Enough, Liz/Michael, 1/1 [TEEN]

[azure_horizon]

Title: Enough
Summary: He was there. It was enough. End of the World tag.
Characters: Liz & Michael
Pairing: Liz/Max & Liz-Michael
Rating: Teen
Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell or the characters. They belong to Jason Katims & Melinda Metz - I'm just taking them out to play.


“I know what you did for Max.”

Looking up, Liz swiped at the tears on her face and sniffed. His quiet voice seemed to echo in the silence of her balcony and even as she tried to smile at him, more tears fell from her lashes. Her breath caught in her throat and she bit back the sob as she ducked her head and buried her face in her hands. She could hear him move around on the balcony and when she looked up, she saw him hovering near the wall, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets.

“How do you...?” She began but trailed off when he leant against the wall and shrugged. She sighed and looked down again, brushing the errant tears aside.

“Max told me what he saw.” Liz closed her eyes at the thought of what Max saw; she had seen the pain in the older Max’s eyes, saw the way that her own Max looked at her and she knew... she knew. Her breath hitched again and any response she may have had was lost. “I know how you feel about him, Liz,” Michael said and Liz peered at him through the cracks in her fingers, noted the way he had pushed off from the wall and was hovering in the distance somewhere in between. She bit her lip and nodded, remembering that he had read her journal – back when things had been less complicated.

“People change, Michael,” she murmured but when she heard his exasperated sigh she knew he didn’t believe her. She tried to tell herself it had nothing to do with the shudder in her tone, or the way his name tapered off at the end of her sentence.

“Look,” Michael said and his voice was unusually low. She looked back to him and her eyes met his and for a moment, she felt as though her world had come tumbling down around her. She could see the truth in his eyes; that he didn’t believe her, that she’d failed.

But then she thought of older Max and the pain that was so evident in his face at the thought of Michael and Isabel dying and she looked away.

It felt like her pain.

“I know you, Liz,” he said from beside her but she couldn’t look at him, “and as well as you might have convinced Max...” she turned to him when he trailed off and met his eyes again. “I know you couldn’t do that to him.” She closed her eyes and bit her lip, drawing them between her teeth. “And especially not with Kyle Valenti.”

She laughed at that, the sound feeble even to her own ears. She tilted her head to the side and tried to smile at him but he simply stared at her, his eyes intense as they had been that night when she had truly feared him, when he had warned her against writing anything down.

“Thank you for giving me another reason to envy Max Evans.”

“Michael...” she began but the strength she had momentarily felt did not translate to her voice and she felt another sob rise in her throat.

“I didn’t come here to ask why,” he said and she looked to him, startled. “If you want to tell me, I won’t stop you.” She smiled but shook her head negatively. “Didn’t think so,” he said as he quirked a half smile in her direction. “I just... thought you should know that... you don’t have to lie to me.”

She jerked when she felt his finger brush against her arm and she turned her eyes to him, watching his face as he watched her skin prickle under his gentle touch.

Suddenly, the thought of him dying – whether in the future or the present – shook something inside of her, something deep and primal and elemental and without thought she reached her arms out around his shoulders and threw herself into his startled embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Michael,” she sobbed into his chest, even as she felt him stiffen, his arms circling her gingerly. She sobbed again at his gentleness, at the fact that he hadn’t pushed her away and for a moment, she could feel a gentle warmth against her back. “I’m sorry for everything.”

She could feel his heart race against her wet cheek, could feel his chest rise and fall as he tried for breath and she realised that his pulse was racing even faster than hers.

“You don’t have to apologise – not to me.” She sobbed harder and felt his arms tighten around her instantaneously, his breath warm on her neck as he ducked his chin against her head. “You’ll have your reasons.”

She nodded fervently against his chest, succumbing momentarily to her sobs. She could hear him gulp; she knew this was awkward for him, that he wouldn’t know what to say, that he hadn’t come here for this. But she was just so glad to have someone who wouldn’t judge her, someone who would know because she knew that in the next few days – tomorrow – everything would change, nothing would be the same and no one could know.

After a few long minutes, she could feel him shifting and she pulled back, swiping again at her tear stained face with the back of her hand as he stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets, discretely avoiding her gaze.

“I should...” he said as he motioned with his shoulders and she nodded, her eyes downcast. He returned the nod and shifted once, twice before stepping away from her. And suddenly, as he moved away, she felt bereft, as though, if he left, she would be alone – that she would have no one left.

When he reached the ladder, she could see him hesitate, his hands lingering over the cold metal of the ladder and she stood, taking a step towards him, debating with herself the sanity of her next move, if he would appreciate it, if she would regret it.

“Michael?” He turned quickly, his hands finding their way back into his pockets and he looked at her, but didn’t meet her eyes. She took another step forward and tucked her hands into her back pockets, her gaze fixed somewhere on his chest. “Could you stay... for a little while?”

She looked up then, her gaze almost pleading. She could see the fight in his eyes; both the desire to go and the urge to stay. She looked away after a moment, sensing that the moment between them had passed by; like so many moments in her life. She felt an ache envelope her chest and she tried to silence the painful cry that tried to escape her throat.

“Come here,” he said so quietly that Liz thought she imagined it. She turned from him, her shoulders shaking and the feel of his arms around her waist and shoulders drew out her sob. He held her as she sobbed, as her knees buckled, supported her weight as he lowered them to the floor, shuffling back so he rested against the wall, her petite body between his legs. “I’m here,” he murmured quietly, his voice laden with emotion she was sure he didn’t understand.

As her body heaved, the sobs dying, he held her against him, their bodies chilling in the moon light’s glow but she didn’t move, knew that she couldn’t. As she calmed her breathing, he held her tight, close to his chest, his hands rubbing idly along the tops of her arms and his presence, silent and stoic as ever, was a momentary reprieve from the chaos she knew would come.

As dawn tinted the far horizon, he held her - didn’t question, didn’t try to understand.

He was there.

It was enough.