A Roswellian Fantasy (Adult) Epilogue 4/20/06

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Title: A Roswellian Fantasy
Author: suicide_eagle_rath

Rating: Adult

Disclaimer: The characters belong to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, WB and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement intended.

Summary: A woman’s life is changed through her connection to the television show Roswell. The fictional life of Roswell plays into her own life…including that of love, how she relates to the characters, and finally how Roswell saves her and begins her life anew. This is not your regular run of the mill fan fiction story ... it is way out of the norm, so expect the unexpected.




<center> ~ Part 1 ~ </center>

She was only 19 when she met him, tall, dark, and handsome just like any sideshow fortuneteller’s prediction. Exotic in his looks and mannerism, he captivated her from the first minute she saw him. His hair was jet black, his skin olive, rich from the sun’s rays and his eyes of the darkest brown, looked as though kohl had been painted on the lids. He was European in build, with the finest ass she had ever seen in a pair of jeans. Older than herself, he had come to complete his Doctoral at Purdue University, in the some area of medical chemical research that she truly never understood. She had just begun her studies to become teacher at the primary level.

They would see each other crossing the plaza everyday at the same time; he leaving, her entering. Finally, one day he spoke to her, his accent was distinctly French, having been educated in Paris although his birth home was Morocco. He treated her as none of the frat boys or jocks had ever treated her, he knew all the right words to say, the moves, the subtle nuances of one born into a fine lifestyle.

The sun was just shadowing his face as she looked at him; he was so like Omar Sharif, the same romantic Yuri she remembered vividly from Doctor Zhivago, one of her favorite movies when she was in junior high school. She fell head over heels in love; this was Prince Charming coming to claim his princess, her knight in shining armor. The whirlwind romance resulted in them eloping to the city courthouse much to the dismay of her parents. However, she was on cloud nine, nothing could distract her from this perpetual bliss.

For her children came quickly, two fine sons, barely a year apart in age. The sudden sprout into motherhood at age twenty caused her to drop her college studies and stay at home, a decision she made freely and would never regret. They moved a lot from position to position, as he rose in the medical research field. When the boys entered school, she attempted several times to return to college to complete her bachelors in elementary education. She no sooner would begin than they had to move again. Finally, she gave up trying, settling for her life as it was. She became the ultimate stay at home mom; PTO president, scout den leader, soccer supporter, charity organizer, and of course the perfect hostess for dinners.

As with all marriages cracks began to show, they deepened as the years went by, fueled by his desire to return to his birth land, to embrace his faith more fully and give back to his people. He wished to take back his medical knowledge and educate those of the poor villages. When their sons reached college age and accepted at the universities, her husband announced stoically that he was moving back to Morocco and she could follow or stay.

Shock by the decision, but with nothing to fall back upon; she felt forced to leave the United States, her upper middle class comfortable lifestyle and head for the unknown in the eternal city of Tangier. As luxurious, as the named entailed the city was far more mystifying than anything she could had imagined. She was mesmerized by the sights of cultures that made up Morocco: the geometrical Islamic styled designs in the tiles, the souks where burlaps bags displayed an extravagant array of spices, incense, textures of the Persian rugs that adorned the floors and walls of the shops in the market place, the sounds of the rhythmical beating of the taarija against the lyrical notes of the ghaytah in the squares, and the haunting eloquent call to prayer. The minute she walked off the plane she was captivated with the people, language, and the culture. Unfortunately, the rapture that she was feeling came to a screeching halt in only a few short months.

Her husband’s family was a very traditional and old family going back many generations as indicated by the title Sayyid. Their belief system was rigid enough, but as heavy tides of fatanticism swept through the land it made the system more strict, more rigid still. They disapproved of the marriage, mostly because she retained her religious faith and had refused to convert. Her idyllic life in this oasis crashed as the family put extreme pressure on him to force her into conversion. The division between them spread even greater, finally caving into his family’s demands that he take more wives to propagate the family name, he agreed to take another wife that would give him children, as she could no longer bear any. She could either stay and convert or go; she served no further purpose in his life. Destroyed by this news, on the day of his wedding she made her decision that they had gone two separate paths, packed her bags and boarded the plane back to her hometown of Oceanside, California, where she would began anew; at age 40 she would put the past behind her.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Thanks for the feedback … it means a great deal to me…

<center> ~ Part 2 ~ </center>

Her parents, having died recently, left her a small bank account for the day they always feared would come. It gave her enough to rent a small apartment and buy a used car. She took a job at the local bookstore and applied to a small community college hoping to revive her educational dream. Life was lonely, even though she was in constant verbal or written contact with her sons via the miracle of wireless communication; they both were finishing their degrees and preparing for their lives, one as an engineer and the other as a chemist. She did not date or even look at other men, her heart had become jaded, no longer beating out the musical score of love, instead only pumping cold blood though her veins. Not being divorced she could not even think about a future in that sense, life became work and school. The educational process was proving to be far more difficult than she had remembered. Maybe it was age, maybe the curriculum had increased in difficulty, whatever the cause she seem incapable of keeping up with the even the most feebleminded 18-year-old freshman.

One day, sitting quietly in the back of a biology class, she became aware of a flurry of talk amongst the young women in front of her. They were all ogling and mushing over some new television show, set in of all places Roswell New Mexico about a bunch of teenage aliens. Max and Michael were ‘to die for’ as the girls giggled about spiked hair and ears. She smiled and laughed to herself, ‘only to be young and feel those romantic notions again,’ she thought silently.

A week later, she had gotten home early one evening, too tired to even attempt cracking open a book for further studies, she placed her feet up on the sofa and flipped on the TV. Though not a big fan of the boob tube, she was bored, and hoped to find something of interest. While surfing through the channels she caught a glimmer of something familiar, stopping she backtracked until she stopped on the opening credits for Roswell. “This must be the show the girls were talking about,” she mused aloud. With immense curiosity, she settled down to watch. From the first minute, she fell down the rabbit’s hole, enchanted with the story.

After that night, she manipulated her setting position in the lecture hall so that she sat always behind the same group of girls. She would eavesdrop on their discussions of Max and Michael and their constant love problems with Liz and Maria. When Michael kidnapped Maria and took her to the local porn motel, the discussion heated up. She blushed incessantly as the girls speculated on what really could have happened. She soon found that in other classes there were other young adults, both male and female, discussing that week’s episode. Some were interested in the romance of Max and Liz or Michael and Maria. Some were pushing for Isabel and Alex to find true love while still others were trying to deduce if the scientific elements were valid.

That year went quickly for her, like Liz; she also began a journal, filled with notes about her life before and after marriage. She wrote of her impressions of Tangier, the exotic city, the birthplace of the famous tangier oranges; truly a dichotomy depicting poverty amidst the wealth. She penned thoughts of her husband, whom she was still legally married. The ink smeared, the salt tears stained the pages as she wrote of his life among the desert people and of the two very young wives who followed him faithfully, each from a different poverty-stricken locality. She wrote of his new children, beautiful doe eyed boys and girls, faces she was able to see through the generosity of the postal service and her in-laws.

Roswell continued to be a presence during that first year she was back in America. When Max and Liz first kissed she relived her husband‘s first kiss, they day she could feel his soul. She rallied behind Max as he showed his jealous nature in attempting to win Liz and giggled at his silly red heart on the wall. She wept over Michael’s abusive foster situation and praised Maria for giving him shelter in the storm. When the show was threatened with cancellation a group of proactive fans went around the campus collecting Tabasco bottles to send to the shows producers, she purchased one to add to the total.

The ploy must have worked because by the next season, she was overjoyed to see the continuing adventures of the alien wonders. During the second year, she changed many things about herself. When Maria’s hair grew, her hair also changed; she dyed the gray strands back to their original color and had it styled. She followed the fashion codes, although dressed far more conservative, she became more conscious of how she appeared. Her heart broke when Alex died; ‘those who are truly blessed with goodness always seem to be taken first’ she thought that night. She agreed with Liz, in her desire to seek out the truth no matter what the cost, she held to her convictions. It was also in that year Tess became pregnant, as she watched with amusement those die-hard Max and Liz fans who sobbed uncontrollably during class that day.

By the third year, resurrected as a phoenix the show persisted, as she also felt a surge of energy rise within her. She had become stronger, her life was still lonely, no one shared her bed or her love, yet she was oddly content. She was still struggling with classes, only taking a couple any one semester. She worked now full time as a manger at the little bookstore, where it just so happened, a Roswell fan club was meeting to discuss the Roswell High books as well as the show. They met late at night, the store was mostly empty, and she could overhear their discussions. She marveled at their insight into the personalities, character development as they discussed and argued about the plot inconsistencies and storyline.

Finally as with all things, the show ended. She found herself lamenting that night, her life felt meaningless, it was as if she herself had been cancelled. That summer proved difficult for her, she learned her husband had taken another wife; this one was barely eighteen, the daughter of a local farmer in a small village he was helping. Despite his seemingly fanatical ways, he was doing what was just and right for his people. He brought vaccines and medicines to the poor, clean linens and hope for the sick and religious books for their souls. Yet he failed in helping the one that needed it most of all, his own wife, the woman who still loved him deeply despite being tossed aside, despite being left alone in the world, despite being place in a situation where she felt so helpless, so scared, so worthless.

School began again in the fall; she had enrolled in only one class that semester, a creative reading class, four more credits towards that eventual goal of a degree. It was during this class that she was exposed to a completely new realm, that of the fan fiction phenomena.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Thanks for the feedback … you all have been so very generous

<center> ~ Part 3 ~ </center>

One of the assignments was to write a fictional love story. The class had to read part of their work aloud, the story that caught her attention was one in which Max Evans fell in love with Liz Parker. That was Roswell. Whereas she was immensely impressed with the writer and the story, the professor harshly admonished the student that fan fiction was not an acceptable form in her class. ‘Fan’ ‘fiction’ these were new words to her ears. That night she got on her computer and typed in ‘Roswell’ ‘fan’ ‘fiction’ and low and behold the world was opened up to her. She combed the sites, drinking in the words that appeared like magic on her screen. She learned of the different categories of fan fiction, including some very adult selections. Her face turned red as she read those, her mind remembering the time when her husband had said and done such acts with her.

Fooling around she wrote a small piece, more as a form of amusement on a cold wet winter’s day. Her plot was simple, it revolved around Michael and how envisioned himself, alienated from the world, a world he had not asked for. She found herself sympathizing with him. She too felt alienated from the world. Now past middle age she felt as though her life had ended.

She was still married, although she could file for divorce in California, she found herself secretly dreaming that her husband would again remember their love and return to her. Theirs was to be a love forever; that is what she vowed on that sacred day of marriage. A fool’s dream, a failure she was not yet ready to admit. Her own children had married blessing her with two grandchildren, though she saw them infrequently as one lived in Atlanta and the other lived in Seattle.

Wanting to be closer to Roswell, closer to those writers whose words influenced her mind and gave rise to her imagination, she took the screen name alienatedmaf, for ‘alienated middle-aged fool’ and on a bright November’s day, she posted her first story. It was only one part, very traditional in concept, but full of complex words and ideas. Her story caught the eye of one writer in particular, Icelandguy, who wrote a glowing feedback with amazement for her choice of words. He also emailed her about her work. One thing led to another and soon they were emailing daily, sharing their love of Roswell as well as other important facts such as favorite foods, books and movies.

She loved to read his emails, he had a brilliant way with words, and she was intrigued by the noticeable accent he wrote with. She soon discovered he was born in Reykjavík, Iceland. His father, of Scandinavian descent, was a third generation Icelander, while his mother was from Devonshire, England. They had met by accident one day in London while she was shopping and he literally ran right into her dumping her unceremoniously onto the grass. They were married soon after, but unfortunately, the marriage ended after only a few short years and she retuned to England with their only son Guy, his name, he informed her was pronounced gye.

Guy graduated with an engineering degree, specializing in geothermal energy. He had returned to Iceland when he was in his late 20’s, soon married and lived what he thought was a happy life until one day he came from work early to find his bed occupied. Needless to say, he divorced and left Iceland along with the bad taste in his mouth. He worked in England until 1989 on a geothermal project until it became economically unfeasible to continue the project. For the last few years, he has been living in Larderello in Tuscany, Italy where he managed a major geothermal plant.

She on the other hand told him very little of herself. She felt inferior to this man who not only graduated, but actually obtained his PhD, living a life she could only dream of. Even her name she kept secret, out of fear he would laugh because she shared more than a journal with Liz, she also share the name Elizabeth.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Thanks for the feedback… it is truly appreciated

<center> ~ Part 4 ~ </center>

‘Hi darlin’ the email would begin, her heart would soar when she saw these words, although he use the same phrase for everyone, as the months wore on she began to secretively down deep inside a forbidden hope he especially said it just for her. At night, she still dreamed of the love between Max and Liz, romantic, sensual, full of laughter and hope. Roswell and this fictional realm was all she had in the way of love, for that word to her was ephemeral. Yet during the day she found herself more and more drifting off wondering if Guy had had woken to rain or sunshine, or even silly things like what wine he had with dinner that day or if he also did laundry with the music on.

Although their correspondence had become more intimate, she was always careful to keep it plutonic in nature, she still feared any intimate attachments.

Hi Guy,
How was your day today? It is warm here; the sun is just beginning to set. Thought I would send you a quick note before I sat down to study. Thanks for your last email, I loved the quote.
alienatedmaf

Guy found himself quickly attracted to this mysterious woman who kept to herself. Over the year, he tried on several occasions through different methods to break though the icy barrier and find the heart he knew still existed.

Hi Darlin’
Was wondering what you thought about Future Max and how I could incorporate him into my story. Maybe you can give me some help. Let’s talk.
Love Guy

She found herself slowly opening up to this stranger, she let things slip past her stone wall, much like Michael’s in the story.

Good morning Guy
Hope you day went fine. Nothing much going on here, attempting to read Shakespeare for class but failing miserably. Even your suggestion comparing Max and Liz to Romeo and Julie and interlacing them does not help. Maybe I am not cut out for school, too old maybe.
alienatedmaf

Guy loved his communication with his mysterious Elizabeth, the name he fangled one day during a brief IM moment. With her working days, even weekends, and the time zones differences, they found very ‘real’ time to be together. When one was asleep, the other was awake.

Icelandguy says: Darlin’ You never told me your name?
Alienatedmaf says: oh I didn’t?
Icelandguy says: No you did not? What is it?
Alienatedmaf says: I have to go, need to be to work by 5 pm.
Icelandguy says: So tell me quickly.
Alienatedmaf says: Guy!
Icelandguy says: That is my name. Now tell me yours or I will bloody keep asking all the time. No other words will you hear from except what is your name?
Alienatedmaf says: You are impossible.
Icelandguy says: No, darlin’ I am Guy who are you?
Alienatedmaf says: Elizabeth.. I have to go.

Slowly he discovered facts about her. He learned she was married, a fact that disappointed him immensely. One of those many questions he wished he had not asked. Then he noticed the puzzle had pieces missing. She did not write of a life with her husband but more like a life by herself. He was careful in how he plotted out his questions, delving into her life quietly, unobtrusively, coaxing pertinent facts out one by one. He soon deduced that though married she was separated, a shot in the arm of his infatuation.

Darlin’
Was thinking many this spring you and your husband should take a trip to Italy, I can show you both Tuscany. It is a beautiful area. Give it a think I have the space.
Love Guy

Hi Guy
Sorry but a trip to Italy would be impossible for the two of us. We separated a few years back. Thanks for the kind offer.
Elizabeth

Elizabeth’s life took a twist when the Sci-Fi channel began reruns of the show and the first set of DVD’s came out. She watched religiously at night, reruns of events she knew by heart, transcripts she had memorized. She found herself identifying more with the characters than ever before. She was becoming Liz, the ideal Juliet waiting once again for the rose to be thrown to her balcony, for Romeo to ascend and take her into her arms.

One day she had a surprise in her email, pictures of the Italian countryside of Tuscany and in one of those pictures was Guy. He was incredible looking, she could see his Scandinavian heritage; strong muscular arms, light skinned, blonde hair; yet it was his eyes that drew her in, drowning her in a feeling she had long forgotten, they were grey like a clouded day.

“Hi darlin’
Thought I send you sunny Italy today. I am there in the middle, while at work, out in the field. Had a friend take these pictures especially for you. So what do you think, do you like Italy?”
Love Guy

Morning Guy
“Wow thanks for the pictures the scenery was amazing… it must be wonderful living there.
Elizabeth

In actually she wanted to say you are amazing, but the words stuck in her throat, to shy to admit she was very attracted to this man. She learned he was only a couple of years younger than her, both born on the same day, the 18th but one in November and the other in June. Slowly the emails became much more intimate as Guy poured on the heat.

Hi my Dearest
I missed your email yesterday. You did not bloody forget all about me did you. I would not forget you. Come and talk with me at 9am your time, I have many questions and I would love to hear your answers. ”
Love you Guy

At night her dreams of Max and Liz were slowly changed, Guy now became her Max, her phantom lover that only appeared in the darken shadows of the midnight hour. During the day, she would find herself reliving the scene of Michael and Maria at the Crashdown as they intertwined in each other’s arms, their passion exploding in heat and desire, a love for those fresh and youthful. As the month wore on, she found herself acting younger, often times she would catch herself and sternly mock her image in the mirror for such frivolous behavior.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

<center> ~ Part 5 ~ </center>

They started writing a few stories together; he would take the position of Max and her Liz in the romantic episodes. They started out innocent enough, teen oriented in the lack of sexual content. As time progressed, their stories became more and more daring, they advanced quickly into the adult range as the love of Max and Liz heated up the airless cyber space world. However it was not only their stories that became to heat up, their personal correspondence became more and more intimate.

Soon she began to relax and fell more comfortable around Guy, she ventured into realms that before this she could only hope for. Slowly her heart gave way, as she felt something stir deep down inside. For her Roswell brought out a new side of her, she allowed herself to be more romantic, feeling younger than she had in years. She had dreams of romantic interludes, of eternal love and although in real life, any love interests were non-existence she was content to accept this intangible relationship as if it were.

To him Roswell still meant romance and love, a part of himself he was not ready to put aside quite yet. He still believed in love at first sight, in the melding of souls one to the other and in the eternal happiness a couple can find in each other’s arms. It was this beauty, his richness of details, in the telling of his young lovers in the shell of Max and Liz that would propel him into immediate stardom.

It was Roswell, which drew them together; unfortunately, it would be Roswell that would tear them asunder. Guy’s writing became more and more popular; his name was soon synonymous with excellence in Roswellian literature. He became flooded with mail from others seeking his advice, looking for more stories, and those who choose to have him as their friend. He was unique in the fan fiction world his charm and personality came through in his writings. Soon a young population of women was drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

She felt his emails change; no longer did he write with exuberance to her, they were shortened almost hurried as if he had little time to spend on her. She knew she could never be part of his life, she let him go, her emails slowed to a trickle and then one day she stopped writing to him.

Guy soon became lost in the imaginary world of Roswell along with the sudden fame that he found himself in. He was overwhelmed with the response to his stories, works that he had started out of loneliness. He was so consumed by his ‘fans’ that he failed to even notice that her emails had stopped.

Elizabeth was never one to fit into the Roswell clique of writers, they were far younger than she was and she always felt inferior to them; a fact that was demonstrated by the low reader response to her work. About a month after not hearing from Guy, she stopped posting her stories, allowing the abandon bins to swallow up her unfinished work one by one. The sad fact was that no one missed her or her stories, another faceless writer than came like a flash and vanished.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Thanks for the feedback… you are very kind

<center> ~ Part 6 ~ </center>


Then one day, sitting in the bright Tuscany sky, marveling at the landscape that once seduced the masters, when it dawned on Guy, with all the attention, with all the notoriety, awards and laurels, he was alone. It was then that he remembered Elizabeth and that he had not heard from her for weeks. Grabbing his laptop, he logged on to the fan fiction sites and scoured the various postings for hers. She seemed to have had vanished, no longer did her words grace the screen, her name appeared nowhere instead new identities now filled the vacant corners.

Elizabeth had taken on a new ID instead of writing she opted to read and respond, a feat she thought at her age she was capable of handling She hoped to encourage young writers to go for their goals; goals she herself gave up so many years ago. She still enjoyed the world of Roswell, delighting in fan art and videos from the hands of exceptional talent.

Her own life had become mundane; work took up most of her time as she had dropped the notion of school deciding she no longer had what it took for a college degree. Her children had succeeded in their lives, each had another child but they were so far removed from their mother that neither knew of her misery or level of poverty that had consumed her. She was always careful to be cheerful when she spoke or wrote to them.

Her husband had become a hero in his country for his humanitarian work, those of his family spouted forth to reporters the evidence of his virility with his three wives and many children he was capable of producing, the number exceeded the teens. Of course, there was no mention of her, as he had divorced her very recently through both religious and civil means when he took his fourth and final wife, this one even younger than the last. However, for her no papers of divorce would be sent, his final act of revenge for her not buckling under his demands.

Elizabeth had withdrew even further into herself; she had lost the only love she have ever known, thrown aside as some cast off piece of furniture; put out for the garbage to collect. With no legal papers, attesting to a divorce she was still locked into a marriage and her filing for divorce was out of the question, the cost was prohibited, beyond her means. Her new name in the realm of fiction now reflected her position in life, NLWON (no longer wanted or needed).

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Thanks to everyone for the feedback… you all have been most gracious and kind in your remarks

<center> ~ Part 7 ~ </center>


Guy was crushed, his email had been returned, her account was closed. He felt like Max, uncertain of his feelings, his next step, and his future. The days passed as he was slowly consumed with the notion of finding her, rekindling something that had been lost, a feeling that maybe this was his Liz.

Elizabeth had not disappeared only metamorphosed herself into another form, as she still left glowing feedback for her favorite writer, a writer who lived so far away, a writer that had touched her heart and possibly her soul. She had printed out his picture; the one in the bright sunlight wearing a tan t-shirt that showed off his well-formed physique, that picture now lay under her pillow. She still dreamed of him, her Max, her love coming to her.

Like Max, Guy moved methodically as he searched for her. Then one day while reading some of the feedback he noticed a phrase that was unusual, something she had used once long ago, the “cat’s pajama’s”. He took a chance and pm’ed NLWON, asking if in a in a former life, she was known as alienatedmaf. The response he receive was polite but the answer was no, the recipient was a 24-year-old from the West Indies, a recent transplant to New York.

Elizabeth about died when she saw the pm from Icelandguy, her heart was racing as she opened it and saw his question asking if she was her former self. Tears flowed down her cheeks as she sent back a negative reply, her heart could not stand another thump, another tear, another disappointment. It was easier to shut herself off to pretend she did not care.

Guy was not naïve, he knew deep down inside that, this was his Liz, concealing herself inside a new identity, keeping herself from him for some unknown reason. He stalked her replies, watching her from afar, waiting for another chance. His stories changed, they now centered on Max finding his long lost love Liz, taken from him in a variety of different scenarios. Each time she responded to his work, he would personally thank her, delving deeper into a relationship. He was waiting for that one item that would seal the lid on her identity.

Elizabeth was elated to be corresponding with Guy again, even though she was more concealed than ever before. She was cautious, not to let herself again fall into the trap, although in reality she had never left the trap. Her dreams of Roswell became more commonplace, she would see Max as he walked away from her on the crowded streets, Isabel appeared at the nearby Starbucks ordering a Tazo Ice Tea, and it was Michael, who walked into the bookstore requesting a copy of James Joyce’s Ulysses. At night, her dreams were exclusively of Guy’s face and body, while Max’s faded into the darkness.

Once again, the emails began in earnest, and as much as she tried, she found herself yeaning to know more, to hear more. She could not wait until she arrived home to open her email and find his words. At first, he spoke of nothing that mattered in life; favorite books, leather bound volumes of ancient words, words of enchantment, words of love, and words of the heart as he laid down his maze drawing her deeper in. He would quote from Romeo and Juliet as he interlaced Roswell within, where as Shakespeare wrote of the rose, Guy reminded her how Max threw the roses up to the balcony. He instilled her soul with richness of music; her heart soared, as he would leave clips of her favorite arias or sonatas as he reminded her of Maria’s song about her inability to leave Michael.

Elizabeth so feared intimacy, love, she so fear rejection yet once again. Any self-esteem she had was destroyed long ago, while the notion of romance simply no longer existed. Elizabeth was finding it difficult to separate herself from Guy; the more she tried the more she was drawn to him. She had effectively become one of the humans drowned in the alien abyss that Maria had so coined when Alex fell under Isabel charms.

Guy was positive by the end of the month this was his Liz, his soul mate; just as Max had seen into Liz’s soul as he affirmed to Kyle that one drunken night he had seen hers in his heart. He put the pressure on her, steaming up the emails leaving many a day, each more daring than the last. He sent her “cyber roses” that changed from red to white and back to red. He peppered his emails with words of love from poets, though long dead their quotations still inflame the passion between lovers.

The one thing that eluded Guy was how to find her, which she was not ready to divulge. Then one day, after reading the various sites, he learned of a fan fiction convention that being held in the Los Angles area and that NLWON had asked for information to be sent to her. He had a feeling she would be there, acting on pure instinct he booked a plane for LA and made his reservations.

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Thanks to everyone for the feedback… you all have been most gracious and kind in your remarks

<center> ~ Part 8 ~ </center>


Elizabeth had arrived early for the convention, she signed up only for the lectures and meetings, electing to forgo the banquets or lunches, as they were cost forbidden. The Roswell room was small, but it was full of people, both young and old milling about. The variety of accents was mind blowing to Elizabeth; it amazed her how truly universal the idea of Roswell was. Soon everyone began to sit down as the first lecturer came on. She sat in the back, her hazel eyes scanning the events with great interest.

Guy’s plane came in the night before the convention began. He settled into his hotel room, a nice suite on the west side of the hotel. That night he walked out onto the balcony and wondered just where his Juliet was that night as he stared into the stars, half expecting to see the Kings Seal appear before him, with the Star representing Antar shinning above her home. It was mid-morning, when Guy came down the elevator to the conference area. As he signed in, he glanced over the name badges hoping to see hers; however, none matched either her real name or pseudonyms.

He walked onto into the conference room almost late for the first series of speakers. He sat in the back quietly, across from a middle age woman who was listening intently to the speakers. The lights were dimmed; her face was barely visible in the light. Once she did turn and glance at him, before she lowered her eyes and looked back at the debate that was going on. Soon there lecture was over as everyone broke for lunches. As the people gather up their things to leave, his name was immediately recognized as he was mobbed by a group of writers coaxing him to lunch with them.

Elizabeth had a peanut butter sandwich in her purse that she ate while walking in a nearby park. The day was bright, it was if a new life was being born; there was something in the air that she just could not put her finger on. She walked back to the hotel anxious to hear antidotes and stories from some of the more prestigious Roswell fan fiction writers. When she got back, she glanced at her watch, there was still an hour before the afternoon session was to commence, so she curled up in chair at a small table in the lobby, intent on reading her favorite book.

Guy had a great lunch placing faces with names that he felt he knew so well through their words and stories. The group lost track of time, when suddenly they realized the lateness of the hour as they all hurried back to the hotel, many of those with him were to speak; fortunately they arrived with over 10 minutes to spare. As they walked through the lobby, Guy happened to glimpse over at a woman who had dropped a pen and was reaching to pick it up. Her nametag was exposed at the just the right angel for him to read “NLWON.” Excusing himself, he approached her, his heart raced, this had to be Liz.

Elizabeth heard the gentleman ask if he could have the vacant chair as she nodded yes and went back to the book she was reading. Suddenly she saw a man sitting opposite her as she peered over the top of the pages. Her eyes widen at the sight. She started shaking as she mumbled something in reference to excuse me or I must leave. She grabbed her purse and book, but just as she rose, that is when she heard it. "Elizabeth" the voice said softly. His voice, that distinct accent, not quite Icelandic and not British, but a strange combination of the two. She slowly collapsed into her seat, her eyes cast down, not knowing what to do or say. Finally, she found the words: "yes Guy".

[suicide_eagle_rath]

Wow! Thank-you you all for the wonderful feedback… your attention and remarks have been very generous and extremely uplifting… this is not a long story… yes a short story (fairly romantic) from me for those who know me…

<center> ~ Part 9 ~ </center>


Guy could not believe his eyes; she shyly lifted her head slightly and spoke his name. He had a million questions for her; the most prevalent was why. Why the pretence, why lie, why hide yourself. WHY! Before they could even begin a conversation, the call for the lecture was heard over the loudspeakers. Elizabeth stood as she readied herself to attend; he immediately jumped up and grabbed her elbow to escort her in. She looked at him almost in fear at his quickness. He smiled, softly as he whispered in her ear, “There no is no fucking way you are disappearing from me ever again.” Firmly, yet ever so gently he led her to a seat in the middle of the room, as the buzz ran through the crowd on why he was holding this unknown person so close. Throughout the series of speakers, he held her hand and forearm tightly, pulling her close to him.

<center>“... Roswell’s series of lectures will begin in 5 minutes in the Sterling Room...” </center>
Elizabeth had just begun to speak when the last call for the afternoon panel of speakers was to begin. She stood to go, when she felt her arm being grabbed. At first she panicked, she felt like Liz when Max in anger grabbed her arm after Alex’s death. Then she heard his voice, soft and sensual, there was no anger it only concern, concern he would lose her. She could not help but smile, a secret small smile, he cared; someone truly cared about her. Throughout the lecture he remain a tight grip on her, she felt him staring at her through the afternoon. When she stole a glance, he smiled and rubbed his thumb up and down the back of her hand.

When the lecture ended, Guy skillfully guided her to the door, avoiding people as they headed towards the restaurant. Securing a table for two, they sat, staring at one another for the longest time, so much to say that neither knew where to begin. Finally, Guy broke the silence as he told her about Italy and his work there, how he missed her emails and how much he loved her stories. She blushed profusely as this words, it had been such a long time since anyone had complimented her and meant it. Several times, he reached across the table and held her free hand, caressing it softly as he coaxed her life out of her. He noticed that when she was beginning to tear up or grow upset she would visibly shake. He deftly changed the subject each time, getting her mind off the obvious upsetting subject. Carefully and gently, he discovered why she hid from him; she was terrified of love, romance, or even a relationship, her psyche was scared from years of mental abuse had formed inside her.

Elizabeth was tongue-tied; she did not know what to say for fear of breaking this magical spell. She remembered fondly how Alex he tried to impress the girls with his rubber-man trick. However, that did not work and she had a feeling Guy also would not be impressed. She had allowed him to come close to her, now she was unable to drive him off, to relinquish her tenuous hold on him. It would have been so easy, but she felt strangely absorb by him. She secretly like the way he took charge, not afraid to go after what he wanted, in a non-threatening but firm manner. He enveloped her like a soft snuggly blanket, keeping the outside world from invading and hurting her again. ‘I think I like that’ she thought to herself.

The dinner soon ended, but Guy was not ready for the night to end. What he wanted to do was to take her to his room and fuck her all night. He shook his head slightly, no, that was not the term for her, make love that was what he truly desired, to show her how much he wanted her. However, he knew she would flee like a monarch butterfly at the mere mention of ‘come up and look at my etchings’ so he settled for the adjacent lounge where they could continue their talk. He ordered a brandy to savor while she indulged in a glass of soda, “not a drinker” she explained.

Their conversation continued, everything from the mundane to the ethereal was discussed, but soon even that came to an end as the last call was announced. It took great stamina for him not to drag her off like some caveman up to his lair as he walked her out to her car. She unlocked the doors and slid into the driver’s seat. Guy, on a whim, threw open the passenger door, quickly opening the glove compartment where he snatched up her registration and insurance papers. The sudden act caught her off guard as she tried to grab for them but failed. Guy flipped through the paperwork, stopping on one particular sheet, “I will see you, Ms Elizabeth H. Al-Nayyir, here at ten in the morning, if not I will be pounding on you door at 10314 Purview Lane, Apartment 341, Oceanside, California 92057.”

[suicide_eagle_rath]

I feel very blessed that so many have taken the time to leave feedback on this story… thank you most graciously from my heart

Warning: Sexual Content M/F

<center> ~ Part 10 ~ </center>

Elizabeth drove home in a daze on the freeway; luckily, the road was very sparse as her car did waver a few times. She climbed her stairs and opened up the door; it was so quiet, so silent, so very lonely here in her tiny apartment. She took a shower, her mind wandering a little to those steel arms, so much like Max’s. That night she dreamed of Guy, riding up on a white charger destroying the dragons that tormented her, freeing her from herself. The alarm went off earlier than she was ready. She got up; forgoing breakfast quickly dressed and began the 45-minute drive to the hotel. Finding a place to park, she ran the short distance to the hotel door where she plowed headfirst into Guy standing guard watching for her. She was late, by six minutes as she nervously examined her wristwatch.

Guy retired to his room that night; his sleep was restless, as he was very aroused from his encounter. She moved him like none other had in the past, he could not shake off the need, so he rose early showered and dressed. Going downstairs, he waited, like a sentimental at the door for her arrival. He saw her scurry across the road, like a deer, so graceful and fragile as she literally bulleted into his chest when he stepped out of the shadows to greet her. He started to laugh as she stumbled about apologizing about not watching where she was going.

They spent the day together going from one lecture to the next, and even through lunch he keep her by her side, whispering in her ear every minute he could during lapses in the speakers. Once again they found themselves at the lounge at closing time, but this time he did not walk her to her car instead he craftily lead her to the elevator and up to the 23rd floor.

He walked into the hotel room in front of Elizabeth; her heart was beating so fast, so loud, she was sure he could hear it. Guy grabbed a bottle of wine from the mini fridge he had bought earlier, along with a couple of real wine glasses instead of the plastic hotel versions. She nervously looked around, she had not been in a hotel room for years and this was certainly not the Sultan Hideaway, where Michael and Maria had one of their first confrontations. She sat on the large sofa that flanked one wall. He came and sat close to her as they continued to talk. He encouraged her to try a sip of the wine, not that he was anxious to get her drunk but to calm her down, to relax her so their time together would be pleasant and not a strain.

The conversation entrenched Elizabeth as she abstinently traced circles on the back to the sofa, when he laid his forearm up there, the circles on their own widen until his hand and arm were include; it was not until she felt a hand on her knee that she realized what she had been doing. Placing her hand on top of his she stopped any more advancement up her thigh; then working on its own, with a goal in sight her hand slowly glided up his arm to the firm biceps over the top of his shoulder, downwards as she retreated. Her other hand found his as their fingers intertwined. Somehow, she was not quite certain how she found herself leaning into him as he came closer, his arms encircling her.

His lips brushed against her’s lightly at first, then a little harder as the kiss deepened. Neither was sure of the next move; neither wanting to break the embrace nor wanting to cast a shadow over the magic. Guy ran his tongue along her bottom lip as he attempted to gain entrance. Suddenly she withdrew back; her eyes shone in the light. He looked at her, mouthing the word ‘What?’ Embarrassed she whispered in his ear that she had never done that type of kissing and to be honest, she had not kissed a man in over 20 years. Her husband fell out of the habit soon after they were married.

Guy laugh quietly as he gathered he into his arms and kissed her again, this time with a little more perseverance he gained entrance, lapping gently against her tongue as he coached her in the art. She was a quick study; soon their tongues were mingling together, dancing the dance of lovers. The feeling was electric; she was on fire as all of her senses were being aroused there with him.

Elizabeth felt his hands gallivanting over her body as he slipped his hands under the denim blazer she was wearing. She moaned softly into his ear as he caressed her breasts through her red shirt and camisole, his hands continued to search for fresh skin. Much to her surprise, her own hands had developed a knack for wandering on their own. They had wrangled their way around him, pulling his shirt up out of his belt as she reveled in first contact with skin. Their kissing grew more frantic, hungrier, demanding as the air in the room thickened.

Guy became more aroused by the minute as evident by his very hard member. His kissed her feverously, as he began to push her backwards, his mouth and lips manipulating and kissing every square inch of exposed flesh that he could uncover. He maneuvered his body on top of her as they continued to kiss and explore one another. He felt the cold air hit his back as his own hands began to delve under her shirt and camisole top.

Elizabeth stopped him momentarily as he was nearing her breasts, whispering in his ear that she was no longer thirty or even forty for that matter and age had taken its toll. He cocked up his head and smiled, ‘that makes two of us’ he said as he moved down her neck again. She taste heavenly to his tongue, her smell was intoxicating as the perfume Ciara drugged his senses. Before she could protest again, he moved his hands to her breasts and began to pull down the top of her camisole exposing her red lace bra. Within seconds, he had her full breasts in his hands, her red nipples in his mouth.

Elizabeth moaned and arched her back when he exposed her breasts, enticing them to harden. She felt his erection hard against her, her body was aching for release, a pleasure she had not felt for many, many years. She undid the buttons exposing his strong, masculine chest as the defined muscles taunted her eyes. She moved her hands up and down the smooth skin, marveling at the steel-like texture of his muscles. Her body was reacting as if she was a teenager again; her hands dipped lower as she awkwardly fumbled with his belt and zipper. Timidly she slipped down his waist, into his pants where she encountered his cock, hard against her hand.

Guy’s breath shortened as he groaned noticeably as he felt her touching him; the sofa was excessively small for what he had in mind. He released her breasts as he kissed back up her neck and took her lips again. Breaking the kiss he looked at her eyes, the hazel had turned a darken green as lust was replacing common sense. He smiled and removed her hand from his pants, standing up bringing her with him. Leading the way he opened the door to the bedroom suite.

Elizabeth looked at the bed, as she felt her stomach sink. Nervously she excused herself to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. Turning around she saw the wall covered in mirrors, and in those mirrors, she saw her reflection, a woman who in her mind was still married and therefore was about to commit adultery.