AUTHOR'S NOTE: I DO NOT OWN ROSWELL NEW MEXICO THE TV SHOW, OR THE CHARACTERS. I AM USING SOME OF THE LANGUAGE AND SUMMARIZING SOME OF THE EPISODE "SONGS ABOUT TEXAS" TO SET UP ANOTHER APPROACH TO THE SCENE.
On the way to the bar Maria was searching for, Liz contemplated the deeper sadness Max was carrying. Even though she didn't give Isobel the shot, she still carried remorse for the result of her actions, that she had put anyone at risk of harming themselves because of something she created. That remorse, for the past seven weeks, had been forcing her to revisit her grief and anger towards Max, given her own flaws.
As they sat at the bar, Max's refusal to take a drink moved her towards even more compassion. After a decade of torturing himself with a secret; a decade of she not knowing, he was on the brink of losing the one person he had dedicated himself to protecting. In him, she saw the grief she herself had had, regarding losing Rosa. She couldn't ignore that. After everything, they had a sense of guilt and shame and grief in common, in many ways, her actions had evened the playing field. And while she was working on fixing a problem she started, that work had allowed to develop a working friendship with Michael someone who had entrusted her with his life as well as Isobel's. The sense of loss they all shared was deeper and, she had to admit something bigger was at play.
As she and Max headed to the hotel, she told Max, "I'm so glad Maria pulled you up to sing."
"I can't carry a tune," he chuckled, "but she didn't give me much of a choice."
"Well," Liz says as they approached the door, "it was good to see you smile, even if for a little bit."
As Max followed Liz into the lobby of Silver Saddle Motel, he hoped they would have enough rooms to divide the pairs. Liz was being too kind to him that night and, as much as he was grateful for it, he couldn't see past the pain of being so distant from Isobel. He knew that must have been a motivating factor for Liz-even though Isobel was a stubborn pain in the ass who tricked Valenti into giving her the shot-given the reports from Michael over the past few weeks whenever he would come by the pods, he knew she was working tirelessly towards finding a cure for Is. After all she suffered at the hands of his sister, she was doing her best to help her. There was no way they deserved that.
Taking in the teenager at the lobby desk, Max was concerned, especially when he says the "Jalapeno room was real spicy." Looking at Liz's shocked face, undoubtedly the stereotype of spicy in addition to th4e cultural appropriation of jalapeno must have been offensive as fuck. Even he was uncomfortable by the situation. Looking at her he says, "I'll sleep in the truck."
"Don't be silly," she says turning towards him, "it's fine, we're both adults…"
Still, he didn't trust himself with her, he didn't trust that he wouldn't surrender to the yearning and place both of them in a more awkward position. Then, the clerk says, "Never mind, found another room, the Alamo room," asking after they both leaned onto the counter, "which one of you is into mass carnage?"
"I'll take that one," Max says, "thanks," wanting to speed up an already awkward interaction. Racism, grief, sexual tension all at once in a motel lobby, he wanted to get as far away from the discomfort as possible. Turning to Liz, he says, "it sounds like the jalapeno room has more room for you and Maria anyway."
"Oh," Liz says trying to keep her cool and hide her disappointment, "okay…"though she wasn't sure she'd see Maria that night. She thought to herself, Michael, Maria and alcohol tends to lead to something Maria pursues though remorseful in the morning. And she needs that distraction without interruptions.
"Your rooms," the clerk says, " are on opposite sides of the courtyard, who do I walk to their room first?"
"Liz," Max says turning towards the clerk,"and then you can take me to my room."
"Sure," the clerk says leading them on their way. Liz's room wasn't too far from the lobby, which made their first walk short. On arriving to the jalapeno room, LIz blinked a few times at the tremendous amount of red in the room. She had walks into a stereotype. Spicy wasn't the right word to cover the room. Tacky was more like it. As soon as she walks in, she says, "Thank you," to the clerk, and "Good night" to Max, without being able to control the sigh of disappointment.
On the way to his room, he noticed a set of swings in the middle of the motel's courtyard. Unexpected to find at a motel, then again, maybe it was a place that people stayed passing through. The cheesy lights decorating the patio was a little much, he thought to myself. And his room appeared equally as cheesy. The only carnage had been in the paintings, and the sheets, the curtains looked like something out of a child's room.
Once in bed, he couldn't shake his concern for Isobel, or his grief for Liz enough to get to sleep. It's like the conversation he and Liz had about never being comfortable had jinxed him into another night of sleep. After tossing and turning for about an hour, he put his clothes back on and went outside to sit in the swing. While there, even though it was a little cold, he found peace he couldn't find in the room. The cold open air cradled him into easier a settled mind that, while still conflicted, was less burdened in sitting on a swing than laying on a bed.
On seeing Liz walk towards him, his heart skipped a beat. Of course she would have a hard time sleeping, between Maria's disappointment in not finding someone who could heal her mother and her own conflicted emotions about not yet finding a cure for Isobel. Even sleepy and a little drunk, she took his breath away.
"Couldn't sleep," Liz asks on finding Max on the swings in the courtyard.
"No," he answered as she pulled up the swing next to him, "you?"
"I couldn't get comfortable," she answered, contemplating whether or not she should admit that part of the reason was because he wasn't in or near her room. Sitting there swinging in momentary silence, she couldn't help but think about how easy it'd be to kiss him if his sick sister, her friend's sick mom, and her dead sister didn't act as emotional barriers between them.
"I'm sorry you didn't come here for what you came for," she says as she swung her swing slightly towards his.
He shrugged it off, "Shouldn't have let myself be the hoping kind of person."
"Hope gets us up every morning," she says, "I think of Maria, and all she's suffered because of what her mom may or may not know about aliens, and she can, after loss, just get up and sing. She has no one else, and look at her. Her hope, sometimes, is contagious…"
"Because she doesn't sit by like I have," he says. Then he begins to talk about the lives he didn't save and how, if he had more practice, he could control it. "My gift can be a hell of a burden," he admits to himself."
She then makes a reference ot the Henry IV quote he had recited the night of prom, hoping to inch towards showing compassion, and tenderness, moved that he, like her, struggles with wanting to help heal people. His smile in response melts her and she grabs at the rope of his swing. She leans towards him and says, "there's no guarantee that-that anything we try works," adding, "that's what hope is for, to help us believe that we can."
Feeling her body close to him, because she pulled herself, via the swing there, warmed him in ways that he didn't feel his heart deserved to be warmed. He couldn't stop himself from smoothing her hair, "Hmm," he says, "but do I deserve that kind of hope?"
"We all do," she answered letting go of his swing, the cold of the night seeping through her sweater.
Looking at her shiver, he got up and offered her his coat, "May I?" he asks before wrapping it around her.
She nodded and when he began thanking her for what she was doing for Isobel, she stood up and grabbed his hand, comparing his behavior with hers over that summer. "I too would have done anything for my sister, Max," she says looking at his hands and, as he attempted to pull away, she added, "you were so young and placed in an incredibly difficult position, I don't doubt I would have done something similar."
"But I lied to you for ten years-
"Because of that difficult position," she interjected, pulling herself closer to him, "there were people who could have been killed if you had taken more responsibility for that well-intended yet immature decision, " she concluded as she held his gaze and raised her hand to smooth his face. In their weeks apart, she had bargained with herself regarding all of her emotions and she couldn't find a sense of peace with staying angry or acting indifferent.
"I'm so sorry," he says leaning his head onto hers.
"I know," she replied, wrapping her arms around him, "I know."
After a couple of beats, taking in the aroma of her hair, a mixture of bar, desert, and minty shampoo, he broke apart from her embrace, "do you want to try getting comfortable again?"
She nodded, "can you walk me to my room?"
He nodded as he followed there, second from the far edge of the building. As she opened the door, he couldn't help but laugh again, "Who could ever sleep in this room?" he asks her.
"I know," she laughed, "red is an alarming color...white people."
"Yeah," he agreed, "white humans."
She nudged him as she walks more fully into the room.
He used that moment to say, "Goodnight, Liz," as he turned around to walk towards his.
"Can you stay with me," she asks taking off her shoes, "I know we both have a lot on our minds and I feel like you being here will help me sleep better…"
Despite wanting to give her space, she was giving him reasons not to, insisting on it. He begrudgingly stayed, sitting down on the bed as she rolled over to give him space. "I mean, look at this," she says holding up the blanket, "it's tiny."
"Do they have others?" he asks getting up and going to the closet.
"Nope," she answered as he found it as she did earlier that night.
"That sucks," he says, "at least the Alamo room blanket fit the bed."
"Ha!" she says as he returned to sit on the bed, "so you should have let me stay in that room!"
"But the bed was smaller," he defended, "my ankles reached the end of it."
"For a chaparrita like me? I would have been fine," she says as she leaned onto his shoulder, "look at how tiny I am next to you."
"Yeah," he breathed looking at the inches of leg between her feet and his, and then turning to find her nestle her head into the nape of his neck.
"Por lo menos," she says pulling his jacket around her, "your jacket makes up the difference."
"Ha," he says, "it does…"
He started setting the scene of a story that could take place in a random, cheesy yet a little seedy motel like theirs, Liz's laughter and "mmhmm's" moving it forward until she hummed a signal of falling asleep. After everything they could be friends, he thought to himself, she was insisting on being that much. He closed his eyes for a second, and began breathing at her pace, to slow his heart and find a little peace before the long drive in the morning.
