Roswell Fanatics

I'm BACK!!

A big thank you to LTF and Misha for looking this over for me. And thank you both cardinalgirl and Flamehair for your posts. Overall things are still pretty crazy, but I'm fortunate to have a little breather today to finally get this part out!

cardinalgirl- No worries on slowing your reading pace, I know how it is. ;p And yeah for liking the Kyle-Isabel moment! Thanks for the comments on my song choices. And actually for the ones following the gang... he's conflicted... but based on what he did at the border he's starting to lean away from the Unit's views on things...

Thanks again for understanding, this term really hasn't given me much choice, and then I got majorly sick respiratory wise-- mostly recovered now, which again makes today so great, but yeah, hopefully that won't happen again.

AND NOW.... on to the part!

Enjoy.


Previously…

[From Destiny]
The power was still thrumming through Michael’s system, the shock of having killed someone refusing to dissipate. The only other thought that existed in his mind was that he couldn’t protect Maria anymore… not as long as they were together. But she refused to respond to his dismissive tactic. And so he tried their new way— desperate honesty. “It's not safe.”

Without missing a beat, she retorted, “It's never been safe. What difference does it make now?”

Now made all the difference in the world. All this time he feared that what he was would hurt her, and now he knew it was true. He had to keep his distance, to keep her safe… as much as it pained him, it was nothing compared to the thought of him causing her injury or death. “No, I'm not safe. All right, I mean, I can do these things that I can't control. Look at what I did to Pierce. I'm not going to take that chance with you. I don't want you to be around for what's going to happen.”

~ ~ ~

[From Part 10]
Alone once more, the painter put down the brush and turned once more to the painting. He stepped closer to it, his breathing a bit erratic now. As he tried to calm himself down, he breathed out the words ‘my fault’. Swallowing yet another lump within his throat, and running a hand splattered with paint through his jet-black hair, he whispered, “I’m so sorry Max. I’m so sorry.”

~ ~ ~

[From Part 44]
Max softly gasped, his hands flying to his upper chest. Still in shock, he could not look down at the wound he was sure was there. He could feel each rapid thump of his heart, imagining its pulse deserting him as he bled. But he soon registered the lack of stickiness he had come to expect from bleeding bullet wounds, relief taking over. A soft self-deprecating laugh escaped him at his overreaction to his dream. That’s all it was, he reassured himself, a dream stemming from Liz’s frightful premonition. He needed to get a grip. The hands that had frantically covered his chest lifted, running through his hair as he took a deep breath.


The familiar scent of smoky vanilla filled his nose, bringing a contented smile to his face. His wish to wake up every day with Liz would soon be a reality...

~ ~ ~

[From Part 45]
Max sighed, acquiescing begrudgingly, though he still wished to push them until he had the whole truth of what had happened to him... if the Skins or some other enemy had done something to him... he briefly shuddered at the thought that he might have been mindraped... what else could explain his memory loss?

...

Following Isabel and Michael into the kitchen, Max dragged his feet. He didn’t feel hungry, just sick with uncertainty. He hated that feeling, because it meant he had no control. And his lack of control at the moment was the only thing he was certain of. Nearing the bar stools at the counter, he was amazed how fast Isabel started whipping something up for him on the stove. A small smile touched his lips at the hope she didn’t burn anything.


His smile instantly dissolved into open horror, as the sizzling sound of the heating oil reached his ears. His wide eyes saw nothing but blinding white. His senses overloaded with pain, he did not feel his knees connecting with the floor or the splinters from the bar stool’s legs piercing his hands as he blindly grappled for balance, toppling it to the floor.


The only sounds he could hear in this moment were his own agonized screams.



PART FORTY-SIX

Having already beaten the eggs, Isabel dribbled a little bit into the heated skillet, testing the temperature of the oil, leaning back, hand on the stove control, as the hot oil angrily spattered from the dark surface. Her other hand lifted the bowl of eggs, ready to pour, only to forget its purpose. In an unheeded crash of glass, the yellow mixture flowed out onto the kitchen floor.

Breakfast was no longer on Isabel's mind, nor her worries of how to tell Max the truth of the past year. All that echoed in her mind was a disturbingly familiar scream.

It was a scream that had had her running from her bed three summers ago. The same scream she had heard just days ago in a dingy motel. A scream that caused her insides to contract and her blood to chill. Her body worked paradoxically— her nerves were all alert, firing at rapid paces to urge her to do something, to end the pain, yet the consequential actions seemed to lag far behind. Had she been able to spare any thought, she might have wondered if she were struggling against Kyle's freezing power.

All she could think was that she had to get to Max.

Each second stretched out as she closed the short gap between them in the kitchen, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

Thump

Her feet scuffled over glass, egg and oil.

Thump

She fell heavily to her knees, shoving the bar stool away from Max. (She never registered Michael at her side, helping remove the stool, after waving away the beginnings of an oil fire).

Thump

On complete autopilot, she hooked her arms under Max's, struggling to stem his thrashing, and reached upward to place her palms against the sides of his jerking head. She held on firmly, but gently, her fingers making small, slow strokes in his hair, while a soft soothing sound left her in a rush, “Shhhhhhhh.”

The scream was dying, having sapped all of Max’s energy, and what little voice he still retained. In the silence, she could still hear the echo of his scream, pulsing through her body. She shifted closer to Max, holding on tighter.

His body was taut under her, still silently straining against the pain. His eyes were shut tight, while his mouth remained open, only his hitched breaths squeaking out of it.

A few whimpers escaped Max, though his body began to still.

Isabel continued on, her eyes shutting intermittently as she forced the memories of all those nights, three years ago, where she had done the very same thing. Her stomach had yet to release its vise-like grip; her nerves had yet to cease firing. Spurred by Max whimpering, Isabel managed to speak a few words, her throat tight. “It's okay, Max... you're safe... safe. You're... not... there... oh...kay...?”

She desperately held onto her own words, needing to believe Max was okay—free of whatever horror was gripping his mind. As Max gradually calmed, she did too, her body no longer trembling from the rush of adrenalin. Unfortunately, it left in its wake, an intense, stinging pain in her left arm. Unable to help a few short gasps and winces, her left arm wavering from its position, she soon garnered Michael's attention.

“Damn it, it’s all over... and really red...” he softly bit out, holding her arm out.

“It’s fine,” she tried to move her hand from his tender, but firm grip. Hissing in pain, she gritted out, “I’ll deal with it later.”

“No.” Michael stole a glance at Max, who was beginning to move with gradual awareness, but had yet to open his eyes. “We’ll deal with it now.”

Before anyone could say anything, he placed his other hand above the oil burns and soon a white glow appeared. Inaudibly gasping, he pulled his hand away, noticing then that Max’s eyes were open. A myriad of emotions swam within them, turbulent and pained.

However, more concerned with Isabel, at the moment, Michael shifted his gaze back to her burn, chagrined that, though far less red, the injury remained. Meeting Isabel's uneasy gaze, Michael softly growled out, “You shouldn't have waited so long. We might not be able to get rid of it.”

“Wha—wai—” Max started to talk, but fell silent as all eyes turned to him. Nervously darting glances around the now crowded and still messy kitchen, Max quickly deduced what happened and, moving out of Isabel's embrace, he turned apologetically to her. “God Iz... you should have told me.” He cleared his throat as his voice died on him. “I'm sorry.”

He reached for her arm, and, ignoring all else to concentrate, he closed his eyes and hovered his left hand over the burn. Minutes passed as sweat beaded on his forehead. Starting to feel light-headed, he gasped as his eyes fluttered open in consternation.

The light burn remained.

He seemed to mouth out the question, how, but could not work his voice. He shot a seemingly accusatory look at Michael, before he fumblingly stood up. Instantly, all in the kitchen offered to help him, but he roughly refused, driving them into silence. “No!”

Holding onto the counter behind him, he averted his gaze from all of theirs. He ran a shaky hand through his hair trying to figure out what just happened and how it was connected to whatever had happened to him since he proposed to Liz. With a narrowed side-glance at Michael, he finally told all of them, “I... need… some air.”

Maria and Kyle, who stood farthest from him, both motioned to their left.

Careful to keep a distance from all of them and to not meet their gazes, Max wordlessly left the room, his steps stunted.

The others remained silent and still in his wake, only Liz and Michael moving towards the backdoor. However, with a gentle hand on her wrist, Michael silently communicated to Liz to let him go instead. Ignoring the uncertainty and the trace of hurt in her eyes, he quickly stepped out onto the back porch.

~ ~ ~ ~
The back porch

Stepping quietly through the backdoor, Michael was met with a hauntingly familiar sight. Max stood with the same unsteady stance, his left arm trembling in its raised position.

***** A Christmas Eve that felt like a lifetime ago, Michael watched Max through the window. His mouth went dry again, his gut clenching, as, for the second time that night, he feared the worst. The unsteady stance Max held and the tremor of his arm seemed to threaten yet another collapse. But then a soft glow from the Christmas tree ornament flickered to life before Max.

Releasing a sigh of relief, realizing he had been holding his breath, he shook away his fearful thoughts, and stepped through the Evans’ back door. Before he could say a word, Max questioned, a slight incredulity in his voice, “You're going to midnight service?” Adding sardonically, “You don't believe in anything.”

Tilting his head as he thought back to the miracles he had experienced in the past two days, Michael answered honestly, “Gotta hedge your bets, Maxwell. I've had my prayers answered twice in the past two days.” The memory of Max’s collapse flashed in his mind. Not wanting to dwell in the fear of that moment again, he halted the conversation. “Don't ask.” But it was not enough to stop thinking about it, and he needed further reassurance. “You ok?”

Max nodded slightly. Crossing his arms, he answered defensively, “Better. Thanks.”

And though he had seen the slight light Max had given the ornament, Michael had to confirm that miracles could continue to happen… that Max was still Max, “Your powers?” *****

Michael swallowed thickly as he watched yet again, Max desperately struggling to display some power… perhaps produce a shield. Their powers were such a large part of who they were, were that to change, they would lose their sense of self… their sense of purpose… as Michael had learned the hard way when he had inherited the seal. He bent his head, shaking it slightly, forcing away the memory of searing pain in his chest, and the horrific shock of learning that he had threatened Maria’s life—his biggest fear—the main reason he had stayed away from her for so long…

Max’s frustrated sigh caused Michael’s head to snap up, his thoughts returning to the present. He saw Max’s left hand slowly clench into a fist, its tremors fueled by more than weakness. As Max turned, his shaky arm lowering, their eyes instantly met, and Michael knew… it was rage.

Max’s eyes were narrowed and hardened, a look that Michael had only seen once before… a moment before Max landed a solid punch across his face, irrevocably shattering his image of Max. That look coupled with that memory Michael could never truly get past, was enough to raise his usual rough defenses, and push away the real reason for following Max onto the porch from his mind.

“How long have you had it?” Though Max’s voice was still scratchy, there was a dangerous edge to it.

Not expecting that question, or even understanding it, Michael cocked his head to the side and bit out in surprise, “What?”

But this only angered Max further. Stepping closer to Michael, Max stared him down, his eyes darkening, “Even after all the pain it caused… you caused by taking it, you still wanted it?! Well, you may have gotten the others to submit to you, but I won’t, not ever.” Utter blackness flickered in Max’s eyes.

Michael’s eyes widened at the brief return of the blackness, his earlier suspicions solidifying, but again, before he could say a word, Max’s amber irises reappeared. His voice thick, Max finished his ultimatum, “Not if it means you endangering everyone.”

Surprising both of them, Michael answered, “You’re right.”

Max’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, but Michael forged on. “I don’t have it. And I don’t want it.” He held out a hand to stop Max’s instant protest. Swallowing visibly, he yanked at his shirt collar, revealing part of the v-shaped scar still etched above his heart. “I haven’t forgotten.”

Max regarded him with disbelieving eyes, unintentionally wounding Michael’s vulnerable soul and instantly fortifying his defensive stone wall. After a few failed attempts to speak, and jerking of his head, Max finally spoke, “No.” He shook his head vehemently, “No! What else can explain what happened in there?!” He pointed back at the house with his still shaking left hand, taking a few more steps closer. His voice dying, Max struggled to continue, “Why can’t I—How can… how… could you?!”

By this point, Max was just inches from Michael, and Michael’s explosive, defensive instinct took over—overriding any thought of understanding and patience for Max’s confusion and distress, any thought to explain how they could all do remedial healing, and that he hadn’t even managed that with Isabel’s burn. “You died! All right?! That bald headed, sci-fi geek was at graduation! They were there! They SHOT you! They... took… “

Michael broke off, his throat suddenly tight. Breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring, he stared at Max, who had (if possible) turned paler.

Max stood stock still, mouth slightly open, his eyes wide and bright in the strengthening morning light. Only the presence of the others spilling through the backdoor caused him to move. He stumbled backwards, clumsily stopping as his back hit one of the porch’s supporting posts. His hands reached behind him to grip it for support as his eyes darted to everyone’s faces. His fear of having relived his worst nightmare blocked out all that the others said—their calls to him, and their berating of Michael for telling him like he did.

Feeling once again suffocated under their forlorn gazes, he searched for a momentary escape. But he was in a strange town, and had no idea how safe they really were. As his head shifted from side to side, still futilely searching, Liz’s voice cut through his mind.

“Max?”

He met her concerned gaze, but his chest was still constricted with fear, preventing any words from escaping.

With a tentative, but soothing voice, Liz continued, “Max… it’s true… we didn’t know how to… well the important thing is you know… but there’s so much more to tell you. Come back inside—”

“Stop.”

Everyone stood silently on the porch at Max’s frustrated command, waiting to hear what he wanted to say.

“I…” He needed time to process what he'd just heard… the shock of knowing the government had taken him again… that he had been shot… and who knew what else? Well… glancing at the guilt and pain etched on his friends’ and family’s faces, he figured they knew. That realization caused a sudden heat to creep up his neck— the burn of humiliation of being fully exposed.

He needed to be alone.

“I can’t talk about this right now.” As much as he wanted to know the whole truth, he just couldn’t bear to look into any of their faces and find out what else the government could have done to him… how much worse they might have been than Pierce. How he had ended up unconscious, powerless… useless.

“But Max—” his sister started to protest.

“Just… give me…” Time was what he needed… but did he even really have that? Maria had said he'd lost a year of his life… was that all? “I need to…” God, what he would do to be able to drive into the desert to clear his head, or even hole up in his room and crowd out his thoughts with Counting Crows lyrics. “…lie down.”

As he hoped, nobody protested his request. He knew how weak he looked… and though he hated being weak… at least it gave him his escape.

The others filed back in, hanging around in the kitchen, as he silently made his way to the bedroom he had woken up in, the one room he had found some familiarity in… in the faint smoky scent of vanilla.

~ ~ ~ ~
The kitchen

In Max’s wake, the others picked up their berating again, though careful to keep their voices low. “What the hell were you thinking, Michael?”

“He wasn’t thinking.”

“You don’t just go up to a person and say: ‘you died’...”

“It was supposed to be gradual!”

“He’s not even listening…”

“I told you guys before… a tat saying ‘I’m sorry’ would solve everything…”

But Michael didn’t answer any of them. He let the verbal abuse wash over him, his guilt back at full force, as he stared up the stairs at Liz’s closed bedroom door. He had said everything to Max but what he really had wanted to say. Maybe Kyle’s idea would help, since he could never seem to bring himself to say the words… The very words that he had only been able to utter to a young, painted version of Max… I’m sorry Max. It was all my fault… and I’m… sorry.

*Note: Lines taken from A Roswell Christmas Carol

Hi everyone!

So it's still Wednesday night here, so I'm finally right on time! Hope you guys enjoy the part, there are a lot of previouslys given how long it has been since the early parts of the story, but if you don't need them, feel free to skip after the first two.

I do want to credit a song that inspired me while I wrote the part, and I think it's something that needs to be heard rather than read. So for once I'll leave the lyrics out.

Enjoy.

Previously…

[From Destiny]
Liz’s hand was amazingly steady around his, urging Max to make each seemingly impossible step forward. Not even the force of crashing into the flowing river was able to deter her hand from its protective, guiding purpose.

Max focused whatever strength he had to hold on to her hand, letting her blindly lead him towards a shadowed, rusty shelter. He could not stop shivering from the frigid water, and the recent memory it dredged up. He was utterly exhausted and unable to speak. He had long given up his meek fight with Liz, where he had repeatedly pleaded with her to leave him behind and run to safety with a desperate “go.” But now, he wished she would never let go.

Now he was too tired to quash his fantasy of Liz fully accepting and loving him. Now all he hoped for was a blissful moment of being with her, and pretending the harsh, cold world he lived in didn’t exist.

Such hope was the only positive thought he could hold on to, his capture too horrifying to suppress so soon. Maintaining his hope took away any ability of his to register the fortunate provision of a blanket or the meaning of Liz’s breathy words: a temporary haven.

“I think we’ll be safe in here for awhile. They don’t know how far down river we got.”

He did hear her call his name, his eyes refocusing on her wide, tearful ones, before falling to her trembling lips. Each small tremor betrayed that she too was cold, and begged for the warmth of another’s touch—his touch.

As soon as their lips met, he was roughly thrown back into absolute whiteness, pain filling every nerve in his body. He tried to pull away, but she was in control, being now physically stronger, and held on for far too long. In a moment she learned all the dark secrets he hoped no one would ever have to know… least of all her.
~ ~ ~

[From Baby, It’s You]
After all of Tess’ wallowing during the past months, and the awkwardness of the morning, Kyle had reached his limit. “You know what? You aliens are the most pathetic group of people that I ever met.”

As soon as the words left his lips, a part of him instantly regretted it, knowing he was approaching a very dangerous situation.

But it was finally his time to vent, and so he ignored Isabel’s icy dismissal, mimicking the ‘aliens’ motto’: “Oh, we've got to keep our secret safe. We've got to be boring and brooding.” Turning somewhat serious, part wistful… part devious, he gazed past Isabel and mused, “If I had one tenth of your power...”

“What would you do?” Isabel’s asked; her exasperated voice now tinged with bemusement and much curiosity, though an edge of imminent danger remained.

Not missing a beat, he gave her a wide, naïve grin, his voice leaping with exuberance at the thought, “I’d have fun!”
~ ~ ~

[From Part 7]
Kyle stared off unseeing for a moment, “... I must say it took a long while before I came around to singing any of your praises. I know you saved my life, and I was obligated, but I never was truly grateful. I didn’t fully understand what it took for you to do that. And I guess, better late than never,” tears started to sting at his eyes, but he didn’t bother to wipe them away. “Thank you.” He released a shuddering breath, “thank you for putting yourself on the line all those times. Thank you for saving Liz. Me. My dad. All of us. I know you said you weren’t a king, well maybe not, but you’re definitely one thing… you’re a hero, Max. A real hero. And I finally understand what Alex meant that it is worth knowing. It was worth knowing you, the kind of person, human, you were.” Kyle stood up, a tear slowly trailing down his cheek. He placed a hand on top of the grave. “I’m not sure I’ll be back again, but I said what I wanted to say.”
~ ~ ~

[From Part 20]
“Max was strapped down on a table… naked.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself to the image he was about to relate to his dad and Maria. Especially after hearing her gasp at what he just said. Even his dad turned in astonishment. “They had him hooked up to these machines, one was to measure brain waves and the other...” his voice faltered, this was getting too hard. “And the other had a heart-rate monitor and…” he bit his lip; his leg was jumping up and down like crazy in his anxiety.

“What? What did it have?” Maria finally managed to spit out, though her voice was low and trembling in its tautness, as if she were bracing herself for what she was about to hear.

“Dials. And these wires with electrodes to… that were… attached to his body.”

“Did they… electrocute him, son?” his dad asked as gently as he could, tears already forming in his eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah they did. Just before I woke up, they started.”
~ ~ ~

[From Part 25]
“I heard something really strange going on in my latest dreamwalk with Max,” Kyle began to explain. As soon as he mentioned the words ‘dream’ and ‘walk’ Maria made a face of impatient disbelief. Kyle ignored it and continued, “It sounded like his parents’ voices. I had my suspicions and this morning I went over to the cemetery and I found the bug hidden right behind his tombstone.”
~ ~ ~

[From Part 36]
It was eerie stepping into the room.

Though each had seen glimpses of it either through dreamwalks, flashes, or from the last time, actually being here caused a strong, unsettling feeling within them. The first thing they noticed was the whiteness of the room, floor to ceiling: every tile was a sterile, blinding and cold white. In the center was a solid metal table, the restraints open. Each thick, exposed cuff gleamed in the light, its sharp edges filled with menace.

The four of them slowed their steps, remaining huddled by the doorway. Their breath lodged in their throats as they stared at the horrific image, but soon they registered the fact that the table was empty. Desperately they began to spread out, their eyes sweeping the corners of the room. A moment later, their eyes fell upon a gut-wrenching sight.

There shivering in the far right corner, partially hidden by the gurney, his shackled hands holding his head, was Max.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 37]
All this time Maria had known Michael, she hadn’t realized how much he spoke with his eyes. How many messages of love and assurance had she missed, too focused on his gruff voice and tense stance? Now though… all she could focus on in that brief moment were his eyes. Though she had almost completely lost it at the deep pain, frustration and helplessness she initially saw in them, the spark of hope that ignited as their gazes held on to each other was enough to allow her to keep breathing. The tension in her shoulders lessened, the pain in her chest dissipating. Her mind cleared of dark thoughts about any pursuing agent appearing to end their permanent memberships in the ‘I Know an Alien Club’. Instead, she kept Michael’s eyes in mind as she continued to search the road for the exit.
…
Jerking her head to him to see if he was all right, Liz saw Max wincing in pain. With dread she looked down at Max’s hands again. Gold and blue danced on the surface of his pallid skin in a seeming fight to dominate, the sight beautiful and terrible. Within moments, the colors blended into green light, running up and down his arms in painful, jagged lines.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 46]
“You died! All right?! That bald headed, sci-fi geek was at graduation! They were there! They SHOT you! They... took… “

Michael broke off, his throat suddenly tight. Breathing heavily, his nostrils flaring, he stared at Max, who had (if possible) turned paler.

Max stood stock-still, mouth slightly open, his eyes wide and bright in the strengthening morning light. Only the presence of the others spilling through the backdoor caused him to move. He stumbled backwards, clumsily stopping as his back hit one of the porch’s supporting posts. His hands reached behind him to grip it for support as his eyes darted to everyone’s faces. His fear of having relived his worst nightmare blocked out all that the others said—their calls to him, and their berating of Michael for telling him like he did.

Feeling once again suffocated under their forlorn gazes, he searched for a momentary escape. But he was in a strange town, and had no idea how safe they really were.
…
Max needed to be alone.

“I can’t talk about this right now.” As much as he wanted to know the whole truth, he just couldn’t bear to look into any of their faces and find out what else the government could have done to him… how much worse they might have been than Pierce. How he had ended up unconscious, powerless… useless.

“But Max—” his sister started to protest.

“Just… give me…” Time was what he needed… but did he even really have that? Maria had said he'd lost a year of his life… was that all? “I need to…” God, what he wouldn’t give to be able to drive into the desert to clear his head, or even hole up in his room and crowd out his thoughts with Counting Crows lyrics. “…lie down.”

As he hoped, nobody protested his request. He knew how weak he looked… and though he hated being weak… at least it gave him his escape.

The others filed back in, hanging around in the kitchen, as he silently made his way to the bedroom he had woken up in, the one room he had found some familiarity in… in the faint smoky scent of vanilla.
…
In Max’s wake, the others picked up their berating again, though careful to keep their voices low. “What the hell were you thinking, Michael?”

“He wasn’t thinking.”

“You don’t just go up to a person and say: ‘you died’...”

“It was supposed to be gradual!”

“He’s not even listening…”

“I told you guys before… a tat saying ‘I’m sorry’ would solve everything…”

But Michael didn’t answer any of them. He let the verbal abuse wash over him, his guilt back at full force, as he stared up the stairs at Liz’s closed bedroom door. He had said everything to Max except what he really wanted to say.



Note: A couple of lines taken from Graduation
Song: 'Letting the Cables Sleep' by Bush

PART FORTY-SEVEN

Liz’s bedroom

Max’s arms trembled as he concentrated on not slamming the door. The knuckles of his right hand were a glaring white against his already pale skin as his grip remained tight around the doorknob. All his energy was focused on suppressing his emotions, to not panic, to not escape out the window. But it was hard not to when he seemed on the verge of hyperventilating. With each laborious breath he forced out, he lessened his hold on the knob, turning it a few degrees towards the locked position. Six painful breaths later, it clicked shut.

His body collapsed against the door in response, his head seeming to futilely bury itself in the obstinate wood, his lax hands sliding from the door to his sides. His chest heaved, fueled by panic no longer restrained. As his breathing sped up, his chest tightened, air leaving his lungs faster than it returned. Somehow he managed to push himself off the door, stumbling a few steps back. He gulped, craving air, his head jerking wildly in all directions.

Until he registered the sight of Liz’s bed.

Still regulating his breaths, he stared at the crumpled sheets he had woken up in. But he did not take in the pastel colors blurring together as his vision swam. Instead he saw a bright light—a spotlight bearing down on him— and for a brief moment, he believed he saw something sharp and silver barreling towards him.

He gasped violently.

Clutching at his shirt, he no longer registered Liz’s room, lost to what he now knew to be a memory…

He clawed at his shirt searching for the wounds he knew had to be there. His movements were almost feral, his eyes wild and unseeing. He tore a few uneven holes, but not enough to allow him see what he desperately sought. His desperation skyrocketing, he started to change tactics, tugging at the bottom of his shirt to yank it off. But his hands still seemed intent on burrowing through, preventing him from fully removing the shirt. The fabric clung to his face, shrouding him from the brightening sunlight and rapidly robbing him of the air he had struggled to breathe in just moments before. Twisting in alarm, he ended up falling to his knees before the shirt fell forward, settling against his thin chest, with a soft flop. Little did he know, the culprit behind his fall was a photograph of his distant, innocent past. In his hysteria, it had slid to a stop by the closed bedroom door.

Head bent and his eyes squeezed shut, he drew in rapid, deep breaths. His hands, no longer driven with desperate purpose, lay slowly clenching in his lap.

Exhausted and lightheaded, he fell onto his right side. Then, a few more stuttered breaths later, he shifted until he sat up, leaning against the bed, knees drawn up to his chest.

Weary from his prior frenzy, he wrapped his hands around his knees, soon burying his head in them. Unbeknownst to him, he mirrored the same position he had often curled into over the past year. For several moments he shook, silent sobs bubbling out. Ever since his first capture, he lived in constant fear of reliving it all again, or the possibility of any of his friends and family suffering a similar fate. It was why he tried so desperately to keep them close, and controlled. But all that seemed to do was drive them away.

And then… he had ‘died’.

And when he had returned from Vermont, it seemed that all was to be forgotten, or at least not talked about. The new plan worked so well, he almost started to believe he could live an almost normal existence, where his only worry was his and Liz’s parents interfering with them being together. An existence that didn’t seek to destroy him—mentally, emotionally, and physically.

The lie could only last so long… sadly, not long enough for him to even experience one normal childhood’s rite of passage—high school graduation.

He slowly lifted his head, wiping at his reddened eyes. Staring off into the corner he concentrated trying to remember graduation, hopefully spurring all that he had lost.

I have to be who I really am…

He blinked a few times, surprised at the familiarity of the words. Refocusing, he realized he was staring at his chest, where he had clawed into his shirt. Fingering the shredded cloth, he gasped, jerking back against the bed.

…and let fate take care of the rest…

He could have sworn he heard screams follow those words, and felt the bullets penetrating his chest. But once again refocusing on the shirt that denied him sight of the bullet wounds, he renewed his search. This time though, he intently scrutinized through the holes in the shirt, rather than attempting to gouge them further apart.

With the morning sunlight now hidden by dark grey clouds, the room grew darker, further helped by the drawn curtains. The few vanilla-scented candles were the main source of light. Without thought to the comfort of their scent, Max reached out to the closest one. Holding it close, he hoped it would help him find what he was missing.

The back porch

Maria stood on the back porch watching Michael forlornly as he skulked by the newly repaired wall. His prior sense of purpose and strength were missing from his entire being as he paced slowly in the muck.

For the past several minutes Maria had tried to catch his attention, but had been shrugged off when she had actually joined him by the wall. And even though she had angrily stalked off at his snub, she remained on the porch, watching him in concern. He hadn’t said a word since Max had gone upstairs—not when they had berated him for minutes after, not even when Liz had changed the subject, suddenly remembering the hole blasted in the wall outside. Instead, he had silently walked out, his decisive steps denying anyone to follow.

After he had finished his task easily, Maria had hoped to coax him back inside, to let him know they had calmed down and were sorry for their earlier reactions. True, they had hoped to handle telling Max better, but at least he knew now… the hardest part of telling had to be over. All he had to do now was connect with Liz, and he could start healing. The constant churning in her stomach made her question her optimism on it being that easy, but after all they had been through, things had to get better.

Now if only she could get Michael to meet her gaze.

He stood still now, looking up at the darkening sky, his shoulders once more slumped and hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Only the inevitable rain was needed to match the present scene to one of her most treasured memories of Michael.

“He still won’t come in?”

Maria briefly started at Liz’s softly asked question. Recovering easily, she faced her friend, shaking her head sadly. Turning back to gaze at Michael, she commented absentmindedly, “Sorry, I didn’t help much with cleaning up.”

“It’s fine, there wasn’t that much, we just felt like doing it the slow, human way to keep us from checking on Max every minute,” Liz replied with a small, wry smile.

At the mention of Max, Maria faced her best friend again, her concern refocusing on him. “It’s been pretty long hasn’t it? Should we—”

“Isabel is on her way up now.” Liz seemed about to say more, but bit her lip instead. Maria knew she was deeply concerned about Max—on his physical state since it had been far too long since he had eaten or even drunk anything, let alone truly rested. And she was concerned about how he’d react when he remembered everything as well. Maria was sure it was weighing heavily on Liz’s mind that she would be the one to give him back those horrifying memories, to re-inflict their deep scarring pain.

Maria had wondered if it had been Michael instead, whether she would be able to do such a thing. Deep down she knew she would, because it wasn’t her right to keep that from him—it was his secret, and his choice to share it with her. And perhaps were she given the chance, she could lessen the burden of such memories. Spurred by her earlier thoughts, she offered their slight comfort to Liz, “It’s his right to know. Let him make the decision.”

Liz glanced away, but Maria caught the flash of guilt in her eyes. Maria had never agreed with Liz’s decision to leave that summer, but as her best friend she supported Liz in doing so, while every so often urging her to talk to Max, as futile as that was. She hoped, after all they had been through, Liz knew not to repeat that mistake, that instead she’d face the pain together with Max, for once sharing the burden. “And with you there, it may not be as frightening or hurtful. Because this time… he won’t be alone.”

Liz faced Maria in surprise, holding her gaze steady as the words sunk in. A small smile tugged at her lips in gratitude. “You’re right.” Reaching for Maria’s hand, Liz lightly squeezed it. “ Thanks.”

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence, when Liz finally broached her other reason for coming out to the porch. “So, I was planning to return the car today, and was wondering if you wanted to follow with mine?”

Already nodding her head, Maria replied, “Sure.” But after a short pause she added, “But wait, shouldn’t we hold on to it… just in case?” Despite that shapeshifter’s assurances, Maria, like all the others, didn’t trust him.

Acknowledging the unspoken fear with a nod, Liz responded, “If we need to run, we can use our own. Because, if they find us here, having a different car won’t make it any more difficult to trace us. And now we won’t have to worry about altering the GPS to reflect a different route—that took a lot out of Isabel when we first started out, remember?”

“Oh yeah… so that definitely worked?”

“I’m going to double check before we head out,” Liz gestured with her hand, referring to her newly realized power. “But we should go soon—”

“Yeah, I can be ready in a few minutes—”

“No, I’ll go,” Michael interjected.

Startled, both girls jerked their heads towards him, unable to get their questions out: How had he snuck up on them? How long had he been listening? Had Maria been less shocked, she may have caught the answer to the latter in the intensity of Michael’s loving gaze upon her. Unfortunately, his gaze lingered ever so briefly, retreating into the typical closed-off look as he met Liz’s.

“You ready?” he asked Liz, an eyebrow raised.

“Um, yeah,” she replied, sharing an uncertain look with Maria.

“Then let’s go,” he stated walking past them into the house.

With a quick shrug, Maria gestured for Liz to go ahead with Michael. Following after them, Maria raised her eyebrows at seeing the front door already closing, surprised at how quickly Michael and Liz had exited the house. She shared a look with Kyle, who shrugged then gestured to the spot next to him on the couch. With a tired smile, she flopped onto the couch, hearing the muted revving of the cars as Liz and Michael took off. Settling against the soft cushions, she began to sigh only to gasp as she jerked upright at a loud cry from upstairs.

Upstairs landing
Minutes earlier

Poised to knock on Liz’s door, Isabel hesitated. She didn’t want to disturb Max if he was actually sleeping—he certainly needed the rest. But then again… if he had passed out…

She gently rapped on the door three times.

Immediately, she pressed her ear to the door straining to hear any response. After a lengthy moment, her hand hovered over the knob, again hesitating. But her fear of having Max lapse back into a coma fueled the small surge of power it took to unlock the door. At the click, she briefly closed her eyes, releasing a long, deep breath. Then, with a slight tremor of the hand, each movement controlled and conscious of making no sound, she slowly opened the door.

The room had significantly darkened since the hour before, when she had found Max awake. Peering through the candlelit haze, she was dismayed to find only crumpled bed sheets, still untouched from earlier. She stepped further into the room, pausing when her foot registered something much smoother than the carpet. Bending down, she picked up the item that she’d stepped on, surprised to find it was her cherished photograph of her brother. She gently held it at its sides, a sad smile tugging at her pursed lips. The past reflected in the image was becoming more distant. The easy smile on the younger Max’s face becoming nearly impossible to ever hope to see again. But she was determined to try and give that smile back to him, even if it meant first giving back his nightmares.

Holding the photo in one hand, she continued into the room, heading toward the closed bathroom door, hoping Max was there. She softly called out his name as she approached.

She froze at a sudden hiss to her left.

Turning back to the bed, her stomach clenched in fear, she called out again, her voice taut, “Max?” After a brief pause and just about to ask if that noise had come from him, she stopped when she spied a tuft of his dark brown hair on the other side of the bed.

Her steps almost silent on the carpet, she moved to where he was, pausing at an unsettlingly familiar sight.

He was curled up against the bed, just as he had been when they found him in the corner of that white room. His head was bent, stubbornly refusing to acknowledge her presence, but for once she didn’t mind. Instead, she felt her heart break again.

She lowered herself onto the bed, gently placing the photo to the side of her. All the while she watched him silently, waiting for him to speak first.

Moments passed in silence.

Isabel gripped the edges of the bed to stop herself from forcing Max to look at her. She had to be patient, to be strong for him. But she certainly wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of the silent treatment; not that that was what Max was doing. And it didn’t help that her eyes kept playing tricks on her. She was certain she saw a flame flickering within Max’s encircling arms. Unable to outlast Max, and wanting to complete her earlier attempt to give him a proper meal, she broke the silence. “Do you want to eat anything? I can bring it up here, if you’d rather not come down right now.”

His head briefly lifted, turning slightly towards her. With a gentle shake, he answered in a scratchy voice, “No, it’s okay.”

“Well what about—”

“Iz, just stop.” His words were bitterly tired. “When I want something, I’ll come get it. I’m not that helpless.” Already returning his head to its prior bent state he added under his breath, “am I?”

“Max, that’s not what I meant—” Isabel rushed to assure him.

“I know,” he stated with finality. Offering a grimacing smile, he shifted, drawing further into a curled ball. He hissed in pain.

In seconds, Isabel had slid down from the bed to Max’s side, attempting to gently pull apart Max’s arms to find out what had happened.

“Iz, no!”

“Max… what? Oh my god!” She gasped at the stiffening mess where hot liquid wax had spilled onto his shirt, clinging to his exposed chest. Her eyes darted up to meet his, hoping to glean a reason for this, but she was unable to catch their gaze. Blinking back tears, she waved her hand, quickly removing the white wax, revealing the bright pink skin peeking through the rips in Max’s t-shirt. Moving her hand a little closer, she healed the scalded tissue and repaired the holes. She leaned back and spied one of Liz’s candles in Max’s trembling right hand. Reaching over, she wrestled it out of his weakening grip and returned it to Liz’s bedside table.

Isabel settled back into her spot on the floor and stared at Max, her eyes wide, imploring him to explain. But he continued to avoid her gaze, his hands pulling his knees as close as possible to his chest.

A few tears spilled down her cheeks, unable to keep her emotions in check as she spoke, “Max, what were you doing? Why would you…?” She roughly wiped away the tears, before reaching out to hold Max’s hands. “Why?” she implored.

Gently removing his hands from hers, Max lowered his knees and gestured to the left side of his chest. “Something’s missing…”

Isabel bit her lip to stop more tears from falling. She correctly assumed he was referring to his gunshot wounds, having realized herself that his skin was no longer scarred beneath the slight wax burns he had accidentally given himself. Though part of her wondered, if he meant something more…

“I don’t know how… or why… but I know… something’s missing,” he continued in a confused, broken whisper.

Isabel nodded, still biting her lip to stem the tide of building tears. After a moment she gained enough control over emotions to speak, “We can help you find out. Maybe if you and Liz connected… you might get flashes or—”

“No!!! Liz is NOT… NOT EVER going to find out what happened to me!!”

Isabel leaned back, taken aback at the vehemence in Max’s voice, and how he was able to gather the strength in his voice to shout. “But Max—”

“NO! She already saw too much the first time, because I couldn’t control it.” Shaking his head, he pushed against the bed to stand up. His whole body wavered, partially from physical weakness, partially from fear and anger. Isabel stood up too. But before she could speak again, Max cried out, “I WON’T LET HER!”

Knowing there was no way to convince Max otherwise, Isabel attempted another suggestion. “All right…” Her hands were lifted in a gesture of surrender, as she slowly spoke, “…you don’t have to do that Max. But… what if I dreamwalked you, I could help you locate those memories…” Noticing the same panicked-stricken face that had appeared at the mention of Liz connecting to him, Isabel hastily added, “…or you know maybe Kyle could do it.”

“NOBODY is connecting with me.”

“But Max, there’s no other way we can help you get your memories back!” Isabel argued for him to see reason.

“There has to be another way! I’m not letting anyone get into my head! Just stay out, I don’t need your help! I…” Max broke off coughing, his throat far too dry to handle any more outbursts.

Isabel was instantly at his side, trying to help, but he shrugged her off. Regaining his breath, he continued softly, “Look, I know you want to help. But please don’t.” He paused, his eyes pleading for Isabel to agree. “Not with this.”

Not one to back down, but realizing she wouldn’t get much farther right now, Isabel responded, “We’ll talk about this later. Let’s get you some food and water first.”

“I’m not hungry,” Max stubbornly mumbled in instant reply.

“Fine, water then.” Isabel retorted, losing her tentative control. She quickly exited the room, before she broke down in front of Max. She just barely registered his attempt at apologizing, but she knew if she turned around she’d start crying and she didn’t want to give him yet another burden. She quickened her steps even more, unsure if she was relieved he didn’t follow.

Only when she got to the kitchen, did she cover her face with her hands allowing the welled-up tears to flow.

“Iz?”

Her hands lowered at Kyle’s tentative call. She couldn’t face him, though, and so took the last two steps towards the sink, reaching for a glass on the shelf above and filling it with water. When he called her name again, she lowered the glass onto the counter, and replied in a low voice, cringing at her evident vulnerability. “I’m fine.”

“What happened?” he asked softly, his hand on her arm urging her to face him.

Despite herself, she met his gaze, still blinking away her tears. “He… he won’t let us help him. He… God… things are just… a mess. And I can’t do anything about it…”

She started to wring her hands, but Kyle quickly took them in his and assured her, “Let me talk to him.”

There were a number of arguments on the tip of Isabel’s tongue, but she was so tired, and desperate to help Max heal, that she just nodded and handed Kyle the glass.

Taking the glass, Kyle rubbed Isabel’s arm briefly in comfort and softly told her to go sit on the couch and rest. She easily complied, joining Maria, who he had spent the last few minutes calming down as well. The hysteria that she’d been holding back this entire time had finally broken through after Max’s outcry upstairs. Something needed to change soon, or they all would soon be pushed over the edge.

Stepping onto the upstairs landing, he tripped, just barely catching himself. The water in the glass sloshed upward a little bit spilling over the edge. Switching hands, he wiped his wet hand against his pants and stepped into Liz’s bedroom.

In the flickering glow of candlelight and grey natural light seeping in from the hallway, Kyle saw Max sitting on the bed, head bent, his elbows propped up on his knees as he peered intently at a creased photograph. Though the door was ajar, Kyle lightly knocked, not wanting to startle Max out of his reverie.

Max’s head shot up, already uttering his apology, “Iz, look, I’m sorry—” he abruptly cut himself off upon seeing Kyle.

His hands settling in his lap, the photo now at his side, Max stared at Kyle uneasily. Though they had been on amicable terms last he remembered, his mind recoiled every time he saw Kyle now—he just couldn’t figure out why.

Kyle handed Max the glass of water. “Here you go.”

Max silently accepted, nodding in thanks. He began to slowly sip the water, his eyes closing as he relished in the cool relief it brought. But soon he was desperately chugging down the glass, as if it might be taken away from him at any moment. Once done, his chest heaved as he caught his breath, a few small coughs escaping him.

Though Kyle’s eyes had widened at first in surprise, his gaze shifted into a morose understanding. Taking the glass from Max, he offered, “I can get more, if you’d like.”

The water settling uneasily in his stomach, Max shook his head, “No, that’s ok.”

With a short nod, Kyle placed the glass on Liz’s desk, then stuffed his hands in his pockets, leaning against the desk. He stood in awkward silence, unsure what to say.

After a long stretch of silence, Max questioned, “What do you want, Kyle?”

Startled, Kyle knocked the glass with his elbow, but managed to freeze it just as it rolled off the table. Gingerly plucking it from the air, he placed it upright in the center of the desk, out of harm’s way. Turning back to Max, he saw the shocked look on his friend’s gaunt face. Gradually, Max’s eyes moved from the glass to Kyle.

Seeing the unspoken question in his gaze, Kyle confirmed, “Yeah, I’ve turned green too.” He lifted his hand, but the green light had already dissipated. With a shrug, he continued, his hand falling to his side as he confessed, “To think I had once wanted to have your powers.”

“Kyle… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Stop right there, Max. You saved my life… and I don’t know if you never got to hear it or you just don’t remember it, but… when I thought you were gone…” He ran a hand through his hair, still awkward about expressing his feelings. With a brief wry smile he continued, “… well… it was hard enough saying it that time…” Holding Max’s gaze he tried to convey his gratitude and sincerity, “…so just know, I’ll never thank you enough for saving my life, my dad’s… Liz’s… all of us. Not even finding you seems enough… not when it took this long.” He shook his head slowly, weighed down by guilt.

After a long pause, Max asked in awe, “You found me?”

Kyle affirmed with a nod, a pained expression crossing his face. “Ever since Isabel let me have a taste of her power, I prayed to be able to enter that playmate’s dreams again…” Rolling his eyes, a self-deprecating smile graced his face, “I was an idiot. Telling Isabel to have fun with her powers, that there was no need to brood when you wielded that kind of power.” He shook his head sadly, “I was so wrong. Fate sure knows how to kick you in the ass in style.” The comment came from his memory of joking with Liz that ever since he was healed he had gotten flashes of Max naked. He no longer saw the humor in that anymore. Unwilling to elaborate on his comment, Kyle continued on in a different vein, “But I’m glad I got that power after all. Because you’re here now. Well, most of you anyway.” A smirk flashed on his weary, concerned face.

Max’s eyebrows rose at Kyle’s little jibe at his amnesia. With a sigh, he disclosed, “I do want to know… as bad as it is… I just don’t want anybody else to suffer it too, not even by observing it.”

“Yeah, well I already saw it. Well… that is what I hope is the worst of it. I’m guessing that’s how I was able to connect at all to you… no way you could stay in control of your mind through all that…” Kyle trailed off at Max’s extended wince.

After a long, awkward silence Kyle tried to assure Max, “I never told the others exact… details about them… just a few basics to get them to believe me that I did actually dreamwalk you. And I promise… if you agree… no one will know what I see from you. Hell, I hope that I don’t actually have to see it for you to get them back, but I’m ready to help any time.”

Max regarded Kyle for a moment, his lips tugging upward at the corners ever so slightly. “You’re a good guy, Kyle.”

Kyle remained silent, sensing Max was about to agree.

Max looked out the door for a moment, his eyes unfocused. Then lowering his head, he refocused on the photo to the side of him. Releasing a deep breath, Max nodded once. Lifting his head to hold Kyle’s expectant gaze he finally verbally answered, “All right.”

Needing to be absolutely sure, Kyle repeated, “All right?”

Max nodded again.

Relieved, but still wary, Kyle asked, “Okay… um… when do you want to—”

His lips quirking into a wry smile, his widest smile since he realized he had lost his memory, Max answered, “Now. Before I change my mind.”

In Liz’s car

Liz continued to dart glances at Michael as he drove them back to the house, observing the physical change in him.

The most obvious was his return to his guise of black short hair and grey eyes. The look suited him, but every time their eyes met Liz felt a chill run down her spine. They just seemed unnatural and more closed off than usual—as if the stonewall Maria often described him as having was reflected in their gaze.

But what concerned Liz at the moment was the hopelessness emanating from Michael. She would take his anger and gruffness any day over this pained silence, since she knew how to handle that. For several minutes she wondered how to get him to talk again, to accept the apology she and Maria had tried to give him earlier.

They passed through a ray of sunshine, breaking through the moving, stormy clouds. Smiling at the brief respite from the cold grey, the solution suddenly hit her. A question she had always wanted to ask him, but never felt the moment was appropriate, finally begged to be asked.

“So why did you pick Ray?”

The car drifted slightly at Michael’s sudden turn to look at Liz. He quickly straightened the wheel and then a fortunate red light allowed him to fully turn to Liz to regard her question. “What do you mean?”

“Well… Ray was what Alex called himself in Las Cruces…” Liz clarified, surprised that Michael didn’t remember that. The realization dawning in his grey eyes confirmed that he truly had forgotten.

“I… I don’t know why. When I was filling out an application to work in construction… I had to come up with another name and that was the first thing I thought of. And it seemed to work, so I went with it.” He shrugged then faced the road again. Releasing the brake at the now green light, he darted a glance at Liz, then mumbled, “I don’t have to keep it if it bothers you…”

Liz studied Michael for a moment before answering, “It doesn’t.” She offered him a smile, “And you’re right… it does suit you.”

Michael briefly turned to Liz again. The steely grey of his gaze appearing softer, he offered her a small smile.

To Liz, that smile was more welcomed and warmer than the few rays of sunshine breaking through the clouds.

Liz’s bedroom

The bedroom door was closed, returning the room to its prior darkness. The boys didn’t bother about the dim light of the candles, more concerned with how to go about giving Max his memories back.

After a few awkward attempts to position themselves to hold hands for the connection, Max finally settled back to where he was sitting on the bed, and Kyle sitting in front of him in Liz’s desk chair. Their bodies still mimicked their discomfort, both their backs tense and upright, theirs arms taut as they reached forward. Just as Kyle was about to reach for Max’s hands, he realized Max was holding a photo.

Looking down at it, he questioned, “What’s that for?”

Scrunching his eyebrows in confusion, Max queried, “Don’t you need it? Isabel always used a photo.”

Shaking his head, Kyle told him, “No. I never used one. And, since you’re right in front of me, I don’t think it’ll be a problem.”

Max released a soft, huff-like laugh and placed the photo aside again. But just as he was about to grip Kyle’s hand, he asked, “So how will this work, exactly?”

Flopping his hands back at his sides with an exasperated sigh, Kyle answered, “I don’t know exactly… it’s not like there was a manual.” With another softer, more understanding sigh, Kyle went on, “Look… one of the times I dreamwalked you in there… you… weren’t responding… even when you didn’t believe I was really in there, you at least looked at me and talked to me… but this…” He shook his head. “I thought maybe if I suggested through the connection about thinking of when Liz was shot in the Crash—that is, I tried to show you how I always imagined it—so I thought it might shock you enough to snap you out of whatever you were in…” Kyle’s eyes seemed unfocused at this point, as he revealed, “the thing is… some other memory… of yours appeared… “

“Wow,” Max breathed.

Returning to the present, Kyle agreed, “Yeah.” After a beat, he added, " So… ready to try this?”

Still astonished at Kyle’s abilities, Max nodded slowly, “Yeah.”

This time, with no awkwardness, the boys joined hands. In-synch, they closed their eyes, and took deep breaths.

~ ~ ~ ~

Though darkness surrounded him, Kyle felt the familiar sensation of a successful dreamwalk. Max? His call resounded in his mind.

Only whimpers answered his call.

He called again. Max!

Let me out...

Recognizing the plea, Kyle quickly figured out which memory of Max’s he seemed trapped in. He tried to calm Max down, telling him he wasn’t in that coffin-like thing, and urging him to think of something else to move beyond this one portion of hell he had endured. But all he heard was a muted, low voice repeating the same plea: Let me out...

~ ~ ~ ~

Lost to the dreamwalk, Max and Kyle were unaware of a golden glow building from Kyle’s stomach. It continued to brighten in intensity, then it seemed to dim for a moment. Then suddenly, it shifted towards their linked hands, instantly flickering out.

~ ~ ~ ~

After several more attempts to calm Max, a whirlwind of white images flashed by. The only sounds Kyle heard then were Max’s intermittent screams. Deeply concerned they were going too fast for Max, Kyle tried to pull out of the connection. He was so focused on ending the dreamwalk, he didn’t register a faint blue light crackling within the blinding blur of white. Only a whisper cutting through the connection pulled him from his purpose.

Don’t let go

Immediately, Kyle concentrated on strengthening the connection, drawing on a memory of Max. Initially, it was one he always used to dreamwalk him, but realizing Max needed to remember what happened to him after graduation, Kyle decided to start from his own memory of graduation—Max taking the stage and extinguishing the lights.

Darkness surrounded him again.

But this time there was a bright spotlight piercing through it, revealing a terrified, younger Max dressed in the red West Roswell High graduation robe.

Kyle watched fascinated as Max gave his speech—his farewell to his family, his friends, his home. The slight waver in Max’s words deeply affected Kyle. He shared in the anger and fear Max had felt at that moment, knowing his death was imminent—all because they didn’t understand who Max really was; a transgression Kyle himself was once guilty of. He vowed that once Max had his memories back, he would try his hardest to encourage Max to live his life to the fullest and be who he really was.

Thank you for letting me live…

Max’s words became muted after that last line. The gradual silence was quickly broken by the resounding thump of Max falling to the ground and the high pitched screams of the panicked audience.

But Kyle was given no moment to dwell on the scene or even confirm that Max was all right through the connection. A searing heat flowed into him, causing him to scream out in pain. He sensed his eyes were squeezed shut in pain. As he tried to physically pull away, he found himself catapulted through the air—the chair breaking against the door, and his own back crashing flat against the wall.

It took him several moments to become aware of where he was, his head lolling in a daze. When he did, he stared blankly at Liz’s closed, intact bedroom door, never noticing the faint green trails flickering out in his hands.

~ ~ ~ ~
Downstairs
Moments before

Neither Isabel nor Maria had realized they had drifted off, until an agonized scream shocked them awake, their bodies lunging forward. They mirrored each other’s shocked faces, their eyes and mouth opened wide. At the resounding thud seconds later, their minds regained control, and sent them running up the stairs

As their feet hit the first step, the front door opened, Liz and Michael filing in. But their thoughts were so focused on reaching upstairs that they didn’t even acknowledge their arrival.

“What happened?” Liz asked in panic, quickly following after them, alongside Michael.

In seconds, all four had reached the upstairs landing instantly running to Liz’s room. Finding the door locked, Michael’s hand started to glow around the knob.

“Kyle?” Liz gasped.

Everyone distracted by Liz’s call, they turned away from the now unlocked door, finding Kyle’s crumpled form against the wall facing Liz’s bedroom. They all moved forward as Liz and Maria settled on either side of Kyle, helping him to sit up further, both asking if he was all right.

“I… Max…” Kyle was still too dazed to order his thoughts. He lifted a shaky hand to the back of his head, wincing.

At Kyle’s incomplete reply, Michael followed through with his earlier instinct to shove open Liz’s bedroom door, his palm already lifted towards it. All but Maria (who kept darting concerned glances at the bedroom door and Kyle) instantly filed in after Michael. They paused at finding the room deserted, and seeing the mess of splintered wood that was once Liz’s chair. Spying the open bathroom door, they cautiously stepped towards it.

Curled up in the corner of the bathtub, Max continuously shook, his hands covered, once more, by jagged green light, struggling to still his jerking head.

All three of them called out to him but only Michael’s voice was strong enough for Max to hear. With great difficulty, Max lifted his head, his hands lowering to hug his knees.

His eyes were completely black.

Michael gasped along with Isabel and Liz, soon following it with a barely audible curse. Having somewhat expected this, he recovered faster than the girls. Stepping forward, he never registered the slight physical change in Max—the regal lifting of his chin, the narrowing of his eyes and the raising of his left hand.

Michael flew back, accosted by a shimmering green shield. He landed heavily against the bed, quickly helped to his feet by Isabel and Liz.

“What the hell was that?” Maria cried out, having just joined the others in the room with Kyle.

All three turned to her, their eyes filled with fear. Only Michael’s was devoid of confusion. With another glance at the energy shield flickering in intensity, its shade turning increasingly blue, he answered, “That’s not Max.”

I am finally, finally back... and have never felt more relieved to post a part. Again, I am incredibly sorry how long it has been, and I do hope this part justifies that wait somewhat. It's been frustrating not being able to get the scenes in my head on paper for months, as well as not finding writing for fun as relaxing as it used to be. Still, I think I have been able to get this part to be as close to what I had initially envisioned, and I hope you all enjoy. Many thanks to all of you who have stuck with this story, and especially to Flamehair and wistful dreamer (a welcome to you too!) for commenting! A huge thank you to my beta, LTF who edited this so quickly for me this past week.

In the following part there are a number of lines taken from episodes, and I thought it'd be fun to hold a mini contest. There are three lines that Max spoke in different episodes that I have included as short snippets in the following part. The first person to find them and pm me with the three correct episode names can ask me any spoiler question and I will provide a full answer to them. If the winner would rather not be spoiled, they can ask me for something else, within reason. heh. I'll let the contest go on for a week, and then will edit this post with the answers.

Note: With the new background I'm using on this site, I could no longer see the lyrics in the original violet color I chose. If the blue I used here does not work for you, let me know and I'll go for a darker color.


Previously…

[From Sexual Healing]
Liz felt intoxicated. The haze of the candlelight highlighted the taut ridges of Max’s muscles further igniting her desire to be with him. In that moment she had no thoughts of her plans or staying in control… all she could think was she wanted to kiss Max and feel the intensity of their connection—to see the stars again. Her hands now wrapped around his neck, she was unable to hold herself back any longer. Crying out, “I can’t stop!” their lips crashed together, mentally propelling her to the recesses of Max’s mind.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 35]
Isabel gave Michael an incredulous look until she noticed him gesturing to something ahead. Following his hand she noticed the metal box protruding from the closest wall of the building, and just above it a security camera. “I… from here?” she still asked with disbelief... Even though her powers were stronger, from her constant practicing and guiding Liz’s training over the past few months, she didn’t think she was that good.

“Worth a shot, right?” Kyle added, touching her arm in support.
...
Leaning his left side against the warehouse wall, Kyle slowly scanned the area, his eyes seeking to catch any movement. He became aware of the hairs on the back of his neck rising, a slight movement in the trees catching his notice. But before he could focus on the cause, he suddenly fell.

For the brief second he felt only cool air around him, the thick concrete wall seemingly disappeared. His hands flailed, but nothing was there to stop his fall. All that was there was a soft hum. But the feeling had left him as suddenly as it had occurred.

Still gathering his bearings he flattened his hands against the wall, pushing at it as if testing for its sturdiness… its solid form. He could have almost sworn it had disappeared. As he continued to touch the wall he patted his left arm every so often, his breaths turning shallow, unnerved by the sensation of falling. He shrugged his shoulders, unable to explain the brief feeling. It wasn’t as if he’d developed the power to walk through walls, right?
~ ~ ~

[From Part 43A]
Just as the memory of using her power to make Max miss the net started, she noticed him looking directly at her.

But his words halted her step towards him.

“You betrayed me.”

What?

He said no more, ignoring her surprised question. He stalked away from her into the middle of the street, where she could hear the roar of an approaching car. She continued to cry out that she didn’t, that this wasn’t right, stumbling after him to stop him.

The car kept coming and he remained right in the center, his accusing eyes turning black.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 43 C]
White light gradually bathed him, bringing a stronger but still faint awareness to his waning soul. In the light’s growing intensity, he registered the unyielding metal table he lay on, immobilized. He could not sense what type of bonds held him down. All he felt was an overwhelming coldness, his body meekly protesting with intermittent shivers. He breathed uneasily, an oppressive weight upon his body as if crushing him into oblivion.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 47]
Michael flew back, accosted by a shimmering green shield. He landed heavily against the bed, quickly helped to his feet by Isabel and Liz.

“What the hell was that?” Maria cried out, having just joined the others in the room with Kyle.

All three turned to her, their eyes filled with fear. Only Michael’s was devoid of confusion. With another glance at the energy shield flickering in intensity, its shade turning increasingly blue, he answered, “That’s not Max.”


PART FORTY-EIGHT

That’s not Max.

Michael’s words pulled Liz from a haze of fear. Though the words had dredged up several memories, one involving Nasedo, she knew what Michael meant. And it was that certainty that tempered her fears.

She returned her gaze to the now turquoise shield. Her eyes widened, mesmerized by the flickering energy. Its growing power drew her closer, causing her to tune out Maria’s panicked question. All she could focus on was the wavering image of a curled up Max whose head was once more bent and jerking from side to side. Only the hand he had blasted Michael with remained outstretched. As she stared, she thought his fingers seemed to contract, as if struggling to compact into a fist. Her hand lifted towards the shield, visually matching up with Max’s. In a trance, she breathed out, “Zan…”

Isabel’s sharp, anxious voice drew Liz away from the shield. “Zan? But the others said he was dead…”

Unaware she had said anything, Liz was too confused to correct Isabel. Before she could recover, Kyle questioned, “What others? And what or who’s this Zan?”

His voice still sounded weak and woozy, but before Liz could ask how he was feeling, Isabel continued thinking out loud. Ignoring Kyle’s question, she mused, “Unless the Unit got him without them,” a seething look flashed upon her face at the thought of Lonnie and Rath, “knowing and he’s been in there all this time… and that would explain why I can’t connect to him… but still—“

Finally Liz interrupted Isabel, simultaneously joined by Michael, “No! It’s his alien side.”

Taking a deep breath, Liz added, “I would know if he wasn’t Max. The way he…” she broke off briefly lost to the memory of his kiss and the emotions of relief, yearning, passion and wholeness that had accompanied it. She started tearing up, the constant stress they had all been under causing her emotions to easily overwhelm her, and intensifying her fear that Max would turn into a harsh, controlling, uncaring version of himself—much like the ‘Max’ Nasedo had masqueraded as, to lure the Special Unit.

After a beat of Liz saying nothing, Michael spoke directly to Isabel, “Remember when Kivar was here? How you told me you were Vilandra?” His eyebrow rose expectantly, waiting for Isabel to remember.

“I… yeah, but…” She slowly raked her fingers through her hair, “I wasn’t really her… I mean… I could remember these feelings for him… and I have to say, I was initially…intrigued… but he wasn’t Jesse… and my memories of you, Max…” she added in a whisper, “…Alex… helped me fight the pull he somehow had on me. And though I thought I was losing control… I never did.”

“Your eyes were black,” Michael pointedly stated.

“But… how? I… I don’t remember not being in control…” Isabel searched her memories trying to find the moment her alien side had taken over, but became distracted by the flickering shield. Peering through, she saw Max holding his head again, his eyes squeezed shut. Unable to help herself, she reached out, her fingertips lightly touching the shield. With a yelp, she jerked her hand back from the electrical shock. In fear and concern, she gazed at Max, who stared back with fathomless black eyes. She shrunk back, almost believing he was glaring at her—much like the young Max in the dreamwalk.

Shaking her head to leave that disturbing memory, she turned back to Michael, whispering, “They were really like that?”

“Not as black as that… but pretty close.”

“He’s losing the fight then…” Isabel despaired.

Liz turned to them in panic. “What do we do? How do we stop it?!” she choked out through the tearful catch in her throat.

But at that same moment, Maria and Kyle finally spoke up, no longer allowing their questions to be ignored.

“What are you guys talking about?!” they both cried out in exasperation.

Maria added on, " I thought you had to have the freaky ‘V’ thing…” she vaguely gestured to her upper left chest, “… that seal or whatever, for your alien side to appear.”

Isabel looked at Michael, also searching for an answer to that.

Scratching his eyebrow with his thumb, he offered his best guess, “Well… your eyes briefly glowed 'blue' when they turned black, so maybe being the Princess you had a dormant seal, in case Max…” He paused.

Swiping a stray tear, Liz interrupted, “Then how come you inherited it when Max died instead of Isabel?”

Isabel’s eyes were slightly unfocused, her mind reliving the rocky start to her honeymoon in an attempt to figure out how her struggle with her alien side had played out. A blinding 'pink light’ flashed in her mind’s eye accompanied by a faint, desperate shout from Max, and suddenly she knew. Softly, she uttered the answer to Liz’s question, “Because I denied it.” Facing everyone, she clarified in a rush, “When I pushed Kivar into that portal—he wanted to take me back to Antar with him,” she added for Liz, Maria and Kyle’s benefit, but continued on, ignoring their shocked expressions, “I had memories of my past life, but I no longer felt a strong connection to them—I didn’t feel her emotions anymore. I don’t know if that means I completely got rid of it, but it could explain why Michael would get it, since he would be the next obvious choice, with neither Max nor I having heirs.”

Liz’s head cocked to the side, about to question Isabel’s last comment, since Max and Tess’ son had to have been born by then, but then again she thought, maybe the fact he was on another planet at the time prevented it. A brief thought flitted in her mind. She wondered if perhaps it was because of one of the alternative truths she had wished for since she learned Tess was pregnant—maybe he really wasn’t Max’s son.

“Great, but none of that is gonna help with this.” Michael growled out with mounting urgency, pointing directly at the shield, still glowing a vibrant turquoise.

“What can we do about it?” Isabel asked in defeat. “We can’t get in—if we tried to blast through the wall, we might accidentally hurt Max—”

“Or him us,” Michael interjected.

“What if he didn’t expect it?” Maria commented, piquing everyone’s curiosity.

With a side glance at the shield, she gestured the others to move closer to her by the door. Then whispering, to ensure Max did not hear them, she gestured towards Kyle with her head. “He can get in.”

Kyle immediately protested, while the others gave Maria confused looks, “What are you… sorry” he muttered an apology upon receiving Maria’s glare when he spoke too loud, “…talking about?” he finished in a harsh whisper.

Pointing at Liz’s door, Maria answered, “That was locked. And somehow you went through it without forming a Kyle-shaped hole.”

“Oh my God!” Liz breathed out, while Isabel and Michael held matching shocked faces.

Grasping for her voice and thoughts, Isabel bit out with great difficulty, “You… you… can… you can walk through walls?!”

“Shh..” Maria rushed to quiet Isabel, her whisper starting to rise to a normal level. “We don’t want him to hear us, otherwise we lose the element of surprise.”

“Whoa… hey… don’t I get a choice?” Kyle interrupted the plans the rest of them were starting to make at this new revelation. “Look, as much as I want to help, there is no way I’m dealing with some dead alien king who blasts his own family.”

“Well Michael does look different… he might not have known,” Liz tried to reason.

Shaking his head, Kyle continued to protest, “No… I mean… say, if… and this is a big IF… if I manage to get in there… what do you expect me to do? Freeze him? That won’t solve anything. And now that I think about it…. I don’t think I’ve ever frozen anyone who’s remotely alien… what if it doesn’t work on you guys?”

Leveling her gaze on Kyle’s panicked face, Isabel stated, “Worth a shot, right?”

Recognizing the words he’d used to encourage Isabel with when they rescued Max from the warehouse, Kyle strengthened with resolve. With a shake of his head, still incredulous about what he was to do, he shrugged. “All right. How do I—“

Wasting no more time, Liz detailed her plan, seemingly in one breath: “From the left back corner of my closet you should be able to appear right behind him. That way you could freeze him before he realizes you’re there. Though… you won’t be able to go completely through—there’s no place for you to step.”

Nodding as he walked into the closet, Kyle muttered under his breath, “This just gets better and better.”

He carelessly shoved aside some of Liz’s clothes, providing enough room for him to squeeze through. Thinking of only what was on the other side, he splayed his hand against the wall. No longer aware of the others watching him, he became hyperaware of the feel of the wall. Its rough concrete texture seemed to melt beneath his hand, allowing him to gently push through. Bracing himself he leaned forward, his eyes reflexively shutting.

His eyes popped open as an electric hum filled his ears.

Holding his breath, he quickly took in his surroundings. To his far right he saw Liz’s shadowy figure through the pulsating turquoise shield. Urged on by her gestures he quickly glanced down spying Max’s bent head. Distracted by the jagged light running along Max’s arms, Kyle hissed out, “Shit!” His eyes widened, as Max’s head began to lift and turn towards him. Frantically waving his hand, and praying for his powers to work, Kyle yanked himself back through the wall.

Accidentally dragging some of Liz’s clothes with him, Kyle landed with a heavy thud. But he spared no thought to his aching back; sure that Max had seen him. Recklessly tossing aside the clothes, he rushed out to warn the others. After what ‘super alien Michael’ was like, who knew what kind of danger ‘super alien Max’ or ‘Zan’, as the others had called him, would pose?

“Look out! It didn’t work—he—“ Kyle stopped short at the sight before him, unable to believe his eyes.

Liz was walking through the now teal shield.

~~~~
Song (partial):‘Because’ by the Beatles

Eyes shut tightly, Liz blindly walked through the energy shield, her left hand raised. Her heart pounded, each earnest and fearful beat urging her to continue forward, to believe that her plan would work—that she would be able to bring Max back.

Her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind, lending her strength. That strength helped her ignore the discomfort of penetrating Max’s shield. Though Kyle’s freezing power had weakened the shield’s defensive force by slowing the movement of its electric particles, she still felt the slight shocks from the continuous currents. With each step forward, the shield molded around her, pushed by the small energy blasts she sent into it.

Immersed in the shield, she held her breath, while sending one last blast to push through. A pained cry tore from her lips as she stumbled into the bathroom. Feeling cool air, her eyes snapped open. Honing in on Max, she was relieved to find him still frozen in place.

He was still sitting in the bathtub, but his head was awkwardly bent back towards where Kyle had appeared, allowing him to face the wall behind him. He had braced himself with a tight grip on the side of the tub, while his other hand hung in the air, his fingers almost splayed.

Unable to see his face, Liz tentatively took a couple of steps forward.

Why aren’t you guys stopping her?!

Liz looked back over her shoulder, quizzically peering through the bluish-green shield. The others stared back at her all seated on her bed. Yet… she could have sworn she heard Kyle shout, his voice seeming out of breath. Her eyebrows furrowed as she slowly turned back to Max.

She told us to trust her.

This time it sounded like Isabel had spoken. Casting a sidelong glance back through the shield, Liz again saw the same concerned looks upon her silent friends. She wondered if Kyle’s freezing Max behind his shield, was causing her to experience time more slowly, hearing things that were spoken earlier. Her gaze lingering on her friends, she soon received an answer.

Though his lips hadn’t moved, she heard Kyle quietly comment, But… he could hurt her.

No longer startled by the ghostly voices, she returned her attention to Max. Stepping into the tub before him, she heard Isabel softly assert, She’s the only one who can bring Max back.

Further encouraged by Isabel’s words, Liz craned her neck to catch Max’s gaze.

She silently gasped at the dark void staring back at her. She had expected some sign of his soulful eyes to help her connect. Collecting her thoughts, she missed a flickering in Max’s eyes and the slightest turn of his head towards her. Instead , Liz stared at Max’s hands, thinking perhaps she could force a connection similar to the shared dreamwalks she, Isabel and Kyle had done. She bit her lip, shifting her position to match her hands to his. Facing him, she placed her left hand over his raised right hand and laid her other hand on his left. Trying to lace her fingers with his, her eyes slowly closed as she drew upon her strongest memory of Max.

She never noticed his head fully turning to face her.

Her eyes shot open at a sudden grip on her left hand. Captured by his black eyes, and strong grip, Liz was unable to speak or think. Her mouth open, she fearfully stared back at him.

Amber flashed within his black orbs. You’re in danger…

Her mind kicked back into gear at the familiar, desperate plea. Holding onto Max’s hands with all her strength, she whispered, “Max?”

His eyes narrowed, and she started to feel a building heat in her left hand. Knowing she didn’t have much time, she acted on instinct to forge their mental link—lifting her right hand to cradle the side of his head, she leaned in for a soul-connecting kiss.

Chaotic white images whirled around her accompanied by a faint, but continuous scream of agony. Turning her head in all directions she cried out for Max, praying he would hear her.

It’s not safe… Max’s haunting, strangled whisper cut through the echoing screams.

“I don’t care!” she cried back in response. “Max… Max, you can’t give up. You’re stronger than this—“

Liz cut herself off at the sudden silent darkness around her.

Before she could say anything else, an image of herself standing in Max’s room appeared before her. Her doppelganger was a two years younger version of herself struggling to utter a lie she had practiced countless times with Future Max, to ensure it caused the maximum damage. if...if you truly love me, you'll let me go. I may love you, but I...I don't want to die for you.

She began to tear up, softly moaning out a “no”, while wanting to scream at her younger self to take it all back.

But the heartbreaking memory was soon replaced by another. Her surroundings softened with blue light, dissolving into their high school prom. You know, maybe we're both just holding on to something that'll never be. Max, maybe we should just let go. I have been in so much pain… this whole year… and it's like I'm suffocating.

Her tears fell at her defeated words. At that time she just couldn’t toy with her small hope any longer. The hope that, down the line, she and Max could once again be something more—to believe that Max’s flash of their Vegas wedding was still a possible future for them. She had to make it clear for them… she had to make him understand she wasn’t strong enough to be that close to him while he fulfilled his destiny with Tess and saved the world. But now… after all they had been through... and especially what Max had suffered in the past year, she could not bear to know he was reliving that moment over again.

Unfortunately, before she could draw Max’s attention away from the distressing memory, yet another took its place. Every time she had walked away from Max, had maintained her lie of infidelity; had unfairly accused him in her anger, continuously played out before her. Only when the memories began to repeat in yet another chaotic whirlwind did Liz notice a white light in the distance.

Because the wind is high, it blows my mind…

Focusing on it, she soon found herself standing over a shivering Max bound to a gurney. He was even paler than when they had found him in the warehouse, he seemed almost translucent, and his cheeks were streaked with tears. Reaching out to touch him, she noticed the bluish tinge to his skin. Leaning forward in concern, she realized she too was shrouded in blue.

She suddenly felt bereft of air. Panicking, she cried out once more for Max. She could hear him screaming no, but it was steadily growing fainter. She was losing the connection.

Desperate to save Max, she held on tighter, infusing more energy into their connection. The oppressive pressure around her chest lessened slightly, allowing her mind to clear. She realized that Max’s alien side was weakening him with every terrible memory. She had to fight back. With resolve, she drew on her memories of all the times they had experienced true happiness together to fight it. In a silvery whirlwind, passionate and contented moments of the past surrounded them.

Because… the wind is high….

Immersed in the memories she could almost feel everything she had experienced the first time—the gentle touch of Max’s fingers as he straightened a stray lock of hair, the feel of his taut bicep as she playfully shoved him the first time they were in the eraser room, the warmth of his hand as he held hers at the Christmas service, the gentle tap on her bare shoulder in the Vegas lounge, the tickle of his breath as they whispered in the early hours of the morning celebrating their engagement… and his soft, passionate lips when he kissed her.

Love is old, love is new
Love is all, love is you

With each memory, the image of Max lying on the gurney seemed to strengthen in definition, and his shivering seemed to lessen. Reaching for his hand, she noticed a slight golden glow emanating from him. Squeezing his hand, she attempted to lend her strength and energy to help him fight, as well as assure him that she would not leave him.

For a brief moment Liz thought she heard a low voice speak, but was too distracted by the intensifying blue light to make out the words. The light began to encompass them, shrouding the silvery memories that slowly swirled around her and Max.

Because the sky is blue, it makes me cry…

As she continued to send her own cherished memories through the connection, continuous harsh denials echoed around her: That’s a lie…

Now sobbing, and desperate to help Max conquer his alien side, to deny it just as Isabel had, she turned her focus on the blue light. She shouted, “It’s not! I love him! I love you, Max!”

The next few seconds were filled with confusing flashes of beings she could not identify, floating in a reddish lagoon, speaking words she’d never heard. Yet somehow she understood their meaning—“She’s beautiful, Larek. No one I have ever seen can match her.”

Before she could identify why the name Larek was so familiar to her, another image appeared: herself at age eight, a curtain of bangs covering her forehead, playing ‘rock, paper, scissors’. A sense of peace filled her, her tears slowing. Her blurry eyes gradually cleared, revealing a shockingly familiar sight. No longer blinding, five brilliant blue stars shined above her in an asymmetrical ‘V’.

Because the sky is blue…

“Oh my g—“

Before she could complete her thought she was propelled from the connection. Falling hard against the back of her tub, she gulped for air, her eyes fluttering open. She felt a soft, tentative touch on her hand and sharply looked up into Max's teary amber eyes staring down at her.

A smile crept upon her face as tears of relief raced down her cheeks. “Max?” she choked out.

Lifting his hand to her cheek, he gently wiped her tears, while reverently breathing out, “Liz.”

Love is old, love is new
Love is all, love is you

*Lines from the Pilot, The End of the World, Harvest, Heart of Mine, and Chant Down Babylon

Thank you so much cindylmy.93, sprayadhesive, wistful dreamer, Misha and cardinalgirl. My apologies for being away from this thread for so long... I've been having a tough time finishing this transition part, and was hoping to have it ready as a way to thank you all for the nominations and just for sticking with this story. I'm sorry that it's still not ready, but I'll keep at it as well as the following part, so that at least I can have those two parts out in quick succession.

And Lisa-- that following part is definitely going to have some Jim.

~Lisa, who would read you describing [Roswellian, of course] paint peeling, probably.

-- you are too cute!

Thank you so much for your kind comments on my portrayal of him. I always hope I do any of these characters justice when I write them.

Thank you all again for...



Favorite Lead Portrayal of Liz Parker
Favorite Supporting Portrayal of Maria Deluca
Favorite Portrayal of Sheriff Jim Valenti
Best Villain for Agent Felding
Most Underpraised Writer
The Come back! You can't leave it there! Award
Story That Made You Cry the Hardest
Best Fanfic No One's Reading, but Everyone Should
Most Suspenseful

and...



I am deeply touched that you guys thought of this story. Hope to be back soon with a part.

Wow... I have really been away from this site far too long... and am really embarrassed to admit I missed thanking you guys for another award!


(The irony of this award is not lost on me... ;p)

and Runner-up for Fic That Made You Cry the Hardest


Again, I am so touched that you guys thought of this story for any of those categories, and despite my agonizingly slow updates are still around to read it. I wish I could say the part was ready to post tonight, but after struggling to complete it these 5-6 months, I definitely wanted it run by a beta first. I have just sent it to her, so hopefully that means it'll be posted soon.

I can reveal though the song for the part to further whet the appetite... it's 42 by Coldplay.

Flamehair- Thank you for the wishes! When I didn't get to work on this part, I definitely missed writing it. Missed you guys and this site too.

sprayadhesive-- aww thank you for that and the wishes! and I certainly haven't forgotten about all of you either!

paper- Thank you for that kind, encouraging message. I'm glad you've enjoyed this story thus far enough to reread it. And despite the long gaps between updates, I refuse to abandon this story.

So I caught my beta during a busy period, but she finally had a chance to see it today. [LTF, you're the best! ] So without any more delay... here's Part 49.

Previously…

[From Part 11]
Agent Hammers lightly touched Max’s chest near to where he had been shot at graduation. The touch for once not of a gloved finger caused Max’s breath to hitch abruptly.

He continued to trail along the area where two scars, remains of the near fatal bullet wounds had been. “Do you miss them?” The agent’s face was so close to Max’s now, whispering in his ear.

“I…” he was almost going to admit that he did. That even still surviving in this place he longed to see the physical reminder of why he was in there, why he was there at all.
…
“You seemed so reluctant to get rid of them before, but now… well let’s just say I can give them back to you.” Hammers said no more, but when he spoke his eyes roamed Max’s bare chest once more as his hand reached into his pocket.

“Then wh—” But Max never got to finish his question. A searing pain shot through his chest. His body jerked, and as he cried out, his eyes shut tight. However, instead of darkness, he still saw white, as the electrical shock dispersed throughout his entire body. Its hot white energy caused his nerves to seem on fire.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 23]
The voices of his parents continued, but this time it ended differently. He was shocked out of his thoughts with his mother’s scream. He sat up as far as his bonds allowed him screaming for his mom.

A crashing sound was heard soon followed by, “Ahhh... Phillip!” Glass continued to crunch as he heard a muted “Diane, no…”

“No. No. No!!!!” He continued to shout out, but the screaming and crashing noises continued in a loop. No agent came in, nor spoke to him through the intercom. He squeezed his eyes willing it to stop, but with his hands bound he couldn’t cover his ears and the sickening sounds continued to play. When he opened his eyes though, he saw the oddest sight—Kyle.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 27]
Liz’s features remained indistinct, the curves of her cheeks blurry outlines. He stroked the vague contours of her face hoping to confirm that she was truly there. The skin he touched strengthened in definition, only to return to its faded state as his finger continued down the soft path.

Her husky voice came clearly through then, the sleepiness in it evident. Don’t leave me.

Never, he heard himself promise as he pulled her close, while still struggling to avoid the invading brightness. But the light began to overtake the room, phantom figures moving within it.
~ ~ ~

[Part 43A]
Isabel decided to physically intervene in the replayed memory, stepping between the two younger versions of herself and her brother, but they seemed to side-step her without actually acknowledging her presence. Just as the memory of using her power to make Max miss the net started, she noticed him looking directly at her.

But his words halted her step towards him.

“You betrayed me.”

What?

He said no more, ignoring her surprised question. He stalked away from her into the middle of the street, where she could hear the roar of an approaching car. She continued to cry out that she didn’t, that this wasn’t right, stumbling after him to stop him.

The car kept coming and he remained right in the center, his accusing eyes turning black.

Max! Please, come back!!

“It’s too late,” he coldly stated.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 47]
Kyle was given no moment to dwell on the scene or even confirm that Max was all right through the connection. A searing heat flowed into him, causing him to scream out in pain. He sensed his eyes were squeezed shut in pain. As he tried to physically pull away, he found himself catapulted through the air—the chair breaking against the door, and his own back crashing flat against the wall.
~ ~ ~

[From Parts 47 & 48]
Michael flew back, accosted by a shimmering green shield. He landed heavily against the bed, quickly helped to his feet by Isabel and Liz.
…
Eyes shut tightly, Liz blindly walked through the energy shield, her left hand raised.
…
Immersed in the shield, she held her breath, while sending one last blast to push through.
~ ~ ~

[From Part 48]
“Whoa… hey… don’t I get a choice?” Kyle interrupted the plans the rest of them were starting to make at this new revelation. “Look, as much as I want to help, there is no way I’m dealing with some dead alien king who blasts his own family.”

“Well, Michael does look different… he might not have known,” Liz tried to reason.

…

Falling hard against the back of her tub, Liz gulped for air, her eyes fluttering open. She felt a soft, tentative touch on her hand and sharply looked up into Max's teary amber eyes staring down at her.

A smile crept upon her face as tears of relief raced down her cheeks. “Max?” she choked out.

Lifting his hand to her cheek, he gently wiped her tears, while reverently breathing out, “Liz.”



PART FORTY-NINE
Song: 42 by Coldplay

Those who are dead, are not dead, they're just living in my head…
And since I fell for that spell I am living there as well, oh
Time is so short, and I'm sure, there must be something more…

Those who are dead, are not dead, they're just living in my head…oh…
And since I fell for that spell I am living there as well, oh
Time is so short, and I'm sure, there must be something more…

You thought you might be a ghost
You thought you might be a ghost
You didn't get to heaven, but you made it close
You didn't get to heaven, but you made it close
You thought you might be a ghost
You thought you might be a ghost
You didn't get to heaven, but you made it close
You didn't get to heaven, but you ohhh, ohhh

Those who are dead, are not dead, they're just living in my head…


Relief.

It was a feeling that had often eluded him— his delusions teasing him with hope that he hadn't been captured again, and that all his family and friends still lived. Those illusory moments had always been filled with blurry dreams of a much simpler past-- where coming out from behind the tree was his hardest challenge. Dreams that would reunite him with Liz.

But this time seemed different.

For once her face was in sharp focus, her familiar brown eyes shining with recently shed tears. Without thought, his thumb lightly brushed the upper crest of her cheek picking up the dewy trail left behind. He marveled at the warmth of her skin beneath his hand, his mind still unable to believe she was truly there.

Hopeful and desperate to hold on to this dream, his hand lingered by her cheek. Soft, frazzled strands of hair tickled his fingertips. He closed his eyes, reveling in the delicate sensation. Losing himself to the moment, he leaned forward, his forehead drawn towards Liz’s. He swallowed visibly, suddenly frozen in position, fearful that only a cold, blinding white would meet his sight, or worse, the glare of his head captor. Wistfully, or perhaps naively, he murmured, “You’re really here?”

Her comforting whisper caressed his right cheek. “Yes.”

He could feel his muscles begin to relax, his gut less clenched than before. But he still could not open his eyes.

“We all are,” she continued. “Open your eyes, Max. See for yourself,” she gently urged.

His eyelids fluttered briefly at her words, his hand beginning to slip away from her. He drew in a ragged breath at her small hand laying upon his, pressing it against her cheek. “I’m really here,” she reassured him.

Liz’s head tilted in an attempt to catch his gaze. She stubbornly looked up at him, waiting for him to open his eyes. A moment later, he finally did. Offering him a heartwarming smile, she mouthed out a hey and squeezed his hand. Still holding on to his hand, she lowered hers, intertwining their fingers. Her thumb traced light circles on his hand. Turning to the left, she repeated, “We all are.”

He followed her lead, silently; still apprehensive that any moment he would be ripped away from this haven of beautiful lies. Yet, instead of faceless, masked men bearing down on him, he saw his sister, Michael, Maria and Kyle huddled a few feet from the door. Turning back to Liz at her gentle tug on his arm, they helped each other out of the tub. He felt unsteady on his feet, but Liz held on to his hand firmly, her other further supporting his arm and guiding them forward.

He let her walk through the doorway first, his feet shuffling behind her short, steady strides. He absently noted the slight charring on the edges of the door frame. Cautiously studying his friends and family standing a few feet away, he attempted to match their images to the fragmented memories flashing in his mind. He easily matched the same expressions of panic and concern on Isabel’s face to the mental image of her abruptly releasing him from her frantic hug. Turning next to Michael, he stopped in confusion. The flashing images asserted that Michael now sported short black hair, but the Michael before him looked just like he did before graduation. His gut twisted in fear that Liz’s words had only been his scarred mind’s desperate attempt to believe this was more than a vivid hallucination—no longer able to acknowledge his torture-filled existence.

“Are you okay?” Max blinked, refocusing on Kyle, surprised that he was first to speak.

Swallowing thickly, Max moved to speak, but stopped when Liz released his hand and sighed. “I’m fine, Kyle.” She stepped towards Kyle, asking, “What about you?” Max realized then that Kyle had only looked at Liz when he asked the question. Staying in place, Max observed him now, noticing the weariness emanating from him. So intent in his observations, he hadn’t realized Isabel stepping up to him until he felt her hand on his arm.

“Are you all right?” she softly asked.

Nodding absently, he spied Kyle gingerly rubbing the back of his head out of the corner of his eye. Though Kyle had responded dismissively to Liz’s question, he suspected he had hurt himself. And somehow, he knew he had caused that pain in his friend.

“I could heal that for you,” he offered, hoping to make amends for whatever he had done to him.

Kyle’s eyes narrowed, appraising Max for a moment. Drawing out a sigh, he responded, “No offense man, but I’ve had my fill of alien connections for today.” Casting one more concerned glance at Liz, Kyle continued, “I think I’ll just go lie down. Glad to see you back… I mean, you remember graduation now?”

His eyebrows furrowed at the question, as he nodded. At his side, Isabel spoke up, “You can use my bed. The couch won’t help you get rest.”

Kyle nodded his head in thanks, woozily making his way out of Liz’s bedroom.

“I’m sorry,” Max mumbled after him.

Kyle looked back, biting out tiredly, “Whatever, man. I’ve been through worse in a football game. Besides… it wasn’t even really you, right?”

Max sent a questioning look to the others, who awkwardly remained silent. Maria quietly excused herself stating that she was glad he and Liz were all right and that she better check on Kyle.

In Maria’s wake, Max stared out into the hallway for several moments, before turning back to Liz, Michael and Isabel who had been whispering amongst themselves. Gesturing weakly at the mess of wood behind Liz’s door, he implored, “What happened?”

“You should rest first, maybe eat something too. You look exhausted, Max,” Isabel side-stepped his question, as always, completing her hostess duties first.

“Iz… just tell me.”

“Zan took over,” Michael muttered.

Max’s eyes widened, as he sought his fragmented memories of when it had happened. He bent his head as an image of Kyle reaching for his hand flashed in his mind. That’s how Kyle had gotten hurt. He sighed inwardly with guilt.

“Max?” He lifted his head at Liz’s tentative call of his name.

Her eyes seemed to desperately search his own. After several moments, a relieved smile crept onto her face.

Unfortunately, he could not share the feeling. All this time he had feared his alien side, and what destruction it could cause. What had ‘Zan’ actually done? What if ‘Zan’ took over again? At that thought he darted glances at the corners of Liz’s room, ignoring the questioning looks on the others’ faces, fully focused on his search for the blue light; his ears on alert for the low, power-hungry voice.

He heard Michael clear his throat. Snapping out of his frantic search, he faced the others again. Noticing a shared glance between Michael and Isabel, he wasn’t too surprised at Isabel’s next words. “You and Liz really should get some rest. Michael and I are going to make some brunch. Um… just let us know when you want to eat.”

They left without another word. Max could only stare after them blankly, his mind feeling overwhelmed. He slowly turned at a soft touch on his hand.

“Come here,” he heard Liz softly utter.

Following her to the bed, he laid down facing her, his eyes roaming her face, once more attempting to memorize every detail before it disappeared into a black void.

The dainty fingers of her right hand intertwined with his left. Pulling their interlocked hands to her lips, she softly kissed the back of his hand. Lowering their hands once more, she let them rest against the bed. “Close your eyes, Max.”

The fear gripped him again. “No,” he murmured his quick protest, his head beginning to jerk from side to side.

Shifting slightly, she reached with her left hand to stroke his hair. “I’ll be here, when you wake up. You need to get some sleep. I promise, we’ll have plenty of time to talk after.”

“I don’t want to leave you,” he whispered, just barely keeping his whimpers at bay.

“I’m right here. Go to sleep, Max. I’ll be right here,” she continued to assure him in a soft, increasingly sleepy voice.

His eyelids began to droop, his hand becoming lax in hers. “Please don’t be a dream…” he pleaded, trailing off as he drifted back into darkness.

Lost to the darkness, he was completely unaware of the troubled expression that stole across Liz’s face, her eyes pensively observing his sleeping form.

~ ~ ~ ~
Several Hours Later

Max’s hand grasped the knob for the hot water, a red glow flashing beneath his palm when the knob refused to turn. Though his skin was flushed from the current heat of the water, his mind continued to believe the water was freezing. He squirmed beneath the falling water, his body reflexively seeking relief from the unrelenting heat. The last bit of suds stubbornly clinging to his hair washed out a moment later, allowing him to roughly jerk the knob back the other way, effectively ending the watery onslaught.

Surrounded by steam, he breathed heavily, head hung, leaning his hands against the tiled wall before him. His eyes were squeezed shut as he prayed for the silence to remain—for the faceless men not to return for him. His shower had lasted much longer than he had become accustomed too, evidenced by his somewhat prune-like fingertips. How much more could he push his luck? he wondered.

With a despondent sigh, he stepped out; barely registering he was exiting a tub, rather than a small shower stall. He quickly rubbed himself dry with the towel, hesitating only briefly with surprise at the soft, thick feel of it. Wrapping it around his waist, he walked towards the sink, his hand smoothing down his mussed up hair. As he wiped his damp hand against the side of his towel, the mirror began to clear revealing his gangly torso.

The clarity of his image reflected in the glass revealing a pale, smooth chest. He narrowed his eyes at the sight, as the thought that something was missing niggled at the back of his mind. Subconsciously, he lifted a hand towards his upper left chest, lightly touching the area. So many times, his fingers had felt a mottled mess of raised skin—the deep electrical burns left behind by one of the many torture sessions he had endured. His mouth tightened into a small frown at the uneven skin he felt there. Having forgotten the prune-like state of his fingers, he considered this proof that he was immersed in his most vivid hallucination yet.

He bit his tongue to quell his building hysteria, resolving to give himself entirely to this delusion. The less aware he was of his painful reality, the longer he could remain here, with his family, his friends… and Liz. Perhaps his mother was right after all... Perhaps there really was a Heaven…

He turned to the left at a light knock.

Michael stood by the open bathroom door, studying him. After a beat, Michael cleared his throat before offering a pile of clothes. “Isabel altered the size…” he mumbled.

Max accepted the clothes with a stiff nod, his eyes remaining trained on Michael. He kept looking for a slight difference in Michael to divine whether he was more than a resurrected memory.

Shrugging the clothes on quickly, Max soon joined Michael in the bedroom. Michael leaned by the window, staring out into the newly fallen darkness. Max stepped towards him, only stopping when he spoke.

“You healed yourself some... time over those three days.”

“What?” Max asked in confusion.

“The scars… burns… bruises… all of them just… disappeared by the time you woke up. I tried to heal some of it… but…” Michael trailed off, releasing a grunt of discomfort. His hands shoved themselves into his pockets, reflecting his feeling of inadequacy.

Moving forward again, Max stood by Michael, staring out the window as well. After an extended moment, Max spoke in a faraway voice, “Did you ever feel like you deserved to keep the reminder? Like some kind of sick badge of honor?”

Michael's hand subconsciously rubbed the area above his heart.

In Michael’s silence, Max forged on with his confession. “They made me heal the bullet wounds as some test of my abilities…” He shook his head in disgust, his voice thickening with self-loathing. “I kept asking them if there was something else I could do instead… I wanted to be able to see why I was there, every day. I needed it to remind me I was still alive…”

“It was there when we found you…” Michael murmured.

“Those weren’t caused by bullets.” A haunted expression stole across Max’s face. “They made sure I regretted everything I said,” Max muttered darkly. His eyes narrowed, peering into the darkness, as if searching the shadows for his tormentors.

The two brothers stood staring out the window, lost in their thoughts for several minutes.

“How can I prove to you this is real?” Michael quietly asked.

Turning to Michael, Max regarded him curiously. “I don’t know,” he warily breathed out. His eyes, troubled, drifted back to the window, seeking an answer. Receiving none, he tried to think out loud. “It’s so confusing… you guys still look the same… though for some reason I’m remembering Isabel before she met Jesse—”

Michael cut in, “We wanted to make sure you recognized us. You freaked out when you saw Liz’s new look.”

Max winced. “How’d she take it?”

With a ghost of a smirk, Michael commented offhandedly, “Better than when Maria asks for my opinion on her clothes.”

Max huffed out a short laugh, remembering the many times Michael had put his foot in his mouth regarding Maria. The mirthful moment lasted only a brief moment. Furrowing his eyebrows, Max asked, “So… did you actually have short black hair for awhile?”

“Yeah, it’s my main disguise these days. I got kind of used to the look…” Michael trailed off, unwilling to admit to anyone the main, selfish reason he preferred his new look: he couldn’t face himself after all that had happened. Not that the guilt was lessened any by the cosmetic change… but away from his friends—his family— he could almost pretend he was a different person.

Max faced Michael, studying him again. This time though, he didn’t look for small visual changes in Michael’s appearance. Michael’s image began to blur before him, but instead of his earlier feelings of panic, Max felt assured with a deeply ingrained knowledge that Michael was truly there. A shadowy memory played at the edges of his mind—a memory of another life.

Placing a hand on Michael’s shoulder, he stated without thought, “I’ll always know it’s you, Rath.”

Shrugging his shoulder away from his hand, Michael shakily questioned, “What did you call me?”

Blinking in confusion, Max tried to mentally replay his last words. “I…” Shaking his head tiredly, he ended his thought with a lame, “…don’t know.”

Emitting a barely audible grunt, Michael crossed his arms. He commented, “Guess you didn’t get much sleep?”

With a wan, wry smile, Max agreed, taking the proffered excuse, “Guess not.”

Giving Max a curt nod, Michael moved to leave the room. “'Night then.”

Left alone, staring once more out at the darkness, Max repeated, “'Night.”

~ ~ ~ ~
An hour later
Isabel’s bedroom

Isabel shut the door quietly behind her, not wanting to wake Kyle. She darted a bemused look towards him as he emitted a loud snore, before shifting in his sleep.

Momentarily placing the photo clutched in her hand on her bedside table, she settled in a cross-legged position beneath her covers. Smoothing her hair back, an inaudible sigh escaping her, she placed the photo in her lap. Her fingers absently smoothed the corners down as she replayed the conversation she had just had with Michael.

Be careful when you’re in there… I think… Zan is fighting for control still.

A frown pulled at her lips, fear flashing briefly in her eyes. What if he didn’t listen to her again? How could she regain his trust?

She stared at her closed bedroom door for a moment, wondering if she should have taken Michael’s offer to join her in the dreamwalk. Frankly, Liz would have probably been the better choice, but they needed her to ensure Max fell asleep. He finally had been lulled back to sleep twenty minutes ago, the lack of food in his system (despite their efforts to get him to eat more) leaving him exhausted. After seeing the pair had fallen asleep, Michael had taken Isabel aside, his words tinged with concern and urgency.

His advice resounded in her mind, Try to ignore whatever you see… it’s not real… not anymore… and he needs to know that. You have to make sure he knows.

Turning back to the photograph, she drew in a long, deep breath, pushing her emotions down. Her mind now clearer, she closed her eyes, focusing on the image of her brother standing in Liz’s bedroom, the shock etched upon his pale, gaunt face. Slowly breathing in and out, her finger trailed along the photograph until it found the familiar creased dip where she had touched his smiling face many times before.

A white light flowing from her finger brightly shone in the dark room, before dissipating into the shadows.

~ ~ ~ ~

She felt cold.

Shrouded in darkness, it was the only sensation she could grasp onto. Blindly, reaching out she whispered uncertainly, “Max?”

A faint crunch of metal and smashing of glass responded to her call.

Raising her voice, she called out again, “Max!!”

A shot went off.

Her stomach clenched at the sound, her fear rocketing. “Max, where are you? What is going on?” she demanded, her voice starting to crack.

Bright light flooded her sight. Her eyes blinked frantically, adjusting to the sudden assault. The blurred shadows before her sharpened into a scene of utter carnage. Bodies lay all around her, bleeding out, their stiffened limbs in awkward positions. Approaching one of them, she gasped in horror, automatically stepping backwards at the sight of her own lifeless body staring up at her.

She jumped a mere moment later, having blindly tripped over something. Turning slightly, she was greeted with the image of Michael laying face down, blood pooling beneath him.

Shaking her head, tears streaming down her face, she whispered hysterically, “Make this stop! Max, stop this!!”

“I was too late.”

At Max’s despondent words, she twisted her head in various directions, frantically searching for him. The dead bodies seemed to disappear into shadows, as the light focused to a tight beam, just illuminating the metal table to which Max was strapped down.

Running up to him, Isabel desperately sought a way to free him, having long forgotten that none of this was real. She gritted her teeth in frustration as the metal cuffs remained unaffected by her efforts.

“Did Kyle send you?”

Isabel jerked her head sharply towards Max’s face, surprised by the question. “What?”

“All this time… I’ve only seen him. I told him none of you would want to see me… I mean… you’re all dead because of me.”

“No, Max that’s not true! We’re alive! They lied to you.” Finally reminded of why she dreamwalked Max in the first place, she forged on, “Max, listen to me. You’re not in here anymore. We rescued you. The agents are gone. I promise you, you’re safe now. We all are. Ok? They never found any of us—they never came after us. It was all a lie.”

She held his gaze, her hands having found the way to the sides of his head as she spoke, slowly stating each word to make sure he understood.

“But… I saw you—” he feebly began to protest.

“They’ve faked images before, Max. Trust me.”

Max’s eyes began to darken, his pupils overtaking the amber colored irises. “How can I?” he whispered bitterly.

“Zan, I am not Vilandra. And even if she was still a part of me… she was… duped by Kivar. She thought she could trust him.”

The blackened eyes stared up at her for a moment, before suddenly closing. He shook his head causing Isabel to remove her cradling hold. His eyes still closed, he mumbled, “It was my fault. I dismissed the rumors of an uprising...” He opened his down-turned eyes, the color returning to normal. “I was too late again.”

Holding on to his closest hand, Isabel offered him a watery smile. “It’s not too late, Max. We’re all still here. If he comes back again, we’ll be ready. You just have to trust us.”

Max swallowed visibly, his head shakily forming a nod. “Everyone is still alive?”

“Yes,” she affirmed emphatically.

Max briefly closed his eyes for a moment, while the faint sound of crunching metal and smashing glass played again around them. Confused, Isabel was about to ask, but stopped as Max spoke. “Even mom and dad?”

Isabel froze, her mouth hanging slightly open, tears wavering in her eyes, held back by her shock. “What?”

Max’s tongue darted out to wet his dry lips before clarifying, “The car crash… it wasn’t real, right?” His voice was so hopeful, as if his sanity hinged upon her answer.

Isabel darted a glance to the side, finally realizing what the breaking sounds had been. She bit her tongue, trying to reign in her emotions. After a beat, she found her voice once more. “They're fine... How about I take you to see them?”

Isabel could not name all the emotions that overcame Max’s expression, the tears misting her own eyes not helping. But when he responded with a breathy, “Yeah,” she knew one of them was relief.