Roswell Fanatics

Just when Max thought all was right in the world, and that Liz was home......here comes big trouble.
Why did those bones have to turn up......?
And to top it off, Courtney is one the scene.
This is going to be difficult to read from now on......our happy world has crash landed.
Thanks,
Carolyn

They just can't catch a break can they?

::hugs Max::

I think there comes a point when you are just exhausted enough that you can't worry about anything anymore. The line about how they are all survivors resonated a lot. It's such a Max thought in that kind of situation. "It happened, it ended. Let's move on." Love the hints and pieces about Dee being in the known behind the scenes

I feel so bad for Courtney... Knowing the future sucks, indeed...

Oh! It's all coming back to me: How do I want to strangle Hanson!!!!!

Max & Valenti: Max thought that some problems were behind him now that Nasedo/Jaddo closed down the special unit. Now Valenti has to tell him that they found Pierce's bones! Poor max. Now he has talk to Michael about it. I can just imangine what Michael's reaction will be. Waiting for next chapter.

Hello and thank you to everyone reading! Especially those sticking with it even though you've all noticed the following in one way or another:

Roswelllostcause wrote:They just can't catch a break can they?

*sigh* Kind of sums up Season 2, doesn't it? I guess one could argue that sums up the whole series, but S2 was particularly bleak as they lurched from one disaster to the next. Which might be why I've always envisioned a happy ending for our crew. Not pie-in-the-sky, puppies and rainbows happy, but good enough that we all feel it ended well, that the fight was worth it. I got some of that from the series, but I'm aiming for more.





CHAPTER EIGHT



September 4, 2000, 1 p.m.

Roswell Sheriff's Station




"Listen, do yourself a favor," Valenti said. "The next time you're going off to break the law somewhere, don't leave a calling card."

"Yes, sir," Michael answered.

"Get the hell out of here," Valenti ordered.

Gladly, Michael thought, not missing the suspicious look from Valenti's deputy, who scowled at him as he disappeared into the hallway. Let's not panic, Max had said. Valenti's handling the investigation, he'd reported. Valenti has it under control, he'd assured him. Sorry to differ, Fearless Leader, Michael thought, but wrong on both counts. Two things were clear: Valenti wasn't the one handling the investigation, and he didn't have anything under control. The one doing the "handling", and supposedly the one with all the control, was that eager beaver deputy who'd collared him at the end of his shift at the Crashdown, demanding that he accompany him to the station but refusing to say why. Can I panic now? Michael had wondered as he'd tagged along willingly but reluctantly, absolutely certain this had something to do with Pierce's bones. Jesus, what was it with that guy? He was not only dead, he'd been hacked into pieces with the help of that incriminating knife, burnt to a crisp, parked way more than 6 feet under in the middle of nowhere, and replaced by a shapeshifter, but the guy was still a monumental pain in the ass. It took a special talent to pose that large of a problem after being so thoroughly deleted. Pierce was probably sitting in hell laughing at them. Whatever he's doing, he'd damn well better be in hell, Michael thought darkly as he made his way down the stairs, only to be pulled up short by a hand on his arm.

"I see you," Deputy Eager Beaver announced, his beady eyes boring into Michael's.

"Congrats, dude," Michael said in bored tone. "I've laid off the ice cream lately, but I know I'm not exactly invisible."

"Don't get fresh with me," Beaver hissed, wagging a finger in his face. "I know you're hiding something. I always know."

"Was hiding something," Michael corrected. "Was, as in past tense. You know about tense, right? Good," he went on as Beaver reddened. "When you showed me the knife, you'll notice I didn't exactly volunteer my previous brush with the law. But the cat's out of the bag now."

"Thought you could keep that from me, did you?" Beaver said smugly.

"And I apparently did...until the sheriff brought it up," Michael noted. "So much for 'always knowing'."

Beaver's face reddened again. "You're still hiding something. You may have come clean on that one because you had to, but there's more. I can tell."

Michael shrugged. "Cool. Hope that works out better for you than it just did. Later."

Beaver grabbed his arm again as he started back down the stairs. "I'm watching you," he warned.

"Yeah, I heard," Michael said impatiently. "So when I see someone peeking in my window when I'm padding around in my skivvies, I'll know it's you. Point made. Now let go of me."

Sheesh, Michael thought sourly after pulling his arm out of Beaver's grip. First a nosy geologist, now a nosy deputy. He hesitated at the bottom of the stairs, opting for the back door when Beaver brushed past him with eyes like ice picks. Deputies traveled in packs, like wolves or girls going to the bathroom. There'd be a lot more ice picks out front once Beaver got there.

"Michael?"

It was Valenti, lurking near the back door. "Did Max talk to you?" he whispered.

"Yeah," Michael answered, "and he said you were handling it. Guess not."

"I am handling it," Valenti insisted. "I can't exactly toss off a pile of bones as no big deal."

"It's not the bones you need to handle, it's Barney Fife," Michael said. "That guy's way too into his job."

Valenti's eyebrows rose. "You watch Andy Griffith?"

"Entertainment's hard to come by when you don't have any money," Michael answered. "Long live the TV rerun. Seriously, you gotta rein that guy in. He's trouble."

Valenti shook his head. "Hanson? Nah. Just let him do his thing, and this'll run it's course. I threw him off the trail."

"No, you didn't," Michael argued. "The guy just pulled me aside and said he was 'watching me', and that he could tell I was hiding something. Which is interesting, because he apparently can't tell you're hiding something."

"Thank God for that," Valenti said ruefully. "Hanson's just excited because we don't get much more than drunk and disorderlies around here...that he knows of, anyway. Even if they eventually ID the bones, there's no way to trace them back to us."

"Sheriff?"

Michael backed hastily out of the way as another deputy appeared at the end of the hall. "There's someone here to see you," the deputy reported. "A 'Congresswoman Whitaker'."

"Be right there," Valenti called. "And you," he added to Michael after the deputy left, "pipe down and stay out of trouble. Hanson may not be the brightest bulb in the box, but he's not the dimmest either, and at the end of the day, he's just doing his job."

"That's what Pierce said," Michael reminded him.

"Just leave it alone," Valenti advised. "Don't do anything stupid."

"And now you sound like Max," Michael retorted. "I really don't need someone else calling me stupid."

"I didn't call you stupid, I...look, we'll talk later. I'll find you."

Michael pushed through the back door into the afternoon sunshine, his hands locked behind his head. Absent from their little discussion had been the reason for it in the first place: he'd screwed up. There's no way to trace them back to us, the sheriff had said, except they just had, and it was his fault—if he hadn't left the knife there, he wouldn't be here, bones or no bones. He'd be catching hell for this from all quarters; might as well get it all over with at once.

"Max?" Michael said when Max answered his phone. "We've got a problem. I just got hauled into Valenti's office because they found one of my knives out near Pierce's bones."

There was a pause. "And?" Max said finally.

"And...nothing," Michael admitted. "Valenti made up a story about busting me out there earlier, and he claims it'll all blow over."

"Then it probably will," Max said.

"You hope. Listen, we've gotta get Nasedo back here in case this goes south."

"He's probably on his way back anyway," Max said. "We'll talk to him when he gets here."

"And what if he isn't? We should talk to him now," Michael insisted. "He needs to know what's going on."

"Nothing's 'going on'," Max said, his voice laced with irritation. "Some geologist dug up some bones in the desert, and they found a knife nearby that Valenti says you dropped ages ago. Case closed."

"Easy for you to say," Michael retorted. "You didn't just get your ass hauled into the sheriff's office."

"No, I got my ass hauled into that white room. Wanna trade?"

Shit, Michael thought. Much as he hated what had happened to Max, it could be annoying that no other suffering would ever measure up to it. "Look, can we just call Nasedo? Let him decide what to do about it."

There came a huff of irritation over the phone. "Fine, but...later. We'll talk about it later."

"Why later?" Michael demanded. "Why not now?"

Another pause. "Liz is back," Max said.

"So?"

"So I'm kind of distracted," Max said impatiently. "We'll talk about it later."

The line went dead as Michael stared at his phone in disbelief. Liz? Really? The girl had been gone all summer, and now her reappearance rated higher than someone digging up Pierce's bones? Guy's still got priority issues, Michael grumbled, marching up the street to a fast disappearing relic, the pay phone. Nasedo had left strict instructions about how to contact him. He'd also left strict instructions about who could contact him, but whatever. Sometimes you just had to improvise.




*****************************************************




Vanessa Whitaker's office,

Roswell




"Another box?" Rose chuckled. "Put it over there. At the rate we're going, we won't be able to find each other."

Liz dropped the latest delivery on the ever-growing pile. "How is this all getting here so fast?"

"Overnight delivery," Rose explained. "And experience. Congresswoman Whitaker is adept at these 'pop-up offices'; it's one of the ways she stays in touch with her constituents. An office in Washington and another in the state capital just doesn't cut it if you want to get out there and talk to real people."

"Wow, that's great," Liz said. "Very different from the typical politician."

"The congresswoman is no ordinary politician," Rose agreed. "That's why she likes to hire young people as interns. Keeps her grounded, not to mention that most voters are middle-aged or older. You get a one-sided view if you only listen to one side."

"I can't tell you how grateful I am for this opportunity," Liz said. "I—"

But Rose held up a hand. "No need to gush; you've got the job. And thank goodness because I needed a hand, and then some. Why don't you start unpacking that stack? I'll start over here, and between the two of us, we can have this office up and running by the end of the day."

Liz flushed faintly, embarrassed to be seen as "gushing", and busied herself opening the nearest box. Turned out it was full of legal pads, notepads, and Post-It Notes, and she breathed deeply, reveling in the delicious aroma of fresh, unsullied paper products. God, she loved this time of year. School shopping was almost better than Christmas what with all the new notebooks, sharp pencils, shiny folders, and an empty planner just waiting to be filled. Outfitting an entire office with brand new supplies was like heaven, not to mention a welcome distraction from life. Seeing Max on the street had rattled her badly, so having something else to think about was a godsend.

"Mmm," Rose murmured over her shoulder. "Smells good, doesn't it?" She smiled when Liz's head whipped around. "Let me guess—you love getting new school supplies every year, right? Thought so," she went on when Liz gave her a guilty smile. "I used to love it too. I thought a new notebook smelled better than chocolate. The only thing better was a new textbook."

"Oh, they're the best!" Liz exclaimed. "All shiny, and no one's written in them or torn pages out, and when you open the cover for the very first time...sorry," she said self-consciously when Rose grinned. "I really sound like a dork, don't I?"

"Good thing this is a dork-safe zone," Rose said cheerfully. "And besides, it's nice to find someone else who's thrilled to be the first to crack the spine of a brand new book."

"Let me guess," another voice said. "She's sniffing, isn't she?"

It was Maria, deely-boppers bopping, paper bag in hand. "Someone ordered lunch?"

"I did!" Rose said. "And you're not Courtney."

"I most definitely am not Courtney," Maria agreed. "Thanks for noticing."

"That's Maria," Liz offered. "We're friends."

"We are," Maria confirmed. "Which is how I know what Liz does with brand new school supplies. She's the only person I know who can get high off the smell of graphite."

"Well, now you know two," Rose laughed. "I'm right there with her. Want some?" she asked Liz, holding the bag aloft.

"Oh, no, I've eaten," Liz said. "Help yourself."

"Unbelievable," Maria said when Rose retired to dig through the paper bag. "You mean there are more people who thrill to the start of school every year? What happens to all of you when you graduate? Do you all go into endless mourning?"

"No, we work in offices," Liz said crisply. "Or in my case, hopefully a lab."

"Formaldehyde," Maria muttered. "Yuck. Give me pencils any day." She wandered amongst the stacked boxes, peeking inside. "So you're actually enjoying this? Working before school even starts?"

"Maria, this is an incredible opportunity," Liz said. "To be in on the ground floor of a new congressional office? It's exciting. It's exhilarating. It's—"

"Whoa!" Maria interrupted. "Enough with the commercial. I get it—this is your 'fresh start'."

"It is," Liz agreed. "It's great to have something to do that doesn't have anything to do with...you know."

" 'You know'?" Maria chuckled. "And here I thought 'Czechoslovakian' was a pretty fierce code word. Speaking of which...have you seen Max yet?"

Liz's eyes dropped. "Yeah."

"And?"

"And...nothing."

"Nothing? You literally pulled the guy out of the clutches of the Special Unit, and just...nothing?"

"Maria, we've been over this," Liz said with a pained expression. "He's someone else's husband—"

"Was someone else's husband. Was."

"It's hard to say 'was' when his wife is right here," Liz noted.

"It's easy to say 'was' when neither of them remember each other," Maria argued. "She's just going on what Nasedo told her, and he's been very clear...oh never mind," she sighed, flopping down in a brand new desk chair. "God, I would love to have your boyfriend. Can I have your boyfriend?"

Liz shrugged. "Seeing as he's not my boyfriend any more...sure. Go ahead."

"No, I mean I want Michael to be like Max," Maria said. "If we could just swap out their views on this one subject, I'd be a happy camper."

"So you want to do a limited personality-ectomy," Liz said dryly. "Good luck with that one. How's the Crashdown getting along without me? Dad says everything's fine, but he would."

"Horrible," Maria grumped. "I'm lonesome. All I've got for company is Agnes, who's out smoking, and Courtney, who's out...well, I don't know what she does when she's out, but she's out a lot. It's just me and Max, drowning our sorrows in Cherry Coke. I can't wait 'till you come back."

"And since when do you drink Cherry Coke?"

Maria raised an eyebrow. "Since I have sorrows to drown?"

"Mmm," Liz murmured, grateful all over again to have a job which didn't put her in the position of seeing Max any more than necessary. "Well, I won't be back any time soon. We worked out a school and weekend schedule for when school starts."

"So you're gonna go straight from school to this?" Maria said doubtfully. "Looks like more of the same. At least waiting tables doesn't involve paper."

"Except order pads," Liz said. "And napkins. And menus. And schedules. And money. And paychecks—"

"Must you be so literal?" Maria demanded. "If you—"

The office door flew open. "Rose!" Congresswoman Whitaker called. "I need you!"

Rose appeared, hastily wiping mayonnaise from her mouth. The two huddled for several minutes, Rose frantically scribbling notes. "I'll get right on it," Rose promised.

"Good," Whitaker said, pausing when she saw the girls. "Parker," she nodded. "Parker's friend."

"Oh...Maria was just delivering lunch," Liz said hastily. "I'm still working."

"Relax, Parker, your resume is impeccable," Whitaker said. "I'm sure you can talk and work at the same time; couldn't pull off that grade point average any other way. Nice to meet you, Maria. Always good to meet a future voter."

She disappeared, leaving Rose fumbling through the phone book. "Is...there anything I can help with?" Liz asked. "I've lived here all my life."

"I'm looking for the address of the coroner's office," Rose answered.

Liz and Maria exchanged glances. "Um...you mean coroner as in...dead bodies?" Liz asked.

Rose glanced at the door Whitaker had just left through before leaning in closer. "Not a body," she said in a low voice. "Bones."

Liz blinked. "Bones?"

"A skeleton," Rose nodded. "Some geologist found it buried out in the middle of the desert."

"Where?" Maria demanded, sitting up straight. "Where in the middle of the desert?"

"Oh, Maria watches way too much late night TV," Liz said quickly when Rose's eyes widened. "This is real life, Maria, not television."

"Right," Rose said, consulting her notes. "Some place called 'Clovis Highway'. 'Old Clovis Highway', actually. Guess it's not a highway any more."

Liz felt Maria stiffen beside her. "Um...the sheriff's office could probably just give you the address without you having to look it up. And directions."

"Good idea," Rose agreed, retreating to their one working phone as Maria slowly shook her head.

"It can't be," she whispered. "It just can't be."

"It must be," Liz murmured. "Who else's bones would be buried in the middle of the desert?"

"Holy crap," Maria said faintly. "We have to tell them."

"Yeah, maybe we should call..." Liz stopped, having been about to say Michael. But Michael wasn't the best one to hand this information to, nor was Isabel.

"Max," Maria said, reaching the same conclusion on her own. "We have to call Max." She paused, looking at Liz's stricken face. "I'll do it," she said quietly. "I'll call him."




******************************************************




Proctor residence




Jim Valenti pulled up in front of the old two-story house and shut off the engine, hardly able to believe he was doing this. Was one piece of bad luck all it took to make him cave? Two pieces, he amended. No, three. There had been a serious run of bad luck in the past twenty-four hours, so it could be argued that this didn't count as "caving". Still, perhaps he'd gone soft, what with a summer so quiet it could serve as counterpoint for an exceptionally noisy spring. Roswell had been downright boring this summer with no aliens incidents, alien hunters, or aliens for that matter, him having only occasionally seen any of the kids, including his own—Kyle had spent the summer at football camp, the entire summer this time instead of the usual three weeks. Santa Fe hadn't made a peep about the disposition of "Deputy Fisher", no one had noticed the goings-on at the UFO Center, and Pierce's bones had slumbered beneath the desert sand, his absence unnoticed because he didn't appear to be absent. There were days where he actually forgot—briefly—that aliens were real, that he'd almost lost his son, that they'd hacked and burnt the body of a man hell bent on killing all of them. To have that peace shattered so quickly and spectacularly was jarring to say the least.

"Sheriff!" Anthony Evans exclaimed when he answered the door. "Haven't seen you in a while. Which is a good thing I suppose." He paused. "Don't take that the way it sounded."

"No, it's okay," Valenti smiled. "I get it. Is Dee in?"

"She's out back in the garden," Anthony said. "Is...something wrong?"

Valenti felt his smile wavering. "Ah," Anthony said knowingly. "I see. Come right in."

"You're awfully calm," Valenti noted, stepping inside.

"Practice," Anthony shrugged. "I've been doing this a long time. These things come in waves. Make yourself comfortable; I'll go get Dee."

Valenti wandered through the 1940's era living room and into the 1940's era dining room, marveling at the way time seemed to have stopped what with all the original furniture still here. What had it been like to live here back in '47 when the world turned upside down? What was it like to grow up knowing aliens were real? What was it like to know my father? he thought, asking the truly pressing question. These people had known his father as a young man, had fought with him, hidden from him, conspired with him. His father was still a sore subject in the Valenti household, subsequent visits having found nothing more than a senile old man who remembered none of what had happened when Hubble had been here. His father was getting worse, and the prospects of actually sharing his newfound knowledge with him grew dimmer with each passing day. If only he could...

Valenti stopped, staring at a dark spot on the dining room wall. Was...was that...

"Your eyes do not deceive you," a voice said as he whirled around. "That is indeed a bullet hole."

Dee stood in the doorway, all dirty hands and knees. "How'd it get there?" Valenti asked. "And how'd I miss it when I was over for dinner?"

"You had a few other things on your mind," Dee noted. "It's from my father. He shot an alien. Not the ones we were helping," she clarified. "They'd send a 'hunter' to kill them. They brought it down, but not before it almost killed us. So...how's your summer been, Sheriff?" she went on, as though talking about murderous aliens was par for the course. "Quiet, I hope?"

"Very," Valenti answered. "Until now."

"Yes, well...I'm afraid that's the way it goes," Dee said, nodding regretfully. "Anything I can help with?"

"That's why I'm here," Valenti said uncomfortably, feeling like a small boy looking for his mother. "I could use someone to talk to. They...they found Pierce's bones."

Dee's eyebrows rose. "Oh, my. This calls for a pot of tea. Unless you'd like something stronger. Maybe a lot stronger."

Valenti shook his head. "Tea's good. I need to keep my wits about me."

Thirty minutes later, near the end of both his second cup and his story, Dee shook her head sadly. "What a mess," she said sadly. "Michael's leaving the knife out there just makes it worse. Good thing you thought fast."

"Maybe not fast enough," Valenti said sadly. "It's not over yet."

"Of course it isn't," Dee said. "You have to let this play out, or you'll draw suspicion. You've done exactly the right thing."

"Is this geologist anyone we know?" Anthony asked.

"I honestly think he just stumbled into this," Valenti answered. "Congresswoman Whitaker is another matter. She's looking for trouble, and—"

"What's this?" Dee said sharply. "Vanessa Whitaker?"

"She apparently knew Pierce," Valenti explained. "She's the one he hung out to dry during the hearings, so she's got a bone to pick...no pun intended...and when she heard the coroner going on about some weird kind of radiation, she was off and running. Been on a rampage ever since. I think she wants her credibility back."

"Sounds like she has more than just 'a' bone to pick," Dee commented. "More like a bushel."

"Do bones come in bushels?" Anthony asked.

"Fine, a bouquet," Dee said dryly.

"Think I liked 'bushel' better," Anthony remarked.

Flabbergasted, Valenti looked from one to the other. "You're joking," he said in disbelief. "At a time like this?"

"When you've been at this as long as we have, Sheriff, there are lots of 'times like this'," Anthony said. "You sort of get used to it."

"How long does that take?" Valenti asked ruefully. "Because I could use some of that kind of calm."

"You'll get there," Dee promised. "That's the good news. The bad news is that the only way you get there is by going through things like this enough times that it becomes routine."

"Wonderful," Valenti muttered. "I might get lots of practice. Hanson's eating this up. He's trying to get an arrest warrant to bring in Michael."

"Why would Michael be implicated?" Anthony said. "You made up that report to explain the knife, and I don't see how anyone would think a teenager could have anything to do with weirdly fused bones."

"I don't either," Valenti admitted, "but at this stage of the game, that doesn't matter. We have a death, we have a body, or what's left of it, and we have a suspect near the crime scene. That might be enough until there's more information." His phone rang. "Excuse me a minute," he said, fishing it out of his pocket.

"Let me guess," Dee murmured when he hung up a minute later with a troubled look on his face. "More bad news?"

"Hanson got the warrant," Valenti said. "And now I have to go arrest Michael Guerin."




*****************************************************




Washington, D.C.




Seriously? Jaddo thought when he saw the number on his Caller ID. He'd heard the lectures about how his Ward wasn't himself, how he couldn't be expected to know how to behave, but these breaches of etiquette were really quite tiring. "I already told you not to call me," he said crossly when he answered the phone, drawing a pout from the female previously hanging on that arm. "I was very specific that only Max—"

"This is Max."

Startled, Jaddo checked the incoming number again; but, of course. Roswell only had a handful of pay phones, the only approved instrument for the hybrids to contact him; it would be impossible to tell who was calling if they all used the same phone. The good news was it wasn't his Ward, who had apparently listened after all. The bad news was...it wasn't his Ward. It would take a great deal more to induce Zan to contact him.

"You were not to call me unless it was an emergency," Jaddo said in a neutral tone.

"This is an emergency," Zan said. "Michael's been arrested. Someone dug up Pierce's bones, and now they think he killed him."

Slowly, Jaddo rose from his bar stool, shaking off the pouting female who had migrated to his other arm and retreating to the shadows. "Who? Who dug them up?"

"Some geologist," Zan answered. "He was doing some kind of survey. Now they say they're fused weird, that they were hit with some kind of radiation."

Wonderful, Jaddo thought darkly. Contrary to the tale he'd spun during the hearings, "cadmium-X", the human name given to the byproduct of their use of their powers, certainly did exist, and the Bureau certainly knew that. The blast Rath had used to kill Pierce had been unpracticed, uncontrolled, massive; he'd probably left behind enough cadmium-X to make a stockpile. To have it surface now was desperately inconvenient.

"I appreciate you letting me know," Jaddo said as he checked his watch; Brivari was on his way back to Roswell, but his flight would not arrive for several hours. "I assume Sheriff Valenti made the arrest?"

"Yeah," Zan said warily. "Why?"

"Because he's on our side," Jaddo answered, "or at least he was last I knew."

"He still is," Zan said, "and he's trying, but this just keeps getting worse. You need to come back."

"I'll be back soon," Jaddo said. "They won't be able to tie Michael to this that quickly. Sit tight."

"That's what I've been saying, but now I'm not so sure. You should come back."

"And I will," Jaddo promised, "but—"

"Look, you're done there," Zan argued. "Come back. Please."

"I said I will," Jaddo answered. "This won't move fast enough to be a problem for at least a few more days—"

"It's already moving faster than it has any right to," Zan insisted. "We need you. Michael needs you. Come back now."

Jaddo stiffened as the full force of his genetic encoding flared, trumping both Brivari's ban and his own desires. There was no getting around it.

"Very well, then," he said heavily. "As you wish."



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I'll post Chapter 9 on Sunday, June 22.

Things are getting real serious!
LOL......Barney Fife........he really was into his job, and the poor Sheriff had no control.
Thanks for the update,
Carolyn

Nice part hurry back.

Hey, the board's back! It was down for a time yesterday.

Many thanks to those reading, and extra thanks for those who leave feedback! Back to Barney Fife, a.k.a. Hanson...




CHAPTER NINE




September 4, 2000, 9 p.m.

Roswell Sheriff's Station




Streetlights cast long shadows as Isabel paced back and forth beside the jeep, musing on the fact that trouble always came from the direction in which you weren't looking. Though they'd been braced all summer for alien enemies, it was no horde of little green men—or women—currently beating on their door, but the bones of a man several months dead, a man who seemed hell bent on hounding them even in death. Not a single one of the sleepless nights she'd spent this summer had featured this particular problem, nor had a single one of her many nightmares. Pierce's bones were safely buried, the very last thing she'd thought they'd had to fear, behind even their parents finding out their children weren't human or accidental exposure via random cafe shootings. This was just nuts.

"Did you reach Nasedo?" she demanded when Max reappeared.

"Yeah."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't think it was a problem. But he's coming back," Max added when he saw the look on her face. "I told him we needed him to come back."

"Not a problem?" Isabel echoed incredulously. "Michael's in jail! How is that not a problem?"

"Calm down, Iz—"

"Do not tell me to calm down!" Isabel exclaimed. "You buried those bones literally in the middle of nowhere, and someone digs them up? How did that even happen? How did we get here?"

"Looks like spectacularly bad luck," Max answered, "unless that geologist guy is in on it somehow. You talked to him. You tell me."

Isabel sighed and leaned against the jeep. "No. No, he's just...he's just a guy. I didn't get so much as one weird vibe off him."

"Okay, so...when someone finds a skeleton, they investigate, and according to what Valenti told Michael, when they investigated this skeleton, they found something weird," Max said. "And here we are."

"Yeah, here we are," Isabel said acidly. "Why didn't we just shoot him? Nice and simple, nice and human."

"Never thought I'd see the day my sister would be wishing we'd shot somebody," Max said dryly. "We thought he was tied up, remember? We had to improvise."

"Well, we have to improvise now," Isabel insisted. "We can't just leave him in there."

"We have to," Max said. "You know what it's going to look like if he tries to break out. Look, let's just go talk to him," he went on soothingly. "I know what Valenti told me; let's see what Michael knows before we storm the Bastille and make things worse."

"They can get worse?" Isabel muttered.

The look Max gave her was enough to pull her up short. Of course they can get worse, she thought, having seen "worse" last May, having seen the after effects of "worse" every single day since. It had taken Max weeks to recover from his incarceration, but nothing like that would happen to Michael, at least not while he was in Valenti's custody. "Fine," she said heavily. "We'll talk. I'll behave," she added when Max gave her a skeptical look. "I promise."

"Good," Max said.

"For the moment," Isabel amended.

"Iz—"

"That's as good as it gets," Isabel said crossly. "Let's go before I change my mind."

Max hesitated before apparently accepting that as the best he could get, a wise move under the circumstances. The station was largely empty at this time of night, and the familiar deputy at the front desk merely glanced at them as they approached. "Help you folks?"

"Yeah, we're here to see Michael Guerin," Max said.

The deputy paused, looking them up and down. "Max and Isabel Evans, right?"

Max and Isabel exchanged glances. "Yes."

"Uh huh," the deputy said doubtfully. "So...you're not family."

Isabel blinked. " 'Family'? Michael doesn't have any real 'family'. We're all the family he has."

"Sorry, kids," the deputy said briskly. "Visitors are restricted to immediate family."

Isabel arched an eyebrow. "When did we change from 'folks' to 'kids'?"

"We'd really appreciate it if we could see him," Max said, giving her a warning glance. "Like Isabel said, Michael doesn't have any immediate family. He's an orphan."

"Be that as it may, rules are rules," the deputy said. "Sorry about that."

"No you're not."

The statement was cold, flat, and came out unbidden, but Isabel wasn't the least bit sorry when the deputy's expression took on a distinct air of frost. "Excuse me?"

"I said, no, you're not," Isabel repeated. "You don't look the least bit sorry. On the contrary, you look glad. Satisfied. Even smug."

Max's eyes went round as the deputy's narrowed. "Perhaps it's time for you to move along, Miss."

"What is this, an intensive care ward?" Isabel demanded. "Since when do jails have 'immediate family' policies?"

"You ever been in jail, Miss? I thought not," the deputy noted when she didn't answer. "Then how would you know what policies jails have?"

"You can't just lock someone up and refuse them visitors!" Isabel exclaimed. "Michael's just a kid, just a high school student! He's not even 18! Don't you have to call someone, or tell someone, or something?"

"Well, that's the thing, isn't it?" the deputy replied, sounding even more smug. "Your Mr. Guerin may be under age, but he's an emancipated minor, meaning there's no one we have to call."

"But he still has rights," Isabel argued.

"That he does," the deputy agreed. "He got his one phone call, and—"

"And he called me," Max broke in. "Because we're his family."

"In name only," the deputy said. "Maybe he should have thought of this before he went and got emancipated. Excuse me."

"No!" Isabel exclaimed. "You are not excused. I...I think we should call Dad," she said to Max, suddenly having an idea. "He handled Michael's emancipation, and Michael will be needing a lawyer. You know our father, right?" she asked the deputy sweetly. "Philip Evans?"

The deputy's bravado faltered. "Uh...yeah. Might have heard of him."

"Max, get Dad on the phone," Isabel ordered.

"Um...Iz?" Max whispered. "That might not be—"

"Get Dad on the phone," Isabel insisted, eager to take advantage of the deputy's nervousness. "I'd really like to know what he has to say about this 'immediate family' nonsense."

"Hanson?"

The deputy bounded out of his chair as Valenti appeared, eyeing them warily. "Sheriff! I...didn't know you were here."

"I work here," Valenti deadpanned. "Everything okay?"

"No, everything is most certainly not okay," Isabel said tartly. "This deputy claims we can't visit Michael because we're not 'immediate family', even though we explained that Michael doesn't have any immediate family and that we are his immediate family—"

Isabel stopped as Valenti held up a hand and cast a skeptical eye on his deputy. "Hanson? What's this all about?"

"I...well...we don't usually allow just anyone to visit prisoners," Hanson stammered, flushing.

"We don't usually have prisoners," Valenti said pointedly.

"No, but...it's counsel or immediate family," Hanson said stubbornly. "Those are the rules."

Valenti raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, Hanson. You know Guerin's situation. Do you really think law enforcement will fall apart if we expand the definition of 'family' just a titch?"

"And we're not 'just anyone'," Max added. "Michael used his one phone call to call me. And here I am."

"I still say we should get Dad down here," Isabel said staunchly, looking daggers at the red-faced deputy. "Sounds like Michael could use a lawyer sooner rather than later."

"That won't be necessary. Come on back," Valenti said, waving them on. "I'll take you to see him. And as for you," he added to the chagrined Hanson, "we'll talk later about what we 'usually' do with prisoners."

"Yes, sir," Hanson said meekly.

They followed Valenti into the back. "What is it with Mr. Law and Order?" Isabel hissed when they were only barely out of earshot. "I'd swear he's enjoying this!"

"He is," Valenti confirmed, "but only because we don't get much real police work down this way. It's nothing personal. So don't take it that way," he added when he saw she was working up a head of steam. "Hanson's not your biggest problem, believe me."

"What is?" Max asked.

Valenti's eyes drifted right, then left, but they were alone in the corridor. "The coroner found something odd about Pierce's bones. They were fused together in a way that he said could only be caused by a burst of radiation."

"Radiation?" Isabel whispered.

"From our powers," Max said faintly.

"That's what I thought," Valenti nodded. "It might have ended there with a big fat question mark, but Congresswoman Whitaker has her nose in it."

"Wait...the one on TV?" Isabel asked. "The one Nasedo..."

"Made a fool out of?" Valenti finished. "That's the one. I have a hunch she's looking to prove her 'cadmium X' is real."

"So if they find it on Pierce's bones, we're screwed," Max said.

"Exactly," Valenti said. "And if they find it, she doesn't look the fool anymore. That's a powerful motivator. She's the one who insisted we arrest Michael, and she's working directly with the FBI."

"Who knows cadmium X is real," Isabel said, panic rising like fog. "Oh, God, Max, we've got to get Michael out of here before—"

"No," Valenti broke in firmly. "That's the last thing you should do. He needs to sit there and look innocent, and you need to help him do that. No needling deputies, no jailbreaks. And no calling your father, at least not yet."

"But Michael needs a lawyer," Isabel protested, "and who better than Dad?"

"If he needs one, I agree," Valenti said. "But let's work on this first. The whole thing is so incredible, we might be able to waylay it somehow without dragging your father into this."

"But—"

"No, Iz," Max said. "If Dad gets involved, he'll see too much."

"But Michael's the one in jail, not us," Isabel argued.

"He'll figure it out," Max said. "You know Dad; he's smart. And once he gets a whiff, there'll be no stopping him."

"Max is right," Valenti agreed. "From what I know of your father, I wouldn't call him in unless you're willing to have him learn the truth because that's what's likely to happen. Still want to call him?"

Isabel stiffened as both of them looked at her. "Uh...no. Not just yet. Let's see how things go. Although I don't see how they're going to get better if we've got a nosy Congresswoman with a chip on her shoulder in the mix now."

"Nasedo's coming back tomorrow," Max said. "Maybe he'll have some ideas."

"Yeah, like killing people," Isabel muttered.

"Hope not," Valenti said. "The last thing we need is more bodies." He gestured down the hall. "This way."

Jail cells, Isabel thought distastefully as the sheriff led them into the back. The mere thought of being locked up in here was alarming; seeing someone she loved behind a set of those bars was even more so. "Michael," she breathed, grasping the bars with both hands as though it were her inside. "Are you all right?"

"I'm good," Michael said quickly. "I'm okay."

"Take your time," Valenti said, unlocking the door. "I'll be around when you're done."

Isabel didn't look as the door closed behind them and the key turned in the lock, but the sound was enough to turn her stomach. "What happened?" she asked Michael. "What did you hear?"

"Not much," Michael shrugged. "Valenti came to my door, read me my rights, whispered a few things in my ear, and...here I am. That's pretty much it."

"You called Nasedo," Max said.

"Yeah, I did," Michael answered. "So?"

"So you weren't supposed to call him unless I told you to," Max said.

"Max, now?" Isabel said incredulously. "You're really going to do this now?"

"He told you?" Michael asked, ignoring her.

"Not exactly," Max allowed. "He just answered his phone with, 'I already told you not to call me'."

"Wait," Michael said. "You called him?"

"Yes, Michael, I called him because I decided that you being arrested was a good reason to call him."

"So I just didn't wait for a big enough emergency," Michael said dryly. "Guess I should be glad I qualify as an emergency."

"Okay, enough with the pissing match," Isabel said crossly. "We've got bigger problems than who can spray the wall from ten feet."

Michael snorted softly. "Seriously? I could do twenty without trying hard."

"Michael!"

"Relax, Isabel, I'm teasing," Michael said. "Maybe I've had a while to sit here and think about all our 'bigger problems'. Maybe I just wanted to take a break for ten seconds. So shoot me."

"Don't even joke about that," Isabel admonished. "Just don't."

"Valenti said the 'something weird' they found on the bones is some kind of fusing that can only be caused by radiation," Max said.

"Radiation?" Michael said. "Is that what we're shooting out when we...shoot? That rots."

"That Congresswoman who was talking about 'cadmium X' during the Special Unit hearings is here in town," Max went on, "and Valenti thinks she's trying to prove cadmium X is real to salvage her career. He thinks she's going to push this."

"That must have been the chick with the flinty eyes who was with him when he arrested me," Michael sighed. "Great."

"Yeah, it is great," Max agreed, "because now I know where to go next—Liz."

"Not now, Maxwell," Michael said wearily. "This is no time for whining about Liz."

"I'm not whining," Max objected. "Liz just got a job as an intern for Whitaker. She may be able to find out something for us."

"What makes you think she'd do that?" Michael asked.

"Yeah, I heard she blew you off," Isabel noted.

A flicker of pain crossed Max's face. "She might not do it for me," he allowed. "But I think I know someone she would do it for."




*****************************************************




Crashdown Cafe






Pens, Liz thought happily, setting two packages aside. Pencils, some mechanical, some not because she couldn't decide which was better—a freshly sharpened pencil or one that never went dull. Six notebooks with matching folders, half a dozen packs of college-ruled paper, new binders with unbroken spines, unwritten-on dividers...the list of brand new, fresh smelling school supplies went on and on. She'd spent an entire day unpacking brand new office supplies, so to have brand new school supplies mere hours later was sheer heaven. This was her favorite time of year, and this year it bore a special significance for the simple reason that she was still alive. After everything that had happened to her, she was still here to open fresh packs of paper and carefully write her name in untouched folders. After everything that had happened to her, she had a new appreciation for just how precious the ordinary things in life really were.

"A skeleton. Some geologist found it buried out in the middle of the desert."

Stop, Liz told herself severely as the latest alien crisis forced its way into her thoughts once more. This was not her doing. This was not her responsibility. This was not her problem to fix. She had fulfilled any responsibility by reporting it...albeit by proxy, as Maria had reported it...and that was the end of it. After all, one of the upsides to not being with Max was that his problems were no longer her problems; now they were Tess's problems, and Tess had certainly proved herself up to the task of helping him solve them, not to mention eager for the job. Which was just fine with her because that meant she could get back to normal things like school, and work, and girls' night out, and anything that didn't involve almost getting killed or watching people you love get killed...

KnockKnock. "Liz? It's Maria."

"Come on in," Liz called. "And hold your nose."

"Why?" Maria asked as the door opened, only to clamp her hand over her face. "Phew! Lord Almighty, it smells like an Office Max in here!"

"I know," Liz smiled. "Isn't it wonderful?"

" 'Wonderful' is not the word I'd use," Maria noted, throwing the windows open. "What, did you close these to keep it inside?"

"No, I closed them because it was raining earlier," Liz said. "I didn't want all my brand new paper getting wet."

"Suppose that's better than trying to get high off all the glue," Maria said doubtfully, nudging a speckled black and white composition book with her toe. "Why do they still make us buy these, anyway? We've used them since grade school, and there's enough glue on the binding to hold the Picts and the Scots together."

"Wow! Who was listening in Social Studies?" Liz teased. "And they glue them like that precisely because little kids use them, and why shouldn't we use them too? It's kind of nostalgic to buy those every year; it reminds me of when we were little and crayons were always on the school list."

"History is always more memorable when people are trying to kill each other, and crayons smelled better," Maria sniffed. "Most things smell better."

"Well, don't let me keep you," Liz said. "I'd hate to see you get busted for drugs when all you were doing was sniffing my notebooks."

Maria's eyes dropped. "I didn't come here to inhale. I came here with a request...from Max."

Liz kept her eyes on the shiny refills of Scotch tape. "Max? What does he want?"

"They arrested Michael," Maria said. "He's in Valenti's jail now."

Liz's mouth fell open. "What? Why? Did they ID the bones? Did they—"

"No, no, they don't know who it is," Maria broke in. "But I guess they found a knife Michael left out there when...you know...and that's how he got dragged into this. And now the coroner says that the bones are melted together weird—"

"Bones don't melt," Liz said.

"So I hear," Maria sighed. "Okay, 'fused' together, pick your word, but the point is that the coroner claims that can only happen if there's a blast of radiation. So that made everyone all suspicious—"

"Radiation?" Liz said, puzzled. "Is that what comes out when they...when they..."

"Maybe," Maria allowed. "Maybe it's like a hundred x-rays all at once, just without the cute doctors. Anyway, Max said that Valenti said that your Congresswoman Whitaker is rarin' to go on this because she's pissed that Pierce made a fool out of her during the hearings. He says she wants to prove this 'cadmium-X' is real, and she's not gonna let this one go."

Liz slowly sat down on the bed. "Okay, so...what's this 'request'?"

Maria hesitated. "Max wants to know if you'll help figure out what Whitaker's up to. So we can get Michael out of jail!" she added when Liz's eyes flared. "That's the goal here, to get Michael out of jail."

"Seriously?" Liz said. "I just started working for her—just started—and already they want me to spy on her?"

"Not 'spy', not exactly," Maria argued. "Just tell us what you hear. Like we did today when we heard about the bones."

"I don't believe this," Liz said incredulously. "This always happens! I've been home all of two days, and already I'm falling face first in yet another pile of—"

"Liz!" Maria exclaimed. "Stop dramatizing! Nothing...I mean nothing...has happened all summer. Zip! Zilch! Nada! This is the first time anything even remotely alien has happened since—"

"Since I left," Liz finished. "So, what, you're saying I bring this with me? I attract trouble?"

"No!" Maria exclaimed. "That isn't what I'm saying at all! Geez, Louise, girlfriend, first drama, now paranoia."

"It's not paranoia if it's actually happening," Liz argued. "And this is actually happening. You're actually asking me to spy on my employer."

Maria stared at her for a moment in consternation. "Liz, Michael is in jail. You know, 'jail'? The big room with the bars that they lock you inside of, and you have to pee in front of everyone like a wino?"

"I know what jail looks like, Maria. I was there with Alex, remember? And it's a little room, but who's measuring."

"My point," Maria said sternly, "is that if they manage to find anything on those bones, or even think they find anything on those bones, they're going to go after Michael. And since we just went through this, we know what they'd do to him. We can't let that happen."

Liz sat on the bed clutching one of her brand new notebooks to her chest like it was armor. Not again. Her whole body had tensed, her heart was beating rapidly, her fingers clenching and unclenching on the spine of the notebook, bending the perfect spiral. All that worry, all that fear...she hadn't missed that this summer. She hadn't welcomed it when it had briefly reared its ugly head earlier today, hadn't minded it subsiding when Maria had volunteered to call Max. Job done. Obligation fulfilled. Case closed. Guess not.

"Maria," she said slowly, "I can't...I just can't get involved in this again."

"You're not 'getting involved', you're just passing along what you hear," Maria insisted. " 'Getting involved' would mean doing something about it, and you won't be. You won't even know what we're doing about it."

"I hate to break it to you, but that's still 'getting involved'," Liz said. "Maybe not as 'involved' as before, but still involved. I'm done with that."

"You can't be 'done with that'," Maria objected. "This is Michael's life we're talking about!"

"And I'm sure you'll all figure it out," Liz said. "You've got Valenti now, and Max has Tess—"

"This has nothing—nothing—to do with Tess," Maria said sharply, "or Max and Tess, or you and Max, or Max and Mommy, or any other combination. This has to do with Michael, our Michael, my Michael, even if he doesn't think so. We have to help him."

"So help him," Liz said. "Just leave me out of it."

"We can't 'leave you out of it'!" Maria exclaimed. "You work for Whitaker, you know, the one who's trying to fricassee Michael? You're the only one who can do this!"

Liz swallowed hard. "I'm sorry. I just can't."

Maria's eyes narrowed. "What's gotten into you? The Liz Parker I know doesn't treat friends this way. They're all still our friends, right? Max is still your friend, right? You're not wishing him back inside that white room, are you?"

"No!" Liz exclaimed. "Of course not!"

"And Michael never did anything to you that would make him deserve to be abandoned now—"

"I'm not 'abandoning' anyone," Liz argued. "He's not my responsibility."

"They're all our responsibility," Maria said firmly. "It's our responsibility—yours, mine, Alex's, Kyle's, Valenti's—to fight any human who tries to hurt them just because they exist. Everyone else is doing their part. What's your problem?"

"Kyle's not home yet," Liz noted.

Maria stared at her so long that Liz began to squirm, her fingers working up and down the now crushed spiral of the now not-so-new notebook. The clock ticked. Downstairs, the Crashdown's door dingled once, twice.

"Okay," Maria said, her voice a study in barely controlled rage. "I get it. You didn't get what you wanted, and punishing Max isn't enough; now you're punishing everyone within reach."

"What? No!" Liz exclaimed. "I'm not—"

"Selfish?" Maria finished as Liz blanched. "You know, suddenly Isabel's making sense."

Liz recoiled as though she'd been physically struck. "How can you say that?" she whispered. "You know what Max and I went through when we ran from the Unit."

"So, what, that gets you off the hook forever?" Maria demanded. "That absolves you from any and all responsibility to do what you can to prevent something like that from ever happening again? Because I don't think it does." She paused. "You may not want to be 'involved', Liz, but you're 'involved' whether you like it or not. You're involved because you know. And since you know, if you do nothing to prevent what we both know will happen if we don't stop this, it's almost as bad as if you're doing it yourself. Maybe not even 'almost'."

Maria stood up. "Thanks for nothing. And if you should see my friend Liz Parker, tell her to give me a call. I miss her."





*****************************************************




UFO Center





It was after midnight when Brivari approached the UFO Center, having headed there immediately after arriving at the airport. He'd just pulled the car over when his cellphone pinged as queued up messages began filing in. When he saw who had sent them, he started with the second one.

It's me. I'm coming back to Roswell, but not by choice. The King ordered me there, and with good reason—we have a problem. You can try calling me when you get this, but if I don't answer, I'm already on a plane. Please, please don't do anything stupid like revealing yourself to the king. At least wait until I fill you in.

Wonderful, Brivari thought. He'd been gone a mere forty-eight hours, so of course all hell was breaking loose, and it must be some hell to cause Zan to pull "Nasedo" back in; which hell exactly was answered by the first message, which he pulled up when Jaddo didn't pick up his phone.

Brivari, it's Dee, Dee's worried voice said. Valenti was just here...

Five minutes later, Brivari pocketed his phone with a heavy sigh. While it was nice to be right, being right all the time lost its luster, as it had long ago concerning Jaddo. His rebuke of Vanessa Whitaker had—predictably—sent her on the warpath, a path which led straight to Roswell. That it also lead straight to Jaddo's Ward's door might have been classified under "sweet justice" if it weren't so problematic. Evading humans was relatively easy at this point; evading an Argilian soldier was another matter entirely. Idiot, he thought sourly as he climbed out of the car. Leave it to Jaddo to take three months of unparalleled success and screw them up with one petty gesture.

There were no lights on outside the museum as he approached, but of course he didn't need any to see well in the dark. Nor did he need any to read the sheet of paper taped to the door, the invoice he'd scribbled on in Antarian having had another note added, also in Antarian. Really, Brivari, scolded the scrawl right next to his threat to execute the host, I already outlined how difficult it was to find a host. Are we getting twitchy in our old age?

Brivari smiled faintly, but the smile faded quickly. The humor was Larak's, but it proved nothing; anyone who knew him could have written that or instructed someone else to. Slipping the invoice in his pocket, he tried the door; it was unlocked, and the lights were on inside. He was expected.

Five minutes later, after a thorough search of the premises revealed no one else present, he approached the host, who was seated in full view reading a newspaper. "Incredible," the host remarked, not even looking up. "All this fuss over the state of Vermont legalizing 'civil unions'. Is human sexuality really still that tied to gender?"

"Gender, race, class, you name it," Brivari answered. "It's one of their biggest taboos."

"And one of their biggest interests," the host murmured. "You're late, by the way."

"I was having a look 'round," Brivari noted.

"So you know I'm alone," the host said, folding up the newspaper. "And here as requested, although 'requested' might be too ambitious a word for the death threat you scrawled on that invoice. Thank goodness my host can't read Antarian. He's had enough problems of late."

"You mean since you came into his life?" Brivari said.

The host's eyes dropped. "Unfortunately, yes. That's exactly what I mean. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I obviously read your note. Where does this leave us?"

"Not much of anywhere, I'm afraid," Brivari answered, pulling the invoice from his pocket. "Someone else could have read it for you. Got a pen?"

The host smiled faintly, but nodded toward a "Comment Card" display nearby complete with pens. "Harmless," the host allowed when Brivari handed him a list of instructions. "I was afraid you were going to order me to strip naked and run down Main Street, a bit awkward even at this hour." He walked over to the "Comments" display and rearranged it per the instructions, after which Brivari wrote another set of instructions in a different language.

"So you're personally fluent in at least two languages," Brivari observed when the host finished the second rearrangement. "On to the next question."

"I'd like to ask this one."

Startled, Brivari whirled around. "Well, well!" the host said as Courtney stepped from the shadows, holding up her shirt behind her and briefly revealing the seal on her husk. "A party, is it?"

"It is not!" Brivari said crossly. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Same thing you are," Courtney said, pointing to the host. "Looking for him."



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


I'll post Chapter 10 on Sunday, July 6.

Poor Michael......he's gonna need help from all fronts. It's going to be very difficult for Liz to remain uninvolved like she wanted to.
Love your name.......Deputy Eager Beaver. There was just no way to stop his actions, was there?
As mentioned earlier, they never ever receive a break!
Thanks,
Carolyn

I've been home on sick leave due to a chronic foot problem--with cast and crutches, which I really HATE! I had the best laugh reading the conversation between Liz & Maria. I do understand Liz's point, but Maria is right!
Liz does have to help, if she can find out anything re: Whitaker. Thanks for the chapter. Looking forward to next update.