Title: Orion Rising
Author: swik
Summary: Outdoors on a winter's night with only the constellations for company. Post-episode for "The Toy House."
Disclaimer: Nope. I don't own 'em. Jason Katims had the idea -- I'm just test-driving it. Thanks to the swell folks at Regency and the WB for their creative vision and willingness to take risks. Majandra Delfino and Brenden Fehr are the heart and soul of Maria and Michael. Without them, there'd be no story to tell. This short piece of fiction is for entertainment purposes only and no infringement is intended. A great big pat on the back is all I'll ever get for it. ::sigh::
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"Only solitary men know the full joys of friendship. Others have their family-but to a solitary and an exile his friends are everything."
-- Willa Cather
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She had just left the Crashdown when he found her.
It was late Sunday afternoon. Maria was tired, having spent the past eight hours on her feet listening to snippets of every inane conversation known to humankind. Now, her head was awhirl with the usual assortment of priorities. She tucked away her work persona and got ready to tackle whatever was left of the weekend.
About fifty or so pages of Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath" were waiting for her at home. And she didn't want to think about the list of trig equations needing to be finished by fourth period tomorrow. Besides which, she wouldn't even have the benefit of Liz as a diversion tonight. The other girl was working the late shift at the diner.
It was just as well anyway, Maria mused. All Liz would want to talk about was the topic-of-the-month -- her break up with Max. And that would inevitably lead to thoughts of Michael....
A now-familiar ache twisted in the pit of her stomach. She began walking along Main Street, forcing his image from her mind and concentrating on thinking about nothing at all.
The dry winter wind felt decidedly nippy. She'd neglected to bring a jacket along with her change of clothes when she'd shown up at work. Afterward, she'd shed that silly "Close Encounters" knock-off uniform for a washed out pair of black jeans, shoes and a striped sweater that fit close, ending just above her beltline.
At least the sweater was long sleeved. Because the cool air was stinging her cheeks and ruffling her short hair. Maria gave the satchel over her shoulder a yank and hunched determinedly against the breeze.
It was just a few more yards till she reached the end of the block where she'd parked her mother's car....
She heard the low metallic groan of Max's jeep shifting gears before she actually saw it. Her insides shrank in response. The thought of forcing herself to smile, wave and perhaps even exchange pleasantries with him was not an appealing one. As it was, she felt neither friendly nor charitable right now.
But she stopped and turned anyway as he pulled to the curb, prepared to honor her necessary social obligations. She should at least be pleasant for Liz's sake.
Only it wasn't Max who was waiting for her.
Shit.
It was Michael.
He stared at her for a moment, raking her slim figure with a look of calculated insolence -- the one that made her ache to slap it off his face.
"Get in," he said tersely.
Maria was tempted to refuse, just to see the frustration explode in his eyes. If nothing else, she'd have the benefit of knowing she'd put it there.
But then weariness overcame her. All the exhaustion accumulated over the past few months since she and Liz had been forcibly initiated into the Secret Life of Max and Isabel Evans.
And Michael Guerin.
Frankly, Maria was tired of it all. The shock of Liz's shooting. The panic of knowing they weren't "alone" anymore in the unsuspecting halls of West Roswell High. The chaos caused by her reluctant attraction to Michael. The heartbreak of his continued indifference.
Now, here he was, in Max's jeep, demanding she get in without so much as a simple greeting -- as though nothing could possibly be more important.
Maria closed her eyes against the vision of him sitting in front of her, waiting. She shook her head.
Resistance was futile.
With a quick sigh, she braced herself and rounded the front end before swinging up into the passenger seat next to him.
Michael didn't even have the decency to glance in her direction. She knew it was only because he was so utterly certain of her compliance.
Damn him.
She shivered against the cold. Michael seemed to catch the brief movement out of the corner of his eye. He paused all of a sudden in the act of putting the jeep into gear.
"Cold?" he asked.
"No," Maria bit back, rolling her eyes at the miracle of his perception. "I just have this deeply buried fear of getting into a vehicle with a potential serial killer."
As usual, Michael chose not to dignify the remark with an answer. He simply shrugged out of his thick corduroy jacket and passed it to her without a word.
"No thanks," she said.
"Look, why does every conversation with you have to end up like a debate on 'Politically Incorrect?'"
"It doesn't."
"Yes, it does."
"No." Maria took a deep breath, trying to control her temper. "It doesn't."
"Fine," he told her. "Then just put on the fucking coat and stop thinking about it for once, okay?"
He was insufferable. She hated him. And she hated herself even more for putting up with this nonsense.
With a quick movement, Maria snatched the jacket out of his hands and stuffed her arms through the sleeves. She met his eyes with a look like pure poison.
"If you order me around like that one more time," she said in a deadly soft tone, "I don't know what I'll do, but I'm very smart and you'll be very, very sorry."
Michael's lips quirked up with just the faintest shadow of a smile.
Was that a corresponding challenge she saw lurking in his eyes? Or a glimmer of appreciation for her brief show of spine?
Either way, it didn't matter. A more familiar mask of detachment slipped over his features. Maria wondered if the trifling show of sentiment had occurred only in her mind.
"Whatever," was his only reply.
Looking back at the street, Michael turned the wheel hard and drove away from the curb with a quick screech of tires.
She waited for him to say something else as they sped south along Main, heading for the highway. But no further explanation appeared to be forthcoming.
Maria shoved away the strands of hair blowing about her face. "You going to tell me what this is all about, Michael?" she asked after a while. "Or is abduction really your preferred method of picking up chicks?"
"Don't flatter yourself," he snapped, glancing at the rear-view mirror.
That was it. She'd had enough.
"Stop this thing."
"What?" He pulled the jeep to a halt at the red light just before the junction with the highway.
"I said," she grabbed her satchel and prepared to jump free as the vehicle came to a standstill, "stop this thing. I have the sudden overwhelming desire to get as far away from you on the planet as possible."
"Wait." Michael reached for her, holding her back.
Maria looked down at his fingers where they rested on her forearm. She let her eyes slowly drift up to his face.
He met the warning in her gaze without flinching.
"I'd like you to go somewhere with me."
She stared at him.
"It's important," he said quietly, giving her arm a squeeze. "I wouldn't ask otherwise."
No kidding, she thought. Her anger melted away beneath the naked sincerity in his tone. Blinking at him, she relaxed back in her seat.
He let her go with a small sigh of relief, just as the loud blare of a horn from behind startled them both.
The light was green. Maria looked over her shoulder guiltily as the jeep shot forward. Michael turned left, heading east on the highway for the outskirts of town -- to a place she couldn't even begin to guess at.
For now, she was merely resigned to going wherever he might lead.
The last rays of the dying sun were at their backs. They sped along the dark ribbon of road with the haunting melody of Creed on the radio. She sank down in her seat, pulling the jacket around her more snugly and listening to the moody lyrics, trying work her thoughts back into some semblance of coherence.
She could smell his unique scent embedded in the fabric -- a striking mixture of mint and spice that was somehow characteristic of all three of them.
Isabel hid it with a daily dousing of CK. But neither Max nor Michael were inclined towards that kind of exterior disguise. And really, you had to get fairly up-close and personal to one of them to even notice it.
Up close, Maria thought.
And personal.
She closed her eyes.
Wearing Michael's coat was the next best thing to having his arms around her. Even the trauma of the past few weeks hadn't been enough to blast those particular impressions from her psyche.
In the days since he'd been cured from the fever, she'd brought her attempts to reconnect with him to an abrupt halt. The look he'd given her afterward in the cave with River Dog and the others had been layered with various shades of meaning. Some she thought she'd understood. Others she clearly hadn't. Because he'd moved into Max and Isabel's embrace and Maria suddenly found herself feeling more isolated from him than ever.
Then there was that brief accord between the two of them over her wood shop project. He'd been willing to express his feelings about their relationship that one time, but he'd also made it perfectly clear that he didn't need her in his life.
Now when she saw him, Maria kept her expression neutral and her comments to a minimum.
And the truth was, holding herself back was easier than she expected. Because the horror of his unexpected trial at the hands of River Dog was not an experience she was in a hurry to repeat.
Seeing Michael upstairs in the Parkers' apartment with Isabel, burning up with fever, had been more frightening than anything she'd ever known. More so than the time her mom had cracked up the car and landed in the hospital for a week. Or even when Liz was shot in the Crashdown. And the thought that a threat to his welfare could be greater than the regard she had for her mother and her closest friend was beyond unsettling.
For once, Maria could understand why he had no problem holding himself so far apart from other people. Things, it seemed, were a lot less complicated that way.
Ironically, the new lull between them seemed to provoke him more than their earlier fire. He'd actually stooped to attending a basketball game with all of them. In public. And, she supposed, it was also the motivation behind this little trip they were taking this evening.
They were twelve or so miles outside Roswell now. For a moment, Maria wondered if he was heading for the nearby state park. But he passed the turnoff, leaving her clueless once again.
Finally, about two miles beyond the exit, Michael slowed abruptly. He turned onto a dirt road and headed into the BLM lands surrounding the park.
The ride was anything but smooth. Maria reached forward to clutch at the cold metal bracketing the windshield, trying to hold herself in place. The two of them were bounced about in their seats from the rough ground.
She was beginning to worry that he'd lost his way. Yet a quick glance at his profile showed a look of determination, not confusion. Pressing her lips together, she shook her head and managed to keep from granting him the satisfaction of asking.
Whatever daylight remained was fading quickly. Maria wished he'd for god's sake just turn on the lights so they could see where they were going.
Then, he braked again, pulling off the road. They kept driving for about a hundred yards over the flattened scrub until the jeep finally rolled to a stop.
And Michael had reached his destination.
(To Be Cont'd)