For the month of April in a tie with Rowedog (Hi Alison!
)
For Jeff Parker
Round 1:
Best Vision of Isabel in a CC or AU fic
I Know an Alien Club Award for Best friendship in an AU, CC, slash or UC fic
-For Liz/Isabel and Michael/Max
Round 2:
Blind Date w/o Aliens (Best Original Premise in an AU w/o Aliens fic)
Best Vision of Tess
Buddha Boy Award (Funniest Scene)
Round 1:
Best Leaving Normal Fic for Best A/U Fic with or w/o aliens
Liz’s Journal Award for the Fic with the most beautiful writing style in an AU, CC, slash or UC fic
Round 2:
Healing Stones Award (Character Most in Need of a Hug) for Isabel
Roswell Fanatics Round 11
For Jeff Parker
Best All Around Fan Fiction
Best Alternate Universe Without Aliens
Most Talked About Fic
Best Portrayal of Liz
For Best Newcomer
For Most Memorable Scene for when Michael, Kyle and Alex go into Liz's hospital room
For Fic you'd Most Like to See Posted at the Chronicles
Check out what queenj made for me. Isn't she awesome?
A Parker Family Christmas
The usual disclaimers apply, in that I in no way own anything having to do with Roswell. I know that shocks you, but c'est la vie.
This is an AU without Aliens story.
Rating: Adult
Pairing: All CC
Summary: Max Evans and his younger sister Isabel have never had a good Christmas. Parents that recite The Night Before Christmas? Nope. Presents under a tree? Uh uh. More like a card at the dinner table. So when Max's best friend Michael Parker invites Max and his sister to spend Christmas with his family, Max eagerly accepts, expecting to have his first real Christmas ever. But in the process, he and Isabel stumble on something even more extraordinary.
Because what Max and Isabel are about to discover is this:
There has never been another family quite like the Parkers.
Chapter 1: Five for Fighting
Twenty-two year old Max Evans walked briskly down the Chicago sidewalk, attempting to simultaneously pull his black knit cap further down over his ears and keep his newly purchased Chinese food warm. He was failing miserably. It was the weekend after Thanksgiving, and the recent snow and current swift wind was wreaking havoc on Max’s walk home.
It was Saturday night, and the last thing Max wanted was to be roaming the streets, especially since he was sure that if he stayed out any longer in this wind he was bound to lose his nose or a few fingers to the cold. It went without saying that Max was rather fond of both his nose and fingers, so losing them to frostbite wasn’t high on his list. When Max reached the nearest crosswalk, he looked up at the crisscrossed street signs and smiled. Just one more block to go.
Max let out a small sigh of relief at the brick façade of his apartment building and slid his key into the lock. He walked the three flights of stairs to his floor and unlocked the front door, attempting to shake his body of some of the lingering cold as he went. After unceremoniously dropping the Chinese food on the kitchen table, Max happily shrugged out of his black leather jacket, folding it over the back of one of the mismatched kitchen chairs. His gray flannel scarf and muddy boots came off next, followed by the black knit cap that had done a painfully bad job of keeping his ears warm. Max ran a hand through his unruly dark locks in a vain attempt to dislodge any hat hair and shook his head a little. He walked across the apartment (a grand total of six steps) to his roommate’s door, prepared to tell him that dinner was here, when he heard him on the phone. Right, Max thought, Michael’s always on the phone Saturday night. He rolled his eyes at his obvious mistake, grabbed a piece of paper from the pad on the fridge door, wrote
<center>Soup’s On
P.S. Tell Kyle congrats. I heard he won.</center>
and slid it under Michael’s door. Max returned to the kitchen, grabbed a beer from the fridge and the Chinese food from the table and flopped down in the center of their creaking, faded, once navy blue couch. He flipped the TV on to a Blackhawks game that was just starting and sighed. This was life.
Max was a senior at the University of Chicago majoring in Business (a choice on the very short list of majors deemed acceptable by the parental units) along with his roommate and best friend Michael. They had met in October of their freshman year when some jerk (who was, of course, completely drunk off his ass) decided to pick a fight with an unsuspecting Max, who just happened to be passing by. Michael, a bystander, deftly pulled Max out of the way before the drunk could connect his fist with Max’s face. The drunk ended up falling into a nearby fountain. Max ended up with a best friend.
Max had started to thank Michael, and Michael had merely shrugged, his face passive, and said, “You remind me of my sister”.
When Max raised his eyebrows, Michael looked him in the eyes and said, “She would have tried to walk right past that ass and not given one thought that he might have hit her either. I would have had to do the same thing for her.” Michael shrugged his entire body, hands in his jeans pockets before turning and walking away. Max caught up with him, and the rest as they say is history. Stonewall Parker had shown Max a crack in his wall willingly, and the tiny glimpse of Michael had been enough for Max to know that the man next to him would be a friend for life.
By all accounts, Max and Michael didn’t make much sense as friends. More than one person had commented that they were complete opposites, but it wasn’t exactly news to Max or Michael. Max was messy, Michael was clean. Michael got up at the crack of dawn (at least it seemed that way to Max, who deemed Michael insane at least on this count) and Max had a certain love of sleeping in. Most of the “You’re friends with Michael Parker???” questions had disappeared by their junior year, but every now and again Max overheard some comment about how antisocial Michael was and how much of a saint Max had to be to put up with him. Max was sure he’d heard the term “Neanderthal” more than once.
Not that what anyone else thought really mattered to Max. Max knew that Michael was an unknown to pretty much everyone else in Chicago. He also knew that Michael didn’t care what anyone else thought. But sometimes Max couldn’t help but care. He couldn’t help that he wanted to yell to everyone that he knew the real Michael Parker, and he pitied anyone else who didn’t. Max had seen the smallest of glimpses of the real Michael that day in the quad.
Max’s younger sister Isabel had often commented that Max had a talent for seeing people at their most revealing. And when Michael had said, “You remind me of my sister”, Max had seen something others hadn’t even thought to look for in Stonewall Parker: love and affection. It was obvious to Max that whoever Michael’s sister was, she was special. Michael truly loved his sister, and Max knew then he had been given possibly the greatest compliment Michael was capable of. It was more than enough.
Max thought of Michael’s younger sister and smiled. He had never met her, aside from Michael he had never met any of the Parker family in fact, but he was sure her face was imprinted on his memory. After all, her sweet face was in at least half of the photos in Michael’s room. With deep brown hair, eyes to match and a smile that could light up the darkest of nights, Liz Parker was certainly a beauty. And that laugh, oh that laugh. Max could swear that the mere sound of her laugh made him fifty pounds lighter. Max knew Michael was on the phone with her right now, and not for the first time Max wished Michael was using the speakerphone button. Liz wasn’t afraid to laugh, and right now he desperately wanted to feel that familiar lightness.
Michael was very close to his family. This was another huge area where Max and Michael were complete opposites. Max was close only to his sister Isabel; mainly because their parents had come from the dregs of the parental barrel. They were rich people who had popped out a couple of kids for the status and then left them to nannies and housekeepers. Not exactly candidates for Parents of the Year. Michael, on the other hand, had only good things to say about his father, grandparents, and especially his siblings. Max sighed as he heard Michael laugh in his room. It must be nice to have that.
Every Saturday night Michael talked on the phone with his younger brothers Alex and Kyle and his sister Liz. It was a standing date that had yet to be broken and Max was certain it never would be. For just over an hour they laughed, argued and filled one another in on what had gone on during the week. It was the sweet sound of sibling familiarity and Max loved how normal it felt. Sometimes Max heard snippets of their conversation and it made him yearn for a family like that, instead of the car wreck that was the “family” Evans.
Max was broken out of his thoughts when he heard a door open and Michael’s heavy footsteps walking toward him. Michael dropped his body in a heap on the couch next to Max and reached for the takeout box of chicken chow mein on the coffee table.
“Blackhawks game. Cool.”
“They’re losing already by three goals and we’re only nine minutes into the first period.” Max’s eyes never left the TV screen.
“They always lose. Good thing I’m not a Blackhawks fan.” Michael bit down into an egg roll.
Max made a non-committal sound in response.
A few minutes passed in silence until Max asked, “So, how is everyone?”
“Good. Kyle won, but you already knew that. He says thanks, by the way.”
“It’s nothing. They had SportsCenter on in the commons today. He really killed the Irish.”
“Yep. 47-21.” Michael smiled. “He’s a damn good corner. Two interceptions.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah. Alex’s band sold out their concert last night at The Roxy. Said the show went well.”
“Meaning he said he didn’t embarrass himself?”
Michael chuckled. “Yep.”
“Good for him.” Max paused before asking, “How’s Liz?”
Michael smiled a little. “She’s okay. Got an A on her Chemistry paper. She was worried about that one. Thought she might have not cited enough examples or something.”
“Nah, it’s Liz, right? There was never any doubt.”
Michael’s face broke out into a full on grin. “Yeah. She’s smarter than the rest of us combined.” There was silence for a few minutes until Michael said, “She was complaining that she needs a new roommate.”
“Liz? Why does she need a new roommate?”
“I guess Darla dropped out. She couldn’t handle college. Had a nervous breakdown or some shit like that.”
Max and Michael watched the rest of the first period of the hockey game in silence, apart from the occasional sounds of chewing food or Michael’s groans at the refs and their “blatant and unfair” foul calling. Apparently Michael didn’t need to be a Blackhawks fan to get upset at the refs, although Max could see where Michael was coming from. With eight penalties already, the Blackhawks were really having a tough go of it.
At the first intermission, Michael turned his head to Max and asked, “So, what are you doing for Christmas this year?”
Max shrugged. “Iz and I will probably just go to our parents’ house. They’ll most likely be in Vail or Switzerland or something. They’ll send us a Christmas card with a check and tell us to “Have a good day, kids”. The card will arrive two or three days late, Izzy and I will try not to talk about the fact that our parents suck for one day out of the year, and Carla the cook will make us something to eat. All in all, a really special Christmas!” Max pumped his right fist in the air to punctuate his sarcasm, sank back down into the couch and sighed. Yeah, Christmas was going to be a real kick in the pants again this year.
Michael shook his head. “Man, I don’t get your parents.” He paused, and then said, “Hey, you should come home with me for Christmas. You know my family wants to meet you and they’ve never been able to. C’mon, it’ll be great.”
Max shook his head and said, “No, Michael, I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want to impose and besides I couldn’t leave Isabel alone at Christmas.”
“Well, Isabel’s welcome too. Bring her along. And we’ve got plenty of room. There’s no way either of you would be imposing.”
“She doesn’t know anyone Michael. She’d feel uncomfortable. She’s already shy enough as it is, but then putting her in that situation? I don’t know.”
Michael nodded and sat back in the couch before abruptly sitting up and asking, “Wait, doesn’t your sister go to NYU?”
“Yeah?”
“So does Liz, Max. Man, why didn’t I think of this before? Liz can introduce herself to Isabel. That way, she’ll know someone. See? Perfect.” A satisfied Michael crossed his arms over his chest and fell back into the couch.
“I don’t know, Michael. Isabel’s pretty shy.”
“And Liz definitely isn’t.” Michael turned to face the TV again. “Our grandfather used to say Liz could charm the shoes off a horse.” He paused and then said, “I always thought that was a weird saying.” Max laughed.
“Okay, I’ll call Isabel and let her know.”
“And I’ll call Liz. We’ll set up a way for her to meet Isabel. I don’t know, they can go out for coffee or something. Isabel will love Liz. Everyone does.”
No kidding. Preachin’ to the choir here, buddy. Max nodded and said, “So it’s set then. We’re coming home with you for Christmas.”
“Good. You ever been to California, Max?”
“No. When our parents traveled, they didn’t exactly like to take us with them, so we were usually alone at home. I know the housekeeper better than my own parents. I like her more too.” Max snorted and rolled his eyes.
“You must have thrown some major parties.”
“Not as many as you might think.”
Michael shook his head as if doing so would rid the apartment of the sudden change in mood. He could swear the temperature in there had just gone down a few degrees. Michael knew that Max hated to talk about his parents, and somehow he had just been careless enough to direct the conversation towards them.
Michael wanted to laugh at the people who were supposed to pass for Max’s “parents”. People who checked in a couple of times a year to make sure their kids were still breathing hardly constituted as parents. “You’ll like California.”
“I still find it hard to believe you live on a vineyard, Mike.” Their sophomore year, the year they became roommates, Max had been given the pleasure of being introduced to Michael’s behemoth photo collection. He had photos covering his desk and his dresser, but the largest group was covering practically every square inch of his walls. One of these wall photos was a 16” x 20” shot of a large house with rows and rows of plants in the foreground. When Max asked what the plants were, and Michael told him they were grapevines, Max wanted to know why Michael had a picture of a vineyard on his wall. The answer was simple: “That’s where I live.” After Max got over his shock (it had taken nearly five minutes of “No ways” and “You’re jokings” before Max believed him) he had to concede that a vineyard must have been an interesting place to grow up. Hey, it had to be better than the Evans house.
“Yep. Parker Vineyards. Established 1889. Proudly giving the world a buzz for more than 115 years.” Michael’s right hand swept the air from left to right, as if he were reading an actual sign on their apartment wall and then he dropped it, loudly slapping his leg. “Knowing wine has its benefits. Did I ever tell you I passed Philosophy my freshman year because my teacher knew crap about wine?”
“No kidding?”
“I overheard him one day on the phone at the end of class. Apparently his wife was giving him shit or something about the fact that he always brought home bad wine, so I helped him out. I guess his wife was so impressed, he came back to me in the next class and asked for more wine recommendations. Somewhere in there I hinted that I wasn’t doing so well in his class and he hinted back that he could do something about it-“
“You hinted? Have you ever hinted at anything?”
“Yeah, well, whatever. Anyway, let’s just say Parker Vineyards wines are now a favorite of the faculty.” Michael smiled. “Hey, Philosophy wasn’t the only class I passed with a little persuasion.”
Max laughed, his shoulders shaking. “Mike, man, you’re a piece of work.”
“A beautiful piece of work.” Michael’s shit-eating grin combined with his eyebrows raising up and down were too much for Max and he laughed so hard, he fell off the couch.
By the time he recovered, the second period of the hockey game had been underway for nearly three minutes and Michael was smirking slightly at him, one eyebrow raised. Max pulled himself up onto the couch before reaching for the now cold lemon chicken. He smirked at Michael before getting up and padding into the kitchen with the chicken, intent on heating it up.
Michael looked over his shoulder at Max. “Yeah. I hate cold Chinese food too.” Michael smiled and gave himself a mental pat on the back. One bad mood averted.
“C’mon ref! What the hell kind of call is that? That’s not boarding, you moron! That’s a valid check!”
Ah, the Mrs. Parker question. I was wondering when someone would ask that. The answer, my friend, is in chapter 7.