Alright, so I've totally had this written for a long time, but I never got around to posting it. I'm really only doing so now because 1) ORy gave me the go-ahead and 2) I have a shitload of homework to do this weekend, so as usual, I'm doing my best to avoid thinking about it.
Um, some background info: this takes place near the beginning of season 3. Everything up to it happened, then it takes a sharp left at AU. And it's rated for just really dark themes and depressingness.
Enjoy!
Music: you've already been and we've already seen that the fallen are the virtuous among us
"Did you hear?" Julie came into the kitchen – like she owned it – ignoring the glare from Sandy.
"Hear what?" Kirsten, too, ignored her husband's intense dislike for the redhead. Ryan saw it, though, and silently agreed with the man. She tried to fuck with Trey – tried to get him put in jail on assault charges – just to protect her precious daughter, who wouldn't have gotten in any trouble anyway.
Oh well, that shit was over, thank God. Trey was gone, he and Marissa were… well, broken up, most likely. They just weren't working anymore. Her expulsion from Harbor had created a rift – he always felt like she secretly resented him for not getting kicked out, too. He'd been just as surprised as her.
Even after they got her back in – Seth and Summer campaigned like hell and got people to sign the petition – nothing was the same. She'd met that Johnny kid and she just… slipped away. So now they were on a tentative break, to see if they wanted to break up for good. That was bullshit, he thought. If she didn't want to be with him, then she should just dump him and get it over with.
"Veronica died."
"What?" Kirsten put her knife down and Ryan saw Seth visibly relax. The boy still didn't trust his mom's kitchen skills, even though she'd been doing better since rehab.
"Veronica who?" Sandy asked, giving into his curiosity and talking to Julie.
"Townsend," it was Kirsten that answered. Apparently there was only one Veronica it could be.
"It seems that she'd had a little too much to drink and crashed into a tree," Julie shook her head, missing the uncontrolled fear that crossed over Kirsten's face.
Sandy saw it, though, and tensed up.
"I only heard about it," Julie continued, not noticing Sandy move over to place his hand on his wife's back, "because I was at the hospital, giving a donation."
"Wait," Seth cut in, "Townsend like Taylor Townsend?"
"Poor girl," Kirsten whispered, but her mind was clearly on other things. Sandy rubbed his hand over his wife's back. "We should send flowers or something."
"The funeral's going to be this Saturday," Julie told them, shrugging when Kirsten raised an eyebrow at her. "I may have… hung around and overheard some things." Sandy rolled his eyes but didn't say anything.
"Oh, shame," Seth put his plate in the sink. "We're going to the IMAX showing of that shark movie Saturday."
"No," Kirsten stopped her son – halfway to the door. "You're going to the funeral." Her tone left no room for argument.
Taylor stared at the man's mouth as it moved, but she couldn't make out what he was saying.
Her mom was dead.
Veronica Townsend.
Dead.
Was that even possible? Veronica Townsend was… invincible. There had to be some mistake. But no… there was no mistaking her mother's face, even if it was white, even if it had no make-up on, even if the rest of her was covered by a sheet as she lay on the cold steel table. She'd only nodded – it was her mother – before the man pushed her back in and closed the door to that little metal vault.
He took her out of the morgue, talking, but she didn't listen.
She excused herself when she saw the ladies room and went in. No one else was around, so she made no effort to mask the sounds as she threw up her lunch into the cold, dirty porcelain. Then she went to the sink, rinsed her mouth out, smoothed her hair down, and went back out to talk to the mortician.
Not that she heard anything he said.
His mouth was moving, but her ears had stopped working.
Veronica Townsend was dead.
"I hate ties," Seth complained, pulling at his as they stood under the sun.
"Cohen, stop complaining," Summer whispered, keeping her voice low and not taking her eyes off where they were lowering the casket into the ground. "Be respectful."
Ryan didn't watch the casket – he didn't even know the woman. His eyes went to Marissa, standing off a little ways with her mother. She'd said hello to him and that was about it. Oh, and she'd smiled, but he really wasn't sure what the hell he was supposed to make of that.
What the fuck was a 'break'?
The more people fear you, the more that show up at your funeral.
It was almost sick, in a way.
None of them liked her mother.
Hell, she didn't even like her mother.
"How are you, dear?" a voice asked and she turned toward the sound with a smile plastered on. Who the hell was talking to her now? She didn't know the woman, but she said a polite hello back and pretended she did. The woman took no notice and told her how nice everything here looked.
She almost laughed.
She had no doubt that her mother was looking down at her and telling all the other ghosts how awful those flowers were, how cheap the food was, how fat her daughter looked.
Maybe 'looking up' was a more appropriate idea for her mother? Not that she believed in hell, per se. Not that she believed in heaven, either.
She didn't believe in much of anything.
But she had no doubt that if her mother had the chance, she'd watch over the funeral, just to see how many people came.
Compulsively, she smoothed down her dress, then patted at her hair to make sure nothing had fallen loose from the twisted knot. She still looked perfect.
She always did.
"This is some house," Sandy whistled, looking around.
"She was successful, you've gotta give her that," Kirsten commented quietly, hand tight around her glass of water.
"It looks like all of Newport showed up," Julie commented drily, rolling her eyes.
"Well," Sandy shrugged. "There's free food and booze. You know people here can't turn down free booze."
"We should pay our respects," Kirsten sighed, nodding toward the kitchen. Everyone turned to watch the girl dressed in black as she talked to some man. Ryan seriously had no idea who half these people were. Even after three years he couldn't keep them straight.
The look on Kirsten's face told them all to follow as she made her way over. Julie and Marissa hung back – probably because their sympathies wouldn't be too convincing. Julie's because she… well, she was Julie Cooper-Nichol and Marissa because she hated Taylor.
"Taylor," Kirsten interrupted the man and none of them missed the almost-relief on the girl's face when he left. "I'm so sorry…"
"Thank you," she accepted politely, nodding her head. "Is everything alright? Can I get you anything else?" Kirsten seemed startled by the question and Taylor gestured at her drink. "Did you need something else to drink? Eat?"
"Don't you have caterers?" Seth asked, turning his head to look around.
"Yes… well…" Taylor tried to brush it off, running her hand over her dress, like she was trying to rid it of some imaginary dirt.
"How are you?" Kirsten pressed on, giving her son a brief – icy – look. Taylor looked up from her dress, confused. Then her face settled back into a polite smile.
"The grieving process is hard, but I believe I'll make it through."
Ryan raised his eyebrow. Well, if that wasn't the biggest bullshit answer he'd ever heard. It was such a Newpsie thing to say. He doubted any of them had any real emotions.
Maybe that Stepford Wives movie had some truth to it…
Finally, people were starting to leave.
She should've ordered less food, because they only started leaving once the food was gone.
One by one they trickled out without saying goodbye, which was fine with her. She didn't need to talk to any of them. When the last of them were gone – the Cohens, of course, making sure she was ok before they left – she dismissed the caterers.
She wanted to be alone.
Alone was better.
The house was a wreck, though, and she sighed as she grabbed a trash bag and started picking up napkins and dumping the excess food off of plates.
"Taylor," a voice sounded from behind her and she felt her muscles tighten up.
Stupid Cohens, couldn't they just leave her alone?
"Mrs. Cohen," she turned with a smile, trying to hide the trash bag behind her back. The last thing she needed was these people seeing her cleaning. Kirsten Cohen was friends with all those women – it would be the latest gossip by tomorrow.
Poor little Taylor Townsend, having to clean up her own house.
"I think I left my purse," the woman explained with a smile – like she actually cared.
"I'll help you look," she answered politely, trying to discretely get rid of the bag. The rustling was loud, though, and she saw Kirsten's eyes go to it. Great.
The worst part was, the whole stupid family was there.
It would've been bad enough had it just been her, but no. Her husband and her children were behind her, along with Summer Roberts.
No, this was just fantastic.
Not only would the gossip be going around the older Newport crowd, but now the entire school would know.
"Why don't we help you clean up," Mr. Cohen offered kindly. He was the only one of the group she vaguely trusted not to be a lying manipulator. There was just something about him…
"That's quite alright," she waved them off, still smiling politely. Off to the side, Summer Roberts frowned.
"We have nothing better to do," the girl offered, stepping forward. "We'll help."
Annoyance ran through her body. "I said that's alright," she responded, voice going tight.
Summer sighed, stepping further into the kitchen. "Look, Taylor, I know we've never gotten along…"
She barely resisted the urge to laugh. "…but you've been through a lot. We're here for you."
"Oh?" she felt her body go rigid, but her hands started shaking. "How very nice of you all. I'm so happy you can take time out of your busy schedules to feel bad for the poor orphan girl."
"Taylor," Mrs. Cohen stepped forward, looking upset.
"I'm just trying to be nice," Summer continued on, recoiling a little. Like she was the victim here.
"That's great, Summer, but I don't buy it." She shouldn't be this rude, she knew, but the day was catching up to her. She just wanted to be alone.
"You don't buy it?" She heard the rage in the other girl's voice as Seth stepped forward and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Ryan and Sandy stayed back, watching the display with mild interest.
"You're right," she smiled tightly, feeling her stomach rebel against her again. Luckily, she hadn't eaten anything in the past three days, so there was nothing left to throw up. "You're just being nice. Like that time you copied off my algebra test and then told Mrs. Calhoun I was the one who cheated off you? Or that time you invited me to your birthday and told me it was a costume party, but it turned out you forgot to mention that little detail to all the other guests?"
Summer stayed silent and she felt her stomach heave again. Her hands were shaking. She just wanted to be alone. A movement –Seth – caught her eye, but she held up a hand as he opened his mouth. She knew he was going to defend his girlfriend.
She didn't need to hear it.
"I don't need your help," she explained, trying to keep her voice from being rude. Especially to Mr. and Mrs. Cohen. They were adults. She could be rude to Seth and Summer and Ryan – although he'd stayed quiet this whole time – but she couldn't be rude to adults. "I've never needed anyone's help before and I don't need it now."
Interesting. That got a reaction out of Ryan. The boy twitched and finally looked at her, but she ignored that.
Summer, on the other hand, looked like she couldn't decide whether she wanted to scream or cry. Instead she chose to storm out, Seth on her heels, calling for her. Mrs. Cohen ducked her head and went in search for her purse. Ryan followed her out.
Mr. Cohen paused in the entrance to the kitchen. "Look, Miss Townsend," he started and she waited for him to speak. Something about addressing her as Miss Townsend made her relax – at least now he wasn't trying to be all personal, like he actually knew anything about her. "If you ever need any help, please, call. We won't turn you away."
She plastered a smile on her face and gave her best impression of someone being grateful. "Thank you, Mr. Cohen."
He didn't buy it but she was too tired to care. He just nodded and left the room.
Eventually she heard them leave the house and outside, two cars started up.
She was alone, just like she wanted to be.
The silence was deafening.
She ignored that and started to clean.
review