Part 5

"I swear to god, Max, if he thinks we're taking another road trip," Isabel huffed.

"Don't worry, Isabel, we'll bring your boyfriend this time," she smacked her brother playfully but had smiled at the thought of Alex.

The casement window slid open and Michael grinned at Isabel and Max. "I used them, my powers. I can control them now!" He lifted Isabel's pink bunny slippers off her feet and set them to hopping in front of their shocked faces.

"What happened?"

He paced back and forth, Isabel's slippers mimicking his movements in midair, "I dunno, I was just...I wanted to move the painting but it was still wet and I didn't want to touch it and then it just moved. I didn't even have to think about it. And then I could just do everything. Max, look." He shoved his right hand before them. I cut it, and I healed it."

Max tried to contain his hope. He knew that Michael hated not being in control of his powers. While not exactly jealous of Max and Isabel, he knew his pride was hurt. "Michael, is it okay if we test this. I mean, I believe you. I'm totally proud of you. But let's get to know your limitations just...in case."

Surprising, Michael agreed. He was confident in his abilities, now. Isabel hugged him, smiling, then got back to business, "You woke me up, Michael."

"Oh, really," he took in her rumpled hair and pajamas.

"So let's start off with dreamwalking. If anything happens, Max can pull us out."

"Sure, safety first."

He and Isabel laid down on Max's bed. After the pillows had been arranged to her satisfaction, Isabel whispered, "See you there."

Michael found himself in a blue room, not unlike Isabel's. The bed was a little bigger and it was much messier. Her walk-in closet was wide open but there was nothing in there but jeans, shirts, and sweat pants. Inspired, he looked at her vanity. One tube of mascara and a lip gloss, but none of the various lotions and vials that she usually stockpiled.

There were framed photographs of her and Max in Colorado, the entire Evans family, and one of Alex. There were even some stuck in the mirror. More of Max and the Evans family. There was even one with him. He hardly ever had pictures taken, no one ever asked. But this one, he remembered. The first day of sophomore year, Michael couldn't sleep and had walked over to their house. Before hitching a ride with them, Mr. Evans had requested a picture. Max had groaned, apparently they did this every year. He'd stood off of to the side, trying not to look like an intrusion. Mr. Evans fumbled with the timer before joining his wife and children; he looked surprised when he Michael leaning against the jeep. Gesturing, he indicated a spot beside him. And so here it was, a photograph of parents sending their children off to school. Only, it looked like he was the third child. Like he belonged. He whispered, "Like I was family."

Arms enclosed him from behind, "Not like, Michael, you are family. You're my brother," she kissed his cheek, "don't you know that?"

She moved in front of him, holding his hand, "Max is the annoying big brother who acts tries to act all grown up. I'm the spoiled brat little girl princess who gets whatever she wants from her big brothers."

He whispered again, "Brothers." He'd often thought that nothing would change if he'd never been born. Isabel and Max might still be aliens, but they'd still have each other. He didn't fit in the equation, he was excessive; he made things harder.

"Yeh, you're the middle child who doesn't want to be bratty or anal retentive."

He laughed, "Okay, brat."

***

"No, Agnes. You cannot have another break," Liz gestured towards the floor, "the place is packed. Besides, cigarettes can kill you."

Maria grimaced from behind the older waitress and mouthed, "We should be so lucky."

Liz stifled her laughter as Agnes walked away. Liz was sure Agnes would insult some customer before the hour was over, but she couldn't lose another waitress right now. Her parents had left for a restaurant convention in Oklahoma, leaving her in charge.

They couldn't have chosen a worse weekend. Two huge tour groups had come into town last night and Casa de Enchilada, the only other non-food chain establishment was being renovated. Liz had struggled to handle everything with cool efficiency before breaking down and begging Alex to bus tables.

And then, suddenly, she felt like she could tackle another influx. Looking up, she stared into the eyes of Max Evans. She still hadn't gotten over his rejection. They had gotten close, even sharing one mind-blowing kiss, so when Maria and Michael had hooked up she had asked Max, why they couldn't, too. She'd never expected him to let her go.

He'd loved her for years. But, maybe, now that he knew her, he realized the Liz he'd fallen in love with...the reality didn't stack up.

She knew better now. She could be patient. Wait for him to understand he didn't need to protect her; it was enough to love her. So, they hadn't started at square one, they were friends -best friends.

So when she saw how carefree and happy the three Czechoslovakians were, she couldn't help but let go of the chip on her shoulder.

"Hey guys, what's up? You're all looking less paranoid than usual."

Max, Isabel, and even Michael laughed. Michael was the biggest surprise. He gestured expansively, "Three Tenth Planet special and cherry cokes on me."

"What's the occasion?" She'd never seen Michael is such a good mood.

He leaned towards her and whispered in her ear, "I can control my powers!"

So that's why he was acting like a little kid. She hugged him, "Congratulations!" Then pulled back as if burnt, "Um, sorry, Michael, I didn't mean-"

"It's okay, Liz. Thanks for being so great about it. You're not bad for a...not being a Czechoslovakian."

Max, Michael, and Isabel shared smiles. The entire day had been a joy. Playing around with their powers and acting like a family, without looking over their shoulders at strange noises. Max smiled especially wide, happy that Michael was being nice to Liz. It meant a lot to her and when she delivered the order to the cook, Maria could tell she was glowing.

"Hey, Liz, Agnes drop dead?"

"No, umm...," Liz wasn't sure what to tell Maria. She'd been avoiding Michael since the rave and had returned, slowly, to her old nature. Or, maybe not avoiding, Maria had also returned to dancing and singing. Liz had always been a little jealous of Maria's talents but knew that Maria sometimes envied her studiousness. It didn't matter in the long run, they had each other. She had the two best friends in the whole world. So she made her choice, "Michael can control his powers now."

The blonde's eyes widened and Liz was afraid for a moment. Then Maria smiled a tiny smile and suggested, "This is big. Great. Your parents are gone for the weekend, why don't you have a celebratory get together tonight?"

Liz hugged Maria, "That is such a great idea! I'll go tell them!" Orders in hand, Liz approached the three plus Alex who was joking with Isabel.

"C'mon, Is, Liz could use the help. Besides, you look really hot in the uniform."

"You saw that?" Isabel blushed. "Thanks, Liz."

"So what are you guys doing tonight?"

Max quirked an eyebrow, "I was thinking high-speed chase with a bunch of FBI agents in tow, but if you think you can top that, be my guest."

"I was thinking we could have a Michael party."

Michael blushed and ducked his head uncharacteristically. He'd been so obsessed with painting and the right ratio of egg yolk to pigment lately he hadn't been around the gang much. Instead of being insulted, they were acting, well, like friends. Even Liz, who had gone all Sigourney Weaver on him. Most of them were acting like friends, anyhow. Friends. Two human friends and a...broken heart?

"Oh, that's right, Liz," a familiar voice cut in. "Take all the credit."

Max, Michael, and Liz looked up in surprise. Alex and Isabel shared a knowing glance and handsqueeze. "Liz's hands were full so I thought I'd go ahead and bring these over." She put three bottles of Tabasco on the tabletop and walked away leaving the stunned in her wake.

***

Maria let her body flow, sharply now, then smooth. Everytime she danced, it was sweet. She didn't now why she'd stopped. To unconsciously pick up on a hook here and now what to do. No confusion or question of right. Just the feeling of energy and lyric. She stepped into a twist or swing without fear of consequence because there was no way for this to be anything but good.

Michael watched her, reeling. He had kissed that length of arm, left his mark on that expanse of back, he knew she could burn but never imagined that she could exhibit such sense of grace. Yet here she was and all he could think was, "You cannot tell the dancer from the dance."

And then her eyes flew open in rage and he realized he had spoken aloud.

He tried to explain, "Liz called me -told me to pick you up-"

"Did she mention the part about spying on me?"

"No, I didn't mean to, it was just so-"

"Private."

He understood. "I'm sorry, Maria. I never meant to disturb you, but I couldn't stop watching you. You were hypnotic, beautiful."

"Who are you and what have you done with spaceboy?"

And then she smiled and he knew it would be all right.

"So you thought it was beautiful?"

"Yeh." He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. They were empty now; he hadn't replaced the bottle of cypress oil. "So, uh, how long have you been dancing?"

"All my life. But just started up again, technically. And it's like I don't understand why I ever stopped. Dancing gives me this whole sense of...I'm not sure I know how to explain it, ya know."

"I know. It's how I feel when I paint. It's special."

They shared a smile. Michael crowed inside, he'd missed this. He had his powers, he had friends, it was a day for brightness. And maybe, just maybe Maria and him could work out now. Truthfully, he'd missed her. However he tried to deny it, there was something about her that important. She had this strength you couldn't ignore, and she listened to him as if he was significant. She made him feel good.

And then it all clicked for him; didn't he deserve her? He did.

He cupped her face and pulled her in before she could react and the feel of her body still wet with sweat was electric. Her mouth was still as soft and giving, she opened her mouth to him, he responded, and then she bit his tongue. Hard.

She was out of his arms and furious.

"Godash," his tongue was bleeding. Taking a moment to heal it, he said, "God damn!"

"Oh, you're mad at me?"

"What was that?"

"Make up your mind, Michael. You can't just push me away and then kiss me like that. No, you know what, don't make up your mind. I don't need your opinion. I am so tired of this shit, Michael. So tired."

Michael was stunned. Maria didn't cuss. 'Swearing is just being lazy.' Maria never swore at him, she baited and fired salvos, because she cared enough about him to be creative. Maria obviously didn't care anymore.

"No, it's not like that," he swallowed his pride, "I want to hold you. I've always wanted to hold you. I just don't want to hold you down."

"Oh, that's fucking rich. Did you drag yourself away from Ulysses long enough to watch 90210?"

"Why are you being like this?"

"I don't know, maybe, because you're an asshole."

His expression was pained, "Look, what I said at the soap factory. I'm sorry. We can still work things out."

"It's too late for that, spaceboy, I already forgave you for that. You want to be alone, go be alone by your own damn self. Just because you leave me bruised, doesn't mean I'm gonna crawl off and die offstage."

"That's why we belong together. You're a fighter. We're of the same ilk."

"No. We're not," she looked him in the eye. "Whatever ilk you're from, I'm confident I'm from a different one." And then she sneered, "Oh, did I say 'ilk,' because I meant species."

"Maria," he looked deep into her eyes, trying to convey his need for her.

She spat at him, "Save the soulful stares to Max, I'm not Liz."

"You've got that right," he muttered under his breath. He would make her understand. "They have that whole let's fall into each other gently mentality. I like what we have. We don't have to be starcross'd."

"What we have?" She smiled, feral, "Don't get all intense, Michael. I'm only sixteen, I want to date, not be involved. I'm young and I plan to enjoy it. That's the way it's gotta be."

"So we date, I can handle that."

"Gee, I don't think so. When I said date, I didn't mean you, I meant other guys. Human men." She walked up to him, close enough to kiss and whispered sweetly, "Let's just be friends."

Part 6

Michael could have kidnapped...His friend had never shown up at his own party; neither had Maria. But when Michael hadn't shown up at Max's window and Maria denied any contact, Max had even visited the trailer park. He hadn't really expected Michael to be there, he hated the place, but it a possibility. He'd even skipped Biology on the off chance that Michael had showed for school before ten o' clock.

So when he saw Michael nonchalantly eating fudge ice cream with tabasco in the librarian's office, Max was justifiably upset.

"Max?" Michael jumped up; he'd gotten used to thinking of the library as his.

"Michael, what are you doing? If the librarian catches you!"

"I'm not gonna get caught doing anything, Maximilian. I'm just sitting here with my ice cream," he spooned up more.

"Yeh, with tabasco sauce! Michael, someone will see and be suspicious. Let's get out of here before you get in trouble."

"No."

"Michael," Max's voice shaded to warning. It seemed that the nice Michael of the weekend was gone, and the brooder was back. And Max didn't understand why.

"Max, look, I'm good here. Why don't you leave?"

"Because I'm trying to watch your back."

"Young man," an authoritarian voice came from Max. "Shouldn't you be in class."

"Uh..."

Ms. Clarke greeted Michael more warmly, "Hello, Michael, I see you found the ice cream."

With a parting glare, Max left the library.

"So, who was that?" She sat down in the chair opposite him. This was, by now, a familiar arrangement. They would sit and conversed amiably, usually sharing tabasco and a form of chocolate. Ms. Clarke regarded Michael's twin gustatory inclination as a sign of that he was meant to be her helper. Nothing more. Michael had grown more comfortable with her over the few weeks, sharing his progress with painting and other anecdotes. He never spoke about his foster father and their low socio-economic status. And she didn't seem to care. Roswell wasn't a huge town, he knew that if she did care, she could ask around and find out about his reputation. But even assuming that she had, she hadn't kicked him out.

In turn, Ms. Clarke shared her life with him. Faculty gossip and family stories. She came from one of Roswell's first families, from before the '47 crash so she viewed the town's alien hang-up from a unique perspective.

Michael sighed, "That was Max Evans."

Ms. Clarke frowned. She'd imagined Michael's closest friend to be more pleasant, less brooding. "Oh." She didn't push.

"He's just worried right now. Liz, that's the girl he makes googly eyes at?"

"I remember."

"She threw me a party and I sorta didn't show. And I sorta didn't tell anyone where I was all weekend. They thought something happened to me."

Ms. Clarke watched Michael. She'd gotten familiar with his body language and knew something deeper was bothering him. However, the librarian also knew that it would be best for Michael to volunteer information. The best thing for her to do right now would be to listen.

Michael sighed and looked down. "It's this girl." He'd been thinking about their encounter all weekend and still hadn't figured out what had gone wrong.

"Liz's talkative girlfriend? The blonde." Michael had never really mentioned her.

"She's sort of an ex-girlfriend." He went slow, unsure of how to share his feelings. "To use the term loosely."

"Maria." He savored her name. "She affects me. She's, like, uber paranoid. She always smells like cypress oil because she sniffs it when she freaks." He smiled bittersweetly, "It calms her down.'

"And she's gorgeous. Not like Isabel," he looked at Ms. Clarke for recognition. She nodded, "but she's these eyes. Green. Brighter than, than everything. And this mouth. She's always pouting, even when she's laughing.'

"I mean, the mouth on her." He blushed. "I mean, the way she uses it." He put his head in his hands. "That didn't come out right. She's got this way of talking. You think she's this vapid bubblehead, but she's the only one who can keep up with my smart alec cracks. But at the same time, she's like you."

Ms. Clarke smiled encouragingly. Michael sounded as if he was never realized these things before.

"She listens. Really listens. And you should see her dance," he lost a moment in recollection. "It's like this zone, where she's steam and flood. I never saw anything like it. Plus, she's got this strength. And all of it is amazing and it's like I don't understand how it all fits into one person. She's this girl, and there's no one I'd rather fight with."

"You're in love with her," the older woman smiled benignly.

"Yeh. I guess I am." Then he groaned, "Oh, god!"

"I'm guessing this is the ex-girlfriend portion."

"She got too close. I couldn't handle it." He combed his fingers through his spiky hair. "I told her, I told her," Michael forced himself to look her straight in the eyes, "I didn't want to get intense. Attached, involved whatever you want to call it." He took a breath, shoved his trembling hands into his pocket. "I was scared. I let her think I didn't care that she was some toy.'

"I let her go."

And then Ms. Clarke was handing him a tissue and telling him, "Take your time."

Michael balled his fist in his pockets; "She makes me into this sop. I don't know if I wanna be that person."

"It's okay, it's not too late. You can still make it right."

"No. I can't. Because I hurt her again. I kissed her. I thought it would be okay. We were in this moment, and she looked so right. But it wasn't okay. She, she bit me." He looked dumbfounded.

"Oh, Michael, you're so young," she sympathized. "What you told me -did you tell her?"

He digested what she was saying before groaning. "I am such failure."

"Michael!" Ms. Clarke's voice was sharp; she'd never used that tone with him. "Never say that." She punctuated each word with a gesture. "You are incredible." She smiled gently, "Now, go put the ice cream dishes in the back sink, and go. Go find her, Michael."

He looked up. "What?"

"I'm a hopeless romantic, now, scoot! Faint heart never won fair maid," she said.

Michael stood up with a look of determination.

As he ran the door, she called out, "And no kissing until after you get the girl!"

***

She was drooling slightly onto her textbook when Michael found her in study hall. He smiled. She wasn't so much snoring as softly murmuring. He enjoyed the opportunity to look her over. Skin so fair and creamy. Even in the desert. He reached out a hand to her caress her face.

He was in her dream:

They were back at the rave. But before she'd finally trapped him in the corner. She was talking to Liz; they were searching the factory for something. Him and Max.

The real Michael stepped towards Maria, he would tell her now. The truth.

But then the band stopped playing and the party hushed. The lead singer stepped up to the mic and said, "Is Maria here? Maria DeLuca?"

Maria, in her barely-there seventies revival outfit, moved to the stage. Party-goers, even the drunk ones, had made a path. The trumpet players helped her up before playing a sort of trilling salute. A red carpet rolled out from the door to the makeshift stage.

"Maria DeLuca, meet your father!"

A handsome man in his forties strode towards her in an impeccable Armani suit. He held his arms open, "Maria, my Maria? I've been looking for you for sixteen years. You're so tall! So lovely! Baby, I understand if you don't want anything to do with me, but, please, give me a chance. I live my life for you. If you're willing to trust me, the limo is waiting outside."

"Daddy?" Maria ran into his arms.

He held her fiercely, "My daughter. I will never leave you. I love you."

They walked out together as the partygoers cheered and threw confetti. Maria got into the limo with the help of her father. Never looking back. Never seeing the rawness in Michael's eyes.

***

The painting was wrong, all wrong. He'd make huge mistakes. The technique was perfect but he looked nothing like Maria's father.

"Mr. Guerin? It's not time for class yet." Mr. Hinds noticed Michael staring at the painting. He'd given it an A+.

"I hate him," Michael growled under his breath. Louder, he said, "I hate it."

"But it's the best work to come out of my classes all year. A formidable enterprise, I was hoping to exhibit it at the state level."

"No."

"Mr. Guerin, I must beg you to reconsider."

"No. I can do better."

***

Michael shed his jacket and brought out his leftover panel and gesso. Never stopping except to ask Mr. Hinds for eggs from the cafeteria. He didn't even bother with a sketch.

His hands edged out, coaxing Maria's father onto the wood. He didn't hate Mr. DeLuca. Mr. DeLuca made Maria happy, he made Maria forget Michael.

But Mr. DeLuca wasn't perfect. The other painting, it was flawless; but there was no passion there. It was not the labor of love he had striven for. He'd gotten too caught up in methodology and application. So now he fixed it. Little lines around his eyes, Maria's sometimes-feral eyes. He made a man of experience, capable of love. Of making her happy. Of doing everything that Michael could not.

Michael couldn't stop. He was driven to make this into an act of rising. This would be his penance. His silent admission of love and guilt. More than ever, he realized he could not be with her and so he painted.

Mr. Hinds handed Michael a glass of ice water every hour or so. The teacher recognized, but had never experienced, this frenzy. It sucked Mr. Guerin in and spilled out art. The paintings were similar but for shadows of longing and other inexplicable changes. It was dynamic; he had a prodigy on his hands.

When Michael finally relented, he could barely encompass what he had done.

He put down his paintbrush, asked the speechless Mr. Hinds to grade it, and walked out, empty.

Go to Part 7-8