Streetwalker
Rating: Teen/Mature
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to first to Melinda Metz, then to Jason Katims and 20th Century Fox. She created them; they killed them. I’m just borrowing them.
Author’s Note: So I decided in the middle of writing my POV series, that my next personal challenge was going to be writing UC for all the major ships. Of course, I’ve still got one more POV to finish up, but this story just came into my mind last night and started screaming to be written. It’s kind of funny, because the two main characters are two of my least favorite characters in the series. But when the muse speaks, I listen.
Chapter One – Somewhere in Maine
The truck bumped across the field, jostling the occupants against the seats and doors. The driver swerved to avoid the ruts, but hitting them was inevitable.
“Do you see them?” the driver asked.
“Their still on us,” his companion replied, a tinge of fear creeping into her voice. “We have to lose them. Is there any way you can make this heap go any faster?”
“I’m trying,” said the driver. He put his hand on the dashboard, and the truck suddenly picked up speed. The back window shattered, and the driver grabbed his companion and shoved her down onto the floor in the space between the seat and the dashboard.
“Keep you’re head down,” he said, focusing on the grassy field. “They’re shooting at us.”
“Be careful,” she whispered.
“I’m going into the woods,” he shouted over the whine of the engine, and the hail of bullets. “Maybe we can lose them there.”
After several minutes of wild driving down an old logging trail, the driver stopped the truck and shut the engine down.
“I think we lost them,” he said. “You can get up now, it’s safe.”
His companion pulled herself back up into the passenger seat, and slumped against the window.
“That was so not my idea of fun,” she said. “We need to find someplace else to hide. Maybe we should try a city this time. We can just sort of blend in.”
“That’s a good idea,” the driver said, in a tight voice.
Something in his tone captured her attention, and she turned to look at him and gasped.
“You’re bleeding. Oh, God, they shot you. We have to get you to a doctor. Move over, I’ll drive.”
“We can’t go to a doctor, you know that,” the man said. “Besides, I think it’s too late. I don’t think I’m going to make it.”
“Don’t say it! Don’t you dare say that!” the woman cried. “You’re going to live. You have to. I don’t know what I’ll do if you die.”
“Not if, when,” the man replied. “And when I do, you’ll go on. You’re a fighter, you’ll survive.”
“Not without you, I can’t survive without you,” she whispered.
“You can, and you will,” the man said, softly. Now get your things and get out of the truck. I’m going to blow it up. If we’re lucky, they’ll think we both died in the explosion, and they won’t come looking for you. This is your chance to be free. Take it, Maria, and don’t look back.”
“But Michael, I love you,” she said through the tears.
“I know, Maria, and I love you, and I’m sorry every day that I ever dragged you into this. At least let me give you this, one last chance at freedom.”
He paused as a spasm of coughing shook his body. The end was near. He could feel his life slipping away in the blood that flowed from his wounds. He was tired. So tired of running, so tired of watching as the people that he loved died, one by one. It was over, his time had come but he could give Maria this one final gift, the gift of freedom.
“I love you, Maria,” he choked. “Hurry, I don’t have much strength left.”
Maria sobbed brokenly as she grabbed the bag that held all her possessions.
“I don’t want to leave you,” she said through her tears.
“Maria, you have to,” Michael gasped between paroxysms of coughing. I need you to do this. I need you to have the life you lost when you came with us. Please, do this for me.”
“I love you Space Boy,” Maria whispered. She slid across the seat and pressed her lips gently to his, kissing him, the man she loved, for the last time.
As they kissed, a blue glow filled the cab of the truck, and Maria felt a jolt of energy pass through her body.
“Michael?” she whispered. “Michael?” she whispered again, knowing in her heart she wouldn’t hear anything. Michael Guerin was dead.
In that moment that Michael died, the last living bit of Maria’s soul died as well. It had started dying when Alex was murdered. The day they left Roswell, it died a little more. When the Special Unit caught up with them in Colorado, she lost a little more of her soul when she saw Kyle and Isabel jump to their deaths off a canyon rather than be subjected to the white room.
When Max died, it had been horrible, but at least he had died a noble death. He had rushed into a burning building to make sure everybody had gotten out safely. Everybody did, everybody except Max. Looking back, Maria was certain he did it to spare Liz the pain of seeing him captured by the Special Unit. But it still hurt, and the dark stain that filled her soul grew a little larger that day. Unfortunately, survivors of the fire filled the newspapers and airwaves with stories about the heroic stranger who had some miraculous power that held the fire at bay, allowing them to escape.
Liz was like a small child after that. She couldn’t do anything for herself. She existed, but she didn’t live. It was like the essential thing that made her Liz had died right along with Max. She willingly followed Michael and Maria as they attempted to elude the Special Unit once again. They were in Nevada when it happened. The Special Unit had tracked them down again. It was seeing them that seemed to bring Liz back to life. She fought like a Valkryie against them. It took six agents to subdue her while Michael and Maria watched helplessly from their hiding spot in the mountains. Liz waited until the last possible second, and used her powers on herself, blowing her body, and the six agents into little pieces.
Maria started to scream, and it was only Michael’s quick thinking and fast hands that stopped her from launching herself at the remaining agents to avenge her friend’s death. From then on, part of Maria felt as if she were dead. She only felt alive when she was with Michael. He was her anchor, her only connection with her old life, the only thing that kept her sane.
But now, Michael was gone, and she was alone. What she wanted to do, more than anything else in the world was cry, but she didn’t have that luxury. Michael had said he was going to blow up the truck, to give her the chance to escape. He couldn’t do that now - it was up to her.
She heard the drone of several engines, and she knew she only had a matter of minutes before the Special Unit found them. Maria reached into Michael’s pocket and fished out the large silver lighter he always carried. Why an alien who could start fires with his hand carried a lighter, she never knew, but now she was glad that he did.
Maria pressed one last kiss on Michael’s now cold lips. She grabbed his hand and slid the ring that he always wore off his finger and slipped it on her thumb. She grabbed her bag and climbed out the passenger door and ran around the bed of the truck to the fuel filler door. She flipped the door open quickly and removed the gas cap and tossed it in the bed of the truck. Then she pulled the bandana she wore around her neck off, and with the aid of a stick, stuffed it down into the gas tank so that only a small corner of it stuck out.
Maria looked around and planned her escape route quickly before she lit the lighter. She touched the flame to the edge of the bandana and waited for a moment to be sure that it had ignited. Turning quickly, she ran into the woods and ducked down behind a large granite outcropping deposited by some long ago glacier, and watched while the truck exploded in a ball of fire.
The last bit of Maria’s soul died that day along with Michael. After the explosion, she sat in the woods, waiting for the tears to fall, but none came. It was only then that she realized it was because she was dead inside. Everything and everyone she ever cared about was gone, and she was alone.