Title: No Difference

Disclaimer: Nothing's mine, so don't sue.

Rating: K

Summary: Post-"Departure." A father attempts to comfort his daughter in her time of need.

Isabel sat cross-legged on her bed, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a light blue t-shirt that looked two sizes too large for her. Her blonde hair covered her back like a golden veil as she continually brushed the tangles from its strands whilst staring glassy eyed outside her window, watching the raindrops trail along the panes of glass. Hearing a knock on her door, she came out of reverie and said, "Come in." She observed her father peek in and smile, cautiously coming in and closing the door gently behind him.

"Hi Pumpkin," he said softly, sitting on her bed and clasping his hands together.

"Hi Dad," she responded, a bit confused as to why the intrusion. "Anything wrong?"

"No, no." Isabel noticed him gazing out her window, preoccupied by the rain outside. "Finally," he said absentmindedly. "Good to see a nice down pour of fresh rain, isn't it?"

"Yeah... especially in Roswell," Isabel replied. "So, if there's nothing wrong, do you need me to do something?" she asked.

He looked to her, continuing to smile. "No. I just wanted to see how my daughter's doing. See if she's okay." Isabel nodded.

"I'm fine, Dad." She shrugged her shoulders and proceeded to brush her hair. "You know... As to be expected."

"Yeah... I figured you'd say that."

"It's the truth," she defended hastily, glaring at him.

"No need to get defensive, honey. Your mother and I... We're just worried about you. You've been so reclusive... So unlike yourself. We just want to make sure you're okay." His smile faltered. "You've been in this room for days... Not finishing your meals... We don't like seeing you like this."

Isabel saw the worry lines crease her father's forehead and reassured, "I'm dealing, Dad, as best as I can." Isabel stopped brushing her hair and look to the window once again. "It's just so much easier, you know? To be here. To not go outside and be reminded of everything that's gone on lately."

Isabel stood up and went to her window, touching one of the panes. "I know it's unlike me, and I know that you and mom are worried about me… But please I just—I just want to be left alone. I want space. From everyone. Max. Michael. You and mom." Isabel could feel the tears brimming in her eyes and allowed them flow silently down her face.

Phillip tried to understand what his daughter was going through, but it was difficult. His children had become so secretive these last two years that he felt as if complete strangers had replaced them. So much had changed in their household, and he didn't like it. The closeness he used to have to his family was gone, and he found himself working more and more so as not to come home to ever-burgeoning mess. The internal war—and Alex's death had seemingly increased the tension, particularly between Max and Isabel, tenfold.

"Isabel, your mother and I... We just wish you would talk to us," he said truthfully. "I want to help you. Both of us want to help you through this. Don't shut us out."

Isabel stifled a sob and turned to her father. "I'm not shutting you guys out. It's just... I feel like my whole world has been turned inside out, like I'm paying some ultimate price for something that I had no involvement... I don't want to think—to think that—

"That Alex committed—"

"Don't say it, Dad! I don't want to hear it! He didn't!"

Isabel knew the truth. That Tess, the one person she thought she could connect with, had murdered her one and only. She wished she could tell her parents, but she couldn't. They believed Alex had did away with himself and that Tess' 'real' family had retrieved her and left Roswell.

"I know that it's difficult to handle. With Tess and Alex, and you graduating soon… It's a heavy load and hard to handle, but... I know you will get through this. I know that you are strong and that everything will soon pass and you will move on." Her father came over and hugged his daughter.

Isabel finally let her sobs engulf her and cried into her father's chest. She was shaking, and all the feelings she had been bottling up finally surfaced, and she couldn't stop them. Removing herself from her father's embrace, she glanced up at him. Her face was flushed and tears still flowed freely from her eyes, but she managed to still give him a small smile.

"Thank you, Dad," she said as her father brought his arm around her shoulders and gave them a tender squeeze.

"You know, Isabel, your mother always had this saying... I never really understood what she meant, and I really didn't want to, as it was one of those sentimental things males can't quite grasp, but... I think you've helped me understand."

"What was the saying?" Isabel wiped her still watering eyes with the heels of her hands.

"I used to think she was crazy when she said it, but thinking about it now... I suppose I can see how it would make sense. There really is no difference between the tears and the rain."