Liz Parker stared at the simple white envelope in her hand, and, for the hundreth time that minute, wondered if she'd made the right choice.

The name on the envelope was strange to her. Adrian Smith. A simple name-- it could easily belong to anybody. Perfect for playing a life and death game of hide-and-seek. PO Box 1023. Denver, Colorado.

She sighed. Like it or not, she'd made her choice three hours ago in Kyle's apartment. There was no turning back now.

"Doesn't mean I have to like it," she muttered.

What had she been thinking? Going with a loose cannon case of walking, talking schizophrenia. "That's a bit harsh," she scolded herself. "He's just paranoid."

Sure. No problem there.

Max would have been a MUCH better choice. He was calm, level-headed, a natural-born leader. He would have been able to handle the situation quickly and efficiently, and Maria would have walked out of that hospital room, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, five minutes after he walked in. It was just that simple.

Then, maybe, Liz could have spent some QUALITY time with him...

She shook herself. No. She wasn't the issue here, and neither were her feelings toward Max. Maria was the one that mattered, and when she opened her eyes, there was only one being on the face of this earth the pixie-girl would want to see. And that was Michael Guerin.

Liz glared again at the letter in her hand. She hadn't put her return address on the letter-- too easily tracked that way. Kyle had told her as much. He'd even addressed the envelope for her-- because Michael would recognize his handwriting. "No need to shock him senseless before he's even read the letter," the football player told her.

Still, she wasn't happy. There were no guarantees that Michael would respond in any way to her pleas for help. He might have put Roswell as far behind him as he psychologically could, and wouldn't want to fire those particular synapses again. Perhaps he'd moved on past Maria-- that made Liz wince-- and wouldn't want to come help her.

She thought of the words she'd written. Heaven knew, she hadn't expected it to be so hard to ask such a crucial favor. It had taken over an hour to phrase it correctly. What she'd ended with had been simple, straight-forward, and she hoped it hit him right in the soul-- struck him to the core, like he had done to Maria.

"If you ever felt for her, get your ass back here and save her life. Roswell General Hospital, Room 223. You put her here-- now get her out."

No signature. He'd know it was her-- who else could it be? She hoped he sweated, fretted. And when he DID show up, if he hurt her friend again, Liz was going to personally kill him.

With a clean motion, she opened the blue swing door of the streetcorner mailbox and dropped the letter into the darkness. It was gone-- beyond her hands. She took a deep breath, turned on her heel, and wondered when it was she'd become so cold.

******

The next week was the worst Liz had ever lived through. Mrs. Deluca would rarely leave her daughter's bedside, unless Liz or Alex dragged her away. Alex-- God, if she looked as bad as he did, she was in poor shape. His face was drawn, and dark circles shadowed the area beneath his eyes. If he slept, Liz never noticed.

Tonight was her shift. She'd sent Maria's mother and Alex home to sleep. "I'll let you know if there's any change," she'd assured them. "I promise."

Change. That would have been a blessing. Any kind of change. Something to show Maria was still alive, not just a mannequin hardwired to a heart monitor and soaking up nutrients like a sponge. But the blonde girl in the hospital bed wouldn't comply- she'd stayed steady for the past week. An equilibrium that could still tilt either way.

Liz forced herself to sleep, even if it was fitful. "You're no good to Maria if you faint from exhaustion," she told herself, even as she pressed her eyelids closed, banishing another nightmare to the back of her mind and forcing herself to sleep again.

And it was during one of these meager fits of slumber that he came to her.

She was in a dark room, a place she'd visited many times before. There were no doors, no windows, and only a single lightbulb dangling from a long wire in the center of the ceiling for illumination. No furniture, no ornaments. No escape.

Liz sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, staring up at the lightbulb. "Wonder what that symbolizes?" she murmured absently.

"A spark of hope in a hopeless situation?"

She spun around, eyes wide. No one had ever joined her here before. Certainly never..."Max?" she whispered, afraid to believe.

He gifted her with his trademark half smile. "Hello, Liz. I've missed you."

******

He spoke so easily, as if six months and three thousand miles had never separated them. As if they were chatting over an Alien Blast in the Crashdown. "Are... are you real?" she murmured, uncurling and standing slowly.

Max's eyes played softly over her face. "Yes, Liz. It's me." He chuckled. "The number of times I've told Izzy off about dreamwalking, and what am I doing?" He looked around. "I'm glad I did," he said. "If you're living in a dark place like this, I want to help you."

Suddenly, Liz was an awkward teenager again-- all elbows and knees. She stuck her thumbs into her belt loops and hunched her shoulders. God, she just wanted to throw herself through the intervening space between them and wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. Kiss him and kiss him and kiss him....

"Why are you here, Max?" she asked instead, fighting down the manic impulses of her id.

His smiled faded. "Kyle...he wrote to me. I heard about Maria." His eyebrows pursed. "How is she?"

Liz felt a cold fist form in her stomach. "No change," she whispered.

"And the baby?"

She shrugged, uncomfortable talking about Maria's pregnancy when it was quite possible Maria herself didn't know. "The doctor's say its a miracle the baby's even alive, let alone as strong as it is."

Max managed a chuckle. "Michael and Maria always were tenacious. Guess it's in their genes."

Liz winced at Michael's name, and Max looked at her curiously. "Is something wrong? Liz?"

She didn't want to tell him. She didn't want to tell anyone. It was her problem. Her emotions. She raised her eyes to his. "No."

At least, that was what was SUPPOSED to come out of her mouth.

Instead, she looked up, stared him dead in the eye, and collapsed into tears.

"Liz?" He had her wrapped in his arms in a split second, and she sobbed against him, deep, racking sobs, that tore her apart over and over.

Max stroked her long, dark hair. "It's going to be all right, Liz," he whispered. "Everything's going to be all right."

"What if he doesn't show?" she moaned, sobbing. "Maria...Maria needs him! And I don't know...."

"He'll come," Max assured her.

Sniffing, she pulled back far enough to look into his eyes. "H-how do you know?" she sniffled.

Max's gentle eyes softened even more as he ran his elegant fingers through her hair. "Because I know him," he replied. "He likes to think he's a big enigma, but he's not." He smiled. "If he didn't care for Maria, he would never have gone to her dormroom that night. He would have run as far and as fast as he could, until Roswell, and the Crashdown, and blonde waitresses with pixie haircuts were just memories." His fingers moved to cup her cheek, and Liz let her eyes drift closed. "Michael Guerin might try to hide it, but when he loves, he loves deeper than almost anyone else on the face of this earth."

Her eyes opened then, and she looked deeply into his. "What about you?" she whispered.

Max said nothing for a long minute. Then, in answer, he leaned forward, and kissed her.

It was mindblowing. Even his last night here in Roswell, they had gone no further than simple kissing. They'd laid next to each other beneath the stars, side by side, wrapped in one another's arms, rarely speaking. She could still remember the touch of his lips.

But this was different. This wasn't the tender farewell kisses she remembered. This was more-- it spoke of his hunger, and loneliness, and how much he missed her. It spoke of how long he'd wanted her, to taste her like this-- not with the tender fumblings of a teenager, or a young man, but with purpose, and knowledge. She let herself melt into him.

When they broke apart, she gasped for air with him, foreheads touching, her arms wrapped around his neck, his hand twined in her hair, the other resting on the small of her back. Parts of her she hadn't allowed herself to think about for months were tingling, pulsing.

She looked into his eyes, and he smiled. "I said ALMOST everyone," he whispered.

Liz smiled back, then went for his lips again. He didn't resist. She felt his tongue slip between her lips again, and she delved into his mouth with her own.

When they came apart, she gasped out, "Max?"

"Hmm?" His lips were on her neck now.

"Why....didn't we...do like Michael...and Maria?"

He froze, and she cursed herself for breaking the mood. Pulling away from her throat, he stood straight and gazed down into her eyes. "Why?"

"I...I just wondered," she whispered.

Max closed his eyes and let his head drop forward with a sigh. "I...God, I just...."

She stroked his cheek, and he leaned into her hand. "Why, Max?" she said softly, tenderly.

His eyes opened, and he gazed at her. "Because I knew if we did, I could never leave you," he replied, insecuriy swept away. "I knew I would stay with you and let myself die over you. And I couldn't do that. Not to you, not to me, not to the others. I had to be able to leave and not look back." He trailed off, and rested his forehead against hers. "But you want to know what's ironic?"

"What?"

"When I moved into my dorm, I made sure I got a room that faces southwest."

There was silence for a long moment, then Liz laughed.

"We are a sorry pair, aren't we, Max?" she chuckled.

He smiled in return. "I guess so."

There was silence.

"You're not here now."

Max looked puzzled at her comment. "Yes I am, Liz," he told her.

She shook her head. "No, that's not what I mean." She smiled knowingly. "You're not here to be captured. You're just here to...be here."

He saw where she was going, and smiled in return. "Maybe so," he murmured. "But if we did....would I ever want to wake up again?"

"If we don't, would I?"

"Good point."

"Make love to me, Max." She almost couldn't believe she was saying it. But once the words had left her lips, Liz felt how right they were.

His eyes burned into hers, and she felt her heart begin to pound faster. "Liz, are you sure?"

"God, yes," she murmured. "Please?"

His hands came up to cup her face, and he touched her lips lightly. "Yes, Liz," he whispered hoarsely against her lips.

There was very little to be said after that.

******

When she woke several hours later, Liz felt happier than she had in months. She had his love, the memory of his hands on her, and his promise to not be a stranger in her dreams. "Not that he had been to begin with," she thought absently. She opened her eyes, and with shock that she realized she wasn't alone in the room.

A dark figure loomed over Maria's bed, gazing down at the golden girl.

Liz gave herself a second to recover from her initial jolt. When she was sure she wouldn't squeak, she said, "You came."

Michael showed no sign of surprise at her voice. "So I did," he replied, voice hoarse.

Unfolding herself from the chair with some difficulty-- her tryst with Max might have only been in a dreamscape, but her muscles were so relaxed that she found it hard to control them-- Liz stood, and walked to Maria's bedside, across from Michael. "I wasn't sure you would," she told him.

He glanced briefly at her, then looked back to Maria's pale face. "Neither was I," he whispered.