(This fic was originally posted on Roswell Desert Skies).
I’m bringing it over for anybody who might like to read it!
This takes place at the very end of ‘The End of the World’. Future Max has disappeared, but where did he go? And is it really possible to change the future, if it’s your past?
NOTE: This is a story told (mostly) from Tess’s point of view. If you aren’t a Tess fan you probably aren’t gonna like it. It’s a story that’s been lurking around in my head for a while. It seems such a shame - to have the amazing Future Max, all alone, and Tess, all alone..
Disclaimer – none of these characters belong to me, credit for their creation, inspiration etc going entirely to Katims, Metz and Co. (great job guys!)
Oh yes, ADULT action in some scenes.
Positive feedback appreciated!
Chapter 1
Roswell New Mexico July 2000
3 am. Fire trucks howl and sirens blare. Lights flash and strobe, blue and white, from the roofs of paramedic cars.
A crowd has gathered outside the Crashdown Café.
Two paramedics moving fast come out of the building, supporting a man in combat gear. Another man, dressed in the same combat gear, is stretchered out into a waiting ambulance.
Phil Daily, reporter for the Local Network Roswell News channel stands in front of his camera, takes a breath, and begins.
‘News is just coming in of the mysterious disappearance of three Roswell teenagers. Unconfirmed reports name the missing teens as Liz Parker, Max Evans, and Tess Harding. Also missing is an as yet unidentified man. Emergency services were called out to reports of a freak lightening flash – perhaps the phenomenon of ball lightening – inside the Crashdown Café here in Roswell.
Unconfirmed reports say that Dr Angelica Downey, Consultant at the emergency department of the Millington Hospital here in Roswell, is one of those being treated for shock. Onlookers seem unable to give any coherent reports of tonight’s events.
It is believed that the owners of the café, Mr & Mrs Jeff Parker, were out of town for the night and are now being comforted by relatives. Ah, here’s the local law enforcement officer. Sheriff Valenti, can you tell us anything about what happened here tonight?’
The Sheriff is pale and looks distraught. ‘No. I’m sorry. I can’t talk about it.. I mean, the investigation is on-going. We don’t have anything definite right now.’ He backs away.
‘Thank you Sheriff. Well, we’ll be right here at the scene and updates will follow every hour on the hour, at Local Network Roswell News channel.’
Tess, two days before
I’m at my desk in my room (Kyle’s old room, which he never, ever lets me forget, annoying Buddha-boy that he is..) – working, at the laptop. I’ve almost finished my Literature assignment. I just have to find that quote, and its references, from Elizabeth Barrett Browning to her friend..
‘I am writing to you, dearest Miss Blagden, at last, you see; though you must have excommunicated me before now as the most ungrateful of correspondents and friends..’ [Florence, May 1, 1851]. ‘
So she was busy composing her beautiful poetry. So she didn’t write when she should have. And she needs to know that her friends won’t forget her.. Maybe that’s the hardest thing to deal with in this human world; lack of appreciation.
Or lack of communication. Or lack of understanding.
It’s definitely a lack of something important.
Life can fill you with – sad, lonely thoughts, sometimes.
I came to Roswell with my one-and-only-protector, Nasedo. He died..
Believe it or not, there are times when I do actually miss him. From the time I was very small, he told me over and over that he wouldn’t always be around to take care of me (although even when he was supposed to be taking care of me he wasn’t always around).. I grew into my human life, into my human ‘destiny’ – ready to do my part as Nasedo had tried to prepare me to.
The thing about the best laid plans is that theory can be beautiful and perfect, theoretically anything is possible, but when you add human – or human/alien hybrid – passions and personalities into the mix, then boy, nothing is gong to work out the way you planned it, no matter how perfect the plan.
Sometimes it’s a burden to know the things you know when others don’t share the knowledge with you.
I knew that Max, or Zan as he used to be on Antar, was once magnificent, brave, noble (if only he’d known where his high moral ground, his extreme nobility would lead us..)
He was the prince, the heir to a kingdom, who loved me at first sight and chose me to be his queen.
When he refuses to remember this very vital historical fact – it is very hard sometimes. Most of the time. It is a life I recall as you would a favourite, earth-shatteringly beautiful movie, in full Technicolor sensurround, giant screen, the works.. when memories from Antar decide to overwhelm my senses, I am temporarily lost. Lucky for me it happens usually when I’m alone, thinking.
It’s – as if I were in a trance state, to anyone around me - for a short time I see nothing, I’m just – somewhere else. Re-visiting Antar, re-visiting a world in where he loved me.
To be absolutely clear about it; I mean love in the old fashioned Grand Passion sense of the word-
The only sense of the word. I loved him, I hated him, I needed him more than I needed to breathe, and I was only alive when he was near me.
And if I ever had cause to murder someone it would be him, but only because I loved him so deeply.
Can anyone understand that? My need for him was more than elemental, it was deep, as deep as my own DNA; he was absorbed into the very cellular structure of me, and without him, I had no life.
If you could paint a portrait of my soul – complete with lambent, silver tipped angel’s wings and singing birdies – Zan is the name you would find engraved there, in high Gothic letters, deeply etched, irremovable.
He knew this once. A lifetime ago, he said he felt the same. He told me he loved me.
I think that inside, part of him did love me; and that another part of him, however unconscious, lied.
Men destined for greatness, men of terrible ambition and in possession of unthinkable power, the lives of millions resting in their hands, whose very existence depends on the decision he would make, are not like normal folk.
They need to have the ability to duck and dive, to be open to the next opportunity, should it be necessary to their unique destiny.
Zan had this ability in superabundance.
Max is also such a man. He is a survivor. He just doesn’t know it yet.
The poetry book falls from my hands. Elizabeth Barrett Browning had a great love. I pick the book up from the floor. It has opened at ‘Sonnets from the Portuguese’ – this one touches my heart every time I read it. ‘How do I love thee.. let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach..’ Max.
He doesn’t love me. I can’t stay here.
I’m leaving Roswell, to start a new life somewhere else. Anywhere else.
But now?
Here in Roswell it is a sultry night, thunderstorms looming high above us, making the air heavy and hot. This is when I hear him calling. Not anywhere you can physically hear it, but somewhere inside. He’s not calling me, it’s not Tess, I need you.. but I can feel this shaft of deep emotion, raw and hurt, his heart practically broken. I can see his eyes, dull with shock. I can feel his pain. It is as if someone has stuck an icy knife into his ribs, into my ribs, stifling my heart, taking away my ability to breathe, to function. I know that more than anything in the world, he needs someone to hold him. I need to keep it together. I know where he is.
But the small voice of reason inside my head says, NO! I’m not going to put myself through this. It’s not my problem.
Max is not my problem. I lie on my bed, put a pillow over my head so I can’t feel what I’m feeling.
But it’s no good. I grab my jacket and take off for the park.
It is dark. When I am out in the dark I am never afraid. Nobody could touch me and get away unscathed, and I think something in my aura alerts people to that. Right now, my only concern is to get to him, to help make him better, to give him what he needs.. what I need. The floodlights are on. There is a man walking his dog. He doesn’t even notice me, I barely even notice him, although the dog is a Jack Russell, feisty and sweet.
This is the right path.
Max! I can sense him there, ahead of me. I look at him on the bench, his bowed head, his slumped shoulders. He is a picture of dejection, and when he looks up at me the sadness I see in his eyes brings tears, instantly, to mine. I forget to breathe; but he needs me to be strong, so I am. He makes me strong.. everything in me is screaming, hold him, put your arms around him, pull him close and tell him everything will be all right..
I look at his bowed head, and know that it wouldn’t be right, not at this moment.
‘Are you okay?’
‘No.’
‘Can I sit down?’
‘Sure.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
No surprises there, then. Why am I wasting my time here? I pause.
‘Do you want me to leave?’ If he really doesn’t want me around, I’m leaving. Leaving this life. Leaving Roswell.
He looks at me then. ‘No.’
Thank God! I sit by him. I put my hand tentatively to his shoulder (if only he knew, if only he remembered, what it does to me to – touch him). We sit for a while, and eventually, he moves in to me and lets me hold him, as I need to, my arms around him, my heart aching for his pain, my body howling like a wolf, Oh God, Max, I need you, I need you so much.. I need so much to love you. He doesn’t weep, he doesn’t speak. It is enough that he lets me hold him. For now.
Later he walks me home, or at least, back to the Valenti’s. Men can be so – unseeing – sometimes. Home, if I have one on this miserable planet, in this wide-open, empty universe, is with him.
Will he ever see it? All of this is going through my head, and I look up to see that he has been gazing at me and no doubt, absorbing what has been going on behind my eyes.
‘You’re all alone in the universe too, aren’t you ? Poor Tess.’ He puts his warm hand to my cheek, comforting me now.
The moment he touches my face I see, through his eyes, all that has happened tonight after he left me at the Crashdown and went to see Liz; how he took the Gomez tickets to her window, hoping to surprise her, and instead finding – Oh Lord! her in bed – naked – with Kyle. It’s like being slapped hard in the face, the air being knocked from my lungs. My knees buckle, and I feel myself falling. ‘Oh Max, Oh my God..’
He scoops me up.
I can’t help it, I am weeping for him, for myself as well, maybe, at the thought of love lost, love not wanted, love that can twist you and torture you and hurt you until you don’t know if you have the strength to carry on.
‘Tess! I’m sorry, I never meant for you to see that..’
I can’t speak, so he just pulls me to him and that makes me cry even harder because this is where I need to be, but he only sees me as someone who needs to be helped, nothing more.
When I am calm, I turn and unlock the front door. Kyle will probably be asleep on the couch inside, so I whisper, ‘Are you all right?’ as Max whispers to me, ‘Will you be okay?’
The compassion I see in his clear eyes threatens to undo me again, so I back into the house.
‘Call me if you need anything, if you need to talk..’ He takes a step back, and nods in a way that I know means he won’t call.
‘Goodnight, Tess,’ he says, and is gone.
For a long moment I watch the space where he has been, still sensing his presence, his solidity, his strength, his beauty, his sadness.
I back into the house, where Kyle is on the couch, pretending to be asleep.
I go to my room and close the door, wondering where all of this will lead.
Sleep, of course, is just impossible.
Chapter 2
School the next morning is a hazy recollection. I sat through my Cosmology class, knowing that Max was in the next classroom where she would be – Biology.
Science is actually one of my best subjects, because I have an interest in such things, as you would, although Stephen Hawking’s amazing theories on the possibilities of inter-dimensional travel, even time travel, if only humans were able to produce the energy source powerful enough, wash right over my head this morning.
The bell rings and we spill out into the corridor, where I see Liz approach Max.
His back is to me. I can see from his body language that he is totally dejected, but trying to be strong.
She speaks to him, in that breathy, puppy-dog way she has, as if nothing has happened. I can feel him trying to keep it together. He answers her, and walks away abruptly, before his strength fails him. How can she not know what she did to him, how can she not be aware that his heart is crumbling in front of her?
I am aware that if she turns and looks at me I probably can’t be held responsible for what my alien reflexes might do to her, so I too turn abruptly away and walk out of the school.
Some things are too much to bear, and watching a heartbroken Max, who further doesn’t want to talk to me, for the duration of a History class this afternoon, is asking more than is humanly or even alienly possible from this girl, so I leave.
Later, I am in my room, lying on the bed, listening to very loud music; Lifehouse, Vanessa Carlton.. Music is a magical thing, able to tune even the most restless, tumultuous heart to a more manageable level with its beauty and poetic emotions. And my heart has never, ever been so tormented.
The door opens (with the music turned up I haven’t heard him hammering).
‘Tess? Are you there?’ Jim Valenti. ‘You aren’t in school?’ I sit up on the bed, and prepare to pout. He hurries on.
‘That doesn’t matter. At least, I’ll talk to you about school later, young lady. Right now I need your help. You have to come with me. Alien business! Hurry!’
Earlier that day
In spite of being the so-called alien capital of the USA, the Accident and Emergency Department of the Millington Hospital, Roswell New Mexico, was hardly a hotbed of activity even at the busiest time. Tourist season; hot weather, strangers with money to burn and vacations to enjoy could be capable of incredible stupidity. This week there had been a broken arm (a Ferris wheel – a 50-year old dad standing up to wave to his kids and falling 6ft to the ground) – a couple of concussions – a fall from quad bike and another youngster who had hit his head on the side of the boat he was diving from. Fortunately his friends had hauled him out in time to prevent him breathing in too much water.
And the usual cracked wrists and knees from skateboarding accidents. There was even one kid who’d managed to break a wrist getting trapped up a tree, where he’d gone to rescue his cat. Angelica Downey wasn’t bored, exactly. Her job as consultant of a busy Emergency department in a well-respected teaching hospital like this was always a challenge.
It was just that the change in seasons, the hot Summer weather coming in, always brought on a kind of restless, heart-achey feeling deep inside, which she avoided thinking about, not being able, ever, to pinpoint its exact cause. She sighs. Some excitement, something interesting to happen – is that too much to ask for?
Angelica is heading for the coffee lounge when she hears the call come in to the nurse’s station speakerphone. It’s Carl, one of the hospital porters. She speaks into the phone. ‘Carl, isn’t it your day off?’
‘Hi, Dr Downey. Yeah, it is, but this is an emergency. I’ve got a casualty in the car. We found him in the desert. He isn’t conscious. I’m bringing him in. ETA 10 minutes’. She briefly debates whether there was time to go and get the coffee, and decides probably not. She calls to one of the staff nurses.
‘Lisa – we’ve got incoming. ETA 10 minutes. Is Room 6 ready? And could you get someone to bring me a coffee, please?’
The car screeches to a halt outside the ambulance doors of the ER. Angelica indicates to Adam, the other porter, to take the gurney out.
Carl has already opened the back door of the car. His girlfriend, Sherylee gets out, and she watches as the boys lift the motionless figure out and lay him on the gurney. It is hot but they cover him with a light blanket and wheel him in.
Angelica moves over towards them. ‘In here, guys.’ Carl and Adam are good, kind-hearted guys.
She wants to get a look at the patient. ‘Carl, where did you find him?’
Carl looks a little sheepish. ‘Well, me and Sherylee – we were out by the caves, you know, a picnic. Usually you don’t see nobody out there. He was just lyin’ there. I kinda looked him over. We didn’t find no ID so I called the Sheriff. He’s on his way over. Never know, could be an alien or something.’ But he wasn’t laughing.
Carl clunks the brake down on the gurney, and together they lift the patient as carefully as they can onto the bed in Room 6.
Adam slides down the side of the cot. ‘Guess he won’t be goin’ anywhere for a while.’
‘Thanks boys.’ The porters leave as Jim Valenti pushes the curtain aside.
‘Angelica’. He touches his hat briefly in greeting. He takes a look at the man on the bed and says, ‘Oh my God.’ He moves over to the patient and puts a hand to the young man’s forehead. ‘He’s burning up.’
‘Do you know who he is? What can you tell me about him, Jim?’ Angelica has never seen him so – concerned, so anxious. He hesitates for a long moment, then speaks.
‘I’m going to tell you something you may not believe, but this man’s life may depend on it. He’s not – from around here.. ‘
‘Go on.’
I think - he may be an alien. That is, an alien/human hybrid. He – his body isn’t entirely human, but he really needs our help.’
‘Okay.’ This was becoming very strange, and there is a lot she needs to know.
Angelica moves closer to the patient. He is young – late twenties, early thirties. From the look of him he could have been in the desert for an indeterminate length of time.
There wasn’t much sunburn, but his clothes – and skin – are very dirty and sandy, and he is almost certainly suffering from some degree of dehydration.
He appears to be deeply unconscious. She checks his pupils. There is at least a response when she shines her light briefly into them. His pulse is – this can’t be right! Impossibly fast. She sticks a thermostrip in his forehead and within seconds the reading says 110.
‘Jim, this isn’t possible. He should be – dead – with a temperature this high.’
‘Yes, Angelica, but I just told you, he isn’t - like you and me.’
She couldn’t understand, really, what Jim was trying to tell her.
An alien/human hybrid? What was he talking about? She was a scientist, with an enquiring and she hoped open mind, but this was just too – incredible to believe.
But then, this is Roswell New Mexico, Alien centre of the world. She looks a little more closely at the patient.
‘I need to examine him properly,’ she says, and beckons to one of the nurses to help her take off the patient’s clothes. ‘We need to what injuries he has. I’m arranging a chest x ray, a CT of abdomen and head, and I’ll send bloods to the lab..’
‘Wait.’ Jim puts a hand on her arm. ‘Can you check the blood yourself? The fewer people who know about him the better.’ She nods.
By now Lisa has removed the patient’s leather vest and dark tee shirt. She is untying his boots – that look like army issue, heavy and hard wearing – and Angelica notices that his pants are also leather. A motorbike accident, maybe? Jim seems serious about the alien thing, though.
Carefully, she examines the patient’s scalp, professionally running her fingers through the long, dark hair. She can find no sign of blood or bruising, no lumps or bumps externally to indicate an injury that could bring on such a deeply unconscious state. His eyes are closed and his breathing is low, and a little erratic. His face is not marked; his profile clear and strong.
He’s probably quite a character when he’s awake, she thinks.
She checks his arms and legs – he appears to be in excellent physical shape, toned and well-muscled, although his right arm has a fresh scar; also, across his ribs, his left thigh, bear scars that could be bullet wounds. But what kind of gun could inflict such scars?
Could he be a soldier of some kind, a mercenary? There are no signs of fractures or new wounds.
‘This is good so far. There don’t appear to be any broken bones. Jim, can I get a line in, just some fluid? He has to be very dehydrated. And what about something to try and bring down this fever?’
‘Absolutely not. We have no idea what effect any of these things could have on his system.’
‘Then what can I do, how can I help him?’
Jim paces, then turns. ‘I think I know someone who could help. I’ll be back. Soon.’
He leaves.
Lisa has gone off to arrange the CT scan and the x rays. Angelica is alone with her patient.
She contemplates him. He has long, dark hair, and a couple of days’ stubble. His mouth is – quite beautiful, she is surprised to find herself thinking. Lying there in a pale blue hospital gown, covered in a sheet, still and quiet, breathing barely perceptible, he could be sleeping.
His profile is as pure as a child’s.
What stories can you tell us? How can we bring you back, what can I do to help you? There is something about him which is almost magical. Angelica shakes herself.
Come on, she tells herself, you’re a scientist, not a doe-eyed teenager swooning over some mystery guy. My Romeo and Juliet days are long over.
She unwraps the sterile blood test dish, and takes blood for testing. She puts a small band-aid on his arm.
‘Sorry,’ she says gently. ‘At least you wouldn’t have felt that.’
Acting on an impulse she doesn’t really understand, she bathes his hot face with a cool cloth. She pulls a chair up to sit beside her mysterious stranger. She takes his hand so that he won’t be alone while they wait for the porters to take him for his scans and investigations.
To be continued
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