Author: Katydidit aka PolarEmeralds aka Kat

Email:

Rating: PG, for a bit of language and violence.

Genre:Drama/Angst

Category: AU. Pre-shooting. Full-blown polar.

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 not-so-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.

The next day, Michael awoke slowly, a strange feeling in his gut. With a quick glance towards Max, he jumped up and headed into the living room, where Liz was curled up on the couch. He stood there for a few moments-making sure she was okay. Once he was fully convinced that no harm had come to her during the night, he breathed a sigh of relief and started to step away. It was early; everyone else was asleep—might as well let her rest for a few more hours. But just as he did, he saw her eyes shoot open, and her entire body tensed. She looked wildly around the room, but stopped when she saw Michael. Liz relaxed a little and sat up.

"What are you doing in here?" She asked, rubbing her eyes.

"I was…checking on you," he said, realizing how lame he sounded. "I mean, I thought I heard something."

She nodded. "I did too-but it must have just been you."

"You should go back to sleep-it's still early. You can probably get a few more hours of sleep in before you have to get up."

She shook her head. "Once I'm up, I stay up. What day is it?"

"Monday," Michael said, after glancing at the calendar Max's mother had hung on the wall.

"Then you have school today, you inferior high schooler," she taunted with a grin.

"Not if I play hooky," he said. "Townie."

Liz stood indignantly. "A townie is one who stays in their town after high school. I'd like to point out that I am not technically in my town, and therefore I cannot be deemed a townie." She yawned. "And you're mean."

He snorted.

"But seriously, you should go to school. The more days you miss, the more likely you are to have to stay to get that one last credit, and the less likely you are to be able to spend the summer with me."

"What an incentive," Michael said, crossing his arms.

"That'd best not be sarcasm, boy," she teased, standing up to copy his position. He smirked and pulled her to him.

"Why would it be?" he asked innocently, placing a soft kiss on her lips. He felt her grin against his lips, but then push him away.

"I have no idea." She turned back to the couch, gathering up the blankets. "If you get ready right now, we can go out for breakfast. School starts later on Mondays, right?"

He nodded, and she snapped a sheet at him. "So go!" she exclaimed, laughing. He obeyed, returning to Max's room to pull on a pair of his jeans. Just as he was finishing, the feeling of danger returned to him, and he rushed to finish dressing so he could go back to Liz. She was standing in the middle of the room, looking around, as though searching for a pair of eyes. Michael cleared his throat—didn't want to scare her—and she jumped, spinning around.

"What's wrong?" He asked, approaching her cautiously. She shrugged.

"I…thought I felt someone watching me," she said sheepishly. "But that's crazy."

"Damn straight," Michael said, trying to convince himself as much as her. "Come on."

They went and got breakfast from some fast-food restaurant, taking it to a bench in the park. They ate in silence, with Liz glancing around nervously every few minutes.

"No one's around," Michael said, looking as well, then nudging her in the side with his elbow. "Now cut it out-you're making me just a paranoid as you are."

She beamed at him. "How do you know you haven't made me this paranoid and you're just now noticing it?"

"How would I have made you paranoid?" Michael snorted, crumpling his wrapper and belching. Liz rolled her eyes.

"Nice. Shouldn't you be getting to school now?"

"What's the hurry?" Michael asked, putting an arm around her shoulder. She laughed.

"The faster you get to school, the faster you can get back." She said in a quiet, reasonable voice.

"That's not true," he protested, but she stretched up and kissed him. He sighed deeply, squeezing her shoulder.

"Alright, alright-you've convinced me." The hair on the back of his neck rose, and he looked around suspiciously. "But you have to go right to the Evanses' and lock the doors. Do not leave for anything, and don't let anyone in, no matter what they want."

"I am making you paranoid," Liz snorted, then sobered on his stern look. "Okay. I promise."

"Good girl." He kissed her one last time, then stood and offered his hand. She took it. "Go right home," he warned.

"But may I dawdle and talk to strange wolves?" she teased. He looked at her sharply, and she held out her hands in surrender. "Okay, okay. I'll go right home and lock all the doors and windows."

"And not let anyone in," he reminded her.

"No shit, Mother," she said, obviously becoming fed up with him. "I'm not a total moron, you know."

"I know. I'll see you later. Be careful."

She rolled her eyes and headed off in the opposite direction from where he was going. For a moment, he was tempted to follow her, but that would accomplish nothing except make her mad. So, with a sigh, Michael headed off towards school.

After his last class of the day had been released, Michael nearly bolted out of the school and back to Max's house. The same feeling he'd awoken to-of danger-a threat nearby—have been plaguing him all day. He began pounding on the door, and didn't stop until it swung slowly open. Liz ducked to avoid getting punched, and then, upon seeing his face, opened the door wider.

"See, Michael?" she said smugly. "I'm fine."

He stepped inside, looking around the room carefully. "Yeah, except you let me in without looking first."

"I knew it was you," she said. He spun around, possessed by a new feeling for him—fear.

"Did you, Liz? What if you'd been wrong?" He hissed. She shrank away from this new side of him, but managed to hold her ground.

"I knew," she said levelly. He sighed and took her hand, placing gentle kisses on each of her knuckles.

"Sorry. It's—this damn feeling won't go away." Liz nodded knowingly, placing her small hand on his shoulder.

"I know," she said. "I've had it too."

He laced his fingers with his, giving her hand a squeeze. "Sorry."

"You'll be forgiven if we can go for a walk," she said craftily, tugging him towards the door. He resisted her, however, and she looked back at him.

"You shouldn't go out there," he said. "What if—"

"What if ten thousand hairy little elves fell onto Roswell with acid rain? Thinking like that will keep you in the house all your life, Michael Guerin. I've already been inside the whole day. You have three options. Either you come with me and I go, you stay here and I go, or you knock me out and…I guess I'd stay, but I wouldn't be very good company." She looked around the room and picked up a bookend, handing it to him with a smirk. "Your choice."

Michael tossed the heavy chunk of wood from hand to hand for a few moments, weighing it and his options, but then set it down. "Fine," he said reluctantly. "I'm coming."

She nodded triumphantly and resumed pulling him towards the door. "Thought I was going to go crazy, locked in the house all day," she breathed as she opened the door and leapt into the bright sunlight. She threw her head back and spread her arms wide, drinking in the sun."

"Short trip," Michael muttered, watching her. She made a face at him and took off towards the park.

He caught up with her easily and they walked through the late-afternoon sunlight. Well, Michael walked. Liz was nearly skipping. He grabbed her gently from behind and pressed her against a tree. She grinned up at him.

"You act like you were locked inside for decades instead of hours," he said, tilting her chin up to expose her lips. They curled up at the corners, in anticipation.

"It felt like decades," she murmured, twining her hands up around his neck. "I'm a creature of the sun, Mister Guerin-I simply cannot thrive on video games and artificial light."

He grinned and leaned down. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he muttered, and saw her eyes slide closed. He followed suit, but just as their lips were brushing, they were interrupted by a loud crashing in the grass behind them. Michael jerked backwards, and Liz gasped when she caught sight of the intruder.

It was a boy-he looked to be a few years younger than Liz. But his face was completely covered in bruises-and beneath that, it was deathly pale. He stumbled forward, and Liz rushed forward to catch him.

"Alan!" she exclaimed, easing him to the ground. "What happened to you?"

"I'm so sorry, Lizzie," he panted. "So sorry, so sorry…"

Michael knelt next to the two of them, trying to figure out who the boy was.

"Alan, it's okay. What are you doing here? Who did this to you?" She kept her voice low but caring, attempting to calm the boy down.

"Uncle Willie," he gasped, and immediately Michael knew who the boy was.

"She still won't do it," he heard one of Liz's other 'brothers', standing near him, whisper to another.

"Once a sinner, always a sinner," the other muttered back. "Even Uncle Willie can't save her."

He was one of her 'brothers'-he'd just stood there and watched as the disgusting man they'd called 'uncle' tortured her. Michael clenched his fists and felt the familiar red, hot glow start up. Liz glanced over at him, and, with wide eyes, she nudged him away.

"Alan, what are you talking about?" she coaxed, stroking his head. "What do you mean?"

Alan was shaking uncontrollably, and, as the two of them looked on, he visibly broke down. "You were right. The whole time you were with us, you were right. We were insane—he was insane. I'm so sorry, Lizzie," he said, clinging to her like a child would to his mother after a nightmare. "You were right. We put you through so much, and you were right."

"Shhh," Liz whispered, rocking softly. "Tell me what happened."

Alan took a deep, shuddering breath and began speaking. "After you left last week, I started thinking. I mean, I'd been thinking ever since that one night—" He broke off, and Liz nodded. "I thought, how could you be a sinner? Uncle Willie had to be wrong. You were just a little girl. I mean, you were better than I ever was. But I couldn't tell anyone—I'd seen what they'd done to you. I'm a coward, Lizzie, I'm so sorry." He started sobbing into her lap, and she stroked his head soothingly, waiting for him to recompose himself. "But then I really started thinking. Remembering. Things I haven't remembered in a long time. There was another little girl before you, Lizzie. She wouldn't listen either. But one day she disappeared. Mom and Dad said she ran away, and everyone believed them. I knew what really happened. Uncle Willie was trying to make her believe-trying to save her. But she choked on that shit they made you drink. He killed her," he whispered in fearful disbelief. "He killed her and buried her in the backyard."

Michael opened his mouth to speak, but Liz put out her free hand, asking him silently not to say anything. He laced his fingers with hers, and they waited for the trembling mess of a boy to finish his story.

"I started asking the rest of the family if they remembered her, but no one believed me. So I went out into the backyard one night and just started digging. I found her. She was so little, Lizzie—like you were. And he just killed her. I called the police, and by the next day, there were people all over the place. Everyone was asking questions, and at first no one would answer them. But then one of the brothers—remember Dennis?" Liz nodded. "He agreed with me. So all the rest of them finally told the story—what I didn't remember. There was so much, Lizzie. I can't believe I ever went along with that man."

"Don't blame yourself," Liz said soothingly, brushing his hair away from his battered face. "You were just a child."

"But so were you," he insisted. "You were only a little bit older than I was, but you resisted him with all that you had. You beat him."

"Don't think about that," she said quietly. "Who did this to your face?"

"Once the police heard our stories, they wanted to talk to Uncle Willie and Aunt Lucy. But no one could find them. Mom and Dad knew where they were, of course, but they were still standing by them. They wouldn't rat them out." He gulped. "Last night, the two of them showed up at our door. The look on Uncle Willie's face—in his eyes—was just crazy. I knew something bad was going to happen. Mom and Dad let him in, and they called the family down. Then he just went….insane. He killed them. All of them, Lizzie-and I watched. He made me watch. Then he came for me. But he didn't catch me. He's just an old man—I'm much faster. I got away, Lizzie. I had to come warn you. He told me you were next."

Michael felt Liz's grip on his hand tighten at this, and he moved closer.

"What are you talking about?" Michael demanded. He didn't give a rat's ass if the kid was on the verge of a mental breakdown—you don't say something like this and then stop talking.

"He said that Liz was the source of this whole problem. He said that if she had just been a good girl that none of this would have happened. He said that you'd spread your influence on everyone—you were evil and had to be killed."

"How did you know to come here? How does he?"

"My parents knew where you had come from—they knew your whole story. I assume. I only knew because of your nightmares." He sniffled and wiped his face, sitting up.

"My nightmares?" Liz asked, utterly confused.

"From your first few weeks. Remember? You'd wake up crying—I was only in the next room. I could hear you sometimes, talking about some place called Roswell. I remembered it, for some reason. But I had to come warn you. He's not just going to kill you, Lizzie," he said in a low, frightened voice. "He said that's too good for someone as full of the Evil Spirits as you are. He's going to do—I can't." He collapsed back into her lap. "I can't say it, Lizzie, I just can't. It's terrible. You have to disappear. Completely. He'll find you anywhere you go. He knows people. Lizzie, you can't stay here…" He hid his face in her legs, still trembling.

Liz herself looked equally freaked. While she was still holding it together for the sanity of the boy she was holding, her face was pale, making her dark eyes (made darker by fear) stand out. She looked slowly towards Michael, completely at a loss as for what she should do. He shrugged and kissed her hand. She looked down at the boy once more. He'd calmed a little, and was breathing deeply to compose himself further.

"I'm sorry, Lizzie," he said once more. She pulled him to her with her one arm for a hug, then brushed her hand across his forehead.

"It's okay, Alan. Thank you."

He nodded, rising to his feet. "I interrupted you," he said regretfully. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—I just, I thought I was leaning on a tree trunk, but I wasn't. I fell."

Realization dawned in Liz's eyes, mingled with relief. "You've been watching me all day, haven't you?"

He nodded sheepishly, looking away. "I just wanted to be totally sure it was you. Then I was, but you looked so happy—you were in a place you loved—where you were loved. I'm sorry—I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," she said with a smile, reaching up to accept the hand he offered. "Michael, this is the son of my fosterparents. He—"

"I know," Michael broke in sullenly. "So did you fill the bathtub with ice water?" He asked, stepping forward. "Or were you the one who lit the candle so he could burn her?" His voice began to get louder. "Or did you throw her, half-naked, into her fucking bedroom so she could freeze all night? Were you the one who mixed whatever the hell it was that they made her drink? Did you—" He was pulled up to his full height now, above the boy, his voice loud and threatening, with his hand curled into a fist at his side. The boy cowered away from him, and Liz pulled him away.

"Michael, stop it!" she exclaimed, stepping between the two of them, pressing nearly all her weight on Michael to keep him from leaping forward. "What are you doing?"

"He just stood there that night, watching that bastard hurt you!" Michael growled. Liz cringed from him for the second time in less than an hour, but didn't let him go.

"Not Alan, Michael. You don't know. He wasn't like them. It's okay." She stretched upwards and kissed him softly. "It's okay." She pulled away and turned back to Alan, sort of sheepishly. "This is Michael… He's not normally like this."

Alan nodded, looking at him warily. "I—have to go. I can't stay in one place too long. Get out of here, Lizzie. Goodbye…and good luck." He stepped forward to place a hasty kiss on Liz's forehead, then disappeared back into the brush, leaving the two of them as alone as they had been before. Liz turned towards Michael, a faint fire burning in her eyes.

"What'd you do that for?" she demanded. "Couldn't you see how broken he was already? Not only had his entire belief system just fallen around his feet, but the person he looked up to more than anyone else in the world had just murdered his family. His family, Michael!" she yelled. "While he watched! Then you go and threaten him! What is your problem?"

"I didn't see him doing anything to stop his so-called Uncle, Liz!" Michael roared down at her. "Unless he was a hell of a lot different in your life than in your flash, I seriously doubt that he didn't deserve it!"

"Are you yelling at me?" she asked in disbelief. "Why? Because I think it's wrong that you just scared the shit out of a little boy—because that's what he is, Michael. You weren't there at that house. They were all dependent little children. They weren't allowed to know things that I knew! You don't understand!" Liz exclaimed, sinking to the ground. "You can't understand…" she whispered, hiding her face in her hands. Michael knelt next to her again, trying to put an arm around her. She shrugged it off. He sighed, rocking backwards onto his feet.

They stayed like that for a while: Liz just trying to compose herself, Michael remaining nearby. But then, Michael heard a twig crack in the distance, and he remembered the warning Alan had brought. He dragged Liz to her feet, despite her protests.

"Get off of me! Can't you just leave me alone for one minute?" she whimpered, trying to pull away from him.

"If I leave you alone here right now, you could end up dead, or worse," he hissed. "We're going home. Now."

She looked around the trees, obviously just becoming aware of the danger. A slight tremor ran through her body, and Michael took that as consent. He took off running, and Liz kept up easily.

They got back to the Evanses' house and collapsed in the front yard. Silence reigned for a few minutes until their breathing returned to normal, then Liz brought her knees up to her chest. Michael rested his hand gently on her neck, then, when she didn't jerk away, pulled her to him.

"Things are so fucked up right now," Liz murmured tearily. He kissed the top of her head, all the while looking for anyone who might be a threat.

"It'll be fine," he reassured her.

"Not if Alan's right," she said. "It won't be fine until Uncle Willie dies. Or—"

Don't say it," Michael cut her off fiercely. "Don't think it, don't breathe it, don't anything it. That is not going to happen. No one here is going to let that happen." She sniffled in reply, and he rubbed her back. "Let's go inside."

She nodded quietly and allowed him to lead her into the house. Michael sat her on the couch and went to dig through the Evanses' cupboards. Max's mother drank tea-he knew it. He figured a hot cup of something would help calm her nerves. But just as he had found the box, he heard the front door open slowly. Shit. Had he locked it when they came in? Of course not. He dropped the tea and bolted into the living room, his fists already glowing a dangerous red.

"Watch it, Michael," Max said, holding his hands out. "I come in peace."

Michael unclenched his fist and glanced over at Liz, who was watching him in amusement. Max, meanwhile, was just looking on in confusion.

"Long story," Michael explained, running a hand through his hair—a vain attempt to calm himself. Max nodded, setting down his books.

"As I was about to say before being so rudely interrupted," Max said, looking over at Michael. "What's wrong, Liz?"

"Equally long story," she said, wrapping her arms around herself. "I'm fine, though," she added, looking up at him with a weary smile.

"Good." Max asked, flopping down into a chair and leafing through a textbook. "Hey, did you guys hear about the murderer?" Michael and Liz shared a Look.

"W-what murderer?" Liz asked warily, tearing her eyes away from Michael.

"It was on the radio this morning-this crazy guy over in Clovis killed an entire family, and the police haven't caught him yet. They heard from an anonymous tipster that he was probably coming this way—" Liz's breath caught in her throat, halting Max's words. "Are you sure you're okay?"

She nodded. "Where are your parents?" Liz managed shakily.

"Dad has a big case in Fort Sumner," he said, looking at her in concern. "Mom went with him. Why?"

Liz sat up straighter, trying to pull herself together. "No reason," she said, forcing a smile. "So you have homework?"

Max looked down at his text. "Yeah," he said in disgust.

"I remember those days," Liz said, with an air of superiority. "You poor creature."

Max made a face at Liz, and she stuck her tongue out at him. Michael rolled his eyes at the two of them and sat on the couch next to Liz. A few minutes later, the door slowly opened, and Michael leapt to his feet. Liz grabbed his hand before he could blast the intruder, thankfully. Isabel peered around the door, looking at Michael in confusion.

"What'd I do now?" she questioned, holding her hands out as she crept across the living room.

"Michael's just being a little paranoid," Liz said, pulling him back down to the couch. He said nothing, but put an arm around her.

"So did you guys hear about the murderer?" Isabel asked as she wandered towards her room. She returned quickly, having disposed of her backpack. All three of them nodded, and Michael felt Liz lean into him a little bit more. He kissed her neck, taking in her familiar smell.

"Should we leave you two alone?" Isabel asked, watching them with an arched eyebrow. Michael rolled his eyes, and knew without looking that Liz was blushing.

"Better not," Max said, grinning wickedly. "We don't want Liz 'in a family way.'"

Liz groaned in disbelief and hid her face in Michael's shoulder. He flipped Max the bird and grinned, twining his fingers through Liz's long dark hair. "Looks like we'll have to find another place if we want to get anything done tonight," he teased. He felt her sigh—a soft puff of breath through his clothes, and she stood up, mock-glaring at him with her hands on her hips. Before anyone could say anything, the telephone's shrill bells interrupted them. Liz, being the closest, answered it.

"Evans residence, Liz Parker speaking," she said, a soft hint of the tone she'd had to use at the Crashdown entering her voice. Her eyes, which had been sparkling as a result of the teasing from the others, turned serious. "Who's this?" she asked. It was evident from the strain in her voice that it was harder to sound chipper. "I think you have the wrong number," she said, immediately slamming the receiver down. She stood there, trying to shake off whatever she'd just heard, then returned to the couch.

"Who was it?" Max asked, the concern in his eyes almost matching Liz's. She shook her head, forcing a smile.

"Wrong number," she answered, her voice overly-cheerful. "Didn't you hear?"

"You're lying, Liz," Michael mumbled into her hair. She shrugged, the weakly-constructed façade disintegrating. "So who was it?"

He felt her glance at Max and Isabel, then turn more towards him. "I think it was Uncle Willie," she whispered. Michael jerked upright, searching her face.

"Are you sure?" he demanded. She thought for a moment, and nodded, biting her lip.

"Who's Uncle Willie?" Isabel asked.

Michael felt Liz's hesitation to answer, so he replied for her. "He's a jerk who was friends with her fosterparents." He looked up, and saw something flash through Isabel's eyes. She looked at Liz, touching her own shoulder. Liz shook her head, pointing to her mid-upper arm, where Michael had seen the man brand her. The blonde's eyebrows shot up so fast Michael thought they would fly off of her forehead, and Liz looked down. Max was still completely in the dark. He never was the sharpest crayon in the box.

"I don't quite get it…" he said slowly. Liz sighed.

"Max, my foster home was no better than living with my dad," she said, attempting to nudge him in the right direction. It seemed to help, as he nodded his understanding.

"So what does he want with you?" Isabel asked. Michael felt Liz shiver, and she shrugged. He nudged her softly in the side, and she glared at him. He rolled his eyes and answered for her.

"The man is part sadist, part mental patient, part wannabe-cult leader. Liz essentially tore down his entire world, and now he's pissed."

Max's mouth dropped open. "Liz, you were in Clovis," he observed, pointlessly, as he made the connections. "This murderer—he's your Uncle Willie, isn't he?"

Liz nodded, slouching in the couch. Max, however, leapt to his feet.

"We have to call the police!" he exclaimed.

"It won't do any good," Liz said, not meeting his eyes.

"Why not?" Max was staring at her incredulously.

"Because he knows people," she said, repeating Alan's words from earlier. "Important people. The type of people that would have pretty big sway over police stations in little towns.

The hairs on the back of Michael's neck prickled, and he looked towards the picture window, at exactly the same time as Liz. She rose and closed the curtains against the quickly-dimming light, wrapping her arms around herself and not moving. Michael caught her eye and patted the cushion next to him. Slowly she obeyed, hiding her face in his chest. Michael kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer—if that was possible.

"Then what can we do?" Isabel asked.

"Nothing," Liz said slowly, as though an idea were just dawning over her. "But…he's after me, not any of you…" She trailed off, but even this little bit was enough for Michael to figure out what she was thinking.

"You're not going anywhere," he said firmly.

"If I leave, I have a chance of getting away from him. He'll leave you guys alone, because he…wouldn't care."

"Stop it," Max said, staring intensely at her. "Michael's right, you're not going anywhere."

"Who's going to stop me?" she challenged.

"You're forgetting who you're sitting with," Isabel jumped in. "We have more resources than your average people."

"Is that a threat?" Liz asked, equal hints of anger and fear entering her voice.

"That's a statement," Michael told her, tightening his grip on her. "You are not going anywhere."

She sighed indignantly, but didn't protest further. Michael could almost hear the wheels in her brain turning, working out a way to leave them. "You want to leave me again?" Michael accused softly, knowing that this would hit a nerve.

"It's more complicated than that," she quickly replied. "I don't want you to get hurt…any of you."

"You don't think your taking off would hurt?" Michael asked, his voice raising a few decibels. Liz leaned away from him, and he released her. "You're being selfish."

"How is wanting my friends to stay alive being selfish?" Liz demanded. "As long as I'm here, you're all in danger."

"But so are you!" Michael exclaimed, standing up. "And without us, you're in even more danger!"

"That's a bit arrogant, even for you!" Liz accused, also rising. "You've never even met this man—what makes you think that you can do anything to stop him?"

"I can try, can't I?" He questioned, turning to face her—and using his height to his full advantage.

"Not if it kills you!" She yelled, storming away. Before she could get very far, Michael leapt forward and grabbed her wrist. She tried to jerk away, at the same time throwing a punch his way, but he managed to both duck and maintain his grip.

Liz was alone in the dark. Nothing made sense—there was a strange chanting coming from every direction, and yet silence engulfed her. A man grabbed her from behind, yanking her wrist up behind her back and sending waves of pain shooting up her arm. She started to cry out, but he covered her mouth and shoved her against the wall. A hand slid up her shirt and rested on her ribcage for a moment, the roughness of it making her skin crawl. It then resumed its way upwards, and had nearly reached its target, when another child came flying at his back, knocking him into the wall next to her. His bone-crushing grip on her small wrist was released, and Liz immediately darted away, peering through the darkness to find the face of her rescuer. It was just a small child, but he was pummeling the man as fiercely as any prizefighter Liz had ever seen. Then man easily knocked the boy away, sending him sliding a few feet away. He glared at Liz with eyes that were nothing but twin black holes, then stalked towards the chanting. Liz hesitantly extended a hand to the small figure on the floor, who accepted it gratefully.

"Thank you," she said shakily. "Let's get out of here before someone catches us."

Michael immediately dropped Liz's hand, looking away apologetically. He heard her take a deep, composing breath, then looked back at her.

"Who was the man?"

She shrugged, with her face carefully blank.

"The kid was Alan, wasn't it?" Michael said, realizing the cause of the episode in the park.

She nodded slowly, stonily.

"Sorry," Michael said, scratching his eyebrow uncomfortably. Her facial expression gradually softened, and she shrugged.

"It's okay," she said quietly. "You didn't know." She looked up at him.

"Um, hi, remember us?" Isabel asked, looking at them strangely. "What just happened?"

"We just had a flash," Michael said, reaching carefully for Liz's hand and kissing the inside of her wrist before she pulled it away.

"And Michael became a little less of a bonehead," Liz added, eyes flashing mischievously. "But only a little."

He rolled his eyes tolerantly—he definitely deserved that and quite a bit more—and took her hand again. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, fingers stroking the soft skin there. She extracted her hand from his for the second time, shaking her head.

"Don't wor—" she began, but was cut off by an insistent pounding on the door. No one moved for at least a full minute, but still it persisted.

"Lizzie," begged a weak voice, barely audible through the door and over the knocking. "Lizzie, it's just me. Please, let me in—it's dark out here! Lizzie, it's dark!"

Liz stepped toward the door, and Michael kept close on her heels. She slowly opened it, and sure enough, Alan stood there on the porch. His eyes filled with relief when he saw Liz, and he stepped forward. She held the door open, extending her arms for him. Immediately, he fell into them, whimpering about the dark.

"It's okay," she whispered, stroking his head soothingly. "There's nothing out there. And I'm shutting and locking the door. It's not dark in here—see the lights? There are lights all over the place. Shhhh…"

"Lizzie…" he whispered, just before his whole body went limp. Liz staggered backwards a few steps under his limp body, but the other three in the room acted quickly, and within a few seconds, Alan's still form was stretched out on the couch.

"Who's this?" Max asked, studying the boy's face.

"This is Alan," Liz said simply, kneeling next to him.

"Fosterbrother," Michael explained, on Max's look of confusion.

"Why does his face look like that?" Max asked. Michael rolled his eyes.

"Uncle Willie," Liz answered before Michael could, her voice bitter. She reached out to touch his face, but just as her fingers grazed the bruised skin, he moaned slightly and she jerked away, looking at him in pity.

"He was my protector," she said with a laugh. "Isn't that weird? I was fourteen, fifteen—he was ten—eleven. He's why they didn't bother me." She tore her eyes away from the boy's face to look up at Michael. "That man you saw—Alan gave him a black eye and broke his nose."

Michael just nodded. Alan still hadn't done anything when their so-called uncle was hurting her that night. Liz rolled her eyes.

"Michael, give it up, okay? After that night, he didn't let anything else happen."

He stalked away from the couch. Liz remained kneeling, looking thoughtfully at the boy.

"We should leave," she said quietly, to herself. Michael returned to her side.

"You're not going anywhere," he said gruffly, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. She shrugged him off and kept watching her brother. He moaned again, and Liz carefully shook him. He rolled his eyes and stepped away from her. She obviously didn't want to be touched.

"Alan," she whispered. "Alan, you're okay. Wake up."

To Michael's surprise, Alan's eyes slid open, and he shot straight up with a frightened gasp.

"I came to warn you," he said quickly. Liz nodded, running her fingers through his hair.

"You did that already, in the park. It's okay."

He knocked her hand away, standing up unsteadily. "No," he said, unsure, then more forcefully: "No!"

"No what?" Liz asked, standing up as well.

"No, I still need to warn you. He's coming," he said. "He's here."

Liz stepped backwards with a little gasp, and Michael involuntarily stepped to her side. "What do you mean?"

"I saw him today, right after I left you two. He's here." He began pacing. "There's no way to get away."

Liz chuckled nervously, obviously on the brink of going into hysterics. "He's here? In Roswell?" Michael put an arm around her, but she stepped away, ignoring him. "We need to leave. We can still get out. There has to be a way. We can leave, Alan. He won't find us."

Alan shook his head. "He's here."

"Why do you keep saying that?" Liz asked helplessly, sitting on the couch and hiding her face. Alan caught Michael's eyes, but Michael glared him down, sitting on the couch. This time, Liz let him put his arm around her, and she hid her face in his chest.

"There's no way out," Alan said resignedly. "He's here, he knows where you are, and…he's coming."

Michael gently rubbed Liz's back, feeling the tremors running through her every muscle. "You're going to be okay," he whispered into her ear. "The five of us can beat one guy."

"There's four of you," Alan corrected nervously. "I can't stay. When I die, I want it to be on the run, not sitting here like a caged animal."

"Then I should come with you," Liz said, looking up. Alan shook his head, kneeling in front of her.

"You can't. I don't want to…have to watch. And I don't want you to see me." He took her hands in his. "You're my sister, my best friend. And this is goodbye." He kissed her hand, then released both of them, standing up. She watched him resignedly as he headed out the door.

He'd barely made it out of sight before a terrible scream rose up, which choked off brutally. Liz leapt to her feet and ran to the door, but Max tackled her just in time, throwing her to the floor.

"Shut it!" he growled, trying to pin the thrashing, sobbing girl to the floor long enough for someone to get the door. Isabel slammed the door shut and locked both locks, before sealing it with her powers.

"Let me up!" Liz was screaming pitifully. "Alan—I have to get Alan!"

Max held both of her arms tightly to the floor. "Listen to me!" he said with a vicious bite to his voice that Michael had never heard before. "Listen! That man just killed Alan. You can't save him. The only thing you can do now is save yourself. That means staying here." Liz continued trying to get free of him, so he slammed her to the ground with some force, to try to bring her back into herself. "Alan is dead!" He yelled, trying to get her to listen. "Your brother is dead! Would he want you to go out there and get killed?"

"Get off me," Liz said levelly, though strain and tears were still evident in her voice.

"If I do, are you going to go outside?" he said calmly, not moving. She glared at him for a few moments, then shook her head slightly. "Okay then." He stood, offering a hand to help Liz up, but she refused it, stepping away from all of them.

Isabel, who had been looking out the front window from behind the curtains, stumbled backwards.

"What is it?" Michael asked, though he knew the answer.

"I don't know for sure, but I'm betting that's the guy who's after Liz," she said, panic entering her voice.

Michael saw Liz's knees go weak, and she swallowed heavily, looking around the room.

"Okay," Max said thickly. "Here's what we're going to do. Isabel and I are going to go and seal all the doors and windows. You two are going to go into the basement and find somewhere to hide. Michael, you seal the door on the way down. Everyone just stood there for a second. "Move!" Max barked, and Michael and Liz took off running.

They ran down the basement stairs, Michael sealing the door with his powers before he followed Liz into the dark. She'd found a place behind a ton of boxes, and Michael joined her, sitting on the chilly tile floor. She looked up at him, face dark with fear.

"I'm sorry," she said, tears springing into her eyes. Michael scooted closer to her and wrapped his arms around her.

"Sorry for…everything," she whispered, trembling. "Sorry for leaving you the first time, then again in your trailer, for not telling you all this stuff, for bringing this guy to Roswell…for that first night in the park…" She trailed off as quiet sobs overtook her.

"Stop it," Michael ordered, holding her away. "You can apologize for whatever you want—just not for that night, okay? Don't ever apologize for me having met you like that. Never." He grabbed her chin and made her look at him. "Never."

Liz ignored this, looking away, and went on with her rambling. "I'm sorry about today—how I've acted. God, my last day, and I've spent it arguing with you." She hid her face and continued crying. Michael pulled her hands away from her face and eased her backwards, so she was laying on the floor in their cramped hiding space, then stretched out over her.

"This is not your last day," he said seriously. "I am not letting that happen. So just—" He had to swallow, then begin again. "So just stop it. Stop apologizing, stop crying, stop worrying. You can do all of that tomorrow morning." She began to protest, but he silenced her with a look. "Don't speak, either." He leaned down and caught her mouth with his before she could speak again. She shivered, and then he felt her arms go up around his neck. He nipped her lower lip, seeking entrance, which she granted, sending chills up his spine. Heart pounding, he brought a hand up and brushed it against her neck, where he could feel her pulse beating just as fast as—if not more than—his. He broke their kiss, placing many light kisses along her jaw line and down her neck. She guided him back up, to lock her teary eyes on his.

"Thank you, then. For being in my life. For letting me be in yours. For being yourself…"

"What's with the lists?" Michael tried to joke. Liz just bit her lip, still gazing at him.

"I love you, Michael," she whispered, her voice cracking as she broke into more tears. "I love you…"

"Shhhh, stop that," he mumbled, wishing he could stem the flow. "Stop with the waterworks, you're going to be fine." He sat up, pulling her with him, and their arms locked tightly around each other. He reached up to pull her hair away from her face and gently kissed her earlobe. Before she could answer, they heard a loud crash from the living room.

"He broke down the door," Liz said quietly, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. "He's coming." She trembled, very close to descending into hysteria once more. Michael shook her lightly.

"Be calm," he reminded her. "Do you want him to see that you've been crying? Don't give him the pleasure." He reached up and wiped a tear away with his sleeve. "And if we're quiet, maybe he won't find us."

She nodded silently, still watching the floor in horror. As they listened, the heavy footsteps grew closer to the door to the stairs, and Michael heard Liz hold her breath. The man jiggled the doorknob, then seemed to stalk away. Liz released the breath in a soft puff, just as the footsteps returned quickly, and the door was kicked violently open. It slid down the stairs, and the man, looking exactly as he had in Liz's dream, appeared. Michael laced his fingers with Liz's, trying to keep her calm. Granted, his own palm was beginning to glow the usual, angry red, but at least the man couldn't hear that.

"Oh, Liz," the man called in a singsong voice. "Your Uncle Willie's here. Your momma and papa miss you—they said they want you to come home a little early. The car's waiting outside. Alan's waiting for you in the front seat…"

Michael clapped a hand over Liz's mouth before she could do anything.

The man continued talking while he stalked around the basement. "Come on, honey. I know you're afraid, but I forgive you."

Liz clenched her eyes shut, quietly letting loose another puff of breath. The man seemed to hear this, turning in their direction.

"Come on. Let's go home," he said, approaching the boxes. He was silent for a few moments, then knocked them aside with a growl. Liz yelped in fear, as the man towered menacingly above them. "Or not." He reached down and grabbed Liz's elbow, yanking her away from Michael. "Little bitch," he muttered, pushing her backwards. "Cost me everything. My followers, my family, my life." He slapped her, the sound echoing through the basement and adding to the furious throb in Michael's hand. "I'm going to prison because of you!" He stepped backwards, a crazy light gleaming in his eyes. "But that's only if they catch me. There are no witnesses. Not a soul in the world who has anything but good things to say about me. Anymore. Sure, those boys told the cops about me, but I took care of that. No problems. See, now all I have to do is get rid of you and I'll be fine. Just fine."

Liz tried to take a step away, but Uncle Willie caught her first. He flung her to the ground, where her head connected solidly with the stone floor. She lie still for the longest time—Michael was afraid that the man had actually killed her—but then she whimpered and tried to sit up. The man slammed her back down, sitting on her legs.

"I'm going to make you pay, you sniveling piece of shit," Uncle Willie growled, digging in his pockets. "You don't cross me and get away with it. But just killing you would go too fast. Found that out the hard way last night—I'm sure you've heard by now. And anyway, there are a few things I need to do first." He dumped the contents of his pockets onto the floor—it was a wide array of various metal objects.

Unable to stand it anymore, Michael roared and let loose a blast that, had it hit the man, would have turned him to ashes immediately. But he'd spun around, ducking at just the right moment. He looked from Michael to Liz in disbelief, then nodded.

"I get it," he said, taking slow steps towards Michael. "The little bitch is with a freak. Makes sense, if you think about it." Michael was trying frantically to build up more power, but it seemed that he'd used every ounce of it he had. Uncle Willie leapt at him, using the element of surprise to his advantage. Michael was still for a moment, stunned by the force of his head hitting the floor. But a moment was all the man needed—by the time Michael had regained the ability to move again, Uncle Willie had his hands and feet tied firmly together, so that Michael was sitting facing Liz.

A noise on the stairs caught Michael's attention, and he looked without moving his head. Max and Isabel were crouched there, eyes wide. He tried to tell them not to do anything yet—they had to catch this psycho by surprise.

"This really isn't something for a boyfriend to watch, but…c'est la vie," he shrugged, kneeling on the opposite side of Liz. "I guess now I can explain this to you both." He looked up at Michael. "I don't know how much of our story little Lizzie has told you, but she's under the control of many evil spirits. I've tried to cleanse her, but she's just too filthy." He looked regretfully at her. "Too bad—I know quite a few men that she would have made very happy." He shrugged, choosing something from the floor. "So because she's so disgusting, she can't live. I'm sure you would agree," he said, looking at Michael. He didn't answer—he was too busy concentrating on the familiar throb of powers that was growing—albeit slowly—in the palm of his hand. "But if I'm not careful, I could end up releasing the spirits into the air, to infect some innocent child." He rolled up Liz's sleeve. "There are a series of symbols, however, that make it so no spirit can leave a body once it dies. This way, the spirits that are infesting this filthy body, as well as the disgusting soul, rot along with her body." He looked down, as he began carving into the tender flesh of Liz's upper arm.

"Don't watch!" Liz whimpered. "Michael, don't watch this. Please, please… Close your eyes. I know what you're thinking, Michael, but it doesn't hurt—"

"Then I must be doing it wrong," the man said in a low voice, doing something with the blade. Immediately, Liz had to fight to suppress a scream. Michael had never felt so helpless, and his rage added to the power burning in his palm. He tried sending small amounts of it to his restraints. Surprisingly enough, it worked, and they fell into his lap. He caught Max's eyes, letting him know that he planned an attack soon.

"Michael, close your eyes," Liz continued to beg.

Uncle Willie, having finished with his current blade, wiped it on the leg of Liz's jeans and looked over at Michael. "What do you think so far?" he asked.

"I think you're a bastard," Michael spat. "You don't even deserve to die. That's too quick for you."

The man laughed in pleasure. "You might have a keeper here, Lizzie. Too bad you're disgusting." He began searching for something, and Michael looked up at Max. iNow/i, his eyes said, and all three of them leapt out, directing large amounts of power towards the man. His eyes went wide before his body slumped down, falling face first into the small pile of sharp objects he'd been planning on using. Michael was at Liz's side in an instant, lifting her off of the ground and as far away from the man as he could get her. She wrapped both arms tightly around him, shaking uncontrollably.

"Did we kill him?" Michael asked, looking over Liz's shoulder while keeping her gripped tightly to him. Max shook his head, kneeling next to the man.

"No. I made sure we didn't. We don't need a dead body around here, on top of everything else. He'll wake up in a few minutes, with a killer headache." He stood up, kicking the man in the side.

"A few minutes?" Liz said fearfully. "Then we have to get out of here."

"No, it's okay," Isabel said soothingly. "The police are—"

"The police are in his back pocket!" Liz exclaimed angrily. "They're just going to let him go! If they even get here!"

Max stooped and pulled a notebook out of the man's front pocket, flipping through it. "This looks like a list of the people he's paid off or something—there're a bunch of receipts here." His eyes scanned the list, taking it all in, as he went to stand by Liz. He snorted. "Looks like the last person he had 'in his back pocket' here in Roswell…died a while back."

"What are you talking about?" Liz asked, peering cautiously over the top of the book. He turned it around to show her.

"Right here. It's okay, Liz. This is over."

She shook her head in disbelief, keeping her eyes now on the unconscious man behind them. Just as Isabel had said, soon the red and blue lights of a police cruiser illuminated the ground outside the basement window, and Isabel darted up the stairs to get them.

Then Isabel returned, followed by Sheriff Valenti and several other officers that Michael had never seen before. As they were examining the body, the man gave a long, low moan and turned over onto his back. Valenti yanked him to his feet, as one of the other officers put handcuffs on him. Then Valenti handed him off to the men, approaching the teenagers.

"I'm going to need a report on this," he said in his low, gravelly voice. His mirrored sunglasses revealed nothing as he apparently took in the sight of the four shaken people standing before him. He removed his glasses and shook his head, looking at the ground. "But I suppose that can wait until morning. Evans, where're your parents?"

"Fort Sumner, sir," Max said, gulping.

"You'll want to get a hold of them as quickly as possible—I think I'll want to talk to them as well." His eyes traveled over Michael and the girl hiding her face in his chest.

"Young lady, I…" he began. Liz turned her head toward him when she realized he was talking to her, and he paused, taken aback. "Miss Parker. Nice to see you." He cleared his throat, becoming professional once more. "I'll want to talk to you most of all." No one said anything for a few more moments, then the Sheriff cleared his throat and replaced his sunglasses. "Have a nice night," he said, before trekking back up the stairs.

The moment he was gone, Liz's knees gave out and she collapsed onto the floor, but Michael scooped her up into his arms. "Can you heal her, Maxwell?" Michael asked, heading up the stairs and away from the dark dampness of the basement.

"Yeah, of course," Max said, following them. "Stupid question."

Michael sat on the couch, spreading Liz out in his lap, and Max knelt next to her, healing first the crude sketches cut into her arm, then placing his hands on either side of Liz's head and healing whatever damage being thrown to the floor had caused. Liz sat up, still shaking, and Michael reached behind the two of them for the afghan that was hanging on the back of the couch. He wrapped it around her thin, trembling shoulders and pushed her head lightly onto his chest. Liz gave a squeaky yawn—surprising, considering all she'd been through that night.

"You should sleep," Max said, rocking back on his heels.

"I couldn't," she said quietly, though her eyelids were drooping. "The nightmares…"

"What if I were with you?" Michael mumbled into the top of her head. She shrugged.

"You two can have my bed," Max said. "As long as you promise not to do anything gross." Michael rolled his eyes, and Max grinned.

Soon, they were curled up in Max's bed, Liz facing Michael. She nestled closer, and Michael put his arms around her.

"What I said earlier," Liz murmured. "In the basement…"

"Shh," Michael whispered. "Go to sleep."

"That wasn't just hysteria talking." She shifted. "And I know I must be more like this annoying little girl that you have to protect or something, but I meant it. I love you." Michael said nothing, and Liz sighed. "Good night."

"I love you too, Liz," Michael said after a while, stroking her hair. "I've known it since you left." Liz gave a little hiccup, and Michael smirked, kissing the top of her head. "I thought you knew it too." She shrugged, and Michael reached down to take her hand. "Good night."

Michael hadn't expected that he'd be able to sleep at all that night, give what he'd seen and how much there was to digest, but somehow, he did. Maybe it was knowing that Liz was safe—right there with him, or maybe it was the physical strain of using so much power, but Michael was out like a light. He slept soundly for a while, but awakened a few hours later, to Liz pushing him away and rolling over onto her back with a soft cry.

"Liz," he whispered, trying to shake her awake. She pushed his hand away, but he quickly replaced it on her shoulder, shaking her again. She knocked his hand violently away, then shot straight up, breathing heavily. Michael, seeing that she was physically okay, lay on his back, watching her. She composed herself, then shook her head vigorously. "It was a nightmare," he said, studying her. She rubbed her eyes and nodded, relaxing into the pillow as she turned onto her side. He moved closer, also on his side, and slid his arm around her waist. "You're safe now—forever."

She nodded and put her hand over his, before her breathing evened out once more, becoming deep and steady. Michael kissed the top of her head, leaving his nose buried in the dark silky strands.

His mind flickered back to the first night—funny how he now thought of that as his first night, as though his life had not begun until he met Liz. He'd been thinking about something like this that night—Max and his family had been out of town, and he'd offered to leave his window open. But Michael knew that staying in Max's deserted room would just remind him that he had no home. Funny how that worked out. Here he was, so many years later, sleeping in Max's room, but he felt nothing of the sort. Instead, he knew that he did have a home. It wasn't a trailer, or… a house. As strange as it sounded, it was this small but strong brunette. If anyone had told him when he was thirteen that he'd fall for the quiet, overly-studious little teacher's pet, he probably would have decked them. But he had. He'd been in love with her ever since that night—when her dark eyes had burned into his and he realized that his opinion about her had been wrong.

That things were not always as they seemed.

-Fin