Michael was careful not to look in the backseat. Keeping his eyes forward, he was surprised at the silence. Stopping at the Shopping Rite mart, he quickly went in and grabbed essential groceries plus a few extras, including more gauze, antiseptic and bandages. The lump in the back floorboard was still there, so he hoped that was her and not just a wadded up blanket. He couldn’t risk looking. Unloading the groceries into the trunk, he turned towards home.

Once there he left her in the back while he unloaded the groceries. Walking up his drive, he pulled his gate closed and padlocked it. Best way to rid himself of unwanted guests. Usually he only locked his gate when he was away on assignment, but this time he wanted some early warning of visitors.

Opening the back door, he looked down. She was balled up into an impossibly small bundle, asleep. Taking her arm, he frowned at the remains of a needle prick. Bastards. They drugged her. No wonder she hadn’t moved. Gently removing her from the car, he carried her back inside. He’d worry about what to do with her later. Taking her into his house and up some stairs, he entered his bedroom. He grimaced. His bed was still unmade, clothes were everywhere, and he knew the sheets weren’t clean. Looking down at the woman, he shrugged. Well, neither was she.

Placing her gently on the bed, he rushed downstairs and put away the food. Gathering up the medical supplies, he went back upstairs and took out a basin and filled it with warm water. Pouring an entire bottle of alcohol into the water, he slowly unwrapped her hands.

Shit! They looked worse. Washing them with the water and alcohol, he wasn’t surprised that she didn’t wake. They gave her something strong. Bastards. She was obviously concussed. Checking her eyes, he noticed how small her pupils were. Not worrying about waking or hurting her with the antiseptic, he went back to cleaning her feet and hands, and finally her face. She was going to wake up with one hell of a headache. Michael swore. He didn’t really have much in the way of painkillers or even drugs in his house. Aliens were too sensitive.

Talking to her while he worked, “Don’t think this means I like you. Or that I’m going to let you stay. You’re too much trouble. A risk. I don’t need some psychotic Fed looking at me that closely.” Michael gently moved her hair from her face and washed the cut on her head again. “I don’t get intense. Never. Not about anything. Not about women. I can’t. I’m alone, and that’s the way it’s always been, the way it has to be.”

Covering her up, he paused to stare at the tattoo on her foot. It was a Chinese character. Michael liked tattoos. He had two so far. Turning off the light, he went downstairs and tried to think of what he needed to feed her later. Michael was cleaning carrots for a homemade chicken soup, when he realized that he had decided she could stay.

The phone rang.

“Yeah.”

“Michael, it’s Max.” Michael closed his eyes, and sighed. It figured. Isabel. She did this.

“Don’t have time to talk, Maxwell.” Michael moved to hang up the phone, but Max’s voice stopped him.

“I’m at the gate. So either come let me in, or I’ll do it myself.” Fuck! Michael looked around his place. Walking with the cell phone, he quickly removed all traces of Maria. “Do whatever the hell you want! You always do.”

Max swore at his phone when the click came meaning Michael had hung up. Taciturn, pissy bastard! Max quickly opened the gate and left his car outside. Walking down the drive, he once again admired the silence and space Michael had made for himself. Of the three of them, Michael was the most financially set. His writing was going well, and it left him time to work on projects at home, to travel, and to basically shut out the world and Roswell.

Opening the door, Max put his coat down, and followed the noise to the kitchen. Michael was cooking. Actually, after all these years, and spending time during high school as a short order cook at the Crashdown, Michael wasn’t too bad. He wasn’t great, but between him and the others, he could actually make a few decent edible things. Max was King of the microwave, anything reconstituted from a box or frozen chicken pieces. Pizza rolls. They made a decent meal. Isabel? The fire department was generally alerted when they even suspected she was going to attempt to cook.

“Michael.”

Michael just kept on cooking. Washing the chicken, he skinned it and removed excess fat. Tossing it in a skillet with hot olive oil, some shallots and garlic, he quickly browned the outside, and then transferred the entire mess into a pot of boiling water with a bay leaf and cracked pepper. Max sat there watching Michael chopping up vegetables.

“What’re you making?”

“Chicken soup. A strong one so I can cream it.” Michael washed his hands and dried them, reaching into his refrigerator he took out a Snapple and a beer. Max noticed the beer, but refrained from commenting.

What Max wanted was obvious. Michael took out a mixing bowl and began to make bread. He didn’t mind doing it since it gave him an outlet for his hands and the advantage of beating the shit out of the dough. Hank. Max wanted to talk about Hank and ancient history.

“It was an accident. I never meant to intrude.”

“I know. So don’t.”

Max sighed. “I can’t not say anything. Not...”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. You think social services didn’t know? That teachers couldn’t figure it out? You didn’t know because you didn’t want to know.” Michael finished adding the flour, and then turned it out on the floured counter. Kneading. It made a better bread. Broke down the glutten.

Slap.

Bang.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Max winced, watching Michael becoming more and more violent with the dough. Was it Hank he saw, or Max? Hard to say. Both were still hurting him. Finally Michael stopped and took down a clean bowl, added oil and tossed the dough inside, covered it, and set it off by the stove to rise.

“Feel better?”

Michael washed his hands and checked his cooking chicken. Turning it down to low, he just ignored Max and went down the stairs to his basement. His pleasure den. Big screen TV with a nice worn and comfortable sofa, a place to relax while watching hockey or the latest game of any sport. There were also a foosball game, pool table, darts, a few video games, the large ones saved from an out of business arcade. His PlayStation was hooked up to a special TV. Walking out on the patio beneath his upper deck, he went around the corner next to the wood pile where he had found Maria mere hours previously. Taking off his shirt, he started splitting wood.

Max watched him a little while, but before he could say anything, Burns walked around the building. Michael saw the Fed and swore.

“You left the gate open? Right?”

“Sorry. I just assumed you locked it to keep me out.”

Michael just snorted. “Fat load of crapping good that would do! Thanks, Maxwell.” Michael went back to splitting wood. “Special Agent Burns, I already turned your woman over to the hospital. You are once again trespassing on my land.”

“I heard, Mr. Guerin .” The agent noticed Max’s startled reaction to his name. “Why didn’t you call me?”

Michael stopped and tossed the pieces of wood on the pile and grabbed a few more that needed splitting. “Why should I? She was injured. I’m assuming you’d take her in for medical care. Decided to get her the hell off my land and out of my hands immediately. I figured you could re-acquire her there.” Michael stopped and smiled at the man not so nicely. “I did stop at the PD to inform them of her whereabouts.”

“She’s missing again.”

“Not my problem.”

“They had restrained her because she was agitated and causing her hands to bleed. When they came back, her restraints were unfastened and she was gone.”

Michael just kept on splitting the wood. “Slippery character. Seemed sort of small and delicate to me...being a shifty creature. Any relationship to Houdini?”

“This is not a laughing matter, Mr. Guerin .”

Michael embedded the ax in the wood with an angry stroke. Standing up tall to his full height he stared the agent down. “No, it’s not! Once again - twice in one day - you’re invading my privacy, which constitutes harassment. I found your girl. I turned her over. I’m not responsible for finding her every time you lose her. Now get off my property.”

A flushed red color was creeping up Burns' neck. Michael just walked back into his house. Both Burns and Max followed. Burns looked the place over and took in the quietness and the silence of Guerin’s friend. If she was there, it didn’t look like it.

“Burns, now you’re in my house after I expressly asked you to scram. Do I need to contact your immediate supervisor?”

Burns ignored Michael’s threat. “Just one question, and I’ll leave.”

“Whatever.”

“You bought gauze and bandages, why?”

Michael just shook his head and walked over to another counter. Picking up his first aid kit, he opened it and showed Burns all the missing materials. Going over to a bag he had yet to unpack, he took out some rolls of bandages, gauze, antiseptic cream, and medical tape. He came back over to the counter, and calmly placed them into his first aid kit. Closing it. He lifted his brow.

“Your daffy chick was hurt. I cleaned her hands and wrapped them. I was just replacing the supplies.”

Burns thought about it. “So you’re saying you haven’t seen Maria DeLuca since you took her to the hospital.”

“Haven’t spoken a word to her since I drove away from the hospital, no. DeLuca? So that’s her name? She was pretty confused. In shock and hysterical. Her memory was gone, and all she remembered was that her name was Maria. All in all, she was a quiet thing. That was a bonus point in her favor. I hate a yakking woman who doesn’t know how to shut up.”

“You are a charmer, Mr. Guerin . It’s a shocker you’re not married.”

Michael just smirked. A blessing was more like it. “Maxwell, you mind showing the Special Agent out? It was after all your fault he got in.”

Max escorted Burns out, and while he was gone, Michael quickly went over to the brown paper bag and put it away before Max noticed just how much gauze and bandages he had bought. Looking off in the distance thinking of his bedroom in the split level addition above his den, he hoped Maria stayed asleep for awhile, or at least long enough for him to get rid of Max.

“What was that about, Michael?”

“You heard.”

“I heard that you found an accident victim, but...Jesus! A Fed! In your house! Dammit, Michael that feels too close.”

“I got rid of the girl as soon as I could, and I locked my gate as you know. You’re the one who let him in.”

“How was I to know?”

“Try calling before just showing up. What’re ya doing here anyway?”

Max just shook his head. Denial. Almost a dare to tell him. Michael was avoiding again, sending out 'back off' vibes. “You know why.”

“Maxwell, I’m not in the mood. Just tell me what I have to do to get rid of you.”

Max looked away. Fine. Let him run. Sooner or later, it all had to come to a head. “Be my best man at my wedding.”

“I don’t belong there.”

“The hell you don’t!” Max forgot himself. “You’re my brother. You’re my best friend. And no one and nothing means more to me than you.”

“Max, not a smart thing to say from a newly engaged man. Don’t let your fiancée hear you.”

“Liz understands, Michael. More than you give her credit for. She understands that it’s important to me to have my family with me, around me. It’s important that you learn to accept her. She’s not going to push. She’s not going to take me away, so can’t you just unbend and meet us somewhere near halfway? Not even halfway. Liz and I will make the added effort and go the extra distance.” Max rubbed his hands on the back of his suddenly stiff neck. “Dammit, brother, don’t make me carry the whole load.”

Michael was silent as he took out the chicken and began to remove the bones. Cutting the chicken into pieces and putting it back in the pot, he added the vegetables. Michael concentrated on stirring the pot.

“How far do you need me to come?” he asked quietly.

“Say you’ll be there. Drink a toast at my wedding, and get the damn tux fitted, and I’ll back off on the past and Hank until another time when you can handle it better.”

Michael nodded. “Okay.” He looked up at his brother. “For you. Not for Liz. Maybe someday when I know her better I’ll consider her as well, but for now…just for you.”

Max smiled big and despite how much Michael hated it, he hugged him. Hugged him tight, and wouldn’t let him worm out of it. He might not think he needed it, but Max knew he did. “Thanks, Michael.”

“Get out of here now and lock my damn gate!” Max just laughed and waved.

“I’ll leave the time for the fitting on your answering machine, and don’t be late or my mom will track you down! You don’t think Isabel learned to be the Christmas Nazi from nowhere?”

Michael stood stonefaced. Oh damn. Kicking a downed man. Unconscionable. Mrs. Evans on his doorstep. He was moving. There had to be somewhere that had no people.

~~~

“Hey, honey.”

“Scumbag.”

“Oh come on, Vic. Don’t be that way.” Kyle sat down and took off his shoes. Damn his feet hurt! “Missing persons. We found her, and now she’s gone again. It’s an interesting case.”

Kyle smiled when the twins came running through the door and tossed themselves at him. They both looked like miniature Jims. His dad was proud. And they were a handful. Kyle looked at his tired wife and suddenly stood up. Hugging her from behind, he held her close.

“I’ve got the next seventy-two hours off. Why don’t you go and take a nice long bubble bath?”

“I’ve got to feed the boys.”

“Jamie’s asleep?” Vicky nodded. “Then go. I’ll feed the deadly duo.” Kyle kissed her on the forehead and pushed her towards the door. “Go! It’ll be alright.”

She was unhappy. He could tell. The set of her shoulders, the frown on her face, the smiles that used to be there all the time were strangely absent. She needed to get out of the house more. She needed a life beyond the house and kids.

Looking down at his boys, Kyle smiled. “Who wants to help dad cook?” Both small hands came up at the same time. “Okay, well I think that whoever can go pick up and put away their toys first gets to be my special helper. But they’ll have to do it fast, and quietly, and be back here as soon as then can.” And almost before it was out of his mouth, both little bodies were gone. Kyle took a second to start the dishes and clean up the kitchen. Picking up the phone he made a call.

“Hey, Sam? Yeah, Kyle. Listen, you said that your mother was looking for an afternoon babysitting job right? Yeah. What are her rates, and can she handle my two twins and a one year old baby? Sure. Her place? The boys would probably see that as an adventure. Yeah give me the number, okay?”

Kyle quickly made a few calls and then finished the dishes before the boys were back, both pushing the other. “Oh no! You both won! Well, guess I’ll be needing two extra special helpers tonight. It looks like hotdogs!” The boys made happy sounds. Strange. They seemed to be able to eat endless amounts of hotdogs. “Okay, one gets to add the relish, and the other gets to add the mustard.”

After he had them fed, he finally put them to bed, and went to find Vicky. She was asleep in the bath. It was cold. Pulling the drain. He refilled the bath with hot water, waking her, and smiling he slowly disrobed.

“You going to move forward and let me share?”

Vicky smiled at him. Damn him. It was impossible to stay mad at him for long. He was just so darn cute, and sexy, and smart, and…oh yeah, sexy.

“Why Deputy, what did you have in mind?” Vicky laughed when he stepped in to the bath without even bothering to remove the remainder of his clothes.

~~~

It was dark outside, and Maria was still asleep. Michael turned on a small light in his bedroom and stood watching her. She needed to rest. Food would come later. Partially closing the door behind him, he went downstairs. The soup was done. Turning it off, he quickly made the bread and set it back to rise again.

Maria DeLuca. From Tucson. Why Roswell? Was she just traveling through? Michael thought about it for a moment and then suddenly grabbed his keys. Going into his garage, he took out his bike. A Harley. Another toy. He spent a lot of time buying himself toys. Never understood why.

Hoping she didn’t wake too soon while he was gone, he drove to the Roswell PD. Parking his bike a few blocks away, he let himself in through the service entrance. Going upstairs to the Sheriff’s office, he checked the quiet halls. No one. It was night staff only. Mostly officers at the main desk, dispatch, and the night patrols were out on their normal rounds. No one guarded a Police station. Opening the Sheriff’s door was a piece of cake.

One the Sheriff’s desk was a file. Maria DeLuca. Michael quickly scanned the information including the forensic report on the car, what was found, and the condition of the car. Putting it back where he found it, Michael saw a medallion in a plastic bag. Taking it out, he fell over as a flash hit him. Maria and an older man. They were arguing…

“What is this?” Maria asked. Her voice rising in anger, anger and something else…disappointment.

“A present. A present to…”

“To what? Pay me off?” She handed it back to him. “I don’t want this. I never did. All I wanted was for you to care, to want to care. Dammit! I’m not going to cry!”

“Maria…”

“Don’t use my name, you bastard! There’s nothing you have I want. Nothing you can say…”

“Just listen. Please. I’m in trouble.”

Maria laughed bitterly. “Great! Just great! So now you need me? Now I have a purpose, a use? I didn’t enter your life to become some damn pawn!”

Maria grabbed her bag to leave, but the man grabbed her arm. “Take this!”

“No!”

He pushed the medallion in her pocket. “Take it anyway. Not as payment, or even a memory, but take it as a token of what could have been.”

“Fine.” And she was gone slamming the door.

Michael shook himself. The scene running over and over in his head. Her voice was so angry, so disappointed and hurt. He held the medallion in his hand for a moment and then pocketed it. Hearing sounds in the hall, it was apparent that his falling alerted someone. Putting away the file, he opened the window shades. There were bars. Reaching out, he melted the wrought iron joints, climbed through and with his powers, reattached the joints. Dropping from the second story, he hit the dumpster, and was out and around the corner before anyone came to look out the window.

The facts from the forensics report were playing over and over in his mind. Where she lived. Who she was. Single, twenty-five, artist, and no blots on her record, except an insane mother. Her car was clean, paid for, insured, and she had no outstanding fines accept a few unpaid parking tickets. Her mother was Amy DeLuca, owner and proprietor of an upscale art gallery in Tucson, and her daughter was a silent partner and one of the major artists and talents they sold in the gallery. They had lived in Tucson since Maria was seven, but before that, they were natives of Roswell, New Mexico.

The items in her car were a shoe, her burnt purse with her wallet, credit cards, checkbook, and money. The keys to the car and her home were still in the ignition. A few CDs of dubious taste, others not so bad, and a few he owned himself. A book. Medallion. Road Atlas partially burned. Nothing else.

Michael turned towards home. Nothing else. It worried him. She was from Tucson. It was late when the accident happened. Where were her clothes? No bags, no travel cases, and no overnight case with necessities. She could barely expect to make it home to Tucson. When Michael approached his house, he quickly stopped and locked the gate behind him. Entering the kitchen from the garage, he turned on the oven for the bread. It was on the verge of over proofing, and he turned the soup back on to warm.

Running up the stairs, he stopped in the doorway. She was still asleep. Restless. She had tossed off her covers. He could see her bandaged feet. He had cleaned and wrapped them, but the hands were so much worse. She could lose the use of one or both of them. He had found deeply embedded glass in one. He remembered the first time she looked at her hands. She had wept. Artist. Her hands were her livelihood.

She began to move in her sleep. The sounds were soft, but full of distress. He quickly went to her side as her dreams became even more disturbed. She suddenly sat up afraid, and in the soft light of the room, with his body shadowed, she scurried away from him in fear. As soon as her hands hit the bed with her body weight, she cried in distress and pain.

“Maria! Maria, it’s okay. You’re okay.” Michael gathered her in his arms and rocked her for a moment and soothed the side of her face. “It’s Michael. You’re safe.”

Taking a glass of water he left at the bedside, he helped her take a few sips. She settled. He could feel her heart racing, and then slowly calm. Finally he looked down and she was asleep again. Holding her for a moment longer, his hand rubbed her back, and he closed his eyes and rested with her. For a moment.

~~~

Kyle laid back in bed, watching his wife put on lotion at the vanity. Every night without fail, she followed the same routine. It was more comforting than a beer on a warm summer day. It felt like home.

“You’re unhappy.”

Vicky just shook her head. “No. I love my life. I love you. I love the boys.”

“Vicky, it’s okay to need more. I don’t mind. And I want you to have it all. Have us, have our family, and I want you to have yourself too.”

Vicky sighed and put away the lotion. Turning off her vanity light, she lit the candles in the room and went to sit on the bed facing her husband. Beautiful. He was beautiful. Kyle was a true beauty for a man. His character and good looks started on the inside and shone right on out. They were brilliant and stark. Excellent and sterling. At times he was such a boy, and other times, he was so understanding.

His brown hair was close to his head in almost a skullcap, and his rich hazel brown eyes twinkled with humor, sincerity and life. He tried hard to be everything to everyone. It was wrong. Wrong to want to keep him to herself. To bind him to her, away from his friends and his job.

“I’m fine.” Kyle sat up and pulled her along his length, loving her slim long frame. Three babies, and she still looked like a fashion model. His girl. His wife. Kissing her gently, he rested his forehead against hers, and closed his eyes.

“No, you’re not. That’s why I arranged for Sam’s mom to take the boys in her daycare clinic in the afternoons. That time is yours. Whatever you want to do. Take a class. Get a part-time job, or just go shopping with friends. I don’t care how you use your time. I just care about you.”

“Kyle…we can’t afford that. We already refinanced the house. The boys? I swear they're eating their socks, because I can’t find them. Jamie is demanding, and too young to leave alone.”

“No, he’s not. They’ll be fine.” Kyle sat up and ran his hands under her golden blonde hair framing her face. “They’ll be fine. I swear. Take the time, Vicky. Take it for you, and take it for us. I know my job is demanding. And it takes me away at odd hours. But we can make it somehow.”

Vicky closed her eyes and rested against his gentle hands. God, how could she want this so bad? How could she justify the expense? “I can’t.”

“You can. We’ll use the money left to me in my grandfather’s will.”

“We were saving that for the boys’ college fund.”

Kyle nodded. True. But circumstances changed. “It was supposed to be an investment in our future. And that means you, too. I choose to invest in you. The boys…we’ll take care of that later. Without you, there is no future.”

She laid down next to her husband, resting and quiet for the first time in days. Her insides had been shaking, and so many things were racing through her head, sometimes too fast for her to even know what it was she really wanted. Kyle noticed. He noticed her. That was better than any gift he ever gave her, save her sons.

Resting in bed with him, and the boys sleeping, she rubbed herself up against him. “I want to go back to school. Finish my degree.”

“College?”

“No silly! High School! Of course college. The first time I was so fixated on image and partying, being popular and all that stuff that I didn’t pay attention. I did the core curriculum, but I never really majored, or decided what I wanted to do with my life.”

Kyle rubbed his chin on her head. “Okay. So now you do. So what is it? What do you want to be?”

“You’ll laugh. I know my grades weren’t the best, and...”

“Vicky. Just tell me.”

She took a deep breath and waited for his reaction. “I want to be a special education teacher, work with children with special needs.” She paused, but then rushed on, “I know that it sounds ridiculous, but...”

Vicky couldn’t talk anymore because Kyle was kissing her. Kissing her hard. When he pulled away, she looked up at him, meeting his eyes in a daze. What? What was that for?

“God, I love you! I could totally see you doing that! You would be perfect! Beautiful, dazzling, patient, and concerned. I can already see you. Money well spent!”

Vicky sat up. “Really?”

Her heat was beating out of control. His support. His belief. It meant everything. Her eyes filled with tears, and her smile pulled at the side of her mouth.

“Really.”

Kyle laughed as his wife tossed herself back into his arms. Her happiness and excitement a tangible thing. “You are so going to get lucky, Deputy! Poor tired old thing!”

Kyle just smirked and then he said softly in his wife’s hair, “So that bowling thing? It’s okay, right?” He yelped loud when she pinched his stomach.

~~~

“So he said yes?”

Max nodded as he helped her finish cleaning the floors of the Crashdown. They were running late with closing tonight. Liz had waited for him, and after he came back from Michael’s he helped her finish up the night at the diner. “He said he would, but I think I won't get my hopes up until he shows up for the fitting.”

Liz laughed at Max and kissed him, her hand lingering on his cheek. Looking deep in his eyes, her large brown ones softened. “You are a smart man!”

“That I am.”

“I can’t believe he’s doing this for us.” Liz started helping Max put up the chairs. Michael was coming around, and the relief in Max was apparent.

Max frowned. “Look, Lizzie. Could you not get too hopeful? Okay? I mean he said he’d be my best man, that he came that far, but don’t start thinking he’s suddenly okay with it. He just doing it for me.”

Liz paused, sucking in her breath, some of the happiness leaching away. “For you? But not for us, and not for me?”

“No.” Max took her arm and pulled her next to him. “Don’t take it personally. Just don’t, okay? Michael has never been easy. In all these years, he’s never changed. Never had a reason to believe in love, or family, or really much of anything. There was never a reason for him to change. He does feel things, but those feelings are foreign to him, and sometimes he just doesn’t understand what it is he's feeling or what it means.”

“He still wishes you weren’t marrying me?”

“Not you personally, Liz. Anyone. He just sees it as a break in the pact between the three of us. A betrayal by letting someone else into the 'big alien conspiracy'. He’ll get over it once he realizes that it doesn’t have to mean danger or change anything.”

“I suppose.”

Max didn’t like how her voice was so lacking in conviction. “He’s just a little wired. Having a FBI Agent on his doorstep isn’t helping.”

“FBI? What did he do?”

Max frowned at the unsaid words ‘this time’ evident in Liz’s voice. He allowed himself to be irritated with how people judged Michael, or just assumed he was in the wrong. It wasn’t really Liz’s fault. It was literally the way the entire community had thought of him since childhood. And even when he started making a name for himself as a writer and bought his first home, that image lingered.

“Nothing. He found the accident victim Kyle was looking for last night.”

Liz grabbed his hand and made him sit at the bar. “Okay, tell me the whole story!”

Liz listened, amazed at the run of bad luck this one woman could have. First the accident, then wandering in the dark, and finally having the misfortune to wind up on the doorstep of Roswell’s most famous and unpleasant recluse. Michael was notorious about guarding his property and his privacy. “He didn’t hurt her, did he?”

Max just made a face. “Of course not! Michael is incapable of hurting anything. He talks a mean talk, but mostly I find him mending hurt creatures and nursing them back to health. Granted it is usually small furry animals, and even despite his raccoon rants, he didn’t have the heart to evict the raccoon family. He called animal control to do that. Most people wouldn’t have waited an entire summer to get the job done, and I caught him leaving them special food and treats.”

Liz laughed at that. Michael Guerin, Big Softy was not an image she could clarify or even conceive of in her head. He was just this big blank-faced, snide man, who through high school was number one on every girl’s lust list. It was the dark nasty brooding temper that kept them all intrigued, and the few girls who made it to the eraser room with him actually told incredible tales of powerful lust. Of course, those stories were pretty much ignored as pure fantasy, since Michael rarely wasted his time visiting the eraser room with the same girl more than once.

But since Liz now had some insight into alien sex, it was easier to understand how true those stories might have been. Amazing. In the last few months she had had to reevaluate everything she thought to be true, and add in an additional perspective. One thing that still bothered her was that Max never offered to take her to their pod chamber. It seemed that all of them avoided it, and Michael was the only one who actually visited it the most. But over the years, even he visited it less and less.

They weren’t coming for him. No one was.

~~~

Michael sat reading in a chair beside his bed. It took a few moments for him to realize that he was being watched. Looking up, he stared into a pair of clear green eyes. They had lost that wild confused look, and suddenly he felt the full impact of her stare. Putting his reading material down, he continued to study her. Her face on the side that must have hit the driver’s side window was a nice display of color, the most prominent being a sickly green, tinged in purple. The swelling looked almost gone.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and probed her face, touching her cheekbone to discern if there were any shattered bones. Maria was quiet under his touch, and for a second she closed her eyes. Michael stopped. What the hell was his problem? Clearing his throat, he stood up awkwardly.

“You hungry? Think you can hold down some soup? It’s homemade creamed chicken vegetable.” Swallowing a curse at his rapid questions too fast that she never had a chance to answer, she just nodded.

Michael left the room quickly. He was a frickin’ alien, and suddenly his body felt exactly that to him. What the hell made her affect him so violently? The eyes. They were clear and piercing. Those lips? They drew his eyes more than he wanted to admit.

He sliced some fresh bread, warmed a bowl of soup in the microwave, added a bottle of Diet Peach Snapple and slowly ascended the stairs carrying the tray. Coffee. He should’ve made coffee! Cursing under his breath, Michael just paused and closed his eyes. He hated her. Without trying, she was making him act like an idiot.

The bed was empty. He could hear the water running in the bathroom. It took a moment for him to realize it was the shower. Setting down the tray, Michael rushed downstairs to make that coffee wondering if she used sugar or cream.

Maria hobbled into the bathroom. At first she was just going to use the facilities, but as soon as she was in the room, she couldn’t resist the call of the shower. Standing beneath it, the hot water felt good. It prickled her skin and made the minor cuts sting. But it felt alive. She felt alive.

Only staying in there long enough to clean her skin and shampoo her hair, she quickly got out and dried off. The short hospital gown sat on the floor in a lump, and she couldn’t even reach for it. Instead she saw a t-shirt. It was black and long on her, hitting her at the knees. A Metallica concert shirt. It smelt of Michael. She had spent enough time plastered against his body in the last twenty-four hours, she didn’t think she would ever forget his scent.

Maria stood in front of the mirror at the sink, and she couldn’t move.

Michael waited, but he couldn’t hear her moving inside. The shower had been turned off quite a few moments before. Afraid she had fainted or needed his help, he knocked on the door.

“Maria? You okay?” There was no answer. “Maria?”

Michael tried the door. She stood in front of the mirror staring at herself, transfixed.

“Maria?”

“Who am I?” she asked softly. Moving her head around, she looked at the stranger looking back at her in the mirror. “I can’t brush my hair.”

Michael looked down at her bandaged hands. They were wet. She must have used them to wash her hair. The bandages would need to be changed.

“The soap hurt my hands.”

Michael came into the room noticing her in his Metallica World Tour shirt. Taking a brush, he started to brush her hair. He stopped. “There’s still soap in your hair.” He reached across her to turn on the sink faucet. Testing the water, he gently bent her forward, and he finished rinsing out her hair. Reaching into the shower, he took some conditioner and quickly added it to help make the brush move through her hair easier and to release any snags. When he was done she stood upright and watched as he towel dried her hair and then brushed it. Her eyes never wavered, and Michael's eyes met hers. They stood staring at each other in the mirror as he finished.

Shaking his head to clear it, he put down the brush. “C’mon. Your soup will get cold.”

Maria nodded and tried to walk, but her feet were too tender, and the water had only made them more sensitive. Michael quickly scooped her up and carried her into the bedroom. While she was in the shower he had taken the opportunity to change the sheets, remake the bed, and pick up his room. Setting her down among the clean bedding, he put the tray over her lap. Michael waited for her to eat, but she just sat there looking down. He followed her glance and saw her hands.

She couldn’t hold anything. Michael picked up the spoon and fed her. She didn’t eat much, just managing a small cup of soup and a slice of bread. Suddenly it was like she was out of energy. But the coffee seemed to make her happy.

Maria was in pain. He could feel it. See it in her eyes. He didn’t have anything to give her. Leaving her for a moment he went to look in his bathroom. Nothing. Tylenol. Tylenol he just recently started taking for those headaches he got.

“Here, take a few of these. It’s just Tylenol.” Maria nodded and swallowed the tablets. Damn. She needed something stronger.

“Why?” Michael just looked at her. “Why are you helping me?”

Michael just shrugged, and avoided her eyes.

“Do I know you?”

“No. We never met until yesterday.” Michael took her coffee cup and refilled it. Placing it on the bedside table, he took the tray away and placed it on the floor.

“Then why? You must be a very nice man.”

Michael almost snorted aloud, but looking at her, he didn’t. It was hard to admit, but he wanted her to think of him that way, to see something good in him. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know Michael Guerin , Roswell bad boy. Recluse. Bastard. Forgotten.

“No. I’m not a nice man.” Lying would have choked him. Lying to her. He helped her drink another cup of coffee. “Helping you is something...not me.”

“Well, I think it is. For what it’s worth. Thank you.”

Michael just nodded. He didn’t know why. That was a lie. Broken. He never knew how broken he was until he stood facing her. The pain, panic and hysterical fear. It felt like him. It was too close to the surface since Hank died. Close enough for Max to take the memories in a flash.

He had waited his whole life for them to come. To take him to some place better than Roswell. He had given up. But when he stared at her, it finally became clear. He was still waiting. For something. Something that would give his life meaning, make a difference.

Seeing her pain and fear touched him. He couldn’t stand it any longer. He was going to get her home. No one should be lost from their home and world. No one should be so afraid it was breaking their bones inside from the shaking. Her confused lost mind was searching for herself, and someone was going to win this time.

“You need to sleep.” He settled her in the bed, and she looked around.

“This is your bedroom?”

He just nodded and covered her. Leaving her for a moment, he went to take the tray away and get some supplies to bandage her feet and hands again. When he came back she was frowning.

“I don’t want to take your bed. I could sleep in a spare room.”

“This is the only bedroom. When I had the house built, I didn’t see any reason to build more than one. I don’t like visitors.”

“I’m in your way.”

“You’re starting to piss me off. If you try to get up, that will be a fact. Just settle down and rest.” Maria nodded at her reluctant host. He was strange. His voice was gruff and exact, but there was a gentleness in his hands. A kindness he denied.

Maria was quiet for a moment. “Where are you going to be?”

“Downstairs. Below is my den where I write. I’ll sack out on my sofa in there.”

Maria grabbed his hand, ignoring the pain it caused. “Stay. Please.”

Michael just nodded. Settling her down, he picked up his reading again. She was quiet, and after a while he looked at her. She was still awake. Just staring at him.

“Come to bed,” she said.

Michael’s heart raced in his chest. His bed. Damn! There was a woman in his bed. That was new to this house. He didn’t bring anyone here. He didn’t want them to leave their any possible essence or memories that would haunt him when he was alone. But there she was. In his bed.

“Maria...”

“It’s okay. You can recline here and read. The light won’t bother me.” Her voice became softer, almost too low to hear. “I’m afraid. You’ll keep the nightmares away.”

Michael doubted that, but he stood and moved her over to the other side. Stretching out in the area vacated by her, he almost moaned at the warmth of the area. Quickly, he felt her forehead. She might be a little warmer than normal. Lying back, he heard her sigh, and suddenly she was curled up at his side with her head on his chest. Her wounded hand rested on him.

Michael read into the night as she slept unmoving, and for once without distress. Every once in awhile he checked her skin. It was dry and hot. She had a fever. Frowning, he woke her once to take more Tylenol. But she quickly resettled and went back to sleep.

Waking hours later, he reached over and turned off the light. Snuggling down in the bedding with her next to him, he fell back asleep. For the first time, he didn’t feel alone.

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