By Definition

Nes Petersen

Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell belong to Jason Katims, David Nutter, Melinda Metz, the WB and so many other lucky people. Geez, they're nearly as bad as Joss. Poem is Edna St. Vincent Millay.
Category: Michael/Maria
Rating: PG
Authors Note: I wrote this in half an hour when I should've been studying. Eventually it will be very M&M-centric but I'm going slow. Give it time, okay?

Liz could barely make out her best friend's growling over the sound of the rag on the wet counter.

"Maria," she stepped up and tapped her gently,"you don't have to rub so violently. Look, clean! See!" She held up the finger she had rubbed on the countertop.

"Maria?"

"What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and arms have lain Under my head till morning; but the rain Is full of ghosts tonight-"

"Okay, too creepy," Liz took the rag out of Maria's hands and sat with at a counter. Liz and Maria had closed the Crashdown after Midnight before, so the emptiness wasn't an unusual thing. She lived upstairs, the Crashdown was home...but there was something scary about the whole situation. Maria was growling. But her best friend was not a growler, Maria was a "throw them against the wall with verbal assault" sort of girl. But lately, Maria was getting quiet.

Between the Marionettes of the Four Corners Convention and the usual dinner crowd there wasn't exactly time small talk, but Liz missed the light banter that made closing fly by.

She put her arms around the blonde, laying Maria's head against her breast. She could feel the tears swell and gather on her uniform and it hurt. Liz felt old, she tightened her embrace and place a kiss on Maria's brow. No one so small should hold so many tears.

Liz had done her fair amount of crying lately. Max Evans. She could hardly say his name outloud anymore. Just thinking it was like the tide lapping at the sea. So many twinges and layers. She loved him so much and she'd been so sure he loved her -he'd saved her life. But strangers saved other strangers lives everyday...

Liz began to sob softly. Her breath keeping rhythm with Maria's as they rocked back and forth in the booth. Maria looked up at her best friend. Liz's dark had come out of her ponytail and fell across her face. Just so. The tears ran down the brown softness and dropped soundlessly.

"And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain For unremembered-"

"I remember that. The Millay from English early this year." Liz remembered Alex's melodramatic reading in the cafeteria. God, how she missed laughing. "I only know that summer sang in me A little while, that in me sings no more."

"Do you think she knew about Czechoslovakians?"

Maria quirked her eyebrow, the first expression Liz in two days. "Only you, Liz." Maria unexpectedly began to shiver, her giggles shaking the booth."

"Hey, I got you to stop growling, right?"

"I love you, Liz." She hugged her best friend. "I am so happy I have you." She brightened. "Hey, do you remember in the in the sixth grade -that sleepover. We were dreaming of our perfect men. Do you remember that we wanted foreign, exotic hotties?"

Both girls shared an abrupt spark of hysterical laughter and sighed.

*** Alex took a breath and walked up to the girls at the lockers. So weird, he'd known Maria and Liz forever. Now he had to prep himself to greet them. The past few months had been so weird. There that word was again.

"Parker, DeLuca," he nodded his head. Their eyes were red. A few months awkwardness wasn't enough to suppress his instincts. Putting one arm around each, he hugged them close. His instincts told him they weren't crying because of allergies. He steered them towards the quad outside and sat them down beneath a tree. He knelt down in front of them, voice soft, "Please. I know we've had a time lately, but please. I'm still Alex and you're still my girls. Tell me what's wrong."

Liz looked up at him. Her face was shadowed, her mouth dragged at a tired angle. Maria was much the same. There were ashes in their eyes.

And then he knew. He brushed Maria's cheek, "No, you don't need to say anything."

*** From an upstairs classroom, a young girl was brushing her golden hair behind her ear and holding the blinds open at the same time. Not many people would ever call Isabel Evans a young girl, but despite the classic beauty and strength, she was only sixteen. Young. For a human.

Maybe her people had different lifespans. Maybe she was going to die in a year. Maybe she'd live to see a thousand. Isabel had no idea.

So maybe it was best it wasn't the years that mattered. Maybe it was the quality of life, the light of it all. She closed the blinds and her eyes, laid against the plaster wall.

Too many grown up thoughts.

"I have a thing for Alex Whitman." There. That wasn't grown up at all.

"Isabel!" God, it was them again. After so much intelligent company with Liz, Maria and...oh, lord, Alex...she didn't know how much longer she could stand this. "Isabel, did you see what Cindy is wearing today? Designer rip-off. And what kind of name is Cindy anyhow? Can you say eighties?" Fingers ending in pink acrylic grabbed Isabel's purse and tugged towards the cafeteria, "Ohmigod, this is so cute!" ***

Michael shut his eyes and let his hand graze his jacket pocket. The little lump there was comforting. It reminded him of Maria. God, DeLuca. He opened his eyes and focused on the canvas before him. He brought his hand up and with swift strokes he brushed in her chin. God, her pert little chin. Even her chin could send him happy vibes. DeLuca was a vibrator and he knew that if he ever stopped concentrating he would just fall and fall.

Michael Guerin was swept off his feet.

He landed face down in a pile of stained smocks. Rubbing his jaw he found himself against the door of the art studio.

"What the hell?"

Alex Whitman was holding him a good five inches off the ground and close to tearing his favorite shirt.

*** Having escaped the Pit of Vapidity that was Courtenay, Sienna, and Delora, Isabel jumped into the front back of the jeep. Michael was already in front and she could see Michael at the other end of the lot. "Hurry it up, Guerin! Lunch is only an hour," she yelled. "Salsa is so hip, grey is, like, the new black," She grumbled under her breath. She needed angry music. Reaching into the glove compartment for her Tori Amos cd, Isabel looked at Max. He was quiet, but usually he said hi. "Hey, big brother, what's with the -oh no, did Kyle's friends come after you again cos if they did!" She stopped her tirade to look at his cheek.

At the handprint on his cheek. Michael jumped in front while Isabel healed it.

Tersely, Max said, "Let's go."

When they'd cleared the school parking lot, Isabel said again,"Max. Who slapped you? Liz? I don't think Liz would even yell at you. Maria! She's all- oh, she's gonna pay! Nobody slaps my family around!"

"Alex."

"What?" Isabel looked at Michael, confused.

Michael looked at Max and said,"He got you, too."

Part 2

Maria brightened, "Special Dark!"

Liz cut in while she unwrapped the creamy bar from the foil wrapping. Slowly, as if in worship. "Where did you get these? They don't sell them in the student vending machines only in the- Oh, Alex!" Liz wrapped her arms around her friend. She didn't know how she'd gotten through the past few months without her goofy, but incredibly wonderful friend.

Alex smiled and then guffawed as Maria licked the palm of her hand, "What!!! It was melting. Stupid New Mexico weather. Almost as stupid as -eeep!"

Liz's face had paled again. Alex turned around and saw Isabel Evans heading for them.

***

Isabel clenched her jaw when she saw Alex stand up. She couldn't help but admire the way -agh, stop, this boy beat Max and Michael. And she didn't know why, they'd both clammed up.

He grabbed her arm in a firm but gentle grip and led her to the eraser room.

She regained her voice. "So what, you're gonna beat me up, too?"

Oh, great. He hadn't even considered Isabel when he'd gone after Max and Michael. "No, Isabel, I just- they got...they made Liz and Maria cry."

She paused, strangely touched. "Yeh, so..."

"Isabel, they're like sisters to me. They've never cried like that before-"

"You've never seen them cry?"

"No, of course I've seen them cry. But not like this. It was like they were broken. Liz, she has those eye, doe eyes, you know. Soft and gentle. Maria, she's got lightning in her eyes. That wasn't them this morning."

"So you beat up my brother and Michael." "They broke their hearts, Isabel. They deserved it."

Isabel was surprised. She would never have guess Alex had it in him. A little jealous. "Okay." She took a breath. "Do you think they'll want to see me? For a little womanly support?"

"Yeh, I thought you left school for lunch."

"Usually, but I saw the handprint on Max's face and I made her turn around."

"Oh. But they left again, right?"

"No they decided to eat -oh no."

Alex grabbed Isabel's hand and bolted back towards the sad girls he'd left behind.

***

Max and Michael sat behind a tree across the quad from their ex-girlfriends, watching Isabel approach. Each wishing they could join the group with the same ease.

"Man, this is stupid."

"Calm down, Michael. We can't go over there. It's better this way.

"I don't even know why we let Whitman go all wild bunch on us." Max didn't bother to answer. They both knew that it wasn't just because Maria and Liz wouldn't take kindly to Alex being thrown across a room into a chair. Or even because Isabel might be upset by it. It had to do with guilt -like maybe they deserved it.

"Dude, I'm out. You want to butter up Liz, that's your deal."

Max watched his best friend stalk away. He wondered if Michael thought denial was going to make the ache dull.

***

Why did I bother coming to school today? Oh, yeh, to show Blondie she didn't affect him. Michael shook his head and headed for his locker, he needed to focus on something else. He needed to read a book.

When he reached his locker he realized he couldn't remember his combination. Checking the hall for people and finding it empty, he passed his hand over the lock in an attempt to unlock it.

"Hot damn!" Michael sucked his hand and stalked away from his locker and the lock he'd melted to it.

What am I supposed to do now? I don't feel like walking home. I'm sure not going to class. Where in the high school was he supposed to find a decent read?

In a flash of brilliance, Michael hightailed it to the library.

After five wrong turns, he finally found it in a corner of the second floor. Having never been there before he wasn't sure what to do. He wasn't even sure what to do. He hated being helpless.

He guessed he must have looked confused because a teacher-type woman in her forties approached him.

"Um, hi, I'm looking for a book."

"Okay, what are you looking for?"

"I don't know. Do I need a library card?"

The woman laughed but not in a condescending way. It was a sharing sort of laughter, unconditional. She explained the workings of the Roswell High library as she led him to a study carroll with a compter in it.

Sitting down before the keyboard, she looked up, "So, made up your mind?"

"I was thinking Joyce. Ulysses?"

"Let's see." She hit a few keys, "I hate to say it but all the copies are checked out."

"Oh." Disappointment fitted easily on his ever-brooding face.

"It's on the reading list for one of the freshman classes. Most of them aren't even reading it. They just check it out and forget to turn it back it. Oh, well, more fines for me!" She smiled, looking as if she didn't really mind. "Tell you what, you look like a nice young man, I'll lend you my copy if you agree to chat with an old biddy for a while, okay?"

"You're not old," Michael blurted out. And it was true, she was forty-seven at most. He had the grace to look embarassed. No one, not even the Evanses, had ever called him a nice young man. He was off guard. Yeh, that was it. And she wasn't like Topolsky offering something for nothing. A chat -harmless enough. He did want the book after all. And he doubted that Alex, Liz, or any of the others would come to the library.

She led him to the front of the library. Her office didn't have walls, per se. They were there, but they were made of glass. Blinds could be drawn on all sides for privacy. He liked it. There was a also a nice desk, computer, stereo, bookshelves, and television. Elegant beige wallpaper -no flowers or ribbon or anything. There were also several diplomas and framed pieces of art. He decided it was nice. Understated.

She gestured to one of the burgundy overstuffed armchairs in front of the desk and disappeared into a back room. When she came back bearing chocolate mint cake and green tea, she sat in the other armchair not behind the desk.

"I'm Ms. Clarke, the media specialist." She held out her hand and noticed his firm grip. She couldn't have known how rare it was for him to engage in casual contact. That she was only the second human who'd touched him. Hank smacking him around didn't count. "Help yourself to some cake. If you don't like tea, I can get some pop from the faculty vending machine."

"No, don't. Tea's good. Thanks." Why was this woman being so nice?

"If you'll just excuse me for a moment, you'll find Ulysses on the top shelf." she ducked out and Michael drew himself up from the wonderfully comfortable chair.

Hardcover. Beautiful. Old. First edition. He was clutching it so hard when she came back he didn't notice what she was carrying in.

"You're really going to let me borrow this? It must be worth...," his eyes widened as he thought about it.

"All books are worth fortunes." She smiled. "You must think I'm kooky."

"No." And oddly enough, he was being honest.

She handed him a generous slice of cake and did something so shocking that Michael nearly forgot this person being so kind to him for no reason.

"You like tabasco sauce on your cake?"

Laughing at herself, "Leftover from pregnancy urges. Have you ever tried in on ice cream? Heaven."

Oh, that was okay then. He waited for his heart to slow, he thought, just maybe she'd be- but Ms. Clarke was already a miracle. "Well, if you like it, I'll try." Happily, he smothered his chocolate cake with spicy sauce.

"I knew it! I was right about you!"

Oh, lord, she couldn't be with the FBI-

"I knew you were a good boy!"

He calmed and didn't flinch at being called boy.

"I have a proposition for you." She leaned forward conspiratorially. "Look, I need an aide. Not like a hearing aid, but a student helper. Usually, they have to be seniors. But there's just something about you...What was your name?"

"Michael. Michael Guerin."

"Anyhow, the senior thing is silly. Once you get them properly trained, they leave. What grade are you in? Eleventh?"

"I'm a sophomore."

"Better and better! Anyhow, the job isn't too strenuous. There's already Mrs. Harris and she pretty much controls the computers and A/V equipment. Ms. Jeson," she tiltled her head towards the backroom where she'd gotten the cake and tabasco, "takes cares of xeroxing and cataloging. I pretty much need you to lift things and run errands. And to keep me company."

"I don't know...I'm not usually at school."

She smiled. "Playing hard to get, are we, Michael? Did I mention the free food? All the tabasco and cake you can eat? Plus, the books. And its a quiet place to get away, no one will bother you here. You want to research on the net, you research. Magazines and microfilche, all yours. Videos, records."

Oh, geez. A quiet place with no memories of Maria or the others. No Hank. A refuge. How could he turn this down?

"Okay, last offer. Free run of the art supplies and xerox machines. All the copying you could want. No, you're sixteen, that's not very appealing. Hmmm, hall passes. If you need to get away, come here, I'll excuse you from class."

"Can you do that?" How the hell had this fallen into his lap?

"Sweetheart, I've been at this school longer than the principal." Her eyes twinkled, "And my brother's on the school board."

"Yes. Yes. I'll do it."

"Great." She took a bite of cake, then frowned. "Oh, there is one thing I can't get around, though. I need a teacher recommendation. Just one. I'm sure you'll have no problem getting it."

He gulped. Who would give him a recommendation? What was he taking? Art. He'd at least showed up for art during his geodesic dome obsession. The warning bell rang for class. In fact, he had class right now. Besides, he liked to loiter there. It felt good, distracting. He'd been there this morning when-

He jumped up, "Hey, Ms. Clarke. Thanks. A lot. I mean it. But I gotta get to class now, okay. When do you need the recommendation."

"Tomorrow would be fine. Then you could start next week. But come visit before then if you're not busy, okay?"

He nodded his head. Anything for this woman. A refuge. Grabbing Ulysses and waving goodbye, Michael Guerin set out for art class.

***

Maria sped into the Crashdown parking, nearly fishtailing. Grabbing her backpack from the passenger seat she went through the employees entrance and dressed before someone noticed she was five minutes late.

Liz wasn't working the after school shift so Table Six was hers.

"Hey, guys, what can I get you?" She smiled at Isabel and Alex. She looked at Max unemotionally, proud she had not stuck her tongue out at him. Maria knew Max was really a sweet guy who was trying to do things right, but he was still a jerk.

"Root beer."

"Alien blast."

"Where's Liz?" Max looked as if he hadn't meant to say that outloud. "I'll have cherry coke."

She took pity. "She's still at school. Some extra credit biology lab or something." She left out the part where he was in her bio class, why didn't he know?

"Oh. I was hoping she knew where Michael was."

***

Liz was, in fact, finishing a presentation on recent microcellular innovations. It was nice, she decided, to be alone and focus. Humming, she decided she needed to spruce up her board. Some paint. Red. Yeh.

She headed to the art room, still humming. It was good to be alone sometimes. Soothing.

***

Michael sat before an empty easel. He'd made a deal with Mr. Hinds to come to class everyday for the rest of the year and turn in one assignment. With the stipulation: no domes. Michael smiled. He would have agreed to do all the assignment in exhange for the refuge. He was really liking the sound of that word. Refuge. That was like 'home.' Maybe it would be better than 'Maria' with time.

But his dilemma was the assignment. He figured he'd might as well get it over with. The assignment was an extrapolation. You were supposed to pick two people and draw what the offspring would look like. He thought of Max and Liz but the obvious dark beauty of such a child didn't inspire him. Besides, who knew if it was even physiologically possible. This, of course, led to him and Maria. A verboten topic if ever there was one.

He'd doodled during class. He picked Sienna Mitchell, one of Isabel's friends, and Lloyd Carson, the token class geek. While fun, the results had been a freak.

It was hot. Wiping the sweat off his brow, Michael noticed the green and red paint smeared on his arm. His leather jacket was safely slung over the stool behind him.

Maybe he could-

And for the second time that day, Michael Guerin found himself on his back.

Little Liz Parker stood above him, breathing fire.

"Can't you people leave me alone! You're everywhere!"

He picked himself up, "Geez, Liz. Chill."

"Chill? Chill? You! You Czechoslovakian heartbreaker!"

"Maybe you've been spending too much time with Maria. I never thought you'd need to be declawed," he sneered.

"How dare you say her name? How dare you?" Liz withdrew her venemous glare, looking around for something to throw.

"Liz!" He ducked the paint she threw. "Calm down! I didn't do anything to you, Max did. And then he couldn't yell anymore because he was trying not to be hit by the textbooks and folios she was throwing. God, she had aim.

"You!" She'd run out of ammo.

"Don't make me your whipping boy, Liz!"

Her eyes blazed in indignation, "Oh, you think this is for my benefit. Oh, no, this is all for Maria. You used her. You didn't even like her! You didn't even know what you were doing. How many levels you were hurting her on?"

"Oh, yeh, she's a victim. Like she's ever been rejected before!"

Then her voice dropped to a dead simmer, "You don't even know what you're talking about."

"Whatever, Liz, go make cow eyes at Maximilian or something, okay, earth girl."

With one last burst of rage, Liz lifted Michael's leather jacket off the table and threw it at his face. More concerned with it getting stained with paint than anything, he put out his hand to catch it.

But Liz hadn't used enough force. It fell between them, and a little bottle of cypress oil rolled out of his pocket to rest at Liz's feet.

Go to Part 3-4