"Never again."

She leaned her slick forehead against the battered vinyl, the only opponent she would ever allow so close to her. She gave the 120 pound bag one more shove for good measure before ripping off her right glove with her teeth, both falling to the bench after a few seconds. These workouts usually took place after hours – she had helped Sam, the owner, out of a serious credit card hacking jam last year, so he gave her a key – but she had an ethics test the next day. She unwound her hand wraps in the practiced manner of someone who boxed compulsively, someone who boxed to fight demons, not people. Which, if she were honest with herself, is exactly who she was.

It was the way Mac finished all of her clandestine training sessions - with a quiet, determined promise to no one but herself that she was never going to feel as weak and as lost as she had that night at the Neptune Grand. The night Cassidy Casablancas had been revealed as the profoundly damaged, profoundly monstrous person he was, just before throwing himself to his death off the hotel. It was the night that had forced her to understand the true meaning of the word "shatter".

Again, if she were honest, Mac knew deep down that she couldn't shadow-box the actual shadows; they would always be there. She couldn't truly prepare herself for that kind of paralysis, when the entire world keeps moving but you're stuck in horrifying slow motion. But the boxing helped, and the therapy helped, and her friends and family helped, until she was confident that she could handle the inevitable kind of tragedies that life throws at you. And she wasn't going to feel so utterly raw and weak again.

Never again.

The waves were just not on his side today.

He paddled out repeatedly anyway, but they kept breaking too early for any good rides. After about two hours of trying futilely, he gave up and made for shore.

The waves may have been shit, but the day was perfect – a little warm for typical October in Southern California, hovering generously around 72 degrees, and skies so clear you could barely tell where they met the ocean. He was tempted to just lay out in the sand for the rest of the afternoon, but he could feel his sunscreen wearing thin and he knew that Logan would have his ass if he left him alone for another business lecture. That kid couldn't even spell "amortization".

Dick lifted himself out of the sand begrudgingly and trotted back up to the beach house, new board in tow. He had finally convinced Logan to buy a surprisingly modest house (well, for two trust fund babies anyway) on some prime beach front property. Dick just couldn't stand to watch Logan wallow in a trashed hotel room anymore. It didn't seem right. Say what you will about the elder Casablancas, but let it never be said that he didn't look out for Logan Echolls.

Of course, it hadn't mattered that much, because he and Ronnie got back together within a month of the two of them moving. Now she stayed there about half time, splitting between Logan's evidently thinly-walled room and the tiny off-campus apartment she shared with Mac. Dick and Veronica had never really gotten along so swimmingly, and he didn't blame her. Between his albeit unintentional role in the horrible things that happened to her at Shelley Pomeroy's party, and the way-more-direct connection between him and the devastation his brother had wrought, he didn't know how she could even stand to know he was in the same state, let alone the same house.

So he, Logan, Veronica, and Mac all kind of orbited each other these days, Logan and Veronica's trajectories overlapping with near-nauseating frequency. Anyway, it was all fine, since he still spent a lot of nights at the Pi Sig house. And of course, he genuinely wanted his best friend to be happy. He didn't get it with Veronica, but he definitely saw it. Anyone with eyes could see that those two were going to keep colliding until it stuck for good.

Come to mention a collision, he expected Mac to explode any day now. He hated how much pain Beaver had caused her, hated himself for not helping or stopping his psychotic brother before he did all the damage he did. Most of all, Dick hated how her quiet tolerance, sometimes almost pleasant friendliness toward him was entirely too merciful. She should hate him. She should try to physically assault him every time he got within fifty yards of her. But she was just so nice. It felt to him too much like forgiveness, and he did not deserve her forgiveness. Probably not anyone's, but especially hers.

As he trudged up the creaking steps toward the house, he wondered if, after all, he even deserved the waves to be on his side.

Mac wasn't even half way up the stairs to her apartment when her phone chirped out "The Pink Panther" theme song. Veronica, of course.

"Hey V, I'm almost to the door, I'm sorry I'm late." She glanced at her watch and hustled a little more.

"No problem Q. I was actually wondering... how much do you love me?" Overly chipper.

A favor was imminent, Mac knew without a doubt. "Um… Enough to help you hide a body, but not enough to actually kill someone unless they really, really deserved it. How's that?"

"That's the perfect amount! Would you be up for moving our movie night to Logan's tonight? He just informed me that he and Dick are going to TJ again this weekend, so I won't get to see him like I'd planned." Mac heard a muffled thump and "ow!" even over the line.

Logan's thready voice came through the noise, like Veronica was muffling him with her hand, "I said I was sorry! I got the dates wrong! Mac, please? If not to save me from more violence, do it because I bought those super fancy vegan cookies and quote-unquote 'ice cream' for you!"

She rolled her eyes, not really wanting to go through the trouble of putting on pants to watch Disney movies with her roommate, but also not wanting to be responsible for Logan's soon-to-be-dislocated shoulder. Plus he had the good cookies, and the better sound system. She should know - she wired it all. "Yeah, that's fine. But you guys are going to have to start without me; I just got back from the gym so I have to shower. Be there in half an hour."

"I owe you one, Mac!" Logan shouted again before the line went dead, probably from the force of Veronica's glare.

Mac rushed to shower, plaited her bobbed hair, and put on black leggings and a super soft tshirt before she grabbed her keys again. The outfit was a little clingier than she preferred to wear in public, but she was too sore to put on anything other than glorified pajamas. Grabbing black boots and a floral scarf for good measure, she went to rescue Logan from Veronica's (probably) good-natured wrath.

Fucking Veronica, man.

It wasn't that he didn't like Mac. He did, actually – she was quirky and so smart, and she never made him feel like an asshole for skipping class or making innuendos. But that was just it. Dick was more of a "drink to ignore your problems" kind of guy than the "confront them head on" kind.

Yet here she was, again, smiling shyly at him, trying to put everyone at ease and not realizing that it wasn't her responsibility to do so.

"Hey, Logan. Dick. Columbo." She winked at Ronnie, who shot a finger gun at her in response.

"Hey Mac-Attack. Thanks again for saving me. Your cookies are on the counter." Logan smiled gratefully. He was so scared of his teeny-tiny girlfriend. If it had been anyone but V, Dick would have mocked him with a whipping sound. But Ronnie scared the shit out of him too.

"No problem. Anyone want anything from the kitchen?"

"Some real cookies, please?" V asked as Mac let her backpack fall to the floor unceremoniously and shrugged off a too-big fatigue jacket. Fuck, when had she gotten so hot?

Her black leggings hugged a surprisingly long pair of toned legs, and her thin t-shirt clung to her torso in all the right places. Dick couldn't help but think about how soft it would feel if he were to graze his fingers over her hip. She had filled out a little since high school; she was still petite, but had softened from the boyish grunge-ish girl his brother had loved (in his own twisted way) to a woman with curves that suited her frame perfectly. She looked strong, too.

Logan coughed pointedly, and Dick whipped his head around to see his best friend stifling a chuckle and Ronnie glaring daggers at him. He flushed a little but tried to play it cool, be the frat boy everyone knew. He was good at it.

"What's up Dick? See a unicorn or something over there?" Veronica ground out, too brightly.

"Mm, more like a pussycat." He quipped back, eliciting a disgusted sound from V and a breakthrough laugh from Logan. "Relax, Ronnie. I'm not interested in Ghostworld. I just admire her assets."

"Wow, what a relief." Mac said sardonically, returning from behind them with the snacks balanced in her left hand and two beer bottles in her right. He took the boxes from her instinctively as she came around the couch.

Eyeing her booze, he asked, "Planning on drowning some sorrows there Mackie?"

"Well I was going to give this one to you, since yours was empty, but now I think I might use it to forget you talking about my 'assets'." She handed it to him anyway, sinking into the couch between him and Ronnie. He hadn't even noticed that he had finished his first beer, when did she?

She used the hem of her t-shirt to twist off the bottle cap, holding out her palm for him to give her his. Dropping them both on to the side table, Mac wondered when she and Dick had gotten into this non-verbal rhythm. It was efficient, but it made her uncomfortable for some reason. Dick always seemed distinctly aware of her presence – on edge around her, even – and she could not figure out why. She went well out of her way to be congenial to Logan's longtime bestie, despite their awkward and tragic history.

Mac didn't blame Dick for anything that happened with Cass, but from what she gleaned from Veronica, Dick was still in a deep self-loathing over the ordeal. Grief, she understood. He had lost his brother; it didn't matter what Beaver had done, he was still Dick's little brother. Guilt, sure. He hadn't been around much emotionally for Cassidy, even goaded him to a point slightly past normal sibling rivalry. But she didn't understand how he could blame himself so stubbornly for the abuse, Veronica, the crash, the suicide, even her own trauma. In her mind, at least, any role he had played had been atoned for with Dick's surprising maturation. Sure, he was still a bro-y Pi Sig, and he had a dirty sense of humor, and an active sexual appetite. But she could see a gentleness in him now, a caring, protective side that had been distinctly absent in high school. Veronica had noticed it too, much as she hated to admit it.

He loved Logan, anyone could see that. And Mac thought he loved Veronica, in a way tempered by very legitimate fear. It sent a pang through her that Dick didn't love her in any way, and another because it hurt in the first place. Mac wasn't sure what she wanted from Dick, but she knew she wanted this charged tension to end.