"So, what do you think?" asked Terri Hutchinson, stepping back.
Maria studied her reflection in the bathroom mirror, taking in the bouffant hairdo, the false eyelash and bright lipstick, and the discolored mark which surrounded her left eye. She didn't look like herself. She looked like--well, Audrey. Which was just how she was supposed to look.
"After the first scene, you'll wipe off the bruise, add shadow, liner and the other eyelash, and you'll be set for scene two," the makeup artist told her. "So you think you can reproduce this?"
"I think so," the girl responded. "The black eye may take a little practice, though."
"Just remember to stipple the dark purple and a little green into the black to make it three-dimensional," Terri instructed. "Otherwise it will read flat under the stage lights and look fake."
"Well, it looks pretty darn realistic now," said Maria with a smile. "I look like I've been in a fight or something."
Terri grinned at her. "It's too bad I couldn't get down here last week," she said. "Then you could have practiced on the weekend and had a shiner for Halloween. It's kind of macabre, but bruises and wounds make for a fun costume."
"Actually, my Halloween was plenty scary by itself, without the fake bruises," Maria responded with a shudder. Seeing Terri's curious look, she prevaricated, "I had school and work. Each frightening on its own."
"Enough said," laughed Terri. "I know what you mean. You think it's bad now, just wait until you get to college." She put down the powder brush. "So, let's head out to the auditorium and get Ms. Bedinger's approval, and then you can clean up."
Together they headed down the hall towards the auditorium, where Ms. Bedinger was running a scene with the three doo-wop girls and Mark. At an appropriate break, Maria climbed up onto the stage to let the teacher study Terri's makeup design under the lights.
"Yes, that's exactly what we need," said Ms. Bedinger with satisfaction. "It will work very nicely." Maria smiled as from the orchestra pit Alex gave her a double thumbs-up.
Terri approached the stage. "I need to talk to the trio about their hair and makeup now," she told Maria. "So you can go ahead back to the bathroom and take the make-up off. You can use baby wipes for the first layer, and I left cold cream and some towels by the sink."
"Terri, thanks for your help," Maria said gratefully.
"Hey, no problem. I owed Ms. Bedinger a favor; this is an easy way to work it off," the makeup designer answered with a smile.
As she headed into the hallway, Maria looked at her watch. It was almost 4:30; she should be done with rehearsal and home in plenty of time before the rest of the gang would arrive. She should probably stop off and get some Tabasco sauce, she thought. It wasn't exactly a staple in the DeLuca household.
She idly wondered how Michael was doing. They hadn't spoken in either of the classes they'd shared, although she was aware of him watching her carefully. He seemed to have done what she asked and gone home the night before--at least she guessed so, since she hadn't felt him around during the night. She'd awakened to an early-morning phone call from Isabel, who had arranged for Max to drop her off at the DeLucas' so she could accompany Maria to school; Michael had evidently been off duty this morning as well. Hopefully he was a little more rested. Not that he looked much better, although he'd evidently pulled himself together enough to put on clean clothes before coming to school. That was at least a start.
Speak--or rather think--of the devil. There he was, coming down the hallway from the direction of the shop classroom. He must have been working on the plant puppets, she thought with pleasure. Strange how she could be so unhappy with that fact, and then just a few days later it made her giddy with happiness. She smiled as she called, "Hi, Michael," down the hall.
She was totally unprepared for the look of shock on his face that drained away in a flash to pure anger. In an instant he had rushed to her side and grabbed her by the shoulders. "Are you okay?" he burst out. "Who did this to you? I'll kill him." He was practically shaking with rage.
"Michael!" she cried, trying to cut through his anger, enough so that he would actually hear her. "Michael, listen to me. I'm not hurt. It's make-up for the show. I'm not hurt," she repeated firmly, reaching up a hand and wiping at the dark makeup underneath her eye. "See? It looks real from a distance, but look at it up close. It's just make-up, Michael."
He froze and stared down at her face, which was lifted up to his. Suddenly seeming to realize how tightly he was gripping her shoulders, he pried his hands loose and took a halting step backwards. He was still vibrating with anger. As if dragged up from unimaginable depths, a cry of "Goddammit!" escaped him, and he turned and drove a fist violently into a locker. He continued to curse and beat on the lockers, denting a few of them, paying no heed to any damage he was doing to himself. Maria reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him; with an instinctive hiss of pain, he pulled away from her and looked wildly around the hallway.
Maria began to speak in a soothing voice. "It's all right, Michael. It's all right. Come on, let me see." Some of the wildness began to dissipate from his expression, and she reached once more for his arm, gently this time. Shying away from her hands, he took a step backwards, ending up with his back against the now damaged lockers.
"Did you hurt yourself? Let me see your hand," she commanded firmly. He reluctantly held up his right hand and she studied it without touching him. "You're going to have some nice bruises there," she said upon seeing the reddened knuckles. "Come on, let go find some ice to keep it from swelling. We can get Max to take a look at it at dinner." He didn't move, and she took a few steps closer until she was standing directly in front of him.
"I'm not kidding, Michael. We should get this fixed up," she said, reaching for his hand. He jerked his arm up out of her reach, and his jacket sleeve pulled up slightly to reveal the edge of a pale-colored cloth underneath. He immediately pulled the sleeve back down, but it was too late; she'd already seen it.
She noted the once black, now faded to gray, T-shirt he was wearing underneath his jacket. Faded thought it was, it was long way from the pale color she'd seen peeking out from his jacket sleeve. "What's that?" she asked suspiciously. Again, he didn't move, only looked away from her.
"Fine," she said abruptly. "I'll see for myself." Reaching up, she began to push the jacket unceremoniously off his shoulders. An abrupt movement of protest from Michael caused her to put one finger against his chest and say, "Stand still. I'm not going to hurt you, but I am going to take a look at your arm. You can leave if you want, but you're going to have to go through me to do it. Got that?" She freed his left arm before moving to his side to ease the jacket off the right arm, tossing the garment casually to the floor. The pale colored cloth she'd seen was wrapped around his forearm and knotted clumsily in several places. Maria felt suddenly lightheaded.
She bent down to snag his jacket and then a grabbed a fistful of his shirt, using it to pull him along with her into the nearby bathroom. He opened his mouth to protest, but a glare from her quickly closed it. "It's just the girls' bathroom, Michael. Get over it."
With her free arm, she swept the jar of cold cream and towels Terri had left to the far side of the counter, and then pointed to the counter. "Sit there," she commanded. His mouth tightened stubbornly, and she threatened, "If you don't sit up there by yourself, then I'll put you there." She looked up at him towering over her, and realized how ridiculous this idea was. As if she could just pick him up and move him wherever she wished, like a stuffed animal. Yeah, Michael the teddy bear. Not. An amused smile threatened to break through, but she managed to hold it back. "Come on, Michael. Just sit down, okay?" With a sigh, he obeyed her.
Okay. She could handle this. With trembling fingers, she reached towards his arm. "I'll try not to hurt you," she promised. Slowly she fumbled with the knots and gently unwrapped the cloth, which turned out to be strips of an old T-shirt. Maria bit back a sob at what she saw underneath.
His forearm was covered with angry red burns and white blistered spots, some of which had begun to ooze slightly. "Oh my god," Maria whispered. In shock, she looked at Michael, who was staring stonily into the distance as if to disassociate himself from what was going on. Ideas of doctors, or hospitals, or, better yet, Max rushed through Maria's head. Bracing herself, she looked down once more at the wounded arm. Her heart thudded painfully once and then froze in her chest as she realized where she'd seen him hurt like this before. Exactly like this.
It was in the round room.
He'd told her he'd tried to use his powers, and they'd backfired, hurting him.
And now here was Michael, with the same wounds he'd had then.
She knew for sure what she'd begun to suspect yesterday.
He was back.
CHAPTER 29
Several moments that seemed like hours passed before Maria was able to pull herself together enough to speak. "We need to get this looked at," she said steadily, holding in the rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her. "I don't know what to do for it. I mean, basic first aid isn't quite going to cut it here." She could practically feel herself start to babble, and she closed her mouth resolutely.
Looking at Michael once more, she saw that he was sitting very still, his eyes closed, breathing shallowly. He looked tired and in pain, and her heart could hardly stand it. "Michael?" she said, touching his cheek gently when he didn't respond, "I'm taking you home, okay? We'll get Max to come fix you up and you'll be as good as new." His mouth twisted and he wouldn't meet her eyes.
She looked around, hesitant to restore his makeshift bandages to his arm, and finally picked up one of Terri's clean towels and wrapped it carefully around his forearm, securing it with a few bobby pins from the makeup designer's case. He slid off the counter when she was done, and picked up his jacket, sliding it carefully on over the protective towel. "Come with me," Maria told him, leading him from the bathroom and into the hall towards the auditorium.
Once inside, she pointed him to a seat in the last row and rushed down to find Ms. Bedinger. "I thought you were taking your makeup off," the teacher commented.
"I'm sorry, but something's come up. An emergency. I have to go," Maria told her with haste.
The teacher frowned. "We still have several scenes to run," she reminded the girl.
"I know, but I can't. This is more important."
A raised eyebrow let her know that, according to Ms. Bedinger, nothing else was more important than the show. "And just what is the nature of this emergency?"
"It's a family emergency," Maria answered firmly. "I'm really sorry, but I have to go now." Without waiting for a response from the disconcerted teacher, she turned and started back up the aisle, only to be stopped by a concerned Alex.
"What's going on?" he asked quietly.
She responded in a low voice. "Michael's hurt. I need to get him out of here so Max can help him."
Instantly, Alex moved into action, calling down to the guitar player. "Hey Dwight, put my bass and amp away for me, will you?" He received a nod and turned back to Maria. "Let's go, then."
Together they headed back up the aisle, ignoring the curious looks from the cast on stage. When they reached Michael, they found him sitting stoically, eyes fixed ahead. It took several whispers of his name from Maria before he seemed to realize they were there, but he finally rose and followed the girl out of the auditorium, down the hall and into the parking lot. All without saying one word.
Maria situated the distracted alien in the front passenger seat and then tossed her bookbag to Alex, who'd climbed into the back. "My cell phone's in the bag. Call Max and Isabel and tell them to pick up Liz and get over to my place, fast."
Noting the seriousness of her tone, Alex did as she asked without quibbling. A short while later, the Jetta pulled up to the DeLuca's house, and Maria crossed her fingers that her mother had already left for the evening.
Michael was once again staring at nothing, and Maria had to repeat his name several times before he turned and looked at her, staring numbly at her face without moving. Sighing, she reached up and unbuckled his seatbelt, saying, "Come on, Michael, let's get you inside."
She barely had the back door unlocked and open, calling questioningly, "Mom? I'm home," when Amy appeared in the kitchen, fastening an earring as she entered.
"Hi, honey. You're home early."
With great aplomb, Maria answered, "Oh yeah. Rehearsal got out early, so we came on over."
"So I see. Hello, Alex. Michael," her mother added coolly.
Alex returned her casual greeting, but Maria was surprised when Michael managed one as well, saying in a gravely voice, "Hello, Mrs. DeLuca."
Exchanging a questioning glance with Alex, Maria told her mother, "We're just going into the living room, Mom."
"I'd like to speak with you for a minute first, Maria."
Alex looked at first one and then the other of the DeLuca women, and cleared his throat. "We'll just head on into the other room. Come on, Michael." The two left the kitchen.
"What is it, mom?" asked Maria, setting down her bookbag.
Amy steeled herself, then straightened and said, "I'm sorry, Maria, but on second thought I don't feel comfortable having that boy in the house."
Maria immediately knew she wasn't talking about Alex. Giving her mother a challenging look, she responded with one word. "Why?"
Amy looked uncomfortable, but managed, "He's not good for you. He gets into too much trouble--how many times has he been arrested now, anyway? He's not a good influence." Her voice trailed off as Maria let her know with a glance that she wasn't buying it. Amy paused, then spoke honestly. "I just don't like seeing you get hurt."
"What? What are you talking about? What?" Maria blustered with bravado.
"Oh come on, honey. I know how you felt about him last year. I'm your mother, remember? I also know how much you've been hurting all summer. And now things are finally going well for you again, and I don't want to see you blow it by getting mixed up with him."
"Getting mixed up?" Maria squawked, her voice cracking. "Look, Mom, you need to understand something. Whatever else he may or may not be, Michael is and always will be my friend. Nothing you can say is ever going to change that. He's been through a lot, but he's a good guy. And he's important to me."
Reaching out, Amy pushed the hair out of her daughter's face and studied her eyes. "You think you love him, don't you?"
"No. I know I love him," answered Maria honestly. Amy sighed, a distressed look washing across her face. "It's all right, Mom. Everything's going to be fine."
"I wish I could believe that."
"Yeah, me too," said Maria under her breath, before changing the subject. "So you all set for a good time tonight?"
"Yes, I am. Janet will be here to pick me up in a few minutes. I'll be back by 10:00, okay?"
"Yeah, Mom. Have a good time," her daughter returned with an over-bright smile. Amy gave her an odd look, but shook her head.
Maria was at the kitchen door when Amy said, "You know, it's a good thing Alex is over here. I'm not sure I'd let you and Michael stay here alone."
"Moooom!" protested Maria. "Michael is not going to do anything to me."
"It's not Michael I'm worried about," her mother answered. "It's you." At the girl's dumbfounded look, Amy went on, "I was young and in love once myself. And look where it got me."
"Yeah, take a look," responded Maria. "You're an attractive, independent woman who runs her own business. Really tough there, Ms. DeLuca. Besides," she added lightly, "you have the perfect daughter. What more could you ask for?"
Amy raised one eyebrow quizzically. "The perfect daughter, hmmm?"
"You betcha."
Amy smiled widely at said daughter. "Maria?"
"Yeah?"
"My very perfect daughter might want to take off her stage makeup before dinner."
Maria's hands flew to her face. She'd been so caught up with Michael that she hadn't even realized.
"There's Janet," Amy said as a car horn honked outside. "Have a good time tonight, honey. But don't do anything I wouldn't do." She paused, then added wryly, "In fact, don't do anything I did do, all right?"
"All right," laughed Maria, putting up her hands in mock submission. "See you later, Mom."
As soon as Amy had left the kitchen, the smile disappeared from Maria's face. She headed into the living room, and found Alex sitting on the couch while Michael stood by the window, gazing out at something in the distance.
"What was that all about?" Alex asked curiously.
"Oh, just Mom being Mom. Worrying about nothing," Maria tossed out. "Alex, keep an eye out for the others and let them in, will you? I'm going to get this gunk off my face."
"I was wondering if you were going to adopt that as a permanent look," joked the teen.
"Hardly. I prefer the unbruised version of me," she responded lightly. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
A short while later, she rinsed her face off and patted it dry. Looking in the mirror, she stared at her own reflection. It seemed unfamiliar, as if someone had slightly rearranged the elements into someone different. She shook her head. No time for flights of fancy now. Quickly combing out her hair, she pushed it back with a tortoiseshell band and headed downstairs. She wasn't going to bother to put any more makeup on. They could just take her the way she was.
Alex was still on the couch, watching Michael, who hadn't moved from the window. "They aren't here yet?" asked Maria. Alex shook his head.
Sitting on the other end of the couch, Maria fidgeted nervously for a minute. Should she confront Michael about his being whole, or wait until Max could fix him up? She could tell he must be in a lot of pain, and he kept doing that weird distancing thing, where he'd stare off into space. Maybe she should wait. But she needed something, anything, to keep her busy until the others arrived. "Anybody want something to drink?" she offered.
"No thanks," Alex responded, and went back to studying Michael. Michael didn't pay any attention to Maria's question or to Alex's scrutiny.
A few more moments went by. "I wish they'd get here," complained Maria. She turned to Michael. "Sit down, Michael, would you? You're making me nervous. And believe me, you do so not want to see me nervous." That seemed to capture his attention; he actually turned around and looked at her. Pointing to a nearby chair, she commanded, "Sit."
His mouth tightened, and he spoke. "I'd rather not."
"But you should rest. You're hurt."
"I'm fi--"
"Fine," she finished for him, her voice overlapping his. "I know, you're always fine, aren't you? God, Michael, you could be lying in little tiny pieces somewhere, about to die, and you'd still tell me you're fine. I know you've got a wider vocabulary than that--why don't you use it?"
"Why? I don't have anything to say."
So he had nothing to say, did he? Her lips tightened. "You don't?" she demanded sarcastically. "Why not? Were you just going to go on forever without telling me that you're back, that you're one hundred percent Michael again, that the damn dreamwalk we did actually worked?"
His face whitened, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Alex's start of surprise, but she blustered on, "Oh, yes, I know, Michael. I thought something was up yesterday, but I knew for sure today. I saw your arm while I was stuck in your head, remember? I can put two and two together--I'm not stupid."
Alex piped up, "Arm? What about his arm?" Neither one paid any attention. In fact, Maria rose from the couch and took a few angry steps towards Michael.
"So were you going to tell me? Tell Max, Isabel? Any of us?"
He bit out a one-word reply. "No."
"Well, why the hell not?" she yelled.
He shook his head and muttered, "It doesn't matter."
"Yes it does, it matters a lot," she insisted.
"That's not my problem."
Maria moved closer until she was staring directly up at him. "Well, what is your problem then, Michael? Enlighten me already!"
He didn't back away. "Keeping you out of trouble and then helping Max win his damn war so I can get the hell out of here, that's my problem! Satisfied?"
She blanched. She'd always known it would come one day. "You...you want to go back to your planet, don't you." It was a statement of fact, not a question. "To find your home."
"I don't care where I go. It doesn't matter where I go, don't you see that?" There was a hint of desperation in his voice.
"No, I don't see that, Michael. I don't get you. Why don't you care where you are? What's going on with you? Why can't you tell me what's happening, what you're feeling? Why do you keep trying to rebuild that damn stone wall?"
"You want to know what I'm feeling?" he choked out. "You want to understand me? Fine." Reaching out, he grabbed Maria, holding her face between his hands. For a moment she stared into his tortured eyes, and then everything she saw was swept away.
FLASH
<<Michael, trapped in the round room, beating helplessly on the walls, powerless to do anything but rage against whoever or whatever had put him there.>>
FLASH
<<An upraised fist, thundering down again and again as a small boy cowers away.>>
FLASH
<<A desert lying empty under a cloudless sky. No people, no life. Nothing.>>
The flashes were coming faster now, and with them came sound and pain and emotion. Michael's emotion.
FLASH
<<Helplessness as Hank beats him, screaming at him over and over, "You worthless sack of shit! You're nothing, do you hear me? You're nothing!">>
FLASH
<<A mixture of relief, fear and nausea as Pierce's body flies away from them and lands with a sickening thud.>>
FLASH
<<Anger, rising up so thickly it almost chokes him.>>
FLASH
<<Max's voice, saying he is tired of cleaning up Michael's messes.>>
FLASH
<<A sick awareness that he is different. Not just alien, but different from Max as well. That he is wrong, bad, an imperfect copy...some perversion of what he should be.>>
FLASH
<<Fear, rising up to overwhelm>>
FLASH
<<Horror at what he'd>>
FLASH
<<Guilt that>>
FLASH
<<Terror>>
FLASH
<<Pain>>
FLASH
<<Killer>>
With a strangled cry, Maria jerked back away from his hands. Her knees began to buckle, and strong hands caught her from behind. She vaguely heard voices, talking miles away, but all she could see was him. Michael. She stared into his tormented eyes, as if she could see all the way to the innermost chambers of his soul. Opening her mouth, she whispered, almost soundlessly.
"Oh my god."
CHAPTER 30
It took Maria several moments to even begin to process what had just happened. Part of her was aware that the arms that were holding her up belonged to Max, that Liz and Isabel were standing nearby, but most of her mind was still awash in an ocean of sound, sight and feeling. She felt as if the top of her head had been blasted off by the pressure of the emotions she'd just experienced, and that the bits and pieces that were Maria were all jumbled together with foreign yet somehow familiar pieces of someone else.
Gradually she began to pull herself together enough to straighten and stand on her own, although Max kept a supportive hand on her back. "What happened?" she heard him ask, but didn't respond, focusing all her attention on the haggard alien before her.
His expression fluctuated rapidly between anger and worry and doubt and back again before he shut himself off, visibly steeling himself for her reaction.
"Are you happy now? Did you see enough?" he asked bitterly. "Or do I have to show you more to make you understand?"
She could read him so easily now--the abrupt demeanor and aggression used as mask to hide his self-loathing and fear. He was dreading her response, deathly afraid that she would do what he couldn't and close off from him. And just as afraid that she wouldn't.
Stumbling, Maria took a step forward, shaking off Max's hand. Looking up into Michael's face, she could see within his eyes a multitude of questions he was afraid to ask. Instinctively, without hesitation or thought, she crossed the gap between them and wrapped her arms tightly around him, both asking and giving comfort.
For a moment his hands clenched. Then, heedless of his burns, his arms closed around her, loosely at first, but growing tighter as she nestled within them. With a slump, his head found its way to the crook between her shoulder and neck, and he closed his eyes tightly, bowed down by a weight almost too heavy to bear.
The others stood, silent and unmoving, not wanting to intrude on this intensely private moment.
Finally, with a small sigh, Maria reached a hand up and ran it through his spiky hair. Michael held still, taking comfort in the gentle stroke of her hand. "It's all right," she whispered. "Everything is going to be all right."
Michael, who was not so sure of this, raised his head and straightened his slumping shoulders. He allowed his arms to slide from around her. Suddenly realizing they were surrounded, he averted his gaze from the others, refusing to look at them. Unashamed, Maria reached for his left hand, and his fingers entwined with hers of their own volition. She turned to face the worried friends around her.
"What just happened here?" asked Max, voicing everyone's concern.
"Not now, Max. Give us a few minutes, will you? We can talk about it in a little while," responded Maria. She turned to the spike-headed alien, whose fingers gripped hers tightly. "Michael," she began, "let's get your arm taken care of first, all right? You need to be healed."
Max immediately took a step forward toward his friend's side, but a small shake of Maria's head stopped him in his tracks. "Isabel?" she said questioningly. "Would you heal him?"
Confused and feeling strangely betrayed, Max watched as Maria helped Michael out of his jacket and pulled him to the couch. She gently unwrapped the towel covering his forearm before sitting next to him and taking his free hand in both of hers. Isabel gave a small hiss of dismay as she took in the damage to his arm, but a serene, reassuring glance from Maria enabled her to take a breath and begin.
Placing the very tips of her fingers as lightly as possible on the wounded flesh, Isabel ignored Michael's uncontrollable flinch and closed her eyes tightly in concentration. Under her ministrations, his arm began to lose its red, angry look, and she was able to place both of her hands fully on his arm to continue the healing. Finally, she let out a deep breath and opened her eyes. Michael blinked a few times and spoke for the first time in what seemed like days. "Thanks," he said hoarsely.
"You're welcome," Isabel answered, trying to smile.
Maria looked around at her concerned friends before turning back to Michael. "Do you feel up to talking about it?" she asked.
"Not really. But I guess we need to," he answered shortly.
"I think we could all use an explanation," put in Max. Although he didn't mean to, he came off as somewhat officious, and Michael bristled.
"Sure," Maria said, running her fingers across the back of Michael's hand in a soothing motion. "What do you want to know?"
"Everything. What did Michael do to his arm? And what happened to you two just now?" asked Max, concern evident in his voice.
"Oh, that. Michael was showing me something, a vision or whatever, and I'm not used to it. I just got a little lightheaded, that's all. I think I forgot to eat lunch or something."
"Lightheaded?" protested Liz. "Maria, you almost fainted."
"Well, I didn't, and I'm fine." The corners of Maria's lips twitched as she heard Michael's usual response issuing from her own mouth. She shot an amused glance over at him. "We're both fine, aren't we, Michael?"
He looked back at her solemnly and spoke in a low voice. "Who's got the limited vocabulary now?" She smiled at him, her eyes shining.
"What happened to your arm, Michael?" asked Isabel. Maria could feel the alien stiffen even before his eyes shuttered right in front of them. He was so not ready to share the real explanation and have to ride out the ensuing fracas, that was for sure. Fine. Well, she would support him, whatever it took. They would just keep this one thing back from the others until he was ready to deal with it, no matter how long it took. So what if they were angry when they eventually found out? Liz would forgive them once she understood why, and Alex wouldn't even--
She swallowed as she realized. Oh, god. Alex already knew. He was there when she'd blurted everything out to Michael. She lifted panicked eyes to meet her friend's, wordlessly begging him to understand.
"Well, Michael?" demanded Max. "What happened?" Eyes flickering around the room as if trapped, Michael reluctantly opened his mouth to answer.
"Grease fire," said Alex unexpectedly. "He was making one of those awful Tabasco-laced dishes that you all seem to love so much, and spilled some cooking oil on the stove. It went up in flames. Right, Michael?"
For a split second, Michael stared at Alex in dumb shock before pulling himself together enough to nod mutely.
"And of course rather than getting it taken care of," Maria corroborated, "Spaceboy here had to ignore it for a few days to let it get really nasty-looking." Glancing at Alex, she tried to convey her gratitude.
"You should have come to us before now," Max lectured sternly. "Let us help you a little more often, will you?" Rubbing the back of his neck, he looked around at the small group of friends clustered in Maria's living room. "Well, since you're both all right and we've gotten that bit of excitement over for the day, maybe we can get back to the whole reason we're here in the first place. We need to continue last night's discussion."
Maria jumped to her feet, pulling her fingers from Michael's. "Let's do this over dinner, okay? You've all got to be starving. I'll get some drinks--someone call for pizza." Bustling out of the room, she got some glasses out of a kitchen cabinet, then leaned her forehead wearily against the refrigerator.
Suddenly, it had all seemed too much to bear, and she had felt an intense need to flee. Was this how Michael always felt? Was his tendency to run, to not get involved, due more to being overwhelmed by everything and less to a need to hide his alien nature? She was amazed that he was still among them. If she were Michael, she'd have left Roswell long ago.
Sensing someone behind her, she quickly jerked the refrigerator door open and pulled out some juice and a few cans of soda.
"Are you all right, Maria?" Liz said quietly.
Maria's response was casual. "Yeah, I'm fine." Oops. There was that word again. "I just want to get everything together so we don't have any interruptions during our talk, that's all."
"I don't buy that," Liz told her. "Your reaction to this vision thing was awfully strong. You looked completely shaken."
"I'm okay, I promise. It was just the surprise of Michael letting me into his warped brain," she joked. Then she realized what she had just said. Dropping the drinks on the counter, she bolted for the living room with a confused Liz right behind her.
Maria ignored the startled looks from the room's occupants and threw herself onto Michael's lap, bursting into tears. He held her stiffly, asking in an urgent tone, "What is it? What happened?" as he awkwardly patted her back. She shook her head, smiling as she cried. Reaching up, he wiped the tears off her face with an unsteady palm. "Don't."
"I'm not crying. I'm happy," she told him as the tears continued to roll down her face. "And it's all your fault, Spaceboy."
He tensed. "What did I do now?" he asked guardedly.
"Nothing, you didn't do anything," she hiccuped. Looking at his confused expression, she laughed and corrected herself. "Actually, yes. Yes, you did do something. You let me in, Michael. Don't you see? You let me see you."
"Yeah, I know, but...oh." An expression of realization crossed his face.
"No stone wall!" she chortled joyfully. "I mean, I was so caught up with what I saw that I didn't even realize. You let me in!" Tightening her arms around his neck, she pressed her cheek against his, grinning like a complete idiot.
It took her a moment to realize that he wasn't hugging her back. Keeping her arms loosely around his neck, she pulled back slightly. His expression was wary. "Just exactly what did you see?" he demanded.
"You don't know?"
"I didn't see anything. I was trying to make you see, remember?" he shot back. "So what did you see?" The nervousness in his voice belied his stony expression.
She hesitated for a moment as she ran through the memory in her head, then replied, "I'll tell you later, when it's just you and me, okay? I...I don't think everybody needs to know." His jaw tightened as he imagined what she might have picked up from him.
"What do you mean, we don't need to know?" asked Isabel. "I thought we were done with secrets."
"Yeah, well, some things are private," Maria answered.
"But if you saw--"
"I saw what I saw because Michael chose to let me see it. And if he wants you to know, fine, you all can play show and tell. But until then, you are not going to bug him about it. No questions, got that?" she said protectively.
Michael frowned. "What are you, my keeper? Let them ask. I'll answer if I want to." She bristled and glared at him.
Without a word, Alex and Liz exchanged speaking glances and headed out of the room, pulling Max and Isabel behind them. Maria barely noticed them go.
"Fine, Michael. Then while we're on the subject, there's one thing I need to ask, and even if you don't want to, I need you to answer."
He looked at her, half-afraid of what was to come, before sliding her off his lap and crossing to the window. As soon as she spoke, he turned abruptly away and shut his eyes as if to ward the question off. "Michael, what was that voice?"
His voice was hoarse. "What voice?"
"When we dreamwalked you the last time, I heard a voice in the distance. I couldn't make out what it was saying, but it sounded...familiar somehow. And it frightened me. Isabel heard it too." She swallowed. "When you gave me those visions, I heard it again. Michael...it called you a killer."
His face was blank, and could have been set in stone for all the animation in it. "I am one."
Rising to her feet, she spit out an angry protest. "You are not a killer, Michael. I don't care who tells you that, don't you believe them. You did what you had to do, to save Sheriff Valenti and the rest of us. That's all. You protected us. You're always protecting us." She studied him. "What is the voice, Michael?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "It doesn't tell me that."
"Do you...How often do you hear it?"
His forehead wrinkled as he let out a small burst of humorless laughter. "How often? Try all the time."
"What?"
"It's always there, in the back of my head, telling me things. Ever since I've been back, it's been there."
"And before then--it was in your dreams, where Isabel and I heard it?" she asked in a small voice.
He shifted uncomfortably, but answered. "Yeah." Maria's face wrinkled in concern, and he told her, "Don't worry about it. I can handle it."
"You have too much to handle as it is, Michael. How is it that you're still sane?"
He ran unsteady fingers through his hair. "Sane? Who says I am?" He focused for a moment on the ceiling, then swung his gaze around the room, looking at anything but the girl on the couch. The words began to pour from his mouth. "Half the time I think I'm going crazy, the other half I'm pretty sure I already am. I mean, I have two complete sets of memories for the same month of my life. I can remember being here, and I can remember being in wherever that room was, all at the same time, and my brain can hardly hang on to it. Add to that the constant barrage from the voice in my head, and the fact that I keep losing track of where I am--I'll be sitting there and the next thing you know it's ten minutes later and I have no idea what happened--Hell, no. There's no way I am anywhere remotely approaching sane."
"Well, for god's sake don't sign yourself into the asylum yet, buddy," Maria said stoutly. "You've been through an awful lot lately, stuff that would throw anybody. Put all that on top of some of the other things I saw--" He tensed, but she continued, "I wouldn't worry about being crazy if I were you. I'd be pretty darn proud to have pulled through things as well as you have."
Shoving his hands into his pockets, Michael turned once more to the window and stared out. Crossing, Maria stood behind him. "You do know that they'll have to be told eventually, don't you?" She could practically feel him wanting to expurgate that particular notion, but went on firmly. "Not everything. Just like I told Isabel, some things are private. But at some point, they'll need to know that you're back." A smile bloomed on her face. "Can you believe how great Alex was, not letting on? I mean, c'mon, a grease fire? Max couldn't argue with it, because the same thing happened to his mother last year. You've got to hand it to Alex, he's always the guy with the quick save."
"Yeah." His voice was low.
"He's a good friend, is Alex. And I will be too. I'll be there for you, you know? I mean, I'd like to talk about it sometime, about what's happened to you, and about what I saw...I'll try not to push you, though. But I'll be around if you need to talk or something." She smiled. "I'll make a deal with you--you watch my back and I'll watch yours."
"You shouldn't have to deal with my problems," he muttered.
Flinging her hands into the air, Maria let out a shriek of frustration. "Michael, that's what friends do. They care about each other. It's what the six of us are all about. So are we agreed? I'll let you help me and you'll let me help you?"
"I...I don't know if I can." She turned away, disappointed. A quiet voice stopped her. "I'll try," he said hesitantly. "But don't expect too much. I'm not good at that kind of stuff. Letting people...help."
Relieved, she felt a grin attach itself to her face. "Well, not everybody's perfect, Michael. Which is okay. I mean, if I wanted perfection I wouldn't be hanging out with you, would I? I'd be...I'd be...well, actually, I'd be pretty much out of luck trying to find someone to meet those standards, don't you think? So stop being so hard on yourself already. You're only human."
"But I'm not," he pointed out.
"Yes you are," she answered fervently. "In all the ways that matter, you are. And that's not such a bad thing to be, Michael."
Continue to CHAPTERS 31 to 33
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