Summary: Fourteen years after Future-Max changed the past, Liz Parker's about to do it again. But when things don't go as she expected, how's she supposed to make a better future with only the help of a bitter teenage Zan?
Disclaimer: I do not own Liz Parker, Zan, or any of the other characters of the TV show (and book series) Roswell.
AN: Still having issues with characterization, and I'm kinda just updating for me now anyways. To the ones who are still reading (and based on the number of reviews lately, I don't think there are very many), don't worry – I'm not going to stop. I want to finish at least one story for me, and so even if it takes me a while, I'm gonna keep writing. Whether or not I'll ever do the sequel I planned, though… I'm not real sure about that.
Also, I've edited this about a dozen times, but since I usually go over my work even more obsessively than that, this may look a little... well, not as good as other chapters. But considering how long you guys have to wait between chapters, I figured you'd rather have something than something perfect.
Oh – and there's a little bit of rude language in this chapter, beyond the typical cursing. Just a heads up.
Anyway, read and enjoy. And dear god, please update.
Twenty minutes later, Zan was standin' in front of his favorite club.
He could hear the music even before he'd gotten close enough to see the door – a deep bass throbbing just hard enough to buzz his fingertips. Despite how late it was, there was still a line of people waitin' to get in. Zan ignored 'em an' walked to the front of the line.
The door man's name was Jason, and he obviously remembered Zan. Jason glanced behind him, probably hopin' to see Lonnie, an' looked kinda disappointed. He nodded an' let Zan through without even askin' for ID, which saved Zan the trouble of havin' to make a quicky one.
Zan strolled inside, lettin' the ear-splittin' screech of metal rock pound through him. The theme was still pretty much the same as it'd been last time he'd been through – black an' red an' aluminum made up like silver. They had some band or other playin' on the stage by the dance floor, where the strobe lights made people seem to dance in frame-by-frame.
He walked over and took a seat on one of the stools at the bar. He sat for a minute, listenin' to the music an' tracin' patterns in the dark wood grain.
"Hey." Zan glanced up at the bartender. This guy was unfamiliar; the bartender a year ago had been named Val. It wasn't really surprisin' he hadn't lasted, considerin' Zan had seen him sellin' drugs a couple times. The Black Cherry might not exactly crack down on drug use, but they didn't like to employ people with Val's kinda ties, either. "Can I get you something?"
"Naw." He waited till the new guy turned away, then snuck one of the cheap coasters off the counter an' worked a lil' magic on it. "Uh – hey! Actually, can I get a beer?"
The bartender came back. The smile he passed Zan was more than a lil' condescending. "Yeah, right, kid. Look, I don't know how you got in here –"
Zan held his new ID up and watched the smile fade. The dude took it, flippin' it this way and that to try and find something off about it. But Zan'd done this before, so there really wasn't anythin' to find. "I'm a lot older than I look, asshole. Just bring me the beer."
The guy's face went blank as he turned away. Zan watched him go without flippin' him off, despite the temptation.
Zan wasn't stupid. They'd found out early on the kinda issue aliens (or half-aliens, anyway) had with alcohol. In fact, when they was thirteen Rath had somehow got hold of a bottle of vodka an' showed up after chugging almost a fourth ah the bottle. Before the symptoms had kicked in, Lonnie took a sip – an' suddenly started turnin' their place into a friggin' nightclub.
Rath got sick then, an' Zan'd told Ava to take care of him while he kept his eye on Lonnie. His sister had said all kindsa shit that night, an' most of it had been pretty friggin' painful to hear. But Zan told himself it was just the kinda stupid stuff people did when they were drunk – none of it meant anything, an' he just had to ignore it and follow her around to keep her from blowin' the big secret.
Eventually, Lonnie'd sobered up, forgot everything, an' they'd headed back to help Ava with Rath. He'd stayed sick all night, but in the morning he was better.
Zan wasn't gonna drink. But in this club, if you didn't have a drink or some kinda illegal substance, people pretty much assumed you was a cop. So Zan did what he'd always done here; get a drink, go sit in the corner an' slowly evaporate it empty.
He wasn't much of a dancer. Not like Lonnie or even Ava – although he as pretty sure he could do it better than Rath. Rath had never listened when they'd warned him, but he couldn't dance to save his life.
Zan swallowed and looked down at his hands.
The bartender came back carryin' his beer and still lookin' pretty annoyed. Zan looked up at him, rolled his eyes an' ignored him – but he saw the annoyance shift into actual anger from the corner of his eye.
Good.
Unfortunately for Zan's current mood, the guy obviously had a better handle on his temper than Zan had guessed, 'cause he turned an' walked off rather than start somethin'.
Zan grabbed his beer an' got up. He walked over to the side ah the room, picked a corner with a table an' sat down. He woulda fucked with the bartender some more, but sooner or later he'd notice that Zan wasn' drinkin'. People started askin' awkward questions when you bought booze and didn't drink it. Of course, that idea didn't bother him much as it used to, considerin', but old habits were a bitch to break.
Zan slouched back against the wall, watching the people writhe. A guy in the middle had a familiar Mohawk, and for one gut wrenchin' moment he thought it was Rath dancin' with some random chick. But he was too brawny, and the swirlin' tattoo crawlin' up his neck was somethin' Rath never woulda liked. Too generic, too cliché.
Rath'd always been a fuckin' snob when it came to tats.
Zan felt his hand clench around the neck of his bottle, but he couldn't look away.
The jacket, though – that Rath woulda liked. Black leather, pockets lined in chains, friggin' spikes embedded in the cuffs. Zan could picture the gutsy little showoff starin' in awe, practically droolin'. He woulda begged Lonnie to make him one…
Zan felt that familiar anger bubble up like vomit in his throat as his vision dimmed. He was lookin' at the jacket, but he was seein' Rath an' Lonnie. His Second an' his sister, dancin' in this club more than a year back, while he sat in the corner like a tool, happy they? was havin' fun. Did they want to kill him even then? Was Lonnie already lookin' for a reason? How long had they been plannin' it?
"You gotta problem, asshole?"
Zan blinked, Lonnie an' Rath vanishin' like swirls ah smoke over fire.
The dude in the jacket was right in front of him now, scowlin' down at Zan. There was nothin' familiar 'bout his face – his eyes were too close together, his nose too wide, his lips too thin – except that it was starin' at him from under Rath's friggin' Mohawk. But that was enough, really; Zan felt that same swell ah irritation he always felt when Rath looked at him like that.
Oddly enough, he welcomed the feelin'.
"Yeah, I do." Zan looked the guy up an' down, then slowly stood up till they was nose to nose.
The guy's jaw dropped just a lil', obviously not having expected to get lip from some kid half his size. He turned red and snapped his jaw shut so quick his teeth clicked. "You stupid little fuck – "
"Hey!" The jerk's girlfriend stepped up. "Come on, Nick, that's enough –"
" – you're really askin' for it, kid!"
Zan smirked and leaned his head back, neva' takin' his eyes off the guy. "Hell yeah, I am. Come on, Tiny – whatcha waitin' for?"
Nick snarled, his hand comin' up fisted, Zan braced for the impact –
"Hey!"
This voice was different. It belonged to a burly dude makin' his way toward them from the bar; he was bigger even than Nick, an' wearin' the black vests that all employees of the Black Cherry had to wear. Zan didn't recognize him either, but apparently Nick did. Even though it was Nick who'd been throwin' the first punch, the dick waited for a quick nod from Nick before he turned a pissed off expression toward Zan. "You guys wanna do this, you're doin' it outside, got it? We already get enough of that shit around here."
Zan kept his eyes on Nick an' shrugged. "I got no problem with dat."
Nick smirked. "Lil' too eager to get your ass handed to ya, ain't cha kid?"
Zan smiled an' kept quiet. He'd never been real big on trash talkin' – that was more Rath's kinda thing. Zan thought he sounded like a tool, most times, but he'd seemed to enjoy that part more than the actual fight. So long as they got to fight, Zan was fine with whatever.
He hadn't ever fought alone, though.
That thought clogged up Zan's throat with something between rage and heartbreak, givin' him one more reason to keep his mouth shut.
Nick's face twisted in annoyance as he turned an' started walkin' toward the back door. Zan picked up his beer an' stared at it for a second, tryin' to remember why he shouldn't do this. Cause it was stupid, for one. He didn't know how he'd react, or what he'd do, or how much that guy might see. But really, what'd any of that matter to him anymore? It wasn't like it'd kill him (probably), an' he didn' have anybody left to protect anymore.
A picture of Beth flashed in his mind, bringin' with it a twinge of guilt. She'd be pissed at him for this, he knew. Nothin' like a good fight to "bust his stitches", an' chances were he wasn't gonna come out of this one untouched. But why the fuck did that bother him at all? Beth was a big girl – she could take care of herself. An' however she felt about Zan, she'd only known him a few days; if she never saw him again, she probably wouldn't lose one goddamn night's sleep.
Zan frowned an' swung the bottle up for a sip.
It hit his tongue like fire an' burned all the way down to his stomach. From there, it exploded in a wave of electric sparks, archin' through his body like freezin' bolts ah lightning. The room spun, an' Zan tried to hide his sudden vertigo by puttin' the bottle down gently on the table, then grabbin' on for a second. The bottle wobbled, obviously unsteady, but Zan wasn't really in a state to pay attention to that.
After a minute, the spinnin' eased – or, no, not eased, but… It was more that he got used to it. The room was spinnin', an' the people were spinnin', and Zan was spinnin' with 'em – billions an' billions ah bugs, clinging to a tennis ball in space.
Things seemed… clearer, somehow, like this. The lil' stuff had all disappeared – the worry 'bout discovery, the naggin' guilt about leavin' Beth, all of it. Even that tension between his shoulders that hadn't gone away since he'd been hit by the truck was startin' to ease.
Zan thought about Lonnie, an' about Rath, an' about how much he wanted the two of them to fuckin' hurt. But they weren't here right now. Instead there was a guy who looked a bit like Rath waitin' for Zan out back, an' for now that would have to be enough.
Zan grinned without really sure why.
For the first time in his life, he felt almost… free.
He wobbled his way toward the back door, grinnin' the whole time.
Liz groaned.
God, my head…
Eyes still closed against the pounding in her temple, Liz pushed herself up to her hands and knees. Her stomach lurched, and for one awful moment Liz was sure she was going to get sick all over the… the…
Liz pried her eyelids open.
The floor?
Now that she'd seen it, she recognized the tattered threads under her fingers as the familiar off-white carpet of her apartment. Liz narrowed her eyes against both the painful glare and her growing confusion.
What was I doing on the floor –
Stars burst inside her retinas with enough force to make her arms give out. Liz choked in a breath to scream, but it got stuck somewhere between her vocal chords and her mouth.
There were a thousand voices all talking at once – she wrapped her hands around her ears to block out the cacophony. She blinked open her eyes again, and there were almost as many people surrounding her. Alex was standing in the middle of the table, holding his head and yelling something at Tess. She kept grabbing at him, trying to get him to calm down, to look her in the eye, to –
And that guy – Max's boss, the abductee – strode through Tess's image, waving a gun. Max and Tess were tied up on the floor, trying to talk him into letting them go. But he wouldn't listen, couldn't listen, and that gun –
Zan walked behind him and Liz, and despite the plethora of activity dragging on her attention she kept her eyes locked on him. She needed to know where he'd gone, if he was safe –
He walked through a door hanging in thin air, and the neon sign above it read "Black Cherry."
He disappeared into the phantom crowd, and another knife cut through her temple.
"Jesus Christ." Liz hissed as she dug her fingers into her scalp.
There was Isabelle, Sheriff Valenti and Max getting shot at, and Michael crouching over a corpse in a uniform, and Max healing people – so many people…
People were going through her apartment in droves, appearing and disappearing at random, walking through and over her, whispering and talking and screaming. People bled, broke, and died all around her, so many and so quickly that she didn't even have the time to notice them all.
But she could feel them.
She could feel them in her head.
She closed her eyes and held her hands over her ears, but the pressure remained.
The movement, the screams, the freaking feeling.
It was all just… too much.
And then it wasn't.
The wave receded, and Liz opened her eyes again. The phantom crowd was losing color, edges blurring into the background even as she watched. She pulled her hands away from her ears, but the volume was easing along with the images. After a few seconds, Liz found herself alone in a quiet room.
Her head still throbbed, but most of that awful pressure had eased.
Liz felt her jaw drop. She waited for all of it to return – to surge back onto the still shore, wreaking havoc. But a long moment passed without change, and it occurred to Liz that that one explosive wave might be all there would be of it. After years of keeping it boxed up, years of hiding from it, maybe… maybe it was over.
Liz frowned, irrationally angry with that idea.
That… that was nothing like she remembered. Where was the chaos? The constant, distracting microvisions? Where was the rest of that horrible, cancerous ability she'd given up so many years ago?
"What the fuck?" Liz whispered, still kind of expecting it to start up again. But it didn't and it wouldn't, and she couldn't understand why.
Liz pushed herself back to her feet, and the sudden vertigo inspired bile in her throat was almost a relief. She stumbled her way toward the phone, still trying to figure out what was going on. Had she blown the whole thing out of proportion over the years? No – that didn't sound like her. Had the ability started to… to fade over the years? Her other abilities hadn't; why would that one be the only one to go into remission? Maybe it was because she'd kept it in the box for so long –
An intangible black bag slipped over her head, and Liz gasped and tensed before it passed through her face. She turned to see what the hell that'd been, but the vision had already faded away. The apartment was empty again.
… okay, so maybe it wasn't all gone, but still. A lot better than before.
Liz thought about it for a moment longer before a disquieting little theory started to form. When she'd first developed alien abilities, they'd been… well, volatile to say the least. She'd blown up the liquor cabinet and melted or set fire to too many things to count. Eventually, she'd figured out that was all due to the rage she'd been repressing.
And the second time she'd healed, she'd woken up to Maria's corpse, Michael's bleeding stump, news that her baby was dead and an interplanetary war on the horizon.
She'd thought she'd coped, but was it possible she'd just… pushed it aside? She'd done something similar with Max at first, too; she'd been so happy to have him back that she'd ignored all of their unresolved issues. And when the war started, Liz clearly remembered thinking that she couldn't afford to waste too much time dwelling on the past…
Had she just told herself she'd handled it, without actually fixing the problem?
At some point during her musings, her hand wrapped around the grip of her phone. Abruptly remembering why she'd opened the box in the first place, Liz dialed information and asked for the address of a place called Black Cherry.
First, I'm going to make sure he's safe.
Then I'm going to kill him.
Zan laughed, face pressed against the asphalt, blood cakin' in between his teeth.
Nick an' the other guy – whose name was apparently Jasper (who the hell names their kid Jasper, anyway?) – were both in the alley when he came out. Jasper'd said he was just keepin' an eye out to make sure things didn't get too far, but when Zan managed to get Nick in the knee an' knock him down, Jasper had come up behind him and shoved him in the back.
Now it was two on one, an' Zan had been losin' already just to Nick. He could feel his ribs throbbin' an' his knuckles achin' an' there was a crazy bruise comin' up on his waist. They'd got his eye and nose, and the blood kept runnin' into his mouth, makin' his lips glue together.
But the adrenaline surged through him like a fuckin' freight train, an' the alcohol was numbin' most all of the pain, an' so Zan laughed. At one point Jasper started lookin' confused an' a little freaked out – probably wonderin' if Zan was completely high outta his fuckin' mind, actually – but Zan had done all he could to keep Nick good'n pissed. He wanted a fight, damn it, an' these two little bitches couldn't step out on him now.
Zan pushed himself back up to his knees, wiped the blood off his face, an' smiled.
Haven't felt this good in years, he thought to himself, an' was actually surprised to realize it was true. Despite the pain, despite the horrible, shitty friggin' situation, the weight of everythin' just kept shrinking.
For so long, he'd had to take care of them. Then they'd betrayed him, an' he knew he'd have to get back at 'em – that he owed them pain an' suffering for what they'd done to him. An' when he was sober, he actually wanted all those things, those heavy fuckin' obligations, but right now, the world spinnin' in beer an' blood… for the life ah him, he couldn't remember why he'd want anything at all.
He was free, an' it was therapeutic as shit to be pissin' off this dude who looked like Rath, to be drawin' blood – if just a lil' – from that scowly, insolent friggin' face.
I don't have to do anythin' I don't want to. He wondered silently as he stood, grinning absently at his bewildered opponents. Fuckin' ay, that feels good.
"Crazy freak," Rath/Nick muttered, an' a big chunk ah that feelin' went away.
"… Freak?" Zan mumbled aloud, hearing the horn, bein' blinded by a phantom flash ah headlights. He… He was a freak. Always been pretty proud of it actually, but…
Is that why they tried to kill me?
I'm no more of a freak than they are. The darker part of him whispered back, soundin' feral an' angry as shit. We're all freaks, really – but at least we freaks with power.
Yeah. Zan remembered that. Their power. His power.
"I'm da man." He mumbled, an' then remembered that night with the girls at his back an' Rath in his face. He'd said the same thing then to get Rath to back the hell off.
I'm da King, ain't I?
But the voice was quiet now, an' the ugliness ah that alley seemed to spring at him in sudden contempt.
A King, huh? Yeah, sure – the King ah the Alleyway, maybe. King ah trash an' blood an' vomit. But King of the world? What's a King with no Second? With no peeps, no family, no home?
King's dead, Zan. Been dead more'n fifty years, now.
He'd forgotten Nick an' Jasper, till Nick snorted in contempt.
"The man? Ha!" Nick snarled, eyes sparklin' with vicious enjoyment. "My ass, kid. You're balls have barely dropped, an' you think you're tough shit?"
Zan felt his lip curl even as he swayed. The alley seemed to bob around him, an' Zan swallowed back the rising bile.
It's not goin' away, he thought nervously, I just had one sip an' it's not –
"Let me ask you something." Nick sneered, cockin' his head to the side. "If you're really somethin' special, why're ya gettin' yer ass kicked, huh? How come you ain't got no friends or family here, backin' you up?"
Zan's eyes slid up to Nick, an' his mind went very, very quiet.
Did he really know the answer?
Tell me why!
Nick waited a second, as if expectin' a response. When he saw Zan wasn't talkin', he grinned. "I'll tell ya why. 'Cause you ain't no bad ass, brat. You ain't nothin' special, an' you sure as hell ain't the man."
The world still spun in circles around him, an' blood still poured down over his lip and into his teeth, an' everything was probably going just as fast as it had been a second before. But Zan felt frozen, stuck in that instant. The words echoed in his skull like thunder, like a whisper in the void, an' Zan couldn't think or speak or even breathe…
Had Nick stopped there, maybe that's all that woulda happened. Maybe him an' Jasper woulda walked off an' left Zan standin' there in the alley, beat up an' bloody an' frozen. But Nick was enjoyin' watchin' Zan finally reactin' with somethin' other than a condescendin' expression or a creepy-ass smile, so he didn't stop.
"Hell, if I was you, I'd stick my head in the fuckin' oven, cause yer just pathetic."
Of everythin' he'd said, that line should have been the least affective. It was a childish, schoolyard bully kinda insult. Jasper, who'd begun to feel pretty bad for the kid, turned a disgusted glare on his friend, who caught his look an' glared right back.
Any other time, Zan woulda laughed. He woulda sneered an' said somethin' demeaning. Woulda made the asshole feel like the biggest idiot on the planet. It wouldn't really of been hard, either – it wasn't like Nick was the brightest guy on the block, an' Zan had a lifetime of experience lookin' down his nose at jerks like Nik.
But today, Zan was thinkin' of how his Second – his brother, his best friend, the guy he'd trusted more than anybody else since they'd been babies just outta their pods – had wanted him dead.
Zan'd been skimmin' off the top of his anger up till this point, usin' up just enough to ease the pressure, but not enough to lose control.
Tonight, he was drunk, an' he was lookin' into Rath's smilin' face.
And in his mind, it was Rath tellin' him to die.
Rath smilin'.
Rath callin' him pathetic.
Rath tellin' him he wasn't the man.
Zan reached out one hand an' lifted the two men into the air. Jasper yelped, Nick hissed a frightened curse, an' both of 'em turned wide eyes on Zan. Zan pressed his other hand against the wall beside him, an' bars of brick shot out all around the three of 'em. Nick'd gone white an' silent, an' Jasper was whisperin' a prayer or some shit, but Zan wasn' really lookin' at either of 'em anymore.
"Oh, I'm da man." Zan growled, an ocean of rage set free.
"Neva' forget."
AN: *Groans* Dear God, I suck at slang. Sorry for that...
Also, do you guys think I should try and get a beta? How do I go about doing that?
Review. It's easy. There's a button just under this and everything.