| posted on 2-Nov-2002 8:27:15 PM by Tasyfa |
Banner by the wonderful Blanca. Thank you, dear! 
Part 7: Commencement-page 29-----Feb 9/03 Part 6B: Reassertion----page 25-----Feb. 1/03 Part 6: Denial----------page 20------Jan. 11/03 Part 5: Fragility--------page 17-----Jan. 5/03 Part 4: Unveiled--------page 11-----Dec. 1/02 Part 3: Permutation-----page 8-----Nov. 17/02 Part 2: Opacity---------page 6-----Nov. 12/02 *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* In two posts for length.
hugs, Tas Title: The Bitter Dregs Author: Tasyfa Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell are the property of Twentieth Century Fox Television and Regency Productions. All original characters and concepts are the property of the author. No profit has been made from the distribution of this work of fiction. Category: Max/Liz; rotating POVs Rating: PG Dedication: For RosDeidre. You know why.;) Summary: This is based on the false spoilers for the end of Season 3. The beginning bears a vague resemblance to part of Cookie2697's lovely fic, Hope Alone, for which I have obtained her permission to post this. I highly recommend HA as a wonderful read. When the spoilers first came out, I was devastated. I could appreciate the elegant irony of returning to the beginning, but without a Season 4 to explore the possibilities raised by this clean slate option, I could not accept that that would be the ending given to my beloved show. And I was grateful beyond words that when the episode order was cut, TPTB chose to end the series with Graduation. Yet the images that I first conceived out of the bleak possibility of that finale never faded, and eventually I chose to put them to paper. The Bitter Dregs is the result. I hope you enjoy it.
hugs, Tas *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* "Wanna go get something to eat? My treat." Michael looks at me suspiciously and I try to look innocent. Not surprisingly, he isn't biting. "Crashdown, right? So you can moon over Parker some more?" I sigh but can't deny it. "Where else? Besides, you won't have to get dragged over there any more after tonight, so just come with me." So I don't look like a complete loser. "Why, you planning on getting your head out of the clouds?" It would be unethical to hurt him, right? He's my best friend, still thinks he's really my brother. He's always been like this and I can usually deal, even in the bizarre reality that is now my life. But today is different. "She's leaving for Harvard tomorrow, Michael. She's taking the summer semester. Let it go." His face softens from its typical scowl and that hurts. I've never breathed a word of how I changed it all, how that fragment of the granolith that Michael took from the military lab allowed me to travel back in time and prevent Liz from getting shot. Since the alteration of that day, my life has gone on as it started: hiding in the shadows, wishing I didn't have to be so invisible. The last three years have been a bittersweet kind of torture. Every time I see Liz laughing with her two best friends, Maria and Alex, I can't help but think that it was all worth it. But every time I see her kiss Kyle Valenti, I die a little more inside. Michael doesn't speak again until we're almost to the café, and his voice startles me out of my self-pitying reverie. "You know she broke up with Kyle, right?" "What? When?" "Couple weeks before exams. You really didn't know?" he sounds shocked, and I suppose that's warranted. Even more than Isabel, Michael knows how obsessed I truly am with Liz, without knowing the deeper reasons of course. He ribs me about it but only to a point, because I think he understands. That without this lifeline, I would be so lost. "No. She never spends time with him around exams, she's too busy studying for any kind of social life." One of the good things—the best, actually, aside from Alex's continued existence. Liz would have the future she'd always dreamed of, Harvard and molecular biology. Not running from the law for consorting with aliens. "Well, they've been real casual the last year or so. Kissing friends, basically," he shrugs. "Right," I mutter. It's the kissing part that bothers me. I pull the door open and we enter the Crashdown, sitting in our regular booth near the back. Agnes rolls her eyes over by the counter. I guess this is her section tonight. We're the only people in it—it's after the dinner rush and too early for the post-movie crowd. Good thing I'm not really that hungry. Long before Agnes makes her way over, I hear bursts of laughter coming from the break room and recognize Liz's happy sounds within the chorus. It makes me smile. It always makes me smile. Michael reads over the menu like we haven't been here nearly every day for years. "Anything new miraculously appear?" I joke. "Funny man," he scowls. "I don't know what I'm in the mood for." "Me neither." I give the laminated paper a once-over. Maybe just a milkshake? I did actually eat dinner at home. "Hey Max, Michael," a cheerful voice speaks at my elbow. "Liz! Hi," I stutter. Michael stretches his lips in a split-second imitation of a smile and goes back to the menu. "Uh, big day tomorrow, huh?" "Oh, you heard? Yeah. I'm all packed and everything. My room looks so weird," she widens her eyes for emphasis. "Anyway, can I get you guys something?" Michael and I exchange a puzzled look; she's wearing jeans and a cropped red sweater, not the aqua waitress uniform. "You're not working tonight, are you?" "Oh, no," she laughs. "But as Agnes's only customers, you could perish from hunger by the time she gets around to taking your order. My dad's too sentimental to fire her—she's been here since the restaurant opened." Michael shrugs and glances at me expectantly. "Okay, why don't we get the Blue Moon Burger special and a cherry cola? I want the milkshake; Michael, you can have the rest." "Works for me," he agrees. "I'll be right back," Liz smiles. "Uh, Liz?" My voice squeaks a little in the knowledge that I'm about to declare myself the biggest geek ever. "I didn't catch you in class. Would you sign my yearbook?" Her eyebrows shoot up to her hairline and Michael hides a snicker. Believe me, I know how bad it looks. Normal people don't carry around their yearbooks just for the hell of it. At least Michael didn't see it in my jacket or I wouldn't have had the courage to say anything. "Sure, Max. Here, let me get Maria and Alex to sign it while I think about what I want to say," her face relaxes back into its smile and I breathe again as she departs, yearbook in hand. Michael unobtrusively makes an 'L' symbol with his thumb and forefinger. "Man, you got it bad." "Hardly a newsflash," I grimace. He lowers his voice. "You gonna make it once she's gone?" I don't know, I want to tell him, because that's the truth, but I shrug. "I'll manage." His expression is doubtful but he doesn't call me on it. Just then, Maria comes over with our order. She's not on tonight either; Liz must have asked her to bring it. "Here you are. Max, I hope you appreciate the novel you're apparently getting," she quips dryly. "All I put was, 'Have a nice summer.'" I turn to see Liz at the counter, yearbook open in front of her and pen in her mouth. She only chews on her pen when she needs to think about something. A wisp of hope uncurls in my stomach. "Thanks, Maria." Michael grunts in acknowledgement, and she and I share a smile over his lack of verbalization. "No problem. Hey, I heard you're going to Las Cruces. That true?" "Yeah. Michael and I are going to get a place together near the campus." Seeing the way she lifts one eyebrow, I add hastily, "Isabel was going to move in with us too, but she decided that she'd be better off in the dorm once it occurred to her that she'd be the one doing all the cleaning." Maria laughs, the speculative gleam gone. "I'm in the dorm, too. Maybe I'll see you around campus." "Yeah, that'd be cool." My attention veers towards Liz, who is headed over with my yearbook. She hands it back with a smile and then stands there. None of us know what to say. "Well, thanks," I tell her and she nods. She and Maria say farewell and head for the swinging door, where Alex is waiting. I open the yearbook and flip to the page where she wrote. Maria wasn't kidding—it's pretty long. Directly above her neat printing is Alex's scrawl: 'Live long and prosper.' My eyelids prickle at the irony then I begin to read Liz's message. Dear Max, It's been a long four years of high school, but in some ways I wish it weren't over yet. It's too bad that you're not coming to Harvard. I'm going to miss having you in my science labs. You were one of the few people I could always count on to do your half of the work when we partnered up, and you took great notes when I was sick! I doubt I'll get that lucky in two schools. On a more personal note, I will miss you for yourself, too. I've always thought you were a really nice guy and I wish we could have known each other better. You make me laugh and I never feel like I have to hide my brain around you—I can be myself. All my best, Liz Parker I don't know how long I stare at it. Michael finally takes the book out of my hands and reads it. "You gonna sit there or go after her?" "What?" I'm having trouble focusing. He heaves a sigh and glances around, making sure we're truly alone, before leaning forward and speaking very quietly. "Maxwell, I know what you did." "What?" I'm repeating myself, but at least I'm reacting stupidly to a new concept. "The day the gun went off, nearly three years ago. I saw the green shimmer over Liz's stomach and how the bullet bounced off it and went into the wall. She didn't feel a thing and no one else noticed, but I saw it." "Why didn't you say anything before now?" "Because you never made a move towards her, Maxwell. Liz always had a boyfriend." "Well, yeah, but what's that got to do with you endorsing fraternization?" Michael's pet word for relationships with humans. He shifts uncomfortably. "Look, it's been more than ten years. If there were anyone left to come after us, they would have by now. Whoever sent the ship obviously thinks that we died along with the other occupants. You and Iz are right; we can't live our lives in a vacuum. I've watched you pine for Liz for as long as I've known you, Max. She's showing some interest, and this is your last possible chance, so go." It's the longest speech I've heard out of him in years. "Michael." He half smiles, a touch of vulnerability in his eyes now. "Can I still crash in your room?" "Hank on a bender again?" Michael nods and my heart aches. This is my one overwhelming regret about changing everything. It's not that I don't regret the loss of my relationship with Liz because I do, absolutely. But I chose this course of action knowing that it would be a casualty, and I'm the only one who suffers because of it. What I didn't expect was that Isabel and I would not be enough to persuade Michael to become emancipated. He's eighteen now and when we move in together in a couple of months, he'll be officially out of the foster system. But that's more than two extra years living with a man who is abusive. Even though the Michael of my first life agreed with my decision to act, I still feel responsible. And I guess I didn't know, or maybe just didn't want to see, how much of how he had changed had been because of Maria. Now, they are waitress and customer, occasional classmates. Vague acquaintances who know each other's names. Liz and I are little more, for all the years of being lab partners. "You know how to let yourself in. I'll take the floor when I get home." He smirks. "Why, you planning on being real late?" "Ha ha," I glare at him. He puts the yearbook on the seat beside him, silently indicating that he'll take it home for me, and I drop enough cash to cover the meal and then some on the table. Then I head for that swinging door. "Liz?" I call out once I'm through. I take a quick peek around me. The break room looks pretty much the same as I remember it. She's almost at the top of the stairs, with Maria and Alex, and she leans down to see who's calling her name. "Oh, Max. Um, customers aren't really supposed to be back here," she says, coming down a couple of steps. "Yeah, I know. Can I talk to you for a sec, please?" I see the way Maria and Alex look at each other behind Liz, and I know they've long since realized I'm interested in her. It helps that Maria had told me, that long summer we spent crying together after the message about my alien destiny, that she'd been telling Liz for ages that I kept staring at her, including on the day Liz got shot. Now, in the current timeline, I'm sure she's noticed the same over the years. They hold a whispered conference then Liz comes down the stairs while the other two disappear. "What is it, Max?" She tucks her hair behind her ear as she speaks and I smile. "I was wondering, if—if maybe we could go get a cup of coffee. Not for too long; I don't want to keep you from your friends, but, um, I'd like to just…spend a little time with you, before you leave." Large dark eyes meet mine in a steady gaze. "Okay." 'Okay?' That's it, just, 'Okay?' No questions or anything? "Okay. Ah, do you need to tell them you're going?" "No, they guessed why you came back here," she tosses me a mischievous look. "Oh." I can feel the tips of my ears getting red. It's not enough that they're already my most noticeable feature, but they turn colors too. "Let me grab a jacket," Liz says as she rummages in the closet. I stand there silently and wait for her. Once she's slipped into the black leather, we go out the back door. [ edited 17time(s), last at 9-Feb-2003 9:28:52 PM ] |
| posted on 2-Nov-2002 8:29:36 PM by Tasyfa |
| "Do you have anywhere particular you like to go?" I already know the answer, of course, but I still ask the question.
"Um, why don't we go to La Tazza? I don't really drink much coffee at night; makes it too hard to sleep. But they have great hot chocolate," Liz tells me. I nod and we start walking. It's only a few blocks from the Crashdown. "Chocolate is way better than coffee anyway," I admit. She glances at me sideways from underneath her eyelashes. I recognize it as a flirtatious look and my insides tighten painfully. "Hmm, really? So, Max Evans, which side of the sex versus chocolate debate do you favor?" What am I supposed to say to that? 'I like Nestlé Tollhouse cookies but you taste better?' 'I wouldn't know, I'm a virgin in this life?' How about, 'The most disgusting chocolate in the world outranks any part of what happened with Tess in my other life, and in this one, I'd give up every favorite food to kiss you, just once?' What actually comes out of my mouth is, "Depends on the quality." I'm talking about chocolate. My mother buys this expensive European stuff when she has guests she wants to impress, and I steal pieces. It tastes incredible, completely blowing Hershey's away. Liz clearly takes my statement the other way, because her eyes get huge and there's a hint of pink in her cheeks that wasn't there a minute ago. She laughs, a little nervously, and tucks her hair behind her ear again. "I always knew you had hidden depths. I wasn't expecting that to be part of them, but it's definitely an interesting answer." Hidden depths, I snort to myself. You have no idea. "Ah, that didn't come out quite like I meant it to," I attempt to rescue myself. She smiles at me. "It never does. Not just for you, I mean generally." "Yeah, I guess." Liz must be losing the nervousness now because she links her arm through mine for the last block, and we walk in silence. She's undoubtedly thinking about something profound. I'm trying to breathe. This is the closest we've been in three years, since I altered time, but my body hasn't forgotten her. Even though she doesn't smell the same, quite. More precisely, Liz smells the same, but her perfume has changed. It's lighter, more citrusy. Happier. When we go into La Tazza, the silence becomes awkward. No parameters were set for this outing, so she's not sure what to do. I make it easy for her. "My idea, so my treat. Large hot chocolate, skim, with whip?" "How did you know?" she asks, amazed. I know she takes her coffee with one and a half sugars and milk instead of cream too, but I don't freak her out by saying so. "That's what my sister gets. She says the skim milk offsets the whipped cream." Liz laughs. "I guess we all suffer that delusion. Chocolate sprinkles too, please. If I'm going to splurge, I might as well go all the way!" She sits at a corner table while I get our drinks. My brain isn't listening to the part of me that wants to stay a gentleman. It's trying to figure out how I can convince her to splurge on me, given that credo. Not gonna happen, Evans. Even if I wanted to—okay, even though I do want to—I wouldn't. I bring her the hot chocolate and she dives in, licking the whipped cream off the top. I can practically feel my pupils dilating at the sight. A moment later she stops and tilts her head, looking at me with a curious smile. "Max?" "Uh-huh?" "You're staring at me." "Sorry." There go the ears again. I hold out the plastic spoon I picked up. "Maybe you should use this." That smile grows utterly luminous as she takes the spoon and scoops out bits of whipped cream. Didn't Kyle make her feel desirable? That's the only explanation I can think of for how she's flirting with me. Wait, that's all backwards. If Kyle had made her feel undesirable, she wouldn't be self-confident enough to flirt. If Liz is comfortable enough with herself to be coming on this strong, that means that they had a good relationship. I wish I knew how to feel about that. We spend over an hour in the coffee shop, talking and laughing and flirting like crazy. Once I remember how, it's easy. It always was with her, and it's nice to know that not everything has to change. Finally Liz looks at her watch and frowns. "I said I'd be back around eleven." It's nearly that now. "All right. We should go then." I don't sound as reluctant as I feel, but she shows it openly. We go back out onto the street and start walking towards the Crashdown, so slowly that we're barely moving. "So, you must have had some really awful sex," Liz prods out of the blue. "Pardon me?" It's a good thing I don't have a drink anymore or I'd be spitting it all over the place. "Sex and chocolate. You were very adamant about the quality issue." There's an intense curiosity in her eyes and I realize that my 'open mouth, insert foot' remark has probably given her the idea that I've slept with half the school. Which bothers me, enough to set her straight. Mostly. I don't have the slightest idea how to explain that I've had sex once and it did have major quality control issues, but it wasn't exactly me that did it, either. Just thinking about the timeline stuff makes my head spin most days. "Yeah, I…my mom buys European chocolate." Liz's hand flies to her mouth in what I think of as a classic Maria gesture. "Oh my God, you weren't talking about—I'm so sorry, Max. I totally jumped to conclusions." "That's okay. Like I said, it really didn't come out the right way," I have to smile. "I'm a little curious as to why you jumped to that particular conclusion, though." She stops walking and faces me, her cheeks becoming rosy. There's sheer mischief in her eyes as she asks, "How honest an answer do you want?" "One hundred percent," I reply automatically. I want to know what's making her sparkle like that. The rosiness deepens and Liz tells me, "You seem like you'd be good in bed." "What?" Popular question tonight. Maybe it wouldn't fly out of my mouth so often if people quit dropping bombshells on me. "You do. We've talked about it. You just seem like you would be very caring," she shrugs and looks away. "I would try," I say sincerely. Then it occurs to me that I shouldn't have said 'would' because it's a dead giveaway that I haven't tried yet. The surprise that passes over her face and disappears shows me that Liz didn't miss that implication. "Is that not something you were used to?" I can't help asking. I don't know if I want her to answer me or not. "Well, yeah, I guess. I mean things with Kyle were nice. We…didn't make love very often but it was always…nice," she repeats. The pain hits me in waves and I struggle to breathe. Nope, didn't want to know. "Max, are you all right?" Liz is concerned. I attempt a smile as I fish for a plausible explanation. "I have a touch of asthma, that's all. Nothing serious." "Maybe you should sit for a minute." She pulls me over to a bench on the sidewalk and pushes me onto it. We're only a few doors down from the Crashdown. I take some deep breaths and it clears my head. Seeing how comfortable they are with each other and how easily they interact, I'd suspected for a long time. But God, it hurts to know for sure. "What's 'nice'? What's wrong with 'nice'?" "Nothing's wrong with it exactly, it's just—there was something missing. Kyle and I haven't been a real couple for oh, over a year now. We still care about each other but there's no passion," Liz reflects. I could show you passion, I think to myself, and I know it's true. I'd come so close to making love to Liz so many times. I know what she likes, what turns her on. Before I used the granolith fragment, we very nearly had made love but somehow I found the strength to stop. Because if I hadn't, then I wouldn't have had the strength to leave afterwards, and Liz might have died. The changes in her had made her so sick. Those are dangerous thoughts and I stand up, moving to escape them. I reassure Liz that I'm fine and we continue walking. Silence reigns for only a few moments. "Max, why did you ask me out tonight?" Suddenly we have parameters. It's not an outing anymore; it's a date, however brief. "For the reasons I said, to spend some time together before you go away," I tell her gently. She smiles a little. "I suppose what I'm really asking is, why didn't you ask before now?" "You were with Kyle." "Yes, but we broke up over a month ago." "I didn't know until today." "Really? Huh." I wonder if she's thinking the same things I am, about lost chances. We're standing in front of her door now and I don't think either of us is ready for me to go. I lean towards her, purely on instinct, and words I've spoken in another life rise up between us. 'I'm afraid of feeling everything I know I would feel, because I know it's not meant to be. And somewhere down the line, we're going to get hurt. I can live with that. I just couldn't bear to hurt you.' 'But that's not your decision, is it?' Except this time, it has to be. The first time, Liz chose to be with me and it cost her everything. I can't allow that to happen again, not when I can prevent it. She doesn't know I'm an alien, or anything else about me, and it penetrates right now that she can't ever know. Liz is leaning towards me too and something inside me twists in agony as I step away. She straightens with a hurt look. "Max?" "Liz, we can't do this. We can't get involved." She gets angry. "So was this some kind of sick joke then? See how far you could string me along, now that I finally show that I'm interested?" Ouch. Especially with the implication that she's been interested all along. That's never occurred to me. "No, it was exactly like I said before. I didn't expect—this—to be this strong." It's beginning to dawn on me that the shading of hope in her pen-and-ink utterances fostered more than one motive behind my impulsively asking her to coffee. "This?" Her voice rises sharply and I wince. "Liz, please. Please calm down, and just listen for a sec, all right? Please." She makes a visible effort and eventually nods her head, indicating that I should speak. Where to start? I have to be as honest as I can be, without telling her anything of the altered timeline or my genetic status. I can't say that she propositioned me in another life, or that any flashes in this one wouldn't lead us to the orb because I dug it up and destroyed it, along with the metal book from the public library. I can't tell her about the flashes at all, in fact, and that saddens me more than I thought it would. I sigh and rub my upper lip then I start to talk. "I think you've guessed, from the last couple of hours if nothing else, that I have feelings for you." Liz nods. "Maria's been telling me for years that you watch me." I smile a little. "Yeah, I do. I have for a long time." "Then the hot chocolate wasn't a lucky guess. You already knew." I can almost hear the click in her wonderful brain as pieces fall into place. "I know how you take your coffee, too, and what kind of herbal teas Maria makes you drink." I feel shy admitting that, particularly since I'd decided not to mention it. A laugh escapes her. "I suppose I should feel stalked, but I don't. I feel—safe." She tilts her head, regarding me, as if she wants to know what I think of that statement. Safe is the last thing she is with me. My Liz used to say that too though, even after everything, and my chest feels tight. I can't drag this out any longer because if I do, I'm going to break down right in front of her. "Liz, I…what it comes down to is really pretty basic. You should be following your dreams, making something of your life. Using that amazing mind to make this world a better place. And you can't do that if you're with me." "Because something about you would make that impossible." She catches on fast. Like there was ever any doubt. I nod, incapable of verbal confirmation, and Liz sighs. She doesn't ask for specifics, trusting that I'm telling her the truth. I half expect her to protest about the long-term nature of my objections, based on the fact that these stolen hours are the only ones we've shared as more than friends, but I know she won't. She feels the tug in her soul, too. "I don't want to give up my dreams, Max. I'm all packed and I am leaving for Harvard tomorrow. Isn't there some way—" She falls silent, my fingers against her lips, trembling. "Don't say it," I implore. I can't bear it if she expresses hope. I know now that's the other reason behind this date: to stamp out any thought of what might have been. She can't live her life wondering, and it's killing me to keep on this way. Her eyes soften in compassion and I think she understands. That I am holding on by such a thin thread. Gossamer; nearly invisible, and oh so fragile. But I test it by stepping close and looking down at her sweet face, trying to engrave this moment in my mind. Not that there's a need. Liz's image is limned on the inside of my eyelids already; has been forever. I raise a hand to cup her cheek, slowly tracing the prominent cheekbone with my thumb. It's the last time and I just need to touch her like this. "Be happy." She nods, those gorgeous dark eyes filling with tears, and I console myself that it's also the last time I will hurt her. Despite my resolve, I find that we're moving closer, too close. I can't kiss her, I know it, but I lean in anyway. The door opens behind her, spilling out Alex and Maria. Maria's hand flies to her mouth as Liz and I move apart and I drop my hand. It's for the best but I ache all over. "I'm sorry, we didn't mean to interrupt. Liz, your mom ordered us pizza and Alex was just going to throw the box in the recycling," Maria apologizes as Alex flourishes the box. Liz smiles and reassures them. I see the way they look at me, though, Maria and Alex. In the Crashdown earlier, Maria seemed friendly and open. She might have sought me out at college, spent some time getting to know me. I know that's not going to happen anymore. Not once Liz explains what I've said to her tonight. "Max—" Liz begins. I shake my head. "It's okay. I need to get going, anyway." I see from her expression that she knows what that really means, and she's generous enough to leave me my dignity. "Okay," she sighs. "Be happy, Max." I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Anything emerging from my throat would sound unforgivably bitter at this moment. Liz offers me a sad smile and turns away. I watch her go inside with her friends, and I'm alone. Everything grows dark. The streetlamps are still lit and the Crashdown sign strobes eternally neon, but there's no longer any light in my world. Every step I take towards my parents' house, hands stuffed into my pockets in a futile protective gesture, costs me a lifetime of pain. I turn back once, to see that the street truly is as black and empty as it feels without her. Needing to hear them, I whisper the words one final time into the uncaring stillness of the night. "I love you, Liz Parker." And then I add another word, the one that is bringing me to my knees. "Goodbye." THE END [ edited 1time(s), last at 3-Nov-2002 1:38:20 PM ] |
| posted on 3-Nov-2002 1:27:07 PM by Tasyfa |
Mareli I think I said that Hope Alone is a positive spin? I forget exactly LOL but yes, it has complete happy ending insurance.  It just has some similarities in that Max and Liz go for coffee after Max was eating at the Crashdown with Michael!
Believe me guys, I know how sad this is. But when I heard the false spoilers, the end part is the image that stayed with me: Max, outside the Crashdown, utterly alone. I ran up my long distance phone bill and went through more than a few Kleenex about the possibility that the show would end like that! SO it's been haunting me since last spring. When Cookie was staying with me over Thanksgiving we talked about it, and I decided to purge.
As for Liz and Kyle, that's painful realism. Liz is established as someone who's not against pre-marital sex, and if you're in a loving relationship with someone for more than three years, it's highly unlikely that it wouldn't become a sexual relationship at some point. I may do a sequel. I have some ideas, but I'm a little reluctant to disturb the perfect sorrow. I know, that's what you guys want LOL, but I'm quite proud of how this turned out and it feels like an ending. But we'll see.
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 8-Nov-2002 9:01:40 PM by Tasyfa |
| Author's Note
I thank you all for following me to a pretty dismal place, and for supporting me in my choice to write something this incredibly sad. It's funny, b/c in some ways this piece was easy to write; bits of it had been haunting me for so long that it flowed naturally when I finally began typing. But it makes my heart ache too. 
I've decided, or more precisely the story has decided for me, that we're not quite done yet. There will be a total of seven vignettes, glimpses into Max and Liz's lives, taking place over time. I'll mention now that updates on this series won't be quick, b/c I have other things that I'm working on, as I think many of you know. Also b/c the remaining six vignettes will remain true to the feeling of this one (minus the brutal "Good-bye"!), and it will take time to craft each, and I will need time in between each.
Some of you may choose not to continue this journey, and that's up to you. It won't suddenly become an easy read, I can tell you that. I think it may best be exemplified by words from one of my favourite movies, The Last Unicorn: "There are no happy endings, because nothing ever ends." This goodbye of Max's--it is not the end.
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 8-Nov-2002 9:30:54 PM by Tasyfa |
Alien614 Yes, I'll post them all on this thread. I've changed the title line to say 1/7 now.
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 9-Nov-2002 12:28:39 PM by Tasyfa |
| LTFan I think that's a pretty common reaction to this, the love/hate thing. I get those shake Max urges too, as you well know!!
Thanks, everyone, for being excited to see more even though it will continue to have that edge of sorrow woven throughout. Smooches to all! hugs, Tas |
| posted on 9-Nov-2002 3:58:54 PM by Tasyfa |
quote: I knew I forgot to address something--sorry, SciFiNut111! This isn't Future Max. It's Present Max, who has basically reset time--turned the clock back to pre-shooting on the world, himself included, without losing his memories of what had occurred the first time those years played out. I don't know if you watch Buffy or Angel, but it's a similar idea to the first crossover ep, where Angel becomes human and they have a perfect day, which he petitions TPTB to take back b/c he can't fight evil as a human. In that ep, once the clock turned 9:00 a.m. (I think!) it became 9:00 a.m., 24 hours earlier, and Angel--now knowing how to kill the demon that made him human--kills it the moment it appears, before it has a chance to bleed on him. Here, the clock was set back nearly three years, not just one day. The time was erased as far as the world was concerned; only Max's memories say anything different.
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 12-Nov-2002 7:21:23 AM by Tasyfa |
| AJK001 A little hope is a good thing.
hugs, Tas Title: Opacity (Part 2 in the series The Bitter Dregs) Author: Tasyfa Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell are the property of Twentieth Century Fox Television and Regency Productions. All original characters and concepts are the property of the author. No profit has been made from the distribution of this work of fiction. Category: Liz POV Rating: PG Dedication: For RosDeidre. You know why.;) Summary: This is the second installment of The Bitter Dregs, a series of vignettes following Max and Liz through the years after Max enacts the false spoilers about the series finale. Each will be its own self-contained little world as well as part of a larger picture. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* I can't stop shivering as I trudge across the quad and down the street to the coffee shop. It's my second Massachusetts winter, but this icy wind and snow seems to have leached all the desert heat out of my body. Plus there's the fact that I lost my damn scarf again. It must have fallen out of my coat in one of my classes. Noise and light spill onto the sidewalk from the shop windows, and then warm air does too as I pull open the door, wrestling to close it behind me. I stand there in the doorway for a moment with my eyes closed, savoring the warmth, before I scan the crowd for my friends. I spot Jeremy's fair hair and make my way over to his table. I'm almost there when I realize he's alone. "Where's everyone else? I can't be that late." I start peeling off layers of winter protection while I speak, gloves and hat and extra sweater joining my coat in a pile on the chair. He laughs. "No, you just missed them, actually. Sue came by; she found out that Roland's giving us a pop quiz tomorrow." "Nothing like being cozy with the TA," I smile. "So, how come you're still here?" "Well, someone had to wait and tell you! I volunteered. Do you want to rush right back out and study now?" he teases me. I think about it for a minute, but I'm beginning to warm up now and truthfully, I'm comfortable that I can ace the quiz without even looking at my notes tonight, so I shake my head. "Nope. I don't want to leave until I'm not in danger of becoming a Popsicle anymore." Jeremy laughs again and stands. "I'll get the first round. It's kind of late for heavy doses of caffeine, do you want hot chocolate instead?" He's smiling as he poses the question. Sunny smile; sunny hair. Summer sky eyes, looking at me with more than friendly interest. My vision blurs and his features sharpen, his coloration darkening and warming. "Large hot chocolate, skim, with whip?' "No!" I blurt out, startling him. He blinks in surprise and offers, "Okay, how about herbal tea?" 'I know how you take your coffee too, and what kind of herbal teas Maria makes you drink.' "No." My denial sounds less panicked this time. "Decaf, please, Jeremy. With one and a half sugars and double milk." "Milk?" His lip curls in distaste. "You're missing out, Liz, if you don't experience cream in your coffee. Milk is so…thin. It's almost not worth using anything at all, rather than adding milk." "Milk, please," I say firmly. He shrugs and goes to get our drinks. I place my head in my hands, leaning on the table. Is Max Evans ever going to stop haunting me? I go along with my life like a normal, whole person until something small stomps on me hard and it all goes spinning out into memory and unending questions. Heartache. Rationality insists that we had one date, so how could I feel as though part of my soul were missing? But I do. I do. I've talked to my Grandma Claudia many times about Max since that night, and her wisdom is always the same: to follow my heart. She says that soul mates have complicated relationships, so if it had been easy then I should be worried. She also says that Max will eventually learn to follow his heart too, because it clearly leads to me. All of which is comforting, but how long am I supposed to wait? How long can I wait? Whimsically I think that Max is like the milk I put in my coffee. Almost not there, but impossible to do without. And I really don't want cream—like Jeremy. I know he'd like to move things forward, but I am not ready to do that, with anyone. I spent three years in a serious relationship in high school with a wonderful guy, and then I was hit by a bolt of lightning in Max. I'm not sure what the hell I want anymore, and that's frightening for someone who's always lived her life according to the grand plan. "Here you go." Jeremy comes back with my properly doctored decaf and sits. We make small talk but my mind is already drifting back to the enigmatic dark-haired man with the amazingly warm eyes who inhabits my dreams. What is it that's so terrible he couldn't just tell me? In the year and a half that I've been analyzing his words and actions, I've come to realize that Max's ultimate concern is for my safety. More than me achieving my dreams, his utter refusal to acknowledge the possibility of a relationship between us is about keeping me safe, somehow. I don't know why I'm so positive about that, but I am. And I still don't understand. I know—I know he would never hurt me. That's not who he is. I know that in my bones. I saw him last Christmas, at the kids' holiday pageant with Michael and his sister. Isabel looked annoyed at how the new pageant director did things. When the kids came out, Max smiled. Maria says it's something he doesn't do very often. She watches him at school for me. Discreetly, or so I hope. I finally made her and Alex promise that they would not confront Max. I love them dearly for trying to look out for me, but they don't get it. Max has to come to me, if anything's ever going to happen between us. I can't force him to accept my feelings, or his. He needs to fight his own demons first. What kills me is that I don't know if he will, or that he'll win even if he does. And I don't know how long I can stay in limbo, waiting for my life to begin, either. While I'm still at school I can put it all off, but what happens once I graduate? That's two years plus away yet, but time slips past so fast these days it may as well be tomorrow. What do I do then? "You're somewhere else tonight, Liz." Jeremy's voice breaks into my thoughts. I smile self-consciously. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. I guess I can't keep my mind off the pop quiz after all." When did I get to be such a good liar? I used to suck at it. He laughs, oblivious to my inner turmoil. "Why don't you head back and crack the books open, then? I could use the refresher time, too." I nod. "Yeah. Thanks for the coffee, Jer. I'll catch you next time." "Whatever. I'm not such a starving student that I can't afford a cup of coffee for a friend." He's so warm, the way he's speaking and looking at me, and suddenly I am so cold. The heat is blasting in the café and I've already got my sweater back on and hot liquid inside me, but none of that matters. Not when the ice is on the inside. |
| posted on 12-Nov-2002 7:29:44 PM by Tasyfa |
| Carol I'm severly flattered that you picked up on one of the very things I'm trying to do here, with the spareness and just the emotion. Thank you so much!
And smooches to everyone else too.
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 17-Nov-2002 1:38:15 PM by Tasyfa |
| Title: Permutation (Part 3 in the series The Bitter Dregs)
Author: Tasyfa Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell are the property of Twentieth Century Fox Television and Regency Productions. All original characters and concepts are the property of the author. No profit has been made from the distribution of this work of fiction. Category: Max POV Rating: PG Dedication: For RosDeidre. You know why.;) Summary: This is the third installment of The Bitter Dregs, a series of vignettes following Max and Liz through the years after Max enacts the false spoilers about the series finale. Each will be its own self-contained little world as well as part of a larger picture. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* It's heading for six o'clock and soon one of the Crashdown waitresses will arrive with whatever the daily special is. It's become a standing order in the last month, since I took over the management of the UFO Center from Milton. Not exactly what I'd pictured doing with my life, but it pays pretty well and it actually gives me a fair amount of information control. Over the years—and with considerable persuasion on my part—Milton has gradually upgraded the computer and other systems, and it's reasonably current now. Nothing like the state of the art facilities that Brody built in my first life, but then again, there wasn't any signal on May 14, 2000 for him to get all curious about. A soft knock echoes hollowly on the metal door and I call out, "Come in." I just need to put this file away and I can stop ignoring the rumbles in my stomach. "Hi, Max." I know that voice. Surprised, I let go of the filing cabinet drawer and it slams shut on my finger. "Ow." The expression of pain is involuntary as I straighten and turn to face her. Her hair's swept back into a high ponytail and she's wearing jeans and a Harvard T-shirt. "Liz, hi. What are you doing here?" "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. Is your hand okay?" "Yeah, it's fine. Stings a little but it'll go away. How are you? When did you get into town? Your dad didn't say anything." Words flow out of my mouth automatically while I stand here, drinking her in. She doesn't look any older than when we graduated high school, and she's still partial to super-shiny lipgloss and not much else for make-up. "You keeping tabs on me, Evans?" Liz teases, her face lighting with a grin. I am, naturally, but she doesn't need to know that. "Your father practically makes public announcements whenever he expects you home. He and your mom are really proud of you." So am I. "Yeah, they can get pretty embarrassing." Her cheeks flush some but her eyes sparkle and I know that she enjoys her parents' pride. I even know the feeling firsthand, since mine are reasonably pleased with me, too. "So, um, I heard you graduated with honors, Max. In English?" "Uh-huh. What am I doing here, then, right?" I smile at her to take the sting out of the words, because I know she wants to ask me that. Everyone else does. "It did cross my mind," Liz admits. "Milton decided to retire and asked if I wanted to take over." I shrug. "Pay's all right and the hours aren't too heavy so I have lots of time to work on some side projects, indulge my passion." Now I'm the one flushing. I look into those dark eyes and suddenly I'm sixteen again—the first time, when the world was full of possibility because she was willing to take the chance. Then it crashes in that I lost all control of my alien side and said and did things out of both our worst nightmares, hurting her in ways I hadn't imagined could exist. I had to die to regain myself, and the circumstances of my resurrection were sufficiently outlandish in even my experience to make me keenly aware that I'd been given my one chance. Too late for my Liz, and so we begin again. Without all her pain, or so I hope. I do see some shadows now, although her voice is light and playful when she tilts her head and inquires, "What's your passion, Max?" Besides you? "Uh, writing, actually." I can feel my cheeks burn when I admit it, but she doesn't scoff at me like most would. "Really? Are you looking to get published?" Genuine interest prompts her questions and it warms me. "Yeah, I…I've already got some work published. You wouldn't know it." I head off any hint of a suggestion that she read my stuff. That would be far too embarrassing. "Oh. Obscure academia probably, given your major," she smiles. I kind of laugh and don't correct her. Liz Parker is a classics kind of girl—The Grapes of Wrath, Catcher in the Rye and whatnot. Not a genre reader. So I'm not about to tell her that my second trade paperback comes out in a couple more months. "What's it like to see your name in print? I bet it feels good." "Sure." I agree with her even though the thrill is a little different for me. The whole point in having a nom de plume is keeping your anonymity. Except for my family—including Michael—the only people who know I'm me and not my pen name are the ones who have to know. My publisher, editor, agent. You know, the ones that work with me and make sure I get paid and not someone who might conveniently share the alias I've chosen, if such a person exists. "What about you? You've got your bio degree; what are you looking to do now?" I really do want to know. Okay, and I want to know if she's going to be in Roswell for a while or not. Because if she is, my avoidance act is going to need some polishing. Up till now, her father's advance warnings have served ample notice for me to make myself scarce around the Crashdown. And they are warnings. I don't know if Liz said something about what happened between us the night before she left for school, or if he's drawn his own conclusions based solely on observation and instinct. That parental instinct that just knows when someone is a potential threat to your child. 'Tell me you're not dangerous, Max. Tell me that being with you doesn't put my little girl's life in jeopardy.' There haven't been any verbal exchanges this time around, but my answer is still the same: I can't give those assurances. Being with me would put Liz at risk. So her father and I dance around each other, maintaining a wary friendship. He appreciates my loyalty as a customer but when Liz is expected home, we both know it's better if I'm somewhere else. "Well, I'm going to stay home for a couple of weeks, and then I'm off to Florida." There's this weird expectancy in her eyes and I don't quite get it. "You have an aunt there, right? Going to visit her?" Like I'd forget she has an aunt in Florida after spending an entire summer hanging on the slightest word from the Sunshine State that Maria was allowed to tell me. "Um, yeah, my Aunt Emma. But I'm not going for a visit—I'm moving in with her. At least for a little while, until I can save some money from my job in the marine biology department at the University of Florida. Then I'll find an apartment or something." She's leaving. Liz is leaving Roswell, for good, and I think I understand the vibes she's sending me now. It's getting harder to breathe. "Wait, marine biology? I thought you took molecular bio." I latch onto the part of her announcement that I can manage to talk about. A bashful smile appears. "I'd planned to, yeah. But you know how once you get past the generic courses in first year, you get a better feel for what kind of specialization is out there. I discovered that I really like the water aspect of the marine side of things." "Cool." I will not say anything about being a Pisces. Instead, I need to address the lingering hope in her gaze. The faint thread I unintentionally fostered when I meant to destroy it. Managed to screw that up too. "So how was the whole Harvard experience, anyway? Meet anyone special? I hear they appreciate intelligent women there." I try to sound flippant, like I'm not dangling waiting for an answer. Not sure I make it because she colors a little. "I guess so. No one in particular stands out. What about you, are you seeing anyone?" Liz isn't much better at hiding it than I am. Damn. I shrug. "I'm still living with Michael." Maybe she'll draw the same conclusion the rest of the world seems to; Lord knows it's easier than explaining why I don't date. At least it gives Michael an easy in and an easy out with women. He tells them he's wavering, they're only too happy to help him explore the possibilities, and they're not overly upset when he tells them he's staying with me. But Liz knows better, although her eyebrows do raise at the implication. "How's Isabel? I heard she got married." Smart; she sidesteps the whole thing. "Yeah, her first anniversary is next month. She emails Michael and I nearly daily with ideas for possible gifts, all of which are painfully elegant and stylish. Michael counters with some truly rude suggestions and links to Web sites I really didn't want to know were out there," I laugh. Their ongoing battles are one of the highlights of my days right now. Liz laughs with me. "It sounds hilarious. So, you plan on bunking with Michael forever?" Letting me know that she knows I'm not and never will be involved with him. Also asking if there's a chance, a place for her somewhere in my life. There can't be. I allow myself to be trapped in her gaze, projecting as much sincerity and regret as I can without letting her see how this is breaking me. "Until and unless Michael finds someone special he wants to settle down with, yes, I do." Tears gather in those earthy depths and I want to close my eyes but I can't. I can't because I need to bear witness to her pain, and to try to find some way to atone for being its cause. It seems that nothing I do leads anywhere else. "Liz," I start hesitantly. I'm not quite sure of what to say but the choice is taken from me when she shakes her head vigorously. "No. It's okay, Max. You told me before, I have to live my life. I just…have to go live it." She nods sharply with each word and I can almost see her mind turning forward, looking ahead to the future and whatever awaits her there. Without me. Liz sniffles once then passes me a crumpled brown paper bag. With some surprise, I realize it's my dinner. "Good thing the special's cold today," I say as I put the bag on my desk. I reach for my wallet and she shakes her head again. "It's on the house, Max. It wasn't all supposed to be cold." One corner of her mouth lifts in a self-deprecating smile as she passes me the Styrofoam coffee cup that goes with the bag. "You're sure? Okay, thanks." I take my hand out of my pocket, and we stand there for a few minutes. There doesn't seem to be anything left to say. I don't know if I could talk much through the pain in my chest anyway. Saying goodbye to her four years ago nearly killed me. I have no idea how I'm making it through this time. At least then she was still officially a Roswell resident. Now Liz will move on with her life, the way I thought she would after high school—all the ways I thought she would. "Well, I'll see you," she says finally, clearly as baffled about words as I am for this moment. "Right. Good luck in Florida." "Yeah. You too, with the publishing." She blinks slowly, as if to release me from the spell of her eyes, and turns to go. I'm silently screaming in pain as she walks away, and I can't handle it. I did it once and I am just not strong enough to do it again. The words tumble out of my mouth before I'm aware that my lips are moving. "Liz, wait." She comes around, looking intently at me as I approach. The expectancy is gone, replaced by wariness. "What, Max?" "Do you have an email address? Maybe we could keep in touch, toss each other a few lines every now and again." She smiles and takes the pen and paper from my outstretched hand. I don't even know when I picked them up but now she's scribbling and then it's my turn and we both have little slips of paper with contact information. Lifelines. I see the way she looks at me and I know that she understands all the motives behind the request. That my feelings haven't faded, nor my unwillingness to act on them, nor my honest wish for her happiness. When she leaves, paper in hand, I sit down heavily in the nearest chair, the wood creaking in protest at the abrupt weight, and I breathe a sigh of relief because somehow, this time I did the right thing. Our relationship isn't going to be the intense love affair it was the first time, but maybe this can be even better: we can be friends. Separated by several thousand miles of geography and light years' worth of other obstacles, Liz Parker and I can still be just friends. Because in her eyes at the last rested awareness of the truth: for us, there is no other possible path. [ edited 1time(s), last at 6-Feb-2003 2:41:30 PM ] |
| posted on 17-Nov-2002 5:11:59 PM by Tasyfa |
quote: That's exactly it: he's too afraid that he will repeat his mistakes, and it's strangling him. And at the same time, he can't quite let go, even though he's trying because he honestly believes that Liz is better off without him, no matter what. Old Enough I'm guessing the above behaviour is why you think Max is still a jerk, b/c he's trying to control it all still? I can see that. He IS missing the big picture here, but don't we all sometimes?
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 18-Nov-2002 11:59:19 AM by Tasyfa |
| Tess, Nasedo, Nicholas, Khivar, Pierce and the FBI--all these threats still exist. There wasn't a shooting to set in motion Max's discovery, but none of them have simply disappeared. Just because they haven't found Max yet doesn't mean they never will, at least in his mind. The first time around, Max, Michael and Isabel had a pact not to tell anyone and that's still in force. When Max healed Liz's gunshot wound in the first life, he eventually stopped fighting his feelings, as we know. Given that he knows how well that turned out, his only option is to never stop fighting, or so he believes.
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 19-Nov-2002 10:58:14 PM by Tasyfa |
quote: Max is a slow learner LOL. You're right, he's completely overcompensating for his mistakes the first time around--bending so far the other direction that he's doing more harm than good, at least so far. quote: Which is what I love about those fics too, and also about cookieman1234's Finding Yourself. Max and Liz are equals in all of those, as opposed to Max trying to run the show by himself. But like you said, that equality is missing here, b/c Max isn't allowing it to happen. And whether we think they're good or not, Max does have his reasons for that. We'll learn more about those as we go along.
For everyone who's asked if there's light at the end of the tunnel LOL! I'm not giving you a straight answer. I will say a) if it were completely hopeless, I would not have continued it beyond the first vignette; b) we're not even halfway yet, given that there are seven vignettes in total; and c) it's always darkest before the dawn. But I did say right at the beginning that that edge of melancholy would be a constant companion, and I meant it. Hope y'all stick it out with me!
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 1-Dec-2002 3:44:05 PM by Tasyfa |
| See my little note a couple posts above, about lights and tunnels and all that.
hugs, Tas Title: Unveiled (Part 4 in the series The Bitter Dregs) Author: Tasyfa Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell are the property of Twentieth Century Fox Television and Regency Productions. All original characters and concepts are the property of the author. No profit has been made from the distribution of this work of fiction. Category: Liz POV Rating: PG Dedication: For RosDeidre. You know why.;) Summary: This is the fourth installment of The Bitter Dregs, a series of vignettes following Max and Liz through the years after Max enacts the false spoilers about the series finale. Each will be its own self-contained little world as well as part of a larger picture. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~~ Winter 2011 ~~ The line hasn't budged, although this thing was supposed to start like twenty minutes ago. I crane my neck, trying to see what the holdup might be. One of those numerous occasions when I wish I were just a little taller. I give up peering through the crowd as being a lost cause and focus instead on the paperback in my hands. There's something infinitely exciting and soothing both about holding a brand new book. The smooth lines that I'm about to distort because even better than a shiny cover is one worn from the pleasure of reading. Interesting theme, Unveiled. How much do you want to bet at least one of these stories has something saccharinely bridal involved? I flip to the last of the four novellas in the collection. If I'm going to be stuck in line, I may as well enjoy it! His mouth followed the trail laid out by his fingers, painting her skin with fire. Silk all around her. The cool silken slide of the netting supporting her, holding her open for the silk of his touch and his tongue. Surrounded; stripped bare and undone. Surrendered. "Dear, the line is moving." "Huh?" The kind voice of the middle-aged woman standing behind me rouses me back into the real world. "Oh, sorry. I wasn't paying attention." She laughs as I move up. "I'm not surprised. From the looks of it, you're into the Winters novella and it's even steamier than her usual stuff." I raise my eyebrows. "Really? I'm not sure that's possible!" "I didn't think so either, dear, but it certainly is!" She smacks her lips and we both giggle like schoolgirls. "It's too bad she's not here." "What? I thought all four authors were advertised as attending. I really wanted to meet her." Disappointing news. "Family crisis, I think they said. And the mysterious Ms. Winters is a mystery still. You know, I've wondered before if they don't plan it this way, to keep that edge of the unknown. I can't recall any scheduled appearance where she's actually attended, and I've never seen a photograph either." "Maybe she's shy. Or hideously unattractive." I shrug. "Hey, there's Karen!" Karen Marie Moning's vivid red curls are visible now as we get closer to the front. I can see the empty fourth chair, but the way things are arranged, there's no way a fourth person could have comfortably sat at the table without looking undignified and squished. Apparently my friendly queue companion is correct—the absence was planned. Oh, well, I still get to meet my second favorite romance author. "Her hair is distinctive, isn't it? Although you have some lovely auburn streaks of your own," the lady smiles. "Thanks." I pat the neat chin-length bob. It still feels odd but I do like the look. It seems more professional somehow. "Oh, my. Look at the gorgeous specimen she's brought with her," she gasps. I peer closer at the dark-haired man laughing beside the redhead and my eyes pop open wide when I recognize him. "I'm going to kill him. He didn't tell me he was coming to Florida! He's supposed to be baking in the desert." I am fuming now. "You know him?" I blush a bit. "Yeah, we've been friends since—college. His name is Max." I always want to say high school, but Max and I didn't really start to be friends until I moved here after graduating from Harvard, nearly five years ago. It's hard to remember what it was like not to have him be such a part of my life. "Just friends?" She slants this sideways glance at me and I laugh. "Yeah. Good friends. Max is—well." I don't finish the sentence and my companion makes the same erroneous leap about his sexuality as everyone else. "Aren't the beautiful ones always?" she sighs. I just smile, and our conversation grinds to a halt as we approach the front of the line. Max is smiling and greeting people, naming off the three authors since none of them looks exactly like their inside cover photos. I only recognized Karen because of her hair—the other two are brunettes. And then I'm next. "Evans, what're you doing in my corner of the world?" He hides it fast but I see the complete shock that flits over his face. It almost makes up for not knowing ahead of time that I'd be seeing him. "Parker!" Max enfolds me in a quick hug. "What are you doing in Orlando? Last I checked, Tampa was home. And you cut your hair!" "We women like to do that sometimes." "It looks great. It's just that you've had long hair ever since I've known you." Nice recovery on his part. Max's eyes flicker to the crowd of people standing single file behind me. "Are you here long? Can you stick around until I'm done, and we can catch up?" He gives me that half smile while he scratches behind his ear, and it makes him look like a little kid. I have to smile back. "Of course. I'll be somewhere in the store." I squeeze his hand and move past him, grinning when he gets another surprise as the lady behind me greets him by name. Max gives me this look as if to ask what I said, and I assume an angelic expression. He rolls his eyes and then I'm standing in front of Karen and handing her my book to sign. "What's your name?" she asks with a polite smile, her pen poised. "Liz," I tell her and there's a hint of recognition in her face as she autographs the title page. "How do you know Max, Liz?" "From school." There's a generic answer that works. I have known him peripherally since the third grade, after all. "How about you?" "We share an agent." Her smile is warmer and more personal now. "Um, that's good. Thanks." I take the book back. That an agent would represent both paranormal romance and science fiction doesn't really surprise me; they're not that far apart in genre. But I'm dying to ask her why Max is here—if it's because of her. I don't. I'll make him tell me later. I start to move to the next author and Karen grabs my hand. Concern shadows her voice. "Does he know?" "Not yet. I haven't known very long myself." She nods slowly, clearly choosing her words with great care. "Be gentle, but hold firm to your decisions, okay? You deserve this." Left unspoken is, 'And you won't get it from Max,' but I understand its inclusion. Exactly how well does she know him? Karen cuts me off before I can say anything about her startling pronouncement, smiling again. "We're holding up the line, Liz. It was nice to meet you." "You, too," I say automatically and shift on down the table. In a daze, I hand the book to each of the other authors, repeating my name and watching the page fill with different scrawls. Finally I'm out of the book signing and I find an armchair in the bookstore, sinking into it to wait for Max. My mind is whirling with far too many questions and in an effort to calm the mad storm, I crack the book open to where I left off and curl one foot under me while I read. I have no idea how much time has passed when Max crouches beside my chair, lightly shaking me. I made it through a novella and a half before dozing off, but I'm a fast reader so that's not much of a reference. "Hey there. Sorry I took so long, but it doesn't seem to have bothered you any," he teases. Surreptitiously I wipe my mouth, relieved to find nothing embarrassing, then yawn and stretch my legs. "What time is it?" "Past two, believe it or not. I'm starving. Wanna go get a late lunch? The hotel I'm at has a good restaurant," he cajoles. "Sure. Is it far?" "Ten minute cab ride maybe, why?" "Never mind, I'm going to use the bathroom before we go. Here, hold my things." I thrust my jacket, purse and book at him and Max laughs but takes them. Along with my seat when I get up. "I'll wait here." An hour later we're sitting in the hotel restaurant, having just ordered coffee from the seriously perky waitress after eating. It's a nice place, very open with armless upholstered chairs and round tables. Cozy. Max has been sidestepping my questions throughout, instead giving me all the details about Christmas at the beach with his family, the kind you somehow never get around to filling in with an e-mail. He lights up, telling me that his mother has finally figured out the digital camera he and Isabel gave her for Christmas, and describing one of her photos that's currently sitting in my inbox, of Max and Michael tossing Isabel into the water. He's so animated and it's wonderful to watch, even if it is marked with a certain bittersweetness because I know it won't last past what I need to tell him. Finally, however, my patience runs thin. "Okay, Max, time's up. What are you doing in Orlando?" "May I see your book for a second?" "Sure." I dig it out and hand it over. Why he wants to look at it now, I have no idea. My mouth hangs open as Max pulls a pen from his pocket and scribbles something below the authors' autographs. He's defacing my property! I'm too shocked to even protest, not that it would do any good since he's finished writing and gives it back with a wary smile. I look at what he's written. For Liz Parker, Love from Lizzie Winters. "It might even be worth something someday. To the best of my recollection it's the only one I've ever signed." Max breaks the silence with an attempt at a joke. I remember the photoless caption at the back of her last book. 'Of herself, the author says only that she's a brunette with hazel eyes. Everything else is subject to change.' And Max is, indeed, a brunette with hazel eyes, although definitely not a she. I lean forward and speak in a furious whisper. "You're Lizzie Winters? You?" "Yeah. Are you mad?" I'm not sure. I think I'm more hurt than angry. I managed to get him to admit a couple of years ago that he wrote popular fiction under a pen name, but he let me go on assuming it was science fiction until I caught him today. Would he ever have said anything otherwise? Doesn't he realize by now that he can trust me? I speak slowly so that I can consider my words before they cross my lips. "I'm a little upset that you didn't seem to feel that I would be able to keep your secret. I wouldn't tell anyone, Max." He's distressed. "I know you wouldn't say anything, Liz. It wasn't that at all. I just…it's kind of embarrassing is all." He looks away, flushing, but it suddenly makes sense that he would be embarrassed. Lizzie is my favorite romance author because her books get me totally hot, and now I know why they resonate that little bit more than anyone else's work. The dark-haired heroine that I always assumed represented the author is, in fact, me. My own face grows warmer when I recall some of the more—interesting—situations said heroines found themselves in. Apparently Max has quite an imagination in certain areas. Too bad I'll never get to find out firsthand. "It's okay, Max, really. I understand," I reassure him. Max glances at me and I can see that he's aware that I know the underlying reasons. Neither of us mention it—neither of us ever do—but he gives me a brief, strained smile. I move the conversation along. "So how come you're here with the book signing tour if you're still anonymous? Isn't that a ridiculous expense for the publisher?" He sighs. "This is my last stop, although the others have a bunch more engagements. My publisher was toying with outing me, for the marketing possibilities around a guy writing romance novels. My agent finally convinced them to stick to the spirit as well as the letter of my contract, which stipulates no release of any personal information unless I give written permission for it, but of course there's some loophole and they wanted to take advantage of it. It was a stinker to push through with my first book, but Daphne sold them on the whole mysterious act and made it happen. Anyway, I came along on the tour until things were settled and now that they are, I can go back home." "Daphne, she's the agent you share with Karen?" I hazard a guess. "Right. Did she say something to you?" Max looks kind of curious and kind of apprehensive. I'm tempted to let him stew but I can't do it. "I asked how she knew you, and that's what she said." He nods. "We met at an industry party a couple of years ago. Daphne'd already told Karen who I was, so we sort of spent the night very discreetly trashing the rest of the guest list. It was fun." He smiles at the memory. "So are you—friends?" I make it clear that's not what I'm really asking. "We haven't dated, if that's what you want to know, Liz. She's a good friend and sometime sounding board. It's nice to have someone to talk to who does the same thing as you do for a living." "That's a good thing to have, yeah." I'm genuinely sorry that they're not a couple, because she seems to know him well and care about him, but I'm studiously ignoring the little part of me that's jumping in glee. I can't have it both ways, and neither can Max. "How is Isabel? It sounds like you all had fun at Christmas, but I know you were worried." I'm stalling and I know it, but I really do want to know. Max's mouth twists a little. "She's probably finished moving into the apartment as we speak, and putting all of my stuff into neatly labeled boxes. I'll be on the couch for a while." "I'm so sorry. She left James?" He nods. "You and I have discussed it before; I knew it was coming. I knew it wouldn't last before they got married, but there's no telling Isabel anything. They didn't even share a bedroom. What kind of marriage is that?" No kind, at least according to both of our belief systems. I'm not ready to follow that thought yet, though. "If you're going to be on the couch, how come she's boxing all your things? Won't that make it unnecessarily difficult for you?" "That's the exciting part." He sparkles and I can't help smiling. "I'm buying a house!" "Wow, that is exciting! It's going to be just you then, no Michael anymore? Or Michael and Isabel, I guess now." "Just me. It'll be weird at first, I know. But it's only a two bedroom, and I want to turn the second bedroom into my office. Seeing as I work at home and all, full time now that Michael's taken over the UFO Center. Even though I am still his boss, since Milton left it to me." He winks and I realize that while it may lean towards embarrassing, he's glad that I know his secret identity. That sounds so juvenile, secret identity! Max's nom de plume, then. That's more elegant-sounding. But the idea of Max all alone in his house worries me, especially with him working there too. It would be far too easy for him to simply cocoon in there. Then inspiration strikes and I grin at him. "Do you know what my aunt does for a living?" Max looks at me like I'm crazy, tossing that into the conversation all willy-nilly. "She's a breeder of some kind, isn't she?" I'm impressed he remembers that much. "Yeah, she raises purebred Scottish Fold cats." He sees where I'm going with this. "Liz…" "Max, you're going to be alone for the first time in your life, when you've practically been joined at the hip with Michael and your sister for twenty-seven years. It's going to get lonely. I got lonely, and I was used to spending all kinds of time by myself. A cat isn't that much trouble to take care of, and you have plenty of people who can cat-sit should your publisher drag you on another book tour." Halfway through my spiel his head tilts to one side and a teeny smile appears. "Okay." "Just like that, okay? You're not going to argue with me?" To say that I'm surprised would be an understatement. Max grins. "I know that tone of voice. All those years with my sister have taught me that when a woman speaks to you like that, it's best to nod and go along with it unless you want to get hurt." I'm laughing now. "Well, good! I'll have to congratulate Isabel on her training program. Anyway, you let me know when you're moving in, and I'll bring you a kitten from Aunt Emma's next litter." "Will do. So how are things with you? How's Dan?" He turns the tables. "Good, he's good. He—I actually have some news on that front." God, this is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done, I just know it. Max looks at me in alarm. "You didn't break up, did you? I like Dan!" "No, no. He's why I'm in Orlando right now, in fact." I should just spit it out, but I can't; I know it's going to emerge all piecemeal. I'm such a coward. He makes a face then smiles, shaking his head. "You went to Disney World for Valentine's, didn't you?" "Good guess," I smile back. Takes a romantic to know one. "Max, have you ever—not a princess obviously, but has anyone ever made you feel like a king?" It surprises me when his expression darkens in what looks like anger for a moment before he answers, rather cryptically, "Not the way you mean, no." As is often the case when Max says something on the weird side, I hear the implied, 'Not in this life.' Which I've learned means that there's more than what he's saying, but I've also learned it means not to push. So I nod, and try to complete my thought. "Well, we went through Cinderella's castle. Have you ever been in there? It's neat. Anyway, Dan waited until we had a modicum of privacy, and, uh—" I don't get to finish, which is somewhat of a blessing because I didn't know how I was going to say the words. Max reaches for my hand in a burst of intuition and moves the sleeve of my cardigan out of the way, and I tense in unhappy anticipation. When the diamante sparkle hits his eyes, there is a flash of pain like I have never seen. I'm selfishly glad he's staring at my ring, not at me, because I don't think I could survive that head-on collision. It only lasts a second then it's gone, rigidly controlled and locked away like everything else. Except it's not as complete an exorcism as usual. There are still demons visible when he looks up. "And you said yes? This is what you want, what makes you happy?" I search his gaze and he's open enough to show me what I need to see. We both know he's in love with me, and we both know that if I ever allowed myself to jump off that particular bridge, I would be head over heels just like that. But Max doesn't want me in the turbulent water with him—he wants me safe on the bridge, and that hasn't changed. If I say no, he'll comfort me, but he won't claim me. There are secrets still holding him back. I waited all through university then began to move forward with my life, and if he wants to stay in place yet, that's his right. But it's not a course of action I can take, and when I answer, in spite of all that's left unspoken between Max and I, I am telling the truth. "I love him, Max. He makes me happy." It's not the shattering experience that I instinctively know loving Max would be. Nor is it the eager puppy love Kyle and I shared in high school. It's mature and caring and real, and it's what I need. I can see myself making a good life with Dan, growing old, having children. All those things that have puttered in the back of my mind since my own childhood—I want them. I want them and just like Karen didn't say, I will not find them with Max Evans. Max nods, so very slowly, and I watch those painstakingly built walls go back up. I hate hurting him like this. Maria is going to ream me out when I say that, telling me that Max had his chance and didn't take it, but I know better. Those cold years in Boston, I wondered why he couldn't just tell me whatever it was and get it over with. Now I know him better. I know it wasn't a decision he made lightly, and that he never intended to hurt me. I know that sometimes it's a tremendous struggle for him to not reach out to me for more. And because I do know Max so well, and trust him so much, I've come to accept that regardless of what I think, his reasons for keeping apart are valid, at least in his own mind—which is the only place that matters. I treasure his friendship too much to tread where I'm not wanted. Our bubbly young waitress chooses that moment to ask if we want refills, when we're staring intently at each other, my beringed hand clasped in his. Of course she jumps to the wrong conclusion. How could she not? "Oh my God, congratulations! Wow, an engagement here, on my shift!" she enthuses. "It's not—we're not—" Max stammers, dropping my hand immediately. "We're just friends," I blurt out. His forehead creases and I suddenly realize that he's perilously close to losing it. "Max…" "Listen, Liz, I've gotta go." He stands, so fast he nearly knocks over the chair, and drops some cash on the table. I rise in some confusion as he comes over to me, thinking maybe I can help somehow. Then Max does something he's never done before. He cups my face with both hands, his thumbs caressing my cheekbones, and for an endless moment I think he's going to break the barrier and really kiss me. But his lips brush tenderly over my forehead, and then he leans our heads together. Tears wait there to be shed, swimming in his eyes and it's choking me, knowing he's going to go up to his hotel room and let them fall. "You let me know when and where and what I can do to help, and I'll be there, Parker." His voice is hoarse then he's gone. I sink back into my chair, aching. It went better than I had expected, but it hurt more, too. I wave dispiritedly at the girl to pour me another cup of coffee and pick up the money. Max will have left more than enough to cover the whole lunch, even though he's only supposed to pay for his half. "You sure he's not the one, honey?" She raises one eyebrow. I laugh a little at her forthrightness. I remember being that young and naïve. It wasn't even that long ago, but it feels like forever. For the first time, the lie ripples from my tongue, too easily. Sometimes I wonder if I'm starting to believe it myself, because it seems so much more likely than his utter faithfulness to a dream. "It's not possible. He's gay." "Ah," she clucks sympathetically and pats my shortened hair. "And you wish he weren't, eh?" I smile wanly at her and pick up my coffee, cradling the warm cup with both hands while I sit lost in thought. I wish I knew the answer to either question. |
| posted on 2-Dec-2002 5:51:37 PM by Tasyfa |
| LTFan Aw, I love all the little depressed smilies! They're too cute. Rant away, my dear.
Thanks for hanging in there, everyone. Remember, there are three more installments.
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 3-Dec-2002 7:30:45 PM by Tasyfa |
| Scottie LOL I forgot to mention that! KMM is my favourite romance author, and she really does have gorgeous red, curly hair, so I plunked her in the story. She has a novella in a quad-book called Tapestry, which idea of a themed collection inspired the Unveiled scheme in vignette 4.
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 3-Jan-2003 12:01:17 AM by Tasyfa |
| Oh, my dear, 2crzy4roswell! Ouch, you picked a hard one for your New Year's fic. I really should amend that little note at the beginning of the fic--that's for when it was going to be just the one part. Not that the frustration and sorrow has lessened, exactly, now that it's a seven-parter but we are going somewhere! I can't really say anything about where that is except that it's not completely hopeless. If it were, I never would have continued past the first vignette. But if it affects you that strongly, perhaps you should wait and read it all at once when it's finished? Thank you for leaving such a lovely long note, though.
I'm hoping to finish off the new chapter for this weekend. The holidays kind of got in the way of everything.
hugs, Tas |
| posted on 5-Jan-2003 2:27:35 AM by Tasyfa |
| Sorry for the hiatus, guys. Y'all know how the holidays can get! Plus, this one was...difficult. Hold onto your tissues, please. In 2 posts for length.
hugs, Tas *****NEW VIGNETTE FIVE***** Title: Fragility (Part 5 in the series The Bitter Dregs) Author: Tasyfa Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell are the property of Twentieth Century Fox Television and Regency Productions. All original characters and concepts are the property of the author. No profit has been made from the distribution of this work of fiction. Category: Max POV Rating: PG Dedication: For RosDeidre. You know why.;) Summary: This is the fifth installment of The Bitter Dregs, a series of vignettes following Max and Liz through the years after Max enacts the false spoilers about the series finale. Each will be its own self-contained little world as well as part of a larger picture. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~~ Summer 2012 ~~ "Where's Michael? I thought he was coming with you." I turn in surprise at the unusually friendly sound of Jeff Parker's voice. He's a little flushed and a lot happy. Must be indulging in the open bar. Which is undoubtedly the most expensive 'free' booze he's ever had, since it's his daughter that just got married. "Stomach flu," I lie quickly. "Isabel's looking after him." "They spend a lot of time together, don't they? Does that bother you?" I smile. "Not particularly. I live alone now, remember?" "Yeah." Jeff nods, and it's like the action of a spring-loaded toy. His head bobs in increasingly smaller motions until it finally stills. I feel the urge to laugh at how ridiculous it looks. He claps me on the shoulder and I hold the cup of coffee I just poured away from my body so it doesn't spill on my tuxedo. "It's okay, Max. Lizzie will find you a nice guy. She fixed up Alex and Sarah, did you know? Now Charlie's big enough to be in the wedding!" "Right." Jeff takes my noncommittal answer as meaning whatever he needs it to, and beams at me before wandering away. I wipe the sides of the coffee cup and refill it, returning to my seat. There's one young couple still at my table, and we make polite conversation until some currently popular song comes on and the girl drags her reluctant boyfriend onto the dance floor. Everyone else has long since absconded to dance or visit with other tables, so it's just me sitting here, nursing hot liquid. The lone sober guy, I think. The group of twenty-somethings assigned to my table are definitely having a good time. It makes me feel ancient. I'm only twenty-eight myself, but tonight I feel a thousand years old after the longest day in history. A soft voice interrupts my brooding. I'm about equally annoyed and relieved that it dispels the gathering melancholy. "You didn't say anything." I turn to face the speaker and Maria's green eyes bore into mine. "No, I didn't. I know Kyle opened up the floor to anyone who wanted to say a few words about Liz and Dan, but I'm not much for public speaking, Maria. He was a great emcee, though." She smiles faintly. "Yes, he was, but that's not what I was talking about. I meant during the ceremony." "During the ceremony?" I shake my head in confusion. "Liz knows I hate giving speeches. She didn't ask me to stand up and say anything at the ceremony." Other people spoke, reciting passages and poems. Liz had known better than to ask me to do any kind of standing up at her wedding, regardless of the usual involvement of a friend as close as I am to her. "I'm referring to the part where the minister said, 'Speak now or forever hold your peace.'" Now I understand. No wonder Maria turned to stare at me in the church; she'd expected me to object to the marriage. I considered it. I sat in the second last row, close to the exit, just in case. My fingers clutching a fistful of tissues. The second fistful, because I couldn't prevent myself from shredding the first batch into what looked like a pretty good approximation of the state of my nerves. I fidgeted endlessly, shifting on the hard wooden pew. A church wasn't somewhere I was all that comfortable to begin with, never mind what I was waiting there for. Ever practical, Liz had decided that since she had to do a dry run of her hair, make-up, etc. anyway, she might as well get her formal portraits done at the same time so that she had more free time on the big day. She had sent me the photos, so I had some idea of what to expect. Isabel had thought that was unnecessarily cruel, but Michael had understood. If I was going to go, I had to go armored to the teeth, and being prepared for how gorgeous Liz would look was part of that. Except I wasn't prepared. I watched as the bridesmaids walked down the aisle, escorted by the groomsmen. Maria, beside Dan's brother Mark. Charles Whitman the Third, otherwise known as Charlie, his young face serious with the responsibility of bearing the rings. Dan's niece scattered flower petals halfway down the white runner then panicked and ran up to her father on the dais at the front, to laughter. The small girl poked her head out from behind Mark's legs and gave a big grin, her burst of shyness gone. And then there was Liz, on her father's arm. Floating in white satin. She didn't even seem to see me as she drifted towards Dan, so ethereally. I half expected her to grow fairy wings at any moment; she looked too incredibly beautiful for this world. I was okay until Jeff lifted her veil and kissed her cheek, and I could see how his eyes shone all the way at the back of the church. I remembered that memory flash I'd had a lifetime ago in Las Vegas. No parents had attended the wedding of that Max and Liz, and their blissful marriage had ended in war and death. The King of Antar's near-marriage with his human soul mate had ended in death. Both those futures had been destroyed when the prospect of Liz dying had driven me to alter time itself. In this life, plain old Max Evans would make sure that Liz Parker lived. I tuned out the sound of their vows, focusing instead on my body. The tremors that shook my sweaty hands. The heat twisting sharply in my gut. The pounding that quickly developed to a blinding ache behind my eyes. The weight that pressed my chest against my spine until I could no longer draw air, and wasn't sure I cared about continuing to breathe anyway. One by one I forcibly calmed the physical manifestations of emotional pain. Only then did I realize that tears dripped down my chin and hastily I scrubbed at my face with the tissues. I supposed it didn't much matter if I was seen crying, considering the entire guest list would already believe I was gay. Ten years living under the purview of a stereotype had taught me several things. One was that there were people who would sooner accept me as an alien than as a gay man. Another was that there was a fair amount of odd behavior I could get away with, without raising suspicion. No one seemed to expect a homosexual to be a normal human being. I smile a bit forlornly, shaking off thoughts of the ceremony. "Why would I have, Maria? Liz is practically emitting light. All I ever wanted was for her to be happy, and she is—visibly so. I wouldn't mess with that for the world." She sits beside me, her head tilted in a curious pose that reminds me poignantly of Liz. Over the years, many of their individual mannerisms have blended and shifted until it's impossible to see the two women together and not know that they have been best friends forever. Maria's eyes dart back and forth, checking for other people before she voices quietly, "You really love her, don't you?" I simply stare at her, unable to formulate a response. Maria smiles and lays a hand on my arm. "No, don't answer that. I didn't mean to say it. Would you like to dance? Or, do you dance?" Her sudden confusion after the generous offer elicits a real laugh from me, however short. "With women, you mean? Yes, I do, and I'd like that." She beams. "You know you've brought all this on yourself, don't you? The categorization, that is." I fold my hand around hers and draw her close, lightly holding her waist. "Yeah. It's easier than explaining the truth." Maria contemplates that for a while and we dance in silence. "I guess it would be. People don't like things they can't understand, and a gay man choosing to live alone is something they can comprehend far more easily. I would advise you to steer clear of my mother, though. She won't care if you're hetero, homo, trans or something entirely new—she'd try to fix you up anyway." I have to chuckle at her cheek. Sassy and forthright, that's Maria DeLuca in any incarnation. Even as we talk, laughing together, I feel a tinge of sadness that this is the first real conversation we've ever had. She's been angry with me since the night Liz signed my yearbook. Maria must feel that it's all right to let go of the anger now that Liz is safely married. "May I cut in?" An all too familiar voice interrupts and Maria nods, her smile becoming slightly fake. She departs and I step up to Liz, careful to leave considerable distance between us. Actually, it's well-nigh impossible to get all that close with her full skirt. "You look like an angel." The compliment slips out, but it's an allowable one. "Thank you. You don't look half bad yourself. I don't think I've ever seen you in a tux before." Liz scrunches her nose, trying to remember. "No, you haven't. I think this is the third wedding I've ever been to, and that's the only time I wear it. Although it is mine—Isabel insisted when she got married." She giggles at the exasperation that seeps through. "Aw, poor baby. How's your table? I tried to sit you with people you'd at least heard of." "Fine. Pretty drunk by now. The girl in the dark pink dress—Becky?—anyway, she's never been drunk before and the others were egging her on, bringing her shots. It kept things interesting." I give her a vague answer. It's better that I sat with people I don't know, because none of them would be able to see through the façade like Maria, Alex or Kyle might have. Not that I've spent a great deal of time with any of those three, but enough for them to know me a little. "Your dad is lit up, too." "Oh, I know." Liz rolls her eyes but her smile doesn't falter. "He said that he's earned it, and he has. Mom's having a good time, too. It's nice." "Yeah." There are no more words coming to mind. Liz seems to be at a loss as well. I don't recognize the song that's playing, and I'm trying not to listen to the lyrics. I don't want to know what it is. I don't want to find myself hearing it on the radio when I go home, and remembering this moment. When I'm in formal wear and Liz is dressed in white, in my arms. Twin bands of white gold encircling her finger. When my hand is bare. I realized something sitting in that church this afternoon. I have known Liz longer, and far better, in this life than I did in the last one. And somewhere in those years the lines blurred. There isn't 'my Liz' and 'this Liz' anymore. There is only Liz Parker, my best friend, and as much as my heart cries otherwise I have no other claim on her. She is who she was always meant to be—and that includes her new role as someone's wife. That's the thought that got me through the rest of the wedding ceremony, and the long hours afterwards. It's the thought that is keeping me upright now, when my physical self is completely disregarding my brain and urging me to carry her off somewhere and make her mine. Liz is not mine. The silence is beginning to get awkward when it's finally broken, by Dan tapping my shoulder. "Hey there, Max. Hi, sweetheart." I move back, my arms dropping while he leans in and kisses Liz. I can do this, I've seen them kiss dozens of times today. I will hate the sound of clinking glasses for the rest of my life. "Ben has to leave, he couldn't get a later flight. But you go on dancing. I'll see him out." "Are you sure?" she murmurs, her hand resting on his neck. "Positive. I'll come back and cut in." Dan winks at me. "Take care of my girl, Max." He kisses Liz again and then shocks the hell out of me by kissing my cheek. I stand there staring after him while Liz starts to giggle. "Did he convince your dad, or the other way around?" "He's trying to be extremely open-minded and supportive," she grins. "Uh-huh. You do know that the cat may be out of the bag soon that I'm not in the closet." I shake my head as we resume dancing. "Hmm, why's that? Because you and Michael aren't an item anymore?" Liz bats her eyelashes at me and I laugh. "Sort of. More because Michael's finally fallen for someone. I think. He's not talking about it yet, but I can tell." "Really? Who? Why wouldn't he say something to you?" She's genuinely excited, although she and Michael have exchanged maybe a dozen words in as many years—Crashdown orders during high school not included. I sigh. "The answer to both questions is that it's Isabel." "Wow! What makes you think they're together?" "Little things. Stuff out of place when I go over there. A certain softening in the way they act towards each other. I'm reasonably sure that there's been at least one time that I actually interrupted something—physical—when I rang the buzzer. I've taken to calling first." The signs have been staring me in the face for months, but I just didn't see them until recently. I suppose that it never occurred to me that Michael and Isabel might end up as a couple, because neither of them knows anything about our 'alien destiny.' They don't know that they're reincarnated human-alien hybrids, and they definitely don't know that their predecessors were betrothed. What they do know is that they're not really siblings. The seed must have been planted when we analyzed our blood using the UFO Center equipment and discovered the facts I already knew: that Iz and I are related, but Michael is on his own. "Their relationship would make a deranged kind of sense. It's a classic opposites attract pairing, really," Liz muses. "Do they still fight like crazy?" "Oh, yeah. I'm getting signals that the end of their fights is a little different when I'm not around, though." "As in, they'd jump each other if they were alone." "Right." She smiles. "I think it's wonderful! They both deserve to be happy. How do you feel about it?" "Still a bit weirded out, but I'm getting used to the idea. It's not like either of them need my permission to get involved or anything." "True." Liz giggles again. "This isn't going to let the cat out of the bag, Max, it's going to paint you as a tragic hero." "What? Why would it do that?" She's lost me somewhere. "Well, Michael's so-called waffling is fairly common knowledge, did you know that? So it's going to look like he's finally made up his mind about which side of the fence he's on, and he was just dating the wrong Evans all those years. But that leaves you squarely on the other side, all pining." She sounds much too amused by her probably all too accurate scenario. "Just kill me now," I groan and Liz laughs. "While we're on the subject of my sister, she said to tell you that she loves your dress. I showed her the photos." "Wow, the Elle MacPherson of West Roswell appreciating Liz Parker's taste in clothes! Will wonders never cease?" she winks. "Tell her thank you for me, please." "I will." We keep dancing, the verbal exchange fizzling out. Finally Liz sighs and looks at me earnestly. "Max, I want to thank you for coming today. It really means a lot to me, that you're here. I know that it must be—" "You're welcome," I interrupt her. We are not going to have a conversation about how this day makes me feel. I think I'd rather be back in the White Room, frankly. At least Pierce was uncomplicated pure evil, and he never touched my soul. "But Max—" "Liz. Leave it alone, please." My voice has a hard edge and she backs down. "Okay. Just, thank you." "Yes, thank you, Max," Dan's cheerful voice slices between us and once again, I let her go. He puts an arm around Liz's shoulder and smiles at me. "I don't know how many crises you talked Liz through, planning this thing, but we really appreciate it." "No problem," I mumble. "Don't sell yourself short, man! You're a good friend to Lizzie and I hope we can get to know each other better, too." He's completely sincere, and I wish I could hate him. I wish I could look at Dan and feel total contempt or anything truly negative, but I can't. He's a genuinely nice guy, and the way he lights up when he sees Liz says it all. I really, really wish he wouldn't call her Lizzie in front of me, though. I dredge up a smile. "Well, keep in mind that it's a one-time deal, the planning help." He laughs at that and claps my shoulder but Liz blinks slowly, obviously understanding the second layer. If her marriage to Dan doesn't work out, I can't help her with another wedding when she falls in love again. I just don't have that kind of strength. "So, Max, we're going to do the bouquet and garter toss now. I know you're single so I expect to see you on the floor." He winks at me and leads Liz away. She glances back once, her face scrunched in apology, but I shake my head and give her a smile, and she relaxes. Becky catches the bouquet, which is mildly surprising since she's having a lot of trouble staying on her feet. But she's smiling, happy about it, and the guy with her is blushing the color of her dress, so that seems good. Then it's our turn and I shuffle out onto the dance floor with the other single men. It's been a few years since I felt like I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole, but life seems to hold that particular torture in abeyance against a time of need. Like when the husband of the woman you love has his lips pressed against her stocking-clad thigh in public. I want to look away but it's like I'm frozen. The elastic snaps loudly enough to be heard even over the David Rose classic, The Stripper. That song that's come to epitomize the removal of clothing, although most people probably couldn't tell you its name or the artist's. Most people haven't had to share a computer with Michael, though. The man standing next to me pokes me and laughs, making some comment, and that's when I notice that piece of blue lace is heading straight for me. I don't want it anywhere near me, but that's where it's going to land. How rude would it seem if I ducked, I wonder? My breath whooshes out as a small form stumbles and his upstretched hands hit my stomach. I look down and Charlie smiles. Oh, my God, he looks just like Alex with that face-splitting grin. I can't help but smile back, and then I bend and lift him up. Just in time for him to catch the garter he so clearly coveted. There are a number of ribald jokes about cradle robbing and the like, but a few men ruffle the kid's hair and he's beyond thrilled, feeling really grown-up when someone hoists him on his shoulders and parades him around. I can see Liz and Dan laughing out of the corner of my eye at the spectacle. Guess it was a good thing that the floor stayed solid after all. |
| posted on 5-Jan-2003 2:28:52 AM by Tasyfa |
| A couple more cups of coffee and who knows how many excruciatingly polite conversations with people I don't know later, Alex drops into the seat beside me. My table, and the others circling it, are finally empty of all but me. I must look pretty pathetic.
"Thanks, Max. You made his day." "Sure thing, Alex. I certainly don't have any use for a garter." That emerges a little more bitter than I'd intended and he looks at me closely. "How you holding up?" My gaze jerks to meet his, and I see something I never would have expected: compassion. I choose to be more or less honest. "I've had better days." Alex nods, one side of his mouth quirking up. "That I don't doubt. Maria told me about your chat, by the way. She's decided that you aren't the devil after all." That startles a laugh out of me. "What makes her so sure?" "Max, why didn't you object?" The change of subject is so abrupt that I blurt out the truth. "I couldn't bear to hurt Liz the way I'm terrified I would if we were more than friends." "So you decided that she should spend her life without you." It hovers on being a question, and I feel compelled to explain. "Alex, look at her. She is radiant today. She's so happy." A wistful sadness enters my voice despite myself. "I can't give her that." He snorts. "Oh, Liz is happy, I'll grant you that. But she's not radiant." "What are you talking about?" Alex leans forward, looking earnest. "Do you remember sending Liz an advance copy of your latest book?" "Did she get that already? I didn't realize; my agent actually sent it for me. She's a sweetheart that way." "Yeah, she got it about two weeks ago. Do you remember the dedication?" It's only limned on my soul. For my inspiration. I can see from Alex's expression that he knows it's a reference to Liz. "Of course." "She didn't know about it beforehand, did she?" "No." I shake my head. I debated with myself for a long time about what to put—far longer than I ever take about a word choice within my work. "I only told her to make sure she read the dedication, not what it was about." Alex looks at me intently and I can't look away. I never noticed before that his eyes are green too, although a much darker green than Maria's, almost hazel. "I was at Liz's the day the book arrived. I watched her tear into the box—she obviously recognized the sender's address. I watched her open the book, being ultra careful not to crack the spine or bend the cover as she flipped to the page she wanted. And when she'd read it, Max…that's when Liz was radiant. She looks beautiful today, but receiving that gift from you made her glow like you wouldn't believe." "Oh, God." My voice is barely a whisper. "You're serious." "Very." He pauses for a moment; I must look ill or something. "Max, I know how you feel about Liz. Maria…she's intensely loyal and sometimes blindly so; she could never see past Liz's protests to how she feels about you. I do see that. I know how much she cares about you, and I know…well, I'm sure I don't need to tell you, do I? So knowing all of that, what I still am incapable of comprehending is why you're so frightened of getting involved with her. You realize that by insisting on only friendship, you have hurt her before." "I know that, but…" I cannot even think past what he's saying to me. Past what it means. I've been fooling myself for so long. For too long, because now it's too late. I don't have any avenues open to me anymore except the one I took so many years ago. "But what?" he coaxes. "Alex, I—" I hesitate; how much do I say? Because I have to give him some explanation, and I'm not going to lie to him. This man died because of me, too. I try to get some kind of grasp on my thoughts. Any way you look at it, this is going to require some faith on his part that I haven't gone off the deep end. "I'm listening, Max." The creases developing around his eyes deepen as he smiles. "I'm sure the people here who don't know me think I'm hitting on you, but I am going to get all girly and tell you that I'm listening." That earns a small laugh from me and I nod. "Then just listen, okay? Don't judge, just listen." Alex murmurs agreement and I breathe in deeply. "What if you had a way—a reliable way—to know some of the paths that the future might follow? And what if every path where you…where you and the love of your life forged a bond between you, they all ended in death? But the paths where you stayed apart, they held the possibility of life? Even if it isn't quite what you thought it would be, isn't it better to choose the path that holds life?" I am almost begging him for reassurance. His eyes widen and narrow repeatedly during my little speech and now Alex pinches the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, leaning closer to me. "I'm guessing that I'm not supposed to ask about this reliable method of prediction, so I won't. I see that as far as you're concerned, everything you said is true, so I'll just go from there." He heaves a sigh. "Jeez, Max, pick the hard ones, why don't ya?" "It was never a choice, Alex. A romantic relationship with me would endanger Liz's life. You're right, I can't give you any details, but please trust me." "I'm not questioning your honesty, Max. Your sanity, maybe," he cracks. I shrug wryly and he smiles slightly. "I think…if that is true, then I think you are probably doing the right thing in staying away from Liz. Or uninvolved with Liz, whatever. I also think it's not exactly fair to make that decision without her input, but I can see where you're coming from on that one. She would in all likelihood toss the safety issue aside in order to be with you, which would defeat the whole purpose of this foreknowledge that you have." I close my eyes, my throat clenching in relief. He gets it. Even with the impossibilities and the seeming ridiculousness, Alex Whitman understands what I'm doing. But my relief is short-lived as he continues. "Now I need you to listen to me, Max. Liz has been one of my best friends in the world since grade school. I am heavily invested in her happiness. So in return for accepting your explanation as is, I want a promise out of you." "Anything," I say rashly. He raises an eyebrow. "If something happens and Liz ends up getting divorced, I want you to tell her the truth. All of it, not just the snippets you gave me. Will you do that?" "Alex, they just got married! Why are you even mentioning divorce?" I'm stalling and we both know it, but it's a valid question all the same. "I love my wife, Max. Sarah and I have a great life. Charlie is a blessing that I give thanks for every day, and so is the fact that Sarah's pregnant again." He casts an affectionate look over to where Sarah Whitman stands, chatting with Liz's mother. She gives him a little wave and he waves back then turns to me. "Like I said, I love her, and I am happy, but… Isn't there always a 'but'?" "Congratulations," I offer when he falls silent for a moment, and Alex smiles. "Thank you. The thing is, Max, as much as I love her and as much as I love the life that we've created together—in all senses, there is still a missing piece in our relationship. We're husband and wife, Max, but she's not the love of my life. Not the way Liz is yours. And not the way you're hers. So while I am content with my life, I don't know if Liz will be. She loves so strongly. Almost too strongly. You know what I mean." I nod slowly; I do know. Liz loves with an all-encompassing fierceness. I feel it even as her friend, in a different vein than as her—what? Boyfriend? Such an inconsequential word to describe how we felt in another life. "Will you do it?" Alex asks me again. That earnest look is back and I know he's looking out for his best friend. But I can't agree to that. I can't. "Yes." This time my heart speaks for me. I didn't mean to say it, but I won't take it back, either. "Thank you," he says simply. He offers me his hand and I shake it, sealing the promise. Then Alex rises from the table and goes over to his pregnant wife, placing his arm around her shoulder. I can hear them both laughing at something that Nancy Parker says. Which leaves me, sitting here alone, with coffee that's gone cold and hands that won't stop shaking, thinking about consequences. Wondering if I ever made any kind of choice at all. |
| posted on 10-Jan-2003 11:52:40 PM by Tasyfa |
| Ah, guys, you know I empathise with how difficult this is! Love you all for sticking it out. In two posts for length.
hugs, Tas Title: Denial (Part 6 in the series The Bitter Dregs) Author: Tasyfa Disclaimer: The characters of Roswell are the property of Twentieth Century Fox Television and Regency Productions. All original characters and concepts are the property of the author. No profit has been made from the distribution of this work of fiction. Category: Liz POV Rating: PG Dedication: For RosDeidre. You know why.;) Summary: This is the sixth (and second-last) installment of The Bitter Dregs, a series of vignettes following Max and Liz through the years after Max enacts the false spoilers about the series finale. Each will be its own self-contained little world as well as part of a larger picture. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* ~~ Winter 2016 ~~ I fumble through my purse for change as I make my way to the bank of telephones. My handful of quarters and dimes is useless, I discover; these are all new models. Cards only. Where's my calling card? I can't find it! "There's a phone card dispenser over there, hon. You can use your bank or credit card to put money on it." The woman speaking to me has kind blue eyes. I have those. Both of them. Only—I need numbers to make them work. PINs. What are my PINs? Her mouth softens as she smiles. "Do you have twenty dollars?" That I can do. I hand her the crumpled bills and she goes over to the machine, coming back a moment later with a phone card for me. "Here you are, dear. Go make your calls." I catch her hand as she starts to walk away. "Thank you." She squeezes my fingers and smiles, and then my brand new card goes into the brand new phone and I start to dial. I have to start over; I've dialed the wrong number. All my grace is gone. Not that I'm usually a prima ballerina or anything, but normally my muscles do obey neural commands. Today is anything but normal, though. The phone connects and rings twice, and I hang up. Laboriously I redial the same number, and this time it's snatched up. "Hello?" A little of the tension flows out of me at the warm voice but I can't speak. There's a little hitch in my throat as tears leak out. He must hear it because he starts asking questions. "Liz? What happened, where are you?" "How did you know it was me?" I force out. "You're the only person who knows the emergency signal who's long distance. What's going on, Parker?" "I'm—Max, I'm at Tampa General. Dan…" I can't say it. I can't say anything; that tiny release has unleashed a flood and there are too many tears for speech. "I'm on my way, Liz. I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? Stay at the hospital if you can. If you do go home, let the nurse at the head desk know, all right? I'll just keep going in the cab, then. Liz, is he—is he alive?" There's a tremor of fear in his voice and I have no idea what that means. "Yes, he's in surgery. Please hurry." I need you, I admit to myself. "I will. Hang in there." The line clicks. It takes me a minute to put the receiver down and remove my phone card. Slowly I wander to the padded benches and curl up in a corner to honor the title of the waiting area, the thin plastic clutched in nerveless fingers. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Strong arms around me. I hold on to the warmth as I pry my eyes open. "Dan?" But it's not him, or anyone else for that matter. Just his leather jacket. I inhale deeply, the scent both reassuring and tension-inducing. I must have fallen asleep. I don't know how long I've been out. The hospital staff would have woken me if something happened, right? Right? There's a man in scrubs walking in my direction and a million butterflies fill my stomach. I jump to my feet. "Ms. Parker?" the man inquires. I nod shakily and he takes a deep breath. He doesn't even need to say the words; I know. "He didn't make it, did he?" "I'm sorry, no. There was too much blood loss. We thought we might have a chance since it wasn't a heart shot, but the bullet punctured his lung. We did everything we could." "Thank you," I manage. "What—what time is it?" Gently he tells me, "Almost four o'clock." There's no mention of the fact that a watch encases my wrist. Numb, I nod and he leaves me alone to follow Max's instructions and tell the nurse's station that I've gone home. I would have done it anyway, so that the police would know where to find me if they need another statement. Four o'clock. Four hours since my husband was shot while we had lunch in a café, the victim of an attempted robbery. Gunned down when I sneezed, drawing nervous fire, and he pushed me under the table to safety without ducking in time himself. A few hours at least before Max will get here, all the way from New Mexico. I'm not even sure why I called him instead of my parents. Or my Aunt Emma, who's maybe a fifteen minute drive from this very hospital. Even Dan's parents, who at least live in the same state as me. But I guess that when your brain is paralyzed, your instincts take over, and mine said Max. *~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Transition from sleep to waking again. This time I'm not alone. Max kneels beside the couch where I collapsed as soon as I walked in, his hand lightly shaking my shoulder. A shaft of light from the hallway illuminates his dark hair, and eyes like no one else on earth. "The nurse told me. Not the details, just…Liz, I'm so sorry," he whispers. I turn over to face him head-on, instead of twisting to look at him, and the movement dislodges me. I go sliding onto the floor and into his arms. Now that I'm fully awake, the tears begin again. He rocks me and the subtle motion soothes. My stomach stops churning with fear. Maybe here, like this, I can learn to feel safe again. "Something smells good." Good enough for an embarrassing rumble. Max chuckles. "Why, thank you." "Mmm, not you. You smell like airplane. Did you bring food?" "Pizza, from down the street. One thing all cab drivers know is where the decent food is, at no matter how ungodly an hour." "This is true." We dig in, sitting at the counter with the napkin holder perched between us. "That's clearly your half, with the like quadruple hot peppers." "Yeah. I told the young guy there to go nuts. I think he decided to make it a macho contest or something." Except it wouldn't have been much of a contest, since Max isn't even sweating or gasping while he eats. Yuck. It's the one thing he does that truly grosses me out but I've gotten used to it over the years. "Thanks for bringing something. I haven't eaten since—" Since lunch. The three slices I devoured suddenly feel like lead weights in my belly. "I've got you." He catches me when I crumple and carries me easily to the rear of the bungalow, settling on the edge of my bed. I cling to him, needing the support, and that gentle sway returns. One hand strokes the length of my tangled hair and I swear it unknots ridiculously easily under his fingers. "Do you want to talk about it?" "Not without serious amounts of liquor." I try to sound flippant. "But you can't—I thought you weren't supposed to…" Max trails off, uncomfortable as usual with telling me what to do. "No, it's okay. That's why we met up for lunch; I had a doctor's appointment this morning. I'm not pregnant." His grasp on my hair firms until he's pulling. "Ow." "Sorry." The gentle stroking resumes. My mother used to do this with me. She swears that the number of lullabies she had to sing to put me to sleep decrea |