A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, favorites, & follows. As always, much appreciated. So sorry for the LONG lag time between updates. I hope this was worth the wait, if so, I'd love it if you'd let me know. maybe in a review. Thank you so much to cainc3, the best beta in the universe! Happy reading!

Obligatory Disclaimer: Apparently I still do NOT own anything Veronica Mars related, that's all Rob Thomas' domain. I do enjoy playing in his playground though.

Chapter 7—Revelations

It took Mac's brain an extra second or three to fully interpret what her eyes' were seeing.

Veronica didn't have the same eyes-brain ratio evidently because she was uttering a string of cuss words directed at Hadley before Mac's jaw had even dropped. She raised one arm from the hot water of the spa, splashing Mac in the process so she could extend her middle finger in the direction of the traitor.

Of course, Mac was in utter shock.

Dick was a man-whore—reformed man-whore technically—that was not exactly a newsflash. He had several metaphorical notches on his bedpost. Hell, though she had yet to find any evidence, it wouldn't surprise her in the least if there were a couple physical notches carved out somewhere, too, of all his past "one night" dates.

However, she didn't have any names or faces to go along with his slutty past so remaining in bliss filled ignorance was an easy state to reside in. Well, she did have one name—Madison Sinclair—the one ironically, or maybe not so much irony as Shakespearean tragedy, that was supposed to be hers by birth rite.

That was a whole other story.

Now, on the other hand, was the first time in a long time she'd come face-to-face with someone else who had carnal knowledge of her boyfriend. Suddenly, she was keenly aware of what Veronica and Parker must have felt with their boyfriend exchange.

"Well, fuck me running with a pitchfork," Veronica was muttering.

"Ouch," Mac said in response to Veronica's suggestion after recovering her powers of speech. "I'll have to make sure he got his shots afterwards," this was directed fully at Hadley.

"So you can imagine why I was surprised to hear he'd hooked up with you," Hadley stammered out, her sly demeanor quickly draining out of her. Though Mac badly wanted—needed—to take credit for the fear that was making an appearance on her now-wan face, she suspected it was more Veronica induced intimidation.

Her best friend wasn't wearing a friendly face right now; her protective edge when it came to Mac was peeking out. "I know," Veronica was quick to interject, "I always thought Mac was quite the upgrade from his usual skanky fare, but even I didn't know it was by this big of a margin."

Mac watched Hadley's beady eyes narrow into little slits, who she hated more in that moment of time though was anyone's guess. Of course, now, Mac knew for sure the dislike she'd sensed in Hadley was borne purely of jealousy. It was more of a two-way street than Mac wanted to admit, however, which was silly, the Dick she'd been dating for the past three years shared nothing more than a surface resemblance to the guy he'd been in high school.

His maturity had been forced upon him by loss and grief, but the source didn't matter, it was only the end result that was important.

There was no way, no dimension that existed where she could imagine herself dating the Dick she knew from Neptune High, he'd been awful to her, there was no sense in glossing over that icy fact.

They'd worked through the past though, leaving the lingering ashes behind to incinerate. For the sake of her own sanity, Mac quickly dismissed this long ago incident with Hadley as nothing more than a meaningless fling after a drunken '09'er party junior or senior year, it probably didn't register in Dick's memory bank.

Still the fact remained, there someone else she was in direct contact with that had a piece of her boyfriend, that knew intimately the way he bit his lip right before he came, the little grunt that came immediately after. That was what made this an uncomfortable situation for her.

"Well, I've never really been his type," Mac began, a little edge of doubt she'd been unable to fully hold back colored her words.

"You have boobs, you're his type," Veronica stepped in, reassuringly. "Seriously though, Mac, I get that this caught you by surprise, but you had to know that Dick had a past."

"No, really? Get outta town, I had no clue," Mac deadpanned, and then sighed. "Yes, I'm well aware that Dick had slut tendencies before I trained him…"

"Worked your mojo," Veronica cut in.

"I didn't take his v-card and collect $200, but I didn't really expect to come face to face with one of his conquests," Mac finished.

"Welcome to club," Veronica said dryly. "The dues are collected monthly, I'll have to text you the secret password or it wouldn't be so secret anymore."

"Touché."

"What club?"

Mac looked up sharply. Parker was now hovering by the edge of the spa. The last time she'd seen Parker she was by the fire pit rehashing the day's events with her older sister and their cousin.

"Impeccable timing as ever, Lee," Veronica muttered. "The men with multiple partners club, of course."

The confused expression Parker was wearing morphed into a mischievous grin, "you didn't share the secret handshake, did you?"

"Not yet, I thought you could demo it."

"Awfully generous of you, Mars."

"That's my middle name, Veronica Generous Mars."

"And here I thought it was nosy," Mac interjected with a grin. "Guess I better return that monogrammed sweater I have on backorder."

"Your two besties share something else in common, other than your friendship," Veronica shorthanded, nodding in Hadley's direction.

"Someone else," Mac corrected. She noticed Hadley was noticeably quiet since Parker joined them by the hot tub. She was still in the deck chair, but she'd once again picked up her cell phone and was typing something on it. Perhaps an SOS to Ratner, Mac thought, uncharitably.

Parker looked lost once again.

"Dick," Veronica clarified, "Dick's dick, to be precise."

"Hadley slept with Dick? Your Dick? Casablancas, that Dick?" Parker exclaimed, coming out more like a shriek.

"Well, not my dick. For the record I didn't grow that particular part of the anatomy," Mac deadpanned.

"You kind of did, the guy's whipped, and I, for one, like it," Veronica argued. "You own his ass."

"His dick, too," Parker added.

Mac risked another glance at Hadley out of the corner of her eye. She was still intent on her phone, obviously trying to disappear off the radar, which was a marked departure from the trouble she'd been kicking up the whole weekend.

"When?"

"We didn't get that deep yet into the confession," Mac explained.

"Maybe I should go to bed, and then you can really talk about me," Hadley said, finally looking up from her texting.

"That's okay, I think we're managing just fine with you right in front of us," Veronica said with derision. "Although I love a good fairytale before bed, so maybe you'd like to give us the specifics."

"Look, you can spin it anyway you want, but it was junior year of high school at Madison's annual birthday bash. He was drunk…"

"It was a day ending in 'y,'" Veronica added.

"He was also mad at Madison, or more likely she was mad at him and he wanted to make her jealous."

"A tale as old as time," Parker said.

"He used me," Hadley said softly, ignoring the running commentary from Parker. She was talking only to Veronica, making excuses perhaps, seeming to confirm Mac's theory that she had a healthy fear of the blonde ball of raw energy. She, Wallace and Logan, and perhaps Mr. Mars, seemed to be the only people in captivity that weren't scared of her. They knew the dark secret, that Veronica possessed a squishy, sticky sweet center not as buried as she liked to pretend. Hadley, however, wasn't bringing out her marshmallow tendencies tonight.

"Bullshit," Veronica interjected, loudly.

Mac looked around, noticing they were attracting attention from all corners of the well-lit deck. She looked down at the water swirling around her from the strategically placed jets in the hot tub.

Madison's birthday bash, she knew that day well. It was entrenched in her memory where it was doomed to linger for the rest of her days.

She and Veronica had been there that night; the technical term was 'crashed.' It arrived on the heels of the terrible discovery that she'd been switched at birth with a girl she loathed, someone who was pretty much the antithesis of every value and ideal she held dearly. Madison Sinclair. So when she saw the flyer, on the student billboard in the quad, advertising the party she took it as an omen. It was her God given, fate-divined chance to see how the "upper upper bougie" lived.

She begged, cajoled, and pleaded with Veronica to accompany her there, so despite well-earned misgivings, they wrangled up Wallace and the three of them went partying.

The entire house was a scrapbook testament to all the silver-plated opportunities Madison was handed due to a fucking hospital error. Madison posing on the slopes of Aspen. Madison about to go to the top of Eiffel Tower. Madison in Red Square. Madison…Madison..Madison. It was a Madison Sinclair overdose. She went into the library to seek sanctuary, and instead she discovered a blood-related little sister she'd never even heard about.

She hadn't even known Dick was there that night on her Sinclair/baby-switching collision course of an evening. He hadn't been a blip on her radar, and she hadn't been a blip on his either. She hadn't felt like a blip on anyone's radar that night, except maybe for Veronica. She'd been ignorant of the cost of coming to an '09'er fete for her bestie, at that time she hadn't known that Vee had been roofied and raped the year before at Shelly's bacchanalia.

Mac fisted her hands and took a deep breath. Concerned, Veronica looked over at her. Having lost the 'Poker Face' gene lottery, Mac assumed her painful stroll down memory lane must have been clearly broadcast. She gratefully accepted the hug she was offered.

"Aw, shit, Q. That night will never stop tormenting you, will it?"

"It wasn't an entire waste, Bond," Mac admitted. If nothing else, at least she met Lauren that night.

They exchanged smiles before severing the soggy, water-logged hug.

"He gave me a tour of the upstairs, and then kissed me and told me he'd always thought I was cute in a librarian way. We were on Madison's fluffy white canopy bed by then." Hadley was telling Parker.

"So you had sex on her bed?"

"Yes," Hadley snapped. "Then he threw the evidence in Madison's trash can."

"At least it was protected," Parker murmured irrelevantly in Mac's opinion.

"I think that was less about keeping us safe from his diseases, and more about wanting to rub the fact that someone had sex in her bed in Madison's face."

"I think you give Dick, especially the high school iteration, too much credit," Veronica interjected.

"He's smarter than he acts, you know that," Mac said.

"You're defending him?"

"Look, we weren't together then, I know that. This was years in the past," Mac tried to explain what was really bugging her about the situation, but that was always easier to do when you had a firmer grip on the whole issue.

"Hadley didn't have to rub your face in the whole sordid tale."

That was it in a nutshell. "True," Mac agreed.

"Still here guys," Hadley reminded them.

"I wish airlines were more accommodating when it came to allowing tasers on board," Veronica said casually, like she was making idle chit chat.

"I'm not seeing a lot of changed behavior from anyone here," Hadley said, shooting a pleading look to Parker.

Parker, however, didn't toss Hadley a lifeline. "Call me Switzerland."

Suddenly the notes of California Gurls cut into the conversation.

"Hey, P, your phone is ringing," Paige shouted out to her younger sister.

"A Katy Perry ring tone, that figures." Veronica stage whispered to Mac.

"Excuse me ladies," Parker said. Mac thought she looked happy for the excuse to get out of dodge. The middle wasn't really Parker's favorite position.

Mac went back to ignoring Hadley. She was about to relaunch the game of "I Never" with Veronica, when a screech from across the deck captured her focus, and pretty much everyone else in a two mile radius, as well.

"A fight?!"

Their eyes met, and they traded knowing glances.

"I told Dick there would be no bailing his ass out of jail," Mac muttered under her breath.

"It might be good for both of them to linger a couple days behind bars," Veronica said, thoughtfully.

"Oh, back to our game," Mac said gleefully. "I never spent time in jail."

"Yet," Veronica muttered before taking a big sip of champagne. "That's only because you've
never been caught doing anything illegal."

"Eh, semantics." Mac said. She craned her neck for a better glance at Parker. Beyond the mention of the fight, her eavesdropping didn't turn up anymore intel, though she did note, with interest ,the stiff way Hadley held herself as she also did some spy work on the phone call.

About a minute later, Hadley gathered her phone and nearly full glass of wine before stalking back to the door.

"Someone's pissed," Veronica said unnecessarily as Hadley stomped by the hot tub. She didn't try to hide her smile.

~~~~/~~~~/~~~~/~~~~/~~~~/~~~~/~~~~/

Dick surveyed the damage surrounding him and on his body as well. The scene was one of bedlam, pure bedlam. The meathead jock hadn't taken the whole pitcher of beer dumped on his head very well.

It was a waste of damn fine beer, too.

Party foul! Although calling this nerd herd gathering a party was a stretch. Well, they'd done their good deed for the day and livened up Piss's little fete.

Logan's nose looked like it had a run in with a meat grinder, and his own hand was turning a peculiar shade of purple. It also throbbed in time to the music that was still playing in the background. What's his name, Pony boy singer, certainly was a believer in the adage, the show must go on.

Tables were upturned, chairs were tipped over, and the meathead in question was being detained at the bar by a bouncer. The cops had been called. Mackie's earlier warning echoed in his head that if they got arrested she wouldn't bail his ass out of jail.

He tried to fist and un-fist his injured hand but wasn't very successful at that endeavor. He winced. The wound in question was a cumulative effect from both using the stone statue jock meathead as a punching bag as well as deflecting more than a few punches from same said meathead.

"Here's an ice pack," Logan said, pressing a ziplock bag into his good hand. Only with the nose injury and his own makeshift ice pack draped over it, it sounded more like "ere's sice pick."

"Thanks, dude. Ronnie's going to taser my gonads for letting your pretty boy nose get broken."

"I don't think that's in her job description anymore," Logan said dejectedly. Only, again because of the injury it came out garbled.

"You'll get a few sympathy points at the very least."

"Is that what you're going for?"

"Absolutely," Dick exclaimed. "Mackie loves to wear her white nurse's uniform and give me a sponge bath, before I pinch her ass. It's a little game we call naughty patient"

Since talking seemed to hurt, Logan settled for using gestures to communicate the fact that he wasn't interested in hearing about Mac and Dick's sex-capades. He was still scarred from seeing them in action, and that had been over a year ago. That trauma didn't go away overnight. "I'm not sure there are enough sympathy points in the world to get me out of this doghouse," he finally admitted, "maybe I'll propose the Naughty Patient game as an accompaniment to the obligatory break up sex."

Dick felt like he'd just been punched in his stomach—which actually, on second thought, he figured he actually had—when he saw the dejected, wounded fucking puppy look in Logan's downcast face. He absently rubbed one hand on his chest, and started to put his other arm around his bestie before hesitating. Aw, the fuck with it, he gave Logan a quick half-hug of solidarity, then not as gently shoved him over to a 2 top table that had survived the war, still upright.

They climbed up on tall back stools, tending to their own injuries, lost in the tangle of their own thoughts.

Dick watched as Piss sat at the head of the chess club reject table like he was reigning over his people. All the little nerd disciples were making a show of not looking around, as if they could go invisible. That had no doubt been the card they'd played as the battle raged on around them. It obviously worked though; they appeared unscathed as they played superior for not letting their fists do the talking for them.

Fucking poindexters!

Shit his hand hurt. He hadn't been in a fight for over a year in a half. He was rusty in his punching technique. Still, there was no way in hell he was going to stand there why that rockheaded asshole blight on humanity wailed on Logan. He couldn't stand bullies. He was fully aware, unfortunately, of the irony contained in that thought. It was entirely in a projection, psychobabble kind of way though. He wasn't proud of his bully past and the latent tendencies that still peered out from time to time. He was trying to make amends and 12 step shit like that. Mackie was the best incentive he had though.

He let out a dry bark of laughter thinking of all the alternate beds that were in his future when she came back from the lake house and heard about the bar fight. They didn't have a dog yet, so at least he wouldn't have to kick Fido out of his doggie casa. Hopefully he'd at least get a tent to protect himself from the elements when she made his new home their tiny 8 foot by 8 foot balcony that housed a grill, Mackie's "herb garden" planter and not much else.

"What?" Logan inquired.

"Just thinking of how pissed Mac will be."

"I hope you at least get a blanket to protect yourself from the elements when you spend the next week on the balcony."

"I'm hoping for a tent, at least."

"Dare to dream," Logan snarked. "Well, the guy deserved it."

"No kidding. I need you to back me up, though."

"It's the least I can do for you risking life and limb to teach that rockhead a lesson."

"I don't know about life, but I did risk limb," Dick said. "I think my fucking hand is broken," he admitted, and then backed up the statement by making another attempt to close his fist. He winced from the effort.

"My nose is probably broken, too."

"No shit, dude. That's nasty looking."

"You should see the other guy," Logan teased, nodding over to the other side of the bar. The meathead instigator was still under the supervision of the bouncer. He gingerly touched his swollen, bruised nose and flinched a little bit.

A movement from the corner of his eye caught Dick's attention. Wallace was on his way over to their table.

"Fight's over, thanks for the backup," he called out.

"You looked like you had it under control," Wallace justified.

"Wimp," Dick said, but it lacked heat.

"Wimp," Logan echoed, his tone might have carried more weight in it, but with the nose injury it was hard to tell for sure. The scowl on his face did a better job selling his displeasure on the lack of back up.

At least he looked a little sheepish, Dick mused to himself.

Wallace gestured back to their table, in invitation. Not having any better offers, they followed him back to the geek table. Apparently, the few patrons still left, outside their own party, didn't feel the desire to drink with the heroes. At least, that was Dick's private nickname for himself and Logan. They were doing their civic duty and other patriotic shit like that, defending the honor of Geek-hot bartenders trying to earn an honest dollar.

Slowly, like the old, decrepit men they felt like, Dick and Logan poured their fight-battered bodies into their chairs, and exchanged amused glances as the nerd herd continued to make mumbly excuses for their chicken shit avoidance of the brawl. Dick was just about to calculate how many weak reasons they could pull out of their wimpy asses when that thought train derailed by the gaggle of cops descending en masse through the club entrance.

Desmond Fellows was still on the stage singing about being a bloody, broken mass of humanity, seemingly unconcerned with what was going on below him. Dick flexed his throbbing hand and adjusted the makeshift icepack for maximum coverage. He found the subject matter of the whiney song pretty apropos at the moment.

One of the bouncers, also a card-carrying member of the no-neck club, stood up to wave the bumbling cops over to where they were still interviewing the fight instigator.

Logan leaned over and whispered in Dick's ear. "This is our cue to make our exit."

Before Dick could reply, one of the keystone cops parked his donut-bellied self in front of the door.

"Guess that puts a wrinkle in that plan," Dick said, after the door guard detained a skinny blond girl who was gesturing animatedly, probably trying to throw around some of daddy's money. Shockingly, that plan seemed to go south. He was pretty sure there was a sign in the Sherriff's headquarters that read: We solemnly swear to take any and all bribes handed down by the wealthiest members of our fine county. He'd have to fact-check that with the pixie spy sometime.

Looking back over at the table that was now serving as the interrogation area, Dick watched them question no neck. He was happy to see that the dude was looking pissed. Perhaps they were planning on stringing him by his bitten-to-the-quick fingernails. That wasn't asking too much, was it?!

It seemed likely that no neck was busy glossing over his part in the whole debacle, and was playing up Dick's role being that the pussy kept pointing in their general direction. On the third time that happened, in a matter of thirty seconds or so, one of the donut posse got up and started purposely striding their way.

"Shit! 5-0 on your twelve o'clock," Logan muttered in Dick's ear. "Told you we should have ran."

"And get shot in the process? No thank you. We have right on our side," Dick replied.

"Eh, the worst they'd do is taser our asses and considering, I'm pretty sure, they can't find their dicks without GPS, I'd hardly worry about any more bodily harm coming our way."

That conversational thread was iced quickly once the detective Tweedle Dee and Captain Tweedle Dum came upon the nerd herd table, brandishing badges.

Dick wondered where the cameras were as he and Logan were taken to separate tables across the room. He felt like he'd wandered onto a B-movie set. Perhaps Neptune's finest protectors and servers used Super Troopers and the Police Academy franchise as training aids? It would explain a lot.

The interrogation seemed to drag on and the guy seemed to be following a script that existed solely in his own head. He asked the same six basic questions, but phrased them differently each time. It was getting monotonous, though Dick suspected that was the plan all along.

Mid questioning, he chanced a quick glance up on the stage. Desmond had quit playing and was in the process of climbing down. He tracked the now nervous looking singer as he headed over to Piss' nerd table. Nothing like a good police raid to put a damper on a gig! Reluctantly he pulled his gaze back on the cop. "I said, the meathead threw the first punch," Dick said, gritting his teeth.

"That's not the story we're getting from Mr. Michaels," the deputy replied.

"Of course not," Dick answered, proud of himself for not following that up with a "d'uh," before adding, "but it is the story your partner is getting from Logan, because it's the honest truth."

"We ran a quick background check on you, Mr. Cassablancas. Back in 2006 and 2007 respectively, we found a couple assault attempts in your file. It seems to me that maybe you are back to your old tricks."

"I'm sorry, is there a question there?"

"This isn't a courtroom, Mr. Casablancas, but if you want a question, here you go; are we going to keep meeting like this in the future?"

Again, he kept the "not if I see you first" comment to himself. "I just have a really low tolerance for people beating up on my friends, that's all. So if another meathead asshole wants to pick a fight with someone I love, then yes, we probably will meet again, sir." Dick said as politely as he could muster. "But I don't plan on making a habit of it."

"Okay, well, we need to take some statements, if we can find other people to back up your statement that Mr. Michaels threw the first punch at your friend then we won't be pressing any charges. We'll keep in touch in the meantime."

"So, I'm free to go?"

"Yes, but don't leave town." The guy smirked, and Dick thought he probably added it as some cop humor. It seemed to add a little weight to his theory on half the curriculum being Hollywood B movies though.

Dick got up and wandered back to the nerd collective. Logan was already there.

"So?" they both asked in tandem, as Dick flopped down in the chair beside his partner in crime.

"It's cool," again said in unison.

"Proof positive they share a brain," Wallace quipped. "I only have one question, who gets custody of it on the even days, and who gets the odd ones?"

"Dick is odd, so naturally he gets the odd days," Logan interjected, laughing at his friend's one finger salute comeback.

The chess club sat there looking bored as Piss and Wallace drug them through a play by play of the interrogation. Turned out, the line of questioning both guys were subjected to were virtually identical. Dick thought that lent further credence to his theory that all the keystone cops read from the same bumbling Hollywood script.

Finally, the "party" broke up, with Wallace offering to let them continue the frivolity at his apartment. They took that as their cue to take their battered bodies back to Dick's place, not that anyone bothered to extend the invitation to either of them anyway.

…TBC

**********Love it? Hate it? M'eh? Reviews are always appreciated, they keep me motivated, too. Thanks for reading!*************