Universal Language (UC/CC, Mature) Fic Eight ~ 1/12 [WIP]

[Whimsicality]

Title: Universal Language
Spoilers: All of Roswell is up for grabs
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing, all characters and original Roswell settings belong to other very lucky people as do all songs quoted.
Pairings/Couples/Category: UC/CC/AA
Rating: Mature
Warnings: There will be references to death, sex, violence, and the use of adult language, as well as plenty of angst, but nothing too explicit. If needed, more specific warnings will be posted.
Summary: Collection of unconnected ficlets inspired by songs that make me think of our beloved Roswell. They are all (so far) written in first person and will have multiple characters POV’s, reference both CC and UC pairings, and may or may not be safe for fans of any pairing or character, lol. Each ficlet will have its own summary and warnings posted in an author’s note.

A/N: This first ficlet is Michael’s POV of Season Three Liz, Dreamer pairing with one sided Polar leanings, not necessarily nice to Max or Liz or heck, even Michael. Also, angst factor is high. Song is by The Script.

Fall For Anything

Don’t keep yourself away, don’t live your life that way
Of course, he’s gonna say anything you want
Then leave quicker than he came, now you got yourself to blame
Don’t put yourself back in the fire again

Does she know how hopeless she looks? Does she realize how unrecognizable she’s become? What happened to the girl who backed us into an alley, refusing to let us throw away our lives because of her? What happened to the girl who didn’t let anyone walk on her, including him, who never backed down, who never gave up, and who fought for what she believed in regardless of whom it set her against?

Because this pale imitation makes me want to shake her until something resembling life appears in those once expressive, now dull and tired brown eyes. Lying, hiding, cheating – all of those have become par for the course, for all of us. But armed robbery? Hardly a necessary part of the alien abyss, and definitely not something the logical Liz Parker of two-years ago would have ever considered.

I miss her.

It’s the same damn thing you’re so quick to believe
You do it over and over again
And it’s the same mistakes that I’m watching you weep
You do it over and over again

I can’t stop watching you; it’s a habit I’ve long become accustomed to. And now, now it’s like a train wreck; you can’t look away no matter how much it horrifies you. No matter how much you wish you could stop it, and know you can’t.

He almost left you, left you without saying goodbye. He didn’t say goodbye to me either, but I didn’t expect it; I’ve learned better. When will you? I saw the look on your face, the devastation, and the tiny flicker of anger before you suppressed it. You didn’t use to be afraid of anger; you didn’t use to fight your own feelings. And you sure as hell wouldn’t have accepted his behavior before, so why now? What changed? What turned you into this spineless rug? Or should I say whom?

You took him back. You forgave him. Oh, you pretended that you wouldn’t, almost took a stand, almost remembered who you were. But it was pointless; he cried, promised he would change, and you fell for it. Again.

Oh, please don’t be so naïve, don’t wait ‘till your heart bleeds
Love wasn’t built for speed, listen to me girl
He keeps fuckin’ with your head, tryna get you into bed
And in the morning you’ll just hate yourself

He tells you that it’s over; that he can move on, can forget about his son with another woman, that from now you are all that’s important. Until the next clue, the next contact, the next little boy who draws a spaceship, the next shred of hope. Your eyes are empty as you nod and smile and let him kiss you, wrapping yourself in the heavy blanket of your fated love, blind to all else.

I’ve read your journal; I know how much you respect your father, how much you treasured your close relationship. But now, when even the oblivious parental eyes can see that you are a shell of your former self, and who’s responsible, you ignore him. You tear down your already fragile remaining relationship in favor of the boy who treats your heart as his personal punching bag; who, if your honest with yourself, hasn’t acted like he loved you in so long you’ve forgotten what it felt like.

If you don’t snap out of this, if you don’t pull the old Liz out of a hat, it won’t just be your soul that dies. You’ve taught yourself not to feel, to not care, to pretend with shiny smiles and rebellious acts, while on the inside you are a blank slate. I know what that looks like; I own a mirror. But you haven’t learned how to turn those feelings back on, and when you do, you will break the mirror for showing you who you’ve become

Before they bring you down
You’ve gotta stand for something or you’ll fall for anything
No, you’ll fall for anything, no you’ll fall for
You’ve gotta stand for something or you’ll fall for anything
No, you’ll fall for anything, no you’ll fall for

Your body knows the truth, even if you don’t. It knows that he’s killing you, bit by bit. It tried to tell you, to show you, what you needed to get rid of, who you needed to get rid of, in order to live again. And you even listened, for a while. You left, and as much as I missed you, or at least the old you, I was happy, because you were finally free.

It didn’t last though; your attempt to reclaim your spine, your spirit, your identity as someone other than Max’s Liz, failed, miserably. He almost killed you, and not slowly, but violently and permanently. You were given firsthand evidence of what your life is going to be like now that you’ve come back. Not that you didn’t already know; it already killed your best friend, something I know you haven’t forgotten, just repressed, because if you think of him, you won’t be able to continue your puppet like existence.

I hope your lies to yourself no longer sound so believable. I hope that your brief glimpse of freedom lingers in your mind, pushing you to try again, to try harder, to succeed. Because if you don’t, I’m going to spend the next however many years watching you fade away, a slow, bloodless death. Because I can’t leave anymore than you can – I’m well aware of my hypocrisy – and watching you give up might be the death of me as well.

[Whimsicality]

mary mary: Thanks Ginger! I'm glad you enjoyed it! You definitely know my Polar leanings, lol, can't wait to chat with you again!
cjsl8ne: Thank you for the feedback! Sadly, no happy ending is planned, that was a standalone, as most of these will be, but I'm glad you enjoyed the ficlet.
lizzy_koh: Wow is right! I was very pleasantly surprised to see your feedback, and I'm glad you enjoyed it despite the not so dreamer friendly theme. Thank you very much for the review and I hope you enjoy the rest of the ficlets, there will be at least one more on season three Liz, from her POV, that's straight Dreamer, no Polar hints, although still horribly angsty.

A/N: Tess POV on Max, through end of season two. Canonish, depending on your interpretation. Crazy high angst factor, and a weaker version of Tess than I usually prefer, but for this fic, that's how she wrote hereself lol. Song is by Esthero.

My Torture

Set myself on fire, anything to turn your head
I won’t deny this, I’m burning from the things you said
Now you got me running around and all that I have found is that I can’t afford him
All I got is spare change cause he was my fortune
My torture

Your name was my first word. Your face was the face of every boy who ever looked at me, the face of every boy I wanted to look at. You haunted my dreams, my fantasies, from when they were the innocent imaginings of playing house, to the hormone driven lustful scenarios post puberty. I loved you before I knew what love was. Why don’t you love me?

You did once, or so he says. The fuzzy memories I’ve reclaimed seem to confirm this, but no matter how hard I try to believe, sometimes all I see is lies. You are real though, not a maybe memory of a past husband, but a flesh and blood mortal whose beauty stuns me, attracts me, makes me forget all of his lessons on control and distance.

I’ve seen you look at me, even when I’m not making you, and I know something in you, even if it is just your own hormones, is attracted to me as well. I’ve tried to fan those flames of attraction, to use my gifts both human and otherwise to make you burn as I burn, but somehow you resist.

Is it her? She’s pretty, I can’t deny that, and she seems to love you too, although I think not with the same fire that I do. She doesn’t look capable of such passion. But she has you, the real you, so perhaps she has charms that I am not aware of. If she does, I must learn them, because clearly mine are not enough and I will have you. I must have you, not because of destiny, or the past, but because you have been my future since your name first left my lips and I will not rest until I’ve made my dreams come true.

Had myself a lover, I liked him cause of all of the books that he read
And he was like no other boy that I had ever met before
And I loved all the things that he said
I wanted to heal him, I did not plan on staying as long
I didn’t think I would need him so how did he become
My torture

I had given up on you. I had resigned myself to a life without the only person I had ever wanted, to a life without dreams or fantasies or love. But then, miracle of miracles, she left you, and not just left you, but pushed you to me. If you weren’t everything I think about, I would have thanked her for giving me hope back.

You looked so lost, so broken, no longer strong and vibrant and everything that made you, you. I still wanted you, still needed you, but fixing the damage she had caused, restoring you to the bright, shining person you had been when I first found you, was more important. I did everything I could, said all the right words, didn’t push, and slowly you opened up to me. But it wasn’t enough, I could see in your eyes that I would never be her, that I could never truly heal you.

I didn’t care. Because it was enough for me. It was more than I had hoped for and feeling your lips on mine was even better than saying your name, even if I did see her every time we kissed. You were finally mine and my girlish dreams were coming true.

I want you to comfort me
I want you to stop disturbing my sleep
I really thought you were my king
I thought you were my king
I want it to stop hurting so bad

I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know where it went wrong. I don’t remember making this decision; I don’t remember choosing this path. I want to feel your arms around me again. I want you to tell me that it’s going to be okay, that all of this is some nightmare that you woke me from with a kiss.

But you can’t. Because this is real, more real than the love you never felt for me, and it’s too late to change things now. I did this, somehow. I caused this. And now I’m all alone, crying inside of a living stone that is taking me somewhere I never wanted to go, not without you. All I ever wanted was you. All of my plans were for you. All of my being has lived and breathed you from my unusual birth, and it will live and breathe you until my inevitable death.

This was supposed to be a fairytale. I was your Queen, you were my King, and he would be our Prince, no matter what planet we lived on. But now my only title is traitor, and you’re with her, and his future is a terrifying unknown that I can only pray is happier than my own.

I hope he lives; I hope that I can always have a part of you, since the real you will never be mine again. I wonder if it will hurt to see the hate on your face. Not that I would mind, because it would mean seeing you again, and that is better than never knowing your fate.

I want to wake up now, in your arms, under the stars. I want you tell me that it’s going to be okay, that all of this was a nightmare. I whisper your name to myself as I fall asleep and pray that I never wake up again.

[Whimsicality]

cjsl8ne: Thanks! And me too, I found both Tess and Ava fascinating, and very poorly used by the show writers, so I enjoy writing stories about both of them.
roswellian love: Thank you for the feedback! I'm glad you enjoyed the first one, even with not being a Polar fan (and for the record, while I am an avid polarist, I also enjoy stories with them as friends, or even siblings) And I'm glad you enjoyed the Tess one! She's one of my favorite characters to play with, definitely felt she got shafted in canon, so there will be more of her to come
lizzy_koh: Thank you so much! I'm glad you enjoyed the piece, I definitely agree with everything you said, between Nasedo, and the Roswell crew's upbringing, she really had no chance. Hope you enjoy the rest of them!

A/N: So here’s another Dreamer ficlet with Polar references (much more heavily than Fall For Anything). This one’s definitely AU, you can either go with Liz and Michael having a relationship pre series, or that this exists in an entirely different universe. Also, less angsty than the previous two, not no angst, god forbid my muse do that at the moment, but less. The song is by Taylor Swift.

The Way I Loved You

He is sensible and so incredible
And all my single friends are jealous
He says everything I need to hear and it’s like
I couldn’t ask for anything better
He opens up my door and I get into his car
And he says you look beautiful tonight
And I feel perfectly fine

I smile and feel a blush taint my cheeks with pervasive pink as he hands me the bouquet of flowers, bashfully lowering his head and staring at his feet as he stammers out that they made him think of me. They smell sweet, as sweet as the gesture and matching blush on his cheeks when he finally meets my gaze again, and one lone butterfly shifts in my stomach as I clumsily fill a vase with water and set them aside before picking up my purse and looking at him expectantly.

He offers me his arm and guides me to the door, then down the sidewalk to the jeep, which of course he opens, and politely holds until I’m safely inside, his hand lingering on mine for just a moment before he closes it once all of my limbs are free and clear. He jogs to his side of the vehicle, sliding in hastily and pushing the keys into the ignition with anxious haste, before pausing and turning to look at me, looking nervous and hopeful and utterly charming as he gently brushes a stray piece of hair out of my face and whispers “You’re beautiful, Liz.”

I blush again and mutter a thank you, staring down at the hands folded in my lap as he smiles and turn away, starting the engine and beginning the three block drive to Senor Chows, the only date-like restaurant in town, or at least, the only one he would take me to. The evening is off to a sweet and romantic start and I smile, even though the lone butterfly has long since stopped trying.

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain
And it’s two am and I’m cursing your name
You’re so in love that you act insane
And that’s the way I loved you
Breakin’ down and coming undone
It’s a roller coaster kinda rush
And I never knew I could feel that much
And that’s the way I loved you

Because the butterfly knows that he isn’t you, and that despite what people think and say, I’m not all that fond of sweet and romantic – and it’s all your fault. You’re the one who turned me into this creature who craves passion, or at least the one who unleashed that side of me; knowing my Grandmother it’s likely that it had been there, hiding, all along. You’re the one who taught me the joys of being rough instead of gentle, sexy instead of sweet, and you’re the one who taught me that love isn’t romance, that love is achingly hard and real and all consuming, and has absolutely nothing to do with doors and flowers and dates.

No one’s ever inspired me to anger the way you used to, one smirk and casually worded statement enough to send me over the edge, ranting in a way that would have quite shocked the ‘Perfect Parker’ fan-club. And no one but you has ever shown me such creative ways to use that anger, to redirect it into something involving lips and teeth and bruises that don’t come from pain, but from gripping too hard while we kiss against your bedroom door.

Rain starts to fall, one of those freak summer storms that flash through the desert, as he opens my door and shepherds me inside the restaurant, holding his coat over my head so I don’t get wet. He doesn’t notice when I shift so that it doesn’t cover me, and raise my face to the deluge of warm water, tasting the salt and liquid desert air as drops land on my outstretched tongue. He apologizes once we’re inside and he sees that my dress and hair are wet, and doesn’t notice that some of the water stinging my cheeks isn’t from the sky.

You’re the one who taught me to love the rain, when our impromptu picnic, the one I painstakingly made for you in the Crashdown kitchen while Jose cursed and ranted about invasion, was ruined by a flash storm just like this one, and instead of being upset or trying to cover up, you started to laugh, pulled me to my feet, and kissed me until I couldn’t breathe. You always were a little insane.

He respects my space
And never makes me wait
And he calls exactly when he says he will
He’s close to my mother
Talks business with my father
He’s charming and endearing
And I’m comfortable

The date goes well. Dinner is delicious and he’s an excellent conversationalist, always light, always complimentary, just funny enough to make me smile and occasionally chuckle, but not enough to make me laugh until my fingers tingle from lack of oxygen. We flirt over the pool table and he gets a little closer when he shows me how to shoot, although his hands never linger too long, and certainly never wander anywhere inappropriate, even though I’m not exactly unwilling. It’s perfectly timed and he helps me into my coat a good thirty minutes before the restaurant closes, holding my hand as we back to the car under the suddenly clear sky, stars shining brightly overhead.

I miss the rain.

He kisses me gently on the doorstep, a light brushing of lips that makes me sigh, although I’m not sure what emotion is expressed by the soft exhalation of breath. My father gives him a knowing smile when he opens the door and my mother looks both reproving and pleased and for a brief moment, I wonder what their reaction would have been if it had been you on the doorstep, kissing their daughter, their oh-so-perfect daughter, instead of my equally perfect lab partner.

I don’t think they would have liked it. I don’t think my father’s grudging tolerance to the idea of me growing up would have extended so far, and I think my mother’s frequent talks about waiting and taking things slow would have had a decidedly different tone. I also don’t think I would have cared, but then, you never gave me that chance did you? So I smile and blush and brush a kiss against his cheek, promising to meet him downstairs for breakfast in the morning, and let my parents think that my distant smile and unfocused gaze are because of him and the perfect evening we just spent together.

But I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain
And it’s two am and I’m cursing your name
You’re so in love that you act insane
And that’s the way I loved you
Breakin’ down and coming undone
It’s a roller coaster kinda rush
And I never knew I could feel that much
And that’s the way I love you

When my bedroom door closes behind me, I’m suddenly furious, and I bite my lip to hold back my scream, my nails digging into my palm as I fight the urge to break things, to watch them shatter the way I shattered when you walked away. I haven’t raised my voice even once since that day. I haven’t been angry, I haven’t fought or cursed, I haven’t been the passionate person that only you know I can be. Instead I smile and nod and I’m sweet and cheerful and everything everyone else knows I am.

I allow myself one burst of emotion, or maybe I’m just not as in control as I think I am, and I slam my palm against the rough brick wall of my balcony, skin scraping painfully as blood wells up and I blink back tears. It hurts. Not my hand, although I’m sure I’ll feel that pain in the morning, but the knowledge that I’ll never be that person again, not without you.

We had fought before, the whole thing started with a fight so that’s almost a given. But our anger never ran deep, our words were never vicious, and our eyes, our eyes always told the truth – that we only fought because sometimes you can’t let out feelings so intense any other way. But that day, that day you were cold and empty and utterly not you and I haven’t stopped missing you, the real you, ever since.

He can’t see the smile I’m faking
And my heart’s not breaking
Cause I’m not feeling anything at all
And you were wild and crazy
Just so frustrating, intoxicating
Complicated, got away by some mistake and now

We have breakfast in the morning, he sits across from me in the booth and our feet sometimes brush against each other, always eliciting a blush from one or both of us. I wonder when exactly I learned how to fake a blush, and what the scientific principle is behind forcing blood into your cheeks. I choose not to wonder about the moral implications; deception never was difficult for me, even when I wanted it to be.

He doesn’t eat his bacon and I remember the way you always used to steal mine when I’d bring it to our rendezvous on the days I was running late. I put pepper but no salt on my eggs and he gives me a brief odd look that I pretend not to see, fighting down memories of the one time you made me breakfast, standing in Hank’s rickety trailer while he slept unconscious on the bathroom floor.

We weren’t easy. We didn’t blush when our hands met as we both reached for the butter. Your hair didn’t fall endearingly into your eyes when you looked at me – usually it was standing straight up because you ran your hands through it whenever you were frustrated, which was often. We were complicated and intense, just like you. And now, now I have easy and sweet and empty and it aches.

I miss screaming and fighting and kissing in the rain
It’s two am and I’m cursing your name
I’m so in love that I acted insane
And that’s the way I loved you
Breakin’ down and coming undone
It’s a roller coaster kinda rush
And I never knew that I could feel that much
And that’s the way I loved you, oh, oh

It’s two in the morning and I’m standing on my balcony, glaring at the sky because it stubbornly refuses to rain, because it hasn’t rained once since the date, and because it’s easier to remember you, to forget him, when I feel the rain on my skin. I like to imagine that you think of me too, that when those immense clouds roll across the sky and the rain sheets down before disappearing again minutes later, that you too glare at the sky and curse yourself for letting me go, the way I curse myself for letting you walk away.

I miss the way your eyes burned when you were angry, and the way they melted when you looked at me that way. I miss how intense you got when you really believed something, and how over-the-top casual you were when you didn’t want me to know your real opinion. I miss the taste of your lips, of the way the rain tasted on your skin, so much better than it does without you, just salty water more bitter than tears.

I didn’t live before you, not the way I should have, and without you I can’t bring myself to care. I know Grandma Claudia would be disappointed with me. I’m not following my heart, even though everyone from Maria up to my parents thinks that I finally am. They don’t know the truth. They don’t know that you are my heart, and that any love but the one I felt for you is merely a pale imitation.

I hate myself for giving up so easily; on you and on life. I hate you for teaching me how to live and then walking away. I hate that even now I’m lying to myself because I will never hate you, not the way I loved you.

And that’s the way I loved you, oh, oh
Never knew I could feel that much
And that’s the way I loved you

[Whimsicality]

A/N: Another Liz POV, this time set in season three, or potentially post Grad, Dreamer, angsty (of course), but for once not a hint of polar, not even if you squint. The song is by Evanescence and as usual I own nothing but my own twisted, apparently angst obsessed muse.

Missing

Can you stop, please?
Can you stop the fire?
You can’t stop the fire,
You won’t say the words
Please, please

You used to burn for me. Your eyes were like pleasant licks of flame against my skin and you watched my every move with endless fascination. When you touched me, the fire burned brighter, so bright that you made me glow, until I thought I would melt from the intensity of your regard, of your devotion. You started this fire inside of me, you built up the flames until I burned for you too, and now the fire is consuming me because it has no outlet, because you don’t touch me anymore.

I want it to stop, because it just hurts now.

I want you to burn for me again.

Please, please forgive me
But I won’t be home again
Maybe someday you’ll look up
And barely conscious you’ll say to no one
“Isn’t something missing?”

I hope you’ll forgive me for the abandonment, if you notice it at all. I know the others will only see betrayal and petulance, an unwillingness to forgive and forget. But they don’t know. They don’t know that I don’t care what’s happened, or who’s happened, or that some of it’s my fault and some of it’s yours and that so much has kept us apart that maybe it’s not worth it to be together. I don’t care about anything but you, and the burn I still feel when your eyes flick over me ever so briefly before moving on.

But I can’t stand knowing that you don’t feel the same burn. I can’t stand knowing that when you look at me, you no longer see me, that when you talk to me, you no longer hear what I say in response. I can’t stand knowing that you no longer care, but that you still keep up the pretense out of habit. It hurts too much, and I can’t take it anymore, so I’m going far away in hopes that with enough distance, I’ll stop burning too.

You won’t cry for my absence I know
You forgot me so long ago
Am I that unimportant?
Am I so insignificant?
Isn’t something missing?
Isn’t someone missing me?

What hurts the most is that I don’t think you even remember what it felt like when you did care, when I was the only thing that mattered to you. It was frightening, being the center of your world, but like a moth to the flame I couldn’t resist the pull, and I made you the center of mine as well.

I changed my life, my dreams, my habits, my words, all of me, all for you. And for a while, as the north for each other’s compasses, life was perfect. But at some point your compass started spinning, directionless at first, and now pointing towards something I can’t see and you won’t let me be a part of and I can’t get mine to change. I don’t know how to point anywhere else now.

I wonder sometimes, if when it first began to spin, when our world first tipped off its axis, if you noticed. If you cared. Because I know you don’t notice, or care, now, and I can’t bear to think that maybe you never did. That I was that easy to forget.

Even though I’m the sacrifice,
You won’t try for me, not now
Though I’d die to know you love me,
I’m all alone
Isn’t someone missing me?

You risked it all for me once. Your life, their lives. You suffered for me, fought for me, lived for me. And now I might as well not exist for all the attention you pay me. I want to rage and scream and hurt you the way you’re hurting me. I want to hurt myself if that’s what it takes to get your attention, but as your eyes slide unseeingly over me and your fingers brush against my arm as you leave once again, the scream dies in my throat because there’s no point.

You gave up on me. You gave up on us. Maybe it’s my fault, my fault that I followed your, but not your, orders. I don’t know and I can’t change it now. You know the truth of what I did and why, and I know the truth of who you did and what it caused, and I’m willing to pick up the pieces, but you don’t even notice that we’re broken, that I’m broken, and I can’t fix it on my own.

Please, please forgive me
But I won’t be home again
I know what you do to yourself
I breathe deep and cry out
“Isn’t something missing?
Isn’t someone missing me?”

I know you’ll feel guilty, because that’s what you do, that’s who you are. I don’t want you to blame yourself, even if some of it is your fault. Because it’s not about fault, it’s not about causes or effects, not anymore. It’s about what is, and what isn’t, and what used to be, and apparently, what will be no more.

I don’t want you to look for me, if the idea crosses your mind, because even if you found me, it won’t change anything. You still won’t see me, you still won’t touch me, and you still won’t burn for me. You’ll just learn to pretend better, and if you do that, I might pretend I think it’s real, and that’s just a slower death than the one I’m living now.

I do wish you’d miss me though, at least a little, because I will miss you with every single burning, aching, painful breath, until I draw my last, no matter how close, or how far, that breath is.

And if I bleed,
I’ll bleed
Knowing you don’t care
And if I sleep
Just to dream of you
And wake without you there
Isn’t something missing?
Isn’t something…?

But if you do miss me, you won’t miss me long. I’m just a shadow now, not a real person, and shadows are hard to miss. You have a new center of your world, how I envy him, and I know he consumes you now, until there’s no room left to burn for me. If forced to choose between us, I know you won’t choose me, but though I know it, I can’t face it, so I won’t let it come to that. I will remove myself from your life so that guilt and habit won’t make you keep trying to heal me, to love me, when you just don’t anymore.

I’m empty now. I was so full of you, of loving you, and I can’t just turn that off the way you did. Even now, I still dream of you every night, and every day when I close my eyes. I dream of the way it used to be and when I wake up I want to cry until I fall asleep again. Because something’s missing, and only in sleep, can I come close to it again.

I’m leaving, and I’ll miss you, but I know you won’t miss me.

Goodbye my love, I will always burn for you.

Can you stop, please?
Can you stop the fire?
You can’t stop the fire
You won’t say the words
Please, please

[Whimsicality]

cjsl8ne: Thanks! I'm glad you enjoyed it despite the angst, my muse hasn't been much for happy moments lately although this one is a bit of an exception.
lizzy_koh: I'm sorry to break your heart but definitely glad you think they're well written anyways! This one's another you probably won't enjoy as much, but it's the last Polar one for a while, I'll be focusing on other characters for a little bit. Thanks for the feedback!
Traitor: Thanks for the feedback! I'm having fun with this 'verse', exploring various ideas I don't want to do full stories for. And no worries on the feedback! I'm awful at it too, , in fact I believe I still own you some for the most recent and fantabulous update to Possession.



A/N: So here’s the follow-up to The Way I Loved You, a Michael POV piece explaining why he ended things, and with a semi-happy Polar ending though still, of course, angsty. I do not own the lyrics to the song I Need to Know by Kris Allen.

I Need to Know

Life’s been blinding me
From what I thought I’d see

I see you with him and it burns, just like I knew it would. But, when you’re with him, you look at me, and I don’t know what that means. You catch my gaze when I least expect it, and instead of reproach, anger, hatred, your stubborn brown eyes are warm with feelings I never thought I’d see again, at least not directed at me. Why aren’t you moving on? Why haven’t you fallen under his perfect, charming spell?

You were so still on that floor, displaying none of the raw passion that I alone know you’re capable of, and there was no question of stopping him from helping you, even though it meant losing you. Losing you to him, and losing you to my own stupidity in never telling you the truth, in making you my only good secret, but never sharing the one secret that defined my existence.

I was afraid. You made me afraid, afraid in ways that Hank, and the government, and potential alien enemies never had, and I couldn’t deal with it. So I ended things before you learned the truth, before you realized that you were better off without an emotionally stunted freak like me. The pain on your face when I ended things almost broke me, as did the fact that you didn’t utter one word of protest once you realized it wasn’t a joke, wasn’t just me being a moody bastard. You just stood there, a pale, mute statue, and watched me walk away, the tears reddening your cheeks hurting me more than Hank’s fists ever could.

In typical you fashion, you found out the truth, refused to let us shut you out no matter how much I tried, and, just as I knew you would, you went to him. But you don’t look at him the way you look at me. You don’t get that light in your eyes that reveals the faint gold flecks lurking in their depths. You do still look at me, stare until I could swear that you’re burrowing inside my head using powers not alien, just yours, to make me remember every moment we shared, every taste of your lips, ever silent declaration of emotion.

For some foolish reason, you haven’t let me go. Was I the idiot to let you go?

Is there clarity in this insanity?
What’s she want from me?

I followed you that night, like some demented stalker, like him. I tried to stay away, to stick to my decision, but you’re a hard habit to break and I had to see the two of you together, to see if you were happy with him, maybe that would get you out of my head. You blushed and you smiled and you flirted at all the right times. It fooled him, but I know better. I saw you taste the rain and I knew you were thinking of me and it made me ache, everywhere, remembering the feel of your body pressed against mine as we stood in the middle of the desert while the elements raged around us. I know he didn’t notice the tears, but I did, and they made me ache too, in different ways, for different reasons.

I thought he was what you wanted. Someone shiny and perfect, someone as smart as you were who you could take home to meet your dad, someone who shared your dreams of Harvard. Someone who didn’t lie to you about who he was, someone who didn’t need you as the one shred of decency in a fucked up life.

I couldn’t stomach the thought of watching you pick him over me. I couldn’t take if you’d hated me for lying, for daring to touch you, to kiss you, without you knowing that I wasn’t even human. So I left you first.

And now, now I’m beginning to think that once again I underestimated you. That I should have given you a chance to prove that you’re the better person, that you would have stayed, even though no one else ever has. It’s probably too late, even if you would have forgiven me then, I’m sure that now I’ve driven you to him permanently, no matter how many glances you steal in my direction when he’s not looking.

Roads in front of me
Taking me astray

I need to take a risk. A risk bigger than the one I took when I first kissed you. You were studying in the park, even though it was the beginning of summer when normal teenagers have lives, and you got so caught up in that laughably huge book that you didn’t notice how late it was. You almost tripped over me in your rush to get back home, and when you realized who it was, and saw my scowl, instead of backing away you tried to start a conversation, asking how I was, what my summer plans were.

It was so ridiculous, you, Perfect Parker, trying to befriend me, that I laughed. You thought I was laughing at you and got so mad, eyes flashing, arms crossing angrily over your heaving chest; I didn’t know you had it in you. I just stared at you, astonished by the evidence of real emotion I had never noticed in all of Max’s pining, and you started to blush, still glaring at my furiously, and I kissed you. I still don’t know why, don’t know how I could have been so stupid, but it was one of the few times I didn’t regret my rash decision.

That should have been the end of it. You should have slapped me, but you didn’t. Instead, after a frozen moment of shock, you kissed me back, even going so far as to try and wrap your arms around my neck to pull me closer. Afterwards you told me that it was what your first kiss should have been like, and it gave me the strangest feeling of happy pride, a hardly recognizable emotion in the Guerin psyche.

We never really talked about it, about us, not at first, but we somehow kept finding each other, always alone, and soon you became the pole my life revolved around, superseding even Isabel and Max in importance. I can’t believe I gave you up so easily.

Are you leaving me?
Or are you leading the way?
Can you hear what I’m saying?

I’m standing in the alley below your balcony, staring up at the ladder. I’ve used it so many times I could probably make my way up blindfolded, but now it’s taken on the properties of some mythical bridge, guarded by trolls or demons. See what you’ve done to me? I do not have flights of fancy, that is your job, mine is to mock them. Is it too late to give you your job back?

Have you given up on me, the way I gave up on us? If you have, I won’t blame you. I’m the idiot who surrendered without a fight. If you never want to see me again, I’ll leave. But, if you’re stronger than me, which I know you are, if you’re still willing to take a chance, I’ll say those three words I’ve successfully avoided until now – I was wrong. I’ll tell you that leaving you was the stupidest decision I’ve ever made, in a lifetime of poor choices.

I hear your voice, although I’m not sure if it’s reality or yet another unwelcome intrusion of my imagination, never so annoying than in the month we’ve been apart, and I grasp the first rung of the ladder, pulling it down. I’m still terrified, you still terrify me, the power you hold over me, power I never wanted anyone to hold, but I can’t take not knowing anymore; I need to hear whatever you’re willing to say.

I reach the top and lift myself over the edge to find the balcony empty, your blanket curled up on your favorite lawn chair, looking as lonely as I feel. I snort, both at myself for thinking something so inane, and because I actually expected you to be here when I finally gave in. I know better than that. I’m turning to leave, when you open your window.

I need to know…
I need to know…
I need to know…
I need to know…

Your eyes lock with mine, hope and wariness radiating outwards, and I freeze, unable to move as you step onto the balcony, graceful as only you can be, and move towards me. You reach a trembling hand outwards and hesitantly touch my arm, as if reassuring yourself that I am real. Your fingers burn against my skin, warmth seeping inwards until the ice thaws, and I wrap my arms around you, burning hotter as you melt against me, your fingers clutching my shirt and your hair teasing my chin.

My relief is short lived and soon you are pushing me away, arms crossing protectively over your chest as you stare at me, eyes glossy with unshed tears and lips pressed into a thin, forbidding line. “Why?” you ask after a long and painful moment, voice shaking ever so slightly.

I want to reach out, to communicate in the best way I know how, but I can see that you won’t let me so my hand falls to my side as I fidget, my inability to say what I want, to say anything, extending the uncomfortable silence that follows your question. Your eyes start to darken, your lips curving downwards in disappointment, and finally it all comes rushing out, awkward words tumbling over one another in a crazed babble that’s disconnected from my brain, all trying to stop the pain that’s crumpling your body in on itself.

“I was stupid. I didn’t think you’d forgive me. I lied to you. I thought you would fall for him, he’s always wanted you. I’m sorry.”

Feel like I’m trying to breathe under water
Trying to climb but I keep falling farther
Will you take my hand?

You blink, lips parting slightly in surprise at my unorganized, unclear, but agonizingly emotion baring confession. A million different thoughts and feelings flash through your eyes, eyes I usually enjoy watching, but now can’t read.

I wish I didn’t care so much. The me of six months ago never would have believed that I could feel so deeply about a single answer from you, the girl he mostly knew as Max’s obsession, pretty and smart sure, but not exactly worth making a fool of himself for. That me was ignorant, had no idea how lucky he would be to get to touch you, to be touched by you.

This me does know, and is angry and terrified by the thought of never touching you again, that all of this is too little too late, one more fuck up by Michael Guerin, and that you’ll go back to him. This me doesn’t want to go back to only knowing anger and fear and resentment, and selfishly can’t bring himself to care that being who and what I am means that I should already be pushing you away, shouldn’t even be here trying to fix what I broke.

Please forgive me.

Feels so far away
Want to see your face
Are you even there?
Can you show me?
Can you make me believe?

Less than two feet separates us, but it feels like a chasm I can never cross as you stare at me, face blank of expression, eyes shuttered while you weigh options I don’t know, am afraid to know. The seconds tick by, dragging past me as if I’d suddenly been drenched in molasses, and when your mouth finally opens, my body tenses in preparation for the worst.

“You hurt me. You should have trusted me, trusted us.” you say, each word striking me like a stone, creating bruises deeper than my skin as I resist the urge to flinch, knowing I deserve this and more. “But I can’t hate you; I never have, even though I should for making me feel like this, for making me love you so much that all I want to do is kiss you, even when I should be kissing someone else.”

I rock back on my heels, breath exploding outwards as I stare back at you, barely processing your small smile as I see that light back in your eyes, dimmed, but irrepressible. My shock lasts only for a moment until my instincts override my stunned brain, knowing better than to question your undeserved forgiveness, and then I’m yanking you into my arms again, fingers tangling in your silky hair as I claim your mouth, tasting that strange but intoxicating mix of strawberries and mint that I didn’t think I’d get to taste again, and swallowing your happy sigh as I burn from the inside out.

I’m never letting you go again.

I need to know…
I need to know…
I need to know…
I need to know…

I stare at them through her bedroom window, frozen in shock, horror, and resignation. She doesn’t know that I saw him in her thoughts, that when I kissed her, I felt what she felt when she kissed him. She doesn’t know that I always knew I was second. He doesn’t know that I didn’t care, that I was willing to be second for once if it meant having her.

And now I don’t even have that.

I need to know…
I need to know…

[Whimsicality]

Feedback: You guys seriously rock my world, I'm so glad that someone's enjoying these, because they are just so darn angsty and I can't help myself, I think my fluff muse is broken. Key example, my favorite part of the last one is that one depressing paragraph of Max's POV...*sigh* Anyways, thank you again so much for your feedback, and I hope you enjoy this one too!

A/N: So this one is CC with both CC and UC leanings, high angst, of course, some use of foul language mostly in the lyrics. Also, it covers six different character perspectives, none of which are labeled although they should be clear, and is a bit of an experiment in POV for me. Hope you all enjoy and as expected, I own none of the lyrics to Untouchable Face by Ani DiFranco, although I do love the song.

Untouchable Face

Think I’m going for a walk now
I feel a little unsteady
I don’t want nobody to follow me
‘Cept maybe you
I could make you happy you know
If you weren’t already
I could do a lot of things
And I do

I watch you with them, the way you strut, the tilt of your head as you deliver the perfect scathing comment, the way you nonchalantly flick your hair when someone compliments you. I know I don’t cross your mind even once. I know you don’t think of me, not the way I think of you. Even when you find me useful, or amusing, or even comforting, it’s never enough. You have your perfect world, even with its dark secret, and there’s no room in it for me.

It hurts, even though I don’t show it. You were my first crush, the first girl I had a dream about, the young woman I followed, still follow, around like a helpless puppy dog, even when Liz and Maria told me not to bother, that a girl like you would never look twice at guy like me. They told me (still tell me) that you didn’t deserve me, but they don’t see you like I do. They don’t see the vulnerability behind the icy façade; they don’t see the true beauty that lurks beneath your perfect exterior.

But I do. I might be the only who does. So why won’t you let me make you happy?

Tell you the truth I prefer
The worst of you
Too bad you had to have a better half
She’s not really my type
But I think you two are forever
And I hate to say it but
You’re perfect together

I watch you with her, the way you smile, the way you touch her face, the way your whole body turns towards her with every move she makes. It makes me sick. That should be me. I’m one the one that should make you laugh, so warm and golden and happy. I can’t deny that, that’s the worst thing. Even I can see that this isn’t some crush, that my delusions of attraction are just that, chemically altered alien instincts and the fantasies of a girl who’s wanted you since she knew what want was.

I tried to understand the attraction, studied her so long that I just might know her better than you do, but I can’t see it, although I know you do, and I know you’ll never see anyone else. She is it for you, even if she walks away, or gets hit by a bus as I sometimes fantasize, it won’t matter. Something in you has latched on to her, made her your world, and I love you too much to take that world away.

I wish I’d had my chance. I wish you’d met me first. Maybe you would have latched on to me, the way you did in my memories, the way you do in every day dream I’ve ever had, and ever will have.

Why couldn’t I be her?

So fuck you
And your untouchable face
And fuck you
For existing in the first place
And who am I
That I should be vying for your touch
And who am I
I bet you can’t even tell me that much

I can’t stop watching you, even though you’re not mine to watch, not anymore. You chose him, the freak, the loner, the nerd. Was that the attraction? I know I’m not as smart as you, but I made you smile, made you laugh. Does he make you laugh? I don’t think he does. I hate how carefully blank your face is when you look at me now, the empty pity in your eyes. Was it all a lie? Did you never really care?

And who the hell is he to take you away? He’s a nobody. If he ceased to exist no one would notice. No one but you. I wish I didn’t care, that I could just walk away as easily as you did, but I can’t. I could have any girl in this school, but I chose you. You were special, are special, and even though I shouldn’t, I still want you to be mine.

Do you ever think of me? Do the memories we made still linger in your mind? Does the thought of our first kiss, after I drove you to that museum in Albuquerque, so boring but worth every sparkling grin, still make you glow like you did that day? Somehow I don’t think it does. I think he’s taken over every part of your life and I think that the girl who giggled when I helped her sneak over the rope to take a picture with that painting, I think she’s gone.

I’ll always remember her though, and if I’m wrong, if she comes back, even though I know you don’t care, I’ll be here waiting.

Two-thirty in the morning
And my gas tank will be empty soon
Neon sign on the horizon
Rubbing elbows with the moon
A safe haven of sleepless
Where the deep fryer’s always on
Radio is counting down
The top 20 country songs

I used to watch you watch her and wish that you were watching me. You were so perfect; handsome, sensitive, sweet, and she never noticed. Oh she’d blush when I mentioned you, steal glances, but I know my best friend, and while she thought you were cute, she didn’t have the same light in her eyes that you did. A light I would do anything to see directed at me.

It’s why I kissed him that night, or rather didn’t protest when he kissed me. It was as close as I could get to you. I know that’s sick, and twisted, and that I should have stayed strong, but dramatics only get you so far, and sometimes a girl wants something a bit more tangible. And you, you weren’t available, orbiting around her like the earth around the sun, while she basked in the glow and cautiously began to return your affection.

I love her you know, she’s my rock, always has been, and always will be. So even though I didn’t think she cared like I did, I said nothing, was the perfect cheerleader. After all she’s the damsel and I’m the sidekick and I like it that way, and all the songs say that’s how it supposed to be, damsel and hero, sidekick and hero’s sidekick. And he was there, all brooding and stoic, and I hoped that maybe you’d rubbed off on him, that maybe it would be enough.

But every shift we work, my eyes aren’t drawn to him working the fryer in the kitchen; they’re drawn to you, watching her, while I wish you that were watching me.

Y’know I don’t look forward
To seeing you again soon
You’ll look like a photograph of yourself
Taken from far far away
And I won’t know what to do
And I won’t know what to say
Except fuck you…

I’ve watched him watch you for as long as I can remember. It’s one of my earliest memories, trying to figure out why his attention was always straying, and once I did, trying to figure out why. I figured it out, eventually; I’ve always been slower to catch on. But I did. I saw what made you special; I learned your expressions, what it meant when you nibbled on your bottom lip, the way you would twirl your hair when listening to Maria, or tug on it when you were frustrated. I began to watch you for you, instead of for him.

It was my secret hobby, secret torment, just one more thing I wanted that I couldn’t have, except that this time, he couldn’t have you either, so it was okay. Until the day it stopped being okay, until he wasn’t just watching anymore, and I felt you getting farther and farther away until I couldn’t watch you anymore because all I saw was him.

I don’t know why I kissed her, why I keep kissing her. I’m not attracted to her, not beyond the fact that I’m a guy and she’s a pretty girl and that hormones rule when you’re a teenager, no matter your species. I don’t even really like her; she’s annoying, even when we’re kissing, since for some reason she’s usually picturing him, which frankly is a bit creepy.

But then I’m picturing you, because you won’t get out of my head, so maybe we’re meant for each other, just the way you and him are. No matter how much it sucks, and how much I wish it was the other way around. The universe likes to fuck with me, I’ve always known this; I just wish I didn’t care so much. I wish you weren’t so easy to care about.

I see you and I’m so perplexed
What was I thinking
What will I think of next
Where can I hide
There’s a changing constellation
Of balls we are playing
I see orion and say nothing

I find myself studying you, when I should be studying something or someone else. I don’t know why, I haven’t figured it out yet. I’ve made lists, lists carefully destroyed before prying eyes, such as yours, can find them. But they haven’t helped, and I won’t go so far as to make charts and reports, so all I can do is watch, watch the way your hair sticks up when you’re really frustrated because you can’t stop touching it, the way you scratch your eyebrow when you’re thinking, or embarrassed, the way your muscles bunch under your shirt when you help me clean at night.

I figured it out, and I wish I hadn’t, because it’s wrong, and I shouldn’t be thinking these things, not now, not about you. I already walked away from one boy because of the pull of another, already thought I’d found what had been missing, what I’d been craving. I’m not prepared to admit that I was wrong, that he isn’t what I wanted, that it’s been you all along.

What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I appreciate what I have, why do my eyes stray even when I tell them not to? I like control, I’m usually very good at keeping it, but something about you removes that, which both scares me and excites me. I don’t like that I like it.

I keep watching, because I can’t stop, but I’m strong enough to look and not touch. Because I’m his and you’re hers and I can’t walk away again, I can’t be so fickle. I refuse to see you watching you back; I don’t listen to the best advice I was ever given.

I watch, and I do nothing. I’m good at that too.

The only thing I can think of saying
Is fuck you…

[Whimsicality]

cjsl8ne: Thank you very much for the feedback! I'm glad you enjoyed it, it was fun to write.

A/N: Kyle POV of Liz just after Max reams her out in Baby It’s You through Departure. Lyrics are by The Wrecking.

About to Fall

She’s waiting for someone to save her
Waiting for an angel looking for some hope
The streetlights that flicker over her head
Are making scary shadows
She wants to hurry home

I follow her slowly in my car, wanting to make sure she gets home safely but not wanting to interrupt the deep reverie she’s sunk into, eyes dark and distant and teeth latched firmly onto her bottom lip. I know the signs that she’s upset, but too caught up in whatever she’s thinking about to acknowledge her own emotions, a situation that’s become all too frequent over the past year, if not two years, when I was too caught up in my resentment to pay attention.

Her shoulders are hunched, tight with tension, and she moves with none of her usual grace. When she’s happy, carefree, she walks almost like she’s dancing, but now she moves with efficient speed, steps hurried and gaze darting from side to side, peering into shadows as if she’s looking for invisible enemies. Something that is sadly all too possible, and something I don’t know if I can protect her from, not like he could.

I wish that I could chase away the darkness that surrounds her, that consumes her from the inside out, that I could put the light back in her eyes that drew me to her in the first place, but she doesn’t let me make her smile anymore. I thought things might change, for the better, when she asked me to help her, when we laid in her bed carefully not touching and I finally made her laugh again. But after that, things only got worse; the circles under her eyes deepened, the stress she was under only grew, and now, now that the worst has happened, I don’t think that the girl I fell for three years ago will ever come back.

You got to think this over
Isn’t everyone
Pretending they’re alright
Isn’t everyone
About to fall

My gut tells me that something more is going on, that something is lurking beneath the surface of the dramatic events of the past year, something that started before Alex’s death, before she asked for my help; something that’s bigger and darker than all of us and that wants to swallow us whole. It scares me because I don’t think it’s something that I, varsity wrestler, quarterback, and winner of the statewide junior rifle competition, can protect her from. I’m not even sure that Max Evans, growing more tarnished by the day, can or will protect her from it either.

I’m not sure she’s the only one who needs protecting, or that the fallout of whatever’s been happening since some bastard shot my once girlfriend, will be limited only to our small circle of enforced companionship. It’s too big, too deep, for a dumb jock like me, but it bothers me more that it’s sucked her in, the girl whose dreams have always been bigger and brighter than Roswell, New Mexico, who deserves the best future she can possibly imagine.

She needs my support, and she has it, has always had it, will always have it, no matter where her investigation leads, or who and what it pits me against, and all I can hope is that we (she) make it out alive, body and soul.

Isn’t everyone
Playing beautiful tonight
Isn’t everyone
About to fall

She stops suddenly, frozen in the middle of the sidewalk, eyes wide as she stares, and I follow the direction of her gaze towards the cemetery, heart sinking in my chest as I feel my own grief rise up, grief I know in no measure compares to hers, who has known and loved Alex far longer than I’ve considered him a friend. She swallows and I watch as she grits her teeth, fighting back the tears I’ve been waiting for her to let fall, her face ethereally beautiful even when laced with such vivid pain.

She takes one step forward, then another, until she’s practically running and I’m forced to speed up the car or lose her as she crosses streets without glancing once for passing cars, making my pulse pound at the realization that it might not just be alien danger she needs protection from. No one hits her, no one sees her but me, and I finally let out the breath I’ve been holding when she reaches the Crashdown.

She stops and stares through the front doors and I wonder if she’s remembering, as I am, the individual moments in time, all occurring in this very place, that led us all to this moment in time. She shakes her head as if to dislodge some persistent thought, and turns to walk down the side alley towards the ladder to her balcony. I debate with myself for a moment, not wanting to emulate the stalker behavior I’d adopted not so long ago, before getting out of my car and silently following; I would never forgive myself if she was hurt and I wasn’t there to protect her.

She’s breaking
With every word that he said
It came with such a sharp edge
So hard to fake a smile

I’m forced to crouch behind a dumpster when I see her still frame standing at the bottom of the ladder, face tilted upwards towards the light, a new brand of hurt and anger staining her face. I know that this time she’s remembering him, and what he said to her, what led to me following her home because she looked so possessed, like the weight of the world was on her shoulders.

He had been vicious and needlessly cruel, and it had taken all of my self control not to slam my fist into his arrogant face. How dare he speak to her that way, after everything she’s done for him, everything she’s lost for him, especially now when her grief is still so raw. He’s supposed to be her soul mate; can’t he see how much pain she’s in? How fragile she is under her stubborn façade? Or is he as clueless as I’ve always pettily imagined he was?

Her hand is trembling as she reaches up and pulls the ladder down, and I burn with the need to go to her, to wrap my arms around her, and give her the comfort I know no one has offered yet, although of everyone in the group, she’s the one who needs it most, no matter how much she pretends otherwise. But I know that she would push me away, that she isn’t yet to the breaking point, and that for now, all I can do is watch and wait.

Oh but we’re holding on
Just like there’s nothing wrong
Oh even if we look so strong
We’re all about to fall

I leave her once she’s safely up the ladder, glad that Max is gone when I get back to my house. I ignore the soft noises I hear from Tess moving around her (my) room, and lay down on the couch, staring at the ceiling until the sun comes up because I haven’t been able to sleep since the night Alex died, my dreams vague and fragmented and terrifying. I watch for her in school, see that her face is a stubbornly emotionless as ever although the signs of strain, detectable only to someone who knows her, are growing stronger.

She’s not the only one, every member of our group, from the still slightly hysterical Maria, to tear stained Isabel, to hulking and brooding Michael are showing signs of fracturing, as are every glance and word exchanged between any of them, all of us close to shattering completely as the lines between us grow more defined by the moment.

To an outsider Alex might not have seemed integral, or even all that important, but in many quiet and unassuming ways, he was the glue that held the group together. He kept Maria calm, was the only one Liz was honest and serious with aside from Max, made Isabel smile, and was actually trusted by Michael, not an easy feat. It makes me wonder if Liz is right, if he was killed for just that reason, to divide and conquer, a thought that sends an unbidden chill down my spine when I can’t find Liz.

Isn’t everyone
Pretending they’re alright
Isn’t everyone
About to fall

Liz is fine, was just pursuing her investigation with a ruthlessness that worries me, especially since she hasn’t told me what she’s found, just that it’s proof. So I end up spending time with Isabel, enacting some petty revenge on the big eared prig who’s caused so much pain, and doing my best to make her smile, since Liz still isn’t ready to break.

Then Max and Tess make their big announcement, and I finally learn what Liz found in Albuquerque and my heart breaks for her a little more as I see the look on her face, the devastation she quickly hides, and know that this is it, the group has finally fallen, and that whatever happens with their plan to leave, things will never be the same again. She brushes me off with a patently false smile and I watch her leave, while everyone else’s eyes are on Tess, and once again pray that she survives.

I feel a lingering sense of wrongness all day, but do my best to ignore it, knowing there’s nothing I can do now, not for anyone, but watch and wait. I go to Tess, tell her how she’s become a part of the family, and the wrongness intensifies, creeping under my skin until I feel a little bit insane, but nothing happens and we talk and then it’s back to waiting, anxiously, for the eye of the storm to pass.

Isn’t everyone
Playing beautiful tonight
Isn’t everyone
About to fall

I don’t sleep again that night, and have a feeling that no one else does either. Tess and my father leave and I pace, back and forth back and forth in the room that no longer feels like mine until Liz and Maria show up, babbling about tapping and warping until the wrongness peaks and suddenly I remember, everything, and I almost vomit all over the carpet as I realize what she did, what she made me do.

Then we’re running and driving and praying and Liz is finally breaking, is yelling at Maria desperately and everything’s moving so fast that I can barely breath through the anger and grief. We get there, and it seems like it’s too late, but then it’s not, and all I can do is support Liz because I know that if I go in there, and see her, I’ll do something I’ll regret.

They all file out, except for the bitch and the asshole, and then the ground is shaking, the storm is breaking, and Max finally appears as all hell breaks out, instantly running towards Liz and wrapping his arms around her in what looks more like a possessive trap than comfort to me. Once it’s over and the sky clears, he looks down at her, saying words that make the bile rise up in my throat again, acid burning as she doesn’t slap him and step away like I wish she would.

“I have to save my son,” he says, once again looking away from the girl who’s given everything, once again expecting everything from everyone to clean up his mess, and I see a flicker in her beautiful, broken eyes that gives me hope.

Maybe this time, she’ll walk away.

Maybe this time, I won’t have to watch her fall.

[Whimsicality]

A/N: Tess POV through Departure, canonish, dark and twisty and angsty, a different side of Tess than represented in My Torture. Lyrics are to By the Way by Hinder.

By the Way

In the winding down hours
I let your heart down again
What did I do to make a scene so gory?
I’m no better than the ones before me

There is blood on my hands, crimson streaks on the perfectly pale pink skin, and I wonder why they’re so still, why they aren’t shaking on the outside like I am on the inside. I did this. I got inside his mind and I twisted it all around, pushed and pulled until he was my little meat puppet as Nasedo used to say, those warm blue eyes blank and hollow as he did my bidding.

It wasn’t supposed to kill him. I knew it would hurt him; I won’t lie and say I didn’t. I knew it was wrong. I even knew that if I had asked, as a friend, he probably would have helped me. But that wasn’t how I was designed, that wasn’t what my mind had been twisted to do, and even now, I can’t say that I would do things differently, that I could do things differently. Humans like to talk about Nature versus Nurture, well I don’t have either on my side and while that small, human part of me that stubbornly refuses to die wants things to be different, they aren’t.

So I stare at the blood on my hands as Kyle carries him to the trunk, mesmerized by the physical evidence of the lines I’ve crossed, the bonds I’ve broken, the life I’ve taken, and know that somewhere, Nasedo is smiling.

Old habits die hard
I always end up hating the end
What did I do to make a scene so gory?
I’m no better than the ones before me

There was blood on his hands, dried rusty streaks he hadn’t bothered to wash off as he sat at the table, reading the files he’d taken from the presumably dead FBI agent while I made dinner. I wondered if he even noticed it was there, if it was done on purpose, another lesson, or if to him the whole world was stained with blood and he was just blending in. He glanced up, eyes dark and hollow and endless and I turned back to the pasta I was straining without a word.

I’d learned not to comment about the things I saw, both with my eyes and my other senses, and had perfected the art of looking at him without really seeing him, something that had proved useful with the human children at school as well. If I didn’t see them, I had no desire to befriend them, and remaining cold and aloof was easier, safer, for me, and for them.

After dinner was served and we both sat at the table, silently eating the food I had prepared with ruthless precision, even though he couldn’t taste it, he looked at me again, waiting until I actually saw him, before twisting his lips into a cold smile. “Pack your bags tonight Ava, it’s time for the Nelsons to die. Ed and Tess Harding have a trip to make, and Tess has a very nice surprise waiting for her.”

I’m in the middle of a breakdown
Watching you scream
In the middle of a breakdown
Screaming at me
And by the way
What made you think you’d have it your way?

His hands wrap around my neck, amber eyes burning maniacally as he yells almost incoherently about lies and Nasedo and murders, and even as my eyes artfully widen, tears glistening on their blue surfaces, I feel like laughing. He is so innocent and so clueless and so everything I have never been, and part of me wants to put him a glass jar where he can remain that way forever, while the rest of me wants to twist him and taint him until he is just like me.

Had he really thought it would be that easy? Had he really been so naïve? He has his perfect life, his perfect family, loving parents, sister who would never consider betraying him, best friend who’s screwed up just enough for him to prove he is better. And then there’s her, the little human girl, damsel in distress, giving him that final veneer of suburban normality. What a joke.

We aren’t human, we aren’t normal; we are so far from perfect that Satan himself would be in awe of our peoples’ capacity for destruction. And he actually thinks that I am the problem, that I am the one giving him those feelings, those visions, awakening those instincts that are wreaking hell on his ‘human’ side. Poor little alien boy, he has no idea what life has in store for him, or how short that life is going to be.

And by the way
By the way
Don’t say I didn’t warn you
That I’ll always stay the same

They all look so shell shocked, standing there frozen as if their lives have ended, even Michael who’s seemed the most enthused about learning the truth of our heritage, earning my pity for his hopeful ignorance. It is the human who breaks the silent tension, predictably fleeing from the reveal of Destiny; of a fate that has no place for human loves or human companions, only human tools.

She is the smart one, running away from something too big for her, and I watch as Max tries to follow, Michael stopping him, and then we are all huddling together, silent under the weight of the past and the future, the three of them looking to each other for comfort and answers while I stare at the still running figure vanishing into the desert, wondering for one tiny moment, what my life would have been like had our roles been reversed.

But what ifs are another purely human conceit, so I turn to the others, smiling confidently like the guiding Queen I am supposed to be, and silently prepare myself for trying to corral three stubborn and clueless alien hybrids onto the path I need them to follow.

Speechless and frozen
Uncomfortable silence again
What did I do to make a scene so gory?
I’m no better than the ones before me

He stands silently before me, mind open and honest and ripe for the plucking and I hesitate only a moment before slipping inside, planting instructions and memories and compulsions, a suggestion here, an emotional response there, until he’s ready, and only light maintenance will be required to keep the warp in place. It is easy, as easy as breathing, and I feel a brief glow of satisfaction when I disengage my mind from his and feel the tether of the now permanent bond between us. Nasedo would be proud.

It may seem odd, even human, but I am proud of my skills, unmatched by any on Earth other than Nicholas, and surpassing the abilities I possessed on Antar, the human DNA tainting my genetics serving their purpose of enhancing my powers. I have earned my mental prowess by training since I hatched and found not my ‘family’ but Nasedo waiting for me, and while it has served me well here on Earth, it is on Antar where I will rely on those skills to keep me alive.

Alex goes to his computer to begin creating the documents he will need to pull of his cover and I smile almost fondly at him before turning and walking out of the house and climbing back into my car, turning the wheel towards the desert instead of the Valenti house. I have other preparations to work on.

I’m in the middle of a breakdown
Watching you scream
In the middle of a breakdown
Screaming at me

As soon as I see his tall lanky frame, radiating desperation I don’t need our bond to feel, I know something’s gone horribly wrong, that the pressure was too much, and that my time is running out while his has come to an end. I slip energy into his mind as he sobs brokenly, screaming about the things I’ve done to him, trying to heal it even though I know it’s too late and that I shouldn’t waste power I might need later.

It is too late and he falls, body thudding against the floor with a finality that echoes in my head like a prison door clanging shut and part of me wonders distractedly when I got so melodramatic while the alien side, the smart side, takes over and cleans up the mess, using Kyle, moving Alex, and plotting the cover up that will enable my plan to continue.

Because Alex dying isn’t an end, not for me, it’s just a speed bump, no matter how callous that sounds, and a speed bump that must be dealt with before more bodies start piling up, including my own.

And by the way
By the way
What made you think you’d have it your way?
And by the way
By the way
Don’t say I didn’t warn you
That I’ll always stay the same

He stares at me, those beautiful amber eyes wide with that shocked, innocent look I’ve become so accustomed to, and I force tears to well in my eyes before I give into the urge to slap him across his perfectly chiseled jaw. If this had been anyone but me, if he’d impregnated his darling human love, he would have been utterly useless, and even though I’ve carefully kept him this clueless, the small sliver of me that’s just a girl, a girl who now has an innocent life growing inside of her, wants him to be more.

This has been the plan all along, despite the mishaps, the losses, everything has finally fallen into place and I just have to play my part for a little while longer, but something about the baby being real, instead of just a concept, a bargaining chip, my ticket off this planet and my guarantee of survival, is making my human side stronger.

And, like my dominant alien side, that inner human girl is stubborn as hell. I find myself just connecting with the small consciousness inside of me, listening to the barely aware murmurings that don’t even qualify as real thoughts, and smiling. It disturbs me and I focus on the plan, falling back on lies and my impeccable acting ability as I manipulate my clueless lover, as I ‘suffer’ on this planet that is killing me.

Battered and bruised
Broken confused
It’s time we both knew
Can’t stop what I started
This time we both lose

I am furious and ashamed that his human love, his damsel in distress who should be off having vapors or burning his picture or something, figured out what happened, after I’ve already lost Michael. The baby is still my bargaining chip, and Max is no more capable of keeping me here than he is of seeing truth when it’s staring him in the face, but not bringing Khivar his anticipated sacrifice, or his anticipated lover, will seriously hurt my potential standing in the court, and although it had never been a part of my plan, I now want to be in my son’s life for as long as I can.

So I lash out, words true and cruel and feelings more so as I pour my hate and disgust and pain down the link we forged the night we had sex, including every connection I’ve made with our son, before severing the bond viciously and permanently.

He stumbles back, eyes dark with anger and betrayal and pain and I feel briefly victorious as I am transported into the cone. But I know, that unlike mine, his anger and pain won’t last, he’ll go back to his love, to his family, to his normal, perfect life, and pretend that everything’s okay until he actually believes it, which won’t take long, not for him. If only I found self delusion so easy.

And by the way
By the way
What made you think you’d have it your way
And by the way
By the way
Don’t say I didn’t warn you
That I’ll always stay the same

I close my eyes as the energy of the Granilith powered transport flows through me, so powerful it’s painful, a soothing burn in my veins and on my skin. I feel numb, empty. Now that my plans have come to fruition, now that I am finally leaving the planet I have resented since my unusual birth to return to the planet I have dreamed of since before my eyes first opened, my constant need to act, to plan, to do, has faded, leaving nothing in its wake.

I know that some would take this moment for self evaluation, for a deep soul-searching revelation, but to me it is merely a moment to breathe, for the first time in eleven years, and for the last time in this life, however long that might be. I am strong, I am skilled, I am more alien than human, but I know that I am not prepared enough for Antar, for court, for intrigue and power on a scale that would melt the minds of those I am leaving behind.

But, prepared or not, I will survive, and more than that, I want to thrive, for my own sake, and in a twist I was definitely not expecting, for my son’s sake. The steps I took in Roswell – the manipulations, alliances, murder – are the fumbling moves of a child, and the moment I arrive at my destination, I must become an adult. So I close my eyes and breathe, soothing my racing thoughts with the innocent warmth of my son’s, erasing all traces of Tess Harding until once again I am Ava – woman, warrior, queen.

Somewhere, Nasedo is smiling, and when I open my eyes to see the vivid, crimson Antarian sky, I smile back.

I’ll always stay the same
Battered and Bruised
The same, broken confused, the same
I didn’t warn you that I’d always stay the same