Roswell Fanatics

Long time, no write!

Hey there, everyone. I'm posting a little fic that I wrote for the occasion of my Rosgroup getting together in San Diego last week. It's just a two-parter--a bit of M/L fluff.

The trip was great and has inspired another fic of as yet undetermined length, so don't be surprised if you see something else starting up in the near future. Not a mega-saga, mind you, but a bit more substantial than this little ditty.

So here is part 1 of 2:

Title: FLASHPOINT

Author: Carol000 (spacemom)

Rating: Teen/Adult

Setting: Max and Liz have been vaguely aware of each other through an unidentified connection, but when they are on the verge of meeting, it could all fall apart.

Disclaimer: You know the drill--they're not mine. They shoulda been.



Dedicated to Roswell Hopes and Dreams—Liesel (LivE), Debbie, PamP (DDD Mistress) Cindi (Phae), Patti, Sue, TO Pam, Linda (crazy4roswell), Debbi (Breathless), Sam, and Mel (and our long lost Maggie)—the friends whose belief in love and soulmates and forever have given me more than they’ll ever know.

FLASHPOINT: Part 1

Glass exploded everywhere. He stared unseeing at his hand, still curved around a glass that wasn’t there. His body vibrated as his mind struggled to capture the flashes that had gripped him.

The air pulsed with energy, and he heard ragged breathing echoing off the tile walls in the small bathroom. His eyes darted around the room until he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The rapid rise and fall of his chest matched the breathing he heard. His eyes were wide with . . . what? Excitement? Fear? Anticipation? His skin was flushed. His hand trembled.

This flash had been more powerful than the others. He could see bits and pieces of her—long dark hair, huge brown eyes, soft lips parted with wonder. Had he really seen her? Or was he filling in the gaps of a translucent image with his own fertile and fine-tuned imagination? Was his lonely fantasy actually real? Or was his desperate mind slipping into a dangerous zone where reality and fantasy were indistinguishable.

A small movement caught his eye, and he realized blood was dripping from his hand. The splash of red on the floor shouted against the stark white of the tile. His thumb had a deep gash running the length of it, the flesh jagged and angry. Without conscious thought, his other hand rose to cup the thumb. Brief pressure. Penetrating warmth. He lowered his hand and looked down at the unblemished skin.

Gathering his wits, he closed his eyes and concentrated until the glass reassembled flawlessly in his hand. He set it on the vanity and made his way unsteadily to the bed.

********
“Max! There you are. I’d like you to meet Alex Whitman, our host for the next two days.” His agent, Kyle Valenti, threw him a look from behind a charming smile, a mild scolding for being late. It went unnoticed by their host.

“Welcome to Orlando, Mr. Evans. I can’t tell you how I’ve looked forward to meeting you.”

Alex shook Max’s hand enthusiastically, then laughed at himself. “I have to apologize for acting a little star-struck. A movie star wouldn’t faze me, but working on the design of the park attraction based on your books, well, I’ve really come to admire your ability to combine imagination and science. I’m in awe, actually,” he said with a self-deprecating smile. “Like a kid.”

Max grinned at him, enjoying the open warmth. “Call me Max. And I’m the one who’s impressed, Alex. I’ve seen sketches of the ride and occasional progress reports, but I can’t wait to experience the real thing.”

“Alex did more than work on the design, Max,” Kyle said. “He’s been the brains behind the entire effort.”

“Really? You must have quite an imagination.”

“I like to think so, but I didn’t really need one for this. In your trilogy, you describe Antar so perfectly—all the physical details, the technology, the good guys and bad guys—well, you did all the imagining for me. All I had to do was make it come alive.”

“That sounds like the hard part to me,” Max laughed. “When do I see it?”

“I can’t wait to show it to you, but Mr. Valenti here seems to think the business of selling books comes first. Tonight you’ll be the guest of honor at a dinner here in the hotel with the engineering staff, some select members of the media, and the Universal brass. Right after that, there’s a book signing in the lobby. Then, if you like, you can turn in. Antarian Armageddon will open with a short ceremony slash book signing tomorrow when the park opens. We’ll have someone pick you up around 9.”

Max shook his head with a chuckle. “Antarian Armageddon? The name’s a little violent, don’t you think? Antar had its good points, too, you know.”

Alex only grinned. “Not on this ride, it doesn’t.”

********
It couldn’t be coincidence that her body had been humming inexplicably for the last twelve hours just as that pewter-like football she had secreted away all her life was giving off warmth and a soft pulsing glow. She had no idea what the orb did or meant. In fact, until tonight, it had never done anything but lie there and serve as a haunting reminder that she didn’t know where she came from. Her mother only said it had been found with her, and she had chosen to keep it, speculating . . . and dreaming . . . every day since then about what secrets it was hiding from her.

She eyed it now, feeling frustration more than fear in knowing something important was happening but not knowing what it was. Was she supposed to do something? Understand something? Feel something? Well, she was feeling something all right—restless, excited, lit from the inside, scared, and all without a clue why.

“Liz!”

She started, jamming the orb under her pillow a split second before Maria poked her head through the door.

“I’m outta here, babe. Goin’ to Michael’s.” She winked. “Don’t wait up.”

“Have fun,” Liz managed, feeling relieved and guilty that Maria hadn’t stumbled on her secret. It was the only one she kept from her best friend. Well, that and the fixing thing. If Maria knew Liz could repair anything from a ripped hem to a broken vase with one single moment of concentration, her enthusiasm would have overcome her discretion—if she ever had any—and Liz would be center stage in some freak show. Still, a twinge always pulled at her whenever she consciously hid something from Maria, but she told herself it was self-preservation, and that excused it.

Distracted, she stared at the neat pile of star charts and spreadsheets she had collected. They were the basis for her dissertation and it was time to start writing. She’d taken the summer off with ABD—All But Dissertation—status for the sole purpose of making some money. She was determined to free her parents of any more college bills; they’d done more than their share already. It was time for them to sell the restaurant and travel, just as they’d always wanted. When the summer assistantship was stripped to serving as TA in only one summer class, she’d been forced to apply at a local resort hotel for morning maid hours. It paid pretty well and had her freed up by noon, so it worked out. But she looked forward to sinking her teeth into a real job in a year or so—one where her love of astronomy and research would make every day one more chance to understand herself.

Sliding the orb from under the pillow, she frowned at the faint vibration that now accompanied the glow. As her body began to hum and her blood to race, she felt it . . . him . . . something—and she began to shudder. This time, from nerves.

Sliding her hand absently along the orb’s smooth, warm surface, she tried to make sense of the flashes she’d gotten over the last few months. There seemed to be a man, but she couldn’t quite focus on his face, and her instincts told her he was going to be important in her life. But important didn’t necessarily mean good. Bits and pieces of various flashes had begun to take shape in her mind when the orb seemed to jolt her with power. She dropped the orb to the bed and stared at it, then at her heated and trembling hands. Something was about to change. She just didn’t know whether to be excited or afraid.

********
Alex Whitman was a genius.

That’s all Max could think as he walked through the mist-filled “caves” of Antar, theme-park style. A sinister fortress loomed ahead, looking as daunting and hopeless as a graveyard at midnight. Sounds of slithering, unseen creatures made his skin crawl, and the unexpected blasts of heat had him flinching, even knowing how shrewdly engineered a scene it was. True, this represented only a portion of the alien world that he’d created with imagination and a lifetime of dreams that seemed to piece together a rational, coherent life in another time and place. He would probably never know if the dreams meant something or if they grew from a desperate wish to understand why he was different, but in their way, they had provided him with a life here as well. And right now, he was enjoying the hell out of it.

The walk-through was followed by a ride-through—a thrilling, terrifying, electrifying flight through danger and disaster. He emerged breathless and shaky, with a huge grin splitting his face.

“Can we go again?”

Alex beamed at him, proud and excited to have elicited that kind of reaction from the king of alien intrigue. “Nothing I’d like better,” he assured his new friend with a slap on the back, “but I think Mr. Valenti has other plans for you.”

Max looked out the cave exit and saw Kyle waiting behind a temporary barricade, the rise and fall of crowd noise behind him. Catching Max’s eye, he pointed to his watch, then threw a thumb toward the noise. Time to do business.

Max leaned toward Alex’s ear. “Call him Kyle,” he murmured with a wink. “‘Mr. Valenti’ from someone as smart as you gives him a big head.” Then the grin returned. “Can I have a rain check?”

Alex chuckled. “Sure thing. Anytime.”

With a glance back toward the mists and creatures of Antar, he strode out of the cave, immediately assuming the persona of the celebrity du jour. Waving to an enthused crowd, he took his place at a table where glossy stacks of his book gleamed in the sun. Although he strongly suspected these visitors were more interested in the widely hyped new ride than in a few unsettling hours with a good book, a long line was waiting for autographed copies and a photo op. Sighing inwardly, he took his seat. Writing was his bread and butter, but this, too, was part of the game.

Twenty or more people had shuffled through the line when his skin started to tingle and his blood began to hum noisily in his ears. His hand shook, and he struggled to clamp down on his nerves so he could sign the book in front of him. He looked up at the man chatting to him excitedly, saw his lips move, but could hear nothing. Could only stare and wonder what was crawling around under his skin, what was building this pressure in his chest.

Growing anxious, his eyes darted to the next person in line. What little breath was left in his body rushed out in one strangled sound. It was her. The girl in his vision this morning. More than that, the feeling in his visions for months, maybe years. A thousand flashes replayed in his mind, but now the image wasn’t vague or blurred. It was her. Every time. He’d seen this woman, recognized her, knew her for all this time. It was suddenly so clear. He was looking right at the answer to his questions. And she was looking right back.

Or maybe “looking” was the wrong word. More like gaping, with the same panicked, disbelieving recognition on her face. Their eyes locked. The energy was almost visible between them, and Max felt the warmth begin to spread deep within. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, but it was unfamiliar, and he had no idea what to make of it. All he knew was that he had to talk to her, to touch her, to have her. Have her? The feeling of possession, of belonging was staggering. She had to feel it. Had to.

Kyle’s face intruded directly between them—a study in irritated concern.

“Max!” He was shouting.

Shaken, Max felt the flurry of sensations subside, unsure whether to feel relief or anger. “What? Why are you shouting?”

Kyle’s eyes drilled into his, intense with meaning as he jerked his head toward the line of people. Then, between gritted teeth, he hissed, “Because you couldn’t hear me when I was talking to you. What the hell is wrong with you? Are you having some sort of stroke or something?”

Max bolted from his chair and pushed Kyle aside. He’d known even before he confirmed it with his own eyes. She was gone.

********
Liz ran blindly down the crowded street of park goers and shops. Their colors and sounds blurred into a kaleidoscope of unintelligible shapes and noises. Her skin was on fire; her chest was about to burst; her breath was a sporadic tattoo. It was him. She didn’t know what that meant or who he was. She only knew one thing: it was definitely him. It was as if all the brief flashes, unexplained dreams, unresolved feelings gelled in that one moment. That one face. And she didn’t know whether it was her salvation or her doom. She did know she had to get away. To think. To breathe.

She ducked into a convenient ladies room and bent over the nearest basin, splashing her face over and over. When she realized people were beginning to stare, she drew herself up and looked at her reflection. This was exactly the look she imagined when a book said, “She looked like she’d seen a ghost.” Well, he might not have been a ghost, but he certainly was a vision. Her vision. The one that had plagued or blessed her for so long. Years back, he had only been a feeling, a vague image. Later, the image had grown gradually more intense, though only a little more defined. But today, when she’d looked into those eyes, she’d known him. Without a doubt in her heart, she’d known him.

Max Evans. Famous novelist. Subject: Alien intrigue. Other planets. Space travel. Worlds of strange plants and . . . creatures. Creatures who could heal, mindwarp, control energy; manipulate molecular structure. Some of the very characteristics she possessed . . . and hid as if her life depended on it. He was the sole reason she’d finagled the day off. She’d wanted to meet the man whose prose had stirred her, whose imagination had helped hers take flight. Never had she expected her body to go on alert, her mind to fill with images, her heart to burst with emotion. Never had she expected Max Evans to be the man in her vision. What did it mean? Did she even want to know?

But there was his face again. Pressing into her mind. And those eyes. Intense, fathomless, shocked eyes. What did she see there? It was as if he recognized her. Knew her. Wanted her. But that was ridiculous. He couldn’t have recognized her, could he? They’d never met; she was sure of it.

She pulled in a slow, deep breath and let it out with studied control. She would go back to her apartment. She would write it all down in her journal. And she would decide what to do next. Everything had an explanation; all she had to do was think it through, reason it out, analyze the data.

Then she could freak out.
********
It didn’t make one bit of sense, but there was no stopping it. The urge to search for her, no matter how small the needle or how large the haystack, propelled him through street after street, shop after shop, attraction after attraction. Hours evaporated, and still he looked. Twilight descended, and still he looked. Night fell, and he had no choice but to stop looking. Even as the crowds shuffled their way out of the park, his eyes never stopped scanning, but he could already feel the weight of defeat. He’d looked everywhere, hadn’t he? Everywhere, that is, except where she was.

He dragged himself back to the hotel, already dreading the claustrophobia of four walls and no hope. What if she left and he never saw her again except in those maddening dreams? Would the dreams change now that he’d seen her? Would they give him some clue, some piece of the puzzle he hadn’t been able to grasp before he’d seen her?

Seizing this last hopeful thread, he hurried back to the room and lay down. And learned a lesson any insomniac could have told him: you can’t will yourself to sleep. In fact, the harder he concentrated on it, the less likely it seemed, until he threw himself upright in a fit of frustration.

The shower pummeled his body, the steam filled his head, and, strangely, cleared it. Everyone who had come through that line today had bought a book. It was simply a matter of looking at the receipts and checking the signatures. It would be a female name, between 15 and 30 receipts into the hour. If he were lucky, he’d catch a flash of her when he touched it. He would call Kyle, find out who had the receipts, and backtrack from there.

Feeling more settled, Max reached for a towel, unprepared for the rush of images that barreled toward him. She was in every one, her beautiful eyes warm and loving, her arms welcoming, her smile only for him. He knew her. Intimately. As if they’d shared a life, a love. His heart raced, reached for her, felt her reaching back . . . but she faded away, disappearing into a gray mist.

He blinked, wet and shivering in the bathroom. The steam had yet to clear the room, and the towel he’d reached for was lying at his feet. He stared at it, afraid to touch it. Afraid not to. His eyes flickered up to the glass that he’d dropped this morning when another barrage of images had slammed into him. Then down to the towel again. Slowly, he bent, his shaking fingers sliding inch by inch toward the plain white terry cloth. With a deep breath, he let his fingers make contact with its softness.

The images came, but not with the brutal jolt of his first two encounters. It was as if expecting them tempered their effect. This time, he saw her clearly. She was beautiful¾petite and lithe and radiant. He finally had a face to go with the girl he’d seen in his mind a thousand times. He felt the hairs on the back of his neck bristle as he thought of how her eyes had held the same amazed recognition as his own when they made their connection this morning. And make no mistake—it was a connection. The sense of familiarity had come as an unspeakable relief and a bewildering puzzle. His body knew her; his heart knew her; his mind just had to catch up.

Burying his face in the towel, he caught a whiff of strawberries. He hadn’t noticed that before. Was it a by-product of the laundry soap? Hardly likely. Could it be he was catching her scent?—a first for his flashes, perhaps, but everything seemed possible tonight.

Dragging on a pair of boxer shorts, Max headed for the phone. After all, what was a literary agent for if not to indulge his most lucrative client?

Awwwww, you guys! You have sure made me feel welcome again. Thanks.

I'll just post Part 2 for you here, and thank you for such a lovely Dreamer response.

Part 2

********
She thought about calling in sick, but she needed the money. Desperately. She had one more tuition payment due in two weeks, and three days ago, her car had simply ceased to move in the middle of International Drive. The tow truck alone was enough to send her digging into her meager savings, and the repair might just send her back to the insufferable bus. So in spite of the sleepless night in the company of that damnable orb that glowed brighter and hummed louder than ever—not to mention the indecipherable images raging through her mind—she had to work. Sometimes life sucked.

Peering out the window, Liz frowned at the dreary morning. The sky looked as gray and turbulent as her head felt, and the rain that she usually enjoyed just dampened her spirits. Yesterday was already like a weird dream fading in the light of day, and if it weren’t for the orb, which had reverted to a softer glow and monotone hum once she’d fallen asleep, she could have convinced herself it was just that. Still, she couldn’t suppress the deep shiver of anticipation, the mix of fear and excitement that was balled deep in her belly. She could almost feel his eyes on her again, sense the connection that had sparked between them.

Shaking her head, she straightened. If something were about to happen, it would happen, she told herself. Meanwhile, she had things to do.

She showered quickly, threw on the jeans and t-shirt that would suffice until she changed into her maid’s uniform, grabbed an umbrella, and started for the door. The orb’s hum changed pitch, and she turned to stare at it. Was it getting brighter again? With a quick glance at the wall she shared with Maria’s room, she snatched up the orb and buried it in a duffle bag full of rarely worn sweatshirts. Maria hadn’t come home last night, but she would be dragging in soon, and she didn’t want any noises to entice her curious roommate to investigate.

The bus was already sitting at the corner, and she ran full speed waving her arms to attract the driver’s attention. He gave her a wink as she deposited her coins.

“Just made it, honey. Lucky for you, I’ve got a weakness for a beautiful girl.”

She grinned at him. “Maybe this will be my lucky day.”

As she flopped into a window seat, her mood lightened. Suddenly she felt energized, revved. A feeling of wellbeing spread through her like warm honey. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, missing the familiar face that jogged past the bus and toward her apartment.

********
It had taken most of the night, and Max had uncharacteristically used his influence to track her down, but he had an address, and he felt desperate to find her before she escaped for the day. Parking was limited in the crowded neighborhood, and he’d had to leave his rental car two blocks away, but as he jogged, he was almost grateful; it was helping to release some of the rampant nervous energy that had charged his system since he gotten the address. If he hadn’t been afraid of scaring her, he would have burst in on her, unshaved and unkempt, at 4:30 this morning, but there was just enough rational thought left to drive him to the shower and some clean clothes. Now, in a civilized pair of khakis and a pale green golf shirt, both damp from the mist left by a morning rain, he was almost there.

His hand was raised to knock on her door when he realized he hadn’t a clue what he was going to say to her. Hi there, I’m Max Evans, and I’ve been dreaming of you all my life. Oh sure, perfect. What was she supposed to say to that? Sure, Max. Same here. Come on in and we’ll start our life together.

Idiot! How could he explain what happened yesterday? He didn’t even understand it. But she’d felt it, too. He was sure of it. Maybe she had the answers. No, if she did, she wouldn’t have bolted like a frightened rabbit. She was as confused as he was. So they’d talk. Nothing scary. Nothing too personal. Yet. Just learn about each other. They’d figure it out together.

He did knock then, his muscles strung tight on his tense frame as he waited for that first glimpse of her. Seconds passed and panic began an icy trail up his spine. He knocked again, harder this time. He couldn’t have missed her. It was early yet. Maybe that was it. Maybe she’d looked through the peephole, seen him, and refused to answer the door. Looking left and right down the empty hallway, he placed his hand flat on the door, and literally felt his heart sink. She wasn’t there. He couldn’t feel her. He felt . . . something, an energy, pulsing from the room, but it wasn’t her. Another mystery to be unraveled. Later. He concentrated, projecting himself through the door in a way he’d never known he was capable of. The apartment was empty. He could see her, though. And a slim little blonde. And a tall wild-haired man who, thankfully, was draped all over the blonde, not his silky-haired brunette.

His slowly sinking heart plummeted then. What if she had spent the night somewhere else? What if, as he stood there, she was wrapped in the arms of another man, a man who had touched her as only he was meant to touch her. A man who claimed a heart that was, by rights, his?

His? He jerked his hand away from the door. His? When had she become his? Since when did he have any rights to her at all? And why in hell did he feel so territorial?

He didn’t jog back to his car. He ran. Frustrated. Confused. Angry. Desperate. If he could find an address, he ought to be able to find out where she worked. He would go there. Plant himself there until she came. He’d buy whatever the store sold, sign up for whatever service they provided, whatever it took to be where she was until she came and he could talk to her.

As soon as he entered the hotel, his body began to hum with a new urgency; the blood rushing through his head roared in his ears. His purpose now was intense, his vision focused only on the most direct route between him and Liz Parker. It seemed odd after all this time to know her name. Where she lived. And as soon as he found out where she worked, he would make sure they learned everything else there was to know about each other.

The pat on his shoulder was so unexpected, so unwelcome that he turned with a scowl and fists clenched at his side. Alex’s eyes flew wide, and he took an involuntary step back.

“Whoa, Max. Is something wrong?”

Biting back a snarl, Max forced himself to relax and managed a weak smile.

“Sorry, Alex. I’ve got something on my mind.”

“I can see that. I won’t keep you. I only stopped by to tell you I’ve arranged for a little tour of the workings on Antarian Armageddon. You asked about it yesterday, so I set it up for after hours tonight. I was going to invite you to a quick breakfast so I could give you some background, but it looks like a bad time.”

This time, the smile was genuine. “I’d like that, Alex. Really, I appreciate it. I’d love it, in fact. I’ve got something I need to take care of right now, but can I call you later today?” Then a thought lodged in his mind. “And can I bring a friend?”

“Sure, here’s my card. Cell number’s on the back. Just let me know.”

Max pocketed the card and held out his hand. “Thanks. And I’m really sorry about before. I was . . . thinking.”

Alex’s answering smile bordered on a smirk. “Must be a woman. That’s the only thing I know can get a man’s thoughts balled up like that. Unless, of course,” he added with a chuckle, “you’re an engineer. Then a new toy does the trick.”

He shook Max’s hand and, with a wave, disappeared out the door. Max realized the short interruption had been a blessing in disguise. He was more centered now, calmer. He had a plan and the means to implement it. Now, with a little patience, he would find what he was looking for. And had been for years.

When he stepped off the elevator, it slammed into him again—the electricity, the hum, the pressure. This must be what it feels like to be in the eye of a hurricane, he thought as he stood quietly in the hall feeling as if all hell was breaking loose around him, just out of sight. His eyes homed in on his own doorway, ajar beside the maid’s cart. Frozen, heart pounding, he stared . . . until the sound of glass shattering propelled him down the hall at a run.

********
Glass exploded everywhere. Liz blinked, staring in confusion at the spray of shards scattered across the bathroom floor. She’d seen him again. This time so vividly, she almost felt she could have reached out and touched him. It was him, of course. Max Evans. This had to be his room. Why else would she feel so suddenly surrounded by him? So completely enveloped in her sense of him? Her body tingled, her breasts ached, and her stomach fluttered nervously as heat began to creep through her system.

She had only been exchanging the dirty glass for a clean one, for heaven’s sake, just going through the bathroom maintenance routine for a guest who was staying in the room another day. The clean glass, wrapped in tissue paper, was still in her right hand. Her trembling right hand.

She set it down on the vanity, then waved her hand across the floor, pulling the shattered shards into a perfect glass once more. The sharp intake of breath from the doorway sent it out of her hand again, another explosion of glass and sound.

He stood watching her, emotions swirling in his deep amber eyes. He looked terrifying, beautiful, intense. She couldn’t pull her eyes away, couldn’t break whatever spell he had cast that left her frozen, wanting, needing.

He stepped forward, neither one noticing the crunch of glass under his shoes. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he cupped her face in large and gentle hands and brought his lips to hers, so softly that when her eyes fluttered shut, she had to wonder if his lips were truly touching hers or if she only felt the hum of energy crackling between them. Her doubts vanished seconds later when he deepened the kiss, skimming his tongue lightly between her lips until they parted in invitation.

The images weren’t bombarding her anymore; they were flowing like warm and silky water over her mind and through her heart. The inexplicable was perfectly simple after all. He was like her. He understood her. He was hers. And she was his. Understanding nothing else about them, she knew this to be true. And she gave herself to it in a rush of emotion that shook them both.

He felt the change in her as surely as if she’d shouted it. They’d found each other. There was no why yet. No epiphany to wipe away the questions. There was only belonging and love. And desire. Urgent need for her burst into life as he held her, and he felt her respond with equal certainty. No matter what else there was to know, they were for each other.

He lifted her gently and carried her to the bed, still rumpled and tangled from the restless hours before. As he lay her down, he saw the tears brimming there, and leaned to kiss them one after the other. She was smiling at him now, and he knew they weren’t tears of sadness or fear, but tears of joy—the same joy that skidded through his own veins in a rush of euphoria.

He lowered himself next to her, and bent to touch her lips again. Sinking into her, he felt her fingers in his hair and had to bite back a sigh. She tasted just as he knew she would, smelled just as he knew she would. But nothing could have prepared him for the spears of desire that spiraled through him. He wanted to ravage and to cherish. To plunder and to love. To take all and to give all.

He hardly knew where to begin . . . that is, until she showed him the way. When her small hand wrapped around the fingers that stroked her cheek and brought them to rest on her breast, something curled around his heart and they disappeared into each other. They didn’t speak as they explored, tasted, tantalized. When she arched against him, he felt his world tip and then right itself as it had never been. When he gasped under her hand, she spun out of control, then settled as she had never been able to before. They were sharing themselves and making something new from it.

Feasting on this woman as he’d never imagined, Max looked up into glazed eyes, bright with knowledge, dark with desire. Hovering above her, he asked his silent question, and her legs wrapped around him in response. He slid into her slowly, watching her eyes drift shut for one blissful moment, then fly open as he took her. His own flickered with surprise for only a moment before he realized that it had been the same for her as for him—there had been no one they had been able to share this with before each other; this had been destined from the beginning, though neither knew the beginning of what.

As their bodies began to move, driving to fulfill some ancient need, he kissed her again, deep and tender. The images that came this time weren’t those of Antar or answers to their thousands of questions. They were only images of the two of them—familiar and loving. The power of it overwhelmed them, and when their eyes met, Max saw his own tears slide down her face. The moment gripped them in a clenched fist, and her body flew apart under him. With one wrenching sob, he emptied himself into her.

********
It was hard to say how long they lay wrapped around each other, peaceful for the first time in memory. Long enough to have someone knock loudly at the door looking for the missing maid. Long enough for the phone to ring three or four times with the business of real life. Neither was even tempted to move or acknowledge that the world was moving busily outside their bubble.

They lay, heads together on the pillow facing each other, arms wrapped around each other, bodies touching intimately. Max watched the awe and questions volley back and forth in Liz’s eyes. She watched him watch her, adoring this man who had answered and posed so many puzzles. He smiled. She smiled.

“I’m Max.”

Struck by the absurdity that these should be his first words to her after what they’d shared, she giggled, a sound he hoped to hear a lot. His smile widened as she answered.

“I know. I’m Liz.”

“I know.”

He brushed her hair back from her face with such tenderness, her eyes closed to soak it in. Then his lips were skimming her ear. “I guess we have a lot to talk about.”

“I guess so.” Suddenly she was drowning in him . . . again, and she felt desire spike between them. She opened her eyes and saw it burning in his, felt it spreading in her own center.

“But do we have to talk now?”

“Definitely not.” And when he leaned forward to take her mouth again, she opened herself, her life, her heart to him.

********
The evening sparkled with promise. After Max reassembled the broken glass for a grinning Liz, they had showered, dressed (altering the maid’s uniform with mutual glee), and talked a blue streak. They did, indeed, have a lot to talk about. The housekeeping supervisor had been denied the opportunity to yell at Liz when Max took the liberty of quitting for her. When he saw the protest on Liz’s lips, he stopped it with a kiss that had the middle-aged woman’s heart thudding just to watch. She didn’t regain her voice until well after Max steered the dazed Liz away and out the door without a backward look.

Then they had a quiet dinner, sharing the experiences—both alien and earthly—that had led them to each other, as well as their dreams for the future. The latter, of course, had just taken a decidedly wonderful turn, and adjustments were needed on both sides.

“Now I’ll have to find another job,” Liz scolded gently. “I’m determined to finish my thesis, and I have to have some income, though I can’t say I was too thrilled with my career in housekeeping.”

“You don’t have to work, Liz,” Max objected. “I’m a wealthy man.”

The first flash of anger between them brightened her eyes. “I don’t need to be kept, Max. I want this doctorate; I want more than ever to study the stars and maybe find some answers. You have to understand that.”

Max nodded matter of factly. “I do understand that, Liz. And what do you mean, ‘keep’ you? I’m saying, get the degree. Find those answers. I think what you’re doing is wonderful, even amazing. But when we’re married, you won’t have to . . .”

“Married?” Her fork clattered loudly on her plate. “Max, you hardly know me. And I can’t leave here in the middle of my degree work! I’m at least a year, maybe more, away from finishing. If we got married . . .”

“I do know you,” he interrupted softly, his eyes locked on hers. “We know each other. We always have.”

She studied him for a moment, then nodded reluctantly. “Yes.” She sighed deeply. “Yes, we have.”

“As for location, I’ve never said anything about you leaving here. I write novels, Liz. I can do that anywhere. I don’t have to be in Roswell.” The look on her face stopped him mid-persuasion. “What?”

“You live in Roswell? New Mexico?”

“Yeah, why?”

“That’s where I grew up. My parents owned the Crashdown Café.”

It was his turn to stare. “Parker. You’re Jeff and Nancy’s daughter? The one they talk about to everyone who will listen? I . . . why didn’t I ever see you there?”

“I don’t know. West Roswell High, then UNM, then here. Where did you grow up?”

“I was adopted in Roswell, but my father was a science teacher in Carlsbad for years, and my mom was an editor for the newspaper there.”

“Carlsbad. Down 285 South?”

“Yeah. I settled in Roswell because . . . well, I guess that’s a story I can tell you that I’ve never told anyone.”

He reached for her hand, closed his fingers over it, enjoying the freedom to touch her, love her, tell her anything.

The complete sincerity in his voice touched her. The love she saw already in his eyes undid her.

“Married, huh?” Her eyes filled, her fingers trembled. He watched her lips part as she drew in a shaky breath. That was the face that had flashed in his mind the day before, the eyes that drew him in, the lips that had made him weak. He had to touch them.

He rose from the chair, holding onto her hand, then tugged her to her feet. Threading his fingers through her hair, he fell into her eyes for a long, breathless moment, then lowered his gaze to her mouth. “Married. As soon as possible.”

The kiss was long and sweet—a promise made, a pact between two souls merging into one. She drifted on the kiss like a skiff on a placid lake, floating free. There were still so many questions, but no doubts. If she were honest, there hadn’t been any since the moment he’d found her in his room. This was right; every fiber of her being told her so.

When he finally released her, she smiled at him.

“So Max Evans, how much of what I’ve read in your books is from your visions, and how much from your own imagination?”

He pondered her question, wanting to give her an honest answer. Then he did. “I have absolutely no idea.”

She nodded, accepting.

“But I’ll tell you one thing, Liz, you’ve been a part of it. Whatever our ‘before’ was, or what our future will be, we belong together.”

“I know.”

He kissed her again, confident now that he’d found all he needed to find. Then the grin slid across his face. “Wanna see Antar, theme-park style?”

She looked at him askance. “I don’t know. Do I?”

Letting go of one hand, he dug into his pocket and punched in a number on the cell phone.

“Alex? You still want to play host to a couple of brave Antarians?”

Her eyes flew wide, then caught the fun in his. To the world, Antar would always be Max Evans’s imaginary land of aliens and intrigue, nothing more.

“Ready?” He held out his hand, asking her so much with one word.

She straightened, breathed deeply, and took his hand. “I’m ready.”

Hand in hand, they went to face Antarian Armageddon.