“Insolent boy.” Javid said, his voice cold just like his personality.

Tristan began to back away from him, but was stopped and unwillingly pulled closer. It was as if Javid held a magnet, and he was just a piece of scrap metal.

“You can feel it. It is growing inside you.” Javid said, slowly circling around him.

“What?”

“Your destiny. The power it brings. You won’t be able to hold it down for long.”

“Then I will just have to leave again.” Tristan said, trying to follow his movements.

Javid stopped directly in front of him. “If you don’t do it, someone else will. They will die. Whether by your hands or another’s. That I can promise.”

Javid stood there for a moment, observing his study, then turned and walked off, yet again leaving his young charge alone to deal with his destiny.

***************************************************************

Liz gasped when she found Tristan sitting alone at a booth in the Crashdown. She had just returned from Max’s, and yet again he had come in, through a locked door, undetected. He stood up when he saw her, but didn’t try to approach.

“Tristan, what are you doing here? We’re closed. I thought you had-”

In a quiet, but serious voice, he cut her off. “They are going to die.”

“What?” she said, slowly walking towards him.

“Max, Michael, Isabel, they are all going to die.”

“Are you going to kill them?” she asked through the lump in her throat.

He just stared at her, as if he couldn’t comprehend what she was saying. He looked away towards the counter, then looked back at her. “No.” he said in a clear, strong voice. “I am not going to kill them.”

At that moment Liz could have hugged him, but she restrained herself. Then she noticed it, a small cut running along his right eyebrow. “What happened?” she said, reaching out to touch his forehead. He let her gently run her hand over his brow. “He hit me.” Tristan said so softly she almost couldn’t hear him.

“Who hit you?” she asked as she lead him over to the counter.

“He did.”

“Javid?”

Tristan nodded slightly.

“Why did he do that?”

He didn’t answer.

“Let me clean that before it gets infected.” she said, grabbing the first aid kit they kept behind the counter. She stood next to him and carefully began to clean his cut. “This may sting.” she said as she wiped anapestic over it. He didn’t flinch. She quickly finished bandaging the cut, and sat down next to him.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she asked gently.

He shook his head no.

She looked down at her hands, “What can I do, Tristan? How can I help you?”

“Just this.” he said, his voice hoarse. He took her hand in his own, and gave her a soft smile. “This is how you can help me.”

Liz felt a shiver go through her body as he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. “Do you want something to drink?” she squeaked out, “Or maybe you’re hungry? How about some space fries?” She quickly stood up and began to walk towards the kitchen but wasn’t able to escape his grasp. In his attempt to make her stay, he grabbed her waist, inadvertently finding her most ticklish spot. A loud burst of laughter exploded from her as she squirmed to escape his hold.

“Is someone ticklish?” he asked devilishly as he continued his attack on her sides.

“Stop, Tristan, Tristan.” she shrieked, as the tears of laughter began rolling down her cheeks.

He suddenly stopped, holding up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay.” he said, breathlessly. “No more. Truce.” He held out his hand for her to shake. She cautiously took it, wary of what he might do next. She didn’t trust that smile of his. But, to her surprise, he gentlemanly shook her hand, and gave her a rare and stunning genuine smile. It was a window of opportunity she couldn’t resist. Before he knew it, he was the only being tickled within an inch of his life. After a while, they both sat, panting, on the floor of the Crashdown.

“Come take a drive with me.” he said, getting up and playfully grabbing her hand.

“Uh, Tristan, one problem. You don’t have a car.”

“That’s what you think.” he said as he as he continued to tow her out the Crashdown and toward the street. He didn't let go of her hand until they reached a black 2-door BMW.

“Where did you get this?” she practically shouted at him.

“Um, it fell off the back of a showroom floor?” he gave her a small shrug.

“Did you steal this?”

“Steal is not the word I’m really going for here. Maybe borrow, assume responsibility for?”

“In other words you stole it.”

“Aww, come on. He was a preppy jerk who totally didn’t deserve it. He didn’t treat her right.” he said walking to the front of the car, “He didn’t love you like I do, did he Molly?” he continued in a baby voice as he petted the cars hood.

Liz couldn’t help but laugh. Men and their machines.

“Come on,” he whined, “just a short ride. A little one. Not even a ride, a ridelet.” She pursed her lips together, hoping to give off a ‘I don’t approve of this’ vibe, but he wouldn’t have it.

“Good, it’s settled.” he said opening the passenger door and guiding her in.

“But what if we get pulled over?” she protested as he slid into the driver’s seat.

He turned to her and raised one eyebrow, “Then I shall just have to use my Amazing Creskin powers.” he said in a bad Eastern European accent.

She tried to hide the smile on her face, but failed miserably. And with that, they were off into the Roswell night.

*************************************************************

They drove in comfortable silence. As the dark scenery whizzed past the window, Liz took a moment to think about the man who sat next to her.

He was so different from Max, different in almost every way. Yet, when she looked at him, she could feel the same flutter in her stomach as when she looked at Max. No! She thought to herself. You are with Max. You don’t even know Tristan all that well. Aside from the fact that he is an alien, and that his destiny is to kill, you know virtually nothing about him. He’s a stranger, people can’t fall in love with strangers. But wasn’t that exactly what Max had been before that fateful day at the Crashdown? Just another stranger?

“Can I ask you something?” she asked, breaking the silence.

“Go for it.” he said, glancing at her.

“What is your favorite ice cream flavor?”

“What?” he said turning to stare at her as if she had just asked to jump out the window.

“During sophomore year we had to pair up and ask our partners all these questions. I had Isabel, who’s favorite flavor is Double Fudge Chocolate Brownie by the way, and Maria had Michael, and...” she babbled nervously, suddenly embarrassed that she had even asked.

“Mint chocolate chip, it’s mint chocolate chip.” he said, cutting her off.

“Oh. That’s a good one.”

“What’s yours?”

“Vanilla.”

“Vanilla? Out of dozens of flavors your favorite is vanilla?” he said astounded.

Liz laughed. “You sound like Isabel.”

“Why?”

“That was what she said when I told her.”

There was a slight awkward pause.

“So,” he said slowly, “who was Max paired with?”

“What?” she asked, taken off guard by his question.

“You were with Isabel, Mike and Maria were a pair, who was Max with?”

“He, Max was paired with Kyle. Kyle Valenti. Do you know him?”

“The sheriff’s son? Yeah, we used to play little league together. Good arm, but he would cry when he struck out.”

“That’s Kyle.”

“Didn’t you used to date him?” he asked casually, not even looking at her.

“How did you know that?” she said incredulously. Had he gotten that from her when they connected?

He looked at her, and if reading her mind said, “Don’t worry, I didn’t steal that from your mind or anything. Michael told me.”

“Oh.” she breathed an unconscious sigh of relief.

“I did see other things though.” he said quietly.

“What other things?” What exactly had he seen?

“Maria, a cabin, a white horse,” he paused, “Max.”

She didn’t know what to say. She knew that Max had seen things from her when they had connected, but somehow she hadn’t expected that to happen with anyone else.

“I only saw the accident.”

He quickly stole a glance at her. “That’s all I wanted you to see.”

“What else could I have seen?” there was a slight tremble in her voice. Whether it was from excitement or fear she wasn’t sure.

He slowly turned to look at her and Liz saw a glimpse of what had terrified her so much before flash through his eyes. Without warning he pulled the car off the road, and came to a stop. Liz could see him staring at her, his eyes acted like two beacons in the darkness.

“Liz.” he stopped for moment, and began again, “You don’t need to see anything else.”

“Why do you hide yourself?” she asked quietly.

He wanted to turn away from her, but he couldn’t. So he closed his eyes and tried to pretend she wasn’t sitting right next to him. His eyes flew open when he felt her soft touch on his arm.

“I’m sorry.” she said, “It wasn’t fair of me to ask.”

He forced his eyes closed again. Her soft, warm touch was almost too much. He wanted to collapse in her arms and tell her everything. Every pain, sadness, joy, everything. But instead he did what came most naturally. He lashed out in anger.

“You should be sorry. It is none of your business.” his voice was dripping with venom.

She recoiled in shock and hurt.

“I’m not Max.” he continued, growing colder with every word. “This isn’t some sort of fairy tale love story where everyone lives happily ever after. When we connect you don’t get to see into my soul.”

“I don’t think I would want to see into your soul, Tristan. Because all that is there is anger and hate. That isn’t something I need to see.”

He stared at her, his eyes wide in disbelief and she immediately regretted her harsh words.

“I think you should take me back.” she said starting to rebuckle her seatbelt. But he grabbed it, stopping her. He slowly took her face in his hands, forcing her too look into his eyes. It was all to reminiscent of a time years ago when Max had done the same.

“Do you really want to see my soul?” he said, tickling her lips with his warm breath.

Liz closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the feel of him. “Yes.” she whispered.

The connection was more instantaneous. No deep breathing, or clearing of the mind, just them.

It was night, but the stars and the moon lit up the sky. She was laying on a hard, yet not uncomfortable floor, looking up towards the dark sky which was slightly obstructed by a number of badly put together wooden planks. She felt safe, and very much at home. A cool breeze blew over her, but she was shielded from it by a warm flannel shirt.

“I can’t believe it’s finally done.” an eleven year old Max said. He was laying beside her, his hands crossed behind his head.

“Yeah, and it only took 3 months, twenty-six dollars, and two trips to the emergency room.” Michael said sarcastically from the other side.

“My thumb still hurts.” Tristan said, holding his hand up, carefully moving the injured digit around.

“You deserve it.” Michael said, “I told you not to try to pound that nail in with one hit.”

“They did it in Karate Kid.”

“You aren’t in Karate Kid.”

“That’s what you think.” he said, karate chopping Michael on the stomach with a loud “Hi ya!”

“You moron!” Michael shouted. The two boys began to playfully tussle around the floor of the treehouse.

“Hey, come on, stop it.” Max said, sounding the voice of reason. “You’re gonna make this thing fall down.”

“It won’t fall down.” Michael said, fixing his now ruffled hair.

“Yeah Maxwell,” Tristan chimed in, “this treehouse will stand forever.” Liz could feel the happiness and pride coursing through her like a powerful drug.

“Forever?” Max asked, “You think so?”

“I know so.” Tristan said, smiling at his friend. “Hell, we built it with our own hands, why wouldn’t it last forever?”

Max returned his smile then with lightning quickness grabbed Tristan’s pillow from behind his head and hit him with it. Boyish giggles and feathers filled the small treehouse.

The memory faded into another. This time, it was more familiar. She realized it was theseventh grade Valentine’s Day dance. The sound of loud 90’s pop music blasted in her ears and she could taste the fruit punch on her tongue. When she looked around the gym she could see Stephen Damascus, the jerk who turned her down, standing in the corner with a few other boys, and near a table she saw Isabel talking to a pack of girls. Behind them sat Max, wearing a suit and tie, looking a bit bored. The breath went out of her when she saw who was sitting next to him. His blond hair was slightly spiked, and his navy blue blazer made his eyes look darker than normal. He looked up, and catching her staring at him, smiled. He then leaned over to say something to Max, who looked towards her, then quickly back down at the table. Embarrassed, she walked over to the snack table and tried to busy herself by picking out the best cracker on the platter.

“Call me the master of the obvious, but you’re not dancing.”

It was a voice she didn’t recognize. She turned to find the blond boy, Max’s friend, standing behind her, a shy, slightly mischievous smile on his face.

“No, I’m not.”

“Why?”

She looked around the gym, then back at him. “No one has asked me.”

The smile left his face, and his eyes burned into hers. “That, I can remedy.”

With that he lead her onto the dance floor, putting his hands on her hips in the usual middle school dancing position. She can feel sixty pairs of eyes on her, watching her dance with this boy they don’t know. But he doesn’t seem to notice them, he only notices her. She vaguely wonders who this boy is, and as if reading her mind, he leans in and whispers, “My name is Tristan.”

“I’m Liz. Liz Parker.” she whispers back.

“I know,” he says, letting the smile return to his face, “Max told me.”

“You don’t go here do you?”

“No, I go to St.Francis.”

“Are you an altar boy?” she asked playfully.

“Actually, I am. And a damn good one.” he says with a grin.

His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He was just tall enough for her head to rest comfortably on his shoulder, but she was too shy to do something that bold. The song ended and they stopped swaying. He looked into her eyes and said softly, “Thank you for the dance, Liz Parker.” He then walked away.

Then, it was over and Liz was back in the car, just inches away from the boy she had danced with so many years before.

“I thought you didn’t remember.”

“You jogged my memory.”

For a long moment they gazed into each other eyes, relishing the feelings that surrounded them. Before she knew what was happening, his mouth slowly slide towards hers, and with a last breath they finally joined. Tristan slowly caressed his lips with hers and she moaned as his tongue slipped into her mouth and he moved his hands to her waist. His mouth was sweet and warm, it felt like home. She glided her tongue over his, delighting in the feel of him shudder against her. “We can’t.” she said breathlessly, as they broke apart.

“Max.” he said, his voice heavy.

“I love him.” she tried to explain.

“So you keep saying.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asked angrily.

“This could never have worked out anyway.” he said, looking up to the stars.

“Why?” she couldn’t help asking.

“Why? Because I’m an alien killer running from, God, I don’t even know what. And you’re a nice girl from Roswell, New Mexico who gets good grades and works at her parent’s diner.”

She stared at him for a moment. “You know you don’t have to keep on running.” He turned to look at her, but didn’t say anything.

“Now that they know the truth, they can help you. Me, Max, Michael, Isabel, Maria, Alex, all of them. We want to help you.”

“Help me? Help me? Exactly how do you plan on helping me?”

“I don’t know. But if you give us a chance and just don’t run again..” she paused, taking in the expression on his face. His jaw was tightly set, and his eyes stared at the steering wheel. Her voice became quiet, “I’ll help you if you let me.”

“Can I really be helped? I’m a killer. Plain and simple killer.”

“You’re not a killer.” Liz said emphatically.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

“I mean, yes, obviously, you killed someone and technically that does make you a killer..”

He cut her off, “I’ve killed before not on accident, not to protect someone I love, but because I wanted to.”

“Killing someone does not make you a killer. Did you enjoy it? Do you want to do it again.” When he gave a silent “no” she concluded in a quiet voice, “Then you aren’t a killer.”

“Liz, there is a place inside of me,” he stopped, willing the words to come, “there is a part of me that is ruthless, and cruel, and unfeeling. I can’t deny this. It’s there, it always will be.”

“People can change.”

“Yeah, people can. But what’s inside them can’t.”

She let that sink in then continued. “And it wasn’t your fault. Like you said, it was something inside, something you couldn’t control.”

“That’s a pretty lame excuse considering someone’s dead.” he said quietly. Liz hadn’t realized how much the truth of his actions weighed on his shoulders. He saw himself as a truly evil person, as someone who had done something that could never be excused, something he could never repent for.

“Tristan,” he wouldn’t look at her, “Tristan, look at me.” she gently turned his face towards hers. “It was their destiny. The destiny they made up for you, not your destiny. You can change it. I can help you, Max can help you, but we can’t do it all. You have to give us something to work with.”

He began to protest, “I don’t know if-”

She sharply cut him off, “Damn it, Tristan! Life is hard. For everyone, not just those with specific destinies. Yeah, you made mistakes in the past, but it is time to get over them and get on with your life. Stop running and deal.”

He stared at her, shocked by her sudden outburst. He looked down at his hands, which were he had folded neatly in his lap. “Would you really help me?” he asked quietly.