FanFic - Michael/Maria

"Desert Ice"

Part 5 by chrysophyta

Disclaimer: I have only borrowed the Roswell characters for this story. I returned them safely and tucked them into their beds. They are the property of Jason Katims and the WB, etc. No infringement intended. Only extraneous characters are mine. Summary: Isabel has a secret, and Maria discovers a new threat. Category: Michael/Maria Rating: PG-13 Authors Note: This takes place after "Destiny" and started as a what if question. for Ailis

When Maria awoke, she was on the side of a dusty road. Which didn’t help narrow down her location. All roads to Roswell were dusty. The sun was setting. She wrapped her arms around her. They were sore. She probably had bruises in the crux of her arms and up and down her legs. These would heal. She was tired and dirty. She pulled at the sleeves of the coat she now wore. A postal uniform coat, she realized. She started walking. She didn’t want to think about the coat or anything. Inside her pocket, she felt the weight of her cellphone bang against her thigh. Considerate, she thought. She called Liz. "Don’t tell them it’s me," Maria said. "I don’t understand," Liz said. "Are you all right?" Maria could hear Max and Michael and Alex barking questions. They were probably all in the Jeep. "Where are you?" Liz’s voice rose. "They may not be who they are," Maria said. She kept walking towards the setting sun. "Call me when you’re alone." And then she hung up. Maria couldn’t connect anything that had happened. She had answers to questions never asked. Her father was mailman. He was an alien. Maria’s mother had so effectively erased her father from the past that she had eventually stopped asking where he was, what he was like. Maria’s fantasy of him had been so easy. Had her mother known? All this time? She heard that voice again, calm and assured: Don’t worry, we’ll be back. She thought of that afternoon in the cave. When Max, Michael and Isabel’s big destiny had been revealed. Tess had been with them. Maybe they had seen what Tess had wanted them to see. A smokescreen. To distract them and divide them. Michael wanted nothing more than to find a purpose. He needed to be wanted. No one had really told him that he was wanted before. Certainly not Hank. So maybe he distrusted it, now, even when she said it. She shook her head. At least she could still obsess over Michael. She found it somewhat comforting. Maria looked around and wished she could remember her survival skills from the girl scouts: getting water from a cactus, or hunting snakes. She was willing to try both. She’d wait for Liz’s call. Liz would know where she was. Maria would describe the mountains in the distance, the consistency of the dirt on the road, the way the setting sun cast shadowed fingers across the pavement, and Liz would know. Liz would come find her and take her home. Maria lay in bed. She listened to the sounds of her mother: cabinets opening and closing, the last step creaking, the rustling of plastic bags. These noises made her feel safe. Maria had only been gone two days. Only two days. Since then she hadn’t left her room. She hadn’t spoken since Liz had dropped her off. "You will tell me what’s wrong this instant," her mother had demanded this morning. For the past two days, her mother had tried soothing, reassuring words. Now she resorted to empty threats. Maria turned towards the wall. Her mother said, "You can’t just stay in your room." "You will go to school." Then her mother stormed out of the room in a huff. In a flourish of closing cabinets and jangling keys, her mother was gone. The house was silent. Underneath the covers, Maria felt small. Liz had told her, "Your mom doesn’t know." "What do you mean?" Maria said. "That anything happened," Liz said, deliberately. "You were staying with me. I left a note for you. We didn’t want, I mean, we hoped that, we weren’t sure." Maria nodded. It had been dark in the car. Liz had asked a stream of questions, but when Maria didn’t answer, Liz stopped asking and the car was silent. There were no words for the weight of what had happened. Yesterday, she had stared for hours at her hands and arms. The bruises had turned yellow-green. She had tried to see the difference. Today, she kept arms and legs under the covers. Better not to see. This was what Isabel must feel like. But Maria didn’t care. She didn’t want to know what Isabel felt like. What it was like not to know. She was forming a plan of spending the day, maybe the next few years or so, drifting somewhere between waking and sleeping, when she heard the knock on her window. Isabel knew she should go see Maria. They all moved in a huddle, whispers swirling around them. About how Maria wouldn’t even talk to Liz. Isabel had even put together some magazines and nail polish, like Maria was sick. But she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t look at her. Max, of course, felt guilty. He blamed himself for involving Liz. He was always eager to burden himself with so much. Michael said little. His eyes fiery, his body tense, electrified. But Isabel knew that it was her fault. She couldn’t stand to be near them. She couldn’t tell them that she had been relieved. When she awoke with Max leaning over her, repeating her name, and she had realized that she was outside, lying on the grass, that she had not been taken, she had been glad. They had taken Maria and not her. Not that Isabel had a choice. But if she’d had, she wouldn’t have said, Take me, instead. And the things that she couldn’t say seemed to build, one thing on top of another. She sat in the Jeep and waited until she could go home. Maria pulled the covers over her head at the sound at her window. She heard another thunk. She held her breath and waited. But nothing. Her heart was pounding and all she could hear was that voice, "We’ll come for you," over and over, like a hiccup. Then she heard the back door open, steady footsteps in the kitchen. Her eyes were wide in the darkness underneath her covers. She followed the sounds. The creak of the steps. And then her name. It was Michael. He called her name again. Closer this time. A knock on her bedroom door. Her name a question. The door creaked open. Maria held her breath. The blanket was pulled away from her face, and Maria stared at Michael. He squinted his eyes at her but didn’t say anything for a moment. He looked around the room. "What are you doing?" he said. "Why aren’t you in school?" That Michael had asked her that question, struck her as absurdly funny. She started giggling, then laughing, and then she was crying. She tried to turn away from him, but instead he just said, "Come here." So she did. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Michael grabbed her arm. She jerked back, trying to pull away. He released her and said, "Your arm." She looked down at her arm, almost afraid of what she’d see there: green skin, extra arms. "You’re hurt," he said. "I wish, I mean, Max could—" "Some things, well, some things take time," she said. She was surprised to find out she still had a voice that she could form words together. Maria scooted out of bed, taking her comforter with her. She wrapped it around her like a cape as she backed up against the wall. The wall she could trust. She didn’t know about Michael. "Get dressed," he said. "Why?" "I have something to show you," he said. "I’ll wait outside." "I’m not going anywhere," she said. He rolled his eyes and sighed. "It’s me, okay? I’m trying to do something nice here." He walked into her closet. He pulled out a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. He paused and said, "It’s kind of windy out," and put the T-shirt back. He grabbed a long sleeved shirt. He piled them on the edge of her bed. Maria squinted her eyes at him. "Michael would leave me alone." He scoffed. "But you wouldn’t leave me alone. I’m just returning the favor. Now get dressed." He left the room. But she could see the shadows of his feet under the door. Isn’t this how it all started? "First, I have a question." She tried to think of something that only Michael would know. "What flavor of lip gloss was I wearing the first time we went into the eraser room?" "Flavor?" He sighed. His feet moved back and forth. Maria buttoned up the shirt and tucked it in. She brushed her hair vigorously, then pulled it back into a ponytail. "Look, how the hell am I supposed to remember? Sometimes it was this berry thing or vanilla. Something fruity. I don’t know. I just don’t remember. But the point is, you can’t stay in there--" She opened the door. "Forever," he finished. "Strawberry," she said. "I’m driving." Michael directed Maria out of town. She should be scared of him. She kept telling herself, You are making a mistake, a big mistake. But she couldn’t seem to muster up the enthusiasm to care. She had to trust Michael. She didn’t know how to stay away from him. If it hadn’t been Michael, it may have been Liz or even her mother. "Pull over," he said. "What? But it’s the middle of nowhere." "I want to show you something," Michael said. "Pull over." "I’ve heard that one before," Maria said. "But not from me." This was true. She pulled over. He got out, grabbed his duffel bag out of the back seat. Maria waited. He opened her door. "We’re just going behind those boulders. There’s a path that cuts through the rocks into the center." She stared at him. Her fingers gripped the steering wheel. "You wanted to know what I did when I wasn’t at school. And sometimes I come here." He backed away from the car, and Maria watched as he headed towards the boulders. Her feet crunched against the gravel. She kept a few yards between them as she followed him. Maria’s legs were weak and wobbly as through she were just recovering from a long illness. She stopped at the entrance of a narrow path that led into the center of red, worn boulders. Maybe they had once been mountains, long ago, the wind wearing them down. "One day I was just driving," Michael said, finally turning to look at her. "No where in particular." Michael set the bag on a rock ledge. "I drove off the road, around these rocks, and I noticed that it was, like, a circle." He pointed behind her. "Hop up on one of those ledges. Watch this." Michael almost smiled but caught himself as though he couldn’t appear too proud. Maria climbed up. Michael knelt and held his hand over the ground his fingers out. There was a loud crack, like an ice cube tray. Then Maria’s mouth dropped as the dirt transformed into ice, stretching towards the edge, until the entire surface was covered. Maria stared. She couldn’t believe it. She made a few indecipherable sounds. Michael skidded towards the bag and pulled out a pair of ice skates. "Here, put these on." Maria took them, but she continued to stare at the ice. "You did that?" she said incredulously. "Yeah, I did." He pulled out another pair and began to lace them up. "Put them on." Michael pushed off of the rock. He brushed his hands on his pants as he glided across the ice. Ice. Michael moved easily, gracefully, his feet crossing over each other. He circled towards her. He took the skates from Maria. He rested her foot against his chest and took off her tennis shoes. "You did this?" He shrugged. "I’ve been practicing." "I guess." He pushed her foot into the skate. He tightened the laces, pulling hard. The skates were tight around her ankles. Her feet felt heavy, separate from her body. "How did you know my size?" she asked. He didn’t answer, just held out his arms for her. She scooted off the ledge. He grabbed her tightly around the waist and lifted her down onto the ice. He held onto her as her ankles bowed on the blades and waited until she caught her balance. There was already a layer of water over the ice, and as Michael skated away, drops licked the raveled cuff of his jeans. He bent down without losing his stride. His hand hovered over the surface, restoring the ice. Maria took two hesitant steps and hit the ice. Michael circled around and held out his hand. "It’s cold," she observed. Michael grabbed both hands and pulled her up, her body a stiff bracket, jerking as Michael pulled her. He let go and circled around her. She wobbled back and forth. "This isn’t going to work," she said sadly. Michael handed her a hockey stick. "I can’t even skate," she said, though she took it from him. Michael tossed the puck onto the ice. He dribbled the puck in figure eights around her. "It’s easy," he said. "You’re not going to make me feel better." Except, as she tried to keep her balance, her hands straight out, moving back and forth, she realized she could think of nothing but trying to stay on her feet. With a jerk, she was on her back. She lay there, the melting ice soaking her clothes. She shivered and closed her eyes. The sun shined red on the inside of her lids. Maria would have to tell him about Tess. About the men in white suits. He would need to protect himself. And even about her father. But not today. A shadow passed across her; she opened her eyes with a jolt. Michael stood over her. "I have this talent for making the girls in my life fall at my feet." He smiled and then stopped. What he had meant as a joke was only a reminder of Isabel. "Look, I’m sorry," he said. Maria shielded her eyes. "I’m wet and cold," she said. Michael rubbed the back of his neck, his rings glinted. He looked around. "Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Come on, let’s go home." Maria sat up. She splashed her fingers in the cold water. This was something amazing. Right here in the middle of the desert. "Like I’d let you drive," she said. She held out her hand, and Michael pulled her up. She grabbed the hockey stick. "Let’s play." She batted the puck away from him then stutter stepped to follow as it bounced off the side of the rock. The End

Part 4 | Index