Spoilers: Toy House, Independence Day Author's notes: My first fic in years. Michael's POV on the bedroom scene in Independence Day has been done a million times, but I love them all and had to try my own. Feedback is love.
Disclaimer: The characters within do not belong to me. Although, if someone wants to hand over Michael…
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"Michael, wait." He ignores Isabel's call and keeps walking. He needs to get away before he says something he'll eventually regret. He doesn't know when, but some day, after the hurt, after the anger; after the fear have abated, he'd feel regret.
He doesn't know where to go. He doesn't know who to trust; not anymore. He'd trusted Max and look what had happened.
He's thought about telling them thousands of times. But what good would it do? None. That was proven today.
He didn't think Hank could hurt him anymore. The insults; the beatings; but being called a freak, being called a freak after he'd seen his powers… it was a whole new kind of pain.
It's started raining, sometime. It's cold and endless and growing harder. Maybe he deserves it; maybe it's his biological parents sending a message of rebuke to him. He wants to answer back; to beg for a way back to them, but he can't.
He just keeps walking, blindly. Cold; so cold. Hank's words hurt more.
So does Max's broken promise. He'd promised not to tell anyone. He loves Izzy but he didn't want her to know; didn't want the look that he'd seen in her eyes tonight to ever be there.
He doesn't know where to go. Cold, so, so cold. Scared.
He's at some house. Some house with a blonde girl sitting by her window.
A blonde girl he recognizes before she even looks at him.
Maria. Maria, with soft skin and even softer lips. Maria, with gentle eyes and desperate kisses, like his.
Maria, who's yelling at him through her closed window.
No, no, no. Please no. Please don't turn him away. Please please please please. He knows he'd said to never help him again; that he doesn't; can't get indebted, but please forget that and… and what?
He's stepped closer without realizing it. She's still there but not yelling anymore. Just staring at him and he's staring back.
"Please."
Now he's the one talking to a closed window but Michael barely realizes he's said the word.
Do something. Anything.
The window's opening.
Fingers like pinpricks of salvation reach out. They touch his soaking shirt, pull him forward. And they're warm and soft and he's suddenly inside.
She's talking, probably because she's nervous. He wants to say something, even if it's just to tell her to shut up but he knows if he opens his mouth something will break.
It's already broken. She's so gentle; so soothing. She's drying him off like some puppy dog and he feels it building up; feels a stinging behind his eyes and a burning in his throat.
Her hand's on his cheek now, warm against his cool skin. Her finger rubs over it and she murmurs something, low and comforting.
Her hand's on the small of his back now, and he's walking towards her bed; toward solace. He collapses and clings to her pillow because it's like clinging to her and he needs her, he probably always has ever since that day he stole her car.
"Shhh." Then she's next to him, her arms slipping around him.
And whatever it is breaks and he's shaking and strange, human noises are coming out of his mouth and he can't stop it and Maria. Maria Maria Maria Maria.
"It's okay."
No, it's not okay. Nothing can ever be okay again; Max and Iz ruined it; he ruined it.
Michael needs to tell her this because it's not fair. It's not fair for her to hold him like this, comfort him like this when she doesn't know what a terrible person he is.
"You don't have to tell me."
Yes, he does.
"It's okay." The promise in her voice makes the tears overwhelm him and all he can do is cling to her pillow and let her cling to him and thank her and love her in his head while she loves him on the outside.
And if he can stay in her arms forever, if everything else except for blonde hair and gentle kisses on his cheek and warm beds can disappear, then maybe it can be almost okay.