Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell, or any other characters from other shows that might turn up. (Nor do I own the creation of Hearst College – that's all thanks to Veronica Mars.)
Author's note: Firstly, is there any American who will be willing to help me out with all the Americanisms, and who'll be able to explain the American schooling system please? Secondly, this might prove to be a very pro-Tess fic, but I'll try and stay as neutral as possible; consider yourselves warned. Lastly, I hope you enjoy it. And please, please, PLEASE review it – that's the only way I'll know if I'm doing something right or wrong. (Incidentally, this is not AU thus far... I doubt it will be AU but just in case you were wondering. Also, I'm sorry for the lack of dialogue and action – I have essentially written about a year and 3-4 months post-last episode in this one brief chapter. The next few will contain a lot more dialogue. It'll in fact start with dialogue, so I hope you guys can put up with this one chapter. Thanks, and enjoy it.)
Unnatural Born Leaders
Chapter I
He hadn't been able to handle it. He'd stuck to it for months but it had been too claustrophobic – Max, Liz, Michael, Maria, Isabel and him – in a van; one tiny cramped van. The problem wasn't really the size. That was irritating but easy to put up with. It was more the grouping within the group...staying the same as it always had been. Max and Liz in their own honeymoon world, seemingly oblivious of the danger they were constantly in and ignorant of the sacrifices, large and small, that others had made. Michael and Maria spending their whole time being a copy of Max and Liz's nauseating romantic displays or fighting incessantly. Isabel...Isabel was the one he'd felt closest to. She was the one who tried to force Max into being a leader and who tried to assuage Michael's paranoia; she was the one who tried to bring Max and Liz back down to Earth, she was the one who was dragged into every argument, no matter who much she hated being in the middle and she was the one who had sacrificed a husband, a family life, to be here. She also seemed to be the least appreciated.
So after months – three months, maybe a bit more – he had decided it was time to leave. His powers had become manifest and he seemed to have a degree of control over them not yet achieved by Michael or even Max. He suspected it had a lot to do with focus and distraction. He had plenty to distract him – a father to worry about, Alex's death to mourn and one blonde alien to alternately hate and miss passionately. He'd confided in his father once – admitting that he couldn't hate Tess, even after she killed Alex but his father had understood. She'd been family to them; she'd made a thousand kind gestures, a thousand little sacrifices and she hadn't ever counted them. His father had understood completely because he'd felt the same, but none of the others had and it had finally become too much; too much of the same monotonous existence with no end in sight and nothing to aim for, to achieve.
He had left them; they had acquiesced. They'd always known that his was an optional presence and, honestly, he thought that the only one who would miss him would be Isabel. The others were too wrapped up in their own romances to pay attention to a sister or a friend and now it would be her by herself.
He couldn't regret it though. Despite the teary farewell Isabel gave him, his departure had not been dolorous but optimistic, looking to a future in which he could now achieve something. He'd needed to leave – the sense of freedom and release that it gave him was evidence of that.
He returned home alone and, as always, his father had understood, welcoming him with open arms. They'd told everyone they met that Kyle had gotten tired of the road trip and wanted to return. It was the truth, in a lot of ways, and the residents of their small community had bought it. They had welcomed him back, not just in the community but in sports too. He couldn't officially play on the school teams but he sure as hell could train with them and be an assistant coach of sorts. It had felt liberating and he'd found some peace in this that he hadn't been able to find through Buddhism.
This was what had essentially defined the path he would take. The world that had been, in his opinion, colluding against him for the last three years were now apparently conspiring for him. In one word, this was Karma in action.
Scouts came to matches, always on the lookout for raw talent and skills honed. They hadn't noticed him – of course not, he was only on the side-lines, shouting encouragement and abuse as the situations demanded. But they had talked to the Coach, who had, unbeknownst to him, described him as the top talent he had seen in years. They'd talked to him; he'd told them the strengths and weaknesses of various players, apparently thereby showing his aptitude; they'd promised to offer him various grants and scholarships if he came to X College or Y College or Z College.
His dad was over the moon. After having aliens narrow your future down to driving around for the rest of your life, only to get sports scholarships to colleges with the potential to a future, even if it wasn't rich or sparkly – well, his dad really was ecstatic.
They'd gone through loads of the applications. His grades weren't good enough to go to the best colleges but there were decent ones offering him scholarships. There were arguments as to whether the college should be chosen based solely on being offered a baseball scholarship. He'd lost that argument hands down, but it didn't matter too much. The college they'd chosen for non-sports reasons had been one giving him a baseball scholarship – Hearst College in sunny California – as if New Mexico wasn't sunny enough. His dad was right though – the scholarship offered was great, the standing and reputation was good, it was far enough from Roswell to provide him with a bit of safety but close enough that, worst comes worst, he could come back. And they were giving him a baseball scholarship, of course.
And this was months ago. He'd been at college for a good couple of months now. He'd started the classes he'd chosen, some of them a hell of a lot harder than he'd hoped. He'd found all the cheapest bars to drink in, the area where all the girls went sunbathing, which lecturer to piss off and which one not to and he'd even made some normal non-alien friends. That had to be a good thing, right?
Maybe that was why he was now driving back to Roswell for thanksgiving. He definitely wanted to see his father and some of the kids who were still there, but it was that alien touch that he missed. Every once in a while, from a common phone booth, they would call him to tell him they were all right but he hadn't seen them a single time since he'd left them, and part of him just wanted to see them to know that they were fine. And Roswell was as close as he could come, even if it was through memories rather than reality.
And then there was the blonde evil one that he missed like hell. Home had never felt so homey until she'd stayed with them. Sure, he knew she was a liar, a murderer, an alien and even a little conniving but all of this did not automatically negate how she'd become family to him. It came not even close.
Which was probably why he was taking this circuitous route back to Roswell, passing by the building she'd died in. And just then, his eyes looking at the building that seemed to have exploded again, he saw a crumpled shadow by the side of the road. Just his luck that he would drive by a body on the street.
The shadow becomes more defined as he drove closer, shaping up as a person. The colours become apparent as he slowed the car down. There was a lot of red – a lot of blood he suspects and he feels a little sick at the thought. And there's blonde hair – that's when his foot slams onto the break. He's out of the car running towards the body now, and as he picks up Tess' body, he thanks all the gods he can think of, blesses every good deed that led him to this moment, even as his hearts beats so hard and fast that it hurts and even as he's on the verge of tears and a panic attack.