Title: Wheel and Turn or Bleed and Burn
Author: Kristin aka KiaraAlexisKlay
Category:A Roswell and The Fast and the Furious crossover.
Disclaimer: Roswell belongs to by Melinda Metz, Jason Katims, the WB, Fox, Scifi, etc. TF&TF belongs to Universal Pictures. The title is taken from Anne McCaffrey's folk song in the book The Dragonriders of Pern: First Flight.
Rating: TEEN to MATURE


Wheel and Turn or Bleed and Burn


Liz shivered as she stared at the house in front of her. Not that it was anything horrible to look at, if anything, looking at the house gave her sense of safety, of fondness, and well being. It was a simple home in between two other long, thin homes common to this neighborhood and many like it. There wasn't anything special per se, but it was welcoming and warm. The bit of lawn in front and the bigger yard in the back was prize property in a city so scrunched in and climbing atop one another that every inch was infinitely precious.

This...this tiny house was home.

Liz could only hope it was still hers.

It took Liz a good five minutes, in which she was thoroughly and hopelessly drenched, to gain the courage to walk the familiar cobbled drive to small stoop over the front door, that offered little to no protection against the driving rain. Another three, in which she stared and made herself familiar with the sight of the doorbell, and about half a minute as her shaking and chilled hand, only partly due to the rain, raised up to hover over the innocuous white button.

It was a cute button. Well not really, but Liz wasn't in a state of mind that really was what one would call normal. A little less than half and inch and nearly as thin as it was long, it was surrounded by a fake gold plate that was chipped and rusty, but the design of three stacked rectangles descending from smallest to biggest matched the symmetrical architecture of the rest of the house.

Almost in a daze, she didn't really feel or remember her finger pressing against that cute-but-not-really doorbell button.

The sound of the bell chiming inside, an achingly familiar ding-dong, the ding being extended, and the dong an almost hilarious deep, loud and proud boom that let everyone know that someone was waiting outside.

A strong El Nino wind blew more rain and a little debris against her, and Liz shivered more violently, huddling in against herself and starting to wish, almost yearn to be anywhere else. Anywhere but here.

But there was no where else to go.

Just as she was about to talk herself out of waiting, in fact she was already starting to turn around at about the pace of a snail, when the door creaked as it was yanked open. Liz had to blink as light flooded and hurt her night vision, and when she could see, she was face to chest with a very powerful white t-shirt covering bulging muscle type of chest.

Eyes tracking upward off that amazing chest, doe eyes met melted mocha, and she blinked at the glare coming off a freshly shaven head.

She knew that chest. She knew that shaved head, and she especially knew those arms that were currently leaning against the wood of the doorjamb and against the press of the door.

And she knew who owned that chest, those arms, and that head.

"Dom?" Her voice quivered and was almost lost in the fury of the storm.

Dominic Torretto blinked, and had to look down in order to see who had been crazy enough to come calling at this time of the night in this nasty weather. What he saw - who he saw actually - made him blink again, and not because of the pelting rain.

"Lizzie?" he gawked increduously. It couldn't be...could it? Oh, but it could. Her voice, speaking his name as a soft question, was almost too quiet for him to hear, but hear it he did.

But it was her eyes, eyes that pooled and were wet with something saltier and purer than Los Angeles rain, filled with such sadness and pain that kept him immobile.

"Dom, who's at the door?"

His sister's voice seemed to be the kick to the ass he needed, and he straightened, but Mia had already crossed the foyer and was peering around his shoulder to see for herself.

"Lizzie!"

Mia didn't seem to have any problem recognizing the daughter of their father's best friend, and before Dom could do more than open the door wider, Mia had grabbed the younger girl and pulled her inside. Shutting and locking the door, Dom followed the squelching of Liz's shoes and the slight puddles the indentions made, right into the downstairs bathroom where Mia was fussing over the obviously worn out girl.

She reminded Dom of a drowned kitten, her dark hair plastered against her head and neck, almost black with the moisture, and her eyes wide and large on a face too pale, too tired, and too shrunken in. This wasn't the round faced angel that his late mother had cooed over, that his sister had used as a living doll to 

dress up and fussed over.

"Dom, get me some towels," Mia ordered, her eyes worried, and Dom didn't hesitate. He could see for himself that Liz Parker was in a bad state.

He didn't stop to ponder why the sight of a sad, broken Liz Parker had him rushing to do things that he'd normally make a fuss over doing. He just knew that Liz needed help, and he would do his best to give it to her.

Period.


finis