Roswell Fanatics

Title: Happy
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: The characters of "Roswell" belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, WB, and UPN. They are not mine and no infringement is intended.
Pairings/Couples/Category: CC, AU, mainly M/L, some M/M, A/I eventually. Zan/Liz in the beginning.
Rating: MATURE/ADULT
Summary: What would it have been like if Liz grew up in New York, with the Dupes, instead of Roswell?

Author's Note: This is a pretty dark fic, I'm warning you. I'll also take this opportunity to say, it's definitely been awhile. I lost most of this fic a very long time ago when the boards had starting pruning. Recently, I've just rekindled my love for Roswell and have dusted off this fic off because it means a lot to me. I'm rewriting it.

Maybe this is a stab in the dark, but if anyone happens to have some of the original fic, I'd really, really appreciate it if they'd contact me.


--


Part One


Sometimes I wondered if things might have been different.

That if I had grown up in small town Roswell, New Mexico, in his world, things would have been different. The world with friends, and family, and most importantly, love. I wondered if he would have loved me, the me that had grown up with him, with two parents that never fought and didn't leave.

I wondered if I would have been happy.

And then I wondered why I was wondering at all. I hadn't grown up in Roswell; I didn't have parents, friends, or love.

Well, except his, but I couldn't count on his.

I could never count on his love, because his love had killed me. And I hadn't counted on dying so soon, so sudden, so cruelly.

My story is long, and complicated. It can't be summed up in a sentence or two, because it's much more than that.

Close your eyes. Why? Because I said so. It'll be easier to picture it all. And maybe you'll understand better if you're there.

I'll start at the beginning.





He had always wanted me for one thing.

Even after I had found out, one thing had always been on his mind. He just wanted me in his bed whenever and however he wanted.

It had always been about what he wanted. But then again, I had been in his bed not because he wanted me to be, but because I needed it. Business was tight, and I needed to take whatever I could get.

I didn't know at the time why he had kept me around and not just killed me. He had always seemed fascinated by me, once I contemplated it. I thought he never loved me, of course. He was just… fascinated.

Maybe he was because I was human, or because I didn't yell and scream and ramble when I found out. I just accepted it.

But I wanted to leave. Not because it disgusted me, sleeping with an alien. He disgusted me.

I was low on money. You couldn't blame me. I was cold and hungry and out of a job.

I only had ten dollars in my pocket and less than fifty in my account. He had offered me two hundred. It was a fair price, even if he looked like he was carrying every STD known to man.

That wasn't true. He had looked like the type at first, but I took one look at his place and could tell he was clean.

I could always tell if someone was clean. I had always had a sense of judging a person very accurately. Plus, I had seen this kind before.

Not species, but men. There were four kinds; one, wealthy and horny, two, young and horny, three, dirty and horny, and four, just horny.

Anyway, I knew he was clean, because his place was clean. It was tidy and organized and didn't smell too bad. His way of thinking disgusted me. He had an air around him, powerful and commanding at the same time. So did Max Evans, but Zan used his powers for his own gain. He used his powers for himself.

And obviously a gain for him was to own me. He told me he didn't trust me and I was never leaving his side. That's what first confused me about him. He was heartless, yet so fascinated by me, he let me live.

Rath, Ava, and Lonnie weren't too keen on the idea of letting me breathe. Ava especially, who usually licked Zan's hand like a big dumb dog; she stood up to him. Please understand that Ava was Zan's destiny. She was betrothed to him. And to have Zan fucking someone that wasn't her made her just a little mad.

Zan never really loved her, though, so he just brushed her off. Sometimes he banged her against the wall to shut her up. But it only made her moan so loudly my stomach turned over. After awhile he stopped even touching her.

It happened so gradually. Occasionally he'd tell her he wasn't in the mood, he was busy, and then… He'd pull away whenever she'd touch him. It was a change that you'd have to stop and look back just to realize the difference. I was the first to realize, and soon after Rath and Lonnie. Ava had known all along. After all, he was doing it to her.

They weren't too happy about it either; yelling at him about destiny and that he had to stop it with 'the bitch who's really fucking with your head.' I was the bitch, for those of you who are slow. Well, Zan never let anyone boss him around. When he spoke that was that. And he told them to shut the fuck up.

If I forgot to mention this detail, I'm sorry. After all, this was one characteristic of Zan's that's important in my story.

Zan, if not stubborn and acting like he was King, was extremely possessive.

He had me and no one else could touch me.

Rath was never that smart. He got angry easily and blindly followed his rage.

He tried to rape me. Wasn't the first time.

Don't look at me like that. I've dealt with it. I have.

Just listen.

One of the only decent things Zan had ever done was what he had done that night. He saved me from Rath.

But he didn't stop there. I never believed in God and but I prayed so hard when I saw the look in Zan's eyes. They were like an animal's, a blood hungry animal. I can't describe what Rath looked like when Zan got done with him…

He just curled himself up in a ball, moist, red liquid lapping at his clothes around him. Lonnie and Ava most definitely had healed him that night, because he looked fine in the morning. He probably would have died if they hadn't.

The look in their eyes when Zan lead me into his bedroom was hatred. Pure, unadulterated hatred. I was pulling them apart. I was forcing them apart. Truly, I didn't have a choice, but they didn't seem to care about that.

My mind still overwhelms itself with information of that night. Little touches and looks categorized in my mind about how Zan acted when he stripped ourselves of clothes and took me.

First, he was mad, jealous, and possessive. Touching me roughly and whispering hoarsely that I was his. I remember my knees shaking uncontrollably. From fear or pleasure, I wasn't sure. Maybe it was both.

Then he laid me down in his bed and slid inside of me. Gone were the harsh whispers. He stopped talking. He was… gentle. He buried his face in the slope of my neck and… made love to me achingly slow.

I think he was in love with me. I think he didn't kill me because he was in love with me. I think he ignored Ava and beat the shit out of Rath because he was in love with me.

And I think, deep down, I loved him too.




The next night, he didn't roll over and fall asleep.

I did. Or, I was going to. But I felt his arm around my body and I thought maybe he wanted me again, so I tried to face him, but he pressed my backside along his front and cupped his face in one hand.

When he felt me relax, he rested his head on my pillow, and he ran his hand through my hair. He twirled it around in his fingers. He lured me to sleep with his soft, innocent touches.

On the edge of consciousness, I think I dreamt that he kissed my forehead and whispered.

"I love you, Liz."




Then Nikolas found us.

Nikolas was some big shot alien that was actually a fourteen-year-old boy. He didn't like me either. Imagine my surprise.

He told us about some summit.

Some intergalactic meeting that you'd only think would exist in Hollywood. Something about the war that was raging on Antar against Khivar. Wonder how I know all this? Zan told me. Another reason for the rest of them to hate me.

Zan didn't want to go. I asked why, which angered the others even more. I had no right to question him. One, because it was none of my business, and two, because they knew he'd answer me when he'd tell them to shut up.

"It's probably a set up." He told me, looking into my eyes. I looked into his chocolate depths, an action I had been doing much too often lately. "I'm not going to put you in danger."




The first time I received flashes from him was when Rath tried to kill us.

I had expected it. The summit just gave him an excuse. You're probably wondering how they could go to the summit without the King, right? Well, Rath had it all planned out. He would kill us, and drag along Zan's clone.

The duplicate. After Antar was defeated, they made two Vilandras, two Raths, two Avas, and two Zans.

With a thought in his mind and a shove of his arm, Rath had us both in the path of an oncoming bus. And Zan killed him after he saved us. After the gravel and glass of the street tore into my cheeks on impact and death loomed over like a long-lost promise.

He didn't even beat him first. He just lifted his hand and burnt his insides. Lonnie and Ava knelt beside his dead, cooked body and cried. And looked up. And hated me again.

Then Zan faced me, saw the fear and shock in my eyes, and kissed me. Touched me with his murderous hands, and explored my mouth with his tongue.

And the flashes blinded me.

He showed me he loved me.




Zan never told me why he wanted to go to the summit. He never told any of us. All I knew was one morning I woke to find Zan packing our bags.

"What's going on?" I had asked him.

He only smiled wickedly at my bare form in his bed. Reaching over, he traced an alien symbol on the inside of my thigh before I used the last of my will power to swat his hand away.

He didn't get mad. He saw my heaving chest as I tried to catch my breath and knew I was aroused.

Sometimes he'd get mad if I weren't. In the beginning, when he knew I wasn't, he'd have me anyway because I let it. He was paying me.

Then I found out his secret and the money stopped coming. Things didn't change for a while, but then Rath had tried what he had tried and it became personal.

He started touching me when I wanted to be touched, and when I didn't, he'd get mad and rub between my legs and fuck me hard into the mattress even if I wasn't ready. But I'd get ready fast because it felt too good not to.

"We're going for a little trip. To Roswell."

He liked it when I got ready fast for him.







Part Two



His name was Michael Guerin. He was arrogant like Rath was, but smarter. Much smarter. He seemed to want one thing above all else though - to go home.

That definitely was an attribute needed to convince him to come.

Only Max Evans didn't seem to trust any of us. And he didn't understand why I was there.

I swear I didn't feel anything for Max Evans when I met him. Except maybe lust. He looked exactly like Zan; the only difference being that his hair was short and he didn't have tattoos.

And he was with Ava. Not our Ava, but theirs. Tess Valenti or some fancy name like that.

Zan knew it hurt me when I saw them together. That I remembered the times when he screwed Ava and knew I could hear.

It happened only a day after I met him and his slut.

Max Evans touched me. It was an accident, I swear. I've always been klutzy. Zan teased me all the time about my day dreaming. It causes me to walk into poles in broad daylight.

Only I walked into Max, not a pole.

I stumbled back, regained my balance, and felt his steadying hand on my arm before looking into his eyes.

Eyes are the windows to the soul. To every tear, every laugh, and every drop of blood and pain that seeps from the core of yourself.

He touched my arm and looked in my eyes. And I saw his soul.

Then it was his turn to stumble back. And from the surprise in his eyes, I knew he had seen in mine too. And he realized who I was. I was Liz Parker. I was Zan's property. I was the human he had looked at in suspicion yesterday.

My head spinned and my stomach contracted, bile rising in my throat. I could feel him in my veins, his mind listening to my every thought. I knew it felt safe and warm and loving but I didn't want it.

Fuck, I needed it like air but I didn't want it.

I could feel everything he was feeling. I could feel his loneliness. For the first time I was really seeing Max Evans, I saw me as he saw me, and the amazing thing was, in his eyes, I was beautiful.

I knew Zan loved me, but not like Max did.

But I didn't fucking want it.

I didn't say one word to him that day. I ran to the shitty motel we were at and fucked Zan's brains out.

I tried to clean myself of Max Evans, and I thought Zan would do it.



Max was smart enough to speak to me when Zan was not around.

God, I hated myself for leaving Zan for some fresh air. I should have known that with my luck, he'd somehow find me.

Why the hell I wanted a walk was beyond me. Tight, low riding jeans, black, showy shirts, and a lot of eyeliner were not something you saw everyday in Roswell. I screamed street urchin. And people stared. I didn't like the attention.

Fate definitely knows how to trick someone into something.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts - again. That I bumped into him - again.

I stumbled back, regained my balance and felt a familiar touch on my arm. I jerked away before looking up at him. Obviously not touching him didn't do shit, because the floodgates opened and we poured more of ourselves into each other. I broke away. It was a lot harder than I suspected.

He talked before I could run. "Déjà vu. We should stop meeting like this."

Maybe we should stop meeting at all. "I have to go." Good. My voice was smooth, calm, collected.

I made a move to leave, but dammit, he touched me again. I was beginning to like the way his touch felt. And that was bad. What was worse, I looked up again and his eyes caught mine.

Why did she run? What's wrong with me? You're with Tess. Oh God, Liz, just talk to me.

He was thinking about me last night. I could picture him, his CD player on, his hands behind his head, eyes focusing on the ceiling above. That scared the crap out of me. I knew he did just that.

His eyes clouded over when the flash stopped. Did he see what I had done after too? "Liz…"

He was pleading. "What?" I asked softly.

"Why is it that- Whenever we touch we…"

"I don't know, Max." I answered him. "I have to go."

I was gone before he could protest.




When I said I needed Max Evans, I don't mean any of the soulmate bullshit. Partly, at least.

Remember when I said I was raped?

Yeah, well, it wasn't some drugged up bastard on the street with a boner. Wait. No, I guess he was. Only I knew him.

I knew him because he was my cousin.

His name was Sean.

He was a high school drop out the day he turned sixteen, but it wasn't like he even went anyway.

He was addicted to cocaine, heroine, angel dust, ecstasy, weed, uppers, steroids, and not even god knows what else.

His mom, my aunt, had messed him up royally. Messed him up the same way he tried to mess me up.

His dad almost beat him to death when he told him about what auntie was doing.

He had scars to prove it.

And tiny needle holes in a disgustingly blue and yellowish tint along both his arms.

He was a fucked up sixteen-year-old when he began molesting me and an even more fucked up nineteen-year-old when he raped me.

Morbid, I know, but when he did force himself on me, after I kicked and screamed and begged for him to never touch me again… When I could only hear the sound of him rocking inside me and feel the blood between my legs and tears of pain that clouded my eyes, I played connect the dots with those freshly made needle pricks in my mind.

You truly think the strangest things when something like that happens to you.

Sean destroyed me. I let him destroy me.

In my eyes… Ever since his discomforting voice whispered in the dead of the night, "you wanna do something for me, Lizzie?"… I was never beautiful in my eyes. I was never pretty or smart or worth anything but what someone would pay for me.

Zan loved me. I know that. But he loved himself more, and I was still second. But Max…

I was beautiful and pretty and smart in those brown eyes, and I had this ridiculous, stupid hope that maybe I wouldn't be second this time.

That's why I needed his love. That's why I craved for it.

I wanted Zan because I knew what I was to him. I knew what was expected of me, what I meant, and how he saw me. And I could deal with it if he should let me go because I knew my place.

But Max…

I was scared. And scarred. And I wasn't going to risk a chance to believe that Max was different.

Because if he wasn't…

That meant I was nothing. And it proved it.

I didn't want that.

But I needed to feel the way he made me feel. Like I was special. And I'd never felt like this for someone before and I…

I was in deep shit.

I was in love. And I had only known the guy for three days.

So lets just call the friar to mix up a potion, bring the sharpest rapier we can find, and do us both in. Yeah, I have read Romeo and Juliet. And the fucking book lasted only three days. Coincidence? I think not.




The summit was only two weeks away. Almost fifty years since the Royal Four arrived on Earth, seventeen years since I was born into an unwanted household, seven years since my cousin violated my soul, mind, and body, five years since I put a price on myself, a year since I knew about Zan, Ava, Rath, and Lonnie, two months since Rath almost raped me, three weeks since Zan killed him, and four days since Max Evans touched me.

Two more weeks of constantly bumping into said Max.

Two more weeks of shaking in anticipation, my heart screaming for just one touch and my mind pushing the unavoidable thoughts away.

It happened every day. I would go out for a walk, and Zan never questioned me. He knew it was hard to keep me cooped up, and he let me wander. But I wasn't really wandering.

Max was waiting for me at the exact same corner the next day.

His khakis and the back of his green shirt leaning against the tan wall, and his head carelessly studying the ground, but it was obvious he was waiting for someone. That someone being me.

Then he looked up, almost like he had sensed something. And his chocolate eyes looked right at me. He stood up straight, his eyes narrowing against the noon sun, and he waited for my reaction, knowing somehow that it was my choice. I could turn and walk away, or I could go to him. Every nerve ending in my human body sung at the sight of him, and I knew what my damaged, buried heart wanted me to do.

I took a step forward and then another, hesitantly. I let my heart lead me where it wanted to go, and even if I knew the consequences of my actions at that moment, I don't think I could have stopped myself. "Hey." I said in a small voice, the voice I'd never use with anyone but within myself.

"Hey." He said softly, his voice sounding so much stronger than mine.

I was so small compared to him. His was tall and strong and his hands were larger than mine. If I let him hold me, maybe, just maybe, I'd mold forever in his large body and be safe and protected for the rest of my life.

"I, ah…" He started, stuffing both his large hands in his pockets. "Do you want to do something?" He asked, his voice nervous and his face pleading. I felt stronger. "There's this place… It has really good Chinese food… We could talk maybe…"

I smiled softly, and Max's eyes dropped to my lips and a heat spread throughout my body. Not the kind of heat Zan gave me… It wasn't hot and boiling, but a warm tingle that reached from my toes to my hair. I nodded, and he exhaled. "Okay."




"This is my favorite part." I smiled, and I felt something strange in my stomach. I had felt it for the past two days. Something innocent and childish and not at all like anything I had ever felt before. Who knew Liz Parker would be able to experience anything pure? " 'Don't be afraid to take risks.' "

I think my heart stopped when his amber eyes looked into mine, consuming and warm and powerful. Zan's eyes never shone like that, and I was caught so off guard I almost fell off my chair.

"Yours?" I croaked out, and he blinked.

"Um…" He cleared his throat and looked down at the small slip of paper. "It says, 'ask a girl to dance.' "

His eyes bored into me again, and I blushed, the heat in my cheeks unfamiliar. My eyes traced the design of the wood underneath my hands.

"Are you?" I half-whispered.

"Well…" He said, smiling. My heart sped up at the glinting in his eyes, the way his lips curled around his teeth. "It's bad luck to not listen to a fortune cookie."

I smiled and blushed again, the heat in my cheeks spreading throughout my whole body as his hand covered mine own. "Liz Parker, will you dance with me?"

We danced.




Cloud Nine is unbelievably high. You can touch the stars and float off into space.

Trust me, I've been there.

But the thing about clouds, especially cloud nine, is that's what they are- clouds. Billions of little molecules of water that just happen to be in gas form. And god, are they easy to fall through.

I fell through. Me and Max both. We fell and fell from our little cloud and we hit the ground so hard it shocked us into reality.

Let me explain this a little better.

I'm Liz Parker and a very long time ago, I died.

--

An incredibly huge thanks to:

cocopucks
*Zans-gurl* - It's nice to hear from you again!
Stars in my eyes - Thanks. You'll see what happens!
Raychill
Ellie
purpleant - Let's hope you still like my Zan after this part...
RASaero611
roswellian137
begonia9508
Emz80m
Lissa
pandas2001 - Happy to see you again!
trueblue






Part Three




Maria, she said her name was, her smile bright and welcoming. Garbed in that tacky green dress and her head doned with ridiculous alien antennae.

The Crashdown, Max had called it, the gleaming sign hanging in front proof. Alien tourist trap, he laughed.

Maria, cheery and rambling; her voice slid over me, every word more pronounced than the next. "I have no idea why you're with Max- why are you with Max?" She asked, and brushed the question off with her next words. "I guess you know, but watch out for those Czechoslovakians." She winked. "Especially Max, the dog. Hands off Michael, or I will be forced to take violent measures." Sugar poured into the canister she held, one after the other after the other.

I smiled, quiet and small.

Max chuckled, weaving his fingers into mine.

Maria blinked, the line of her lip falling into a frown and eyes on Max.

'What do you think you're doing?' She would demand later, her voice shrill and ringing over a telephone line. 'What about Tess? I don't really like her anyway, and you know that Max, but this is just so, so, so wrong-'

Oops.

I studied the tile beneath my feet, mesmerized by the pattern and chipping tile.

Max coughed.

An argument began, a sizzling word or two from tables away.

"Ugh," Maria rolled her eyes. "Those two look like trouble. I swear, I can never catch a break..." She rambled on, Max's thumb tracing the curve of my knuckles.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

I struggled not to flinch, and just to breathe, to stay put.

And then, I died.

The argument escalated, the shiny, shiny metal of a gun flashed, and I died.




Crimson. Blood red, puddling, crawling.

My heart seized and sputtered and shut down, my breath wheezed through a tight constriction of throat and tears and I died.

I died, on the cold, hard floor of some tourist trap in the middle of the desert.

If I said it was worse than what I would have thought my death would be like, I would have been lying.

Blackness crept into my vision, obscuring the alien green of the ceiling. I could feel my fingers, and see the blurry outline of my eyelashes, drooping, drooping closed, the mind-numbing pain that spread deliciously from my stomach, reaching into my veins and stealing life.

Liz...

Liz...

I gave it willingly. Take it, I said. I pleaded. Take it, take it.

I don't want to live.

So easy...

They made it so easy.

Liz...

Liz, you have to look at me.

That voice, soft, and shaking, muffled by death and dying.

Light blinded my eyes, and I saw that face.

I want to die, I tried to say.

Let me, let me, and a nervous quiver shook my fading body. I want to die, let me die.

My lips wouldn't formed the words, and Max Evans didn't let me die, his large hand hovering over my bleeding body, silver shimmering light. Warmth, warmth flooded me like a broken dreams and mended me, and I fell, I fell into the depths of chocolate brown that locked with mine.

I wanted to die, but intangible lines slivered out from Max's soul and weaved into mine, fused and hurting and my mind lay open underneath his gaze, open and vulnerable and free of all walls that had once been between us.

Him.

Him, with his red-rimmed eyes and toothy smile and roaming hands and-

"Wanna do something for me, Lizzie?"

Oh, god.

Oh, god.

I opened my eyes, my body full of life and shaking with agony and memories and Max, he knew, he knew, he knew.

No. God, please, no.

My hands slipped on blood, my blood, trembling, every nerve trembling, and I breathed. Hoarse and deep and sobbing, the smell of iron flooding my senses.

No, no, no, no, no, no, god no.

Mantra. Fine, fine, fine, fine. I am fine. I am fine.

My head swimmed and I scurried away from his searching gaze and reaching fingers. Sliding and slipping, stumbling, and my vision fuzzed, but I turned and I ran, pushing the swinging kitchen doors, and stopping myself with little, fragile wrists against the cement that rushed up to greet me in the alley out the back door.

My knees and elbows burned with scrapes, fresh and raw.

Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.

No, oh god no.

No.

My head throbbed, and my stomach clenched, spilling whatever remained inside, splashed against black asphalt.

"Liz. Liz." Hands groped at my waist, healing hands that held back my hair.

"Stop," I begged. "Stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it.." My throat burned with bile and blood. "Please don't touch me, please, please."

Everywhere he touched was soft and aching and undeserving.

"Liz..." He choked out. "Look at me, please. Please."

My palms were imprinted by stone and little peices of biting pebbles and I dug my fingers against them, feeling them cut into my skin. I should have died. I wanted to die. Why couldn't I have just died?

"Please, Liz. Liz. Look at me."

I raised my eyes, and looked into his.

He knew.

He knew everything. Every single touch and bruise and ounce of fear and disgust and hate that stained me.

Oh, god.

"I love you."

No.

No, you don't.

"And everything will be okay. I promise."

No, it won't, Max.

"I love you."

Stop saying that. Stop saying things you don't mean. It hurts too much, Max.

He folded me into his embrace and the moisture of his breath clung to my neck and I fell from that cloud and shattered like glass.




The sheets were white.

White and pale against my skin that stained his sheets like dirt.

Folds and wrinkles and crevices, pure and starched clean.

A contrast, mocking and complete with humiliation.

He held me, a resting arm draped across my bare stomach and slept, the darkness wrapping around our bodies like cloth.

And I slipped from underneath that cover of limbs and night and left.




"Where have you been?"

The door to the motel clicked closed, and Zan's eyes, focused and sharp, penetrated mine.

"I got lost." I said meekly, slowly, catching my reflection in the mirror.

Pale. Ghostly. Dead.

"You got... lost?" He repeated, standing from his seat on the bed. His gaze flashed like shiny, shiny metal.

"The bitch was fucking Max Evans, Zan." Ava's voice squealed, high-pitched and spitting.

Lonnie snickered. "We saw you two together."

I was so pale I could almost see the blue, drained veins underneath my skin.

"Think you could get away with it, you whore?" She grinned, teeth pointy.

I blinked, and my heart raced and Zan took little steps towards me, advancing. "Is it true, Liz? Did you fuck him, huh?"

"No." I denied. "No. I got lost, and Max recognized me."

"And you fucked him?"

"She did," Ava piped in, eyes narrowed in intent. "She did, I know she did, Zan. I would never do that to you."

"Shut the fuck up, Ava." He growled.

My breath came in little puffs of terror as Ava quieted, and his eyes mirrored mine. There I was, little, small, defenseless, and broken. Everything I had struggled not to be my entire life. "Max recognized me and-"

"So it's Max now?" He sneered, fists clenching, metal shinning like looming death.

"Zan, it's not like that-"

His hand darted and grabbed my arm, strength twisting, twisting my skin like dough, and my bones whinned and heated.

He was using his powers on me, barely controlled red heat that spread and snapped and prickled my insides like death.

A whimper escaped me.

"Then what the fuck is it like, Liz?"

"I just went for a walk." I stammered. "Just a walk, I didn't realize where I was going, I swear, and he-"

Pain blossomed as his grip tightened, and a horrible blind crackling followed, clutching my arm sickly, and knuckles collided against my mouth.

I fell, collapsing onto the blue, scratchy carpet. Blood soaked into the fabric, darkening the hue and seeping further and further away from me.

Oops. I thought. I think his hand slipped and collided with my face. And my arm? Gosh, I had nothing witty to come up with for that one.

I'm slightly hysterical, if you haven't noticed.

I wouldn't have had a problem laying there forever until the blood dried and hardened and maybe if I was lucky the cut wouldn't close and I could blink and blink and blink until my vision blackened and my blood drained, but no.

No, that's not what happened. Zan's knees buckled and Ava and Lonnie sneered and hissed out hateful words.

My arm was on fire, red and silver and glowing, limp at my side. Zan retched it from its place, and a silent scream escaped my lips. Pain tickled me like licking flames and Zan's eyes were brown and wet and far away.

Everything was far away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He cried. He pleaded. He fumbled and gripped my arm tighter and gasped.

My body lurched with the contact and the agony eased and lessened into the nothingness I felt.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, you know that." Light flickered and a bulb bursted and Ava stormed out with Lonnie in a rage, the slam of the door behind them shaking and loud and "I didn't mean to, Liz, I didn't, I love you-"

Stop saying that. Stop saying things you don't mean.

His body was warm and heaving with broken sobs and my body was frail and small and he could break me, break me so easily and I think maybe I would let him.

"I love you, too."

Everyone always says empty words they don't mean.




I liked the way Zan made me feel.

Small. Little. Nothing. No one could touch or play with his little mouse except for him. I was his little toy. Wind-Up Lizzie.

I'm sick. I'm disturbed. I'm damaged goods and there is something seriously fucked up about me. I know. I know. Zan knew. Max knew.

Max.

Wow, there's a fresh wave of pain. I wish it would suffocate me.

I wish I couldn't breathe. I wish that during the night, someone would smother me with a pillow or hold their hand over my mouth and watch me struggle.

Pathetic. Wriggling and fighting for air. The whispers of molecules the body starves for.

I don't deserve one.

I deserve Zan and his rough hands and blood thirsty gaze because he can hurt me. Smother me. Fuck me. Kill me inside out like heat, boiling and consuming.

That's all I deserve.





Goodbye roaming. Goodbye walks. Goodbye any bit of freedom Lizzie had that the all-powerful Zan gave her.

Not that I actually attempted to leave the confined space of one of Roswell's fifth-class, bug-infested motel for the the next week.

I like my limbs attached, thanks.

So, goodbye cruel, cruel world.

I crawled myself into a little ball, holed up with a few spiders and an odd cricket or two and ate and breathed and showered and fucked and healed and blinked.

Goodbye, Max.

Blink. Blinkity blink blink blink.

It's not like he actually cared for me or anything, I decided.

Someone cared? For me? Ridiculous.

Honestly, it is. The idea is absolutely and completely impossible. Not just improbable.

This is the part where I laugh and brush it off and bury the urge to claw the skin from my bones and watch myself bleed. My insides are just as pretty as my outsides. Leaking crimson and aching in a slow throbbing, spilling in a messy pattern on the floor.

Zan couldn't have held me closer to him in the next meeting with the Roswellians. Crushed and suffocating against his chest and brown eyes seered into me from feet away. I looked down, down, down and blinked.

"What's your choice?" Zan asked, grating and low, chin raised.

Michael ran a hand through the spikes of his hair, and breathed slowly. "I-"

"Michael-" Maria was wearing sandals. Pink and white flushed with the yellow of sun. They took a step forward, and Michael seemed to turn to stone. "...don't." She paused. "Please."

Her eyes were sea-green and pleading. Pure and beautiful. I watched and blinked and ignored the hazy figure that stood next to Michael, and the blonde curly head that hovered close by. Close, not touching. Not touching.

Isabel uncrossed her arms, one tear falling down one perfect cheek. "Maria's right. Michael- at least. At least let us come with you."

Zan sneered. I felt it, knew it, felt it as surely as I knew Max's gaze had been fluttering over me the entire time. "That ain't going to work out." Slow, commanding, menacing.

"And why not?" Max unraveled himself from their tight circle, stepped forward.

"Max-" Tess reached out. He was too far away, and her fingers caught air.

"Why can't we all go?" He asked, his voice as low as Zan's. Just as commanding, just as menacing. "We deserve to know about who we are as well."

"The summit asked for the Royal Four." Zan's fingers were making black-and-blue imprints on my arm. "Four. Not seven. They'll only accept one- full- set."

Max's fists clenched, and my heart quickened like a frightened little rabbit, small and defenseless and nothing, a little nothing that saw nothing and heard nothing and felt nothing. Nothing. Like air.

"Something doesn't feel right here. Our answer... is no."

Michael jumped up in protest. "You can't stop me, Maxwell."

"He made the decision, Michael!" Tess screeched, blue eyes filled with devotion.

"And I am tired of nodding and bowing down to his highness." He spat with sarcasm. He locked eyes with Zan. "I'm going." He finished resolutely.

Zan smiled, and I felt it. I felt it running through me like sick poison.

"This is not the time for your-"

"For my what, Maxwell? Making messes you have to clean up? It wasn't time for your secret love tryst," he waved a careless hand towards me, "but you had that anyway, didn't you?" Max's face filled with panic, and his eyes caught mine for the first time.

Out of the corner of my eye, Zan watched. Zan watched, and then Zan's head turned towards me.

Stop. Blink. Breathe. Blink. Breathe. Breathe.

He wasn't sneering. He wasn't smiling. Something wasn't right here.

Terrfied little rabbit, shocked still, its little legs frozen and trapped. I looked up at him.

"Zan-" I choked.

My nerves found my legs the instant Zan's hand found my throat.

Lonnie's eyes glowed and watched hungrily. Ava's laughing echoed in the large ceiling of the UFO Center.

Goodbye cruel, cruel world.

My skin burned and crackled and Zan's voice hissed. "I knew it, you fucking little whore-"

Ava chuckled.

"Let. Her. Go." Max growled, his hand outstretched and his voice cracking with fear.

My skin prickled and bubbled with flowing heat, and I tried to breathe. Breathe. Breathe. But I could only blink. Blink, blink.

I wanted it. I wanted it a week ago. I wanted it then. So I blinked and held Zan's wrists loosely and studied how his neck sloped, sloped so nicely into his back and thought about how much he loved me, yes, he loved me so and he was going to kill me so, but that was all right.

"What are you going to do about it?" Zan glared and tightened his grip and I pondered what my last words would be. Something meaningful? Sentimental?

Oh, wait. He was choking me. No last words. Just ugly, burning, suffocating death.

"Let. Her. Go." Max warned again.

Zan was getting blurry. Hateful and spitting and blurry and a whimper escaped between the confines of my lips.

My heart opened and spilled out agony and pain and my neck burned whitehot and suddenly Max's voice was very far away.

And with a jerk, everything shifted, and I fell.

I fell, burning flesh reaching my nostrils and my eyelashes were long and I blinked and my vision focused.

Focused on the image of Zan's open, lifeless eyes.

---

Thanks to:

Ellie
Alex Balex
RASaero611
Surfgirl02
*Zans-gurl*
begonia9508
Lissa
Emz80m
cocopucks
g7silvers
Ms. Anonymous
Mica
Stars in my eyes

soooooooo much. I wish I could comment, but it's so late and I have work tomorrow. *blush* Here's part four, anyway...




Part Four


"The kitchen's over there. The bedroom's right in there with the bathroom. And this is the living room."

It smelled like sweat and dust, makeshift blankets covering the windows and keeping light out.

"Oh."

"You can have the bedroom."

Max insisted I slept in the bed. Michael only nodded and stared at the porcelian color of my neck, newly patched and healed with two tell-tale silver handprints.

They were gone now. Faded and gone like Ava and Lonnie, who high-tailed it out of Roswell, the second it seems, that Zan's body hit the floor. Faded and gone like Zan.

It skipped, my heart, like the innocent tip-toeing of a girl in love, and pounded away against my chest. Farewell, I supposed. See you in hell.

He loved me, he loved me, he loved me, a voice echoed in my head, frantic and screaming in despair. He loved me, torn and broken and scarred and opened more cuts and made more bruises and he loved me.

"Okay."

I picked up my one, lonely bag and walked across the carpet to find Michael's room, Spartan and messy.

"I'm sorry."

He hovered near the doorway and hesitated, and I caught the look in his eyes and pretended.

"I don't mind the mess." I mumbled, and dropped my bag down.

"No, I'm sorry about-"

Shut up. My mind screamed. Just shut up, don't say it, I can't hear it, stop it, stop it, stop it. Stop, for fuck's sake. Don't be sorry, don't even think, because I can't think it.

"I know." I finished, my voice harsh and sore. I swallowed down saliva, cooling and lessening the burn. "It's okay."

He stared into my blank gaze, and he nodded.





Michael liked to watch hockey late at night and eat Lucky Charms with tabasco and milk for breakfast.

He liked to ignore the phone and let the answering machine take his messages, and he'd only pick up straight away if it were Maria.

I'd hover in the background as we'd both watch the spinning of the tape, and listen closely after the beep for Max's intake of breath and then his gentle voice asking for me. Michael would shove another spoonful of cereal in his mouth and say, "he's worried about you."

And I'd nod and go into the living room and watch cartoons.

He never argued.

He'd pick up the phone as the colorful images entertained me and explain to Max that I was still sleeping, or in the shower.

Max was terribly sorry.

Truly, honestly, terribly sorry for what he had done.

Sometimes Michael wouldn't pick up, and we'd both watch the flashing of the television and listen as Max's voice strained and he apologized. "I had to," he tried to tell me. "He would have killed you, Liz."

I know you did, Max. I know he would have.

He apologized after he healed me too, cradling me to his chest next to Zan's dead body. His eyes were full of tears and horror, and I was numb and just as unfeeling as the body next to me.

It hurt, my lungs, as air stretched them out, expanding and contracting. Michael's sheets were dark blue and there was a window to the left of the bed. The beautiful view of an apartment complex parking lot.

It faced east, and at dawn my eyes would open, and some days I would watch the sun rise, illuminating the outline of green leaves, blending and melding with yellows.

And my lungs would stretch, stretch, stretch and contract.

My heart would beat steadily in my chest and I'd watch and lay still.

It was only then that my mind calmed, relishing in the quiet solitude.






"Liz?"

Today a bird had joined the pretty green leaves outside Michael's window, twittering and chirping away at the sun with all the might in its little body.

My lips twisted upwards, a ghost of a smile as I remembered...

Birds. There were birds where we lived, outside the dirty tan carpet and chipping paint, the torn, rusting screen door. A tree, there was a little tree outside with a family of little birds and I'd laugh and twirl in the sunshine like a little adorable idiot and dad would bellow at me to "quiet down, you little bitch!" and Sean would pull out sprigs of grass and watch as I played, watch, watch, watch...

"Watch, Lizzie, just like that... good girl..."

My smile fell, shattered into little crystal pieces and the back of my throat burned with bile.

"Liz?"

"Yes?"

"Can we- we should... talk."

He stood in the doorway, filling it up with broad shoulders and a frown.

"About what, Max?"

"Liz, I- I've called you. I'm not... not stupid. I understand completely if you-" He paused, and shifted. "-what I did-"

"It's okay, Max." I breathed out.

He paused again, this one full of surprise, shock, and I blinked.

A part of survival is not feeling anything.

"What?" He asked incredulously.

"You did what you had to do." I explained.

A part of survival is to avoid any situation where feeling something is imperative.

And, I had thought humorlessly, I feel forgiving this week.

"Don't worry about me." I added, my voice a little whisper. My eyelids felt heavy, and the sun shined harshly, creating little spots, like random colorful ink stains. "I'm fine."

Lovely and fine and twirling in my backyard with birdies and daddy and Sean, watching, watching, watching, brown eyes intent and focused.

"Watch, Lizzie..."

Just. Like. That.

He'd laugh sometimes, a deep rumbling that would shake my small body and reach into my soul and tear at it joyously.

"Liz-" Max took a step, and another, and another, until he was close and my eyes begged to shift and take him in. "You're not fine-" he said, and in his voice there was something that sounded like desperation and worry and heartache and love.

My muscles tensed and my eyes turned.

Max parted his lips and sat down, running a cautious, gentle hand through my hair, detouring to caress little circles on my cheek.

"I'm fine."

He leaned down, strands of dark hair falling in front of his eyes. Unwillingly my fingers brushed them away, and his lips feathered against mine slowly and Sean laughed inside my head and a frightened part of me screamed and pleaded to stop, stop, stop, just stop it, Max doesn't deserve this, stop, stop, stop you little useless fucking bitch.

He pulled away, his eyes deep and hurt and hopeful all at once.

"Liz?" He asked breathlessly.

"Please leave." I blinked, and he stared.

He shut the door behind him, and Sean laughed and said-

"Watch, Lizzie, just like that... good girl..."





When Maria rambled, all anyone has to do is master the following: make appropriate sounds at the appropriate times, every once in awhile nodding an affirmative or shaking your head "no."

Witness me doing the said above.

"So, what do you think so far?"

"Hm."

"I am beyond glad you said yes to this, Liz."

"Uh."

"Agnese was like the laziest waitress on the entire plant- maybe even in Czechoslovakia, too-"

"Hmpf."

"Listen, I just want you to know-"

She started, her voice changing and growing softer.

"I'm always here for you. I mean, you know. Max is like making this complete three-sixty move thing with you and I know- please, you probably know too- that everyone here- everyone meaning Michael and Isabel and Tess- we're all um, here."

I stopped filling a sugar shaker and blinked, furrowing my eyebrows. Isabel, huh. Tess, right.

I'm a charity case now. Maybe I should get a jar.

Maria stuttered. "Well, you know- me and Michael and Max are all here for you and well... Isabel! Tess!"

A huge plastered smile spread across Maria's face, and I poured more white, sweet, perfect little pebbles into another empty container. I could see two pair of feet, strapped in fancy expensive shoes and hear the breathing of them both, and their eyes, running over my alien green uniform and raggy shoes.

"Hi." Isabel said, her voice laced with ice cold winter.

My jaw stuck.

"Isabel said 'hi' to you, Liz." Tess drawled. "The polite thing to do would be to say hello back."

Her voice was low and just as freezing and I lifted my gaze to meet hers.

She was leaning against the counter, her hair springy with curls and her nails were long and red and I was sure she'd like nothing more than to scratch my eyes out with them.

Isabel licked her lips and stoically looked between the two of us.

Maria laughed nervously and nudged me.

"Hi, Isabel."

Tess sneered. "You're working here now?"

"Yes." I replied.

Little bunny rabbit with its legs clinging to the floor.

Laughter bubbled up in my throat, mad and complusive that longed to shake my heart free of all restraints and hastily bound stitches that strung it all together weakly.

"Listen, Liz." She snarled, tone full of anger and jealousy and oh so much threat. "I don't know who you think you are, but Max is mine. Just because you got away with fucking one king does not mean you'll get away with fucking mine."

Isabel swallowed and Tess turned and led her out of the cafe.

But I already fucked him, I thought with a silent, hoarse giggle.

And I don't want him, I blinked. You can have him. Take him, please and thank you. You're the best.

"Don't listen to her." Maria sighed. "She's just- Tess."

A hum started to play in my mind, over and over and over again, and Max's face, open and hurting and loving ripped open one stitch and another and another until my body filled up with blood.

"Oh." I replied.





"Hi, welcome to The Crashdown. I'll be your waitress Liz. Can I get you anything to drink?"

Smile. Pen at the ready.

"Liz-"

"Cherry cola? Sprite?"

Max dropped down the menu with a resounding slap, his eyes fierce.

Flinch. Breathe. Smile. Pen at the ready.

"Just sit down and talk to me, please."

But I can't, Max. I am working. Right now I am only your cheerful waitress Liz, smiling and pen at the ready.

Facades can hide anything and everything, pretty faces to wear and play with, to cover up something ugly and empty and black.

"I'm sorry, I'm working right now, but have you thought about that drink?"

"Liz-"

"Why don't I bring you a cherry cola and today's special. Spacey Salmon with a side of Saturn rings and-"

"Don't do this to me, Liz. Don't shut me out."

Blink. Rip open my gut and tangle up my intestines. Smile. Pen at the ready.

"I'll go get that order for you."

Turn. Walk. Push open kitchen door. Stop. Look at the dark, purple circles underneath doe brown eyes, smearing and blending into pale skin.

My body is like a weight, walking and breathing and existing. Where's the bottom, I wondered.

I'm ready to hit it, I thought.

I breathed.

The back door swung open, revealing broad shoulders and worried eyebrows, dark and penetrating chocolate eyes that pulled me in and let me rest.

Wouldn't it be nice if he could catch me before I sunk into that black abyss and drowned, my lungs stretching with poison and death and agony and pain, oh how nice that would be.

Muscles tensed. Lips closed. Easy to put up the facade. Cheery waitress Liz.

No one would catch me.

A part of survival is not to depend on anyone or anything.

"You're not allowed back here."

"Liz-" He struggled. He stepped forward and forward and cradled my face in his hands and smoothed back my hair and searched for something in my gaze.

His breath was warm and moist and his lips slid over mine, hands trailing along my sides and pressing all of me against him. Melding into the heat of his body and staying trapped and safe inside his arms and it was perfect and heaven and white light blinded me, flashes of images that were beautiful and agonizing all at once.

"Liz..." Longing and thankful and my bones ached as he drew me even closer. "I love you. I don't care about anyone else. God, I never even knew this could... I'm supposed to be with Tess, love Tess, but I... All I can think about is you..."

Another kiss, slower and deeper and surer, a consuming fire that started in my tummy and every defense wavered and the flashes bombarded both of us, and now I knew he could see, see inside my mind and heart and through every facade and trapped, I thought, I'm trapped and caged and I'll never get out and wait. Stop.

Stop.

Stop. Break off, tear away, look down.

"Don't..." Worried. Pleading. Knowing. Fingertips tracing the slope of my face, brushing against every contour.

Breathe. Look up. Smile.

"Your food will be ready in a moment."

Walk away.

Easy.

--

Sorry for the delay. Been working non stop for weeks.

Loads of thanks to:

begonia9508
Micheala141
cocopucks - Yeah, I have some plans for Tess...
RASaero611 - Yeah :/ but it's easier said than done, especially for Liz.
Ellie - That's definitely something that's going to play a role in the future, Max's devotion. I'm sort of letting Liz take me where ever she's going, so I'm not sure how that will play out, but I'm glad you thought about it.
extingman - Maybe, you never know As for living with Michael, yes, she is.





Part Five



"Yes!"

A roar sounded from behind the door, and if I closed my eyes I could almost see Michael, jumping up from the couch and popcorn raining down, accompanied by the thud of a bowl and the cheering of hockey fans on TV.

"We won! We won!"

Close my eyes. Throw the covers over my head.

Feel the air thicken with my breath.

Oh, dear Michael.

I fingered the hem of my shirt, also known as Michael's favorite, worn-out, and stained Metallica garment that I had doned mine.

Did I mention I was having trouble sleeping?

In the city that never sleeps, you get used to the noise. In a small town like Roswell, sometimes it's so silent it's deafening and I almost miss the hustle of the nighttime.

So it wasn't the racket Michael made. I welcomed that.

Breathe in, breathe out. Relax. Just sleep.

A frustrated moan broke my quiet and my voice crackled, not used for hours.

I only talk when I absolutely have to.

"May I take your order?" is a must at work. "Hey, what's up?" is only polite when greeting Maria.

"Would you like me to bring you your check?" is only an appropriate response to "Liz, I love you," as Max Evans reaches out to grasp your hand, begging for just one sign that...

Young. So young.

There's no such thing as love.

Just hate and jealousy and violence and terror.

Where have you been, Max?

I rolled over, little hips and a little stomach and breathed in building moisture and ignored another stitch unweaving, sliting pieces of tattered tissue on the way.

I blinked and breathed and waited for sleep that never came.





Silver and shiny. Shiny, shiny metal, sharp, so very sharp.

I remembered looking at the red, boxed letters on my battered clock. 4:52, blinking and blinking. The night outside was growing lighter and the house was quiet, so, so quiet, with only the backdrop of cars and people outside and my windows were shut.

I was reading. I was reading a book about nothing, words on pages that slipped in and out of my mind. I couldn't sleep, could never sleep, because Sean was out. Sean was out and he might come home, stumbling with crimson eyes and a leering smile and knock on my door and if I close my eyes for a moment I'd see it all, vivid under my eyelashes and I couldn't, I couldn't, I couldn't.

I never could because I was weak, a useless fucking little idiot so I'd sit in my room at night and stare at something, anything, and wait, wired on adrenaline and fear, rushing a sick thrill into my veins and I'd lock my door and wait, wait, wait.

I almost liked it. Anticipated it, clicking the door closed and reading and weeping inside and waiting. I was scared, so scared no matter how many times it happened and I couldn't move a muscle, and a sick part of me would laugh deep and tease. You little whore, it'd say. You want this. And I'd whimper and whisper no, because I didn't and I couldn't and my breath would hitch, and my fingers would scrape desperately at my skin. No, no, no, no.

That night he stumbled in with eyes dark red and a lopsided smile at my admittance, and pushed me to the ground, and my head struck the floor and little stars erupted and my wrists burned into his fingers and I said no, no, no, no and clawed and fought but you like it, a voice whispered. You know you do. And he rocked inside of me, between little knees and bruised thighs and his arms were pinpricked with blood and blue and yellow and it hurt and he laughed as I struggled, because I couldn't like it and breathed into my neck and held me down until he was finished.

There were water stains on the ceiling and he smoothed back my matted hair and left and locked the door behind him.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Michael's faucet was broken, and drops of clear, pure water would drip and drip and drip and I watched. I watched and waited and Michael snored on his couch, the rays of the TV bathing everything in blue, calm and so, so quiet.

Drip, drip, drip and the knife slid into my wrist, and drip, drip, drip. Blood mingled with the water, darkening and staining and my skin tingled and air felt too much of a burden, stifling and drip, drip, drip.

It was sweet and addicting and the metal was shiny and I pressed down harder with a heady feeling and it flowed easier and faster and didn't stop and I thought for a racey moment that I sliced a vein and the possibility quickened my breath with excitement.

I breathed and blinked and my insides felt empty and the knife clashed into the sink and everything went quiet again. So, so quiet.





His window was open and night was getting lighter outside, and his clock blinked 4:53. He was sleeping peacefully, and he was not afraid or waiting for me.

Strands of hair covered my face and I climbed inside, leaving crimson on his windowsill, soaked through the towel I had wrapped it in. He stirred at the sound and I watched as he moved, ignoring the swaying that seized me.

I ripped open my skin too deep and the walk here was silent and still and my heart beat life out of me, so very slowly.

Another moment wouldn't hurt, I figured, and I kept watching his chest rise and fall.

"Max." I whispered finally, and sat by his side. He swallowed and his eyes started to open. "Max." I said again, and he blinked at me, pale, so pale and ghostly and bleeding.

"Liz?"

"Yes."

He shifted and sat, words and questions on his lips, but his eyes fell on the white towel with spotted seeping red and grabbed at my limbs and woke jarringly.

Pump, pump, pump my heart went on, and he shed the small barrier frantically and I didn't remember cutting so deep, and I almost laughed. He gasped in shock and ironic agony, already reaching to touch my marred skin in disbelief.

"Heal me." I said, soft and small, and his hand was warm and stung and he flooded through me and light illuminated the room for a mere moment and then my skin was pristine and porcelian again. "Thank you."

And I waited for a frenzy of words and worry but all there were in their place were arms that held me close and caged, and the sun rose and I didn't fight or struggle and Max smoothed back my matted hair, forcing down shuddering sobs and I lay, small and unmoving beneath him.





Ding.

It was early, and the Crashdown was peaceful and I wiped down the counters with a lullaby playing in my mind.

"You left."

"Hmm." I hummed and wiped.

"Liz?"

"Hmmhmmhmm." I hummed again, cleaning meticulously and surely.

"Liz, this is killing me. You're killing me."

Hum and clean.

Laugh, and hum, and clean.

"Can I get you anything, Max?"

Hands grasped my arms and twisted me around, and the lullaby screeched and stopped and the rag hit the floor with a wet slap.

His grip was strong and firm, and I wondered if he could ever really understand, no matter how many times he looked into my soul. But the blaze in his eyes was not demanding or violent and his thumb traced circles on my skin. "You're safe here, Liz." His eyebrows raised in emphasis and my insides weren't empty anymore, they were full and squirming underneath his broken gaze. "It's okay. I'm not going anywhere."

Panic flooded my every sense unmercifully and my voice split as it broke into the air. "Max-" You can't, I screamed. Don't put this in my hands. I can't, I can't, you can't leave it up to me like this, I won't be able to take it.

"Trust me."

I can't. Don't you understand? Don't do this to me, I need you too much. Please, please don't. You can't ask this of me.

And a little voice reminded me I didn't deserve him, anyhow.

"I can't." I replied, and my fingers twitched under the impulse to clutch at him.

"Last night, Liz..." He began, and stepped even closer, arms wrapping and enclosing. I worried my lip with my teeth. "I know..." And his eyebrows raised again in that way of his. "I know you have to learn to trust me yourself, and I won't let you down. I'm here." His lips lingered over my forehead softly.

And his touch abandoned me and the Crashdown was silent and I picked up the rag and wiped down the counters, trying to pinpoint when I started to feel again.





Michael was packing up two bags, the sight greeting me when I woke up.

He threw clothes without a care and a flick of his wrist on top of each other and paused as I woke up. "You have to pack."

"Why?"

He threw some more spare clothes in the heap.

"We're going to the summit."

--

Sorry for the delay!

My computer had crashed and with school starting, I just got so busy... I remember seeing your header, c_which. It was beautiful... but I lost it when the crash happened. :/ Do you still have it?

Ellie-- I knew that scene wasn't clear enough... Liz was just remembering when Sean did rape her... So Sean's not physically around... but I wouldn't deny his presence in Liz's mind.

I'll try to get part six up ASAP. Thankfully, I saved it on a floppy disk, although it's not nearly done. It will be, though


Crystal