Trust, Heart and Soul
by
Princess McPhee
Disclaimer: Not mine. Don't own. Don't sue. Please.
Author's Note: First of all, this is a definite 'I-miss-Alex' story. Second of all, I like Jesse just fine, and though I don't like them together, I'm forced to admit that in the canon, Isabel acts as though she loves him. Therefore, this story. (Read, you'll understand.)
Author's Note 2: These (~) represent time changes. Astricks, (*) denote scene changes.
Summary: Isabel ponders her relationships with Jesse and Alex, and comes to a surprisingly conclusion.
Rating: PG
Why me? Why is it that men fall over me, that I can have any one of them that I want, and yet, I'm never happy? I never get the one I want. God! It feels like just when I'm trying to get on with life with a man who makes me at least marginally happy, some other guy comes and wrecks it all. It never stops happening, does it? And this is just getting crazy.
Alex. Alex, I could handle. Little geek boy trailing me around, then little, slightly appealing geek boy following me around, and then crazy, romantic love with little geek boy, and then boom! He's dead. That was enough. It's hard to lose someone you love. It's really hard to lose someone you love like that. It's not like losing a friend or something. It's really different. It's like, for the first bit, you just can't figure out how you're possibly going to go on.
I lived, though.
Along comes Jesse. Sweet, innocent, and even though I suppose it's odd for me, an 18-year old, to be saying that about a her lawyer husband, me being who I am, I can vouch for the fact that Jesse is an innocent.
He lit a fire in me where no one but Alex had even crept. Into my heart, and into my life. I did things for him that were wild and crazy and hard for me. I'd never given of my heart like this before, except to Alex, and look what happened to it then. And elephant sat on it, and squashed it, and couldn't put it back together.
And when I'm settling in with Jesse, getting used to the idea that I'm going the spend my life with him, Khivar shows up. Not just shows up, but tries to seduce Vilandra into leaving with him. Leaving this life, leaving what I've finally made for myself, leaving a family that I won't betray again. I promised Max a long time ago that I wouldn't spend my life trying not to be Vilandra, but I have to, sometimes. Because I might not be her, but I have her personality. I have to keep a handle on it, make sure it doesn't get out of control.
Now, I thought I was getting used to everything. Being able to accept my life, and live it even knowing what I know about the nature of extraterrestrials. Getting on with everything, living through the pain, making it strong, just like I always have, except for that brief lapse after Alex. I thought that I'd never forget him, but that I had Jesse now. That Kyle was my best friend, and Liz and Maria didn't hate me, and Max, while still totally screwed up, was definitely in a better place than last year. And Michael, well, Maria was good for him.
Then yesterday, Maria brought out Alex's guitar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The whole crowd is in the Crashdown when I arrive. Mr. Parker's ban on Max's presence hasn't actually been lifted, but he allows Max to come and go as he pleases, as long as he and Liz are never alone together, and Max doesn't flaunt it. Max being Max, of course he doesn't flaunt it, though the never-alone rule has been a little harder to impose. Maybe a couple more close calls, courtesy of yours truly, will wake them up about the fact that making out in the alley is not a good idea.
Michael is sitting on the end as far away from Maria as he can possibly get, but he keeps looking at her. I heard about what happened between them, and as much as I'm sad they came apart, I'm glad it wasn't too angry of a breakup.
For one thing, if it was, half the town would likely be on fire, and the other half in rubble, knowing Michael's tendency to channel his anger through his powers, unintentional as it might be. And contrary to what seems to be popular opinion, I do not actually enjoy being his cleanup crew.
But mostly, I'm glad it wasn't too bad because Maria means the world to Michael, and I'm sure she knows that by now. It would have been an abuse of his trust to really whale into him after he handed her his inner soul, and Michael's been through a lot of abuse already. She did the right thing, and broke it to him gently, and then stayed in his life.
I know a lot of people would be driven crazy by their ex hanging around after handing them a walking pass, and I know Michael is too, but I also know what Maria undoubtedly does, which is more than likely the prompting for this little arrangement.
We know that if Maria cut Michael off cold-turkey, he'd start following her, or stalking her, or leaving endless messages, or something, and eventually she'd get roaring mad, and there'd be a big blow up, the consequences of which I wouldn't want to see. I'm actually amazed at their mature relationship these days. They might actually make it after all, if that's what they eventually decide they want.
As for the other couple, Liz is either on break or aware that her father is (surprisingly) absent, and is happily perched on my brother's knee. They look perfect together, and if you didn't know what had happened the past few years, you might think they looked like the ideal couple. They're both dark-haired, with contrasting light skin, Max's lighter than Liz, but still. They're both small, my brother is only my height, and on a good day, I'm a half-inch taller than him. Liz must be five-three, maybe. Max's frame is wiry and lean, Liz's is small and petite. They both prefer somber colors, and are quiet, introspective people. Sometimes I wonder if that's what's wrong, if they just drive each other insane with their similarities.
Anyway, Liz is in her Crashdown uniform, and her little antennae keep waving in Max's head, and he catches my eye and then follows them comically back and forth, back and forth, looking slightly drunk as he does so. I laugh lightly, and sit down next to Kyle, who scoots away from me a little. I send him a puzzled look, but he doesn't answer, so I wonder if I'm just imagining things. Maybe he only wanted to create more space in the booth.
Maria's across from me, and greets me in her usual exuberant manner. "Hey, Isabel!" She says. Michael barely looks up at me, but he's like a brother to me, he gets that privilege. I grin.
"Hey, Maria."
"How's the married life, Iz?" My brother asks. "It's been a while, now. Still getting along?"
I nod, smiling. "It's good. We can't quite decide on the color for the drapes, or the carpet, or the tile, or just about anything, actually, but we never really fight about it. I think our apartment may end up looking like a rainbow at this rate!"
Max smiles softly. "I'm glad. I'm happy for you, Izzy."
Lunch is served by Liz, who finally gets up off my brother's lap after a protracted period of leaning her forehead against his and looking into his eyes. The rest of us ignore them, too used to it to let it bother us, but some other people in the diner aren't so accommodating. A couple of kids about ten or eleven stare furtively, and an older couple smiles warmly. The waitress on duty looks like she's waiting for Liz to come back, and is glaring at the back of Max's head, but either Liz doesn't see him, or doesn't care, because she doesn't go back for a few long moments.
We talk quietly about what's going on, about life, about things and parents and everything. Kyle says that his dad and his band are actually gaining popularity in Roswell, though I never thought I'd see the day. Old guys singing country music? I love Jim Valenti, but I never thought anyone would pay to see him sing.
I ask Kyle what his father's band's name means, and he just shrugs. "How should I know? They probably wanted a name that only sounded dirty, but actually wasn't. If it were me, I would have just gone ahead and called it the Shit-Kickers, instead of messing with it and getting something as insane as the Kit-Shickers. But then, I'm not a forty-eight year old guy who dates twenty-year-olds and pays most of the bills with his son's pay checks."
He's still steaming. Kyle simmers quietly, and until he explodes, frequently no one knows there's anything wrong. I know Kyle loves his dad, but that incident with the girl who used to be a classmate of ours, and therefore by default, can't be more than four years older than us really got to him. We've been hearing about it for weeks. This is the first I've heard about Kyle's job supporting them, though.
I don't dare ask him now. He might tell me, but he'd just make some flip answer with this many people around, and then I'd never get the truth. I wish he'd tell me more things. I usually have to pry things out of him, and even then, I usually have to wait for him to slip up and say something before I even know about it. He says I'm his best friend, and I don't doubt his word, but I wish he were a bit more verbal.
Sometimes I can hardly bear to be around him. He was Alex's best friend, and they share a lot of mannerisms. Who taught who, I don't know, but he can remind me so much of my old love that I have to make up excuses not see him. I don't think he's caught on yet, I certainly hope not.
I think what used to be Alex's most endearing habit is probably his, too. Whenever they got drunk, or giddy, or just plain happy, they'd both break out into song. Kyle doesn't do it that much anymore, at least not when he's sober. I think it reminds him too much that the soloist used to sing a duet.
But today, as we finish, he's singing under his breath, an angry song about the worthlessness of life, and I look over at him. He meets my eyes, and stops singing, but the damage is done. Maria jumps up from the table. "Isabel," She says, kind of serious. "Come with me for a minute?"
I follow her, looking back at the table where my friends are still chatting, puzzled. She walks me silently out to her car, and then as she opens the trunk of the Jetta, she abruptly starts babbling.
"I know... I know you're just getting over him, and I know that I took this, but I can't... I can't have it in the house anymore, and I think that you're the right person, Liz knows, she says she wouldn't use it and it would just sit under her bed forever, she says that it should go to you... and I think he would want you to have it, plus you're the only other person who knows how to play, I talked to Max-"
I catch her meaning pretty quickly, and my skin goes cold. Alex.
I have a little of his stuff, but I know he gave most of the sentimental, important things to Liz and Maria. Not really surprising, considering how long they've been his friends. I never really minded, though sometimes I got a little jealous. Then I remind myself that I what no one else has. I have memories of all the times we spent together.
The best times in my life.
My hand is shaking a little as I reach out to Maria, and put it on her shoulder. She looks surprised, and stops talking as abruptly as she started. "I'm sorry," She says, softly. And she turns around and reaches into the car trunk.
She pulls out what I knew she would.
Alex's guitar.
His most prized possession.
He once told me that there were a lot of things he wanted to do with his life, but there were only two things in his life that he never wanted to stop doing. Loving me, and playing his guitar.
I reach to take it carefully, because I don't want to drop it. It's true, I know how to play a little, just really basically, but I'd learn if I didn't know how. Because this was Alex's favorite thing in the world, and he trusted his circle of friends to keep it safe, pass it on to someone who would continue his love of music.
Running my hands reverently up and down the sides of the smooth wood, I look at Maria. "Why don't you want to keep it?" I ask softly.
Her eyes are wet, but she's determined. "It's a long story. But it's yours, and rest assured it's yours because you should have it, and not for any other reason."
I don't question. She's sure, I can see it in her eyes.
She only watches me for long, long moments as I brush my hands from handle down to the strings, twanging them lightly, and remembering Alex's hands brush those very strings. Somehow, the fact that his skin and sweat and maybe blood and certainly passion were bottled into this guitar made it more important than any other possession of mine.
A literal piece of him.
The rest of the group joins us outside the diner, and looks at us before walking quickly out. Liz just watches from the window, nodding her head to me when I catch her eye, but Max moves quickly to my side. "Is it..." He asks, noticing immediately my reaction. I nod. He puts a hand on my shoulder.
Maria looks at Kyle and Michael's puzzled faces, and speaks softly. "It's Alex's," She says. "It was time that Isabel has it."
*************
I'm home, sitting on the couch and still holding Alex's guitar, when Jesse comes home from work. He walks in the front door, pulling his coat off as he pushes the door closed, and draping it over the back of a chair. Then he pulls his shoes off, all the while talking about something. I don't know what, I'm not paying attention.
Finally, he migrates into the living room and finds me, staring at the guitar, stroking it just hard enough to make the slightest sound. He stops, and looks at me. "Are you okay, Isabel?"
I nod, but he doesn't seem convinced. "What is it?" He sits down next to me, and I really want to share my feelings with someone, but this isn't right. It isn't fair to Alex's memory to be crying on the shoulder of my new husband. So I settle for the short answer.
"It's Alex's."
Jesse's face moves from concerned to sympathetic in the space of a quarter second. He puts an arm around my shoulder, and I lean into it, but don't respond, though my fingers still on the strings. We just sit there for long moments, and though I enjoy Jesse's comforting arm, something's wrong.
He's not Alex.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
And now, it's gotten me all thinking, and I've been pondering how so much, more and more, I notice Jesse. Really notice him. I wonder if I've made a horrible mistake, but I don't think I was substituting Jesse for Alex. Maybe I was taking comfort in how he reminded me of Alex, but I don't believe I was mixing them up. After all, it's hard for Jesse not to remind me of my past love. He may be a little more confident, a little more experienced, but they're a lot alike.
My mother, for all her god-blessed advice that's done everything from keep me alive to keep me from dancing naked in front of a hundred strangers (well, maybe not quite) was wrong. He's not a rebound relationship.
Because Jesse, as much as it's different with him, has made his way into my heart, and he has my trust, something that some people might think comes before heart, but it sort of takes a different bent when you're talking about an alien girl. And he's special to me. Really special. Alex kind of special.
Just not Alex special.
I love Jesse. And there's caring, and the strength of our bond, and even passion. I'm not talking about friendly love when I say I love him. I really do mean it, and I think we have everything that's traditionally required for a happy marriage.
The problem is, I'm hardly traditional.
We have passion. We have fun. He makes me happy, and I do my best to do the same for him. I care for him, and I love him. My heart has been given. My trust has been given. And maybe I've been trying to convince myself that it's different from Alex because Jesse's just a different person. Which, of course, is true.
But there's more to it than that, and I know it. As much as I'd like to oppress these feelings, this sudden clarity fell over me the other day when I was lying in Jesse's arms, Alex's guitar on my lap.
Jesse has everything but my soul.
Maybe that's the price you pay for first love, I don't know. Maybe you always leave your soul with your first real love. Maybe if Alex and I had simply parted, instead of him being taken from my life so forcefully, it would be different.
But it's not. And there are things are wrong. Things that are just a little bit off. Things that just don't feel right. Because Jesse's not Alex, and as hard as he tries to please me, he can't be my dead ex-boyfriend.
And now, I have to decide what to do. Because I love Jesse too much to keep pretending in my head that he's Alex. And I love Alex too much to give my soul to Jesse. Anyway, it doesn't matter. I couldn't if I wanted to. It's locked away tight, and without Alex as the key, it won't open.
It's funny how I realized what was different.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We're quiet for more long moments. Alex's guitar rests firmly on my lap, and my knuckles around it, holding on, are going white, I'm clutching it so hard. So much of him is in this one little piece of metal and wood. So much of who he was, so much of who he still is, to those of us who remember him.
I trail my hand tenderly down the side, and pluck a few strings, making the guitar twang against my stomach. Jesse looks over, and catches my eye. I smile sadly at him, feeling this niggling at the back of my mind like I've forgotten something, but it won't come out in the open, so I do my best to forget it.
I can't help it. When I'm upset, I talk, and I want to start pouring out my feelings to Jesse. Except it wouldn't be fair to him, or Alex's memory.
So, I settle for the one thing that always immediately comes to mind when I see this guitar.
"You know," I tell Jesse softly, reverently, "Alex told me that he wanted to do so many things in his life that he couldn't count them all." Jesse nods, and just watches me, waiting patiently.
"But he also told me that there were two things he never wanted to stop doing." Again, Jesse waits until I can spit it out.
"He said he never wanted to stop playing music." Then I pause, not quite sure if I should tell Jesse the rest of it. Alex is gone, but Jesse knows how much he's apart of my heart, just the same. He answers that question for me, though.
"And?" He prompts, genuinely curious.
I look into his sincere face, and decide that I have to tell him. I started this, after all, didn't I?
"He said he never wanted to stop loving me." I tell him softly.
Jesse's arms around me don't change, but I can feel his hurt. After a while, though, it fades as he tries to argue it down with logic, the way he does. He's a lawyer, after all, he can't help it. He doesn't speak, but I can see it in his head.
We stay there, quiet.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
While we were lying there, I thought, letting my mind wander over territory I hadn't thought about in a long time.
Jesse's arms are comforting when he holds me. They're warm and strong and I feel safe in them. I feel loved in them.
I don't feel understood in them.
That's the difference. Such an easy thing to overlook when listing down the things necessary for a happy, successful marriage, yet such a fundamental subject. Like Jesse and I. We communicate well, but we don't see in each others heads. We can't do the practically-read-each-others-thoughts thing, and we don't finish each others sentences, because we can't..
I think that's what I miss about the soul-to-soul connection I had with Alex.
I know it is.
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