Liz jumped, just a little, when the knock on the door nearly caused her to upend her bowl on the living room carpet. Her first thought, after she paused the video, was that she needed to find some pants.

She slid toward the foyer, settling on the ratty old robe she had draped over the chair in the bathroom, and paused in front of the door.

"Hello?"

When she finally stopped, she realized she was breathing hard, and not just from running around. It was eerie, at that time of the night, having unexpected visitors.

"Liz. Open the door."

She wrinkled her forehead, but slid the lock open, mystified.

"Michael" she greeted him dazedly.

"Hey" he muttered briefly, which was really no surprise. Liz had conjured that, just as Eskimos had, like, a dozen ways to say "snow," a "hey" from Michael could mean lots of things.

She bit her lip and bobbed her head, trying not to appear impolite. Michael. Standing in front of her. It unerved her a bit, and she could definetely think of about sixty different places she'd rather be just then.

"Is something wrong?" she asked, innocently, flushing as she realized she hovered at the precipice of babbling, and she was about to fall over... oh, God, there she went. "It's just that... you know, Maria's not here tonight; she's visiting her aunt in Santa Fe, and it's sort of late, so I was just wondering..."

She looked up, finally, eyes wide, and cringed when she discovered he was looking at her dazedly, not listening in the least, those inscutiable eyes of his fixed on her in a way that made her extremely uncomfortable.

"Do you do this often?" he inquired. "I mean, talking really fast? Maria said you were a good listener. Funny."

Liz reddened, and planted her feet in the mat, meeting his amused expression.

"I'm a listener" she said, finally. "I listen. So tell me what you want, Michael, 'cause I'm not going to stand here all night playing head games with you. Take another road trip."

He raised his eyebrows, but leaned against the doorway.

"You're in danger" he announced, finally.

She was speechless, for a minute, not fully comprehending what he was saying, and in turn aghast, when she realized he hadn't moved one iota, watching for her response.

"That's not funny" she told him.

He shrugged.

"I'm not laughing" he said, quite truthfully. "Topolsky's back in town. And word is that they're coming to have a friendly little rummage through the Parker residence tonight."

She froze.

"Why didn't I know about this?" she asked, her voice dangerously muted. "And why do you?"

"I think" he said, calmly. "That you not knowing about it is ninety-nine percent intentional. And it's vacation time. No one's watching, but I hear things here and there."

"You have your head stuck in the ground" she hissed, angrily. "I guess it pays off every now and then."

He deliberately didn't give her the pleasure of provoking him, but he *glared* for a second, and raised his hands laconically, stepping back.

"No big deal" he assured her. "No skin off my back... just thought you'd like to know."

He turned his back, and, squaring his sinewy shoulders beneath his battered leather jacket, stuffed his fists in his pockets, and prepared to disappear into the cool night.

"Wait!" she called, and before he could even mildly turn to taunt her with his insults, she had torn down the path, catching up with him as her long dark hair flew out behind her.

"Mmm?" he quiered, looking down airily at where she had grabbed his arm. Embarassed, she threw it down, and smoothed her robe.

"Are you leaving?" she asked, possibly coming off as slightly desperate. Or terrified. "You're just gonna... leave me here?"

"Hey" he replied coolly. "I'm just doing my civic duty, seeing as Max and his family are off on vacation through New Year's."

That one stung, and he knew it, even as he smoothly surveyed the damage that last remark had caused her pride. Ooh... hit and a *base hit* for Space Boy. He knew as well as she that the only reason they ever spoke, which was rarely, was because of their common acquantance with the darkly gorgeous Max Evans, and the callous reinteration of that point would undoubtedly make her squirm.

"I can't stay here" she spoke up, at last, her voice sounding high and lonely and... sympathetic. "I have nowhere to go."

It was obviously a plea, even though she'd rather risk bodily harm than ask him, but even as he considered her, annoying and whiny as she was, he visibly thawed, just a bit, and casually did what he's meant to do all along.

"Well" he mumbled, reluctantly. "I guess you could stay with me. Maybe."

He looked over, and the open reservation on her face was -almost- stinging.

"Hey, I totally understand" he snorted. "That Topolsky and her henchmen are totally more attractive than the prospect of my company, but..."

She was afraid he'd walk away again.

"...If it consoles you at all, the feeling's mutual." He shuffled his feet. "And if you don't breathe a word of this to Maria, Max doesn't need to know, either."

"Of course" she responded.

"Yeah."

There was an awkward silence, and the beginnings of what could have been resigned acceptance from either side, when the sound of a car in the driveway to their left froze them both.

"Son of a..." Michael cursed violently. "That's her."

"What am I going to do?" Liz panicked. "Michael, all my stuff's in there! The photo albums... my parent's money! Oh God, the TV's still on! No! She can't..."

She turned on her bare heels and went running back, but she didn't get very far before strong arms, stronger than her, grabbed her around the waist and over the mouth, and bodily dragged her, kicking, around the side of the house.

Breathing hard, he pulled her limp form down, and she collapsed in the dark. His breath was very close to her ear, and his voice was a dead serious command that was almost as scary to Liz as the troops silently infiltrating her home.

"Listen to me" he ordered her, and when he realized she was trembling, he shook her shoulders. Hard. "Now." Her head fell back against the cold stone of the outside wall, and his eyes, glowing like a cat's in the unlit blackness, locked on hers. "We need to get out of here. Right away." He paused to exhale, and she realized, in a cold sweat, that she he wasn't shaking at all. His voice was a steely monotone, and his hands gripping her shoulders were determined. Poised to spring, and taut with adrenaline. "Can you run for your life?"

"Those are my things, Michael" she whispered, weakly. "I know you don't put much into possesions, but my pictures, and..."

"They don't want your stuff" he murmured. "They want you."

"They'll catch us."

"No" he said. "They won't."