CHAPTER 2

It was a very surprised Amy DeLuca who stood in the doorway some time later. There was her teenage daughter, alone in the house with her hoodlum boyfriend, and their behavior was quite shocking. There they were, together on Amy's living room sofa...with a good fifteen inches between them. Her daughter chewed on the end of a pencil while the hoodlum boyfriend buried his long nose in a book.

"This isn't how I expected to be spending the afternoon," Maria complained as she looked crossly down at her open notebook. It wasn't what Amy had expected, either. Was Maria actually...doing homework?

The hoodlum boyfriend didn't look up from the textbook he was reading. "Don't blame me," he said absently, turning a page. "This whole 'Michael needs to study more' thing was your idea, remember? So if I have to do it, you--"

His voice cut off as Amy accidentally jostled her arm against the doorway and let out a hiss of pain. He was on his feet instantly, the book falling to the floor forgotten as he placed himself between Maria and the doorway. It was almost as if he were instinctively protecting her from some unexpected danger. Amy could visibly see his slight relaxation as he realized it was only her, then his tension as he really saw her.

"Mrs. DeLuca?"

"Mom?" Maria said as she pushed past him. "I didn't expect you--" Like Michael's, her voice cut off abruptly. "Oh my god, Mom! What happened?"

Michael stepped out of the way as Maria dashed to her mother's side and gently led her to the couch. The woman's brown hair was disheveled, and the side of her jaw was swollen. Michael grimaced. He knew from experience that was going to leave a nasty bruise. The kicker was her right arm, encased in a plaster cast and a canvas sling.

Amy cut through her daughter's frantic babbling. "I'm all right, honey. Just a little battered, that's all."

"What happened?" Maria demanded again, kneeling at Amy's side.

"It was a stupid accident. I was reaching up for a box in the storeroom and slipped off the chair I was standing on. I landed funny and fractured my wrist, but I'll be fine," she assured her.

"Why didn't you call me?" Maria asked, smoothing her mother's hair back off her face. "I just got my cell phone privileges back today, remember?"

"I didn't want to interrupt your first day of freedom," Amy said sheepishly.

That was absolutely the most idiotic--"Mom!" Maria's face wrinkled up in exasperation. "I can't believe you!"

Watching from the corner of the room, Michael shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. He felt very out of place. Being in the same room with Amy DeLuca made him uneasy enough on a good day; with her in this condition, it was even worse. He was useless here; maybe he should just leave. Quietly, he started to sidle to the door. Maria stopped him.

"Michael," she said, not even looking up. "Get Mom a glass of water, will you?"

Relieved, he escaped into the kitchen. When he reluctantly returned, glass in hand, Maria had Amy reclining on the couch, a multi-colored comforter spread over her. She took the water with a smile and helped her mother sit up to swallow the pain medication she'd been given.

"This is ridiculous," Amy protested. "I can't lie here. I have things to do."

"You're hurting. Stay there and rest," her daughter ordered. "I'll take care of things."

"Just let me get dinner going. I'll rest later."

Maria shook her head. "You've only got one good arm. I'll take care of it."

"Who's the mother here?" Amy said, her eyebrows raised. Maria wrinkled up her nose; Amy ignored it and continued flatly, "Besides, you can't cook." Maria's face fell.

Michael was shocked--no, appalled--to hear himself speak. "I can."

Both of the DeLucas turned to him in surprise. "That's right," Maria said finally, "he can." She turned to her mother and added, her voice firm, "There! You lie and rest, and we'll make dinner." Smoothing down the comforter over her mother, she headed for the kitchen, gently pushing Michael in front of her.

Once in the other room, she dropped her cheerful demeanor and began to pace agitatedly back and forth. "Oh my god. Oh my god. How could this happen?" she cried, her voice rising. "What if it had been worse? She could have really hurt herself, Michael. Well, she did hurt herself. But what if--"

"Maria."

"--it had been really serious? I'm too young to--"

"Maria."

"--have to deal with this. I can't lose her, Michael, I can't--"

"Maria!" She stopped mid-phrase and Michael said, less roughly, "She's gonna be okay. You won't lose her."

Maria didn't look convinced. "Michael, she's all I have," she whispered.

He frowned. "That's a stupid thing to say. You have Liz, and Alex, and Max and Isabel. And you have me. You're not alone, okay?"

"Okay," she whispered, rather unconvincingly.

"Besides, she'll be fine. Now tell me what I'm supposed to make for your dinner and you can get back out there and do all that girly nurturing stuff. Roll bandages or whatever."

Maria ignored the tail end of this comment, too taken aback by the first part to get offended. Eyes wide, she asked him, "You mean you can really cook? I mean, more than just slapping burgers together? I thought you just ate cereal at home."

His response was just the slightest bit sarcastic. "Yeah, I can cook. Said so, didn't I? I just don't bother when it's just me. And I happen to like cereal."

"For dinner?"

"So?" He wasn't about to explain that often, growing up, it had been all there was in the house. He'd gotten used to it. Hell, he'd sometimes been grateful for it. And now that he was buying his own groceries, it just seemed natural to stock up on boxes of the stuff. But he wasn't going to go into all that with Maria. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest and waited for her to speak. It didn't take long.

"Well, I don't know what Mom was planning. Whatever you make will be fine. Just keep in mind that some of us have normal taste buds, okay?" Michael rolled his eyes, and she continued, "And Michael?"

"What?"

"Thank you."

Acutely uncomfortable, he shrugged off her gratitude. "No big deal. Now get outta my hair, will you?" he ordered, starting to move towards the refrigerator.

Maria headed to the door, only stopping long enough to place a soft kiss on his cheek. Absently wiping his cheek on his shoulder, Michael began to investigate the contents of the DeLuca cupboards.


*****

Some time later, Maria re-entered the kitchen to announce, "She's asleep." With some amusement, she surveyed the total disarray around her. Pots and other kitchen utensils were spread on every surface, and Michael was standing at the sink, chopping away at something.

"What are you making?" Maria inquired, moving to Michael's side. She set down the bottle of Tabasco she'd retrieved from the living room and peered over his shoulder. The something he was chopping turned out to be a stalk of celery.

"Soup. It was gonna be chicken, but you don't have any, so it's vegetable." He glanced up in time to catch her look of amusement, and became immediately defensive. "What? It's chicken soup to make you better, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but usually when you're sick, not for broken bones. It was a sweet idea, though."

He gave her a disgusted look. "Well, I was limited by the fact that you two don't have any decent food around here. What'd you do, blow your budget on the Tabasco? Practically all I could find were vegetables. Chick food," he snorted derisively, finishing with the celery and attacking a zucchini.

"Chick food?" she said indignantly. "You know, just when I think you're making some progress, Michael, you go and stick your foot in it. What's wrong with vegetables? They're healthy. You ought to try them sometime."

"Uh-uh. All the Tabasco in the world couldn't make this thing edible," he claimed, gesturing to the abused vegetable in front of him.

"So, what? You're saying that you're purposely feeding us something inedible?" she challenged, the corners of her lips quirking upward.

"What? No. No," he started, then gave up. "Look, I'm working here. Go and distract somebody else."

So he thought she was a distraction, huh? Maria couldn't believe she could feel this happy after feeling so horrified earlier. She said as much to Michael, who was dumping bits of chopped-up zucchini into the bubbling broth. "Except for Mom being hurt, I can't tell you how happy I am right now. I mean, things are really good, you know? You're yourself again, and things seem almost normal." She flung her arms out and spun around dramatically. "Here I am, a normal teenager with her norm--well, quasi-normal boyfriend, and nothing weird is going on for once. No FBI, no mysterious enemies...it's nice."

Michael's eyes shot to the doorway. "Maria," he said in warning.

"I told you, she's taking a nap. I think the pain pill did her in."

"Still, you gotta be more careful," he instructed.

"Oh, stop being so paranoid, Michael. Not everyone is going to take one look at you and automatically shout, 'Oooooh, alien!'"

"Cut it out!" Michael hissed, grabbing her by the shoulder.

"It's okay, Michael. See?" Maria dragged him to the doorway, and together they peered into the living room. Amy DeLuca was, indeed, fast asleep on the couch. "I wouldn't have said anything if it weren't safe, you know," Maria chided her boyfriend.

"Yeah, well, nowhere is completely safe," he muttered.

She turned to him, stricken. "How can you live like that, Michael?"

Once again, he shrugged it off. "Used to it," was all he said. He moved to the stove and stirred the soup.

Uh-uh. There was more to it than that. Something had him über-paranoid. Her eyes narrowed. "What's going on, Michael? You're hiding something from me."

"I don't want to talk about it. Not today," he grunted.

"Why not?"

"I just don't."

She took one look at his old familiar closed-off expression and bit her lip. "It's because I made such a fuss over having a nice normal day, isn't it?" she demanded, not really needing to ask.

Michael didn't acknowledge it, but she knew she was right.

"If something's going on, then we need to deal with it. Together. I didn't mean to--"

He cut her off. "It wasn't for you."

"What?"

"It wasn't for you that I didn't want to talk about it, okay? It was for me." His eyes fixed on the soup pot, he muttered, "Maybe I was the one who wanted one normal day with my girlfriend."

"Well, I don't--wait a minute. Did you just call me your girlfriend?"

He spoke irritably. "Yeah, so? You are, aren't you?"

"Well, yes, but I didn't think the word was in your vocabulary," she said in excitement. "But we--I mean, yes. I am. I am your girlfriend. I am Michael Guerin's girlfriend," she repeated, ignoring his exasperated headshake as she tested the phrase out on her tongue. It felt just as good as calling Michael her boyfriend. But she wasn't going to let herself get distracted. "So as your girlfriend, I should know what's going on, right?" she said, going doggedly back to the earlier subject.

He let out a deep breath. "Things aren't all that normal. There's some...stuff going on."

"Stuff? What stuff?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm not sure."

"Michael!"

"I mean it, I really don't know." He ran an unsteady hand through his hair. "Couple of weeks ago, Max got a call. From Nasedo."

She looked up at him, her forehead creased. "What did he want?"

"He heard about some of the stuff that happened. He wanted Max to make me keep a lower profile."

Maria snorted. "Michael, how would that even be possible? What are you supposed to do, crawl under a rock somewhere and become a total hermit?"

"I know," he acknowledged.

"And he expected Max to just order you to do it?" she asked in disbelief.

His answer was not without humor. "Yep."

Shaking her head, Maria laughed nervously. "So the all-knowing alien protector has absolutely no clue who you guys really are. Well, that was a wasted phone call, if ever I heard one. You don't hear from him for months, and he calls for that?"

"And for Max to keep me from using my powers."

She looked at him in concern. Sure, he'd been having trouble with them, but still..."Why?"

"Don't know. I figure Nasedo will tell us when he gets here."

"He's coming back? The evil shapeshifter who kidnapped Liz and killed all those people is coming back? Oh my god. How long have you known about this, Michael?"

"Coupla weeks. But--"

"A couple of weeks?" she shrieked indignantly. "And you didn't tell me?"

"I couldn't exactly blurt it out in the middle of school, could I?" he said, bristling.

"Do the others know?"

"Just Izzy, I think. Liz and Alex, probably not. I'm not even supposed to know." She stared at him, shocked, and he explained, "Max wasn't supposed to tell me."

Maria collapsed against a counter. "There's something wrong here, Michael. Why would Nasedo be trying to keep it from you?"

"Do I look like I have any answers?" he asked dryly.

Absently chewing on her lower lip, she pondered the news. "Michael, do you trust him?"

"Nasedo?" She nodded. "No. I trust five--no, maybe it's six people, and Nasedo's not one of them. But I still want to hear what he has to say."

"Was this what you were going to tell me about in the desert?"

"No, that's something else. I wanted to show you something." He fished in his pocket and pulled out a small object, gleaming in the bright light of the kitchen. "This is part of it," he added, tossing it to her.

Maria studied the small blue sphere, not even as big as a ping-pong ball. A tiny light danced in the center, shifting as she turned it over in her hand. "It's pretty. What is it?"

"I don't know," he said again. "But whatever it is, I made it out of a rock."

Her head jerked upright and she stared at him. "You made this? With your powers?"

"No, with my handy-dandy 'Make a Blue Rock' kit. Of course with my powers."

She scrunched up her forehead in confusion. "I thought you weren't supposed to be using them."

"This was before I knew that. And I didn't exactly get up one morning and decide to make blue rocks. It was an accident." His voice grew quiet. "Look, I'll see if I can get the Jeep and we'll go out to the cave sometime this week. I'll tell you all about it then, okay?"

"Okay." Maria rolled the sphere in the palm of her hand for a moment. "You know, Michael, this feels like you."

There was silence for a moment, then an abrupt, "What does that mean?"

"I'm being serious here. You...well, you've always been a vibey sort of person, you know? What my mom calls a real vibrator." She glanced at him, but he didn't so much as blink in response. "This gives me the same vibes. It just...it feels like you, that's all. Like part of you." She clutched her fingers tightly around its smooth surface once more before reluctantly handing it back to him. When it was gone, her hand felt suddenly empty.

Michael held the crystal for a moment, turning it over. Was it her imagination, or was the spark deep inside a little brighter now? Puzzled, she watched him give a frustrated headshake; then Michael stuffed the thing back into his pocket and turned back to the counters. He began stacking the pots and pans he hadn't used.

Wordlessly, Maria took over and began putting the unused implements away. Michael scrubbed busily away at the knife and cutting board he'd used, taking longer than he really needed to so he wouldn't have to face her. He wasn't exactly in the mood for more discussion. Hadn't he opened up enough for one day?

Finally finishing up, he draped the dish towel over the oven door handle and turned to face his girlfriend. "The soup needs to simmer for at least ten more minutes. Then you can have it any time."

What? "You're staying, aren't you?" she asked in alarm.

"No."

"Michael, you can't go to all this trouble and then not eat with us," she protested. "Stay. Please?"

"I don't think it's a good idea. Your mother's not feeling great; you don't need me around to make things more...tense."

Moving close to him, Maria gave him her best pleading look. "Please?" It didn't have the desired effect. In other words, he didn't instantly give in.

Michael sighed. "Remember what happened the last time you talked me into something I knew wasn't a good idea? You ended up grounded and we didn't talk to each other for weeks."

"This is different."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "How so?"

"It's not against any rules for me to have a friend over for dinner, Michael."

"Liz, yeah. Alex, sure. Hell, probably even some stranger you pulled off the street would be fine. But I'm already on shaky enough ground with your mother here. If I stay, I'm gonna piss her off--I do that to people. Hell, you're the one who told me I have no manners, remember? It's better if I make myself scarce. Your mother won't want--"

"Don't you think her mother ought to decide for herself?" Amy asked groggily from the doorway. She ignored how Michael stiffened, and asked, "What's the argument?"

"He's being an idiot!" Maria burst out. One spoken word from her mother--her name--reined her in enough to complain, "He won't stay for dinner, even though he's the one that cooked it."

"I see," Amy said thoughtfully.

"Mrs. DeLuca," Michael began awkwardly. Amy didn't let him get any farther than that.

"Stay for dinner, Michael. After all, if you're going to be dating my daughter, you and I should get to know each other a little better, don't you think?" She took in the immediate panic in his eyes. "Look, we'll call a truce, all right? Open minds all around for the duration of the meal." Smiling slightly, she added, "Have some pity. I've already got a headache. If I have to listen to Maria moan and groan about you all night, it's going to get a lot worse."

His eyes shifted rapidly back and forth between Maria and Amy, then he gave a curt nod. He felt trapped.

Maria squealed and hugged him gleefully; he tensed and removed her arms from around his neck with a nervous glance at her mother. Amy ignored both of them.

"So what are we having?" she asked, glancing over to the stove.

"Homemade vegetable soup," Maria announced in an important tone.

"That sounds like just the thing. I'm not sure my jaw would be up to much chewing," her mother said regretfully.

"Witch hazel."

Both DeLucas turned towards Michael. He went on, "You should put some witch hazel on it. Someone..." He suddenly remembered just where he'd heard it. From Mrs. DeLuca herself. "Someone told me that once," he finished lamely.

Amy gave a solemn nod. "That's a good idea."

Taking charge, Maria commanded, "You go sit at the table, Mom. We'll bring everything in." Within minutes, she had everything organized: the table set, her mother seated, and the soup and some bakery rolls on the table.

The three of them began to eat. It was not the most relaxing dinner.

Without saying a word, Michael worked his way through the meal. The sooner he got done, the sooner he could get out of there, right?

Amy didn't say much, either. She was still groggy from the medication she'd been given, and both her wrist and her jaw had begun to ache again.

So it was up to Maria to make conversation, one-sided though it was. She had covered that day's classes, the new shoes Liz had worn, and the abysmal lack of things to do in Roswell even when you weren't grounded, and was just about to start in on the crazy schedule Mr. Parker had her on at the Crashdown when they finished.

"Do you want anything else, Mom?"

"I'd love some herbal tea, honey, if you don't mind. And there's a cherry pie in the pantry if you two want dessert. I made it yesterday."

Maria turned to her boyfriend. "Want some pie, Michael?" He shrugged, but leapt to his feet to help her clear the table the moment she got up. Maria wasn't fooled. He hadn't suddenly developed manners; he just didn't want to be stuck in the room alone with her mother.

In the kitchen, she smiled as she placed the soup bowls in the sink and moved to cut two slices of pie. "See, that wasn't so bad, was it, Spaceboy?"

Michael muttered something under his breath, too low for her to hear.

"What?"

He ran a hand through his spiky hair instead of answering.

Hands on her hips, she asked again, "What, Michael?"

"I said I had a better time getting lectured by Sutter," he repeated, loud enough for her to hear this time.

She eyed him appraisingly. "Uh-huh."

"Well, I did," he said defensively.

"Look, Michael, I know you're not comfortable with my mother. But she's important to me, and you're important to me, and sometimes I need you both."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you are," she responded, suddenly cheering up. "So since you're here, why don't you grab the Tabasco while I make Mom's tea?"

"I'm not gonna use it."

"That's silly, Michael. You can put it on the pie in here. Mom will never know."

"I'm not taking any chances."

"Don't be such a big baby," she exclaimed, and reached for the Tabasco herself.

"Would you cut it out?" he demanded, grabbing her wrist to keep her from upending the bottle over his piece. She playfully struggled with him, a teasing look in her eye.

"C'mon, Spaceboy, you know you want it," she taunted. "Sweet and spicy, right?"

"Yeah, but--" he began.

With a gleeful laugh, she pulled her wrist out of his grasp and began to pour the pepper sauce on his pie. She was interrupted by a voice from the doorway.

"Maria!" her mother cried, shocked. "Leave that alone. I did not go to the trouble of baking that to have you destroy it." Maria froze and stood there, flushed from her struggle. Michael took the opportunity to remove the bottle from her hand and cap it, setting it firmly down on the counter before turning to face Mrs. DeLuca.

"Ummm, you tea's almost ready," Maria ventured.

Amy ignored this, choosing instead to focus on Michael, an odd look in her eye. "Would you like to explain why my daughter was so eager to pour that stuff on a perfectly good dessert?"

Michael shook his head, a wary expression on his face.

"Were you actually going to eat it?"

He hesitated, then nodded once.

"For heaven's sake, why?"

Because he was an alien with bizarre dietary quirks. But he wasn't about to say that. So he said nothing.

"It was a bet." Maria's voice came from nowhere. Her mother turned to her, a puzzled expression in her eyes, and Maria continued glibly, "See, Michael and his friend Max--you know, the one who fixed the Jetta a few weeks ago?--well, they have this idiotic bet. It's this testosterone-based guy thing that's really stupid, but then they're guys, you know? Well, the bet is to see which of them can go the longest putting Tabasco on everything. It's supposed to be this macho thing. Personally, I think it's disgusting, but they're guys, so..." She glanced at her mother to see if she was actually buying this. Surprisingly, it seemed like she was.

"You're kidding. You eat it on everything?" she asked, turning to Michael. He shrugged, and she continued, "Everything?"

"You get used to it."

She stared at him as if he was some unknown species, which wasn't far from the truth. "What on earth made you make such a crazy bet?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. Sometimes I just get swept up in these things before I know what's happening," he said sourly with a pointed glance at Maria. She grinned saucily back at him.

Amy was intrigued by this curious glance into Michael's personality. "So what do you get if you win?" she asked, her eyebrows raised.

"I don't know...I guess an addiction to Tabasco sauce?"

Amy looked at him for one long moment and then burst into laughter. "Sorry," she gasped between chortles. "That just reminds me of something my brother would have done as a kid."

Michael, who'd been unaware that Maria had an uncle, looked with curiosity at the two women. Maria, a surprisingly cold look on her face, interrupted.

"Never mind that. Here, Michael, take these," she said, shoving the pie plates into his hands. "And don't mix them up, okay? I don't want to become an accidental participant in your little bet. I'll bring your tea, Mom."

"Okay, honey," her mother said, still chuckling.

Maria had started into the dining room when the telephone rang. She answered it, and was surprised to hear Isabel Evans on the other end. "Yeah, he's here. He's having dinner with us," she announced. "No, I made him stay." A frown creased her forehead. "Sure, but what's going on, Isabel?" One moment of silence as she listened, then, "Oh my god. Michael?" she called. "It's for you." He appeared in the doorway, immediately taking in her pale expression.

Grabbing the phone, he barked into it, "Yeah?" His jaw tensed as he listened, then he repeated, just as brusquely, "Yeah." Tossing the phone towards Maria and grabbing his jacket, he blurted, "Gotta go," and took off out the back door.

Maria was left alone in the kitchen, a queasy feeling growing in her stomach.

Nasedo was back.