Nothing could have prepared me for this.  No amount of hospice counseling, or advice, or even steely-willed notions of self.  In the end, there’s only Liz and me, and I’m the one losing the battle here, not her, despite what the doctors say.

Her eyes flutter shut against the late afternoon sun, the rays filtering across the floor like a beacon, listless and sure.  We’ve been sitting this way for hours, poised on the brink of something we both know is unavoidable, but unwilling to speak of it.  When we came home earlier today, I carried her in my arms up the apartment stairs, my boots echoing hollowly off the concrete, as I took the careful steps one at a time. 

We’d arrived in the ambulance, and the paramedics had insisted on using a stretcher, until finally I pulled the senior guy aside, Jose I think his name was, and explained things to him.  We stood in the parking lot, shivering in the December cold, as I told him how it was going to be.  That nobody would carry Liz home for this last time except for me.  By God, she deserved to be cradled in the arms of someone who loved her, not strapped and hoisted and awkwardly toted up two solid flights of stairs.

Jose had stared at me blankly, clearly unconvinced, until in a very uncharacteristic show of diplomacy I added the word, “Please.”  Something in his expression softened then, and I think it was maybe the first time he let either of us become real to him.  Maybe that’s how you survive a job like that, the kind where you’re barely more than a liaison to the dying. 

He nodded solemnly, indicating the backdoors of the ambulance, and I scrambled inside.  Jose gestured silently to the two other medics who sat beside Liz, and they slowly freed her from the straps, as I squatted gingerly next to the gurney. 

“I’m going to carry you up,” I explained, and I saw Liz swallow hard, her gaze darting around the ambulance fearfully.  The dark hollows beneath her eyes seemed suddenly even more pronounced, and I pressed a kiss to her forehead.  “Just me, baby,” I promised, as she gazed at the men around her. 

“Good.”  She nodded, and I reached for her hand, giving it a slight squeeze, as she whispered,  “I’m tired of doctors.”

I stared at the paramedics, who continued adjusting her oxygen and tubes methodically. “Don’t worry about them,” I said, glancing at them pointedly.

But Jose had to assert his authority.  “We’ll follow you up.  Get things situated.”

“Of course,” I assured him, but behind his back, I rolled my eyes dramatically for Liz’s benefit.  I wanted to make her smile, since we’d both learned one thing after a year’s worth of hospitals.  Medical people craved their designated authority; otherwise they might feel less than necessary in the universe that had created them.

“Hospice regulations require us to show you everything,” he continued, and I nodded without speaking.

So they freed her, and I pulled her into my arms, cradling her close, her head tucked perfectly against my shoulder, my arm braced within the crook of her legs.  She was shockingly easy to carry, not that she’d ever been heavy anyway, but she fit far too effortlessly within my large arms now.

I brought her into the apartment, and the medics settled her here in the living

room.  That had been mid-day, the winter light still soft and forgiving.  Hours had

passed since then, bringing family and friends, too many visitors.  I’d stood to the

side all afternoon, watching, sometimes giving comfort or trying to ease the

awkwardness of watching someone die, but always supporting Liz. 

It was funny how everyone faced down death so differently.  It was always the unexpected people who came through for you. Like Tess and Kyle. I’d never have imagined how much comfort they would have brought Liz over the past year, what true friends they would have proved to be.  Yet of everyone, even Liz’s family really, they’d visited the most consistently, remained the most positive and upbeat. 

By contrast, Liz’s parents tended to upset her, despite their efforts at being strong.  They cherished their only daughter too much, and watching her slowly waste away as the cancer overtook her body, well, that had been more than they could bear. They’d followed us home from the hospital earlier today, and Jeff had practically fallen apart at Liz’s bedside.  I’d had to protect her from that, so I’d slipped an arm around his shoulder, helping him into the kitchen, as he began to sob into his hands.

My own father-in-law, and he couldn’t even talk to me, the emotions were that intense, as I pressed a glass of ice water into his hand, and gave him some tissues.  How had I slipped into the role of the strong one here, I wondered?  I was the one losing a wife, a best friend.

Because that’s what Liz would do, the soft answer came.  She’s given that gift to you.  If it was a gift, here at the end it felt like the worst kind of curse. 

So the day had wound down.  We were alone now; the late afternoon rays shining across our worn carpeting, spilling over the blankets and the edge of my chair, where I’d settled beside her rolling bed.  I never knew how easy it was to rent hospital beds and equipment until the past months, until Liz had grown weary of the endless hospital rooms and the sterile smells of treatments that were accomplishing nothing. 

Until she’d finally told me that she just wanted to come home, if she were going to die anyway.

That was when we’d all really begun to search for Max in earnest, not that we hadn’t before.  But we knew then that time was truly slipping away from us if something didn’t give way soon.

Never in all my life had I felt so powerless as I did that day, wishing that my stupid alien gift were something more than an unfocused ability to blast random things.  Max the healer, Max the gifted…Michael the pointless warrior who can’t even save his dying wife.

The irony is, in all these months that we’ve tried to find Max, I’ve had to wonder if he only granted her some perverse reprieve that day in the Crashdown.  If maybe the very fact of his changing her hadn’t been the thing that ultimately caused her illness.  Who knows, but God, I’d do anything for just an ounce of Max Evans’ gift within my hands.  To be able to touch my precious Liz, and bring her rushing back to life, just like he did that day more than twelve years ago.

But Max isn’t here, and I’m only me.  And time is running out.

 

          ****

 

So she’s just lying on her side, studying me with what seems almost an air of serenity.  The sunlight is fading fast within the living room, but I won’t budge, don’t want to move away from her, even for a moment.  I should turn on the lamp beside the sofa, or in the bookshelf, but I can’t seem to break away.  Not when we’ve been transfixed this way for almost an hour, just studying one another in loving silence.

Periodically, I caress the length of her hair, memorizing the feel of it beneath my fingers, willing my hand to know these strokes years from now.  Decades from now, when I think back to what it was to touch her.  She blinks steadily, but doesn’t speak, even as she nestles just a little closer to where her hand is folded within mine on the edge of her pillow.  I wonder what she’s thinking.  Because she is thinking something, just not saying it, of that I’m certain.

I wonder if she ever once loved me like she loved him.

But I quickly shove that thought aside; I relegate it to a dusty corner of my mind where I’ll bury it forever.

She smiles faintly, giving my hand a weak little squeeze.  “What?” I ask, feeling guilty, and wondering if my thoughts somehow betrayed me. 

“Michael,” she laughs, my name huskier than ever as it passes her lips.  That surprises me these days, the way her voice has become like whiskey, raspy and deep.

“What?” I ask again, this time feeling nervous.  I don’t even realize it, but I tighten my grip on her hand a bit, and she covers it with her other one.

“I want to show you something,” she says, drawing my hand to her lips and brushing a light kiss over the knuckles.  “Come closer.” She waves her hand weakly, beckoning my face lower toward her pillow.

I swallow hard.  She did know my thoughts, but why the hell should that surprise me?  My amazing, perfect Liz --of course she knew, I realize as slowly I bend low toward the bed. 

I draw her hands toward my lips, kissing them in a mirror image of how she just

kissed my own, a light brushing of my mouth across her knuckles.  Only now she

slips her hands free from mine, drawing them open wide, and I know what’s coming

next.  What always comes next.

This is Max’s legacy between us--the good legacy, at least.  This is the way that Liz’s powers, which were once so ungrounded and mercurial, finally settled into her spirit.  This is the gift she’s able to give me now when I need it the most.

“Closer,” she breathes, and I swear I hear her heartbeat thundering off the thin walls of our apartment.  I swear I hear her whispered exhalations move down the hall, toward our bedroom.  I swear I hear our past, beating like the present just between us, as she captures my face within her palms.  “Remember…with me,” she urges.  And I close my eyes, as her memories become fused with my own, and I can no longer differentiate between us.

 

                    ****

 

I’m eighteen and I’m so damn nervous.  God, I’ve arranged my hair like a dozen different times, until finally I’ve settled on this mess of curls that seems to just spill off the top of my head.  Not that I care about the boy who’s taking me to the movie, but at this point, a date’s a date.  It’s been almost two years since Future Max came.  Almost two years since he forced me to push Max away.  And almost two years since Max or any other boy has even taken me out.

Months have bled into years, and while I ache for Max, for what should have been, something’s finally started to change.  Maybe the familiarity of the grief has muted the emotions.  Or maybe it’s just that I finally realize that he’s never going to press me for the truth.  Whatever it is, as much as I love him, I can’t seem to recover what’s lost between us.

And the ironic thing is that he and Tess never did get together.  Instead, when she heard that Kyle had been in my bed, something about that made her possessive, and attracted her to Kyle, not Max.  They’ve been lovers practically ever since. And oddly enough, it works between them, too, I think, as I pirouette in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom.  The same mirror where I’d once stood and pronounced, “I, Liz Parker, take Max Evans…”

Famous last words, I reflect grimly, smoothing my palm over the front of the flowered sundress.  This is a racy one for me, cut above the knee, bare along the shoulders. And then on my feet, there are strappy little sandals, to boot.  I’ve even painted my toenails a lovely pink color, and they peek out in invitation.

I wiggle them playfully, and I can’t help myself, because like a familiar addiction, I immediately wonder what Max would think if he saw me in this ensemble.  I wonder if he’d stare, and if I’d spy latent desire in his golden eyes.

But another thought chases just as quickly on the heels of that one. A thought that’s far more disturbing, one that causes such a spasm of emotion that I can hardly breathe, so I push it back.  I refuse to acknowledge it, even though one glimpse in the mirror reveals how the thought made my cheeks grow pink.

He won’t be here, he’s not even working tonight, I assure myself.  Not like he’d ever notice what you’re wearing anyway.

Still, as I turn in front of the mirror one last time, my heart races as I imagine how Michael might react to the dress.

 

          ****

 

My dad sees me first, as I enter the restaurant, and he gives a low whistle, tucking his pencil behind his ear.  “Lizzie, you look beautiful!” he pronounces, swiveling on the barstool.

I want to kick him for drawing so much attention to me, even though he makes me feel special and beautiful.  “Oh, dad,” I sigh, rolling my eyes.

“Come here and let me look at you,” he encourages, but I just fold my arms protectively across my chest, feeling suddenly very exposed in my sundress.  But at least the restaurant’s not very crowded yet, just a few patrons at some of the tables.

But my stomach tightens when I spot them in the booth by the window, and then it really does a double flip when I realize that both their heads have snapped in my direction.  Max lifts his hand, giving an awkward little wave, and I wonder if it’s an invitation. 

“Just gorgeous, Lizzie.  What time’s he coming?” Dad asks, but I’m already moving toward the front of the restaurant, as I call over my shoulder, “Fifteen minutes.”

He says something else, but it’s lost on me, as I nearly float toward that booth by the window.

For a moment, Max and Michael both just stare, mouths half-open, and it makes me feel giddy and strange.  Lighthearted, especially the way Max is looking with such undisguised desire, something he’s not done in a very long time.

“Hey,” I smile, tugging nervously on my dress strap.

“Hey,” they reply in unison, and I feel heat creeping up my neck, into my face.  I will it to stop, but it doesn’t, and I know they can see my embarrassment as I draw near their booth.

The moment seems to screech to an awkward halt, and I’m painfully aware of them

both, of how they’re staring, how surprised they are by my feminine appearance.

But then forward motion begins again, as suddenly Michael averts his gaze, staring

down at his hands.

Something about the simple gesture stuns me, as I see his face redden sharply, and realize he has definitely noticed me.  Not just tonight, but maybe for a while now, judging by how shy he seems.  But not Max, he’s not shy at all.  He stares at me boldly, and the incredibly ironic thing is I’ve wanted him to look at me again this way for such a long time, but now that he has, it’s Michael’s obvious interest that arouses me.  I can’t look away, anymore than he can meet my gaze.

He says nothing, just keeps studying his hands, the table, anything but me. 

“Going out?” Max asks, and I hear a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

“Yeah, just somebody my parents wanted to fix me up with.”

And with these words, Michael’s head finally snaps up, and he meets my gaze. “Who?” Michael asks.  We’ve worked together all summer, eight hours a day, and we’ve grown much closer than ever before.  Laughing, having food fights, commiserating over late night closings.

Things have definitely changed between us this last summer, these final months before I finally leave Roswell, heading to my future at a college back east.

“Yeah, who is it?” Max adds, and I giggle nervously, realizing I’m facing the great

alien tribunal.

“Does it matter?” I laugh softly, arching an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it does,” Michael snaps irritably.  “Sure as hell does.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize my social life was up for group discussion.”  My words come out tart and bitter, and I instantly regret it when I see Michael’s gentle brown eyes darken.

“Forget it,” he grumbles, staring back at his hands again.  But Max doesn’t look away, he stares at me, and this time I glimpse undisguised pain in his eyes.  For a moment, I wish it weren’t too late for us, as I ache for our soul connection like I once did on an hourly basis. 

“Just curious,” Max smiles, encouraging me. “Hope he’s a nice guy.” He wants me to be happy; I see it in the way his tight jaw relaxes.  And I want to fling my arms around his neck, and swear I’ll always love him.

I shake my head, laughing again.  “Do parents ever fix their kids up on good blind dates?” I ask, and Max and I both laugh, bobbing our heads, as we reply in unison, “No.”

“Exactly,” I smile, and for some reason, I slip my hand onto Michael’s shoulder.  I mean it as a gesture of goodwill after our snappish interchange, but I shiver when I feel him tighten beneath my slight touch. 

Immediately, I draw my hand back, and in embarrassment, brush at the loose tendrils of hair that spill across my cheek.  I have no idea what made me touch him that way, but surely I’d know by now that you don’t express tenderness with Michael Guerin-- at least not if you don’t want to be rebuffed.

But he didn’t rebuff me, not precisely.  He reacted, something altogether different, and I wonder what it means, as I tell them to have a good time, and turn quickly away. 

 

          ***

 

          The sun has almost set now in our apartment living room, and images flash through my mind…Liz’s mind, as time ceases to exist.  She still cups my face loosely within her palms, as I bury my cheek against her pillow, nuzzling close as she opens herself like this, sharing her memories with me.  One final, precious gift.

Our interchange in the Crashdown gives way to her date with the blonde-haired boy, the one who brought her back to the restaurant much later that same evening.  And I see it all through her vision, even though her mind is shadowing my own thoughts.

          Quicksilver memories, senseless and imagistic, they layer one upon another.

          And then the seamless rhythm stills, and Liz is simply standing outside the Crashdown, fumbling with her key, because it’s late and the restaurant is closed for the night.  She’s wearing that gorgeous flowered sundress, and one of the spaghetti straps has slipped off her shoulder. 

          She looks up and presses her face close to the glass, because surely her eyes are playing tricks.  Surely that can’t be Michael Guerin sitting there at the counter; he can’t possibly be waiting up for her, well onto midnight.  Her heartbeat quickens, and her hands shake so badly, she can’t even get the key in the lock for a long moment.

          But it is Michael Guerin.  I know, because it was the longest damn night of my life, sitting on that barstool and wondering if the date would mean anything to her--or if I’d missed my chance with Liz Parker, once and for all.

          And as she turns the key in the lock, I’m in Liz’s mind once again, her thoughts perfectly melded with my own; no differentiation or boundaries--just the two of us, like this in the near-darkness, as she cups my face firmly within her palms again.

 

                    ****

 

Slowly, I enter the café, my strappy pink sandals dangling from my fingers, as I walk barefoot over the smooth, cool floor of the Crashdown.  The tiles feel clean beneath the soles of my feet, chilled by the air conditioning that’s still running full-blast, even this late at night.  My dad would kill Michael for setting the thermostat this low after hours, I think, as I pad quietly toward him. 

I know Michael hears me, yet he just stares down at his open newspaper, pencil poised between his fingers.  “Crossword?” I finally ask, as I drop my sandals onto the counter beside him.  He glances at them strangely, as if they’re something foreign and unanticipated. 

“Yeah, guess.”

“Well, I think that might be a general yes or no question, Michael,” I tease, leaning my elbows onto the counter.  For some reason he seems like a mountain sitting up on that stool beside me, especially since I’m only barefoot.  It reminds me of seventh grade, how I’d feel after taking my skates off at the end of the night at the roller rink.  I’d always felt instantly tiny, dwarfed as I did now.

“I was just kinda looking at it,” he explains, folding the paper shut.  He steals a sideways glance at me, and I smile encouragingly, even though my heartbeat quickens insanely.

“The date was a bust,” I offer gingerly, and I see his features visibly relax.  “He’s way uptight,” I laugh a moment. “Of course, human boys are pretty boring at this point. I think I prefer the alien ones.”

Michael turns on the stool toward me, and for a moment it seems he’ll say something.  Then he just closes his mouth again, running a weary hand over his eyes.

“What?” I press him, touching him lightly on the arm.  Like earlier, I feel a little shimmer of energy beneath my fingertips. 

He stares at me a long moment, silent, assessing and I force myself not to flinch, despite the way something strange seems to coil tightly within my abdomen.  Something I’ve never felt before, not even with Max.

Without a word, Michael slips off the stool, stepping right into my space, and cups my face within his hands.  It should be unexpected, yet it feels more right than anything I’ve ever experienced before as he draws my lips upward toward his own.  I have to lean way up on my tiptoes just to return the kiss, even as I sense him folding downward to take me.  It’s almost like he’s drawing me into him, the way our bodies meet between the distance, and like warmest velvet, his lips brush against mine.

I can’t breathe, as the tautness in my abdomen wraps itself tightly around my whole body, my lungs.  I’m drowning in him, and it’s absolutely beautiful.  He’s not Max, not remotely like him, but a surge of energy pools so quickly in my body that I stagger slightly, and his sure hands press into my lower back, steadying me.

“I’ve got you,” he assures me quietly, and I nod, as our lips part, tongues slowly twining together. 

Up, up I reach, onto the balls of my feet, as I thread my hands around his neck, feeling his long hair beneath my fingers.  I’m expectant, because I know what should come next, the connection that should open like a perfect rushing river between us. 

But it doesn’t come.  At least not like I expect, and I have to choke back the disappointment that starts crowding the edge of my mind.  Maybe there’s only ever Max.  Maybe he really is my one true soulmate, and everything else will fall short.  Yet even as I entertain these dim thoughts, I can’t focus on them, because the kisses are too arousing, too intense, as Michael draws me even closer against him.

His heart pounds against my chest, thundering, and that’s when it happens.  And it’s not like with Max, though why would I have expected it to be?  Little flashes of heat shoot into my extremities first, and along with them, so do memories.  I know his childhood in my arm, his last week in my fingertips; each memory almost penetrating me on a cellular level, as flashes of trailer parks and leather belts, and even gorgeous desert sunrises penetrate my wrist, my skin, my hand.

Then it’s his youth, older and more rebellious, and those remembrances skitter down my thighs, into my calves, imbedding within my very body.  He’s a part of me now, the memories, the pain, the wondrous experience of just being Michael.

Then and there, I know what I never would have guessed—though I might have suspected it.  Michael Guerin’s soul is beautiful; it’s just hidden from the rest of the world.  But when he chooses to share it, he’s so open, he can’t even try to hide from me, and it all just comes pouring out, all in this one simple and amazing kiss.

It all imprints upon me within a moment’s briefest shadow, and I’m changed forever.  That’s what I know that night.

 

          ****

 

We’re both trembling now, as Liz’s hands slip away from my face, back onto the pillow.  She’s weaker.  God, I shouldn’t have let her do this, and I say so, murmuring my regrets, as I kiss her cheek.

“I wanted to,” she sighs faintly.  “Wanted you to know,” she hesitates, drawing in a ragged breath.  “That there will never be another you.  That there’s no competition…”

“I know, baby, I know,” I promise her.  The last thing she needs is to worry about my hopeless insecurities, my fears that I can’t measure up to one man’s memory.  Because that’s all Max is to any of us anymore, it’s been that long. 

That was the greatest irony of Future Max’s visit.  He came to prevent Tess from leaving Roswell, and in the end, it was Max who ran away, away from all of us, from Liz and me.

And now, if Isabel can’t find him, if Tess and Kyle can’t, then Liz’s life is finished.

I have to fight the urge to ask her to feel for him, because deep down I know she still could, though she’d never do it.  I can’t help but wonder if he knows how sick she is, how desperately she’s suffered this past year, yet still stayed away.  Because wouldn’t he know?  After what they shared?  I sure as hell would. 

And maybe therein lies the reassurance that even Liz could never seem to give me—Max doesn’t know, and I would, because I’m the one who’s bound so tightly to her now.  Not him; not his other self.  Just me.

 

          ****

It’s later now, and I move about the apartment, turning on lamps.  Their glow fills the corners of the room, causing the shadows beneath Liz’s eyes to seem much more pronounced.  She’s far too pale, and the smudges beneath her eyes much too dark, giving her face a slightly hollow appearance that unsettles me as I watch her from the doorway to the kitchen.

Maria’s by her side, brushing her hair with soothing strokes, singing low in her ear.  My heart swells with incredible love, as I watch how gently Maria ministers to my wife, our mutual best friend.  Liz doesn’t have to talk to her at all, can just lie there and listen to the quiet tones of her lilting voice, and rest.  Rest is something Liz has been granted far too rarely all these months, and I whisper a silent prayer of gratitude. Not just for the moment, but that I was able to bring her home at all.

As I watch them, childhood friends clinging together in these final hours, I can’t help but think of those children in Phoenix, that Christmas so many years ago.  Liz’s chest rises with shallow, labored breaths, and I try to imagine what it would really be like if Max suddenly appeared here tonight, bringing the same kind of healing miracle within the palms of his hands.  But I can barely hope anymore, not with the way my throat clinches painfully with unspent tears every time I look at my wife.  Not as I work to memorize every line of her face, every nuance of her expression. 

It’s almost like I’m holding my breath, hour upon hour, yet still she remains.  Hell, sometimes when I glance at her, I’m almost surprised she’s still here.  But I’m ashamed of that fact, because I’m not ready for her to go, not even close.  It’s just that we’ve been on the brink of this thing for so long, I feel myself teetering over the precipice right along with her.  I know how she’s suffering yet I can’t quite let go, either.

And maybe that’s why she lingers, I think, rubbing a weary hand over my eyes.  Maybe I should say goodbye, say what neither of us has wanted to say just yet…

Maria winds the brush carefully over Liz’s long hair, and I listen to the Christmas carols she softly sings.  I’ll be home for Christmas, just you wait and see…

Does Maria even notice the irony of her song choice?  Does she even understand how slim the odds are that Liz will last another three days?  Or maybe she’s thinking of Max, as she sings the familiar lyrics, maybe she’s willing him home to us all.  I’m not sure, but I don’t care, not when I see the faint smile play at the edges of Liz’s lips, even though her eyes remain pressed shut.

“You know,” Liz breathes, hesitating a moment, gathering strength.  “I love that one.”

“Of course, sweetie,” Maria says, leaning low to kiss her forehead.  “I’d never forget.”

Suddenly the air becomes electric, as Liz whispers, “Never forget…anything, Maria, okay?”

Maria nods her head, and I study her closely, as tears fill her eyes.  She struggles to speak a moment, and then in a thick voice says, “I won’t, Lizzie.”

“I know,” Liz smiles, opening her eyes.  “I know.”

 

                    ***

The strange thing about this place, this hovering on the line between life and death like I am, is that there’s no real separation between the past and the present.  Or even the future.  I just move in and out of my memories, and the moment, and ache so badly for Michael that I can taste our past together.  I can taste the future that we’ll never have; the children we’ll never nestle and cuddle, the dreams we’ll never realize.

But those thoughts blend perfectly with laughter from the past few Christmases, even as Maria’s husky voice wraps itself around familiar holiday songs.  Suddenly, it’s years ago, I’m not even sure when, and it’s snowed.  Michael’s chasing me through the park, and I’m running so fast that I’m amazed how swiftly my feet can carry me.  Right up until the point when he tackles me, knocking me hard to the wintry earth.  Before I can even cry out, he’s on top of me, pinning me against the cold ground.

“Okay, Parker, gotcha where I want you.”

I squeal deliriously, squirming beneath his large form, as he holds my arms above my head.  “I surrender!” I cry, as he dips his head low, kissing me on the neck, his damp woolen cap brushing against my cheek.  He smells like the earth, fresh and pure, as he closes his mouth over my own.

We’re in the open, children playing nearby, but everything melts away.  There’s only the feel of Michael Guerin against me, the warm tickling of his breath against my face.  And I’m aware of him in ways I never have been before, as I feel him grow aroused against me.  I can’t help but blush at how definite his desire is, how undisguised—something very different than the kisses we’ve shared at his apartment, or my parents’ place. 

“Liz,” he half-begs.  “I’ve missed you so damned much.”  And I know it’s a pledge as much as a plea.  I’ve been gone for four months, such a long time for new loves, such a long time when you’ve never given your bodies to one another completely.

I try to breathe, even as I twine my mittened fingers through his long hair, brushing it back away from his face.  The moment pierces my heart, pierces everything that’s been growing between us since the summer.  “Me, too,” I manage, as our kisses deepen.

“Liz,” he whispers again, and it’s more than my name.  It’s everything he wants later that night, all that he hopes for these two weeks that I’ll spend in Roswell.

“Yes.”  It’s all I say, and I know he’ll understand.  He’ll hear all that one word can possibly mean between two people. 

And he definitely hears, because his answer is a joyous sound low in my ear, something akin to a cry of pleasure, coupled with a growl of unspent desire. 

That’s what I remember now. 

That’s what I remember, even though my eyes are heavy, and I can’t seem to open them, even as I feel him clasp my arm.  I know the morphine shot will come next, but I focus on the feel of wet earth beneath my back, and the weight of him upon me.  I remember the way the snow smelled, and how I felt knowing we were about to become lovers.

I felt the future that day, as open as the sky that spread above me.  That’s what I felt, I think, as the morphine hits my system, cloying and redemptive all at once.

I wish I felt the future now.

 

          ****

Maria’s gone, everyone’s gone, and it’s just Liz and me.  I don’t even know the time anymore, maybe after midnight, maybe a little earlier.  But I won’t sleep because I’m too terrified.  What happens if she slips away when I’m not watching?  I won’t let that happen, because I refuse to let her go alone. 

She sleeps peacefully, the morphine having accomplished its purpose, and I’m thankful the pain’s been eased.  There’s just me and this moment, and the infinite silence that bathes the apartment like a shroud.  I can hear the clock in the kitchen, steadily ticking, matching the rhythmic dripping of that damn faucet I’ve never managed to fix.

Just peaceful, quiet…frightening.

So when Liz suddenly shrieks, her eyes flying open wildly, it startles me so badly, that I knock my chair over leaping toward her.

“What?” I shout, my heart in my throat.  “Baby, what?”

“Max.”  It’s all she says, her eyes wide and filled with wonder.  She’s looking at some point on the other side of the room, as if he’s actually standing there, and I begin to shake.  “He’s here,” she says.

“Liz,” I whisper, staring at the same corner of the room.  Max isn’t here, I want to say.   You’re hallucinating because of the morphine.  But I don’t, I just follow her gaze to the corner, and wonder if she sees something that I can’t.

“Max!” she cries this time, struggling unsuccessfully to sit up in bed.  “Max…is here.”

Then, a truly terrifying thought enters my mind.  It’s stealthy and quick, and before I can deny it, it simply exists—Max is dead, that’s why we haven’t been able to find him all these years. 

Max is dead, and he’s come here to take Liz away with him. 

So I move between her and the place where she’s gazing near the foot of her bed.  I stand him down, because I’ll be damned if he’s going to take her from me now, not after all this time.

“Michael,” she suddenly sighs, her breathing erratic and frighteningly loud.  “Michael, no.”

My entire body is taut.  I’m ready to pounce, to hold back anyone who would take her from me.  I’m ready to hold back the hand of God itself if need be.

“No what?” I cry, spinning toward her.  I know I’m out of control, that this is the Michael Guerin I’ve hidden from her for the past year, the one she always knew how to tame when he grew wild and unruly.  But I don’t care, not tonight. 

“No…fear.”  It’s all she says, extending one pale hand toward me.  “Just peace, okay?” 

She reaches toward me and she’s already forgotten the dim corner of the room, the one I’d instantly armed myself against.  She only seems to see me now, and slowly I bend down to right my chair again, drawing it near her bed.  I drop into it heavily, and just bury my head against her face, hot tears spilling despite my best intentions. 

She needs my strength, I know, but in the end I can only give her me. 

 

          ****

 

I must have drifted to sleep that way, with my head just nestled against her heart, because the next thing I know, there’s the sound of a muffled knocking on the front door.  My first thought is to check Liz, as I sit up with a start, wondering where the noise has come from.  She sleeps quietly, her breath coming in uneven fits, but I’m just relieved that she still lives.

Then the noise comes again, just a soft tapping on our front door.  Who the hell could be here at this hour, I wonder, glancing at my watch.  It’s nearly midnight, and despite myself, my heart gives a leap of hope, as I rush toward the door.

I expect Isabel, or Tess…anyone other than him, as I squint out into the dimly lit hallway of our apartment building. 

Yet there he stands.  Heavier, for sure, with a thick beard that would have surprised me under the best of circumstances, but it’s him.

I can only stare in amazement, as I realize that Liz had been absolutely right. She’d known despite so many years away from him, even through the thick veil of illness and morphine.

She’d known what the rest of us hadn’t—that Max had come home at last. 

And while I can’t help the vague insecurity that instantly coils itself around my heart at the sight of him, neither can I fight the desperate hope that twines right along with it.

Wordlessly, without either of us so much as flinching, I simply open the door wide, and welcome him in.