Episode 2: Deconstructing

'Psycho' had been long since forgotten, but Maria was about ready to pull a Norman Bates.

They were all clustered around a table in the empty Crashdown, hanging breathlessly on every word Nacedo-- or Desmond, whatever-- was saying.

Or rather, everyone ELSE was hanging breathlessly on his every word. Maria was doing her best not to growl.

"More ice, Maria?" The blonde girl looked up to see Liz hovering anxiously over her, a tumbler full of ice cubes in her hand.

Maria smiled, and pulled a wadded towel away from her forehead, handing it to her friend. "Yeah, thanks," she answered, as Liz unwrapped the terry cloth and added the fresh ice to the half-melted cubes already there.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital?" Liz asked, handing back the quasi ice pack and leaning in close to examine her friend's head. "That was one heck of a header you took into the sidewalk."

Maria winced as Liz fingered the cut over her eyebrow. "I'm fine, Liz," she assured the dark-haired girl, waving her hand out of the way so she could replace the towel. "My ego just got a little bruised."

Liz chuckled, then shrugged. "Your funeral," she joked, and Maria made a face at her.

"What does it look like?" Isabel was saying, and Maria turned her eyes back to the conversation bubbling across the table from her.

Desmond was seated centrally, a half-eaten plate of Saturn rings in front of him. Isabel and Max crowded him on one side, and Michael sat backwards on a chair on the other, his arms crossed over the lattice back, eyes wide. Maria had never seen him speechless before. Quiet, yes, but never speechless. It was...weird.

The older man chuckled as he looked at Isabel. "What does what look like?" he asked.

Isabel blushed, smiling sheepishly. "Home," she replied.

Desmond sat back in his chair and studied the ceiling. Maria tried very hard not to glare at him. "It's beautiful," he answered, lacing his fingers over his flat stomach. "Colors are brighter there than they are here. Greens are GREEN. Pinks are PINK. Edges are crisp and clear-- no smog; no pollution." He grinned. "I'd tell you the name, but it might hurt the humans' sensitive ears."

They all laughed at that, but Maria had to force it. That was the sixteenth time he'd insulted humans in one way or another. She didn't know why she was keeping count-- she just was.

"Can you give us a translation?" Max asked.

Desmond looked at him genially. "Well...." He drew out the word, teasing them. At their pleading looks, he caved in. "Oh, all right," he agreed cheerfully.

Tapping his chin, he appeared to be deep in thought. "There's really no equivalent in human-speak," he answered, "it being such a dull language and all." //Seventeen,// Maria thought. "I suppose the closest translation would be Waterblue."

"Waterblue," Isabel breathed, wide-eyed. "That's beautiful."

"Just like home," Desmond agreed.

There was a comfortable silence for a second, while Maria pretended to smile. It was beginning to be a hassle.

There was just...SOMETHING about Desmond. Something off. Maybe it was the way he seemed to ignore the three humans in the diner. Maybe it was the way his smile barely seemed to reach his dark eyes. Maybe it was the way Michael hadn't even looked at her since they'd arrived at the Crashdown-- his eyes had spent the entire time glued to their visitor. Not so much as a, "How are you doing, Maria?" Just dead silence. As if she didn't exist.

Or didn't matter.

"So, Desmond," Michael broke the silence- the first words he'd said all night-- "where are you staying?"

The older alien shrugged. "I've got a room at the Outer Limits Motor Court." He smiled. "It's not much, but it'll do."

Michael snorted. "That place is a rat-infested flea trap," he observed. "You can't stay there."

"Where do you suggest I stay?"

"You can crash with me. You all right, blondie?"

Maria held up a hand to shush him as she fought to break-off a sudden coughing fit. "Just...saliva...down the...wrong...hole!" she forced out between coughs. "Ignore me!"

"Oh. All right." He turned back to Desmond. "So, yeah, like I was saying..."

Maria didn't hear anymore. She focused on trying to take deep, cleansing breaths, both to ease her coughing and calm her nerves. //Crash with him? Michael, you idiot! What the hell are you thinking?!// Ok, yeah, so Desmond was the closest Michael had to family in the whole world-- maybe the whole universe-- and Maria was the last person to suggest that anyone turn their family out on their ear. But still-- it was the principle of the thing.

//What principle? The 'If he's there, there's no chance of a late-night make-out fest' Principle?//

She silently scolded herself. That wasn't the reason. //It ISN'T,// Maria told herself firmly.

Well, Ok. Maybe a LITTLE of it was that. But not all. Desmond gave her the creeps. //But how the hell am I supposed to tell Michael that? It would be like him telling me that Mom gives him the shivers!//

So Maria took one last deep breath, set her shoulders, plastered a smile on her face, and looked up. Only to start choking again.

Because Desmond was looking at her.

Really looking.

His black eyes were focused on her face. When she looked up, he quickly glanced away, but there was no way he could disguise where he had been staring. Maria felt a cold shiver move up her spine and clutch at her heart. Those eyes hadn't been the warm, friendly eyes he'd been using all night-- the same eyes he was using again. They had been cold, and hard, and for her alone. Maria shuddered when she found herself wondering how many times he had done that all night, only to look away a split second before she noticed.

"So what do you say?" Michael was asking, and the poorly hidden hope in his voice made Maria's heart ache. Because she wanted to be happy for him.

Desmond made a show of considering, then a smile spread across his face. "You've twisted my arm, Michael," he said. "Looks like I'm going to have to check out tomorrow!"

Michael's smile broke Maria's heart.

The spiky-haired teen leapt up from his chair-- odd; she'd never seen Michael leap up from ANYTHING before-- and quickly pushed it out of the way. "Great!" he exclaimed. "I'm going to run home and straighten up." He started for the door.

"Michael!" Maria called, bringing him up short.

"What?" he asked, turning to face her.

She held her hands out to the side. "Michael, it's eleven o'clock at night. Can't that wait until tomorrow?"

He gave her an odd look. "No," he said simply. There was a beat, then he bolted out the door.

//Good night to you, too,// she thought silently, watching his back disappear down the street.

"I guess that's my cue to leave," Desmond observed, pushing back from the table and standing slowly.

Max and Isabel stood near his elbow. "Will we get to talk to you again soon?" Max asked. "We've got a lot of questions about...about home."

Desmond smiled, and it made Maria shiver. "Absolutely, Max. I'm not going anywhere." He directed his attention to Liz. "Do I owe you anything for the food?"

Liz shook her head. "Nope," she said cheerfully. "It's on the house!"

Desmond gave her a quick smile. "Great. That's great." Smiling once more at the other aliens, Desmond headed for the door, and slipped out into the night.

There was silence for a minute.

"That guy gives me the creeps," Maria finally muttered, unable to keep the information to herself any longer.

But she was completely shocked when the other four teenagers-- aliens included-- chorused, "Ditto!"

***********

It was a drained and shaky Maria Deluca who showed up on Michael Guerin's doorstep late the next afternoon. He hadn't been in school that day. Michael hadn't missed school since his emancipation. True, he'd just found his closest living relative, but still, he would have told her. He would have called.

Raising a shaky fist, she rapped on the door-- three sharp taps-- and tried to keep her eyes from blurring. She hadn't slept well the night before. Nightmares. Dreams of black eyes and clinical white smiles. It made Maria shudder just thinking about it.

At least she wasn't the only one. After recovering from her initial shock at the knowledge that the others were equally freaked out by Desmond, Maria had told them about the look the older alien had given her. None of them had noticed-- she was positive they thought she was nuts. Just imagining things. He was weird, but not psycho.

She was inclined to disagree.

Max and Isabel were torn between loyalty to their newfound mentor and an overwhelming sense of dread. "There's just....SOMETHING," Isabel had said. "I can't place it. But it's there. And it scares the hell out of me."

Only Michael seemed immune to the older alien's creep-factor. He'd embraced Desmond with open arms. That made coming here all the harder, because Maria knew Nacedo would be inside-- he'd moved in today.

She could avoid him. She could. Just say what she had to say to Michael, and get out before Psychomatic showed himself.

The sound of footsteps on the other side of the door roused her from her reverie, and she blinked away the blurriness as the door swung open.

And almost choked on her tongue as she came face to face with Jack Nicholson.

"What the...?!" She took an involuntary step backward, her hand unconciously going up to cover her heart.

"Here's Johnny!" Nicholson snarled.

"HOLY SHIT!" Maria shrieked, backing up against the wall across the hall from the door. What the f-

Wait a second.

Those eyes.

She'd know those eyes anywhere. She knew them in her nightmares.

"D-Desmond?" she stammered in disbelief, leaning slightly forward.

"Isn't it cool?" Suddenly, Michael was hovering over Nicholson's //No, Desmond's!// shoulder. "He's a shapeshifter! He was teaching me how to do it!"

Maria took a hesitant step forward. "Uh, yeah," she hedged. "Really cool. Are you...good at it?"

Michael's face fell while Desmond backed out of the doorway. "No," the teen answered. "I can't do jack."

"Yet," the Desmond-Nicholson added reassuringly. Michael smiled.

The situation was thoroughly creeping Maria out. She decided it was time to put a stop to it. "Michael?" she interrupted his tete-a-tete with Desmond. "Can I speak with you?" She gave Nacedo a withering look. "Privately?"

Michael seemed suddenly uncomfortable, and he looked to Desmond as if in support. The older alien nodded, and Maria felt a wave of revulsion wash through her. //Arrogant bastard,// she thought violently.

"Yeah, actually, I've been meaning to talk to you, too, Maria," Michael said, suddenly very interested in the wall behind her shoulder.

Maria raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?"

"Uh, yeah."

"What about?" She somehow knew she wasn't going to like the answer.

Michael raised a thumb and absently scratched his eyebrow. "You, uh...you can't...come...over here...anymore."

Maria's eyes bugged. "What!?" //All right, when the hell did I lose control of this conversation?//

"It's just, Desmond thinks that I'd get along a lot faster in my learning if I didn't have any...human...distractions," Michael explained quickly.

Maria crossed her arms over her chest. "Oh, so THAT'S what I am now? A distraction?" She let the anger wash through her, or she was going to start crying. "God! WHERE is the soap, Michael, because I'm having flashbacks to the factory!"

Michael looked confused, stricken. "It's...not like that, Maria, really," he assured her. "It's just...Desmond says-"

"Desmond says? How about what YOU say, Michael? Or have you forgotten that YOU have a voice in your life, too?"

Uh-oh. Wrong thing to say.

Michael's face darkened. "What, you think I didn't have a say in this, Maria?" he demanded. "You think I'm just letting people push me around? Is THAT what you're saying?"

God, how was she supposed to respond to that. 'Yeah, actually, I do?' "Michael, I'm just saying, THINK about this!" she argued. Glancing past his shoulder, she saw Nacedo standing across the living room, staring out the window. "There's something not right about him, Michael!" she hissed. "We've all felt it. ALL of us! Me, Liz, Alex.... Even Max and Isabel!" Desperation edged her voice. "I don't want you to get hurt, Michael!"

He glared at her, and she hadn't seen such hostility in his eyes since... Well, since ever. "I'm a big boy, blondie," he growled. "I can take care of myself."

She took a deep breath. "I know you're lonely, Michael," she said softly, "but I don't think this is right. You're not thinking clearly. You're letting your emotions cloud your judgement."

Michael's face was hard. "I don't have emotions," he answered flatly.

The anger wasn't helping anymore. Tears sprang to Maria's eyes. "Michael..." she whispered, reaching out to him.

"You know, I was doubting what Desmond told me, but now I see he was right," Michael continued, reaching behind the door for something. "Humans are just distractions. I don't need this. And I don't need YOU." He found what he was searching for, and brought it around to the front of the door. It was a simple cloth-wrapped package-- sling it on a stick and he could have been a hobo.

He held it out to her. "These are yours. Take them."

Maria reached out reflexively and took the bundle. Her fingers briefly brushed his, and she felt the familiar jolt of emotion that she always associated with his touch. But he drew his hand away quickly, and the intimacy was broken, if it had ever existed at all.

"Michael..wha..?" Maria didn't know what to say. Was this the same Michael Guerin who just last night had looked at her with tenderness and understanding?

"I'll see you around, blondie," he answered her, beginning to shut the door.

Maria held out a hand and stopped him. "Say my name," she murmured, eyes tearing.

Michael gave her a funny look. "What?"

She swallowed, and spoke louder, more firmly. "I said, SAY MY NAME."

He stared at her for a second.

"Later, Deluca," he finally muttered, before forcing the door closed, and breaking what little connection they had had.

Maria stood there for a second in disbelief.

"Not that one," she whispered to the air. "Not that name."

Her hands were shaking and her vision was blurry as she unwrapped the bundle. The tears she'd managed to hold in overflowed when she saw it's contents.

Her toothbrush. Her hairbrush. The lavendar candle she'd given him as a moving in present; to help, "Clean up that used apartment stench." And finally, a candid snapshot of the two of them from a week ago. Alex had been dabbling in photography lately, and he'd developed the film for them. They were sitting on Michael's couch, with his arm around her shoulders, and her head leaning against him. They were both smiling.

Maria sniffled loudly, and wiped away a tear before it could fall on the glossy finish of the 3x5. She traced the outline of his smile with her index finger, and wondered if she'd ever see it again.

******

"Are you sure I did the right thing?"

Desmond glanced to the side at the hatchling, then turned back to the window. "Of course you did, my boy," he said, in what he assumed was a reassuring voice. "It's for the best. Human's are fickle creatures. If you'd continued with her, who knows what could have happened? She lets a word slip somewhere. A little fight, and she's off to tell the police about what you are. You leave the butter dish in the sun, and she's ready to call the FBI." He shrugged and sighed. "You and Ruth were never meant to be."

"Maria."

Desmond glanced at him again. "What?"

Michael looked at him. "Maria. You called her Ruth. It's Maria."

The hatchling's voice was still protective of the girl. That would not help the plan. "Yes, of course!" Desmond concurred genially, clenching his fist. "Silly me. I'm an idiot when it comes to names. Always have been. Comes with using so many of them."

Michael nodded in understanding, then turned back to his own contemplation of the window view. Desmond joined him.

The female had exited the building, and now she was across the street fumbling in her purse, supposedly for car keys. Occasionally, a hand would steal up to her face and brush at her cheeks. Nacedo knew she was wiping away her tears, and the knowledge triggered a memory of another face framed by blonde-hair and dominated by deep green eyes and rosy lips. Another face streaked with tears and black mascara tracks. He had to fight to keep his complacency and not give in to the arousal.

Eventually, the female had fished her keys from the depths of her purse, and she quickly unlocked the Jetta. Flinging her bag into the passenger seat, she climbed in and slammed the door. There was the sound of an elderly engine turning over, then a pause as she checked for oncoming traffic. Then she smoothly pulled out onto the empty street, and was gone.

There was a brief pause.

"I think I miss her," the hatchling said softly.

Desmond fought down the urge to smack the youngling. "Time heals all wounds, Michael. Of the body AND the soul." He clapped a hand on the young man's shoulder, distracting him from his contemplation of the human's parking space.

"Come on," he continued, turning Michael back towards the living room. "Let's practice your molecular manipulation a little more."

This was going to be a hard egg to crack, but he WOULD crack. Desmond was sure of that. And as he began to show him the finer points of electomagnetic metamorphosis-- in other words, color changing-- all Desmond could picture were lovely green eyes shaded in smudged mascara, and rosebud lips cracked and bleeding. He found it immensely stimulating that he couldn't tell if it was a memory...

Or a premonition.

******

Go to Part 3: The Information Superhighway