Author: DocPaul

Email: DocPaul2002@yahoo.ca

Rating: NC-17

Spoilers: None. There was no near fatal shot at the CrashDown of Liz, no Tess…no danger. Just three alien children raised in Roswell not knowing who they were, just that they were different, and unable to leave Roswell. Instead of Michael being apart from Max and Isabel, the three were found in the desert together.

Disclaimer: The names might be Roswell’s, but the story is all mine.

Warning: Dark universe full of suspense, angst, and violence

Summary: Michael finds someone special in his backyard, a woman. And his life is propelled into a web of violence and intrigue, and it will never be the same again.

Author’s notes: This alternative universe came to me and raged out of control. Hope you like it. For Jackie…..Intern of the Year! This story was written to Staind’s song “Outside” so I suggest listening to it as you read…..especially during the Maria painting scene.

 

 

 

Out of Darkness

For Jackie

   

Chapter 1: And you, bring me to my knees again All the times,

 

 

 

“Michael.”

The man paused as he was opening his front door. Ambushed. Damn. Turning, he looked at the tall blonde woman dressed impeccably in the latest yuppie fashion, hair perfect, nails perfectly painted, perfectly shaped and perfectly unchipped. Perfect.

His sister. Isabel. His sister, but not his sister. Isabel Evans.

“Isabel.” Michael Guerin unlocked the door and entered his private residence, a country home on the edge of Fraser Woods outside of Roswell, New Mexico.

Isabel quickly scurried inside before he could shut her out. Michael was an expert on shutting people out, and once he was behind his walls she would not be admitted. No one was. Not ever. Looking around at the place, she put her jacket over a chair. Michael’s place was neat, comfortable and very masculine. No woman had ever lived here, not since the day he had it built. The front living room had a wall of windows sixteen feet high looking out at the woods, a place where Michael could see the sky and the stars. All these years, and he was still waiting. She suspected his bedroom had a skylight, but she was never invited to tour his home. No one was. Someone might touch his things.

Isabel took a deep breath and turned to look at her brother. She reached out to touch him, but stopped herself and pulled back. Michael hated to be touched. He was a tall, lean man with a large frame, long limbs, big artistic hands, and a way of slouching so his height was not so obvious. Isabel was 5’10”, but she stood over six feet in her four inch heels, and yet Michael still topped her, even slouching. He slouched to draw himself in, almost in a defensive manner. Isabel suspected it was his way to go unnoticed. They don’t abuse you if they don’t notice you.

His eyes were the same brown as Isabel’s, but different. Hers were darker, but Michael’s had the warm, smoky, golden tint of a fine malt liquor. And they were silent, brooding and too deep to penetrate. His hair was a light brown that was worn long and curling on his shoulders. He sported a scruffy beard, as if he only shaved once or twice a month. All in all, he was attractive, made more so by his stand-offish attitude.

“What do you want, Isabel?”

“I called.” Isabel swallowed the sarcastic remark she was going to make. It’d just make him defensive. Piss him off. “I left a message on your machine. Actually, a few.”

Michael just shrugged and went over to his answering machine, hit the play button.

You have six messages….Tuesday, 6:43pm…Michael, this is Sam. Received your last piece. It looks good. The galleys will be in the mail. Did you think about the next assignment? Let me know….

Tuesday, 9:36pm…..Michael, pick up the phone…Michael? Well, it’s Isabel. Max and I want you to join us tomorrow for lunch… no excuses! Meet us at the Crashdown at noon…..

Wednesday, 12:15pm….Michael, you’re late. You better be leaving right now!….

Wednesday, 1:05 pm….Michael, where are you?….

Wednesday, 1:10pm….Michael, pick up the damn phone!……

Wednesday, 4:45pm….I’m sick of this. Prepare yourself. I’m coming over, and don’t think you can hide! I’m coming, and I will find you.

Isabel reached over and deleted the messages. Michael just shrugged and walked away. He stood in his living room looking out at the darkness in the woods. It was 9:00 in the evening. Isabel must have been waiting for a good four hours.

“Sorry, can’t make it,” he said simply, not turning to look at her.

“Obviously.” Isabel sighed and sat on the sofa’s edge. “You’re breaking Max’s heart.”

“He’ll survive.” Michael didn’t want to talk about their brother, Max. Correction. Isabel’s brother, Max. Max Evans. His best friend, his brother, and...everything. Perfect. Just like Isabel. Max was perfect. The perfect student, the perfect boyfriend, the perfect future husband, the perfect son...Perfect.

“No, he won’t! His wedding with Liz will be ruined if you won’t stand by his side and be his best man.”

“I don’t want to be there. Is that so hard to understand? I don’t belong there...okay?” Dammit... Michael felt his control slipping. Rubbing the back of his neck he could feel the headache starting low in the back of his neck and working upward.

“You’re our brother! Of course you belong there!”

Michael just gave a bitter laugh and went into the kitchen, leaving Isabel sitting there helpless. She looked down at her trembling hands. Clenching them, she swallowed the tears in the back of her throat. Michael.

Michael came back with an open beer, taking a swig. Isabel frowned, and the concern increased as she watched him put away the beer in three mouthfuls.

“Michael, you know we can’t drink!”

Michael tipped the bottle for the last drop. “I can. Only about one and a half. It gives me a rush, a little distortion, and blissful forgetfulness.” Michael sighed. “Go away, Izzy.”

“Michael...”

Exasperated, his voice rose. “Dammit! I’ll think about it, okay? If you stop pushing, I’ll think about it.”

Michael avoided her eyes. They’d be full of pain. Full of disappointment. She just nodded and left, shutting the door silently behind her as if to not disturb him any further. Michael took the bottle and threw it against the stone wall with the fireplace that covered one entire side of the living room. Hearing the crashing glass and the sound of it shattering to the floor, he sat on the sofa arm. Sinking his aching head in his hands, he grasped his long hair tight and pulled. Why? Why couldn’t he just do what they wanted? He had hurt her.

 

~~~

 

“Did you see him?” Max asked quietly. Isabel nodded and took a seat in the booth across from Max and Liz. The couple was sitting close together, holding hands. Isabel just smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah, I saw him. He wasn’t home and never got the messages.” They both shared a look, a look between siblings that knew everything about each other. He wouldn’t have come even if he had gotten the messages. Liz looked at the two of them, and once again felt on the outside. The tangible bond between the two was hard to enter, and so most of the time she was just an observer.

Liz was a pretty young woman in her mid-twenties. It had been seven years since they all graduated from West Roswell High, and only in the last three did she really get to know Max Evans. Her long brunette hair was a thing of beauty, but Max would say that it was her heart that made her beautiful beyond measure. He finally proposed to her three months ago after a Gomez concert, and that was only three months after he let her in on his big secret. The secret that bound Isabel, Max and even Michael into an unbreakable unit. They were hybrid aliens from the Roswell 1947 crash. They were survivors and they were alone. Forgotten.

For two and a half years he was just Max, her boyfriend. Before that he had been someone she sort of knew in high school. He was a quiet loner with his sister Isabel and best friend Michael as his only companions. It wasn’t until years later that she really got up the nerve to ask him out on a date.  For the last year he had been her lover.

After high school, he continued working at the UFO Center, and she at the Crashdown. Sometimes Liz would daydream about college, about leaving Roswell, but those dreams died when she was sixteen and her father was shot during an incident in the Crashdown. He stepped in front of Liz to push her to safety. He took a bullet meant for her. And in a flash of powder, the smell of sulfur, her dad was no more.

After her father died her mother had a breakdown, and Liz ran the Crashdown with the help of a day manager while still in school. Her dad would have hated to see his business and his family destroyed by his death, so Liz stayed. And after high school, her mother tried to commit suicide when she realized Liz was thinking of going away to college, so finally she was committed to a sanitarium for her own safety. Ironically, the hospital bills and upkeep made it impossible for Liz to leave.

But until she heard about Max’s secret, she never could understand why Max didn’t go away to college. Isabel went to the community college in Roswell, and even Michael went to Las Cruces. But Max became manager of the UFO center. Around the end of their junior year, Brody, the owner of the Center, asked Max to increase his hours there. Brody's young daughter had just died of cancer and Brody just wasn't that interested in aliens anymore. After graduation Max took over control of the UFO center, and for the last seven years ate lunch and dinner at the Crashdown. Sometimes with Isabel and Michael, but mostly alone. That was until Liz finally got up the nerve to ask him out on a date, anywhere but the Crashdown.

The front door rang, and Liz frowned. They were already closed. It was Kyle Valenti.

“Oh, hi Kyle!”

“Hey Liz, sorry for the late hour.”

Liz smiled and excused herself from the siblings. “Not a problem. Sorry, but the grill is cold.”

“I was just hoping for coffee?” Kyle said with his most charming of boyish smiles. Liz smiled back and nodded. Kyle looked over at the two Evans and frowned. They were always so secretive, but he knew Isabel through his wife, Vicky, so he knew she was okay. Evans? He was kind of creepy in a shifty kinds of way, and he never made eye contact.

“You working the late shift?”

Kyle nodded. “Yeah, and Vicky isn’t too happy.”

“I bet.” Liz took his thermos and went to fill it.

Kyle Valenti was a deputy now for the Roswell PD. His father was still the sheriff, and Kyle was following in his father’s and grandfather’s footsteps. Kyle had actually left Roswell to go to college. He played basketball in college and did really well, but his height was a problem, and he never made it to professional status. So as college was ending, he married Vicky Troy and went to the Police Academy in Albuquerque. He wanted to stay there, but Vicky wanted to go home to Roswell once she knew she was pregnant with their first child. So three children later, it looked like Roswell was going to be home.

Liz came back and handed him the filled thermos. Kyle smiled shyly, and they discussed things, people and joked about old times. Liz and Kyle had dated all through high school, but he broke it off with her when he left for college, not wanting to have a girlfriend at home. In all those years they retained their friendship. Kyle would always be special. He was her high school sweetheart and the first man she ever slept with. He was there supporting her when her dad died, and later that same school year when her Grandma Claudia also passed away.

Isabel looked over at Liz and Kyle chatting and laughing. Max was watching them too, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Michael.

“You need to talk to him, Max.”

Max just closed his eyes and sighed. “I know. It’s just so hard right now.” Max looked over at Liz and then moved in closer to his sister. “The visions, Isabel. They’re giving me nightmares. And I don’t know which is worse, the nightmares or knowing that it really happened to him.”

Isabel felt tears flood her eyes. Quickly wiping her eyes she went back to shredding a napkin.

Last month, in an unguarded moment while playing basketball with Michael, Max got a flash from him. Abuse. Years of it. They had never known, or perhaps they didn’t want to know. Over a month before, Michael’s foster father, Hank died of a massive coronary and Michael buried him, but the emotions from it all were still on the surface, and when Max touched him they all came rushing in at a rate Max couldn’t hold. He fell on the court and blurted it all out to Michael.

Michael’s face shut down, and he turned and walked away. He hadn’t spoken to Max since. Max called after him, but all he could do was watch his brother’s receding back. It had taken them years to learn to control their powers, and Michael’s still tended to be the most volatile. Max watched, horrified, as Michael walked away, blowing out all the glass within reach in cars, houses and businesses.

The abuse. It ranged over years, up until Michael was almost eighteen. It stopped when Michael finally stopped Hank from hitting him in their senior year. He broke Hank’s arm and that was the last time, but that was eight years too late.

“He hates that I know, and that I told you.”

“I know,” whispered Isabel. Michael hated many things. But that was a big one. “I tried talking to him, but now he’s so unreachable, even more than usual.”

Max nodded. “I wish Mom and Dad had adopted him, too. He would’ve been spared so much, he’d have felt like he belonged, and he’d have been our brother.”

“He is our brother.” Isabel said angrily. Her twin. Her brother. Lost.

“I know. I know. But he doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t know how.” Max gripped Isabel’s hand hard. They looked at each other and then away. “I’ll try.”

Isabel looked over at Liz. “Did you tell, Liz?”

Max shook his head. Guilt. He was keeping secrets from her, and it was wrong. “I couldn’t. Michael can barely stand her most of the time, but this would be too much.”

Isabel nodded. Michael hated Liz Parker. Not really. But enough to avoid the woman. She was an outsider coming into their tight group. Max listened to her, when he wouldn’t listen to Michael. And Michael had strongly objected to Max telling her that they were aliens. Max did it anyway. He couldn’t marry a woman and not tell her such a thing. He took a big chance that Liz wouldn’t freak, that she wouldn’t believe or be afraid. But surprisingly all she said after her initial disbelief, with Max having to use his powers to show her, was that it explained the strange flashes she got - and the sex.

Sex? They hadn’t realized that they were unusual. Michael knew that in college he had to shake women off him who wanted to make things more permanent, but he just assumed it was raw talent. Isabel’s lovers over the years never complained, and since none of them kept anyone for long, it was just an unknown mystery. That was until Liz Parker explained that having one hour orgasms wasn’t a normal occurrence.

Isabel knew Michael didn’t appreciate the distinction, and neither did she. She was a legal secretary at her dad’s law firm. But her love life literally sucked.

All their love lives did. Michael had a few affairs a college, but the women invariably wanted more than he could give, or was willing to give. If they could handle a physical relationship with no strings, he was all for it. But every relationship became too messy until finally he retreated back to Roswell after four years of college to settle into a freelance writing career. After the first year he was able to buy land and build his own home.

Max never had anyone except Liz Parker. Literally since he first saw her he was fascinated, and what was an unrealized boyhood crush became an obsession after high school. He spent hours eating the greasiest food in Roswell just to watch her, until that one fateful day when she asked him out. He just nodded because he couldn’t speak. Isabel had to keep shaking him for the entire three day wait until the date to get him out of shock.

Isabel had a few affairs including one with her father’s partner, Jessie Ramirez. It ended badly when she refused to commit to anything but an affair. It was because she couldn’t bring herself to confess her alien origins like Max did to Liz, so she remained unattached. It was unfair to not disclose everything, but she spent a lifetime hiding in fear.

Roswell was becoming a lifetime sentence.

 

~~~

 

Michael searched his refrigerator for food. He had forgotten to go shopping again. Every time he was away on assignment, he let his groceries deplete so he didn’t have to come home to mold and walking sludge in his refrigerator. Grabbing another beer, he went to sit outside on the deck overlooking the woods. His house was built on a hill, so his basement came out on the ground, and his ground level from the front exited on a deck in the rear. He liked to sit out there at night looking up at the skies, and wonder why they sent them here - and why they never came back.

It didn’t matter. He stopped caring years ago. Basically when he was eighteen. The day he broke Hank’s arm. It ended then. He didn’t need them any longer. He didn’t need them to come and save him, give him a home. It was too late. That year was the year the three of them also had dreams about other worlds and five stars. They followed their dreams to a hidden chamber and their incubation pods. They had been engineered and there used to be four of them. Isabel didn’t talk for days. And Michael just wondered how the hell such an advanced race could space travel, but couldn’t build him better. Perfect.

Years afterwards he roamed, despite the insistence from Max, the King…that they needed to stay close to Roswell, close to the incubation chambers, and close to the alien device inside that they never learned to identify or understand. Michael walked away despite the protests from both Max and Isabel. His grades were crappy, but he couldn’t sit in Roswell cooking at the Crashdown for the rest of his life. So he took the frickin’ SATs and scored almost a perfect score. It wasn’t hard. He went to the library and scanned all the major subjects, endless amounts of SAT practice books and the entire Cliff Notes series. It took him an afternoon.

He didn’t want college, but he liked to read. The slow way. He liked the solace of words. Words were so simple, so clean, and on a pristine piece of white paper, they breathed their own life. They made him feel. Nothing else did that. Just words.

Michael picked up his manuscript, reading the first chapter for the umpteenth time. Twelve fucking years! Twelve... and he never could get beyond the first chapter. It sucked. He could feel the words in his brain, crowding out normal thought, screaming to be expressed. And yet when he tried to write them they were all wrong. Michael stopped in his reading and put it aside. It was all a pile of crap. He hated it. It felt wrong and dishonest. It was wooden and lacking in inspiration. It was Nothing. Just like him. He was writing his soul, and it was empty.

 

~~~

 

Kyle laughed at a joke Liz was telling him when his mobile receiver went off. “Valenti.”

“We’ve got a report of a car crash off 285 close to Fraser Woods. Can you roll on that, Kyle?”

Kyle responded to Verna, the dispatcher. “Ten-four, Verna. I’m on my way.”

“Support units are dispatched.”

Kyle took his thermos and reached for his wallet, but Liz stopped him. “No charge, Kyle. It’s on the house.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, so go save someone.” Kyle gave her another boyish smiles, and left the Crashdown quickly with a slight nod in Max Evans’ direction.

Liz watched him for a moment and then went back behind the bar. Taking the hot pot of coffee, she went to refill both Max’s and Isabel’s cups. Isabel just put a hand over her cup and smiled.

“None for me. I’ll never sleep as it is. I better leave so I can get to bed. Tomorrow is a long day.”

Max smiled when Liz filled his coffee cup with the steaming liquid. “What was that? With Kyle?”

Liz just shrugged. “Not sure, some accident off 285 close to Fraser Woods. A car wreck I think.”

Isabel just laughed. “It’s so strange to think of Kyle as a police officer. I still remember him as a jock with a terri ble reputation. Who’d have thought that he’d marry Vicky?”

“They are a strange couple. Every year Kyle gets more smalltown Roswell, and every year Vicky tries to retain that polished Cosmopolitan look. Strangely, they fit.”

Isabel had to agree. “But their children! What demons! I ate at their house one time and almost ran to the doctor to beg them to rip out my reproductive system.” Not that she was using it, or ever would. Isabel checked her watch and grimaced. Four hours of waiting for Michael was the biggest waste of her life. “I really have to go. Max...talk to Michael, promise?”

“I swear. Tomorrow.” Isabel waved and was out the door. She forgot she had laundry.

Liz looked down at her cup of coffee. “I’m sorry Michael is refusing to have anything to do with our wedding.”

Max grabbed her hand and kissed it. “It’s not that. I swear. It’s me. He’s upset with me.”

“He didn’t want you to tell me about...the alien thing.”

Max blew air from his mouth. “No... no he didn’t.” Max turned and looked at his fiancée seriously. “It’s not you, Liz. It’s us. It’s a pact we had since our childhood to protect each other, to never divulge ourselves to outsiders. Ever.”

“And I’m an outsider?” That hurt.

“Not to me, you’re not. You’ll never be, or could be.”

Liz smiled at his quiet romanticism, that intense dark look in his brown eyes. He really was such a great guy. And when they kissed, when they touched, it felt like...everything. She didn’t feel like smalltown Liz Parker, owner of the Crashdown. She felt special.

“I wish I had noticed you in high school. That I knew you then, before...”

Max nodded and took her hand to rub it across his face. Before her father died. Maybe he would’ve saved him, healed him. He and Michael had been there that day in the Crashdown. Max had seen Liz standing there, and as he ducked to the ground with Michael, there was a flash, a cry of ‘Lizzie!’, and suddenly timeless life in stillframe by stillframe as Mr. Parker, Geo ff Parker moved and pushed her to the side. She reached up and Max watched the ketchup bottle fall with her in slow motion. For a moment, between stillness and hush, she slowly stood up, and he saw the bloodstain on her front…but it wasn’t blood, it was only ketchup, and then her screams of horror as Mr. Parker laid at her feet bleeding to death. Max didn’t save him.

“It’s not your fault, about not knowing me, I mean. I didn’t want anyone to notice. None of us did. I held myself apart, and if I even talked to you it was in short quick sentences.”

“You were awfully quiet. I remember my lab partner for three years, and I could almost count the number of times you actually spoke to me.”

Max just looked embarrassed. “I was shy.”

Liz laughed and reached up to hug him, her slim arms going around his neck. “Understatement. But you’re not shy anymore.”

“No.” Max laughed his eyes twinkling, and then suddenly serious. “I know this is wrong. I should be alone, because getting involved is a great risk.” Max stopped her before she protested with a kiss. “But I can’t care. I tried. I tried being alone. Isabel does it. Michael wrote the stupid book on ‘Isolation for Those Not From Here’. I don’t want to live and die on planet Earth alone. You’re the only thing I ever wanted. I’d wait a thousand lifetimes for you.”

Liz kissed him, her hands touching his face, stroking the lines of his cheekbones. Alien? The only thing alien about him was his honesty and his love of her. Most the time she felt unworthy, just ordinary, but Max Evans’ love made her extraordinary. Something more.

“I love you. I think I used to dream about you before I even knew what dreams were. You make staying in Roswell worth it, worth losing my dreams of college.”

Max laughed. “God! You turn me into something totally mushy!”

“Is that a bad thing?”

Max thought about it for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.” How could he complain? He worked at the frickin’ UFO Center catering to alien groupies! He was an alien working in a cheap tourist trap for alien junkies! How insane was that?

“Good.” Liz sat up in the bench seat next to him on her knees. “Then move in with me.”

Max paused. Live with her. Stupid. Of course that was what being married meant. They had been sleeping together for a year now. But his place was his place, and her place was her old home above the Crashdown. Sooner or later they had to think about taking that step since married people often lived in the same house.

“I leave the seat up.”

“That’s okay. I clog the drains with my long hair.”

“I suck at plumbing.”

“I’ve got one on 24/7 alert.”

“Upstairs?”

“Yeah. We could live there. I’ll work downstairs, and you can walk across the street to your work. It couldn’t be more perfect.” It sounded routine, unexciting, and settled.

Perfect. Everything he always wanted. To be totally normal. To feel it. To be it. Human.

“Okay. Let’s cohabitate, so my mom and Isabel freak out and speed up the wedding plans. At this rate we’ll be old and gray before the actual event arrives.”

“They sure are...thorough!” Max laughed at Liz’s tactful manner of stating the obvious.

“When do you want to start?” Max asked with a devil may care look in his eyes. He felt young. Younger than he ever did all those years in high school or growing up. She gave him that. A sense of everything being new, fresh and young. She was his soul.

Liz just laughed and took his hand, pulling him out of the booth and towards the back door to the breakroom and the stairs that led upstairs. Max waved a hand, and heard the front doors lock. With another wave of his hand the lights went off.

 

~~~

 

“What’s going on, Hanson?”

“Hey, Kyle.” Hanson looked up from his computer in the car. “We’ve got a car that was run off the road. The fire crews are still trying to get the flames under control. I’ve got the license plate. It's an Arizona plate. Just running it now.”

“The driver?” Kyle looked down at the car engulfed in an inferno.

“Unable to say until the flames are out. They’re trying to get it under control before it sets the woods on fire.”

Kyle nodded and went down the embankment. He paused on the roadway near where the car had crashed through the guard railing. There were no skid marks. The car was either pushed off the road and the driver was unable to brake, or the driver purposely drove it off. Climbing down the bank, he went to wait as the fire crews worked.

“Hey Mark.”

“Kyle. This yours?”

“I suppose it's Hanson’s since he was first on the scene.”

Mark nodded. He and Kyle went to school together, even double dated with his wife Linda and Liz Parker. Now he was a member of the Roswell FD and Kyle the Roswell PD, and they met on the city playing fields for baseball, basketball and touch football. The Roswell PD had a strong basketball team with Kyle, but the firemen were ruling the baseball diamond, and touch football was a free for all.

“So the PD putting a team into the bowling leagues this year?”

Kyle just nodded. “Yeah. I’m on it, and Vicky is ready to toss me out of the bedroom. Another night with the boys while she's home alone with the babies.”

“Three boys, Kyle. Maybe you should’ve given her a little girl to occupy her time.”

Kyle just laughed. That wasn’t funny. Vicky was actually talking about it, and all Kyle could see was another mouth to feed, and possibly another boy. He couldn’t keep his demons in clothes as it was, and the only saving grace was pushing them off on his dad for camping trips and fishing. Even with them being between the ages of one and three, they ate everything in sight. Cute little scamps. The twins were the worst. They did tag team mischief at the age of three!

“Hey, looks like they got it under control.”

Kyle nodded and followed Mark down to the site. They approached the hot smoldering steel with caution as one of the firemen wrenched open the door. It was a nice expensive car. Small, compact convertible. Looked like it was once red.

“This is a nice set of wheels...well...once. I think it runs about what my house cost.” Kyle said thinking of his hefty mortgage.

“Yeah, other peoples' money.” Mark looked at the car with envy. He was still driving a twenty year old truck his dad gave him in high school. “This is probably a mid-life crisis car for some broker or something in Arizona who traded his old wife up for a 'young thang'.”

“Whatever you do, don’t say that around Vicky! She’s still trying to lose ten extra pounds of baby fat from Jamie.”

Both men laughed as Hanson came to join them. The men watched as the interior of the car was searched. No one.

“Hanson, what did you get on car owner?”

“Female from Tucson, Arizona. A...Maria DeLuca. Age twenty-five. No moving violations, warrants or outstanding tickets, except for parking. About six parking tickets unpaid.”

Kyle nodded. Okay, so not a mid-life crisis car. More than likely, a spoiled rich kid’s car driving while intoxicated and missed the turn. Too drunk to even apply the brakes and save herself.

“Deputies, you might want to see this,” called a fireman. Both Hanson and Kyle went closer.

Kyle startled at the barrage of small holes along the side of the car. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Bullet holes,” said Hanson.

“Jesus! So where is our missing Miss DeLuca? And why the hell was someone shooting at her car?” Kyle rubbed the back of his neck. It was going to be a long night. “Hanson, we’d better wake up forensics and call the Sheriff.”

Sheriff Valenti wasn’t going to be happy. If Kyle remembered correctly, his dad, Jim Valenti was scheduled to play at the CowPatty with his band, the Kit Shickers. Kyle took out his cell and hit the autodial for his dad. Hopefully he got to play a few sets.

 

~~~

 

Michael was staring at the sky, not really aware, but actually dozing a little, waking, and then falling asleep again. Max. Dammit. He promised Iz he’d think about it.

All those years he kept it from them. From Isabel and Max. They thought he was out of control, impulsive and reckless. They could never understand his driving need to be free of Roswell, free of the Earth, and the desperate drive to find who he was. They loved their home. Loved their family. It was enough for them.

Words. He had no words for them. No language he could speak that they could understand, because they came from different worlds. Abused. Beaten. Battered. Humiliated. Shamed. Less than an animal. People treated animals more humanely. He didn’t speak more than a few words by the time he was thirteen. Social services kept testing his intelligence. He healed too well. He was never sick. And somewhere along the way, while trying to avoid the strap, he got the reputation of being a troublemaker. He couldn’t remember when it started or how.

Max stole the images from him. It wasn’t Max’s fault. Hank had just died and it was all very confused. How could he actually mourn that sick fucking bastard? He even went away to college just to be free of him, free of Max and Isabel and their perfect lives and free of Roswell. Free of an image he couldn’t erase, or even wanted to. He didn’t care what people thought of him.

Michael reached for his fourth beer. He had spaced them out so they wouldn’t affect him so much. He knew that he could almost drink two, wait a little while until the edge wore off, and then finish the second. And if he waited a few hours he could do it again. Another legacy from Hank. Drowning himself in booze. Was he the equivalent of an alien alcoholic? Working on it.

Michael stood up quickly, knocking his beer over at the sound of a noise. The metal lawn cans behind the woodpile. Dammit. It was too early to worry about raccoons, but they had made a mess of the place last year. Vaulting over the side of the railing of the upper deck, he landed softly and surprisingly gracefully for a man of his size and height. Moving slowly in the dark, he had his hand up ready to blast the frickin’ ‘Coon’ to hell. He wasn’t spending his summer picking up garbage spewed all over his place. Last year he called animal control and they showed up at the end of the season to vacate a family of six out of his storage shed, but not until after a long summer of hell.

Coming around the woodpile he didn’t register the figure at first, his first impulse being blast first and ask questions later. It took a few moments for him to realize he had just sent a young woman crashing against the side of his house. Her silhouette dropped to the ground like a ragdoll in a crashing 'Umph!' and a heap. He winced, then cussed. His heart was beating a mile a minute. Oh god! Rushing to the small broken figure, he was shocked that before he could move to touch her, or check her out, she was awake, and scrambling away from him.

Green eyes, wild, confused, and unfocused peaked out from messy blonde hair. The entire left side of her face was bruised and swollen, and a cut on her scalp was bleeding all over her clothes. She had no shoes. Just a short, tight dress of green silk and a leather belt. The dress was ripped and torn. Dirty, covered in mud and blackened almost as if it had seen the edges of fire. Her hands were so small, long and delicate. The nails were covered in dirt and grime, and the actual hands were bleeding. He could tell they were cut.

“Hey!” Before he could say another word, she was scrambling away from him in fright. “I won’t hurt you! I’m sorry about before. I...”

She was on her feet and running into his woods. Michael cursed and ran after her. He was a fucking insane bastard. He should just go inside and call the cops. Tell them that sister to the ‘wild boy’ was living in his woods, but fucking animal control would probably show up in a few months. A few months too late for this terri fied creature.

Guilt. He didn’t like it. But he couldn’t know how much damage hitting her with his powers had caused. He was expecting a raccoon, so he hadn’t used full force. Just enough to knock the trash-eating bastard out. Her bleeding head concerned him. Great. It had been years since he was rash enough to expose his powers. But this was twice just recently. The day Max took flashes from his mind, and now to a stranger. All he fucking needed. Insano Girl telling the authorities and anyone who’d listen how the evil man held up his hand and blasted her.

He needed to find her first.

 

~~~

 

The area was dark. Too fast. Too noisy. Breathe. Breathe. Don’t cry. Don’t die. Pain. Fire burning. Colors bleeding. Too fast. Hurt. Feet. No feet. Can’t feel. Run. Run. Run.

She rushed through the brush, her bruised and bare feet bleeding. The twigs of the trees pulled at her, the thorns tore at her skin. Her side hurt. Her hands bled. Monsters. She could hear them. Feel them. Run. Run, dammit! Shut up, you baby. Stop crying! Stop wanting to just stop and die. She tripped. For a moment she lay there, confused. Too tired to move. Resigned.

Get up! Get up! Now! She was up and running. It came in slow motion, and almost didn’t register. The arm grabbing her midriff. The stopping of forward motion. Arms. Strong arms pulled her off her feet, pulled her back against a hard wall of bone and flesh. Monsters. They eat the bones. Screaming in terror. She thrashed and punched. Biting and screaming until a large hand came over mouth, and she was bound in arms too tight to get away from, and her arms anchored to her side.

“Fuck! Shushhhh. Calm down! It’s okay. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you. I swear. Just calm down so I can help you.”

Heart fluttering beneath the sternum. Drum. Drum. Drum. The deathwatch march. Calm. Breathe. Breathe.

“That’s it. Calm. Shhhhh. Calm. Calm down and I’ll release you. Do you understand?”

Michael felt a small nod of acknowledgment. And when she stopped struggling, he tentatively released her a little, but held her against him. She was so small, so tiny and delicate. And in a rush, he got a flash from her. Her panic. Her fear. An overwhelming sense of horror. And so much more. Flashes coming too fast to decipher, to understand. It was like an acid trip washout all in a psychedelic haze.

Releasing her because the visions were coming too quick. Fast and furious, he stood back and looked at her as she turned. Weaving on her feet, she saw him, and before his eyes, he saw her eyes roll back in her head.

“No! Don’t...” Michael cussed. “… faint.” His voice became softer as he picked her off the ground. “Don’t faint.”

 

 

 

 

Chapter 2: I had to beg you please- in vain

 

 

 

“Kyle, we’ve got a problem.”

Kyle looked at Hanson. No shit. It was already four a.m., and they were still processing the scene. Canine units were ordered to help search the woods. It was determined that before the car blew, that the driver’s window in the door was broken. It looked like the owner, Maria DeLuca couldn’t get out. The tumble down the hill had crushed her door, and she used something to break the window, probably just as the flames started.

“What’s the problem?” More than likely his dad, who wasn’t happy with having his evening cut short, but even unhappier at having an issue like a lost woman on his plate at this time of night. An extensive search could run up the PD’s flagging budget, but the thought of a young woman lost was more than any of them wanted to contemplate.

Hanson pointed at the top of the embankment. A man in a dark suit and long overcoat was surveying the damage. “Something tells me Fed.”

Kyle cussed and slowly climbed the hill. The case was his since he was the first officer called to the scene, even though Hanson had beaten him there. Jim had left to go to the PD and work on finding more information about the victim, and to get the lab people hopping on the bullets retrieved from the car’s doors and rear panel. Ballistics alone was going to take some time.

“Can I help you?”

“Are you the officer in charge on site?”

Kyle nodded. “That would be me. Valenti. Kyle Valenti.”

“Sheriff? I was told the Sheriff was Valenti.”

“Deputy. The Sheriff would be my father. And you are...?”

“Special Agent Burns.” The man flipped out his credentials.

Kyle examined the badge. And returned it to the Special Agent. “Agent Burns...”

“Special Agent.”

Kyle paused. Okay. “Burns. As I was saying, I can’t see what your interest is in this case.”

“You wouldn’t,” he said rudely, but smiled to soften the blow. “My supervisor should be calling your fath...Sheriff with details. Basically, I’m looking for one Maria DeLuca.”

“I see. Well currently Ms. DeLuca is missing. That’s her car, but she is strangely missing.”

“We need to find her, and quick.”

“We are awaiting a special canine team from Albuquerque. They were on another assignment. Meanwhile we were going to begin a foot search. From all indications the woman was wounded, and she could be in the woods somewhere bleeding.” Kyle looked at the man. “What exactly is your interest in Maria DeLuca, and how did you know to show up here?”

“When you ran her license plates it triggered a hit on our net. Maria DeLuca is a potential witness to a crime. I can’t go into details, but if I don’t find her alive my case goes south, and more people than you can imagine will suffer.”

“Potential witness?” Kyle’s eyes narrowed as Hanson came to join them. He too had heard the tail end of the discussion. Kyle’s eyes met and Hanson’s,  he was glad to see suspicion in them as well. “So she’s not really a witness. Just someone you need to question.”

“Wanted for questioning, but from the gravity of the situation, I’d say that it’s obvious that Ms. DeLuca saw something. Why else would people be so intent on killing her?”

Point taken. Kyle just shrugged. “We’ll keep you apprised, Special Agent. If you’d like, you could set up shop at the PD and get breaking news as it comes available. You being in the field is not authorized or cleared by the Sheriff. So I’ll have to ask you to back off the crime scene.”

Burns did. Both Kyle and Hanson watched the man get back into his standard dark sedan, and leave. Hanson just calmly took out his radio transmitter. “Dispatch. Can you patch me through to the Sheriff?”

Kyle looked at Hanson. “I don’t trust him.”

Hanson nodded as he waited for them to contact the Sheriff. “Me either.”

 

~~~

 

Michael sat staring at her. She was still out. He gave her some water and sort of washed her face. The features under the bruises, blood and swelling were surprisingly striking, beautiful, delicate...except the lips. They looked bee stung in their fullness. To his amazement and irritation, he hoped that was how they really were, and not just swollen. She looked like she had been in an accident in addition to a run-in with an alien and his blasting powers.

Covering her up with an afghan, he sat down to watch her. This was a complication.

 

~~~

 

Burns stopped not far from the site and took out a map. Making a quick call, he lined up men to help him out. They didn’t have much time. Marking out all the access areas around the new wooded developments, he started his search.

Sooner or later she would emerge from the woods, and someone in the area had to see her. He had already checked the hospitals in the region, both in Roswell and Las Cruces, and all smaller community ones along the way. Nothing. Stationing men around the woods, he assigned them locations. It was time to knock on some doors.

 

~~~

 

It was dark. Her pulse raced. She was blind. Slowly, she moaned as she turned and opened her eyes. No. She had her eyes shut. It hurt. The light hurt, and for a moment her head swam as the nausea rose in her throat. It wasn’t even the light in the room. Just a room with large windows and a skylight letting in the early morning dawn. Turning her head she saw him.

Sleeping.

His long frame was reclined in a chair with his legs sprawled out and his arms lightly crossing his chest as he slept. He looked young and not so mean. She remembered him. He was all she remembered. Frowning, her hand came up to touch her cheek on the left side of her face. Her jaw hurt, but her hands hurt more. She studied them, trying to remember. He must have wrapped them. Staring at her hands wrapped in white gauze, she felt a need to cry. Oh god. Hands.

“They were pretty bad. Cuts. Lots of cuts. Nothing too deep.” He lied. Her panic over her hands had him lie, to keep her calm. They were bad, real bad. She looked at him. His voice was low, almost even-toned, like he was afraid of frightening her again. “I cleaned them and wrapped them. I should’ve taken you to the hospital, and now you’re awake, that’s what I’m going to do.”

Michael watched as her eyes grew in size. Fear. He could taste it. It was a familiar friend. Something he tasted in his own throat enough as a child. It had that bitter taste of bile. Sighing, he waited. She was obviously in shock and in no condition to make decisions for herself. She had yet to talk.

“Do you want to go?”

She shook her head no and pulled the afghan closer to herself, making her body even smaller if that seemed possible. Michael sat up. It didn’t escape his notice that she cringed. Reaching down beside his chair, he picked up a carafe of water. Taking the glass he used earlier to try to feed her water, he poured some into it. Moving slowly, he approached her with care, almost like approaching a skittish horse. Finally sitting next to her, he helped her drink some water.

“I don’t know what happened to you. Or even who you are. Best I can tell is that you were in an accident, you came through the woods, and I found you outside my house.” Michael spoke slowly and softly, even watching her take small sips from the glass. “I can understand not wanting to go to the hospital. But they can take better care of you, better than I can. And you might have family looking for you.”

She just shook her head no. He could see the wild uncontrolled fear in her eyes sparking to life. Sitting close to her, he was reading things off her again. Flashes that made no sense. But they had a taste of anxiety and fear, the panic of flight, and a desperation. He saw flames rising, and his heart was beating in his chest like a trapped bird. Panic. Panic. Run. Run. Run. Hide.

Controlling his breathing, he tried to not let her see his reaction. “At least tell me your name.”

Michael fidgeted as her confused wavering green eyes flooded with tears and pain. “I don’t know.”

Closing his eyes, he ran his hands through his hair. No. Fucking. Way. Amnesia? That only happened on soap operas. Bad ones. Which basically meant the entire frickin’ genre. “Great.” Well except for Passions. That was its own art form, plus that little Timmy was so worrisome.

“Maria.” Michael looked up sharply, at her small voice. “I think my name is Maria.”

“Last name with that?”

“It’s not like asking me if I want fries! I don’t know. I think...I think...” Maria paused. She felt it there on the tip of her tongue, just barely tangible, but she could taste it. Her last name. Why couldn’t she remember? “I don’t know.”

“Well you are definitely in need of medical assistance. Obviously your egg got cracked and scrambled.”

Maria was on the verge of retaliating to that, when a knock came at the door. Her small voice rose in fright, but he quickly covered her mouth. It was there again. The need to run and hide. The fright. It covered his senses like a red blanket…harsh and real. Maria was out from under his hand and on her feet to run away. One minute she was standing, the next she was wavering on her feet.

Michael grabbed her close, and put his arms around her to keep for from falling. Motioning her to be quiet, he led her to the door. It had to be Isabel or Max. They were the only ones who felt the need to bother him. Putting her behind the door, he opened it to a man in a suit with a trench coat.

“Yeah?”

“Sorry to disturb you, sir.”

“Then don’t.” Michael went to shut the door. But the man’s hand stopped him.

“Sorry I must. This is an urgent matter.”

Michael’s eyes narrowed and his face became blank. “Urgent for you or for me?”

“Actually for me. I was...”

“Then, I’m not interested in what you’re selling. Peddle it up the street and get off my property.”

The man’s foot came over the doorjamb, and stopped the door from slamming shut. “I’m Special Agent Burns, FBI.”

Michael's own heart joined Maria’s in a fluttering of fright, but he quickly controlled it and feigned boredom. “And I care, why?”

“There was an accident.” Michael looked at the man in a gesture of irritation, almost telling him to speed it up. “A woman is missing. Suspected wounded.”

“She must be important if the yokel constable calls in the Feds.”

“Actually, yes she is very important.”

Michael looked ready to fall asleep. “And you want what?”

Burns took out a picture. A picture of Michael’s mystery guest. She was fucking gorgeous! He had already assessed that while watching her sleep, but the picture showed her without the blood and bruising. Without the fear and anxiety. She was a beautiful young woman, full of life, her eyes literally twinkled with excitement and the wonders of living. And her lips were still bee stung.

“Ever seen this woman?”

Michael shook his head. Honestly he could say no. The woman hiding and shaking behind his door was a far cry from the woman in that picture. Looking at the Agent...Special Agent under his lashes, an age old distrust of authority, and especially a fear of ‘Men in Black’ rose in his throat. No way in hell was he turning her over to this man.

“Is she dangerous?” Michael felt rather than saw Maria’s reaction to that question. His hand shot out behind the door to cover her mouth before she gave herself away. “Should I be concerned?”

“Hardly. She is a witness, wanted for questioning.”

“Good to know. Well, if that is all, Agent...I think my patience and time has been tried enough. I’ll personally make sure not to shoot anything entering my property for the next few days.”

Burns looked at the young man. Belligerent. Unkempt. He looked like he slept in his clothes, but the property was nice, a nice house, and well kept. “This your folk’s place, Mr…?”

Michael ignored the prompt of his name. “I don’t have any parents.” Michael made a gesture to shut the door again.

“Wait! My card.”

Michael reluctantly took the card. “If you find her, see her, or even just hear your neighbors talk about her...call me.”

“I don’t talk to my neighbors. That’s why I bought five acres.” Michael took the card and smirked at the man. Kicking his foot so the shoe was no longer in his doorway, Michael slammed the door shut. He stood there silently gazing into Maria’s eyes, neither of them speaking, just waiting for the sound of the car leaving.

As soon as the sound of the engine had receded, Maria’s whole body seemed to slump. Michael quickly caught her before she hit the floor. “Whoa there.”

Picking her up, he took her back to the sofa. Covering her up, he paced his living room. Protect her. Keep her from Burns. It felt like an instinct. But it couldn’t be. He didn’t even know this chick. Obviously she was into something…something big. Probably a mobster’s squeeze, or some high profile’s main side dish, or...

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing.” Another negative thing about women. They always wanted to know what the heck was going on in his brain. Most of the time, he didn’t even know. But FBI at his house? She had to go.

“Umm, can I know your name?”

No. Michael looked at her and shrugged. Yeah, whatever. “Michael. Michael Guerin .”

“I’m...”

“Maria. Yeah, I know.”

“I was going to say…thankful that you didn’t turn me over to that man.”

Michael just acknowledged her thanks. She shouldn’t thank him too much. He was going to dump her ass, a.s.a.p. He looked at her large green eyes, so full of trust and gratitude. Okay, after he fed her. Michael rushed off to the kitchen to get away from her. She was too softspoken. She seemed to have to make an effort to talk. And somehow she made him...

Nothing. It was nothing.

Michael searched his cabinets. Still short on food. Invalid food. What the hell was invalid food? Jello. He didn’t do jello. But those little packs of pudding were real tasty, but he didn’t have any. Finally, he settled for a cup of chicken broth, some crackers, and a small sandwich of some kind of luncheon meat. It might have been turkey. Okay, that’d keep her mouth shut. He’d kill her of botulism.

Michael watched every bite entering her mouth. He had to. She couldn’t hold the spoon. Her hands were too cut up. So he fed her. She was exhausted with the effort and only managed a little of the broth, no crackers, and - perhaps for the best - no sandwich.

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

“No!” Her wrapped hand touched him, imploring him.

“I’ve got to. You’re probably concussed, definitely in shock, and I can’t return you to your people. I need to know who they are first.” Michael could see her rising panic again, and he framed her swollen face. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay. The cops and medical doctors will protect you.”

She didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe him either. Michael had never trusted authority figures in his entire life, and he wasn’t starting now. But she had to go so his nice quiet organized life could return to its even keel. Already, she had him acting strange, uncharacteristic.

“Your hands. I can’t fix them. They might need stitches, and there could be damage.”

Maria just looked down at the covers. “I’m scared.”

“It’ll be okay. I promise.”

 

~~~

 

Max checked the display before opening. He was late to work that morning. Staying at Liz’s was okay, but he needed a change of clothes, so he spent his morning rushing about. They decided to move his stuff this weekend, and if his mother and sister didn’t get over their planning stage soon, he was taking Liz to Las Vegas. A wedding at an Elvis Chapel sounded like heaven to him. As long as Liz was there to say ‘I do’ in the appropriate places.

Isabel entered the building and walked down the aisles sneering at the alien memorabilia. Insulting. Rude. Laughable. Her eyes weren’t that bug-eyed.

“Isabel, whatcha doing here?”

“Looking for you. Since you’re taking a page out of the Michael Guerin book of ‘I Ignore My Answering Machine!’ I tracked you down. What the heck do you two think answering machines are for?”

“Sorry. I slept at Liz’s last night, and didn’t check the machine when I went home to change. So what’s the problem?” Max waited for it. Michael. It was always Michael.

“Mom.” Max’s eyebrow went up. An alternative possibility.

“Mom? What’s wrong?”

“She wants to know why Michael hasn’t shown up for the fittings for his tux.” Max just shook his head. Great. So it was Michael, again. “I told her you’d take care of it.”

“Me?”

“Well, you’re talking to him anyway. So while there, take him for a walk. Don’t stop, just go straight to Bergman’s Apparel for Men shop. Tempt him with a greasy cheeseburger or something. Men in Blackberry pie with Tabasco? Anything. Anything to get Mom off her Michael rant. I beg you.”

Max nodded.

Isabel made a quick tick of her head, as if she was scratching off an item on her mental list. Happy with her morning's work, she raised her hand and was out the door. Max started to talk, but stopped. What to say?

Max's phone rang, and surprise, surprise...it was his mother. Listening to her rant and rave, her gentle motherly concern about his choice of best man, Max hung up after telling her he was on his way over. Max went in search of his assistant.

 

~~~

 

“Max, sweetie, did you eat breakfast?”

Max smiled at his mother. “Yeah. Liz fed me.”

Diane Evans took that in stride. Her children were over twenty-five, but still she worried. It seemed only yesterday they were eight year old foundlings that she and Philip brought home. The poor things had spent two years in the system before they were adopted.

“We need to talk, Mom.”

“About the wedding?”

Diane was so incredibly happy that Max was getting married. She had worried about him all through high school. He never dated, or even seemed interested in dating. And except for Isabel, his only companion was Michael Guerin . Diane was afraid that Max’s lack of interest in dating and girls was because he and Michael were... Not that it would have mattered, but she just wanted her son happy. It was hard to see Michael spending so many nights sleeping in Max’s room, but she didn’t want to be a prying mother. Still...

“In a roundabout way.” Max took some coffee and sat down across from his mom. Taking a deep breath, he started at the beginning, because it was the only place to begin. “About Michael...”

Diane held her breath. Oh lord. She was a modern mom. She could march in Gay Pride parades if necessary, but it wasn’t. Max was marrying Liz Parker. Sweet little Liz Parker.

“Do you remember when you and dad came to the orphanage?” Diane nodded. “How much were you told about our past, about who we were, and how we came to be there?”

Diane just frowned. What did this have to do with Michael?

“Not much. They weren’t into disclosure at that time. We just remembered that some children were found deserted in the desert, and we put in a request to adopt or foster them. It took two years before they’d let you out of their care. They had to make sure you were physically and mentally fit, that no one came to reclaim you, and I guess at first you couldn’t talk.”

“I remember.” It was true; he couldn’t talk. None of them could. It took a year of listening to the language before they could speak it. But he could talk to Michael and Isabel. He could hear their voices in his head better than his own. It wasn’t in words, or words he could even comprehend, more like images and knowing. He understood them. Knew they belonged to him.

“Finally they called, and we told them we wanted two children. We came to the orphanage and saw you. Your dad saw your serious little face, and he knew. He just knew. And then Isabel came running around the corner, and ran smack dab into me. I righted her, and it was like I knew her all my life.” Diane smiled at the memory. “So the woman with us took us to the office, and I asked about Isabel, and your Dad asked about you. You were both available for adoption. We asked if you were the children found in the desert, and they said yes. The two of you were.”

“Three.”

Diane paused and looked at Max. “Three? What are you talking about?”

Max cleared his throat and looked into his coffee cup. “There were three of us found in the desert that night, Mom. Three. Isabel, me...and Michael.”

“Then Michael is...”

“Our brother. Isabel’s twin.”

Diane’s mouth hung open for a moment. So that meant that Michael and Max weren’t…

“So Michael’s not gay?”

Max laughed at that. Actually he couldn’t stop laughing. The confusion on his mom’s face, her earnest regard. “No. Hardly. Michael likes women well enough, as long as they don’t touch his stuff or mess up his life by actually being a part of it.”

“A brother. They never told us. Never suggested that there was more than the two of you. Isabel’s twin?”

“Remember the first year we came to you?” Diane nodded. “Isabel cried. Every night. And then one day she stopped.”

“I remember. I just thought she was having adjustment problems.”

“She was. She couldn’t feel Michael anymore. He was too far away, and we left him alone. In that place. Then over a year later we went to school, and there rolling around in the dirt was Michael in a fist fight with a bully. Isabel stopped crying that day.”

“Oh god! Why? Why didn’t you ever tell us?”

Max just shrugged. What could he say? They spent so many years staying hidden, that even as children, admitting things to adults felt like too much a risk. How could little children know? How could they explain they knew each other, felt each other, without divulging their alieness? And even then, it wasn’t until they all turned twenty-one that they really understood their connection. In a flash of dreams of other worlds, other times, they saw themselves. Not in a physical form, but in a sense of knowing. It felt like them. Max was the eldest, and the King. And Michael and Isabel were his twin siblings merely a year behind. That made Michael second to the throne in rights of succession. And still his entire life he felt he never belonged.

“Michael was in a foster home with Hank. We thought he had a home, like we did.” Diane just looked down at her hands. She met Hank a few times. She wouldn’t wish her worst enemy on that man.

“Hank wasn’t what I call parent material,” said Diane softly.

“He wasn’t. I didn’t know. I didn’t understand back then, but that was why Michael slept on my floor all those years. I just found out a little while ago, and this is never to be told outside this room...but Michael was abused all those years, almost up until he graduated high school.” Max ignored his mother’s gasp. He felt guilty telling Michael’s secret, and to his mother. Telling her, but not Liz.

“Are you sure?”

Max nodded. “It was an accident. I found out by accident after Hank died. Michael isn’t happy about me knowing, and he hasn't talked to me since. That’s why he’s avoiding the wedding stuff, the fittings and everything. But I’m not finding another best man. He’s my brother. And if he won’t stand up next to me, then I’m not getting married.”

“Max...”

“I just told you this for one reason. Lay off Michael. Isabel is already terri fied of losing him again. She's been terri fied of losing him all our lives. So try to understand how afraid she is, how much Michael feels that he doesn’t belong, and how devastated I would be to lose him as well.”

“He’s your best friend.”

“All my life.” Max needed to get back to work. “I need to get back to work, but I promise I’ll get Michael to the fitting. Just give me some time.”

“Max.” Max stopped at the door when his mom called to him.

“Is he okay? Michael?” Diane choked back tears. “Is he happy now?”

Max looked at his mother. And then away. “No.”

 

~~~

 

Michael looked at the crowded ER. Maria sat next to him, leaning on his larger frame and almost hysterically holding on to him. It had to hurt her hands. She hadn’t spoken since he put her in his car and drove her to County General in Roswell.

There was a woman screaming next to them being restrained by orderlies. Maria whimpered in fear, and her eyes that had been clearing were suddenly unfocused and confused. He could taste her growing hysteria in his mouth almost like rusty nails. His hand came up to frame her face, to hold her close so she wouldn’t be afraid. This place was insane.

“Mr. Guerin ?”

Michael looked up at the nurse who called his name and nodded. Helping Maria up, he led her through the doors and into a room. Answering the questions quickly, he watched as the nurse took Maria’s vitals and logged them on a chart. Michael was prepared to wait, but they told him he could leave. He avoided Maria’s eyes. Her hands tightened on him in fright and it took some work, but he got free. Following a man in a coat, he quickly left, wincing at the sounds coming from her room behind him.

“This is the way out. Don’t worry. We’ll take care of her.”

Michael just nodded, but he couldn’t stop looking back. He could her voice rising in hysteria, and the imprint of her hands was still on his arm. Looking down, he saw the blood on his jacket sleeve. Her hands. They were bleeding again. The heavy security door closed behind him, and the only way back in was the key pad or the main emergency entrance.

She’s fine. Fine. Not his problem. It was for the best. They were professionals and they would fix her hands, find her memory, and get her back to her people. Michael straightened his shoulders and ignored the echoes of her voice in his mind. She’ll be fine. Not his problem.

Michael was heading for his car when he stopped short. Agent Burns. Special Agent Burns was standing not far away. He was gesturing angrily and talking to two men. And the men. They were large and strong, and with intensely scary faces. Burns didn’t look too happy. They moved off slowly towards the ER. Maria...

“Son-of-a-bitch. This is total bullshit. Get it together, Guerin .” Michael continued to his car. He needed groceries. But his feet wouldn’t move. Couldn’t move. He kept looking back at the ER door.

“Dammit! I hate this shit!” He quickly turned back to the ER. Looking around to make sure he wasn't being watched, he quickly opened the back locked security door with his powers. Entering the ER, he made sure no one saw him. He was just going to make certain that she was okay. He could hear a commotion at the main desk which was drawing the attention of the staff. Michael entered Maria's cubicle.

“Fucking hell!” She looked up at his voice.

They had restrained her. Her arms were tied down, and she was struggling to get free. And the blood on her hands was flowing again. He undid the straps, and gestured to her to be quiet. Picking her up, he left her dress there and took her in the hospital gown. Her feet. Dammit! He forgot her feet, and her running through the woods barefoot. He could see them now. They looked bloodied, scraped and terri bly sore.

Carrying Maria out of the room, he made sure the corridor was cleared. Heading for the back security door, he could hear Special Agent Burns' voice rising in the front desk area demanding to see someone in charge. Michael moved quickly, keeping Maria close to his chest. She just hung onto him desperately.

Once at the car, he placed her in the passenger side and he jumped in. Reaching in the back, he picked up the afghan he used before to cover her again. Maria was quiet. Her eyes were wild and frightened again.

“I know! It was a stupid idea.” Max. He could get Max to heal her. But looking at her, he knew she would be too afraid to let another stranger near, plus that meant exposing them. Dammit. He was keeping her, and he sure as hell wasn’t handing her over to some frickin’ Fed. “They’re going to be looking for you. If they use dogs from the car crash site, they will come straight to my house. Burns will be on their tail. This trip doesn’t have to be a total waste.”

Michael thought about it for a second. Taking the card Agent Burns gave him out of his pocket, he stared it a moment. Okay. They’d do it another way. Michael pulled over to a quiet street.

“C’mon. I need you to get in the back seat.”

Michael quickly put her in back and on the floorboard, covering her up with the afghan. She made a sound of distress.

“Shhh, listen to me. I’m not going anywhere.” Michael jumped back into the drivers' seat and headed to the Roswell PD. “Just trust me, okay? Stay under the blanket, and don’t make any noise. Just wait for me. I promise. I won’t let you down. Trust me.”

Michael got out of the car and locked the door, hoping she wouldn’t panic and take off. Entering the main entrance, he went straight to the main desk. The place was a shambles. People were everywhere, dog handlers with their dogs, and men wearing special blue flak jackets. Rivers of coffee was being consumed. Michael waited and waited. Everyone ignored him. Shit. She was going to leave. Finally he banged on the countertop.

“How about some help here!”

Kyle looked up from where he was helping to organize the search. Seeing Michael Guerin he sighed. Great. No sleep. A frickin’ pain in the pass FBI agent out there somewhere, missing woman, and now he had Michael Guerin to deal with.

“ Guerin .”

Michael just sneered at the man. “Valenti. I don’t want you. Get your old man.”

Kyle ‘fucking’ Valenti from his first day at school, the day he found Max and Isabel again. He remembered looking up from the dirt, from the scuffle he was in with that kid, that Valenti kid. They rolled around in a flash of arms and feet grunting as fists connected, and suddenly he was picked up by a hand to his ear, as was Kyle. They were marched to the Principal’s office. He kept looking back in case they disappeared. Two figures. In their perfectly proper clothes, holding hands, and both holding brand new lunch boxes with backpacks on their backs.

Looking down at his messy clothes now dirty from the roll with Kyle, the new tears, and his shoes that were untied and too big for his feet. He had no lunch and no money. His hair stood straight up off his head. He was left behind because he wasn’t shiny and perfect. He was anything but perfect. They saw that immediately and left him behind.

“My...old man, is busy working on a missing person’s case. What is it this time? Trespassers? Raccoons? Or is it traps again? I already told you that you can’t set out steel-toothed traps around your property to discourage trespassers.”

Michael took the card Agent Burns gave him and flipped it at Kyle. “Wouldn’t do any good. Even the frickin’ FBI can’t seem to read my ‘Go Away or I will Shoot You Between Your Beady Eyes’ sign. Harassing me on my doorstep this morning. Early.”

Kyle looked at the card and swore. That explained where Special Agent Burns went. “So what do you want? To serve a complaint?”

Michael rubbed his chin. “That’s a thought. But no. Actually, I said I would contact him if I saw his missing woman. Which I have.”

The entire room went quiet. Kyle grabbed a flyer and handed it to Michael. “Is this the woman?” Michael nodded and scanned the flyer. Keeping it in his hand, he discreetly refused to give it back.

Raising his voice in an annoying bitching tone, he answered, “Yeah. That’s her. Wild woman. All confused and bloodied. Knocking over my trash cans. I finally caught her, took her into my home, bandaged up her hands. Should have done her feet too, but...”

“Where is she? What did you do to her?”

“Well dammit, Valenti. I was trying to tell you! What? What do you think I did? Spanked her ass, told her to get the hell of my property and aimed her to the nearest neighbor half a mile down the frickin’ road.” Michael sighed when he noticed half the people in the room actually were taking him seriously. Rolling his eyes, “I took her to the frickin’ hospital…okay? Just dropped her off. They swore they’d take care of her. So…” Michael gestured for Kyle to be still and not to interrupt him. “So you can find your missing chick there, and tell your suit Burns to keep off my doorstep.”

Michael turned to leave, and then looked back quickly. “Hey, Valenti.” Kyle looked at him again as the team of searchers were packing it in to go check the hospital. “How about pits with spikes? It’s hardly my fault if someone falls into one while trespassing on my land.”

“Get the hell out of here!” Kyle watched Michael walk away. “ Guerin !” Michael turned back. “Thanks.”

Michael just shrugged and was out the door. Whatever. That would divert the search teams from his place. As far as they knew, she had been there and he had wiped his hands of her. He was on his way back to the car when Kyle caught up to him.

“Michael. I just called the hospital. Burns was there making trouble and the woman ran away again.”

Michael just feigned boredom. “Yeah, she was a little off her rocker. Couldn’t remember anything except her name was Maria. Real whacked-out chick...crackers. Her hands were all cut up, real bad. I bandaged them with everything I had, made her eat a little chicken broth, and took her to the hospital.”

“Yeah. Someone shot at her car. Lots of bullets. She went off the road into a ravine. Rolled a few times. Looked like her door was crushed in and she couldn’t get it open. That’s when the car caught fire. Description of her hands, my best guess is she banged on the glass in terror until she broke it by putting her hands through it.” Kyle looked at Michael. They had known each other for a long time. Never friends. “She was lucky to survive.”

Michael just nodded. She had almost burned alive in that car. He swallowed the rising bile created by that thought, and then suddenly went still. Kyle was staring at his jacket. “What?”

Kyle pointed to his arm and shoulders. “Bloodstains.”

Michael swallowed his response and just shrugged nonchalantly. “Yeah, her hands where bleeding again when I took her in, even through all the gauze I had. Guess I need to replace it at the drug store. Anyway, her feet were all scraped and stuff, so I carried her.” Michael’s eyes narrowed at Kyle’s look of surprise. “What? You expected me to force an injured bleeding woman to walk barefoot across the parking lot of the ER?”

“No. Of course not. That was nice of you.”

“The hell it was! Got her off my property and out of my house didn’t it?” Michael said nastily, as he just walked away. Kyle nodded and went back inside.

Looking down at the flier, Michael read the information and shoved it in his pocket. Maria DeLuca. Tucson, Arizona. What the hell are you doing in my neck of the woods? Who the hell is shooting at you?

 

 

 

 

Chapter 3: All the times, that I felt insecure

 

 

Michael was careful not to look in the backseat. Keeping his eyes forward, he was surprised at the silence. Stopping at the Shopping Rite mart, he quickly went in and grabbed essential groceries plus a few extras, including more gauze, antiseptic and bandages. The lump in the back floorboard was still there, so he hoped that was her and not just a wadded up blanket. He couldn’t risk looking. Unloading the groceries into the trunk, he turned towards home.

Once there he left her in the back while he unloaded the groceries. Walking up his drive, he pulled his gate closed and padlocked it. Best way to rid himself of unwanted guests. Usually he only locked his gate when he was away on assignment, but this time he wanted some early warning of visitors.

Opening the back door, he looked down. She was balled up into an impossibly small bundle, asleep. Taking her arm, he frowned at the remains of a needle prick. Bastards. They drugged her. No wonder she hadn’t moved. Gently removing her from the car, he carried her back inside. He’d worry about what to do with her later. Taking her into his house and up some stairs, he entered his bedroom. He grimaced. His bed was still unmade, clothes were everywhere, and he knew the sheets weren’t clean. Looking down at the woman, he shrugged. Well, neither was she.

Placing her gently on the bed, he rushed downstairs and put away the food. Gathering up the medical supplies, he went back upstairs and took out a basin and filled it with warm water. Pouring an entire bottle of alcohol into the water, he slowly unwrapped her hands.

Shit! They looked worse. Washing them with the water and alcohol, he wasn’t surprised that she didn’t wake. They gave her something strong. Bastards. She was obviously concussed. Checking her eyes, he noticed how small her pupils were. Not worrying about waking or hurting her with the antiseptic, he went back to cleaning her feet and hands, and finally her face. She was going to wake up with one hell of a headache. Michael swore. He didn’t really have much in the way of painkillers or even drugs in his house. Aliens were too sensitive.

Talking to her while he worked, “Don’t think this means I like you. Or that I’m going to let you stay. You’re too much trouble. A risk. I don’t need some psychotic Fed looking at me that closely.” Michael gently moved her hair from her face and washed the cut on her head again. “I don’t get intense. Never. Not about anything. Not about women. I can’t. I’m alone, and that’s the way it’s always been, the way it has to be.”

Covering her up, he paused to stare at the tattoo on her foot. It was a Chinese character. Michael liked tattoos. He had two so far. Turning off the light, he went downstairs and tried to think of what he needed to feed her later. Michael was cleaning carrots for a homemade chicken soup, when he realized that he had decided she could stay.

The phone rang.

“Yeah.”

“Michael, it’s Max.” Michael closed his eyes, and sighed. It figured. Isabel. She did this.

“Don’t have time to talk, Maxwell.” Michael moved to hang up the phone, but Max’s voice stopped him.

“I’m at the gate. So either come let me in, or I’ll do it myself.” Fuck! Michael looked around his place. Walking with the cell phone, he quickly removed all traces of Maria. “Do whatever the hell you want! You always do.”

Max swore at his phone when the click came meaning Michael had hung up. Taciturn, pissy bastard! Max quickly opened the gate and left his car outside. Walking down the drive, he once again admired the silence and space Michael had made for himself. Of the three of them, Michael was the most financially set. His writing was going well, and it left him time to work on projects at home, to travel, and to basically shut out the world and Roswell.

Opening the door, Max put his coat down, and followed the noise to the kitchen. Michael was cooking. Actually, after all these years, and spending time during high school as a short order cook at the Crashdown, Michael wasn’t too bad. He wasn’t great, but between him and the others, he could actually make a few decent edible things. Max was King of the microwave, anything reconstituted from a box or frozen chicken pieces. Pizza rolls. They made a decent meal. Isabel? The fire department was generally alerted when they even suspected she was going to attempt to cook.

“Michael.”

Michael just kept on cooking. Washing the chicken, he skinned it and removed excess fat. Tossing it in a skillet with hot olive oil, some shallots and garlic, he quickly browned the outside, and then transferred the entire mess into a pot of boiling water with a bay leaf and cracked pepper. Max sat there watching Michael chopping up vegetables.

“What’re you making?”

“Chicken soup. A strong one so I can cream it.” Michael washed his hands and dried them, reaching into his refrigerator he took out a Snapple and a beer.  Max noticed the beer, but refrained from commenting.

What Max wanted was obvious. Michael took out a mixing bowl and began to make bread. He didn’t mind doing it since it gave him an outlet for his hands and the advantage of beating the shit out of the dough. Hank. Max wanted to talk about Hank and ancient history.

“It was an accident. I never meant to intrude.”

“I know. So don’t.”

Max sighed. “I can’t not say anything. Not...”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. You think social services didn’t know? That teachers couldn’t figure it out? You didn’t know because you didn’t want to know.” Michael finished adding the flour, and then turned it out on the floured counter. Kneading. It made a better bread. Broke down the glutten.

Slap.

Bang.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Max winced, watching Michael becoming more and more violent with the dough. Was it Hank he saw, or Max? Hard to say. Both were still hurting him. Finally Michael stopped and took down a clean bowl, added oil and tossed the dough inside, covered it, and set it off by the stove to rise.

“Feel better?”

Michael washed his hands and checked his cooking chicken. Turning it down to low, he just ignored Max and went down the stairs to his basement. His pleasure den. Big screen TV with a nice worn and comfortable sofa, a place to relax while watching hockey or the latest game of any sport. There were also a foosball game, pool table, darts, a few video games, the large ones saved from an out of business arcade. His PlayStation was hooked up to a special TV. Walking out on the patio beneath his upper deck, he went around the corner next to the wood pile where he had found Maria mere hours previously. Taking off his shirt, he started splitting wood.

Max watched him a little while, but before he could say anything, Burns walked around the building. Michael saw the Fed and swore.

“You left the gate open? Right?”

“Sorry. I just assumed you locked it to keep me out.”

Michael just snorted. “Fat load of crapping good that would do! Thanks, Maxwell.” Michael went back to splitting wood. “Special Agent Burns, I already turned your woman over to the hospital. You are once again trespassing on my land.”

“I heard, Mr. Guerin .” The agent noticed Max’s startled reaction to his name. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Michael stopped and tossed the pieces of wood on the pile and grabbed a few more that needed splitting. “Why should I? She was injured. I’m assuming you’d take her in for medical care. Decided to get her the hell off my land and out of my hands immediately. I figured you could re-acquire her there.” Michael stopped and smiled at the man not so nicely. “I did stop at the PD to inform them of her whereabouts.”

“She’s missing again.”

“Not my problem.”

“They had restrained her because she was agitated and causing her hands to bleed. When they came back, her restraints were unfastened and she was gone.”

Michael just kept on splitting the wood. “Slippery character. Seemed sort of small and delicate to me...being a shifty creature. Any relationship to Houdini?”

“This is not a laughing matter, Mr. Guerin .”

Michael embedded the ax in the wood with an angry stroke. Standing up tall to his full height he stared the agent down. “No, it’s not! Once again - twice in one day - you’re invading my privacy, which constitutes harassment. I found your girl. I turned her over. I’m not responsible for finding her every time you lose her. Now get off my property.”

A flushed red color was creeping up Burns' neck. Michael just walked back into his house. Both Burns and Max followed. Burns looked the place over and took in the quietness and the silence of Guerin ’s friend. If she was there, it didn’t look like it.

“Burns, now you’re in my house after I expressly asked you to scram. Do I need to contact your immediate supervisor?”

Burns ignored Michael’s threat. “Just one question, and I’ll leave.”

“Whatever.”

“You bought gauze and bandages, why?”

Michael just shook his head and walked over to another counter. Picking up his first aid kit, he opened it and showed Burns all the missing materials. Going over to a bag he had yet to unpack, he took out some rolls of bandages, gauze, antiseptic cream, and medical tape. He came back over to the counter, and calmly placed them into his first aid kit. Closing it. He lifted his brow.

“Your daffy chick was hurt. I cleaned her hands and wrapped them. I was just replacing the supplies.”

Burns thought about it. “So you’re saying you haven’t seen Maria DeLuca since you took her to the hospital.”

“Haven’t spoken a word to her since I drove away from the hospital, no. DeLuca? So that’s her name? She was pretty confused. In shock and hysterical. Her memory was gone, and all she remembered was that her name was Maria. All in all, she was a quiet thing. That was a bonus point in her favor. I hate a yakking woman who doesn’t know how to shut up.”

“You are a charmer, Mr. Guerin . It’s a shocker you’re not married.”

Michael just smirked. A blessing was more like it. “Maxwell, you mind showing the Special Agent out? It was after all your fault he got in.”

Max escorted Burns out, and while he was gone, Michael quickly went over to the brown paper bag and put it away before Max noticed just how much gauze and bandages he had bought. Looking off in the distance thinking of his bedroom in the split level addition above his den, he hoped Maria stayed asleep for awhile, or at least long enough for him to get rid of Max.

“What was that about, Michael?”

“You heard.”

“I heard that you found an accident victim, but...Jesus! A Fed! In your house! Dammit, Michael that feels too close.”

“I got rid of the girl as soon as I could, and I locked my gate as you know. You’re the one who let him in.”

“How was I to know?”

“Try calling before just showing up. What’re ya doing here anyway?”

Max just shook his head. Denial. Almost a dare to tell him. Michael was avoiding again, sending out 'back off' vibes. “You know why.”

“Maxwell, I’m not in the mood. Just tell me what I have to do to get rid of you.”

Max looked away. Fine. Let him run. Sooner or later, it all had to come to a head. “Be my best man at my wedding.”

“I don’t belong there.”

“The hell you don’t!” Max forgot himself. “You’re my brother. You’re my best friend. And no one and nothing means more to me than you.”

“Max, not a smart thing to say from a newly engaged man. Don’t let your fiancée hear you.”

“Liz understands, Michael. More than you give her credit for. She understands that it’s important to me to have my family with me, around me. It’s important that you learn to accept her. She’s not going to push. She’s not going to take me away, so can’t you just unbend and meet us somewhere near halfway? Not even halfway. Liz and I will make the added effort and go the extra distance.” Max rubbed his hands on the back of his suddenly stiff neck. “Dammit, brother, don’t make me carry the whole load.”

Michael was silent as he took out the chicken and began to remove the bones. Cutting the chicken into pieces and putting it back in the pot, he added the vegetables. Michael concentrated on stirring the pot.

“How far do you need me to come?” he asked quietly.

“Say you’ll be there. Drink a toast at my wedding, and get the damn tux fitted, and I’ll back off on the past and Hank until another time when you can handle it better.”

Michael nodded. “Okay.” He looked up at his brother. “For you. Not for Liz. Maybe someday when I know her better I’ll consider her as well, but for now…just for you.”

Max smiled big and despite how much Michael hated it, he hugged him. Hugged him tight, and wouldn’t let him worm out of it. He might not think he needed it, but Max knew he did. “Thanks, Michael.”

“Get out of here now and lock my damn gate!” Max just laughed and waved.

“I’ll leave the time for the fitting on your answering machine, and don’t be late or my mom will track you down! You don’t think Isabel learned to be the Christmas Nazi from nowhere?”

Michael stood stonefaced. Oh damn. Kicking a downed man. Unconscionable.  Mrs. Evans on his doorstep. He was moving. There had to be somewhere that had no people.

 

~~~

 

“Hey, honey.”

“Scumbag.”

“Oh come on, Vic. Don’t be that way.” Kyle sat down and took off his shoes. Damn his feet hurt! “Missing persons. We found her, and now she’s gone again. It’s an interesting case.”

Kyle smiled when the twins came running through the door and tossed themselves at him. They both looked like miniature Jims. His dad was proud. And they were a handful. Kyle looked at his tired wife and suddenly stood up. Hugging her from behind, he held her close.

“I’ve got the next seventy-two hours off. Why don’t you go and take a nice long bubble bath?”

“I’ve got to feed the boys.”

“Jamie’s asleep?” Vicky nodded. “Then go. I’ll feed the deadly duo.” Kyle kissed her on the forehead and pushed her towards the door. “Go! It’ll be alright.”

She was unhappy. He could tell. The set of her shoulders, the frown on her face, the smiles that used to be there all the time were strangely absent. She needed to get out of the house more. She needed a life beyond the house and kids.

Looking down at his boys, Kyle smiled. “Who wants to help dad cook?” Both small hands came up at the same time. “Okay, well I think that whoever can go pick up and put away their toys first gets to be my special helper. But they’ll have to do it fast, and quietly, and be back here as soon as then can.” And almost before it was out of his mouth, both little bodies were gone. Kyle took a second to start the dishes and clean up the kitchen. Picking up the phone he made a call.

“Hey, Sam? Yeah, Kyle. Listen, you said that your mother was looking for an afternoon babysitting job right? Yeah. What are her rates, and can she handle my two twins and a one year old baby? Sure. Her place? The boys would probably see that as an adventure. Yeah give me the number, okay?”

Kyle quickly made a few calls and then finished the dishes before the boys were back, both pushing the other. “Oh no! You both won! Well, guess I’ll be needing two extra special helpers tonight. It looks like hotdogs!” The boys made happy sounds. Strange. They seemed to be able to eat endless amounts of hotdogs. “Okay, one gets to add the relish, and the other gets to add the mustard.”

After he had them fed, he finally put them to bed, and went to find Vicky. She was asleep in the bath. It was cold. Pulling the drain. He refilled the bath with hot water, waking her, and smiling he slowly disrobed.

“You going to move forward and let me share?”

Vicky smiled at him. Damn him. It was impossible to stay mad at him for long. He was just so darn cute, and sexy, and smart, and…oh yeah, sexy.

“Why Deputy, what did you have in mind?” Vicky laughed when he stepped in to the bath without even bothering to remove the remainder of his clothes.

 

~~~

 

It was dark outside, and Maria was still asleep. Michael turned on a small light in his bedroom and stood watching her. She needed to rest. Food would come later. Partially closing the door behind him, he went downstairs. The soup was done. Turning it off, he quickly made the bread and set it back to rise again.

Maria DeLuca. From Tucson. Why Roswell? Was she just traveling through? Michael thought about it for a moment and then suddenly grabbed his keys. Going into his garage, he took out his bike. A Harley. Another toy. He spent a lot of time buying himself toys. Never understood why.

Hoping she didn’t wake too soon while he was gone, he drove to the Roswell PD. Parking his bike a few blocks away, he let himself in through the service entrance. Going upstairs to the Sheriff’s office, he checked the quiet halls. No one. It was night staff only. Mostly officers at the main desk, dispatch, and the night patrols were out on their normal rounds. No one guarded a Police station. Opening the Sheriff’s door was a piece of cake.

One the Sheriff’s desk was a file. Maria DeLuca. Michael quickly scanned the information including the forensic report on the car, what was found, and the condition of the car. Putting it back where he found it, Michael saw a medallion in a plastic bag. Taking it out, he fell over as a flash hit him. Maria and an older man. They were arguing…

“What is this?” Maria asked. Her voice rising in anger, anger and something else…disappointment.

“A present. A present to…”

“To what? Pay me off?” She handed it back to him. “I don’t want this. I never did. All I wanted was for you to care, to want to care. Dammit! I’m not going to cry!”

“Maria…”

“Don’t use my name, you bastard! There’s nothing you have I want. Nothing you can say…”

“Just listen. Please. I’m in trouble.”

Maria laughed bitterly. “Great! Just great! So now you need me? Now I have a purpose, a use? I didn’t enter your life to become some damn pawn!”

Maria grabbed her bag to leave, but the man grabbed her arm. “Take this!”

“No!”

He pushed the medallion in her pocket. “Take it anyway. Not as payment, or even a memory, but take it as a token of what could have been.”

“Fine.” And she was gone slamming the door.

Michael shook himself. The scene running over and over in his head. Her voice was so angry, so disappointed and hurt. He held the medallion in his hand for a moment  and then pocketed it. Hearing sounds in the hall, it was apparent that his falling alerted someone. Putting away the file, he opened the window shades. There were bars. Reaching out, he melted the wrought iron joints, climbed through and with his powers, reattached the joints. Dropping from the second story, he hit the dumpster, and was out and around the corner before anyone came to look out the window.

The facts from the forensics report were playing over and over in his mind. Where she lived. Who she was. Single, twenty-five, artist, and no blots on her record, except an insane mother. Her car was clean, paid for, insured, and she had no outstanding fines accept a few unpaid parking tickets. Her mother was Amy DeLuca, owner and proprietor of an upscale art gallery in Tucson, and her daughter was a silent partner and one of the major artists and talents they sold in the gallery. They had lived in Tucson since Maria was seven, but before that, they were natives of Roswell, New Mexico.

The items in her car were a shoe, her burnt purse with her wallet, credit cards, checkbook, and money. The keys to the car and her home were still in the ignition. A few CDs of dubious taste, others not so bad, and a few he owned himself. A book. Medallion. Road Atlas partially burned. Nothing else.

Michael turned towards home. Nothing else. It worried him. She was from Tucson. It was late when the accident happened. Where were her clothes? No bags, no travel cases, and no overnight case with necessities. She could barely expect to make it home to Tucson. When Michael approached his house, he quickly stopped and locked the gate behind him. Entering the kitchen from the garage, he turned on the oven for the bread. It was on the verge of over proofing, and he turned the soup back on to warm.

Running up the stairs, he stopped in the doorway. She was still asleep. Restless. She had tossed off her covers. He could see her bandaged feet. He had cleaned and wrapped them, but the hands were so much worse. She could lose the use of one or both of them. He had found deeply embedded glass in one. He remembered the first time she looked at her hands. She had wept. Artist. Her hands were her livelihood.

She began to move in her sleep. The sounds were soft, but full of distress. He quickly went to her side as her dreams became even more disturbed. She suddenly sat up afraid, and in the soft light of the room, with his body shadowed, she scurried away from him in fear. As soon as her hands hit the bed with her body weight, she cried in distress and pain.

“Maria! Maria, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Michael gathered her in his arms and rocked her for a moment and soothed the side of her face. “It’s Michael. You’re safe.”

Taking a glass of water he left at the bedside, he helped her take a few sips. She settled. He could feel her heart racing, and then slowly calm. Finally he looked down and she was asleep again. Holding her for a moment longer, his hand rubbed her back, and he closed his eyes and rested with her. For a moment.

 

~~~

 

Kyle laid back in bed, watching his wife put on lotion at the vanity. Every night without fail, she followed the same routine. It was more comforting than a beer on a warm summer day. It felt like home.

“You’re unhappy.”

Vicky just shook her head. “No. I love my life. I love you. I love the boys.”

“Vicky, it’s okay to need more. I don’t mind. And I want you to have it all. Have us, have our family, and I want you to have yourself too.”

Vicky sighed and put away the lotion. Turning off her vanity light, she lit the candles in the room and went to sit on the bed facing her husband. Beautiful. He was beautiful. Kyle was a true beauty for a man. His character and good looks started on the inside and shone right on out. They were brilliant and stark. Excellent and sterling. At times he was such a boy, and other times, he was so understanding.

His brown hair was close to his head in almost a skullcap, and his rich hazel brown eyes twinkled with humor, sincerity and life. He tried hard to be everything to everyone. It was wrong. Wrong to want to keep him to herself. To bind him to her, away from his friends and his job.

“I’m fine.” Kyle sat up and pulled her along his length, loving her slim long frame. Three babies, and she still looked like a fashion model. His girl. His wife. Kissing her gently, he rested his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes.

“No, you’re not. That’s why I arranged for Sam’s mom to take the boys in her daycare clinic in the afternoons. That time is yours. Whatever you want to do. Take a class. Get a part-time job, or just go shopping with friends. I don’t care how you use your time. I just care about you.”

“Kyle…we can’t afford that. We already refinanced the house. The boys? I swear they're eating their socks, because I can’t find them. Jamie is demanding, and too young to leave alone.”

“No, he’s not. They’ll be fine.” Kyle sat up and ran his hands under her golden blonde hair framing her face. “They’ll be fine. I swear. Take the time, Vicky. Take it for you, and take it for us. I know my job is demanding. And it takes me away at odd hours. But we can make it somehow.”

Vicky closed her eyes and rested against his gentle hands. God, how could she want this so bad? How could she justify the expense? “I can’t.”

“You can. We’ll use the money left to me in my grandfather’s will.”

“We were saving that for the boys’ college fund.”

Kyle nodded. True. But circumstances changed. “It was supposed to be an investment in our future. And that means you, too. I choose to invest in you. The boys…we’ll take care of that later. Without you, there is no future.”

She laid down next to her husband, resting and quiet for the first time in days. Her insides had been shaking, and so many things were racing through her head, sometimes too fast for her to even know what it was she really wanted. Kyle noticed. He noticed her. That was better than any gift he ever gave her, save her sons.

Resting in bed with him, and the boys sleeping, she rubbed herself up against him. “I want to go back to school. Finish my degree.”

“College?”

“No silly! High School! Of course college. The first time I was so fixated on image and partying, being popular and all that stuff that I didn’t pay attention. I did the core curriculum, but I never really majored, or decided what I wanted to do with my life.”

Kyle rubbed his chin on her head. “Okay. So now you do. So what is it? What do you want to be?”

“You’ll laugh. I know my grades weren’t the best, and...”

“Vicky. Just tell me.”

She took a deep breath and waited for his reaction. “I want to be a special education teacher, work with children with special needs.” She paused, but then rushed on, “I know that it sounds ridiculous, but...”

Vicky couldn’t talk anymore because Kyle was kissing her. Kissing her hard. When he pulled away, she looked up at him, meeting his eyes in a daze. What? What was that for?

“God, I love you! I could totally see you doing that! You would be perfect! Beautiful, dazzling, patient, and concerned. I can already see you. Money well spent!”

Vicky sat up. “Really?”

Her heat was beating out of control. His support. His belief. It meant everything. Her eyes filled with tears, and her smile pulled at the side of her mouth.

“Really.”

Kyle laughed as his wife tossed herself back into his arms. Her happiness and excitement a tangible thing. “You are so going to get lucky, Deputy! Poor tired old thing!”

Kyle just smirked and then he said softly in his wife’s hair, “So that bowling thing? It’s okay, right?” He yelped loud when she pinched his stomach.

 

~~~

 

“So he said yes?”

Max nodded as he helped her finish cleaning the floors of the Crashdown. They were running late with closing tonight. Liz had waited for him, and after he came back from Michael’s he helped her finish up the night at the diner. “He said he would, but I think I won't get my hopes up until he shows up for the fitting.”

Liz laughed at Max and kissed him, her hand lingering on his cheek. Looking deep in his eyes, her large brown ones softened. “You are a smart man!”

“That I am.”

“I can’t believe he’s doing this for us.” Liz started helping Max put up the chairs. Michael was coming around, and the relief in Max was apparent.

Max frowned. “Look, Lizzie. Could you not get too hopeful? Okay? I mean he said he’d be my best man, that he came that far, but don’t start thinking he’s suddenly okay with it. He just doing it for me.”

Liz paused, sucking in her breath, some of the happiness leaching away. “For you? But not for us, and not for me?”

“No.” Max took her arm and pulled her next to him. “Don’t take it personally. Just don’t, okay? Michael has never been easy. In all these years, he’s never changed. Never had a reason to believe in love, or family, or really much of anything. There was never a reason for him to change. He does feel things, but those feelings are foreign to him, and sometimes he just doesn’t understand what it is he's feeling or what it means.”

“He still wishes you weren’t marrying me?”

“Not you personally, Liz. Anyone. He just sees it as a break in the pact between the three of us. A betrayal by letting someone else into the 'big alien conspiracy'. He’ll get over it once he realizes that it doesn’t have to mean danger or change anything.”

“I suppose.”

Max didn’t like how her voice was so lacking in conviction. “He’s just a little wired. Having a FBI Agent on his doorstep isn’t helping.”

“FBI? What did he do?”

Max frowned at the unsaid words ‘this time’ evident in Liz’s voice. He allowed himself to be irritated with how people judged Michael, or just assumed he was in the wrong. It wasn’t really Liz’s fault. It was literally the way the entire community had thought of him since childhood. And even when he started making a name for himself as a writer and bought his first home, that image lingered.

“Nothing. He found the accident victim Kyle was looking for last night.”

Liz grabbed his hand and made him sit at the bar. “Okay, tell me the whole story!”

Liz listened, amazed at the run of bad luck this one woman could have. First the accident, then wandering in the dark, and finally having the misfortune to wind up on the doorstep of Roswell’s most famous and unpleasant recluse. Michael was notorious about guarding his property and his privacy. “He didn’t hurt her, did he?”

Max just made a face. “Of course not! Michael is incapable of hurting anything. He talks a mean talk, but mostly I find him mending hurt creatures and nursing them back to health. Granted it is usually small furry animals, and even despite his raccoon rants, he didn’t have the heart to evict the raccoon family. He called animal control to do that. Most people wouldn’t have waited an entire summer to get the job done, and I caught him leaving them special food and treats.”

Liz laughed at that. Michael Guerin , Big Softy was not an image she could clarify or even conceive of in her head. He was just this big blank-faced, snide man, who through high school was number one on every girl’s lust list. It was the dark nasty brooding temper that kept them all intrigued, and the few girls who made it to the eraser room with him actually told incredible tales of powerful lust. Of course, those stories were pretty much ignored as pure fantasy, since Michael rarely wasted his time visiting the eraser room with the same girl more than once.

But since Liz now had some insight into alien sex, it was easier to understand how true those stories might have been. Amazing. In the last few months she had had to reevaluate everything she thought to be true, and add in an additional perspective.  One thing that still bothered her was that Max never offered to take her to their pod chamber. It seemed that all of them avoided it, and Michael was the only one who actually visited it the most. But over the years, even he visited it less and less.

They weren’t coming for him. No one was.

 

~~~

 

Michael sat reading in a chair beside his bed. It took a few moments for him to realize that he was being watched. Looking up, he stared into a pair of clear green eyes. They had lost that wild confused look, and suddenly he felt the full impact of her stare. Putting his reading material down, he continued to study her. Her face on the side that must have hit the driver’s side window was a nice display of color, the most prominent being a sickly green, tinged in purple. The swelling looked almost gone.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and probed her face, touching her cheekbone to discern if there were any shattered bones. Maria was quiet under his touch, and for a second she closed her eyes. Michael stopped. What the hell was his problem? Clearing his throat, he stood up awkwardly.

“You hungry? Think you can hold down some soup? It’s homemade creamed chicken vegetable.” Swallowing a curse at his rapid questions too fast that she never had a chance to answer, she just nodded.

Michael left the room quickly. He was a frickin’ alien, and suddenly his body felt exactly that to him. What the hell made her affect him so violently? The eyes. They were clear and piercing. Those lips? They drew his eyes more than he wanted to admit.

He sliced some fresh bread, warmed a bowl of soup in the microwave, added a bottle of Diet Peach Snapple and slowly ascended the stairs carrying the tray. Coffee. He should’ve made coffee! Cursing under his breath, Michael just paused and closed his eyes. He hated her. Without trying, she was making him act like an idiot.

The bed was empty. He could hear the water running in the bathroom. It took a moment for him to realize it was the shower. Setting down the tray, Michael rushed downstairs to make that coffee wondering if she used sugar or cream.

Maria hobbled into the bathroom. At first she was just going to use the facilities, but as soon as she was in the room, she couldn’t resist the call of the shower. Standing beneath it, the hot water felt good. It prickled her skin and made the minor cuts sting. But it felt alive. She felt alive.

Only staying in there long enough to clean her skin and shampoo her hair, she quickly got out and dried off. The short hospital gown sat on the floor in a lump, and she couldn’t even reach for it. Instead she saw a t-shirt. It was black and long on her, hitting her at the knees. A Metallica concert shirt. It smelt of Michael. She had spent enough time plastered against his body in the last twenty-four hours, she didn’t think she would ever forget his scent.

Maria stood in front of the mirror at the sink, and she couldn’t move.

Michael waited, but he couldn’t hear her moving inside. The shower had been turned off quite a few moments before. Afraid she had fainted or needed his help, he knocked on the door.

“Maria? You okay?” There was no answer. “Maria?”

Michael tried the door. She stood in front of the mirror staring at herself, transfixed.

“Maria?”

“Who am I?” she asked softly. Moving her head around, she looked at the stranger looking back at her in the mirror. “I can’t brush my hair.”

Michael looked down at her bandaged hands. They were wet. She must have used them to wash her hair. The bandages would need to be changed.

“The soap hurt my hands.”

Michael came into the room noticing her in his Metallica World Tour shirt. Taking a brush, he started to brush her hair. He stopped. “There’s still soap in your hair.” He reached across her to turn on the sink faucet. Testing the water, he gently bent her forward, and he finished rinsing out her hair. Reaching into the shower, he took some conditioner and quickly added it to help make the brush move through her hair easier and to release any snags. When he was done she stood upright and watched as he towel dried her hair and then brushed it. Her eyes never wavered, and Michael's eyes met hers. They stood staring at each other in the mirror as he finished.

Shaking his head to clear it, he put down the brush. “C’mon. Your soup will get cold.”

Maria nodded and tried to walk, but her feet were too tender, and the water had only made them more sensitive. Michael quickly scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. While she was in the shower he had taken the opportunity to change the sheets, remake the bed, and pick up his room. Setting her down among the clean bedding, he put the tray over her lap. Michael waited for her to eat, but she just sat there looking down. He followed her glance and saw her hands.

She couldn’t hold anything. Michael picked up the spoon and fed her. She didn’t eat much, just managing a small cup of soup and a slice of bread. Suddenly it was like she was out of energy. But the coffee seemed to make her happy.

Maria was in pain. He could feel it. See it in her eyes. He didn’t have anything to give her. Leaving her for a moment he went to look in his bathroom. Nothing. Tylenol. Tylenol he just recently started taking for those headaches he got.

“Here, take a few of these. It’s just Tylenol.” Maria nodded and swallowed the tablets. Damn. She needed something stronger.

“Why?” Michael just looked at her. “Why are you helping me?”

Michael just shrugged, and avoided her eyes.

“Do I know you?”

“No. We never met until yesterday.” Michael took her coffee cup and refilled it. Placing it on the bedside table, he took the tray away and placed it on the floor.

“Then why? You must be a very nice man.”

Michael almost snorted aloud, but looking at her, he didn’t. It was hard to admit, but he wanted her to think of him that way, to see something good in him. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know Michael Guerin , Roswell bad boy. Recluse. Bastard. Forgotten.

“No. I’m not a nice man.” Lying would have choked him. Lying to her. He helped her drink another cup of coffee. “Helping you is something...not me.”

“Well, I think it is. For what it’s worth. Thank you.”

Michael just nodded. He didn’t know why. That was a lie. Broken. He never knew how broken he was until he stood facing her. The pain, panic and hysterical fear. It felt like him. It was too close to the surface since Hank died. Close enough for Max to take the memories in a flash.

He had waited his whole life for them to come. To take him to some place better than Roswell. He had given up. But when he stared at her, it finally became clear. He was still waiting. For something. Something that would give his life meaning, make a difference.

Seeing her pain and fear touched him. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He was going to get her home. No one should be lost from their home and world. No one should be so afraid it was breaking their bones inside from the shaking. Her confused lost mind was searching for herself, and someone was going to win this time.

“You need to sleep.” He settled her in the bed, and she looked around.

“This is your bedroom?”

He just nodded and covered her. Leaving her for a moment, he went to take the tray away and get some supplies to bandage her feet and hands again. When he came back she was frowning.

“I don’t want to take your bed. I could sleep in a spare room.”

“This is the only bedroom. When I had the house built, I didn’t see any reason to build more than one. I don’t like visitors.”

“I’m in your way.”

“You’re starting to piss me off. If you try to get up, that will be a fact. Just settle down and rest.” Maria nodded at her reluctant host. He was strange. His voice was gruff and exact, but there was a gentleness in his hands. A kindness he denied.

Maria was quiet for a moment. “Where are you going to be?”

“Downstairs. Below is my den where I write. I’ll sack out on my sofa in there.”

Maria grabbed his hand, ignoring the pain it caused. “Stay. Please.”

Michael just nodded. Settling her down, he picked up his reading again. She was quiet, and after a while he looked at her. She was still awake. Just staring at him.

“Come to bed,” she said.

Michael’s heart raced in his chest. His bed. Damn! There was a woman in his bed. That was new to this house. He didn’t bring anyone here. He didn’t want them to leave their any possible essence or memories that would haunt him when he was alone. But there she was. In his bed.

“Maria...”

“It’s okay. You can recline here and read. The light won’t bother me.” Her voice became softer, almost too low to hear. “I’m afraid. You’ll keep the nightmares away.”

Michael doubted that, but he stood and moved her over to the other side. Stretching out in the area vacated by her, he almost moaned at the warmth of the area. Quickly, he felt her forehead. She might be a little warmer than normal. Lying back, he heard her sigh, and suddenly she was curled up at his side with her head on his chest. Her wounded hand rested on him.

Michael read into the night as she slept unmoving, and for once without distress. Every once in awhile he checked her skin. It was dry and hot. She had a fever. Frowning, he woke her once to take more Tylenol. But she quickly resettled and went back to sleep.

Waking hours later, he reached over and turned off the light. Snuggling down in the bedding with her next to him, he fell back asleep. For the first time, he didn’t feel alone.