Hammock

"You're getting pretty good at that."

Michael looked up from the battered old guitar to see Liz leaning against one of the posts he'd used to tie up his hammock. He nodded at her in wordless acknowledgement and went back to plucking at the strings; desperate to find a variation of the old Stevie Nicks tune, Bella Donna, that he could play without cringing. Maria had heard the damn thing on the oldies station the other day and just would not shut up about it.

Six months on the road found them holed up in a suburb outside Los Angeles. The area around Torrance was a big enough for everyone to find jobs, but manageable enough not to be overwhelming. Liz and Maria had been working at a little café off Redondo Beach, and the steady stream of street musicians that played on the nearby sidewalk had driven the languishing songstress to distraction. After two weeks of listening to her nightly tirades about the mounting decay of her creativity, Michael had picked up a guitar and began teaching himself to play. If having people toss money in a hat at her feet while she sang on the boardwalk would make Maria happy, he was willing to take the hit of learning an instrument in exchange for some peace and quiet.

He picked it up quick and surprised everyone, especially himself, with how much he enjoyed it.

"You gonna stand there all night, Parker?" he asked without looking back up at her. The double wide hammock swung unsteadily as she took that as an invitation and plopped down next to him.

"Don't you mean 'Richards,' Michael? Past time to stop using my maiden name."

"Whatever," he muttered with a roll of his eyes, refusing to use the assumed name she and Max had taken for this stop. It was one thing if they were in public, or someplace where they might be overheard. But here? They'd chosen this rental for the cinderblock walls that surrounded the lot. While the risk was always there, he figured that, in the web of deception that was their life, there had to be moments when you remembered who you really were to keep from going insane. And she would always be Parker to him.

She tucked her feet under her and leaned back into the netting. "If I beg, can I get you to play a different song? Maria's been singing that one non-stop two days. If I hear her croon one more time about 'fighting for the northern star' I refuse to be held accountable for my actions."

He snorted in amusement, "Nice to know I'm not the only one she's driving crazy." Reaching up to tighten the strings, he studied at her out of the corner of his eye. "I'm not hearing any begging," he goaded.

"I'm too tired to beg," she murmured as she shifted. The hammock rocked as she pulled her legs up to wrap her arms around them. The uneven distribution of weight settled her against his side and she rested her chin on her knees, her head falling against his shoulder. "Can I bribe you with cookies instead? I've got a batch cooling on the rack inside; Cinnamon Tabasco Swirl. I'll give you first crack at 'em before Max gets home..."

"Like that wasn't gonna happen anyway," he chuckled and nudged her in the ribs with his elbow.

She closed her eyes instead of answering. They swayed for a moment in silence, the soft whisper of coastal winds drifting a lock of hair across her face as he watched her. He knew the heavy lines of fatigue under her eyes matched the ones he wore. This was the first time since they'd left Roswell that they'd felt comfortable stopping for more than a couple days. Max had decreed that they'd try settling for a while to build up resources before moving on, but just because they weren't moving didn't mean the worrying had stopped. The strain of constant paranoia was starting to show on them all.

He tucked the loose strand behind her ear. "You owe me cake," he told her firmly as he playfully bumped her shoulder to get her attention.

Her lids raised slowly, revealing drowsy liquid eyes. "Dark chocolate with Ancho chili ganache," she affirmed with a sleepy smile.

He began to salivate at the mention of the recipe their Latina neighbor, Mrs. Rodriguez, had shared with her in exchange for a recent bout of pet sitting. "Oh Parker," he sang, "keep talkin' like that and I may have to steal you away from Maxwell."

"Shut up and play, Spaceboy," she growled with a laugh as she jabbed him with her elbow. "Or I'm telling Maria that you've been dying to sing a duet of Don Henley's Leather and Lace with her, but were too embarrassed to ask."

"I'll remember that," he smirked as his fingers began to pluck out a haunting acoustic rendition of Staind's 'It's Been A While'.

The ropes creaked as the hammock swayed gently beneath them and the melody chased the last fading rays of sunlight into the dark.