Title: Broken ( Destiny part one )
Timeline: Season one. During Independence Day and dips into Sexual Healing.
Perspective: Maria
Spoilers: If you haven't seen the first and second season, there are a few things in here relative to them.
Rating: NC17
Disclaimer: I own nothing and due to this you will get nothing if you try to sue me.

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It's not like she's thinking about Michael, because she's not. Because she's so over that whole drama their so called relationship had. Or lack or drama. She can't make up her mind which it was. Whatever. She's over it. She's over him. She's not thinking about him. Not thinking about how well he kisses or how good she feels when he holds her or how much she wants him here. Now. Holding her. More than holding her. But she's not thinking about that. In fact, she's not thinking about anything but combing her hair. And she's got to be crazy if she thinks she's seeing him because he is certainly not standing outside her window. In the rain. Soaked to his toes and probably going to get pneumonia. Not that she cares or that she should even bother thinking about it because he's not there. He's not real. He's not walking over. Or is he walking over? Or is her mind and her eyes and all her senses playing tricks on her? Or is he playing tricks on her. Czechoslovakian tricks. She didn't think it was possible but you never know. You just never know!

And he's not going away. She shakes her head at the window and decides to speak. If his Czechoslovakian tricks are so good, he'll be able to hear her from wherever he's transmitting the kind of projected mind type image thingy of himself. Like they do in Star Wars, when the Emperor speaks to Darth about going to the Death Star, yeah, like that. He'll hear, and he'll flicker off like a light and just go away. "What are you doing out there? No, you can't come in. No. I know why you're here. All right, I know what your plan is, I know what you want, but it's not gonna work this time, mister, ok, no matter what you say. My answer is no. No, no, no, no, no."

And he's not going away. She pulls the window up, leans down and sticks her head half outside. "You're lucky I'm in a good mood." He hasn't spoken so far and she has a feeling that when he does it'll be to laugh at her and expose her for being so rashly human and believing the projected mind image. He's dripping wet and shivering and she doesn't think he's a projected image anymore nor does she think that he's going to laugh at her nor does she think that anything about this situation which she just entered but thinks has been going on for quite some time now is funny. "God, you could get pneumonia." It's like her hands are moving all on their own because she doesn't realize she's running them over his chest and to his shoulders. She doesn't care either because Michael looks like he's going to cry and he's never done that before. "Here, take your shirt off." He helps her, but not much. He's more focused on watching the floor. She's focussed on unbuttoning every button with care, as if she might hurt him in the process. He's hurt her, but right now the last thing she wants to do is hurt him.

She drapes a towel around him and wipes off all the water. "Hold on. You're shivering." She wants to take that silly wife beater off of him because it's damp and he'll catch a cold if he keeps it on, or at least that's what her mother used to say. And she wants him holding her, but she thinks she should hold him because he looks like he needs it. And she thinks he needs her. But he'll never say it and she'll never ask and they'll always be this fucked up. She can see tears fall from his eyes even though he's burning a hole through her bedroom floor by staring so hard. She cups his face in her palms and she knows that his world is bigger than hers and she'll never understand, but she wants to try and she wants to let him cry and she wants him to tell her he loves her so she can say it back and they can stop being so fucked up.

It's never going to work, though because he's not one for explaining things. Because he hates the idea that he has feelings and he'll never admit that he's hurt. That he's broken. And all she wants is to fix him, but how can she when she doesn't know what to fix? So she takes his hands in hers and sits on the bed in front of him. "Come here. Shh, it's ok. You don't have to tell me, it's ok." It's like talking to a stranger. This isn't Michael and this isn't Maria. Michael isn't one to cry and Maria isn't one to not ask questions. This is serious which she has no experience with whatsoever because she doesn't like being serious. Sure, she wants a serious relationship and a serious boyfriend and a serious career as something — anything — other than a waitress but she doesn't want a serious life and all this serious Czechoslovakian crap is starting to seriously stress her out. But it's okay mainly because it's Michael and because she loves him and because Czechoslovakian or not, he's the best thing that's ever happened to her.

When he lays down in front of her she feels like her heart is breaking inside her chest a thousand times. He breaks down, sobbing and not facing her because how can he face her? Maria hugs him close to her body and plants tiny kisses on his hot skin. He's burning up and she pulls the covers up to his chest, shivers against him and can't help but love the way he feels. The rain outside pounds against the window and somewhere, between the softest kisses and laboured breathing and the sound of the end of the world outside, Maria falls asleep, somewhat in Michael's arms and somewhat holding him and somewhat hoping that all he needed was a little sleep and he would be okay even if she only believed it for a second before she snapped back into reality and realized that whatever it was wouldn't be okay. It could never be okay.

-

She wakes up to the sound of thunder, the sound rain hitting hard on the window, the sound of Michael shuffling around her room, the feeling that a conversation involving Czechoslovakians, the Sheriff, his lack of trust in Liz, his lack of trust in her, his lack of trust, his paranoia, his insanity is going to arise before the sun. It is still dark out but she can see him clearly, pacing back and fourth until he sees she is awake and smiles. She's glad for the smile, glad for anything but the tears because more than confuse her, they break her heart. "Come here." She's not mad at him anymore even if he is like a drug and even if the addiction is going to kill her, because how can she be mad at him when he smiles like that? She holds out her hand and he takes it, rubs his thumb in circles on her skin, kisses it gently and sits beside her. Her feet are warm under the covers but her shoulders are cold and exposed and his fingers send chills down her spine. "I'm scared." He rests his head in her lap and closes his eyes and Maria stops stroking his hair for a moment to piece together the two simple words he's just uttered. Michael Guerin. Scared. Of what? "I have nothing. Max... And Isabel have their family, they belong here. Not me."

"You have me." She looks down at him and silently wishes she hadn't spoken but her wishes mean less than nothing when he sits up and smiles. Something about that smile, the way it's not exactly conveying the happiness she thinks smiles should, makes her break and now she's the one crying and he's reaching out, brushing his fingers over her tears and telling her it's okay. Quite the role reversal. Or perhaps it's just the universe putting things back to the way they were. If that's what it is, she doesn't want it because "back to the way they were" means that Michael doesn't feel and he pushes her away and she's tired of being pushed away. She wants for once to be pulled real close and never let go. She wants to be safe. And maybe she wants to be loved. Or maybe she wants to be told that she's loved. "You're not alone, Michael." She chokes back tears and stifles her sobs in her throat, reaching out for him like he is for her, hoping that she's reaching beyond what she can feel. Max and Liz claim to have seen each others souls. Maria just wants to see Michael care. "You belong here, you do. You belong with me." She can no longer hold back her tears and collapses on him, holds on tight, afraid to let him go, and shivers when he strokes her hair back from her face and kisses her forehead.

It's like everything that happens, even the stuff that she doesn't know about or doesn't understand, somehow leads them to this place. This stupid place where Maria wants to hit Michael for not wrapping his arms around her and declaring his love. Where she wants him to just shut up and kiss her and hold her. More than hold her. Love her. It all leads here, every time, and she just wishes he would cut it out, end all the pining and hoping and wishing and just do something — anything — and prove something. She doesn't know what he should prove, but when he proves it she should be so knocked off her feet she won't care what it is. Maria thinks that all the time she spends with the Czechoslovakians — maybe it's something about the exchange of fluids, she shared that drink with Isabel once and she's sure Max has coughed on her and she can't stress enough how much spit she's swapped with Michael — has made her weak to alien super powers because Michael is reading her mind. Oh my god! Maybe he's been able to do this all along, like the mind image projector thing, although he didn't really do that, and he's been reading all her random crazy thoughts about him the whole time.

But he's definitely reading her mind because he reaches over and pulls her face close to his and just kisses her, just like that, like he's been dying to do it. Like he was made to kiss her. And that place they were in, it no longer exists and it no longer matters and the only thing that does matter is how hard her heart is beating in her chest and how much she wants him right now. How much she needs him. She pulls back now aware that his arms are tight around her waist and her hands are resting on his chest feeling the pulse of his heart beating exactly as hers is. She runs her hand over his heart and looks into those eyes, those look right through you and still somehow memorize every inch of your body, mind and soul eyes, and she melts, bites her bottom lip and whispers, "I love you." Maybe he heard her and maybe he didn't but he kisses her again and lets his hands wander under her shirt where they have been before but not like this and not on a bed and not after she admitted something as rash and human as love.

And love is stupid. Love is confusing and complicated and disappointing because love makes a habit of not really being love but being a supplement of love, an apprentice of love that hasn't quite mastered the art and skill it takes to be solid and assuring and real. And right now she needs real, but right now, Michael's hand is inching up her body, cold against the heat of her skin and she can't help but tilt her head back and allow him to kiss her neck and shoulders. He's got a way with his hands and she doesn't object to him teasing her, kneading her breasts with his palms and making her nipples hard like the smallest pebbles. It's hard not to moan, not to close her eyes and wallow in the moment, allowing him to simply have his way with her. She regains partial control of herself, however, and moves her own hands to remove the silly wife beater she wanted to take off hours ago. He removes his hands from her body for a moment to lift them over his head as she pulls it off his arms. She tosses it aside and leans far in to kiss him harshly on the mouth, their lips crashing together, eager to stay that way and yet, much like them, destined to break apart.

It's not like she knows where this is going, she hasn't got the slightest clue. She's never done this before because she's never felt this way before and she doubts she'll ever feel this way again. But she allows herself to remain enamoured by the worst kind of person. The worst kind of alien, even. The kind that makes you feel emotions you were unaware even existed and then takes them all away in the blink of an eye. She allows Michael to slide the straps of her top off her shoulders and leave a trail of soft kisses and butterflies in her stomach. He kisses her collarbone and pulls away, examining her body. He trails his fingers over her skin, down her arm and to her hand and his fingers leave another trail but this time she can see it. Her skin is glowing from within and everywhere he touches is illuminated and she wonders if he's been holding out on her all this time.

And when he kisses her again, she can see the stars. And it's not like the mind image projector or the mind reading because she can feel the heat of a million stars rising up in her and she can see them swirling around in the darkness of space. And then she sees Michael, but not as he is now — shirtless in his boxers and half under the covers — she can see Michael through Michael's eyes. She can see him looking at a younger Max, and she can feel how scared he is to join him and Isabel. She can feel his fear and now she can feel his anger. And she can see Hank and hear him yelling and when Michael uses his powers, she feels a sudden surge, like a wave of energy washed over her, knocked her to the ground and she is laying breathlessly watching herself in Michael's arms and she understands now that she is loved even if he can't say it. Because the way he holds her, the way he looks at her, it's how she looks at him.

She pulls away from him slowly, the images still fresh in her mind, though fading, and blinks back tears that can only be forming out of pure happiness. She strokes his cheek and pulls him closer and from the look on his face, he saw her soul too. Maria bites her bottom lip, looks up at him and smiles genuinely, reaches around her waist and pulls her shirt over her head and tosses it aside with his. He can do no more than stare at her, look her over and take it all in. She's almost glad there isn't too much light, in fact there is none besides the occasional flash of lightning and the blue gloom of the moon, because she can feel his eyes on her and she lifts her arms up to her chest. He tilts her chin up and whispers, "You're beautiful," lays her down, his own body hovering over hers, and kisses her.

Michael trails kisses that glow down her neck and shoulders and doesn't stop until he reaches the waist of her shorts. He looks up at her, the bright kisses melting into her skin and as she is absorbing the feeling of his lips all over her body, she nods slightly, bites her bottom lip and closes her eyes. She hadn't pegged Michael for the type of guy to ask if she was sure and to ask again to confirm and to reach over and get his wallet and riffle around for a condom. She tells him it's okay but doesn't tell him why it's okay. Because she is on birth control, after all, and that's safe, but mainly because she wants her first time with him to be real, nothing left out, she wants to feel closer to him than she's ever felt. She wants nothing in between them, nothing in the way. And he must be reading her mind again because he gets it, puts his wallet down on the bedside table and starts kissing her again.

She and Michael have never seen each other this... Naked before and, well, she doesn't get the best view but when she feels him, she really feels him, gradually moving deeper inside of her, her body moving in sync with hers. She's probably holding on to him too tight, with her eyes closed and her arms around his neck and he asks if she's okay and covers up the slight tinge of pain with more kisses and now every inch of Maria is glowing even if it's not outside. She's a firm believer of destiny and he's more against it than anyone she knows, but she thinks they could both agree that right now, destiny wants them together. She can't help but be vocal because he pushes into her causing her back to arch off the bed, her knees rubbing against his sides, toes digging into the bed and her mind once again swimming with thought.

Thoughts she is sure Michael doesn't want her to see. He's standing in the lunch line being told that welfare stamps don't work in school, he's sitting alone on the playground and she can see herself with Liz, Max with Isabel and she never noticed how alone he was. She can see the black eye Hank gave him and Max healing it. And then she sees him touching her because he's actually touching her and it's electric. He's literally sending sparks through her body making her gasp for air and try her hardest to hold in moans so loud the room looks like it's spinning. She feels like she is spiralling through space past what looks like the poster up in Science class of the Whirlwind Galaxy and as he pushes harder into her she can feel herself crashing, hitting the ground harder than she expected, like it was actually happening.

The image is gone as soon as it arrives in her mind, replaced with military soldiers running, running toward something that is beeping, the sound pulsing through Maria's body. And something was being buried by the radio tower she drove by once. Highway 42. The flashes she saw next were blurred, less clear and they were soundless. She saw what looked like pods, but instead of three there were eight. Maria gasped, her mind and body both rushing to the present, now fully aware of Michael and how good he feels inside of her. It's like something she's never felt before, combined with his hands on the small of her back, lips brushing over her neck and the rush of a thousand images, all of Michael, running through her mind simultaneously as he comes inside of her. She can feel it, feel him tense up just as she does and just as she comes for the fourth time tonight because, as if she hadn't expected it, alien sex is amazing. She's not sure if it's different or better but it's good, and she wants more.

-

"I saw the crash," she whispers in his ear as her fingers run up his back and through his hair. "I think." She is laying half under him, half asleep and half stuck in the illusion that she and Michael just had sex which they couldn't have because sex doesn't happen to Maria and Michael doesn't get close enough to people to have sex with them, but they could have because they are naked, after all, and her thighs are aching and she can feel a dozen hickies turning redder by the second and because she has this feeling that she's full. Maybe a kind of fulfillment but no, full, she feels full. "Highway 42." She closes her eyes and Michael is staring at her, trying to figure out what the hell she's babbling about. "Tell me tomorrow, Maria." He strokes her hair and rolls off her, slides his arm under her neck and she smiles happily because being held is her favourite thing next to alien sex.

There's something in the pit of Maria's stomach that makes her frown, though, because as good as this night was, it started with Michael being hurt and she wants to make it so that he's never hurt like that again but she doesn't know how. She's not Czechoslovakian and she's never been brought back to life by one, or even healed by one or anything like that, she's just had sex with one and that just happened so it's too early to count. She just wants to know that he's okay and that tomorrow, when they wake up and the issue of the crash and the pods and whatever was being buried comes up, he'll still be okay. And most of all, she wants to know that she made it okay, that she made it better. He kisses her lips and the side of her neck and holds her close, their bodies tangled together under the sheets, and whispers "thank you" too low for her to hear at first, but then he says the rest and Maria knows it's okay. "I love you."