| "Return to Innocence" |
| Part by jezebel |
 |
|
Disclaimer: I do not own Roswell. I do not own Max,
Michael, Isabel, Liz,
Maria, Alex, Tess, Kyle, Sheriff Valenti, Topolsky, or
any other Roswell
character. I don't own Jason Behr (damn!). If you
want to sue me, have fun.
You can take my computer, cuz it's just about the most
valuable thing I own.
But beware--my computer's name is Bob, and he bites.
Summary: A totally different universe--the aliens came much earlier, and now the children they've left behind will become involved in one of Earth's turning points. Category: After Hours Rating: NC-17 Authors Note: YES THIS IS UC NOW BUT IN THE FUTURE IT WILL NOT BE. I SWEAR. ALSO, ALL THE MAIN CHARACTERS WILL AT LEAST MAKE AN APPEARANCE. YES, MICHAEL IS IN THIS FIC. KYLE IS IN THIS FIC. MARIA IS IN THIS FIC. EVERYONE IS IN THIS FIC. I KNOW HOW THIS STORY IS GOING IN ADVANCE FOR ONCE, SO DON'T FLAME ME GOING, "WHERE IS M/L?" OR "WHERE IS M/M?" THEY WILL BE COMING I SWEAR! Also, this fic has really been a labor of love for me--when I started writing it, I didn't realize how little I really knew about the Second World War and the American homefront. If you want to know a little more about WWII, some good sites are: Rationed Fashion Lest We Forget The Women's Army Corps World War II Encyclopedia World War II Oral History |
|
| It was an ethereal moment in their lives; caught on camera, enshrined forever in the archives of film and photography. "The New Recruits' Last Night at Home" the headlines would read, making known to an entire populace three faces. The same photograph was reprinted again and again, declared everything from an indicator of the times to a portrait of the futility and sadness of war. I've seen it many times myself, and I was not born for another thirty years after it was taken. It was an anonymous sort of fame; though people throughout the years would recognize them, the kids from the famous photograph were never quite aware of it. No one had any idea who the three youths really were, or what, exactly, would become of them. There is tall, slender Alexander Whitman, looking too young to be his actual age of 18, grinning lasciviously, dark hair and pale skin clearly captured by the black-and-white camera. The girl whose hand he clasps, Elizabeth Parker, aged 17, laughing at something beyond the camera's scope, her head thrown back in abandon and her hair streaming around her youthful, unlined face. Last in the photograph is Maxwell Evans, 18 years old, smirking at them from the edge of the camera, clearly enjoying their delight. His features are not really revealed by the image, and though his expression is readable, his face is mostly in shadow, his hands raised to clap along with the music. It was June of 1943, and America was a different place. War had erupted overseas, and had once come perilously close to our own shores. It was right to fight, to fight the evil attempting to take Europe. These two boys had not been drafted; rather, they had enlisted in the Army upon the very day they graduated. They were young. They feared nothing. And they had absolutely no idea what lay in store for them. |
| Index | Part 1 |