CHAPTER 7

Max knocked and waited impatiently for Michael's apartment door to open. When it didn't, he frowned and knocked again, louder this time.

"You might as well come in," Michael called from inside. Max looked around the hallway to ensure it was empty before he waved a palm over the lock to disengage it.

Michael was sprawled on his couch; he looked up as Max entered.

"It was locked," the dark-haired alien said.

"Yeah, so?" Michael responded absently. "You got in, didn't you?"

Max shook his head as he reminded him, "Not everyone has powers, Michael."

"I knew it had to be you or Isabel. Maria's checking on her mother, and nobody else drops by."

Max nodded. His friend had a point. For the first time, he noticed the book Michael was holding. "What are you up to, Michael?"

"What does it look like? Studying," was the bland answer. "History test tomorrow."

Since when was Michael concerned about a test? And this was the second time this week he'd mentioned studying...would wonders never cease? Max's lips curled up in a smile.

"Do you really think Mrs. Lyons will be able to handle the shock?" he joked.

Michael kept a deadpan look on his face as he replied, "Well, it's gonna be fun to watch her head explode." He looked over at Max. "You didn't come over to check up on my study habits. What's going on?"

"I talked to Valenti. He's skeptical about using the FBI camera, since Nasedo found it before, but he's willing to let us try. We'll have to get it back afterwards at some point, though. I thought we'd all meet tomorrow and work out the logistics."

Michael studied his erstwhile leader. "You mean we're actually gonna do something for once?"

"Michael, I know you think we've been wasting time--"

"No, Maxwell, you don't know what I think. Things are getting worse. Something is coming--something bad--and we have no clue what. If we don't do something to get ready for it, we're sunk."

Max wrinkled his brow in concern. "You have a tendency to get worked up about things, not to trust--"

Michael sat up, swinging his feet to the floor. "You mean I'm just being paranoid, don't you? It's not the same as before, when I only used to trust you and Isabel. Now I trust three more people, and maybe Valenti. That's a really big change. Whether you can see it or not, I'm actually a whole lot less paranoid than I used to be. So if I say there's something wrong, you'd better be a whole hell of a lot more ready to believe it than you seem."

"Michael, don't get angry. It's not that I don't trust you, or what you're sensing. I just don't like risking your safety, or anyone else's, until we know more."

With a sigh, Michael relaxed back into the couch. "I'm not angry. I just wish we didn't always have to go through this shit, you know?"

Max nodded in perfect agreement. "I know."

Michael ran long fingers down the spine of the history text he was still holding, tracing the lettering. "I think someone's been watching me." He looked up at Max. "I'm not sure. Maybe it's more of my paranoia kicking in."

"But you don't think so," Max said evenly.

"There's a friggin' shapeshifter running around town and you expect me to pass this feeling off as nothing? Unlike you, he's the perfect spy. He could be anyone, and we'd never know it. Hell, Max, he could even be you."

Max looked at him oddly for a moment, then rattled off, "We met for the second time in Mrs. Ziff's class in third grade, when you showed up at Roswell Elementary. You'll eat almost anything, but you have a special passion for chocolate-covered doughnuts with Tabasco sauce. You call me 'Maxwell' and 'Maximillian'--oh, and for the nine days it took me to learn to ride a bike without falling over, 'Maccident.' You--"

Cutting him off with a smirk, Michael snorted, "Cool your jets, Maxwell. You don't have to prove it's you; I know it is. I'm just saying that we can't trust Nasedo, that's all. We don't know what he's up to. Now more than ever--he could be anyone, anywhere."

Max sat down on the other end of the worn couch. "So you think Nasedo's the one watching you?"

"Who else could it be? He's gotten the FBI off our backs, and Sheriff Valenti's on our side now...no one else has a reason to suspect me of anything. 'Cause I haven't done anything." He grew silent and gripped the History book more tightly. Finally he spoke again. "Do you ever wonder what things would be like if we were human?"

Max looked curiously at him. "Sometimes," he admitted.

His eyes on the floor in front of him, Michael slowly pressed on. "I always used to imagine a different life. One with no trailer park and no Hank. But it always used to be life on our own planet, if the ship had never crashed, if I had a family..."

Max made a sympathetic noise, not trusting himself to say more for fear of making Michael close off even more.

Michael shrugged. "Hell, with my luck I'd have gotten stuck with a whole family of Hanks. Ones who didn't even have to get liquored up to--" He cut himself off, suddenly realizing what he'd been about to share. It was well outside of the realm of things he wanted to admit to himself, much less discuss with someone else. Way, way too personal. God. Any more of this and he and Max would find themselves discussing feminine hygiene products and the status of their respective love lives over flavored International Coffees. Feeling a strong need to get back within more comfortable boundaries, he barked, "So we're meeting tomorrow night?"

"After school if it works for everybody," Max answered, gracefully ignoring the rapidity of the subject change.

"I gotta work at 4:00, but I'm free 'till then."

"We'll head out to the quarry after school, then. We can talk privately out there."

"Yeah."

Max studied his friend for a moment. The other alien looked relaxed, but there was an underlying tension about him that didn't bode well for whoever or whatever was causing his paranoia. The idea popped into Max's head that this time, Michael wasn't going to go down without a fight. Suddenly, the leader of the Royal Four was even more grateful that he and Michael were on the same team.

Torn between letting Michael know what his friendship meant and an unwillingness to make him as acutely uncomfortable as Max thought he would be, Max decided to keep his mouth shut. "See you tomorrow, then," was all he said.

"Yeah."

Max headed out the door, locking it behind him. For a moment, Michael gazed at the door; then he sprawled out once more on the couch and opened his History text. Time to deal with the past tonight; the future would wait until tomorrow.


*****

The radio played softly as Maria reached into her drawer for night attire. Her hand hovered for a moment, then darted down to seize the faded comfort of her flannel sheep pajamas. She could use a little of their warm solace tonight.

Michael had been right. Her mother was definitely acting weird. Not that Maria had been able to get one word out of her about what was wrong, but she could tell. After seventeen years, she was pretty much used to her mother, and she'd never seen her like this before. Her mother had never had any trouble expressing just what was on her mind at any particular moment. In fact, most of the time she would be hard pressed to hold it in. To be fair, Maria was no different--it was a DeLuca family trait. But tonight was definitely atypical. Her mother was acting almost wooden. Sure, she put on a cheerful front, but Maria could tell something was wrong. The mother wasn't nearly as good a faker as the daughter.

So more to worry about, on top of the whole Nasedo thing. Not to mention the everyday things, like tomorrow's History test. Which she hadn't quite finished studying for. And it was one thing to push Michael to improve his grades, but if she didn't do as well on the test as he did, she'd never live it down. But she was simply too worn out tonight to read. She'd have to try and cram some more at lunch tomorrow.

Climbing into her pajamas, she moved towards her bed and then stopped as an impulse struck her. Quickly she headed back to her dresser, opening up the jewelry box that sat there. Her fingers searched the back recesses of the box until they found what she was looking for: a small pouch made of rose-colored watered silk.

Maria carefully loosened the drawstring and, holding her breath, poured its contents into her palm. A small, golden cufflink with the initial 'D' engraved on it. It had belonged to her father.

She could still remember the day she'd found it. It had been about a week after he'd walked out on them, and she had snuck into her parents'--now her mother's--room while her mother was making dinner. Maria had stretched out on the floor between the bed and the dresser, her eyes closed, and tried to pretend that he was actually there. That he hadn't left, and if she opened her eyes at just the right moment, he'd be there sitting on the bed, smiling down at her.

But of course he hadn't been. She'd turned her head away from the bed as silent tears ran down her cheeks and onto the carpet, and then she'd seen it. It was lying just under the edge of the dresser where the kickboard had long since fallen off, and it was glinting golden like some sort of magic talisman. He must have dropped it, not realizing, as he packed his belongings. Her small fingers darted out and clutched it, holding it so tightly that she'd ended up with its shape indented into her palm. Then she'd scrambled to her feet and fled the room.

She recalled digging in her treasure box for the silken pouch, although she couldn't remember what it had originally contained or why her mother had given it to a seven-year-old in the first place. But that hadn't mattered; it was to be the new home of this remnant of her father. Of proof that he had been there, that he existed. The small piece of silk would hide it away and keep it safe until he came back for it. For them.

She didn't know if her mother had ever seen it, secreted among her treasured possessions. If she had, she hadn't ever said anything. Maria herself hadn't looked at it in years, letting it rest untouched. Now she ran her fingers over it, noting the discoloration and the tarnish on the metal finish. It was no longer a magic talisman, sent to guide her father on his way home. It was just an old cheap cufflink, separated from its mate. Useless.

Her hands didn't shake as she carefully tucked the cufflink back into the corner of her jewelry box, without its protective pouch this time. She had a more important use for that. This time it would hold something that was given to her. Meant for her to have, not left in carelessness for her to find. The smooth fabric was just big enough to hold a tiny treasure. A thimble, or a ring, or a marble. Or a small crystalline sphere, made of a million shades of blue.

Picking up the blue rock from her dresser, she carefully enclosed it in the rosy silk and tightened the drawstring securely. That was a good place for it. It would be safe there. Another impulse struck her, and once more she was burrowing in a dresser drawer, this time for a length of sky-colored satin ribbon. Tying it tightly around the top of the pouch, she knotted the loose ends and slipped it over her head. She would look for some stronger cord, something she could permanently affix to the pouch, but this would do for tonight.

A yawn overcame her, and she gave a little half-laugh. Padding over to her bed, she climbed in and tried to relax. She curled up on her side, one hand under her cheek and one reaching up to grasp the pouch. Even through the fabric, she could feel the Michael-vibe which came from it. It was like having a little bit of him with her all the time. And he'd wanted her to have it. It had been his idea.

With a sleepy smile, she closed her eyes and felt herself drift off to sleep.


*****

The dim hallway stretched out in front of her, further than her tired eyes could make out. The only light came from her upturned hand; the blue star clutched within it sent tendrils of light questing out into the dark, little flickers of blue flame creating shadows on the walls. Maria was vaguely aware that she was dreaming, but didn't let the thought disturb her. Instead, she moved slowly down the hallway, passing an occasional door in a seemingly endless expanse of wall.

She knew she was looking for something, although she couldn't say what it was. And she thought that she was supposed to be afraid of something else, but she couldn't say what that was either. So she kept walking steadily forward.

Several times she stopped in front of an ornate door, wondering if perhaps this was the one she was searching for; but every time she shook her head and moved on. It never felt quite right.

At the fourth such stop, though, it did feel right. Maria wasn't quite sure why. After all, this door looked exactly like the others she had considered, carved in dark wood with geometric shapes that almost made a picture...but not quite. The only problem was, she wasn't sure if behind this particular door was the something she needed or the something to fear.

Holding the star up higher now, she reached out with her other hand and turned the doorknob. Soundlessly the door swung open, only to reveal an expanse of velvety black that even the light of her star didn't penetrate. Something urged her forward, and she stepped over the sill. A shiver ran up her spine and out to the tips of her fingers.

She blinked.

She was in a room, big and empty except for pale walls and a lounge of some sort, covered in deep green brocade. She thought a hundred years earlier it would have been called a fainting couch, but she wasn't sure. The star was gone from her hand, but she could see clearly, even though she couldn't identify the source that lit up the room.

Turning around, she wasn't surprised to find that the door through which she had entered didn't exist. After all, this was a dream.

A hand touched her shoulder, and she started and swung around. Although the room had been empty earlier, Michael was there, standing just inches away. She smiled involuntarily. This dream was definitely looking up.

He didn't say anything, just stepped near her, pinning her gaze with his. Her hand snaked out to touch his cheek, and he grabbed it and held it tightly. Not taking his eyes from hers, he pulled her even closer, a wolfish grin sliding across his face. Deliberately he bent his head, avoiding her waiting mouth, and pressed hot lips to the side of her neck.

Her head tilted back to allow him room, and her free hand came up to tangle in the hair at the back of his head. Her pulse began to pound, and she managed a barely coherent, "Michael."

He chuckled against her skin, then pulled his head away so he could look down at her once more. For the first time, he seemed to notice the faded flannel pajamas she wore. "Well, this is different," she heard him mutter as he traced her neckline with one long finger. "Usually you're wearing a lot less."

She opened her mouth to question him, and he lowered his to cover hers. His tongue swept across her lips, and she shuddered before allowing him even deeper access. Senses swimming, she almost moaned a few moments later when his mouth pulled away, but the dream Michael rapidly began tasting her jaw.

"Michael," she breathed again, turning her head slightly towards him. He didn't answer, and she suddenly realized that his hands were between them, clumsily working on the buttons of her pajama top.

Oh. So this was going to be one of those dreams. She smiled ruefully. Who else would wear sheep pajamas for a--The thought stopped in her mind as she recalled what he'd muttered. Wait a minute. Usually she what? "Michael?" she said again, a question in her voice.

He pulled his mouth away from her long enough to murmur, "It's okay, baby," and then began teasing at her jawline again. His hands never stopped their fumbling.

Baby? "Baby?" she squeaked, her hands shooting down to cover his. "Since when have you called me 'baby', Michael?"

"Hmmmm? Don't worry about it," he said thickly, once more lowering his head towards the soft skin of her neck. Her hands tightened on his wrists.

"Michael Guerin! Did you pull me into your dream again?" she demanded fiercely.

"Wha--" His hands froze on her last button, and his eyes shot down to them, then up to the sliver of pale skin his unbuttoning had exposed. For the longest while, he didn't seem able to move, or tear his eyes away. Or come up with a coherent sentence, for that matter. Then he finally managed to look her in the eye. "Ma...Maria?" he stammered.

"Who'd you think it was, Spaceboy?" she countered.

With a yelp, he jumped back from her as if she were kryptonite, dropping the still-fastened final button and breaking her hold on his wrists. "Shit!" Hands clenched, he spun around, his back towards her.

"Nice," Maria commented dryly. "Nice reaction, Michael. One minute you're doing your best to get my clothes off, and the next I'm practically poison?"

"I didn't know it was you," he protested, still turned away.

"This just gets better and better. So you were cheating on me?" she demanded, enjoying his reaction. She never would have been able to picture him flustered, and the reality was...endearing.

He turned part way back around, speaking earnestly. "I wasn't cheating on you. I mean, I thought it was you, but not--I wasn't--" he floundered.

"You thought it was me, but that you were dreaming?" she offered coolly. Michael nodded without looking in her direction, and she added, "And what was that you said before? That I'm usually wearing a lot less? Do you have these dreams often, Michael?"

A tinge of red crept onto his cheekbones, and he snapped defensively back at her. "Half of me is human, remember? I'm a guy--what'd you expect?"

"Hey, Michael?" She noticed with amusement that he glanced at her and then immediately away before he spoke.

"Could you...Just button your shirt, okay?" he said gruffly, eyes to the side.

"You were the one who wanted it undone," she pointed out as she swiftly did up the buttons, much more smoothly than he'd unbuttoned them. "I should make you do it."

"Maria," he bit out. She was amazed that she felt so confident in teasing him. Must be because the dream world wasn't real, even if both of them were. Because in real life, she wasn't ready to be topless in front of him. Not yet. At the idea, she began to blush as well.

"All done," she announced. Michael hesitated, then slowly turned his head toward her. He let out a small breath of relief when he saw that she was, indeed, fully clothed.

"Uhhh...sorry about that," he muttered.

Maria studied him carefully. "Why? It's nice to know I'm wanted," she said honestly, smiling up at him.

He didn't respond to that, instead frowning a bit. "So did Isabel send you in here to spy on me, or what?"

"Uh, that would definitely be 'what', Michael. I haven't seen Isabel since lunch time."

"Well, how'd you get in here, then?"

"It's not the first time it's happened," she reminded him.

He scratched absently at one eyebrow. "Yeah, but we were in the same room then. So unless one of us has taken up sleepwalking--"

"Unlikely."

"--how'd you get in my dream?" he asked again.

"I don't know, Michael. You're the one with the alien powers, not me." Crossing to the fainting couch, Maria plopped down on it, stifling a laugh when she noticed that the brocade pattern was made of tiny spaceships and alien heads. She looked around. "Are you sure this is your dream? I mean, where's the desert?"

"I do occasionally dream about other stuff, you know."

"I noticed," she bantered, her eyes sparkling with humor.

"Quit it," he said, sounding a little annoyed. "And I haven't dreamt about the desert for a while. At least a couple of weeks."

"So instead you're dreaming of long hallways and lots of doors."

"What?"

"That's where we are. I was walking down this dark hallway, and I went through a door, and there you were."

"There weren't any doors. I was in the cave, the one out by the reservation, and when I went further into the back of the cave, it became this room. I saw you and I thought...well, you know what I thought."

"Where's the cave now, then?"

"I don't know. Where's your door?" he shot back.

"Michael," she said in exasperation. "I'm trying to figure things out here. Is this your dream or mine?"

"Actually," came a voice out of nowhere, "It would be mine."