A Means to an End
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A Post-Episodic Musing on "285 South"
Disclaimer: I'm only borrowing the characters of "Roswell" for just a minute, and
I promise to give them back in the same condition as I received them. Please
don't sue me...
Rating: PG-13, for language.
Feedback: Let me know what you think, I'm always open to critique whether it be
good or bad. And feedback just thrills me to death.
Author's Note: I was re-watching "285 South" this weekend and I felt like I had to
write this... Michael was a far different character in the earlier episodes and
I wanted to show him how I felt he was trying to portray himself then, as this
externally narcissistic yet incredibly bitter and wounded internally. I think
he's still that way, but his bitterness has waned considerably and they show
that vulnerability inside him much more. Poor Michael, quite the attitude
problem...
That little self-righteous prick. Max may not like my methods, but they're a
means to an end. An end I can only be desperate for, whether Max and Isabel want
to deal with it or not. Sometimes, I know that they want to find home as much as
I do, but there are other times. Times when I know that they're just as happy to
have things remain exactly the same. But I need this; it's the only thing I can
see. The key, the visions, the dome, Atherton; all of it have to mean something.
And I know that they want the answers as badly as I do, they just have more to
lose.
So what if I'm a fuck-up here, what does that even mean in the long run? I
don't belong here and I'll never belong here. I don't even want to. The whole
goddamn planet can blow me, I'm not from here. And if that means that I'm a
friggin' xenophobe, fine. So be it. Whatever. As always, I have nothing to lose
and there has to something better out there for me than Roswell, New Mexico. My
mantra. So let Max have his delusions of teen love and angst, I just want off
this damn planet. I just want out.
Is it so bad to want to go home? What's not to understand about that?
I will admit that there's a chance I may be too reactionary, but it's hard for
me to think any other way. My whole life has revolved around reaction and I
don't really know that I can function any other way. I've always had to watch my
own back, there's never been anyone around who was gonna watch it for me. They
had each other, and yeah, I know I'm bitter. You would be too. Even if it was
your own fault. But all this shit has been stirring around inside me for so
long, ready to bubble over the top at any time. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry; but not really.
Should I say that if I had it to do over, I would do it differently? Because
that would be a lie. One changed move and there's the possibility that we never
would have found the key. Fuck we -- I would have never found the key and we
never would have gotten to any of this. Never is an awfully long time and
whatever we've learned is so much more than nothing. Christ, how can they not understand that?
Look at the math, science boy. I break into Valenti's and I find the key, the
key spurs on the flash vision of the dome. Key plus dome equals Atherton. You
would have read that piece of shit book and learned nothing, I put it all
together in one allegedly miscalculated move. So screw you. The way I look at
it, a little bit of less than legal sneaking around is worth this small step
towards home.
God, I hate that damn word, home. It brings the nastiest taste to the back of
my throat. Home. Can you taste it?
They all have so much to lose. People they care for, a family that has always
been there to love and support them, the fear of being found out for who and
what they really are. And what do I have to lose here on Earth? My only fear is
spending the rest of my existence here on this damn planet and never knowing any
of the things that they do. Because I never will here. How fucking sad is that?
So if it takes a bit of breaking and entering, grand theft auto and a half
kidnapping to get my ass home, I'm more than prepared to take that risk. Any
risk. In the end, it's always about that, isn't it? Well, in the end, if the
benefits outweigh the risk by even an ounce, I'm going with the benefits. One
step closer to knowing ourselves is one step closer to home. One step closer to
my figuring out who the hell I am and what the hell I'm doing alive at all. It
always comes back to my need for home.
Even she understands that, I didn't think anyone ever could.
Maybe she's the only one. I always thought that if anyone could understand me
at all, what I want and why I want it so bad, it would be Max and Isabel. But
they've proved too many times over that they just don't get it. Their plush,
little lives have made them soft. I know that they care about me, but they have
never understood. Everything that they have that ties them to this miserable
place, I've never had. They must know that at least, they must be able to see it
for themselves. Look at my fucking house, for Christ's sake. Look at the man who
pretends to be my "father."
Even that Maria, for as much as she'd like to pretend that she's afraid of us
-- of me, even she seems to comprehend why. And the why is the most important
part. At least for me. Maybe we're not as different as I'd like to think.
So if I seem completely opposed to everything and my demeanor is less than
settled, then I'm doing it right. Why create and solidify ties to a place that I
will one day leave? No one ever deserves to feel the sort of empty abandonment
that I have felt since before I can remember feeling. That aching hole inside me
that keeps me remembering is the same place that forces my hand every time.
And I will leave this god awful place. I know I'll eventually find home. If it
seems like I'm obsessed, well maybe that's because I am. I have this fantasy of
a place in the sky where I'm not so outcast, a place where I have a family that
cares for me and understands why I've struggled with every minute of my
existence to find them and who are glad of it. They will welcome me into their
outstretched arms. I'm not welcome here and I never will be. Fuck you, I'm not
from here.
Why try to act like a human other than to hide what I really am? With all of my
fuck ups, the secret is still a secret, so I must have some handle on all of
this. Surely I've fooled everyone so far.
But one day, and I will hold fast to this belief forever, one day there will be
no more acting for me, and no more secrets. I won't have to say these lines and
play this damned role. I won't have to pull away from interpersonal
relationships and pretend that it doesn't hurt, and I won't have to continuously
lie. I don't really want to lie.
And I don't want to be here.
END