Conflagration 1/1 Mi/T MATURE 12/13

[hauntedd]

Title: Conflagration
Author: hauntedd
E-Mail: citrus_twisted@yahoo.com
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Roswell is not mine and the lyrics are to Tegan and Sara's "I Know I Know I Know"
Couple: Mi/T
Summary: During 4AAAB - what caused Tess to decide to go and attack the base?
A/N: This came to me randomly when I was working on Analecta, which so desperately needs an update. This is not part of that universe in any way and you can credit/blame my unhealthy obsession with Tegan and Sara for this fic.

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Stick your heart inside of my chest
Keep it warm here while we rest
Tell them this love hasn't changed me, hasn't changed me at all
The same as I love you, you'll always love me too
This love isn't good unless it's me and you

Tess shivered as she ran her hands up and down her arms in an attempt to stay warm. She'd forgotten how cold desert nights were, she had forgotten a lot of things, buried under a cloak of self loathing and a vehement urge that it was better this way. And it was how she'd survived, after Alex, after Max, after Khivar, after Antar, but then she'd come back and seen him.

And her world crashed in a million pieces. He was hardened, scarred – she'd never stopped to think that maybe he cared for her. She'd never bothered to think about anything – something else was controlling her, not something, someone, Khivar, but no one wanted to hear that. They'd said so much in that little vote earlier.

She'd thought he would be different – he'd loved her once. That much she knew – and it was barely evident now. He'd given into Maria and she'd done… whatever. It didn't matter now, he had voted yes even though his eyes said something else entirely.

Even still she was out here, silently watching him raking his worn hands through his hair. He had aged, they all had, but he looked so profoundly different now. And it wasn't the long hair or the more defined body. He looked worn down, like he'd lost more in the past year than anyone should have to – and she found herself frowning.

She had caused this. The guilt was so raw that she couldn't help the scream bubble up within her as tears welled up behind her eyes. She had to get a hold of this – she was a murderer, even if not by her own volition, a part of her enjoyed what she'd done.

She wasn't allowed the luxury tears. He was right in voting to kill her. Wasn't that what murderers deserved?

And she hadn't even decided to stay away. She knew she had to leave for her son, for Zan, which wasn't even what she fucking wanted to name him, but she didn't have to come back here.

In fact the only reason that she'd come back was the hope that he still cared about her. Instead she got verbal abuse and the affirmation that he didn't give a shit about her.

What an idiot she had been. No big surprise, she'd always been a failure – Nasedo made sure to teach her that much.

What a wise sage he had been, at least about that.

Her body began to shake as she continued to force back tears as bile raced up her throat. Not bothering to pull her dirty hair back, she began to vomit, angry tears finally falling from her face as violent sobs wracked her body.

She was so incredibly stupid. She didn't deserve to live – and yet they wouldn't let her die. It was so typical.

"Tess, what the fuck?"

She blanched as she looked up, his eyes red rimmed and guarded. It was as if he didn't remember what they had at all – and why would he want to? It'd only been a summer thing, and she'd been the bitch who broke it off when Maria got suspicious.

"Michael, leave me alone."

It took all the strength she had to utter those four words – but it was for the best. She was a murderer, he deserved better. Better than her, better than Maria, but she knew that he had a penchant for emotional masochism. She was convinced that was why they got together when he knew she'd leave, why he let Maria scream at him. He didn't think that he deserved better.

He couldn't have been farther from the truth.

"Not happening."

She winced and pushed herself backward when she noticed the momentary flash of concern that passed across his hardened features. Why was he doing this? He wanted her dead.

Then it dawned on her – maybe he was here to be a vigilante.

"Are you going to kill me?" Tess whispered the words in soft reverence as if willing them to be true. It scared her, how much she wanted to die, when only hours before she was lying to stay alive. But Earth was affecting her, making her feel those emotions she'd forgotten long ago.

"You think that little of me?" Michael hissed as her shoulders deflated under the weight of his words.

Why had she bothered to get up anyway? What was the point if only to pretend that she had strength left, a ruse that she was certain he wouldn't fall for - he had to see how frail she looked.

"N…o," she drawled, the consonant and vowel separating as he came closer, her eyes watering more with every step. Why was he looking at her like that? Like a person and not an evil thing? Was this to torture her? He had favored her execution only to soften now, when she was at her weakest.

It was likely intentional. And she would probably have done worse, if the roles were reversed.

His hand clamped down on her shoulder in an attempt to draw her in and she stood rigid at his touch. His left hand fell lower, draping itself around her waist, drawing her into him. She tried not to show any response to this, focusing instead on how dry his fingertips were on her bare skin. If she looked at him she'd cry once more – and she couldn't have that.

"Jesus Tess, what the hell happened to us?"

He had her in his arms now. She registered that much as she trembled in his embrace, uncertain whether it was the cold or her own fear. She wanted to fight him – to get the strength to remove his warm arms from her waist.

But she was cold, too used to masking any emotion behind a wall. And maybe, just for a moment, she’d allow him to melt a fraction of the ice.

Exhaling, she met his gaze with her own. Unaware that her tears were cascading down her face, that the coolness of her salt-licked sadness was failing to extinguish the heat of his chest, she brushed a matted clump of hair away from her face, trying to give him a clear view.

"Destiny." She said finally – the simple phrase carrying more meaning than 3 syllables could possibly possess.

Yet it seemed to have the desired effect. He recoiled, hurt by her assertion, and she put her wall back up. He deserved better than her – and if he only realized it through pain, she’d give him that. A little heartache was better than caring for a murderer.

Tess turned away from him, not wanting to see his response to her one word answer. She was never good at this – explanations, words, definitions. She hated English, writing was difficult, she had learned for too long not to feel – it’d been understood when they were together, but he’d changed, no he had evolved.

Lifting a heavy foot to walk away she heard it, the anguished cry of a pained animal and she blanched, paralyzed by the noise. Her blue eyes widened in shock as she involuntarily jerked her body toward him, cursing as she nearly lost her balance. Left foot slipping forward, right rooted in place, she contorted for control, only ending up with a better view of his physical pain.

Even with the intent to avail him of this pain, she had inflicted a worse torment. She was a siren, luring him to his doom and he was too stupid to realize it.

She shuddered at the thought as Michael frantically raked his thick hands through his hair as he paced, the moonlight illuminating his shadow, making him even more beautiful. A part of her wanted to mount him right now, to have him bury his pain and anger in her flesh. She deserved this, not him.

“I…” he paused, his swallow audible as he stared at her, trying to regain his own composure. “Fuck! I love you! Didn’t that mean anything?”

His words ached of teenage melodrama. The expletive followed by the profession to conclude with the question that she didn’t dare answer. She hated these scenes in movies, they reeked of contrivance, but in that moment, it didn’t matter.

Pausing for a moment, she ran through a million refutations to his claim, but it all came back to one thing. He couldn’t love her. Just like she couldn’t love him. She was to be a queen and his fate was that of a soldier. He was Max’s best friend, if he was Valenti’s son – it’d be different.

The notion of their love was forbidden. The stuff that people died for – adultery, treason. He just couldn’t. And she couldn’t. All this was written in stone before Khivar, before Nicholas, before mind control and Alex Whitman and the skins. When they were together they knew it – but then they were innocent.

That he was here now, that he was asking about that relationship – that he still cared. She wouldn’t allow it. She was a murderer, and although there were circumstances beyond her control, she had done those things, ruined peoples lives – and, she reminded herself for the hundreth time, wouldn’t have done it without a small part of her enjoying those efforts.

That was why they had probably chosen her and not Liz Parker, who couldn’t even condemn her to death after it all. Liz had a soul. She did not. Michael shouldn’t love someone whose insides were a vacuum.

“You can’t. I don’t.” She whispered her answer, too lost in her own grief to notice the shift that had occurred.

“Bullshit.” Michael snapped, grabbing the sides of her face, pulling her face mere inches from his.

Without preamble, he crushed his mouth to hers, and she relished the sensations. It was angry, it was sad, it was longing, it just was. And she ingested all of his hatred, his grief, his love, her own tongue battling his, refusing to acquiesce.

Her lithe body molded into his, small hands raking against his back as she poured her own feelings into their kiss. Anger, self-loathing, longing, love, they bled from her without a second thought. Tess could sense the flashes that were passed between them, but was too consumed with forgetting to care. She only hoped that Michael wouldn’t stop blaming her when she saw that Nicholas and Khivar had a hand in the incident.

She wasn’t sure who lost their shirt first, but soon they found themselves naked, the desert the only witness to their sex. She wanted to tell him to stop, to go back to hating her, but there his eyes were pleading with her, the tension darkening his honeyed eyes – and so she quieted her protests, giving into the sensations of pleasure that were rushing through her.

His thrusts were frantic, urgent. She responded in kind, her nails digging into his bare flesh, pushing him further inside her. She repeated his name like a mantra, begging for release. And when they collapsed on top of one another, spent with emotional and physical exhaustion, she made her mind up.

She was going to do one good thing here, one selfless act, before she had a chance to fully ruin Michael Guerin. He may love her, and she might love him, but everyone who got involved with her went to shit. She owed both him and her son that much.

She just had to find Liz Parker.