Liz closed her eyes at the sound of Maria’s voice. From the moment she learned Michael was in town, Liz knew that it was only a matter of time before her best friend started to unravel. It had barely been two days, and his presence was already wreaking havoc on the people she loved. “What happened?”

Maria recanted her encounter with Lydia in great detail, peppering her monologue with certain expletives about the alien. Liz listened to the angry words spewing through the phone, but it was the overwhelming fear that she heard the clearest. Fear and self-loathing, actually. They always went hand in hand when it came to Maria and her feelings about Michael. After he had left her with broken promises, Maria hated the fact that she still cared - about where he was, how he was, if he was okay. Liz knew that once Maria admitted to herself that she was worried about Michael, the next inevitable step would be an all-consuming disgust at her own vulnerability.

“So, what do you think?”

“Think?” Liz asked.

“About what I should do.” Maria replied, frustrated. “I mean, what does this chick expect from me? It’s not like I can just waltz up to him and say, ‘So, what about your dreams?’ Like he’d even answer me… besides, how would I even find him? It doesn’t matter – he’s so stone cold about everything, I don’t think that he even cares about any of us anymore.”

“I don’t know about that.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

Liz bit her lip. “Well, I don’t know much. I came home last night and I found Max and Michael in our living room – staring each other down. It was really frightening – I honestly think that if I didn’t walk in at that minute, they would have beat the hell out of each other. That’s not quite the action of someone so stoic.” She paused, but there was only silence on the other end. “Anyway, Isabel is flying in this afternoon. Max’ll be leaving to get her soon. Maybe they can find out about his dreams.”

Maria sat up in shock, dropping the pen she was doodling with. “Isabel is coming? That should be interesting.”

**

“I’m going to kill him, Max. I swear, I’m going to kill him.” Isabel Evans handed her brother her carry-on case and started off towards the baggage claim.

Max laughed to himself as he darted through the crowd to catch up with her. “Isabel…”

“Don’t ‘Isabel’ me. He said a year. One year. It’s been more than a year, Max.”

“I know, Is. But maybe we should hear him out.”

The blonde began to nod violently. “Oh, I’ll hear him out. *After* I kill him. Then he can talk all he wants.”

“Is.”

“Listen, Max, you are *not* taking control of this one. I’ve been waiting a long time for this.” She took the bag from him and pulled out a bottle of water. After gulping down half of it, she recapped it and put it back in. “I’m tired, I’m grumpy, and I’m not so thrilled about draining my bank account for a last-minute flight out of Roswell. So, if I want to kill him – I get to kill him, no comment from you.”

Max rubbed his face and shook his head. He knew that when Isabel was in a mood there was no talking her out of something. And he knew that she didn’t really want to kill him. It had just been the culmination of five year’s worth of worry and fear of the unknown. He was still confused as to why he had such a violent reaction to Michael’s return, so he couldn’t fault her for having the same murderous fantasy.

“C’mon, let’s just get your stuff and go home.”

“When is he coming over?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” She turned to him, exasperated. “Well, call him. I want to see him *now.*”

“I don’t have his number.”

“Max!” Isabel yelled, grabbing his arm. “How do you know that he’ll even show up? How do you know he won’t just leave?”

“It’s Michael. He’ll come.”

**

Closing the store, Maria crossed the street to the deli. With Isabel’s arrival, they had decided it would be best to have a ‘girls’ night’ – leaving Max and Liz’s apartment to the alien reunion. Checking the dairy case, Maria picked out a few tubs of Ben and Jerry’s and grabbed a couple of containers of whip-cream. As the cashier was ringing her up, Maria noticed a familiar mop of hair over in one of the booths. Her breath caught in her throat, and the girl had to repeat the total three times before Maria realized what she was saying. She handed over the money and took the bag, head down, determined to ignore him. Before her hand even touched the door, Maria knew that would be impossible.

Turning around, she marched purposefully over to his table – the entire time afraid that she would lose her nerve. When she got to him, Maria stood there silently, her mouth slightly agape. Michael looked up at her – half confused, half anxious about what she might say. Shaking it off, Maria spoke.

“So, uh, what about your dreams?”

Michael’s eyes widened, then glanced away. “Dreams? What dreams?”

It was too late to run now. “The dreams you’ve been having. The ones where you are calling out for me,” She blurted out without thinking.

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” He refused to look at her.

Maria wanted to smack herself. ‘Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit – I knew this was a bad idea. I should have left and not said a word.’ She inhaled, and grasped her bag tighter. “Fine.” Spinning around, she took four steps and stopped short. Maria fidgeted for a moment, then walked back to the table and placed something near his hand, and turned to go.

Michael stared at the small ring that lay on the barren table. His finger traced over the top – it had been a long time since he had held that same ring in his hand. He knew what she was doing, and he knew that she had every right to. But it still hurt. He clenched it tight in his fist, and could feel her pain emanating out from it, mixing with his. It made him shudder, his eyes instinctively finding her across the store.

“I’m not going home.”

Maria laid her forehead against the glass of the door. Just one second more, and she would have been out – one step closer to being free from him. She closed her eyes against the tears of frustration. If she went back to him, she knew what she would be in for – more heartbreak, more pain, and most likely, his leaving again. It had taken years before she’d been able to get through a day without thinking of him, even more before it stopped hurting just to hear his name. Maria looked down at her finger, already feeling naked without her ring. She took a deep breath and returned to the booth, sitting across from him.

“What do you mean?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Michael still couldn’t face her. “That’s pretty much all I found out. A few leads which turned about to be nothing. Every time I thought I was on the verge of an answer, it was just a dead-end street.”

“Michael… I’m sorry.” She cocked her head, hoping that he would look up. “Why didn’t you tell anyone? You could have come home…”

“And be a failure, yet again?” He snapped, finally meeting her eyes. “Big surprise: Michael Guerin – failing at something again. I kept going because I honestly thought that I would find something – or someone – who could tell me how to get home. But I was wrong… like I always am. Michael Guerin – terminal fuck-up.”

Maria winced at his words. “That’s not true, Michael. No one thinks that.”

“Max does,” he scoffed. “You do.”

Maria shook her head. “Max doesn’t think that. As for me…” She smiled. “I just think that you are… blind. You choose not to see what you have. And maybe now you’ve realized that you’re the one who put the blinders on. I think you’ve been searching all this time for something that’s always been in front of you.”

Michael chuckled. Maria was never one to beat around the bush with him – he had missed her candor.

“Do you want to come over?” She touched his hand lightly. “Talk or something… somewhere a little more private?”

“I… can’t.” He replied regretfully. “Isabel’s coming, I really should go over there.”

Maria nodded. “Yeah, you should – I should get going anyway.” Sliding out of the booth, she picked her bag up from the floor. “Bye, Michael.”

“Bye.”

He watched her leave, then went up to pay his check.

**

Isabel opened the door, half-hoping to find a lost pizza delivery boy. But it was him, staring back at her with vacant eyes. She looked him up and down, as if something in his demeanor would explain his absence. Michael stood in front of her, obviously worn down by the years he’d spent on his own. Instead of his trademark defiant stance, he was slightly hunched over, almost like a propped-up rag doll. Everything about him was off – even his jacket seemed to swallow him up.

The anger was still there, though – Isabel could feel it coursing through her blood. Not quite as ferocious as Max had been the night before, but five years of imagining the most horrific fates had taken its toll. The stress and anxiety that had built up did not fade so quickly with a simple reunion.

She raised her hand and slapped him hard across his face. His head slammed to the side from the force and he didn’t make an effort to move it back. The look of pain that he wore wasn’t from physical discomfort, but rather from the complete and total understanding of all the heartache he’d caused her.

“Oh, Michael,” Isabel cried, throwing her arms around his neck. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Michael remained stiff in her embrace, not quite feeling that he deserved such affection. The slap came as little surprise, and he wished that she would have stopped there. He didn’t feel comfortable like this – with her being so open and uninhibited. Michael almost wished that she’d yell at him, like Max had. Or been snippy and cold, as Maria was initially. Isabel breathed in sharply, and he could tell that she was on the verge of tears. Because of him. Guilt tensed his body even more, pushing him away from her warmth.