TITLE

TITLE: I Do What I Have To Do (1/1)
AUTHOR: Rebecca Parker
EMAIL: LaVelleBelle@aol.com
RATING: PG-13 (language)
PAIRING: Valenti/Liz (sorta)
SPOILERS: Huge spoilers up to and for "Cry Your Name"
FEEDBACK: Yes please!
DISTRIBUTION: At my site (http://www.ourowndestiny.com) and FINNatics. All others, please ask first.
DISCLAIMER: Jason Katims owns all.
DEDICATION: To Jen'fr



The bottom of my glass is really not as interesting as I am making it out to be.

I've been staring at it for the last five minutes, debating whether or not to ask the bartender for another refill. He shot me a look the last round and I'm sure he was dubious as to whether I was really off duty as I claimed to be.

Before this year, I never would have been questioned. I was the Sheriff of this town and that meant something. I could stride into a bar, a restaurant, a room- and everyone would stand up straight, all dreading I would find those skeletons they undoubtedly had hidden in their closets. I demanded respect, and I got it.

But that was all gone now. I was fired and suddenly I was the town joke. Once I got my job back, things hadn't returned to normal and I could hear them snickering and whispering as I walked past them. Before they wouldn't dare to utter a word against me and now I could hear their theories of what exactly had gone wrong with me. The obsession. Of course, that was what they all talked about. I followed in my father's footsteps after all. I was just another alien obsessed lunatic who drove myself to the drink and to dementia.

It was just blind luck that I hadn't gone as far as my father did. That's what they said. Blind luck that I wasn't sitting next to him in that home, getting our drool wiped away at the same time by some nurse who would look down her nose at us in disgust.

I would never let that happen to me. At least that's what I'd like to think, but who knows? Had I not found out the truth about Max, I'm not sure exactly where my obsession would have let me. I would like to think that, for Kyle, I would have backed off when I saw I wasn't going to win, but I can never be sure I would have been strong enough to admit failure.

I've always been stubborn. I'm too used to being right, and being wrong isn't something I'm comfortable with.

But now I'm in this situation. I think I'm right, but I hope to death I'm wrong. It's a strange place for me to be.

I motion to the bartender to fill me up again and I want to hit him in the nose when he asks me if I'm sure. I nod and try to remember exactly how it felt to get respect.

He fills up my glass and I almost drink the whole thing down at the first touch of it to my lips. I can't stop thinking about the hurt look on her face as I told her my "theory".

I never felt as if I had betrayed someone so much as I had in that moment.

Liz Parker hated me now. I could just see in her eyes when she walked out of my house that she hated me. I was trying to ruin the memory of someone she held dear and she hated me for it. I can't say I blame her.

But I have my duty. I just got my job back and I can't turn my back on the truth, no matter how ugly it is. Everything that I've discovered since Alex's death, everything in my file, tells me that he killed himself. Yes, I knew Alex personally and yes, he never seemed depressed or sullen, but I didn't know him well enough to see past whatever mask he may have been wearing.

We all have our masks. Whoever knew that, behind mine, I was in love with a 17-year-old girl?

I should be ashamed, but I'm not. For almost a year, Liz Parker was at the center of my obsession and I made it my job to find out everything I could about her. I knew her history, her schedule, her likes and dislikes. I knew everything. I knew Liz Parker.

How could I not fall in love?

I'd never make a move. I'm not daft enough to think I even have the smallest slimmer of a chance. It's depressing as all hell. It's one thing to know you don't stand a chance because you're a good 25 years older, and it's another to know you don't stand a chance because she'll never love anyone else but someone she's not even with anymore.

But the worst part has to be that she's going to wind up hurt. She's going to wind up alone. Max, Isabel, Michael and Tess will leave one day, who knows when, and she's going to be alone and incapable of loving anyone else because it will never be able to compare.

It's not fair to her. It's not fair that she lost her virginity to my son, a dirty little secret that Tess confessed to me one night. I've never mentioned it to my son, and I doubt I ever will. As much as I know Kyle is a good enough boy to be with Liz, it gnaws at me. I hate him and envy him at the same time.

Not to mention the whole thing confuses me. Kyle and Liz weren't dating at that time and hadn't since. I hate to think my son would use Liz like that, but I haven't noticed any animosity between them.

What happened between them is the biggest mystery of all.

But right now, I can't spend too much time thinking about it. I have so much to do, so much to find out. I can't investigate Alex's death officially, but for her, I'll look into it on my own time. Maybe if I find something useful...

Maybe nothing. She'll thank me, and maybe she won't hate me anymore, but I'll never be any closer to her.

Liz Parker is special, and I'm not.

I'm a Sheriff who has fallen from the grace of the town he has taken pride in policing for half of his life. I'm the man who is going to have to tell Mr. Whitman that his son's death has been ruled a suicide.

I wave the bartender over and motion I want another drink and this time I can see him hesitate.

"I'm not driving," I said. Tonight was definitely a night for walking. I'm in serious need of just clearing my mind a bit and the dry acrid air is just what the doctor ordered.

"Not on duty tonight?" the bartender asked, and I gritted my teeth in response.

"Would I be getting piss drunk if I was?" I asked and I slammed my fist down on the bar when he hesitated again. "You're a real sonofabitch," I said, getting up and fishing a twenty out of my pocket.

I left it there and walked out, not looking back to see what the pissant's reaction was. No doubt the tale would be spread over the city by this time tomorrow, probably with some embellishments like I blacked out from my drunkenness or threatened him with bodily harm.

I started to head back to my house; my hands dug firmly into my pockets. Tomorrow was the funeral and, looking up at the sky, it looked like it was going to be a beautiful day.

It just didn't seem right.

I glanced at my watch, shaking my head as I realized it was already 2 AM. The funeral was in eight hours, and I knew I would have one hell of a hangover in the morning.

I was just passing Max's house when I saw her, that same empty, haunted look in her eyes as she walked down the street towards me. She looked up at me, and I almost winced at the anger I saw there.

"Liz," I said, trying to clear my mind of the fog that had settled over it with the last drink or two. "You shouldn't be out so late. Were you with Max?"

Liz nodded. "I just needed to be with a friend. You know what that is, right? Someone who believes in you?" she said sarcastically.

Ouch.

"Liz," I started, trying to figure out what to say and how to say it best. "I'm sorry-"

"Save it," she said, angrily. She looked me over and I felt ashamed for her to see me in such a state. "You're drunk," she remarked.

"Yes," I admitted, looking down.

"Did it make you feel any better?" she asked, her voice so little that I had to look up and make sure she was alright.

"No."

"Oh," Liz said, nodding slowly. We stood there uncomfortably in silence and I wanted to just put my arm around her and tell her that, somehow, it would be alright, but I knew that I wasn't the person to do that. She probably wouldn't let me anyway.

She looked up at me again, her mouth opening to speak but no words came.

"Liz?"

"Was it- painful? I mean," she said, her voice cracking a bit. "Was it sudden? Did he- hurt?"

I reached out to her and took her hand and at my touch a change seemed to come over her. Layers of stoicism and protected hurt fell away and she began to shake.

My heart fell at the sight of her breaking down and I was instantly sure this was the first time she had cried since Alex's death.

"It was quick," I said, pulling her to me and breathing deep when she didn't pull away. All I wanted to do was comfort her- to ease her pain somehow. I didn't want to think that I had caused some of it, or that I would probably cause more when the official report was released. I didn't want to think about anything except being there for her right then.

"Sheriff," she said, pulling back a little and looking up at me, her eyes wet with tears. Her formal use of my title, not my name, snapped me out of it.

I let go of her, letting my hand stay on her shoulder for another minute. "You're a good friend to him," I said, nodding. "He'd be proud of what you're doing."

She wiped the tears away with the back of her hand. "So you believe me?"

I took a deep breath and shook my head. "No Liz," I said. "I'm sorry. I just meant-"

Liz looked at me angrily. "Don't," she said, walking past me, her shoulder brushing against mine as she passed.

"Let me walk you home," I said, walking after her. "It's the least I can do."

"The very least," Liz said and when she looked back at me, the sadness was gone, replaced once more by the determined and detached look she had donned for the past two days.

"OK," I said, my hands back in my pockets as we walked the rest of the way in silence.

When we arrived at the Crashdown, she walked inside without saying goodbye, the sound of the slamming door filling the air. I stared at the door, at the logo and at her retreating figure, and I cursed in frustration.

My head was already starting to pound and the night wasn't getting any younger. I turned around and headed home, determined to catch the few hours of sleep I could before the funeral.

I didn't know how I could face any of them and, once Liz told them about the report, I was sure none of them would be too pleased with me either. I had the very unpleasant feeling that not only would this destroy the bond I had with them, but the one they had with each other as well.

The whole walk home I fought the sick feeling in my stomach that threatened to overcome me. I wasn't sure what was making me sicker- the large quantities of alcohol I had consumed or the whole situation.

A good boy like Alex Whitman. Just gone. I couldn't save him. Max couldn't save him.
In the end, sheriff or alien, we were all worthless.

I walked in the door of my house, closing it quietly as to not wake Kyle or Tess up. I removed my badge from my jacket, running my fingers along the edges and looking at the glint of the metal. I placed it on the counter before heading into the bathroom to empty my stomach.

As I shut the door to the bathroom, quietly once more, I truly wished I wasn't the Sheriff. I wish I could leave that badge where it was and never wear it again. It didn't stand for anything anymore to the people of Roswell and maybe- just maybe, if I wasn't the Sheriff, I could let down this wall I had built around myself and admit I hurt; admit that losing Alex was hard on me too.

In the minutes between the evacuation of my stomach and the gasping breaths I took when I was done, leaning against the cold bathtub, I realized that wasn't even a possibility. Not for me.

I couldn't admit defeat. I can't be wrong. I'll do what I have to do and let the truth be known, no matter how ugly it may be. I may hate it to death, but it was the truth.

I got up a bit shakily and washed my face, staring at the man that stared back. I hope to God I'm right.

Because if I'm wrong...

THE END