A guy --in town visiting his dad--came into Crashdown today. His name is Steve, and he's very nice. No brooding, no sudden fits and starts that make her feel confused and shaky, unsure of herself.

No, Steve is nothing like Michael. He has dark hair, friendly eyes, and a nice smile. Guys that smile are good.

He stayed at the cafe and talked to her for over an hour this morning, drinking cup after cup of coffee until he finally worked up the nerve to ask her out. She likes that Steve was nervous about asking her out, that he likes her enough to be nervous about her, around her. He seemed to be interested in everything she had to say. No looking out the window while she talked to him, no distant, glazed-over look that indicated he was thinking about something else. Steve's just a guy, a regular guy-no strange alien quirks. She likes that too-she's tired of being Michael's doormat.

She gets home and lets herself into the house, kicks off her shoes. Her feet hurt like hell. Waitressing is a crappy job at best and torture at its worst. Today was a medium-bad day, and her feet are red and swollen from standing up all day long. She flexes her feet a little and wiggles her toes. At least her feet aren't numb today. When she first started working at Crashdown, she'd come home from work every day for two weeks with feet so sore and swollen that she couldn't feel anything.

She walks to her bedroom, trying to decide what to wear tonight. She can't think of anything, and when she gets inside her room she shuts the door and turns to her closet. Opening it, she shuffles through all her clothes, fingers moving quickly over the familiar and fairly sparse contents. Dress? No, too over the top. Definitely not the shirt she got four months ago-what was she thinking when she bought it? Orange isn't her color. It would lookok on Liz though, and she makes a mental note to ask her if she wants it next time she sees her. Maybe it will take her mind off Max for thirty seconds or so.

That's another good thing about not being hung up on Michael. She has lots of free time to spend thinking about stuff like boys and school...

Thoughts of school bring her around to thoughts of the eraser room, and she shuffles through her clothes a bit faster. It's only been a little while since she and Michael-ok, Michael-broke off whatever *thing* they had, but she wishes she would stop thinking about him already. Not that she has tons of experience dealing with boys, much less aliens, but still-it wasn't like she was as crazy for Michael as Liz is for Max. It was just a bunch of stuff that happened, and that's it. "I am so full of shit" she mutters, as her fingers catch on something cool and smooth at the back of her closet.

She tugs on the piece of clothing she's got in her hand, trying to pull it out without disturbing the rest of her closet. It doesn't work very well, she sees at least four things fall off their hangers and slide to the floor, victims of her rummaging, but she's at least managed to free whatever was trapped. Maybe it's a shirt she forgot she had, or better yet,a completely drop-dead outfit that will make Steve fall at her feet in adoration. That would be good.

She looks down at what's she's gotten from the depths of her closets and groans. "Great."

The halter top is very wrinkled. Of course it is, she'd wadded it into a ball and shoved it into the back of her closet when she got back from the rave. The rave where Michael told her off. Later, after she was done crying and feeling like an idiot, she was furious. With Michael, for being an asshole and an alien, and at herself for being stupid enough to care about him even though she knew that she shouldn't.

She stuffs the top back in the closet, not wanting to look at it for longer than she has to, and hastily grabs a tube top and a pair of pants before she slams the door shut. She throws the clothes on her bed and takes off the stupid headband she has to wear at work. She looks at her reflection in the full-length mirror that hangs over by her dresser, glancing at her waitress uniform with a grimace.

Her work clothes are spattered with grease from the food--Crashdown has no pretensions, lard seems to be the main ingredient in several of the dishes--and there's a huge spot of ketchup on her skirt. Some little shit thought it would be fun to throw foodon the waitress. The kid's mother had given her a brilliant smile after her son had squirted ketchup onto her, aiming a blithe "Oh Kevin! That's not nice! Can you say you are sorry?" into the area near Maria.

Kevin, the little terror, had screwed his face up and shouted "No!" And his mother had simply shrugged, given Maria an empty smile, and gestured for her to refill the water glasses. She'd gritted her teeth, filled the damn glasses and walked away, revising her tip estimate downward-again.

But then she'd caught a glimpse of the clock, which showed it was after two. Soon she'd be able to leave work, go home, and get ready for a date. *Her date.* Five didn't seem so far away, and she found she could, in fact, still smile. It was nice.

**

Maria's reverie breaks when she catches a glimpse of the clock that sits near her bed. She's set it ten minutes fast in a vain attempt to get herself ready for school on time. It's almost six. Steve is coming soon, she needs to get ready.

She changes quickly, throwing her work clothes on the floor. Her room could best be described as messy. Her mother makes noises once in a while, but like she does with everything else, quickly loses interest in actually following through on making Maria clean it. Liz's room is a source of never-ending amusement and amazement to Maria. Liz's room is neat. She can find clean clothes easily. Everything matches, and she even does homework at a desk with a neat stack of reference books sitting nearby. Maria smiles alittle at that thought-when she does homework, it's usually in her room, on her bed, and she's forever finding old socks or books or cd's when she decides to clear a space to put her book bag on the floor.

She tugs at her top a little, grimacing slightly. God, she thinks, I am so pale. She looks in the mirror and wonders if maybe she should wear a shirt instead. She touches her neck, thinking that no, maybe a necklace would work. Give Steve something to look at, distract him from her pallor.

Unbidden, her hand rests on the side of her neck. She had a hickey there once, from Michael. Liz had given her some cover up, tried to ask her about what she was doing.

Being stupid. Making out with Michael, who'd she'd never really noticed until one day, one time, and then she couldn't stop thinking about him. Embarrassing, how much she'd thought about him. Even more embarrassing, what she'd thought, despite her big talk about aliens and being smart.

She moves her hand away from her neck quickly. No more of that. Michael made how he feels about her pretty clear. And if he's been contradictory a few times since then; if once in a while, he's looks at her funny, or with eyes that tell her he remembers what they've done-well, it's usually the result of some freaky rock-holding dream thing, and how much value can that hold? "To hell with Michael Guerin" she says.

Another glance at the clock shows she is now officially running very behind schedule. She was going to paint her nails-she looks down at them with a mixture of familiar revulsion and resignation. Her nails are short, brittle, bitten. Not very special, and now she doesn't have time to at least cover them up with polish. Oh well.

She settles for fixing her hair and putting on her makeup carefully, making sure she remembers to smudge her eyeliner. She ready somewhere-probably in one of the six million neatly stacked magazines in Liz's room-that it would make your eyes stand out, and she figures it will distract from her pale skin. Maybe. A little.

She steps back and smiles at her reflection in the mirror. She looks pretty good. She listens to see if she hears her mother's or Steve's car. But no, all she hears is the slight rustle of the wind and her own thoughts.

Satisfied with her reflection, her appearance, she turns to grab a lipstick from the pile she has jumbled on her dresser. Which color? She can't decide, so she closes her eyes and picks blindly.

A rapping, too loud to be the wind, makes her look up. Someone is knocking on her window. Her stomach lurches-a mixture of anger and anticipation-and she tenses. She hates herself for that suddenly, fiercely-she's going on a date-she doesn't want to see Michael, she's over him.

She marches over to her window and pushes it up sharply, smiling when she hears a small crack and a muffled curse.

Michael drops through her window, shaking his hand gingerly (she must have bashed one of his fingers-good) and scowling. She speaks before he can.

"Why don't you go to the door...oh wait, because then people would be able to pretend they aren't home and ignore you."

His mouth quirks a little and she scowls. She didn't want to amuse him. "Believe me," he says"I didn't want to come here and see you..." His gaze wanders around her room and she has a sudden urge to gather up her stuff and hide it from his eyes. Is there something in here that could show how much she does-no, did-care for him? "but I-I mean, Isabel..."

He breaks off because the doorbell rings. She hesitates, actually hesitates for a moment. No, she tells herself. Not this time, Maria. You don't need to get involved with Isabel, with any of them. Liz is your friend, that's it.

She looksin the mirror, opens the lipstick and puts it on quickly because her hands are shaking. She ignores Michael, although she can see him, reflected in the mirror, standing behind her. She should have worn a different shirt. Her skin glows in the light from the sun and for a moment, she thinks she sees him move towards her.

The doorbell rings again and she turns, drops the lipstick onto the dresser. She can't bring herself to look at Michael, just seeing his reflection is bad enough.

"I have a date" she says with as much venom as she can muster. "I suppose you can find your way out." Then she leaves her room, with Michael in it, behind her. **

Steve is standing on the steps when she opens the front door. He looks up at her, smiling. "Wow" he says. "You look beautiful." She blushes a little and says "Thank you." They walk over towards his car and she doesn't even really think of looking back tosee if Michael is still there.

But she breaks of course, because she's human, because she isn't like Michael "My Heart Is Made Of Stone" Guerin--and because Michael is her weakness. She tells Steve "You know what? I forgot to leave a note for my mom. She freaks if she doesn't know where I am." Steve tells her "No problem" and makes a joke about parents. She bites back the urge to say "I don't know how awful fathers can be, mine left without looking back" but she stops herself. It's not Steve's fault that her dad left. It's not his fault that he isn't Michael.

She lets herself back in the house and runs up to her room. Michael is gone, he's closed the window behind him. She sighs a little, and thinks about writing a note to her mother. Then she figures, why bother? Her mom won't even check to see if she comes home tonight. It's just her way. She goes back outside and gets in Steve's car.

Steve seems to be genuinely interested in her. On the way to the restaurant, he asks her questions about herself, about school, about working at Crashdown. He laughs at her jokes, he tells her (again) how pretty she looks. Almost in spite of herself, she's charmed. She even manages to forget about everything else for a while.

Until, that is, Steve makes a single, simple comment as they are walking into the restaurant. He looks up at the sky, which is dusky with the setting sun, and says "I guess it's going to be cloudy tonight. Too bad, I would have loved to look at the starswith you."

She can't help it. Her back stiffens. She neverthought much of stars or anything connected to space until recently. But now-now she scowls up at the softly darkening sky, glad there aren't any stars. What's out there, on one of them, is something that Michael wants more than her. He wants it so much that there's no room for anyone else. "It's just as well" she says to Steve, trying (and failing) to not sound angry. "Stars are really overrated."

**

Dinner is nice. Steve has taken her to a Mexican restaurant over on the far side of town, awayfrom the noise of the main tourist strip. They talk about movies and Roswell, and he tells her that his dad moved to town six months ago to take a job working as an architect. She asks about his dad-she's always curious about other people's fathers. Whatare they like? In her mind, her own father wavers between two poles. Sometimes he's a lost soul who thinks of her and her mother often, amassing a huge fortune that she'll get unexpectedly when he dies. Other times, she figures he's an asshole who doesn't even remember that he has a kid out there. Steve's dad sounds nice, and she tells him so a little wistfully. He asks about her dad and she makes her standard blasé remark, finishing it up with her usual Teflon comment. Steve smiles a little and reaches out to take her hand. She pulls her hand back, away from his-she doesn't want pity-and changes the subject.

Steve orders some sort of fried ice cream concoction for dessert, and she tells him she'll be right back and goes to the bathroom. She didn't bring a purse-too rattled from seeing Michael to think of it-so she settles for ignoring her hair and makeup and resting her hands against the sink. It feels cool under her fingers. She tells herself she's having a good time, and she is, she really is. But that sick, hot feeling is back in her stomach, and she knows that something is going to change.

Sure enough, Michael is waiting in the hallway outside the bathroom, standing by the cigarette machine. "What do you want?" she asks wearily. "I'm on a date, you know."

He doesn't even looked surprised by the fact that she knew he'd be there. He just shrugs and walks a little closer to her. "I tried to tell you earlier." He blows out a breath and when he speaks again he actually sounds a little aggravated. "It took me awhile to figure out where you went. But it's Max and Liz. Something's happened-and Isabel is really worried."

She sighs, and gives voice to her suspicions. "And you and Isabel couldn't take care of it? You didn't just want to wreck my date?"

He looks affronted. "Don't flatter yourself. I didn't even want to come see you, but Isabel said you'd help."

Ok, point for Michael. "Fine" she says tiredly, cursing the day she got mixed up with all of this alien mess. "I'll have to have Steve drive me home so I can get my car"

Michael nods. "Just hurry up, ok?"

She grabs his arm out of exasperation. He always talks in fragments, and she still has no idea about what's going on. Her fingers brush over his arm, find a hold.

Everything goes black and she wonders, dimly, if she's fallen. Maybe she hit her head or something. But no, she can still feel Michael's arm under her hand, just barely. Her brain seems to have clicked into some other place and she can't see the hallway,can't see anything. Then lights flash against her closed eyes, begin to coalesce and take shape.

She sees herself, insideCrashdown, through the front door. Then she's inside, and a surge of something hits when whoever's eyes she's looking through sees herself and she gets a blurry image of leaning down, of the mouth she's behind touching her own. The images shift again andit's night, and she's at the cafe again. There she is, she sees herself inside, and even though she hears a *no, no, no* echo in the head she's in, the feet she's walking in move towards the door quickly, wait with impatience as herself, on the other side of the door opens it, and then it's just a surging tide of need, which flashes into her eyes so brightly that she realizes she's seeing what Michael felt those times; she's in Michael's head, in his memories.

She wants, suddenly, fiercely, to be out, away, but she can't pull free because the light sucks her back again and she's in a fast moving haze of images about herself, colored by Michael's perceptions, what he felt every time. She sees lust again, confusion, worry--overwhelming fear at the rave.And then it all drops into something cool and smooth, and her gaze pulls back and she sees that she's inside the mirror in her room. No, she's not inside, she's just gazing at it, at herself, wanting to move and hating herself (himself, she realizes) forit. The mirror wavers a little, she feels that he wants to move towards it, towards her, and then she knows, sees, what he wants to do to her, with her. The mirror shows it all, quickly, and then everything fades into a line and goes black.

She opens her eyes. She's still in the hallway outside the bathroom in the restaurant. She can't get her breath and her whole body feels tight, as if her skin was a size too small. Michael is still there, staring at her with horror in his eyes.

She should run, screaming, back to her table. But banked in his eyes, back behind the fear, is what she saw just now, in his thoughts-a mixture of lust and want and so much emotion that she reacts without thinking, moving towards him. She sways a little,leaning in, and she hears him suck in a breath, and she swears she feels, actually feels that he wants her-and he makes a noise that might almost be a sob and leans in towards her.

A loud noise makes them both jump and they see an older woman standing in the hallway outside the ladies room, mumbling because there is a line. Michael curses under his breath and walks, actually almost runs, towards the door. She makes no move to go after him and instead just stands in the hallway, forcing herself to breath and think, pulling herself together so she can walk back to the table where Steve sits, waiting for her.

**

She tells Steve that something's come up, that she has to get home. He looks puzzled, but asks her if everything is ok and pays the check quickly.

On the drive back to her house, she searches for something to say. I'm sorry I had to cut our date short, but see, there are these aliens, and I have to help them? I think you're a great guy, but I'm stuck inside some other guy's head, literally? She settles for the relatively lame "I had a really nice time tonight," and Steve turns to look at her. "Are you seeing someone else?"

She shakes her head. He sighs a little. "I'm just wondering because I saw some guy come into the restaurant and I could hear him asking about you."

"No." she tells him. "That's Michael. He's just..." What? A friend? Hardly. "someone I know. One of my friends, Liz, is having some problems and I kind of..."

"Have to go help her." Steve finishes for her and smiles. "No problem."

They get to her house and she turns to look at him. "Thanks for dinner."

"Yeah" he says. "It was uh...fun." He doesn't try to kiss her.

She gets out of the car and watches him leave. He won't call her, she knows that. Damn Michael. But she goes and gets in her car and drives over to the Evans house anyway.

**

Mrs. Evans answers the door and tells her Isabel is upstairs. Sometimes Maria wonders about Mr. and Mrs. Evans. Do they know, have they guessed, about Max and Isabel? She can't imagine that there was a time, when they were younger, that they didn't maybeslip up and accidentally use their powers.

Isabel is pacing in her room when Maria pushes open the door. Michael isn't there, and Maria breathes a sigh of relief. She isn't ready to deal with him now. "What's going on?"

Isabel turns her perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect skinned self in Maria's direction. Maria finds Isabel's perfection irritating. Super powers and she never gets a pimple? Not very fair. "Max and Liz found something out in the desert, but Valenti is watching them. And he's suspicious of me, so I can't just go get them without tipping the sheriff off more."

Oh wonderful. Whenever police bait is needed, go get Maria. Not only does she have a car, she already knows what it's like to have Valenti harass her. "You sent Michael to interrupt my date for this?" she says angrily.

Isabel looks startled. "What? I just told Michael to see if you were home. Believe me," she casts a faintly scornful look in Maria's direction "I don't need your help that bad."

Maria resists the urge to smooth her hair and stand up straighter in a vain attempt to have posture that rivals Ms. Perfection's. "Ok, then. Great talking to you, as always." She starts to leave Isabel's room.

"Wait!" Isabel calls. She sounds almost a little worried. "Since you're here, you might as well stay. I suppose I could use your help."

**

Isabel tells her that Max and Liz called from Liz's cell phone about two hours ago. Turns out that they are stranded off one of the dirt trails that passes for a road in the desert about 25 miles outside of Roswell--and that they are worried because Valenti was following them. Isabel finishes with "Oh, and Max thinks he might have found something." After Isabel tells her this, she looks at Maria impatiently until she says "Fine, let's just go."

They make one stop, to pick Michael up. He's waiting on the outskirts of town. He gets in the back, and Isabel moves and sits with him. Nice, Maria thinks. Real nice.

Isabel tells Maria how to get there, tells her to slow down, then tells her to speed up, and finally, asks her if her car always sounds "funny." Maria grits her teeth and swears that she'll talk to Liz, make sure she knows what she's getting into with Max. He might be her soul mate or whatever, but dealing with Isabel on a regular basis--well, that sure makes it a bitch of a deal.

After she drives for what seems like forever, Isabel tells her she can stop and Michael gets out of the car. Isabel tells her to find a place to park and Maria says "Wow, what a great idea." Surprisingly, Isabel misses her sarcasm and Maria wonders what she and Michael talked about during the drive.

Maria parks the car and she and Isabel walk over to what looked like a big pile of sand. Michael is sitting on top, looking down onto something. He nods at Isabel and just looks at Maria. She glares at him, and to her surprise, he looks away.

Isabel glances at her, andthen back at Michael. Her brows draw together in a frown (Someone should warn her that she might get wrinkles if she does that, Maria thinks happily-but it won't be me) and she taps Michael on the shoulder. He shrugs her hand off and says "I told you, not now. Valenti is right down there."

Maria moves around Isabel to look. Sure enough, Valenti is down there, standing by his car in his classic "I'm Sheriff Bad-Ass" posture. "Where are Max and Liz?" she whispers.

Isabel starts to speak, but Michael cuts her off. "There's something over that dune. I'm sure of it. I think Max must have sensed it too."

"So, what do you want me to do?" She wants to mention that she was on a date again, but figures that Michael, being Michael, would say something that would make her either want to kill him or cry.

Isabel launches into a detailed plan and Maria tunes her out, looking at Michael. He's staring out over the sand, into the dark, looking at something she can't see. Figures. She glances at him critically. He's too tall, his hair sticks up all over all the time, he wears the worst shirts in the world, he's sulky...and then he turns and looks at her.

He's beautiful. It's an overused word, but it' s true. Michael Guerin is beautiful. She once said that there was someone special under all of his dirt and attitude. There is, and she can't get the distance she needs anymore. Even looking at him, trying to find faults, all she sees are things she wants. He is tall-but kissing him is easy. They fit together. His hair does stick up-but it is so soft and it's a beautiful color. Bad clothes-but she has an idea of what's under them, she has felt the muscles that he hides under his regulation t-shirts. And the sulkiness-well, when he looks at her like he is now, like she has something he wants-she can hardly remember that she used to not know he was alive.

Isabel breaks off, finally realizing that no one is listening to her and hisses "Michael!" He turns his gaze, which is now shuttered and flat, in Isabel's direction.

Maria figures Isabel will start lecturing. She thinks of Liz who is probably cold and scared for herself and for Max. So she takes off, running around the side of the dune, heading for Valenti's car. She can hear Isabel gasp and then she's gone.

The sheriff hears her coming and looks in her direction. She turns abruptly, her knees screaming in protest-running on sand is not easy-and head back into the darkness on the other side of Valenti's car. She close enough to hear him mutter "Evans" and to hear him breathe as he starts off after her.

She sends up a silent plea to whoever might be listening-if she gets out of this, she'll start taking gym class seriously; no more walking when she's supposed to be running the mile-and drags herself up another pile of sand.

When she turns back, she sees Max and Liz scrambling up towards Michael and Isabel and she allows herself a brief smile. Then she turns around and starts running back the way she came. Oh please, she thinks, let my dumb-ass plan work.

It does. She's running full speed and she runs right into Valenti. She keeps her head down and her fists up. Her right fist lands on something (she doesn't want to think what) and he lets out a howl of pain. She keeps going. running back the way she came. She gets back to where Michael and Isabel were, and sees nothing.

Oh shit. But then she sees Isabel waving at her, frantically, from a clump of rocks about ten feet away and she runs over to them.

Valenti comes along, cursing and hobbling, not ten seconds later. When he doesn't see anything, he goes back to his car and moments later, she hears him leave. Isabel whispers in her ear "He's sure we took off towards town. So we just wait a little whileand then go back. By the time he goes by our house and realizes we aren't home yet, we'll be at the Parker's-and when he comes by, we'll just say we've been there all night." Maria can hear Isabel's smile and she manages a sour "How clever" as she dumps sand out of her shoes.

After her shoes are relatively sand free, she goes over to Liz, who is sitting apart from everyone, looking worriedly out at the road. "You ok?"

Liz nods. "Just scared. Max thought there was something out there, but we couldn't find anything, and then Valenti came..." she breaks off, and Maria gives her a hug. "Thanks" Liz says and then continues, "What did you do to Valenti anyway?"

Maria smiles at her. "Oh, you know. The usual." And Liz smiles back.

**

Liz and Isabel ride back to town with her. Max and Michael were arguing silently, fiercely, about something and they drove back to town together. When they get to the Parker's house, and start to walk inside, Max grabs Michael's arm. Michael pulls his arm away and Maria sees Max gesture at Isabel.

She tells herself she doesn't care what they are talking about, and goes inside with Liz. Liz keeps looking out the window at Max, and Maria tells herself she won't look to see if Michael's gone. After all, she doesn't care. She goes into the kitchen to get a soda and catches a glimpse of herself in the ornate mirror that Liz's mom hung up in the hallway. Her eyes look wild.

"Hey"

She turns and sees that Michael is behind her. Why is he all of a sudden catching her looking in mirrors all the time? He's going to think she's vain---and then she remembers what he thought about mirrors, about her, and she blushes. "Will you drive me home?" he asks.

She didn't expect him to say that, and she just blinks at him. He shuffles his feet a little, looks down at them, and then back up at her.

"Oh" Drive Michael home? His gaze actually almost hurts, she wants to look away. But in the end, she doesn't. She just says "Sure" and walks back towards the front door, passing Liz on the way. Liz might say something to her, she isn't sure. All she can hear is Michael behind her.

When they get out into the yard, she sees that Max and Isabel are still talking. They look up when she comes out and Max moves towards Michael. "Look, why don't you come inside with us. Maybe we can..."

Michael ignores Max and gets in her car. She shrugs her shoulders and starts to get in the car herself, but Isabel has run up behind her, places her hand on her shoulder. "Take Michael to our house, will you?"

She hates being ordered around. Especially by Isabel. "Sure" she says. "If Michael wants me to." Then she gets in the car and slams the door. She starts the engine and looks at Michael. "Do you want me to take you to their house?"

He reaches out and touches her face (Is it the first time he's ever done that? She can't think, she can't think at all) and she sees the eraser room, sees herself and Michael and she actually believes, for a moment, that she is going to scream because her entire body is hit with a jolt of sensation that feels like pleasure multiplied a thousand times, pleasure that is so intense it borders on pain. His hand slides down, he turns his attention out the window, out into space, and she pulls out of Liz's driveway, heading towards the trailer park.

**

The Old Chisholm Tail Trailer Park is as dusty and dirty as ever. Even at night, she can see the fine haze of dirt that seems to cover anything that even crosses into the area. Michael hasn't said a word to her since she got in the car, but he speaks now. "You can park here."

She looks at him and raises an eyebrow, but parks the car and turns it off anyway. Michael gets out of the car and slams the door. She starts to call out after him "Hey, take it easy on my car, it's not a high performance machine, after all" but doesn't because he turns back to look at her and she realizes he's waiting for her.

The trailer park is even worse up close. Everything is sagging and covered with chipping paint. Michael walks down the rows of trailers easily, and for the first time, Maria can almost understand why he is the way he is. Max and Isabel live in suburban comfort, ensconced in a nice house in a nice part of town with nice parents. What has Michael got?

He stops in front of one of the trailers. She looks around, trying to find something that will help her recognize where she is-but all the trailers look alike in the dark. He opens the door and she listens as it creaks, can dimly see that the door has been hung crookedly, can hear it scrape the wooden stairs that lead up to it.

Michael turns back and looks at her. "Wait a minute." She doesn't ask why, she knows he is checking to see if Hank is around. Liz told her a little bit about Hank-she saw him once when she went out to warn him about Topolsky. "Mean" was what Liz had said. "He looked mean. And he called Michael Mickey."

After a moment, she walks up the steps, slowly. Michael reappears in the front door. He doesn't ask her to come in, just nods his head in her direction and disappears inside.

The inside is worse than the outside, if such a thing is possible. It smells strongly, of sweat and beer, and the floor sags a little under her feet. Michael is just standing there, looking into a room that's filled with an old tv, even older newspapers, and an ancient, sagging armchair. "He went out" he mutters. "Good."

Then there's silence. It's not a comfortable silence, it's a tense silence, and she breaks first, speaking because she's almost desperate to.

"Are you sure?" It's not what she meant to say-she meant to say something about the sheets that are hung up as curtains, or something about where he lives in general, or maybe even something nice. But that's not what comes out. "I didn't..." I didn't think that you wanted anything like this. I didn't think you'd want anyone to come here. I didn't think you'd want to bring me here. I've had one hell of a strange day, how about you?

He hasn't touched her since she got in the car, but he touches her now, sliding his hand up across her back (When did he move to stand next to her? Sometimes she thinks that the way he moves, so silently, is what unnerves her most about him, more than knowing what he is) and she feels the familiar kick as his feelings wash over her.

The tv is dusty. She can see her slightly distorted reflection in it, and Michael's too. She wonders what it was like for him, as a child, growing up here. How can it be that someone you never thought about can become so important in so short of a time, change from being "who-is-that?" to "how-did-I-get-through-life-before-you?"

"What's going on?" She might sound a little panicked, but guess what? She is.

"I don't know."

She sighs a little. "Couldn't you just lie?"

"Do you want me to?"

"Oh, shut up" Typical Michael, answering questions with questions, she thinks. It makes her laugh-even in this strange night, there is something familiar. She finally feels bold enough to say what she was thinking earlier.

"Why did you bring me here?"

Silence.

She doesn't think he'll answer her, but he does, finally-his voice low and fast, quiet even in the silence of the trailer.

"Because I wanted to. As much as I hate it, as much as I hate being Mickey...it's where I live, it's part of who I am." He pauses and she can hear her heart beating as she waits for him to finish speaking. "It's what I've thought about. You. Here. With Me."

She starts to say something, but stops. She saw what he thought about earlier, and she shouldn't lie about it now. Michael would just see right through her and she can be honest. Sometimes.

She searches for the right words but can't find them. So she just reaches out and takes his hand instead, leading him down the hallway. No use pretending she doesn't know where his room is. She saw that earlier today too.

**

His room is in the back of the trailer. It's tiny and it's dark. He pushes aside whatever he's using as a shade, and a small patch of wan light trickles in the window. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust.

He doesn't have much. A cot. Not a bed, not a futon, just a cot. A pile of clothes in one corner. A couple of pairs of shoes. A stack of books and she smiles as the light reveals one of the authors. Joyce.

"All the seas of the world tumbled about her heart" she says. "He was drawing her into them," He finishes with her, his voice a little sad and maybe even a little scared, "he would drown her"*

He also sounds surprised. "Don't be so shocked" she snaps, regaining a little of her composure. "I *can* read you know." He smiles at her. She sees the gleam of his teeth and shivers a little.

She looks around the room again. In the corner, resting against the wall, is a mirror. It's dusty, like everything else in the trailer seems to be, and there's a crack in the corner. She saw it before, when she saw what Michael remembers, what he feels, what he wants. Looking at it makes her knees feel a little watery. It's going to happen then, isn't it? Everything she saw before.

He goes and shuts the door to his room. She notes, with a mixture of curiosity and pity, that he has installed a deadbolt. She wants to ask him about Hank-- there are so many questions she wants to ask him, but now isn't the time.

She moves without thinking, heading over towards the mirror and standing in front of it. Yes, there she is. She can see her reflection. She doesn't look scared. He walks over and stands behind her.

She hears herself breathe, a harsh rattling sound that sounds overly loud but it isn't, she can hear him breathing too. She starts to ask him a question: "Why?" or maybe "How come?" but it won't come out, all that she seems to be able to say is his name.

His hands rest on her shoulders and she feels the heat of his body-he's always warm, even now, as he stands behind her. Then they move up, resting on her neck, and she watches in the mirror as his mouth descends, fastens right below the area he's touching.

And when his hands move lower, rolling her top down, she watches. When his hands cup her breasts, his fingers sliding over her nipples, she watches. Sees her mouth form a shape, hears a sound move up her throat, out into his room, out into space. When he breathes into her ear, and tells her he's dreamed of this, of her, she can simply keep her eyes open and whisper, "I know."

And when she turns and he kisses her, she keeps her eyes open, seeing the reflection of what they are doing in the mirror out of the corner of her eye; watching as the Maria-self in the mirror responds to Michael, and the Maria-self she sees, herself, pulls him the direction of the tiny cot that sits in the corner. He asks her if she is sure, right before, and she knows then, in that moment, that she loves him.

**

Afterwards, it's awkwardness. She fell asleep right away, and wakes up later, much later, with a disoriented, dazed feeling. Her clothes are still scattered on the floor, littering the surface around the mirror. He doesn't say anything when she gets up, but he doesn't feign sleep either. He just watches her with opaque eyes, not speaking.

"What did this mean?" She hates herself for asking, wants to be cool and unaffected by what has happened, but she wasn't, she isn't.

For once, Michael's mask slip and she sees a world of confusion and lust and pain on his face. "I don't know" he finally tells her, softly, simply. "I don't know what to tell you. I shouldn't have done this..." Her chest hurts-even thought she thought that she would be ready for this, for the typical Michael distance-"but," His eyes meet hers, and she sees that he's not sorry, that she doesn't need to be sorry, that maybe, just maybe, Michael Guerin is actually content "it's too late now."

She nods and manages a credible "I've got to go" that's spoiled by the fact that she can't seem to open the door.

Michael gets up and puts on some pants, walks her outside. Hank has come back, he is asleep in his chair. As she walks through the living room with the sheet curtains and piles of old newspapers, she thinks of the deadbolt that's on Michael's door, the thin stripes of scars that march across his back, and shudders. When she reaches out her hand, he meets it with his own and she squeezes, gently. He doesn't pull away, and they walk outside.

Michael kisses her when they get to her car and the blackness descends in her mind again, a brief shuttering that parts to reveal a flash of...happiness?

She doesn't know-it's not like she's had a lot of happiness herself. The contact is broken as he steps away, the dawn returns and her car is in front of her.

There's really no need to say anything. She simply gets in her car and drives away, heading home. Her mother is asleep when she gets there. She takes a shower, then gets ready to go to school. Liz is waiting for her when she gets there. When Liz asks her how she's doing, she settle for "Fine." And when Liz asks her where she took Michael last night, she just says "I took him home." Liz nods, looking relieved. Maria knows she'll tell Max this and that Max and Isabel won't think anything of it, won't think anything happened. After all, Michael never lets anyone inside the trailer.

After school, she and Liz go to Crashdown. Max and Michael show up shortly after they get there. Max and Liz greet each other eagerly. Michael gives her one brief glance, a bright, hot look that makes her remember everything that's happened, and then he's gone, focusing his gaze out the window, out into the desert. It doesn't hurt now, not at all. She knows what she'll see if she goes over and finds an excuse to touch him.

**

She looks in the mirror that hangs over the sink in the ladies' room. Liz is humming and fixing her hair, happy that things with Max are going well. Then she is talking, swiftly, about how she hopes Max will kiss her tonight. Maria hears her, but can't respond. Looking in the mirror again, she sees the past, the future. Herself, closing Crashdown-before, again, later. She sees Michael coming by, looking in the window-like he did, like he does, like he will. Then last night, his room, him, herself. If she looks closely, in the recesses of the mirror, she can see the two of them, tangled, endlessly. Should she blush at the images she sees? She lifts her hand up, reaches out towards the mirror.

"Hey!" says Liz. Maria turns her head slightly, looks at Liz. Liz waves her hand. "I'm over here silly! What are you doing?"

For a moment, just a moment-it seems longer than it is-she wants to grab Liz, tell her everything, and warn her, beg her to be careful, to think. But it's too late, isn't it? For her, for Liz. The images that beckon to her; in her mind, in the mirror-they are what she wants, more than anything.

Maria forces alaugh. She tells Liz to hurry up, that Max is waiting for her. When they get back to the restaurant, Michael is gone. "Sorry" Max says, looking at her with pity in his eyes. She can tell what he is thinking. Poor Maria. Michael doesn't want any attachments, you know. She smiles at Max, to show she's ok, and watches as he and Liz leave.

She ends up volunteering to help close the cafe. Michael will know where she is, he'll be back. Crashdown, her room, his room, school, the desert-it doesn't matter where she is, he'll find her. She catches a glimpse of her face in the reflection of the coffee pot she carries over to table six. She looks happy.

Mirrors don't lie, do they?

**

I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning --Stevie Smith