Coming to a Mutual Understanding, a roswell fanfic

Coming to a Mutual Agreement March, 2000

author: Blood Roses rating: R--some naughty language and naughty actions. Nothing heavy duty, though. category: Michael/Maria Romance, some angst, major Michaelpondering by Maria distribution: Go ahead and take it, if you want it, although I'd like to know where it's going. disclaimer: Gimme a break,. Of course I don't own them...I'm just a broke teenager who is using this as her creative outlet. Please don't sue me. Summary: Michael and Maria get lost in the New Mexico wilderness and...stuff happens. Spoilers: Of course there are spoilers--but if you watch the show on a pretty consistent basis, you should be okay. Oh, yeah...in my universe, the episode where everyone was kissing like mad--that didn't happen. It would only complicate the story.

This is my first fanfic of any sort, so I'm kinda nervous about posting. I would *love* feedback though, of any sort, so just drop me a line at squiggelynoodles@hotmail.com. You give me feedback, I'll write more.

* * *

Good God. I can't believe it--where the hell are we? I am completely soaked with sweat. At the moment, I can feel the salty perspiration coating me--it's running into bodily nooks and crevasses that have most surely never seen the light of day. To say that I am smelly would be a terrible understatement--I think that the phrase "Stinky as a caveman who may have invented the wheel, but sure as hell knows absolutely nothing about deodorant" fits quite aptly. I've been trudging around, for what seems like hours, in the arid New Mexico wilderness. I'm tired. I'm sore. And I sure as hell feel like punching out a certain pouty-lipped, spiky-haired male specimen--three guesses as to who it is. As if you need three.

Yup, that's right. I happen to be referring to a certain someone by the name of Michael Guerrin. Hot guy. Complete bastard. Happens to be of a different species. Is the object at which I'm glowering at right now, as he's the reason that I've ended up in this mess in the first place...

I've made the definitive decision that being obsessed with a male alien is really not the direction that your average teenage girl should go in. But I have gone in this direction, and have thus been forced to make my way out of myriad scrapes that would make my mother's eyes boggle if she only knew. But this situation--it's got to be the worst. Food is running low--the bastard ate the last of the twinkies, with a compliment of Tabasco sauce. Sweet and spicy--dude, give me a break. We're also not doing so well in the water department. All this misery, all this torture--all because he found some elusive clue that vaguely pointed to the whereabouts of the fourth alien, the exact being that has had sole occupation in Michael's mind, for some months now. The clue--let's just say that it really didn't work out. And Michael, being the petulant and moody boy that he often is, decided that he was going to pout as we were hiking back earlier today. He proceeded to moon over his regrets and self-deprecations, thus leaving me the job of leading us back to Roswell. The hike back was supposed to take only two hours--then it was going to be home, sweet home. Unfortunately, my sense of direction is *not* good--and that's being kind. So, now we're lost, and Alien Boy is no help at all. It's getting dark, and my pessimistic side has to say--things are *not* looking good.

* * *

one hour later

We are still wandering around like the lost fools that we are. It is completely dark now, and wild things are making the wild noises that definitely scare poor little Maria. Huh--are we going to have to camp out here?

Alien Boy's worried now, too. "Maria, we have to find some place to spend the night."

"Yeah, no kidding," I answer. "But where? There's no way that I'm spending the night under the stars--I'm not exactly up to weathering the elements."

The said elements are pretty mild--it *is* New Mexico, after all-- but still...

"Well, we have to. We have no sleeping bags, no tent, and I don't see any structures of any sort that could possibly provide us shelter. Face it, Maria--you're spending the night with the bugs."

"Have I mentioned, by any chance, that I hate you? That you're a completely insensitive bastard that has to spend this past year making not-so-good dents in my life. And you do realize how completely you fault this little escapade is, right?"

"Gee, Maria, I love you too. Look, deal with it. We're in the same boat right now, and we're not going to get out of it by criticizing each other."

Hmm, he does have a point. Oh, fuck, who cares? I think that I am fully entitled to complete bitchiness right now.

"I don't know why the hell I agreed to come with you."

"Believe me, I'm wishing you hadn't. Dammit, why did Max have to be away this weekend? You're giving me a headache--do you think that maybe you could shut up a little right now?"

"No, I really don't feel like doing that."

"Look, this was important to me, all right!! I'm sorry that we're lost. Now *please*, let's just find a place to camp out at, and restrain ourselves from doing permanent physical damage to each other."

Sheesh, look who's getting a little cranky.

"Fine."

* * *

A few minutes later

"Uhh, Michael--this is really disgusting."

"...Yeah, I guess it is."

And it is. We are lying on the floor of an open, scrubby area, with me lying partly on my jacket, and Michael lying partly on his. If I move approximately six inches to my right, I'll end up with a face full of dirt. If I squint hard enough, I swear that I can see little bugs making their way across the earthen floor. It is indeed disgusting.

"Michael--"

"Maria, just go to sleep. We're okay. We'll find our way back tomorrow. For now, just try your damndest to commune with nature or something, okay? I'm tired--I need some rest."

"Fine. Goodnight."

"Maria--are you actually being civil for once? Holy shit."

"Shut up. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."

"Umm...okay."

"Night."

And on that note, I try to fall asleep.

* * *

I can't fall asleep. I hear his breathing, steady and deep, over to my right, and I suspect he's having better luck at the task at hand than I am. What else is there to do but lie here and think?

So I do think--mainly about the completely zonked out boy to my right. I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me, please--I'm not usually the bitch that I've been today. It's just that the thing with Michael is wierd. He seriously evokes emotions in me that are a little hard to handle. It goes way beyond the fact that he's an alien--I mean, that in and of itself is remarkable and all that, but I've gotten used to the fact. What I mean is that I know now that there's more to Michael than I previously thought. He's a tragic, scarred boy. He's been dealt a raw deal in life, and his actions and personality reflect that. The foster father that he lived for so long with is now gone, but that man managed to do some serious damage to Michael. He abused him, not only emotionally, but physically, as well. I can never forget the night that I looked out my bedroom window and saw Michael standing there, rain- soaked and forlorn, after a fresh bout of abuse from the wonderful Hank. I remember letting him into my room, helping him to shuck off his soaked outer shirt, and watching as he collapsed with me onto my bed, him sobbing and me comforting. I remeber his desperation, and the quiet weeping--that night was at once awful and wonderful. The pain from the abuse was fresh, and he needed someone to turn to. He chose me as the source for solace. That night I felt that we had reached a new level, relationship-wise. I was his friend. Never mind the hesitant flirting that had taken place between us earlier, the abrupt kiss, the attraction. This was different and precious--the fact that he came to me in his time of need. I felt so alive and vital that night--my nerves and emotions were a jumbled-up mass working in overtime, trying to process the wonder. That night I shared his sorrow and witnessed him at his most vulnerable. I felt wonderful and alive. Not to be corny or anything, but that night--it was magic.

Have I also mentioned that this guy is completely gorgeous? Well, he is, and I'm not exaggerating a bit. He's got these wonderfully kissable, full, pouty lips that, quite frankly, left me somewhat dazed the first time I got a look at them. His features are androgynously perfect. His hair-- well, I hated his hair at first, it being so spiky and done and all, but now I've gotten used to it.

He's got a good body, too--wonderfully firm, muscled, and lean. He seems to have bypassed that awkward, adolescent stage completely. He fits his body, and looks comfortable with it. And have I mentioned that ass? No? Well--let's just say that it's a pretty damn good ass. He's tall, too.

But, no matter how beautiful he may be, one can't get beyond his attitude and past. His confusion with himself and where he belongs in the whole grand scheme of things--this speaks volumes when it comes to his personality. He's cold at times, abrasive at times, and has the whole bad-boy persona perfected. He's been hurt so often that he is extremely distrustful. It's hard to get to know the real Michael, but once you get past the cold I-don't-blink-at-anything exterior, what you can find is devastating. There's raw pain, and hurt, and angst. There's vulnerability, and a whole mass of other emotions that are in complete war with the Michael that one sees every day.

Michael try's hard to shut his inner self off from anyone who might see it. Even Isabel and Max, the two people who are probably closest to him, are not allowed the opportunity to experience the Michael that's beneath the facade. And once someone *does* see inside him, he try's his hardest to alleviate all sympathy that that glimpse has evoked by shutting off and being a complete bastard.

So, you see, it's kind of hard having a crush on him, knowing that even if the feelings are reciprocated, he still wouldn't bring himself to the point where he'd allow himself a relationship with me. See, a relationship would entail closeness--and he feels that he can't get too close to anyone. He has too much baggage, and he knows it. I know it--so why the hell can't I get over this crush?

Maybe it's because I've seen too many glimpses of tenderness from him. He may act like a complete jerk most of the time, but there are moments when he will just knock me off my feet by doing something that... touches me. Like the abrupt kiss at the Crashdown--such a sweet, intense kiss that left me reeling, and obviously had the same effect on him. Never mind that he tried to cover up by saying that it was for comfort--any idiot could see the truth. And that night that I've mentioned, when he came over for comfort and solace--that night that I *did* see the inner workings of Michael-- that, as you know, was another time during which he managed to completely knock my world off its axis...not in a bad way, mind you, but instead in the very best way...

So, you have to see that I'm in a dilemma. I've tried to forget about Michael, but it won't work. I'm past denial, and if something doesn't happen soon between us, I'll go insane. I'm tired of mooning over a guy that potentially will never allow himself to be mine...I'm ready for some action, and I'm going to get it.

* * *

A few minutes later

I'm sitting here, pondering my recently made declaration that I was ready for something to happen with Michael. Suddenly, I'm becoming doubtful, and wondering if this declaration is truly insane-- if I were to just go for it, and he refused in his cold, sometimes-Michael way, what would be left of me? I mean, of course I'd get over it, but the pain wouldn't go away immediately, I know...it'd linger there for a while, the hurt fresh, and new, and cutting...gulp.

Suddenly, I hear a noise to my right. A low cry, a flailing...

Michael?!!

It is Michael, obviously caught in the throes of some vivid dream--a nightmare probably.

I scramble off of my jacket, onto the bug-ridden, earthen floor, and then to him. He's huddled in a painfully desperate fetal position--I think he's crying--it has to be a nightmare. I reach over to his ahoulder and try to wake him from the torturous dreamscape that's infected his mind.

"*Michael*--wake up...God, wake up!"

Is that *my* voice--holy shit, I sound desperate...why won't he wake?

With a swift shake to the shoulder, he finally surfaces and rolls over. Oh, God...he's worse than he was that night. Tears have made their mark on his face and they won't stop coming, and the sobs still continue to tear themselves hoarsely, painfully from his throat. Suddenly awash with fear from this horribly real testament to his torture, I scootch in next to him, and hug him to my body, cradling him in my arms...

Finally the sobs stop. I can feel his face, sticky, wet, and unshaved, against my neck, and suddenly I know that the desperation is gone and all that's left is terrible embarrassment on his part. I can feel him suddenly, instinctively try to roll back into himself and pull away...*NO*--I pull him back to me. We need to talk about this--

"Michael--"

His eyes are so big and wet now as they slowly meet mine--he's looking at me like a lost little golden retriever puppy, and I feel sudden tenderness clutch my heart. He acknowledges me by letting loose a strained "Yeah?"

"Michael--what just happened here?"

He doesn't want to talk about it, obviously, but even he can sense that we need to.

"Just--a nightmare. Really, Maria, it's not that big a deal--"

"Does it happen often?" I need to know.

"...Yes."

Oh, God. Really, I don't know why I'm that surprised, but I am...how can someone experience such pain each night?

"What was it about?" I ask gently.

"Hank. The fourth alien. Everything."

"Oh." Really--what else can I say? All I know is that right now I need to make things better--time to morph into MariaComfort mode.

I cradle him closer, and he relaxes, resting his head against my neck. There is a strange calm now. He's exposed, and he knows it, and yet... right now he's okay with it. Maybe later he'll put back up the impenetrable brick wall, but for now he's content, just laying here with me.

* * *

30 minutes later

Some time passes, and I think that maybe he's fallen asleep. I'm startled when he suddenly lifts his head and looks at me. He gives me a long, searching stare, one that leaves *me* unnerved now, and completely vulnerable. There is no shame or embarrassment in his eyes, as I might have expected there would be. Instead, I see a look of wonder.

And no wonder I see such an expression of wonder...because it suddenly dawns on me that this night is indeed wonderful. The breeze is cool, but body warmth keeps us comfortable. The flora of the area leaves romantic shadows and silhouettes against the nightscape. The sky above is velvety darkness, the cool shade of a sapphire, with numerous stars twinkling beningly down on us. It is beautiful...and Michael and I are a part of this awesome, soul-shaking beauty.

We both realize that, aand are struck mute by the realization. We are both aware that this is a night of dizzy enchantment--that quite concievably, there are fairies about, fey, bewitching beings that are ready to cast their spells.

We both realize that tonight anything can happen.

And anything will happen. This I know, as I see Michael's eyes darken. We are so close...entwined, really...and his head only has to move down a fraction of an inch until his lips meet my cheek. And then the other cheek. And finally my mouth...

This kiss is a far cry from the one that I recieved from him in the Crashdown. This one has the same gentle intensity, but it's so much more...it's long and leisurely. It's sweet and wet and slippery, and incredibly arousing. His lips slide over mine, and I am dimly aware of the fact that my mouth has opened, and his tongue is now coming on in, to greet mine. Hmm..never again will I insult "sweet and spicy."

The kiss is growing in intensity, and he now makes a noise of quiet desperation that leaves me completely undone and aroused. Lips move more hungrily now. The kiss breaks, allowing us both to gasp for air, and I feel his mouth make its way down my chin to visit my throat, nipping and sucking, worrying at the hollow and the pulse. I moan at the sensation, and suddenly realize that something is pressing against me, down below, around where my stomach is. Oh, God, it's his erection. I now have proof that the arousal is definitely *not* one-sided...

I can say, with all honesty, that this really is the first time that something like this has happened--this is a far cry from a few clumsy kisses on the front porch...I want this so badly, but I know that it's too soon, and the emotion is too raw--I do *not* want to end up doing something that we both could regret immensely.

"Michael--" I manage to gasp out. "Michael, sweetie, stop--"

He does, leaving my neck to look at me, a question in his eyes.

"Michael--we can't just rush into--this--whatever it is that we're about to do--"

Damn, there are times when I hate logic and rationality, and this is definitely one of them...but right now we need both.

"Michael, we need to talk about this. What the hell are we doing? Just an hour ago we were ready to tear each other's heads off."

He studies me for some moments, and finally answers. "We're kissing because we both want to. Because we're finally sick of all the bullshit.'

I'm surprised at how simply honest his answer is.

He continues. "Maria. I like you...a lot. I mean, I more than 'like you'-- I honestly can't tell you the exact nature of my emotions. All I know is that this--you, me, tonight--it feels right.

Well, tell me, how can I *not* beam at him, hearing those wonderful words? He catches onto my sudden happiness and smiles back at me, saying, "And I take it you feel the same way?"

Do I?!! God, I feel virtually delirious with happiness. I give him a full, toothy, Maria grin, and reach up to tousle that crazy hair. I lean over to give him a quick smack on the lips, answering, "You bet."

His grin is my response, and I happily nuuzle my head into his neck, feeling content as all get out, lounging like a cat against him, reveling in the primal pleasure of simple human-to-alien contact.

After a minute or so, I stick my head back up and get on to the pertinent business. "So, Michael--what does this really mean? Are we, like, *together* now?"

He shrugs, content to focus on the here-and-now, ready to save all the pesky technicalities for the future. "I dunno--why don't we just see where fate takes us?"

Sounds good to me. My answer is a kiss, and then I resume the act of lounging against him, reveling in his body warmth and unique *Michaelness*. Er...but something down there is making its presence known against my stomach...

He apparently takes notice of this little detail too--after all, how can he *not*?

"So, guess we won't be doing it tonight...or will we?"

His voice has that wonderfully childlike not of hopefulness, but still...

"Nope. But we'll work ourselves up to that point--it may take, oh, a few months or so, but it'll happen...eventually."

I can't help the amused tone that pervades my voice, but I really *am* trying to be succinct--after all, a girl's gotta know when to say no.

"Well, if that's the case..." he answered in a mock-mournful voice, "up. Gotta go to the bathroom."

I let him up. I can't help but stare at the front of his pants... bathroom...yeah, right.

"Don't get lost," I call after him, as he ambles away.

"I won't."

And he doesn't. He returns a few minutes later, with his problem having been... allieviated. We snuggle up, snug as two bugs, using our coats as protection against the ground. We are both exhausted, and fall asleep immediately. My last last thought before consciousness drops is a comfortable, old cliche: life is swell.

The End!

Note to Readers: Okay this just felt like a really good place to end. For those who just hafta know, yes Maria and Michael return to civilization the next day...Michael just uses the alien sixth sense that he never even knew that he had to lead them back to Roswell. Turns out they were just bumbling around like a couple of fools a few miles outside of town, anyways. Of course they go on to live happily ever after, battling conspiracy and teen angst as they struggle to live normal lives. And yes, someday they'll get married, and have delightful human-alien hybrid babies.

So, didja like the story at all? Didja hate it? Whichever...I'd just appreciate feedback at squiggelynoodles@hotmail.com. Feed me! I'm a feedback slut! (g)