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Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
It's not warm when she's away
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And she's always gone too long
Anytime she goes away ...
Max sits hunched forward in his computer chair, his forearms resting on his knees, his hands loosely clasped in front of him. His face is still, remote. Only his eyes are alive, and they brim with pain. Occasionally, when he rubs his hand down his face, he'll look at his palm, vaguely surprised to feel moisture there.
He doesn't know how long he's been sitting in his room; it could be hours, it could be minutes. He doesn't really care. His heart has been shredded to bleeding ribbons; he wonders that it still beats at all. His chest feels as if a giant fist has closed around it. It literally hurts to breathe. And then there are the feelings that are careening through him ... wringing him out, draining him dry, exhausting him.
Max's hands clench as the emotions overwhelm him. Desolation, disbelief, worry, myriad others. He can't identify them all, but he knows the one that hurts the most. It's the one that sits on his shoulder and whispers in his ear, an insidious presence that he tries to push away, because it will undermine the faith he is trying so hard to hold on to even now.
'Abandoned. You've been abandoned.'
Wonder this time where she's gone
Wonder if she's gone to stay
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And she's always gone too long
Anytime she goes away ...
Liz is the one who always has to have a plan. Even with the hell of the last few days, how had he forgotten that? Once she decides on a course of action, she'll quickly line up her options, carefully review them and discard the ones that won't help achieve the goal. Then, when she settles on the best choice, she'll put it into motion immediately.
And buried deep under all the unrelenting pain, Max finds the tiniest sliver of admiration. Liz didn't waste any time. What she'd done was precise, surgical.
Preemptive.
She made sure that there would be no chance of changing her decision. There would be no discussion, no figuring things out together. The confusion of the message would not be wrestled with by the two of them. There would be no struggle as a couple to make sense of it all.
They aren't a couple anymore ...
Max closes his eyes as he takes in a staggered breath, his throat raw and tight as the agonizing thought presents itself.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
Only darkness every day
Max lifts his head to look around, surprised to find that his room is still bright with the sunlight streaming through his window. Somehow, he thought it would be as dark as the midnight in his heart. In his innermost spirit there is an agony bleeding out that cannot be staunched. His healing powers do no good here, for his gifts don't extend to wounds of the soul.
The long summer stretches out in front of him, an endless block of time that terrifies him, literally filling him with dread. In the deep recesses of his heart there had been an unquenchable hope that he'd hung on to … that he would be able to convince Liz that the message didn't mean goodbye. That together they could figure out what it all meant. That no matter what path the ones that created him had laid before him, he was his own person, able to make his own decisions about his life and who he gave his heart to.
In his mind, he'd had it all figured out. The love they had for each other would prevail. They would fight for their relationship, and it would survive the latest blow.
He never, ever imagined this.
Ain't no sunshine when she's gone
And she's always gone too long
Anytime she goes away …
The thought of her, and the love he had for her, was the strength that had gotten him through the White Room. It was the one thing that kept him going, kept him fighting, when his world plunged into chaos and pain and terror.
This … now … Max doesn't know if he can do it. He can barely fight the demons of his experience as it is. To try and rebuild the life that Daniel Pierce and the special unit shattered is easily the most daunting task he's ever faced. To try and rebuild that life without Liz in it … a smothered moan escapes him.
How will he ever be able to do that?
Anytime she goes away …
Max is startled from his anguished musings by the ringing of his phone by his bed. He can't help the hope that blossoms in his heart as he springs from the chair, almost tripping over his feet as he scrambles to get to it. He swipes the handset from the nightstand, struggling to press the connect bottom, his hand shaking in his eagerness.
"Hello," he croaks, clearing his throat to try again. "Hello?"
"Evans! Where the hell are you?" Milton's voice sounds harshly in his ear.
Disappointment and despair rise up in Max to choke him, as his hope disintegrates into ashes once more. It isn't Liz.
"Evans! Are you there?" Milton demands when Max's silence goes on and on.
He swallows hard, pressing the heel of his hand against his wet eyes. "Yeah," he says dully. "Yeah, I'm here."
"Didn't your mother tell you that I wanted you to come in to work as soon as you could?" his boss asks impatiently. "We're swamped. I need you to come in as soon as you can."
"Okay," Max tells him in a colorless voice. "I'll be in right away."
"Good," Milton replies before disconnecting. He's never been one to bother with goodbyes on the phone.
Max puts the handset back on the nightstand before dropping down onto the bed. He props his elbows on his thighs, holding his head in his hands, his eyes closed as desolation once again overwhelms him.
He truly doesn't know how he's going to do this.
Anytime she goes away ...
(Lyrics from the song by Bill Withers. Small piece of dialogue from The End of the World ... transcripts from crashdown.com)
A/N ... I didn't get the chance before (infected right thumb, couldn't type for two weeks) to thank everyone for nominating this story for the fanfic awards. It is really incredible, and I can't thank you enough for thinking of this fic when you were casting your votes. I am really thrilled with the categories as well:
Best Lead Portrayal of Max Evans
Favorite Post Episode Fanfic
Favorite Point-of-View Fanfic
Fic That Made You Cry the Hardest
I am in amazing company and, like Kyle, am just happy to be nominated.
Thank you again ...
Sandy
Last edited by Realistic Dreamer on Thu Jan 05, 2006 10:54 am, edited 4 times in total.
"It wasn't love at first sight. It took a full five minutes." ... Lucille Ball on meeting Desi Arnaz
First, I want to thank you all for your incredible support and for voting for this story. I was thrilled to be runner-up in the Best Post-Episode Fanfic category. To paraphrase Kyle and NasedoMax (now there's an odd combination, lol), I was just happy to be nominated, and I was in fantastic company. I can never thank you enough.
Now, on to the dreaded author's note. It'll probably be at least a week before I can update. The RL planets aligned on the darkside. Lots of overtime at work. One of our cars died, my washer died, and my refrigerator died. That meant ferrying my husband to and from work, appliance shopping, laundromat visiting and spending a fortune to replace bad food. My son is in basketball, which entails practices and games. Then he pulled a hamstring, which meant trips to the doctor and waiting on him, because he knows drama when he sees it and isn't above milking it for all it's worth. My license plate fell off our other car, so I put it in the back window until we could get a new bolt to reattach it. I got pulled over by the cops, got a $52 ticket for improper display of plate, and a court date. It can only get better.
I will do my best to have something soon, as long as nothing else goes wrong, lol.
Thank you again ...
"It wasn't love at first sight. It took a full five minutes." ... Lucille Ball on meeting Desi Arnaz
I apologize for the delay in getting this out. But, the new appliances are great, the car is running again, my son's hamstring is fine, and things seem to be on an upswing. Haven't been to court yet, though, lol.
You've been wonderfully patient and I can't thank you enough for that. I truly appreciate all your support. A huge, huge thank you to sweetbrowneyes for all her help and encouragement for this chapter. Sending hugs your way ...
Chapter 6
Max pulls into the parking lot of the UFO Center, coming to a stop and turning off the engine. He stares for a moment at the 2 tour buses that are parked at the back of the lot. Quickly reviewing the work schedule in his head, he doesn't recall seeing that there was going to be a large group of people touring the small, private museum today. The buses could easily hold 40-60 people each. When had this been added, and why hadn't Milton told him sooner?
He sighs, raking a hand through his hair. That explains why his boss was so panicked when he phoned; Milton must have called in his entire work staff. Max pulls his keys from the ignition, getting out and pocketing them as he moves toward the front entrance. It'll be easier, and quicker, to find his boss out on the main floor than to go in the back door that the employees use.
The black asphalt of the parking lot shimmers, throwing back the heat of the summer sun. It seems to suck the energy from him, weighing him down as he walks. Max wonders how it can possibly only be mid-afternoon. This is one of the worst days of his life, and he feels like it's never going to end.
Immediately, he tells himself not to go there. He's gotten himself under control again, and he blesses his ability to compartmentalize. Constantly being watched during the past year has helped him hone this particular skill to a razor-sharp edge. The talent he possesses to present a normal face to the world will stand him in good stead today.
The gaping wounds of the white room and Liz's flight have been pushed away, locked up in a deep, dark place in his soul where they throb and pulsate with each beat of his heart. Max is never unaware of them, but they're in a place where it's manageable for now. As long as he keeps them there, he can go through the motions of his life with the calm facade that he needs to present.
He knows that he can fool everyone. It's all about control, and that's what he's good at.
Max rounds the corner, and he's taken aback for a moment. There is a line of people waiting to get in. Shit, it's worse than he thought. He strides past them and manages to squeeze his way through the doors. Once he's inside, he stops and steps to the side. Pulling out his cellphone, he starts to turn it off, which is standard policy while he's working. But he worries about missing any possible call from Liz, so he switches it to vibrate instead. Maybe she'll try and contact him. His stomach clenches with anxious hope at the thought.
That done, he clips it to his belt and begins the search for Milton. There are more people milling around than he remembers seeing before, with the exception of the week of the Crash festival and the week of the UFO convention. The difference between those times and now is that they were ready for the influx of tourists on those two occasions. They were organized and prepared. This is complete disarray.
Eventually he sees his boss, surrounded by as many staff members as he could get ahold of. Max hurries to join up with the circle of employees. He doesn't miss the angry glare that Milton throws his way before he continues to give out work assignments.
"I want Harrison, Brennan, Torres and Adler to lead the tours. Groups of 25 each. Evans," his boss' voice tightens a bit, "you'll take over the information booth for Brennan. I think we all know that public speaking isn't exactly your strong suit." There is a bit of good-natured snickering at the pronouncement. "All tours end up at the gift shop. Do your best to stagger the starts. There weren't enough box meals for this, so the ticket prices have been discounted accordingly."
"Um," one of the employees in the group clears her throat. "What happened that we suddenly have so many people? Not that it's not a good thing," she hastens to add, "it's just that it's kind of unusual."
"The Goddard Planetarium had a slight electrical problem," Milton's voice is filled with satisfaction. "They had to shut down for the day and bring in the electricians, so their tour groups scattered to other attractions. We may well get another busload or two," he is practically rubbing his hands together with glee, "so be at your best."
After a few final instructions everyone scatters, and Max starts toward the information booth. He is not surprised when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Milton fall into step next to him. Max can sense an ass-chewing hanging in the air. He so does not need this right now.
"Evans, where the hell were you?" Milton snipes. "Doesn't anyone in your household know how to pass on a message?"
Max feels a flare of anger wash over him, quick and hot. Immediately, he squashes it, telling himself that Milton has every right to be upset with him. Even without the added stress of the unexpected tour groups, he was still late reporting to his job. He takes a deep breath before responding.
"My mom did let me know this morning that you wanted me to come in as soon as possible," he says in a low, apologetic voice. "I messed up. I'm sorry, it won't happen again."
"Oh … well …" the older man blusters, "well, I'll let it go this time, but it better not be repeated," he warns. Milton was ready for long explanations, sure that Max would to try and make excuses for his tardiness. Max's prompt admission that he was indeed late and that it was his own fault has taken the wind right out of his sails.
His boss gives him a gruff "get to work," before moving off in the direction of the perpetual slide show. It's his favorite exhibit, because it's the perfect arena for him to expound on his theories about alien life on planet Earth. He pauses suddenly, as if he's remembered something, and turns back. "You'll be closing tonight, Evans. I hope that's not a problem?" there is a questioning note in Milton's voice as he looks at Max expectantly.
"No," Max answers smoothly. "No problem at all."
"I thought not," the older man responds before turning away again.
Max watches Milton take his spot at the projector, and he runs a tired hand down his face. His worst day has just gotten a whole lot longer. With the summer hours, he'll easily be here until almost 11:00. Although the museum will close at 9:00, there is set up for the next day to do, general clean up, replacing books. This is his reward for being late, he thinks as he takes his seat at the information booth. Damn, he would have preferred the ass-chewing.
Max has manned the booth often since he started working at the Center, so he's used to lots of strange questions and chatty UFO nuts. Working the information booth is very routine, and that familiarity, that structure is exactly what he needs. Because, even though he looks calm on the surface, inside he is shaky and off balance. He is also incredibly thankful that the booth separates him from the crowd. He doesn't want anyone coming too close to him, because the very idea makes him anxious.
This he can handle, he thinks, as he observes the patrons milling around, taking in the exhibits and listening to the tour guides.
The hours pass, but the job isn't challenging and Max is bored. The downside of routine is that the lack of mental stimulation allows him way too much time to think. And, although he tells himself he shouldn't, his thoughts are centered on Liz. He can't help it. He wonders if she's landed in Florida and has settled in. He worries about how she is dealing with her abduction by Nasedo. He frets, because he never got the chance to even talk to her about what she went through.
Max knows that she saw in flashes what happened to him, but he'd immediately shut down any discussion about it. Instead, they'd ended up focusing on what Nasedo had told her about him and Tess being meant to be together. He'd rejected it immediately. He is in love with Liz. And once they'd confessed their love, they'd kissed and touched and clung ... eager to act out that newly spoken truth in a thousand wordless ways ... until exhaustion claimed them.
In all that time, he never saw her part in the whole ordeal, and he was so out of it he never had the chance to ask. He berates himself for that now, and he worries. Who will she talk to?
Max relaxes a little when he realizes that Liz will more than likely talk to Maria. Her best friend took her to the airport, so she obviously knows about Liz's plan to spend the summer with her aunt. And they've always confided in each other, telling each other everything. Max feels a momentary wave of irrational jealousy. He's relieved that Liz will have someone to go to, but he wishes that it was him.
And he misses her, so much. If he closes his eyes he can immediately see her beautiful face, and his heart aches to the point of almost physical pain. Tears will well up into his eyes without warning, making his throat tight and his chest hurt. He breathes more heavily when this happens, trying to control them, and will look around to see if anyone has noticed. He feels as if this day will never end.
He longs to hear her voice. If she would just call ...
"Evans," Milton's voice startles him, and Max turns his head, amazed to see that the crowds are gone. He wonders where the time went, and he's flustered as he realizes that he has no idea what he did during the long hours until closing time. Was he that preoccupied? "We're done for the night. Make sure that everything is set up for tomorrow and that all the exhibits are ready. Some of them are a real mess. It's all yours. Get on it. I'll be counting the receipts."
"Right," Max says, still trying to shake off the haze of absorption he'd been in. He rakes a hand through his hair. "Do you want me to stick to the schedule for tomorrow, or do you want me here earlier?"
"You can stick to the schedule," Milton tells him. "We won't be so lucky two days in a row," he sighs regretfully before going up to his office, leaving Max to lock the doors behind the last of the staff. Once he does, Max turns, pausing to look over the empty UFO Center. It's so quiet now.
He takes a deep breath and starts the long process of getting things set up for the next day. He straightens props, moves chairs back to their original positions, empties trash into big bags, runs a vacuum over the floors. He handles one exhibit at a time, working his way from one end to the other.
Milton finishes with the receipts, makes out the deposit and puts it in the safe for the night. Max stops what he's doing long enough to bid his boss good night as Milton leaves, and locks the doors again behind him. He then goes back to work.
The mindless routine again allows him time to think. He wants to get everything done as quickly as possible and get home. Liz hasn't called him on his cellphone, but he thinks that maybe there will be an email, or a message on his answering machine, now that she's had time to get settled. He wonders what she'll say, tries to plan ahead for it, completely engrossed in the possibilities.
Max moves to the next exhibit, and all thoughts of Liz are suddenly gone. He stands and stares with widened eyes, immobilized.
The alien autopsy exhibit is trashed, although not too badly. The only noticeable prop that is really out of place is the linked rope that is used to simulate intestines. That is lying on the ground. The mannequins that represent the surgeons are all still garbed in their green hospital scrubs, their masks still in place. The instruments still gleam on the tray; the scapel that is held in one mannequin's hand looks razor sharp. They are all still positioned around the forlorn little alien on the table, whose head is turned towards him.
His large, black eyes seem to stare at Max, unblinking, his small stomach gaping open, his "intestines" dropped carelessly on the floor. And, just for a moment, Max doesn't see a plastic alien gazing at him. He sees himself.
"I can take you apart, piece by piece, and make sure you stay conscious enough to feel every second of it."
Daniel Pierce leans over him, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.
"Open him up."
A whimper escapes. Max begins to shake violently, uncontrollably. He can't breathe properly, can't get enough air. His heart pounds so hard that he thinks it will come right out of his chest. His eyes well up with anguished tears.
"No," he moans, shaking his head. "No, please no."
Max turns and his legs give way. He reaches frantically to grab the large garbage bag, pulling it to him and opening it up to vomit out the contents of his stomach. He heaves again and again, long past the point where his guts are empty.
When he's done, he scrambles away on his hands and knees, unconsciously headed for a corner of the room. He presses himself back into it, pulling his legs up to his chest, the tremors still wracking his body.
"It's not real, it's not real," he chants hoarsely. "You got out. They got you out. Pierce is dead, and that isn't you."
And there he stays, huddled in the darkened corner, trying desperately to convince himself that he safe and everything is all right.
"It's not real, it's not real. You're okay, you're okay ..."
Last edited by Realistic Dreamer on Wed Feb 08, 2006 7:52 pm, edited 7 times in total.
"It wasn't love at first sight. It took a full five minutes." ... Lucille Ball on meeting Desi Arnaz
I just want to cry And the one part that got to me the most was Max's thoughts about how Liz must be feeling about her abduction by Nasedo and how he never got a chance to talk to her about it. I know it's mean, but I can't help it if I hope she has a few nightmares and gets scared and lonely. Max suffering like this alone is just heartbreaking.
Glad everything is well at home, can't wait for the next part.
I apologize in advance, because it's short. This was a really difficult chapter to write. I know how the scene plays out in my head, but I'm not sure how well I did in bringing it across. The length, too, is partly because this seemed to be a natural stopping point in a rather long night for Max.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think.
Chapter 7
Daniel Pierce removes a tray from the equipment cart, bringing it over and kneeling down in front of Max so he can show him the contents. With a secret smile, he flips back the material with all the flourish of a sideshow magician, revealing large, razor sharp instruments. These aren't the surgical kind. These are the hack-and-saw autopsy kind. Setting the tray aside on the floor, the agent picks up one of the instruments and handles it carefully, the gleaming edges lethal. Max can't take his terrified gaze off it.
"I can take you apart, piece by piece."
" ... piece by piece ... piece by piece ... piece by piece ..."
Pierce's mocking whisper echoes in Max's head over and over, taunting, malevolent, laden with promise.
Max huddles in the corner, his feet scrambling for purchase as he tries to press himself further back into the unyielding surface of the walls behind him. Low, agonized grunts of fear come from him. There is no way out, there is no escape. There are only these frantic, futile movements that he can't stop, even though they do nothing but show him how vulnerable and helpless he really is.
"Max! Max, can you hear me?"
"I can't tell you what I don't know," he pleads, his voice hoarse with desperation. "I can't tell you what I don't know!"
Pierce's shoulder lifts in the slightest of shrugs before he rises to his feet. "Bring in the surgeons," he calls as he stares down at Max, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. His face is alight with amusement as he watches Max's pathetic attempts to protect himself. He grins at Max, wordlessly thanking him for this opportunity of a lifetime.
The animalistic sounds of pure, primal terror continue as Max strains again to push himself into the corner. His hands claw incessantly at the walls, nails becoming broken and bloody as they dig in, trying to find anything to hold onto when the inevitable moment comes and they take him away and begin his mutilation.
"I can't tell you what I don't know!!" he screams.
"Max," a voice breaks on a sob, "Max, can you hear me?! It's over, Max! It's all over! Alex, he doesn't hear me!"
"Keep talking to him, Isabel," is the quiet, encouraging response. "Low, even tones. Just keep talking. Your voice is going to guide him back."
"Tell me how they work, Max," the agent hisses. He is done playing around; it's time to get down to business. "Fifty years of searching, and they're useless if we don't know how they work," Pierce runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "You will tell me!" he glares down at Max. "One way or another, you will tell me!"
The agent has come to a decision, and Max knows it. He begins to shake his head, chanting under his breath as he tries to push himself right through the walls that are preventing his escape.
"No ... No! ... No!!"
"Open him up," Pierce commands. "Open him up, now!"
"I don't know how they work! I'm telling you the truth now, too! I swear it!" Max cries. "I can't tell you what I don't know!"
"Max, it's okay. You don't need to know how they work," Isabel soothes. "Pierce isn't here, Max. He can't hurt you anymore. He'll never hurt you again."
"I don't know! I don't know!" Max pleads from his spot in the corner of the room, his eyes glazed over as he stares at things only he can see. "I'm telling you the truth now, too," he whispers in hopeless resignation.
"It's alright, Max," Isabel voice is serene. She is kneeling on the floor, but she is careful to remain out of Max's reach. She remembers the night before, when she'd gotten too close to him while he was still in the grips of his nightmare. She has no wish to go flying again.
"Please!! Don't bring in the surgeons, please!" he begs. "Don't you know that I would tell you if I could?!"
"There are no surgeons here," Isabel tells him firmly, even as her eyes well up with tears. Remembering the angry, bloody cut that was visible on Max's chest when he was rescued, she shivers. Isabel startles when she feels Alex lay his hand on her shoulder from his position right behind her. Regaining her focus, she tells Max again "there are no surgeons here."
"They're coming," Max gives a jerky shake of his head in negation. "He's called for them, and they're coming."
Isabel stares intently at her brother, feeling the slightest twinge of hope. With his last sentences, she thinks that there might be the beginning of a shift in Max's awareness. Instead of being completely involved in things that only he can see, he's responding to what Isabel is telling him.
She turns her head to look over her shoulder at Alex, her expression uncertain. At his encouraging nod, she turns back and continues to talk to Max. She uses calm, quiet tones and reassuring words. Slowly, Isabel can see the blank, lost stare begin to fade as he continues the transition. Being caught between the two worlds, however, brings on a response that neither Isabel nor Alex could forsee.
Even though the flashback fades, the absolute terror does not. And the burgeoning awareness of reality allows Max to understand at some level that he is no longer bound by restraints or drugs or the walls of the white room. Pushing away from the corner, Max scrambles to his feet and does the one thing that he couldn't do the whole time he was held and tortured.
He runs.
Obeying that most basic of all instincts, he slides along the wall, careful to keep out of their reach, and when he is clear he flees as if all the demons of hell are right behind him.
Stunned, Isabel and Alex can only stare as Max heads for the back of the UFO Center, disappearing from their sight. They are dismayed when they hear the distant sound of the employee door being slammed open. Getting to their feet, they hurry to follow, coming to a stop when the sound of the door banging shut again reaches their ears. Isabel sags in discouragement. Alex puts an arm around her, and she leans into his comforting strength as tears fill her eyes.
Even without seeing, they know. Max is gone.
Last edited by Realistic Dreamer on Mon Mar 20, 2006 11:57 am, edited 3 times in total.
"It wasn't love at first sight. It took a full five minutes." ... Lucille Ball on meeting Desi Arnaz
I just wanted to say thanks to Flamehair, Mt Gazer, frenchkiss70, sylvia37 (hugs, my angsty friend), Erina, Timelord 31, BelevnDreamsToo, sprayadhesive, alienmom, Scottie, Ariel70, kelly13, tequathisy, mlover25 and all lurkers out there, readers new and old.
Special hugs and prayers go out to cherie ... you are on my mind and in my heart. Keep fighting.
I can never thank you enough for all the support and encouragement.
Disclaimer moment: small portion of dialogue from The Toy House, courtesy of crashdown.com.
As always, I'd love to hear what you think.
Chapter 8
Sweat soaks his hair, beads of it sliding down the strands to drop onto his forehead and fall in his eyes. The salty sting of it makes him blink furiously to clear his vision. It plasters his shirt to his body.
Max never breaks his stride, running at full throttle.
Each breath he takes saws in and out of his lungs as they heave with the exertion. His throat is dry, as parched and arid as the air of the desert he lives in, and it burns with every wheeze of his laboring chest.
His all-out sprint continues.
The stitch in his side is a relentless pain that refuses to be ignored. The palms of his hands throb, torn and bloody from falling more than once on unforgiving concrete. His pants are ripped at the knees, and he can feel the blood dripping down his shins.
He flies through the darkened town.
The slap of his shoes on the streets is an uncoordinated rhythm, the sound of it echoing in his ears. It's not the measured pace of a jog, but the speed of an flat-out run.
His driving force is terror. It holds him in it's grip and urges him on, even as his heart pounds so hard that he thinks it will explode. He is blind to everything except one thought ... if he stops, they'll take him again; if he stops, he'll die.
Max keeps up the ruthless pace until his sight betrays him. He trips over an uneven piece of cement and his hands go out to break the fall he can't stop. The skin tears and bloodies further as he tumbles helplessly out of control. Eventually, he rolls to a stop on the grass of someone's front yard.
He rises quickly to his knees, looking around anxiously, trying to see if they've found him. He rubs the sweat from his eyes with the back of one hand and peers again, his head turning this way and that with the panic of the pursued.
Finally, Max doubles over, pushing his fist into the unrelenting ache in his side as his entire body heaves with the effort to breathe. He continues to lean forward, his free arm comes to rest on the lawn, and he lays his forehead on it.
Slowly, the terror is receding, and rational thought is beginning to take it's place.
Max takes in huge gulps of air and swallows repeatedly to ease the burning of his dry throat. He tries to moisten his lips as he waits for the pain in his side to lessen. Little laughs of sheer relief escape as he realizes that he's alone, that he's okay, that they haven't found him. The last one changes to a cracked sob and he suppresses it, knowing that it has it's roots in dark hysteria. He rubs his forehead against his arm as he waits for his body to slow down, trying to pull himself back together again.
Even though he's exhausted, he pushes himself back up to his knees. He has to be able to see everything around him. He immediately begins to scan the area, his eyes constantly moving, looking for any threat. When he knows that he's alone, he relaxes a bit, but he is still alert and wary.
Max pulls up the hem of his shirt and uses it to wipe the sweat from his face. His breathing is slowing, the pain in his side is receding, and his heart rate is dropping back to something closer to normal. Physically, he's recovering, but emotionally he is in the darkest place place of his life.
Max is deeply shaken at how completely he'd been thrown back into the white room, begging for his life. When he'd seen the autopsy exhibit, reality just ... just disappeared and he was once again in that hell hole, under Daniel Pierce's control. He was paralyzed, totally at the mercy of the memories playing out right in front of his eyes.
He could see his tormentor, impatiently waiting for the surgeons even as he smiled at Max in anticipation. He could hear the agent's voice, demanding the one thing that Max couldn't give him. He could smell his own fear, thick and sharp and pungent in his nostrils. And Max could literally taste it as well, the bile plucking at his throat. He could feel his heart pounding, the blood racing through his veins, an adrenaline rush of terror.
It was as if it had happened all over again ... every single detail, every single reaction, as exquisitely clear and fresh and real as the first time.
"Shit," he groans. "Fucking shit."
He's cracking up. That's the only explanation. He's completely cracking up, and he has no idea how to stop it.
Max is nothing if not controlled. It's all he knows, because it's been his only defense for almost a year now. The constant pressure of being watched wherever he went, of knowing there were people out there who were waiting, practically salivating with the hope that he would screw up and reveal himself, made him a control freak.
He couldn't let them see anything but a regular teenaged guy going about his everyday life. He couldn't let them see, couldn't let anyone see, how scared he was almost all the time. They were everywhere; he could never relax, because he never knew how many there actually were, or how far they were going with their surveillance. All he could do was be in control, all the time.
Oh, he'd lost that control a few times ... when the sheriff killed Hubble, when his mother began to wonder again why her son was different. He'd lost his grip. He'd screamed at the sheriff to come and get him. He'd begged his mom to trust him, that what was going on with him wasn't bad, but that he'd understand if she couldn't do that and he'd leave.
When he'd gone to see Liz after closing time at the Crashdown, his control had been shaky at best, but it had held.
"I am what I am! I've got a lot going on, and I'm trying to make things work."
Yet, during those moments when he'd lost it, it was more of a pressure valve opening, letting off steam. But this ... this was a complete break with reality. His loss of control was total and absolute.
And that has Max terrified.
He doesn't know what to do, what to think. What the hell had happened? Was this a one-time thing, or will it happen again? If it does, what if he's at home, or at work - only this time with crowds of people around - and his mind once again puts him in that hell? He pushes both hands through his hair, leaving streaks of blood from his torn palms on the strands, before wrapping his arms around his stomach. He begins to rock back and forth a bit, distraught. He is in so much trouble.
He visibly startles when he feels his cellphone begin to vibrate; he's still so close to abject fear. Max pulls it from his belt as he sits up straighter, and then takes deep breaths to calm himself. 'Pull it together,' he tells himself, 'just pull yourself together.' He wants to be quiet and rational, because he is unable to help the anxious hope that maybe it's Liz. He really, really needs to hear her soft, slightly husky voice right now.
He flips open his phone and presses it to his ear. "Hello," Max is almost proud that his voice is fairly steady, that the tremble in it is almost imperceptible.
"Max!" Isabel cries out in relief. "Max, are you okay?! Where are you?"
It isn't her, he thinks dully as his heart plummets; it isn't Liz. He closes his eyes against the tears that are beginning to brim. Disappointment is thick in his throat, and he swallows hard against it. Max wipes his bloody hand on his pants before pressing his palm against his wet eyes to clear them. He pulls in a shaky breath before he responds.
"Is," he answers hoarsely, unable to say anything else.
"Max, where are you?" Isabel's voice is tearful. "Are you okay?" she repeats anxiously. "Tell me where you are."
"I .. I'm not sure," he tells her, as he begins to look around again. Nothing on this block looks familiar to him. "I don't know, Is," he says tiredly. "I don't know where I am. Some neighborhood, I think."
"Okay," she soothes, "okay. Do you see an intersection? Something with street signs?"
"Yeah."
"Walk to the corner and tell me what the streets are, Max," Isabel coaxes. She can hear the exhaustion in his voice, and tries to keep her own upbeat and encouraging. "You can do that, right Max? Tell me what they are, and then we can come get you in the jeep."
"Okay," Max winces as he pushes down with one bloodied hand to get to his feet. He staggers a little, tired and clumsy, before steadying himself. He begins to walk toward the nearest intersection, involved in the effort of putting one foot in front of the other, still holding the phone to his ear. He can hear Isabel murmuring encouragement as he does what she's asked. It is a relief to have someone tell him what to do.
When he reaches the corner, he peers at the street signs. "Montana and Austin," he tells her. "I'm on the corner of Montana and Austin."
"We'll be right there," she assures him.
"Isabel!" Max can tell she's ready to hang up, and he hurries to stop her. "Isabel, is Alex with you?"
"Yeah," she responds. Mortified, he hates what he is about to ask her, but he can't help himself.
"Don't bring him, okay? Can you … can you come alone? Find it alright by yourelf?" Max feels himself flush at the pleading note he can hear in his voice.
"I guess so," she hesitates. "I'm pretty sure I won't get lost. Why?"
"You were both there before, weren't you? Alex was with you, right?" Max asks, vaguely remembering hearing the undercurrent of Alex's voice, along with Isabel's, when he was trapped in his memories. Max resigns himself to the fact that Alex more than likely witnessed every pathetic moment. "He saw me? Saw what I was like?"
"I'm afraid so," Isabel says sympathetically.
"I know this sounds stupid, but I just … I can't face him. Not right now," there is a wealth of shame in his voice.
"It's okay, Max. I'll work it out and pick you up as fast as I can. Just be waiting on the corner, 'cause I'll be right there," she tells him before disconnecting.
Max sighs as he flips his cellphone closed, clipping it again to his belt. Too tired to stand, he sits down on the curb to wait for Isabel to come and get him. He begins to shiver in the cool night desert air. And all the while his head moves this way and that, constantly scanning the darkness for anyone who might possibly try and take him away.
Last edited by Realistic Dreamer on Tue Apr 11, 2006 5:01 am, edited 5 times in total.
"It wasn't love at first sight. It took a full five minutes." ... Lucille Ball on meeting Desi Arnaz
This has been such a sad week for me. While I hadn't ever met her, cherie was a writer whose work I adored and whose feedback was treasured. I will miss her, her way with words, her love for Max and Liz and the whole Roswell community.
I want to thank Reamhar, Itzstacie, sprayadhesive, frenchkiss70, Sweep, Flamehair, Ariel70, Timelord31, Scottie, alienmom and Sylvia37 for the wonderful and encouraging feedback. It means a lot to me to know that you care about this story. I also want to thank all the readers and lurkers as well.
Chapter 9
Max moves to get to his feet when he hears the sound of the jeep's motor as it comes down the street, relieved that Isabel's found him so quickly. He squints when the approaching headlights pick out his tired frame, raising a hand to shield his eyes against the glare. Max backs up a bit as Isabel pulls up smoothly to the curb and comes to a stop. She's put the soft top on the jeep, because the night desert air can be chilly. Wordlessly, he gets in and slumps back into the seat, closing his eyes with a sigh.
He's exhausted and shaken and at the end of his rope. All he wants to do is go home and go to sleep and forget for awhile. He doesn't want to think anymore, doesn't want feel anymore. What he wants is to be completely numb; he positively yearns for a few moments of oblivion. He wants to disconnect from all the pain, because he can't take one more thing.
Isabel turns her head to look at him anxiously as the unforgiving streetlight illuminates his face. Max's pants are ripped at the knees, his shirt is pulled out of the waistband, wrinkled and dirty and bloodstained. His hair is damp with sweat. His face has that same milky look that she'd seen when they'd gotten him out of the white room. The pale skin is emphasized by the shadows under his closed eyes … a combination of his thick lashes lying on his cheeks, and dark circles of weariness. His jaw is tight in mute endurance.
It's his hands, though, that break her heart. Max's hands are a healer's hands. Warm and strong, their touch has relieved her pain more often than she can remember. Any time she or Michael had hurt themselves, Max had always been there to make it better … with his hands. Now, they are lying limp in his lap. The flesh bears the scrapes and cuts of repeated falls, the nails are broken from clawing at the walls of the UFO Center. They are stained with blood. Some of the wounds are still bleeding sluggishly, and he presses them absently on his pants, leaving dark smears behind.
Isabel swallows back the tears as she gazes at her brother. He looks so much like he did after they'd broken him out of the hell of Eagle Rock. Was it really only two days ago? Hesitantly, she places her hand on his arm. She can feel the muscles tighten under her fingers, as if he wants to pull away but won't let himself make the move.
"Are you okay?" she asks.
Max gives a mirthless little snort. "Not really," he responds without opening his eyes, as he turns his face away.
"What happened back at the museum?" Isabel's question is tentative, needing to ask him even though she knows he won't want to talk about it.
Max opens his eyes to gaze out the side of the jeep, peering into the shadows of houses and trees and shrubs. There are so many places to hide and watch, and Max shudders at the thought.
"I don't know," he finally tells her, after a long silence. "I really don't. All I was doing was clean up. Just the usual mindless crap that I always have to do when I'm on closing. Everything was fine, and then I got to the autopsy exhibit," Max's voice wavers a bit, and he swallows before continuing. "I've seen that damn thing a million times. I have to put the alien back together again almost every night. I mean, it's nothing new, you know? But this time ..."
Max continues to stare out the window as his voice trails off. He so does not want to talk about this. He wonders if it's because saying it out loud somehow makes it more real. And he doesn't want it to be more real; he wants it to go away. He wants to forget, to wipe it from his mind, to bury it so deep that it'll never see the light of day again.
He hadn't been kidding when he'd told Liz in the Jetta that it was over, because in his mind, it was. But it just keeps coming back, no matter what he does.
"What happened then?" Max startles a bit as Isabel's voice intrudes on his dark musings and brings him back to the present.
"One minute I was looking at the autopsy exhibit, the next Pierce was standing over me. Look," he says flatly, "do we have to get into this right now? I really don't want to talk about it."
"Max," Isabel implores, "you have to."
"No, I don't."
"Why?!" she cries.
"Because," his voice cracks, "if I do, I'll feel all that again! I'll hear it all again! I'll see it all again! And I don't want to. Do you wanna know what it feels like when I even think about talking about it?! It feels like I'm in total, complete darkness and I have only one door that I can open ... and I know, I just know that on the other side of that door is the most terrifying monster that ever walked. And he's waiting there, waiting to take me apart," he's reduced to a whisper. "Just take me apart, piece by piece."
Max rakes an unsteady hand through his hair, leaving a streak of blood on his forehead. "I can't do it, Is. I can't. Maybe someday I'll be ready, but I sure as hell am not ready now!"
"Alex thinks you had a flashback," Isabel says abruptly.
"What?"
"He told me that he thought you were having a flashback," she tells him again.
"A ... a what?" Max sputters as his brows draw together in a frown. "Why does he think that?"
"Alex said he has an uncle ... his father's oldest brother ... who did a tour of duty in Vietnam. Alex says he used to have flashbacks all the time, although not so much anymore," Isabel slowly explains. "One minute he'd be fine, the next minute he'd be back in the jungle, fighting Viet Cong. His aunt said that sometimes she'd wake up in the middle of the night, and his uncle would be standing over her, and she could just tell he was in Vietnam again. Or she'd find him under the bed, as if he was hunkering down in a foxhole."
Isabel turns to face Max, her eyes worried. "Alex says that what you were doing is the same thing that his uncle does when he's trapped in his memories of the war."
Max's chest gets tight as he listens to Isabel's explanation. There is a sudden rush of fear that swamps his soul. The nightmares, the almost irrational desire to run that will come over him, the flashback, the complete loss of control ... do they all add up to one thing?
Is he truly damaged?
Almost against his will, he asks the question that he's sure he doesn't want to know the answer to. "What happened to his uncle? Where is he now?"
Isabel looks away. "Alex said that he was finally diagnosed with something called post traumatic stress disorder. He stays at the VA hospital."
"And ... and you and Alex think that that's what's going on here?" Max's voice is low, tentative.
Isabel takes a deep breath before answering honestly. "I don't know, Max," she tells him. "I have no idea. I'm not a therapist. I haven't even taken so much as a psych class. But what Alex told me seems to make at least some sense."
Max is quiet for a long time, and Isabel watches him, wondering what he's thinking. His face is so tired and remote. It betrays nothing of what is going on in his mind. The only movement he makes is the slight clenching and unclenching of his hands in his lap as he stares straight ahead, his eyes slightly narrowed.
As the silence continues, Isabel's heart falls, because she realizes what he's doing. Max is pulling himself together again. He's reexerting all of his considerable control. He's going to push it all away, because he's not going to deal with it now. There will be no baring of his soul this night.
Finally, he takes a deep breath and turns to look at her. "Let's go home," he says softly.
"Max," Isabel pleads.
"Nothing's changed, Is," he tells her quietly. "I'm not saying that I won't think about what you said. I will, I promise. But I still can't do this now." At her wordless protest, Max shakes his head wearily, looking away again. "I just can't."
Isabel feels tears sting her eyes, and she blinks them away. With a sigh, she releases the clutch, putting the jeep in gear. Checking her blind spot, she pulls away from the curb for the ride home.
Last edited by Realistic Dreamer on Fri May 05, 2006 8:21 am, edited 3 times in total.
"It wasn't love at first sight. It took a full five minutes." ... Lucille Ball on meeting Desi Arnaz
I apologize for the delay in getting this out. I actually had it done a few days ago, with the exception of some tweaking, but then I was under the weather and didn't get the chance to put it up.
I want to thank everyone for their continued feedback and support and encouragement. A special shout-out goes to Scottie for her help with beta-ing and making sure this latest update stayed on track.
As always, I love to hear what you think.
Chapter 10a
Isabel silently gears down as she pulls into the Evans driveway, throwing it into park and cutting the engine. Letting out a sigh, she turns to look at her brother sitting next to her, her eyes soft and concerned.
Max is staring out the passenger side window. He can feel the force of Isabel's gaze on him. He knows that she wants to talk, but the mere idea twists his stomach into knots and he moves to forestall any conversation. He straightens, wordlessly reaching for the handle to open the door. Before he can, though, her hand on his arm stops him.
"Max, you can't go in there like that. You look awful," she tells him in a sympathetic voice. "Let me," Isabel passes her hand over his clothes. Blood stains disappear, wrinkles are gone, rips are mended, everything looks fresh and clean again. She gestures towards his battered hands.
"You'll have to heal them," she tells him. "If they're still up," Isabel tilts her head to look anxiously at the house through the windshield, "Mom and Dad will notice right away."
Max nods his head in tired agreement. Concentrating, he holds his right hand over his left. There is a faint, momentary glow underneath his palm. When he moves it away, his left hand is healed. It takes very little time for him to complete the healing process on his right hand.
Releasing a heavy sigh, Max finally turns and faces Isabel. "Do I look alright?" he asks.
'No,' she thinks sadly. 'No, you don't look alright at all.'
"You've got some blood on your forehead. Right here," she tells him instead, biting her lip as her fingers hover over the dark smear, not wanting to touch it in case there is a scrape or cut underneath the blood. Max holds himself completely still as she effectively removes the last traces. "Got it," Isabel nods when she's done, relieved to see there is no wound.
They both get out, slamming the doors. Isabel waits, watching Max over the roof of the jeep as he takes a moment to tuck in his shirt. When he's ready, they move together towards the front door.
The house is quiet as they let themselves in. To their relief, their parents have retired for the night, merely leaving the living room light on. Max immediately turns to lock the door behind them, while Isabel goes to turn off the lamp. Soon the house is bathed in darkness and they head down the hall to their respective rooms.
Max pauses in front of his door, his hand on the knob. After a long moment, he turns his head. "I just ... I want ..." he struggles to say the words over his shoulder, "thanks for everything you did tonight, Is," he doesn't meet her eyes. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
"I'm just glad we were there," she tells him quietly. "Max ..." Isabel is loath to let it go, and her face falls when Max turns his head away again.
"Can we talk tomorrow?" Max asks, his voice strained, his back straight and stiff. "I'm sorry, Is, but I just really want to go to bed."
"Okay," she answers. "As long as we really talk," Isabel adds firmly.
'As much as I can,' Max thinks, as he nods his head in agreement.
He responds to her soft 'good night' with one of his own, before letting himself into his room. Shutting the door behind him, he leans back against it, his eyes falling closed as he gives in to the exhaustion washing over him.
Max only rests for a moment, before tiredly pushing himself away. He doesn't want to stand there, because he can feel the endless thoughts and emotions that swirl around him, like vultures vying for a place to land, and he simply doesn't want to think about any of it. As long as he keeps moving and doing, he can hold it all off.
Stepping into the room, he turns on the small light by his bed, immediately checking his phone to see if there are any messages. Nothing. He turns to his computer, pulling out the chair to sit down and log on. Going through the start-up process, he pulls up his emails. Again, nothing from Liz.
Max stares at the screen as deep disappointment causes his insides to knot up. Before he can stop it, the fear hits him.
Maybe she won't ever call.
Immediately, he rejects the idea as he pulls in an unsteady breath, and then another. She's still settling in, he thinks as he tries to keep his hope alive. Maybe her aunt doesn't have a computer and she has no way to get online. It hasn't been all that long, he tells himself. She only left this morning. Not long at all, really.
He should clean up and go to bed, he thinks as he sits there, trying to keep the darkness of desolation at bay. Logging off, he finally gets up and walks into his bathroom, stripping off his clothes and leaving them in a pile on the floor. Grabbing fresh towels, he turns on the shower and waits for it to heat up. Once the temperature is where he likes it, he gets in the tub and steps under the hot water, letting out a slow breath. He braces his hands on the tiles in front of him, allowing the heated spray to sluice over his bent head and down his back, and he feels himself relax a bit.
Max stays there for a long time, trying not to think or feel anything beyond what the hot water is doing to his tightened muscles. Finally, he grabs the soap and quickly cleans up.
With a towel wrapped around his waist, he returns to his room and goes to his dresser. Pulling open a drawer, he grabs a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, putting them on. Max tosses the used towel into the hamper on his way to his bed. Pulling back the covers, he lies down and turns off the light.
Flat on his back, his hands linked behind his head, Max stares up at the dark ceiling. As tired as he is, as much as he'd wanted to get home and just go to sleep, he's suddenly afraid to close his eyes. Now it's quiet, all the distractions of the day are gone, and he's unprepared for how his mind is starting to take over.
The white room and all it's horrors, the escape, running for his life, taking their lives back, confronting Pierce, the nightmare, the flashback ... Liz ... they're all racing through his head in a demented kaleidoscope. Every emotion attached to those events clammors to be felt again.
The dark thoughts keep coming, and instead of relaxing enough to go to sleep, Max can feel his stomach beginning to churn and his heart rate speed up. He's becoming restless.
In desperation, Max picks one moment to latch onto. He chooses the most bittersweet of all the memories of the past two days to revisit. If he must think about something, he'll think about this. Even as his throat gets tight with emotion, there is a small smile on his lips as well.
The tumble down the steep ravine ripped at his clothes and skin, tearing at both equally. The fall knocked the wind right out of him. For a moment, he lay sprawled in the dust, unable to find the strength to move.
The shouts of the FBI agents from above reawakened his terror and spurred him to action again. He pushed himself to his knees, and then Liz was there, murmuring words of encouragement even as she wrapped her arms around his waist to get him to his feet, urging him on.
Somehow, with her help, they came out of the ravine and onto the highway. They were running across the bridge that spanned the river when the unrelenting glare of the headlights blinded them, first from one side, and then the other. They were trapped, and there was no way to escape. He would be captured again. But they underestimated the strength of Liz's resolve, and her ingenuity. She led him to the edge of the bridge, and he immediately understood what she wanted them to do.
Together, they climbed the guard rail, standing balanced between a starry sky above and dark, flowing water below. As the FBI began closing in, they held hands tightly, gazing at each other with loving, resigned eyes. Helplessly drawn together, their lips touched and clung in a desperate kiss. Even then, he could feel the fire of the caress flow through his veins as they'd pulled apart.
And they jumped into the cold, dark river.
Those next moments were a nightmare of confusion. He lost hold of Liz's hand as the freezing water closed over their heads. The powerful current took him, pushing him along, buffeting him. He was in a panic, not knowing at first which way was up. Finally, his head broke the surface and he pulled in great gulps of air, amazed at how far away from the bridge the river had already taken him.
He turned his head frantically in every direction as he tread water, desperate to find her. "Liz!" he cried in a low, hoarse voice. "Liz, where are you? Liz!!"
"Here!" her quiet answer came back immediately, and he knew she was close. "I'm right here!"
The tightness of his fear for her loosened it's grip a little when he heard her, and he closed his eyes for a moment in sweet relief. When he opened them again, he began swimming toward the sound of her voice, letting it guide him. Both of them had the presence of mind to keep as quiet as possible, not wanting to alert the FBI as to their location.
Liz was standing in hip-deep water, almost at the edge of the river, her low murmurs leading him to her. As soon as he could stand, he waded to her side. They were shivering violently, both from cold and reaction, as they fell into each other's arms, holding each other tightly, never wanting to let go.
He rested his cheek on the top of her wet hair, his eyes closed as he breathed her in.
"Tell me you're alright," he demanded in a shaken voice.
"I'm fine, Max," Liz told him breathlessly. "A little waterlogged, but fine." She laid her head on his chest for a long, quiet moment. "I thought I'd never hear this again," she finally said tearfully.
"What?" he asked, one unsteady hand stroking the length of her soaked tresses.
"Your heart."
"I'm okay, Liz," he whispered. "I'm okay."
They both knew it was a lie.
They allowed themselves only a few more seconds before pulling apart, realizing that they had to keep moving. There was no way the Special Unit would give up looking for him. They climbed the bank of the river and decided to follow it's course. When a part of it branched off into a small stream, they veered off to stay with it.
Liz set an almost punishing pace, frantic to keep ahead of the FBI. The adrenaline that had kept him going was soon used up. Nearly at the end of his strength, he could only do whatever it was that Liz wanted him to do. All his concentration had narrowed to simply staying on his feet, his focus solely on her hand in his. That hand was his guide, his lead, and he trusted it's every command. He became clumsy as his exhaustion grew and he fell often. But she was always there to help him back up again, murmuring words of encouragement.
It was a nightmarish time, one that he would never, ever remember clearly. All he could think about was that he had to keep moving, keep putting one foot in front of the other. For him, it wasn't about getting to a destination or even getting away from the Special Unit anymore; it was all about taking the next step, about finding the strength to get up when he fell. When Liz would allow him a few precious moments to rest, he would stand with his head hanging, his eyes half closed, trying to get enough air into his lungs.
"We've got to hide," Liz panted. By now, her arms were around him, pulling him along with her. "Come on. Come on, Max. Come on," her voice prodded and drove him along.
"Come on, in here," she coaxed. He had no real awareness of where they were when Liz pushed him forward and down. He had a startled moment where he felt he was falling, with no way to stop himself. It was almost jarring to land on an old, musty couch in an abandoned van.
Liz was standing over him, breathing as hard as he was. All he could do was look up at her wordlessly.
"I think we'll be safe in here for awhile," she said as she sank down next to him. "They don't know how far down the river we got."
He gazed his fill in the dim light. Her damp hair tumbled around her pale face. Her eyes were fathomless pools of darkness. Her mouth was pinched with weariness, and she bit her lip uncertainly as she stared into his eyes. Her small, cold hand came up to cradle his jaw as she murmured his name.
"Max."
And he thought that she had never, ever looked more beautiful, as her lips met and clung to his.
Isabel quietly opened the door to Max's room, wanting to check up on him. When she saw him, lying on his side, covered with a blanket, she came silently to stand next to his bed. From the light of the hallway, she could see his eyes moving under his closed lids. Clearly, he was dreaming. His face seemed calm and relaxed, and it gave her hope that maybe, this time, his dreams were good.
Backing away, Isabel carefully closed the door behind her, not wanting to wake him up ...
tbc
Last edited by Realistic Dreamer on Thu Jun 08, 2006 11:58 am, edited 1 time in total.
"It wasn't love at first sight. It took a full five minutes." ... Lucille Ball on meeting Desi Arnaz
I am sorry that I was absent for so long. Chalk it up to a long bout of illness and we'll leave it at that.
I appreciate every single one of you, and I want to thank you all for reading.
The dialogue was taken from transcripts of Destiny, courtesy of crashdown.com.
From Chapter 10a ...
Liz was standing over him, breathing as hard as he was. All he could do was look up at her wordlessly.
"I think we'll be safe in here for awhile," she said as she sank down next to him. "They don't know how far down the river we got."
He gazed his fill in the dim light. Her damp hair tumbled around her pale face. Her eyes were fathomless pools of darkness. Her mouth was pinched with weariness, and she bit her lip uncertainly as she stared into his eyes. Her small, cold hand came up to cradle his jaw as she murmured his name.
"Max."
And he thought that she had never, ever looked more beautiful, as her lips met and clung to his.
Isabel quietly opens the door to Max's room, wanting to check up on him. When she sees him, lying on his side, covered with a blanket, she comes silently to stand next to his bed. From the light of the hallway, she can see his eyes moving under his closed lids. Clearly, he is dreaming. His face seems calm and relaxed, and it gives her hope that maybe, this time, his dreams are good.
Backing away, Isabel carefully closes the door behind her, not wanting to wake him up ...
Chapter 10b
Max rolls over onto his stomach. Deeply asleep, he thrusts one arm underneath his pillow. With his other hand, he pushes the blanket away, so that it is down around his hips. He turns his cheek into the soft cotton pillowcase with a nestling gesture, and a small sigh escapes his slightly parted lips.
The dream holds him in it's grip, and his eyes continue to move under his closed lids.
At the first touch of her lips to his, he felt as if he'd come home after a long, terrifying journey. An inarticulate sound escaped as he pulled her closer, needing to feel every part of her.
Thoughts of her were the only thing that had kept him going, kept him fighting, kept him alive. Memories of her had sustained him ... her eyes looking into his, the touch of her skin, her lips.
In the midst of the hell of Eagle Rock, he had created a secret place in his head, a refuge that he would go to where she lived and moved and breathed; a place where Pierce couldn't touch him, but she could. A sanctuary where Liz held him in cherishing arms, healed him with her love and strengthened him with her encouragement.
The Liz of the white room paled in comparison to the Liz that held him now. At the end of his endurance, he had given himself over to her, and she had guarded him and protected him with an unparalled ferocity.
Yet, in this moment, it was her tenderness that slipped so easily past his defenses. The haven of her embrace, the warmth and sweetness of her kiss, her gentle touch, somehow found their way into his wounded soul and discovered all it's darkest secrets.
** The tests they'd performed on him ... the drugs they'd used on him ... the ice baths ... the electric shock that had him screaming in agony ... huddling in a corner, waiting for them to come, terror-stricken ... his pain and horror as they began his mutilation ... **
The things that he'd told himself that he never wanted anyone to ever know played out before her eyes in flashes. Breaking the kiss, her eyes brimmed with tears as she looked at his weary face, and his gaze slid away from hers. He wondered if she had read all his shame and brokenness as she whispered a horrified "Max."
"They got me out, Liz," he hastened to reassure her. "It's over now. Nasedo and Michael got me out."
"Nasedo," Liz scoffed bitterly, brushing at her cheeks. "It's his fault you were in there in the first place. If he wouldn't have ..." she broke off suddenly.
"What happened, Liz?" he demanded. "Did he do something to you, say something to you?"
Now it was Liz's turn to look away.
"Liz," Max's voice was gentle, coaxing.
"Nasedo cares about only one thing, and that's protecting the four of you," the words burst out as she stared at the dark, dingy walls. "Nothing else matters to him, no one else matters. He doesn't care who he uses, he doesn't care who he hurts and he doesn't care what it takes." Her eyes were hard when she looked at him again. "Anything and everything is acceptable, if it accomplishes that goal."
"It was his brilliant," she said sarcastically, "idea to lead Pierce to him, to take care of him once and for all. And all he ended up doing is delivering you into that sadist's hands," she muttered as she twisted her fingers together, her feelings about Nasedo's plan clearly etched on her face.
"He's got other ideas, too. He told me," Liz's voice broke a bit. She shook her head, biting her lip, before taking a deep breath and pulling her emotions back in check. "He told me that you and Tess are ... are ... I don't even know what you are."
Liz's confusion was understandable, given that she didn't know what he knew. And her words were upsetting as well, because they hinted toward a confirmation of things that he'd learned from Tess before he'd ever been taken by Pierce and the special unit.
He remembered going with Tess into the desert that night, wanting to unmask her as Nasedo. He remembered finding out that she was the fourth alien. She had given Michael the metal book, and he'd been stunned and more than a little dismayed to see etchings of the four of them, grown up and significantly paired together.
He remembered what Tess had told him when he'd questioned her, as he'd tried to find out the depth and meaning behind dreams that had Isabel panic-stricken that she was pregnant. The dreams were to awaken them, she'd told him. They were to show them what was meant to be. Her talk of destinies had carried a wealth of unspoken implication that the two of them were meant to be together. The constellations were aligning in ways that were awakening their biological drives as well.
Liz knew none of these things, he realized. All the information that they'd gleaned had never been given to her, because Nasedo had kidnapped her before he could tell her. And he had to tell her now, he knew.
In a low voice, he carefully explained everything that they'd learned. He didn't sugarcoat it, he didn't leave anything out.
He watched as her face became impassive. Her jaw tightened, her lips were pressed together, and she gave an occasional jerky nod. When he finished, she sat for a long time, staring straight ahead. The silence stretched out to the point that it was almost unbearable, yet he didn't try to break it.
Finally, Liz stood up and began pacing in the cramped confines of the van. It reminded him of a spring that had been coiled too tightly and then is suddenly turned loose.
"So everything Nasedo told me was true," the hurt was palpable in her voice. "You and Tess were meant to be together."
"Liz."
"I mean, it's your destiny, right?" she couldn't look at him as she stretched her arms out to the side, and then let them fall again. She was awkward in her pain, her normally graceful movements halting and unsure.
He hated this. He absolutely hated this. He hated the control that outside forces were beginning to try and exert over his life. Nasedo, Tess, the book ... they were pushing him, prodding him. They were trying to turn him in a direction that he had no wish to go in, pointing him down a path that he didn't want to take, pairing him with someone he didn't want to be with and didn't particularly care for. He hated everything about what was rapidly becoming an untenable situation.
This would never happen if he was normal, he thought rebelliously. If he was simply Max Evans, human, there would be no destinies looming over his head to cast dark, threatening shadows over his future, trying to take what he yearned for and replace it with an unwanted substitute.
"I wish I could go back, Liz," he said softly, putting his greatest desire into words. "Back to when things were normal."
"Me, too," her voice cracked with emotion as tears gathered in her eyes. "I just wish that I could have stopped you from saving my life that day in the Crashdown."
"Don't say that," he begged.
"Max, the day that you saved my life, your life just ... ended."
He had to stop this. He had to let her know what she meant to him. He had to tell her that saving her life was the best thing that he had ever done. It was the only time that he'd been incredibly glad that he was an alien. He couldn't let her go on thinking, even for a second, that healing her had been a mistake.
"No," he told her earnestly, willing her to understand. "That was the day my life began. Liz, when I was in that room, and they did ... what they did to me ... you're what kept me alive. The thought of you."
He reached out a hand to cradle her cold, damp cheek, his thumb brushing the soft skin. This was one of the things that he'd held in his heart, that he'd dreamt about in the refuge of his mind. He had to tell her all of them, all the thoughts and feelings and memories that he'd clung to during the worst moments of his time at Eagle Rock.
"The way your eyes look into mine," he said softly. "Your smile," his voice was tender. "The touch of your skin," he slowly caressed her cheek. "Your lips," his heart nearly broke when she pressed a lingering kiss on his palm. The action was so close to mirroring his dreams in the white room that it took his breath away. He felt the sting of tears. "Knowing you has made me ... human. Whether I die tomorrow or fifty years from now, my destiny is the same: it's you. I want to be with you, Liz," his voice became strong as he declared his greatest hope for the future. "I love you."
Liz's heart was in her eyes as she responded.
"I love you."
It was everything he'd ever wanted, and somehow never expected to have. The world fell away as he became lost in the emotion that he could see reflected in her gaze. Slowly, their lips brushed together in a tender caress. Max almost moaned when the brief contact ended, only to feel her press small, cherishing kisses on his face.
For a moment, he gave himself over to her. The touch of her lips was a balm that reached all the way down to the wounds of his soul; they were the most healing thing he'd ever felt.
When the trail of warm, sweet kisses ended where it began, his mouth closed eagerly over hers, and they were lost in the depths of their newly-spoken love ...
tbc
Last edited by Realistic Dreamer on Tue Aug 01, 2006 8:03 pm, edited 1 time in total.
"It wasn't love at first sight. It took a full five minutes." ... Lucille Ball on meeting Desi Arnaz
