Title: Details in the Fabric

Disclaimer: I don't own anything

Summary: Sequel to Time After Time. AU Season Three. In the end, it's the little things that can pull a group together. And it's the little things that can tear them apart.

Chapter Four: The Beginnings of War

"So this is Roswell? It seems… nice."

The man with the bright green eyes turned towards his wife and said in an exasperated tone, "Lils, do you have to be like that?"

"Like what?" the woman said irritably, blowing out a breath and yanking her long black hair into a ponytail. "Tired? Worn out? Sick of all this constant moving? And now we're in this tiny desert town in the middle of nowhere…" She shook her head. "Yes, Patrick, I think I have to be exactly like this."

They were standing side-by-side on the sloping lawn of their new house. Behind them, several men were unloading boxes from the large moving truck and hauling them up the cement walkway to the door. The sun was hot, its unrelenting rays beating down on all of them. Already, sweat was gathering along Patrick's forehead and clinging to his shirt.

Lillian sniffed. "I don't like it here," she said. She was holding a large cup of lemonade in her hand, and moved the straw around a few times before taking a sip.

"You get used to it, ma'am," one of the movers said, hoisting a box into his arms and giving her a disarming grin. "We moved out here when I was eight and I hated it. But I got used to it. Now it's home, sweet home."

Lillian made a face. "God, I hope we are not here long enough for me to feel that way."

"Don't mind her," Patrick said apologetically to the mover. "My wife is a city girl, and the desert makes her cranky." To his wife, he said, "Come on, Lils. Be nice."

She shot him an exasperated look, then sighed heavily. "I just want to go home," she muttered.

She hurried up the path towards the door, and followed a few of the movers into the house. Even from outside, Patrick could hear her giving orders in her high-pitched voice, directing where boxes should be placed.

He ran a hand through his hair, then let his gaze wander out over the rest of the neighborhood. It was quiet, which was nice. But perhaps a little too quiet. He could see why Lilian would dislike it so much. It was too small even for him, and he was used to this sort of thing.

A woman was walking down the street. She paused in front of Patrick's new house and looked up at it questioningly, then gave Patrick a smile. She had a friendly look in her eyes, but there was something else about her, a sot of sadness that draped over her, tainting everything.

"We're just moving in," Patrick said, feeling the need to say something.

"Welcome to Roswell," the woman answered. "I'm Amy, by the way. Amy DeLuca." She turned and pointed towards one of the houses across the street. "I live over there."

Patrick eyed the house she pointed out. The house itself was rather nondescript, a lot like every other house on the street. The yard had the look of something that had once been well-tended, but had fallen into disarray in the past few weeks. Weeds poked their heads through the dirt, and the grass was brown in places, dried out by too much sun and not enough water.

"It's nice to meet you, Amy," Patrick said, moving towards Amy and extending his hand. "I'm Patrick, and my wife Lillian is in the house."

"No… no, not over there. Yes, to the right. No, that's left. I said move it to the right!" The sound of Lillian's voice came drifting to them through the open window of the house, and Patrick gave Amy a slightly abashed grin.

"She's very exacting," he said.

Amy shrugged. "A lot of women are," she answered. "So… where are you two from?"

Patrick folded his arms over his chest and leaned against the side of the moving truck. "Chicago. We had to move because of my work, although Lillian isn't that happy about it."

"Roswell does take some getting used to," Amy agreed. "But she'll learn to love it in time, I promise. There are a lot of wonderful things about the town…" She trailed off, her eyes clouding over, obviously thinking about something else. Whatever it was, it was not a happy thought, and it brought a slight frown to her face.

Patrick looked back at the house again, watching as the movers carried the last of the boxes inside.

"Well, I should get going," Amy said. "It was nice meeting you, Patrick."

"You, too, Amy," Patrick replied. "Hopefully I will see you around."

"I'm sure you will," Amy promised, then she walked past Patrick and crossed the street, moving quickly towards her own house.

Patrick gave her one last look, then walked up the path and into his own house.

The pamphlets for the various boarding schools were spread across her bed, but Liz wasn't looking at them. She was sitting cross-legged, clutching a pillow to her chest, and staring blankly at the wall, trying hard not to think of Max.

Alex was alive, she reminded herself, and wasn't she supposed to be happy about that? It was what she had wanted, the only thing she had focused on for the past month, and now… Now it didn't feel like enough. But every time she thought of the four hybrids, it wasn't actually them that she missed.

She missed the feeling of belonging. She missed thinking that she was doing something with her life, something amazing and important. She was saving people.

And… well, okay, so she did miss Max. But she didn't miss this Max. She missed the Max he had been before, the quiet, shy, sweet, charming boy who…

Who didn't have the weight of two worlds on his shoulders.

Her mind wandered from Max to Courtney, and, as usual, the familiar wave of fury ran through her. She wished they could have killed the blonde rebel skin, wished they could have made her pay for all she had done. It hadn't been possible to do so, of course, and she couldn't regret Alex being alive and safe now, but still…

She still couldn't wrap her head around everything Courtney had done. It didn't make sense, not really. Courtney had helped them so many times. With the blue crystal parasites, with the Harvest, with getting Tess, Kyle, the Sheriff, and Michael back from the pocket realm, with rescuing Isabel from the skins. Why would she have done all of that if she was going to betray them in the end? Was it just some play to get close to them, to gain their trust?

And then there was Ava. She tried not to think about the dupe Queen too often. She didn't like thinking about the person Ava had become and what exactly it was that had forced her into that position. She didn't understand, couldn't understand, how someone with Max's DNA could have turned into that Zan. And she also couldn't help but wonder, occasionally, what she would have done if she had been in Ava's position. Would she have made the same choices?

Did Tess think about that ever?

She rubbed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. Did she really want to leave? Did she really want to start over without the alien mess in her life? That aspect of attending a boarding school was quite appealing, and it wasn't like she was really needed here any more.

But Michael had come back from the future to tell her that she couldn't leave. That had been last year, back when it still felt like maybe, just maybe, she and Max had a future together. Those feelings were gone now, and maybe Michael's warning didn't apply. Maybe they had already saved the future, and it wouldn't matter if she left.

Or, maybe, Khivar would track her down, kill her, and then destroy the world.

She remembered the night she had told Max about Future Michael's warnings. Isabel had been gone, kidnapped by Rath and Nicolas, and they were scrambling to come up with a plan to save her. And she'd told Max that Khivar would kill her in the future and the look on his face right at that moment…

She had known he would do anything in the world to keep her safe.

But things had changed. Not so long ago, she had told Max that they were still a group, even if they didn't all get along. And yet, even as she told him that, even as she uttered the words and prayed that he would believe her, she had not been able to keep back her own doubts, her own worries that her statement was empty and false. She could lie to him, but could she lie to herself?

She wished she could tell exactly what Max was thinking. She wished she could see right into his mind. Because trying to talk to him wasn't working.

On the other side of town, Max frowned and pulled his attention up from the book he was reading. Something strange was happening, though he didn't know what it was. But he could feel Liz, like she was sitting right next to him.

He looked around his room. It was empty, just as he had known it would be. But Liz's presence still lingered for a moment, and out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of her brown hair and doe eyes. It was like she was standing right there, just beyond his range of vision.

But he blinked, and the feeling and mirage were gone, leaving him alone again.

He set his book down and walked out of his room. Isabel was standing in the hallway, holding a toothbrush in her hand. She forced a smile when she saw him, though the look was strained and the space between them was awkward and uncomfortable. Max shifted his weight from foot to foot and wished he could think of the right thing to say.

"I was just going to bed," Isabel said.

Max nodded. "I think I saw Liz."

It wasn't exactly how he had meant to say it, and it didn't make a whole lot of sense. The words sort of tumbled out, without thought or planning.

Isabel raised an eyebrow. "Okay. Um… okay." Her expression had hardened immediately at the mention of Liz, but there was also a look of bewilderment and concern in her eyes, like she couldn't quite figure out what they were discussing.

He let out a breath. "Like… had a vision of her. Like she was standing in my room. And I could feel her right there, but when I turned to look, it was just… she was gone."

Isabel played with the end of her toothbrush, absently running her fingers over the bristles, and asked, "Is she in danger?"

"No. It wasn't that sort of vision. There wasn't anything connected with it. She was just… there." Max struggled for the right words to explain how it had felt, but came up with nothing. How could he describe something he didn't really understand?

"Are you sure you're not just day-dreaming about her?" Isabel asked.

"I'm sure," Max said firmly. "I can't explain it, Izzy, but it… something happened. It was… it was not a normal… I wasn't day-dreaming."

She gave him a doubtful look. "I don't know, Max. I mean, it sounds like she was dream-walking you or something, but Liz isn't an alien and you weren't asleep, so… it's not really possible."

Max groaned. "Yeah. I know."

And he turned and walked back into his room, leaving a surprised and slightly worried Isabel standing in the hallway.

"Petro?"

Patrick smiled grimly at the woman standing in front of him. She was the same as he had remembered, her unruly red hair falling over glittering eyes, her chin lifted slightly, confidence shining in her very posture.

"Actually," he said, "I go by Patrick for the moment. It's more… American… I believe." He stepped forward, closing the space in between them. "And how are you, Kristalia?"

The Royalist grinned. "Better now that you are here. The others haven't arrived yet, I'm still waiting for the army to assemble. I take it you got Jared's message?"

Patrick nodded. "Yes." He took a slow breath, felt something twist in his stomach. "Kristi… I'm sorry. About what happened to Jared." He didn't know the exact details, of course, but he knew that the Royalist had sent out his message to the army only moments before dying. Someone had killed him.

Kristalia accepted his sympathy with a nod of her head. "I am, too," she agreed, her voice shaking just slightly with the pain of that particular loss. "But this is a war, and we all knew the dangers. Jared died for what he believed in. He would have wanted that." She looked up at the stars for a moment, contemplating them, then asked, "Is Lilsar here as well?"

"She goes by Lillian," Patrick answered. "And yes, she is here. When I left, she was complaining about the town." He snorted, looking around briefly, before adding, "She still has much higher standards than I do, but I can't deny she is at least partially right. Of all the places to send the Royal Four… why here? Earth is bad enough, but at least send them to an actual city."

"You've been on Earth too long," Kristalia commented dryly. "You've started to forget. Or do I need to remind you how much smaller of a planet Antar is?"

"In size and population, yes. In technological advancement? Hardly. And most of our people lived in bigger cities except the farmers. Rowell is nothing compared to home."

Kristalia laughed. "I think we're all in agreement on that one. But the Royal Four will not be what you remember, Patrick. They are different people here, even if they have the same… essences."

Patrick raised his eyebrows, but did not press for more information. Instead, he said, "I have been contacted by a few others. I think we will be joined by several of our… colleagues… in the next few days. The entire army should be assembled within a couple weeks."

"As long as Khivar does not attack before then," Kristalia murmured.

"Our intel suggests that he is still regrouping," Patrick said. "Nicolas' death has hit him hard, as has the loss of most of his soldiers here on Earth. He will need to send more before he can mount any real attack."

"While I certainly have no plans to grieve over the loss of our dear Nicolas," Kristalia said with a slight sneer on the skin's name, "I am a bit worried. Khivar is smart, but he can be entirely unpredictable when his family is involved. With Nicolas, he too often let his emotions drive him. His retaliation for the death of his brother will be beyond anything the hybrid Royal Four have dealt with so far, and we have no way of guessing when or what exactly will happen."

Patrick shrugged. "Then we had better be ready for anything."

Kristalia pushed her red hair out of her eyes and nodded. "Indeed. I will speak with Zan – he goes by the name of Max Evans, by the way – and tell him that you are here. You and Lilsar… sorry, Lillian… should meet the Royal Four tomorrow. They will want to know that the first of the army has arrived."

"Alright," Patrick answered. "I will tell Lillian. Until tomorrow then, Kristi."

The redhead nodded. "Tomorrow."

Next Chapter: Four Clueless Teenagers

Due: Thurs 9/16