Intersection (CC,M/L,Mature) Outline and AN -- 6/21/06 [WIP]

[JO]

Rating: Mature
Category: pre-To Serve and Protect (M/L; CC)
Summary: Strangers converge in Roswell and their presence affects the Roswell teens.
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. No infringement intended. Similar situations are chances of fate.

Author's Note: This fic has been on hiatus since my disc became corroded; I'm hoping to start it up again so I can complete it and I thought that reposting (since the original thread has been lost in a purge) would be a good way to reintroduce this fic and get my brain working again.

Hope you enjoy!!

JO

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Part 1

NEW ORLEANS

Something had drawn her to New Orleans, just as something had pulled her from Lubbock, Texas, almost forcing her into her car and onto I-20 East. From the moment she set foot in the Crescent City, she’d felt more peace than at any other time during her seventeen years of life. It had taken her two days to find an apartment in the French Quarter, feeling that she needed to be in the heart of the city, and after emptying her Texas bank accounts, she had decided to spend a few dollars on a fortune teller. She spent most of the cool January morning staring at the statute of Andrew Jackson astride a reared horse, the center piece of Jackson Square, contemplating her new life. She had abandoned everything she’d ever known in Lubbock when she made the split-second decision to follow her heart. As she inhaled the aromas of Cafe du Monde and the slight hint of bourbon in the air, she knew she had made the right choice. Following your heart can’t steer you wrong, her grandmother had once told her, and Serina smiled to herself as she crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself against the wintery breeze floating off of the Mississippi River.

She stepped onto Decatur Street, her eyes instantly drawn to a frail black woman on the west side of the square. As she crossed Decatur, her hands firmly in the pockets of her khaki pants, she watched with interest while the woman spread a purple table cloth across the small card table. She smiled at a street vendor, pretending to peruse his assortment of creole paintings but her attention remained fully on the woman. She surmised the woman had to be at least seventy, given her stutter-like steps as she continued to prepare her table and the achingly slow tempo with which she went about this chore. Snapping herself back to reality with the thought of approaching this woman to have her fortune told, Serina’s eyes widened and she almost shrank behind the displays as the woman turned toward her and motioned for her to come out of hiding. She turned away quickly, thinking the woman had mistaken her for someone else.

“I’s lookin’ at who I nee’,” the woman replied with a laugh, her craggy voice echoing through the crisp morning air. “I ben waitin’.”

“I’m sorry,” Serina said reflexively, the inflection of her voice turning the phrase into a question. Despite herself, she cautiously stepped toward the woman’s station, her eyes widening with each step she took. “I...I think -”

“I knowed who ya is, Miz Serina White, and I knowed de ansa ya seek.”

“How,” Serina began, blinking her eyes at a rapid pace, sending tears streaming down her cheeks. “How do you know me?”

“Maum Viv knows lots, more ‘an dese,” the woman replied, nodding her head at the other tables being set up on the west side of the square. She slowly sat down and once she was properly settled into her own chair, she patted the empty chair across from her. “Sit down an’ see wats I can tell ya.” Serina pulled the rickety wooden chair away from the empty space at the table and slowly sat down, not taking her eyes off Maum Viv’s now-hunched frame. Tears pooled in her brown eyes once again and she absently swiped at them with the back of her hand. “You hurtin’, aincha chile,” Maum Viv whispered so low Serina had to strain to hear her. She lowered her upper body toward the center of the small table, concentrating on the words flowing from Maum Viv’s mouth as the French Quarter came to life around them. “Cain’t stay he’ no matta how ya wants t’. More waitin’ fo’ ya...out dere.”

“What,” Serina pleaded, almost grabbing Maum Viv’s wrinkled hands but she stopped herself before she did any damage. “I...I don’t understand. You’re talking in circles.”

“Not my job t’ teach, chile. Jus tellin’ wat I sees an’ I sees a lot. Wat you lookin’ fo’ ain’t he’. Ain’t got no reason t’ be he’.”

“I...I don’t want to go. Something told me to come here. I left everything I’ve ever known behind. I...I’m not leaving New Orleans.”

“Ya don’t belon’ he’,” Maum Viv shouted as she placed her palms flat on the table, leaning toward Serina. Serina cowered from the woman’s forward motion, surprised that such a small woman could elicit such fear within her heart. “I cain’t ‘splain it no betta, chile.”

“I don’t have anywhere to go,” Serina whispered, suddenly overcome with emotion as unshed tears pooled in her eyes for the third time since meeting the fortune teller.

“T’ain’t true,” Maum Viv replied, taking both of Serina’s petite hands into hers. Serina momentarily marveled at the differences between their two hands: age, size, color. She lowered her gaze to her hidden hands and while she knew she shouldn’t feel any better simply because Maum Viv had offered comfort, she did. Maum Viv hadn’t said anything unusual or perceptive; she had simply spoken the truth. As easily as she had left Lubbock, Serina could leave New Orleans. “Dere’s more fo’ ya den Naw’lins. A des’ny.”

“What did you say,” Serina questioned, removing her hands from Maum Viv’s weak grasp. Her eyebrows furrowed together and her mouth dropped open slightly, as if she were going to ask another question but her voice caught in her throat.

“T’ain’t never gonna fine ‘em in Naw’lins. Go Wes’,” Maum Viv added the exact moment Serina thought it. Serina slumped against the back of the chair, her mind whirling with so many questions yet without the ability to ask Maum Viv any of them. She watched with bated breath as Maum Viv bent at the waist and dug for something in the large black bag sitting beside her feet. Maum Viv returned to the table moments later and spread before Serina a map of the continental United States. “Close y’ eyes. Pick a place.” Serina opened her mouth to protest but Maum Viv simply nudged the flimsy paper map toward her again. Sighing loudly, Serina closed her eyes and pulled her hand into a fist, leaving only her index finger exposed. She exhaled then quickly jammed her finger down onto the table. Opening her right eye warily followed by her left, it took several seconds for them to dilate to the sunlight illuminating the square. She read the town’s name silently, allowing herself a moment to savor it within her mind, and for a fraction of a second, she felt recognition.

Roswell, New Mexico.

Raising her eyes off the map and toward Maum Viv’s chair, several seconds passed before she realized that she was the only person occupying the small table. Serina stood quickly, oblivious to the breeze that swept across the table and claimed the map, and glanced around the square, looking for any signs of Maum Viv. She turned in a small circle, continuing to stare toward the statute of Andrew Jackson, toward Decatur Street and the river front, toward the St. Louis Cathedral but any trace of Maum Viv had vanished. With her brain clouded by confusion, Serina sat back down in the rickety chair, not surprised that the map had vanished along with Maum Viv. But at least she had a name - a definite destination - and the distinct feeling that she should go there.

[JO]

Part 2

ROSWELL

Maria absently wiped the counter top with the soapy rag, her mind clearly somewhere else other than the Crash Down Cafe. She could hear Michael in the kitchen, scraping away remnants of burgers and fries off the grill. She was almost tempted to turn and watch him work, but they were having one of their “off” moments and Maria knew she should just concentrate on the few remaining customers in the cafe. She glanced at the watch Liz had given her for Christmas and shook her head, wondering how their lives could be fine one minute and terrible the next.

It had been a wonderful month for she and Michael. After he had presented her with the pearl earrings and the new bumper for her Jetta, Maria had thought they had reached a turning point in their relationship. Her mother was regularly out on dates with Sheriff Valenti, busy with her own love life instead of Maria’s and her extended absences; there were no more Michael worshipers in Roswell that she knew of - their lives seemed to be heading exactly where Maria had hoped. Then, out of nowhere, Michael had become distant and withdrawn. She had initially attributed the mood swing as alien related. After all, both Max and Isabel had been moody around the same time, but that had quickly changed. Isabel had begun dating Grant Sorenson on a regular basis, and Max had been spending more and more time with Tess, much to Maria’s chagrin. That’s when the alien mood swings swung toward the humans. Alex had fled to Sweden. Liz had sentenced herself to solitary confinement in her room, and Kyle had become a jock again. Was she the only one that realized their group was splintering apart?

The bells on the door of the cafe tinkled, startling Maria from her daydream. She glanced at her watch again without looking up to see who had entered the cafe, and she couldn’t help the sigh that escaped from her throat. 9:45 p. m. Liz had promised she’d be down to help Maria with the closing. Kristi, the peppy freshman cheerleader Mr. Parker had hired to cover the longer holiday hours, had decided she was too peppy to come to work that evening, leaving Maria and Michael understaffed. Liz had been upstairs reading when Maria had told her the news several hours ago, and although Liz told Maria to call her if there was a problem, Maria had known Liz was less than enthusiastic about the offer. Still, Maria knew Liz would keep her word, and if Liz Parker said she’d be down to help with the closing, she’d help.

Raising her head up from the counter top, Maria’s eyes widened as she watched Grant, Isabel, Max and Tess share a booth, their laughter filling the pseudo-empty cafe. She spun toward the kitchen without thinking and was surprised to see Michael standing in the pick-up window, watching the scene too. Their eyes met momentarily and Maria hoped they could speak to each other, but Michael quickly broke eye contact. Exhaling as the sound of pots and pans clattered in the kitchen, Maria walked from behind the counter to the booth. “Hey guys,” she chirped, surprised by how easy she could fake happiness. “What can I get you? “

“Oh,” Isabel replied, her laughter dying down. “I’ll just have a Cherry Coke.”

“Me too.”

“Cherry Coke with lime.”

“I’ll have a Cherry Coke too, Maria, thanks,” Max stated and Maria looked up from her order pad to stare at her friend. He smiled at her weakly and while Tess, Isabel and Grant continued their conversation about some movie they’d seen, Max glanced over his shoulders at the double doors. Maria knew instantly that he was looking for Liz, and her heart broke a little more for her two friends.

“I’ll be right back,” Maria said and Max smiled at her again, then returned his attention back to the conversation at the booth. She placed her order pad and pencil in her apron pocket and returned to the counter, repeating the four drink orders over and over in her mind. By accident and somewhat out of habit, she turned to her left, watching Michael scrub the grill. She felt the syrupy liquid spill onto her hand and immediately stopped pressing the drink lever. “Shit,” she mumbled as she grabbed the soapy rag and wiped her hands. She paused for a moment in her inner-mind ramblings, feeling Michael’s warmth directly behind her.

“Grill’s closed,” he barked as she slowly turned to face him. “If they want food,” he continued, nodding his head toward Isabel, Grant, Tess and Max, “it’ll have to be a sandwich or something cold. “

“Okay,” she said, propping her hands against the counter top. They stood in awkward silence staring at each other until Max appeared at the counter.

“Need some help,” he offered, glancing from Maria to Michael to Maria again.

“I’ve got it,” Maria replied as Michael vanished through the swinging double doors. She sighed slowly and picked up the four drinks, balancing them in between her hands and followed Max to the booth. “Here you go,” she said, dolling the drinks to the rightful owner. “The grill’s closed so if you want anything -”

“I’m not hungry,” Tess interrupted, flipping a mass of blonde curls over her shoulder as she moved closer to Max.

“We already ate,” Isabel offered, turning her attention from Maria almost immediately back to Grant.

“Okay. Here’s the check.” Maria placed the check on the table and turned away, her mind already cleaning the milkshake machine.

Liz burst through the swinging doors, a wide smile on her lips, the first genuine smile Maria had seen plastered on her face in months. “Maria, I think I’ve figured out a way to be with -,” Liz began, pausing when her eyes fell on the crowded booth behind Maria’s right shoulder. Maria watched Liz’s face fall and turned around to see Tess’s head resting lightly on Max’s shoulder, their laughter mixing and echoing through the quiet cafe. When Maria turned back around, Liz was gone, the swinging door wafting in the wind of her exit. She glanced toward the kitchen, intent on asking Michael to lock up so she could check on Liz, but the kitchen was already dark. Maria slumped onto the nearest counter stool and realized that her life was beginning to look as dark as the kitchen.

[JO]

Part 3

LOS ANGELES

Her ears rang with the reverberation of ten thousand archangels, their voices joined in one intense exaltation.

That fevered moment, by far, had been the worst moment of discord since the ringing began as a series of tinkling of bells three days earlier. At the time of their initiation into her brain, the constant drone had almost driven her to the brink of insanity but now she knew it was because of who she was, what she had become.

She pressed her fingers against her temples, working them in slow circles. She could hear the bookstore growing louder with incessant chatter, the kind of talking that grated on her already fragile nerves. “Can I have a few more minutes,” she asked the dowdy-looking woman bookstore employ who had been firmly joined to her hip since her arrival, pencils sticking out of her messy bun and a headset attached to her ear. “To prepare.”

“Of course,” the woman named Jane answered but Maggie could tell Jane was angry as she closed the office door leaving Maggie alone. In the dimly-lit room, Maggie could finally be herself, the small-town girl from Roswell, New Mexico. Everyone in Roswell believed she was dead and had been dead for almost seven years. She had seen the grave marker with her own eyes four years earlier.

Maggie Rose Whitman 1979-1994

The first sound she had remembered was the tinkling of bells. It was, in fact, the only sound she had been able to identify and make when the police found her in December 1994, her head shaved, her body so frail she had to spend a month in physical therapy. Afterward, a year of extensive psychotherapy and memory regression did nothing to stimulate her memories of the trauma that had rendered her almost useless. The hospital had been given no choice but to release her to a halfway house under the new identity of Miranda Bell.

Maggie lived in a comfortable existence in the halfway house. She kept to herself, and once she learned how to write again, a pencil was always in her hand. As the months passed, she wrote more and more, retreating into the world she created on paper. She was almost more at peace in the world she wrote about instead of the harsh California semi-life she lived. The last day she was in the house, Joann, her favorite staff member, found her writings and a small black notebook. Maggie tried furiously to explain that the shapes and symbols Joann could not understand made perfect sense to her, and told the story of a galaxy called the Whirlwind Galaxy. Joann feared for Maggie’s safety, especially since Maggie was to be placed back into society the following morning, so she locked Maggie in her room for her own protection. That was the night Maggie’s questions about her past were answered.

The dream was fast-paced but slow enough that Maggie could recognize people and places. She saw Roswell, her hometown, and her family. She saw herself being taken from her bed and her mother’s tearful televised plea. She saw the empty casket and the entire town mourning her death. Then, she heard words, spoken in a foreign language she somehow understood and the same shapes and symbols from her small black notebook branded into her mind. She escaped the half-way house that night, knowing her true identity and the gift that she had been given, turning her journey into one of the best-selling science fiction books in decades. But what Maggie’s agent sold as science fiction, Maggie knew as the true story of the Whirlwind Galaxy and the history of the five planets in the solar system.

“Are you ready now, Ms. Ross,” Jane questioned through the closed door. Maggie opened her eyes from her reflective thoughts, her mind still filled with the sound of tinkling bells. The attacks had never lasted longer than a day, and Maggie felt chills go down her spine as Roswell flashed through her mind. Now was not the time to cancel her book tour; Infamy was holding at Number 5 on several lists and internet sites, and climbing steadily due to the book tour. “Ms. Ross,” Jane bellowed again, the annoyance in her voice now unmistakable. Something was going to happen in Roswell, of that Maggie was certain. She knew she would have to abandon her duties as Natalie Ross, successful author, and become Maggie Whitman. Someone she hadn’t been in almost seven years.

[JO]

Part 4

ROSWELL

Liz lovingly fingered the wallet-sized photograph of Max as she stood in the back room waiting for her shift to begin. A second photograph just as worn remained in her apron pocket for fear Maria or Michael discovered her obsession and she had to hide the evidence quickly and feign surprise. If found, Liz knew Maria would glare for a moment or two then pull her into a fierce hug followed almost immediately by two pints of Ben and Jerry’s Chocolate Fudge Brownie ice cream. Maria would cautiously broach the subject of Max, to which Liz would again state her claims in causing the end of the world, and they would return to Ben and Jerry. Michael, however, would ignore the subject completely. He would shake his head and mumble inconsistent ramblings to himself, but Liz knew Michael would keep her secret. Maria would tell Max, in no uncertain terms, how miserable Liz was, and Liz knew if Max discovered the truth now, she would not be strong enough to say no to him. But Maria and Michael didn’t know these things.

They didn’t know Max had told her he believed in her. They didn’t know he had clasped her gloved hand tightly, warmth suddenly flooding her soul, and told her he believed in her. Maria and Michael didn’t know that those simple words had meant the world to her. They couldn’t possibly understand the impact of Max’s statement on her war-weary heart. No one could. And so, she was content to bask in the golden light of Max’s undying love, believing that she would find a way to overcome this final burden standing between them.

“Oh God,” Maria said as she burst through the swinging door into the back room, dabbing at her watery eyes. Liz jumped at the intrusion and slammed her locker door shut with her elbow at the same time stuffing Max’s photo into her apron pocket. “Brody is so funny,” Maria continued, collapsing onto the couch as a loud crash echoed through the kitchen.

Liz stepped into the kitchen doorway and found Michael amidst a variety of pots, pans and utensils, sporadically strewn on the brick red floor. His mouth was taut and turned down in a harsh scowl as he surveyed the floor and the mess. Liz smiled slightly before she stepped out of the doorway and into the back room.

“He told me the best joke,” Maria said, oblivious to the kitchen noise or ignoring it. “Want to hear it?”

“Sure,” Liz replied with a shrug as more crashes came from the kitchen. She leaned against the stairwell, waiting for Maria to begin telling the joke.

“Wait. I have to make sure I remember this and I can’t concentrate with all this noise.” There was a moment’s pause before another crash echoed into the back room, causing Maria to sigh heavily and roll her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Okay. I’m ready now. Knock. Knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Carl, the interrupting cow.”

“Wh –“

“Moo!” Maria clutched her waist as her laughter filled the room. Throwing herself backward against the couch, she continued to laugh, a fresh line of tears pooling in the corners of her eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard. Then, Sydney told a joke.”

“Is it like the one Brody told you?”

“C’mon, Liz, she’s eight. Any joke is funny to her. But it wasn’t a knock knock joke,” Maria corrected.

“Okay. What’s the joke,” Liz asked, indulging Maria further.

“What’s green and flies?” Liz thought for a moment then shrugged when the answer alluded her. “Super Pickle,” Maria replied. “That’s her favorite.”

Liz rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the chuckle that came out of her mouth. It felt nice to laugh with Maria again. It almost felt like old times, before the shooting, before Tess and certainly before Future Max and his end of the world.

“There are hungry customers,” Michael barked, thankfully jolting Liz from her thoughts of Max. “People need food.”

“Yes, sir, drill sergeant,” Maria snapped as she popped up from the couch and straightened her uniform and apron. She marched out of the swinging door without a second glance at Michael.

Liz brushed a strand of stray hairs out of her face and smiled warmly at Michael, his eyes watching Maria as she conversed with customers. “It has to get better,” she said, trying to make her remark as vague as possible so Michael would think she was talking about anything.

“It can’t get any worse,” Michael grumbled, turning his back on Liz as he walked into the kitchen. Liz sighed to herself and exhaled slowly before pushing open the swinging door into the café.

[JO]

Part 5

CLIFTON, ARIZONA

His bare feet pounded on the craggy earth, thorns and briars digging into his most sensitive parts. As he ran away from his captors and further into the darkness of the woods, he tried in vain to unbind his wrists. Nicholas wouldn’t have used normal rope on his hands, not when they were his most powerful weapon. His hands were his only weapon, his mind his greatest defense against their tortures, but Patrick had learned enough in his incarceration to know his family, his brother, was in danger.

In his previous life, Patrick had been a scout in the King’s Army, a well-decorated and loyal servant of his Magnate. His family had sacrificed many men to military campaigns during their five generations of life on Antar. The fatal uprising that lead to his sojourn on Earth had not only cost him the life of his king but his beloved brother as well, the man who could have claimed the throne in his own right and ruled with the king’s sister at his side.

Several memories of his brother flashed through his mind as he continued to run: their childhood, each pretending the other was a mortal enemy with fights to the death; their years together training in the King’s Army; their induction into their predetermined life paths. Painfully and unable to stop the onslaught of the memory, Patrick watched his brother die, followed almost immediately by the death of his king. The intrusion in the interior of the palace had been well-planned, Patrick’s keen mind discovering too late the key players. So he had watched in stunned horror while his brother, his king and the entire Royal Four were cut down, the usurper and his mistress taking control of the palace.

It was he who had commissioned the queen to replicate her dead children and resurrect them on a distant planet in hopes they would return and destroy the usurper. Patrick had been prepared to take his life that he could journey and be reunited with his brother, but the usurper and his mistress had taken their liberties with him instead, just as Nicholas had. And, just as he had escaped from Nicholas’ traitorous army, he had escaped from the usurper and made his way to Earth determined to find his brother and his king. During both incarcerations with his enemies, Patrick learned vital, sometimes shocking information about those within the king’s inner circle. There had been traitors and double agents around Zan, King of Antar, and now duplicity reigned again around the man called Max Evans.

He stepped down, the lights of the highway visible in the next clearing, his toes catching on a fallen branch and he fell to the ground, rolling downhill several yards. He could feel the bone snap as he rolled, heard it echo through his mind, followed immediately by a string of curses he thought were long buried when he claimed this new form.

Patrick rolled onto his knee and awkwardly wrapped both of his hands, still bound at the wrist, around his dangling limb. His powers flickered a bit from disuse so he closed his eyes in concentration, searching deep within the recesses of his mind. He only had to make it to the highway. Power surged from his palms onto his leg, a healing warmth overtaking his limb. He could feel his strength failing so he stopped the healing, knowing full well the break was only partially repaired. His powers were not developed for healing; he was a warrior, a defender, a protector. Those gifts had been his and his alone, and he had excelled at them all. He only had to make it to the highway, he reassured himself, struggling to stand. He carefully placed weight on his leg and winced as he heard an audible pop. He only had to make it to the highway. Once there, he would do whatever it took to get to Roswell to help his brother, now known as Michael Guerin.

[JO]

Part 6

ROSWELL

Isabel buttoned the low-cut red blouse across her chest and stared at her reflection in the mirror. She sighed and ripped the blouse open, scattering buttons across her floor. She dropped the blouse where she stood and stepped toward her open closet, knowing she could repair the buttons later. Now, she had to get ready for her date with Grant. She jerked a blue turtleneck off its hanger, sending the hanger flying out of the closet, and returned to her floor-length mirror, holding the sweater against her chest.

“Iz,” Max called from the hallway through her closed bedroom door.

“I know,” Isabel yelled. “Grant’s waiting.” She threw the sweater over her shoulder onto her bed and retreated back into her closet.

“I’m coming in,” Max ordered in an excited whisper and Isabel heard the door knob jiggle.

“No, Max. I’ve got to get ready,” she said, pulling a black velour v-neck over her head, but Max paid no head to her warning. He stood beside her bed wit his eyes shut tight when her head emerged through the shirt. “Grant’s waiting,” Isabel reiterated as she glared at Max, turning her attention to the mirror to fix her hair. “What do you want?”

“I want to talk to you.”

“I don’t have time to talk right now. If you didn’t catch it the first time, my date is downstairs.”

“I don’t think you should go out with him,” Max admitted in a hushed voice, stepping closer to Isabel.. “I don’t like him. I don’t trust him.”

Isabel spun away from the mirror, her mouth slightly open and her eyes wide in disbelief. “You don’t have any right to tell me who I can and cannot date. Mom and Dad like him. I like him. You don’t have to like him.” She stepped past him to her desk to retrieve her leather coat and purse. “You sound like Michael. Pretty soon, you won’t even trust Liz.”

Max balked at the mention of Liz and ran his left hand along the base of his neck. “Let’s not talk about Liz,” he muttered under his breath.

“You still believe that rumor about Liz and Kyle, don’t you,” Isabel questioned as she pulled her hair out of her jacket. “I can find out the truth about what really happened. It’s very easy.”

“I know you can,” Max replied, “and I told you not to. Liz made her decision and just because it doesn’t seem like she and Kyle are together now -” He broke off and cleared his throat. “I’m not here to talk about Liz. I don’t want you to go out with Grant.”

“I’m going,” Isabel reiterated and stepped around Max toward her bedroom door.

“What about Alex? I thought you were going to give it a chance.”

Isabel stopped cold, dropping her purse onto the floor mere steps away from the hallway. She turned slowly toward Max, allowing herself plenty of time to think of a witty comeback, but she couldn’t think of one. She had decided, had wanted for she and Alex to be closer, especially after Thanksgiving. She had told herself that she would let him in and he would be grateful and loving, and that she would be happy with him. But Grant had somehow gotten in the way once again and Alex had fled Roswell without even saying good-bye. “Alex left me. He left without saying good-bye and I haven’t heard from him. As far as I’m concerned, the chance is over. Now,” she said as she retrieved her purse from the floor, “I’m going to go downstairs and begin my date.”

* * *

“Is this seat okay,” Grant questioned as he nodded toward the two aisle seats. The theater was dark, the preview almost over when they entered with Grant carrying their drinks and popcorn.

“It’s great,” Isabel whispered and they settled into the seats. Isabel smiled, accepting her drink from Grant as the movie flickered to life on the screen. She couldn’t even remember what she had agreed to see, much less who the leading male star was. Her mind was consumed by her conversation with Max and thoughts of Alex.

She felt Grant staring at her so she turned to her left and gave him a quick smile. She was on a date with Grant, not Alex. Alex was in Sweden, not in Roswell, and Alex certainly wasn’t sharing his highly-buttered popcorn with her. Alex knew she didn’t like movie popcorn; Alex would have bought her Junior Mints, hoping she would share with him so he could fire them at unsuspecting movie patrons. But she wasn’t on a date with Alex.

She smiled at Grant again for good measure, noticing as he turned front three small cuts on his neck. “You’re bleeding,” she whispered, snatching several napkins from his leg, her hand almost covering the wounds when his hand abruptly encircled her wrist, stopping her.

Before she could process what was happening, she was standing in a wooded area, a mound of dirt to her left, a large hole to her right. A blonde woman screamed, clawing wildly at her face and neck. Isabel felt fingernails rake the right side of her neck, her hands seizing the blonde’s shoulders, pushing her downward while her hands worked some type of unseen lock.

“I cut myself shaving,” Grant said, holding the napkins on his wound as he turned his attention back to the movie.

Isabel nodded in understanding and cautiously edged away from him. Her heart hammered in her chest as she wondered why she would receive such a flash from Grant when she had never received a flash from him before.

[JO]

Part 7

“I just don’t like it,” Max admitted with a shrug, pushing the milkshake glass back and forth across the table. “There’s something…wrong about him. I just can’t put my finger on it.”

“Probably that he’s interested in Isabel and he’s not a high school kid,” Michael suggested, his left arm thrown across the back of the booth, his left leg claiming the entire side of the booth. “He’s older, not like anyone Isabel’s ever been interested in, and she’s been interested in him for longer than a week.”

“I don’t know,” Max replied, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He could feel Liz staring at him but he didn’t dare look over his shoulder. Things had been awkward between them since Christmas and he couldn’t bring himself to think about Liz or what could happen between them if they sat down and talked.

“Hey,” Liz said and Max closed his eyes when her shadow appeared at the edge of the booth. “We’re almost finished in the back but we need your help. Maria and I can’t reach some of the supplies.”

“Okay, Liz,” Michael began, his eyes darting between Max and Liz. “I’ll be back there in a few minutes.”

“No rush,” Liz replied as she stepped away from the booth, glancing in Max’s direction for a split second before lowering her eyes to the floor. “Thanks.”

Max raised his head as she walked away and couldn’t stop himself from looking over his shoulder, watching her disappear into the back room.

“Just talk to her.”

“Who,” Max questioned as he absently stirred the milkshake with his straw. “Isabel?”

“Liz. Talk to Liz.”

“That chapter is over, Michael. Liz and I are…friends.” He glanced over his shoulder once again, this time watching Liz fill the sugar containers. “Just friends,” he repeated. “And we’re talking about Isabel, not Liz.”

“You were talking about Isabel. I was trying to look interested.”

“Michael.”

“Look, Maxwell, we’ve learned some pretty messed up stuff over the past year. So what if Isabel goes out with Grant? Dating is what teenagers do, what we’re supposed to do, not run from the FBI and chase evil aliens.”

“You and Maria aren’t going out.”

“That’s different,” Michael said, dismissing Max’s comment with a wave of his hand. “Isabel’s a big girl. Let her date who she wants. It’s not like she’s dating Kyle Valenti or anything.”

Max’s eyes widened the moment Kyle’s name registered in his brain. He leaned forward, resting both forearms onto the table. “Wh…why would you mention Kyle? What’s Kyle got to do with this?” Michael opened his mouth to respond but Max’s attention was drawn to the front door, noticing Kyle and several of his basketball team friends enter the café. Max held Kyle’s stare for a moment before Kyle broke eye contact and headed straight for Liz.

“Kyle has everything to do with this, Maxwell. I’ve heard the rumors. I think you need to talk to Liz. She’ll set the record straight.”

“I’ve asked Liz,” Max answered before he could stop himself, his tone sharp and clipped. He glanced at Michael, quickly returning his eyes to the table. “I’ve asked Liz,” he said again, his voice normal, his eyes watching Liz and Kyle interact with each other across the counter. “I…I don’t want to talk about Liz, okay.”

“Okay.”

“Okay what,” Tess chirped as she appeared at the edge of the booth, her hands buried deep within the pockets of her white jacket, a small smile on her lips. “What are we talking about,” she questioned, pushing Max toward the wall as she sat down beside him in the booth.

“Work,” Michael replied, his eyes trained on Liz and Kyle, both of whom were watching Max and Tess. “I’ve gotta hit it. Later.” He stepped out of the booth and walked into the back room.

“What’s up with him,” Tess asked as she reached across Max to grab a menu from behind the napkin dispenser. She didn’t wait for Max to answer and began reading the menu for something to quench her craving. “God, I can’t eat this grease. Let’s go to Senor Chow’s, Max. I’m in the mood for Mexican food. Salty tortilla chips, yum. Doesn’t that sound good?”

“I’m fine here, Tess. I thought I might get some Asteroid Pie.”

“Okay,” Tess groaned, picking up the menu again, pretending to read. “Asteroid Pie sounds good. Where’s Liz or Maria? Oh, great,” Tess said as Liz appeared with a freshly filled sugar container in her hands. “We both want Asteroid Pie. I’d like a Cherry Coke and could I get a plate of limes. Max, do you want another milkshake?”

Max raised his head, stunned to find both Tess and Liz staring at him. He parted his lips, intent on saying something, but no words would come. He mutely nodded at Liz and returned his gaze to the table.

“So whatever milkshake Max is drinking too,” Tess continued. “Thanks, Liz.”

“You’re welcome,” Liz replied softly just before she reached across the table to exchange the sugar containers. Her hand accidentally brushed Max’s, startling Max and causing both Liz and Tess to jump in reaction to his sudden movement. “Sorry,” Liz said as she pulled her hand away but Max was too quick and captured her wrist with his hand.

It's you I trust. It's you I have faith in, and because it's not just about getting me close to Tess. I need you to help me fall out of love with you.

“Max, Liz has work to do,” Tess said as she extracted Liz’s wrist from Max’s hand, almost pushing Liz away from the table. “Don’t forget the limes please.”

“I think I’d rather be alone, Tess,” Max admitted once Liz was gone, his mind preoccupied from the confusing vision he’d just received from Liz.

“Well, I’d rather be at Senor Chow’s but we don’t always get what we want,” Tess replied as she stretched across him a second time to snare the salt shaker.

“You’re right,” Max whispered softly as he looked over his shoulder to the kitchen where his eyes instantly met Liz’s, her right hand gingerly holding her left wrist, a pained expression on her face as Maria stood beside her.

[JO]

cardinalgirl -- Yes, this is definitely a kinder, gentler Michael, to say the least. He's still Michael, though, just different. I like not knowing what's going to come out of his mouth next.

And yes, Tess is a snot. She's got an angle, remember?



Part 8


“He had a flash,” Liz mumbled as she cradled her left wrist. She glanced down at her wrist again but felt Max’s eyes squarely on her and raised her head in his direction. Despite her blurry vision, she could see Max’s face and knew his mind was already attempting to sort out the mysterious flash.

“What,” Maria asked, stepping toward Liz form the pick-up window.

“He had a flash.”

“Who?”

“Max.”

“About what,” Maria questioned as she invaded Liz’s personal space, her voice a low whisper.

“Future Max,” Liz admitted, her voice level matching Maria’s as she glanced to her left at Kyle, happily devouring a plate of food and to her right at Michael, busy in the kitchen. She looked over her shoulder at Max, somewhat relieved to find him not looking at her, he and Tess still sharing the booth.

“This is perfect,” Maria replied, draping her arm across Liz’s shoulders, guiding them into the back room. “Now you can tell him the truth.”

“I can’t,” Liz countered as she wriggled free of Maria’s grasp and stood on her tiptoes, watching Max and Tess through the window in the door. “This is the way it’s supposed to be. They’re together now.”

“Who’s together,” Maria asked, pushing Liz to the side so she could look out the small window into the dining area. “Max and Tess,” she said after her perusal of the dining area was complete. “Are you crazy?”

“She didn’t leave Roswell, Maria. That’s a good sign.” Maria rolled her eyes and plopped onto the dusty couch. Liz sighed in response, silently vowing she could stay strong. “No, I can’t tell Max the truth.”

“Truth about what,” Michael questioned, wiping his hands on a cotton rag, his figure standing in the door frame separating the back room from the kitchen.

“N...nothing,” Liz mumbled, her eyes wildly avoiding Michael’s questioning stare, her escape mere inches away but as she stepped toward the door, Michael grabbed her upper arm.

“Hey,” Maria squealed while jumping up from the couch and digging into her apron for her order pad. Once the order pad was firmly in her grasp, she rushed at Michael, her arms flailing in Liz’s defense.

“Hey,” Michael bellowed, releasing Liz’s arm to shield his head from Maria’s blows. “I’m just trying to get to the truth.”

“I can’t tell you,” Liz whispered, Maria instantly at her side as a large red handprint appeared on her upper arm where Michael had grabbed her. “Too much is at stake. You’ll tell Max then it will all be for nothing.”

“Fine,” Michael groaned. “You’ve kept secrets before and you’ve always had your reasons.” He offered Liz a small smile, which Liz shyly returned, both of them understanding immediately Michael was referring to the secret that Liz still kept about Michael’s involvement when her journal had been missing the previous year. “Just promise me you’re not doing this to hurt Max.”

“I love Max,” Liz admitted truthfully. “I would never do anything to hurt him.”

“That’s good enough for me, for now,” Michael replied and turned away from Liz and Maria, stepping back into the kitchen to finish his cleaning.

* * *

Isabel paced back and forth in staccato movements at the foot of Max’s bed. It was almost 11:00 and Isabel knew that Max would be at the Crashdown until Liz kicked him out. She had cut short her date with Grant, citing a raging headache, and had been pacing in Max’s room for almost an hour. She paused and unconsciously held her breath when she heard the doorknob turn and exhaled with Max entered the room.

“What are you doing here? I thought you had a date.”

“I did but I ended it early. I...there’s something I need to tell you.”

“You came home to talk to me,” Max questioned, his voice thick with sarcasm. “You didn’t have time to talk to me earlier. What’s so different now?”

“I had a flash...from Grant.” Isabel waited for Max’s reaction but he merely fell onto his bed, leaving her no other option but to continue. “It was so weird, Max. I heard a woman screaming and felt her fingernails on my neck, and Grant had three scratches on his neck.”

“He probably cut himself shaving,” Max offered with a shrug.

“No, this is serious. There’s something...wrong and I...I can’t figure it out. I’m really scared, Max.”

“I don’t know how I’m supposed to sit here and listen to this. I told you I didn’t like him, Isabel, that I didn’t trust him, but you went out with him anyway. I’ve been saying that since your birthday but you said my opinion didn’t matter. I didn’t have to like him.”

“Max -”

“No, I can’t keep arguing with you about Grant Sorenson. You like him. You date him and you figure it out for yourself.”

[JO]

Part 9


Liz closed the book she had been vaguely reading, allowing it to drop onto her lap, and wrapped the quilt tighter around her shoulders, hoping to block the cool night air from her skin. Sighing heavily, she knew she should be paying more attention to Willa Cather and her upcoming assignment for American Literature but she couldn’t. She had Max on her brain. Before she could help herself, she opened a tiny silver-plated box and blindly reached inside. She removed two small photographs from the box, closing her eyes as she reverently brought them to her face.

She had been playing this game with herself ever since Max had walked off of her balcony almost three months earlier. Since that unforgettable day, Liz had been trying to use whatever powers she’d channeled from Isabel to form a connection with Max once again. She had first tried it under emotional duress on the one month anniversary of Future Max’s visit and had felt a tiny jolt within her heart akin to the sensations she had received during the flashes she and Max used to share. Because of that spark, Liz had done a wonderful job of fooling herself that Max still cared for her. She knew from Maria that he and Tess weren’t together, although Tess was firmly planted to Max’s side now that Liz was noticeably absent.

Tomorrow, however, things would be different. This was her last night of vacation before returning to school in the morning, where she would have to see Max on a daily basis, where she would have to look at him and watch as he potentially fell in love with Tess. This was the last night she could live in the dream world she had created for herself, a world where Max still loved her and their future together only a heartbeat away. Tightening her lips, she shook her head and mentally chided herself that such a world was not to be. She had destroyed any chance of being with Max when he found Kyle in her bed. And she wouldn’t be the one that destroyed their world because she was too selfish to allow Max to fulfill his potential, even if that meant watching him grow to love Tess.

Liz slowly opened her eyes, not surprised to find them filling with tears. “Oh, Max,” she whispered, allowing the pictures to fall onto her lap on top of the discarded book as her shoulders heaved, the result of her silent tears. She covered her face with her hands, so engrossed in her self-pity that she didn’t notice Isabel climbing up the fire escape to her balcony.

"Liz?”

“Isabel,” Liz questioned as she sniffed loudly and wiped her eyes with the backs of her hands. She scrambled to put away the pictures of Max that had fallen onto her lap but only succeeded in finding one before Isabel was standing on her balcony.

“I’m sorry to come up here...like this, but I really need to talk to you.”

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s Max,” Isabel admitted, pulling one of the vacant lawn chairs toward Liz. Liz immediately straightened and it did not escape Isabel’s keen eye that she had been crying, despite Liz’s best efforts to hide that fact.

“What’s wrong? Is he hurt? Do we need to go to the pod chamber?” Liz was already halfway out of the chair, the quilt discarded behind her, her mind a whirlwind of activity.

“No,” Isabel quickly amended, grabbing Liz’s forearm to pull Liz back into the chair. Isabel felt a chill run down her spine as a flash of a long-haired Max from Liz’s mind penetrated hers.

Just 25 minutes before I came here, I held Michael in my arms...dead. Isabel died 2 weeks before that. Now you have to do this. You have to find a way. All of our lives depend on it.

“Liz?”

Liz inhaled as she fell down onto the chair, tears threatening to pour down her cheeks again. “Please, Isabel. D…don’t ask me to explain.”

“You didn’t sleep with Kyle, did you,” Isabel questioned, meeting Liz’s frightened eyes once again. She had long suspected the rumors about Liz and Kyle were not true and given Liz’s emotional state when Max had been in New York, Isabel chided herself for not confronting Liz earlier. “You have to tell Max.”

“No,” Liz replied, her voice firm as she pulled the quilt around her shoulders once again. “Max and I can’t be together. End of story.” She paused to push her hair behind her ears and to settle herself into the chair, avoiding Isabel’s eyes at all costs. “What’s going on?”

“I had this flash...from Grant. You know how Max and Michael feel about me seeing him.” Isabel waited for any sign of Liz’s acknowledgment and after Liz nodded her head, Isabel continued. “I had a flash of a girl, a blonde girl, and she was fighting against something or… someone.”

“Do you know the girl?”

“No, I mean, I have a vague feeling that I’ve met her before. It’s hard to explain. The main thing is that this girl is in danger and because I got the flash from Grant, Max doesn’t want to pursue it.”

“I don’t know what this has to do with me,” Liz admitted.

“Max listens to you. He respects you. If you tell him to jump, he’s going to ask ‘how high.’”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Liz said, the double meaning of her statement not lost on Isabel, “Max and I aren’t close anymore.”

“But he’ll listen to you. He’ll at least think about what you’re saying.”

“Why not take this to the sheriff? Wouldn’t he be better equipped to handle a...kidnapping? It sounds like, just from how you described your flash, that this girl is being held against her will. That’s a legal matter, not something that we should be getting involved in.”

“I think Grant is an alien.”

“What,” Liz exclaimed as she pulled her knees to her chest. “Did you tell Max? What does he think?”

“I...I’ve never said it out loud before. I think he’s our enemy. I think he’s Kivar.”

“Who’s Kivar?”

“He was Vilandra’s lover. She betrayed Zan and her entire race for him.”

“He’s a skin? You think Grant is a skin?” Liz pulled away from Isabel and slowly stood up from the lawn chair. As she stepped past Isabel to the open area of her balcony, Isabel’s eyes was drawn to a photograph on the ground beside one of the chair legs. It was a photograph of Max. “You’ve got to tell Max.”

“He’s being…unreasonable about the entire thing. I...I can’t get through to him. He won’t listen to me, but he’ll listen to you.”

“Okay,” Liz conceded her face pale as she walked back to her chair. “What do I have to do?”

* * *

Patrick hopped out of the back of the pick-up truck and slapped the tailgate twice. The driver honked the horn, unintentionally peeling the tires in his retreat, spitting rocks and dirt onto Patrick’s head and shoulders. He waved his hand over his clothes, making them look new again, and he stared ahead at the lights of Roswell ahead in the desert. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his brother’s aura, surprised when the connection that had been dead for fifty years flickered to life. He pressed his hands into the pockets of his borrowed blue jeans and began walking, his inner beacon to his brother guiding his path toward Roswell.

* * *

Michael awoke with a start, his hand clutching at his heart, twisting his cotton t-shirt into his fist. His heart hammered against the inside of his chest, and Michael feared he was having a heart attack. He lumbered from his bed, his feet padding loudly on the carpet as he made his way into the kitchen. Blinded momentarily by the light from the refrigerator, Michael squinted as he reached for the carton of milk heavily laced with Tabasco sauce. He propped his elbow on the refrigerator door as he drank the milk in large gulps, a portion of his mind trying to figure out what had awoken him. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, bending to put the milk back into the refrigerator when a word registered in his mind. Dr’ago. With a sudden clarity he had never experienced before, the translation of the word echoed in response. Brother.

[JO]

It's amazing how fast time flies. Sorry for the delay.


Part 10


Liz stepped in front of Max’s window, the light from his room illuminating the grass and a small portion of his mother’s flower bed. She closed her eyes and summoned what little inner strength she still had then rapped forcefully on the window. Max appeared almost instantly, a confused expression on his face. “Can I come in,” Liz asked as Max continued to stare at her.

“Sure,” he replied moving away from the window to allow Liz full access into his room. Liz placed one leg across the windowsill and braced her hands on either side of the window, pulling herself so that she straddled the window. She exhaled slightly then raised her head to look at Max, surprised to see Tess sitting at his desk while Max sat on the bed.

“Oh, I didn’t know...Tess was here,” Liz said as she pulled her other leg inside Max’s room. She stepped from the window onto Max’s floor, her eyes never glancing away from Tess and Max.

“I was just leaving,” Tess replied, standing up from Max’s desk. “I’ll see you tomorrow at school, Max. We can talk about our project then.”

“Okay.”

“Bye, Max. Liz.” Tess gave Liz a small wave as she passed her, exiting through Max's bedroom door.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know Tess was here.”

“How could you,” Max replied, his tone neutral as he stood up from his bed and sat down at his desk.

“What project are you two working on? Something for history?”

Max exhaled loudly, tapping his fingers on the desk top. He tilted his desk clock backwards then glanced at Liz, as if to silently indicate the late hour. “It’s late.”

“Right,” Liz said with trepidation, willing to forgive Max his abrupt demeanor and his uncharacteristic treatment of her. “I need to talk to you.”

“Okay.”

“Isabel came to see me...about Grant.”

“Isabel has no business -”

“She’s scared, Max, and she said you won’t listen to her side of the story. She said you were acting irrationally.”

“I’m not acting irrationally,” Max screamed, standing up from his desk with such force that the chair fell backwards against the edge of his bed. “Isabel just wants someone to side with her because Michael and I think she shouldn’t see Grant.”

“What if Isabel’s flash from him is legitimate,” Liz countered. “What if something happens?”

“What,” Max asked with a smirk. “Like an alien invasion? You’re just as crazy as Isabel.”

“I can see that Isabel’s right about you,” Liz replied, her voice a near whisper, but Max heard her remark and charged at her.

“You don’t know anything about me,” Max replied, his voice booming, causing Liz to shrink away from him. She stepped backwards toward the window but Max forcefully grabbed her arm to stop her motion.

“Oh, Max,” Liz called when Max’s fingers dug into her forearm and she raised her free arm, hitting Max on his shoulder to get him to release. “Let me go! Max!”

Everyone. Earth. I need you to help me keep that from happening. We need to change the future. What we do here has to be precise and surgical. No one can know I’m here, especially not me...that is, my younger self.

Liz felt Max’s grip loosen on her arm and she jerked it away just as Isabel entered Max’s bedroom, a confused expression on her face. Liz’s momentum propelled her to the floor just Max’s window, and Isabel ran to her side.

“Liz? Liz, are you okay?” Once Liz nodded, Isabel helped her to her feet, shooting a steely glare at Max for several seconds. Max stumbled backwards onto his bed, staring at his hand as if it were an alien extension of his body. “What the hell is the matter with you, Max?”

“I...I don’t know. Liz, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean -”

“I’m fine, Max,” Liz said, Isabel firmly attached to her elbow as Michael’s face appeared on the other side of Max’s bedroom window.

“I didn’t get the memo about any meeting,” Michael growled as he climbed into Max’s room, quickly surveying the strange look on Max’s face and the horror and confusion shared by Isabel and Liz. “What happened?”

“Max attacked Liz.”

“I didn’t.”

“He didn’t…attack me,” Liz amended, stepping away from Isabel toward Michael. “He just grabbed my arm. Everything’s fine now. I’m fine. I’ll see you all at school,” she said quickly, shuffling past Michael and out of Max’s bedroom window. Isabel glared at Max once more for good measure then stormed out of his room, forcefully closing the bedroom door behind her.

“What’s going on, Maxwell?”

“I...I don’t know,” Max admitted, throwing himself onto his bed as Michael straightened the desk chair then turned it backwards and sat down. “Tess was here.”

“Why?”

“I think I invited her but I...I’m not sure. Anyway, she left when Liz came over. Isabel went to Liz to talk about Grant. Then something happened.”

“What happened?”

“I...I got a flash...from Liz but it doesn’t make sense. It was my voice but it wasn’t me.”

Michael nodded his understanding, resting his chin on his fists. “Something weird is going on. I just had some crazy dream.”

“What was it about?”

“I can’t really remember. I just remember one word. Dr’ago.”

“That’s not a word, Michael.”

“Yes, it is. It’s an alien word. It means brother.”

Max’s eyes widened as something deep in his brain clicked. The word stirred memories of his former life, his first life, when he had been a king. He knew Michael’s translation of the word was correct. “How do you know that?”

“I don’t know. I was just drinking some milk after that nightmare woke me up and that word popped into my head. Dr’ago. It freaked me out so I threw on some pants and came straight here.”

“You’re right,” Max said. “Something weird is going on.”