Spoiler Warning This is a revised version of episode 3x05 Control. Dunno if this'll make any sense if you haven't seen that ep, and if you have you're gonna be sitting there saying, "Hey wait! That's not how that went!" To which I reply, "Yep. I know. I like my way better."
Part Four: Short As Any Dream
Liz was beginning to wonder what it was about her that made it so easy for alien men to avoid her.
In the week that followed Michael's wreck, she could count on one hand with fingers remaining the number of times she'd seen either member of the male contingent of the local Czech population. Considering that she worked with one of them and went to school with both, that was quite the feat of tactical maneuvering.
Michael at least she understood; she had seen things he'd never meant to share, and he wasn't ready to deal with her yet. Completely understandable, and besides, he wouldn't be able to rearrange the shift schedules forever. But Max didn't even have that excuse. The quest for his son was quickly consuming his life and, while she understood his single minded dedication, it just served to highlight exactly how removed from one another the two of them had become.
Her boyfriend was in LA. She hadn't seen him in four days, or spoken to him in two. He'd promised to call her last night, and then didn't. Instead, he'd called his sister. It hadn't even occurred to him to ask Isabel to let her know he was okay; if she hadn't phoned the Evans girl in a panic after not hearing from Max, she wouldn't even have known if he was alive. The realization of exactly how low she fell on his priority scale was a sickening revelation.
She had made him her world. From the moment she'd been shot, everything in her universe had centered on Max Evans. Every decision she had made since was done with him in mind. She gave, she sacrificed. She'd lied and broken laws. And for what? A man who couldn't be bothered the pick up the phone when she called.
Things had been bad for so long, she was beginning to forget why she was with him in the first place. She'd tried to convince herself that everything she endured was worth it because they were in love, but if she was honest with herself, she couldn't say that she was in love with him anymore. He'd become a major part of her life, and she would always love him, but after more than a year of murder and betrayal, infidelity and alien babies, she couldn't truthfully say anymore that she was in love with him. In fact, at this point, she wasn't sure she even remembered what that felt like.
She'd tried so hard to ignore what her heart was telling her. After everything that had happened, it seemed somehow almost sacrilegious to admit she no longer felt the same way about him. Max Evans and Liz Parker were soulmates. Wasn't that one of the immortal truths of reality? So she'd thrown herself into the role of girlfriend, desperate to convince everyone (but most importantly, herself) that everything was fine. Though she had to admit, she'd been overcompensating more than a little when she baked him those cookies.
It wasn't until she'd taken Maria's advice and tried unsuccessfully to call him that she'd finally admitted it to herself:
What she'd once felt for Max Evans was dead.
The realization was shattering. It remade the face of her entire existence. For so long, she'd been defining herself by what other people needed from her; waitress, best friend, girlfriend. The prospect of casting off the cage of what was expected from her was dizzying, terrifying. Freeing.
She hadn't been able to fully comprehended how chained she'd felt until she let it all go. For the first time since the fateful day of the shooting, she could breath again. She could finally admit to herself that, as worried as she was about Max on this trip to LA, she hadn't really missed him.
The quiet swish of her broom resounded in the empty café as she cleaned. Normally, the Crashdown would be filled with boisterous conversation as she and Michael closed up, but Jose had taken his shift and had to leave early. She gave the ground another melancholy swipe with the bristles. Setting the broom aside, she picked some trash off the floor and tossed it in the bin.
She mused on the irony as she left the kitchen for the dinning area. While four days with no Max was academically worrisome, a shift without Michael's unruly commentary was downright depressing. She hadn't realized until he started avoiding her how much of her everyday happiness revolved around Michael and his sarcasm. Whether it was lunch in the quad with the group, snide little asides when she passed him in the hall at school, or over the counter quips as she picked up her orders; no matter what the situation, he always seemed to know just what say to coax a smile out of her. She felt his absence like a great whole in the center of her day. How exactly had that happened? When had Michael's presence in her life become so pivotal?
Movement caught her eye at the front of the Crashdown and she froze when she recognized Max's figure through the glass. She stood expectantly as he pushed open the door and stepped inside. He stalled at the entry way and stared at her.
"Hi," she said finally, unable to cope with the silence.
"Hi," he echoed back.
"When did you get back?" she prompted when he seemed unwilling to continue.
Max gestured with a twist of his neck toward the door, "Just now." Slowly, he began to cross the room to her.
Her head shook in negation before she could stop it. "You didn't call."
He continued to move forward, begging her understanding with his eyes. "I was driving all night. I-I just had to get back to see you." Max paused at the unyielding expression on her face, "I-I'm sorry."
She shook her head sadly as she looked at him, regret painting her face as she prepared to share her newborn epiphany, "You can't do this, Max."
Raising his hand protectively to his stomach as a queasy feeling of apprehension curdled inside him, the teen edged closer, "I didn't mean to…"
She nodded her head decisively. She knew he didn't mean to. He never meant to, but somehow it still happened. What he didn't yet know was that she no longer felt obligated to oblige him. "But you did," she stated simply.
He stopped warily an arm's length away from her, one hand raising entreatingly to her for a long moment before falling back to his side at her unsympathetic expression. "Liz, I know you've been here, alone, waiting for me, and...And I've..." He took a deep breath and began again, pleadingly, "It was wrong. I-" His steps carried him forward, reaching for her as she woodenly watched him approach.
She knew this was the point where the old Liz would have gushed with sympathy and understanding. Where she would forgive him, regardless of the offense, and do her best to make him feel better. But when she looked inside herself now, the wellspring of pity she once held for the man in front of her had run dry. "Max," she said slowly, firmly. The dark haired figure before her leaned back against the counter and watched dejectedly as she continued, "What happened?"
His eyes turned away from her as he fought back tears, "I failed. And my son... He's up there somewhere." His desperate gaze slid back to her. "I've just messed everything up. Langley's life. Yours." His chin began to tremble as he drew her to him, "I'm so sorry, Liz," he cried as he wrapped his arms around her. "I'm so sorry."
She waited for that moment when his pain would melt the wall of ice around her heart, but it never came. Did she feel bad that he felt bad? Yes. But no more so than she would if it were Maria or Kyle who were unhappy. It was official; Max's place in her emotions had been relegated to that of a dear friend. She patted him once consolingly on the shoulder before slipping carefully out of his hold. "I'm sorry too, Max," she said quietly.
Panic filled his heart as she pulled away from him. "Liz?"
The fear on his face made her ache, but did nothing to change her mind. Now that she was decided, there was nothing left to do but push forward. Like removing a band aide, some forms of self-inflicted pain are best done quickly. "I can't do this anymore," she told him resolutely as she crossed her arms to prove her point and tilted her chin up to him defiantly.
A sob tore free of his throat as he grasped what she was saying. He didn't believe it was possible, she was the one constant he had! "I'll never leave you, Liz," he wept, frantic to reassure her of her place in his life.
"You won't have to, Max," she told him sadly. "I'm leaving you."
He gaped at her in disbelief for a long minute before exploding, "NO! You can't!" He moved in a flash, hands wrapping around her upper arms to shake her. "We belong together! Don't you see that?! We're soulmates!!!"
"Max!" she yelped as she struggled against his iron grip. "Are you crazy? What are you doing, let me go!"
He hauled her against his chest, unthinkingly lifting her up on her tiptoes to force her to meet his eyes. "Why are you doing this to me, Liz?" he demanded as his fingers ground painfully into her flesh. "Don't you know I need you!"
She met his hysterical gaze with peaceful eyes, "I know you do. And you'll still have me, as a friend."
"That's not good enough!" he growled as he launched her away from him. Unable to catch her balance at the sudden move, Liz toppled to the floor. Max's hands glowed as he loomed over her.
She stared up at him fearlessly, "It's going to have to be. It's all I have left to give you."
His hands curled into fists at his sides as he snarled, "No!" Glassware all around the room exploded in a rain of transparent shrapnel.
Liz covered her face instinctively and cried out in pain as tiny pieces of shattered glass pierced her skin.
"Oh god," Max gasped, horrified by his actions. Rivulets of crimson wept from the arms of the girl at his feet. "Liz-" he choked as he moved forward to help her.
"Stay away from me!" she screeched as she tried to scuttle away from him, slivers of broken glass digging into her palms as she desperately attempted to crawl backwards.
"What the HELL?!" Max had an instant to process Michael's startled roar before finding himself thrown across the room in a flash of light.
"Michael!" Liz wept gratefully from the floor, and Max's heart twisted painfully at the expression of undiluted joy and relief she shined at his brother.
Dragging himself from the wreckage of the table Michael had tossed him into, the deposed king watched as the taller boy efficiently cleared the broken glass with a wave of his hand and briskly began assessing the shaken girl's injuries.
Liz trembled in Michael's careful hands as he helped her up from the floor. She'd never been so happy to see anyone in her whole life. Warmth crawled across her skin as he systematically healed her cuts. Long fingers nudged her chin up and she couldn't help but smile at the first glimpse she'd had of his face in a week.
"Get any in your eyes?" He asked brusquely as he traced the soft skin of her cheeks, searching for injuries. She shook her head no and he smirked at her, "This is what I get for switching with Jose. Can't leave you alone for a minute, can I, Parker?"
She laughed feebly and sank into his arms before he could stop her. Michael froze down to a cellular level at the feel of her soft body pressed into his. His arm curled around her shoulders and he held her to him protectively as he processed the sound of Max climbing free of the debris on the other side of the room. He faced his brother with a hand upraised menacingly.
At the front of the restaurant, Max struggled to his feet. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean – I'm so sorry!"
"What the FUCK were you thinking, Maxwell?!" the scowling young man snarled as he clutched Liz against him defensively.
"I'm sorry," he repeated numbly. "I was so angry. I couldn't control-"
The dark haired young woman slipped free of Michael's grasp and cut him off with a sharp chop of her wrist. "Stop. We're done, Max."
"Liz," he began miserably. "I'm SO sorry. I lo-"
"You don't get to finish that sentence, Max Evans!" She screamed at him as she stomped forward, fists balled at her sides. "You think THIS is LOVE?!" She gestured to the ruined remains of her family's diner, vibrating with her rage.
Max looked around weakly at the devastation he'd caused with his tantrum. "I-I'll fix it."
"No." Michael's voice came sharply from behind Liz. "I'll fix it. Take my bike and go home."
Max instinctively caught the keys the gruff alien tossed his way. He opened his mouth to protest, but closed it with a snap. Tossing the keys back to Michael, he shook his head, "My car's around the corner." He didn't miss how Liz sagged against Michael in relief at his pronouncement. He turned to leave, but couldn't help pausing at the door to look back at the woman who held his soul. "I never meant for it to be this way, Liz," he murmured heartbrokenly.
She stared at him bleakly from the shelter of Michael's side. The soft pressure of his fingers curling around her shoulder was a comforting weight as she watched one chapter of her life come to a heavy close. "No one ever does," she agreed.
Chewing thoughtfully on her lip, she took a deep breath and spoke again. "Don't let this be who you become, Max," she waved at the mess around her. "Things have been so intense for so long, we've all been sort of swept away with it." She searched his eyes, willing him to hear and understand what she was saying, "Take this as an opportunity to remember who you really are."
"And when I do?" he prompted hopefully.
"Then your friends will be waiting for you," she said plainly as she leaned back against Michael's solid, reassuring form.
Max gritted his teeth as he forced himself to accept the reality of what she was saying. His eyes met Michael's over the dark shine of her hair. He sent a silent message to his brother: Take care of her.
Michael arched an eyebrow in response: You think you have to ask?
Max's gaze dropped down to Liz's and, in the face of her scrutiny, he nodded to show that he understood. A relieved smile spread across her face and he managed a weak grin in response.
He took the memory of that smile with him as he walked out the door.
Author's Notes & Sources
1. Dialogue and scene from Roswell episode 3x05 Control used without permission of the Katims, Metz, the WB, or anyone else who could possibly sue me for it. I'm just playing with fire here...
2. A small rant: The original Roswell version of this scene is the very personification of why I can't do Dreamer. He's a self-absorbed asshole. He doesn't call. He was going to leave the flipping PLANET without saying goodbye. And that's okay? Newsflash, Lizzie; it's really not. Grow some self respect, girlie.
3. Yes, I know. Those of you who've read my story Unclosed know that I'm using the Michael-the-Hero angle again. I can't help it, that's my Michael. He can't stand to see his girl abused, and sometimes I feel the need to knock Liz around. shrugs Really, it works out.