drove to the small building.

Luck was with her: no one was there.

She started up the computer, and her mind flashed back to the times she had gone into the office with her mother when Veronica was helping Keith out on a Saturday. She could remember sitting in Veronica's lap, comfortable and carefree, believing herself to be the happiest girl alive. Once upon a time she had thought the world began and ended with Veronica Echolls, that perfect woman who tucked her bed into night with twenty-five kisses and woke her up the next morning with eggs and bacon that smiled at her.

But things changed.

As she grew older, though, she still spent time with her mom at Mars Investigations, and her mother would tell her about the search sites, about the life of an F.B.I. agent and of a P.I. Of course, Veronica would never tell her very much, but Marlie had never cared very much. She wasn't interested in saving the world and especially not in taking pictures of cheating spouses. Still, Marlie knew enough to know how to root out a little information.

She searched for Lianne Mars and found exactly what she wanted.

Spouse:     Keith Mars. Born 1/15/1960. Divorced.
Children:     Veronica Mars Echolls. Born 8/17/1987. Married 10/3/2012 to Logan Echolls.
           Marlene Mars Echolls. Born 11/27/2007. Adopted 5/31/2008 by Veronica Mars Echolls. Adopted 10/1/2012 by Logan Echolls.

Right there, for anyone to find, for herself to have found years ago, was proof that she did not really belong to the parents who had raised her. She was the child of Lianne Mars. There was more information; more dates. There were lists of parking tickets, alcohol violations, and other public records; there was even a mention of her time spent in a rehabilitation clinic. That was the only mention of Marlene, though.

Marlene Echolls. Born 11/27/2007. Adopted 5/31/2008 by Veronica Mars Echolls. Adopted 10/1/2012 by Logan Echolls.

But that wasn't what she needed. What she needed was an address, a current address. And that was there, too. In plain English there was a location of her mother. Marlie grabbed a pink sticky note from the desk and copied it down. If Veronica wasn't going to let her meet her mother, then Marlie would take it out of her mother's hands and put it into her other mother's grasp.

Marlie wasn't as brave as she imagined herself to be, however. She drove the hour ride all the way out to Lianne's house and then couldn't even make herself step out of the car. She knew it was the right house. The truck was parked right there in the driveway. Marlie stayed for nearly half an hour, her mind buzzing, before starting the drive back home.

Her aunt Mac let her back into the house without protest. "Another hour and I would have sounded the police," Aunt Mac said. Marlie was grateful that her aunt Mac wasn't the sort to freak out the moment she went missing. She made herself a sandwich and ate in silence while Aunt Mac worked on the computer, a laptop she'd brought into the kitchen as if to keep an eye on Marlie.

She went home that night. Maybe her parents would be ready to talk.

Dinner was awkward. Jason and Ben knew something was wrong, but no one was offering any explanations. Veronica finally took them aside while Marlie sat in silence with her father, and she must have explained it to them. Marlie didn't care. She had bigger fish to fry. She wanted to ask her dad what it had been like to become her father, why he had done it, what had he felt towards her. . . .

She didn't say a word, though.

When Veronica came back into the room and began clearing the dishes, Jason and Ben weren't with her. Marlie watched her for a moment. Her mother was five months pregnant now. The baby was a girl. In four months, Veronica would have her own daughter, a real daughter.

"What did you do today?" her father finally asked, his eyes burning into her.

"Stayed with Aunt Mac," she answered quietly.

"What did you two talk about?" asked Veronica, her back turned to Marlie as she washed dishes in the sink. Logan got up and began helping her. Marlie felt herself ignored once more. This wasn't how it was supposed to work.

"Do you really care?" she snarled. Veronica's back stiffened.

Logan turned to her. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

"I want to know my mother."

"She's an alcoholic who abandoned you," Veronica said, still not facing Marlie. "What more is there?"

"That's not being fair to her or me," Marlie replied. "I deserve to know the woman who gave birth to me. I deserve it. If you were in my place, you'd demand the same thing, Mom. You know it. You know it."

Logan put a hand on Veronica’s shoulder as if to calm the storm. He turned to her again. “Do you want to know what happened? How it happened?” His voice was calm, his eyes bright.

“Yes,” she said, “of course.”

He glanced at his wife. “Veronica, do you want to —?”

“What’s the story?” Veronica said, still facing away from Marlie. “She came, she had a baby, she left, and I raised that baby. That’s it. That’s the story.”

“Why?” Marlie asked.

“Why what?” Veronica asked.

Marlie stood. “Why did you raise me? Why didn’t Grandpa Keith? Or why didn’t you give me up for adoption? Why did you raise me?” She knew exactly what she wanted her mother to say in answer the moment the questions left her lips: I raised you because I wanted to raise you, Marlie. I raised you because I loved you, Marlie.

“Your grandpa wasn’t considered a good candidate for raising a kid by the California government and since he wasn’t a blood relative, there was nothing he could do to change their minds,” Veronica answered, scrubbing furiously at a dinner plate as she spoke into the sink. “And we weren’t going to give you up for adoption; that would have been wrong. So I raised you. What other choice was there?”

What other choice was there? The words echoed in Marlie’s head.

“Marlie,” her father began, stepping towards her with a look of understanding on his face, as if he knew that Veronica had said the wrong thing, “what you have to understand is that —”

“I want to meet Lianne. I want a chance to know her.”

Her father sighed. “Marlie,” he said, the word coming out sounding so very tired.

“No. You can’t talk me out of this. I want to meet her. It’s my right.”

“Fine,” Veronica snapped abruptly, a dish clanking to the bottom of the sink as she spoke. She grabbed a dishtowel and dried her hands before pulling open the kitchen desk drawers and beginning to search through them.

"Veronica . . .," said Logan hesitantly.

"Damn it!" Veronica exclaimed. She turned to Logan, demanding, "Hand me the phone."

"Veronica, I think —”

"Hand me the damned phone, Logan," Veronica said, her face pinched. Marlie didn't know what was going on, but it seemed at last she had gotten an actual emotional reaction out of her mother, and that was something at least. Her father did as her mother requested and a moment later Veronica had called the operator.

"I need the number for a Lianne Mars," Veronica said. She was silent for a moment, listening to something, before replying, "Yeah, yeah, that's her." She grabbed a piece of paper then and wrote down a number. She clicked off the phone and shoved both it and the scrap of paper at Marlie.

"You want to talk to her," she said. "There you go. There's the phone and her number." And with that she stormed from the room. Marlie was a little surprised. Her mother wasn't usually the sort to walk out in the middle of a fight, if that's what they'd been having. Marlie looked at the phone number, wondering if she could call her mother when she hadn't been able to see her even after driving all the way out there.

"Take it from someone who's mom might have loved him but who didn't care enough to stick around," her father said suddenly, drawing her attention away from the phone. "It's only worth so much pain." She wasn't sure what that was supposed to be mean, but she said nothing as he leaned down towards her and pressed a lingering kiss to her head. “Don't forget, though,” he whispered, his breath warm on her ear, “I'm always gonna be your dad, kid. No matter what.”

He left the room after that, probably to talk to her mother.

Alicia hated Lianne Mars with every fiber of her being. It wasn't really right of her, she knew, and she tried to think charitably of the woman, to think of all that she herself had in comparison to what little Lianne had, but still the hatred remained.

Usually it was easy to forget about Lianne, about the times she had come and torn apart the relationships Alicia and Keith would build. She had been married to Keith for years and she loved him so much she couldn't imagine what her life would have become if they had never gotten back together that summer. She adored both her sons, her greatest sources of pride, and she even got along with her daughter-in-law Penny. But the idea of life without Keith. . . .

Not to mention the fact that she thought of Veronica as her own daughter.

That tiny girl was a force to be reckoned with and at times it seemed as if she were completely beyond Alicia's understanding. But most of the time, it wasn't hard at all for Alicia to understand Veronica. After all, Alicia too had felt herself alone in the world before, and she could admire how strong Veronica was. She liked being a kind of mother to the small blonde, and she considered Veronica's children — Marlie included — her grandchildren as much as she did Wallace's two daughters.

It was easy, really, to forget that Lianne was ever a part of the mix. But she was. And now she was back. Was she here for good? Alicia had faith that her relationship with Keith wouldn't suffer at all from this; the love between them had only grown over the years. But she was worried about Logan, Veronica, and Marlene. They were her family. And no matter what at least one of them, maybe even Keith, too, was going to be hurt by whatever happened next.

It had been two weeks since she and Keith had come home from an amazing date of dinner and dancing to find a shell-shocked and pale Veronica explaining that Lianne had finally come back and Marlie knew everything. It seemed as if things had returned to a kind of tense normalcy since then.

Marlie was back in school and was no longer running away at any moment. No one had heard from Lianne since that first night, and when the Echolls had come for dinner three days ago, no one in the family had even come close to mentioning her name. So what did that all mean? Were they all going to pretend it didn't happen?

Alicia recognized it wasn't that simple. Sometime, sooner or later, things would come to a head. Marlene might not be Veronica's daughter, but they were more alike than either realized. Marlie wouldn't be able to go long without something happening. And Alicia knew that Lianne would be involved in whatever happened. They weren't going to get rid of her easily.

Alicia knew Keith had gone to talk to Lianne. He had said he was going to talk to his ex-wife to ask her intentions. He hadn't said much afterwards, though. He simply told her, his voice tired, that Lianne claimed she wouldn't invade their lives again and she knew it was a mistake to do it that one night.

"Do you believe her?" Alicia had asked.

"All I believe," Keith had replied, sighing, "is that I need a beer and a night of baseball."

It was only a matter of time.

And Alicia was right.

She got the news via Keith via Logan: Marlene had called Lianne, asking to meet her.

A/N: This chapter didn't include the most interesting flashback, in my opinion, but I hope you enjoyed it nonetheless. I know Marlie is and has been acting rather bratty, but it'll get better -- I promise! The dates of birth I chose for Keith, Veronica, and Logan were my best guess according to the information on Mars Investigations net; if anyone knows any better, please tell me! The next chapter should be posted soon. Thanks to all who have reviewed so far; I really appreciate it!

Fic: Truth Be Told, part 2

Mon, 29 Jun 2009 23:41:51 GMT

“And then Peter told him the truth, told him that I had been the one to track down the gas station attendant and the AD was so impressed that he didn’t even punish me for accessing their computer database without permission!” Veronica exclaimed happily.

Keith chuckled, shooting her an affection glance as he pushed the turn signal on and turned right down the road. They would be home in a few more minutes. Veronica was happy to see her father and she couldn’t wait to catch up with Mac and Wallace — e-mail was not good enough — but she couldn’t help but be a little sad to have finished her FBI internship.

Her solution was to talk her father’s ear off. The entire internship had been amazing: she had become good friends with her badass roommate Jenna; earned the respect of several of the agents she’d worked with; and even if she was stuck behind a tiny desk for most of the summer, she did get a chance to get her hands dirty.

She wanted to make sure she told her father every detail.

As an added bonus, if she was gushing about her internship, she and her father wouldn’t have to broach the painful topic that was the Sheriff election. Keith Mars was a P.I. once more and Neptune was under the care of Vinnie Van Lowe. Can you say going to hell in a hand basket?

“Honey,” Keith said, interrupting Veronica before she could even begin on her next story. “Before we get back to the house, there’s something I need to tell you.”

His voice was too serious. Veronica immediately tensed. “Okay. . . .”

“We have a guest at the house. She’s been staying with me for . . . for most of the summer, actually, and she’ll be staying for a while longer,” Keith began hesitantly.

“Alicia!” Veronica exclaimed. “Dad, I know I said I was happy that you two had started seeing each other again — I always hated the way you just fell apart — but seriously, Dad, I think it’s a little too soon to be living together! And has anybody told Wallace? He gets back from Africa tomorrow. Did you keep it a secret all summer from him, too?”

“Wait! Wait! Slow down,” Keith said, turning into their apartment complex. “Alicia isn’t the guest. We are still dating and its going very well, but we’re not living together and we won’t be for a long time.”

Veronica frowned. If it wasn’t Alicia, then who was it?

“I know you’re going to be upset that I’m letting her stay with us . . . and that I didn’t tell you earlier, but Veronica, sweetie, this isn’t something I wanted to tell you over the phone and I didn’t want it to ruin your time in Virginia at all.” Keith parked the car.

“Who is it, Dad?” asked Veronica, an edge to her voice. This didn’t sound good.

“Your mom.”

Veronica found she was literally speechless for a moment. “Mom?” she slowly repeated. “My mom? As in Lianne Mars, the drunk who screwed us over two times? That mom?!” Anger was quickly crashing into Veronica in waves. She looked at the door to their apartment as if she expected Lianne to pop out of it right at that moment.

“Honey, she’s actually been sober for a while now,” said Keith slowly.

“You don’t honestly believe that do you?” Veronica snarled. He sighed, looking away from him. “You’re not getting back together with her, are you?” Veronica asked, horrified. “I thought you were happy with Alicia!” she accused.

“I AM happy with Alicia,” Keith told her, his face set as he turned to her. “I am not getting back with Lianne. I loved her once but that time has long since past. However, we’re the only family she has and —”

“She’s not our family,” Veronica spat.

“She’s your mother.”

“As far as I’m concerned,” Veronica replied, not missing a beat, “I don’t have a mother.” She and Keith stared at one another in a silent battle of wills. She couldn’t believe this. How could her father openly invite that woman into their home? As if things weren’t bad enough as it were. . . .

“I know you’re upset, Veronica. But I’ve made my decision. This is my home and I have a right to let important people in our lives stay in my home. You’re getting a dorm with Mac this year, right? You won’t even have to see her that often.”

“So you’re saying you don’t want me to come visit you?” Veronica challenged.

Keith let his gaze burn into her. “You know that’s not what I want. I hate having to part with you, even if it’s to let you have the ‘true college experience,’” he said softly. “There is no one in this world I love more than you, Veronica. But this woman . . . she’s your mother, she was my wife for years, and she’s scared and alone and she needs our help.”

Veronica looked away from him.

It didn’t deter him. “I am so proud of all that you are, Veronica. And I know you’ve seen a lot of horrible things, and I’m happy that you still chug along despite all those horrible things. But I’d hate to think I raised a daughter who was resilient but not decent.”

“And the only for me to be decent is to let the mother who abandoned me stay in my home?” asked Veronica, staring petulantly out the windshield of the car. She suddenly wasn’t so keen on going into the house.

“There are lots of ways to be decent. But it only takes one cruel action to keep someone from being decent. And turning your mother out at this point would be cruel, Veronica,” said Keith, “it’s that simple.”

“Why?” Veronica rounded on him. “Why do we have to let her stay with us? Why do we have to take care of her? Why should we be kind to her? Why does she need us so damn badly?”

“Because,” Keith sighed, “she’s pregnant.”

She knew that what Lianne Mars had told her was the truth. The look on her mom’s face as the truck pulled out of the driveway and Marlie turned breathlessly to face Veronica was proof enough.

“You’re not my mother?” Marlie breathed. That doesn’t even make any sense! her mind screamed. But then why had Lianne said that? And why was her mother looking at her like that?

“I am your mother, Marlie. I always have been and I always will be,” Veronica declared firmly. Her face softened, though, and she reached out a hand towards Marlie.

Marlie stepped back, her heart pounding loudly. “But not really,” Marlie accused, “not . . . biologically.” Veronica glanced away for a moment, and Marlie swallowed thickly. When her mother — when the woman who she had always thought was her mother — turned to face Marlie again, her jaw was set.

“No, not biologically,” Veronica answered. She crossed her arms over her chest. “Biologically you’re my half-sister. Lianne Mars is our mother. I don’t know who your real father is.”

Marlie didn’t know what to say. She could only stare. How had this happened so suddenly? How had a perfectly normal Wednesday night turned into this?

“My mom showed up out of the blue right after my twentieth birthday,” Veronica went on. “My dad and I hadn’t seen her since the end of my junior year of high school when she left us for the second time. I hated her for that, for leaving us twice, for the way she had become a drunk who cheated on my father, for stealing thousands and thousands of dollars from us. But she was six months pregnant and my dad couldn’t say no to her. She had no where else to go. He let her stay with us.”

“And what, you stole her baby?” Marlie exclaimed in disbelief. But no, she knew what was coming next.

“No, Marlene,” Veronica replied. “Our wonderful mother left a third time. But she left you behind. And . . . and you became mine.”

Marlie didn’t know how to respond. What was she supposed to say? How was she supposed to react to this? She knew one thing: she couldn’t stand there in that driveway talking to her mother for another moment. “I . . . I can’t do this right now,” she said, her voice tight.

“Marlie,” Veronica murmured, reaching for her again. “Come inside; we need to talk about this.”

Marlie backed away from her for a second time. “You’re not my mother,” she said, still trying to grasp the concept. Veronica just stood there, and maybe if had been lighter out, maybe if Marlie could have more easily seen and read the expression on her face, she wouldn’t have run.

But it was dark, she couldn’t see more than shadows on Veronica’s face, and she did run. She turned and ran, even as the lights of a car appeared ahead and a moment later Keith and Alicia turned into the driveway. Marlie didn’t pause. She kept running.

She went down a mental list of people to whom she could talk, from whom she could seek refuge if even for only one night. She couldn’t deal with her mom. She just couldn’t. The woman wasn’t even her mom!

She couldn’t go to her dad, either. He wasn’t actually her dad.

If she were honest with herself that was probably what broke her heart the most at that moment. Her dad, her beloved snarky father who loved surfing as much as her grandpa loved baseball, her wonderful, wonderful Daddy . . . wasn’t even related to her. He was just her sister’s husband.

She couldn’t face him. She couldn’t go to her grandpa either. He wasn’t actually related to her either. He was simply her real mother’s ex-husband. She couldn’t deal with him, with that, right now. Besides, Veronica was probably with him and Alicia.

None of her friends would understand. She wasn’t one of those kids who were close with the neighbors or with her teachers. She didn’t have a boyfriend. Who did she go to? She thought briefly of Sam but discarded the thought quickly. A good answer didn’t take too long to occur to her, however; he wasn’t biologically related to her, but he never had been and that made it a hell of a lot easier to know, steadfastly, that he was her uncle.

It was her aunt Penny who opened the door. “Marlie? What’s the matter?” Aunt Penny immediately asked, stepping forward with her brow creased in concern. Marlie knew she must look terrible; she had run all the way to the bus stop and then taken the rather gross public transportation to the house. She hadn’t started crying, though. That was something in her favor.

“Is Uncle Wally home?” she asked. She hadn’t called him Uncle Wally in a long time, not since she was a little girl. But right at that moment she felt like a little girl, and she wanted her big, strong, playful Uncle Wally to comfort her.

“Of course, of course,” Aunt Penny said, allowing Marlie to enter the house. “He’s in the kitchen. . . .” Marlie made a beeline in the direction, but she didn’t make it all the way there before her uncle Wallace appeared in the doorway, looking slightly confused.

“Hey, girl,” he greeted, “what are you doing over here this late?”

Suddenly she felt tears welling in her eyes. His confusion turned to concern and she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder. “Hey, hey,” he soothed, “it’s okay, it’s okay.” She clutched at him as they stood there in the hallway. He knew the truth; he had to know it. He had known her mom for years. He had to know that she wasn’t her mother’s daughter.

She wasn’t an Echolls.

Eventually she calmed down and Aunt Penny got her to sit at the kitchen table with a glass of chocolate milk while she cut a slice of cheese cake for her. Uncle Wallace was sitting beside her at the table, obviously biting at the bit to ask what was going on, but he seemed to know he wouldn’t get anything out of her. All she had told him was that she had to get away from her house.

The phone rang. Uncle Wallace picked it up at the same time Aunt Penny set the cake down in front of Marlie. She gave her aunt a small smile of thanks, even as she winced when she heard her uncle Wallace say into the phone, “Hey, V.” It was her mom calling. She’s not my mom. Of course she would call here. She must have gone through the same thought process that Marlie had.

She could feel Uncle Wallace’s eyes on her as she mechanically ate the cake and he talked on the phone, but she didn’t meet his gaze. Instead her eyes landed on the kitchen window. It was so dark out that her reflection, though a little distorted, could be seen on the glass. She stared for a moment. Her blonde hair had much more of a curl to it than Veronica’s but it was still the very same color blonde, and her blue eyes might be a shade closer to green than Veronica’s but they were still eerily similar. She didn’t look anything like Logan Echolls.

How come she had never noticed that before?

Well, she had, but. . . . He had once told her that she didn’t have any of his looks because she had his attitude. She had been around eleven at the time. “Bailey says that babies look a lot like their dads the first year of their lives. Did I look like you when I was a baby?” she’d asked him with open, honest curiosity. She was rather obsessed with her dad at that time; he was her best friend then.

He’d been quiet for a long time, his eyes frozen on the paper. Why hadn’t that seemed suspicious at the time? She had only been eleven, but still! “Baby, you’re a clone of your mom. Always have been,” he’d finally answered, before added softly, “and I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

The sound of her uncle Wallace hanging up the phone drew her attention away from the reflection and to him. “That was your mom,” he told her unnecessarily.

She knew that he must have been told what happened, and she couldn’t help the bitter response that she spat. “Which one?” He was silent for a moment, and his steady stare nearly had her ashamed at the two words.

“Your real one,” he finally answered. “The one who’s been taking care of you since the day you were born. The one who raised you. The one who would do anything for you. Your mom.”

“The one who lied to me,” Marlie added. “You forgot that.”

But he didn’t respond to that. Maybe that’s why she had come here. After all, there had been a few other options — Aunt Mac, for example. She knew that with Uncle Wallace, though, she wouldn’t be pestered. After all the years he’d spent being Veronica’s best friend, Wallace Fennel had become an expert at waiting patiently to be confided in.

“You mom said you can stay here tonight if you want,” he told her softly. “I think she knows you need space.” He paused. “I’ll go pick up some clothing for you. You still have school tomorrow, you know.”

Marlie wasn’t sure about a lot of things at that moment, but she was positive about one: she was most certainly not going to school the next day.

Logan Echolls, despite having known her for the better part of his life, had still only seen his wife cry a handful of times. And every single time, it still managed to shock him, break his heart, and piss him off at whoever had caused it.

But how could he be pissed at his daughter? “And she just . . . just ran, Logan, she just ran away! The way she was looking at me — I did it all for her!” Veronica wailed. “I was trying to keep her from going through what I went through! I wasn’t trying to hurt her!”

“I know,” he said softly, rubbing her back as she clutched at him on the couch, tears streaming down her face, her nose running, and her tiny body rocking with soft sobs. She had come home an hour later than he’d been expecting. She’d been without Marlie and she’d looked as if she’d been hit by a bus . . . emotionally, at least.

The entire story had tumbled out of her and she’d fallen into his arms crying. He knew a part of her tears was due to hormones — Veronica tended to get either very, very bitchy when she was hormonal or very, very weepy. Being weepy and actually weeping were two very different things, though.

But he also knew some of her tears were due to how it had all finally come out. He had always known that sometime the truth would be revealed; Veronica had known the same. He had always imagined, however, that they would be the ones to sit her down and tell her the truth someday. It had never occurred to him that Lianne would ever come back . . . especially not after all these years.

“So she’s with Wallace?” he asked her. She nodded into his chest. “She’ll be fine there. We can talk with her tomorrow.” That didn’t seem to be much comfort to Veronica. She continued sobbing into his chest.

“Do you know what she said?” Veronica cried. “She said — she said — she just looked right at me and said ‘you’re not my mother.’ And then she ran away! The way she was looking at me, I just — I just —!” she hiccoughed, unable to finish.

“Hey, hey,” Logan said, pulling away from her long enough to look into her eyes. He wiped away the tears on her face with his thumb, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “You are her mother, Veronica. I’m her father. We’re her parents. That will never change. She knows that and even if Lianne is back, it doesn’t change anything. We’re still her parents.”

“I know,” Veronica whispered sadly. She looked up at him with her eyes that were wide and innocent as he so rarely saw them. “But I just hope she knows that I . . . how much I. . . .”

“How much you love her?” Logan offered. Veronica nodded, sniffling. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “She knows,” he whispered into her hair as his hand rubbed soothingly up and down her back. “She knows.”

Veronica couldn’t be bothered to knock.

She slid the card key in and out with ease and then pushed the door open. She was met with the site of Dick Casablancas wearing nothing but a towel around his waist and drinking milk straight from the carton. Great. Exactly what she wanted to deal with.

“Ronnie!” Dick exclaimed. “A whole summer away from the rich California dudes make your horny? Already back for more?”

“Where’s Logan?” Veronica asked, ignoring his comments. She had long ago become immune to all things Dick Casablancas. She crossed the room and stuck her head into his bed room; he wasn’t there.

“Now, Ronnie, I really think you need to leave Logan alone. You’ve ridden that one into the ground.”

“Where is he?” Veronica insisted, grinding her teeth. Her insides were in tumult at that moment; she could barely see straight for all of the anger and anxiety and confusion and shock and . . . everything. “I need to talk to him.”

“Are you pregnant?” Dick asked, still smiling.

“And if I am?” she snarled. “Are you really going to let the woman carrying your best buddy’s heir do whatever she wants with the child? Or are you going to TELL ME WHERE HE IS?!”

“What?”

Veronica spun around to see Logan standing in the doorway beside a tween-aged girl staring with an open, round mouth and holding his hand. “Veronica?” Logan asked. “Are you . . . ?”

“Pregnant?” she said, shocked. How had she gotten herself into this conversation, again? “NO! I’m not pregnant! I’m not!” She shouldn’t have come here. It was a mistake. This had been the first place to which she’d turned for comfort; it had been pure instinct, and apparently it was proof that her instinct was badly out of tune.

“Then what are you . . . ?” Logan began. His tween friend — Veronica had met her once, she thought — was still standing beside him with her large eyes trained on Veronica.

“I’m going. I shouldn’t have come here,” Veronica dismissed, already trying to side step past him and out of the Grand.

“Wait, whoa, stop for a second,” Logan said, reaching out and grabbing her arm before she could make her escape. “What’s going on? What happened?” His eyes were concerned as they searched her face and even if it wasn’t a good excuse for what happened next, it was the best one she had.

Against her will, she began to cry. She bit her lip in an attempt to stop, but it was to no avail. Tears welled up, her face seized in a sob and she clutched at her mouth. “Are you crying?” Dick said, dumbfounded at the sight. Veronica paid him no mind and neither did Logan.

He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her and she suddenly found herself sobbing into his shirt. He smelt so good, so familiar, and his arms around her were the comfort they always had been, the comfort that she’d needed the night Cassidy Casablancas had killed himself, the comfort that she’d so unwillingly missed over the summer, her first summer apart from Logan in a long time.

“My mom,” she said, barely able to get the words out. She knew she’d have to explain it all to him, but he asked nothing of her now, and for that she was grateful. She clung to him, not caring about the almost-teenage girl or a half-naked Dick. Logan didn’t say anything, but he ran his hand up and down her back and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her head. “She’s back,” Veronica choked. “And she’s pregnant.”

There. That was enough.

Somehow she ended up sitting on his couch wrapped in one of his sweatshirts. She had a glass of water, Dick had been shooed from the suite, and Heather — that was the kid’s name — was in Logan’s room, respectfully giving Veronica her privacy. Veronica’s cries had ended and a part of her felt mortified at her impulsive visit to Logan and her unstoppable tears. She hadn’t seen him all summer and when she finally does, she. . . .

“So what’s going on?” Logan asked, one of his large, warm hands resting on her knee.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica said, not answering his question. She didn’t meet his gaze. “I don’t want you out of my life, Logan. I don’t think I could handle having you out of my life. I’m sorry for ever saying that.”

“It’s okay,” he murmured.

There was a lot more she should have said. During spare moments in Virginia, when Jenna was on a date and Veronica had the dorm to herself with nothing to do or other such times, she had thought about exactly what she should say.

She should have told him that she was sorry for how she’d treated him with suspicion when they were together. She was sorry that she had let him walk away believing she didn’t need him right before everything with Mercer. She was sorry she didn’t go to get him out of prison after he beat Mercer and Moe to a pulp, even though she had desperately wanted to just that.

She was sorry that she had forgiven Madison but stubbornly refused to forgive him. She was sorry that she had been ashamed of herself for falling right back into Logan’s arms, so ashamed that she had used the first excuse she could to storm away in anger, even if that excuse was as stupid as a drunken mistake with Madison Sinclair.

But she couldn’t make herself say all of those things.

“My mom’s back,” Veronica said softly. “She’s back and she’s staying with us and my dad’s letting her because she’s gone and gotten herself knocked up. She’s nearly six months pregnant. She claims she hasn’t been drinking, but who knows. . . .”

“I’m sorry,” Logan said, squeezing her knee. She gave him a small smile.

There was a thick silence before she found her voice again. “What, ah, what’s going on with Gory? Has he . . . has he talked to you or anything at all?” A chance of subject seemed like a good idea to her.

“He tried to beat me up in a parking lot a few weeks after you left,” Logan answered casually. Veronica was alarmed. Logan smirked when he saw her expression. “Don’t worry. His posse got a few punches in; Dick and I got a few punches in. Despite what our childhoods imply, not every death threat is a legitimate one.”

“So that’s it?” Veronica asked with clear disbelief. She almost wished there was more. She wished she had a new assignment: bring down Gory before he could stab Logan in a dark alleyway. At least it’d be an exciting distraction from Lianne Mars, her unborn child and her begging, pleading eyes as she told a disgusted Veronica her sob story.

“Well, it basically went like this,” Logan told her. “He punched me; I punched him. I told him to stay the fuck away from you. He said he could have me killed and I had no idea who I was messing with. I told him my father was a raping, murdering asshole, and maybe he could have me killed but if he went any where near you I’d personally kill him, and then Dick said ‘yeah!’ really loudly, and then everybody went home. I don’t know what he did next, but I watched American Idol.”

Veronica didn’t know whether to laugh or slap him. She chose simply to shake her head. Before either of them could say anything else, Veronica’s cell phone began to buzz. Veronica gave Logan an apologetic smile before glancing at the caller ID. It was her dad.

“Hey,” she greeted softly.

She had left the house that morning before he had even woken up. She had spent the whole evening listening to her mother pitifully harp on about how hard her life was and then spent the entire night staring at her ceiling wishing her dad wasn’t such a softie. By the time the sun rose, all she wanted was to get out of the house.

“Where are you?” her dad asked.

“I’m with Logan. I came here this morning. I needed somebody to talk to.” It was an honest answer, and if her father didn’t like that, then fine, he could deal with it. She didn’t like the fact that he was forcing Lianne on her but she was going to have to deal with it.

“And your first choice was Logan?”

“Do you really want to get in a fight about this right now?” she replied bitingly.

He sighed. “No, I don’t. If you get a chance could you pick up some ice cream? Maybe some Rocky Road? I know you’re meeting Wallace and Mac later, but. . . .”

“Is Lianne having a craving?” Veronica asked, sneering. She hoped he could hear the disdain in her voice. She couldn’t help it: the only way to deal with her emotions was to be angry and let the anger dominate everything else. She knew none of this was her dad’s fault, but that didn’t stop her.

“Just pick it up, please.”

He sounded so tired that she felt a twinge of guilt. “Okay. I’ll get it now. See you in a little bit.”

“Thanks, honey. See you soon.”

She flipped the phone shut. She gave an almighty sigh, slowly turning to face Logan with a grim expression. “Did I ever tell you that I hate my life?”

Logan gave a soft, knowing smile. “Life’s a bitch, right?” he said. She smiled too.

“Something like that.”

She didn’t know why, but as she was walking out the door, she turned around at the last minute. “I broke up with Piz right before I left for Virginia.” He didn’t say anything. She didn’t expect him to. “I just wanted you to know.”

"I want to talk to her."

Marlie made the announcement with a firm voice, her face set and her eyes determined. She had stayed up half the night thinking about it, and that morning when she had asked Uncle Wallace to drive her home rather than to school so she could talk to her mother, she had known it was the first thing that would leave her mouth.

She stood in the doorway of their home now, her little brothers were both in pajamas eating cereal, and her mother stood in a nightgown staring. She didn't look good, her mother, but Marlie didn't care. Her mother wasn't the one who had been lied to her entire life.

Veronica turned towards Jason and Ben. "Boys, the clock’s a tickin’: time to dress for success. The bus will be here for you any minute, Jay, and Dad'll be down to take you to school soon, too, Ben." When both boys only stared at her, she added, “Upstairs! Clothing! You! Now!” Glancing between Marlie and Veronica, they slowly followed instructions and trudged upstairs.

Veronica turned her back to Marlie and began working on an omelet. "Why don't you have a seat, Marlie," she said softly, her voice carefully calm.

Marlie hadn't planned on moving from the doorway, but Uncle Wallace softly pushed her into the house as he followed after her, shutting the kitchen door behind him. "Morning V," he greeted softly, and Veronica sent him a small smile as he put a bagel from the counter in the toaster and then sat down at the kitchen table. It was evident even to a stranger that he had spent plenty of mornings there.

"Do you want an omelet, Marlie?" asked her mother, still not looking at her.

"I want to talk to her," Marlie repeated. "And you can try and put it off, put off talking about this, but it isn't going to work." How could her mother just ignore her like this? How could she try and ignore the problem? Didn't Veronica Echolls consider questioning everyone and everything, rooting out evils, and discovering secrets to be her bread and butter?

"We will talk about it," Veronica answered, "after you have a seat, have some breakfast, and your father comes back from dropping Ben off at school."

Marlie opened her mouth to argue, but her father appeared in the room right at that moment. He was dressed casually and looked the very same as he did every morning. He went to Veronica and pressed a kiss to her temple just as he did every morning. He murmured something about breakfast smelling good just as he did every morning. He poured himself a cup of coffee just as he did every morning.

Then his eyes landed on her.

And Marlie felt the overwhelming urge to cry again. He was her dad, he had been acting that morning as he acted every morning, yet everything was different now. Because every other morning he had been her dad and now . . . now he was nothing. How could that change in one night?

"I'm glad you're home," he told her, his eyes seeming to burn into her. The man knew how to stare. He could stare at you to stop your tears when you'd had a bad day; he could stare at you to assure you that he understood and loved you no matter what. He could stare at you to bring out all your secrets or tell you just how very disappointed he was in you. Right now, though, she had no idea why he stared at her that way.

"I want to talk to her," Marlie told him. "And I want to talk to you about her. You can't deny me that."

"No one ever said we would," he replied softly.

"But you have been my entire life," she snapped back.

And then she was positive of the gleam in his eyes: he was disappointed in her. But she should be the one disappointed in him! He had lied to her; he had pretended to be something to her that he wasn't. But . . . just because he wasn't actually her dad, it didn't mean that he was nothing to her. He was still . . . he was still hers, her confidant, her biggest fan, her daddy.

Wasn't he?

Jason chose that moment to reappear in the room. "Can I have some money for lunch?" he asked Veronica as he ruffled his dark hair and grabbed his backpack from its spot beside the far wall. She tossed him a paper bag. "Aw, c'mon, Mom! I hate having a packed lunch. Nobody else ever does!"

"That makes you special. Some people do crazy things to be special," Veronica replied. "They dye their hair purple, join cults, suck blood. Now you don't have to any of that. And there's a cookie in there. You're welcome."

Jason still looked petulant. But he only said “Fine” and gave Veronica an angry blue-eyed glare when she shot him a 'choose your battles wisely, kid' glance. "Bye Dad," he said. "Bye Uncle Wallace. Bye Mom."

"I'll pick you up after school," Logan told him, even as Veronica replied, "I love you, too, smoochums."

Marlie couldn't believe it. The day was going on like every other one. Had no one realized that her entire life had been knocked off its axis? Did no one care?

Ben walked into the room, then. Veronica handed him his lunch. "What's in it?" he asked, his eyes gleaming. In stark contrast to his brother, Ben’s brown eyes were warm and happy as he looked up at his mother. At five years old, even the simple joy of an exciting packed lunch made Ben happy.

"It's a surprise," Veronica replied as she always did. Ben smiled and gave her a hug, still so young and adoring of his snarky mother.

He was her real mother. There was no doubt about that. Marlie could still remember the day he was born. A sudden thought occurred to her: did her mom love Jason and Ben more than her? They were, after all, her actual children. And, oh God, what about her dad? Surely he loved his sons more than her. Her eyes whipped over to him where he sat eating the omelet Veronica had made him and reading the paper.

He stood up just as Ben came over to him, slipping on his bright red backpack as he walked. "Ready to go?" Logan asked, slowly drawing his eyes away from the paper. Ben nodded. Logan put the paper down and stood.

"Wait!" Marlie shouted, anger bubbling up in her. "What am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you to come back and explain to me why you LIED to me for my ENTIRE life? How can you guys be acting like this?"

"Don't yell in front of Ben," Veronica said slowly, still forcedly calm. It made Marlie even angrier.

"Why not?" she snarled. "You do all the time."

"Marlie," her father said, his voice a warning.

Marlie only scoffed. "You two are unbelievable. I find out last night that you're not my parents and this is the reception I get the next morning. Unbelievable." She crossed her arms angrily over her chest.

"What were you expecting?" Veronica asked, the first flash of anger appearing in her eyes. “We are your parents!”

"I was expecting some explanations!" Marlie told her hotly.

"Everything will be explained after your dad drops Ben off at school. I already said that. You may deem it necessary to skip school — and you'll notice we're allowing that — but there is no reason for Ben to do the same. Now sit. If you don't want breakfast that's your choice."

"Why doesn't Ben just take the bus like Jason?" Marlie challenged. Every word her mother spoke only made her angrier.

"He doesn't like taking the bus," Veronica replied. "You know that."

"You're spoiling him. Life isn't always what a person likes. Did you hear that, Ben?" she turned on her little brother, who was staring at her with wide, confused eyes. "The world doesn't revolve around you and even if you don't like it, you can take the fucking bus for one day!" Ben ran upstairs, his face anguished. Logan followed right after him.

"MARLINE!" Veronica exploded. "You will not speak to your bother that way EVER. Do you hear me? As far as I can tell you're the only one who's spoiled and you're the one that needs to be reminded that the world doesn't revolve around you!"

Marlie couldn't take it any more. She obviously wasn't going to get anything out of her so-called parents. "Fine. Whatever. I don't want to deal with you anyway." And with that declaration she turned point blank and walked right back of the house.

"Don't you walk away from me!" Veronica called tritely. Marlie only made sure to slam the door shut behind her. What was she supposed to do now? Where was she supposed to go? A brief thought fluttered to her mind. But was there a way to find Lianne? Marlie abandoned the thought. She couldn't handle that now.

Before long she found herself in her Honda Civic and driving to her aunt Mac's house. Her mother stepped outside just as Marlie was pulling out of the driveway and Marlie could feel Veronica's blue gaze piercing her through the windshield, but her mother didn't try and stop her and Marlie only slammed on the accelerator.

It sucked that all the adults in her life she could count on were close to her mother, but that was just the way it was. And since Uncle Wallace was out of the running at this point and Grandpa Keith still wasn't an option, Aunt Mac made the most sense for now.

The drive to her house wasn't long, but it was long enough for Marlie to remember something: when Aunt Mac was a teenager she had found out that she'd been switched at birth; she'd discovered that the people she'd always thought were her parents weren't her parents at all and had been lying to her for years. Why hadn’t Marlie ever been more interested in that story before now?

If anybody would know how she felt, it would be her aunt Mac.

A/N: Here's chapter two! When I orginially wrote the story I just went on and on without stopping to designate chapters. Now that I'm going back and posting it I've tried to split it all up, but natrually some chapters are a little choppier than others and I apologize for that. Also, two memories managed to worm their way into this chapter, but most chapters will only have one. It was either include the second memory and have a longer chapter or not include it and have a much shorter chapter, so. . . .

As for Marlie calling Mac "Aunt Mac" -- when I was growing up my mom thought it was disrespectful for me and my siblings to call her friends by their first names but it seemed too informal to address them as Mr. or Mrs., so her small circle of best friends became our surrogate Aunts and Uncles. I assumed the same for Marlie. :)

The next chapter will be up soon! Please review.

Fic: Truth Be Told

Sun, 28 Jun 2009 23:31:12 GMT

Truth be told, her mother never should have been a mother.

She did love her mom, of course, and she knew that she was a good mother in ways a lot of mothers weren’t, in ways a mother was supposed to be good. She never missed a soccer game or school play. She could kiss boo-boos like a pro, make teddy bears talk with ease, and never minded staying up late perfecting the science project or quizzing for the big English test.

But sometimes Marlie couldn’t help but wonder if her mother was meant to be a mother. It seemed at times as though her mother were living out a life she hadn’t wanted, a life that had been thrust on her against her will, a life that wasn’t that which she would have been happiest living.

Marlie had been born, after all, when her parents were only twenty years old. She was an accident, the kind that they warn against in high school health class, the kind that usually results in hushed-up abortions. She obviously hadn’t been aborted, though. Her mother had chosen to face the storm and have a baby out of wedlock before she was even legally allowed to drink; her parents’ had struggled through college with a baby.

It helped that her dad was loaded.

They had gotten married after school and moved to LA. Her father had gone on to write screenplays; her mother had joined the LAPD. They almost got their shot at living out the lives they would have if Marlie had never been born or at least had been courteous enough to wait until her parents were all grown up and married before deciding to come into the world.

But then her mom had gotten pregnant again. Marlie was six at the time; her parents were both twenty-seven. Knowing her mom — and knowing her dad — Marlie suspected her parents had fought at the time about what would happen next. Her father obviously won. Her parents moved back to their hometown of Neptune, her dad started writing novels, and her mother began her lifelong career of biting her nails restlessly.

Her parents fought a lot during that time; Marlie was old enough to know that.

But that only lasted a few months. Things changed soon after Jason was born. Marlie liked to think that maybe her mom was happy for a little while, probably because she finally won a battle with her husband: he agreed to move them to the East coast where she started a career at the FBI, her true dream. Sometimes Marlie wondered what her life would have been like if they had stayed in Virginia.

But they didn’t.

Her mother couldn’t live a life of restlessness if she was happily gunning down the bad guys as part of the FBI. Of course, she also couldn’t lead a safe life that way, something that Marlie’s dad had liked to point out on a daily basis. And her dad had ultimately triumphed when her mom had gotten pregnant for a third time.

Marlie was eleven at the time and old enough to recognize when her mom threw a hissy fit. Eventually a compromise was reached: her mom would still work for the FBI, but in a much safer capacity and in a place where she’d, surprisingly, have a lot less to do: home sweet home Neptune, California.

Ben was born; life went on.

And things had fallen into a rather predictable routine. They had been in Neptune for the last five years, and Marlie like it there, even if her mother occasionally made smarmy comments to her father about how much she hated Neptune. Things were relatively normal; her parents fought only occasionally. Marlie was pretty sure her mom was happy with three kids, even if this wasn’t the life she had planned.

That is, until now.

Because her mom was pregnant . . . again.

And as Marlie sat on the second landing of the house, her legs dangling through the banister as she peeked down at her parents in the kitchen, she was absolutely positive that her mom was not happy with her fourth pregnancy.

No, judging by how much she was yelling, it looked as if Veronica Echolls was pissed off.

“Are you honestly trying to put this on me?” Marlie’s dad yelled angrily.

“Yes, I’m putting this on you!” shouted her mother. “It’s certainly not my fault I married Mr. FERTILE!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” her dad snapped, “next time you want to have sex I’ll be sure to fend you off so that I don’t get us into any more trouble with my oh-so fertile sperm!” Marlie flinched. She loved her dad, she really, really did, but she was sixteen years old and she did not need to be hearing him talk about sex and his sperm.

“Since I’m some sort of sex maniac!” her mom screamed. “That’s right! My entire life is crumbling down around me because I’m a nymphomaniac! Damn, Logan, you’ve really hit that nail on the head!”

“So now having a kid with me means your entire life is crumbling down? Nice, Veronica, real nice. Why don’t you go tell your other three kids that! I’m sure they’d love to hear about it!”

Marlie had to side with her dad on that one. She loved both her parents, but she always had the feeling that it was her dad who loved her back just as much. Her mom loved her, sure, just not as much as she would have loved living free and easy with no children to speak of.

“Don’t bring them into this!” her mom snarled.

“They’re already in this! You’re a mother, Veronica. GET USED TO IT!”

“I AM used to it! But that doesn’t mean I have to jump for joy because you managed to knock me up AGAIN!”

The fight went on, but Marlie didn’t stay to listen to the rest. She hurried silently down the stairs and slipped out the front door without alerting either of her shrieking parents. Ben was playing in the front yard, and at five years old he didn’t seem to care that his parents were shouting their lungs out at one another. She thought it best to get him away anyway, and she grabbed his hand, buckled him into the Honda Civic her dad had bought her, and took him to ice cream.

Keith Mars was probably one of Marlie's most favorite people in the world.

He was always so full of energy, so full of life, and he was always so very, purely happy to see her. He called her his girl, smiled at her like she was the sun in his sky, and when he didn’t think she was looking, would gaze at her as if she were an amazing specimen of the human race. He seemed to be so damn proud to be the grandfather of Marlie Echolls, and receiving that kind of affection went a long way in endearing a person to someone.

His other greatest passion was baseball. Keith Mars loved baseball. Marlie wasn’t sure if she loved the ball game because it was a good game to love or because he loved it so much, but she didn’t care. Visiting Neptune when she was younger meant one thing to her: sitting on Grandpa’s lap in front of the TV with a giant foam finger and screaming at the screen with him.

As she grew older, neither her affection for her grandpa nor for the game wavered. She loved stopping by his house after school, whether he was there or not. If he wasn’t, chances were her grandma was. She loved spending time with her grandmother even if the woman wasn’t biologically her grandma. It had never been a secret, of course; it would have been impossible to keep a secret, considering the fact that Alicia Mars was black, and, well, the rest of Marlie’s family was very, very white.

But she might as well have been her biological grandmother, because he had been married to Grandpa Keith for as long as Marlie could remember and she was the only grandmother she’d ever had. Add to that the fact that she was Uncle Wallace’s mother and by marring Grandpa Keith had made Uncle Wally her actual, legal uncle, and Marlie couldn’t find a reason not to love Grandma Alicia.

She did wonder sometimes, though, about her real grandmother. She knew that woman was still alive, that her name was Lianne Mars, and that she was a taboo topic in both the Mars and the Echolls households. But that was all she knew. What had she done to alienate her husband and daughter? Nobody would tell Marlie, and honestly, it didn’t matter enough for her to insist on it.

“Do you think it’ll be a girl or a boy?” Marlie asked causally, flipping a page in the magazine as she sat at the small island in the kitchen. Her mother was officially four months pregnant today. The barest trace of a bump was visible under her shirt, but really only if a person knew to look for it. Marlie’s Uncle Dick had asked her mom two days ago if she had been eating a few too many Twinkies.

“The baby?” asked her mother, not looking up from the lopsided cake she was decorating.

“No, the cake,” replied Marlie.

“Well, it’s kind of a bulging cake, which I guess would mean it’s either really fat or has some serious muscles, and if you go by the muscles theory, then I’d say it’s a boy. Although I shouldn’t stereo-type, of course; it could be a muscular woman. They do exist.”

Marlie just rolled her eyes. From where he sat at the table, pretending to do his math homework but really sitting restlessly wishing he was outside, Jason piped up. “Girls don’t have muscles, Mom! At least not like us guys!”

“I’m sorry, us?” repeated Marlie. “Since when did you get muscles, Jay?”

“Been working on it for a while,” he answered, jumping to his feet. “So did you get your tickets?” Marlie knew what was coming next. Her mother was more indulgent than her.

“To what?”

“The gun show!” ten-year-old Jason exclaimed, flexing his thin arms.

“Hon, if those are guns, I can stop wearing my bullet-proof vest.”

Jason didn’t seem to care. Having decided to make his escape, he was running down the hall shouting for Ben. Veronica didn’t try and stop him; she only went on decorating her cake, a slightly bemused expression on her face.

“Seriously,” Marlie said after a moment. “Do you think I’m going to get yet another loaded little brother, or are you finally going to give me a sister?”

“If I remember my bio class right,” her mom answered, “that’s a question for your dad, kid.” When Marlie didn’t reply, her mom finally looked up, smiling softly. “Honestly, Marlie, I have no idea. I’ll find out at the next doctor’s appointment.”

“What do you want it to be?”

Her mom didn’t reply immediately. “I’ll be happy with either,” she finally said. Marlie resisted the urge to ask Wouldn’t you be happier with neither? “But I suppose,” her mom went on softly, “another girl would be nice.”

“As long as she’s as fabulous as me, right?” Marlie asked.

“Well if she’s not,” Veronica said, taking on an accent, “I sure as hell ain’t keeping her.”

Marlie imagined what it would be like to have a sister. Having brothers was annoying, she could say that much. She knew that, yes, deep down she loved Jason and Ben, but it would have been so much fun to grow up with a sister. Even if this baby was a girl, it would only be a few more years before Marlie was out of the house. It wouldn’t be the same. Still. . . .

“Did you ever wish you had a sister?” Marlie asked her mom.

Veronica had put her attention back on the cake and was adding the finishing icing trim when Marlie spoke, and she froze at the words. Marlie frowned. Her mother swallowed and continued on the cake. “At times when I was little, sure.”

“Do you know why Grandpa and your mom decided not to have any more kids?”

“No,” she answered curtly.

“Do you have a guess? Maybe your mom thought she could only handle one kid if she still wanted a career.” Marlie wasn’t sure what she herself was getting at, but she supposed she was trying to hint at her mother to comment on her own conflicts considering children and a career.

It would be nice to hear her mother say that she loved her children more than any career.

“I have no idea, really,” her mother said, finishing with the cake. She glanced briefly at Marlie, giving a tight, tense smile.

“Do you think that your mom chose her career over —?”

“My mother’s only career,” Veronica snapped, cutting in, “was being a drunk.” She turned point blank away from Marlie and began piling dishes into the sink, turning the water on full blast, as if to drive home further the fact that she didn’t want to talk.

Marlie could take a hint. She went back to her magazine.

Maybe it would have happened differently if her grandparents hadn’t gotten a new puppy. It had been years since their last dog had passed away, and they had finally decided they ought to get a new one. Marlie loved her own sweet pitbull, officially named Backup Junior but affectionately dubbed BJ by herself and her brothers, and she was more than happy to sit for her grandparents and play with the new puppy when they wanted to go out on a date.

Yes, her grandparents went on dates.

She was in their house by herself late on a Wednesday night, playing on the floor of the living room with the new pitbull and half-watching a game on ESPN classics. School was still in session, and Marlie knew her mother was going against her own wishes in allowing her to stay over this late. As if Veronica didn’t do worse things growing up; Marlie knew the stories.

The crazy woman would be over to pick her up any moment, though. “If your grandpa and grandma aren’t back by then,” her mom had told her on the phone a few minutes ago, “we can just bring the puppy home with us. I’ll raise your allowance if you can get him to pee on your dad’s new leather chair.”

The doorbell rang. Marlie reluctantly dragged herself to her feet. She knew it wasn’t her mother; Veronica would have barged right in. But then who would be stopping by the house at nearly eleven at night?

The woman on the doorstep wasn’t anyone Marlie recognized. But the older woman seemed to recognize Marlie, and she stared at her intently, making Marlie extremely uncomfortable. “Um . . . hi?” she said, her brow crinkling.

“Hi!” the woman answered a little breathlessly, as if she had realized she was staring. “I — you must be Marlene,” she said, smiling. There was something familiar about her, and somehow Marlie felt as if she knew the woman, though she was positive she had never seen the blonde hair tinted with silver and the bright blue eyes . . . at least, not combined with the aged woman.

“Most people call me Marlie,” she answered timidly. “Do I . . . do I know you?” she asked.

“Of me,” answered the woman. “You know of me.”

That really wasn’t the answer for which Marlie had been searching. She shifted slightly where she stood, half behind the door. Was she supposed to invite the stranger in?

“Is your father here?” the woman asked suddenly, nervously.

Marlie’s frown deepened. “No. . . .”

The blonde deflated slightly. “When will he be back?”

Marlie was even more confused. “When will he be back?” she repeated, unsure of herself. Her father didn’t live here. Was this woman some crazed fan of her dad’s movies? But then why would she have gotten the wrong house?

The woman nodded. “Keith,” she said, “when will he be back?”

And Marlie was officially floored. Did the woman think she was Keith’s child? Did she think that Marlie was Veronica? But no, she had known Marlie’s name . . . but then why was she asking about . . . ? It didn’t make any sense.

“Soonish,” Marlie finally answered. She hoped he would be back soon. Maybe he could explain all this. “Keith will be back . . . soonish.”

“Ah, well, then, could I . . .” the woman was quickly becoming flustered. Her eyes desperate, she asked at last, “Could I maybe come in and wait for him?” When Marlie looked uncertain, she added hastily, “I’d really like to see Keith . . . and Veronica and just . . . catch up. I’ve missed them.”

“Okay,” Marlie agreed hesitantly. She stepped back, opening the door all the way and allowing the woman to pass her by into the house. She smelled like cigarettes. Grandma Alicia would definitely not approve. “Ah, have a . . . seat, I guess,” Marlie offered awkwardly when they reached the living room.

The woman sat down stiffly on the couch, glancing softly at the now sleeping puppy. “He’s cute,” she said. “Looks just like Backup did when he was little.”

“Yeah,” said Marlie, unsure how she was supposed to respond. Was this woman some old family friend? She sat down nervously on the chair across from the woman. “So . . . I don’t mean to sound rude or anything, but, um, what’s your name?”

The woman gave a strangled laugh. “I haven’t even told you that, yet, have I?” she said. “I’m sorry.” She gave a nervous smile. “Why don’t I start with something else?” Marlie didn’t understand, but before she could say so, the stranger went on. “What did your father tell you about . . . your mother?”

Marlie could only frown. Did her mom have some sort of big, bad secret? Her curiosity was piqued. She knew her mother had a rather sordid past; she knew of the murder of Lilly Kane and the bus crash and the Hearst campus rapes. Most of the stories had been glossed over, and most were told by her father and featured him as a white knight. Her mother usually didn’t elaborate on the stories; she only rolled her eyes and added snarky, teasing comments.

“About what?” she asked slowly.

“About who she was,” answered the woman. “What she was like and . . . where she was.”

Marlie really had no answer this time. She knew exactly where her mother was: she was on her way to pick Marlie up right at this exact moment. Any minute she would come into the house. Right now Marlie was more interested in knowing who the strange woman who knew her name and asked about Keith was.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” Marlie said after a beat.

This time it was the woman who frowned. Before she could say anything, though, noises came from the kitchen, clearly the sound of the back door opening and closing. “Marlie!” her mom called. “You ready to go? And you better have not let the dog go in the yard — I meant what I said about your dad’s lazy chair. I honestly think he loves it more than me.”

Her mother appeared in the doorway with her mouth open to say more. But she froze.

“Veronica!” exclaimed the older woman, jumping to her feet.

“Hey Mom,” Marlie greeted slowly.

“Mom?” repeated the stranger, her eyes going wide. “Did she just call you Mom?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Marlie asked, confused. “I thought you knew who I was. . . .”

“What are you doing here?” Veronica addressed the older woman, her voice steely.

“I came here to . . . to see you and . . . Marlene. Marlie. I came to see you and Marlie,” answered the woman nervously, her eyes flickering from Veronica to Marlie for a moment.

“You can’t just show up like this,” Veronica snapped angrily, her eyes ablaze. “We have a life, you know.”

“I know, I know, but . . . wait, I still don’t understand. Did you tell her that you’re her mother?” asked the older woman.

Something inside Marlie dropped. What was going on . . . ? “What is that supposed to mean?” Marlie questioned, her gaze going back and forth between her mother and the stranger.

“I thought you would tell her that Keith was her father and that . . .,” began the woman, clearly confused. She turned to Marlie. “Honey, I don’t know what they’ve told you,” she said, taking a step towards Marlie, “but I’m —”

“Mom!” Veronica snapped, her eyes flashing.

“Mom?” I repeated in disbelief. The woman glanced at Veronica. Suddenly her blonde hair and blue eyes and nose and face and everything seemed familiar. This woman was . . . this was Lianne Mars. This was her real grandmother. Except. . . .

“You need to get out of here,” Veronica said, ignoring Marlie and focusing her burning eyes on the stranger, on Lianne Mars, on her mother. “You can’t come back here after all these years and throw our lives into chaos. Especially not after the way you left last time. Dad and I have been through enough!”

“Oh, sweetie, I know, and I’m so sorry!” protested Lianne. “But I’ve missed you so much! You and your dad and Marlene! All I’ve wanted to do these past sixteen years is come home, but I was too afraid and I — but I’m sober now, Veronica! I have been for nearly a year! I’m really getting my life together and I just wanted —!”

“No!” Veronica cut in angrily. “Get out of this house! Stay away from Dad! Stay away from me, and stay away from MY daughter! She’s mine, Mom. She’s mine!”

Lianne Mars had begun to cry. Veronica Echolls didn’t seem to care.

“Leave,” Veronica demanded.

And Marlie was getting frustrated. What were they talking about? What were they hinting at? What didn’t she know? She’s mine, Mom. She’s mine! Why did she shout that?

Lianne started for the door.

“Wait!” Marlie protested. “Tell me what’s going on!”

“I’m sorry,” Lianne whined, glancing tearfully between Veronica and Marlie.

“Just tell me what’s going on!” Marlie insisted. “You’re my grandmother, right?” Lianne let out a choking sob, putting her hand to her mouth and shaking her head. Marlie felt the ground shift under her a little. A tiny voice in her head was whispering at her to stop, to let it go, to allow her mother to kick the woman out of the house, but. . . .

“Marlene Mackenzie Echolls, not another word out of you!” shouted her mother, glaring at her.

“But —!”

“You’ll be grounded for so long you’ll forget what the sun looks like!” her mom threatened. Anger bubbled up in Marlie. Veronica turned on her own mother. “Out,” she snapped. “Get out of my father’s home and out of my life, now. You shouldn’t have come back.”

Lianne fled.

“Why did you just send her away like that?” Marlie immediately yelled. “She’s your mother! You can’t just treat her like that! And what was she trying to tell me? Why didn’t she know you’re my mother? Why did she say she wasn’t my grandmother?” She fired question after question at her mother.

“Do not tell me how to deal with my mother, Marlene. There are some things in this life that you do not understand, no matter how much you think you do. My mother is one of those things. And as for what she was saying — that’s-that’s none of your business!”

“No,” Marlie said furiously, “it is my business!” And she ran for the door.

“MARLENE!” shouted her mother. “COME BACK HERE!”

But Marlie didn’t heed her. She ran out of the house, stumbling slightly in the darkness. The stars were particularly bright, but the moon was only a thin sliver. She could still see Lianne at the end of the driveway about to get into a beat up old truck. She sprinted to catch her in time, ignoring her mother’s frantic shouts behind her.

“Wait!” she demanded breathlessly. “Please! Wait! Tell me what’s going on!”

She caught the older woman in time, but Lianne only shook her head. “I shouldn’t,” she said. “Not if Veronica doesn’t want me to . . . I have no right.” She turned painfully away from Marlie, swatting at the tears in her eyes and climbing into her truck.

“I have a right to know!” Marlie declared.

The woman slammed the door shut.

“MARLENE!” her mother shouted, running down the driveway towards them.

“Please,” Marlie pleaded through the open window of the truck. The woman started the engine.

“What don’t I know?”

“I’m not your grandmother,” Lianne told her softly, sadly, tears still leaking from her eyes.

“Because I’m your mother.”

A/N: I have most of this story already written and I had intended on writing it all before I began posting, but I wanted to start posting now because I'm so excited! It won't take me too much longer to finish and during that time I'll be posting the chapter I have already written anyway. I know this left a LOT to be explained after this first chapter, but don't worry, I promise it all will be. There will be some flashbacks as well as snitbits from other characters' POV. As I always do, I ask that you please, please review! It makes my day :)