Note: The poetry is from the poem "Gretel in Darkness" by Louise Gluck. The lines have been used out of order.

********

Episode 5: Late Night Confessions

"Nights I turn to you to hold me
but you are not there.
Am I alone?"

He could stare at her forever, but that would never be long enough.

Michael wondered for the six-hundred-seventy-five- thousandth time why he had to do this. Why he couldn't leave her smooth, supple body alone, to be mired in the wreckage of eventual old age. It didn't seem right that someone who could make his body shine would have to meet the dark so soon.

//It wasn't fair that the humans slaughtered your father,// he told himself. //It wasn't fair that they butchered your mother. Why take pity on them now?//

It was a strong argument-- unassailable. But that didn't make it easier.

Maria was curled up next to him where he propped himself up on one elbow. She smelled like cypress and vanilla and lust. The entire room was scented by their coupling- it was dusky and exotic. And sweet.

Michael leaned in close, letting his eyes drift shut as he bent his face near to hers and breathed her in. She made him dizzy, and scared, and exultant, and furious, and passionate, and confused, all at the same time. She was an enigma-- the hated and the beloved. How could he reconcile the two into one?

There was a sharp twinge in his shoulder, and Michael held in a groan. It reminded him of who he was, and why he was here. Who had sent him.

Desmond.

Father.

Never betray family. It was a cardinal rule of society. Family was the core-- the alpha and the omega.

Michael had never had a family. Now, in a few weeks, he'd gained two fathers and a mother. Two of them were gone and beyond his help, but one remained, and all he asked of Michael was that he avenge a crime that made the teen's own blood run cold.

He opened his eyes, and gazed down at Maria's cheek. He wondered if his own mother had been as beautiful-- Desmond had said she was. Somehow, Michael couldn't believe it. No one could ever match Maria.

There were tears in his eyes, but he hardly noticed them as he slid a hand up the bed between them. Resting his palm a centimeter above her cheek-- hovering in midair-- he paused. Maria's heat soaked into his skin, and he swallowed hard, trying to break the lump that was suddenly in his throat.

His hand should go to her throat. Quick, simple. A jerk to the side, and she'd be gone. A china doll in a childlike mansion.

His fingers began to move; a simple shift towards her throat. But before they reached her ivory neck, they stilled.

And changed direction.

Michael moved his hand lower, and found the pulsing side of her ribcage. He couldn't deface her by crooking her neck into a crude L-shape. So he found her heart, and rested his hand gently-- oh, ever so delicately-- on the petal soft flesh. Softly, softly, so as not to wake the sleeping beauty.

Closing his eyes, he followed the path of her veins from the surface until he found the throbbing pulse that pumped her life. Then, just as Nacedo had taught him, he quietly switched it off.

******

"...I hear the witch's cry
break in the moonlight through a sheet
of sugar..."

"You two get to Maria's NOW," Max said firmly as they ran flat out towards where Alex and Max had parked their respective vehicles, a block from the high school. "We'll get to Michael's and try to do something about Desmond."

Liz was panting as they drew up next to the two vehicles. "What are you going to do?" she asked breathlessly, brushing her hair out of her face as Alex fumbled for his keys.

Max shrugged, and gave her a hopeless look. "We'll think of something." He began to climb into the jeep.

Liz reached out to grab his arm. "Be careful," she said softly.

Max flashed her a warm smile, and reached out to cup her cheek. "You too," he murmured, and she smiled.

"If you two are done being all lovey-dovey, we have a matter of life and death to contend with," Isabel said impatiently from the driver's seat. "Can we get a move on?"

Max glanced over his shoulder at his sister, then looked back to Liz. "I'll see you later," he said, pecking her on the cheek, then jumping into the passenger seat. Isabel already had the engine running, and the second he was in, she slammed the jeep into reverse.

"Good luck, Red!" Alex called to her as he swung open his own driver's side door.

Isabel looked at him from behind the wheel, and managed a quick smile. "You too, Slim," she called back. "Be careful." There was honest emotion in her voice.

Alex grinned. "Aren't I always?"

Isabel just smiled again, then threw the jeep into drive and took off with a squeal of tires and the smell of smoking rubber.

Liz circled quickly around the small car and slid into the passenger side, slamming the door as Alex started the engine. "When have you ever 'been careful?'" she asked, a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "We've never done anything like this before."

Alex grinned at her. "Isabel doesn't need to know that," he told her.

Pulling back on his automatic shift, he backed up hard, then spun a donut as he turned to head in the opposite direction from the one Isabel had taken. The tires screamed against the pavement, and Liz gripped the doorhandle in a white-knuckled fist, eyes wide.

"What the hell was that for?" she asked.

Alex was smiling like a Cheshire cat. "I've always wanted to do that," he told her matter-of-factly. "Now let's go."

And they were gone.

******

"Now, far from women's arms
and memory of women, in our father's hut
we sleep, are never hungry.

The first thing he did after the act was to get dressed. Not completely. Just halfway. He pulled on his boxers, and his tight black jeans, trying to forget how it had felt when she pulled them down his legs, brushing his skin.

The second thing he did was wash his hands. He felt dirty and stained, like a used dishrag. Scrubbing at his hands, he watched them turn red and chapped beneath the scalding water. But he didn't turn it down.

The third thing he did was sit on the floor beside the bed and stare up at her, knees drawn up to his chin, arms wrapped around his legs. He sat there, rocking, gazing at her bare back, ethereal white in the moonlight. She could just be sleeping, had this been any other night. Sleeping and dreaming-- maybe of him.

The fourth thing he did came a long time later. He pulled himself to his feet and drew the bedclothes down her body. She was alabaster white, tinged in evening blue. Her lips were blue. Her fingertips, too. And the wide silver handprint that marked her was, too.

He gazed at her body in sorrowful worship, like the priest over the sacrificed virgin. She'd HAD to die. It was necessary. It was revenge. It was a million things he couldn't understand but desperately wanted to, if only to prove he wasn't crazy.

The fifth thing he did was done quickly and deftly, but with tenderness to spare. He dressed her delicately, his fingers lingering on the bare curve of her breast as he slipped on her camisole; on the smooth column of her thigh as he drew on her panties. When the clothing was complete, he gazed down at her, and she looked somehow younger than when he'd started.

He twitched the camisole higher, to cover his brand-- as if to do so could break the bond she'd made with him. It didn't work.

The sixth thing he did was to pick her up and hold her limp body close as he let his powers make the bed. He rocked her side to side as the sheets and blankets arranged themselves; bouncing her lightly, as though humming her a lullabye. As if he were merely singing her to sleep.

The seventh thing he did was to lay her out on the bed, her arms crossed over her stomach, head tilted to the side, beautiful golden hair framing her still face.

The eighth thing he did was to join her there.

The last thing he did was cry.

And that was how they found him.

******

"...we are there still and it is real, real,
that black forest and the fire in earnest."

At first, Liz didn't know if what she was seeing was two sleeping individuals, or a flat-out love fest. Either way, she stepped softly into Maria's room, Alex close behind her.

Michael lay on his side-- bare-backed-- next to Maria, his face buried in the juncture of her neck and shoulder. The blonde girl lay on her back, apparently oblivious to Michael's touch. The girl always had been able to sleep deeply.

Liz cleared her throat and took another step forward. "Um, Maria, Michael?" she said tentatively. "We need to talk. About Desmond."

There was no response, so she cleared her throat again. "You guys, I said we have to talk about Desmond," she repeated, taking another step deeper into the room. "This is life and death you two. You can finish your little love fest later."

She was close enough to touch her friend now, so Liz reached out and shook Maria's foot. "Come ON, Maria," she said testily. "Wake up."

Maria didn't move, but Michael looked up. And Liz's pulse froze dead in her chest.

"She's gone, Liz," he said in a choked voice. "I killed her."

The moonlight shining on his tears was blinding, but nowhere near as bright as the shimmering handprint over her best friend's heart.

*******

"...Spies
hiss in the stillness, Hansel..."

"Where the fuck ARE they!?"

Isabel had never heard her brother use such coarse language, but she wasn't about to correct him. Hell, she was close to using worse herself.

"Michael!" Max bellowed for the fifth time, his voice echoing up and down the deserted street. They were standing side by side in the middle of the road in front of Michael's apartment building. Michael wasn't there. Neither was Desmond. Isabel didn't like that thought AT all.

"Keep it down out there!" an angry voice hollered from a window three stories up. "Some people are trying to sleep!"

Isabel could see her brother's eyes go hard and cold as he glared at the window, and she knew that no good would come of him mouthing off to one of Michael's neighbors. So she gently laid a hand on his arm. "They're not here, Max," she said, softly but firmly. "Let's just leave."

He turned to her with frustrated eyes, but she kept her gaze stern, and eventually he relaxed.

"I know, Izzy," he said dejectedly, his shoulders slumping. "It's just, he could be anywhere. THEY could be anywhere."

"I know," she murmured. "Trust me, Max, I know."

There was silence for a minute as they meditated on that thought.

When the realization struck, it came like a split lightning bolt. Their heads snapped up in unison, and their eyes locked.

"Maria," they breathed as one, before bolting for the jeep, smoke at their heels.

******

"...I see armed firs,
the spires of that gleaming kiln--"

"YOU BASTARD!" Liz screamed in grief-stricken fury, throwing herself at the young man on the bed. "YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!!"

She began to pummel him with her fists, her knees, her sharp young elbows, her finely-honed nails. Anything she could throw at him, she did. Anywhere there was an opening, she took it. If she bruised him, who cared? If she cut him, who cared? If she killed the son-of-a-bitch, who the hell cared?

No one, that was who. No one and Desmond. But Desmond would have to wait his turn; Michael was hers now.

"YOU RAT BASTARD SON-OF-A-BITCH!" she shrieked, kneeing him in the kidney; raking her nails down his cheek. "YOU PIECE OF SHIT! I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL, YOU FUCKING FREAK! I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL!!!"

Through her assault, Liz was vaguely aware of Alex moving on the other side of the bed. She ignored him. At least he wasn't trying to stop her.

Neither was Michael for that matter. He just lay passively beneath her, taking her punches and letting her claw at him. She felt her fingers draw blood, and it made her want more. So she dug them in deeper, and tore.

"Liz, that's enough," Alex said softly, his serious voice cutting through her blinding rage. "Leave him alone."

Liz glared up at him, her eyes wild-fire. "Alex, he KILLED MARIA!" she screeched. "The bastard killed our best friend!" The tears streaming down her cheeks went unchecked. "I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!"

The world was red as she dove in for the kill, her hands going for Michael's jugular. She would have ripped it out-- turned Bacchanal and torn him asunder.

Except that he didn't move. And he said, "Please."

Liz froze. "Please what?" she hissed, the world spinning with grief, pain, and fury.

His dark eyes met hers, and there was no fight in them. "Please, just kill me," he said softly. "I can't stay here, and I can't go back. Just do it."

Those eyes were begging her. Her fingers were itching, twitching to tear out his throat. It would be so easy...

With a wordless cry, Liz clambered over Michael's immobile body, shoving him aside until she sat next to Maria. Alex already held the blonde girl's hand; Liz gathered her best friend's head into her lap and stroked her golden hair, sniffling. Maria's skin was cool, and getting colder. Liz felt her rage ebb, replaced by frozen grief.

"Screw you, bastard," she whispered viciously. "I hope you suffer."

She didn't watch Michael's eyes close, nor did she see the tears begin anew down his cheeks. But she knew she'd hurt him, in more ways than one. If she could, she'd have flayed him alive.

The only sound in the room for a long minute was Liz's frantic sniffles as she desperately tried to find a spark of life in her friend's stiffening body. But there was none to be found.

When the dark figure entered the room, nobody noticed.

*********

"My father bars the door, bars harm
from this house, and it is years."

"So you've done it." Desmond's pleased voice floated to him on a sea of air. They were spun sugar; they melted before they reached his ears.

Slowly, slowly, Michael opened his eyes. His body was a screaming live wire of pain, but he didn't pay attention. There were some hurts that just cut deeper than others.

"Why?" he rasped. "Why did I have to?"

Desmond looked ready to answer, but was cut off as the screaming Fury of Liz launched herself at him. "You murdering son-of-a-bitch!" she screamed at him, beating on him much as she had done to Michael. Desmond barely seemed to notice. "You killed her! YOU KILLED HER!"

In a quick move-- barely a flicker of the hand-- Nacedo grabbed one of Liz's thin wrists, and with almost a polite nod of the head, he effortlessly flung her to the side. She crashed into Maria's window seat, wincing in pain and arching her back as her skull made impact with the corner.

"No, my pet," he said calmly, gesturing to Michael. "He did."

"Liz!" Alex cried, flinging himself off the bed and careening across the room to kneel beside his fallen friend.

She was touching the back of her head, and her hand came away bloody. "Oh, shit, Liz!" Alex fretted. Grabbing a discarded shirt off the back of Maria's chair, he wadded it up and pressed it to the back of Liz's head. "Hold that there," he told her sternly, moving her hand to hold the shirt. "Don't move."

Liz nodded, weakly, but her eyes still burned.

Michael watched all of this with detachment. Somehow, the world didn't seem quite real anymore.

He'd killed.

The thought was enough to make him sick, but there was no food in his stomach to heave to the surface. Instead, he used the revulsion to propel himself into a sitting position, ignoring the swimminess of the air in front of his eyes. "Why?" he asked again. "Why her? Why me?"

Desmond gave him a warm smile, and Michael shivered. "It was necessary, Michael. Remember?"

Michael began to shake his head, but paused. Yes. Yes, it had been necessary. She'd killed his par-

"No," he said, almost to himself. His eyes turned inward, and he fought for control. "No, it wasn't. She...she didn't have to die."

Desmond's eyes were suddenly hard. "Yes, she did. Michael, listen to me. She killed your parents. Her kind KILLED YOUR PARENTS."

Michael raised his eyes, and all the fire of a thousand forgotten suns hit Desmond full force. "BUT SHE DIDN'T!" he roared. "SHE DIDN'T!"

And there was pain.

Like an ice pick dipped in acid, he felt a stabbing fire explode in his shoulder. With a strangled cry, he collapsed to the floor, gripping his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut and watering with the agony.

Then it was gone.

Like morning mist burned away at the break of dawn, it disappeared. Michael opened his eyes, slowly, carefully. And saw the world in painful clarity.

He'd killed. He'd killed Maria.

Oh, God.

This time, it didn't matter that there was nothing in his stomach. Falling to the side, he vomited into Maria's half full trashbin, not wanting to soil anymore of her room than he already had by just being born.

When Desmond spoke again, his voice had lost all traces of warmth. "You whining little wuss," he snarled. "I knew you'd never be fully trained. Thank God I put the Tracker on you. Or you'd never have done it. And she wouldn't be dead."

Michael looked up slowly, wiping his mouth, his eyes stinging. "Tracker?"

Desmond glared down at him. Then, with a growl, he reached out and grabbed Michael by the hair, wrenching him to his feet. Michael winced and yelped in pain as the older alien dragged him across the room to Maria's vanity.

Spinning Michael around so that his back was to the mirror, Desmond grabbed the younger alien's chin and forced his head as far around to the back as he could, so that Michael had no choice but to look in the mirror. His eyes widened.

Directly atop his shoulder blade was a broad handprint, colored blood red.

********

"All who would have seen us dead
are dead...."

Desmond watched with satisfaction as the hatchling's face went a pleasant shade of gray. "W-what the fuck is that?" the boy asked.

Releasing him, Desmond took a step back, dusting his hands off on his pants. "A Tracker," he repeated. "A mind device. A control." He couldn't keep a smug smile off his face as he continued. "With it, one can control the thoughts, and, to an extent, the very actions of another." He grinned. "Very useful with thick-headed students."

The youngling still looked confused, and Desmond wanted to smack him for being so ignorant. "H-how?" the boy stammered.

Stepping closer, Desmond reached out and patted him on the shoulder: one, two, three slight taps, that could have been for comfort, had they not been so deliberate.

"There, there, SON," he said, getting as close to the hatchling's face as he could. "It's not your fault that you're a reject." He sighed dramatically. "Of course, Trackers are easily broken. Congratulations. You just did."

The youngling's eyes were pained, and it made Desmond smile. "You bastard," the hatchling hissed, throwing the hand off his shoulder. Nacedo didn't argue. He took a step back.

Desmond would have spoken, but a flicker of motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention. With the fluid grace that comes from years of practice, he stepped to the side, narrowly missing the figure of Max, who went barreling past him. "Welcome, boy," he said, as the dark-haired youngling came to a crashing halt, slamming into the opposite wall, and crumpling to the floor beside the human female. "I'm pleased you could join us." His eyes turned to the doorway. "Now, where is your sister? I know she's there."

He was not disappointed. The shimmering image of the blonde hatchling appeared in the doorway. She looked terrified, but her voice was nothing but strength. "Hello, Desmond," she said firmly.

Nacedo raised an eyebrow, pleased by the girl's courage. "Young one," he acknowledged, tilting his head in her direction. Gesturing to where her brother sat on the floor beside the human female-- clasping hands tightly- he added, "Would you care to sit down? I'm afraid I'm a bit busy here, but I'll get to you soon."

The hatchling shook her head. "I think I'd rather talk from here, thank you," she said firmly.

Desmond let his eyes go cold again. "I'm afraid that won't be an option," he said icily, and began advancing on her.

Then stopped dead when she said, "Tell us about Ruth, Desmond. Tell us what you did to her. And why."

Ruth? No one had mentioned her in... "How do you know that name?" he growled.

The female hatchling twitched an eyebrow, and he boiled with fury as she extended a computer print-out of Ruth's face. He remembered the picture. He'd been the one to take it.

"Amazing what you can find on-line," the girl said.

Desmond extended a shaking hand to take the print out from the girl. It was her. Ruth. His Ruth. He hadn't seen her in...

Throwing back his head, he screamed.

*********

"Why do I not forget?"

Isabel was shaking so hard, she didn't know how she could keep her feet. Desmond's scream echoed in her head, making her mind shudder.

"Why did you bring this?" he hissed at her, his eyes ice cold.

"Why the fuck do you think, Einstein?" she shot back, forcing her voice to remain strong. "Gee, maybe because she looks like one of my best friends? Or, oh yeah, maybe BECAUSE YOU KILLED HER, you freaky son of a whore!"

While she waited for his reaction to that, Isabel let her eyes roam around the room. Liz... Shit, the girl looked like she'd been run over by a cement truck. Max didn't look much better, if only because of the emotional stress. Alex looked to be all right, thank God. His eyes met hers, and he flashed her a quick, secret smile that gave her courage and put iron in her backbone.

Michael was bruised, bloody and broken. His eyes were downcast and he leaned against Maria's vanity. She could see the reflection of a blood red handprint on his back, and decided she'd wait until later to ask about it.

Her eyes strayed last to the motionless girl on the bed. She was still. Too still.

Isabel looked away.

"I didn't kill her."

The words were almost inaudible, but Isabel caught them anyway. "What?" she asked testily, not wanting him to gain the upper hand. Wanting to keep him off-guard. "What are you babbling about?"

Desmond looked up and met her eyes. "She killed herself," he said, and there was something dead in his face now. Like a part of him had suddenly evaporated. "She told me time and again. 'Nachi, we should never have left. Nachi, we should have stayed with them. We should have stayed. I should never have left him.'" There were tears in his eyes.

"Left who?"

"Her husband."

Isabel was thoroughly confused. "Her husband? What the... What are you talking about? WHO are you talking about?"

Desmond stared blankly at her. "Your mother," he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "And your father. Your parents."

It took a long minute for Isabel to absorb that. A long minute of widening eyes and dropping jaws.

"She's... She's..our mother?" Max murmured from the sidelines.

Desmond nodded, and tenderly stroked the cheek of the woman in the picture. "Yes, she is," he said faintly. "Your mother. All of you."

Michael looked up briefly. "Even me?" he asked, eyes dull.

Desmond nodded.

Michael shrugged. "Oh." His eyes dropped again, and Isabel felt her heart rise into her throat. Something bad had happened here. Something so bad, even the knowledge that they were siblings couldn't snap him out of it.

"Why did Ruth kill herself?" Alex asked softly, and Desmond turned on him with newfound fury.

"Don't you EVER speak her name, HUMAN!" he roared. "It's because of YOU that she died!"

Alex and Liz cringed back from his outburst, and the girl clenched Max's hand tighter.

"It was YOUR kind who killed her husband. It was YOUR kind who butchered Ivgenroc! In front of our eyes!" Tears stood in the older alien's eyes, but he brushed them away angrily. "We stayed, to protect the pods. Ivgenroc went to meet them-- to meet your GOVERNMENT. And they killed him! They shot him dead on the spot, as if he were an animal! Then they took him away, not even giving us the chance to bury him!"

Through his entire explication, Desmond-- or Nachi, as he'd called himself-- had been advancing on the two cowering humans. He now towered above them like a reaping angel.

"We couldn't move the pods very far," he said in a sharp whisper, "so we left them. We knew they would grow, and one day we'd come back to find the children."

He squatted down in front of them. "It was SUPPOSED to be 'we'," he growled. "But she couldn't live without him." It was said with disbelief, as if he couldn't understand her fixation. "'Ivgenroc!' she used to sob, over and over, as we ran." He clenched his fists, fighting for control.

"I married her," he said softly. "I loved her. But it wasn't enough."

He looked up again, and his eyes were black fire as he stared at the motionless figure on the bed. "But I came back," he said hoarsely, standing slowly and advancing on the bed. "I came back, and I found them. I found them, Cherican!" he cried to the sky.

When his eyes went back to Maria, they were violent. "But then I saw HER," Desmond hissed. "HER. A HUMAN wearing my Cherican's face!" His face was dark with fury, and the tendons in his neck were standing out in stark relief. "A HUMAN! The reason for all my Cherican's suffering! The reason for ALL our suffering! She COULD NOT live."

Isabel saw Michael's arms tensing, and she cursed silently to herself. He was in no shape for a fight, and this situation was too volatile for any good to come of one. She shot him a warning look, but his eyes were still directed at the floor, and he didn't see. Or chose not to.

"But I wouldn't do it myself," Desmond was saying, softly, almost tenderly. "I couldn't kill my Cherican. But it had to be one of us. She had to be avenged."

"So you chose Michael," Max said softly.

Desmond nodded, but kept his eyes focused on Maria's lifeless face. "He was the right choice. He was the only choice. I knew that he would do it."

That was when Michael exploded.

******

"But I killed for you."

With a roar of inhuman rage, Michael flung himself across the room, slamming into Desmond and knocking the older alien into the wall. He could barely see for the tears, and his body screamed in pain from the bruises and cuts Liz had inflicted on him, but he didn't care. He was working from a core of emotion. A reactor of rage, and grief, and self-loathing-- so strong, it blinded his sight, and curled his tongue, so that all he could do was scream into Desmond's face as he pinned him against the wall. Scream so loud, the knot of despair in his stomach would begin to loosen.

"YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!" he shrieked. "YOU MADE ME KILL HER! You took what I had with her had and you KILLED HER WITH IT!" Tears long since forgotten began streaming down his cheeks again. "And you made ME do it! You made me kill the only person on the fucking planet who ever gave a DAMN about me!" His hand went around the older alien's throat, pinning him tightly against the wall.

Desmond stared back at him, almost complacently, and it made Michael want to bash in the man's teeth. "She wasn't the first," Nacedo wheezed through Michael's grip. "There have been more. Others. Too many to count."

Michael squeezed Desmond's throat. "So all those people-- all those handprints... They were all you."

Desmond nodded.

"Why, you bastard?"

"They were human."

"That's not good enough."

"It should be."

"SHE was not just human!" Michael roared, pointing to Maria. "She was special!"

Desmond looked to Maria, then back to Michael. "She was the worst of all," he rasped. "If I could have, I'd have killed her slowly, and made her thank me when I let her die."

Red. The world was suddenly bathed in red.

Grabbing hold of the front of Desmond's shirt, Michael yanked the man away from the wall, spun him around, and held him at arm's length. "Answer me this before I kill you," he grated. "Do you know where we're from?"

Desmond stared down his nose at Michael, and the teen had to rope in his anger to keep from smacking him. "I told you. Waterblue."

With almost no effort, Michael lifted the older man into the air with one hand. "Know this," he hissed. "ANYTHING you have said up to and including now is suspect. So answer the goddamned question! Do you know where we're from!?" He shook him forcefully to make the point.

Desmond didn't flinch, Michael could give him that. He looked him right in the eye and said, "No."

Michael nodded curtly. "Why not?"

"As far as we could make out, our cryopods malfunctioned during the crash," Desmond explained, keeping eye contact with Michael. "That's why none of us remember where we're from. All we know is what we are."

"So you have no information to tell us?"

Desmond shook his head.

Michael nodded again. "Then we have no more use for you. Goodbye." He moved as though to throw the older man across the room.

"You'll never kill me," Desmond sneered. "I'm the only link you've got to your past."

"A chain is only as strong as it's weakest link," Michael told the man softly. "Once I get rid of you, we'll be ten times stronger." He cocked an eyebrow. "But you do have your uses."

Setting the man back on the floor, he reached down to touch his hand to Maria's chest. It was cold, and he flinched for a second at the feel of the chilly flesh.

The other hand he wrapped around Desmond's throat.

The alien looked suddenly afraid. "You...you wouldn't!" he said, disbelieving.

"You're not worth the air she breathed," Michael hissed, and he began.

******

"...God rewards.
Her tongue shrivels into gas."

The others watched, awestruck and silent, as the transference began.

It started as a simple glow under Michael's hands, which quickly grew in intensity to bathe the room in neon blue.

Tendrils of energy began to snake down Michael's arm from Desmond's throat. The older alien scrabbled at Michael's hand, trying to remove it, but it was no good. Once Michael had started, there was no turning back.

The vines of energy twined around his arm, then over his shoulders to wrap around his other arm. The light was moving quickly now, and soon it reached his hand.

All three figures stiffened as the connection was completed, and they were encased in a bright blue nexus of light.

Maria arched away from the mattress, her body straining to the utmost, until only her shoulders and heels touched the bed. There was still no animation on her face, however. Still no sign of life.

Desmond stood on his tiptoes, his back ramrod straight, his eyes squeezed shut. The hands at his sides were balled into fists, and the knuckles were white, even in the blue light.

Michael seemed to be the only relaxed one of the bunch. His posture, while straight, was at ease, his muscles at rest. The only sign of his concentration was the rapid movement of his eyes behind the lids. And the hard, urgent set of his jaw.

Then, just as quickly as it had begun, it ended. The final swirl of blue energy raced through Michael's body into Maria, and the light around them blinked out of existence.

Desmond collapsed to the floor, boneless.

Maria collapsed to the bed, limp.

Michael fell to his knees between them, cradling his hands in front of him. A look at the palms showed them to be blackened and burnt; smoking with his efforts. But he did not cry out.

There was silence for a moment.

"What the hell was that?" Isabel breathed.

Everyone's faces registered their shock as they shook their heads in disbelief. No one could say a word.

Which was why they could all hear the soft intake of air as Maria Deluca breathed again.

******

"This is the world we wanted."

She opened her eyes to four worried faces, and smiled nervously.

"Um, what's everyone staring at me for?" she asked.

There was dead silence for a moment, then Liz let out an overjoyed shriek and fell on her friend, wrapping Maria in a tight hug.

"Maria, you were dead!" she told her. "You were dead, but you're not anymore, and don't you EVER die on us like that again!"

Maria's eyes had widened at the word 'dead', and now she pushed Liz back to stare at the darker girl, and her circle of friends. "Whoa, whoa, whoa," she said quickly. "What are you talking about, dead? I wasn't dead! I was having the best dream! It was all about clouds, and light, and warmth..." she trailed off at the looks the others were giving her. "What?"

Alex shook his head. "Only you, Maria," he said warmly. "Only you."

She glowered at him, then looked at each member of the group in turn. "So, is someone going to tell me what is happening, or am I going to have to kick some tail?"

There was no answer, but the group seemed to split itself down the middle as a fifth figure joined the group.

Maria's eyebrows furrowed in worry when she saw Michael's haggard appearance, and she held out her hands to him. "God, Michael, what the hell happened to you?" she yelped, beckoning for him to come to her.

He didn't answer. He just stood there, staring at her.

Maria cocked her head to the side and let her hands drop. "What are you looking at, Spaceboy?" she asked.

"It's like you've seen a ghost."

His eyes were trained on hers; his mouth slightly open, as if he couldn't quite catch his breath. Then, quickly, as if frightened he'd break her, he swooped to press his lips lightly to hers.

Maria let her eyes close for the brief moment they were touching, and all the memories of their escapades earlier that night came flooding back to her. She wondered if he could see them.

But then he was pulling back, and holding his hands close to his body, and shaking his head as if he couldn't believe it. "No," he said, more to himself than to anyone. "No, I can't. I...I just can't."

Maria didn't understand. "Can't what?" she asked.

He shook his head, and she was shocked to see tears in his eyes. "Just...not this. I can't do this." Turning his back on the group, Michael ran to her window and all but threw himself out onto the street, barely pausing to grab his discarded shirt from off the floor.

Maria watched his retreating back in confusion. "What was that about?" she asked, unable to keep the hurt out of her voice.

Looks passed amongst the others, and suddenly no one wanted to meet her eyes. "Guys, would SOMEONE explain what is going on here!" she exclaimed, exasperated.

And then added, as she noticed Desmond's motionless body, "And while you're at it, why the hell is there a dead alien on my floor?"

******

"...you look at me as though
you meant to leave.
As though it never happened."

She found him the next day, in the same jeans and t-shirt, curled up in a ball beneath a tree in the park.

She sat beside him, her knees pulled up under her chin, arms wrapped around her legs, and gazed off into the distance, not saying anything. He didn't seem to notice her presence. He didn't seem to be noticing anything.

Finally, she spoke. "We buried him," she said matter-of-factly. "It was easier than you'd have thought. You know, when you guys die, you shrivel up and turn into this nasty looking pruney corpse. Then you disintegrate entirely. Not a pretty sight, but easy to clean up."

There was no response, so she kept talking.

"We dumped him in the sewer, two blocks from my house. Isn't that weird? Now there's some dead alien's ashes floating out there somewhere, under the streets of Roswell. Oddly fitting, I suppose."

"Then we went back to my house and cleaned up a bit. Seems SOMEONE threw up in the trash barrel, and that was fun to-"

"Are you going to shut up sometime soon?" Michael mumbled from his fetal position. "Or am I going to have to move?"

Maria shrugged but didn't look at him. "You can move, but I'll follow you. And I'm not going to stop talking until you start responding."

There was no answer from the lump beside her for a long minute

Then he sat up slowly beside her, his body still wrapped tightly together. "Did they tell you...everything?" he asked hesistantly.

Maria lowered her head and stared at her knees. "Yes," she said.

"Did you believe them?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you here?"

"Why shouldn't I be?"

"Maria, I KILLED you!" Michael growled. "You should stay as far away from me as possible! I'm dangerous!"

She shook her head and finally looked at him. "No you're not, Michael," she told him softly. "You're scared, and you're confused, and that's all right. But you're not dangerous."

His eyes were pained, wanting to believe her, but not daring enough to commit. "Yes I am," he told her again. "I am. I killed you. I killed Desmond. What's to stop me from doing it again?"

Maria shrugged. "What's to keep ANY of us from killing anyone else, Michael?" she asked. "I'll tell you what-- conscience. And heart. The fact that you're telling me to leave proves that you have plenty of both." Reaching out, she gently stroked his cheek with the backs of her fingers. He tried to draw away, but she wouldn't let him.

"I've always seen that," she told him honestly. "Nothing changes it."

"But, I killed you," he reiterated. It was beginning to sound like a hollow argument.

"You also brought me back," she said softly. "So I thank you. I thank you, and I forgive you."

When Michael looked at her, she saw tears in his eyes. "I don't deserve you," he murmured.

She slid closer to him, and rested her head on his shoulder, forcing herself not to think about the blood red handprint Isabel had told her lurked there beneath his t-shirt. "Well you're stuck with me," she said firmly. "Deal with it."

Michael chuckled, and the sound made her heart soar.

"I suppose Liz is never going to talk to me again?" he asked.

Maria blushed and sat up. "Actually, she wanted me to apologize to you about that," she said, fingering a nasty looking cut that extended from beneath the short sleeve of his t-shirt. "She said she...lost her head."

Michael shook his head. "I don't want her to apologize," he said softly, taking Maria's hand gently and examining her fingers. "She was right. About all of it. I would have done the same thing in her position. I would have done worse."

Maria smiled, and cupped his cheek with her free hand. "It won't ever come to that, you know," she assured him gently. "I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you."

He smiled.

It was then that she noticed his hands. With a gasp of shock, she grabbed them and pulled them close to her face. "Michael, your hands!" she yelped.

"What about them?"

"They're...they're...not burned!"

He twisted his fingers in her grasp so that her hands ended up between his. "I healed them," he said softly. "It's not that hard, once you figure out how."

Maria looked deep into his eyes. "But when? How? And what about...the rest of it?" she asked, gesturing vaguely, to encompass the wounds that covered his body.

"When would be last night. How would be really hard to explain. And why not the rest..." He trailed off and thought for a moment, then pulled her hands close to his chest, and gazed into her eyes.

"Those are to remind of how close I came to losing you, Maria," he told her honestly. "And to remind me that I never want to come that close again."

Her face was glowing. She just knew it was. He must have noticed, too, because he looked suddenly puzzled. "What?" he asked. "What's so funny?"

Maria realized then that she was grinning her head off. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him close, so their noses were touching. "You called me Maria," she said tenderly. "You haven't done that in a while."

His smile was sad. "I'm sorry about that-" he began, but she cut him off.

"Shhh," she whispered, laying a finger over his lips. "Don't apologize. You don't have to."

There was comfortable silence for a minute.

"So," Maria finally said. "What do you want to do now?"

Michael shrugged. "We could go see a movie," he suggested.

"Which one?"

"'Psycho's' still playing."

"GOD NO! I'm never going to watch that movie again!"

Michael laughed. "Yeah," he said. "I suppose it's lost its charm and all after this."

"And besides," Maria added, snuggling close to him, "we should wait until all of us are together to go see a movie. You know, me, you, Alex, Liz, your brother and your sister..."

She watched his face closely for a reaction, and was pleased to see a huge smile spread across his face. "My brother and my sister," he said absently, rolling the words around in his mouth, as if getting used to their flavor.

Maria squeezed Michael's arm. "Congratulations, Spaceboy," she said softly. "You officially have a family now." Leaning close to his ear, she whispered, "Though you had one all along anyway, you nitwit!"

He chuckled, and kissed her.

Then Maria asked, "Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you know how to transfer Desmond's... life..force...whatever, into me?"

"I didn't. But I figured I'd give it a try. It was better than nothing."

"You're a smartass, Spaceboy. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Everyday."

"Well tell me who they are, and I'll go kick their booty, because from now on, I'M the only one who gets to call you th-" He touched his lips to hers in a soft, tender kiss, and she forgot anything else she was going to say.

"Whatever you say, Princess," he teased against her mouth, drawing back only slightly.

She pulled him closer. "You don't think I'm going to let you get away THAT easily, do you?" she asked, grinning at him. "We never got to finish what we started last night."

Michael quirked an eyebrow at her. "Oh really?" he said. "I thought we had a pretty good encore myself."

Maria grasped his hand and placed it low on her hip. "Consider this...my treat," she told him, grinning devilishly, and leaning in to taste the skin on his neck. She heard a low rumble come from his throat, and it made her smile.

"We could get arrested for indecent exposure," he observed as she moved lower.

"We'll tell them I was just kissing your boo-boos better."

"I somehow don't think that would be admissible in a court of law. 'The defendants plead not guilty, your honor, on the grounds that she was just kissing his boo-boos better.'"

"Michael?"

"Yeah?"

"You talk too much."

There was very little talking for a long time after that.