A/N: I have so much trepidation about tomorrow's episode. Sadly, these two won't be getting a mushy reunion in my fic before then. But it's coming - because I am nothing if not a sucker for a happy ending. Thanks for your kind reviews. I'm happy to read each one.

Disclaimer: I don't own Roswell, New Mexico, nor any of the characters.

Tues. March 6, 2018

Michael put the two folding lawn chairs in the back of his truck and surveyed the spot where he'd 'lived' for the last 7 years. Watching the dirt appear from under his trailer for the first time in forever had been bittersweet. But hell, his home had wheels under it for just this reason; so he could be free to go wherever he wanted, whenever the mood struck him. And yesterday, it had struck hard.

It started off the same as every other day for the past week. He woke early, poured himself a thermos of strong coffee, and threw a lunch together. The bag of books from Max's was still in his front seat, so he had all he needed. The drive to the hospital felt like it was getting longer with each trip. His anticipation to see Alex every day was getting more desperate. And after no measurable change in his condition, Michael had allowed himself to consider the worst case scenario.

But he couldn't think about that now.

When he'd arrived, the nurse's station was empty. He had gotten used to the nodded greeting from Nurse Thompson. Her replacement on Sunday had even less personality, and hadn't even looked up at him as he entered. Against all odds, he was starting to have a sense of comfort and familiarity in the ward. The hospital smell and equipment still made his insides shake, but as with any fear, repeated exposure had dulled the sharp edges of his terror.

He couldn't stop the quick shudder of his stomach, however, when he rounded the corner into Alex's room and found it full of people. Nurse Thompson was there, along with two men; doctors, neither of whom Michael had seen before. They were conferring over the chart from the foot of the bed, and the nurse was monitoring one of the machines closely.

"What's going on?" He didn't recognize his own voice, it was so brittle.

All three heads turned to him as one.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" the tall, blonde doctor asked, looking down his nose.

Michael was struck dumb. Who was he to Alex, really? He couldn't say what he wanted to, what he felt in his bones about their strong tether to each other. His brain was sifting through the possible lies when Nurse Thompson spoke up.

"He's Airman Manes' cousin. The rest of the family isn't able to be here."

He blinked at the woman's quick thinking and confident tone, frankly shocked that she would stand up for him. Greeting nods and occasional trite conversations aside, she didn't know him from Adam.

"Oh," the doctor sighed. "Very well, then. Mr. Manes seems to have an infection."

Michael flushed cold and his fingers tingled. While he had never been sick, he knew that infections were the real danger after surgery. In his panic, he suddenly had a million questions, and no firm thoughts at all. The second doctor, from India if he had to guess, cleared his throat.

"We're not sure if it's from the amputation or his other, internal injuries. His fever was quite high last night, but a different antibiotic seems to be helping."

Michael tried to keep his panting subtle. "How high?"

The man tapped his pen on the clipboard. "Dangerously so, apparently, for a couple of hours. 104.5. I understand it was touch and go around 3:00am, but we have him stabilized now."

Later, Michael would let himself rage inside at how nonchalant the doctor sounded when discussing Alex's health.

Michael reached out for the handrail running along the side of the room. The floor was starting to pitch at an angle and he wasn't completely sure he could stay upright. Alex had nearly died. Alone. And Michael hadn't been there because he was back in Roswell.

"Thanks, Thompson," the blonde one offered as his parting thought. "Let me know if there are any issues." The two doctors drifted out of the room in their white coats and scrubs while discussing another patient they had yet to see, but Michael couldn't give a shit.

He was going to be sick, he thought, looking wildly for a garbage can when the attached bathroom seemed much too far away. The room was swirling and sparkling around the edges, and Michael couldn't catch a whole breath. As his vision started to blacken, a strong hand gripped his upper arm and swiveled him into the guest chair.

"Sit down before you fall down. I don't have time to triage a concussion this morning."

When he was sitting, the nurse pushed on his shoulder until he was doubled over, staring at the floor from between his knees.

"Just breathe," she ordered. "It will pass."

He struggled to take in a shaky inhale, counting the blue speckles in the linoleum floor. After a few more breaths, the lightheaded feeling eased but his heart was still pounding.

"You ok now?" she asked in a distracted way.

He tried nodding but it wasn't much. Still, she let up on his shoulder and he unfolded from his pretzel position.

"Thanks."

She just cleared her throat and squeak-walked out into the hall, leaving Michael shaking and swallowing dryly. He ran a hand through his hair and exhaled nice and slow, tilting his head back to stare at the water stain on the ceiling. Shit, he really needed to get a hold of himself before furniture started floating around.

What would he do if Alex died while he wasn't here? His impulse was to just barricade himself in the room and not leave, ever. The thought of Alex being alone at the end was worse than the thought of him dying. And he wasn't sure how that made sense, but in his fuzzy brain right then, it did.

He reached out to take Alex's hand, trying not to think about why his fingers felt hot and dry.

"You can't die on me. You hear me, Alex?" His harsh whisper sounded like sandpaper. "And if you do have to go, I'll be here with you. I promise you won't have to be alone." He bowed his head to the bed and pressed his forehead to the back of Alex's hand.

Just keep breathing.

He wasn't sure if the mantra was for him or for Alex, but he kept repeating it as his heartbeat tripped and slowed. And after the panic retreated, left-over adrenaline filled him up. He had to be here, to be close by, in case something happened. He spent the rest of the morning silently going over plans to do just that, rubbing his thumb over Alex's fingernails in sequence, pinky to thumb. Over and over.

Just before lunch, plan set in his head, he ignored his stiff muscles and pushed up out of the chair.

"Nurse Thompson?" he called as he approached the circular desk. She turned and he put on his most charming smile.

"Hi. I don't think we've been properly introduced. I'm Michael Guerin."

She stared at his outstretched hand for a long moment before taking it.

"Private First Class Rebecca Thompson."

He chewed on his lip, trying to figure out how to ask for what he wanted, which was a lot.

"So, it was bad, last night?"

"I wasn't on shift," she hedged, "but yes. His fever spiked unexpectedly, and he was very lucky the doctor on call chose the right antibiotic on the first guess."

Michael exhaled again, rubbing the back of his neck. "Shit. Good to know we're down to guesses."

She stiffened. "Mr. Guerin, if you're implying that the hospital is in any way negligent—"

"No." He held out his hands, placating. "No, that's not what I meant. I'm just saying that it's scary to know that medicine can still be about gut feelings and good calls, that's all."

She huffed and straightened her green scrub top. "Oh. Well, sorry."

"No worries. You guys are taking good care of him. I know that."

He traced his finger over the swirled pattern on the countertop, trying and failing to be smooth.

"But the thought of him... leaving," he ground out, "while I'm not here. I just can't…"

Michael stopped, hating the quiver in his voice. He hated letting anyone see the soft parts of him. But he needed a favour, and maybe it was worth the price.

"I was wondering, if you could call me, if something happens—"

"You're not next of kin." Her voice was all procedure and chain of command, with no room for sort-of-boyfriends who camped out at hospital bedsides.

"I know that. But his family isn't here."

Her lips thinned into a grim line. "It doesn't matter. Our policy states that—"

"They're not here, Thompson." God, he was trying to hold his temper. The reasons Jesse Manes wasn't here watching over his youngest son made him want to tear things apart with his bare hands. He mostly wanted to tear the man himself to shreds. But that wouldn't help anything here and now.

"Mr. Guerin—"

"Michael." He tried his best smile again, the genuine one he saved for very special occasions.

"Michael, I'd like to help you, but…"

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look, I know who's on his list of family contacts. His brothers are all deployed, probably overseas, and his father doesn't give a shit what happens to Alex. He'd probably be relieved if he really did…"

He couldn't finish the thought, but the paleness on Thompson's face meant she'd gotten the message.

"Has the Master Sergeant even visited his son since he's been here?"

Thompson held his glare without blinking.

"Yes, only once, when he first arrived."

He grimaced, imagining how that interaction had gone. "And you didn't have to look at Alex's visitor's record to know that, so I'm guessing he made an impression."

Thompson glanced to her left and right, quietly checking for eavesdroppers, before leaning marginally across the desk. "He wasn't a pleasant person."

"Yup," he answered, popping the P. "That's Alex's dad for you."

He took a quick peek and saw that her eyes had softened just a little. Time to get real.

"I just don't want him to be alone. Alex and I have known each other since high school and we've been through a lot. We've been through a lot together. And I can't keep my promise and do right by him if I don't know to be here when something happens in the middle of the night."

The nurse breathed out through her nose and nibbled on her bottom lip, considering. And Michael knew he had her.

"All I'm asking is that someone call me. I don't even have to be the first call. But I'm damned sure that no one else will come running."

She let him wait a few breathless moments for it, before finally nodding. "Ok."

"Yeah?" he breathed. "I don't want to get you in trouble."

Thompson shrugged and moved over to her keyboard, tapping quickly to open Alex's records. "We add other contacts sometimes; usually COs that want to be kept up to date, or other people from their squadron. But generally not civilians."

She looked up with an eyebrow raised. "What would you like me to put as your relationship to the patient?"

Well, wasn't that the question of the century? Michael rubbed at the headache between his eyebrows that was starting to blossom outwards. How could he give a name to this whatever-relationship they had after nearly a decade apart, let alone one that was suitable for permanent hospital records?

"Close personal friend?" he chanced, feeling like a fool.

Her eyebrows popped, but she kept typing. "I think it's safer to stick with cousin, if it's all the same to you. Not that there's anything wrong with the Airman having a close personal friend. But it'll raise less questions if they need to phone you."

Michael blushed and nodded, agreeing with her logic. He recited his phone number and watched as she saved the information.

"Thank you."

Nurse Thompson actually graced him with a soft smile as she finished up and squirted the mandated hand sanitizer into her palm.

"I'm glad Mr. Manes has a close personal friend to care about him." She cocked her hip against the desk and crossed her arms. "After meeting his father, I would imagine he needs the support."

"You have no idea." Michael sighed and started back to Alex's room.

"Will you be nearby? If we call, I mean?"

He smiled to himself and looked back over his shoulder. "I'm working on it. Hopefully not more than 10 minutes away.

And so, that was how he found himself packing up the last of his meagre belongings on a cool Tuesday morning and casting a wistful glance over the expanse of Foster Homestead Ranch. He knew it wasn't goodbye forever. This place would inevitably draw him back at some point. But the leaving, and the reasons behind it, seemed momentous in the history of his life.

After many phone calls from Alex's hospital room, he'd found a place to park the Airstream only a few miles down the road. It had a power hookup and little else, but he didn't care. The spot was in the fenced yard of an auto-wrecker, and he was welcome to park there as long as he acted as something of a night watchman. They'd had problems with teenagers who lived on the base, breaking in and vandalizing things overnight. Mel Foster had even given him a reference on short notice.

He pushed off from the side of the truck and got behind the wheel, adjusting the rear-view mirror so it didn't show him the crash site. He was sad, yes, but also relieved he would soon be sleeping that much closer to Alex. With his cowboy hat riding shotgun in the passenger seat, he pulled out below the big ranch sign.

He quickly saw the cloud moving down the driveway towards him. Out here, the dust always gave away approaching cars. It would be Mel, probably, hoping to catch him before he left. The man had demons of his own, but Michael called him a friend of sorts. He slowed and pulled to the right, careful to keep the trailer upright along the shoulder. But the car approaching at high speed wasn't Mel's pickup.

Isobel's silver BMW coasted around the corner, sliding on loose red gravel. Michael rolled his eyes at the spectacle. Leave it to Is to make such a dramatic entrance, somehow upstaging his departure. He slowed and watched as the car skidded to a stop, diagonally across the road surface. But to his surprise, it wasn't Isobel that exploded out of the driver's seat.

Max looked like an angry silverback, all puffed up in the chest and full of righteous indignation. His long legs ate up the distance between them, bearing down on Michael's truck. Damn, he thought, so much for a quiet exit. He climbed out of his truck slowly, steeling himself against the upcoming onslaught and put on his time-tested mask of indifference and snark.

"Where the hell do you think you're going? You leaving without so much as a goodbye?" Max's voice was like being hit by a brick wall, and Michael was rocked backwards a fraction. The hair on his arms stood on end, reacting to the excess electrical energy surrounding Max.

In the quiet after his outburst, Michael saw Isobel slink out of the passenger side, watching the interaction warily. She obviously hadn't kept his secret very well.

"That's kind of the brilliance of a home on wheels, Max. I get to go where the wind takes me." Michael leaned against his fender and hooked his thumbs in his front pockets.

"And where is it taking you today?"

Michael smirked. "Away from here and closer to something else."

Max growled and made like he would tear his own hair out in frustration.

"And good, you're here so I don't have to get these back to you." Michael rounded the truck and reached through the passenger window to pull out the bag of books he'd been carting around. They landed with a thud at Max's feet.

"What the hell? You stole these from my house?"

"Borrowed," Michael said slowly, sounding out the letters like Max was a toddler. "You should get better locks. I'm just sayin'."

Max looked like he was seconds away from exploding, but Michael was pleased to see Isobel giggle.

"God fucking DAMMIT, Michael!" Max bellowed, his face mottling red. "You never change." He shook his head, disgusted, and Michael felt the familiar twist in his gut at meeting Max's lowest expectations.

"I really don't, Max. Who I am used to be fine with you, you remember? You used to like me fine just the way I was. But now I'm a big disappointment, an embarrassment to the deputy."

Max sucked in a breath to argue, but Michael just held up his hand.

"Forget it. I actually thought you'd be happy to see the back of me. I won't be waiting in the drunk tank anymore for you to let me out. And please, spare me. I don't have time for a lecture right now. I have somewhere else I've gotta be."

The anger bled out of Max as quickly as it burst. "Seriously, Michael. Where are you going?"

Michael bit his lower lip and sighed up at the blue sky. "Somewhere I need to be. Just leave it at that." He shrugged, like it was no big deal, but at his core he knew that Max would never understand. And honestly, he didn't have the energy to get into all the reveals required to explain.

Isobel stepped forward finally, tears in her eyes. "You keep in touch, you hear? We're just a phone call away."

Michael pulled her into a hug and she fisted the back of his denim jacket.

"Oh, sure. Isobel knows where you're going!" Max paced around in a circle, muttering about how he was always the last to know things in their messed-up little family.

"Isobel generally doesn't yell at me. At least, not lately." Michael squeezed her tighter when she laugh-sobbed into his shoulder.

He was surprised when he felt a big hand on his arm.

"Are you ok? I mean, is there anything you need? Anything I can—"

"I'm good." Michael nodded, pulling Max into their huddle. "I have a promise to keep to someone."

Max raised an eyebrow, but didn't ask. His expression remained stony and displeased.

"Geez, man. Would you lighten up? I'm not dying. I won't be gone forever."

"How long?"

Michael smirked at the resignation in Max's voice. "Not sure. Few weeks? Few months?"

"Dammit," he breathed, giving Michael a look that made him think perhaps he and Max could patch their relationship, given enough time. But he didn't have any of that right now. He was already late to get to the hospital, and he had to stop at the wrecker's yard first.

Michael untangled himself from Isobel and Max and backed up a step. "I gotta go."

The only family he'd ever known held hands and watched as he turned and walked back to his truck. Once inside, he leaned out the open window.

"Could ya move that piece of European trash so I can get by?"

Max smiled, in spite of himself, and Isobel started crying. It wasn't a shock to either of them. She had always been a drama queen, and Michael leaving town was her worst nightmare come true.

They drove along side him, passing slowly. Both men extended their arms out the window, brushing fingertips like they had as children on the slide outside the group home.

Isobel was beside herself, and Max's eyes were suspiciously wet.

"Save travels, Michael."

He smirked, giving them both an outrageous wink.

"I'll be seeing you."