I, Liz (Multi XO, MATURE, cc/uc) AN 6/8 [WIP]

[KiaraAlexisKlay]

Hello everyone! Yes, I know it's tacky creating another series when I haven't finished either Chimera's Kismet, Blood Will Tell, or Da Man N' His Woman, but I couldn't resist.

These stories kept begging me to write them, and I was helpless as my muse Jareth took me along.

This is a series of one-shots of crossover stories I want to write, but are good enough to stand on their own, with unusual pairings that aren't always romantic. If I get around to writing backstories or the rest of the story brought on by these little snippets than good.

Title: Bad Things
Author: Kristin aka Kiara Alexis Klay
Disclaimer: This first story is a Roswell/The Bourne Identity movie[s] crossover. Roswell belongs to Metz/Katims/Fox, and TBI belongs Robert Ludlum and Universal Studio Pictures.
Synopsis: Secrets and pain bind two of the unlikeliest people together.
Category: Roswell Crossover with The Bourne Identity trilogy of movies
Rating: I'm going to say MATURE for this one just in case

~Bad Things~


Jason Bourne stared at the petite form of his adversary, cocking an eyebrow, and marvelling that such a tiny thing could have caused him so much trouble to track down.

"Selene, huh?" he grunted, trying not to show the pain or the surprise he felt when her small booted foot made it past his defenses to connect solidly with his ribs. Twisting about and launching a counterattack that had her dancing out of his range, he continued to bait her.

"Greek goddess of the night, surrounded in tragedy. A little overdramatic, don't you think?"

The Treadstone trained and Blackbriar honed assassin, Selene, came at him with an inherent grace and skill that had been discovered and refined by her brainwashing happy superiors.

"Well, Elektra was taken. Copyrights."

Bourne fought his smile at her retort, sketchy memories of previous meetings confiming that the lethal beauty in front of him was the real deal. His admiration of her prowess only grew as she played along with his game of feint, jab, kick, and repeat. There was a passion and zealous edge to her style that he previously had seen in only himself .

"Liz Parker."

She was too well trained for her surprise to show, but Bourne knew just the same, as her knife-edge karate chop faltered enough to miss his throat and clip his shoulder instead.

Selene took a step back, arms at ready and watching him warily, yet not attacking and Bourne knew he hat her attention. He knew she was trying to analyze her reaction to a name that by all rights should have meant nothing to her, and yet it did, and that part Bourne knew would frustrate her. Drive her to seek the meaning behind that reaction. Eyes the color of earth peered both at him and inward, while the sable of her hair came to rest with the lack of movement.

"Liz Parker," Bourne repeated. "Elizabeth Claudia Parker. That's you, that was you, before Tredstone. Before Blackbriar forced and re-shaped you into what you are now. What we are."

Jason Bourne could see the exact moment that it clicked for her. Something in her brain made the connection through years and layers of conditioning and brainwashing to the person beneath the merciless veneer. Those eyes, normally and recently so cold, melted into warm chocolate, and the expression in them made her seem less the seasoned killer he knew she could be, and the person that she should have been, had been, before.

"David?" her voice quivered, sounding so much younger than her years, and something tight and painful in the region of his heart eased, along with his pent up breath.

"It's me," Jason Bourne, the man once known as David Webb, responded gently.

Cautiously, he approached, not wanting to startle her.

"Oh, God. What did they do to us?" Liz Parker eased out of her ready stance, looking like a lost little girl and Jason - David - couldn't resist any longer.

She didn't protest when oh-so-familiar arms wrapped about her, enveloping her in a cocoon of strength, comfort, safety, and most importantly of all, understanding.

"Bad things, Liz-girl. Bad things," he murmured into her hair.



~ finis ~

[KiaraAlexisKlay]

Title: Pleased, Indeed
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay
Disclaimer: A Roswell/Buffy:The Vampire Slayer crossover - Roswell belongs to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB and Fox - Buffy is owned by Joss Whedon, The WB, Fox, etc.
Synopsis: D'Hoffryn was pleased with his newest agent.
Category: Roswell Crossover with Buffy: the Vampire Slayer television series
Rating: MATURE just to be on safe side for situations.

~Pleased, Indeed~

D'Hoffryn was pleased with his newest agent. He'd been keeping an eye on her for quite some time now. First, when her romantic interest started eyeballing another, then through some rather deliciously angsty and painful circumstances later, there was the visit from a literal 'future' lover, the break-up, the ostracizing from her so-called friends, and the death of the one person who truly loved and cared and supported her unconditionally.

The next year, being arrested, developing some interesting abilities as a result of her love interest's selfish desire to save her life, and an interesting shoot out with the mortal's F.B.I was only icing on the cake. All it took was a car accident and the little brunette was his.

Oh, she wasn't the magical powerhouse that the Slayer's little Red Witch was - who really was? - but she did have something that the soft Wiccan didn't.

Passion.

Anger.

A burning sense of injury, injustice, and betrayal that combined in a sweet cornucopia to give her natural drive the proper motivation to accept his offer.

But most of all, there was her Will.

Oh, yes. His youngest agent had a will that could match - nay - would surpass that of the Red Witch. D'Hoffryn wasn't sure, but he was willing to bet that if given the chance, his littlest agent would go toe to toe with the Slayer's pet channeler and come the victor by strength of will alone. That, combined with her driving thirst for vengence, ensured her a swift rise in the ranks, something only his beloved Anyanka had been able to achieve.

A slim figure formed of mist and shadow and the shocking crimson of blood approached as if thinking about her had conjured her, and D'Hoffryn snorted, though he wouldn't put anything past anyone.

"Have you chosen a name yet childe?" he inquired, and mocha eyes lifted from their place on a shadowed face, her new magickal form still a cause of awe and pleasure for her.

"No, sir," she fairly purred, the words slightly slurred and lisping, as she wasn't used to the fangs that came with the new form.

"I see. Liz is too goody-goody, no one would be afraid or in awe of a Liz. And Elizabeth is just so..." D'Hoffryn made a motion with his hand as words failed him just then.

"Over-rated?" she supplied.

"I was going to go with 'blah' but that will work, too."

Kitty-cat fangs flashed white as Elizabeth 'Liz' Parker smiled at her employer.

"Selene," she finally spoke after a moment of silence. D'Hoffryn found it interesting that she'd pronounced it the ancient way of suh-LEN instead of the modern suh-LEE-nah.

" 'Woman of the night.' An apt name, given your new form and occupation. Ancient name, very powerful, and with an air of the exotic and mysterious, a hint of danger that one discounts until it's right upon you and it's too late. I approve."

Selene grinned once more, before melting into the shadows, knowing a dismissal when she heard one, discreet as it was. No doubt returning to the training levels to further aquaint herself with her new form and magick powers, in addition to those bequeathed upon her by that hybrid boy.

Oh, yes.

D'Hoffryn was pleased with his newest agent.

Pleased, indeed.

~ finis ~

[KiaraAlexisKlay]

Title: Dangerous Intrigue
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay
Disclaimer: A Roswell/Labyrinth crossover. Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. Labyrinth is owned by Jim Henson, Lucasfilm, TriStar Pictures, and Henson Associates.
Synopsis: What harm ever came from reading a book?
Category: A Roswell crossover with the movie Labyrinth
Rating: MATURE for subtle implimations

~ Dangerous Intrique ~

A snowy white owl cocked his speckled head, eyeballing the petite girl below him in consideration.

At first glance, there was really nothing to be excited about, thick sable hair falling straight as a waterfall to rest against her lower back, a petite figure that lacked any great curves but the hint of hips and the slight swell of breast only left a question and a burning desire to see more. And the eyes, well, the eyes were truly a window to the soul, and what a soul this one was. There was a sense of maturity about this one, a weary maturity from one seeing things that one shouldn't, of having experienced what it takes many entire lifetimes to experience, but most of all, a wary resignation that comes only from having hopes and dreams whittled down, dashed, and crushed into fruitlessness, of having lost someone or something close and special.

And yet through all that pain and experience, there was still hope. Still a passion for life buried somewhere under that jaded exterior, and a will and intense intelligence that would be frightening if she chose to examine you like she does those slides under the microscope.

What was it about feisty brunettes that called to him?

He didn't know and he didn't care to examine the reasoning behind that thought, so he left it alone to focus on his current guilty pleasure.

What he did know, was that her pain mirrored his own. And her anger and loneliness intrigued him in a way that was dangerous.

Dangerous for her, that was.

~*~*~*~

Liz Parker jerked her head up, heart pounding faster in her startlement, as her eyes quickly scanned the area around her for the cause of the noise that had pulled her from her thoughts. Not that her thoughts were really worth her thinking them right now, since they were becoming increasingly dreary and circular in their paths, and she was getting sick of being so mopy and depressed.

Something sparkly caught her eye, and after a moment of inward debate, slowly approached. The alien abyss had taught her the bitter lesson to beware, and so she warily approached the little corner of her patio, keeping an eye out around her in case something or someone tried to sneak up on her using the noise as a diversion. After tense moments, when she listened hard to hear over the noise of her thudding heart and the rushing in her ears, she determined that it was safe to concentrate on the sparkly, and she frowned when she saw what was there.

Gingerly picking up the items, almost afraid to touch them, Liz found a place in each hand the two objects. A worn, leatherbound book with a soft gold embossing and a shiny glass - no crystal, it was crystal not glass - sphere were craddled gently against her. Tearing her eyes off her newfound treasures, she once again searched for any sign of activity, but seeing none, took her findings and retreated into the relative safety of her bedroom.

~*~*~*~

Giving a grumbling squawk at having to move, the owl glided down to land gracefully amongst the almost garish Chinese paper lights and the changing screen that offered the window some privacy.

From here he had an excellant view of the bedroom and the girl inside.

~*~*~*~

"The Labyrinth," Liz read the title on the book, at once interested and wary. She gave the book's cover a reverant caress of the thumb, in the way a book lover sometimes touches an especially priceless book. A thorough examination of both the front and back covers revealed nothing but evidence of much use, and shrugging, Liz opened the book.

"No one ever got harmed reading a book," she muttered, collapsing back against the pillows mounded against the headboard, and started to read, imersing herself in the tales and history of the Labyrinth.

Unbeknowst to her, she clutched the crystal close to her heart, stroking it almost absentmindedly, completely unaware that the crystal's stormy, murky insides were slowly starting to lighten, that small glimmers of starbursts in various colors were starting to swirl and make themselves known among the dark.

~*~*~*~

Mission accomplished and pleased with his work, the snowy owl flipped his tail feathers and puffed out the chest feathers, starting to preen as he settled in.

The small bursts of color among all the dark proved that somewhere inside, little Liz Parker hadn't given up, and therefore there was reason to hope.

Making himself comfortable and prepared to watch her all night, he softly cooed to himself a melody that one could almost hear the wind repeat.

Jareth, the Goblin King, was ever so patient.

~*~*~*~

~finis~

[KiaraAlexisKlay]

Title: Wheel and Turn or Bleed and Burn
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay
Category:A Roswell and The Fast and the Furious crossover.
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. TF&TF belongs to Universal Pictures. The title is taken from Anne McCaffrey's folk song in the book The Dragonriders of Pern: First Flight.
Rating: TEEN to MATURE


~Wheel and Turn or Bleed and Burn~

Liz shivered as she stared at the house in front of her. Not that it was anything horrible to look at, if anything, looking at the house gave her sense of safety, of fondness, and well being. It was a simple home in between two other long, thin homes common to this neighborhood and many like it. There wasn't anything special per se, but it was welcoming and warm. The bit of lawn in front and the bigger yard in the back was prize property in a city so scrunched in and climbing atop one another that every inch was infinitely precious.

This...this tiny house was home.

Liz could only hope it was still hers.

~*~*~*~

It took Liz a good five minutes, in which she was thoroughly and hopelessly drenched, to gain the courage to walk the familiar cobbled drive to small stoop over the front door, that offered little to no protection against the driving rain. Another three, in which she stared and made herself familiar with the sight of the doorbell, and about half a minute as her shaking and chilled hand, only partly due to the rain, raised up to hover over the innocuous white button.

It was a cute button. Well not really, but Liz wasn't in a state of mind that really was what one would call normal. A little less than half and inch and nearly as thin as it was long, it was surrounded by a fake gold plate that was chipped and rusty, but the design of three stacked rectangles descending from smallest to biggest matched the symmetrical architecture of the rest of the house.

Almost in a daze, she didn't really feel or remember her finger pressing against that cute-but-not-really doorbell button.

The sound of the bell chiming inside, an achingly familiar ding-dong, the ding being extended, and the dong an almost hilarious deep, loud and proud boom that let everyone know that someone was waiting outside.

A strong El Nino wind blew more rain and a little debris against her, and Liz shivered more violently, huddling in against herself and starting to wish, almost yearn to be anywhere else. Anywhere but here.

But there was no where else to go.

Just as she was about to talk herself out of waiting, in fact she was already starting to turn around at about the pace of a snail, when the door creaked as it was yanked open. Liz had to blink as light flooded and hurt her night vision, and when she could see, she was face to chest with a very powerful white t-shirt covering bulging muscle type of chest.

Eyes tracking upward off that amazing chest, doe eyes met melted mocha, and she blinked at the glare coming off a freshly shaven head.

She knew that chest. She knew that shaved head, and she especially knew those arms that were currently leaning against the wood of the doorjamb and against the press of the door.

And she knew who owned that chest, those arms, and that head.

"Dom?" Her voice quivered and was almost lost in the fury of the storm.

Dominic Torretto blinked, and had to look down in order to see who had been crazy enough to come calling at this time of the night in this nasty weather. What he saw - who he saw actually - made him blink again, and not because of the pelting rain.

"Lizzie?" he gawked increduously. It couldn't be...could it? Oh, but it could. Her voice, speaking his name as a soft question, was almost too quiet for him to hear, but hear it he did.

But it was her eyes, eyes that pooled and were wet with something saltier and purer than Los Angeles rain, filled with such sadness and pain that kept him immobile.

"Dom, who's at the door?"

His sister's voice seemed to be the kick to the ass he needed, and he straightened, but Mia had already crossed the foyer and was peering around his shoulder to see for herself.

"Lizzie!"

Mia didn't seem to have any problem recognizing the daughter of their father's best friend, and before Dom could do more than open the door wider, Mia had grabbed the younger girl and pulled her inside. Shutting and locking the door, Dom followed the squelching of Liz's shoes and the slight puddles the indentions made, right into the downstairs bathroom where Mia was fussing over the obviously worn out girl.

She reminded Dom of a drowned kitten, her dark hair plastered against her head and neck, almost black with the moisture, and her eyes wide and large on a face too pale, too tired, and too shrunken in. This wasn't the round faced angel that his late mother had cooed over, that his sister had used as a living doll to dress up and fussed over.

"Dom, get me some towels," Mia ordered, her eyes worried, and Dom didn't hesitate. He could see for himself that Liz Parker was in a bad state.

He didn't stop to ponder why the sight of a sad, broken Liz Parker had him rushing to do things that he'd normally make a fuss over doing. He just knew that Liz needed help, and he would do his best to give it to her.

Period.

~*~*~*~

~finis~

[KiaraAlexisKlay]

A/N: Wow, color me impressed with all the amazing reviews. I'm so glad you all liked these little ditties, and eventually, I will expand on them. Perhaps I should do a poll on which you little blurb you'd like extended? I counted 2 for The Fast and the Furious, 2 for the Bourne crossover, and I believe it's 2 votes for Buffy. LOL Whichever one should I chose first? Oh, and I apologize beforehand for any slaughtering of the Italian language about to come forth.

Title: Kv'var-de Luar-ke (Hunter's Moon)
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. The 2004 Paul W.S. Anderson film Alien vs Predator belongs to Paul W.S. Anderson and 20th Century Fox.
Synopsis: Humans meet the aliens for the first time in recent history....right?
Rating: TEEN merging into MATURE at a later point


Kv'var-de Luar-ke
(Hunter's Moon)

Roswell/Alien vs Predator crossover


Sebastian De Rosa had faced many things in his life. Hardship was nothing new, first as a poor boy growing up in a small Italian villa, then working his way through college and internships, relationships and failures. But nothing could have prepared him for what he faced now.

"C'mon, Professor De Rosa, I promise you, I won't get in the way, and you'll get all the credit for whatever we find."

"Very funny," the young professor snorted, a small smile trying to escape at her humor, so he turned back to his packing so the woman-child couldn't see.

That same woman child beside him could have been one of the native Mexicans that surrounded the dig, or even an Aztec princess come back to life. What with hair the deep russet of the good, strong clay used to build the massive ruins outside that fell like a waterfall down her shoulders to her lower back, to the smooth skin that despite whatever season still retained a golden sheen that only darkened the more it was exposed to the sun. Or the large, knowing di-colored eyes, a rich warm brown encircling a darker brown, almost black pupil that was just only slightly darker than her hair.

Altogether, Elizabeth Parker was just too exotic and innocent looking, at first glance, though Sebastian had come to know better. He'd caught those same eyes in unguarded moments, and the pain and stories that they could tell, with just one glance, and then they were gone, hidden beneath a cheerful veneer that did not fool him once he knew what to look for. It didn't help Sebastian any that Liz Parker was now turning those huge eyes at him, pleading.

Knowing he was an idiot for even agreeing to listen to her reasonings to let her come, he heaved a great sigh, and Liz accurately took that as a positive sign to continue, so she hurriedly set up her proposal.

"Professor De Rosa, Weyland Industries would never come to you unless there was something of great importance, some ancient ruin or find that their retainer of company biased so-called experts can't handle or agree upon. That means that you are in a position to discover what no other person in recent history has, and that means more work, and who are you going to delegate all this to? Weyland's people? The same people who couldn't figure this thing out themselves? No, you're going to need people you can trust, and people who's not afraid to work. I've been your assistant for two summers now, and you can't just take Thomas, you need someone else to do all the dirty work you 'real' archeologists don't have time for."

"Real archeologists? Isn't that enough to make you go home, since you're just an assistant?" Sebastian threw out, cocking his head at the twenty-year old in amusement.

Liz's eyes darkened and her bottom lip was caught by her teeth for a moment, then her shoulders squared and rounded back as her chin raised in a way that brought to Sebastian's mind images of other Parker women.

"Professor, I really would like to come along. Mr. Weyland's representative never set a limit on the number of people you could bring along, and you said yourself, the reason I'm even on your expedition is because you need someone to replace Thomas when he goes on his own at the end of this year. How am I going to learn anything more if you keep trying to leave me behind? Because I assure you, I have been on countless digs and expeditions with both my grandmother Claudia and my Aunt Rikki, so I'm not just some silly novice to be patted on the head and sent back home. Plus," and Liz took a step forward. "Were you not my age when my Grandmother took you on as her assistant, against everyone's protests at your lack of age and so called 'experience' almost two decades ago? The same expeditions that helped to jumpstart your career and gave you something to be proud of? And even though you chose a different culture to dig for, don't you owe it to Grandma, at least to offer her grandchilde the same oppurtunity?"

"You are definately Claudia Parker's blood," Sebastian sighed, and this time he let a wry and amused smile cross his lips. "You fight dirty. And it was only fifteen years ago, I'm not that old."

"I call it survival, and fifteen years is still 'almost two decades ago'," Liz shrugged, but didn't press further. The ball, as it were, was in Professor De Rosa's court, and she now waited anxiously for his reply.

"Well...?" she prompted, after he was silent in his regard of her for long minutes.

Sebastian sighed again, looking down, not wanting to give away his answer just yet. But he knew as soon as she played the 'my grandmother was your mentor and helper' card that Liz Parker would be joining him and his longtime assistant Thomas Parks in Antarctica.

"Pack your bags, signoria. And pray to whatever deity you believe in that neither of us lives to regret this."

~~~ finis ~~~

[KiaraAlexisKlay]

Title: No Worries
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. Highlander the tv series belongs to David-Panzer Productions.
Synopsis: Joe Dawson's worried about his new employee.
Category: Roswell crossover with the television show Highlander
Rating: TEEN to MATURE


No Worries

Over the years, Joe Dawson became used to all the various types of clientele that came through his bar. During the day, there were a few customers off and on -not enough to be truly busy, but enought that closing during the day would not be altogether a wise choice. The daylight customers were an eclectic bunch, starting with the opening Nine A.M.. until Noon bunch, veterans and retirees alike. Grizzled men -and on occassion, women- who enjoyed swapping stories, recalling children, jobs, weddings and funerals, sipping a cold one be it beer, water or soda, and just plain enjoying getting out of their houses or assisted living apartments to get away for a bit. Joe liked them in particular, and being a veteran himself, never lacked in conversation with these fine fellows.

The 11:30 to about 2 p.m. crowd were business types, suits who ordered expensively, expected swift service, and on occassion tipped outstandingly. Most of the time they were too good to leave more than a few nickels but Joe hadn't received any bad pennies yet. They also brought assosciates or contacts for a quick beer, showing the contact a nice time and a good beer, possibly change a decision or encourage one. Of course, business didn't really start until about five o'clock, when people on their way home from work stopped by to unwind, and by eight the place was in full swing until the wee hour of two in the morning with the exception of Saturday night-Sunday morning, where Joe's closed at 11:59:59 p.m. and not a second later.

But none of his usual customers compared to those he labeled under friends-slash-family-slash-ongoing-pains-in-his-ass. More commonly referred by their names as Adam Pierson, Richie Ryan, Duncan 'Mac' MacLeod, and lord have mercy and tight purse strings, Miss Amanda. His strange family, each one special and unique, also cost him more in beer, liquor, gray hairs, and almost heart attacks than owning the bar alone would have normally. But Joe was used to this, and even crippled as he was with amputated legs, he could handle most anything or anyone in this bar.

He just wasn't certain his new waitress could. He'd be horrified if she could, though.

He didn't know what it was about her, but Joe just wanted to hug her and protect her, and make sure that whatever put the sadness in her large doe colored eyes never got to her again. Joe suspected she was younger than she claimed, even though her id checked out just fine when he asked a regular -who just so happened to be a cop- to run it and make sure. Then again, 'Shirley' could have one of those faces that are eternally youthful. Just how eternal and how 'youthful' that eternally youthful look was, he couldn't say. Which was why he asked his friends, Richie and Mac, to check her out for any 'specialness' they might recognize.

Richie was checking her out a little too thoroughly, and Joe casually-accidentally knocked a glass over the leering boy's way.

"Hey!"

"Smooth, Richie," Joe growled sarcastically, rolling his eyes in disgust. No wonder the kid died young... Beside him, Duncan snorted and hid his grin in a mug of beer, licking the foam off his upper lip and to all intents and purposes was paying no attention whatsoever to the little punky, spiky haired brunette expertly weaving her way toward the bar proper.

"Hey, Joe, I need a couple more Miller's and some Jack Daniels, though I'd make 'em light 'cause those boys are trashed," Shirley made her request, leaning a hip against the cool, varnished wood and rested her forearms on top of the round serving tray she'd recently divested of empty glasses and bottles. She gave Duncan and Richie an absent acknowledging nod, though there was the faintest amusement in her eyes when she briefly caught Richie's eye. Her sable hair was longest in the back, where it barely came past the nape of her neck, and the spikiness only added a sexy, edgier feel that took one's gaze away from the roundness of her cheekbones. Joe couldn't help but think, as he filled out her order, that she'd look a heck of a lot more natural with longer hair, but he couldn't deny the shorter hairstyle gave her a maturity that others couldn't ignore, especially if one managed a glimspe of those sorrow filled doe eyes.

"Here you go, sweetie. Them boys causing you trouble?"

Shirley laughed, her entire face lighting up with the brightness of her smile and the genuine twinkling mirth, temporarily alleviating the sadness. All three men stared at the transformation.

"Boss, I've been waitressing a long time. No worries. And if they give me trouble, trouble always seems to find them back in one way or another."

Strangely, Joe believed her, as he watched her glide away with an ease and level of comfortableness that only could come with many years of waiting tables.

Yeah, no worries.

~~~ finis ~~~

[KiaraAlexisKlay]

Title:Maelstrom
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. Alias belongs to J.J. Abrams and ABC.
Synopsis: Destiny isn't only for aliens
Category: Roswell Crossovers with Alias
Rating: MATURE for language

Maelstrom


Liz P.O.V.


The Crashdown Cafe and Diner has beheld and been apart of many strange, exciting, and even terrifying happenings in it's existence. First, as the bar Parkers, brawls and passion and tempers of the military men and women around the many bases added spice and excitement to an otherwise unevental continuity of living in a small, southwestern town in the middle of nowhere. It's recent incarnation, as the Crashdown Cafe and Diner provided a safe haven for families and no-where-else-to-go-or-afford students and young adults, added to the Roswell tourism with its typical alien-theme right down to the menu and decor, and hosted the scene for first encounters and first loves, death, panic, desperation, and hope.

None of that compared to the day They came for Nancy Parker.

It had been a typical day, school had let out a couple hours ago, Maria and I were rushing out trying to meet the demands of the greedy and glutonously hungry masses, Michael was scowling at the grill and yelling at us, Maria was yelling back, Max and his royal cling-ons -uh, Tess and Isabel, were in their usual booth, and Kyle and Alex were at the counter debating some manly man conversation that somehow included words like 'game console' and 'pokemon' thrown about. Dad and Nancy had come downstairs to help out, since Agnes was who knows where and we'd just started a new special and everyone in town just seemed to have to try it out.

Michael had just come out from behind the counter, and was supposed to be on his break, but Maria was hounding him all the way to the Wardroom -uh, the POD squad's booth, and I was on my way to play peacekeeper and glaring at the clock, thinking about finding Agnes and shoving her pack of cigarettes and lighter where the sun didn't shine when it happened.

Armed men in black fatigues bursting through the front and back entrances simeoutaneously actually didn't surprise me, surprising as that revelation was. I mean, I knew like four aliens, was even dating one off and on, and I think all of us had been dreading this very scene for quite some time now. Wasn't it shocking that the crisis this time had nothing to do with the Czechs? It was like it all played out in slow motion, and seeing all the guns -big, honking military grade or better issued guns- all out and deadly, I froze. Mom - no, Nancy - pulling a nine millimeter Glock semi-automatice from somewhere in the folds of her clothing and taking down two of the invading black garbed peoples only added to the sense of surrealism, it almost even fit. Smoothly snapping into first a one handed stance to take down those first two, and then sequing into the perfect two handed grip and fire before the leader of the Invaders screamed 'Freeze!', it was obvious she'd done things like this before, and often, if her ease and competence was any indication.

A powerful arm snagged my arm and yanked me down, harrowly missing a repeat performance of that September day where my body met ballistic lead. Michael smashed me into the floor, jammed next to Maria, my head just barely avoiding a collision with the gerbil - uh, Tess'- head while the three crouched underneath the table. Michael was practically sqooshing Maria and I, heavy weight on both of us, prepared to take a bullet if it meant we were protected.

Once the guns stopped firing and the screams tapered off, and all that was left was acrid smelling smoke drifting lazily in a shocked silence, I risked Michael's wrath and possible death by projectile by wiggling around to look up and see. A chilling, unemotional voice broke the daze we all seemed to be stuck in, and I listened with dawning horror.

"Nancy Parker, or should I say, Natalia Rochencko, by the authority of the United States of America I am placing you, National Enemy Number Ten and International Enemy Number Twenty, under arrest, according to all the laws of the Geneva Convention, the United Nations, Interpol, and the United States of America."

"What? They're crazy!"

"Liz, stay down," Michael and Maria hissed in annoying chorus, but my feet had already found purchase and I rose unsteadily to half crouch part stagger to lean against a nearby empty chair, Michael gripping the side of my uniform as if he'd forcefully haul me back to the protective den he'd made of our booth. That might have had something to do with a couple of those rifle thingies those trigger happy black fatigue people aimed my way, but my eyes were all for the drama by the countertop.

My mother - Nancy, Natalia, whatever the hell her name was, I only knew her as Mom - was spread-eagle slammed against the far wall, blood and bits coating her once beautiful, once ivory blouse. There was a cut above her forehead and into her hairline that was bleeding unchecked, and her mouth dribbled blood as well. Her eyes though...my mother has always seemed so tired and defeated and dreamy, almost distant. But I never doubted my mother's love for me, and she treated me right, but it was as if she didn't really know how. But right then, I saw her eyes and it was like I saw her for the first time. There was no tiredness, no defeat, and definitely no distance in those eyes. No, they were buring bright with a passion and a defiance and an arrogant coldness I had never before seen or experienced, and never wanted to.

"Mom? Mom!"

"Liz," Dad -Jeff- tried to come to me but one of the fatigue goons held him against another wall, and Michael was there with an arm around my waist and one arm, and only when he stopped me did I realize I'd stood up, my free hand outstretched to where the goons held the only mother I ever knew against the wall.

"What did you do, you bastards? What did you do! Let her go, let my mom go!"

I struggled, but Michael had a good grip, but I was focused on one thing and one thing only and that was that these idiots came in here, shot my family's business to hell, and now held my mom hostage after accusing her of the most horrific things. I don't know what I would have done had Michael not been there to hold me back, probably would have got shot again, or slammed into a wall as well, but hey, the elder Parkers were against walls, why not make it a family occupation?

Strangely, it was my mom's gritted, "Elizabeth," that stilled me, and I looked into those eyes, and there was no coldness, no distant aloof tiredness. There was only pain, love, sympathy, and sorrow and I knew then, even before the compassionate looking black fatigue garbed woman approached and gave me details, that at least some of what she was accused of was true.

"Miss, you need to calm down," the compassionate woman, a young woman actually with hair similar to my own, and not too much older than I was tried to soothe me. I didn't want to be soothed, or pitied, and certainly not from these strange people.

"I don't want to calm down, I want my mother to be okay."

"Your mother...Natalia?" The widened eyes and disbelieving scoff swung my attention to her, and Michael tightened his grip, and started to ease me back toward the group, but I stiffened my legs and didn't back down.

"What do you mean?" I growled out and I could see I took her by surprise. Well too damn bad! Just because I'm short and usually hard to rile or offend, I could still do bitchy and intimidating when I wanted to, and oh boy, did I ever want to then. I could almost see the cogs turning in her head, as she re-evaluated me, and the situation.

"She's definitely Derevko," someone murmured, and another of the invaders elbowed the loose mouthed one, hard.

"Look, I know this is difficult to understand right now, but trust me...Natalia Rochencko is not your mother. And she's certainly no saint."

"Who in this life ever is?" I bit out, holding the woman's gaze, not backing down one iota.

"True," the woman smiled. "True, indeed."

That day, my life was once again forever altered from it's course by gun-wielding strangers, and I can't say whether it's for the better or worse. It seems that Natalia Rochencko, alias Nancy Parker, was once part of a terrorist organization responsible for millions of people's deaths worldwide, and hundreds just here in the United States alone. A trusted lieutennant, Rochencko worked for and under three of the most notorious and sought after women terrorists in the world: the Derevko sisters - Elena, Irina, and Yekaterina 'Katya'. The Heartless, The Man, and The Raven, respectively.

But, almost eighteen years ago, Natalia had a falling out with the sisters, and in retaliation, she stole something of imense value of her then-recent employer Katya, and kidnapped a barely a week old little Yelizaveta Shiri Derevko, Katya's daughter with an unknown Israeli asset. That baby, was me. And so she went on the run, changing names, aliases, occupations like people change clothes, before settling down with Jeff Parker, her 'husband' from a previous hardly used alias, known only to her and one other person, someone who'd ended up dead before the Derevko clan could torture him for our whereabouts.

All this time, I was living a lie, even before I conciously chose to lie. I think I have the alien abyss to thank for me not freaking out as bad, though it is freak worthy when you look at it. I was raised as the daughter of one of the KGB's best operatives, who used to work for the world's greatest sibling criminal network, one of which was my birth mother, and maternal aunts. Two of my maternal cousins, Nadia Santos and Sydney Bristow, were part of the black ops CIA team that brought Nancy-Natalia into custody, and now they are are charge of training me, Elizabeth Parker, in the game of Milo Rambaldi. It had been Nadia who I'd been so hostile too, who'd been so compassionate to me, even after me being a bitch to her. Sydney says don't get used to it, and Nadia just punches her in the arm, and they smile at each other.

So now, because of who my mother is and the DNA that I share, I have to help my cousins and APU - the totally kickass black ops group- save the world. I'm stuck in this maelstrom of lies, danger, secrets, and intrigue. My old life, that of Liz Parker, smallest of small town girls waitress and Liz Parker, keeper of alien secrets, is over. I literally have no where else to go, since my Dad...Dad didn't take the news that his wife had been using him and his old Army contacts to sell American military secrets to the Soviets, and that the daughter he'd raised as his own was in fact, not his and had been kidnapped from her own criminally deranged family.

Jeffrey Parker's funeral was closed casket, as most suicides were, and practically the whole town and news stations showed up.

Who says only people not of this Earth can have a destiny? Or even one that sucked?

Cause I have to say, I'd rather take having to fight crazy aliens over having to fight crazy dead prophet's followers anytime.


~~~ finis ~~~

[KiaraAlexisKlay]

Title: Forget Me Not
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. The Lost Boys belongs to Joel Schumacher and Warner Bros. The title is a reference to the Lost Boys in J. M. Barrie's stories about Peter Pan and Neverland.
Synopsis: "In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends." - Martin Luther King, Jr


Forget Me Not


"What's a beautiful girl like you doing her, on the Boardwalk, looking so sad?"

The deep masculine voice purred in her ear, and Liz gasped as she spun from the pier post she'd been leaning on. Her heart was thundering loudly in her ears as it tried to escape the bone cage of her ribs. She had to tilt her head upwards to meet the amused gaze of the one who had snuck up on her. Her eyes widened, not in fear, but amazement at the leather clad figure in front of her.

A worn, crimson sheer button-up sheet was tucked into tight black jeans over a black crew necked tee. Scuffed leather boots of some kind peekd under his jeans, and a battered but comfortable looking leather duster completed the outfit.

Platinum blonde hair wisped into short spikes to curl over a lean neck, and a small black teardrop shaped stone dangled from a black pewter chain in his left ear. Electrically charged blue eyes peered down at her in earnest, while a sarcastic brow lifted in sync with an amused smirk.

"Excuse me?"

Why was she breathing so hard, as if she'd just run a marathon? He hadn't scared her that bad had he? He couldn't have, otherwise, why did she smile at the smirk; it was such a Michael thing, but she could tell this guy had the attitude to give the surly alien a run for his money.

"You looked sad," was all the explanation she got, and Liz's "Oh," brought that smirk back.

"I am," Liz admitted, after of bit of wrestling with wheter or not to answer this stranger's observations.

"Really. May I ask why or even how? This is is the Boardwalk, the epitome of fun, excitement, and intrigue. Certainly nothing to be sad about," her stranger coaxed, the leather creaking and sliding as he spread his arms out to encompass the whole of the area around them. Liz couldn't help smiling again.

"I'm sorry, but I don't even know you. Why should I trouble you with my problems?" she challenged, head tilting and cocking to the side. "Especially someone who took Buffy's Spike persona a too far."

The stranger snorted.

"Please, I'm the original. David."

"Liz," she surprised herself by answering the sudden subject change.

"Now we're not strangers anymore. So tell me...Liz," an incredibly seductive grin curled his lips as he playfully paced around her to glide to the post in front of her, leaning nochalantly against it.

"Unbelievable," Liz shook her head.

"I've got all night and I'm not going anywhere. Trust me...I'm a very patient guy."

"Fine," she laughed, still shaking her head. "I can't believe I'm telling a - "

"Friend, we're friends now, Liz, remember?"

"Friend, right. Okay...Friend David. I was, I was thinking of a friend, another friend," she tossed a wry grin at David, before it slipped, and her eyes became sad and serious once more. "His name was Alex, and he'd been more than a best friend. He was my brother, and now, he's gone."

Liz desperately tried to stop her tears, but Alex was a rift in her soul that would never mend, at least not completely. It was too soon, too fresh, he'd only been gone two months, but still...with his murderer free to go, Liz didn't think she'd ever get over losing her friend and brother.

"You lost him," David rumbled, a fingerless-gloved hand reach up to capture the fat tears rolling freely down her face. Holding the moisture to his lips, he slowly licked the salty mixture, eyes on her the entire time, and Liz couldn't seem to take her eyes off him.

"Lost him? Ha!" Liz's bitterness was echoed in her harsh laugh and the roll of her eyes. She glared at the stars for twinkling in the balmy, Californian twilight as if they were responsible. "He was murdered. Everyone said it was a suicide, but I knew. I knew, and better yet, I proved it."

There was little triumph in her voice and David knew there was more to the story than he was getting.

"We got her. We got the bitch responsible, but they let her go!"

Both fell silent after Liz's outburst, and Liz hung her head, but not out of embarrassment as she'd thought. Oddly, she felt comfortable and an odd sense of commiseration with the worldly-wise man before her.

"I lost my brothers too. Many years ago. Not a night goes by that I don't expect to see them walk through the door, laughing, wrestling, or punching each other. Marco would hang back, egging the others on, while Paul and Dwayne tried to see who was the strongest. It hurts."

Then David, Mr. Tough-Guy-in-a-Leather-Duster, had to look away. Until soft, feminine hands reached over and cupped his jaw, focusing his gaze on her and the now.

"It'll never stop, will it?" she asked, thumb caressing the side of his jaw. It wasn't a question, but she answered it anyway. "But that's good. We'll never forget them, ever."

"Yeah," David agreed, one side of his mouth quirking upward in a slow, steady smirk. "Never."

~finis~

[KiaraAlexisKlay]

Title: Questions and Answers
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay
Category: Roswell Crossovers with Stargate: SG-1 the tv series and The Mummy and The Mummy Returns movies
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, SciFi, and UPN. Stargate: SG-1 belongs to Jonathan Glassner, SHOWTIME, and SciFi. The Mummy and The Mummy Returns both belong to Universal Pictures.
Synopsis: Some answers are given years after the questions were asked.
Rating: TEEN to MATURE


~Questions and Answers~



The day of the funeral was matched by the weather perfectly: overcast, humid, and blustery with the overcast threatening to downpour its righteous anger on the mourners below. At least, that's what it felt like to United States Air Force Colonel Jonathan 'Jack' O'Neill, with two 'l's. He used a forefinger to loosen his necktie a hair, slightly enough that he felt like he could take a full breath, though the humidity was driving him nuts. Dress uniforms and Florida weather were a combination that did not mix, at all.

"Why the hell am I here?" he muttered to himself, but it was only a token complaint. He knew very well why he was here, and humidity or not, there was no way he'd miss this for anything. Go'auld be damned, they could wait.

Jack O'Neill was here to say good-bye to the first woman he'd ever truly loved enough to break his heart.

Rikki O'Connnell, a bright vivacious child prodigy had been a fifteen year old smart-ass know-it-all he'd met at college, he for graduate studies to help him advance in rank and she just beginning courses that took others years before they were able to take them. Sixteen years her senior, but with the first insult she'd mocked him with, he swore he fell in love. The next two years, as he flew his fighter planes and made drill practices and she studied her aritifacts or cursed him in Latin or Egyptian, depending on which culture she was engrossed in at the time, the pair were near inseparable. In spite of the disapproval from both sets of parents and siblings - Jack had already written his family off long before, and Rikki was fierce in defending him against her family's well-meaning censure.

At seventeen, Rikki had more life and maturity and pizazz than anyone Jack had ever met, and the pair had made plans to marry once she'd finished her graduate studies in about four more years, and giving him enough time to establish his Air Force career. But all that was to be for naught, when six weeks after celebrating her seventeenth and their upcoming engagement, Rikki had disappeared, pulled out of school and moved clear across the country. Leaving Jack with an unopened ring box, a shattered heart, and torn dreams.

He would never have recovered his drive and focus to make it through the rest of his college years, without Rikki's best friend and playful tagalong Sarah. The older girl by several years had been just as heartbroken over their friend's departure, for not even she had received a goodbye or explanation. It had taken a few years, but eventually, the ring and proposal Jack had wanted to give Rikki was given to Sarah instead, Jack having fallen cautiously in love with the winsome blond and neither regretted nor felt too guilty for moving on with each other.

Oh, they kept track of Rikki, mostly through the articles and archeological journals of her findings, halfway across the world, either in Egypt or the United Kingdom, the lives and myths and secrets of the pyramid builders or the Knights of the Round table catching her fancy. While Sarah and Jack were sad and angry and even a little betrayed, they still couldn't help but feel proud of the one who had been so much a part of their lives, and all she'd accomplished. Though he'd never said anything to Sarah, the many articles and clippings Jack had kept over the years chronicleing her rise and success, he couldn't help but notice and think that in all the pictures, Rikki never seemed to be truly happy. There always seemed to be a lingering shadow of regret in the lines of her face, and the glint in her eyes, something that only Jack would know what to look for, having known that face and its expressions so intimately.

Jack was sure that he wasn't just genuflecting what he'd hoped to see. It was one of those gut instincts that had never failed him, and no one would convince him otherwise.

Loud, roiling thunder brought Jack out of his musings, and he waited respectfully with the rest of the mourners, as the pall-bearers carried their precious cargo to its final resting place. Jack found he couldn't look upon the casket that bore inside the earthly remains of his former beloved. Incidentally, he was glad for the protection his uniform cover and aviator sunglasses provided, shielding his eyes and the private pain they carried in dully reflected obscurity.

To him, Rikki would always be the cheerful daredevil brunette who was following in her father and grandmother's footstoops to become an archeologist, with a double major in Egyptology and pre-and-post Medieval Britain, namely the Arthurian mythos. He couldn't recall how many times she'd gibber at him in Latin, proud of her British ancestry through her maternal grandmother's side, Evelynn Carnahan-O'Connell, or thrilled at her not quite distant Egyptian hieritage, and proceed to tease him or curse him in Ancient Egyptian.

From two years worth of dating and helping with study sessions, he'd come to learn and recognize a few phrases, the occassional word or trivia bit here and there, enough that he could sometimes know and understand Danny-boy when he got to rambling on, not that he'd ever admit to that little fact. He enjoyed listening to the Spacemonkey go on, it was almost soothing, and familiar in that Rikki used to do that when she got on a kick about some little thing like canoptic jars or whatever that just thrilled her to no end. Besides, if anyone knew he could understand, read, and even write with some proficiency both heiroglyphs and heiratic, he'd be expected to join in all the moldy bookworm stuff and it was just a little too close to a painful period that Jack didn't want to revist - ever. Not even with Danny boy - perhaps especially not with Danny boy. The good doctor would turn it into some kind of male bonding thing, or try to Dr. Phil him, and he never like psycho-therapy analyzation.

Desperate not to stare and needing something - anything - to distract him from the coffin and his own memories, Jack's eyes roved over the guests, surprised at the number of people who had shown up. Rikki had touched so many people and she didn't even have to try, Jack smiled with bittersweet fondness. It wasn't so much how many had shown up, but the variety. There were the expected geeks, noticeable even dressed up by their glasses, rumpled suits, and a general aura about them that years spent around Danny boy had helped identify as 'geek'. Dignitaries from all nationals were scattered about, some decidedly Arabic or Muslim, the head honchos of the Egyptology unit that Rikki had been apart of for so many years. Then there were the Brits, there was no mistaking them, what with their crisp clothing, somber expressions, and nifty accent.

Jack's eyes narrowed a particular group that seemed to hover apart from the others, even as they were in the middlee of the crowd, observing everyone in a cool, analytical way that had Jack's instincts screaming 'special ops' and he wondered- why would Rikki know or be involved with people like that? The men were dressed in crisp, somber suits like the others, but their dark skintone and hair coloring let Jack know they were Middle Eastern, Egyptian or Bedouin perhaps. But they moved too gracefully, too deliberately - predators in a gilded cage, holding back for the crowd's sake but no less deadly.

They were close to the family, and Jack took note of semi-familiar faces, time and memory serving to bring fuzzy recollection to the surface. He vaguely recognized the Carnahan side of the family from pictures of family reunions, who were almost entirely British, the result of a great-grand uncle John and his wife, Patience. He remembered Rikki laughing as she recalled how shocked her father and grandparents had been that said great-uncle had actually found someone to marry. There was some history involved in that, but Rikki would never go into too much detail, just smiling with mirth and then kissing him senseless so that he didn't ever wonder about long-dead great-grand uncles anyway.

His eyes came to rest upon the immediate family, and there he stopped searching. He'd known Rikki's father, Alex O'Connell, had passed away many years ago, and he'd never known her mother, but there was one person in her family that he'd always remember, and Nancy Eva-Lynn O'Connell-Parker standing next to her husband Jeffrey was that one. The Parkers were flanking a shorter brunette he couldn't see for all the people milling about, and his angle was wrong.

Nancy Parker had definitely left a lasting impression, warning him against breaking her sister's heart or acting like a typical hormonal driven male. At the time, Jack had chalked it up to a much older sibling looking after a much beloved and somewhat spoiled but cherished little sister. Jack knew that Rikki had been a surprise baby, he'd heard it often enough as Rikki playfully griped about being the literal baby of the family when her sister and now deceased older brothers had already grown and tried to start families of their own. Nor would Jack ever forget the tongue lashing he had endured when, desperate for news and any information on where his girlfriend had disappeared to, he'd called Nancy where she was established in her husband's hometown of Roswell, New Mexico.

Wincing at the memories, Jack followed everyone else, and waited numbly as Rikki O'Connell was finally put to rest, dead at only thirty-six. Almost eighteen years since he'd seen her last, held her in his arms and heard her laugh, and yet here he was, never having had a chance to get any answers or even to say goodbye.

Something made him look up, and when he did, he thought he'd keel over by the emotion that surged through him. A Rikki in miniture, from her straight russet colored hair, to her tiny yet surprisingly strong frame, was now by the grave, looking down with such sorrow. Numbed, he watched as two tears fell, one after the other, as she kissed the rosebud and released it to fall from her fingers. Peering through suddenly blurry eyes and almost choking from a constricting throat, Jack blinked, and stared again as the girl moved in profile and all the air left Jack O'Neill's lungs.

Oh, she was Rikki's mini-me all right, but the rounded face, the pert little nose, the shape of her lips and the slight tilt of her ears...she didn't get that from Rikki. Or any other O'Connell.

Jack straightened suddenly as if coming to attention, eyes on the little brunette tucked between Nancy and Jeff, suddenly thoughtful and hopeful, and just a little bit scared out of his mind.

One question was answered with undeniable proof walking away with her arms slung around Jeffrey Parker's waist, curled into his side and holding tight to Nancy's hand as if it were a lifeline.

He knew why Rikki had left now, and he even knew why Nancy had reacted so strongly, so violently against him.

Jack cast one last glance at the grave, sent a smile and a soft Egyptian prayer to Mut for watching after her in the Afterlife, and then walked after the Parkers.

He still had questions, and he wasn't going to wait another eighteen years for the answers.



-finis-

[KiaraAlexisKlay]

Title: A Vegas Thing
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay
Category: Roswell Crossovers w/ Mr. & Mrs. Smith the movie starring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to author Melinda Metz, and the television series belongs to Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, and SciFi. Mr. & Mrs. Smith, the movie starring Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie belongs to 20th Century-Fox.
Synopsis: What happens in Vegas doesn't always stay in Vegas.
Rating: MATURE: This chapter has mature themes and is semi-explicit.

~A Vegas Thing~


John Smith loved his wife very much.

Really, he did. And he'd kill anyone who said, implied, or threatened otherwise in the most painful way imaginable. Just because he was the, well one, of the world's greatest assassins, that didn't mean that he couldn't or didn't have feelings.

He did love his wife, truly, from the depths of his soul and with a heart he hadn't realized he still possessed, he loved her. Jane was this dark beauty with skill and poise and sexiness and that cute little mole right...off topic. The point was, no matter how many years they'd been married (Jane still insisted they were married a year more than what he said) or how many times they tried to kill each other (which just lead to really hot make-up sessions that lasted all day in bed, or against the wall, or on the carpet or...you get the idea) since, that fact never changed. It might have wavered a time or two, but in the end, their bond had just strengthened and brought them closer. Since that fiasco between 'Atlanta' and 'Father' - two rival agencies that set him and Jane up to kill each other, John and Jane had been more honest in their relationship, and a lot more forthcoming about themselves than either of them had felt comfortable enough to do so.

But John wasn't fooling himself. No matter how honest they were with each other now, he knew that there were things about Jane that she still held back, and probably never would tell him. And as long as it didn't affect them both now, with the life they'd fought to forge with sweat and blood and betrayl and hell of a lot of ammunition, he could understand that, respect it even.

He had secrets as well.

Well, one major secret that always lingered on the edge of his mind, popping up at various times and skirting the edge of being blurted out when Jane gave him that serious, intense look in her eyes that made him want to tell her anything she desired. Luckily, she didn't give him that look often, and it usually wasn't about his past, so he was safe and building up an immunity to it.

Though, his major secret wasn't excactly a complete secret, oh no. If someone knew half a secret, was the other half a secret still or not? That wasn't the point. The point was, he'd already told her the main portion of the secret, so it wasn't as if he was hiding that from her. He'd come clean to Jane about Vegas and him having been married, and that he'd gotten it annulled. Which was all of it, he just hadn't told her what had happened after that little stint of Vegan Matrimony.

What Jane didn't know and what John would never let on, especially after Jane's insistence on his 'ex'-wife's name and social security number, was that though the marriage was eventually annulled, for the seventy-two hours of non-stop matrimonial bliss, it had been a marriage in truth. Even now, the memories of those nights remained some of the most precious, kept in the recesses of his mind to be brought out on occassion, fondled in sweet remembrance, and then carefully packed away until needed again.

She also didn't know, and John wasn't too keen on letting her know, that he still checked up on his 'first' wife occassionally, but not because of any lingering, lust-filled feelings or ideas - Jeez, Jane would kill him dead!- but because of what came out of that alcohol induced union that kept him coming around.

That Nancy had gone on with her plans to marry Jeff Parker was a stroke of fate, destiny and kismet and karma all conspiring to let John off the hook. Besides, John didn't use his real name on the marriage license, and neither had Nancy, so there was really no messy annulment fees or a paper trail to link the two together. He and Nancy had left each other amicably and well-sated, he to his next mark and she to her fiancee, who had come to town after his own week long pre-wedding celebrations. Not even twenty four hours after their 'annullment', Nancy and Jeffrey Parker were married in a legal and binding union full of friends, family, and one stealthily hidden, dashing young assassin if he did say so himself. He'd been intrigued by Nancy, a young anthropology major, and he cherished the time he'd spent with the sweet and not too completely innocent soon-to-be-Mrs.-Parker. He told himself he just wanted to make sure that this Parker person was worthy of such a nice girl - he had to admit, he had his doubts about the wanting to rennovate his family-owned bar into an alien themed restaurant, but hey, he killed people for a living, why should he make fun of other peoples? Although...the alien themed diner in Roswell, New Mexico might have been taking things a little too far.

Which is why no one questioned Elizabeth's parentage when she was born just a little before the happy couple's nine month anniversary of wedded bliss. The fact that she was a little exotic brunette, and Jeff was dark haired and complected as well, instead of blond and blue eyed like her momma only helped.

But John knew, and deep down, he knew Nancy knew, if only for the fact that there was always that little sliver of doubt in the back of her mind. What if..? Quietly, under the guise of keeping her in the hospital for more tests, John and Nancy used one of John's many contacts for a DNA test, but John knew. Even before he got the bloodwork back, he knew that Elizabeth Shiri Parker was his own flesh and blood. Her hair was much darker than his natural light brown artificially colored blond, but there was no denying she strongly resembled a paternal grandmother that niether she nor John had had a chance to meet in person. Only a faded, crinkled photograph and John guarded that possession with a zealous determination, not even Jane had seen that photo. He'd been thrilled that it had survived the destruction of the house and the desecration of his private underground sanctuary by Jane and her 'Father's' agents.

Thankfully, neither Jeff, nor Jane and Elizabeth, were aware of any of this.

John loved his wife. He really, trully did. Especially now that they - him and Jane - were expecting a little girl of their own in a few months time.

But even though he'd never met her face to face, John loved his firstborn, too in his own distant fashion. Over the years he's checked up on her and her mother, sending money to help out, and she's the reason why John's here, back in Vegas where it all started. In a cheesy, run-down motel where a certain truck driver owning a snub-nosed 22 caliber who'd been passing through the Crashdown Diner & Cafe in Roswell, New Mexico one fateful, September day was staying.

Checking his gear and satisfied everything was in order, John snapped in a clip and loaded a bullet in the chamber, tucking the silencer in his jacket pocket and smoothing his jacket to hide the bulge of the gun. Placing a pair of Ray-Bans on his face, he strolled out his room.

John had a job to do, a Vegas thing.

He'd be home in time for dinner.


-finis-