The dreams still came, over and over throughout the nights, startling him awake and leaving him staring dull-eyed up at the ceiling. They grew out of his usual nightmares, swirling him off to a place where there was nothing around him except for the voice. It was the same voice, shatteringly familiar in its tone. It sounded like an enemy, a woman now dead. Once an accusation, its message now was one of forewarning. The word was the same, but the meaning was entirely different.
Killer.
CHAPTER 1
Maria DeLuca absolutely floated down the hallway of West Roswell High. Never mind that it was Monday, her absolutely least favorite day of the week. Never mind that it was a gray, gloomy day, unusual for Roswell, New Mexico. Never mind that the DeLuca family Jetta was once again experiencing technical difficulties and she'd had to walk to school that morning. And definitely never mind the major History test scheduled for the end of the week.
What did any of that matter? It was her first day of freedom after an intense twenty-three day period of grounding, school was over for the day, and she was on the way to meet her somewhat anti-social--and surprisingly complex--boyfriend. What more could a high school junior ask for?
Her happiness swelled up and burst out in a joyful giggle, so boisterous that she clapped a hand over her own mouth to stifle it. But she couldn't control the sparkle in her eyes or the lightness of her soul as she mentally repeated the word. Boyfriend. She could actually use that term in reference to Michael Guerin. She was in a relationship with Michael Guerin. And if pressed, he might even admit it.
She actually hadn't seen that much of him since they'd gotten back together ten days earlier. Her grounding and his unofficial banning from the Crashdown Caf� where Maria worked had pretty much limited their contact to school hours. And Michael was being unusually circumspect in his behavior around her. Sure, except for one clinch in the school hallway during their sophomore year, he'd never been one for public affection--years of hiding the fact that he was an alien hadn't exactly left him open--but he hadn't even taken advantage of the school's most notorious private make-out spot, the eraser room. Other than the heart-stoppingly wonderful kiss after he'd told Maria he wanted to be with her, he'd kept his lips to himself.
In fact, if you didn't know Michael, you might not even realize that they were a couple. But he had spoken to her before and after each of the two classes they shared daily, and he'd sat next to her at lunch every day at school. She hadn't even had to ask him. He'd done it on his own, and that, for Michael Guerin, was a whole heck of a lot.
The only thing that had come between them during the past week was the Thanksgiving holiday. Maria had badly wanted to spend the day with Michael, but of course her grounding got in the way of that, too. She had spent five days begging and pleading, to her mother's great annoyance. Amy DeLuca had finally unbent enough to offer her daughter a choice: a Thanksgiving with just the two DeLucas, or an extra week of house arrest. Maria actually took some time to consider the proposition, but after much internal debate she finally opted for a faster end to her punishment, and she and her mother spent a quiet but pleasant Thanksgiving together.
Maria had been somewhat mollified to find out that Michael's best friend, Max Evans, and Max's sister Isabel had extended their annual invitation for Michael to spend the holiday with them. It didn't really surprise anyone when Michael turned them down again. He claimed he'd been scheduled to work the entire day at the Lift-Off gas station since he was the only employee with no family, but Maria suspected that he'd volunteered for the extra-long shift. Not because he particularly cared about the other employees' holiday plans, but because it was difficult for him to watch families celebrate together. And the double-time holiday pay wouldn't hurt either.
Like Michael, Max and Isabel were aliens, but they'd been adopted into a loving family and raised just like normal human beings. Of course, since Mr. and Mrs. Evans had absolutely no idea that aliens existed, much less that their two children were alien-human hybrids, that wasn't really unexpected.
Michael, on the other hand, had been shunted from foster home to foster home until he'd been dumped into the 'loving care' of Hank, an abusive drunk who'd taken out many of his problems on the defenseless boy. Hank had disappeared last year; Michael, finally free from years of secret beatings, now had emancipated minor status, an (albeit shabby) apartment of his own, and--Maria almost danced at the thought--a loving and feisty human girlfriend in the person of one Maria DeLuca.
Stopping off at her locker, Maria grabbed her math textbook and piled it on top of the History book she was holding. Not that she expected to get a whole lot of studying in during her first afternoon off of house arrest, but she knew better than to show up at home with no books. Then she headed off down the hall towards Michael's locker, to meet him.
On any normal day, she wouldn't have had to meet him at all, since they shared the last class of the day; today, however, Michael had been called out of class by Vice Principal Sutter and had just enough time to mutter, "After school. My locker," before following the man out of the classroom. A small crease appeared in Maria's forehead, only slightly marring her joyful expression. What had the VP wanted with Michael?
A familiar little tingle deep down inside told her that her boyfriend--and an answer to that last question--was near. Rounding the corner, she saw him leaning on his closed locker, paying no attention to the students who filled the hall around him. He had a blank look on his face as he seemingly stared at the wall across from him, but Maria knew him well enough to know his thoughts were elsewhere. Either that, or he had regressed back to the moments of forced abstraction that had been plaguing him just a few weeks ago...
He turned his head and caught her eye, and she gave a small sigh of relief. Nope, he'd just been thinking about something, that's all. Not a big deal. Walking up to him, she planted herself firmly in front of him. "Hey, Michael," she said.
He returned his usual laconic greeting. "Hey."
She stood for a moment looking up at him. He wasn't conventionally handsome, not in that movie-star kind of way, but he was tall and strong and determined, and to her he was beautiful. He would kill her if he knew she used that particular word about him; Michael could be just as touchy as any other guy. But it was a good one. And from the looks he was getting from some of the other female students passing by, Maria wasn't the only one who thought he was attractive.
Huh. One of the glances coming their way wasn't at all appreciative, and it wasn't just aimed towards Michael. The glare came from Pamela Harris, Maria's recent nemesis during West Roswell High's production of Little Shop of Horrors. Despite Maria's assurances--even so much as to make a very public announcement in the cafeteria one day--Pamela had never really believed that Maria and Michael were together. Almost reflexively Maria's hand shot out and grabbed Michael's. She'd show the delusional senior what was what!
Michael looked down at their linked hands and then firmly detached his from hers. Maria couldn't help it--she felt abandoned. It was just holding hands, that was all. Nothing shocking. And yet Michael couldn't even--
This thought was never to be concluded. Maria felt her textbooks being pulled away from her, and a strong arm wrapped itself around her waist. She looked up just in time to have a warm pair of lips pressed firmly--if briefly--on hers. She blinked rapidly in confusion.
"Better?" Michael asked calmly. When she didn't answer, he gave the tiniest nod in Pamela's direction. Maria turned to look; the girl was staring at the two of them, chagrined. Turning back to her boyfriend, Maria grinned up at him.
"Oh, yeah," she breathed, then admitted, "I've just got some lingering issues with Pamela, I guess."
"I'm not that fond of her myself," Michael put in.
"But if you really want to know," Maria said mischievously, "your technique could use some work. The form is nice, but you could stand a little more time before the dismount."
"Hey," Michael objected. "That was just for show. Besides," he added, staring down at her, "if you have any problems with my so-called 'technique', blame yourself. You're the one who taught me."
"What?!?" Maria yelped. Just because she was the first--and only--person he'd ever kissed didn't make this her fault. He'd proven on more than one occasion that he was a natural at the sport. She opened her mouth again to give him a piece of her mind, but stopped as she noticed the slight smirk of his lips and the hint of amusement in his eyes. She shook her head, chuckling.
"So," Michael said, leaning back against his locker once more, "you're not grounded and I don't have to work. What do you want to do?"
"You mean besides perfect your 'technique'?" she teased. He gave her a pointed look. "Okay, okay. Well, we're kind of limited, since we have no transportation. I don't know. What'd you have in mind?"
"There's something I want to show you, but it'll have to wait until we've got wheels. Maybe Max will lend me the Jeep," Michael thought aloud.
Maria's curiosity was instantly engaged. "What?"
"You'll see when we go there. It's in the desert," he said meaningfully, with a glance around the hallway.
Oops. Must be something alien-related then, if he wasn't willing to discuss it in public. "We could go to a movie," she suggested.
His answer was quick. "No money."
"I could--"
"No," he cut her off. Michael was becoming very stubborn about this sort of thing. She suspected it had less to do with male chauvinism and more to do with his growing disinclination to be indebted to anyone.
"We can just hang out, then," she said decidedly. For this first day, it didn't much matter what they did, just that they were together. "Where?"
"The park?" Michael suggested.
She shook her head. "Too cold," she objected. "It is almost December, you know."
"My apartment?" he suggested, somewhat diffidently this time.
Flushing, Maria told him, "That's still off-limits for now. My mom may have unwound enough to take me off punishment, but it's going to be a while before she relaxes with the new rules." She looked up at him. "We'll go to my house," she decided.
He frowned. "I can't go there. Your mother hates me."
"She doesn't hate you, Michael. She's just worried about me, and you confuse her."
"I confuse her?" he muttered in an incredulous tone.
"You have no idea how much," she commented with a smile. "Just be grateful she doesn't know everything about you."
"Why? You think my background might be a little too much for her?" he smirked.
"Actually, I don't know. She does make a living from little plastic aliens, after all."
"But a real live...Czechoslovakian...might be pushing it?" he said, using her code word.
"I don't know," she repeated, more seriously now. "But I promised you I'd never tell, and I won't." Michael nodded. "Besides," she said, her mood shifting suddenly back to a happy one, "she'll be at work, so she won't even be there. My house it is!" she cried triumphantly.
He looked at her for a moment, shaking his head in exasperation, before pushing himself away from the wall of lockers. "Come on, then," was all he said.
Together they headed outside and began the walk to the DeLuca residence. Maria wasn't sure if Michael realized that he was still carrying her books. She snickered. How very 1950s of him. He sent an inquiring look in her direction, but she just gave him a cheery smile and said nothing.
Her voluble nature didn't allow her to remain quiet for long, however. "So what did Mr. Sutter want, anyway?" she asked.
Michael scowled. "Nothing."
"He pulled you out of class, Michael. He had to want something."
"I don't want to talk about it right now, okay?" he barked abruptly.
This couldn't be good. But if there was one thing Maria had learned in the last few months, it was not to push Michael. So she backed off. "Okay, Spaceboy," she said airily, dropping the subject.
Putting a hand on her shoulder, he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and studied her suspiciously. The tense look on his face slowly drained away, leaving only surprise and relief...and maybe just a tiny bit of tenderness? His mouth worked for a moment as he tried to find the right words, then he shrugged in a most Michael-like way. "Thanks," he said simply.
"No problem," she said smiling up at him. Then grabbing hold of his jacket sleeve, she continued down the sidewalk, pulling Michael in her wake.
It really didn't take them all that long to get to her house; or maybe it just didn't seem that long because they were together. Unlocking the back door, Maria dropped her bookbag on the counter and headed over to the refrigerator.
"You can set my books on the counter," she told Michael, then grinned at his reply.
"What? Oh."
Yep, he'd forgotten he had them. Suddenly wondering just what was on his mind that was so distracting, she frowned, but pulled out a can of Coke and held it out to him. He took it wordlessly and popped the top, taking a large gulp. Setting a pitcher of iced tea on the counter, Maria pulled a bottle of Tabasco sauce from the cupboard and tossed it to Michael, who caught it reflexively and then stood staring at it.
"I put it on the grocery list last week," she told him. "I figured we'd need it sooner or later. I don't even know how you can eat that stuff, alien genes or not."
He continued to stare at the bottle, his mouth working as if he didn't quite know what to say. Then Michael set it carefully down on the counter and began advancing on her. She didn't even try to move, and he cornered her against the refrigerator door. Holding her face in his hands, he bent down and kissed her gently.
Well, gently at first. Her hands snaked up to cradle his shoulders, and he pulled her closer, one arm sliding down to her waist and the other hand cupping the back of her head as he teased at her lips. Then they were devouring each other with hot, hungry kisses until Maria wasn't sure where she left off and Michael began.
When they finally broke apart, both panting for breath, she leaned against the refrigerator to keep her knees from buckling and smiled shakily at him. "Wow," she managed. "It was just a bottle of Tabasco, Spaceboy." He didn't look all that calm and collected either, and she continued, "Guess I'll have to buy it more often."
At that, Michael actually smiled, a crooked half-grin that she wasn't sure she'd ever seen before. "So no more complaints about my technique?"
"Uh-uh. No way. Your teacher did a fine job," she said breathlessly. "Of course, we wouldn't want you to lose your touch, so I'd say plenty of practicing was in order, wouldn't you?"
His expression became serious, and he answered, "Let's take things slow, okay? That kinda got out of hand there--" He must've seen the look on her face, because he rushed on, "I mean, I liked it. More than liked it. But I meant it when I said I wanted to be friends, too, so..." He gave her a teasing smirk. "Besides, I don't know where your mom's hidden the killer newspaper."
She laughed at that. "Okay, friend. Grab your soda--and your Tabasco sauce--and head into the other room. We can watch some TV or something."
Pouring herself a glass of iced tea, she followed Michael into the living room. He was already sitting on the couch, legs stretched out in front of him, as he channel-surfed. She climbed over his outstretched limbs, managing to snag the remote on her way by, and plopped down on the couch next to him.
"Hey," he objected, but made no move to reclaim the remote. She didn't offer it back either, but kicked off her shoes and curled up to do a little channel-surfing of her own.
She was debating the relative merits of a sleazy-looking talk show and an ancient episode of "Scooby-Doo" when Michael spoke.
"Grades," he said abruptly.
Maria looked away from the TV set. "Huh?"
"That's what Sutter wanted to see me about. That and my attendance," he added, carefully not looking in her direction.
Maria made a small non-committal encouraging noise.
"Seems the three days I was AWOL the week before last were the final straw. I was a topic of discussion at a teachers' meeting last week, and one teacher had something positive to say." He gave a bitter little laugh. "One teacher. And I don't even have a class with her."
"Ms. Bedinger," she guessed, thinking of how hard Michael had worked on the plant puppets for the recent play. The drama teacher had taken a liking to him, Maria knew.
"Yeah."
"Well, what are you going to do about it?" she asked reasonably.
"Nothing."
"Nothing? I don't get it, Michael. You're not at all stupid, and yet you barely get enough passing grades to squeak by. It's not inability, and I know it's not laziness, so why?"
"Just never seemed important."
"Michael! It could affect your whole future! You don't want to end up in some minimum-wage scut job for the rest of your life, do you?"
"I always figured that this place was temporary, that some day I'd be going home," he admitted softly.
She swallowed. "That might still be true," she acknowledged. "But what if it's not? Or if it's not for a very long time? Don't you think you deserve a good life until then?"
"Want--maybe. Deserve? I don't know." His jaw clenched. "Look, it's my problem. Don't worry about it."
"Worry about it?" she repeated. Her eyes narrowed. "You don't think you could do it, do you?"
"Of course I could do it," he retorted, stung. "I've got an eidetic memory."
"A what?"
"Eidetic. Photographic memory--same thing. Means I'm good at visual recall. I could do it. I just don't care about it, that's all."
"You don't care--Michael, I know you better than you want me to, and I don't buy that. You're just afraid, that's all. Afraid of actually being successful at something." Her tone grew acerbic. "Well, maybe you're right to be afraid. Maybe you couldn't do it, after all."
"I told you I could--" he ground out.
"How much are you willing to bet on that?" Maria demanded.
"Huh?"
"You say you can pull your grades up. I say you can't. Winner gets to determine the penalty. You in?"
He raised one sardonic eyebrow. "You sure you wanna risk that?"
"It won't matter, because I won't lose," she said firmly. "You in or not?"
"Oh, I'm in. I'm definitely in," he vowed.
"Then it's a bet!" she cried, grabbing his hand and shaking it. Then she calmly turned back to the TV. Shaggy and Scooby were being chased by a mummy.
She could almost see Michael realizing just what he'd let himself in for. "You set me up, didn't you?" he accused.
She grinned at him. "You catch on quick, Spaceboy. Just not quick enough."
"But if you lose--"
"Oh, I will lose. I'm sure of it. But I don't think you'll do anything too horrible to me. Whereas I--" Here she turned sternly to face him. "I would have absolutely no hesitation in coming up with the most horrible, embarrassing, humiliating penalty for you should you decide to throw the bet. Be warned." She gave him a feisty smile. "So what are you going to do about it, Michael?"
He blinked for a moment before standing and striding from the room. He was back in seconds, though, and he was carrying her History text. Dropping it to the floor, he picked Maria up and unceremoniously dumped her on the other end of the couch before reclaiming his seat.
"I wouldn't look so smug if I were you," he said as he opened the book. "Because if--no, when I win, I'm gonna get some help deciding your penalty. I'm sure Alex will have some interesting ideas."
Had he been looking at her, he would have found her suddenly concerned expression to be quite entertaining.
CHAPTER 2
It was a very surprised Amy DeLuca who stood in the doorway some time later. There was her teenage daughter, alone in the house with her hoodlum boyfriend, and their behavior was quite shocking. There they were, together on Amy's living room sofa...with a good fifteen inches between them. Her daughter chewed on the end of a pencil while the hoodlum boyfriend buried his long nose in a book.
"This isn't how I expected to be spending the afternoon," Maria complained as she looked crossly down at her open notebook. It wasn't what Amy had expected, either. Was Maria actually...doing homework?
The hoodlum boyfriend didn't look up from the textbook he was reading. "Don't blame me," he said absently, turning a page. "This whole 'Michael needs to study more' thing was your idea, remember? So if I have to do it, you--"
His voice cut off as Amy accidentally jostled her arm against the doorway and let out a hiss of pain. He was on his feet instantly, the book falling to the floor forgotten as he placed himself between Maria and the doorway. It was almost as if he were instinctively protecting her from some unexpected danger. Amy could visibly see his slight relaxation as he realized it was only her, then his tension as he really saw her.
"Mrs. DeLuca?"
"Mom?" Maria said as she pushed past him. "I didn't expect you--" Like Michael's, her voice cut off abruptly. "Oh my god, Mom! What happened?"
Michael stepped out of the way as Maria dashed to her mother's side and gently led her to the couch. The woman's brown hair was disheveled, and the side of her jaw was swollen. Michael grimaced. He knew from experience that was going to leave a nasty bruise. The kicker was her right arm, encased in a plaster cast and a canvas sling.
Amy cut through her daughter's frantic babbling. "I'm all right, honey. Just a little battered, that's all."
"What happened?" Maria demanded again, kneeling at Amy's side.
"It was a stupid accident. I was reaching up for a box in the storeroom and slipped off the chair I was standing on. I landed funny and fractured my wrist, but I'll be fine," she assured her.
"Why didn't you call me?" Maria asked, smoothing her mother's hair back off her face. "I just got my cell phone privileges back today, remember?"
"I didn't want to interrupt your first day of freedom," Amy said sheepishly.
That was absolutely the most idiotic--"Mom!" Maria's face wrinkled up in exasperation. "I can't believe you!"
Watching from the corner of the room, Michael shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He felt very out of place. Being in the same room with Amy DeLuca made him uneasy enough on a good day; with her in this condition, it was even worse. He was useless here; maybe he should just leave. Quietly, he started to sidle to the door. Maria stopped him.
"Michael," she said, not even looking up. "Get Mom a glass of water, will you?"
Relieved, he escaped into the kitchen. When he reluctantly returned, glass in hand, Maria had Amy reclining on the couch, a multi-colored comforter spread over her. She took the water with a smile and helped her mother sit up to swallow the pain medication she'd been given.
"This is ridiculous," Amy protested. "I can't lie here. I have things to do."
"You're hurting. Stay there and rest," her daughter ordered. "I'll take care of things."
"Just let me get dinner going. I'll rest later."
Maria shook her head. "You've only got one good arm. I'll take care of it."
"Who's the mother here?" Amy said, her eyebrows raised. Maria wrinkled up her nose; Amy ignored it and continued flatly, "Besides, you can't cook." Maria's face fell.
Michael was shocked--no, appalled--to hear himself speak. "I can."
Both of the DeLucas turned to him in surprise. "That's right," Maria said finally, "he can." She turned to her mother and added, her voice firm, "There! You lie and rest, and we'll make dinner." Smoothing down the comforter over her mother, she headed for the kitchen, gently pushing Michael in front of her.
Once in the other room, she dropped her cheerful demeanor and began to pace agitatedly back and forth. "Oh my god. Oh my god. How could this happen?" she cried, her voice rising. "What if it had been worse? She could have really hurt herself, Michael. Well, she did hurt herself. But what if--"
"Maria."
"--it had been really serious? I'm too young to--"
"Maria."
"--have to deal with this. I can't lose her, Michael, I can't--"
"Maria!" She stopped mid-phrase and Michael said, less roughly, "She's gonna be okay. You won't lose her."
Maria didn't look convinced. "Michael, she's all I have," she whispered.
He frowned. "That's a stupid thing to say. You have Liz, and Alex, and Max and Isabel. And you have me. You're not alone, okay?"
"Okay," she whispered, rather unconvincingly.
"Besides, she'll be fine. Now tell me what I'm supposed to make for your dinner and you can get back out there and do all that girly nurturing stuff. Roll bandages or whatever."
Maria ignored the tail end of this comment, too taken aback by the first part to get offended. Eyes wide, she asked him, "You mean you can really cook? I mean, more than just slapping burgers together? I thought you just ate cereal at home."
His response was just the slightest bit sarcastic. "Yeah, I can cook. Said so, didn't I? I just don't bother when it's just me. And I happen to like cereal."
"For dinner?"
"So?" He wasn't about to explain that often, growing up, it had been all there was in the house. He'd gotten used to it. Hell, he'd sometimes been grateful for it. And now that he was buying his own groceries, it just seemed natural to stock up on boxes of the stuff. But he wasn't going to go into all that with Maria. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to speak. It didn't take long.
"Well, I don't know what Mom was planning. Whatever you make will be fine. Just keep in mind that some of us have normal taste buds, okay?" Michael rolled his eyes, and she continued, "And Michael?"
"What?"
"Thank you."
Acutely uncomfortable, he shrugged off her gratitude. "No big deal. Now get outta my hair, will you?" he ordered, starting to move towards the refrigerator.
Maria headed to the door, only stopping long enough to place a soft kiss on his cheek. Absently wiping his cheek on his shoulder, Michael began to investigate the contents of the DeLuca cupboards.
* * * * *
Some time later, Maria re-entered the kitchen to announce, "She's asleep." With some amusement, she surveyed the total disarray around her. Pots and other kitchen utensils were spread on every surface, and Michael was standing at the sink, chopping away at something.
"What are you making?" Maria inquired, moving to Michael's side. She set down the bottle of Tabasco she'd retrieved from the living room and peered over his shoulder. The something he was chopping turned out to be a stalk of celery.
"Soup. It was gonna be chicken, but you don't have any, so it's vegetable." He glanced up in time to catch her look of amusement, and became immediately defensive. "What? It's chicken soup to make you better, isn't it?"
"Yeah, but usually when you're sick, not for broken bones. It was a sweet idea, though."
He gave her a disgusted look. "Well, I was limited by the fact that you two don't have any decent food around here. What'd you do, blow your budget on the Tabasco? Practically all I could find were vegetables. Chick food," he snorted derisively, finishing with the celery and attacking a zucchini.
"Chick food?" she said indignantly. "You know, just when I think you're making some progress, Michael, you go and stick your foot in it. What's wrong with vegetables? They're healthy. You ought to try them sometime."
"Uh-uh. All the Tabasco in the world couldn't make this thing edible," he claimed, gesturing to the abused vegetable in front of him.
"So, what? You're saying that you're purposely feeding us something inedible?" she challenged, the corners of her lips quirking upward.
"What? No. No," he started, then gave up. "Look, I'm working here. Go and distract somebody else."
So he thought she was a distraction, huh? Maria couldn't believe she could feel this happy after feeling so horrified earlier. She said as much to Michael, who was dumping bits of chopped-up zucchini into the bubbling broth. "Except for Mom being hurt, I can't tell you how happy I am right now. I mean, things are really good, you know? You're yourself again, and things seem almost normal." She flung her arms out and spun around dramatically. "Here I am, a normal teenager with her norm--well, quasi-normal boyfriend, and nothing weird is going on for once. No FBI, no mysterious enemies...it's nice."
Michael's eyes shot to the doorway. "Maria," he said in warning.
"I told you, she's taking a nap. I think the pain pill did her in."
"Still, you gotta be more careful," he instructed.
"Oh, stop being so paranoid, Michael. Not everyone is going to take one look at you and automatically shout, 'Oooooh, alien!'"
"Cut it out!" Michael hissed, grabbing her by the shoulder.
"It's okay, Michael. See?" Maria dragged him to the doorway, and together they peered into the living room. Amy DeLuca was, indeed, fast asleep on the couch. "I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't safe, you know," Maria chided her boyfriend.
"Yeah, well, nowhere is completely safe," he muttered.
She turned to him, stricken. "How can you live like that, Michael?"
Once again, he shrugged it off. "Used to it," was all he said. He moved to the stove and stirred the soup.
Uh-uh. There was more to it than that. Something had him �ber-paranoid. Her eyes narrowed. "What's going on, Michael? You're hiding something from me."
"I don't want to talk about it. Not today," he grunted.
"Why not?"
"I just don't."
She took one look at his old familiar closed-off expression and bit her lip. "It's because I made such a fuss over having a nice normal day, isn't it?" she demanded, not really needing to ask.
Michael didn't acknowledge it, but she knew she was right.
"If something's going on, then we need to deal with it. Together. I didn't mean to--"
He cut her off. "It wasn't for you."
"What?"
"It wasn't for you that I didn't want to talk about it, okay? It was for me." His eyes fixed on the soup pot, he muttered, "Maybe I was the one who wanted one normal day with my girlfriend."
"Well, I don't--wait a minute. Did you just call me your girlfriend?"
He spoke irritably. "Yeah, so? You are, aren't you?"
"Well, yes, but I didn't think the word was in your vocabulary," she said in excitement. "But we--I mean, yes. I am. I am your girlfriend. I am Michael Guerin's girlfriend," she repeated, ignoring his exasperated headshake as she tested the phrase out on her tongue. It felt just as good as calling Michael her boyfriend. But she wasn't going to let herself get distracted. "So as your girlfriend, I should know what's going on, right?" she said, going doggedly back to the earlier subject.
He let out a deep breath. "Things aren't all that normal. There's some...stuff going on."
"Stuff? What stuff?" she asked suspiciously.
"I'm not sure."
"Michael!"
"I mean it, I really don't know." He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "Couple of weeks ago, Max got a call. From Nasedo."
She looked up at him, her forehead creased. "What did he want?"
"He heard about some of the stuff that happened. He wanted Max to make me keep a lower profile."
Maria snorted. "Michael, how would that even be possible? What are you supposed to do, crawl under a rock somewhere and become a total hermit?"
"I know," he acknowledged.
"And he expected Max to just order you to do it?" she asked in disbelief.
His answer was not without humor. "Yep."
Shaking her head, Maria laughed nervously. "So the all-knowing alien protector has absolutely no clue who you guys really are. Well, that was a wasted phone call, if ever I heard one. You don't hear from him for months, and he calls for that?"
"And for Max to keep me from using my powers."
She looked at him in concern. Sure, he'd been having trouble with them, but still..."Why?"
"Don't know. I figure Nasedo will tell us when he gets here."
"He's coming back? The evil shapeshifter who kidnapped Liz and killed all those people is coming back? Oh my god. How long have you known about this, Michael?"
"Coupla weeks. But--"
"A couple of weeks?" she shrieked indignantly. "And you didn't tell me?"
"I couldn't exactly blurt it out in the middle of school, could I?" he said, bristling.
"Do the others know?"
"Just Izzy, I think. Liz and Alex, probably not. I'm not even supposed to know." She stared at him, shocked, and he explained, "Max wasn't supposed to tell me."
Maria collapsed against a counter. "There's something wrong here, Michael. Why would Nasedo be trying to keep it from you?"
"Do I look like I have any answers?" he asked dryly.
Absently chewing on her lower lip, she pondered the news. "Michael, do you trust him?"
"Nasedo?" She nodded. "No. I trust five--no, maybe it's six people, and Nasedo's not one of them. But I still want to hear what he has to say."
"Was this what you were going to tell me about in the desert?"
"No, that's something else. I wanted to show you something." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a small object, gleaming in the bright light of the kitchen. "This is part of it," he added, tossing it to her.
Maria studied the small blue sphere, not even as big as a ping-pong ball. A tiny light danced in the center, shifting as she turned it over in her hand. "It's pretty. What is it?"
"I don't know," he said again. "But whatever it is, I made it out of a rock."
Her head jerked upright and she stared at him. "You made this? With your powers?"
"No, with my handy-dandy 'Make a Blue Rock' kit. Of course with my powers."
She scrunched up her forehead in confusion. "I thought you weren't supposed to be using them."
"This was before I knew that. And I didn't exactly get up one morning and decide to make blue rocks. It was an accident." His voice grew quiet. "Look, I'll see if I can get the Jeep and we'll go out to the cave sometime this week. I'll tell you all about it then, okay?"
"Okay." Maria rolled the sphere in the palm of her hand for a moment. "You know, Michael, this feels like you."
There was silence for a moment, then an abrupt, "What does that mean?"
"I'm being serious here. You...well, you've always been a vibey sort of person, you know? What my mom calls a real vibrator." She glanced at him, but he didn't so much as blink in response. "This gives me the same vibes. It just...it feels like you, that's all. Like part of you." She clutched her fingers tightly around its smooth surface once more before reluctantly handing it back to him. When it was gone, her hand felt suddenly empty.
Michael held the crystal for a moment, turning it over. Was it her imagination, or was the spark deep inside a little brighter now? Puzzled, she watched him give a frustrated headshake; then Michael stuffed the thing back into his pocket and turned back to the counters. He began stacking the pots and pans he hadn't used.
Wordlessly, Maria took over and began putting the unused implements away. Michael scrubbed busily away at the knife and cutting board he'd used, taking longer than he really needed to so he wouldn't have to face her. He wasn't exactly in the mood for more discussion. Hadn't he opened up enough for one day?
Finally finishing up, he draped the dish towel over the oven door handle and turned to face his girlfriend. "The soup needs to simmer for at least ten more minutes. Then you can have it any time."
What? "You're staying, aren't you?" she asked in alarm.
"No."
"Michael, you can't go to all this trouble and then not eat with us," she protested. "Stay. Please?"
"I don't think it's a good idea. Your mother's not feeling great; you don't need me around to make things more...tense."
Moving close to him, Maria gave him her best pleading look. "Please?" It didn't have the desired effect. In other words, he didn't instantly give in.
Michael sighed. "Remember what happened the last time you talked me into something I knew wasn't a good idea? You ended up grounded and we didn't talk to each other for weeks."
"This is different."
He crossed his arms over his chest. "How so?"
"It's not against any rules for me to have a friend over for dinner, Michael."
"Liz, yeah. Alex, sure. Hell, probably even some stranger you pulled off the street would be fine. But I'm already on shaky enough ground with your mother here. If I stay, I'm gonna piss her off--I do that to people. Hell, you're the one who told me I have no manners, remember? It's better if I make myself scarce. Your mother won't want--"
"Don't you think her mother ought to decide for herself?" Amy asked groggily from the doorway. She ignored how Michael stiffened, and asked, "What's the argument?"
"He's being an idiot!" Maria burst out. One spoken word from her mother--her name--reined her in enough to complain, "He won't stay for dinner, even though he's the one that cooked it."
"I see," Amy said thoughtfully.
"Mrs. DeLuca," Michael began awkwardly. Amy didn't let him get any farther than that.
"Stay for dinner, Michael. After all, if you're going to be dating my daughter, you and I should get to know each other a little better, don't you think?" She took in the immediate panic in his eyes. "Look, we'll call a truce, all right? Open minds all around for the duration of the meal." Smiling slightly, she added, "Have some pity. I've already got a headache. If I have to listen to Maria moan and groan about you all night, it's going to get a lot worse."
His eyes shifted rapidly back and forth between Maria and Amy, then he gave a curt nod. He felt trapped.
Maria squealed and hugged him gleefully; he tensed and removed her arms from around his neck with a nervous glance at her mother. Amy ignored both of them.
"So what are we having?" she asked, glancing over to the stove.
"Homemade vegetable soup," Maria announced in an important tone.
"That sounds like just the thing. I'm not sure my jaw would be up to much chewing," her mother said regretfully.
"Witch hazel."
Both DeLucas turned towards Michael. He went on, "You should put some witch hazel on it. Someone..." He suddenly remembered just where he'd heard it. From Mrs. DeLuca herself. "Someone told me that once," he finished lamely.
Amy gave a solemn nod. "That's a good idea."
Taking charge, Maria commanded, "You go sit at the table, Mom. We'll bring everything in." Within minutes, she had everything organized: the table set, her mother seated, and the soup and some bakery rolls on the table.
The three of them began to eat. It was not the most relaxing dinner.
Without saying a word, Michael worked his way through the meal. The sooner he got done, the sooner he could get out of there, right?
Amy didn't say much, either. She was still groggy from the medication she'd been given, and both her wrist and her jaw had begun to ache again.
So it was up to Maria to make conversation, one-sided though it was. She had covered that day's classes, the new shoes Liz had worn, and the abysmal lack of things to do in Roswell even when you weren't grounded, and was just about to start in on the crazy schedule Mr. Parker had her on at the Crashdown when they finished.
"Do you want anything else, Mom?"
"I'd love some herbal tea, honey, if you don't mind. And there's a cherry pie in the pantry if you two want dessert. I made it yesterday."
Maria turned to her boyfriend. "Want some pie, Michael?" He shrugged, but leapt to his feet to help her clear the table the moment she got up. Maria wasn't fooled. He hadn't suddenly developed manners; he just didn't want to be stuck in the room alone with her mother.
In the kitchen, she smiled as she placed the soup bowls in the sink and moved to cut two slices of pie. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it, Spaceboy?"
Michael muttered something under his breath, too low for her to hear.
"What?"
He ran a hand through his spiky hair instead of answering.
Hands on her hips, she asked again, "What, Michael?"
"I said I had a better time getting lectured by Sutter," he repeated, loud enough for her to hear this time.
She eyed him appraisingly. "Uh-huh."
"Well, I did," he said defensively.
"Look, Michael, I know you're not comfortable with my mother. But she's important to me, and you're important to me, and sometimes I need you both."
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"Yeah. Yeah, you are," she responded, suddenly cheering up. "So since you're here, why don't you grab the Tabasco while I make Mom's tea?"
"I'm not gonna use it."
"That's silly, Michael. You can put it on the pie in here. Mom will never know."
"I'm not taking any chances."
"Don't be such a big baby," she exclaimed, and reached for the Tabasco herself.
"Would you cut it out?" he demanded, grabbing her wrist to keep her from upending the bottle over his piece. She playfully struggled with him, a teasing look in her eye.
"C'mon, Spaceboy, you know you want it," she taunted. "Sweet and spicy, right?"
"Yeah, but--" he began.
With a gleeful laugh, she pulled her wrist out of his grasp and began to pour the pepper sauce on his pie. She was interrupted by a voice from the doorway.
"Maria!" her mother cried, shocked. "Leave that alone. I did not go to the trouble of baking that to have you destroy it." Maria froze and stood there, flushed from her struggle. Michael took the opportunity to remove the bottle from her hand and cap it, setting it firmly down on the counter before turning to face Mrs. DeLuca.
"Ummm, you tea's almost ready," Maria ventured.
Amy ignored this, choosing instead to focus on Michael, an odd look in her eye. "Would you like to explain why my daughter was so eager to pour that stuff on a perfectly good dessert?"
Michael shook his head, a wary expression on his face.
"Were you actually going to eat it?"
He hesitated, then nodded once.
"For heaven's sake, why?"
Because he was an alien with bizarre dietary quirks. But he wasn't about to say that. So he said nothing.
"It was a bet." Maria's voice came from nowhere. Her mother turned to her, a puzzled expression in her eyes, and Maria continued glibly, "See, Michael and his friend Max--you know, the one who fixed the Jetta a few weeks ago?--well, they have this idiotic bet. It's this testosterone-based guy thing that's really stupid, but then they're guys, you know? Well, the bet is to see which of them can go the longest putting Tabasco on everything. It's supposed to be this macho thing. Personally, I think it's disgusting, but they're guys, so..." She glanced at her mother to see if she was actually buying this. Surprisingly, it seemed like she was.
"You're kidding. You eat it on everything?" she asked, turning to Michael. He shrugged, and she continued, "Everything?"
"You get used to it."
She stared at him as if he was some unknown species, which wasn't far from the truth. "What on earth made you make such a crazy bet?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. Sometimes I just get swept up in these things before I know what's happening," he said sourly with a pointed glance at Maria. She grinned saucily back at him.
Amy was intrigued by this curious glance into Michael's personality. "So what do you get if you win?" she asked, her eyebrows raised.
"I don't know...I guess an addiction to Tabasco sauce?"
Amy looked at him for one long moment and then burst into laughter. "Sorry," she gasped between chortles. "That just reminds me of something my brother would have done as a kid."
Michael, who'd been unaware that Maria had an uncle, looked with curiosity at the two women. Maria, a surprisingly cold look on her face, interrupted.
"Never mind that. Here, Michael, take these," she said, shoving the pie plates into his hands. "And don't mix them up, okay? I don't want to become an accidental participant in your little bet. I'll bring your tea, Mom."
"Okay, honey," her mother said, still chuckling.
Maria had started into the dining room when the telephone rang. She answered it, and was surprised to hear Isabel Evans on the other end. "Yeah, he's here. He's having dinner with us," she announced. "No, I made him stay." A frown creased her forehead. "Sure, but what's going on, Isabel?" One moment of silence as she listened, then, "Oh my god. Michael?" she called. "It's for you." He appeared in the doorway, immediately taking in her pale expression.
Grabbing the phone, he barked into it, "Yeah?" His jaw tensed as he listened, then he repeated, just as brusquely, "Yeah." Tossing the phone towards Maria and grabbing his jacket, he blurted, "Gotta go," and took off out the back door.
Maria was left alone in the kitchen, a queasy feeling growing in her stomach.
Nasedo was back.
CHAPTER 3
Michael stared moodily at the back of Isabel's head as the Jeep sped down the streets of Roswell, New Mexico. Inside his brain, thoughts tumbled in chaos. The familiar feeling of excitement at heading towards a clue to their past and their future was there, but so was a stomach-churning feeling of dread. Somehow he knew he wasn't going to like what was coming.
Max wasn't going to like it either, he suspected, noting how tightly his friend's hands gripped the steering wheel. But then again, why should he? Not only were the three of them on their way to get some dubious answers from Nasedo, but they would almost certainly see Tess in the process. Nasedo had instructed them to meet him at the Harding house.
Well, no. He'd instructed Max to meet him at the Harding house. When Max refused point-blank, he'd grudgingly agreed for Isabel to come along. But not Michael. Michael was to be kept out of it.
His hands clenched, and he forced himself to relax. Well, he wasn't out of it. Max and Isabel hadn't let him be out of it. The three of them might disagree, argue, even fight, but Michael knew that, deep down, they would be there for each other. Max had told him about Nasedo's call, hadn't he? They weren't keeping secrets any more. He was one of them, as close as if they were his brother and sister.
Which was why he was so aware that Max dreaded a confrontation with Tess. Not that he wouldn't face her; he just didn't want to. Michael didn't blame him. If Tess hadn't come to Roswell the previous spring, spouting off all that 'Destiny' crap, things would be a lot different now. Max and Liz Parker would still be together, giving each other those sickening soft-eyed soulmate glances. Instead, they were still struggling with Liz's decision to back away and let Max follow the path that fate decreed. At least they were talking to each other, trying to be friends.
Michael snorted. Yeah, right. 'Cause that worked so well.
And Alex and Isabel--who knew where they'd be right now? Their fledgling relationship had been shattered under Destiny's harsh fist. At least Alex had always been there for Izzy. Giving her space, but giving her support, too. Friends. Hell, the self-professed computer geek had been there for all of them. A friend to everybody.
And with no Tess, Michael wouldn't have run out on Maria, hurting her so badly in the process. At least he hoped he wouldn't have...he didn't have such a great track record there. But Tess had come, and Michael had run. He and Maria had never had the chance to become friends. How could they, when he'd put all that effort into shutting her out?
Michael rubbed a hand across his tired eyes. He wasn't sure how he'd deal with Tess either. He actually hadn't given her much thought, too wrapped up in his own misery and the strange events that had befallen him over the course of the summer and fall, until just recently.
Until he'd made the blue crystals, which had literally shed light on the wall of the pod cave, bringing forth the series of handprints hidden there. Four handprints--two large, one medium, and one smaller. Michael, Max, Isabel...and Tess?
Whatever this meant, if it did prove some sort of connection between the four of them, he wasn't going to let it ruin things. He'd be damned if he let anything screw up what he had with Maria. He'd just gotten it back, and it was too important.
His jaw set, he tensed as the Jeep pulled up to the Harding house. He'd only been there a couple of times, once to try and get information on the mysterious newcomer Tess Harding and once to get Liz away from her and her creepy 'parent', right after they'd discovered for certain that Tess was an alien. Like them.
For a moment, he idly wondered what she'd been up to, alone in the huge house while Nasedo was off masquerading as Agent Pierce in Washington. It was strange, looking back, how she'd all but disappeared. One day she was in their faces, with 'Destiny' this and 'Destiny' that, and the next, she...wasn't. Michael could vaguely recall a confrontation between the tiny blonde alien and his best friend, who had refused to follow through with the whole plan, Liz or no Liz. Max and Isabel had agreed to do what they could to help their planet and their people, but that was it.
Michael had tried half-heartedly to embrace his destiny, to become caught up in the whole grand purpose; then he'd turned around and out-and-out rejected it all. He wasn't going to buy into any of it, not even the war part. Because if that were true, couldn't it all be true? And Michael couldn't deal with that. Instead, he'd progressively cut himself off from everyone, even Max and Isabel. Which had led to all sorts of complications.
And somewhere along the way, Tess had faded into the woodwork. Weird. Shaking his head, he followed Max and Isabel out of the Jeep and up the sidewalk to the Hardings' front door.
The three of them glanced at each other warily, and Max raised a hand to knock on the door. Almost immediately, the door swung open, as if someone had been lying in wait. Tess stood there, an eager expression on her face.
"Come on in," she began, only to replace that eagerness with a look of concern as she took in Michael's presence behind the other two aliens. "What do you--" she burst out, but then clamped her lips together tightly to keep from saying anything else. She stepped out of the way and allowed all three of them to enter without any further comment.
With narrowed eyes, Michael watched her, not missing the nervous clutching of her fingers as she led them into the living room. What the hell did she have to be nervous about? His own apprehension was bad enough without having to deal with hers. Something wasn't right here.
"Sit down," Tess said. "I'll get him." She left them to their own devices. Isabel and Max sat side by side on the couch while Michael stood in the corner, a guarded expression on his face. It was only a few moments before Nasedo appeared in the doorway, an apprehensive Tess behind him.
Michael was instantly relieved to see that the shapeshifter was wearing his innocuous Ed Harding form and not Pierce's visage. He had just gotten to the point where he was accepting what he'd done to the Special Agent--not getting over it, that would never happen, but moving past it--and he didn't need to have any little reminders, friendly or not.
And Max certainly didn't need to see that face, either. He never had come out and told them exactly what had happened to him when he was in Pierce's clutches, but Michael knew it was bad. Really bad. So in a weird way it was good to see Ed Harding instead.
That is, until he became aware of the look of anger on the shapeshifter's face...
* * * * *
"No, he's back," Maria told Liz, agitatedly pacing across the kitchen. "Isabel said so, and Michael just booked. They don't know what's going on, but it really has me worried." Her hand gripped the phone tightly. "Did Max say anything to you?"
"No," Liz responded on the other end of the line. "But it's not something you can easily discuss out in public," she pointed out.
Maria bit her lip. "And why would he want to keep it from Michael? He's one of them. What does Nasedo know? I tell you, Liz, this is making me really, really nervous."
"I wish they had told us," Liz said with a sigh. "Maybe we could have helped. Although I don't know how..." She paused. "Maria, at least Michael told you about it."
"And I didn't even have to press him too hard, either," Maria said, a hint of a smile creeping into her voice.
"I can't believe he actually had dinner with you and your mom," said Liz.
"We made him. After all, he cooked it."
"Michael cooked for you?" Liz asked in surprise. "Okay, who came down and commandeered his brain?"
"Considering recent events, that's not nearly as funny as you think," Maria scolded. "Well, he kind of had to. I certainly can't cook, and since Mom--Oh my god, Liz. I can't believe I forgot to tell you about Mom. She broke her wrist."
"What?"
"She fell at the store and broke her wrist."
"Is she all right?"
"She's going to be fine, but it kind of wore her out. So I made her rest, and Michael made us dinner."
Liz considered this for a moment. "I bet that was interesting."
"It wasn't the most comfortable meal in the world," Maria admitted. "But he's trying, Liz. He really is. He even kissed me in front of Pamela Harris this afternoon."
Liz's voice was filled with interest. "Oh, really?"
"Uh-huh," her friend practically purred. "And then later--no, I think I'll keep later to myself."
"Come on, 'Ria, spill it," Liz entreated.
She could almost hear the contented smile grow on her friend's face as Maria told her, "Let's just say that, given the right circumstances, your knees really do go weak."
Liz took this in and then breathed a small sigh. "Okay, I'm officially jealous."
"You and Max aren't...?" Maria asked.
"No. We're taking things very slow. I mean, it's hard to be around him and good to be around him at the same time, but I can't get too close until I know for sure I won't get in the way of what he has to do," the brunette told her.
"It's hard, isn't it?" Maria said solemnly.
"Uh-huh."
"Well, hang in there, okay? I mean, if Spaceboy can come around, then you and Max can, too. I have faith."
Liz smiled, and changed the subject. "So we'll be cornering the three of them tomorrow?"
"Oh, yeah. Didn't we all just learn not to keep secrets from each other? I think it's time our Czechoslovakian friends had a little reminder of that, don't you?"
Liz frowned. "What are you planning, Maria?" she asked suspiciously.
"Oh, nothing much. Let's wait and hear what the deal is first. We can yell at them later. I'll call Alex and clue him in, and I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay. Tell your mom I hope she feels better soon."
"Sure. Oh, and Liz? If anyone asks, Max and Michael have this macho Tabasco bet and Alex was too smart to get dragged down into it, okay? See you tomorrow."
There was a click, and Liz stared at the receiver in her hand. Huh?
* * * * *
"Why is he here?" Nasedo asked bluntly. "Did I or did I not tell you to leave him out of this?"
Max tried to answer calmly. "If something is up that concerns Michael, he needs to know about it. What's going on, Nasedo?"
"You could ruin everything, bringing him into this. I'm surprised at you, Max. You're supposed to be the rational one, and yet you're just as rash as he is."
"He is right here, and you can talk directly to him...me," Michael said, his voice tense. "I have a right to know what's going on."
"None of you have rights," Nasedo scoffed. "You have roles to fulfill. That's more important than--"
"Just tell me what's going on," snapped Michael as he stepped forward. "Why aren't I supposed to use my powers? Why was Max supposed to keep this from me? And why--"
With a nonchalant flick of his hand, Nasedo released his powers at the spiky-haired alien. Michael flew backward, hitting the wall with a thud. Almost immediately he was on his feet, advancing towards the shapeshifter in a fury.
Max grabbed Michael from behind and held him back as Isabel got between her almost-brother and Nasedo. "Stop it!" she shouted at the shapeshifter. Trembling with range, she turned to the fifth alien, who had been standing silently in the doorway. She managed to control her voice. "What's going on, Tess?"
Tess shook her head. "I don't know. He hasn't told me anything--just that he would be coming. And he's had me keep an eye on all of you."
Michael pulled himself free of Max's grasp, and stood, fists clenched.
Turning back to the shapeshifter, Isabel demanded, "So why have things changed, Nasedo? You were plenty eager to involve Michael when it came to rescuing Max last spring. You helped him with his powers then. You even said that you were here to protect the four of us. Not just Max and Tess and me--the four of us. So why are you shutting Michael out now?"
Surprisingly, Tess added her pleas to the other alien's. "Please, just tell us what's going on--"
"Silence!" the shapeshifter roared, rounding on her. Somehow she managed to hold her ground.
"You've been telling me all my life about the three of them. About how the four of us were meant to be together. Were you lying to me all this time?" she asked steadily.
Nasedo looked down at her for a minute. "No."
"Then why--"
"None of this is meant for his ears. He can no longer be trusted."
"What?" burst out Isabel, as Max objected loudly.
When Michael spoke, his voice wasn't loud, but it grated harshly on their ears. "Why? What did I do?" he demanded. Nasedo ignored him, and he repeated more loudly, "What did I do?" Still the shapeshifter refused to answer. "Well, that's just freakin' great then," Michael muttered under his breath. He turned to Max. "He won't tell you with me here? Fine. I'll go. We need--No. You need to hear what he has to say."
"Michael--" Max protested.
"It's okay, Maxwell. I just--" Michael broke off and squared his jaw. "There's no use talking about it. See you." Without looking at the others, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the house.
There was a moment of silence.
"Good. We can speak now," Nasedo said coolly.
Isabel turned on him in rage. "How could you do that?" she shrieked. "Michael can be trusted. He'd never betray us. He's our brother!"
The shapeshifter looked down his nose at her. "He is not your brother. He is supposed to be your betrothed, and your true brother's second. But none of that matters right now. We have things to discuss."
Max clenched his teeth together, holding onto his anger. "Of course you realize that we'll be telling him everything you say."
"Even if it means the ruin of an entire planet?" Nasedo studied him dispassionately. "I believe you would, at that. Well then, we have nothing to discuss. You aren't ready. But believe me," he continued, more ruthlessly now, "you had better get ready. As your pet humans say, the time is at hand. Go. Try and control your second. Prepare yourself to do what must be done."
Max stepped up to him and met his gaze evenly. "If I'm the leader of an entire planet, then maybe it should be you taking the orders."
Nasedo looked at him, coldly amused. "You're not a leader yet. And if you're not very careful, you never will be."
continue to chapters 4, 5 and 6
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