Walk Away (UC,Mi/L,MATURE) 2-3-11 oneshot

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Walk Away (UC,Mi/L,MATURE) 2-3-11 oneshot

Post by KiaraAlexisKlay » Thu Feb 03, 2011 1:00 am

Title:Walk Away
Authored by: Kristin aka Kiara Alexis Klay
Disclaimer: Roswell is not mine, it belongs to Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, and the various networks, producers, and affiliates. The title was inspired by the lyrics used in the fiction, If I Walk Away, as sung by Josh Groban, on the 2010 album Illuminations, produced by Rick Rubin of 143/Reprise Records.
Genre: UC Couples, AU
Pairing: Michael Guerin, Elizabeth Parker
Synopsis: Songfic. The lyrics are so powerful, even if I didn't care for the musical accompaniment, but I think they are amazing and tell a story all on their own.

Fragments shells of a long ago lifetime
Faces that once were mine
Thrown down by the sea

So if I walk away
Please follow me
If I walk away
Would you please follow me?
-Josh Groban, If I Walk Away, Illuminations, (c) 2010

He knew she was coming; he had felt the brilliant bronze and gold of her aura, mixed in with the warm yellow and orange of her concern and worry long before he heard her soft footfalls, attempting to be silent out of some misguided respect for his feelings.

A wasted effort.

What feelings could he - the foster son of a boozed out welfare sleaze, and the reincarnated essence of some long-dead warlord from another galaxy, another species entirely and the part of the reject batch even - what kind of feelings was he capable of? Was the genetic material that comprised his supposedly human half even enough to deserve feelings?

One pair of emotions that seemed to have been granted on him in excess was the anger and annoyance. Anger he couldn't even describe, having known it so long and been familiar with, he wasn't able to pinpoint the exact cause and effect.

Annoyance, because a certain nosy interference wasn't taking his silence as the very obvious "Trespasser's Will Be Shot; Survivors Will Be Shot Again" sign that even MARIA could understand.

He didn't turn around, but then again, he didn't need to. A spot between his shoulder blades seemed to tingle under the weight of a darkened-iris gaze, and a lot more effort than should have been necessary went into forcing his muscles not to tense and react.

It seemed nowadays that part of his not-of-this-world package now included a built-in radar, at least where she was concerned. Similar to how he could sense his siblings, yet at the same time, not. His body certainly never hummed and prickled when Max was nearby, and he fervently hoped it never in this lifetime or any other would.

Truth be told it scared him sometimes how much he'd come to expect that bronze and gold presence to be around, and it pissed him off at the growing emptiness that occurred on the days when he didn't come into contact with it even from a distance.

The silence stretched between them, a living, breathing entity of its own and he told himself not to fidget. It wasn't an oppressive silence, at least not on her part. And, so what? What was the big deal? He didn't have to talk and ramble and babble on about feelings and emotions and things that couldn't be changed and should just be expected. So why the hell wasn't he able to enjoy his solitude?

Oh, yeah. Because someone didn't have the sense God gave little apples to STAY AWAY!

Unable to stand it anymore, he whirled around, and pinned her with his best worst glare ever, daring her to even say a word.

Saving Grace, she did have some sort of survival instinct, not saying a word but that didn't stop an impudent eyebrow to arch and silently mutiny against his nonverbal demand.

Her aura had thankfully closed down enough that he couldn't see every little thing, the normal bronze and gold sliding and meshing about her, haloed by a soft, cool blue of calmness and the bluish-gray-green of reason.

Slightly better than pity, or worse, sympathy, but damnit! He didn't want her to be calm and reasonable. His world had just shattered for the umpteenth number of times and she was being reasonable.

A streak of yellow-orange concern/worry/interest flickered briefly in her aura, smoothing over quickly, and Michael was sure that some of the burning fire welling in him must have shown in his eyes and she must have seen it. Seen it, sensed it, knew what he was feeling at any given moment ... damn the nosy brat! Why and when the hell had she snuck in, and why was she always there when he was feeling at his lowest? His most vulnerable.


Her aura flickered again, this time the bronze deepening and taking precedence and Michael hadn't braced himself before mocha eyes darkened and bow-shaped lips tightened.

"Are you through feeling sorry for yourself?"

The sudden attack took him by surprise and it took a second too long for him to process. She took that second to cross her arms and brace her weight on one leg, left hip jutting out and Michael knew he was in for it.


A derisive snort answered that and Michael could taste the crackle of ozone as the burning red of his rage rose along with he churning of his powers gathering in a lump in his stomach.

"You heard me."

Frankly, he was so far beyond pissed now, he took three massive strides to close the distance between them. Stopping just in front of her, he crossed his own arms, looming down over her. The chin went up and Michael knew she meant business. She was not going to move on whatever she got in that silly head of hers until he 'saw reason'. Tough, he wasn't in a reasoning mood.


That same eyebrow arched again, this time cocking in a "Don't be such a dumbass, asshole" kind of way and he tried not to be impressed at the nuances she could pack into one little muscle movement.

"You've been pouting."

"You're delusional, Parker," he sneered but Elizabeth Parker wasn't one to back down just because someone was trying to intimidate her. It didn't work in that alley all those years ago, and it wasn't working now.

"And you're avoiding the issue, Guerin," she snarled back at him. Snarled at him! Well, her aura did anyway, even if Parker was doing a fairly decent job of keeping her voice level. The slight quiver, almost unnoticeable, in her voice and the tight clenching of her jaw where she grit her teeth so hard the only indications that he was getting to her just as much as she was getting to him.

Not that he would ever admit to it.

"Avoiding what?"

Looking him square in the eye she told him.

"You're avoiding how much this is affecting you. Finding out about ... the others." Only the barest of hesitation, word usage no doubt, but Michael understood what hadn't been said and that red-hot rage boiled over so he couldn't see anything for a few moments. Or perhaps it was longer.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Michael glared and Liz met him head on.

"I have eyes, Michael, and I saw what this did to you. What it is still doing. And I want to know what you're going to do about it?"

"What's it to you? And why are you insisting there's something wrong?"

Scoffing, Liz tossed her head back, sending the loose strands of sable hair flipping over her shoulder and out of her face.

"First, you just found out that the second set of pods was for a duplicate, a backup Foursome, one of whom that shared your face. Secondly, we found out what an ass he was," and she blushed at Michael's pointed stare here, "and his and Lonnie's part in the whole affair. I would say that qualifies as 'something wrong'."

"And thirdly?"

There was always a thirdly somewhere.

"Thirdly, I see how much this hurt you. Seeing what an alternate version of yourself if you think about did. I know that's been bothering you."

Her voice is soft and her posture relaxes as well. Her eyes hold sympathy yes, but it is clear of false platitudes and just hold my gaze, stating fact, seeking a solution to the puzzle before her.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

He has to turn away. She see's too much as it is, is too close, too observing, too damn good at being nosy, why can't she just stay away? Why must she be different?

"I know exactly what I am talking about, and my original question still stands: Are you finished feeling sorry for yourself?"

Her spine is stiff and her words are clipped so I had hit a nerve. Good. She's hit several of mine already.

"You still haven't explained fully," he groused and Liz sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Okay, breaking it down Barney-style, you've been sulking ever since you're psycho doubles have been here and it's making me mad. Since when have you let what anybody says or does affect you personally? So Rath," and he flinched at the name, the memories, the power of that name, " and Lonnie were insane. So what? Rath ... New York Rath, is not you"

Liz had been gesturing with one hand while she had been talking, and had found herself reaching out at that last to lay her hand over his pounding heart.

"You are not a murderer. No matter how angry Max may make you feel, or which nerve Isabel is crushing under her fashionable heels, you would never betray your family like they did. You are so much better than that; better than them; better than him."

Her hand now caressed his face; how had that happened? He flinched but couldn't find it in him to break away ... not just yet. How could the warmth of her skin, the soft pads of her fingers, douse the raging inferno that was him and his unpredictable powers? It felt so good, just for a moment.

"You are so much better Michael," she murmured, so close.

"You need more than one event to come to a confirmed conclusion, Miss Scientist," he pulled away.

"Michael," she sighed, but he was already gone.

It was an obvious retreat but she had accomplished her mission. And yet, even as he walked away, he could feel the phantom caress against his cheek, and wondered if she could feel the echo of his pounding heart as he could feel hers?

He didn't even seem to notice the breathing that came easier, nor did the darkness that had been beat back with a few well-placed barbs.

But Liz did, and the smile that quirked her lips was at odds with the relived sigh that passed. He would be fine.

She would make sure of it.

So if I walk away
Please follow me
If I walk away
Would you please follow me?
-Josh Groban, If I Walk Away, Illuminations, (c) 2010

The End

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