Author: Katydidit
Email: [email protected]
Rating: PG, for a bit of language and implied violence.
Genre:Drama/Angst
Category: AU. Pre-shooting. Just a tad Polar, but absolutely nothing that would cause an uprising of Dreamer/Candy Fans.
Disclaimer: They're mine! All mine! *demented laughter* Ooor not. They're Jason Katims and Co.'s. Evil demons. They should be vanquished. *blissful grin* Ahhh, if only.. *cough* Move along, folks. No evil plotting to see here. *g*
Summary: A short AU fic. Thirteen-year-old Michael is out one night, trying to escape Hank's fury for a while, when he stumbles across someone he hadn't expected to see and realizes that things aren't always what they seem.
Spoilers: Guys, the show's over. If you haven't seen an ep, you're not gonna. Lol. I don't think there's any, though.
A/N: I suck some major butt at angst and I freely admit it, so try not to throw the really rotten tomatoes at me, okay? *nervous laughter, slowly backs away*
BTW: RIP Earl Hindman. Hidey ho, neighbour. *sniffle*
Things Aren't Always What They Seem
Thirteen-year-old Michael Guerin quietly climbed out the small window in the side of his trailer, careful not to wake the bum next door from his booze-induced slumber. He didn't know where he thought he was going, really. Max and Isabel were visiting relatives in Albuquerque for the weekend, and even though Max had promised to leave his window unlocked 'just in case', Michael didn't think he'd be able to stand the empty house. Somehow, it was worse than the cramped trailer he'd just escaped from. It only reminded him that, as much as the Evanses tried to make it seem otherwise, he wasn't a part of their family. Would never be. His eyes stung, and he cursed the tears that he knew were building up behind them. Men didn't cry. Men were strong; stone walls. He kicked viciously at a rock on the sidewalk, sending it flying into the distance, and looked up. He'd been walking for a while, too busy raging to notice where he was going. *Great job, dumbass,* he berated himself. *While you were busy whining, some alien hunter could have dragged you off to some lab.* Not that anyone would notice. The only thing that Hank would miss would be the monthly check. Max and Isabel might, but only until their perfect grandparents showed up to shower their perfect grandchildren with some more praise. He punched a tree trunk, noting with little satisfaction the splinters of bark that fell to the ground, and flung himself down to join them, burying his face in his knees.
Presently, the little hairs on the back of his neck yanked themselves to attention. Someone was watching him. Warily, he raised his head and peered into the darkness.
"Who's there?" he rasped. A slight figure stepped into the circle of light at the base of a streetlamp. Her glossy dark hair, normally so neat, was tangled, and her eyes were bloodshot and teary. He took no notice of them, too wrapped up in his own load of crap to be worried about hers.
"What are you doing here, Perfect Parker?" he asked, making the nickname from the school hallways sound as bitter as he felt. She just studied him for a while. Eventually, he became self-conscious and leapt to his feet. "What are you looking at?" he asked threateningly. She dropped her eyes and shrugged uneasily, brushing a long strand of hair behind her ear. "Why are you out here? Shouldn't you be in bed?" She still didn't answer, and he sighed in disgust. If she wasn't going to talk, why the hell should he stand around and yap *to* her? He turned to leave, but the sheer misery emanating off of her made him stop and turn back to her. "Liz, what's wrong?"
Her eyes raised to his, perhaps surprised at his easy use of her name. She swallowed hard and rubbed absently at her upper arm. Her first attempt at speech was little more than a croak, so she cleared her throat and tried again.
"We got in a fight."
This was news. Perfect Parker, everyone's best friend-in a fight?
"Who?"
"My-my parents and I."
"No way. Elizabeth Parker and her *parents*, arguing? What, did they say you were spending too much time studying?" What did she know about arguing with 'parents', anyway? Not that Michael considered Hank his parent, mind you. Her eyes flashed with anger, but she dropped them almost immediately. What the hell, he figured. Maybe listening to what she thinks are *problems* will take my mind off of mine. "What about, then?"
"I-dropped a plate."
"Oh, how unforgivable," he said, sarcasm drenching his words.
"Things aren't so easy right now, you know," she said, her voice louder, accusing. "In case you haven't noticed, business at the restaurant isn't exactly booming. My parents get frustrated just like anyone else, Guerin." She was still rubbing her arm.
"So?"
"So that was the last of Mom's good china."
"What'd your parents do-hit you? Or worse-did they ground you from your advanced math textbook?" His question was sarcastic, but the sentiment was real. He *was* interested. How would *normal* parents punish their kid? Michael had a sneaking suspicion it *didn't* involve a strap or an empty beer bottle.
She looked away, adopting the same shifty manner he put on whenever the social worker came around.
"Perfect Parker's parents actually hit their precious baby?"
"Just-my dad," she said, and then hurried on. "But it was completely my fault. I mean, I was such a klutz. And I don't even know what I was doing with the plate in the first place. I should have been up in my room, doing my homework and staying out of his way. He always gets like that when he's paying the bills." She trailed off, studying the concrete again.
Michael didn't answer. He was seeing Liz Parker in a whole new light. She wasn't just some loser with nothing better to do than science homework on a Friday night-she was, in some weird way-like him. She may be human, but still..
"What happened to your arm?" he asked, his voice filled with a new emotion- care. She looked up in deep surprise, then away again, and shrugged, rolling up her sleeve. There were four angry red marks, practically glowing in the dimness. Michael snorted ruefully and rolled up his own, putting it next to hers. Her eyes widened when she saw Hank's ugly handprint. Or maybe it was the scars from the broken glass that had gotten to her. She looked up, and into his eyes. He wanted to memorize that moment-the warmth spreading through his body from where their bare skin was touching, the way her eyes burned through his knowingly, everything..
"We match," he said quietly. She blinked, and the moment was gone. He jerked away, rolling his sleeve back down. She looked down.
"I-should get home. We've got that quiz next week. Dad'll-he'll be mad if I don't pass it." She cleared her throat again and brushed an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. "See you in school." She didn't even look at him again as she disappeared back into the night from which she had come, leaving him alone in the dark, trying to deal with the new knowledge he now possessed.
So maybe things weren't always what they seemed.
Email: [email protected]
Rating: PG, for a bit of language and implied violence.
Genre:Drama/Angst
Category: AU. Pre-shooting. Just a tad Polar, but absolutely nothing that would cause an uprising of Dreamer/Candy Fans.
Disclaimer: They're mine! All mine! *demented laughter* Ooor not. They're Jason Katims and Co.'s. Evil demons. They should be vanquished. *blissful grin* Ahhh, if only.. *cough* Move along, folks. No evil plotting to see here. *g*
Summary: A short AU fic. Thirteen-year-old Michael is out one night, trying to escape Hank's fury for a while, when he stumbles across someone he hadn't expected to see and realizes that things aren't always what they seem.
Spoilers: Guys, the show's over. If you haven't seen an ep, you're not gonna. Lol. I don't think there's any, though.
A/N: I suck some major butt at angst and I freely admit it, so try not to throw the really rotten tomatoes at me, okay? *nervous laughter, slowly backs away*
BTW: RIP Earl Hindman. Hidey ho, neighbour. *sniffle*
Things Aren't Always What They Seem
Thirteen-year-old Michael Guerin quietly climbed out the small window in the side of his trailer, careful not to wake the bum next door from his booze-induced slumber. He didn't know where he thought he was going, really. Max and Isabel were visiting relatives in Albuquerque for the weekend, and even though Max had promised to leave his window unlocked 'just in case', Michael didn't think he'd be able to stand the empty house. Somehow, it was worse than the cramped trailer he'd just escaped from. It only reminded him that, as much as the Evanses tried to make it seem otherwise, he wasn't a part of their family. Would never be. His eyes stung, and he cursed the tears that he knew were building up behind them. Men didn't cry. Men were strong; stone walls. He kicked viciously at a rock on the sidewalk, sending it flying into the distance, and looked up. He'd been walking for a while, too busy raging to notice where he was going. *Great job, dumbass,* he berated himself. *While you were busy whining, some alien hunter could have dragged you off to some lab.* Not that anyone would notice. The only thing that Hank would miss would be the monthly check. Max and Isabel might, but only until their perfect grandparents showed up to shower their perfect grandchildren with some more praise. He punched a tree trunk, noting with little satisfaction the splinters of bark that fell to the ground, and flung himself down to join them, burying his face in his knees.
Presently, the little hairs on the back of his neck yanked themselves to attention. Someone was watching him. Warily, he raised his head and peered into the darkness.
"Who's there?" he rasped. A slight figure stepped into the circle of light at the base of a streetlamp. Her glossy dark hair, normally so neat, was tangled, and her eyes were bloodshot and teary. He took no notice of them, too wrapped up in his own load of crap to be worried about hers.
"What are you doing here, Perfect Parker?" he asked, making the nickname from the school hallways sound as bitter as he felt. She just studied him for a while. Eventually, he became self-conscious and leapt to his feet. "What are you looking at?" he asked threateningly. She dropped her eyes and shrugged uneasily, brushing a long strand of hair behind her ear. "Why are you out here? Shouldn't you be in bed?" She still didn't answer, and he sighed in disgust. If she wasn't going to talk, why the hell should he stand around and yap *to* her? He turned to leave, but the sheer misery emanating off of her made him stop and turn back to her. "Liz, what's wrong?"
Her eyes raised to his, perhaps surprised at his easy use of her name. She swallowed hard and rubbed absently at her upper arm. Her first attempt at speech was little more than a croak, so she cleared her throat and tried again.
"We got in a fight."
This was news. Perfect Parker, everyone's best friend-in a fight?
"Who?"
"My-my parents and I."
"No way. Elizabeth Parker and her *parents*, arguing? What, did they say you were spending too much time studying?" What did she know about arguing with 'parents', anyway? Not that Michael considered Hank his parent, mind you. Her eyes flashed with anger, but she dropped them almost immediately. What the hell, he figured. Maybe listening to what she thinks are *problems* will take my mind off of mine. "What about, then?"
"I-dropped a plate."
"Oh, how unforgivable," he said, sarcasm drenching his words.
"Things aren't so easy right now, you know," she said, her voice louder, accusing. "In case you haven't noticed, business at the restaurant isn't exactly booming. My parents get frustrated just like anyone else, Guerin." She was still rubbing her arm.
"So?"
"So that was the last of Mom's good china."
"What'd your parents do-hit you? Or worse-did they ground you from your advanced math textbook?" His question was sarcastic, but the sentiment was real. He *was* interested. How would *normal* parents punish their kid? Michael had a sneaking suspicion it *didn't* involve a strap or an empty beer bottle.
She looked away, adopting the same shifty manner he put on whenever the social worker came around.
"Perfect Parker's parents actually hit their precious baby?"
"Just-my dad," she said, and then hurried on. "But it was completely my fault. I mean, I was such a klutz. And I don't even know what I was doing with the plate in the first place. I should have been up in my room, doing my homework and staying out of his way. He always gets like that when he's paying the bills." She trailed off, studying the concrete again.
Michael didn't answer. He was seeing Liz Parker in a whole new light. She wasn't just some loser with nothing better to do than science homework on a Friday night-she was, in some weird way-like him. She may be human, but still..
"What happened to your arm?" he asked, his voice filled with a new emotion- care. She looked up in deep surprise, then away again, and shrugged, rolling up her sleeve. There were four angry red marks, practically glowing in the dimness. Michael snorted ruefully and rolled up his own, putting it next to hers. Her eyes widened when she saw Hank's ugly handprint. Or maybe it was the scars from the broken glass that had gotten to her. She looked up, and into his eyes. He wanted to memorize that moment-the warmth spreading through his body from where their bare skin was touching, the way her eyes burned through his knowingly, everything..
"We match," he said quietly. She blinked, and the moment was gone. He jerked away, rolling his sleeve back down. She looked down.
"I-should get home. We've got that quiz next week. Dad'll-he'll be mad if I don't pass it." She cleared her throat again and brushed an imaginary strand of hair behind her ear. "See you in school." She didn't even look at him again as she disappeared back into the night from which she had come, leaving him alone in the dark, trying to deal with the new knowledge he now possessed.
So maybe things weren't always what they seemed.