Title: Unclosed
Author: TheOtherWillow
Email: TheOtherWillow@gmail.com
Disclaimer: Roswell and it’s characters are not mine. They belong to Jason Katims, Melinda Metz, and the WB. No infringement is intended.
Rating: T for violence, occasional dirty language, and light sexual content
Pairing: Polar
Summary: Michael and Liz are bonded when her emerging powers spiral out of control.
Author’s Notes:
1.) This is my first Roswell fic. Constructive criticism is eagerly sought!
2.) A heads up to avoid confusion: This will be written mostly in Liz’s POV for the first chapter journal entry and then third person omniscient POV for the rest of the fic.
3.) This is an alternate universe. Liz broke up with Max before “Busted”, so he robbed the convenience store alone. Michael and Maria are over and she’s dating Billy. There is no Jesse. Also Nancy Parker is possibly OOC, but go with it. I needed an understanding Parker parent to make this work.
Unclosed
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“your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself...”
– excerpt from somewhere i have never traveled by e.e. cummings
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Chapter One: Somewhere I Have Never Traveled
Roswell, NM
A small figure sat hunched over a desk, nibbling thoughtfully on a pencil. Reaching up, she swept a fall of coffee colored hair behind her ear as she studied the empty page before her. Slowly, almost reverently, she bent forward and began writing:
It’s November 7th. I’m Liz Parker and I will never look at the world the same way again.
It all started a few weeks ago when I began manifesting powers. Every time I got angry or frustrated, something would explode. Ava had said that when Max healed me I was changed, but it was getting ridiculous. Of course, Michael thought it was hilarious. I think he picked up extra hours from Jose just so he could verbally poke at me, hoping I’d blow something up for his entertainment. Thankfully, I’d always had a habit of waiting until I’m out of the customers’ sight before venting my frustration, so none of my little “outbursts” were seen by anyone. Anyone other than Michael and Maria, that is. As annoying as my inability to direct this newfound power was, I was almost happy it was happening. At least it gave the pair of them something to concentrate on other than their break up. The tension between them had made shifts at the Crashdown an absolute misery for everyone. At least this way, they were too busy with my drama to generate any more of their own.
Once Max found out, he called a meeting. It’s still so awkward to be around him. He’s finally gotten past the point where he’s badgering me to take him back every time I see him, but only because he’s apparently decided to make me want to come back to him. I wish there was someway to make him understand that he’s wasting his time.
I’ll never deny that I loved Max Evans. In a way, I still do. He was my first love, and he’ll always have a place in my heart. But I realized when we watched Tess’s ship shoot out of the atmosphere that all the things I’d been telling myself about Max and I being soul mates destined for each other were nothing more than the fantasies of a little girl. Real life isn’t a prince on a white horse and happily ever after. Reality is the man I loved sleeping with another woman and getting her pregnant. It’s having him refuse to support me when I needed him most. It’s watching that same man let my best friend’s murder flee the planet.
He still says he loves me, but that’s not love. Even if I’m letting go of my fairy tale dreams, I have to believe that real love doesn’t work that way. When I’m feeling charitable, I’ll admit that I understand why he let Tess go. In some ways I even agree with him; a father should look out for his child’s wellbeing above all. Unfortunately logic has nothing to do with emotions, and I doubt my heart will ever forgive him for it.
I seem to be getting off topic. So in light of my new abilities Max called a meeting. Kyle and Maria were stuck working, so the Czechs and I headed to the Quarry. There, all three of them proceeded to ‘test’ me to see what kind of powers I had and argued about who would be best to help me develop them. Really, I think it was just an excuse on Max’s part to connect with me again under the guise of helping me. At least he was smart enough to know that if he was the only one doing the testing I’d have cried foul. You could just tell from the way he talked that Max expected our powers to be a match. After all, wasn’t he the one who healed me? You should have seen his face when we figured out that yes; my powers WERE mirroring one of the hybrids’ - just not his. It quickly became obvious that my powers were Michael’s powers.
On my own, things exploded. Max tried everything he could to force a solid connection with me and got nothing. Isabel and I could ‘sense’ each other, for lack of a better word, but couldn’t get a deep enough connection going to make things work. With Michael, all he had to do was hold my hand and suddenly if he could do it, I could do it. I’d already been blowing things up, so that part was no surprise. But when it came time for me to try something new, nothing worked unless Michael was the one connected with me. For Max the final insult came when we discovered that with contact not only could I do whatever his brother was trying, but Michael’s control of his powers got inexplicably better when he was touching me.
Max’s frustration was obvious. I wasn’t consciously blocking a connection with him, but I certainly wasn’t opening myself to it either. Looking back now, it seems so simple: connections are all about trust. I think there was a time that this would have worked with Max, but that time was long gone. He had shown me, over and over beyond a shadow of a doubt, that any trust I had in him was misplaced. Isabel and I did trust each other, but it was more of a surface level kind of trust. I think you need a more elemental foundation to build on for what we were trying to accomplish. Michael, on the other hand...
I trust Michael with my life.
It’s just that easy. Every time I’ve ever really needed him, he’s been there. He’s listened to me and my theories. He’s kept my secrets. He’s put himself on the line for me, for all of us. And he’s done it time and again without any expectations of gratitude. The thought of Michael looking for thanks for something he’s done is laughable, but the fact that he rarely gets any upsets me on his behalf. Michael and I have never been friends in a conventional way, but that’s still how I think of him. He SHOULD be thanked. We all owe him so much. It struck me while we were all sitting out there that the truly surprising thing isn’t that I trust Michael, but that Michael apparently trusts ME enough to let me connect to him. One of Maria’s biggest issues with him has always been his refusal to let down his walls for her. Before I could think about that too hard, Max had a “brilliant” idea.
Desperate to make a connection, he brought up the fact that the only thing we hadn’t tried yet was kissing. Isabel laughed and said she’d sit this one out, and Max, realizing his oversight, turned a little splotchy at the thought of Michael kissing me too. Astonishingly though, he didn’t back down. I glanced at Michael, and he gave me this look back that said it was up to me. It always amazes me how much that man can say just by cocking an eyebrow.
I agreed with a fatalistic shrug. Max, of course, wanted to go first. The next thing I knew, he’d swept me into his arms and wrapped himself around me. It made me feel a little claustrophobic and, unless I imagined it, I think he actually looked up and glared at Michael before swooping down to kiss me. If he had been any guy other than Max Evans, I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear him growling territorially. I’d have rolled my eyes if I’d had the time. Wasn’t this HIS idea?
It took a minute, but the flashes did eventually start. They were even more of a jumbled mess than usual; in one I think I saw Max leaning in to kiss Tess (YUCK!), then a fourth grade Halloween party, and an argument Max had with Mr. Evans, along with a bunch of other flashes that went by too fast for me to register what they were. I don’t know what Max got from me, but when he finally jerked away he looked oddly pale and shaky.
I used to love kissing him, I don’t know why this time left me feeling a little dirty but I was hard pressed to resist the urge to scrub my hand across my mouth. Michael, who smirked at me like he knew what I was thinking, tossed a bottle of Snapple my way and I gratefully chugged it down. Max looked a little indignant at that, but he shut up when Michael snapped that it was bad enough having an audience, but he drew the line at being forced to kiss a girl with Maxwell still in her mouth. The look on Max’s face...well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone turn exactly that shade of purple before. Isabel was laughing so hard she was crying.
With an agitated snarl, Max directed Michael and I to get it over with. Michael took the empty Snapple bottle out of my hand and set it on the ground. While he was bending over, I took a deep breath to steady myself. He straightened back up, and we had a self-conscious moment of shared unease as we contemplated one another. With our respective histories, kissing Michael had the potential to be weird enough without having to do it in front of my ex-boyfriend. I knew he had to be having similar thoughts, no doubt compounded by his infamous hatred for public displays. Fearlessly, Michael brushed past all the awkwardness and reached out to tilt my chin up with two fingers so I could meet his eyes before he attempted to open a connection.
Max had never done that before kissing me, he’d always relied on the kiss itself to forge the link between us. I didn’t realize until then how much the flashes I’d gotten from him felt like an invasion. Unlike Max, Michael didn’t thrust his presence on me, or force glimpses of my life out of my subconscious. He knocked at the door to my mind and asked, “Isthisokay?Howmuchareyouwillingtoshare?Willyouletmein?”
He made it my choice. He made me his equal. And that made all the difference.
Something inside of me that I’d never noticed was closed, opened. My eyes drifted shut, but it didn’t matter; the connection had been made. Michael leaned in to kiss me and later Isabel would swear that the glowing started before he even met my mouth.
The kiss itself was undemanding; we weren’t touching anywhere but our lips and his fingertips at my jaw line. It wasn’t about passion, it was about acceptance. Behind my eyes, the world was filled with light and all I saw was Michael. He was standing there, offering me his hand in the middle of that empty brightness, and all I could hear was his voice: “HereIam.Acceptme.Knowme,andI’lldothesameforyou.”
His words were slurred together like the wind rushing past my ears, muffled as if they were coming through a veil. Something inside of me answered without my consciously meaning to, “I see you. I know you. You’re my friend, I accept you. Know me...” The essence of me reached for his hand and met some kind of invisible boundary between us. No matter how I pushed and strained against it, it wouldn’t budge. Michael watched me from the other side but didn’t move to help. Instinctively, I knew that I wouldn’t be able to get through without him.
The light around us was starting to fade and I sensed intuitively that our chance to breach the barricade was slipping away. I threw myself against the wall with everything I had, desperate to get through before it was too late, but it was too much. I couldn’t do it alone.
I slid down the unseen barrier dejectedly. I didn’t know why this was so important to me. I just knew that if I couldn’t break through something precious would be irrevocably lost. Tears slid down my cheeks as I pressed my forehead against the wall. “I’m so sorry, Michael...”
I felt as if I had failed him.
“Parker.” I raised my head and was surprised to find him kneeling beside me. We stared silently at each other while the landscape around us continued to darken. Without a word, Michael rested his hand against the air next to me and the flesh of his palm looked like he was pressing it against a window. I reached out tentatively and placed my hand against his where it met the boundary. There was a blinding flash of light and the obstruction beneath our fingertips melted like ice in the desert until there was nothing between us. Our fingers curled together and my eyes traced the path of his arm up to his face unconsciously. He met my gaze with a smile of triumph so genuine it shot through me like a bolt of lightening.
I blinked and I was back in my body. Michael’s eyes opened at the same time and he slowly pulled away from me. Physically, at least. His eyes didn’t leave mine and I was overwhelmed by the sense of him, around me and inside me. Impulsively, I called to him in my head. He had to reach out and steady me when the shock of him responding in kind hit me.
Max wrenched me away from his brother with a panicked jerk. Apparently we had put on quite the Fourth of July style lightshow and they hadn’t been able to separate us until the glow faded. Max was firing questions at us wildly without waiting for answers, but I barely even noticed. All I heard was Michael in my head saying, “It’s none of their business.”
It was nice that his words weren’t running together anymore; however it’s very confusing to hear not only what a person is saying but all the subtext behind it at the same time. Though I suppose ‘hear’ isn’t exactly the right word to use. Because with that one sentence I knew that Michael was already sick of the inquisition and absolutely fucking exhausted with hearing Maxwell whine on about me. Finding out what he and I were experiencing would only make the would-be king’s reaction a thousand times worse. On top of that, he wanted to be furious that there was someone inside his head and behind his walls, but all the reasons he had to be angry at me couldn’t stand up to how equally confused and scared he sensed I was. Included with that was the first hand knowledge of how unequivocally horrified I felt at the thought of sticking my mental nose somewhere he didn’t want it, and he was pretty confident that I wasn’t going to be taking any unauthorized side trips through MichaelLand. Understandably, he didn’t want to be stuck with Max and Isabel for hours when we could be spending our time more productively trying to figure out how to control this new connection. Control had to be our first priority, not pandering to Maxwell’s god complex.
How do you argue with logic like that?
It’s amazing how quick you can communicate when you don’t have to verbalize anything. The entire exchange took less than a second, so Max was still busy peppering us with questions when I tugged myself free of his grip. I told him I didn’t know what the glow was, we were fine, there were no flashes (Not exactly a lie, I don’t know what that was, but it wasn’t a flash.), and I was late getting home.
Max wanted to press me for more information and Isabel gave me this look like she was certain I knew more than I was saying, but in the end she helped me railroad Max into taking us all back to the Crashdown.
It was hours after they dropped me off before Michael crawled through my window. I had been late to dinner after swearing to my mother that I wouldn’t be, so my parents put me in lock down for the rest of the night. Meanwhile, Max and Isabel had circled the wagons as soon as I got out of the car to try and force Michael to open up.
I wonder sometimes if those two have ever met their wayward ‘brother.’
Needless to say, I could feel his rage from the other side of town. On the plus side, it did help point out an interesting side benefit of our new link: Michael’s powers were spiraling out of control and I was able to help him tamp them down without leaving the dinner table. His TV thanks me, I’m sure. After that Michael hopped on his bike and drove around in the desert for a while to cool down. He got about twenty miles out before he headed back and I could hear him just as well as if he were standing next to me, so we haven’t found a limit to our range yet. Though we have noticed that physical contact does seem to bring the most clarity.
Once he finally made it to my room, it was surprisingly easy to control the bond. Although we were unsuccessful in finding a way to turn it off, we did manage to discover how to tone it down some. Thank god! I don’t know that we could live through a single day filter free without killing each other. We were both wound tight enough just from a couple hours. There’s too much that goes on in a person’s head that they want kept private to have someone else tuned in twenty four/seven. And to say that Michael had issues with anyone wandering around in his mind would be the understatement of the millennium.
I was surprised to realize that, while he hated the situation, he wasn’t particularly offended by the fact that I was the one he was linked to. In a way, he found it almost ironic; he got inside my head when he read my journal and now I was in his, literally. I was glad for his rationalization. It made it easier to know that though neither of us were happy about this, at least he didn’t actively resent me for it. Which, for Michael in regards to his privacy, is nothing short of a miracle.
The best way I can think of to describe how our link works is it’s like walking down the hall next to somebody. At the most we can filter it down, the bond is like walking around side by side with someone. You know the person’s there and you can feel their presence. Maybe, if you’re paying really close attention and it’s very quiet, you can pick up little things like the cologne they wear or the pattern of their footsteps. Through our connection it’s the same type of thing; a general sense of where the person is and how they’re doing. A little odd at first, but easy enough to ignore if you try.
The next stage is like holding hands and carrying on a conversation. The other person is right there and they’re interacting with you. This seems to be the default for our link unless we’re actively suppressing it. Strong emotions and directed thoughts are clear this way, but you also get a lot of the subtext. We can talk to each other like this, but I don’t think we can lie. How do you lie to someone who gets every nuance and undertone of the conversation directly from your head? I suppose it’s a good thing that both of us prefer to be truthful as a rule.
The third level, well...that one kind of freaked us both out. The best way I can describe it is like stopping in the middle of a crowded hallway and making out. The rest of the world fades away and all that exists is you and the other person. It’s like melting into each other, you forget where you end and the other person begins. Kyle would probably compare it to some Buddhist form of nirvana but, enlightened or not, it scared the hell out of Michael and me. We’ve agreed to keep things primarily at the first level, but I’ll admit that the scientist in me can’t help but want to experiment and test the bounds of our new connection.
We’ve had a couple days to get used to this, and surprisingly it’s not that bad. It’s actually been kind of nice, mental Michael is absolutely hilarious. I find myself desperate to keep from laughing out loud at some of the things he thinks my way. And having him in my head has given me a new perspective. He looks at things so very differently than I do, I find myself noticing the angles and curves that make up the shape of the world so much more now. He gets grouchy when I think it, but the man has an artist’s eye. He keeps laughing at me for walking around staring at the sky, but he was right when he told me that no one ever looks up. Since I saw the curling branches of a tree in the park from his perspective yesterday, I haven’t been able to look anywhere else.
I hate to cut this short, but I have to go. I promised him if he went to school today we’d watch Braveheart through my eyes while he was working the late shift at MetaChem, and he kept up his end of the bargain.
It’s time to keep mine.
She set the pencil down slowly next to the journal. Thoughtfully, she contemplated the words she’d scrawled across its pages. While the act of writing was a great release, she knew too much of what darkened those sheets was a danger to her and those she cares about. She smiled as Michael began complaining in her head about her welching on their deal and, with a single upraised hand, the words on the paper were wiped clean in a soft flash of light.
“Keep your pants on, Guerin. I’m on it,” she sent back with a mental chuckle. As she rose from the book and went to start their movie, a single line blinked into existence behind her on the formerly blank page, summing up the contents of her entire entry in one lone sentence:
November 7th. My name is Liz Parker, and I trust Michael Guerin.
Chapter 5's a shorter one, but I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!