Michael watched her from the office doorway. She was immersed in her painting, not even noticing his presence. He could handle it because when she was aware of him, she was very aware of him. He could appreciate her quiet times.

Going into her large kitchen, he admired the large open spaces, the refrigerator that was actually a deli sliding-glass case, and her large stove. Searching for food with which to make breakfast or something like brunch, he opened cabinets. It was after lunch, but since he missed breakfast, his body was wanting bacon. Standing for a moment, he contemplated a cabinet full of cream soups, mostly mushroom, and packets of various flavors of dried Lipton Onion soup. Smiling he closed the cabinet and decided on waffles when he noticed her waffle iron.

Aw, bacon. It’s own food group. Good. Michael made coffee and fresh squeezed orange juice from oranges on their last leg of life, western omelets and waffles with whipped cream and fresh strawberries, with Tabasco on the side. Setting a place for them to eat at the bar, he went to interrupt her concentration.

The painting. He stood behind her for a moment and stared. Her previous works had a glassy look to them, almost translucent, and the colors had the cleanness of acrylics trying to be watercolors. But what she was doing to the half-finished painting was new. It had an edge, a darkness. The colors were richer, still translucent, but somehow they pulled at the insides, speaking of passion, of living - and of dying. They weren’t nice and sweet, but violent and tumultuous, tossed in a churning sea of pain and anger. They breathed life. Michael suspected that whatever had held her back before, causing the critic’s claim of detachment and the lack of passion, was no longer a problem. Galatea had awakened. She was no longer made of stone.

Michael’s arms came around her body, and his hand moved over hers taking the brush and pulling her back from the painting. Dropping the bush into the turpentine, he folded his arms around her center and stood with her studying the picture.

“It’s not done.”

“I know. Food first, then you can paint.”

Maria turned in his arms and he felt the stunning blow of her gaze. Her entire attention shifted from her art to him that quickly, and the touch of her eyes was like a physical blow, leaving an ache in his bones.

“You’re going to feed me?”

Michael cleared his throat and nodded, quickly stepping away and leading her to the food. Sweat rolled down his neck. He was in trouble. Big trouble. "Capital T" shit. She just walked in and out of his brain and thoughts at will, and made herself at home with an ease that was never heard of before. No one ever got this close. Michael frowned as he sat her down and took the chair next to her. Vulnerable. Her weakness and confusion had been the first break. It made him feel confident that he didn’t need to keep up his reserve around her, much like a dealing with a wounded animal or skittish horse. He dropped his guard to get her to let him near enough for him to help her. He didn’t realize that her weakness was a façade, that beneath it was an iron control, walls of mortar and ice rising high. She was right. They were soulmates.

“Yeah, I’m going to feed you,” he said hoarsely.

They sat eating and Maria watched amused as he dowsed his waffle in Tabasco. Tipping her head for a moment, she reached over with her fork and took a bite of his waffle laced in whipped cream and Tabasco. Coughing, she took a quick swallow of orange juice and looked at him with tears in her eyes.

“Wow! That is positively the worst thing I’ve ever tasted. You want to tell me, or…” Maria slapped him lightly on his lower arm. “Or can I guess?” She seemed to think of what would possess a human, or well ...."sort of " human to eat something that sweet and sticky with something that spicy. “I know! You have no taste buds...or better yet, no taste!”

Michael reached over and kissed Maria deeply, savoring her taste and the flavor of her mouth, and when he started to pull back with a smirk, he couldn’t. He just kissed her again.

“I seem able to taste you just fine. So no,” he said nonchalantly.

Maria fanned herself. Her voice came out a little squeaky, “Umm, okay...then you’re part Latino, or some nationality that finds hot pepper sauce an necessity for fine cuisine? Or…or you’re trying to mask the taste of bad food.” Maria thought about that for a moment. “Nope, that can’t be. You waffles are excellent. So that means that you must just like…”

“Sweet and spicy.” Michael said simply, smiling slightly to himself as he polished off the rest of his breakfast, amused at her banter and guessing. “It seems a sort of dietary quirk of mine. I like things extremely sweet mixed with extremely spicy. Always have, and over the years, I came to basically like everything hot.”

Michael watched her and the heat of his regard melted her to a puddle at her own feet. Damn. He was so…sexy. She gave her body a little shake to move those shivers he gave her on down to a place they could so some good.

“I’ll remember that.”

“Do.”

Michael reached over and took her hand that held her fork posed in the air with the last bite of her breakfast and redirected it to his own mouth, keeping his hand on hers the entire time, letting her feed him. Maria seemed mesmerized and trapped, watching him eat, moaning softly under her breath. Oh lordy. Poor guy. It had been hours since she paid attention to him. Tossing the empty fork over her shoulder somewhere, uncaring where it landed she scooted closer to him.

“Soooo, did you find out anything interesting about me?” Maria asked softly as her hands went for his body and her mouth moved up his neck, gently nipping the skin. She liked how he moved his head to give her more neck exposure.

‘Oh yeah. Found out you’re pretty popular with your friends. Your mother lets you live your own life, but still worries about you, and you had a boyfriend named Dan e.”

Maria pulled back at the word ‘boyfriend’, but quickly grabbed at the word ‘had’.

“Had?”

Michael nodded. He looked at her mouth. She kept licking it like she was trying to wipe the taste of his skin from her mouth. He kissed her lightly, brushing his tongue there, mimicking her.

“Yeah. Had. About three months ago you broke up. He’s still calling, and for some reason you aren’t returning his calls.”

“Ouch! I’m a bitch.”

“No, from your friends' messages, I'm getting that you were pretty broken up over it. That it hurt enough that you started see a psychologist that you used to see, someone called 'Roger' if your mom is to be believed. Something about resolving your intimacy and commitment issues.”

“Intimacy issues?” Maria’s voice squeaked as if she was just told that she morphed into a rat at night. “I have intimacy issues?” Like she was more than a little damaged, and not just from the lost memory or the accident. “Great, I’m a legit headcase.”

Michael looked at her crestfallen face and tried to make amends. “If it’s any consolation? I don’t think you have intimacy issues. Not really. I feel you just fine. And you are very…uninhibited.”

Maria snorted. Yeah sure. Anyone can be a slut, but a committed slut to one man, willing to share her life and everything about herself with him? Looking at Michael, her head tilted to the side in thought. Michael. He knew hardly anything about her, and then again, he knew everything. Understood it without being told, perhaps understood it better than she did. He saw things. His mind seemed to be working the angles, the connections, and finding the simplest of truths and explaining them to her.

“I don’t seem to need to hide with you,” she said simply. Michael looked at her darkly. Ditto. She already saw more than he could tell her. More than any words he could speak. He wanted to tell her, tell her everything about his life, but the words lodged in his throat. A lifetime of silence didn’t break that easily. Not for him. Somehow she transcended others, and in a flash of her eyes, she saw him. The shocker was she saw him, and she didn’t run, didn’t scream. Instead she met him halfway.

“I don’t think I hide with you either.” Michael was shocked to hear the confession from his own lips, his own voice. She just nodded.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. You hired a private investigator. It was important enough for you to keep it from your mother, and the only person who seems to know and understand is your cousin, Shawn. Which by the way I take it, was raised practically as your brother, so I think I found the source of irritation you mentioned.”

“What did I hire this private investigator for? What was my case?”

Michael just shrugged. “Don’t know. Couldn’t find any records, but if you’re up to it, I thought I’d show you a real good time tonight.”

“Uuuuuh. I think you already know how, Mr. Guerin . My body feels pretty well lubed, but if you have something else in mind…”

“Oh yeah. Just a little breaking and entering into the investigator’s office to find your file. She closed your case. Sent you an email with all the information. It led to your detour to Roswell. So it’s the next leg in the journey to retracing your steps that led to…”

“My accident and my lost memory.” Maria leaned into him, her slender arms circled his neck. “What if there's a good reason for me not to remember? What if the horror was so great…”

“I know. I thought about that. But Maria you need to decide. Is it worth the risk to discover who you are? Or is it better to insulate yourself from pain?” Michael paused at that last statement. Story of his life. Isolation. Insulating himself from exposure and being touched. It was a lifelong masterpiece. He had perfected the art.

“I can't remember my mom, Michael. No cost is too great. I need to find her again. I need her.”

Michael nodded. No blame. He’d have once given his life to find his people, find who he was just for the pleasure of knowing he had a purpose, knowing he was wanted. But not now. It was too late. She made her choice. Opening herself to possible pain, she would do it to reclaim her mother.

“Did you check upstairs?” Maria asked looking up at the darker upper loft.

“Not yet. It’s your bedroom, I think.”

“Reeally?” Maria’s face took on a mischievous look. “We should just go upstairs and check it out…you know?”

Michael laughed and pulled her to her feet. She was trying to get him horizontal again. Fine. He had an entire breakfast to burn, and a good ten hours of time to kill.

“Michael?” He looked back at her, as they mounted the stairs. His eyebrow went up gesturing her to continue. “Can I paint you? Sculpt you?”

Michael paused on the steps. “You want me to model?”

“Nude. I want you a special way. Laid out, all tired and covered in sweat, exhausted from sex and taking a well deserved sleep.”

Michael didn’t say yes, but then again, he didn’t say no. “Interesting. How are you going to get me to look like that?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m the artist. I’ll get you just the way I want you, and all you have to do is sleep.”

Michael just shrugged. Didn’t sound too difficult, and she was already sketching pictures of him. “Do I get paid?”

“We could come to an understanding. Maybe negotiate terms.”

Michael thought about it. He could drive a hard bargain. She might want to think about that. He pulled her the rest of the way up the stairs. Let the negotiations begin.

Her room was huge. A California King size bed, which Michael could appreciate because of his height, but Maria? She was a tiny thing. Michael suspected she liked the space to move around. Pulling on his shirt collar, that just made him…yeah horny.

Maria went straight to the closet. Her gasps drew his attention. He came to stand next to her, and almost pulled her back to safety as she started to enter the belly of the beast. That wasn’t a walk-in closet. It was a lesson in excess, debauchery and lewd behavior. Clothes everywhere. Hanging. Leather. Silk. An entire wall of built-in drawers.

“Lingerie.” Okay, Michael gave in. Some things were essential. He hurried to her side. Maria left the drawer open and went to investigate the rest of the place that would tell her something about herself. Michael was pilfering through her underwear, occasionally he’d make a sound of appreciation, and she noticed he was collecting a small amount in his hands.

“You going to wear my unmentionables, buddy?”

Michael shrugged. “You wore mine. No, actually I was sorting through my part of the negotiation. If you want to paint me, you’re going to have to wear some of these.”

Maria laughed. He was too funny. “Just wear them all the time, any time, a specific time, or while I’m painting?”

Michael stopped and looked at her. Damn. She was good. Now he had an entire plethora of possibilities. Holding up a silky see-through corset designed to push up her small breasts, along with matching panties, Michael could see himself posing for her while she painted in that. He’d definitely be posing. He cleared his throat. “Oh, we’ll talk about it.”

Maria laughed and turned to push open two doors that opened into a recess in the wall. As she opened them, it was like the light in the room dimmed, then brightened. Her breath caught in her throat, and she could hear Ode to Joy in the background as a moment of clearness, an epiphany hit her. A wall of shoes. “Oh god! I’m a goddess!”

Michael slowly approached the wall of leather, heels and straps. Goddess? Swearing in disbelief he scratched his brow. “You’re a loon.”

Maria just laughed as he fled the room. He sat on the side of her bed beside the phone and noted a few books she was reading. He had read a few of them. Prozac Nation, The New Bible, but the books of female intrigue and smut were outside his usual reading list. Opening a drawer in her bedside table, he whistled.

“Oh baby,” he said softly. Then he cleared his throat. “Um...Maria? You might want to take a look at this.”

Maria existed the closet and climbed on the bed. crawling across its expansive mattress to rest up hard against his back as she peered over his shoulder.

“Fuck me!”

“Oh, yeah! Literally.” Michael reached in and picked up a pair of handcuffs out of the drawer. A few silk scarves. A nice impressive bottle of scented massage oil. There were candles. A vibrator. Michael looked back at her.

Maria just shrugged. “It’s official. I’m a very healthy member of the species female, responsible for her own orgasm,” and reaching in for a few other things, “and the guaranteed orgasm of my partner. I’m a nice person!” Her smile lit up her face. A little uninhibited. Possibly a slut (okay more than likely a big slut), but all in all obviously worried enough about her partner’s outcome to plan for it. She reached over and took out a nice supply of lube. Astroglide. Interesting. Reading the back, she looked up as Michael made a nice sound of appreciation.

“Condoms. And you’re showing much more class here than you did in the desert. Ribbed, lubricated, and no shocking colors or flavors.”

Maria laughed. “Big baby! You smelt lovely in that avocado and lime one. And besides, it wasn't like the men’s room gave me much of a choice.”

“I smelt like a frickin’ Caesar salad. Minus the anchovies, thank god.”

“Soooo, Mr. Guerin . What does this tell you about me?” Maria asked curiously noting the sex toys, condoms, supplies of wipes, and an interesting clamp with chain.

“That you’re perfect.” Michael said simply. In a quick gesture, she found herself flat on her back with her arm pinned above her head. Maria giggled, but then quieted when the sound of the handcuffs closing on her wrist registered, but not fast enough before the other arm joined it and was also restrained.

“Um, what you doing?” Maria said, rattling the chains of the handcuffs and looking at her hands restrained to the headboard. “Michael?”

Michael deftly removed her clothes except for the borrowed Metallica t-shirt which he pushed up to her arms. Maria took the cloth in her hands and held on tight. “Just gathering information for our negotiations,” he said wickedly as he stood up next to the bed watching her, slowly removing his own clothes.

“Oh? I’m not a pushover.”

Michael smirked. “Now, how would you know that?” He slowly moved up her legs pushing them aside, opening them. Running a finger along her inner thigh, he reached over for a few condoms and tossed them on the mattress beside Maria’s head. Her eyes darkened in anticipation. Oh yeah. The look in his eyes. Evil. Intense. Unyielding. Dark and sexy. She needed to catch that look on canvass.

“Wait!” Maria rattled her handcuffs again. “Warm that lube in your hands!” Michael laughed as he went to work, enjoying her squirming under him, but pretty much at his mercy. “You better have the key for these things, Spaceboy.”

“Shhh, you’re going to like this. And you know I can unlock anything I put my mind to.”

Wicked. Pure and simple.

~~~

“So what was Burns' assignment? Why was he in this area?”

Alex remained silent for a moment, weighing his options. “He was investigating a few complaints.” He didn’t add any more detail.

Before Kyle could ask, he was interrupted by Isabel Evans. “Kyle? Hi!”

“Hey, Isabel. How are you today, besides hot?”

“It is unseasonably warm.” Isabel volunteered looking pointedly at Kyle’s tall dark companion. “Sorry, I don’t believe…”

“Hello, Isabel. How are you?” Alex said pleasantly.

Isabel’s eyes narrowed as she tried to remember this man. “I’m drawing a blank. I’m sorry, do I know you?”

Alex laughed. “No. Not really. We went to high school together, but we didn’t run in the same crowds. I was utterly forgettable.” Isabel was intrigued. She couldn’t imagine that.

“But you ran in Kyle’s?” Isabel was confused. She had run in Kyle’s crowd, so how could she not know this man?”

Kyle watched Alex , amused. “Well, let’s just say that I didn’t run in Kyle’s crowd. I ran from it.”

“Thought you forgave me all that bullshit our first year college.” Kyle said mildly.

“I did. Water, brother.” Alex laughed seeing Isabel’s confusion. Isabel ‘fucking’ Evans. Their class Princess. Every boy’s fantasy, and number one on the spank list. He heard rumors that she looked good, but her blood was tinged in blue, and very cold. “Sorry. I guess we really haven’t been introduced. Alex Charles Whitman. High school geek, all around loser, but I played a mean dodgeball.”

Isabel remembered him now. In high school he barely registered, but she remembered…

“Didn’t you lift yourself out of geekdom the last year when your band…The Whits, hit some notoriety?”

Alex stopped at a kiosk and ordered a fresh lemonade. Gesturing to Isabel and Kyle, he ordered them both one as well. “Nice of you to remember. Yeah, we continued through our college years. A few of the band members went on with music. Tommy is part of a heavy metal band now. He’s on his third wife, banging groupies, and is supposed to have fathered about six kids.”

“Ouch. So I take it you gave up your rock inspirations.”

Alex laughed. “You could say that. It was just a great way to meet chicks and get laid.”

Kyle smiled at Alex . “Hey, whatever happened to your lead singer? Jenna? Jill? Jerrie?”

“Janey. She’s married to a Hollywood producer. She sent me pictures of her last plastic surgery.”

Kyle laughed. “No way! I didn’t remember anything being wrong with her that much to warrant surgery. She was your girl all through senior year high school and college. I still remember walking in on the two of you rolling around in your bed.”

Alex just shrugged. “And your bed a few times.”

“I remember. You rockers were noted for your orgies. We straight jocks were jealous.”

“Long time ago. We broke up when I left the band and took the job out of college. She couldn’t see herself as being settled in a boring life.”

“Sorry, man.”

Alex just shrugged. Five years with the same girl, and he wouldn’t recognize her on the street if he passed her. Of course, thousands in plastic surgery helped that along. Looking at Isabel Evans, Alex felt the pull of his past attraction to her. She was his unattainable dream. But now? Impossible. He’d been too far, seen too much, and some of the things he did…he wasn’t that innocent high school geek any longer. He and Isabel Evans were worlds apart.

“So you still live in Roswell, Isabel?”

“Always. Never left. I went to the community college and now work for my dad in his law firm. I might go back to school and finish up a law degree someday.”

“Fine aspirations.” Alex was shocked. He had expected more from her. Modeling career or....something. Actually his last two girlfriends had been professional models. Isabel Evans had the looks, but not the body. She was too statuesque. Fat. In a model sense. In the real world sense? She was perfect, voluptuous, and very curvy in all the right places. Alex actually preferred Isabel’s look. She looked healthy. He kept trying to feed his last two girlfriends. They literally starved themselves, and never lost that look in their eyes that caused him to suspect they'd eat him alive the moment his back was turned.

They started walking across the park, and Kyle was racking his brain to find a way to dump Isabel so he could talk to Alex in more detail about Burns. But Alex was playing it casual. He didn’t want Isabel to question his presence in Roswell outside of coming home to visit his parents.

“So what do you do, Alex ? What brings you home to Roswell?”

Alex just shrugged. “Computers mostly. A little confidence work.” Alex took a sip of his lemonade to pause. “Roswell is always nice to visit. My parents are here, and my ex-roommate Kyle. But I think next time I come to visit, I’ll pick a time when it's not so hot.”

“It is hot! So how long are you staying?” Isabel looked the tall lean man over. She had never noticed him in high school, but she sure noticed him now. He walked strangely. More on the balls of his feet. Wary. He had a sense of power to him, a darkness. She liked the edge. He was like a coil, retracted and ready to spring.

“A few days. Maybe a week. It depends on what day Kyle is inviting me to come to dinner to see Vicky and the kids.” Alex discreetly looked at Kyle.

Kyle picked up the clue immediately. “Come to dinner tomorrow night. It’s spaghetti night. The twins tend to twist themselves up in noodles. It’s a fun time.” They could finish talking then.

Isabel shuddered in fright. Fun? More like a nightmare. Tapping her nail on her teeth she wondered how she was going to convince Alex Whitman to invite her to dinner or ask her out on a date. Alex wasn’t cooperating. She had given him plenty of openings. He sidestepped another one easily.

“Well, Isabel, it was a pleasure. Kyle, I need to get going. I have to meet an old friend. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?”

“Make it five thirty. We feed the monsters early so we can get them to bed.”

Alex quickly nodded and smiled at Isabel and took her hand in a quick shake. Isabel looked down at his hand and then quickly up at his eyes. It was like an electrical charge hit her body, but he just watched her with dark unreadable eyes. He released her hand and hit Kyle on the shoulder as he quickly walked away at a nice gait.

Isabel watched him for a moment and then smiled overly bright at Kyle. “So, Kyle. I was meaning to catch up with Vicky today.” Isabel laid on the charm to find out her old friend’s schedule. Work could wait. She needed to find Vicky so she could get invited to dinner tomorrow.

~~~

Liz smiled at the small children as they waited for their parents to pay the bill, and reached over to give the two kids suckers as a small treat. Watching them leave, she felt a little misty eyed, and her hand came to rest protectively on her lower stomach. Looking up at the ringing of the bell, her smiled increased as Max wandered in. He was late.

Reaching across the cash register, he kissed her quickly, and then again slower. “Hey, my Lizzie.”

“You’re late. I was beginning to worry. Almost called over to see if you needed me to have your food delivered.”

Liz left the cash register and nodded to Alice to cover the front. Following Max to the back breakroom, she followed him up the stairs, and watched as he washed his hands and face.

“Brody came in today.”

“Brody Davis? The UFO Center owner? Why? He hasn't been around for years.”

“I know. He just showed up today because of a mysterious death of a Federal Agent. Guess the man had all his bones crushed in his body, and he thinks it is alien related.”

“Max…”

“I know. It’s nothing, Liz. Nothing to do with us. But Brody is excited again and he is talking about increasing the length of the UFO convention to compensate for the new mystery.”

“So that means extra work for you?”

“Pretty much.” Max hugged Liz, and then followed her back downstairs. “Anyway, I need to bring Brody a sandwich. Think you can put in an order for a Galaxy sub, extra pepperjack, and hold the onions?” Max passed Liz a hundred dollar bill. “He said to keep the change.”

“Extra pepperjack, you said, right?” Liz pocketed the money and kissed Max, placing Brody’s order to go, and Max's for there. Watching him sit at the counter, she quickly poured him a large Cherry Coke and pushed a bottle of full Tabasco at him.

Max was almost through with his sandwich when he finally asked her. “So you call your doctor?”

Liz failed to meet his eyes, but cleaned the counter top around him. “Yeah. Thursday afternoon. I’m actually feeling better.”

“Liz.”

“I know, I promised to go, and I will. In two more days, okay?”

Max looked at her, his face worried. She looked too slim. Lately she was tired, and she woke up sick. The heat couldn’t be the only problem. She thought he didn’t pay attention to the Crashdown, or what the business cost, but he did. He wished he had the money to help her renovate, improve the place to take off the stress of running it every day. Just when she got ahead, something would break. Three months ago it was a leak in the roof needing a new roof. She was still trying to pay off the repairs.

“You work too hard.” Max nabbed her hand. “I wish I could give you a better life. An easier one.”

Liz leaned across the countertop. “This is my life, Max. It’s us, our jobs, and our home. It’s all I want, and it’s enough.”

Max suddenly understood Michael. His eternal quest to find more than what was in Roswell. For the first time in his life, Max regretted not searching for more. Michael left Roswell for those short four years to go to college, and he built a dream for himself. A life. Max was suddenly feeling his life sliding away. Waiting. He was still in Roswell waiting. So was Isabel. They weren’t leaving. Not ever. And neither was Liz. It was hard to wake up at twenty-five trapped in a life that wasn’t one any of them would have ever chosen, had circumstances been different.

Looking at her, Max smiled. It didn’t matter. As long as he had Liz there was no want, no need. She was everything. She was enough.

~~~

Isabel rushed into the Crashdown and was happy to see her brother sitting there talking to Liz. Great. She had found Vicky and gotten her invitation to dinner. Now she wanted to spread Michael news to her other brother.

“Hey, you two.”

Max looked up as Isabel sat next to him. “Hey, Iz. Only have a few. I was on my way back to work.”

“No problem. Liz, could you get me a tuna melt, side of Saturn Rings, and a orange soda?”

“Gotcha.” Liz went off to place the order with a rush, loving how Isabel always avoided the alien names for the menu items.

Max finished up his fries and looked at his sister from the corner of his eyes. “So spill. You’re practically jumping out of your skin.”

“Oh, I was going to tell you. Yesterday, I went to Michael’s.”

“Iz.”

“No, it was okay. I needed something from him. Anyway, he had a woman’s lingerie in his laundry.”

Max practically spit out his drink. “Dammit, Iz! What? Now you’re snooping around in his laundry?”

“It was just there, okay?” Isabel smiled as Liz came back and joined them setting her Orange Alien Blast in front of her. Taking Tabasco, Isabel quickly doctored her drink.

“What are we talking about?”

Max just made a face, but Isabel leaned on the countertop to gossip with Liz. “Michael. He’s got a new female friend in his life.”

“Friend?” Liz made a sound like she couldn’t believe Michael was capable of making friends with anyone. “Lover?”

“Think so. She left her underwear in his car.” Isabel’s voice lowered in conspiracy. “But get this, he had this incredible painting in his house. It was wet. So I am thinking that she’s been in his house, at least painting.”

Max snorted. “No way! Michael would never let anyone in his house that long, and especially not with something as messy as paint. He’d freak.”

“He did freak. He freaked when I tried to touch it.” Isabel looked at Max. “You had to see this painting Max. It hurt. Like a wound festering inside for a lifetime that could never be healed. It also was like all those horror dreams where you are running and you couldn’t run fast enough, and the monster is catching up. Fear. It was hard hitting.”

“Isabel, just do me a favor. Don’t push him. I know you want him settled so you won’t worry that he'll just walk away without even a goodbye, but please, for once in your life....don’t push.”

“I wasn’t. Not really.” Isabel was quiet for a moment. “I was really afraid for a moment, Max. When I saw the painting, I thought that it was Michael. That was how he felt inside. I don’t know if I could stand for him to be in that much pain.”

Max and Isabel were both silent. A lifetime had passed and they were still trying to get their brother back. Every year he was further and further away from them. They needed him. Without him, they weren’t complete.

“Michael takes time, Iz. He was never easy. You know that. Just let him be. Give him time.”

Max looked at Liz, and in a flash, she realized that he was telling her the same thing. She wanted and needed Michael's acceptance of their relationship, but at times it seemed like he would never give it. Maybe because it meant more to Liz than it meant to Michael. Liz placed her hand on her stomach and in a moment of overwhelming despair, she saw her current dreams going down the tube. It would always be the three of them, Michael, Max and Isabel. They would never have room for anyone else. In all those years, they had never let anyone else in, and in the last six months, they only accepted her because they had little choice. Max took that away from them leaving them few options. They’d never let her in. Most of the time, Michael didn’t even let Max and Isabel into his life. He'd never include her.

Liz couldn’t take it anymore. She rushed off to check on Isabel’s order. Her baby. A forbidden child. Would it ever be accepted? Liz had hoped that once she could officially tell Max, that things would be different, that he’d want it. But it wouldn't be easy. For a moment staring off into space, Liz was unaware of Luis’s hand in front of her face trying to get her attention. All she could see was a split in the road. One fork was a road that led to her much-wanted life with Max. The other was the road that was her baby. The two didn’t converge.

“Yo! Liz! Order is up, Boss Lady.” Liz shook herself out of her thoughts and was suddenly unsure where she stood. Her baby or Max? Could she even have this baby? The aliens said there could never be children, but she knew Max was the father, so unless this was a miracle child, that meant the baby was…

Liz dropped Isabel’s order shattering it on the floor. Her entire body wavered and before she hit the floor Max was there to catch her. She woke up on the sofa in the breakroom with a hovering Max, a concerned Luis, and Isabel looking on with worry on her face.

“Liz, oh god...baby, are you okay?” Liz struggled to sit up, but Max kept a restraining hand on her. “Would you just stay down for a moment?”

“I can’t. I need to get back out there, clean up the mess, and have Luis remake Isabel’s order. Plus table thirteen in waiting, and your ‘to go’ order for Brody is ready…”

“Stop it!” Liz’s voice faltered as Max’s rose in anger. Liz could hear Luis making a comment about her having an ulcer and the added stress. Max asked him and Isabel to leave them.

Luis went out front to clean up the mess and hand deliver table thirteen their order. Isabel went to sit at the counter, as Luis remade her order, but her eyes kept darting back to the door leading to the back breakroom. She waited, worrying. Isabel fidgeted with her hands, and fear was climbing in her throat. She couldn’t afford to lose the little family she had. She really didn’t have much in common with Liz, but at least Liz was a female that she could confide in. For the first time in her life, she wasn’t the only female among males.

“Ulcer? You have an ulcer?” Liz avoided Max's eyes. No. But she couldn’t tell him what was really wrong. Not yet.

“I don’t know. Luis thinks I do, but until I see the doctor on Thursday…”

“You can’t wait until Thursday, Liz.” Max got up and paced the area in front of the sofa. “Dammit! You fainted. Fainted, Liz. I…” Max stopped. He didn’t know what else to say or how to say it. He was beside himself. She scared him out of about a good ten years off his life. For that moment, that long moment as he watched the plate shatter and her body started to drop he feared he wouldn’t get there in time. He feared that she was leaving him forever. He remembered that day long ago in the Crashdown when he watched her go down in slow motion at the sound of the gunfire. For a moment, he thought she was hit, and he knew in a moment of crystal clear reality that if she was, he’d risk everything, everyone to save her, a woman he didn’t even know.

“Max, please. I told you I’m going to the doctor on Thursday. Please don’t add to the stress I’m already under. I just need to…”

“Rest. You are taking the rest of the day off, starting now.”

“But, the diner, and…”

“Nothing! I’ll back off until Thursday, but only if you promise me to rest, no working, and no worries. I’ll make sure the place is taken cared of and run.” Max watched her bite her lip. She couldn’t do it. She had to be in control. She just couldn’t give that up, not even for her health. “Dammit, Liz, stop being so damn self-centered and just let it go!”

Her eyes looked up at him and filled with tears. “You think I’m self-centered? Full of pride?”

“I think you’re a control freak who color-codes work schedules and makes pie charts for productivity. I think that you’ve been responsible for so long that it is inconceivable for you to imagine this place can run by itself for even one and a half days without you. But you’re wrong, Liz. It can go on. It can survive without you. This place is killing you, and you need to learn to let go a little, trust other people to do their jobs, maybe get a shift manager for each shift, and actually sit back and be the owner.”

“I’m not self-centered. Everything I do, as hard as I push myself, is with other people in mind, to make their lives easier. If I hadn’t taken over the business when dad died, Luis and all the others would have been unemployed, mom wouldn’t have had any financial support, and…”

“Yes, Liz. I know. You’re the center cog from which all spokes originate. You are the most important part of the equation, and without you, everything falls apart. If you’re not on the job or part of the larger plan, then the plan doesn’t work. Dammit, Liz, that’s the definition of self-centered, or seeing yourself as center-centric. Let it go! For yourself, for your health, and god, baby...for me. I need you. I want you in my life, and I can’t just watch you kill yourself like this.” Max sat down and took Liz’s hand in his. “Be selfish. Be very selfish, and for once stop thinking about others and this damn place, and think of yourself. Rest, Liz. It will be here tomorrow, I promise. Maybe a little messier, not so organized, but it will be here.”

Liz stopped and listened. Selfish. Wasn’t that the definition of self-centered? Liz was coming to realize that maybe it was. In a sort of way it was, because a part of her felt that the place couldn’t and wouldn’t survive without her, and that was a sort of conceited way of looking at her place in the grander scheme of things. Was she letting this attitude affect her health? Liz pondered it for a moment. She wasn’t alone in her body anymore. There was someone else. Someone small and defenseless, someone who was depending on her to help them survive, and be born strong and healthy. She had never asked for help before, and maybe it was time she thought about doing that, so she could finally step back and re-evaluate her priorities.

“Okay. I’ll rest for the next two days.”

Max pulled her into his arms and held her tight rocking her back and forth, holding her like he’d never let her go. “Thank you, Liz. Thank you.”

She just circled his neck with her arms and hugged him hard looking over her shoulder. All Liz could think of was all the people who depended on her, who needed her. Her mom, the workers of the Crashdown, Max, and now her baby. She’d have to work extra hard to keep them all happy, safe, and protected. But Max was right. The baby came first. It needed her the most.