Arms crossed, Maria stood outside the room, wondering just why she'd blindly followed Max's orders. He wasn't her king, after all. A moment later, Michael followed her outside, and she glared at him. He wore a tiny, sarcastic half-smirk that could never in a million years pass as a smile. How dare he think this was funny? It was his fault they'd gotten kicked out of the nice warm room.
He hadn't even had the sense to grab a jacket. She ignored the fact that hers was in the other motel room; at least she wore a sweater. Between his bare feet and his damp hair, Michael was probably going to catch his death of cold, and then she'd end up having to drag his sick, gross body all over creation again, just to get him well--
Michael interrupted her seething. "Come on," he said, and headed over to the girls' motel room. After a quick glance around, he put his hand over the door lock. Maria couldn't hear the click as it disengaged, but a moment later the door swung freely open. Michael moved to the doorway, then turned to look at her.
"I'm not standing out here and freezing my ass off," he said. "If you want to, that's up to you."
It wasn't even his room! If he thought she was going to--oh, who was she kidding? It was too cold. With a short sprint, she managed to catch the door just before it could close completely. Biting her lip, she followed him in.
She hovered near the doorway and looked around. The room wasn't really any different than earlier, but somehow it seemed smaller with Michael inside. She looked away, pretending to study one of the ugly western-style prints on the wall. Michael sat on the edge of one of the beds, then flopped backwards on it. Maria wondered why he looked so much more comfortable than she felt.
"So, you can unlock doors now," she commented.
"Yep," he said, staring up at the ceiling like he was fascinated by the fake stucco that covered it.
Maria hesitated, not sure why she was feeling upset about it. Michael being able to use his powers was a good thing, right? "That's...that's good."
"Yep." A pause. He didn't move, not even lifting up his head to look at her as he asked, "So you gonna tell me what I did to piss you off now? 'Cause frankly, I can't keep up."
"Do you even care?"
He finally met her eyes. "If I didn't, would I be in here?" he shot back.
"How should I know?" she snapped. "Every time I think I have a handle on how your brain works, you do something to make me doubt it."
Michael bolted to his feet, anger clear on his face. "After everything I've been through in the last couple of days, you think--" He cut himself off and clenched his jaw.
God, he could be so aggravating! Why wouldn't he just tell her? "Go ahead," Maria prodded. "I think what?"
"Never mind," he said, crossing his arms.
She threw up her hands in frustration. "See, there you go, shutting me out again! Why do you always have to do that?"
"I am not trying to shut you out," he answered through gritted teeth. "I just found out I have this whole raw, bloodthirsty violent side which I am trying to deal with controlling before I let it out on you! Goddammit, I am trying to keep you safe!"
"Since when does being safe become one-sided?" she shouted. "Why is it okay for you to want me safe but not for me to want you safe?"
"Since I'm responsible for you ending up as a target!"
"That's not your fault, Michael. My god, why do you always have to blame yourself for everything bad that happens? What Bob did is his own fault, not yours."
"He wouldn't have come after you if I hadn't given you the crystal," Michael insisted. "Or if I hadn't let myself get close in the first place."
She let out a sarcastic burst of laughter. "If you hadn't let yourself get close? Michael, you fought it tooth and nail!"
"That obviously wasn't good enough, was it?"
"Look, Michael, I am not your responsibility. Give me enough credit to believe I can take care of myself. Unless you think I'm too stupid to be able to do that," she challenged.
"Come off it, Maria. You're not stupid. Don't be an idiot," he snapped back.
Without warning, she burst into giggles, and then laughed even harder at the confusion on his face. "Sorry," she chuckled. "It's just that only you would tell me I'm not stupid and that I'm an idiot, all in one breath."
Michael frowned and ran a hand through his hair. Maria idly wondered if that was why it stuck up all the time. "You know I didn't mean that," he said.
"What, that I'm not stupid? Sorry, sorry," she said, waving her hands in the air. "It just struck me as really funny."
"Maybe you should get some sleep."
"Not allowed to. Not until we hash things out, remember? We're under orders from your ruler."
A sullen look on his face, he muttered, "Yeah, well, I'm not real good at taking orders." v"Oooh!" she squealed. "Wait 'til I alert the media about that newsflash!"
Michael raised his eyebrows, but didn't speak. He just sank back down on the end of the bed.
"So do you want to hear what I think we should do?" she asked.
"Am I gonna be able to stop you from telling me?" But the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in what might someday grow to be a smile.
Maria ignored him. "I think we should get everything out in the open." Taking in the immediate shuttering of his expression, she moved to stand in front of him. "I don't mean that you need to tell me every last little detail of your existence," she clarified. "There are things you're obviously not willing to talk about. What I mean is you tell me why you're angry with me, and I'll tell you why I'm angry at you. You know, clear the air. And then we'll see where we are. Okay?"
He didn't answer, and she held her breath. She was not going to beg. Not this time. He helped get them into this mess, so he could help get them out. After another moment of hesitation, he met her eyes. "Okay."
Thank god. "Ladies first!" she sang out. Moving to sit next to him on the bed, she said, "Now don't say anything until I'm done, okay? You'll get your turn in a minute."
She seriously doubted he'd be interrupting anyway. He wasn't one for the talking; his skills were far more non-verbal. Luckily, he nodded before her thoughts could detour onto that sidetrack.
"I'm not angry that you tried to destroy every friendship you have any more," she assured him. "I don't like how you did it, and I don't like that you're capable of being that mean, but I can understand why it was so important to you to find out about your family." Maria could see the movement of Michael's jaw. She laid a hand on his forearm, feeling the tautness of the muscle underneath his warm skin. With a shrug, she admitted, "I guess I can even understand why you wouldn't tell me what was going on. It would have been hard to keep it from Liz and Alex." She bit her lip, then spoke the truth. "But I would have kept it from them, Michael. I would have. You should be able to trust me that much by now."
Michael frowned and looked away.
There he went again! Releasing her grip on his arm, she said, "What I am angry about is the way you keep shutting me out. I mean, did you really expect us not to come after you, Michael? And I'm furious that you won't let me help you. Maybe I don't have powers or anything, but I could have helped somehow, I know it. Even if it was just being there for you.
"But no, you wouldn't even listen to me, you just picked me up and threw me out. You're really good at throwing me away, Michael. You always have been. And it hurts. Every single time, it hurts."
Maria paused, taking a deep breath. He wasn't going to just sit there and not react, was he? She stared at him. Yes, he was. Didn't he feel the least bit of regret? He had feelings, much as he liked to hide them. So would it kill him to give her a hint--just one tiny hint--how he was feeling? She got to her feet, bracing herself for what was to come. "I guess that's all I have to say. Your turn."
Michael stared down at his hands, saying nothing.
"Come on, Michael," she prodded. "You were practically yelling before. You can't say you're not mad at me."
"I'm not," he said quietly.
Her frustration grew. "Then what was with all the shouting and everything? Don't clam up on me now, Michael. You are mad at me, I know it."
"No, I'm not," he repeated. "Maybe I was, a little. More than a little. But I think mostly I was...I was afraid."
This shocked her speechless. Taciturn, closed-in Michael Guerin was actually admitting to fear? How did that happen?
"What happened to you and your mother...No matter whose fault it was, it shouldn't have happened," he said slowly, eyes still fixed downwards. "It's not fair to you. And when you deliberately put yourself at risk--unnecessary risk--" He swallowed. "I guess I am still pissed about that."
"Michael, I am not some china doll damsel needing to be protected and rescued," she began. He raised an eyebrow at her, and she was forced to admit, "Okay, so I did need to be rescued, and you saved me. But this isn't the seventeenth century. Women are capable of handling their own lives, you know. I can take care of myself." She smiled and tried to lighten the mood. "And on those very rare occasions when I can't, I'll ask for help. In the meanwhile, you just have to have a little faith in me."
His eyes slid away, and when he spoke, she could hear the bitterness in his voice. "Why? You don't in me."
"What on earth are you talking about? I have tons of faith in you!" she protested.
"You didn't tonight. You didn't believe that I could take care of things. That I had to."
Maria shook her head, not able to believe what she was hearing. "No. No, Michael!" she said. "I had faith in you. I knew you'd come through; you always do, when it's important. I just wanted to be there for you. I have never doubted that you could do anything you set your mind to. In fact, most of the time I think I have more faith in you than you do."
"It didn't feel like that," he muttered, just loud enough for her to hear.
"I am so sorry, Michael. But I do believe in you. I love you."
"Maybe you don't."
She rounded on him. "Of course I do! I should know! Believe me, sometimes I think it would be easier if I didn't, but I do! I am in love with you, and there's nothing you can do to change that."
"How do you know you are? Have you ever been in love before?"
She looked at him, hoping he could read how serious she was. "No. I love other people. My mom, Liz, Alex...and I've had crushes. But you're the only one I've ever been in love with."
He was silent for a moment, then whispered, "Maybe what you think is being in love isn't. Maybe it's because I forced the stupid link on you. Maybe that's what you feel."
Her knees buckled, and she stumbled over to sit next to him on the bed. "Michael, do you love me?" She didn't look at him, almost afraid to hear the answer.
"Yeah."
"Why?"
He turned to look at her, his brow furrowed. "What do you mean, why?"
"Why do you love me? Is it because I'm linked to you?"
"Of course not," he protested.
"Then why can't you believe my loving you isn't because of the link?"
"How can you act so calm about it, Maria?" he burst out. "I changed you! You're different now, and you'll never be the same. You're...you're damaged. Why the hell doesn't that bother you?"
"First of all you did not damage me. All you did was slightly alter my energy pattern, or whatever. Just a tiny little change. Besides, do you think that knowing me hasn't changed you at all? That you're still exactly the same person you were before Liz got shot and we found out about you? 'Cause you're not. When you're part of someone's life, you affect each other. You can't help it!"
"It's not the same thing."
"Michael, it's darn well close enough! What happened didn't hurt me, Nasedo said so. You didn't hurt me."
"Then why does it feel like I did?"
"Oh, Michael...." Reaching out, she put both arms around him. He didn't move, not even to relax into her embrace. He just sat there, staring down at his hands, until her arms dropped away.
Maria studied his profile, so familiar. He seemed miles away. She took her time, studying the still-damp locks of shaggy hair, the warm brown eyes that could hold almost unendurable pain, the long nose, the stubborn chin.... Frowning, she noted that his cheekbone was faintly discolored. Had Bob hit him? But she suspected it wouldn't pay to ask. Instead, she moved on, letting her gaze rest on his sculpted lips, remembering how soft they could be. How his lips could make her dizzy as they lingered on her skin, how she...
...did not need to be thinking about that right now.
"Penny," she said to break the silence.
Michael turned to look at her. "What?"
"Penny for your thoughts," she clarified. "What's going on in there?"
He raised an eyebrow. "You sure you want to know?"
"I wouldn't have asked, otherwise. You can tell me anything."
"You sure about that?" he asked.
Maria wasn't certain whether he was serious or just teasing her. Either way, she was feeling frustrated. "Tell me already!"
Michael sat silent long enough to earn a glare from her; then he spoke. "Actually, I was kinda thinking about how this was the second time I was alone in a motel room with you."
"Oh," she said, feeling herself flush. Maybe her train of thought a few minutes earlier hadn't been running so far off track. She smiled as she remembered the Arabian bordello d�cor of the earlier motel. "And with our luck, once again our friends will burst in on us without warning."
"You think?" he asked, turning to meet her gaze.
And the impulse was too strong for Maria. Leaning forward, she brushed his lips with her own. He froze, and she kissed him again, still very gently. This time he responded, his arms wrapping around to clutch her.
Encouraged, she opened her lips over his and traced his mouth with the tip of her tongue, smiling when his arms tightened further around her. Their kisses deepened and Maria began to lose herself in what she was feeling.
"Michael," she breathed as he tasted her jawline.
"Hmmm?" he murmured, not halting his attentions to her even for a second.
Her hand stole up to cup his cheek. "I missed you," she stated baldly.
There was no answer, beyond a move to her neck. She couldn't help but smile. Michael and his neck fetish. It wasn't until she'd almost forgotten what she'd said that he spoke. "I know the feeling," he said, his voice husky, and kissed her again. Her hands swept across the broad expanse of his back as they kissed, and then up under the hem of his shirt to smooth across his warm skin. She'd wanted to touch him like this, ever since he'd stepped from the steamy bathroom, his bare back temptingly near until he'd pulled on the T-shirt--
Wait a minute. The T-shirt that had swaddled the crystalline power spheres, that Isabel had taken from the chest of drawers in his apartment.
"Michael?" she murmured.
"What?" he asked between kisses.
"You changed your shirt."
"So?" Pulling back, Michael looked at her, a faint wrinkle appearing between his brows. "Is this one of those 'needing to have a conversation' things?"
Laughing, she said, "Nope. Just an observation."
"Well, you brought it. I might as well wear it."
"Oh, if only that were always true!" Maria mock-sighed. "'Cause we could really spruce up your wardrobe."
Shaking his head, he warned her, "Forget it, Maria. Leave my clothes alone. God knows what I'd end up looking like if you dressed me."
"At least you'd have some style. Not to mention clothes that actually fit right," she said, defending herself.
Michael's face grew serious. "I don't need to have 'style.' That's for people who want to be noticed. I need to fade into the woodwork."
She considered for a moment. "I guess I can see why you feel that way. You're so used to hiding." She reached up to trace the black mark incised into his cheek. "But you can't tell me that this is going to help you go unnoticed. Especially at school."
Michael stilled. "I'll get Isabel or Max to fix it later." Pushing himself to his feet, he moved towards the door, taking care to avoid catching his reflection in the mirror that hung over the fake-oak dresser.
Maria sighed. There he went, closing off again. Well, it had been nice while it lasted.
"So," she began. "What now?"
He avoided her eyes. "Sleep, I guess. Then head back to Roswell in the morning."
"Oh. I kind of meant with us."
"With us," he repeated.
A quick flash of anger surged up within her. "Yes, us. Our relationship. Do we have one?" she asked point blank.
"That's up to you, I guess."
She stared at him, horrified. "You guess? Not three minutes ago you were like surgically glued to my neck and now you can't even be bothered to have an opinion about the existence of our relationship?"
Michael frowned. "You're the one who was so pissed off earlier. And I seem to recall that you weren't too sure you even liked me very much not so long ago. So yeah, I'd say it's up to you."
"Well, that's just great, isn't it?"
"Look, just because I happen to love you doesn't mean I'm gonna be able to be the perfect boyfriend you want. I already tried that, and I screwed everything up, remember?"
Maria, stuck on the fact that he'd said he loved her, gave him a blinding smile. Unfortunately, her joy was ruptured a moment later as Michael continued, "So think about it. Really think about it, and decide what you want. Just remember that I'm not gonna suddenly change. I'm still gonna do everything I can to keep you out of danger, even if it pisses you off."
Maria stared at him. "So my being safe is that important to you?"
"Yeah."
Why did he sound like he thought she was an idiot for asking? It was a valid question. One with an incredibly stupid answer. "That is the most selfish thing I've ever heard, Michael Guerin!"
The most--"What?"
"You want me safe, but not because it's best for me. If you really wanted that, you'd want me to be happy. But no, you just want me safe so you don't feel guilty about it! Well, don't bother anymore. You shouldn't feel guilty, because I am responsible for my own life, thank you very much. And I'll decide what's most important for me." She flung an arm out and pointed toward the door. "So you can take your selfishness and your family-sized box of guilt and leave me alone."
"Maria, I--"
"Don't worry about it, Michael. I'm going to think about our relationship, really think about it, just like you said. And when I have come to a conclusion, if I have a few spare moments, maybe I'll let you know."
*****
"Well, at least one of them's still alive," commented Alex as Michael entered the other motel room.
"Did you work things out?" asked Isabel.
Michael blinked a few times. "More or less," he hedged, hoping they'd leave it at that.
"Where's Maria?" Liz asked from where she sat by Max's side.
"Getting some sleep."
The brunette nodded. "That's actually a really good idea. It's late." Giving Max's hand a squeeze, she said, "I'll see you guys in the morning." The other two girls rose to follow her out.
"Iz?" said Michael. "Could you hold on a minute?"
She turned back to him. "Sure. What's up?"
"I was hoping you or Max could get rid of this," Michael said, touching the alien mark on his cheek and trying not to remember how delicately Maria's finger had traced it. "I'd do it, but I should probably get some practice in before I start messing with my face."
"What's this?" she teased. "Is my grubby almost-brother actually thinking about how he looks? Ah, Vanity, thy name is Michael." But in spite of her teasing, she looked surprised and pleased. Probably not because he was paying attention to his appearance--she knew him too well to delude herself--but because he'd actually forced himself to ask for their help. Stepping near him, Isabel reached up to place a gentle palm on his right cheek. "No problem. It'll just take a minute."
They stood longer than that minute, though, and she frowned. "That's weird," she said.
"What?" Michael asked.
"It's not going away," she admitted. "How did it get there?"
Michael's jaw clenched as he thought back to the scene at the DeLucas' house. "Bob. He grabbed onto my face and put it there." It had hurt like hell.
"Maybe it's not just cosmetic," she speculated. "It looks almost like a brand. Maybe it needs to be healed, not just removed. Max," she added, raising her voice.
Max looked up from the conversation he was having with Alex and, somewhat to Michael's surprise, Kyle. "Yeah, Izzy?"
"Come see what you can do with this," she ordered. "I'm not having any success."
A moment later, Michael found himself shifting uncomfortably under Max's gaze.
"Try healing it," Isabel suggested.
"Hold still, Michael," said Max, putting his hand up to the mark. Michael waited impatiently for something to happen. Shouldn't he feel it--a tingle or warmth, or something? Like he had when Max had healed his black eye, before he had gotten out from under Hank's thumb? Max continued doggedly on with the attempt, long after Michael began to suspect it wasn't going to work. When he finally gave up, Michael knew for sure. The failure was easy to read in his friend's eyes.
"No dice, huh," Michael said rather than asked. Max shook his head.
"No. I can take care of this, though," he said, reaching up to touch Michael's other cheek. This time, Michael could feel the slight prickle under his skin. With a satisfied nod, Max added, "Looks like you were sporting the beginnings of a nice bruise."
Michael shrugged. "Got shoved into a wall." Moving towards the bathroom, he stopped in front of the large mirror over the counter. He stared at his reflection, his face taut.
Crossing to stand behind him, Isabel peered over his shoulder. "It's not so bad." She laid one hand on his shoulder as she added, "We can probably cover it up--"
But Michael pulled away, heading into the bathroom to grab his discarded clothing, then perched on one of the beds to pull on his socks and boots.
"Michael--" Max began.
"I'm fine," Michael said, interrupting him. Standing, he looked for the jacket he'd dropped on the bed earlier. Someone, probably Isabel, had hung it in the tiny closet. He quickly shrugged into it.
"Going for a walk," he announced.
He was prepared to have to battle through the ensuing objections and protests; he was rather surprised when, after staring at him with narrowed eyes, Isabel came close enough to give him a light peck on the cheek. The same cheek that bore Bob's symbol.
"I'm going to get some sleep," she said. "See you all in the morning." And with that, she left the motel room.
Michael was right on her heels, more than ready to escape the claustrophobic feeling that came not from the size of the room but from the sense that everything else was closing in on him. His hand was on the door when he heard his name.
"Hey, Guerin."
He turned to look at Kyle Valenti, who asked, "Want some company?"
Michael frowned. "I don't need a babysitter," he bit out.
"Wasn't even gonna try, sport," Valenti said. "But being as I was busy coming to your rescue today, I missed my usual workout. I could stand to stretch my legs a little."
"It's gotta be two in the morning," Michael said, even though he didn't really know the time. He just didn't feel like having hangers-on when he was in the mood to...well, to be alone.
But the jock wasn't giving in. "So?" he challenged.
With a grimace, Michael capitulated. "Do what you want," he snapped, and headed out the door. He didn't know what Valenti was up to, but he'd be willing to bet it wasn't anything he wanted to be a part of. What the hell. If he had to, he could probably outdistance the athlete, who had been right about one thing earlier. Michael was fast. Even leaving aside the effect of his alien genes, he'd had plenty of practice at an early age, running from Hank whenever he could manage it. Of course, escaping from one beating had only made the next one more brutal....
Shaking his head, he did his best to ignore the sound of sneakered feet following after him. He didn't care what Valenti wanted; he was not gonna try out for the damn basketball team..
CHAPTER 36
Weighed down by depression, Michael watched the scenery flicker past the window as the Jeep rolled smoothly down the highway. He was aware that Isabel and Max hadn't missed his mood. They probably thought he should be all happy or whatever--or at least as happy as he was capable of. After all, hadn't he saved Maria and her mother, vanquished Max's would-be murderer, and gotten control over his powers in the process?
But his two oldest friends didn't know everything that had happened. They probably thought his current black mood was due to lack of sleep or anger and shame about the mark he bore.
Not that all that wasn't part of it, if a small part. But there was more that they had no idea about, because he hadn't told them.
He hadn't told them about his fight with Maria. And they wouldn't have picked up on it from her behavior; she'd acted like all was well in her world when the group had assembled this morning. Plus she'd smiled and made friendly chit-chat over lunch at the small diner where they'd stopped. And though she'd carefully maneuvered things so she rode in the convertible, away from Michael, she'd even made a point of sitting next to him as they ate. He figured that was just so she wouldn't have to look at him across the table, though. But her pretense fooled everyone. Unless she'd said something to Liz, it wasn't likely anyone else had a clue that there was something just the slightest bit off about her demeanor. And since she'd gone off on some wild, typically Maria-like rant about something or other, reducing all of the rest of them to stitches--even Tess--Michael didn't think they were gonna catch on to the fact that he and Maria weren't...well, he didn't know what they weren't. Or what they were, for that matter. That was gonna be up to her. And since she wasn't giving him any hints, he couldn't tell Max or Isabel, not even if he wanted to.
Michael also hadn't told anyone about forcing Bob into a shape he couldn't shift out of. Hadn't told of the wave of sheer instinctual terror that had burst through the link as Bob realized just what was being done to him.
Or the horror of Michael himself realizing that he was condemning another being to a living imprisonment, far worse than the mental prison he'd subjected himself to earlier that fall. At least a part of him had been free to wander around, even if the other part was trapped in a cell of his own making. And thanks to Maria and his friends, he'd been able to pull himself out of it. But in Bob's case, the prisoner would be powerless to do anything except be.
Michael hadn't even known it was possible to shift into something other than a humanoid shape until Nasedo had told him so. On his own, Bob probably didn't have the talent to accomplish a shift like that; he had just enough ability to get by. But with a surge of energy from Michael and Nasedo's implacable guidance, Bob had taken the form--no, he'd been forced into a form that was remarkably like the concrete walls and floors that surrounded them. A form that couldn't move, couldn't communicate, couldn't even end its own existence just to stop its suffering. He was trapped. And the mental torture wouldn't end until, somewhere across space, Michael's mother died and allowed her brother to finally escape into nothingness.
And even though Michael knew what the shapeshifter had done to him, had wanted done to Max, even though he was protecting the people he cared about, it didn't change the fact that he wasn't condemning some unknown stranger. Bob was one-half of his family, family Michael hadn't even known existed just a few days ago. His link to home, however tainted that link was. And the now-trapped shapeshifter was the only family Michael would ever meet.
Because worst of all, he hadn't told Max or Isabel that their planet, the one they were supposed to save, was off-limits. That even if they found a way to get there, they couldn't survive it, because their stupid hybrid bodies weren't made to exist there. The very changes that had allowed them to live on this adopted world had destroyed any chance of their ever going home. Their real home.
And the dream that Michael had held on to for dear life, ever since he'd realized what he was--no, since long before he'd understood just why he felt so different from the people around him--that dream had been torn away from him, stripped from the very bones and sinews that held him together. His entire foundation was gone.
And how could anything else--saving lives, having functioning powers, anything--how could any of it stand against the force of that blow?
A honk of the Jeep's horn dragged him out of his misery long enough to realize they'd arrived back in Roswell. Max had evidently used the horn to signal a goodbye to the others, because he turned right while in front of them the convertible continued straight on.
"We'll drop you off first, Alex, if that's okay," Max suggested.
"No problem."
Michael shot a quick glance over to the other side of the car. He'd almost forgotten Alex was there, he'd been so intent on his own thoughts. Strange that he should feel enough at ease with a human to completely forget his presence. He'd seen Alex's loyalty and support of his friends, but he'd never expected to be so comfortable with him. With any human, for that matter. For the first time, Michael actually considered Alex as an individual in his own right, rather than an appendage of Maria or Liz. And he rather regretted his own inability to build relationships. Because he suspected that a friendship with the other guy--a real friendship, not one based on necessity and shared secrets--might just be worthwhile.
Not that he was likely to find out.
Anyway, it was probably a good idea to drop Alex off. There were things he needed to tell Max and Isabel, and he didn't particularly want an audience. Yeah, the others would find out soon enough, but this was stuff that affected the aliens directly. Max and Isabel should hear first. They were in it together.
Damn. That meant Tess should probably be there too. It affected her just as much as it did Max and Isabel. Whether or not it felt that way, she was one of them. They were all in the same boat. Michael thought about tracking her down, finding a time to tell all three of them together; then he abandoned the idea.
The hell with it. His first loyalty was to his two closest friends. Tess would just have to wait. Because he had to tell them, and soon, before it ate away at him entirely.
He managed to grunt a goodbye as Alex got out of the Jeep at his own house, but the guy didn't seem to take offense at his gruffness. With a grin and a small wave, Alex started up the sidewalk to his front door.
"Why don't you come home with us, Michael? You can stay for dinner," Isabel suggested as Max swung the vehicle back onto the road.
No way. The ideal perfection of the Evans household would only make what he had to say seem worse by contrast. If that was even possible. Michael cleared his throat. "Let's go to my place," he countered. "We uh...we need to talk." The two glanced back curiously but didn't ask any questions, and Michael couldn't bring himself to say anything else on the ride across town.
He didn't know if it was the built-up tension of the last few days or being crammed into the Jeep's back seat for hours that caused it, but, once inside his apartment, he couldn't settle down. He let his friends sit gingerly on his lumpy couch, but stayed on his feet, pacing back and forth across the confines of the room. Not for the first time, he wished he had an ease with words. He'd read enough--in private--to have a decent vocabulary. So why was it that at times like this, when his two best friends were expectantly waiting, the words deserted him? And left him to stumble along like a complete idiot? He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. It didn't help.
"Okay, what's going on?" Isabel finally demanded. "You're going to wear a hole in the carpet. And you don't have all that much carpet to spare."
A million thoughts tumbled through Michael's head. How to say exactly what he needed to? There was so much...but it had to be done. He opened his mouth, ready to speak calmly, coherently. To explain things fully. Instead, what came out was simply, "We're screwed."
Max sat straighter on the couch, suddenly alert. "What do you mean? Did it not work with Bob?"
Michael was quick to dismiss that worry. "Yeah, it worked. I told you it did, didn't I? Bob isn't gonna bother anyone again. Ever." He forced himself to go on. "What I'm talking about is us. The reason we're here. The reason we even exist at all."
"You're making me dizzy, Michael," Isabel complained. "Stop pacing and get to the point, okay?"
For once he did exactly as he was asked. Stopping in his tracks, he shouted, "We can't save our home planet! Is that pointy enough for you, Iz?" The words poured, jumbled, from his mouth. "They fucked with our DNA or whatever so we could survive on Earth, and now we'll never be able to go home because of it! Our stupid hybrid bodies can't exist there. The only reason we're even alive is to save our planet, but they made that fucking impossible! Our whole existence is...is pointless!"
And then he stood there, his former nervous agitation drained from him. Okay. It was out, all of it. They knew. He stared down at the floor and was silent.
His friends weren't any noisier. Brother and sister sat, blank looks on their faces. Michael sighed.
"Hey," he barked. "Did you guys even hear me?"
It was enough to snap them out of their daze.
"We heard," Max said slowly. "It's just...a shock, that's all."
"I know. It sucks."
Isabel didn't look convinced. "I don't mean to doubt you, Michael, but...how do you know?"
"Bob told me."
"And you believed him?" she pressed, her face serious. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but he held your girlfriend and her mother hostage; kidnapped, drugged and branded you; and tried to get you to kill one of your best friends. So why are you--the living, breathing embodiment of suspicion--so willing to accept his word?"
"Because it makes sense!" Michael shot back hotly. "Bob is...was...a shapeshifter, even if it wasn't his main talent. You think it's just a coincidence that both of the full-blooded aliens we've met have been shapeshifters? With all the things out there they could be able to do, they had that in common?"
"You don't know that it's unusual," Max pointed out.
"Well, if it's such an everyday thing, how come none of us can do it?" Michael challenged. "You heal, Isabel dreamwalks, Tess plays stupid mindgames, and I hold energy. Not a shapeshifter in the bunch, right?"
Max nodded, and Michael continued, "So pretend you're one of the idiots who got us in this mess in the first place. You've gone to the trouble of mixing our DNA with human. Why do that if you didn't have to, so we could survive?"
"Maybe it's not about surviving the planet, but surviving the people," Isabel said thoughtfully. "Trying to keep us from being found out."
"Then why send us? Why not send a bunch of shapeshifters?"
"Because they're not of royal blood," Isabel shot back.
Michael scoffed, "Hate to break it to you, Iz, but neither am I, I don't think. You and Max have that market cornered."
"There has to be a reason the four of us were sent," Max put in. "And why tell us it's to save our planet if it's not true? But if altering us so we could survive keeps us from helping them...it does seem rather short-sighted of them."
"See what I mean? I told you, we're screwed."
"We don't know that for sure," Isabel said firmly. "I think we should talk to Nasedo. See what he has to say about it."
Max nodded. "Good idea, Izzy."
"If it's true that we can't go home, all it does is prove that there's no such thing as destiny. And Michael," she pointed out, "you were against the whole destiny thing anyway."
"I was against the being together part. But the other part--the saving our planet part..." His had to swallow to be able to get the words out. "Nothing here ever mattered, not Hank, not going hungry half the time, not the shithole I had to live in, because this wasn't where I was supposed to be. There was something better out there. But if this is all there is...." His voice caught in his throat. "Then what did all that happen for?"
"Oh, Michael," Isabel said, sounding stricken. For a moment, Michael thought she was going to cry. Isabel in tears was not something he wanted to see. Especially if it was over him.
To his immense relief, she controlled it. Rising to her feet, she crossed to him, arms outstretched. But he stepped back, his jaw tightening. He shook his head and managed one more word.
"Don't."
"Michael, it's okay to feel," she protested.
But Michael wasn't about to let things get any more out of hand than they already were. He wasn't emotionally stunted; he knew all about feeling. But he was so practiced at covering it up that it had grown to be second nature. And right now the carefully-learned instinct to close off was stronger than anything else.
He was damned if he was going to let it show. Michael Guerin--except on one rare occasion in Maria's arms, during a rainstorm--did not let his emotions loose to that extent. At least not these emotions. Anger and impatience, sure, but not this. He wouldn't let himself be this weak.
So it was with gratitude that he heard Max speak.
"Well, I guess this means I don't have to be a king," Max mused philosophically. "So you two can quit blindly obeying my every command."
It was enough to break the mood. Isabel blinked back any remaining threat of tears and smiled.
"Yes, because we both did that so well," she riposted. Even Michael allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards slightly. Encouraged, she asked him, "So what next?"
Michael hesitated, then said, "Tell Tess, I guess. Talk to Nasedo. And then...I don't know." A thought occurred to him, and his spirits lightened a little. At least this whole fiasco would do some good for someone. "We'll have to tell the others, too," he said slowly, looking at Max. Who didn't seem to get it. Okay, so he'd have to spell it out for him. "It means there's nothing coming between you and Liz any more."
Max sat, taking this in, while his sister smiled warmly at him. "That's true," she said.
"That's supposing she still wants--"
But Isabel interrupted her brother. "Oh please," she scoffed. "You know very well that she does. It's only fair you should get a little happiness."
"It would change things," Max admitted. "I'm sorry, Michael." The concern was clear in his eyes. "I know how much this all meant to you."
Michael shrugged. He wasn't going to be able to deal with things any time soon, but he didn't need to suck the others into his depression. "I'm not the only one who suddenly has no purpose," he pointed out, trying to keep things in the lighter mood of a few moments ago. "I guess you two are just gonna have to go back to being perfect teenagers."
Neither of them was willing to go along with it. "What are you going to do?" Isabel asked, her expression serious.
"Get some sleep, go to school, find another job."
"Another job?" Max queried.
"I was on probation the last time I missed a few days," he explained with a shrug. He nodded in the direction of his answering machine. The message light was blinking. "That's probably telling me I'm fired."
"Michael, if you need--"
"I'll be fine, Maxwell." Michael managed to summon half a smile. "I'm a survivor, remember?"
"I don't--" began Isabel.
"Quit playing mother, Iz. I'm fine. I can handle this."
"I know you can," she assured him. "But that doesn't mean I don't want to help."
His hand snuck up to his cheek. "You want to help, come up with a way to get rid of this. Other than that, I'm cool."
"We could always hide it. A good foundation can cover up almost anything," she suggested as she appraised the mark.
"A what?"
"Foundation. Make-up, Michael."
He shook his head vehemently. What the hell was she thinking? "No way. I'd rather be a tattooed freak than a freak in make-up."
"Okay, okay. We'll come up with something else, then," she said hastily.
"Good. So why don't you head out and get started on that?" he suggested, herding them towards the door. "Last coupla days haven't exactly been restful. I could really stand to crash."
Reaching out, he swung his front door open for them, only to stop in surprise. A familiar form was standing in the hallway. Ed Harding, wearing an expression Michael had seen just a few weeks ago, at Tess's house. An expression of sheer rage.
"Where is it?" the shapeshifter demanded.
*****
Running the comb through her damp hair, Maria stared silently out the window. She supposed she should be pulling out her books--she had homework that she'd put off in favor of hunting for Michael--but she couldn't bring herself to concentrate.
She'd spent the entire day pretending that nothing was wrong, that she was totally carefree; now she was just tired. Content to be by herself for once, where she didn't have to wear any kind of mask. Where she didn't have to fool anyone.
Michael alone hadn't bought into her facade. But then he knew what had happened last night, when they'd had their...disagreement. Unless he'd told Max or Isabel about it--and she doubted he had--they were just as clueless about it as everyone else.
And then on top of playing Miss Congeniality all day, she'd had to deal with her mother's total overprotection when she'd arrived back home. Her mother had made some of her favorite dishes for dinner, which would have been nice if she'd felt the least bit hungry; but the constant hovering was driving Maria crazy. Luckily, Mom hadn't asked that many questions, so Maria hadn't had to share any details other than the bare facts. Yes, she was all right. Yes, they'd found Michael. Yes, he was fine too. No, the alien who'd taken him wasn't going to be a problem any more. No--and here she'd had to swallow hard--they hadn't killed him. And again, she was fine. Really.
She'd only escaped by claiming she wanted a shower and then had homework to do. Her mother couldn't argue against homework, could she? And even then, when Maria returned to her room, pajama-clad and with her hair in a towel, she'd found a plate of ginger cookies and a cup of herbal tea on her desk. Study snacks, to go along with the homework she had to do.
Homework she was busily not doing.
She ran the comb mechanically through her hair one more time, then set it down and rested her chin on her fist.
It had seemed like they were making such progress, she and Michael. They'd argued, but they'd certainly made up. She closed her eyes as she remembered how she'd kissed him, like she'd been afraid she would never see him again. And after all that, after everything they'd been through--even after he'd let slip that he loved her--he couldn't venture an opinion about whether or not they should be in a relationship? What kind of love was that?
With a groan, Maria collapsed backwards onto the bed. And she didn't move except to breathe. And occasionally blink.
She didn't even move when her cell phone rang. There wasn't anyone she wanted to talk to at that particular moment. She should have just shut it off in the first place. And she should definitely have chosen a different personalized ring. Because if that incessant, annoying excuse for a tune didn't stop right this minute--
"What?" she snapped into the phone.
A beat, then Alex's startled voice. "Maria?"
Oh. Ohhhhh. "Sorry, Alex," she said quickly. "I just...sorry."
"You okay?" he asked with evident concern.
"What? Oh, I'm fine," she assured him, trying to inject some cheer into her voice. "I'm just lying here avoiding my French homework."
"Ahhh," he said knowingly. "Well, I won't keep you from your procrastination. I just wanted to check on your work schedule this week."
She squirmed into a more comfortable position on the bed. "Every day except Wednesday, I think. Plus I've got a double shift Saturday to make up for being off all this weekend. Why?"
"Do you remember the gig I told you about? Well, it's on, so we really need to practice. Plus we'll need to go over the set list--"
Excitement pulled Maria into a sitting position. "Ooh, Alex, really? When is it? And where?"
"It's for this Christmas party, so we need to add in some seasonal music--"
Once again she interrupted. "Alex?"
"Yeah?"
"Do I really have to wear my Crashdown uniform?"
TBC...
continue to chapters 37 and 38
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