Missing…..

Isabel and Max stood and stared, neither able to move. There was too much there, too much of the mystery that was them. The next step in a journey to find who they were, and there it was, on canvass, living large in a public arena.

Isabel shook her head, her hands on her hip. “This isn't good, you know.” Anger, it was so much easier to feel than this crippling fear. How could he?

Max nodded, amazed by how inappropriate this was. “No, I see that.” They were so intent on the painting, they missed Michael joining them.

“It's pretty good, huh? I didn't even know I could paint. But Mr. Cowan said it's the best thing that's come out of this class all year.” Michael pushed his hands in his pocket, rocking on his feet. Inordinately pleased, it was good to see what he wanted documented in a manner he could never find words to explain. Maybe it was good just to finally have someone value his effort.

Isabel looked at him, her voice a waspish whisper. “Michael, this isn't right.”

“What isn't?” Michael’s glance moved over the painting. No. It was perfect. Just as he saw it.

Idiot! Isabel gestured at the painting. “A public display...your thing just sitting here.”

“This is not a thing, all right? It's...I'm not exactly sure what it is, but...” Michael tried to swallow his anger, his hurt, but her attitude was confrontational.

Max quickly looked around, and then inserted himself between the two. “What Isabel is trying to say is that it's not a very good idea. It could be dangerous.” He bit the inside of his mouth at the look that moved over Michael’s face. Anger. Disgust. Bitter unhappiness…Hurt.

“Dangerous? How can it be dangerous? It doesn't mean anything to anyone, including myself.” They were taking everything from him. This had been his, a gift, a special power exclusive to him. They had their dreamwalking and healing, but this…this was his.

“But Michael, that's not really the point. The point is we shouldn't be taking chances like this.”

Michael snorted in anger. Oh, that was so rich! “You did.”

“Yes, I did. That's right.” Max looked around again to see if anyone was staring at them. Damn, they looked suspicious.

“But, what? You can take chances and I can't? You can roll the dice with our lives, but if anyone else does,” said Michael gesturing in anger and frustration, “I mean...God forbid, you know...”

“I saved someone's life, Michael.” Max reminded him. “I wasn't dabbling in the arts.” Max could feel Michael’s anger and hurt at their reaction, but he couldn’t deal with that right now. He had no time. Not with Liz’s journal missing, Michael creating alien related pictures, and Isabel’s increasing anxiety. Something had to give.

Michael stared at him, the incredible double standard such a stark point in the difference between them. Max was excused of everything. Michael was not. Looking at Isabel and Max standing as a united front, Michael turned and stalked off. What the hell was the point?

Dabbling. Fuck that shit. He was trying to save a damn life, too. His own.

~~~

It was late. Mr. Cowan checked the art display one last time before shutting the lights. He was surprised to see one lone figure remaining in the hall.

“Ms. DeLuca, this is a surprise.” Rocking on his feet, he looked at the young girl. “I thought after our last run-in that we agreed that art was not your medium.”

“That paint incident was totally not my fault! Those caps are a menace.”

“So you told me.” Mr. Cowan looked at the painting she was staring at. “Tell me, what do you think?”

He expected a shrug, or an offhanded remark. Teenagers weren’t known for their appreciation of the arts, except for those few who actually had an aptitude.

Maria stared at it a moment more, her arms around her middle, hugging herself tight. She cleared her throat, unsure how to find words for the emotions she found inside.

“Hope,” she whispered.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Cowan moved closer, surprised by the insight. It was hope, in every line, like a discovery of color splashed in a field of white. Bright. Light reflecting off something almost metallic and brilliant.

“It feels like awe and hope, desire…” Maria frowned in confusion. She couldn’t say why, but it felt like something she knew. Not the picture or whatever it was, but the feeling. There was an intensity caught in the medium of acrylic. “The dark hard lines, fusing to the lighter…it is like stepping out of a shadow into the daylight.”

The two of them quietly stood there staring.

~~~

Michael sighed, looking in the Crashdown. Great. Of all the places he wanted to be in the world, this was the last. Liz Parker was working late shutting down the café. Michael took a deep breath and entered.

Liz looked over as Michael entered the place, her face frowning in worry. Max told. He had to have. “Sorry, we're closed.” Michael didn’t say anything, and Liz licked her lips nervously, suddenly understanding a little more about Maria’s reactions. She had overlooked them, because she wanted to know Max. This was the first time she had to deal with an alien alone, one that wasn’t Max. “Michael...um, I'm sorry, the kitchen's closed.”

“That's all right. I just ate.”

Liz moved, shifting her weight. “Um, you know, actually this is for employees only.”

“Max told me what happened.” Liz closed her eyes for a moment, gulping hard. Oh god!

Feigning a calmness she did not feel, Liz tried to smile. It wasn’t working. “Oh...he did?” Michael was moving around the counter moving over to the dishes, picking up objects. “What did he say?”

“He said you wrote it all down, Liz.”

Liz gulped, unbelieving that Max would rat her out. “He said that?”

Michael picked up a dinner knife.

“What do you want?” Liz looked around the deserted café in desperation.

Michael looked at her for the first time, really looked at her. “I want you to know it wasn't smart to write all those things down, Liz.”

The sweat was running down her back, and her head was pounding. “Yeah...I know that now.”

“I knew it a week ago.”

Liz frowned. “Excuse me?”

“That was the night I sat in the first booth.” Michael gestured to where he had sat. “Maybe you remember.” He had been in for a quick meal, and it was slow. “It was late like tonight and you were at the counter...writing.” Michael stared intensely at her. “Homework?”

“Uh, yeah...a little bit.” That was a lie, she knew it, and a sneaking suspicion that Michael knew it too.”

“But it wasn't homework, was it?” Michael asked quietly.

Licking her lips for the hundredth time, Liz admitted the truth. “No, it wasn't.”

“You could have put us in an awful spot, Liz. Roswell 's not exactly the town you want to be unique in, if you know what I mean. You have to know who your friends are.” Michael looked at the knife running his thumb over the blade testing for sharpness. He laid it down on the counter, ignoring Liz’s gasp of relief. “I had to know the risk...so I had to know what your journal said.”

It was finally making sense, coming clear. “You took it...”

“I never meant for things to get out of control,” Michael said, “...it's nice to know we have at least one friend in this town.” He reached into his back pocket and took out her missing journal. Sliding it across the counter, he returned her property.

Liz stared at the notebook knowing what she wrote. “Does Max know that you...”

“No,” Michael said, his turn to be uncomfortable, “...and you know what would be really great? If you didn't tell him.”

It made no sense. She knew what was in the journal, and what he was like. “But why didn't you just destroy this, Michael? Because anyone who found this would know all about you.”

“No,” Michael shook his head, “...they'd know all about you, Liz.” He made a huffing noise under his breath. Leave it to Maxwell to lust after a girl who suddenly felt the same way. So the universe remained the same. Max always got lucky in some way, if not being adopted into a nice family, finding a real home, and now finding a girl that returned his feelings. “Thank you for giving me one more reason to envy Max Evans.”

Michael turned to leave. It was something. Max got lucky, and who knew, maybe someday, it would be his turn. Maybe he would get lucky enough to find home. He didn’t believe in unconditional love, and obviously Liz did, as did Max. But he did believe in one thing…he believed that out there somewhere there was a place he belonged. Envy was easy to feel when you had nothing, but it was also important. It kept you looking. Nothing would be worse than losing his ambition, and tonight Liz’s journal gave that back to him…a renewed desire to find that place he could call home.

“And you might want to get better window locks,” Michael said before he went through the door, “...for when your criminals happen to be human.”

Clutching her journal to her chest, Liz watched him walk off as she slowly turned to go return her journal to its rightful place. Michael Guerin might not like her, or even think that Max should’ve let her die, but he didn’t laugh at her innermost feelings. That was something. He was right. Her journal exposed her, everything about her, and what she felt about Max.