A/N: I am working on two chapters right now (Immutable Power and The Friend Zone) when this little gem popped into my head. I quickly wrote it down so I could return to my more pressing stories, but there was something almost Zen writing this particular piece; the idea of using quotes between each section is from another VM fic I read the other day. I really liked how the author used it, so I'm emulating it (I would credit the author or piece by name but I can't remember right now). This is a future fic with vague allusions to all three seasons. Enjoy.

Inspiration: "Criminal" & "Shadowboxer" by Fiona Apple

All the art of living lies in a fine mingling of letting go and holding on – Henry Ellis

I stared at the phone with trepidation, wondering how I was going to make this call. I knew he would answer, as he always did, but I hated to hear the disappointment in his voice once I broke the news, even though I was of age and years past being a disobedient daughter. I'd been sitting by my bed for the past three hours trying to rev up the courage to dial the number I knew by heart.

The ringing peal of "Back in Black" startled me from my spiraling thoughts and I drew a breath as this was the other man in my life I had no desire to tell about the life-changing curve I'd been thrown. If I didn't answer, he would think something was wrong, but if I did answer, he'd know something was wrong. It wasn't the first time I'd been between a rock and a hard place with him, but this was probably the first time when he had nothing to do with what was going so wrong in my life, and I suddenly fiercely wished I could blame him instead of a tequila fueled night of self-doubt and self-pity. It would be normal in a world suddenly gone crazy.

"I wake you?"

His voice was warm and whiskey-rough in my ears, a soothing combination I'd grown used to hearing again on a near daily basis since we decided nearly twenty years of knowing one another in every conceivable way precluded walking away like it meant nothing. This time, however, there were no romantic entanglements between us, just other people, and I told myself it was better this way.

I'd said this for the past two years since he first started dating Samantha and it went from a bar hookup into a serious relationship. It was his first since we broke each other in college, and I kept telling anyone who'd listen, I was happy for him. I was.

"I live in the city that never sleeps, so naturally I don't either."

It wasn't the truth of course, but right now truth wasn't something I was too fond of. My fingers clenched around the plastic wand in my hand, the knowledge it imparted as dangerous as a stick of dynamite. In fact right now I'd prefer it so then I wouldn't have to face the reality of my decision because I'd be scattered across the tri-state area in little itty bitty pieces of gristle and bone.

"Always with the chasing bad guys. You're being careful?"

The concern was familiar and careworn, but there wasn't the frantic edge I hated when we dated, but missed now he was no longer mine. I hadn't realized just how much I'd always counted on him to have my back in any situation until he showered someone else with his love and attention, and left me with the dregs of friendship. He'd still do whatever he could to help me of course, but he rightfully put someone else first, an action I wasn't used to. I'd always come first with him. Always.

"When aren't I careful?"

My voice caught on the last syllable as I continued to stare at the two pink lines delineating my old life from the potential of a new one. It wasn't something I ever planned or even thought about, but now I had a very short window of time to determine which path I took; did I dare take Robert Frost's advice and take the road less traveled? Where would it lead? Could I really do it alone?

"I know you better than that. You sound weird. Are you okay? You and Ted having problems?"

No, Ted and I weren't having problems. It was more like I was having problems caused by Ted. He was a hot-shot architect, his dark good looks and bad boy attitude instantly attracting me, almost comforting in some strange way, lessening the extreme homesickness I'd experienced since I moved to the East Coast. Despite our very different approaches to life, we somehow connected in a way I hadn't with any man since college. During the honeymoon period of our relationship, I'd given into Ted's urging and moved into his apartment, something I knew still stung my caller because I never committed that much to him in all our years together. When I broke the news about my new address, he stopped talking to me for five months; the next time we spoke, he had a new girlfriend.

"Not any more. We broke up."

I was used to life and death situations, fiery conclusions that dictated the tenor of my relationships, but my end with Ted was simple, a few packed boxes, a sad nod to one another, then a closed and locked door. At first I assumed my nausea and depression was due to failing at keeping yet another man happy, but eventually I took my head out of my ass and realized what else might be causing the same symptoms. It actually saddened me for that to be the cause of my emotional upheaval; I'd spent better part of three years with him, yet I felt more regret for the man who came before him then I did for Ted.

"Why you break things off with him? I thought things were getting serious."

Now the timbre of his voice changed, from honeyed smoothness to pitying curiosity . I grimaced at the tone because I knew he must've heard about Ted's proposal from either Mac or Wallace. It had happened on my twenty-ninth birthday and something that honestly shocked me; I rarely if ever thought about changing my title from "Miss" to "Mrs" and was surprised he had. I assumed Ted was like me, content to be happy together, not desiring happily ever after.

"Please. Veronica Mosby just sounds absurd."

The thought of me as Mrs. Mosby was more than absurd, it was terrifying. What did I know about being a wife other than the fine examples I grew up around: cheaters, liars, drunks and drug addicts? The last man I even entertained the idea of marrying had run off to a foreign country to hide his secret illegitimate baby with a dead girl from her soulless abusive parents. Was it any wonder why marriage was anathema to me?

"At least you wouldn't have changed your initials; you'd still be VM."

A wry smile curved my lips and for the first time in a week I felt amusement. It always bewildered me how he could play my emotions, turning me away from my darker more destructive side and bring me back with a quip or friendly banter. It was a quality I hadn't appreciated until it was much much too late. A muffled voice in the background reminded me of the cost of always needing to be right, of being in control. Look what control had gotten me: an uncertain future without the one person who meant as much as my dad at my side.

"Nah, what would the world be without a Veronica Mars in it?"

It was a strange to me, rethinking the decisions of my life. Hindsight wasn't something I indulged in often because there were too many instances in my past where things could've gone completely different and it was insanity-inducing to even try to contemplate the possible results of those decisions. I had to stick to the road I had taken and be satisfied with the scenery. I rested my head back against the bed's edge and just listened to my heartbeat, wondering if I would be able to hear the second one beneath my breasts if I were really really quiet.

"A world I wouldn't want to live in."

Tears pressed against the back of my closed eyelids at the softly voiced comment. He wasn't often sweet, at least to me, and right now I could use a little dose of it. I felt like I'd just jumped from a plane and discovered my parachute wouldn't open and the ground was coming up fast. It was a stupid analogy but right now the only thing keeping me from screaming and never stopping was his voice. This wasn't the first time he'd saved me, and it probably wouldn't be the last, but it was nice it didn't involve violence or the police. A change in subject was necessary before I gave away my emotional state.

"I'm coming home for Thanksgiving this year."

I hadn't originally intended to go back to Neptune, a place I'd visited a handful of times since I fled it so ignominiously for the Bureau, always carefully timed with his trips away. It was much easier to be friendly with him via electronic equipment than in person, though I'd never admit it. Dad, Mac, Wallace, and even Weevil one very memorable time, had made it out for various holidays over the years, but never stopped asking me to move back to California. I'd never anticipated it, but I discovered no matter where I lived, it wasn't home. Apparently home really was where your heart was and it resided on the West Coast.

"I'm sorry I'm going to miss you. We're flying to Oregon so I can meet her folks."

I couldn't breathe for a moment and nearly dropped the phone. It occurred to me that in all our years as friends, enemies, and lovers, I'd never envisioned him as a separate person: we were always "ands" for each other. In so many ways, it's always been our show and everyone else just players on our stage; even the other women he invariably collected were stop-gaps until our next reconciliation. Lilly and I were the only two he'd ever been serious enough about to meet the parents, though in Lilly's case, he knew them before they dated. Hannah's dad never counted because he'd been a pawn in a power struggle he'd been stupid enough to get caught up in due to his drug addiction. Samantha, however, marked a shift in the dynamic of our relationship and I felt panic at this evidence of him being irrevocably out of my reach. It was in this moment I realized I'd assumed in the pit of my heart he'd be there patiently waiting for me to end things with Ted, waiting for me to come back to him as I always did.

"Too bad. There's always next year."

Next year, however, might bring unexpected surprises and suddenly my heartache over him faded beneath renewed onslaught of worrying over my current predicament. Maybe it was better he moved on, especially if I decided to keep the baby. One of the many reasons why we worked as a couple was our mutual lack of desire for kids; even if he decided to marry Samantha, I very much doubted babies would be in the cards for them because he was so terrified of becoming his father. I took my eyes off the pregnancy test and looked at my still-flat belly through the tank top. I didn't notice much difference in my body yet, other than my breasts were extremely tender and I had that whole morning sickness deal going on (though to be honest, it was more all day sickness).

"You always say that, yet I never actually see you other than pictures or web cam. You avoiding me, Mars?"

When had we slipped to last name basis? He was the only one left who called me "Ronnie," mostly because I hadn't seen Duncan in the intervening twelve or so years and Dick was threatened with bodily harm if he ever used it again. It was one more thing I hadn't noticed until it was gone. If these hormonal wash of desolation was part of the pregnancy experience, maybe I'd be better off not going through with it; though these thoughts weren't new and I've missed him more than I could bear to admit.

"You know where I've been living. You could've come visited me."

I wondered who I was kidding. He knew as well as I it was better to never see each other again without benefit of plastic, metal, and a thousand miles between us. The madness that existed between us just needed fifteen minutes of shared space before we were raging out of control, whether in anger, love, or passion; with us, they were one and the same. All emotions sprang from the eternal well of violence where bloodshed and ruined lives seemed commonplace. His epic speech had a starring role in my dreams from time to time, though the end was different, the figurative me embracing him instead of running away as I have most of our lives. Alterna-Prom was one of the top three moments in time I wished I could change.

"Guess my invitation got lost in the mail."

I recognized this tone; despite the distance and years, I still knew him better than anyone else, even his bar bunny girlfriend. Like me, he used humor and sarcasm to shield a multitude of deeper and darker emotions, and our last fight was never resolved, his accusations still staining the uncleared air between us. By the time he reached out to me after that last epic battle, I'd moved lock stock and legally smoking barrel to New York, intent on leaving him behind once and for all. Ted came into my life shortly after and there was nothing left to say to change our past and the certainty of no future. At least I thought so until today, huddled on the floor, wishing I didn't feel the life growing inside was a betrayal of some covenant I'd made with him before I was old enough to know better. It was always him, and I truly feared, it always would be him.

"I'm thinking of quitting my job."

I don't know why I blurted such a blatant lie. Well, more of a half-truth since it was one more decision I needed to make, but a sense of rightness settled around me and I realized I hadn't been happy in the Bureau for a while now. Maybe ever. I hated New York, I hated the East Coast, and I just wanted to come home.

"I'm going to propose to Samantha and I want her father's blessing."

My mouth opened, though no sound emerged. What could I say? I understood exactly why he'd feel it important to ask the father's permission: he was still raw after all these years about my dad never truly accepting him as suitable boyfriend material. He'd probably get it because his new girlfriend's parents didn't know him since he was twelve or see him through devolution into a drunken smart-ass troublemaker who spent a good portion of his teen years in and out of jail. Of course, not all those times were strictly his fault, as I had a hand in a few of those trips, but it didn't matter to Papa Mars. I wondered if I should tell him Dad had never really approved of any boys I dated, or men for that matter, but knew it was a moot point. He was giving his name to someone else.

"Congratulations. I'm...happy...for you."

The words shredded my throat and mouth, each syllable coated in heart's blood, but I would be damned first before letting him know how much it hurt. It wasn't fair for me to hate him, just a little, for being able to truly move on when I was the one who always left him first. Just like Lilly.

"I also have other news; I'm pregnant."

I bit my tongue and silently slammed my forehead against my knees. Just when I thought I could have a mature conversation with him, my well-honed sense of vengeance kicked in so I could carve my pound of flesh from him to match the wound in me. I had no doubt he cared for, maybe even loved Samantha, but an inviolate part of him would always belong to me, and it was this part I was trying to stab with the truth. Truth is always a tricky slope for me, but useful when needed as a weapon against others.

His indrawn breath was followed by profound silence which made me feel even more ashamed than I already was. I wasn't even sure I wanted to keep it, and this moment already proved I wouldn't be a better mother than my own since I was willing to use my child's existence to create pain for someone else. This might be the sign I was waiting for to help me decide before it was too late.

"I better go. It's getting late – so, uh, congrats again on your pending engagement. We'll talk later."

I missed the snap of closing a cell phone or the drama of a slammed receiver into a cradle. The anticlimax of pressing a touch screen button denied me a certain flair I felt should accompany my crass announcement. If I went through with the abortion, there was absolutely no reason for him to know about it, or anyone really. And if I did decide to keep it, both my family and the baby daddy – oh how I cringed at the title – should be informed first. But of course, the best laid plans of mice and Mars, never go smoothly.