Title: Landslide
Category: AU M/L.
Disclaimer: I do not own any of Roswell's characters. I am merely borrowing them for a while.
Summary: Returning home after a ten year absence, Liz Parker is forced to face her past, her present, and her uncertain future.
I took my love and I took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
Til the landslide brought me down…
"Lizzie?" Jeff Parker called to his daughter from the doorway of her bedroom. "You can finish unpacking later," he suggested with a worried look. "Dinner's ready."
"Huh," Liz stared at him blankly. She'd been flipping through the pages of her senior yearbook. She'd found it in her old closet when she began putting away her clothes. It hadn't been opened in years, and it was stiff and dusty smelling faintly of mothballs, the kind her grandmother used to use. Apparently, her father had adopted the same practice.
"Honey? Are you alright?" Jeff Parker asked entering the room, his usual calm demeanor absent in the wake of his growing concern.
"I'm fine dad," Liz said smiling broadly, falsely. "It's just a little weird being home after so long."
Jeff Parker's expression darkened with anger. "Yeah, well, we all know who to blame for that," he said forcefully.
"Dad, please don't start," Liz said despairingly. She didn't want to dredge up the past. Not with him, not right now, especially when she was so worried about…
"Fine," Jeff Parker said with a sigh. "I guess I'll see you in a few minutes."
Liz exhaled shakily once her father was gone. She hadn't breathed in the last two minutes, or so it felt like to her. She rose unsteadily to her feet and entered the tiny half-bathroom inside her room. Turning on the sink's faucet, she freely splashed cold water onto her face. When she'd had enough, Liz dried her face with a hand towel and stared into the mirror.
God but she looked pale. Too pale.
Liz stared at her reflection with anguished eyes. At this rate, her secret wouldn't remain a secret for long. She could get away with blaming it on living in Colorado for a few weeks, but then what, this was Roswell N.M. and it was September.
Liz and her father made small talk while dinning on Chicken Alfredo, her favorite. Still, the thousand pound elephant in the room refused to leave unacknowledged.
Jeff Parker said hesitantly, "You know you'll probably run into her, don't you?"
Liz considered ignoring him. But that would be thoughtless as well as childish, neither of which her father deserved.
"I can handle it dad," she lied, staring down at her mostly full plate. She'd tried to eat more, but her appetite just wasn't there.
Jeff Parker shook his head not looking the least bit convinced. "Can't you work somewhere else?"
"Not really dad," Liz said ironically with a shake of her head. "But don't worry so much. I'll be fine."
The look her father gave her was both skeptical and sad, but he loved her enough to let the subject drop, and the two of them spent the rest of the evening renewing their bond. When Liz slipped into bed later that night, she was both happy and sad. Happy that she'd got to spend time with her father after so many years, and sad that there might not be enough time left.
Four days later, Liz Parker stood nervously outside of West Roswell Elementary School. You can do this Liz; she silently coached herself into entering the building. Once inside, she looked around. It was smaller than she remembered. But what she had expected, Liz wondered ruefully. The school only held ten teachers and less than two hundred students. She had been told this by the school's principle, Alex Whitman over the phone. He'd hired Liz sight unseen based solely on her credentials, and Roswell origins. Either he was extremely naïve, or in desperate need of a teacher, Liz guessed the answer lay somewhere in-between.
"First days at a new school kinda such, huh," said a cheery voice.
Liz turned in the direction of the voice, and found a friendly faced blonde standing in the doorway of a music room. She was dressed in a paisley print Maxi dress and black cowboy boots.
"Maria Guerin," she held out her hand.
"Liz Parker," Liz said shaking the other girl's hand with a smile. "Music teacher huh," she gestured to the room.
Maria said dryly, "Yeah, well, those of us who don't become Rock Stars have to work somewhere."
Liz didn't know what to say to that. Thankfully, she wasn't given the chance when Maria continued to speak.
"Since I only teach music, and I don't have a lot of lessons to plan, I was elected to show you around," she said with even more irony.
Liz felt insulted and quickly replied, "I'm sure principle Whitman can find someone else to show me around. God forbid I take you away from your Rock Star daydreams."
"Sorry," Maria said her green eyes glinting with humor. "I sometimes forget not everyone gets my personal brand of humor. Though I gotta say chica, you give as good as you get. Wasn't expecting that."
Liz shrugged. "What you see isn't always what you get." She knew that better than anyone.
Maria eyed her curiously for a few seconds and then said, "Anyway, we better get a move on. School starts in about an hour."
The school bell rang at 8am officially kick starting the day. The noise level in the hallway was near deafening as children began filing into their classrooms. Within five minutes, Liz stood in front of twenty rambunctious nine year-olds waiting to introduce herself. She was nervous and hot and sweat ran uncomfortably down the back of her neck.
"Good morning class," she said once they'd settled down. "My name is Ms Parker, and I'll be teaching you Language Arts this year. Until I learn everyone's name," she waved a piece of paper, "I'll be using the roll sheet."
Glancing down at the paper, Liz began calling names.
"Reba Johnson?"
"Here," said an elfin brunette.
"Kenny Myers?"
"Here," said the freckled faced red-head.
"Jessica Baker?"
"Present," said a too trendy blonde.
"Jose Desoto"
"Here," said a mischievous looking little boy with black curls.
Liz looked down at the next name on the list and froze. She blinked twice then looked again.
It was still there.
"Is something wrong Ms Parker?" Little Reba Johnson asked at Liz's continued silence.
"No sweetie. Not all at," Liz mumbled smiling half-heartedly. Her stomach twisted in knots as she opened her mouth to call the next name on the list.
"Margaret Evans?"
"Maggie," answered a self-important little voice and Liz was forced to look up.
What she saw was the stuff of nightmares, and the reason she'd run from Roswell ten years ago. There, sat a beautiful little girl with her father dark hair and her mother's devious baby blue eyes.
A/N: I know it starts off a bit slow guys, but keep reading. I promise one hell of a ride featuring angst, misunderstandings, secrets, lies, and a mystery or two.