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 Seven: Of What I Really Am

It's not like you didn't know that
I said I love you and I swear I still do.
And it must have been so bad,
'Cause living with me must have damn near killed you.
And this is how you remind me of what I really am.

For Diane, time had taken on that strange in-between quality, where it somehow seemed to move quickly and drag at the same time. Every day was excruciatingly long, another day of not knowing what to say to her children, not knowing how to relate to them. And yet, it felt as though she had simply blinked, and it was already July.

She stood in the middle of her kitchen, gazing at the empty table. Philip had already left for work, leaving her in a too-quiet house. She remembered with some fondness what it had been like when the children were little, when she wanted to be a stay-at-home Mom, when she enjoyed keeping house for them, and for her husband. But that had changed in the past months, and now it grew harder and harder to find joy in the little daily activities.

How had she allowed this to happen?

She wasn't arrogant enough to assume she had any control over her children's fate, not now that she knew just how complicated their lives were. But the mother in her still rebelled, unable to stand on the sidelines while the people she cared about fought a war that she was not part of. Why couldn't she help?

But even that question did not stay in her mind for long. It was replaced soon enough by another thought, one she had been trying to suppress since Max first confirmed her suspicions a few weeks earlier. As much as she wanted to, she could not forget what had happened.

It was her own fault, really. She was the one who had asked – who had insisted – on hearing the truth. Granted, at the time she had just discovered that her children were part-alien and involved in a war against some old enemy, and it hadn't seemed unreasonable to want to know. But still…

It was also during that conversation that Max had informed them that Jim's death was not an accident. Shouldn't she have known not to ask questions unless she was absolutely certain she wanted the answer?

"This will take some… adjusting… for us," Diane said quietly. "You have to understand… it's a lot for us to take in. But we're a family and I know we can get through this, we can figure it out. We can adjust. But I think… your father and I think… it would be best if you don't lie to us anymore."

"We want to know the whole story," Philip agreed.

Diane saw Max and Isabel exchange a brief look. There was something wary in their eyes, as though they still didn't fully trust their parents, and it made Diane angry and upset.

Philip might have seen it, too, because he added, "I know you think it is dangerous and difficult, but now that we know… well, we do have a lot of questions. And we're not going to stop having those questions just because they might be difficult." Isabel stiffened, and Diane wanted to reach out and hug her, to reassure her that everything was going to be okay, but Philip was still talking, and he softened his voice as he said, "But you have to remember that even though we're asking for an explanation of all this, we don't love you any less. You are still our children."

And that, Diane knew, was the truth.

"What do you want to know?" Max asked.

Diane knew what to ask. And she did, spitting out the words quickly, almost afraid that if she hesitated, Max and Isabel would refuse to answer. "The dreams I had where you attacked your father and killed some crystal thing…" She swallowed, closing her eyes briefly and remembering the horror of those nightmares, "Were those really dreams?"

Max's jaw tensed, and he looked down, unable to meet her gaze. Her heart plummeted, and she didn't need him to say anything. His silence was answer enough.

"But… why?" she asked faintly, trying not to cry. She was his mother, she had to be strong. She had to accept this. She couldn't let herself fall apart…

"The crystal was… dangerous. It was a hive-like organism," Max explained, still not looking at her. "It was… it was going to cause a lot of destruction. The hive Queen was inside Dad, and I had to kill it. It was the only way to… to save him."

Diane chewed her lip. Now that she knew they weren't dreams, she could vaguely sort out what had been actual memory of what was just the product of her overactive imagination. She clearly remembered Max using some power to suffocate Philip, and then the crystal appearing, and…

And everything was all hazy after that.

"Why did I think they were dreams?" she asked, doing her best to keep the accusation out of her voice. But she couldn't quite manage it, and the suspicion was there as well, underlying her words even as she tried to keep her voice level and soft.

"It's one of the things I can do," Isabel answered, voice shaking. "I… can interfere with people's dreams. Make them believe…" she trailed off uncomfortably and shot a quick, pleading look at Max. But it was clear he didn't have any help to offer her.

"I was afraid," Diane murmured, her gaze moving back and forth between her two children. She felt Philip resting his hand lightly on her arm, and some part of her knew that she should stop now, switch the topic, shy away from this dangerous conversation. But she couldn't, because this fear was still there, buried in her chest.

"We never meant to…" Max started, and then stopped. He struggled for words for a moment, then said, "I never wanted you to be afraid of me. But we didn't have a choice."

"You could have told us the truth," Diane answered.

Neither Max nor Isabel said anything in reply to that, and Diane let out a breath and looked away, unable to come up with any idea of what to say next.

Even now, weeks later, she didn't think they understood. They had done what they believed was best, she did know that. But she had been afraid of Max. She had been terrified of him, and it had haunted her. Her dreams had been filled with images of him turning on them, hurting them. Sometimes, in the weeks following that night, she would look at him, and it would take her a moment to remember that he was still her son, and not some strange apparition from her nightmares.

There might not have been any ill-intent in their actions – in fact, she was sure of that – but it did not change the outcome. It did not make it any easier for her to bear. What they had done… they had made her afraid of her own son.

And she couldn't get past that. She couldn't fathom the fact that they would trust her so little that they actually thought manipulating her dreams like this was a better solution than simply telling her the truth.

When did they stop believing that she would love them unconditionally?

Was it something she had done? Something she had said?

Her reverie was broken by the sound of footsteps, and then Max stumbled into the kitchen, his hair sticking up at odd angles, his eyelids still heavy with sleep. He stopped when he saw her, mouth dropping open for a minute, as though he didn't expect to find her in the house.

Which, she reasoned, was fair enough. For the most part, they hadn't seen each other in the past few weeks. He was avoiding her, and when he was there, she couldn't think of the right words to say. The silences were awkward, and there was always something about him – something moody and distant and unreachable – and she just couldn't get through.

"There's some cereal in the pantry," she said, nodding her head towards the cupboard in question. "I haven't gone grocery shopping yet this week, so it isn't much…"

"I am sure it will be fine," Max interrupted quickly. He crossed the kitchen, skirting around her. Something clenched painfully in her stomach at those actions. Where was the little boy who used to think she was perfect? Where was the child who would smile shyly and ask if she would give him a good morning hug?

All children grow up, she reminded herself. But do they all grow into people their parents suddenly no longer recognize?

"Is your sister awake?" Diane asked, glancing at the clock. It was still early in the morning, too early, really, for her to assume either of her children would be up.

"No," Max said shortly.

She scrutinized him for a moment. He looked exhausted. His skin had an unnaturally gray pallor to it, and there were dark circles under his eyes.

Without really thinking, she asked automatically, "Are you getting enough sleep?"

Max paused, hand extended over a box of cereal. "Yes," he said, regaining his composure quickly and grabbing the cereal from the shelf. "I'm fine."

"You look tired," Diane protested. "You look really tired. Why are you up so early?"

Max shrugged, then sank into a seat at the table and didn't look at her. She frowned, and forced herself to turn away so that she wouldn't have to see the way he avoided her. She walked over to the sink, fiddling with the dishes. There wasn't much to wash, and she reached for the sponge, but then stopped and sighed.

She didn't want to wash the dishes.

She didn't want to act like everything was normal.

Max was staring at her cereal when she turned to face him once more. He hadn't started eating, hadn't even poured the food into the bowl. She looked at the table and realized that he hadn't pulled the milk out of the refrigerator, either.

"You need to sleep," she said.

He looked up at her, head turning sharply, and she almost recoiled. It was still there, under everything, that instinctual fear. Of him. Of her own son.

And he didn't even know what he had done to her that night.

"I don't," he countered bluntly. "I slept enough. I have… things… to do."

"What sort of things?" she asked, leaning against the counter. Max didn't answer, and she knew that he was hiding it, not wanting to share all the details with her. "Max… you don't have to hide whatever it is from us. Not anymore."

She didn't add that he never should have needed to do that, but the thought crossed her mind, and she pushed it away forcefully.

Max pushed the box of cereal back and forth between his hands. "You don't understand," he said tiredly, his voice almost too quiet.

She shook her head. "I want to."

"No, you don't," Max argued.

It was turning into perhaps the longest conversation they had had in a few weeks.

Max blinked a few times, ran a hand through his hair, and looked at her. He opened his mouth several times, but continually snapped it shut, looking unsure about what to say. Finally, he gave a half-hearted shrug and said, "It's too dangerous."

"I'm your mother."

"I know," Max agreed. "But it is still too dangerous."

"Don't I get any say in whether or not I want to hear about it?" Diane snapped a bit sarcastically, one eyebrow raised. "I'm the parent, remember?"

"Yeah," Max shot back, face flushed, "and I'm the alien king, remember?" The words reverberated through the air of the abruptly silent kitchen, and then Max added, "I can't… I'm already worrying about too much. I don't want to worry about you and Dad, too."

Diane folded her arms over her chest. "Your father and I worry about you, Max. Can't you see that we only want…"

"Everything to go back to the way it was before?" Max interrupted. "It can't, Mom. We can't. Don't you see? It doesn't work like that."

"I don't want it all to go back to the way it was before," Diane protested. It wasn't actually true, of course, but she did know that what she truly wanted was not possible. And there was really no point in dwelling on all the lost possibilities. They were things that could never be.

"What do you want?" Max asked a bit bitterly.

"I want you to remember that I'm your mother," Diane answered honestly. "That you can trust me. That you aren't alone."

Max jumped to his feet, the chair skidding backwards and away from him across the kitchen floor. "I will be," he said angrily, eyes flashing as he glared at her. "When Khivar kills you and Dad because you're in the way, because you're my parents, because you know too much… I'll be alone then."

And he stormed out of the room.

"I keep thinking about Courtney."

The tension in the room was palpable, those five words echoing in the sudden silence as two sets of eyes focused on Alex in concern. Liz shifted closer to him on the bed, as though her mere physical presence would be enough to ease the pain in his voice. Maria leaned forward, squeezing his hand sympathetically.

But neither really knew what to say.

"What about her?" Liz asked finally, although it was a bit of a ridiculous question.

Alex answered anyway. "How could she… how could she do this to me? To us?" He paused, took a few shaky breaths. "To Jim?" he added in a low murmur.

"She is evil," Maria said flatly.

"It isn't that simple," Alex protested. "Why did she have to… why did she want us to trust her? Why did she keep helping us? Why didn't she…"

"It is that simple, Alex," Maria countered firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. "It really is. Courtney was evil. Everything she did was to get us to trust her so that she could steal information from us. So that she could betray us. She was a traitor. That's all she was."

"She couldn't have known, though," Alex whispered, rubbing his eyes wearily. "If her whole purpose was to get the translation of the Destiny Book… she couldn't have known in the beginning that I would end up translating it. And even then… She didn't need our trust, Maria. She just had to be in the right place at the right time. She just had to… to mind-warp me… It just doesn't add up. She wanted more than the Book. She… she helped us for a reason."

"Are you defending her?" Maria asked incredulously.

"No. No, of course not," Alex snapped, eyes narrowed at Maria for asking such a question. Maria had enough common decency to look slightly abashed by her question, but there was still a little bit of bewilderment in her eyes.

And Liz had to agree that she didn't understand what Alex was saying. Or why he was saying it. She'd had these thoughts, too, and had been forced to deal with the questions bouncing around in her head. But there was no amount of logic or rationale that could make it easier to deal with Courtney's actions, or the mess she had left behind.

"I just wish I understood her better," Alex said after a beat. "I just wish… I just wish I knew why."

"It isn't about the why," Liz answered softly. "We know why Khivar wants Max and the others dead, but it still doesn't really make sense. They aren't a threat to him, they don't want to fight this war, they'd be perfectly fine just being left alone. But he won't… he won't leave them alone. He won't give up. That's why we're fighting. And Courtney was the same."

"Liz is right," Maria agreed. "We know what Courtney wanted. We know why she wanted it."

"But that's the thing," Alex argued. "We don't know what she wanted or why she wanted it. We don't know anything about her." He looked away from them, his gaze moving towards the window of his bedroom. He hadn't been outside much, the one trip to Jim's grave being the longest his parents had let him leave the house.

She had come because, supposedly, she had wanted Michael on the throne. But killing Jim and nearly stealing the Destiny Book didn't help that cause. And everything she had done for them during the past year did not make sense when compared with everything she had done to them during that same time period.

Maria and Liz didn't get it. They didn't have the same kind of fear hovering around them constantly. They didn't flinch every time the door to their room opened, expecting some kind of attack. They didn't feel always on edge, wondering when they would fall back into the coma. They didn't know what it was like to face the simple, inevitable truth every single day, to always have, in the back of their minds, the terrifying realization that Courtney might be gone, but she wasn't dead.

Which meant she could come back.

And Alex needed to know why she had done this. He needed to understand her motives, he needed to understand her. Otherwise, how could he face her if she ever returned?

"My parents want me to go to boarding school," Liz said suddenly, abruptly changing the subject.

Alex's eyes widened in response, and he opened and closed his mouth several times without really being sure of what he wanted to say. Maria, however, had so such problem, and immediately burst into a diatribe.

"That's insane! Why would they want that? Roswell is your home, how could you possibly thing of leaving it? That is the craziest thing in the world. You can't go. I won't let you!"

Liz raised one eyebrow in pointed disbelief. "Let me?" she echoed.

Maria huffed and folded her arms over her chest. "That's right," she snapped. "It's a stupid idea and you don't have my permission to go."

Liz laughed softly. "I didn't realize I needed your permission," she said teasingly. Then she sobered almost immediately and added, "I didn't say I wanted to go. I said they want me to."

Before Maria could continue her rant, however, Alex cut in, asking in a gentle tone, "Do you want to go?"

"They're good schools," Liz hemmed, unwilling to answer the question fully. The truth was, some part of her did want to go to these schools. Some part of her wanted to get away from this – from Max, from the alien mess, from a life spent looking over her shoulder, waiting for the next crisis.

Alex gave her a shrewd look, then nodded. "Better than Roswell High School."

Liz rubbed her eyes with the heel of one hand and added, "It might help. I mean, for college. For getting into college."

"You have good grades here," Maria protested heatedly, "and you'll do fine on the tests."

"Yeah, but my extracurricular activities are pretty much nonexistent," Liz replied. "Colleges look for that sort of thing. I mean, I know I worked with the Whitaker campaign, but beyond that… everything else has been taken up with…"

"The Czechoslovakians?" Alex supplied. He had to agree with her statement, everything in her life was taken over by the aliens and their war.

"You can't really want to leave, though," Maria said, her tone a mixture of denial and disbelief. "Even if they are better schools, even if it gets you away from everything… this is your home."

"I'm going to be leaving at the end of next year anyway," Liz argued. "Wherever I go to college, it won't be here. What difference does one year make?"

Alex and Maria exchanged a quick look, and neither answered the question.

The sound of laughter filled the phone line before Tess' voice said cheerfully, "Hey, Isabel."

Isabel felt a momentary welling of anger and envy at the obvious merriment in Tess' tone. She struggled to hold back the emotion, though, and said, "What are you doing?"

"Kyle and I are watching a movie," Tess answered, "with a couple of new football friends he made."

A voice Isabel didn't recognize called out, "Hey, take it to another room! This is the good part of the movie!"

To which Tess shot back, "There is no good part of this movie." But Isabel heard the sounds of her moving, footsteps on the floor, and then a door opening and closing, and all the background noise faded.

"Sounds like you're having a good time," Isabel said bitterly.

Tess must have picked up on the tone, there was no way she could have missed it. But she responded with a simple, "Yeah, I am." A pause, then, "How are you guys?"

Isabel choked back a dark laugh and shook her head slowly, knowing Tess wouldn't be able to see it. "Oh, we're great," she muttered sarcastically, loud enough for Tess to hear. "We're watching movies all the time, too."

Again, Tess did not respond to the sarcasm in Isabel's voice, ignoring the brewing argument and settling instead for, "Any more Royalists approach you guys?"

"No. Our lives have been Czechoslovakian-free," Isabel snapped, her tone sardonic. It seemed as though there was no way she was going to have a civil conversation with Tess, not if the other girl was watching movies with her newfound friends while her family in Roswell struggled to hold themselves together.

But Tess, strangely, seemed determined to avoid the argument. "I talked to Max after the last one. He said you'd probably get more… visitors… in the next few days."

Isabel pulled up a chair and sank into it, staring around her empty house. Both her parents were gone, and Max had to work at the UFO Center, leaving her alone. It was a pleasant break from the constant anxiety that permeated the house, the stress and tension and awkward silence that filled the room whenever her parents were there.

But she wished she had someone to talk to. She couldn't talk to Max, not really. Her parents, too, seemed out of the question, and everything between her and Alex was just so messed up at the moment. Michael was too wrapped up in his relationship with Maria, and it wasn't as though Isabel and Liz were talking at all anymore.

Tess had been a last-ditch effort, and even that conversation wasn't working.

"Isabel? You still there?" Tess' voice called out, interrupting Isabel's thoughts.

The hybrid Princess sighed. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm still here," she said.

"Was there any specific reason you called?" Tess asked, and Isabel could hear the hint of worry in her voice. If anything had been really wrong, they both knew Isabel would have said it right away. But this conversation was getting drawn out for no particular reason, and Tess must have noticed that.

"No. Just… thought we'd… catch up," Isabel answered hesitantly, searching for the right words.

"Well, I've got nothing to report at my end," Tess said with a slight laugh. "Unless you want to hear all the ways Kyle can bore me with his talk of football. Honestly, I don't get why people are so obsessed with the sport. It's a whole bunch of guys tackling each other all the time, and for what? To catch a stuffed pig-skin ball?"

Isabel curled the cord of the phone around her fingers. "Mm," she said noncommittally.

"What about you?" Tess pressed. "You must have something to report."

Isabel wracked her brain for something to say, but came up blank. A surge of jealousy rushed through her at the fact that she couldn't even think of the last time she'd watched a movie with anyone, and Tess seemed to be having a perfectly normal, perfectly fun evening while the rest of them struggled just to get through the day.

She looked at the clock on the wall. Her father would come home from work later than usual now, and her mother was often gone in the evenings, too. Family dinners were slowly becoming uncommon and with Max working as many shifts as possible at the UFO Center and spending the rest of his free time wandering around the town by himself…

How had so much changed in just a few weeks?

"I've been looking at college applications," Isabel said finally. "Personal statements and that sort of thing."

"That's… productive. You know the deadlines aren't for like… another seven months or something, right?" Tess teased lightly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I know," Isabel said. "I just needed something to do."

"And you chose that over… I don't know… reading a magazine? Shopping? Hanging out with your friends? Watching a movie? Careful, Izzy, or you'll turn into Liz."

Isabel wasn't really sure what angered her more – the casual use of her nickname or the mention of Liz. Either way, something about Tess' answer set her blood boiling, and before she could even think of what she was doing, she had started to yell.

"You want to know why I'm not hanging out with people? Because my parents can't talk to me anymore, because Max won't talk to anyone, because Maria and Liz still hate me, because Michael doesn't care about anything besides his girlfriend, because Alex won't even make eye contact with me, and because you've decided to skip town on all of us!"

"Isabel…"

"So no, we're not spending all of our free time watching movies! We're not happy and carefree! We're not having fun! That's you, that's your life now." Isabel continued, the rant bursting out of her. The pent-up anger and hurt and fear that had been simmering inside of her for so long was bubbling over now, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. The words, acerbic and sharp, would not stop.

And she wasn't entirely sure she even wanted them to.

"Do you want to know what else is happening in our lives? Do you want to know how Max and Liz still won't speak to each other, how Alex doesn't think he can trust me right now, how Michael doesn't seem to care about anything? Do you want to know that the Royalists who showed up think we're going to lose this? That we're all going to die? That we're worthless teenagers who can't do anything right? And where the hell have you been during all of this? Oh… that's right. Watching movies. Of course. Well, at least you're having fun."

And without waiting for a response, she slammed down the phone.

And was somewhat surprised when, moments later, it ran again. Tess had never really been known for her patience or tolerance, and the fact that she was calling back after having just been yelled at gave Isabel pause.

But she didn't want to talk to Tess anymore.

So she let the phone ring, and didn't bother answering it.

At the other end of the phone line, Tess flopped back onto her bed and closed her eyes for a moment, thinking over everything Isabel had said. She could still hear the sounds of Kyle and his friends laughing at the movie, and she wanted to be out there with them. She wanted to be watching television instead of lying by herself in this room, thinking about Roswell.

But Isabel wouldn't answer the phone, and so the thoughts wouldn't go away. The words continue to reverberate in her head, over and over and over. She couldn't get past them, couldn't forget the raw pain and fury in Isabel's voice.

She sat up and rubbed her eyes, staring at the wall opposite her as though it might offer some suggestions.

It didn't.

A few minutes later, the door opened and Kyle slipped into the room, worry in his eyes. "You still on the phone?"

She shook her head mutely.

He crossed to the bed and sat down next to her. "How are things in Roswell?" he asked with a little bit of trepidation in his tone.

"Not good," she murmured. "Not good at all."

There was a pause, then Kyle asked, "Do you have to go back?"

Tess looked over at Kyle, studying his face for a long moment. "Can I?" she asked finally.

"I'm not the one keeping you here," Kyle countered.

But Tess just shook her head and answered heavily, "Yeah, you are."

Kyle ran his fingers through his short hair and frowned, but eventually acquiesced to the truth in her statement. He gave a small shrug of his shoulders and said, "It's okay now. All the stuff that happened this past week… and last weekend… it's okay now."

But Tess knew better than to believe him.

And the events of last weekend still weighed heavily on her mind. It had been a college party, and she'd gone to a few of those in the past, so it hadn't give her any reason to worry. Except that, in the past, Kyle hadn't been looking for any excuse to let loose the anger and grief that had been plaguing him for weeks. In the past, the parties had been around Roswell, not San Francisco, and there was a big difference between those two cities. In the past, she hadn't needed to worry about getting in trouble with the police, because Jim was the police.

Last weekend had been different.

And now, as she frowned in contemplation at the faint outline of the bruises on Kyle's face, she wondered how on Earth she could just walk away.

"I'll be okay," Kyle said again. "I promise."

Tess chewed her lip and looked away.

"What I did last weekend was stupid," Kyle continued softly.

"It was a little more than stupid," Tess shot back, still not looking at him. "You picked a fight with a guy twice your size. You were drunk. The police were called, and you could have ended up in jail for underage drinking and assault if I hadn't have gotten you out of there."

"You didn't need to do your little mind-trick thing on the police officer," Kyle grumbled. "I could have…"

"Could have what?" Tess queried, snapping her gaze to him. "Hit him, too? God knows you were drunk enough to consider it."

"And you've already yelled at me repeatedly for my stupidity, so can we move on to a different lecture now?" Kyle asked with a wry grin.

Tess nodded slowly. It was true, she reflected, that Kyle had figured out rather quickly how stupidly he had been acting that night. It wasn't a mistake he was going to make again, she was fairly certain of that. And not just because she'd nearly screamed at him for an hour after getting him away from the party. He didn't want to get into trouble of any kind anymore than she did.

But he was still hurting. And he was still angry, furious. And he still felt the sting of betrayal, the rage of helplessness, the grief of knowing he couldn't change the past.

And Jim was still dead.

"How bad is it in Roswell?" Kyle murmured.

"Sounds like Isabel is falling apart. And maybe everyone else," Tess groaned. She paused, then added wryly, "Then again, so are we. Although I am not sure that Isabel realizes that." The hybrid Princess' rant had been angry and full of pain, but she had apparently closed her mind to the possibility that Tess was hurting, too. That her cheerful attitude was all just a cover for the fact that she and Kyle were struggling.

"If they need you in Roswell then they need you in Roswell. This is a battle you have to win," Kyle said softly.

Tess laughed bitterly and stood up, started to pace. She blinked a few times, then said, "Can you believe we're actually having this conversation? Two clueless teenage siblings in a bedroom talking about war." She spun around to face Kyle, the absurdity of the entire situation weighing heavily on her. "How can we think like this? How can we talk like this? How can this be… how can this be a civil war?"

"I don't know. You tell me," Kyle replied.

Tess rolled her eyes.

"Hey, I'm new to this whole thing," Kyle said, holding his hands out in a sign of surrender. "And I don't like thinking about it, and I don't like talking about it, and I don't like remembering what happened to Dad, but…" He stopped, an internal battle raging in his eyes, then said, "But it happened. And I'm starting to get how important this is. I didn't want to know about it before, but now… now I get it. And this isn't going to go away on its own. If you need to go back… then go back."

Tess leaned against the wall, the faint sounds of their friends drifting through the closed door as the movie came to an end.

"I don't know if it will make a difference. I don't know what Isabel thinks I could do to change things," she argued. "It's not like I am going to sit down and have a heart-to-heart with… well… anyone. There will be no giggling and braiding each other's hair while dishing about boys."

Kyle shrugged. "Does it matter?"

"So you think I should go back for no reason at all? While you're hearing getting into fights and nearly getting arrested because you're too stupid to realize that getting drunk and hitting people is a bad idea?"

"You're never going to let go of that, are you?"

"No."

"I'll be okay," he said again, repeating the promise he had made earlier. She raised one eyebrow skeptically, and after much thought, he conceded, "Fine. I probably won't be okay, not really. But I won't get in trouble with the law. Or anyone else. You can go back." He climbed to his feet and crossed to the door, pausing one last time to look at her. "This is the person you are. And they are your family, they matter to you. And this war is real, and you can't pretend otherwise. You're the one who told me that."

He left the room, and Tess stared at the door for a moment, then heaved a sigh. After Kyle had learned the truth, she had been torn between wanting him to be more understanding of her responsibilities and wanting him to stay as far away from this mess as possible. Now she had both – he was understanding of what she had to do, and he was agreeing to stay behind in a different city while she went to fight a war. She was supposed to be happy about it.

So why did the whole thing feel bittersweet?

In the end, she supposed it didn't really matter. No matter how she felt about it, Kyle was right. She had to go back to Roswell.

Next Chapter: A Conversation Between Friends

Due: Sun 10/3