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Chapter Six
Disclaimer: Someday, if I’m very good, and kind to children, small animals, the fashion-challenged, and Bingo callers who stutter; if I eat all my vegetables, even celery, call my parents every week, and never, never talk back to the Wicked Stepmonster even though she is the definition of criminally stupid; then if I ask Jason Katims very nice, they will be mine. Ha. Ha. Haaaaa.
A/N: This took so much longer than I expected to be posted, and I did kind of skimp on chapters 6 and 7 for IYE: The Light, so I decided you guys totally deserve a bonus chapter. Good things come to those who wait (Oops, my ego’s showing). Okay. New fic comes to those who wait. And wait. And wait… In the future, feel free to nag me electronically. Patience may be a virtue, but it’s not one of mine, and if you pile on the guilt, I will make the trip out to my Gramma Shirlee’s to post (she lets me save files to her hard-drive, adjust her browser settings, expose her system to a cornucopia of viruses and spyware doing last-minute cannon research on questionably hosted fan sites, and generally make a mess of her computer. And then I get a cookie! Because mothers scold. Grandmothers spoil).
Chapter Six
A month could go by fast.
Between school, work, mastering her powers (telekinesis, astral projection, and an affinity for fire, thank you very much), bowling on Saturdays, and sucking face with Michael whenever she had a spare moment or some privacy, Liz was amazed to realize January had happened when she wasn’t looking. The fact that she was not looking forward to February at all probably had something to do with it, too.
By February fifth, she was wishing one of her powers was to defy the second law of thermodynamics. No such luck. Time rolled right on despite her wishes. But that afternoon, when Michael went to put his arm around her waist as they were leaving the school, and then paused, and dropped his arm, she saw the way his eyes flinched. She’d been so frightened of everyone’s reaction that she hadn’t been looking.
Men are not verbal communicators.
Amy Deluca’s advice coming to her mind when she least wanted it to, the way good advice did. She’d told Michael that she loved him, that she wasn’t ashamed of him. Big talk, with no actions to back it up. She’d been hiding her relationship with him like a dirty secret, and having the best of intentions didn’t make it hurt him less.
“Michael.”
He stopped walking. “What did you forget?”
She hooked two fingers through a belt loop on his jeans and tugged him close. “Tell Max,” she said, before she lost her nerve.
He grinned crookedly, Michael the Cool, but he couldn’t hide his relief. There was enough of it that Liz knew he’d been expecting her to extend her deadline. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.” She put her arm around his neck. “Are you going to kiss me, or what?”
“Like you have to ask.” And then he kissed her in front of God, West Roswell High, and Kyle Valenti, like he’d done it a hundred times before.
Liz dropped her books, and Michael chuckled at her loss of control. Their teeth clicked, and he hunched his shoulders a little to make up for their height difference, and everything was sunny and imperfect and wonderful, and Liz didn’t even care that Pam Troy was making snarky comments about trashy public behavior.
Because when Michael kissed her, this time, for the first time, she saw him. She saw him as a little boy, ducking under barbed wire and a sign that read, Pohlman Ranch, and running, running, running. She saw him run from Hank, getting halfway to Nogales before he changed his mind. And more than that, she felt how weary he was of running and hiding. Of secrets and subterfuge and losing the people he cared about because of what he was.
Run all you want, Michael Guerin, she promised him silently. You’ll never shake me loose.
oOo
It took Michael five minutes just to punch in Max’s cell phone number. He was so relieved when it went to voicemail that he had to sit down and take a shaky breath before he could say, “It’s Michael. Come by my apartment as soon as you get this. It’s important.”
Jesus, and he’d thought telling Maria was awkward. Maria had Billy. Maria lived in New York. Max lived in Roswell, and was still as obsessed with Liz Parker as he’d been when they were eight. Those two facts weren’t about to change any time soon.
This would suck.
The thought was so depressing, he couldn’t even get up from the couch long enough to turn the TV on.
The sun was setting when Michael heard his apartment door open. He didn’t look up, knowing instinctively who it was. “Sit down, Maxwell.”
“Michael, what’s going on?” Max asked, but he sat.
He’s going to kill me, Michael thought. And I deserve it. “I’ve been seeing someone.”
Max laughed, and Michael’s eyes just about bugged out. “This isn’t exactly news, Michael. You’re always in a better mood when you’re getting regular sex.”
“Uh. Yeah. About that.”
“You can’t tell her, Michael.”
“Not planning on it,” he replied shortly. God, Max, would you borrow a fucking clue?
“Good.” He paused. “Then why did you want to talk to me?”
“It’s about Liz.”
“Liz,” he repeated.
“We’ve been seeing each other.”
He went very still, no doubt hearing his own words echo endlessly in his head. This isn’t exactly news, Michael. You’re always in a better mood when you’re getting regular sex. “You. And Liz. Are together.” He blinked slowly, then repeated himself, as though hoping the words would make more sense the second time around. “You and Liz are together. Like me and Liz were together.”
Michael spread his hands helplessly. “Yeah.”
“How long.”
“Max-”
“HOW. LONG.”
“Since Texas. When we came back, she told me…since Texas,” he repeated.
“You lied to me?”
“If anyone had asked, Max, we would have told the truth! We did tell the truth! How many times did you ask Liz what she was doing, to hear, ‘I’m having dinner with Michael,’ or that we were going to the movies, or studying. But you just assumed that there was no possible way she could be interested in me!”
“No,” Max ground out. “I assumed there was no possible way you could betray me like that. I will never forgive this. You’re dead to me!” The door slammed behind him on his way out.
oOo
He was still sitting in the same position, elbows on knees, when Liz came by two hours later. She didn’t say anything. He was grateful. Max had been his anchor for as long as he could remember, his friend for almost as long. They’d had their differences, but if those had been gaps, this was the Grand Canyon, and his grief was too private to share with anyone.
He watched, with only faint curiousity, as she went into his bedroom and came out with a backpack. She set it by the door, came out with his easel, a sketchbook, and his art kit. They joined the pile, along with six canvases almost as big as she was, and most of his CD collection.
She came back, took his hand, and tugged him to his feet. He followed without much interest. Her parents’ car was parked outside. She nudged him in the direction of the open passenger door, and he went.
He sat and stared at nothing for a while. Rather distantly, he realized he was in shock, and, less distantly, that there was something dangerous about that. But he couldn’t make himself care.
When he next took interest in his surroundings, he was in Liz’s room. Why is it I’m only in here when I’m sick or dying? he wondered irreverently. He knew he wasn’t dying. But he felt like it.
He closed his eyes and pushed the world away.
oOo
He lost three days.
Michael had vague memories of eating, pacing, staring at nothing and listening to Liz explain to her parents as best she could without using words like alien king and suicidal. Other than that, the only hints of her presence were the takeout containers that appeared on her desk while he was sleeping, and the sticky-notes that piled up on the bathroom mirror.
I love you.
It’ll be okay.
Kyle says hi.
How many aliens does it take to change a lightbulb?
You have a Chem test on Thursday. My class notes are on the dresser.
Go sit in the sun for a while.
I love you, Michael. A lot. More than your bike.
No one has ever seen Ho Chi Minh and Colonel Saunders together. Coincidence? Or government secret?
The pilot episode of Bewitched was on. I taped it for you.
The sun came up. It went down. Michael got tired of silence, punched And Justice For All into Liz’s stereo, and cranked it up as loud as it could go. No one complained. Which was convenient, because he wouldn’t have cared if they did.
He painted like a fiend, his hands moving independently of his mind. It was sunrise on Thursday morning when he collapsed on the balcony, out of breath, canvas, energy. Out of the comforting, numbing haze of denial. He cried.
Liz’s arms slid around him, faster than a wish. He didn’t wonder how she knew he’d needed her exactly at this moment, as much as he’d needed space a minute before. She pressed her cheek between his shoulderblades, and she still didn’t say a word.
She didn’t have to.
oOo
I know it may seem un-Michael-like for him to react this way to Max’s rejection. But I think that it’s because he never lets anyone else in that he would be so devestated. Max and Isabel-and now Liz-are the only people he lets himself love without limits.
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From: (Anonymous)
I'm begging!!!!!! Write more!!!!!!
I don't even own a computer! To read this story (as I have numerous times) I must steal time on other people's computers. Such is the case tonight. It is 1:00 am and I am on my best friend's computer as this is the only time she's not. And I have to go to work EARLY tom but I had to let you know how I feel. You have to finish this series!! Who do I have to kill or bribe or feed to get you to do so? My email is Goddess_Hathor@hotmail.com just let me know. I know I need FFRA. What can I say? I'm a junkie. And your writing is my fic ;)