Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: (me in front of a blackboard) I will not claim to own Roswell. I will not claim to own Roswell. I will not claim to own Roswell.
Spoilers: to the end of Season Two
Author's Notes: "There she goes again, trying to erase the finale!" Well, I didn't really plan on doing this. I could go into detail about how this fic came about, but I'll spare you. Short version - the idea popped into my head out of nowhere, and then it sort of evolved, and I had to write it. It's kind of odd and experimental, and a bit AU-ish. So I'd appreciate feedback, good or bad. (look! look how I'm not whining anymore!)
Email me! [email protected]
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This is what they call an "Afterward" I think.
So you've read my story. I can't even imagine what you're thinking. Maybe you'll use it as a Exhibit A in a demonstration of why I should be put in a mental institution. Maybe you'll be saddened by my pathetic-ness (um, word?) or maybe, just maybe, it will make you feel good about yourself. Maybe you'll take it as a joke. Maybe you'll take it way too seriously.
Maybe I've already used the word "maybe" too much. I'm screwing up this writing thing already.
I'm not the writer. I'm not the one with the journal. I'm not the one who makes up song lyrics and poems.
Writing is not my fort�, to put it more intelligently. ("Ooh, lookitt the foreign words!")
I use my talents in other places. I put together outfits, not sentences. I'm a People Person. I give out advice and small Diet Pepsis. I smile. I babble. I sing.
I'm just letting you know that I'm not looking to win Pulitzers or Nobel prizes for this... whatever you'd call this. This story. A historical science fiction tale by Maria DeLuca. I'm not even expecting this crap to be published. I'd actually hate for it to be published, because I know Michael would read it - bonehead that he is, I know he does read. I'd love a certain other person to read it, but she probably wouldn't. I don't care either way, to tell you the truth.
Oh, am I going to start telling the truth? What's the occassion? After all, this story was my anti-truth, my anti-journal. A historical science fiction tale by Maria "Poster Girl For The Delusional" DeLuca.
What can I say?
You begin at the beginning. It began at the Prom.
It began when I convinced myself Michael was cheating on me with some ridiculous no-name girl... oh yes, she did have a name. It was Juanita, Juanita who we never heard from again. It began when we started to dance and I convinced myself that all my worries were stupid and wrong. Michael is a dream boyfriend and I'm a lunatic for thinking otherwise.
Right.
The nerve of me to even accuse him of anything. I'm so wrong and so silly.
Left.
We could laugh about this forever, and in the end I'll be the happiest I've ever been being wrong. For once, being the smart one would have made me miserable.
Turn.
By that time the next day, I was the smart one again. It only got worse after that.
But in my head, my story was already being written.
It began at the Prom.
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In real life, the good friends I went with spent most of the night dancing and neglecting me. The happy couple, back together again. I wanted that once, didn't I? I wanted a Max who wasn't whining and stalking and a Liz who wasn't denying her feelings and being moody. But once they were back together, I was all alone again. Michael showed up at the last minute to dance and make me feel all special. Max danced the whole night. I was told the next day - in the morning, before The Unspeakable happened - how magical it was.
Jealousy. Jealousy is terrible and it makes you feel terrible. I'm sorry. How can you envy someone you love? Someone who's like a sister to you? And when it's not her fault at all, it's... Max.
In real life, Max is a perfect saint. Max is caring and open and kind to an inhuman (hee hee) extent. Max knows how to behave on a date, and what it means to be in a relationship, and how to treat a significant other like she matters all the time, not only after he's screwed up.
Michael cheats, Michael runs, Michael toys around. On your average day, there is maybe a 4% chance of Michael expressing a genuine emotion. There is a 0.001% chance he'll put it into words.
And Michael is the one I got stuck loving. God help me, I'm still stuck. After everything that's happened, you can see I'm still stuck.
On the night after the prom - this was after The Unspeakable - I was sitting around my room with scented candles and I let my mind wander. Eventually, it wandered into the question of what would happen if the candles set my house on fire while I slept. And holy shit, that's an almost-suicidal thought, and I'm not about to be almost-suicidal over a guy.
How do you even get almost-suicidal while listening to Enya?
And that's when I got the idea for this story. I'd write a little story about humans and aliens, us and them. "Write what you know," they always say. I know what I lived. I know what I wanted.
In the story, Max didn't dance with Liz at the prom, not the whole night. They broke up in the middle. Sorry, Liz. Don't worry, they do end up together in the end. But Max has to be a jerk first, just for a little bit. I can sleep easier at night if Max is a jerk.
So Max is Michael, pretty much.
In my story, Max cheats and Max runs and Max toys around. Max is mean to his sister and grabs Liz's arm. Max sleeps with Tess. Max doesn't express his feelings until after he's screwed up.
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Meanwhile, Liz gets closer to none other than Sean DeLuca! That's right, he had to make a cameo, he is my cousin after all. This isn't saying I'm particularly fond of the idea. And to make sure you believe me, let me tell you a little story about Sean. (This part is true, I promise.)
Sean DeLuca is the son of my mother's brother and his wife. They used to live in Roswell, but they got out. Boy did they get out.
Wifey - that's his mother, whose actual name is Pauline - wifey got a big check from a big company. See, they put out some lame infomercial product that she fell for and she whipped out her credit card on the spot. It was some kind of cooking tool (I think an ice cream maker), and it was held together with little tiny bolts - not screws, but bolts. The difference between screws and bolts is that a bolt can pop out just a little easier than a screw. Especially when low temperatures cause their molecules to contract and there's high pressure, like from the chef holding the cover part down while the power's on full blast. So mix this with the fact that it was probably assembled (A) in some third world country or (B) by my uncle, and it leads to a situation where Pauline easily gets hit in the eye with a flying bolt.
Ouch.
Ka-ching.
That's the way Sean tells the story, with the sound effects and everything. He also says his mom liked to cook naked, and he wouldn't be surprised if she was rushed to the emergency room in the buff.
But you can't believe everything Sean says.
He lives with us now because his parents are too busy in Non-Roswell, writing checks to their poor relations and being drunk off their asses without actually consuming alcohol. They're drunk on denial. I guess I shouldn't throw stones in glass houses.
You might know this story already. Then again, who really listens to everything I say?
Before all this happened, Little Sean used to hustle kids in the park for quarters so he could play Street Fighter. He's a year older than me and he once put me in a headlock because I borrowed his cassette player without asking. I would go to visit him and he would give me Indian Burns, only he called them Native American Burns as a joke. So politically correct, that Sean, so considerate. A boy you'd love to take home to Mom.
Sean did some dealing in the school, mostly pot, and then he found someone to score cheap coke from. God, will you listen to me? Scoring coke, I'm using the lingo like I know what the hell I'm talking about! Anyway, he got busted, then he got released on a "technicality" issue, then he went after the guy who ratted him out with his dad's golf club.
The boy you'd love to take home to Mom.
I gathered all this information from family whisperings and rumors. If I asked my mother, she would only say "Mar-EE-yah! Don't you say such things about your cousin. If that dear boy only knew how damn gossipy this family is..." and blah blah blah, Mom's bitterness over what I assume people said about her. I think Mom likes Sean because she likes to defend the irredeemable. I could totally see her getting on board for Michael too, if he was her blood.
Back to Sean's history, there weren't any technicality issues on the assault. He got four years, a little less for good behavior. And while he was gone, his parents got their check and started a new life in Non-Roswell, so he's our problem now.
I guess that's why Sean escapes my wrath, even in my world of fiction. I do feel sorry for him. He is my cousin, so I'm biologically and traditionally required to give him sympathy. Sean in my story is pretty nice and misunderstood, even if you shouldn't run off and date him. He screws up his probation in an innocent, lovestruck way. I think someday he won't mess up again and he'll be a good guy. He does deserve love. He just doesn't deserve it from Liz Parker.
Aww, don't get mushy now.... Well, alright, you can. I don't know where I'd be in the world without my best friends. I have to look out for them, you know?
That's why I hope you don't read some of my story wrong. It's obviously not all what I'd want. It's not a perfect world. If I hurt someone, kill someone off, it doesn't mean I want that at all - like I could ever be that sick. It's just a collection of ideas I came to. Sometimes I saw them in dreams, sometimes I thought them up in the shower. I wanted it to be interesting. I wanted it to be full-on SCI-FI and DRAMA. You'll see, it all ends happily anyway. I'd never write a story without happy endings all around.
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In this historical science fiction tale by Maria "Queen Mother Of The Delusional" DeLuca, there's a big happy ending.
The big happy ending is that Michael comes running out of the Granilith and chooses me over his planet.
The big happy ending is that Michael takes my hands and shows me he isn't afraid anymore.
The big happy ending is that Michael gives me his virginity.
In my story, Michael is caring and open and kind and everything I want him to be.
Michael is Max. Did you figure that out?
I hope you forgive me for that. You know I would never touch Max in the real world, I couldn't even bring myself to touch him in the story. So I just played around a little with the characterization, and changed a couple of names.
Going after someone else's soulmate is such an awful, underhanded thing to do anyway. Such a Tess thing. He has Property Of Liz tattooed on his forehead, as far as I'm concerned. Besides, Max and I are pals now. He's cuddly as hell, but he's about as off-limits as Alex Whitman.
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Oh yes, Alex. Let me explain about Alex.
Alex and Isabel, those crazy kids. In real life, he was crazy because he couldn't let her go, and she was crazy because she was blind to his perfection. They would make a great couple, I don't doubt that.
But something happened in real life. Alex went to Sweden. Alex went away.
Alex came back all grown up and content with himself. Isabel was cold as ice to him, and amazingly he had MOVED ON. They went to the Prom together as friends. He went home and called his girlfriend Leanna. She looked at some more college brochures.
Alex and Isabel are going to be normal people.
Jealousy. I'm so so sorry.
So in my story, Alex is stuck with Isabel the way I'm stuck with Michael. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much we go through, we keep holding on.
And then, oh yeah, then he dies - author's trick. I had to do it for the narrative, to make way for the surprise ending.
I still get chills over it, to be honest. Did I really do that? Was I ever that angry with him? Did it hurt me that much to see someone MOVE ON when I'm stuck?
It had to be a lie. I had to make it all a lie. He never went away. He never got a life. He never grew up. He never MOVED ON. He was the same goofy geek until the day he died.
God, what is wrong with me? I saw Alex at the Crashdown the day after I wrote it and I just started hugging him. He was so scared, he thought I had snapped. I'll explain it to him one day, if he even remembers.
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I'll explain it to him and I'll begin at the beginning.
It began at the Prom, and the night after, when I went to Michael's apartment and found him.
Found him on top of her. It only happened a few times, he told me.
Three, that's how many, he said.
And stop yelling at me.
And I knew you wouldn't understand.
And who said we were back together?
And stop being so *you* about this.
"Who would you prefer me to be, Michael?" I screamed. "HER?" Alien. Royalty. Traitor. Slut. Bitch.
Do you really want the rest?
I just want you to be fair, Maria. I never said you couldn't see other people. I never kept you away from any-
Oh no, you only kept me away from you.
That's right, I did, so how can you push yourself into this relationship and then blame me-
Can I ask you what part of Destiny this is exactly? How is this possibly helping your planet? No, Michael, I'd really like to know. What did she give you? Symbols, flashes, sexy dreams?
Maria, it's NOT LIKE THAT! It's not about destiny, it's - I don't know what it is, it just happened. I- I'm sorry.
At the end of the day, this is reality.
Where Sean comes home and I wonder if he's screwing up his probation in a not-so-innocent, not-so-lovestruck way.
Where Alex has grown up and MOVED ON and I'm still stuck.
Where Max is still a perfect saint, and Liz is still wonderfully happy.
Where Michael is the one fucking Tess.
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Acceptance is not my fort�.
Don't they know how it's supposed to end?
Let me help.
Michael loves me. Tess loves Max. Max loves Liz, but that's another story. No offense, but I'm pretty sick of that story.
Everyone moves around in a circle, they break up with the same person and get back together with the same person.
If someone gets in the way, they kill and suffer and go.
Happy endings all around.
So that's my story, and this is my afterward, and maybe it all sucks. I'm not the writer here, I'm not the one with the journal.
That's you.
I put together outfits, you put together sentences. I thought I'd give it a shot.
Okay, so I'm rambling now. I just wanted to make sure you understand what this is all about. And now you know I want your honest opinion, Liz, no sugar-coating! I'm trusting you with this, I needed to *share my therapy* with someone. Maybe I'll show Alex too if you think he won't mind. Maybe I'll change all the names and show it to my English teacher. So you better call me soon as you're done and tell me how insane I am and how many grammar mistakes I made. Unless you're busy, and then I'll just wait.
~Maria "Goddess Of The Oh-So-VERY-Delusional" DeLuca~
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Have you emailed me yet?