Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) A/N 3/30 [WIP]

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Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) A/N 3/30 [WIP]

Post by Tears_of_Mercury »

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Reconstructing Madonna

Disclaimer: I am in no way affiliated with Roswell, Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, or the WB/UPN. I do not own Roswell, and after Tess, Lies, and Videotape aired I really had no desire to. I also have no ownership or claim to "Wake" by Lisa McMann, although her book does inspire Isabel's chapter of the story. I accept that the chances of writing a cannon Roswell fic that everyone hasn't read fifty-odd times already is slim, and with that knowledge in mind have done my best to keep my story my own and have not stolen lines, scenes, or ideas from other authors. (Yeesh, that was long.)

Pairings: Max/Liz, Isabel/Jesse, Michael/Maria, Serena/OC, Kyle/Eileen

Rating: Mature, just to be safe.

Summary: A story set in (somewhat) present time that leaves cannon behind after Ch-ch-changes. For Max, Liz leaving was just the latest in a long line of painful events, but for Liz things just got worse from there. Six years later and she's still struggling to control her powers, hold down a job she didn't aspire to, and keep her friends from worrying. When her nightmares evolve and become premonitions she finds herself working next to Max once more and struggling to come to terms with why she ran away in the first place.

A/N: I have the first three parts of this already written, but after that it's still kind of up-in-the-air. If I start switching POV's like crazy I'll give fair warning, but for the most part the person who brings you into a part is the one who will bring you out of it as well. I'm not sure if I like this story, but the idea got stuck in my head.

Part One

“Liz, come on. We can’t keep doing this.”

Tears trembling on the tips of eyelashes. Stuttering hands and shaky breaths. It cuts her straight to the marrow.

There’s nothing she can do, she tells herself. Still she stands there, paralyzed and waiting for the inevitable rush of excuses and rationalizations.

Instead, only:

“I know. I just… don’t know what else to do.”

Exasperated, torn green eyes avoid brown ones. Perfectly manicured fingernails digging into the palms of her hands and she swallows, dodging the guilt and empathy. There’s only energy for one last, weak resistance.

“It’s not ethical.”

“I know! But I have to do something. God, you think I want to be like this? I’ll pay you, I just… you’re my best friend. And I can’t go to anyone else.”

Serena lets her eyelids fall down, shaking her head back and forth. The motion upsets the black curls perched on her shoulders, and she feels her back muscles cramping. It’s too hard to say no to her when she’s like this.

Broken.

Confused.

Most likely unstable.

“I’m going to end up screwing you up more than I help you. You know that, right?”

“I can’t tell anyone else. And I can’t… I don’t need a friend. I need a doctor.”

Is it a doctor or a best friend? Liz can’t seem to decide anymore than she can. They stand motionless. Facing each other, maybe to challenge or maybe to help. It’s unusually hard to tell when Liz is trying to be antagonistic.

Harsh sobs break the silence, a barely contained wail hiding somewhere underneath them. Her whole body is contorting, the palsies so bad it’s a wonder she’s not already seizing on the floor or shooting off green sparks.

The urge to hug this friend, this utterly lost woman-child, almost overtakes her.

People like Liz are not supposed to be seen when they’re helpless.

She sighs.

Was there every really a doubt?

“Come on then. You have to be up at five tomorrow.”

-

“So you met someone.”

“No. I mean, it was just some guy from work. He said it was a group thing, but then… I didn’t leave when I found out. And it just kind of progressed from there.”

Liz’s fingers flutter as they run through her closely-cropped hair. A moment of best-friend envy stabs Serena, because Liz has possibly the most gorgeous hair in the world. For all the good it’ll ever do her when she wears a boy’s haircut.

The muscle spasms haven’t stopped. Her gaze is distant, with no room in it for her new life and new friends and new memories.

Serena wonders how, when she deals with emotionally isolated patients every day, it’s Liz’s emotional distancing that always manages to intimidate her.

There are walls around her.

Face shuttered.

Jaw clenched.

Poised for a fight and begging to disappear.

She doesn’t rush her.

“I’m not made of stone. I have… physical needs, and it’s not like I expect Max to be waiting around for me. Obviously. But I-” She breaks off.

The psychiatrist in Serena comes to the forefront. Demands that she wait just a little longer. Then, when nothing further is forthcoming, she prods gently, “You what, Liz?”

Long, elegant fingers attached to a tiny palm suddenly shoot a bolt of green energy into the corner of the room. It hits an end table. The furnishing collapses, legs crumpling under a weight suddenly too heavy to bear.

Serena jumps, half-startled and half-frightened. That kind of power will always seem unnatural to her.

Immediately Liz is up and out of her chair, moving towards the damage. Cursing under her breath.

“Honey, leave it,” she commands gently. She cringes at the endearment. Wonders how much longer she’ll be able to pretend this is actually doing her friend any good.

Liz ignores her. She stoops next to the pile of sawdust and screws, poking at the splintered wood and trying to fix it with her hands. Eventually she erects a pathetic skeleton of the piece Serena bought for over a hundred dollars. Eyebrows furrowed in concentration, she waves her hand over it.

Nothing happens.

She tries again. Still nothing.

Her heart hurts to be watching this.

“I can’t even fix a damn end table. God, you’d think he would have given me something useful with all of this power!” Her hands are sparking again.

Serena moves to her quickly, tugging on the hunched form. So tense it’s a wonder she isn’t made of stone. “Liz, you have to calm down. Remember the breathing exercises I taught you? Try to use them now.”

Ever the good patient, the shaggy head of hair comes to rest between two too-apparent knees. Her back rises and falls, quickly at first and then more slowly. Her noisy breaths echo in the room.

When it comes, her voice is muffled. “He wanted to sleep with me. I knew that. He didn’t even have to… I just… I tried. I let him kiss me, but I just… couldn’t.”

She doesn’t say anything.

What can she say? ‘Get over it?’ ‘Move on with your life?’ Liz has tried, so many times. Long gone is the defiant teenage girl still set on playing the victim and hoping that Max would somehow fix everything. Fix her. But whether it’s days’ or years’ worth of progress, when the setbacks come they almost destroy her. And she’s not strong enough to endure that many more.

The story’s not over yet. “He slid his hand under the hem of my shirt. And all I could think was that, we hadn’t even been kissing a full minute, and already he was… I was already half drunk. But I still couldn’t do it. Not even – not even a one night stand.”

There’s bitterness there. Contempt for the boy who could escape for a night.

“Liz, you’re following a passive behavior pattern. You didn’t intend to be alone with him, obviously didn’t want to be alone with him – but you stayed anyway. If you feel you need alcohol to have sex, you probably shouldn’t be having it.”

Liz does her best to listen. Her head is still somewhere else, though. Like always. “I just… I wanted fireworks. I wanted flashes. I wanted to…”

A choked laugh; a sigh expelled like a sob.

She lifts her head up, the resentment and self-loathing making her features ugly. “… to see into someone’s soul.”

They sit in silence for a long time. It’s not uncomfortable, but some detached part of Serena notes that she feels the urge to climb the walls.

Ever-strong shoulders slump in defeat.

“I didn’t want him at all.”

-

Serena sits with her for another twenty minutes. Does her best to respond clinically to everything her best friend says. By the time Liz leaves the end table is repaired, but there’s a thin sheen of sweat on the small woman’s upper lip when she tugs on her jacket.

The powers are too much for her.

Too much energy and not a big enough outlet.

Too much raw ability but next to no control.

The check on her desk laughs at her. She rebels against the idea of cashing it, knowing Liz will fly off the handle if she doesn’t. More than even an excuse, it is an apology. For someone who hasn’t apologized nearly enough in the past it’s important to do so copiously now.

How is she to help her friend?

She won’t rest until she does, because Liz was and remains to be a friend first and foremost; but it’s this that keeps her from being any real help. She can’t accept that there’s nothing Serena the doctor can do. And Liz would never let Serena the friend close enough to help her heal.

A Harvard master’s tells her she should know better, but the fact that she can’t help is damaging her faith in herself. As a physician. As a person. She and Eileen both feel the sting of having a best friend who gives everything but will accept nothing in return. Liz does penance for crimes she’s committed in the past.

And crimes that carry into the future.

She will never forget what Liz asked her after confiding about the future version of her love. Wide-eyed like a child reprimanded for a trespass they don’t understand, she asked if everything bad in the world now had somehow stemmed from her. If the death of her best friend and birth of a new child were not the only gains and losses in a world she didn’t quite fit in anymore.

Was 9/11 her fault? Were numerous hate crimes, rapes, molestations somehow a direct result of desperate and careless actions?

What do you say to that?

‘No, of course not! Thinking any differently is stupid and self-absorbed and damaging.’

It’s what she thinks, but it’s not what Liz wants to hear. And there’s an infinitesimally small chance that it’s not the truth.

That chance is enough to drive Liz crazy.

Tears slip down her face.

They leave, providing a momentary respite from all of her insecurities and questions. She doesn’t consider what will happen if Liz’s connection with her otherworldly soul mate flares up again. She doesn’t question what will happen when she gets a live-in boyfriend or husband, how she’ll explain a friend showing up at their door during the night in hysterics five or six times a year. She doesn’t even wonder why the visits are getting more frequent lately.

Right now she just wants to get back to sleep.
Last edited by Tears_of_Mercury on Mon Mar 30, 2009 3:44 am, edited 22 times in total.
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Re: Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) Part 1 4/29

Post by Tears_of_Mercury »

A/N: Thanks to nibbles2, polar vixen, Carrie, tinie38, and begonia9508 for the feedback! It means a lot. And I also want to apologize for any typos... I'm flying without a beta and the only time I had a chance to proofread this part after mad changes was at 3:00 AM this morning. Just an FYI: the Eileen in this part is, indeed, Liz's Winnaman roommate Eileen Burrows. I would also like to point out that the term "unreliable narrator" comes to mind more than once when writing this and upcoming parts, so don't throw tomatoes at the author!

Part Two

“I fucking hate him!”

Eileen paces around the small apartment like a caged animal, her round cheeks flushed and her eyes glittering dangerously. Anger is coiled tight in her chest, begging to acquaint itself with her and be released back into the atmosphere.

She has never been one to deny her impulses.

Papers fall to the floor in a flurry as her arm sweeps over the surface of her desk, knocking any and everything important to the floor. This has all the makings of a first-class temper-tantrum.

She can see it all in her older sister’s eyes. The thinning tolerance. The irritation and that ever-present question of ‘Aren’t you getting a little too old for this?’

Serena isn’t in the habit of surprising her. There’s monotony and the beginnings of a sigh in her voice as she replies. “Lee, you don’t even know him.”

They’ve had this conversation.

Five hundred times.

Eileen still hasn’t gotten tired of it.

“I don’t need to know anything but that he cheated on her, altered her DNA, and permanently screwed her up. She’s a fucking basket-case, Rena!” The words are spit out; sharpened and intended for a phantom. Her sister is the only one who hears them.

And she sure as hell doesn’t seem to be listening.

Serena tilts her head in acknowledgement. “Yeah. But a lot of that… a lot of that’s not his fault. Liz was a hurting and confused teenager who made some pretty self-destructive decisions.”

The twenty-four-year-old is talking again before Serena’s had a chance to finish. “Yeah, but who wouldn’t be messing up right and left in that situation? She sustained a fatal bullet would, was brought back from the dead, and then had to start lying to everyone that she loved. And that asshole just sat back playing her and had the nerve to act like a self-righteous prick when she got tired of it!”

Eileen is not a stupid woman. She knows that there’s likely another side to this. The sick, rarely-used intellectual part of her brain would probably be delighting in that obviously twisted and inhuman point of view if the person left alone and hurting wasn’t her best friend. But it seems that Liz is concerned solely with the other side of things, and her sister is too busy looking at things from everyone’s point of view to champion the fragile woman.

Someone has to. Maria relocated to Europe years ago and disappears into the recording studio for months at a time. Alex is dead. Liz’s mother stopped talking to her when she flunked her first semester at Winnaman.

Her father still believes this is a phase she’s going through.

‘It’s not a fucking phase!’ She wishes she could scream that at him, get in his face in the hopes that he’ll see reason even if he won’t see his daughter. That’s a fruitless wish, though. In his own way Jeffrey Parker is as blind as her own father.

Is there any man in her best friend’s life who hasn’t abandoned her in some way, shape, or form?

But Max Evans takes the cake. And if she wasn’t worried about exposing Liz, she’d hunt him down and shoot him herself.

“You’re right,” Serena allows, “she can hardly be faulted for a lot of this. We’re not the ones who get to decide, though.”

And just like that it’s over. Her face crumples.

Why is this happening to them?

Liz is the one who sat all night with her in the hospital when Tommy was dying of a drug overdose. Liz is the one who understood about her parents, and didn’t feel the need to ream her out whenever she was a brat. Liz is the one who didn’t try to shrink her when she experimented and got a girlfriend freshman year of college.

And Liz is also the one who’s been having nightmares and crying fits since they met six years ago. She’s the one who criticizes herself for not being curvier, blonder, more alien.

She’s the one who views herself as worthless because at sixteen, she couldn’t successfully save the world and keep everyone happy. Guilt is killing her. She welcomes it, makes overcompensation and terror her friends. But how much longer can she continue before she’s too tired?

It can’t last forever.

Her friend doesn’t deserve this. And all of Serena’s conjectures, and “objective” observations, are making things worse.

But maybe that’s just the frustration talking. Maybe she’s just sick of not possessing what Liz needs. To heal. To love someone wholly again.

To not be so ashamed of the pretty-fucking-fantastic person she turned out to be.

“You’ve read her journal,” Serena continues. “You know what happened.”

“Yeah,” Eileen retorts. “After seeing the worst of humanity, Romeo decided to shelve his altogether.”

For the first time her sister shows something resembling emotion. And of course, because it is her sister that she’s dealing with and because Serena came here from a long day at the office, that emotion is anger.

“Dammit, Eileen! Do you think that this is helping her? Having us fighting over someone from her past, talking about her when she’s not here? She’s not stupid! She knows when something is up, and knowing that this is affecting us too is only going to make her feel worse!”

The two sisters glare at each other. Twenty-four-year-old frown lines mirror twenty-nine-year-old ones. Neither woman is willing to stand down.

This could go on for hours.

It has before.

“The problem,” she says tightly, “is that he isn’t in her past. He’s not just in her heart and in her memories, he’s a frigging part of her body. And obviously, he’s not any more willing to let go now than he was to track her down and work things out the first time around!”

“There were letters,” Serena points out.

Eileen snorts. “Yeah, two of them. Real persistent, that one.”

They grow silent at the sound of Liz’s scratchy and warm voice traveling from the outside hallway. She’s saying a quick hello to Mrs. Morris, which means they have less than a minute before she’s inside. “He didn’t mean to break her heart, you know,” Serena finally says. Quietly. Sadly.

Her answering chuckle is mirthless. “Some people don’t have to do any one thing to be bad for you. They can crush you just by being who they are.”

Sometime during this last exchange her roommate has opened the front door. Light, almost silent footsteps announce her presence. “Hi, guys. Who’re we arguing over, Robert? Hate to say it, Ree, but I wasn’t too fond of him either.” Liz is all teasing smiles, her every-which-way hair framing a grinning face. From the right angle it’s almost possible to believe it’s real.

The problem isn’t that she’s not happy to see them. She always is. But every time she sees her friend become content, Eileen waits a second to see the internal light bulb ignite. The one that tells her that it’s wrong to be happy. After that, those infectious smiles always seem a little more forced.

Serena’s answering giggle is completely natural. “You’re right. God, I think I was still in my Backstreet Boys stage back then. I can only thank my parents for threatening to disinherit me if I followed through and ran off to New York with him.”

Her sister is such a faker. She shouldn’t be allowed in an occupation that focuses on fixing people.

But damn it all if she isn’t right. Right at this moment, Liz isn’t screaming or crying or looking grossly unhappy. They should do everything in their power to keep it that way.

So she puts on a cheery face, bumps hips with her sister, and says merrily, “Sure would’ve saved me some trouble if you had.” Her chin trembles slightly with the effort of reigning in emotions that were previously free for all to see, but one look at the tired circles under Liz’s eyes is all the incentive she needs.

Liz’s expression is unreadable for a minute as she observes the two of them. Eileen raises a questioning eyebrow, her signature smirk falling in place. It used to make Liz uncomfortable. Now she looks to it for reassurance, as regularly as clockwork.

The short brunette shakes her head. The grin quirking her lips suddenly becomes less energetic and more sincere. “I don’t know… there’s just this weird air around the two of you sometimes. It always freaks me out.” She shakes her hands, as if ridding them of culpability.

Eileen smiles agreeably like an idiot.

This is getting so tired.

Some day soon she will forget caution and find Max Evans. She will yell, scream, punch, and scratch until he heals whatever it is that he broke. She’ll ensure her friend some peace.

It’s not some day soon yet. “So Serena, you were mentioning setting me up with someone?” She does her best to make an effort.

Serena laughs giddily. Shoots her a thankful smile when Liz isn’t looking. “Oh, that’s right! But first, you have to promise not to shoot me down as soon as I tell you his name.”

Her eyes try to roll up into her head. “Good Lord, how bad is this going to be?”

“His name is Edwin, and…”

“Oh God,” Liz laughs, hiding her mouth with her hand. “‘Edwin and Eileen’?” The roommates exchange an amused glance.

“And,” Serena continues, “He’s a really nice guy. He does maintenance work for us.”

“So he’s a janitor?” Eileen says. Disdain creeps into her voice.

Liz shoots her an amused but chastising look. Eileen merely shrugs unapologetically. She doesn’t consider herself a snob, but being raised by socialites has definitely left its mark.

Serena corrects her patiently. “No, he’s a maintenance worker.”

Liz gets caught in the middle when Eileen turns to her and says skeptically, “Liz, help me out here. Is there a difference?” She’s vaguely aware of playing this up because her adrenaline hasn’t bottomed out yet.

“Um, not that I’m aware of,” Liz replies, smothering a laugh. It’s not loud or mirth-filled. It’s quiet and soft and painfully, beautifully real.

A rare sight these days.

On impulse Eileen throws her arms around her, hanging on for dear life when Liz stiffens. Soon she relaxes, and they cling to each other in that boneless, sisterly way best friends do.

“Is this a private hug, or can anyone join in?” Serena asks.

Liz chuckles. Extends an arm in invitation. “Come here, you big dope.”

Thin arms wrap around both of them, and she feels a small palm run soothingly over her hair. There are a thousand emotions railing through her, but somehow the moment is immortalized as weightless.

Maybe, just maybe, things aren’t as bad as she’s been making them out to be.

Maybe they’ll be all right.

-

This hope lasts until 3 AM.

The screaming starts then, like always.

She grinds her teeth, clenching at her comforter to keep from jumping up.

Three years ago while in the midst of a particularly gruesome nightmare, Liz went pretty much crazy. Destroyed the whole room.

Blasted Eileen.

Now she’s not allowed to go in there at night. It hurts Liz when they argue about that, so she doesn’t mention it anymore. There’s not much of a point when she’ll just get the brush-off.

She never did ask what the nightmare was about.
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Re: Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) Part 2 4/30

Post by Tears_of_Mercury »

Thanks to PML, tinie38, Carrie, begonia9508, lockheart, kay_b, and

nibbles2: Thanks for pointing out that "best friend duty" accounts for a lot of the resentment. Where we might hear a different story from Maria, who was there at the time to see Max suffer, these are people seeing the fallout from what Max did to Liz and what she's going through now. Maria will be addressed... soonish. She never turned from Liz in the show and she hasn't here. She does, however, have her own journey to walk and her own heartaches to feel. And Max is unfortunately out of the loop where Liz is concerned (as we see here).

xmag: You know that after the initial shock that you felt so strongly about Eileen, I just about wanted to hug you? I knew where the plot was going with the rest of the gang, but you're largely responsible for this chapter (I just hope that you don't hate it, because then that might not seem like the thanks it's intended to be!).

Wench On A Leash: Oh yeah. I'm so glad that you like Eileen. To me, she's very much what would happen if you took Michael, injected him with some Isabel, and then put him in a skirt. Thanks for observing that so far, the only person who's really seen "man-hater" Liz is Serena, and she's the level-headed one who's actually seeing the situation objectively (or as much so as she can). I don't see Maria as not being Liz's best friend anymore... it's more like what happened to Alex/Maria/Liz in seasons one and two. The three of them had always been best friends, would always be -- but Liz and Maria were traveling this crazy journey together that Alex wasn't a part of. And then Alex had to take his own journey... that ultimately ended in the biggest crock of BS ever. But anyway, the point is the same, I think. :lol: Thanks for the vote of confidence! I'm very much trying to just let this story... happen. It seems to be working for now.

And Kyle would like to say: Rachael didn't want to write this chapter. It wasn't even written until the feedback for part two came out. She told us all from the beginning that this was about Liz and her journey, but I saw an opportunity to grab the spotlight and threatened to keep making snarky comments until she gave me a few scenes. Unfortunately, Evans stole the chapter from me. 'Cause, you know, that's what he does. <grumbles about the aliens> Anyway, she says that she hopes you enjoy. And that Isabel and the answers to the "nightmare" questions are coming up tomorrow.


...

But because truly being here is so much; because everything here
apparently needs us, this fleeting world, which in some strange way keeps calling to us. Us,
the most fleeting of all.

...

-- Rainer Maria Rilke

Part Three

Kyle is late.

Again.

He sighs softly and turns his focus back to the newspaper in his hands. By now his friend’s perpetual tardiness is pretty much part of the routine.

In twenty or so minutes Kyle will show up, unruffled and unapologetic. He’ll order some of the outdoor café’s awful coffee and put it on Jesse’s tab, and after snitching the sports section of the paper he’ll jingle his car keys and they’ll head out.

Sometimes it’s to Arizona. Other times it’s a smaller hospital in California. It all depends on how much time they have.

Today it’s going to have to be somewhere close. He was only able to get half the day off and has it on good authority that Kyle’s got a date lined up for later. This is a rare occurrence, and Kyle will need all the time he can spare to prepare. Despite, Max thinks with a smirk, the fact that he has a ‘stellar personality’ and ‘pecs of steel’, his friend hasn’t had a long-term relationship since Bush was reelected.

Then again, neither has he.

For one blinding, painful moment he lets all the memories rush back. He thinks of her hair, and the heavenly shade of olive her skin turns in the spring. He remembers what it felt like to look into her eyes and see acceptanceforgivenesslongingknowing… and love.

He remembers how that felt, too.

But that was a long time ago.

And usually when he thinks of her now he’s thinking of the sight of her back as she walked away so many times, and of hard eyes and stone-cold accusations.

An emotionless Dear John letter and wondering, who is this person and what did they do with the woman I’m in love with?

She never even gave him a chance to make it up to her. From the minute she heard about Tess she took back the part of herself she’d only ever given to him.

And if he held back, too, at least he was honest about it.

Old Timberlands scuffing the sidewalk. How characteristic is it that even his footfall demands attention? Max thinks.

He doesn’t need words to transmit his wry, chatty mood – somehow it flies through the air and cheerfully announces itself. There’s some new development he’s just dying to share. And if experience is anything to go on, chances are it’s something the sitting man already knows.

Possibly because they actually are friends these days or possibly because irritating the hell out of Kyle is his sole source of amusement, Max pretends he hasn’t noticed his arrival yet. Counts off the seconds in his head. One, two, three –

He coughs.

Bounces impatiently on the heels of his feet.

Sighs loudly when Max still doesn’t acknowledge him. “Well, don’t rush to pull out a chair for me or anything,” he says grumpily.

Max looks up. Can’t fight the smirk any longer. “Kyle,” he greets, nodding.

“You’re a real sadist sometimes, Evans,” he grumbles. He sits down in the other chair, drumming his hands on the table and looking around impatiently for a waitress. When he turns his attention back to Max, their eyes hold. He sags and lets out a long groan. “You know. I can’t believe you know. Does everyone?”

Max shakes his head. “She hasn’t gotten a chance to tell Michael yet. I only know because she wanted me to make sure everything looked okay before she broke the news to Jesse.”

Kyle snorts in disbelief. “You mean this was unexpected? With the way Mr. Evans has been going on you’d think he’s been trying to knock her up for months.”

Instead of having the intimidating affect it is intended to, Max’s semi-offended look only seems to spur Kyle’s sarcasm. “Okay, forgive me. He’s been planning to plant his seed in her womb in a wondrous, miraculous expression of their love for months. Jesus, he’s already looking at names. The kid’s what, about as developed as a guppy right now, right? And he’s already naming it Anthony or Christopher.”

He studies him intently. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Michael,” he finally announces.

Blue eyes peering up from beneath heavy brown bangs give Kyle the distinctive air of a kicked puppy. “Well, who else am I gonna hang out with? It’s hard to keep up with your living arrangements these days, and Isabel only calls me in when she needs girlfriend time. Whatever the hell that is.”

“After moaning for years about how aliens took over your life, I can’t believe you haven’t made a single human friend after we finally set you free,” Max retorts.

Secretly, he’s glad for this.

When Isabel announced that she and Jesse were moving to San Francisco, Max and Michael had been keeping a tight lid on their problems with the feds. Her marriage was already rocky and they knew the news had the potential to capsize it completely. And while neither of them really believed the relationship would last, they knew Jesse made Isabel happier than she’d been in a long time and weren’t inclined to see her return to the mess she’d been post-Alex.

At the time it had only been the two of them under suspicion, so they’d dealt with it on their own. Unfortunately, they had no way of knowing when Khivar or the Special Unit would turn their attentions to her. Leaving her unprotected wasn’t an option.

As it turns out, Jesse has a better weirdness threshold than they’d given him credit for. He genuinely loves Isabel, and after spending some time around him Max has had to admit that any control issues his sister’s husband might have pale in comparison to his own, or even those of their adoptive father’s. In short, Jesse Ramirez is nothing Isabel can’t handle.

It doesn’t hurt that he’s got a gun and damn good aim, either.

But they didn’t know that then. So Kyle’s decision to tag along, however impure his motivations were, had been viewed by the two brothers as a godsend.

It was Max and Michael, ironically enough, who ended up benefiting the most from Kyle’s presence. Having a human around – even if the human is Kyle – helps to anchor them. Whether it’s obligation or genuine friendship, something about that bond helps give Max and Michael the will to run from the Special Unit, to care one way or another if the federal agents chasing them want them dead.

And for Max at least, sometimes it’s hard to find a reason to stay on Earth without Liz.

Besides, after seven and a half years, Kyle is still convinced that at some point he’s going to become an alien glo-stick, and says he’d prefer to be with his own kind when it happens.

Michael finds this disturbingly amusing.

For Max it just brings back pieces of a past better left buried.

He hopes that the fact they haven’t heard from Liz in so long is because her changes are under control. That, as painful as it is to contemplate, she just doesn’t need or want him in her life. It’s still a hell of a lot better than any alternatives.

Maria said Liz was doing well the last time they saw each other. Still, he wonders sometimes. He thinks he probably always will.

She must know that he would be there in a heartbeat if she asked. That he gets it now.

Yes, he hurt her. No, it wasn’t intentional. And maybe he didn’t have the right to expect her forgiveness when he wasn’t ready to trust her fully again. Maybe they needed time apart and maybe he should have been better at showing her how much he respected her, how sorry he was for everything.

He glances at Kyle and sees him looking at him worriedly. His eyes are crinkled in concern. “You probably don’t want to hear about this, though. I mean, this whole thing with Isabel and Jesse has to be like a slap in the face to you and Michael. Knowing that it could have been you and Liz or him and Maria.”

His hands ball into fists, crumpling and tearing the paper in his grasp.

A baby with Liz.

How many times did he dream of that? How many times did he hope that after finding his son Liz would look at him and somehow forget that he wasn’t hers? Those dreams are gone now, fallen at his feet the second Liz lost faith in him.

He wonders if she ever believed in him.

“Look,” he says, doing his best to sidestep the issue (because isn’t that what he does best?), “what if I drive this time? At least on the way down.”

Kyle raises his eyebrows. Laughs. “Evans, even if I did trust you with my car, you’re forgetting the fact that you haven’t driven a car in years. Jesus, you don’t even have a license, do you?”

Of course he doesn’t.

How can he, when he doesn’t exist?

-

Michael’s lying to Isabel.

Max is too, of course, but it’s different. Isabel knows that he’s not really at work right now, the same way she knows that he’s not really doing better and that the nightmares haven’t really stopped. She actually believes that Michael’s spending his Saturday blasting rocks in the wilderness.

Instead he’s holed up in his apartment trying to develop a resistance to the Special Unit’s serum.

When they realized that MetaChem was supplying much more important customers than a few Podunk pharmacies, Max’s first reaction had been to run.

Michael had already raided their storerooms and been captured on five different security cameras by then. Naturally.

It had been over a year since Maria’s impulsive return to Roswell and Max hadn’t talked to his parents in months. Faking their deaths was easy enough. They fled from New Mexico, Max chased by nauseating reminders of the White Room and Michael toting the serum that had once rendered Max helpless.

When Max asked him why he bothers, Michael told him that the only way the government’s getting him is in a body bag. This failed to be comforting.

What Michael doesn’t seem to get is that there’s a reason the serum hasn’t been tampered with in over fifty years. It does its job with a terrible, horrifying precision.

There is no getting used to it. There is no escaping the sickening, disoriented feeling that crowds you upon injection.

He should know. He’s spent the better part of a decade drowning in that sensation every time he closes his eyes.

“Hey, Miracle Worker, wake up. We’re heeeere.”

Someone should tell Kyle that whining makes his voice sound like nails on a chalkboard.

He pulls himself up. Partly glad (because honestly, the crappy backseat cushions were giving him five different kinds of knots) and partly apprehensive (because the healings will never dull in intensity, and he knows he wouldn’t want them to).

“So what’s the plan, Max?”

Max looks at the hospital critically. It’s small. That means easier to navigate. But it’s probably also going to be ten times harder to get into unnoticed.

“Just keep the car here. I shouldn’t be inside for more than an hour. If I’m not back by then, I guess you should just leave me.”

Kyle grips the steering wheel hard. Knuckles whitening. “Don’t give me any of that shit, Evans. You’ll be fine.” He pauses. Turns around to consider his serious friend. Clearing his throat uncomfortably, he admits, “And even if you weren’t, there’s no way I’d be leaving without you.”

They both know it.

But still, it’s a bittersweet kind of reassurance to hear it spoken out loud.

“Thanks, Kyle. And for more than just…”

“Yeah, yeah. Go. Do your magic. I want to see us on the five o’clock news.”

-

He doesn’t look at anyone over fifty.

When he first started doing this, he healed whoever he saw first. You get a lot of stroke and heart attack victims that way, though, and most of them are either too far gone to be helped or genuinely don’t want to be alive anymore.

He’s not in the business of saving people against their will.

Children’s oncology is his specialty.

Cancer is trickier to obliterate than most illnesses. It’s insidious and clever and sometimes he feels like he’s the one dying after healing a terminal patient.

But cancer also takes the most innocents. And if the choice to heal an adult can be excruciating, there’s never been a second of hesitation when it comes to the kids.

Because he thinks that maybe they’re the only ones with any real right to live. With adults it can be harder to tell. There are too many sins and good deeds to weigh; too much trouble comparing their desire to live to that niggling compulsion they have to give up. Before he knows it he’s playing God.

He generally tries to avoid that, too.

He pauses outside the neonatal nursery.

It’s hard for him to be here. For obvious reasons.

They’re still the ones who need him the most.

The first one he heals is a little girl. He’s guessing she was born at about five months. Underdeveloped lungs, sky-high temperature.

She’s a fighter. All she needs from him is a nudge.

He swears she smiles at him after he’s done.

It’s been an eventful hour. He’s feeling guilty, because Max knows he doesn’t have the energy for even one more.

He still scans the boy sleeping next to her.

Gasps. Whole body shaking. Tears stinging his eyes.

Multiple birth defects, including an extremely weak heart. Some sort of internal damage he can’t really get a handle on.

Even with Max’s help there wouldn’t have been a chance.

Then –

He feels her. For the first time in years, he can feel her invading every pore of his body, wrapping around him and refusing to let go.

Her warmth. Her beauty. Her compassion.

Her overwhelming anguish that she can’t save this baby.

And he’s not sure if what he’s feeling is alien-related or true or even the slightest bit real, but he thinks it’s telling him what he needs to do.

“Come on, baby. Just look at me. Just for a minute,” he urges.

Sure enough, agitated brown eyes open. They peer out of a sickly and jaundiced face, but they’re still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

He focuses on his favorite memory. The abandoned van and Liz.

With one touch, one memory, he tries to show this child everything he’ll miss.

The overwhelming joy and sorrow that are so often intermingled in this crazy, unreasonable world.

The fierce will to live if it means just one more minute like this one.

A love so fearsome and earth-shattering that it has no difficulty healing everything it destroys.

Knowledge that it’s worth enduring humanity’s worst if you get to glimpse its best.

He tries to show him the transcendental.

Hopes like he’s never hoped for anything that somehow, some way, he’s succeeded.

-

He stumbles out of the emergency exit sobbing.

So glad, so fucking grateful, that it wasn’t his son in there.

It could’ve been. For awhile he thought it would be.

But in the end Zan is safe and (hopefully) happy and he… is alone.

He’s so tired of being alone.

Kyle’s voice breaks through the animalistic howls (are they his? He thinks they must be). “Aw, shit. Max… Max.”

He cries harder.

An arm winds around his shoulder. Helps him back to the car. “It’s going to be okay. It’s going to be okay, Max. Come on, let’s get you home.”

Home.

The word worms its way into his heart, and he immediately thinks of Liz. Knows that she’s the truest home he’s ever known, and that she’s lost to him now.

Home is Isabel, and the baby she’s carrying inside of her. Home is Michael in all of his rash, paranoid glory.

Fuck, home right now is Kyle Valenti.

And he can’t find it in him to complain.

It’s more than that baby will ever know.

He’s glad he shared the person and the love that will always feel like true north to him.

He just hopes it was enough.
Last edited by Tears_of_Mercury on Wed Jul 02, 2008 4:01 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) Part 3 5/2 p.2

Post by Tears_of_Mercury »

xmag: Right-o, no consequences for the babies. I thought that the healing was going to go in a different direction, but I really felt like in the end it was just something that Max would do regardless of his situation, with no ulterior motives. I knew that Kyle would be Max and Michael's "third stooge" pretty much from the start -- with some time to get over himself, I though Kyle would really appreciate those two. I am not of the opinion that after pining for Vicki/Tess/Isabel, he still was carrying some secret torch for Liz that made it impossible for him to be friends with Max. Maria will have her friends. And there's more in upcoming chapters on Isabel and Jesse's reasoning for having a kid now.

nibbles2: I'm glad Max and Kyle worked. And Kyle's comment about getting on the news was just his particular brand of sarcasm, no hidden message. :) It does make sense that you would deduce that Max was trying to draw the special unit's attention after the last chapter, though. It's more like Max knowing that it'll draw their attention and doing it anyway.

lockheart: I don't think anyone can hate a man who heals babies. And you're right, happy times have pretty much drawn to a close for the moment. Although, for what it's worth, Isabel starts out kinda happy in this chapter...

Christina: Aside from Shiri/Jason and Maj/Brendan, Nick/Jason chemistry > ----- all. Blind Date and happy Kyle make me happy, and I couldn't resist giving Max and Michael a little of that fluffiness in their dark, angsty existence. Unless I've done a very bad job with the whole "indirect answers to questions" thing, your questions/speculations about Max and Liz's nightmares should be answered in this chapter. And an M/L reunion is not the distant possibility they both see it as being. ;)

And many thanks and kudos also to begonia9508 and tinie38. You guys all rock my socks.

A/N: So, I'm not sure this is my favorite chapter. It doesn't feel as intense as last chapter. But it's important, and aside from the fact that most of you probably aren't Isabel/Jesse shippers and that it's just not a very pleasant read, I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. And after this we get to peek in on Liz. See you all again soon.

Part Four

Hair in place. Sweatpants on and sheets smoothed.

Strong and determined and God help the hybrid that tries to get in her way, because Isabel Evans-Ramirez is ready for battle.

Unlike Michael, who spent the whole day blasting rocks and melting metal in the desert for practice; and unlike Max, who snuck off to Orange County to heal another batch of terminally ill kids, she’s been saving up her energy all day.

She reread all her dream journals. She lovingly pushed off her poor, sexually frustrated husband when he made a play for some action.

The youngest Czech seems to understand the point behind all this, thankfully, and she hasn’t had a lick of morning sickness or fatigue to contend with today. Her body hasn’t been this cooperative in weeks.

All in all, she’s at her dreamwalking best.

And her tortured brother can just deal with it.

She’s not letting go of the rings under his eyes anymore. She’s not conveniently forgetting the muffled cries that come from the guest room every time he stays the night (as if she could if she tried).

She is, however, ignoring the stonily whispered “let it go” she receives every time she badgers him about this.

She’s conveniently forgetting how much her brother prizes his privacy.

This has gone on uninterrupted long enough.

For a brief moment she misses Liz Parker.

They had next to nothing in common, made no real effort to get to know each other, and generally avoided extended periods of contact.

But they also understood each other.

Isabel was probably less upset about the Kyle fiasco than Liz’s best friend. She knew better than anyone the lengths you had to go to if you were going to protect yourself.

She felt sorry for Max, but thought maybe it was for the better. He could focus on other people, like she and Michael, and other things, like getting better.

(He never got better. Liz never slept with Kyle. Pandora’s Box turned out to be a bitch in more ways than one.)

Despite all of this, Liz would come through when they needed someone. Liz would not make a huge production of helping just because she and Max were on the outs or side with him just because they weren’t. When push came to shove, she trusted Isabel.

Isabel trusted her.

But Liz is gone. She wasn’t doing a hell of a whole lot to help when she was here, either.

It’s time to stop hanging on.

“You’re going to dreamwalk him, aren’t you?”

Her husband slides into bed beside her, his dark brown arms encircling her waist. She cuddles into him. They’re affectionate this way.

“It needs to be done,” she replies, avoiding the reprimand she knows she’ll find in those puppy-dog eyes. Years of practice with Max have made her invulnerable to cuteness and other people’s disappointment.

Mostly, anyway – her stomach is in knots, thinking he might be upset with her. That maybe he forgets how human her reasons are because of her alien methods.

Jesse surprises her, like always. “Yeah, probably.” San Francisco wind breezes through the open bedroom window, ruffling her hair. They turn to face each other. Eye to eye, shoulder to shoulder. Equals. “Just… if you get in there and there’s anything too kinky, promise to snap out of it as quickly as possible?” he teases. A grin spears his lips.

He knows she’s determined.

He knows she’s nervous.

And he’s trying to help.

Blinking back hormone-driven tears. Clutching his hand like a lifeline. Hoping she’s strong enough to do this and knowing it’s a ridiculous fear.

Her power is special. It’s harder for her to get tired because her body is completely at rest when she utilizes it. Observation is still her strongest point, but over the years her ability to change the dreams she looks in on has increased.

That’s largely thanks to her husband.

She told Jesse everything after Liz and Maria left.

She was so afraid that if she didn’t, they would end up like Max and Liz. That he would leave her. And that maybe, after knowing the truth, he would leave anyway.

Instead he asked if she would form a connection with him. Then, the next day, he came home from work with a stack of books about lucid dreams and dream research.

He told her she could help people. That she was special.

He got extremely lucky that night.

There’s no need for a picture. He’s sleeping across the hall, and even if he wasn’t she knows his face and his dream signature as well as her own.

So stop procrastinating, Isabel, she tells herself. Do it already.

And so she does.

-

The white room hasn’t changed at all.

His screams are salt in old wounds. The desperate, pathetic sound of his tears is a new wound altogether.

Electrodes burn holes on his chest and neck and face. His arms, strapped down, bulge with exertion as he fights – a mouse caught in a trap.

Somehow he’s on the table and in a tub of ice water at the same time.

Shivering and sweating. Shouting and whimpering.

She does her best to focus on the prepared words. ‘It’s your dream, Max. You control it. Step outside yourself and see your fears clearly instead of looking at them from the inside. Then tell me what you want to change.’

It’s hard to do when she’s pushing down bile.

A scalpel slices open his chest.

Liz Parker lays in the corner of the room bleeding, her brown hair matted with grime and her hands crackling with alien energy. Her name is ripped from him in an agonized, enraged yell.

“LIIIIIZ!”

Isabel stands transfixed for a moment, horrified fascination paralyzing her when the long-dead Agent Pierce stoops next to DreamLiz. A syringe rests in his hand. His eyebrows are raised in expectation.

Liz looks up, face half-dead and exhausted. “Do it,” she whispers.

Voice grainy.

Eyes hardened.

So beaten and so very hateful.

Remembering herself, Isabel moves toward her brother, quickening her pace as Pierce also draws near. The sick bastard is smiling.

“You could have had the world, and you chose captivity,” he murmurs.

Her hand rises to blast him.

She stops, remembers herself.

Then something unexpected:

Liz’s image blurs and shudders, distorting and stretching until a second small, dark-haired woman appears. Her eyes are panicked, disgusted. She is trapped.

She claws her way out of her catatonic counterpart inch by inch.

Her nails break. Blood runs down her fingers, staining her dark clothes. As her head fully emerges her cropped hair tousles, making her look unhealthy and haggard. She is trembling from head to foot.

One word falls from her mouth, plea and condemnation. “Max.”

Isabel shakes her head, ignores the chilling pull to this garish estimation of the girl she once expected to call family.

“Max,” she intones, turning back to him and grasping his hand, “you are in control here. It’s your dream. Your mind. Step away from this, and decide what you want to change.”

He turns fevered, delirious eyes on her. “Izzy?”

“Max, listen to me. You have to do it on your own. Get out of the chair. Find me,” she urges.

And hopes to God she’s getting through here.

Her words break through the haze, and slowly, painfully, he moves into a sitting position. The bonds holding him dissolve.

She smiles. Cries. Hands held out in invitation.

“Come on.”

Max looks up at her warily. Makes a decision and trusts her.

Sensing what he wants before he does, she makes it happen. His hesitation turns to wonder when the white room dissolves around him. They sit in the middle of the desert, by the old radio tower. Isabel steps back.

And then Liz is there, stepping up to him and cupping his face. He collapses into her. Clings to her shirt like a child seeking refuge. “I never should have let you go. You were my whole world.”

“I thought you didn’t want me,” she says, voice small.

“You are the only thing I wanted in any of this.” His voice breaks, teary and defeated. Liz’s long hair whips around in the wind and the edges caress his face as she makes gentle shushing sounds. Her lips descend on his.

Isabel looks away, wanting to give them privacy. Does a double-take. Frowns.

Why is the other Liz still there? And why is she still trapped in the White Room, when Isabel and Max are here, with the Liz her brother wants to see?

He looks at his sister. Fails to see the diminutive figure huddled in a padded cell. “How long do I have with her?” The worry lines around his face are easing for the first time in months.

“It’s your decision. You can stay here as long as you need,” she tells him sweetly. Her head pounds.

Something is wrong here. SadLiz shouldn’t be in the background. Isabel shouldn’t feel another presence redirecting her dreamwalk. This has never happened, shouldn’t happen, and she’s starting to get scared.

“Thank you, Izzy,” Max whispers. He turns back to his Liz. Touches her hand. Bestows a kiss on pliant, soft lips.

She isn’t needed here anymore.

The thought breaks the last of her control. Without warning she is harshly thrown into the White Room, stumbling toward SadLiz’s beaten and bruised body.

-

They have company.

Nicholas, the child general.

Pierce, the monster.

Future Max, the judge and jury.

And Tess, the betrayer.

Nicholas is in the middle of a sneering monologue. He holds Future Max by the throat, his other hand glowing menacingly against his captive’s head. “… just a stupid human. So weak. So useless. No wonder he wanted the queen.”

Pierce sits on the floor next to her. What can only be described as a dagger glitters in the blinding light, and he runs the tip over the tiny veins in her forearm. “Just say the word,” he whispers seductively. “One word, and it’s all over. He goes free and you get to rest in peace.” She shies away when he pushes the tip into her wrist.

“Please,” Future Max pleads.

“Not again.” Tears chase down her cheeks, so many that the skin looks soaked. Her voice catches. The normally clenched jaw is slack. Lower lip trembling.

“You wouldn’t die for him?” Pierce mocks. “What about… him?”

Future Max is replaced by sixteen-year-old Max, heavy and helpless with drugs.

“Let him go. Let him go, dammit! He’s not a monster! And he’s not the king you’re looking for. Just leave him be,” Liz begs.

Isabel sits next to her and tries to change it. Nearly passes out trying to take this girl, who she now strongly suspects is the real Liz Parker, away from her personal hell.

But she can’t make any headway. All she can do is watch.

“You know what to do,” Nicholas sneers, “you’re just too weak to admit it. Why is this scene so familiar?

Isabel is pulled out of the White Room along with Liz. It’s the desert, again. This time the Pod Chamber.

A younger, stronger Liz runs out of the cave. Stops to look at a heartbroken Max. Turns again and trips down into the wilderness, momentum and tears fueling her speed.

“But go ahead and kick him while he’s down,” the alien continues. Stops a beat. Smirking. “You’ve done it before.”

The two figures disappear and CaptiveMax groans in horror, looking as far away from the scene as he can. Red seeps through his scrub top.

“Say it,” Pierce urges, “just say the word. It won’t stop until you do.”

Nicholas sends a jet of energy into Max’s chest. His resulting keen shatters Liz’s last reserve of strength.

“DO IT!” she shouts, green trails playing beneath her skin.

Pierce’s hand is quick and steady as he slices into her right wrist. She sobs; in relief or pain, Isabel isn’t sure.

Then it’s Tess’s turn.

She’s been hiding at the fringes of the dream. Biding her time until now, waiting for Liz at her most exposed and vulnerable; and her blue eyes shine with malice as she stoops next to the dying woman.

“You’re such a pathetic little bitch. He was stupid to save you.” She backhands Liz, hard.

Crimson blood is gushing down her wrist. It stains the surrounding ground like poison.

“I trusted you. I gave up everything so that you could be happy. I gave you the love of my life,” Liz whimpers.

The hybrid’s upper lip curls spitefully. “And he was only too willing to be given. Maybe I’ll show you that first. Would you like that, Liz? To see me screwing your soul mate? To watch him cumming in the arms of a murderer?”

Isabel shuts her eyes when the tangled limbs of Max and Tess Harding invade her vision. Grunts and moans a sister should never hear from her brother’s mouth permeate the air.

Why can’t she change this? Goddammit, why can’t she get out?

Tess won’t shut up. “Of course, this is just how you imagine it. You never saw it from him, did you? You never saw anything from him after that pathetic visitor from the future. He might have hated me, but it never stopped him from coming back for more. Even after Alex, you were the one who betrayed him.” Her full pink lips touch Liz’s cheek. Isabel strains to hear her for some reason she can’t begin to fathom. “Tell me, how does it feel to kill your best friend?”

Liz doesn’t dignify this with a response.

“Liz,” Isabel starts, voice cracking.

She doesn’t make it any further.

Jesse is the love of her life.

A marriage she entered for emotional stability slowly, painfully transformed into one built on love and mutual trust. For all of his faults, her husband still loves her more than she could have dreamed – and often more than she deserves. If letting herself fall in love with him was difficult then staying in love with him has proved ridiculously easy.

But Alex…

Alex was her first love. The first boy to see her as more than a sister or a possible sexual encounter.

There was a time when she believed he would be the man sharing her heart and body for the rest of her life.

Her innocence isn’t something that can be regained. Loving Jesse does not erase the ache of his loss.

And the image of his mangled corpse is something she can’t – won’t – be made look upon.

“Nooooo…”

Liz’s cry seems to go on forever.

Then her voice falters…

Softens…

Dies out completely.

The last thing Isabel sees before waking up in Jesse’s frantic embrace is Liz Parker’s dilated pupils.
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Re: Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) Part 4 5/4 p.3

Post by Tears_of_Mercury »

Major cool points to

Shiesty23, tinie38, kay_b, jake17, tequathisy, and

Christina: To me, Isabel, whose personality is the very incarnation of "Mother Bear", was not going to stay out of it when she heard about Liz's perceived betrayal of Max. And thanks to Tess that news didn't exactly stay quiet. :roll: Plus, I've had a little Isabel/Liz friendshipper in me since 285 South. I checked out "Come on Eileen" after you mentioned it, and absolutely love it! I think it suites my Eileen, too. :)
xmag: We're talking a very weird, "two separate entities that are joined" thing when it comes to Max and Liz's nightmares. It's all very shady and confusing.
begonia9508: On no! Liz was never captured by Pierce or Tess, thank goodness. But I will say that there's definitely a reason why he played such a big part in her dream.
nibbles2:
Or are they both having seperate nightmares, linking up and then amping up the terror on their nightmares by reflecting it back on each other?
Oh, that. Definitely that. :)
lockheart:
The whole, joint-dreams, pulling-Isabel-in thing was scary. Makes me wonder if Liz could possibly be calling out to people (or just Max) in her dreams. Like, what little control she has over her powers during the daytime goes straight out the window while she's asleep...and then she ends up reaching out to anyone who'll listen?
That's an extremely good way to put it. And Liz isn't the only one who's calling out *mysterious grin*. I'm so glad you're still reading even though I broke your soul!

Eileen's Disclaimer: I don't own Gilmore Girls, I only own my box sets. And Rachael doesn't own it either. *gets elbowed by author* Fine! And even though the author is a Lit herself, she doesn't approve of my bashing of Rory/Logan, Rory/Tristan, and Rory/Dean. 'Cos it's just not very nice.

A/N: My tentative outline/story to-do list is very mad at me. So mad I'm using personification to let it come after me in my head. But I just couldn't seem to write past this point for Liz, and I'm thinking it's a good thing that she only got half of her chapterly angst helping here. God knows she has enough to deal with. And can I just say, yay for all the unintentional Max/Liz mirroring that worms its way into this chapter? ANYWHO, I hope you enjoy, and sorry it's a little late. Next up will be the lovely Maria DeLuca.


...

Streets that I chanced upon,-
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, seperate, in the evening

...

-- Rainer Maria Rilke


Part Five

She’s choking on her own vomit when she comes to.

There’s no air to inhale, no energy for her to prop herself up; no will to even try.

She’s terrified and useless.

Oh God Oh God Oh God Oh God

The ache is bone-deep and excruciating.

Black eventually crowds her vision, and survival instincts kick in. She rolls onto her side with supreme effort. Her emptying stomach turns again and again as self-loathing creeps up, making her heave until everything she has to give has been gone for five minutes.

At least she won’t have to wash it out of her hair.

Soft, unobtrusive tears drip from the corners of her eyes.

Eventually it’s over and she falls onto her back. Clinically inspecting the fallout as she tries to forget the hell that is her nightmares.

Singe marks decorate the fist-sized holes on either side of her comforter. The ceiling didn’t make out too well either by the looks of it. Shards of her favorite vase are tangled in her hair.

There’s no point in trying to fix any of the damage yet. She’s still too weak.

The clang of ceramic hitting wood reaches her ears. Eileen’s soft voice curses into the early morning, and Liz sighs in frustration.

She knows what the other woman is doing up. She knows that as long as they’re roommates, the chance of either of them getting a decent night’s sleep is a far-off dream.

But Eileen refuses to move out. And since her stubborn friend is nocturnal anyway and she’s terrified at the thought of being alone, Liz doesn’t say much about it.

She knows her refusal to be comforted is bewildering. She knows that Eileen just about bursts a blood vessel in her brain every time she refrains from asking questions.

There’s just no helping it.

There’s nothing Eileen could do if she knew all the gory details. Her night terrors are based in reality, and no amounts of hugs or pitying glances are going to set the past right. The only thing that could isn’t even in earth’s atmosphere anymore.

She would not use the granilith to wipe out Max and Tess’s son. She would not use it to erase the painful October night when she lost her innocence but kept her virginity.

But for Alex…

For Alex she would do it, the rest of the world be damned.

“Tell me, how does it feel to kill your best friend?”

She doesn’t even have the strength to sit up; but somehow, some bottomless, untapped source of energy deep inside her gets broken into just for this. Painful alien lightening does its customary country two-step up and down the length of her body.

For long minutes conscious thought is gone. She’s enveloped in blinding pain as she does her damnedest to break out of her near-comatose state, all without success.

And finally she simply surrenders to it.

Fire ripping through her veins.

Heart beating sluggish and loud in her chest.

Blood, and maybe she’s bitten through her tongue again or maybe some of that glass is wedged into her neck (here’s to hoping it’s nicked a vital artery).

A sick, perverse part of her enjoys this.

Right in this moment there are no reminders. She can hardly recall her own name, much less the workings of a time machine or a shapeshifter’s betrayal.

There’s no Max.

There’s no Alex.

There’s no baby; no far-off planet in need of saving; no alien queens.

The past six years don’t exist.

(Or maybe they just don’t count.)

She wants to stay here, in this world where Max can’t touch her soul (because she doesn’t have one) and regrets can’t plough through her mind (because she’s losing it). She wishes for miserable and dead and safe.

Gradually it eases up.

Liz draws in an enormous breath, and feels her throat is raw from screaming. She didn’t even hear herself.

The realization makes Max’s remembered scream echo in her head; and because it’s impossible not to in the face of such pain, she lets herself cry for another few minutes.

The shame that sound incites in her covers so many events.

Shame for leaving him after Pierce.

Shame that she and her worthless life were the reason he was abducted in the first place.

Shame for doing everything short of accusing him of murdering Alex when she knew the fault was hers and hers alone.

She does her best to push it away. Reminds herself that she never even really heard it. It’s a futile effort, though; the sound is as familiar to her as her own rasping sobs. And by now it’s part of the nightly show.

Nothing – not Alex’s dead body, not Future Max and Nicholas, not even Tess’s graphic visuals – is worse than when she’s forced to see him tortured. Over and over it happens, each time bringing him more pain and extinguishing more of the light in his eyes.

She watches it all.

The emaciated body. The broken spirit.

The heart that hardens a little more every time he is threatened, poked, prodded.

(And maybe that stings more than anything, because that gentle, near-sacred heart of his is the one thing she ever really let herself believe in.)

She’s not sure if it’ll ever get any easier to see.

Lately, it just seems to be getting harder.

For awhile she wonders at the new intensity of her nightmares, but she reaches no conclusions and eventually pushes the thoughts aside. She tends to do this a lot when faced with unalterable truths.

It’s almost four, and in an hour she’ll be leaving for her morning shift at the hospital. She shakes her head as she considers the impossibility of managing to repair her room and shower all within an hour’s time. Groans loudly when she sees the scorch marks on her desk.

Coffee is most definitely in order.

-

“No. Friggin’. Way!”

Liz looks up as she steps out of the bathroom and sees Eileen sitting, seemingly paralyzed, on their living room couch. The boxed seventh season of Gilmore Girls rests on the coffee table, and the credits roll on the TV screen.

Hearing Liz, she turns to face her accusingly. “You should have warned me. You know I’m in love with Luke. You know I’ve been pulling for Rory and Jess ever since he joined the show. But you just let me walk into the worst, most ambiguous ending ever!”

Her face is pale, only illuminated by the light filtering from the kitchen. The green eyes so like her sister’s are round and wounded. On her the expression looks uncharacteristically innocent.

Appearances are deceiving.

Gilmore Girls is their shared fetish. Eileen spent most of last spring commuting out of state for free-lance work and missed most of the final season. She refused to be spoiled and bought the DVDs as soon as they came out. After her last job she’s finally had a chance to take a much-deserved break, and has been utilizing that time off to catch up on everything she missed.

There hasn’t been a moment of non-TV related conversation in the apartment since.

And where Liz watches for the banter between Rory and Lorelai, the latter of whom she finds strangely reminiscent of Maria, Eileen’s belief in the onscreen romances approaches religious. If she doesn’t tread carefully now, she’ll spend the morning locked in a debate.

She shrugs helplessly. “Luke and Lorelai are on the road to reconciliation… probably. And at least Rory broke up with Logan.”

“That’s true,” Eileen allows. She shudders slightly. “God, he turned out to be such an ass.” Her voice is unreasonably smug as she says this.

Her eyebrows rise to her hairline, and even though she knows she shouldn’t be prolonging this discussion, she just can’t resist. “And Jess treated her so much better?”

“At least he wasn’t a cheating, controlling, bastard,” Eileen snaps. The ire in her voice isn’t directed at her friend, but it’s intimidating all the same. Her eyes take in Liz’s disconcerted expression and she settles back into the sofa with a smirk. Then she drives in the final nail. “Besides, who else was she going to end up with? Dean?”

She contemplates this. “Well, I guess that’s why they had her end the show alone. And there’s always what’s-his-name… Tristan! There’s always Tristan.”

Her roommate looks at her as if she’s the stupidest creature on the planet. “You did not seriously just suggest that Rory hook up with Chad Michael Murray, the biggest douche bag in recent history.”

The palpitations of her heart, something she was previously able to ignore, now swing crazily out of control. Her vision rapidly becoming hazy, Liz grapples for composure. She’s chilled to the bone when it dances just beyond her reach; taunting her and making her breath come in short, panicked bursts.

It’s nothing that Eileen says or does. It’s not even a particular thought she has.

But suddenly, everything about the morning she’s been mindlessly repressing hits her between the eyes. It’s hard to breathe and her hands are practically smoking and, oh God, is that burning feeling in her stomach the start of more tears?

Eileen sees, because it’s impossible not to. Reaches out to grasp her hand.

Liz pulls away before their skin makes contact. Staring at the extended appendage like it’s a blazing hot stove, and her eyes are fearful and guilty.

She wants so badly to feel some physical expression of love right now, to be reassured that it’s still possible for someone to care about her. But she knows that her touch could seriously injure or even kill her friend.

In the end, it just isn’t worth it to be brave.

Liz hears the rustling of crimson strands rearranging themselves as the other woman looks down at the top edge of the couch. Somewhere during their conversation the sun has risen, and the weak morning light makes the black fabric look grey.

For a full ten minutes she’s able to convince herself this is actually an interesting development while she tries to calm down.

There’s strange knowing in her roommate’s face when they lock eyes: ready to impart the kind of wisdom only family or a very close friend can. “I can never figure out why you decide to hate yourself.”

The words are soft and loving. Hurtful in a way that few things are, because they do their best to violate the one recess in her mind where no one gets to go.

Liz wants to explain. Confess. But in truth she’s not really sure, either.

Tears glitter in Eileen’s eyes. “If it’s that bad, Liz, why can’t you hate him? Or her? They’re the ones who deserve it. Hell, you can even take it out on Rena or me. God knows we work our aggression off on each other and you often enough.”

She almost breaks right then.

Almost says,

‘I know, but I’m so afraid that if I yell I’ll never stop and that if I strike out I’ll break something else that’s important to me – and the two of you are so important; the only people left that I haven’t hurt.’

It’s on the tip of her tongue to tell her that she hated Tess for a long time and it only made her characterize everything she despised in the other woman. That trying to hate Max eats away at her soul until all the good parts are gone.

At least hating herself is something she can control. The only thing, these days.

If she’s killing herself it’s because she’s dying slowly anyway.

“Please,” she begs.

She just can’t do this right now.

Eileen must hear the sob catching in her throat, because she relents. It’s an abnormally unproblematic truce.

Liz pads into the kitchen and quickly retrieves a mug and their thick glass carafe. Pours her coffee with shaking hands.

The first sip is acid in her mouth.

“You spiked our morning caffeine dosage?” she says incredulously.

Eileen is unrepentant as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. The usual shine in her eyes is still shadowed by something deeper and more melancholy, but the simple gesture seems to help chase away the darkness.

For a moment Liz is incredibly grateful that she’s the only one whose demons stay with her every step of the day.

“I was in the mood for something stronger. Sue me.”

Liz rolls her eyes and swallows the brew almost convulsively.

“Besides,” Eileen adds as an afterthought, pointing out the obvious, “it’s not as if you couldn’t use some yourself.”

-

Liz carpools to work with a middle-aged RN named Shanna.

Shanna has bottle-blond hair, shockingly noticeable laugh lines, and a maternal nature that has always made Liz a point of interest to her.

Because normal twenty-four-year-olds don’t have a strong aversion to social events and lab technicians usually aren’t capable of more than freshly-minted nurses. And most normal people don’t blink back tears when you invite them to a family Thanksgiving.

Most people tend to ignore the abundance of little things that make Liz such an oddity, but Shanna sees them as a sign of some great, underlying loneliness and is constantly going out of her way for the younger woman. This includes, among other things, “saving” Liz from public transportation.

It’s similar to having a nosy aunt.

Her compact grey Camry pulls up at the entrance to Liz and Eileen’s apartment building. She smiles cheerily and opens the passenger door. “Hey, sweetheart. How are you this morning?”

Liz walks around the front of the car and settles into her usual seat. The safety belt cuts into her collarbone when she draws it across her lap. “Hey, Shanna. I’m doing okay. What about you? Didn’t you say yesterday that Harry was visiting?”

They pull away from the curb. Shanna chatters cheerfully, not mentioning Liz’s pallor or tired tone if she notices them. “He’s as gangly as ever. I was hoping when I sent him away to college he’d take up a sport or two, but of course from the sound of things he’s been holed up with his Playstation ever since we dropped him off in the fall.”

Liz laughs lightly. “Give him time. I’m sure he’ll meet some people soon.”

“Oh, he’s met people all right. He’s in some sort of video game club or something. He’s even thinking about switching his major to game programming.”

Alex’s face flashes across her mind before she can stop it.

The older woman doesn’t notice her sudden silence. “Actually, sweetie, I noticed the other day that the local college is taking applications for the spring semester. If you were hoping to take a few nursing courses, I’d be more than happy to help you study or lend you some money.”

Shanna doesn’t know that all three of her best friends are worth millions.

She also doesn’t understand why, when she’s so dead-set on working in the hospital, Liz won’t even consider getting her RN.

“Thanks for the offer, but I don’t think it’ll work out,” she says uncomfortably.

“If you say so. I just don’t understand what you’re doing with us when you should probably be off in some high-end hospital working as a doctor or researcher.”

She’s startlingly close to the mark. That had been Liz’s original intent after leaving Roswell.

But she couldn’t focus in classes. Her powers were always out of whack, and more often than not she missed 95% of her lectures. Without photographic memory or any working study skills to speak of, she quickly ruined her remaining chances of getting into any decent school, never mind Harvard.

She was lucky she lasted long enough to make it through her program and get certified.

To Shanna she says, “I’m really horrible with tests. You know, performance anxiety and all.”

They pull up in front of the hospital, trading a puzzled glance at the sight of news cameras swarming out front. Shanna smiles brightly at her. “Well, regardless, a lab tech or a nurse isn’t a bad thing to be by any means. I just wonder sometimes if your heart is really in this.”

Liz wonders that too.

But just the fact that she’s never once been wrong, never once promised a barely-hanging-in-there parent that their child will be all right and then watched that baby die, tells her that there’s some reason for her to be here.

She opens the car door and grabs her purse before stepping into the parking lot.

Nearly loses her footing.

Blood rushes to her head.

Ringing in her ears and panic and hope and only one word making its way to the surface –

Max.
Last edited by Tears_of_Mercury on Wed Jul 02, 2008 4:09 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Tears_of_Mercury
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Re: Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) Part 5 5/9 p.4

Post by Tears_of_Mercury »

Thanks to...

Carrie: I'm so glad you liked the cliffhanger! Unfortunately, it will go unanswered for just a little longer. We do get some follow-up on Isabel here, though.
nibbles2: Oh yeah. In my mind, Liz has taken such a strange emotional journey to get to where she is now... somewhere just short of acceptance her brain short-circuited and something happened to get her stuck in the odd, somewhat self-absorbed place most self-blaming people reside.
begonia9508
Christina: Part of the point of Liz saying all three of her best friends were millionares was to help set up some of the backround for this part. Both because I love Maria and because it fit for the story, in this story Maria DeLuca has very possible eclipsed Avril Lavigne or Christian Aguilara in fame. And thanks so much for the comment on tone! I thought I screwed that up a bit this chapter, but it couldn't be helped when you take into account just how far removed Maria is from everything in Liz's life, even in some ways more than Max.
tequthisy: I think this is the first time I've ever successfully written angst. It was a bit of a happy surprise to me to find out I could actually do it. :lol:
tinie38
lockheart: Nope, Max just gets his own. Which is something that won't be explained for quite awhile... although at least people should understand the tale end of the last chapter pretty soon.

Disclaimer: I am in no way, shape, or form affiliated with American Idol. Or Simon Cowell. And once again, the insults to real people were the result of the character's mouths, not my own opinions. :roll:

A/N: So here's the deal: writing Maria, for me, is hard. Writing angsty Maria proved to be harder. Writing angsty Maria after I took the time off to do a semi-fluffy one-shot from the perspective of Degrassi's ever-brooding Sean Cameron proved to be near impossible. And something about this chapter, maybe just trying so hard to really get Maria's character, had me quite literally having panic attacks. In the end I think it was the fact that I had to try to explain so much about the Serena/Liz/Maria/Eileen friendship when it had previously come across as only Serena/Liz/Eileen, as well as giving Maria and Kevin their friendship time, and on top of that trying to incorporate some kind of plot development. And to top it off, what was supposed to be five lines turned into a conversation that for me to write was extremely emotional. It didn't help that I slightly revised a cannon dynamic to do it, either. Or that yet another chapter got split in half. (I can only shake my head when I remember that this story was originally supposed to be a two-shot.) So please, Maria lovers, don't come after me with pitchforks! I did my best, I swear. And hopefully getting back into my comfort zone with Liz drowning in misery and guilt and Serena and Eileen arguing like no tomorrow will ensure that next time you get a quicker update. Enjoy!


"Teach him to call it 'real life' and don't let him ask what he means by 'real.'"
-- C.S. Lewis

Part Six

“Oh God.”

Maria feels her breathing quicken at the sudden change in position. The man she’s with exhales sharply.

“Yes… right there…”

A sigh escapes her lips.

Then her eyes nearly pop out of her head.

“No. No! What is he doing? Kevin, what is he doing?”

Kevin slumps beside her on the park bench. His answer is resigned.

“I think he’s leaving, love.”

“But why would he do that to us? It was just getting good!”

He gives her a rueful grin. “Well, our resident sex god probably doesn’t realize that he stars in all our fantasies. It could also be that he’s done with his morning jog.”

Maria accepts this reluctantly. Smiles teasingly. “It’s just as well, anyway. I wouldn’t want our friendship to suffer because he tried to pick me up.”

Kevin shakes his head. Sighs in a way that is both superior and comical. She’s one of the only people privy to this side of him. “He’s gay, Maria. Deal with it.”

She snorts. “Are you forgetting the blond bimbo he was checking out last week? He’s so obviously straight.”

“He’s gaaaay.”

“No he’s nooooot.”

They stop their lighthearted bickering and face each other. Kevin smiles that heart-melting smile that would have any normal straight woman on her knees. “Bi?”

“That pronouncement I can live with,” she tells him cheerfully.

The blinding light of a camera blinds her momentarily, and she finds herself glaring at the photographer angrily. “God, can’t they give it a rest for a minute? Don’t they have to hound Snow Patrol or Keira Knightly?” During her mini-rant five more paps have swarmed in, and she releases a groan into her hands.

Kevin gives her a roguish wink. “What say we give them something to talk about?” With that warning he lurches forward dramatically and kisses her.

Maria almost chokes, but after a moment she responds in kind. It’s an absolutely passionless liplock, something like she imagines kissing Liz would be. But the cameras are absolutely eating it up.

They break apart, and Maria keels over with the force of her laughter when she catches sight of his lipstick-smeared face. Only Kevin.

For a moment she grows melancholy. At times like this, where he’s more flamboyant than he normally tends to be, he has the distinct ability to remind her of Alex . The two men couldn’t be farther apart if they tried, but she thinks that maybe it’s the price she pays for having another male best friend – even if he is gay.

The fact of the matter is, most of the women she came across after hitting it big were two-faced bitches or too focused on their own careers to form lasting attachments. Maria hardly begrudged them this; she’d had to forego an actual life those first few years, too. But having dinner with your much older manager can only be entertaining so many times.

Salvation came in the form of Kevin Sawyer, a newly outed University student who got his lunch at the same out-of-the-way café she often used as a hiding place. Back then her relocation was fairly recent and London was a large and intimidating place for her to be; more often than not, her nights were spent crying into the phone to Liz, Eileen, or Serena. Her lonely face stared back at her from every tabloid in Britain.

She’s not sure what it was about her that made the mortally reserved young man initiate a friendship. She was, for possibly the first time in her life, completely distrusting and cold to everyone she met. Her personal life was a mess. And men of any variety were something she was avoiding with a passion at that point in time, and had been since her failed tryst with Billy.

But it quickly became apparent that sex or a byline was the last thing Kevin wanted. And eventually his unobtrusive offerings of chocolate and friendship came to be appreciated.

At first she’d tried not to get attached, believing that the secret forever tying her to Roswell and the alien abyss would become a deal-breaker after awhile. While she was still in New York, more than one friendship and a few romantic interludes had ultimately come to a screeching halt because of her occasional standoffishness. It had been a cold shock to her to realize that Liz wasn’t the only human who had become hardened and withdrawn in the face of Alex’s murder.

Even if Michael’s safety hadn’t been on the line, though, she doesn’t think she would have told anyone about the tumultuous adolescence that would have been more likely to earn her the rights to a SciFi Channel reality show than a Lifetime movie. Especially not during those first few years spent trying to build a future that had nothing to do with anything remotely extraterrestrial.

There were other things, too, things about her father’s abandonment and her mother’s emotional distancing that only her two best friends in the world had heard about and only the love of her life had seen.

Those were moments that had still been too raw and fiercely protected to talk over with anyone else; but even still she longed for the intimacy and comfort that came from sharing them.

She’d explained, rather rudely, if she’s being honest, that sixty-five percent of her past was a taboo subject and chances were he would be getting the edited version of the other thirty-five percent.

In return, Kevin had said simply, “I spent the first twenty years of my life in the closet and in love with my very straight best mate. I’m the last one to judge you for keeping secrets.”

Sometimes she thinks that Kevin Sawyer is the one purely good thing to come out of the past six years.

Eileen and Serena are godsends, to be sure; but after an accident of fate they were brought rather abruptly into the alien abyss. Without meaning to they rip open barely-scabbed wounds.

It’s different for them than it is for Liz and her, who were there when everything went wrong. Who saw firsthand the damage that Michael, Isabel, Max, and Tess’s mere existence has caused.

They can’t fully understand what happened, and neither can they accept that both women have left such a huge part of their lives behind without regret.

Well, that’s not exactly accurate – there have been plenty of regrets for both of them.

“So how’s the recording going?” Kevin asks when the camera action has died down a bit.

There’s an air of expectancy around the waiting paps, as if merely by their wishing it Maria and Kevin will somehow be compelled to offer a repeat performance. She does her best to preen instead of hide.

“It’s awful,” Maria replies. She finds herself getting a migraine just thinking about it. “You wouldn’t frigging believe all the pansy-ass complaining I’ve had to put up with. ‘Maria, why aren’t you doing something darker?’ ‘Maria, a pop single?’ ‘Darling, this doesn’t fit your image at all!’ For years they tried unsuccessfully to mold me in Britney Spears, and now that I want to do one cheerful song they’re all throwing a hissy fit.”

He nods sympathetically. But he looks at her curiously, and then hesitantly says, “Why are you recording the song? Don’t get me wrong, it’s a favorite of mine. And it’s definitely you. But you do tend to be a bit mellower.”

She bites her lip and looks down at her lap. “I didn’t write it for myself. It’s about Liz.”

For years she’d been writing and singing relatable half-truths about her relationships with Michael and a handful of other men.

But when she was writing songs for this album, something inside her just… broke.

Suddenly everything she wrote bore the remnants of Alex’s easy-going grin and the suicide pronouncement that had threatened to ruin it for her forever.

Of Liz: the almost incandescent picture she made that first year with Max, and the shell of a person she became after.

This album is making her heart break. And in some ways, she thinks it’s about damn time.

She has cried, screamed, and laughed more in the past six months than she has in years. Healing is doing crazy things to her, but it’s also making her feel alive. It’s making her believe that even if she’ll never be ridiculously happy, she can at least gain some measure of peace.

He sensitively changes the subject. “Have you given any more thought to the American Idol booking?”

She sniffs indignantly. “God, no. I haven’t even watched since they kicked off Carly and Brooke. And if they’re going to ruin all my songs by making them pop, I’d really rather they weren’t being sung by a fifteen-year-old boy and fricking Jason Castro.” She lowers her voice in case any reporters are hiding in the bushes. “Besides, apparently they’re scraping the bottom of the barrel by asking me on. Michael Jackson wouldn’t let them use his stuff, and Kelly Clarkson couldn’t clear her schedule for a reunion. I’m not going to be someone’s third choice, least of all theirs. I don’t even live in that stupid, Bush-electing country anymore.”

“But you’d have a reason to shop in L.A. and squeeze in a visit with Liz before your next tour,” Kevin wheedles. He looks ahead diplomatically.

Maria stares at him, her face suspicious. The thought of seeing Liz had, of course, crossed her mind, but ultimately it hadn’t seemed likely that she’d have time to drop in on her childhood best friend. And bringing her up as incentive is completely unlike Kevin.

“What is it with you today, trying to be all devil’s advocate and… oh. Oh God. This is a Simon Cowell thing, isn’t it? Isn’t it?! I thought we’d cured you of that ridiculous celebrity crush!”

He holds up his hands in a defensive gesture. “That’s not what this is about!” She gazes at him unrelentingly, one eyebrow raised as she waits for him to crack.

He holds out a whole minute.

“Okay, so I’d like an autograph! That’s all, though, I swear! Chrissake, Maria, I’ve never fancied the bloke! I just… appreciate his sarcasm.”

“Suuuure.” Maria purses her lips and he shakes his head hopelessly.

Her phone rings and she fishes it out of her designer handbag. The caller ID flashes “UNKNOWN” at her in bold block letters, and she grits her teeth. “Jesus, I think someone must’ve gotten a hold of my cell number again. How do people find this stuff out?” She flips it open, doing her best to reign in her sudden irritation. It wouldn’t look good to snap if it’s some columnist calling about an interview she’s forgotten. “Hello?”

“Maria? Is that you?” The voice is tentative but unmistakable.

The phone almost slips from her hands.

“Isabel? Isabel Evans?”

An uneasy laugh greets her startled query. “It’s Evans-Ramirez these days, actually.”

Something about her face must give her away, because in the next instant Kevin is calmly ushering her to his car. He opens the passenger door for her and then hops in on the driver’s side, quietly asking her if she wants him to take her home. She nods jerkily.

Her attention returns to the person on the phone.

“What… how did you get this number?”

“Um, Kyle had your cell, but when I called it said the number was disconnected, so I called your mom.”

“You know how to get in touch with my mom?” she asks, her voice rising fractionally.

“She and Jim live together now. Maria, really, it’s not a big deal. I didn’t tell her anything except that I wanted to get back in touch with one of my oldest friends. You were a bridesmaid at my wedding.”

There’s a tinge of hurt in Isabel’s voice that Maria tries not to examine too closely. If she remembers how close she, Isabel, and Liz had started getting that last year then she might feel guilty about leaving without a goodbye or a forwarding number.

But Isabel has always been an impenetrable fortress. Alex was the only one of their human contingent that she really let in, although Kyle was getting closer their senior year.

And if she’d admitted that Michael Guerin wasn’t the only person she was leaving behind – if she’d really thought about Liz, and her mother, and, yes, even Isabel and Max – she wouldn’t have made it past the bus station.

“So you told her that you wanted to get in touch with me, but you really needed to talk to me so that you could ask me to do damage control for something,” Maria surmises sharply.

She’s saddened and tired by how defensive she sounds, but not extremely surprised. Old habits die hard.

“You still keep in touch with Liz, right?”

The question doesn’t exactly come out of left field, but it feels like a swift punch to the gut.

She talked to Max about this the last time she was there.

He promised her that he was staying away. Promised her.

But then again, that was nearly four years ago.

“We phone each other twice a week,” she says. Her voice sounds strange to her ears. Kevin looks over anxiously and then turns his attention back to the road.

“But would you know if something was… wrong… with her?” Isabel asks haltingly.

Maria’s stomach drops to the floor, and just the remembered anxiety of a hundred other alien crises brings tears to her eyes. Her voice isn’t as strong as she’d like when she replies.

“Isabel, what the hell is going on? I know that Liz hasn’t seen Roswell or Max since high school, so unless… is it Max? Does this having something to do with what happened the spring of sophomore year? Did Liz somehow get dragged into it?! I thought you guys were supposed to be safe!”

“We’ve never been safe, Maria. You of all people should know that!” Isabel snaps. The shaky breath she draws in transfers across the phone line. “As far as I’m aware, there aren’t any immediate problems on that front. But I… saw… something the other day, and it made me worry about her.”

“Liz is fine,” Maria insists, more to calm herself than Isabel.

There is a long silence. The other woman’s voice is soft and vulnerable when she finally replies. “You’re not just lying because it’s me, are you? The two of you don’t hate us – hate me – so much that you wouldn’t come to us for help if you needed it.”

She’s practically whispering in the end, so moved and Maria just can’t understand why. Isabel spent most of their association with each other hating both human women.

But even as she thinks it, she knows it’s not true.

“…do you?”

One last, small plea sent out, and it nearly breaks Maria’s heart. It’s Max the summer of destiny all over again.

She feels like sobbing. “Why are you doing this, Isabel? Liz has been fine. She hasn’t even thought about your brother in years, so why now?”

“Maria--”

“Please, Isabel. It was never about you… about any of you. But can’t you see that it’s better this way? You guys never really wanted us involved anyway. And even if she’s better on the – the Czech front – Liz has never really gotten over this. She just moved past it. We both had to. So why would you call me when you know I’ll tell her?”

“Because I care.”

There are a million arguments that spring up in Maria’s mind. A million examples of times, both before and after Tess, that Isabel hung her or Liz out to dry or just watched it happen passively.

But in her heart she knows Isabel’s telling the truth.

Knows that Liz probably isn’t anywhere near as over Max as her best friend would like to think, and that even this, the smallest of olive branches, could haunt Liz for days on end.

Then, because it’s Liz and Max, and because they’re just hopeless that way, she’ll give in and run headlong back into the madness. Back where Maria can no longer follow her.

And she just can’t lose another best friend.

Can’t go back to how it was, how Liz was, after Alex.

They pull up in front of her apartment building.

“Bye, Isabel.” She slams the phone closed. Turns it off.

She waits for the inevitable rush of questions from her worried friend, but instead a warm hand closes over hers.

They sit there, unmoving, while she weeps for the better part of an hour.
Last edited by Tears_of_Mercury on Wed Jul 02, 2008 4:28 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Tears_of_Mercury
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Re: Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) A/N 5/27 on p.6

Post by Tears_of_Mercury »

Thanks to

Christina: I'm glad that you're not quite sure what's going on with Liz. Although I, for one, sincerely hope that she's not going into full-out delusional mode with news cameras all around. :lol:

Carrie

lockheart: Oh yeah. I'm hoping that writing Serena will be as easy as I'm envisioning it as, otherwise I'm going to be in for a huge shock. To be honest, aside from getting ublocked and massively inspired, the main reason this story hasn't gotten the chance to waste away in the D&B for months before an update is because I'm pushing through to get to her part -- because somehow, by making her the character to bring everyone into the story, she's unintentionally become a bit of a central point in it. If she wasn't such an unassuming sweetheart, I'd think that was her diabolical plan all along. :P

paper: Thanks so much! I was so glad to see a new reviewer come out of the woodwork.

A/N: My mojo's coming back! *does happy dance* So, here is the 9 1/2-page Michael chapter, and I'm already five pages into Liz's part so hopefully that will be up fairly soon. Now, I will say two things about this chapter: first, the majority of this was written/re-written early this morning, and although I've read over it for typos, it's undoubtedly still a little rough. I just wanted to give it to you guys as soon as possible, and since I doubt that any minor word changes I may make tomorrow will affect the chapter at all, I didn't see the harm in posting it. Second, for some reason when I started trying to write Michael, all of this profanity just came gushing out. I'm not sure why, exactly, and I hope that it doesn't make it seem like I'm painting Michael to be a crude, illiterate clod since we all know that's not the case. I'm not sure I'll ever be completely happy with his characterization, but however on/off target it might have been, I will say I think his voice is maybe one of the most distinctive I've written yet. It was extremely fun to write someone who wasn't noticing every minute detail and development or interested in wallowing in his own angst -- I had the unnerving sensation of Michael standing over me with his arms crossed the whole time I wrote and just telling me to get to the point, already.

Oh! And, uhm, to continue this essay of an A/N, just to give anyone who's curious a sneak peak into exactly what's going to be happening in the near future of this story: after Michael's part we will, as I mentioned above, finally get back to Liz. Then will be Serena's part, and unless my muse goes in some crazy direction, there will be another very chilling, creepy dream sequence -- I'll call it an interlude (READ: IMPORTANT PLOT DEVELOPMENT AND APPEARANCE OF INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT CHARACTER)-- after that. And after that comes maybe the most important chapter of the story thus far.

So, dear readers, read and [hopefully] enjoy!


"There is wishful thinking in Hell as well as on Earth."
-- C.S. Lewis

Part Seven

Michael isn’t entirely sure, but he thinks this must be what penance feels like.

Every fucking inch of his body is burning, aching, or bruised.

His vision is still pretty touch-and-go, but the morning sun is sending daggers through his eyes. His stomach feels like it’s hosting the third world war.

And apart from all of that, he broke Isabel’s casserole dish last night, stumbling around as he tried to walk off the serum.

He’s supposed to return that damn thing today. His powers still aren’t at full capacity – big surprise there – and right this minute it isn’t looking good for him or the dish. But right now the former matter is the most pressing.

He sighs. Isabel loves her kitchenware like some women love their firstborn child. She’ll string him up by his toes if it isn’t in one piece when he gives it back.

And if the perpetual stick up Maxwell’s ass is shifted just so, there’s a good chance he’ll decide that this is some kind of karmic retribution for lying to their sister, and that it’s best if he keeps out of it. He’s just a judgmental tool like that sometimes.

Of course, in the next instant Michael’s feeling guilty for thinking this.

Max is the one who cleaned up his vomit, changed his sheets, and generally took care of him when he wildly overdosed the first time he shot himself up. He didn’t even attempt to rub in Michael’s previous overconfidence.

Even though he thinks Michael’s an idiot for trying, even though he disagrees, never once has Max tried to order him not to experiment with the Special Unit’s favorite drug – hasn’t even tried to convince him that it’s a spectacularly stupid idea.

But most importantly, he respects Michael’s silences. Maybe because he keeps so many of his own these days.

So somehow in the face of all this, the God complex and that sometimes hypocritical standard of morality don’t seem like deal-breakers.

That doesn’t change the fact that he’s pretty much screwed.

With a groan he flings one muscled arm across his eyes. Blocks out the sunlight sending firebursts of pain straight to his brain.

Max and Kyle won’t be here for another hour. The only thing that will help him now is sleep.

His eyes slide shut quickly, and his sleep is dreamless and sound.

-

He’s awake for awhile before he makes himself get up.

The casserole dilemma is still weighing heavily on his mind as he heaves himself from his bed and stumbles into the living room, only to fall gracelessly onto his deathtrap of a sofa.

Michael thinks for a minute that it’s a shame, both for his sake and theirs, that Kyle never got powers.

He’d be indispensable in situations like these; because unlike Max and, on occasion Isabel, Kyle too has no moral high ground. The part of Michael that is his past-life self and the commander of a planet-wide army broadly applauds this trait.

Neither of them has a problem going behind Isabel or Max’s backs. Ninety-five percent of their male bonding has come from sneaking around under Isabel’s nose.

Kyle lives by one simple rule: eat, sleep, and watch sports in peace – and, if you happen to come into some money or a nice piece of ass, don’t question it. It’s most likely Buddha smiling down on you.

He questions things, but otherwise rarely rocks the boat.

There wouldn’t be much of a point for someone like Kyle.

He doesn’t have it in him to be remotely threatening – unless you drag his family or friends into the mix. Then he’s worse than Michael and Max put together.

But nothing has threatened someone he considers family in years, and Kyle’s become quite comfortable in his sarcastic, morally grey niche. It’s this more than anything that makes Michael find it hard to believe that Kyle isn’t still in some kind of contact with Maria and Liz.

Sure, none of them have ever asked; and sure, Liz, Maria and Kyle weren’t exactly bosom buddies. He has no reason to wonder.

But Liz is Maria’s best friend, and Maria officially became Kyle’s step-sister in late 2004. More than that, Kyle adopted some weird over-protective big brother stance toward Liz and Maria after the shit hit the fan with Tess and Alex. It stands to reason that he keeps in contact with at least one of them.

But even if Kyle cares about the girls, he cares about them, too. And every time Max gets that cut-up look on his face that Michael just knows has something to do with Liz, in the back of his mind he wonders why Kyle hasn’t just given him a damn phone number already.

This thought doesn’t seem to have occurred to Max. It’s almost like he purposely ignores the very possibility.

It would make sense if he does. There’s a reason that Michael’s never come right out and asked Valenti one way or the other.

If Kyle doesn’t know where Maria is, doesn’t know how she’s really doing, it’ll be that much harder not to worry.

And if he does, then Michael would have to know…

Does she ever ask about me?

Michael doubts that Liz ever asks about Max. She’s got a one-track mind that makes him look like a fucking multi-tasker, and she made it clear long ago that the risk of getting sucked back in was more than she could take.

But Maria…

Maria would worry. Maria would care, even if she still thinks he’s the biggest ass on the planet, or even if it’s only a friendly concern.

Just knowing she cares might be too much for him.

And where would they be then, if he tracked her down and said I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I love you, never stopped –

Where would Maria be, torn between her dreams and her best friend and the danger that his very existence puts her in? Where would Max be, with all his vulnerabilities laid out for Liz Parker and him just begging her to destroy him (again)?

And where would he be when Maria tells him to leave?

Because she would. After last time, he thinks it might really be over.

That stings more than anything.

It is why even though Kyle and even Max (just once, after a bad night) have asked, he refuses to talk about it. Refuses to get into what was said when she swept back into Roswell.

(What the hell was she thinking anyway, that she could come back after two years with her fame and her money and her precious record deal and expect everything to be the same? And fuck, how did she know that all that skin she was showing would make him forget about his reasons and her abandonment and just the generally shitty situation? How does she always know how to break him?)

A fist pounds on his front door repeatedly.

“Guerin! Hey, buddy, are you here or what?”

There’s a brief pause as his visitor waits for an answer. Then, “Look, Mike, if you don’t get your sorry ass out here in the next minute, I’m gonna break your door down!”

Sounds of a light scuffle reach him. A muffled ‘oof,’ and then Kyle’s voice again, this time muttering something unintelligible.

“Michael? Are you okay?”

Michael’s ears perk up at the sound of Max’s voice. It is worn and tired and sad, barely sounding through the wooden barrier.

He rises to his feet in worry.

The resulting pain makes him clench his teeth. “Motherfucker,” he murmurs conversationally, and somehow the flippantly uttered curse is enough to make the pain bearable. “Just a second,” he adds in a whisper.

He doubts they hear him, but his head can’t take anything louder.

When he opens the door Kyle is shifting his weight from foot to foot, arms crossed over his chest and breathing impatient. “Took you long enough,” he complains.

Michael raises his eyebrows and squints in distaste. He doesn’t appreciate twenty-five-year-old toddlers.

“Are you okay, Michael? You don’t look so good,” Max asks. His concern isn’t as suffocating as usual, probably because his voice is just a hoarse whisper.

Kyle, who has been partially shadowing Max, walks into the apartment. Michael feels his eyes widen as he takes in his brother.

If he didn’t know better, he’d think he wasn’t the only one dabbling with downers last night.

“What the hell happened to you?”

Their eyes meet, and Max looks like he’s about to cry. “I –”

He stops. Clears his throat and soundlessly mouths a few syllables.

Michael stands awkwardly in the doorway, his hands balled helplessly into fists.

Max’s shoulders, already drooping, lower even more. He shakes his head, donning that mockery of a smile Michael remembers so well from the summer of their sophomore year.

“There were a few… unexpected difficulties at the hospital yesterday. Kyle had to take me back to his place.”

The wheels turn in Michael’s mind. He desperately wants to ask what ‘unexpected difficulties’ means, and ask Max how he’s doing – ask him and get a straight answer instead of the bullshit he always throws at Isabel and Kyle.

He wants truth. From Max and from himself and, maybe, just for once, a chance to breathe without that momentary tightening of his chest.

He nudges the door with his foot, until it’s fully opened. “I’m not making breakfast,” he tells Max sourly.

Although the half-grin, half-smirk on his face is still infuriatingly fake, Michael senses Max trying to make it true.

They walk into the kitchen. Both of them stepping slowly and carefully.

Michael wonders if they’re afraid of breaking themselves or each other.

Kyle is rummaging around in the kitchen like a midget grizzly bear. “Geez, Mikey. You don’t have much use for anything still within the bounds of its expiration date, do you? No wonder Isabel refuses to step foot in this dump anymore.”

Michael flashes him an insincere grin. “Don’t see why my under stocked kitchen should bother you now that you’re shacking up with Maxwell.”

Kyle pauses in his foraging. He looks at Michael, eyes narrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Michael smirks in satisfaction.

Immature bickering with Kyle always manages to make him feel better.

He arches his brows, raising his hands in a deceptively peaceful gesture. “Hey, man. I just meant that Max is obsessively clean. I would know.”

The silence hangs uninterrupted for a moment. He widens his eyes for effect.

“But if the two of you need to tell me something…”

“Funny, Michael.”

And even sounding strained and world-weary, Max’s voice still manages to carry that hint of offended disdain that makes Michael positively gleeful.

-

They hear Isabel and Jesse arguing before they even reach the front door.

“They’re arguing,” Kyle states dryly, “again.”

A few months after she told him the truth, back when Jesse was still intensely paranoid and their marriage was still relatively fragile, Isabel was bulk ordering books on relationship boundaries and trusting marriages. One of them proposed “constructive fighting” as a joint activity – something about ingraining good fighting habits in your mind.

To Michael, the fact that she got the suggestion from a dime store psychology book pretty much speaks for itself.

Isabel, the daughter of a lawyer, and Jesse, a lawyer himself, latched onto this idea with frightening tenacity, though. They were picking fights over everything from carpet stains to Jesse’s history as a collegiate stoner in no time. There were a few uncomfortable weeks, but pretty soon they had ironed out the wrinkles in their method of fighting.

After turning her nose up at his constant fighting with Maria for two years, Michael’s damned if he knows why Isabel loves ripping into her husband so much.

It’s something they do for fun now.

Fun.

(And really, how is it that he’s the one always earning the strange looks?)

He guesses it’s good that if Isabel’s determined to go batshit, she’s at least with someone who has no problem following her lead.

Max has already turned around. “Let’s go wait by the car,” he suggests. “I’ll try and see if I can fix Isabel’s casserole dish again.”

Michael glances at the paper bag resting in his arms. It is filled with nondescript glass shards – a mess even Isabel on a good day would have a hard time repairing.

He weighs the bruised rings under Max’s eyes against Isabel’s temper. Inclines his head and catches the tiredness in their sister’s faint but shrill voice.

It sounds like they’re winding down. And usually, Isabel’s unaccountably charitable after a good fight. She’ll probably only glare instead of full-out hissing and spitting.

Besides, if they wait too long they’ll be stuck in the car for another hour while Isabel and Jesse ‘make up’ more extensively.

“An audience has never bothered them before,” he says decisively. He runs a hand over their locked doorknob.

Kyle, who has been studying the carpeting glumly, hisses a curse and moves to shield him from view. When he’s done the three of them step into the apartment quietly.

The upset couple doesn’t notice them.

“Isabel, you have to tell him! He deserves to know.”

Jesse’s voice is calm but steely, his muscles flexing as he clenches his fists. He’s obviously frustrated, but he keeps it in check. He never takes his explosive temper out on Isabel.

(Which is fortunate for him, really, considering that she could kick his ass five ways to Saturday in a second flat.)

Even with an uncustomary pallor making her skin almost grey and bags the size of Texas under her eyes, Isabel is too stubborn to back down without a fight.

“To know what, Jesse? That I found something weird when I was taking a walk in his head? I’m sure that’ll go over well!”

He and Max both stiffen. If Isabel’s gone looking through anyone’s minds, it’s theirs.

Kyle squirms uncomfortably.

“Isabel, you have to tell him.”

Tell who what? he shouts mentally. Of course, no one hears him and he doesn’t get an answer.

Isabel shakes her head back and forth. “No. She’s fine, okay? It didn’t mean anything.”

He hears Max’s quick intake of breath before everything but the memory Maria’s face loses clarity.

And then Isabel is saying her name. Saying –

“I talked to Maria. I called her and I specifically asked if there was anything wrong with Liz. But she’s fine, Jesse. Whatever happened must have been a fluke. Telling Max is only going to make this harder for him.”

A sound somewhere between a whimper and a growl escapes Max’s chest.

Isabel and Jesse whirl around. Catch sight of the three of them.

“Shit, Michael! You scared the hell out of me!”

Even under the circumstances, Michael still feels a bubble of irritation that Isabel automatically yells at him. He tells her as much.

“Well, you were the one to bypass their security system,” Kyle snarks helpfully.

Short, irritating bastard.

“What’s going on, Isabel? Since when are you talking to Maria –”

Michael belatedly remembers this part of the conversation. Twin waves of dread and anticipation skyrocket up his spine.

“– and what’s wrong with Liz?”

Isabel takes a pronounced step back. Bumps into her husband and grapples frantically for his hand.

It’s been a long time since Max made the effort to sound intimidating. Strangely, the effect is much the same as it’s always been.

“Max, Liz is fine, okay? It’s just that I – I dreamwalked you a few nights ago, and when I did –”

Michael’s eyes narrow in panic at the sight of the tears wetting Isabel’s eyelashes. Something is wrong here.

“– I got – I got pulled into one of Liz’s dreams. I think. I’m not a hundred percent sure.”

By the time she’s finished her rushed explanation, Max’s face rivals hers in paleness.

“What does that mean?”

Jesse’s arm slips around Isabel’s shoulders in a gesture of support. By unspoken agreement he picks up where his wife leaves off. “Izzy is pretty sure that for that to have happened, and for the dreamwalk to have been as… intense… as this one was, Liz must be living in the city.”

Max draws in a stuttering breath, choking it back out as a desperate smile covers his face. “She’s here? She – God. And she’s okay?”

Silence.

Her jaw flexes and she avoids making eye contact.

Kyle starts to tentatively question Isabel, but Max cuts him off sharply.

“She’s alright, isn’t she?

“Max, please,” Isabel whispers. Eyes huge and pleading.

Michael has the urge to plug his ears. If it’s making Isabel look like this, he doesn’t want to hear it.

Max has no such sense of self-preservation. “She’s alright, isn’t she?”

Isabel’s hand reaches up to shield her eyes. Inaudible sobs shake her body.

And Michael can only watch it all with near-combustible panic, because something about this is not right.

She seems to sway on her feet for a minute, and in one lithe movement Jesse’s swung her up into his arms bridal style.

They watch in muted shock as he murmurs an inaudible reassurance into her ear. Strokes her hair.

He can tell that all three of them are having a hard time not going to her. Smothering her with unneeded protection.

When Jesse turns to address them, his voice is dull. “Liz didn’t pull Isabel out of your dream, Max, she fucking jerked her out. She hasn’t told me everything she saw, but to give you a fairly good idea, your sister woke up screaming about Alex and Pierce and hasn’t slept since.”

Max stumbles back. Looking like someone’s ripped out his stomach.

No one wants to say anything else. Ask any more questions that are sure to have unpleasant answers.

“Is she in danger? Is she –” Kyle swallows convulsively – “is she being held somewhere?”

Isabel shakes her head.

His best friend runs shaking hands through black hair, fisting them and pulling. Whatever relief he might be feeling is outweighed by everything she’s not saying.

Michael’s fingers itch with the urge to punch or blast something.

No one says a fucking word as his brother’s eyes fill with tears.
Last edited by Tears_of_Mercury on Wed Jul 02, 2008 4:03 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) Part 7 6/04 on p.7

Post by Tears_of_Mercury »

Mad props to:

Carrie - Thanks! And you get a cookie for being the first to review. :D
nibbles2 – thank you so much! Even though I have so much fun writing Michael once I get into it, I nearly always have two or three false starts, just trying to get into his head. So getting encouraging feedback for him always makes me feel like it’s worth it.
starcrazed
paper – Well, I gave about as detailed an answer to that as you’re going to get for now a few chapters back in a review reply. But, to try to sum it up, Max being “in the area” definitely has something to do with it, although it’s far from the only factor concerning the nightmares. *nods mysteriously*
Timelord31
Tequathisy – You have no idea how stoked I am to have you and nibbles and xmag, who to my understanding all ship Candy predominantly, reading this story. I adore M/M, don’t get me wrong, but I’m also principally a Dreamer and have some UC preferences that are rather shameful for a CCer. :lol: So I’m doing my best to really take advantage of and rock the Michael/Maria threads in this fic, just because it’s really my first opportunity to write them in a big(ish) capacity.
will Liz run away again before he gets the chance to confront her?
See, I have this theory about Max and Liz. Max generally orders around Isabel and Michael – all with the best of intentions and very sweet words – and, while getting constantly yelled at by them for it, is still also constantly sought out by them for approval. He gets Tess pregnant and Liz takes him back without batting an eye. Liz controls basically everything, with extremely uneven results, and is always lorded and praised for her efforts regardless. And of course she’s always running – but the moment she comes back everyone’s waiting with open arms. These two are like the proverbial toddlers who are hell-bent on touching the stove regardless of what mommy says – but mommy never seems to be speaking very loud. So I guess what I’m trying to do with both of them, moreso with Liz, is to turn the temperature up about twenty notches and then say, ‘See, you can’t do this and expect to walk away without third degree burns.’ Naturally, to do this everything must be angsty and way over-the-top. :P
xmag – I did answer a similar question of paper’s above, but I will say that at this point in time, to answer your question completely would be to ruin the plot. And that there is definitely a connection between the nature of their shared dreams and what happens in this chapter.
Christina – Michael is such an odd mixture of Neanderthal male and shrewd philosopher that it’s fun to play around with him. Plus, since he’s so suspicious by nature, I thought that he might have a more complex view of his friendship with Kyle than Max’s “we made peace and bonded and now we’re BFF’s” thought thread (and did I really just put Max and Kyle in the same sentence as BFF? Kill me now. :lol: )
begonia9508
lockheart – Oh, I know! My stalking skills have been seriously lagging, too. I missed like four updates of Snapshot, and I’ve been too lazy to go and read them all. But don’t sweat it! Your review was worth the wait.
Oh god, everyone wants to think everyone else is A-OK, boy are they in for a rude awakening! I can't wait for them to reunite, and see what a fantastic mess they all live with.
Yep. Some are a little more realistic about the utter crappiness of the situation than others – actually, most of the minor players – but it’s all going to hit the fan in a big way once they all come together. But the hitting-of-the-fan will be incremental, if that makes sense.


A/N: This chapter came -this- close to being split into two separate parts because the third segment gave me some trouble. But then I figured, hey, the last time I did it another two chapters passed before we got back to Liz, so I'd better push through it. I'm rather fond of the results. I'm also very interested in seeing how you react to Serena in this chapter - I have my own suspicions but it'll be interesting to see if they're confirmed. Now, this chapter will more likely than not confuse some of you. If this happens after reading it, I'd suggest two things:
1. Go back and specifically read the scene in Part Three where Max is in the neonatal nursery, and then reread the Shanna/Liz scene at the end of Part Three, paying special attention to the last few paragraphs.
2. Look at the timeline up until now for the story, which can be found here: http://mercuryandrain.livejournal.com/2574.html . It will hopefully remind you now and in upcoming parts how dangerous it is to assume we know everything about these characters.
And if you're confused after that, your questions will probably be answered in upcoming parts.

And I'm also throwing you guys a freebie spoiler thrown into my basic [crappy] fanfic trailer. The catch? There is nothing indicating which scenes are present tense, which are dream/nightmare sequences, and which have yet to happen. :D So if you're still interested, here you go: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qX63FhHyQOE

Now enjoy! (Or not. If it sucks then you're free to flame. :lol: )


...
I have not lost desire
But the heart that I had
...

-- William Butler Yeats


Part Eight

Max.

And the measly flashes she remembers are nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to this.

Every pore in her skin opens to accept the lingering feel of his presence. He is around her, inside of her. Holding her without touch.

Her eyes search for him but find only the media-populated parking lot.

For a moment this troubles her. Why, when he is so obviously here, is he nowhere to be seen? How can she feel him so deeply if it’s only her?

(And it’s amazing, because for the first time in years, it doesn’t really feel like just her.)

One nearby reporter’s loud words drift her way, and her ears ring with the strain of trying to catch them.

“… the hospital is not releasing their security footage at this point in time. An inside source says that all five recipients – four children and one infant – have an enigmatic silver handprint on their chests. What this signifies…”

Silver handprint.

Hospital.

Children.

Things start to make sense. (As much sense as they can, anyway, when her stomach is melting and her blood is singing and everything is so much sharper, brighter, better than before.)

Disappointment edged in bitterness almost overwhelms her – because of course she’s missed him, of course he’s long gone. Chasing after something she no longer recognizes.

He’ll never really be with her again.

This knowledge makes her panic, whole body tensed and still. Breathing becomes a luxury she won’t indulge in, and her eyes are squeezed tightly shut against the barrage of camera lights twenty feet away.

She’s so scared, so terrified that one step in the wrong direction and this miracle/curse of a flash will all be over. It has none of the pure strength that her connection to Max carries.

Because this isn’t pure at all.

(Pure died a long time ago, she thinks.)

It’s harsh and intense and so shadowed by her own anxiety that it threatens to die out completely at any given moment. Even the feeling she’s come to equate with Max has changed, grown darker. (And of course it has, because she’s gotten darker, too.)

There’s a taste like metal on her tongue and her hands are shaking like crazy and she just can’t bring herself to brush at the tears falling on her cheeks. She’s worried she’d chase this feeling away with the dampness, and after so long without him she’s not going to let him fade into nothingness just yet.

This is more than she’s had of him for six years. Six years where she hid and let everything fester. Six years where he made no move to find her.

But Liz thinks that this, strangely, is more of him than she’s ever had.

How very breakable this tentative thread bridging her to him is. And her mind is screaming at her to relax; to concentrate; to hold on; because if she so much as blinks he’ll disappear.

That could happen even if she does everything right.

Maybe, a tiny voice advises her, you should stop wasting this and enjoy it while it lasts.

So she does.

Like an addict given their choice of poison, Liz lets herself become immersed in the illusion of Max’s presence, perfectly content to ride out wave after wave of euphoria. It is everything she could hope for and more.

He is wonderful and warm and so three-dimensional she feels like all of his secrets are laid out at her feet.

She doesn’t reach for any one thing. Gets the deep of him regardless.

(So much gentleness and strength and passion, and from a soul that’s actually let the damage heal over. She’s glad, so glad, that he at least has remembered that that’s possible.)

At the core he’s exactly the same.

Still wondrously perfect in all his faults. All the parts of him ruined and shoddily patched back together, but somehow the better for it.

She could happily sink into him until she’s drowning.

Even though Liz knows she shouldn’t, realizes she doesn’t have the right to, she clamors for more.

The breath leaves her chest when she gets it.

Images –

Max, falling to the ground in this same spot, crying tears that make hers seem small and insignificant.

Sensation –

Asphalt cutting into her knees. A hand on her back, and someone’s voice guiding her away from the madness and back into life. She’s not sure why this is making her throat ache.

And then, feeling.

Inadequacy. Grief. Some strange, sad, joy she can’t get a handle on – and home, her: the two things only really one.

It’s an undertow of the best and worst emotions she’s ever come across. Liz feels herself going under and is helpless to stop it.

Limbs numbed. Head close to exploding.

And her heart – what’s left of it, at least – is breaking.

Because even with all the good, the bad is damn near suffocating her.

She doesn’t want anymore. She’d sell her soul to be connected to him again, but not like this.

Never like this.

Seeing him broken, a shell of the person he used to be. Feeling what he goes through every time he does this amazing, wonderful thing and knowing that if he’s not careful, one of these days he’s going to kill himself because he tries too hard.

Knowing there’s nothing she can do to help.

That his pain is partly (mostly) her fault to begin with.

She doesn’t want it.

But it comes all the same.

Then the sightlessness retreats and she’s viewing something else.

People, this time – the faces of the ones he healed here, she thinks.

Four bald and sallow children; and he sees the beauty in them where most people can only count the casualties of their disease. Leaning over them, one hand resting tenderly on their foreheads as he gets inside their skin and wages battle against the sickness threatening to kill them. Leaving them new and whole, but coming away a little more broken and so insanely tired.

There’s also a baby.

She knows this baby – Emma. Remembers placing a cool hand on her mother’s neck late one night and softly making a promise that she would be fine. (Because when Liz touches Emma sometimes she sees snippets of birthday parties, home videos, and first days of school.)

And then Liz sees the last face.

Finally understands why all she hears right now is Max’s ongoing wail.

And it’s amazing – she actually feels her mind frantically trying to shut down.

Feels all the grief, helplessness, and love gone to waste (and she has no idea, really, if these are Max’s feelings or her own) creep away like so many grains of sand under a tidal wave.

But even while her mind is trying to push it all back, one instinctive emotion is rising to the forefront, drawing on the strength of all the others and building into something black and obscene that threatens to cleave her in half.

Then her teeth are clenching to hold back her enraged cry.

“Beth! Beth, what’s wrong?!”

Shanna, clueless but knowing she should be worried. And Liz wonders why she hasn’t noticed her until now, and how long she’s been standing here nearly comatose.

The older woman’s voice is her reminder to check her hands. Liz quickly pulls her sleeves over her balled fists at the sight of the signature tendrils of electricity. Thanks No One and Nothing that it wasn’t spotted.

For once her powers don’t hurt enough to distract her from the swell of emotions rushing through her.

She wonders how the hell she’ll be able to make it to the corner before she unleashes herself on something.

It never enters her mind to stay. She doesn’t have a death wish (yet).

“I can’t be here.”

And whose voice is this, she wonders dizzily, because it’s definitely not hers. It’s panicked even when she is furious, breaking off and grating at her until even more tears are building behind her eyes.

She can’t confront this voice, much less the person to whom it belongs.

Shanna is asking for an elaboration or an answer – she’s not sure. The older woman’s words shift and turn in on themselves before they reach her ears. She simply shakes her head three times, muddling everything irredeemably and longing for escape. She doesn’t have the energy for something more.

“Liz, what--”

“Tell them I’m sorry,” she says, still using someone else’s voice. She hopes she didn’t just quit her job.

Liz walks away swiftly. Wants to break into a run, but is still too shaky.

She’s not sure she’ll ever be able to run again.

But she tries not to be too resentful. It’s a miracle she can walk at all.

-

“Jesus Christ, Liz!”

Eileen jumps up from the barstool just as the door hits the wall with a resounding crack.

Liz’s whole body trembles.

She mentally crosses her arms over her stomach, trying to drift off to a place where this isn’t as painful. Where the guilt doesn’t eat her alive.

Try as she might, she can’t find that place or any like it.

Liz distantly hears Eileen’s exclamation. Just like her preoccupied mind distantly takes in the honest-to-God terror on her friend’s face and the remnants of the picture frames that fell apart when hitting the floor.

So much splintering and shattering hardly fazes her anymore.

She’ll fix it later. She fixes everything later.

(Maybe, she thinks, too late.)

She can’t hold it in a second more. “Get back in the kitchen,” she instructs harshly. Voice low and controlled, strained from the effort to not seem threatening or cruel.

Eileen complies without argument.

Her protective instinct satisfied, Liz lifts her hand.

That simple action is enough to annihilate their couch.

(Eileen was sitting there earlier. And maybe, if she had still been there a minute ago, she’d be dust now, too.)

Liz hasn’t needed a joint this badly in years.

Like most bad feelings, the power discharges continue in short, violent spasms.

After the couch it’s the entertainment center. Then the large mirror hanging in the hallway.

The walls all take a scorching, but thankfully don’t catch on fire.

Each destroyed target lodges in her mind, enlarging to fill her eyes until her chilling handiwork is all she can see.

When she’s done she falls unsteadily to the floor. Draws her knees to her chest and rocks back and forth, because the compact motion sometimes helps.

She feels like a monster.

Safety in the form of her best friend is suddenly enveloping her.

Warm, strong arms drawing her worn body close until she’s warm, too. She finds a place to rest her head and, exhausted but finally safe, lets her eyelids droop.

Silky hair tickles her cheek, and for some reason the sensation makes her want to sneeze.

Then that droll, slightly nasally voice that Liz knows like her own. She grasps onto the edges of it and hangs on, treating it like the lifeline it is. “I called Serena. She’ll be here soon, okay?”

They’re both shaking. Eileen more than Liz.

“Okay,” Liz whispers. Half for herself, half for her friend. Her voice is still scratchy, but now it’s even weaker than before.

She’s so much weaker.

“Babe, what happened?”

Eileen, unlike Serena, never uses endearments. This one makes Liz burrow even harder into her shoulder.

Whimpers bubble up in her throat.

“I’m not strong enough to do this.”

The body supporting her stiffens.

“I’m trying. So hard… but I just – I keep on making it worse. I just can’t do it anymore.”

That persistent curiosity that often characterizes her best friend is lost in the face of this. She doesn’t squirm or start to question Liz only to stop. She is just there. Ignoring the details in favor of the big picture.

But the big picture is so fucked up that Liz isn’t sure all the help in the world will make much of a difference anymore.

“Yes, you can. Liz, I know it’s hard. I’m right here with you, remember? I know. But you are so much stronger than you’re giving yourself credit for.”

She wishes so fiercely that those words made any kind of difference.

They lie on the floor together, Eileen’s unnoticed tears making wet patches in Liz’s hair and Liz’s whole body still as death.

“Serena will be here soon,” Eileen repeats. With the boundless faith of a little sister, the kind that never completely disappears, she presses forward. “Rena will be here soon, okay? And she’ll know what to do. She’s going to fix this, Liz.”

She doesn’t respond.

Just lays there, head mashed into the soft skin of her best friend’s shoulder, too shaken to move and too terrified to close her eyes.

-

Serena, as it turns out, isn’t fixing much of anything.

Liz doesn’t make her nocturnal visits to Serena’s apartment very often. But when she does, the pain and the fear and the guilt are so bad that she’s willing to take just about any advice to get it to recede.

What she feels right now is a million times worse. And if she’s normally locked inside her head, now she’s on a different plane altogether.

In full-on doctor mode, Serena crouches in front of her. There’s a safe distance between them, not wide enough to be cold and not close enough to be suffocating. She’s saying something in a soothing tone, and Liz is hearing none of it.

A sudden thought hits her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers meekly. She keeps her head ducked so she won’t have to look either of them in the eye. Seeing their innocent confusion right now is more than she can take.

“Liz, please. You’ve been blowing up our furniture for years and I’ve never once gotten pissed. Why would now be any different?”

Eileen, blunt as ever. Not anywhere near as well-informed as she usually is.

Liz thinks this must be what Max felt like. Wonders if, for Michael and Isabel’s sake, he ever regretted saving her life.

She doesn’t regret it. But she also didn’t save anyone.

It’s so cold.

Serena murmurs something to Eileen, and Liz makes out the word ‘shock’. In seconds a blanket is being smoothed around her shoulders. It trembles under the contractions of her shoulders and back.

A startling memory of warmth is seared in her mind.

“Max.”

The word is out before she has time to think it through. She finally raises her eyes, and her friends look at her in varying degrees of shock.

There’s no going back now. “He was at the hospital. It must have been yesterday or last night, because there were all these news cameras when we drove up. I stepped out of the car and I… felt… him.” She sounds less affected than she is. “He was there to heal people.”

Eileen snorts. Serena pales.

“That’s impossible. What happened to ‘lay low’ and ‘don’t draw attention to us’?” the younger of the two queries.

Even in her somber mood, Liz can’t help the wry smile that flits across her lips. “I think that went out the window when we started robbing convenience stores.”

“Did anyone ask you any questions?” Serena asks.

Her voice is odd. Quiet.

She shakes her head. “I – I connected with him.” Exhaling furiously, she shakes her head. A troubled frown mars her brow. “Which is just impossible, because even with my premonitions I need to be touching someone. And he wasn’t even there.”

For the first time in years she feels like more than an animated corpse. She’s always at her best when she’s hiding behind a puzzle.

“Oh my God. They’re here? All of them, or just Max? Is the bitch with him?”

Eileen fires questions off right and left, forgetting that she’s supposed to be treating Liz like finely spun glass at the moment.

Normally Liz would be glad for this. Right now, though, she doesn’t want to think about what she felt.

All the empty spaces Max filled up. All the new holes ripped into her before he was done.

Serena cuts through the interrogation with foreign sharpness. “You can’t go into work for the next few days. And we need to clean up the apartment before anyone notices anything out of place.”

Liz listens to her friend’s haphazard planning and wonders why this feels like a group of teenagers trying to cover up a murder.

She finds herself growing frightened because her best friend is frightened.

Realizes with mute panic that Max isn’t here to catch her this time.

“And, I don’t know, I don’t want us to act too abnormally, but you shouldn’t leave the building either. We can tell everyone you have the flu, or –”

“I want to find him.”

They look at her with horror-filled eyes for a second, then speak at the same time.

“Liz, he’s probably already moved on by now –”

“Absolutely not.”

She’s confused.

Eileen is trying to reason with her? Serena is giving her orders?

Even odder than Serena’s refusal is the stinging wound it leaves on Liz.

Shivers wrack her body and she pulls the blanket tighter.

“He’s somewhere close by. For some reason, he felt like it was safe to do this – and he might have information we need to know. He can help us. Help me.”

The truth is so close to the surface, but she hesitates to speak it. Recognizes herself as a hypocrite and contradiction of the highest order for even thinking it.

In the end it demands to be voiced. “He might need me.”

“What about what you need, Liz?” Eileen’s green eyes glint intensely. “You put everything on the line for him time and again and didn’t get so much as a ‘thank you’ for it. You’re still struggling to put yourself back together.”

“Yes, and that’s my fault! From the beginning all that Max has ever done is save me. And I’ve been selfish and stupid and just ruined the best part of my life. And I left him. He was lonely and wounded and he needed me and I… I left.”

How is it possible that it’s both easier and harder to breathe?

“But he never tried to follow you.”

Liz stares at Serena. Wonders dully where her psychologist, much less her best friend, has disappeared to.

Because her words may say that he never went after her but her face is saying that she’s not worth going after at all.

The part of her that has been splintering since the night at the hospital last week ruptures. Tears fill her eyes.

It hasn’t been this difficult to find her voice since that last year in Roswell when everyone but Maria started looking at her without really seeing. “That’s not important. What I need to focus on right now is whether or not Max –”

“Don’t, Liz. Just – don’t.” Serena’s eyes are glassy with some sprawling emotion Liz can’t make herself examine too deeply. “You’re so desperate for control, and you – you try to pretend it’s because you want everything to be justified and rational, but you never, ever make your decisions with a clear head. It’s not your fault that we were made a part of this, and I have never blamed you for that or regretted knowing about you. But this is our decision, too. You don’t have the right to decide this on your own.”

“I –”

“Damn it, Liz! For once, just once, will you actually listen to me?!”

The tears won’t fall.

Eileen crosses the floor and stands beside her, glaring at her older sister. Drawing a line in the sand. “Jesus, Serena,” she hisses. Tries to enfold Liz in a hug.

Liz shrugs her off.

Shocked and bewildered and hurt. Angry that this person she trusts more than she trusts herself is shining a light on all of her flaws and insecurities and knowing that Serena’s words are more truthful than she even knows.

And she wonders, is this what she’s always thought of me?

Her steps to the door are wooden, but her hand is whisper-soft as she steps into the hall and closes it behind her.

-

“Hail Mary, full of grace –”

Liz listens numbly as the woman three pews ahead of her recites the Rosary. She’s already been through the Doxology, the Lord’s Prayer, and the Apostle’s Creed.

Small, almost unnoticeable rivers of calm wash against her.

So many words, with no real meaning by themselves – and yet, somehow they’re enough to keep the hole in her chest from spreading outward and tearing her in two.

It’s amazing that for all the word changes and translations, all the vastly different mouths to give them life, the actual prayers never change.

She’s glad for that.

Even the soothing atmosphere keeping her powers at bay can’t fully distract her from the reason she’s been running. From the argument with Serena and from the memories, of Max and of him, that brought it about.

It was stupid.

She knew that. Knew it when the thought was just a wordless, frightening idea in the back of her head. Knew it when she started making provisions for things like covering her tracks and getting custody of a baby that might or might not one day exhibit powers.

Knew it when she snuck into the nursery and made the connection.

But somehow, that eternally optimistic part of her that still hasn’t managed to die completely argued that it could work.

She could heal him. She could take care of him.

She could love him.

(After all, didn’t she already?)

“– the Lord is with thee, blessed art thou amongst women–”

The encounter can easily be likened to someone with a balance problem heading straight into a minefield.

Liz had read the reports. Hell, she was the one writing most of them. But nothing could have prepared her for actually seeing the damage.

Nothing could have prepared her for how much pain he was in.

Just one lonely, forgotten baby.

The mother is five months into a ten-year prison sentence – Liz doesn’t even want to know what for. There’s a better chance of locating a needle in a haystack than finding a father. And the woman’s family didn’t even come to the hospital.

Infants are brimming over with life and possibilities – and she would know, because she sees most of it. But she never saw anything from him. That should have been all the warning she needed.

Just one lonely, forgotten baby who never had a chance anyway.

“– and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus.”

But she tried. Dear God did she try. She spent the better part of an hour in trance-like concentration, sweat sliding down her face and warning pain invading the back of her head.

In the end it didn’t even make a difference.

She hugs herself as she remembers him, lying in his incubator with only a hospital-regulation blanket.

So little. So beautiful.

So… fragile.

She despises herself for not being strong enough.

And she knows deep down in her bones – knows like she’s only known a few things in her short life – that it’s her fault Max couldn’t save him, either.

Liz isn’t sure what she did. She was so careful with him, so sure not to try anything that could hurt him.

But she did something wrong. She must have, because she refuses to believe that such an awful, heartbreaking eventuality could have come into existence on its own merits and without the help of some outside force.

Despite their fight, it’s Serena’s voice sounding in her ear, so soft and logical it’s amazing she’s not sitting on the bench beside her.

He had a mother, Liz. A mother who chose to get herself into that situation and who was taking narcotics like a replacement for prenatal vitamins. There was a physician in the prison who could have foreseen this if he’d been paying careful enough attention. There were other people –

No. No.

All of it – the miniature corpse resting in the hospital morgue; the veracity of Max’s tears – all of it is because of her.

“Holy Mary Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death.”

She ruins everything.

“No wonder he wanted the queen.”

“Tell me, how does it feel to kill your best friend?”

“LIIIIIZ!”


She hides behind her hands. Stifles sobs as ugly as the thoughts and feelings causing them.

Suddenly the tiny chapel feels more like a prison.

The stained glass depiction of the Madonna stares at her, judging and finding her wanting.

Always wanting.

She rises unsteadily to her feet, ignoring the concerned stare of the parish priest. She needs to get home before Eileen and Serena’s anxiety turns into panic. And she needs to figure out what she’s going to do about Max.

Ignoring him isn’t an option. If it was only guilt for the past fueling her thoughts, she might be able to hold out. But it’s more than that. It’s the knowledge that he’s near to her, has been breathing the same air, and is suffering just as much as she is.

Running away is probably out, too.

Because with her luck, she’d only wind up running to him.
Last edited by Tears_of_Mercury on Wed Jul 02, 2008 4:13 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Tears_of_Mercury
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Re: Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) Part 8 6/08 on p.8

Post by Tears_of_Mercury »

Extra-big smilies to

Carrie: Yep. :D Do you prefer chocolate chip or oatmeal? Actually, scratch that: you get a whole dozen cookies, 'cos you were awesome enough to not only read a UC fic from me, not only review it, but review it on two different boards. Seriously, it meant so much to me, and I'm glad you liked the last chapter. :)
nibbles2: Um... I can't say much that this chapter won't say. I can say that even though it probably doesn't excuse Serena's actions, a lot of the stuff in this chapter will hopefully help explain them. But I'm glad that even if you're frustrated with the characters you're still reading!
Timelord31
lockheart: Oh yeah. Liz is such a sick, masochistic puppy. And of course I say that with all the love in my heart. :D
That connection was crazy, connecting with him just from his being there the day before? Or even through his connection to the infant? That's some crazy alien mojo right there! The parts where she's blowing stuff up are so scary. I'm always afraid she'll sneeze funny and end up blowing up the entire apartment complex.
Exactly. And... well, I'll just let you read the chapter. :D

starcrazed
tequathisy:
just reading what Liz is going through makes me want to crawl into my bed and stay there. Though she does seem to be taking it to the extreme.
*does happy dance* You have no idea how much this tickled me, because it's just EXACTLY what I wanted to get across.
I hope she disregards Serena and Eileen's advice and does what she wants anyway, which is what Liz used to do. She and Max need to see each other and just talk.
The real Liz (or, as I've taken to referring to her, the pre-Tess/Nasedo/Destiny/Doormat Liz) will start making some sporadic reappearances in very short order. Whether she'll be sticking around long enough to make a difference is the question.

Christina:
In any case, things are getting clearer for me. It's amazing that Liz and Max still share such a strong connection that she can feel his presence a day later. Also amazing how him connecting with the baby affected her so deeply.

I'm starting to wonder if the mountain of guilt resting on Liz's shoulders may not be solely her own, but also Max's. Perhaps his own pile of guilt has attached itself to her, which is why she seems extra skittish and full of extra self-loathing. But alas, it's just an assumption and I know making assumptions are bad.
*whistles innocently* But seriously, while no one but JK Rowling's all-powerful Dumbledore can make 100% accurate assumptions, the wavelength you are thinking on is exactly right. Exactly. And that is all I will say about that.
I had thought Serena was a more level-headed, objective person when it came to the whole Max and Liz relationship. Whereas Eileen is vocal about her dare I say, hatred for Max, Serena, up until this point, seemed to be aware that there were two sides to every story, that Max wasn't simply a bad man. But in this part, her actions no doubt confused me. I wonder if she's just tired of seeing Liz like this. I imagine it's getting harder and harder for her to try and remain objective when Liz still remains the same. In that regard, I can understand why she's acting how she is. Although, I still don't understand how she can simply tell Liz flat-out that she cannot see Max.
You know, I was expecting to get this huge, outraged backlash towards Serena for this last part, but I think that you and nibbles are the only ones who even came close to what I was expecting - and you guys were relatively tame. But that is actually good, because it illustrates that you get that Serena is screwing up and that it's not something that fits with what we've seen of her so far.

I think.

:lol: But seriously, there is a definite reason why as soon as we finished Liz's part we're jumping right back to Serena.
And, one more thing. I absolutely loved how Liz fled to the church and how hearing the prayers calmed her. I especially love how you weaved the lines of the prayer with her dark thoughts. I always love that kind of stuff. It does great things for setting the mood and tone.
Yay! I loved writing that. I originally was just googling Catholic masses since as a semi-observant Protestant I had no freaking idea what should be going down, and I found the whole Hail Mary prayer, and it fit, and with the title, well... I almost added a disclaimer or author's note at the beginning to just kind of warn people in case it offended any atheists who might be reading. But then I just said, ah, screw it, it isn't any "worse" than the stuff we got in A Roswell Christmas Carol. I'm very glad that you enjoyed that. And I'm totally reviewing your review, but that's just because it rocked my socks. :)

A/N: I'm giving fair warning that this chapter is mostly likely either going to be a huge "ooh, I see!" chapter or read like one massive "WTF?!" I think to some extent maybe it hasn't gotten half the build-up it deserves, but then, I also think that there's a good reason why this story started where it did and I just need to remember that we've already been introduced and re-introduced to everybody and that hopefully it's been enough. If the direction the plot takes after this ruins the story for you, then that's obviously my fault and I hope you've enjoyed it up until now. If Liz seems even more contradictory and ping-pongish than usual this chapter, there is also a reason for that. And as one final parting word, I will say that as you might remember, we've only been hanging around these people for two days. We know nothing. (God, that sounded just like a Torchwood commercial I saw a few weeks ago.) Anyhoo, I hope you enjoy!

Part Nine

Serena and Eileen look at each other wordlessly for a long time after Liz leaves.

Eileen’s cheeks are flushed – never a good sign – and her nails are digging deeply enough into her palms to cast white marks on the skin. Her eyes are furious.

Serena can tell, though, maybe from sisterly intuition or maybe just from experience, that despite her need to yell Eileen doesn’t want to be the one to start this.

They snap at each other all the time. Have ridiculous, petty arguments.

With Eileen and Serena, at least, a monthly blow-out is pretty much expected.

But this is the first time that Serena’s ever tried to manipulate Liz. Ever thrown past mistakes in her face. And it’s no surprise that neither of them are all that eager to examine why she’s choosing now to start.

(Because Liz is really getting better and they’re doing just fine on their own and Max Evans isn’t going to get one more chance to break her heart. Because maybe today was a bad day but there are good days, too.)

Eileen’s eyes shadow and harden when Serena grimaces. She knows that it’s because her lips do that awful thing where they turn up at the corners and she ends up looking satisfied instead of upset, but it still feels like her sister is mentally calling for her head.

She thinks of Liz alone on the streets, powers most likely out of control. Recalls her third year of graduate school, when Liz would stumble home from ‘target practice’ every Sunday, having achieved nothing but a headache and sparking hands that refused to discharge.

It can’t be safe for her to be in public right now.

Seeing as safety seems to be the last thing on Liz’s mind right now, Serena thinks her own worry probably doesn’t make that big of a difference.

Sunlight glints off of something in her periphery and it attracts her attention. She turns and stares at the plastic bag on the kitchen counter. Snorts in disbelief.

“I thought you cut this stuff out.”

She knows all her sister will hear is disapproval and condescension. What she won’t hear, never seems to hear, is all the love and concern and a fear that threatens to strangle her.

“I did,” Lee spits venomously. Everything she hasn’t been saying about Liz is communicated in her tone.

She crosses her arms over her chest, and though the gesture would look defensive on anyone else on her it is startlingly aggressive. Her ears are now almost as red as her hair. “But sometimes when Liz’s powers are acting up it helps her cool off.”

Serena’s eyes widen in disbelief. Breath spills from her mouth, forming the harsh remnants of a laugh.

Un-fucking-believable.

“Jesus, Lee! What, are you hiding a marijuana plant in your closet? Or are you just buying from some high school kid?”

“Give me some credit here, Rena,” and the pet name is uttered like a profanity, “I haven’t bought from high school kids since I was one. The landlord grows some stuff in the basement.”

She thought that after yelling at Liz her anger was spent. Now, however, she finds her temper reaching the boiling point all over again. (And some small part of her thinks, only with Eileen.) “Of course you would choose an apartment building with a built-in supply of joints. But, God, do you have any idea how stupid – not to mention dangerous – it is to give someone in Liz’s condition any kind of drugs?”

Eileen’s face reddens. She perceives her intelligence being insulted; and honestly, Serena’s not sure if she meant the comment that way or not. Her head is practically revolving on her neck right now she’s so panicked.

“Well maybe if you’d write her a prescription for something legal she wouldn’t need to smoke! But no, on the off chance that her completely human physiology is going to go haywire in the face of some much-needed antidepressants or a healthy dose of Xanax, you’ve decided it’s too much to risk!”

She has the strong desire to throttle her sister for her sarcasm. Struggles to keep her voice steady as she answers.

It’s not easy.

“Giving Liz pot is the equivalent of hooking someone with a severe panic disorder up to a caffeine drip. The term ‘bad high’ exists for a reason. It could make her paranoid, nervous, and completely dull her control and reaction times, which could be deadly for her or you. And the last thing we need right now is for Liz to start getting back into anything worse than that.”

Eileen reels back as if she’s been slapped.

And it’s only a second before she realizes her mistake, but by then it’s too late.

She squeezes her eyes shut. Hating herself and the out-of-character hysteria that triggered all of this.

“You know, you’re always telling me not to bring up anything that Liz doesn’t want to talk about – to give her time to come to terms with it on her own. Never mind that she’s had four fucking years to do that. But what you did to her? It was wrong.”

Serena wilts under the pressure.

All she wants is to melt into the floorboards. To settle onto a couch that hasn’t been gutted and pretend that she’s taking a mental health day with her sister and best friend.

To forget that she was pushing eighty the whole way here because she was going out of her mind wondering what was so bad that Lee had to pull her away from work.

Her sister, her fiery, ill-tempered sister who can make an insult leave a visible wound with just the inflection of her voice, undoes her quietly and without malice. “It was cruel.”

It was cruel. To remind Liz that the boy she pursued for months couldn’t put forth more than two letters and an intercepted phone call, and to imply that this was somehow because Liz is not worth fighting for – when really, Max was being torn in so many directions and had been abandoned by her so many times that Liz’s thoughtless departure was probably just ten times more than what he was capable of dealing with. It’s worse because she’s sure that her face, made hard with panic, must have given Liz all the ammunition she needs for a veritable festival of self-loathing.

She picked a horrible time to grow a backbone.

Serena vaguely recalls her old mentor telling her that she would make a good psychologist because, true to her name, she had one of the most serene personalities he’d ever come across.

She remembers the years where she simply kept her opinions on Liz’s behavior to herself unless it was asked for; and then, after that night that changed everything, suggesting hypnosis and dream journaling and a hundred other less conventional methods.

She remembers and just wants to slap her stupid, naïve younger self for actually believing that it was possible to resolve the problem without getting too close to it. That if she loved Liz enough then she could somehow manage to have two separate relationships with her, simultaneously being doctor and friend.

Because she got in too deep. She lost her objectivity the moment her best friend showed up at her doorstep on the verge of physical and emotional collapse for the first time.

(How could she not? How, when Lizzie was bawling and shaking and pleading with her to just make it stop?)

She’s always been so afraid that the specialist will be too cold and the friend too biased if she tries to give any advice. But in the end she’s been passive and useless and hurt more than she’s helped anyway.

The worst part is that she’s not even sure if she regrets it.

Liz has destructive behavior patterns. Twin guilt and God complexes a mile wide. Stubbornness that makes her irrational and unreasonable and has alienated more than one person who’s important to her.

She’s always been so hungry for some emotional bond Serena isn’t sure how to classify, much less supply. Without even the shreds that she puts forth, she’s not sure if Liz would have hung on as long as she did.

The truth is that without doing or saying anything, the very closeness that Maria, Eileen, and herself share with Liz is enough to manipulate her into putting in the smallest of efforts. Allowing this is practicing the most flawed type of psychology imaginable, but she’s just not sure what else to do.

She realized a long time ago that Liz, even though she probably doesn’t realize it, has no true desire to be fixed. That for her, there is merely functional and catatonic.

Her sister is still waiting for an answer. (More likely an excuse.)

She stares at her and says simply, “Max Evans is dead.”

Eileen’s eyes fill with tears.

She is suddenly every inch the five-year-old who used to crawl into her bed late at night and ask why mommy and daddy were never home.

“So Liz is just, seeing all of this? Making it up?” And then she is horrified, tears falling to her cheekbones like pellets. “Is it the Special Unit? Did they rig this whole thing so that Liz would be exposed? Are they here?”

Serena kneads her jaw tiredly. “No. I mean, according to everything I’ve found, Max Evans and Michael Guerin died in a car crash in 2005.” Her lips quirk and she smiles grimly. Weakly. “But I have – I hold a lot of respect for the connection that Max and Liz have. I’m pretty sure that she would have known if he was dead. Max’s sister Isabel is alive by all accounts I’ve read, but when I tried to find her and her husband it was like they’d fallen off the face of the earth.”

Her sister digests this for a moment. “So they’re in hiding. They thought the danger was bad enough that they had to disappear, and here we’ve just been flaunting our normal lives in the FBI’s faces all this time. Fuck.”

Stops. Eyes narrowed. “Wait. We promised Liz we wouldn’t ever try to contact any of them. How long have you known this? How long have you been lying to Liz?”

Bracing herself for the inevitable storm. “Since your junior year of college.”

Eileen’s eyes widen in comprehension. Her lips form a small, scarlet ‘O.’ She’s not getting mad like Serena thought she would. (Then again, she’s been doing a lot of things Serena never thought she would today.)

And then Eileen really shocks her, and connects the dots without any guidance whatsoever. “Right when the nightmares started getting bad.” Voice hushed.

Invisible creepy-crawlies travel the expanse of her arms.

Even though she’s never once experienced one of Liz’s infamous night terrors firsthand, Serena has a razor-sharp imagination. And she’s received plenty adequate descriptions to give her a few nightmares of her own.

“I just – something about them – I knew that it wasn’t… human. Especially when you consider the subject of her dreams. She went through a lot, but nothing that would have… I wasn’t going to say anything to her unless it really deteriorated, but I wanted the information to be available when she needed it or decided she wanted it. Then when I found out about Max and Michael, I assumed that any sort of meeting, aside from being impossible, would be ten times as dangerous to them as it would be to Liz. And to ask them to help her when she wasn’t even willing to see them seemed…”

“But why didn’t you ever say anything? We’ve been living like this for three years! And after what happened –”

“That’s exactly why I didn’t say anything,” Serena interrupts. Fights down the choking sensation in her throat.

For a minute all she can see is the small, broken form of her best friend. No bigger than a child and beaten within an inch of permanent damage.

Her voice is breathless and teary. “We found her with needle holes in her arms and four broken ribs, laid out on a park bench twenty miles away from your apartment with no memory except being grabbed by suited men.” And for as vividly as she remembers it, talking about it now it seems like this story is just a summer B movie playing out for paid and emotionally stilted actors.

Blinking away the wetness. Doing her best to be clinical and impartial. (Better late than never, after all.)

She meets her sister’s eyes, almost as if she’s challenging her. “We have no idea what happened to her, but she’s burying it so deep inside her subconscious that the only time she even dreams about the FBI is when she’s reliving Max’s abduction. And the physical toll that those dreams take on her –”

Serena’s voice breaks. She covers her face for a long moment. Draws in a shuddering breath.

Her face crumples.

“Five times over the past three years she’s passed out in my office. Once her heartbeat slowed so much that I thought I would have to call an ambulance. That’s really the worst part of this – we can’t get medical help for her without Max or one of the other hybrids to take care of a million details. But if he’s there, I’m afraid that everything that’s been bottled up inside her is just going to come rushing out. And I’m so scared that when that happens, we’re going to lose her.”

“Don’t say that,” Eileen warns. Her right hand systematically clenches, and Serena knows she’s fighting the urge to throw or break something. “Liz isn’t going to… she’s not, okay?”

She doesn’t reply.

Maybe to fill up space, maybe because now yelling will help escape the ugliness instead of welcoming it, Eileen starts in on her with renewed fervor.

“And you know, all these years I had this idea of you as this emotionless drone –”

It’s an exaggeration, but one that other people have made often enough that Serena stiffens in affront (and hurt).

“– and really you’ve just been sitting on this massive pile of shit wearing a poker face that could win millions in Vegas. Yeesh, I don’t know whether I want to hug you or slap you.”

Now that she’s insulted her way back to relative calm, Lee’s eyes lose that near-imperceptible hint of vacancy. “But I don’t get… I mean, why now? I know you said that you think Max would make it worse, but you used to think he would help. If Liz is really so bad off, why risk alienating her just to keep this ridiculous secret?”

She tugs nervously at one kinky-curly spiral of black hair. “I don’t know. I just completely lost my head. I was seeing and hearing myself say these irrational, damaging things and I knew I should stop, but it was just total verbal diarrhea.”

Eileen contemplates this seriously for a minute before shrugging. “Well that makes sense. If a guy goes for a decade without getting any then he’ll probably be over before he starts the first time he does get lucky.”

Serena’s expression is one of disgust. “Does your mind really relate everything to sex or do you just say these things to be crude?”

There’s a bit of impishness in her sister’s face. She is unaccountably awed at her recovery time, equally thankful for and wary of it. “It’s a little bit of both. But you know, in rehab they were really big on just saying the first thing that popped into your head. I think their staff psychologist is probably still hitting himself for that one.”

She laughs at this, tired and a little hysterical.

Eileen becomes serious. “Look, how are we going to play this with Liz? Because I really don’t want to even give the impression that we support this intended wild goose chase after Max the Asshat. But we can’t just lie to her, either.”

Her voice turns cautious. Guilty but hopeful.

“…Can we?”

Serena sighs. Wishes she didn’t always have to be the moral compass/responsible one/sole-decision-maker-in-regards-to-all-things-Liz. “No, we can’t. I’ll talk to her when she comes back. You should be ready for her to be –”

royally pissed? melodramatic? stoic and hard?

“– intense when we’re done.”

Lee snorts. “Well, yeah. When isn’t Liz intense?”

They sit in odd but fairly comfortable silence for the next fifteen minutes, and then begin the process of cleaning up Eileen and Liz’s ravaged living room.

-

The first thing Serena notices is that Liz’s hair, which is in a perpetual state of messiness, looks positively frightening. She’s obviously run her fingers through it repeatedly.

Her mind immediately flashes back to all the times when Liz has been huddled in a ball on her office floor, grasping at her hair as if she intends to rip it up by the handful. Her lingering guilt, not as strong as before but still very much present, makes her stomach flip.

It’s afternoon now, past four.

It’s a minor relief to her that her best friend was not walking around after dark in her current vulnerable state.

“You’re still here,” Liz asserts dully.

“Yeah,” she says. Her heart thumps in her chest, loud and slow.

Eileen, who has been peeing and taking advantage of the bathroom acoustics to sing show tunes slightly off-key, walks back into the living room. Stops short.

“Liz,” she breathes, her voice bursting with relief. She obviously wants to move forward, but glances unsurely at Serena.

She wonders what damn mountain she moved that after all the screw-ups she’s made her headstrong little sister is still taking her cues from her.

She stands up slowly, her stiff joints protesting loudly. “Walk with me,” she says quietly. Pleading.

Their eyes meet, and Liz nods slowly.

They trudge through the apartment hallway and then down the stairs to the lobby and out onto the sidewalk. Serena bites her bottom lip nervously, and notices Liz clenching her jaw. “Do you want to go to the beach?” she ventures quietly.

Raised eyebrows hover above worn and skeptical brown eyes. “We’re at least a mile away.”

She sighs. “We might need the time.”

With a lackluster nod, Liz momentarily ends all verbal dialogue. Despite Serena’s assertion that their conversation will take the walk to and from the ocean, they continue on in silence.

The streets are crowded and noisy. She sees Liz paling as the honking car horns and groups of raucous teenagers grow more numerous.

She forces herself not to soothe her.

Eventually they reach their wordlessly agreed upon destination: a smaller, near-deserted stretch of beach. There’s more dirt than sand and the waves are angular, choppy; but there’s next to no littering and for their purposes it is perfect. They’re not exactly here to play in the surf, anyway.

They stop twenty or so feet from the water. Inches from each other but on two separate planes entirely.

Serena finally starts. Deciding to go with the direct route, she says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have reacted the way that I did. It wasn’t fair of me to – it just wasn’t fair.”

“Do you really feel like I dictate your life? Like I don’t put any thought into my decisions?” Liz says quietly. Tightly.

Serena squints at the near-blinding sun. Anger is apparently doing wonders for Liz’s ability to keep it together.

“No,” she replies finally. Picking her words carefully. “I think that sometimes you’re pretty impulsive. And that you don’t like it when other people make decisions concerning you or even when they have a strong influence over your decisions.”

They’re silent for awhile. Then,

“I tried to heal one of the babies at the hospital.”

Serena looks up sharply. Oh, Liz…

“It didn’t work,” she continues. Her voice goes up a few decibels and gains an abrasive quality. “And then Max tried to heal him, and he couldn’t either. So that either means that I put myself and you and Lee on the line for nothing, or that I damaged him somehow. Personally I’m leaning towards the ‘my fault’ theory.”

“Lizzie –”

Liz’s hand raises and she shoots a blast straight for the water. It hits, and creates a veritable whirlpool. She lets her hand drop back to her side and looks at Serena defiantly.

Her bottom lip is quivering. “See? That’s what I do. That is what I’m good for.”

She stares at her friend, her friend who is a cocktail of human DNA and alien cells and a few hundred extra years’ worth of evolution, and trembles.

Liz has never been able to fire at will before.

She is not scared of what Liz will do to her.

She is scared of what she will do to herself.

Then she is sinking into the sand, laughing and crying and cursing.

And like so many other times, Serena simply stands on the sidelines and lets her ride it out.

When it is over, she speaks softly. “Why now?”

Liz shrugs, wringing her hands restlessly and pulling her mental disappearing act. “I don’t know. At first it didn’t even occur to me that it might be possible, and then we had all those problems with – you know.”

Serena flinches. Disbelieving – or maybe just sad – that Liz won’t even say it out loud.

“… and then I was always afraid that if I could do it, I’d hand off some innocent baby to completely clueless parents and in a year or so they would have no idea why their kid was lighting up like the Fourth of July.

“But David was premature. His mom is a drug addict, in prison for something probably related to that. The dad wasn’t listed on the birth certificate. And I just thought… you know, maybe he could do a lot worse than having a mom like me. And you know, you’re right, because I didn’t even talk to you and Lee about it. I just… did it. And I hurt him.”

Liz stubbornly wipes at the tears filling her eyes.

But Liz doesn’t even notice things like tears when she gets like this. Or if she does, she’s too far gone to care.

Something clicks into place.

And even if it’s just like all the other times, even if Liz calls bullshit after she tells her about Max and Michael and Isabel, she still has to try.

“He had a mother, Liz. A mother who chose to get herself into that position and who was taking narcotics like a replacement for prenatal vitamins.”

Liz stills.

Hoping wildly that this means something, something good, she rushes to continue. “There was a physician in the prison who could have foreseen this if he’d been paying careful enough attention. There were other people –”

“Stop,” she whispers.

Serena closes her mouth and then kneels next to Liz on the sand, craning her head in an attempt to establish eye contact. Is shocked to discover a terrified expression on her best friend’s face.

“What’s wrong?”

Liz scoots backward in the sand like an upside down crab. Hugs her stomach fretfully.

After a minute she shakes her head and meets Serena’s eyes.

And she can see that Liz is swimming closer and closer to the surface, about to break it –

“I just… sometimes I get these really weird premonitions. From you or Eileen or… other people. It’ll just sound like a voice in my head, like I’m having an imaginary conversation with you, you know? But then later if we’re having a conversation about the same thing, you’ll say exactly what I heard in my head.”

She slumps in defeat.

For a minute, she really thought…

Then she looks at Liz’s pale and sweat-slicked face. And somewhere in those unbreakable walls, she sees the smallest of chinks.

Wonders if it isn’t a coincidence that it’s showing up so soon after Max’s reappearance.

“Liz, you deserve to know why I was so crazy earlier.”

Liz turns to her, and she draws in a deep breath.

Opens her mouth.

And then she tells her everything.
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Tears_of_Mercury
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Re: Reconstructing Madonna (FF, M/L, MATURE) A/N 6/15 p.9

Post by Tears_of_Mercury »

Huge barrels of thanks to:

Carrie: Thank you so much! Unfortunately, you’re going to be left hanging as far as Liz/Serena/Eileen for another two chapters. *scrounges up cookies and Kyle adorableness as compensation*
tequathisy:
I do think that Serena has made a huge whopping mistake, right from the very start. At the same time she had absolutely no other choice. She had to try whatever she could to help Liz.
Yep. This is a woman who in another reality was intelligent enough to rig a time machine – but she is still extremely human and flawed. All of the impartiality in the world won’t help when you’re in a situation where you’re made to feel helpless.
Eileen, on the other hand is playing a very dangerous stupid game with Liz. How on earth did she think that supplying Liz with drugs would benefit her? This girl has been through rehab so supposedly she knows all about the dangers of drugs even the so called harmless ones that are really gateway drugs to much harder stuff. She's just breathtakingly stupid.
Well, I will say that Wench_on_a_Leash was on the right track when she said something to the effect of Eileen having good reason to think that pot would calm Liz down. Marijuana use, both medically and recreationally, can be a really touchy subject to most people – but to Eileen all she sees is that her best friend is suffering, she has a way that she *thinks* will help ease that suffering, so of course she’s going to use it. As far as the people who might have educated her otherwise, I will say that her attitude toward the medical field on a whole is one big “F*** YOU.” Serena will kind of explain why soon(ish).
How long was Liz in FBI custody for? And what happened while she was there? Why has Maria never tried to contact the pod squad to let them know?
Erm… the first two questions will kinda-sorta be answered in the part after this next one, but then again they kinda won’t. As for Maria, I will say that she is completely out of the loop on a lot of things – to the point where to a certain extent she doesn’t even realize there’s a “loop” she should be included in.

OT, but I absolutely love your new avvie. :D

begonia9508:
I guess if Liz would accept her powers that it would be easier for her to master it!
This is going to be incredibly important to the storyline, Liz’s individual arc in particular, in the near future. :D

nibbles2:
I really think that though Eileen and Serena mean well, they are way out of their depth. They don't know what they're dealing with and how to handle it. I think they're probably making matters worse.
Oh, yes. They are completely out of their depth. I don’t know if they’ve made anything worse, per say – Liz has pretty much been on a one-way trip to her own personal hell since she left Roswell. And, just as food for thought: Isabel, who hasn’t been out of control of a dreamwalk since Laurie was abducted in season two, was not only jerked in and out of Liz’s nightmare like a rag doll, she didn’t/was unable to change anything while she was there.
Serena has fucked up Liz's therapy and Eileen is a former junkie who is inducing Liz to use drugs!!!!!!! Crazy.
I will say that Eileen could be viewed as the person who originally introduced Liz to drugs. But that isn’t to say that it is by any means a recent development. As for Serena, not only is she the psychiatric equivalent of a surgical intern (so basically she still doesn’t have the experience she needs to be put in charge of a case as complicated as Liz’s), but as cited in the first part, she only has sporadic visits with Liz and a seven-year-old journal to work off of – so while that definitely doesn’t change the fact that she’s screwed up, it’s very much a “who wouldn’t?” situation.
oh my God. Liz was abducted by the feds, no wonder she's a wreck.
Yep. But Liz being abducted is important for a completely different set of reasons than you might think.

Christina:
Oh Serena, you're not perfect, but I still love you anyway.
*allows Serena out to bask in loving*
I knew that it was partly the reason why Serena acted out the way she did, but I had absolutely no idea she'd done all that research on Max. And knew all that other stuff. That definitely came as a big shock.

And the even bigger shock is the knowledge that Liz, too, has been held captive by the FBI. And that she doesn't even know it (or does, and has just repressed it.) Man, I definitely need to prepare myself for Liz's reaction after learning about all of this. The Max stuff, the FBI stuff, yeah, it'll definitely be intense.
Yeah, that’s partly the reason why Serena and Eileen’s viewpoints regarding Liz will sometimes tend to seem all-or-nothing; they are both looking at this from completely different angles. Eileen is looking at it solely from the viewpoint of someone who has seen their friend put through hell and is out for blood or, at the very least, some measure of closure – whereas Serena has to deal with the technicalities of Liz’s condition and can’t jump to Liz’s defense or hold her hand every time things get rough.

Serena and Eileen only know what they’ve heard from Liz about her time in FBI custody. Of course, that doesn’t change the fact that Liz is completely missing a chunk of her life – and that not only does she not want to remember it, but her therapist, who understands how precarious her physical state is, probably isn’t pushing her to remember anywhere near as much as she should be.
Dumb of Eileen to do, but at the same time I can understand why she did it.
Maybe it’s from all the drugs, or maybe it’s just the way she’s wired, but Eileen genuinely doesn’t feel like she’s doing anything wrong – of course, she’d rather Serena be medicating Liz properly (and legally), but if she can’t go through her sister to help Liz she’ll go around her. Which is what makes her such an infuriating and, to me at least, loveable character.
I feel sorry for them not really being able to do what they want to do because Liz is having all these crazy problems. At least Maria got out-- not that it's really helping her too much either. But still, Liz's guilt/depression/problem is wearing me out and I'm not even in this story!
As will be explained as the timeline is somewhat fleshed out, Serena and Eileen both had a chance to pretty much establish themselves and “grow up” before Liz’s crap really got out of control. And Eileen even, as is mentioned in chapter five, travels for her work. But you’re right, there is an incredible emotional burden on their shoulders. They don’t deserve all the crap they have to deal with anymore than Kyle, for example.

Raychelxluscious: RAYCHEL!!! *hugs* You must update Absence. What can I give you in bribes for an update?

lockheart

and once more, to nibbles and Christina: Even though in the end you guys were pretty neutral, I still thought that you brought up some very good points about why Kyle should get his part now instead of later. So thanks for helping me decide!

Kyle's Note: So the author totally lied. She said this would be such a nice, funny, happy part, and what does she do? She sneaks in an angsty ending right under my nose. I just thought it should be known that I totally went to the mat for you guys. But, hey, at least you get FOURTEEN WHOLE PAGES OF ME!!! And it could've been worse. You could have been stuck with Jesse. :P So read. Laugh! And by all means, enjoy basking in my aswesomness!

Part Ten

Kyle wants to make a joke.

It’s what he does and – usually, at least – what he’s good at.

He figured out pretty quickly that if he wanted any lightness in his life, he would have to be the one to provide it. And apart from the occasional wisecrack from Michael or even rarer shot of humor courtesy of Max, this has largely proved true.

He is forever breaking up awkward silences with witty banter and making light of weighty situations with only a slyly interjected comment or noise. Because, hey, someone has to make sure they don’t drown in their own tears.

No one has ever shown any interest in the job, and so it falls to Kyle.

This doesn’t really bother him, though. Quite the opposite, actually.

When Isabel and Max give him that half-condescending, half-affectionate glare programmed into them from birth and Michael threatens to pummel him, it feels like he’s found his place in the world. His niche. Like maybe he’s the one bright spot in this otherwise grim extraterrestrial entourage.

It’s his job to hold them together, to be the glue when they’re tearing in fifty different directions. This, naturally, is more often than not displayed in wisecracks about Isabel’s cleaning habits and Michael’s sexuality.

But right now, even though waspish, nervous commentary is running through his head at the speed of a freight train, he can’t make himself give voice to any of it. (This doesn’t really seem like a joking matter, anyway.)

He can only stare at the four people he’s come to consider family.

Isabel is crying.

(Not particularly unusual, but still disturbing.)

Jesse is brooding.

(A little more surprising, but still, nothing to get his panties in a twist over.)

Michael looks like he wants to throttle someone.

(And this is almost comforting, because when isn’t Michael preparing to throttle someone?)

But Max… Max is crying, too.

Max doesn’t even cry over his nightmares.

In fact, the only time Kyle has ever seen Max cry is on one of their semi-spontaneous hospital runs, when something goes wrong.

Or when something reminds him of Zan.

Kyle’s at a loss.

And that, maybe, scares him even more than Isabel’s confession.

“Max, it’s okay. I called Maria, and I asked her about it, and she said that Liz was fine,” Isabel says, breaking this freakish silence they’ve fallen into. There is a desperate, unsure hope in her voice that makes him want to squirm.

Max doesn’t look up at her words, but Michael and Kyle both turn to look at Izzy.

Her hair, blond and shoulder-length once more, is parted on the left side and looks like it hasn’t said hello to a brush in weeks. Her skin is fluctuating scarily between grey and green. And her eyes are practically a water table.

Michael’s expression says he isn’t willing to believe anything Isabel says right now if it involves the word ‘fine.’

Kyle is inclined to agree.

And so, apparently, is her husband.

“Is, why don’t you go lie down?” Jesse asks quietly. “Give Max a chance to process this. I’ll bring you some of that ginger tea that’s supposed to help with morning sickness.”

Kyle snorts.

Ginger tea in bed? What the hell kind of pansy is this guy?

He remembers holding back Isabel’s hair while she threw up yesterday morning, mere minutes after she broke the joyous news to him, and some of the wind leaves his sails.

“Morning sickness? What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Michael demands irritably. And of course, because it’s their terminally suspicious General, this valid question careens into their tentative avoidance and threatens to shatter it.

Isabel hasn’t broken the news to Michael yet. Right.

Max is in absolutely no state to soften the news or otherwise guilt his brother into submission.

Oh, shit.

With that near-regal composure that once had Kyle convinced he was in love with her, Isabel draws her shoulders back and levels Michael with determined eyes. “Jesse and I are going to have a baby.”

Michael explodes.

“Oh, that’s great, Isabel! That’s just fucking great! Are you going to invite Pierce’s successor into the delivery room, or are you just gonna leave him a nice little trail of bread crumbs to the door?”

“Watch it,” Jesse growls. As if to prove a point, he unconsciously flexes his arm muscles.

Kyle sighs knowingly and shakes his head.

Like that’s going to get you anywhere.

Mikey, of course, ignores Jesse completely and focuses on his sister.

(And never let it be said that Max is the only who plays Bad Cop, because Michael too has had plenty of practice where Isabel is concerned.)

“How could you let this happen?” he bites out.

Isabel stiffens. “Excuse me? Nothing ‘happened’ that wasn’t planned, Michael! The special unit has never given me and Jesse any trouble. I’m twenty-five now, and I don’t plan to be fifty by the time my eldest child graduates from high school!”

Michael’s already darkened face becomes roughly the same color as a tomato. Kyle wonders what name Martha Steward would give this truly spectacular shade, and concludes it would probably be dubbed some brand of rose.

“Eldest? Don’t you think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself, there?”

The last time any variation of this argument was remotely new was around 2000 – and yet, he notes, they don’t seem to be stopping any time soon.

Kyle rolls his eyes. If he wanted this kind of entertainment he’d watch a dog fight.

His eyes go to Max, who has been lost in the shuffle of the latest Isabel drama. Feeling a compulsive need to make sure he’s still in the room.

They all react differently in crises.

Kyle makes jokes.

Jesse dusts off his often ignored morality.

Isabel and Michael erupt first and think logically later.

But Max, he just folds in on himself. Disappears inside his own head until he’s comfortable enough with his best-face-forward to step up and take back control.

That’s usually around the point that things really start going to hell.

Right now, Max looks like a browbeaten dog. All of the noise can’t be helping.

“Guys –” Kyle attempts.

He’s ignored.

(But of course.)

“What are you going to do about doctor’s appointments and blood tests, huh?” Michael raises his eyebrow, looking victorious and generally asinine.

“Max has already agreed to regularly check in on me during the pregnancy. We’ll tell everyone that we want a home birth, and then, a week before the due date my midwife will catch pneumonia. Max – or you, if you’re willing – will come to the hospital when I go into labor and take care of everything,” Isabel replies.

Kyle only vaguely absorbs this. He is still shooting worried glances at Max.

The muscles in Max’s forearm flex as he rests his head against his hand.

He draws in deep, frantic breaths, as if struggling against imminent suffocation. Clenches his jaw repeatedly.

Even as he realizes how dysfunctional and unhealthy this entire situation is, Kyle feels relief lap at his tattered nerves.

If Max is breaking down, at least he isn’t shutting down. In a minute he’ll be cheerfully pushing his feelings aside long enough to play referee and figure out what the hell they’re going to do about Liz. Then he’ll be back to collapsing, and maybe, like the semi-healthy person he can sometimes be, coping.

“I can’t believe you would be this irresponsible! Maybe they’re not giving you trouble today, but eventually they will be. What are you going to do then? Take junior on the run? Give him up like Max had to with Zan?”

He watches with despair as the minimal progress Max has made is dashed by the mention of his son.

“Max didn’t have to give Zan up. He chose to,” Isabel grinds out. Her nostrils flare threateningly.

For a minute, Kyle forgets that he’s pissed off at Michael for barging into Isabel and Jesse’s apartment, and for jumping down Isabel’s throat because seeing Max cry is something he’s never been able to deal with, and for being a tool and bringing up the original munchkin Czech. He actually feels a stab of sympathy.

Because if she doesn’t pass out from exhaustion first, Isabel is going to rip him to shreds.

“Maybe that was the best choice at the time, but this is a completely different situation. This is the natural progression of my life with Jesse. Why does the idea of the future – of the three of us trying to build a future – scare you so much?”

“Because there is no future for us! There’s only right now, and we’re pretty lucky that we even have this!” Michael bellows.

Kyle huffs in aggravation. Now they’ll be here all day.

(And for a second he is almost thankful that Max is out of commission, because the minute Michael or Isabel starts preaching he has a tendency to turn into a self-righteous ass. Buddha only knows how many more angry vibes Izzy’s little slugger can absorb before it goes into distress.)

Jesse dusts off his lawyer hat and steps up to the plate. Kyle mentally says his goodbyes. “Can we please retreat to our separate corners here? There are more pressing issues at the moment.”

Isabel swings her arm in a dismissive gesture, and comes dangerously close to clocking her optimistic husband in the nose.

“No. No, you know what, Michael? You’re just bitter because you had a chance with Maria and you threw it away!”

Michael whitens.

Kyle curses under his breath.

Max’s head comes up from the protective cocoon of his hands.

Mike’s voice is rough as he responds. His face finally betraying some measure of vulnerability. “Protecting someone you love is not the same as throwing them away.”

Isabel, apparently, finds this hysterical.

Kyle cringes.

“Protecting her?! Like Liz and Max ‘protected’ each other all the times they lied and isolated themselves? Like my parents have been ‘protected’ from the truth of what we are while they grieve a dead son? Lying to someone is not protecting them!”

Michael jabs his index finger in the general direction of Isabel’s chest. “Don’t you dare talk to me about lying to people you love. You wouldn’t even be married if you hadn’t bullshitted your way into it!”

And with a swift change that Kyle can only attribute to pregnancy hormones, his female friend is suddenly back to emotional square one.

Isabel’s lower lip trembles. A stray tear falls rapidly down her cheek.

Jesse, who, like Kyle, has previously limited his contributions to sighs and eye rolling, has reached his breaking point. His face is ruddy with anger. A vein in his forehead throbs as his pecs once again flex disturbingly. “If you can’t show respect for my wife and my marriage then you’d better get the hell out of my house.”

Snap.

Isabel and Michael haven’t fought like this since the death fake-out, and then most of the arguments between them and Max were carried out behind closed doors. Jesse has never been privy to the whole spectrum of dysfunction the three of them operate in when they fight, where Isabel’s ‘proper techniques’ and ‘unthreatening words’ and precious ‘calming breaths’ all get thrown out the window.

They fight dirty. They manipulate.

When it suits them, they dissolve into tears or vent their frustrations on helpless TV sets.

And to step in and insinuate that a completely useless third party like a husband has any say in their altercation is definitely not going to go over well.

But while Kyle has been trying to blend into the scenery and avoid getting clipped by the crossfire, Max has been completing his miraculous recovery.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

He rises to his feet looking ten years older and preoccupied. “Michael, back off. This is between Isabel and Jesse; and anyway, it’s done. The most we can do now is try to make this as safe as possible for everyone. She doesn’t need this any more than you do.”

Isabel smiles gratefully. Has the sense to seem chastened and a little guilty. “Thank you, Max.” She crosses the room and hugs him tightly. “Liz is all right,” she murmurs.

Something about the way she says it makes Kyle think that these words are meant only for Max. The way he clings to her in response reinforces the privacy of the moment.

Jesse’s face is once more a mask of concern, and Michael is staring at the floor, sending out vibes that fall between shame and aggravation. None of them say anything.

“What happened to her?” Max chokes out. Sounding fearful and raw and tiny. “She was supposed to get out. To have a normal life.”

Kyle grins mirthlessly. These aliens really are clueless, aren’t they?

There’s no going back to normal after you’ve had your life thrown in a blender and doused with thematic green food coloring. It’s just not feasible.

He’s sure wherever Liz is, she’s realized this too. He just hopes she’s not kicking herself for believing – hoping – otherwise.

Isabel is still attempting to comfort her brother.

“I know, Max. I know she was. But we’ve done all that we can.”

That’s when Kyle sees it: that spark of determination that used to ignite in Liz’s eyes right before she would say, “I have a plan.”

But the aforementioned eyes aren’t Liz’s, and Max is looking right at him.

He tries not to crap his pants.

“Kyle, you’re going home to visit Jim and Amy today, right?”

What is that, a trick question?

“Yeeeaaah. That was kind of the point of the whole ‘get everyone together for awkward conversation’ exercise. You know, so if the plane crashes I have a suitably awful last memory to cling to while I’m dying,” he says. Suspicion colors his tone.

“And so I could get my damn casserole dish back,” Isabel mutters.

Kyle fondly takes in the nauseas look on Michael’s face. Serves the prickly ass right.

“Kyle,” Max starts, and the apprehension that had momentarily fizzled in the face of Michael’s distress comes back full force, “can you talk to Mr. or Mrs. Parker while you’re in town? Get an address?”

Even without alien powers, Kyle knows that there’s no possible way this can end well.

“What, so you’re back to stalking Liz from afar?” he asks uncomfortably. Waits for Michael to snicker appreciatively or back him up. For Jesse to go off on a tangent about free will and Liz’s right to live her life away from them.

Instead, support for Max arrives from an unexpected corner.

“If Liz is in trouble – or if she’s involved with the government or with something alien – then we should know,” Isabel insists.

Kyle stares at her in surprise. He knows that if he lets his jaw hang open any longer he’s liable to trap a fly, but for the life of him he can’t seem to snap it shut.

Because however sensible her words, all he sees in Izzy’s eyes is stomach-churning worry – and not for herself, or for Max, or for the aliens as a whole; but for Liz.

He’s not sure if it’s this or Max’s pleading gaze that makes him cave in the end.

Either way, he still finds himself saying, “Sure. Okay. Anyone else you want me to track down? I hear Vicki Delaney turned out nicely.”

“You’re an ass, Valenti,” Michael grumbles.

He can’t help but huff at this, because excuse him, but not every freaking momenthas to carry the weight of an army tanker.

Isabel brushes her thumb across the dime-sized dimple in his right cheek and smiles warmly. He gives her a half-hearted grin in return and thinks she’ll probably make a great mom to some lucky little martian child.

She drops her hand. Claps energetically. Now that the argument has been cut short and their first crisis in years resolved successfully, Heidi Homemaker is ready to take center stage once more. “So, who wants some quiche?”

As Max is trying to find a way to gracefully decline, Isabel rapidly begins resembling Kermit the frog. “Oh, God,” she says, and then she is streaking toward the bathroom in a blur.

The four of them cringe sympathetically at the retching that comes seconds later.

Then, shaking his head and running a large hand across his forehead, Michael raises his eyebrows. “So, where’d she hide the normal food?”

And just like that, Jesse has started making his miracle ginger tea and is pointing Michael to the topmost cupboard, a temporary truce struck between them, as Kyle and Max slump onto the couch.

He revels in how unbelievably solid this all feels.

Then, because he’d be a crappy friend if he didn’t, he goes back out onto shaky ground to make sure Max is still with him.

“In all seriousness, Max,” he asks, “are you alright?”

Their eyes meet, and Kyle, not what one would call an emotional maven to begin with, decides not to even try deciphering the tangle of feelings he sees on his best friend’s face.

“Find out how Liz is,” he says softly. Simply.

Then he turns the TV on, and Isabel’s pukefest and Michael’s uncouth eating habits are drowned out by the weather channel.

Neither of them speaks again.

Like any true comedian, Kyle knows that some silences shouldn’t be disturbed.

-

He watches, not a little pessimistically, as the gate empties.

There’s no one here to pick him up.

It shouldn’t be that surprising, really: as he stands awkwardly to the side, he mentally replays each and every time this happened to him as a kid.

Concludes that if it weren’t for all those gossip-hungry PTA moms, he probably would have spent the better part of his childhood getting from home to school and sports practices on foot.

There were always citizens to protect. Suspects to question.

Clues to follow.

And somehow, in the scuffle he was always getting left behind. Is still getting left behind.

Kyle thinks of boarding the plane: of Isabel, looking like hell, having to lean on Jesse in the terminal as she handed him a bagged lunch.

Of Michael’s scathing parting shot and oddly emotional handshake.

Of Max, obviously wanting a million and one promises and reassurances, merely wishing him a safe trip.

He thinks of them, and remembers why despite their angst and self-absorption and general dreariness, these are the people who come to mind when he thinks of family.

Then he hears the loud clattering of high heels. The gate, one of only two in the small airport, is now empty, and the sound echoes eerily.

Kyle looks up and sees his step-mother heading toward him with a frazzled expression.

“I am so sorry, Kyle! The car broke down on the side of the road, and then I had to call for a tow truck, and you know how long Lou takes, and then I had to call your dad to see if he could come get me, but he was out on a call, so I had to ask Hansen and you know how slow he drives –”

She cuts off, smiling as she takes him in. The cheerful expression doesn’t hide her haggardness.

He feels a pang of guilt for his thoughts. And also, a burst of relief that he hasn’t once more been forgotten or abandoned.

They pick up his luggage and walk back to Hansen’s cruiser, Kyle in relative silence and Amy chattering happily. He is reminded of an older, less self-possessed Maria.

“– I’ve had to completely revamp your father’s diet. You wouldn’t believe how much weight he’d gained! Of course, most of that is probably from eating so many of my pies…” Amy actually blushes at this, a hesitant but proud smile blooming on her face.

Kyle, remembering his Czech-related mission, sees an opening and takes it. “So are you still making pies for the Crashdown?”

They are approaching Hansen’s cruiser now. She stops at his question, face hard and eyes sad. “Yes, I am. Nancy and I talk a lot. It helps to have someone who… well, it helps.”

Hansen’s head pops out of the passenger side window. “Hey, son,” he says, in that cheerful and clueless voice that always makes Kyle want to slug him.

He thanks God that after his dad got his hands on a Deputy badge the good people of Roswell had the sense to reelect him as sheriff.

“Hansen.” He nods in acknowledgment and throws his suitcase in the trunk.

“So how is my wayward daughter?” Amy asks. She tries to play it off as nonchalant, but her hands are balled into tight fists.

Kyle shifts uncomfortably. “Eh, you know. We e-mail.”

Six months after leaving Roswell, Maria dropped him a line. They’ve continued on like that since, their one or two-line e-mails occasionally punctuated by the odd photograph or amusing story. For the most part, they’re friendly strangers.

He’s pretty sure that’s how she wants it.

“Actually, I wouldn’t know.”

He feels like shit.

Wonders why Maria couldn’t figure out a way to get to her mother’s wedding, and why Amy can’t be the adult in the relationship and let that and a million other small things go already.

(But he thinks he knows why Maria didn’t come; and that, maybe, is the saddest fucking part of this whole mess.)

They get into the cruiser, and to show that he is forgiven, Amy slides into the back with him. She pats his knee. “So, how was your date last night?” Her eyes have become lively, excited.

He groans inwardly.

“How the hell did you hear about that?”

“Language, young man,” she reprimands. “When Isabel called she mentioned that she’d fixed you up with a Buddhist friend of hers. So, how was it?”

Well, you see, Amy, after dragging my best friend back to my apartment and watching him cry himself to sleep, I was pretty exhausted myself. So I overslept and showed up at the restaurant looking like a reject mountain climber, and over appetizers this seriously imbalanced chick claimed that we were siblings in another incarnation. Overall, not a very promising engagement.

He musters up a sour-looking grin. “I think it went well.”

Amy talks all the way back to the house.

-

He’s struck by just how little the Crash has changed.

It makes him remember briefly why he was so damn terrified of being stuck in this town forever.

When he walks through the door that infernal bell dings as loudly as ever, and he notices with equal parts delight and disbelief that Agnes is the only waitress out front.

“I told you, you can only git that on Sundays.”

An infuriated customer with the distinctive look of a tourist smacks the counter. “But you told me that the Mercury Burger and the Empire Special are the same thing!”

Agnes sighs the sigh of someone who is old and infinitely tired. A pack of Camels peeks out of her breast pocket as her customary Crash uniform shifts with the back-and-forth movement of her head. “No, I said…”

With much more confidence than he feels, Kyle strides across the dining area and pushes into the backroom.

It is empty, and if he shuts his eyes he knows he will be bombarded by the ghosts of Liz and Maria.

(Max and Michael aren’t the only ones who were discarded.)

He resolutely keeps his eyes open.

The grey paint on the waitress’ lockers is chipping, the door hinges rusting. He wonders if Mrs. Parker – he decided on the plane that she would be his best bet – will seem as exhausted as her café. The apartment door slams shut, and he realizes he’ll find out in a minute.

Her voice, clear and irritated as ever, fills him with unexpected emotion.

“I’m sorry, but customers aren’t –”

Kyle turns around. Watches recognition and tears fill her eyes.

Isn’t remotely prepared when she flies down the stairs and clutches him to her tightly.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she says, over and over, “I’m so glad you came.”

-

They settle onto the living room couch. Mrs. Parker warms up a cold pot of green tea, and they balance large mugs on their knees.

Once again Kyle notes how much this feels like a ghost town.

There is only one picture of Liz or Maria; it hangs off to the side on the mantle, and features them posing with two other girls.

Liz and an average-sized blond whose hair is streaked with pink share the center. They are both in dresses: Liz’s a modest and sleeveless V-neck that falls to her knees, her companion donning a slightly racier spaghetti strap number. Maria is situated to Liz’s right in jeans and a blouse, and one long, elegant arm encompasses both girls’ shoulders. On the other end of the group is a woman – Kyle guesses in her early twenties – with cat-shaped eyes and a distinctly cute nose. She can’t be any taller than Liz.

They all look happy and worn.

His eyes linger on the girl next to Liz for a moment before he turns his attention back to Liz’s mom.

She’s noticed the direction of his stare, and is smiling wanly. “That was taken by Jeffrey at Liz’s high school graduation. The girls with them are Liz’s roommate Eileen and Eileen’s older sister Serena.”

He absentmindedly thinks that the name Serena should mean something to him, but he’s still too busy checking out the blond to think on it further.

It’s weird and, to be honest, more than a little freaky, but he can’t help but think that he knows this person somehow. Or that she knows him.

Kyle deduces that it’s probably just because she’s hot.

“That’s actually why I dropped by,” he says, fidgeting. “I haven’t talked to Liz in forever, and since I was in town I thought I’d ask after her. See if you could give me a phone number or e-mail address.” He tries at a winning Max grin.

Mrs. Parker purses her lips. “I’m sorry, but I wouldn’t be able to help you with that. I haven’t talked to Liz in years, and according to her father, her apartment line was disconnected.”

“Oh. You – but wouldn’t she have called with a new phone number?”

Nancy laughs, a little too bitterly for Kyle’s comfort. “Liz and her father have been arguing since her senior year of high school. Then, when Liz and that girl almost got expelled for keeping drugs in their room, things just escalated completely out of control. I can’t imagine why they kept talking for as long as they did when all they ever did was yell.”

Kyle tries to wrap his head around these newly unearthed developments.

Drugs? Expulsion?

The hollow feeling of hitting a dead end pounces on him as he realizes Liz Parker can no longer be reconciled with the girl he’s carried around in his memories.

Thinking he probably doesn’t want to know but feeling compelled to ask, Kyle inquires, “Why did you and Liz stop talking?”

Her face, all lines and odd angles, holds him captive. “You can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to watch your child die right in front of you when they’re still very much alive.”

It sounds more like an excuse than an answer.

But she’s right, he wouldn’t know.

He thinks of her puttering around the restaurant day after day, and of Amy baking her pies resolutely.

He thinks of these two lost and disconnected women, and Kyle has never been so happy to be ignorant.
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