WARNING: Be advised, this chapter contains a violent attempted sexual attack. Suppose I should have noted "violence" in my original chapter one synopsis too, huh? Oh well. It's updated now.

Chapter Two: Panic at the Crashdown

Liz awkwardly repositioned the headband with its bobbing antenna as Jose blinked at her apologetically.

"Do you need me to stay? I…" he began to say, but she stalled him with a sharp wave of her hand.

"No, it's okay. Go ahead and go. It's not your fault Agnes bailed on me and you put your request for tonight in months ago." She gestured to the café behind her, finally empty except for the unbussed tables and a middle aged man in the booth by the window. "It's not as if we're busy anymore, and you've already stayed an hour later than you were supposed to."

She grabbed a tub and began clearing tables as she called over her shoulder. "Now that the dinner crowd has cleared out, I should be fine. Just finish scraping off the grill for me. When my parents get back tomorrow night I'll make sure Dad knows to throw a little something extra in your next check for staying late and helping me out."

Jose grinned at her gratefully through the pick up window. "Thanks Liz, I really appreciate it!" His head disappeared as he bent to his task, and the grill was cleaned in minutes.

"You sure?" he called one last time from the entrance to the kitchen.

Liz rolled her eyes and tossed a rag at him. "Get out of here before I change my mind."

He caught the rag with a grin and lobbed it back at her before disappearing through the door. In no time at all, Liz heard the tell-tale swing of the employee exit heralding his escape.

The worn out girl shook her head ruefully as she surveyed the room. Settling one hand on her hip, she closed her eyes as she reached up and massaged the knot of tension at the base of her skull with the other. Her parents always enjoyed their trip to the annual restaurant convention in Las Vegas but, as glad as she was to give them the opportunity to go, handling the Crashdown by herself was an exhausting experience. She would be so glad to have them back tomorrow night. Resolutely, she opened her eyes with a sigh and turned her attention back to the mess in front of her.

Halfway through clearing the tables, she realized she had been sadly neglecting her only customer. Grabbing a fresh pot of coffee, she steeled herself and approached the lone man in the booth. He wasn't someone she'd seen before, but that wasn't too unusual. Tourists came and went in Roswell all the time, even in the off season. This one had come in with the dinner rush and waited patiently in the middle of the evening chaos to order and be served. That in itself was usually enough to endear a customer to her, but something about this quiet man set her on edge.

She pasted on a smile as she approached his table and asked pleasantly, "Can I get you anything else? A warm up, maybe?" She gestured to his half empty cup with the carafe of hot coffee.

His head swung away from the closed blinds of the front window to face her. She tried not to shiver as, once again, his eyes focused on a random spot to the right above her shoulder instead of her face. He'd done the same thing every time she'd spoken to him and she found it strangely unnerving.

"I'd take a refill," the customer replied with an incongruously dreamy smile.

She responded with a nod and bent forward to refill his coffee. He hadn't extended the mug, so she was forced to lean over in front of him to reach its spot on the inner edge of the booth. She moved to rise, holding the cup and saucer in her left and the coffee in the right, when the man's hand unexpectedly snaked out and closed around her left wrist.

The porcelain clattered in her grasp as the action stalled her movement. She froze as he began to stroke his thumb back and forth along the inner skin of her wrist. "You're very pretty," he said in a conversational voice, his unfocused eyes still fixated on that point of empty space beside her head.

"Uh, thanks," she replied uncomfortably and tried to free her arm, but he merely tightened his grip.

"You're alone," he said quietly as his thumb continued its stroking. "I could stay with you..."

A spike of panic jolted through her as she realized he had heard her conversation with Jose. She tried to remember exactly how much about her situation she had given away during the exchange, and came to the queasy conclusion that the answer was too much. She determinedly wrenched her hand from his grip with a forced smile. "Um, thanks. But my boyfriend is on his way here now to help me close up."

His eyes met hers for the first time and a jolt of fear surged through her at their abnormally hollow depths. "Liar," he murmured serenely, and the oily slick smile that accompanied the words made her curse herself for missing the opportunity to put some distance between her and the booth.

Something in her face must have set him off, because she saw the violence bloom in his expression an instant before he moved. She immediately pivoted away from the table as an ancient ingrained survival instinct flared to life, screaming at her to escape. Before she got far, he was out of the booth. The carafe and china crashed to floor as he grabbed her elbow and yanked her flush against his body. She vainly struggled in his grip as he spun her around and screeched in her face, "Don't turn away from me, bitch!" His wild eyes burned into hers; his formerly calm countenance a distant memory.

She opened her mouth to scream, but a swift backhand ensured her silence. Her head rocked with the force of the blow and before she could react, the belligerent man had twisted her arm behind her back. Using the leverage of his position, he forcibly bent her forward over the table, knocking the empty plate from his dinner off the edge as he slammed her into the Formica. Blinking back tears, Liz reached for her powers to throw him away from her. She moaned in dismay when nothing happened, her control of her abilities completely overwhelmed by the icy river of terror raging through her bloodstream. Twisting and squirming, she fought to escape, but his solid grip and the position of her arm kept her restrained.

"Stop! Please..." She moaned ineffectually as the man began to stroke his free hand down the side her body and grind himself against her. She gasped painfully as he grabbed the collar of her uniform and pulled, tearing it raggedly off one shoulder with a savage rip. His touch was rough against her newly bared skin as he tore away her bra strap. Helpless tears of disgust and horror leaked from her eyes as she unsuccessfully attempted to bat him away with her other arm. When that failed, she tried to use the hard surface beneath her as leverage to kick at him with her legs, but he shifted easily to avoid her feet. His fingertips slid across her back and down her shoulder. The captured girl yelped in agony as he seized her free hand in a bone-crushing grip and forced it behind her so he could trap both of her wrists in one bruising hold.

She gasped in revulsion as he used his now unimpeded hand to slither up her thigh and underneath the short skirt of her uniform. She froze when she felt him toy with the elastic edge of her panties. He dipped a fingertip beneath the band as she began to buck against him in panic, wriggling in a desperate attempt to throw him off. He chuckled appreciatively and began inching the mint green back of her dress up out of his way. Liz reached for her powers again, and was gratified when this time at least the sugar container at the end of the table exploded. The man reared back in shock. Before she could press her advantage, she heard him cry out in surprise and felt a sudden jerk as his body was wrenched away from hers.

Wasting no time shoving herself off from the table, the trembling young woman spun to see Michael holding her assailant up by the throat with glowing hands, quaking with rage. The older male desperately clutched at the fingers crushing his windpipe, but the angry alien holding him merely growled at his struggles and increased the pressure. Liz watched blankly as her attacker's thrashing tapered off and Michael dropped him unceremoniously in a ragged heap.

The glow faded from his hands as Michael checked the man's pulse with quick, efficient movements. Satisfied that he hadn't killed him, he swiftly removed his belt and used it to bind the unconscious man's hands behind his back and anchored him to one of the booths' poles. Once the teen was sure the unconscious man was secured, he rose from his crouch and turned to the girl behind him, his face a carefully smooth mask.

"H-how did you know?" she stuttered tremulously as she clutched the remains of her ruined uniform to her chest.

"You were screaming in my head. I was riding home from MetaChem," for the first time she noticed he was in his uniform, "nearly wrecked my bike."

She shifted uncomfortably beneath his stare when she realized she had no recollection of initiating the deeper connection necessary for them to mindspeak. Her panic had been so blinding that it hadn't even occurred to her consciously to call for help that way. Thankfully her subconscious hadn't had the same problem.

Michael steadily closed the distance between them until he was standing directly in front of her. "I kept asking what was wrong and you weren't answering me, so I whipped a u-turn in the middle of Main Street." His eyes darted away from her to glare at the broken pile he'd left her assailant in. "Damn good thing, too." The glare immediately softened into concern as his eyes slid back to hers. "You okay?" His stonewall façade slipped, showing his concern for her, which triggered an avalanche of emotion inside her.

"Michael, I-" she began but broke off, shaking. He reached out and tugged her to him with one arm as her tears began to fall. She flinched at the initial contact, but the warm pulse of his protective support thrummed through their connection and she found herself melting against the solid wall of his chest.

Carefully, he wrapped his other arm around her quivering form and held her silently, mentally opening their link further to soothe her with his reassuring presence. The reality of what had almost occurred pounded through her mind and sobs wracked her small frame as he held her in the harbor of his arms. Once her tears began to subside, he slowly released her and shrugged out of his jacket to wrap it securely around her shoulders.

She clutched the warm cocoon of his coat like a lifeline and tried ineffectually to wipe the slick path of tears from her cheeks. The battered girl winced as her fingers encountered the rapidly darkening bruise that swathed the right side of her face. Wordlessly, Michael brushed her hand away and traced his fingertip down the unblemished edge of the damage in sympathy. Liz tried to stay inside her own head, but the air was suddenly thick with his memories of similar marks dealt by a too familiar hand. She could feel his side of the connection shutting down as he reached past her to snag a napkin from the nearby dispenser. With unexpected tenderness, he cautiously blotted the moisture from her injured skin before depositing the wet tissue in her hand.

Sparing a glance towards the crumpled shape of her attacker, Michael settled a comforting hand low on her back and steered her gently to the counter nearest the phone. She instinctively leaned into him as he picked up the receiver and dialed the police, noting distantly how careful he was to keep his body protectively between hers and the would-be rapist.

It took half an hour to convince the police dispatcher on the other end of the line that it wasn't a prank. Michael growled unhappily at the delay. Even though his relationship with the Roswell Police Department was less than stellar, it irked him to have them waste precious time making him jump through hoops. He hated to think of what might have happened if he'd actually NEEDED them to hurry. Finally, the dispatcher agreed to send Deputy Blackwood by to check it out and the disgruntled alien disconnected from the PD with a sarcastically snarled thanks.

Grateful that the police were finally on their way, he peered down at the brown head resting silently against his chest. Warily, he lowered his internal shields and found the torrent of emotion she'd been projecting earlier curiously absent. In its place, her mind was consumed by a carefully constructed emptiness. He wasn't prepared for how deeply that disturbed him. Seeing her that way after Alex died had been bad enough, but FEELING it? It was a million times worse. Recognizing that she had shut down, he gritted his teeth and picked the phone back up. Snaking an arm around her waist to more firmly anchor her against him, Michael dialed the elder Parker's cell phone.

Several rings later, Jeff's groggy voice scratched disjointedly over the line, "Lo?"

The weary teenager grimaced as he looked at the time, realizing that the older man had no doubt been asleep for hours, "Mr. Parker? It's Michael."

"Michael?!" The sleep evaporated from the adult's voice instantly, "Are you okay? Is everything alright?" The young man felt indefinably better to have someone take him seriously immediately. Through the phone in the background he could hear Liz's mother stirring.

"Jeff, what's wrong? Did something happen?" Nancy's muffled voice filtered through the handset.

Hearing their anxiety, Michael hurriedly responded to them both, "There was an incident at the Crashdown. Liz was attacked." Both parents exclaimed in alarm, and he hastened to finish. "She's okay...mostly. I'm here with her and we're waiting for the police."

"Put her on the line," Jeff commanded as Liz, expecting the request, eased the phone out of his hand before Michael could comply. Without moving from his loose embrace, she gingerly cradled the earpiece to her head.

"I'm here, Daddy." Michael took the opportunity to thread his now free hand around her and listened circumspectly as she spoke to her father. He couldn't make out what was being said on the other line, but the sharp chatter of syllables beat against his ears.

"Dad, stop. I'm a little bruised, but fine," Liz's sharp voice cracked like a whip. "Michael got here in time."

Both of the teens flinched at her dad's thunderous roar of indignation, "IN TIME FOR WHAT?!" Liz held the phone a away from her ear for a moment.

Feeling her desperate desire to delay dealing with her parents reverberating in his skull, Michael took pity on her and plucked the headset out of her grasp. He took a moment to do a quick surface scan of the night's events through the bond and sucked in a deep breath before speaking into the phone.

"Mr. Parker, it's me again. Liz is still shaken up, so I'll explain." His grip on the tiny girl pressed against him tightened subconsciously as he tried to organize the memories she'd shared with him.

"Liz was closing by herself; Agnes called out sick and Jose was scheduled to leave early. There was one remaining customer who tried to pick her up once she was alone. When she turned him down he got violent. I found her pinned down to one of the booths when I stopped by to pick up my paycheck." Liz wrapped her arms around him and squeezed gratefully, if a little shakily, at the recap. "I dragged him off her and knocked him out. We called the cops and then I called you."

The line was quiet for a moment as the Parkers struggled to absorb this information. "How bad is it?" Mr. Parker's voice drifted into his ear. "Did he..."

"NO." Michael interrupted decisively, not even allowing the older man to complete the thought. "He tore her uniform and bruised her face, but that's as far as he got."

The parents on the other end gave silent prayers of thankfulness that their little girl had been spared that injustice. The door to the Crashdown opened and Michael breathed out in relief to see Deputy Blackwood enter.

"Mr. Parker, I have to go. The police are here."

"Michael, wait!" The young man paused as Jeff continued, "Nancy and I are going to get on the first available flight home, but I need you to keep us informed."

"I'll do what I can, Mr. Parker," Michael replied gravely. "But I'm not family; there's only so much they'll be willing to tell me and Liz is still a minor."

"If we can't be there, we need to know what's going on. If it's alright with you, I'd like to authorize the police to share information with you on our behalf until we make it home."

Michael sucked in an involuntary gulp of air, surprised by Jeff's display of trust. "T-that's fine," he replied, stumbling a little over the words in his shock. "Whatever you need me to do." Liz laced her fingers with the hand he had settled low on her hip and brushed her thumb against his reassuringly.

"Thanks, son." Mr. Parker responded appreciatively. "Who did they send?"

"Owen Blackwood," Michael replied with a nod to the man in question, noting that the officer had already verified Liz's assailant was secure and still unconscious. "You want to talk to him?" At Jeff's acquiescence, he proffered the handset to the police officer. "Deputy Blackwood? Mr. Parker wants to speak with you."

The Deputy took the phone with a nod. Michael dipped his head in response and relinquished the receiver as he stepped back, pulling an unresisting Liz with him.

Leaning back against the counter several feet away, Michael tilted Liz's head up to scrutinize her. "You okay?"

She gave him a sardonic look and snorted disdainfully at his ridiculous question.

"Don't be a smart ass, Parker," he said as he rolled his eyes in exasperation with her. "You know what I mean."

Her gaze dropped away from his face and skirted the edge of the room to land on the unaware form of her attacker. Her concerned friend followed the path of her stare and frowned. "I could be a lot worse," she said finally, so quiet he could barely hear her. She swung her eyes back up to meet his. "Thank you, Michael."

He squirmed, uncomfortable with her gratitude, "It's nothing."

She watched him with an unblinking stare. "It's not nothing," she said firmly. "If you hadn't been here..." She trailed off as images of what could have happened if he hadn't interrupted began to overwhelm her. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she stated stiffly, "Don't say it was nothing."

Michael tried not to shake as he was inundated with the mental slide show of possible outcomes she'd imagined. The thought of any of those things happening to someone he considered a friend shook him in ways he would never have believed possible. He was surprised to find that he would give anything to have gotten to the Crashdown twenty minutes earlier. He stunned them both when he lowered his internal shields to mindspeak, impulsively pulling her closer as he intoned sternly in her head, "Don't thank me. I was LATE." He clutched her tightly as his subconscious pledged with grim severity, "It won't happen again."

She blinked up at him in alarm as she was engulfed by the feelings of self recrimination and guilt that buoyed his near overwhelming determination to protect her in the face of what he perceived as his failure to do so tonight. She was completely dumbfounded; how could he possibly be blaming himself?! He'd saved her! She struggled internally for a way to make him understand how woefully out of place his personal condemnation was.

In a burst of inspiration, she opened their link wide and melted against him, softening his desperate grip into a joint hug. He reciprocated unthinkingly and the unfiltered wave of her emotion rolled over him. His eyes slid closed as he was overwhelmed by her presence and for a long moment he reveled in the warm gold of her essence. She surged around him and through him, filling up all the cold, dark places inside him with her light.

The sickly pallor of his reproach was no match for the fire of her resolve and she burned acceptance into him with the soft hum of her words, "You saved me, Michael..."

He was lost in the twisting ocean of her mind; swirling in the sea of sincere gratefulness she held for his rescue, tossed among the tangled waves of security and contentment she felt in his arms, completely awash in the glowing swells of her friendship. It was acceptance and family and belonging; everything he'd ever dreamed of during the empty nights of his childhood in Hank's trailer.

He'd never wanted so badly to drown before.

"Mr. Guerin." The shock of Blackwood's voice wrenched him back into reality, and he raised his face from where he'd unconsciously buried it in her soft hair.

"Yeah?" he queried roughly as forced his body to release her and step away, needing the distance to help stomp their bond back down to second level. He fought the urge to close the link further, reminding himself of how painful they'd found it during their early experimentation to drop directly from the deep enmeshment of third level to the sharp restriction of first. He tried not to notice how Liz wrapped her arms around herself and watched him with dark eyes once he faced the older man.

"The Parkers told me you're my liaison until they make it back to town," the Deputy addressed Michael. "Asked me to let you know they got an early flight in tomorrow and with the drive from the airport to Roswell they should be back by 10:30." Offering a piece of paper to the younger man, he said, "Here's their flight info."

Michael took the slip with a nod and tried not to tense as the solid warmth of Liz's body rested against his arm while she leaned forward to study the sheet's scrawled contents. The officer continued, "I've radioed the station for an EMT to check out Miss Parker and our perpetrator. We can't take him to the station until he's conscious. What the hell did you hit him with?"

He handed the piece of paper to Liz before replying, "I didn't hit him." Deputy Blackwood looked at him disbelievingly and he grudgingly elaborated, "I hauled him off her and held on to him until he quit struggling."

"By what, his neck?" the deputy scoffed.

Michael shrugged as he scratched at his eyebrow in agitation, "Seemed like the best plan."

The policeman began to reprimand the teen's aggressive actions, "Son, attacking a man like that could bring you up on attempted murder charges…"

Michael rudely interrupted him with a defiant glare, "Deputy Blackwood, I walked in on him trying to rape a friend of mine. If I started hitting him, I can't guarantee I would have stopped and then attempted murder charges would be the least of my worries."

The officer searched his eyes and finally nodded in understanding. With a sigh, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Let's get you kids started on your statements while we wait."

Hours later, the tired teenagers slumped dejectedly over lukewarm cups of coffee while the remaining officers packed up the last of the crime scene equipment used to canvas the restaurant for evidence. The number of police in the Crashdown had quadrupled shortly after they had given their statements and the pair had narrowly escaped having to go to the station for further questioning. As much as Michael hated owing anyone anything, he appreciated how deeply they were both indebted to Deputy Blackwood for convincing Sheriff Hanson to conduct the rest of their individual questioning in Mr. Parker's office. The last thing either of them needed was a trip to the Police Station on top of everything else that had happened tonight.

Liz's assailant had awakened while the EMT's were checking him out and broke a paramedic's nose attempting to escape. The police had tackled the man before he made it to the door, but the sight of her attacker making a break for it had left her badly rattled. A female officer had been arranged to take pictures of her bruises, but the young woman had flatly refused to allow anyone near her without Michael by her side.

As he stared moodily into his coffee, the brooding alien reflected on how the sight of Liz's smooth skin marred by violence had left his hands burning with the desperate need to sooth away the sinister marks. He clenched his fingers around his mug in an attempt to ward off the remnants of the tingling spark of power that buzzed insistently below the skin of his palms. The clearing of a throat dragged his attention away from the dark mysteries of his beverage.

"We're running his prints against the national database," Blackwood said softly as he grasped Michael's arm, pulling him away from the table and Liz in order to avoid upsetting her further. The shaken girl circumvented the officer's attempt to spare her by listening in through Michael's ears as the earnest man explained to her rescuer. "But I thought you'd like to know we already have a tentative match locally. Sick bastard meets the information on file for the White Sands Stalker."

Liz's trembling resumed as the words echoed through their link and Michael swore softly as they both recognized the tag name the press had given the violent sexual predator that'd terrorized the area around NASA's White Sands Test Facility in Las Cruces for the past year and a half. Michael pursed his lips angrily at the thought of such a monster wandering the streets of his home town and snarled as he gestured toward the alien figures painted on the Crashdown's walls, "Must've got bored with NASA and felt the need to branch out to the real alien mecha." Seeing his irate reaction, the Deputy nodded in understanding.

"He's not going anywhere now. From what Miss Parker described, the M.O. sounds the same. We've already contacted the department in Las Cruces and they're arranging a DNA test with one of our local labs against some physical evidence from the most recent crime scenes as we speak." Deputy Blackwood met his eyes seriously, "If it is him, she may owe you her life. That whack job really likes to rough 'em up. They're still not sure if the co-ed he attacked two weeks ago will ever come out of her coma."

"She doesn't owe me anything," Michael said tightly as he slid his arm free of the man's grip. "Are we done here?"

"For the time being," the officer ceded. Turning, he addressed the young woman at the table, "Miss Parker, we'll keep you and your parents informed but you will be needed for further questioning."

Michael returned to his space beside her and slid a protective arm around her shoulders. Grateful for his return, she allowed herself to sag against his chest and nodded weakly. "Of course. I'm sure my parents will want to stop by the station after they get home for a copy of the police report anyway. Thank you, Deputy Blackwood."

"We'll see you tomorrow then, Miss Parker. Mr. Guerin." The Native American officer nodded in goodbye to them both as he ushered the last of his colleagues out the door.

The heavy silence that followed their departure pressed down on the pair at the table. Gripping Michael's hand, Liz used her powers to secure the locks on the front door. Sensing the exhaustion creeping up on his companion, the young man tugged her to her feet and erased the remaining mess with a wave of his hand. "C'mon, Parker," he said as he pulled her toward the door to her family's apartment. "It's way past your bedtime."

She grinned weakly at his comment as he ushered her through the door to her home with a reassuring hand on her back. She flicked on the light in the hallway as they entered, and the echoing silence of the apartment seemed to close in on her.

Feeling her mounting panic at the thought of staying in the empty house alone lashing at him through the bond, Michael turned her to face him and tipped her chin up to force her to meet his eyes. "Stop freaking out, Elizabeth. I'm staying."

Her feelings of dread stilled in shock at sound of her name on his lips and the knowledge that he wasn't abandoning her. Before she could dredge up a response, the hungry rumbling of her stomach interrupted. She pressed a hand to her middle, but the growling continued. "I didn't get dinner," she said sheepishly in explanation.

"Yeah, me neither," he said with a grin as her stomach continued to gurgle. "Look, I'll throw us together something to eat. Why don't you grab a shower and get ready for bed after I do a sweep of the perimeter?"

"Sweep the perimeter, Michael?" she queried with a raised eyebrow. "Really getting into this soldier thing, aren't you?"

"Shut up, Parker," he growled as towed her around behind him while he checked the empty rooms. "Or you'll be eating Brussels sprouts."

"Yes sir, General Cranky, sir!" she saluted as he finished inspecting her bedroom.

Rolling his eyes at her silliness, he ignored her comment and commanded sternly, "Keep the bond open to second level at least. I'll be in the kitchen, yell if you need me."

She watched as he sealed the window to her balcony with his powers and headed for the door. "Michael?" she called before he could step through. He turned to face her with a questioning look. "Thanks," she said simply with a bright smile.

"Lock this behind me," he ordered with an answering smirk as he drew the door closed.

He waited until he heard the telltale click of the lock engage before heading toward the kitchen. Quickly inspecting the contents of the Parker's fridge, he began pulling out the ingredients for hot ham and cheese sandwiches. He was halfway through assembling the second sandwich when the link between them flared to life.

"Michael, talk to me please..." The soft purr of her voice trickling like smoke into his awareness caught him off guard. Her side of the connection was so open it teetered precariously on the insubstantial line between second and third level. It was taking every ounce of concentration he had not to get lost in the steady stream of images and sensations pouring through from her end.

"What do you want me to say?" he replied uncertainly, tightly gripping the butter knife as he tried frantically to ignore his body's response to the unintentional impressions she was emitting of bare honeyed skin and cascading water.

"Anything, just make me feel better. I feel safer when I can sense you," she whispered back, superimposed with a jumbled mass of yearning for her Grandma Claudia's hot chocolate, her parents, and another hug that would make her feel like the ones he'd given her in the Crashdown. Safe. Protected. Cherished.

He dropped the knife as her emotions crashed through him and stomped down the urge to rush into her room and drag her into his arms. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and paused for a moment to stuff all his thoughts and feelings back into their respective compartments in his head before replying, "Have you ever read James Joyce's Ulysses?"

He could feel her negation floating in his mind without her having to actively respond. Picking the knife back up to resume making their late dinner, he continued, "It's the whole of human existence packed into a single day..."

Liz finished her shower and dressed mechanically as she focused on the soothing resonance of his presence in her psyche. His words washed over her, but the sensations behind them were what gave her the strength to keep moving.

His love for the book shined between them with every comment, but more importantly than that, with every syllable his thoughts caressed hers with this guarantee: He was there. He was on guard. She was safe, because he'd DIE before he let anything get past his defenses to harm her.

Hazy memories of Dungeons and Dragons games played with Alex and Maria half a decade past dredged a word from her subconscious. "Paladin," she murmured thoughtfully to herself as she tugged a comb through her damp locks, visualizing her shaggy haired friend in a white knight's stereotypical armor. She smiled as his internal monologue faltered at the thoughts she was projecting.

"Knock that shit off. You know me better than that," Michael disrupted her musings scornfully. "You done? Food's ready."

She twisted her hair into a knot and secured the damp bundle with a clip while she followed the sense of him into the living room. As she entered from the hallway, she saw Michael perusing her family's movie collection. He looked up from the case of the video he had been studying as she approached.

"Bout time, Parker," he said as he tapped her copy of Shrek against his palm. "I was wasting away out here." She slipped the film out of his grip and moved to place it on the shelf. "That any good?" he asked with a gesture toward the tape in her hand.

"It doesn't have Braveheart's body count, but I like it," she teased as she slid the box back into place. "You've never seen it?"

He shrugged in negation, "It just came out on video and I work too much to make it to the theater."

She smiled up at him, "Next time you're bored at MetaChem, let me know and I'll pop it in the player."

"I dunno, Parker," he said as he moved away from her and dropped onto the couch. "Thought we'd already agreed to introduce you to the Matrix next?"

Waving her hand dismissively, she joined him on the sofa. "I've put off seeing it this long..."

"Blasphemy," he growled jokingly as he grabbed a plate from the coffee table and shoved it into her hands.

She rolled her eyes playfully as she set the plate back down and grabbed the sandwich off it instead. "Get over it, Guerin. I have."

"Just for that, I'm in charge of the TV," he declared as he scooped the remote off the table and began flipping through the channels. Settling on a TV Land marathon, he tossed the controller back down and grabbed one of the mugs he'd set beside their dinner plates.

"Oh Michael, not more coffee!" she groaned when she saw the steam rise from his cup. "We're already gonna be up all night!"

He smirked challengingly at her and gulped down another swallow before replying, "If you don't want your cocoa just say so, Parker…"

Her eyes widened as she leapt to snatch her cup protectively up and peer inside. Half melted marshmallows floated happily in a lake of rich milk chocolate. She inhaled the bittersweet aroma of her Grandma Claudia's hot cocoa recipe before taking a sip. Her lids slid closed euphorically as the deep mélange of cinnamon and chocolate flavors exploded on her tongue.

"Should I leave you two alone?" her forgotten companion's amused voice broke through her delight. She opened her eyes to see him watching her with a laughing grin over the rim of his cup.

She blushed at his perusal and regarded him with wonder, "Where did you get this recipe?"

He set his mug down as he leaned forward, sweeping a few errant strands of hair away from her face before tapping his finger against her temple. "You were projecting earlier. Didn't seem too hard, so I threw some together."

She caught his hand before he could pull it away and pressed it against her uninjured cheek. "Michael..." she began tremulously, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes as she struggled to find a way to convey how much his gesture meant to her.

"Turn off the waterworks, Parker," he said incredulously as he brushed a tear away with his thumb. "I'll never understand chicks. What exactly about this makes you cry?"

She gave a strangled half-sob, half-laugh and took a brief moment to set her cocoa down before launching herself at him. He caught her in an awkward hug as she projected a torrent of emotion, trying desperately to explain to a man without words how sometimes the things that make a woman happiest are cause for a few tears.

"Oh." He muttered with a surprised blink as he tried to process everything she'd shared with him. The confusion fell from his face as he began to laugh and she looked up at him in mystification. He gave her a reassuring squeeze as he continued to snicker, "Nice try. Still doesn't make any sense." Reaching behind her on the sofa, he dragged her mother's old crocheted blanket down and settled it over both of them. He then plucked her half eaten sandwich off the plate and dropped it in her hand before grabbing his own. "Chicks are crazy," he stated definitively before biting into the cooling remains of his dinner.

She shook her head with a laugh of her own as she leaned comfortably back against his arm, munching quietly through her own sandwich. She yawned as she nursed her hot chocolate, and Michael watched her with drowsy eyes minutes later as he slid the cup from her unresisting grasp and placed it on the coffee table.

The muted prattle of Father Knows Best followed them both down into unconsciousness.

Author's Notes & Sources

Notes:

1.) God, I can't wait to get to later chapters in this story! I don't write linearly, so everything post chapter eleven is about 80 done. Stupid chapters one through four, however, kick my ass. Ah well. Least one and two are done now. On to the nightmare that is chapter three...This may take just a bit.

Sources:

1.) Title for this chapter inspired by the band named Panic! At The Disco.

2.) Research for my creation of the White Sands Stalker and his behavior patterns gathered from the following resources:

a. Malicious Intent: A writer's guide to how murderers, robbers, rapists and other criminals think by Sean Mactire, Writer's Digest Books 1995.

b. The Criminal Behavior of the Serial Rapist by Special Agent Robert R. Hazelwood and Janet Warren, February 1990

3.) Series research garnered from the Roswell Research thread on the Polar Attraction Board: http://board.