Michael leaned against the wall of the pod cave and rested his forearms on his bent knees. With a heartfelt sigh, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes, weary to the bone.
Two days. He'd been here two days, and he hadn't accomplished anything. He'd just wasted his time.
Well, that and attempted to demolish the cave wall.
He'd spent most of Sunday night raging against his situation, his helplessness, his stupid human weakness. Letting his fury consume him. But the only result had been a pair of bruised and bloody fists, torn from hours of pounding against the wall of the cave.
At least in his rage he'd found the presence of mind to avoid the pods, not wanting to disturb one of their few tangible souvenirs of their former lives.
He'd finally fallen asleep, too exhausted to fight any more, only to wake several hours later and repeat the cycle. Less violently this time, because his hands were beginning to swell, although he didn't think he'd broken anything.
Now he sat there, battered and totally devoid of energy. And for the first time in a very long time, he felt a sense of clarity. He was able to look without bias at himself and his situation. And he didn't particularly like what he saw.
He had spent the last six months reacting blindly to things. Not thinking, just raging away at the perceived unfairness of his life. He'd thrust everyone away, fighting with Max, withdrawing from Isabel, closing himself off from the few humans who'd actually, surprisingly, become his friends.
And why? Because he couldn't--or didn't want to--deal with what he'd done. Sure, he'd pretended to push it aside, and maybe that worked for a little while, but he couldn't hide from it any longer.
He'd killed a man. He'd taken a life out of fear and hate and anger. He'd lost control--if he'd ever had it--and Pierce was dead.
He could never take that back. He could never go back and change it.
He could never make up for it, either.
But he couldn't allow it to burden his soul any more.
He could never undo his actions, but one moment didn't have to define the rest of his life, either. He could still do something of value. Something meaningful. Be a part of something bigger than himself.
And he could help Max and Isabel by doing it.
So no matter what he felt or wished or regretted or wanted, he had to let go of his guilt. It was a luxury he couldn't afford.
Somehow he had to forgive himself.
* * * * *
Once again a sudden noise woke Max from a deep sleep. This time it wasn't a pounding on the window, though. It was the shrill ringing of the phone.
Managing to reach a hand out and grab the receiver before the noise could wake his parents, Max blearily eyed his clock radio. It was 2:43. "What is it, Michael? Some of us have school in the morning, you know," he said in a grumpy tone.
The voice that spoke gave him shivers, so much that for a moment he didn't take in what it was saying. It was very familiar--and it wasn't Michael. It took him back to his captivity and torture in the white room.
Pierce.
No, not Pierce. Michael had killed him and effectively rid Max of that particular nightmare. Well, the living one anyway. No one could do anything about the bad dreams he still occasionally got. Michael wasn't the only one with trouble sleeping.
But Pierce was gone, and the shapeshifter Nasedo had taken the agent's place as head of the FBI Special Unit. Max hadn't heard one word from him since he'd left for Washington. "Nasedo?" he said sharply.
The shapeshifter's oh-so-cheerful voice belied the seriousness of his question. "Where's Michael?" he repeated.
"Away. Why?" asked Max, sitting up.
Nasedo didn't answer, merely barking out, "Do you have any idea what he's been up to?"
"Well, yes, pretty much," Max replied, asking again, "Why?"
"He's drawing too much attention to you all. I can't protect you from this distance. You need to keep a better rein on him."
Max bristled. "I'm his friend, not his keeper. Michael can take care of himself, make his own decisions."
"You're the leader. He's your second. You command, he obeys." Nasedo's statement was implacable.
Max got a sudden mental image of his headstrong friend meekly obeying his every order. It was ludicrous. "You obviously don't know Michael. Or me, for that matter," he said with a grin.
"Regardless, the attention he's calling to himself is dangerous."
Max frowned. "How do you know what's going on, anyway?" he asked suspiciously. "I thought you were in D.C. taking care of the Special Unit."
Nasedo sounded amused, in a cold, uncaring sort of way. "And it's part of my job to keep tabs on areas of suspected alien activity. I've kept up Pierce's subscription to the Roswell Journal. And when your hotheaded second got into the paper, and Tess verified--"
"Tess?" Max interrupted.
"Tess verified the incident, and said he's been the talk of the school. Not exactly a low profile. Do I need to remind you that attention can be dangerous?"
"No, you don't need to remind me. And believe me, Michael doesn't like the attention any more than you do. He's been going through some things, that's all."
There was a tense silence on the other end of the line. "What things?"
There was no way Max was going to sit there and tell Nasedo everything that was going on in Michael's life. His friend had been definite that he didn't trust the shapeshifter, and didn't want him involved. Max would respect that wish. So he merely said, "It doesn't matter. We've got it under control."
Nasedo's voice was insistent. "Power problems? Strange dreams?" He paused for a few minutes. "Has he been acting unlike himself?" He seemed to take Max's silence for confirmation. "You have no idea what you're dealing with," he said, his tone sharp. "Listen to me, Max. It's imperative you keep him under control. Do not under any circumstances allow him to use his powers, not even the tiniest little bit."
"What's going on?" demanded Max.
"I can't just take off without compromising my position with the Special Unit," the shapeshifter continued ruthlessly. "But I'll get some things cleared up and be there within a couple of weeks. Until then, keep a rein on your second, or the consequences could be catastrophic." The warning was quite clear. "And don't tell him about this conversation. The less he knows, the better."
And then all Max heard was a dial tone on the other end of the line. He stared at the receiver in his hand. What was going on?
* * * * *
With a frustrated grunt, Michael relaxed his right hand, feeling the pull on his swollen knuckles lessen. In the light of the Coleman lantern Max had dug out from the recesses of the Evanses' garage, he stared down at the small pebble he'd been clutching. It was just a rock. A tiny thing. Nothing to it. Izzy could change one of them when she was eight. Hell, he could do it back then, at least occasionally. So why couldn't he now?
Dropping the small stone, he ran both hands over his tired face. If he was going to be of any use to Max, he had to get better at this power stuff. He had never had great control over it, but he'd been able to do some things. He'd changed his fingerprints, like Nasedo had shown him, during their rescue of Max, hadn't he? And then the visions; and just a couple of weeks ago he'd connected with Maria even if he hadn't been able to control what she'd seen. At the very least, he'd always been able to blow things up, even if he didn't mean to. So why couldn't he change one stupid little rock?
The chilly air surrounded him, wrapping him in its cold embrace. He idly considered going outside to look for something with which to make a fire, but a total bone-weary reluctance to move kept him from it. Instead, he reached out for the sleeping bag that was laid out next to him. Unzipping it, he wrapped it around his shoulders like a blanket. He shook his head at his own stupidity. It figured he'd decide he needed to hang out in a cave in the middle of November. He couldn't hole up someplace comfortable, not him. And desert or no desert, it was cold.
Holding the sleeping bag closed around him, he reached the other hand out and groped along the cave floor for another rock. Finding one, he picked it up and studied it in the dim light. It might've been the one from before. Maybe not. It was just a rock, after all.
Idly rolling it in his hand, he let his mind wander.
Cold or not, he actually felt more comfortable in this place than anywhere else he could remember. Whether it was due to the alien pods hanging nearby or to its seclusion, he didn't know. But it was a place in which he didn't have to hide what he was from anyone. He could be alien and it didn't matter. After all, the only people who'd ever seen it were aliens, too. They wouldn't care that he was.
No, wait. Liz Parker had seen it. She'd been there when they got the so-called message from home, that horrible day last spring where everything had gone all wrong. Well, wronger. Was that even a word?
He could still remember Liz's face after she'd heard about the aliens' destiny--not to couple together, but to save their home planet. She'd left so that Max could do what he needed to in order to save an entire race. Never mind that it broke her heart to do it, and Max's too. Michael wasn't blind, even though he liked to pretend to himself he was. It was easier to keep separate. But he could see what Max and Liz meant to each other. Liz had left. It was maybe the bravest thing he'd ever seen.
A small voice deep inside wasn't going to let this go so easily. Liz had given up Max, even though she loved him. So how was that different from Michael giving up Maria, even though he'd loved her?
Because he had loved her. He wasn't sure how anyone could have become so important to him. Especially an overactive, hyper pixie of a blonde girl who somehow was able to make him feel things he didn't want to feel. Things he hadn't even known he was capable of feeling.
He shook his head. It was different for him, though. Max and Liz--they deserved each other. Barring Max's extra-terrestrial origins, they maybe even were meant for each other. True love, soul mates, whatever, if you wanted to get all sappy about things. They were both such glaringly good people, in an upstanding, honorable, heroic kind of way. Liz had let Max go because it was the right thing to do.
Michael had shoved Maria away because he was scared.
Scared of hurting her, scared of himself, scared of the things she made him feel, scared that he didn't know how to or couldn't handle those things...All of that and more. Their whole 'relationship', if you could call it that, was a bizarre dance, with him being pulled to her, then running away, then being dragged back to her in spite of his fears and intentions.
Because no matter what, he couldn't escape her, not entirely. She always seemed to be stuck somewhere in the back recesses of his thoughts, ready to leap out the instant he wasn't paying attention. He wouldn't mind if it didn't make it that much harder to stay away from her. Which he had to do, and not just because her mother wanted him to, although that was part of it. He'd never paid that much heed to grownups before, though, except to try and avoid Hank's drunken rages, so why get all hung up on what one grownup thought? Was it just because she was Maria's mother? Mrs. DeLuca was important to Maria, a vital part of her existence. They weren't well off, but they had each other. They were family.
And Michael was starting to understand just what that really meant. He'd always wanted a real home, a real family, without really knowing what it was. He'd been envious of Max and Isabel for their life with the Evanses--who wouldn't when compared to the squalor of life with Hank?--but he'd never really believed in it. Now, the two DeLucas--he could almost see the bond between them. Even when Mrs. DeLuca had been furious with the both of them, he could see how much she loved her daughter.
It was a far cry from the easy acceptance Mr. & Mrs. Evans gave to Max and Izzy. Everything was a little too perfect in that particular household. Well, other than the two teenagers being aliens. And even if Isabel thought otherwise, Michael couldn't help believing that things would be different if the Evanses knew the truth about their children. No matter how jealous Michael might have been of his two fellow aliens' situation--and he had to admit he was, if only to himself--it had never seemed quite real. It was too dreamlike, too good to be true.
But Maria's small family--now that was real. Real, and vibrant, and vital. Maybe even more so because the two were all each other had. Even with the hard things he knew they had gone through, they still went on, fighting and struggling and needing each other.
Not that different from how he felt about Maria. Well, he knew he didn't feel the exact same way about her as her mother did, that was for sure. But he needed her just as much as Mrs. DeLuca did. He just didn't have the luxury of acting on it any more.
It was funny--the weird kind of funny--how quickly she'd set roots in him. They'd gone to school forever for years. He supposed they'd probably had classes together, and she'd probably waited on him some of the many times Max had dragged him into the Crashdown, but he'd never really noticed her. He wasn't even sure now if he'd known her name. She was just one in a sea of faces, too dangerous to know much about. He was too busy hiding from the world to stop and see her as anything but that.
And then came the day when Liz had been shot, and the world had taken a sudden left turn onto a whole new road. He'd found friends that accepted him, regardless of what he was or how he acted, and he'd discovered that he was far more human than he'd ever imagined.
And through it all, Maria was there beating on his stupid self-made stone wall and tearing it apart piece by piece. He'd tried to mend it, sure, but it was never the same, like she was some sort of acid that ate away at its underlying structure, exposing the parts of him he'd kept hidden even from himself.
Stupid analogy, Guerin. But still, she had worn him down, and he was weak. If it weren't for Mrs. DeLuca, he wasn't sure his resolve would be able to hold out any longer. He'd probably go running again, but towards her this time.
As much as he wanted to do the right thing, he was weak. And the tiny part of him, buried down deep, that had almost accepted the human part of himself was threatening to overwhelm the supposedly much more established alien side.
Part of him wouldn't even mind.
He could give in to his feelings and try to act human. Allow himself to feel for Maria again--not that he'd really ever stopped--and try to make something of his life here on this planet. He could be with her, hold her, kiss her, listen to her babble about nothing in particular, watch her breathe in one of those stupid oils she always carried around...He could lose himself in her, and feel like he actually belonged. Forget his origins, his search for home, never try to use his powers, whatever.
Except then instead of being an outcast who nonetheless had a purpose, a part to play in something bigger than himself, he'd just be a loser with nothing. No reason that he'd ever existed in the first place.
And he was terrified of that too.
His eyes closed, he continued to roll the pebble in his hand, his fingers running over its smooth surface, trying to block out his fear.
Wait a minute.
Smooth?
It was a rough pebble, oddly shaped by nature. Or it had been. Now it felt round, and smooth, and familiar. Kind of like...the metal walls in the room he'd imprisoned himself inside in his own head.
His eyes flew open and he stared down at the thing in his hand. It didn't look like metal, but it didn't look like a rock, either. It was clear, with a slight bluish tint to it. Color aside, it kind of reminded him of the alien balance stones River Dog had given them.
He'd changed it. But how?
Reaching out, Michael carefully set the blue crystalline sphere on the floor in front of him and searched until his hand found another small desert rock. Holding it loosely in his hand, he closed his eyes, willing it to change.
Nothing.
What was going on? One minute, he had some sort of rudimentary control over his powers and the next, it was gone? How had he managed to change one when he couldn't repeat it? He grimaced, his mind churning with the need to make some sense out of this. What was different the time it had worked? He'd just been sitting there, with the sleeping bag around him--could temperature affect his powers? He'd let his thoughts drift, and...
He froze with a sudden realization. The other difference between his failed attempts and his successful one was Maria. Thoughts of Maria invading his head, and suddenly he could tap into whatever it was that allowed him to use his powers instead of struggling with them. It had been so easy, he hadn't even realized he'd done it.
Looking back, this wasn't the first time, either. Way back last year on their trip to Marathon, he hadn't been able to get a vision from the key until she'd stood next to him and told him to try again. And when he did, it had worked. More recently, he'd been able to heal Pierce's body, and Maria was nearby. Sure, it was only in a dream, but it had to mean something, didn't it? She could feel when he was around, and he'd dragged her into his mental prison and then, the other night, into his dream...Was it possible for a person to be the missing key to controlling his powers?
When you looked on the surface of things, it seemed stupid. An extra-terrestrial needing a human to be able to use his powers? And out of the billions of people on the planet, the human he needed just happened to be the girl he...well, happened to be Maria? He shook his head. He was too much of a skeptic to buy into that. The coincidence was too strong. Max and Liz fated to meet each other--sure, okay. But Michael Guerin fated to meet Maria DeLuca? No, it had to be blind luck that she was the one who could help him focus.
Except that usually his luck tended to be of the more negative kind.
Well, one way to put paid to this whole idea. He'd just think about Maria, and when nothing happened to the stone in his hand, he'd know he was just being stupid.
So he closed his eyes again and summoned up an image of her in his mind. The one he chose was a recent memory, with her standing, laughing, on the West Roswell High stage in some filmy white thing, looking joyous and alive and real. He'd wanted to be up there with her, to allow some of her happiness to reflect onto him. He could picture her so clearly, she could almost have been in the pod chamber, standing right there in front of him.
Except of course she couldn't. He was avoiding her. Running away in fear--big surprise there. Maybe thinking about Maria wasn't such a good idea after all. It just tore him up inside, and since it couldn't really have any effect on his powers...
He opened his eyes and stared down at the smooth blue sphere in his hand. Oops. Maybe it could.
CHAPTER 51
By the time dawn came there were half a dozen round crystalline rocks, in varying shades of blue, lined up on the ground in front of Michael. The excitement of actually being able to manipulate the stupid things had kept him awake, but now he sat back, tired but actually reasonably content. Picking up one last stone, he idly tossed it up and down, the repetitive movement soothing in its regularity.
It had worked. Six times. He'd actually manipulated matter six times, without blowing anything up. Once could have been a fluke, but six times? And all he'd had to do was to think of Maria. He had actually figured this out, by himself. He'd tried to think logically, had come up with a hypothesis, and had done trials to test it out. And his hypothesis had been proven. He smirked. He usually tended to go more on instinct and gut feeling, reacting to things. But no, he'd reasoned it out and set up a procedure to test it, just like any research scientist geek. Liz Parker would be proud. He could just picture her, standing in some lab and droning on about the results of his 'experiment', while a glassy-eyed Max stood by.
And in an instant, a seventh blue rock was in his hand. He blinked down at it, confused. He hadn't even been thinking about Maria--he'd been thinking about Liz.
Maybe his hypothesis wasn't so brilliant after all.
Scrambling to his feet, Michael scanned the cave for more rocks. Grabbing one, he closed his eyes and concentrated on Liz again. The result was another blue crystal. A second stone and thoughts of Max: blue crystal. Thoughts of Vice Principal Sutter, hockey and the Crashdown's Men in Blackberry pie. One blue crystal after another, tumbling transformed from his hand.
Okay, so maybe this wasn't a tie to Maria. It didn't seem tied to anything, actually. He was doing this by himself. And if he was, then he should be able to manage it any time, right? Right. Yet another rock was clutched in his hand, and he closed his eyes, this time concentrating on the rock itself, willing it to change. He tried to drum up the feeling he'd gotten when he'd healed Pierce in his dream. There he'd been manipulating human cells and this was mineral, but manipulation was manipulation, right?
Evidently not. He opened his eyes to see an irregular, gray, normal-looking rock in his palm. Shit. The only time it didn't work was when he actively tried to change one. Then nothing.
Had he lost it? He frantically dropped to his knees, picking up one of the bluish crystals. Maybe he could change it back. Moments later, he dropped it, and it rolled to join the others, unchanged. Reaching over to the sleeping bag, he placed a hand on it and attempted to change its color, not bothering to consider whether Max would really want a bright green sleeping bag. It didn't matter anyway, because it stayed a nice, boring navy blue.
His mood deflated, he stood, staring at his useless hands. Great. He could use his powers, but only when he wasn't trying to use them. And when he was successful, what could he do, anyway? Make blue rocks. Really useful talent, Guerin.
He crouched down, gathering up the stones. He'd have to stash them somewhere in the cave. He couldn't leave them outside where they might be found, and he didn't want another reminder about what a useless screw-up he was. He wanted them out of his sight.
He had his hands full of them, trying to decide where to put them, when it happened. In his hands, the pile of stones began to glow.
Stumbling back in shock, Michael tripped over the discarded sleeping bag and dropped the rocks. The light inside them went out immediately. He lay for a moment where he'd fallen; then, pushing himself to his feet, he reached out and gathered them again. It was only a moment before the light reappeared. He watched it grow, casting a mellow light that dappled the walls of the pod chamber. The stones remained as cool in his hands as the light they produced. It was calming, somehow. It seemed very natural, very right.
And then he looked over at the wall beside him, and saw it. A set of pale handprints, chest high, shining against the rock wall. He slowly approached, and the prints brightened as the light drew near. There were four of them, lined up against the wall: two larger, one medium and one smaller. One of the larger ones seemed slightly separated from the others. He dumped all the stones into his left hand, holding the pile against his chest so he wouldn't drop any of them, and reached out his right hand to cover the solitary print. His hand fit it perfectly.
Not taking his eyes off of the print, he bent and placed the stones on the ground underneath it. The moment they left his hand, the light died. He crossed to the Coleman lantern, and carried it back over, scrutinizing every last inch of the wall. Nothing. No visible handprints. They'd vanished, as if they were never really there in the first place.
Letting out a deep breath, Michael once again gathered the stones and watched them glow. The handprints reappeared, washed in the bluish light. He studied them for several very long moments before crossing over to the duffel bag he'd brought with him and rooting through it for Isabel's cell phone.
* * * * *
Max had a pullover sweater halfway on when the telephone rang. Unceremoniously thrusting his head through the neck hole, he crossed to the phone, pulling the sweater down as he went. Picking up the receiver, he said calmly, "Hello?" Inside, he didn't feel particularly calm, though. The last time he'd answered the phone, just last night, it had been Nasedo with a very cryptic and unsettling message.
On the other end, Michael spoke quickly. "Max. There's something you need to see."
"What's going on, Michael? Are you okay?" Max asked, concerned.
He could almost hear the excitement in his friend's voice. "Yeah. I'm fine. But some...weird stuff has happened."
"Weird? How weird? In what way?"
There was a pause on the other end, and then Michael said slowly, "I think I want you to see it for yourself, Maxwell."
"Max! Hurry up, we'll be late for school!" Isabel's voice came from the doorway.
"Is that Izzy?" Michael asked, at the same time Isabel noticed Max was on the phone, and demanded, "Is that Michael?"
"Yes, and yes," Max answered both of them.
Isabel's tone was eager. "Is he ready to come back?"
"Hold on, Michael," Max said, then turned to his sister. "I don't know, but something's up. He wants me to see what's going on." He spoke into the phone once more. "Michael? Are you still at the pod chamber?"
"Yeah."
"Do you need me to come right now? Because if not, I should go to school. I've got a test in fourth period."
Michael's voice was low when he responded. "Don't worry about it then. After school is okay. I'm not going anywhere."
Max winced, noting the disappearance of Michael's former excitement. He hadn't been trying to put the other alien off, he'd just been asking, trying to get a sense of what was happening. He knew where his priorities were, but maybe his friend didn't. Time to make it perfectly clear. "No, Michael. You are more important than a test," he stated firmly.
There was silence on the other end as Michael took that in, then, "It's all right, Max. Really," he assured him. "I think I'll try and catch a nap until you get here. I didn't sleep well last night."
"Nightmares again?" Max asked, worried.
"No. Haven't had one for a while. Not since..." Michael sounded odd. "Not since Maria was over." He paused. "I just had a lot to do. Kept me up. You'll see when you get here."
"I'll be there right after school, then."
Isabel interrupted loudly. "I'm coming, too."
"Isabel says--"
"I heard her," Michael responded in a dry tone. "But let's just keep it down to the two of you, Maxwell. There are some things we need to talk about, just the three of us."
* * * * *
Michael was waiting for them at the pod chamber's entrance when they arrived. He squinted into the bright light, eyes adjusting after several days mostly spent in the dim recesses of the pod chamber. Isabel held her breath as she entered, but let it out as she took in the rolled-up sleeping bag and packed duffel. He must be coming back then.
Michael actually looked a little nervous, standing there, waiting for them to broach the subject. But all he said was, "Close the door behind you."
"What's going on, Michael?" Max asked, trying to show his concern and support through his tone of voice.
Isabel didn't stand on ceremony. Crossing to her spiky-haired almost-brother, she wrapped her arms around him and gave him a fierce hug. "We missed you, you idiot," she complained. "It seemed like forever."
"Hey," Michael objected. "Cut it out, Izzy. Do you wanna see this or not?"
Just to annoy him, she squeezed him even harder before stepping away. He didn't really seem to mind, though. Behind them, Max had finished closing off the cave, and the two siblings looked expectantly at their friend. Michael ran a nervous hand through his hair and tried to figure out where to start.
Oh, to hell with it. "I made these," he said bluntly, picking up two of the blue crystals and tossing one to each of the others. "Out of rocks." Then he waited for their reaction.
"You were able to use your powers?" Isabel exclaimed with a wide smile. "That's great!" Michael didn't bother to answer her, instead staring at Max, who was intently studying the stone he held.
"Look at them, Isabel," her brother said, running his fingers over the smooth surface of the small crystal. "Don't they look...familiar somehow?"
Isabel drew her attention away from Michael and glanced down at the stone she held. Her face wrinkled as she tried to remember where she'd seen one of them before. "Yes...yes, they do," she admitted. "What are they, Michael?"
"I don't know," he answered gruffly. "But watch." Turning down the Coleman lantern, he stooped to gather up a handful of similar stones from a pile on the chamber floor. Isabel gave a little gasp as they began to glow in Michael's hand, sending out a pale bluish light. She and Max exchanged glances, then looked back at the glowing stones.
"There's more," Michael said. Crossing to the side of the cave, he held his hands up and shone the light on the cave wall. The handprints immediately came into view. "Look," he added unnecessarily, since the other aliens were already fixed on the prints. "This one fits my hand," he explained, placing his palm against the glowing mark. Almost without volition, Max and Isabel each reached up and fitted their hands against a print. They matched perfectly.
The three aliens looked at each other in silence for a few moments, before stepping back from the cave wall. "What do you think it means?" Isabel asked in a hushed tone.
"I don't know," Michael responded. "But didn't you notice? There's a fourth handprint." He held the stones back up to illuminate the wall once more, and they all stared at the fourth, smaller print.
"Tess," Isabel breathed.
Max and Michael locked gazes. "So what should we do?" Michael asked.
"I don't know. But let's not rush into anything, Michael. There's a lot to think about here."
"Believe me, I know that," Michael answered with a snort. "I don't trust Tess Harding any more than you do. Not after last spring."
"We've got a lot to talk about, Michael. We could talk on the way back to town, if you're ready to go back."
Michael shrugged. "Yeah. I think I am. It's almost like I needed to come out here, and now that I found the prints, I'm done, you know?"
"Good!" Isabel exclaimed. "Grab your stuff then, and let's get out of here. You need some real food, Michael. And a shower," she teased, darting out of his way with a laugh. Heading towards the door, she waved her hand over the silver palm print on the wall to open it, and strode through.
Grabbing the sleeping bag and duffel, Max and Michael followed her to the chamber entrance. "I'm glad you're coming back, too, Michael," Max told his friend quietly. "Because there's something I need to talk to you about. I got a phone call last night..."
"What, Maxwell?"
Max shook his head. "In the Jeep. Isabel needs to hear this, too. It's important."
Michael nodded and began to follow Max out the entrance. Stopping abruptly, he set down the duffel and crossed back to the pile of blue stones, grabbing a handful and tucking them into his pocket. Then he headed back after his friend. Time to go back to the real world and face some things. Figure out whatever these handprints meant, listen to whatever Max had to say, go back to school, see if he still had a job after leaving town for three and a half days...and, oh, yeah. Gear himself up to deal with Maria.
* * * * *
Amy DeLuca was in the middle of fixing a solitary dinner the next evening when the knock came. Crossing to the kitchen door, she raised her eyebrows in involuntary surprise at the tall figure standing there. Her jaw clenched. "She's not here," she said coldly through the glass door.
"I didn't think she would be," Michael responded in a low voice. "I figured she'd be at school, getting ready for the play." He glanced uneasily away, then forced himself to meet her gaze squarely. "I came to see you."
Her forehead wrinkled with suspicion, Amy opened the door just wide enough to peer between it and the jamb. "You're not going to change my mind about letting her see you," she warned.
He shook his head. "That's not why I'm here," he told her quietly. His face remained stoic, but was that a hint of emotion in his eyes? No, she wouldn't let herself soften. Her daughter was too important, and this boy was bad news. Forget whatever momentary heroic actions he'd taken recently. Who knew what sort of trouble he could drag an unprotesting Maria into? Pregnancy, jail...or worse?
"What, then?" she snapped.
He visibly steeled himself, then blurted, "I'm staying away from her, okay? I haven't even said hello to her since--" His voice cut off, and he swallowed.
This confirmed what Maria had told her last week. Amy's eyes narrowed. There was definitely emotion in his eyes, and pain, although he obviously was trying his hardest to hide them.
"You wanted me to stay away, and I'm doing that," he forced out. "I just--" He broke off again, pausing, then rushed on, "Would you give this to her?"
For the first time, Amy noticed the paper clutched in his hand. It was rolled into a tube and fastened with a rubber band. She stared blankly at it.
"It's not a secret message or anything," he said defensively. "It's just something I kind of promised her." His chin out, he stood defiantly, daring her to doubt he'd keep his word. And somehow, she had to believe he would.
This visit, whatever it was, was obviously difficult for him, and yet here he was, facing up to a woman who couldn't possibly be his favorite person right now. Well, that was putting it mildly. He was a teenager, with all the emotional storms that brought; if he had really felt something for her daughter, he probably hated Amy now. But he was here anyway, to keep some sort of promise. And if he kept this promise, mightn't he also keep the one to stay away from Maria?
Without realizing it, she relaxed a little and allowed the door to swing open a bit more.
"I know you don't trust me, but...You can look at it. See for yourself," he offered, thrusting the paper tube through the half-open door and into her hands before taking a quick step back and jamming his hands into his jacket pockets. He started to go, and then turned back abruptly.
"Mrs. DeLuca?"
She looked up from the rolled-up paper she held, lifting her eyes to study his face.
He spoke intently. "If you decide to give it to her, do it in person, okay? Don't just leave it for her to find. She doesn't like that." His eyes, strangely vulnerable, met hers, and he blurted out one more word. "Please." Then he turned and moved swiftly towards the street and out of sight.
Amy stood motionless until the beeping of her timer brought her out of her abstraction. Hurriedly placing the paper on the counter, she set about rescuing the piece of chicken she'd been reheating before the oven charred it out of recognition. Setting the pan on top of the stove, she dropped the potholder and turned to look at Michael's little gift.
To be honest, she was torn. He'd hurt Maria on more than one occasion, most recently by totally ignoring her. Amy blocked out the little voice that reminded her that it was exactly what she had wanted, and concentrated on working up a full head of righteous indignation. She was furious with this...delinquent. She certainly didn't feel the need to do him any favors.
So why then did she keep seeing the flash of pain in his eyes when he spoke about Maria?
And what was that odd comment at the end, about Maria not liking things left for her to find?
Amy shook her head. She should just tear this...whatever it was...up and get rid of it. Her daughter need never know about it. Maria would get over the boy in time, and it would be easier if she didn't have any more little reminders of him.
But even as her brain was deciding one thing, her hands were acting on another. They carefully removed the rubber band, rolling it down the tube, and set it on the counter. They unrolled the heavy white paper and held it open, so she could fully take in what she was seeing.
Her heart thumped in her chest as she studied the sketch. It was a portrait of her daughter, her eyes shining and her mouth curved into laughter. She was wearing the silly alien antennae that she always grumbled about having to wear as part of her Crashdown uniform. And at the bottom of the page, hidden in the cross-hatching of a penciled-in shadow from Maria's collar, Amy could just make out two tiny initials: MG.
She blinked. That...that delinquent was capable of this? Maria looked so...real. So vibrant. So exactly like herself. And this boy--no, Amy, get used to using his name--this Michael, Michael Guerin, had drawn it? How could he be this talented, this...sensitive? With the life he'd had, where had he learned to create something so beautiful?
* * * * *
Another door, another knock. Pushing himself off the couch he'd been sitting on, lost in thought, Michael headed for the door. He didn't bother glancing at the clock, but he knew it was late. His visitor was probably Max, getting even for all the times Michael had burst in at odd hours.
So he was visibly startled when, instead of Max, he found Maria DeLuca at his door. After a moment of shock, his face hardened, and he began to swing the door shut in her face.
Maria put out a hand to keep it open. "Don't. It's okay. My mother knows I'm here." He looked suspiciously at her, and the corners of her mouth curved upward. "Really," she assured him. "Actually, she drove me. She's waiting in the car. So the only thing that could possibly keep us from talking is you," she challenged.
He looked at her for a moment, obviously trying to think this through, before holding the door open for her. "You wanna come in?" he asked hoarsely.
"I can't," she responded, then smiled ruefully. "I got her to unbend far enough to let me come, but I'm not allowed inside your apartment. Believe me, considering the fact that I'm still grounded, this is pretty good." A moment of silence as she tried to figure out how to broach the subject of why she was there, and he just looked at her, and she finally opened her mouth and said, "You were at the play tonight. For opening night."
His only response was a shrug.
"Hey, I can feel you, remember? I could feel you out in the audience, and I knew when you left as soon as it was over. I know you don't want to be anywhere near me now, so..." She missed the slight darkening of his eyes, and continued, "Thank you for coming. It really meant a lot to me."
"I had to make sure the plants worked out okay," he managed.
"Oh. Right." She ran her fingers nervously over the hem of her jacket. "Well, I also wanted to give you this," she said, fishing in her pocket and pulling out a folded piece of notebook paper. "I said I'd keep it until you drew me another one, remember?"
Michael didn't have to look at it to know it was the substitute sketch of her he'd drawn so many weeks ago. He held it tightly, paying no heed to the wrinkles he was putting into it. In front of him, Maria was still talking about the new drawing. So Mrs. DeLuca had given it to her after all. He hadn't been sure she would.
"...and it's beautiful, Michael. You made me look so beautiful. You obviously used a lot of artistic license there, but--"
He interrupted her. "It looks exactly like you," he stated baldly.
This floored her for a full eight seconds. Did Michael just say, in his own roundabout way, that he thought she was beautiful? He'd never said that before. Well, she'd figured that he found her somewhat attractive, because of all the making out they'd done last year, but he'd never actually said it before. Of course, he wasn't particularly verbal, either...
She shook her head as a more likely reason for his comment occurred to her. "Of course, you would say that," she snorted. "Have to defend your skill as an artist, right?"
Michael didn't answer, and she hastened on, "Well, anyway, I think it's beautiful. Thank you, Michael."
He kept his response down to a curt nod.
Wow, this was going great, wasn't it? She shuffled nervously from foot to foot. All she had to do was say it, get it out there and over with, and then she could go. That wouldn't be so bad, right?
Michael unwittingly gave her the impetus to speak. "Is that all? Because I was kinda in the middle of something," he said, ignoring the fact that the something he'd been in the middle of was sitting on his couch and staring at the wall.
"Actually, no. It wasn't," Maria said, taking a deep breath. "I told my mom all about it," she said.
"WHAT?" he roared, reaching out and grabbing her by the shoulders. "What did you--"
"No, no, it's okay, Michael. I didn't tell her about..." She looked around the empty hallway but decided to be circumspect. "I didn't tell her where you're from. I would never do that, I promise. After the last year, you should know that by now."
Some of the tension drained from him, and he let go of her. "I do. It's just..." He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them. "What did you tell her, then?"
Maria bit her lip. "Well, she had a lot of questions about the drawing, and about why you didn't want her to just leave it for me--way to cause suspicion there, by the way, Michael--and I ended up telling her all about Melanie and the notes and why I was really at your place that night. How you were trying to figure out who was sending them, and that you were protecting me."
"You did." It wasn't a question, but she nodded.
"Yeah. And after a long lecture about how I shouldn't have kept it a secret from her in the first place--which I couldn't exactly argue about, since she has no idea of the real reason I had to--she decided that..." Maria took another deep breath and rushed on, "maybe you weren't so bad and it was okay to talk to you."
No reaction from Michael.
"So of course I wanted to talk to you right away, but I knew you'd hang up the phone if I called, and I thought maybe I'd have better luck in person, and she agreed I could come but she was going to drive me because it's after midnight on a school night, and no daughter of hers was going to roam the town by herself at this hour..." She heard herself babbling and forcibly cut herself off.
"Anyway, I don't think she particularly likes you, but she's willing to give you a chance. So there's nothing keeping us apart except you." She swallowed. "I'm sure you've heard about my little announcement at lunch last week, so it shouldn't be a surprise that I still love you. So I guess whatever happens next is up to you. And if you want to keep ignoring me, there's not a lot I can do about it. But I hope...Can we at least be friends?"
Maria looked up at his expressionless face. It had never seemed so hard to read as it did then, as she waited, heart pounding, for his response. She could practically see the little alien gizmos in his brain working, as he tried to come up with the words to express whatever was on his mind.
But when he finally spoke, it had nothing to do with her question. "So is your middle name really Ursula?"
What? Of all the responses she had imagined, this was certainly not one of them. Her face wrinkled up with confusion, but she answered him. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. It's horrible, I know, but it was my great-grandmother's name."
"That would make your initials M-U-D," he said flatly.
Chalk up a bonus point for Mr. Brilliance. "Yeah. So?"
And then for the first time that evening, a hint of expression crossed his face. One lip began to twitch upwards, and then Michael Guerin actually laughed. Oh sure, it was a just a small chuckle, but still...He looked away, shaking his head. "No wonder it never worked," he muttered.
"What never worked?" she asked, hoping he would continue talking to her instead of shutting her out.
He did, but his eyes avoided hers as he explained, "Last year, before we...when I was trying to stay away from you, remember? I used to think about mud to take my mind off of you."
She smiled then, remembering the UFO convention, and how he'd blurted out the word after she'd kissed him in the wrestling ring. "Mud, huh?"
"Yeah." He turned and met her gaze squarely, giving her a crooked smile. "Never worked, though."
"It didn't?" she squeaked.
"Nope." His half-smile grew into a full-fledged smirk. "All that time, I thought I was thinking about mud, and I was still just thinking about MUD. You." He looked down at her, studying her carefully as if she had become someone brand new.
A rosy glow spread across her cheeks, and she suddenly felt very self-conscious. She had gotten so used to him avoiding her that now it seemed very odd to be under his scrutiny. Good, but odd. Reluctantly she tore her eyes away from his. "So, ummm..." she mumbled. "I'd better go before Mom comes after me." She hesitated. "About before...about our friendship...well, just think about it, okay? You can let me know."
She started to back away, ready to bolt down the hall. Michael didn't let her. His hand shot out and took her by the shoulder. "I don't need to think about it," he told her. "I can't be friends with you."
She dropped her eyes down away from his face, focusing on his chest but not seeing it. She swallowed, and managed to get out one word. "Oh."
"I wish I could. It would be safer. But it's too hard. I can't do it," he said fiercely, running a hand through his hair.
She knew all about hard. But she'd thought it was better than never seeing him at all. She guessed she was wrong. Still not looking up at him, she nodded her head quickly. "Okay," she said in a small voice. "G..Goodbye then, Michael." Against her will, tears started to well up in her eyes and she moved away from him, not wanting him to see her cry.
"No--don't--" he began, then realized. "Dammit," he said under his breath. He took a few steps and caught up with her, then gently pulled her back to his doorway. "Stay here," he ordered, propping her up against the doorjamb and holding her in place. "I wasn't finished, lamebrain."
His final word had the desired effect. Her eyes, no longer threatening tears, shot up to meet his. "Lamebrain?" she burst out. "This coming from you, Michael Guerin? That's kind of ironic, don't you think?"
"Yeah, I know," he said calmly. "But you're still gonna listen to me, got it?" When he was certain she wasn't going to move, he released her shoulders. "I get the feeling you think I'm trying to bail on you again. That I don't...Hell, this is hard." He looked away from her, and continued in a low voice, "I guess I can't blame you for thinking that, after everything I've done. But I didn't mean..." Another pause, then he rushed on, "Look. Staying away from you? Not an option any more. I don't want that. I want..." He trailed off, trying to find the words that would explain it, that would make her understand.
Somehow Maria found her voice. "What do you want, Michael?" she asked in a low tone.
He gave up on his search for the right words. "You," he said baldly. She was silent, and his eyes flickered towards hers, trying to catch her reaction. "I want you, Maria," he repeated. "But there's too much getting in the way of that, and I just don't know how it could work."
"We could just go on being together in private. You know, be Eraser Room buddies or whatever," she offered, her cheeks reddening. "I'll take what I can get," she admitted, almost hating herself for being so needy.
He shook his head. "No. You deserve more. And I...I think I do too."
"Where does that leave us then?" she asked. "Not apart, not friends, not together...We're nowhere."
"I didn't say we couldn't be together," he objected. "Just not in a horndog kinda way." He registered what he'd said and corrected himself quickly. "Or not just in that way, I mean. I want more than that."
"What?" she asked softly.
Michael searched his thoughts, trying to put what he was feeling into words. "I want to be friends," he decided.
"But you said we couldn't--"
"Not just friends," he admitted. "'Cause I want that, but I want the other, too."
"You do?" she breathed.
"Yeah." He seemed almost hesitant. "If that's okay with you."
She smiled then, a wide, genuine, delighted smile. "Well, of course it is! What do you think I've been waiting around for, you big dope?"
"A stubborn, screwed-up loser from another planet?" he responded with a smirk.
"A pig-headed, complex loner from another planet," she corrected firmly. He shook his head and reached out to touch her cheek, very softly. His face grew serious.
"There's still a lot I have to work out," he said. "I still have all the questions that come from being who I am. It's not gonna be easy," he warned. "I mean, no matter how I feel about you, I'm still me. I still suck at dealing with a lot of this...human stuff."
"It doesn't matter," she assured him. "I mean, yes, you drive me crazy sometimes, but it's okay. It's part of what makes you you. A challenge," she added, her eyes sparkling. "And besides, you're not the only one with faults, you know."
"Oh yeah?" he drawled.
"I'm not perfect either. I can get a little too dramatic at times, and I'm not a brain in school like Liz, and I can be irresponsible sometimes, and everyone knows I'm kind of flaky, and have I mentioned that when I get uncomfortable I tend to babble?"
Smirking, Michael covered her mouth with a large hand. "No, really?" he deadpanned. "It's a good thing that I'm around then. 'Cause I know just how to calm you down."
Maria smiled up at him, putting her arms around his neck and holding on tightly. "Good, because with the whole Czechoslovakian situation, I may need a whole lot of calming down."
He looked back down at her, his eyes growing very dark, before muttering, "I may need some myself."
* * * * *
Michael watched in amusement as Maria skipped down the stairs leading towards the front door of his apartment building. Once again, their kissing had been interrupted, this time by the blaring of the Jetta's horn. Maria had dragged her lips from his, saying, "Oops. Gotta go." When he had shown absolutely no inclination to release her, she'd wriggled out of his arms. "I can't take any more chances on making my mom angry again," she'd reminded him. "I am not going to blow this." With a quick peck on the lips, she'd whispered, "I love you, Spaceboy," before darting towards the stairs.
And all he'd been able to manage was a hastily blurted, "Ditto."
She'd laughed delightedly, calling back, "I know!"
Now Michael watched as her shining blonde head disappeared; then he slowly headed back inside his apartment. Throwing himself down on his couch, he relaxed, in a much better mood than he'd been in earlier. So what if they still had their enemies to fight, and Nasedo was trying to keep secrets from him--the shapeshifter should have realized that Max would have told him all about his mysterious phone call. And so what if there was a new mystery, about shining blue crystals and hidden handprints? Michael felt better than he had in a very long time. Like maybe, just maybe, he could handle whatever happened next.
Oh, yeah. Things were definitely looking up.
EPILOGUE
Michael woke with a start, panting in the dark room. His mind raced, trying to remember the details of the nightmare he'd been swept up in. All he could get was a sense of panic and confusion, then pain. He wasn't sure if the feelings had been his or someone else's.
The only thing he could remember clearly was a sound, a word, in a familiar voice. It still rang in his ears.
Killer.
Only this time, it didn't sound like an accusation.
This time, it sounded like a warning.
THE END
Continue to the sequel, UnMasqued: Son of M&M "Little Shop' fic
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