Author: Karen aka Midwest Max

Category: Max and Isabel, R

Summary: Max's POV

She's not my sister.

I know this now. Even though we were raised as siblings, I think I have always known she wasn't really my sister. She is so much more. She is my destiny.

I hate that word. First Tess wouldn't stop about me being her destiny. "You're my destiny, Max. We're meant to be together, Max." Then Liz rattling on and on about I should follow my destiny, meaning Tess. God, they were both wrong. My destiny is my sister.

I watch her walk past my bedroom door. No, 'walk' is too plain a word to describe the way Isabel moves. She glides. She seems to float on air. I catch a whiff of her perfume and I feel my throat go dry. How can she not know she does this to me?

I don't want to rehash how I found out about Isabel, that she was my wife in that past life. It's too complicated - thinking about it makes my head hurt. Call it a case of mistaken identity. She was Ava then, Tess was Vilandra. I should have seen that - it's as plain as day. Tess would be the one to betray me. I haven't trusted her from the beginning. But Isabel, oh my lovely Isabel.

From the moment we broke free from the pods I formed a connection with Isabel. Tess was the one I left behind, perhaps because subconsciously I knew she was the one who had betrayed me. I will never understand why the powers that be decided to give her new life. Unless they didn't know of her treachery. Oh, well. It doesn't matter now. Tess is here and Isabel is here and Liz has always been here and I am a mess.

I love Liz, I really do. And it would have been easy to throw over Tess for Liz because I feel nothing for Tess. But I feel everything for Isabel, and shoving her aside for Liz is something I don't think I have the strength to do. When I thought Isabel was just my sister, I could ignore the feelings I had for her. I could be with Liz and give her 100% of my attention. But now I know that Isabel isn't my sister, I remember what she meant to me in a prior life, and now I know that Liz can never satisfy my desires. I am going to hurt Liz, and I hate myself for it.

She glides past my door again and I can't resist calling out her name. She reappears in the doorway, all blond and beautiful. Her cheeks are slightly red from the hours she has spent in the sun rollerblading with Alex today. Alex - he'll be another casualty of this. I know Isabel will dump him when she finds out, when I let her see what our love was once like.

"Yeah?" she asks, her cheeks dimpling with a friendly smile.

I can't think of what to say to her. Mostly because my heart is now jackhammering in my chest and I can't drag in a breath to save my life. "Um, just wanted to say hi," I say stupidly.

She gives me that you're-a-confusing-dork look and arches her eyebrows. I gulp as I realize I need to run my fingers along those perfectly manicured brows. "Hi," she repeats, sounding somewhat condescending. I'll let her condescend to me every day for the rest of our lives…as long as I get to be with her. "Are you through?" she asks. "Because I need a shower."

I nod my head. I am a dork. She starts to leave but I stop her again. "Isabel?"

She looks at me with pure annoyance. "What?"

"Do you want to come out and play tonight?"

Now she smiles that glamorous cover girl smile that melts my heart. "Sure," she agrees and is gone.

Tonight is the night. I am going to tell her - or rather show her - everything.

When we were kids, first out of the pods, Isabel and I couldn't communicate verbally. Mentally, we could tell what each other was thinking, we could give commands to one another. I can barely recall standing in the pod chamber, looking at Tess floating in her pod and Isabel silently whispering my name against my brain. She called me Zan. I didn't remember that until recently. I must've called her Ava, but I don't remember that. She'd urged me to leave Tess behind, and I did as she commanded.

After we came to live with the Evanses, we obviously learned to speak. But on occasion, Isabel would still talk to me mentally, often after everyone else in the house had gone to bed. She would be upstairs in her bed and I would be downstairs in mine and I would get a sudden craving for ice cream. When I got to the kitchen, she'd already be perched at the table with the tub of ice cream and two bowls. But our telepathy must have dissipated over time. Either that or we just forgot about it or how to use it.

In its place, Isabel would sometimes dream walk me. We'd take wonderful trips all around the world. We'd do bad things. Sometimes she'd take me with her into other people's dreams. The last time she did this, she took me into Liz's dreams after the shooting. It had made both of us uncomfortable and now I understand why - Liz was having a fantasy dream about me. I think it hurt Isabel's feelings.

Tonight I plan to take Isabel somewhere she's never been - our past. I've never been able to control the path of a dream before, but tonight I have the confidence I will. I try to prepare myself for her reaction - will she be horrified, happy? I can't predict.

Ironically, I am so excited about going to sleep that I can't get to sleep. An hour after going to bed, Isabel appears in my doorway again. Her hair is somewhat mussed from her slumber and her eyes are squinted half shut.

"If you want to play," she says, her voice full of the arrogance I love so much about her, "then you need to go to sleep. I've been trying to get in your head for the last 45 minutes."

She has dispensed her reprimand and vanishes before I can even mumble an apology. I flip onto my stomach - for some reason I can always sleep easier on my stomach. I yawn a few times and drift to sleep.

I am on the dream plane waiting for her to join me. I glance around my surroundings - I'm in a void. Nothing but blackness. Oddly, I don't feel uncomfortable. I feel like I am in a state of suspended animation, just waiting for her arrival.

And she does arrive. She is wearing those red silk pajamas I adore; her feet are bare. Her perfect lips curve into a smile. "Nice surroundings," she jokes. "You like black, huh?"

I laugh and my voice sounds like tinkling bells. I jump in spite of myself - I've forgotten that everything is different in the dream world. It's been a while since I've been here and Isabel laughs at me. It's not a mean laugh, it is an affectionate, bemused laugh.

"Where do you want to go tonight?" she asks sitting beside me. Although I don't know what she's sitting on because there isn't anything but blackness.

"Nowhere," I answer, my voice sounding foreign, almost as though it is echoing. "I want to stay here."

"Well, that's quite boring, Zan," she says. Then she looks surprised at what she has just said, but I know she will just pass it off as another dream anomaly.

"Not really," I say, ignoring her slip on the name. "I have a lot to tell you. To show you. I wanted to do it here in the dream plane."

Her pretty brow furrows. "Why?"

"Because I think you will be more open-minded," I answer honestly. I swallow and wring my hands together, cracking my knuckles. "I need to connect with you."

She looks warily down at my hands. "Will that even work within a dream?"

I laugh - more tinkles - and shrug. "I dunno. Can we try?"

She gives in easily. She's always been very daring during her dream walks, I remember this. She feels she can't be harmed in a place that isn't real. I hope she is right. I bring my hands up and hold her face between them. I feel her smooth skin beneath my fingers and I am a little surprised that I can feel texture within the dream. I focus my eyes on hers.

"Take deep breaths-" I begin.

"I know how to do it," she interrupts.

Yes, she does. I forgot. My wife knows everything about me. There will be no stumbling through all of this alien stuff. She knows as much as I do. Hoping the connection works, I concentrate on her, on what I know.

Suddenly I am in. I have control. My excitement almost causes me to lose my grip on the connection. I get a rush of images from her - breaking free of the pods, fighting with me as children, kissing Alex - then I am completely in. I open up my mind and show her what I have to offer.

Our old world. My kingdom. My queen. I show her an image of the two of us in the royal chambers, my arms around her, my lips on her neck. I feel her confusion as I share these visions with her. At first she thinks I am making everything up, but then I feel her accept it. She knows who she is.

I take my hands away from her face and break the connection. Her dark eyes pop open and she looks at me in amazement.

"I'm not Vilandra," she breathes.

I am a little disappointed that she is thinking of Vilandra right now. But then I tell myself that having the burden of being a traitor lifted from her shoulders is a big deal. I shake my head slowly. "Do you know who you are?" I ask.

Her mouth is agape as she nods her head. "I'm your wife."

I am about to respond when she is gone. I look frantically around the dream plane, but she is nowhere to be found. I make myself wake up.

I sit up in bed and stare across my dark bedroom. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe I should have kept it all to myself. But I couldn't. Because I love her.

I wipe my hand across my face and swing my legs out of bed. In the bathroom, I wince when I flip on the light. I grab a wash cloth, run it under the water and press it against my face. I'm an idiot. I've alienated her, and I have to live with her. Just wonderful. I check my face in the mirror. I see an asshole.

I flip off the light and walk back to the bed in the dark. I heave a heavy sigh and crawl back under the covers. Something brushes against my arm and I am about to recoil when a hand stops me.

"Isabel?" I ask.

I can now see her - she must have crept into my bedroom while I was in the bathroom and slid beneath my blankets. Now that my eyes have adjusted to the dark once again, I can see her smile.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. "I should have found a better way to tell you."

"No," she whispers back. "You told me perfectly." I can see her expression shift to serious. "You were the perfect husband," she says in awe. "I remember now…and I remember that I loved you."

I don't know what to say to her, but something tells me that she didn't sneak into my bed for a bedtime story. Her arms come up around my shoulders, her scent fills my nose once again. There is a strange sensation in my stomach and I feel my heart begin to thump in my chest.

"I do love you," she continues. "I always have."

Before I can respond, I feel her lips, full and soft, brush against my own. The shock I feel all of the way down to my toes is not the kind of thing you feel from a sisterly kiss. She is cautious with me, almost timid. She nibbles at my bottom lip, then pulls back and looks down. I think she is embarrassed.

I reach down and lift her chin so she will look at me. "I've found you again," I say to her. "My wife."

There is a moment of silence, then her lips curve into a smile. "You could be the first man to ever do a very difficult thing, you know." Her eyes are playful and she confuses me.

"What do you mean?" I ask.

Her expression is serious again. "Take my virginity twice."

I can't register her words all at once. My head reels from the possibility of knowing Isabel in this way and I almost feel frightened. I'm not ready for this. I need time to adjust. I need time to tell Liz I can't love her.

Then she picks up one of my hands and kisses the back of it and all of my fears fade away. There is no reason to be afraid. This is the same woman I have loved forever, in this life and the past. Never taking my eyes from hers, I release my hand and move for her pajama top. Her eyes follow my hand and I hesitate, waiting for her to give me the okay. She looks up and smiles and I know it will be okay.

I unbutton two buttons on her top then bend to kiss the hollow of her neck. She tastes sweet, inviting and I drag in a ragged breath. I continue to kiss her neck as I flip the last of the buttons. I sit up and roll her onto her back. I push the garment aside and just stare in awe at the beauty before me.

I dawns on me that I haven't seen Isabel naked since we emerged from the pods. Not even in accidental passing in the hallway on the way to the shower. Her body is a pleasant mystery to me, a mystery I intend on solving piece by piece.

She looks uncertain. I wonder where the self-assured, cocky ice princess has gone. She's certainly not laid out before me.

"You're beautiful," I tell her as I gently trail my fingers across her stomach. I can feel her muscles tighten at the contact.

She sits up and reaches for the bottom of my T-shirt. Isabel has seen me shirtless countless times, but she goes at this like it is something new to her. And I guess it is. I wonder if she ever had thoughts about me when she saw me. Did she want to touch me? She pulls my shirt over my head and throws it across the room. Her eyes settle on my chest for a long moment, then she cautiously reaches out and runs her long fingers across my skin. Her nails lightly scrape my abdomen as she reaches for the waistband of my boxers. I drag in another ragged breath and pull her body to mine.

I can feel her full breasts crushed against my chest, her heart pounding erratically against mine. My mouth covers hers and I devour her. I feel my whole being pouring out to her in this moment and we become one.

In the morning, I nudge her awake when I hear Mom stirring in the kitchen. Before she can retreat to her own room, I pull her back to bed and kiss her hard. She stifles a giggle, collects her clothes and hastily dresses. I watch her the whole time, revel in every motion of her long, lean body. I feel light, free, something I never felt with Liz Parker. And even though I hate the word, I know I have found my destiny.

*************************************************

It’s been a week since I recovered the love of my life. She is tall, blond, gorgeous. She is nearly my height, and sometimes she wears heels that make her taller than me. I don’t mind. I exist to be in her company, to hold her, to love her.

My joy is marred by the fact that the world knows her as my sister. She isn’t my sister, even though we were raised that way. My heart aches that I have to hide my love for her. Now I second-guess everything. Am I sitting too close to her? Have I stared just a few seconds too long? Do my eyes betray me and reveal to the world the passion I feel for her?

I ache that I can’t hold her hand when we walk in the park. My heart rips from my chest when I see her in the hallway at school and have to barely acknowledge her existence when all I really want to do is kiss her like every other guy kisses his girlfriend. But she’s not my girlfriend. She is my wife. I smile with the irony that we have shared the same last name all of our lives.

I can’t keep my secret forever and I confide in Michael. He doesn’t give me his normal, spontaneous reaction like he does to everything else and I can’t tell if he is upset, angry, or what. Then he smiles, and his smile seems somewhat macabre in light of the fact that he never smiles. Then he laughs, and it is a joyous laugh. He is free of Isabel – he’s been caught between his brotherly feelings for her and his sense of duty. I, on the other hand, have never had brotherly feelings for Isabel. I realize that now. But Michael is saddled with Tess, a realization that momentarily sobers him. But that is cast away as we both realize that Michael can be a real jerk, and it just may take a real jerk to put Tess in her place. Michael gives me a brotherly embrace, something I can never remember him doing, and we part amicably.

At home, I search the living room as soon as I enter. I do that now – when I enter a room in our house, I seek her out. She’s not in the living room, but I spy her sweatshirt on the arm of the couch. I imagine her coming home from her run and discarding clothing as she moves for the shower. My throat tightens and I retrieve her sweatshirt, hold it to my nose. Isabel never smells when she sweats, it’s the oddest thing. Her shirt smells sweet, like her perfume and her own special scent. I close my eyes and inhale deeply, thinking about how my pillow smells like her from time to time. When I reopen my eyes, Mom is standing in the doorway with a very puzzled expression on her face. I have no excuse for my actions, so I clear my throat, stare at the floor and hurry for my bedroom. Good move, Max. The woman already thought you were a little strange – now she catches you sniffing your sister’s clothing. I heave a sigh as I enter my room.

I remove my watch and am about to unload the contents of my pockets when I realize my shower is running. My head whips toward the bathroom door – the door is open and I can see the steam accumulating near the ceiling. For the love of God, what is she doing!

I wave my hand toward the bedroom door and it shuts quietly, then I move for the bathroom. The water stops and I hear the glide of the shower door.

“Isabel!” I whisper loudly. “What the hell are you doing?” I am afraid to get too close to the door for fear I will see her nude and not be able to control myself.

“Taking a shower,” she replies matter-of-factly. She is speaking in her normal voice. No hushed tones for my Isabel, no way.

“Shh!” I scold. “Please keep your voice down.”

She emerges from the bathroom, a very large white towel wrapped around her voluptuous body. Her hair is tangled and wet and droplets of water fall onto her chest and shoulders. She takes my breath away. “Chill,” she says as she sits on my bed.

“What are you thinking?” I ask her as I move to stand before her. “Mom is only one room and one hallway away.”

She groans and sits back on her elbows. “Don’t go all Mr. Responsibility on me, Max. You were doing so well.”

I am a little stung by her comment, but I let it pass. She sees the hurt in my eyes – she can read me like a book. Then a devilish look passes across her face and she lifts one of her long legs toward me. I don’t move. Her pointed toes touch me right below my throat and she drags her foot down my body. She passes my chest, my stomach, and she is even bold enough to run her toes past my waist and over my zipper. I step back and she laughs lightly. She’s absolutely wicked some times, my wife.

I turn on my heels and go into the bathroom. She has managed to fog up everything and the climate in that small room resembles that of an endangered rain forest. I locate her brush and return to the bedroom. She is still sitting back on her elbows, watching me.

I hold up the brush. “May I?” I ask. I always ask permission with Isabel. She makes fun of me for it, but I was raised to be polite and gentle with women and she is no different. I was also raised to believe that she is my sister, but I don’t want to think about that.

Her gaze softens and she nods. She sits up and turns sideways so I can sit behind her. I pull the brush through her long beautiful locks. When wet, they reach almost all of the way to her waist. My motions are slow, careful. The second time through, I use the bare minimum of my power and slowly dry her hair as I brush. She breathes a little laugh at that. I have lost the ability to laugh – I am entranced by the feel of her hair, the smell of her body, the fact that she is only wearing a towel and she is sitting on my bed. I finish with her hair, then lean close so I can speak into her ear from behind. She pulls in a little breath at our closeness.

“Get dressed,” I command gently, softly. “Meet me at the jeep. We’ll tell Mom we’re going to the library.”

She nods in response, then hurriedly pulls on her clothes. In the hallway, I hear her play out the ruse. “Max? Can you give me a ride to the library?” She doesn’t wait for me to respond. “Okay. I’ll meet you outside.”

I wait a beat, shuffle some stuff around as if I am looking for my keys, then I try not to look hurried as I leave the house. I wave to Mom on my way out and I am thankful that I thought to pick up my backpack. Isabel is sitting in the passenger seat. She’s staring at the floor, and I know this is to avoid Mom seeing the anxious look in her eyes. I climb into the driver’s seat and start the jeep. As I am putting it into reverse and looking over my shoulder, I see her hand move for my leg.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” I say without looking at her. “Wait.”

She heaves a sigh and I know she is impatient. Isabel is not a patient person. But she needs to obey the rules. There are too many things to explain to too many people at this point. We need to avoid suspicion. I know she doesn’t like it any more than I do.

We drive in silence through the streets of Roswell, and once we have left the streetlights behind us she is all over me. She kisses my ear, sending a shiver through my body. Her breasts press against my arm, her thigh is tight against mine. I want her so bad I can feel a tear coming to my eye. I manage to wrap my right arm around her body, but I want both of my arms around her. I want to pull her body against mine, I want to crush her against me. I want to make love to her. She momentarily blocks my view of the road and the jeep swerves. My heart trips in my chest.

“Is,” I say breathlessly. “You have to slow down. We’re going to wreck.”

She pulls back from me for a minute, her eyes confused. Then she smiles and descends on me. Oh, for the love of God! This isn’t helping! In one manic moment I imagine my explanation to the police officer filing the accident report – “Well, officer, it’s like this – this gorgeous busty blond had just dive bombed me and caused me to lose control of the vehicle. Did I mention the world thinks she’s my sister? Why are you looking at me like that and what are the handcuffs for?” I stifle the laugh, but my attention is back on Isabel. I know this is wrong, but I can no longer deny the feelings raging inside of me. I resort to laying my hand on the back of her lovely head and trying to concentrate on the road.

The pod chamber has become our retreat. No one knows how to get there or into the chamber itself except for me, Isabel, Michael and Tess. Here we are safe. We can be free, act free, do what we please. No one will find us here. When we enter, Isabel drags her hand along some of the rocks and they immediately begin to illuminate the cave. We make long, slow love. She cries out my name and her voice echoes off the walls.

Afterward, we sit on the blanket we now leave stashed in the chamber. I have bite marks all over my chest, and I know from the sting on my back that I am covered with scratches. She sits on my lap, her long legs straddling my body, as I lazily kiss her. I feel so at peace at this moment. I break our kiss and bury my head against her chest. Her skin is damp with sweat beneath my cheek, and I listen to the steady beat of her heart beneath my ear. Her arms encircle my back and she pulls me tighter against her. I heave a sigh. The warmth of her body, the thump of her heart, and the physical exhaustion of our lovemaking is making me sleepy.

“Did you love Liz?” she asks suddenly, her voice reverberating under my ear.

Liz. Of course I loved Liz. I still love Liz, and I know I always will. I miss her, I really do. I miss her little laugh, her friendship, her companionship. But I don’t ache for her. I miss her like I would miss my best friend. I miss her like I would miss Michael if he happened to journey away from us.

I nod my head against Isabel’s body. One of her hands comes up and weaves its way into my hair. When she speaks again, her voice is tender.

“Did it hurt?” she asks. “Telling her?”

I think about that afternoon. I hadn’t wasted any time – the day after I consummated my relationship with Isabel, I set Liz free. I had never lied to her, and I wasn’t about to start. She deserves more respect than that. She didn’t react the way I had anticipated. There were no tears. At first she looked at me with what looked like disbelief, and then I saw the flicker in her eyes go out. I had killed something inside of her. I know deep down that she knew she’d been biding time with me, that some day some alien thing would come up and kick her in the teeth. Isabel was that thing. When I’d left Liz’s rooftop, she hadn’t even said goodbye. She just watched me go, her eyes dull. It devastated me.

I nod again in response to Isabel’s question. She begins a rocking, soothing motion with her body, comforting me.

Her next question is not a surprise. “Did you ever make love to her?”

I lift my head and lean back a bit so I can look into her eyes. I see no worry, no jealousy. She has asked an honest question. I shake my head. Her expression doesn’t change – no relief, no disbelief.

“Did you want to?” she questions.

I nod and pull in a breath. “I thought I did,” I tell her. “I tried a few times, but it just never seemed right.” I think about those failed attempts, about Liz being willing and me being somewhat unable. Not physically unable, just unwilling, I guess. I decided I can reverse the Q&A. I am somewhat surprised that Isabel and I still have secrets the other has not discovered. “What about Alex?”

A smile crosses Isabel’s face. “I did love him, yes. At least I thought I did. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would when I told him. No, obviously I never made love to him. Did I want to? Sure, sometimes, but he never even tried.” I see her affection for Alex in her expression. “He’s a gentleman.”

I smile back and nod. I run my hands down her sides, over the curve of her hips. There is nothing petite about Isabel – she is filled out to the max. Her breasts are full, her hips round, but her waist is small and her body is tight. It doesn’t matter to me – I would love her if she gained 1000 pounds. I think briefly of Liz, of how sometimes I was afraid I would hurt her. Liz seemed fragile and vulnerable while Isabel is sturdy, strong. Then it dawns on me – Liz is a girl, Isabel is a woman.

“When are mom and dad going out of town again?” I ask her.

“Next weekend, I think,” she responds. “Why?”

I tighten my grip on her and kiss her neck. “Because I want to wake up in your arms. And cook you breakfast, and give you a bath, and read you to sleep.” She draws in a little breath when I reach her earlobe.

“Max, we can’t,” she says, but her protest is weak. She drags her tongue along the side of my face, from my jaw to my temple and I shudder at the unexpected sensation. “The library will close soon and Mom will expect us home.”

I cover her mouth with mine and kiss her deeply. “So, we’ll say we stopped for pizza.” I move on to her breasts, but the motion she was making with her hand in my hair has stopped. I look up at her.

“Pizza,” she repeats. Then her eyes seem suddenly bright. “Let’s get pizza. We’ll take it home and have a late dinner with Mom.”

In my current state of undress, there is no hiding my need for her. And yet she is ignoring it. Somehow. I give a little frown. “You want pizza?” I find this hard to believe.

“Max, I’m starving,” she says, over-exaggerating the last word in typical Isabel fashion. “And I didn’t see Mom at all today.”

Isabel’s relationship with our mother is very important to her. I would never be able to deny her that. I sigh and nod my head in resignation. She climbs off me and I shudder without her body heat to warm me in the cool air of the cave.

Looking down at me, she points toward the marks on my body. “Heal those.”

As she is pulling on her clothes, I heal the bite marks and scratches, but I leave one bruise below the belt line where no one can see it. I smile. It is my momento.

I retrieve my clothes and go about the task of putting them back on. I pull on my shirt last, and as my head pops through the neck, I notice her standing a few feet away, just looking at me. Her long hair is half covering her face, her hands are on the waistband of her unzipped jeans – she has stopped mid-motion to stare at me. At first I am afraid of what may be behind me and I glance quickly over my shoulder. There is nothing there. Then I look back to her and I see a single tear sliding down her cheek. I raise my eyebrows in question.

“I love you,” she says quietly.

This is the first time she has spoken those words out of the context of sibling affection and it has apparently been an effort for her. I understand. Completely. Isabel has never been able to let anyone in. I doubt if she ever told Alex she loved him, even if she did.

“I know you do,” I respond softly.

It seems to reassure her. She smiles and continues getting dressed.

We pick up pizza, then we sit at the table with Mom and laugh and joke. I don’t say much. I never do in the company of my parents. They’re used to it by now. But I watch Isabel talk so freely with Mom and my love for her grows tenfold. She tosses her long blond hair over her shoulder and throws her head back in a totally uninhibited laugh at something Mom has said to her. I smile at her abandon. I wish I were more like her.

Isabel clears the table then comes back into the breakfast nook and kisses our mother on the cheek. Then she leans across the table to kiss my cheek and I almost recoil guiltily. But Isabel has always kissed me on the cheek before bed and I let her. She doesn’t linger too long, she doesn’t pull away too fast. She is a good actress, my wife. Then she leaves for her bedroom, but I know we will be together later, on the dream plane.

I look across the table and Mom is looking at me with a small smile on her face. I smile back. She has come to expect no further communication from me. She rises, pats me on the shoulder as she passes to go to her own room. I can’t keep this secret forever.

Later, I wait on the dream plane for Isabel. I wonder what our adventure will be tonight. We never make love in the dreams – we have that in real life, and besides, Isabel still isn’t convinced she can’t get pregnant from a dream. I find her paranoia amusing, but I allow her this one irrational fear. Our dreams are our escape. We do all of the things we wish we could do in the real world - we walk the streets hand-in-hand. One night we went to the prom and just slow danced for hours. We had dinner with our parents, who accepted what we are and who we are unconditionally. Someday I will convince Isabel to invite Liz and Alex into the dreams with us. Their conscious will not be aware of what has happened to them, but maybe we can enjoy their company the way it used to be and maybe they will wake up with a sense of solace.

I know these are all fantasies. I know they aren’t real. And I know that I can’t keep this secret forever. But in order to explain to everyone who we are, we have to explain what we are and I’m just lost when it comes to dealing with that. I don’t know what to do. I have no one to ask. But living apart from my wife, having to hide my love for her is killing me.

I see a glowing light and I look up to see Isabel approaching me from across the plane. She is wearing a long white evening gown and her hair is styled ala Veronica Lake. She’s wearing those heels again, the ones that lengthen her already considerable legs and boost her taller than me. She is quite simply statuesque. I feel my smile spread from one ear to the other. I glance down and see that I am now wearing a tux – vintage Hollywood style. I have a cigarette in one hand. Isabel has a cigarette fetish? Who knew.

“Ever wondered what Hollywood was like in the golden age?” she asks, her voice husky like a 1940’s starlet. “Come on, big spender,” she breathes, “take this dame to a party.”

I laugh in response, and this time the tinkling sound doesn’t take me off guard. I take her hand and walk into the world she has created for us this evening. For tonight, I will lose myself in this fantasy. But in the morning, I need to find a way to deal with this.

******************************************

She may never speak to me again. I’ve seen that look in her eyes, that determined set of her jaw before. She’s pissed. Really pissed.

She doesn’t agree with my decision. And she hates even more that she has to listen to me. I didn’t go all “I’m the king” on her or anything. I told her like an adult what we had to do. She didn’t like it. But I know she will obey me. Because I am right.

I go out to the dream plane every night and wait for her. She never shows. I lack the ability to enter her dreams, so I just sit in limbo, in blackness waiting for her to come and take me into the dream world. I wait all night. In the morning, I awaken feeling puzzled, but by the time I get dressed for school, she has already left the house. Her powers of avoidance are incredible.

I see her at school. Once she accidentally made eye contact with me and hurriedly looked the other way. I just wait for her to give in. She will, eventually.

I think about Dad, about both of my parents really. I didn’t appreciate until much later in my life what a big deal it was for them to take us in. I didn’t understand what it was to open your house and heart to two children you didn’t know and couldn’t possibly understand. The Evanses are incredibly generous, loving people. And that was part of what helped me make my decision.

But I think about Dad. He and I share a common personality trait – our quietness. He always listens to Mom, but does the grunt thing in response to most of her comments. I know he hears her, and I know he is not trying to be offensive, it’s just his manner. As it is mine. I remember Mom laughing one time and telling me that I was just like my father. In some ways I am. In other ways I can never be like him. I will never have a wife, I will never have children. As long as the world knows my wife as my sister.

Dad taught me to shake hands when meeting someone for the first time, to rise when a lady entered a room, to pull out a woman’s chair for her. Dad taught me to be a gentleman. He tried to tell me about intimacy, but I think those conversations were as uncomfortable for him as they were for me. I’m sure my distressed expression didn’t do much to help the situation – of course, my distress was over my internal debate if all of the same methods applied to people like me. Aliens. I smile when I think about Dad’s talks, and the thought that I learned more from Michael and his episodes with Hank and his sleazy girlfriends than I ever learned from my own father. My adoptive father, that is. I don’t know my real father, and I assume if I was king in that other life, my real father is dead. My real mother may be dead by now, too.

My adoptive mother, the only mother I have ever known, sometimes seems too good to be true. She is the perfect mother. I watch her and Isabel and I see their closeness. I’m a little jealous, but I guess I could never have what they have. It’s like Isabel once said – it’s different between a mother and daughter. While Isabel is closed to the rest of the world, she is almost free within our family. She is more confident, more outgoing, because she is loved, I think. And I think Mom is to credit for that. I see a lot of Mom in Isabel and it makes me happy that Isabel has had such a positive influence in her life.

I never had that kind of relationship with our mother. From the beginning, I guess to them I was the enigmatic one. Mom tried to break through to me in the early days. She’d go out of her way, and she wasn’t fooling me. It just made me more uncomfortable, more reclusive. Eventually, she learned to accept my silence. I never let her crack my shell. I don’t know why. I envy Isabel’s relationship with Mom, but I know it is my fault that I don’t have the same thing.

I could never take Isabels’ family away from her. I could never hurt Mom and Dad like that, either. I spent a week mulling over the possibilities, the ways that Isabel and I could be together and no one would get hurt. I couldn’t find a solution. So, the only solution I came up with is that we would continue the way we are – sneaking around, lying to and hiding from the world. Not that I’ve had to deal with any of that lately. Isabel is pissed with me. She hasn’t spoken to me in 3 days.

I leave school and see her walking toward the bus. Isabel hates the bus, and I find it somewhat hurtful that she’d rather degrade herself by talking the yellow submarine than get into the jeep with me. I pick up my pace and catch up to her. I reach out and take her by the arm.

Her reaction is one of pure anger. She jerks away from me and nearly drops her stack of books. If we could shoot daggers from our eyes, I’d be dead.

“Isabel,” I say, trying to calm her. “Let me give you a ride.”

“Fuck you,” she spits and turns to leave. I let her.

I watch her get on the bus and heave a sigh. She has flipped back into Isabel the Goddess mode and is chatting up the jock behind her. She exaggerates everything – the toss of her hair, her laugh. She’s doing all of this to hurt me. Because I have hurt her.

I drop my head and turn away. I can’t take it. I start the slow walk back to the jeep and nearly knock Liz Parker to the ground. Note to self – don’t stare at your feet when you walk, you may bump into an ex-girlfriend.

“Liz,” I say, wondering if my voice is just a little too chipper. She looks uncomfortable.

“Hi, Max,” she says tentatively. She shields her eyes from the sun.

“How are you?” I ask. Stupid questions. Stupid, awkward silences. I hate this.

“Fine,” she replies. She doesn’t ask me how I am. She probably doesn’t care anymore.

I need to find something to say. It occurs to me that the bus is still behind me and Isabel is watching all of this. A little part of me feels guilty for using Liz, but another part of me really wants to talk to her. To see if we can still be friends.

“Do you want a lift?” I ask Liz.

Liz looks confused for a moment. “Where’s Isabel?” she asks bluntly.

“On the bus,” I say simply.

She looks a little baffled, but finally nods her head. We walk to the jeep and she climbs into the passenger seat. I try not to smile as I imagine Isabel and her fury behind me. Then I look over at Liz and there is nothing to smile about. She looks so small, so uncertain in the seat beside me. I remember other times, when Liz was all that mattered to me, when she would sit in that seat and I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. That Liz laughed and cried and sang with me. She kissed me, told me she loved me. This Liz is not the same person. She is fumbling with her seatbelt, and I think I can see her hands trembling.

I reach over and take the belt from her hands. “Let me help you,” I offer softly. Her hands drop to her sides and she stares straight out the windshield. I think she is afraid I may touch her.

I clasp the belt, give her a little smile and start the jeep. We don’t talk much on the way to the Crashdown. She kind of watches the world whiz past her side of the jeep, and I kind of watch her, wondering what she’s thinking. Idle chitchat seems insulting at this point, so I just drive. The sun is warm and the motion of the jeep causes a nice breeze.

I pull up outside of her family’s restaurant and wait for her to get out. She gathers her things, then hesitates. She looks at me, and I think it may be the first time she’s made eye contact with me.

“Can you come in?” she asks, again sounding uncertain.

I don’t really want to go in. But it seems important to her. I smile at her and nod. She climbs out of the jeep, then I whip it around the corner into the parking lot. Inside the Crashdown, I find my usual booth – well, what used to be my usual booth – and attempt to sit elsewhere. Liz has deposited her books in the back and she motions toward the usual booth. I give in.

“Want something to drink?” she asks as I sit.

“Sure. Coke?”

“With lime,” she adds, then catches herself. She looks embarrassed, but I just laugh.

“Of course with lime,” I joke and she is off to get the drink. Why am I here? I’m not really that uncomfortable, but I’m curious why Liz wants me here. Oh, well. At least she doesn’t want me dead.

She returns with the drink and slides into the booth across from me. She folds her hands on the table, and I can see that she has started biting her nails. She never used to do that. Her fingertips are raw in spots. I want to heal them for her, but in order to heal her I’d have to make a connection and if I made a connection…no, I don’t want to feel all of those things again. I shake the thought away. I’m only thinking those things because Isabel is being such a bitch to me.

“You’re biting your fingernails,” I observe.

Liz’s head jerks up. “Um, yeah…”

I can’t resist and I reach across the table and take her hand. She pulls the other one away and it disappears under the table. She sits back and stares at the tabletop.

“Liz?” I say so she’ll look at me. She doesn’t. “Liz,” I say a little softer, “look at me.” She looks up shyly and I can feel her fingers starting to tremble inside of my hand. “Are you okay?”

She nods nearly imperceptibly.

“Are you sure?” I’ve gotten good at this. While I’ve distracted her with my questions, I have formed a very low connection and healed her fingertips. She’s not okay. Not entirely. Through the connection, I feel her grief, her concern for the future. I’ve quite simply rocked her world.

“Yeah, Max, I’m sure.” She gives a little smile, weak at best.

I release her hand, then hold my own hand open. “Give me the other one,” I command gently, smiling.

She looks incredulously at her healed fingers and reaches out with her other hand. “Wow,” she breathes. “Thanks.”

I laugh at her expression, then fall serious. “Stop hurting yourself,” I tell her.

She looks at me and I think I see a tear in her eye. But it is gone as soon as I have the thought. She bites her lip and nods.

“Why did you ask me here?” I ask her.

“I just wanted to see you for a while,” she says honestly and without any embarrassment. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.” I am also being honest. I do miss Liz. “And I want us to be friends.”

She nods. “Yeah, so do I. I’d like that a lot.”

On the drive home, I think about Liz. I know a part of me will always love her, will always be grateful to her. She helped make me the man I am. I truly want to be friends with her. I want to be able to talk with her, and laugh and share things with her. It will take time before the sting is gone, but Liz is a strong person. She will pull through this.

At home, I find the house quiet. Mom and Dad are golfing, I believe. I don’t know where Isabel is. Probably off somewhere sticking pins in her Max voodoo doll. I walk back to my bedroom and start to change into some comfortable TV-watching clothes. I feel something brush past my brain, a whisper, a breath of air. It’s my name. Zan.

I stop undressing. It has been years since Isabel spoke to me mentally. I didn’t think we had the ability to do it any more, but she has done it. I try to respond, but I can’t. I frown and head up to her bedroom. Her door is ajar and I push it open so I can see into the room. I don’t see her at first. The setting sun shining through her windows temporarily blinds me as I step into the room. I hear her before I see her. I look toward the bed, but she is not on the bed. She is beside it, on the floor, her back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, her face buried in her arms. From the shake of her shoulders, it looks like she is crying.

I feel my heart jerk in my chest as I round the bed and kneel on the floor before her. She doesn’t appear to have noticed me. Maybe she is still waiting for that telepathic response I couldn’t give. I reach out and touch her hair. Her head pops up and I feel my eyes start to sting from the sight before me. Her eyes are swollen and red from her crying, her face is contorted into a mask of agony. I touch the side of her face and she closes her eyes momentarily. She simply breaks my heart.

“You came back to me,” she breathes, then shudders with another sob.

I caress her cheek with my thumb. “Of course I came back to you,” I say gently. “I’ll always come back to you.”

“I saw you with Liz,” she confesses.

Liz? She really is jealous of Liz. No, it’s not jealousy. She’s hurt, and worried that I may still have feelings for Liz. For the first time in my life, I believe Isabel is insecure.

“I gave Liz a ride home,” I explain. I’ll spare her the humiliation of being the bitchy wife and asking me where I’ve been. “She wanted to talk, that’s all.”

“Do you want to be with her?” Isabel’s eyes are round, wet.

I think about that question. I could be very happy with Liz Parker. If Isabel didn’t exist, if I didn’t know what she meant to me in a former life, I could settle in and be very content with Liz. But I do know all of those things, and I could never settle for Liz. I need Isabel. I shake my head in response to her question.

Her face contorts again and I see a new wave of tears streak down her cheeks. “And you don’t want to be with me either,” she sobs.

I shake my head again. “You’re wrong, Isabel,” I tell her. “I want to be with you forever.”

I know she is thinking about my decision to not tell our parents the truth. Isabel lives in a perfect world where we tell our parents that we are married aliens and they smile, say, “Oh, that’s nice, dear,” and hug us warmly. I’m the realist. That scenario will never happen. As much as I love mom and dad, they will never fully comprehend what we are, and I’m not sure they would accept it. And we can’t depend on them to keep the secret. Their disbelief when we first tell them would probably lead them to confide in someone else – like a psychiatrist for both of us.

I take Isabel’s hands in mine. “This is hard for me, too,” I explain. “I don’t like being separated from you. But maybe someday we will be able to be together. We don’t know what our futures hold – we may not even be on this planet much longer. We just don’t know. But I will wait for you. I will take what we have and make the most of it, but I will always be looking forward to that day when I can be with you and give you one hundred percent of my time.”

Isabel sniffles, but the tears have stopped. I reach up to her nightstand and pull a tissue from the box. I wipe her cheeks, cleaning up her smudged make up. I’ve always thought she looks better without it anyway. I kiss her forehead.

“You don’t have anything to worry about,” I tell her. I swing around so that I am sitting beside her and put my arm around her shoulders. I kiss the side of her head. “You’re the only one for me. Liz is a friend, and she will always be just that. I love you. Only you.”

She lays her head on my shoulder and we sit in silence for a while. I tilt my head to look into her face and she glances up at the same time. Almost instantly our lips touch. I’m glad I am sitting because I feel my knees go weak. It has been so long since I’ve touched her and the sensation is overwhelming. I wrap my other arm around her and her arms encircle my body. Our kiss is desperate, longing. I know she is crying again.

I hear the front door slam and I know Mom and Dad are back from golfing. I pull breathlessly away from my wife and smooth her hair with my hands.

“Go take a shower,” I tell her quietly. “Clean yourself up.” I give her a smile and a kiss on the forehead.

She nods and pulls away. I watch her enter her bathroom and close the door behind her. I know it will look suspicious to suddenly bolt from Isabel’s room, so I get up and sit at her desk and flip on her computer. I pray that it boots up before one of my parents appears at the door. It does and I hurriedly flip to a page that would baffle Bill Gates, certain to baffle my parents.

“Isabel, you won’t believe what your father did!” Mom calls from the bedroom door. She stops in her tracks and smiles when she sees me. “Hi, Max.”

“Hi, Mom.”

She looks around the room. “Where’s Izzy?”

I jerk a thumb over my shoulder. “In the shower.”

Mom walks over to me and gives me a quick hug. She looks at the computer screen. “Did she delete something she wasn’t supposed to again?” she laughs.

I smile at her and nod my head. Yep. That’s exactly what happened. I touch a few keys and the screen returns to normal. My cue to exit.

My pats me on the shoulder. “You’re so good at that,” she compliments.

Yeah, I’m good at lying, I think as I move for the door. And I’d better be good at it. I’ve got a lot of lying in my future.

That night I go to bed, hoping I’ll see Isabel on the dream plane, wondering what our adventure will be. But as I am about to drift to sleep, the thought crosses my mind that I shouldn’t go to sleep. I should wait. Wait for what, I’m not sure, but the message feels as real as the anguished cry of my name I heard earlier. So I wait. I watch the minutes tick by on my alarm clock. A half-hour after I got the message, my door opens nearly silently and Isabel slides in.

She smiles at me and I slide over so she can slip under the covers beside me. We don’t kiss. We don’t touch. We just lie on our sides and look at each other, smiling. Then I reach for her and wrap her in my arms. She returns my embrace and I squeeze her tighter. I want to spend my night like this, wrapped in her arms, just holding her. Someday, we will be together. Whether we move across country to go to college and live as man in wife. Whether we enter the witness protection program and change our identities. Whether we leave this earth and return to some place we believe is home. Whatever the outcome is, we will always be together, in the past, here in the present, and in the future.

THE END