Spoilers: All of Roswell is up for grabs
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, all characters and original Roswell settings belong to other very lucky people.
Warnings: References to death and violence, as well as plenty of angst, but nothing too explicit.
Summary: Rage and ruin, the emotion that defines and destroys her life.
Liz had never been an angry child, not prone to fits of irritability or temper tantrums when things didn’t go her way. She had been friends with Maria for as long as she could remember, and the feisty blond provided enough emotional upheaval for them both. Even Alex, once he became their third musketeer, showed more temper than she did, although rarely and only when someone did something he felt was wrong – he had always been their moral compass.
So after a random shooting in her parent’s diner, and the revelation of aliens and love and danger and everything that came after, she was unprepared the first time she felt real, intense anger, at the Crash festival when it became clear that the sheriff was more focused on turning Max in for healing her than on finding the men who shot her. It was just a brief flicker, burning hotly in her chest, and she smothered it quickly once the immediate crisis was over, knowing that she, as always, needed to be the calm, rational one.
She felt another brief flicker when Max didn’t believe her about Topolsky at first, but it died just as quickly under the swamping fear and she soon forgot about it. She was momentarily furious at Maria for entering her in the Blind Date contest, but the unexpected magic of the night, and heartbreak the next day, pushed it out of her mind. The sheriff, with the occasional cameo from her mother, Topolsky, and even Max, was the cause of most of her flare ups over that year, each burning a little hotter and longer than the last until she became almost used to the feel of anger, to the way it made her blood start to simmer, made her muscles tighten with tension and the need to lash out.
It was when Tess first showed up that she learned that red is associated with anger for a reason, because it was all she could see whenever the blonde was within a hundred feet of her, or Max. When she began to notice the way Max reacted to her, her rage spread until she clenched her teeth every time she saw him too, wondering if he was thinking of her. The sight of them kissing in the rain was enough to make her wish she had alien blasting powers, and only the feel of her heart breaking in her chest stopped her from wrenching the door open and confronting them.
Nasedo and the FBI and especially Special Agent Pierce were all the next to cause her blood to boil and her skin to tingle and her fists to clench as she dreamt of actually acting on the way she felt, of hurting them the way they hurt Max. But then it was fate itself inspiring her rage, the unfairness of the Universe, and after that she couldn’t remember not being angry, not wanting to scream and rail and break things because the hits just kept on coming until she could no longer keep track of who and what made her smolder constantly, the list too long for numbering.
It wasn’t until Alex died, until she was staring at the wreckage of his car, seeing the bloodstains on the seat, and feeling bile rise up in her throat that the red haze cleared. She was suddenly cold, achingly, intensely cold, and her vision hadn’t been that clear in so long that she wondered how long she’d been blind. The cold stayed with her as she investigated, pushed and prodded and yelled with a passion she wasn’t sure she was capable of actually feeling ever again. Her blood was like ice in her veins when Max was cruel to her, bruising her arms and her soul, when they found ‘Leanna’ and the translation and she had her proof that Alex was murdered, that it was all their, all her, fault.
She felt like her breath should be visible on the air, evidence of the chilly wasteland inside of her, when Max told her that Tess was pregnant, that they were leaving, when he murmured useless platitudes about love and what ifs. Her mind was moving at high speed, no emotion to clutter it up when she processed the tapping, put the clues together, all roads leading to one possibility, one name, one infuriating face that finally began to thaw her frozen heart, setting it on fire instead.
That fire burned with fierce intensity on the long drive, on the frantic run across the desert, kept her moving while she pounded her fists against the unforgiving stone until she bled, the pain acting as accelerant to the furious flames. Michael finally appeared and there were explanations and then confrontation and excuses and tears and then Michael pulled her out of the cave, and the two people who infuriated her the most were left alone, together, and it just made her angrier.
It wasn’t until Max sprinted out of the cave, alone, and the resulting near earthquake revealed his decision, that the anger faded, draining away into the desert floor, leaving her empty and cold once more as something inside of her snapped, no longer able to channel such fierce emotion, no longer able to maintain the fire that she knew would never cease to have fuel, not as long as she was a part of the abyss.
This was her price, her punishment, for daring to try to be a part of something bigger than herself, for daring to try and change the future, and for hoping all the while that she could have it both ways. She would remain by his side, she would fight his battles, she would forget the cost of her life, of all of their lives, and she would turn all her anger inwards, because in the end, it was herself who truly deserved her hate, be it cold or hot, and she could only hope that its destructive power let nothing of Liz Parker survive.