Author: Death by Vista
Pairing: Michael/Liz
Rating: PG 13
Summary: When Michael returns Liz's journal, subtle changes become life altering.
Disclaimer: I do not own the copyrights or trademarks for the characters or stories on which this story was based. Additionally, no attempt has or will be made to copyright those works. The story has not and will not be used for profit.
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Prologue
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- The Missing Piece -
"No." Michael Guerin's smooth voice is unusually heavy as he sits at the gleaming counter of the closed diner. Before him stands the most beautiful, complex Paradox to ever exist… Liz Parker. When max Evans saved the girl's life, Michael had been pissed and scared. He proceeded to give the girl the cold shoulder, going so far as to steal her beloved journal. "They'd know all about you, Liz." He pauses for a brief moment to look up, into the Paradox's eyes, lost to the memory of the secret folds of her mind. To think, it feels like ages ago when he thought her life to be a mistake. But now, he secretly treasures her… and hates Max just a little bit more. "Thank you for giving me one more reason to envy Max Evans…" He searches her veiled expression for some form of reaction, and when she gives none, he stands and walks silently from the Crashdown.
As she watches Michael exit the restaurant, Liz struggles with an overwhelming sea of emotion. The foremost being a dizzying rush of relief to have her tattered journal back in hand. But, that feeling is quickly dwarfed by an excitement so strong, and so unusual, that she clutches the precious possession tightly to her chest in the hope of anchoring herself to the moment. Someone finally understood… finally stepped into her secret soul and understood the real her. And yeah, ok, so it is way bizarre that it would be Michael Guerin with such insight. And yet, perfectly fitting. He was an outcast, and she suffered extreme loneliness, no matter how many people crowded around her.
For near to fifteen minutes she stands reveling in this unexpected, and oddly welcomed situation. For near on fifteen straight minutes she smiles in a way she's not been able to achieve for at least a year. If she were truthful with herself… it would be more like five years. Not even Max's hypnotic eyes could make her smile in such an open way. Of course, the thought of Max brings on a whole new wave of emotion. Her smile does not fade away, it simply ceases to exist… shatters into oblivion and leaves her feeling tired and small. She is now just another angst ridden teen. She sighs softly, and then trudges through her duties to finish closing down the restaurant and go in search of Max.
Ok, if you want to get all technical and stuff, then yes, he is spying. But Michael doesn't see it that way. No, he looks at it in the same light that he now knows Liz would: clinically. He is merely observing her to ensure that his new-found trust in the human girl is well placed! (Yeah, and pigs learned to fly today, while Satan ice-skated to work.) He watches the myriad of emotions dance endless wonder across her beautiful features, reacting to each without thinking… as if she were truly showing him this side of her.
The endless relief that breaks across her features sparks guilt deep within his mind, throwing him into a state of mental confusion. He is Michael Guerin… he regrets nothing in this life! Her barely concealed excitement causes his stomach to somersault an intricate dance of butterfly grace, a stupid grin curling his lips in dopey happiness. No, wait.. He is Michael Guerin.. He never grins! Her smile, dreamy and free, causes his heart to race, and his palms to sweat. With a shiver of denial, he runs his hands desperately across his jeans, trying to wipe away the incriminating evidence that Liz affects him in any way what so ever!
Of course, none of that matters in the next few moments. And when her beautiful smile is instantly, and completely destroyed? He feels anger boil deep and unforgiving in his gut… and the satisfying shatter of a street lamp echoes despair through the otherwise quiet night. The sudden use of his hidden, Alien powers, snaps him back to reality. He is Michael Guerin, alien hiding in Roswell, New Mexico. And here he stands, trespassing in his almost-brother's soul mate's moment of privacy, (wow, say that five times fast!) and he is filled with disgust. Besides, he tells himself, this is Liz Parker. She's none of his business… he doesn't even like her. Right? He continues trying to convince himself of this 'fact' as he stomps off, into the night.
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Liz sits in a comfortable chair within her Fortress of Solitude. And yes, it is named after that Fortress. Of course, hers isn't located in the pole, and is nowhere near as snazzy. And yeah, so, it's not as romantic as Dawson's Creek, but it fits her perfectly. She currently sits nestled in a small chair, her journal spread across her lap. Though her pen rests pressed to pristine paper, she finds herself struggling to form the words of cathartic release. She is too confused… too overwhelmed!
Max Evans, the one whom has tried to take her heart, chastised her for her journal. And Michael Guerin, who didn't bother to disguise his dislike of her, understood not only the journal… but her as well! A soft sigh falls from the pursed line of frowning petals, and she finally begins to write…
' For so long, I filled empty pages with empty events, weightless hopes, and depth-less theories. I fantasized about an existence plagued with mystery and events based on a foundation far larger than that of Roswell, New Mexico. When max saved me that day in the Crashdown, the boundary between fantasy and reality ceased to exist. I was pulled into a situation a hundred times larger than myself… and I am learning so sad, painful lessons: Facts are not concrete, and reality is never as romantic as a dream. I can no longer rely on what I 'know' to be true. And though my very own Superman has saved me… I find myself drawn to Lex Luthor.
I also find myself faced with three missing pieces. The first, thank the stars, has been returned. My beautiful journal. Piece two… a rough edged piece of brick, just large enough to hide piece one behind. Piece three? Well, that is so far beyond complicated! My mind tells me that Max is that piece. My Superman. My soul whispers the name of a certain rough edged brick. And my heart? Hah. Well, it is still rather undecided. But, with all missing pieces, this one will eventually fall into place. The answer to my heart's desire is still elusive… but then, that is the price paid for a life less ordinary.'